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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6f04705 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60964 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60964) diff --git a/old/60964-8.txt b/old/60964-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index cb8ecdf..0000000 --- a/old/60964-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4820 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's A Righted Wrong, Volume 1 (of 3), by Edmund Yates - -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: A Righted Wrong, Volume 1 (of 3) - A Novel. - -Author: Edmund Yates - -Release Date: December 19, 2019 [EBook #60964] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A RIGHTED WRONG, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page images provided by the Web Archive - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Note: - 1. Page scan source: https://ia800200.us.archive.org/4/items/ - rightedwrongnove01yate/ - (Library of the University of Illinois) - - - - - -A RIGHTED WRONG. - - - - - - -A RIGHTED WRONG. -A Novel. - - - - -BY -EDMUND YATES, -AUTHOR OF -"BLACK SHEEP," "THE FORLORN HOPE," "BROKEN TO HARNESS," ETC. - - - - -IN THREE VOLUMES. -VOL. I. - - - - -LONDON: -TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18 CATHERINE ST., STRAND. -1870. - -[_All rights reserved_.] - - - - - - -LONDON: -ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. - - - - - - -CONTENTS OF VOL. I. - -CHAP. -I. Homeward bound. -II. Pages from the Past. -III. Discomfiture. -IV. The Ideal and the Real. -V. Chayleigh. -VI. Half-confidences. -VII. The old familiar Faces. -VIII. Mrs. Carteret is congratulated. -IX. What the Woman meant. -X. The Letter from Melbourne. -XI. Fools' Paradise. -XII. Dawning. - - - - - - -A RIGHTED WRONG. - - - - -CHAPTER I. -HOMEWARD BOUND. - - -"Good-bye, again; good-bye!" - -"Good-bye, my dear; perhaps not for ever, though: I may make my way -back to the old country once more. You will tell my old friend I kept -my word to him:" and then the speaker kissed the woman to whom he -addressed these parting words tenderly, went quickly away, and was -hidden from her in a moment by all the bewildering confusion of "board -ship" at the hour of sailing. - -He had not waited for words in reply to his farewell; she could not -have spoken them, and he knew it; and while she tried to make out his -figure among the groups upon the deck, formed of those who were about -to set forth upon the long perilous ocean voyage, and those who had -come to bid them good-bye, some with hearts full of agony, a few -careless and gay enough, a suffocating silence held her. - -But when at length she saw him for one brief moment as he went over -the side to the boat waiting to take him to the shore so long familiar -to her, but already, under the wonderful action of change, seeming -strange and distant, the spell was lifted off her, and a deep gasping -sob burst from her lips. - -A very little longer, and the boat, with its solitary passenger, was a -speck upon the water; and then she bowed her head, unconsciously, and -slightly waved her hand, and went below. - -There was no one person in all the crowd upon the deck of the good -ship Boomerang sufficiently disengaged from his or her own cares to -take any notice of the little scene which had just passed--only one -amid a number in the great drama which is always being acted, and for -which a ship with its full complement of passengers, at the moment of -beginning a long voyage, is a capacious and fine theatre. Selfishness -and self-engrossment come out strongly in such a scene, and are as -excusable under such circumstances as they ever can be. - -She was quite alone in the little world of the ship; in the great -world of England, to which she was going, she might find herself alone -too, for who could say what tidings might await her there? in the -inner world of her heart she was still more surely and utterly alone. -In the slight shiver, in the forlorn glance around, which had -accompanied her gesture of farewell to the man who had escorted her on -board, there was something expressive of a suddenly deepened sense of -this solitude. - -In the cabin, which she shared with her maid only, she found this sole -and newly-selected companion making such preparation as she could for -the comfort of her mistress. The girl's face was kind and pleasant and -handsome; but the sight of it did not lessen the sense of her solitude -to Margaret Hungerford, for the kind and handsome face was also -strange. - -Rose Moore, whom she had engaged to act as her servant during the -voyage, was an orphan girl, who wished to return to Ireland to her -"friends," as the Irish people, with striking inaccuracy of speech and -touching credulity, designate their relatives. - -When Margaret Hungerford had lain down upon the little crib, which was -to serve her for a bed during a period which would sound appalling in -duration in the ears of a world so much accelerated in everything as -our world of to-day is, she thought of Rose Moore, and of the -difference between her own position and that of the girl who was to be -her companion. - -"She is going home to friends," she thought, "to a warm welcome, to a -kindly fireside, and she is bringing money with her to gild the -welcome, to gladden the hearth; while I--I am returning alone--O, how -utterly alone!--and destitute--ah, how destitute!--I, to whom not even -the past is left; I, who do not possess even the right to grieve; I, -to whom life has been only a mistake, only a delusion. I am returning -to a home in which I was regarded rather as a trouble than anything -else in my childhood, and which I was held to have disgraced in my -girlhood. Returning to it, to feel that the judgment I set aside, the -wisdom I derided, was right judgment and true wisdom, and that the -best I can hope is to keep them from ever finding out how terribly -right they were. The only real friend I now possess I am leaving -behind me here; and I am glad it is so, because he knows all the -truth. Surely no one in the world can be more lonely than I." - -Margaret Hungerford lay quietly in her narrow bed, while the ship -resounded with all the indescribable and excruciating noises which -form a portion of the tortures of a sea-voyage. - -She did not suffer from them, nor from the motion. She was tired, too -tired in body and mind to care about discomfort, and she did not -dislike the sea. So she lay still, while Rose Moore moved about in the -little space allotted to the two, and which she regarded as a den -rather than a "state-room," looking now and then curiously at her -mistress, whom she had not had much previous opportunity of observing. - -The girl looked at a face which was not less remarkable for its beauty -than for its expression of weariness and sorrow, at a figure not more -noticeable for its grace and suppleness than for the languor and -listlessness which every movement betrayed. - -Margaret Hungerford was tall, but not so tall as to be remarked for -her height; and her figure, rounded and lithe, had still much of the -slightness of girlhood remaining. Her face was not perfect; the -forehead was too high and too heavy for ideal beauty; there was not -enough colour in the clear pale cheek; there was not enough richness -in the outline of the delicate mouth. Her face was one in which -intellect ruled, and thus its beauty served a master which is pitiless -in its exactions, and wears out the softness and the fineness and the -tinting in a service which is not gentle. - -But it was a beautiful face for all that, more than beautiful for -those who looked beyond the deep dark colouring of the large gray -eyes, deep-set under the finely-marked brows; who looked for the -spirit in their light, for the calm and courage which lent them the -limpid placid beaming which was their ordinary characteristic. It was -not a perfect face; but it had that which very few perfect faces -possess--the capacity for expressing feeling, intelligence, the nobler -passions, and utter forgetfulness of self. - -To look at Margaret Hungerford was to feel that, however faulty her -character might be, it at least was noble, and to know that vanity had -no share in an organisation which had no place for anything small, -whether good or evil. It was a magnanimous resolute face--not strong, -in any sense implying roughness, hardness, or self-assertion, but -evincing a large capacity of loving and working and suffering. - -And she had loved and worked and suffered. The bloom that was wanting -to her pure fair cheek, which touched too faintly and grudgingly her -small, well-curved, but ascetic lips, had vanished from her heart as -well; the slight white fingers, too thin for beauty,--though the -hands, clasped over her breast as she lay still with closed eyes, were -curiously small and perfectly shaped,--had been unsparingly used in -many and various kinds of toil in the new land, which had been wild -and rough indeed when she had come there. - -The girl looked at her admiringly, and with a sort of pity, for which -she had no reason to give to herself except that her mistress was a -widow. Explanation enough, she would have said, and naturally; and -still, there was something in the face which Rose Moore felt, in her -untaught, instinctive, but very acute fashion, had been there longer -than three months, which was the exact period since Mrs. Hungerford's -husband had died. - -Who was she going to? she thought; and did she like going home? and -what was she leaving behind? Not her husband's grave, the girl knew, -and felt the knowledge as an Irish peasant would feel it. No, she had -not even that consolation; for her husband, who had been a member of -one of the earliest-formed exploring parties who had undertaken to -investigate the capacities of the unknown new continent, had been -killed in the Australian bush. It was better not to think what the -fate of his remains had been, better that it was not known. - -What, then, was this pale young widow, who looked as though her sorrow -far antedated her weeds, leaving behind her? Rose Moore was not -destined to know. What was she going to? the girl wondered. In the -short time she had been with her, Mrs. Hungerford's kindness had been -accompanied with strict reserve, and Rose had learned no more than -that she was returning, probably, to her father's home; but of even -that she was not certain. - -Thus the "lone woman" seemed pitiable to the gay and handsome Irish -girl, and the thought of it interfered with her visions of "home," and -her exultation in the money she had to take thither, and the love she -was going to find. - -Pitiable indeed she was. - -As the long low banks of Port Phillip faded from the sight of the -passengers on board the "homeward bound," not a heart among the number -but yearned with some keen and strong regret, too keen and strong to -be overborne by the gladness of hope and the relief of having really -begun the long voyage. Not a heart, not even that of Margaret -Hungerford; for she had looked her last on the land where she had left -her youth, and all its dreams and hopes; where love had died for her, -and truth had failed; where she had been rudely awakened, and had -never again found rest. - -At such a time, at such a crisis in life, retrospection is inevitable, -however undesirable; however painful and vain, it must be submitted -to. The mind insists on passing the newly-expired epoch in review; in -repeating, in the full and painful candour of its reverie, all the -story so far told; in returning to the old illusions, and exposing -their baselessness; in summoning up the defeated hopes, which, gauged -by the measure of disappointment, appear so unreasonable--weighed in -the balance of experience, seem so absurd. - -Can I ever have been such a fool as to have believed that life held -such possibilities? is the question we all ask at such times; and the -self-contempt which inspires it is only as real, and no more, as the -pain which no scorn or wonder can decrease. - -So, like one performing an enforced task, with what patience it is -possible to command, but wearily, and longing for the end, and for -release, Margaret Hungerford, during the early days of the long voyage -from Australia to England, gazed into her past life as into a mirror, -and it gave her back a succession of images, of which the chief were -these which follow. - - - - -CHAPTER II. -PAGES FROM THE PAST. - - -The woman who was now returning to her native land after a long and -painful exile looked back, in her retrospective fancy, upon a home -which had external beauty, calm, and comfort to recommend it. She was -the daughter of a gentleman named Carteret, a man of small but -independent fortune, and whose tastes, which had been too extensively -and exclusively cultivated for the happiness of his son and daughter, -led him to prefer a life of quietness and seclusion, in which he -devoted himself to study, and to the pursuit of natural history in -particular. - -Mr. Carteret, who is an old man now, might have been the original of -"Sir Thomas the Good," whose wife, "the fair Lady Jane," displayed -such becoming resignation on his death. Mr. Carteret, like the worthy -knight, "whose breath was short, and whose eyes were dim," would "pore -for an hour over a bee or a flower, or the things that come creeping -out after a shower:" but he was sadly blind to the subtle processes of -the human heart in the development of the human beings under his own -roof, which were taking place around him. - -He had lost his wife very soon after the birth of his daughter, and -when his son was three years old; and within little more than a year, -a resolute young woman, who had long made up her mind that a pretty -little country place within easy distance of London,--for Mr. Carteret -lived in Reigate,--a fair position in the county society, and a -comfortable income, were desirable acquisitions, married him. - -People said Miss Hartley made all the preliminary arrangements, -including even the proposal, herself; and though that statement was -probably exaggerated, there can be little doubt that the suggestion, -that it would be an advisable and agreeable circumstance that Miss -Martley should become Mrs. Carteret, originated with the lady. - -She was rather young, and rather pretty; and there really was not so -much to be said against the match, except by Mr. Carteret's servants, -who naturally did not like it. They liked it still less when the new -mistress of the establishment, emulating the proverbial new broom, -swept them all away, and replaced them by domestics of her own -selection. - -The novel state of things was not a happy condition for Mr. Carteret. -He was a gentle-natured man, indifferent, rather cold, and indolent, -except where his particular tastes were concerned; he pursued his own -avocations with activity and energy enough, but his easy-going -selfishness rendered him a facile victim to a woman who managed him by -the simple and effectual expedient of letting him have his own way -undisturbed, in one direction,--that one the most important to -him,--and never consulting his opinion or his wishes in any other -respect whatever. - -Mr. Carteret might spend time and money on "specimens," on books, and -on visits to naturalists and museums; he might fill his own rooms with -stuffed monkeys and birds, and indulge in the newest form of cases for -impaled insects, and even display very ghastly osteological trophies -if he pleased; his wife in nowise molested him. But here his power was -arrested--here his freedom stopped. Mrs. Carteret ruled in everything -else; and he knew it, and he suffered it "for the sake of a quiet -life." He had a conviction that if he tried opposition, his life would -not be quiet; therefore he never did try opposition. - -The new Mrs. Carteret did not actually ill-treat the children of the -former Mrs. Carteret; she only neglected them--neglected them so -steadily and systematically that never was she betrayed into -accidentally taking them, their interests or their pleasure, into -consideration in anything she chose to do or to leave undone. - -The servants understood quickly and thoroughly that if they meant to -retain their places they must keep the children from annoying Mrs. -Carteret, from incommoding her by their presence, or intruding their -wants upon her. They understood as distinctly, that if this fact were -impressed by any misplaced zeal upon the attention of Mr. Carteret, -the imprudence would be as readily repaid by dismissal; and as they -liked and valued their places,--for Mrs. Carteret, provided her own -comfort was secured in every particular, was a liberal and careless -mistress,--the imprudent zeal never was manifested. - -Thus the two young children grew up, somehow, anyhow, well-fed and -well-clothed, by the care of servants; but in every particular, apart -from their mere animal wants, utterly neglected. People talked about -it, of course; and just at first the neglect of her husband's children -threatened to be a little detrimental to the popularity which Mrs. -Carteret ardently desired to attain. But she gave pleasant -garden-parties, at which neither husband nor children "showed:" she -dressed very well; she was very kind to the young ladies of the -neighbourhood who were still on their preferment; her well-trained -household were discreetly silent; and she had no children of her own. - -This last was readily accepted as a very valid excuse; no one thought -of the total absence of wifely sympathy and womanly tenderness which -the argument conveyed. Mrs. Carteret could not be expected to care -about children--no one really did who had not children of their own -"to arouse the instinct," as a foolish female, who fancied the phrase -sounded philosophical, remarked. So the neighbourhood consented to -forget Mr. Carteret's children, and that contemplative gentleman -consented to remember them very imperfectly, and things were very -comfortable at Chayleigh for some years. - -But Haldane and Margaret Carteret grew older with those years; the -little children, who had been easily stowed away in a nursery and a -playroom,--judiciously distant from drawing-room, boudoir, and -study,--were no longer of an age to be so disposed of. The boy must -either be sent to school or have a tutor,--he and his sister had -passed beyond the rule of the nursery governess,--the girl's education -must be attended to. - -The latter case was especially disagreeable to Mrs. Carteret. It -forced upon her attention the fact that she was no longer in the first -bloom of her youth. A rather young and rather pretty stepmother is -capable of being made interesting, if the situation be judiciously -treated; but Mrs. Carteret had never treated it judiciously, and now -it could not avail. - -She had nearly exhausted her _rôle_ of young matronhood at -thirty-seven, and Margaret was then twelve years old. True, there -would be a revival of its material pleasures, its gaieties and -dissipations, when Margaret should be "brought out:" but Mrs. Carteret -found feeble consolation in the anticipation of the pleasures and -importance of chaperonage. They can only be reflected at the best; and -Mrs. Carteret cared little to shine with a borrowed light. - -In the mean time, she had no notion of having a gawky girl, as she -called Margaret in her thoughts, always about her at home, growing old -enough to interfere, and perhaps to attract her father's attention -unduly and put absurd ideas into his head. Margaret Carteret was not -at all gawky; but even then, at the least beautiful period of life, -gave promise of the grace and distinction which, afterwards -characterised her. - -Mrs. Carteret made up her mind, and then informed her husband of the -resolution she had taken, and the arrangements she had made. He -acquiesced, as he always did; and when Margaret, startled, confused, -not knowing whether to be frightened at or pleased with the novelty -which the prospect offered, asked him if it was really true that she -was going to school at Paris, and was not to return for a whole year, -he said placidly, - -"Certainly, my dear. Mrs. Carteret has arranged it all; and I have -told her to be sure and ask the school people to take you to the -Jardin des Plantes." - -Then Mr. Carteret, who never perceived that his daughter was no longer -a baby, sent her away with a pat on the head, and turned his attention -to investigating the structure of a "trap-door spider's abode," which -had reached him the day before, having been sent by a friend and -fellow-naturalist from Corfu. - -The education of Haldane Carteret had been differently provided for. -It chanced that the one human being besides herself for whom Mrs. -Carteret entertained a sentiment of affection was her cousin, James -Dugdale, a young man who had no chance of success in any active career -in life, being deformed and in delicate health--anything but a -desirable tutor for a delicate retiring boy, like Haldane Carteret, -people said--a boy who needed encouragement and companionship to rouse -him up and make him more like other boys. But Mrs. Carteret evinced -her usual indifference to the opinion of "people" on this occasion. -She chose to provide for her cousin a mode of life suitable to his -mental and physical constitution. - -James Dugdale came to live at Chayleigh. The deformed young man had -much of the talent, and all the unamiability, which so frequently -accompany bodily malformation, and he inspired Margaret Carteret with -intense dislike and repulsion--with admiration and some respect, too, -child as she was; for she soon recognised his talent, and succumbed to -his influence. James Dugdale taught Margaret as much as he taught her -brother; he implanted in her the tastes which she afterwards -cultivated so assiduously; but the boy learned to love him, while the -girl never faltered in her dislike. When she found her lessons easily -understood and soon learned at school, she knew that she had to thank -her stepmother's cousin--her brother's tutor--for the aid which had -rendered them light to her; but she never could bring herself to thank -him in thought or word. The girl's heart was almost void of love and -gratitude at this time of her life. She hardly could be said to love -her father; her stepmother she neither loved, hated, nor feared; for -her brother alone were all her kindly feelings hoarded up. She loved -him, indeed; and, next to that love, the strongest sentiment in her -heart was dislike of James Dugdale. - -Time passed on, and Margaret grew up handsome, with a strongly -intellectual stamp upon her face, and, in her character, self-will -and impulsiveness prevailing. She liked the Parisian school--for she -ruled her companions, some by love, others by fear and the power of -party--and she cared little for her home, where she could not rule any -one. - -Her father was not worth governing; her stepmother she treated with a -studious and settled indifference, forming her manner on the model of -that of Mrs. Carteret, but never attempting to gain any influence over -that lady, who was, however, not without a misgiving at times that -when Margaret should come home "for good" she might find it rather -difficult to "hold her own." Holding her own, in Mrs. Carteret's case, -rather implied holding every one else's, and that privilege she felt -to be in danger. It was, therefore, with but a passing reflection on -the fatal obstacle which such an occurrence must offer to her -maintenance of the "young married woman's" position in society, that -Mrs. Carteret, when Margaret was fifteen, began to speculate upon the -chances of getting Margaret "off her hands," when she should have -finally left school, by an opportune marriage. - -A year later, and, much to the surprise of his father, and indeed of -every one who knew him except James Dugdale, Haldane Carteret -proclaimed his wish and intention of entering the army. His father did -not oppose; his stepmother and his tutor supported him in his -inclination; the interest of a distant relative of his mother's was -procured; and thus it chanced that, when Margaret came home "for -good," at a little more than sixteen years old, she found her brother -in all the boyish pride and exultation of his commission and his -uniform. - -Then Margaret's fate was not long in coming. The first time her -brother came home, and while she had as yet seen little of the society -in which her stepmother moved, he brought a brother officer with him, -a handsome young man, named Godfrey Hungerford, with whom he had -contracted a friendship--the more enthusiastic because it was the -first the lad had ever experienced. - -And now active antagonism arose between Margaret Carteret and James -Dugdale. The girl fell in love with the handsome young officer, whose -bold and adventurous spirit pleased her; whose manifest admiration had -a pardonable fascination for her; who raised even her father to -animation; and for whom Mrs. Carteret thought it worth while to put -forth the freshest of her somewhat faded graces. - -Haldane paraded and boasted of his friend according to the foolish -hearty fashion of his time of life, and was delighted that his sister -felt with him in this too. - -But the ex-tutor, who, it appeared, was to remain a fixture at -Chayleigh, conceived a profound distrust and dislike of the brilliant -young man, whom he quietly observed from his obscure corner of the -house--and of life indeed--and who had no notion of the scrutiny he -was undergoing. - -Was James Dugdale's penetration quickened by the hardly-veiled -insolence of Godfrey Hungerford's manner to him--insolence which -sometimes took the form of complete unconsciousness, and at others of -an elaborate compassionate politeness? It may have been so; at any -rate, he made his observations closely, and, when the time came, he -expressed their result freely. - -The time came when Godfrey Hungerford asked Margaret to become his -wife; and then James Dugdale, for the only time during his long -residence in Mr. Carteret's house, spoke to that gentleman in private -and in confidence. - -"Insist on time, at least," he urged upon Margaret's father; "think -how young she is; think how little you know of this man. You have no -guarantee for his character but the praise of an enthusiastic boy. For -the girl's sake, insist on time; do not consent to less than a two -years' engagement; and then rouse yourself and go to work as a man -ought on whom such a responsibility rests, and find out all about this -man before you suffer him to take your daughter away from her home--a -girl, ignorant of the world and of life, in love with her own fancy. I -know Margaret's real nature better than you do, and I know she is -incapable of caring for this man if she knew him as he really is. It -is a delusion; if you can do no more, you can at least secure her time -to find it out." - -"Find what out?" asked Mr. Carteret, fretfully; "what do you know -about Hungerford?--how have you found out anything?" - -"I know nothing; I have not found out anything," said James Dugdale. -"I wish I had, then my interference might avail, even with Margaret -herself; but I have only my conviction to go upon, that this man is -not fit to be trusted with a woman's happiness; that Margaret is not -really attached to him; and, in addition, the suggestion of common -sense, that she is much too young to be permitted to settle her own -fate irrevocably." - -The latter argument seemed to have some weight with Mr. Carteret, and -James Dugdale saw his advantage. - -"Do you think," he said, "if her mother were living, she would permit -Margaret to marry at her present age? Do you think, if you knew you -would have to account to her mother for your care of her, you would -listen to such a thing?" - -This reference to his dead wife was not pleasant to Mr. Carteret. He -was growing old, and he had begun of late to think life, even when -surrounded by specimens, and enlivened by numerous publications -concerning the animal creation, rather a mistake. So he assented, -hurriedly, to James Dugdale's arguments, and the interview concluded -by his promising to prevent Margaret's marriage taking place for two -years, when she would be nineteen. - -But Mr. Carteret and James Dugdale both knew that the real decision of -that matter rested not with them, but with Mrs. Carteret, and that, if -she decreed that Margaret should be married next week, married next -week she inevitably would be. So the ex-tutor addressed himself to his -cousin, with whom he adopted a different line of argument. - -"I know you don't care about Margaret," he said; "but I do; and I know -you admire Lieutenant Godfrey Hungerford, which I do not; but you care -what people say of you, Sibylla, as much as any one, I know; and you -will get unpleasantly talked about if the girl is allowed to marry, so -young, a man whom you know little or nothing about, and who is a -scoundrel, if ever there was one, or I am more mistaken than I -generally am. Take care, Sibylla, your husband is notoriously under -your guidance, and you will have to bear the blame if this marriage -takes place too soon; it is a serious thing, and you have never been a -fond stepmother, you know." - -Mrs. Carteret loved her cousin, and feared him; she also had a great -respect for his judgment; and he had gone to work with her in the -right way. The result was satisfactory to the ex-tutor, who took -himself to task concerning his own motives, but found no room for -self-condemnation. - -"If I could suppose for a moment," he thought, "that I am insincere in -this thing--that I am actuated by any selfish feeling or hope -regarding Margaret--I should hesitate; but I know I am not: my heart -is pure of such self-deception; my brain has no such cobwebs of folly -in it. Separated from him finally,--if I can contrive to part -them,--held back from her fate for a while, by my means, at all events -she will only dislike me the more. And my conviction respecting this -man,--is that prejudice?--is that an unjust dislike?--is it pique, -because he has good looks, and grace, and good manners, and I have -none of these? Is it spite, because he has been insolent to me when he -dared, and, in a covert way, more insolent still, when these simple -people did not understand him? No; I can answer to myself for -single-mindedness in this matter. I might not have seen so plainly had -not Margaret's happiness been at stake. But I do see; I do not only -fancy. I do judge; I do not only imagine." - -So James Dugdale carried his point. Margaret resented his interference -bitterly; she learned that his arguments had induced her stepmother to -take the view to which her father had acceded; and she raged against -him and denounced him as insolent, presuming, intolerable. - -But she liked the idea of the long engagement, too. She was romantic -and imaginative, and her bright pure young heart--all given up to what -was in reality a creation of her fancy, but in which she saw the -dazzling realisation of her girlish dreams--was satisfied with the -assurance of loving and being loved. - -The presence of her lover was happiness, and his absence was hardly -sorrow. Had she not his letters? Were there ever such letters? she -thought; and while she exulted in all the delicious exclusiveness of -the possession of such treasures, she almost longed that the world -might know how transcendent a genius was this gallant soldier whom she -loved. - -She was glad that Godfrey felt so much disappointment at the delay; -and the impertinence of any one who interfered to prevent the -fulfilment of any wish of his, no words could adequately describe. -But, for all that, Margaret was extremely happy, though she did hate -James Dugdale. - -Her lover encouraged her in this feeling, and when he and her brother -had rejoined their regiment she restricted her intercourse with the -officious ex-tutor to the barest acknowledgment of his presence. James -Dugdale took this mode of procedure calmly, and applied himself to the -task of finding out all that was to be ascertained concerning the -circumstances, character, and antecedents of Lieutenant Godfrey -Hungerford. - - - - -CHAPTER III. -DISCOMFITURE. - - -When the engagement between Godfrey Hungerford and Margaret Carteret -had lasted six months, during which time James Dugdale had contrived -to learn several facts to that gentleman's disadvantage, Haldane -Carteret made his appearance unexpectedly at Chayleigh. Margaret's -first look at her brother revealed to her quick instinctive fears that -his errand had in it something unfriendly to her love. With all the -selfishness which comes of an engrossing feeling, she was insensible -to any other impulse of alarm. - -Margaret was right; her brother was come to unsay all he had said of -Godfrey Hungerford--to tell his father that he had been deceived in -his friend--to try to undo the work he had helped to do. - -"He drinks and gambles, Margaret; for God's sake, don't marry a man -with such vices," said Haldane eagerly to his sister. - -Her father roused himself, and warned her too; but the girl was -obdurate. She only knew of such things by name; they had no meaning to -her as terrible realities of life; and then she had her lover's -letters--the priceless, charming, incomparable letters--and they told -her that her brother had come round to Dugdale's way of thinking, and -had turned against him because he had interfered to keep him out of -some boyish scrapes. - -The strongest and most spurious of all arguments too, used to a loving -foolish girl, were not wanting. If even he were guilty of some -follies, granting that he was not a perfect being, could he fail to -become so under her influence--could he resist such perfection as -hers, become the light and guidance of his home? It is needless to -repeat the flimsy foolish strain of the arguments which bewildered and -beguiled the girl. She met her father and her brother with vehement -opposition, and replied to everything they urged, that she alone knew, -she only understood Godfrey, and she was not going to forsake him to -serve the turn of interested calumniators. - -This taunt, aimed at the brother, did not hit the mark. He had not the -least notion to what it referred. The young man spoke frankly and -gently to the infatuated girl, lamented his own easy credulity which -had at first betrayed his judgment, and finally left the matter in his -father's hands, only entreating him to be firm, and to take into -consideration, in addition to what he had told him, certain -circumstances which had come to the knowledge of James Dugdale. For -himself, the pain of enforced association with his quondam friend -would soon be at an end. The brigade of Royal Artillery to which he -belonged was then under orders for Canada, and this was to be his -farewell visit to his home. - -The brother and sister parted, in sorrow on Haldane's part--in silent -and sullen estrangement on Margaret's. The girl's heart was full of -angry and bitter revolt, and of the keen indignation which -inexperienced youth feels against those who strive to serve it against -its will. They were trying to protect her from herself--to save her -from the worst of evils--the most cruel of destinies; and she treated -them as if they had been, as indeed she believed them to be, her worst -enemies. - -But they were not to succeed--Margaret was not to be saved. The girl's -life at home--though no one molested her--though her father, if the -matter were not pressed upon his attention, took no notice--though her -stepmother was, as usual, coldly but civilly negligent of her--though -James Dugdale maintained his inoffensive reserve--became intolerable -to her; intolerable through its loneliness--intolerable by reason of -its cross-purposes. The one thought, the one image, the one hope for -which she lived was not only unshared, but condemned by those with -whom she lived. The one name precious to her heart, delightful to her -ears, was never spoken within her hearing--the little world she lived -in ignored him who was all the world to her. - -When Haldane Carteret had been three months in Canada, Godfrey -Hungerford was dismissed the service for conduct unbecoming an officer -and a gentleman; and in another month, Margaret Carteret had -clandestinely left her home, joined her lover, and become his wife. - -The shock to her father was very severe. It was the first misfortune -of his life, including his first wife's death, to which "specimens" -offered no alleviation. It was not an evil which brought finality with -it; and Mr. Carteret therefore found it difficult to bear. If Margaret -had died, her father would have grieved for her, no doubt, but there -would have been an end of it; now, though no one could foresee or -foretell the end, it was easy to prognosticate evil as the result, and -impossible to hope for good. - -Like all men of his sort, Mr. Carteret had a great horror of the -openly violent and aggressive vices of men. He was incapable of -understanding the amount of suffering to be inflicted upon women by -the supineness, selfishness, indolence, imprudence, or eccentricity of -their husbands and fathers; but the mere idea of a woman being in the -power of a man who actually got drunk, lost or won money at cards or -dice, used bad language, or had any stain of dishonesty on his name, -was terrible to his harmless, if valueless, nature. - -Mrs. Carteret was extremely indifferent. Of course it was an -unpleasant occurrence, and people would talk unpleasantly about it; -but she had never pretended to care much for, or interfere with Miss -Carteret,--and no one could blame her. - -Of all those who had shared her life, who had seen her grow from -childhood to girlhood, James Dugdale was the only one who had made -Margaret Carteret's character a subject of close and loving study--the -only one who understood its strength and its weakness, its forcible -points of contrast, its lurking dangers, its unseen resources. He knew -her intellectual qualities, he knew her imaginativeness, and -understood the danger which lurked in it for her--a danger which had -already taken so delusive and fatal a form. With all the prescience of -a calm and unselfish affection, he feared for the girl's future, and -grieved as only mature wisdom and disinterested love can grieve over -the follies and illusions, the inevitable suffering and -disenchantment, of youth and wilfulness. - -"She has a dreadful life before her," said her misjudged and despised -friend to himself, as he left Margaret's father, after the two had -discussed the letter in which the misguided girl had informed him of -her marriage; "a dreadful life, I fear, and believe; but, if she lives -through it, and over it, and takes it rightly, she may be a noble and -strong woman yet, though never a happy one." - -For some time Margaret Hungerford's communications with her family -were brief and infrequent. She said nothing in her letters of -happiness or the reverse, and she made no request to be permitted to -revisit her former home. She never wrote to or heard from her brother. - -After a while a formal application was made to Mr. Carteret by Mr. -Hungerford for pecuniary assistance, as he had determined to try his -fortune in Australia. To this Mr. Carteret replied that he would give -Margaret half the small fortune which was to have been hers on his -death, but required that it should be distinctly understood that she -had nothing more to expect from him. - -Mr. Carteret went up to London and drew the sum he had named, 500_l_., -out of the funds, and availed himself of that opportunity to make his -will, by which he bequeathed to his son all his property, a -life-interest in the greater part of which had been secured to his -wife by settlement. This done, and provided with the money he had -named, he went to see Margaret and her husband. The meeting was brief -and final. Mr. Carteret returned on the following day to Chayleigh. - -Godfrey Hungerford and his wife were to sail for Sydney in a -fortnight, he told Mrs. Carteret, in reply to her polite but quite -uninterested inquiries. Nor was he much more communicative to James -Dugdale. - -"How does she look?" he asked. - -The father made no reply, but shook his head, and moved his hands -nervously among the papers on the table before him. - -"Already!" said James Dugdale, when he had softly left the room, and -then he went away and shut himself up alone. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. - - -If it were possible to linger over the story of Margaret Hungerford's -life--if other and later interests did not peremptorily claim -attention--how much might be said concerning it? On the surface, it -had many features in common with other lives; and the destruction of -a fancy, the awaking to a truth, terrible and not to be eluded, is -the least rare of mental processes. But the individual history -of every mind, of every heart, has features unlike those of all -others--features worthy, in even the humblest and simplest lives, of -close scanning and of faithful reproduction. Margaret Hungerford was -not an ordinary person; she had strongly-pronounced intellectual and -moral characteristics, and her capacity, whether for good or evil time -and her destiny alone could tell, was great. - -The very intensity of her nature, which had made it easy for her to be -deceived, easy for her to build a fair fabric of hope and love on no -sounder foundation than her fancy, made it inevitable that the truth -should come with terrible force to her, and be understood in its -fullest extent and in its darkest meaning--that most full of terror -and despair. - -The external circumstances of her life subsequent to her marriage did -not affect Margaret Hungerford so much as might have been anticipated, -in consideration of her delicate nurture, her previous life of -seclusion, and her habitual refinement. She was destined to encounter -many vicissitudes, to endure poverty, hardship, uncertainty, solitude -of the absolute kind, and of that kind which is still more -unbearable--enforced companionship with the mean and base, not in -position merely, but in soul. - -She had to endure many actual privations--to do many things, to -witness many scenes which, if they had been unfolded to her in the -home of her girlhood, uncongenial as it had been, as probabilities -lurking in the plan of the fixture, she would have merely regarded -with unalarmed incredulity, would have put aside as things which never -could have any existence. - -But these things, when they came, she bore well--bore them with -strength and patience, with quiet resolution and almost indifference, -which, had there been any one to contemplate the girl's life, and -study her character at that time, would have revealed the truth that -worse things than privation and hardship had come to her, and had -rendered them indifferent to her. - -Worse things had come. Knowledge and experience, which had outraged -her pride and tortured her love, crushed her faith, scattered her -hopes, and left her life a desert waste, whence the flowers of youth -and trust had been uprooted, and which lay bare to be trampled under -foot of invading foes. - -Margaret's delusion had lasted so short a time after her marriage that -the first feeling her discovery of the utter worthlessness of the man -into whose hands she had committed her fate produced in her mind was -dread and distrust of herself. - -Was this fading away of love, this dying out of all respect, of all -enthusiasm, this dreary hopelessness and fast coming disbelief in -good, was all this inconstancy on her part? Was she false to her own -feelings, or had she mistaken them? Was she light and fickle, as men -were said to be? - -But this dread soon subsided: it could not long disturb Margaret's -clear good sense. The fault was not hers; she was not inconstant, -though she no longer loved Godfrey Hungerford. The truth was, she had -never known him; there was no such person as her fancy had created and -called by his name. - -She had believed herself to be doing a fine heroic thing when she -married a disgraced man, a man unjustly judged of his fellows, one -against whom the world had set itself--why, she did not quite know, -but probably from envy--and who therefore needed her love and fidelity -more than a prosperous man could need them. It was a foolish, girlish, -not unnatural delusive notion of grandeur and self-sacrifice, and, -added to the fascination exerted over her by Godfrey Hungerford's good -looks and artistic love-making, it had hurried Margaret to her doom. - -The girl married, as she believed, a hero, with a few follies perhaps, -all to be forsworn and forsaken when she should be his, to guide and -inspire every moment of his life, and whose unjust penalties her love -was to render harmless. What did she not believe him to be! Brave, -true, generous, devoted, clever, energetic, unworldly, poetical, -high-minded, and pure--the ideal man who was to disprove those horrid -sayings of disappointed persons, that the lover and the husband are -very different beings, and that "man's love is of man's life a thing -apart." - -_They_ would prove it to be their "whole existence." Could any -sacrifice be too great to make for such a prize as this? No. The -sacrifice was made by him. Who would not have loved and married -Godfrey Hungerford? She did not believe that any one could be so bad -as to believe the accusation brought against him by a low mean clique, -a set of men who could not bear to know that he was cleverer at -card-playing than they were--just as he was cleverer at anything -else--and who did not know how to lose their money like gentlemen. Of -course, as he never could be secured against meeting persons of the -sort, it was much better that Godfrey should make up his mind, as he -had done, never to touch a card after their marriage. - -And then how great was his love for her! How delightful was the scheme -of the future, according to his casting of it! So Margaret dreamed her -dream, and when the waking came she blamed herself that she could -dream it no longer, and could not be lulled to sleep again. - -Godfrey Hungerford has no place in this story, and there is no need to -enter into details of the life he led, and condemned his wife to. He -proved the exact reverse of all she had believed him. Base, mean, -cowardly, in the sense of the cowardice which makes a man -systematically cruel to every creature, human and brute, within his -power, though ready to face danger for bravado's, and exertion for -boasting's sake, or either for that of money--a liar, a gambler, and a -profligate. - -He laughed at her credulity when she quoted his promises to her, and -ridiculed her amazement and disgust as ignorance of life, girlish -folly, and squeamishness. In a fitful, "worthless" sort of way, he -liked and admired her to the end; but the truthfulness that was in her -prevented Margaret from taking advantage of this contemptible remnant -of feeling to obtain easier terms of life. She had ceased to love him, -and she never disguised the fact--she let him see it; when he -questioned her, in a moment of maudlin sentiment, she told him so -quite plainly; and her tyrant made the truthfulness which could not -stoop to simulation a fresh cause of complaint against her. - -What Margaret suffered, no words, not even her own, could tell; but -the material troubles, the grinding anxieties of her life, deadened -her sense of grief after a time. They were always poor. Money melted -in the hands of her worthless, selfish husband. Sometimes he made a -little, in some of the numerous ways in which money was to be made in -colonial life, sometimes he was quite unemployed. He was always -dissolute and a spendthrift. - -It was hard training for Margaret, severe teaching, and not more full -of actual pain, privation, and toil than of bitter humiliation. They -moved about from place to place, for at each Godfrey Hungerford became -known and shunned. - -Villany and vice were loud and rampant indeed in the New World then, -as now; but he was not so clever as the superior villains, and not so -low, not so irretrievably ruffianly, as the inferior ruffians, and it -fell out, somehow, that he did not find any permanent place, or take -any specific rank, among them. Of necessity, suffering, both moral and -material, was his wife's lot, and it was wonderful that such suffering -did not degrade, that it only hardened her. It certainly did harden -her, making her cold, indifferent, and difficult to be touched by, or -convinced of, good, or truth, or honesty. - -Of necessity, also, her life had been devoid of companionship. Too -proud to tell her sorrows, and unable to endure the associations into -which her husband's evil life would have led her had she been driven -by loneliness to relax in her resolute isolation, she had neither -sympathy nor pity in her wretchedness. But at length, and when things -were going very hard and ill with her, she found a friend. - -Time, suffering, and disenchantment had taught Margaret Hungerford -many hard and heavy, but salutary, lessons, before the days came which -brought her fate this alleviation; and she did not regret it, because -it had been procured for her by the care and solicitude of James -Dugdale. - -Her love had died--more than died; for there is reverence and pious -grief, with sweetness in its agony, and cherished recollections, to -modify death and make it merciful--it had perished. So had her dislike -of James Dugdale. He had been right, and she had been wrong; and -though he could never be her friend, because she never could admit to -him the one fact or the other, she thought gently and regretfully of -him, when she thought of her old home and of the past at all, which -was not often, for the present absorbed her usually in its misery and -its toil. - -When, in the course of their wanderings, the Hungerfords went to the -then infant town, now the prosperous city, of Melbourne, Margaret sent -home one of her infrequent letters to her father. Thus James Dugdale -learned that the woman whose fate he had so unerringly foreseen--the -woman he loved with calm, disinterested, clear-sighted affection--was -at length within reach of his influence, of his indirect help. - -An old friend, schoolfellow, and college chum--one Hayes Meredith, a -younger man than James Dugdale by a few years--had been among the -first of those tempted from the life of monotonous toil in England by -the vast and exciting prospects which the young colony offered to -energy, industry, ability, and courage. - -Hayes Meredith possessed all these, and some capital too. He had -settled at Port Phillip, and was a thriving and respected member of -the motley community when Godfrey and Margaret Hungerford arrived to -swell the tide of adventure and misery. To him James Dugdale wrote, on -behalf of the woman whose need he divined, whose unhappiness he felt, -with the instinct of sympathy. - -Hayes Meredith responded nobly to his old friend's appeal. He -befriended Margaret steadily, with and without her husband's -knowledge; he won her affection, conquered her reserve, softened her -pride, and, though her fate was beyond amelioration by human aid, he -succeeded in making her actual, everyday life more endurable. - -When Margaret was sought out by Hayes Meredith, release was drawing -near, release from the tremendous evil of her marriage. Godfrey -Hungerford, by this time utterly incapable of any steady pursuit, and -seized with one of the reckless, restless fits which were becoming -more and more frequent with him, joined a party of explorers bound for -the unknown interior of the continent, and, regardless of Margaret's -fears and necessities, left her alone in the town. - -For months she heard nothing of him, or the fate of the expedition; -months during which she was kept from destitution only by Hayes -Meredith's generous and unfailing aid. - -At length news came; a few stragglers from the party of explorers -returned. Godfrey Hungerford was not among them; and the remnant -related that he had been murdered, with two others, by a tribe of -aborigines. - -Hayes Meredith told Margaret the truth; he sustained and comforted her -in the early days of her horror and grief; he counselled her return to -England, and provided money for her voyage. He secured her cabin and -the services of Rose Moore. It was he who bade her farewell upon the -deck of the Boomerang--he of whom she thought as her only friend. - -Margaret had little power of feeling, love, or gratitude in her -now, as she believed, and that little was exerted for the alert, -kindly-voiced, gray-haired, keen-eyed man who left her with a heavy -heart, and said to himself, as the boat shot away from the ship's -side, "Poor girl! she has had hard lines of it hitherto. I wonder what -is before her in England!" - - - - -CHAPTER V. -CHAYLEIGH. - - -A bright soft day in the autumn--a day which appealed to all who dwelt -in houses to come forth and taste the last lingering flavour of the -summer in the sweet air--a day so still and peaceful that the sudden -rustle of the leaves, as a few of their number (_ennuyés_ leaves, -tired of life sooner than their fellows) detached themselves, and -came, gently wafted by the imperceptible air, to the ground, made one -look round, as though at an intrusion upon its perfect repose--a day -which appealed to memory, and said, "Am I not like some other day in -your life, on which you have pondered many things in your heart, and -looked far back into the past without the agony of regret, and on into -the future undisturbed by dread--a restful day, when life has seemed -not bad to have, but very, very good to leave?"--a day on which any -settled, stern, inexorable occupation seemed harder, more unbearable -than usual, even to the least reasonable and most moderate idler--a -day on which the house which Margaret Carteret had forsaken looked -particularly beautiful, tranquil, and inviting. - -The orderliness of Chayleigh was delightful; it was not formal, not -oppressive; it was eminently tasteful. Inside the house and outside it -order reigned, without tyrannising. The lawn was always swept with -extreme nicety, and the flower-beds, though not pruned down to a -tantalising precision, bore evident signs of artistic care. - -The house stood almost in the centre of the small grounds, and long -wide French windows in front, and bow windows in the rear, opened on -smooth grassy terraces, which fell away by gentle inclines towards the -flower-garden in front, and at the back towards a pleasaunce, with -high prim alleys, and bosquets which in the pride of summer were -thickset with roses; and so, to some clumps of noble forest-trees, -behind which, and hidden, was the neat wire-fence which bounded the -small demesne. - -On this soft autumnal day, the three bow windows which opened on the -terrace at the back of the house were open, and every now and then the -white curtains faintly fluttered, and the leaves of the creepers which -luxuriously festooned the window-frames gently rustled. Far above the -height of the central window, an aspiring passion-flower, rich in the -stiff, majestic, symbolical blossom, stretched its branches, until -they wreathed the window just above the centre bow, and aided an -impertinent rose to look into the room. They had looked in ever since -the one had blossom and the other leaves, but they had seen nothing -there that lived or moved. - -The middle room, above the suite of drawing-rooms--whose rosewood -furniture, whose Ambusson carpets, and whose sparkling girandoles -formed the chief delight and pride of Mrs. Carteret's not particularly -capacious heart--had not been used since Margaret Carteret had left -her home to follow the fortunes of her lover. - -That such was the case was not due to any sentiment on Mr. Carteret's -part, or any spite on that of his wife. If the former had happened to -want additional space for any of his drying or "curing" processes, he -would have invaded his daughter's forsaken room without the slightest -hesitation, and, indeed, without recalling the circumstance of her -former occupation, of his own accord; while it was quite safe from -interference on the part of the latter for another and a different -reason. - -Mrs. Carteret's rooms were perfectly comfortable and sufficient, and -she never had "staying company." She knew better. She was quite -sufficiently hospitable without inflicting that trouble on herself, -and she had no notion of it. Indeed, she never had any notion of doing -anything which she did not thoroughly like, or of putting up with any -kind of inconvenience for a moment if it were possible to free herself -from it; and she had generally found it very possible. Life had rolled -along wonderfully smoothly, on the whole, for Mrs. Carteret. She -possessed one advantage which does not always fall to the lot of -supremely selfish and heartless people--she had an easy temper. - -It is refreshing sometimes to observe how much utterly selfish people, -whose sole object in life is to secure pleasure and to banish pain, -suffer by the infliction upon themselves of their own temper. But Mrs. -Carteret was bucklered against fate, even on that side. She took -excellent and successful care that no one else should annoy her, and -she never annoyed herself. It would have afforded a philosophic -observer, indeed, some congenial occupation of mind to divine from -what possible quarter, save that of severe bodily pain, discomfiture -could reach Mrs. Carteret. She was very well off, perfectly healthy, -wholly indifferent to every existing human being except herself and -her cousin, had everything her own way as regarded both objects of -affection, had got rid of her stepdaughter, and had a very comfortable -settlement "in case anything should happen"--according to the queer -formula adopted in speaking of the only absolute certainty in human -events--to Mr. Carteret. - -This seemingly-invulnerable person had no need of Margaret's room -then, and when James Dugdale said to her, - -"If you don't want that middle room over the drawing-room for any -particular purpose, I should be glad to have the use of it for -mounting my drawings, and so on; the light is very good," she said at -once, - -"O yes; you mean Margaret's room, do you not? I don't want it in the -least. I will have it put to rights for you at once; it is full of all -her trumpery." - -No third person listening to the two would ever have discerned that -any matter of feeling, or even embarrassment, had any connection with -the subject under mention, still less that the "Margaret" in question -had so lately left the home of her girlhood on a desperate quest, -which the woman who spoke of her complacently believed to be -desperate. - -"Yes, I mean that room," said James Dugdale in a careless tone; "but -pray don't have anything in it touched. I will see to all that myself; -in fact, presuming on your permission, I have put a lot of my things -in there, and the servants would play the deuce if they meddled with -them. I may keep the key, Sibylla, I suppose?" - -"Of course," replied Mrs. Carteret; and from that moment she never -gave the matter a thought, and James Dugdale had the key of Margaret's -room, and he did put some sketch-books, some sheets of Bristol board, -and other adjuncts of his favourite pursuit on a table, and thus -formally constituted his possession and his pretext. But he seldom -unlocked the door; he rarely entered the apartment, even at first, and -more and more rarely as time stole on, and all his worst fears and -forebodings about Margaret Hungerford had been realised. - -Sometimes, when all the house was quiet, on moonlight nights, his pale -face and bent figure might have been seen, framed in the window, -between the branches of the passion-flower which he had trained. There -he would stand awhile, leaning against the woodwork and gazing into -the sky, in whose vastness, whose distance, whose sameness over all -the world, there is surely some vague comfort for the yearnings of -absence, uncertainty, even hopeless separation, or why is the relief -of it so often, so uniformly sought? - -Sometimes, but not often, he wrote in Margaret's room; one letter -which he had written there had exerted a great influence upon her -fate, how great he little knew. All the girl's little possessions were -in the room, just as she had left them. - -Tidy housemaids, with accurate ideas of the fitness of things, had -come to and gone away from Chayleigh since the sole daughter of the -house had taken her perilous way, according to her headstrong will, -and had been disturbed, and even mutinous, in their minds concerning -the "middle room." But on the whole they had obeyed orders; and James -Dugdale, who had long ceased to be the "tutor," and was supposed to be -Mrs. Carteret's stepbrother by the servants of late date in the -establishment, enjoyed undisturbed possession of the trumpery -water-colour sketches; the little desk with a sloping top, with -"Souvenir" engraved in flourishes on a mother-o'-pearl heart inserted -over the lock; the embroidery-frame, the bead-worked watch-pocket, and -the little library which occupied two hanging shelves, and chiefly -consisted of the "Beauties" of the poets, and a collection of -"Friendship's Offerings" and "Forget-me-nots." - -James Dugdale's thoughts were busy with Margaret Hungerford that sweet -autumn day--more busy with her than usual, more full of apprehension. -The time that had elapsed had not deadened the feelings with which he -regarded the wilful girl, who had scorned his interference, scoffed -at and resented his advice, but been obliged to avail herself of his -aid. - -He knew that she had done so, but he knew nothing more. And as he -roamed about the garden, and the terrace, and the pleasaunce, and -rambled away to where the forest-trees stood stately, idly treading -the fallen leaves under his listless feet, so lately in their green -brightness far above his head, he sickened with longing to know more -definitely the fate of the absent girl. - -"She hated me then," he said with a sigh, as he turned once more -towards the house; "and she is just the woman to hate me more because -she has found out for herself that I was right." - -He little knew how fully, to how far greater an extent than he had -discovered it, Margaret had learned the worthlessness of Godfrey -Hungerford. - -As he crossed the garden, a woman-servant came towards him, and asked -him for the key of "the middle room." The request jarred upon him -somehow, and he asked rather sharply what it was wanted for. - -"We are getting the cleaning done, sir; master and missus is to be -home on Saturday." - -James Dugdale handed the key to the housemaid, and entered the -drawing-room through the open window. - -"I may as well write to Haldane," he muttered. "The Canadian mail -leaves tomorrow." - -When James Dugdale had written his letter, he went out again; but this -time he took his way to the village, intending to post the packet, and -then pursue his way to a "bit" in the vicinity from which he was -making a water-colour drawing. - -As he passed the inn which occupied the place of honour in the hilly -little street, the coach which ran daily from a large town on the -south coast to London was drawn up before the door, and the process of -changing horses was being accomplished to the lively satisfaction of -numerous bystanders, to whom this event, though of daily occurrence, -never ceased to be exciting and interesting. - -James Dugdale glanced carelessly at the clustering villagers and the -idlers about the inn-door, of whom a few touched their hats or pulled -their hair in his honour; observed casually that two female figures -were standing in the floor-clothed passage, and that one of the -ostlers was lifting a heavy trunk, of a seafaring exterior, down from -the luggage-laden top of the coach; and then passed on, and forgot all -these ordinary occurrences. He took his way to the scene of his -intended sketch, and was soon busily engaged with his work. - -When the autumnal day was drawing to its close, and the growing -keenness of the air began to make itself felt, quickly too, by his -sensitive frame, James Dugdale turned his steps homewards, and, taking -the lower road, without again passing through the village, he skirted -the clumps of forest-trees, and entered the little demesne by a small -gate which led into the pleasaunce. - -He had almost reached the grassy terrace, when, glancing upwards, as -was his frequent custom,--it had been his habit in the time gone by, -when Margaret's light figure and girlish face had often met the -upturned glance,--he saw that the window was wide open, and some one -was in the room; saw this with quick impatience, which made him step -back a little, so as to get a clearer view of the intruder, and to -mutter, as he did so, - -"Those confounded servants! What can they be doing there up to this -time?" - -But, as he murmured the words, James Dugdale started violently, and -then stood in fixed, motionless, incredulous amazement. The window of -the middle room was wide open, and against the woodwork, framed by the -blossoms and foliage of the passion-flower, leaned a slight figure, in -a heavy black dress. - -The slender hands were clasped together, and showed white against the -sombre garb; the pale, clear-cut, severe young face, lighted by the -last rays of the quickly-setting autumn sun, looked out upon the -tranquil scene; but on every feature sat the deepest abstraction. The -eyes were heedless of all near objects, fixed apparently upon the -trees in the distance; they took no heed of the figure standing in -rapt astonishment upon the terrace. - -Not until James Dugdale uttered her name with a faltering, with an -almost frightened voice, as one might address a spirit, did the face -in the window droop, and the eyes search for the speaker. But then -Margaret Hungerford leaned forward, and said, quite calmly, - -"Yes, Mr. Dugdale, it is I." - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -HALF-CONFIDENCES. - - -"You cannot surely be serious--you do not really mean it?" said James -Dugdale, in a pleading tone, to Margaret Hungerford, as, some hours -after he had discovered her presence at Chayleigh, they were talking -together in the drawing-room. - -"I do mean it," she replied. "You never understood me, I think, and -you certainly do not understand me now, if you think I shall remain -here dependent on my father, having left his house as I did." - -James Dugdale did not speak for some minutes. He was pondering upon -what she had said. He had never understood her! If not he, who ever -had? Unjust to him she had always been, and she was still unjust to -him. But that did not matter: it was of her he must think, not of -himself. - -The first bewildering surprise of Margaret's arrival had passed away; -the mingled strangeness and familiarity of seeing her again, changed -as she was, in the old home so long forsaken, had taken its place, and -James Dugdale was looking at her, and listening to her, like a man in -a dream. - -Their meeting had been very calm and emotionless. Margaret, in -addition to the hardness of manner which had grown upon her in her -hard life, had felt no pleasure in seeing James Dugdale again. She had -not quite forgiven him, even yet, and, though she was relieved by -finding that the first explanations were to be given to him, and not -to her father or Mrs. Carteret, she had made them ungraciously enough, -and with just sufficient formal acknowledgment of the service which -James Dugdale had rendered her, in securing to her the friendship and -aid of Hayes Meredith, as convinced her sensitive hearer that she -would rather have been indebted to the kindness of any other person. - -On certain points he found her reserve invulnerable; and he was not -slow to suspect that she had made up her mind exactly as to how much -of her past life she would reveal, and how much should remain -concealed; and he did not doubt her power of adhering to such a -resolution. She had briefly alluded to her widowhood, acknowledged the -kindness she had experienced from Hayes Meredith, said a little about -the poverty in which he had found her, and had then left the subject -of herself and all concerning her, as if it wearied her, and with a -decision of manner which prevented James Dugdale from questioning her -further. - -Her questions regarding her father, her brother, and all that had -occurred at Chayleigh during her absence, were numerous and minute, -and James answered them without reserve or hesitation. They chiefly -related to facts. Margaret dealt but slightly in sentiment; but when -she asked James if her father spoke of her sometimes, there was a -little change in the tone of her voice, a slight accession of paleness -which she could not disguise. - -"At first, very seldom; in fact, hardly ever, Margaret, for I see you -wish the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; but more frequently -of late. Only the day before he and Mrs. Carteret went to Bath, -he--you remember his way--was showing me a peculiarly repulsive -specimen of some singularly hideous insect, and he said, 'How pleased -Margery would have been with _that_.' Quite a hallucination, if I -remember rightly, but still pleasant to hear him say it, and showed me -that he was thinking of you. You see this as I do?" - -"O yes," she answered, with a smile that was a little hard and bitter, -"very pleasant; indeed, the pleasantest possible association of ideas -according to papa. And--and Mrs. Carteret?" - -James Dugdale hesitated for a little, and then he said, - -"You remember what Sibylla is, Margaret, and you know she never cared -much for you, or Haldane--" - -"Particularly for _me_," she interrupted, in a tone whose assumed -lightness did not impose on James. "Well, she need not fear any -intrusion or importunity from me. I have come here because I must--I -must see my father once more, before I have for ever done with the old -life and begin with the new." - -"Are you going away again, Margaret?" said James, astonished. "Going -away, after having come home through such suffering and difficulty! -Why is this?" - -And then it was that Margaret asked him if he were really serious in -supposing she had any other intention. - -The truth was, she had very vague notions of what she should do with -herself. The pride and self-will of her nature, which the suffering -she had undergone in Australia had somewhat tamed, had had time for -their reawakening during the long voyage; and it was not in the most -amiable of moods that Margaret reached her former home. - -"Whatever my fault may have been, I have fully expiated it; and I must -have peace now, and forgetfulness, if it is to be had," was the form -her thoughts took. - -She had not been recognised at the village inn, where she had left -Rose Moore and her scanty luggage, and the servant who had opened the -door of her father's house to her was a stranger. He might fairly have -hesitated to admit a lady whom he did not know; but Margaret's manner -of announcing herself permitted no hesitation within his courage. His -master and mistress were not at home, the man said, but she could see -Mr. Dugdale when he came in. So she walked into the drawing-room, and -James was sought for, but not found. - -What agony of spirit the young widow underwent, when she found herself -once more in the scene of the vanished past, none but she ever knew. -The worst of it had passed away when James saw her leaning out of the -window, a picture framed in the branches of the passion-flower. - -The hours of the evening went rapidly by, though the talk of the -strangely-assorted companions was constrained and bald. Margaret was -resolute in her refusal to remain at Chayleigh. James Dugdale, she -argued, might believe that her father would gladly receive her; but he -could not know that he would, and she would await that welcome before -she made her old home even a temporary abode. A few sentences sufficed -to show James that this determination was not to be overcome. - -"At least you are not alone," he said; and then she explained to him -that Hayes Meredith had engaged an Irish girl, named Rose Moore, to -act as her maid during the voyage, and that the girl, having become -attached to her, was willing to defer her departure to Ireland for a -few days, until she, Margaret, had made some definite arrangement -about her own future. - -"I got used to Irish people at Melbourne," said Margaret, "and I like -them. I have half a mind to go to Ireland with Rose. I suppose -people's children want governesses there, and people themselves want -companions as well as here; and I fancy they are kind and cordial -there." - -"You must be very much altered, Margaret," returned James gravely, "if -you are fit to be either a governess or a _dame de compagnie_. I don't -think you had much in you to fit you for either function." - -"I am very much altered," she said; "and what I am fit for, or not fit -for, neither you nor any one can tell. There is only one thing which -would come to me that would surprise or disconcert me _now_." - -She rose as she spoke, and drew her heavy black cloak, which she had -only loosened, not laid aside, closely around her. - -"And that is--" said James. - -"Finding myself happy again, or being deceived into thinking myself -so," she said quickly and bitterly. - -This was the first thoroughly unrestrained sentence she had spoken in -all their conversation, the first clear glimpse she had given James -Dugdale into the depths of her heart and experience. - -They went out of the house together, and she walked by his side--he -did not offer his arm--to the village. The night was bright and -beautiful, and some of its calm came to the heart of Margaret, and -reflected itself in her pale steadfast face. The road which they took -wound past the well-kept fences and ornamental palings of a handsome -place, much larger than Chayleigh, which, in Margaret's time, had been -in the possession of Sir Richard Davyntry, whose good graces, and -those of Lady Davyntry, she remembered her stepmother to have been -particularly anxious to cultivate. - -Mrs. Carteret had not succeeded remarkably well in this design, and -her failure was conspicuously due to her treatment of Margaret; for -Lady Davyntry was a motherly kind of woman, much younger than Mrs. -Carteret, and whose own childless condition was a deep and -unaffectedly-avowed grief to her. - -As Margaret and her companion passed the gates of Davyntry, she -remembered these "childish things," as they seemed to her now, and she -paused to look at the stately trees, and the fine old Elizabethan -house, on whose gilded vane the moonlight was shining coldly. - -She asked if Sir Richard and Lady Davyntry were staying there just -now, adding, "As I remember them, they were not people who, having a -country house and place combining everything any one can possibly wish -for, make a point of leaving it just when all is most beautiful." - -"No," said James Dugdale, "they certainly are not; and Sir Richard -stuck to it, poor fellow, as long as he could; but he died nearly a -year ago, and not at Davyntry either--at his brother-in-law's place in -Scotland." - -"Indeed!" said Margaret. "I am sorry for Sir Richard, and more sorry -still for Lady Davyntry; she is a widow indeed, I am sure. Perhaps she -wants a lady companion. I might offer myself: how pleased Mrs. -Carteret would be!" - -"Margaret!" said James Dugdale reprovingly. - -He spoke in the tone which had been familiar to him in the days when -he had been "the tutor" and Margaret his pupil; and she laughed for a -moment with something of the same saucy laugh with which she had been -used to meet a remonstrance from him in those old days. James -Dugdale's heart beat rapidly at the sound; for the first time, her -coming, her presence seemed real to him. - -"Well, well, I won't be spiteful," said Margaret. "Is Lady Davyntry -here?" - -"Yes; she has been more than a month at Davyntry. Her brother is with -her, and a remarkably nice fellow he is. I see a good deal of him." - -"I don't remember him. I don't think I ever saw him," said Margaret -absently. "What is his name?" - -James Dugdale did not note the question, but replied to the first part -of the sentence. - -"I don't think you can have seen him. He was abroad for some years -after his sister's marriage; indeed, he never was here in Sir -Richard's lifetime--never saw him, I believe, until he and Lady -Davyntry went to Scotland, on a visit, and he died there." - -"Is he here now?" Margaret asked in an indifferent manner. - -"Yes," returned James; "I told you so. He comes to Chayleigh a -good deal. He is nearly as fond of natural history as your father, -and nearly as fond of drawing as I am; so we are a mutual -resource--Chayleigh and Davyntry I mean." - -"And his name?" again asked Margaret quietly. - -"Did I not tell you? Don't you remember it? Surely you must have heard -the name; it is not a common one--Fitzwilliam Meriton Baldwin." - -"No, it is not common, and rather nice. I never heard it before, that -I remember. We have arrived, I see; and there is Rose Moore looking -out for me, like an impulsive Irish girl as she is, instead of -preserving the decorous indifference of the truly British domestic. -You will let me know when my father arrives. No, I shall not go to -Chayleigh again until his return. Good-night, Mr. Dugdale." - - -She had disappeared, followed by her attendant, whose frank handsome -face had candidly expressed an amount of disapprobation of James -Dugdale's personal appearance to which he was, fortunately, perfectly -accustomed and philosophically indifferent. Fate had done its worst -for him in that respect long before; and he had turned away from the -inn-door, and was walking rapidly down the road again, when a cheery -voice addressed him: - -"Hallo, Dugdale! Where are you going at this time of night? and what -are you thinking of? I shouted at you in vain, and thought I should -never catch you. Are you going home? Yes?--then we shall be together -as far as Davyntry." - -The speaker was a young man, perhaps six-and-twenty years old, a -little over middle height, and, though not remarkably handsome, he -presented as strong a contrast in personal appearance to James Dugdale -as could be desired. He had a fair complexion, bright-blue eyes, with -an expression of candour and happiness in them as rare as it was -attractive, light-brown hair, and a lithe alert figure, full of grace -and activity. In the few words which he had spoken there was something -winning and open, a tone of entire sincerity and gladness almost -boyish; and it had its charm for the older and careworn man, who -answered cheerily, as he linked his arm with his own: - -"It is always pleasant to meet you, Baldwin; but to-night it's a -perfect godsend." - - - - -CHAPTER VII. -THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. - - -The communication which James Dugdale made to Mr. Carteret on his -arrival at Chayleigh was received by that gentleman not altogether -without agitation, but with more pleasure than the ex-tutor had -expected. - -Mr. Carteret had missed his daughter, in his quiet way, and had -occasionally experienced something which approached remorse during her -absence, when he pondered on the probabilities of her fate, and found -himself forced to remember how different it might have been had he -"looked after" the motherless girl a little more closely, had he -extended some more sympathy to her and exerted himself to understand -her, instead of confining his fatherly-fondness to occasional petting -and careful avoidance of being bored by her. - -Mr. Carteret was easily reconciled to most things, but he had never -succeeded in reconciling himself thoroughly to Margaret's marriage and -her exile, and he heard of her return with equal pleasure and relief. -These feelings expanded into positive joy when he learned the -delightful fact of Godfrey Hungerford's death. - -In the first vague apprehension of James Dugdale's news, he had -imagined that Margaret had left her husband and come home, and even -that he hailed with satisfaction. But to know that his son-in-law was -safely dead was an element of unmitigated good fortune in the matter. -And so strongly and unaffectedly did Mr. Carteret feel this, that he -departed from his usual mild method of speech on the occasion, and -delivered himself of some very strong language indeed. - -"The infernal scoundrel!" he said; "he made her miserable, I've no -doubt. She'll never tell us anything about it, James, if I am not much -mistaken in her, or she is not very much changed; and so much the -better. I don't want to hear anything about him; I should like to -think I should never hear his name mentioned again as long as I live!" - -"Most likely you never will hear it mentioned, sir," said James. "If -you like, I'll tell Margaret you would rather she did not talk about -him." - -"Do, do," said Mr. Carteret eagerly. He hated explanations, and would -never encounter anything he disliked if he could at all decently avoid -doing so. "The only good or pleasant thing that could be heard in -connection with the fellow, I heard when you told me he was under the -sod, and there is no use in hearing bad and unpleasant things. Of -course, the child knows she is welcome home; and the very best thing -she can do is to forget the scoundrel ever existed." - -The ignorance of human nature, and the oblivion of his wife's -peculiarities, which this speech betrayed, were equally characteristic -of Mr. Carteret; but James Dugdale could not smile at them when -Margaret was concerned. - -He determined to say nothing to the young widow's father about her -expressed resolution of leaving Chayleigh again, but to abandon that -issue to circumstances and the success of the mode of argument he -intended to pursue with Mrs. Carteret. He would go and fetch Margaret -home presently, when he had spoken to his cousin. He thought it better -her father should not accompany him, and Mr. Carteret, who had some -very choice beetles to unpack and prepare, thought so too. - -He delightedly anticipated Margaret's pleasure in exploring the -extended treasures of his collection, and was altogether in such an -elated state of mind that he had consigned the whole of Margaret's -married life as completely to oblivion as he had forgotten the partner -of that great disaster, by the time James Dugdale passed before the -windows of his study on his way to fulfil his mission of peace and -reconciliation. - -It never occurred to him to think about how his wife was likely to -take the news of Margaret's return. Mrs. Carteret had not given him -any trouble herself, or permitted other people to give him any -trouble, since Margaret and Haldane had gone their own way in life, -and he was not afraid of her departing now from that excellent rule of -conduct. - -"Margaret is not a child now, and they are sure to get on together," -said the mild and inexperienced elderly gentleman, as he daintily -handled some insect remains as reverently as if they had been mummies -of the Rameses; "each can have her own way." He had forgotten -Margaret's "own way," and he knew very little about Mrs. Carteret's. - -It was rather odd that his wife did not come to talk about the news -that James Dugdale had communicated to her. He wondered at that a -little. He would go and find her, and they should talk it over -together, presently, when he had put this splendid scarabaeus all -right--a great creature!--how fortunate he had secured it, just as old -Fooster was on the scent of it too! - -And so Mr. Carteret went on, and the minutes went on, and he had not -yet completed his arrangements for the adequate display of the -scarabaeus, when two figures, one in heavy black robes, passed quickly -between him and the light. A window-sash was thrown up from the -outside, and Margaret Hungerford's arms were round her father's neck. - -Under the roof of Chayleigh, on that bright autumn night, there was -but one tranquil sleeper. That one was Mr. Carteret. He was thoroughly -happy. Margaret had come home, Godfrey Hungerford was dead, and she -had never mentioned his name. - -He felt some tepid gratitude towards Hayes Meredith: of course he -should at once repay him the sums advanced to Margaret, and it would -be a good opportunity of extending his correspondence and his -scientific investigations--the Australian fauna had much to disclose. - -He had experienced a slight shock at observing the change in -Margaret's appearance; but that had passed away, and when Mr. Carteret -fell asleep that night he acknowledged that everything was for the -best in the long-run. - -Mrs. Carteret had behaved very well. She had met Margaret kindly, with -as much composure as if she had been away from home on a week's visit; -had inquired whether "her maid" would remain at Chayleigh; had added -that "her things" should be placed in her "former" room; and had -evinced no further consciousness of the tremendous change which had -befallen her stepdaughter than was implied in the remark that "widow's -caps were not made so heavy now," and that Margaret's "crape skirt -needed renewal." - -The evening had passed away quietly. To two of the four individuals -who composed the little party it had seemed like a dream from which -they expected soon to awaken. Those two were Margaret Hungerford and -James Dugdale. - -One slight interruption had occurred. A note had been handed to Mrs. -Carteret from Lady Davyntry. She had heard of the return of her former -"pet" to Chayleigh--the expression was as characteristic of Lady -Davyntry as it was unsuitably applied to Margaret, who was an -unpromising subject for "petting"--and hoped to see her soon. Mr. -Meriton Baldwin would forego the pleasure of calling at Chayleigh that -evening, as he could not think of intruding so soon after the arrival -of Mrs. Hungerford. - -Mrs. Carteret threw down the letter with rather an ill-tempered jerk, -and her face bore an expression which Margaret remembered with painful -distinctness, as she said, - -"Very absurd, I think. I don't suppose that Margaret would object to -our seeing our friends because she is here." - -The speech was not framed as a question; but Margaret answered it, -lifting up her head and her fair throat as she spoke, after a fashion -which one observer, at least, thought infinitely beautiful. - -"Certainly not, Mrs. Carteret. Pray do not allow me to interfere with -any of your usual proceedings." - -And then she went on talking to her father about the habits of the -kangaroo. - -The thoughts which held Mrs. Carteret's eyes waking that night were -anything but agreeable. She did not exactly know how she stood with -regard to her stepdaughter. If she determined on making the house too -unpleasant for her to bear it, she might find herself in collision -with her husband and her cousin at once, unless she could contrive -that the unpleasantness should be of a kind which Margaret's -pride--which she detected to be little, if at all, subdued by the -experiences of her married life--would induce her to hide from the -observation of both. - -Margaret should not live at Chayleigh if Mrs. Carteret could prevent -it; but whatever means she used to carry her purpose into effect must -be such as James Dugdale could not discover or thwart. The thing would -be difficult to do; but Mrs. Carteret had well-grounded confidence in -her own power of carrying a point, and this was one which must be held -over for the present. It was agreeable to be able to decide that, at -all events, Margaret was no beauty, that she was decidedly much less -handsome than she had been as what Mrs. Carteret called "a raw girl." - -And this was true, to the perception of a superficial observer. -Margaret looked very far from handsome as she sat in a corner of the -bow-window of the drawing-room, her small thin hands folded and -motionless, her head, with its hideous covering, bent down; her pale -face, sharpened by the angle at which the light struck it, and her -whole figure, in its deep black dress, unrelieved by the slightest -ornament or grace of form, pervaded by an expression of weariness and -defeat. She might have been a woman of thirty years old, and who had -never been handsome, to the perception of any stranger who had then -and thus seen her. - -But, three hours later in the night, when Margaret Hungerford was -alone in the room which had been the scene of her girlish dreams and -hopes, of the fond and beautiful delusion so terribly dissipated--in -the room where her dead mother had watched her in her sleep, where she -had read and yielded to the lover's prayer which lured her from her -home--when she was quite alone, and was permitting the waves of memory -to rush over her soul;--no one would have said, who could then have -seen her, that Margaret was not handsome. Her face was one capable of -intensity of expression in every mood of feeling, and as mobile as it -was powerful. The wakeful hours of that night passed over her while -another crisis in her life was lived through--another crisis somewhat -resembling, and yet differing from, that which had marked the first -hours of her voyage. - -She had sent Rose Moore away as soon as she could, but not before the -girl had imparted to her her conviction that English people, always -excepting Margaret, were "square." She could not understand the -tranquillity of the widowed daughter's reception at Chayleigh. The -reception awaiting her in the "ould country" would be of a very -different kind, "plase God," she added internally; and the extent and -importance of the business of eating and drinking among the servants -had gone nigh to exasperate her. - -Rose was devoted to Margaret, but she thought the sooner she and her -mistress turned their back on a place where servants sat down to four -regular meals a day, and did not as much as know the meaning of the -"Mass," the better. - -"She'll never do for these people," the girl thought, as she waited -for Margaret in her room; "she's restless with sorrow, and it's not a -nice nate place, like this, with the back parlour full of spiders laid -out in state, as if they were wakin' them, and little boxes full of -bones--nor yet the drawin'-room, all done out with bades, and a -mother, by way of, sittin' in it that 'ud think more of one of her -tay-cups bein' chipped than of the young crayture's heart bein' -broken--that'll ever bring comfort or consolation to the likes of -her." - -The thoughts which had put themselves into such simple words in the -Irish girl's mind had considerable affinity with Margaret's own, but -in her they took more tumultuous form. The strong purpose, half -remorse, half vain-longing, which had brought her home, was fulfilled. -She had seen the place she had left, and thoroughly realised that her -former self had been left with it. - -The few hours which had passed had made her comprehend that her life, -her nature, were things apart from Chayleigh; she could not, if she -would, take up the story of her girlhood where she had closed the -book. Between her and every former association, the dark and miserable -years of her married life--unreal as they seemed now--almost as unreal -as the illusion under which she had entered upon them--had placed an -impassable gulf. - -Wrapped in a dressing-gown, and with her dark hair loose upon her -shoulders, Margaret paced her room from end to end, and strove with -her thoughts. She was a puzzle to herself. What discord there was -between her--a woman who had suffered such things, seen such sights, -heard such words as she had seen, and heard, and suffered--and the -calm, well-regulated, comfortable household here! If she had ever -contemplated remaining an inmate of her father's house, this one -night's commune with herself would have forced her to recognise the -impossibility of her doing so. The stain and stamp of her wanderings -were upon her; she could not find rest here, or yet. - -Her father's dreamy ways; the selfishness, heartlessness, -empty-headedness of Mrs. Carteret; the distaste she felt for James -Dugdale's presence, though she persuaded herself she was striving to -be grateful;--all these things, separately and collectively, she felt, -but they did not present themselves to her as the true sources of her -present uncontrollable feelings: she knew how utterly she was changed -now only when she knew--for it was knowledge, not apprehension--that -the home to which she had found her way of access so much easier than -she had thought for, could never be a resting-place for her. - -Was there any resting-place anywhere? Had she still to learn that -life's lessons are not exhausted by one or two great shocks of -experience, but are daily tasks until the day, "never so weary or -long," has been "rung to evensong"? She was a puzzle to herself in -another respect. No grief for the dead husband, the lover for whom she -had left the home which could not be restored, had come back to her. -No gentle tender chord had been touched in her heart, to give forth -his name in mournful music. - -In this, the truth, the intellectual strength of her nature, unknown -to her, revealed themselves. No sentimentality veiled the truth from -Margaret. She had said to herself that it was well for her her husband -was dead, no matter what should come after, and she never unsaid -it,--not even in the hours of emotional recollection and mental strife -which formed her first night under her father's roof. - -Standing by the window at which James Dugdale had first caught sight -of her the day before, Margaret clasped her hands over her head and -looked out drearily. The moon was high, the light was cold and -ghastly. She thought how she had seen the same chill gleam upon the -shimmering sea, and upon the grassy wastes of the distant land she had -left; and the fancy came to her that it was to be always moonlight -with her for evermore. - -"No more sunshine; no more of the glow, and the glitter, and the -warmth--that is done with for me. There's no such thing as happiness, -and I must only try to find, instead, hard work." - -There was another wakeful head at Chayleigh that night. James -Dugdale was but too well accustomed to sleepless nights, companioned -by the searching, mysterious pain which so often attends upon -deformity--pain, as if unseen fingers questioned the distorted limbs -and lingered among the disturbed nerves; but it was not that which -kept him waking now. - -It was that he, too, was face to face with his fate, questioning it of -its past deeds and its intentions for the future--a little bitterly -questioning it, perhaps, and yet with more resignation than rancour -after all, considering what the mind of the man was, and what a -prison-house it tenanted. Among the innumerable crowd of thoughts -which pursued and pressed upon each other, there was one all the more -distinct that he felt and strove against its unworthiness. - -"I am so thankful she is at home--so glad for her sake. Nothing could -be so well for her, since the past is irrevocable; but nothing could -be so bad, at least nothing could be worse for me. No, nothing, -nothing." - -And James Dugdale, happily blind to the further resources of his -destiny, felt something like a dreary sense of peace arising within -him as he assured himself over and over again of the finality to which -it had attained. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -MRS. CARTERET IS CONGRATULATED. - - -"I am positively dying to see her--I am indeed; you have no notion -what a darling she is. I am sure you would be delighted with her, -Fitzwilliam!" - -These gushing sentiments were uttered by Lady Davyntry, and addressed -to her brother, Mr. Fitzwilliam Meriton Baldwin, while they were at -breakfast together, on the morning after Lady Davyntry's note had been -received at Chayleigh. - -Lady Davyntry was given to gushing. She was a harmless, emotional kind -of woman, who had led a perfectly discreet and comfortable life, and -had never known a sorrow until the death of her husband. - -Lady Davyntry was a very pretty woman--as pretty at her present age, -thirty-five, as she had been at any time since she had turned the -corner of extreme youth. Her mild, lambent blue eyes were as bright as -they had ever been, and her fair, rather thick skin had lost neither -its purity nor its polish. - -She had been rich, well cared for, and happy all her life; she had -never had any occasion to exert herself; the "sorrows of others" had -cast but light and fleeting "shadows over" her; and her -sentimentalism, and the romance which had not been much developed in -the course of her prosperous uneventful life, were quite ready for any -demands that might be made upon them by an event of so much local -interest as the return of Mr. Carteret's daughter, whose marriage was -generally understood to have been very unfortunate. - -She was interested in the occurrence for more than the sufficient -reason that she had liked and pitied Margaret in her neglected -girlhood. Perhaps the strongest sentiment of dislike which had ever -been called forth in the amiable nature of Lady Davyntry had been -excited by, and towards, Mrs. Carteret. - -The two women were entirely antagonistic to each other; and Lady -Davyntry felt a thrill of gratification on hearing of Margaret's -return, in which a conviction that that event had taken place without -Mrs. Carteret's sanction, and would not be to her taste, had a decided -share. - -She had favoured her brother--to whom she was very much attached, and -who was so much younger than she that he did not inspire her with any -of the salutary reserve which induces sisters to disguise their -favourite weaknesses from brothers--with a full and free statement of -her feelings on this point, and he had not strongly combated her -antipathy to Mrs. Carteret. The truth was, he shared it. - -Mr. Baldwin had risen from the breakfast-table, and was standing, -newspaper in hand, by a large window which commanded an extensive -view, including the precise angle of the little demesne of Chayleigh -in which the rear of the house and the window of Margaret's room, with -its frame of passion-flowers, could be seen--not distinctly, but -clearly enough to induce the eyes of any one gazing forth upon the -scene to rest upon it mechanically. - -His sister rose also, as she repeated her assurance that Margaret was -"a darling," and joined him. - -"Look," she said; "you have sharp eyes, I know. There is some one -leaning out of the centre window. I see a figure, don't you?" - -"Yes," said Mr. Baldwin; "I see a figure, all in black,--there's a -flutter of something white. Who is it?" - -"I'm sure it's Margaret," said Lady Davyntry, "and the white thing -must be the strings of her widow's cap, poor child. How horrid it will -be to see her sweet, pretty little face in it! Ah, dear! to think that -she and I should meet under such similar circumstances!" and Lady -Davyntry sighed, and a tear made its appearance in each of her calm -blue eyes. - -"Similar circumstances!" repeated her brother, in some surprise. "Ah, -yes! you are both widows, to be sure; but the similarity stops there; -if what Dugdale said, or rather implied, be true,--as of course it -is,--you and Mrs. Hungerford wear your rue with a difference." - -"We do, indeed," said Lady Davyntry. "Give me that field-glass, Fitz. -I must make out whether that really is Margaret." And then she added, -as she adjusted the glass to her sight, "And I pity her for that too. -I cannot fancy any lot more pitiable than being forbidden by one's -reason to feel grief. Yes," she went on, after a minute, "it is -Margaret. I can see her figure quite plainly now. Look, look, Fitz!" -and she held out the glass to him. But Mr. Baldwin did not take it -from her hand; he smiled, and said: - -"No, no, Nelly, I could not take the liberty of peeping -surreptitiously at Mrs. Hungerford. You forget you are renewing your -acquaintance with her; mine has to be made." - -"That's just like your punctilio," said his sister. "I declare I feel -the strongest impulse to nod to her, this glass brings her so near; -and you are a goose for your pains. However, when you do see her, I -prophesy you will agree with me that she is a darling, a delightful -girl." - -"Well, but," said Mr. Baldwin, who was amused by his sister's -enthusiasm, "you forget how long it is since you have seen this -paragon, and that she is not a girl at all, but an unhappy and -ill-treated wife, who has lately had the good fortune to become a -widow." - -"That's true," said Lady Davyntry; "but I'll not believe that any -change could interfere with Margaret's being a darling. At all events, -I am going to see for myself this very day." - -"So soon?" asked Mr. Baldwin, in a surprised tone. - -"So soon! why not? You don't suppose Margaret has any tender -confidences with Mrs. Carteret which must not be broken in upon, and, -as for her father, I am sure he is as much accustomed to her being -there, since yesterday, as if she were one of those horrid specimens -_en permanence_." - -Mr. Baldwin laughed. "I don't suppose the meeting has been very -demonstrative," he said, "considering the parties to it whom I _do_ -know, and Dugdale's account of the party whom I _do not_. According to -the little he said, Mrs. Hungerford's firmness and reserve are -wonderful--more wonderful than pleasing, _I_ should consider them." - -"Never mind Mr. Dugdale, Fitz," replied his sister. "He never liked -Margaret either I believe: I know she quarrelled with him at the time -of her love-affair. It is very likely he does not like her coming -home; she may make things unpleasant for him now, you know, which she -could not when quite a girl. Don't you mind _him_. Take my word for -it, the young widow is a darling." - -"Take care, Nelly; that is rather a dangerous thing to insist -upon so strongly, except that you know I have a prejudice against -widows--always excepting _you_, he added, as she raised a warning -finger. - -"Nonsense," said Lady Davyntry; and then she left the room, and her -brother resumed his newspaper; but, as he folded it and prepared to -read the leading articles leisurely, he thought, "I wonder if she is -really nice. Certainly Dugdale did not convey to me any impression -that he did not like her, or that her coming was contrary to his -convenience,--rather the opposite, I think. This must be a fancy of -Nelly's." - -"Am I right? Did I say too much of Margaret, you incredulous Fitz?" -asked Lady Davyntry of her brother, when the gates of Chayleigh had -closed upon them at the termination of an unusually protracted visit, -during which Mrs. Carteret had endured the mortification of seeing -Lady Davyntry in a character of affectionate neighbourliness, which -had never been evoked by all her own strenuous and unrelaxed efforts. - -"Did you ever see a nicer creature?" persisted the impulsive Nelly, -"and though of course she's changed, I assure you I never thought her -so handsome when she was quite a girl; and her quiet manner--so -dignified and ladylike--not cold though: you didn't think it cold, did -you, Fitz?" - -"Not cold to _you_, certainly," replied Mr. Baldwin, who was glad to -escape, by answering this one, from the more direct question his -sister had put to him at first. - -"No, no," she went on; "quite cordial; and I told her how I looked at -her with the glass this morning, and how you were quite too proper -and precise to follow my example; and she blushed quite red for a -moment--her pale face looked so pretty--and just glanced at you for an -instant: it was when Mr. Carteret was bothering you about the -articulations of something--and I'm sure she thought you very nice and -gentlemanly, and----" - -"What _I_ thought of Mrs. Hungerford is more to your present purpose, -Nelly," said her brother, in an embarrassed voice. "I quite agree with -you in thinking her very charming, but she looks as if she had gone -through a great deal." - -"Yes; doesn't she, poor dear?" said Lady Davyntry, who simply did not -possess the power to comprehend even the outlines of Margaret's life; -"but now that she is at home, it will be all right; I shall have her -with me as much as possible, and she will soon forget all her -troubles." - -Mr. Baldwin did not reply. There was something in Mrs. Hungerford's -face which forbade him to believe that Davyntry and its mistress would -prove a panacea for whatever was the source of that expression. It was -not grief, as grief is felt for the dead who have been worthily loved -and are fitly mourned. - -It was an utter forlornness, combined with suppressed energy. It was -the expression of one who had been utterly deceived and disappointed, -and was now crushed by the sense of bankruptcy and defeat in life. The -quiet manner which had been so satisfactory to the shallow perceptions -of Lady Davyntry did not impress her brother in the same way. - -"That is a woman," he thought, "who has gone perilously near to the -confines of despair." - -When he had seen Lady Davyntry into the house, Mr. Baldwin turned away -from the door, and went a long ramble through the fields. His -wanderings did not take him out of Chayleigh; and once he stood still, -looking towards the window where Margaret's figure had been dimly seen -by him that morning, and thought, - -"What does this woman mean to me? Not a mere passing interest in my -life! What does this woman mean?" - -"I suppose you don't see much change in Lady Davyntry?" Mrs. Carteret -said to Margaret, after the visitors had departed. "She is as -nice-looking, in a common way, and as full of herself as usual." - -"Lady Davyntry was always very kind to me," replied Margaret gravely. -"In that she is certainly unchanged." - -"O yes, she's kind enough, in her empty way," said Mrs. Carteret; "but -for my part I don't care about those violent intimacies. I never would -be led into them--they are quite in her way. If I would have -responded, there would have been perpetual running back and forward -between Davyntry and Chayleigh; but that sort of thing does not suit -me--I consider it vulgar and insincere." - -Margaret did not exactly know, but she suspected, quite correctly, -that her stepmother was endeavouring to disguise a considerable amount -of pique under this depreciation of undue intimacy. She therefore made -no reply, and Mrs. Carteret continued: - -"I daresay she will be taking you up violently, for a while, until she -tires of you. The fuss she makes with her brother is quite absurd. He -is a nice-looking young man, and nothing more. Don't you think so, -Margaret?" - -"He is nice-looking, certainly," said Margaret; "but I have seen too -little of him to pronounce any further." - -"He has the great attraction of being very rich," said Mrs. Carteret, -in a sharp tone; Margaret's cautious and reasonable reply irritated -her. "If he dies without heirs, his sister will have all the Scotch -property; it is worth fifteen thousand a-year, and entailed on heirs -general. It is a wonder some manoeuvring mother has not made a prize -of him long ago. He's rather a soft party, I should say." - -"Should you?" said Margaret. "Mr. Baldwin looks firm as well as -gentle, I think--not the sort of man to be married by anybody without -his own unqualified consent." - -"Of course he's a great catch," said Mrs. Carteret, "and I understand -he is terribly afraid of ladies. He thinks every woman who looks at -him is in love with himself or his acres." - -"Indeed," said Margaret--and there was a tone of polite incredulity in -her voice--"I should not have taken Mr. Baldwin to be a vulgar-minded -man." - -"I daresay not," returned Mrs. Carteret; "he is rather prepossessing -than otherwise to strangers; but then, you know, Margaret, your -judgment of men has been rather rash than infallible hitherto. Dear -me! I had no notion it was so late--time to dress for dinner!" - -Mrs. Carteret rose, laid aside her everlasting fancy-work, and left -the room. Margaret rose also, but lingered for a few moments. As she -stood with her hands pressed upon her temples, and her pale face drawn -into a look of pain, she thought: - -"I wonder, if James Dugdale had heard that speech, would he think I -could possibly stay here." - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -WHAT THE WOMAN MEANT. - - -A month had elapsed since Margaret Hungerford's return to her father's -house, and had brought with it certain changes in the situation of -things at Chayleigh, which, though they could not have been understood -by outsiders, were very keenly appreciated by the actors in the small -domestic drama there. - -It had brought to Margaret more calm and peace. It had not changed her -intention of leaving Chayleigh, of seeking some independent means of -providing for herself; but it had decreased her anxiety to put this -intention into immediate, or even into very early, execution. The main -element in this alteration was her perception of her father's pleasure -in her society. - -"It is not much to bear for _his_ sake," she said to herself, "to put up -with Mrs. Carteret. I have had worse things than that to endure -without the power or the prospect of escaping from them either, and I -will stay for six months with papa. James Dugdale thinks it the right -thing, and, if Mrs. Carteret is convinced that it is to be only for -six months, she will see that her best policy, in pursuit of her -favourite plan of making things pleasant for papa, in order to have -her own way thoroughly in things she really cares about, is by -behaving properly to me. I will take care she shall labour under no -delusive fears about my having come to take up my abode here; and then -I am much out of my calculations, and egregiously mistaken in my -amiable stepmother, if she does not change her tactics altogether." - -The result justified Margaret's calculations. She took an early -opportunity of informing Mrs. Carteret that she did not contemplate a -long stay at Chayleigh. - -The intimation was received by her stepmother with much propriety of -manner, but without the slightest warmth. She designed to let Margaret -perceive that while she (Mrs. Carteret) was too ladylike, too -perfectly trained and finished in the polished proprieties of life to -fail in the fulfilment of the exact laws of hospitality, it had never -occurred to her to consider Margaret in any other light than that of a -guest; and that she therefore regarded the communication as merely -relating to the duration of her visit. - -Margaret clearly perceived her meaning, but she did not resent it, nor -did it grieve her. The peace of a settled resolution had come to her. -Mrs. Carteret condescended to express her approbation of Margaret's -determination, and her readiness to assist her in carrying it into -effect. - -"Nothing is more admirable in young people than an independent -spirit," said the approving lady; "and, notwithstanding your -unfortunate marriage, Margaret, I consider you as a young person -still. You are quite right in considering it unjust that your father -should be expected to provide for you twice over--first, in handing -over the money you were not really entitled to, to that unpleasant -person, Mr. Hungerford, and a second time, by having you to live -here." - -"My father is not expected, either by me or by any one that I know of, -to do anything of the kind," interrupted Margaret, with a slight -quivering of the lips and a transient accession of colour to the pale -cheeks. - -"That is just what I am saying, my dear. I highly commend your very -proper view. It would be quite my own. Indeed, I am sure, were I in -your position, I could not endure dependence, even if my father were a -much richer man than yours is. I cannot understand any one not doing -anything to secure independence." - -Margaret smiled, rather a hard kind of smile, as she thought there was -one thing she certainly would not do to attain independence, and that -one thing was precisely what Miss Martley had done in becoming Mrs. -Carteret. - -The elder lady continued to talk for some time longer in the same -strain, and at length she asked Margaret how she intended to procure -occupation. - -"I have not thought about that part of it yet," she replied. - -Then Mrs. Carteret allowed the truth to slip out; then she betrayed -her real consciousness of the meanness she was perpetrating. She -shifted her eyes uneasily away from Margaret's face, as she said, - -"I should not mention the matter to any one about here if I were you, -Margaret. People talk so oddly, and your father might not like it. I -always think, when anything of the kind is to be done, it had better -be away from home, and among a different connection." - -Margaret answered her with hardly-disguised contempt: - -"Your warning comes rather late. I have already told Lady Davyntry of -my intention, which she approves as much as you do. She has been good -enough to promise me her friendship and interest in settling matters -to my satisfaction. As for papa, he will not mind how I do it, when I -can succeed in reconciling him to my doing it at all." - -Mrs. Carteret felt strongly tempted to get into a violent rage, and -relieve her vexation, which was intense, by saying anything and -everything which anger might suggest to her, to Margaret. - -That Lady Davyntry, who had taken no notice of the advances she had -made towards an intimacy which would have been a social triumph to -Mrs. Carteret--Lady Davyntry who, since Margaret's return, had gone so -near ignoring her stepmother's existence as was consistent with the -observance of the commonest civility--that she should be admitted -behind the scenes, that Margaret should instruct her in the _dessous -des cartes_, was gall and wormwood to her. She had never been very far -off hating Margaret hitherto; her quiet stealthy dislike to the girl -now deepened into the darker feeling; and though she merely replied, -"O, then, in that case, it cannot be helped," Margaret knew that that -minute marked an era in Mrs. Carteret's feelings towards her. - -"Never mind," she said to herself, as though she had been encouraging -another person; "never mind, it is only for six months. She will -always be civil to me, and it can't last." - -She was right; Mrs. Carteret always was civil to her. She was a woman -in whom cunning and caution were at least as strong as temper, and she -took counsel of both in this instance. She was by no means free from -an uneasy suspicion that, if Margaret had formed a contrary -determination, her influence with her father would have outweighed -that which she herself could have exerted. - -It behoved her, therefore, to be thankful that the occasion for -testing that unpleasantly-important point had not arisen, and to -confine her tactics to such consistently-ceremonious treatment of -Margaret as should keep her position as only a guest constantly before -her eyes, and maintain her resolution by the aid of her pride; while -all should be so contrived as to avoid attracting the attention of her -absent-minded husband. - -Mrs. Carteret conquered her temper, therefore--an operation in which -she found the counting of the stitches of her everlasting fancy-work -afforded her a good deal of assistance--and, after a short pause, took -up a collateral branch of the same subject. - -Margaret had dismissed Rose Moore, and the girl had gone on her -journey with a weight at her heart which she would have hardly -believed possible, seeing that she was going home. But she had come to -love Margaret very much, and she was very imperfectly consoled for -parting with her by the distant hope which the young widow held out of -a future meeting. - -"You will be married, and away in a house of your own, my dear girl, -very soon, and you will not care much about anything else then; but I -promise you, if ever I want you very much, Rose, I will send for you. -I don't think I ever _can_ want you, in all my life, as much as I -wanted you when you came to me; and of course you never can want me; -your life is laid out for you too securely for that." - -"None of us can tell _that_," said Rose Moore; "who knows?" - -"Well, of course no one knows," said Margaret; "but it looks like it. -However, we shall never forget one another, Rose, and if either can -help the other, the one who can will." And with this understanding -they parted. - -Mrs. Carteret had never taken any notice of Rose Moore, who, in her -turn, had held the lady of the house in slight reverence. Mrs. -Carteret had a constitutional aversion to the Irish. She considered -them half-civilised beings, with a natural turn for murder, a natural -unfitness for domestic service, and an objectionable predilection for -attending the ceremonial observances of their religion. - -As an Irishwoman, then. Rose Moore was antipathetic to her; and as a -devoted though humble friend of her stepdaughter's, she was something -more. The Irish girl's bright-hearted love and sympathy for the young -widow was positively repulsive to Mrs. Carteret, because there was a -reproach in it. - -But when Rose was actually gone, Mrs. Carteret found herself in a -difficulty. She disliked the idea of a successor to Rose being found, -because her narrow, grasping nature was of the small tyrant order, and -she could not endure that in her house there should be any one who did -not owe allegiance to _her_. - -Another reason was to be found in Mrs. Carteret's parsimony. She was -as avaricious as she was despotic, and both these passions were -stirred within her when she asked Margaret, in the most distant and -uninterested tone which even she could assume, whether she had yet -made any arrangements about replacing Rose Moore. "Moore," she called -her, after the English fashion, which had been a deadly offence to -Rose. - -"Calling you as if you were either a man or a dog," the indignant -damsel had said. - -"It's the English fashion, Rose," Margaret had pleaded in mitigation. - -"Then it's like more of their fashions, and they ought to be ashamed -of it, and would if they were Christians. However, I suppose English -servants put up with that, or anythin' else, for their four meals -a-day, and snacks into the bargain, and their beer, and the liberty -their clargy gives them to backbite their masters and mistresses." - -Margaret tried to explain that neither in this nor in any other -particular were the objects of Rose's indignant scorn in the habit of -applying to their "clargy:" but this was an enormity which she found -the girl's mind was quite incapable of receiving as a truth. - -Mrs. Hungerford replied to Mrs. Carteret's question, that she had no -intention of providing a successor for Rose Moore. - -"I should have thought it quite unnecessary to tell you so," she said, -rather angrily. "You can hardly suppose I am in a position to keep a -maid. Even if I were for the present, to accustom myself to any luxury -which I must lose at the end of six months would be unpardonable folly -and weakness." - -"You are quite right, my dear," said Mrs. Carteret, with a cordial -tone in her voice, and a side-glance in her eye of intense dislike of -the speaker. "I admire your correct and self-denying principle, but I -am not sure that your father will like it. While you stay with us, I -am sure he would not wish you to be without a maid." - -Margaret did not take much trouble to conceal the contempt which -animated the smile that she permitted to pass slowly over her face as -she replied: - -"Pray do not trouble yourself about that, Mrs. Carteret. If papa -thinks about it at all, which is very unlikely, he will know how -little personal attendance I have been accustomed to. But you and I -know the fact of there being a servant more or less in the house will -never present itself to his notice. Pray make your mind easy on that -point." - -"But there's--" said Mrs. Carteret hesitatingly--"there's James, you -know; he is sure to know that Moore has left you, and to find out -whether you have got any one to replace her." - -"Make your mind easy about _that_, too, Mrs. Carteret," said Margaret; -and the confidence in her tone was particularly displeasing. "I will -take care that Mr. Dugdale understands _my_ wishes in this matter." - -So Mrs. Carteret carried three points. She avoided having a servant in -the house who should not be her servant; she escaped an additional -expense; and she was exempted, by Margaret's express disclaimer, from -offering her the services of her own maid--an offer which, had she -found herself obliged to make it, Mrs. Collins would probably have -declined to carry into execution. There was one person in the world of -whom Mrs. Carteret was afraid, and that individual was Mrs. Collins. - -When the conversation between Margaret and Mrs. Carteret had come to -an end, to their mutual relief, Margaret went to her father. As she -approached the study, she heard voices, and knew she should not find -him alone. - -"I suppose it is James," she thought, and entered the room. But it -was not James; it was Mr. Baldwin, who held a large old-looking volume -in his hand, and was discussing with Mr. Carteret a passage concerning -the structure of crustacea. He closed the book, and replaced it on the -table with great alacrity, as Margaret came in and spoke to him. Then -she turned to her father. "I was going to talk to you for a little -while, papa; but as Mr. Baldwin is here--" - -"Never mind that, Margery," said her father; "Mr. Baldwin was just -going to the drawing-room to see Sibylla and you. He has a message for -you from Lady Davyntry." - -Mr. Baldwin confirmed Mr. Carteret's statement, and took from his -waistcoat-pocket a tiny note, folded three-cornerwise. This was before -the invention of square envelopes and dazzling monograms; and female -friendship, confidences, and general gushingness usually expressed -themselves in the three-cornered form. - -Margaret took the note, and, passing before the "specimen"-laden -table, went to the window and seated herself on the low, wide, -uncushioned ledge. She held the twisted paper in her hand, and looked -idly out of the window, before she broke the seal, unconscious that -Mr. Baldwin was looking at her with an eager interest which rendered -him singularly inattentive to the arguments addressed to him by Mr. -Carteret in pursuance of the discussion which Margaret's entrance had -interrupted. - -The girlish gracefulness of her attitude contrasted strangely with her -sombre heavy dress; the soft youthfulness of her colourless face made -the harsh lines of the close crimped cap an odious anachronism. - - -"MY DARLING MARGARET,"--this was the note,--"I have such a cold, I -_cannot_ get to you. Do be charitable, and come to me. My brother will -escort you, and will see you home at night, unless you will stay. - - "Always your devoted - "ELEANOR." - - -The renewed acquaintance with Lady Davyntry was at this time an event -of a fortnight old, and the irrepressible Eleanor had to a certain -extent succeeded in thawing the frozen exterior of the young -woman's demeanour. Kindness, if even it were a little silly and -over-demonstrative, was a refreshing novelty to Margaret, and she -welcomed it. - -At first she had been a little hard, a little incredulous towards Lady -Davyntry; she had been inclined to treat her rapidly-developed -fondness for herself as a _caprice de grande dame_. But she soon -abandoned that harsh interpretation; she soon understood that, though -it was exaggerated in its expression, the affection with which she had -inspired Lady Davyntry was perfectly sincere. - -Hence it came that Margaret had told her friend what were her views -for her future; but she had not raised the veil which hid the past. Of -that dreadful time, with its horrid experience of sin and misery, with -its contaminating companionship, and the stain which it had left of -such knowledge of evil and all the meanness of vice as never should be -brought within the ken of pure womanhood at any age, Margaret never -spoke, and Lady Davyntry, though inquisitive enough in general, and by -no means wanting in curiosity in this particular instance, did not -seek to overcome her reticence. - -She had considerable delicacy of mind, and, in Margaret's case, -affection and interest brought her not-naturally-bright intelligence -to its aid. She had noticed and understood the changeableness of -Margaret's moods. She had seen her, when animated and seemingly happy -in conversation with her or Mr. Baldwin (what a treat it was to hear -those two talk! she thought), suddenly lapse into silence, and all -the colour would die out of her cheeks, and all the light from her -eyes--struck away from them doubtless by the stirring of some painful -memory, aroused from its superficial slumber by some word or phrase in -which the pang of association lurked. - -She had seen the expression of weariness which Margaret's figure had -worn at first come over it again, and then the drooped head and the -listless hands had a story in them, from even trying to guess at which -the kind-hearted woman, whose one grief had no touch of shame or dread -or degrading remembrance in it, shrunk with true delicacy and keen -womanly sympathy. - -Lady Davyntry had been a daily visitor at Chayleigh since Margaret's -return. She treated Mrs. Carteret with civility; but she made it, as -she intended, evident that the attraction was Margaret, and Mrs. -Carteret had to endure the mortifying conviction as best she could. -Her best was not very good, and she never allowed an opportunity to -pass of hitting Margaret's friend as hard as her feeble powers of -sarcasm, which only attained the rank of spite, enabled her to hit -her. Lady Davyntry was totally unconscious, and Margaret was -profoundly indifferent. - -It happened, however, on this particular day, after the conclusion of -Mrs. Carteret's conversation with her stepdaughter, and while she was -superintending the interesting operation, performed by Collins, of -altering the trimmings of a particularly becoming dress, that she came -to a determination to alter her tactics. She had not to dread a -permanent invasion of her territory, a permanent usurpation of her -place by Margaret; she would therefore profit by the temporary evil, -and so entangle Lady Davyntry in civilities that it would be -impossible for her to withdraw from so _affiché_ an intimacy when -Margaret should have left Chayleigh. - -In all this there was not a particle of regard for Lady Davyntry, of -liking for her society, of a wish that the supposed intimacy should -become real. It would be quite enough for her that the Croftons and -the Crokers, the Willises, the Wyngroves, and the Savilles should know -that Lady Davyntry was on the most familiar terms with the Carterets, -and quite beyond those to which any other family in the neighbourhood -could lay claim. - -Mrs. Carteret's busy small brain began to entertain an idea that -Margaret's stay might be made profitable, in a social point of view, -to her future position. - -The writing of the note of which Mr. Baldwin was the bearer had been -the subject of some doubt and discussion between Lady Davyntry and her -brother. - -"Do you think it would do to ask her here, to dinner and all that, -without asking Mrs. Carteret, and making a regular business of it?" -said Eleanor. - -"Of course it would," returned Mr. Baldwin. "If you want to have Mrs. -Hungerford here, and do not want to have Mrs. Carteret, as I -understand you that you do, you could not have a better opportunity. -Now is your time. You have a cold, you can't go out, and you certainly -cannot see company. Write your note, Nelly, and I'll take it. I want -to see Mr. Carteret. You cannot have a better opportunity." - -"Let me see," said Lady Davyntry, biting the top of her pen -contemplatively; "Mr. Dugdale is down at Oxford, isn't he?" - -"Yes," said her brother; "gone to see his old tutor,--a fellow he is, -but I forget his name,--and won't be back for three weeks." - -"Well, then, I _will_ ask Margaret alone. I thought, if Mr. Dugdale -had been at home, we might have asked him to come to dinner. But you -won't mind seeing Mrs. Hungerford home, Fitz, will you? She could have -the carriage, of course, and go round by the road; but I am sure she -would not like that." - -Mr. Baldwin was exceedingly complaisant and agreeable. So far from -growling an assent in an undertone, sounding much more like a protest -than an acquiescence, as is the usual manner of men with regard to the -bosom friends of their sisters, he expressed his readiness to -undertake the task of seeing Margaret home with a cheerful readiness -quite beyond suspicion of its sincerity. - -When Margaret had read the note, she twisted it in her fingers without -speaking. Mr. Baldwin's attention wandered a little, though Mr. -Carteret had opened one of the glass cases, and taken out a horrid -object like an old-fashioned brooch with an areole of long spikes, and -was expatiating upon it with great fervour. - -He looked at Margaret; but her eyes were turned from him, straying -over the garden. At last he moved to where she was sitting. - -"You will grant my sister's prayer," he said. "I know what is in the -note. She really has a cold, Mrs. Hungerford. It will be a charity if -you will go to her.--What do _you_ say, sir?" - -Mr. Carteret said nothing, for the ample reason that he had not the -remotest idea of what Mr. Baldwin was talking about. When, however, -that gentleman explained the matter, he gave it as his decided opinion -that Margaret ought to go for Lady Davyntry's sake and her own. A -little change would do her good. She must not mope, the kind gentleman -said; and he and Sibylla were but dull company now. She must find it -dismal enough now that James was away. By the bye, did Margaret know -how Mr. Fordham was? Had James found him any better than he expected -when he arrived at Oxford? Yes, yes, Margery must go--she moped too -much; she did not even care for the specimens so much as she used to -do. - -"Indeed I do, papa," said Margaret, rising suddenly from her seat and -laying her hand on her father's shoulder; "I care for them a great -deal more--for everything that interests you, and that _you_ care -for." - -Her luminous eyes were softer and brighter than Mr. Baldwin had ever -seen them. She had evidently been thinking of something in the past -with which her father's words had chimed in. He was waiting her -decision with a strange feeling of suspense and anxiety, considering -that the matter involved was of no greater moment than the question -whether his sister's friend, who had seen her yesterday, and would in -all probability see her to-morrow, should make up her mind to refrain -from the luxury of seeing her to-day. - -"Do you, my dear?" said Mr. Carteret. "That's right; you will go, of -course, then, and Foster shall fetch you this evening.--No, indeed, -Mr. Baldwin, I could not think of your taking the trouble." - -But Mr. Baldwin insisted, subject to Mrs. Hungerford's permission, -that he would see her home. This permission she carelessly gave, and -then left the room to prepare for her walk. The two men stood silent -for a minute; then Mr. Carteret said, with a deep sigh, - -"Poor Margery! she has had plenty of trouble in her time. I often -wonder whether she is going to have peace now. We can't give that to -our sons and daughters, Baldwin, or get it from them either." - -There was a sad desponding tone in Mr. Carteret's voice. Now he was -beginning to understand something of the meaning and extent of the -sorrow that had befallen his daughter--now, when the indelible stamp -of its effect was set upon her changed face, upon her shrinking -figure, upon her slow and unelastic movements. - -She had had time now to feel the repose, the comfort, the -respectability of the home to which she had come back, and yet there -was no change in her beyond the release from mere bodily fatigue. The -wan weariness which he had not seen at first, but had seen when James -Dugdale directed his attention to it, was there still, unaltered; -indeed, to the eye of a keen observer, it was deepened. In some cases, -mere respite from physical labour does not produce the effect of -mental repose. Margaret's case was one of those. - -Mr. Baldwin did not reply to Mr. Carteret's observation; he walked -towards the window, and looked dreamily out, as Margaret had done. -Presently she came back, wearing her sombre mantle and the close -widow's bonnet of a period when _grand deuil_, in the Mary-Stuart -fashion, was unknown. - -"You will tell Mrs. Carteret, if you please, papa, I could not find -her." - -"I will be sure to tell her," said Mr. Carteret; "and, Margery, I want -you to observe Lady Davyntry's Angora cat very carefully, and bring me -word whether she has one ring or two round the top of her tail. Don't -forget this, my dear, for it is really an important point." - -"I'll be sure to remember it, papa," said Margaret; and then she and -Mr. Fitzwilliam Meriton Baldwin went out through the French window of -Mr. Carteret's study, and took their way across the grassy terrace, -through the lawn, to the little iron gate which opened into the -meadow-lands, through which the "short cut" between Chayleigh and -Davyntry lay. - -In the first field beyond this gate a noble clump of beeches stood. - -"That is a favourite point of view of Dugdale's," said Mr. Baldwin. "I -have two sketches he made of those forest lords. Splendid trees they -are. I love them." - -"And I hate them," said Margaret. - -He glanced at her in surprise. Her tone was bitter, and her face wore -an angry scornful look. But it was scorn of herself that Margaret was -feeling. There, under the shade of those trees, she had come suddenly -upon her brother and Godfrey Hungerford; there the first incense of -her worship of the false god had been offered up. She felt his glance, -and instantly began to talk of Lady Davyntry's cold. - -"The idea," she thought indignantly, "of saying such a thing as -that--of my betraying feelings to a stranger which it is impossible to -explain." - -The first visit made by Margaret to Davyntry was the beginning of a -series which contributed not a little to bringing about the changed -aspect of things at Chayleigh, at the end of the first month of -Margaret's residence there. She was beginning to feel something like a -revival of her youth. The cheerful society, the sense of being loved -and valued; the action of time, so mighty, so resistless, when one is -young; the future dim, indeed, but still in a great measure within her -own control: these were all telling on the young widow. - -At first she had suffered keenly from the remembrance of the past -episodes in her life, which seemed to set a barrier between her and -the well-regulated, spotlessly respectable social circle to which she -was restored; a social atmosphere in which shifts, contrivances, shady -expedients for the procuring of shabby ends, were as unknown, as -inconceivable, as the more violent roisterous vice with which she had -also, and only too frequently, been brought into contact. At first, -this sense of an existence, separate and apart from her present -associates, oppressed Margaret strangely, and caused her to shrink -away from the manifestations of Lady Davyntry's friendship with sudden -coldness, quite inexplicable to the impulsive Eleanor, whose life was -all so emphatically aboveboard. - -There were times when, in the luxurious and picturesque drawing-room -at Davyntry, whose treasures of old china and ivory caused Mrs. -Carteret acute pangs of envy, Margaret felt the whole scene fade from -before her eyes like a stage transformation, and some squalid room -which she had once inhabited rise up in its place, with its mingled -wretchedness and recklessness; a horrid vision of dirty packs of -cards, of whisky-bottles, and the reek of coarse tobacco; and the -refined tones of Mr. Baldwin's voice would mingle strangely in her -ears with the echo of loud oaths and coarse laughter. - -At such times her face would harden, and the light would fade out of -her eyes, and the grace would leave her form in some inexplicable way; -and, if the cloud settled heavily, and she knew it was going to last, -she would make some excuse to get away and return to her father's -house and the society of Mrs. Carteret, to whom her moods, or indeed -those of any human being in existence, except herself, were matters of -perfect indifference. - -Mr. Baldwin thought he understood the origin of these sudden changes -in Margaret Hungerford; and, though he had no knowledge of the past, -he discerned the spirit of the young widow with the marvellous skill -which has its rise in very perfect sympathy. When his sister spoke to -him about her friend's strange manner at times, he entreated her not -to notice it in any way. - -"She has had such troubles in her life, as, thank God, neither you nor -I can understand, Nelly; and when this cloud comes over her, depend -upon it, it is because the remembrance of them returns to her, made -all the more real by the contrast here. Take no notice of it, and it -will wear away in time." - -"She seems to me, Fitzwilliam, as if she had some painful secret -pressing on her mind. I don't mean, of course, any secret concerning -herself, anything in her own life; but Margaret constantly gives me -the impression of being a person in possession of some knowledge -unshared by any one else, and which she sometimes forgets, and then -suddenly remembers." - -"It may be so," said Mr. Baldwin slowly, and looking very -uncomfortable. "I hope not; I hope it is only the effect of the early -trouble she has gone through." - -"I wonder how she will get on when she leaves Chayleigh," said Lady -Davyntry. - -"When she leaves Chayleigh!" repeated her brother, surprised, for the -intentions of Margaret had never been discussed in his presence. - -Then Lady Davyntry told him what Margaret had said to her, and how she -had asked her advice and her aid. - -"I could not possibly advise her to remain all her life with that -dreadful stepmother of hers, could I, Fitz? You can understand what -Mrs. Carteret is in that relation, civil as she is to _you_. I really -think she imagines you entertain a profound sentiment for her; -perfectly proper and Platonic, you know, but still profound; and I -don't think Margaret's naturally active mind could endure the idleness -of the life at Chayleigh, even if Mrs. Carteret were out of the -question." - -"Idleness!" said Mr. Baldwin, "what idleness? There is just the same -kind of life to be had at Chayleigh, I suppose, as women, as ladies, -lead everywhere else--the kind of life Margaret was born to. I can't -see the matter in _that_ light." - -"I daresay not, Fitz," said Lady Davyntry, rather proud of the chance -of offering a suggestion to this infallible and incomparable younger -brother of hers. "But I can. Margaret certainly was, as you say, born -to lead the kind of life which all women of her position get through -somehow; but then she was taken out of it very young, and, whatever it -was she did or suffered, you may be sure that it gave her mind a turn -not to be undone. Of course, I don't mean to say she wants to go back -to that again, whatever it was; but I am sure she must have some -settled occupation to be happy. I do not think, when one's heart has -been once crammed quite full of anything, be it joyful or sorrowful, -one can stand a vacuum." From which speech it will be made plain that -Lady Davyntry did not cultivate her emotions at the expense of her -good sense. - -"You are right, Nelly; I see you are quite right. But what does her -father say?" - -"That I really cannot tell you; but I suppose what Mr. Carteret -usually says, in any matter unconnected with birds, beasts, fishes, or -insects--nothing. He and Margaret have a tacit understanding that Mrs. -Carteret and she are not exactly sympathetic, and he has a feeble -desire that his daughter should be happy. Beyond that he really thinks -nothing, and would have as much notion of the new life she wants to -enter upon, as of the old life she has escaped from." - -"What does Dugdale think?" - -"That I cannot tell you. Margaret never said a word about his opinion -in connection with the matter. I don't think she likes him." - -"No," said Mr. Baldwin, "I don't think she does." - -"I asked her to come to me," Lady Davyntry continued, "and tried very -hard to persuade her that I required the services of a _dame de -compagnie_. But she laughed at me, and would not listen to me for a -moment, though she told me she had once suggested to Mr. Dugdale that -she should ask me to take her, for the commendable purpose of spiting -Mrs. Carteret. 'Do you think I want to _play_ at independence?' she -said. 'If you do, you are much mistaken. I won't have any more -_shams_, please God, in my life. No, I am going to work in earnest.' -So I could not say any more. She may change her mind in six months, -though I do not think she will." - -Mr. Fitzwilliam Meriton Baldwin left his sister to entertain a -selection of the Croftons and the Crokers and the Willises, and betook -himself to a solitary ramble. The question which he had asked himself -when he had seen Margaret Hungerford but once had recurred to him very -often since then. Now he asked himself if he might dare to hope that -he had found the answer. - -He did not deny to himself now that he loved Margaret Hungerford. He -was quite clear on that point; and he knew, too, that it was with an -immortal and a worthy love. What did she mean? Was she to mean to him -happiness--the realisation of a man's best and wisest dreams? Was she -to mean this to him in time, or did that sombre past in her life, of -which he knew nothing, interpose an impassable barrier between her and -him? He thought of Margaret's frank unembarrassed manner towards him -without discouragement; he never fancied she could feel anything for -him yet; he perfectly comprehended that nothing was so utterly dead -for her as love. - -But he would have patience, he would wait; a resurrection morning -might come; he would try to _win_ such a prize as she would be, not by -a _coup de main_, but by slow degrees, if so it might be. In the true -humility of his mind, in the perfect nobility of his soul, it never -occurred to Mr. Baldwin to think of himself as a prize also worth the -winning. - -He had often laughed with his sister about the "man-traps" set for -him; but it was always Lady Davyntry, and not he, who had detected the -devices prepared for the captivation and capture of Mr. Baldwin of the -Deane. - -It rarely happened that Fitzwilliam Baldwin thought about his wealth; -his habits and tastes were simple, and his large property was well -administered. He had been a rich man ever since he had come to years -of manhood, and the fact had not the same significance for him which -it assumes for those who come late to a long-looked-for inheritance, -whose attractions are exaggerated by the aid of fancy. - -But he began to think complacently of his wealth now; he began to see -visions, and to dream dreams; to think of the power he had to reverse -all the former conditions of Margaret's life, let them have been what -they might. At least he knew she had been unhappy; he could give her -happiness, if unbounded love and respect, if the guarding her from -every ill and care, if the holding her a sacred being, apart, to be -seated in a shrine and worshipped, could give her happiness. This he -could do, if she would but let him. - -He knew that she had been poor, that she had now no means of her own. -There was his wealth, which had never been very important to him -before, and could never be important again if she would not in time -take it from him. How he would lavish it upon her; how he would try, -without annoying her in any way, to find out some of the features of -her past experience, and efface them by the luxury and honour in which -he would envelop her! Fitzwilliam Baldwin had advanced very far in a -dream of this kind before the end of the month. He had no longer any -doubt of what this woman meant to him. - -Shortly after, and sooner than his return was looked for, James -Dugdale came back to Chayleigh, and found a letter awaiting him. It -was from Hayes Meredith. - - - - -CHAPTER X. -THE LETTER FROM MELBOURNE. - - -"Before you receive this letter, my dear Dugdale," wrote Hayes -Meredith, "you will have seen Mrs. Hungerford, and she will have told -you all the news about me, in giving the history of herself--a -history, by the bye, which has had a better ending than I expected, -when first I made her out, according to your request. - -"She is not much given to talking, I fancy, to any one, and I dare say -she will not let you know much about her wretched life out here; but I -can tell you it was wretched; and when I came to know her, and -understand how superior a woman she is to the generality of women, -such as I have known them, I was really grateful to you for giving me -the chance of serving her. I don't think I was much more obliged to -you in my life, and I _have_ owed you a turn or two. - -"Hungerford was a regular blackguard, and an irredeemable snob as -well, and she was only to be congratulated heartily on his death. The -mode of it was rather horrible, to be sure; but if he had not been -knocked on the head in the bush, the chances are he would have been -hanged; and there's something to choose between the two, at all -events. - -"She is an interesting young woman, and I was sincerely glad to do her -all the service in my power, which was not much, after all. I should -like to know what becomes of her. I hope she has better days to see -than any she lived through here; and I hope you will write to me when -you can. - -"But my letter does not solely concern Mrs. Hungerford. I have a -selfish purpose in writing to you also, and the explanation of it -needs some detail. You know that I am, and that I have been for some -years, what I may safely call a prosperous man; and though I have a -large family to provide for--five of them now (they were seven, but -two little ones early succumbed to the climate)--I have never found -that same very difficult to do. My children are all well, hearty, -jolly, sturdy children, with the exception of our eldest boy--you have -seen him, you may remember--Robert. He is not exactly sickly, but he -is not strong; but it is less his bodily than his mental health that -troubles his mother and myself. - -"The boy is not contented, not happy, not a born colonial, like the -rest; he has ideas and fancies other than theirs; he has an unruly -temper, a quick impressionable brain, and a great aptitude for the -graces, refinements, and luxuries of life, which--as I need not tell -you it has had no chance of cultivation here--must be natural to him. - -"His mother and I are not people to have a favourite among our -children; it is share and share alike with them all, in affection as -in everything else; but Robert is a discord somehow, and captious--in -short, very hard to manage--and I have not the time to devote to an -exceptional person in the family. - -"He has a great notion that he is very superior to his brothers--quite -an unfounded one--and thinks he should do no end of wonderful things -in England, if he had the chance, by which, of course, he means the -money. This I can give him; and as there is no doubt he can get a -better education in England than here, and should his projects fail, -or should he get tired of them, he can come back whenever he pleases, -and still find a corner for himself here, I am quite disposed to let -him try his own plans out. - -"The others are true colonials; they have not the least desire to see -the old country until they can do so in independent manhood; but I -can plainly perceive that, for his own sake, and that of all the -household, Robert must be allowed to have his own way, as far as it -lies in my power to give it him. - -"There is some prospect of an improved and accelerated communication -between us and England, and should it be realised by the spring of -next year, I will probably bring the boy to England myself, and thus -see you once more in this world, which I never had any hope of doing a -little while ago. - -"My wife does not like, nor, to tell the truth, do I, the notion of a -whole year being taken out of our span of life together, which it must -be if I make my proposed voyage; but neither does she like the idea of -her son travelling alone to a strange country, and commencing his -career without the assistance and the comfort of his father's presence -and guidance in those important 'first steps.' We shall see, when the -time comes, which of these feelings will prevail. - -"In the mean time, my dear Dugdale, I rely on your friendship, aided -by your experience of English life, and all the changes in public -opinion and manners which have taken place since my time, to guide me -in this matter, to tell me what it will be best for me to do for and -with the boy. - -"Robert is not ill educated, in as far as the limits of our colonial -possibilities extend; but his education will aid him little in English -life, and towards that his inclinations set. - -"Turn all I have said over, and write to me concerning it. Then, by -the time I get home, if I ever get home, and, if I do not, by the time -I send my boy home, you will have made up your mind, which, in a -matter of this kind will be, as it ought to be, equivalent to making -up mine, as to the proper course to be pursued. - -"With all his faults, Robert will interest you, my dear Dugdale, I am -certain; in his industry, his ambition, and his adaptive nature you -will find something to admire. - -"I have almost forgotten the ways of the old country, so completely -have I turned--not my mind only, but my heart and my tastes--to the -life of the new. I daresay you remember the days in which I was rather -a 'buck,' ran heavy accounts with our common tailor, and knew, or -pretended to know, a lot about good dinners and wines. - -"Ask Mrs. Hungerford what sort of rough and gruff old fellow I am now, -and you will understand, from her description, the difficulty I should -have in getting into, or even comprehending, the ways of the other -side of the world again. But, remembering what I once did know, and -thinking of what I have heard and seen since I ceased to know, I think -Robert is cut out for success in England. Mind, he will not have it -_all_ to do unaided; he will have a little money, enough to keep him -respectable, to back him. - -"I feel I am unwise in thus talking to you so much beforehand of -Robert--time enough when we meet, as I hope we shall do; but I have a -notion you might hit upon some plan for him for the future more easily -and successfully if you had an idea of the sort of person he is. - -"If his mother could see this letter, and recognise the very moderate -colours in which I have sketched her eldest son, I don't think I -should hear the last of it between this and the date at which I and he -are to start for England. I am such a dolt in these matters, I do not -rightly know what to ask you to think about, or advise me upon; but -you will know generally. Shall it be private tuition, or public -school, or business life at once combined with education? - -"My other boys never give me the least anxiety. I know they will take -to the sheep-walk or the counting-house as readily as to their food, -and plod on as comfortably and as cheerily as possible. And, indeed, -while I am anxious about Robert, it would be giving you an unfair -impression to say that I am uneasy about him. I am _not that_; but he -is so different a stamp, I hardly know how to manage him. - -"I have written all this to you with as much ease and confidence as if -we were smoking together in the old quarters, velveteen-coated and -slippered, as in the time I remember so well. I wonder if you--who -have remained in England, to whom, at all events, life cannot have -brought such physical changes as it has brought to me--remember it -half so well as I do. - -"There are hours even yet, when I am alone and thinking, when all that -has intervened seems utterly unreal, and those old days, with their -old associations, the one true and living period in my life. Do you -remember the day after you, poor little shivering youngster as you -were then, came to school, when I was a great hulking fellow, and my -mother, God bless her! came to visit me, and, being taken by old -Maddox to see the playground, was just in time to behold me tumble -from the very top of the forbidden pear-tree and break my arm? - -"I can see her face and hear her voice now, as plainly as if I could -see the one and hear the other by going into the next room. And how -you cried! Well, well, I suppose something of the boy remains until -the last in every man's nature, and that more of it has the chance of -remaining in our lives here than in yours at home. - -"The progress of this place is extraordinary, and there are rumours of -discoveries in metals, and so forth, which, if verified, will give it -very great impetus. I don't mind them much; they don't disturb and -they don't excite me even in this go-ahead colonial life. I carry my -old steadiness about with me, and am go-ahead in my own business only. - -"There is much in the political and social world here which would -interest, but little which would please you, unless you are very much -changed. - -"I never could arrive at a very clear notion of you from Mrs. -Hungerford; she was not communicative on any point, and she never told -me anything about you, except that your health was delicate, which I -could have told her from your letter. The sort of life we lead here is -certainly calculated to give one the power of feeling acutely for a -man to whom bodily exertion is forbidden; but you were always a -patient fellow." - -The letter was a very long one; the above is but an extract from it. -James Dugdale had recognised the handwriting of his friend with -pleasure, and had opened the letter with delighted eagerness. It would -tell him something of Margaret; it would give him an insight into the -troubles of her life; it would give him a clue to the enigma which -lived and moved within his sight and his reach daily. - -But his calculations were overthrown; he perceived at once that he was -destined to gain no further knowledge of Margaret's past life from -Hayes Meredith. The disappointment was so keen that at first he hardly -had power to feel the interest in his friend's communication which it -was calculated to evoke; and, when he had read half through the -letter, he returned to the earlier portion in which Margaret was -mentioned, and reperused it. - -"I wish he had even told me more about Hungerford's death," said James -Dugdale to himself. He was lying on a couch drawn close to the window -of his own room, and he allowed the letter to drop by his side, and -his gaze fixed itself on the landscape as he spoke. "I wish he had -said more about him. What were the circumstances of his death? The -little he says here, and one sentence of Margaret's--'when I -first heard that my husband had been murdered by the black -fellows'--comprise all I know--all any one knows--for her father would -not mention his name, and I verily believe has forgotten that the man -ever existed. I wish he had told me more." - -He resumed the letter and read it again, this time through to the end, -steadily and attentively. - -Then he said slowly, and with a despondent shake of the head: - -"I am very much afraid my old friend's son, Robert, is a bad boy." - -James Dugdale had not been more than an hour at Chayleigh when he had -read Hayes Meredith's letter. His return was unexpected, and he had -been told by the servant who admitted him that the "ladies" were out. -This was true, inasmuch as neither was in the house, but incorrect in -so far as it seemed to imply that they were together. - -Mrs. Carteret had departed in her pony-carriage, arrayed in handsome -apparel, the materials and tints whereof were a clever combination of -the requirements of the season then expiring and the season just about -to begin, with a genteel recognition of the fact that an individual -connected with the family had died within a period during which -society would exact a costume commemorative of the circumstance. Mrs. -Carteret had gone out, in high good humour with herself, and her -dress, and her pony-carriage, with her smart servant, her pretty -harness, her visiting-list, and the state of her complexion. - -This latter was a subject of unusual self-gratulation, for Mrs. -Carteret's complexion was changeable: it needed care, and, on the -whole, it caused her more uneasiness, and occupied more of her -attention, than any other mundane object. She was by no means a plain -woman, and she had once been pretty--but her prettiness had been of a -sunny, commonplace, exasperating, self-complacent kind; and now that -it existed no longer, the expression of self-satisfaction was rather -increased than lessened, for there was no delicacy of feature and no -genuine bloom to divert attention from it. - -If Mrs. Carteret believed anything firmly, it was that she was -indisputably and incomparably the best, and very nearly the -handsomest, of created beings; and she had a way of talking solemnly -about her personal appearance,--taking careful note of its every -peculiarity and variation, and bestowing upon it the minutest and most -vexatious care,--which was annoying to her friends in general, and to -James Dugdale in particular. - -Mrs. Carteret was a woman who would be totally unmoved by any kind or -degree of human suffering brought under her notice, but who would -speak of a cold in her own head, or a pimple on her own face, as a -calamity calculated to alarm and grieve the entire circle of her -acquaintance. She was almost amusing in her transparent, engrossing, -uncontrolled selfishness--amusing, that is, to strangers. It was not -so pleasant to those who lived in the house or came into constant -contact with her; they failed to perceive the humorous side of her -character. - -Her husband, who, with all his oddity and absence of mind, was not -destitute of a degree of tact, in which there was a _soupçon_ of -cunning, and which he aired whenever there was any risk of his -dearly-prized "quiet life" being endangered, had invented a kind of -vocabulary of compliments of simulated solicitude and exaggerated -sympathy, which was wonderfully efficacious, and really gave him very -little trouble. To be sure he was rather apt to adhere to it with a -parrot-like fidelity, and on her "pale days" to congratulate Mrs. -Carteret on her bloom, and on her "dull days" to discover that it was -difficult to leave her, she talked so charmingly--"but those new -specimens must be seen to," &c. &c. - -But these were mere casualties, and, as intense vanity is frequently -accompanied by dense stupidity, they never endangered the good -understanding between the husband--who was not nearly so tired of his -wife as a more clever and practical man must inevitably have been--and -the wife, whose wildest imaginings could never have extended to the -possibility of any one's finding her less than perfectly admirable, or -her husband otherwise than supremely enviable. - -In the days when Mrs. Carteret had been pretty, her prettiness was of -the corset-maker's model description, a prettiness which consisted in -straight features, a high and well-defined colour, and a figure which -required, and could bear, a good deal of tight-lacing. - -Women did lace tightly in the golden prime of Mrs. Carteret's days, -and she was not behindhand in that or any other fashion; indeed, she -had a profound and almost religious respect for fashion, and she had, -in consequence, a stiffness of figure suggestive of her being obliged -to turn round "all at once" when it was necessary for her to turn at -all, which gave her whole person an air and attitude of stiff and -starched stupidity, highly provoking to an observer endowed with -taste. - -The paying of morning visits was an occupation especially congenial to -Mrs. Carteret's taste, and well suited to her intellectual capacity, -which answered freely to the demand made on it on such occasions. She -was not by any means a vulgar gossip, but she possessed a satisfactory -enough knowledge of the affairs and "ways" of all the "visitable" -people within reach, and she found discussing them a very agreeable -pastime. - -She was not so stupid a woman as to be unaware that she and her -affairs were discussed in their turn; but her invariable conviction -that, in all respects, she was a faultless being, rendered the -knowledge painless. - -Thus, when Mrs. Carteret set out on a round of visits, in the -aforesaid equipage and in her customary choice apparel, she was as -happy as it was in her not expansive nature to be. - -All the happier that Margaret did not accompany her, for, though -Margaret's heavy mourning dress was not a bad foil to the taste and -elegance, as she believed, of her own, people were apt to be too much -interested in, too curious about, the young widow--always rather an -interesting object--for the fancy of Mrs. Carteret, who did not admire -her stepdaughter herself, and to whom it was neither intelligible nor -pleasant that other people should admire her. - -As to Lady Davyntry and Mr. Baldwin (for she had been forced to -include the brother with the sister in the category of Margaret's -friends), she had, as we have seen, resolved to find her account in -_that_ intimacy, and she did not trouble herself about it. - -At the same hour in which Mrs. Carteret was giving way to her -self-complacent sentiments, Margaret was taking leave of Lady -Davyntry. She had been at Davyntry since the morning, and was then -going home. Mr. Baldwin was ready, according to his now almost -invariable custom, to offer her his escort. - -It was quite the end of October, a soft, shadowy, beautiful day, the -air full of the faint perfume of the fallen leaves and of the golden -gleam of the sunshine, which lingered as if regretfully. Lady Davyntry -accompanied Margaret to the little garden-gate which opened into the -demesne, and then took leave of her. - -When her friend and her brother had left her, she stood for a few -minutes looking after them, then walked up the garden-path, saying to -herself: - -"I hope I shall be able to hold my tongue about it, and not spoil all -by letting her see that such an idea has ever entered into my head!" - -In many respects Lady Davyntry was a sensible woman. - -Margaret and her companion went on their way, slowly. They were -talking of a projected journey on the part of Mr. Baldwin. He was -going to visit his Scotch estates. - -"I have not been much there," he said; "my time has mostly been passed -abroad. My longest stay at the Deane was when poor Nelly was there -with Sir Richard; and, of course, I can't expect her to go back to the -scene of all her trouble so soon; so I must go alone." - -"Can't you?" said Margaret, with a sudden flush on her cheek; "I -should have thought it would have been her greatest, her best -consolation. But people feel so differently," she said absently; and -then made some remark about the beauty of the day. Her companion -wondered at her strange manner. He took the hint to change the -subject. - -"Shall you be long away?" Margaret asked him. - -He would have been only too happy to tell her that the duration of his -absence would depend entirely on her pleasure--to tell her what was -the truth, that he was leaving her now because he loved her, and hoped -the day might come when he might try to make her love him; when -respect for her position should no longer bind him to silence. - -He felt he could not remain in her vicinity during the time that must -elapse before he could venture to acknowledge his feelings, without -the risk of offending her, perhaps losing her by their premature -betrayal, and he had determined to go to Scotland and remain there -until the time should be near when she thought of leaving Chayleigh. - -Then he would return and take his chance. If she would accept the -love, the home, the fortune he had to offer her, he almost dreaded to -think what happiness life---which had never been adorned with any very -brilliant hues of imagination by him before--would have in store for -him. - -When she asked him, in her clear, sweet voice, whose tones were to-day -as pure and untroubled as if she had never spoken any words but those -of the gladness which should so well have beseemed her youth, that -careless question, he felt all the difficulty of the restraint he had -imposed upon himself. - -"I am not quite certain," he replied; "I daresay I shall find a great -deal to do at the Deane, and a good deal will be expected from me in -the way of sociability--a tribute, by the way, which I render very -unwillingly. I--I suppose you will not leave Chayleigh this winter?" - -"I don't think my father has any intention of going anywhere," -Margaret said; "and I shall remain with him until I leave him 'for -good;'--as people say when they leave for the equal chance of good or -evil. I believe, too, there is a chance of my brother's coming home." - -"Indeed," said Mr. Baldwin; "that is good news. I didn't hear anything -of it." - -"No. I told Lady Davyntry this evening, before you came in. I should -like to be here when Haldane comes"--and her face was overcast by the -mournful, musing expression he knew and loved so well. "He and I -quarrelled before he went away--but I suppose he will not keep that up -with me _now_." - -She looked round with a forlorn kind of smile actually painful to see. -In it there was an appeal to the dreariness of her lot, to the -terrible blight which had settled on her youth, against harsh judgment -of the wilfulness and folly which had led her to such a doom, -inexpressibly affecting. - -The strong restraint, the habitual patience which she maintained over -all her emotions, seemed to forsake her quite suddenly. Her companion -might have taken it as a good omen for him that it was in his company -alone the control was loosened; but he did not think of himself, only -of her. - -The forlorn smile was succeeded by an ominous twitching of the lips, -and the next moment Margaret had covered her face with her hands and -burst into tears. - -Mr. Baldwin watched her with inexpressible pangs of love and pity. He -dared not speak. What could he say? He knew nothing, though he could -surmise much, of the past which had given rise to this burst of -emotion. - -To try to console, was to seem to question her. He stood by her in the -keenest distress, and could only entreat her to remember that it was -all over now. The paroxysm passed over as he uttered the words for the -second time. - -Margaret took her hands away from her face, and looked at him, and -there was an angry sparkle in her eye which he had never seen before, -but which he thought very beautiful. - -"You don't believe what you say," she said quickly, and walking on -hurriedly as she spoke; "you don't believe what you say. You know -there are things in life which are never over--sorrows and experiences -which time can never change. When you say to me that it is all over -now, you say what is not true, and you know it, or you guess it; you -might know it if you would. Do you think I am like other women, like -your sister, for instance, with nothing but pure and sanctifying grief -for the dead, to ripen my mind? Do you think I am like her, or like -any other woman, whose quiet life, however sad, has been led in -decency, and has been sheltered and guarded by the protections which -may be found in honest poverty? Do you think I can come home here, and -find myself once more among the people and places I knew when I was a -girl, and not feel like a cheat? I tell you the Past is _not_ all -over; it will stand as long as I live between me and other people--not -my employers, for there will be no associations in their case; but -every one who knew me once, and who knows me now. Why does no one -speak to _me_, in even a casual way, of the places I have seen, or the -people I have been amongst? Do you think I imagine it is because they -are unwilling to awaken a slumbering sorrow? No! You know, and I know, -it is because they feel that I have seen sights unfit for women's -eyes, and heard words unfit for women's ears; and can I ever forget it -while others remember it whenever they see me? No, no, no! I never, -never can!" - -She pressed her small hands together and slightly wrung them; a -gesture habitual to her in distress, but which he had never seen -before. He caught her right hand in his, and drew it within his arm. -She walked on with him, but was, as he knew, almost unconscious of his -presence. - -How he loved her! how he hated the dead man who had caused her to -suffer thus! A young man himself, and she no more than a girl; and yet -how little of the aspect, how little of the sense of youth there was -about either as they walked together through the woods and fields that -day! - -This sudden revelation of Margaret's feelings brought a sense of -despair to Fitzwilliam Baldwin. If the spectre of the past haunted her -thus, if she were divided from all the present by this drear shade, -then was she divided from him too. - -How should he hope to lay the ghost which thus walked abroad in the -noonday beside her? Had he had a little more experience, had not -Margaret been so completely a new type of womanhood to him, had he had -a little less humility, he would have taken courage from the fact that -she had given utterance to such feelings before him. - -That he had seen Margaret as no other human being had ever seen her, -ought to have been an indication to him that, however unconsciously to -her, he was to Margaret what no other human being was. The time was to -come in which he was to make that discovery; but that time was not -yet, and he left her that day with profound discouragement. - -She recovered herself after a little, and when they reached the -confines of the demesne of Chayleigh they were talking in their -ordinary manner of ordinary subjects, but Margaret's arm still rested -on that of her companion, nor was it removed until they reached the -little gate between the wood and the pleasaunce. - -As they crossed the lawn, Margaret's dress swept the fallen leaves -rustling after her. She was very near the house now, and the sound -caught James Dugdale's ear as he lay on his couch in the window. He -raised himself on his elbow and looked out. The letter from Hayes -Meredith was still in his hand. Margaret looked up and greeted him -with a smile. - -The next moment she was in the verandah, and he heard her laugh as she -spoke to her father. Her voice thrilled his heart as it had done on -the first day of her return. Her laugh had something like the old -sound in it, which he had not heard since she was a girl. Good God! -how long ago! She was looking better than when he went away. She was -happy again in her old home. - -He went downstairs, and they had a pleasant meeting. Margaret was -kindly interested in his Oxford news. Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Carteret -talked together. James and Margaret remained in the verandah until -after Mr. Baldwin had taken his leave, and the sharp trot of Mrs. -Carteret's ponies was audible. Then Margaret said: - -"I must go and get ready for dinner." - -And James detained her for a moment, saying: - -"I have a letter which will interest you. It is from a friend of -yours." - -"A friend of mine?" said Margaret, in surprise. "Who can it be? I have -but two or three friends in the world." - -"A cynic would tell you you were exceptionally rich in friends, -according to that calculation. How do you count them?" - -"Yourself," said Margaret, with more frank kindness of tone than he -had ever before recognised in her manner towards him. - -"_Après_?" - -"Well, Lady Davyntry." - -"And Hayes Meredith? That is it, is it not? The letter is from him. -You shall hear all about it, after dinner." - -Margaret left him and went to her room. She felt rather vexed with -herself. When she answered James Dugdale's question, she had _not_ -been thinking of Hayes Meredith. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -FOOL'S PARADISE. - - -Shortly after the incidents narrated in the preceding chapter, Mr. -Baldwin left Davyntry. His sister maintained to the last the strong -constraint she had put upon herself. She had seen with a genuine -disinterested pleasure, for which the world in general might fairly -have been excused for not giving her credit, that her young favourite -had captivated her only brother. - -Without being a very wise, a very witty, or in any marked way a very -superior woman, Eleanor Davyntry possessed certain admirable and -estimable qualities. Not the least remarkable, and perhaps the most -rare of these, was disinterestedness. This virtue was in her: it did -not arise from circumstances. She was not disinterested because she -was rich,--the amount of wealth in people's possession makes no -difference in their appreciation of and desire for wealth,--and Lady -Davyntry "had no nonsense about her." - -She thoroughly understood the value of her money as a means towards -the enjoyment of the happiness which she acknowledged to be hers; but -it never occurred to her for a moment to consider her own interests in -the question of her brother's future. That he would probably marry at -some time she looked upon as certain; and the inheritance of the Deane -from one so much younger than herself would not have been a hopeful -subject of speculation, had she been a person who would have -speculated upon it at all. Even if she had had children, it would have -been all the same to Lady Davyntry. She would not have been covetous -for them any more than for herself. She had thought rather nervously, -since Sir Richard's death had left her more dependent on her brother -for the love and companionship without which life would have been -intolerable to a woman of her disposition, of the probabilities of Mr. -Baldwin's marriage. - -Lady Davyntry had her prejudices; one of them was against Scotchwomen. -She hoped he would not marry a Scotchwoman, therefore she had never -encouraged her brother's residence at the Deane. - -"It is not so much their ankles and wrists," she had assured Sir -Richard, when he had remonstrated with her for "snubbing" a florid -young lady who hailed from Aberdeen; and did it in a voice which set -Lady Davyntry's teeth on edge, and made her backbone quiver, "as it is -their minds and their ways. Of course, the way they speak is very -awful, and the way they move is worse; but I could stand all that, I -daresay. But what I cannot stand is their coarse way of looking at -things, and the hardness of them in general. And as for flirting! -_You_ may think it is not dangerous, because it is all romping and -hoydenism; but I don't want a sister-in-law of Miss MacAlpine's -pattern, and so I tell you." - -"Hadn't you better tell Baldwin so, my dear Nelly," the reasonable -baronet had made answer. "_I_ don't want a MacAlpine importation into -the family either; but, after all, it's _his_ business, not mine." - -"No, no," said the astute Nelly; "I am not quite so stupid as to warn -any man against a particular woman of whom he has hitherto taken no -special notice. That would be just the way to make him notice her, and -that would be playing her game for her. I am not really afraid of the -fair Jessie; Fitzwilliam can see her wrists, and her ankles too, quite -as plainly as I can; and I fancy he suffers rather more acutely from -her accent. I shall limit my interference to getting him away from the -Deane." - -Other and sadder preoccupations soon after claimed Lady Davyntry, and -Miss Jessie MacAlpine was forgotten. And now, when her brother spoke -of leaving her to return to the Deane, she remembered the young woman -and her mosstrooper-like accomplishments without a shade of -apprehension. - -"My darling Margaret has made my mind quite easy on _that_ point, at -all events," thought Eleanor, as Mr. Baldwin imparted to her some of -his intentions for the benefit of his tenantry and estate. "Whether -she cares for him or not, whether good or evil is to be the -result,--and I believe all will go well with them both,--he is safe in -such an attachment." - -When her brother had left her, Eleanor thought long and happily over -it all. Of his feelings she did not entertain a doubt, and her keen -feminine perception had begun to discern in Margaret certain symptoms -which led her to hope that for her too the dawn of a fair day was at -hand. If she had known more of the young widow's inner life, if she -had had a clearer knowledge of her past. Lady Davyntry would have -hoped less and feared more. But her ignorance prevented the -discouragement of fear, and her natural enthusiasm aided the impulses -of hope; and she saw visions and dreamed dreams which were pure and -beautiful, for they were all of the happiness and the good of others. - -Thus Margaret's sadness and silence, the gloom which sometimes settled -heavily over her, did not grieve her watchful friend. If only she -loved, or should come to love, Fitzwilliam Baldwin, all this should be -changed. All the darkness should pass away, and a life adorned with -all that wealth could lend, enriched with all that love could give, -should open before the woman whose feet had hitherto trodden such -weary ways. Lady Davyntry pleased herself with fancies of all she -should do to increase the happiness of that splendid visionary -household at the Deane. - -If Lady Davyntry could have known what were Margaret's thoughts just -at the time when Mr. Baldwin went away, she would have felt some -discouragement, though not so much as a person less given to -enthusiasm, and to the raising of a fancy to the rank and importance -of a hobby. She had never realised any of the painful features of Mrs. -Hungerford's past life; she had never tried to realise them. Her mind -was not of an order to which the realisation of circumstances entirely -out of the sphere of her experience was possible, and she never -speculated upon them. - -In a different way, and for quite another class of reason, Lady -Davyntry had arrived at a state of mind similar to that of Mr. -Carteret, who regarded the blissful feet of his son-in-law's death as -not only the termination, but the consignment to oblivion, of all the -misery his existence had occasioned. - -"Of course she is low at times," thought Lady Davyntry; "that is only -natural. After all, she must feel herself out of her place at -Chayleigh, with that detestable woman. But that will not last; and she -will be all the brighter and the happier when Fitz has her safely at -home." - -The world would have found it hard to understand that Mr. Baldwin's -only sister--the great, rich, enviable, to-be-captured-if-possible Mr. -Baldwin's sister--should desire so ardently the marriage of her -brother with a person who had no fortune, no claim to personal -distinction, and--_a story_. Horrible dowry for a woman! Better any -insignificance, however utter. - -And Margaret? While Mr. Baldwin was attending to the long-neglected -demands, undergoing active persecution at the hands of a neighbourhood -resolved on intimacy, and longing, with all the strength of his heart, -for the sight of Margaret's pale face and the sound of her thrilling -voice--while his sister was building castles in the air for him to -tenant--what of Margaret? What of her who was the centre, so -unconsciously to herself, of all these hopes and speculations? - -She was perhaps farther just then than she had ever been from a mood -which was likely to dispose her towards their realisation. She had -been disturbed rather than affected by the perusal of Hayes Meredith's -letter. It had immediately succeeded to the outburst of emotion to -which she had yielded in the presence of Mr. Baldwin, and for which -she had afterwards taken herself severely to task; and it had upset -her hard-won equanimity. - -She was ashamed of herself, angry with herself, when she found out how -much she desired that the past should be utterly forgotten. She had -had to bear it all, and she had borne it, not so badly on the whole; -but she did not want any reference to it; she shrunk from any external -association with it as from a physical pain. Her reluctance to -encounter any such association had strangely increased within the past -few weeks. - -She did not know, she did not ask herself, why. Was she ungrateful -because she had felt intense reluctance to read Hayes Meredith's -letter? Had she forgotten, had she ceased to thank him for all he had -done to lighten her lot? Was she so cold, so "shallow-hearted," as to -think, as many a vulgar-minded woman would have thought, that her -account with the man who had succoured her in a strange land was -closed with the cheque which her father had given her to be sent to -him, in payment of the money he had lent her? - -No, Margaret Hungerford was not ungrateful; but there was a sore spot -in her heart which something--she did not ask what--was daily making -sorer; the letter had touched it, and she shrunk with keen unexplained -anguish from the touch. She lay awake the whole night after she had -read the letter from Melbourne, and it seemed to her that she lived -all the old agonies of despair, rage, humiliation, and disgust over -again. - -It chanced that the next day James Dugdale was ill. This was so common -an occurrence that no one thought much about it. James was familiar -with suffering, and it was the inevitable penalty of fatigue. Not for -him was the healthy sense of being tired, and of refreshing rest. -Fatigue came to him with pain and fever, with racked limbs, and -irritable nerves, and terrible depression. His journey had tired him, -and he lay all day on the couch placed in the window of his room. - -Hither came Mrs. Carteret frequently, fussily, but genuinely kind, and -Mr. Baldwin, to say some friendly words, and feel the truest -compassion for the strong man thus imprisoned in his weak frame. -Hither, later in the day, and much to the surprise of James Dugdale, -came Margaret. He had thought she had gone to Davyntry, and said so. -She reddened, a little angrily, as she replied, - -"No: I have not been out. You seem to think I must always go to -Davyntry." - -"Not _I_, indeed, Margaret," said James, with a smile; "but I think -_they_ do. Since I have been away, I understand you have been -constantly at Davyntry, and I am very glad to hear it; it is good for -you and for Lady Davyntry also." - -"Perhaps so; she is very kind," said Margaret absently. "At all -events, I am not there to-day, as you see, and I am not going there, -or anywhere, but I will sit here with you, if I may." - -She turned on him one of her rare, winning smiles--a smile far more -beautiful, he thought, than any her girlhood had been decked in. She -drew a low chair into the bow of the window, beside his couch, and sat -down. Between him and the light was her graceful figure, and her clear -pale face, with its strangely-contrasted look of youth and experience. - -"Are you really going to give up all the afternoon to me?" said James, -in delight. - -"I really am. I will read to you, or we can talk, just as you like. I -suppose you don't feel any great fancy for turning tutor to me over -again, though I see all my old school-books religiously preserved on -your book-shelves," she said, glancing round at the well-stocked walls -of the room, which had been the schoolroom in the days when Haldane -and she had been James's pupils. - -"I have kept every remembrance of that time, Margaret," said James. - -There was a tone in his voice which might have been a revelation to -her, had she heard it, but she did not. She smiled again, and said: - -"You had a troublesome pupil. I am in a good mood to-day, as I used to -say long ago, and I want to talk to you about this." - -She took Hayes Meredith's letter out of her pocket as she spoke. - -James Dugdale kept silence, looking at her. "Is she going to tell me -the story of her life?" he thought. "Am I going at last to learn -something of the history of this woman whom I love?" - -Margaret did not speak for some moments; she looked at the letter in -silence. Then she unfolded it, and said: - -"I am glad you let me read this letter for myself, James" (she had -dropped into the habit of calling him by his name); "there are some -hard things in it, but they are true--and so, better spoken, no matter -how hard they may be. But let us pass them over, they are said of the -dead." - -Her face hardened, and she turned it away from him. James Dugdale laid -his thin hand on her arm. - -"Margaret," he said, "you know I would not have given you that letter -to grieve you. I was thinking so much of what Meredith says of himself -and his son that I forgot the allusion to--" - -"I know, I know," she said hurriedly; "don't say his name; I never -do." - -The admission was a confidence. She was breaking down the barrier of -reserve between them. She trusted him. She might come to like him yet. -The friendship at least of the woman he loved might yet come to gild -this man's lonely life. It would be much to him to know that she -forgave him; and there was something in her manner now so different -from anything that had ever been there formerly, that he began to hope -she had really forgiven him. - -In his quiet life, James Dugdale had contrived to attain, with very -little aid from experience, to a tolerable amount of comprehension of -human nature, and he understood that Margaret's practically-enforced -conviction, that he had been unerringly right in all he had suspected -and predicted of the fate in store for her, in her marriage, had not -made her more inclined to pardon the interference on his part which -she had so bitterly resented. But this was all over now, he did not -know why; he felt it, he did not understand it. - -Was it that the natural elasticity of youth was asserting its -power--that Margaret was regaining her spirits, was throwing off the -burden of the past, and, with it, all the feelings which had obscured -the brightness and injured the gentleness of her nature? This was the -most probable explanation; if, indeed, there was any other, it did not -present itself as an alternative to James Dugdale. While he was -thinking thus, she began to speak again in a hurried tone: - -"I should like to tell you now, James, because I would rather not have -to refer to the matter again, that I know how kind you were to me, and -how right in everything you said, and how hard you tried to save me. -Yes, yes; let me speak," she went on, and tears, seldom seen in her -eyes, stood in them now. "I could not again; let me speak now. You -tried, James, I know; but you could not succeed. It was from myself I -needed to be saved. Never think that you could have done anything more -than you did; indeed you could not. Nothing could have saved me." - -She was trembling now, even as the hand which he laid on hers, -unnoticed, was trembling. Her lustrous eyes were wet, and the emotion -in her face made it quite beautiful. James Dugdale did not attempt to -speak; he looked at her, and his heart was wrung with pity. - -"It _had_ to be, James, and it is done with, as much as it ever can be -in this world, in which there is no release from consequences of our -own acts. And now"--she raised her head, she released her hand, she -was regaining her composure, the momentary expansion was past, as he -felt, and he had learned nothing!--"let us talk of your friend, who was -so kind to me, and retains so kind a recollection of me. What do you -think of all he says?" - -"I think badly of it," said James, as he leaned back on his couch -again, and adopted the tone she had given to their conversation. "I -fear Robert Meredith is a bad boy." - -"So do I," said Margaret. "I have seen him, though not often, and I -never saw a boy--almost a child--whom I disliked so much. He is a -handsome fellow, but selfish, heartless, and sly. His very cleverness -was revolting to me, and I suspect the feeling of dislike between us -was mutual; he has an American-like precocity about him which I -detest. His little brothers, rough colonial children as they are, are -infinitely more to be liked than he is. Of course you must do as Mr. -Meredith asks you; but if you will credit my judgment--and, all things -considered, I am rather daring in asking you to do so--you will not -undertake anything like personal charge of Robert Meredith." - -"I will certainly take your advice in the matter, Margaret; you _know_ -the boy. I fancy I had better urge Meredith to bring him to England -himself, if it is determined that he is to come. Tell me as much as -you remember about the boy, and all the family. I remember Mrs. -Meredith a pretty, active, pert kind of girl--strong and saucy--a -capital wife for him, I should think." - -"I daresay," Margaret answered carelessly; "I did not know much of -her." - -Then their conversation turned on the career and circumstances of -Hayes Meredith, with which this story has no concern. In aftertime -James Dugdale remembered that day as one of the happiest of his life. -They were quite uninterrupted until late in the evening. Mrs. Carteret -had carried off to a dinner-party her reluctant husband, who would -have infinitely preferred to superintend the dinner of a peculiarly -fine spider--whose proceedings he was watching just then, and whose -larder was largely provided with the last unwary flies of the expiring -autumn. - -Margaret and James Dugdale dined alone. She was in good spirits on the -occasion; she had almost lost the painful impression produced by Hayes -Meredith's letter, by talking it over with James; and between herself -and him there reigned harmony and unreserve which had had no previous -existence. James had never seen her look so nearly beautiful; he had -never seen her so kind, so gentle to him. - -The hours passed over him in a kind of trance-like spell of pleasure. -Margaret talked as he had never imagined she could talk. He had soon -recognised that her character was hardened and strengthened by the -trials she had endured; but until this day he had not known that her -intellect had grown and brightened in proportion. - -They read together Haldane's letters to his old Mend, and Margaret -found in them many a kindly mention of her. Her brother would know of -her arrival in England at about this time. - -"You must promise to tell me what he says, James, if it is not -something very disagreeable indeed." - -And James promised. - -From that day Margaret was a less unhappy woman than before. The first -effect produced on her by Meredith's letter returned when she went to -Davyntry, after Mr. Baldwin's departure, and was more than ever warmly -greeted by her friend. - -"I don't think I could bear Fitzwilliam's absence if I had not your -society," Lady Davyntry said to her; and, fond and flattering as the -words were, there was, not in them, but in the mood in which she -listened to them, something that hurt Margaret. - -The young widow's pride was for ever rebelling against the unshared -knowledge of the experiences through which she had passed. Eleanor -talked to her incessantly of her brother, of the Deane, of his -occupations, his neighbours, and his popularity. The theme did not -weary Margaret; and Lady Davyntry accepted her unflagging attention as -a delightful omen. - -"She misses him; I am sure she misses him," was her pleased mental -comment. - -"I hardly expected Margaret to remain so long at Davyntry _to-day_," -said Mrs. Carteret to James Dugdale, as the family party were -assembled in the drawing-room at Chayleigh. - -James observed the emphasis, and replied: - -"Indeed; why not?" - -"Mr. Baldwin is not there, you know, and I fancy he is the great -attraction." - -James made her no reply. He fully understood the spiteful animus of -the observation, but he also admitted its terrible probability; not in -the present--he did not take so superficial a view of Margaret's -character as that would have implied--but a thrill of fear for the -future came over him, troubling his Fools' Paradise. In a little while -Margaret came in, looking as tranquil as usual, and, in her accustomed -manner of placid, unalterable calm,--the bearing she always -opposed to the masked battery of Mrs. Carteret's insinuations and -insolences,--answered the questions put to her. - -When James Dugdale was alone that night he took himself to task, in no -gentle manner. He knew he had nothing to expect beyond the unexpected -boon of kindness and confidence she had already extended to him; and -yet the thought that another might again stand nearer to Margaret than -he, struck him with an anguish almost as keen as the first torment had -been. He had doubted that fate could bring him anything very hard to -bear again, and here was a faint sickening indication that fate -intended to resolve his doubt into a fatal certainty. - -But no: he would not think of it; he would not let it near him; it -could not be. He knew he was weak in shrinking as he did, in striving -to shut out anything that might possibly be true--and, therefore, -ought to be faced--as he did; but the weakness would have its way, -like the fainting of the body, and, for the present time at least, he -would put the apprehension from him. - -The days and the weeks passed by, and the external state of things -remained unchanged at Chayleigh. Uninterrupted friendship, and a -certain degree of confidence, were maintained between Margaret and -James. The health and spirits of the young widow improved; her -friendship with Lady Davyntry remained unimpaired. The correspondence -between Eleanor and her brother was frequent and lengthy, and the -letters from the Deane were imparted with great frankness by the elder -to the younger lady. They were vivid, amusing, and characteristic, and -invariably included a message of cordial remembrance to the household -at Chayleigh. Peace of mind was prevalent among all the parties -concerned in the little _drame intime_ with which we are dealing. - -Lady Davyntry's mind was at peace, because she saw that Margaret's -interest in Mr. Baldwin's report of his doings at the Deane did not -flag; and, as she said to herself, "there was no one to interfere with -his chances." - -James Dugdale's mind was at peace, because Margaret seemed happier and -calmer than he had ever again expected to see her; and, as Mr. Baldwin -remained away, he was not to be feared; and it was evident that the -source of her renewed content was to be found in her present sphere. - -Mrs. Carteret's mind was at peace, because Margaret gave her no -trouble, and kept herself so quiet, so completely aloof from "the -neighbourhood," that that noun of moderate multitude,--having -satisfied its curiosity by observing how Mr. Carteret's daughter -looked in her "weeds,"--was content to forget her existence, or ready -to condole with Mrs. Carteret upon her stepdaughter's strange -unsociability, and to compliment the lady upon the contrast in that -respect which they presented. - -Things had turned out so differently from Mrs. Carteret's first -apprehensive anticipations--she had been able to _exploiter_ Margaret -so successfully; her boasted intimacy at Davyntry had been so -complacently indorsed by Lady Davyntry, who would have gone more -directly against her conscience even than that to make Margaret's -position at home easier--that Mrs. Carteret had almost ceased to wish -for Margaret's departure--had even thought casually that it would -certainly _look_ better, and might possibly _be_ better, if she could -be induced to remain at her father's house. - -"Perhaps she may settle herself advantageously yet," Mrs. -Carteret--whose ideas were eminently practical--said to herself; and -she even thought of consulting James as to whether she had not better -suggest such a solution of the problem of the future to Margaret. - -Mr. Carteret's mind was at peace, because his mind had never been in -any other condition since Godfrey Hungerford's death had restored it -to ordinary equilibrium, and because his collections were getting on -splendidly. - -When Margaret Hungerford had been five months at Chayleigh--when the -time was approaching which she had fixed upon as the period at which -she would commence her career of labour and independence--when eleven -months had elapsed since Godfrey Hungerford's death--when the snows of -February lay thick and white upon the earth--an event occurred which -disturbed the calm of Chayleigh. - -Mrs. Carteret distinguished herself in a most unexpected manner. She -caught cold returning from one of the dull dinner-parties which her -soul loved, and which no inclemency of weather, or domestic crisis -which could be ignored with any decency, would have induced her to -forego. A second dinner-party was to come off within three days; so -Mrs. Carteret denied the existence of the cold, and attended that -solemn festival. That day week she was dead. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. -DAWNING. - - -"You cannot conceive anything more perfect than the way Margaret is -behaving," wrote Lady Davyntry to her brother, when the first novelty -and shock of Mrs. Carteret's death had somewhat subsided, "in this sad -affair. Her conduct to her father is most admirable. He, poor man, is -in a wretched state--more, perhaps, of bewilderment than grief, but -altogether unhinged. - -"Master's put out terrible," was the account I had from one of the -Chayleigh servants, and, odd and horrid as it sounds, I really think -that is the best description of poor Mr. Carteret's state of mind. -Anything he is not used to "puts him out," and he is singularly little -used to trouble or emotion of any kind. - -"He wanders about in a way distressing to behold, and cannot be -induced to occupy himself. 'There ain't no keeping him in the study,' -Foster said to me; 'and as much as stick a pin in a butterfly, Mr. -James nor Miss Margaret can't indoose him to do.' - -"He seems to have lost all his taste for his specimens, but Margaret -has hit upon a great idea for his relief and amusement. This is no -other than to talk to her father about the interest which the poor -woman who is gone took in his pursuits, and how much she would have -regretted his abandonment of them. - -"There is a touch of pious fraud in this, for no one can possibly know -better than Margaret that Mrs. Carteret never took any interest in -anything but herself, and was rather more indifferent to her husband's -pursuits than to any other matters; but the fraud is pious and -successful. - -"I have just had a note from her telling me he is more cheerful, and -has been watching her dusting specimens this morning. She also -says--but, on second thoughts, I enclose the note. - -"With all this, my darling Madge has been very candid and sincere. She -has felt the awfulness and the import of the event most deeply, but -she has not pretended to a personal sorrow which it is impossible she -should feel, and I honour her for that--indeed, I honour her for -everything, and love her better every day. - -"Mr. Dugdale has taken Mrs. Carteret's death to heart terribly. She -was sincerely attached to him, I believe, and I fancy he was the only -person in the world who loved her, while he managed her perfectly, and -quite understood her queer disposition. I have seen very little of -him, but Margaret has told me a good deal about him. - -"If you remember, we used to think that he and she did not get on well -together--that she did not like him. With all her reserve, Margaret is -not difficult to understand; she may keep facts to herself, but she -does not disguise feelings, and I am glad to think she and Mr. Dugdale -get on nicely now that they are in such responsible charge at -Chayleigh. - -"If my letter bores you, my dear Fitz, I really cannot help it, for my -head and my heart are both full of Margaret. The Martleys and Forbeses -sent a strong contingent down to the funeral, and two of the Martleys -stayed a week: very handsome young men, not in the least like their -sister, who was very much older. - -"I could not help thinking how vexed the poor woman would have been if -she could have seen Henry Hartley so captivated by her stepdaughter. -He fell in love with Margaret with quite old-fashioned celerity, but -she calmly ignored him and his love. Mr. Dugdale saw it plainly, and -did not like it by any means. They have all had enough of the -Martleys, I fancy. - -"The young men took their sister's death very easily; the eldest was -evidently glad to get away; and I cannot be very much surprised or -very angry. This event will make a great difference to Margaret. I -have always had a presentiment--_I have_, how ever you may laugh--that -she would not have to leave Chayleigh. Of course, she cannot think of -doing so now; she must remain with her father. - -"Captain Carteret is on his way home, Mr. Dugdale came here yesterday -with Margaret for the first time. I believe something was said about -his leaving Chayleigh and going back to Oxford, but Mr. Carteret would -not hear of it; he clings to Mr. Dugdale more even than to Margaret. -So they will settle down together, no doubt. It is a good thing -Captain Carteret was not here sooner; the gloom will have pretty well -dispersed before he comes. - -"Your account of the Deane is delightful. I think you are quite right -not to refurnish the drawing-rooms just yet. Perhaps I might screw up -my courage to going there in summer, and then I could choose colours, -and so on, for you. You do not really want drawing-rooms at present, -and I should not mind anything of the kind if I were you. You may not -remain at the Deane long. Indeed, I hope you are thinking of coming -back to me; I want to consult you about such a lot of things; and I -hate letter-writing, and explain myself so badly." - -For a lady who hated letter-writing, Lady Davyntry indulged in it a -good deal; and, with singular self-denial, devoted herself to keeping -her brother thoroughly well informed concerning affairs in the -neighbourhood. - -She would, priding herself on her astuteness and believing herself -inscrutably clever in the performance, send him pages of gossiping -details about other people than the dwellers at Chayleigh; she would -tell him about the Croftons, the Crokers, and the Willises, about -friends in town and friends in foreign parts, whenever it appeared to -her that her insistence upon Chayleigh was becoming too marked. - -By such artful dodges did she seek to divert Mr. Baldwin's suspicions -that she cherished the profound design of marrying him to her friend. - -Her brother, on his part, carefully forbore to point out the -inconsistency between her dislike of letter-writing and the frequency -of her correspondence. He understood the guileless and amiable Eleanor -thoroughly, and smiled over her letters as he thought how charmingly -transparent the artifice was, and how easily he could have disposed of -it all, had it not precisely coincided with his own wishes. - -Time hung heavily on Mr. Baldwin's hands in the midst of his great -possessions, and in the presence of his popularity with an assiduous -neighbourhood. He had set his heart, he was ready to stake his whole -future, upon winning the wearied heart of the pale-faced girl who had -brought something into his life which had never been there before, and -the hours and days lingered until the time should come which he had -set before himself as fitting for the attempt. - -Her first year of widowhood would soon have elapsed, and then he -might, without offence, tell her that he loved her. So he named that -time, in his own mind, for his return to Davyntry. - -When Mrs. Carteret's death occurred, Mr. Baldwin did not alter his -plan. The change in Margaret's prospects, the necessity for her -remaining with her father, the fact that her sphere of duty was -strictly defined now, gave him no uneasiness. - -He would never ask her to leave her father. He knew Mr. Carteret well. -It did not take much time or pains to acquire that knowledge, and he -knew he had no strong attachment to Chayleigh. If he could but -persuade Margaret to come and reign at the Deane, he had no doubt her -father would readily go there too. - -He had a conviction, which, after all, was not presumptuous for a man -of his fortune and station to entertain, that in Margaret's brother he -should find a friend. James Dugdale had told him a little of the -family history--had given him a vague notion of the part Haldane had -taken in the circumstances which had led to Margaret's disastrous -marriage; and he felt that the young man would naturally rejoice that -such a total change should be wrought in the life of his sister, who -had paid so dearly for her imprudence. - -A man of peculiarly simple tastes and habits, of unaffected ways of -thinking about himself and other people, it rarely occurred to -Fitzwilliam Baldwin to take his wealth into account; but he did so -now, very reasonably. "It would not weigh with her for a minute," he -thought; "but it will with them, and it will be pleasant to have them -all for, and not against, me." - -Life at Chayleigh had settled down again. The delusive appearance of -immutability which human affairs assume--human affairs which are but a -shifting quicksand--had established itself. The establishment, -presided over by Margaret, went on in the ordinary way, the servants -highly appreciating the change of _régime_; and Mr. Carteret was -beginning to dispose of the days after his old fashion, when Mr. -Baldwin returned to Davyntry, and Haldane Carteret arrived at -Chayleigh. - -The meeting between the brother and sister was frankly affectionate; -the renewal of their companionship was delightful to both. Margaret -thought her brother wonderfully improved. He was a handsome, manly, -soldierly fellow, who had no trace of likeness to his gentle, -studious, feeble father, but whose face, despite its bronzed skin and -its thick dark moustache, awakened strange memories in Mr. Carteret's -placid breast. - -A curious mental phenomenon took place in the experience of Haldane's -father. A little while ago, and he was fretting for Mrs. Carteret--if -he had said he was wretchedly uncomfortable it would have been a more -correct description of his state of mind; but he chose to call -himself, to himself, profoundly miserable--and now, since Haldane came -home, he had almost forgotten her. - -True, he still sat mopingly in his chair, and stared vacantly out of -the window, when they left him alone; but the reverie which filled -those hours was no longer what it had been. With his son in his bright -strong manhood, with his daughter in her womanhood--early shadowed, -indeed, but beautiful--beside him, his heart turned to the past, and a -gentle figure, a fair delicate face, long since turned to dust, kept -him ghostly company in his solitude. - -Margaret was much surprised when, shortly after Haldane's return, Mr. -Carteret began to talk to her one day about her mother, and spoke of -her with a cheerful freshness of remembrance which she had never -supposed him to entertain. - -"The colours she preferred, the books she liked, the places they had -visited together, certain fancies she had in her illness--the smallest -things, I assure you--is it not wonderful?" Margaret had asked of Lady -Davyntry, as she was telling her this strange circumstance. "I never -was more surprised, and, I need not say, delighted; I don't think poor -Mrs. Carteret's fancies and sayings remain so fresh in his memory. -After so many years, too! The fact is, I don't believe she ever really -filled my mother's place at all." - -Margaret was seated on a cushion in the bay of a great window in the -drawing-room at Davyntry as she spoke thus. Her heavy bonnet and veil -were thrown on the floor beside her, her pale, clear, speaking face, -the eyes bright and humid, the lips parted eagerly, and the flickering -light, which emotion always diffused over her face, playing on her -features. Lady Davyntry stood in the window, and looked down upon her. - -"I am sure she never did," said the impulsive Eleanor; "how could she? -It is all very well for a man to marry again, as your father did, when -he has little children, and no one but servants to look after them; -but, of course, a second marriage never can be the same thing. All the -romance of life is over, you know, and one knows how much fancy there -is in everything; and, in fact, I can't understand it myself--not for -a woman, I mean, who has been happy. A man is different." - -And then Lady Davyntry suddenly discovered that, in proclaiming her -general opinion, she was saying exactly the opposite to what she -thought in the particular case in which she was most deeply -interested, and stopped, very abruptly and awkwardly, and blushing -painfully. But Margaret did not seem to perceive her embarrassment. -Her hands were pressed together; her eyes looked out strangely, -eagerly; her words came as though she had no control of them. - -"And do you think an unhappy woman--one who has found nothing in her -marriage but misery and degradation--one who has nothing of the dreams -and fancies of her youth left for retrospection but sickening deceit -and a horrible cheating self-delusion--one who has no good, or pure, -or gentle, or upright recollection to cherish of a past which was all -a lie, a base infamous lie--do you think a woman with a story like -that in her life ought to marry again? Do you think--you, Eleanor, who -are truth and honour themselves, and who, I suppose, in all your life -never said, or did, or saw, or heard anything for which you have a -right to blush or ought to wish to forget--do you think that a woman -with a story like that in her life ought to marry? Do you think she -ought to link her life to that of any man, however he might love her -and pity her, and be prepared to bear with her, while she had to look -back upon such a past, however guiltless she might be in it--do you -think this, Eleanor? Tell me plainly the truth." - -She put her hand up, and caught one of her friend's hands in hers. -Lady Davyntry still stood and looked at her, and, laying her -disengaged hand on her shoulder, answered her passionate question. - -"Do I? Indeed I do, Margaret. Tell me, are you asking me this for -yourself? Are you asking me if I think, because you have had the -least-deserved misfortune to have been the wife of a bad man, and you -have been released from him, you are to carry the chain in fancy which -has been taken off you in reality? It's unlike you; it is morbid to -ask, to think of such a thing. What are you but a young girl still? -Are you to do penance all your life for the sins of another? No, no, -Margaret; silent as you are about your past, you are asking me this -question in reference to yourself. Is it not so? Do not place a -half-confidence in me. Do not let a delusion like this take possession -of your mind, and blight your future as your past has been blighted." - -"There is nothing in my question," said Margaret, drawing her hand -away from Lady Davyntry, and rising; "nothing in the sense you mean. -My future seems plain and clear enough now. My place in the world is -fixed, I fancy; but sometimes, Eleanor, sometimes the past, of which I -have never spoken to you, of which I cannot speak, comes back to me, -not only in its own dreadful shape, but with a dim undefined threat in -it, and makes me afraid. You don't understand me; well for you that -you do not. I trust you never may." - -She picked up her bonnet and tied it on, and was folding her shawl -round her, while Lady Davyntry stood by, longing to speak out all that -was in her mind, and yet fearing to damage her own hopes by doing so -and learning the worst, when the door opened, and Haldane Carteret and -Mr. Baldwin came into the room. - -Margaret was standing with her back towards the door, and facing a -mirror, in which Lady Davyntry saw her face reflected. It was -startlingly pale, and there was a wild look of pain in the eyes, quite -other than sadness--sometimes a little stern--which was their usual -expression. - -Lady Davyntry could hardly reply to the cheery greeting of Haldane, so -much was she struck by Margaret's change of countenance. Margaret -spoke hurriedly to Mr. Baldwin. The only one of the four who did not -know that there was a consciousness on the part of all the others that -something unusual had taken place was Haldane. - -"I have come to fetch you home, Madge," he said, "and then I'm going -out for a ride with Baldwin, and we dine with the Croftons, so you -won't see much of me to-day. Are you ready?" - -"Quite ready," said Margaret; and she kissed Lady Davyntry, and took -so hurried a leave of her that her friend had not time to ask her a -question. She was about to give Mr. Baldwin her hand, and bid him -good-bye too, but he said he was going their way--his horses might be -taken to Chayleigh. - -When she was left alone, Lady Davyntry tried to disentangle her -impressions of what had occurred. At last she thought she saw the -meaning of it all. Margaret had found out Mr. Baldwin's -not-carefully-preserved secret, even as she (Eleanor) had found it -out, and she loved him. Yes, his sister was sure of it. She had all -the acuteness which keen feeling and true sympathy give, and which is -truer in emergencies than that of mere intellectual cleverness, and -she knew that a sharp and severe struggle was raging in the young -widow's heart. - -She understood it all now--she understood that Margaret shrank from -the avowal to herself that she had learned to love and trust again, -that she had not been able to carry out the expiatory process -which she had resolved--the process of loneliness and labour of -self-repression, and the abnegation of the true happiness to be had -even in this world, because she had been beguiled by the false. She -understood that Margaret, however believing and trusting in -Fitzwilliam Baldwin's love, would feel that there was no equality -between them, and that the serene and beautiful fancies of a happy -girl were not for her, while all the illusion and gladness of life's -early days still were his. Intuitively Lady Davyntry understood it -all; the face she had seen in the glass, when her brother's entrance -had surprised Margaret in one of her rare moments of emotion, had made -it all plain to her. - -"She will refuse him," Eleanor thought; "she will refuse him. These -two, the most suited to one another, the best calculated to be happy -of any people I ever knew--the very ideal of a well-matched pair--will -be kept apart by a chimera. So the evil of that vile man's life lives -after him, and he has the power to make her and others miserable, -though he is in his grave. Shall I speak openly to Fitzwilliam? I -cannot do harm now. No man could be more bent upon anything than he is -on marrying Margaret. I may as well let him know--if, indeed, he has -not guessed it--how much I wish it too." - -Lady Davyntry's nature, like her brother's, was essentially sunny and -cheerful; so she soon roused herself from the depression her discovery -had caused her. - -"If she does refuse him," thought Eleanor, after long cogitating with -herself, "she cannot refuse to tell him why. She is too sincere--she -will not deny that she loves him, and then she will be persuaded out -of this morbid fancy by degrees. After all, it will only be a case of -waiting. I must have patience, and Fitzwilliam must have patience too. -Margaret is worth waiting for. I shall see her at the Deane yet." - -It was a source of great satisfaction to Lady Davyntry to remember -that Margaret was settled at Chayleigh, that Mr. Baldwin need not fear -her removal--that, in fact, he had every external advantage on his -side. - -"How strangely things happen!" she thought. "Really, it seems as if -that poor woman's death were quite providential. If she had lived, I -don't see how Margaret could have possibly stayed at Chayleigh; and -now she cannot get away. Even if she had remained, she could not have -been in such a pleasant and independent position." - -And then Lady Davyntry, who possessed in perfection the fine feminine -facility for looking at every subject from exclusively her own point -of view, came to the comfortable conclusion that poor Mrs. Carteret's -death was "all for the best." - -Haldane Carteret retained all his boyish affection for James Dugdale. -His old tutor loved him, too, better than any one in the world save -Margaret; and the young man's sojourn at home was a bright spot in the -life of the older man, whose life had in it very little brightness. -All that James knew of Margaret's story he had told Haldane by letter, -and now the subject was but rarely revived between them. - -Haldane was not a very acute observer. He rarely troubled himself with -the reflective part of life; he had bright animal spirits, good -health, and was now of an active temperament very different from the -promise of his boyhood. The experiment of letting him follow his -military inclinations had turned out admirably. His father was very -fond of him, very proud of him, and kept out of his way as much as -possible. His presence had the best possible effect on Margaret, who -was beginning to bloom again, not only with the roses, but with the -spirits of her girlish days. - -Haldane was immensely delighted with Mr. Baldwin. It was a new -experience to him that a man of such large fortune, such assured -position, such high intellectual attainments, still young and -flattered by the world, should be of so unworldly a spirit, so pure of -heart and life, and so entirely unassuming. In modern parlance, Mr. -Baldwin was an undeniable "swell," but he never seemed to remember the -circumstance except when an act of generosity, or the exercise of -privilege in the cause of good, was required. - -"I'll tell you what, Dugdale," Haldane Carteret said to his old friend -as they strolled together in the fields by the clump of beeches which -Margaret had said she hated, "there are not many such fellows going as -Baldwin!" - -James Dugdale heartily concurred in his companion's estimate of -Baldwin. - -"Knocking about the world teaches a fellow to appreciate a man like -that," continued Haldane. "It's very strange to remember how one has -been taken in by people. There was that ruffian Hungerford, for -instance. By the bye,"--and Haldane stood still, and looked into -James's face to make his words more emphatic,--"I think Baldwin is -uncommonly attentive to Madge, don't you?" - -"N-no," said James hesitatingly; "I can't say I noticed anything of -the kind." - -"Look out, then, and you will notice it. You're not an observing -person, you know--not a lady's man exactly--neither am I; but I think -I know the symptoms of that sort of thing when I see them; and I don't -think Baldwin is staying at Davyntry altogether on account of his -sister. I say, James, what a grand thing it would be, wouldn't it?" - -"What a grand thing _what_ would be?" asked Dugdale in an impatient -tone. - -"If Madge likes him, and he likes her, and they make a match of it. It -would be a fine marriage for any girl, and it would be a great thing -to have all the past put out of her mind. Fate owes her a good turn, -poor girl!" - -And James? Did not Fate owe him a good turn? If so, he thought sadly, -the debt was not likely to be paid. The change in Margaret's manner, -the increased frankness, the ready kindness she showed him now, had -ceased to bring him any happiness. He did not deceive himself now as -to its source. - -He was nothing more to her than he had ever been; but, instead of the -old bitterness, a root of sweetness was springing up in her heart, and -its natural outcome was the oblivion of her former feelings, the -remission of all past and gone offences from those who would but be -doubly indifferent to her under the influence of this new motive in -her life. - -For a time James Dugdale yielded to the weakness which this new keen -suffering produced. He felt that life had been always bitter for -him--there was no mercy, no gentleness in it at all. - -When he looked at Margaret and noted the change in her face--saw how -the light had come back into the eyes, the roundness to the clear pale -cheeks, the softness to the square brow and the small lips, and -interpreted the change aright, notwithstanding the fits of heavy -sadness which still came over her--he would feel very tired of life. -Impossible not to envy the lot which was never to be his--the destiny -of those who are dowered with love. - -Never to be, never to have been, the first object in life to any one -is a melancholy fate, he would think--one for which no general -affection, or appreciation, not even the most intoxicating gift of -fame, could ever compensate. - -This was his lot, and he knew it, and did not attempt to persuade -himself that it was not very hard and bitter to submit to. After a -time he should be able to look at the matter from the unselfish point -of view of Margaret's happiness; but not yet. He had never quite -realised the nature and extent of his own fears, until Haldane's words -had put the truth before him in the airy and cheerful manner related. -Of course he was right; of course it would be a "great match," and a -"fine thing:" of course it would be the most complete reparation of -all that Fate had wrought against Margaret--the most total reverse of -her life which could be devised. - -The love of such a man--as James, rigidly just in all his pain, -acknowledged Fitzwilliam Baldwin to be--had in itself such elements of -dignity and honour, such power of rehabilitation for the wounded -spirit of the woman he loved, that it was an act of utter oblivion. - -From the unassailable height of her position, as Mr. Baldwin's wife, -Margaret might look down upon the pigmy cares of coarse remark and -prying curiosity, as on all the sordid and common anxieties of -material life from which she had once suffered so keenly. - -He knew all this--he who would, he believed, have suffered anything in -the cause of her welfare. Yes, and so he would, anything but just the -thing he was appointed to suffer; and he could not bring himself to -bear it, not yet. He forgot how he had acknowledged, when she returned -to Chayleigh, that she could not continue to live there, that the dead -level of life there would be intolerable to her who had breathed the -atmosphere of storm and been tossed on the waves of trouble. She was -too young to find refuge in calm; the peace which is the paradise of -age which has suffered, is the prison of suffering youth. - -He knew all this, and yet he murmured against the destiny that was -going to release her, without penalty or price--that was going to -crown her life with happiness. He murmured, he revolted, he raged; and -then he submitted, as we all must, to everything. - -From this state of feeling to an intense longing to know the truth, to -have it all over and done with--to be quite certain that Margaret had -put the old life from her, and with it all the ties which existed -between her and him; that she was going into a sphere in which he -could have no place--was a natural transition for James Dugdale's -feverish, sensitive temperament. - -He watched Margaret and her friend; he understood Lady Davyntry's -feelings perfectly, and owed her no grudge for them; he rather -honoured her as more large-minded and disinterested than most women. -Of course she coveted such a prize as Margaret for her brother. To the -rich, treasures, was the judgment and the way of the world. - -He watched Margaret and her lover. Yes, her lover--he forced himself -to give him that kingly title in his thoughts, and he thought, he -knew, he hoped it might soon come--that suspense, at least, would be -over, and nothing would remain for him but to accustom himself to the -new order of things. - -Full of these thoughts, he sought Margaret, one beautiful day in May, -in the pleasaunce. He had seen her walking on the lawn. She had -exchanged a few sentences with him as she passed the windows of Mr. -Carteret's study, where James was sitting, and he had promised to join -her presently, when her father released him. He was anxious to tell -her that he had heard again from Hayes Meredith. When he joined her he -held a letter in his hand. - -"Papa has been bothering you about those dreadful bats, hasn't he, -James?" asked Margaret with a smile; "I will take my turn at them this -afternoon." - -"O no," he said; "but I wanted to see you before you went out, because -I have a letter from Melbourne." - -She changed colour slightly, and glanced nervously at the letter. - -"It is very short. Meredith merely says he cannot come to England, or -send his son for some time--not for a year, indeed. There is a money -difficulty out there, and Mrs. Meredith is in delicate health." - -"Indeed! I am sorry for that. So master Robert must put up with -colonial life for a little longer." - -"Yes," replied James; "and I am not sorry. The longer my -responsibility as regards that young gentleman is deferred the better. -Still, I should like to see Meredith. Shouldn't you, Margaret? - -"No," she said quickly, and in a tone of decision, "I should not, -James. Not because I am ungrateful--no, indeed--but because anything, -any one connected with that dreadful time I would shun by any lawful -means. You don't know how I dread any mention of it, how I shrink from -any thought of it. You don't--you can't--it is like a curse from which -I never can escape. If"--she continued vehemently--"if Hayes Meredith -came into this house, if any one from that place came, I should feel -it was an evil omen--I should be sure it could only be to bring me -misery. Very superstitious, very wrong, very weak,--is it not, -James?--I know; but it is perfectly true, and stronger than I--" - -She shuddered as she spoke, and was quite pale now. - -James looked at her in agitated surprise, and put the letter, which -she had made no motion to take from him, into his pocket. - -At that moment the footman approached them, coming from the house. - -James glanced at Margaret's white face and tearful eyes, and went -forward to intercept the servant before he should be near enough lo -discover them also. - -"A letter from Davyntry, for Mrs. Hungerford, sir," said the man. - -"Is there any answer required?" - -"I don't know, sir." - -James brought the letter--a very thick one--to Margaret. - -"Just open this," he said, "and see if there's an answer." - -She broke the seal of the envelope, which was directed in Lady -Davyntry's hand, and drew out, not a letter from her friend, but a -second sealed envelope, with her name upon it. The writing was well -known to her; it was Mr. Baldwin's. The outer cover fell to the -ground, as she stood with the enclosure in her hand, James looking at -her and at it. - -"There's--there's no answer," she said. She had not made the slightest -attempt open the missive. - -James Dugdale delivered the message to the servant, who went back to -the house, and then he turned away down another path and struck into -the fields. - - - - -END OF VOL. I. - - - - - - -LONDON: ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's A Righted Wrong, Volume 1 (of 3), by Edmund Yates - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A RIGHTED WRONG, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) *** - -***** This file should be named 60964-8.txt or 60964-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/9/6/60964/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page images provided by the Web Archive -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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(Vol. 1 of 3)</title> -<meta name="Subtitle" content="A Novel."> -<meta name="Author" content="Edmund Yates"> -<meta name="Publisher" content="Tinsley Brothers"> -<meta name="Date" content="1870"> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> -<style type="text/css"> -body {margin-left:10%; - margin-right:10%; background-color:#FFFFFF;} - -p {text-indent:1em; text-align: left;} - -p.right {text-align:right; margin-right:20%;} -p.center {text-align: center;} -p.continue {text-indent: 0in; margin-top:9pt;} - -h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {text-align: center;} - -span.sc {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:110%;} - -hr.W10 {width:10%; color:black; margin-top:0pt; margin-bottom:0pt} -hr.W20 {width:20%; color:black; margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt} -hr.W50 {width:50%; color:black;} -hr.W90 {width:90%; color:black;} - -p.hang1 {margin-left:3em; text-indent:-3em;} - -</style> -</head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's A Righted Wrong, Volume 1 (of 3), by Edmund Yates - -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: A Righted Wrong, Volume 1 (of 3) - A Novel. - -Author: Edmund Yates - -Release Date: December 19, 2019 [EBook #60964] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A RIGHTED WRONG, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page images provided by the Web Archive - - - - - -</pre> - -t<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<p class="hang1">Transcriber's Note:<br> -1. Page scan source: https://ia800200.us.archive.org/4/items/<br> -rightedwrongnove01yate/<br> -(Library of the University of Illinois)</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>A RIGHTED WRONG.</h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>A RIGHTED WRONG.</h3> -<h4>A Novel.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>BY</h5> -<h4>EDMUND YATES,</h4> -<h5>AUTHOR OF<br> -"BLACK SHEEP," "THE FORLORN HOPE," "BROKEN TO HARNESS," ETC.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>IN THREE VOLUMES.</h4> -<h4>VOL. I.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>LONDON:<br> -TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18 CATHERINE ST., STRAND.<br> -1870.</h4> - -<h5>[<i>All rights reserved</i>.]</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>LONDON:<br> -ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<table cellpadding="10" style="width: 90%; font-weight: bold; margin-left: 5%"> -<colgroup> -<col style="width: 10%; vertical-align: top; text-align: right"> -<col style="width: 90%; vertical-align: top; text-align: left"> -</colgroup> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"> -<h4>CONTENTS OF VOL. I.</h4></td> -</tr><tr> -<td>CHAP.</td> -<td></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_01" href="#div1_01">I.</a></td> -<td>Homeward bound.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_02" href="#div1_02">II.</a></td> -<td>Pages from the Past.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_03" href="#div1_03">III.</a></td> -<td>Discomfiture.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_04" href="#div1_04">IV.</a></td> -<td>The Ideal and the Real.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_05" href="#div1_05">V.</a></td> -<td>Chayleigh.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_06" href="#div1_06">VI.</a></td> -<td>Half-confidences.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_07" href="#div1_07">VII.</a></td> -<td>The old familiar Faces.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_08" href="#div1_08">VIII.</a></td> -<td>Mrs. Carteret is congratulated.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_09" href="#div1_09">IX.</a></td> -<td>What the Woman meant.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_10" href="#div1_10">X.</a></td> -<td>The Letter from Melbourne.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_11" href="#div1_11">XI.</a></td> -<td>Fools' Paradise.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_12" href="#div1_12">XII.</a></td> -<td>Dawning.</td></table> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>A RIGHTED WRONG.</h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_01" href="#div1Ref_01">CHAPTER I.</a></h4> -<h5>HOMEWARD BOUND.</h5> -<br> - -<p>"Good-bye, again; good-bye!"</p> - -<p>"Good-bye, my dear; perhaps not for ever, though: I may make my way -back to the old country once more. You will tell my old friend I kept -my word to him:" and then the speaker kissed the woman to whom he -addressed these parting words tenderly, went quickly away, and was -hidden from her in a moment by all the bewildering confusion of "board -ship" at the hour of sailing.</p> - -<p>He had not waited for words in reply to his farewell; she could not -have spoken them, and he knew it; and while she tried to make out his -figure among the groups upon the deck, formed of those who were about -to set forth upon the long perilous ocean voyage, and those who had -come to bid them good-bye, some with hearts full of agony, a few -careless and gay enough, a suffocating silence held her.</p> - -<p>But when at length she saw him for one brief moment as he went over -the side to the boat waiting to take him to the shore so long familiar -to her, but already, under the wonderful action of change, seeming -strange and distant, the spell was lifted off her, and a deep gasping -sob burst from her lips.</p> - -<p>A very little longer, and the boat, with its solitary passenger, was a -speck upon the water; and then she bowed her head, unconsciously, and -slightly waved her hand, and went below.</p> - -<p>There was no one person in all the crowd upon the deck of the good -ship Boomerang sufficiently disengaged from his or her own cares to -take any notice of the little scene which had just passed--only one -amid a number in the great drama which is always being acted, and for -which a ship with its full complement of passengers, at the moment of -beginning a long voyage, is a capacious and fine theatre. Selfishness -and self-engrossment come out strongly in such a scene, and are as -excusable under such circumstances as they ever can be.</p> - -<p>She was quite alone in the little world of the ship; in the great -world of England, to which she was going, she might find herself alone -too, for who could say what tidings might await her there? in the -inner world of her heart she was still more surely and utterly alone. -In the slight shiver, in the forlorn glance around, which had -accompanied her gesture of farewell to the man who had escorted her on -board, there was something expressive of a suddenly deepened sense of -this solitude.</p> - -<p>In the cabin, which she shared with her maid only, she found this sole -and newly-selected companion making such preparation as she could for -the comfort of her mistress. The girl's face was kind and pleasant and -handsome; but the sight of it did not lessen the sense of her solitude -to Margaret Hungerford, for the kind and handsome face was also -strange.</p> - -<p>Rose Moore, whom she had engaged to act as her servant during the -voyage, was an orphan girl, who wished to return to Ireland to her -"friends," as the Irish people, with striking inaccuracy of speech and -touching credulity, designate their relatives.</p> - -<p>When Margaret Hungerford had lain down upon the little crib, which was -to serve her for a bed during a period which would sound appalling in -duration in the ears of a world so much accelerated in everything as -our world of to-day is, she thought of Rose Moore, and of the -difference between her own position and that of the girl who was to be -her companion.</p> - -<p>"She is going home to friends," she thought, "to a warm welcome, to a -kindly fireside, and she is bringing money with her to gild the -welcome, to gladden the hearth; while I--I am returning alone--O, how -utterly alone!--and destitute--ah, how destitute!--I, to whom not even -the past is left; I, who do not possess even the right to grieve; I, -to whom life has been only a mistake, only a delusion. I am returning -to a home in which I was regarded rather as a trouble than anything -else in my childhood, and which I was held to have disgraced in my -girlhood. Returning to it, to feel that the judgment I set aside, the -wisdom I derided, was right judgment and true wisdom, and that the -best I can hope is to keep them from ever finding out how terribly -right they were. The only real friend I now possess I am leaving -behind me here; and I am glad it is so, because he knows all the -truth. Surely no one in the world can be more lonely than I."</p> - -<p>Margaret Hungerford lay quietly in her narrow bed, while the ship -resounded with all the indescribable and excruciating noises which -form a portion of the tortures of a sea-voyage.</p> - -<p>She did not suffer from them, nor from the motion. She was tired, too -tired in body and mind to care about discomfort, and she did not -dislike the sea. So she lay still, while Rose Moore moved about in the -little space allotted to the two, and which she regarded as a den -rather than a "state-room," looking now and then curiously at her -mistress, whom she had not had much previous opportunity of observing.</p> - -<p>The girl looked at a face which was not less remarkable for its beauty -than for its expression of weariness and sorrow, at a figure not more -noticeable for its grace and suppleness than for the languor and -listlessness which every movement betrayed.</p> - -<p>Margaret Hungerford was tall, but not so tall as to be remarked for -her height; and her figure, rounded and lithe, had still much of the -slightness of girlhood remaining. Her face was not perfect; the -forehead was too high and too heavy for ideal beauty; there was not -enough colour in the clear pale cheek; there was not enough richness -in the outline of the delicate mouth. Her face was one in which -intellect ruled, and thus its beauty served a master which is pitiless -in its exactions, and wears out the softness and the fineness and the -tinting in a service which is not gentle.</p> - -<p>But it was a beautiful face for all that, more than beautiful for -those who looked beyond the deep dark colouring of the large gray -eyes, deep-set under the finely-marked brows; who looked for the -spirit in their light, for the calm and courage which lent them the -limpid placid beaming which was their ordinary characteristic. It was -not a perfect face; but it had that which very few perfect faces -possess--the capacity for expressing feeling, intelligence, the nobler -passions, and utter forgetfulness of self.</p> - -<p>To look at Margaret Hungerford was to feel that, however faulty her -character might be, it at least was noble, and to know that vanity had -no share in an organisation which had no place for anything small, -whether good or evil. It was a magnanimous resolute face--not strong, -in any sense implying roughness, hardness, or self-assertion, but -evincing a large capacity of loving and working and suffering.</p> - -<p>And she had loved and worked and suffered. The bloom that was wanting -to her pure fair cheek, which touched too faintly and grudgingly her -small, well-curved, but ascetic lips, had vanished from her heart as -well; the slight white fingers, too thin for beauty,--though the -hands, clasped over her breast as she lay still with closed eyes, were -curiously small and perfectly shaped,--had been unsparingly used in -many and various kinds of toil in the new land, which had been wild -and rough indeed when she had come there.</p> - -<p>The girl looked at her admiringly, and with a sort of pity, for which -she had no reason to give to herself except that her mistress was a -widow. Explanation enough, she would have said, and naturally; and -still, there was something in the face which Rose Moore felt, in her -untaught, instinctive, but very acute fashion, had been there longer -than three months, which was the exact period since Mrs. Hungerford's -husband had died.</p> - -<p>Who was she going to? she thought; and did she like going home? and -what was she leaving behind? Not her husband's grave, the girl knew, -and felt the knowledge as an Irish peasant would feel it. No, she had -not even that consolation; for her husband, who had been a member of -one of the earliest-formed exploring parties who had undertaken to -investigate the capacities of the unknown new continent, had been -killed in the Australian bush. It was better not to think what the -fate of his remains had been, better that it was not known.</p> - -<p>What, then, was this pale young widow, who looked as though her sorrow -far antedated her weeds, leaving behind her? Rose Moore was not -destined to know. What was she going to? the girl wondered. In the -short time she had been with her, Mrs. Hungerford's kindness had been -accompanied with strict reserve, and Rose had learned no more than -that she was returning, probably, to her father's home; but of even -that she was not certain.</p> - -<p>Thus the "lone woman" seemed pitiable to the gay and handsome Irish -girl, and the thought of it interfered with her visions of "home," and -her exultation in the money she had to take thither, and the love she -was going to find.</p> - -<p>Pitiable indeed she was.</p> - -<p>As the long low banks of Port Phillip faded from the sight of the -passengers on board the "homeward bound," not a heart among the number -but yearned with some keen and strong regret, too keen and strong to -be overborne by the gladness of hope and the relief of having really -begun the long voyage. Not a heart, not even that of Margaret -Hungerford; for she had looked her last on the land where she had left -her youth, and all its dreams and hopes; where love had died for her, -and truth had failed; where she had been rudely awakened, and had -never again found rest.</p> - -<p>At such a time, at such a crisis in life, retrospection is inevitable, -however undesirable; however painful and vain, it must be submitted -to. The mind insists on passing the newly-expired epoch in review; in -repeating, in the full and painful candour of its reverie, all the -story so far told; in returning to the old illusions, and exposing -their baselessness; in summoning up the defeated hopes, which, gauged -by the measure of disappointment, appear so unreasonable--weighed in -the balance of experience, seem so absurd.</p> - -<p>Can I ever have been such a fool as to have believed that life held -such possibilities? is the question we all ask at such times; and the -self-contempt which inspires it is only as real, and no more, as the -pain which no scorn or wonder can decrease.</p> - -<p>So, like one performing an enforced task, with what patience it is -possible to command, but wearily, and longing for the end, and for -release, Margaret Hungerford, during the early days of the long voyage -from Australia to England, gazed into her past life as into a mirror, -and it gave her back a succession of images, of which the chief were -these which follow.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_02" href="#div1Ref_02">CHAPTER II.</a></h4> -<h5>PAGES FROM THE PAST.</h5> -<br> - -<p>The woman who was now returning to her native land after a long and -painful exile looked back, in her retrospective fancy, upon a home -which had external beauty, calm, and comfort to recommend it. She was -the daughter of a gentleman named Carteret, a man of small but -independent fortune, and whose tastes, which had been too extensively -and exclusively cultivated for the happiness of his son and daughter, -led him to prefer a life of quietness and seclusion, in which he -devoted himself to study, and to the pursuit of natural history in -particular.</p> - -<p>Mr. Carteret, who is an old man now, might have been the original of -"Sir Thomas the Good," whose wife, "the fair Lady Jane," displayed -such becoming resignation on his death. Mr. Carteret, like the worthy -knight, "whose breath was short, and whose eyes were dim," would "pore -for an hour over a bee or a flower, or the things that come creeping -out after a shower:" but he was sadly blind to the subtle processes of -the human heart in the development of the human beings under his own -roof, which were taking place around him.</p> - -<p>He had lost his wife very soon after the birth of his daughter, and -when his son was three years old; and within little more than a year, -a resolute young woman, who had long made up her mind that a pretty -little country place within easy distance of London,--for Mr. Carteret -lived in Reigate,--a fair position in the county society, and a -comfortable income, were desirable acquisitions, married him.</p> - -<p>People said Miss Hartley made all the preliminary arrangements, -including even the proposal, herself; and though that statement was -probably exaggerated, there can be little doubt that the suggestion, -that it would be an advisable and agreeable circumstance that Miss -Martley should become Mrs. Carteret, originated with the lady.</p> - -<p>She was rather young, and rather pretty; and there really was not so -much to be said against the match, except by Mr. Carteret's servants, -who naturally did not like it. They liked it still less when the new -mistress of the establishment, emulating the proverbial new broom, -swept them all away, and replaced them by domestics of her own -selection.</p> - -<p>The novel state of things was not a happy condition for Mr. Carteret. -He was a gentle-natured man, indifferent, rather cold, and indolent, -except where his particular tastes were concerned; he pursued his own -avocations with activity and energy enough, but his easy-going -selfishness rendered him a facile victim to a woman who managed him by -the simple and effectual expedient of letting him have his own way -undisturbed, in one direction,--that one the most important to -him,--and never consulting his opinion or his wishes in any other -respect whatever.</p> - -<p>Mr. Carteret might spend time and money on "specimens," on books, and -on visits to naturalists and museums; he might fill his own rooms with -stuffed monkeys and birds, and indulge in the newest form of cases for -impaled insects, and even display very ghastly osteological trophies -if he pleased; his wife in nowise molested him. But here his power was -arrested--here his freedom stopped. Mrs. Carteret ruled in everything -else; and he knew it, and he suffered it "for the sake of a quiet -life." He had a conviction that if he tried opposition, his life would -not be quiet; therefore he never did try opposition.</p> - -<p>The new Mrs. Carteret did not actually ill-treat the children of the -former Mrs. Carteret; she only neglected them--neglected them so -steadily and systematically that never was she betrayed into -accidentally taking them, their interests or their pleasure, into -consideration in anything she chose to do or to leave undone.</p> - -<p>The servants understood quickly and thoroughly that if they meant to -retain their places they must keep the children from annoying Mrs. -Carteret, from incommoding her by their presence, or intruding their -wants upon her. They understood as distinctly, that if this fact were -impressed by any misplaced zeal upon the attention of Mr. Carteret, -the imprudence would be as readily repaid by dismissal; and as they -liked and valued their places,--for Mrs. Carteret, provided her own -comfort was secured in every particular, was a liberal and careless -mistress,--the imprudent zeal never was manifested.</p> - -<p>Thus the two young children grew up, somehow, anyhow, well-fed and -well-clothed, by the care of servants; but in every particular, apart -from their mere animal wants, utterly neglected. People talked about -it, of course; and just at first the neglect of her husband's children -threatened to be a little detrimental to the popularity which Mrs. -Carteret ardently desired to attain. But she gave pleasant -garden-parties, at which neither husband nor children "showed:" she -dressed very well; she was very kind to the young ladies of the -neighbourhood who were still on their preferment; her well-trained -household were discreetly silent; and she had no children of her own.</p> - -<p>This last was readily accepted as a very valid excuse; no one thought -of the total absence of wifely sympathy and womanly tenderness which -the argument conveyed. Mrs. Carteret could not be expected to care -about children--no one really did who had not children of their own -"to arouse the instinct," as a foolish female, who fancied the phrase -sounded philosophical, remarked. So the neighbourhood consented to -forget Mr. Carteret's children, and that contemplative gentleman -consented to remember them very imperfectly, and things were very -comfortable at Chayleigh for some years.</p> - -<p>But Haldane and Margaret Carteret grew older with those years; the -little children, who had been easily stowed away in a nursery and a -playroom,--judiciously distant from drawing-room, boudoir, and -study,--were no longer of an age to be so disposed of. The boy must -either be sent to school or have a tutor,--he and his sister had -passed beyond the rule of the nursery governess,--the girl's education -must be attended to.</p> - -<p>The latter case was especially disagreeable to Mrs. Carteret. It -forced upon her attention the fact that she was no longer in the first -bloom of her youth. A rather young and rather pretty stepmother is -capable of being made interesting, if the situation be judiciously -treated; but Mrs. Carteret had never treated it judiciously, and now -it could not avail.</p> - -<p>She had nearly exhausted her <i>rôle</i> of young matronhood at -thirty-seven, and Margaret was then twelve years old. True, there -would be a revival of its material pleasures, its gaieties and -dissipations, when Margaret should be "brought out:" but Mrs. Carteret -found feeble consolation in the anticipation of the pleasures and -importance of chaperonage. They can only be reflected at the best; and -Mrs. Carteret cared little to shine with a borrowed light.</p> - -<p>In the mean time, she had no notion of having a gawky girl, as she -called Margaret in her thoughts, always about her at home, growing old -enough to interfere, and perhaps to attract her father's attention -unduly and put absurd ideas into his head. Margaret Carteret was not -at all gawky; but even then, at the least beautiful period of life, -gave promise of the grace and distinction which, afterwards -characterised her.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret made up her mind, and then informed her husband of the -resolution she had taken, and the arrangements she had made. He -acquiesced, as he always did; and when Margaret, startled, confused, -not knowing whether to be frightened at or pleased with the novelty -which the prospect offered, asked him if it was really true that she -was going to school at Paris, and was not to return for a whole year, -he said placidly,</p> - -<p>"Certainly, my dear. Mrs. Carteret has arranged it all; and I have -told her to be sure and ask the school people to take you to the -Jardin des Plantes."</p> - -<p>Then Mr. Carteret, who never perceived that his daughter was no longer -a baby, sent her away with a pat on the head, and turned his attention -to investigating the structure of a "trap-door spider's abode," which -had reached him the day before, having been sent by a friend and -fellow-naturalist from Corfu.</p> - -<p>The education of Haldane Carteret had been differently provided for. -It chanced that the one human being besides herself for whom Mrs. -Carteret entertained a sentiment of affection was her cousin, James -Dugdale, a young man who had no chance of success in any active career -in life, being deformed and in delicate health--anything but a -desirable tutor for a delicate retiring boy, like Haldane Carteret, -people said--a boy who needed encouragement and companionship to rouse -him up and make him more like other boys. But Mrs. Carteret evinced -her usual indifference to the opinion of "people" on this occasion. -She chose to provide for her cousin a mode of life suitable to his -mental and physical constitution.</p> - -<p>James Dugdale came to live at Chayleigh. The deformed young man had -much of the talent, and all the unamiability, which so frequently -accompany bodily malformation, and he inspired Margaret Carteret with -intense dislike and repulsion--with admiration and some respect, too, -child as she was; for she soon recognised his talent, and succumbed to -his influence. James Dugdale taught Margaret as much as he taught her -brother; he implanted in her the tastes which she afterwards -cultivated so assiduously; but the boy learned to love him, while the -girl never faltered in her dislike. When she found her lessons easily -understood and soon learned at school, she knew that she had to thank -her stepmother's cousin--her brother's tutor--for the aid which had -rendered them light to her; but she never could bring herself to thank -him in thought or word. The girl's heart was almost void of love and -gratitude at this time of her life. She hardly could be said to love -her father; her stepmother she neither loved, hated, nor feared; for -her brother alone were all her kindly feelings hoarded up. She loved -him, indeed; and, next to that love, the strongest sentiment in her -heart was dislike of James Dugdale.</p> - -<p>Time passed on, and Margaret grew up handsome, with a strongly -intellectual stamp upon her face, and, in her character, self-will -and impulsiveness prevailing. She liked the Parisian school--for she -ruled her companions, some by love, others by fear and the power of -party--and she cared little for her home, where she could not rule any -one.</p> - -<p>Her father was not worth governing; her stepmother she treated with a -studious and settled indifference, forming her manner on the model of -that of Mrs. Carteret, but never attempting to gain any influence over -that lady, who was, however, not without a misgiving at times that -when Margaret should come home "for good" she might find it rather -difficult to "hold her own." Holding her own, in Mrs. Carteret's case, -rather implied holding every one else's, and that privilege she felt -to be in danger. It was, therefore, with but a passing reflection on -the fatal obstacle which such an occurrence must offer to her -maintenance of the "young married woman's" position in society, that -Mrs. Carteret, when Margaret was fifteen, began to speculate upon the -chances of getting Margaret "off her hands," when she should have -finally left school, by an opportune marriage.</p> - -<p>A year later, and, much to the surprise of his father, and indeed of -every one who knew him except James Dugdale, Haldane Carteret -proclaimed his wish and intention of entering the army. His father did -not oppose; his stepmother and his tutor supported him in his -inclination; the interest of a distant relative of his mother's was -procured; and thus it chanced that, when Margaret came home "for -good," at a little more than sixteen years old, she found her brother -in all the boyish pride and exultation of his commission and his -uniform.</p> - -<p>Then Margaret's fate was not long in coming. The first time her -brother came home, and while she had as yet seen little of the society -in which her stepmother moved, he brought a brother officer with him, -a handsome young man, named Godfrey Hungerford, with whom he had -contracted a friendship--the more enthusiastic because it was the -first the lad had ever experienced.</p> - -<p>And now active antagonism arose between Margaret Carteret and James -Dugdale. The girl fell in love with the handsome young officer, whose -bold and adventurous spirit pleased her; whose manifest admiration had -a pardonable fascination for her; who raised even her father to -animation; and for whom Mrs. Carteret thought it worth while to put -forth the freshest of her somewhat faded graces.</p> - -<p>Haldane paraded and boasted of his friend according to the foolish -hearty fashion of his time of life, and was delighted that his sister -felt with him in this too.</p> - -<p>But the ex-tutor, who, it appeared, was to remain a fixture at -Chayleigh, conceived a profound distrust and dislike of the brilliant -young man, whom he quietly observed from his obscure corner of the -house--and of life indeed--and who had no notion of the scrutiny he -was undergoing.</p> - -<p>Was James Dugdale's penetration quickened by the hardly-veiled -insolence of Godfrey Hungerford's manner to him--insolence which -sometimes took the form of complete unconsciousness, and at others of -an elaborate compassionate politeness? It may have been so; at any -rate, he made his observations closely, and, when the time came, he -expressed their result freely.</p> - -<p>The time came when Godfrey Hungerford asked Margaret to become his -wife; and then James Dugdale, for the only time during his long -residence in Mr. Carteret's house, spoke to that gentleman in private -and in confidence.</p> - -<p>"Insist on time, at least," he urged upon Margaret's father; "think -how young she is; think how little you know of this man. You have no -guarantee for his character but the praise of an enthusiastic boy. For -the girl's sake, insist on time; do not consent to less than a two -years' engagement; and then rouse yourself and go to work as a man -ought on whom such a responsibility rests, and find out all about this -man before you suffer him to take your daughter away from her home--a -girl, ignorant of the world and of life, in love with her own fancy. I -know Margaret's real nature better than you do, and I know she is -incapable of caring for this man if she knew him as he really is. It -is a delusion; if you can do no more, you can at least secure her time -to find it out."</p> - -<p>"Find what out?" asked Mr. Carteret, fretfully; "what do you know -about Hungerford?--how have you found out anything?"</p> - -<p>"I know nothing; I have not found out anything," said James Dugdale. -"I wish I had, then my interference might avail, even with Margaret -herself; but I have only my conviction to go upon, that this man is -not fit to be trusted with a woman's happiness; that Margaret is not -really attached to him; and, in addition, the suggestion of common -sense, that she is much too young to be permitted to settle her own -fate irrevocably."</p> - -<p>The latter argument seemed to have some weight with Mr. Carteret, and -James Dugdale saw his advantage.</p> - -<p>"Do you think," he said, "if her mother were living, she would permit -Margaret to marry at her present age? Do you think, if you knew you -would have to account to her mother for your care of her, you would -listen to such a thing?"</p> - -<p>This reference to his dead wife was not pleasant to Mr. Carteret. He -was growing old, and he had begun of late to think life, even when -surrounded by specimens, and enlivened by numerous publications -concerning the animal creation, rather a mistake. So he assented, -hurriedly, to James Dugdale's arguments, and the interview concluded -by his promising to prevent Margaret's marriage taking place for two -years, when she would be nineteen.</p> - -<p>But Mr. Carteret and James Dugdale both knew that the real decision of -that matter rested not with them, but with Mrs. Carteret, and that, if -she decreed that Margaret should be married next week, married next -week she inevitably would be. So the ex-tutor addressed himself to his -cousin, with whom he adopted a different line of argument.</p> - -<p>"I know you don't care about Margaret," he said; "but I do; and I know -you admire Lieutenant Godfrey Hungerford, which I do not; but you care -what people say of you, Sibylla, as much as any one, I know; and you -will get unpleasantly talked about if the girl is allowed to marry, so -young, a man whom you know little or nothing about, and who is a -scoundrel, if ever there was one, or I am more mistaken than I -generally am. Take care, Sibylla, your husband is notoriously under -your guidance, and you will have to bear the blame if this marriage -takes place too soon; it is a serious thing, and you have never been a -fond stepmother, you know."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret loved her cousin, and feared him; she also had a great -respect for his judgment; and he had gone to work with her in the -right way. The result was satisfactory to the ex-tutor, who took -himself to task concerning his own motives, but found no room for -self-condemnation.</p> - -<p>"If I could suppose for a moment," he thought, "that I am insincere in -this thing--that I am actuated by any selfish feeling or hope -regarding Margaret--I should hesitate; but I know I am not: my heart -is pure of such self-deception; my brain has no such cobwebs of folly -in it. Separated from him finally,--if I can contrive to part -them,--held back from her fate for a while, by my means, at all events -she will only dislike me the more. And my conviction respecting this -man,--is that prejudice?--is that an unjust dislike?--is it pique, -because he has good looks, and grace, and good manners, and I have -none of these? Is it spite, because he has been insolent to me when he -dared, and, in a covert way, more insolent still, when these simple -people did not understand him? No; I can answer to myself for -single-mindedness in this matter. I might not have seen so plainly had -not Margaret's happiness been at stake. But I do see; I do not only -fancy. I do judge; I do not only imagine."</p> - -<p>So James Dugdale carried his point. Margaret resented his interference -bitterly; she learned that his arguments had induced her stepmother to -take the view to which her father had acceded; and she raged against -him and denounced him as insolent, presuming, intolerable.</p> - -<p>But she liked the idea of the long engagement, too. She was romantic -and imaginative, and her bright pure young heart--all given up to what -was in reality a creation of her fancy, but in which she saw the -dazzling realisation of her girlish dreams--was satisfied with the -assurance of loving and being loved.</p> - -<p>The presence of her lover was happiness, and his absence was hardly -sorrow. Had she not his letters? Were there ever such letters? she -thought; and while she exulted in all the delicious exclusiveness of -the possession of such treasures, she almost longed that the world -might know how transcendent a genius was this gallant soldier whom she -loved.</p> - -<p>She was glad that Godfrey felt so much disappointment at the delay; -and the impertinence of any one who interfered to prevent the -fulfilment of any wish of his, no words could adequately describe. -But, for all that, Margaret was extremely happy, though she did hate -James Dugdale.</p> - -<p>Her lover encouraged her in this feeling, and when he and her brother -had rejoined their regiment she restricted her intercourse with the -officious ex-tutor to the barest acknowledgment of his presence. James -Dugdale took this mode of procedure calmly, and applied himself to the -task of finding out all that was to be ascertained concerning the -circumstances, character, and antecedents of Lieutenant Godfrey -Hungerford.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_03" href="#div1Ref_03">CHAPTER III.</a></h4> -<h5>DISCOMFITURE.</h5> -<br> - -<p>When the engagement between Godfrey Hungerford and Margaret Carteret -had lasted six months, during which time James Dugdale had contrived -to learn several facts to that gentleman's disadvantage, Haldane -Carteret made his appearance unexpectedly at Chayleigh. Margaret's -first look at her brother revealed to her quick instinctive fears that -his errand had in it something unfriendly to her love. With all the -selfishness which comes of an engrossing feeling, she was insensible -to any other impulse of alarm.</p> - -<p>Margaret was right; her brother was come to unsay all he had said of -Godfrey Hungerford--to tell his father that he had been deceived in -his friend--to try to undo the work he had helped to do.</p> - -<p>"He drinks and gambles, Margaret; for God's sake, don't marry a man -with such vices," said Haldane eagerly to his sister.</p> - -<p>Her father roused himself, and warned her too; but the girl was -obdurate. She only knew of such things by name; they had no meaning to -her as terrible realities of life; and then she had her lover's -letters--the priceless, charming, incomparable letters--and they told -her that her brother had come round to Dugdale's way of thinking, and -had turned against him because he had interfered to keep him out of -some boyish scrapes.</p> - -<p>The strongest and most spurious of all arguments too, used to a loving -foolish girl, were not wanting. If even he were guilty of some -follies, granting that he was not a perfect being, could he fail to -become so under her influence--could he resist such perfection as -hers, become the light and guidance of his home? It is needless to -repeat the flimsy foolish strain of the arguments which bewildered and -beguiled the girl. She met her father and her brother with vehement -opposition, and replied to everything they urged, that she alone knew, -she only understood Godfrey, and she was not going to forsake him to -serve the turn of interested calumniators.</p> - -<p>This taunt, aimed at the brother, did not hit the mark. He had not the -least notion to what it referred. The young man spoke frankly and -gently to the infatuated girl, lamented his own easy credulity which -had at first betrayed his judgment, and finally left the matter in his -father's hands, only entreating him to be firm, and to take into -consideration, in addition to what he had told him, certain -circumstances which had come to the knowledge of James Dugdale. For -himself, the pain of enforced association with his quondam friend -would soon be at an end. The brigade of Royal Artillery to which he -belonged was then under orders for Canada, and this was to be his -farewell visit to his home.</p> - -<p>The brother and sister parted, in sorrow on Haldane's part--in silent -and sullen estrangement on Margaret's. The girl's heart was full of -angry and bitter revolt, and of the keen indignation which -inexperienced youth feels against those who strive to serve it against -its will. They were trying to protect her from herself--to save her -from the worst of evils--the most cruel of destinies; and she treated -them as if they had been, as indeed she believed them to be, her worst -enemies.</p> - -<p>But they were not to succeed--Margaret was not to be saved. The girl's -life at home--though no one molested her--though her father, if the -matter were not pressed upon his attention, took no notice--though her -stepmother was, as usual, coldly but civilly negligent of her--though -James Dugdale maintained his inoffensive reserve--became intolerable -to her; intolerable through its loneliness--intolerable by reason of -its cross-purposes. The one thought, the one image, the one hope for -which she lived was not only unshared, but condemned by those with -whom she lived. The one name precious to her heart, delightful to her -ears, was never spoken within her hearing--the little world she lived -in ignored him who was all the world to her.</p> - -<p>When Haldane Carteret had been three months in Canada, Godfrey -Hungerford was dismissed the service for conduct unbecoming an officer -and a gentleman; and in another month, Margaret Carteret had -clandestinely left her home, joined her lover, and become his wife.</p> - -<p>The shock to her father was very severe. It was the first misfortune -of his life, including his first wife's death, to which "specimens" -offered no alleviation. It was not an evil which brought finality with -it; and Mr. Carteret therefore found it difficult to bear. If Margaret -had died, her father would have grieved for her, no doubt, but there -would have been an end of it; now, though no one could foresee or -foretell the end, it was easy to prognosticate evil as the result, and -impossible to hope for good.</p> - -<p>Like all men of his sort, Mr. Carteret had a great horror of the -openly violent and aggressive vices of men. He was incapable of -understanding the amount of suffering to be inflicted upon women by -the supineness, selfishness, indolence, imprudence, or eccentricity of -their husbands and fathers; but the mere idea of a woman being in the -power of a man who actually got drunk, lost or won money at cards or -dice, used bad language, or had any stain of dishonesty on his name, -was terrible to his harmless, if valueless, nature.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret was extremely indifferent. Of course it was an -unpleasant occurrence, and people would talk unpleasantly about it; -but she had never pretended to care much for, or interfere with Miss -Carteret,--and no one could blame her.</p> - -<p>Of all those who had shared her life, who had seen her grow from -childhood to girlhood, James Dugdale was the only one who had made -Margaret Carteret's character a subject of close and loving study--the -only one who understood its strength and its weakness, its forcible -points of contrast, its lurking dangers, its unseen resources. He knew -her intellectual qualities, he knew her imaginativeness, and -understood the danger which lurked in it for her--a danger which had -already taken so delusive and fatal a form. With all the prescience of -a calm and unselfish affection, he feared for the girl's future, and -grieved as only mature wisdom and disinterested love can grieve over -the follies and illusions, the inevitable suffering and -disenchantment, of youth and wilfulness.</p> - -<p>"She has a dreadful life before her," said her misjudged and despised -friend to himself, as he left Margaret's father, after the two had -discussed the letter in which the misguided girl had informed him of -her marriage; "a dreadful life, I fear, and believe; but, if she lives -through it, and over it, and takes it rightly, she may be a noble and -strong woman yet, though never a happy one."</p> - -<p>For some time Margaret Hungerford's communications with her family -were brief and infrequent. She said nothing in her letters of -happiness or the reverse, and she made no request to be permitted to -revisit her former home. She never wrote to or heard from her brother.</p> - -<p>After a while a formal application was made to Mr. Carteret by Mr. -Hungerford for pecuniary assistance, as he had determined to try his -fortune in Australia. To this Mr. Carteret replied that he would give -Margaret half the small fortune which was to have been hers on his -death, but required that it should be distinctly understood that she -had nothing more to expect from him.</p> - -<p>Mr. Carteret went up to London and drew the sum he had named, 500<i>l</i>., -out of the funds, and availed himself of that opportunity to make his -will, by which he bequeathed to his son all his property, a -life-interest in the greater part of which had been secured to his -wife by settlement. This done, and provided with the money he had -named, he went to see Margaret and her husband. The meeting was brief -and final. Mr. Carteret returned on the following day to Chayleigh.</p> - -<p>Godfrey Hungerford and his wife were to sail for Sydney in a -fortnight, he told Mrs. Carteret, in reply to her polite but quite -uninterested inquiries. Nor was he much more communicative to James -Dugdale.</p> - -<p>"How does she look?" he asked.</p> - -<p>The father made no reply, but shook his head, and moved his hands -nervously among the papers on the table before him.</p> - -<p>"Already!" said James Dugdale, when he had softly left the room, and -then he went away and shut himself up alone.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_04" href="#div1Ref_04">CHAPTER IV.</a></h4> -<h5>THE IDEAL AND THE REAL.</h5> -<br> - -<p>If it were possible to linger over the story of Margaret Hungerford's -life--if other and later interests did not peremptorily claim -attention--how much might be said concerning it? On the surface, it -had many features in common with other lives; and the destruction of -a fancy, the awaking to a truth, terrible and not to be eluded, is -the least rare of mental processes. But the individual history -of every mind, of every heart, has features unlike those of all -others--features worthy, in even the humblest and simplest lives, of -close scanning and of faithful reproduction. Margaret Hungerford was -not an ordinary person; she had strongly-pronounced intellectual and -moral characteristics, and her capacity, whether for good or evil time -and her destiny alone could tell, was great.</p> - -<p>The very intensity of her nature, which had made it easy for her to be -deceived, easy for her to build a fair fabric of hope and love on no -sounder foundation than her fancy, made it inevitable that the truth -should come with terrible force to her, and be understood in its -fullest extent and in its darkest meaning--that most full of terror -and despair.</p> - -<p>The external circumstances of her life subsequent to her marriage did -not affect Margaret Hungerford so much as might have been anticipated, -in consideration of her delicate nurture, her previous life of -seclusion, and her habitual refinement. She was destined to encounter -many vicissitudes, to endure poverty, hardship, uncertainty, solitude -of the absolute kind, and of that kind which is still more -unbearable--enforced companionship with the mean and base, not in -position merely, but in soul.</p> - -<p>She had to endure many actual privations--to do many things, to -witness many scenes which, if they had been unfolded to her in the -home of her girlhood, uncongenial as it had been, as probabilities -lurking in the plan of the fixture, she would have merely regarded -with unalarmed incredulity, would have put aside as things which never -could have any existence.</p> - -<p>But these things, when they came, she bore well--bore them with -strength and patience, with quiet resolution and almost indifference, -which, had there been any one to contemplate the girl's life, and -study her character at that time, would have revealed the truth that -worse things than privation and hardship had come to her, and had -rendered them indifferent to her.</p> - -<p>Worse things had come. Knowledge and experience, which had outraged -her pride and tortured her love, crushed her faith, scattered her -hopes, and left her life a desert waste, whence the flowers of youth -and trust had been uprooted, and which lay bare to be trampled under -foot of invading foes.</p> - -<p>Margaret's delusion had lasted so short a time after her marriage that -the first feeling her discovery of the utter worthlessness of the man -into whose hands she had committed her fate produced in her mind was -dread and distrust of herself.</p> - -<p>Was this fading away of love, this dying out of all respect, of all -enthusiasm, this dreary hopelessness and fast coming disbelief in -good, was all this inconstancy on her part? Was she false to her own -feelings, or had she mistaken them? Was she light and fickle, as men -were said to be?</p> - -<p>But this dread soon subsided: it could not long disturb Margaret's -clear good sense. The fault was not hers; she was not inconstant, -though she no longer loved Godfrey Hungerford. The truth was, she had -never known him; there was no such person as her fancy had created and -called by his name.</p> - -<p>She had believed herself to be doing a fine heroic thing when she -married a disgraced man, a man unjustly judged of his fellows, one -against whom the world had set itself--why, she did not quite know, -but probably from envy--and who therefore needed her love and fidelity -more than a prosperous man could need them. It was a foolish, girlish, -not unnatural delusive notion of grandeur and self-sacrifice, and, -added to the fascination exerted over her by Godfrey Hungerford's good -looks and artistic love-making, it had hurried Margaret to her doom.</p> - -<p>The girl married, as she believed, a hero, with a few follies perhaps, -all to be forsworn and forsaken when she should be his, to guide and -inspire every moment of his life, and whose unjust penalties her love -was to render harmless. What did she not believe him to be! Brave, -true, generous, devoted, clever, energetic, unworldly, poetical, -high-minded, and pure--the ideal man who was to disprove those horrid -sayings of disappointed persons, that the lover and the husband are -very different beings, and that "man's love is of man's life a thing -apart."</p> - -<p><i>They</i> would prove it to be their "whole existence." Could any -sacrifice be too great to make for such a prize as this? No. The -sacrifice was made by him. Who would not have loved and married -Godfrey Hungerford? She did not believe that any one could be so bad -as to believe the accusation brought against him by a low mean clique, -a set of men who could not bear to know that he was cleverer at -card-playing than they were--just as he was cleverer at anything -else--and who did not know how to lose their money like gentlemen. Of -course, as he never could be secured against meeting persons of the -sort, it was much better that Godfrey should make up his mind, as he -had done, never to touch a card after their marriage.</p> - -<p>And then how great was his love for her! How delightful was the scheme -of the future, according to his casting of it! So Margaret dreamed her -dream, and when the waking came she blamed herself that she could -dream it no longer, and could not be lulled to sleep again.</p> - -<p>Godfrey Hungerford has no place in this story, and there is no need to -enter into details of the life he led, and condemned his wife to. He -proved the exact reverse of all she had believed him. Base, mean, -cowardly, in the sense of the cowardice which makes a man -systematically cruel to every creature, human and brute, within his -power, though ready to face danger for bravado's, and exertion for -boasting's sake, or either for that of money--a liar, a gambler, and a -profligate.</p> - -<p>He laughed at her credulity when she quoted his promises to her, and -ridiculed her amazement and disgust as ignorance of life, girlish -folly, and squeamishness. In a fitful, "worthless" sort of way, he -liked and admired her to the end; but the truthfulness that was in her -prevented Margaret from taking advantage of this contemptible remnant -of feeling to obtain easier terms of life. She had ceased to love him, -and she never disguised the fact--she let him see it; when he -questioned her, in a moment of maudlin sentiment, she told him so -quite plainly; and her tyrant made the truthfulness which could not -stoop to simulation a fresh cause of complaint against her.</p> - -<p>What Margaret suffered, no words, not even her own, could tell; but -the material troubles, the grinding anxieties of her life, deadened -her sense of grief after a time. They were always poor. Money melted -in the hands of her worthless, selfish husband. Sometimes he made a -little, in some of the numerous ways in which money was to be made in -colonial life, sometimes he was quite unemployed. He was always -dissolute and a spendthrift.</p> - -<p>It was hard training for Margaret, severe teaching, and not more full -of actual pain, privation, and toil than of bitter humiliation. They -moved about from place to place, for at each Godfrey Hungerford became -known and shunned.</p> - -<p>Villany and vice were loud and rampant indeed in the New World then, -as now; but he was not so clever as the superior villains, and not so -low, not so irretrievably ruffianly, as the inferior ruffians, and it -fell out, somehow, that he did not find any permanent place, or take -any specific rank, among them. Of necessity, suffering, both moral and -material, was his wife's lot, and it was wonderful that such suffering -did not degrade, that it only hardened her. It certainly did harden -her, making her cold, indifferent, and difficult to be touched by, or -convinced of, good, or truth, or honesty.</p> - -<p>Of necessity, also, her life had been devoid of companionship. Too -proud to tell her sorrows, and unable to endure the associations into -which her husband's evil life would have led her had she been driven -by loneliness to relax in her resolute isolation, she had neither -sympathy nor pity in her wretchedness. But at length, and when things -were going very hard and ill with her, she found a friend.</p> - -<p>Time, suffering, and disenchantment had taught Margaret Hungerford -many hard and heavy, but salutary, lessons, before the days came which -brought her fate this alleviation; and she did not regret it, because -it had been procured for her by the care and solicitude of James -Dugdale.</p> - -<p>Her love had died--more than died; for there is reverence and pious -grief, with sweetness in its agony, and cherished recollections, to -modify death and make it merciful--it had perished. So had her dislike -of James Dugdale. He had been right, and she had been wrong; and -though he could never be her friend, because she never could admit to -him the one fact or the other, she thought gently and regretfully of -him, when she thought of her old home and of the past at all, which -was not often, for the present absorbed her usually in its misery and -its toil.</p> - -<p>When, in the course of their wanderings, the Hungerfords went to the -then infant town, now the prosperous city, of Melbourne, Margaret sent -home one of her infrequent letters to her father. Thus James Dugdale -learned that the woman whose fate he had so unerringly foreseen--the -woman he loved with calm, disinterested, clear-sighted affection--was -at length within reach of his influence, of his indirect help.</p> - -<p>An old friend, schoolfellow, and college chum--one Hayes Meredith, a -younger man than James Dugdale by a few years--had been among the -first of those tempted from the life of monotonous toil in England by -the vast and exciting prospects which the young colony offered to -energy, industry, ability, and courage.</p> - -<p>Hayes Meredith possessed all these, and some capital too. He had -settled at Port Phillip, and was a thriving and respected member of -the motley community when Godfrey and Margaret Hungerford arrived to -swell the tide of adventure and misery. To him James Dugdale wrote, on -behalf of the woman whose need he divined, whose unhappiness he felt, -with the instinct of sympathy.</p> - -<p>Hayes Meredith responded nobly to his old friend's appeal. He -befriended Margaret steadily, with and without her husband's -knowledge; he won her affection, conquered her reserve, softened her -pride, and, though her fate was beyond amelioration by human aid, he -succeeded in making her actual, everyday life more endurable.</p> - -<p>When Margaret was sought out by Hayes Meredith, release was drawing -near, release from the tremendous evil of her marriage. Godfrey -Hungerford, by this time utterly incapable of any steady pursuit, and -seized with one of the reckless, restless fits which were becoming -more and more frequent with him, joined a party of explorers bound for -the unknown interior of the continent, and, regardless of Margaret's -fears and necessities, left her alone in the town.</p> - -<p>For months she heard nothing of him, or the fate of the expedition; -months during which she was kept from destitution only by Hayes -Meredith's generous and unfailing aid.</p> - -<p>At length news came; a few stragglers from the party of explorers -returned. Godfrey Hungerford was not among them; and the remnant -related that he had been murdered, with two others, by a tribe of -aborigines.</p> - -<p>Hayes Meredith told Margaret the truth; he sustained and comforted her -in the early days of her horror and grief; he counselled her return to -England, and provided money for her voyage. He secured her cabin and -the services of Rose Moore. It was he who bade her farewell upon the -deck of the Boomerang--he of whom she thought as her only friend.</p> - -<p>Margaret had little power of feeling, love, or gratitude in her -now, as she believed, and that little was exerted for the alert, -kindly-voiced, gray-haired, keen-eyed man who left her with a heavy -heart, and said to himself, as the boat shot away from the ship's -side, "Poor girl! she has had hard lines of it hitherto. I wonder what -is before her in England!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_05" href="#div1Ref_05">CHAPTER V.</a></h4> -<h5>CHAYLEIGH.</h5> -<br> - -<p>A bright soft day in the autumn--a day which appealed to all who dwelt -in houses to come forth and taste the last lingering flavour of the -summer in the sweet air--a day so still and peaceful that the sudden -rustle of the leaves, as a few of their number (<i>ennuyés</i> leaves, -tired of life sooner than their fellows) detached themselves, and -came, gently wafted by the imperceptible air, to the ground, made one -look round, as though at an intrusion upon its perfect repose--a day -which appealed to memory, and said, "Am I not like some other day in -your life, on which you have pondered many things in your heart, and -looked far back into the past without the agony of regret, and on into -the future undisturbed by dread--a restful day, when life has seemed -not bad to have, but very, very good to leave?"--a day on which any -settled, stern, inexorable occupation seemed harder, more unbearable -than usual, even to the least reasonable and most moderate idler--a -day on which the house which Margaret Carteret had forsaken looked -particularly beautiful, tranquil, and inviting.</p> - -<p>The orderliness of Chayleigh was delightful; it was not formal, not -oppressive; it was eminently tasteful. Inside the house and outside it -order reigned, without tyrannising. The lawn was always swept with -extreme nicety, and the flower-beds, though not pruned down to a -tantalising precision, bore evident signs of artistic care.</p> - -<p>The house stood almost in the centre of the small grounds, and long -wide French windows in front, and bow windows in the rear, opened on -smooth grassy terraces, which fell away by gentle inclines towards the -flower-garden in front, and at the back towards a pleasaunce, with -high prim alleys, and bosquets which in the pride of summer were -thickset with roses; and so, to some clumps of noble forest-trees, -behind which, and hidden, was the neat wire-fence which bounded the -small demesne.</p> - -<p>On this soft autumnal day, the three bow windows which opened on the -terrace at the back of the house were open, and every now and then the -white curtains faintly fluttered, and the leaves of the creepers which -luxuriously festooned the window-frames gently rustled. Far above the -height of the central window, an aspiring passion-flower, rich in the -stiff, majestic, symbolical blossom, stretched its branches, until -they wreathed the window just above the centre bow, and aided an -impertinent rose to look into the room. They had looked in ever since -the one had blossom and the other leaves, but they had seen nothing -there that lived or moved.</p> - -<p>The middle room, above the suite of drawing-rooms--whose rosewood -furniture, whose Ambusson carpets, and whose sparkling girandoles -formed the chief delight and pride of Mrs. Carteret's not particularly -capacious heart--had not been used since Margaret Carteret had left -her home to follow the fortunes of her lover.</p> - -<p>That such was the case was not due to any sentiment on Mr. Carteret's -part, or any spite on that of his wife. If the former had happened to -want additional space for any of his drying or "curing" processes, he -would have invaded his daughter's forsaken room without the slightest -hesitation, and, indeed, without recalling the circumstance of her -former occupation, of his own accord; while it was quite safe from -interference on the part of the latter for another and a different -reason.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret's rooms were perfectly comfortable and sufficient, and -she never had "staying company." She knew better. She was quite -sufficiently hospitable without inflicting that trouble on herself, -and she had no notion of it. Indeed, she never had any notion of doing -anything which she did not thoroughly like, or of putting up with any -kind of inconvenience for a moment if it were possible to free herself -from it; and she had generally found it very possible. Life had rolled -along wonderfully smoothly, on the whole, for Mrs. Carteret. She -possessed one advantage which does not always fall to the lot of -supremely selfish and heartless people--she had an easy temper.</p> - -<p>It is refreshing sometimes to observe how much utterly selfish people, -whose sole object in life is to secure pleasure and to banish pain, -suffer by the infliction upon themselves of their own temper. But Mrs. -Carteret was bucklered against fate, even on that side. She took -excellent and successful care that no one else should annoy her, and -she never annoyed herself. It would have afforded a philosophic -observer, indeed, some congenial occupation of mind to divine from -what possible quarter, save that of severe bodily pain, discomfiture -could reach Mrs. Carteret. She was very well off, perfectly healthy, -wholly indifferent to every existing human being except herself and -her cousin, had everything her own way as regarded both objects of -affection, had got rid of her stepdaughter, and had a very comfortable -settlement "in case anything should happen"--according to the queer -formula adopted in speaking of the only absolute certainty in human -events--to Mr. Carteret.</p> - -<p>This seemingly-invulnerable person had no need of Margaret's room -then, and when James Dugdale said to her,</p> - -<p>"If you don't want that middle room over the drawing-room for any -particular purpose, I should be glad to have the use of it for -mounting my drawings, and so on; the light is very good," she said at -once,</p> - -<p>"O yes; you mean Margaret's room, do you not? I don't want it in the -least. I will have it put to rights for you at once; it is full of all -her trumpery."</p> - -<p>No third person listening to the two would ever have discerned that -any matter of feeling, or even embarrassment, had any connection with -the subject under mention, still less that the "Margaret" in question -had so lately left the home of her girlhood on a desperate quest, -which the woman who spoke of her complacently believed to be -desperate.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I mean that room," said James Dugdale in a careless tone; "but -pray don't have anything in it touched. I will see to all that myself; -in fact, presuming on your permission, I have put a lot of my things -in there, and the servants would play the deuce if they meddled with -them. I may keep the key, Sibylla, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Of course," replied Mrs. Carteret; and from that moment she never -gave the matter a thought, and James Dugdale had the key of Margaret's -room, and he did put some sketch-books, some sheets of Bristol board, -and other adjuncts of his favourite pursuit on a table, and thus -formally constituted his possession and his pretext. But he seldom -unlocked the door; he rarely entered the apartment, even at first, and -more and more rarely as time stole on, and all his worst fears and -forebodings about Margaret Hungerford had been realised.</p> - -<p>Sometimes, when all the house was quiet, on moonlight nights, his pale -face and bent figure might have been seen, framed in the window, -between the branches of the passion-flower which he had trained. There -he would stand awhile, leaning against the woodwork and gazing into -the sky, in whose vastness, whose distance, whose sameness over all -the world, there is surely some vague comfort for the yearnings of -absence, uncertainty, even hopeless separation, or why is the relief -of it so often, so uniformly sought?</p> - -<p>Sometimes, but not often, he wrote in Margaret's room; one letter -which he had written there had exerted a great influence upon her -fate, how great he little knew. All the girl's little possessions were -in the room, just as she had left them.</p> - -<p>Tidy housemaids, with accurate ideas of the fitness of things, had -come to and gone away from Chayleigh since the sole daughter of the -house had taken her perilous way, according to her headstrong will, -and had been disturbed, and even mutinous, in their minds concerning -the "middle room." But on the whole they had obeyed orders; and James -Dugdale, who had long ceased to be the "tutor," and was supposed to be -Mrs. Carteret's stepbrother by the servants of late date in the -establishment, enjoyed undisturbed possession of the trumpery -water-colour sketches; the little desk with a sloping top, with -"Souvenir" engraved in flourishes on a mother-o'-pearl heart inserted -over the lock; the embroidery-frame, the bead-worked watch-pocket, and -the little library which occupied two hanging shelves, and chiefly -consisted of the "Beauties" of the poets, and a collection of -"Friendship's Offerings" and "Forget-me-nots."</p> - -<p>James Dugdale's thoughts were busy with Margaret Hungerford that sweet -autumn day--more busy with her than usual, more full of apprehension. -The time that had elapsed had not deadened the feelings with which he -regarded the wilful girl, who had scorned his interference, scoffed -at and resented his advice, but been obliged to avail herself of his -aid.</p> - -<p>He knew that she had done so, but he knew nothing more. And as he -roamed about the garden, and the terrace, and the pleasaunce, and -rambled away to where the forest-trees stood stately, idly treading -the fallen leaves under his listless feet, so lately in their green -brightness far above his head, he sickened with longing to know more -definitely the fate of the absent girl.</p> - -<p>"She hated me then," he said with a sigh, as he turned once more -towards the house; "and she is just the woman to hate me more because -she has found out for herself that I was right."</p> - -<p>He little knew how fully, to how far greater an extent than he had -discovered it, Margaret had learned the worthlessness of Godfrey -Hungerford.</p> - -<p>As he crossed the garden, a woman-servant came towards him, and asked -him for the key of "the middle room." The request jarred upon him -somehow, and he asked rather sharply what it was wanted for.</p> - -<p>"We are getting the cleaning done, sir; master and missus is to be -home on Saturday."</p> - -<p>James Dugdale handed the key to the housemaid, and entered the -drawing-room through the open window.</p> - -<p>"I may as well write to Haldane," he muttered. "The Canadian mail -leaves tomorrow."</p> - -<p>When James Dugdale had written his letter, he went out again; but this -time he took his way to the village, intending to post the packet, and -then pursue his way to a "bit" in the vicinity from which he was -making a water-colour drawing.</p> - -<p>As he passed the inn which occupied the place of honour in the hilly -little street, the coach which ran daily from a large town on the -south coast to London was drawn up before the door, and the process of -changing horses was being accomplished to the lively satisfaction of -numerous bystanders, to whom this event, though of daily occurrence, -never ceased to be exciting and interesting.</p> - -<p>James Dugdale glanced carelessly at the clustering villagers and the -idlers about the inn-door, of whom a few touched their hats or pulled -their hair in his honour; observed casually that two female figures -were standing in the floor-clothed passage, and that one of the -ostlers was lifting a heavy trunk, of a seafaring exterior, down from -the luggage-laden top of the coach; and then passed on, and forgot all -these ordinary occurrences. He took his way to the scene of his -intended sketch, and was soon busily engaged with his work.</p> - -<p>When the autumnal day was drawing to its close, and the growing -keenness of the air began to make itself felt, quickly too, by his -sensitive frame, James Dugdale turned his steps homewards, and, taking -the lower road, without again passing through the village, he skirted -the clumps of forest-trees, and entered the little demesne by a small -gate which led into the pleasaunce.</p> - -<p>He had almost reached the grassy terrace, when, glancing upwards, as -was his frequent custom,--it had been his habit in the time gone by, -when Margaret's light figure and girlish face had often met the -upturned glance,--he saw that the window was wide open, and some one -was in the room; saw this with quick impatience, which made him step -back a little, so as to get a clearer view of the intruder, and to -mutter, as he did so,</p> - -<p>"Those confounded servants! What can they be doing there up to this -time?"</p> - -<p>But, as he murmured the words, James Dugdale started violently, and -then stood in fixed, motionless, incredulous amazement. The window of -the middle room was wide open, and against the woodwork, framed by the -blossoms and foliage of the passion-flower, leaned a slight figure, in -a heavy black dress.</p> - -<p>The slender hands were clasped together, and showed white against the -sombre garb; the pale, clear-cut, severe young face, lighted by the -last rays of the quickly-setting autumn sun, looked out upon the -tranquil scene; but on every feature sat the deepest abstraction. The -eyes were heedless of all near objects, fixed apparently upon the -trees in the distance; they took no heed of the figure standing in -rapt astonishment upon the terrace.</p> - -<p>Not until James Dugdale uttered her name with a faltering, with an -almost frightened voice, as one might address a spirit, did the face -in the window droop, and the eyes search for the speaker. But then -Margaret Hungerford leaned forward, and said, quite calmly,</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Dugdale, it is I."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_06" href="#div1Ref_06">CHAPTER VI.</a></h4> -<h5>HALF-CONFIDENCES.</h5> -<br> - -<p>"You cannot surely be serious--you do not really mean it?" said James -Dugdale, in a pleading tone, to Margaret Hungerford, as, some hours -after he had discovered her presence at Chayleigh, they were talking -together in the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>"I do mean it," she replied. "You never understood me, I think, and -you certainly do not understand me now, if you think I shall remain -here dependent on my father, having left his house as I did."</p> - -<p>James Dugdale did not speak for some minutes. He was pondering upon -what she had said. He had never understood her! If not he, who ever -had? Unjust to him she had always been, and she was still unjust to -him. But that did not matter: it was of her he must think, not of -himself.</p> - -<p>The first bewildering surprise of Margaret's arrival had passed away; -the mingled strangeness and familiarity of seeing her again, changed -as she was, in the old home so long forsaken, had taken its place, and -James Dugdale was looking at her, and listening to her, like a man in -a dream.</p> - -<p>Their meeting had been very calm and emotionless. Margaret, in -addition to the hardness of manner which had grown upon her in her -hard life, had felt no pleasure in seeing James Dugdale again. She had -not quite forgiven him, even yet, and, though she was relieved by -finding that the first explanations were to be given to him, and not -to her father or Mrs. Carteret, she had made them ungraciously enough, -and with just sufficient formal acknowledgment of the service which -James Dugdale had rendered her, in securing to her the friendship and -aid of Hayes Meredith, as convinced her sensitive hearer that she -would rather have been indebted to the kindness of any other person.</p> - -<p>On certain points he found her reserve invulnerable; and he was not -slow to suspect that she had made up her mind exactly as to how much -of her past life she would reveal, and how much should remain -concealed; and he did not doubt her power of adhering to such a -resolution. She had briefly alluded to her widowhood, acknowledged the -kindness she had experienced from Hayes Meredith, said a little about -the poverty in which he had found her, and had then left the subject -of herself and all concerning her, as if it wearied her, and with a -decision of manner which prevented James Dugdale from questioning her -further.</p> - -<p>Her questions regarding her father, her brother, and all that had -occurred at Chayleigh during her absence, were numerous and minute, -and James answered them without reserve or hesitation. They chiefly -related to facts. Margaret dealt but slightly in sentiment; but when -she asked James if her father spoke of her sometimes, there was a -little change in the tone of her voice, a slight accession of paleness -which she could not disguise.</p> - -<p>"At first, very seldom; in fact, hardly ever, Margaret, for I see you -wish the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; but more frequently -of late. Only the day before he and Mrs. Carteret went to Bath, -he--you remember his way--was showing me a peculiarly repulsive -specimen of some singularly hideous insect, and he said, 'How pleased -Margery would have been with <i>that</i>.' Quite a hallucination, if I -remember rightly, but still pleasant to hear him say it, and showed me -that he was thinking of you. You see this as I do?"</p> - -<p>"O yes," she answered, with a smile that was a little hard and bitter, -"very pleasant; indeed, the pleasantest possible association of ideas -according to papa. And--and Mrs. Carteret?"</p> - -<p>James Dugdale hesitated for a little, and then he said,</p> - -<p>"You remember what Sibylla is, Margaret, and you know she never cared -much for you, or Haldane--"</p> - -<p>"Particularly for <i>me</i>," she interrupted, in a tone whose assumed -lightness did not impose on James. "Well, she need not fear any -intrusion or importunity from me. I have come here because I must--I -must see my father once more, before I have for ever done with the old -life and begin with the new."</p> - -<p>"Are you going away again, Margaret?" said James, astonished. "Going -away, after having come home through such suffering and difficulty! -Why is this?"</p> - -<p>And then it was that Margaret asked him if he were really serious in -supposing she had any other intention.</p> - -<p>The truth was, she had very vague notions of what she should do with -herself. The pride and self-will of her nature, which the suffering -she had undergone in Australia had somewhat tamed, had had time for -their reawakening during the long voyage; and it was not in the most -amiable of moods that Margaret reached her former home.</p> - -<p>"Whatever my fault may have been, I have fully expiated it; and I must -have peace now, and forgetfulness, if it is to be had," was the form -her thoughts took.</p> - -<p>She had not been recognised at the village inn, where she had left -Rose Moore and her scanty luggage, and the servant who had opened the -door of her father's house to her was a stranger. He might fairly have -hesitated to admit a lady whom he did not know; but Margaret's manner -of announcing herself permitted no hesitation within his courage. His -master and mistress were not at home, the man said, but she could see -Mr. Dugdale when he came in. So she walked into the drawing-room, and -James was sought for, but not found.</p> - -<p>What agony of spirit the young widow underwent, when she found herself -once more in the scene of the vanished past, none but she ever knew. -The worst of it had passed away when James saw her leaning out of the -window, a picture framed in the branches of the passion-flower.</p> - -<p>The hours of the evening went rapidly by, though the talk of the -strangely-assorted companions was constrained and bald. Margaret was -resolute in her refusal to remain at Chayleigh. James Dugdale, she -argued, might believe that her father would gladly receive her; but he -could not know that he would, and she would await that welcome before -she made her old home even a temporary abode. A few sentences sufficed -to show James that this determination was not to be overcome.</p> - -<p>"At least you are not alone," he said; and then she explained to him -that Hayes Meredith had engaged an Irish girl, named Rose Moore, to -act as her maid during the voyage, and that the girl, having become -attached to her, was willing to defer her departure to Ireland for a -few days, until she, Margaret, had made some definite arrangement -about her own future.</p> - -<p>"I got used to Irish people at Melbourne," said Margaret, "and I like -them. I have half a mind to go to Ireland with Rose. I suppose -people's children want governesses there, and people themselves want -companions as well as here; and I fancy they are kind and cordial -there."</p> - -<p>"You must be very much altered, Margaret," returned James gravely, "if -you are fit to be either a governess or a <i>dame de compagnie</i>. I don't -think you had much in you to fit you for either function."</p> - -<p>"I am very much altered," she said; "and what I am fit for, or not fit -for, neither you nor any one can tell. There is only one thing which -would come to me that would surprise or disconcert me <i>now</i>."</p> - -<p>She rose as she spoke, and drew her heavy black cloak, which she had -only loosened, not laid aside, closely around her.</p> - -<p>"And that is--" said James.</p> - -<p>"Finding myself happy again, or being deceived into thinking myself -so," she said quickly and bitterly.</p> - -<p>This was the first thoroughly unrestrained sentence she had spoken in -all their conversation, the first clear glimpse she had given James -Dugdale into the depths of her heart and experience.</p> - -<p>They went out of the house together, and she walked by his side--he -did not offer his arm--to the village. The night was bright and -beautiful, and some of its calm came to the heart of Margaret, and -reflected itself in her pale steadfast face. The road which they took -wound past the well-kept fences and ornamental palings of a handsome -place, much larger than Chayleigh, which, in Margaret's time, had been -in the possession of Sir Richard Davyntry, whose good graces, and -those of Lady Davyntry, she remembered her stepmother to have been -particularly anxious to cultivate.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret had not succeeded remarkably well in this design, and -her failure was conspicuously due to her treatment of Margaret; for -Lady Davyntry was a motherly kind of woman, much younger than Mrs. -Carteret, and whose own childless condition was a deep and -unaffectedly-avowed grief to her.</p> - -<p>As Margaret and her companion passed the gates of Davyntry, she -remembered these "childish things," as they seemed to her now, and she -paused to look at the stately trees, and the fine old Elizabethan -house, on whose gilded vane the moonlight was shining coldly.</p> - -<p>She asked if Sir Richard and Lady Davyntry were staying there just -now, adding, "As I remember them, they were not people who, having a -country house and place combining everything any one can possibly wish -for, make a point of leaving it just when all is most beautiful."</p> - -<p>"No," said James Dugdale, "they certainly are not; and Sir Richard -stuck to it, poor fellow, as long as he could; but he died nearly a -year ago, and not at Davyntry either--at his brother-in-law's place in -Scotland."</p> - -<p>"Indeed!" said Margaret. "I am sorry for Sir Richard, and more sorry -still for Lady Davyntry; she is a widow indeed, I am sure. Perhaps she -wants a lady companion. I might offer myself: how pleased Mrs. -Carteret would be!"</p> - -<p>"Margaret!" said James Dugdale reprovingly.</p> - -<p>He spoke in the tone which had been familiar to him in the days when -he had been "the tutor" and Margaret his pupil; and she laughed for a -moment with something of the same saucy laugh with which she had been -used to meet a remonstrance from him in those old days. James -Dugdale's heart beat rapidly at the sound; for the first time, her -coming, her presence seemed real to him.</p> - -<p>"Well, well, I won't be spiteful," said Margaret. "Is Lady Davyntry -here?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; she has been more than a month at Davyntry. Her brother is with -her, and a remarkably nice fellow he is. I see a good deal of him."</p> - -<p>"I don't remember him. I don't think I ever saw him," said Margaret -absently. "What is his name?"</p> - -<p>James Dugdale did not note the question, but replied to the first part -of the sentence.</p> - -<p>"I don't think you can have seen him. He was abroad for some years -after his sister's marriage; indeed, he never was here in Sir -Richard's lifetime--never saw him, I believe, until he and Lady -Davyntry went to Scotland, on a visit, and he died there."</p> - -<p>"Is he here now?" Margaret asked in an indifferent manner.</p> - -<p>"Yes," returned James; "I told you so. He comes to Chayleigh a -good deal. He is nearly as fond of natural history as your father, -and nearly as fond of drawing as I am; so we are a mutual -resource--Chayleigh and Davyntry I mean."</p> - -<p>"And his name?" again asked Margaret quietly.</p> - -<p>"Did I not tell you? Don't you remember it? Surely you must have heard -the name; it is not a common one--Fitzwilliam Meriton Baldwin."</p> - -<p>"No, it is not common, and rather nice. I never heard it before, that -I remember. We have arrived, I see; and there is Rose Moore looking -out for me, like an impulsive Irish girl as she is, instead of -preserving the decorous indifference of the truly British domestic. -You will let me know when my father arrives. No, I shall not go to -Chayleigh again until his return. Good-night, Mr. Dugdale."</p> -<br> - -<p>She had disappeared, followed by her attendant, whose frank handsome -face had candidly expressed an amount of disapprobation of James -Dugdale's personal appearance to which he was, fortunately, perfectly -accustomed and philosophically indifferent. Fate had done its worst -for him in that respect long before; and he had turned away from the -inn-door, and was walking rapidly down the road again, when a cheery -voice addressed him:</p> - -<p>"Hallo, Dugdale! Where are you going at this time of night? and what -are you thinking of? I shouted at you in vain, and thought I should -never catch you. Are you going home? Yes?--then we shall be together -as far as Davyntry."</p> - -<p>The speaker was a young man, perhaps six-and-twenty years old, a -little over middle height, and, though not remarkably handsome, he -presented as strong a contrast in personal appearance to James Dugdale -as could be desired. He had a fair complexion, bright-blue eyes, with -an expression of candour and happiness in them as rare as it was -attractive, light-brown hair, and a lithe alert figure, full of grace -and activity. In the few words which he had spoken there was something -winning and open, a tone of entire sincerity and gladness almost -boyish; and it had its charm for the older and careworn man, who -answered cheerily, as he linked his arm with his own:</p> - -<p>"It is always pleasant to meet you, Baldwin; but to-night it's a -perfect godsend."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_07" href="#div1Ref_07">CHAPTER VII.</a></h4> -<h5>THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.</h5> -<br> - -<p>The communication which James Dugdale made to Mr. Carteret on his -arrival at Chayleigh was received by that gentleman not altogether -without agitation, but with more pleasure than the ex-tutor had -expected.</p> - -<p>Mr. Carteret had missed his daughter, in his quiet way, and had -occasionally experienced something which approached remorse during her -absence, when he pondered on the probabilities of her fate, and found -himself forced to remember how different it might have been had he -"looked after" the motherless girl a little more closely, had he -extended some more sympathy to her and exerted himself to understand -her, instead of confining his fatherly-fondness to occasional petting -and careful avoidance of being bored by her.</p> - -<p>Mr. Carteret was easily reconciled to most things, but he had never -succeeded in reconciling himself thoroughly to Margaret's marriage and -her exile, and he heard of her return with equal pleasure and relief. -These feelings expanded into positive joy when he learned the -delightful fact of Godfrey Hungerford's death.</p> - -<p>In the first vague apprehension of James Dugdale's news, he had -imagined that Margaret had left her husband and come home, and even -that he hailed with satisfaction. But to know that his son-in-law was -safely dead was an element of unmitigated good fortune in the matter. -And so strongly and unaffectedly did Mr. Carteret feel this, that he -departed from his usual mild method of speech on the occasion, and -delivered himself of some very strong language indeed.</p> - -<p>"The infernal scoundrel!" he said; "he made her miserable, I've no -doubt. She'll never tell us anything about it, James, if I am not much -mistaken in her, or she is not very much changed; and so much the -better. I don't want to hear anything about him; I should like to -think I should never hear his name mentioned again as long as I live!"</p> - -<p>"Most likely you never will hear it mentioned, sir," said James. "If -you like, I'll tell Margaret you would rather she did not talk about -him."</p> - -<p>"Do, do," said Mr. Carteret eagerly. He hated explanations, and would -never encounter anything he disliked if he could at all decently avoid -doing so. "The only good or pleasant thing that could be heard in -connection with the fellow, I heard when you told me he was under the -sod, and there is no use in hearing bad and unpleasant things. Of -course, the child knows she is welcome home; and the very best thing -she can do is to forget the scoundrel ever existed."</p> - -<p>The ignorance of human nature, and the oblivion of his wife's -peculiarities, which this speech betrayed, were equally characteristic -of Mr. Carteret; but James Dugdale could not smile at them when -Margaret was concerned.</p> - -<p>He determined to say nothing to the young widow's father about her -expressed resolution of leaving Chayleigh again, but to abandon that -issue to circumstances and the success of the mode of argument he -intended to pursue with Mrs. Carteret. He would go and fetch Margaret -home presently, when he had spoken to his cousin. He thought it better -her father should not accompany him, and Mr. Carteret, who had some -very choice beetles to unpack and prepare, thought so too.</p> - -<p>He delightedly anticipated Margaret's pleasure in exploring the -extended treasures of his collection, and was altogether in such an -elated state of mind that he had consigned the whole of Margaret's -married life as completely to oblivion as he had forgotten the partner -of that great disaster, by the time James Dugdale passed before the -windows of his study on his way to fulfil his mission of peace and -reconciliation.</p> - -<p>It never occurred to him to think about how his wife was likely to -take the news of Margaret's return. Mrs. Carteret had not given him -any trouble herself, or permitted other people to give him any -trouble, since Margaret and Haldane had gone their own way in life, -and he was not afraid of her departing now from that excellent rule of -conduct.</p> - -<p>"Margaret is not a child now, and they are sure to get on together," -said the mild and inexperienced elderly gentleman, as he daintily -handled some insect remains as reverently as if they had been mummies -of the Rameses; "each can have her own way." He had forgotten -Margaret's "own way," and he knew very little about Mrs. Carteret's.</p> - -<p>It was rather odd that his wife did not come to talk about the news -that James Dugdale had communicated to her. He wondered at that a -little. He would go and find her, and they should talk it over -together, presently, when he had put this splendid scarabaeus all -right--a great creature!--how fortunate he had secured it, just as old -Fooster was on the scent of it too!</p> - -<p>And so Mr. Carteret went on, and the minutes went on, and he had not -yet completed his arrangements for the adequate display of the -scarabaeus, when two figures, one in heavy black robes, passed quickly -between him and the light. A window-sash was thrown up from the -outside, and Margaret Hungerford's arms were round her father's neck.</p> - -<p>Under the roof of Chayleigh, on that bright autumn night, there was -but one tranquil sleeper. That one was Mr. Carteret. He was thoroughly -happy. Margaret had come home, Godfrey Hungerford was dead, and she -had never mentioned his name.</p> - -<p>He felt some tepid gratitude towards Hayes Meredith: of course he -should at once repay him the sums advanced to Margaret, and it would -be a good opportunity of extending his correspondence and his -scientific investigations--the Australian fauna had much to disclose.</p> - -<p>He had experienced a slight shock at observing the change in -Margaret's appearance; but that had passed away, and when Mr. Carteret -fell asleep that night he acknowledged that everything was for the -best in the long-run.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret had behaved very well. She had met Margaret kindly, with -as much composure as if she had been away from home on a week's visit; -had inquired whether "her maid" would remain at Chayleigh; had added -that "her things" should be placed in her "former" room; and had -evinced no further consciousness of the tremendous change which had -befallen her stepdaughter than was implied in the remark that "widow's -caps were not made so heavy now," and that Margaret's "crape skirt -needed renewal."</p> - -<p>The evening had passed away quietly. To two of the four individuals -who composed the little party it had seemed like a dream from which -they expected soon to awaken. Those two were Margaret Hungerford and -James Dugdale.</p> - -<p>One slight interruption had occurred. A note had been handed to Mrs. -Carteret from Lady Davyntry. She had heard of the return of her former -"pet" to Chayleigh--the expression was as characteristic of Lady -Davyntry as it was unsuitably applied to Margaret, who was an -unpromising subject for "petting"--and hoped to see her soon. Mr. -Meriton Baldwin would forego the pleasure of calling at Chayleigh that -evening, as he could not think of intruding so soon after the arrival -of Mrs. Hungerford.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret threw down the letter with rather an ill-tempered jerk, -and her face bore an expression which Margaret remembered with painful -distinctness, as she said,</p> - -<p>"Very absurd, I think. I don't suppose that Margaret would object to -our seeing our friends because she is here."</p> - -<p>The speech was not framed as a question; but Margaret answered it, -lifting up her head and her fair throat as she spoke, after a fashion -which one observer, at least, thought infinitely beautiful.</p> - -<p>"Certainly not, Mrs. Carteret. Pray do not allow me to interfere with -any of your usual proceedings."</p> - -<p>And then she went on talking to her father about the habits of the -kangaroo.</p> - -<p>The thoughts which held Mrs. Carteret's eyes waking that night were -anything but agreeable. She did not exactly know how she stood with -regard to her stepdaughter. If she determined on making the house too -unpleasant for her to bear it, she might find herself in collision -with her husband and her cousin at once, unless she could contrive -that the unpleasantness should be of a kind which Margaret's -pride--which she detected to be little, if at all, subdued by the -experiences of her married life--would induce her to hide from the -observation of both.</p> - -<p>Margaret should not live at Chayleigh if Mrs. Carteret could prevent -it; but whatever means she used to carry her purpose into effect must -be such as James Dugdale could not discover or thwart. The thing would -be difficult to do; but Mrs. Carteret had well-grounded confidence in -her own power of carrying a point, and this was one which must be held -over for the present. It was agreeable to be able to decide that, at -all events, Margaret was no beauty, that she was decidedly much less -handsome than she had been as what Mrs. Carteret called "a raw girl."</p> - -<p>And this was true, to the perception of a superficial observer. -Margaret looked very far from handsome as she sat in a corner of the -bow-window of the drawing-room, her small thin hands folded and -motionless, her head, with its hideous covering, bent down; her pale -face, sharpened by the angle at which the light struck it, and her -whole figure, in its deep black dress, unrelieved by the slightest -ornament or grace of form, pervaded by an expression of weariness and -defeat. She might have been a woman of thirty years old, and who had -never been handsome, to the perception of any stranger who had then -and thus seen her.</p> - -<p>But, three hours later in the night, when Margaret Hungerford was -alone in the room which had been the scene of her girlish dreams and -hopes, of the fond and beautiful delusion so terribly dissipated--in -the room where her dead mother had watched her in her sleep, where she -had read and yielded to the lover's prayer which lured her from her -home--when she was quite alone, and was permitting the waves of memory -to rush over her soul;--no one would have said, who could then have -seen her, that Margaret was not handsome. Her face was one capable of -intensity of expression in every mood of feeling, and as mobile as it -was powerful. The wakeful hours of that night passed over her while -another crisis in her life was lived through--another crisis somewhat -resembling, and yet differing from, that which had marked the first -hours of her voyage.</p> - -<p>She had sent Rose Moore away as soon as she could, but not before the -girl had imparted to her her conviction that English people, always -excepting Margaret, were "square." She could not understand the -tranquillity of the widowed daughter's reception at Chayleigh. The -reception awaiting her in the "ould country" would be of a very -different kind, "plase God," she added internally; and the extent and -importance of the business of eating and drinking among the servants -had gone nigh to exasperate her.</p> - -<p>Rose was devoted to Margaret, but she thought the sooner she and her -mistress turned their back on a place where servants sat down to four -regular meals a day, and did not as much as know the meaning of the -"Mass," the better.</p> - -<p>"She'll never do for these people," the girl thought, as she waited -for Margaret in her room; "she's restless with sorrow, and it's not a -nice nate place, like this, with the back parlour full of spiders laid -out in state, as if they were wakin' them, and little boxes full of -bones--nor yet the drawin'-room, all done out with bades, and a -mother, by way of, sittin' in it that 'ud think more of one of her -tay-cups bein' chipped than of the young crayture's heart bein' -broken--that'll ever bring comfort or consolation to the likes of -her."</p> - -<p>The thoughts which had put themselves into such simple words in the -Irish girl's mind had considerable affinity with Margaret's own, but -in her they took more tumultuous form. The strong purpose, half -remorse, half vain-longing, which had brought her home, was fulfilled. -She had seen the place she had left, and thoroughly realised that her -former self had been left with it.</p> - -<p>The few hours which had passed had made her comprehend that her life, -her nature, were things apart from Chayleigh; she could not, if she -would, take up the story of her girlhood where she had closed the -book. Between her and every former association, the dark and miserable -years of her married life--unreal as they seemed now--almost as unreal -as the illusion under which she had entered upon them--had placed an -impassable gulf.</p> - -<p>Wrapped in a dressing-gown, and with her dark hair loose upon her -shoulders, Margaret paced her room from end to end, and strove with -her thoughts. She was a puzzle to herself. What discord there was -between her--a woman who had suffered such things, seen such sights, -heard such words as she had seen, and heard, and suffered--and the -calm, well-regulated, comfortable household here! If she had ever -contemplated remaining an inmate of her father's house, this one -night's commune with herself would have forced her to recognise the -impossibility of her doing so. The stain and stamp of her wanderings -were upon her; she could not find rest here, or yet.</p> - -<p>Her father's dreamy ways; the selfishness, heartlessness, -empty-headedness of Mrs. Carteret; the distaste she felt for James -Dugdale's presence, though she persuaded herself she was striving to -be grateful;--all these things, separately and collectively, she felt, -but they did not present themselves to her as the true sources of her -present uncontrollable feelings: she knew how utterly she was changed -now only when she knew--for it was knowledge, not apprehension--that -the home to which she had found her way of access so much easier than -she had thought for, could never be a resting-place for her.</p> - -<p>Was there any resting-place anywhere? Had she still to learn that -life's lessons are not exhausted by one or two great shocks of -experience, but are daily tasks until the day, "never so weary or -long," has been "rung to evensong"? She was a puzzle to herself in -another respect. No grief for the dead husband, the lover for whom she -had left the home which could not be restored, had come back to her. -No gentle tender chord had been touched in her heart, to give forth -his name in mournful music.</p> - -<p>In this, the truth, the intellectual strength of her nature, unknown -to her, revealed themselves. No sentimentality veiled the truth from -Margaret. She had said to herself that it was well for her her husband -was dead, no matter what should come after, and she never unsaid -it,--not even in the hours of emotional recollection and mental strife -which formed her first night under her father's roof.</p> - -<p>Standing by the window at which James Dugdale had first caught sight -of her the day before, Margaret clasped her hands over her head and -looked out drearily. The moon was high, the light was cold and -ghastly. She thought how she had seen the same chill gleam upon the -shimmering sea, and upon the grassy wastes of the distant land she had -left; and the fancy came to her that it was to be always moonlight -with her for evermore.</p> - -<p>"No more sunshine; no more of the glow, and the glitter, and the -warmth--that is done with for me. There's no such thing as happiness, -and I must only try to find, instead, hard work."</p> - -<p>There was another wakeful head at Chayleigh that night. James -Dugdale was but too well accustomed to sleepless nights, companioned -by the searching, mysterious pain which so often attends upon -deformity--pain, as if unseen fingers questioned the distorted limbs -and lingered among the disturbed nerves; but it was not that which -kept him waking now.</p> - -<p>It was that he, too, was face to face with his fate, questioning it of -its past deeds and its intentions for the future--a little bitterly -questioning it, perhaps, and yet with more resignation than rancour -after all, considering what the mind of the man was, and what a -prison-house it tenanted. Among the innumerable crowd of thoughts -which pursued and pressed upon each other, there was one all the more -distinct that he felt and strove against its unworthiness.</p> - -<p>"I am so thankful she is at home--so glad for her sake. Nothing could -be so well for her, since the past is irrevocable; but nothing could -be so bad, at least nothing could be worse for me. No, nothing, -nothing."</p> - -<p>And James Dugdale, happily blind to the further resources of his -destiny, felt something like a dreary sense of peace arising within -him as he assured himself over and over again of the finality to which -it had attained.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_08" href="#div1Ref_08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h4> -<h5>MRS. CARTERET IS CONGRATULATED.</h5> -<br> - -<p>"I am positively dying to see her--I am indeed; you have no notion -what a darling she is. I am sure you would be delighted with her, -Fitzwilliam!"</p> - -<p>These gushing sentiments were uttered by Lady Davyntry, and addressed -to her brother, Mr. Fitzwilliam Meriton Baldwin, while they were at -breakfast together, on the morning after Lady Davyntry's note had been -received at Chayleigh.</p> - -<p>Lady Davyntry was given to gushing. She was a harmless, emotional kind -of woman, who had led a perfectly discreet and comfortable life, and -had never known a sorrow until the death of her husband.</p> - -<p>Lady Davyntry was a very pretty woman--as pretty at her present age, -thirty-five, as she had been at any time since she had turned the -corner of extreme youth. Her mild, lambent blue eyes were as bright as -they had ever been, and her fair, rather thick skin had lost neither -its purity nor its polish.</p> - -<p>She had been rich, well cared for, and happy all her life; she had -never had any occasion to exert herself; the "sorrows of others" had -cast but light and fleeting "shadows over" her; and her -sentimentalism, and the romance which had not been much developed in -the course of her prosperous uneventful life, were quite ready for any -demands that might be made upon them by an event of so much local -interest as the return of Mr. Carteret's daughter, whose marriage was -generally understood to have been very unfortunate.</p> - -<p>She was interested in the occurrence for more than the sufficient -reason that she had liked and pitied Margaret in her neglected -girlhood. Perhaps the strongest sentiment of dislike which had ever -been called forth in the amiable nature of Lady Davyntry had been -excited by, and towards, Mrs. Carteret.</p> - -<p>The two women were entirely antagonistic to each other; and Lady -Davyntry felt a thrill of gratification on hearing of Margaret's -return, in which a conviction that that event had taken place without -Mrs. Carteret's sanction, and would not be to her taste, had a decided -share.</p> - -<p>She had favoured her brother--to whom she was very much attached, and -who was so much younger than she that he did not inspire her with any -of the salutary reserve which induces sisters to disguise their -favourite weaknesses from brothers--with a full and free statement of -her feelings on this point, and he had not strongly combated her -antipathy to Mrs. Carteret. The truth was, he shared it.</p> - -<p>Mr. Baldwin had risen from the breakfast-table, and was standing, -newspaper in hand, by a large window which commanded an extensive -view, including the precise angle of the little demesne of Chayleigh -in which the rear of the house and the window of Margaret's room, with -its frame of passion-flowers, could be seen--not distinctly, but -clearly enough to induce the eyes of any one gazing forth upon the -scene to rest upon it mechanically.</p> - -<p>His sister rose also, as she repeated her assurance that Margaret was -"a darling," and joined him.</p> - -<p>"Look," she said; "you have sharp eyes, I know. There is some one -leaning out of the centre window. I see a figure, don't you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Mr. Baldwin; "I see a figure, all in black,--there's a -flutter of something white. Who is it?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure it's Margaret," said Lady Davyntry, "and the white thing -must be the strings of her widow's cap, poor child. How horrid it will -be to see her sweet, pretty little face in it! Ah, dear! to think that -she and I should meet under such similar circumstances!" and Lady -Davyntry sighed, and a tear made its appearance in each of her calm -blue eyes.</p> - -<p>"Similar circumstances!" repeated her brother, in some surprise. "Ah, -yes! you are both widows, to be sure; but the similarity stops there; -if what Dugdale said, or rather implied, be true,--as of course it -is,--you and Mrs. Hungerford wear your rue with a difference."</p> - -<p>"We do, indeed," said Lady Davyntry. "Give me that field-glass, Fitz. -I must make out whether that really is Margaret." And then she added, -as she adjusted the glass to her sight, "And I pity her for that too. -I cannot fancy any lot more pitiable than being forbidden by one's -reason to feel grief. Yes," she went on, after a minute, "it is -Margaret. I can see her figure quite plainly now. Look, look, Fitz!" -and she held out the glass to him. But Mr. Baldwin did not take it -from her hand; he smiled, and said:</p> - -<p>"No, no, Nelly, I could not take the liberty of peeping -surreptitiously at Mrs. Hungerford. You forget you are renewing your -acquaintance with her; mine has to be made."</p> - -<p>"That's just like your punctilio," said his sister. "I declare I feel -the strongest impulse to nod to her, this glass brings her so near; -and you are a goose for your pains. However, when you do see her, I -prophesy you will agree with me that she is a darling, a delightful -girl."</p> - -<p>"Well, but," said Mr. Baldwin, who was amused by his sister's -enthusiasm, "you forget how long it is since you have seen this -paragon, and that she is not a girl at all, but an unhappy and -ill-treated wife, who has lately had the good fortune to become a -widow."</p> - -<p>"That's true," said Lady Davyntry; "but I'll not believe that any -change could interfere with Margaret's being a darling. At all events, -I am going to see for myself this very day."</p> - -<p>"So soon?" asked Mr. Baldwin, in a surprised tone.</p> - -<p>"So soon! why not? You don't suppose Margaret has any tender -confidences with Mrs. Carteret which must not be broken in upon, and, -as for her father, I am sure he is as much accustomed to her being -there, since yesterday, as if she were one of those horrid specimens -<i>en permanence</i>."</p> - -<p>Mr. Baldwin laughed. "I don't suppose the meeting has been very -demonstrative," he said, "considering the parties to it whom I <i>do</i> -know, and Dugdale's account of the party whom I <i>do not</i>. According to -the little he said, Mrs. Hungerford's firmness and reserve are -wonderful--more wonderful than pleasing, <i>I</i> should consider them."</p> - -<p>"Never mind Mr. Dugdale, Fitz," replied his sister. "He never liked -Margaret either I believe: I know she quarrelled with him at the time -of her love-affair. It is very likely he does not like her coming -home; she may make things unpleasant for him now, you know, which she -could not when quite a girl. Don't you mind <i>him</i>. Take my word for -it, the young widow is a darling."</p> - -<p>"Take care, Nelly; that is rather a dangerous thing to insist -upon so strongly, except that you know I have a prejudice against -widows--always excepting <i>you</i>, he added, as she raised a warning -finger.</p> - -<p>"Nonsense," said Lady Davyntry; and then she left the room, and her -brother resumed his newspaper; but, as he folded it and prepared to -read the leading articles leisurely, he thought, "I wonder if she is -really nice. Certainly Dugdale did not convey to me any impression -that he did not like her, or that her coming was contrary to his -convenience,--rather the opposite, I think. This must be a fancy of -Nelly's."</p> - -<p>"Am I right? Did I say too much of Margaret, you incredulous Fitz?" -asked Lady Davyntry of her brother, when the gates of Chayleigh had -closed upon them at the termination of an unusually protracted visit, -during which Mrs. Carteret had endured the mortification of seeing -Lady Davyntry in a character of affectionate neighbourliness, which -had never been evoked by all her own strenuous and unrelaxed efforts.</p> - -<p>"Did you ever see a nicer creature?" persisted the impulsive Nelly, -"and though of course she's changed, I assure you I never thought her -so handsome when she was quite a girl; and her quiet manner--so -dignified and ladylike--not cold though: you didn't think it cold, did -you, Fitz?"</p> - -<p>"Not cold to <i>you</i>, certainly," replied Mr. Baldwin, who was glad to -escape, by answering this one, from the more direct question his -sister had put to him at first.</p> - -<p>"No, no," she went on; "quite cordial; and I told her how I looked at -her with the glass this morning, and how you were quite too proper -and precise to follow my example; and she blushed quite red for a -moment--her pale face looked so pretty--and just glanced at you for an -instant: it was when Mr. Carteret was bothering you about the -articulations of something--and I'm sure she thought you very nice and -gentlemanly, and----"</p> - -<p>"What <i>I</i> thought of Mrs. Hungerford is more to your present purpose, -Nelly," said her brother, in an embarrassed voice. "I quite agree with -you in thinking her very charming, but she looks as if she had gone -through a great deal."</p> - -<p>"Yes; doesn't she, poor dear?" said Lady Davyntry, who simply did not -possess the power to comprehend even the outlines of Margaret's life; -"but now that she is at home, it will be all right; I shall have her -with me as much as possible, and she will soon forget all her -troubles."</p> - -<p>Mr. Baldwin did not reply. There was something in Mrs. Hungerford's -face which forbade him to believe that Davyntry and its mistress would -prove a panacea for whatever was the source of that expression. It was -not grief, as grief is felt for the dead who have been worthily loved -and are fitly mourned.</p> - -<p>It was an utter forlornness, combined with suppressed energy. It was -the expression of one who had been utterly deceived and disappointed, -and was now crushed by the sense of bankruptcy and defeat in life. The -quiet manner which had been so satisfactory to the shallow perceptions -of Lady Davyntry did not impress her brother in the same way.</p> - -<p>"That is a woman," he thought, "who has gone perilously near to the -confines of despair."</p> - -<p>When he had seen Lady Davyntry into the house, Mr. Baldwin turned away -from the door, and went a long ramble through the fields. His -wanderings did not take him out of Chayleigh; and once he stood still, -looking towards the window where Margaret's figure had been dimly seen -by him that morning, and thought,</p> - -<p>"What does this woman mean to me? Not a mere passing interest in my -life! What does this woman mean?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose you don't see much change in Lady Davyntry?" Mrs. Carteret -said to Margaret, after the visitors had departed. "She is as -nice-looking, in a common way, and as full of herself as usual."</p> - -<p>"Lady Davyntry was always very kind to me," replied Margaret gravely. -"In that she is certainly unchanged."</p> - -<p>"O yes, she's kind enough, in her empty way," said Mrs. Carteret; "but -for my part I don't care about those violent intimacies. I never would -be led into them--they are quite in her way. If I would have -responded, there would have been perpetual running back and forward -between Davyntry and Chayleigh; but that sort of thing does not suit -me--I consider it vulgar and insincere."</p> - -<p>Margaret did not exactly know, but she suspected, quite correctly, -that her stepmother was endeavouring to disguise a considerable amount -of pique under this depreciation of undue intimacy. She therefore made -no reply, and Mrs. Carteret continued:</p> - -<p>"I daresay she will be taking you up violently, for a while, until she -tires of you. The fuss she makes with her brother is quite absurd. He -is a nice-looking young man, and nothing more. Don't you think so, -Margaret?"</p> - -<p>"He is nice-looking, certainly," said Margaret; "but I have seen too -little of him to pronounce any further."</p> - -<p>"He has the great attraction of being very rich," said Mrs. Carteret, -in a sharp tone; Margaret's cautious and reasonable reply irritated -her. "If he dies without heirs, his sister will have all the Scotch -property; it is worth fifteen thousand a-year, and entailed on heirs -general. It is a wonder some manoeuvring mother has not made a prize -of him long ago. He's rather a soft party, I should say."</p> - -<p>"Should you?" said Margaret. "Mr. Baldwin looks firm as well as -gentle, I think--not the sort of man to be married by anybody without -his own unqualified consent."</p> - -<p>"Of course he's a great catch," said Mrs. Carteret, "and I understand -he is terribly afraid of ladies. He thinks every woman who looks at -him is in love with himself or his acres."</p> - -<p>"Indeed," said Margaret--and there was a tone of polite incredulity in -her voice--"I should not have taken Mr. Baldwin to be a vulgar-minded -man."</p> - -<p>"I daresay not," returned Mrs. Carteret; "he is rather prepossessing -than otherwise to strangers; but then, you know, Margaret, your -judgment of men has been rather rash than infallible hitherto. Dear -me! I had no notion it was so late--time to dress for dinner!"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret rose, laid aside her everlasting fancy-work, and left -the room. Margaret rose also, but lingered for a few moments. As she -stood with her hands pressed upon her temples, and her pale face drawn -into a look of pain, she thought:</p> - -<p>"I wonder, if James Dugdale had heard that speech, would he think I -could possibly stay here."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_09" href="#div1Ref_09">CHAPTER IX.</a></h4> -<h5>WHAT THE WOMAN MEANT.</h5> -<br> - -<p>A month had elapsed since Margaret Hungerford's return to her father's -house, and had brought with it certain changes in the situation of -things at Chayleigh, which, though they could not have been understood -by outsiders, were very keenly appreciated by the actors in the small -domestic drama there.</p> - -<p>It had brought to Margaret more calm and peace. It had not changed her -intention of leaving Chayleigh, of seeking some independent means of -providing for herself; but it had decreased her anxiety to put this -intention into immediate, or even into very early, execution. The main -element in this alteration was her perception of her father's pleasure -in her society.</p> - -<p>"It is not much to bear for <i>his</i> sake," she said to herself, "to put up -with Mrs. Carteret. I have had worse things than that to endure -without the power or the prospect of escaping from them either, and I -will stay for six months with papa. James Dugdale thinks it the right -thing, and, if Mrs. Carteret is convinced that it is to be only for -six months, she will see that her best policy, in pursuit of her -favourite plan of making things pleasant for papa, in order to have -her own way thoroughly in things she really cares about, is by -behaving properly to me. I will take care she shall labour under no -delusive fears about my having come to take up my abode here; and then -I am much out of my calculations, and egregiously mistaken in my -amiable stepmother, if she does not change her tactics altogether."</p> - -<p>The result justified Margaret's calculations. She took an early -opportunity of informing Mrs. Carteret that she did not contemplate a -long stay at Chayleigh.</p> - -<p>The intimation was received by her stepmother with much propriety of -manner, but without the slightest warmth. She designed to let Margaret -perceive that while she (Mrs. Carteret) was too ladylike, too -perfectly trained and finished in the polished proprieties of life to -fail in the fulfilment of the exact laws of hospitality, it had never -occurred to her to consider Margaret in any other light than that of a -guest; and that she therefore regarded the communication as merely -relating to the duration of her visit.</p> - -<p>Margaret clearly perceived her meaning, but she did not resent it, nor -did it grieve her. The peace of a settled resolution had come to her. -Mrs. Carteret condescended to express her approbation of Margaret's -determination, and her readiness to assist her in carrying it into -effect.</p> - -<p>"Nothing is more admirable in young people than an independent -spirit," said the approving lady; "and, notwithstanding your -unfortunate marriage, Margaret, I consider you as a young person -still. You are quite right in considering it unjust that your father -should be expected to provide for you twice over--first, in handing -over the money you were not really entitled to, to that unpleasant -person, Mr. Hungerford, and a second time, by having you to live -here."</p> - -<p>"My father is not expected, either by me or by any one that I know of, -to do anything of the kind," interrupted Margaret, with a slight -quivering of the lips and a transient accession of colour to the pale -cheeks.</p> - -<p>"That is just what I am saying, my dear. I highly commend your very -proper view. It would be quite my own. Indeed, I am sure, were I in -your position, I could not endure dependence, even if my father were a -much richer man than yours is. I cannot understand any one not doing -anything to secure independence."</p> - -<p>Margaret smiled, rather a hard kind of smile, as she thought there was -one thing she certainly would not do to attain independence, and that -one thing was precisely what Miss Martley had done in becoming Mrs. -Carteret.</p> - -<p>The elder lady continued to talk for some time longer in the same -strain, and at length she asked Margaret how she intended to procure -occupation.</p> - -<p>"I have not thought about that part of it yet," she replied.</p> - -<p>Then Mrs. Carteret allowed the truth to slip out; then she betrayed -her real consciousness of the meanness she was perpetrating. She -shifted her eyes uneasily away from Margaret's face, as she said,</p> - -<p>"I should not mention the matter to any one about here if I were you, -Margaret. People talk so oddly, and your father might not like it. I -always think, when anything of the kind is to be done, it had better -be away from home, and among a different connection."</p> - -<p>Margaret answered her with hardly-disguised contempt:</p> - -<p>"Your warning comes rather late. I have already told Lady Davyntry of -my intention, which she approves as much as you do. She has been good -enough to promise me her friendship and interest in settling matters -to my satisfaction. As for papa, he will not mind how I do it, when I -can succeed in reconciling him to my doing it at all."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret felt strongly tempted to get into a violent rage, and -relieve her vexation, which was intense, by saying anything and -everything which anger might suggest to her, to Margaret.</p> - -<p>That Lady Davyntry, who had taken no notice of the advances she had -made towards an intimacy which would have been a social triumph to -Mrs. Carteret--Lady Davyntry who, since Margaret's return, had gone so -near ignoring her stepmother's existence as was consistent with the -observance of the commonest civility--that she should be admitted -behind the scenes, that Margaret should instruct her in the <i>dessous -des cartes</i>, was gall and wormwood to her. She had never been very far -off hating Margaret hitherto; her quiet stealthy dislike to the girl -now deepened into the darker feeling; and though she merely replied, -"O, then, in that case, it cannot be helped," Margaret knew that that -minute marked an era in Mrs. Carteret's feelings towards her.</p> - -<p>"Never mind," she said to herself, as though she had been encouraging -another person; "never mind, it is only for six months. She will -always be civil to me, and it can't last."</p> - -<p>She was right; Mrs. Carteret always was civil to her. She was a woman -in whom cunning and caution were at least as strong as temper, and she -took counsel of both in this instance. She was by no means free from -an uneasy suspicion that, if Margaret had formed a contrary -determination, her influence with her father would have outweighed -that which she herself could have exerted.</p> - -<p>It behoved her, therefore, to be thankful that the occasion for -testing that unpleasantly-important point had not arisen, and to -confine her tactics to such consistently-ceremonious treatment of -Margaret as should keep her position as only a guest constantly before -her eyes, and maintain her resolution by the aid of her pride; while -all should be so contrived as to avoid attracting the attention of her -absent-minded husband.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret conquered her temper, therefore--an operation in which -she found the counting of the stitches of her everlasting fancy-work -afforded her a good deal of assistance--and, after a short pause, took -up a collateral branch of the same subject.</p> - -<p>Margaret had dismissed Rose Moore, and the girl had gone on her -journey with a weight at her heart which she would have hardly -believed possible, seeing that she was going home. But she had come to -love Margaret very much, and she was very imperfectly consoled for -parting with her by the distant hope which the young widow held out of -a future meeting.</p> - -<p>"You will be married, and away in a house of your own, my dear girl, -very soon, and you will not care much about anything else then; but I -promise you, if ever I want you very much, Rose, I will send for you. -I don't think I ever <i>can</i> want you, in all my life, as much as I -wanted you when you came to me; and of course you never can want me; -your life is laid out for you too securely for that."</p> - -<p>"None of us can tell <i>that</i>," said Rose Moore; "who knows?"</p> - -<p>"Well, of course no one knows," said Margaret; "but it looks like it. -However, we shall never forget one another, Rose, and if either can -help the other, the one who can will." And with this understanding -they parted.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret had never taken any notice of Rose Moore, who, in her -turn, had held the lady of the house in slight reverence. Mrs. -Carteret had a constitutional aversion to the Irish. She considered -them half-civilised beings, with a natural turn for murder, a natural -unfitness for domestic service, and an objectionable predilection for -attending the ceremonial observances of their religion.</p> - -<p>As an Irishwoman, then. Rose Moore was antipathetic to her; and as a -devoted though humble friend of her stepdaughter's, she was something -more. The Irish girl's bright-hearted love and sympathy for the young -widow was positively repulsive to Mrs. Carteret, because there was a -reproach in it.</p> - -<p>But when Rose was actually gone, Mrs. Carteret found herself in a -difficulty. She disliked the idea of a successor to Rose being found, -because her narrow, grasping nature was of the small tyrant order, and -she could not endure that in her house there should be any one who did -not owe allegiance to <i>her</i>.</p> - -<p>Another reason was to be found in Mrs. Carteret's parsimony. She was -as avaricious as she was despotic, and both these passions were -stirred within her when she asked Margaret, in the most distant and -uninterested tone which even she could assume, whether she had yet -made any arrangements about replacing Rose Moore. "Moore," she called -her, after the English fashion, which had been a deadly offence to -Rose.</p> - -<p>"Calling you as if you were either a man or a dog," the indignant -damsel had said.</p> - -<p>"It's the English fashion, Rose," Margaret had pleaded in mitigation.</p> - -<p>"Then it's like more of their fashions, and they ought to be ashamed -of it, and would if they were Christians. However, I suppose English -servants put up with that, or anythin' else, for their four meals -a-day, and snacks into the bargain, and their beer, and the liberty -their clargy gives them to backbite their masters and mistresses."</p> - -<p>Margaret tried to explain that neither in this nor in any other -particular were the objects of Rose's indignant scorn in the habit of -applying to their "clargy:" but this was an enormity which she found -the girl's mind was quite incapable of receiving as a truth.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hungerford replied to Mrs. Carteret's question, that she had no -intention of providing a successor for Rose Moore.</p> - -<p>"I should have thought it quite unnecessary to tell you so," she said, -rather angrily. "You can hardly suppose I am in a position to keep a -maid. Even if I were for the present, to accustom myself to any luxury -which I must lose at the end of six months would be unpardonable folly -and weakness."</p> - -<p>"You are quite right, my dear," said Mrs. Carteret, with a cordial -tone in her voice, and a side-glance in her eye of intense dislike of -the speaker. "I admire your correct and self-denying principle, but I -am not sure that your father will like it. While you stay with us, I -am sure he would not wish you to be without a maid."</p> - -<p>Margaret did not take much trouble to conceal the contempt which -animated the smile that she permitted to pass slowly over her face as -she replied:</p> - -<p>"Pray do not trouble yourself about that, Mrs. Carteret. If papa -thinks about it at all, which is very unlikely, he will know how -little personal attendance I have been accustomed to. But you and I -know the fact of there being a servant more or less in the house will -never present itself to his notice. Pray make your mind easy on that -point."</p> - -<p>"But there's--" said Mrs. Carteret hesitatingly--"there's James, you -know; he is sure to know that Moore has left you, and to find out -whether you have got any one to replace her."</p> - -<p>"Make your mind easy about <i>that</i>, too, Mrs. Carteret," said Margaret; -and the confidence in her tone was particularly displeasing. "I will -take care that Mr. Dugdale understands <i>my</i> wishes in this matter."</p> - -<p>So Mrs. Carteret carried three points. She avoided having a servant in -the house who should not be her servant; she escaped an additional -expense; and she was exempted, by Margaret's express disclaimer, from -offering her the services of her own maid--an offer which, had she -found herself obliged to make it, Mrs. Collins would probably have -declined to carry into execution. There was one person in the world of -whom Mrs. Carteret was afraid, and that individual was Mrs. Collins.</p> - -<p>When the conversation between Margaret and Mrs. Carteret had come to -an end, to their mutual relief, Margaret went to her father. As she -approached the study, she heard voices, and knew she should not find -him alone.</p> - -<p>"I suppose it is James," she thought, and entered the room. But it -was not James; it was Mr. Baldwin, who held a large old-looking volume -in his hand, and was discussing with Mr. Carteret a passage concerning -the structure of crustacea. He closed the book, and replaced it on the -table with great alacrity, as Margaret came in and spoke to him. Then -she turned to her father. "I was going to talk to you for a little -while, papa; but as Mr. Baldwin is here--"</p> - -<p>"Never mind that, Margery," said her father; "Mr. Baldwin was just -going to the drawing-room to see Sibylla and you. He has a message for -you from Lady Davyntry."</p> - -<p>Mr. Baldwin confirmed Mr. Carteret's statement, and took from his -waistcoat-pocket a tiny note, folded three-cornerwise. This was before -the invention of square envelopes and dazzling monograms; and female -friendship, confidences, and general gushingness usually expressed -themselves in the three-cornered form.</p> - -<p>Margaret took the note, and, passing before the "specimen"-laden -table, went to the window and seated herself on the low, wide, -uncushioned ledge. She held the twisted paper in her hand, and looked -idly out of the window, before she broke the seal, unconscious that -Mr. Baldwin was looking at her with an eager interest which rendered -him singularly inattentive to the arguments addressed to him by Mr. -Carteret in pursuance of the discussion which Margaret's entrance had -interrupted.</p> - -<p>The girlish gracefulness of her attitude contrasted strangely with her -sombre heavy dress; the soft youthfulness of her colourless face made -the harsh lines of the close crimped cap an odious anachronism.</p> -<br> - -<p style="text-indent:10%">"MY DARLING MARGARET,"--this was the note,--"I have such a cold, I -<i>cannot</i> get to you. Do be charitable, and come to me. My brother will -escort you, and will see you home at night, unless you will stay.</p> - -<p style="text-indent:40%">"Always your devoted</p> -<p style="text-indent:60%">"ELEANOR."</p> -<br> - -<p>The renewed acquaintance with Lady Davyntry was at this time an event -of a fortnight old, and the irrepressible Eleanor had to a certain -extent succeeded in thawing the frozen exterior of the young -woman's demeanour. Kindness, if even it were a little silly and -over-demonstrative, was a refreshing novelty to Margaret, and she -welcomed it.</p> - -<p>At first she had been a little hard, a little incredulous towards Lady -Davyntry; she had been inclined to treat her rapidly-developed -fondness for herself as a <i>caprice de grande dame</i>. But she soon -abandoned that harsh interpretation; she soon understood that, though -it was exaggerated in its expression, the affection with which she had -inspired Lady Davyntry was perfectly sincere. -Hence it came that Margaret had told her friend what were her views -for her future; but she had not raised the veil which hid the past. Of -that dreadful time, with its horrid experience of sin and misery, with -its contaminating companionship, and the stain which it had left of -such knowledge of evil and all the meanness of vice as never should be -brought within the ken of pure womanhood at any age, Margaret never -spoke, and Lady Davyntry, though inquisitive enough in general, and by -no means wanting in curiosity in this particular instance, did not -seek to overcome her reticence.</p> - -<p>She had considerable delicacy of mind, and, in Margaret's case, -affection and interest brought her not-naturally-bright intelligence -to its aid. She had noticed and understood the changeableness of -Margaret's moods. She had seen her, when animated and seemingly happy -in conversation with her or Mr. Baldwin (what a treat it was to hear -those two talk! she thought), suddenly lapse into silence, and all -the colour would die out of her cheeks, and all the light from her -eyes--struck away from them doubtless by the stirring of some painful -memory, aroused from its superficial slumber by some word or phrase in -which the pang of association lurked.</p> - -<p>She had seen the expression of weariness which Margaret's figure had -worn at first come over it again, and then the drooped head and the -listless hands had a story in them, from even trying to guess at which -the kind-hearted woman, whose one grief had no touch of shame or dread -or degrading remembrance in it, shrunk with true delicacy and keen -womanly sympathy.</p> - -<p>Lady Davyntry had been a daily visitor at Chayleigh since Margaret's -return. She treated Mrs. Carteret with civility; but she made it, as -she intended, evident that the attraction was Margaret, and Mrs. -Carteret had to endure the mortifying conviction as best she could. -Her best was not very good, and she never allowed an opportunity to -pass of hitting Margaret's friend as hard as her feeble powers of -sarcasm, which only attained the rank of spite, enabled her to hit -her. Lady Davyntry was totally unconscious, and Margaret was -profoundly indifferent.</p> - -<p>It happened, however, on this particular day, after the conclusion of -Mrs. Carteret's conversation with her stepdaughter, and while she was -superintending the interesting operation, performed by Collins, of -altering the trimmings of a particularly becoming dress, that she came -to a determination to alter her tactics. She had not to dread a -permanent invasion of her territory, a permanent usurpation of her -place by Margaret; she would therefore profit by the temporary evil, -and so entangle Lady Davyntry in civilities that it would be -impossible for her to withdraw from so <i>affiché</i> an intimacy when -Margaret should have left Chayleigh.</p> - -<p>In all this there was not a particle of regard for Lady Davyntry, of -liking for her society, of a wish that the supposed intimacy should -become real. It would be quite enough for her that the Croftons and -the Crokers, the Willises, the Wyngroves, and the Savilles should know -that Lady Davyntry was on the most familiar terms with the Carterets, -and quite beyond those to which any other family in the neighbourhood -could lay claim.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret's busy small brain began to entertain an idea that -Margaret's stay might be made profitable, in a social point of view, -to her future position.</p> - -<p>The writing of the note of which Mr. Baldwin was the bearer had been -the subject of some doubt and discussion between Lady Davyntry and her -brother.</p> - -<p>"Do you think it would do to ask her here, to dinner and all that, -without asking Mrs. Carteret, and making a regular business of it?" -said Eleanor.</p> - -<p>"Of course it would," returned Mr. Baldwin. "If you want to have Mrs. -Hungerford here, and do not want to have Mrs. Carteret, as I -understand you that you do, you could not have a better opportunity. -Now is your time. You have a cold, you can't go out, and you certainly -cannot see company. Write your note, Nelly, and I'll take it. I want -to see Mr. Carteret. You cannot have a better opportunity."</p> - -<p>"Let me see," said Lady Davyntry, biting the top of her pen -contemplatively; "Mr. Dugdale is down at Oxford, isn't he?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said her brother; "gone to see his old tutor,--a fellow he is, -but I forget his name,--and won't be back for three weeks."</p> - -<p>"Well, then, I <i>will</i> ask Margaret alone. I thought, if Mr. Dugdale -had been at home, we might have asked him to come to dinner. But you -won't mind seeing Mrs. Hungerford home, Fitz, will you? She could have -the carriage, of course, and go round by the road; but I am sure she -would not like that."</p> - -<p>Mr. Baldwin was exceedingly complaisant and agreeable. So far from -growling an assent in an undertone, sounding much more like a protest -than an acquiescence, as is the usual manner of men with regard to the -bosom friends of their sisters, he expressed his readiness to -undertake the task of seeing Margaret home with a cheerful readiness -quite beyond suspicion of its sincerity.</p> - -<p>When Margaret had read the note, she twisted it in her fingers without -speaking. Mr. Baldwin's attention wandered a little, though Mr. -Carteret had opened one of the glass cases, and taken out a horrid -object like an old-fashioned brooch with an areole of long spikes, and -was expatiating upon it with great fervour.</p> - -<p>He looked at Margaret; but her eyes were turned from him, straying -over the garden. At last he moved to where she was sitting.</p> - -<p>"You will grant my sister's prayer," he said. "I know what is in the -note. She really has a cold, Mrs. Hungerford. It will be a charity if -you will go to her.--What do <i>you</i> say, sir?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Carteret said nothing, for the ample reason that he had not the -remotest idea of what Mr. Baldwin was talking about. When, however, -that gentleman explained the matter, he gave it as his decided opinion -that Margaret ought to go for Lady Davyntry's sake and her own. A -little change would do her good. She must not mope, the kind gentleman -said; and he and Sibylla were but dull company now. She must find it -dismal enough now that James was away. By the bye, did Margaret know -how Mr. Fordham was? Had James found him any better than he expected -when he arrived at Oxford? Yes, yes, Margery must go--she moped too -much; she did not even care for the specimens so much as she used to -do.</p> - -<p>"Indeed I do, papa," said Margaret, rising suddenly from her seat and -laying her hand on her father's shoulder; "I care for them a great -deal more--for everything that interests you, and that <i>you</i> care -for."</p> - -<p>Her luminous eyes were softer and brighter than Mr. Baldwin had ever -seen them. She had evidently been thinking of something in the past -with which her father's words had chimed in. He was waiting her -decision with a strange feeling of suspense and anxiety, considering -that the matter involved was of no greater moment than the question -whether his sister's friend, who had seen her yesterday, and would in -all probability see her to-morrow, should make up her mind to refrain -from the luxury of seeing her to-day.</p> - -<p>"Do you, my dear?" said Mr. Carteret. "That's right; you will go, of -course, then, and Foster shall fetch you this evening.--No, indeed, -Mr. Baldwin, I could not think of your taking the trouble."</p> - -<p>But Mr. Baldwin insisted, subject to Mrs. Hungerford's permission, -that he would see her home. This permission she carelessly gave, and -then left the room to prepare for her walk. The two men stood silent -for a minute; then Mr. Carteret said, with a deep sigh,</p> - -<p>"Poor Margery! she has had plenty of trouble in her time. I often -wonder whether she is going to have peace now. We can't give that to -our sons and daughters, Baldwin, or get it from them either."</p> - -<p>There was a sad desponding tone in Mr. Carteret's voice. Now he was -beginning to understand something of the meaning and extent of the -sorrow that had befallen his daughter--now, when the indelible stamp -of its effect was set upon her changed face, upon her shrinking -figure, upon her slow and unelastic movements.</p> - -<p>She had had time now to feel the repose, the comfort, the -respectability of the home to which she had come back, and yet there -was no change in her beyond the release from mere bodily fatigue. The -wan weariness which he had not seen at first, but had seen when James -Dugdale directed his attention to it, was there still, unaltered; -indeed, to the eye of a keen observer, it was deepened. In some cases, -mere respite from physical labour does not produce the effect of -mental repose. Margaret's case was one of those.</p> - -<p>Mr. Baldwin did not reply to Mr. Carteret's observation; he walked -towards the window, and looked dreamily out, as Margaret had done. -Presently she came back, wearing her sombre mantle and the close -widow's bonnet of a period when <i>grand deuil</i>, in the Mary-Stuart -fashion, was unknown.</p> - -<p>"You will tell Mrs. Carteret, if you please, papa, I could not find -her."</p> - -<p>"I will be sure to tell her," said Mr. Carteret; "and, Margery, I want -you to observe Lady Davyntry's Angora cat very carefully, and bring me -word whether she has one ring or two round the top of her tail. Don't -forget this, my dear, for it is really an important point."</p> - -<p>"I'll be sure to remember it, papa," said Margaret; and then she and -Mr. Fitzwilliam Meriton Baldwin went out through the French window of -Mr. Carteret's study, and took their way across the grassy terrace, -through the lawn, to the little iron gate which opened into the -meadow-lands, through which the "short cut" between Chayleigh and -Davyntry lay.</p> - -<p>In the first field beyond this gate a noble clump of beeches stood.</p> - -<p>"That is a favourite point of view of Dugdale's," said Mr. Baldwin. "I -have two sketches he made of those forest lords. Splendid trees they -are. I love them."</p> - -<p>"And I hate them," said Margaret.</p> - -<p>He glanced at her in surprise. Her tone was bitter, and her face wore -an angry scornful look. But it was scorn of herself that Margaret was -feeling. There, under the shade of those trees, she had come suddenly -upon her brother and Godfrey Hungerford; there the first incense of -her worship of the false god had been offered up. She felt his glance, -and instantly began to talk of Lady Davyntry's cold.</p> - -<p>"The idea," she thought indignantly, "of saying such a thing as -that--of my betraying feelings to a stranger which it is impossible to -explain."</p> - -<p>The first visit made by Margaret to Davyntry was the beginning of a -series which contributed not a little to bringing about the changed -aspect of things at Chayleigh, at the end of the first month of -Margaret's residence there. She was beginning to feel something like a -revival of her youth. The cheerful society, the sense of being loved -and valued; the action of time, so mighty, so resistless, when one is -young; the future dim, indeed, but still in a great measure within her -own control: these were all telling on the young widow.</p> - -<p>At first she had suffered keenly from the remembrance of the past -episodes in her life, which seemed to set a barrier between her and -the well-regulated, spotlessly respectable social circle to which she -was restored; a social atmosphere in which shifts, contrivances, shady -expedients for the procuring of shabby ends, were as unknown, as -inconceivable, as the more violent roisterous vice with which she had -also, and only too frequently, been brought into contact. At first, -this sense of an existence, separate and apart from her present -associates, oppressed Margaret strangely, and caused her to shrink -away from the manifestations of Lady Davyntry's friendship with sudden -coldness, quite inexplicable to the impulsive Eleanor, whose life was -all so emphatically aboveboard.</p> - -<p>There were times when, in the luxurious and picturesque drawing-room -at Davyntry, whose treasures of old china and ivory caused Mrs. -Carteret acute pangs of envy, Margaret felt the whole scene fade from -before her eyes like a stage transformation, and some squalid room -which she had once inhabited rise up in its place, with its mingled -wretchedness and recklessness; a horrid vision of dirty packs of -cards, of whisky-bottles, and the reek of coarse tobacco; and the -refined tones of Mr. Baldwin's voice would mingle strangely in her -ears with the echo of loud oaths and coarse laughter.</p> - -<p>At such times her face would harden, and the light would fade out of -her eyes, and the grace would leave her form in some inexplicable way; -and, if the cloud settled heavily, and she knew it was going to last, -she would make some excuse to get away and return to her father's -house and the society of Mrs. Carteret, to whom her moods, or indeed -those of any human being in existence, except herself, were matters of -perfect indifference.</p> - -<p>Mr. Baldwin thought he understood the origin of these sudden changes -in Margaret Hungerford; and, though he had no knowledge of the past, -he discerned the spirit of the young widow with the marvellous skill -which has its rise in very perfect sympathy. When his sister spoke to -him about her friend's strange manner at times, he entreated her not -to notice it in any way.</p> - -<p>"She has had such troubles in her life, as, thank God, neither you nor -I can understand, Nelly; and when this cloud comes over her, depend -upon it, it is because the remembrance of them returns to her, made -all the more real by the contrast here. Take no notice of it, and it -will wear away in time."</p> - -<p>"She seems to me, Fitzwilliam, as if she had some painful secret -pressing on her mind. I don't mean, of course, any secret concerning -herself, anything in her own life; but Margaret constantly gives me -the impression of being a person in possession of some knowledge -unshared by any one else, and which she sometimes forgets, and then -suddenly remembers."</p> - -<p>"It may be so," said Mr. Baldwin slowly, and looking very -uncomfortable. "I hope not; I hope it is only the effect of the early -trouble she has gone through."</p> - -<p>"I wonder how she will get on when she leaves Chayleigh," said Lady -Davyntry.</p> - -<p>"When she leaves Chayleigh!" repeated her brother, surprised, for the -intentions of Margaret had never been discussed in his presence.</p> - -<p>Then Lady Davyntry told him what Margaret had said to her, and how she -had asked her advice and her aid.</p> - -<p>"I could not possibly advise her to remain all her life with that -dreadful stepmother of hers, could I, Fitz? You can understand what -Mrs. Carteret is in that relation, civil as she is to <i>you</i>. I really -think she imagines you entertain a profound sentiment for her; -perfectly proper and Platonic, you know, but still profound; and I -don't think Margaret's naturally active mind could endure the idleness -of the life at Chayleigh, even if Mrs. Carteret were out of the -question."</p> - -<p>"Idleness!" said Mr. Baldwin, "what idleness? There is just the same -kind of life to be had at Chayleigh, I suppose, as women, as ladies, -lead everywhere else--the kind of life Margaret was born to. I can't -see the matter in <i>that</i> light."</p> - -<p>"I daresay not, Fitz," said Lady Davyntry, rather proud of the chance -of offering a suggestion to this infallible and incomparable younger -brother of hers. "But I can. Margaret certainly was, as you say, born -to lead the kind of life which all women of her position get through -somehow; but then she was taken out of it very young, and, whatever it -was she did or suffered, you may be sure that it gave her mind a turn -not to be undone. Of course, I don't mean to say she wants to go back -to that again, whatever it was; but I am sure she must have some -settled occupation to be happy. I do not think, when one's heart has -been once crammed quite full of anything, be it joyful or sorrowful, -one can stand a vacuum." From which speech it will be made plain that -Lady Davyntry did not cultivate her emotions at the expense of her -good sense.</p> - -<p>"You are right, Nelly; I see you are quite right. But what does her -father say?"</p> - -<p>"That I really cannot tell you; but I suppose what Mr. Carteret -usually says, in any matter unconnected with birds, beasts, fishes, or -insects--nothing. He and Margaret have a tacit understanding that Mrs. -Carteret and she are not exactly sympathetic, and he has a feeble -desire that his daughter should be happy. Beyond that he really thinks -nothing, and would have as much notion of the new life she wants to -enter upon, as of the old life she has escaped from."</p> - -<p>"What does Dugdale think?"</p> - -<p>"That I cannot tell you. Margaret never said a word about his opinion -in connection with the matter. I don't think she likes him."</p> - -<p>"No," said Mr. Baldwin, "I don't think she does."</p> - -<p>"I asked her to come to me," Lady Davyntry continued, "and tried very -hard to persuade her that I required the services of a <i>dame de -compagnie</i>. But she laughed at me, and would not listen to me for a -moment, though she told me she had once suggested to Mr. Dugdale that -she should ask me to take her, for the commendable purpose of spiting -Mrs. Carteret. 'Do you think I want to <i>play</i> at independence?' she -said. 'If you do, you are much mistaken. I won't have any more -<i>shams</i>, please God, in my life. No, I am going to work in earnest.' -So I could not say any more. She may change her mind in six months, -though I do not think she will."</p> - -<p>Mr. Fitzwilliam Meriton Baldwin left his sister to entertain a -selection of the Croftons and the Crokers and the Willises, and betook -himself to a solitary ramble. The question which he had asked himself -when he had seen Margaret Hungerford but once had recurred to him very -often since then. Now he asked himself if he might dare to hope that -he had found the answer.</p> - -<p>He did not deny to himself now that he loved Margaret Hungerford. He -was quite clear on that point; and he knew, too, that it was with an -immortal and a worthy love. What did she mean? Was she to mean to him -happiness--the realisation of a man's best and wisest dreams? Was she -to mean this to him in time, or did that sombre past in her life, of -which he knew nothing, interpose an impassable barrier between her and -him? He thought of Margaret's frank unembarrassed manner towards him -without discouragement; he never fancied she could feel anything for -him yet; he perfectly comprehended that nothing was so utterly dead -for her as love.</p> - -<p>But he would have patience, he would wait; a resurrection morning -might come; he would try to <i>win</i> such a prize as she would be, not by -a <i>coup de main</i>, but by slow degrees, if so it might be. In the true -humility of his mind, in the perfect nobility of his soul, it never -occurred to Mr. Baldwin to think of himself as a prize also worth the -winning.</p> - -<p>He had often laughed with his sister about the "man-traps" set for -him; but it was always Lady Davyntry, and not he, who had detected the -devices prepared for the captivation and capture of Mr. Baldwin of the -Deane.</p> - -<p>It rarely happened that Fitzwilliam Baldwin thought about his wealth; -his habits and tastes were simple, and his large property was well -administered. He had been a rich man ever since he had come to years -of manhood, and the fact had not the same significance for him which -it assumes for those who come late to a long-looked-for inheritance, -whose attractions are exaggerated by the aid of fancy.</p> - -<p>But he began to think complacently of his wealth now; he began to see -visions, and to dream dreams; to think of the power he had to reverse -all the former conditions of Margaret's life, let them have been what -they might. At least he knew she had been unhappy; he could give her -happiness, if unbounded love and respect, if the guarding her from -every ill and care, if the holding her a sacred being, apart, to be -seated in a shrine and worshipped, could give her happiness. This he -could do, if she would but let him.</p> - -<p>He knew that she had been poor, that she had now no means of her own. -There was his wealth, which had never been very important to him -before, and could never be important again if she would not in time -take it from him. How he would lavish it upon her; how he would try, -without annoying her in any way, to find out some of the features of -her past experience, and efface them by the luxury and honour in which -he would envelop her! Fitzwilliam Baldwin had advanced very far in a -dream of this kind before the end of the month. He had no longer any -doubt of what this woman meant to him.</p> - -<p>Shortly after, and sooner than his return was looked for, James -Dugdale came back to Chayleigh, and found a letter awaiting him. It -was from Hayes Meredith.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_10" href="#div1Ref_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h4> -<h5>THE LETTER FROM MELBOURNE.</h5> -<br> - -<p>"Before you receive this letter, my dear Dugdale," wrote Hayes -Meredith, "you will have seen Mrs. Hungerford, and she will have told -you all the news about me, in giving the history of herself--a -history, by the bye, which has had a better ending than I expected, -when first I made her out, according to your request.</p> - -<p>"She is not much given to talking, I fancy, to any one, and I dare say -she will not let you know much about her wretched life out here; but I -can tell you it was wretched; and when I came to know her, and -understand how superior a woman she is to the generality of women, -such as I have known them, I was really grateful to you for giving me -the chance of serving her. I don't think I was much more obliged to -you in my life, and I <i>have</i> owed you a turn or two.</p> - -<p>"Hungerford was a regular blackguard, and an irredeemable snob as -well, and she was only to be congratulated heartily on his death. The -mode of it was rather horrible, to be sure; but if he had not been -knocked on the head in the bush, the chances are he would have been -hanged; and there's something to choose between the two, at all -events.</p> - -<p>"She is an interesting young woman, and I was sincerely glad to do her -all the service in my power, which was not much, after all. I should -like to know what becomes of her. I hope she has better days to see -than any she lived through here; and I hope you will write to me when -you can.</p> - -<p>"But my letter does not solely concern Mrs. Hungerford. I have a -selfish purpose in writing to you also, and the explanation of it -needs some detail. You know that I am, and that I have been for some -years, what I may safely call a prosperous man; and though I have a -large family to provide for--five of them now (they were seven, but -two little ones early succumbed to the climate)--I have never found -that same very difficult to do. My children are all well, hearty, -jolly, sturdy children, with the exception of our eldest boy--you have -seen him, you may remember--Robert. He is not exactly sickly, but he -is not strong; but it is less his bodily than his mental health that -troubles his mother and myself.</p> - -<p>"The boy is not contented, not happy, not a born colonial, like the -rest; he has ideas and fancies other than theirs; he has an unruly -temper, a quick impressionable brain, and a great aptitude for the -graces, refinements, and luxuries of life, which--as I need not tell -you it has had no chance of cultivation here--must be natural to him.</p> - -<p>"His mother and I are not people to have a favourite among our -children; it is share and share alike with them all, in affection as -in everything else; but Robert is a discord somehow, and captious--in -short, very hard to manage--and I have not the time to devote to an -exceptional person in the family.</p> - -<p>"He has a great notion that he is very superior to his brothers--quite -an unfounded one--and thinks he should do no end of wonderful things -in England, if he had the chance, by which, of course, he means the -money. This I can give him; and as there is no doubt he can get a -better education in England than here, and should his projects fail, -or should he get tired of them, he can come back whenever he pleases, -and still find a corner for himself here, I am quite disposed to let -him try his own plans out.</p> - -<p>"The others are true colonials; they have not the least desire to see -the old country until they can do so in independent manhood; but I -can plainly perceive that, for his own sake, and that of all the -household, Robert must be allowed to have his own way, as far as it -lies in my power to give it him.</p> - -<p>"There is some prospect of an improved and accelerated communication -between us and England, and should it be realised by the spring of -next year, I will probably bring the boy to England myself, and thus -see you once more in this world, which I never had any hope of doing a -little while ago.</p> - -<p>"My wife does not like, nor, to tell the truth, do I, the notion of a -whole year being taken out of our span of life together, which it must -be if I make my proposed voyage; but neither does she like the idea of -her son travelling alone to a strange country, and commencing his -career without the assistance and the comfort of his father's presence -and guidance in those important 'first steps.' We shall see, when the -time comes, which of these feelings will prevail.</p> - -<p>"In the mean time, my dear Dugdale, I rely on your friendship, aided -by your experience of English life, and all the changes in public -opinion and manners which have taken place since my time, to guide me -in this matter, to tell me what it will be best for me to do for and -with the boy.</p> - -<p>"Robert is not ill educated, in as far as the limits of our colonial -possibilities extend; but his education will aid him little in English -life, and towards that his inclinations set.</p> - -<p>"Turn all I have said over, and write to me concerning it. Then, by -the time I get home, if I ever get home, and, if I do not, by the time -I send my boy home, you will have made up your mind, which, in a -matter of this kind will be, as it ought to be, equivalent to making -up mine, as to the proper course to be pursued.</p> - -<p>"With all his faults, Robert will interest you, my dear Dugdale, I am -certain; in his industry, his ambition, and his adaptive nature you -will find something to admire.</p> - -<p>"I have almost forgotten the ways of the old country, so completely -have I turned--not my mind only, but my heart and my tastes--to the -life of the new. I daresay you remember the days in which I was rather -a 'buck,' ran heavy accounts with our common tailor, and knew, or -pretended to know, a lot about good dinners and wines.</p> - -<p>"Ask Mrs. Hungerford what sort of rough and gruff old fellow I am now, -and you will understand, from her description, the difficulty I should -have in getting into, or even comprehending, the ways of the other -side of the world again. But, remembering what I once did know, and -thinking of what I have heard and seen since I ceased to know, I think -Robert is cut out for success in England. Mind, he will not have it -<i>all</i> to do unaided; he will have a little money, enough to keep him -respectable, to back him.</p> - -<p>"I feel I am unwise in thus talking to you so much beforehand of -Robert--time enough when we meet, as I hope we shall do; but I have a -notion you might hit upon some plan for him for the future more easily -and successfully if you had an idea of the sort of person he is.</p> - -<p>"If his mother could see this letter, and recognise the very moderate -colours in which I have sketched her eldest son, I don't think I -should hear the last of it between this and the date at which I and he -are to start for England. I am such a dolt in these matters, I do not -rightly know what to ask you to think about, or advise me upon; but -you will know generally. Shall it be private tuition, or public -school, or business life at once combined with education?</p> - -<p>"My other boys never give me the least anxiety. I know they will take -to the sheep-walk or the counting-house as readily as to their food, -and plod on as comfortably and as cheerily as possible. And, indeed, -while I am anxious about Robert, it would be giving you an unfair -impression to say that I am uneasy about him. I am <i>not that</i>; but he -is so different a stamp, I hardly know how to manage him.</p> - -<p>"I have written all this to you with as much ease and confidence as if -we were smoking together in the old quarters, velveteen-coated and -slippered, as in the time I remember so well. I wonder if you--who -have remained in England, to whom, at all events, life cannot have -brought such physical changes as it has brought to me--remember it -half so well as I do.</p> - -<p>"There are hours even yet, when I am alone and thinking, when all that -has intervened seems utterly unreal, and those old days, with their -old associations, the one true and living period in my life. Do you -remember the day after you, poor little shivering youngster as you -were then, came to school, when I was a great hulking fellow, and my -mother, God bless her! came to visit me, and, being taken by old -Maddox to see the playground, was just in time to behold me tumble -from the very top of the forbidden pear-tree and break my arm?</p> - -<p>"I can see her face and hear her voice now, as plainly as if I could -see the one and hear the other by going into the next room. And how -you cried! Well, well, I suppose something of the boy remains until -the last in every man's nature, and that more of it has the chance of -remaining in our lives here than in yours at home.</p> - -<p>"The progress of this place is extraordinary, and there are rumours of -discoveries in metals, and so forth, which, if verified, will give it -very great impetus. I don't mind them much; they don't disturb and -they don't excite me even in this go-ahead colonial life. I carry my -old steadiness about with me, and am go-ahead in my own business only.</p> - -<p>"There is much in the political and social world here which would -interest, but little which would please you, unless you are very much -changed.</p> - -<p>"I never could arrive at a very clear notion of you from Mrs. -Hungerford; she was not communicative on any point, and she never told -me anything about you, except that your health was delicate, which I -could have told her from your letter. The sort of life we lead here is -certainly calculated to give one the power of feeling acutely for a -man to whom bodily exertion is forbidden; but you were always a -patient fellow."</p> - -<p>The letter was a very long one; the above is but an extract from it. -James Dugdale had recognised the handwriting of his friend with -pleasure, and had opened the letter with delighted eagerness. It would -tell him something of Margaret; it would give him an insight into the -troubles of her life; it would give him a clue to the enigma which -lived and moved within his sight and his reach daily.</p> - -<p>But his calculations were overthrown; he perceived at once that he was -destined to gain no further knowledge of Margaret's past life from -Hayes Meredith. The disappointment was so keen that at first he hardly -had power to feel the interest in his friend's communication which it -was calculated to evoke; and, when he had read half through the -letter, he returned to the earlier portion in which Margaret was -mentioned, and reperused it.</p> - -<p>"I wish he had even told me more about Hungerford's death," said James -Dugdale to himself. He was lying on a couch drawn close to the window -of his own room, and he allowed the letter to drop by his side, and -his gaze fixed itself on the landscape as he spoke. "I wish he had -said more about him. What were the circumstances of his death? The -little he says here, and one sentence of Margaret's--'when I -first heard that my husband had been murdered by the black -fellows'--comprise all I know--all any one knows--for her father would -not mention his name, and I verily believe has forgotten that the man -ever existed. I wish he had told me more."</p> - -<p>He resumed the letter and read it again, this time through to the end, -steadily and attentively.</p> - -<p>Then he said slowly, and with a despondent shake of the head:</p> - -<p>"I am very much afraid my old friend's son, Robert, is a bad boy."</p> - -<p>James Dugdale had not been more than an hour at Chayleigh when he had -read Hayes Meredith's letter. His return was unexpected, and he had -been told by the servant who admitted him that the "ladies" were out. -This was true, inasmuch as neither was in the house, but incorrect in -so far as it seemed to imply that they were together.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret had departed in her pony-carriage, arrayed in handsome -apparel, the materials and tints whereof were a clever combination of -the requirements of the season then expiring and the season just about -to begin, with a genteel recognition of the fact that an individual -connected with the family had died within a period during which -society would exact a costume commemorative of the circumstance. Mrs. -Carteret had gone out, in high good humour with herself, and her -dress, and her pony-carriage, with her smart servant, her pretty -harness, her visiting-list, and the state of her complexion.</p> - -<p>This latter was a subject of unusual self-gratulation, for Mrs. -Carteret's complexion was changeable: it needed care, and, on the -whole, it caused her more uneasiness, and occupied more of her -attention, than any other mundane object. She was by no means a plain -woman, and she had once been pretty--but her prettiness had been of a -sunny, commonplace, exasperating, self-complacent kind; and now that -it existed no longer, the expression of self-satisfaction was rather -increased than lessened, for there was no delicacy of feature and no -genuine bloom to divert attention from it.</p> - -<p>If Mrs. Carteret believed anything firmly, it was that she was -indisputably and incomparably the best, and very nearly the -handsomest, of created beings; and she had a way of talking solemnly -about her personal appearance,--taking careful note of its every -peculiarity and variation, and bestowing upon it the minutest and most -vexatious care,--which was annoying to her friends in general, and to -James Dugdale in particular.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret was a woman who would be totally unmoved by any kind or -degree of human suffering brought under her notice, but who would -speak of a cold in her own head, or a pimple on her own face, as a -calamity calculated to alarm and grieve the entire circle of her -acquaintance. She was almost amusing in her transparent, engrossing, -uncontrolled selfishness--amusing, that is, to strangers. It was not -so pleasant to those who lived in the house or came into constant -contact with her; they failed to perceive the humorous side of her -character.</p> - -<p>Her husband, who, with all his oddity and absence of mind, was not -destitute of a degree of tact, in which there was a <i>soupçon</i> of -cunning, and which he aired whenever there was any risk of his -dearly-prized "quiet life" being endangered, had invented a kind of -vocabulary of compliments of simulated solicitude and exaggerated -sympathy, which was wonderfully efficacious, and really gave him very -little trouble. To be sure he was rather apt to adhere to it with a -parrot-like fidelity, and on her "pale days" to congratulate Mrs. -Carteret on her bloom, and on her "dull days" to discover that it was -difficult to leave her, she talked so charmingly--"but those new -specimens must be seen to," &c. &c.</p> - -<p>But these were mere casualties, and, as intense vanity is frequently -accompanied by dense stupidity, they never endangered the good -understanding between the husband--who was not nearly so tired of his -wife as a more clever and practical man must inevitably have been--and -the wife, whose wildest imaginings could never have extended to the -possibility of any one's finding her less than perfectly admirable, or -her husband otherwise than supremely enviable.</p> - -<p>In the days when Mrs. Carteret had been pretty, her prettiness was of -the corset-maker's model description, a prettiness which consisted in -straight features, a high and well-defined colour, and a figure which -required, and could bear, a good deal of tight-lacing.</p> - -<p>Women did lace tightly in the golden prime of Mrs. Carteret's days, -and she was not behindhand in that or any other fashion; indeed, she -had a profound and almost religious respect for fashion, and she had, -in consequence, a stiffness of figure suggestive of her being obliged -to turn round "all at once" when it was necessary for her to turn at -all, which gave her whole person an air and attitude of stiff and -starched stupidity, highly provoking to an observer endowed with -taste.</p> - -<p>The paying of morning visits was an occupation especially congenial to -Mrs. Carteret's taste, and well suited to her intellectual capacity, -which answered freely to the demand made on it on such occasions. She -was not by any means a vulgar gossip, but she possessed a satisfactory -enough knowledge of the affairs and "ways" of all the "visitable" -people within reach, and she found discussing them a very agreeable -pastime.</p> - -<p>She was not so stupid a woman as to be unaware that she and her -affairs were discussed in their turn; but her invariable conviction -that, in all respects, she was a faultless being, rendered the -knowledge painless.</p> - -<p>Thus, when Mrs. Carteret set out on a round of visits, in the -aforesaid equipage and in her customary choice apparel, she was as -happy as it was in her not expansive nature to be.</p> - -<p>All the happier that Margaret did not accompany her, for, though -Margaret's heavy mourning dress was not a bad foil to the taste and -elegance, as she believed, of her own, people were apt to be too much -interested in, too curious about, the young widow--always rather an -interesting object--for the fancy of Mrs. Carteret, who did not admire -her stepdaughter herself, and to whom it was neither intelligible nor -pleasant that other people should admire her.</p> - -<p>As to Lady Davyntry and Mr. Baldwin (for she had been forced to -include the brother with the sister in the category of Margaret's -friends), she had, as we have seen, resolved to find her account in -<i>that</i> intimacy, and she did not trouble herself about it.</p> - -<p>At the same hour in which Mrs. Carteret was giving way to her -self-complacent sentiments, Margaret was taking leave of Lady -Davyntry. She had been at Davyntry since the morning, and was then -going home. Mr. Baldwin was ready, according to his now almost -invariable custom, to offer her his escort.</p> - -<p>It was quite the end of October, a soft, shadowy, beautiful day, the -air full of the faint perfume of the fallen leaves and of the golden -gleam of the sunshine, which lingered as if regretfully. Lady Davyntry -accompanied Margaret to the little garden-gate which opened into the -demesne, and then took leave of her.</p> - -<p>When her friend and her brother had left her, she stood for a few -minutes looking after them, then walked up the garden-path, saying to -herself:</p> - -<p>"I hope I shall be able to hold my tongue about it, and not spoil all -by letting her see that such an idea has ever entered into my head!"</p> - -<p>In many respects Lady Davyntry was a sensible woman.</p> - -<p>Margaret and her companion went on their way, slowly. They were -talking of a projected journey on the part of Mr. Baldwin. He was -going to visit his Scotch estates.</p> - -<p>"I have not been much there," he said; "my time has mostly been passed -abroad. My longest stay at the Deane was when poor Nelly was there -with Sir Richard; and, of course, I can't expect her to go back to the -scene of all her trouble so soon; so I must go alone."</p> - -<p>"Can't you?" said Margaret, with a sudden flush on her cheek; "I -should have thought it would have been her greatest, her best -consolation. But people feel so differently," she said absently; and -then made some remark about the beauty of the day. Her companion -wondered at her strange manner. He took the hint to change the -subject.</p> - -<p>"Shall you be long away?" Margaret asked him.</p> - -<p>He would have been only too happy to tell her that the duration of his -absence would depend entirely on her pleasure--to tell her what was -the truth, that he was leaving her now because he loved her, and hoped -the day might come when he might try to make her love him; when -respect for her position should no longer bind him to silence.</p> - -<p>He felt he could not remain in her vicinity during the time that must -elapse before he could venture to acknowledge his feelings, without -the risk of offending her, perhaps losing her by their premature -betrayal, and he had determined to go to Scotland and remain there -until the time should be near when she thought of leaving Chayleigh.</p> - -<p>Then he would return and take his chance. If she would accept the -love, the home, the fortune he had to offer her, he almost dreaded to -think what happiness life---which had never been adorned with any very -brilliant hues of imagination by him before--would have in store for -him.</p> - -<p>When she asked him, in her clear, sweet voice, whose tones were to-day -as pure and untroubled as if she had never spoken any words but those -of the gladness which should so well have beseemed her youth, that -careless question, he felt all the difficulty of the restraint he had -imposed upon himself.</p> - -<p>"I am not quite certain," he replied; "I daresay I shall find a great -deal to do at the Deane, and a good deal will be expected from me in -the way of sociability--a tribute, by the way, which I render very -unwillingly. I--I suppose you will not leave Chayleigh this winter?"</p> - -<p>"I don't think my father has any intention of going anywhere," -Margaret said; "and I shall remain with him until I leave him 'for -good;'--as people say when they leave for the equal chance of good or -evil. I believe, too, there is a chance of my brother's coming home."</p> - -<p>"Indeed," said Mr. Baldwin; "that is good news. I didn't hear anything -of it."</p> - -<p>"No. I told Lady Davyntry this evening, before you came in. I should -like to be here when Haldane comes"--and her face was overcast by the -mournful, musing expression he knew and loved so well. "He and I -quarrelled before he went away--but I suppose he will not keep that up -with me <i>now</i>."</p> - -<p>She looked round with a forlorn kind of smile actually painful to see. -In it there was an appeal to the dreariness of her lot, to the -terrible blight which had settled on her youth, against harsh judgment -of the wilfulness and folly which had led her to such a doom, -inexpressibly affecting.</p> - -<p>The strong restraint, the habitual patience which she maintained over -all her emotions, seemed to forsake her quite suddenly. Her companion -might have taken it as a good omen for him that it was in his company -alone the control was loosened; but he did not think of himself, only -of her.</p> - -<p>The forlorn smile was succeeded by an ominous twitching of the lips, -and the next moment Margaret had covered her face with her hands and -burst into tears.</p> - -<p>Mr. Baldwin watched her with inexpressible pangs of love and pity. He -dared not speak. What could he say? He knew nothing, though he could -surmise much, of the past which had given rise to this burst of -emotion.</p> - -<p>To try to console, was to seem to question her. He stood by her in the -keenest distress, and could only entreat her to remember that it was -all over now. The paroxysm passed over as he uttered the words for the -second time.</p> - -<p>Margaret took her hands away from her face, and looked at him, and -there was an angry sparkle in her eye which he had never seen before, -but which he thought very beautiful.</p> - -<p>"You don't believe what you say," she said quickly, and walking on -hurriedly as she spoke; "you don't believe what you say. You know -there are things in life which are never over--sorrows and experiences -which time can never change. When you say to me that it is all over -now, you say what is not true, and you know it, or you guess it; you -might know it if you would. Do you think I am like other women, like -your sister, for instance, with nothing but pure and sanctifying grief -for the dead, to ripen my mind? Do you think I am like her, or like -any other woman, whose quiet life, however sad, has been led in -decency, and has been sheltered and guarded by the protections which -may be found in honest poverty? Do you think I can come home here, and -find myself once more among the people and places I knew when I was a -girl, and not feel like a cheat? I tell you the Past is <i>not</i> all -over; it will stand as long as I live between me and other people--not -my employers, for there will be no associations in their case; but -every one who knew me once, and who knows me now. Why does no one -speak to <i>me</i>, in even a casual way, of the places I have seen, or the -people I have been amongst? Do you think I imagine it is because they -are unwilling to awaken a slumbering sorrow? No! You know, and I know, -it is because they feel that I have seen sights unfit for women's -eyes, and heard words unfit for women's ears; and can I ever forget it -while others remember it whenever they see me? No, no, no! I never, -never can!"</p> - -<p>She pressed her small hands together and slightly wrung them; a -gesture habitual to her in distress, but which he had never seen -before. He caught her right hand in his, and drew it within his arm. -She walked on with him, but was, as he knew, almost unconscious of his -presence.</p> - -<p>How he loved her! how he hated the dead man who had caused her to -suffer thus! A young man himself, and she no more than a girl; and yet -how little of the aspect, how little of the sense of youth there was -about either as they walked together through the woods and fields that -day!</p> - -<p>This sudden revelation of Margaret's feelings brought a sense of -despair to Fitzwilliam Baldwin. If the spectre of the past haunted her -thus, if she were divided from all the present by this drear shade, -then was she divided from him too.</p> - -<p>How should he hope to lay the ghost which thus walked abroad in the -noonday beside her? Had he had a little more experience, had not -Margaret been so completely a new type of womanhood to him, had he had -a little less humility, he would have taken courage from the fact that -she had given utterance to such feelings before him.</p> - -<p>That he had seen Margaret as no other human being had ever seen her, -ought to have been an indication to him that, however unconsciously to -her, he was to Margaret what no other human being was. The time was to -come in which he was to make that discovery; but that time was not -yet, and he left her that day with profound discouragement.</p> - -<p>She recovered herself after a little, and when they reached the -confines of the demesne of Chayleigh they were talking in their -ordinary manner of ordinary subjects, but Margaret's arm still rested -on that of her companion, nor was it removed until they reached the -little gate between the wood and the pleasaunce.</p> - -<p>As they crossed the lawn, Margaret's dress swept the fallen leaves -rustling after her. She was very near the house now, and the sound -caught James Dugdale's ear as he lay on his couch in the window. He -raised himself on his elbow and looked out. The letter from Hayes -Meredith was still in his hand. Margaret looked up and greeted him -with a smile.</p> - -<p>The next moment she was in the verandah, and he heard her laugh as she -spoke to her father. Her voice thrilled his heart as it had done on -the first day of her return. Her laugh had something like the old -sound in it, which he had not heard since she was a girl. Good God! -how long ago! She was looking better than when he went away. She was -happy again in her old home.</p> - -<p>He went downstairs, and they had a pleasant meeting. Margaret was -kindly interested in his Oxford news. Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Carteret -talked together. James and Margaret remained in the verandah until -after Mr. Baldwin had taken his leave, and the sharp trot of Mrs. -Carteret's ponies was audible. Then Margaret said:</p> - -<p>"I must go and get ready for dinner."</p> - -<p>And James detained her for a moment, saying:</p> - -<p>"I have a letter which will interest you. It is from a friend of -yours."</p> - -<p>"A friend of mine?" said Margaret, in surprise. "Who can it be? I have -but two or three friends in the world."</p> - -<p>"A cynic would tell you you were exceptionally rich in friends, -according to that calculation. How do you count them?"</p> - -<p>"Yourself," said Margaret, with more frank kindness of tone than he -had ever before recognised in her manner towards him.</p> - -<p>"<i>Après</i>?"</p> - -<p>"Well, Lady Davyntry."</p> - -<p>"And Hayes Meredith? That is it, is it not? The letter is from him. -You shall hear all about it, after dinner."</p> - -<p>Margaret left him and went to her room. She felt rather vexed with -herself. When she answered James Dugdale's question, she had <i>not</i> -been thinking of Hayes Meredith.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_11" href="#div1Ref_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h4> -<h5>FOOL'S PARADISE.</h5> -<br> - -<p>Shortly after the incidents narrated in the preceding chapter, Mr. -Baldwin left Davyntry. His sister maintained to the last the strong -constraint she had put upon herself. She had seen with a genuine -disinterested pleasure, for which the world in general might fairly -have been excused for not giving her credit, that her young favourite -had captivated her only brother.</p> - -<p>Without being a very wise, a very witty, or in any marked way a very -superior woman, Eleanor Davyntry possessed certain admirable and -estimable qualities. Not the least remarkable, and perhaps the most -rare of these, was disinterestedness. This virtue was in her: it did -not arise from circumstances. She was not disinterested because she -was rich,--the amount of wealth in people's possession makes no -difference in their appreciation of and desire for wealth,--and Lady -Davyntry "had no nonsense about her."</p> - -<p>She thoroughly understood the value of her money as a means towards -the enjoyment of the happiness which she acknowledged to be hers; but -it never occurred to her for a moment to consider her own interests in -the question of her brother's future. That he would probably marry at -some time she looked upon as certain; and the inheritance of the Deane -from one so much younger than herself would not have been a hopeful -subject of speculation, had she been a person who would have -speculated upon it at all. Even if she had had children, it would have -been all the same to Lady Davyntry. She would not have been covetous -for them any more than for herself. She had thought rather nervously, -since Sir Richard's death had left her more dependent on her brother -for the love and companionship without which life would have been -intolerable to a woman of her disposition, of the probabilities of Mr. -Baldwin's marriage.</p> - -<p>Lady Davyntry had her prejudices; one of them was against Scotchwomen. -She hoped he would not marry a Scotchwoman, therefore she had never -encouraged her brother's residence at the Deane.</p> - -<p>"It is not so much their ankles and wrists," she had assured Sir -Richard, when he had remonstrated with her for "snubbing" a florid -young lady who hailed from Aberdeen; and did it in a voice which set -Lady Davyntry's teeth on edge, and made her backbone quiver, "as it is -their minds and their ways. Of course, the way they speak is very -awful, and the way they move is worse; but I could stand all that, I -daresay. But what I cannot stand is their coarse way of looking at -things, and the hardness of them in general. And as for flirting! -<i>You</i> may think it is not dangerous, because it is all romping and -hoydenism; but I don't want a sister-in-law of Miss MacAlpine's -pattern, and so I tell you."</p> - -<p>"Hadn't you better tell Baldwin so, my dear Nelly," the reasonable -baronet had made answer. "<i>I</i> don't want a MacAlpine importation into -the family either; but, after all, it's <i>his</i> business, not mine."</p> - -<p>"No, no," said the astute Nelly; "I am not quite so stupid as to warn -any man against a particular woman of whom he has hitherto taken no -special notice. That would be just the way to make him notice her, and -that would be playing her game for her. I am not really afraid of the -fair Jessie; Fitzwilliam can see her wrists, and her ankles too, quite -as plainly as I can; and I fancy he suffers rather more acutely from -her accent. I shall limit my interference to getting him away from the -Deane."</p> - -<p>Other and sadder preoccupations soon after claimed Lady Davyntry, and -Miss Jessie MacAlpine was forgotten. And now, when her brother spoke -of leaving her to return to the Deane, she remembered the young woman -and her mosstrooper-like accomplishments without a shade of -apprehension.</p> - -<p>"My darling Margaret has made my mind quite easy on <i>that</i> point, at -all events," thought Eleanor, as Mr. Baldwin imparted to her some of -his intentions for the benefit of his tenantry and estate. "Whether -she cares for him or not, whether good or evil is to be the -result,--and I believe all will go well with them both,--he is safe in -such an attachment."</p> - -<p>When her brother had left her, Eleanor thought long and happily over -it all. Of his feelings she did not entertain a doubt, and her keen -feminine perception had begun to discern in Margaret certain symptoms -which led her to hope that for her too the dawn of a fair day was at -hand. If she had known more of the young widow's inner life, if she -had had a clearer knowledge of her past. Lady Davyntry would have -hoped less and feared more. But her ignorance prevented the -discouragement of fear, and her natural enthusiasm aided the impulses -of hope; and she saw visions and dreamed dreams which were pure and -beautiful, for they were all of the happiness and the good of others.</p> - -<p>Thus Margaret's sadness and silence, the gloom which sometimes settled -heavily over her, did not grieve her watchful friend. If only she -loved, or should come to love, Fitzwilliam Baldwin, all this should be -changed. All the darkness should pass away, and a life adorned with -all that wealth could lend, enriched with all that love could give, -should open before the woman whose feet had hitherto trodden such -weary ways. Lady Davyntry pleased herself with fancies of all she -should do to increase the happiness of that splendid visionary -household at the Deane.</p> - -<p>If Lady Davyntry could have known what were Margaret's thoughts just -at the time when Mr. Baldwin went away, she would have felt some -discouragement, though not so much as a person less given to -enthusiasm, and to the raising of a fancy to the rank and importance -of a hobby. She had never realised any of the painful features of Mrs. -Hungerford's past life; she had never tried to realise them. Her mind -was not of an order to which the realisation of circumstances entirely -out of the sphere of her experience was possible, and she never -speculated upon them.</p> - -<p>In a different way, and for quite another class of reason, Lady -Davyntry had arrived at a state of mind similar to that of Mr. -Carteret, who regarded the blissful feet of his son-in-law's death as -not only the termination, but the consignment to oblivion, of all the -misery his existence had occasioned.</p> - -<p>"Of course she is low at times," thought Lady Davyntry; "that is only -natural. After all, she must feel herself out of her place at -Chayleigh, with that detestable woman. But that will not last; and she -will be all the brighter and the happier when Fitz has her safely at -home."</p> - -<p>The world would have found it hard to understand that Mr. Baldwin's -only sister--the great, rich, enviable, to-be-captured-if-possible Mr. -Baldwin's sister--should desire so ardently the marriage of her -brother with a person who had no fortune, no claim to personal -distinction, and--<i>a story</i>. Horrible dowry for a woman! Better any -insignificance, however utter.</p> - -<p>And Margaret? While Mr. Baldwin was attending to the long-neglected -demands, undergoing active persecution at the hands of a neighbourhood -resolved on intimacy, and longing, with all the strength of his heart, -for the sight of Margaret's pale face and the sound of her thrilling -voice--while his sister was building castles in the air for him to -tenant--what of Margaret? What of her who was the centre, so -unconsciously to herself, of all these hopes and speculations?</p> - -<p>She was perhaps farther just then than she had ever been from a mood -which was likely to dispose her towards their realisation. She had -been disturbed rather than affected by the perusal of Hayes Meredith's -letter. It had immediately succeeded to the outburst of emotion to -which she had yielded in the presence of Mr. Baldwin, and for which -she had afterwards taken herself severely to task; and it had upset -her hard-won equanimity.</p> - -<p>She was ashamed of herself, angry with herself, when she found out how -much she desired that the past should be utterly forgotten. She had -had to bear it all, and she had borne it, not so badly on the whole; -but she did not want any reference to it; she shrunk from any external -association with it as from a physical pain. Her reluctance to -encounter any such association had strangely increased within the past -few weeks.</p> - -<p>She did not know, she did not ask herself, why. Was she ungrateful -because she had felt intense reluctance to read Hayes Meredith's -letter? Had she forgotten, had she ceased to thank him for all he had -done to lighten her lot? Was she so cold, so "shallow-hearted," as to -think, as many a vulgar-minded woman would have thought, that her -account with the man who had succoured her in a strange land was -closed with the cheque which her father had given her to be sent to -him, in payment of the money he had lent her?</p> - -<p>No, Margaret Hungerford was not ungrateful; but there was a sore spot -in her heart which something--she did not ask what--was daily making -sorer; the letter had touched it, and she shrunk with keen unexplained -anguish from the touch. She lay awake the whole night after she had -read the letter from Melbourne, and it seemed to her that she lived -all the old agonies of despair, rage, humiliation, and disgust over -again.</p> - -<p>It chanced that the next day James Dugdale was ill. This was so common -an occurrence that no one thought much about it. James was familiar -with suffering, and it was the inevitable penalty of fatigue. Not for -him was the healthy sense of being tired, and of refreshing rest. -Fatigue came to him with pain and fever, with racked limbs, and -irritable nerves, and terrible depression. His journey had tired him, -and he lay all day on the couch placed in the window of his room.</p> - -<p>Hither came Mrs. Carteret frequently, fussily, but genuinely kind, and -Mr. Baldwin, to say some friendly words, and feel the truest -compassion for the strong man thus imprisoned in his weak frame. -Hither, later in the day, and much to the surprise of James Dugdale, -came Margaret. He had thought she had gone to Davyntry, and said so. -She reddened, a little angrily, as she replied,</p> - -<p>"No: I have not been out. You seem to think I must always go to -Davyntry."</p> - -<p>"Not <i>I</i>, indeed, Margaret," said James, with a smile; "but I think -<i>they</i> do. Since I have been away, I understand you have been -constantly at Davyntry, and I am very glad to hear it; it is good for -you and for Lady Davyntry also."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps so; she is very kind," said Margaret absently. "At all -events, I am not there to-day, as you see, and I am not going there, -or anywhere, but I will sit here with you, if I may."</p> - -<p>She turned on him one of her rare, winning smiles--a smile far more -beautiful, he thought, than any her girlhood had been decked in. She -drew a low chair into the bow of the window, beside his couch, and sat -down. Between him and the light was her graceful figure, and her clear -pale face, with its strangely-contrasted look of youth and experience.</p> - -<p>"Are you really going to give up all the afternoon to me?" said James, -in delight.</p> - -<p>"I really am. I will read to you, or we can talk, just as you like. I -suppose you don't feel any great fancy for turning tutor to me over -again, though I see all my old school-books religiously preserved on -your book-shelves," she said, glancing round at the well-stocked walls -of the room, which had been the schoolroom in the days when Haldane -and she had been James's pupils.</p> - -<p>"I have kept every remembrance of that time, Margaret," said James.</p> - -<p>There was a tone in his voice which might have been a revelation to -her, had she heard it, but she did not. She smiled again, and said:</p> - -<p>"You had a troublesome pupil. I am in a good mood to-day, as I used to -say long ago, and I want to talk to you about this."</p> - -<p>She took Hayes Meredith's letter out of her pocket as she spoke.</p> - -<p>James Dugdale kept silence, looking at her. "Is she going to tell me -the story of her life?" he thought. "Am I going at last to learn -something of the history of this woman whom I love?"</p> - -<p>Margaret did not speak for some moments; she looked at the letter in -silence. Then she unfolded it, and said:</p> - -<p>"I am glad you let me read this letter for myself, James" (she had -dropped into the habit of calling him by his name); "there are some -hard things in it, but they are true--and so, better spoken, no matter -how hard they may be. But let us pass them over, they are said of the -dead."</p> - -<p>Her face hardened, and she turned it away from him. James Dugdale laid -his thin hand on her arm.</p> - -<p>"Margaret," he said, "you know I would not have given you that letter -to grieve you. I was thinking so much of what Meredith says of himself -and his son that I forgot the allusion to--"</p> - -<p>"I know, I know," she said hurriedly; "don't say his name; I never -do."</p> - -<p>The admission was a confidence. She was breaking down the barrier of -reserve between them. She trusted him. She might come to like him yet. -The friendship at least of the woman he loved might yet come to gild -this man's lonely life. It would be much to him to know that she -forgave him; and there was something in her manner now so different -from anything that had ever been there formerly, that he began to hope -she had really forgiven him.</p> - -<p>In his quiet life, James Dugdale had contrived to attain, with very -little aid from experience, to a tolerable amount of comprehension of -human nature, and he understood that Margaret's practically-enforced -conviction, that he had been unerringly right in all he had suspected -and predicted of the fate in store for her, in her marriage, had not -made her more inclined to pardon the interference on his part which -she had so bitterly resented. But this was all over now, he did not -know why; he felt it, he did not understand it.</p> - -<p>Was it that the natural elasticity of youth was asserting its -power--that Margaret was regaining her spirits, was throwing off the -burden of the past, and, with it, all the feelings which had obscured -the brightness and injured the gentleness of her nature? This was the -most probable explanation; if, indeed, there was any other, it did not -present itself as an alternative to James Dugdale. While he was -thinking thus, she began to speak again in a hurried tone:</p> - -<p>"I should like to tell you now, James, because I would rather not have -to refer to the matter again, that I know how kind you were to me, and -how right in everything you said, and how hard you tried to save me. -Yes, yes; let me speak," she went on, and tears, seldom seen in her -eyes, stood in them now. "I could not again; let me speak now. You -tried, James, I know; but you could not succeed. It was from myself I -needed to be saved. Never think that you could have done anything more -than you did; indeed you could not. Nothing could have saved me."</p> - -<p>She was trembling now, even as the hand which he laid on hers, -unnoticed, was trembling. Her lustrous eyes were wet, and the emotion -in her face made it quite beautiful. James Dugdale did not attempt to -speak; he looked at her, and his heart was wrung with pity.</p> - -<p>"It <i>had</i> to be, James, and it is done with, as much as it ever can be -in this world, in which there is no release from consequences of our -own acts. And now"--she raised her head, she released her hand, she -was regaining her composure, the momentary expansion was past, as he -felt, and he had learned nothing!--"let us talk of your friend, who was -so kind to me, and retains so kind a recollection of me. What do you -think of all he says?"</p> - -<p>"I think badly of it," said James, as he leaned back on his couch -again, and adopted the tone she had given to their conversation. "I -fear Robert Meredith is a bad boy."</p> - -<p>"So do I," said Margaret. "I have seen him, though not often, and I -never saw a boy--almost a child--whom I disliked so much. He is a -handsome fellow, but selfish, heartless, and sly. His very cleverness -was revolting to me, and I suspect the feeling of dislike between us -was mutual; he has an American-like precocity about him which I -detest. His little brothers, rough colonial children as they are, are -infinitely more to be liked than he is. Of course you must do as Mr. -Meredith asks you; but if you will credit my judgment--and, all things -considered, I am rather daring in asking you to do so--you will not -undertake anything like personal charge of Robert Meredith."</p> - -<p>"I will certainly take your advice in the matter, Margaret; you <i>know</i> -the boy. I fancy I had better urge Meredith to bring him to England -himself, if it is determined that he is to come. Tell me as much as -you remember about the boy, and all the family. I remember Mrs. -Meredith a pretty, active, pert kind of girl--strong and saucy--a -capital wife for him, I should think."</p> - -<p>"I daresay," Margaret answered carelessly; "I did not know much of -her."</p> - -<p>Then their conversation turned on the career and circumstances of -Hayes Meredith, with which this story has no concern. In aftertime -James Dugdale remembered that day as one of the happiest of his life. -They were quite uninterrupted until late in the evening. Mrs. Carteret -had carried off to a dinner-party her reluctant husband, who would -have infinitely preferred to superintend the dinner of a peculiarly -fine spider--whose proceedings he was watching just then, and whose -larder was largely provided with the last unwary flies of the expiring -autumn.</p> - -<p>Margaret and James Dugdale dined alone. She was in good spirits on the -occasion; she had almost lost the painful impression produced by Hayes -Meredith's letter, by talking it over with James; and between herself -and him there reigned harmony and unreserve which had had no previous -existence. James had never seen her look so nearly beautiful; he had -never seen her so kind, so gentle to him.</p> - -<p>The hours passed over him in a kind of trance-like spell of pleasure. -Margaret talked as he had never imagined she could talk. He had soon -recognised that her character was hardened and strengthened by the -trials she had endured; but until this day he had not known that her -intellect had grown and brightened in proportion.</p> - -<p>They read together Haldane's letters to his old Mend, and Margaret -found in them many a kindly mention of her. Her brother would know of -her arrival in England at about this time.</p> - -<p>"You must promise to tell me what he says, James, if it is not -something very disagreeable indeed."</p> - -<p>And James promised.</p> - -<p>From that day Margaret was a less unhappy woman than before. The first -effect produced on her by Meredith's letter returned when she went to -Davyntry, after Mr. Baldwin's departure, and was more than ever warmly -greeted by her friend.</p> - -<p>"I don't think I could bear Fitzwilliam's absence if I had not your -society," Lady Davyntry said to her; and, fond and flattering as the -words were, there was, not in them, but in the mood in which she -listened to them, something that hurt Margaret.</p> - -<p>The young widow's pride was for ever rebelling against the unshared -knowledge of the experiences through which she had passed. Eleanor -talked to her incessantly of her brother, of the Deane, of his -occupations, his neighbours, and his popularity. The theme did not -weary Margaret; and Lady Davyntry accepted her unflagging attention as -a delightful omen.</p> - -<p>"She misses him; I am sure she misses him," was her pleased mental -comment.</p> - -<p>"I hardly expected Margaret to remain so long at Davyntry <i>to-day</i>," -said Mrs. Carteret to James Dugdale, as the family party were -assembled in the drawing-room at Chayleigh.</p> - -<p>James observed the emphasis, and replied:</p> - -<p>"Indeed; why not?"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Baldwin is not there, you know, and I fancy he is the great -attraction."</p> - -<p>James made her no reply. He fully understood the spiteful animus of -the observation, but he also admitted its terrible probability; not in -the present--he did not take so superficial a view of Margaret's -character as that would have implied--but a thrill of fear for the -future came over him, troubling his Fools' Paradise. In a little while -Margaret came in, looking as tranquil as usual, and, in her accustomed -manner of placid, unalterable calm,--the bearing she always -opposed to the masked battery of Mrs. Carteret's insinuations and -insolences,--answered the questions put to her.</p> - -<p>When James Dugdale was alone that night he took himself to task, in no -gentle manner. He knew he had nothing to expect beyond the unexpected -boon of kindness and confidence she had already extended to him; and -yet the thought that another might again stand nearer to Margaret than -he, struck him with an anguish almost as keen as the first torment had -been. He had doubted that fate could bring him anything very hard to -bear again, and here was a faint sickening indication that fate -intended to resolve his doubt into a fatal certainty.</p> - -<p>But no: he would not think of it; he would not let it near him; it -could not be. He knew he was weak in shrinking as he did, in striving -to shut out anything that might possibly be true--and, therefore, -ought to be faced--as he did; but the weakness would have its way, -like the fainting of the body, and, for the present time at least, he -would put the apprehension from him.</p> - -<p>The days and the weeks passed by, and the external state of things -remained unchanged at Chayleigh. Uninterrupted friendship, and a -certain degree of confidence, were maintained between Margaret and -James. The health and spirits of the young widow improved; her -friendship with Lady Davyntry remained unimpaired. The correspondence -between Eleanor and her brother was frequent and lengthy, and the -letters from the Deane were imparted with great frankness by the elder -to the younger lady. They were vivid, amusing, and characteristic, and -invariably included a message of cordial remembrance to the household -at Chayleigh. Peace of mind was prevalent among all the parties -concerned in the little <i>drame intime</i> with which we are dealing.</p> - -<p>Lady Davyntry's mind was at peace, because she saw that Margaret's -interest in Mr. Baldwin's report of his doings at the Deane did not -flag; and, as she said to herself, "there was no one to interfere with -his chances."</p> - -<p>James Dugdale's mind was at peace, because Margaret seemed happier and -calmer than he had ever again expected to see her; and, as Mr. Baldwin -remained away, he was not to be feared; and it was evident that the -source of her renewed content was to be found in her present sphere.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret's mind was at peace, because Margaret gave her no -trouble, and kept herself so quiet, so completely aloof from "the -neighbourhood," that that noun of moderate multitude,--having -satisfied its curiosity by observing how Mr. Carteret's daughter -looked in her "weeds,"--was content to forget her existence, or ready -to condole with Mrs. Carteret upon her stepdaughter's strange -unsociability, and to compliment the lady upon the contrast in that -respect which they presented.</p> - -<p>Things had turned out so differently from Mrs. Carteret's first -apprehensive anticipations--she had been able to <i>exploiter</i> Margaret -so successfully; her boasted intimacy at Davyntry had been so -complacently indorsed by Lady Davyntry, who would have gone more -directly against her conscience even than that to make Margaret's -position at home easier--that Mrs. Carteret had almost ceased to wish -for Margaret's departure--had even thought casually that it would -certainly <i>look</i> better, and might possibly <i>be</i> better, if she could -be induced to remain at her father's house.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps she may settle herself advantageously yet," Mrs. -Carteret--whose ideas were eminently practical--said to herself; and -she even thought of consulting James as to whether she had not better -suggest such a solution of the problem of the future to Margaret.</p> - -<p>Mr. Carteret's mind was at peace, because his mind had never been in -any other condition since Godfrey Hungerford's death had restored it -to ordinary equilibrium, and because his collections were getting on -splendidly.</p> - -<p>When Margaret Hungerford had been five months at Chayleigh--when the -time was approaching which she had fixed upon as the period at which -she would commence her career of labour and independence--when eleven -months had elapsed since Godfrey Hungerford's death--when the snows of -February lay thick and white upon the earth--an event occurred which -disturbed the calm of Chayleigh.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carteret distinguished herself in a most unexpected manner. She -caught cold returning from one of the dull dinner-parties which her -soul loved, and which no inclemency of weather, or domestic crisis -which could be ignored with any decency, would have induced her to -forego. A second dinner-party was to come off within three days; so -Mrs. Carteret denied the existence of the cold, and attended that -solemn festival. That day week she was dead.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_12" href="#div1Ref_12">CHAPTER XII.</a></h4> -<h5>DAWNING.</h5> -<br> - -<p>"You cannot conceive anything more perfect than the way Margaret is -behaving," wrote Lady Davyntry to her brother, when the first novelty -and shock of Mrs. Carteret's death had somewhat subsided, "in this sad -affair. Her conduct to her father is most admirable. He, poor man, is -in a wretched state--more, perhaps, of bewilderment than grief, but -altogether unhinged.</p> - -<p>"Master's put out terrible," was the account I had from one of the -Chayleigh servants, and, odd and horrid as it sounds, I really think -that is the best description of poor Mr. Carteret's state of mind. -Anything he is not used to "puts him out," and he is singularly little -used to trouble or emotion of any kind.</p> - -<p>"He wanders about in a way distressing to behold, and cannot be -induced to occupy himself. 'There ain't no keeping him in the study,' -Foster said to me; 'and as much as stick a pin in a butterfly, Mr. -James nor Miss Margaret can't indoose him to do.'</p> - -<p>"He seems to have lost all his taste for his specimens, but Margaret -has hit upon a great idea for his relief and amusement. This is no -other than to talk to her father about the interest which the poor -woman who is gone took in his pursuits, and how much she would have -regretted his abandonment of them.</p> - -<p>"There is a touch of pious fraud in this, for no one can possibly know -better than Margaret that Mrs. Carteret never took any interest in -anything but herself, and was rather more indifferent to her husband's -pursuits than to any other matters; but the fraud is pious and -successful.</p> - -<p>"I have just had a note from her telling me he is more cheerful, and -has been watching her dusting specimens this morning. She also -says--but, on second thoughts, I enclose the note.</p> - -<p>"With all this, my darling Madge has been very candid and sincere. She -has felt the awfulness and the import of the event most deeply, but -she has not pretended to a personal sorrow which it is impossible she -should feel, and I honour her for that--indeed, I honour her for -everything, and love her better every day.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Dugdale has taken Mrs. Carteret's death to heart terribly. She -was sincerely attached to him, I believe, and I fancy he was the only -person in the world who loved her, while he managed her perfectly, and -quite understood her queer disposition. I have seen very little of -him, but Margaret has told me a good deal about him.</p> - -<p>"If you remember, we used to think that he and she did not get on well -together--that she did not like him. With all her reserve, Margaret is -not difficult to understand; she may keep facts to herself, but she -does not disguise feelings, and I am glad to think she and Mr. Dugdale -get on nicely now that they are in such responsible charge at -Chayleigh.</p> - -<p>"If my letter bores you, my dear Fitz, I really cannot help it, for my -head and my heart are both full of Margaret. The Martleys and Forbeses -sent a strong contingent down to the funeral, and two of the Martleys -stayed a week: very handsome young men, not in the least like their -sister, who was very much older.</p> - -<p>"I could not help thinking how vexed the poor woman would have been if -she could have seen Henry Hartley so captivated by her stepdaughter. -He fell in love with Margaret with quite old-fashioned celerity, but -she calmly ignored him and his love. Mr. Dugdale saw it plainly, and -did not like it by any means. They have all had enough of the -Martleys, I fancy.</p> - -<p>"The young men took their sister's death very easily; the eldest was -evidently glad to get away; and I cannot be very much surprised or -very angry. This event will make a great difference to Margaret. I -have always had a presentiment--<i>I have</i>, how ever you may laugh--that -she would not have to leave Chayleigh. Of course, she cannot think of -doing so now; she must remain with her father.</p> - -<p>"Captain Carteret is on his way home, Mr. Dugdale came here yesterday -with Margaret for the first time. I believe something was said about -his leaving Chayleigh and going back to Oxford, but Mr. Carteret would -not hear of it; he clings to Mr. Dugdale more even than to Margaret. -So they will settle down together, no doubt. It is a good thing -Captain Carteret was not here sooner; the gloom will have pretty well -dispersed before he comes.</p> - -<p>"Your account of the Deane is delightful. I think you are quite right -not to refurnish the drawing-rooms just yet. Perhaps I might screw up -my courage to going there in summer, and then I could choose colours, -and so on, for you. You do not really want drawing-rooms at present, -and I should not mind anything of the kind if I were you. You may not -remain at the Deane long. Indeed, I hope you are thinking of coming -back to me; I want to consult you about such a lot of things; and I -hate letter-writing, and explain myself so badly."</p> - -<p>For a lady who hated letter-writing, Lady Davyntry indulged in it a -good deal; and, with singular self-denial, devoted herself to keeping -her brother thoroughly well informed concerning affairs in the -neighbourhood.</p> - -<p>She would, priding herself on her astuteness and believing herself -inscrutably clever in the performance, send him pages of gossiping -details about other people than the dwellers at Chayleigh; she would -tell him about the Croftons, the Crokers, and the Willises, about -friends in town and friends in foreign parts, whenever it appeared to -her that her insistence upon Chayleigh was becoming too marked.</p> - -<p>By such artful dodges did she seek to divert Mr. Baldwin's suspicions -that she cherished the profound design of marrying him to her friend.</p> - -<p>Her brother, on his part, carefully forbore to point out the -inconsistency between her dislike of letter-writing and the frequency -of her correspondence. He understood the guileless and amiable Eleanor -thoroughly, and smiled over her letters as he thought how charmingly -transparent the artifice was, and how easily he could have disposed of -it all, had it not precisely coincided with his own wishes.</p> - -<p>Time hung heavily on Mr. Baldwin's hands in the midst of his great -possessions, and in the presence of his popularity with an assiduous -neighbourhood. He had set his heart, he was ready to stake his whole -future, upon winning the wearied heart of the pale-faced girl who had -brought something into his life which had never been there before, and -the hours and days lingered until the time should come which he had -set before himself as fitting for the attempt.</p> - -<p>Her first year of widowhood would soon have elapsed, and then he -might, without offence, tell her that he loved her. So he named that -time, in his own mind, for his return to Davyntry.</p> - -<p>When Mrs. Carteret's death occurred, Mr. Baldwin did not alter his -plan. The change in Margaret's prospects, the necessity for her -remaining with her father, the fact that her sphere of duty was -strictly defined now, gave him no uneasiness.</p> - -<p>He would never ask her to leave her father. He knew Mr. Carteret well. -It did not take much time or pains to acquire that knowledge, and he -knew he had no strong attachment to Chayleigh. If he could but -persuade Margaret to come and reign at the Deane, he had no doubt her -father would readily go there too.</p> - -<p>He had a conviction, which, after all, was not presumptuous for a man -of his fortune and station to entertain, that in Margaret's brother he -should find a friend. James Dugdale had told him a little of the -family history--had given him a vague notion of the part Haldane had -taken in the circumstances which had led to Margaret's disastrous -marriage; and he felt that the young man would naturally rejoice that -such a total change should be wrought in the life of his sister, who -had paid so dearly for her imprudence.</p> - -<p>A man of peculiarly simple tastes and habits, of unaffected ways of -thinking about himself and other people, it rarely occurred to -Fitzwilliam Baldwin to take his wealth into account; but he did so -now, very reasonably. "It would not weigh with her for a minute," he -thought; "but it will with them, and it will be pleasant to have them -all for, and not against, me."</p> - -<p>Life at Chayleigh had settled down again. The delusive appearance of -immutability which human affairs assume--human affairs which are but a -shifting quicksand--had established itself. The establishment, -presided over by Margaret, went on in the ordinary way, the servants -highly appreciating the change of <i>régime</i>; and Mr. Carteret was -beginning to dispose of the days after his old fashion, when Mr. -Baldwin returned to Davyntry, and Haldane Carteret arrived at -Chayleigh.</p> - -<p>The meeting between the brother and sister was frankly affectionate; -the renewal of their companionship was delightful to both. Margaret -thought her brother wonderfully improved. He was a handsome, manly, -soldierly fellow, who had no trace of likeness to his gentle, -studious, feeble father, but whose face, despite its bronzed skin and -its thick dark moustache, awakened strange memories in Mr. Carteret's -placid breast.</p> - -<p>A curious mental phenomenon took place in the experience of Haldane's -father. A little while ago, and he was fretting for Mrs. Carteret--if -he had said he was wretchedly uncomfortable it would have been a more -correct description of his state of mind; but he chose to call -himself, to himself, profoundly miserable--and now, since Haldane came -home, he had almost forgotten her.</p> - -<p>True, he still sat mopingly in his chair, and stared vacantly out of -the window, when they left him alone; but the reverie which filled -those hours was no longer what it had been. With his son in his bright -strong manhood, with his daughter in her womanhood--early shadowed, -indeed, but beautiful--beside him, his heart turned to the past, and a -gentle figure, a fair delicate face, long since turned to dust, kept -him ghostly company in his solitude.</p> - -<p>Margaret was much surprised when, shortly after Haldane's return, Mr. -Carteret began to talk to her one day about her mother, and spoke of -her with a cheerful freshness of remembrance which she had never -supposed him to entertain.</p> - -<p>"The colours she preferred, the books she liked, the places they had -visited together, certain fancies she had in her illness--the smallest -things, I assure you--is it not wonderful?" Margaret had asked of Lady -Davyntry, as she was telling her this strange circumstance. "I never -was more surprised, and, I need not say, delighted; I don't think poor -Mrs. Carteret's fancies and sayings remain so fresh in his memory. -After so many years, too! The fact is, I don't believe she ever really -filled my mother's place at all."</p> - -<p>Margaret was seated on a cushion in the bay of a great window in the -drawing-room at Davyntry as she spoke thus. Her heavy bonnet and veil -were thrown on the floor beside her, her pale, clear, speaking face, -the eyes bright and humid, the lips parted eagerly, and the flickering -light, which emotion always diffused over her face, playing on her -features. Lady Davyntry stood in the window, and looked down upon her.</p> - -<p>"I am sure she never did," said the impulsive Eleanor; "how could she? -It is all very well for a man to marry again, as your father did, when -he has little children, and no one but servants to look after them; -but, of course, a second marriage never can be the same thing. All the -romance of life is over, you know, and one knows how much fancy there -is in everything; and, in fact, I can't understand it myself--not for -a woman, I mean, who has been happy. A man is different."</p> - -<p>And then Lady Davyntry suddenly discovered that, in proclaiming her -general opinion, she was saying exactly the opposite to what she -thought in the particular case in which she was most deeply -interested, and stopped, very abruptly and awkwardly, and blushing -painfully. But Margaret did not seem to perceive her embarrassment. -Her hands were pressed together; her eyes looked out strangely, -eagerly; her words came as though she had no control of them.</p> - -<p>"And do you think an unhappy woman--one who has found nothing in her -marriage but misery and degradation--one who has nothing of the dreams -and fancies of her youth left for retrospection but sickening deceit -and a horrible cheating self-delusion--one who has no good, or pure, -or gentle, or upright recollection to cherish of a past which was all -a lie, a base infamous lie--do you think a woman with a story like -that in her life ought to marry again? Do you think--you, Eleanor, who -are truth and honour themselves, and who, I suppose, in all your life -never said, or did, or saw, or heard anything for which you have a -right to blush or ought to wish to forget--do you think that a woman -with a story like that in her life ought to marry? Do you think she -ought to link her life to that of any man, however he might love her -and pity her, and be prepared to bear with her, while she had to look -back upon such a past, however guiltless she might be in it--do you -think this, Eleanor? Tell me plainly the truth."</p> - -<p>She put her hand up, and caught one of her friend's hands in hers. -Lady Davyntry still stood and looked at her, and, laying her -disengaged hand on her shoulder, answered her passionate question.</p> - -<p>"Do I? Indeed I do, Margaret. Tell me, are you asking me this for -yourself? Are you asking me if I think, because you have had the -least-deserved misfortune to have been the wife of a bad man, and you -have been released from him, you are to carry the chain in fancy which -has been taken off you in reality? It's unlike you; it is morbid to -ask, to think of such a thing. What are you but a young girl still? -Are you to do penance all your life for the sins of another? No, no, -Margaret; silent as you are about your past, you are asking me this -question in reference to yourself. Is it not so? Do not place a -half-confidence in me. Do not let a delusion like this take possession -of your mind, and blight your future as your past has been blighted."</p> - -<p>"There is nothing in my question," said Margaret, drawing her hand -away from Lady Davyntry, and rising; "nothing in the sense you mean. -My future seems plain and clear enough now. My place in the world is -fixed, I fancy; but sometimes, Eleanor, sometimes the past, of which I -have never spoken to you, of which I cannot speak, comes back to me, -not only in its own dreadful shape, but with a dim undefined threat in -it, and makes me afraid. You don't understand me; well for you that -you do not. I trust you never may."</p> - -<p>She picked up her bonnet and tied it on, and was folding her shawl -round her, while Lady Davyntry stood by, longing to speak out all that -was in her mind, and yet fearing to damage her own hopes by doing so -and learning the worst, when the door opened, and Haldane Carteret and -Mr. Baldwin came into the room.</p> - -<p>Margaret was standing with her back towards the door, and facing a -mirror, in which Lady Davyntry saw her face reflected. It was -startlingly pale, and there was a wild look of pain in the eyes, quite -other than sadness--sometimes a little stern--which was their usual -expression.</p> - -<p>Lady Davyntry could hardly reply to the cheery greeting of Haldane, so -much was she struck by Margaret's change of countenance. Margaret -spoke hurriedly to Mr. Baldwin. The only one of the four who did not -know that there was a consciousness on the part of all the others that -something unusual had taken place was Haldane.</p> - -<p>"I have come to fetch you home, Madge," he said, "and then I'm going -out for a ride with Baldwin, and we dine with the Croftons, so you -won't see much of me to-day. Are you ready?"</p> - -<p>"Quite ready," said Margaret; and she kissed Lady Davyntry, and took -so hurried a leave of her that her friend had not time to ask her a -question. She was about to give Mr. Baldwin her hand, and bid him -good-bye too, but he said he was going their way--his horses might be -taken to Chayleigh.</p> - -<p>When she was left alone, Lady Davyntry tried to disentangle her -impressions of what had occurred. At last she thought she saw the -meaning of it all. Margaret had found out Mr. Baldwin's -not-carefully-preserved secret, even as she (Eleanor) had found it -out, and she loved him. Yes, his sister was sure of it. She had all -the acuteness which keen feeling and true sympathy give, and which is -truer in emergencies than that of mere intellectual cleverness, and -she knew that a sharp and severe struggle was raging in the young -widow's heart.</p> - -<p>She understood it all now--she understood that Margaret shrank from -the avowal to herself that she had learned to love and trust again, -that she had not been able to carry out the expiatory process -which she had resolved--the process of loneliness and labour of -self-repression, and the abnegation of the true happiness to be had -even in this world, because she had been beguiled by the false. She -understood that Margaret, however believing and trusting in -Fitzwilliam Baldwin's love, would feel that there was no equality -between them, and that the serene and beautiful fancies of a happy -girl were not for her, while all the illusion and gladness of life's -early days still were his. Intuitively Lady Davyntry understood it -all; the face she had seen in the glass, when her brother's entrance -had surprised Margaret in one of her rare moments of emotion, had made -it all plain to her.</p> - -<p>"She will refuse him," Eleanor thought; "she will refuse him. These -two, the most suited to one another, the best calculated to be happy -of any people I ever knew--the very ideal of a well-matched pair--will -be kept apart by a chimera. So the evil of that vile man's life lives -after him, and he has the power to make her and others miserable, -though he is in his grave. Shall I speak openly to Fitzwilliam? I -cannot do harm now. No man could be more bent upon anything than he is -on marrying Margaret. I may as well let him know--if, indeed, he has -not guessed it--how much I wish it too."</p> - -<p>Lady Davyntry's nature, like her brother's, was essentially sunny and -cheerful; so she soon roused herself from the depression her discovery -had caused her.</p> - -<p>"If she does refuse him," thought Eleanor, after long cogitating with -herself, "she cannot refuse to tell him why. She is too sincere--she -will not deny that she loves him, and then she will be persuaded out -of this morbid fancy by degrees. After all, it will only be a case of -waiting. I must have patience, and Fitzwilliam must have patience too. -Margaret is worth waiting for. I shall see her at the Deane yet."</p> - -<p>It was a source of great satisfaction to Lady Davyntry to remember -that Margaret was settled at Chayleigh, that Mr. Baldwin need not fear -her removal--that, in fact, he had every external advantage on his -side.</p> - -<p>"How strangely things happen!" she thought. "Really, it seems as if -that poor woman's death were quite providential. If she had lived, I -don't see how Margaret could have possibly stayed at Chayleigh; and -now she cannot get away. Even if she had remained, she could not have -been in such a pleasant and independent position."</p> - -<p>And then Lady Davyntry, who possessed in perfection the fine feminine -facility for looking at every subject from exclusively her own point -of view, came to the comfortable conclusion that poor Mrs. Carteret's -death was "all for the best."</p> - -<p>Haldane Carteret retained all his boyish affection for James Dugdale. -His old tutor loved him, too, better than any one in the world save -Margaret; and the young man's sojourn at home was a bright spot in the -life of the older man, whose life had in it very little brightness. -All that James knew of Margaret's story he had told Haldane by letter, -and now the subject was but rarely revived between them.</p> - -<p>Haldane was not a very acute observer. He rarely troubled himself with -the reflective part of life; he had bright animal spirits, good -health, and was now of an active temperament very different from the -promise of his boyhood. The experiment of letting him follow his -military inclinations had turned out admirably. His father was very -fond of him, very proud of him, and kept out of his way as much as -possible. His presence had the best possible effect on Margaret, who -was beginning to bloom again, not only with the roses, but with the -spirits of her girlish days.</p> - -<p>Haldane was immensely delighted with Mr. Baldwin. It was a new -experience to him that a man of such large fortune, such assured -position, such high intellectual attainments, still young and -flattered by the world, should be of so unworldly a spirit, so pure of -heart and life, and so entirely unassuming. In modern parlance, Mr. -Baldwin was an undeniable "swell," but he never seemed to remember the -circumstance except when an act of generosity, or the exercise of -privilege in the cause of good, was required.</p> - -<p>"I'll tell you what, Dugdale," Haldane Carteret said to his old friend -as they strolled together in the fields by the clump of beeches which -Margaret had said she hated, "there are not many such fellows going as -Baldwin!"</p> - -<p>James Dugdale heartily concurred in his companion's estimate of -Baldwin.</p> - -<p>"Knocking about the world teaches a fellow to appreciate a man like -that," continued Haldane. "It's very strange to remember how one has -been taken in by people. There was that ruffian Hungerford, for -instance. By the bye,"--and Haldane stood still, and looked into -James's face to make his words more emphatic,--"I think Baldwin is -uncommonly attentive to Madge, don't you?"</p> - -<p>"N-no," said James hesitatingly; "I can't say I noticed anything of -the kind."</p> - -<p>"Look out, then, and you will notice it. You're not an observing -person, you know--not a lady's man exactly--neither am I; but I think -I know the symptoms of that sort of thing when I see them; and I don't -think Baldwin is staying at Davyntry altogether on account of his -sister. I say, James, what a grand thing it would be, wouldn't it?"</p> - -<p>"What a grand thing <i>what</i> would be?" asked Dugdale in an impatient -tone.</p> - -<p>"If Madge likes him, and he likes her, and they make a match of it. It -would be a fine marriage for any girl, and it would be a great thing -to have all the past put out of her mind. Fate owes her a good turn, -poor girl!"</p> - -<p>And James? Did not Fate owe him a good turn? If so, he thought sadly, -the debt was not likely to be paid. The change in Margaret's manner, -the increased frankness, the ready kindness she showed him now, had -ceased to bring him any happiness. He did not deceive himself now as -to its source.</p> - -<p>He was nothing more to her than he had ever been; but, instead of the -old bitterness, a root of sweetness was springing up in her heart, and -its natural outcome was the oblivion of her former feelings, the -remission of all past and gone offences from those who would but be -doubly indifferent to her under the influence of this new motive in -her life.</p> - -<p>For a time James Dugdale yielded to the weakness which this new keen -suffering produced. He felt that life had been always bitter for -him--there was no mercy, no gentleness in it at all.</p> - -<p>When he looked at Margaret and noted the change in her face--saw how -the light had come back into the eyes, the roundness to the clear pale -cheeks, the softness to the square brow and the small lips, and -interpreted the change aright, notwithstanding the fits of heavy -sadness which still came over her--he would feel very tired of life. -Impossible not to envy the lot which was never to be his--the destiny -of those who are dowered with love.</p> - -<p>Never to be, never to have been, the first object in life to any one -is a melancholy fate, he would think--one for which no general -affection, or appreciation, not even the most intoxicating gift of -fame, could ever compensate.</p> - -<p>This was his lot, and he knew it, and did not attempt to persuade -himself that it was not very hard and bitter to submit to. After a -time he should be able to look at the matter from the unselfish point -of view of Margaret's happiness; but not yet. He had never quite -realised the nature and extent of his own fears, until Haldane's words -had put the truth before him in the airy and cheerful manner related. -Of course he was right; of course it would be a "great match," and a -"fine thing:" of course it would be the most complete reparation of -all that Fate had wrought against Margaret--the most total reverse of -her life which could be devised.</p> - -<p>The love of such a man--as James, rigidly just in all his pain, -acknowledged Fitzwilliam Baldwin to be--had in itself such elements of -dignity and honour, such power of rehabilitation for the wounded -spirit of the woman he loved, that it was an act of utter oblivion.</p> - -<p>From the unassailable height of her position, as Mr. Baldwin's wife, -Margaret might look down upon the pigmy cares of coarse remark and -prying curiosity, as on all the sordid and common anxieties of -material life from which she had once suffered so keenly.</p> - -<p>He knew all this--he who would, he believed, have suffered anything in -the cause of her welfare. Yes, and so he would, anything but just the -thing he was appointed to suffer; and he could not bring himself to -bear it, not yet. He forgot how he had acknowledged, when she returned -to Chayleigh, that she could not continue to live there, that the dead -level of life there would be intolerable to her who had breathed the -atmosphere of storm and been tossed on the waves of trouble. She was -too young to find refuge in calm; the peace which is the paradise of -age which has suffered, is the prison of suffering youth.</p> - -<p>He knew all this, and yet he murmured against the destiny that was -going to release her, without penalty or price--that was going to -crown her life with happiness. He murmured, he revolted, he raged; and -then he submitted, as we all must, to everything.</p> - -<p>From this state of feeling to an intense longing to know the truth, to -have it all over and done with--to be quite certain that Margaret had -put the old life from her, and with it all the ties which existed -between her and him; that she was going into a sphere in which he -could have no place--was a natural transition for James Dugdale's -feverish, sensitive temperament.</p> - -<p>He watched Margaret and her friend; he understood Lady Davyntry's -feelings perfectly, and owed her no grudge for them; he rather -honoured her as more large-minded and disinterested than most women. -Of course she coveted such a prize as Margaret for her brother. To the -rich, treasures, was the judgment and the way of the world.</p> - -<p>He watched Margaret and her lover. Yes, her lover--he forced himself -to give him that kingly title in his thoughts, and he thought, he -knew, he hoped it might soon come--that suspense, at least, would be -over, and nothing would remain for him but to accustom himself to the -new order of things.</p> - -<p>Full of these thoughts, he sought Margaret, one beautiful day in May, -in the pleasaunce. He had seen her walking on the lawn. She had -exchanged a few sentences with him as she passed the windows of Mr. -Carteret's study, where James was sitting, and he had promised to join -her presently, when her father released him. He was anxious to tell -her that he had heard again from Hayes Meredith. When he joined her he -held a letter in his hand.</p> - -<p>"Papa has been bothering you about those dreadful bats, hasn't he, -James?" asked Margaret with a smile; "I will take my turn at them this -afternoon."</p> - -<p>"O no," he said; "but I wanted to see you before you went out, because -I have a letter from Melbourne."</p> - -<p>She changed colour slightly, and glanced nervously at the letter.</p> - -<p>"It is very short. Meredith merely says he cannot come to England, or -send his son for some time--not for a year, indeed. There is a money -difficulty out there, and Mrs. Meredith is in delicate health."</p> - -<p>"Indeed! I am sorry for that. So master Robert must put up with -colonial life for a little longer."</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied James; "and I am not sorry. The longer my -responsibility as regards that young gentleman is deferred the better. -Still, I should like to see Meredith. Shouldn't you, Margaret?</p> - -<p>"No," she said quickly, and in a tone of decision, "I should not, -James. Not because I am ungrateful--no, indeed--but because anything, -any one connected with that dreadful time I would shun by any lawful -means. You don't know how I dread any mention of it, how I shrink from -any thought of it. You don't--you can't--it is like a curse from which -I never can escape. If"--she continued vehemently--"if Hayes Meredith -came into this house, if any one from that place came, I should feel -it was an evil omen--I should be sure it could only be to bring me -misery. Very superstitious, very wrong, very weak,--is it not, -James?--I know; but it is perfectly true, and stronger than I--"</p> - -<p>She shuddered as she spoke, and was quite pale now.</p> - -<p>James looked at her in agitated surprise, and put the letter, which -she had made no motion to take from him, into his pocket.</p> - -<p>At that moment the footman approached them, coming from the house.</p> - -<p>James glanced at Margaret's white face and tearful eyes, and went -forward to intercept the servant before he should be near enough lo -discover them also.</p> - -<p>"A letter from Davyntry, for Mrs. Hungerford, sir," said the man.</p> - -<p>"Is there any answer required?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know, sir."</p> - -<p>James brought the letter--a very thick one--to Margaret.</p> - -<p>"Just open this," he said, "and see if there's an answer."</p> - -<p>She broke the seal of the envelope, which was directed in Lady -Davyntry's hand, and drew out, not a letter from her friend, but a -second sealed envelope, with her name upon it. The writing was well -known to her; it was Mr. Baldwin's. The outer cover fell to the -ground, as she stood with the enclosure in her hand, James looking at -her and at it.</p> - -<p>"There's--there's no answer," she said. She had not made the slightest -attempt to open the missive.</p> - -<p>James Dugdale delivered the message to the servant, who went back to -the house, and then he turned away down another path and struck into -the fields.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>END OF VOL. I.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>LONDON: ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's A Righted Wrong, Volume 1 (of 3), by Edmund Yates - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A RIGHTED WRONG, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) *** - -***** This file should be named 60964-h.htm or 60964-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/9/6/60964/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page images provided by the Web Archive -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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