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diff --git a/old/64252-h/64252-h.htm b/old/64252-h/64252-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index dc15a16..0000000 --- a/old/64252-h/64252-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12565 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en"> - -<head> - -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> - -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> - -<title> -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Only an Ensign, Volume 1, -by James Grant -</title> - -<style type="text/css"> -body { color: black; - background: white; - margin-right: 10%; - margin-left: 10%; - font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; - text-align: justify } - -p {text-indent: 4% } - -p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } - -p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 200%; - text-align: center } - -p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 150%; - text-align: center } - -p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 150%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 100%; - text-align: center } - -p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 100%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - text-align: center } - -p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 60%; - text-align: center } - -h1 { text-align: center } -h2 { text-align: center } -h3 { text-align: center } -h4 { text-align: center } -h5 { text-align: center } - -p.poem {text-indent: 0%; - font-size: 80% ; - margin-left: 10%; } - -p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; - letter-spacing: 4em ; - text-align: center } - -p.letter {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } - -p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -p.intro {font-size: 90% ; - text-indent: -5% ; - margin-left: 5% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; - margin-left: 0% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.finis { font-size: larger ; - text-align: center ; - text-indent: 0% ; - margin-left: 0% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -</style> - -</head> - -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Only an Ensign, Volume 1 (of 3), by James Grant</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<table> - <tr><td>Title:</td><td>Only an Ensign, Volume 1 (of 3)</td></tr> - <tr><td></td><td>A Tale of the Retreat from Cabul</td></tr> -</table> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: James Grant</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 10, 2021 [eBook #64252]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Al Haines</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONLY AN ENSIGN, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***</div> - -<h1> -<br /><br /> - ONLY AN ENSIGN<br /> -</h1> - -<p class="t3b"> - A Tale of the Retreat from Cabul.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t2"> - BY JAMES GRANT,<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t4"> - AUTHOR OF "THE ROMANCE OF WAR," "FIRST LOVE AND LAST LOVE,"<br /> - "LADY WEDDERBURN'S WISH," ETC.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - IN THREE VOLUMES.<br /> -<br /> - VOL. I.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t4"> - "Come what come may,<br /> - Time and the Hour runs through the roughest day."—<i>Macbeth.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - LONDON:<br /> - TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE ST., STRAND.<br /> - 1871.<br /> - [<i>All Rights Reserved.</i>]<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /> -</p> - -<p class="t4"> - LONDON:<br /> - BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> -PREFACE. -</p> - -<p> -To have entered, more fully than I have done, -into the events and fighting prior to the Retreat -from Cabul, would have proved unsuitable for the -purpose of my story, and for these events I must -refer the reader to history or the newspapers of the -time. -</p> - -<p> -An officer of the Queen's 44th Regiment escaped -death in the Khyber Pass in the mode narrated in -its place, by wrapping the regimental colour round -him; and strange and varied as the adventures of -Captain Waller may appear, after the last fatal stand -was made by our troops, some such incidents actually -occurred to a Havildar of the Shah's Ghoorka -Regiment, after its complete destruction in Afghanistan, -so there is much that is real woven up with -my story. -</p> - -<p> -Fiction, according to Sir Francis Bacon, infuses -in literature that which history denies, and in some -measure satisfies the mind with shadows, when it -cannot enjoy the substance—the shadows of an ideal -world. "Art is long and life is short, so we do -wisely to live in as many worlds as we can." -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - 25, TAVISTOCK ROAD, WESTBOURNE PARK,<br /> - <i>August</i>, 1871.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> -CONTENTS. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -CHAP. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -I.—<a href="#chap01">THE TIME WILL COME</a><br /> -II.—<a href="#chap02">RHOSCADZHEL</a><br /> -III.—<a href="#chap03">THE ALARM BELL</a><br /> -IV.—<a href="#chap04">POWDERED WITH TEARS</a><br /> -V.—<a href="#chap05">PORTHELLICK VILLA</a><br /> -VI.—<a href="#chap06">RICHARD'S MYSTERY</a><br /> -VII.—<a href="#chap07">LADY LAMORNA</a><br /> -VIII.—<a href="#chap08">THE BROKEN CIRCLE</a><br /> -IX.—<a href="#chap09">FOREBODINGS</a><br /> -X.—<a href="#chap10">THE LONELY TARN</a><br /> -XI.—<a href="#chap11">CONCERNING FLIRTATION</a><br /> -XII.—<a href="#chap12">THE PIXIES' HOLE</a><br /> -XIII.—<a href="#chap13">THE TIDE IN!</a><br /> -XIV.—<a href="#chap14">LOST</a><br /> -XV.—<a href="#chap15">THE SEARCH</a><br /> -XVI.—<a href="#chap16">INTELLIGENCE AT LAST</a><br /> -XVII.—<a href="#chap17">THE TRECARRELS</a><br /> -XVIII.—<a href="#chap18">HE LOVES ME TRULY</a><br /> -XIX.—<a href="#chap19">THE GREATER SORROW</a><br /> -XX.—<a href="#chap20">A FAMILY GROUP</a><br /> -XXI.—<a href="#chap21">HUMILIATION</a><br /> -XXII.—<a href="#chap22">"MRS. GRUNDY"</a><br /> -XXIII.—<a href="#chap23">A LEGAL "FRIEND"</a><br /> -XXIV.—<a href="#chap24">THE DOCTRINE OF CHANCES</a><br /> -XXV.—<a href="#chap25">MISCONCEPTION</a><br /> -XXVI.—<a href="#chap26">REVERSES</a><br /> -XXVII.—<a href="#chap27">ALONE!</a><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> - -<p class="t2"> -ONLY AN ENSIGN. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER I. -<br /><br /> -THE TIME WILL COME. -</h3> - -<p> -"<i>Le jour viendra</i>—it is the motto of our -family—given to us by Henry VI. 'The day will come,'" -said old Lord Lamorna, proudly, as he lay back in -his easy chair, with his elbows resting on the arms -thereof, and the tips of his upraised fingers placed -together, as if he was about to pray; "and most -applicable is that motto to you, nephew Richard, -for I am sure that when you are my age you will -regret not having taken my advice." -</p> - -<p> -Richard Trevelyan smiled, but looked somewhat -uneasily at his younger brother Downie. -</p> - -<p> -"You are too rich to throw yourself away, and -too well-born even for the most highly accomplished -daughter of a cotton-lord, or knighted mill-owner," -resumed his stately old uncle, sententiously; "a -fellow knighted too probably for dirty ministerial -work; but assume a virtue if you have it not, and -let us see you——" -</p> - -<p> -"Excuse me, my lord—excuse me, my dear uncle. -I have no desire to—to marry; why you—yourself——" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't cite me, Richard. You are only forty-three, -if so much" (and here, for the information -of our young lady readers, we may mention that -Richard is not the hero of these pages). "I am -past seventy, yet I may marry yet, and do you all -out of the title," added Lamorna, with a laugh like -a cackle. -</p> - -<p> -"My brother Dick is certainly the most listless of -men," said Downie, as he selected some grapes with -the embossed scissors, and filled his glass with -chateau d'Yquem. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't think that I am so," retorted Richard. -</p> - -<p> -"Downie is right," said Lord Lamorna. "Why -do you not go into Parliament?—I have two snug -pocket boroughs here in Cornwall—and on one -hand attack routine and red-tapeism like a Radical; -on the other hand, denounce retrenchment and -cowardly peace-at-any-price, like a Tory of the old -school. You would certainly be popular with both -parties by that <i>rôle</i>, and do good to the country at -large." -</p> - -<p> -"I have no turn for politics, uncle." -</p> - -<p> -"Diplomacy then—many of our family have -figured as diplomats; I was ambassador to Russia, -after Waterloo, and in the olden time more than -one of our family have been so to the Courts of -Scotland, France, and Brandenburg; and I trust -we all refuted the axiom of Sir Henry Wotton, -'that an ambassador was an honest man sent abroad -to lie for the good of his country.'" -</p> - -<p> -"I have no taste for diplomacy." -</p> - -<p> -"What the devil <i>have</i> you a taste for?" asked -his uncle, testily; "not domestic life, as I can't get -you to marry, like Downie here; and you soon left -the army, or tired of Her Majesty's service." -</p> - -<p> -Richard flushed for a moment, and held his full -wine glass between him and the light, as if to test -the colour and purity of its contents. -</p> - -<p> -"I know what bachelor London life is—another -style of thing, of course, from yours, Downie—that -which someone calls the hard-working life, which -begins at two P.M. one day, and ends at four -A.M. next morning. There are the parks; the club, with -its bow-window; flirtations at balls and assemblies; -the opera, and parties to Greenwich; and then there -is the darker picture of doing business with old -Messrs. Bill Stamp and Cent.-per-Cent., in some -dingy little den off the Strand. A bad style of -thing it is to meddle with the long-nosed fellows -in the discounting line; just as bad as—and often -the sequence to—running after actresses or -opera-singers. You may love them if you like; but, great -Heavens! never stoop to the madness of committing -matrimony with any of them, or for a moment forget -the family to which you belong, and the ancient title -that is your inheritance." -</p> - -<p> -All this was said with undisguised point and -pomposity; the cold grey eyes of Downie Trevelyan -had a strange, sour smile in them; and Richard's -face grew more flushed than ever now. -</p> - -<p> -Dinner was over in the stately dining-room of -Rhoscadzhel; Mr. Jasper Funnel, the portly, florid, -and white-haired butler, had placed the glittering -crystal decanters before his master, who, with two -nephews, Richard and Downie Trevelyan, were -lingering over their wine; while in the western -light of a September evening, through the tall -plate-glass windows that reached from the richly-carpeted -floor to the painted and gilded ceiling, the Isles of -Scilly—the Casserites of the Greeks, the rocks -consecrated by the pagan Cornavi to the Sun—could -be seen at the far horizon, literally cradled in -the golden blaze of his setting in the sea; for the -house of Rhoscadzhel, in which our story opens, -stands near the Land's End, in the brave old -Duchy of Cornwall. -</p> - -<p> -Audley Trevelyan, tenth Lord Lamorna, took his -title from that little bay or cove which was one of -the most romantic spots on the bluff Cornish coast, -until it was unfortunately selected by certain -utilitarian speculators as a site for granite works; -and near it is a place called the Trewoofe, a triple -entrenchment having a subterranean passage, wherein -Launcelot Lord Lamorna, with some other Cornish -cavaliers, hid themselves in time of defeat from the -troopers of Fairfax, as the tourist may find duly -recorded in his "John Murray." -</p> - -<p> -He was in his seventieth year; pale in face and -thin in figure, and with his accurate evening -costume, for his valet always dressed him for dinner -even when alone, the old peer in every gesture and -tone displayed the easy bearing of a polished man -of the world, and of the highest bearing—keen but -cold, calm and unimpressionable. -</p> - -<p> -He had yet much of the wasted beau about his -appearance; he wore rosettes on his shoes and -still adhered to a frilled shirt front and black -watered silk ribbon for his gold eye-glass, with a -coat having something of the high collar and cut -peculiar to the days when George IV. was king. His -features were fine and delicately modelled; his nose -a perfect aquiline, with nostrils arched and thin, -his snow-white hair was all brushed back to conceal -the bald places and to display more fully a forehead -of which he had been vain in youth from a fancied -resemblance to that of Lord Byron. In short the -Apollo of many a ball-room was now indeed a lean -and slippered pantaloon, but still careful to a degree -in costume and all the niceties of cuffs and studs -and rings. -</p> - -<p> -Calm and self-possessed as he appeared, when now -lying back in his down easy-chair, sipping his iced -wine and playing with the diamond that glittered on -his wasted hand, and which had been a farewell gift -from the Empress of Russia, he had been much of -a <i>roué</i> in his youth, and consequently was not -disposed to enquire too closely into the affairs of his -nephew. -</p> - -<p> -Downie Trevelyan was already married, nearly -to his uncle's satisfaction, his wife being the -daughter of a poor but noble family; and as for -Richard, he might run away with as many humble -girls as he chose, provided he did not marry any of -them, or make that which his haughty uncle and -monetary patron would never forgive—a <i>mésalliance</i>; -for Lord Lamorna was a man full of strong -aristocratic prejudices, and a master in all the -tactics of society, and of his somewhat exclusive, and -occasionally selfish class. -</p> - -<p> -His lordship's false teeth—a magnificent Parisian -set that had cost him some fifty guineas—would -have chattered at the idea of any member of his -family making a mistake in matrimony. He had -heard ugly whispers about Richard, but never could -discover aught that was tangible. If it existed, -Heavens! how were Burke, Debrett and Co. to -record it when the time came that it could no -longer be concealed? -</p> - -<p> -Should any <i>mésalliance</i> be the case, he had -vowed often that the barren title should go -without one acre of land to his eldest nephew; and -he would have willed that past him too had it been -in his power to do so; but though a sordid Scottish -Earl of Caithness once sold his title to a Highland -Chieftain, and caused one of the last clan-battles to -be fought in Scotland, such things cannot be done -now. -</p> - -<p> -The old man had one ever present, ever prevailing -idea—the honour and dignity of the family—the -Cornish Trevelyans of Rhoscadzhel and Lamorna. -</p> - -<p> -His two nephews were men in the prime of life, -but Downie was three years younger than his -brother. -</p> - -<p> -Richard Pencarrow Trevelyan, the elder and -prime favourite with their uncle, was a remarkably -handsome man, with fine regular features that -closely resembled those of the old peer; but -Richard had been reared at Sandhurst, been in the -army and seen much of a rougher life than his -uncle. He had a free bold bearing, an ample chest, -an athletic form and muscular limbs, which riding, -shooting and handling the bat and the oar had all -developed to the full, and which his simple -costume,—for he was fresh with his gun and his game-bag, -from the bleak Cornish moors and mountain -sides—advantageously displayed. -</p> - -<p> -His dark blue eyes that were almost black, and -seemed so by night, had a keen but open expression, -his mouth suggested good humour, his white and -regular teeth, perfect health, and his voice had in it -a chord that rendered it most pleasant to the ear. -Dark eyebrows and a heavy moustache imparted -much of character to his face. -</p> - -<p> -His brother, Downie Trevelyan, had never been an -idler like Richard. Educated at Rugby and Corpus -Christi, Oxford, he had been duly called to the bar -by the Honourable Society of Lincoln's Inn, and -was now in good practice as a Barrister in London. -He had all the air and bearing of a gentleman of -good style; but he was less handsome than Richard; -had less candour of expression in eye and manner; -indeed, his eyes were like cold grey steel, and were -quick, restless, and at times furtive in their glances; -and they never smiled, even when his mouth seemed -to do so. -</p> - -<p> -Unlike Richard, he was closely shaven, all save a -pair of very short and legal looking whiskers. To -please his uncle was one of the unwearying tasks of -his life; and even now, with this view, he was in the -most accurate evening dress, thus affording a -complete contrast to the rough and unceremonious -tweed-suit worn by his brother—his coat broadly -lapelled with black silk <i>moiré</i>, his vest with three -buttons, <i>en suite</i> with his shirt studs, which were -encrusted with brilliants. His cold formality of -manner rendered his periodical visits to Rhoscadzhel -somewhat dull to Lord Lamorna, for somehow -few people cared much for Mr. Downie Trevelyan. -He had married judiciously and early in life, -and had now several children; and thus, while -joining his uncle in reprehending or rallying Richard -on his supposed anti-matrimonial views, his cold, -pale eyes, were wandering over the appurtenances, -the comforts and splendour of that magnificent -apartment, in which he was mentally appraising -everything, from the steel fire-irons, to the gold and -silver plate that glittered on the carved walnut wood -side-board, whereon were displayed many beautiful -cups, groups and statuettes (race-trophies of Ascot, -Epsom and other courses) which had been won in -Lamorna's younger days, when his stud was second to -none in England, and certainly equal to that of Lord -Eglinton in Scotland; yet he had never been a -gambler, or a "horsey man," being too highly -principled in one instance, and too highly bred in -the other; and so we say, while the legal eyes of -Downie appraised all, he thought of his eldest son, -Audley Trevelyan, then a subaltern in a dashing -Hussar Regiment, and marvelled in his heart, if he -should ever reign as Lord of Rhoscadzhel, manor -and chace, with all its moors and tin-mines. -</p> - -<p> -"You were right to marry young, Downie," said -the old lord, resuming the theme of their conversation -after a pause, adding, as if he almost divined -the thoughts of his younger nephew, "your boy -Audley is, I hear from General Trecarrel, a -handsome fellow." -</p> - -<p> -"He is a perfect Trevelyan, my lord," replied -Downie, who was studious in always according the -title to his relative, "and then my daughter, Gartha, -bids fair to equal her mother, who was one of the -handsomest women in London." -</p> - -<p> -"To see your family rising about you thus, must -afford you intense pleasure, Downie; but I cannot -understand our friend Dick here at all. My years -may not be many now, and I do not wish my hereditary -estate to change hands often, or my lands to be -scattered even after I am done with them." -</p> - -<p> -"I do not comprehend your fears, my dear -uncle," said Richard, smiling; "your estates can -never lack heirs while God spares me—and then -there is Downie——" -</p> - -<p> -"And his son Audley the Hussar—you would say?" -</p> - -<p> -"Exactly," replied Richard, but in a strange faint -voice, and as he spoke he felt that the keen grey -eyes of Downie were regarding him attentively by -the waxen lights of the chandelier, which Mr. Jasper -Funnel and two tall footmen had just illuminated, -at the same time drawing the heavy curtains of -crimson damask over the last flash of the setting -sun, and the ruddy sea whose waves were rolling in -blue and gold, between the bluffs of Land's End and -the rocky Isles of Scilly. -</p> - -<p> -"You cannot be a woman-hater, Dick?" -</p> - -<p> -"No—far from it," replied Richard, as a soft -expression stole over his manly face; "there can be -no such thing in nature." -</p> - -<p> -"The truth is—but take your wine—I strongly -fear, that during your military peregrinations, you -have got yourself entangled now—and unworthily -perhaps." -</p> - -<p> -"My lord—you are mistaken," replied Richard -firmly—almost sternly; "but what causes you to -think so?" -</p> - -<p> -"Your so decidedly declining an introduction to -General Trecarrel and his two daughters—the most -beautiful girls in the duchy of Cornwall. They -come of a good family too; and as the couplet has -it:— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "'By Tre, Pol, and Pen,<br /> - Ye may know the Cornish men.'"<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"The General resides somewhere near -Porthellick, does he not?" asked Downie, who saw -that his brother was changing colour, or rather -losing it fast. -</p> - -<p> -"Some one told me, Dick, that it was rumoured -you got into a scrape in Edinburgh, 'that village -somewhere in the North,' as one of our humourists -calls it; it was to the effect that your landlady had -fallen over head and ears in love with her handsome -lodger, who was ditto ditto in her debt, and had to -soothe her ruffled feelings and settle her bill, by -matrimony at sight." -</p> - -<p> -"An utter scandal!" said Richard, now laughing. -"Your allowance to me, ever since I left the Cornish -Light Infantry, has been too generous for such a -catastrophe ever to occur." -</p> - -<p> -"And next came a story, that when you were at -Montreal with the regiment, you made a precious -mess of it with some pretty girl, and—to use -Downie's phraseology—parted as heart-broken -lovers, to figure as plaintiff and defendant at the -bar." -</p> - -<p> -"Worse still and as false, my lord!" exclaimed -Richard, now pale with suppressed passion. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't look so darkly, Richard," said Lord -Lamorna, who saw the flash in his nephew's dark -blue eyes; "I have had a pretty little box at -Chertsey, and a villa at St. John's Wood in my day, -when my friends, raven-tressed, or golden-haired as -the case might be, were amiable and tenderly -attached—but deuced expensive; so I must not be -severe upon you," added the old man, with his dry -cackling laugh. "It is not these kind of little -arrangements I fear, but a <i>mésalliance</i>; and there -are scandals even in London—yes, even in the -mighty world of London, though there they soon -die; they don't live and take root, as in the -so-called purer air of the country." -</p> - -<p> -"I cannot understand all those vague hints, tales -and rumours, or who sets them afloat," replied -Richard, making an effort to preserve his calmness. -</p> - -<p> -Downie saw the veins rise in his brother's -forehead while their uncle had been speaking; and he -smiled a quiet smile, as he bent curiously over his -glass. -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Full many a shaft at random sent,<br /> - Finds mark the archer never meant;"<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -and he could see that some of the random remarks -in the present conversation, rankled deeply in -Richard's breast; and that this conversation had -verged, more than once, on somewhat dangerous -ground. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, it is a marvel to me, Richard, how a -handsome fellow like you can have escaped so long, -known as you are to be the heir to my title and -estates," continued the old lord, still harping on the -same topic: "for the girls now go in for winning in -matrimony, as we used to do at Ascot and -Epsom." -</p> - -<p> -"How, my lord?" asked Downie, as if he had -never heard the joke before. -</p> - -<p> -"By a neck—a bare neck and bosom added; -witness the beautiful and aristocratic demi-mondes -at the Opera! Elizabeth was the first English-woman -who, to excite admiration, exposed her -person thus. The virgin queen wore a huge ruff -certainly; but it stuck up <i>behind</i> her, she was -<i>décolletée</i> enough in front." -</p> - -<p> -"I prefer her Scottish rival—collared to her -pretty neck, and sleeved to the slender wrist," said -Richard Trevelyan; "by Jove, I should not have -cared for flirting with a woman who carried a fan in -one hand and a hatchet in the other." -</p> - -<p> -"Our ancestor, Henry Lord Lamorna, was -governor of Rougemont Castle, in Devonshire, -under Queen Elizabeth," said the peer pompously; -"but having married the daughter of a simple -knight in Surrey, he lost Her Majesty's favour -at Court, and had to live in retirement here at -Rhoscadzhel. Let that mistake be a warning to -you, Richard." -</p> - -<p> -"It happened pretty long ago," replied Richard, -laughing; "and at forty years of age I am surely -unlikely to commit an act of folly——" -</p> - -<p> -"If it be not committed already?" -</p> - -<p> -—"And lose your favour, even by marrying, 'the -daughter of a simple knight.'" -</p> - -<p> -"With my favour you would lose this fine estate. -But give me your hand, Dick, I know you will never -do aught unworthy of our good old Cornish name of -Trevelyan!" -</p> - -<p> -With a grand old-fashioned air—yet one full of -kindness—the proud old man presented his thin -white hand to his nephew, who pressed it -affectionately, and then rose to withdraw. -</p> - -<p> -"Whither go you, Dick, so soon?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh—anywhere, uncle," replied the other, -wearily. -</p> - -<p> -"How, sir?" -</p> - -<p> -"Merely into the lawn to enjoy a post-prandial -cigar," replied Richard, whose face wore an evident -expression of annoyance, as he bowed and quitted -the room. -</p> - -<p> -"We have worried him, I fear," said Downie, -with a self-satisfied smile. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't use slang—it is bad in tone," replied his -uncle; "but I cannot make your brother out—I -hope he is not deceiving us all. Gad, if I thought -so—if that Montreal story should prove true——" -the peer paused, and his keen blue eyes flashed -with anger at the vague thoughts that occurred to -him. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, do not fear, my lord," said Downie -Trevelyan, in a suave and soothing manner; "though -sham diamonds often do duty for real ones." -</p> - -<p> -"What do you mean?" asked his uncle, haughtily. -</p> - -<p> -Downie only smiled, and bent over his glass of -Burgundy again. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Neb na gare y gwayn call restona,</i>" said Lord -Lamorna, significantly; "I hate proverbs: but this -is a good old Cornish one; 'he that heeds not gain, -must expect <i>loss</i>.' When do you expect your oldest -boy home from India?" -</p> - -<p> -"He may arrive next week, perhaps, my lord, and -he will at once dutifully hasten to present himself -to you." -</p> - -<p> -"He must be well up among the Lieutenants of -the Hussars now?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yet he means to exchange into the Infantry." -</p> - -<p> -"Why?" -</p> - -<p> -"It is a matter of expedience and expense, my -lord; even with forage, batta, tentage, and so forth, -he finds his regiment a very extravagant one." -</p> - -<p> -"I shall give him a cheque on Coutts and Co., -for I must not forget that you did me the honour to -name him after me." -</p> - -<p> -"But you did us the greater honour in being his -sponsor—and in bestowing upon him a gold -sponsorial mug." -</p> - -<p> -"With the <i>Koithgath</i> of the Trevelyans for a -handle, and another perched on the lid; well, -well—he may be my successor here—who knows, who -knows," mumbled the old man, as he prepared to -take his-after dinner nap, by spreading a cambric -handkerchief over his face, and Downie glided -noiselessly away to the library, with a strange and -unfathomable smile on his colourless face, and he -muttered,— -</p> - -<p> -"I too may say—'the time will come!'" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER II. -<br /><br /> -RHOSCADZHEL. -</h3> - -<p> -On the smooth lawn his brother was walking to -and fro, with a cigar between his firm white teeth, -with his heart a prey to bitter and exciting thoughts; -and though Richard Trevelyan is not, as we have -said, the hero of these pages, to the lawn we shall -accompany him. -</p> - -<p> -"What the deuce can be the secret spring of all -this intrusive solicitude upon my uncle's part about -having me married, as if I were a young girl in her -third season?" he muttered; "I have often feared -that Downie suspected me—as a lawyer, it is natural -he should suspect every one of something more than -he sees or knows; and yet—I have been so wary, -so careful! My poor Constance—still concealment—still -dissimulation for the present, and doubts of -our future! No hope for us, save in the death of -that old man, ever so good and kind to me. Did -he really but know Constance, how sweet and -gentle she is! A curse be on this silly pride of -birth and fortuitous position which is our -bane—this boasting of pedigree old as the days of Bran ap -Llyr, the ancestor of King Arthur. By Jove, it is too -absurd!" and he laughed angrily as he tossed away -his cigar and then sighed, as he surveyed the façade -of the stately mansion, and cast his eyes round the -spacious lawn that stretched far away in starlight -and obscurity. "And yet must I stoop to this senile -folly," he added, half aloud; "for 'twere hard -to see all these broad acres go to Downie's boy, the -Hussar, past me and mine!" -</p> - -<p> -The seats of the Cornish aristocracy have usually -little to boast of in architecture; but the mansion -of Rhoscadzhel* was an exception, being a rare -specimen of a fine old Tudor dwelling, which had -suffered more from the rude hand of civil war, than -from "time's effacing fingers," and was built, -tradition avers, from the famous quarry of Pencarrow, -and of good Cornish freestone. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="footnote"> -* Cadzhel, Cornish for castle. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -A massive iron gate, between carved pillars, each -surmounted by a koithgath, or wild cat, rampant—a -crest of which Lord Lamorna was as vain as ever -was old Bradwardine of his heraldic bears—gave -access to the avenue, a long and leafy tunnel that -lay between the house and the highway leading to -the Land's End. The branches of the stately old -elms were interlaced overhead, like the groined -arches of a Gothic cathedral and a delightful -promenade their shade afforded in the hot days of -summer, when only a patch of blue sky, or the -golden rays falling aslant, could be seen at times -through their foliage. -</p> - -<p> -Engrafted in the later Tudor times upon the -ruins of Rhoscadzhel, of which there is still -remaining the fragment of a loopholed tower and -ponderous granite arch shrouded in ivy, with its -modern <i>porte-cochère</i> and vestibule floored with -marble, its mullioned windows filled in with plate -glass in lieu of little lozenge-panes, its dining hall -and drawing rooms lighted with gas when such -was the wish of its proprietor, the mansion, though -retaining all the characteristics of the days when -Queen Bess held her court at Greenwich and -danced before the Scottish ambassador, had nevertheless -all the comforts, appliances and splendour, -with which the taste and wealth of the present age -could invest it. -</p> - -<p> -The great dining-hall had remained almost -unchanged since the days of the first Charles. Its -vast chimney-piece, which rose nearly to the ceiling, -was covered with marvellous scrolls and legends, -and innumerable wild cats' heads among them, over -all being the arms of Trevelyan of Lamorna; <i>gules</i>, -a demi-horse <i>argent</i> issuing from the sea, adapted -from the circumstance of one of the family -swimming on horseback from the Seven Stones to the -Land's End, when they were suddenly separated -from the continent by a terrible inundation of the -ocean, and as this dangerous reef is no less than -nine miles from Scilly, where a light-ship points -it out to the mariner, the feat was well worthy of -being recorded, at least in heraldry. -</p> - -<p> -The furniture here was quaint and old, massive -and richly carved, and though the vast -stone-flagged chamber, where many a Cornish cavalier -has whilom drunk "confusion to Cromwell and the -Rump," and where still stands the great dining -table with its daïs, where of old "the carles of -low degree" had sat below the salt, is sombre and -gloomy, somewhat of lightness is imparted by the -splendid modern conservatory that opens off it, -with marble floor and shelves of iron fret-work -laden with rare and exotic plants. -</p> - -<p> -It boasts of a chamber known as "the Queen's," -wherein Henrietta Maria had slept one night before -she fled to France, and since then no one has ever -occupied the ancient bed that, like a huge catafalque, -stands upon three steps in the centre of the wainscoted -room which like several others in Rhoscadzhel, -has hangings of faded green tapestry, that are lifted -to give entrance; and where the hearths, intended for -wood alone, have grotesque andirons in the form -of the inevitable koithgath on its hind legs. And -on the walls of these old chambers hung many a -trophy of the past, and many a weapon of the -present day, from the great two-handed sword -wielded by Henry Lord Lamorna at the Battle -of Pinkey down to the yeomanry sabre worn by -the present peer at the coronation of George IV., -a peer of whose effeminacy the said Lord Henry -would have been sorely ashamed. -</p> - -<p> -And many a Vandyke, Kneller, and Lely were -there, with portraits of the Trevelyans of past times, -who now lay under their marble tombs in yonder -little church upon the hill, where among dust and -cobwebs hung their helmets, spurs, and gauntlets, -and the iron mace of one Launcelot Trevelyan, -who was a man of vast stature; and it is as great -a source of wonder to the village children as the -rickety ruin of a gilded coach which at certain -times is drawn forth to the lawn and aired -carefully, being that in which the grandfather of -the present peer brought home his bride in patches -and powder, and it is supposed to be the first -vehicle of the kind ever seen in the duchy of -Cornwall. Thus, as Richard Pencarrow Trevelyan -thought over all these possessions with their -traditional and family interests, of which, by one -ill-natured stroke of the pen, his proud uncle -might deprive him and his heirs for ever, a bitter -sigh escaped him. -</p> - -<p> -Beyond the quaint façade of the ancient house, -from the mullioned windows of which, half hidden -by ivy and wild roses, there streamed out many -a light into the darkness, his eyes wandered to -the fertile fields, all bare stubble now, to the wide -open moor overlooked by many a wooded tor, and -to the beautiful lawn, in the centre of which stands -one of those wonderful <i>logan-stones</i>, so peculiar to -Cornwall and Brittany, a ponderous, spheroidal -mass of granite, so exquisitely balanced that it may -be oscillated by the touch even of a woman's hand; -and as he turned away to indulge in deeper reverie -by the shore of the adjacent sea, he raised his right -hand and his glistening eyes to the stars, as if some -vow, as yet unuttered, was quivering on his tongue. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes?" he exclaimed, "please God and pray -God, the time will come; but not as my good uncle, -and not, as the careful Downie, anticipate. -Marriage! how little do they know how, in the great -lottery of life, my kismet—as we used to say in -India—has been fixed—irrevocably fixed!" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER III. -<br /><br /> -THE ALARM BELL. -</h3> - -<p> -The season was autumn now, and on the -succeeding day—the last he meant to spend at -Rhoscadzhel for some time at least—Richard Trevelyan -appeared in the breakfast parlour again in shooting -costume, with a scarlet shirt having an open collar, -and with a brown leather shot-belt over his shoulder; -while his uncle, who, even when at his slender -morning repast, in his elaborately flowered dressing-gown, -wore accurately fitting pale kid gloves on his -shrivelled hands, for such things were a necessity -of the old lord's existence; thus he glanced again -with an air of annoyance at the dress worn by his -eldest nephew, as he considered it a solecism, -decidedly in bad taste, and that something more -was due to his own presence. -</p> - -<p> -Downie's costume, a fashionable morning coat -came more near his lordship's ideas of propriety. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Jasper Funnel, in accurate black, was at the -side-table, to slice down the cold meat, pour out the -coffee from its silver urn into the beautiful Wedgewood -cups, and to carve the grouse and other pies; -for Cornwall is peculiarly the land of that species of -viand, as there the denizens make pies of everything -eatable, squab-pies, pilchard-pies, muggetty-pies, and -so forth. -</p> - -<p> -"I heard last evening the new chime of bells you -have put up in Lamorna Church," said Richard, as -he seated himself and attacked a plate of grouse, the -recent spoil of his own gun; "how pleasantly they -sound. Who rings them?" -</p> - -<p> -"I cannot say—never inquired," replied the old -peer, testily; "I can only tell you one thing, -Richard." -</p> - -<p> -"And that is——" -</p> - -<p> -"They were wrung out of my pocket by the vestry." -</p> - -<p> -At this little quip, Downie obsequiously and -applaudingly laughed as loudly as he was ever known -to do, and just as if he had never heard it before. -</p> - -<p> -"However, I need not grudge the poor people -their chime of bells; I am rich enough to afford -them more than that, and occupying as we do a -good slice of this <i>Land of Tin</i>, for so the Phoenicians -named this Cornish peninsula of ours as early as -the days of Solomon, we have its credit to maintain; -but bring us home a well-born and handsome bird, -Dick, and I shall have the bells rung till they fly to -pieces—by Jove I will! Only, as I hinted last -night, let her be worthy to represent those who lie -under their marble tombs in that old church of -Lamorna; for there are bones there that would -shrink in their leaden coffins if aught plebeian were -laid beside them." -</p> - -<p> -Richard shrugged his shoulders, and glanced round -him with impatience. -</p> - -<p> -"Let us look forward, my dear uncle," said he; -"in this age of progress all men do; and of what -account or avail can a dead ancestry be?" -</p> - -<p> -Downie smiled faintly, and Lord Lamorna frowned -in the act of decapitating an egg, for to his ears -this sounded as rank heresy or treason against the -state. -</p> - -<p> -"By heavens! nephew Richard, you talk like a -Red Republican. With these socialistic views of -equality, and so forth, I fear you will never shine in -the Upper House." -</p> - -<p> -"I have no desire to do so; you see how simple -my tastes are——" -</p> - -<p> -"In dress decidedly too much so." -</p> - -<p> -"And how happy and content I am to lead the -life of a quiet country gentleman; and have done -so ever since I left the Cornish Light Infantry." -</p> - -<p> -"Your demands upon my pocket are certainly so -moderate, that I cannot think you are playing me -false, Dick," said the peer, with a pleasant smile; -"egad, if I thought you were doing so, I'd have you -before the Mayor of Halgaver, as our Cornish folks -say!" -</p> - -<p> -"Trust me, my good uncle," replied Richard -Trevelyan, with a glistening eye, and laying a hand -caressingly on the old man's shoulder, as he rose -and adjusted his shot-belt; "and now I go to have -a farewell shot on the moors." -</p> - -<p> -"Why a farewell shot? you have been here barely -a fortnight." -</p> - -<p> -"Nevertheless, I must leave Rhoscadzhel tomorrow." -</p> - -<p> -"Positively?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, uncle." -</p> - -<p> -"Pardon me," continued Lamorna, drily; "but -may we inquire for where?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oxford—and then town after, perhaps." -</p> - -<p> -"Oxford—and town too," replied his uncle, -testily; "the last time you left this for London, -if General Trecarrel was right, you were seen for a -month after in his neighbourhood; and, if his story -were true—and I dare not doubt it—you did not -get beyond the border of Cornwall—and were -certainly not so far as Devonshire." -</p> - -<p> -"Trecarrel was, I hope, mistaken," urged Richard. -</p> - -<p> -"I hope so, too." -</p> - -<p> -Richard's face was pale, and to conceal his emotion, -he stooped and caressed his favourite pointer, which -had bounded in when the butler opened the door; -and soon recovering from his little agitation—whatever -its secret source might be—he politely and -affectionately bade his uncle "good-bye for the -present," nodded to the silent and observant Downie, -took a double-barrelled breech-loader from the -gun-room and sallied forth, unattended by game-keepers, -desiring quite as much to indulge in reverie -and enjoy a solitary ramble, as to have a shot at a -passing bird. -</p> - -<p> -To Richard it seemed that he had read a strangely -keen, weird and unfathomable expression in his -uncle's eyes, as they followed his departing steps -on this particular morning—an expression which, -somehow, haunted him. -</p> - -<p> -The season, we have said, was now autumn, and -a tender, mellow tone rested over all the landscape; -Richard Trevelyan was fond of the strange, wild -district—the land of old tradition, of bold and varied -scenery—amid which his youth and so much of his -manhood had been passed, and he looked around -him from time to time with admiring eyes and -an enthusiastic heart. -</p> - -<p> -A soft warm shower had fallen that morning -early, refreshing the fading September leaves in the -belts of coppice that girt the upland slopes, and in -the orchards, where the ripe golden apples were -dropping amid the thick sward below. Above the -purple, and often desolate moors which are so -characteristic of Cornish scenery, and where the -small breed of horses, the little black cattle and -sharp-nosed sheep of the province were grazing, -the wooded <i>tors</i> or hills stood boldly up in the -distance, their foliage in most instances presenting -many varied tints. There were the brown madder, -the crisped chesnut, and the fading beech, the more -faded green of the old Cornish elm, and the russet -fern below, from amid which at every step he took -the birds whirred up in coveys; while Richard, lost -in reverie—the result of his uncle's remarks of -late—never emptied a barrel at them, but walked slowly -on looking round him from time to time, and filled -with thoughts that were all his own as yet. -</p> - -<p> -The place where he loitered was very lonely: -here and there a gray lichen-spotted druidical -monolith stood grimly up amid the silent waste; -in the distance might be seen the gray expanse of -the ocean, or some bleak looking houses slated with -blue, as they usually are in Devon and Cornwall, -or perhaps some of those poorer huts, which, like -wigwams, have cob-walls; <i>i.e.</i> are built of earth, mud, -and straw, beaten and pounded together, just as -they might have been in the days of Bran the son -of Llyr, or when Arthur dwelt in Tintagel. -</p> - -<p> -Richard Trevelyan threw himself upon a grassy -bank, and his pointer, doubtless surprised by his -neglect of all sport, lay beside him with eyes of -wonder and tongue out-lolled. In the distance, -about a mile or so away, Trevelyan could see -Rhoscadzhel House shining in the morning sunlight; -and again, as on the preceding evening, he -looked around with a bitter smile upon tor and -moorland, and on the wondrous druid monoliths -that stand up here and there on the bleak hill sides, -each and all of them having their own quaint name -and grim old legend. -</p> - -<p> -How came each to be there? "Without patent -rollers; nay, without the simplest mechanical -contrivances of modern times, how was so huge a mass -transported to yonder desolate and wind-swept -height? How many yoke of oxen, how many -straining scores of men must it have taken to erect -the least of them! What submission to authority, -what servile or superstitious fear must have -animated the workers! No drover's whip would have -urged to such a task; no richest guerdon could -have repaid the toil; yet there the wonder stands!" -</p> - -<p> -And some such thoughts as these floated through -the mind of Richard, as his eyes wandered from a -cromlech or slab that rested on three great stones, -to a vast <i>maen</i> or rock-pillar, that might be coeval -with the days when Jacob set up such a stone to -witness his covenant with Laban. -</p> - -<p> -"Shall I ever wander here with Constance—and -if so, when," thought he; "assuredly not while my -uncle lives; but his death—how can I contemplate -it, when he is so good, so kind, so tender, and so -true to me? Oh, let me not anticipate that." -</p> - -<p> -How often in autumn, in the gloomy mornings -of November, had he pursued the fox over these -desolate moors, often breakfasting by candle-light -in his red coat on a hunting morning, to the great -boredom of old Jasper Funnel? -</p> - -<p> -What joy it would be to gallop over that breezy -wind-swept moor, with Constance by his side! To -walk with her through yonder dense old thicket, -and tell her that every tree and twig therein were -her own; to drive by yonder cliff, Tol Pedn Penwith, -the western boundary of a beautiful bay, and -where in the summer evening, the forty Isles of -Scilly seemed to be cradled in the glory of the -western sun; to show her all these places with -which he was so familiar, and perhaps to tell their -children in the years to come—for all Richard's -habits and tastes were alike gentle and domestic—the -old Cornish legends of Arthur's castle at Tintagel, -of the magic well of St. Keyne, and of Tregeagle -the giant—the bugbear of all Cornish little -people; the melancholy monster or fiend, who -according to traditions still believed in, haunts the -Dozmare Pool, from whence he hurled the vast -granite blocks, known as his "quoits," upon the -coast westward of Penzance Head; the deep dark -Pool, his dwelling place, is said to be unfathomable -and the resort of other evil spirits. -</p> - -<p> -Desolate and begirt by arid and dreary hills, it -presents an aspect of gloomy horror; and then when -the winter storms sweep the moorland wastes, and -the miners at the Land's End, deep, deep down in -mines below the sea, hear the enormous boulders -dashed by it on the flinty shore overhead, above all -can be heard the howling of Tregeagle! For ages -he has been condemned to the task of emptying the -Dozrnare Pool by a tiny limpet-shell, and his cries -are uttered in despair of the hopelessness of the -drudgery assigned him by the devil, who in moments -of impatience, hunts him round the tarn, till he flies -to the Roche Rocks fifteen miles distant, and finds -respite by placing his hideous head through the -painted window of a ruined chapel, as a bumpkin -might through a horse-collar; for these, and a -thousand such stories as these, are believed in -Cornwall, nor can even the whistle of the railway -from Plymouth to Penzance scare them away. -</p> - -<p> -Richard Trevelyan was smiling when he remembered -how often he and Downie, when loving little -brothers and playfellows, had been scared in their -cribs at night by stories of Tregeagle; and of that -other mighty giant who lies buried beneath Carn -Brea, where his clenched skeleton hand, now -converted into a block of granite (having five -distinct parts, like a thumb and fingers) protrudes -through the turf. -</p> - -<p> -He could recall the dark hours, when as fair-haired -children, they had cowered together in one of the -tapestried rooms of Rhoscadzhel, and clasped -each other's hands and necks in fear of those -hob-goblins, which people the very rock and cavern, and -even the very air of Cornwall. Downie was a man -now, legal in bearing, and cold-blooded in heart. -Richard had painful doubts of him, and remembered, -that, strangely enough his hand <i>alone</i>, had always -failed to rock the logan-stone in the lawn before -Rhoscadzhel, and such monuments of antiquity, -have, according to Mason, the properties of an -ordeal—the test of truth and probity: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Behold yon huge<br /> - And unhewn sphere of living adamant,<br /> - Which, poised by magic, rests its central weight<br /> - On yonder pointed rock: firm as it seems,<br /> - Such is its strange and virtuous property,<br /> - It moves obsequious to the gentlest touch<br /> - Of him whose heart is pure; but to a traitor,<br /> - Tho' e'en a giant's prowess nerv'd his arm,<br /> - It stands as fixed as Snowdon!"<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Even the childish hands of his little daughter -Gartha, could rock the logan-stone, when Downie's -failed to do so. Why was this? Was there indeed -any truth in the ancient test of integrity and purity -of heart; or was it but an engine of religious -imposition? And now amid these unpleasant -speculations, there came to the loiterer's ear, the -tolling of a distant bell. -</p> - -<p> -He started up, and listened. -</p> - -<p> -It was, beyond a doubt, the house-bell of Rhoscadzhel, -and was being rung violently and continuously, -for the breeze brought the notes distinctly -over the furzy waste. -</p> - -<p> -What could have happened? Fire—or was he -wanted in haste? Was his uncle indisposed; were -his fears, his hopes and wishes, though blended with -sorrow, to be realised at last? -</p> - -<p> -His breath came thick and painfully, and he -remembered with something of foreboding—for his -Cornish breeding rendered him superstitious and -impressionable—that as he had passed Larnorna -church that morning, he had seen, on the rough -lichstones at the entrance to the sequestered -church-yard, a coffin rested prior to interment, while the -soft sad psalmody of those who had borne it thither—a -band of hardy miners—floated through the still -and ambient air; for the custom of bearing the dead -to their last resting place with holy songs—a usage -in the East, as old as the fourth century—is still -observed in Cornwall, that land of quaint traditions -and picturesque old memories. -</p> - -<p> -Springing to his feet, Richard Trevelyan discharged -both barrels of his gun into the air, and -hurried in the direction of the manor house. -</p> - -<p> -As he drew nearer, the sonorous clangour of the -great bell, which was now rung at intervals, but with -great vigour, continued to increase, adding to the -surprise and tumult of his heart, and the perturbation -of his spirit. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER IV. -<br /><br /> -POWDERED WITH TEARS. -</h3> - -<p> -A mounted footman, who approached him at full -speed, pulled up for a moment and respectfully -touched his hat, for he was one of the Lamorna -household. -</p> - -<p> -"What is the matter?" asked Richard. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, sir—oh, Mr. Richard—my lord is taken -very ill." -</p> - -<p> -"Ill—my uncle?" -</p> - -<p> -"He is quite senseless, and Mr. Downie Trevelyan -has sent me for the doctor." -</p> - -<p> -"Then ride on and lose no time," replied Richard, -as he hastened to the house, where he found -confusion and dismay predominant, the servants -hovering in the vestibule, conversing in whispers and -listening at the library door, while Jasper Funnel -and Mrs. Duntreath, the old housekeeper (a lineal -descendant of the Dolly Duntreath, so well-known -in Cornwall), were mingling their sighs and regrets -for the loss of so good a master. -</p> - -<p> -"Where is my uncle?" asked Richard, impetuously. -</p> - -<p> -"In the lib—lib—library," sobbed the housekeeper, -with her black silk apron at her eyes, and as -Richard advanced, Jasper Funnel softly opened the -door. The favourite nephew entered the long -spacious and splendid apartment, which occupied -nearly the entire length of one of the wings of -Rhoscadzhel, its shelves of dark wainscot filled by -books in rare and magnificent bindings, with white -marble busts of the great and learned men of -classical antiquity looking calmly down on what was -passing below. -</p> - -<p> -The fire-place wras deep and old; but a seacoal -fire was burning cheerily in the bright steel modern -grate; and as if he was in a dream, seeing the far -stretching lawn, with its tufts of waving fern and -stately lines of elm and oak, as he passed the tall -windows noiselessly on the soft Turkey carpet, -Richard drew hastily near the great arm-chair, in -which his uncle was seated, dead—stone-dead, with -Downie, somewhat pale and disordered in aspect, -bending over him! -</p> - -<p> -The old man had suddenly passed away—disease -of the heart, as it proved eventually, had assailed -him while seated at his writing-table. -</p> - -<p> -On Richard's entrance and approach, Downie -hurriedly took from the table and thrust into his -pocket, a document which looked most legally and -suspiciously like a "last will and testament;" but -quick though the action, Richard could perceive that -the document, whatever it was, had no signatures of -any kind. -</p> - -<p> -Richard knelt by his uncle's side; he felt his -pulses; they had ceased to beat; his heart was cold -and still, and there came no sign of breath upon the -polished surface of the mirror he held before the -fallen jaw; with something of remorse Richard -thought,— -</p> - -<p> -"No later than this morning I deceived him—and -he loved me so—was ever my friend and second -father!—I thought," he added aloud, to Downie, -"that his eyes wore an unusual expression this -morning—a weird, keen, farseeing kind of look, -such as I never read in them before." -</p> - -<p> -"I fancied that I perceived some such expression -myself, and consequently, at his years, was the less -alarmed, or shall I say shocked, when in the very -act of speaking to me, a sudden spasm came over -his features—a deep sigh, almost a faint cry escaped -him, and he sank back in his chair, when just about -to write. See, there is the pen on the floor, exactly -where it fell from his relaxed fingers." -</p> - -<p> -Richard's honest eyes were filled with tears, and -mechanically he picked up the pen and laid it on the -desk. -</p> - -<p> -"Writing, say you, Downie; and what was he -writing?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I cannot say—a letter to his steward, I -believe." -</p> - -<p> -"But—I see no letter." -</p> - -<p> -"He was just about to commence it," replied -Downie, whose usually pale face coloured a little. -</p> - -<p> -"And that paper you pocketed in such haste, -Downie, what was it?" -</p> - -<p> -"Nothing, Richard, that can concern you -(by-the-by, you are Lord Lamorna now!) or that -fair one whose portrait you exhibit so ostentatiously -just now." -</p> - -<p> -Richard started, alike at the title so suddenly -accorded to him by his brother, and at the reference -to the portrait, for in the confusion or haste, as he -bent over his dead uncle, a little miniature, which -he wore at a ribbon round his neck, depicting a very -beautiful dark-eyed woman, had slipped from his -vest, and with an exclamation of annoyance, he -hastened to conceal it. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Who</i> is the lady, Richard?" asked Downie. -</p> - -<p> -"As yet, that must remain my secret," replied -Richard; "a little time, my dear fellow, and we -shall have no mysteries among us." -</p> - -<p> -Downie, secretly, was not ill-pleased by this -diversion, in which Richard forgot the subject of -the paper. -</p> - -<p> -The doctor soon came—a village practitioner—fussy -and full of importance; but nevertheless -skilful; and he decided that disease of the -heart—a malady under which, though ignorant of its -existence, the deceased had long laboured—had -proved the immediate cause of death. The poor -shrivelled remains of the proud old lord were conveyed -to the principal bed-room of the mansion, and there -laid in a species of state, upon a four-posted bed, -that rose from a daïs, and was all draped with black. -His coronet and Order of the Bath, together with -that of St. Anne, which he received when ambassador -in Russia, were deposited at his feet upon a crimson -velvet cushion, that was tasseled with gold; while -two tall footmen in complete livery with long canes -draped with crape, mounted guard beside the coffin -day and night, to their own great disgust and annoyance, -till the time of the funeral, of which Richard -took the entire charge; and which, in a spirit of -affection and good taste, he resolved should be in all -respects exactly what the deceased peer would have -wished it to be. -</p> - -<p> -The features of the latter became, for a time, -young and beautiful in their manliness and perfect -regularity, while all the lines engraven there by Time -were smoothed out, if not completely effaced. -</p> - -<p> -"How like our father, as I can remember him, he -looks!" whispered Downie, more softened than usual, -by the hallowing presence of death. -</p> - -<p> -But Richard was thinking of another face whom -the dead man resembled—a young and beloved face -to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Denzil did you say?" he stammered. -</p> - -<p> -"I said our father," replied Downie, sharply. -</p> - -<p> -"True, he died young," was the confused -reply. -</p> - -<p> -"Your mind wanders, surely?" said Downie, with -a dark and inexplicable expression in his now -averted face; but Richard saw it not, he was simply -taking a farewell glance of one who had loved him -so well; his manly heart was soft, and his dark-blue -eyes were full with the tears of honest affection -and gratitude. -</p> - -<p> -So Audley Lord Lamorna was dead, and all now -turned to Richard as their new and future master; -all the blinds in Rhoscadzhel were drawn down by -order of Mrs. Duntreath, and all went about on -tiptoe or spoke in subdued voices, especially Downie, -who in his heart thought that Richard was spending -"far too much in ostrich feathers, crimson coffins, -and other mummery," among undertakers, and -heraldic painters, too; but he was more politic than -to say so—even to his wife, who, with her daughter -Gartha, a pretty girl in her teens, had been on a -visit to General Trecarrel, and now duly arrived to -act as mistress of the mansion, <i>pro tem.</i>, during the -solemnities of which it was to be the scene. -</p> - -<p> -She was warmly welcomed by Richard Trevelyan; -she was his only brother's wife, and he had none of -his own to take her place there—as yet. -</p> - -<p> -A peevish and foolish woman of fashion, who -had once possessed undoubted beauty, Mrs. Downie -Trevelyan was generally treated as a kind of cypher -now by her husband; but nevertheless he consulted -her at times, on certain matters of common interest. -She still clung tenaciously to the tradition of her -former beauty, and sought to retain it by the aid -of pearl powder, the faintest indication of rouge -perhaps, and by the prettiest of matronly headdresses -made of the costliest lace. She was always -languid, somewhat dreary, and spent most of her -time with a novel in one hand, and a magnificent -little bottle of ether, or some strong perfume, in -the other. To Richard her society was decidedly a -bore; but at this crisis he was full of business, and -occupied by a depth of thought that was apparent -to all. -</p> - -<p> -Six tall servants in mourning scarfs, and in the -livery of the Trevelyans, bore upon their shoulders -the crimson velvet coffin containing the remains of -the late lord, to the vault where his forefathers lay, -and where many of them had been interred by -torchlight, in times long past. -</p> - -<p> -There was something feudal, stately, and solemn -in the aspect of the procession, when between two -lines of all the tenantry, standing bare-headed, it -wound down the old avenue, where the leaves were -almost as thick, the sun as bright, and the birds -singing as merrily as they might have been when -Lord Launcelot rode there by the Queen's bridle, -or when he and his cavaliers fled from Fairfax to -seek shelter in Trewoofe; and so his descendant -Audley was laid at last, where so many of his -predecessors lie side by side, "ranged in mournful -order and in a kind of silent pomp," each coffin -bearing the names, titles and arms of its mouldering -occupant. -</p> - -<p> -Pondering on who might stand here when his -turn came to be lowered down there, Richard, the -new lord, stood at the head of the tomb, pale, and -with more emotion than met the eye; Downie stood -on his right hand, and the heir of the latter, well -bronzed by the sun of India, on his left, three of his -younger brothers, held with a ribbon. Their old -friend, General Trecarrel, stood grimly and erect at -the foot. The vault was closed, and the body of -Audley, tenth Lord Lamorna, that frail tenement, -which he had petted and pampered, of which he -had been so careful and so vain, for some seventy -years, was left to the worms at last! -</p> - -<p> -The assemblage dispersed, and the world went on -as usual. -</p> - -<p> -The bell of the village church, which had all -morning tolled minute strokes, ceased; and after a -time the new chimes rang out a merry peal in -honour of his successor. It was in Cornwall as -at St. Cloud; <i>le Roi est mort—vive le Roi!</i> -</p> - -<p> -The old general, who had no fancy for a mansion -of gloom, departed, and took back with him -Downie's son Audley, a jolly young subaltern, -whom we shall soon meet elsewhere. -</p> - -<p> -But prior to this departure, there had been the -reading of the will, an affair of great solemnity, in -the library, the same apartment where the late lord -died; and his solicitors, Messrs. Gorbelly and -Culverhole, a fat and a lean pair of lawyers, felt -all their vulgar importance on the occasion. -</p> - -<p> -There were a few handsome presents to old and -faithful servants, including Jasper Funnel and -Mrs. Duntreath (whose sobs became somewhat intrusive), -and Richard found himself Lord of Rhoscadzhel -and Lamorna, with an unfettered fortune of thirty -thousand per annum; while Downie had a bequest -of less than the third of that sum, together with some -jewelry, including the Russian diamond ring for his -wife and daughter Gartha. -</p> - -<p> -So whatever had been the object or the tenor of -that document which the astute barrister had so -evidently prepared, and which he had thrust into -his pocket so hastily and awkwardly on that eventful -morning, Richard was as safely installed in the -estates as in his hereditary title; and the moment -he found himself alone, he became immersed in -letter-writing. -</p> - -<p> -Opening the crimson morocco blotting pad which -his uncle had last used, and which had his coronet -and crest, the wild-cat, stamped in gold thereon, -he saw some words written in his brother's hand, -and these, on investigation proved to be, "This is -the last will and testament of me, L——" (doubtless -Lord Lamorna); further on, as if at the bottom -of the page, he could detect the name of "Porthellick," -and a dark flush of passion crimsoned the -face of Richard. He thought again of the -document he had seen in Downie's hand; their uncle -could certainly never have signed it, but some -painful doubts—added to intense sorrow for their -existence—grew strong in Richard's heart, which -was a true and generous one. -</p> - -<p> -"My dear Constance—my long suffering darling!" -he muttered, almost aloud; "the day is now near when -all your doubts and my dissimulation to the world -shall end. Thank God, the time has almost come." -</p> - -<p> -And he rode forth, to post with his own hand a -letter he had written. -</p> - -<p> -He was barely gone ere Downie, who had been -quietly observing his motions, also made an -investigation of the blotting pad which Richard had just -closed, and therein he saw what seemed to be the -address of a recent letter. He held the pink sheet -between his eyes and the light, and read clearly -enough, "Mrs. Devereaux, Porthellick Cottage." -</p> - -<p> -And the lawyer smiled sourly, but with great -uneasiness, nevertheless, and he muttered aloud, -</p> - -<p> -"I had but vague suspicions before—and now all -my knowledge has come too late—too late!" -</p> - -<p> -"I am so sorry to hear you say so, dear," said -his graceful little wife, the rustle of whose -fashionable mourning suit he had been too much -preoccupied to hear, as she glided into the library, in -search of one of the many uncut novels that now -littered the tables; "sorry chiefly for the sake of -our dear Audley, and Gartha, and the other little -ones." -</p> - -<p> -"Your know to what I refer—the succession; it -may not be so hopeless or irreparable as we -think." -</p> - -<p> -"But your uncle died with his will unchanged." -</p> - -<p> -"True; I pressed upon him lately my belief that -Richard had formed that—of which he had a horror -so great—a <i>mésalliance</i>—in fact, a low or improper -attachment for one beneath us in rank and name. -My uncle's fury became great, and to take advantage -of the time, I placed before him a will, leaving all -his estates, as he had a hundred times threatened -to do, to me and mine. I had the document ready -written, and placed it before him; but as fate -would have it, in his pride, fury, and resentment, a -spasm seized the old man, and he fell back dying, -actually with the pen in his hand, after I had dipped -it in that silver inkstand and placed it between his -fingers." -</p> - -<p> -"How extremely unfortunate!" said Mrs. Downie -Trevelyan, placing her scent-bottle languidly to her -little pink nostrils. -</p> - -<p> -"Unfortunate? It was a narrow chance by which -to lose thirty thousand a year!" said Downie, grinding -his teeth, while his eyes gleamed like two bits of -grey glass in moonlight. "There is some mystery -about Richard's life; moreover, he wears a woman's -miniature at his neck." -</p> - -<p> -"Young—is she?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well—yes—she seems so." -</p> - -<p> -"And pretty?" added Mrs. Downie, glancing at -herself in a mirror. -</p> - -<p> -"Very." -</p> - -<p> -"His intended, perhaps?" -</p> - -<p> -"I hope she is not more than that; but time -must soon show now." -</p> - -<p> -And over the porte-cochère of Rhoscadzhel there -now hung a vast lozenge-shaped hatchment or -funeral escutcheon, the sight of which would have -delighted him, whose memory it was meant to -honour, being the achievement of a bachelor peer, -representing the arms of Lamorna in a shield -complete—the demi-horse <i>argent</i> of the Trevelyans -rising from the sea; over all, the baron's coronet, -crest, motto, and mantling, collared by the Orders -of the Bath and St. Anne; and after some old -fashion, retained still only in Germany, Scotland, -and France, the herald-painter had depicted at -each corner a death-head, while all the black -interstices were <i>powdered with tears</i>. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER V. -<br /><br /> -PORTHELLICK VILLA. -</h3> - -<p> -More than forty miles distant from Rhoscadzhel, -on that part of the Cornish coast which is washed -by the waves of the Bristol Channel, at a place -named Porthellick, or the Cove of Willows, was a -beautiful white-walled villa, built in the Greek style -of architecture, with an Ionic portico of six carved -and painted wooden pillars. Its windows opened -in the French fashion, and descended to the floor; -luxuriant creepers, jasmines, and sweet brier, were -trained on green trellis-work around it, and rare -plants of gorgeous colours grew in stone vases, -which were placed in a double row along the smooth -gravelled terrace, from which the basement of the -cottage rose—for the villa was a cottage in -character, being but a one storeyed dwelling, though -spacious and handsome, and having a noble -conservatory and coach-house and stabling, and an -approach of half a mile in length, bordered by -a double line of those magnificent willows from -which the place took its name, and affording, -from the principal windows in front, an ample -view of the sea, with ever and anon, a white sail -lingering in the dim blue distance, or a passing -steamer, with its pennant of smoke, streaming -astern, as it sped towards Ireland or the Isle -of Man. -</p> - -<p> -On the evening of that day when Lord Lamorna -died so suddenly, a lady was standing under the -portico of this house, looking anxiously, not -seaward, but inland, towards the willow avenue, by -which her residence was approached from the road -that leads by Stratton, among the hills, towards -Camelford and Wadebridge, near the rocky valley of -Hanter-Gantick. -</p> - -<p> -The lady looked repeatedly at her watch, consulted -a railway time-table, and entered the house, -only to return to her post, and bend her eyes in -anxious gaze along the avenue. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Devereaux, for it was she, was -young-looking—marvellously so for her years; she seemed to be -quite a girl still; yet she was fully four-and-thirty, -and the mother of two children. This youthful -appearance doubtless arose from her very petite -and slender figure; her strictly fashionable style -of dress, and the piquante beauty that shone in -the minute features of her charming little face. -Her eyes were dark, yet full of light and sparkle, -though their long lashes imparted a great softness -of expression. Her eyebrows were very dark and -well-defined—some might have deemed them too -much so; but they imparted great character to -her face. Her mouth and chin were perfect; her -teeth like those of a child; and over all, her -face, figure, and bearing, even to every motion of -her hands and feet, Mrs. Devereaux was exquisitely -lady-like. -</p> - -<p> -"At last—at last they come!" she exclaimed; -"and yonder is my dear, dear Denzil, whom I have -not seen for so many, many months," she added, as -her eyes filled with tears, and her soft cheek flushed -with all a mother's joy. -</p> - -<p> -As she uttered her thoughts aloud, a little -basket-phaeton, drawn by two lovely cream-coloured -Shetland ponies, was seen bowling down the avenue of -pale green willows; a young lady was handling the -ribbons of these Lilliputian steeds in a very masterly -style; and beside her sat a young man, attired in -fashionable travelling costume, who was alternately -waving his cap and a newspaper, which he flourished -so vigorously, that the sleek, brindled cattle grazing -in the clover meadows close by, lifted their great -brown eyes as if inquiringly, while the little drag, -with its varnished wheels flashing, dashed along -towards the villa, the walls of which shone white -as snow in the evening sunlight. -</p> - -<p> -The phaeton was reined up before the portico, -when a handsome lad of eighteen, with fine regular -features, dark blue—almost black—eyes, and short -fair curly hair, sprang out, and was instantly clasped -to his mother's breast. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, mamma—we have such news for you!" -exclaimed the young lady, who seemed an exact -reproduction of Mrs. Devereaux in height and face, -though barely seventeen, with dark eyes and hair; -"oh, such news!" she added, in high, girlish -excitement, as she tossed her whip and reins to a -groom who came promptly from the stable-yard, -Derrick Braddon, once a soldier in Richard's regiment— -</p> - -<p> -"Surely mamma knows all," said the youth; -"have you not seen the <i>Gazette</i>?" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Gazette</i>?" repeated Mrs. Devereaux, growing -very pale, as she led her son caressingly into the -little morning-room, where a hasty repast had -been prepared for him and his sister, and -which opened off a handsome little vestibule, -hung with fox-brushes crossed, the trophies of -many a hunting day, brought home by his father, -"Captain Devereaux." -</p> - -<p> -"Denzil is now an officer, mamma," said the -young girl, throwing off her hat and looking -admiringly at her brother; "I was just in time to -meet him at the train." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, mamma—I was yesterday gazetted to an -ensigncy in the Cornish Light Infantry,—got leave -from Sandhurst, and at once came right slick down -here. Oh, how proud papa will be—is he not -here?" -</p> - -<p> -"No," replied Mrs. Devereaux, faintly; "and how -does your name appear in the <i>Gazette</i>?" -</p> - -<p> -"Here it is, mamma, dear," replied the youth, -pointing to the paper he had been flourishing, and -feeling proud to see his name, for the first time, in -print. "'Cornish Light Infantry; Lieutenant -Audley Trevelyan, from the 14th Hussars, to be -lieutenant, vice Gascoigne, killed in action. Denzil -Devereaux, gentleman cadet, from the Royal Military -College, Sandhurst, to be ensign, vice Foster, -deceased.' And now, mamma, I am done at last -with all the boredom of Euclid and fortification, -Trigonometry, and all the rest of it." -</p> - -<p> -"And you will soon be done with poor mamma, too!" -</p> - -<p> -"Nay, mamma, dear; that can never, never be!" -replied the lad, as he threw his arms round her neck -and kissed away the tears that were already oozing -from her long and beautiful eyelashes; "but I do -so wish papa were at home—I have so much to tell, -and so much to ask him!" -</p> - -<p> -"Denzil—Devereaux?" said the mother, ponderingly, -and as if to herself. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, mamma; and few fellows at Sandhurst had -more marks opposite their names than Denzil -Devereaux, for I worked hard that I might choose -my own regiment; so I chose the 32nd because I am -a kind of Cornish man, and because it was papa's old -corps. Oh, how pleased he will be!" -</p> - -<p> -"And where is the regiment stationed now?" -asked Mrs. Devereaux, in a low voice. -</p> - -<p> -"In India." -</p> - -<p> -"India?" she repeated, mechanically, as if that -separation, which is but as a living death, had -already begun. -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder who the Audley Trevelyan figuring -along with me in the <i>Gazette</i>, may be. It is a pure -Cornish name." -</p> - -<p> -His mother was weeping now, and Sybil, who had -hitherto been silent, began to do so from sympathy; -for already, so we have said, the pang of the coming -parting was felt, and the maternal heart was wrung -at the thought of a long and doubtful separation -from her only son—her Denzil—whom she deemed -beautiful as Apollo, and clever as the admirable -Crichton; for the Overland Route had not been -opened, there was no electric cable to India, and its -nearest point was distant a six months' journey by sea -round the Cape; and so, full of aching thoughts that -her children could not share—thoughts that must be -all her own till her husband returned—poor -Mrs. Devereaux could only fold her son to her breast and -weep, till the young man's military and boyish -enthusiasm became dulled, and his naturally warm and -affectionate heart grew full with a perplexity that was -akin to remorse, for seeking to leave her side and -push his way in the world as a soldier. Yet that -was the only career his father had ever indicated to -him. -</p> - -<p> -"A letter from papa—our dear papa!" exclaimed -Sybil, glad to cause some diversion from the gathering -gloom, as she caught the missive from the hand -of the village postman, who appeared outside the -open window. -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder if he has heard of my appointment," -surmised Denzil, his thoughts reverting to their old -channel. -</p> - -<p> -"It is sealed and edged with black!" exclaimed -Sybil; "and—how singular—it bears the Penzance -postmark!" -</p> - -<p> -"How is this, mamma—I thought papa was in -London?" asked Denzil. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Devereaux trembled violently, as she tore -open the letter, and muttering an excuse hastily left -the room with it. -</p> - -<p> -"What's up," said the ex-cadet, as he applied himself -to the sherry decanter; "by Jove, Sybil, this is a -strange way of receiving papa's letter. Who is dead, -I wonder—I hope there is nothing wrong with him, -anyway!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, can he have met with an accident?" -</p> - -<p> -"Scarcely, as the letter is written by himself; but -to be at Penzance when we all thought he was in -town—very odd, isn't it?" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VI. -<br /><br /> -RICHARD'S MYSTERY. -</h3> - -<p> -To explain much that the reader may have -begun to suspect or misjudge, we must now go -back a few years, into the private life of Richard -Trevelyan. -</p> - -<p> -When stationed with his regiment in Montreal he -had made, at some public assembly, the acquaintance -of Constance Devereaux, then a girl fresh from -school. He was fascinated by her rare beauty, and -a certain <i>espieglerie</i> of manner, which the thoughts -and cares of future years eventually crushed out of -her; and she, on her part, was dazzled by the -attentions of a handsome and wealthy young officer; for -Richard being his uncle's favourite nephew and heir, -received from him a handsome yearly allowance, in -addition to that which he inherited from his father. -</p> - -<p> -Unfortunately Constance Devereaux, with all her -beauty and accomplishments, was the daughter of -one who would have been deemed of very humble -caste indeed, if judged by the standard applied to -such matters at Rhoscadzhel. The girl loved him -passionately and blindly, and little foreseeing all such -a step would cost her in the end, she consented to a -private marriage; so they were united in secret by -Père Latour, the catholic curé of the chapel of -St. Mary, near Montreal; an acolyte of the chapel and -Richard's servant, a soldier named Derrick Braddon, -being the only witnesses. -</p> - -<p> -The marriage was duly registered in the books of -the little church, and an attested copy was lodged -with the curé who performed the ceremony; but as -the regiment was ordered soon after to another -colony, it was left in his hands for the time. -</p> - -<p> -Richard obtained leave of absence, and soon after, -much to his uncle's surprise, left the army by selling -out, and led a kind of wandering life on the -Continent, taking his wife's name of Devereaux, the -better to conceal from the proud, and as yet -unsuspecting old lord, the <i>mésalliance</i> he had -formed—a union, however; of which he had never cause to -repent, for his wife was gentle and tender, and -possessed many brilliant mental qualities; but well -did Richard know that if that union were discovered, -the immense fortune, which was at Lord Lamorna's -entire disposal, would be left, if not altogether to -Downie, to others, and past himself and the heirs of -his line; and that such a calamity should not occur -he became more anxious and more solicitous after -the birth of two children, a son whom he named -Denzil, after his own father, and a daughter, Sybil, -born to them since their wanderings in Italy. -</p> - -<p> -Many difficulties attended the course of this secret -matrimonial life! Even in their continental travels, -when seeking the most secluded places, stray -English tourists would come suddenly upon them if -they ventured near a table d'hôte; once or twice an -old brother officer, or other people who knew or -recognised in the so-called Captain Devereaux, -Richard Trevelyan; and then mysterious nods or -knowing smiles were exchanged, and odd whispers -went abroad in the clubs of London and -elsewhere—innuendoes that would have withered up the heart -of Constance had she heard them. -</p> - -<p> -She knew all that might be suspected, and felt -that the positions of herself and her children, were -alike false and liable to misconstruction; that -malignant scandal might be busy with the names of -them all. But the die was cast now, and she had -but to suffer and endure; to pray and to wait the -death of the poor old man who was so kind to her -husband, and who loved him so well—yet not well -enough to forgive—had he ever discovered it—the -deception which had been practised upon him and -upon society. -</p> - -<p> -Repining in secret, sorrowing for the falsehood of -her position, knowing that her husband, the father of -her children, passed in the world as an eligible -bachelor, the object of many a designing mother, -open to the attentions, the coquetries and captivations -of their daughters, aware that he resided with -her only by stealth and under another name than his -own, Constance had indeed much to endure, though -rewarded in some degree therefor, to see her -children growing up in health and beauty, each a -reproduction of their parents, for Denzil had all the -personal attributes of his father, with much higher -mental qualities, while the soft-eyed Sybil possessed -all the dark beauty, the petite figure and lady-like -grace of Constance herself. -</p> - -<p> -The latter, we have said, was but the daughter of -a Canadian trader; yet amid all the ease and luxury -with which her husband's ample means and tender -love supplied her, there were times, when she could -not but murmur in her heart at the anomaly of -her situation, so different from the honest security -of her father's humble home, and her native pride -revolted against it; and with this pride there grew a -species of shame, which she felt to be totally -unmerited, and then she felt an utter loathing for -the very name of Lord Lamorna, (though it should -one day be borne by her own husband) as being the -cause of all her secret suffering, her dread of the -present and doubt of the future. -</p> - -<p> -On the education of their children, Richard, who -doted on them, had spared nothing. Both were -highly accomplished, and wherever they had -wandered they had the most talented masters that -wealth could procure. Now Denzil had taken the -highest prizes at Sandhurst and was gazetted to a -Regiment of the Line, and was going forth into -the world under the false name of Devereaux! -</p> - -<p> -How was this to be altered—how explained and -rectified? -</p> - -<p> -A necessity for being much about Rhoscadzhel, -as being the heir to the estates and as his uncle's -years increased, had compelled Richard Trevelyan -to be more often present in his native county than -he had hitherto been; hence, he had settled his -secret ties in the pretty little villa of Porthellick, at -what he conceived to be a safe distance of some -forty miles or so from the residence of Lord -Lamorna. -</p> - -<p> -In and about that villa he was simply known as -"Captain Devereaux," and as he had almost entirely -relinquished hunting and field sports—save an occasional -shot at a bird—and when there lived a retired -and secluded life; and as his wife and children -seemed to live for themselves and him only, making -friends with few save the poor and ailing, time -glided by, and the mystery of Richard's career was -never fully laid bare. -</p> - -<p> -For those there are in this world (and his uncle -was one) who would have pardoned Richard making -Constance Devereaux his mistress, and yet would -mockingly have resented his making her a wedded -wife! -</p> - -<p> -Lamorna's friend General Trecarrel—the representative -of one of the oldest families in Cornwall—who -lived near Porthellick, had met Richard on -horseback more than once in the vicinity of that -place, when he was supposed to be in London, -Paris, or elsewhere, and the mention of these -circumstances caused Mr. Downie Trevelyan, who, as -we have shown, had a keen personal interest in the -matter, to prosecute certain inquiries in that part -of the duchy, and the result led him to believe that -the Captain Devereaux who occasionally resided at -the Grecian Villa in the Willow Cove, and his -irreproachable brother Richard, were one and the same -person! -</p> - -<p> -If it were so, the character of the lady must -be—he supposed—somewhat questionable; and -Downie knew right well that their uncle might -forgive a liaison, but never a marriage with one of an -inferior grade. The conduct and bearing of the -lady at the villa seemed unimpeachable; so Downie -had long felt doubtful how to act, and only indulged -in vague hints to his brother's prejudice. -</p> - -<p> -The pride and anger even these had kindled in -the heart of the old lord, who was now gone, and -the threats in which he had indulged, afforded -Richard Trevelyan a fair specimen of what would -assuredly be the result were his marriage ever -known at Rhoscadzhel; and when pressed on the -subject pretty pointedly, he had assured his -uncle—while his cheek flushed and his heart burned with -shame—that he was still unwedded and free; and -even as he made the false avowal, the soft pleading -eyes of Constance, his own true wife, and the voices -of their children, came vividly and upbraidingly to -memory! -</p> - -<p> -Now the foolish old man had passed away, the -barrier was removed, and all should be made light -that had hitherto been darkness, as her husband's -hastily written letter informed her. -</p> - -<p> -Yet she thought, with honest indignation, how -hard it was that she had been for all these eighteen -years and more kept out of her proper sphere as -the wedded wife of Richard Trevelyan, often taking -almost flight from <i>this</i> town and <i>that</i> hotel, lest he -should be recognised; consigned hence to a life of -secresy and seclusion; a life that might yet cast -doubts upon the very name and birth of her -children, through the whim, the old-fashioned pride -and folly of an absurd and antiquated peer, whose -ideas went back, even far beyond the days of his -youth, when people travelled in stage-coaches, used -sand and sealing-wax for letters; when steam and -telegraphy were unknown, when papers were -published weekly at sixpence; and was one who deemed -that railways, electricity, penny-dailies, and what is -generally known as progress, are sending all the -world to ruin. -</p> - -<p> -Her husband's letter filled her with joy. He -playfully added, "I fear I have drunk of the well of -St. Keyne before you," alluding to the well-known -spring near Liskeard, a draught from which the -Cornish folks suppose will ensure ascendancy in -domestic affairs, and the letter was signed for the -first time "Your loving husband, LAMORNA." -</p> - -<p> -How strange to her eye the new signature looked. -She felt somehow that she preferred his old one of -"Richard." But they were one and the same now, -and a little time should see her in her place, as -mistress of that stately dwelling, Rhoscadzhel, which -she had only seen once from a distance, and felt -then, with an emotion of unmerited humiliation, -that she could not, and dared not, enter. -</p> - -<p> -Like all its predecessors, this letter, that -contained so much in a few lines, was addressed to her -as "Mrs. Devereaux," and she felt a momentary -pang, but remembered that to have addressed her -by the title, which was now so justly hers, might -have sorely perplexed the rural postman of her -neighbourhood. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap07"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VII. -<br /><br /> -LADY LAMORNA. -</h3> - -<p> -It was a difficult task for Constance Devereaux -to conceal her undeniable joy from her affectionate -and observant son and daughter; and her heart -would sometimes upbraid her that she should feel -thus happy on an occasion which must cause them -all to wear mourning, the external livery of at least -conventional woe. -</p> - -<p> -Denzil and his sister attributed her alternate fits -of radiance and silence to pleasure at the anticipated -return of their father, who on this occasion had -necessarily been longer absent than usual from the -Villa at Porthellick. -</p> - -<p> -The equivocation and anxiety of years—years the -happiness of which had in it so much of alloy—were -about to be removed now! She was at last -Constance Lady Lamorna of Rhoscadzhel—the -wife of him who represented one of the oldest, and -perhaps, most noble families in the duchy; but one -passage in her husband's letter troubled and -perplexed her, though it caused neither fear nor -doubt—of one kind at least—in her loving and trusting -heart. -</p> - -<p> -"Our marriage must still be kept a secret for a -<i>little time</i>; when we meet, I shall tell you <i>why</i>." -</p> - -<p> -After so much had been endured, and now when -the barrier had been swept away by death, why -should there be more secresy still—at a time so -critical for their Denzil, too? -</p> - -<p> -For a week she tortured herself with endless -surmises which might have grown into actual fears -but for the arrival of her husband, looking so well -and so handsome, and though grave (for he had -loved his generous old uncle—his second father, as -he termed him), so evidently pleased and happy; -and Constance thought it fortunate that their son -and daughter were both absent, she had so much to -say and to hear. -</p> - -<p> -Denzil had taken his rod and gone forth to fish -in some lonely tarn amid the moors, while Sybil -had driven away in the pony phaeton to visit some -friend at a distance. -</p> - -<p> -"Here's his lord—— the master himself, ma'am!" -said Derrick Braddon, who was the only human -being in England that shared their mystery, and -who was now "dying," as the phrase is, for -permission to share with others the great secret the -faithful fellow had kept so long and so well; and -now Dick's weather-beaten visage was radiant with -pride and pleasure as he ushered Richard into the -pretty little drawing-room, when, with a girlish -bound, Constance sprang into his open arms. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, dearest Materfamilias," said he, kissing -her tenderly on the proffered lips and radiant eyes; -"you are looking as young and as charming as -ever—ay, even as on that eventful morning in -St. Mary's, at Montreal, a morning we may remember -now without fear, my own one!" -</p> - -<p> -"So the poor old man is gone at last, and our -days of dissimulation are over," she replied, -sobbing amid the smiles that beamed on her up-turned -face. -</p> - -<p> -"And you have acted wisely in not adopting deep -mourning yet." -</p> - -<p> -"Why—wisely?" she asked, while perceiving -that her husband must have doffed his black -costume somewhere on the way to Porthellick, for -he was as usual attired in a shooting-suit and -brown-leather gaiters; and she felt an unpleasant -emotion by this circumstance, for whence this -continued caution, she thought; this care, this hateful -continuation of an alias, as it seemed, this playing -of a double character, if all were right and clear? and -now the passage in his letter flashed upon her -memory. -</p> - -<p> -"I said 'wisely,' dearest Constance; because we -have still a part to play." -</p> - -<p> -"Still?" she queried, mournfully, and her eyelids -drooped. -</p> - -<p> -"Tell me—the children know nothing of this -change in our fortunes, I hope?" -</p> - -<p> -"No—and dear Denzil, you are aware, has -been—gazetted." -</p> - -<p> -"To my old corps—so I saw; God bless the -boy?" exclaimed Richard Trevelyan; "yes, but -what I mean is, that I must bring you all before the -world—you as the wife, and them as the children, of -Lord Lamorna, with judicious care and a strength -of <i>conviction</i> that none can doubt or challenge." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Richard," said she, trembling, "I do not -understand you." -</p> - -<p> -"Here, I am still known as Captain Devereaux; -but the world, which deems me a bachelor, must -be convinced that we were married to each other -in <i>faciæ ecclesiæ</i>, as those lawyer-fellows have -it; and the proofs of that circumstance must be -forthcoming." -</p> - -<p> -"Proofs?" she repeated, faintly, as she seated -herself, and grew very, very pale, for it seemed to -her over-sensitive mind, as if his manner had -become hard and sententious, even while he stooped -over, and tenderly and caressingly held in his, her -little hand whereon was the wedding ring that Père -Latour had consecrated; and now there ensued a -brief pause, for in his knowledge of her extreme -sensibility, and the amount of his own loving -nature, he feared the explanation of all he meant -might wound. -</p> - -<p> -Though some might have deemed the secresy to -which he had condemned her for years (lest they -might lose the large fortune now theirs) selfish; -Richard Trevelyan had ever been nervously jealous -of her honour, and the honour of their innocent -children; and at times, he had accused himself of -moral cowardice in his submission to the caprice of -his uncle. In his heart he had always cursed the -duplicity to which they had been compelled to -resort, and the false position in which that duplicity -had placed them all for such a length of time. All -this was to be atoned for now; but he felt that it -must be done wisely, warily and surely, or, as he -had said, with <i>strength</i>, lest the world in which he -had hitherto moved as a bachelor—that selfish and -suspicious bugbear called "Society" might shrug -its shoulders, and ask, "Can all this story be true?" -</p> - -<p> -He had some difficulty in explaining all this to -Constance, but, fortunately, what he lacked in tact, -he made up for in tenderness; yet, after a minute of -silence and tears, she exclaimed with uncontrollable -bitterness, -</p> - -<p> -"I alone am to blame! I ought to have foreseen -the difficulties with which I should encumber you; -but I was a simple, a trusting and a heedless -girl!——" -</p> - -<p> -"Nor has the trust of your girlhood been -misplaced, Constance," he urged. -</p> - -<p> -"What Eden is without its serpent—what house -without its skeleton? and I am yours!" -</p> - -<p> -"My darling Constance, do not speak thus, and -do not weep; think if Denzil or Sybil were to -return and see you thus agitated—see what they -never saw before, tears in your eyes; at least, tears -so bitter as these," urged her husband, as he caressed -her tenderly. "You know, my own love, that solid -proofs of our marriage, beyond mere assertion, -<i>must</i> be forthcoming; and until these proofs are in -our hands, we must appear to the world as Captain -and Mrs. Devereaux; we must act wisely and warily, -I repeat, for the sake of our dear children." -</p> - -<p> -The face of Constance became ghastly, and a -dangerous gleam, such as Richard had never seen -before, was in her dark eyes, while she said, -huskily, -</p> - -<p> -"Honest Derrick Braddon witnessed our marriage, Richard." -</p> - -<p> -"True; but I am now a peer of the realm, and I -wish the full proof of it all. You know that during -the past year I have thrice written to the Père -Latour for the certificate of our marriage, but wrote -in vain, he has left my letters unanswered. I might -employ those lawyers, Gorbelly and Culverhole to -sift the matter, but to use their aid, might set -abroad a scandal at once; hence I now propose to -start by the first steamer for America to get the -necessary documents in person, and Derrick -Braddon shall accompany me." -</p> - -<p> -"And may not I?" she pleaded, softly. -</p> - -<p> -"No, darling Constance, I shall be gone for more -than a month—for two, perhaps, and you have to -get Denzil fitted out for his regiment—my poor -Denzil, I shall grudge those two months' loss of his -society fearfully, as you may suppose." -</p> - -<p> -"Pardon my momentary bitterness, dearest -Richard, but after so much endurance, after such -long concealment—" her voice failed her, and -wreathing her soft arms round his neck, she nestled -her little head on his breast, and whispered with a -sigh, as if her heart would burst, "is it -irrevocable—and must I too, be separated from my boy?" -</p> - -<p> -"It is but for a time, Conny—no young fellow -should be idle; and a year or so in the army——" -</p> - -<p> -"And he will return, Richard——" -</p> - -<p> -"As the son and heir of Lord Lamorna!" -</p> - -<p> -"But oh, how I shall miss him!" -</p> - -<p> -"You will have Sybil and me!" -</p> - -<p> -"But you, too, I am about to lose." -</p> - -<p> -"For a time only; and do not speak so -forbodingly, dear Constance." -</p> - -<p> -"I felt such disappointment that Denzil should -appear at Sandhurst, and even in the Gazette, not -as a Trevelyan, but as a Devereaux!" -</p> - -<p> -"And a Devereaux he deems himself, and must -continue to do so, till I return from Montreal. -Old Trecarrel is going in command to India, and -when matters are all squared here, I'll get Denzil -on his Staff with ease. We have been the victims -of circumstances; have I not a thousand times said, -that if my uncle had discovered our marriage, we -should have lost all? He is gone at last; but you -know, Conny darling, that his ideas were simply -absurd—in some respects suited only to the -middle-ages—the middle ages do I say? By Jove, to those -when the Anglo-Saxons wore coats of paint, and -dyed their yellow hair blue. But are things -arranged in this world wisely, think you, Constance?' -</p> - -<p> -"I dare not impugn the plans of a beneficent -Providence." -</p> - -<p> -"But Providence never meant the conditions of -life to turn out as they too often do." -</p> - -<p> -"How, Richard," she, asked gently; "I don't -quite understand you?" -</p> - -<p> -"That the greatest number of the rich, the powerful -and the most successful—by flukes, perhaps—are -fools or knaves." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, but if riches brought talent—the wealthy -and powerful would be too happy, and Fate or -Providence do not make them so." -</p> - -<p> -"I cannot express to you how my heart was wrung -with jealous envy, and even with shame, when I -saw Downie's family stand around my uncle's grave, -and enjoying all the freedom and hospitality of -Rhoscadzhel—even his cold-blooded, fashionable -wife, too—and thought how my own three tender -loves were debarred——" -</p> - -<p> -"And unknown—" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes——d—m it, unknown, and must be for a few -weeks still, but time cures all evils, and it will cure -this. Yet is not the gazetting of the two cousins, -Denzil and the oldest of Downie's four boys, in one -paragraph, and to my old corps, too a remarkable -coincidence—all the more so, that they are ignorant -of each other's existence?" -</p> - -<p> -"My poor Denzil—he is so bright and clever!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ay, more clever than ever I was. In my time, -when I met you so happily in pleasant Montreal, -one could be a fair average soldier without all the -polyglot accomplishments so necessary now, when -he who quits Sandhurst as a candidate for a -commission direct, with five shillings and threepence -per diem to further his extravagance, might quite -as well come out for the Church or Bar, with -the chance of a safer and better paid berth in -either." -</p> - -<p> -"And he joins his regiment as a Devereaux—my -poor boy!" -</p> - -<p> -"Still harping on that string!" said Richard, a -little impatiently. "On my return when matters -are all sorted and made clear by the legal documents, -Denzil and Sybil must be simply told, that -my succession to estates and a title have necessitated -a change of name." -</p> - -<p> -"But our Denzil is no longer a boy—and I shall -almost blush for my past duplicity, before my own girl!" -</p> - -<p> -"Come, come, Conny, this is foolish; what is -done cannot be undone, and it is useless to cry over -spilt milk." -</p> - -<p> -"And how to explain this absence, for perhaps -two months, you say, when they have been longing -every hour for your return from London, where they -believed you to be?" -</p> - -<p> -"I know not yet, Constance; but a little time -will make all things clear. We had no marriage -contract—a love-sick subaltern and a schoolgirl -were not likely to think of such a thing—we had -only the brief certificate deposited with Père Latour; -but a will executed by me, in favour of you and the -children shall make all right and secure; and now -my little wife, for a biscuit and glass of dry sherry, -as I have ridden this morning all the way from -beyond Launceston." -</p> - -<p> -Constance retired for a minute to bathe her eyes, -to smooth her hair, and came back to look composed -and smiling; for she had still to act a part. -</p> - -<p> -The hour for which she had so pined and yearned—especially -since her son Denzil first saw the light -in a lonely village among the Apennines—the time -when she should take her place as the wife of -Richard Trevelyan, (not that she cared for the -wealth that place might bring her) had come; and -yet there were fresh delays to be endured by her, -and now it might be dangers dared by him she -loved so well; but he strove in his honest, manly, -and affectionate way to cheer her; and as he filled -his glass with the sparkling golden sherry, he kissed -her once more as if they were lovers still and said merrily, -</p> - -<p> -"I drink to your speedy welcome home, my dear -little Lady Lamorna!" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap08"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VIII. -<br /><br /> -THE BROKEN CIRCLE. -</h3> - -<p> -Sybil who was clever with her pencil, made up -quite a collection of sketches from her portfolio, a -pleasant labour of love, for Denzil to take with him, -as a souvenir of herself and their beloved Cornwall, -and skilfully the girl's able hand and artistic eye -had reproduced the wondrous stone avenues of -Dartmoor and Merivale, the Stone Pillar of St. Colomb, -the Cliff Castles of Treryn, Tintagel and elsewhere, -with many a pretty and peaceful cottage scene. -</p> - -<p> -Preparations for her husband's journey, and more -than all, the Indian outfit of Denzil, luckily occupied -the attention of Constance for a time; thus her -hands and those of Sybil were fully employed, and -the minds of both had no leisure to brood over the -coming separation. -</p> - -<p> -Weary of the monotony of life at the villa, great -was the delight of old weather-beaten Dick Braddon, -to "be off" as he said, "to see the world once more -with the master," whom he loved only second -perhaps to Denzil, whose free frank bearing charmed -the veteran, who averred that he was exactly like -what his father was, when he joined the Cornish -Light Infantry, a cherry-cheeked ensign, long ago in -America. -</p> - -<p> -But the hour of separation drew near, when both -father and son were to leave Porthellick, and depart -each upon their long watery journey;—the former -to America, and the latter to what seemed the other -end of the world—India; and the heart of Constance -began to sink in spite of herself. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Richard," she whispered once, with her soft -face nestling in her husband's neck, while his -protecting arm went kindly round her; "the greatest -joy on earth is to possess a child—the greatest woe -to lose it! The loss of our parents we may, and -must, in the course of time anticipate; but the loss -of our children—never!" -</p> - -<p> -"But Denzil will return, Conny—you would not -have the boy tied to your apron-strings, like Sybil?" -urged Richard, laughing to cheer and rouse her; -but, nevertheless, the rank, title and fair fortune -now before them all, the mother's anxious heart -foreboded sorrow in the future; and now came the -last night her boy was to sleep under his father's -roof, ere he was to go forth into the world—forth -like a branch torn from its parent stem. -</p> - -<p> -When all were in slumber that night, poor Constance -stole in to watch her Denzil as he slept. The -feeble rays of the night-lamp played on the features -of her boy, and on the glitter of a laced scarlet-coat -and gold epaulettes that hung on the pier glass. With -the vanity natural to youth, he had been contemplating -himself in his Regimental finery ere he -went to repose, and his bullock-trunk and overland, -lettered for "India," were among the first things -that caught her eye, bringing more home to her -heart the fact of his departure. -</p> - -<p> -He was still hers! -</p> - -<p> -To-morrow he should be far away from her, out -on the great and stirring highway of life—her petted -boy no longer; and smiles, like ripples upon shining -water, seemed to spread over the smooth face of the -sleeping lad, even as the tears gathered in the eyes, -and prayer in the heart of the mother who watched -him for a time, with her hands clasped, and stole -away with many a backward glance, thinking how -lonely she should be when that hour on the morrow -came. -</p> - -<p> -And this tall and handsome lad—this young -soldier going forth to carry the Queen's colours in -the distant East, was once her "baby boy," the -child she had borne, nursed and nurtured. She had -a sweet and sad, yet proud and joyous consciousness -in this. Had he been weakly, deformed or crippled, -she should have loved him all the same; but then, -thank God! her Denzil was so handsome. -</p> - -<p> -Often in far-away lands, on weary marches, in -comfortless tents and rickety bungalows, on the -banks of the Sutlej, or amid hostile Sikhs and -Afghans, would he dream of the soft and loving -face that had been bent in silence over his—the face -he never more might see, save in those kind visions -that God sends in sleep, to soothe—it may be, to -sadden and to warn us. -</p> - -<p> -"No child can ever know how dearly its parents -love it—how they suffer in its illness, loss or -departure," whispered Constance to herself; "still," she -thought upbraidingly, "I left my poor father to -sorrow in his humble home at Montreal—but then -it was with a husband, so dear and true!" -</p> - -<p> -The child that is ill or absent, is always valued -the most; so poor Sybil was almost forgotten by -her mother for the time. A few hours more, and -both husband and son had left her in tears, to -separate in London, each to pursue his own journey. -</p> - -<p> -Of Richard's ultimate intentions, Denzil and -Sybil were to be left in ignorance, and also of the -object and purport of his absence. So Constance -was left with her daughter only by her side. -</p> - -<p> -The poor mother's heart felt as if thrust back -upon herself now, for she was the mistress of a -great family secret, which, as yet, she could not -share even with Sybil. -</p> - -<p> -So the long dreaded "to-morrow," had come, and -other morrows followed, and Constance began to -feel herself most sadly alone. Often she stole into -the well-known room to kiss the pillow on which -her Denzil's cheek had rested; to weep over the -bed as if a death had been there, and not the -departure of a gallant boy full of hope and life; -and on each occasion as she lingered there, she -strove to pourtray in fancy his face, as she last saw -him, sleeping all unconscious that she hovered -near; and with a wild but loving presentiment and -hope that he would again occupy it some day, she -kept his room intact, exactly as he had left it; his -books, his fencing foils on those particular shelves, -his old hat stuck round with fishing flies, on that -particular peg where he was wont to hang it; his -rods and guns, in yonder corner; though every -detail, such as these, reminded her of him more -vividly, fed her grief and roused the intense -longing for his presence and return to her arms again. -</p> - -<p> -"India—India?" she would say half aloud when -communing with herself; "it may be ten years of -separation. Ten years! Oh—no, never, surely! -With my Richard's great influence as a peer of the -realm, that must never be permitted. In ten years -what changes must inevitably happen; who may be -alive then, and who dead? Sybil should then be -seven-and-twenty—married perhaps—and to -whom?—with children it may be—my poor innocent -Sybil! Oh no; three years at the utmost, and -Denzil shall be again by his mamma's side!" -</p> - -<p> -So the lonely Constance pondered, hoped and -lovingly spun out like a web, her desires or mental -view of the future, striving to gather happiness -therefrom; while Sybil sought in vain to cheer her -with music, to lure her out for a walk in the -willowed dell, or a drive along the coast road, in their -pretty pony phaeton. -</p> - -<p> -The month was October now. With a sullen -wail the autumnal blasts swept from the wooded -hollows of Moorwinstow to the cavernous headland -of Tintagel, cresting before their breath the -waves of the Bristol Channel. There came gusts of -rain too, that beat dolefully on the window panes, -with an angry and impatient patter, adding to the -dreariness of heart experienced by those in the -Villa of Porthellick. The season was bleak, and -nowhere could it seem more so than among the barren -moors, the sea-beat bluffs, and resounding caverns, -the wind swept pasture lands and promontories of -Cornwall. -</p> - -<p> -The woods were almost bare; the few remaining -leaves, fluttered brown and crisp on the bared twigs; -the stackyards were full, and the produce of the -potato fields was consigned to long brown pits of -fresh earth and straw, for the coming winter; the -uplands were covered with decaying stubble, or -being ploughed, while, gorged with worms, the great -crows sat sleepily in the shining furrows. Thick as -gnats in summer, the dingy coloured sparrows -twittered in the hedgerows, which were being lopped -and trimmed; and the axes of the woodmen were -heard in thicket and copse; while the smoke of the -steam-engine that worked and drained the adjacent -copper-mine, hung low in the frowsy air, adding -at times to the gloom of the landscape. -</p> - -<p> -Richard Trevelyan had sailed, and Denzil too; -and Constance was aware that each of them had to -traverse a wintry sea, the former before he returned -and the latter before he reached his destination. -</p> - -<p> -The public prints had duly announced that "the -Right Hon. Lord Lamorna and suite (<i>i.e.</i> old Derrick -Braddon) had gone for a tour in America;" and -Denzil if his eyes ever saw the announcement—which -is doubtful—could little have dreamed how -nearly it concerned him, and the mother on whom -he doted, and whom he still knew only as -"Mrs. Devereaux." -</p> - -<p> -The latter had to make many an excuse, even to -Sybil, to account for her husband's protracted -absence from the villa; and Downie Trevelyan, -when he read the above announcement in the -"Morning Post," wiped his gold eye-glass and read -it again with much perplexity and secret annoyance, -while surmising "what the deuce could take -Richard so suddenly to America at this season of -the year!" -</p> - -<p> -The new task and anxiety of watching the shipping -intelligence next occupied the attention of -Constance. The steamer in which Richard sailed, -had been seen, signalled and spoken with in -sundry Atlantic latitudes and longitudes; and some -seventeen days or so saw her safely at the end of -her voyage; but the transport, a great Indiaman -with Denzil on board, was seldom heard of, some at -long dates; and at longer dates too, came his -hastily written letters from St. Helena, and from -Ascension, or by homeward-bound ships; few men, -even of the most wealthy, thought then of proceeding -to India by the scarcely developed overland -route; and how fondly those letters were read over -and over again, the last thing at night, and the first -in the morning, the mother, situated as Constance -was then, may imagine; for the loving little family -circle was broken now. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap09"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER IX. -<br /><br /> -FOREBODINGS. -</h3> - -<p> -If ever Constance left the villa, she sought the -direction of the coast, and when there never wearied -of watching the wide expanse of the Bristol -Channel with its passing ships and steamers; for the -changing ocean was the path by which her loved -ones were to return to her; Richard, within a month -perhaps, now; but their son Denzil—oh, years must -elapse, her heart foreboded and knew, ere she should -see him again. -</p> - -<p> -And now as the season advanced, and storms and -wrecks among the Scilly Isles and about the Land's -End were not unfrequent, her soul became a prey -to nervous fears, that were fed and fostered in spite -of herself by Derrick's sister, Winny Braddon, a -superstitious old Cornish woman, who had been -Sybil's nurse. -</p> - -<p> -Winny, a devout believer in dreams, visions, the -virtues of miraculous wells and so forth, was wont -to declare that when all specifics failed she had -been cured of rheumatism by crawling through the -famous Men-an-tol, or Holed Stone near Lanyon; -and now she shook her grey head ominously when -the wind blew a gale and rolled a heavy surf upon -the shore, and averred that she could hear the -wreck-bells booming under the sea at Boscastle. -</p> - -<p> -So Constance, though naturally free from all idle -fancies save that which we may term the affectionate -superstition of the heart, could not listen to the -croaking of this old woman without vague and -growing fear; for though Winny knew nothing of the -interest that "Mrs. Devereaux" had in the family -of Lamorna, or her connection therewith (Derrick -having kept his secret well) those sounds amid the -deep at Boscastle were supposed by Cornish tradition -to bode evil to the line of Trevelyan. -</p> - -<p> -For it would appear, as Winny Braddon related, -that long ago the villagers of Boscastle were very -envious of the melodious and musical bells that -were rung in the church of Tintagel, to which they -were a gift from its superior the Abbot of -Fontevrault in Normandy. So De Bottreaux who was -lord of the manor, and the site of whose castle is -now marked by a green mound only, to gratify -those villagers who were his vassals, ordered from -London a merry peal for the spire of Boscastle -church; and those bells were duly shipped on board -a vessel named the <i>Koithgath</i> caravel, for her -captain, Launcelot Trevelyan, was a younger son of -the family of Lamorna. He had been a wild -fellow, of whose future career evil had been -predicted by a <i>Pyrdrak Brâz</i> (old Cornish for a -great-witch) who dwelt in the Zawn Reeth, a granite -cavern at Nans Isal, on the western side of the bay -so named—a wild and savage place surrounded by -masses of scattered rock. -</p> - -<p> -So Master Launcelot ran off to sea, and served -under Drake and Hawkins in many a dark and -desperate day's work among the Spaniards in -Brazil, Madeira, and the Cape de Verde; and had -once been round the Cape of Storms as far as the -realms of that mysterious personage then known as -Prester John. -</p> - -<p> -Thus in due time, steered by Paul Poindester, a -famous pilot from the Scilly Isles, the <i>Koithgath</i>, -with the bells on board, arrived in the offing and in -sight of Boscastle, with all its furzy hollows, above -which rose the castle of Bottreaux, with the -standard of its owner flying—a great banner, -bearing three toads and a griffin. -</p> - -<p> -As the ship drew in shore, the bells of Tintagel -church, that towers still on a bleak, exposed, and -lofty cliff to the westward of King Arthur's castle, -rang out a taunting and a joyous peal that mingled -with the booming of the ocean as it rolled on the -bluffs below, or far up the sandy bay of Trebarreth -Strand. -</p> - -<p> -Then, according to the story, Launcelot Trevelyan -swore an exulting oath as he surveyed the -stupendous scenery of his native shore, adding, -</p> - -<p> -"I am here again—thank my good ship and her -canvas!" -</p> - -<p> -"Nay," said the old pilot Poindester, as he -reverently lifted his hat, "rather thank God and -St. Michael of Cornwall." -</p> - -<p> -"By Heaven," rejoined Trevelyan, "I thank -myself and the fair wind only." -</p> - -<p> -Poindester though fearless, for he was a native of -those dangerous Isles where for one who dies a -natural death nine are drowned, rebuked this -irreverence, on which the wild Trevelyan stormed -and blasphemed, and forgetting to heed his compass -or steerage, permitted his caravel to be dashed -ashore, just as a sudden storm came on, and the -waves of the Bristol Channel hurled her on the -cliffs of the Black Pit, where every soul on board -perished, save old Paul Poindester. From the high -gilded poop of his caravel, Launcelot Trevelyan, -with a fierce malediction, cast into the sea, before -it swallowed him up, the silver whistle and chain, -his badge of naval authority, the gift of Sir Francis -Drake, lest it should become some wrecker's prey; -and as the timbers parted, and the ship went down -into the angry sea, the clangour of the bells -resounded in her hold; and there to this day they -are heard by people loitering on the shore, when -storms are nigh—or when aught is about to happen -to the family of Lamorna, add the superstitious -folks of Cornwall. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, why did this absurd old woman relate such -a boding story to me?" thought Constance, for -situated as she was, she had become somewhat of a -prey to gloomy and grotesque fancies; hence, often -in the night she would dream of wrecks, and seem -to hear the sound of alarm-bells in her ear, and -starting from bed, would draw up the window-blind -and look forth to see if a storm was raving without, -forgetting then, even though it were so, all might be -calm and peaceful elsewhere. -</p> - -<p> -Then when she saw the autumnal moon in all its -unclouded glory flooding her chamber and her white -night-dress with silver lustre; that all was calm and -still, the diamond-like stars sparkling above the -dark willows in the glen, or the darker woodland -in the distance; and that no noises came to her -listening ear, but perhaps the bark of a house-dog, -or such as may be aptly termed the sounds of night -and silence, she would go back to her lonely pillow -with a prayer on her lips for those who were absent, -and for all who were on the sea. -</p> - -<p> -A letter from Richard, made her supremely happy! -</p> - -<p> -He had reached Montreal in safety. The poor -old curé of the secluded little chapel of St. Mary—the -good Père Latour—was dead, and had been so -for some time; hence the reason that her husband's -letters had remained unanswered. Even the little -acolyte, the other witness of their marriage, had -gone to his last home; and now in memory, -Constance could recall the thin, spare figure of the -old clergyman, with his white hair brushed behind -his ears, his peculiar shovel hat, long black soutane, -cape and gaiters to the knee—for he had been a -man of the old school of French colonial priests. -</p> - -<p> -"His little chapel and vestry, both built of wood, -as you will remember, Conny, were burned down -three years after our regiment left the city," -continued Richard's letter; "and all the Records -there perished in the flames; among other things, -the volume of the Register in which our marriage -was entered. But, most providentially, the -successor of Latour in the poor incumbency, found -among some of his papers, the signed copy—or -rather I should say, the original of our marriage -lines or certificate—which we had never received. -<i>It is now in my possession</i>, and I have folded it -inside a will which I prepared on the voyage out—a -will, dearest Conny, in which, to make all certain -for the future—as there are those at home, whom -I doubt—I leave all I have in the world to you -for life, and to Denzil and Sybil after you, -absolutely. Your poor father and mother are -interred not far from the grave of Père Latour, -and I have ordered white marble crosses to be -erected to the memory of the three. I shall sail -for England a fortnight hence, in the steamer -<i>Admiral</i>, and till then, shall renew in sweet -fancy the days of our loverhood, by many a ramble -about Montreal; by Hochlega, the picturesque site -of the old Indian village, now its eastern suburb; -the nine aisles of the great Cathedral; the gardens -of the Convent of Notre Dame, and among the -mountains close by—in many a shady walk and -lane; and Heaven and myself alone can know how -I miss you and our dearest Sybil, and how I am -longing to return." It was signed "<i>Lamorna</i>." -</p> - -<p> -"My dear, dear Richard!" sobbed the wife, while -her tears of joy fell fast. -</p> - -<p> -"All the places I mention, you must remember -well," he added in a postscript; "and you may -imagine how sad it is for me to wander alone where -once we were so happy together." -</p> - -<p> -"He was to sail in a fortnight from the date of -his letter," thought Constance, with a glow of -pleasure in her heart; "he must now be on the sea! and -in a fortnight from this, I shall see him again—my -dear, dear husband—so kind, so good, so true -and thoughtful, even to mark, unasked by me, the -last resting-place of poor mamma and papa—and -even of the good Père Latour. The latter act, is in -itself, a compliment to me." -</p> - -<p> -Then an emotion of terror seized her, as she -perused the letter again. -</p> - -<p> -What if the attested copy of those important -"lines," their certificate of marriage, <i>had perished</i> -in the same fire which consumed the wooden chapel, -the vestry, and its registers! What then would -have been her fate, and more than all, by sequence, -the fate and position of the children she idolised—her -proud boy Denzil, and the beautiful Sybil, now -budding on the verge of womanhood? -</p> - -<p> -A stigma—a stain—she could never remove, -might have been on them, to the end of their -lives; and her soul seemed to die within her as -she thought of the peril—the narrow escape, they -had all made! -</p> - -<p> -She thanked Heaven with fervour in her heart, -and again and again, it swelled with gratitude to her -husband, and with love for him and confidence in -him; with joy, too, that he would so soon hear all -this from her own loving lips—for in a few days -now, the <i>Admiral</i> would be due in the Thames! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap10"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER X. -<br /><br /> -THE LONELY TARN. -</h3> - -<p> -While Constance Trevelyan—or Lady Lamorna, -for so we ought to name her, though still known -only as Mrs. Devereaux—was counting the hours -of her husband's absence, and looking forward -fondly to his return, Sybil, unnoticed, was absent -from home more often and for longer periods than -had been her wont; and the mother, preoccupied -by her own secret thoughts, and anxiety for those -who were far distant, failed to remark the circumstance -till it was incidentally mentioned by Winny Braddon. -</p> - -<p> -When questioned, Constance remarked with -concern, that Sybil blushed deeply, and hastened to -show her sketch-book, now nearly full, as an -evidence of her artistic industry, and the progress -she had made; she did not add with whom, or -that she had a lover. She who never before had -a secret from her mamma, was beginning to have -one now; and had the latter looked more closely at -the sketch-book, she might have found traces and -touches of a bolder and more masterly pencil than -Sybil's; and it all came to pass thus. -</p> - -<p> -A mile or two from the Villa of Porthellick, there -lies a lake, which had been a favourite resort of her -brother Denzil when fishing for pike; and of this -place, and a great old Druidical stone that stands -thereby, Sybil wished to make a sketch, and on a -suitable day proceeded thither with all her -apparatus, as she was anxious to have her production -finished before her papa's return. -</p> - -<p> -It was a lonely tarn, deep and dark, yet there the -bright green leaves and snowy flowers of the water -lilies floated, and the voracious pike which rose at -times to snap a fly or so, went plunging to the oozy -bottom at the sight of aught so unusual as a human -being invading the solitude. -</p> - -<p> -There were within its circuit, three tiny -willow-tufted isles, where the water-ducks built their -nests amid the osiers, and near which an occasional -wild swan flapped defiance with its wings -among the floating lilies that impeded its stately -progress. -</p> - -<p> -On the hill slopes the varied tints of autumn -were in all their beauty; the ripened apples and -pears were dropping among the long grass of many -an orchard; green yet lingered amid the foliage of -the old Cornish elms; but the beeches were almost -blood red, and the oaks were crisped and brown. -In the calm depth of the tarn was reflected the -shadow of the giant stone pillar, around which the -storms, the winds and rain of perhaps three -thousand years had swept; yet there it stood, solid, -silent, grim and monstrous. Could that stone have -spoken, what a tale it might have told of savage -rites and human sacrifice; what a history unfolded -of races long since passed away or merged in -others—the men of days before even the galleys of the -Phoenicians cast anchor in Bude Bay, when their -crews came to barter for tin with the wild -aborigines of Cornwall. -</p> - -<p> -Sybil, seated on a little camp-stool, was so intent -upon her work, that some time elapsed before she -perceived that another artist—whether professional -or, like herself an amateur, she could not -determine—was similarly occupied not far from her; and -insensibly her eye wandered, from time to time, in -the direction of this stranger. -</p> - -<p> -He was decidedly a handsome young man, whose -grey tweed suit and round hat of grey felt, -encircled by a narrow crape band, failed to conceal -a very distinguished air. His features were good -and well bronzed by a foreign sun, apparently. He -was without whiskers, or was closely shaven; but -a smart mustache and dark eyebrows gave character -to his face. He was seated on a fragment -of rock, and in intervals between the progress of -his work and the whiffs of a cigar, spoke caressingly -to a large dog that lay near him on the -grass. -</p> - -<p> -The latter, a magnificent Thibet mastiff, with -heavy jowl and pendant flap-like ears, suddenly -rose and came slowly, leisurely and steadily forward -to Sybil, and after a glance of survey, eyed her with -what was almost a smile—if a <i>dog</i> can be said to -smile. He then sniffed her skirts, and pawed them -with his enormous paw. Sybil evinced no fear; she -patted the clog's huge rough head; but was -somewhat surprised, when he lay down on her skirts -with the utmost composure, and showed no -disposition to release her. -</p> - -<p> -The young man, whose eyes had followed, with -some interest, the motions of his dog, now whistled -to him; but the mastiff did not stir. -</p> - -<p> -"Rajah—Rajah—you impudent rascal, come -here!" he cried. -</p> - -<p> -But Rajah made no other response, than by -whipping the turf with his long tail. -</p> - -<p> -Upon this his master came round the margin of -the tarn, and approaching Sybil, threw aside his -cigar, lifted his hat and apologized, adding,— -</p> - -<p> -"I trust that my dog has not alarmed you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh no—not in the least," replied Sybil, who -began to feel somewhat embarrassed now. -</p> - -<p> -"I assure you that he is very gentle; but he is -permitting himself to be too free, and very few -young ladies would, like you, have seen such an -animal approach them without betraying signs of -alarm, and all that sort of thing. Get up sir!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, please don't," said Sybil holding out an -ungloved and very pretty hand, deprecatingly, -between the dog and the young man's uplifted -cane; "all dogs, and even cats, like me." -</p> - -<p> -"Thereby acknowledging your power—eh?" -responded the stranger, looking down admiringly -into the soft, bright, earnest face, and clear dark -eyes that were turned upward to his own. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know what you mean by my power," -said Sybil, with simplicity; "but, as most people -like me, why should not dogs—and—and this is -such a splendid fellow!' -</p> - -<p> -"I have brought him from a very distant country—he -was the farewell gift of a friend who died, -otherwise," he added, gallantly, "I should beg your -acceptance of him." -</p> - -<p> -Sybil now coloured more deeply, and became -uneasy; but the stranger resumed in his most -suave tone,— -</p> - -<p> -"And you have been sketching this pretty little -lake—like me? Our tastes and occupation are -quite similar!" -</p> - -<p> -Sybil had closed her book of sketches. -</p> - -<p> -"Will you not do me the favour to——" -</p> - -<p> -"Show you my poor production—do you mean, sir?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes." -</p> - -<p> -"But you may be an artist, and a well-skilled one." -</p> - -<p> -"And what then?" -</p> - -<p> -"I should blush for my work." -</p> - -<p> -"Nay. Well, then, I am not an artist, but merely -an amateur—an officer on leave; yet I am fond of -using my pencil, and have the regimental reputation -of doing so with pretty good success." -</p> - -<p> -Sybil thought of her brother Denzil—he too was -an officer; poor Denzil, now so far, far away—and -she gave her new acquaintance a half shy and half -doubtful glance, that served to charm him very -much, and then showed her sketch, which he -praised warmly, as by good breeding and in duty -bound. -</p> - -<p> -It was doubtless cleverly done, but his eye -wandered to the rare and delicate beauty of the -little hand that had achieved it. Her sketch, -however, was inferior to his own, which he now -produced, with Sybil's own figure seated on the -camp-stool introduced in the middle distance, so -as to give the exact proportion of the great -rock-pillar. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, sir," she exclaimed, "you have me in your -sketch, as well as the big stone." -</p> - -<p> -"Could I omit the most pleasing feature in my -little landscape?" -</p> - -<p> -Sybil coloured again, for her education, and the -peculiar mode in which she had been reared, made -her, at times, shy and reserved; she knew not why, -for to be so was not her natural character, which -was rather candid, frank, and free; so, to change -the subject from herself, she hastened to turn over -the leaves of the stranger's sketch-book, wherein -were many drawings full of spirit and interest. -</p> - -<p> -"That wooden cross," said he, "marks the grave -of poor Jack Delamere, who gave me Rajah, -through whom I have had the pleasure of making -your acquaintance to-day. He died when we were -on the march up country to Allahabad, and I -buried him in a grove of date palms." -</p> - -<p> -"And he lies there alone?" said Sybil, her eyes -involuntarily wandering to the great dog which lay -near them on the grass. -</p> - -<p> -"Quite alone—poor Jack! he was the soul of the -mess-bungalow." -</p> - -<p> -"And what is this Hall with the wonderful -pillars?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh! that is a Buddhist Temple—all hewn out -of the living rock. I sketched it at Ellora. Those -caves are masses of carving, and are among the most -wonderful things in India, as they often consist of -many apartments or halls of vast height, decorated, -as you see, with elaborate columns and monstrous -statues. My next sketch is a Hindoo water-girl. I -gave her a rupee to stand for me at Arcot; but, as -her clothing is somewhat scanty, we shall skip to -the next. Ah—that is a mango tree, and here are -the palace of Mysore and the town and fort of -Agra." -</p> - -<p> -"How much you have seen of the world!" said -Sybil, her dark eyes dilating as she glanced for a -moment at the stranger's young and handsome face; -"I wonder if Denzil will ever look upon those -places. Heavens, how poor and mean do my Cornish -sketches of ruins, rocks, and engines look, after -yours!" -</p> - -<p> -"Nay, do not say so," replied the other, smiling, -as he surveyed with growing interest the soft bright -face of the speaker, under its piquant little hat and -veil; "hideous as the edifices are in reality, some -of our mining engine-houses, with all their chains -and pulleys, wheels and timber, blocks and gearing, -their heaps of rubbish and debris, they make -somewhat picturesque sketches." -</p> - -<p> -"True; but I prefer those great solemn stones -of unknown antiquity, and I never tire of drawing -them." -</p> - -<p> -"But they are so deucedly alike," replied the -young officer; "and now for your book—ah, do -permit me," he added, turning the leaves. -</p> - -<p> -"That is the Lake of Como, where we passed -several months," said Sybil, tremulous with hesitation, -for what she deemed alike the boldness of the -attempt and the poverty of her execution. "I now -wonder how I dared to think of depicting such a -scene, with all its white villas and green groves of -orange and flowering arbutas; its cliffs and crags, -and, over all, the snow-clad peaks of the Alps, and -the mountains of the Brianza covered with pine-forests!" -</p> - -<p> -"Perhaps each sketch is the souvenir of some -past or tender happiness? And this stately palace, -with the terrace before it?" -</p> - -<p> -"Is one where papa and mamma resided when I -was very young." -</p> - -<p> -"You are not very old yet," was the laughing -rejoinder. -</p> - -<p> -"It is on the Arno. But how often have I wished -for power to depict the lovely Lake of Como, as we -could see it by night from the windows of our villa—the -shore all dark, or dotted only by the lights in -many a palace and dwelling, the snowy summits of -the Splugen Alps rising against the starlit sky, and -the oars of the gondoliers flashing as their little -vessels shot across the sheet of silent water." -</p> - -<p> -"You are quite an enthusiast!" said the officer, -smiling; and at that moment, with her sparkling -eyes and flushed cheeks, the usually pale girl looked -radiantly beautiful; but her dark eyes drooped, and -she replied— -</p> - -<p> -"I did so love Como and our pleasant picnics to -Bellaggio and other places, where the orange-trees -overhang the water so closely that the golden fruit -dipped in it from time to time, when the laden -branches were stirred by the passing wind." -</p> - -<p> -"Now you will surely agree with me, that when -contrasted with such scenery as you describe, our -Cornish rock-pillars and mines are but stupid -affairs?" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, no—I cannot assent to that; there is Bottalick -Mine, for example, where the gloomy precipices -of slate are hewn into such fantastic shapes, -and the great engine, perched on the ledge of a -terrible cliff, enables the miner to work below the -sea. Oh, think of that, to be quarrying for copper -and tin in damp grottoes and cells four hundred and -eighty feet below the ocean, and to hear its waves—the -same waves that dash against Cape Cornwall—rolling -the mighty boulders in thunder on the bluffs -overhead!" -</p> - -<p> -"Have <i>you</i> been down and heard all that?" -</p> - -<p> -"No," replied Sybil, blushing for her own energy -and enthusiasm. -</p> - -<p> -"How then——" -</p> - -<p> -"Denzil has been down often." -</p> - -<p> -"Denzil again," said the stranger with a smile, -and perhaps the faintest tone of pique; "you are -surely very fond of this Denzil." -</p> - -<p> -"Fond—I love him dearly!" -</p> - -<p> -"A candid admission." -</p> - -<p> -"He is my only brother." -</p> - -<p> -"I am so glad to hear that he is a brother, and -not—not——" -</p> - -<p> -"What?" -</p> - -<p> -"A cousin or—friend." -</p> - -<p> -Sybil felt that the conversation was wandering -from the picturesque, and now said, a little hastily, -</p> - -<p> -"I must bid you good morning—my way lies -there," she added, pointing westward. -</p> - -<p> -"And mine also; so far, at least, as the high -road—allow me to have the pleasure of carrying -your camp-stool." -</p> - -<p> -"Many thanks." -</p> - -<p> -"Do you reside in this neighbourhood?" he -asked, after a pause. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes—a little way from this," she replied, evasively. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>I</i> am on a visit to an old Indian friend—General -Trecarrel," said the stranger, in a tone and manner -calculated to invite confidence; but Sybil instantly -became reserved. Her absent parent, she knew not -why, had ever most sedulously avoided the General -and all his family, and her mamma had apparently -acquiesced in this, for they knew that the General -would at once, in the spurious "Captain Devereaux," -recognise Richard Trevelyan. "You, perhaps, know -the Trecarrels?" added her companion. -</p> - -<p> -"I have not the pleasure—though I have heard -of them, of course," replied Sybil, adjusting her veil -tightly over her face, with an air of annoyance. -</p> - -<p> -The gentleman said no more; but in silence -carried her sketch-book and camp-stool until they -reached the high road, where, aware that to remain -longer with her might appear intrusive, he lifted his -hat, and with studious politeness bade her adieu. -</p> - -<p> -Sybil hastened homeward, nor dared to look back, -though perfectly conscious that the eyes of the -stranger, whose voice seemed to linger in her ear, -would be looking after her more than once. She -had all a young girl's perfect conviction of this. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap11"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XI. -<br /><br /> -CONCERNING FLIRTATION. -</h3> - -<p> -The next noon proved a lovely autumnal one, and -Sybil repaired once more to the tarn for the purpose -of giving a few finishing touches to her sketch. -She would have blushed with annoyance, and -indignantly repudiated the idea that a chance of the -stranger being there, perhaps, for the same purpose, -led her to go at precisely the same hour as on the -preceding day. And yet, though a disappointment, -it was somewhat of a relief to her, that neither he -nor his great dog were in sight; the floating swans -and the huge rock-pillar alone met her eye in the -solitude; and seating herself, she spread out her -skirts, threw up her veil, and assumed her pencil; -but in the midst of her work, her tiny white hand -grew tremulous, every pulse quickened, and a thrill -passed through her when she heard steps among the -long rank grass; the great nose of the Thibet mastiff -was placed upon her knee, and she perceived her -new friend again approaching, but on horseback. -</p> - -<p> -<i>He</i> had not made even the pretence of coming to -sketch as on the preceding morning; he was without -the materials for doing so, and hence must have -come deliberately in search of her, for he dismounted. -</p> - -<p> -"I am indeed fortunate in meeting you here -again," said he, "but I shall not intrude, as I fear I -did yesterday; I am merely rambling towards the -sea-shore, to enjoy the breeze and a cigar till some -friends join me." -</p> - -<p> -Sybil, who felt that she was painfully pale, bowed -to her new acquaintance, who manifested no haste -to prosecute his "ramble," but seemed perfectly -confident and disposed to be politely familiar. Still -Sybil had no emotion of alarm at this; she had -never in her life been insulted, and felt that there -was no real cause to repulse him, save that he was a -visitor of the Trecarrels. -</p> - -<p> -He, on the other hand, while gazing from time to -time into her upturned face, was struck more by the -calm, honest, and innocent expression of her radiant -features than by their beauty, which was less that -of form than of character, for though small and -exquisitely feminine, her face, like that of her -mother, was strongly marked, by the darkness of -her eyes, their brows and long lashes. Her mouth -certainly was beautifully formed, with a soft smile -ever playing about it, for she was naturally of an -arch and highly impressionable nature. -</p> - -<p> -He did not permit the conversation to flag, but -hovered near her, venturing to look over her shoulder -from time to time, and giving little suggestions -concerning her drawing, while in reality he was -admiring the ladylike contour of her head, the -delicacy of her slender neck, and the gloss of a -single thick dark ringlet that strayed so captivatingly -behind. -</p> - -<p> -The first flush of emotion passed away in Sybil's -breast, and insensibly she found herself lured into -an easy interchange of opinion on various subjects; -for in the topics of foreign travel, the galleries, -habits, tastes, and amusements of other lands, they -had ample matter for conversation, and found themselves -sliding into the position of friends, and talking -of things and themes that seldom occupy the -thoughts of a young girl. -</p> - -<p> -Now, as each knew not the name of the other, -and could not ask it, there was a decided awkwardness -in this; and as they continued to talk with -animation, the huge Thibet mastiff, who had been -their <i>introducteur</i>, rolled his great dark eyes from -one to the other, and lashed the grass with his tail, -as if quite satisfied with the result. -</p> - -<p> -"After the colourless Indo-Britons and yellow -Bengallees, how lovely seems the complexion of this -fresh young English girl!" was the ever-recurring -thought of the young officer, as he surveyed her -critically, from her smart hat and feather to her foot -that peeped from under her dress; and a lovely -little foot it was—tiny enough to have entered the -famous slipper of Cinderella. -</p> - -<p> -That the solitary girl was a lady was evident to -him; her carriage and bearing were full of graceful -ease, and she had an attraction of manner and -gesture peculiarly her own; but <i>who</i> was she, that -she, at her early years, had seen so much of the -world, and could speak of Spain and Rome, of -Athens and Sicily, and seemed to know every second -village among the wilds of the Apennines and the -Abruzzi? -</p> - -<p> -The sketching of this day was somewhat protracted, -and Sybil became aware that their eyes -sought each other with an interest she had never -felt before in those of a stranger, and that each time -they so met, her pulses quickened and her cheek -flushed or grew pale. Whence was this emotion? she -whispered in her heart. -</p> - -<p> -"I shall often think of this moorland tarn, when I -am far away," said the officer. -</p> - -<p> -"You leave this soon, then?" she remarked. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes; I am, ere long, going back to India." -</p> - -<p> -"My brother Denzil has gone there to join his -regiment." -</p> - -<p> -Had the stranger asked the almost inevitable -military question, "What regiment?" a little -discovery might have been made; but he was full of -the girl's beauty, and thought of that only. Something -of admiration or of ardour in his eyes inspired -her with confusion, and abruptly closing her book -as on the preceding day, she rose from the bank on -which she had been seated, and said, with a little -trepidation, -</p> - -<p> -"I am going now, and—and here our sketching -and meetings must end." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah! why?" -</p> - -<p> -"I fear," she stammered as she spoke, aware that -her speech was full of awkwardness—"I fear that I -have done wrong in—in——" -</p> - -<p> -"What?" -</p> - -<p> -"Engaging in quite a flirtation with a total -stranger." -</p> - -<p> -"You cannot flirt—you are too sensible and -artless; neither could I—with you, at least." -</p> - -<p> -"Have you never flirted?" asked Sybil, laughing -to cover what she felt to be a second mistake. -</p> - -<p> -"Often." -</p> - -<p> -"Then why not with me?" she asked naïvely and -archly. -</p> - -<p> -"First, tell me what is flirtation?" -</p> - -<p> -"I know what it is; but cannot define or describe -it." -</p> - -<p> -"Shall I make the attempt?" -</p> - -<p> -"Do, please," said Sybil, now laughing outright. -</p> - -<p> -"It is neither coquetry nor exactly playing at -courtship. It is one of those things most difficult -indeed of description and of definition. It depends -so much upon the time and place, the tone and -tenor of those who attempt it, and on the mood of -the moment, whether it be sad or gay. It is perilous -work among the young and beautiful, as it is often -so much mere nonsense, and yet is so much more -dangerous to one's peace of mind than any nonsense -could ever be. It is not so earnest or solemn as -deliberate love-making, and yet it is not quite a -mockery of it. It is a sharp weapon in the hands -of the wary; but a dangerous pastime for those who -have had no experience in <i>affaires du coeur</i>. It is a -kind of lovemaking that commits one to no promise, -and yet may raise the proudest and wildest anticipations -in the breast, and elicit the most unwary confidence. -Thus it is difficult to find where flirtation -exactly begins, and still more to say where it may -end—perhaps in real love and marriage. I fear I -have read you quite a dissertation on the subject, a -most hazardous one while looking into your bright -eyes; and now tell me," added the officer, his tone -and manner becoming more soft and earnest, "have -you not done injustice to yourself and to me, for in -all we have talked over so pleasantly both yesterday -and to-day has anything of this vague kind been -attempted?" -</p> - -<p> -"Most certainly not," replied Sybil, laughing -again. -</p> - -<p> -"With you it would indeed be perilous for me," -said the officer, taking her hand caressingly between -his own; "for I could not feign, where I would -rather feel." -</p> - -<p> -His eyes were dark and deep, their colour a kind -of blue, difficult to define, but unfathomable in -expression, though very soft just then; and now Sybil -grew pale, for if the speaker was not flirting, he had -suddenly slid into downright love-making; so she -said, with an effort— -</p> - -<p> -"We have been here more than an hour; am I -not detaining you from your friends?" -</p> - -<p> -"Perhaps," said he, with an air of pique; "pardon -me for looking at my watch. Two o'clock, by Jove! and -I promised to meet the Trecarrel girls on the -Camelford road half-an-hour ago. I shall catch it -from little Rose for this! And now good morning—pardon -me again if I have seemed intrusive, but I -do not despair of our meeting again." -</p> - -<p> -He had mounted while speaking, and, lifting his -hat with studious politeness, cantered off, while -Rajah went bounding and barking before him. -</p> - -<p> -"What a bright little fairy it is—and so clever -with her pencil! who the deuce can she be?" he was -thinking, while Sybil, with a vague sense of -disappointment and doubt, looked after him, half -fearing that she had been too pointed in her hint -that he should leave her; and yet how were they to -continue such meetings as strangers. -</p> - -<p> -In her lonely life, at least latterly, since they had -settled at Porthellick, she had met but few persons, -and with none so pleasing as this young officer. -</p> - -<p> -She hoped to meet him again on a more recognisable -footing, for she felt that though stolen interviews -might be very sweet, they could not be -without some peril; and to the young girl's mind, -it seemed that the formation of the acquaintance—the -whole adventure—was quite like some of the -episodes to be read of in novels; for a box from -"Mudie's," came regularly to Porthellick Villa, and -perhaps, by the laws of such literature, her strange -friend might prove a peer of the realm—a prince -it might be, incog.; who could say? -</p> - -<p> -Sybil lingered long by the lonely tarn, watching -the white swans floating among the broad-leaved -water-lilies, thinking over all the stranger had said, -recalling the pleasantly modulated tones of his voice -and the expression of his dark blue eyes (if blue -they were), till the sound of hoofs on the distant -highway drew her attention in that direction, and -with something perhaps of jealousy and pique, she -saw him gallop past with two ladies, both well -mounted on bright bay horses. They were the -Trecarrels, dashing and handsome girls, and the -sound of their merry voices and ringing laughter -came clearly over the moor as they rode at a -scamper towards Lanteglos, on the roof of the old -parish church of which the arms of the Trelawneys -and Trecarrels have been carved for centuries. -</p> - -<p> -"And these girls have him with them always," -thought she, as she turned homeward. "What -matter is it to me—the acquaintance of a couple -of days? why should the idea of him affect me so?" -</p> - -<p> -After this day she sought the vicinity of the -rock-pillar and the tarn no more. -</p> - -<p> -She was too open and candid in all her actions, -and loved her mamma too well to conceal ultimately -from her the pleasant interviews she had by the -moorland tarn "with such a delightful young man;" -but there her confidence ended; she did not give -the additional information that on three successive -Sundays, when mamma was too ill to attend church, -he had lingered or walked by the side of her -basket-phaeton, to the manifest annoyance of the -Misses Trecarrel, or that she had faintly promised, -<i>some</i> day, to make with him a joint sketch of -certain rocks upon the sea-shore; still less did she -whisper, that in her secret heart she liked him well, -or trusted to time or chance for the establishment -of an interchange of thought as yet concealed, "as -though the bridge between them was yet too frail -to cross;" and Constance, occupied solely by solicitude -concerning the now-protracted absence of her -husband, did not at first make any inquiries. -</p> - -<p> -Sybil found the stranger's image, his tones and -words recurring perpetually to her mind in spite -of herself, and she blushed at the conviction. She -had few male friends—beyond the burly rector and -old village doctor, perhaps none—and certainly none -that she had met elsewhere proved so graceful and -winning as this unknown admirer. To her partial -eyes, he seemed the beau-ideal of manly beauty, -while to those of others—even the Trecarrel -girls—he was simply a passably handsome fellow. -</p> - -<p> -"Why do I think of him at all?" she would ask -of herself: "though so young, he may be married—or -engaged—engaged perhaps to that Rose Trecarrel -of whom he seemed so much afraid the other day. -Yet he may surmise the same of me—I, Sybil -Devereaux, married!" and then she laughed at -her own conceit. -</p> - -<p> -"There is a depth in the human heart which, -once stirred, is long, long, ere its waters again -subside," and this depth he had contrived to stir -in the heart of Sybil. She who had seemed as -bright as the day, and happy as the blackbird that -sang on the adjacent rose-trees, became silent and -thoughtful and apt to indulge in dreamy moods. -</p> - -<p> -Old Winny Braddon was the first to detect this; -and so she set herself to watch, and hence the hints -she gave to Constance—hints which caused the -production of the sketch-book, with some confusion on -Sybil's part, as recorded in our tenth chapter, and -she took her young favourite to task in the usual -mode of old nurses, by commenting upon the -enormity of thinking of love or marriage at her -years. -</p> - -<p> -Now Sybil, like every young girl of her age, had -her day-dreams of a lover, just such a lover as this, -but she had not, as yet, thought of marriage. Such -a catastrophe—such a separation from "dearest -mamma"—had not quite entered her mind; but -now, by Winny Braddon's remarks, it seemed to be -thrust upon her consideration. She blushed and -felt abashed, as if the modesty of her nature had -been assailed, and her girlish mind was filled with -a vague sense of dread and awe, she knew not of -what or of whom. -</p> - -<p> -However, it chanced that on the last day he had -lingered by the side of her pony-phaeton for a few -minutes, resting his arms on the side thereof in -such a way that she could not, without positive -rudeness, have driven off, she had been resolving, -but not without a struggle in her heart, that she -would place herself in his way no more. -</p> - -<p> -"This must end," had been her thought; "it is -most unfair to poor mamma, and is unwise for my -own peace of mind;" and it was while she thus -determined, he came to her smiling, and leaning on -the side of the little phaeton, when the Trecarrels -were conversing with the rector's family, said in his -pleasant voice, -</p> - -<p> -"Shall we ever resume the little discussion we -had so merrily on that delightful day beside the old -rock-pillar?" -</p> - -<p> -"Discussion—on what?" asked Sybil, timidly. -</p> - -<p> -"Flirtation—Miss Devereaux." -</p> - -<p> -"What! you know my name?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes; I am happy to say I do now, Sybil Devereaux." -</p> - -<p> -"How came this to pass?" -</p> - -<p> -"Simply enough: the Trecarrel girls told me." -</p> - -<p> -"But I do not know them," said Sybil, with a -tone of pique. -</p> - -<p> -"May I have the pleasure of introducing——" -</p> - -<p> -"Excuse me, please, but not just now," said she, -hastily, remembering how her father had ever -avoided the family of the General. -</p> - -<p> -"And now I must tell you my name—Audley -Trevelyan, late of the 14th Hussars." -</p> - -<p> -"I have surely heard it before," said Sybil, -pondering, "but where I know not now." -</p> - -<p> -It was in the <i>Gazette</i> together with that of Denzil, -but she had forgotten the circumstance, and he said, -smiling still, -</p> - -<p> -"You may easily have heard it—the name is -peculiar to Cornwall, and my uncle is Lord -Lamorna." -</p> - -<p> -"Indeed! all Cornwall has heard that the late -lord was a very, very proud man. -</p> - -<p> -"Absurdly so; but I must bid you adieu. Rose -Trecarrel is impatient." -</p> - -<p> -"We are going, Mr. Trevelyan," said that young -lady, with some asperity of tone, from the window -of the carriage in which she and her sister were -seated; and lifting his hat, Audley hastened to join -them. The footman threw up the carriage-steps, -fussily closed the door, and they departed. So, as -doubtless the reader has foreseen, Sybil's admirer -was her own cousin; yet neither knew of the -relationship. -</p> - -<p> -She drove off in a somewhat dubious state of -mind, amid which, as she permitted the reins to -drop listlessly on the backs of her two little ponies -and allowed them to go at their own pace, she -gave way to the current of thought, and ended in a -quiet shower of tears, which, however, calmed and -soothed her. She had an undefined emotion of -pique alike at this stranger, Mr. Trevelyan, and -Rose Trecarrel; and as she had been learning to -love the former, she resented his extreme intimacy -with the latter, and she knew all the perils of -propinquity with a girl so lovely as Rose undoubtedly -was. -</p> - -<p> -Hence, more than ever did she resolve to avoid -him, and even sought to nurse herself into emotions -of anger by fancying there was something that -savoured of forwardness in the mode in which he -had recently addressed her. The moment she -reached home and tossed the reins to the groom, -she hastened to the side of Constance. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, mamma," she exclaimed, in a tumult of -excitement, "I have discovered the name of the -gentleman about whom you spoke to me lately!" -</p> - -<p> -"The hero of the sketch-book, and it is—what?" -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Audley Trevelyan; don't you think it so -pretty?" -</p> - -<p> -Constance was silent for nearly a minute. Then -foreseeing much trouble and danger if this intimacy -were permitted to ripen before her husband's return, -and the full recognition of herself, her son and -daughter, in their proper place, and in society in -general—society, "that Star Chamber of the -well-bred world,"—she said, with grave energy, while -taking Sybil's flushed face between her soft white -hands,— -</p> - -<p> -"Promise to me, darling, that you will meet him -no more—at least until advised by your papa." -</p> - -<p> -"I give you my promise, dearest mamma." -</p> - -<p> -"Remember that he is the friend, the guest, of -those Trecarrels whom your papa has ever avoided -for reasons best known to himself, though they -seem people of the best style; and you owe this -obedience to him in his absence." -</p> - -<p> -"Have no fear for me, mamma; I shall ever -obey you," replied Sybil, as she threw her arms -round her mother's neck and kissed her to conceal -the tears that were welling up in her fine dark -eyes. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap12"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XII. -<br /><br /> -THE PIXIES' HOLE. -</h3> - -<p> -On the following evening Sybil had set forth on -an errand of charity to one of the many poor who -blessed the bounteous hand of her mother—the -widow of a fisherman who had perished during the -pilchard season in the past summer—and she meant -to return, as she stated, by the sea-shore. -</p> - -<p> -Sybil had much cause for thought, and was -somewhat disposed to linger on the way. The ample -means enjoyed by her parents on the one hand, with -the general seclusion of their lives on the other, and -their studied avoidance of society when in England, -had now given the girl much reason for reflection. -</p> - -<p> -Her papa's mysterious absence too, and her -mamma's nervous anxiety about American letters, -were not without singularity; and why had both so -sedulously abstained from all introduction to the -family of the Trecarrels, who were greatly esteemed -in the neighbourhood, and who were undoubtedly -people of the best style? By the system of which -this seemed merely a portion, she was even now -debarred from having properly presented to her this -Mr. Audley Trevelyan, who seemed so well disposed -to admire—perhaps, to love her. -</p> - -<p> -"We have made but few acquaintances and, of -course, still fewer friends at Porthellick," said Sybil, -half aloud; "now why is it thus—to have means in -plenty and so few to love us? What can be the -reason? Mamma has some <i>secret</i>; but what can -that secret be? Poor mamma—she looks so sweet -always, and yet so sad at times!" -</p> - -<p> -She would write to Denzil, she thought, on the -subject of these mysteries; but Denzil was yet at -sea, and it would be long, long, before she might -receive his answer; and, then, there would be an -awkwardness in their parents' reading, as they -would certainly wish to do, his letters and -perceiving the doubts she had suggested—the secrets -she wished to probe. Perhaps when her papa, -whose especial pet she wras, returned, she might -venture to give some hints, to make some inquiries; -and as she saw the white sails of the shipping and -the smoke of many a passing steamer, she lifted her -eyes to heaven with an unuttered prayer in her -heart, that she might soon again hear his voice and -cast herself into his arms. -</p> - -<p> -By one of those lanes peculiar to Cornwall, where -the old road is sunk so deep in the ground and the -bordering walls are so high that the surrounding -scenery is sometimes hidden, lanes where in summer -the elms cast their leafy shadows, and the fragrant -wild rose and honeysuckle mingle with the long -tangles of the bramble, Sybil reached the shore and -descended to the very margin of the sea. -</p> - -<p> -It was one of those evenings which, even in the -last days of autumn, come to the rocky and rugged -duchy, when the atmosphere is so mild and balmy -that one might think it was in the early weeks of -spring, when the grey cliffs and purple moorland -glisten in the yellow rays as the sunlight falls softly -between the flying clouds, on land and sea; and the -sparkling stream, that rolls from rock to rock on its -passage to the shore, makes music in its plash as it -falls from the cascade into the pool below, where the -brown trout lurks in safety and unseen; and Sybil, -as she wandered on, felt, she knew not why, an -emotion of calm and contentment growing in her -heart. -</p> - -<p> -But in its serenity and beauty the evening was -deceptive, and old fishermen on the heights, and -other weather-beaten salts who lingered, telescope -in hand, on many a rude pier that jutted into the -Bristol Channel, when looking seaward detected -that which the landsman saw not—the tokens of a -coming storm; for seamen have strange instincts -peculiarly their own, and can read the sky like the -pages of a mighty book. -</p> - -<p> -Across the sea the sun, now setting, poured a -steady stream of golden radiance, like a broad and -glittering pathway from the far horizon to the very -shore, by the margin of which Sybil was now lingering; -and it tinted with warm light the flinty brow of -many a storm-beaten headland, and those fantastic -piles of grey granite which cap the hills in Cornwall, -and are there called <i>carns</i>. -</p> - -<p> -Seated on a fragment of rock, lulled by the -regular and monotonous rolling of the surge, Sybil -was immersed in thoughts of her absent father and -brother, each now traversing the same sea, and yet -so far apart upon its waters; she thought of Audley -Trevelyan. Should she ever meet him in society -as she wished to do? A little time and it might be -too late, for Rose Trecarrel was so lovely, and -already seemed to consider him as her own -property; for it was by her side he sat in church, -where they used the same books, and it was she that -he usually shawled or cloaked first for the carriage; -so if they were not already engaged, they might very -soon be so. -</p> - -<p> -Amid this reverie she was startled by a distant -voice holloing, and apparently to her. She looked -up, and on the summit of a cliff that overhung the -shore, some two hundred feet or so above where she -was seated, a man was gesticulating violently and -beckoning to her. -</p> - -<p> -Was he mad or tipsy? was her mamma ill; or -what did this person mean? She listened intently -and thought she heard her own name; he was -evidently addressing her, and pointing to the sea. -At last his voice distinctly reached her ear. -</p> - -<p> -"Look out, Miss Devereaux,—the tide is coming in!" -</p> - -<p> -She glanced hastily round her, and a chill struck -upon her heart, for the fragment of granite on which -she sat was almost environed by the encroaching -sea, and the stripe of yellow sand, by which she had -been walking at the base of the cliffs, was nearly -covered by the surf, which was already chafing -white and angrily about the rocky headlands which -formed the horns of a little bay. -</p> - -<p> -Heedless of wetting her feet, Sybil gathered her -skirts in her hand and rushed shoreward, when a -greater terror smote her heart as she looked around -her. The man on the cliff had disappeared; no aid -seemed nigh, and no living thing was visible save a -solitary chough or red-legged crow, which was -perched on a fragment of rock, from whence he eyed -her in quiet security. -</p> - -<p> -She was at a part of the coast where the land -receded and the sea advanced between two headlands -of granite, precipitous and sheer, but crowned by -groves of ancient trees. The water, as yet, was -smooth as a mill-pond within the bay, and reflected -in its glassy depths the coast that towered above it; -while no sound came along the vast expanse of -shore, save the hollow gurgle of the flowing tide, as -it sought the recesses of the many caverns and -fissures in the lower rocks. In the offing, however, -the rising waves were edged with white, and this -sign, together with the lowering sky and gathering -clouds, showed that the coming night would be a -rough one. -</p> - -<p> -From the stripe of sandy beach, now nearly -covered by the incoming sea, the only path lay -round a little moss-grown slope at the base of an -enormous rock, from whence it wound upward to -the verge of a steep precipice and led to the deep -old lane, already described. Over this mossy and -angular ledge the angry tide had already rolled its -spray, consequently it was too slippery for the -footsteps of the affrighted girl, who, after thrice -approaching it, finally shrunk back, and ran, with -wetted feet, towards the centre of the bay, keeping -close to the sheer cliffs, against which the flowing -sea was rising fast, and beginning to surge and -boom, throwing masses of foam and froth over her -whole person, while the scared seagulls and puffins -whirled in flights around her. -</p> - -<p> -Once or twice a wild shriek escaped Sybil; then -her voice began to fail her, and she could only utter -prayers that were earnest, deep, and piteous. -</p> - -<p> -Wildly and despairingly she looked upward to the -summits of the cliffs; they were impending and -inaccessible, by their gloomy outline fully illustrating -the influence and fury of what is called "the -Atlantic drift," which is especially turned into the -Bristol Channel, where the rocks, by the waves for -ever heaving and rolling in mighty undulations, are -worn into concave fronts, and form thus a hopeless -barrier to the shipwrecked, and to all who might -seek to ascend them. -</p> - -<p> -She turned seaward with haggard eyes and wrung -her poor little hands; not a boat was near, and -nothing now was visible between the horns of the -bay save the smoke of some distant steamer, -hull-down below the horizon line, as she sped on her -way to the coast of Ireland. The flowing tide was -above Sybil's ankles now; she knew that at high -water it would mount to several feet, and that ere -long her drowned corse should be dashed and battered, -at the sport of the waves, against those very -rocks at which she glanced so despairingly! -</p> - -<p> -The man who had seen from their summit and -warned her—where was he now, and who was he? -He knew her name, and yet had he abandoned her -to her fate in that terrible place, with the sea and -the darkness closing fast around her; for the sun -had set and dun clouds were piled in stormy masses -now, where so lately all was golden sheen. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly she bethought her of a cavern in the -rocks known as the Pixies' Hole, which her brother -Denzil had often explored—a gloomy place, the -haunt at times of the seal and of the <i>zart</i>, as old -Cornish folks called the sea-urchin. It was one of -those great caverns in which, in the barbarous times -of old, the Cornish men took shelter from the -Romans and Saxons, just as the children of Israel -did from the Midianites in the dens of the mountains; -and there, by local superstition, still abode, -unscared by the whistle of the adjacent railway, -certain little beings known as the Pixies, who came -hither from Devonshire on dark nights, mounted on -the farmers' horses, and were heard to sing in its -recesses while pounding their cider. -</p> - -<p> -Gathering her skirts again, the poor girl dashed -through the water, and ere long reaching the mouth -of the cavern, clambered in breathlessly, falling, the -while, more than once on her tender hands, when -her feet slipped, on the glassy surface of the sea-weedy -rocks and stones, which covered all the ascent -to this gaunt and gloomy place of refuge. -</p> - -<p> -She knew that it penetrated far inland, and hoped -that there for a time she should be safe; but there -would be hours of darkness, cold, and captivity to -endure, ere the ebb of the tide would permit her to -escape, and by that time what must be the terror of -her poor mamma! -</p> - -<p> -When fairly within this place her courage rose a -little, for she saw that it closely resembled a grotto -she had frequently visited and sketched—the Cave -of Porthmellin. The floor of this great fissure in -the rocks ascended at an angle from the shore, mid -as the tide advanced, Sybil found herself compelled -to retire further and further still, inward and -upward amid its dreary uncertainties, while the rising -tide, now rolling into the bay with the full force of a -west wind, began to surge with a sound as of -thunder, about the mouth by which she had entered, -and that orifice seemed to lessen rapidly as the water -rose within it. -</p> - -<p> -The roar of the sea woke a hundred weird echoes -amid the impenetrable gloom beyond her; while the -view outward from the point now attained by the -breathless and affrighted girl, for a time proved -strange and, to her artistic eye, full of wonderful -effects. The walls of rock were dark, and yet so -polished by time and the seas of ages as to emit -reflected light, and to reveal little pools of crystal -water lying still and motionless in fissures and -crevices, where star-fish, shells, and hermit-crabs -had been left by the last ebb-tide. -</p> - -<p> -With growing terror Sybil could perceive that by -each successive wave the mouth of her refuge grew -smaller, and it was evident that ere long it would be -covered by the sea, while she should be shut within! -</p> - -<p> -A cry escaped her with this awful conviction; but -she uttered no more, for the echoes of her voice -came back to her strangely and with melancholy -variations, as if from vast distances. If the cavern -mouth were totally submerged, should she be suffocated; -or if not, might she otherwise too surely die -of cold, and lie there till some holiday explorer, or -some boy in search of puffins' nests, found her -remains? A cold current of air that swept past her -from within the cavern warned her that it had an -outlet somewhere; but it filled her soul with greater -terror, for she remembered to have heard Denzil, -old Derrick Braddon, and others say, that the Pixies' -Hole terminated in the shaft of an old and long -unused mine, down which she might fall and be dashed -to a very pulp, if she ventured one foot further; for -all was gloomy horror round her now; and as her -knees yielded under her, and she sank upon them -to pray, she felt the still rising tide flow over them -as it had rolled completely above the rocky arch of -the cave and submerged it! -</p> - -<p> -Feeling the ground with her hands outspread, the -unhappy girl continued to creep a few yards further -in, and then she paused, for all that she knew to -the contrary, on the very verge of the fatal mine! -</p> - -<p> -One little while she was full of pious resignation -to die, for she had lived an innocent and guiltless -life. She drew from her bosom a locket and -fervently kissed it, as it contained the hair of -her parents and Denzil—all she loved on earth. -She knelt with her bowed head between her hands -to shut out the horrid booming and sucking sounds -of the sea in the lower part of the cave, and closing -her eyes, as if the more to concentrate her thoughts, -burst into passionate and vehement prayer. -</p> - -<p> -Then anon the horror of death—and especially of -such a death, amid gloom and darkness, unseen, -unpitied, and unknown, would draw from her a piteous -wail, that was lost amid the bellowing of the sea, for -a storm of wind had now risen in the channel. -</p> - -<p> -Of that newly-found admirer whom she had been -learning to love, Audley Trevelyan, she had totally -ceased to think; her heart was wholly occupied by -thoughts of her papa, her mamma, her brother -Denzil—all of whom she might never, never see -more! -</p> - -<p> -Dread of falling headlong down the shaft of the -ancient mine, more than a thousand feet, perhaps, -made her, we have said, pause breathlessly, and lie -on the sloping floor of rock, listening to her watery -death coming nearer and nearer with a gurgling -sound, that, to her nervous and excited imagination, -seemed like the chuckle of a destroying fiend! -The dark unspeakable himself was alleged by the -peasantry to frequent the oozy recess of the -Pixies' Hole, and the bottom of the old shaft was -said, by the same veracious authorities, to be -haunted by the unquiet spirits of ancient miners, -who had perished there in the time of old. -</p> - -<p> -Rapidly, yet terribly, through the mind of Sybil, -then, as she fully believed herself to be, hovering on -the verge of death, came back the eighteen years of -her past life; at Como, in the old palace by the Arno; -among the Apennines and the wild Abruzzi; Rome, -Athens, and elsewhere, all passed before her like a -rapid phantasmagoria—days and hours of happiness -and pleasure. The faces and voices of her parents -and her brother so beloved, came vividly amid those -memories of their strange and aimless wandering in -foreign lands. The secret of her mother—whatever -it was—she should never learn now; but gleams of -hope and the desire to live, mingled with the blackness -of her despair, for existence seemed sweet, and -she felt so young to die, when a long life should be -before her. -</p> - -<p> -At Porthellick she must long since have been -missed, and her fancy pictured the agony of her -lonely and tender mother; the wild, noisy grief of -Winny Braddon, and the honest anxiety of those -who might be fruitlessly seeking for her along the -cliffs or through the bay by boats; seeking for her -alive or dead. -</p> - -<p> -All their search would be vain, for the tide was -still rising, and now where she stood, not daring to -go further, the water flowed above her knees. A -little time, a very little time more, and she should -be lying drowned, the sport of the waves within the -Pixies' Hole, or borne by them in their reflux, into -the mighty waste of sea that washes the rugged -shore of Cornwall. -</p> - -<p> -A shrill cry escaped her as the water flowed to -her waist; and gaspingly she felt with her hands for a -little ledge of rock, up which she clambered, being in -her terror endued by unnatural strength; and then, -dripping and despairing, she felt a numbness come -over all her faculties, which prevented her responding -to certain strange sounds, somewhat like those -of human voices mingled with the barking of a dog, -now coming out of the inner gloom, while again a -superstitious dread, the result of Winny Braddon's -teaching, began to mingle with her more solid fears -and sufferings. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap13"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIII. -<br /><br /> -THE TIDE IN! -</h3> - -<p> -For a little space we shall return to the pretty -villa of Porthellick, and to the anxious life of her -who dwelt there; her thoughts ever with her absent -son and husband. In this instance we put Denzil -before his father, for the return of Richard Lord -Lamorna, was looked for daily, but that of his son -might be the event of years to come; so Denzil's -last fond glance ere he left her, and his calm aspect -as he lay asleep and all unconscious that she -hovered near his pillow, were deeply impressed on -his poor mother's heart; and now an eternity of -waters rolled between them, for his ship, she knew, -must be ploughing the wide Indian Ocean. -</p> - -<p> -To the wayfarer along the coast-road towards the -quaint village of Endellion (with its weather-beaten -church, and the ivied ruins of Rhoscarrock), that -white-walled villa with its rose covered peristyle -buried among the pale-green drooping willows from -which the locality takes its Cornish name, no better -example of peace, content and quiet could be -given. -</p> - -<p> -Yet the place was fated to be one of anxiety and sorrow. -</p> - -<p> -Seated at a little buhl escritoire in her -drawing-room, Constance was lingering over the last -letter from her husband, after the removal of -the tea equipage, and long after Sybil had set -out on her charitable mission to the fisherman's -widow. -</p> - -<p> -"Richard is very long of returning, surely!" was -her prevailing thought, as she sat with her graceful -head resting on a white and dimpled hand, quite -unconscious that the sun had set beyond the sea, -and that the shades of evening were deepening -around her. -</p> - -<p> -No upbraiding thought of that absent husband -entered the gentle heart of Constance; yet with all -that heart's gentleness, she could not but think -somewhat bitterly of the late Lord Lamorna, whose -unreasonable prejudices and pride of birth and -station, though only the result, the growth and -maturity of centuries of time, and many generations -of Trevelyans, had cost her years of anxiety, of -unmerited seclusion and wandering in foreign lands -under a name which was not that of her children's -father, and thus keeping them in ignorance of their -real family, its claims and rank—for the mystery -had been continued, even to the gazetting of Denzil, -under the name of Devereaux! -</p> - -<p> -The rising wind as a sudden gust swept through -the grove of willows, roused her from these thoughts, -and she found old Winny Braddon, hard-featured -and keen-eyed, lingering near, with anxiety depicted -in her face. -</p> - -<p> -"The winter is setting in early, surely," said -Constance; "we are not out of autumn yet, Winny, -and see how dark the evening has become!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>En hâv perkou gwâv</i>, my mother used to say, -old Cornish for 'in summer, remember winter,'" -replied Winny. "A sad night it will be for the -poor fellows on board ship, ma'am, I fear." -</p> - -<p> -"Do not say so, Winny!" -</p> - -<p> -"The waves are rolling in fast, and breaking -white as snow upon Tintagel Head, and all along -Trebarreth Strand." -</p> - -<p> -"And where is Miss Devereaux?" -</p> - -<p> -"I know not, ma'am—only she has not -returned." -</p> - -<p> -"And she was to come by the shore!" exclaimed -Constance, starting from her seat. -</p> - -<p> -"The shore! do you mean the bit of sand that -lies near the Pixies' Hole?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes—yes." -</p> - -<p> -"The tide has long since been in—my God! oh -mistress, our poor <i>chealveen</i> may be lost!" exclaimed -Winny, using the old endearing local word for -'child.' -</p> - -<p> -Constance closed her escritoire with trembling -hands, and went, in alarm, to the windows which -faced the sea. The sun, we have said, had long -since set, and athwart the dim and black and stormy -clouds that now hid the point of his departure, a -torrent of rain was falling aslant upon the dark and -foam-flecked sea, and would ere long be drenching -all the rocky shore. A little time and all should -be darkness, and where was the absent Sybil? -</p> - -<p> -Close-hauled, and running fast before the blast -for shelter in Portquin Bay, a large boat, the last, -perhaps, of the autumn pilchard fishers, careening -wildly over amid the foam, was seen to vanish round -a promontory. -</p> - -<p> -A sudden access of terror now seized the heart of -Constance. Instantly a mounted servant was -dispatched to the hut of the widow, and the man soon -came galloping back, with a scared visage and the -tidings that Miss Devereaux had left her more than -three hours ago, and had certainly descended to the -beach, as she had been seen to do so. By this -time, darkness had fairly set in; rain was falling -fast upon the bleak coast, and "sowing wide the -pathless main," while a heavy gale from thence was -dashing a flood tide upon the shore, and the soul of -Constance grew sick with apprehension. -</p> - -<p> -"The tide in! oh my God—in what can I have -offended Thee to be punished thus? My Sybil—my -Sybil—is the cup of my bitterness to be filled -to overflowing!" she exclaimed, in a low voice as -she sank upon a sofa, while Winny Braddon wrung -her hands, and in the noisy grief peculiar to her -class, lamented, as already said, "the darling -<i>chealveen</i>" she had nursed in her bosom. -</p> - -<p> -Constance would have gone forth in person to -search, bleak and rainy though the night; but she -was too feeble and delicate to face the storm, nor -would Nurse Braddon permit her. She sent all her -servants, male and female, in search of the tidings -she was terrified to hear; and ever and anon she -rushed to the front portico and looked out upon -the gloomy night, to where away beyond the willow -groves that grew around the villa, the bleak high -road wound seaward over a bare Cornish moor, -towards those clumps of old trees that crowned the -rocks which overlooked the fatal Pixies' Hole. -</p> - -<p> -Slowly, as if each were an eternity of time, hour -after hour passed now—periods filled up by agony -and the pulsations of her heart; and ere long her -watch told her that midnight was nigh. -</p> - -<p> -Midnight, and her child still absent—her Sybil, -the mistress of a thousand pretty, winning and -affectionate ways! -</p> - -<p> -Higher and more high rose the blustering wind, -sweeping before its angry breath the last brown -leaves of autumn; wildly the willows seemed to lash -the stormy air, as their supple branches were tossed -on the stormy blast; and from a distance up the -valley came the roaring of the sea, whose waves at -the horizon were brightened occasionally by a -ghastly glare of lightning. Between the scudding -clouds, the moon's pale crescent was visible for a -time, above the ruins of King Arthur's castle on -steep Tintagel Head, a tremendous bluff (which is -cleft by a chasm from the mainland) adding thus to -the weird and wild aspect of the night; and what -served to increase the distraction of the wretched -mother, was the strange circumstance that of the -several messengers she sent forth, not one had yet -returned with tidings of any kind. Suspense thus -became as it were, a bodily agony; she was led to -anticipate the worst; and Winny Braddon though -her heart was a prey to the keenest alarm and -anxiety, had to use almost affectionate force to -prevent her mistress, a weak and delicate little -woman as she was, from sallying forth in her -despair to prosecute the search in person. -</p> - -<p> -Winny had but slender hope, she knew every foot of -her native shore, and was old enough to remember -many a dark and terrible story of the Cornish -wreckers, and when many a keg of French brandy, -and many a bale of good tobacco were brought from -the Scilly Isles, and without the knowledge of the -Coast Guard, landed slyly in some quiet nook and -cavern, where those to whom they were consigned -knew well when to find them; she knew many who -had perished in those secret places, when seeking -for the hidden wares; and it was for being engaged -in some of these little affairs, that her brother -Derrick, had to "levant" from the duchy, and -become a soldier in "the master's regiment"—the -Cornish Light Infantry. -</p> - -<p> -Alternately Constance lay in a species of stupor -on a sofa, or started to the front door, where she -listened with eager ears, the rain falling on her pale -face, and the wind blowing about her hair, while -she could see the lanterns of the searchers, -glimmering like distant <i>ignes fatui</i>, as they proceeded -to and fro along the heights that overhung the -sea. -</p> - -<p> -Denzil, she thought, was gone on life's highway, -and might never return; their daughter drowned—their -only child now it would seem, reft from them -suddenly and cruelly! What would Richard say -on his return, and how was she to meet his eye? -What account was she to give of her maternal -solicitude and of her stewardship? Yet in what -way was she to blame? -</p> - -<p> -Yes! she did accuse herself. The warnings and -hints of Winny Braddon came to memory. She had -been remiss; she had permitted Sybil to wander too -much abroad with her sketch-book, and this was the -end of it; yet who, without some divine prescience, -could have foreseen a catastrophe so terrible? -How often had Denzil filled her mind with fear and -anxiety by his exploits among those very rocks, and -by his explorations of that horrible Pixies Hole, -where, too probably, his sister had perished -miserably; yet her bold and handsome Denzil, always -came back in safety to kiss and laugh away her fears -and upbraidings. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh why is this terrible calamity put upon me?" -she moaned, as she lay with her face covered by her -hands, and her damp dishevelled hair; "is it but the -forerunner of a greater—if a <i>greater</i> there can be? -Can I have loved my husband and our children so -much that I have forgotten to love my God!" -</p> - -<p> -And for a moment or two, she actually turned -over in her mind this strange idea—the first proposition -of the Mystics, which was, that the love of the -Supreme Being must be pure and disinterested; -that is, exempt from all views of interest, all care of -those we love on earth, and all hope of reward—tenets -defended by Madame de Guyon, and advocated -by the eloquent Fénélon. -</p> - -<p> -A sudden knocking at the front door, and a violent -pealing of the house-bell, caused her to start as if -with an electric shock. -</p> - -<p> -Tidings had come at last—tidings that might fill -her soul with joy, or cause it to die within her. -</p> - -<p> -"General Trecarrel, would speak with you -ma'am," said Winny Braddon, hurrying in with fresh -excitement in her tone and manner. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap14"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIV. -<br /><br /> -LOST. -</h3> - -<p> -The stranger who had called to Sybil by name, -and who had recognised her from the summit of the -cliff, was no other than General Trecarrel, the -same whom her parents had so studiously avoided; -but who nevertheless knew her well by sight, having -seen her on many occasions when riding abroad, -and on Sundays at church, whither she always -drove in her little pony phaeton, and he had always -admired her beauty greatly. -</p> - -<p> -The General was not a very old man; he was -still looking for another command in India, and -though in affluent circumstances was yet an enthusiastic -soldier, who believed that military rank and -stars and ribbons, were the only things in this -world worth living for. He was nearly six feet in -height—erect as a pike, and well built; his features -were handsome, his eyes dark and keen; his -complexion was well bronzed and dark, his short -shorn hair was becoming grey and grizzled, and his -manner, by force of habit, and the air to command, -was brief and authoritative. -</p> - -<p> -He knew in a moment the great peril of the girl -on the beach below him; he saw that already the -tide was chafing in white surf at each horn of the -bay, round either of which she could alone escape -from the watery trap that enclosed her, unless taken -off the shore by a boat. The General was on foot; -that part of the coast was very lonely and no house -or hut was, near; but intent upon her rescue, he -hurried away as fast as a limp in a wounded leg -(he had received a ball at Ghuznee) would permit -him, from place to place, in search of a boat; but -neither boat nor fisherman could be found in time -to take her off that perilous beach, ere the tide -covered it. -</p> - -<p> -The evening darkened quickly, and the stormy -wind brought faster in the stormy sea. Near the -gate-lodge of his own residence, he met Audley -Trevelyan strolling leisurely in the avenue with -his hands in his pockets, accompanied by his huge -dog, and enjoying a cigar before the bell should -ring to dress for dinner; but the havannah fairly -dropped from his lips in his surprise on beholding -the excited state of the usually calm and collected -General Trecarrel. -</p> - -<p> -"What's the row, General—what the deuce is -the matter?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"A dreadful thing will occur—if it has not -already occurred—a poor girl on a solitary part of -the beach yonder, has been cut off by the tide, and -unless we can save her in ten minutes at farthest, -all will be over—yes, in ten minutes!" added -Trecarrel, looking at his gold watch—the gift of -Sir John Keane, with whom he had served in the -conquest of Cabul. -</p> - -<p> -"Good Heavens, let us get a boat at once!" -</p> - -<p> -"There is not one to be had—the pilchard fishers -hereabout are all at sea!" -</p> - -<p> -"Lower someone over the cliffs by a rope; I -have gone myself, thus, for a chough's egg, more -than once." -</p> - -<p> -"The rocks are nearly two hundred feet in height -in some places, and the poor girl——" -</p> - -<p> -"Is she a lady, General?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, and a handsome one, too." -</p> - -<p> -"You know her then—she is not a stranger?" -</p> - -<p> -"To me only—a Miss Devereaux, who resides at -Porthellick." -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Who</i> do you say?" shouted Audley; "Sybil Devereaux?" -</p> - -<p> -"The same." -</p> - -<p> -"Merciful Heavens, let us do something at once!" -</p> - -<p> -"True, but without a boat what can be done?" -</p> - -<p> -"She cannot, she must not, she <i>shall not</i> be left -to perish thus, if I can save her!" exclaimed Audley -Trevelyan, with all the impetuosity of youth, and -with sudden emotions of terror, pity, and tenderness -combined. He, usually so calm, quiet, and -apparently unimpressionable, to the surprise of the -General, now rushed to the stable-yard, and loudly, -even fiercely summoned grooms, gardeners, and -lodge-keepers, and with these carrying poles and -stable-lanterns, hurried towards the seashore, while -two messengers were despatched to the hut of a -fisherman, who lived about a mile distant, to get -his boat, or at least a coil of stout ropes, and they -succeeded in securing the latter; but his boat was -at sea, and was the same which Constance had seen -running round the headland for shelter at Portquin. -</p> - -<p> -The alarm spread rapidly, and soon a dozen of -men at least were searching along the verge of the -cliffs in the dusk. The sea was seen rolling its -waves round all the little bay now, and the base -of the cliffs was marked by a curling line of -snow-white foam alone. Every vestige of sandy beach -had disappeared, and so had all trace of the poor -loiterer whom the General had last seen there! -</p> - -<p> -Many a "halloo" was uttered, but vainly, for no -response came upwards from below. -</p> - -<p> -Audley Trevelyan was very pale, and very silent, -though deeply excited. He was not wont to indulge -in self-examination, and consequently he never knew -until now how dear this girl was to him—in fact, -how much he had begun to love her. -</p> - -<p> -The dusk deepened into darkness, and a weird -effect was given to the wild rock scenery by the -fitful gleams of the lanterns carried along the edges -of those perilous cliffs by the searchers, who felt -that they were literally doing nothing, yet in the -spirit of humanity were loth to relinquish their -task, in which they were now joined by the terrified -and excited servants from the villa. The wind was -rising fast, and its mournful voice, as it swept -through the bare branches of the old groves above -the bay, mingled with the booming of the waves -upon the rocks below. -</p> - -<p> -Audley felt almost thankful for the gloom, as it -hid the workings of his features, and like a -thorough Englishman, he detested alike a scene -and to be a subject for speculation; but now the -deep baying of his Thibet dog among a clump of -bushes and gorse, attracted the marked attention of -the searchers. -</p> - -<p> -"The dog has found some track or trace; he -never barks thus, save for some cogent reason!" -exclaimed Audley, as he hastened to the spot. -</p> - -<p> -"Plaise sur, the dog do hear or see summat," -added Michael Treherne, an old and decrepit miner, -who in his earlier years had been an "underground -captain" in Botallack mine, and one of the best -wrestlers in the duchy, and who had hobbled forth, -staff in hand, to assist in the search; "if the dog be -on the right road, we be on the wrang. But take -'ee care, surs; there's the shaft of a main old mine -hereabouts; and out of it, in its time, there have -come many a keenly lode o' tin and goodly bunch -of copper." -</p> - -<p> -"I know the place, Michael," cried Audley; -"Heavens above! she must be in the Pixies' Hole, -which, as you are all likely aware, opens into the -shaft." -</p> - -<p> -"Just so, Mr. Trevelyan; through that same -hole, the water was pumped into the sea in my -grandfeyther's time—and that warn't yesterday, -sur." -</p> - -<p> -"How old are you, Michael?" asked the General, -lending the old man his hand. -</p> - -<p> -"Seventy past; few miners live to my time, and -'tis ten years since I was underground," replied -Treherne with a sigh; "I can mind o' 'ee a small -booy, General, robbin' my garden o' apples." -</p> - -<p> -Proceeding cautiously about a hundred yards -back from the verge of the cliffs to the place where -the dog was baying, they found amid the tangled -gorse bushes, the mound of slag and other debris, -now covered with rank grass and weeds, in the -centre of which yawned the round mouth of the -ancient mine; and as they drew near the dog -continued to bay the louder, with its forefeet -outstretched, and its nose in the air. Then it -began to fawn and leap upon its master, with such -ponderous gambols, that more than once he was -nearly thrown to the ground. -</p> - -<p> -"Down, Rajah—down, sir! keep quiet, dog," he -exclaimed, and while he spoke, something like the -cry of a female came to his ear; "oh, General, I -see it all now! She has been driven by the tide -into the Pixies' hole, and is even now on the verge -of this shaft; should she be ignorant of its -existence, she may fall into the mine and be dead ere -she reaches the bottom!" -</p> - -<p> -"It must all be over with the poor lass, -Mr. Trevelyan," said the old miner, shaking his head; -"hear ye <i>that</i>." -</p> - -<p> -And, as they listened, they could hear above the -moaning of the wind and the surging of the sea, the -sound of water pouring within the shaft of the -mine, and falling apparently to a vast depth below. -A sense of the deep profundity that yawned before -them, made all save Audley and the old miner, -Treherne, shrink, with faces that seemed pale in -the fitful gleams of the lanterns, and now the latter -spoke again. -</p> - -<p> -"Aw dear, aw dear! dost hear, sur? The tide -has risen to upper mouth o' the Pixies' Hole, and -is now pouring down into the lower level o' the -mine, so if the poor lady beant drowned in one -place, she will be at the bottom o' tother." -</p> - -<p> -There seemed to be some probability of such -being the case; and though Audley was horror-struck -with the suggestion, he said with apparent -calmness, the result of a great effort,— -</p> - -<p> -"The upper mouth you speak of, Michael, is -about fifty feet below where we stand; surely, the -tide could never reach it, even at full flood?" -</p> - -<p> -"But who will venture down to see?" asked -Treherne, almost with a grin on his hard old -visage. -</p> - -<p> -"I shall!" -</p> - -<p> -"You, Mr. Trevelyan—you, sur?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes." -</p> - -<p> -"Dare you go down, Trevelyan, with that terrible -sound in your ears?" asked the General, and all -present murmured the same thing, save Sybil's -servants, who moaned and wrung their hands. -</p> - -<p> -"Dare I go down?" repeated Audley, "when a -woman is in the case—a lady—Sybil Devereaux! -To whom are you talking, General? Have I not -for a joke taken a letter to the Devil's Post Office, -and will I shrink for this?" he asked, referring to -the deep and dangerous chasm at Kinance Cove, -where the sea bellows for ever with a thundering -sound, and from time to time hurls a column of -water furiously through an aperture, when those -who are adventurous enough to descend in the dark -and deliver a letter, as if to the presiding Genius of -the place, will find it rudely torn from their fingers -by an inward current of air, accompanying the -reflux of the sea. "We have blocks and tackle -with us," continued Audley; "rig them to poles -laid across the shaft, and by Jove, I'll go down -with a lantern; quick, my lads, for God's sake lose -no time!" -</p> - -<p> -"Are you not afraid of gas—or foul air, -Trevelyan?" asked the General. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't mean to go to the bottom." -</p> - -<p> -"Of course not; but if the rope should break?" -</p> - -<p> -"In that case, it won't matter what I meet with," -was the grimly significant reply; "but be careful, -my good fellows, for I trust my life to you in this -instance." -</p> - -<p> -"If the tackle did break, thee'd soon be in -jowds" (<i>i.e.</i>, pieces), said Treherne, with a -saturnine smile. -</p> - -<p> -An oar and a stout pole, which two of the party -carried, were laid across the mouth of the shaft. -</p> - -<p> -A double-sheaved block was securely lashed to -them; a strong rope was rove through the sheaves, -and a species of cradle was formed for the -adventurous Audley Trevelyan. -</p> - -<p> -Long familiar with his native rocks, the latter -when a bold boy, had clambered by Bodrigan's -Leap at Portmellin,* when seeking for puffins' nests, -and could look without shrinking from the steeps -of Gurnard's Head, Tol Pedn Penwith, and the -fantastic cliffs of Tintagel. He had been doted on -by the miners, with whom he had often descended -the deepest shafts, clad like themselves in flannel -shirt and trousers. Thus attired, he had explored -the vast levels and silent galleries by the dim light -of a feeble candle, while, as Sybil told of Denzil, he -could hear the roar of the Atlantic over his head, -and the boulders dashed by its force on the bluffs of -the Land's End; and thence beyond, in levels half -a mile out at sea, where the passing ships glided -like silent phantoms many a fathom far above where -he wandered. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="footnote"> -* So called from Sir Henry Bodrigan, who in the reign of -Henry VII. sprang down the cliff, when flying from his neighbours -Trevannion and Edgecumbe, who sought to capture or slay him. -He was so little injured by the fall, that he reached a vessel sailing -near the shore, and escaped to France. A mound, called the -Castle Hill, and a farm-house, once part of a splendid mansion, are -all that now remain of the abode of this fine old Cornish family. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Fearlessly he tied himself to the cradle which old -Michael Treherne prepared for him; a lantern was -hung at his neck, leaving his arms free, and now a -dozen of strong and careful hands were laid on the -ropes. -</p> - -<p> -"Lower away, my lads," cried he, almost gaily; -and with something like a gasp of anxiety in his -throat, the General saw his young friend's face -disappear as they lowered him into that awful orifice, -the mouth of a shaft that went down a thousand -feet and more. -</p> - -<p> -"Steady, my booys!" cried old Treherne, in a -species of glee. -</p> - -<p> -Those who witnessed this descent were none of -them, perhaps, very impressionable men; yet even -to them, there was a gloomy horror in the idea of -the vast profundity of the deserted mine, over which -Trevelyan swung; and the wildness of the night, -the storm at sea, the whistling and howling of the -wind as it swept the rocky promontories, and rolled -the waves in foam against them, were not without -their due effects upon the mind. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap15"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XV. -<br /><br /> -THE SEARCH. -</h3> - -<p> -"He's a braave booy, sartainly!" said old -Michael Treherne, admiringly, in his queer Cornish -accent, "it is like him and like his family—the -Trevelyans of Rhoscadzhel. -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - By Tre, Pol and Pen,<br /> - We know the Cornish men.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -He'd face Tregeagle himself—lower away gently, -lads. His ancestors existed hundreds of years ago; -and for the matter o' that, I spose so did mine; we -be all old Cornish <i>keth</i>."* -</p> - -<p> -</p> - -<p> -* People. -</p> - -<p> -</p> - -<p> -Audley Trevelyan would freely have risked his -life to save anyone—of course a woman more than -all; but how glorious was this! The peril he -risked—for no ordinary amount of nerve was -requisite for him who swung thus over the profundity -of the ancient mine—was for his lovely little friend -of the sketch-book; the Naiad of the moorland -tarn—she who seemed not indisposed to love him, and -whose heart he might yet make his own. -</p> - -<p> -"But Heaven!" thought he; "that impulsive -little heart may be—alas—still enough by this -time!" -</p> - -<p> -And even as this disastrous fear occurred to him, -the roar of the falling water was heard on the -lower level of the empty mine, more than a -thousand feet below him, while the lantern he -carried cast strange gleams on the damp, slimy, and -discoloured masonry of the shaft, after he left -behind, or rather above him, the fringe of weeds -and gorse, that grew about the mouth; yet in less -than a minute he was assured that the water he -heard falling, proceeded, not from the flow of the -tide, as he and his companions foreboded, but from -some subterranean spring falling into the shaft, far -below the upper entrance of the Pixies' Hole; and -anything more weird, dreary, and ghastly than that -cavernous fissure which now opened off it on one -side, and which he was preparing cautiously to -explore, it would be difficult to conceive. -</p> - -<p> -From its rocky and ragged mouth, which was -covered with white and pendant stalactites and -hideous fungi, on which the light of his lantern fell -with fitful rays, its interior receded away into dark -and gloomy blackness and uncertainty. -</p> - -<p> -"Good Heaven!" muttered Audley, "the poor -girl cannot be here. Should she have fallen down -the shaft!"—was his next terrible thought. -</p> - -<p> -"Are ee saafe, sur?" cried Treherne, peering -down from above. -</p> - -<p> -"All right, old fellow—stop lowering and make -fast the rope; I am just at the place, and a horrid -one it is." -</p> - -<p> -Ere he entered it, and cast off the cradle by -which he had descended, he could hear in the -obscurity beyond the surging or gurgling sound -of the tide, at the lower end; and a nervous chill -that he might find Sybil drowned, came over his -heart. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, by Jove!" he muttered; "of all the places -in this world, to search for a young lady, who would -think of this—down the shaft of a devilish old -copper mine! I have seen some queer things in -India, but this out-herods them all!" -</p> - -<p> -Carrying the lantern so that its light should -precede and guide his steps, he had barely gone -twenty paces, when he discerned something white -amid the dense gloom. Within but a few feet of the -still encroaching water, a female figure was lying -on a shelf of rock, from which she started into a -half sitting posture, and gazed upward at him, -with a wild and startled expression, in which -hope and fear, joy and wonder, were singularly -mingled. -</p> - -<p> -She was that Sybil Devereaux of whom he was in -search; her dress, a white pique, all soiled, -bedrabbled and wet, her fine dark hair dishevelled and -sodden, her hat and veil gone, and her whole aspect -forlorn and pitiable. -</p> - -<p> -"I am saved!" she exclaimed in a wailing and -excited voice; "I thank Heaven—I thank kind -God that you are come to me; but how—and who -are you that have had the courage——" -</p> - -<p> -"Audley—Audley Trevelyan—don't you know me, -Miss Devereaux?" said he, as he placed the lantern -on a rock, and raised her tenderly in his arms. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh Audley!" she exclaimed, and her head fell -upon his shoulder, for she was weak as a child and -past all exertion. She had never called him by his -Christian name before, and while he felt his heart -swell with a new emotion of pleasure, he ventured -tenderly to kiss her cheek, and then he became -aware how cold and chill it was. She seemed -scarcely conscious of the act, though she said in a -broken voice, -</p> - -<p> -"Mamma—my poor mamma shall thank you, sir—I -cannot speak my own thoughts—they are too -terrible and my gratitude is too deep for words." -</p> - -<p> -"From my soul, I thank Heaven, that I came in -time to save you! A little longer here, my dearest -girl, and you must have perished of cold!" said he -as he perceived with genuine anxiety how pale she -was and how the whole of her delicate frame -shivered, but his words or manner seemed to recall -her energies, for she tried to smile and said, -</p> - -<p> -"I shall have a strange story to write of to -Denzil, and tell my papa when he returns." -</p> - -<p> -"Have ee found her zur—is the young lady -saafe?" cried a voice there was no mistaking, down -the shaft. -</p> - -<p> -"Safe and sound, Treherne," replied Trevelyan, -whose voice made strange echoes in the cavernous -recesses of the place; "we shall come up together, -so take care my friends, for there will be a heavier -strain on the rope—a double weight now. Permit -me to lead you, Miss Devereaux—or, may I not call -you Sybil?" he added, as his voice trembled a -little. -</p> - -<p> -"You may call me what you please," replied Sybil -with something of her usual frankness, "I owe -my life to you," she added feebly, while clinging to -his arm. -</p> - -<p> -"To me, after Rajah who guided us here, no -doubt on hearing you cry for aid—so with the -permission you accord, I shall call you Sybil—yes -dearest Sybil, permit me to blindfold you." -</p> - -<p> -"Why?" -</p> - -<p> -"You may become giddy—terrified." -</p> - -<p> -"I submit myself to you," she answered, and he -tied his handkerchief over her eyes, and while doing -so, to resist touching her lovely little lips with his -own, was impossible. -</p> - -<p> -"Pardon me for this, Sybil," said he, as the action -brought a little colour to her pale cheek, "but I love -you, love you dearly. Elsewhere, we shall talk of -this—come, allow me to be your guide." -</p> - -<p> -"Shall we not wait till the tide ebbs, and escape -by the sands?" she asked, and shrinking as his arm -encircled her. -</p> - -<p> -"Dearest girl, you would die of cold ere that took -place." -</p> - -<p> -Thus from terror and despair on Sybil's part, and -from a proud and joyous sense of exultation, on that -of Trevelyan, there came about abruptly, a -<i>dénouement</i> which might have been long of developing -itself, even with those who were so young and -enthusiastic, a declaration of love upon one hand, and -a tacit acceptance of it on the other, for gratitude -mastered the regard already formed in the heart of -the girl. -</p> - -<p> -Audley was now in that delightful state of the -tender passion, when to see even the skirt, to hear -the voice or to breathe the same atmosphere, with its -object, had a charm; then how much greater was the -joy of having her all to himself, and to feel that too -probably, she owed her life to him! -</p> - -<p> -"You do not—do not—love—" she faltered and paused. -</p> - -<p> -"Whom?" -</p> - -<p> -"Rose Trecarrel?" -</p> - -<p> -"I love but you, and I bless God for the -opportunity given me for testifying that love, by -serving and saving you—Sybil—dear Sybil for so let -me call you now and for ever." -</p> - -<p> -"What the deuce <i>are</i> you about, Trevelyan? Do -you mean to stay down there all night—or is the -lady ill? That dreary hole can be neither -romantic nor pleasant, I should fancy." -</p> - -<p> -It was the voice of the General hailing him now. -</p> - -<p> -"Here we come, sir," replied Audley, as he -fastened the rope cradle securely round his body -and courageously took Sybil in his arms. It was -no doubt delightful to hold her in an embrace so -close, and to feel her clinging to him, but a thrill of -intense anxiety passed over all his nerves, and it -seemed as if the hair of his head bristled up, when -he found himself swinging at the end of a rope over -that dreadful abyss, down which the lantern, as it -chanced to fall from his hand, vanished as if into the -bowels of the earth, for the lower level of that old -mine, was far below the sea. As for poor Sybil, she -felt only a terror that amounted to a species of -torpor—a numbness of all sense. -</p> - -<p> -"Now pull together, my booys!" cried the cheerful -voice of Michael Treherne, "one, two—one, two—<i>ho</i> -and here they come out of the <i>knacked bal</i>!" -for so the Cornish miners designate an abandoned -mine, as it is among his class, and in the mines, -that words of the old language linger. -</p> - -<p> -And in less than a minute, Audley and Sybil were -at the surface and in the grasp of strong hands that -placed them safely on terra firma, when, overcome -by all she had endured, the former immediately -fainted. -</p> - -<p> -"The poor child is as wet as a <i>quilquin</i>" (a frog), -said Treherne with commiseration. -</p> - -<p> -"She requires instant attention," said the General -kindly; "let her own servants take her at once to -your cottage, Treherne, as it is the nearest place in -this stormy night. See to this, Audley, while I hurry -down to Porthellick and relieve the anxiety of her -mother. Give orders to have the carriage sent -there for her. By the way, Audley, is not this the -girl that Rose chaffs you about?" -</p> - -<p> -"The same, sir," replied Trevelyan, whose -heightened colour was unseen in the dark. -</p> - -<p> -"How strange! Rose is such a quiz, you will -never hear the end of this." -</p> - -<p> -"She is the daughter of an officer—a Captain -Devereaux." -</p> - -<p> -"I have never met him—of what corps?" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know." -</p> - -<p> -"To Mike's cottage with her, and lose no time. -Here my lads, all of you go to Trevanion's Tavern, -and score to me what you drink. The night is -rough and wet." -</p> - -<p> -"Thank'ee sir," replied Treherne, while the -others all bowed and scraped and pulled their -forelocks; "my old woman 'll keep the young lady -safe, till her pony-kittereen or your carriage comes -for her; and we'll drink your health, and -Mr. Trevelyan's too—aye, and the old Cornish toast of -'Fish, tin, and copper,' in summat better than -Devonshire cider." -</p> - -<p> -So, while Sybil in Audley's care was taken to the -cottage of the old miner, and the latter with those -who had joined in the search departed to enjoy the -bounty of the General, the latter limped off to visit -Constance and relate the story of her daughter's -escape and safety. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap16"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVI. -<br /><br /> -INTELLIGENCE AT LAST. -</h3> - -<p> -On seeing Constance without her bonnet, and -with her dark hair somewhat in disorder, the first -impression of the General was, how extremely like -her daughter she proved, and how very youthful -too; for her figure, as we have elsewhere said, was -petite; her features were minute, beautiful and full -of animation at all times, but never more so than -now, when she started forward on the entrance of -the visitor, with her delicate hands uplifted, her -fine eyes sparkling through their tears, full of hope -and inquiry, and her lips parted, showing the -whiteness and faultless regularity of her teeth. -</p> - -<p> -"You have news for me, General?" she faltered. -</p> - -<p> -"Happily, good news, madam," said he, bowing -low; "your daughter is safe and well." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, sir—oh, General Trecarrel, how can I -thank you?" -</p> - -<p> -"By composing yourself, my dear madam," he -replied, leading her to a chair; but Constance -became almost hysterical; she clasped his hand -in hers, and almost sought to kiss it, in expression -of her deep gratitude, greatly to the confusion of -the old soldier, who was Englishman enough to -dislike a "scene." -</p> - -<p> -"Under the circumstances, no apology is necessary -for the abruptness of my visit," said he; "we -are pretty near neighbours, and I hope shall -ultimately be friends, though, singular to say, I -have never had the pleasure of meeting Captain -Devereaux." -</p> - -<p> -These words recalled Constance to a sense—the -ever-bitter sense—of the awkwardness of her -position, and she faltered out— -</p> - -<p> -"Captain Devereaux is absent at present—abroad -indeed—but I hope he shall soon be home -now. And our dear daughter—she escaped the -rising tide——" -</p> - -<p> -"By fortunately being able to find shelter in the -Pixies' Hole, from which she was promptly rescued -by a young friend—a brother-officer of mine." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, how I shall bless him and ever treasure his -name." -</p> - -<p> -"He is Mr. Audley Trevelyan, and has conveyed -her, in the first place, to old Mike Treherne's -cottage. She was drenched by rain and spray, -suffering from chill, and overcome with terror." -</p> - -<p> -"My poor little Sybil!" -</p> - -<p> -The General did not add to the mother's alarm -by adding that he had left Sybil insensible, but -only said— -</p> - -<p> -"She should not return till to-morrow, when -perhaps the rain may cease, and the storm abate; -but I have ordered my carriage, and she shall have -the use of it with pleasure. It must be here in -a few minutes now." -</p> - -<p> -Constance could only murmur her heartfelt -thanks; but now, more than ever, she felt the -peculiarity of her position—its extreme awkwardness, -and its doubtful aspect. It was but a few -weeks since her husband, now known as Lord -Lamorna, had stood by the General's side at the -late lord's grave, amid a crowd of bareheaded -tenantry, and here they were talking of him as -"Captain Devereaux!" -</p> - -<p> -Sybil's cousin-german had saved and protected -her, thus cementing the acquaintance begun by -chance at the little lake upon the moor, and was -with her now too, probably; he was her husband's -nephew, and while that husband was absent, with -her own rank, name, and his concealed, she dared -not avow the relationship that existed among them -all! Poor Constance felt her cheek grow paler, -with the sickly thoughts that oppressed her heart, -as she muttered under her breath— -</p> - -<p> -"Patience yet a while, and, with God's help, dear -Richard shall see me through all this!" -</p> - -<p> -In a few words the General, with military brevity, -related the whole affair of the evening; the -providential discovery of her daughter in the chasm, by -her voice, as it was rightly conjectured, having -reached the ears of Audley's Thibet mastiff; but -for which circumstance she must have perished of -cold and exhaustion, or perhaps fallen down the -shaft of the old mine and never been heard of -again, her fate remaining a mystery to all—contingencies, -the contemplation of which appalled the -heart of the poor mother, who said in a very faint -voice— -</p> - -<p> -"My daughter is long in returning to me. Oh, -sir, can it be that you are kindly concealing -something from me?" -</p> - -<p> -"Nay, madam, the tempestuous state of the -weather and the feeble condition of the young lady -herself require——" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, that is it! my daughter is ill—dying -perhaps, while I am idly talking here. Winny—Winny -Braddon, my bonnet and cloak; I shall set -forth this instant for Treherne's cottage!" -</p> - -<p> -"I assure you, madame, that my carriage was at -her disposal, and it shall bring your daughter -home." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, General, the gratitude of my heart——" -</p> - -<p> -"There—there, please don't thank me for a little -common humanity," continued the kind old soldier, -"but give my compliments—General Trecarrel's -compliments—to Captain Devereaux when he returns, -and say that I think he ought, in etiquette, -to have waited upon me as his senior officer; for -such was the fashion in my young days, when two -brethren of the sword took up their quarters in a -district so secluded as this; and I should like my -girls to know your daughter." -</p> - -<p> -"I have a son, too, General—my dear Denzil—who -left us but lately to join his Regiment." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah—indeed—you quite interest me. Where is -it stationed?" -</p> - -<p> -"In India—far, far from me." -</p> - -<p> -"Of course, you could not have him always -at your apron-strings. What, or which, is his -corps?" -</p> - -<p> -"The Cornish Light Infantry." -</p> - -<p> -"My own Regiment! I am the full colonel of -it: why did he not leave a card with me on -appointment?—he must have known of my whereabouts." -</p> - -<p> -A cloud came over the fair open countenance of -Trecarrel, and Constance felt that, in the further -prosecution of their systematic incognito, a breach -of military etiquette and punctilio had taken -place. -</p> - -<p> -"My young friend Trevelyan is in the same -corps," said the General, after a pause. -</p> - -<p> -Constance knew that too, and that it had been -the Regiment of her husband during their happiest -days at Montreal; but when with it he had borne -his family surname, and <i>not</i> that of Devereaux. -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Oh, what a tangled web we weave,<br /> - "When first we practise to deceive!"<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -So thought Constance, and who could not quite -foresee the end of the web. Her present -perplexities were increasing, and her usually pale -cheeks began to blush scarlet. -</p> - -<p> -But now, to her intense relief, the sound of -wheels and hoofs at the door, followed by quick -steps in the entrance, announced an arrival, and in -a moment more mother and daughter were weeping -joyfully in each other's arms. -</p> - -<p> -"Dearest mamma—darling mamma! Oh the -joy of being safe with you again! An age seems to -have elapsed since I left you this evening!" -</p> - -<p> -And old Winny Braddon came in for her share -of caresses, while the General and Trevelyan, -though they now began to feel themselves rather -<i>de trop</i>, looked on with smiles of pleasure. So full -of joy was Constance at the restoration of Sybil, -that she never noticed the quaint and coarse (though -comfortably dry) costume which the careful wife of -Treherne had substituted for her wet and sodden -habiliments. -</p> - -<p> -Audley's quick and practised eye saw that -Constance was a woman possessing more than an -ordinary share of beauty and refinement. He took -in the whole details of the drawing-room, and -perceived by a glance that the occupants of this -secluded villa "in the willow-glen—those peculiar -Devereaux," as the Trecarrel girls called them, -were evidently people of the best and most -cultivated taste, for the buhl or marquetterie tables, -consoles, and cabinets exhibited selections from the -most chaste productions of Dresden and Sèvres; -delicate Venetian bronzes, quaint Majolica vases and -groups, some relics from Herculaneum; and other -objects (more familiar to him) from India and -Burmah were there—four-armed gods and other -idols in silver or ivory. -</p> - -<p> -Pausing for a moment in her caresses, Constance -turned towards Audley Trevelyan with a pleading -glance of irresolution, yet one of wonderful sweetness. -</p> - -<p> -"My young friend, Mr. Trevelyan," said the -General; "allow me to introduce him, Mrs. Devereaux." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, sir, to you I owe the gratitude of a -lifetime?" she exclaimed in an accent of touching -tenderness. -</p> - -<p> -He seemed so like her absent Denzil, that all her -heart yearned to him, and in a genuine transport of -gratitude she embraced him with such <i>empressement</i>, -that in a woman so young apparently for her -maternal character, and so very handsome too, -rather perplexed Trevelyan, who said, -</p> - -<p> -"You owe me no thanks—indeed, indeed, you do -not. I did but my duty—I obeyed only the dictates -of humanity; and I assure you that you are quite as -much indebted to Rajah as to me, Mrs. Devereaux." -</p> - -<p> -The name he used recalled her to herself, and -the peculiarity of her position as regarded him—the -secret she could not yet reveal; and turning -away as an expression of confusion come over her -face, she stooped, and casting her arms round the -great Thibet mastiff, caressed it with a grace and -playfulness that partook of girlish glee. -</p> - -<p> -By this time Sybil was reclining wearily, and -with an air of utter exhaustion and languor, on a -sofa. Her face was very pale, save when a kind -of hectic flush passed over it, and her eyes seemed -unnaturally bright. Even to the unpractised -observation of the two gentlemen it was evident that -they had better retire, and, after exchanging a -glance suggestive of this, they both rose, hat in -hand. -</p> - -<p> -"You will, I hope, permit me to call to-morrow -and make inquiries?" said Audley Trevelyan. -</p> - -<p> -Constance bowed, and her tongue trembled: -what she said she scarcely knew, but it was a -muttered wish of some kind, with many thanks and -reference to her husband's return, all oddly -combined. That she laboured under some species of -hidden restraint was quite apparent to the perception -of him she addressed, and also to the General; -and so, after the usual well-bred wishes that both -ladies should soon recover from the effects of their -recent terror, they withdrew together; and as the -sound of their carriage wheels died away in the -willow avenue, all other sounds, and the light too, -seemed to pass away from Sybil, as she sank -gradually back, became insensible, and was conveyed -to bed by Winny Braddon and her startled mother, -who summoned medical aid without delay. -</p> - -<p> -The next day found her in a species of nervous -fever. She had undergone too much of mental fear -and bodily suffering for a nature so delicate as hers, -and remained for a time unconscious of all around -her. Slowly and gradually, like water filtering -through a rock—as some one describes the struggles -of returning sensibility—she became aware that she -was in her own bed, with her mother on one side -and Winny Braddon on the other in watchful -attendance; then, with a shudder, she would recall -the horrors she had escaped, and clasp her hands -as she had done ten years before, when a little -child in prayer. -</p> - -<p> -Then exhaustion would bring sleep, but a sleep -haunted by dreams, and, at times, visions wild as -those of an opium-eater; thus, for many a night, -long after this period, the episodes of that eventful -evening would come back to memory with all their -harrowing details: the advancing tide rolling against -the impending cliffs and thundering in the Pixies' -Hole, after it had swallowed the drenched sand; -her retreating step by step fearfully and breathlessly -before it, in terror of being drowned on one hand -and of falling down the mine on the other! -</p> - -<p> -Anon, she would imagine herself swung up that -terrible shaft through darkness and space, and that -the rope was just on the eve of <i>parting</i>, when she -would wake with a half-stifled scream to find that -she was in the arms of her mamma, who was -soothing and caressing her. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap17"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVII. -<br /><br /> -THE TRECARRELS. -</h3> - -<p> -Duly next day, at a proper visiting-hour, the -handsome and well-appointed carriage of General -Trecarrel, occupied only by his two daughters and -Audley Trevelyan, was seen bowling down the -avenue of the villa at Porthellick, with Rajah -bounding before it in as much glee as if at home in -Thibet, "the northern land of snow," where many -a time he had scoured along the slopes of the -Himalaya range and the Dwalaghiri in pursuit of -the Cashmere goat and the Tartarian yak; but, as -the event proved, the visit was in vain: the two ladies -could only leave their cards, as they were informed -that both Mrs. and Miss Devereaux were too much -indisposed after the events of yesterday to receive -visitors. -</p> - -<p> -"It will be a case which warm drinks and cosseting -will soon cure, I hope," said Rose, shrugging -her pretty shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -"Where to, Miss Trecarrel?" asked the footman, -touching his hat ere he sprang to his place behind. -</p> - -<p> -"To Bodmin," replied the elder sister: "we -have shopping to do, Mr. Trevelyan;" and after a -pause she added, "I have told you that they were -odd people, those Devereaux; we were fools to -come—don't you think so, Rose?" -</p> - -<p> -"Perhaps, Mab." -</p> - -<p> -"Do not judge so harshly," urged Audley. "What -may be more probable than that both should feel -excited after the last night's terror and—and——" -</p> - -<p> -"Chivalry," suggested Rose Trecarrel, a little -malice glittering in her fine eyes; but Audley -remained silent. -</p> - -<p> -Mabel and Rose Trecarrel were both eminently -handsome girls. The elder was tall and showy, -having dark grey eyes that filled, at times, with -unusual lustre and had a wonderful variety of -expression, but her chief beauties were perhaps her -purity of complexion and the quantity and -magnificence of her rich brown hair. -</p> - -<p> -Rose was somewhat her counterpart—a large but -very graceful girl, with clear, sparkling, hazel eyes, -and hair much of the same hue, though her lashes -and eyebrows were dark and well defined. Without -attempting to describe her nose, we shall simply -say it was a very pretty one, that seemed exactly -to suit the expression of her eyes and the -full-lipped yet little and alluring mouth below. Both -girls were always dressed rather in the extreme of -the mode, and were sure to be prime favourites at -all balls, races, or meets to see the hounds throw -off; and no entertainment in that part of the -duchy was deemed complete without "the -Trecarrels." No friend had ever accused them of being -flirts, though fair enemies had frequently done so. -</p> - -<p> -The General was very proud of his two daughters, -and felt certain that both would make most eligible -and wealthy marriages, when he took them to India, -where he was in expectation daily of obtaining an -important command. -</p> - -<p> -For the time Audley Trevelyan was, what others -had been, and others yet might be, a kind of -privileged dangler in attendance on both sisters, and -seemed to share their smiles and return attention -to both in a pretty equal manner; thus both were -somewhat disposed to resent the new and sudden -interest he manifested in Sybil Devereaux. -</p> - -<p> -Both were eminently dashing girls. Mabel, the -elder, was perhaps the statelier of the two, but the -beauty and manner of Rose were more sparkling and -dazzling. Both sisters were highly accomplished, -and both had that affected indifference to their own -attractions, which is perhaps an indication of the -strongest and most ineradicable vanity—for of those -attractions they knew the full power and value. -</p> - -<p> -"But who are those Devereaux?" asked Mabel, -as a turn of the road hid the villa, during a pause -filled up only by the subdued noise of the carriage -wheels in their patent axle-boxes. -</p> - -<p> -"You should know by this time, Trevelyan," -added Rose, looking at him from under the long -fringes of her eyes and her parasol, as she lay well -back indolently yet gracefully among the soft -cushions of the carriage. -</p> - -<p> -"Nay; how should I, when you, who are neighbours, -know nothing? Her father was a captain in -some Line Regiment." -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Her</i> father—of whom were we speaking?" asked -Rose. -</p> - -<p> -Trevelyan coloured perceptibly, and Mabel -laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, she occupies his thoughts already, Mab! -He was of some Line Regiment, that is pretty vague, -and scarcely suits our Cornish standard of such -things as family and so forth—least of all the -standard formed by your uncle, the late Lord -Lamorna." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, he was an absurd old goose—mad with -pride, in fact." -</p> - -<p> -"And barely remembered you in his will?" -</p> - -<p> -"Precisely so," replied Audley, half amused and -half provoked. -</p> - -<p> -"They visit no one, and they make no acquaintances," -said Rose, resuming the theme. -</p> - -<p> -"They settled here without an introduction, I -have heard, and gave it to be understood that they -declined all acquaintance save with the Rector and -Doctor." -</p> - -<p> -"Neither of whom, Mab, are particular to a -shade. I should not wonder, Audley, if your -'captain' were some returned convict or retired -housebreaker in easy circumstances." -</p> - -<p> -"Rose, you are too severe," urged Trevelyan; -"Mrs. Devereaux is a kind of idol among the poor -people here." -</p> - -<p> -"We must all admit that she excels in chicken -broth, is knowing in coals and tea, and great in -corduroys, tobacco, and blankets; but fasten my -bracelet, please," and she held forth coquettishly a -slender wrist and a well-shaped hand, tightly cased -in the finest of straw-coloured kid; and every -movement of Rose Trecarrel, however quick and -unstudied, was full of the poetry of action. "Thanks. -If you will not admit that the mother of your fair -friend is odd, you must that her father is so—or at -least is ignorant of military etiquette, if he is a -military man." -</p> - -<p> -"How?" -</p> - -<p> -"He has never left his card upon papa, which, -in a solitary place like this, papa thinks he ought -to have done, as it is the fashion in the service—going -out I am aware—for the junior officer to wait -upon the senior, though uninvited." -</p> - -<p> -"Though a bore at times, it was a good old -custom, I admit, but like many other fashions is as -much gone out as square letter-paper, sand-boxes -and sealing wax, stage coaches and queues." -</p> - -<p> -"Then his son," she continued in an aggrieved -tone, "on being appointed to papa's own Regiment, -never had the politeness to leave a card upon us -either!" -</p> - -<p> -"Rose, you are quite a <i>Code Militaire</i>," said -Trevelyan, laughing again. "Those Devereaux are -thought handsome—I mean the mother and -daughter." -</p> - -<p> -"I have no wish to disparage the taste of the -Cornish gentlemen——" -</p> - -<p> -"None could afford to treat their taste with more -indifference than you and Miss Trecarrel, who are -both——" -</p> - -<p> -"Both what?" asked Mabel, quickly. -</p> - -<p> -"Above all comparison." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, we did not leave all our gallantry in the old -coal-mine!" -</p> - -<p> -"Excuse me, Rose," said Trevelyan, "it was -originally a tin-mine." -</p> - -<p> -"Pity it was not brass—eh, Audley?" replied -Rose, laughing with a voice like a silver bell. -</p> - -<p> -"Come, come, Rose," said Mabel, "you and -Trevelyan are usually such good friends that I shall -not have you to spar thus." -</p> - -<p> -"We don't spar, it is only 'barrack-room chaff,' in -which, as you may perceive, Mr. Trevelyan excels," -retorted the piqued belle. -</p> - -<p> -The truth was rather apparent to Audley, that -the pretty—nay, the beautiful and hazel-eyed -Rose was nettled, and seriously so. Hitherto she -had considered the handsome ex-Lieutenant of -Hussars, and now of the Cornish Light Infantry, -as her own peculiar property—even more than -her sister. He was to be her papa's Aide-de-camp -in India—she had settled this, <i>nem. con.</i>; and -while on leave at home, he was to be her dangler, -secret slave, and open adorer—husband in the end -perhaps, if nothing better "turned up;" for Audley's -expectations from his father, the barrister, as one -of a family of five, were slender enough; and here -he was too probably smitten with a little chit-faced -interloper whom no one knew anything about! -</p> - -<p> -There was a pause in the conversation, during -which the carriage had passed St. Teath and -St. Kew, with their quaint churches, and that of -Egloshayle, on the right bank of the Camel, where -it peeped up among the trees, when Rose returned -to the charge. -</p> - -<p> -"And you actually swung together at the end of a -rope." -</p> - -<p> -"At the end of a rope, as you say." -</p> - -<p> -"How romantic!—how charming!" -</p> - -<p> -"At least in one sense; yet I was glad enough -when it was all over in safety." -</p> - -<p> -"What! though doubtless, as Byron says, -</p> - -<p> - 'The situation had its charm.'"<br /> -</p> - -<p> -</p> - -<p> -"Fie, Rose—you quote <i>Don Juan</i>!" exclaimed -Mabel. -</p> - -<p> -"And why should not I, Mab, if the passage -seems so familiar to you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Rose, you are incorrigible!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, Audley, your fellow-soldiers must be -proud of you when they hear of this feat of arms." -</p> - -<p> -"We say <i>brother</i>-soldiers in the service," replied -Trevelyan. -</p> - -<p> -"I submit to the correction; it is like one from -papa, who deems all civilians stupid fellows. And -so you think she is a paragon of loveliness?" -continued Rose Trecarrel, so bent on the game of -tormenting him, that she cared little for showing -her hand. -</p> - -<p> -"I did not say so—do you, Rose?" -</p> - -<p> -"Call me <i>Miss</i> Rose, if you please," said she, with -a charming air of pique on her lovely little lip. -</p> - -<p> -"Well—where were we?" -</p> - -<p> -"About the beauty of the girl you rescued—were -slung in a rope with. How funny!" said Mabel. -</p> - -<p> -"Of her beauty you can judge for yourselves; I -have nothing to do with it," replied he wearily. -</p> - -<p> -"Fortunate for you," laughed Rose, "as the girl's -position in society seems so dubious, Audley." -</p> - -<p> -"Call me Mr. Trevelyan, please, as we are to be -on distant terms." -</p> - -<p> -"Let us only have you in India, where we shall be -ere long," said she, shaking her parasol threateningly, -"and I shall have papa to put you under arrest." -</p> - -<p> -"For what?" -</p> - -<p> -"Conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman." -</p> - -<p> -"As how, my fair friend?' -</p> - -<p> -"Behaving rudely, petulantly, and insolently." -</p> - -<p> -"To a pretty girl?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes—moreover, a daughter of the general on -whose staff he is serving." -</p> - -<p> -"And the sentence of the court will be, dismissal -from her presence for ever." -</p> - -<p> -"Have some mercy on him," said Mabel. -</p> - -<p> -"You seem to know the duties of an aide-de-camp," -said Audley, not ill-pleased to find himself -an object of interest to two such handsome girls. -</p> - -<p> -"Of papa's at least," said Rose: "to revise the -dinner and visiting lists; to see Mab and me to -and from all balls, kettle-drums, reviews, durbars, -and so forth; to arrange picnics; to do all the -squiring and shawling business, and to dance with -us whenever we feel bored by some slow griff who -can't keep time; to make bets of gloves, fans, and -bouquets, and to lose them so nicely and so opportunely, -that the payment thereof appears a veritable -glory; to see us through the crush of the supper, -and procure ices, creams, chicken, champagne, and -crackers, no matter how the thermometer may stand, -or how weary the punkahwallah may be—all of -which are among the duties of an accomplished -staff-officer." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Rose, how your tongue runs on!" said -Mabel. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor fellow, I must spare him, for his heart -seems divided between the mother and daughter; so -I hope that this Captain Devereaux may soon be -home, lest evil happen. But here we are at -Bodmin!" she added, as the carriage, after quitting -the highlands of granite and dreary moorland which -extend to within four miles of the ancient assize -town, rolled through its centre street. -</p> - -<p> -"And now, if you choose," said Mabel, "Trevelyan, -you may enjoy the indispensable cigar while -we investigate the industrial treasures of a country -draper's shop. We have but one hour to spare, and -then homeward." -</p> - -<p> -"Or we shall have papa consulting that remarkable -watch, which he got from Sir John Keane -after the storming of Ghuznee," added Rose, as -disdaining Audley's proffered hand, she sprang -lightly from the carriage steps. -</p> - -<p> -So, for a time he was left to "do" the lions of -Bodmin, the handsome old Norman church, the -few pointed arches and dilapidated walls of the -Leper Hospital, and so forth; and to his own -reflections and thoughts, which, heedless of the -sharp banter he had undergone, were all of Sybil—at -that very moment struggling back into perfect -consciousness from feverish delirium, and stealing -from Winny Braddon the visiting-card he had -recently left, that she might conceal it under her -pillow. -</p> - -<p> -To her, he was fast becoming the realisation of -all her day-dreams—"the one moving spirit that -animated the whole world of her united romances." -He was, -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "her first and passionate love, that all<br /> - Which Eve hath left her daughters since her fall."<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -To Rose and to Mabel Trecarrel, he was simply -one among the many "nice fellows" they had met -with in society, and should meet again in plenty. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap18"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVIII. -<br /><br /> -HE LOVES ME, TRULY! -</h3> - -<p> -To Audley's mind there was a freshness and innocence -about Sybil, that made her image dwell in his -heart prominently, and more vividly than the -dashing and showy Mabel and Rose Trecarrel -could have conceived to be possible. Moreover, -there was, to him, something glorious in the -conviction that for the sake of this lovely young girl he -had confronted a manifest peril; that by doing so -he had saved her and established—as he hoped—a -tie of no ordinary strength and peculiarity between -them, linking, in the future, their histories if not -their lives together; for to him she owned now, most -probably, the fact that she existed at all. -</p> - -<p> -Such were the kind of thoughts to which -Trevelyan, hitherto a heedless and pleasure-loving -young subaltern of Hussars, indulged in many a -dreamy hour, even when half flirting or "chaffing" -with the Trecarrels, riding or driving abroad with -them, turning the leaves at the piano while Rose -displayed the perfection of her white shoulders and -taper arms after dinner, and dawdled languidly over -the airs of Verdi and Balfe; and to which he fully -abandoned himself, when he strolled forth alone, -to enjoy a cigar in the lawn or in some secluded lane. -</p> - -<p> -Sybil on her part deemed it equally delightful, to -think that she owed her life to him; for had not -Audley and others said (and she felt the truth of -it) that, ere the ebb of the tide should have left the -lower end of the cavern open and free, she must -have perished of cold or terror, or both. -</p> - -<p> -She had read the contents of many a box from -"Mudie's," but no episode in any of the three -volumes octavo therein seemed exactly to resemble -hers in the Pixies' Hole. It was very romantic and -strange, no doubt; but to Constance it appeared -that the still concealed part of their relationship -was the most strange and romantic feature in the -affair. -</p> - -<p> -Like most, if not all, young girls, she had read all -about love in novels and romances; she had talked -about love to school-companions, some of them -enthusiastic Italian girls at Como, by the Arno, and -elsewhere; and now a lover had actually come, one -who on three successive days had left cards, with -earnest inquiries concerning her health and that of -her mamma. -</p> - -<p> -She remembered the endearment of his manner -when he saved her, but feared, at times, that such -might only have been caused by the peculiarity of -their situation; and then she would blush with -annoyance at herself, as she recalled the somewhat -too pointed way in which she questioned him about -Rose Trecarrel, to whom she was still a stranger, -and of whom she had thus evinced a jealousy—actually -a jealousy, as if thereby assuming a right to -question his actions! -</p> - -<p> -But had he not called her Sybil, and said that he -loved her, and her only? -</p> - -<p> -The afternoon of the fourth day saw Audley -Trevelyan—always careful of his costume, on this -occasion unusually so—passing slowly down the -willow avenue towards the villa; and as he -approached the latter, the beating of his heart -quickened on perceiving the light figure of Sybil -pass from the pillared portico into a conservatory -that adjoined the house. So she was convalescent—had -recovered at last; and now he would speak -with her alone, and might resume perhaps the -thread of that hurried but delightful topic, which -was so suddenly cut short on the evening he saved -her, by the voice of the impatient General. -</p> - -<p> -He approached the glass door of the conservatory, -which she had left invitingly open, his footsteps -being completely muffled by the soft and -close-clipped turf of the little lawn. -</p> - -<p> -The conservatory was handsome, lofty, and -spacious, floored with brilliantly coloured encaustic -tiles, and constructed of iron, like a kiosk; its -shelves were laden with delicate ferns, with cacti -and gorgeous exotics in full bloom, though the -season was in the last days of autumn, and over all -drooped, almost from the roof to the ground, the -far-stretching and slender green sprays of a graceful -acacia. Under this stood Sybil, clad in a simple -white dress, decorated by trimmings of rose-coloured -satin ribbon, and having a dainty little lace collar -round her slender neck; and Trevelyan watched her -in silence and with admiration for half a minute ere -he entered. -</p> - -<p> -It was the freshness and girlish purity of Sybil -that charmed him quite as much as the delicacy of -her beauty. During his few years of military life, in -London, at Bath, Brighton, and Canterbury, even at -Calcutta, he had met many such girls as the -Trecarrels—brilliant in flirtation and knowing in all -manner of arts and graces; but none that -resembled Sybil. -</p> - -<p> -She had plucked a dwarf rose, and was about to -place it in the breast of her dress. Suddenly she -seemed to pause and change her intention; for a -bright and fond smile spread over her soft little face, -and while speaking to herself, leaf by leaf, she began -to pluck the flower slowly to pieces. -</p> - -<p> -She spoke aloud, but her voice was so low that it -failed to reach the ears of Trevelyan, till after a -time, when, as the leaves lessened in number, she -began to raise her tones, and her occupation became -plain to him. She was acting to herself—repeating -the little part of Goethe's Marguerite in the garden, -but in a fashion of her own. -</p> - -<p> -"He loves me a little—tenderly—truly—he loves -me not!" -</p> - -<p> -With each pause in this floral formula, the old -German mode of divination in love affairs, a pink -leaf floated away or fell on her white dress; and when -but seven remained round the calyx, she paused for -a moment; her face brightened as the charm seemed -to work satisfactorily; she resumed her plucking, -and as the seventh or last leaf was twitched from -the stem, she clasped her hands and exclaimed with -joy— -</p> - -<p> -"Truly—Audley loves me <i>truly</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -Her colour deepened, and there was almost a -divine expression about her eyes and lips; but she -became covered with intense confusion when -Trevelyan approached her suddenly, and said with a -tender and pleasantly modulated voice— -</p> - -<p> -"Your floral spell has worked to admiration, for -Audley does love you truly and fondly, dearest -Sybil!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Mr. Trevelyan—and you have overheard -my folly!" was all she could falter out, as he -captured her hands in his own, and she stooped her -face aside. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Mr.</i> Trevelyan? Why, a moment ago you -called me plain Audley, and it did sound so -delightful! Pray do not let us go back in our -relations. And you have quite recovered, I hope, -from the effects of that frightful affair?" he added, -while smiling with fondness into the clear bright -eyes that drooped beneath his gaze. -</p> - -<p> -"It seems as nothing, now—save when I dream; -you make too much of it—indeed you do," blundered -Sybil. -</p> - -<p> -"Can I do so of aught in which you have a part?" -</p> - -<p> -"Poor mamma is still in a weak and nervous -state; so, I am sorry to say, she will be unable to -see you." -</p> - -<p> -As it was not "mamma" he had come exactly to -visit, Audley could only murmur some well-bred -expression of regret. -</p> - -<p> -"How very remarkable that you should have -been there to save me!" said Sybil, after a pause. -</p> - -<p> -"The coldly treated stranger by the moorland -tarn, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -"You forget that we had not been introduced, or -how came it all to pass?" she asked, with growing -confusion. -</p> - -<p> -"As all things in this life do, dearest Sybil." -</p> - -<p> -"But how?" -</p> - -<p> -"It was fate—destiny." -</p> - -<p> -"What—are you a fatalist?" -</p> - -<p> -"I hope not; and yet it were sweet to think that—that——" -</p> - -<p> -"What?" murmured Sybil, her long lashes -drooping beneath the ardour of his glance, while -his clasp seemed to tighten on her slender fingers. -</p> - -<p> -Much more passed that has been said, over and -over again, under the same circumstances, by every -pair of lovers since roses grew in Eden (and, -unluckily, apples too); and there were long pauses, -that were only pauses of the tongue, and which -beatings of the heart filled up, with many a sigh -"the deeper for suppression." There grew between -these two a sudden sense of great trust which -increased the tenderness of their sentiments, while -deep gratitude was mingled now with Sybil's former -budding love. It did seem to her, as if Fate had -deliberately cast each in the path of the other; and -doubtless it was so, for "out of these chance-affinities -grow sometimes the passion of a life, and -sometimes the disappointments that embitter -existence." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Audley, without mamma's consent, dare I -accept so lovely a ring?" said Sybil, in a low voice, -as she lingered at the conservatory door and contemplated -a jewel which Trevelyan had just slipped upon -her engaged finger. -</p> - -<p> -"You will surely wear it for my sake, till—till—" -he paused, and scarcely knew what to say, for he -now began to reflect that he was only a subaltern, -and had been "going the pace," in his love-making, -with a vengeance! To fall in love and engage -oneself were easy enough; but, as yet, he did not quite -see the end of the affair. Sybil was, moreover, the -daughter of an officer whose temper, perhaps, might -not brook trifling. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, it is an exquisite diamond!" resumed the -girl, the pause unnoticed, and its cause, to her, -unknown. -</p> - -<p> -"It formed one of the eyes of Vishnu, a Hindoo -idol, in a temple near Agra. One of the Cornish -Light Infantry—old Mike Treherne, the miner's -son—poked out both with his bayonet. Jack Delamere -bought one; I the other, and had it set thus in a -ring by a Parsee jeweller in the Chandney Choke, at -a time when I little thought of having in mine so -dear a hand to place it on. Has not our acquaintance -ripened with wonderful rapidity, darling?? -</p> - -<p> -"Under such terrible circumstances, I don't -wonder at it," said she, smiling tenderly as she -toyed with the ring, which was now enhanced in -value—priceless in her eyes, for it was a love-token. -</p> - -<p> -A love-token! and what might be its future history, -and what their fate? "Customs alter, and fashions -change," says a writer; "but love-gifts never grow -old-fashioned or out of date,—they are always fresh -from the golden age. Old people die, and desks and -drawers are ransacked by their heirs. Oh, take up -tenderly the withered petals, the lock of hair, the -quaint ring hidden away in some secret recess; for -hearts have once thrilled and eyes moistened at -their touch. Precious gems and rare objects there -may be in casket and cabinet; but none preserved -with such jealous care as <i>these</i>, for they were the -gifts of love." -</p> - -<p> -Sybil was a thoughtful girl, and even in that -happy hour a sadness stole through her heart, as -some such ideas occurred to her; but the young -officer thought only of the present time, of its joy -and of her beauty. -</p> - -<p> -He pressed her to name a day when she and her -mamma, as by courtesy bound, would return the -visit of the Trecarrels; but, ere that could be -accomplished, there came to pass that "greater sorrow" -which the heart of Constance had foreboded, and -which must be duly recorded in its place; so the -hoped-for visit was never paid. -</p> - -<p> -On this evening, Audley lingered long with Sybil. -Each had so much to say to the other, and so many -questions to ask, and so many fond plans for the -future, that parting was a difficult task, even with -the knowledge that they were to meet again on the -morrow. -</p> - -<p> -It came; and noon saw him again at the villa, -where he was received in the drawing-room by -Constance alone; and to her he began to speak of Sybil -after a time, and to express his admiration and -regard for her. -</p> - -<p> -This Constance had fully foreseen and expected; -but she was outwardly, to all appearance, collected -and calm, till the secret that oppressed her became -too much for her nervous system. Thus, the tenor -of her bearing, which before had been all kindness -and gratitude, suddenly changed. She became cold -and constrained, perplexed and even awkward; so -that a chill fell upon the heart of Audley, whose -nature, all unlike that of his father, was frank and -generous to a fault. She curtly but gently told -him, that until the return of her husband she could -afford no permission for her daughter to receive -addresses; and soon after, full of deep mortification, -and dreading he knew not what, Audley Trevelyan -took his leave; and Constance, as she watched his -figure pass out of the avenue, burst into tears. -</p> - -<p> -Sybil, as her youngest-born, she had ever looked -upon as a species of child—called "<i>the</i> baby," when -long past babyhood; and now Sybil had a lover! -Awakened to the reality of this, the poor lonely -mother regarded this new phase of her daughter's -existence with a species of alarm that bordered on -terror. -</p> - -<p> -"Would that Richard were home!" was her first -thought; "even Denzil's advice would be something -to me now, poor boy!" -</p> - -<p> -Audley had barely entered the Trecarrels' -drawing-room, when Rose, who was reclining on a -fauteuil, with her rich brown hair beautifully dressed -by the hands of her Ayah, and who fancied herself -immersed in a novel, tossed it aside, for her clear -hazel eyes speedily detected the disturbed -expression of his face, and proceeded forthwith to quiz -him as usual about "the Devereaux girl," and his -intentions in that quarter; while Mabel, who was -seated at the piano, sang laughingly a verse of -"Wanted, a Wife," then a popular song, altering -certain words "to suit the occasion," as Rose said— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "As to fortune—of course, I have but my pay,<br /> - A sub with seven-and-sixpence a day,<br /> - And a pension beside—rather small, 'tis confest,<br /> - For a leg shot away in the action 'off Brest;'<br /> - For the loss of three fingers in fighting a chase,<br /> - And a terrible cut from a sword in my face.<br /> - But with all these defects, my nerves I must string,<br /> - To propose for Miss Devereaux—delicate thing!"<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Audley felt almost inclined to quarrel with his fair -friends. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't tease a fellow so, Rose," said he, -wearily; "I have no money—at least, little beyond -my pay; and have as much idea of marrying as—as——" -</p> - -<p> -"I have, perhaps." -</p> - -<p> -"I cannot say that." -</p> - -<p> -"You could ask this Sybil Devereaux?" -</p> - -<p> -"Of course—it would be easy as cribbage." -</p> - -<p> -"And what would she say, think you?" -</p> - -<p> -"As a sensible girl such as she seems to be—'wait.'" -</p> - -<p> -"Which means, that she would take you in time -to come?" -</p> - -<p> -"Perhaps." -</p> - -<p> -"Unless something better turned up." -</p> - -<p> -"Don't judge of her by yourself, Rose," he -retorted, laughing, to conceal his annoyance, which -was greatly increased when the General's butler, -just as Audley was ascending to his own room to -dress for dinner, handed him a letter on a silver -salver. -</p> - -<p> -It was from his father; written in his usual clear -and precise hand. Audley for a time left it on the -toilette table; then he tore it open, with an air of -irritation, as these paternal missives were rarely -pleasant ones, being always filled with advice, varied -by reprehension. -</p> - -<p> -"Fathers have flinty hearts—and, by Jove, here -is one!" muttered Audley, while his brows contracted. -</p> - -<p> -"I have seen in the public prints," ran the letter, -"all about your adventure with the daughter of -those strange people who live at Porthellick. The -woman Devereaux is, as her name imports, too -probably some designing French adventuress. Mabel -Trecarrel has written to your sister Gartha, that -you are quite smitten with the daughter; but I give -you my distinct advice and notice to take heed of -what you are about, and to join us in London -without delay. You left the Hussars, even in India, -because of the expense of the corps, neither tentage -nor loot" (loot! the governor means batta) "being -sufficient to maintain you. Disobey me in the -matter of this girl Devereaux, and <i>I shall cut off</i> -even the slender allowance I promised you, for the -Cornish Light Infantry." -</p> - -<p> -Audley crushed up the letter in his hand, for it -came, at that particular moment, like a sentence of -death. -</p> - -<p> -And Downie Trevelyan could write thus of the -loving and amiable little family circle at the villa, -knowing all he did, and suspecting more! -</p> - -<p> -To fear, or to find that his brother Richard, so -long deemed an eccentric bachelor, had a family -ready made and at hand to succeed him in the -honours of Rhoscadzhel and Lamorna was bad -enough. These interlopers who came between his -own family and the line of Trevelyan might (perhaps) -be set aside; but to find that his eldest son -had become entangled with one of those so-called -Devereaux, proved too much for the equanimity of -the far-seeing lawyer. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap19"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIX. -<br /><br /> -THE GREATER SORROW. -</h3> - -<p> -At the very time when Mabel Trecarrel was -singing to tease Audley, Sybil was beginning a song -of a very different character and calibre to soothe or -amuse her mamma. It was a grand old Hungarian -ballad, with an accompaniment like a crash of -trumpets at times; and was one she had picked up -during their wanderings on the banks of the Danube; -but she had only got the length of the first two -verses, when her mother's tears arrested her. -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Was it the vine with clusters bright<br /> - That clung round Buda's stateliest tower?<br /> - No, 'twas a lady fair and white,<br /> - Who hung around an armed knight;<br /> - It was their sad, their parting hour.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "They had been wedded in their youth,<br /> - Together they had spent life's bloom;<br /> - That hearts so long entwined by truth<br /> - Asunder should be torn in ruth—<br /> - It was a cruel and boding doom!"<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"Oh cease, Sybil," said Constance; "cease; it -was your papa's favourite." -</p> - -<p> -"Then why cease, mamma?" -</p> - -<p> -"He is not here, and I feel I know not what—a -foreboding—a superstition of the heart." -</p> - -<p> -So Sybil closed her piano, and it was long, long -ere she opened it again. -</p> - -<p> -Three weeks had now elapsed since the Montreal -steamer <i>Admiral</i> (his anticipated departure by which -Richard Trevelyan fully notified to Constance) had -been due at Blackwall, and yet there were no tidings -of her, so insurances went up, and underwriters -looked grave. No Atlantic cables had been laid -as yet between Britain and America, though such -things were talked of as being barely possible. The -next steamer announced that the <i>Admiral</i> had duly -sailed at her stated time; so, save the letter which -contained the pleasant odds and ends concerning -Montreal and their early lover days, poor Constance -saw her husband's writing no more. -</p> - -<p> -Her surmises were endless, and the worthy rector -lent his inventive aid to add to them. Might not -the ship have met with some accident to her engines, -and put back slowly under canvas to Montreal, the -Azores, or elsewhere? -</p> - -<p> -Lost—was the word that hovered on her lips and -trembled in her heart—LOST! Oh, that was not to -be thought of. Yet if it were so, some must have -survived to tell the terrible story; some might have -been picked up, famished and weary, by a passing -ship, and taken perhaps to a distant region, Heaven -alone knew where. Such events happened every day -on the mighty world of waters; so as week -succeeded week, the familiarity with suspense, sorrow -and horror seemed to become greater; till ideas -began to confirm themselves, and probabilities to be -steadily faced, that she would have shrunk from in -utter woe but a month before! -</p> - -<p> -Then came those cruel and shadowy rumours, by -which the public are usually tantalised, and the -relatives of the missing are tortured—stories of -wrecks passed, steamers abandoned—the masts gone, -funnel standing, and so forth, in this, that or the -other latitude; but all vague and never verified. -How many stately ships have perished at sea, of -which such stories have been told! In those days, -it was the <i>President</i>, the great, "the lost Atlantic -steamer," on the fate of which at least one novel and -several dramas and songs have been written; and -but lately it was the turret ship <i>Captain</i>, with her -five hundred picked British seamen, that went down -into the deep, a few loose spars alone remaining to -tell of their sorrowful fate. -</p> - -<p> -Constance and her daughter were inspired by -successive hope that he might have survived, and -fear that he had perished—too surely perished; and -these alternations were agony, for "the promises of -Hope are sweeter than roses in the bud, and far -more flattering to expectation; but the threatenings -of Fear are a terror to the heart." -</p> - -<p> -At last there came a fatal day, when a passage cut -from a London newspaper was enclosed to Constance -by Audley Trevelyan, who had been constrained to -visit and remain in town with his family. -</p> - -<p> -It contained distinct details of the total wreck of -the <i>Admiral</i>, which had foundered in a gale. She -had been heavily pooped by successive seas, and -had gone down with all on board, save the watch on -deck, who had effected their escape in one of the -quarter-boats, and been picked up in a most -exhausted state, by one of Her Majesty's ships. All -the passengers had been drowned in their cabins, -and to this account a list of their names was -appended. -</p> - -<p> -"It is very remarkable, my dear madam," wrote -the unconscious Audley, "that I do not find the -name of Captain Devereaux borne in this list; -though we have all the sorrow to see that of my -uncle Richard, Lord Lamorna, whose American -trip has been to us all a source of mystery." -</p> - -<p> -Constance read the printed list with staring stony -eyes, and a heart that stood still! -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Downie Trevelyan had perused it carefully -too, with the aid of his gold double-eye-glass, and -an unfathomable smile had spread over his sleek -legal visage while he did so. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my husband—my Richard—so innocent -and true! Gone—gone, and your children and I -are left—doomed to shame and sorrow—doomed—doomed!" -wailed Constance in a piercing voice, as -with her fingers interlaced across her face she cast -herself upon a sofa in despair. -</p> - -<p> -"Mamma," urged the terrified Sybil, "what <i>do</i> -you mean? Does not dear Audley write that papa's -name is <i>not</i> in the list; so he cannot have sailed in -that unhappy ship." -</p> - -<p> -"My poor child, you know not what you say," -moaned Constance, without looking or altering her -position, for dark and bitter was the desolation of -the heart which fell on her. -</p> - -<p> -In vain did poor Sybil caress and hang over her -in utter bewilderment, and read and re-read Audley's -letter without being able to comprehend the agitation -of her mother, who answered nothing. For the -time she was overwhelmed by the immensity of their -calamity—by gloom and speechless sorrow. -</p> - -<p> -But one thought was ever present—there was a -face she should never more behold—a voice she -never more should hear; the great ship going down -in the dark; "the passengers drowned in their -cabins," by the furious midnight sea; and he who -loved her so well, who had crossed the Atlantic to -bring back the full and legal proofs of their nuptials, -was now in the shadowy land—the Promised -Land—where there are neither marriages nor giving -in marriage; and where there can be no graves -either in the soil or in the sea. -</p> - -<p> -With this calamity must many others come! -</p> - -<p> -Richard's means died with him; the proofs of her -marriage and of her children's position had perished -with him too. Even the newspapers in their notices -of the event, were careful to record that "as Lord -Lamorna (who had so lately succeeded to that -ancient title) died a bachelor, he would be heired by -his brother, the eminent barrister, Mr. Downie -Trevelyan, now twelfth Lord Lamorna of Rhoscadzhel, -in the duchy of Cornwall." -</p> - -<p> -There was the usual obituary notice in a popular -illustrated paper, with a wood-cut of the late lord's -arms, the demi-horse <i>argent</i> issuing from the sea, -the coronet, the wild cat, and the motto <i>Le jour -viendra</i>. -</p> - -<p> -Even Derrick Braddon's name was recorded as -among the list of the drowned; so the sole surviving -witness of the hasty and secret marriage had -perished with his master. -</p> - -<p> -Sybil had answered Audley's letter—Constance -was quite incapable of doing so—urging him -piteously, for the love he bore her, to make what -other inquiries he could at Lloyd's, the shipping -offices and elsewhere, as her mamma seemed to be -distracted; and promptly a reply came, but not in -Audley's handwriting, though it bore the London -post-mark. It was addressed to her mamma, who -in a weak and breathless voice desired her to read -it; and great were the terror and perplexity of the -girl, when she perused the following sentence—for -one contained the whole matter. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> -"CHAMBERS, TEMPLE. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -"MADAM, -</p> - -<p> -"A letter written by your daughter and -bearing the Porthellick postmark, has just fallen -into my hands; so I hereby beg to intimate to you -that my eldest son and heir, the Hon. Mr. Audley -Trevelyan, can hold no such intercourse as that -document would seem to import, or be on such -terms of intimacy with a young woman who is -destitute of position, who has not a shilling in the -world, and whose parentage, family, and so forth—you -cannot fail to understand me—are matters of -such extreme uncertainty, not to say worse; thus -you must endeavour to control her actions, as I -shall those of my son, who goes at once to join his -regiment in India. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - "I am yours, &c.<br /> - "LAMORNA.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -"A copy kept." -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"How dare this Lord Lamorna write to you thus, -mamma?" asked Sybil, her dark eyes flashing with -unusual light; but the pale mother answered only -with her tears, and recalling now certain broken -sentences which had escaped her—sentences that -seemed somewhat to correspond painfully with the -insulting tenor of the letter. Sybil, after the first -hours of excessive grief were past, said in a -composed voice, yet with tremulous lips, -</p> - -<p> -"What does Lord Lamorna mean? Who are we, -mamma? and what are we?" -</p> - -<p> -Constance was silent, though each pulsation of -her heart was a veritable pang. -</p> - -<p> -"Are we not Devereaux?" -</p> - -<p> -"No." -</p> - -<p> -"Who then?" urged Sybil, her pallor increasing -while the silence or pause that ensued was painful -to both; to none more than the innocent mother, -the guarded secret of whose blameless life was now -about to be laid bare before her own child—a secret -that seemed now to assume the magnitude of a -crime! All the care, doubt, anxiety, and mystery -of the past years had gone for nothing, and the -sacrifice she had made of herself, was now likely to -recoil fearfully upon her, and more than all upon -her children. -</p> - -<p> -In broken accents, with her aching head reclined -on Sybil's breast, she told all that the reader already -knows; the insane pride of birth and family which -inspired the old lord, his suspicions and threats, the -long necessity for consequent secrecy; and Sybil -heard all this strange story with intense bewilderment. -</p> - -<p> -Could she realise it—take it all into her -comprehension? Her mother was a lady of title—her -brother Denzil was the real Lord Lamorna, she -herself was not a Devereaux, but a Trevelyan like -Audley—and he, Audley, who loved her so, was her -own cousin! -</p> - -<p> -This revelation then explained all to Sybil; all -of their wanderings in strange places, and sudden -departures from them, when unwelcome tourists -who might have recognised Richard Trevelyan came, -their secluded life at Porthellick, their marked -avoidance of the Trecarrels and others, and on the -whole poor Sybil felt cut to the heart, and inspired -by not an atom of pride; yet she tenderly and fondly -embraced her mother with greater fervour than ever, -for more than ever did she feel that she must love -her now. -</p> - -<p> -"My poor papa drowned—drowned, unburied in -the sea—passing away from us without even the -name by which we have known and loved him!" -exclaimed Sybil. "Oh why is God so cruel to us?" -</p> - -<p> -"Alas, Sybil, we can but adore the decrees of -Heaven, without seeking to know more of them. -This stroke is hard to bear, child—all the harder -that I have reason to fear—to dread, oh, my God, -that more than your papa's life has perished with him." -</p> - -<p> -"More mamma; what can be more?" -</p> - -<p> -"That which was dearer to him than life; the -succession of Denzil—the honour of us all!" -</p> - -<p> -After a long pause, with a vague expression in -her eyes, as if her thoughts were travelling back -into the years of the past, Sybil said, -</p> - -<p> -"I had begun to suspect there was some -unpleasant mystery about us." -</p> - -<p> -"But affection and delicacy——" -</p> - -<p> -"Both, dearest mamma sealed my lips and I was -silent; but oh, to what good end or purpose has it -all been? By this, too surely is Audley also lost -to me." -</p> - -<p> -"My poor child, he was your lover, and through -me you think you lose him. Oh pardon me, Sybil, -darling, for I, your hapless mother, am the cause -of all this! Had your papa never seen, or known, -or loved me——" -</p> - -<p> -"Do not say so, mamma dear," whispered Sybil -as her mother's tremulous lips were pressed on her -throbbing brow. -</p> - -<p> -"It was a plan your papa formed to save his -inheritance for you and Denzil, and already his -brother claims all." -</p> - -<p> -"It was a false plan, and see how it may fail -us—nay already, to all appearance has failed us." -</p> - -<p> -"He is in his grave—if indeed the ocean can -be called a grave." -</p> - -<p> -"True, my darling papa—and I must not upbraid -him, even in thought." -</p> - -<p> -"If it is the will of God that I should suffer, His -will be done! But my children—my children!" -cried the widow wildly, and she raised her hands -and her dark and beautiful but bloodshot eyes to -Heaven; "my brave and handsome Denzil, and my -soft sweet Sybil, of what have they been guilty, -that shame and ruin, should fall on them?" -</p> - -<p> -"Mamma," whispered Sybil, embracing her -closely, "we must learn to bear with resignation -the woes we cannot help. But oh," added the girl -in her heart, "how am I to write to Denzil of all -this sorrow, and probably worse than sorrow and -poverty?" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap20"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XX. -<br /><br /> -A FAMILY GROUP. -</h3> - -<p> -And so he was gone—this tender husband, who -had loved her so dearly, and whose secret she had -shared so unavailingly for years; and apart from -the horror of the doubt that hung over the future -of her children, whose means and honour, like her -own, had too probably perished with him, a despair -grew in the heart of Constance when she surveyed -the familiar objects, the little household gods of -their once happy home, and thought upon the days -that could never, never come again. -</p> - -<p> -There were times when she could not believe -that she had lost him; that her sorrow was a -painful dream from which she must awake. She -perpetually found herself softly whispering his name, -especially in the waking hours of the night. Thus -too, from overtension of the nervous system, she -would start at the fancied sound of her own name, -uttered as if by his voice at a vast distance. -</p> - -<p> -In the delicacy and tenderness of Constance, -there was an amount of keenness and intensity -possessed by few, and thus her heart bled for her -daughter, rather than for her own dubious position, -the fact of which had been so coarsely thrust upon -her by the insolent letter of Downie Trevelyan, -who was now formally spoken of and everywhere -announced and received as "Lord Lamorna." -</p> - -<p> -That Sybil had given all the wealth of her young -heart to this man's son, was but too evident to her -anxious mother's observation; but how would -matters tend now, and could that misplaced love -have a successful termination? -</p> - -<p> -Days were passing in sorrow now; no letters -from Audley came to either. Sybil looked delicate -and grew pale and thin, for a double grief was -consuming her, and Constance began to marvel in -her heart, was she meant to live in suffering and -penury, perhaps to die early, this child—her dead -father's idol, so loved and petted by him. -</p> - -<p> -Sybil felt secretly pleased with the idea that -there existed between her and Audley a tie—the -tie of blood—which even the antagonism of his -crafty father could not break. "The idea of -cousinly intimacy to girls is undoubtedly pleasant," -says Anthony Trollope; "and I do not know -whether it is not the fact, that the better and the -purer the girl, the sweeter and the pleasanter is the -idea." -</p> - -<p> -How often had Constance asked of herself—but -never of him who was gone—"How long is this -deception to be carried on? How long am I to -wait before I take my place in the world as the -wife of Richard Trevelyan, and cease to figure as -a sham Devereaux, and how long are our children -to be thus under a cloud?" All obstacles were -removed now, but the sham was becoming a reality, -and the cloud was growing darker than ever. -</p> - -<p> -And was her poor Denzil, then so far away from -her, to be tamely robbed of his noble inheritance -after all? -</p> - -<p> -The necessity for action in some way, even before -acquainting him with his father's death and real -rank, compelled Constance to bestir herself. She -knew no one whom she felt tempted to consult -with confidence, and was totally ignorant of the -line of action to adopt, but on hearing, before a -week had passed, that the whole family of the -Trevelyans had come from town and taken up their -residence at Rhoscadzhel, she resolved to lose no -time in confronting the usurper personalty, attended -only by her daughter. She could—she feared not—fully -prove the identity of "Captain Devereaux" with -Captain Trevelyan the late lord, and her husband's -miniature, which she wore, and his letters, especially -the last from Montreal, would prove still further -the fact of her marriage, and his intentions as -regarded his will, though they were all addressed to -her as Mrs. Devereaux, and simply bore his -signature as "Richard," save one already mentioned, -to which he appended his title. -</p> - -<p> -So she thought and flattered herself while, -clad in the deepest mourning, she and Sybil -traversed, by the Cornwall Railway, the forty odd -miles that lay between Porthellick and Rhoscadzhel, -followed by the prayers and blessings of old Winny -Braddon. -</p> - -<p> -"That which we fancy must break our hearts, -we can bear patiently, and what is more, so learn to -conform to, that after a few years of life, we can -wonder that we thought them hardships," says a -writer with much truth. So did Constance think -her heart would break, when all the reality of her -desolate condition was brought home to her, by -her mirror reflecting her face—the face that -Richard loved so well—encircled by a widow's -cap—that odious ruche of tulle; but she already felt -the conviction strongly, that whatever happened -now, she would not have many years of life before -her. -</p> - -<p> -Mother and daughter sat silent and sad while the -train swept on, Lostwithiel with its antique octagon -spire and the ruins of Restormal, with their moat -full of sweet-briars; St. Blazey, to whose shrine -the woolcombers made their pilgrimages in the days -of old (the saint having been tortured or curried -to death with wool-combs, by the Cornish men who -declined to be converted from Druidism), with many -a spacious lawn and bare autumnal wood and many -a purple moor, were speedily left behind; and now -it was past Grampound with its market-house and -ancient granite cross, the train went screaming and -clanking. Redruth next, in a dreary and barren -district whose wealth lies far below the soil, which -is literally honeycombed by the shafts and levels of -mines; and then came Hayle, the houses of which -are all built of scoria or slag, the debris of ancient -mines; and then the travellers hired at the "White -Hart," a carriage for Rhoscadzhel. -</p> - -<p> -To Constance, the scenery there had its chief -interest in the circumstance that in youth and -manhood her husband must have been familiar with -every feature of it, and must have shot and hunted -over it all. Noon was past now; but the sun shed -a rich golden light upon a calm sea, of which they -had lovely glimpses at times between the grey -granite <i>carns</i> and clumps of oak and elm. Sometimes -the carriage rolled past wildernesses of rock -and morass, where wild tarns reflected in their glassy -depths the blue sky above, and where valleys opened -westward to the Bristol Channel, whose waves were -buttressed out by precipices of bold and striking -outline, and the heart of Constance began to beat -painfully as each revolution of the wheels drew her -nearer and nearer to the house, that long ere this -should have been her home. -</p> - -<p> -She felt, or thought, that now she was about to -face, confront, and grapple with her fate, and to -know the best or worst! The secret burden so long -intolerable, would now be cast aside, and the -adoption of any line of action, in lieu of the existence -she had led since her loss was confirmed—the dumb -mechanical life of one too paralysed even to think—was -a relief. Yet moments there were when she -half repented of her journey. -</p> - -<p> -Her husband, her sole protector, was gone, and -the proofs of their marriage, and of his intentions -by will, too, were gone also! If her arguments were -repelled, her assertions denied, what must be her -fate, and how terribly should she and those he -loved so well be exposed to the sneers and -heartlessness of a world that knew nothing of their -good qualities, or of the cause for that concealment -which might now prove the cause of their -destruction. -</p> - -<p> -What if even now, at the eleventh hour, as it were, -she turned prudently back, and concealed the fact -that she was the true Lady Lamorna—that her son -was a peer of the realm—and let him and Sybil pass -through life as humble Devereaux, content to earn -their bread as best they could? But to see Downie -Trevelyan, the author of that harsh and most insulting -letter, occupying the place of her Denzil—no—no! a -thousand times no! -</p> - -<p> -Some such fears had been occurring to Sybil, who -now said, in a low voice, as they drew near the stately -gate of Rhoscadzhel, -</p> - -<p> -"I doubt, dearest mamma, whether this is a wise -proceeding on our part; if we have the legal right -to call ourselves Trevelyans, that right should be -placed for proof in legal hands." -</p> - -<p> -"If we have—" began Constance, impetuously, -and then became silent, for she felt that the -views of her daughter were, perhaps, the most -correct. -</p> - -<p> -The elaborate iron gate, and its tall granite pillars, -each supporting a grotesque <i>Koithgath</i>, surmounted -by a coronet, were left behind, and they proceeded -along the stately avenue by which we have so lately -seen Richard passing as chief mourner at the funeral -of the old lord; and now, as the porte-cochère (which -bore a double hatchment) was approached, came a -new perplexity to the mind of Constance. How was -she to announce herself? -</p> - -<p> -As "Lady Lamorna," where there was already one -who called herself so; simply as "Mrs. Devereaux," -or as "a lady wishing an interview with Lord -Lamorna"? But from the utterance of his name in -this instance she shrunk. -</p> - -<p> -The pampered servants, on seeing that the -approaching vehicle was only a carriage hired from the -neighbouring inn, and not an equipage having coats -of arms and showy liveries, were somewhat slow -in answering the summons at the bell; but as -the hall door stood open, and, luckily for the -perplexed Constance, Mr. Jasper Funnel, the solemn, -portly, and intensely respectable-looking butler, -was lingering there, she asked if she could "see -his master." -</p> - -<p> -Now this was a mode to which Mr. Jasper Funnel -was all unused, and he might have been disposed to -summon "Jeames" or "Chawles" to attend to her; -but there was now a hauteur in the bearing of -Constance that thoroughly bewildered, if it failed to awe -him. -</p> - -<p> -"Master, mum?" he stammered; "his lordship -is at home, but engaged with General Trecarrel—I -can take in your card, however." -</p> - -<p> -"I have not my card-case with me." -</p> - -<p> -"What name, then?" -</p> - -<p> -"It matters not—just say——" -</p> - -<p> -"Perhaps, mum, relations of the family?" -suggested Funnel, perceiving the depth of mourning -worn by the two ladies. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes—near relations, indeed," replied Constance, -restraining her tears with difficulty. -</p> - -<p> -The man of bins and vintages, who thought he -knew the branches of the Trevelyan family through -all their ramifications, looked still more perplexed; -however, he said, with a still lower bow, -</p> - -<p> -"This way, mum—please to follow me," and -desiring their driver to await them, Constance and -Sybil entered the mansion of Rhoscadzhel. -</p> - -<p> -As if to tantalise them by a display of all they -were perhaps to lose, or had already lost for ever, -a valet, to whose care Mr. Funnel now consigned -them, conducted them by a somewhat circuitous -route, as all the suites of rooms were not in order, -the family having arrived unexpectedly from town. -</p> - -<p> -Passing through the marble vestibule, an arch on -one side of which opened to a gay aviary, and one -on the other to the beautiful conservatory, they -entered a long and lofty corridor, where the soft -carpet muffled every foot-fall, and where were the -objects of <i>vertu</i>, accumulated by several generations -of Trevelyans; a veritable museum it seemed, of -glass cases filled with quaintly illuminated vellum -MSS., in fine old Roman bindings, red-edged and -clasped; old laces of Malines and Bruges; Chinese -ivory carvings, delicate as gossamer webs; Burmese -idols; Japanese cabinets, covered with flaming -dragons; Majolica vases, where rosy cupids, grotesque -tritons, nude nymphs, and shining dolphins, were all -grouped together; Delft hardware of odd designs; -Etruscan cups, cream-coloured or crimson, with -slender black demoniac figures thereon; mediæval -suits of armour; family portraits of dames in ruffs -and farthingales, and of past Trevelyans, all -well-wigged, cuirassed, and armed: some with Bardolph -noses and paunches of comely curve, suggestive of -sack and venison; the chiefs of these being Lord -Henry, who was Governor of Rougemont Castle for -Queen Elizabeth, and Launcelot, the cavalier-lord, -who sought shelter in Trewoofe from the victorious -Roundheads. -</p> - -<p> -The refined and cultivated taste of Constance -could well appreciate all these objects; but now, as -one in a dream, her eyes wandered over those walls -where many a gem of art was hanging; the soft-eyed -and white-skinned girls of Greuze; the bearded and -doubleted nobles of Vandyke; cattle, fat and -lazy-looking, by Cuyp; hazy sea-pieces by Turner, and -more than one lovely Raphael; but then her every -thought was turned inward; and as if to support -herself, she retained Sybil's tremulous little hand, -on which her clasp tightened, as the servant, who -was clad in mourning livery, with a black cord -aiguilette on each shoulder, opened noiselessly the -half of a folding-door, and ushered them into that -splendid library where her husband had found his -proud old uncle dead at the writing-table, and -Downie (with the unsigned deed) hanging over him, -with confusion and disappointment on his usually -stolid visage. -</p> - -<p> -"Visitors, my lord," said the servant. -</p> - -<p> -And to add to the perplexity of Constance, she -found herself face to face with the whole family -group—the whole, at least, save one, her nephew -Audley. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap21"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXI. -<br /><br /> -HUMILIATION. -</h3> - -<p> -The statements made to Audley Trevelyan by -his father as to the dubious position of the two -ladies at Porthellick—artful statements which -seemed, without collusion, to corroborate so much -that Mabel and Rose Trecarrel hinted or openly -advanced—had seriously grieved and perplexed him. -Thus, while loving Sybil and longing for her society -on one hand, with the selfishness or vacillation -peculiar to many young men, on the other, he began -to wish that he had not gone quite so far—that he -had been less precipitate in his love-making; but his -perplexity increased to utter bewilderment, not -unmixed with indignation, when his usually languid -mother, with considerable scorn and irritation of -manner, informed him that "the person calling -herself Mrs. Devereaux" was but an <i>intriguante</i>, who -had sought to lure his foolish uncle Richard into -marriage; and his father admitted that he and -others had long suspected his brother of having -some low and illicit entanglement. -</p> - -<p> -Now Audley knew that this "<i>intriguante</i>" had a -son, whose existence might endanger his own -succession to a title. -</p> - -<p> -Was this fair, slender and delicate girl, whose -gentle image had wound itself about the heart of -Audley, and on whose "engagement finger" he had -so recently slipped a ring, actually a cousin; but -one whom he could not acknowledge—a person -whom he dared not marry, in dread of that -trumpet-tongued bugbear called "Society"? -</p> - -<p> -He had ceased for some days to write to her. In -this he accused himself of gross selfishness; but his -father's open threats of withdrawing every shilling -of his allowance, of turning his back upon him for -ever, and so forth, if he dared to countenance the -Devereaux in any way; and his total inability to -live anywhere on his subaltern's pay alone, together -with the dread of compromising his cold, proud, and -intensely aristocratic mother and sister—in fact, it -would seem, his whole family too—made him strive -to crush in his heart the young love it was so sweet -to brood upon; but Audley strove in vain, and began -to think that the sooner he was back to India the -better for all. -</p> - -<p> -He had been nervous, irritable, and "out of sorts" -since he had returned to Rhoscadzhel, and obtaining -a passing glimpse of the little white villa as the -train passed it, en route, had made him worse. He -had procured Champagne and various other vintages -too freely from Jasper Funnel; he had broken the -knees of a favourite horse; ripped up the green -cloth of the new billiard table when practising alone, -and more than once had angrily laid his whip across -the back of unoffending Rajah. -</p> - -<p> -On the afternoon of the visit which closes the -preceding chapter, his mother who was seated -languidly in a deep easy chair near the library fire, -playing with a feather fan, while her daintily slippered -little feet rested on a velvet tabourette, said in -her soft and monotonous voice,— -</p> - -<p> -"I do wish, Audley, that odious dog of yours was -dead—shot or lost." -</p> - -<p> -"Why, mother, it was poor Jack Delamere's -dying legacy." -</p> - -<p> -"It is such a shaggy, self-willed, huge and savage -animal—always about one's skirts or in one's way." -</p> - -<p> -"You are unusually energetic in your adjectives -this evening, my lady mother," replied Audley; -"poor Rajah is as gentle as a lamb, and I might -have found a kind owner for him ere this, however," -he added, as he thought sadly of the winning Sybil -on whose skirts his splendid pet had been permitted -to nestle unrebuked. -</p> - -<p> -"Visitors, mamma!" exclaimed Gartha Trevelyan, -a fair-haired and languid edition of her mother, and -already, in her sixteenth year, the imitator of all her -tones and ways; "who can they be—in a hired carriage, too?" -</p> - -<p> -"Ladies in deep mourning," said General Trecarrel, -glancing uneasily at Audley. -</p> - -<p> -"By Jove!" muttered the latter, growing quite -pale, as he recognised them from a bay window, and -at once quitting the library, descended by a private -staircase to where his horse and groom happened to -be awaiting him. -</p> - -<p> -"My cousin—he is my own cousin; this was the -secret sympathy—the tie of blood that drew us to -each other," Sybil was thinking softly, in her timid -heart, to keep her courage up, at the very time when -he who, without flinching, would have faced a Sikh -gun-battery, or a horde of Afghans, was avoiding -her, and galloping ingloriously away from what he -deemed "a scene—a deuced family row," with a -blush on his cheek, shame, pity, and anger mingling -in his soul, with the half-formed wish that he had -never met and never known her! -</p> - -<p> -Advancing into the room, the mother and daughter -bowed, and then stood irresolute. The former had -expected to have seen Downie alone; but finding -him thus, amid his family, and the General present -too, all her pre-arranged and carefully considered -explanations and remarks completely fled her -memory, and her mind became blank as a sheet of -unwritten paper, as Downie, after a rapid whisper -to his wife, over whose colourless face there flashed -a look of angry scorn, took the initiative. -</p> - -<p> -His wife, with her everlasting smelling-bottle or -vinaigrette and lace handkerchief; her newly-cut -novel close by; her pale, dull eyes and unmeaning -smile; her "company manners;" her soft white -hands, smooth and unwrinkled as her forehead, yet -cold and puerile as her heart, was always a kind of -bore; but now her <i>tout-ensemble</i> had all the impress -of insipidity, animated by insolence; for weak though -the lawyer's wife was in character, she felt that she -was mistress of the situation; and at least <i>pro tem.</i>, -if not for life, Lady Lamorna. -</p> - -<p> -She regarded the widow with a cold and supercilious -stare, to which the former replied by a -steady gaze, and each seemed to draw her -conclusions of the other in an instant, for "to women -alone pertains that marvellous freemasonry, which -sees the character at a glance, and investigates the -sincerity of a disposition or the value of a lace -flounce with the same practised facility." -</p> - -<p> -Downie, too, had his own peculiar acuteness and -instincts, sharp and keen, wherever he went; he saw -everything in a moment; whoever he met, he read -their faces like a book, he marked all their features, -deduced their personal characters, just as if he had -been intimate with them for a life-time; and a very -useful power this had proved to him, in the course -of his legal career; and now, in his mourning suit, -he looked like "one of those great crows that are to -be seen, apparently asleep, in a meadow in autumn; -but which, nevertheless, see everything that is going -on around them." The gentle aspect, the forlorn -bearing, and uncommon beauty of Constance and -her daughter, would have softened any other heart -than Downie's; but his was like Cornish granite—the -oldest and stoniest of all stones. -</p> - -<p> -General Trecarrel—somewhat nervously it must -be owned—shook hands with the intruders, for as -such they felt themselves viewed; but the dog, -Rajah, alone gave them a welcome by fawning round -Sybil, who trembled excessively, and could scarcely -restrain her tears, while the dog's recognition of her -did not escape the wife of Downie, who drew certain -conclusions therefrom. -</p> - -<p> -"Mrs. Devereaux, I believe?" said Downie -Trevelyan, calmly, and with his professional smile, as -he looked up from the table, which was literally -heaped up with letters, many of them being -unopened; "to what do I owe the pleasure of this -visit?" -</p> - -<p> -"You owe it to my sorrow, sir," replied Constance, -gathering courage, as her eye caught a portrait of -Richard Trevelyan, in his uniform, painted years -ago, ere he went to America, and looking just as she -had seen him in the early days of their happy -loverhood; and now the pictured face seemed to smile -upon her out of the past; "to the death of my -husband—your brother, as you know, by drowning," -she added. -</p> - -<p> -He gave her a stare of cold enquiry, over, and -finally, through his double gold eye-glass, which he -specially wiped for the occasion, and then turning to -his wife, said,— -</p> - -<p> -"Gartha, my dear, take your namesake and the -boys with you—retire, please, for we may have much -to say that must not be said before you." -</p> - -<p> -"Perhaps I—I too, am <i>de trop</i>?" said General -Trecarrel, a little nervously, assuming his hat and -malacca cane. -</p> - -<p> -"Not at all—pray be seated," replied Downie. -</p> - -<p> -"If—Mrs.—Mrs.——" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes; Mrs. Devereaux will excuse you, -General, I am sure," answered Downie, as his wife, -with her four younger children, sailed haughtily -from the room, drawing in her skirts as she passed -Constance, whose pretty lip only quivered a little -with disdain. -</p> - -<p> -To do him justice, the barrister looked on the -widow with something of interest, mingling, -momentarily, with his fear and anger—but momentarily -only. She was slenderly and so beautifully formed, -small featured, and dark haired, with much that was -intense and unfathomable in her pleading -eyes—pleading for her children's honour and her own: -and there was Sybil, too, clad in the deepest mourning, -her high black dress, with its pretty cuffs, and -a small white collar round her delicate neck, made -her fair skin seem fairer still, and appeared to -become the darkness of her hair and eyes better than -any other style of dress would have done; but, then, -Sybil looked charming in everything! -</p> - -<p> -The little interest died, and Downie regarded -them with intense hostility, for he had all "that -sublime philosophy which teaches us to bear with -tranquillity the woes of others." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh—ah—yes," he said, after a most harassing -pause; "you are the lady who lives—in fact, who -has lived for some time past, in a villa near -Porthellick?" -</p> - -<p> -"The same, sir." -</p> - -<p> -Downie knit his brows, for she accorded him no -title, and he was somewhat jealous on the point. -</p> - -<p> -"It was a bold act of my brother to bring you -here to Cornwall—a secluded place—almost under -the eyes of his own family too!" -</p> - -<p> -"Circumstanced as we were by the eccentricity of -his late uncle, it was, perhaps, unwise," she replied, -gently. -</p> - -<p> -"I am glad that you admit so much: a little villa -near St. John's Wood, or some such place, had been -more appropriate for persons so situated." -</p> - -<p> -The eyes of Constance began to flash dangerously. -</p> - -<p> -"My son is Lord Lamorna!" she exclaimed; -"and even on his cold-blooded uncle may punish -this cruel insult to his mother!" -</p> - -<p> -The General, to whom all this revelation was new -and startling, began to feel uncomfortable, and to -look quite perplexed; but Downie only smiled a -crafty smile, as he said— -</p> - -<p> -"Pooh, my good woman, you are out of your -senses; what can be the object of this visit? I am -busy—does your carriage wait?" -</p> - -<p> -"Before scandals go forth in our name, I beseech -you to consider well, and to read this letter, which -will show you who I am and what I am, and why for -years we have all borne the name of Devereaux," -said Constance, making a prodigious effort to control -her great grief and just indignation, as she held the -document before Downie; "it is the last my dear, -dear husband wrote me." -</p> - -<p> -"Husband—absurd! This is the wildest of wild -assertions," said Downie Trevelyan, as he took the -letter from her hand, nevertheless; and as he did so, -the words of her dead husband came back to her -memory, when he said "that proofs of their marriage, -beyond mere assertion, must be forthcoming;" -and now those proofs were buried in the sea. -</p> - -<p> -"You must recognise the handwriting," said -Constance, in a tremulous tone; "and oh, sir," she -added, as she eyed him doubtfully and wistfully, -"you will restore it to me, and not destroy it?" -</p> - -<p> -"Destroy!" said he, sternly; "what are you -talking about? I hope I am too much of a lawyer -to destroy any document." -</p> - -<p> -"Before witnesses, at least," was the awkward -addendum of the General. -</p> - -<p> -Downie's legal eye quickly took in the situation, -as detailed by his brother Richard in that letter, -which stated that the little chapel of St. Mary, at -Montreal, had been burned down three years after -the regiment had left the city; that the Père Latour -and the acolyte were both dead; that though the -Registers had all perished in the flames, the signed -copy of the marriage certificate was preserved by -Latour's successor, and "is now in my possession," -added the letter, the signature to which, "Lamorna," -made the reader's eyes to gleam with secret rage; -but he merely said, -</p> - -<p> -"Suppose this letter were written by my brother—a -supposition of which I do not admit the truth,—who -are 'those at home' whom he doubts?" -</p> - -<p> -"You, most probably," said the General, with -soldierly candour. -</p> - -<p> -"Absurd, my dear sir," replied Downie, tossing -the letter contemptuously to Constance. "This is a -fabrication, written to suit the occasion: the church -burned; the Register destroyed; the witnesses dead, -too! It is a strange story, and strange chapter of -accidents. You lived with him long enough, I doubt -not, madam, to learn how to feign my brother's -handwriting. This document has not even an -envelope—so where are the postal marks?" -</p> - -<p> -"I lost it——" -</p> - -<p> -"Bah! I thought so." -</p> - -<p> -There was a peculiar basilisk flicker in the pale -eyes of Downie Trevelyan, and he surveyed the -shrinking widow of his brother pitilessly, with a -glance of hate—a glance beyond all the eloquence -of fury or wrath, for he felt in his heart—or what -passed for such—that she spoke truth in all this -matter, but a truth she would have difficulty in -proving. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh mamma—mamma, let us go," implored Sybil. -</p> - -<p> -"And this Dick Braddon who accompanied my -brother—the other witness—a worthless old Chelsea -pensioner, and so he too is gone?" -</p> - -<p> -"Gone with my husband," replied Constance, -clasping her hands and looking upward. -</p> - -<p> -"As my poor brother never yet, to my knowledge -at least, prior to his luckless American tour, -appended his name to any document as <i>Lamorna</i>, we -have no means of testing or comparing the signature -to your production, were such test necessary—which -it is not." -</p> - -<p> -Gathering courage, Constance was about to make -some proud response, when Downie, in his (external) -character pure and unspotted as his shirt front, said -while turning to the General— -</p> - -<p> -"My brother Richard picked up, of course, some -of those dissipated habits which are peculiar to the -army, and——" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, pardon me, my lord," began the General, in -a deprecatory tone, while inserting his right hand in -the breast of his closely buttoned surtout. -</p> - -<p> -"It is true, Trecarrel; you redcoats are a sad set, -and here we see the result of an unlucky liaison." -</p> - -<p> -"Richard—Richard," wailed Constance, "how -hard is all this to bear!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, madam," said Downie; "but the way of -transgressors is always hard." -</p> - -<p> -"Transgressors, sir?" -</p> - -<p> -"Against the laws of morality and society, madam. -Do not misunderstand me, madam." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh no—oh no," replied Constance, in a choking -voice; "I quite understand you." -</p> - -<p> -The General was deeply moved; he advanced a -pace or two towards her, and lifted his hand with -an air of entreaty; but Downie was pitiless, and -added— -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, madam, and not content with seeking to -entrap my brother, there has actually been an attempt -made, too, to entrap and delude my son!" -</p> - -<p> -"Sir," said Constance, moving towards the door -of the library, "I came in hope—I must own, -half-desperate hope—of having an explanation from, or a -compromise with you—perhaps a recognition of our -just claims. Assertion, even backed by such a -letter as this, is, I must own, but slender evidence; -so a court of law shall prove the rest." -</p> - -<p> -"As you please, madam," replied Downie, rising -and ringing a hand-bell deliberately. "Show -this—<i>lady</i> out. So much for Mrs. Devereaux!" he added -furiously, for he was greatly disturbed and ruffled. -</p> - -<p> -A mist seemed before the eyes of both mother -and daughter, as they quitted the stately room -mechanically, to seek their vehicle at the porte-cochère. -Constance kept her proud little head erect, -however, so long as she was under observation; for -though her heart was wrung with agony as she -thought of her children, there was something of a -Spartan matron in the outward bearing she affected, -and in her perfect power of self-mastery then. -</p> - -<p> -Stared at in the corridor by the wondering and -mocking eyes of all the younger children of Downie, -who had taken their cue from the manner in which -their mamma had gathered her skirts in the library, -as if to avoid pollution; stared at too in the -vestibule and portal by Mr. Funnel the solemn Butler, -by Boxer the rubicund coachman, and by a group of -whiskered valets, who all saw that something, they -knew not what, "was hup," they reached the hired -carriage that was to take them back to Hayle; and -Jeames in powder, wearing "the uniform" of the -noble family, remarked to Chawles, a brother of the -plush and shoulder-knot, quite audibly, that "they -both seemed the lady, quite; but he feared they was -only a couple of guv'nesses or companions out of -place—a lot as miserable as curates and tutors, and -all that sort o' thing." -</p> - -<p> -Constance shivered as if with ague when she -drew up the glasses of the carriage, and they took -their departure from Rhoscadzhel. -</p> - -<p> -Open war alone could save or sink them now! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap22"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXII. -<br /><br /> -"MRS. GRUNDY." -</h3> - -<p> -General Trecarrel, who was an amiable and -well-disposed man, felt the utmost regret in having -been present at an interview so painful, unseemly, -and perplexing. Notwithstanding the calmness, -dignity, and confidence with which Constance -asserted her claims to wifehood and nobility, he had -his secret doubts—which Downie had not—as to -the legality of the ties that had subsisted between -her and his late friend, Richard Trevelyan. Yet he -could not but think of her kindly, humanely, and -with interest; she seemed so perfectly ladylike, was -so gentle and so beautiful. -</p> - -<p> -In short, the old soldier, little given to study -character or matters not military, felt sorely bewildered -by the strange story so suddenly unfolded by his -fair neighbour, and withdrew to think over it and to -dress for dinner. -</p> - -<p> -"So that odious woman and the cunning minx, -her daughter, are gone at last?" said Mrs. Downie—the -acknowledged Lady Lamorna—entering the -carpeted library, softly and noiselessly, in her usual -languid and wearied way. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, Gartha—at last," replied her husband, -who was still seated at the writing-table with his -head resting on his left hand, for he was full of -thoughts that oppressed him. -</p> - -<p> -"You look disturbed, Downie dear?" she lisped, -as she sank into her easy chair and resumed the -feather fan or hand screen. -</p> - -<p> -"That idiot Audley has complicated matters by -forming an attachment for the woman's daughter; -but Trecarrel, who goes soon to India now, shall -take him off there at once." -</p> - -<p> -"And what was the object of her visit, pray?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, she came here to try the favourite Whig -scheme—conciliation at any price, no matter how -humiliating; and exhibited a letter she had -manufactured, as from my brother; but it won't pass with -me—no, no!" -</p> - -<p> -"You are right to repel such attempts as this; -and I agree with you that Audley had better relinquish -what remains of his leave and quit England," -she replied, yet not without a sigh, for her son had -been but a short time at home, and India was so far -away. But anything was better than that he should -entangle himself with a girl like this—her son -Audley, when she had almost registered a vow -"never to syllable a name unchronicled by Debrett;" -the idea was absurd, horrible in the extreme! -</p> - -<p> -"Perhaps, Downie dear," said she, after a little -consideration, "we are too fearful. I have read -somewhere that 'boy and girl cousins never fraternise.'" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't they, by Jove!" growled Downie; "especially -when they come to the age of puberty, without -having known each other previously. Then the -Scots have a proverb about 'blood being thicker than -water,' though I can't see it in that way myself. The -girl is remarkably handsome, and Audley's affair -with her must have made considerable progress ere -her letter came into my possession in London." -</p> - -<p> -"Handsome? dear, dear! do you really think so? -I thought her very saucy in expression, and a positive -dowdy, in a dress made, no doubt, by some Penzance -milliner," replied the lady, while contemplating -complacently her own magnificent black <i>moire</i>, for she -did not entertain more charitable opinions -respecting the daughter than the mother. -</p> - -<p> -Though more advanced in life than Constance -(for she had been married some years before her), -the wife of Downie had still considerable remains of -beauty, and, despite time and dimples turning fast -to wrinkles, she was bent upon being gay, young, -and beautiful still. She had an air that decidedly -denoted high breeding, with much of languor and -indifference to all that passed around her. She had -completely attained that bearing of placidity, utter -vacuity or unimpressionability, so sedulously affected -or adopted by many among the upper class of -English society, and even by their middle-class -imitators. However, all the little spirit or energy -she ever possessed fired up now, in the conviction -that she was the Right Honourable Lady Lamorna, -that Audley was one of "England's Honourable -Misters," and that Gartha should find a husband -among the tufts and strawberry leaves at least. -</p> - -<p> -Downie had not her ambition even in these -matters, but had naturally avarice; and his profession -had, of course, taught him trickery. "Despair -of no man," it has been said: "there are touches of -kindness in natures the very roughest, that redeem -whole lives of harshness;" but to have sought for -charity or kindness at the hands of Downie were a -task as easy as taking a bone from a famished -tiger. -</p> - -<p> -That day, at the dinner-table, after the ladies had -withdrawn, and Downie, the General, and Audley -were lingering over their wine (or wines rather), the -conversation naturally turned to the recent visit of -Constance and her daughter; and a painful theme it -proved to the young officer. -</p> - -<p> -From General Trecarrel he had previously obtained -a narrative of all that had passed, and though -he thanked Heaven that he had been absent, his -heart was preyed upon by many keen and conflicting -emotions. He loved Sybil tenderly, he acknowledged -to himself; but could he think of marriage -with her, when she was the daughter of a woman in -a position as dubious as that of Constance was now -openly declared to be—one, moreover, whose claims -were so startling, and whose allegations were, as his -father called them, so daring as to merit criminal -prosecution,—for so had the lawyer said in his wrath -and the strength of his own position! -</p> - -<p> -Intense pity for the girl mingled with his passion -for her, and added to his great perplexity; and thus, -while his cheek alternately flushed and grew pale, -he sat with half-averted face, and the fingers of one -hand buried among his thick brown hair, irritated -by the conviction that his father's cold, keen, and -scrutinising eyes were bent loweringly upon him, -while in silence he heard the General bluntly -urging him "if he had any tender views in that -quarter, to get rid of them as soon as possible, -and be off to join his regiment;" for to Trecarrel -military service seemed a cure for every human ill. -</p> - -<p> -"But the letter she showed you?" pled Audley. -</p> - -<p> -"That letter, sir, I have already denounced as a -most daring forgery!" replied Downie, with as much -energy as his usually quiet manner permitted. -</p> - -<p> -"Could she—one so eminently like a lady—be -guilty of such a crime?" -</p> - -<p> -"Your uncle's mistress would be, of course, -familiar with his handwriting." -</p> - -<p> -Audley felt his heart vibrate painfully at this -injurious but, as the circumstances seemed to stand, -not inapplicable term. Compassion and tenderness -pleaded for the dove-eyed Sybil; but policy, society, -or the promptings of "Mrs. Grundy" urged that he -should, nay must, relinquish all thought of her for -ever; so while sitting there, sipping his -golden-tinted château yquem, and playing with the -embossed grape scissors, to all appearance very calm -and quiet, a storm of doubt and shame was struggling -in his heart with love; "for this passion," says -Lord Bacon, "hath its floods in the very times of -weakness, which are great prosperity and great -adversity, both which times kindle love and make -it more fervent." And now Sybil was in an adversity -of which he knew not the actual depth. -</p> - -<p> -"To me it seems that you are somewhat severe -in this whole affair, General," said he, after a -pause. -</p> - -<p> -"God forgive me if I am so!" replied Trecarrel, -earnestly. -</p> - -<p> -"Suppose this girl's position to be all you -advance, if we love because we like and admire -each other, are we to be censured?" -</p> - -<p> -"Then who the devil should be censured?" said -his father, with asperity. -</p> - -<p> -"Destiny." -</p> - -<p> -"Pshaw!" said Downie; "this is mere romance—mooning!" -</p> - -<p> -"And deuced unlike one of the 14th Hussars," -added Trecarrel. -</p> - -<p> -"The very rubbish of which dramas are made." -</p> - -<p> -"You are right, Downie; but, till now, I always -thought this young fellow of yours was rather fond -of my girl Rose." -</p> - -<p> -Audley coloured deeply, and assisted himself to -wine, as he said— -</p> - -<p> -"I greatly admire both Miss Trecarrel and her -sister Miss Rose; but I have not the honour to -stand higher in their favour than that of others." -</p> - -<p> -"But this girl Devereaux——" his father was -beginning passionately. -</p> - -<p> -"Excuse me, dear sir," interrupted Audley, "if I -beg that you will cease to taunt me on this painful -subject. The tenor of the letter she wrote to -me—the letter which you found on my desk, and -which in all fairness you should not have read—a -Lieutenant of the Line not being exactly a -schoolboy—sufficiently evinced that we were on terms -of affection and intimacy. I knew not then who -she was, or who her people were. I had saved her -life, as the General knows, at considerable peril, and -so there grew a tender tie between us; but all shall -be ended now," he continued in a tone of emotion. -"I see that it must be so, sir. I see also the -necessity for not compromising your just title to the -rank and place you hold by attaching myself in any -way to the fortunes of the Devereaux. So I -implore you to let the matter cease, or I shall quit -the room—yes, even the house itself, so surely -as I shall ere long quit England, perhaps never to -return!" -</p> - -<p> -"I thank you for this promise, Audley," said -Downie emphatically; "and when once with your -regiment, you shall find your allowance most amply -increased." -</p> - -<p> -"For that I thank you, sir," said Audley, sighing. -</p> - -<p> -"I am richer now than when you were in the -Hussars." -</p> - -<p> -"And out of that wealth, Downie—I beg pardon, -I mean my Lord Lamorna—I trust you will do -something handsome now for poor Dick's widow -and orphan?" blundered the General. -</p> - -<p> -"Widow and orphan!" repeated Downie, with -growing anger. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, widow in one sense." -</p> - -<p> -"In what sense?" -</p> - -<p> -"A widow of the heart," persisted Trecarrel, -reddening to the roots of his grizzled hair. "She -and her pretty daughter have suffered a fearful -stroke of fortune—and even poverty may not be the -most severe trial before them." -</p> - -<p> -"I shall settle a small sum on the mother, -perhaps," said Downie, reluctantly; "and get the -girl, if you wish it, a situation as companion at -a distance from this." -</p> - -<p> -"Companion? That is a kind of upper servant -who must wash the spaniel, and feed the parrot," -said the General, testily; "supervise the maid that -dresses her mistress's hair, read novels aloud, and -sermons on Sunday; write invitations, and answer -them; pay all bills, and stand all manner of -vapours and ill-humours, for thirty pounds per -annum and a <i>quiet home</i>! Come, come, Downie, -d—n it," added Trecarrel, "you might do -something more handsome than that for a daughter -of Richard Trevelyan." -</p> - -<p> -"Sir," replied the other, becoming slightly ruffled -by the old officer's perfect bluntness, "when certain -people in this world cannot get white bread and -wine, they should content them with brown bread -and water; they must also work, if they would not -beg. I think that I shall have done enough if I do -what I propose for the daughter; and as for the -mother, through my humble endeavours, a housekeeper's -place or the matronage of a lunatic asylum -may be procured for her, if she is in poverty, and if -her want of previous character could be tided over -with the Board of Guardians. By her daring claim, -she has certainly striven to injure me and all my -innocent family," added Downie loftily; "yet I do -not wish evil to happen to her." -</p> - -<p> -"Whether we wish it or wish it not, neither will -come according to our mere human desire," retorted -the General; "so pass the Madeira, please, Audley, -for here comes Funnel with the coffee—a hint that -we are to join the ladies in the drawing-room." -</p> - -<p> -Downie Trevelyan had always had his secret fears -of the family in the villa at Porthellick, and he knew -not exactly how strong their claims upon his dead -brother might be. However, he had lost no time in -having himself fully served heir to the late lord, on -the loss of the steamer "Admiral" becoming an -ascertained fact; and, though a lawyer by profession, -he now literally loathed the sight of the circulars -and letters that poured in upon him on his accession -to rank and fortune. There were legal details to be -filled up, dry formalities to be gone through with -perplexing repetitions and minuteness; there were -entreaties from tradesmen that "his Lordship would -not change the family custom," and applications of -a similar nature from town and country agents to -retain their agencies, &c., &c. Then there was "the -suit of those Devereaux," as he called a bulky and -menacing document which a shabby-looking fellow -deposited at Rhoscadzhel one morning, with lists of -the vexatious papers required for the defence—all -the preparation of "some hedge-lawyer—some low -legal desperado," as Downie styled him; for he now -himself felt, in the tone and tenour of these legal -letters and documents, the pointed stings he had for -years past so pitilessly planted in others. -</p> - -<p> -The legal document had the effect of completing -all the silent arguments of Mrs. Grundy in the -mind of Audley. But a few days ago, he was so -happy in the conviction that he loved Sybil and was -beloved again; and now he saw the necessity for -action and resolution, and alike quitting her and -England. -</p> - -<p> -He seated himself at his desk one evening for the -purpose of writing an explanatory or, if he could -achieve it, an exculpatory and farewell letter to -Sybil; but, after various attempts, he had got no -further than the date, when Mr. Jasper Funnel -entered the room, with a little sealed packet on a -silver salver. -</p> - -<p> -It had just come in the household despatch-box -from Hayle, and bore the Porthellick postmark, so -he tore it open with trembling hands. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap23"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXIII. -<br /><br /> -A LEGAL "FRIEND." -</h3> - -<p> -Constance never smiled again; yet in the presence -of Sybil she never gave way to the paroxysms -of passionate grief that came over her when she was -alone or in the seclusion of her own chamber. -Wealth and title, so long looked forward to in the -years that were gone, seemed alike most worthless -now, save that with the loss of these her children -lost their position in life, and herself her name and -honour! Ever present was the idea, Oh that her -husband could look up from his grave, and see the -impending ruin and desolation of their once-happy -home! for, as we have already said, their means of -subsistence died with him. -</p> - -<p> -And now, how were they to live? The present -time was agony; the future dark and gloomy. -</p> - -<p> -Paragraphs, the tenour of which proved intensely -annoying to Downie Trevelyan and all his family, -and which were painful and degrading to Constance -and Sybil (for such they felt them to be), began to -find their way into the local and even the London -papers, under exciting titles or headings, such as -"Singular Case of Presumption," or "Insanity," -"The Cornish Widow again," "The Lamorna -Peerage," and so forth; and Messrs. Gorbelly and -Culverhole, as "his Lordship's solicitors," in -writing answers or contradictions to some of these -effusions, were but too happy, by such legal -advertisements, to mix their somewhat obscure and vulgar -names with the affair. -</p> - -<p> -Audley read those insulting notices, assertions, -and contradictions with infinite sorrow and pain, -for then Sybil's pleading and upbraiding eyes would -come before him. Through such uncourted publicity, -however, the mother and daughter began to -find themselves coldly viewed by neighbours now. -The rector ceased to come near the villa; the -village doctor whipped up his horse as he passed the -end of the willow avenue; and even the usually -friendly Trecarrels left for town—rumour said -correctly, for India—without paying another visit, -though perhaps, as theirs had never been returned, -they could not do otherwise. -</p> - -<p> -All the charity and good they had performed, in -all the necessities relieved, all the ailments -alleviated, all the countless little kindnesses done, went -for nothing now; for the world is a malevolent and -censorious one; and that devilish maxim of Rochefoucauld, -that people feel a strange satisfaction in -the misfortunes of their best friends, was fully -exemplified. Constance's new and startling -assertion of rank and position, however meekly done, -formed excellent food for the tongues of the -malicious and vulgar, who exist everywhere. She had -to bear unjustly the contempt of many, the ridicule -of all; so that her pretty villa became daily less and -less a home. -</p> - -<p> -From the tenour of that horrible interview at -Rhoscadzhel, where every word that passed seemed as if -burned into her heart with letters of fire, Sybil felt -a sure conviction that all must and should be at an -end between herself and Audley Trevelyan. The -treatment of her mother, of her absent brother's -claims, of her own, and of her dead father's memory, -his will and wishes, all required this sacrifice at her -hands; so resolutely and calmly—though a few tears -rolled silently down her cheek the while—she drew -his diamond ring from her "engaged" finger—an -engaged one now no longer—and making it up in a -packet, together with a few letters he had written to -her, she despatched it, addressed by her own -trembling hand, and without a word of comment, to -Rhoscadzhel; and this packet it was which we have just -seen Jasper Funnel place in the hands of his excited -young master. -</p> - -<p> -Her mother's embraces, tenderness, and kisses -were her sole but best reward for acting thus; yet -poor Sybil seemed the very impersonation of beauty, -grief, and girlhood bordering on womanhood. The -buoyancy of the former was gone; a change had -come over her soft and once bright face, which wore -a sad and settled expression now. It was that white -woe which someone styles "the deepest mourning -features can put on." -</p> - -<p> -Her pencil and her piano, each so much the -solace of her lonely hours, were, of course, -relinquished now; and it seemed as if she should never -take to them again. She looked ill, and appeared -to be pining: but, sooth to say, it was less the loss -of Audley than her mother's grief that affected her. -The doctor, when summoned, pocketed his guinea, -but did nothing more; so Winny Braddon urged -Constance, but in vain, that "their poor chealveen" -should be taken to the nearest <i>Mean-tol</i> (or Holed -Stone) so that she might try the sovereign old -Cornish cure for all mysterious ailments, by creeping -through the orifice thereof; for in the ancient -duchy, as in some parts of Ireland and the remote -Scottish Isles, where such natural or artificial -perforations were used of old by the Druids to initiate -and dedicate their children to the offices of rock-worship, -they are still regarded with superstition, as -possessing the gift of effecting miraculous cures. -</p> - -<p> -Constance, too, was ill, and in the excess of her -grief and lowness of heart, she fancied herself worse -than she really was; and ever present was the -thought, how perilous the lonely path of life would -be to a girl so beautiful as Sybil, if she—her -mother—were taken away by the hand of death before -another and fitting protector were provided. Morbid -at times by sorrow, this reflection made the breast of -Constance a prey to the most craving and clamorous -anxiety. -</p> - -<p> -But a short time before, and their worldly prospects -had all been so different—so brilliant and -happy. Now all was dark indeed! When she -thought over all the baronial splendours of -Rhoscadzhel, and the many mementoes of her husband -which must be there, something of hatred for the -invaders of her children's patrimony and her own -marital rights began to mingle with her dull despair -of ever proving that she had the latter; and with all -her constitutional gentleness, when she recalled the -glance bestowed upon her by Mr. Trevelyan on -quitting the library, and the insinuations uttered by -Downie against her, in presence of General -Trecarrel, too, her blood boiled up within her. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Sybil!" she exclaimed one day, after sitting -long buried in thought, "some author says, 'there -are wild beasts in the human race;' and truly your -uncle Downie is one of these. Can it be possible -that they had the same parents—he and your frank, -generous, and open-hearted papa?—that they share -the same blood, were nursed at the same breast, -and nestled together, as I have heard, in the same -little cot?" -</p> - -<p> -Sybil was silent; she had, in this view of the -matter, but one secret and reclaiming thought. -Downie was Audley's father, and she would be -merciful. -</p> - -<p> -But it was when inspired by one of those gusts -of indignation that Constance received, perhaps -unfortunately, a visitor—an attorney from a -neighbouring town—who stated that he had heard her -strange and painful story, and had come to make a -"friendly" offer of his legal services. -</p> - -<p> -Now Mr. Sharkley—for such was his name—was -exactly, in many respects, what Downie, in his rage, -called him, and was an excellent specimen of -perhaps the most dangerous character in society—a -needy and unscrupulous lawyer. He was attired -in rusty black garments, that seemed to have been -made for a much taller man. The collar of his -swallow-tailed coat rose above the nape of his neck, -while the cuffs nearly reached to the points of his -fingers, and the legs of his trousers flapped loosely -over his instep. He had a low projecting forehead -and keen eyes, the expression of which varied only -between intense cunning and the lowest suspicion. -His ears were enormous, set high upon his head; -and the right one, from being long used as a -pen-holder, projected from his skull more than the -left. His features would have shocked Lavater, -while Gall and Spurzheim would have augured -the worst of his character by the development of -his head. -</p> - -<p> -His legal practice—though Constance was in -blessed ignorance of the circumstance—was of the -lowest kind, and had seldom proved beneficial in a -monetary or any other sense to those for whom he -unluckily acted as agent; but the fellow could be, -when it suited him, suave, artful, and plausible -when he had a purpose to serve, and a relentless -bully when it was achieved; thus, seeing that though -little or nothing could be made of the present case -with the hope of success, much might be made of -it in the way of money, perhaps, of notoriety -certainly, and that in the end he might betray all -he knew to Downie Trevelyan for a consideration—with -these amiable views, he sought to worm -himself as a friend and legal volunteer into the -confidence of the otherwise friendless Constance. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Sharkley heard her story attentively, and -committed it all to writing. That her marriage had -been duly celebrated in a chapel at Montreal he -doubted not, nor the reason for keeping it so -secret—the absurd pride of old Lord Lamorna, -whose aristocratic prejudices were a local proverb -and hence her having, so unfortunately for her own -honour, passed so long under her maiden name of -Devereaux with her son and daughter. -</p> - -<p> -But how was all this to be proved? -</p> - -<p> -Père Latour was dead; the records of his chapel -had been burned in one of the many conflagrations -incident to the city; the certified extract from them -had perished in the sea with her husband. Dick -Braddon too had been drowned, and the acolyte, -the other witness in the little French chapel, had -been long since laid under a wooden cross in the -little burial-ground that adjoined it. A few letters -alone were not sufficient proof to upset in -England—whatever they might have done in Scotland—the -title and succession of a wealthy peer already -in possession; yet nevertheless Mr. Sharkley talked -about the instant institution of legal proceedings, -having the matter brought before a select -committee of privileges in the House of Lords, and so -forth, quite as confidently and as pompously as if -he was a Q.C. and high-class parliamentary lawyer; -and poor Constance felt a glow of hope for her -children's future rising in her heart, while he -compiled a narrative, took away the letters of her -husband, and, receiving in advance a handsome -sum for certain imaginary fees and expenses, -departed with nearly all the ready money she -possessed. -</p> - -<p> -He really attempted, however, to get up a case -against "Lord Lamorna," and hence the bulky and -presumptuous document which exasperated Downie; -but from the weakness of her cause and the -character of her legal adviser it speedily fell to the -ground, only to fix a deeper stigma on the hapless -and innocent Constance. -</p> - -<p> -Rumours of misfortune and mystery brought all -their creditors, now pretty numerous (for during -her husband's lifetime they had lived in good style -at the villa), down upon her in a pitiless horde. -</p> - -<p> -Denzil, she knew, would now lose the liberal -allowance his father had promised him after leaving -Sandhurst on appointment; but with tentage, batta, -and other allowance, a subaltern can live on his pay -in India, when he might starve elsewhere. In her -misery Constance gathered some comfort from this -knowledge, though ruin and penury—or work for -which they were both unfitted—were all that -remained to her and Sybil now. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap24"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXIV. -<br /><br /> -THE DOCTRINE OF CHANCES. -</h3> - -<p> -And what of Audley, the lover, all this time? -</p> - -<p> -He had written from Rhoscadzhel to Constance, -imploring her permission in moving terms to see -Sybil once again, and have some farewell explanation -with her, ere he departed to India, too probably -for years; for, with the usual inconsistency of the -human heart, no sooner did he find himself repelled, -than he felt the attraction towards her redoubled. -This letter had been addressed to Constance as -"Mrs. Devereaux;" and, without reflecting that he -could not bestow upon her a title already borne by -his own mother, she felt fresh anger at the -circumstance. Without showing the missive to Sybil, who -conceived it might be on some legal business, she -cast it in the fire, and replied by an emphatic -refusal, adding that if he came near the villa, -which they were soon about to leave, her servant, -Winny Braddon (she had but one domestic now) -had received orders not to admit him. -</p> - -<p> -Undeterred, he next wrote to Sybil, but this -effort proved equally unavailing. Resolved not to -add to her mother's distress by any disobedience or -duplicity on her part, she showed her the letter -unopened; and it was at once re-addressed to -Rhoscadzhel, with the envelope unbroken, and -Audley flushed to the temples when it was placed -in his hand. -</p> - -<p> -He felt himself to be still solemnly engaged to -Sybil, yet hopelessly separated from her, through -no fault of his own—separated without even a lovers' -quarrel. He wondered now at the selfish thoughts -which more than once had occurred to him, -particularly on that day when he quitted the library, -and even the house, in such haste to avoid her, and -times there were when he blushed at the memory -of it. Relations they were unquestionably by blood, -whether there had been a marriage or no marriage; -and this made Audley reflect all the more deeply -and tenderly on the subject of his severed ties with Sybil. -</p> - -<p> -He wished to restore the ring to her in person, -to replace it on her finger as a memento of himself; -for the repossession of it made him restless and -uneasy, as the crazed Halfheller with his bottle-imp; -and if he was to do this, there was no time to -be lost, as he had but one day to spend in Cornwall -now. -</p> - -<p> -The wild longing or craving to see her once -again, to have an explanation of some kind—he -knew not what—but beyond anything a letter could -contain (even were she permitted to receive it), -still inspired him, though prudence might have -suggested the utter inexpediency of further -interviews between them, circumstanced as they were. -Audley, however, was not of an age, neither was he -of the temperament, of one to play the part of -casuist. -</p> - -<p> -"Why may I not baffle them all—this strange -mother, who can be so winning and yet is so -repellant, my cold and calculating father too—and -carry off the dear girl in defiance of all and -everything? This very night I might do it," he -pondered: "the train in an hour or so would set me -down close by her; and if we make allowance for -human frailty and the 'doctrine of chances,' why -the deuce should I not succeed, for I know that she -loves me?" -</p> - -<p> -He started from a deep and easy library-chair, -in which he had been seated, enjoying a pipe of -cavendish, as this idea, or chain of ideas, occurred -to him; but then calmer reflection suggested a view -of the future—his father's rage, his proud mother's -disgust, his allowance cut off, and no home for his -bride in India, but barrack accommodation or a -subaltern's bungalow. -</p> - -<p> -"No—no—by Jove, <i>that</i> would never do!" he -muttered, and reseated himself. Yet he was -resolved to see her, if he could. Perhaps old Winny -Braddon might not have a heart so flinty as her -mistress; and even if she had, it might not be -inaccessible to temptation; so that night, when dusk -was closing over land and sea, saw Audley Trevelyan -speeding along the Cornwall Railway, with no very -defined idea, save a desire to see, to speak with -Sybil, and to hold once again her little hand in his, -ere he left the country, it might be for ever. -</p> - -<p> -The train had been unaccountably delayed; so -the hour was late, almost close on ten, when he -passed down the avenue, and found himself near -the villa. To hope to see Sybil at that unwonted -hour was absurd; but, after having come so far, he -could not deny himself the pleasure of hovering -near the place which, from its association with her -presence, had for him so great a charm. -</p> - -<p> -Thus it was with much of tender interest he -surveyed the façade of the little villa, the walls and -rose-bound portico of which glimmered white in -the light of the stars; for, as yet, the moon had not -risen, but he could not fail to observe with genuine -concern that the stables, as he passed them, and -the coach-house too, seemed empty and deserted; -for the little phaeton and its pretty ponies, so long -the pets of Sybil, had been sold, with many -other things, to furnish fees for the grasping -Mr. Sharkley: moreover, the villa was ticketed -to let. -</p> - -<p> -There might be company, guests, or visitors at the -villa; if so, even at that hour, he might perhaps see -at least her figure. But no; as he drew nearer, all -seemed dark and silent,—on the entrance floor at -least; and now the barking of a watch-dog from its -kennel near the house made him pause and consider -how strange it was that he should be prowling -thus, like a housebreaker in the night, when he -might, under happier auspices, have been an -honoured and welcome guest. -</p> - -<p> -Constance and her daughter had evidently retired -for the night, lights being visible in their bedrooms -only. That of Sybil, he had chanced to know, was -in the north wing of the house, and faced the garden, -through the iron gate of which he could see a ray -of light from her window falling on the trees, -parterres, and shrubbery. -</p> - -<p> -The iron gate was locked; could he but reach her -window, he might leave a message for her pencilled -on a calling-card,—for to write by post was hopeless; -yet he should like her to know in the morning that -he had been lingering so near her. Through the -iron bars he looked most wistfully at the lighted -window, where once or twice the candles cast a -flitting shadow on the blind. Could he but attract -her attention, make her aware of his presence, and -exchange a word or two; perhaps he might have an -interview with her, though that would be unseemly, -and what she would not probably consent to; and -yet, after relinquishing the handful of gravel he was -about to toss against the window, he suddenly -resorted to a plan, which, if discovered, would prove -more awkward still. -</p> - -<p> -The locked gate barred all entrance to the garden; -but he perceived that a great espalier had its -branches trained over all the wall, forming a solid -and veritable ladder from the ground to its summit. -The place was sequestered; the hour lonely, and -every moment of delay might be perilous, for if she -had begun to disrobe, he would be compelled to -retire, so Audley proceeded at once to scale the -barrier, that he might descend on the other side. -</p> - -<p> -This proceeding was bold, rash, and rude, perhaps; -but he had no other resource if he would see -her ere he left Cornwall, which he must certainly -do, by an early train on the morrow. With the -speed of lightning, his thoughts reverted to their -brief but pleasant past, and to every passage of their -acquaintance; their first meeting beside the -moorland tarn; her rescue from the Pixies' Hole; their -solitary walks, and that one delightful hour in yonder -conservatory, and he felt assured that she, at least, -would forgive his present temerity. -</p> - -<p> -Other ideas flashed through his mind, as he -clambered from branch to branch, feeling them yielding -the while under his feet as he tore or wrenched them -from the masonry. He felt that his real object -might be doubted; that his position was anomalous -and improper, and might compromise the girl he -loved. What would the mess of the Hussar -regiment he had left, or that of the Light Infantry -corps he was about to join, think if they saw him -now? What would his cold-hearted, legal "papa"—his -proud, aristocratic, and unimpressible mamma -have thought of such an adventure; and in fancy -he saw the stern grimace of the former, and the -latter using her vinaigrette and fan with unwonted -vigour, at the idea of her son visiting any lady -thus—more than all, the daughter of "Mrs. Devereaux!" -</p> - -<p> -Then fears occurred to him that some change -might have taken place in the internal arrangements -at the villa, and that the window before which he -found himself, after dropping noiselessly into the -garden, might open to the room, not of Sybil, but -her mother, or old Winny Braddon! -</p> - -<p> -Trusting to his doctrine of chances, he hoped this -might prove a lucky one. -</p> - -<p> -The blind of the window (which opened in the -French fashion down to a flight of steps) was not -completely closed; thus he could see the whole -interior of a spacious and handsome bedroom, -nearly in the centre of which stood a dressing-table -and mirror festooned gracefully with white lace, and -before it was seated Sybil in her dark mourning -dress, with her chin resting in the hollow of one -hand, the elbow being placed upon the table. Her -other arm hung by her side, and she seemed lost in -thought, for her eyes instead of gazing into the large -oval mirror, wherein, by the light of two tall wax -candles in ormolu holders, her own loveliness was -reflected, were bent upon vacancy, or the floor. -</p> - -<p> -Sybil's usually pale and always pure complexion, -was paler now; thus her eyes, their brows and -lashes, and the masses of her hair seemed by -contrast to be very dark indeed; and the latter in rich -profusion fell over her shoulders and back below -her waist. In the background of this pretty picture, -stood forth the white and elegant draperies of her -bed, the festooned muslin of which hung in vapour-like -folds, over curtains of rose-coloured silk, looped -up by white cords and tassels of the same material. -</p> - -<p> -A glance enabled Audley to take in all these -details, and his breathing became a series of sighs -as he regarded Sybil, who sat quite motionless and -sunk in reverie. He flattered himself that she was -thinking of him; but it was not so; she had just -concluded a sorrowful letter to Denzil, her only brother, -and her thoughts were far away with him, or with -her mamma and all their coming troubles; for all -those luxuries by which the wealth and taste, and -more than all, the love of her dead father had -surrounded them, were about to be relinquished now, -and ere long grim poverty would be staring them -gauntly in the face. -</p> - -<p> -At times her nether lip quivered; the tears began -to roll over her cheeks, and as a sigh escaped her, -the heaving movement of her neck and shoulders -made more apparent their graceful character and -undulating curve. Then suddenly, as with her quick -white fingers she was proceeding to coil up the -tresses of her hair for the night, a sound seemed to -startle her, she paused, and her eyes flashed and -dilated with surprise. -</p> - -<p> -"There it is again—good heavens—what can it -be?" she exclaimed half aloud, and rising from her -seat, as Audley tapped very audibly on the window -panes for a second time. -</p> - -<p> -"The deuce!" thought he, "I hope she won't -scream—for that would spoil all." -</p> - -<p> -With a candle in her hand, she paused midway -between the window and her dressing-table, when -he said distinctly,— -</p> - -<p> -"It is I, dearest Sybil—Audley Trevelyan—open -the window, and speak with me—but for a moment." -</p> - -<p> -"Audley—you—you—here at this hour!" replied -Sybil, with intense astonishment, bordering on -fear. -</p> - -<p> -She replaced the candle on the table, clasped her -hands, and shrunk back irresolutely, for though she -fully recognised the voice that thrilled her heart's -core, it was somewhat bewildering to hear it there -and at such a time; but summoning courage she -drew up the blind, and beheld Audley's whole figure -on the upper step, which formed the sill of her -window. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Audley—Audley—what has happened—what -brings you here again?" she asked imploringly. -</p> - -<p> -"The love I bear you," said he, humbly. -</p> - -<p> -"You cannot think of entering here!" -</p> - -<p> -"Far from it, dearest Sybil—I have no such -thought; but pardon me for alarming you—pardon -me for intruding on you thus." -</p> - -<p> -"I do pardon you, but require you to explain—" -</p> - -<p> -"The object of such a visit at such a time," said -he, lowering his voice lest he should be overheard -in the stillness of the night. -</p> - -<p> -"Most certainly," said she, weeping. -</p> - -<p> -"Have you indeed discarded me—withdrawn your -heart from me, and for ever, Sybil?" -</p> - -<p> -"What would you have me to do, Audley?" -</p> - -<p> -"There is an arbour in the garden—throw a -shawl over you, and grant me but a minute to say a -few farewell words." -</p> - -<p> -"The moment you first asked for has become a -minute—so would the minute soon become an -hour." -</p> - -<p> -"In pity to me, Sybil," urged Audley, with -clasped hands. -</p> - -<p> -After a little indecision, seeming to listen and -perceive that all was still, she threw a shawl over -her head, unbolted the French sash, and stepped -forth into the garden, where now the light of an -uprisen moon fell in a bright flood upon the grass -plots, the shining evergreens, and tipped all the -leafless trees with liquid silver. There seemed a divine -peace over all the earth and sky; but the hearts of -these two young people were sad and aching, while -Audley pressed a long and silent kiss upon her -upturned face, as he led her towards the bower in -question. -</p> - -<p> -"I leave this to-morrow, Sybil," said he, as he -seated himself by her side, and took her hands -caressingly in his own, "and I could not resist -the craving, the desire to see you once again, and -explain much that my returned letters were meant -to elucidate to you and your mamma—that I have -no share in the spirit of animosity—hostility—how -shall I term it?—cherished by my family against -you and yours. With this family quarrel, for so -shall I style it, I have nothing to do, and you, dear -Sybil, have nothing to do. The employment of a -legal wretch like Sharkley was, of course, a fatal -mistake, making much public that need never have -been so, and tending greatly to complicate and -embitter our affairs." -</p> - -<p> -"My poor mamma had none to advise her," -urged Sybil, not heeding a slight tone of -reprehension in what Audley said. -</p> - -<p> -"How fortunate has been the chance that led me -to you to-night!" he whispered in her ear. -</p> - -<p> -"But to what end or purpose do we meet at all?" -</p> - -<p> -"Fettered as I am—most true!" -</p> - -<p> -Audley could only sigh deeply and press her to -his breast. -</p> - -<p> -"Then you—you love me still?" said Sybil, as -her slender fingers strayed among his hair, the -action in itself a mute caress. -</p> - -<p> -"My darling—I have never ceased to love you!" -he exclaimed, gazing tenderly on the pure pale face -whose features he could see distinctly, even amid -the obscurity of the bower. Her head drooped on -his shoulder, and they sat for some minutes quite -silent, and full of thoughts that were beyond -utterance; yet Audley's delight was not without alloy. -He felt that he loved her dearly, and yet, with all -the joy of the time, there mingled a selfish regret -that he had won her so completely, as their love -could never be a successful one. -</p> - -<p> -"And you leave this to-morrow?" -</p> - -<p> -"To-morrow." -</p> - -<p> -Her voice was broken and tremulous. Audley -became deeply moved as he heard her weep; and he -began to think, as better impulses inspired him, -was it possible that he could relinquish or sacrifice -a girl so soft and tender, so loving and true, for -"Mrs. Grundy and Society?" and had he actually -at one time—young-officer-like—felt a little glow of -satisfaction when she returned the eye of Vishnu, -and he felt himself once more <i>free</i>! -</p> - -<p> -In his vacillation there was every prospect of the -proposal to elope being made, but prudence made -him pause, and an observation of Sybil's changed -the current of his ideas. -</p> - -<p> -"Your father has acted most cruelly to poor -mamma," said Sybil; "and most unjustly to his -own brother's memory." -</p> - -<p> -"My father is a—" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh hush, Audley," said Sybil. -</p> - -<p> -What epithet or adjective he was about to use in -irritation at the chances of his allowance being cut -off, we are unable to record, for Sybil's quick little -hand intercepted it on his lips. -</p> - -<p> -"And now we must separate—you will find the -key inside the garden gate, so no more escalading; -oh, leave me," she urged, "for if you were -discovered—" -</p> - -<p> -"One kiss more—one promise to remember me -when I am gone." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Audley, could I ever forget you?" -</p> - -<p> -They were lingering now midway between the -bower and the house, and the full splendour of the -moonlight fell around them. -</p> - -<p> -"And you will take back your ring," he whispered; -and once more the eye of Vishnu glittered on the -hand of Sybil. "Keep it as the memento of a poor -fellow who loves you well—and you must do -something more for me." -</p> - -<p> -"In what way, Audley?" asked Sybil, pausing on -the upper step, and near the still open window of -her room. -</p> - -<p> -"Keep poor Rajah for me; my lady mother won't -abide the dog, and I can't take him back all the way -to India, as I am perhaps going overland by the -desert; and now my beloved girl—dear, dear -Sybil—I must leave you, perhaps never to see you -again." -</p> - -<p> -A desperate calm seemed to come over Sybil, as -she replied,— -</p> - -<p> -"Situated as we are; related as we are, and -enemies as my mamma and your parents must ever -be, it is indeed better that we should meet no -more—yet part as friends." -</p> - -<p> -"As friends—oh, Sybil—as friends!" murmured -Audley, becoming more excited as she grew calm. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes—this meeting and parting will form a pleasant -memory to look back upon, in years to come, -when we are far apart." -</p> - -<p> -Often in after times did these words come back to -the heart of Audley Trevelyan. -</p> - -<p> -"And you will always wear my ring?" -</p> - -<p> -"For life—dear cousin Audley—farewell." -</p> - -<p> -She was about to close the casement, her hands -trembling and her cheeks ghastly pale, when he -urged,— -</p> - -<p> -"I must write to you—under cover to some -one—permit me—oh, permit me?" -</p> - -<p> -"I cannot—I cannot," she replied, with a torrent -of tears. -</p> - -<p> -"I must—pardon my importunity, darling." -</p> - -<p> -"Go—go, I entreat you—good-bye—farewell." -</p> - -<p> -She was about to shut the French sash, when a -voice startled her, by exclaiming,— -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, my God—what is this I see?" and as Sybil -started back, Audley found himself confronted by -Constance, in her dressing-gown, for she had entered -the room, candle in hand, having been roused by the -sound of their voices at the open window. -</p> - -<p> -This <i>dénouement</i>, so unexpected, was very awkward, -and liable to the most serious misconstruction; -so Audley's doctrine of chances proved a failure -here. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap25"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXV. -<br /><br /> -MISCONCEPTION. -</h3> - -<p> -Little could Sybil or Audley have foreseen how -fatal was to be the ultimate termination of this -night's adventure. -</p> - -<p> -The usually sweet and placid little face of -Constance was now inflamed with rage and -distorted by grief. Her colour came and went, like -her breath, rapidly; and through their tears, her -dark eyes were sparkling with fire. -</p> - -<p> -A painful silence was maintained by the three for -a few moments. -</p> - -<p> -Sybil scarcely understood the cause of her -mother's terrible excitement, while Audley, who knew -more of life and the world's ways, was filled with -genuine shame and mortification on finding that -his presence there was misunderstood, and the -perfect purity of his intentions misconceived or -entirely doubted. -</p> - -<p> -Constance, on the other hand, was full of -indignation against him for taking what she not -unnaturally believed to be a most unwarrantable and -unfair advantage of their now false position, their -growing monetary troubles and disgrace, to insult -her helpless daughter; she was furious, therefore, -as a tigress about to be robbed of her young, and -though fiery in her wrath, yet stately and proud in -her bearing as a little tragedy queen. -</p> - -<p> -"How, sir, have you dared to come hither after -being forbidden my house?" she exclaimed, in the -full belief that Audley, when entreating only that he -might write to Sybil, had been forcing a passage into -her chamber; "and why at such an untimeous hour -as this? Oh shame, sir! shame! Have you neither -honour nor compassion? Could you forget that the -poor girl you pretended to love was your own -cousin?" Then changing suddenly from upbraiding -to scorn, she added, "Truly the legal snake Downie -Trevelyan is well represented by his son, who would -break into my daughter's room like a thief in the -night, and seek perhaps to steal her honour, after -having stolen her patrimony! Begone, sir, instantly, -ere I summon aid and have you exposed—it may be, -arrested." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, madam, do permit me to explain all this," -urged Audley almost piteously; but Constance, in -the full tide of her indignation would listen to -nothing. She showered upon him reproaches, and, -summoning Winny Braddon, ordered her to ring the -long disused house-bell, cast loose the watch-dog, -and bring assistance. Never had the terrified Sybil -seen her constitutionally gentle, placid, and ladylike -mother in so wild a gust of passion; and with -clasped hands and colourless face, she turned her -weeping eyes alternately, with imploring glances, -from her to Audley, who seemed to feel acutely that -his position was absurd, dangerous, and pitiful; so -he was filled by an emotion of shame till it took the -phase of irritation. -</p> - -<p> -"Leave us, Audley, I entreat you—see, mamma is -seriously ill!" said Sybil, on perceiving Constance -press her hands upon her temples, displaying, as -she did so, the snowy whiteness of her taper arms, -while tottering into a chair. Audley gave the -scared girl a glance full of agony in expression, and -said:— -</p> - -<p> -"I shall write and explain all, and she will do -me justice when calmer; to-night, any attempts at -elucidation were utterly vain. I am to blame for -my rashness and selfishness in compromising you -thus; but not so much to blame as she thinks, -however. Your heart at least will excuse and plead -for me; and now, dearest Sybil, a long, long—farewell!" -</p> - -<p> -He was gone! -</p> - -<p> -Sybil stayed not to listen to his departing steps, -but sprang to the side of her mother, who, weakened -by past sorrow and emotion, had felt this episode in -all its real and imaginary details, too much for the -nervous system. She had fainted, and now lay back -in her chair whiter than a lily. -</p> - -<p> -Full of humiliation and anger, Audley retired, -not as he had come, by scaling the wall, but by the -garden-gate, which he unlocked, and then quitted -the place, resolving to write to Constance fully on -the morrow. Irresolute and infirm of purpose, he -continued to linger near the villa, as the chill hours -of the morning succeeded each other, and it was -far advanced ere he thought of seeking the vicinity -of the train that was to take him home. He saw -the day-dawn spread over the sea, and the shadows -of the land, with its rocks and precipices cast, by -the level sunlight, far across its brightening waters. -He saw the gray mist rising from the valleys and -rolling up the brown mountain sides, as it did so -revealing new ravines and hollows it had hitherto -concealed. He saw the red rays light up the mighty -headland known as Willapark Point; all the barren -ridge of Resparvell Down, and all the rocks and -foam, and broken shore about Tintagel and Trevana -tinted with marvellous beauty, and varied light and -shadow, by the morning sun; and inland, Little -Minster church, secluded in its nook among the hills; -and from an eminence which he ascended, he could -see amid the dun-coloured moorland, the lonely -tarn and huge rock pillar where he had first met -Sybil Devereaux; and with these all her presence, -and the nameless magnetic charm she possessed in -her own person, came vividly home to his heart. -When the hedgerows that intersected the landscape -would be green and those enclosures of stone coped -with turf in the Cornish fashion, would be covered -with wild violets, daisies, and kingcups; and when -yonder groves of sycamore, ash, and elm, and the -cherry orchards should be covered with the bloom -of summer, half the world would be lying between -him and Sybil! -</p> - -<p> -He stifled the emotions that were rising within -him, hurried to the railway, and throwing himself -into a well-cushioned first-class carriage (after -"tipping" the guard, that he might be free from -intrusion), overcome and weary with the excitement -and events of the past night, he sank into -a profound slumber, and reached home in time -to have a refresher of iced brandy and soda from -Jasper Funnel before that stolid functionary rung -the breakfast-bell, and before his somewhat unusual -absence had been discovered by any one save his -valet. -</p> - -<p> -From Rhoscadzhel he wrote immediately to -Constance, explaining that the sole object of his -visit to Sybil was to bid her farewell, and entreating -her pardon for the misconception and annoyance he -had caused. To enable her to reply, he delayed his -departure two days, but in vain. However, the -circumstance of his humble and contrite letter being -returned, not to himself, but under cover and -unopened to his father (whom she addressed as -"D. Trevelyan, Esq., Barrister-at-Law"), thereby causing -a fresh family explosion, completed the full measure -of his chagrin; and the young officer felt deeply -stung by the contemptuous manner in which it was -tossed to him across the breakfast-table. -</p> - -<p> -"There, sir," said Downie, bitterly; "there is -your precious production; and remember that a -fool should never post his letters till twenty-four -hours after they are written. I suppose we shall -next have notice of an action filed against you, for -breach of promise by that scoundrel -Sharkley—Devereaux versus Trevelyan!" -</p> - -<p> -That evening saw Audley depart from Rhoscadzhel. -</p> - -<p> -He repaired at once to the depôt of his regiment, -then lying in Tilbury Barracks, that quaint old -tumble-down fort, whose handsome gateway, like a stately -Temple Bar, has faced the river for nearly three -centuries; and there he strove to forget Cornwall -and all the trouble he had encountered, amid the -dissipation and amusements afforded by English -garrison life to every wealthy young man. -</p> - -<p> -Thus, when off duty, his days were consumed in -tandem-driving, pigeon, cricket, or rowing matches; -<i>déjeûners</i>, an occasional steeple-chase in Essex or -Kent (or a day's leave in London to see the -Trecarrels); while his nights were devoted to dining -out, dancing, and drinking, billiards, and garrison -balls, private theatricals, and, consequently, a fierce -flirtation with an occasional pretty actress, despite -rouge and pearl-powder. -</p> - -<p> -It has been said that "at no time is a man so -prone to fall in love as immediately after his being -jilted;" but many a fair one tried her blandishments -on Audley in vain; for he had been separated by -adverse fortune from, and not jilted by, the object -of his attachment. A long journey was before -him, and he doubted not that he would get over -the memory of Sybil in time. -</p> - -<p> -So passed the weeks till he would have to go to -India in the spring of the year; and thus he strove -to forget her, who was yet to exercise a wondrous -influence on his future life; with the recollection of -those kisses that had thrilled his heart to the core, -and those soft dark eyes whose beauty made even -silence eloquent. -</p> - -<p> -And did he achieve this complete forgetfulness? -</p> - -<p> -Time and our story will show. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap26"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXVI. -<br /><br /> -REVERSES. -</h3> - -<p> -Meanwhile how fared it with poor Sybil, who -knew not whether he was at home or abroad, or -had already forgotten her, and married perhaps the -more sparkling and showy Rose Trecarrel? -</p> - -<p> -Re-addressing Audley's letter was fated to be the -last action the right hand of Constance was to -perform in this world. -</p> - -<p> -For the two days subsequent to the episode just -related she remained in bed, exhausted apparently, -sadder and lower in spirit than usual; and on the -morning of the third, Sybil, when drawing back the -curtains to see if she were asleep or awake, to -receive her daily kiss and join in prayer, was -inexpressibly shocked and terrified to perceive a -peculiar fixity in one eye, and that a corner of her -still beautiful mouth was strangely drawn down on -one side. -</p> - -<p> -Paralysis had supervened, and poor Constance -had totally lost the use of one half of her body! -</p> - -<p> -Summoned in hot haste, the village doctor came, -with his stereotyped professional expression of -sympathy. He felt her pulse, repeater in hand, and -ominously shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, sir, do you think there is danger?" asked -Sybil, in intense agitation. -</p> - -<p> -"Hush, child—come this way," said he, and led -her from the room. -</p> - -<p> -"God help me, sir—you have something terrible -to tell me?" -</p> - -<p> -"I have, indeed; but nerve yourself, for she has -none to depend upon now but you." -</p> - -<p> -"None, indeed, save One who is in Heaven." -</p> - -<p> -Her disease, he said, was embalism; it came -from the region of the heart, and had been gradually -but rapidly forming in her system for some time -past; anxiety and sorrow had doubtless induced it. -and some recent excitement—that night affair, of -which the doctor knew not—had brought it to a -head. A second shock, he added, must inevitably -prove fatal! -</p> - -<p> -With dilated eyes and clasped hands, the unhappy -girl listened to this sentence of death, for such it -sounded in her overstrained ear and to her aching -heart, as the doctor spoke it in an impressive and -never-to-be-forgotten whisper, in a room adjoining -that in which the sufferer lay. He then paused, -and gazed with much of genuine sympathy into the -pale face of the startled listener; perhaps he was -mentally speculating upon the probable future of -this lovely girl, with whose sad family history he -was quite familiar now. -</p> - -<p> -And what was embalism, she asked, in a low and -intensely agitated voice. -</p> - -<p> -A species of weed, or little fungus, that grew in -the upper region of the heart, from whence it passed, -by minute fibres, fine as a gossamer thread, through -the blood-vessels, till, by choking the passage of one -of them, there ensued the dire effect they had seen. -And was it curable? No; yet the patient might -linger for months; and, he added, that Sybil must -control her grief, nor let the sufferer see by it that -danger was apprehended. -</p> - -<p> -The doctor was gone; but he was to come again, -and for some minutes Sybil sat like one transformed -to stone, unable even to weep, or reply to the excited -questions, showered upon her by Winny Braddon, -so stunning was the sense of this sudden and -unrealisable calamity. She was, perhaps, on the very eve -of losing her mamma—her sole relative and friend—that -beautiful, and gentle, and loving mamma, to -whom she had been quite as much like a sister and -companion as a daughter; for, though a parent, -Constance was still so young in appearance and -manner, and, till their late calamities had come to -pass, naturally so gay, happy, and buoyant in spirit, -despite the secret of her wedded life. -</p> - -<p> -She rushed to the bedroom, and clasped the -sufferer in her arms, pillowing her head upon her -bosom, and so for hours she hung about her, that -she might have the melancholy joy of her society -while yet spared to her; and for a time she almost -forgot the grave warning given so recently, to -control her emotions, nor excite the now passive -and helpless Constance, who, ignorant alike of her -own condition and danger, and propped up by -cushions, could but gaze at her wistfully, and make -efforts to speak that were intensely painful to the -hearer. -</p> - -<p> -The doctor had assured her, that "to expect an -ultimate recovery was vain; that her mother's life -was but a thing of time now—as it is with us all," -he added; yet, hoping against hope and these sad -words, Sybil was unremitting in her attentions to -her parent. Days there were when she rallied a -little, and could even move her right hand, but only -to become worse subsequently, and to find her -breathing more laborious and painful. -</p> - -<p> -The doctor was an honest though not brilliant -man, and did his best for the patient, without thinking -of fee or reward. Sybil, in her intense anxiety, -doubted his skill: but how was she to procure that -of others? There were, she knew, great physicians -in London and elsewhere, but she was destitute of -the means for employing them. Times there were, -when, in her desperation, she thought of writing to -Audley; but she knew that her mother would never -have approved of such a proceeding; and their -parting had been so strange, that she shrunk from -the idea as suddenly as it had been conceived, and -she thought, as she whispered in her heart the -words of a once familiar song, that hers was— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "A love that took an early root,<br /> - And had an early doom,<br /> - Like trees that never come to fruit,<br /> - And early shed their bloom—<br /> - Of vanished hopes and sunny smiles,<br /> - All lost for evermore;<br /> - Like ships that sailed for sunny isles<br /> - But never saw their shore."<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -She thought, too of the fatherly old soldier, -General Trecarrel, and then as quickly remembered -that he had been present during that humiliating -interview at Rhoscadzhel; but any idea of writing -to him for advice was crushed finally, when a stray -newspaper announced one day, that the General -"and his family" had sailed in the <i>Netley</i> transport -for India, his extra aide-de-camp, the Honourable -Mr. Audley Trevelyan, having proceeded overland, -to serve on his staff in the new campaign against -the Afghans. -</p> - -<p> -Something of secret satisfaction mingled with the -sorrow and fear of the lonely girl, as she read this -paragraph—which she did a great many -times—satisfaction that Audley had not gone in the same -vessel with these gay Trecarrels, which he could -easily have done, if so disposed; sorrow, that they -were so completely and hopelessly separated now, -and fear for the events of the coming campaign in -which he was to serve, and more than probably her -brother Denzil, too. Sybil could little suppose that -it was purposely to avoid being quizzed by the -Trecarrels about herself, and to avoid the imputation, -or too probable danger, consequent to a long -voyage with two such handsome and enterprising -flirts as Mabel and Rose were known to be, that he -had, with a few brother officers, started for the East -overland, a less easy and luxurious journey then -than it is now. -</p> - -<p> -But Sybil was soon compelled by the exigencies -of their situation to exert herself beyond her years -and experience, for creditors, we have said, had -become clamorous. Everything that could be -spared was to be turned into money, and they were -to seek another and more humble home. All the -beautiful art-treasures collected by the taste of her -parents in their continental wanderings, the oak and -marqueterie cabinets, the chaste china of Dresden -and Sèvres, the quaint Majolica vases, and alabaster -groups, with all the most valued household gods, -were despatched to the nearest market town in -charge of the useful Mr. Sharkly, and disposed of -with a ruinous commission to that somewhat -"seedy" personage! and a little time after saw the -pretty villa, so long the abode of so much peaceful -and sequestered happiness, in the possession of -strangers, while Sybil and her mamma were content -to locate them in a small cottage which they rented -from old Michael Treherne, the miner, and furnished -in the plainest manner; but all their debts -were cleared, and even Denzil's Indian outfit paid. -</p> - -<p> -To Constance all places were pretty much alike -now, for she had become listless and indifferent to -external objects; but times there were when much -of exasperation mingled with Sybil's grief, at the -thought that her mamma—she so gently bred and -nurtured, and so petted by her drowned father—she, -who should then be in Rhoscadzhel, surrounded -by every appliance that wealth, luxury, skill, and -rank could furnish, was now in her desolate widowhood, -and sore extremity, the inmate of a poor and -sordid cottage. -</p> - -<p> -Thus day succeeded day, and weeks rolled on -without any change, at least for the better—weeks -which seemed so long, heavy and monotonous, that to -Sybil the world and time appeared to stand still. No -letters came from Denzil now, for he had marched -up-country somewhere, and India was not then what -it has been since the Great Mutiny of the Sepoys, -intersected by railways and telegraph wires; but -Denzil's last epistle was full of unusual interest to -Sybil and her mamma. -</p> - -<p> -He had, of course, been duly acquainted by the -former of all that had occurred at home, with the -startling revelations consequent to his father's -journey to Montreal, and his death at sea; and now -he should probably meet, ere long, this cousin of -his, this Audley Trevelyan, for they belonged to the -same regiment, and it was, perhaps, to form a -portion of Trecarrel's brigade. And <i>how</i> were they -to meet—as friends and brother officers, as relations -or enemies?—for Audley's father occupied <i>his</i> -(Denzil's) place in the world or in society, at least. -</p> - -<p> -Relations—pshaw!—could they ever be aught but -foes? was the young man's immediate thought, and -his sister's boding fear. And so his father was -gone—his good, kind father, his friend, companion, -and preceptor in many a manly sport. How often -had they rode and rambled, shot and fished together -in Calabria, the Abruzzi, and Switzerland, and at -home in sturdy Cornwall, so many thousand miles -away! Only those who are so far from home—so -far away as India, with all its strange external -influences and objects—can know how keen, and -strong, and tender, to the young at least, are the -ties of home and kindred, especially as the home-ties -decrease in number by distance, change, and death. -</p> - -<p> -Dead—his father dead! The "governor," as he -had styled him, like "other fellows" at Sandhurst, -his "dear old dad," as he called him in the home -that was a broken home now; and as the pleasant -face, that he never more would look upon, with -years of past affection, came back to memory, the -lad had covered his face with his hands, and wept. -</p> - -<p> -"It is only when we have been long at sea and -have lost sight of Europe," wrote Denzil, "ay, -dearest Sybil, even of Europe, which seems all one -country and one home to us, that the Anglo-Indian -feels his banishment has fairly begun, and he is to -be, henceforth, as some fellow has it, 'among the -dusky people of Ind, with whom we have no -traditions, no religious, few domestic, and scarcely any -moral sentiments in common, and whose very -costume (want of it, sometimes, I should say) is only -characteristic of a much greater difference of inward -nature.' And so I am actually by birth a lord—a -lord! I have thought, and many visions of future -greatness have floated through my mind—and dear -mamma is a lady—-Dowager Lady Lamorna. How -odd it sounds. Are we all losing our identity; and -how is all this to be proved? The past mystery -nearly cost me my life when I first joined, and in -this fashion:— -</p> - -<p> -"Bob Waller, one of ours, a pleasant but sometimes -supercilious fellow, asked me one evening in -the mess bungalow, if 'my people were from the -Channel Islands?' -</p> - -<p> -"'No,' replied I, colouring, for I always felt that -some mystery existed about us; 'but why do you -ask?' -</p> - -<p> -"'The name sounds like a French one,' replied -Waller. -</p> - -<p> -"'We are connected somehow with Montreal.' -</p> - -<p> -"'Oh, that explains it,' rejoined Waller. -</p> - -<p> -"'There is nothing to explain,' said I, angrily. -</p> - -<p> -"'Think not?—well—have a cigar?' -</p> - -<p> -"I roughly, perhaps, declined it, so Waller -returned to the charge by saying— -</p> - -<p> -"'Your father was once in the Cornish Light -Infantry, you say?' -</p> - -<p> -"'Yes—a captain—some twenty years ago.' -</p> - -<p> -"'Strange. I have looked all through the Army -Lists, and can find no such name in the corps.' -</p> - -<p> -"This assertion exasperated me (I afterwards -found it correct), and I challenged him to meet me -the next morning in a grove of peepul trees, outside -the cantonments; but duelling days are over—the -affair got wind, and each of us was placed under -arrest within his own compound till we exchanged -mutual promises. Bob Waller and I are excellent -friends now, and at the moment I am writing, he is -sitting opposite me in his shirt and drawers, for we -are having a glass of brandy-pawnee—the alcohol -with water—and a couple of Chinsworah cheroots -together; and I must close now, to catch the -dauk-boat—as we call the mail." -</p> - -<p> -This was Denzil's last letter, and after its arrival -the weeks continued to roll monotonously on, and -still found Sybil watching, with unwearied and -unrepining zeal, by what she knew to be a bed of death. -</p> - -<p> -Constance could speak but little, and then only -to murmur her fears and prayers for the future of -her daughter. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap27"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXVII. -<br /><br /> -ALONE! -</h3> - -<p> -At last there came an evening which Sybil was -never to forget. -</p> - -<p> -She had been, for the tenth and last time, at the -nearest market-town, where, in the shop windows of -a druggist, who combined the dispensing of -medicines with groceries, and the cares of a -circulating library with those of a post office, she -had been fain to display some of her sketches for -sale, that she might procure certain little comforts -for her ailing mother in their penury. All had been -offered to the local public in succession, even to that -one which pourtrayed the lonely tarn and rock-pillar, -where she had first met Audley, when he came to -apologise for his dog's intrusion (why keep such a -souvenir now?), and all had been offered in vain. -Pleased with the girl's beauty and sweetness of -manner, the shopman willingly enough displayed -her productions (as decorations, perhaps) in his -windows; and there they had grown yellow, -blistered, and fly-blown, till they were completely -spoiled. Each market-day she had hoped that -some enterprising Hobnail or Chawbacon might -fancy one of her sketches of some well-known -locality, to ornament his dwelling, but only to be -disappointed, for art seemed to be sorely at a -discount in the land of Tre, Pol, and Pen. -</p> - -<p> -On the evening of the day in question, Sybil was -returning from the town to their new home with a -heavy heart. Not a sketch had been sold, and her -purse was almost empty; the rain was falling -heavily, and a cold, keen blast from the Bristol -Channel swept over the desolate and open moorland -she had to traverse; and her tears were mingling -with the large drops that plashed on her delicate -face and sodden hair. She had resolved that on -the morrow—come what might—she should take -means to dispose of Audley's farewell gift, the -returned engagement ring; the diamond, she knew, -was a valuable one, too much so to find a purchaser -in their now humble neighbourhood; but the doctor, -or the friendly druggist, who had her luckless -sketches, would perhaps advise her in the matter; -and with a sigh, in which sorrow mingled with -relief and hope, she hastened onward. -</p> - -<p> -The aspect of the district by which she had to -pass to reach their present abode, was but -ill-calculated to raise her spirit on a wet, stormy, and -gloomy evening. In the distance rose the rough -granite summits of the Row Tor and Bron Welli, each -nearly some fourteen hundred feet in height, the -sides of the former all covered by enormous blocks, -the mightiest in Cornwall, piled over each other a -very wilderness of spheroidal masses— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Confusedly hurled,<br /> - The fragments of a former world."<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Over these mountain summits, the descending -evening mists, cold and grey, had replaced the -farewell rays of the red sun as he sunk beyond the sea; -the appearance of the former, made Sybil quicken -her steps, lest she should be overtaken on the moor, -for then she should be able to see but a few yards -before her, so sudden and dense are those floating -vapours in Cornwall; and the bogholes were perilous. -On either side of the way—a mere cart track—stood -those lines of upright stones, which are -ranged along it at regular distances, and extend all -the way from Watergate, over the moor, having been -erected at some remote period to mark the path in -misty weather; and with a new but not unaccountable -foreboding in her heart, for like Constance she -was of a delicate organisation and had keen perceptions, -Sybil hastened on, till she experienced a kind -of sad relief on seeing the light that shone from the -window of the little room where now her ailing -mother lay, and where kind old Winny Braddon sat -and watched. -</p> - -<p> -Pausing at the threshold, she threw aside her -drenched cloak and hat, and strove to smooth her -wetted hair, ere she stealthily opened the door. -</p> - -<p> -"How is dear mamma now, Winny?" she whispered. -</p> - -<p> -"She sleeps still." -</p> - -<p> -"Still?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes—the poor darling; but in her sleep she has -been muttering much of the past—dreaming, I suppose; -oh, my poor <i>chealveen</i>, you're wet, and cold, -and weary too." -</p> - -<p> -"Please don't mind me, Winny; but tell me all -about mamma." -</p> - -<p> -"What more have I to tell you?" asked the old -woman, mournfully; "but you—you must have tea, -or something warm; you will kill yourself at this -rate, and then I shall have two to nurse instead of -one." -</p> - -<p> -"No, no, I want nothing; let me but change -these wet things, and then I shall take your place -beside mamma's bed." -</p> - -<p> -Sad, sad indeed, was Sybil's heart on this night, -for it was a melancholy one in many ways. As she -sat by the plain unornamented bed wherein Constance -lay, and surveyed, by the light of a single -candle, the humble little room, destitute of cornice -and all decoration, with its scanty furniture, she -doubted at times her own identity, or whether this -was not all a dream, from which she must awake to -find herself at home in the villa—at home, in that -pretty room where Audley saw her last, and -where the windows opened to a beautiful flower -garden. -</p> - -<p> -And was this poor, wan and wasted invalid, so -helpless and so passive now, her once merry and -handsome mamma, whose hands had so loved to -stray among her hair; who had hung over her little -cot in infancy, and whose nightly and morning -kisses would never come again; whose companionship -she had shared like a younger sister, and with -whom she had spent so many happy years? -</p> - -<p> -All was very still in that sick room. -</p> - -<p> -In the hall, a great old-fashioned Dutch clock -tick-tacked slowly and monotonously; without, the -night was wild, and prolonged and angry blasts of -wind swept over the desolate moor with a bellowing -sound, that made the sleeper stir uneasily; and lost -in thought, the pale girl sat there listening to the -blast, the rain, and the clock, sounds that repeated -themselves over and over again in dreary uniformity. -</p> - -<p> -On this night she thought much of her absent -brother. She had written to him that very -morning, imploring him, if he met with Audley, to be -friendly with him, as their secret claims to the -name of Trevelyan and the Lamorna peerage, could -never be established now; and thus she hoped and -begged that he, like herself, would retain their -mother's name of Devereaux, as they had always -been known by it and by no other. -</p> - -<p> -Sybil must have dropped asleep, for she started -to find the old clock wheezing and whirring as it -struck the hour of three; and shivered, for she was -stiff and chilled; the candle had nearly burned -down, and what Winny Braddon would have called -"a shroud" had guttered over the side of it; and -Sybil felt fully how cheerless and depressing is the -slow approach of morning in a sickroom—more than -all, of a morning so hopeless as each successive one -proved now. -</p> - -<p> -The rain and the wind were over; the clouds were -divided in heaven, and the stars shone out brightly; -the weather was calm, and no sound came to Sybil's -ear save the tick-tack of the old clock, and the -breathing of the sufferer, which seemed laborious and -irregular. -</p> - -<p> -Shading the light with her hand, Sybil stole a -glance at her mother's face, and an alteration in its -expression filled her with such terror, that a cry -almost escaped her. The mouth was more distorted, -and the eyes—for Constance was quite awake—were -regarding her with a strange, keen, sad and -weird expression. At that moment, however, Winny, -hearing her young mistress stir, appeared at the door -of the room. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh Winny!" whispered Sybil in an agony of -alarm, "there is a change come over mamma; go—go -at once for the doctor, ere it is perhaps too—too -late! No, no; you are old and frail, and the moor -is wet," she suddenly added; "get me my hat and -cloak—I, myself, shall fly for him." -</p> - -<p> -"No, no, darling; stay by her side—she may not -be long spared to you, and I shall go. Past three -in the morning, and dark as midnight. I'll take a -lantern and be off." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, thank you, Winny, thank you!" said the -girl, kissing the old woman's shrivelled cheek, and -with hasty and trembling fingers assisting to muffle -her in a cloak, and to light a lantern; and then -seeing her issue forth upon her errand with all the -speed her love and charity inspired, and her old -limbs could exert; and with clasped hands, and a -prayer upon her lips, Sybil at the door for a little -space watched the lantern (Winny's figure was soon -lost amid the gloom), as its fitful light fell in -succession upon the grey, upright blocks of the stone -avenue that marked the desolate moorland road, till -at last it diminished to a spark, like an <i>ignis-fatuus</i>, -and then she stole back once more to her mother's -side. -</p> - -<p> -The left arm of the latter was outside the coverlet -now, and her hand, so snowy in its whiteness, rested -on the edge of the bed. With her eyes full of tears, -and her heart full of earnest prayer, Sybil knelt -reverently down to kiss it, taking the hand between -her own caressingly. -</p> - -<p> -How <i>heavy</i> that little hand felt now! -</p> - -<p> -Cold, too—its touch startled her. She threw -back the curtain; her mother lay motionless with -jaw somewhat relaxed, her eyes still, and staring -upward. Death was too surely there, but Sybil had -never looked upon it, and only felt wildly startled and -terrified. She tried to raise the head, but felt -powerless. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh mamma—dear mamma, do not leave me! -Come back to me, mamma—come back to me!" she -exclaimed, in a voice the tones of which seemed -discordant and shrill to her own ear. "Is -this sleep or death? oh, no! no, not -death—NOT death!" -</p> - -<p> -But it was so, and how terribly pale, serene and -still, how calm and peacefully she lay, with something -of a smile gathering on her lips, like one "who -had ended the business of life before death, and who, -when the hour cometh, hath nothing to do but to -die." -</p> - -<p> -Bewildered and awe-struck, with a wild beating in -her heart and in her brain, Sybil drew back; then -she stood still and listened. -</p> - -<p> -There was no sound save the pulsations in her -own breast, and the odious ticking of the old wooden -clock, which now seemed to have become unnaturally -loud. Then emotions which appeared to be stifling -came over her, and a craven terror which she could -not describe, and of which she was afterwards -ashamed, as if it had been a sin or crime, possessed -her, and she fled from the room, and from the house -itself, for she could not remain alone with the dead; -and so, crouching down on the wet, damp soil near -the entrance door, she muffled her head in her -shawl. -</p> - -<p> -A ray of light was streaming out into the darkness, -but she could not look upon it, for it came where -the dead was lying, and where the light of life had -passed away. -</p> - -<p> -"Heaven help me—heaven help me! I am now -alone; most utterly alone!" she moaned, and bent -her head between her hands, as if the dark waves of -thought were flowing over it. -</p> - -<p> -Alas! how much may be condensed—how much -felt, and yet never expressed by that one little -word—<i>alone</i>! -</p> - -<p> -Sybil, however, fainted from excess of emotion, for -she was discovered there crouching in a heap by -the doctor and Winny, when they arrived together, -more than one hour after, when the distant horizon -was grey with the coming dawn, and the white fog -was rolling along the sides of the Kow Tor and Bron -Welli; and thus, in insensibility, had she found, for -a time, oblivion to all her sorrows. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -END OF VOL. I. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t4"> -BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONLY AN ENSIGN, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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