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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8052385 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64556 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64556) diff --git a/old/64556-0.txt b/old/64556-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fe36e6e..0000000 --- a/old/64556-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5206 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lodore, Vol. 2 (of 3), by Mary -Wollstonecraft Shelley - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Lodore, Vol. 2 (of 3) - -Author: Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley - -Release Date: February 14, 2021 [eBook #64556] -[Most recently updated: October 26, 2021] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images generously - made available by Hathi Trust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LODORE, VOL. 2 (OF 3) *** - - - - -LODORE. - - - -BY THE - -AUTHOR OF "FRANKENSTEIN." - -In the turmoil of our lives, -Men are like politic states, or troubled seas, -Tossed up and down with several storms and tempests, -Change and variety of wrecks and fortunes; -Till, labouring to the havens of our homes, -We struggle for the calm that crowns our ends. - -FORD. - - - -IN THREE VOLUMES. - - -VOL. II. - - - -LONDON: - -RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET - -(SUCCESSOR TO HENRY COLBURN.) - -1835. - - - - -CONTENTS -CHAPTER I -CHAPTER II -CHAPTER III -CHAPTER IV -CHAPTER V -CHAPTER VI -CHAPTER VII -CHAPTER VIII -CHAPTER IX -CHAPTER X -CHAPTER XI -CHAPTER XII -CHAPTER XIII -CHAPTER XIV -CHAPTER XV -CHAPTER XVI -CHAPTER XVII -CHAPTER XVIII - - - - -LODORE - - - - -CHAPTER I - -Excellent creature! whose perfections make -Even sorrow lovely! - -BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. - - -Mr. Villiers now became the constant visitor of Mrs. Elizabeth and her -niece; and all discontent, all sadness, all listlessness, vanished in -his presence. There was in his mind a constant spring of vivacity, which -did not display itself in mere gaiety, but in being perfectly alive at -every moment, and continually ready to lend himself to the comfort and -solace of his companions. Sitting in their dingy London house, the -spirit of dulness had drawn a curtain between them and the sun; and -neither thought nor event had penetrated the fortification of silence -and neglect which environed them. Edward Villiers came; and as mist -flies before the wind, so did all Ethel's depression disappear when his -voice only met her ear: his step on the stairs announced happiness; and -when he was indeed before her, light and day displaced every remnant of -cheerless obscurity. - -The abstracted, wounded, yet lofty spirit of Lodore was totally dissimilar -to the airy brightness of Villiers' disposition. Lodore had outlived a -storm, and shown himself majestic in ruin. No ill had tarnished the -nature of Villiers: he enjoyed life, he was in good-humour with the -world, and thought well of mankind. Lodore had endangered his peace from -the violence of passion, and reaped misery from the pride of his soul. -Villiers was imprudent from his belief in the goodness of his -fellow-creatures, and imparted happiness from the store that his warm -heart insured to himself. The one had never been a boy--the other had -not yet learned to be a man. - -Ethel's heart had been filled by her father; and all affection, all -interest, borrowed their force from his memory. She did not think of -love; and while Villiers was growing into a part of her life, becoming -knit to her existence by daily habit, and a thousand thoughts expended on -him, she entertained his idea chiefly as having been the friend of Lodore. -"He is certainly the kindest-hearted creature in the world." This was -the third time that, when laying her gentle head on the pillow, this -feeling came like a blessing to her closing eyes. She heard his voice in -the silence of night, even more distinctly than when it was addressed to -her outward sense during the day. For the first time after the lapse of -months, she found one to whom she could spontaneously utter every -thought, as it rose in her mind. A fond, elder brother, if such ever -existed, cherishing the confidence and tenderness of a beloved sister, -might fill the place which her new friend assumed for Ethel. She thought -of him with overflowing affection; and the name of "Mr. Villiers" -sometimes fell from her lips in solitude, and hung upon her ear like -sweetest music. In early life there is a moment--perhaps of all the -enchantments of love it is the one which is never renewed--when passion, -unacknowledged to ourselves, imparts greater delight than any -after-stage of that ever-progressive sentiment. We neither wish nor -expect. A new joy has risen, like the sun, upon our lives; and we rejoice -in the radiance of morning, without adverting to the noon and twilight -that is to follow. Ethel stood on the threshold of womanhood: the door -of life had been closed before her;--again it was thrown open--and the -sudden splendour that manifested itself blinded her to the forms of the -objects of menace or injury, which a more experienced eye would have -discerned within the brightness of her new-found day. - -Ethel expressed a wish to visit Eton. In talking of the past, Lord Lodore -had never adverted to any events except those which had occurred during his -boyish days. His youthful pleasures and exploits had often made a part -of their conversation. He had traced for her a plan of Eton college, and -the surrounding scenery; spoken of the trembling delight he had felt in -escaping from bounds; and told how he and Derham had passed happy hours -beside the clear streams, and beneath the copses, of that rural country. -There was one fountain which he delighted to celebrate; and the ivied -ruins of an old monastery, now become a part of a farm-yard, which had -been to these friends the bodily image of many imaginary scenes. Among -the sketches of Whitelock, were several taken in the vicinity of -Windsor; and there were, in his portfolio, studies of trees, cottages, -and also of this same abbey, which Lodore instantly recognized. To many -he had some appending anecdote, some school-boy association. He had -purchased the whole collection from Whitelock. Ethel had copied a few; -and these, together with various sketches made in the Illinois, formed -her dearest treasure, more precious in her eyes than diamonds and -rubies. - -We are most jealous of what sits nearest to our hearts; and we must love -fondly before we can let another into the secret of those trivial, but -cherished emotions, which form the dearest portion of our solitary -meditations. Ethel had several times been on the point of proposing a -visit to Eton, to her aunt; but there was an awful sacredness in the -very name, which acted like a spell upon her imagination. When first it -fell from her lips, the word seemed echoed by unearthly whisperings, and -she fled from the idea of going thither,--as it is the feminine -disposition often to do, from the full accomplishment of its wishes, as -if disaster must necessarily be linked to the consummation of their -desires. But a word was enough for Villiers: he eagerly solicited -permission to escort them thither, as, being an Etonian himself, his -guidance would be of great advantage. Ethel faltered her consent; and -the struggle of delight and sensibility made that project appear -painful, which was indeed the darling of her thoughts. - -On a bright day in the first week of May, they made this excursion. They -repaired to one of the inns at Salt Hill, and prolonged their walks and -drives about the country. In some of the former, where old walls were to -be scrambled up, and rivulets overleaped, Mrs. Elizabeth remained at the -hotel, and Ethel and Villiers pursued their rambles together. Ethel's -whole soul was given up to the deep filial love that had induced the -journey. Every green field was a stage on which her father had played a -part; each majestic tree, or humble streamlet, was hallowed by being -associated with his image. The pleasant, verdant beauty of the -landscape, clad in all the brightness of early summer; the sunny, balmy -day--the clouds which pranked the heavens with bright and floating -shapes--each hedgerow and each cottage, with its trim garden--each -embowered nook--had a voice which was music to her soul. From the -college of Eton, they sought the dame's house where Lodore and Derham had -lived; then crossing the bridge, they entered Windsor, and prolonged -their walk into the forest. Ethel knew even the rustic names of the -spots she most desired to visit, and to these Villiers led her in -succession. Day declined before they got home, and found Mrs. Elizabeth, -and their repast, waiting them; and the evening was enlivened by many a -tale of boyish pranks, achieved by Villiers, in these scenes. The -following morning they set forth again; and three days were spent in -these delightful wanderings. Ethel would willingly never have quitted -this spot: it appeared to her as if, seeing all, still much remained to -be seen--as if she could never exhaust the variety of sentiments and -deep interest which endeared every foot of this to her so holy ground. -Nor were her emotions silent, and the softness of her voice, and the -flowing eloquence with which she expressed herself, formed a new charm -for her companion. - -Sometimes her heart was too full to admit of expression, and grief for -her father's loss was renewed in all its pristine bitterness. One day, -on feeling herself thus overcome, she quitted her companions, and sought -the shady walks of the garden of the hotel, to indulge in a gush of -sorrow which she could not repress. There was something in her gesture -and manner as she left them, that reminded Villiers of Lady Lodore. It was -one of those mysterious family resemblances, which are so striking and -powerful, and yet which it is impossible to point out to a stranger. A -_bligh_ (as this indescribable resemblance is called in some parts of -England) of her mother-struck Villiers forcibly, and he suddenly asked -Mrs. Elizabeth, "If Miss Fitzhenry had never expressed a desire to see -Lady Lodore." - -"God forbid!" exclaimed the old lady; "it was my brother's dying wish, that -she should never hear Lady Lodore's name, and I have religiously observed -it. Ethel only knows that she was the cause of her father's misfortunes, -that she deserted every duty, and is unworthy of the name she bears." - -Villiers was astonished at this tirade falling from the lips of the -unusually placid maiden, whose heightened colour bespoke implacable -resentment. "Do not mention that woman's name, Mr. Villiers," she -continued, "I am convinced that I should die on the spot if I saw her; -she is as much a murderess, as if she had stabbed her husband to the -heart with a dagger. Her letter to me that I sent to my poor brother in -America, was more the cause of his death, I am sure, than all the duels -in the world. Lady Lodore! I often wonder a thunderbolt from heaven does -not fall on and kill her!" - -Mrs. Elizabeth's violence was checked by seeing Ethel cross the road to -return. "Promise not to mention her name to my niece," she cried. - -"For the present be assured that I will not," Villiers answered. He had -been struck most painfully by some of Mrs. Elizabeth's expressions, they -implied so much more of misconduct on Lady Lodore's part, than he had ever -suspected--but she must know best; and it seemed to him, indeed, the -probable interpretation of the mystery that enveloped her separation -from her husband. The account spread by Lady Santerre, and current in -the world, appeared inadequate and improbable; Lodore would not have -dared to take her child from her, but on heavier grounds; it was then -true, that a dark and disgraceful secret was hidden in her heart, and -that her propriety, her good reputation, her seeming pride of innocence, -were but the mask to cover the reality that divided her from her -daughter for ever. - -Villiers was well acquainted with Lady Lodore; circumstances had caused him -to take a deep interest in her--these were now at an end: but the singular -coincidences that had brought him in contact with her daughter, renewed -many forgotten images, and caused him to dwell on the past with mixed -curiosity and uneasiness. Mrs. Elizabeth's expressions added to the -perplexity of his ideas; their chief effect was to tarnish to his mind -the name of Lady Lodore, and to make him rejoice at the termination that -had been put to their more intimate connexion. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -One, within whose subtle being, -As light and wind within some delicate cloud, -That fades amid the blue noon's burning sky. -Genius and youth contended. - -SHELLEY. - - -The party returned to town, and on the following evening they went to -the Italian Opera. For the first time since her father's death, Ethel -threw aside her mourning attire: for the first time also, she made one -of the audience at the King's Theatre. She went to hear the music, and -to spend the evening with the only person in the world who was drawn -towards her by feelings of kindness and sympathy--the only person--but -that sufficed. His being near her, was the occasion of more delight than -if she had been made the associate of regal splendour. Yet it was no -defined or disturbing sentiment, that sat so lightly on her bosom and -shone in her eyes. Her's was the first gentle opening of a girl's heart, -who does not busy herself with the future, and reposes on the serene -present with unquestioning confidence. She looked round on the gay world -assembled, and thought, "All are as happy as I am." She listened to the -music with a subdued but charmed spirit, and turned now and then to her -companions with a glad smile, expressive of her delight. Fewer words -were spoken in their little box, probably than in any in the house; but -in none were congregated three hearts so guileless, and so perfectly -satisfied with the portion allotted to them. - -At length both opera and ballêt were over, and, leaning on the arm of -Villiers, the ladies entered the round-room. The house had been very -full and the crowd was great. A seat was obtained for Aunt Bessy on one -of the sofas near the door, which opened on the principal staircase. -Villiers and Ethel stood near her. When the crowd had thinned a little, -Villiers went to look for the servant, and Ethel remained surveying the -moving numbers with curiosity, wondering at her own fate, that while -every one seemed familiar one to the other, she knew, and was known by, -none. She did not repine at this; Villiers had dissipated the sense of -desertion which before haunted her, and she was much entertained, as she -heard the remarks and interchange of compliments going on about her. Her -attention was particularly attracted by a very beautiful woman, or -rather girl she seemed, standing on the other side of the room, -conversing with a very tall personage, to whom she, being not above the -middle size, looked up as she talked; which action, perhaps, added to -her youthful appearance. There was an ease in her manners that bespoke a -matron as to station. She was dressed very simply in white, without any -ornament; her cloak hung carelessly from her shoulders, and gave to view -her round symmetrical figure; her silky, chesnut-coloured hair, fell in -thick ringlets round her face, and was gathered with inimitable elegance -in large knots on the top of her head. There was something bewitching in -her animated smile, and sensibility beamed from her long and dark grey -eyes; her simple gesture as she placed her little hand on her cloak, her -attitude as she stood, were wholly unpretending, but graceful beyond -measure. Ethel watched her unobserved, with admiration and interest, so -that she almost forgot where she was, until the voice of Villiers -recalled her. "Your carriage is up--will you come?" The lady turned as -he spoke, and recognized him with a cordial and most sweet smile. They -moved on, while Ethel turned back to look again, as her carriage was -loudly called, and Mrs. Elizabeth seizing her arm, whispered out of -breath, "O my dear, do make haste!" She hurried on, therefore, and her -glance was momentary; but she saw with wonder, that the lady was looking -with eagerness at the party; she caught Ethel's eye, blushed and turned -away, while the folding doors closed, and with a kind of nervous -trepidation her companions descended the stairs. In a moment the ladies -were in their carriage, which drove off, while Mrs. Elizabeth exclaimed -in the tone of one aghast, "Thank God, we got away! O, Ethel, that was -Lady Lodore!" - -"My mother!--impossible!" - -"O, that we had never come to town," continued her aunt. "Long have I -prayed that I might never see her again;--and she looking as if nothing -had happened, and that Lodore had not died through her means! Wicked, -wicked woman! I will not stay in London a day longer!" - -Ethel did not interrupt her ravings: she remembered Captain Markham, and -could not believe but that her aunt laboured under some similar mistake; -it was ridiculous to imagine, that this girlish-looking, lovely being, -had been the wife of her father, whom she remembered with his high -forehead rather bare of hair, his deep marked countenance, his look that -bespoke more than mature age. Her aunt was mistaken, she felt sure; and -yet when she closed her eyes, the beautiful figure she had seen stole, -according to the Arabian image, beneath her lids, and smiled sweetly, -and again started forward to look after her. This little act seemed to -confirm what Mrs. Elizabeth said; and yet, again, it was impossible! -"Had she been named my sister, there were something in it--but my -mother,--impossible!" - -Yet strange as it seemed, it was so; in this instance, Mrs. Elizabeth -had not deceived herself; and thus it was that two so near of kin as -mother and daughter, met, it might be said, for the first time. Villiers -was inexpressibly shocked; and believing that Lady Lodore must suffer -keenly from so strange and unnatural an incident, his first kindly impulse -was to seek to see her on the following morning. During her absence, the -violent attack of her sister-in-law had weighed with him, but her look -at once dissipated his uneasy doubts. There was that in this lady, which -no man could resist; she had joined to her beauty, the charm of engaging -manners, made up of natural grace, vivacity, intuitive tact, and soft -sensibility, which infused a kind of idolatry into the admiration with -which she was universally regarded. But it was not the beauty and -fashion of Lady Lodore which caused Villiers to take a deep interest in -her. His intercourse with her had been of long standing, and the object -of his very voyage to America was intimately connected with her. - -Edward Villiers was the son of a man of fortune. His father had been -left a widower young in life, with this only child, who, thus single and -solitary in his paternal home, became almost adopted into the family of -his mother's brother, Viscount Maristow. This nobleman being rich, -married, and blessed with a numerous progeny, the presence of little -Edward was not felt as a burthen, and he was brought up with his cousins -like one of them. Among these it would have been hard if Villiers could -not have found an especial friend: this was not the elder son, who, much -his senior, looked down upon him with friendly regard; it was the -second, who was likewise several years older. Horatio Saville was a -being fashioned for every virtue and distinguished by every excellence; -to know that a thing was right to be done, was enough to impel Horatio -to go through fire and water to do it; he was one of those who seem not -to belong to this world, yet who adorn it most; conscientious, upright, -and often cold in seeming, because he could always master his passions; -good over-much, he might be called, but that there was no pedantry nor -harshness in his nature. Resolute, aspiring, and true, his noble -purposes and studious soul, demanded a frame of iron, and he had one of -the frailest mechanism. It was not that he was not tall, well-shaped, -with earnest eyes, a brow built up high to receive and entertain a -capacious mind; but he was thin and shadowy, a hectic flushed his cheek, -and his voice was broken and mournful. At school he held the topmost -place, at college he was distinguished by the energy with which he -pursued his studies; and these, so opposite from what might have been -expected to be the pursuits of his ardent mind, were abstruse -metaphysics--the highest and most theoretical mathematics, and -cross-grained argument, based upon hair-fine logic; to these he addicted -himself. His desire was knowledge; his passion truth; his eager and -never-sleeping endeavour was to inform and to satisfy his understanding. -Villiers waited on him, as an inferior spirit may attend on an -archangel, and gathered from him the crumbs of his knowledge, with -gladness and content. He could not force his boyish mind to similar -exertions, nor feel that keen thirst for knowledge that kept alive his -cousin's application, though he could admire and love these with -fervour, when exhibited in another. It was indeed a singular fact, that -this constant contemplation of so superior a being, added to his -careless turn of mind. Not to be like Horatio was to be nothing--to be -like him was impossible. So he was content to remain one of the -half-ignorant, uninformed creatures most men are, and to found his pride -upon his affection for his cousin, who, being several years older, might -well be advanced even beyond his emulation. Horatio himself did not -desire to be imitated by the light-hearted Edward; he was too familiar -with the exhaustion, the sadness, the disappointment of his pursuits; he -could not be otherwise himself, but he thought all that he aspired -after, was well exchanged for the sparkling eyes, exhaustless spirits, -and buoyant step of Villiers. We none of us wish to exchange our -identity for that of another; yet we are never satisfied with ourselves. -The unknown has always a charm, and unless blinded by miserable vanity, -we know ourselves too well to appreciate our especial characteristics at -a very high rate. When Horace, after deep midnight study, felt his brain -still working like a thousand millwheels, that cannot be stopped; when -sleep fled from him, and yet his exhausted mind could no longer continue -its labours--he envied the light slumbers of his cousin, which followed -exercise and amusement. Villiers loved and revered him; and he felt -drawn closer to him than towards any of his brothers, and strove to -refine his taste and regulate his conduct through his admonitions and -example, while he abstained from following him in the steep and thorny -path he had selected. - -Horatio quitted college; he was no longer a youth, and his manhood -became as studious as his younger days. He had no desire but for -knowledge, no thought but for the nobler creations of the soul, and the -discernment of the sublime laws of God and nature. He nourished the -ambition of showing to these latter days what scholars of old had been, -though this feeling was subservient to his instinctive love of learning, -and his wish to adorn his mind with the indefeasible attributes of -truth. He was universally respected and loved, though little understood. -His young cousin Edward only was aware of the earnestness of his -affections, and the sensibility that nestled itself in his warm heart. -He was outwardly mild, placid, and forbearing, and thus obtained the -reputation of being cold--though those who study human nature ought to -make it their first maxim, that those who are tolerant of the follies of -their fellows--who sympathize with, and assist their wishes, and who -apparently forget their own desires, as they devote themselves to the -accomplishment of those of their friends, must have the quickest -feelings to make them enter into and understand those of others, and the -warmest affections to be able to conquer their wayward humours, so that -they can divest themselves of selfishness, and incorporate in their own -being the pleasures and pains of those around them. - -The sparkling eye, the languid step, and flushed cheek of Horatio -Saville, were all tokens that there burnt within him a spirit too strong -for his frame; but he never complained; or if he ever poured out his -pent-up emotions, it was in the ear of Edward only; who but partly -understood him, but who loved him entirely. What that thirst for -knowledge was that preyed on him, and for ever urged him to drink of the -purest streams of wisdom, and yet which ever left him unsatisfied, -fevered, and mournful, the gay spirit of Edward Villiers could not -guess: often he besought his cousin to close his musty books, to mount a -rapid horse, to give his studies to the winds, and deliver his soul to -nature. But Horace pointed to some unexplained passage in Plato the -divine, or some undiscovered problem in the higher sciences, and turned -his eyes from the sun; or if indeed he yielded, and accompanied his -youthful friend, some appearance of earth or air would awaken his -curiosity, rouze his slumbering mind again to inquire, and making his -study of the wide cope of heaven, he gave himself up to abstruse -meditation, while nominally seeking for relaxation from his heavier -toils. - -Horatio Saville was nine-and-twenty when he first met Lady Lodore, who was -nearly the same age. He had begun to feel that his health was shaken, -and he tried to forget for a time his devouring avocations. He changed -the scene, and went on a visit to a friend, who had a country house not -far from Hastings. Lady Lodore was expected as a guest, together with -her mother. She was much talked of, having become an object of interest -or curiosity to the many. A mystery hung over her fate; but her -reputation was cloudless, and she was warmly supported by the leaders of -fashion. Saville heard of her beauty and her sufferings; the injustice -with which she had been treated--of her magnanimity and desolate -condition; he heard of her talents, her powers of conversation, her -fashion. He figured to himself (as we are apt to incarnate to our -imagination the various qualities of a human being, of whom we hear -much) a woman, brilliant, but rather masculine, majestic in figure, with -wild dark eyes, and a very determined manner. Lady Lodore came: she -entered the room where he was sitting, and the fabric of his fancy was -at once destroyed. He saw a sweet-looking woman; serene, fair, and with -a countenance expressive of contented happiness. He found that her -manners were winning, from their softness; her conversation was -delightful, from its total want of pretension or impertinence. - -What the power was that from the first moment they met, drew Horatio -Saville and Lady Lodore together is one of those natural secrets which it -is impossible to explain. Though a student, Saville was a gentleman, with -the manners and appearance of the better specimens of our aristocracy. -There might be something in his look of ill health, which demanded -sympathy; something in his superiority to the rest of the persons about -her, in the genius that sat on his brow, and the eloquence that flowed -from his lips; something in the contrast he presented to every one else -she had ever seen--neither entering into their gossiping slanders, nor -understanding their empty self-sufficiency, that possessed a charm for -one satiated with the world's common scene. It was less of wonder that -Cornelia pleased the student. There were no rough corners, no harshness -about her; she won her way into any heart by her cheerful smiles and -kind tones; and she listened to Saville when he talked of what other -women would have lent a languid ear to, with such an air of interest, -that he found no pleasure so great as that of talking on. - -Saville was accustomed to find the men of his acquaintance ignorant. All -the knowledge of worldlings was as a point in comparison with his vast -acquirements. He did not seek Lady Lodore's society either to learn or to -teach, but to forget thought, and to feel himself occupied and diverted -from the sense of listlessness that haunted him in society, without -having recourse to the, to him dangerous, attraction of his books. - -Lady Lodore had, in the very brightness of her earliest youth, selected a -proud and independent position. She had refused to bend to her husband's -will, or to submit to the tyranny, as she named it, which he had attempted -to exercise. Youth is bold and fearless. The forked tongue of scandal, the -thousand ills with which woman is threatened in society, without a guide -or a protector--all the worldly considerations which might lead her to -unite herself again to her husband, she had rejected with unbounded -disdain. Her mother was there to stand between her and the shafts of -envy and calumny, and she conceived no mistrust of herself; she believed -that she could hold her course with taintless feelings and security of -soul, through a thousand dangers. At first she had been somewhat annoyed -by ill-natured observations, but Lady Santerre poured the balm of -flattery on her wounds, and a few tears shed in her presence dissipated -the gathering cloud. - -Cornelia had every motive a woman could have for guarding her conduct -from reproach. She lived in the midst of polished society, and was -thoroughly imbued with its maxims and laws. She witnessed the downfall -of several, as young and lovely as herself, and heard the sarcasms and -beheld the sneers which were heaped as a tomb above their buried fame. -She had vowed to herself never to become one of these. She was applauded -for her pride, and held up as a pattern. No one feared her. She was no -coquette, though she strove universally to please. She formed no -intimate friendships, though every man felt honoured by her notice. She -had no prudery on her lips, but her conduct was as open and as fair as -day. Here lay her defence against her husband; and she preserved even -the outposts of such bulwarks with scrupulous yet unobtrusive -exactitude. - -Her spirits, as well as her spirit, held her up through many a year. More -than ten years had passed since her separation from Lodore--a long time -to tell of; but it had glided away, she scarcely knew how--taking little -from her loveliness, adding to the elegance of her appearance, and the -grace of her manners. Season after season came, and went, and she had no -motive for counting them anxiously. She was sought after and admired; it -was a holiday life for her, and she wondered what people meant when they -spoke of the delusions of this world, and the dangers of our own hearts. -She saw a gay reality about her, and felt the existence of no internal -enemy. Nothing ever moved her to sorrow, except the reflection that now -and then came across, that she had a child--divorced for ever from her -maternal bosom. The sight of a baby cradled in its mother's arms, or -stretching out its little hands to her, had not unoften caused her to -turn abruptly away, to hide her tears; and once or twice she had been -obliged to quit a theatre to conceal her emotion, when such sentiments -were brought too vividly before her. But when her eyes were drowned in -tears, and her bosom heaved with sad emotion, pride came to check the -torrent, and hatred of her oppressor gave a new impulse to her swelling -heart. - -She had rather avoided female friendships, and had been warned from them -by the treachery of one, and the misconduct of another, of her more -intimate acquaintances. Lady Lodore renounced friendship, but the world -began to grow a little dull. The frivolity of one, the hard-heartedness of -another, disgusted. She saw each occupied by themselves and their -families, and she was alone. Balls and assemblies palled upon -her--country pleasures were stupid--she had began to think all things -"stale and unprofitable," when she became acquainted with Horatio -Saville. She was glad again to feel animated with a sense of living -enjoyment; she congratulated herself on the idea that she could take -interest in some one thing or person among the empty shapes that -surrounded her; and without a thought beyond the amusement of the -present moment, most of her hours were spent in his company. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Ah now, ye gentle pair,--now think awhile, -Now, while ye still can think and still can smile. -* * * -So did they think -Only with graver thoughts, and smiles reduced. - -LEIGH HUNT. - - -A month stole away as if it had been a day, and Lady Lodore was engaged to -pass some weeks with another friend in a distant county. It was easily -contrived, without contrivance, by Saville, that he should visit a -relation who lived within a morning's ride of her new abode. The -restriction placed upon their intercourse while residing under different -roofs contrasted painfully with the perfect freedom they had enjoyed -while inhabiting the same. Their attachment was too young and too -unacknowledged to need the zest of difficulty. It required indeed the -facility of an unobstructed path for it to proceed to the accustomed -bourne; and a straw thrown across was sufficient to check its course for -ever. - -The impatience and restlessness which Cornelia experienced during her -journey; the rush of transport that thrilled through her when she heard -of Saville's arrival at a neighbouring mansion, awoke her in an instant -to a knowledge of the true state of her heart. Her pride was, happily -for herself, united to presence of mind and fortitude. She felt the -invasion of the enemy, and she lost not a moment in repelling the -dangers that menaced her. She resolved to be true to the line of conduct -she had marked out for herself--she determined not to love. She did not -alter her manner nor her actions. She met Horatio with the same sweet -smile--she conversed with the same kind interest; but she did not -indulge in one dream, one thought--one reverie (sweet food of love) -during his absence, and guarded over herself that no indication of any -sentiment less general than the friendship of society might appear. -Though she was invariably kind, yet his feelings told him that she was -changed, without his being able to discover where the alteration lay; -the line of demarcation, which she took care never to pass, was too -finely traced, for any but feminine tact to discern, though it -obstructed him as if it had been as high and massive as a city wall. Now -and then his speaking eye rested on her with a pleading glance, while -she answered his look with a frank smile, that spoke a heart at ease, -and perfect self-possession. Indeed, while they remained near each -other, in despite of all her self-denying resolves, Cornelia was happy. -She felt that there was one being in the world who took a deep and -present interest in her, whose thoughts hovered round her and whose mind -she could influence to the conception of any act or feeling she might -desire. That tranquillity yet animation of spirit--that gratitude on -closing her eyes at night--that glad anticipation of the morrow's -sun--that absence of every harsh and jarring emotion, which is the -disposition of the human soul the nearest that we can conceive to -perfect happiness, and which now and then visits sad humanity, to teach -us of what unmeasured and pure joy our fragile nature is capable, -attended her existence, and made each hour of the day a new-born -blessing. - -This state of things could not last. An accident revealed to Saville the -true state of his heart; he became aware that he loved Cornelia, deeply -and fervently, and from that moment he resolved to exile himself for -ever from her dear presence. Misery is the child of love when happiness -is not; this Horatio felt, but he did not shrink from the endurance. All -abstracted and lofty as his speculations were, still his place had been -in the hot-bed of patrician society, and he was familiar with the -repetition of domestic revolutions, too frequent there. For worlds he -would not have Cornelia's name become a byeword and mark for -scandal--that name which she had so long kept bright and unreachable. -His natural modesty prevented him from entertaining the idea that he -could indeed destroy her peace; but he knew how many and easy are the -paths which lead to the loss of honour in the world's eyes. That it -could be observed and surmised that one man had approached Lady Lodore with -any but sentiments of reverence, was an evil to be avoided at any cost. -Saville was firm as rock in his resolves--he neither doubted nor -procrastinated. He left the neighbourhood where she resided, and, -returning to his father's house, tried to acquire strength to bear the -severe pain which he could not master. - -His gentle and generous nature, ever thoughtful for others, and prodigal -of self, was not however satisfied with this mere negative act of -justice towards one who honoured him, he felt conscious, with her -friendship and kindest thoughts. He was miserable in the idea that he -could not further serve her. He revolved a thousand plans in his mind, -tending to her advantage. In fancy he entered the solitude of her -meditations, and tried to divine what her sorrows or desires were, that -he might minister to their solace or accomplishment. Their previous -intercourse had been very unreserved, and though Cornelia spoke but -distantly and coldly of Lodore, she frequently mentioned her child, and -lamented, with much emotion, the deprivation of all those joys which -maternal love bestows. Often had Saville said, "Why not appeal more -strongly to Lord Lodore? or, if he be inflexible, why calmly endure an -outrage shocking to humanity? The laws of your country may assist you." - -"They would not," said Cornelia, "for his reply would be so fraught with -seeming justice, that the blame would fall back on me. He asks but the -trivial sacrifice of my duty to my mother--my poor mother! who, since I -was born, has lived with me and for me, and who has no existence except -through me. I am to tear away, and to trample upon the first of human -ties, to render myself worthy of the guardianship of my child! I cannot -do it--I should hold myself a parricide. Do not let us talk more of -these things; endurance is the fate of woman, and if I have more than my -share, let us hope that some other poor creature, less able to bear, has -her portion lightened in consequence. I should be glad if once indeed I -were permitted to see my cherub girl, though it were only while she -slept; but an ocean rolls between us, and patience must be my -comforter." - -The soft sweetness of her look and voice, the angelic grace that -animated every tone and glance, rendered these maternal complaints -mournful, yet enchanting music to the ear of Saville. He could have -listened for ever. But when exiled from her, they assumed another form. He -began to think whether it were not possible to convince Lord Lodore of the -inexcusable cruelty of his conduct; and again and again, he imaged the -exultation of heart he should feel, if he could succeed in placing her -lost babe in the mother's arms. - -Saville was the frankest of human beings. Finding his cousin Edward on a -visit at Maristow castle, he imparted his project to him, of making a -voyage to America, seeking out Lord Lodore, and using every argument and -persuasion to induce him to restore her daughter to his wife. Villiers -was startled at the mention of this chivalrous intent. What could have -rouzed the studious Horace to such sudden energy? By one of those -strange caprices of the human mind, which bring forth discord instead of -harmony, Edward had never liked Lady Lodore--he held her to be false and -dangerous. Circumstances had brought him more in contact with her mother -than herself, and the two were associated and confounded in his mind, -till he heard Lady Santerre's falsetto voice in the sweet one of -Cornelia, and saw her deceitful vulgar devices in the engaging manners -of her daughter. He was struck with horror when he discovered that -Saville loved, nay, idolized this beauteous piece of mischief, as he -would have named her. He saw madness and folly in his Quixotic -expedition, and argued against it with all his might. It would not do; -Horatio was resolved to dedicate himself to the happiness of her he -loved; and since this must be done in absence and distance, what better -plan than to restore to her the precious treasure of which she had been -robbed? - -Saville resolved to cross the Atlantic, and, though opposed to his -scheme, Villiers offered to accompany him. A voyage to America was but a -trip to an active and unoccupied young man; the society of his cousin -would render the journey delightful; he preferred it at all times to the -commoner pleasures of life, and besides, on this occasion, he was -animated with the hope of being useful to him. There was nothing -effeminate in Saville. His energy of purpose and depth of thought -forbade the idea. Still there was something that appeared to require -kindness and support. His delicate health, of which he took no care, -demanded feminine attentions; his careless reliance upon the uprightness -of others, and total self-oblivion, often hurried him to the brink of -dangers; and though fearlessness and integrity were at hand to extricate -him, Edward, who knew his keen sensibility and repressed quickness of -temper, was not without fear, that on so delicate a mission his ardent -feelings might carry him beyond the mark, and that, in endeavouring to -serve a woman whom he loved with enthusiastic adoration, he might rouze -the angry passions of her husband. - -With such feelings the cousins crossed the Atlantic and arrived at New -York. Thence they proceeded to the west of America, and passing and his -daughter on the road without knowing it, arrived at the Illinois after -their departure. They were astonished to find that Mr. Fitzhenry, as he -was named to them, had broken up his establishment, sold his farm, and -departed with the intention of returning to Europe. What this change -might portend they could not guess. Whether it were the result of any -communication with Lady Lodore--whether a reconciliation was under -discussion, or whether it were occasioned by caprice merely they could -not tell; at any rate, it seemed to put an end to Saville's mediation. -If Lodore returned to England, it was probable that Cornelia would -herself make an exertion to have her child restored to her. Whether he -could be of any use was problematical, but untimely interference was to -be deprecated; events must be left to take their own course: Saville was -scarcely himself aware how glad he was to escape any kind of intercourse -with the husband of Cornelia. - -This feeling, however unacknowledged, became paramount with him. Now that -Lodore was about to leave America, he wished to linger in it; he planned a -long tour through the various states, he studied their laws and customs, -he endeavoured to form a just estimate of the institutions of the New -World, and their influence on those governed by them. - -Edward had little sympathy in these pursuits; he was eager to return to -London, and felt more inclined to take his gun and shoot in the forests, -than to mingle in the society of the various towns. This difference of -taste caused the cousins at various times to separate. Saville was at -Washington when Villiers made a journey to the borders of Canada, to the -falls of the Niagara, and returned by New York; a portion of the United -States which his cousin avoided visiting, until Lodore should have quitted -it. - -Thus it was that a strange combination of circumstances brought Villiers -into contact with this unfortunate nobleman, and made him a witness of -and a participator in the closing scene of his disastrous and wasted -life. Villiers did not sympathize in his cousin's admiration of -Cornelia, and was easily won to take a deep interest in the fortunes of her -husband. The very aspect of Lodore commanded attention; his voice entered -the soul: ill-starred, and struck by calamity, he rose majestically from -the ruin around him, and seemed to defy fate. The first thought that -struck Villiers was, how could Lady Lodore desert such a man; how -pitifully degraded must she be, who preferred the throng of fools to the -society of so matchless a being! The gallantry with which he rushed to -his fate, his exultation in the prospect of redeeming his honour, his -melting tenderness towards his daughter, filled Villiers with respect -and compassion. It was all over now. Lodore was dead: his passions, his -wrongs, his errors slept with him in the grave. He had departed from the -busy stage, never to be forgotten--yet to be seen no more. - -Lodore was dead, and Cornelia was free. Her husband had alluded to the -gladness with which she would welcome liberty; and Villiers knew that there -was another, also, whose heart would rejoice, and open itself at once to -the charming visitation of permitted love. Villiers sighed to think that -Saville would marry the beautiful widow; but he did not doubt that this -event would take place. - -Having seen that Ethel was in kind hands, and learnt the satisfactory -arrangements made for her return to England, he hastened to join his -cousin, and to convey the astounding intelligence. Saville's generous -disposition prevented exultation, and subdued joy. Still the prospect of -future happiness became familiar to him, shadowed only by the fear of -not obtaining the affections of her he so fervently loved. For, strange -to say, Saville was diffident to a fault: he could not imagine any -qualities in himself to attract a beautiful and fashionable woman. His -hopes were slight; his thoughts timid: the pain of eternal division was -replaced by the gentler anxieties of love; and he returned to England, -scarcely daring to expect that crown to his desires, which seemed too -high an honour, too dear a blessing, for earthly love to merit. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Ma la fede degli Amanti -È come l'Araba fenice; -Che vi sia, ciaschun' lo dice. -Ma dove sia, nessun lo sa. - -METASTASIO. - - -Meanwhile Lady Lodore had been enduring the worst miseries of ill-fated -love. The illness of Lady Santerre, preceding her death, had demanded all -her time; and she nursed her with exemplary patience and kindness. During -her midnight watchings and solitary days, she had full time to feel how -deep a wound her heart had received. The figure and countenance of her -absent friend haunted her in spite of every effort; and when death -hovered over the pillow of her mother, she clung, with mad desperation, -to the thought, that there was still one, when this parent should be -gone, to love her, even though she never saw him more. - -Lady Santerre died. After the first burst of natural grief, Cornelia -began to reflect that Lord Lodore might now imagine that every obstacle to -their reconciliation was removed. She had looked upon her husband as her -enemy and injurer; she had regarded him with indignation and fear;--but -now she hated him. Strong aversion had sprung up, during the struggles -of passion, in her bosom. She hated him as the eternal barrier between -her and one who loved her with rare disinterestedness. The human heart -must desire happiness;--in spite of every effort at resignation, it must -aspire to the fulfilment of its wish. Lord Lodore was the cause why she -was cut off from it for ever. He had foreseen that this feeling, this -combat, this misery, would be her doom, in the deserted situation she -chose for herself: she had laughed his fears to scorn. Now she abhorred -him the more for having divined her destiny. While she banished the -pleasant thoughts of love, she indulged in the poisoned ones of hate; -and while she resisted each softer emotion as a crime, she opened her -heart to the bitterest resentment, as a permitted solace; nor was she -aware that thus she redoubled all her woes. It was under the influence -of these feelings, that she had written to Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry that -harsh, decided letter, which Lodore received at New York. The -intelligence of his violent death came as an answer to her expressions -of implacable resentment. A pang of remorse stung her, when she thought -how she had emptied the vials of her wrath on a head which had so soon -after been laid low for ever. - -The double loss of husband and mother caused Lady Lodore to seclude -herself, not in absolute solitude, but in the agreeable retreat of friendly -society. She was residing near Brighton, when Saville returned from -America, and, with a heart beating high with its own desires, again -beheld the mistress of his affections. His delicate nature caused him to -respect the weeds she wore, even though they might be termed a mockery: -they were the type of her freedom and his hopes; yet, as the tokens of -death, they were to be respected. He saw her more beautiful than ever, -more courted, more waited on; and he half despaired. How could he, the -abstracted student, the man of dreams, the sensitive and timid invalid, -ensnare the fancy of one formed to adorn the circles of wealth and -fashion? - -Thus it was that Saville and Cornelia were further off than ever, when -they imagined themselves most near. Neither of them could afterwards -comprehend what divided them; or why, when each would have died for the -other's sake, cobweb barriers should have proved inextricable; and -wherefore, after weathering every more stormy peril, they should perish -beneath the influence of a summer breeze. - -The pride of Cornelia's heart, hid by the artificial courtesies of -society, was a sentiment resolved, confirmed, active, and far beyond her -own controul. The smallest opposition appeared rebellion to her majesty -of will; while her own caprices, her own desires, were sacred decrees. -She was too haughty to admit of discussion--too firmly intrenched in a -sense of what was due to her, not to start indignantly from -remonstrance. It is true, all this was but a painted veil. She was -tremblingly alive to censure, and wholly devoted to the object of her -attachment; but Saville was unable to understand these contradictions. -His modesty led him to believe, that he, of all men, was least -calculated to excite love in a woman's bosom. He saw in Cornelia a -beautiful creation, to admire and adore; but he was slow to perceive the -tenderness of soul, which her disposition made her anxious to conceal, -and he was conscious of no qualities in himself that could entitle him -to a place in her affections. Except that he loved her, what merit had -he? And the interests of his affection he was willing to sacrifice at -the altar of her wishes, though his life should be the oblation -necessary to insure their accomplishment. - -This is not the description of true love on either side; for, to be -perfect, that sentiment ought to exist through the entireness of mutual -sympathy and trust: but not the less did their passionate attachment -engross the minds of both. All might have been well, indeed, had the -lovers been left to themselves; but friends and relations interfered to -mar and to destroy. The sisters of Saville accused Lady Lodore of -encouraging, and intending to marry, the Marquess of C--. Saville instantly -resolved to be no obstacle in the way of her ambition. Cornelia was fired -with treble indignation to perceive that he at once conceded the place to -his rival. One word or look of gentleness would have changed this; but she -resolved to vanquish by other arms, and to force him to show some -outward sign of jealousy and resentment. Saville had a natural dignity -of mind, founded on simplicity of heart and directness of purpose. -Cornelia knew that he loved her;--on that his claim rested: all that -might be done to embellish and elevate her existence, he would study to -achieve; but he could not enter into, nor understand, the puerile -fancies of a spoiled Beauty: and while she was exerting all her powers, -and succeeded in fascinating a crowd of flatterers, she saw Saville -apart, abstracted from such vanities, pursuing a silent course; ready to -approach her when her attention was disengaged, but at no time making -one among her ostentatious admirers. - -There was no moment of her life in which Cornelia did not fully -appreciate her lover's value, and her own good fortune in having -inspired him with a serious and faithful attachment. But she imagined -that this must be known and acknowledged; and that to ask any -demonstration of gratitude, was ungenerous and tyrannical. An untaught -girl could not have acted with more levity and wilfulness. It was worse -when she found that she was accused of encouraging a wealthier and more -illustrious rival. She disdained to exculpate herself from the charge of -such low ambition, but rather furnished new grounds for accusation; and, -in the arrogance of conscious power, smiled at the pettiness of the -attempts made to destroy her influence. Proud in the belief that she -could in an instant dispel the clouds she had conjured athwart her -heaven, she cared not how ominously the thunder muttered, nor how dark -and portentous lowered the threatening storm. It came when she least -expected it: convinced of the fallacy of his confidence, made miserable -by her caprices, agonized by the idea that he only lingered to add -another trophy to his rival's triumph, Saville, who was always impetuous -and precipitate, suddenly quitted England. - -This was a severe blow at first; but soon Cornelia smiled at it. He -would return--he must. The sincerity of their mutual preference would -overcome the petty obstacles of time and distance. She never felt more -sure of his devotion than now; and she looked so happy, and spoke so -gaily, that those who were more ready to discern indifference, than -love, in her sentiments, assured the absent Saville, that Lady Lodore -rejoiced at his absence, as having shaken off a burthen, and got rid of an -impediment, which, in spite of herself, was a clog to her brilliant -career. The trusting love that painted her face in smiles was a traitor -to itself and while she rose each day in the belief that the one was -near at hand which would bring her lover before her, dearer and more -attached than ever, she was in reality at work in defacing the whole web -of life, and substituting dark, blank, and sad disappointment, for the -images of light and joy with which her fancy painted it. - -Saville had been gone five months. It was strange that he did not -return; and she began to ponder upon how she must unbend, and what -demonstration she must make, to attract him again to her side. The -Marquess of C--was dismissed; and she visited the daughters of Lord -Maristow, to learn what latest news they had received of their brother. -"Do you know, Lady Lodore," said Sophia Saville, "that this is Horatio's -wedding-day? It is too true: we regret it, because he weds a -foreigner--but there is no help now. He is married." - -Had sudden disease seized on the frame-work of her body, and dissolved -and scattered with poisonous influence and unutterable pains, the atoms -that composed it, Lady Lodore would have been less agonized, less -terrified. A thousand daggers were at once planted in her bosom. Saville -was false! married! divided from her for ever! She was stunned:--scarcely -understanding the meaning of the phrases addressed to her, and, unable -to conceal her perturbation, she replied at random, and hastened to -shorten her visit. - -But no interval of doubt or hope was afforded. The words she had heard -were concise, true to their meaning and all-sufficing. Her heart died -within her. What had she done? Was she the cause? She longed to learn -all the circumstances that led to this hasty marriage, and whether -inconstancy or resentment had impelled him to the fatal act. Yet -wherefore ask these things? It was over; the scene was closed. It were -little worth to analyze the poison she had imbibed, since she was past -all mortal cure. - -Her first resolve was to forget--never, never to think of the false one -more. But her thoughts never wandered from his image, and she was -eternally busied in retrospection and conjecture. She was tempted at one -time to disbelieve the intelligence, and to consider it as a piece of -malice on the part of Miss Saville; then the common newspaper told her, -that at the Ambassador's house at Naples, the Honourable Horatio Saville -had married Clorinda, daughter of the Principe Villamarina, a Neapolitan -nobleman of the highest rank. - -It was true therefore--and how was it true? Did he love his bride? why -else marry?--had he forgotten his tenderness towards her? Alas! it -needed not forgetting; it was a portion of past time, fleeting as time -itself; it had been borne away with the hours as they passed, and -remembered as a thing which had been, and was no more. The reveries of -love which for months had formed all her occupation, were a blank; or -rather to be replaced by the agonies of despair. Her native haughtiness -forsook her. She was alone and desolate--hedged in on all sides by -insuperable barriers, which shut out every glimpse of hope. She was -humbled in her own eyes, through her want of success, and heartily -despised herself, and all her caprices and vanities, which had led her -to this desart, and then left her to pine. She detested her position in -society, her mechanism of being, and every circumstance, self-inherent, -or adventitious, that attended her existence. All seemed to her sick -fancy so constructed as to ensure disgrace, desertion, and contempt. She -lay down each night feeling as if she could never endure to raise her -head on the morrow. - -The unkindness and cruelty of her lover's conduct next presented -themselves to her contemplation. She had suffered much during the past -years, more than she had ever acknowledged, even to herself; she had -suffered of regret and sorrow, while she brooded over her solitary -position, and the privation of every object on whom she might bestow -affection. She had had nothing to hope. Saville had changed all this; he -had banished her cares, and implanted hope in her heart. Now again his -voice recalled the evils, his hand crushed the new-born expectation of -happiness. He was the cause of every ill; and the adversity which she -had endured proudly and with fortitude while it seemed the work of fate, -grew more bitter and heavy when she felt that it arose through the -agency of one, whose kind affection and guardianship she had fondly -believed would hereafter prove a blessing sent as from Heaven itself, be -to the star of her life. - -This fit passed off; with struggles and relapses she wore down the first -gush of sorrow, and her disposition again assumed force over her. She -had found it difficult to persuade herself, in spite of facts, that she -was not loved; but it was easy, once convinced of the infidelity of her -lover, to regard him with indifference. She now regretted lost -happiness--but Saville was no longer regretted. She wept over the -vanished forms of delight, lately so dear to her; but she remembered -that he who had called them into life had driven them away; and she -smiled in proud scorn of his fleeting and unworthy passion. It was not -to this love that she had made so tender and lavish a return. She had -loved his constancy, his devotion, his generous solicitude for her -welfare--for the happiness which she bestowed on him, and for the -sympathy that so dearly united them. These were fled; and it were vain -to consecrate herself to an empty and deformed mockery of so beautiful a -truth. - -Then she tried to hate him--to despise and to lessen him in her own -estimation. The attempt recoiled on herself. The recollection of his -worth stole across her memory, to frustrate her vain endeavours: his -voice haunted--his expressive eyes beamed on her. It were better to -forget. Indifference was her only refuge, and to attain this she must -wholly banish his image from her mind. Cornelia was possessed of -wonderful firmness of purpose. It had carried her on so long unharmed, -and now that danger was at hand, it served effectually to defend her. -She rose calm and free, above unmerited disaster. She grew proud of the -power she found that she possessed of conquering the most tyrannical of -passions. Peace entered her soul, and she hailed it as a blessing. - -The clause in her husband's will which deprived her of the guardianship -of her daughter had been forgotten during this crisis. Before, under the -supposition that she should marry, she had deferred taking any step to -claim her. The idea of a struggle to be made, unassisted, unadvised, and -unshielded, was terrible. She had not courage to encounter all the -annoyances that might ensue. To get rid for a time of the necessity of -action and reflection, she went abroad. She changed the scene--she -travelled from place to place. She gave herself up in the solitude of -continental journies to the whole force of contending passions; now -overcome by despair, and again repressing regret, asserting to herself -the lofty pride of her nature. - -By degrees she recovered a healthier tone of mind--a distant and faint, -yet genuine sense of duty dawned upon her; and she began to think on -what her future existence was to depend, and how she could best secure -some portion of happiness. Her heart once again warmed towards the image -of her daughter--and she felt that in watching the development of her -mind, and leading her to love and depend on her, a new interest and real -pleasure might spring up in life. She reproached herself for having so -long, by silence and passive submission, given scope to the belief that -she was willing to be a party against herself, in the injustice of Lodore; -and she returned to England with the intention of instantly enforcing her -rights over her child, and taking to her bosom and to her fondest care -the little being, whose affection and gratitude was to paint her future -life with smiles. - -She called to mind Lady Santerre's worldly maxims, and her own -experience. She knew that the first step to success is the appearance of -prosperity and power. To command the good wishes and aid of her friends -she must appear independent of them. She was earnest therefore to hide -the wounds her heart had received, and the real loathing with which she -regarded all things. She arrayed herself in smiles, and banished, far -below into the invisible recesses of her bosom, the contempt and disgust -with which she viewed the scene around her. - -She returned to England. She appeared at the height of the season, in -the midst of society, as beautiful, as charming, as happy in look and -manner, as in her days of light-hearted enjoyment. She paused yet a -moment longer, to reflect on what step she had better take on first -enforcing her claim; but her mind was full of its intention, and set -upon the fulfilment. - -At this time, but a few days after her arrival in London, she went to -the opera. She heard the name of Fitzhenry called in the lobby--she saw -and recognized Mrs. Elizabeth--the venerable sister Bessy, so little -altered, that time might be said to have touched, but not trenched her -homely kindly face. With her, in attendance on her, she beheld Horatio -Saville's favourite cousin--the gay and fashionable Edward Villiers. It -was strange; her curiosity was strongly excited. It had not long to -languish: the next morning Villiers called, and was readily admitted. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -And as good lost is seld or never found. - -SHAKSPEARE. - - -Lady Lodore and Villiers met for the first time since Horatio Saville's -marriage. Neither were exactly aware of what the other knew or thought. -Cornelia was ignorant how far her attachment to his cousin was known to -him; whether he shared the general belief in her worldly coquetry, or -what part he might have had in occasioning their unhappy separation. She -could not indeed see him without emotion. He had been Lodore's second, -and received the last dying breath of him who had, in her brightest -youth, selected her from the world, to share his fortunes. Those days -were long past; yet as she grew older, disappointed, and devoid of -pleasurable interest in the present, she often turned her thoughts -backward, and wondered at the part she had acted. - -Similar feelings were in Edward's mind. He was prejudiced against her in -every way. He despised her worldly calculations, as reported to him, and -rejoiced in their failure. He believed these reports, and despised her; -yet he could not see her without being moved at once with admiration and -pity. The moon-lit hill, and tragic scene, in which he had played his -part, came vividly before his eyes. He had been struck by the nobleness -of Lodore's appearance--the sensibility that sat on his countenance--his -gentle, yet dignified manners. Ethel's idolatry of her father had -confirmed the favourable prepossession. He could not help -compassionating Cornelia for the loss of her husband, forgetting, for -the moment, their separation. Then again recurred to him the eloquent -appeals of Saville; his eulogiums; his fervent, reverential affection. -She had lost him also. Could she hold up her head after such miserable -events? The evidence of the senses, and the ideas of our own minds, are -more forcibly present, than any notion we can form of the feelings of -others. In spite, therefore, of his belief in her heartlessness, -Villiers had pictured Cornelia attired in dismal weeds, the victim of -grief. He saw her, beaming in beauty, at the opera;--he now beheld her, -radiant in sweet smiles, in her own home. Nothing touched--nothing -harmed her; and the glossy surface, he doubted not, imaged well the -insensible, unimpressive soul within. - -Lady Lodore would have despised herself for ever had she betrayed the -tremor that shook her frame when Villiers entered. Her pride of sex was in -arms to enable her to convince him, that no regret, no pining, shadowed her -days. The reality was abhorrent, and should never be confessed. Thus -then they met--each with a whole epic of woe and death alive in their -memory; but both wearing the outward appearance of frivolity and -thoughtlessness. He saw her as lovely as ever, and as kind. Her softest -and sweetest welcome was extended to him. It was this frequent show of -frank cordiality which gained her "golden opinions" from the many. Her -haughtiness was all of the mind;--a desire to please, and constant -association with others, had smoothed the surface, and painted it in the -colours most agreeable to every eye. - -They addressed each other as if they had met but the day before. At -first, a few questions and answers passed,--as to where she had been on -the continent, how she liked Baden, &c.;--and then Lady Lodore -said--"Although I have not seen her for several years, I instantly -recognized a relative of mine with you yesterday evening. Does Miss -Fitzhenry make any stay in town?" - -The idea of Ethel was uppermost in Villiers's mind, and struck by the -manner in which the woman of fashion spoke of her daughter, he replied, -"During the season, I believe; I scarcely know. Miss Fitzhenry came up -for her health; that consideration, I suppose, will regulate her -movements." - -"She looked very well last night--perhaps she intends to remain till she -gets ill, and country air is ordered?" observed Lady Lodore. - -"That were nothing new at least," replied Villiers, trying to hide the -disgust he felt at her mode of speaking; "the young and blooming too -often protract their first season, till the roses are exchanged for -lilies." - -"If Miss Fitzhenry's roses still bloom," said the lady, "they must be -perennial ones; they have surely grown more fit for a herbal than a -vase." - -Villiers now perceived his mistake, and replied, "You are speaking of -Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry, as the good lady styles herself--I spoke -of--her niece--" - -"Has Ethel been ill?" Lady Lodore's hurried question, and the -use of the christian name, as most familiar to her thoughts, brought -home to Villiers's heart the feeling of their near relationship. There -was something more than grating; it was deeply painful to speak to a -mother of a child who had been torn from her--who did not know--who had -even been taught to hate her. He wished himself a hundred miles off, but -there was no help, he must reply. "You might have seen last night that -she is perfectly recovered." - -Lady Lodore's imagination refused to image her child in the tall, elegant, -full-formed girl she had seen, and she said, "Was Ethel with you? I did -not see her--probably she went home before the opera was over, and I -only perceived your party in the crush-room--you appear already -intimate." - -"It is impossible to see Miss Fitzhenry and not to wish to be intimate," -replied Villiers with his usual frankness. "I, at least, cannot help -being deeply interested in every thing that relates to her." - -"You are very good to take concern in my little girl. I should have -imagined that you were too young yourself to like children." - -"Children!" repeated Villiers, much amazed; "Miss Fitzhenry!--she is not -a child." - -Lady Lodore scarcely heard him; a sudden pang had shot across her heart, to -think how strangers--how every one might draw near her daughter, and be -interested for her, while she could not, without making herself the tale -of the town, the subject, through the medium of news-papers, for every -gossip's tea-table in England--where her sentiments would be scanned, -and her conduct criticized--and this through the revengeful feelings of -her husband, prolonged beyond the grave. Tears had been gathering in her -eyes during the last moments; she turned her head to hide them, and a -quick shower fell on her silken dress. Quite ashamed of this -self-betrayal, she exerted herself to overcome her emotion. Villiers -felt awkwardly situated; his first impulse had been to rise to take her -hand, to soothe her; but before he could do more than the first of these -acts, as Lady Lodore fancied for the purpose of taking his leave, she -said, "It is foolish to feel as I do; yet perhaps more foolish to -attempt to conceal from one, as well acquainted as you are with every -thing, that I do feel pained at the unnatural separation between me and -Ethel, especially when I think of the publicity I must incur by -asserting a mother's claims. I am ashamed of intruding this subject on -you; but she is no longer the baby cherub I could cradle in my arms, and -you have seen her lately, and can tell me whether she has been well -brought up--whether she seems tractable--if she promises to be pretty?" - -"Did you not think her lovely?" cried Villiers with animation; "you saw -her last night, taking my arm." - -"Ethel!" cried the lady. "Could that be Ethel? True, she is now -sixteen--I had indeed forgot"--her cheeks became suffused with a deep -blush as she remembered all the solicisms she had been committing. "She -is sixteen," she continued, "and a woman--while I fancied a little girl -in a white frock and blue sash: this alters every thing. We have been -indeed divided, and must now remain so for evermore. I will not injure -her, at her age, by making her the public talk--besides, many, many -other considerations would render me fearful of making myself -responsible for her future destiny." - -"At least," said Villiers, "she ought to wait on you." - -"That were beyond Lord Lodore's bond," said the lady; "and why should she -wait on me? Were she impelled by affection, it were well. But this is -talking very simply--we could only be acquaintance, and I would rather be -nothing. I confess, that I repined bitterly, that I was not permitted to -have my little girl, as I termed her, for my plaything and -companion--but my ideas are now changed: a dear little tractable child -would have been delightful--but she is a woman, with a will of her -own--prejudiced against me--brought up in that vulgar America, with all -kinds of strange notions and ways. Lord Lodore was quite right, I -believe--he fashioned her for himself and--Bessy. The worst thing that -can happen to a girl, is to have her prejudices and principles unhinged; -no new ones can flourish like those that have grown with her growth; and -mine, I fear, would differ greatly from those in which she has been -educated. A few years hence, she may feel the want of a friend, who -understands the world, and who could guide her prudently through its -intricacies; then she shall find that friend in me. Now, I feel -convinced that I should do more harm than good." - -A loud knock at the street door interrupted the conversation. "One thing -only I cannot endure," said the lady hastily, "to present a domestic -tragedy or farce to the Opera House--we must not meet in public. I shall -shut up my house and return to Paris." - -Mere written words express little. Lady Lodore's expressions were nothing; -but her countenance denoted a change of feeling, a violence of emotion, of -which Villiers hardly believed her capable; but before he could reply, -the servant threw open the door, and her brow immediately clearing, -serenity descended on her face. With her blandest smile she extended her -hand to her new visitor. Villiers was too much discomposed to imitate -her, so with a silent salutation he departed, and cantered round the -park to collect his thoughts before he called in Seymour-street. - -The ladies there were not less agitated than Lady Lodore, and displayed -their feelings with the artlessness of recluses. The first words that Mrs. -Elizabeth had addressed to her niece, at the breakfast table, were an -awkwardly expressed intimation, that she meant instantly to return to -Longfield. Ethel looked up with a face of alarm: her aunt continued; "I -do not want to speak ill of Lady Lodore, my dear--God forgive her--that -is all I can say. What your dear father thought of her, his last will -testifies. I suppose you do not mean to disobey him." - -"His slightest word was ever a law with me," said Ethel; "and now that -he is gone, I would observe his injunctions more religiously than ever. -But--" - -"Then, my dear, there is but one thing to be done: Lady Lodore will -assuredly force herself upon us, meet us at every turn, oblige you to pay -her your duty; nor could you avoid it. No, my dear Ethel, there is but one -escape--your health, thank God, is restored, and Longfield is now in all -its beauty; we will return to-morrow." - -Ethel did not reply; she looked very disconsolate--she did not know what -to say; at last, "Mr. Villiers will think it so odd," dropped from her -lips. - -"Mr. Villiers is nothing to us, my dear," said aunt Bessy--"not the most -distant relation; he is an agreeable, good-hearted young gentleman--but -there are so many in the world." - -Ethel left her breakfast untasted and went out of the room: she felt -that she could no longer restrain her tears. "My father!" she exclaimed, -while a passionate burst of weeping choked her utterance, "my only -friend! why, why did you leave me? Why, most cruel, desert your poor -orphan child? Gracious God! to what am I reserved! I must not see my -mother--a name so dear, so sweet, is for me a curse and a misery! O my -father, why did you desert me!" - -Her calm reflections were not less bitter; she did not suffer her -thoughts to wander to Villiers, or rather the loss of her father was -still so much the first grief of her heart, that on any new sorrow, it -was to this she recurred with agony. The form of her youthful mother -also flitted before her; and she asked herself, "Can she be so wicked?" -Lord Lodore had never uttered her name; it was not until his death had put -the fatal seal on all things, that she heard a garbled exaggerated -statement from her aunt, over whose benevolent features a kind of sacred -horror mantled, whenever she was mentioned. The will of Lord Lodore, and -the stern injunction it contained, that the mother and daughter should -never meet, satisfied Ethel of the truth of all that her aunt said; so that -educated to obedience and deep reverence for the only parent she had -ever known, she recoiled with terror from transgressing his commands, -and holding communication with the cause of all his ills. Still it was -hard, and very, very sad; nor did she cease from lamenting her fate, -till Villiers's horse was heard in the street, and his knock at the -door; then she tried to compose herself. "He will surely come to us at -Longfield," she thought; "Longfield will be so very stupid after -London." - -After London! Poor Ethel! she had lived in London as in a desert; but -lately it had appeared to her a city of bliss, and all places else the -abode of gloom and melancholy. Villiers was shocked at the appearance of -sorrow which shadowed her face; and, for a moment, thought that the -rencounter with her mother was the sole occasion of the tears, whose -traces he plainly discerned. His address was full of sympathetic -kindness;--but when she said, "We return to-morrow to Essex--will you -come to see us at Longfield?"--his soothing tones were exchanged for -those of surprise and vexation. - -"Longfield!--impossible! Why?" - -"My aunt has determined on it. She thinks me recovered; and so, indeed, -I am." - -"But are you to be entombed at Longfield, except when dying? If so, do, -pray, be ill again directly! But this must not be. Dear Mrs. Fitzhenry," -he continued, as she came in, "I will not hear of your going to -Longfield. Look; the very idea has already thrown Miss Fitzhenry into a -consumption;--you will kill her. Indeed you must not think of it." - -"We shall all die, if we stay in town," said Mrs. Elizabeth, with -perplexity at her niece's evident suffering. - -"Then why stay in town?" asked Villiers. - -"You just now said, that we ought not to return to Longfield," answered -the lady; "and I am sure if Ethel is to look so ill and wretched, I -don't know what I am to do." - -"But there are many places in the world besides either London or -Longfield. You were charmed with Richmond the other day: there are -plenty of houses to be had there; nothing can be prettier or more -quiet." - -"Well, I don't know," said Aunt Bessy, "I never thought of that, to be -sure; and I have business which makes our going to Longfield very -inconvenient. I expect Mr. Humphries, our solicitor, next week; and I -have not seen him yet. You really think, Mr. Villiers, that we could get -a house to suit us at Richmond?" - -"Let us drive there to-day," said Villiers; "we can dine at the Star and -Garter. You can go in the britzska--I on horseback. The days are long: -we can see every thing; and take your house at once." - -This plan sounded very romantic and wild to the sober spinster; but -Ethel's face, lighted up with vivid pleasure, said more in its favour, -than what the good lady called prudence could allege against it. "Silly -people you women are," said Villiers: "you can do nothing by yourselves: -and are always running against posts, unless guided by others. This will -make every thing easy--dispel every difficulty." His thoughts recurred -to Lady Lodore, and her intended journey to Paris, as he said this: and -again they flew to a charming little villa on the river's side, whither he -could ride every day, and find Ethel among her flowers, alone and happy. - -The excursion of this morning was prosperous. The day was warm yet -fresh; and as they quitted town, and got surrounded by fields, and -hedges, and trees, nature reassumed her rights, and awakened transport -in Ethel's heart. The boyish spirits of Villiers communicated themselves -to her; and Mrs. Elizabeth smiled, also, with the most exquisite -complacency. A few inquiries conducted them to a pretty rural box, -surrounded by a small, but well laid-out shrubbery; and this they -engaged. The dinner at the inn, the twilight walk in its garden;--the -fair prospect of the rich and cultivated country, with its silvery, -meandering river at their feet; and the aspect of the cloudless heavens, -where one or two stars silently struggled into sight amidst the pathless -wastes of sky, were objects most beautiful to look on, and prodigal of -the sweetest emotions. The wide, dark lake, the endless forests, and -distant mountains, of the Illinois, were not here; but night bestowed -that appearance of solitude, which habit rendered dear to Ethel; and -imagination could transform wooded parks and well-trimmed meadows into -bowery seclusions, sacred from the foot of man, and fresh fields, -untouched by his hand. - -A few days found Ethel and her aunt installed at their little villa, and -delighted to be away from London. Education made loneliness congenial to -both: they might seek transient amusements in towns, or visit them for -business; but happiness, the agreeable tenor of unvaried daily life, was -to be found in the quiet of the country only;--and Richmond was the -country to them; for, cut off from all habits of intercourse with their -species, they had but to find trees and meadows near them, at once to -feel transported, from the thick of human life, into the most noiseless -solitude. - -Ethel was very happy. She rose in the morning with a glad and grateful -heart, and gazed from her chamber window, watching the early sunbeams as -they crept over the various parts of the landscape, visiting with light -and warmth each open field or embowered nook. Her bosom overflowed with -the kindest feelings, and her charmed senses answered the tremulous -beating of her pure heart, bidding it enjoy. How beautiful did earth -appear to her! There was a delight and a sympathy in the very action of -the shadows, as they pranked the sunshiny ground with their dark and -fluctuating forms. The leafy boughs of the tall trees waved gracefully, -and each wind of heaven wafted a thousand sweets. A magic spell of -beauty and bliss held in one bright chain the whole harmonious universe; -and the soul of the enchantment was love--simple, girlish, -unacknowledged love;--the love of the young, feminine heart, which feels -itself placed, all bleakly and dangerously, in a world, scarce formed to -be its home, and which plumes itself with Love to fly to the covert and -natural shelter of another's protecting care. - -Ethel did not know--did not fancy--that she was in love; nor did any of -the throes of passion disturb the serenity of her mind. She only felt -that she was very, very happy; and that Villiers was the kindest of -human beings. She did not give herself up to idleness and reverie. The -first law of her education had been to be constantly employed. Her -studies were various: they, perhaps, did not sufficiently tend to -invigorate her understanding, but they sufficed to prevent every -incursion of listlessness. Meanwhile, during each, the thought of -Villiers strayed through her mind, like a heavenly visitant, to gild all -things with sunny delight. Some time, during the day, he was nearly sure -to come; or, at least, she was certain of seeing him on the morrow; and -when he came, their boatings and their rides were prolonged; while each -moment added to the strength of the ties that bound her to him. She -relied on his friendship; and his society was as necessary to her life, -as the air she breathed. She so implicitly trusted to his truth, that -she was unaware that she trusted at all--never making a doubt about it. -That chance, or time, should injure or break off the tie, was a -possibility that never suggested itself to her mind. As the silver -Thames traversed in silence and beauty the landscape at her feet, so did -love flow through her soul in one even and unruffled stream--the great -law and emperor of her thoughts; yet more felt from its influence, than -from any direct exertion of its power. It was the result and the type of -her sensibility, of her constancy, of the gentle, yet lively sympathy, -it was her nature to bestow, with guileless confidence. Those around her -might be ignorant that her soul was imbued with it, because, being a -part of her soul, there was small outward demonstration. None, indeed, -near her thought any thing about it: Aunt Bessy was a tyro in such -matters; and Villiers--he had resolved, when he perceived love on her -side, to retreat for ever: till then he might enjoy the dear delight -that her society afforded him. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Alas! he knows -The laws of Spain appoint me for his heir; -That all must come to me, if I outlive him, -Which sure I must do, by the course of nature. - -BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. - - -Edward Villiers was the only child of a man of considerable fortune, who -had early in life become a widower. From the period of this event, -Colonel Villiers (for his youth had been passed in the army, where he -obtained promotion) had led the careless life of a single man. His son's -home was at Maristow Castle, when not at school; and the father seldom -remembered him except as an incumbrance; for his estate was strictly -entailed, so that he could only consider himself possessed of a life -interest in a property, which would devolve, without restriction, on his -more fortunate son. - -Edward was brought up in all the magnificence of his uncle's lordly -abode. Luxury and profusion were the elements of the air he breathed. To -be without any desired object that could be purchased, appeared baseness -and lowest penury. He, also, was considered the favoured one of fortune -in the family circle. The elder brother among the Savilles rose above, -but the younger fell infinitely below, the undoubted heir of eight -thousand a year, and one of the most delightful seats in England. He was -brought up to look upon himself as a rich man, and to act as such; and -meanwhile, until his father's death, he had nothing to depend on, except -any allowance he might make him. - -Colonel Villiers was a man of fashion, addicted to all the extravagances -and even vices of the times. He set no bounds to his expenses. Gambling -consumed his nights, and his days were spent at horse-races, or any -other occupation that at once excited and impoverished him. His income -was as a drop of water in the mighty stream of his expenditure. -Involvement followed involvement, until he had not a shilling that he -could properly call his own. - -Poor Edward heard of these things, but did not mark them. He indulged in -no blameworthy pursuits, nor spent more than beseemed a man in his rank -of life. The idea of debt was familiar to him: every one--even Lord -Maristow--was in debt, far beyond his power of immediate payment. He -followed the universal example, and suffered no inconvenience, while his -wants were obligingly supplied by the fashionable tradesmen. He regarded -the period of his coming of age as a time when he should become -disembarrassed, and enter upon life with ample means, and still more -brilliant prospects. - -The day arrived. It was celebrated with splendour at Maristow Castle. -Colonel Villiers was abroad; but Lord Maristow wrote to him to remind -him of this event, which otherwise he might have forgotten. A kind -letter of congratulation was, in consequence, received from him by -Edward; to which was appended a postscript, saying, that on his return, -at the end of a few weeks, he would consult concerning some arrangements -he wished to make with regard to his future income. - -His return was deferred; and Edward began to experience some of the -annoyances of debt. Still no real pain was associated with his feelings; -though he looked forward with eagerness to the hour of liberation. -Colonel Villiers came at last. He spoke largely of his intended -generosity, which was shown, meanwhile, by his persuading Edward to join -in a mortgage for the sake of raising an immediate sum. Edward scarcely -knew what he was about. He was delighted to be of service to his father; -and without thought or idea of having made a sacrifice, agreed to all -that was asked of him. He was promised an allowance of six hundred a -year. - -The few years that had passed since then were full of painful experience -and bitter initiation. His light and airy spirit was slow to conceive -ill, or to resent wrong. When his annuity remained unpaid, he listened -to his father's excuses with implicit credence, and deplored his -poverty. One day, he received a note from him, written, as usual, in -haste and confusion, but breathing anxiety and regret on his account, -and promising to pay over to him the first money he could obtain. On the -evening of that day, Edward was led by a friend into the gambling room -of a celebrated club. The first man on whom his eyes fell, was his -father, who was risking and losing rouleaus and notes in abundance. At -one moment, while making over a large sum, he suddenly perceived his -son. He grew pale, and then a deep blush spread itself over his -countenance. Edward withdrew. His young heart was pierced to the core. -The consciousness of a father's falsehood and guilt acted on him as the -sudden intelligence of some fatal disaster would have done. He breathed -thick--the objects swam round him--he hurried into the streets--he -traversed them one after the other. It was not this scene alone--this -single act; the veil was withdrawn from a whole series of others -similar; and he became aware that his parent had stepped beyond the line -of mere extravagance; that he had lost honourable feeling; that lies -were common in his mouth; and every other--even his only child--was -sacrificed to his own selfish and bad passions. - -Edward never again asked his father for money. The immediate result of -the meeting in the gambling-room, had been his receiving a portion of -what was due to him; but his annuity was always in arrear, and paid so -irregularly, that it became worse than nothing in his eyes; especially, -as the little that he received was immediately paid over to creditors, -and to defray the interest of borrowed money. - -He never applied again to Colonel Villiers. He would have considered -himself guilty of a crime, had he forced his father to forge fresh -subterfuges, and to lie to his own son. Brought up in the midst of the -wealthy, he had early imbibed a horror of pecuniary obligation; and this -fastidiousness grew more sensitive and peremptory with each added day of -his life. Yet with all this, he had not learnt to set a right value upon -money; and he squandered whatever he obtained with thoughtless -profusion. He had no friend to whose counsel he could recur. Lord -Maristow railed against Colonel Villiers; and when he heard of Edward's -difficulties, offered to remonstrate and force his brother-in-law to -extricate him: but here ended his assistance, which was earnestly -rejected. Horatio's means were exceedingly limited; but on a word from -his cousin, he eagerly besought him to have recourse to his purse. To -avoid his kindness, and his uncle's interference, Edward became -reserved: he had recourse to Jews and money-lenders; and appeared at -ease, while he was involving himself in countless and still increasing -embarrassments. - -Edward was naturally extravagant; or, to speak more correctly, his -education and position implanted and fostered habits of expense and -prodigality, while his careless disposition was unapt to calculate -consequences: his very attempts at economy frequently cost him more than -his most expensive whims. He was not, like his father, a gambler; nor -did he enter into any very reprehensible pleasures: but he had little to -spend, and was thoughtless and confiding; and being always in arrear, -was forced, in a certain way, to continue a system which perpetually led -him further into the maze, and rendered his return impossible. He had no -hope of becoming independent, except through his father's death: Colonel -Villiers, meanwhile, had no idea of dying. He was not fifty years of -age; and considering his own a better life than his son's, involuntarily -speculated on what he should do if he should chance to survive him. He -was a handsome and a fashionable man: he often meditated a second -marriage, if he could render it advantageous; and repined at his -inability to make settlements, which was an insuperable impediment to -his project. Edward's death would overcome this difficulty. Such were -the speculations of father and son; and the portion of filial and -paternal affection which their relative position but too usually -inspires. - -Until he was twenty-one, Edward had never spent a thought upon his -scanty resources. Three years had past since then--three brief years, -which had a little taught him of what homely stuff the world is made; -yet care and even reflection had not yet disturbed his repose. Days, -months sped on, and nothing reminded him of his relative wealth or -poverty in a way to annoy him, till he knew Ethel. He had been -interested for her in America--he had seen her, young and lovely, -drowned in grief--sorrowing with the heart's first prodigal sorrow for -her adored father. He had left her, and thought of her no more--except, -as a passing reflection, that in the natural course of things, she was -now to become the pupil of Lady Lodore, and consequently, that her -unsophisticated feelings and affectionate heart would speedily be -tarnished and hardened under her influence. He anticipated meeting her -hereafter in ball-rooms and assemblies, changed into a flirting, giddy, -yet worldly-minded girl, intent upon a good establishment, and a -fashionable partner. - -He encountered her under the sober and primitive guardianship of Mrs. -Fitzhenry, unchanged and unharmed. The same radiant innocence beamed -from her face; her sweet voice was still true and heart-reaching in its -tones; her manner mirrored the purity and lustre of a mind incapable of -guile, and adorned with every generous and gentle sentiment. He drew near -her with respect and admiration, and soon no other object showed fair in -his eyes except Ethel. She was the star of the world, and he felt happy -only when the light of her presence shone upon him. Her voice and smile -visited his dreams, and spoke peace and delight to his heart. She was to -him as a jewel (yet sweeter and lovelier than any gem) shut up in a -casket, of which he alone possessed the key--as a pearl, of whose -existence an Indian diver is aware beneath the waves of ocean, deep -buried from every other eye. - -There was all in Ethel that could excite and keep alive imaginative and -tender love. In characterizing a race of women, a delightful writer has -described her individually. "She was in her nature a superior being. Her -majestic forehead, her dark, thoughtful eye, assured you that she had -communed with herself. She could bear to be left in solitude--yet what a -look was her's if animated by mirth or love! She was poetical, if not a -poet; and her imagination was high and chivalrous."[1] The elevated tone of -feeling fostered by her father, her worship of his virtues, and the -loneliness of her life in the Illinois, combined to render her -dissimilar to any girl Villiers had ever before known or admired. When -unobserved, he watched her countenance, and marked the varying tracery -of high thoughts and deep emotions pass over it; her dark eye looked out -from itself on vacancy, but read there a meaning only to be discerned by -vivid imagination. And then when that eye, so full of soul, turned on -him, and affection and pleasure at once animated and softened its -glances--when her sweet lips, so delicate in their shape, so balmy and -soft in their repose, were wreathed into a smile--he felt that his whole -being was penetrated with enthusiastic admiration, and that his nature -had bent to a law, from which it could never again be liberated. - -That she should mingle with the world--enter into its contaminating -pursuits--be talked of in it with that spirit of depreciation and -impertinence, which is its essence, was odious to him, and he was -overjoyed to have her safe at Richmond--secure from Lady Lodore--shut up -apart from all things, except nature--her unsophisticated aunt, and his own -admiration--a bird of beauty, brooding in its own fair nest, -unendangered by the fowler. These were his feelings; but by degrees -other reflections forced themselves on him; and love which, when it has -knocked and been admitted, _will_ be a tyrant, obliged him to entertain -regrets and fears which agonized him. His hourly aspiration was to make -her his own. Would that dear heart open to receive into its recesses his -image, and thenceforward dedicate itself to him only? Might he become -her lover, guardian, husband--and they tread together the jungle of -life, aiding each other to thread its mazes, and to ward off every -danger that might impend over them. - -Bitter worldly considerations came to mar the dainty colours of this -fair picture. He could not conceal from himself the poverty that must -attend him during his father's life. Lord Lodore's singular will reduced -Ethel's property to almost nothing: should he then ally her to his -scanty means and broken fortune? His resolution was made. He would not -deny himself the present pleasure of seeing her, to spare any future -pain in which he should be the only sufferer; but on the first token of -exclusive regard on her side, he would withdraw for ever. - - -[Footnote 1: Coleridge's "Six Months in the West Indies."] - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -The world is too much with us. - -WORDSWORTH. - - -Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry's morning task was to read the newspapers--the -only intercourse she held with the world, and all her knowledge of it, -was derived from these daily sheets. Ethel never looked at them--her -thoughts held no communion with the vulgar routine of life, and she was -too much occupied by her studies and reveries to spend any time upon -topics so uninteresting as the state of the nation, or the scandal of -the day. - -One morning, while she was painting, her aunt observed, in her usual -tone of voice, scarce lifting her eyes from the paper, "Mr. Villiers did -not tell us this--he is going to be married; I wonder who to!" - -"Married!" repeated Ethel. - -"Yes, my dear, here it is. 'We hear from good authority that Mr. -Villiers, of Chiverton Park, is about to lead to the hymeneal altar a -young and lovely bride, the only child of a gentleman, said to be the -richest commoner in England.'--Who can it be?" - -Ethel did not reply, and the elder lady went on to other parts of the -newspaper. The poor girl, on whom she had dealt all unaware this chance -mortal blow, put down her brush, and hurried into the shrubbery to -conceal her agitation. Why did she feel these sharp pangs? Why did a -bitter deluge of anguish overflow and seem to choke her breathing, and -torture her heart?--she could scarcely tell. "Married!--then I shall -never see him more!" And a passion of tears, not refreshing, but forced -out by agony, and causing her to feel as if her heart was bursting, -shook her delicate frame. At that moment the well-known sound, the -galloping of Villiers's horse up the lane, met her ear. "Does he come -here to tell us at last of his wedding-day?" The horse came on--it -stopped--the bell was rung. Little acts these, which she had watched -for, and listened to, for two months, with such placid and innocent -delight, now they seemed the notes of preparation for a scene of -despair. She wished to retreat to her own room to compose herself; but -it was too late; he was already in that through which she must pass--she -heard his voice speaking to her aunt. "Now is he telling her," she -thought. No idea of reproach, or of accusation of unkindness in him, -dawned on her heart. No word of love had passed between them--even yet -she was unaware that she loved herself; it was the instinctive result of -this despot sentiment, which exerted its sway over her, without her -being conscious of the cause of her sufferings. - -The first words of Mrs. Fitzhenry had been to speak of the paragraph in -the newspaper, and to show it her visitor. Villiers read it, and -considered it curiously. He saw at once, that however blunderingly -worded, his father was its hero; and he wondered what foundation there -might be for the rumour. "Singular enough!" he said, carelessly, as he -put the paper down. - -"You have kept your secret well," said Mrs. Elizabeth. - -"My secret! I did not even know that I had one." - -"I, at least, never heard that you were going to be married." - -"I!--married! Where is Miss Fitzhenry?" - -The concatenation of ideas presented by these words fell unremarked on -the blunt senses of the good lady, and she replied, "In the shrubbery, I -believe, or upstairs: she left me but a moment ago." - -Villiers hastened to the garden and soon discerned the tearful girl, who -was bending down to pluck and arrange some flowers, so to hide her -disturbed countenance. - -Could we, at the moment of trial, summon our reason and our foregone -resolves--could we put the impression of the present moment at a -distance, which, on the contrary, presses on us with a power as -omnipotent over our soul, as a pointed sword piercing the flesh over our -life, we might become all that we are not--angels or demigods, or any -other being that is not human. As it is, the current of the blood and -the texture of the brain are the machinery by which the soul acts, and -their mechanism is by no means tractable or easily worked; once put in -motion, we can seldom controul their operations; but our serener -feelings are whirled into the vortex they create. Thus Edward Villiers -had a thousand times in his reveries thought over the possibility of a -scene occurring, such as the one he was called upon to act in now--and -had planned a line of conduct, but, like mist before the wind, this -gossamer of the mind was swept away by an immediate appeal to his heart -through his outward sensations. There stood before him, in all her -loveliness, the creature whose image had lived with him by day and by -night, for several long months; and the gaze of her soft tearful eyes, -and the faultering tone of her voice, were the laws to which his sense -of prudence, of right, was immediately subjected. - -A few confused sentences interchanged, revealed to him that she -participated in her aunt's mistake, and her simple question, "Why did -you conceal this from me?" spoke the guilelessness of her thoughts, -while the anguish which her countenance expressed, betrayed that the -concealment was not the only source of her grief. - -This young pair were ignorant how dear they were to each other. Ethel's -affection was that generous giving away of a young heart which is -unaware of the value of the gift it makes--she had asked for and thought -of no return, though her feeling was the result of a reciprocal one on -his side; it was the instinctive love of the dawn of womanhood, subdued -and refined by her gentle nature and imaginative mind. Edward was more -alive to the nature of his own sentiments--but his knowledge stood him -in no stead to fortify him against the power of Ethel's tears. In a -moment they understood each other--one second sufficed to cause the -before impervious veil to fall at their feet: they had stept beyond this -common-place world, and stood beside each other in the new and -mysterious region of which Love is emperor. - -"Dearest Ethel," said Villiers, "I have much to tell you. Do arrange -that we should ride together. I have very much to tell you. You shall -know every thing, and judge for us both, though you should condemn me." - -She looked up in his face with innocent surprise; but no words could -destroy the sunshine that brightened her soul: to know that she was -loved sufficed then to fill her being to overflowing with happiness, so -that there was no room for a second emotion. - -The lovers rode out together, and thus secured the tête-à-tête which -Villiers especially yearned for. Although she was country-bred, Mrs. -Fitzhenry was too timid to mount on horseback, yet she could not feel -fear for her niece who, under her father's guidance, sat her steed with -an ease and perfect command of the animal, which long habit rendered -second nature to her. As they rode on, considerably in advance of the -groom, they were at first silent--the deep sweet silence which is so -eloquent of emotion--till with an effort, slackening his pace, and -bringing his horse nearer, Villiers began. He spoke of debt, of -difficulties, of poverty--of his unconquerable aversion to the making -any demands on his father--fruitless demands, for he knew how involved -Colonel Villiers was, and how incapable even of paying the allowance he -nominally made his son. He declared his reluctance to drag Ethel into -the sea of cares and discomforts that he felt must surround his youth. -He besought her forgiveness for having loved her--for having linked her -heart to his. He could not willingly resign her, while he believed that -he, all unworthy, was of any worth in her eyes; but would she not -discard him for ever, now that she knew that he was a beggar? and that -all to which he could aspire, was an engagement to be fulfilled at some -far distant day--a day that might never come--when fortune should smile -on him. Ethel listened with exquisite complacency. Every word Villiers -spoke was fraught with tenderness; his eye beamed adoration and -sincerest love. Consciousness chained her tongue, and her faltering -voice refused to frame any echo to the busy instigations of her virgin -heart. Yet it seemed to her as if she must speak; as if she were called -upon to avow how light and trivial were all worldly considerations in -her eyes. With bashful confusion she at length said, "You cannot think -that I care for fortune--I was happy in the Illinois." - -Her simplicity of feeling was at this moment infectious. It appeared the -excess of selfishness to think of any thing but love in a desart--while -she had no desire beyond. Indeed, in England or America, she lived in a -desart, as far as society was concerned, and felt not one of those -tenacious though cobweb-seeming ties, that held sway over Villiers. All -his explanations therefore went for nothing. They only felt that this -discourse concerning him had drawn them nearer to each other, and had -laid the first stone of an edifice of friendship, henceforth to be -raised beside the already established one of love. A sudden shower -forced them also to return home with speed, and so interrupted any -further discussion. - -In the evening Villiers left them; and Ethel sought, as speedily as she -might, the solitude of her own chamber. She had no idea of hiding any -circumstance from Mrs. Fitzhenry; but confidence is, more than any other -thing, a matter of interchange, and cannot be bestowed unless the giver -is certain of its being received. They had too little sympathy of taste -or idea, and were too little in the habit of communicating their inmost -thoughts, to make Ethel recur to her aunt. Besides, young love is ever -cradled in mystery;--to reveal it to the vulgar eye, appears at once to -deprive it of its celestial loveliness, and to marry it to the clodlike -earth. But alone--alone--she could think over the past day--recall its -minutest incident; and as she imaged to herself the speaking fondness of -her lover's eyes, her own closed, and a thrilling sense of delight swept -through her frame. What a different world was this to what it had been -the day before! The whole creation was invested by a purer atmosphere, -balmy as paradise, which no disquieting thought could penetrate. She -called upon her father's spirit to approve her attachment; and when she -reflected that Edward's hand had supported his dying head--that to -Edward Villiers's care his latest words had intrusted her,--she felt as if -she were a legacy bequeathed to him, and that she fulfilled Lodore's last -behests in giving herself to him. So sweetly and fondly did her gentle -heart strive to make a duty of her wishes; and the idea of her father's -approbation set the seal of perfect satisfaction on her dream of bliss. - -It was somewhat otherwise with Villiers. Things went on as before, and -he came nearly every day to Richmond; but while Ethel rested satisfied -with seeing him, and receiving slight, cherished tokens of his unabated -regard,--as his voice assumed a more familiar tone, and his attentions -became more affectionate;--while these were enough for Ethel, he thought -of the future, and saw it each day dressed in gloomier colours. In -Ethel's presence, indeed, he forgot all but her. He loved her fervently, -and beheld in her all that he most admired in woman: her clearness of -spirit, her singleness of heart, her unsuspicious and ingenuous -disposition, were irresistibly fascinating;--and why not spend their -lives thus in solitude?--his--their mutual fortune might afford -this:--why not for ever thus--the happy--the beloved?--his life might -pass like a dream of joy; and that paradise might be realized on earth, -the impossibility of which philosophers have demonstrated, and -worldlings scoffed at. - -Thus he thought while in the same room with Ethel;--while on his evening -ride back to town, her form glided before him, and her voice sounded in -his ears, it seemed that where Ethel was, no one earthly bliss could be -wanting; where she was not, a void must exist, dark and dreary as a -starless night. But his progress onward took him out of the magic circle -her presence drew; a portion of his elevated feeling deserted him at -each step; it fell off, like the bark pealing from a tree, in successive -coats, till he was left with scarce a vestige of its brightness;--as the -hue and the scent deserts the flower, when deprived of light,--so, when -away from Ethel, her lover lost half the excellence which her presence -bestowed. - -Edward Villiers was eminently sociable in his disposition. He had been -brought up in the thick of life, and knew not how to live apart from it. -His frank and cordial heart danced within his bosom, when he was among -those who sympathized with, and liked him. He was much courted in -society, and had many favourites: and how Ethel would like these, and be -liked by them, was a question he perpetually asked himself. He knew the -worldliness of many,--their defective moral feeling, and their narrow -views; but he believed that they were attached to him, and no man was -ever less a misanthrope than he. He wished, if married to Ethel, to see -her a favourite in his own circle; but he revolted from the idea of -presenting her, except under favourable auspices, surrounded by the -decorations of rank and wealth. To give up the world, the English world, -formed no portion of his picture of bliss; and to occupy a subordinate, -degraded, permitted place in it, was, to one initiated in its -supercilious and insolent assumptions, not to be endured. - -The picture had also a darker side, which was too often turned towards -him. If he felt hesitation when he regarded its brighter aspect, as soon -as this was dimmed, the whole current of his feelings turned the other -way; and he called himself villain, for dreaming of allying Ethel, not -to poverty alone, but to its worst consequences and disgrace, in the -shape of debt. "I am a beggar," he thought; "one of many wants, and -unable to provide for any;--the most poverty-stricken of beggars, who -has pledged away even his liberty, were it claimed of him. I look -forward to the course of years with disgust. I cannot calculate the ills -that may occur, or with how tremendous a weight the impending ruin may -fall. I can bear it alone; but did I see _her_ humiliated, whom I would -gladly place on a throne,--by heavens! I could not endure life on such -terms! and a pistol, or some other dreadful means, would put an end to -an existence become intolerable." - -As these thoughts fermented within him, he longed to pour them out -before Ethel; to unload his mind of its care, to express the sincere -affection that led him to her side, and yet urged him to exile himself -for ever. He rode over each day to Richmond, intent on such a design; -but as he proceeded, the fogs and clouds that thickened round his soul -grew lighter. At first his pace was regulated; as he drew nearer, he -pressed his horse's flank with impatient heel, and bounded forward. Each -turn in the road was a step nearer the sunshine. Now the bridge, the -open field, the winding lane, were passed; the walls of her abode, and -its embowered windows, presented themselves;--they met; and the glad -look that welcomed him drove far away every thought of banishment, and -dispelled at once every remnant of doubt and despondency. - -This state of things might have gone on much longer,--already had it -been protracted for two months,--but for an accidental conversation -between Lady Lodore and Villiers. Since the morning after the opera, they -had scarcely seen each other. Edward's heart was too much occupied to -permit him to join in the throng of a ball-room; and they had no chance of -meeting, except in general society. One evening, at the opera, the lady -who accompanied Lady Lodore, asked a gentleman, who had just come into -their box, "What had become of Edward Villiers?--he was never to be -seen?" - -"He is going to be married," was the reply: "he is in constant -attendance on the fair lady at Richmond." - -"I had not heard of this," observed Lady Lodore, who, for Horatio's sake, -felt an interest for his favourite cousin. - -"It is very little known. The _fiancée_ lives out of the world, and no -one can tell any thing about her. I did hear her name. Young Craycroft -has seen them riding together perpetually in Richmond Park and on -Wimbledon Common, he told me. Miss Fitzroy--no;--Miss Fitz-something it -is;--Fitzgeorge?--no;--Fitzhenry?--yes; Miss Fitzhenry is the name." - -Cornelia reddened, and asked no more questions. She controlled her -agitation; and at first, indeed, she was scarcely aware how much she -felt: but while the whole house was listening to a favourite air, and -her thoughts had leisure to rally, they came on her painfully, and -involuntary tears filled her eyes. It was sad, indeed, to hear of her -child as of a stranger; and to be made to feel sensibly how wide the -gulf was that separated them. "My sweet girl--my own Ethel!--are you, -indeed, so lost to me?" As her heart breathed this ejaculation, she felt -the downy cheek of her babe close to her's, and its little fingers press -her bosom. A moment's recollection brought another image:--Ethel, grown -up to womanhood, educated in hatred of her, negligent and -unfilial;--this was not the little cherub whose loss she lamented. Let -her look round the crowd then about her; and among the fair girls she -saw, any one was as near her in affection and duty, as the child so -early torn from her, to be for ever estranged and lost. - -The baleful part of Cornelia's character was roused by these -reflections; her pride, her selfwill, her spirit of resistance. "And for -this she has been taken from me," she thought, "to marry, while yet a -child, a ruined man--to be wedded to care and indigence. Thus would it -not have been had she been entrusted to me. O, how hereafter she may -regret the injuries of her mother, when she feels the effects of them in -her own adversity! It is not for me to prevent this ill-judged union. -The aunt and niece would see in my opposition a motive to hasten it: -wise as they fancy themselves--wise and good--what I, the reviled, -reprobated, they would therefore pursue with more eagerness. Be it -so--my day will yet come!" - -A glance of triumph shot across her face as she indulged in this emotion -of revenge; the most deceitful and reprehensible of human -feelings--revenge against a child--how sad at best--how sure to bring -with it its recompense of bitterness of spirit and remorse! But -Cornelia's heart had been rudely crushed, and in the ruin of her best -affections, her mother had substituted noxious passions of many -kinds--pride chief of all. - -While thus excited and indignant, she saw Edward Villiers. He came into -her box; the lady with her was totally unaware of what had been passing -in her thoughts, nor reverted to the name mentioned as having any -connexion with her. She asked Villiers if it were true that he was going -to be married? Lady heard the question; she turned on him her eyes full -of significant meaning, and with a smile of scorn answered for him, "O -yes, Mr. Villiers is going to be married. His bride is young, beautiful, -and portionless; but he has the tastes of a hermit--he means to emigrate -to America--his simple and inexpensive habits are admirably suited to -the wilderness." - -This was said as if in jest, and answered in the same tone. The third in -the trio joined in, quite unaware of the secret meaning of the -conversation. Several bitter allusions were made by Lady Lodore, and the -truth of all she said sent her words home to Edward's heart. She drew, as -if playfully, a representation of highbred indigence, that made his blood -curdle. As if she could read his thoughts, she echoed their worst -suggestions, and unrolled the page of futurity, such as he had often -depicted it to himself, presenting in sketchy, yet forcible colours, a -picture from which his soul recoiled. He would have escaped, but there -was a fascination in the topic, and in the very bitterness of spirit -which she awakened. He rather encouraged her to proceed, while he -abhorred her for so doing, acknowledging the while the justice of all -she said. Lady Lodore was angry, and she felt pleasure in the pain she -inflicted; her wit became keener, her sarcasm more pointed, yet stopping -short with care of any thing that should betray her to their companion, -and avoiding, with inimitable tact, any expression that should convey to -one not in the secret, that she meant any thing more than raillery or -good-humoured quizzing, as it is called. - -At length Villiers took his leave. "Were I," he said, "the unfortunate -man you represent me to be, you would have to answer for my life this -night. But re-assure yourself--it is all a dream. I have no thoughts of -marrying; and the fair girl, whose fate as my wife Lady Lodore so kindly -compassionates, is safe from every danger of becoming the victim of my -selfishness and poverty." - -This was said laughing, yet an expressive intonation of voice conveyed -his full meaning to Cornelia. "I have done a good deed if I have -prevented this marriage," she thought; "yet a thankless one. After all, -he is a gentleman, and under sister Bessy's guardianship, poor Ethel -might fall into worse hands." - -While Lady Lodore thus dismissed her anger and all thought of its cause, -Villiers felt more resentment than had ever before entered his kind -heart. The truths which the lady had spoken were unpalatable, and the -mode in which they were uttered was still more disagreeable. He hated -her for having discovered them, and for presenting them so vividly to -his sight. At one moment he resolved never to see Ethel more; while he -felt that he loved her with tenfold tenderness, and would have given -worlds to become the source of all happiness to her--wishing this the -more ardently, because her mother had pictured him as being the cause to -her of every ill. - -Edward's nature was very impetuous, but perfectly generous. The tempest -of anger allayed, he considered all that Lady Lodore had said impartially; -and while he felt that she had only repeated what he had told himself a -thousand times, he resolved not to permit resentment to controul him, -and to turn him from the right path. He felt also, that he ought no -longer to delay acting on his good resolutions. His intercourse with -Miss Fitzhenry had begun to attract attention, and must therefore cease. -Once again he would ride over to Richmond--once again see her--say -farewell, and then stoically banish every pleasant dream--every -heart-enthralling hope--willingly sacrificing his dearest wishes at the -shrine of her welfare. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -She to a window came, that opened west, -Towards which coast her love his way addrest, -There looking forth, she in her heart did find -Many vain fancies working her unrest, -And sent her winged thoughts more swift than wind -To bear unto her love the message of her mind. - -THE FAERIE QUEEN. - - -Ethel, happy in her seclusion, was wholly unaware of her mother's -interference and its effects. She had not the remotest suspicion that it -would be considered as conducive to her welfare to banish the only -friend that she had in the world. In her solitary position, life was a -blank without Edward; and while she congratulated herself on her good -fortune in the concurrence of circumstances that had brought them -together, and, as she believed, established her happiness on the dearest -and most secure foundations, she was far from imagining that he was -perpetually revolving the necessity of bidding her adieu for ever. If -she had been told two years before, that all intercourse between her and -her father were to cease, it would scarcely have seemed more unnatural -or impossible, than that such a decree should be issued to divide her -from one to whom her young heart was entirely given. She relied on him -as the support of her life--her guide and protector--she loved him as -the giver of good to her--she almost worshipped him for the many -virtues, which he either really possessed, or with which her fondness -bounteously gifted him. - -Meanwhile the unacute observations of Mrs. Fitzhenry began to be -awakened. She gave herself great credit for discovering that there was -something singular in the constant attendance of Edward, and yet, in -fact, she owed her illumination on this point to her man of law. Mr. -Humphries, whom she had seen on business the day before, finding how -regular a visitor Villiers was, and their only one, first elevated his -eyebrows and then relaxed into a smile, as he said, "I suppose I am soon -to wish Miss Fitzhenry joy." This same day Edward had ridden down to -them; a violent storm prevented his return to town; he slept at the inn -and breakfasted with the ladies in the morning. There was something -familiar and home-felt in his appearance at the breakfast-table, that -filled Ethel with delight. "Women," says the accomplished author of Paul -Clifford, "think that they must always love a man whom they have seen in -his nightcap." There is deep philosophy in this observation, and it was -a portion of that feeling which made Ethel feel so sweetly complacent, -when Villiers, unbidden, rang the bell, and gave his orders to the -servant, as if he had been at home. - -Aunt Bessy started a little; and while the young people were strolling -in the shrubbery and renewing the flowers in the vases, she was -pondering on the impropriety of their position, and wondering how she -could break off an intimacy she had hitherto encouraged. But one way -presented itself to her plain imagination, the old resource, a return to -Longfield. With light heart and glad looks, Ethel bounded up stairs to -dress for dinner, and she was twining her ringlets round her taper -fingers before the glass, when her aunt entered with a look of serious -import. "My dear Ethel, I have something important to say to you." - -Ethel stopped in her occupation and turned inquiring eyes on her aunt; -"My dear," continued Mrs. Fitzhenry, "we have been a long time away; if -you please, we will return to Longfield." - -This time Ethel did not grow pale; she turned again to the mirror, -saying with a smile that lighted her whole countenance, "Dear aunt, that -is impossible--I would rather not." - -No negative could have been more imposing on the good lady than this; -she did not know how to reply, how to urge her wish. "Dearest aunt," -continued her niece, "you are losing time--dinner will be announced, and -you are not dressed. We will talk of Longfield to-morrow--we must not -keep Mr. Villiers waiting." - -It was often the custom of Aunt Bessy, like the father of Hamlet, to -sleep after dinner, she did not betake herself to her orchard, but her -arm-chair, for a few minutes' gentle doze. Ethel and Villiers meanwhile -walked out, and, descending to the river side, they were enticed by the -beauty of the evening to go upon the water. Ethel was passionately fond -of every natural amusement; boating was a pleasure that she enjoyed -almost more than any other, and one with which she was seldom indulged; -for her spinster aunt had so many fears and objections, and considered -every event but sitting still in her drawing-room, or a quiet drive with -her old horses, as so fraught with danger and difficulty, that it -required an absolute battle ever to obtain her consent for her niece to -go on the river--she would have died before she could have entered a -boat herself, and, walking at the water's edge, she always insisted that -Ethel should keep close to the bank, while, by the repetition of -expressions of alarm and entreaties to return, she destroyed every -possibility of enjoyment. - -The river sped swiftly on, calm and free. There is always life in a -stream, of which a lake is frequently deprived, when sleeping beneath a -windless sky. A river pursues for ever its course, accomplishing the -task its Creator has imposed, and its waters are for ever changing while -they seem the same. It was a balmy summer evening; the air seemed to -brood over the earth, warming and nourishing it. All nature reposed, and -yet not as a lifeless thing, but with the same enjoyment of rest as -gladdened the hearts of the two beings, who, with gratitude and love, -drank in the influence of this softest hour of day. The equal splash of -the oar, or its dripping when suspended, the clear reflection of tree -and lawn in the river, the very colour of the stream, stolen as it was -from heaven itself, the plash of the wings of the waterfowl who skimmed -the waves towards their rushy nests,--every sound and every appearance -was beautiful, harmonious, and soothing. Ethel's soul was at peace; -grateful to Heaven, and satisfied with every thing around her, a -tenderness beamed from her eyes, and was diffused over her attitude, and -attuned her voice, which acted as a spell to make Edward forget every -thing but herself. - -They had both been silent for some time, a sweet silence more eloquent -than any words, when Ethel observed, "My aunt wishes to return to -Longfield." - -Villiers started as if he had trodden upon a serpent, exclaiming, "To -Longfield! O yes! that were far best--when shall you go?" - -"Why is it best? Why should we go?" asked Ethel with surprise. - -"Because," replied Villiers impetuously, "it had been better that you -had never left it--that we had never met! It is not thus that I can -fulfil my promise to your father to guard and be kind to his child. I am -practising on your ignorance, taking advantage of your loneliness, and -doing you an injury, for which I should call any other a villain, were -he guilty." - -It was the very delight that Edward had been a moment before enjoying, -the very beauty and calmness of nature, and the serenity and kindness of -the sweet face turned towards him, which stirred such bitterness; -checking himself, however, he continued after a pause, in a more -subsided tone. - -"Are there any words by which I can lay bare my heart to you, -Ethel?--None! To speak of my true and entire attachment, is almost an -insult; and to tell you, that I tear myself from you for your own sake, -sounds like impertinence. Yet all this is true; and it is the reverence -that I have for your excellence, the idolatry which your singleness of -heart and sincere nature inspires, which prompts me to speak the truth, -though that be different from the usual language of gallantry, or what -is called love. - -"Will you hate me or pity me most, when I speak of my determination -never to see you more? You cannot guess how absolutely I am a ruined -man--how I am one of those despicable hangers-on of the rich and noble, -who cover my rags with mere gilding. I am a beggar--I have not a -shilling that I can call my own, and it is only by shifts and meannesses -that I can go on from day to day, while each one menaces me with a -prison or flight to a foreign country. - -"I shall go--and you will regret me, Ethel, or you will despise me. It -were best of all that you forgot me. I am not worthy of you--no man -could be; that I have known you and loved you--and for your sake, -banished myself from you, will be the solitary ray of comfort that will -shed some faint glow over my chilled and darkened existence. Will you -say even now one word of comfort to me?" - -Ethel looked up; the pure affectionateness of her heart prevented her -from feeling for herself, she thought only of her lover. "Would that I -could comfort you," she said. "You will do what you think right, and -that will be your best consolation. Do not speak of hatred, or contempt, -or indifference. I shall not change though we part for ever: how is it -possible that I should ever cease to feel regard for one who has ever -been kind, considerate, and generous to me? Go, if you think it right--I -am a foolish girl, and know nothing of the world; and I will not doubt -that you decide for the best." - -Villiers took her hand and held it in his; his heart was penetrated by -her disinterested self-forgetfulness and confidence. He felt that he was -loved, and that he was about to part from her for ever. The pain and -pleasure of these thoughts mingled strangely--he had no words to express -them, he felt that it would be easier to die than to give her up. - -Aunt Bessy, on the river's bank imploring their return, recalled them -from the fairy region to which their spirits had wandered. For one -moment they had been united in sentiment; one kindred emotion of perfect -affection had, as it were, married their souls one to the other; at the -alien sound of poor Bessy's voice the spell fled away on airy wings, -leaving them disenchanted. The rudder was turned, the boat reached the -shore, and unable to endure frivolous talk about any subject except the -one so near his heart, Villiers departed and rode back to town, -miserable yet most happy--despairing yet full of joy; to such a riddle, -love, which finds its completion in sympathy, and knows no desire -beyond, is the only solution. - -The feelings of Ethel were even more unalloyed. She had no doubts about -the future, the present embraced the world. She did not attempt to -unravel the dreamy confusion of her thoughts, or to clear up the golden -mist that hung before, curtaining most gloriously the reality beyond. -Her step was buoyant, her eyes sparkling and joyous. Love and gladness -sat lightly on her bosom, and gratitude to Heaven for bestowing so deep -a sense of happiness was the only sentiment that mingled with these. -Villiers, on leaving them, had promised to return the next day; and on -the morrow she rose, animated with such a spirit as may be kindled -within the bosom of an Enchantress, when she pronounces the spell which -is to controul the movements of the planetary orbs. She was more than -queen of the world, for she was empress of Edward's heart, and ruling -there, she reigned over the course of destiny, and bent to her will the -conflicting elements of life. - -He did not come. It was strange. Now hope, now fear, were interchanged -one for the other, till night and certain disappointment arrived. Yet it -was not much--the morrow's sun would light him on his way to her. To -cheat the lagging hours of the morrow, she occupied herself with her -painting and music, tasking herself to give so many hours to her -employments, thus to add speed to the dilatory walk of time. The long -day was passed in fruitless expectation--another and another succeeded. -Was he ill? What strange mutation in the course of nature had occurred -to occasion so inexplicable an absence? - -A week went by, and even a second was nearly spent. She had not -anticipated this estrangement. Day by day she went over in her mind -their last conversation, and Edward's expressions gathered decision and -a gloomy reality as she pondered on them. The idea of an heroic -sacrifice on his part, and submission to his will on hers, at first -soothed her--but never to see him more, was an alternative that tasked -her fortitude too high; and while her heart felt all the tumults of -despair, she found herself asking what his love could be, that could -submit to lose her? Love in a cottage is the dream of many a high-born -girl, who is not allowed to dance with a younger brother at Almack's; -but a secluded, an obscure, an almost cottage life, was all that Ethel -had ever known, and all that she coveted. Villiers rejected this--not -for her sake, that could not be, but for the sake of a world, which he -called frivolous and vain, and yet to whose tyranny he bowed. To -disentwine the tangled skein of thought which was thus presented, was -her task by day and night. She awoke in the morning, and her first -thought was, "Will he come?" She retired at night, and sleep visited her -eyes, while she was asking herself, "Why has he not been?" During the -day, these questions, in every variety, forced her attention. To escape -from her aunt, to seek solitude, to listen to each sound that might be -his horse, and to feel her heart sicken at the still renewed -disappointment, became, in spite of herself, all her occupation: she -might bend over her drawing, or escape from her aunt's conversation to -the piano; but these were no longer employments, but rather means -adopted to deliver herself up more entirely to her reveries. - -The third, the fourth week came, and the silence of death was between -Ethel and her friend. O but for one word, one look to break the spell! -Was she indeed never to see him more? Was all, all over?--was the -harmony their two hearts made, jarred into discord?--was she again the -orphan, alone in the world?--and was the fearless reliance she had -placed upon fate and Edward's fidelity, mere folly or insanity?--and was -desecration and forgetfulness to come over and to destroy the worship -she had so fondly cherished? Nothing had she to turn to--nothing to -console her. Her life became one thought, it twined round her soul like -a serpent, and compressed and crushed every other emotion with its -folds. "I could bear all," she thought, "were I permitted to see him -only once again." - -She and Mrs. Fitzhenry were invited by Mrs. Humphries to dine with her. -They were asked to the awful ceremony of spending a long day, which, in -the innocence of her heart, Mrs. Fitzhenry fancied the most delightful -thing in the world. She thought that kindness and friendship demanded of -her that she should be in Montague-square by ten in the morning. -Notwithstanding every exertion, she could not get there till two, and -then, when luncheon was over, she wondered why the gap of time till -seven appeared so formidable. This was to be got over by a drive in -Hyde-park. Ethel had shown peculiar pleasure in the idea of visiting -London; she had looked bright and happy during their journey to town, -but anxiety and agitation clouded her face, at the thought of the park, -of the crisis about to arrive, at the doubt and hope she entertained of -finding Villiers there. - -The park became crowded, but he was not in the drive; at length he -entered in the midst of a bevy of fair cousins, whom Ethel did not know -as such. He entered on horseback, flanked on either side by pretty -equestrians, looking as gay and light-hearted, as she would have done, -had she been one, the chosen one among his companions. Twice he passed. -The first time his head was averted--he saw nothing, she even did not -see his face: the next time, his eye caught the aspect of the well-known -chariot--he glanced eagerly at those it contained, kissed his hand, and -went on. Ethel's heart died within her. It was all over. She was the -neglected, the forgotten; but while she turned her face to the other -window of the carriage, so to hide its saddened expression from her -companion, a voice, the dearest, sweetest voice she had ever heard, the -soft harmonious voice, whose accents were more melodious than music, -asked, "Are you in town? have you left Richmond?" In spite of herself, a -smile mantled over her countenance, dimpling it into gladness, and she -turned to see the beloved speaker who had not deserted her--who was -there; she turned, but there was no answering glance of pleasure in the -face of Villiers--he looked grave, and bowed, as if in this act of -courtesy he fulfilled all of friendly interchange that was expected of -him, and rode off. He was gone--and seen no more. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -Sure, when the separation has been tried, -That we, who part in love, shall meet again. - -WORDSWORTH. - - -This little event roused Ethel to the necessity of struggling with the -sentiment to which hitherto she had permitted unquestioned power. There -had been a kind of pleasure mingled with her pain, while she believed -that she suffered for her lover's sake, and in obedience to his will. To -love in solitude and absence, was, she well knew, the lot of many of her -sex, and all that is imaginative and tender lends poetry to the emotion. -But to love without return, her father had taught her was shame and -folly--a dangerous and undignified sentiment that leads many women into -acts of humiliation and misery. He spoke the more warmly on this -subject, because he desired to guard his daughter by every possible -means from a fate too common. He knew the sensibility and constancy of -her nature. He dreaded to think that these should be played upon, and -that her angelic sweetness should be sacrificed at the altar of hopeless -passion. That all the powers he might gift her with, all the fortitude -and all the pride that he strove to instil, might be insufficient to -prevent this one grand evil, he too well knew; but all that could should -be done, and his own high-souled Ethel should rise uninjured from the -toils of the snarer, the heartless game of the unfaithful lover. - -She steeled her heart against every softer thought, she tasked herself -each day to devote her entire attention to some absorbing employment; to -languages and the composition of music, as occupations that would not -permit her thoughts to stray. She felt a pain deep-seated in her inmost -heart; but she refused to acknowledge it. When a thought, too sweet and -bitter, took perforce possession of the chambers of her brain, she drove -it out with stern and unshaken resolve. She pondered on the best means -to subdue every rebel idea. She rose with the sun, and passed much time -in the open air, that when night came, bodily fatigue might overpower -mental regrets. She conversed with her aunt again about her dear lost -father; that, by renewing images, so long the only ones dear to her, -every subsequent idea might be driven from the place it had usurped. -Always she was rewarded by the sense of doing right, often by really -mitigating the anguish which rose and went to rest with her, and -awakening her in the morning, stung her to renew her endeavours, while -it whispered too audibly, "I am here." She grew pale and thin, and her -eyes again resumed that lustre which spoke a quick and agitated life -within. Her endeavours, by being unremitting, gave too much intensity to -every feeling, and made her live each moment of her existence a -sensitive, conscious life, wearing out her frame, and threatening, while -it accelerated the pulses, to exhaust betimes the animal functions. - -She felt this; and she roused herself to contend afresh with her own -heart. As a last resource she determined to quit Richmond. Her -struggles, and the energy called into action by her fortitude, gave a -tone of superiority to her mind, which her aunt felt and submitted to. -Now when a change of residence was determined upon, she at once -negatived the idea of returning to Longfield--yet whither else betake -themselves? Ethel no longer concealed from herself that she and the -worthy spinster were solitary wanderers on earth, cut off from human -intercourse. A bitter sense of desolation had crept over her from the -moment that she knew herself to be deserted by Villiers. All that was -bright in her position darkened into shadow. She shrunk into herself -when she reflected, that should the ground at her feet open and swallow -her, not one among her fellow-creatures would be sensible that the whole -universe of thought and feeling, which emanated from her breathing -spirit, as water from a living spring, was shrunk up and strangled in a -narrow, voiceless grave. A short time before she had regarded death -without terror, for her father had been its prey, and his image was -often shadowed forth in her fancy, beckoning her to join him. Now it had -become more difficult to die. Nature and love were wedded in her mind, -and it was a bitter pang for one so young to bid adieu to both for ever. -Turning her thoughts from Villiers, she would have been glad to discover -any link that might enchain her to the mass. She reverted to her mother. -Her inexperience, her youth, and the timidity of her disposition, -prevented her from making any endeavour to break through the wall of -unnatural separation raised between them. She could only lament. One sign, -one word from Lady Lodore, would have been balm to her poor heart, and -she would have met it with fervent gratitude. But she feared to offend. -She had no hope that any advance would have been met by other than a -disdainful repulse; and she shrunk from intruding herself on her -unwilling parent. She often wept to think that there was none near to -support and comfort her, and yet that at the distance of but a few miles -her mother lived--whose very name was the source of the dearest, -sweetest, and most cruel emotions. She thought, therefore, of her -surviving parent only to despair, and to shrink with terror from the -mere possibility of an accidental meeting. - -She earnestly desired to leave England, which had treated her with but a -step-mother's welcome, and to travel away, she knew not whither. Yet -most she wished to go to Italy. Her father had often talked of taking -her to that country, and it was painted in her eyes with the hues of -paradise. She spoke of her desire to her aunt, who thought her mad, and -believed that it was as easy to adventure to the moon, as for two -solitary women to brave alps and earthquakes, banditti and volcanoes, a -savage people and an unknown land. Still, even while she trembled at the -mere notion, she felt that Ethel might lead her thither if she pleased. -It is one of the most beneficent dispensations of the Creator, that -there is nothing so attractive and attaching as affection. The smile of -an infant may command absolutely, because its source is in dependent -love, and the human heart for ever yearns for such demonstration from -another. What would this strange world be without that "touch of -nature?" It is to the immaterial universe, what light is to the visible -creation, scent to the flower, hue to the rainbow; hope, joy, succour, -and self-forgetfulness, where otherwise all would be swallowed up in -vacant and obscure egotism. - -No one could approach Ethel without feeling that she possessed an -irresistible charm. The overflowing and trusting affectionateness of her -nature was a loadstone to draw all hearts. Each one felt, even without -knowing wherefore, that it was happiness to obey, to gratify her. Thus -while a journey to Italy filled Mrs. Elizabeth with alarm, a consent -hovered on her lips, because she felt that any risk was preferable to -disappointing a wish of her gentle niece. - -And yet even then Ethel paused. She began to repent her desire of -leaving the country inhabited by her dearest friend. She felt that she -should have an uncongenial companion in her aunt--the child of the -wilderness and the good lady of Longfield, were like a living and dead -body in conjunction--the one inquiring, eager, enthusiastic even in her -contemplativeness, sensitively awake to every passing object; while the -other dozed her hours away, and fancied that pitfalls and wild beasts -menaced her, if she dared step one inch from the beaten way. - -At this moment, while embarrassed by the very yielding to her desires, -and experiencing a lingering sad regret for all that she was about to -leave behind, Ethel received a letter from Villiers. Her heart beat, and -her fingers trembled, when first she saw, as now she held a paper, which -might be every thing, yet might be nothing to her; she opened it at -last, and forced herself to consider and understand its contents. It was -as follows:-- - - -"DEAR MISS FITZHENRY, - -"Will your aunt receive me with her wonted -kindness when I call to-morrow? I fear to have offended by an appearance -of neglect, while my heart has never been absent from Richmond. Plead my -cause, I entreat you. I leave it in your hands. - -"Ever and ever yours. - -"EDWARD VILLIERS." - -_Grosvenor Square, Saturday._ - - -"Dearest Ethel, have you guessed at my sufferings? Shall you hail with -half the joy that I do, a change which enables you to revoke the decree -of absence so galling at least to one of us? If indeed you have not -forgotten me, I shall be rewarded for the wretchedness of these last -weeks." - - -Ethel kissed the letter and placed it near her heart. A calm joy -diffused itself over her mind; and that she could indeed trust and -believe in him she loved, was the source of a grateful delight, more -medicinal than all the balmy winds of Italy and its promised pleasures. - -When Villiers had last quitted Richmond, he had resolved not to expose -himself again to the influence of Ethel. It was necessary that they -should be divided--how far better that they should never meet again! He -was not worthy of her. Another, more fortunate, would replace him, if he -sacrificed his own selfish feelings, and determinately absented himself -from her. As if to confirm his view of their mutual interest, his elder -cousin, Mr. Saville, had just offered his hand to the daughter of a -wealthy Earl, and had been accepted. Villiers took refuge from his -anxious thoughts among his pretty cousins, sisters of the bridegroom, -and with them the discussion of estates, settlements, princely mansions, -and equipages, was the order of the day. Edward sickened to reflect how -opposite would be the prospect, if his marriage with Ethel were in -contemplation. It was not that a noble establishment would be exchanged -for a modest, humble dwelling--he loved with sufficient truth to feel -that happiness with Ethel transcended the wealth of the world. It was -the absolute penury, the debt, the care, that haunted him and made such -miserable contrast with the tens and hundreds of thousands that were the -subject of discussion on the present occasion. His resolution not to -entangle Ethel in this wilderness of ills, gained strength by every -chance word that fell from the lips of those around him; and the image, -before so vivid, of her home at Richmond, which he might at each hour -enter, of her dear face, which at any minute might again bless his -sight, faded into a far-off vision of paradise, from which he was -banished for ever. - -For a time he persevered in his purpose, if not with ease, yet with less -of struggle than he himself anticipated. That he could at any hour break -the self-enacted law, and behold Ethel, enabled him day after day to -continue to obey it, and to submit to the decree of banishment he had -passed upon himself. He loved his pretty cousins, and their kindness and -friendship soothed him; he spent his days with them, and the familiar, -sisterly intercourse, hallowed by long association, and made tender by -the grace and sweetness of these good girls, compensated somewhat for -the absence of deeper interest. They talked of Horatio also, and that -was a more touching string than all. The almost worship, joined to pity -and fear for him, with which Edward regarded his cousin, made him cling -fondly to those so closely related to him, and who sympathized with, and -shared, his enthusiastic affection. - -This state of half indifference did not last long. His meeting with -Ethel in Hyde Park operated an entire change. He had seen her face but a -moment--her dear face, animated with pleasure at beholding him, and -adorned with more than her usual loveliness. He hurried away, but the -image still pursued him. All at once the world around grew dark and -blank; at every instant his heart asked for Ethel. He thirsted for the -sweet delight of gazing on her soft lustrous eyes, touching her hand, -listening to her voice, whose tones were so familiar and beloved. He -avoided his cousins to hide his regrets; he sought solitude, to commune -with memory; and the intense desire kindled within him to return to her, -was all but irresistible. He had received a letter from Horace Saville -entreating him to join him at Naples; he had contemplated complying, as -a means of obtaining forgetfulness. Should he not, on the contrary, make -this visit with Ethel for his companion? It was a picture of happiness -most enticing; and then he recollected with a pang, that it was -impossible for him to quit England; that it was only by being on the -spot, that he obtained the supplies necessary for his existence. With -bitterness of spirit he recognized once again his state of beggary, and -the hopelessness that attended on all his wishes. - -All at once he was surprised by a message from his father, through Lord -Maristow. He was told of Colonel Villiers's intended marriage with the -only daughter of a wealthy commoner, which yet could not be arranged -without the concurrence of Edward, or rather without sacrifices on his -part for the making of settlements. The entire payment of his debts, and -the promise of fifteen hundred a year for the future, were the bribes -offered to induce him to consent. Edward at once notified his -compliance. He saw the hour of freedom at hand, and the present was too -full of interest, too pregnant with misery or happiness, to allow the -injury done to his future prospects to weigh with him for a moment. Thus -he might purchase his union with Ethel--claim her for his own. With the -thought, a whole tide of tenderness and joy poured quick and warm into -his heart, and it seemed as if he had never loved so devotedly as now. -How false an illusion had blinded him! he fancied that he had banished -hope, while indeed his soul was wedded to her image, and the very -struggle to free himself, had served to make the thought of her more -peremptory and indelible. - -With these thoughts, he again presented himself at Richmond. He asked -Mrs. Fitzhenry's consent to address her niece, and became the accepted -lover of Ethel. The meeting of their two young hearts in the security of -an avowed attachment, after so many hours wasted in despondency and -painful struggles, did not visit the fair girl with emotions of burning -transport: she felt it rather like a return to a natural state of -things, after unnatural deprivation. As if, a young nestling, she had -been driven from her mother's side, and was now restored to the dear -fosterage of her care. She delivered herself up to a calm reliance upon -the future, and saw in the interweaving of duty and affection, the -fulfilment of her destiny, and the confirmation of her earthly -happiness. They were to be joined never to part more! While each -breathed the breath of life, no power could sever them; health or -sickness, prosperity or adversity--these became mere words; her health -and her riches were garnered in his heart, and while she bestowed the -treasures of her affection upon him, could he be poor? It was not -therefore to be her odious part to crush the first and single attachment -of her soul--to tear at once the "painted veil of life," delivering -herself up to cheerless realities--to know that, to do right, she must -banish from her recollection those inward-spoken vows which she should -deem herself of a base inconstant disposition ever to forget. It was not -reserved for her to pass joyless years of solitude, reconciling herself -to the necessity of divorcing her dearest thoughts from their wedded -image. The serene and fair-showing home she coveted was open before -her--she might pass within its threshold, and listen to the closing of -the doors behind, as they shut out the world from her, with pure and -unalloyed delight. - -Ethel was very young, yet in youth such feelings are warmer in our -hearts than in after years. We do not know then that we can ever change; -or that, snake-like, casting the skin of an old, care-worn habit, a new -one will come fresh and bright in seeming, as the one before had been, -at the hour of its birth. We fancy then, that if our present and first -hope is disappointed, our lives are a mere blank, not worth a "pin's -fee;" the singleness of our hearts has not been split into the million -hair-like differences, which, woven by time into one texture, clothes us -in prudence as with a garment. We are as if exposed naked to the action -of passions and events, and receive their influence with keen and -fearful sensitiveness. Ethel scarcely heard, and did not listen to nor -understand, the change of circumstances that brought Villiers back to -her--she only knew, that he was confirmed her own. Satisfied with this -delightful conclusion to her sufferings, she placed her destiny in his -hands, without fear or question. - -Mrs. Elizabeth thought her niece very young to marry; but Villiers, who -had, while hesitating, done his best to hide his sweet Ethel away from -every inquisitive eye, now that she was to be his own, hastened to -introduce Lord Maristow (Lady Maristow had died two years before) to -her, and to bring her among his cousins, whom he regarded as sisters. -The change was complete and overwhelming to the fair recluses. Where -before they lived in perpetual tête-à-tête, or separated but to be -alone, they were now plunged into what appeared to them a crowd. Sophia, -Harriet, and Lucy Saville, were high-born, high-bred, and elegant girls, -accustomed to what they called the quiet of domestic life, amidst a -thousand relations and ten thousand acquaintances. No female relative -had stepped into their mother's place, and they were peculiarly -independent and high-spirited; they had always lived in what they called -the world, and knew nothing but what that world contained. Their manners -were easy, their tempers equable and affectionate. If their dispositions -were not all exactly alike, they had a family resemblance that drew them -habitually near each other. They received Ethel among their number with -cordiality, bestowing on her every attention which politeness and -kindness dictated. Yet Ethel felt somewhat as a wild antelope among tame -ones. Their language, the topics of their discourse, their very -occupations, were all new to her. She lent herself to their customs with -smiles and sweetness, but her eye brightened when Edward came, and she -often unconsciously retreated to his side as a shelter and a refuge. -Edward's avocations had been as worldly perhaps as those of his pretty -cousins; but a man is more thrown upon the reality of life, while girls -live altogether in a factitious state. He had travelled much, and seen -all sorts of people. Besides, between him and Ethel, there was that mute -language which will make those of opposite sexes intelligible to one -another, even when literally not understanding each other's dialect. -Villiers found no deficiency of intelligence or sympathy in Ethel, while -the fashionable girls to whom he had introduced her felt a little at a -loss how to entertain the stranger. - -Lord Maristow and his family had been detained in town till after Mr. -Saville's marriage, and were now very eager to leave it. They remained -out of compliment to Edward, and looked forward impatiently to his -wedding as the event that would set them free. London was empty, the -shooting season had begun; yet still he was delayed by his father. He -wished to sign the necessary papers, and free himself from all business, -that he and his bride might immediately join Horatio at Naples. Yet -still Colonel Villiers's marriage was delayed; till at last he intimated -to his son, that it was postponed for the present, and begged that he -would not remain in England on his account. - -Edward was somewhat staggered by this intelligence. Yet as the letter -that communicated it contained a considerable remittance, he quieted -himself. To give up Ethel now was a thought that did not for a moment -enter his mind; it was but the reflection of the difficulties that would -surround them, if his prospects failed, that for a few seconds clouded -his brow with care. But it was his nature usually to hope the best, and -to trust to fortune. He had never been so prudent as with regard to his -marriage with Ethel; but that was for her sake. This consideration could -not again enter; for, like her, he would, under the near hope of making -her his, have preferred the wilds of the Illinois, with her for his -wife, than the position of the richest English nobleman, deprived of -such a companion. His heart, delivered up to love, was complete in its -devotion and tenderness. He was already wedded to her in soul, and would -sooner have severed his right arm from his body, than voluntarily have -divided himself from this dearer part of himself. This "other half," -towards whom he felt as if literally he had, to give her being, - - -"Lent -Out of his side to her, nearest his heart; -Substantial life, to have her by his side, -Henceforth an individual solace dear." - - -With these feelings, an early day was urged and named; and, drawing -near, Ethel was soon to become a bride. On first making his offer, -Villiers had written to Lady Lodore; and Mrs. Fitzhenry, much against her -will, by the advice of her solicitor, did the same. Lady Lodore was in -Scotland. No answer came. The promised day approached; but still she -preserved this silence: it became necessary to proceed without her -consent. Banns were published; and Ethel became the wife of Villiers on -the 25th of October. Lord Maristow hastened down to his Castle to kill -pheasants: while, on her part, Mrs. Fitzhenry took her solitary way to -Longfield, half consoled for separating from Ethel, by this return to -the habits of more than sixty years. In vain had London or Richmond -wooed her stay; in vain was she pressed to pay a visit to Maristow -Castle: to return to her home was a more enticing prospect. Her good old -heart danced within her when she first perceived the village steeple; -the chimneys of her own house made tears spring into her eyes; and when, -indeed, she found herself by the familiar hearth, in the accustomed -arm-chair, and her attentive housekeeper came to ask if she would not -take any thing after her journey, it seemed to her as if all the -delights of life were summed up in this welcome return to monotony and -silence. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -Let me -Awake your love to my uncomforted brother. - -OLD PLAY. - - -Meanwhile Villiers and his bride proceeded on their way to Naples. It -mattered little to Ethel whither they were going, or to whom. Edward was -all in all to her; and the vehicle that bore them along in their journey -was a complete and perfect world, containing all that her heart desired. -They avoided large towns, and every place where there was any chance of -meeting an acquaintance. They passed up the Rhine, and Ethel often -imaged forth, in her fancy, a dear home in a secluded nook; and longed -to remain there, cut off from the world, for ever. She had no thought -but for her husband, and gratitude to Heaven for the happiness showered -on her. Her soul might have been laid bare, each faculty examined, each -idea sifted, and one spirit, one sentiment, one love, would have been -found pervading and uniting them all. The heart of a man is seldom as -single and devoted as that of a woman. In the present instance, it was -natural that Edward should not be so absolutely given up to one thought -as was his bride. Ethel's affections had never been called forth except -by her father, and by him who was now her husband. When it has been -said, that she thought of heaven to hallow and bless her happiness, it -must be understood that the dead made a part of that heaven, to which -she turned her eyes with such sweet thankfulness. She was constant to -the first affection of her heart. She might be said to live perpetually -in thought beside her father's grave. Before she had wept and sorrowed -near it; now she placed the home of her happy married life close to the -sacred earth, and fancied that its mute inhabitant was the guardian -angel to watch over and preserve her. - -Villiers had lived among many friends, and was warmly attached to -several. His cousin Horatio was dearer to him than any thing had ever -been, till he knew Ethel. Even now he revered him more, and felt a kind -of duteous attachment drawing him towards him. He wanted Horatio to see -and approve of Ethel:--not that he doubted what his opinion of her would -be; but the delight which his own adoration of her excellence imparted -to him would be doubled, when he saw it shared and confirmed by his -friend. Besides this, he was anxious to see Horace on his own account. -He wished to know whether he was happy in his marriage; whether Clorinda -were worthy of him; and if Lady Lodore were entirely forgotten. As they -advanced on their journey, his desire to see his cousin became more and -more present to his mind; and he talked of him to Ethel, and imparted to -her a portion of his fervent and affectionate feelings. - -Entering Switzerland, they came into a world of snow. Here and there, on -the southern side of a mountain, a lawny upland might disclose itself in -summer verdure; and the brawling torrents, increased by the rains, were -not yet made silent by frost. Edward had visited these scenes before; -and he could act the guide to his enraptured Ethel, who remembered her -father's glowing descriptions; and while she gazed with breathless -admiration, saw his step among the hills, and thought that his eye had -rested on the wonders she now beheld. Soon the mountains, the -sky-seeking "palaces of nature," were passed, and they entered fair, -joyous Italy. At each step they left winter far behind. Ethel would -willingly have lingered in Florence and Rome; but once south of the -Appenines, Edward was eager to reach Naples; and the letters he got from -Saville spurred him on to yet greater speed. - -Before leaving England, Lucy Saville had said to Ethel,--"You are now -taking our other comfort from us; and what we are to do without either -Horatio or Edward, I am unable to conjecture. We shall be like a house -without its props. Divided, they are not either of them half what they -were joined. Horace is so prudent, so wise, so considerate, so -sympathizing; Edward so active and so kind-hearted. In any difficulty, -we always asked Horace what we ought to do; and Edward did the thing -which he pointed out. - -"Horatio's marriage was a sad blow to us all. You will bring Edward -back, and we shall be the happier for your being with him; but shall we -ever see our brother again?--or shall we only see him to lament the -change? Not that he can ever really alter; his heart, his understanding, -his goodness, are as firm as rock; but there is that about him which -makes him too much the slave of those he is in immediate contact with. -He abhors strife; the slightest disunion is mortal to him. He is not of -this world. Pure-minded as a woman, honourable as a knight of old, he is -more like a being we read of, and his match is not to be found upon -earth. Horatio never loved but once, and his attachment was unfortunate. -He loved Lady----" Here recollection dyed Miss Saville's cheeks with -crimson: she had forgotten that Lady Lodore was the mother of Ethel. After -a moment's hesitation she continued:--"I have no right to betray the -secrets of others. Horace was a discarded lover; and he was forced to -despise the lady whom he had imagined possessed of every excellence. For -the first time he was absorbed in what may be termed a selfish -sentiment. He could not bear to see any of us: he fled even from Edward, -and wandering away, we heard at last that he was at Naples, whither he -had gone quite unconscious of the spot of earth to which he was bending -his steps. The first letter we got from him was dated from that place. -His letter was to me; for I am his favourite sister; and God knows my -devoted affection, my worship of him, deserves this preference. You -shall read it; it is the most perfect specimen of enthusiastic and -heart-moving eloquence ever penned. He had been as in a trance, and -awoke again to life as he looked down from Pausilippo on the Bay of -Naples. The attachment to one earthly object, which preyed on his being, -was suddenly merged in one universal love and adoration. He saw that the -"creation was good;" he purged his heart at once of the black spot which -had blotted and marred its beauty; and opened his whole soul to pure, -elevated, heavenly love. I tamely quote his burning and transparent -expressions, through which you may discern, as in a glass, the glorious -excellence of his soul." - -"But, alas! this state of holy excitement could not endure; something -human will still creep in to mingle with and sully our noblest -aspirations. Horatio was taken by an acquaintance to see a beautiful -girl at a convent; in a fatal moment an English lady said to him, 'Come, -and I will show you what perfect beauty is:' and those words decided my -poor brother's destiny. Of course I only know our new sister through his -letters. He told us that Clorinda was shut up in this convent through -the heartless vanity of her mother, who dreaded her as a rival, to wait -there till her parents should find some suitable match, which she must -instantly accept, or be doomed to seclusion for ever. In his younger -days Horace had said, 'I am in love with an idea, and therefore women -have no power over me.' But the time came when his heart was to be the -dupe of his imagination--so was it with his first love--so now, I fear, -did he deceive himself with regard to Clorinda. He declared indeed that -his love for her was not an absorbing passion like his first, but a -mingling of pity, admiration, and that tenderness which his warm heart -was ever ready to bestow. He described her as full of genius and -sensibility, a creature of fire and power, but dimmed by sorrow, and -struggling with her chains. He visited her again; he tried to comfort, -he offered to serve her. It was the first time that a manly, generous -spirit had ever presented itself to the desponding girl. The high-souled -Englishman appeared as a god beside her sordid countrymen; indeed, -Horatio would have seemed such compared with any of his sex; his -fascination is irresistible--Clorinda felt it; she loved him with -Italian fervour, and the first word of kindness from him elicited a -whole torrent of gratitude and passion. Horace had no wish to marry; his -old wound was by no means healed, but rather opened, and bled afresh, -when he was called upon to answer the enthusiastic ardour of the Italian -girl. He felt at once the difference of his feeling for her, and the -engrossing sentiment of which he had been nearly the victim. But he -could rescue her from an unworthy fate, and make her happy. He acted -with his usual determination and precipitancy, and within a month she -became his wife. Here ends my story; his letters were more concise after -his marriage. At first I attributed this to his having a new and dearer -friend, but latterly when he has written he has spoken with such -yearning fondness for home, that I fear--And then when I offered to -visit him, he negatived my proposition. How unlike Horatio! it can only -mean that his wife was averse to my coming. I have questioned slightly -any travellers from Italy. Mrs. Saville seldom appears in English -society except at balls, and then she is always surrounded by Italians. -She is decidedly correct in her conduct, but more I cannot tell. Her -letters to us are beautifully written, and of her talents, even her -genius, I do not entertain a doubt. Perhaps I am prejudiced, but I fear -a Neapolitan, or rather, I should say, I fear a convent education; and -that taste which leads her to associate with her own demonstrative, -unrefined countrymen, instead of trying to link herself to her husband's -friends. I may be wrong--I shall be glad to be found so. Will you tell -me whether I am? I rather ask you than Edward, because your feminine -eyes will discern the truth of these things quicker than he. Happy girl! -you are going to see Horatio--to find a new, gifted, fond friend; one as -superior to his fellow-creatures, as perfection is superior to frailty." - -This account, remembered with more interest now that she approached the -subject of it, excited Ethel's curiosity, and she began, as they went on -their way from Rome to Naples, in a great degree to participate in -Edward's eagerness to see his cousin. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Sad and troubled? -How brave her anger shows! How it sets off -Her natural beauty! Under what happy star -Was Virolet born, to be beloved and sought -By two incomparable women? - -FLETCHER. - - -It was the month of December when the travellers arrived at this "piece -of heaven dropt upon earth," as the natives themselves name it. The moon -hung a glowing orb in the heavens, and lighted up the sea to beauty. A -blood-red flash shot up now and then from Vesuvius; a summer softness -was in the atmosphere, while a thousand tokens presented themselves of a -climate more friendly, more joyous, and more redundant than that of the -northern Isle from which they came. It was very late at night when they -reached their hotel, and they were heartily fatigued, so that it was not -till the next morning, that immediately after breakfast, Villiers left -Ethel, and went out to seek the abode of his cousin. - -He had been gone some little time, when a waiter of the hotel, throwing -open Ethel's drawing-room door, announced "Signor Orazio." Quite new to -Italy, Ethel was ignorant of the custom in that country, of designating -people by their christian names; and that Horatio Saville, being a -resident in Naples, and married to a Neapolitan, was known everywhere by -the appellation which the servant now used. Ethel was not in the least -aware that it was Lucy's brother who presented himself to her. She saw a -gentleman, tall, very slight in person, with a face denoting habitual -thoughtfulness, and stamped by an individuality which she could not tell -whether to think plain, and yet it was certainly open and kind. An -appearance of extreme shyness, almost amounting to awkwardness, was -diffused over him, and his words came hesitatingly; he spoke English, -and was an Englishman--so much Ethel discovered by his first words, -which were, "Villiers is not at home?" and then he began to ask her -about her journey, and how she liked the view of the bay of Naples, -which she beheld from her windows. They were in this kind of trivial -conversation when Edward came bounding up-stairs, and with exclamations -of delight greeted his cousin. Ethel, infinitely surprised, examined her -guest with more care. In a few minutes she began to wonder how she came -to think him plain. His deep-set, dark-grey eyes struck her as -expressive, if not handsome. His features were delicately moulded, and -his fine forehead betokened depth of intellect; but the charm of his -face was a kind of fitful, beamy, inconstant smile, which diffused -incomparable sweetness over his physiognomy. His usual look was cold and -abstracted--his eye speculated with an inward thoughtfulness--a chilling -seriousness sat on his features, but this glancing and varying -half-smile came to dispel gloom, and to invite and please those with -whom he conversed. His voice was modulated by feeling, his language was -fluent, graceful in its turns of expression, and original in the -thoughts which it expressed. His manners were marked by high breeding, -yet they were peculiar. They were formed by his individual disposition, -and under the dominion of sensibility. Hence they were often abrupt and -reserved. He forgot the world around him, and gave token, by absence of -mind, of the absorbing nature of his contemplations. But at a touch this -vanished, and a sweet earnestness, and a beaming kindliness of spirit, -at once displaced his abstraction, rendering him attentive, cordial, and -gay. - -Never had Horatio Saville appeared to so little advantage as during his -short tête-à-tête with his new relative. At all times, when -quiescent, he had a retiring manner, and an appearance, whose want of -pretension did not at first allure, and yet which afterwards formed his -greatest attraction. He was always unembarrassed, and Ethel could not -guess that towards her alone he felt as timid and shy as a girl. It was -with considerable effect that Horatio had commanded himself to appear -before the daughter of Lady Lodore. There was something incongruous and -inconceivable in the idea of the child of Cornelia a woman, married to -his cousin. He feared to see in her an image of the being who had -subdued his heart of hearts, and laid prostrate his whole soul; he -trembled to catch the sound of her voice, lest it might echo tones which -could disturb to their depths his inmost thoughts. Ethel was so unlike -her mother, that by degrees he became reassured; her eyes, her hair, her -stature, and tall slender shape, were the reverse of Lady Lodore; so -that in a little while he ventured to raise his eyes to her face, and to -listen to her, without being preoccupied by a painful sensation, which, -in its violence, resembled terror. It is true that by degrees this -dissimilarity to her mother became less; she had gestures, smiles, and -tones, that were all Lady Lodore, and which, when discerned, struck his -heart with a pang, stealing away his voice, and causing him to stand -suspended in the act he was about, like one acted upon by magic. - -While this mute and curious examination was going on in the minds of -Ethel and her visitant, the conversation had not tarried. Edward had -never been so far south, and the wonders of Naples were as new to him as -to Ethel. Saville was eager to show them, and proposed going that very -day to Pompeii. For, as he said, all their winter was not like the -present day, so that it was best to seize the genial weather while it -lasted. Was Mrs. Villiers too much fatigued? On the contrary, Ethel was -quite on the alert; but first she asked whether Mrs. Saville would not -accompany them. - -"Clorinda," said Horatio, "promises herself much pleasure from your -acquaintance, and intends calling on you to-day at twenty-four o'clock, -that is, at the Ave Maria: how stupid I am," he continued, laughing, "I -quite forget that you are not Italianized, as I am, and do not know the -way in which the people here count their time. Clorinda will call late -in the afternoon, the usual visiting hour at Naples, but she would find -no pleasure in visiting a ruined city and fallen fragments. One house in -the Chiaja is worth fifty Pompeiis in the eyes of a Neapolitan, and -Clorinda is one, heart and soul. I hope you will be pleased with her, -for she is an admirable specimen of her countrywomen, and they are -wonderful and often sublime creatures in their way; but do not mistake -her for an English woman, or you will be disappointed--she has not one -atom of body, one particle of mind, that bears the least affinity to -England. And now, is your carriage ordered?--there it is at the door; -so, as I should say to one of my own dear sisters, put on your bonnet, -Ethel, quickly, and do not keep us waiting; for though at Naples, days -are short in December, and we have none of their light to lose." - -When, after this explanation, Ethel first saw Clorinda, she was inclined -to think that Saville had scarcely done his wife justice. Certainly she -was entirely Italian, but she was very beautiful; her complexion was -delicate, though dark and without much colour. Her hair silken and -glossy as the raven's wing; her large bright black eyes resplendent; the -perfect arch of her brows, and the marmoreal and harmonious grace of her -forehead, such as is never seen in northern lands, except in sculpture -imitated from the Greeks. The lower part of her face was not so good; -her smile was deficient in sweetness, her voice wanted melody, and -sounded loud to an English ear. Her gestures were expressive, but quick -and wanting in grace. She was more agreeable when silent and could be -regarded as a picture, than when called into action. She was -complimentary in her conversation, and her manners were winning by their -frankness and ease. She gesticulated too much, and her features were too -much in motion,--too pantomimely expressive, so to speak, not to impress -disagreeably one accustomed to the composure of the English. Still she -was a beautiful creature; young, artless, desirous to please, and -endowed, moreover, with the vivacious genius, the imaginative talent of -her country. She spoke as if she were passionately attached to her -husband; but when Ethel mentioned his English home and his relations, a -cloud came over the lovely Neapolitan's countenance, and a tremor shook -her frame. "Do not think hardly of me," she said, "I do not hate -England, but I fear it. I am sure I should be disliked there--I should -be censured, perhaps taunted, for a thousand habits and feelings as -natural to me as the air I breathe. I am proud, and I should retort -impertinence, and, displeasing my husband, become miserable beyond -words. Stay with us; you I love, and should be wretched to part from. -Stay and enjoy this paradise with us. Intreat his sisters, if they wish -to see Horatio, to come over. I will be more than a sister to them; but -let us all forget that such a place as that cold, distant England -exists." - -This was Clorinda's usual mode of speaking of her husband's native -country: but once, when Ethel had urged her going there with more -earnestness than usual, suddenly her countenance became disturbed; and -with a lowering and stormy expression of face, that her English friend -could never afterwards forget, she said, "Say not another word, I pray. -Horatio loved--he loves an Englishwoman--it is torture enough for me to -know this. I would rather be torn in quarters by wild horses, broken in -pieces on the rack, than set foot in England. My cousin, as you have -pity for me, and value the life of Horace, use your influence to prevent -his only dreaming of a return to England. Methinks I could strike him -dead, if I only knew that such a thought lived for a second in his -heart." - -These words said, Clorinda resumed her smiles, and was, more than usual, -desirous of flattering and pleasing Ethel; so that she softened, though -she could not erase, the impression her vehemence had made. However, -there appeared no necessity for Ethel to exert her influence. Horace was -equally averse to going to England. He loved to talk of it; he -remembered, with yearning fondness, its verdant beauty, its pretty -villages, its meandering streams, its embowered groves; the spots he had -inhabited, the trivial incidents of his daily life, were recalled with -affection: but he did not wish to return. Villiers attributed this -somewhat to his unforgotten attachment to Lady Lodore; but it was more -strange that he negatived the idea of one of his sisters visiting -him:--"She would not like it," was all the explanation he gave. - -Several months passed lightly over the heads of the new-married pair; -while they, bee-like, sipped the honey of life, and, never cloyed, fed -perpetually on sweets. Naples, its galleries, its classic and beautiful -environs, offered an endless succession of occupation and amusement. The -presence of Saville elevated their pleasures; for he added the living -spirit of poetry to their sensations, and associated the treasures of -human genius with the sublime beauty of nature. He had a tact, a -delicacy, a kind of electric sympathy in his disposition, that endeared -him to every one that approached him. His very singularities, by keeping -alive an interest in him, added to the charm. Sometimes he was so -abstracted as to do the most absent things in the world; and the quick -alternations of his gaiety and seriousness were often ludicrous from -their excess. There was one thing, indeed, to which Ethel found it -difficult to accustom herself, which was his want of punctuality, which -often caused hours to be lost, and their excursions spoiled. Nor did he -ever furnish good excuses, but seemed annoyed at being questioned on the -subject. - -Clorinda never joined them in their drives and rides out of the city. -She feared to trust herself to winds and waves; the heat, the breeze, -the dust, annoyed her; and she found no pleasure in looking at -mountains, which, after all, were only mountains; or ruins, which were -only ruins--stones, fit for nothing but to be removed and thrown away. -But Clorinda had an empire of her own, to which she gladly admitted her -English relatives, and the delights of which they fully appreciated. -Music, heard in such perfection at the glory of Naples, the theatre of -San Carlo, and the heavenly strains which filled the churches with an -atmosphere of sound more entrancing than incense--all these were hers; -and her own voice, rich, full, and well-cultivated, made a temple of -melody of her own home. - -There was--it could not be called a wall--but there was certainly a -paling, of separation between Ethel and Clorinda. The young English girl -could not discover in what it consisted, or why she could not pass -beyond. The more she saw of the Neapolitan, the more she believed that -she liked her--certainly her admiration increased;--still she felt that -on the first day that Clorinda had visited her, with her caressing -manners and well-turned flatteries, she was quite as intimate with her -as now, after several weeks. She had surely nothing to conceal; all was -open in her conduct; yet often Ethel thought of her as a magician -guarding a secret treasure. Something there was that she watched over -and hid. There was often a look of anxiety about her which Ethel -unconsciously dispelled by some chance word; or a cloud all at once -dimmed her face, and her magnificent and dazzling eyes flashed sudden -fire, without apparent cause. There was something in her manner that -always said, "You are English, I am Italian; and there is natural war -between my fire and your snow." But no word, no act, ever betrayed -alienation of feeling. Thus a sort of mystery pervaded their -intercourse, which, though it might excite curiosity, and was not unakin -to admiration, kept the affections in check. - -Sometimes Ethel thought that Clorinda feared to compromise her -salvation, for she was a Catholic. During the revelries of the Carnival, -this difference of religion was not so apparent; but when Lent began, it -showed itself, and divided them, on various occasions, more than before. -At last, Lent also was drawing to a close; and as Villiers and Ethel -were anxious to see the ceremonies of Passion Week at Rome, it was -arranged that they, and Mr. and Mrs. Saville, should visit the Eternal -City together. Horatio manifested a distaste even to the short residence -that it was agreed they should make together during the month they were -to spend at Rome; but Clorinda showed herself particularly anxious for -the fulfilment of this plan, and, the majority prevailing, the whole -party left Naples together. - -Full soon was the veil of mystery then withdrawn, and Villiers and his -wife let into the arcana of their cousin's life. Horatio had yielded -unwillingly to Clorinda's intreaties, and extracted many promises from -her before he gave his consent; but all would not do--the natural, the -uncontrollable violence of her disposition broke down every barrier; and -in spite of his caution, and her struggles with herself, the reality -opened fearfully upon the English pair. The lava torrent of Neapolitan -blood flowed in her veins; and restraining it for some time, it at last -poured itself forth with volcanic violence. It was at the inn at -Terracina, on their way to Rome, that a scene took place, such as an -English person must cross Alps and Apennines to behold. Ethel had seen -that something was wrong. She saw the beauty of Clorinda vanished, -changed, melted away and awfully transformed into actual ugliness: she -saw tiger like glances from her eyes, and her lips pale and quivering. -Poor Saville strove, with gentle words, to allay the storm to which some -jealous freak gave rise: perceiving that his endeavours were vain, he -rose to quit the room. They were at dinner: she sprung on him with a -knife in her hand: Edward seized her arm; and she sunk on the floor in -convulsions. Ethel was scarcely less moved. Seeing her terrified beyond -all expression, Horatio led her from the room. He was pale--his voice -failed him. He left her; and sending Edward to her, returned to his -wife. - -The same evening he said to Villiers,--"Do not ask me to stay;--let me -go without another word. You see how it is. With what Herculean labour I -have concealed this sad truth so long, is scarcely conceivable. When -Ethel's sweet smile has sometimes reproached my tardiness, I have -escaped, but half alive, from a scene like the one you witnessed. - -"In a few hours, it is true, Clorinda will be shocked--full of -remorse--at my feet;--that is worse still. Her repentance is as violent -as her rage; and both transform her from a woman into something too -painful to dwell upon. She is generous, virtuous, full of power and -talent; but this fatal vehemence more than neutralizes her good -qualities. I can do nothing; I am chained to the oar. I have but one -hope: time, reason, and steadiness of conduct on my part, may subdue -her; and as she will at no distant period become a mother, softer -feelings may develop themselves. Sometimes I am violently impelled to -fly from her for ever. But she loves me, and I will not desert her. If -she will permit me, I will do my duty to the end. Let us go back now. -You will return to Naples next winter; and with this separation, which -will gall her proud spirit to its core, as a lesson, I hope by that time -that she will prove more worthy of Ethel's society." - -Nothing could be said to this. Saville, though he asked, "Let us go -back," had decreed, irrevocably, in his own mind, not to advance another -step with his companions. The parting was melancholy and ominous. He -would not permit Clorinda to appear again; for, as he said, he feared -her repentance more than her violence, and would not expose Ethel as the -witness of a scene of humiliation and shame. A thousand times over, his -friends promised to return immediately to Naples, not deferring their -visit till the following winter. He was to take a house for them, for -the summer, at Castel à Mare, or Sorrento; and immediately after Easter -they were to return. These kind promises were a balm to his disturbed -mind. He watched their carriage from the inn at Terracina, as it skimmed -along the level road of the Pontine Marshes, and could not despair while -he expected its quick return. Turning his eyes away, he resumed his yoke -again; and, melancholy beyond his wont, joined his remorseful wife. They -were soon on their way back to Naples:--she less demonstrative in her -repentance, because more internally and deeply touched, than she had -ever been before. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? -Thou art more lovely and more temperate; -Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, -And summer's lease hath all too short a date; -But thy eternal summer shall not fade. - -SHAKSPEARE. - - -Parting thus sadly from their unfortunate cousin, Villiers and Ethel -were drawn together yet nearer, and, if possible, with a deeper -tenderness of affection than before. Here was an example before their -eyes, that all their fellow-creatures were not equally fortunate in the -lottery of life, and that worse than a blank befell many, while the -ticket which they had drawn was a prize beyond all summing. Edward felt -indeed disappointed at losing his cousin's society, as well as deeply -grieved at the wretched fate which he had selected for himself. Ethel, -on the contrary, was in her heart glad that he was absent. She had no -place in that heart to spare away from her husband; and however much she -liked Horatio, and worthy as he was of her friendship, she felt him as -an encroacher. Now she delivered herself up to Edward, and to the -thought of Edward solely, with fresh and genuine delight. No one stood -between her and him--none called off his attention, or forced her to -pass one second of time unoccupied by his idea. When she expressed these -feelings to Villiers, he called her selfish and narrow-hearted, yet his -pride and his affection were gratified; for he knew how true was every -word she uttered, and how without flaw or blot was her faith and her -attachment. - -"And yet, my Ethel," he said, "I sometimes ask myself, how this boasted -affection of yours will stand the trials which I fear are preparing for -it." - -"What trials?" she asked anxiously. - -"Care, poverty; the want of all the luxuries, perhaps of the comforts of -life." - -Ethel smiled again. "That is your affair," she replied, "do you rouse -your courage, if you look upon these as evils. I shall feel nothing of -all this, while near you; care--poverty--want! as if I needed any thing -except your love--you yourself--who are mine." - -"Yes, dear," replied Villiers, "that is all very well at this moment; -rolling along in a comfortable carriage--an hotel ready to receive us, -with all its luxuries; but suppose us without any of these, -Ethel--suppose yourself in a melancholy, little, dingy abode, without -servants, without carriage, going out on foot." - -"Not alone," replied his wife, laughing, and kissing his hand; "I shall -have you to wait on me--to wait upon--" - -"You take it very well now," -said Edward; "I hope that you will never be put to the trial. I am far -from anticipating this excess of wretchedness, of course, but I cannot -help feeling, that the prospects of to-morrow are uncertain, and I am -anxious for my long-delayed letters from England." - -With Ethel's deep and warm affection, had she been ten or only five -years older, she also must have participated in Edward's inquietude. But -care is a word, not an emotion, for the very young. She was only -seventeen. She had never attended to the disbursements of money--she was -ignorant of the mechanism of giving and receiving, on which the course -of our life depends. It was in vain that she sought in the interior of -her mind for an image that should produce fear or regret, with regard to -the absence or presence of money. No one reflection or association -brought into being an idea on the subject. Again she kissed Edward's -hand, and looked on him with her soft clear eyes, thinking only, "He is -here--and Heaven has given me all I ask." - -Left again to themselves, they were anxious to avoid acquaintances. Yet -this was impossible during the Holy Week at Rome. Villiers found many -persons whom he knew; women of high rank and fashion, men of wealth, or -with the appearance of it, enjoying the present, and, while away from -England, unencumbered by care. Mr. and Mrs. Villiers were among these, -and of them; their rank and their style of living resembling theirs, -associated them together. All this was necessary to Edward, for he had -been accustomed to it--it was natural to Ethel, because, being wholly -inexperienced, she did as others did, and as Villiers wished her to do, -without reflection or forethought. - -Yet each day added to Edward's careful thoughts. Easter was gone, and -the period approached when they had talked of returning to Naples. The -covey of English had taken flight towards the north; they were almost -the only strangers in the ancient and silent city, whose every stone -breathes of a world gone by--whose surpassing beauty crowns her still -the glory of the world. The English pair, left to themselves, roamed -through the ruins and loitered in the galleries, never weary of the very -ocean of beauty and grandeur which they coursed over in their summer -bark. The weather grew warm, for the month of May had commenced, and -they took refuge in the vast churches from the heat; at twilight they -sought the neighbouring gardens, or scrambled about the Coliseum, or the -more ruined and weedgrown baths of Caracalla. The fire-flies came out, -and the splashing of the many fountains reached their ears from afar, -while the clear azure of the Roman sky bent over them in beauty and -peace. - -Ethel never alluded to their proposed return to Naples--she feared each -day to hear Villiers mention it--she was so happy where she was, she -shrunk from any change. The majesty, the simplicity, the quiet of Rome, -were in unison with the holy stillness that dwelt in her soul, absorbed -as it was by one unchanging image. She had reached the summit of human -happiness--she had nothing more to ask; her full heart, not bursting, -yet gently overflowing in its bliss, thanked Heaven, and drew nearer -Edward, and was at peace. - -"God help us!" exclaimed Villiers, "I wonder what on earth will become -of us!" - -They were sitting together on fragment of the Coliseum; they had -clambered up its fallen wall, and reached a kind of weed-grown chasm -whose depth, as it was moonlight, they could not measure by the eye; so -they sat beside it on a small fragment, and Villiers held Ethel close to -him lest she should fall. The heartfelt and innocent caress of two -united in the sight of Heaven, wedded together for the endurance of the -good and ills of life, hallowed the spot and hour; and then, even while -Ethel nestled nearer to him in fondness, Edward made the exclamation -that she heard with a wonder which mingled with, yet could not disturb, -the calm joy which she felt. - -"What but good can come of us, while we are thus?" she asked. - -"You will not listen to me, nor understand me," replied her husband. -"But I do assure you, that our position is more than critical. No -remittances, no letters come from England; we are in debt here--in debt -in Italy! A thousand miles from our resources! I grope in the dark and -see no outlet--every day's post, with the nothing that it brings, adds -to my anxiety." - -"All will be well," replied Ethel gently; "no real evil will happen to -us, be assured." - -"I wish," said Villiers, "your experience, instead of your ignorance, -suggested the assertion. I would rather die a thousand deaths than apply -to dear Horace, who is ill enough off himself; but every day here adds -to our difficulties. Our only hope is in our instant return to -England--and, by heavens!--you kiss me, Ethel, as if we lived in fairy -land, and that such were our food--have you no fears?" - -"I am sorry to say, none," she answered in a soft voice; "I wish I could -contrive some, because I appear unsympathizing to you--but I cannot -fear;--you are in health and near me. Heaven and my dear father's spirit -will watch over us, and all will be well. This is the end and beginning -of my anxiety; so dismiss yours, love--for, believe me, in a day or two, -these forebodings of yours will be as a dream." - -"It is very strange," replied Edward, "were you not so close to me, I -should fancy you a spirit instead of a woman; you seem to have no touch -of earthly solicitude. Well, I will do as you bid me, and hope for -to-morrow. And now let us get down from this place before the moon sets -and leaves us in darkness." - -As if to confirm the auguries of Ethel, the following morning brought -the long-expected letters. One contained a remittance, another was from -Colonel Villiers, to say, that Edward's immediate presence was requisite -in England to make the final arrangements before his marriage. With a -glad heart Villiers turned his steps northward; while Ethel, if she -could have regretted aught while with him, would have sighed to leave -their lonely haunts in Rome. She well knew that whatever of sublime -nature might display, or man might congregate of beautiful in art -elsewhere, there was a calm majesty, a silent and awful repose in the -ruins of Rome, joined to the delights of a southern climate, and the -luxuriant vegetation of a sunny soil, more in unison with her single and -devoted heart, than any other spot in the universe could boast. They -would both have rejoiced to have seen Saville again; yet they were -unacknowledgedly glad not to pursue their plan of domesticating near him -at Naples. A remediless evil, which is for ever the source of fresh -disquietude, is one that tasks human fortitude and human patience, more -than those vaster misfortunes which elevate while they wound. The proud -aspiring spirit of man craves something to raise him from the dust, and -to adorn his insignificance; he seeks to strengthen his alliance with -the lofty and the eternal, and shrinks from low-born cares, as being the -fetters and bolts that link him to his baser origin. Saville, the slave -of a violent woman's caprice, struggling with passions, at once so fiery -and so feeble as to excite contempt, was a spectacle which they were -glad to shun. Their own souls were in perfect harmony, and discord was -peculiarly abhorrent to them. - -They travelled by the beaten route of Mont Cenis, Lyons, and Calais, and -in less than a month arrived in England. As the presence of Villiers was -requisite in London, after staying a few days at an hotel in -Brook-street, they took a furnished house in the same street for a short -time. The London season had passed its zenith, but its decline was -scarcely perceptible. Ethel had no wish to enter into its gaieties, and -it had been Edward's plan to avoid them until they were richer. But here -they were, placed by fate in the very midst of them; and as, when their -affairs were settled, they intended again to return abroad, he could not -refuse himself the pleasure of seeing Ethel, in the first flower of her -loveliness, mingling with, and outshining, every other beauty of her -country. It would have been difficult indeed, placed within the verge of -the English aristocracy assembled in London, to avoid its engagements -and pleasures--for he "also was an Arcadian," and made one of the -self-enthroned "world." The next two months, therefore, while still -every settlement was delayed by his father, they spent in the -fashionable circles of London. - -They did not indeed enter into its amusements with the zest and -resolution of tyros. To Villiers the scene was not new, and therefore -not exceedingly enticing; and Ethel's mind was not of the sort to be -borne along in the stream of folly. They avoided going to crowded -entertainments--they were always satisfied with one or two parties in -the evening. Nay, once or twice in the week they usually remained at -home, and not unseldom dined tête-à-tête. The serpent fang of -pleasure, and the paltry ambition of society, had no power over Ethel. -She often enjoyed herself, because she often met people of either sex, -whose fame, or wit, or manners, interested and pleased her. But as -little vanity as mortal woman ever had fell to her share. Very young, -and (to use the phrase of the day) very new, flattery and admiration -glanced harmlessly by her. Her personal vanity was satisfied when -Villiers was pleased, and, for the rest, she was glad to improve her -mind, and to wear away the timidity, which she felt that her lonely -education had induced, by mingling with the best society of her country. - -She had also some curiosity, and as she promised herself but a brief -sojourn in this land of lions, she wished to see several things and -persons she might never come in contact with again. Various names which -had reached her in the Illinois, here grew from shadows into real human -beings--ministers of state, beauties, authors, and wits. She visited -once or twice the ventilator of St. Stephen's, and graced a red bench of -the House of Lords on the prorogation of Parliament. Villiers was very -much pleased with her throughout. His pride was gratified by the -approval she elicited from all. Men admired her, but distantly--as a -being they could not rudely nor impertinently approach. Women were not -afraid of her, because they saw, that though she made no display of -conjugal attachment, she loved her husband. Her extreme youth, the -perpetual sunshine of her countenance, and the gentle grace of her -manners, won more the liking than the praise of her associates. They -drew near her as to one too untaught to understand their mysteries, and -too innocent to judge them severely; an atmosphere of kindness and of -repose followed her wherever she went: this her husband felt more than -any other, and he prized his Ethel at the worth she so truly deserved. - -One of the reasons which caused Mrs. Villiers to avoid large assemblies, -was that Lady Lodore was in town, and that in such places they sometimes -met. Ethel did not well know how to act. Youth is ever fearful of making -unwelcome demonstration, and false shame often acts more powerfully to -influence it, than the call of duty or the voice of affection. Villiers -had no desire to bring the mother and daughter together, and stood -neutral. Lady Lodore had once or twice recognized her by a bow and a -smile, but after such, she always vanished and was seen no more that -evening. Ethel often yearned to approach, to claim her tenderness and to -offer her filial affection. Villiers laughed at such flights. "The safe -thing to do," he said, "is to take the tone of Lady Lodore. She is held -back by no bashfulness--she does the thing she wishes, without -hesitation or difficulty. Did she desire her lovely grown-up daughter to -play a child's part towards her, she would soon contrive to bring it -about. Lady Lodore is a woman of the world--she was nursed in its -lessons, and piously adheres to its code; its ways are her's, and the -objects of ambition which it holds out, are those which she desires to -attain. She is talked of as admired and followed by the Earl of D----. You -may spoil all, if you put yourself forward." - -Ethel was not quite satisfied. The voice of nature was awake within, and -she yearned to claim her mother's affection. Until now, she had regarded -her more as a stranger; but at this time, a filial instinct stirred her -heart, impelling her to some outward act--some demonstration of duty. -Whenever she saw Lady Lodore, which was rarely, and at a distance, she -gazed earnestly on her, and tried to read within her soul, whether Villiers -was right, and her mother happy. The shining, uniform outside of a woman -of fashion baffled her endeavours without convincing her. One evening at -the Opera, she discerned Lady Lodore in the tier below her. Ethel drew -back and shaded herself with the curtain of her box, so that she could -not be perceived, while she watched her mother intently. A succession of -visitors came into Lady Lodore's box, and she spoke to all with the -animation of a heart at ease. There was an almost voluptuous repose in -her manner and appearance, that contrasted with, while it adorned, the -easy flow of her conversation, and the springtide of wit, which, to -judge from the amusement of her auditors, flowed from her lips. Yet -Ethel fancied that her smile was often forced, so suddenly did it -displace an expression of listlessness and languor, which when she -turned from the people in her box to the stage, came across her -countenance like a shadow. It might be the gas, which shadows so -unbecomingly the fair audience at the King's Theatre; it might be the -consequences of raking, for Lady Lodore was out every night; but Ethel -thought that she saw a change; she was less brilliant, her person -thinner, and had lost some of its exquisite roundness. Still, as her -daughter gazed, she thought, She is not happy. Yet what could she do? -How pour sweetness into the bitter stream of life? As Villiers had said, -any advance of hers might spoil all. The sister of the nobleman he had -mentioned, was her companion at the opera. Lord D----himself came, though -late, to fetch her away. She had therefore her own prospects, her own -plans, which doubtless she desired to pursue undisturbed, however they -might fail to charm away the burthen of life. - -Once, and only once, Ethel heard her mother's voice, and was spoken to -by her. She had gone to hear the speech from the throne, on the -prorogation of Parliament. She got there late, so that every bench was -filled. Room was made for her near the throne, immediately under the -gallery, (as the house was constructed until last year,) but she was -obliged to be separated from her party, and sat half annoyed at being -surrounded by strangers. A peer, whom she recognized as the Earl of D----, -came up, and entered into conversation with the lady sitting behind her. -Could it be her mother? She remembered, that as she sat down she had -glanced at some one whom she thought she knew, and she did not doubt that -this was Lady Lodore. A sudden thrill passed as an electric shock through -her frame, every joint in her body trembled, her knees knocked together, -and the colour forsook her cheeks. She tried to rally. Why should she -feel agitated, as if possessed by terror, on account of this near -contact with the dearest relation Heaven has bestowed on its creatures? -Why not turn; and if she did not speak, claim, with beseeching eyes, her -mother's love? Was it indeed her? The lady spoke, and her voice entered -and stirred Ethel's beating heart with strange emotion; every drop of -blood within her seemed to leap at the sound; but she sat still as a -statue, saying to herself, "When Lord D----leaves her I will turn and -speak." After some trivial conversation on topics of the day, the peers -were ordered to take their seats, and Lord D----departed;--then Ethel -tried to summon all her courage; but now the doors were thrown open, the -king entered, and every one stood up. At this moment,--as she, in the -confusion of being called upon, while abstracted, to do any act, however -slight, had for a moment half forgotten her mother,--her arm was -touched; and the same voice which had replied to Lord D----, said to her, -"Your ear-ring is unfastened, Ethel; it will fall out." Ethel could not -speak; she raised her hands, mechanically, to arrange the ornament; but -her trembling fingers refused to perform the office. "Permit me," said -the lady, drawing off her glove; and Ethel felt her mother's hand touch -her cheek: her very life stood suspended; it was a bitter pain, yet a -pleasure inconceivable; there was a suffocation in her throat, and the -tears filled her eyes; but even the simple words, "I thank you," died on -her lips--her voice could frame no sound. The world, and all within its -sphere, might have passed away at that moment, and she been unconscious -of any change. "Yes, she will love me!" was the idea that spoke audibly -within; and a feeling of confidence, a flow of sympathy and enthusiastic -affection, burst on her heart. As soon as she could recollect herself, -she turned: Lady Lodore was no longer there; she had glided from her -seat; and Ethel just caught a glimpse of her, as she contrived another -for herself, behind a column, which afterwards so hid her, that her -daughter could only see the waving of her plumes. On these she fixed her -eyes until all was over; and then Lady Lodore went out hurriedly, with -averted face, as if to escape her recognition. This put the seal on -Ethel's dream. She believed that her mother obviously signified her -desire that they should continue strangers to each other. It was hard, -but she must submit. She had no longer that prejudice against Lady -Lodore, that exaggerated notion of her demerits, which the long exile of -her father, and the abhorrence of Mrs. Fitzhenry, had before instilled. -Her mother was no longer a semi-gorgon, hid behind a deceptive mask--a -Medea, without a touch of human pity. She was a lovely, soft-voiced, -angelic-looking woman, whom she would have given worlds to be permitted -to love and wait upon. She found excuses for her errors; she lavished -admiration on all her attractions; she could do all but muster courage -to vanquish the obstacles that existed to their intercourse. She fondly -cherished her image, as an idol placed in the sanctuary of her heart, -which she could regard with silent reverence and worship, but whose -concealing veil she could not raise. Villiers smiled when she spoke in -this way to him. He saw, in her enthusiasm, the overflowing of an -affectionate heart, which longed to exhaust itself in loving. He kissed -her, and bade her think any thing, so that she did nothing. The time for -doing had indeed, for the present, passed away. Lady Lodore left town; -and when mother and daughter met again, it was not destined to be -beneath a palace roof, surrounded by the nobility of the land. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -I choose to comfort myself by considering, that even -while I am lamenting my present uneasiness, it is -passing away. - -HORACE WALPOLE. - - -An event occurred at this time, which considerably altered the plans of -Mr. and Mrs. Villiers. They had been invited to spend some time at -Maristow Castle, and were about to proceed thither with Lord Maristow -and his daughters, when the sudden death of Mr. Saville changed every -thing. He died of a malignant fever, leaving a young widow, and no -child, to inherit his place in society. - -Through this unlooked-for event, Horatio became the immediate heir of -his father's title. He stept, from the slighted position of a younger -son into the rank of the eldest; and thus became another being in all -men's eyes--but chiefly in his father's. - -Viscount Maristow had deeply regretted his son's foreign marriage, and -argued against his choice of remaining abroad. He was a statesman, and -conceived that Horatio's talents and eloquence would place him high -among the legislators of St. Stephen's. The soundness of his -understanding, and the flowing brilliancy of his language, were pledges -of his success. But Saville was not ambitious. His imagination rose high -above the empty honours of the world--to be useful was a better aim; but -he did not conceive that his was a mind calculated to lead others in its -train: its framework was too delicate, too finely strung, to sound in -accord with the many. He wanted the desire to triumph; and was content -to adore truth in the temple of his own mind, without defacing its -worship by truckling to the many falsehoods and errors which demand -subserviency in the world. - -Lord Maristow had hitherto submitted to his disappointment, not without -murmurs, but without making any great effort at victory. He had written -many letters intreating his son to cast off the drowsy Neapolitan -sloth;--he had besought Villiers, previous to his departure the -preceding year, to bring his cousin back with him;--and this was all. - -The death of his eldest son quickened him to exertion. He resolved to -trust no longer to written arguments, but to go himself to Italy, and by -force of paternal authority, or persuasions, to induce his son to come -back to his native country, and to fill with honour the post to which -fortune had advanced him. He did not doubt that Horatio would himself -feel the force of his new duties; but it would be clenching his purpose, -and paying an agreeable compliment to Clorinda, to make this journey, -and to bring them back with him when he returned. Whatever Mrs. -Saville's distaste to England might be, it must yield to the necessity -that now drew her thither. Lord Maristow could not imagine any -resistance so violent as to impede his wishes. The projected journey -charmed his daughters, saddened as they were by their recent loss. Lucy -was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing her beloved brother. She felt -sure that Clorinda would be brought to reason and thus, with their -hearts set upon one object, one idea, they bade adieu to Ethel and her -husband, as if their career was to be as sunny and as prosperous as they -doubted not that their own would be. - -Lord Maristow alone guessed how things might stand. "Edward, my dear -boy," he said, "give me credit for great anxiety on your account. I wish -this marriage of yours had not taken place, then you might have roughed -it as other young men do, and have been the better for a little tart -experience. I do not like this shuffling on your father's part. I hear -for a certainty that this marriage of his will come to nothing--the -friends of the young lady are against it, and she is very young, and -only an heiress by courtesy--her father can give her as many tens of -thousands as he pleases, but he has sworn not to give her a shilling if -she marries without his consent; and he has forbidden Colonel Villiers -his house. He still continues at Cheltenham, and assures every one that -he is on safe ground; that the girl loves him, and that when once his, -the father must yield. It is too ridiculous to see him playing a -boy-lover's part at his time of life, trying to undermine a daughter's -sense of duty--he, who may soon be a grandfather! The poor little thing, -I am told, is quite fascinated by his dashing manners and station in -society. We shall see how it will end--I fear ill; her father might -pardon a runaway match with a lover of her own age; but he will never -forgive the coldblooded villany, excuse me, of a man of three times her -age; who for gain, and gain only, is seeking to steal her from him. Such -is the sum of what I am told by a friend of mine, just arrived from -Cheltenham. The whole thing is the farce of the day, and the stolen -interviews of the lovers, and the loud, vulgarly-spoken denunciations of -her father, vary the scene from a travestie of Romeo and Juliet to the -comedies of Plautus or Molière. I beg your pardon, Edward, for my -frankness, but I am angry. I have been used as a cat's-paw--I have been -treated unfairly--I was told that the marriage wanted but your -signature--my representations induced you to offer to Miss Fitzhenry, -and now you are a ruined man. I am hampered by my own family, and cannot -come forward to your assistance. My advice is, that you wait a little, -and see what turn matters take; once decided, however they conclude, -strong representations shall be made to your father, and he shall be -forced to render proper assistance; then if politics take a better turn, -I may do something for you--or you can live abroad till better times." - -Villiers thanked Lord Maristow for his advice, and made no remarks -either on his details or promises. He saw his own fate stretched -drearily before him; but his pride made him strong to bear without any -outward signs of wincing. He would suffer all, conceal all, and be -pitied by none. The thought of Ethel alone made him weak. Were she -sheltered during the storm which he saw gathering so darkly, he would -have felt satisfied. - -What was to be done? To go abroad, was to encounter beggary and famine. -To remain, exposed him to a thousand insults and dangers from which -there was no escape. Such were the whisperings of despair--but brighter -hopes often visited him. All could not be so evil as it seemed. Fortune, -so long his enemy, would yield at last one inch of ground--one inch to -stand upon, where he might wait in patience for better days. Had he -indeed done his utmost to avert the calamities he apprehended? Certainly -not. Thus spoke his sanguine spirit: more could and should be done. His -father might find means, he himself be enabled to arrange with his -lawyer some mode of raising a sum of money which would at least enable -him to go on the continent with his wife. He spent his thoughts in -wishes for the attainment of this desirable conclusion to his adversity, -till the very earnestness of his expectations seemed to promise their -realization. It could not be that the worst would come. Absurd! -Something must happen to assist them. Seeking for this unknown something -which, in spite of all his efforts, would take no visible or tangible -form, he spent weary days and sleepless nights, his brain spinning webs -of thought, not like those of the spider, useful to their weaver--a -tangled skein they were rather, where the clue was inextricably hid. He -did not speak of these things to Ethel, but he grew sad, and she was -anxious to go out of town, to have him all to herself, when she promised -herself to dispel his gloom; and, as she darkly guessed at the source of -his disquietude, by economy and a system of rigid privation, to show him -how willing and able she was to meet the adversity which he so much -dreaded. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -The pure, the open, prosperous love, -That pledged on earth, and sealed above, -Grows in the world's approving eyes, -In friendship's smile and home's caress, -Collecting all the heart's sweet ties -Into one knot of happiness. - -LALLA ROOKH. - - -Another month withered away in fruitless expectation. Villiers felt that -he was following an ignis fatuus, yet knew not how to give up his -pursuit. At length, he listened more docilely to Ethel's representations -of the expediency of quitting town. She wished to pay her long-promised -visit to her aunt, and Villiers at last consented to accompany her. They -gave up their house, dispersed a tolerably numerous establishment, and -left town for their sober and rural seclusion in Essex. - -Taken from the immediate scene where care met him at every turn, -Edward's spirits rose; and the very tranquillity and remoteness of -Longfield became a relief and an enjoyment. It was bright October -weather. The fields were green, the hedges yet in verdant trim. The air -was so still that the dead leaves hung too lazy to fall, from the -topmost boughs of the earlier trees. The oak was still dressed in a dark -sober green--the fresh July shoot, having lost its summer hue, was -unapparent among the foliage; the varying tints of beach, ash, and elm, -diversified the woods. The morning and evening skies were resplendent -with crimson and gold, and the moonlight nights were sweeter than the -day. - -Fatigued by the hurry of town, and one at least worn out with care, the -young pair took a new lease of love in idleness in this lonely spot. A -slight attack of rheumatism confined Aunt Bessy to her chimney-corner, -but in spite of her caution to Ethel not to incur the same penalty from -all the array of wet walks and damp shoes, it was her best pleasure each -morning to tie on her bonnet, take her husband's arm, and they wandered -away together, returning only to find their horses ready, and then they -departed for hours, coming back late and unwillingly after the sun was -down. Mrs. Elizabeth wondered where all the beautiful spots were, which -Ethel described so enthusiastically as to be found in the neighbourhood. -The good lady longed to go out herself to see if she could not reap -equal delight from viewing the grouping of trees, whose various autumnal -tints were painted in Ethel's speech with hues too bright for earth, or -to discover what there could be so extraordinarily picturesque in a -moss-grown cottage, near a brook, with a high bank clothed with wood -behind, which she believed must be one Dame Nixon's cottage, in the Vale -of Bewling, and which she knew she must have passed a thousand times, -and yet she had never noticed its beauty. Very often Ethel could give no -information of whither they had been, only they had lost themselves in -majestic woods, lingered in winding lanes, which led to resplendent -views, or even reached the margin of the barren sea, to behold the -enveloping atmosphere reflected in its fitful mirror--to watch the -progress of evanescent storms, or to see the moon light up her silvery -pathway on the dusky waste. Villiers took his gun with him in his walks, -but, though American bred, Ethel was so unfeignedly distressed by the -sight of death, that he never brought down a bird: he shot in its -direction now and then, to keep his pointer in practice, and to laugh at -his wife's glad triumph when he missed his feathery mark. - -Ethel was especially delighted to renew her acquaintance with Longfield, -her father's boyhood home, under such sunny circumstances. She had loved -it before: with anguish in her heart, and heavy sadness weighing on her -steps, she had loved it for his sake. But now that it became the home, -the dedicated garden of love, it received additional beauty in her eyes -from its association with the memory of Lord Lodore. All things conjoined; -the season, calmed and brightened, as if for her especial enjoyment; -remembrance of the past, and the undivided possession of her Edward's -society, combined to steep her soul in happiness. Even he, whose more -active and masculine spirit might have fretted in solitude and sloth, -was subdued by care and uncertainty to look on the peace of the present -moment as the dearest gift of the gods. Both so young, and the minds of -both open as day to each other's eyes, no single blot obscured their -intercourse. They never tired of each other, and the teeming spirit of -youth filled the empty space of each hour as it came, with a new growth -of sentiments and ideas. The long evening had its pleasures, with its -close-drawn curtains and cheerful fire. Even whist with the white-haired -parson, and Mrs. Fitzhenry in her spectacles, imparted pleasure. Could -any thing duller have been devised, which would have been difficult, it -had not been so to them; and a stranger coming in and seeing their -animated looks, and hearing their cheerful tones and light-hearted -laugh, must have envied the very Elysium of delight, which aunt Bessy's -usually so sober drawing-room contained. Merely to see Ethel leaning on -her husband's arm, and looking up in his face as he drew her yet closer, -and, while his fingers were twined among her silken ringlets, kissed so -fondly her fair brow, must have demonstrated to a worldling the -irrefragable truth that happiness is born a twin, love being the parent. - -The beauty of a pastoral picture has but short duration in this cloudy -land,--and happiness, the sun of our moral existence, is yet more fitful -in its visitations. Villiers and his young wife took their accustomed -ride through shady lanes and copses, and through parks, where, though -the magnificent features of nature were wanting, the eye was delighted -by a various prospect of wood and lawny upland. The soft though wild -west wind drove along vast masses of snowy clouds, which displayed in -their intervals the deep stainless azure of the boundless sky. The -shadows of the clouds now darkened the pathway of our riders, and now -they saw the sunlight advance from a distance, coming on with steps of -light and air, till it reached them, and they felt the warmth and -gladness of sunshine descend on them. The various coloured woods were -now painted brightly in the beams, and now half lost in shadow. There -was life and action everywhere--yet not the awakening activity of -spring, but rather a vague, uneasy restlessness, allied to languor, and -pregnant with melancholy. - -Villiers was silent and sad. Ethel too well knew the cause wherefore he -was dispirited. He had received letters that morning which stung him -into a perception of the bitter realities which were gathering about -them. One was to say that no communication had been received from his -father, but that it was believed that he was somewhere in London--the -other was from his banker, to remind him that he had overdrawn his -credit--nearly the most disagreeable intelligence a man can hear when he -possesses no immediate means of replenishing his drained purse. Ethel -was grieved to see him pained, but she could not acutely feel these -pecuniary distresses. She tried to divert his thoughts by conversation, -and pointing out the changes which the advancing season made in the -aspect of the country. - -"Yes," said Villiers, "it is a beautiful world; poets tell us this, and -religious men have drawn an argument for their creed from the wisdom and -loveliness displayed in the external universe, which speaks to every -heart and every understanding. The azure canopy fretted with golden -lights, or, as now, curtained by wondrous shapes, which, though they are -akin to earth, yet partake the glory of the sky--the green expanse, -variegated by streams, teeming with life, and prolific of food to -sustain that life, and that very food the chief cause of the beauty we -enjoy--with such magnificence has the Creator set forth our table--all -this, and the winds that fan us so balmily, and the flowers that enchant -our sight--do not all these make earth a type of heaven?" - -Ethel turned her eyes on him to read in his face the expression of the -enthusiasm and enjoyment that seemed to dictate his words. But his -countenance was gloomy, and as he continued to speak, his expressions -took more the colour of his uneasy feelings. "How false and senseless -all this really is!" he pursued. "Find a people who truly make earth, -its woods and fells, and inclement sky, their unadorned dwelling-place, -who pluck the spontaneous fruits of the soil, or slay the animals as -they find them, attending neither to culture nor property, and we give -them the name of barbarians and savages--untaught, uncivilized, -miserable beings--and we, the wiser and more refined, hunt and -exterminate them:--we, who spend so many words, either as preachers or -philosophers, to vaunt that with which they are satisfied, we feel -ourselves the greater, the wiser, the nobler, the more barriers we place -between ourselves and nature, the more completely we cut ourselves off -from her generous but simple munificence." - -"But is this necessary?" asked the forest-bred girl: "when I lived in the -wilds of the Illinois--the simplest abode, food and attire, were all I -knew of human refinements, and I was satisfied." - -Villiers did not appear to heed her remark, but continued the train of -his own reflections. "The first desire of man is not for wealth nor -luxury, but for sympathy and applause. He desires to remove to the -furthest extremity of the world contempt and degradation; and according -to the ideas of the society in which he is bred, so are his desires -fashioned. We, the most civilized, high-bred, prosperous people in the -world, make no account of nature, unless we add the ideas of possession, -and of the labours of man. We rate each individual, (and we all desire -to be rated as individuals, distinct from and superior to the mass,) not -by himself, but by his house, his park, his income. This is a trite -observation, yet it appears new when it comes home: what is lower, -humbler, more despicable than a poor man? Give him learning, give him -goodness--see him with manners acquired in poverty, habits dyed in the -dusky hues of penury; and if we do not despise him, yet we do not admit -him to our tables or society. Refinement may only be the varnish of the -picture, yet it is necessary to make apparent to the vulgar eye even the -beauties of Raphael." - -"To the vulgar eye!" repeated Ethel, emphatically. - -"And I seem one of those, by the way I speak," said Edward, smiling. -"Yet, indeed, I do not despise any man for being poor, except myself. I -can feel pride in showing honour where honour is due, even though clad -in the uncouth and forbidding garb of plebeianism; but I cannot claim -this for myself--I cannot demand the justice of men, which they would -nickname pity. The Illinois would be preferable far." - -"And the Illinois might be a paradise," said Ethel. - -"We hope for a better--we hope for Italy. Do you remember Rome and the -Coliseum, my love?--Naples, the Chiaja, and San Carlo?--these were -better than the savannas of the west. Our hopes are good; it is the -present only which is so thorny, so worse than barren: like the souls of -Dante, we have a fiery pass to get through before we reach our place of -bliss; that we have it in prospect will gift us with fortitude. -Meanwhile I must string myself to my task. Ethel, dearest, I shall go to -town to-morrow." - -"And I with you, surely?" - -"Do not ask it; this is your first lesson in the lore you were so ready -to learn, of bearing all for me--" - -"With you," interrupted his wife. - -"With me--it shall soon be," replied Edward; "but to speak according to -the ways of this world, my presence in London is necessary for a few -days--for a very few days; a journey there and back for me is nothing, -but it would be a real and useless expense if you went. Indeed, Ethel, -you must submit to my going without you--I ask it of you, and you will -not refuse." - -"A few days, you say," answered Ethel--"a very few days? It is hard. But -you will not be angry, if I should join you if your return is delayed?" - -"You will not be so mad," said Villiers. "I go with a light heart, -because I leave you in security and comfort. I will return--I need not -protest--you know that I shall return the moment I can. I speak of a few -days; it cannot be a week: let me go then, with what satisfaction I may, -to the den of darkness and toil, and not be farther annoyed by the fear -that you will not support my absence with cheerfulness. As you love me, -wait for me with patience--remain with your aunt till I return." - -"I will stay for a week, if it must be so," replied Ethel. - -"Indeed, my love, it must--nor will I task you beyond--before a week is -gone by, you shall see me." - -Ethel looked wistfully at him, but said no more. She thought it -hard--she did not think it right that he should go--that he should toil -and suffer without her; but she had no words for argument or contention, -so she yielded. The next morning--a cold but cheerful morning--at seven -o'clock, she drove over with him in Mrs. Fitzhenry's little pony chaise -to the town, four miles off, through which the stages passed. A first -parting is a kind of landmark in life--a starting post whence we begin -our career out of illusion and the land of dreams, into reality and -endurance. They arrived not a moment too soon: she had yet a thousand -things to say--one or two very particular things, which she had reserved -for the last moment; there was no time, and she was forced to -concentrate all her injunctions into one word, "Write!" - -"Every day--and do you." - -"It will be my only pleasure," replied his wife. "Take care of -yourself." - -He was on the top of the stage and gone; and Ethel felt that a blank -loneliness had swallowed up the dearest joy of her life. - -She drew her cloak round her--she gazed along the road--there were no -traces of him--she gave herself up to thought, and as he was the object -of all her thoughts, this was her best consolation. She reviewed the -happy days they had spent together--she dwelt on the memory of his -unalterable affection and endearing kindness, and then tears rushed into -her eyes. "Will any ill ever befall him?" she thought. "O no, none ever -can! he must be rewarded for his goodness and his love. How dear he -ought to be to me! Did he not take the poor friendless girl from -solitude and grief; and disdaining neither her poverty nor her orphan -state, give her himself, his care, his affection? O, my Edward! what -would Ethel have been without you? Her father was gone--her mother -repulsed her--she was alone in the wide world, till you generously made -her your own!" - -With the true enthusiasm of passion, Ethel delighted to magnify the -benefits she had received, and to make those which she herself conferred -nothing, that gratitude and love might become yet stronger duties. In -her heart, though she reproached herself for what she termed -selfishness, she could not regret his poverty and difficulties, if thus -she should acquire an opportunity of being useful to him; but she felt -herself defrauded of her best privileges, of serving and consoling, by -their separation. - -Thus,--now congratulating herself on her husband's attachment, now -repining at the fate that divided them,--agitated by various emotions -too sweet and bitter for words, she returned to Longfield. Aunt Bessy -was in her arm-chair, waiting for her to begin breakfast. Edward's seat -was empty--his cup was not placed--he was omitted in the domestic -arrangements;--tears rushed into her eyes; and in vain trying to calm -herself, she sobbed aloud. Aunt Bessy was astonished; and when all the -explanation she got was, "He is gone!" she congratulated herself, that -her single state had spared her the endurance of these conjugal -distresses. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -How like a winter hath my absence been -From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! -What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, -What old December's bareness every where! - -SHAKSPEARE. - - -Ethel cheered herself to amuse her aunt; and, as in her days of hopeless -love, she tried to shorten the hours by occupation. It was difficult; -for all her thoughts were employed in conjectures as to where Edward -was, what doing--in looking at her watch, and following in her mind all -his actions--or in meditating how hereafter she might remedy any -remissness on her part, (so tender was her conscience,) and best -contribute to his happiness. Such reveries beguiled many hours, and -enabled her to endure with some show of courage the pains of absence. -Each day she heard from him--each day she wrote, and this entire pouring -out of herself on paper formed the charm of her existence. She -endeavoured to persuade him how fortunate their lot might hereafter -be--how many of his fears were unfounded or misplaced. - -"Remember, dearest love," she said, "that I have nothing of the fine -lady about me. I do not even feel the want of those luxuries so -necessary to most women. This I owe to my father. It was his first care, -while he brought me up in the most jealous retirement, to render me -independent of the services of others. Solitude is to me no evil, and -the delight of my life would be to wait upon you. I am not therefore an -object of pity, when fortunes deprives me of the appurtenances of -wealth, which rather annoy than serve me. My devotion and sacrifice, as -you are pleased to call the intense wish of my heart to contribute to -your happiness, are nothing. I sacrifice all, when I give up one hour of -your society--there is the sting--there the merit of my permitting you -to go without me. I can ill bear it. I am impatient and weak; do not -then, Edward dearest, task me too far--recall me to your side, if your -return is delayed--recall your fond girl to the place near your heart, -where she desires to remain for ever." - -Villiers answered with few but expressive words of gratitude and -fidelity. His letters breathed disappointment and anxiety. "It is too -true," he said, "as I found it announced when I first came to town, my -father is married. He got the banns published in an obscure church in -London; he persuaded Miss Gregory to elope with him, and they are -married. Her father is furious, he returns every letter unopened; his -house and heart, he says, are still open to his daughter--but the--, I -will not repeat his words, who stole her from him, shall never benefit -by a shilling of his money--let her return, and all shall be -pardoned--let her remain with her husband, and starve, he cares not. My -father has spent much time and more money on this pursuit: in the hope -of securing many thousands, he raised hundreds at a prodigal and ruinous -interest, which must now be paid. He has not ten pounds in the world--so -he says. My belief is, that he is going abroad to secure to himself the -payment of the scanty remnant of his income. I have no hopes. I would -beg at the corner of a street, rather than apply to a man who never has -been a parent to me, and whose last act is that of a villain. Excuse me; -you will be angry that I speak thus of my father, but I know that he -speaks of the poor girl he has deluded, with a bitterness and insult, -which prove what his views were in marrying her. In this moment of -absolute beggary, my only resource is to raise money. I believe I shall -succeed; and the moment I have put things in train, with what heartfelt, -what unspeakable joy, shall I leave this miserable place for my own -Ethel's side, long to remain!" - -Villiers's letters varied little, but yet they got more desponding; and -Ethel grew very impatient to see him again. She had counted the days of -her week--they were fulfilled, and her husband did not return. Every -thing depended, he said, on his presence; and he must remain yet for -another day or two. At first he implored her to be patient. He besought -her, as she loved him, to endure their separation yet for a few more -days. His letters were very short, but all in this style. They were -imperative with his wife--she obeyed; yet she did so, she told him, -against her will and against her sense of right. She ought to be at his -side to cheer him under his difficulties. She had married him because -she loved him, and because the first and only wish of her heart was to -conduce to his happiness. To travel together, to enjoy society and the -beauties of nature in each other's society, were indeed blessings, and -she valued them; but there was another dearer still, of which she felt -herself defrauded, and for which she yearned. "The aim of my life, and -its only real joy," she said, "is to make your existence happier than it -would have been without me. When I know and feel that such a moment or -hour has been passed by you with sensations of pleasure, and that -through me, I have fulfilled the purpose of my destiny. Deprived of the -opportunity to accomplish this, I am bereft of that for which I breathe. -You speak as if I were better off here than if I shared the -inconveniences of your lot--is not this strange language, my own Edward? -You talk of security and comfort; where can I be so secure as near you? -And for comfort! what heart-elevating joy it would be to exchange this -barren, meagre scene of absence, for the delight, the comfort of seeing -you, of waiting on you! I do not ask you to hasten your return, so as to -injure your prospects, but permit me to join you. Would not London -itself, dismal as you describe it, become sunny and glad, if Ethel were -with you?" - -To these adjurations Villiers scarcely replied. Time crept on; three -weeks had already elapsed. Now and then a day intervened, and he did not -write, and his wife's anxiety grew to an intolerable pitch. She did not -for an instant suspect his faith, but she feared that he must be utterly -miserable, since he shrunk from communicating his feelings to her. His -last letter was brief; "I have just come from my solicitor," he said, -"and have but time to say, that I must go there again to-morrow, so I -shall not be with you. O the heavy hours in this dark prison! You will -reward me and make me forget them when I see you--but how shall I pass -the time till then!" - -These words made Ethel conceive the idea of joining him in town. He -would not, he could not be angry? He could not bring his mind to ask her -to share his discomforts--but ought she not to volunteer--to insist upon -his permitting her to come? Permit! the same pride that prevented his -asking, would induce him to refuse her request; but should she do wrong, -if, without his express permission, she were to join him? A thrill, half -fear, half transport, made her heart's blood stand still at the thought. -The day after this last, she got no letter; the following day was -Monday, and there would be no post from town. Her resolution was taken, -and she told her aunt, that she should go up to London the following -day. Mrs. Elizabeth knew little of the actual circumstances of the young -pair. Villiers had made it an express condition, that she should not be -informed of their difficulties, for he was resolute not to take from her -little store, which, in the way she lived, was sufficient, yet barely -so, for her wants. She did not question her niece as to her journey; she -imagined that it was a thing arranged. But Ethel herself was full of -perplexity; she remembered what Villiers had said of expense; she knew -that he would be deeply hurt if she used a public conveyance, and yet to -go post would consume the little money she had left, and she did not -like to reach London pennyless. She began to talk to her aunt, and -faltered out something about want of money for posting--the good lady's -purse was instantly in her hand. Ethel had not the same horror as her -husband of pecuniary obligation--she was too inexperienced to know its -annoyances; and in the present instance, to receive a small sum from her -aunt, appeared to her an affair that did not merit hesitation. She took -twenty pounds for her journey, and felt her heart lighter. There yet -remained another question. Hitherto they had travelled in their own -carriage, with a valet and lady's maid. Villiers had taken his servant -to town with him. In a postscript to one of his letters, he said, "I was -able to recommend Laurie to a good place, so I have parted with him, and -I shall not take another servant at this moment." Laurie had been long -and faithfully attached to her husband, who had never lived without an -attendant, and who, from his careless habits, was peculiarly helpless. -Ethel felt that this dismissal was a measure of economy, and that she -ought to imitate it. Still as any measure to be taken always frightened -her, she had not courage to discharge her maid, but resolved to go up to -town without her. Aunt Bessy was shocked at her going alone, but Ethel -was firm; nothing could happen to her, and she should prove to Edward -her readiness to endure privation. - -On Monday, at eleven in the forenoon, on the 28th of November, Ethel, -having put together but a few things,--for she expected a speedy -return,--stept into her travelling chariot, and began her journey to -town. She was all delight at the idea of seeing Edward. She reproached -herself for having so long delayed giving this proof of her earnest -affection. She listened with beaming smiles to all her aunt's -injunctions and cautions: and, the carriage once in motion, drawing her -shawl round her, as she sat in the corner, looking on the despoiled yet -clear prospect, her mind was filled with the most agreeable -reveries--her heart soothed by the dearest anticipations. - -To pay the post-horses--to gift the postillion herself, were all events -for her: she felt proud. "Edward said, I must begin to learn the ways of -the world; and this is my first lesson in economy and care," she -thought, as she put into the post-boy's hand just double the sum he had -ever received before. "And how good, and attentive, and willing every -body is! I am sure women can very well travel alone. Every one is -respectful, and desirous to serve," was her next internal remark, as she -undrew her little silken purse, to give a waiter half-a-crown, who had -brought her a glass of water, and whose extreme alacrity struck her as -so very kind-hearted. - -Her spirits flagged as the day advanced. In spite of herself, an uneasy -feeling diffused itself through her mind, when, the sun going down, a -misty, chilly twilight crept over the landscape. Had she done right? she -asked herself; would Edward indeed be glad to see her? She felt half -frightened at her temerity--alarmed at the length of her journey--timid -when she thought of the vast London she was about to enter, without any -certain bourn. She supposed that Villiers went each day to his club, and -she knew that he lodged in Duke street, St. James's; but she was -ignorant of the number of the house, and the street itself was unknown -to her; she did not remember ever to have been in it in her life. - -Her carriage entered labyrinthine London by Blackwall, and threaded the -wilds of Lothbury. A dense and ever-thickening mist, palpable, yellow, -and impervious to the eye, enveloped the whole town. Ethel had heard of -a November fog; but she had never witnessed one, and the idea of it did -not occur to her memory: she was half-frightened, thinking that some -strange phænomena were going on, and fancying that her postillion was -hurrying forward in terror. At last, in Cheapside, they stopped jammed -up by carts and coaches; and then she contrived to make herself heard, -asking what was the matter? The word "eclipse" hung upon her lips. - -"Only, ma'am, the street has got blocked up like in the fog: we shall -get on presently." - -The word "fog" solved the mystery; and again her thoughts were with -Villiers. What a horrible place for him to live in! And he had been -enduring all this wretchedness, while she was breathing the pure -atmosphere of the country. Again they proceeded through the "murky air," -and through an infinitude of mischances;--the noise--the hubbub--the -crowd, as she could distinguish it, as if veiled by dirty gauze, by the -lights in the shops--all agitated and vexed her. Through Fleet Street -and the Strand they went; and it seemed as if their progress would never -come to an end. The whole previous journey from Longfield was short in -comparison to this tedious procession: twenty times she longed to get -out and walk. At last they got free, and with a quicker pace drove up to -the door of the Union Club, in Charing Cross. - -The post-boy called one of the waiters to the carriage door; and Ethel -asked--"Is Mr. Villiers here?" - -"Mr. Villiers, ma'am, has left town." - -Ethel was aghast. She had watched assiduously along the road; yet she -had felt certain that if he had meant to come, she would have seen him -on Sunday; and till this moment, she had not entertained a real doubt -but that she should find him. She asked, falteringly, "When did he go?" - -"Last week, ma'am: last Thursday, I think it was." - -Ethel breathed again: the man's information must be false. She was too -inexperienced to be aware that servants and common people have a -singular tact in selecting the most unpleasant intelligence, and being -very alert in communicating it. "Do you know," she inquired, "where Mr. -Villiers lodges?" - -"Can't say, indeed, ma'am; but the porter knows;--here, Saunders!" - -No Saunders answered. "The porter is not in the way; but if you can -wait, ma'am, he'll be back presently." - -The waiter disappeared: the post-boy came up--he touched his hat. -"Wait," said Ethel;--"we must wait a little;" and he removed himself to -the horses' heads. Ethel sat in her lonely corner, shrouded by fog and -darkness, watching every face as it passed under the lamp near, fancying -that Edward might appear among them. The ugly faces that haunt, in quick -succession, the imagination of one oppressed by night-mare, might vie -with those that passed successively in review before Ethel. Most of them -hurried on, looking neither to the right nor left. Some entered the -house; some glanced at her carriage: one or two, perceiving a bonnet, -evidently questioned the waiter. He stood there for her own service, -Ethel thought; and she watched his every movement--his successive -disappearances and returns--the people he talked to. Once she signed to -him to come; but--"No, ma'am, the porter is not come back yet,"--was all -his answer. At last, after having stood, half whistling, for some five -minutes, (it appeared to Ethel half-an-hour,) without having received -any visible communication, he suddenly came up to the carriage door, -saying, "The porter could not stay to speak to you, ma'am, he was in -such a hurry. He says, Mr. Villiers lodges in Duke Street, St. James's: -he should know the house, but has forgotten the number." - -"Then I must wait till he comes back again. I knew all that before. Will -he be long?" - -"A long time, ma'am; two hours at least. He said that the woman of the -house is a widow woman--Mrs. Derham." - -Thus, as if by torture, (but, as with the whipping boys of old, her's -was the torture, not the delinquent's,) Ethel extracted some information -from the stupid, conceited fellow. On she went to Duke Street, to -discover Mrs. Derham's residence. A few wrong doors were knocked at; and -a beer-boy, at last, was the Mercury that brought the impatient, longing -wife, to the threshold of her husband's residence. Happy beer-boy! She -gave him a sovereign: he had never been so rich in his life -before;--such chance-medleys do occur in this strange world! - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -O my reviving joy! thy quickening presence -Makes the sad night -Sit like a youthful spring upon my blood. -I cannot make thy welcome rich enough -With all the wealth of words. - -MIDDLETON. - - -The boy knocked at the door. A servant-girl opened it. "Does Mr. -Villiers lodge here?" asked the postillion, from his horse. - -"Yes," said the girl. - -"Open the door quickly, and let me out!" cried Ethel, as her heart beat -fast and loud. - -The door was opened--the steps let down--operations tedious beyond -measures, as she thought. She got out, and was in the hall, going up -stairs. - -"Mr. Villiers is not at home," said the maid. - -Through the low blinds of the parlour window, Mrs. Derham had been -watching what was going on. She heard what her servant said, and now -came out. "Mr. Villiers is not at home," she reiterated; "will you leave -any message?" - -"No; I will wait for him. Show me into his room." - -"I am afraid that it is locked," answered Mrs. Derham repulsively: -"perhaps you can call again. Who shall I say asked for him?" - -"O no!" cried Ethel, "I must wait for him. Will you permit me to wait in -your parlour? I am Mrs. Villiers." - -"I beg pardon," said the good woman; "Mrs. Villiers is in the country." - -"And so I am," replied Ethel--"at least, so I was this morning. Don't -you see my travelling carriage?--look; you may be sure that I am Mrs. -Villiers." - -She took out of her little bag one of Edward's letters, with the perusal -of which she had beguiled much of her way to town. Mrs. Derham looked at -the direction--"The Honourable Mrs. Villiers;"--her countenance -brightened. Mrs. Derham was a little, plump, well-preserved woman of -fifty-four or five. She was kind-hearted, and of course shared the -worship for rank which possesses every heart born within the four seas. -She was now all attention. Villiers's room was open; he was expected -very soon:--"He is so seldom out in an evening: it is very unlucky; but -he must be back directly," said Mrs. Derham, as she showed the way up -the narrow staircase. Ethel reached the landing, and entered a room of -tolerable dimensions, considerably encumbered with litter, which opened -into a smaller room, with a tent bed. A little bit of fire glimmered in -the grate. The whole place looked excessively forlorn and comfortless. - -Mrs. Derham bustled about to bestow a little neatness on the room, -saying something of the "untidiness of gentlemen," and "so many lodgers -in the house." Ethel sat down she longed to be alone. There was the -post-boy to be paid, and to be ordered to take the carriage to a -coach-house; and then--Mrs. Derham asked her if she would not have -something to eat: she herself was at tea, and offered a cup, which Ethel -thankfully accepted, acknowledging that she had not eaten since the -morning. Mrs. Derham was shocked. The rank, beauty, and sweet manners of -Ethel had made a conquest, which her extreme youth redoubled. "So young -a lady," she said, "to go about alone: she did not know how to take care -of herself, she was sure. She must have some supper: a roast chicken -should be ready in an hour--by the time Mr. Villiers came in." - -"But the tea," said Ethel, smiling; "you will let me have that now?" - -Mrs. Derham hurried away on this hint, and the young wife was left -alone. She had been married a year; but there was still a freshness -about her feelings, which gave zest to every change in her wedded life. -"This is where he has been living without me," she thought; "Poor -Edward! it does not look as if he were very comfortable." - -She rose from her seat, and began to arrange the books and papers. A -glove of her husband's lay on the table: she kissed it with a glad -feeling of welcome. When the servant came in, she had the fire -replenished--the hearth swept; and in a minute or two, the room had lost -much of its disconsolate appearance. Then, with a continuation of her -feminine love of order she arranged her own dress and hair; giving to -her attire, as much as possible, an at-home appearance. She had just -finished--just sat down, and begun to find the time long--when a quick, -imperative knock at the door, which she recognized at once, made her -heart beat, and her cheek grow pale. She heard a step--a voice--and Mrs. -Derham answer--"Yes, sir; the fire is in--every thing comfortable;"--and -Ethel opened the door, as she spoke, and in an instant was clasped in -her husband's arms. - -It was not a moment whose joy could be expressed by words. He had been -miserable during her absence, and had thought of sending for her; but he -looked round his single room, remembered that he was in lodgings, and -gave up his purpose with a bitter murmur: and here she was, uncalled -for, but most welcome: she was here, in her youth, her loveliness, her -sweetness: these were charms; but others more transcendent now attended -on, and invested her;--the sacred tenderness of a wife had led her to -his side; and love, in its most genuine and beautiful shape, shed an -atmosphere of delight and worship about her. Not one circumstance could -alloy the unspeakable bliss of their meeting. Poverty, and its -humiliations, vanished from before the eyes of Villiers; he was -overflowingly rich in the possession of her affections--her presence. -Again and again he thanked her, in broken accents of expressive -transport. - -"Nothing in the whole world could make me unhappy now!" he cried; and -Ethel, who had seen his face look elongated and gloomy at the moment he -had entered, felt indeed that Medea, with all her potent herbs, was less -of a magician than she, in the power of infusing the sparkling spirit of -life into one human frame. It was long before either were coherent in -their inquiries and replies. There was nothing, indeed, that either -wished to know. Life, and its purposes, were fulfilled, rounded, -complete, without a flaw. They loved, and were together--together, not -for a transitory moment, but for the whole duration of the eternity of -love, which never could be exhausted in their hearts. - -After more than an hour spent in gradually becoming acquainted and -familiar with the transporting change, from separate loneliness to -mutual society and sympathy, the good-natured face of Mrs. Derham showed -itself, to announce that Ethel's supper was ready. These words brought -back to Edward's recollection his wife's journey, and consequent -fatigues: he grew more desirous than Mrs. Derham to feed his poor -famished bird, whose eyes, in spite of the joy that shone in them, began -to look languid, and whose cheek was pale. The little supper-table was -laid, and they sat down together. - -Lady Mary Wortley Montagu has recorded the pleasure to be reaped - - -"When we meet with champagne and a chicken at last;" - - -and perhaps social life -contains no combination so full of enjoyment as a tête-à-tête supper. -_Here_ it was, with its highest zest. They feared no prying eyes--they -knew no ill: it was not a scanty hour of joy snatched from an age of -pain--a single spark illuminating a long blank night. It came after -separation, and possessed, therefore, the charm of novelty; but it was -the prelude to a long reunion--the seal set on their being once again -joined, to go through together each hour of the livelong day. Full of -unutterable thankfulness and gladness, as were the minds of each, there -was, besides, - - -"A sacred and home-felt delight, -A sober certainty of waking bliss," - - -which is the crown and fulfilment of perfect human -happiness. "Imparadised" by each other's presence--no doubt--no fear of -division on the morrow-no dread of untoward event, suspicion, or blame, -clouded the balmy atmosphere which their hearts created around them. No. -Eden was required to enhance their happiness; there needed no - - -"Crisped brooks, -Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold;"-- - - -no - - -"Happy, rural seat, with various view," - - -decked with - - -"Flowers of all hue," -"All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste;"-- - - -nor "cool recess," nor - - - -"Vernal airs, -Breathing the smell of field and grove." - - -In their narrow -abode--their nook of a room, cut off from the world, redolent only of -smoke and fog--their two fond hearts could build up bowers of delight, -and store them with all of ecstasy which the soul of man can know, -without any assistance of eye, or ear, or scent. So rich, and prodigal, -and glorious, in its gifts, is faithful and true-hearted love,--when it -knows the sacrifices which it must make to merit them, and consents -willingly to forego vanity, selfishness, and the exactions of self-will, -in unlimited and unregretted exchange. - -Mutual esteem and gratitude sanctified the unreserved sympathy which -made each so happy in the other. Did they love the less for not loving -"in sin and fear?" Far from it. The certainty of being the cause of good -to each other tended to foster the most delicate of all passions, more -than the rougher ministrations of terror, and a knowledge that each was -the occasion of injury to the other. A woman's heart is peculiarly -unfitted to sustain this conflict. Her sensibility gives keenness to her -imagination, and she magnifies every peril, and writhes beneath every -sacrifice which tends to humiliate her in her own eyes. The natural -pride of her sex struggles with her desire to confer happiness, and her -peace is wrecked. - -Far different was the happy Ethel's situation--far otherwise were her -thoughts employed than in concealing the pangs of care and shame. The -sense of right adorned the devotion of love. She read approbation in -Edward's eyes, and drew near him in full consciousness of deserving it. -They sat at their supper, and long after, by the cheerful fire, talking -of a thousand things connected with the present and the future--the -long, long future which they were to spend together; and every now and -then their eyes sparkled with the gladness of renewed delight in seeing -each other. "Mine, my own, for ever!"--And was this exultation in -possession to be termed selfish? by no other reasoning surely, than that -used by a cold and meaningless philosophy, which gives this name to -generosity and truth, and all the nobler passions of the soul. They -congratulated themselves on this mutual property, partly because it had -been a free gift one to the other; partly because they looked forward to -the right it ensured to each, of conferring mutual benefits; and partly -through the instinctive love God has implanted for that which, being -ours, is become the better part of ourselves. They were united for -"better and worse," and there was a sacredness in the thought of the -"worse" they might share, which gave a mysterious and celestial charm to -the present "better." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -Do you not think yourself truly happy? -You have the abstract of all sweetness by you, -The precious wealth youth labours to arrive at, -Nor is she less in honour than in beauty. - -BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. - - -The following day was one of pouring, unintermitting rain. Villiers and -Ethel drew their chairs near their cheerful fire, and were happy. Edward -could not quite conquer his repugnance to seeing his wife in lodgings, -and in those also of so mean and narrow a description. But the spirit of -Ethel was more disencumbered of earthly particles: that had found its -rest in the very home of Love. The rosy light of the divinity invested -all things for her. Cleopatra on the Cydnus, in the bark which-- - - -"Like a burnished throne -Burnt on the water," - - -borne along - - -"By purple sails . . . -. . . So perfumed, that -The winds were love-sick with them;" - - -was not more -gorgeously attended than Ethel was to her own fancy, lapped and cradled -in all that love has of tender, voluptuous, and confiding. - -Several days past before Villiers could withdraw her from this blissful -dream, to gaze upon the world as it was. He could not make her disgusted -with her fortunes nor her abode, but he awakened anxiety on his own -account. His father, as he had conjectured, was gone to Paris, leaving -merely a message for his son, that he would willingly join him in any -act for raising money, by mortgage or the absolute disposal of a part of -the estate. Edward had consulted with his solicitor, who was to look -over a vast variety of papers, to discover the most eligible mode of -making some kind of sale. Delay, in all its various shapes, waited on -these arrangements; and Villiers was very averse to leaving town till he -held some clue to the labyrinth of obstacles which presented themselves -at every turn. He talked of their taking a house in town; but Ethel -would not hear of such extravagance. In the first place, their actual -means were at a very low ebb, with little hope of a speedy supply. There -was another circumstance, the annoyance of which he understood far -better than Ethel could. He had raised money on annuities, the interest -of which he was totally unable to pay; this exposed him to a personal -risk of the most disagreeable kind, and he knew that his chief creditor -was on the point of resorting to harsh measures against him. These -things, dingy-visaged, dirty-handed realities as they were, made a -strange contrast with Ethel's feeling of serene and elevated bliss; but -she, with unshrinking heart, brought the same fortitude and love into -the crooked and sordid ways of modern London, which had adorned heroines -of old, as they wandered amidst trackless forests, and over barren -mountains. - -Several days passed, and the weather became clear, though cold. The -young pair walked together in the parks at such morning hours as would -prevent their meeting any acquaintances, for Edward was desirous that it -should not be known that they were in town. Villiers also traced his -daily, weary, disappointing way to his solicitor, where he found things -look more blank and dismal each day. Then when evening came, and the -curtains were drawn, they might have been at the top of Mount Caucasus, -instead of in the centre of London, so completely were they cut off from -every thing except each other. They then felt absolutely happy: the -lingering disgusts of Edward were washed clean away by the bounteous, -everspringing love, that flowed, as waters from a fountain, from the -heart of Ethel, in one perpetual tide. - -In those hours of unchecked talk, she learned many things she had not -known before--the love of Horatio Saville for Lady Lodore was revealed to -her; but the story was not truly told, for the prejudices as well as the -ignorance of Villiers rendered him blind to the sincerity of Cornelia's -affection and regret. Ethel wondered, and in spite of the charm with -which she delighted to invest the image of her mother, she could not -help agreeing with her husband that she must be irrevocably wedded to -the most despicable worldly feelings, so to have played with the heart -of a man such as Horatio: a man, whose simplest word bore the stamp of -truth and genius; one of those elected few whom nature elevats to her -own high list of nobility and greatness. How could she, a simple girl, -interest feelings which were not alive to Saville's merits? She could -only hope that in some dazzling marriage Lady Lodore would find a -compensation for the higher destiny which might have been hers, but -that, like the "base Indian," she had thrown - - -"A pearl away, -Richer than all his tribe." - - -There was a peaceful quiet in their secluded and obscure life, which -somewhat resembled the hours spent on board ship, when you long for, yet -fear, the conclusion of the voyage, and shrink involuntarily from -exchanging a state, whose chief blessing is an absence of every care, -for the variety of pains and pleasures which chequer life. Ethel -possessed her all--so near, so undivided, so entirely her own, that she -could not enter into Villiers's impatience, nor quite sympathize with -the disquietude he could not repress. After considerable delays, his -solicitor informed him that his father had so entirely disposed of all -his interest in the property, that his readiness to join in any act of -sale would be useless. The next thing to be done was for Edward to sell -a part of his expectations, and the lawyer promised to find a purchaser, -and begged to see him three days hence, when no doubt he should have -some proposal to communicate. - -Whoever has known what such things are--whoever has waited on the demurs -and objections, and suffered the alternations of total failure and -suddenly renewed hopes, which are the Tantalus-food held to the lips of -those under the circumstances of Villiers, can follow in imagination his -various conferences with his solicitor, as day after day something new -was discovered, still to drag on, or to impede, the tortoise pace of his -negociations. It will be no matter of wonder to such, that a month -instead of three days wasted away, and found him precisely in the same -position, with hopes a little raised, though so frequently blasted, and -nothing done. - -In recording the annoyances, or rather the adversity which the young -pair endured at this period, a risk is run, on the one hand, of being -censured for bringing the reader into contact with degrading and sordid -miseries; and on the other, of laying too much stress on circumstances -which will appear to those in a lower sphere of life, as scarcely -deserving the name of misfortune. It is very easy to embark on the wild -ocean of romance, and to steer a danger-fraught passage, amidst giant -perils,--the very words employed, excite the imagination, and give grace -to the narrative. But all beautiful and fairylike as was Ethel Villiers, -in tracing her fortunes, it is necessary to descend from such altitudes, -to employ terms of vulgar use, and to describe scenes of common-place -and debasing interest; so that, if she herself, in her youth and -feminine tenderness, does not shed light and holiness around her, we -shall grope darkling, and fail utterly in the scope which we proposed to -ourselves in selecting her history for the entertainment of the reader. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -I saw her upon nearer view, -A Spirit, yet a Woman too! -A Creature not too bright or good -For human nature's daily food; -For transient sorrows, simple wiles, -Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. - -WORDSWORTH. - - -The end of December had come. New year's day found and left them still -in Duke Street. On the 4th of January Villiers received a letter from -his uncle, Lord Maristow, entrusting a commission to him, which obliged -him to go to the neighbourhood of Egham. Not having a horse, he went by -the stage. He set out so late in the day that there was no chance of his -returning the same night; and he promised to be back early on the -morrow. Ethel had letters to write to Italy and to her aunt; and with -these she tried to beguile the time. She felt lonely; the absence of -Villiers for so many hours engendered an anxiety, which she found some -difficulty in repressing. Accustomed to have him perpetually at her -side, and without any other companion or resource, she repined at her -solitude. There was his empty chair, and no hope that he would occupy -it; and she sat in her little room so near to thousands, and yet so cut -off from every one, with such a sense of desolation as Mungo Park might -have felt in central Africa, or a shipwrecked mariner on an uninhabited -island. - -Her pen was taken up, but she did not write. She could not command her -thoughts to express any thing but the overflowing, devoted, -all-engrossing affection of her heart, her adoration for her husband; -that would not amuse Lucy,--she thought: and she had commenced another -sheet with "My dearest Aunt," when the maid-servant ushered a man into -her presence--a stranger, a working man. What could he want with her? He -seemed confused, and stammered out, "Mr. Villiers is not in?" - -"He will be at home to-morrow, if you want him; or have you any message -that I can give?" - -"You are Mrs. Villiers, ma'am?" - -"Yes, my good man, I am Mrs. Villiers." - -"If you please, ma'am, I am Saunders, one of the porters at the Union -Club." - -"I remember: has any message come there? or does Mr. Villiers owe you -any money?" and her purse was in her hand. - -"O no, ma'am. Mr. Villiers is a good gentleman; and he has been petiklar -generous to me--and that is why I come, because I am afraid," continued -the man, lowering his tone, "that he is in danger." - -"Good heavens! Where? how?" cried Ethel, starting from her chair. "Tell -me at once." - -"Yes, ma'am, I will; so you must know that this evening--" - -"Yes, this evening. What has happened? he left me at six o'clock--what -is it?" - -"Nothing, I hope, this evening, ma'am. I am only afraid for to-morrow -morning. And I will tell you all I know, as quick as ever I can." - -The man then proceeded to relate, that some one had been inquiring about -Mr. Villiers at the Club House. One of the servants had told him that he -lived in Duke Street, St. James's, and that was all he knew; but -Saunders came up, and the man questioned him. He instantly recognized -the fellow, and knew what his business must be. And he tried to deceive -him, and declared that Mr. Villiers was gone out of town; but the fellow -said that he knew better than that; and that he had been seen that very -day in the Strand. He should look for him, no thanks to Saunders, in -Duke Street. "And so, ma'am, you see they'll be sure to be here early -to-morrow morning. So don't let Mr. Villiers stay here, on no account -whatsomever." - -"Why?" asked Ethel, simply; "they can't hurt him." - -"I am sure, ma'am," said Saunders, his face brightening, "I am very glad -to hear that--you know best. They will arrest him for sure, but--" - -"Arrest him!" - -"Yes, ma'am, for I've seen the tall one before. There were two of -them--bailiffs." - -Ethel now began to tremble violently; these were strange, cabalistic -words to her, the more awful from their mystery. "What am I to do?" she -exclaimed; "Mr. Villiers will be here in the morning, he sleeps at -Egham, and will be here early; I must go to him directly." - -"I am glad to hear he is so far," said Saunders; "and if I can be of any -use you have but to say it; shall I go to Egham? there are night coaches -that go through, and I might warn him." - -Ethel thought--she feared to do any thing--she imagined that she should -be watched, that all her endeavours would be of no avail. She looked at -the man, honesty was written on his face; but there was no intelligence, -nothing to tell her that his advice was good. The possibility of such an -event as the present had never occurred to her. Villiers had been silent -with regard to his fears on this head. She was suddenly transported into -a strange sea, hemmed in by danger, without a pilot or knowledge of a -passage. Again she looked at the man's face: "What is best to be done!" -she exclaimed. - -"I am sure, ma'am" he replied, as if she had asked him the question, "I -think what I said is best, if you will tell me where I can find Mr. -Villiers. I should think nothing of going, and he could send word by me -what he wished you to do." - -"Yes, that would indeed be a comfort. I will write three lines, and you -shall take them." In a moment she had written. "Give this note into his -own hand, he will sleep there--I have written the direction of the -house--or at some inn, at Egham. Do not rest till you have given the -letter, and here is for your trouble." She held out two sovereigns. - -"Depend on me, ma'am; and I will bring an answer to you by nine in the -morning. Mr. Villiers will pay me what he thinks fit--you may want your -money. Only, ma'am, don't be frightened when them men come to-morrow--if -the people here are good sort of folks, you had better give them a -hint--it may save you trouble." - -"Thank you: you are a good man, and I will remember you, and reward you. -By nine to-morrow--you will be punctual?" - -The man again assured her that he would use all diligence, and took his -leave. - -Ethel felt totally overwhelmed by these tidings. The unknown is always -terrible, and the ideas of arrest, and prison, and bolts, and bars, and -straw, floated before her imagination. Was Villiers safe even where he -was? Would not the men make inquiries, learn where he had gone, and -follow him, even if it were to the end of the world? She had heard of -the activity employed to arrest criminals, and mingled every kind of -story in her head, till she grew desperate from terror. Not knowing what -else to do, she became eager for Mrs. Derham's advice, and hurried down -stairs to ask it. - -She had not seen much of the good lady since her first arrival. Every -day, when Villiers went out, she came up, indeed, on the momentous -question of "orders for dinner;" and then she bestowed the benefit of -some five or ten minutes garrulity on her fair lodger. Ethel learnt that -she had seen better days, and that were justice done her, she ought to -be riding in her coach, instead of letting lodgings. She learnt that she -had a married daughter living at Kennington: poor enough, but struggling -on cheerfully with her mother's help. The best girl in the world she -was, and a jewel of a wife, and had two of the most beautiful children -that ever were beheld. - -This was all that Ethel knew, except that once Mrs. Derham had brought -her one of her grandchildren to be seen and admired. In all that the -good woman said, there was so much kindness, such a cheerful endurance -of the ills of life, and she had shown such a readiness to oblige, that -the idea of applying to her for advice, relieved Ethel's mind of much of -its load of anxiety. - -She was too much agitated to think of ringing for the servant, to ask to -see her; but hurried down stairs, and knocked at the parlour-door almost -before she was aware of what she was doing. "Come in," said a feminine -voice. Ethel entered, and started to see one she knew;--and yet again -she doubted;--was it indeed Fanny Derham whom she beheld? - -The recognition afforded mutual pleasure: checked a little on Ethel's -part, by her anxieties; and on Fanny's, by a feeling that she had been -neglected by her friend. A few letters had passed between them, when -first Ethel had visited Longfield: since then their correspondence had -been discontinued till after her return to England, from Italy, when -Mrs. Villiers had wrote; but her letter was returned by the post-office, -no such person being to be found according to the address. - -The embarrassment of the moment passed away. Ethel forgot, or rather did -not advert to, her friend's lowly destiny, in the joy of meeting her -again. After a minute or two, also, they had become familiar with the -change that time had operated in their youthful appearance, which was -not much, and most in Ethel. Her marriage, and conversance with the -world, had changed her into a woman, and endowed her with easy manners -and self-possession. Fanny was still a mere girl; tall, beyond the -middle height, yet her young, ingenuous countenance was unaltered, as -well as that singular mixture of mildness and independence, in her -manners, which had always characterized her. Her light blue eyes beamed -with intelligence, and her smile expressed the complacency and -condescension of a superior being. Her beauty was all intellectual: -open, sincere, passionless, yet benignant, you approached her without -fear of encountering any of the baser qualities of human beings,--their -hypocrisy, or selfishness. Those who have seen the paintings of the -calm-visaged, blue-eyed deities of the frescos of Pompeii, may form an -idea of the serene beauty of Fanny Derham. - -When Mrs. Villiers entered, she was reading earnestly--a large -dictionary open before her. The book on which she was intent was in -Greek characters. "You have not forgotten your old pursuits," said -Ethel, smiling. - -"Say rather I am more wedded to them than ever," she replied; "since, -more than ever, I need them to give light and glory to a dingy world. -But you, dear Ethel, if so I may call you,--you looked anxious as you -entered: you wish to speak to my mother;--she is gone to Kennington, and -will not return to-night. Can I be of any use?" - -Her mother! how strange! and Mrs. Derham, while she had dilated with -pride on her elder daughter, had never mentioned this pearl of price, -which was her's also. - -"Alas! I fear not!" replied Ethel; "it is experience I need--experience -in things you can know nothing about, nor your mother either, probably; -yet she may have heard of such things, and know how to advise me." - -Mrs. Villiers then explained the sources of her disquietude. Fanny -listened with looks of the kindest sympathy. "Even in such things," she -said, "I have had experience. Adversity and I are become very close -friends since I last saw you: we are intimate, and I know much good of -her; so she is grateful, and repays me by prolonging her stay. Be -composed: no ill will happen, I trust, to Mr. Villiers;--at least you -need not be afraid of his being pursued. It the man you have sent be -active and faithful, all will be well. I will see these troublesome -people to-morrow, when they come, and prevent your being annoyed. If -Saunders returns early, and brings tidings of Mr. Villiers, you will -know what his wishes are. You can do nothing more to-night; and there is -every probability that all will be well." - -"Do you really think so?" cried Mrs. Villiers. "O that I had gone with -him!--never will I again let him go any where without me." - -Fanny entered into more minute explanations, and succeeded, to a great -degree, in calming her friend. She accompanied her back to her own room, -and sat with her long. She entered into the details of her own -history:--the illness and death of her father; the insulting treatment -her mother had met from his family; the kindness of a relation of her -own, who had assisted them, and enabled them to pursue their present -mode of life, which procured them a livelihood. Fanny spoke generally of -these circumstances, and in a spirit that seemed to disdain that such -things were; not because they were degrading in the eyes of others, but -because they interfered with the philosophic leisure, and enjoyment of -nature, which she so dearly prized. She thought nothing of privation, or -the world's impertinence; but much of being immured in the midst of -London, and being forced to consider the inglorious necessities of life. -Her desire to be useful to her mother induced her often to spend -precious time in "making the best of things," which she would readily -have dispensed with altogether, as the easiest, as well as the wisest, -way of freeing herself from their trammels. Her narration interested -Ethel, and served to calm her mind. She thought--"Can I not bear those -cares with equanimity for Edward's sake, which Fanny regards as so -trivial, merely because Plato and Epictetus bid her do so? Will not the -good God, who has implanted in her heart so cheerless a consolation, -bring comfort to mine, which has no sorrow but for another's sake?" - -These reflections tranquillized her, when she laid her head on her -pillow at night. She resigned her being and destiny to a Power superior -to any earthly authority, with a conviction, that its most benign -influence would be extended over her. - - - - -END OF VOL. II. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LODORE, VOL. 2 (OF 3) *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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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> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Lodore, Vol. 2 (of 3)</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 14, 2021 [eBook #64556]<br /> -[Most recently updated: October 26, 2021]</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: Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images generously made available by Hathi Trust Digital Library.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LODORE, VOL. 2 (OF 3) ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/lodore02_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - - -<h2>LODORE.</h2> - - - -<h4>BY THE</h4> - -<h3>AUTHOR OF "FRANKENSTEIN."</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">In the turmoil of our lives,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Men are like politic states, or troubled seas.</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Tossed up and down with several storms and tempests,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Change and variety of wrecks and fortunes;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Till, labouring to the havens of our homes,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">We struggle for the calm that crowns our ends.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">FORD.</p> -</div> - - - -<h3>IN THREE VOLUMES.</h3> - - -<h3>VOL. II.</h3> - - - -<h4>LONDON:</h4> - -<h4>RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET</h4> - -<h5>(SUCCESSOR TO HENRY COLBURN.)</h5> - -<h5>1835.</h5> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> -<p><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p><br /></p> - -<h4>LODORE</h4> - - -<p><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Excellent creature! whose perfections make</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Even sorrow lovely!</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 45%;">BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.</p> -</div> - -<p> -Mr. Villiers now became the constant visitor of Mrs. Elizabeth and her -niece; and all discontent, all sadness, all listlessness, vanished in -his presence. There was in his mind a constant spring of vivacity, which -did not display itself in mere gaiety, but in being perfectly alive at -every moment, and continually ready to lend himself to the comfort and -solace of his companions. Sitting in their dingy London house, the -spirit of dulness had drawn a curtain between them and the sun; and -neither thought nor event had penetrated the fortification of silence -and neglect which environed them. Edward Villiers came; and as mist -flies before the wind, so did all Ethel's depression disappear when his -voice only met her ear: his step on the stairs announced happiness; and -when he was indeed before her, light and day displaced every remnant of -cheerless obscurity. -</p> - -<p> -The abstracted, wounded, yet lofty spirit of Lodore was totally dissimilar -to the airy brightness of Villiers' disposition. Lodore had outlived a -storm, and shown himself majestic in ruin. No ill had tarnished the -nature of Villiers: he enjoyed life, he was in good-humour with the -world, and thought well of mankind. Lodore had endangered his peace from -the violence of passion, and reaped misery from the pride of his soul. -Villiers was imprudent from his belief in the goodness of his -fellow-creatures, and imparted happiness from the store that his warm -heart insured to himself. The one had never been a boy—the other had -not yet learned to be a man. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel's heart had been filled by her father; and all affection, all -interest, borrowed their force from his memory. She did not think of -love; and while Villiers was growing into a part of her life, becoming -knit to her existence by daily habit, and a thousand thoughts expended on -him, she entertained his idea chiefly as having been the friend of Lodore. -"He is certainly the kindest-hearted creature in the world." This was -the third time that, when laying her gentle head on the pillow, this -feeling came like a blessing to her closing eyes. She heard his voice in -the silence of night, even more distinctly than when it was addressed to -her outward sense during the day. For the first time after the lapse of -months, she found one to whom she could spontaneously utter every -thought, as it rose in her mind. A fond, elder brother, if such ever -existed, cherishing the confidence and tenderness of a beloved sister, -might fill the place which her new friend assumed for Ethel. She thought -of him with overflowing affection; and the name of "Mr. Villiers" -sometimes fell from her lips in solitude, and hung upon her ear like -sweetest music. In early life there is a moment—perhaps of all the -enchantments of love it is the one which is never renewed—when -passion, unacknowledged to ourselves, imparts greater delight than any -after-stage of that ever-progressive sentiment. We neither wish nor -expect. A new joy has risen, like the sun, upon our lives; and we rejoice -in the radiance of morning, without adverting to the noon and twilight -that is to follow. Ethel stood on the threshold of womanhood: the door of -life had been closed before her;—again it was thrown open—and -the sudden splendour that manifested itself blinded her to the forms of the -objects of menace or injury, which a more experienced eye would have -discerned within the brightness of her new-found day. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel expressed a wish to visit Eton. In talking of the past, Lord Lodore -had never adverted to any events except those which had occurred during his -boyish days. His youthful pleasures and exploits had often made a part -of their conversation. He had traced for her a plan of Eton college, and -the surrounding scenery; spoken of the trembling delight he had felt in -escaping from bounds; and told how he and Derham had passed happy hours -beside the clear streams, and beneath the copses, of that rural country. -There was one fountain which he delighted to celebrate; and the ivied -ruins of an old monastery, now become a part of a farm-yard, which had -been to these friends the bodily image of many imaginary scenes. Among -the sketches of Whitelock, were several taken in the vicinity of -Windsor; and there were, in his portfolio, studies of trees, cottages, -and also of this same abbey, which Lodore instantly recognized. To many -he had some appending anecdote, some school-boy association. He had -purchased the whole collection from Whitelock. Ethel had copied a few; -and these, together with various sketches made in the Illinois, formed -her dearest treasure, more precious in her eyes than diamonds and -rubies. -</p> - -<p> -We are most jealous of what sits nearest to our hearts; and we must love -fondly before we can let another into the secret of those trivial, but -cherished emotions, which form the dearest portion of our solitary -meditations. Ethel had several times been on the point of proposing a -visit to Eton, to her aunt; but there was an awful sacredness in the -very name, which acted like a spell upon her imagination. When first it -fell from her lips, the word seemed echoed by unearthly whisperings, and -she fled from the idea of going thither,—as it is the feminine -disposition often to do, from the full accomplishment of its wishes, as -if disaster must necessarily be linked to the consummation of their -desires. But a word was enough for Villiers: he eagerly solicited -permission to escort them thither, as, being an Etonian himself, his -guidance would be of great advantage. Ethel faltered her consent; and -the struggle of delight and sensibility made that project appear -painful, which was indeed the darling of her thoughts. -</p> - -<p> -On a bright day in the first week of May, they made this excursion. They -repaired to one of the inns at Salt Hill, and prolonged their walks and -drives about the country. In some of the former, where old walls were to -be scrambled up, and rivulets overleaped, Mrs. Elizabeth remained at the -hotel, and Ethel and Villiers pursued their rambles together. Ethel's -whole soul was given up to the deep filial love that had induced the -journey. Every green field was a stage on which her father had played a -part; each majestic tree, or humble streamlet, was hallowed by being -associated with his image. The pleasant, verdant beauty of the landscape, -clad in all the brightness of early summer; the sunny, balmy day—the -clouds which pranked the heavens with bright and floating shapes—each -hedgerow and each cottage, with its trim garden—each -embowered nook—had a voice which was music to her soul. From the -college of Eton, they sought the dame's house where Lodore and Derham had -lived; then crossing the bridge, they entered Windsor, and prolonged -their walk into the forest. Ethel knew even the rustic names of the -spots she most desired to visit, and to these Villiers led her in -succession. Day declined before they got home, and found Mrs. Elizabeth, -and their repast, waiting them; and the evening was enlivened by many a -tale of boyish pranks, achieved by Villiers, in these scenes. The -following morning they set forth again; and three days were spent in -these delightful wanderings. Ethel would willingly never have quitted -this spot: it appeared to her as if, seeing all, still much remained to -be seen—as if she could never exhaust the variety of sentiments and -deep interest which endeared every foot of this to her so holy ground. -Nor were her emotions silent, and the softness of her voice, and the -flowing eloquence with which she expressed herself, formed a new charm -for her companion. -</p> - -<p> -Sometimes her heart was too full to admit of expression, and grief for -her father's loss was renewed in all its pristine bitterness. One day, -on feeling herself thus overcome, she quitted her companions, and sought -the shady walks of the garden of the hotel, to indulge in a gush of -sorrow which she could not repress. There was something in her gesture -and manner as she left them, that reminded Villiers of Lady Lodore. It was -one of those mysterious family resemblances, which are so striking and -powerful, and yet which it is impossible to point out to a stranger. A -<i>bligh</i> (as this indescribable resemblance is called in some parts of -England) of her mother-struck Villiers forcibly, and he suddenly asked -Mrs. Elizabeth, "If Miss Fitzhenry had never expressed a desire to see -Lady Lodore." -</p> - -<p> -"God forbid!" exclaimed the old lady; "it was my brother's dying wish, that -she should never hear Lady Lodore's name, and I have religiously observed -it. Ethel only knows that she was the cause of her father's misfortunes, that -she deserted every duty, and is unworthy of the name she bears." -</p> - -<p> -Villiers was astonished at this tirade falling from the lips of the -unusually placid maiden, whose heightened colour bespoke implacable -resentment. "Do not mention that woman's name, Mr. Villiers," she -continued, "I am convinced that I should die on the spot if I saw her; -she is as much a murderess, as if she had stabbed her husband to the -heart with a dagger. Her letter to me that I sent to my poor brother in -America, was more the cause of his death, I am sure, than all the duels -in the world. Lady Lodore! I often wonder a thunderbolt from heaven does -not fall on and kill her!" -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Elizabeth's violence was checked by seeing Ethel cross the road to -return. "Promise not to mention her name to my niece," she cried. -</p> - -<p> -"For the present be assured that I will not," Villiers answered. He had -been struck most painfully by some of Mrs. Elizabeth's expressions, they -implied so much more of misconduct on Lady Lodore's part, than he had ever -suspected—but she must know best; and it seemed to him, indeed, the -probable interpretation of the mystery that enveloped her separation -from her husband. The account spread by Lady Santerre, and current in -the world, appeared inadequate and improbable; Lodore would not have -dared to take her child from her, but on heavier grounds; it was then -true, that a dark and disgraceful secret was hidden in her heart, and -that her propriety, her good reputation, her seeming pride of innocence, -were but the mask to cover the reality that divided her from her -daughter for ever. -</p> - -<p> -Villiers was well acquainted with Lady Lodore; circumstances had caused him -to take a deep interest in her—these were now at an end: but the -singular coincidences that had brought him in contact with her daughter, -renewed many forgotten images, and caused him to dwell on the past with -mixed curiosity and uneasiness. Mrs. Elizabeth's expressions added to the -perplexity of his ideas; their chief effect was to tarnish to his mind -the name of Lady Lodore, and to make him rejoice at the termination that -had been put to their more intimate connexion. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">One, within whose subtle being,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">As light and wind within some delicate cloud,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">That fades amid the blue noon's burning sky.</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Genius and youth contended.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">SHELLEY.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The party returned to town, and on the following evening they went to -the Italian Opera. For the first time since her father's death, Ethel -threw aside her mourning attire: for the first time also, she made one of -the audience at the King's Theatre. She went to hear the music, and to -spend the evening with the only person in the world who was drawn towards -her by feelings of kindness and sympathy—the only person—but -that sufficed. His being near her, was the occasion of more delight than -if she had been made the associate of regal splendour. Yet it was no -defined or disturbing sentiment, that sat so lightly on her bosom and -shone in her eyes. Her's was the first gentle opening of a girl's heart, -who does not busy herself with the future, and reposes on the serene -present with unquestioning confidence. She looked round on the gay world -assembled, and thought, "All are as happy as I am." She listened to the -music with a subdued but charmed spirit, and turned now and then to her -companions with a glad smile, expressive of her delight. Fewer words -were spoken in their little box, probably than in any in the house; but -in none were congregated three hearts so guileless, and so perfectly -satisfied with the portion allotted to them. -</p> - -<p> -At length both opera and ballêt were over, and, leaning on the arm of -Villiers, the ladies entered the round-room. The house had been very -full and the crowd was great. A seat was obtained for Aunt Bessy on one -of the sofas near the door, which opened on the principal staircase. -Villiers and Ethel stood near her. When the crowd had thinned a little, -Villiers went to look for the servant, and Ethel remained surveying the -moving numbers with curiosity, wondering at her own fate, that while -every one seemed familiar one to the other, she knew, and was known by, -none. She did not repine at this; Villiers had dissipated the sense of -desertion which before haunted her, and she was much entertained, as she -heard the remarks and interchange of compliments going on about her. Her -attention was particularly attracted by a very beautiful woman, or -rather girl she seemed, standing on the other side of the room, -conversing with a very tall personage, to whom she, being not above the -middle size, looked up as she talked; which action, perhaps, added to -her youthful appearance. There was an ease in her manners that bespoke a -matron as to station. She was dressed very simply in white, without any -ornament; her cloak hung carelessly from her shoulders, and gave to view -her round symmetrical figure; her silky, chesnut-coloured hair, fell in -thick ringlets round her face, and was gathered with inimitable elegance -in large knots on the top of her head. There was something bewitching in -her animated smile, and sensibility beamed from her long and dark grey -eyes; her simple gesture as she placed her little hand on her cloak, her -attitude as she stood, were wholly unpretending, but graceful beyond -measure. Ethel watched her unobserved, with admiration and interest, so -that she almost forgot where she was, until the voice of Villiers -recalled her. "Your carriage is up—will you come?" The lady turned as -he spoke, and recognized him with a cordial and most sweet smile. They -moved on, while Ethel turned back to look again, as her carriage was -loudly called, and Mrs. Elizabeth seizing her arm, whispered out of -breath, "O my dear, do make haste!" She hurried on, therefore, and her -glance was momentary; but she saw with wonder, that the lady was looking -with eagerness at the party; she caught Ethel's eye, blushed and turned -away, while the folding doors closed, and with a kind of nervous -trepidation her companions descended the stairs. In a moment the ladies -were in their carriage, which drove off, while Mrs. Elizabeth exclaimed -in the tone of one aghast, "Thank God, we got away! O, Ethel, that was -Lady Lodore!" -</p> - -<p> -"My mother!—impossible!" -</p> - -<p> -"O, that we had never come to town," continued her aunt. "Long have I -prayed that I might never see her again;—and she looking as if -nothing had happened, and that Lodore had not died through her means! -Wicked, wicked woman! I will not stay in London a day longer!" -</p> - -<p> -Ethel did not interrupt her ravings: she remembered Captain Markham, and -could not believe but that her aunt laboured under some similar mistake; -it was ridiculous to imagine, that this girlish-looking, lovely being, -had been the wife of her father, whom she remembered with his high -forehead rather bare of hair, his deep marked countenance, his look that -bespoke more than mature age. Her aunt was mistaken, she felt sure; and -yet when she closed her eyes, the beautiful figure she had seen stole, -according to the Arabian image, beneath her lids, and smiled sweetly, -and again started forward to look after her. This little act seemed to -confirm what Mrs. Elizabeth said; and yet, again, it was impossible! -"Had she been named my sister, there were something in it—but my -mother,—impossible!" -</p> - -<p> -Yet strange as it seemed, it was so; in this instance, Mrs. Elizabeth -had not deceived herself; and thus it was that two so near of kin as -mother and daughter, met, it might be said, for the first time. Villiers -was inexpressibly shocked; and believing that Lady Lodore must suffer -keenly from so strange and unnatural an incident, his first kindly impulse -was to seek to see her on the following morning. During her absence, the -violent attack of her sister-in-law had weighed with him, but her look -at once dissipated his uneasy doubts. There was that in this lady, which -no man could resist; she had joined to her beauty, the charm of engaging -manners, made up of natural grace, vivacity, intuitive tact, and soft -sensibility, which infused a kind of idolatry into the admiration with -which she was universally regarded. But it was not the beauty and -fashion of Lady Lodore which caused Villiers to take a deep interest in -her. His intercourse with her had been of long standing, and the object -of his very voyage to America was intimately connected with her. -</p> - -<p> -Edward Villiers was the son of a man of fortune. His father had been -left a widower young in life, with this only child, who, thus single and -solitary in his paternal home, became almost adopted into the family of -his mother's brother, Viscount Maristow. This nobleman being rich, -married, and blessed with a numerous progeny, the presence of little -Edward was not felt as a burthen, and he was brought up with his cousins -like one of them. Among these it would have been hard if Villiers could -not have found an especial friend: this was not the elder son, who, much -his senior, looked down upon him with friendly regard; it was the -second, who was likewise several years older. Horatio Saville was a -being fashioned for every virtue and distinguished by every excellence; -to know that a thing was right to be done, was enough to impel Horatio -to go through fire and water to do it; he was one of those who seem not -to belong to this world, yet who adorn it most; conscientious, upright, -and often cold in seeming, because he could always master his passions; -good over-much, he might be called, but that there was no pedantry nor -harshness in his nature. Resolute, aspiring, and true, his noble -purposes and studious soul, demanded a frame of iron, and he had one of -the frailest mechanism. It was not that he was not tall, well-shaped, -with earnest eyes, a brow built up high to receive and entertain a -capacious mind; but he was thin and shadowy, a hectic flushed his cheek, -and his voice was broken and mournful. At school he held the topmost -place, at college he was distinguished by the energy with which he -pursued his studies; and these, so opposite from what might have been -expected to be the pursuits of his ardent mind, were abstruse -metaphysics—the highest and most theoretical mathematics, and -cross-grained argument, based upon hair-fine logic; to these he addicted -himself. His desire was knowledge; his passion truth; his eager and -never-sleeping endeavour was to inform and to satisfy his understanding. -Villiers waited on him, as an inferior spirit may attend on an -archangel, and gathered from him the crumbs of his knowledge, with -gladness and content. He could not force his boyish mind to similar -exertions, nor feel that keen thirst for knowledge that kept alive his -cousin's application, though he could admire and love these with -fervour, when exhibited in another. It was indeed a singular fact, that -this constant contemplation of so superior a being, added to his -careless turn of mind. Not to be like Horatio was to be nothing—to be -like him was impossible. So he was content to remain one of the -half-ignorant, uninformed creatures most men are, and to found his pride -upon his affection for his cousin, who, being several years older, might -well be advanced even beyond his emulation. Horatio himself did not -desire to be imitated by the light-hearted Edward; he was too familiar -with the exhaustion, the sadness, the disappointment of his pursuits; he -could not be otherwise himself, but he thought all that he aspired -after, was well exchanged for the sparkling eyes, exhaustless spirits, -and buoyant step of Villiers. We none of us wish to exchange our -identity for that of another; yet we are never satisfied with ourselves. -The unknown has always a charm, and unless blinded by miserable vanity, -we know ourselves too well to appreciate our especial characteristics at -a very high rate. When Horace, after deep midnight study, felt his brain -still working like a thousand millwheels, that cannot be stopped; when -sleep fled from him, and yet his exhausted mind could no longer continue -its labours—he envied the light slumbers of his cousin, which -followed exercise and amusement. Villiers loved and revered him; and he -felt drawn closer to him than towards any of his brothers, and strove to -refine his taste and regulate his conduct through his admonitions and -example, while he abstained from following him in the steep and thorny -path he had selected. -</p> - -<p> -Horatio quitted college; he was no longer a youth, and his manhood -became as studious as his younger days. He had no desire but for -knowledge, no thought but for the nobler creations of the soul, and the -discernment of the sublime laws of God and nature. He nourished the -ambition of showing to these latter days what scholars of old had been, -though this feeling was subservient to his instinctive love of learning, -and his wish to adorn his mind with the indefeasible attributes of -truth. He was universally respected and loved, though little understood. -His young cousin Edward only was aware of the earnestness of his -affections, and the sensibility that nestled itself in his warm heart. -He was outwardly mild, placid, and forbearing, and thus obtained the -reputation of being cold—though those who study human nature ought to -make it their first maxim, that those who are tolerant of the follies of -their fellows—who sympathize with, and assist their wishes, and who -apparently forget their own desires, as they devote themselves to the -accomplishment of those of their friends, must have the quickest -feelings to make them enter into and understand those of others, and the -warmest affections to be able to conquer their wayward humours, so that -they can divest themselves of selfishness, and incorporate in their own -being the pleasures and pains of those around them. -</p> - -<p> -The sparkling eye, the languid step, and flushed cheek of Horatio -Saville, were all tokens that there burnt within him a spirit too strong -for his frame; but he never complained; or if he ever poured out his -pent-up emotions, it was in the ear of Edward only; who but partly -understood him, but who loved him entirely. What that thirst for -knowledge was that preyed on him, and for ever urged him to drink of the -purest streams of wisdom, and yet which ever left him unsatisfied, -fevered, and mournful, the gay spirit of Edward Villiers could not -guess: often he besought his cousin to close his musty books, to mount a -rapid horse, to give his studies to the winds, and deliver his soul to -nature. But Horace pointed to some unexplained passage in Plato the -divine, or some undiscovered problem in the higher sciences, and turned -his eyes from the sun; or if indeed he yielded, and accompanied his -youthful friend, some appearance of earth or air would awaken his -curiosity, rouze his slumbering mind again to inquire, and making his -study of the wide cope of heaven, he gave himself up to abstruse -meditation, while nominally seeking for relaxation from his heavier -toils. -</p> - -<p> -Horatio Saville was nine-and-twenty when he first met Lady Lodore, who was -nearly the same age. He had begun to feel that his health was shaken, -and he tried to forget for a time his devouring avocations. He changed -the scene, and went on a visit to a friend, who had a country house not -far from Hastings. Lady Lodore was expected as a guest, together with -her mother. She was much talked of, having become an object of interest -or curiosity to the many. A mystery hung over her fate; but her -reputation was cloudless, and she was warmly supported by the leaders of -fashion. Saville heard of her beauty and her sufferings; the injustice -with which she had been treated—of her magnanimity and desolate -condition; he heard of her talents, her powers of conversation, her -fashion. He figured to himself (as we are apt to incarnate to our -imagination the various qualities of a human being, of whom we hear -much) a woman, brilliant, but rather masculine, majestic in figure, with -wild dark eyes, and a very determined manner. Lady Lodore came: she -entered the room where he was sitting, and the fabric of his fancy was -at once destroyed. He saw a sweet-looking woman; serene, fair, and with -a countenance expressive of contented happiness. He found that her -manners were winning, from their softness; her conversation was -delightful, from its total want of pretension or impertinence. -</p> - -<p> -What the power was that from the first moment they met, drew Horatio -Saville and Lady Lodore together is one of those natural secrets which it -is impossible to explain. Though a student, Saville was a gentleman, with -the manners and appearance of the better specimens of our aristocracy. -There might be something in his look of ill health, which demanded -sympathy; something in his superiority to the rest of the persons about -her, in the genius that sat on his brow, and the eloquence that flowed -from his lips; something in the contrast he presented to every one else -she had ever seen—neither entering into their gossiping slanders, nor -understanding their empty self-sufficiency, that possessed a charm for -one satiated with the world's common scene. It was less of wonder that -Cornelia pleased the student. There were no rough corners, no harshness -about her; she won her way into any heart by her cheerful smiles and -kind tones; and she listened to Saville when he talked of what other -women would have lent a languid ear to, with such an air of interest, -that he found no pleasure so great as that of talking on. -</p> - -<p> -Saville was accustomed to find the men of his acquaintance ignorant. All -the knowledge of worldlings was as a point in comparison with his vast -acquirements. He did not seek Lady Lodore's society either to learn or to -teach, but to forget thought, and to feel himself occupied and diverted -from the sense of listlessness that haunted him in society, without -having recourse to the, to him dangerous, attraction of his books. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Lodore had, in the very brightness of her earliest youth, selected a -proud and independent position. She had refused to bend to her husband's -will, or to submit to the tyranny, as she named it, which he had attempted -to exercise. Youth is bold and fearless. The forked tongue of scandal, the -thousand ills with which woman is threatened in society, without a guide -or a protector—all the worldly considerations which might lead her to -unite herself again to her husband, she had rejected with unbounded -disdain. Her mother was there to stand between her and the shafts of -envy and calumny, and she conceived no mistrust of herself; she believed -that she could hold her course with taintless feelings and security of -soul, through a thousand dangers. At first she had been somewhat annoyed -by ill-natured observations, but Lady Santerre poured the balm of -flattery on her wounds, and a few tears shed in her presence dissipated -the gathering cloud. -</p> - -<p> -Cornelia had every motive a woman could have for guarding her conduct -from reproach. She lived in the midst of polished society, and was -thoroughly imbued with its maxims and laws. She witnessed the downfall -of several, as young and lovely as herself, and heard the sarcasms and -beheld the sneers which were heaped as a tomb above their buried fame. -She had vowed to herself never to become one of these. She was applauded -for her pride, and held up as a pattern. No one feared her. She was no -coquette, though she strove universally to please. She formed no -intimate friendships, though every man felt honoured by her notice. She -had no prudery on her lips, but her conduct was as open and as fair as -day. Here lay her defence against her husband; and she preserved even -the outposts of such bulwarks with scrupulous yet unobtrusive -exactitude. -</p> - -<p> -Her spirits, as well as her spirit, held her up through many a year. -More than ten years had passed since her separation from Lodore—a -long time to tell of; but it had glided away, she scarcely knew -how—taking little from her loveliness, adding to the elegance of -her appearance, and the grace of her manners. Season after season came, -and went, and she had no motive for counting them anxiously. She was -sought after and admired; it was a holiday life for her, and she -wondered what people meant when they spoke of the delusions of this -world, and the dangers of our own hearts. She saw a gay reality about -her, and felt the existence of no internal enemy. Nothing ever moved her -to sorrow, except the reflection that now and then came across, that she -had a child—divorced for ever from her maternal bosom. The sight -of a baby cradled in its mother's arms, or stretching out its little -hands to her, had not unoften caused her to turn abruptly away, to hide -her tears; and once or twice she had been obliged to quit a theatre to -conceal her emotion, when such sentiments were brought too vividly -before her. But when her eyes were drowned in tears, and her bosom -heaved with sad emotion, pride came to check the torrent, and hatred of -her oppressor gave a new impulse to her swelling heart. -</p> - -<p> -She had rather avoided female friendships, and had been warned from them -by the treachery of one, and the misconduct of another, of her more -intimate acquaintances. Lady Lodore renounced friendship, but the world -began to grow a little dull. The frivolity of one, the hard-heartedness of -another, disgusted. She saw each occupied by themselves and their -families, and she was alone. Balls and assemblies palled upon -her—country pleasures were stupid—she had began to think all -things "stale and unprofitable," when she became acquainted with Horatio -Saville. She was glad again to feel animated with a sense of living -enjoyment; she congratulated herself on the idea that she could take -interest in some one thing or person among the empty shapes that -surrounded her; and without a thought beyond the amusement of the -present moment, most of her hours were spent in his company. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Ah now, ye gentle pair,—now think awhile,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Now, while ye still can think and still can smile.</span><br /> -<span class="i7"> * * *</span><br /> -<span class="i7">So did they think</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Only with graver thoughts, and smiles reduced.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">LEIGH HUNT.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -A month stole away as if it had been a day, and Lady Lodore was engaged to -pass some weeks with another friend in a distant county. It was easily -contrived, without contrivance, by Saville, that he should visit a -relation who lived within a morning's ride of her new abode. The -restriction placed upon their intercourse while residing under different -roofs contrasted painfully with the perfect freedom they had enjoyed -while inhabiting the same. Their attachment was too young and too -unacknowledged to need the zest of difficulty. It required indeed the -facility of an unobstructed path for it to proceed to the accustomed -bourne; and a straw thrown across was sufficient to check its course for -ever. -</p> - -<p> -The impatience and restlessness which Cornelia experienced during her -journey; the rush of transport that thrilled through her when she heard -of Saville's arrival at a neighbouring mansion, awoke her in an instant -to a knowledge of the true state of her heart. Her pride was, happily -for herself, united to presence of mind and fortitude. She felt the -invasion of the enemy, and she lost not a moment in repelling the -dangers that menaced her. She resolved to be true to the line of conduct -she had marked out for herself—she determined not to love. She did -not alter her manner nor her actions. She met Horatio with the same sweet -smile—she conversed with the same kind interest; but she did not -indulge in one dream, one thought—one reverie (sweet food of love) -during his absence, and guarded over herself that no indication of any -sentiment less general than the friendship of society might appear. -Though she was invariably kind, yet his feelings told him that she was -changed, without his being able to discover where the alteration lay; -the line of demarcation, which she took care never to pass, was too -finely traced, for any but feminine tact to discern, though it -obstructed him as if it had been as high and massive as a city wall. Now -and then his speaking eye rested on her with a pleading glance, while -she answered his look with a frank smile, that spoke a heart at ease, -and perfect self-possession. Indeed, while they remained near each -other, in despite of all her self-denying resolves, Cornelia was happy. -She felt that there was one being in the world who took a deep and -present interest in her, whose thoughts hovered round her and whose mind -she could influence to the conception of any act or feeling she might -desire. That tranquillity yet animation of spirit—that gratitude on -closing her eyes at night—that glad anticipation of the morrow's -sun—that absence of every harsh and jarring emotion, which is the -disposition of the human soul the nearest that we can conceive to -perfect happiness, and which now and then visits sad humanity, to teach -us of what unmeasured and pure joy our fragile nature is capable, -attended her existence, and made each hour of the day a new-born -blessing. -</p> - -<p> -This state of things could not last. An accident revealed to Saville the -true state of his heart; he became aware that he loved Cornelia, deeply -and fervently, and from that moment he resolved to exile himself for -ever from her dear presence. Misery is the child of love when happiness -is not; this Horatio felt, but he did not shrink from the endurance. All -abstracted and lofty as his speculations were, still his place had been -in the hot-bed of patrician society, and he was familiar with the -repetition of domestic revolutions, too frequent there. For worlds he -would not have Cornelia's name become a byeword and mark for -scandal—that name which she had so long kept bright and unreachable. -His natural modesty prevented him from entertaining the idea that he -could indeed destroy her peace; but he knew how many and easy are the -paths which lead to the loss of honour in the world's eyes. That it -could be observed and surmised that one man had approached Lady Lodore with -any but sentiments of reverence, was an evil to be avoided at any cost. -Saville was firm as rock in his resolves—he neither doubted nor -procrastinated. He left the neighbourhood where she resided, and, -returning to his father's house, tried to acquire strength to bear the -severe pain which he could not master. -</p> - -<p> -His gentle and generous nature, ever thoughtful for others, and prodigal -of self, was not however satisfied with this mere negative act of -justice towards one who honoured him, he felt conscious, with her -friendship and kindest thoughts. He was miserable in the idea that he -could not further serve her. He revolved a thousand plans in his mind, -tending to her advantage. In fancy he entered the solitude of her -meditations, and tried to divine what her sorrows or desires were, that -he might minister to their solace or accomplishment. Their previous -intercourse had been very unreserved, and though Cornelia spoke but -distantly and coldly of Lodore, she frequently mentioned her child, and -lamented, with much emotion, the deprivation of all those joys which -maternal love bestows. Often had Saville said, "Why not appeal more -strongly to Lord Lodore? or, if he be inflexible, why calmly endure an -outrage shocking to humanity? The laws of your country may assist you." -</p> - -<p> -"They would not," said Cornelia, "for his reply would be so fraught with -seeming justice, that the blame would fall back on me. He asks but the -trivial sacrifice of my duty to my mother—my poor mother! who, since -I was born, has lived with me and for me, and who has no existence except -through me. I am to tear away, and to trample upon the first of human -ties, to render myself worthy of the guardianship of my child! I cannot -do it—I should hold myself a parricide. Do not let us talk more of -these things; endurance is the fate of woman, and if I have more than my -share, let us hope that some other poor creature, less able to bear, has -her portion lightened in consequence. I should be glad if once indeed I -were permitted to see my cherub girl, though it were only while she -slept; but an ocean rolls between us, and patience must be my -comforter." -</p> - -<p> -The soft sweetness of her look and voice, the angelic grace that -animated every tone and glance, rendered these maternal complaints -mournful, yet enchanting music to the ear of Saville. He could have -listened for ever. But when exiled from her, they assumed another form. He -began to think whether it were not possible to convince Lord Lodore of the -inexcusable cruelty of his conduct; and again and again, he imaged the -exultation of heart he should feel, if he could succeed in placing her -lost babe in the mother's arms. -</p> - -<p> -Saville was the frankest of human beings. Finding his cousin Edward on a -visit at Maristow castle, he imparted his project to him, of making a -voyage to America, seeking out Lord Lodore, and using every argument and -persuasion to induce him to restore her daughter to his wife. Villiers -was startled at the mention of this chivalrous intent. What could have -rouzed the studious Horace to such sudden energy? By one of those -strange caprices of the human mind, which bring forth discord instead of -harmony, Edward had never liked Lady Lodore—he held her to be false -and dangerous. Circumstances had brought him more in contact with her -mother than herself, and the two were associated and confounded in his -mind, till he heard Lady Santerre's falsetto voice in the sweet one of -Cornelia, and saw her deceitful vulgar devices in the engaging manners -of her daughter. He was struck with horror when he discovered that -Saville loved, nay, idolized this beauteous piece of mischief, as he -would have named her. He saw madness and folly in his Quixotic -expedition, and argued against it with all his might. It would not do; -Horatio was resolved to dedicate himself to the happiness of her he -loved; and since this must be done in absence and distance, what better -plan than to restore to her the precious treasure of which she had been -robbed? -</p> - -<p> -Saville resolved to cross the Atlantic, and, though opposed to his -scheme, Villiers offered to accompany him. A voyage to America was but a -trip to an active and unoccupied young man; the society of his cousin -would render the journey delightful; he preferred it at all times to the -commoner pleasures of life, and besides, on this occasion, he was -animated with the hope of being useful to him. There was nothing -effeminate in Saville. His energy of purpose and depth of thought -forbade the idea. Still there was something that appeared to require -kindness and support. His delicate health, of which he took no care, -demanded feminine attentions; his careless reliance upon the uprightness -of others, and total self-oblivion, often hurried him to the brink of -dangers; and though fearlessness and integrity were at hand to extricate -him, Edward, who knew his keen sensibility and repressed quickness of -temper, was not without fear, that on so delicate a mission his ardent -feelings might carry him beyond the mark, and that, in endeavouring to -serve a woman whom he loved with enthusiastic adoration, he might rouze -the angry passions of her husband. -</p> - -<p> -With such feelings the cousins crossed the Atlantic and arrived at New -York. Thence they proceeded to the west of America, and passing and his -daughter on the road without knowing it, arrived at the Illinois after -their departure. They were astonished to find that Mr. Fitzhenry, as he -was named to them, had broken up his establishment, sold his farm, and -departed with the intention of returning to Europe. What this change -might portend they could not guess. Whether it were the result of any -communication with Lady Lodore—whether a reconciliation was under -discussion, or whether it were occasioned by caprice merely they could -not tell; at any rate, it seemed to put an end to Saville's mediation. -If Lodore returned to England, it was probable that Cornelia would -herself make an exertion to have her child restored to her. Whether he -could be of any use was problematical, but untimely interference was to -be deprecated; events must be left to take their own course: Saville was -scarcely himself aware how glad he was to escape any kind of intercourse -with the husband of Cornelia. -</p> - -<p> -This feeling, however unacknowledged, became paramount with him. Now that -Lodore was about to leave America, he wished to linger in it; he planned a -long tour through the various states, he studied their laws and customs, -he endeavoured to form a just estimate of the institutions of the New -World, and their influence on those governed by them. -</p> - -<p> -Edward had little sympathy in these pursuits; he was eager to return to -London, and felt more inclined to take his gun and shoot in the forests, -than to mingle in the society of the various towns. This difference of -taste caused the cousins at various times to separate. Saville was at -Washington when Villiers made a journey to the borders of Canada, to the -falls of the Niagara, and returned by New York; a portion of the United -States which his cousin avoided visiting, until Lodore should have quitted -it. -</p> - -<p> -Thus it was that a strange combination of circumstances brought Villiers -into contact with this unfortunate nobleman, and made him a witness of -and a participator in the closing scene of his disastrous and wasted -life. Villiers did not sympathize in his cousin's admiration of -Cornelia, and was easily won to take a deep interest in the fortunes of her -husband. The very aspect of Lodore commanded attention; his voice entered -the soul: ill-starred, and struck by calamity, he rose majestically from -the ruin around him, and seemed to defy fate. The first thought that -struck Villiers was, how could Lady Lodore desert such a man; how -pitifully degraded must she be, who preferred the throng of fools to the -society of so matchless a being! The gallantry with which he rushed to -his fate, his exultation in the prospect of redeeming his honour, his -melting tenderness towards his daughter, filled Villiers with respect -and compassion. It was all over now. Lodore was dead: his passions, his -wrongs, his errors slept with him in the grave. He had departed from the -busy stage, never to be forgotten—yet to be seen no more. -</p> - -<p> -Lodore was dead, and Cornelia was free. Her husband had alluded to the -gladness with which she would welcome liberty; and Villiers knew that there -was another, also, whose heart would rejoice, and open itself at once to -the charming visitation of permitted love. Villiers sighed to think that -Saville would marry the beautiful widow; but he did not doubt that this -event would take place. -</p> - -<p> -Having seen that Ethel was in kind hands, and learnt the satisfactory -arrangements made for her return to England, he hastened to join his -cousin, and to convey the astounding intelligence. Saville's generous -disposition prevented exultation, and subdued joy. Still the prospect of -future happiness became familiar to him, shadowed only by the fear of -not obtaining the affections of her he so fervently loved. For, strange -to say, Saville was diffident to a fault: he could not imagine any -qualities in himself to attract a beautiful and fashionable woman. His -hopes were slight; his thoughts timid: the pain of eternal division was -replaced by the gentler anxieties of love; and he returned to England, -scarcely daring to expect that crown to his desires, which seemed too -high an honour, too dear a blessing, for earthly love to merit. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Ma la fede degli Amanti</span><br /> -<span class="i4">È come l'Araba fenice;</span><br /> -<span class="i4">Che vi sia, ciaschun' lo dice.</span><br /> -<span class="i4">Ma dove sia, nessun lo sa.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 50%;">METASTASIO.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Meanwhile Lady Lodore had been enduring the worst miseries of ill-fated -love. The illness of Lady Santerre, preceding her death, had demanded all -her time; and she nursed her with exemplary patience and kindness. During -her midnight watchings and solitary days, she had full time to feel how -deep a wound her heart had received. The figure and countenance of her -absent friend haunted her in spite of every effort; and when death -hovered over the pillow of her mother, she clung, with mad desperation, -to the thought, that there was still one, when this parent should be -gone, to love her, even though she never saw him more. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Santerre died. After the first burst of natural grief, Cornelia -began to reflect that Lord Lodore might now imagine that every obstacle -to their reconciliation was removed. She had looked upon her husband as -her enemy and injurer; she had regarded him with indignation and -fear;—but now she hated him. Strong aversion had sprung up, during -the struggles of passion, in her bosom. She hated him as the eternal -barrier between her and one who loved her with rare disinterestedness. -The human heart must desire happiness;—in spite of every effort at -resignation, it must aspire to the fulfilment of its wish. Lord Lodore -was the cause why she was cut off from it for ever. He had foreseen that -this feeling, this combat, this misery, would be her doom, in the -deserted situation she chose for herself: she had laughed his fears to -scorn. Now she abhorred him the more for having divined her destiny. -While she banished the pleasant thoughts of love, she indulged in the -poisoned ones of hate; and while she resisted each softer emotion as a -crime, she opened her heart to the bitterest resentment, as a permitted -solace; nor was she aware that thus she redoubled all her woes. It was -under the influence of these feelings, that she had written to Mrs. -Elizabeth Fitzhenry that harsh, decided letter, which Lodore received at -New York. The intelligence of his violent death came as an answer to her -expressions of implacable resentment. A pang of remorse stung her, when -she thought how she had emptied the vials of her wrath on a head which -had so soon after been laid low for ever. -</p> - -<p> -The double loss of husband and mother caused Lady Lodore to seclude -herself, not in absolute solitude, but in the agreeable retreat of friendly -society. She was residing near Brighton, when Saville returned from -America, and, with a heart beating high with its own desires, again -beheld the mistress of his affections. His delicate nature caused him to -respect the weeds she wore, even though they might be termed a mockery: -they were the type of her freedom and his hopes; yet, as the tokens of -death, they were to be respected. He saw her more beautiful than ever, -more courted, more waited on; and he half despaired. How could he, the -abstracted student, the man of dreams, the sensitive and timid invalid, -ensnare the fancy of one formed to adorn the circles of wealth and -fashion? -</p> - -<p> -Thus it was that Saville and Cornelia were further off than ever, when -they imagined themselves most near. Neither of them could afterwards -comprehend what divided them; or why, when each would have died for the -other's sake, cobweb barriers should have proved inextricable; and -wherefore, after weathering every more stormy peril, they should perish -beneath the influence of a summer breeze. -</p> - -<p> -The pride of Cornelia's heart, hid by the artificial courtesies of -society, was a sentiment resolved, confirmed, active, and far beyond her -own controul. The smallest opposition appeared rebellion to her majesty -of will; while her own caprices, her own desires, were sacred decrees. -She was too haughty to admit of discussion—too firmly intrenched in a -sense of what was due to her, not to start indignantly from -remonstrance. It is true, all this was but a painted veil. She was -tremblingly alive to censure, and wholly devoted to the object of her -attachment; but Saville was unable to understand these contradictions. -His modesty led him to believe, that he, of all men, was least -calculated to excite love in a woman's bosom. He saw in Cornelia a -beautiful creation, to admire and adore; but he was slow to perceive the -tenderness of soul, which her disposition made her anxious to conceal, -and he was conscious of no qualities in himself that could entitle him -to a place in her affections. Except that he loved her, what merit had -he? And the interests of his affection he was willing to sacrifice at -the altar of her wishes, though his life should be the oblation -necessary to insure their accomplishment. -</p> - -<p> -This is not the description of true love on either side; for, to be -perfect, that sentiment ought to exist through the entireness of mutual -sympathy and trust: but not the less did their passionate attachment -engross the minds of both. All might have been well, indeed, had the -lovers been left to themselves; but friends and relations interfered to -mar and to destroy. The sisters of Saville accused Lady Lodore -ofencouraging, and intending to marry, the Marquess of C—. Saville -instantly resolved to be no obstacle in the way of her ambition. -Cornelia was fired with treble indignation to perceive that he at once -conceded the place to his rival. One word or look of gentleness would -have changed this; but she resolved to vanquish by other arms, and to -force him to show some outward sign of jealousy and resentment. Saville -had a natural dignity of mind, founded on simplicity of heart and -directness of purpose. Cornelia knew that he loved her;—on that -his claim rested: all that might be done to embellish and elevate her -existence, he would study to achieve; but he could not enter into, nor -understand, the puerile fancies of a spoiled Beauty: and while she was -exerting all her powers, and succeeded in fascinating a crowd of -flatterers, she saw Saville apart, abstracted from such vanities, -pursuing a silent course; ready to approach her when her attention was -disengaged, but at no time making one among her ostentatious admirers. -</p> - -<p> -There was no moment of her life in which Cornelia did not fully -appreciate her lover's value, and her own good fortune in having -inspired him with a serious and faithful attachment. But she imagined -that this must be known and acknowledged; and that to ask any -demonstration of gratitude, was ungenerous and tyrannical. An untaught -girl could not have acted with more levity and wilfulness. It was worse -when she found that she was accused of encouraging a wealthier and more -illustrious rival. She disdained to exculpate herself from the charge of -such low ambition, but rather furnished new grounds for accusation; and, -in the arrogance of conscious power, smiled at the pettiness of the -attempts made to destroy her influence. Proud in the belief that she -could in an instant dispel the clouds she had conjured athwart her -heaven, she cared not how ominously the thunder muttered, nor how dark -and portentous lowered the threatening storm. It came when she least -expected it: convinced of the fallacy of his confidence, made miserable -by her caprices, agonized by the idea that he only lingered to add -another trophy to his rival's triumph, Saville, who was always impetuous -and precipitate, suddenly quitted England. -</p> - -<p> -This was a severe blow at first; but soon Cornelia smiled at it. He -would return—he must. The sincerity of their mutual preference would -overcome the petty obstacles of time and distance. She never felt more -sure of his devotion than now; and she looked so happy, and spoke so -gaily, that those who were more ready to discern indifference, than -love, in her sentiments, assured the absent Saville, that Lady Lodore -rejoiced at his absence, as having shaken off a burthen, and got rid of an -impediment, which, in spite of herself, was a clog to her brilliant -career. The trusting love that painted her face in smiles was a traitor -to itself and while she rose each day in the belief that the one was -near at hand which would bring her lover before her, dearer and more -attached than ever, she was in reality at work in defacing the whole web -of life, and substituting dark, blank, and sad disappointment, for the -images of light and joy with which her fancy painted it. -</p> - -<p> -Saville had been gone five months. It was strange that he did not -return; and she began to ponder upon how she must unbend, and what -demonstration she must make, to attract him again to her side. The -Marquess of C—was dismissed; and she visited the daughters of Lord -Maristow, to learn what latest news they had received of their brother. -"Do you know, Lady Lodore," said Sophia Saville, "that this is Horatio's -wedding-day? It is too true: we regret it, because he weds a -foreigner—but there is no help now. He is married." -</p> - -<p> -Had sudden disease seized on the frame-work of her body, and dissolved -and scattered with poisonous influence and unutterable pains, the atoms -that composed it, Lady Lodore would have been less agonized, less -terrified. A thousand daggers were at once planted in her bosom. -Saville was false! married! divided from her for ever! She was -stunned:—scarcely understanding the meaning of the phrases addressed -to her, and, unable to conceal her perturbation, she replied at random, and -hastened to shorten her visit. -</p> - -<p> -But no interval of doubt or hope was afforded. The words she had heard -were concise, true to their meaning and all-sufficing. Her heart died -within her. What had she done? Was she the cause? She longed to learn -all the circumstances that led to this hasty marriage, and whether -inconstancy or resentment had impelled him to the fatal act. Yet -wherefore ask these things? It was over; the scene was closed. It were -little worth to analyze the poison she had imbibed, since she was past -all mortal cure. -</p> - -<p> -Her first resolve was to forget—never, never to think of the false -one more. But her thoughts never wandered from his image, and she was -eternally busied in retrospection and conjecture. She was tempted at one -time to disbelieve the intelligence, and to consider it as a piece of -malice on the part of Miss Saville; then the common newspaper told her, -that at the Ambassador's house at Naples, the Honourable Horatio Saville -had married Clorinda, daughter of the Principe Villamarina, a Neapolitan -nobleman of the highest rank. -</p> - -<p> -It was true therefore—and how was it true? Did he love his bride? why -else marry?—had he forgotten his tenderness towards her? Alas! it -needed not forgetting; it was a portion of past time, fleeting as time -itself; it had been borne away with the hours as they passed, and -remembered as a thing which had been, and was no more. The reveries of -love which for months had formed all her occupation, were a blank; or -rather to be replaced by the agonies of despair. Her native haughtiness -forsook her. She was alone and desolate—hedged in on all sides by -insuperable barriers, which shut out every glimpse of hope. She was -humbled in her own eyes, through her want of success, and heartily -despised herself, and all her caprices and vanities, which had led her -to this desart, and then left her to pine. She detested her position in -society, her mechanism of being, and every circumstance, self-inherent, -or adventitious, that attended her existence. All seemed to her sick -fancy so constructed as to ensure disgrace, desertion, and contempt. She -lay down each night feeling as if she could never endure to raise her -head on the morrow. -</p> - -<p> -The unkindness and cruelty of her lover's conduct next presented -themselves to her contemplation. She had suffered much during the past -years, more than she had ever acknowledged, even to herself; she had -suffered of regret and sorrow, while she brooded over her solitary -position, and the privation of every object on whom she might bestow -affection. She had had nothing to hope. Saville had changed all this; he -had banished her cares, and implanted hope in her heart. Now again his -voice recalled the evils, his hand crushed the new-born expectation of -happiness. He was the cause of every ill; and the adversity which she -had endured proudly and with fortitude while it seemed the work of fate, -grew more bitter and heavy when she felt that it arose through the -agency of one, whose kind affection and guardianship she had fondly -believed would hereafter prove a blessing sent as from Heaven itself, be -to the star of her life. -</p> - -<p> -This fit passed off; with struggles and relapses she wore down the first -gush of sorrow, and her disposition again assumed force over her. She -had found it difficult to persuade herself, in spite of facts, that she -was not loved; but it was easy, once convinced of the infidelity of her -lover, to regard him with indifference. She now regretted lost -happiness—but Saville was no longer regretted. She wept over the -vanished forms of delight, lately so dear to her; but she remembered -that he who had called them into life had driven them away; and she -smiled in proud scorn of his fleeting and unworthy passion. It was not -to this love that she had made so tender and lavish a return. She had -loved his constancy, his devotion, his generous solicitude for her -welfare—for the happiness which she bestowed on him, and for the -sympathy that so dearly united them. These were fled; and it were vain -to consecrate herself to an empty and deformed mockery of so beautiful a -truth. -</p> - -<p> -Then she tried to hate him—to despise and to lessen him in her own -estimation. The attempt recoiled on herself. The recollection of his -worth stole across her memory, to frustrate her vain endeavours: his -voice haunted—his expressive eyes beamed on her. It were better to -forget. Indifference was her only refuge, and to attain this she must -wholly banish his image from her mind. Cornelia was possessed of -wonderful firmness of purpose. It had carried her on so long unharmed, -and now that danger was at hand, it served effectually to defend her. -She rose calm and free, above unmerited disaster. She grew proud of the -power she found that she possessed of conquering the most tyrannical of -passions. Peace entered her soul, and she hailed it as a blessing. -</p> - -<p> -The clause in her husband's will which deprived her of the guardianship -of her daughter had been forgotten during this crisis. Before, under the -supposition that she should marry, she had deferred taking any step to -claim her. The idea of a struggle to be made, unassisted, unadvised, and -unshielded, was terrible. She had not courage to encounter all the -annoyances that might ensue. To get rid for a time of the necessity of -action and reflection, she went abroad. She changed the scene—she -travelled from place to place. She gave herself up in the solitude of -continental journies to the whole force of contending passions; now -overcome by despair, and again repressing regret, asserting to herself -the lofty pride of her nature. -</p> - -<p> -By degrees she recovered a healthier tone of mind—a distant and -faint, yet genuine sense of duty dawned upon her; and she began to think on -what her future existence was to depend, and how she could best secure -some portion of happiness. Her heart once again warmed towards the image -of her daughter—and she felt that in watching the development of her -mind, and leading her to love and depend on her, a new interest and real -pleasure might spring up in life. She reproached herself for having so -long, by silence and passive submission, given scope to the belief that -she was willing to be a party against herself, in the injustice of Lodore; -and she returned to England with the intention of instantly enforcing her -rights over her child, and taking to her bosom and to her fondest care -the little being, whose affection and gratitude was to paint her future -life with smiles. -</p> - -<p> -She called to mind Lady Santerre's worldly maxims, and her own -experience. She knew that the first step to success is the appearance of -prosperity and power. To command the good wishes and aid of her friends -she must appear independent of them. She was earnest therefore to hide -the wounds her heart had received, and the real loathing with which she -regarded all things. She arrayed herself in smiles, and banished, far -below into the invisible recesses of her bosom, the contempt and disgust -with which she viewed the scene around her. -</p> - -<p> -She returned to England. She appeared at the height of the season, in -the midst of society, as beautiful, as charming, as happy in look and -manner, as in her days of light-hearted enjoyment. She paused yet a -moment longer, to reflect on what step she had better take on first -enforcing her claim; but her mind was full of its intention, and set -upon the fulfilment. -</p> - -<p> -At this time, but a few days after her arrival in London, she went to the -opera. She heard the name of Fitzhenry called in the lobby—she saw -and recognized Mrs. Elizabeth—the venerable sister Bessy, so little -altered, that time might be said to have touched, but not trenched her -homely kindly face. With her, in attendance on her, she beheld Horatio -Saville's favourite cousin—the gay and fashionable Edward Villiers. -It was strange; her curiosity was strongly excited. It had not long to -languish: the next morning Villiers called, and was readily admitted. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">And as good lost is seld or never found.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">SHAKSPEARE.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Lady Lodore and Villiers met for the first time since Horatio Saville's -marriage. Neither were exactly aware of what the other knew or thought. -Cornelia was ignorant how far her attachment to his cousin was known to -him; whether he shared the general belief in her worldly coquetry, or -what part he might have had in occasioning their unhappy separation. She -could not indeed see him without emotion. He had been Lodore's second, -and received the last dying breath of him who had, in her brightest -youth, selected her from the world, to share his fortunes. Those days -were long past; yet as she grew older, disappointed, and devoid of -pleasurable interest in the present, she often turned her thoughts -backward, and wondered at the part she had acted. -</p> - -<p> -Similar feelings were in Edward's mind. He was prejudiced against her in -every way. He despised her worldly calculations, as reported to him, and -rejoiced in their failure. He believed these reports, and despised her; -yet he could not see her without being moved at once with admiration and -pity. The moon-lit hill, and tragic scene, in which he had played his -part, came vividly before his eyes. He had been struck by the nobleness -of Lodore's appearance—the sensibility that sat on his -countenance—his gentle, yet dignified manners. Ethel's idolatry of -her father had confirmed the favourable prepossession. He could not help -compassionating Cornelia for the loss of her husband, forgetting, for -the moment, their separation. Then again recurred to him the eloquent -appeals of Saville; his eulogiums; his fervent, reverential affection. -She had lost him also. Could she hold up her head after such miserable -events? The evidence of the senses, and the ideas of our own minds, are -more forcibly present, than any notion we can form of the feelings of -others. In spite, therefore, of his belief in her heartlessness, -Villiers had pictured Cornelia attired in dismal weeds, the victim of -grief. He saw her, beaming in beauty, at the opera;—he now -beheld her, radiant in sweet smiles, in her own home. Nothing -touched—nothing harmed her; and the glossy surface, he doubted not, -imaged well the insensible, unimpressive soul within. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Lodore would have despised herself for ever had she betrayed the -tremor that shook her frame when Villiers entered. Her pride of sex was in -arms to enable her to convince him, that no regret, no pining, shadowed her -days. The reality was abhorrent, and should never be confessed. Thus -then they met—each with a whole epic of woe and death alive in their -memory; but both wearing the outward appearance of frivolity and -thoughtlessness. He saw her as lovely as ever, and as kind. Her softest -and sweetest welcome was extended to him. It was this frequent show of -frank cordiality which gained her "golden opinions" from the many. Her -haughtiness was all of the mind;—a desire to please, and constant -association with others, had smoothed the surface, and painted it in the -colours most agreeable to every eye. -</p> - -<p> -They addressed each other as if they had met but the day before. At first, -a few questions and answers passed,—as to where she had been on -the continent, how she liked Baden, &c.;—and then Lady Lodore -said—"Although I have not seen her for several years, I instantly -recognized a relative of mine with you yesterday evening. Does Miss -Fitzhenry make any stay in town?" -</p> - -<p> -The idea of Ethel was uppermost in Villiers's mind, and struck by the -manner in which the woman of fashion spoke of her daughter, he replied, -"During the season, I believe; I scarcely know. Miss Fitzhenry came up -for her health; that consideration, I suppose, will regulate her -movements." -</p> - -<p> -"She looked very well last night—perhaps she intends to remain till -she gets ill, and country air is ordered?" observed Lady Lodore. -</p> - -<p> -"That were nothing new at least," replied Villiers, trying to hide the -disgust he felt at her mode of speaking; "the young and blooming too -often protract their first season, till the roses are exchanged for -lilies." -</p> - -<p> -"If Miss Fitzhenry's roses still bloom," said the lady, "they must be -perennial ones; they have surely grown more fit for a herbal than a -vase." -</p> - -<p> -Villiers now perceived his mistake, and replied, "You are speaking of -Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry, as the good lady styles herself—I spoke -of—her niece—" -</p> - -<p> -"Has Ethel been ill?" Lady Lodore's hurried question, and the -use of the christian name, as most familiar to her thoughts, brought -home to Villiers's heart the feeling of their near relationship. There -was something more than grating; it was deeply painful to speak to a -mother of a child who had been torn from her—who did not -know—who had even been taught to hate her. He wished himself a -hundred miles off, but there was no help, he must reply. "You might have -seen last night that she is perfectly recovered." -</p> - -<p> -Lady Lodore's imagination refused to image her child in the tall, elegant, -full-formed girl she had seen, and she said, "Was Ethel with you? I did -not see her—probably she went home before the opera was over, and I -only perceived your party in the crush-room—you appear already -intimate." -</p> - -<p> -"It is impossible to see Miss Fitzhenry and not to wish to be intimate," -replied Villiers with his usual frankness. "I, at least, cannot help -being deeply interested in every thing that relates to her." -</p> - -<p> -"You are very good to take concern in my little girl. I should have -imagined that you were too young yourself to like children." -</p> - -<p> -"Children!" repeated Villiers, much amazed; "Miss Fitzhenry!—she is -not a child." -</p> - -<p> -Lady Lodore scarcely heard him; a sudden pang had shot across her heart, -to think how strangers—how every one might draw near her daughter, -and be interested for her, while she could not, without making herself -the tale of the town, the subject, through the medium of news-papers, -for every gossip's tea-table in England—where her sentiments would -be scanned, and her conduct criticized—and this through the -revengeful feelings of her husband, prolonged beyond the grave. Tears -had been gathering in her eyes during the last moments; she turned her -head to hide them, and a quick shower fell on her silken dress. Quite -ashamed of this self-betrayal, she exerted herself to overcome her -emotion. Villiers felt awkwardly situated; his first impulse had been to -rise to take her hand, to soothe her; but before he could do more than -the first of these acts, as Lady Lodore fancied for the purpose of -taking his leave, she said, "It is foolish to feel as I do; yet perhaps -more foolish to attempt to conceal from one, as well acquainted as you -are with every thing, that I do feel pained at the unnatural separation -between me and Ethel, especially when I think of the publicity I must -incur by asserting a mother's claims. I am ashamed of intruding this -subject on you; but she is no longer the baby cherub I could cradle in -my arms, and you have seen her lately, and can tell me whether she has -been well brought up—whether she seems tractable—if she -promises to be pretty?" -</p> - -<p> -"Did you not think her lovely?" cried Villiers with animation; "you saw -her last night, taking my arm." -</p> - -<p> -"Ethel!" cried the lady. "Could that be Ethel? True, she is now -sixteen—I had indeed forgot"—her cheeks became suffused with a -deep blush as she remembered all the solicisms she had been committing. -"She is sixteen," she continued, "and a woman—while I fancied a -little girl in a white frock and blue sash: this alters every thing. We -have been indeed divided, and must now remain so for evermore. I will not -injure her, at her age, by making her the public talk—besides, many, -many other considerations would render me fearful of making myself -responsible for her future destiny." -</p> - -<p> -"At least," said Villiers, "she ought to wait on you." -</p> - -<p> -"That were beyond Lord Lodore's bond," said the lady; "and why should -she wait on me? Were she impelled by affection, it were well. But this -is talking very simply—we could only be acquaintance, and I would -rather be nothing. I confess, that I repined bitterly, that I was not -permitted to have my little girl, as I termed her, for my plaything and -companion—but my ideas are now changed: a dear little tractable -child would have been delightful—but she is a woman, with a will -of her own—prejudiced against me—brought up in that vulgar -America, with all kinds of strange notions and ways. Lord Lodore -was quite right, I believe—he fashioned her for himself -and—Bessy. The worst thing that can happen to a girl, is to have -her prejudices and principles unhinged; no new ones can flourish like -those that have grown with her growth; and mine, I fear, would differ -greatly from those in which she has been educated. A few years hence, -she may feel the want of a friend, who understands the world, and who -could guide her prudently through its intricacies; then she shall find -that friend in me. Now, I feel convinced that I should do more harm than -good." -</p> - -<p> -A loud knock at the street door interrupted the conversation. "One thing -only I cannot endure," said the lady hastily, "to present a domestic -tragedy or farce to the Opera House—we must not meet in public. I -shall shut up my house and return to Paris." -</p> - -<p> -Mere written words express little. Lady Lodore's expressions were nothing; -but her countenance denoted a change of feeling, a violence of emotion, of -which Villiers hardly believed her capable; but before he could reply, -the servant threw open the door, and her brow immediately clearing, -serenity descended on her face. With her blandest smile she extended her -hand to her new visitor. Villiers was too much discomposed to imitate -her, so with a silent salutation he departed, and cantered round the -park to collect his thoughts before he called in Seymour-street. -</p> - -<p> -The ladies there were not less agitated than Lady Lodore, and displayed -their feelings with the artlessness of recluses. The first words that Mrs. -Elizabeth had addressed to her niece, at the breakfast table, were an -awkwardly expressed intimation, that she meant instantly to return to -Longfield. Ethel looked up with a face of alarm: her aunt continued; "I -do not want to speak ill of Lady Lodore, my dear—God forgive -her—that is all I can say. What your dear father thought of her, his -last will testifies. I suppose you do not mean to disobey him." -</p> - -<p> -"His slightest word was ever a law with me," said Ethel; "and now that -he is gone, I would observe his injunctions more religiously than ever. -But—" -</p> - -<p> -"Then, my dear, there is but one thing to be done: Lady Lodore will -assuredly force herself upon us, meet us at every turn, oblige you to pay -her your duty; nor could you avoid it. No, my dear Ethel, there is but one -escape—your health, thank God, is restored, and Longfield is now in -all its beauty; we will return to-morrow." -</p> - -<p> -Ethel did not reply; she looked very disconsolate—she did not know -what to say; at last, "Mr. Villiers will think it so odd," dropped from her -lips. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Villiers is nothing to us, my dear," said aunt Bessy—"not the -most distant relation; he is an agreeable, good-hearted young -gentleman—but there are so many in the world." -</p> - -<p> -Ethel left her breakfast untasted and went out of the room: she felt -that she could no longer restrain her tears. "My father!" she exclaimed, -while a passionate burst of weeping choked her utterance, "my only -friend! why, why did you leave me? Why, most cruel, desert your poor -orphan child? Gracious God! to what am I reserved! I must not see my -mother—a name so dear, so sweet, is for me a curse and a misery! O my -father, why did you desert me!" -</p> - -<p> -Her calm reflections were not less bitter; she did not suffer her -thoughts to wander to Villiers, or rather the loss of her father was -still so much the first grief of her heart, that on any new sorrow, it -was to this she recurred with agony. The form of her youthful mother -also flitted before her; and she asked herself, "Can she be so wicked?" -Lord Lodore had never uttered her name; it was not until his death had put -the fatal seal on all things, that she heard a garbled exaggerated -statement from her aunt, over whose benevolent features a kind of sacred -horror mantled, whenever she was mentioned. The will of Lord Lodore, and -the stern injunction it contained, that the mother and daughter should -never meet, satisfied Ethel of the truth of all that her aunt said; so that -educated to obedience and deep reverence for the only parent she had -ever known, she recoiled with terror from transgressing his commands, -and holding communication with the cause of all his ills. Still it was -hard, and very, very sad; nor did she cease from lamenting her fate, -till Villiers's horse was heard in the street, and his knock at the -door; then she tried to compose herself. "He will surely come to us at -Longfield," she thought; "Longfield will be so very stupid after -London." -</p> - -<p> -After London! Poor Ethel! she had lived in London as in a desert; but -lately it had appeared to her a city of bliss, and all places else the -abode of gloom and melancholy. Villiers was shocked at the appearance of -sorrow which shadowed her face; and, for a moment, thought that the -rencounter with her mother was the sole occasion of the tears, whose -traces he plainly discerned. His address was full of sympathetic -kindness;—but when she said, "We return to-morrow to Essex—will -you come to see us at Longfield?"—his soothing tones were exchanged -for those of surprise and vexation. -</p> - -<p> -"Longfield!—impossible! Why?" -</p> - -<p> -"My aunt has determined on it. She thinks me recovered; and so, indeed, -I am." -</p> - -<p> -"But are you to be entombed at Longfield, except when dying? If so, do, -pray, be ill again directly! But this must not be. Dear Mrs. Fitzhenry," -he continued, as she came in, "I will not hear of your going to -Longfield. Look; the very idea has already thrown Miss Fitzhenry into a -consumption;—you will kill her. Indeed you must not think of it." -</p> - -<p> -"We shall all die, if we stay in town," said Mrs. Elizabeth, with -perplexity at her niece's evident suffering. -</p> - -<p> -"Then why stay in town?" asked Villiers. -</p> - -<p> -"You just now said, that we ought not to return to Longfield," answered -the lady; "and I am sure if Ethel is to look so ill and wretched, I -don't know what I am to do." -</p> - -<p> -"But there are many places in the world besides either London or -Longfield. You were charmed with Richmond the other day: there are -plenty of houses to be had there; nothing can be prettier or more -quiet." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I don't know," said Aunt Bessy, "I never thought of that, to be -sure; and I have business which makes our going to Longfield very -inconvenient. I expect Mr. Humphries, our solicitor, next week; and I -have not seen him yet. You really think, Mr. Villiers, that we could get -a house to suit us at Richmond?" -</p> - -<p> -"Let us drive there to-day," said Villiers; "we can dine at the Star and -Garter. You can go in the britzska—I on horseback. The days are long: -we can see every thing; and take your house at once." -</p> - -<p> -This plan sounded very romantic and wild to the sober spinster; but -Ethel's face, lighted up with vivid pleasure, said more in its favour, -than what the good lady called prudence could allege against it. "Silly -people you women are," said Villiers: "you can do nothing by yourselves: -and are always running against posts, unless guided by others. This will -make every thing easy—dispel every difficulty." His thoughts recurred -to Lady Lodore, and her intended journey to Paris, as he said this: and -again they flew to a charming little villa on the river's side, whither he -could ride every day, and find Ethel among her flowers, alone and happy. -</p> - -<p> -The excursion of this morning was prosperous. The day was warm yet -fresh; and as they quitted town, and got surrounded by fields, and -hedges, and trees, nature reassumed her rights, and awakened transport -in Ethel's heart. The boyish spirits of Villiers communicated themselves -to her; and Mrs. Elizabeth smiled, also, with the most exquisite -complacency. A few inquiries conducted them to a pretty rural box, -surrounded by a small, but well laid-out shrubbery; and this they -engaged. The dinner at the inn, the twilight walk in its garden;—the -fair prospect of the rich and cultivated country, with its silvery, -meandering river at their feet; and the aspect of the cloudless heavens, -where one or two stars silently struggled into sight amidst the pathless -wastes of sky, were objects most beautiful to look on, and prodigal of -the sweetest emotions. The wide, dark lake, the endless forests, and -distant mountains, of the Illinois, were not here; but night bestowed -that appearance of solitude, which habit rendered dear to Ethel; and -imagination could transform wooded parks and well-trimmed meadows into -bowery seclusions, sacred from the foot of man, and fresh fields, -untouched by his hand. -</p> - -<p> -A few days found Ethel and her aunt installed at their little villa, and -delighted to be away from London. Education made loneliness congenial to -both: they might seek transient amusements in towns, or visit them for -business; but happiness, the agreeable tenor of unvaried daily life, was -to be found in the quiet of the country only;—and Richmond was the -country to them; for, cut off from all habits of intercourse with their -species, they had but to find trees and meadows near them, at once to -feel transported, from the thick of human life, into the most noiseless -solitude. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel was very happy. She rose in the morning with a glad and grateful -heart, and gazed from her chamber window, watching the early sunbeams as -they crept over the various parts of the landscape, visiting with light -and warmth each open field or embowered nook. Her bosom overflowed with -the kindest feelings, and her charmed senses answered the tremulous -beating of her pure heart, bidding it enjoy. How beautiful did earth -appear to her! There was a delight and a sympathy in the very action of -the shadows, as they pranked the sunshiny ground with their dark and -fluctuating forms. The leafy boughs of the tall trees waved gracefully, -and each wind of heaven wafted a thousand sweets. A magic spell of -beauty and bliss held in one bright chain the whole harmonious universe; -and the soul of the enchantment was love—simple, girlish, -unacknowledged love;—the love of the young, feminine heart, which -feels itself placed, all bleakly and dangerously, in a world, scarce formed -to be its home, and which plumes itself with Love to fly to the covert and -natural shelter of another's protecting care. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel did not know—did not fancy—that she was in love; nor did -any of the throes of passion disturb the serenity of her mind. She only -felt that she was very, very happy; and that Villiers was the kindest of -human beings. She did not give herself up to idleness and reverie. The -first law of her education had been to be constantly employed. Her -studies were various: they, perhaps, did not sufficiently tend to -invigorate her understanding, but they sufficed to prevent every -incursion of listlessness. Meanwhile, during each, the thought of -Villiers strayed through her mind, like a heavenly visitant, to gild all -things with sunny delight. Some time, during the day, he was nearly sure -to come; or, at least, she was certain of seeing him on the morrow; and -when he came, their boatings and their rides were prolonged; while each -moment added to the strength of the ties that bound her to him. She -relied on his friendship; and his society was as necessary to her life, -as the air she breathed. She so implicitly trusted to his truth, that -she was unaware that she trusted at all—never making a doubt about -it. That chance, or time, should injure or break off the tie, was a -possibility that never suggested itself to her mind. As the silver -Thames traversed in silence and beauty the landscape at her feet, so did -love flow through her soul in one even and unruffled stream—the great -law and emperor of her thoughts; yet more felt from its influence, than -from any direct exertion of its power. It was the result and the type of -her sensibility, of her constancy, of the gentle, yet lively sympathy, -it was her nature to bestow, with guileless confidence. Those around her -might be ignorant that her soul was imbued with it, because, being a -part of her soul, there was small outward demonstration. None, indeed, -near her thought any thing about it: Aunt Bessy was a tyro in such -matters; and Villiers—he had resolved, when he perceived love on her -side, to retreat for ever: till then he might enjoy the dear delight -that her society afforded him. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Alas! he knows</span><br /> -<span class="i2">The laws of Spain appoint me for his heir;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">That all must come to me, if I outlive him,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Which sure I must do, by the course of nature.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 45%;">BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Edward Villiers was the only child of a man of considerable fortune, who -had early in life become a widower. From the period of this event, -Colonel Villiers (for his youth had been passed in the army, where he -obtained promotion) had led the careless life of a single man. His son's -home was at Maristow Castle, when not at school; and the father seldom -remembered him except as an incumbrance; for his estate was strictly -entailed, so that he could only consider himself possessed of a life -interest in a property, which would devolve, without restriction, on his -more fortunate son. -</p> - -<p> -Edward was brought up in all the magnificence of his uncle's lordly -abode. Luxury and profusion were the elements of the air he breathed. To -be without any desired object that could be purchased, appeared baseness -and lowest penury. He, also, was considered the favoured one of fortune -in the family circle. The elder brother among the Savilles rose above, -but the younger fell infinitely below, the undoubted heir of eight -thousand a year, and one of the most delightful seats in England. He was -brought up to look upon himself as a rich man, and to act as such; and -meanwhile, until his father's death, he had nothing to depend on, except -any allowance he might make him. -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Villiers was a man of fashion, addicted to all the extravagances -and even vices of the times. He set no bounds to his expenses. Gambling -consumed his nights, and his days were spent at horse-races, or any -other occupation that at once excited and impoverished him. His income -was as a drop of water in the mighty stream of his expenditure. -Involvement followed involvement, until he had not a shilling that he -could properly call his own. -</p> - -<p> -Poor Edward heard of these things, but did not mark them. He indulged in -no blameworthy pursuits, nor spent more than beseemed a man in his rank -of life. The idea of debt was familiar to him: every one—even Lord -Maristow—was in debt, far beyond his power of immediate payment. He -followed the universal example, and suffered no inconvenience, while his -wants were obligingly supplied by the fashionable tradesmen. He regarded -the period of his coming of age as a time when he should become -disembarrassed, and enter upon life with ample means, and still more -brilliant prospects. -</p> - -<p> -The day arrived. It was celebrated with splendour at Maristow Castle. -Colonel Villiers was abroad; but Lord Maristow wrote to him to remind -him of this event, which otherwise he might have forgotten. A kind -letter of congratulation was, in consequence, received from him by -Edward; to which was appended a postscript, saying, that on his return, -at the end of a few weeks, he would consult concerning some arrangements -he wished to make with regard to his future income. -</p> - -<p> -His return was deferred; and Edward began to experience some of the -annoyances of debt. Still no real pain was associated with his feelings; -though he looked forward with eagerness to the hour of liberation. -Colonel Villiers came at last. He spoke largely of his intended -generosity, which was shown, meanwhile, by his persuading Edward to join -in a mortgage for the sake of raising an immediate sum. Edward scarcely -knew what he was about. He was delighted to be of service to his father; -and without thought or idea of having made a sacrifice, agreed to all -that was asked of him. He was promised an allowance of six hundred a -year. -</p> - -<p> -The few years that had passed since then were full of painful experience -and bitter initiation. His light and airy spirit was slow to conceive -ill, or to resent wrong. When his annuity remained unpaid, he listened -to his father's excuses with implicit credence, and deplored his -poverty. One day, he received a note from him, written, as usual, in -haste and confusion, but breathing anxiety and regret on his account, -and promising to pay over to him the first money he could obtain. On the -evening of that day, Edward was led by a friend into the gambling room -of a celebrated club. The first man on whom his eyes fell, was his -father, who was risking and losing rouleaus and notes in abundance. At -one moment, while making over a large sum, he suddenly perceived his -son. He grew pale, and then a deep blush spread itself over his -countenance. Edward withdrew. His young heart was pierced to the core. -The consciousness of a father's falsehood and guilt acted on him as the -sudden intelligence of some fatal disaster would have done. He breathed -thick—the objects swam round him—he hurried into the -streets—he traversed them one after the other. It was not this scene -alone—this single act; the veil was withdrawn from a whole series of -others similar; and he became aware that his parent had stepped beyond the -line of mere extravagance; that he had lost honourable feeling; that lies -were common in his mouth; and every other—even his only -child—was sacrificed to his own selfish and bad passions. -</p> - -<p> -Edward never again asked his father for money. The immediate result of -the meeting in the gambling-room, had been his receiving a portion of -what was due to him; but his annuity was always in arrear, and paid so -irregularly, that it became worse than nothing in his eyes; especially, -as the little that he received was immediately paid over to creditors, -and to defray the interest of borrowed money. -</p> - -<p> -He never applied again to Colonel Villiers. He would have considered -himself guilty of a crime, had he forced his father to forge fresh -subterfuges, and to lie to his own son. Brought up in the midst of the -wealthy, he had early imbibed a horror of pecuniary obligation; and this -fastidiousness grew more sensitive and peremptory with each added day of -his life. Yet with all this, he had not learnt to set a right value upon -money; and he squandered whatever he obtained with thoughtless -profusion. He had no friend to whose counsel he could recur. Lord -Maristow railed against Colonel Villiers; and when he heard of Edward's -difficulties, offered to remonstrate and force his brother-in-law to -extricate him: but here ended his assistance, which was earnestly -rejected. Horatio's means were exceedingly limited; but on a word from -his cousin, he eagerly besought him to have recourse to his purse. To -avoid his kindness, and his uncle's interference, Edward became -reserved: he had recourse to Jews and money-lenders; and appeared at -ease, while he was involving himself in countless and still increasing -embarrassments. -</p> - -<p> -Edward was naturally extravagant; or, to speak more correctly, his -education and position implanted and fostered habits of expense and -prodigality, while his careless disposition was unapt to calculate -consequences: his very attempts at economy frequently cost him more than -his most expensive whims. He was not, like his father, a gambler; nor -did he enter into any very reprehensible pleasures: but he had little to -spend, and was thoughtless and confiding; and being always in arrear, -was forced, in a certain way, to continue a system which perpetually led -him further into the maze, and rendered his return impossible. He had no -hope of becoming independent, except through his father's death: Colonel -Villiers, meanwhile, had no idea of dying. He was not fifty years of -age; and considering his own a better life than his son's, involuntarily -speculated on what he should do if he should chance to survive him. He -was a handsome and a fashionable man: he often meditated a second -marriage, if he could render it advantageous; and repined at his -inability to make settlements, which was an insuperable impediment to -his project. Edward's death would overcome this difficulty. Such were -the speculations of father and son; and the portion of filial and -paternal affection which their relative position but too usually -inspires. -</p> - -<p> -Until he was twenty-one, Edward had never spent a thought upon his -scanty resources. Three years had past since then—three brief years, -which had a little taught him of what homely stuff the world is made; -yet care and even reflection had not yet disturbed his repose. Days, -months sped on, and nothing reminded him of his relative wealth or -poverty in a way to annoy him, till he knew Ethel. He had been -interested for her in America—he had seen her, young and lovely, -drowned in grief—sorrowing with the heart's first prodigal sorrow for -her adored father. He had left her, and thought of her no -more—except, as a passing reflection, that in the natural course of -things, she was now to become the pupil of Lady Lodore, and consequently, -that her unsophisticated feelings and affectionate heart would speedily be -tarnished and hardened under her influence. He anticipated meeting her -hereafter in ball-rooms and assemblies, changed into a flirting, giddy, -yet worldly-minded girl, intent upon a good establishment, and a -fashionable partner. -</p> - -<p> -He encountered her under the sober and primitive guardianship of Mrs. -Fitzhenry, unchanged and unharmed. The same radiant innocence beamed -from her face; her sweet voice was still true and heart-reaching in its -tones; her manner mirrored the purity and lustre of a mind incapable of -guile, and adorned with every generous and gentle sentiment. He drew near -her with respect and admiration, and soon no other object showed fair in -his eyes except Ethel. She was the star of the world, and he felt happy -only when the light of her presence shone upon him. Her voice and smile -visited his dreams, and spoke peace and delight to his heart. She was to -him as a jewel (yet sweeter and lovelier than any gem) shut up in a -casket, of which he alone possessed the key—as a pearl, of whose -existence an Indian diver is aware beneath the waves of ocean, deep -buried from every other eye. -</p> - -<p> -There was all in Ethel that could excite and keep alive imaginative and -tender love. In characterizing a race of women, a delightful writer has -described her individually. "She was in her nature a superior being. Her -majestic forehead, her dark, thoughtful eye, assured you that she had -communed with herself. She could bear to be left in solitude—yet what -a look was her's if animated by mirth or love! She was poetical, if not a -poet; and her imagination was high and chivalrous."<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> The elevated tone of -feeling fostered by her father, her worship of his virtues, and the -loneliness of her life in the Illinois, combined to render her -dissimilar to any girl Villiers had ever before known or admired. When -unobserved, he watched her countenance, and marked the varying tracery -of high thoughts and deep emotions pass over it; her dark eye looked out -from itself on vacancy, but read there a meaning only to be discerned by -vivid imagination. And then when that eye, so full of soul, turned on -him, and affection and pleasure at once animated and softened its -glances—when her sweet lips, so delicate in their shape, so balmy -and soft in their repose, were wreathed into a smile—he felt that his -whole being was penetrated with enthusiastic admiration, and that his -nature had bent to a law, from which it could never again be liberated. -</p> - -<p> -That she should mingle with the world—enter into its contaminating -pursuits—be talked of in it with that spirit of depreciation and -impertinence, which is its essence, was odious to him, and he was -overjoyed to have her safe at Richmond—secure from Lady -Lodore—shut up apart from all things, except nature—her -unsophisticated aunt, and his own admiration—a bird of beauty, -brooding in its own fair nest, unendangered by the fowler. These were -his feelings; but by degrees other reflections forced themselves on him; -and love which, when it has knocked and been admitted, <i>will</i> be a -tyrant, obliged him to entertain regrets and fears which agonized him. -His hourly aspiration was to make her his own. Would that dear heart -open to receive into its recesses his image, and thenceforward dedicate -itself to him only? Might he become her lover, guardian, -husband—and they tread together the jungle of life, aiding each -other to thread its mazes, and to ward off every danger that might -impend over them. -</p> - -<p> -Bitter worldly considerations came to mar the dainty colours of this -fair picture. He could not conceal from himself the poverty that must -attend him during his father's life. Lord Lodore's singular will reduced -Ethel's property to almost nothing: should he then ally her to his -scanty means and broken fortune? His resolution was made. He would not -deny himself the present pleasure of seeing her, to spare any future -pain in which he should be the only sufferer; but on the first token of -exclusive regard on her side, he would withdraw for ever. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>Coleridge's "Six Months in the West Indies."</p></div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The world is too much with us.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">WORDSWORTH.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry's morning task was to read the -newspapers—the only intercourse she held with the world, and all -her knowledge of it, was derived from these daily sheets. Ethel never -looked at them—her thoughts held no communion with the vulgar -routine of life, and she was too much occupied by her studies and -reveries to spend any time upon topics so uninteresting as the state of -the nation, or the scandal of the day. -</p> - -<p> -One morning, while she was painting, her aunt observed, in her usual -tone of voice, scarce lifting her eyes from the paper, "Mr. Villiers did -not tell us this—he is going to be married; I wonder who to!" -</p> - -<p> -"Married!" repeated Ethel. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, my dear, here it is. 'We hear from good authority that Mr. -Villiers, of Chiverton Park, is about to lead to the hymeneal altar a -young and lovely bride, the only child of a gentleman, said to be the -richest commoner in England.'—Who can it be?" -</p> - -<p> -Ethel did not reply, and the elder lady went on to other parts of the -newspaper. The poor girl, on whom she had dealt all unaware this chance -mortal blow, put down her brush, and hurried into the shrubbery to -conceal her agitation. Why did she feel these sharp pangs? Why did a -bitter deluge of anguish overflow and seem to choke her breathing, and -torture her heart?—she could scarcely tell. "Married!—then I -shall never see him more!" And a passion of tears, not refreshing, but -forced out by agony, and causing her to feel as if her heart was bursting, -shook her delicate frame. At that moment the well-known sound, the -galloping of Villiers's horse up the lane, met her ear. "Does he come -here to tell us at last of his wedding-day?" The horse came on—it -stopped—the bell was rung. Little acts these, which she had watched -for, and listened to, for two months, with such placid and innocent -delight, now they seemed the notes of preparation for a scene of -despair. She wished to retreat to her own room to compose herself; but it -was too late; he was already in that through which she must pass—she -heard his voice speaking to her aunt. "Now is he telling her," she -thought. No idea of reproach, or of accusation of unkindness in him, -dawned on her heart. No word of love had passed between them—even yet -she was unaware that she loved herself; it was the instinctive result of -this despot sentiment, which exerted its sway over her, without her -being conscious of the cause of her sufferings. -</p> - -<p> -The first words of Mrs. Fitzhenry had been to speak of the paragraph in -the newspaper, and to show it her visitor. Villiers read it, and -considered it curiously. He saw at once, that however blunderingly -worded, his father was its hero; and he wondered what foundation there -might be for the rumour. "Singular enough!" he said, carelessly, as he -put the paper down. -</p> - -<p> -"You have kept your secret well," said Mrs. Elizabeth. -</p> - -<p> -"My secret! I did not even know that I had one." -</p> - -<p> -"I, at least, never heard that you were going to be married." -</p> - -<p> -"I!—married! Where is Miss Fitzhenry?" -</p> - -<p> -The concatenation of ideas presented by these words fell unremarked on -the blunt senses of the good lady, and she replied, "In the shrubbery, I -believe, or upstairs: she left me but a moment ago." -</p> - -<p> -Villiers hastened to the garden and soon discerned the tearful girl, who -was bending down to pluck and arrange some flowers, so to hide her -disturbed countenance. -</p> - -<p> -Could we, at the moment of trial, summon our reason and our foregone -resolves—could we put the impression of the present moment at a -distance, which, on the contrary, presses on us with a power as -omnipotent over our soul, as a pointed sword piercing the flesh over our -life, we might become all that we are not—angels or demigods, or any -other being that is not human. As it is, the current of the blood and -the texture of the brain are the machinery by which the soul acts, and -their mechanism is by no means tractable or easily worked; once put in -motion, we can seldom controul their operations; but our serener -feelings are whirled into the vortex they create. Thus Edward Villiers -had a thousand times in his reveries thought over the possibility of a -scene occurring, such as the one he was called upon to act in now—and -had planned a line of conduct, but, like mist before the wind, this -gossamer of the mind was swept away by an immediate appeal to his heart -through his outward sensations. There stood before him, in all her -loveliness, the creature whose image had lived with him by day and by -night, for several long months; and the gaze of her soft tearful eyes, -and the faultering tone of her voice, were the laws to which his sense -of prudence, of right, was immediately subjected. -</p> - -<p> -A few confused sentences interchanged, revealed to him that she -participated in her aunt's mistake, and her simple question, "Why did -you conceal this from me?" spoke the guilelessness of her thoughts, -while the anguish which her countenance expressed, betrayed that the -concealment was not the only source of her grief. -</p> - -<p> -This young pair were ignorant how dear they were to each other. Ethel's -affection was that generous giving away of a young heart which is unaware -of the value of the gift it makes—she had asked for and thought -of no return, though her feeling was the result of a reciprocal one on -his side; it was the instinctive love of the dawn of womanhood, subdued -and refined by her gentle nature and imaginative mind. Edward was more -alive to the nature of his own sentiments—but his knowledge stood him -in no stead to fortify him against the power of Ethel's tears. In a -moment they understood each other—one second sufficed to cause the -before impervious veil to fall at their feet: they had stept beyond this -common-place world, and stood beside each other in the new and -mysterious region of which Love is emperor. -</p> - -<p> -"Dearest Ethel," said Villiers, "I have much to tell you. Do arrange -that we should ride together. I have very much to tell you. You shall -know every thing, and judge for us both, though you should condemn me." -</p> - -<p> -She looked up in his face with innocent surprise; but no words could -destroy the sunshine that brightened her soul: to know that she was -loved sufficed then to fill her being to overflowing with happiness, so -that there was no room for a second emotion. -</p> - -<p> -The lovers rode out together, and thus secured the tête-à-tête which -Villiers especially yearned for. Although she was country-bred, Mrs. -Fitzhenry was too timid to mount on horseback, yet she could not feel -fear for her niece who, under her father's guidance, sat her steed with -an ease and perfect command of the animal, which long habit rendered -second nature to her. As they rode on, considerably in advance of the -groom, they were at first silent—the deep sweet silence which is so -eloquent of emotion—till with an effort, slackening his pace, and -bringing his horse nearer, Villiers began. He spoke of debt, of -difficulties, of poverty—of his unconquerable aversion to the making -any demands on his father—fruitless demands, for he knew how involved -Colonel Villiers was, and how incapable even of paying the allowance he -nominally made his son. He declared his reluctance to drag Ethel into -the sea of cares and discomforts that he felt must surround his youth. He -besought her forgiveness for having loved her—for having linked her -heart to his. He could not willingly resign her, while he believed that -he, all unworthy, was of any worth in her eyes; but would she not -discard him for ever, now that she knew that he was a beggar? and that -all to which he could aspire, was an engagement to be fulfilled at some -far distant day—a day that might never come—when fortune should -smile on him. Ethel listened with exquisite complacency. Every word -Villiers spoke was fraught with tenderness; his eye beamed adoration and -sincerest love. Consciousness chained her tongue, and her faltering -voice refused to frame any echo to the busy instigations of her virgin -heart. Yet it seemed to her as if she must speak; as if she were called -upon to avow how light and trivial were all worldly considerations in -her eyes. With bashful confusion she at length said, "You cannot think -that I care for fortune—I was happy in the Illinois." -</p> - -<p> -Her simplicity of feeling was at this moment infectious. It appeared -the excess of selfishness to think of any thing but love in a -desart—while she had no desire beyond. Indeed, in England or -America, she lived in a desart, as far as society was concerned, and -felt not one of those tenacious though cobweb-seeming ties, that held -sway over Villiers. All his explanations therefore went for nothing. -They only felt that this discourse concerning him had drawn them nearer -to each other, and had laid the first stone of an edifice of friendship, -henceforth to be raised beside the already established one of love. A -sudden shower forced them also to return home with speed, and so -interrupted any further discussion. -</p> - -<p> -In the evening Villiers left them; and Ethel sought, as speedily as she -might, the solitude of her own chamber. She had no idea of hiding any -circumstance from Mrs. Fitzhenry; but confidence is, more than any other -thing, a matter of interchange, and cannot be bestowed unless the giver -is certain of its being received. They had too little sympathy of taste -or idea, and were too little in the habit of communicating their inmost -thoughts, to make Ethel recur to her aunt. Besides, young love is ever -cradled in mystery;—to reveal it to the vulgar eye, appears at -once to deprive it of its celestial loveliness, and to marry it to the -clodlike earth. But alone—alone—she could think over the -past day—recall its minutest incident; and as she imaged to -herself the speaking fondness of her lover's eyes, her own closed, and a -thrilling sense of delight swept through her frame. What a different -world was this to what it had been the day before! The whole creation -was invested by a purer atmosphere, balmy as paradise, which no -disquieting thought could penetrate. She called upon her father's spirit -to approve her attachment; and when she reflected that Edward's hand had -supported his dying head—that to Edward Villiers's care his latest -words had intrusted her,—she felt as if she were a legacy -bequeathed to him, and that she fulfilled Lodore's last behests in -giving herself to him. So sweetly and fondly did her gentle heart strive -to make a duty of her wishes; and the idea of her father's approbation -set the seal of perfect satisfaction on her dream of bliss. -</p> - -<p> -It was somewhat otherwise with Villiers. Things went on as before, and -he came nearly every day to Richmond; but while Ethel rested satisfied -with seeing him, and receiving slight, cherished tokens of his unabated -regard,—as his voice assumed a more familiar tone, and his -attentions became more affectionate;—while these were enough for -Ethel, he thought of the future, and saw it each day dressed in gloomier -colours. In Ethel's presence, indeed, he forgot all but her. He loved -her fervently, and beheld in her all that he most admired in woman: her -clearness of spirit, her singleness of heart, her unsuspicious and -ingenuous disposition, were irresistibly fascinating;—and why not -spend their lives thus in solitude?—his—their mutual fortune -might afford this:—why not for ever thus—the happy—the -beloved?—his life might pass like a dream of joy; and that -paradise might be realized on earth, the impossibility of which -philosophers have demonstrated, and worldlings scoffed at. -</p> - -<p> -Thus he thought while in the same room with Ethel;—while on his -evening ride back to town, her form glided before him, and her voice -sounded in his ears, it seemed that where Ethel was, no one earthly -bliss could be wanting; where she was not, a void must exist, dark and -dreary as a starless night. But his progress onward took him out of the -magic circle her presence drew; a portion of his elevated feeling -deserted him at each step; it fell off, like the bark pealing from a -tree, in successive coats, till he was left with scarce a vestige of its -brightness;—as the hue and the scent deserts the flower, when -deprived of light,—so, when away from Ethel, her lover lost half -the excellence which her presence bestowed. -</p> - -<p> -Edward Villiers was eminently sociable in his disposition. He had been -brought up in the thick of life, and knew not how to live apart from it. -His frank and cordial heart danced within his bosom, when he was among -those who sympathized with, and liked him. He was much courted in -society, and had many favourites: and how Ethel would like these, and be -liked by them, was a question he perpetually asked himself. He knew the -worldliness of many,—their defective moral feeling, and their narrow -views; but he believed that they were attached to him, and no man was -ever less a misanthrope than he. He wished, if married to Ethel, to see -her a favourite in his own circle; but he revolted from the idea of -presenting her, except under favourable auspices, surrounded by the -decorations of rank and wealth. To give up the world, the English world, -formed no portion of his picture of bliss; and to occupy a subordinate, -degraded, permitted place in it, was, to one initiated in its -supercilious and insolent assumptions, not to be endured. -</p> - -<p> -The picture had also a darker side, which was too often turned towards -him. If he felt hesitation when he regarded its brighter aspect, as soon -as this was dimmed, the whole current of his feelings turned the other -way; and he called himself villain, for dreaming of allying Ethel, not -to poverty alone, but to its worst consequences and disgrace, in the -shape of debt. "I am a beggar," he thought; "one of many wants, and -unable to provide for any;—the most poverty-stricken of beggars, who -has pledged away even his liberty, were it claimed of him. I look -forward to the course of years with disgust. I cannot calculate the ills -that may occur, or with how tremendous a weight the impending ruin may -fall. I can bear it alone; but did I see <i>her</i> humiliated, whom I -would gladly place on a throne,—by heavens! I could not endure life -on such terms! and a pistol, or some other dreadful means, would put an end -to an existence become intolerable." -</p> - -<p> -As these thoughts fermented within him, he longed to pour them out -before Ethel; to unload his mind of its care, to express the sincere -affection that led him to her side, and yet urged him to exile himself -for ever. He rode over each day to Richmond, intent on such a design; -but as he proceeded, the fogs and clouds that thickened round his soul -grew lighter. At first his pace was regulated; as he drew nearer, he -pressed his horse's flank with impatient heel, and bounded forward. Each -turn in the road was a step nearer the sunshine. Now the bridge, the -open field, the winding lane, were passed; the walls of her abode, and -its embowered windows, presented themselves;—they met; and the glad -look that welcomed him drove far away every thought of banishment, and -dispelled at once every remnant of doubt and despondency. -</p> - -<p> -This state of things might have gone on much longer,—already had it -been protracted for two months,—but for an accidental conversation -between Lady Lodore and Villiers. Since the morning after the opera, they -had scarcely seen each other. Edward's heart was too much occupied to -permit him to join in the throng of a ball-room; and they had no chance of -meeting, except in general society. One evening, at the opera, the lady -who accompanied Lady Lodore, asked a gentleman, who had just come into -their box, "What had become of Edward Villiers?—he was never to be -seen?" -</p> - -<p> -"He is going to be married," was the reply: "he is in constant -attendance on the fair lady at Richmond." -</p> - -<p> -"I had not heard of this," observed Lady Lodore, who, for Horatio's sake, -felt an interest for his favourite cousin. -</p> - -<p> -"It is very little known. The <i>fiancée</i> lives out of the -world, and no one can tell any thing about her. I did hear her -name. Young Craycroft has seen them riding together perpetually -in Richmond Park and on Wimbledon Common, he told me. -Miss Fitzroy—no;—Miss Fitz-something it -is;—Fitzgeorge?—no;—Fitzhenry?—yes; Miss -Fitzhenry is the name." -</p> - -<p> -Cornelia reddened, and asked no more questions. She controlled her -agitation; and at first, indeed, she was scarcely aware how much she -felt: but while the whole house was listening to a favourite air, and -her thoughts had leisure to rally, they came on her painfully, and -involuntary tears filled her eyes. It was sad, indeed, to hear of her -child as of a stranger; and to be made to feel sensibly how wide the gulf -was that separated them. "My sweet girl—my own Ethel!—are you, -indeed, so lost to me?" As her heart breathed this ejaculation, she felt -the downy cheek of her babe close to her's, and its little fingers press -her bosom. A moment's recollection brought another image:—Ethel, -grown up to womanhood, educated in hatred of her, negligent and -unfilial;—this was not the little cherub whose loss she lamented. Let -her look round the crowd then about her; and among the fair girls she -saw, any one was as near her in affection and duty, as the child so -early torn from her, to be for ever estranged and lost. -</p> - -<p> -The baleful part of Cornelia's character was roused by these -reflections; her pride, her selfwill, her spirit of resistance. "And for -this she has been taken from me," she thought, "to marry, while yet a -child, a ruined man—to be wedded to care and indigence. Thus would it -not have been had she been entrusted to me. O, how hereafter she may -regret the injuries of her mother, when she feels the effects of them in -her own adversity! It is not for me to prevent this ill-judged union. -The aunt and niece would see in my opposition a motive to hasten it: -wise as they fancy themselves—wise and good—what I, the -reviled, reprobated, they would therefore pursue with more eagerness. Be it -so—my day will yet come!" -</p> - -<p> -A glance of triumph shot across her face as she indulged in this emotion -of revenge; the most deceitful and reprehensible of human -feelings—revenge against a child—how sad at best—how sure -to bring with it its recompense of bitterness of spirit and remorse! But -Cornelia's heart had been rudely crushed, and in the ruin of her best -affections, her mother had substituted noxious passions of many -kinds—pride chief of all. -</p> - -<p> -While thus excited and indignant, she saw Edward Villiers. He came into -her box; the lady with her was totally unaware of what had been passing -in her thoughts, nor reverted to the name mentioned as having any -connexion with her. She asked Villiers if it were true that he was going -to be married? Lady heard the question; she turned on him her eyes full -of significant meaning, and with a smile of scorn answered for him, "O -yes, Mr. Villiers is going to be married. His bride is young, beautiful, -and portionless; but he has the tastes of a hermit—he means to -emigrate to America—his simple and inexpensive habits are admirably -suited to the wilderness." -</p> - -<p> -This was said as if in jest, and answered in the same tone. The third in -the trio joined in, quite unaware of the secret meaning of the -conversation. Several bitter allusions were made by Lady Lodore, and the -truth of all she said sent her words home to Edward's heart. She drew, as -if playfully, a representation of highbred indigence, that made his blood -curdle. As if she could read his thoughts, she echoed their worst -suggestions, and unrolled the page of futurity, such as he had often -depicted it to himself, presenting in sketchy, yet forcible colours, a -picture from which his soul recoiled. He would have escaped, but there -was a fascination in the topic, and in the very bitterness of spirit -which she awakened. He rather encouraged her to proceed, while he -abhorred her for so doing, acknowledging the while the justice of all -she said. Lady Lodore was angry, and she felt pleasure in the pain she -inflicted; her wit became keener, her sarcasm more pointed, yet stopping -short with care of any thing that should betray her to their companion, -and avoiding, with inimitable tact, any expression that should convey to -one not in the secret, that she meant any thing more than raillery or -good-humoured quizzing, as it is called. -</p> - -<p> -At length Villiers took his leave. "Were I," he said, "the unfortunate -man you represent me to be, you would have to answer for my life this -night. But re-assure yourself—it is all a dream. I have no thoughts -of marrying; and the fair girl, whose fate as my wife Lady Lodore so kindly -compassionates, is safe from every danger of becoming the victim of my -selfishness and poverty." -</p> - -<p> -This was said laughing, yet an expressive intonation of voice conveyed -his full meaning to Cornelia. "I have done a good deed if I have -prevented this marriage," she thought; "yet a thankless one. After all, -he is a gentleman, and under sister Bessy's guardianship, poor Ethel -might fall into worse hands." -</p> - -<p> -While Lady Lodore thus dismissed her anger and all thought of its cause, -Villiers felt more resentment than had ever before entered his kind -heart. The truths which the lady had spoken were unpalatable, and the -mode in which they were uttered was still more disagreeable. He hated -her for having discovered them, and for presenting them so vividly to -his sight. At one moment he resolved never to see Ethel more; while he -felt that he loved her with tenfold tenderness, and would have given -worlds to become the source of all happiness to her—wishing this the -more ardently, because her mother had pictured him as being the cause to -her of every ill. -</p> - -<p> -Edward's nature was very impetuous, but perfectly generous. The tempest -of anger allayed, he considered all that Lady Lodore had said -impartially; and while he felt that she had only repeated what he had -told himself a thousand times, he resolved not to permit resentment to -controul him, and to turn him from the right path. He felt also, that he -ought no longer to delay acting on his good resolutions. His intercourse -with Miss Fitzhenry had begun to attract attention, and must therefore -cease. Once again he would ride over to Richmond—once again see -her—say farewell, and then stoically banish every pleasant -dream—every heart-enthralling hope—willingly sacrificing his -dearest wishes at the shrine of her welfare. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">She to a window came, that opened west,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Towards which coast her love his way addrest,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">There looking forth, she in her heart did find</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Many vain fancies working her unrest,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And sent her winged thoughts more swift than wind</span><br /> -<span class="i2">To bear unto her love the message of her mind.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 55%;">THE FAERIE QUEEN.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Ethel, happy in her seclusion, was wholly unaware of her mother's -interference and its effects. She had not the remotest suspicion that it -would be considered as conducive to her welfare to banish the only -friend that she had in the world. In her solitary position, life was a -blank without Edward; and while she congratulated herself on her good -fortune in the concurrence of circumstances that had brought them -together, and, as she believed, established her happiness on the dearest -and most secure foundations, she was far from imagining that he was -perpetually revolving the necessity of bidding her adieu for ever. If -she had been told two years before, that all intercourse between her and -her father were to cease, it would scarcely have seemed more unnatural -or impossible, than that such a decree should be issued to divide her -from one to whom her young heart was entirely given. She relied on him -as the support of her life—her guide and protector—she loved -him as the giver of good to her—she almost worshipped him for the -many virtues, which he either really possessed, or with which her fondness -bounteously gifted him. -</p> - -<p> -Meanwhile the unacute observations of Mrs. Fitzhenry began to be -awakened. She gave herself great credit for discovering that there was -something singular in the constant attendance of Edward, and yet, in -fact, she owed her illumination on this point to her man of law. Mr. -Humphries, whom she had seen on business the day before, finding how -regular a visitor Villiers was, and their only one, first elevated his -eyebrows and then relaxed into a smile, as he said, "I suppose I am soon -to wish Miss Fitzhenry joy." This same day Edward had ridden down to -them; a violent storm prevented his return to town; he slept at the inn -and breakfasted with the ladies in the morning. There was something -familiar and home-felt in his appearance at the breakfast-table, that -filled Ethel with delight. "Women," says the accomplished author of Paul -Clifford, "think that they must always love a man whom they have seen in -his nightcap." There is deep philosophy in this observation, and it was -a portion of that feeling which made Ethel feel so sweetly complacent, -when Villiers, unbidden, rang the bell, and gave his orders to the -servant, as if he had been at home. -</p> - -<p> -Aunt Bessy started a little; and while the young people were strolling -in the shrubbery and renewing the flowers in the vases, she was -pondering on the impropriety of their position, and wondering how she -could break off an intimacy she had hitherto encouraged. But one way -presented itself to her plain imagination, the old resource, a return to -Longfield. With light heart and glad looks, Ethel bounded up stairs to -dress for dinner, and she was twining her ringlets round her taper -fingers before the glass, when her aunt entered with a look of serious -import. "My dear Ethel, I have something important to say to you." -</p> - -<p> -Ethel stopped in her occupation and turned inquiring eyes on her aunt; -"My dear," continued Mrs. Fitzhenry, "we have been a long time away; if -you please, we will return to Longfield." -</p> - -<p> -This time Ethel did not grow pale; she turned again to the mirror, -saying with a smile that lighted her whole countenance, "Dear aunt, that -is impossible—I would rather not." -</p> - -<p> -No negative could have been more imposing on the good lady than this; -she did not know how to reply, how to urge her wish. "Dearest aunt," -continued her niece, "you are losing time—dinner will be announced, -and you are not dressed. We will talk of Longfield to-morrow—we must -not keep Mr. Villiers waiting." -</p> - -<p> -It was often the custom of Aunt Bessy, like the father of Hamlet, to -sleep after dinner, she did not betake herself to her orchard, but her -arm-chair, for a few minutes' gentle doze. Ethel and Villiers meanwhile -walked out, and, descending to the river side, they were enticed by the -beauty of the evening to go upon the water. Ethel was passionately fond -of every natural amusement; boating was a pleasure that she enjoyed -almost more than any other, and one with which she was seldom indulged; -for her spinster aunt had so many fears and objections, and considered -every event but sitting still in her drawing-room, or a quiet drive with -her old horses, as so fraught with danger and difficulty, that it -required an absolute battle ever to obtain her consent for her niece to -go on the river—she would have died before she could have entered a -boat herself, and, walking at the water's edge, she always insisted that -Ethel should keep close to the bank, while, by the repetition of -expressions of alarm and entreaties to return, she destroyed every -possibility of enjoyment. -</p> - -<p> -The river sped swiftly on, calm and free. There is always life in a -stream, of which a lake is frequently deprived, when sleeping beneath a -windless sky. A river pursues for ever its course, accomplishing the -task its Creator has imposed, and its waters are for ever changing while -they seem the same. It was a balmy summer evening; the air seemed to -brood over the earth, warming and nourishing it. All nature reposed, and -yet not as a lifeless thing, but with the same enjoyment of rest as -gladdened the hearts of the two beings, who, with gratitude and love, -drank in the influence of this softest hour of day. The equal splash of -the oar, or its dripping when suspended, the clear reflection of tree -and lawn in the river, the very colour of the stream, stolen as it was -from heaven itself, the plash of the wings of the waterfowl who skimmed -the waves towards their rushy nests,—every sound and every appearance -was beautiful, harmonious, and soothing. Ethel's soul was at peace; -grateful to Heaven, and satisfied with every thing around her, a -tenderness beamed from her eyes, and was diffused over her attitude, and -attuned her voice, which acted as a spell to make Edward forget every -thing but herself. -</p> - -<p> -They had both been silent for some time, a sweet silence more eloquent -than any words, when Ethel observed, "My aunt wishes to return to -Longfield." -</p> - -<p> -Villiers started as if he had trodden upon a serpent, exclaiming, "To -Longfield! O yes! that were far best—when shall you go?" -</p> - -<p> -"Why is it best? Why should we go?" asked Ethel with surprise. -</p> - -<p> -"Because," replied Villiers impetuously, "it had been better that you -had never left it—that we had never met! It is not thus that I can -fulfil my promise to your father to guard and be kind to his child. I am -practising on your ignorance, taking advantage of your loneliness, and -doing you an injury, for which I should call any other a villain, were -he guilty." -</p> - -<p> -It was the very delight that Edward had been a moment before enjoying, -the very beauty and calmness of nature, and the serenity and kindness of -the sweet face turned towards him, which stirred such bitterness; -checking himself, however, he continued after a pause, in a more -subsided tone. -</p> - -<p> -"Are there any words by which I can lay bare my heart to you, -Ethel?—None! To speak of my true and entire attachment, is almost an -insult; and to tell you, that I tear myself from you for your own sake, -sounds like impertinence. Yet all this is true; and it is the reverence -that I have for your excellence, the idolatry which your singleness of -heart and sincere nature inspires, which prompts me to speak the truth, -though that be different from the usual language of gallantry, or what -is called love. -</p> - -<p> -"Will you hate me or pity me most, when I speak of my determination -never to see you more? You cannot guess how absolutely I am a ruined -man—how I am one of those despicable hangers-on of the rich and -noble, who cover my rags with mere gilding. I am a beggar—I have not -a shilling that I can call my own, and it is only by shifts and meannesses -that I can go on from day to day, while each one menaces me with a -prison or flight to a foreign country. -</p> - -<p> -"I shall go—and you will regret me, Ethel, or you will despise me. It -were best of all that you forgot me. I am not worthy of you—no man -could be; that I have known you and loved you—and for your sake, -banished myself from you, will be the solitary ray of comfort that will -shed some faint glow over my chilled and darkened existence. Will you -say even now one word of comfort to me?" -</p> - -<p> -Ethel looked up; the pure affectionateness of her heart prevented her -from feeling for herself, she thought only of her lover. "Would that I -could comfort you," she said. "You will do what you think right, and -that will be your best consolation. Do not speak of hatred, or contempt, -or indifference. I shall not change though we part for ever: how is it -possible that I should ever cease to feel regard for one who has ever -been kind, considerate, and generous to me? Go, if you think it -right—I am a foolish girl, and know nothing of the world; and I will -not doubt that you decide for the best." -</p> - -<p> -Villiers took her hand and held it in his; his heart was penetrated by -her disinterested self-forgetfulness and confidence. He felt that he was -loved, and that he was about to part from her for ever. The pain and -pleasure of these thoughts mingled strangely—he had no words to -express them, he felt that it would be easier to die than to give her up. -</p> - -<p> -Aunt Bessy, on the river's bank imploring their return, recalled them -from the fairy region to which their spirits had wandered. For one -moment they had been united in sentiment; one kindred emotion of perfect -affection had, as it were, married their souls one to the other; at the -alien sound of poor Bessy's voice the spell fled away on airy wings, -leaving them disenchanted. The rudder was turned, the boat reached the -shore, and unable to endure frivolous talk about any subject except the -one so near his heart, Villiers departed and rode back to town, -miserable yet most happy—despairing yet full of joy; to such a -riddle, love, which finds its completion in sympathy, and knows no desire -beyond, is the only solution. -</p> - -<p> -The feelings of Ethel were even more unalloyed. She had no doubts about -the future, the present embraced the world. She did not attempt to -unravel the dreamy confusion of her thoughts, or to clear up the golden -mist that hung before, curtaining most gloriously the reality beyond. -Her step was buoyant, her eyes sparkling and joyous. Love and gladness -sat lightly on her bosom, and gratitude to Heaven for bestowing so deep -a sense of happiness was the only sentiment that mingled with these. -Villiers, on leaving them, had promised to return the next day; and on -the morrow she rose, animated with such a spirit as may be kindled -within the bosom of an Enchantress, when she pronounces the spell which -is to controul the movements of the planetary orbs. She was more than -queen of the world, for she was empress of Edward's heart, and ruling -there, she reigned over the course of destiny, and bent to her will the -conflicting elements of life. -</p> - -<p> -He did not come. It was strange. Now hope, now fear, were interchanged -one for the other, till night and certain disappointment arrived. Yet it -was not much—the morrow's sun would light him on his way to her. To -cheat the lagging hours of the morrow, she occupied herself with her -painting and music, tasking herself to give so many hours to her -employments, thus to add speed to the dilatory walk of time. The long day -was passed in fruitless expectation—another and another succeeded. -Was he ill? What strange mutation in the course of nature had occurred -to occasion so inexplicable an absence? -</p> - -<p> -A week went by, and even a second was nearly spent. She had not -anticipated this estrangement. Day by day she went over in her mind -their last conversation, and Edward's expressions gathered decision and -a gloomy reality as she pondered on them. The idea of an heroic -sacrifice on his part, and submission to his will on hers, at first -soothed her—but never to see him more, was an alternative that tasked -her fortitude too high; and while her heart felt all the tumults of -despair, she found herself asking what his love could be, that could -submit to lose her? Love in a cottage is the dream of many a high-born -girl, who is not allowed to dance with a younger brother at Almack's; -but a secluded, an obscure, an almost cottage life, was all that Ethel -had ever known, and all that she coveted. Villiers rejected this—not -for her sake, that could not be, but for the sake of a world, which he -called frivolous and vain, and yet to whose tyranny he bowed. To -disentwine the tangled skein of thought which was thus presented, was -her task by day and night. She awoke in the morning, and her first -thought was, "Will he come?" She retired at night, and sleep visited her -eyes, while she was asking herself, "Why has he not been?" During the -day, these questions, in every variety, forced her attention. To escape -from her aunt, to seek solitude, to listen to each sound that might be -his horse, and to feel her heart sicken at the still renewed -disappointment, became, in spite of herself, all her occupation: she -might bend over her drawing, or escape from her aunt's conversation to -the piano; but these were no longer employments, but rather means -adopted to deliver herself up more entirely to her reveries. -</p> - -<p> -The third, the fourth week came, and the silence of death was between -Ethel and her friend. O but for one word, one look to break the spell! -Was she indeed never to see him more? Was all, all over?—was the -harmony their two hearts made, jarred into discord?—was she again the -orphan, alone in the world?—and was the fearless reliance she had -placed upon fate and Edward's fidelity, mere folly or insanity?—and -was desecration and forgetfulness to come over and to destroy the worship -she had so fondly cherished? Nothing had she to turn to—nothing to -console her. Her life became one thought, it twined round her soul like -a serpent, and compressed and crushed every other emotion with its -folds. "I could bear all," she thought, "were I permitted to see him -only once again." -</p> - -<p> -She and Mrs. Fitzhenry were invited by Mrs. Humphries to dine with her. -They were asked to the awful ceremony of spending a long day, which, in -the innocence of her heart, Mrs. Fitzhenry fancied the most delightful -thing in the world. She thought that kindness and friendship demanded of -her that she should be in Montague-square by ten in the morning. -Notwithstanding every exertion, she could not get there till two, and -then, when luncheon was over, she wondered why the gap of time till -seven appeared so formidable. This was to be got over by a drive in -Hyde-park. Ethel had shown peculiar pleasure in the idea of visiting -London; she had looked bright and happy during their journey to town, -but anxiety and agitation clouded her face, at the thought of the park, -of the crisis about to arrive, at the doubt and hope she entertained of -finding Villiers there. -</p> - -<p> -The park became crowded, but he was not in the drive; at length he -entered in the midst of a bevy of fair cousins, whom Ethel did not know -as such. He entered on horseback, flanked on either side by pretty -equestrians, looking as gay and light-hearted, as she would have done, -had she been one, the chosen one among his companions. Twice he passed. -The first time his head was averted—he saw nothing, she even did not -see his face: the next time, his eye caught the aspect of the well-known -chariot—he glanced eagerly at those it contained, kissed his hand, -and went on. Ethel's heart died within her. It was all over. She was the -neglected, the forgotten; but while she turned her face to the other -window of the carriage, so to hide its saddened expression from her -companion, a voice, the dearest, sweetest voice she had ever heard, the -soft harmonious voice, whose accents were more melodious than music, -asked, "Are you in town? have you left Richmond?" In spite of herself, a -smile mantled over her countenance, dimpling it into gladness, and she -turned to see the beloved speaker who had not deserted her—who was -there; she turned, but there was no answering glance of pleasure in the -face of Villiers—he looked grave, and bowed, as if in this act of -courtesy he fulfilled all of friendly interchange that was expected of -him, and rode off. He was gone—and seen no more. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Sure, when the separation has been tried,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">That we, who part in love, shall meet again.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 55%;">WORDSWORTH.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -This little event roused Ethel to the necessity of struggling with the -sentiment to which hitherto she had permitted unquestioned power. There -had been a kind of pleasure mingled with her pain, while she believed -that she suffered for her lover's sake, and in obedience to his will. To -love in solitude and absence, was, she well knew, the lot of many of her -sex, and all that is imaginative and tender lends poetry to the emotion. -But to love without return, her father had taught her was shame and -folly—a dangerous and undignified sentiment that leads many women -into acts of humiliation and misery. He spoke the more warmly on this -subject, because he desired to guard his daughter by every possible -means from a fate too common. He knew the sensibility and constancy of -her nature. He dreaded to think that these should be played upon, and -that her angelic sweetness should be sacrificed at the altar of hopeless -passion. That all the powers he might gift her with, all the fortitude -and all the pride that he strove to instil, might be insufficient to -prevent this one grand evil, he too well knew; but all that could should -be done, and his own high-souled Ethel should rise uninjured from the -toils of the snarer, the heartless game of the unfaithful lover. -</p> - -<p> -She steeled her heart against every softer thought, she tasked herself -each day to devote her entire attention to some absorbing employment; to -languages and the composition of music, as occupations that would not -permit her thoughts to stray. She felt a pain deep-seated in her inmost -heart; but she refused to acknowledge it. When a thought, too sweet and -bitter, took perforce possession of the chambers of her brain, she drove -it out with stern and unshaken resolve. She pondered on the best means -to subdue every rebel idea. She rose with the sun, and passed much time -in the open air, that when night came, bodily fatigue might overpower -mental regrets. She conversed with her aunt again about her dear lost -father; that, by renewing images, so long the only ones dear to her, -every subsequent idea might be driven from the place it had usurped. -Always she was rewarded by the sense of doing right, often by really -mitigating the anguish which rose and went to rest with her, and -awakening her in the morning, stung her to renew her endeavours, while -it whispered too audibly, "I am here." She grew pale and thin, and her -eyes again resumed that lustre which spoke a quick and agitated life -within. Her endeavours, by being unremitting, gave too much intensity to -every feeling, and made her live each moment of her existence a -sensitive, conscious life, wearing out her frame, and threatening, while -it accelerated the pulses, to exhaust betimes the animal functions. -</p> - -<p> -She felt this; and she roused herself to contend afresh with her own -heart. As a last resource she determined to quit Richmond. Her -struggles, and the energy called into action by her fortitude, gave a -tone of superiority to her mind, which her aunt felt and submitted to. -Now when a change of residence was determined upon, she at once -negatived the idea of returning to Longfield—yet whither else betake -themselves? Ethel no longer concealed from herself that she and the -worthy spinster were solitary wanderers on earth, cut off from human -intercourse. A bitter sense of desolation had crept over her from the -moment that she knew herself to be deserted by Villiers. All that was -bright in her position darkened into shadow. She shrunk into herself -when she reflected, that should the ground at her feet open and swallow -her, not one among her fellow-creatures would be sensible that the whole -universe of thought and feeling, which emanated from her breathing -spirit, as water from a living spring, was shrunk up and strangled in a -narrow, voiceless grave. A short time before she had regarded death -without terror, for her father had been its prey, and his image was -often shadowed forth in her fancy, beckoning her to join him. Now it had -become more difficult to die. Nature and love were wedded in her mind, -and it was a bitter pang for one so young to bid adieu to both for ever. -Turning her thoughts from Villiers, she would have been glad to discover -any link that might enchain her to the mass. She reverted to her mother. -Her inexperience, her youth, and the timidity of her disposition, -prevented her from making any endeavour to break through the wall of -unnatural separation raised between them. She could only lament. One sign, -one word from Lady Lodore, would have been balm to her poor heart, and -she would have met it with fervent gratitude. But she feared to offend. -She had no hope that any advance would have been met by other than a -disdainful repulse; and she shrunk from intruding herself on her -unwilling parent. She often wept to think that there was none near to -support and comfort her, and yet that at the distance of but a few miles -her mother lived—whose very name was the source of the dearest, -sweetest, and most cruel emotions. She thought, therefore, of her -surviving parent only to despair, and to shrink with terror from the -mere possibility of an accidental meeting. -</p> - -<p> -She earnestly desired to leave England, which had treated her with but a -step-mother's welcome, and to travel away, she knew not whither. Yet -most she wished to go to Italy. Her father had often talked of taking -her to that country, and it was painted in her eyes with the hues of -paradise. She spoke of her desire to her aunt, who thought her mad, and -believed that it was as easy to adventure to the moon, as for two -solitary women to brave alps and earthquakes, banditti and volcanoes, a -savage people and an unknown land. Still, even while she trembled at the -mere notion, she felt that Ethel might lead her thither if she pleased. -It is one of the most beneficent dispensations of the Creator, that -there is nothing so attractive and attaching as affection. The smile of -an infant may command absolutely, because its source is in dependent -love, and the human heart for ever yearns for such demonstration from -another. What would this strange world be without that "touch of -nature?" It is to the immaterial universe, what light is to the visible -creation, scent to the flower, hue to the rainbow; hope, joy, succour, -and self-forgetfulness, where otherwise all would be swallowed up in -vacant and obscure egotism. -</p> - -<p> -No one could approach Ethel without feeling that she possessed an -irresistible charm. The overflowing and trusting affectionateness of her -nature was a loadstone to draw all hearts. Each one felt, even without -knowing wherefore, that it was happiness to obey, to gratify her. Thus -while a journey to Italy filled Mrs. Elizabeth with alarm, a consent -hovered on her lips, because she felt that any risk was preferable to -disappointing a wish of her gentle niece. -</p> - -<p> -And yet even then Ethel paused. She began to repent her desire of -leaving the country inhabited by her dearest friend. She felt that she -should have an uncongenial companion in her aunt—the child of the -wilderness and the good lady of Longfield, were like a living and dead -body in conjunction—the one inquiring, eager, enthusiastic even in -her contemplativeness, sensitively awake to every passing object; while the -other dozed her hours away, and fancied that pitfalls and wild beasts -menaced her, if she dared step one inch from the beaten way. -</p> - -<p> -At this moment, while embarrassed by the very yielding to her desires, -and experiencing a lingering sad regret for all that she was about to -leave behind, Ethel received a letter from Villiers. Her heart beat, and -her fingers trembled, when first she saw, as now she held a paper, which -might be every thing, yet might be nothing to her; she opened it at -last, and forced herself to consider and understand its contents. It was -as follows:— -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;">"DEAR MISS FITZHENRY,</p> - -<p> -"Will your aunt receive me with her wonted -kindness when I call to-morrow? I fear to have offended by an appearance -of neglect, while my heart has never been absent from Richmond. Plead my -cause, I entreat you. I leave it in your hands. -</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;">"Ever and ever yours.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">"EDWARD VILLIERS."</p> - -<p><i>Grosvenor Square, Saturday.</i></p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"Dearest Ethel, have you guessed at my sufferings? Shall you hail with -half the joy that I do, a change which enables you to revoke the decree -of absence so galling at least to one of us? If indeed you have not -forgotten me, I shall be rewarded for the wretchedness of these last -weeks." -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Ethel kissed the letter and placed it near her heart. A calm joy -diffused itself over her mind; and that she could indeed trust and -believe in him she loved, was the source of a grateful delight, more -medicinal than all the balmy winds of Italy and its promised pleasures. -</p> - -<p> -When Villiers had last quitted Richmond, he had resolved not to expose -himself again to the influence of Ethel. It was necessary that they -should be divided—how far better that they should never meet again! -He was not worthy of her. Another, more fortunate, would replace him, if he -sacrificed his own selfish feelings, and determinately absented himself -from her. As if to confirm his view of their mutual interest, his elder -cousin, Mr. Saville, had just offered his hand to the daughter of a -wealthy Earl, and had been accepted. Villiers took refuge from his -anxious thoughts among his pretty cousins, sisters of the bridegroom, -and with them the discussion of estates, settlements, princely mansions, -and equipages, was the order of the day. Edward sickened to reflect how -opposite would be the prospect, if his marriage with Ethel were in -contemplation. It was not that a noble establishment would be exchanged -for a modest, humble dwelling—he loved with sufficient truth to feel -that happiness with Ethel transcended the wealth of the world. It was -the absolute penury, the debt, the care, that haunted him and made such -miserable contrast with the tens and hundreds of thousands that were the -subject of discussion on the present occasion. His resolution not to -entangle Ethel in this wilderness of ills, gained strength by every -chance word that fell from the lips of those around him; and the image, -before so vivid, of her home at Richmond, which he might at each hour -enter, of her dear face, which at any minute might again bless his -sight, faded into a far-off vision of paradise, from which he was -banished for ever. -</p> - -<p> -For a time he persevered in his purpose, if not with ease, yet with less -of struggle than he himself anticipated. That he could at any hour break -the self-enacted law, and behold Ethel, enabled him day after day to -continue to obey it, and to submit to the decree of banishment he had -passed upon himself. He loved his pretty cousins, and their kindness and -friendship soothed him; he spent his days with them, and the familiar, -sisterly intercourse, hallowed by long association, and made tender by -the grace and sweetness of these good girls, compensated somewhat for -the absence of deeper interest. They talked of Horatio also, and that -was a more touching string than all. The almost worship, joined to pity -and fear for him, with which Edward regarded his cousin, made him cling -fondly to those so closely related to him, and who sympathized with, and -shared, his enthusiastic affection. -</p> - -<p> -This state of half indifference did not last long. His meeting with -Ethel in Hyde Park operated an entire change. He had seen her face but a -moment—her dear face, animated with pleasure at beholding him, and -adorned with more than her usual loveliness. He hurried away, but the -image still pursued him. All at once the world around grew dark and -blank; at every instant his heart asked for Ethel. He thirsted for the -sweet delight of gazing on her soft lustrous eyes, touching her hand, -listening to her voice, whose tones were so familiar and beloved. He -avoided his cousins to hide his regrets; he sought solitude, to commune -with memory; and the intense desire kindled within him to return to her, -was all but irresistible. He had received a letter from Horace Saville -entreating him to join him at Naples; he had contemplated complying, as -a means of obtaining forgetfulness. Should he not, on the contrary, make -this visit with Ethel for his companion? It was a picture of happiness -most enticing; and then he recollected with a pang, that it was -impossible for him to quit England; that it was only by being on the -spot, that he obtained the supplies necessary for his existence. With -bitterness of spirit he recognized once again his state of beggary, and -the hopelessness that attended on all his wishes. -</p> - -<p> -All at once he was surprised by a message from his father, through Lord -Maristow. He was told of Colonel Villiers's intended marriage with the -only daughter of a wealthy commoner, which yet could not be arranged -without the concurrence of Edward, or rather without sacrifices on his -part for the making of settlements. The entire payment of his debts, and -the promise of fifteen hundred a year for the future, were the bribes -offered to induce him to consent. Edward at once notified his -compliance. He saw the hour of freedom at hand, and the present was too -full of interest, too pregnant with misery or happiness, to allow the -injury done to his future prospects to weigh with him for a moment. Thus -he might purchase his union with Ethel—claim her for his own. With -the thought, a whole tide of tenderness and joy poured quick and warm into -his heart, and it seemed as if he had never loved so devotedly as now. -How false an illusion had blinded him! he fancied that he had banished -hope, while indeed his soul was wedded to her image, and the very -struggle to free himself, had served to make the thought of her more -peremptory and indelible. -</p> - -<p> -With these thoughts, he again presented himself at Richmond. He asked -Mrs. Fitzhenry's consent to address her niece, and became the accepted -lover of Ethel. The meeting of their two young hearts in the security of -an avowed attachment, after so many hours wasted in despondency and -painful struggles, did not visit the fair girl with emotions of burning -transport: she felt it rather like a return to a natural state of -things, after unnatural deprivation. As if, a young nestling, she had -been driven from her mother's side, and was now restored to the dear -fosterage of her care. She delivered herself up to a calm reliance upon -the future, and saw in the interweaving of duty and affection, the -fulfilment of her destiny, and the confirmation of her earthly -happiness. They were to be joined never to part more! While each -breathed the breath of life, no power could sever them; health or -sickness, prosperity or adversity—these became mere words; her health -and her riches were garnered in his heart, and while she bestowed the -treasures of her affection upon him, could he be poor? It was not -therefore to be her odious part to crush the first and single attachment -of her soul—to tear at once the "painted veil of life," delivering -herself up to cheerless realities—to know that, to do right, she must -banish from her recollection those inward-spoken vows which she should -deem herself of a base inconstant disposition ever to forget. It was not -reserved for her to pass joyless years of solitude, reconciling herself -to the necessity of divorcing her dearest thoughts from their wedded -image. The serene and fair-showing home she coveted was open before -her—she might pass within its threshold, and listen to the closing of -the doors behind, as they shut out the world from her, with pure and -unalloyed delight. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel was very young, yet in youth such feelings are warmer in our -hearts than in after years. We do not know then that we can ever change; -or that, snake-like, casting the skin of an old, care-worn habit, a new -one will come fresh and bright in seeming, as the one before had been, -at the hour of its birth. We fancy then, that if our present and first -hope is disappointed, our lives are a mere blank, not worth a "pin's -fee;" the singleness of our hearts has not been split into the million -hair-like differences, which, woven by time into one texture, clothes us -in prudence as with a garment. We are as if exposed naked to the action -of passions and events, and receive their influence with keen and -fearful sensitiveness. Ethel scarcely heard, and did not listen to nor -understand, the change of circumstances that brought Villiers back to -her—she only knew, that he was confirmed her own. Satisfied with this -delightful conclusion to her sufferings, she placed her destiny in his -hands, without fear or question. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Elizabeth thought her niece very young to marry; but Villiers, who -had, while hesitating, done his best to hide his sweet Ethel away from -every inquisitive eye, now that she was to be his own, hastened to -introduce Lord Maristow (Lady Maristow had died two years before) to -her, and to bring her among his cousins, whom he regarded as sisters. -The change was complete and overwhelming to the fair recluses. Where -before they lived in perpetual tête-à-tête, or separated but to be -alone, they were now plunged into what appeared to them a crowd. Sophia, -Harriet, and Lucy Saville, were high-born, high-bred, and elegant girls, -accustomed to what they called the quiet of domestic life, amidst a -thousand relations and ten thousand acquaintances. No female relative -had stepped into their mother's place, and they were peculiarly -independent and high-spirited; they had always lived in what they called -the world, and knew nothing but what that world contained. Their manners -were easy, their tempers equable and affectionate. If their dispositions -were not all exactly alike, they had a family resemblance that drew them -habitually near each other. They received Ethel among their number with -cordiality, bestowing on her every attention which politeness and -kindness dictated. Yet Ethel felt somewhat as a wild antelope among tame -ones. Their language, the topics of their discourse, their very -occupations, were all new to her. She lent herself to their customs with -smiles and sweetness, but her eye brightened when Edward came, and she -often unconsciously retreated to his side as a shelter and a refuge. -Edward's avocations had been as worldly perhaps as those of his pretty -cousins; but a man is more thrown upon the reality of life, while girls -live altogether in a factitious state. He had travelled much, and seen -all sorts of people. Besides, between him and Ethel, there was that mute -language which will make those of opposite sexes intelligible to one -another, even when literally not understanding each other's dialect. -Villiers found no deficiency of intelligence or sympathy in Ethel, while -the fashionable girls to whom he had introduced her felt a little at a -loss how to entertain the stranger. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Maristow and his family had been detained in town till after Mr. -Saville's marriage, and were now very eager to leave it. They remained -out of compliment to Edward, and looked forward impatiently to his -wedding as the event that would set them free. London was empty, the -shooting season had begun; yet still he was delayed by his father. He -wished to sign the necessary papers, and free himself from all business, -that he and his bride might immediately join Horatio at Naples. Yet -still Colonel Villiers's marriage was delayed; till at last he intimated -to his son, that it was postponed for the present, and begged that he -would not remain in England on his account. -</p> - -<p> -Edward was somewhat staggered by this intelligence. Yet as the letter -that communicated it contained a considerable remittance, he quieted -himself. To give up Ethel now was a thought that did not for a moment -enter his mind; it was but the reflection of the difficulties that would -surround them, if his prospects failed, that for a few seconds clouded -his brow with care. But it was his nature usually to hope the best, and -to trust to fortune. He had never been so prudent as with regard to his -marriage with Ethel; but that was for her sake. This consideration could -not again enter; for, like her, he would, under the near hope of making -her his, have preferred the wilds of the Illinois, with her for his -wife, than the position of the richest English nobleman, deprived of -such a companion. His heart, delivered up to love, was complete in its -devotion and tenderness. He was already wedded to her in soul, and would -sooner have severed his right arm from his body, than voluntarily have -divided himself from this dearer part of himself. This "other half," -towards whom he felt as if literally he had, to give her being, -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">"Lent</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Out of his side to her, nearest his heart;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Substantial life, to have her by his side,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Henceforth an individual solace dear."</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -With these feelings, an early day was urged and named; and, drawing -near, Ethel was soon to become a bride. On first making his offer, -Villiers had written to Lady Lodore; and Mrs. Fitzhenry, much against her -will, by the advice of her solicitor, did the same. Lady Lodore was in -Scotland. No answer came. The promised day approached; but still she -preserved this silence: it became necessary to proceed without her -consent. Banns were published; and Ethel became the wife of Villiers on -the 25th of October. Lord Maristow hastened down to his Castle to kill -pheasants: while, on her part, Mrs. Fitzhenry took her solitary way to -Longfield, half consoled for separating from Ethel, by this return to -the habits of more than sixty years. In vain had London or Richmond -wooed her stay; in vain was she pressed to pay a visit to Maristow -Castle: to return to her home was a more enticing prospect. Her good old -heart danced within her when she first perceived the village steeple; -the chimneys of her own house made tears spring into her eyes; and when, -indeed, she found herself by the familiar hearth, in the accustomed -arm-chair, and her attentive housekeeper came to ask if she would not -take any thing after her journey, it seemed to her as if all the -delights of life were summed up in this welcome return to monotony and -silence. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">Let me</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Awake your love to my uncomforted brother.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">OLD PLAY.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Meanwhile Villiers and his bride proceeded on their way to Naples. It -mattered little to Ethel whither they were going, or to whom. Edward was -all in all to her; and the vehicle that bore them along in their journey -was a complete and perfect world, containing all that her heart desired. -They avoided large towns, and every place where there was any chance of -meeting an acquaintance. They passed up the Rhine, and Ethel often -imaged forth, in her fancy, a dear home in a secluded nook; and longed -to remain there, cut off from the world, for ever. She had no thought -but for her husband, and gratitude to Heaven for the happiness showered -on her. Her soul might have been laid bare, each faculty examined, each -idea sifted, and one spirit, one sentiment, one love, would have been -found pervading and uniting them all. The heart of a man is seldom as -single and devoted as that of a woman. In the present instance, it was -natural that Edward should not be so absolutely given up to one thought -as was his bride. Ethel's affections had never been called forth except -by her father, and by him who was now her husband. When it has been -said, that she thought of heaven to hallow and bless her happiness, it -must be understood that the dead made a part of that heaven, to which -she turned her eyes with such sweet thankfulness. She was constant to -the first affection of her heart. She might be said to live perpetually -in thought beside her father's grave. Before she had wept and sorrowed -near it; now she placed the home of her happy married life close to the -sacred earth, and fancied that its mute inhabitant was the guardian -angel to watch over and preserve her. -</p> - -<p> -Villiers had lived among many friends, and was warmly attached to -several. His cousin Horatio was dearer to him than any thing had ever -been, till he knew Ethel. Even now he revered him more, and felt a kind -of duteous attachment drawing him towards him. He wanted Horatio to see -and approve of Ethel:—not that he doubted what his opinion of her -would be; but the delight which his own adoration of her excellence -imparted to him would be doubled, when he saw it shared and confirmed by -his friend. Besides this, he was anxious to see Horace on his own account. -He wished to know whether he was happy in his marriage; whether Clorinda -were worthy of him; and if Lady Lodore were entirely forgotten. As they -advanced on their journey, his desire to see his cousin became more and -more present to his mind; and he talked of him to Ethel, and imparted to -her a portion of his fervent and affectionate feelings. -</p> - -<p> -Entering Switzerland, they came into a world of snow. Here and there, on -the southern side of a mountain, a lawny upland might disclose itself in -summer verdure; and the brawling torrents, increased by the rains, were -not yet made silent by frost. Edward had visited these scenes before; -and he could act the guide to his enraptured Ethel, who remembered her -father's glowing descriptions; and while she gazed with breathless -admiration, saw his step among the hills, and thought that his eye had -rested on the wonders she now beheld. Soon the mountains, the -sky-seeking "palaces of nature," were passed, and they entered fair, -joyous Italy. At each step they left winter far behind. Ethel would -willingly have lingered in Florence and Rome; but once south of the -Appenines, Edward was eager to reach Naples; and the letters he got from -Saville spurred him on to yet greater speed. -</p> - -<p> -Before leaving England, Lucy Saville had said to Ethel,—"You are now -taking our other comfort from us; and what we are to do without either -Horatio or Edward, I am unable to conjecture. We shall be like a house -without its props. Divided, they are not either of them half what they -were joined. Horace is so prudent, so wise, so considerate, so -sympathizing; Edward so active and so kind-hearted. In any difficulty, -we always asked Horace what we ought to do; and Edward did the thing -which he pointed out. -</p> - -<p> -"Horatio's marriage was a sad blow to us all. You will bring Edward -back, and we shall be the happier for your being with him; but shall we -ever see our brother again?—or shall we only see him to lament the -change? Not that he can ever really alter; his heart, his understanding, -his goodness, are as firm as rock; but there is that about him which -makes him too much the slave of those he is in immediate contact with. -He abhors strife; the slightest disunion is mortal to him. He is not of -this world. Pure-minded as a woman, honourable as a knight of old, he is -more like a being we read of, and his match is not to be found upon -earth. Horatio never loved but once, and his attachment was unfortunate. He -loved Lady——" Here recollection dyed Miss Saville's cheeks with -crimson: she had forgotten that Lady Lodore was the mother of Ethel. After -a moment's hesitation she continued:—"I have no right to betray the -secrets of others. Horace was a discarded lover; and he was forced to -despise the lady whom he had imagined possessed of every excellence. For -the first time he was absorbed in what may be termed a selfish -sentiment. He could not bear to see any of us: he fled even from Edward, -and wandering away, we heard at last that he was at Naples, whither he -had gone quite unconscious of the spot of earth to which he was bending -his steps. The first letter we got from him was dated from that place. -His letter was to me; for I am his favourite sister; and God knows my -devoted affection, my worship of him, deserves this preference. You -shall read it; it is the most perfect specimen of enthusiastic and -heart-moving eloquence ever penned. He had been as in a trance, and -awoke again to life as he looked down from Pausilippo on the Bay of -Naples. The attachment to one earthly object, which preyed on his being, -was suddenly merged in one universal love and adoration. He saw that the -"creation was good;" he purged his heart at once of the black spot which -had blotted and marred its beauty; and opened his whole soul to pure, -elevated, heavenly love. I tamely quote his burning and transparent -expressions, through which you may discern, as in a glass, the glorious -excellence of his soul." -</p> - -<p> -"But, alas! this state of holy excitement could not endure; something -human will still creep in to mingle with and sully our noblest -aspirations. Horatio was taken by an acquaintance to see a beautiful -girl at a convent; in a fatal moment an English lady said to him, 'Come, -and I will show you what perfect beauty is:' and those words decided my -poor brother's destiny. Of course I only know our new sister through his -letters. He told us that Clorinda was shut up in this convent through -the heartless vanity of her mother, who dreaded her as a rival, to wait -there till her parents should find some suitable match, which she must -instantly accept, or be doomed to seclusion for ever. In his younger -days Horace had said, 'I am in love with an idea, and therefore women -have no power over me.' But the time came when his heart was to be the -dupe of his imagination—so was it with his first love—so now, I -fear, did he deceive himself with regard to Clorinda. He declared indeed -that his love for her was not an absorbing passion like his first, but a -mingling of pity, admiration, and that tenderness which his warm heart -was ever ready to bestow. He described her as full of genius and -sensibility, a creature of fire and power, but dimmed by sorrow, and -struggling with her chains. He visited her again; he tried to comfort, -he offered to serve her. It was the first time that a manly, generous -spirit had ever presented itself to the desponding girl. The high-souled -Englishman appeared as a god beside her sordid countrymen; indeed, -Horatio would have seemed such compared with any of his sex; his -fascination is irresistible—Clorinda felt it; she loved him with -Italian fervour, and the first word of kindness from him elicited a -whole torrent of gratitude and passion. Horace had no wish to marry; his -old wound was by no means healed, but rather opened, and bled afresh, -when he was called upon to answer the enthusiastic ardour of the Italian -girl. He felt at once the difference of his feeling for her, and the -engrossing sentiment of which he had been nearly the victim. But he -could rescue her from an unworthy fate, and make her happy. He acted -with his usual determination and precipitancy, and within a month she -became his wife. Here ends my story; his letters were more concise after -his marriage. At first I attributed this to his having a new and dearer -friend, but latterly when he has written he has spoken with such -yearning fondness for home, that I fear—And then when I offered to -visit him, he negatived my proposition. How unlike Horatio! it can only -mean that his wife was averse to my coming. I have questioned slightly -any travellers from Italy. Mrs. Saville seldom appears in English -society except at balls, and then she is always surrounded by Italians. -She is decidedly correct in her conduct, but more I cannot tell. Her -letters to us are beautifully written, and of her talents, even her -genius, I do not entertain a doubt. Perhaps I am prejudiced, but I fear -a Neapolitan, or rather, I should say, I fear a convent education; and -that taste which leads her to associate with her own demonstrative, -unrefined countrymen, instead of trying to link herself to her husband's -friends. I may be wrong—I shall be glad to be found so. Will you tell -me whether I am? I rather ask you than Edward, because your feminine -eyes will discern the truth of these things quicker than he. Happy girl! -you are going to see Horatio—to find a new, gifted, fond friend; one -as superior to his fellow-creatures, as perfection is superior to frailty." -</p> - -<p> -This account, remembered with more interest now that she approached the -subject of it, excited Ethel's curiosity, and she began, as they went on -their way from Rome to Naples, in a great degree to participate in -Edward's eagerness to see his cousin. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Sad and troubled?</span><br /> -<span class="i2">How brave her anger shows! How it sets off</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Her natural beauty! Under what happy star</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Was Virolet born, to be beloved and sought</span><br /> -<span class="i2">By two incomparable women?</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">FLETCHER.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -It was the month of December when the travellers arrived at this "piece -of heaven dropt upon earth," as the natives themselves name it. The moon -hung a glowing orb in the heavens, and lighted up the sea to beauty. A -blood-red flash shot up now and then from Vesuvius; a summer softness -was in the atmosphere, while a thousand tokens presented themselves of a -climate more friendly, more joyous, and more redundant than that of the -northern Isle from which they came. It was very late at night when they -reached their hotel, and they were heartily fatigued, so that it was not -till the next morning, that immediately after breakfast, Villiers left -Ethel, and went out to seek the abode of his cousin. -</p> - -<p> -He had been gone some little time, when a waiter of the hotel, throwing -open Ethel's drawing-room door, announced "Signor Orazio." Quite new to -Italy, Ethel was ignorant of the custom in that country, of designating -people by their christian names; and that Horatio Saville, being a -resident in Naples, and married to a Neapolitan, was known everywhere by -the appellation which the servant now used. Ethel was not in the least -aware that it was Lucy's brother who presented himself to her. She saw a -gentleman, tall, very slight in person, with a face denoting habitual -thoughtfulness, and stamped by an individuality which she could not tell -whether to think plain, and yet it was certainly open and kind. An -appearance of extreme shyness, almost amounting to awkwardness, was -diffused over him, and his words came hesitatingly; he spoke English, -and was an Englishman—so much Ethel discovered by his first words, -which were, "Villiers is not at home?" and then he began to ask her -about her journey, and how she liked the view of the bay of Naples, -which she beheld from her windows. They were in this kind of trivial -conversation when Edward came bounding up-stairs, and with exclamations -of delight greeted his cousin. Ethel, infinitely surprised, examined her -guest with more care. In a few minutes she began to wonder how she came -to think him plain. His deep-set, dark-grey eyes struck her as -expressive, if not handsome. His features were delicately moulded, and -his fine forehead betokened depth of intellect; but the charm of his -face was a kind of fitful, beamy, inconstant smile, which diffused -incomparable sweetness over his physiognomy. His usual look was cold and -abstracted—his eye speculated with an inward thoughtfulness—a -chilling seriousness sat on his features, but this glancing and varying -half-smile came to dispel gloom, and to invite and please those with -whom he conversed. His voice was modulated by feeling, his language was -fluent, graceful in its turns of expression, and original in the -thoughts which it expressed. His manners were marked by high breeding, -yet they were peculiar. They were formed by his individual disposition, -and under the dominion of sensibility. Hence they were often abrupt and -reserved. He forgot the world around him, and gave token, by absence of -mind, of the absorbing nature of his contemplations. But at a touch this -vanished, and a sweet earnestness, and a beaming kindliness of spirit, -at once displaced his abstraction, rendering him attentive, cordial, and -gay. -</p> - -<p> -Never had Horatio Saville appeared to so little advantage as during his -short tête-à-tête with his new relative. At all times, when -quiescent, he had a retiring manner, and an appearance, whose want of -pretension did not at first allure, and yet which afterwards formed his -greatest attraction. He was always unembarrassed, and Ethel could not -guess that towards her alone he felt as timid and shy as a girl. It was -with considerable effect that Horatio had commanded himself to appear -before the daughter of Lady Lodore. There was something incongruous and -inconceivable in the idea of the child of Cornelia a woman, married to -his cousin. He feared to see in her an image of the being who had -subdued his heart of hearts, and laid prostrate his whole soul; he -trembled to catch the sound of her voice, lest it might echo tones which -could disturb to their depths his inmost thoughts. Ethel was so unlike -her mother, that by degrees he became reassured; her eyes, her hair, her -stature, and tall slender shape, were the reverse of Lady Lodore; so -that in a little while he ventured to raise his eyes to her face, and to -listen to her, without being preoccupied by a painful sensation, which, -in its violence, resembled terror. It is true that by degrees this -dissimilarity to her mother became less; she had gestures, smiles, and -tones, that were all Lady Lodore, and which, when discerned, struck his -heart with a pang, stealing away his voice, and causing him to stand -suspended in the act he was about, like one acted upon by magic. -</p> - -<p> -While this mute and curious examination was going on in the minds of -Ethel and her visitant, the conversation had not tarried. Edward had -never been so far south, and the wonders of Naples were as new to him as -to Ethel. Saville was eager to show them, and proposed going that very -day to Pompeii. For, as he said, all their winter was not like the -present day, so that it was best to seize the genial weather while it -lasted. Was Mrs. Villiers too much fatigued? On the contrary, Ethel was -quite on the alert; but first she asked whether Mrs. Saville would not -accompany them. -</p> - -<p> -"Clorinda," said Horatio, "promises herself much pleasure from your -acquaintance, and intends calling on you to-day at twenty-four o'clock, -that is, at the Ave Maria: how stupid I am," he continued, laughing, "I -quite forget that you are not Italianized, as I am, and do not know the -way in which the people here count their time. Clorinda will call late -in the afternoon, the usual visiting hour at Naples, but she would find -no pleasure in visiting a ruined city and fallen fragments. One house in -the Chiaja is worth fifty Pompeiis in the eyes of a Neapolitan, and -Clorinda is one, heart and soul. I hope you will be pleased with her, -for she is an admirable specimen of her countrywomen, and they are -wonderful and often sublime creatures in their way; but do not mistake -her for an English woman, or you will be disappointed—she has not one -atom of body, one particle of mind, that bears the least affinity to -England. And now, is your carriage ordered?—there it is at the door; -so, as I should say to one of my own dear sisters, put on your bonnet, -Ethel, quickly, and do not keep us waiting; for though at Naples, days -are short in December, and we have none of their light to lose." -</p> - -<p> -When, after this explanation, Ethel first saw Clorinda, she was inclined -to think that Saville had scarcely done his wife justice. Certainly she -was entirely Italian, but she was very beautiful; her complexion was -delicate, though dark and without much colour. Her hair silken and -glossy as the raven's wing; her large bright black eyes resplendent; the -perfect arch of her brows, and the marmoreal and harmonious grace of her -forehead, such as is never seen in northern lands, except in sculpture -imitated from the Greeks. The lower part of her face was not so good; -her smile was deficient in sweetness, her voice wanted melody, and -sounded loud to an English ear. Her gestures were expressive, but quick -and wanting in grace. She was more agreeable when silent and could be -regarded as a picture, than when called into action. She was -complimentary in her conversation, and her manners were winning by their -frankness and ease. She gesticulated too much, and her features were too -much in motion,—too pantomimely expressive, so to speak, not to -impress disagreeably one accustomed to the composure of the English. Still -she was a beautiful creature; young, artless, desirous to please, and -endowed, moreover, with the vivacious genius, the imaginative talent of -her country. She spoke as if she were passionately attached to her -husband; but when Ethel mentioned his English home and his relations, a -cloud came over the lovely Neapolitan's countenance, and a tremor shook -her frame. "Do not think hardly of me," she said, "I do not hate -England, but I fear it. I am sure I should be disliked there—I should -be censured, perhaps taunted, for a thousand habits and feelings as -natural to me as the air I breathe. I am proud, and I should retort -impertinence, and, displeasing my husband, become miserable beyond -words. Stay with us; you I love, and should be wretched to part from. -Stay and enjoy this paradise with us. Intreat his sisters, if they wish -to see Horatio, to come over. I will be more than a sister to them; but -let us all forget that such a place as that cold, distant England -exists." -</p> - -<p> -This was Clorinda's usual mode of speaking of her husband's native -country: but once, when Ethel had urged her going there with more -earnestness than usual, suddenly her countenance became disturbed; and -with a lowering and stormy expression of face, that her English friend -could never afterwards forget, she said, "Say not another word, I pray. -Horatio loved—he loves an Englishwoman—it is torture enough for -me to know this. I would rather be torn in quarters by wild horses, broken -in pieces on the rack, than set foot in England. My cousin, as you have -pity for me, and value the life of Horace, use your influence to prevent -his only dreaming of a return to England. Methinks I could strike him -dead, if I only knew that such a thought lived for a second in his -heart." -</p> - -<p> -These words said, Clorinda resumed her smiles, and was, more than usual, -desirous of flattering and pleasing Ethel; so that she softened, though -she could not erase, the impression her vehemence had made. However, -there appeared no necessity for Ethel to exert her influence. Horace was -equally averse to going to England. He loved to talk of it; he -remembered, with yearning fondness, its verdant beauty, its pretty -villages, its meandering streams, its embowered groves; the spots he had -inhabited, the trivial incidents of his daily life, were recalled with -affection: but he did not wish to return. Villiers attributed this -somewhat to his unforgotten attachment to Lady Lodore; but it was more -strange that he negatived the idea of one of his sisters visiting -him:—"She would not like it," was all the explanation he gave. -</p> - -<p> -Several months passed lightly over the heads of the new-married pair; -while they, bee-like, sipped the honey of life, and, never cloyed, fed -perpetually on sweets. Naples, its galleries, its classic and beautiful -environs, offered an endless succession of occupation and amusement. The -presence of Saville elevated their pleasures; for he added the living -spirit of poetry to their sensations, and associated the treasures of -human genius with the sublime beauty of nature. He had a tact, a -delicacy, a kind of electric sympathy in his disposition, that endeared -him to every one that approached him. His very singularities, by keeping -alive an interest in him, added to the charm. Sometimes he was so -abstracted as to do the most absent things in the world; and the quick -alternations of his gaiety and seriousness were often ludicrous from -their excess. There was one thing, indeed, to which Ethel found it -difficult to accustom herself, which was his want of punctuality, which -often caused hours to be lost, and their excursions spoiled. Nor did he -ever furnish good excuses, but seemed annoyed at being questioned on the -subject. -</p> - -<p> -Clorinda never joined them in their drives and rides out of the city. -She feared to trust herself to winds and waves; the heat, the breeze, -the dust, annoyed her; and she found no pleasure in looking at -mountains, which, after all, were only mountains; or ruins, which were -only ruins—stones, fit for nothing but to be removed and thrown away. -But Clorinda had an empire of her own, to which she gladly admitted her -English relatives, and the delights of which they fully appreciated. -Music, heard in such perfection at the glory of Naples, the theatre of -San Carlo, and the heavenly strains which filled the churches with an -atmosphere of sound more entrancing than incense—all these were hers; -and her own voice, rich, full, and well-cultivated, made a temple of -melody of her own home. -</p> - -<p> -There was—it could not be called a wall—but there was certainly -a paling, of separation between Ethel and Clorinda. The young English girl -could not discover in what it consisted, or why she could not pass -beyond. The more she saw of the Neapolitan, the more she believed that -she liked her—certainly her admiration increased;—still she -felt that on the first day that Clorinda had visited her, with her -caressing manners and well-turned flatteries, she was quite as intimate -with her as now, after several weeks. She had surely nothing to conceal; -all was open in her conduct; yet often Ethel thought of her as a magician -guarding a secret treasure. Something there was that she watched over -and hid. There was often a look of anxiety about her which Ethel -unconsciously dispelled by some chance word; or a cloud all at once -dimmed her face, and her magnificent and dazzling eyes flashed sudden -fire, without apparent cause. There was something in her manner that -always said, "You are English, I am Italian; and there is natural war -between my fire and your snow." But no word, no act, ever betrayed -alienation of feeling. Thus a sort of mystery pervaded their -intercourse, which, though it might excite curiosity, and was not unakin -to admiration, kept the affections in check. -</p> - -<p> -Sometimes Ethel thought that Clorinda feared to compromise her -salvation, for she was a Catholic. During the revelries of the Carnival, -this difference of religion was not so apparent; but when Lent began, it -showed itself, and divided them, on various occasions, more than before. -At last, Lent also was drawing to a close; and as Villiers and Ethel -were anxious to see the ceremonies of Passion Week at Rome, it was -arranged that they, and Mr. and Mrs. Saville, should visit the Eternal -City together. Horatio manifested a distaste even to the short residence -that it was agreed they should make together during the month they were -to spend at Rome; but Clorinda showed herself particularly anxious for -the fulfilment of this plan, and, the majority prevailing, the whole -party left Naples together. -</p> - -<p> -Full soon was the veil of mystery then withdrawn, and Villiers and his -wife let into the arcana of their cousin's life. Horatio had yielded -unwillingly to Clorinda's intreaties, and extracted many promises from -her before he gave his consent; but all would not do—the natural, the -uncontrollable violence of her disposition broke down every barrier; and -in spite of his caution, and her struggles with herself, the reality -opened fearfully upon the English pair. The lava torrent of Neapolitan -blood flowed in her veins; and restraining it for some time, it at last -poured itself forth with volcanic violence. It was at the inn at -Terracina, on their way to Rome, that a scene took place, such as an -English person must cross Alps and Apennines to behold. Ethel had seen -that something was wrong. She saw the beauty of Clorinda vanished, -changed, melted away and awfully transformed into actual ugliness: she -saw tiger like glances from her eyes, and her lips pale and quivering. -Poor Saville strove, with gentle words, to allay the storm to which some -jealous freak gave rise: perceiving that his endeavours were vain, he -rose to quit the room. They were at dinner: she sprung on him with a -knife in her hand: Edward seized her arm; and she sunk on the floor in -convulsions. Ethel was scarcely less moved. Seeing her terrified beyond -all expression, Horatio led her from the room. He was pale—his voice -failed him. He left her; and sending Edward to her, returned to his -wife. -</p> - -<p> -The same evening he said to Villiers,—"Do not ask me to -stay;—let me go without another word. You see how it is. With what -Herculean labour I have concealed this sad truth so long, is scarcely -conceivable. When Ethel's sweet smile has sometimes reproached my -tardiness, I have escaped, but half alive, from a scene like the one you -witnessed. -</p> - -<p> -"In a few hours, it is true, Clorinda will be shocked—full of -remorse—at my feet;—that is worse still. Her repentance is as -violent as her rage; and both transform her from a woman into something too -painful to dwell upon. She is generous, virtuous, full of power and -talent; but this fatal vehemence more than neutralizes her good -qualities. I can do nothing; I am chained to the oar. I have but one -hope: time, reason, and steadiness of conduct on my part, may subdue -her; and as she will at no distant period become a mother, softer -feelings may develop themselves. Sometimes I am violently impelled to -fly from her for ever. But she loves me, and I will not desert her. If -she will permit me, I will do my duty to the end. Let us go back now. -You will return to Naples next winter; and with this separation, which -will gall her proud spirit to its core, as a lesson, I hope by that time -that she will prove more worthy of Ethel's society." -</p> - -<p> -Nothing could be said to this. Saville, though he asked, "Let us go -back," had decreed, irrevocably, in his own mind, not to advance another -step with his companions. The parting was melancholy and ominous. He -would not permit Clorinda to appear again; for, as he said, he feared -her repentance more than her violence, and would not expose Ethel as the -witness of a scene of humiliation and shame. A thousand times over, his -friends promised to return immediately to Naples, not deferring their -visit till the following winter. He was to take a house for them, for -the summer, at Castel à Mare, or Sorrento; and immediately after Easter -they were to return. These kind promises were a balm to his disturbed -mind. He watched their carriage from the inn at Terracina, as it skimmed -along the level road of the Pontine Marshes, and could not despair while -he expected its quick return. Turning his eyes away, he resumed his yoke -again; and, melancholy beyond his wont, joined his remorseful wife. They -were soon on their way back to Naples:—she less demonstrative in her -repentance, because more internally and deeply touched, than she had -ever been before. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Thou art more lovely and more temperate;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And summer's lease hath all too short a date;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">But thy eternal summer shall not fade.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">SHAKSPEARE.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Parting thus sadly from their unfortunate cousin, Villiers and Ethel -were drawn together yet nearer, and, if possible, with a deeper -tenderness of affection than before. Here was an example before their -eyes, that all their fellow-creatures were not equally fortunate in the -lottery of life, and that worse than a blank befell many, while the -ticket which they had drawn was a prize beyond all summing. Edward felt -indeed disappointed at losing his cousin's society, as well as deeply -grieved at the wretched fate which he had selected for himself. Ethel, -on the contrary, was in her heart glad that he was absent. She had no -place in that heart to spare away from her husband; and however much she -liked Horatio, and worthy as he was of her friendship, she felt him as -an encroacher. Now she delivered herself up to Edward, and to the -thought of Edward solely, with fresh and genuine delight. No one stood -between her and him—none called off his attention, or forced her to -pass one second of time unoccupied by his idea. When she expressed these -feelings to Villiers, he called her selfish and narrow-hearted, yet his -pride and his affection were gratified; for he knew how true was every -word she uttered, and how without flaw or blot was her faith and her -attachment. -</p> - -<p> -"And yet, my Ethel," he said, "I sometimes ask myself, how this boasted -affection of yours will stand the trials which I fear are preparing for -it." -</p> - -<p> -"What trials?" she asked anxiously. -</p> - -<p> -"Care, poverty; the want of all the luxuries, perhaps of the comforts of -life." -</p> - -<p> -Ethel smiled again. "That is your affair," she replied, "do you rouse -your courage, if you look upon these as evils. I shall feel nothing of -all this, while near you; care—poverty—want! as if I needed any -thing except your love—you yourself—who are mine." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, dear," replied Villiers, "that is all very well at this moment; -rolling along in a comfortable carriage—an hotel ready to receive us, -with all its luxuries; but suppose us without any of these, -Ethel—suppose yourself in a melancholy, little, dingy abode, without -servants, without carriage, going out on foot." -</p> - -<p> -"Not alone," replied his wife, laughing, and kissing his hand; "I shall -have you to wait on me—to wait upon—" -</p> - -<p> -"You take it very well now," -said Edward; "I hope that you will never be put to the trial. I am far -from anticipating this excess of wretchedness, of course, but I cannot -help feeling, that the prospects of to-morrow are uncertain, and I am -anxious for my long-delayed letters from England." -</p> - -<p> -With Ethel's deep and warm affection, had she been ten or only five -years older, she also must have participated in Edward's inquietude. But -care is a word, not an emotion, for the very young. She was only -seventeen. She had never attended to the disbursements of money—she -was ignorant of the mechanism of giving and receiving, on which the course -of our life depends. It was in vain that she sought in the interior of -her mind for an image that should produce fear or regret, with regard to -the absence or presence of money. No one reflection or association -brought into being an idea on the subject. Again she kissed Edward's -hand, and looked on him with her soft clear eyes, thinking only, "He is -here—and Heaven has given me all I ask." -</p> - -<p> -Left again to themselves, they were anxious to avoid acquaintances. Yet -this was impossible during the Holy Week at Rome. Villiers found many -persons whom he knew; women of high rank and fashion, men of wealth, or -with the appearance of it, enjoying the present, and, while away from -England, unencumbered by care. Mr. and Mrs. Villiers were among these, -and of them; their rank and their style of living resembling theirs, -associated them together. All this was necessary to Edward, for he had -been accustomed to it—it was natural to Ethel, because, being wholly -inexperienced, she did as others did, and as Villiers wished her to do, -without reflection or forethought. -</p> - -<p> -Yet each day added to Edward's careful thoughts. Easter was gone, and -the period approached when they had talked of returning to Naples. The -covey of English had taken flight towards the north; they were almost -the only strangers in the ancient and silent city, whose every stone -breathes of a world gone by—whose surpassing beauty crowns her still -the glory of the world. The English pair, left to themselves, roamed -through the ruins and loitered in the galleries, never weary of the very -ocean of beauty and grandeur which they coursed over in their summer -bark. The weather grew warm, for the month of May had commenced, and -they took refuge in the vast churches from the heat; at twilight they -sought the neighbouring gardens, or scrambled about the Coliseum, or the -more ruined and weedgrown baths of Caracalla. The fire-flies came out, -and the splashing of the many fountains reached their ears from afar, -while the clear azure of the Roman sky bent over them in beauty and -peace. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel never alluded to their proposed return to Naples—she feared -each day to hear Villiers mention it—she was so happy where she was, -she shrunk from any change. The majesty, the simplicity, the quiet of Rome, -were in unison with the holy stillness that dwelt in her soul, absorbed -as it was by one unchanging image. She had reached the summit of human -happiness—she had nothing more to ask; her full heart, not bursting, -yet gently overflowing in its bliss, thanked Heaven, and drew nearer -Edward, and was at peace. -</p> - -<p> -"God help us!" exclaimed Villiers, "I wonder what on earth will become -of us!" -</p> - -<p> -They were sitting together on fragment of the Coliseum; they had -clambered up its fallen wall, and reached a kind of weed-grown chasm -whose depth, as it was moonlight, they could not measure by the eye; so -they sat beside it on a small fragment, and Villiers held Ethel close to -him lest she should fall. The heartfelt and innocent caress of two -united in the sight of Heaven, wedded together for the endurance of the -good and ills of life, hallowed the spot and hour; and then, even while -Ethel nestled nearer to him in fondness, Edward made the exclamation -that she heard with a wonder which mingled with, yet could not disturb, -the calm joy which she felt. -</p> - -<p> -"What but good can come of us, while we are thus?" she asked. -</p> - -<p> -"You will not listen to me, nor understand me," replied her husband. -"But I do assure you, that our position is more than critical. No -remittances, no letters come from England; we are in debt here—in -debt in Italy! A thousand miles from our resources! I grope in the dark and -see no outlet—every day's post, with the nothing that it brings, adds -to my anxiety." -</p> - -<p> -"All will be well," replied Ethel gently; "no real evil will happen to -us, be assured." -</p> - -<p> -"I wish," said Villiers, "your experience, instead of your ignorance, -suggested the assertion. I would rather die a thousand deaths than apply -to dear Horace, who is ill enough off himself; but every day here adds -to our difficulties. Our only hope is in our instant return to -England—and, by heavens!—you kiss me, Ethel, as if we lived in -fairy land, and that such were our food—have you no fears?" -</p> - -<p> -"I am sorry to say, none," she answered in a soft voice; "I wish I could -contrive some, because I appear unsympathizing to you—but I cannot -fear;—you are in health and near me. Heaven and my dear father's -spirit will watch over us, and all will be well. This is the end and -beginning of my anxiety; so dismiss yours, love—for, believe me, in a -day or two, these forebodings of yours will be as a dream." -</p> - -<p> -"It is very strange," replied Edward, "were you not so close to me, I -should fancy you a spirit instead of a woman; you seem to have no touch -of earthly solicitude. Well, I will do as you bid me, and hope for -to-morrow. And now let us get down from this place before the moon sets -and leaves us in darkness." -</p> - -<p> -As if to confirm the auguries of Ethel, the following morning brought -the long-expected letters. One contained a remittance, another was from -Colonel Villiers, to say, that Edward's immediate presence was requisite -in England to make the final arrangements before his marriage. With a -glad heart Villiers turned his steps northward; while Ethel, if she -could have regretted aught while with him, would have sighed to leave -their lonely haunts in Rome. She well knew that whatever of sublime -nature might display, or man might congregate of beautiful in art -elsewhere, there was a calm majesty, a silent and awful repose in the -ruins of Rome, joined to the delights of a southern climate, and the -luxuriant vegetation of a sunny soil, more in unison with her single and -devoted heart, than any other spot in the universe could boast. They -would both have rejoiced to have seen Saville again; yet they were -unacknowledgedly glad not to pursue their plan of domesticating near him -at Naples. A remediless evil, which is for ever the source of fresh -disquietude, is one that tasks human fortitude and human patience, more -than those vaster misfortunes which elevate while they wound. The proud -aspiring spirit of man craves something to raise him from the dust, and -to adorn his insignificance; he seeks to strengthen his alliance with -the lofty and the eternal, and shrinks from low-born cares, as being the -fetters and bolts that link him to his baser origin. Saville, the slave -of a violent woman's caprice, struggling with passions, at once so fiery -and so feeble as to excite contempt, was a spectacle which they were -glad to shun. Their own souls were in perfect harmony, and discord was -peculiarly abhorrent to them. -</p> - -<p> -They travelled by the beaten route of Mont Cenis, Lyons, and Calais, and -in less than a month arrived in England. As the presence of Villiers was -requisite in London, after staying a few days at an hotel in -Brook-street, they took a furnished house in the same street for a short -time. The London season had passed its zenith, but its decline was -scarcely perceptible. Ethel had no wish to enter into its gaieties, and -it had been Edward's plan to avoid them until they were richer. But here -they were, placed by fate in the very midst of them; and as, when their -affairs were settled, they intended again to return abroad, he could not -refuse himself the pleasure of seeing Ethel, in the first flower of her -loveliness, mingling with, and outshining, every other beauty of her -country. It would have been difficult indeed, placed within the verge of -the English aristocracy assembled in London, to avoid its engagements -and pleasures—for he "also was an Arcadian," and made one of the -self-enthroned "world." The next two months, therefore, while still -every settlement was delayed by his father, they spent in the -fashionable circles of London. -</p> - -<p> -They did not indeed enter into its amusements with the zest and -resolution of tyros. To Villiers the scene was not new, and therefore -not exceedingly enticing; and Ethel's mind was not of the sort to be -borne along in the stream of folly. They avoided going to crowded -entertainments—they were always satisfied with one or two parties in -the evening. Nay, once or twice in the week they usually remained at -home, and not unseldom dined tête-à-tête. The serpent fang of -pleasure, and the paltry ambition of society, had no power over Ethel. -She often enjoyed herself, because she often met people of either sex, -whose fame, or wit, or manners, interested and pleased her. But as -little vanity as mortal woman ever had fell to her share. Very young, -and (to use the phrase of the day) very new, flattery and admiration -glanced harmlessly by her. Her personal vanity was satisfied when -Villiers was pleased, and, for the rest, she was glad to improve her -mind, and to wear away the timidity, which she felt that her lonely -education had induced, by mingling with the best society of her country. -</p> - -<p> -She had also some curiosity, and as she promised herself but a brief -sojourn in this land of lions, she wished to see several things and -persons she might never come in contact with again. Various names which -had reached her in the Illinois, here grew from shadows into real human -beings—ministers of state, beauties, authors, and wits. She visited -once or twice the ventilator of St. Stephen's, and graced a red bench of -the House of Lords on the prorogation of Parliament. Villiers was very -much pleased with her throughout. His pride was gratified by the -approval she elicited from all. Men admired her, but distantly—as a -being they could not rudely nor impertinently approach. Women were not -afraid of her, because they saw, that though she made no display of -conjugal attachment, she loved her husband. Her extreme youth, the -perpetual sunshine of her countenance, and the gentle grace of her -manners, won more the liking than the praise of her associates. They -drew near her as to one too untaught to understand their mysteries, and -too innocent to judge them severely; an atmosphere of kindness and of -repose followed her wherever she went: this her husband felt more than -any other, and he prized his Ethel at the worth she so truly deserved. -</p> - -<p> -One of the reasons which caused Mrs. Villiers to avoid large assemblies, -was that Lady Lodore was in town, and that in such places they sometimes -met. Ethel did not well know how to act. Youth is ever fearful of making -unwelcome demonstration, and false shame often acts more powerfully to -influence it, than the call of duty or the voice of affection. Villiers -had no desire to bring the mother and daughter together, and stood -neutral. Lady Lodore had once or twice recognized her by a bow and a -smile, but after such, she always vanished and was seen no more that -evening. Ethel often yearned to approach, to claim her tenderness and to -offer her filial affection. Villiers laughed at such flights. "The safe -thing to do," he said, "is to take the tone of Lady Lodore. She is held -back by no bashfulness—she does the thing she wishes, without -hesitation or difficulty. Did she desire her lovely grown-up daughter to -play a child's part towards her, she would soon contrive to bring it -about. Lady Lodore is a woman of the world—she was nursed in its -lessons, and piously adheres to its code; its ways are her's, and the -objects of ambition which it holds out, are those which she desires to -attain. She is talked of as admired and followed by the Earl of -D——. You may spoil all, if you put yourself forward." -</p> - -<p> -Ethel was not quite satisfied. The voice of nature was awake within, and -she yearned to claim her mother's affection. Until now, she had regarded -her more as a stranger; but at this time, a filial instinct stirred her -heart, impelling her to some outward act—some demonstration of duty. -Whenever she saw Lady Lodore, which was rarely, and at a distance, she -gazed earnestly on her, and tried to read within her soul, whether Villiers -was right, and her mother happy. The shining, uniform outside of a woman -of fashion baffled her endeavours without convincing her. One evening at -the Opera, she discerned Lady Lodore in the tier below her. Ethel drew -back and shaded herself with the curtain of her box, so that she could -not be perceived, while she watched her mother intently. A succession of -visitors came into Lady Lodore's box, and she spoke to all with the -animation of a heart at ease. There was an almost voluptuous repose in -her manner and appearance, that contrasted with, while it adorned, the -easy flow of her conversation, and the springtide of wit, which, to -judge from the amusement of her auditors, flowed from her lips. Yet -Ethel fancied that her smile was often forced, so suddenly did it -displace an expression of listlessness and languor, which when she -turned from the people in her box to the stage, came across her -countenance like a shadow. It might be the gas, which shadows so -unbecomingly the fair audience at the King's Theatre; it might be the -consequences of raking, for Lady Lodore was out every night; but Ethel -thought that she saw a change; she was less brilliant, her person -thinner, and had lost some of its exquisite roundness. Still, as her -daughter gazed, she thought, She is not happy. Yet what could she do? -How pour sweetness into the bitter stream of life? As Villiers had said, -any advance of hers might spoil all. The sister of the nobleman he had -mentioned, was her companion at the opera. Lord D——himself -came, though late, to fetch her away. She had therefore her own prospects, -her own plans, which doubtless she desired to pursue undisturbed, however -they might fail to charm away the burthen of life. -</p> - -<p> -Once, and only once, Ethel heard her mother's voice, and was spoken to -by her. She had gone to hear the speech from the throne, on the -prorogation of Parliament. She got there late, so that every bench was -filled. Room was made for her near the throne, immediately under the -gallery, (as the house was constructed until last year,) but she was -obliged to be separated from her party, and sat half annoyed at being -surrounded by strangers. A peer, whom she recognized as the Earl of -D——, came up, and entered into conversation with the lady -sitting behind her. Could it be her mother? She remembered, that as she -sat down she had glanced at some one whom she thought she knew, and she -did not doubt that this was Lady Lodore. A sudden thrill passed as an -electric shock through her frame, every joint in her body trembled, her -knees knocked together, and the colour forsook her cheeks. She tried to -rally. Why should she feel agitated, as if possessed by terror, on -account of this near contact with the dearest relation Heaven has -bestowed on its creatures? Why not turn; and if she did not speak, -claim, with beseeching eyes, her mother's love? Was it indeed her? The -lady spoke, and her voice entered and stirred Ethel's beating heart with -strange emotion; every drop of blood within her seemed to leap at the -sound; but she sat still as a statue, saying to herself, "When Lord -D——leaves her I will turn and speak." After some trivial -conversation on topics of the day, the peers were ordered to take their -seats, and Lord D——departed;—then Ethel tried to -summon all her courage; but now the doors were thrown open, the king -entered, and every one stood up. At this moment,—as she, in the -confusion of being called upon, while abstracted, to do any act, however -slight, had for a moment half forgotten her mother,—her arm was -touched; and the same voice which had replied to Lord D——, -said to her, "Your ear-ring is unfastened, Ethel; it will fall out." -Ethel could not speak; she raised her hands, mechanically, to arrange -the ornament; but her trembling fingers refused to perform the office. -"Permit me," said the lady, drawing off her glove; and Ethel felt her -mother's hand touch her cheek: her very life stood suspended; it was a -bitter pain, yet a pleasure inconceivable; there was a suffocation in -her throat, and the tears filled her eyes; but even the simple words, "I -thank you," died on her lips—her voice could frame no sound. The -world, and all within its sphere, might have passed away at that moment, -and she been unconscious of any change. "Yes, she will love me!" was the -idea that spoke audibly within; and a feeling of confidence, a flow of -sympathy and enthusiastic affection, burst on her heart. As soon as she -could recollect herself, she turned: Lady Lodore was no longer there; -she had glided from her seat; and Ethel just caught a glimpse of her, as -she contrived another for herself, behind a column, which afterwards so -hid her, that her daughter could only see the waving of her plumes. On -these she fixed her eyes until all was over; and then Lady Lodore went -out hurriedly, with averted face, as if to escape her recognition. This -put the seal on Ethel's dream. She believed that her mother obviously -signified her desire that they should continue strangers to each other. -It was hard, but she must submit. She had no longer that prejudice -against Lady Lodore, that exaggerated notion of her demerits, which the -long exile of her father, and the abhorrence of Mrs. Fitzhenry, had -before instilled. Her mother was no longer a semi-gorgon, hid behind a -deceptive mask—a Medea, without a touch of human pity. She was a -lovely, soft-voiced, angelic-looking woman, whom she would have given -worlds to be permitted to love and wait upon. She found excuses for her -errors; she lavished admiration on all her attractions; she could do all -but muster courage to vanquish the obstacles that existed to their -intercourse. She fondly cherished her image, as an idol placed in the -sanctuary of her heart, which she could regard with silent reverence and -worship, but whose concealing veil she could not raise. Villiers smiled -when she spoke in this way to him. He saw, in her enthusiasm, the -overflowing of an affectionate heart, which longed to exhaust itself in -loving. He kissed her, and bade her think any thing, so that she did -nothing. The time for doing had indeed, for the present, passed away. -Lady Lodore left town; and when mother and daughter met again, it was -not destined to be beneath a palace roof, surrounded by the nobility of -the land. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">I choose to comfort myself by considering, that even</span><br /> -<span class="i2">while I am lamenting my present uneasiness, it is </span><br /> -<span class="i2">passing away.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">HORACE WALPOLE.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -An event occurred at this time, which considerably altered the plans of -Mr. and Mrs. Villiers. They had been invited to spend some time at -Maristow Castle, and were about to proceed thither with Lord Maristow -and his daughters, when the sudden death of Mr. Saville changed every -thing. He died of a malignant fever, leaving a young widow, and no -child, to inherit his place in society. -</p> - -<p> -Through this unlooked-for event, Horatio became the immediate heir of -his father's title. He stept, from the slighted position of a younger -son into the rank of the eldest; and thus became another being in all -men's eyes—but chiefly in his father's. -</p> - -<p> -Viscount Maristow had deeply regretted his son's foreign marriage, and -argued against his choice of remaining abroad. He was a statesman, and -conceived that Horatio's talents and eloquence would place him high -among the legislators of St. Stephen's. The soundness of his -understanding, and the flowing brilliancy of his language, were pledges -of his success. But Saville was not ambitious. His imagination rose high -above the empty honours of the world—to be useful was a better aim; -but he did not conceive that his was a mind calculated to lead others in -its train: its framework was too delicate, too finely strung, to sound in -accord with the many. He wanted the desire to triumph; and was content -to adore truth in the temple of his own mind, without defacing its -worship by truckling to the many falsehoods and errors which demand -subserviency in the world. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Maristow had hitherto submitted to his disappointment, not without -murmurs, but without making any great effort at victory. He had written -many letters intreating his son to cast off the drowsy Neapolitan -sloth;—he had besought Villiers, previous to his departure the -preceding year, to bring his cousin back with him;—and this was all. -</p> - -<p> -The death of his eldest son quickened him to exertion. He resolved to -trust no longer to written arguments, but to go himself to Italy, and by -force of paternal authority, or persuasions, to induce his son to come -back to his native country, and to fill with honour the post to which -fortune had advanced him. He did not doubt that Horatio would himself -feel the force of his new duties; but it would be clenching his purpose, -and paying an agreeable compliment to Clorinda, to make this journey, -and to bring them back with him when he returned. Whatever Mrs. -Saville's distaste to England might be, it must yield to the necessity -that now drew her thither. Lord Maristow could not imagine any -resistance so violent as to impede his wishes. The projected journey -charmed his daughters, saddened as they were by their recent loss. Lucy -was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing her beloved brother. She felt -sure that Clorinda would be brought to reason and thus, with their -hearts set upon one object, one idea, they bade adieu to Ethel and her -husband, as if their career was to be as sunny and as prosperous as they -doubted not that their own would be. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Maristow alone guessed how things might stand. "Edward, my dear -boy," he said, "give me credit for great anxiety on your account. I wish -this marriage of yours had not taken place, then you might have roughed -it as other young men do, and have been the better for a little tart -experience. I do not like this shuffling on your father's part. I hear -for a certainty that this marriage of his will come to nothing—the -friends of the young lady are against it, and she is very young, and -only an heiress by courtesy—her father can give her as many tens of -thousands as he pleases, but he has sworn not to give her a shilling if -she marries without his consent; and he has forbidden Colonel Villiers -his house. He still continues at Cheltenham, and assures every one that -he is on safe ground; that the girl loves him, and that when once his, -the father must yield. It is too ridiculous to see him playing a -boy-lover's part at his time of life, trying to undermine a daughter's -sense of duty—he, who may soon be a grandfather! The poor little -thing, I am told, is quite fascinated by his dashing manners and station in -society. We shall see how it will end—I fear ill; her father might -pardon a runaway match with a lover of her own age; but he will never -forgive the coldblooded villany, excuse me, of a man of three times her -age; who for gain, and gain only, is seeking to steal her from him. Such -is the sum of what I am told by a friend of mine, just arrived from -Cheltenham. The whole thing is the farce of the day, and the stolen -interviews of the lovers, and the loud, vulgarly-spoken denunciations of -her father, vary the scene from a travestie of Romeo and Juliet to the -comedies of Plautus or Molière. I beg your pardon, Edward, for my -frankness, but I am angry. I have been used as a cat's-paw—I have -been treated unfairly—I was told that the marriage wanted but your -signature—my representations induced you to offer to Miss Fitzhenry, -and now you are a ruined man. I am hampered by my own family, and cannot -come forward to your assistance. My advice is, that you wait a little, -and see what turn matters take; once decided, however they conclude, -strong representations shall be made to your father, and he shall be -forced to render proper assistance; then if politics take a better turn, -I may do something for you—or you can live abroad till better times." -</p> - -<p> -Villiers thanked Lord Maristow for his advice, and made no remarks -either on his details or promises. He saw his own fate stretched -drearily before him; but his pride made him strong to bear without any -outward signs of wincing. He would suffer all, conceal all, and be -pitied by none. The thought of Ethel alone made him weak. Were she -sheltered during the storm which he saw gathering so darkly, he would -have felt satisfied. -</p> - -<p> -What was to be done? To go abroad, was to encounter beggary and famine. -To remain, exposed him to a thousand insults and dangers from which there -was no escape. Such were the whisperings of despair—but brighter -hopes often visited him. All could not be so evil as it seemed. Fortune, -so long his enemy, would yield at last one inch of ground—one inch to -stand upon, where he might wait in patience for better days. Had he -indeed done his utmost to avert the calamities he apprehended? Certainly -not. Thus spoke his sanguine spirit: more could and should be done. His -father might find means, he himself be enabled to arrange with his -lawyer some mode of raising a sum of money which would at least enable -him to go on the continent with his wife. He spent his thoughts in -wishes for the attainment of this desirable conclusion to his adversity, -till the very earnestness of his expectations seemed to promise their -realization. It could not be that the worst would come. Absurd! -Something must happen to assist them. Seeking for this unknown something -which, in spite of all his efforts, would take no visible or tangible -form, he spent weary days and sleepless nights, his brain spinning webs -of thought, not like those of the spider, useful to their weaver—a -tangled skein they were rather, where the clue was inextricably hid. He -did not speak of these things to Ethel, but he grew sad, and she was -anxious to go out of town, to have him all to herself, when she promised -herself to dispel his gloom; and, as she darkly guessed at the source of -his disquietude, by economy and a system of rigid privation, to show him -how willing and able she was to meet the adversity which he so much -dreaded. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The pure, the open, prosperous love,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">That pledged on earth, and sealed above,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Grows in the world's approving eyes,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">In friendship's smile and home's caress,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Collecting all the heart's sweet ties</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Into one knot of happiness.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 55%;">LALLA ROOKH.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Another month withered away in fruitless expectation. Villiers felt that -he was following an ignis fatuus, yet knew not how to give up his -pursuit. At length, he listened more docilely to Ethel's representations -of the expediency of quitting town. She wished to pay her long-promised -visit to her aunt, and Villiers at last consented to accompany her. They -gave up their house, dispersed a tolerably numerous establishment, and -left town for their sober and rural seclusion in Essex. -</p> - -<p> -Taken from the immediate scene where care met him at every turn, -Edward's spirits rose; and the very tranquillity and remoteness of -Longfield became a relief and an enjoyment. It was bright October -weather. The fields were green, the hedges yet in verdant trim. The air -was so still that the dead leaves hung too lazy to fall, from the -topmost boughs of the earlier trees. The oak was still dressed in a dark -sober green—the fresh July shoot, having lost its summer hue, was -unapparent among the foliage; the varying tints of beach, ash, and elm, -diversified the woods. The morning and evening skies were resplendent -with crimson and gold, and the moonlight nights were sweeter than the -day. -</p> - -<p> -Fatigued by the hurry of town, and one at least worn out with care, the -young pair took a new lease of love in idleness in this lonely spot. A -slight attack of rheumatism confined Aunt Bessy to her chimney-corner, -but in spite of her caution to Ethel not to incur the same penalty from -all the array of wet walks and damp shoes, it was her best pleasure each -morning to tie on her bonnet, take her husband's arm, and they wandered -away together, returning only to find their horses ready, and then they -departed for hours, coming back late and unwillingly after the sun was -down. Mrs. Elizabeth wondered where all the beautiful spots were, which -Ethel described so enthusiastically as to be found in the neighbourhood. -The good lady longed to go out herself to see if she could not reap -equal delight from viewing the grouping of trees, whose various autumnal -tints were painted in Ethel's speech with hues too bright for earth, or -to discover what there could be so extraordinarily picturesque in a -moss-grown cottage, near a brook, with a high bank clothed with wood -behind, which she believed must be one Dame Nixon's cottage, in the Vale -of Bewling, and which she knew she must have passed a thousand times, -and yet she had never noticed its beauty. Very often Ethel could give no -information of whither they had been, only they had lost themselves in -majestic woods, lingered in winding lanes, which led to resplendent -views, or even reached the margin of the barren sea, to behold the -enveloping atmosphere reflected in its fitful mirror—to watch the -progress of evanescent storms, or to see the moon light up her silvery -pathway on the dusky waste. Villiers took his gun with him in his walks, -but, though American bred, Ethel was so unfeignedly distressed by the -sight of death, that he never brought down a bird: he shot in its -direction now and then, to keep his pointer in practice, and to laugh at -his wife's glad triumph when he missed his feathery mark. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel was especially delighted to renew her acquaintance with Longfield, -her father's boyhood home, under such sunny circumstances. She had loved -it before: with anguish in her heart, and heavy sadness weighing on her -steps, she had loved it for his sake. But now that it became the home, -the dedicated garden of love, it received additional beauty in her eyes -from its association with the memory of Lord Lodore. All things conjoined; -the season, calmed and brightened, as if for her especial enjoyment; -remembrance of the past, and the undivided possession of her Edward's -society, combined to steep her soul in happiness. Even he, whose more -active and masculine spirit might have fretted in solitude and sloth, -was subdued by care and uncertainty to look on the peace of the present -moment as the dearest gift of the gods. Both so young, and the minds of -both open as day to each other's eyes, no single blot obscured their -intercourse. They never tired of each other, and the teeming spirit of -youth filled the empty space of each hour as it came, with a new growth -of sentiments and ideas. The long evening had its pleasures, with its -close-drawn curtains and cheerful fire. Even whist with the white-haired -parson, and Mrs. Fitzhenry in her spectacles, imparted pleasure. Could -any thing duller have been devised, which would have been difficult, it -had not been so to them; and a stranger coming in and seeing their -animated looks, and hearing their cheerful tones and light-hearted -laugh, must have envied the very Elysium of delight, which aunt Bessy's -usually so sober drawing-room contained. Merely to see Ethel leaning on -her husband's arm, and looking up in his face as he drew her yet closer, -and, while his fingers were twined among her silken ringlets, kissed so -fondly her fair brow, must have demonstrated to a worldling the -irrefragable truth that happiness is born a twin, love being the parent. -</p> - -<p> -The beauty of a pastoral picture has but short duration in this cloudy -land,—and happiness, the sun of our moral existence, is yet more -fitful in its visitations. Villiers and his young wife took their -accustomed ride through shady lanes and copses, and through parks, where, -though the magnificent features of nature were wanting, the eye was -delighted by a various prospect of wood and lawny upland. The soft though -wild west wind drove along vast masses of snowy clouds, which displayed in -their intervals the deep stainless azure of the boundless sky. The -shadows of the clouds now darkened the pathway of our riders, and now -they saw the sunlight advance from a distance, coming on with steps of -light and air, till it reached them, and they felt the warmth and -gladness of sunshine descend on them. The various coloured woods were -now painted brightly in the beams, and now half lost in shadow. There -was life and action everywhere—yet not the awakening activity of -spring, but rather a vague, uneasy restlessness, allied to languor, and -pregnant with melancholy. -</p> - -<p> -Villiers was silent and sad. Ethel too well knew the cause wherefore he -was dispirited. He had received letters that morning which stung him -into a perception of the bitter realities which were gathering about -them. One was to say that no communication had been received from his -father, but that it was believed that he was somewhere in London—the -other was from his banker, to remind him that he had overdrawn his -credit—nearly the most disagreeable intelligence a man can hear when -he possesses no immediate means of replenishing his drained purse. Ethel -was grieved to see him pained, but she could not acutely feel these -pecuniary distresses. She tried to divert his thoughts by conversation, -and pointing out the changes which the advancing season made in the -aspect of the country. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," said Villiers, "it is a beautiful world; poets tell us this, and -religious men have drawn an argument for their creed from the wisdom and -loveliness displayed in the external universe, which speaks to every -heart and every understanding. The azure canopy fretted with golden -lights, or, as now, curtained by wondrous shapes, which, though they are -akin to earth, yet partake the glory of the sky—the green expanse, -variegated by streams, teeming with life, and prolific of food to -sustain that life, and that very food the chief cause of the beauty we -enjoy—with such magnificence has the Creator set forth our -table—all this, and the winds that fan us so balmily, and the flowers -that enchant our sight—do not all these make earth a type of heaven?" -</p> - -<p> -Ethel turned her eyes on him to read in his face the expression of the -enthusiasm and enjoyment that seemed to dictate his words. But his -countenance was gloomy, and as he continued to speak, his expressions -took more the colour of his uneasy feelings. "How false and senseless -all this really is!" he pursued. "Find a people who truly make earth, -its woods and fells, and inclement sky, their unadorned dwelling-place, -who pluck the spontaneous fruits of the soil, or slay the animals as -they find them, attending neither to culture nor property, and we give -them the name of barbarians and savages—untaught, uncivilized, -miserable beings—and we, the wiser and more refined, hunt and -exterminate them:—we, who spend so many words, either as preachers or -philosophers, to vaunt that with which they are satisfied, we feel -ourselves the greater, the wiser, the nobler, the more barriers we place -between ourselves and nature, the more completely we cut ourselves off -from her generous but simple munificence." -</p> - -<p> -"But is this necessary?" asked the forest-bred girl: "when I lived in the -wilds of the Illinois—the simplest abode, food and attire, were all I -knew of human refinements, and I was satisfied." -</p> - -<p> -Villiers did not appear to heed her remark, but continued the train of -his own reflections. "The first desire of man is not for wealth nor -luxury, but for sympathy and applause. He desires to remove to the -furthest extremity of the world contempt and degradation; and according -to the ideas of the society in which he is bred, so are his desires -fashioned. We, the most civilized, high-bred, prosperous people in the -world, make no account of nature, unless we add the ideas of possession, -and of the labours of man. We rate each individual, (and we all desire -to be rated as individuals, distinct from and superior to the mass,) not -by himself, but by his house, his park, his income. This is a trite -observation, yet it appears new when it comes home: what is lower, -humbler, more despicable than a poor man? Give him learning, give him -goodness—see him with manners acquired in poverty, habits dyed in the -dusky hues of penury; and if we do not despise him, yet we do not admit -him to our tables or society. Refinement may only be the varnish of the -picture, yet it is necessary to make apparent to the vulgar eye even the -beauties of Raphael." -</p> - -<p> -"To the vulgar eye!" repeated Ethel, emphatically. -</p> - -<p> -"And I seem one of those, by the way I speak," said Edward, smiling. -"Yet, indeed, I do not despise any man for being poor, except myself. I -can feel pride in showing honour where honour is due, even though clad -in the uncouth and forbidding garb of plebeianism; but I cannot claim -this for myself—I cannot demand the justice of men, which they would -nickname pity. The Illinois would be preferable far." -</p> - -<p> -"And the Illinois might be a paradise," said Ethel. -</p> - -<p> -"We hope for a better—we hope for Italy. Do you remember Rome and -the Coliseum, my love?—Naples, the Chiaja, and San -Carlo?—these were better than the savannas of the west. Our hopes -are good; it is the present only which is so thorny, so worse than -barren: like the souls of Dante, we have a fiery pass to get through -before we reach our place of bliss; that we have it in prospect will -gift us with fortitude. Meanwhile I must string myself to my task. -Ethel, dearest, I shall go to town to-morrow." -</p> - -<p> -"And I with you, surely?" -</p> - -<p> -"Do not ask it; this is your first lesson in the lore you were so ready -to learn, of bearing all for me—" -</p> - -<p> -"With you," interrupted his wife. -</p> - -<p> -"With me—it shall soon be," replied Edward; "but to speak according -to the ways of this world, my presence in London is necessary for a few -days—for a very few days; a journey there and back for me is nothing, -but it would be a real and useless expense if you went. Indeed, Ethel, -you must submit to my going without you—I ask it of you, and you will -not refuse." -</p> - -<p> -"A few days, you say," answered Ethel—"a very few days? It is hard. -But you will not be angry, if I should join you if your return is delayed?" -</p> - -<p> -"You will not be so mad," said Villiers. "I go with a light heart, -because I leave you in security and comfort. I will return—I need not -protest—you know that I shall return the moment I can. I speak of a -few days; it cannot be a week: let me go then, with what satisfaction I -may, to the den of darkness and toil, and not be farther annoyed by the -fear that you will not support my absence with cheerfulness. As you love -me, wait for me with patience—remain with your aunt till I return." -</p> - -<p> -"I will stay for a week, if it must be so," replied Ethel. -</p> - -<p> -"Indeed, my love, it must—nor will I task you beyond—before a -week is gone by, you shall see me." -</p> - -<p> -Ethel looked wistfully at him, but said no more. She thought it -hard—she did not think it right that he should go—that he -should toil and suffer without her; but she had no words for argument or -contention, so she yielded. The next morning—a cold but cheerful -morning—at seven o'clock, she drove over with him in Mrs. -Fitzhenry's little pony chaise to the town, four miles off, through -which the stages passed. A first parting is a kind of landmark in -life—a starting post whence we begin our career out of illusion -and the land of dreams, into reality and endurance. They arrived not a -moment too soon: she had yet a thousand things to say—one or two -very particular things, which she had reserved for the last moment; -there was no time, and she was forced to concentrate all her injunctions -into one word, "Write!" -</p> - -<p> -"Every day—and do you." -</p> - -<p> -"It will be my only pleasure," replied his wife. "Take care of -yourself." -</p> - -<p> -He was on the top of the stage and gone; and Ethel felt that a blank -loneliness had swallowed up the dearest joy of her life. -</p> - -<p> -She drew her cloak round her—she gazed along the road—there -were no traces of him—she gave herself up to thought, and as he was -the object of all her thoughts, this was her best consolation. She reviewed -the happy days they had spent together—she dwelt on the memory of his -unalterable affection and endearing kindness, and then tears rushed into -her eyes. "Will any ill ever befall him?" she thought. "O no, none ever -can! he must be rewarded for his goodness and his love. How dear he -ought to be to me! Did he not take the poor friendless girl from -solitude and grief; and disdaining neither her poverty nor her orphan -state, give her himself, his care, his affection? O, my Edward! what -would Ethel have been without you? Her father was gone—her mother -repulsed her—she was alone in the wide world, till you generously -made her your own!" -</p> - -<p> -With the true enthusiasm of passion, Ethel delighted to magnify the -benefits she had received, and to make those which she herself conferred -nothing, that gratitude and love might become yet stronger duties. In -her heart, though she reproached herself for what she termed -selfishness, she could not regret his poverty and difficulties, if thus -she should acquire an opportunity of being useful to him; but she felt -herself defrauded of her best privileges, of serving and consoling, by -their separation. -</p> - -<p> -Thus,—now congratulating herself on her husband's attachment, now -repining at the fate that divided them,—agitated by various emotions -too sweet and bitter for words, she returned to Longfield. Aunt Bessy -was in her arm-chair, waiting for her to begin breakfast. Edward's seat -was empty—his cup was not placed—he was omitted in the domestic -arrangements;—tears rushed into her eyes; and in vain trying to calm -herself, she sobbed aloud. Aunt Bessy was astonished; and when all the -explanation she got was, "He is gone!" she congratulated herself, that -her single state had spared her the endurance of these conjugal -distresses. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">How like a winter hath my absence been</span><br /> -<span class="i2">From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">What old December's bareness every where!</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 55%;">SHAKSPEARE.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Ethel cheered herself to amuse her aunt; and, as in her days of hopeless -love, she tried to shorten the hours by occupation. It was difficult; -for all her thoughts were employed in conjectures as to where Edward -was, what doing—in looking at her watch, and following in her mind -all his actions—or in meditating how hereafter she might remedy any -remissness on her part, (so tender was her conscience,) and best -contribute to his happiness. Such reveries beguiled many hours, and -enabled her to endure with some show of courage the pains of absence. -Each day she heard from him—each day she wrote, and this entire -pouring out of herself on paper formed the charm of her existence. She -endeavoured to persuade him how fortunate their lot might hereafter -be—how many of his fears were unfounded or misplaced. -</p> - -<p> -"Remember, dearest love," she said, "that I have nothing of the fine -lady about me. I do not even feel the want of those luxuries so -necessary to most women. This I owe to my father. It was his first care, -while he brought me up in the most jealous retirement, to render me -independent of the services of others. Solitude is to me no evil, and -the delight of my life would be to wait upon you. I am not therefore an -object of pity, when fortunes deprives me of the appurtenances of -wealth, which rather annoy than serve me. My devotion and sacrifice, as -you are pleased to call the intense wish of my heart to contribute to -your happiness, are nothing. I sacrifice all, when I give up one hour of -your society—there is the sting—there the merit of my -permitting you to go without me. I can ill bear it. I am impatient and -weak; do not then, Edward dearest, task me too far—recall me to your -side, if your return is delayed—recall your fond girl to the place -near your heart, where she desires to remain for ever." -</p> - -<p> -Villiers answered with few but expressive words of gratitude and -fidelity. His letters breathed disappointment and anxiety. "It is too -true," he said, "as I found it announced when I first came to town, my -father is married. He got the banns published in an obscure church in -London; he persuaded Miss Gregory to elope with him, and they are -married. Her father is furious, he returns every letter unopened; his -house and heart, he says, are still open to his daughter—but -the—, I will not repeat his words, who stole her from him, shall -never benefit by a shilling of his money—let her return, and all -shall be pardoned—let her remain with her husband, and starve, he -cares not. My father has spent much time and more money on this pursuit: -in the hope of securing many thousands, he raised hundreds at a prodigal -and ruinous interest, which must now be paid. He has not ten pounds in -the world—so he says. My belief is, that he is going abroad to -secure to himself the payment of the scanty remnant of his income. I -have no hopes. I would beg at the corner of a street, rather than apply -to a man who never has been a parent to me, and whose last act is that -of a villain. Excuse me; you will be angry that I speak thus of my -father, but I know that he speaks of the poor girl he has deluded, with -a bitterness and insult, which prove what his views were in marrying -her. In this moment of absolute beggary, my only resource is to raise -money. I believe I shall succeed; and the moment I have put things in -train, with what heartfelt, what unspeakable joy, shall I leave this -miserable place for my own Ethel's side, long to remain!" -</p> - -<p> -Villiers's letters varied little, but yet they got more desponding; and -Ethel grew very impatient to see him again. She had counted the days of -her week—they were fulfilled, and her husband did not return. Every -thing depended, he said, on his presence; and he must remain yet for -another day or two. At first he implored her to be patient. He besought -her, as she loved him, to endure their separation yet for a few more -days. His letters were very short, but all in this style. They were -imperative with his wife—she obeyed; yet she did so, she told him, -against her will and against her sense of right. She ought to be at his -side to cheer him under his difficulties. She had married him because -she loved him, and because the first and only wish of her heart was to -conduce to his happiness. To travel together, to enjoy society and the -beauties of nature in each other's society, were indeed blessings, and -she valued them; but there was another dearer still, of which she felt -herself defrauded, and for which she yearned. "The aim of my life, and -its only real joy," she said, "is to make your existence happier than it -would have been without me. When I know and feel that such a moment or -hour has been passed by you with sensations of pleasure, and that -through me, I have fulfilled the purpose of my destiny. Deprived of the -opportunity to accomplish this, I am bereft of that for which I breathe. -You speak as if I were better off here than if I shared the -inconveniences of your lot—is not this strange language, my own -Edward? You talk of security and comfort; where can I be so secure as near -you? And for comfort! what heart-elevating joy it would be to exchange this -barren, meagre scene of absence, for the delight, the comfort of seeing -you, of waiting on you! I do not ask you to hasten your return, so as to -injure your prospects, but permit me to join you. Would not London -itself, dismal as you describe it, become sunny and glad, if Ethel were -with you?" -</p> - -<p> -To these adjurations Villiers scarcely replied. Time crept on; three -weeks had already elapsed. Now and then a day intervened, and he did not -write, and his wife's anxiety grew to an intolerable pitch. She did not -for an instant suspect his faith, but she feared that he must be utterly -miserable, since he shrunk from communicating his feelings to her. His -last letter was brief; "I have just come from my solicitor," he said, -"and have but time to say, that I must go there again to-morrow, so I -shall not be with you. O the heavy hours in this dark prison! You will -reward me and make me forget them when I see you—but how shall I pass -the time till then!" -</p> - -<p> -These words made Ethel conceive the idea of joining him in town. He -would not, he could not be angry? He could not bring his mind to ask her -to share his discomforts—but ought she not to volunteer—to -insist upon his permitting her to come? Permit! the same pride that -prevented his asking, would induce him to refuse her request; but should -she do wrong, if, without his express permission, she were to join him? A -thrill, half fear, half transport, made her heart's blood stand still at -the thought. The day after this last, she got no letter; the following day -was Monday, and there would be no post from town. Her resolution was taken, -and she told her aunt, that she should go up to London the following -day. Mrs. Elizabeth knew little of the actual circumstances of the young -pair. Villiers had made it an express condition, that she should not be -informed of their difficulties, for he was resolute not to take from her -little store, which, in the way she lived, was sufficient, yet barely -so, for her wants. She did not question her niece as to her journey; she -imagined that it was a thing arranged. But Ethel herself was full of -perplexity; she remembered what Villiers had said of expense; she knew -that he would be deeply hurt if she used a public conveyance, and yet to -go post would consume the little money she had left, and she did not -like to reach London pennyless. She began to talk to her aunt, and faltered -out something about want of money for posting—the good lady's -purse was instantly in her hand. Ethel had not the same horror as her -husband of pecuniary obligation—she was too inexperienced to know its -annoyances; and in the present instance, to receive a small sum from her -aunt, appeared to her an affair that did not merit hesitation. She took -twenty pounds for her journey, and felt her heart lighter. There yet -remained another question. Hitherto they had travelled in their own -carriage, with a valet and lady's maid. Villiers had taken his servant -to town with him. In a postscript to one of his letters, he said, "I was -able to recommend Laurie to a good place, so I have parted with him, and -I shall not take another servant at this moment." Laurie had been long -and faithfully attached to her husband, who had never lived without an -attendant, and who, from his careless habits, was peculiarly helpless. -Ethel felt that this dismissal was a measure of economy, and that she -ought to imitate it. Still as any measure to be taken always frightened -her, she had not courage to discharge her maid, but resolved to go up to -town without her. Aunt Bessy was shocked at her going alone, but Ethel -was firm; nothing could happen to her, and she should prove to Edward -her readiness to endure privation. -</p> - -<p> -On Monday, at eleven in the forenoon, on the 28th of November, Ethel, -having put together but a few things,—for she expected a speedy -return,—stept into her travelling chariot, and began her journey to -town. She was all delight at the idea of seeing Edward. She reproached -herself for having so long delayed giving this proof of her earnest -affection. She listened with beaming smiles to all her aunt's -injunctions and cautions: and, the carriage once in motion, drawing her -shawl round her, as she sat in the corner, looking on the despoiled yet -clear prospect, her mind was filled with the most agreeable -reveries—her heart soothed by the dearest anticipations. -</p> - -<p> -To pay the post-horses—to gift the postillion herself, were all -events for her: she felt proud. "Edward said, I must begin to learn the -ways of the world; and this is my first lesson in economy and care," she -thought, as she put into the post-boy's hand just double the sum he had -ever received before. "And how good, and attentive, and willing every -body is! I am sure women can very well travel alone. Every one is -respectful, and desirous to serve," was her next internal remark, as she -undrew her little silken purse, to give a waiter half-a-crown, who had -brought her a glass of water, and whose extreme alacrity struck her as -so very kind-hearted. -</p> - -<p> -Her spirits flagged as the day advanced. In spite of herself, an uneasy -feeling diffused itself through her mind, when, the sun going down, a -misty, chilly twilight crept over the landscape. Had she done right? she -asked herself; would Edward indeed be glad to see her? She felt half -frightened at her temerity—alarmed at the length of her -journey—timid when she thought of the vast London she was about to -enter, without any certain bourn. She supposed that Villiers went each day -to his club, and she knew that he lodged in Duke street, St. James's; but -she was ignorant of the number of the house, and the street itself was -unknown to her; she did not remember ever to have been in it in her life. -</p> - -<p> -Her carriage entered labyrinthine London by Blackwall, and threaded the -wilds of Lothbury. A dense and ever-thickening mist, palpable, yellow, -and impervious to the eye, enveloped the whole town. Ethel had heard of -a November fog; but she had never witnessed one, and the idea of it did -not occur to her memory: she was half-frightened, thinking that some -strange phænomena were going on, and fancying that her postillion was -hurrying forward in terror. At last, in Cheapside, they stopped jammed -up by carts and coaches; and then she contrived to make herself heard, -asking what was the matter? The word "eclipse" hung upon her lips. -</p> - -<p> -"Only, ma'am, the street has got blocked up like in the fog: we shall -get on presently." -</p> - -<p> -The word "fog" solved the mystery; and again her thoughts were with -Villiers. What a horrible place for him to live in! And he had been -enduring all this wretchedness, while she was breathing the pure -atmosphere of the country. Again they proceeded through the "murky air," -and through an infinitude of mischances;—the noise—the -hubbub—the crowd, as she could distinguish it, as if veiled by -dirty gauze, by the lights in the shops—all agitated and vexed -her. Through Fleet Street and the Strand they went; and it seemed as if -their progress would never come to an end. The whole previous journey -from Longfield was short in comparison to this tedious procession: -twenty times she longed to get out and walk. At last they got free, and -with a quicker pace drove up to the door of the Union Club, in Charing -Cross. -</p> - -<p> -The post-boy called one of the waiters to the carriage door; and Ethel -asked—"Is Mr. Villiers here?" -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Villiers, ma'am, has left town." -</p> - -<p> -Ethel was aghast. She had watched assiduously along the road; yet she -had felt certain that if he had meant to come, she would have seen him -on Sunday; and till this moment, she had not entertained a real doubt -but that she should find him. She asked, falteringly, "When did he go?" -</p> - -<p> -"Last week, ma'am: last Thursday, I think it was." -</p> - -<p> -Ethel breathed again: the man's information must be false. She was too -inexperienced to be aware that servants and common people have a -singular tact in selecting the most unpleasant intelligence, and being -very alert in communicating it. "Do you know," she inquired, "where Mr. -Villiers lodges?" -</p> - -<p> -"Can't say, indeed, ma'am; but the porter knows;—here, Saunders!" -</p> - -<p> -No Saunders answered. "The porter is not in the way; but if you can -wait, ma'am, he'll be back presently." -</p> - -<p> -The waiter disappeared: the post-boy came up—he touched his hat. -"Wait," said Ethel;—"we must wait a little;" and he removed himself -to the horses' heads. Ethel sat in her lonely corner, shrouded by fog and -darkness, watching every face as it passed under the lamp near, fancying -that Edward might appear among them. The ugly faces that haunt, in quick -succession, the imagination of one oppressed by night-mare, might vie -with those that passed successively in review before Ethel. Most of them -hurried on, looking neither to the right nor left. Some entered the -house; some glanced at her carriage: one or two, perceiving a bonnet, -evidently questioned the waiter. He stood there for her own service, -Ethel thought; and she watched his every movement—his successive -disappearances and returns—the people he talked to. Once she signed -to him to come; but—"No, ma'am, the porter is not come back -yet,"—was all his answer. At last, after having stood, half -whistling, for some five minutes, (it appeared to Ethel half-an-hour,) -without having received any visible communication, he suddenly came up to -the carriage door, saying, "The porter could not stay to speak to you, -ma'am, he was in such a hurry. He says, Mr. Villiers lodges in Duke Street, -St. James's: he should know the house, but has forgotten the number." -</p> - -<p> -"Then I must wait till he comes back again. I knew all that before. Will -he be long?" -</p> - -<p> -"A long time, ma'am; two hours at least. He said that the woman of the -house is a widow woman—Mrs. Derham." -</p> - -<p> -Thus, as if by torture, (but, as with the whipping boys of old, her's -was the torture, not the delinquent's,) Ethel extracted some information -from the stupid, conceited fellow. On she went to Duke Street, to -discover Mrs. Derham's residence. A few wrong doors were knocked at; and -a beer-boy, at last, was the Mercury that brought the impatient, longing -wife, to the threshold of her husband's residence. Happy beer-boy! She -gave him a sovereign: he had never been so rich in his life -before;—such chance-medleys do occur in this strange world! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">O my reviving joy! thy quickening presence</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Makes the sad night</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Sit like a youthful spring upon my blood.</span><br /> -<span class="i2">I cannot make thy welcome rich enough</span><br /> -<span class="i2">With all the wealth of words.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">MIDDLETON.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The boy knocked at the door. A servant-girl opened it. "Does Mr. -Villiers lodge here?" asked the postillion, from his horse. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," said the girl. -</p> - -<p> -"Open the door quickly, and let me out!" cried Ethel, as her heart beat -fast and loud. -</p> - -<p> -The door was opened—the steps let down—operations tedious -beyond measures, as she thought. She got out, and was in the hall, going up -stairs. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Villiers is not at home," said the maid. -</p> - -<p> -Through the low blinds of the parlour window, Mrs. Derham had been -watching what was going on. She heard what her servant said, and now -came out. "Mr. Villiers is not at home," she reiterated; "will you leave -any message?" -</p> - -<p> -"No; I will wait for him. Show me into his room." -</p> - -<p> -"I am afraid that it is locked," answered Mrs. Derham repulsively: -"perhaps you can call again. Who shall I say asked for him?" -</p> - -<p> -"O no!" cried Ethel, "I must wait for him. Will you permit me to wait in -your parlour? I am Mrs. Villiers." -</p> - -<p> -"I beg pardon," said the good woman; "Mrs. Villiers is in the country." -</p> - -<p> -"And so I am," replied Ethel—"at least, so I was this morning. Don't -you see my travelling carriage?—look; you may be sure that I am Mrs. -Villiers." -</p> - -<p> -She took out of her little bag one of Edward's letters, with the perusal -of which she had beguiled much of her way to town. Mrs. Derham looked at -the direction—"The Honourable Mrs. Villiers;"—her countenance -brightened. Mrs. Derham was a little, plump, well-preserved woman of -fifty-four or five. She was kind-hearted, and of course shared the -worship for rank which possesses every heart born within the four seas. -She was now all attention. Villiers's room was open; he was expected -very soon:—"He is so seldom out in an evening: it is very unlucky; -but he must be back directly," said Mrs. Derham, as she showed the way up -the narrow staircase. Ethel reached the landing, and entered a room of -tolerable dimensions, considerably encumbered with litter, which opened -into a smaller room, with a tent bed. A little bit of fire glimmered in -the grate. The whole place looked excessively forlorn and comfortless. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Derham bustled about to bestow a little neatness on the room, -saying something of the "untidiness of gentlemen," and "so many lodgers -in the house." Ethel sat down she longed to be alone. There was the -post-boy to be paid, and to be ordered to take the carriage to a -coach-house; and then—Mrs. Derham asked her if she would not have -something to eat: she herself was at tea, and offered a cup, which Ethel -thankfully accepted, acknowledging that she had not eaten since the -morning. Mrs. Derham was shocked. The rank, beauty, and sweet manners of -Ethel had made a conquest, which her extreme youth redoubled. "So young -a lady," she said, "to go about alone: she did not know how to take care -of herself, she was sure. She must have some supper: a roast chicken -should be ready in an hour—by the time Mr. Villiers came in." -</p> - -<p> -"But the tea," said Ethel, smiling; "you will let me have that now?" -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Derham hurried away on this hint, and the young wife was left -alone. She had been married a year; but there was still a freshness -about her feelings, which gave zest to every change in her wedded life. -"This is where he has been living without me," she thought; "Poor -Edward! it does not look as if he were very comfortable." -</p> - -<p> -She rose from her seat, and began to arrange the books and papers. A -glove of her husband's lay on the table: she kissed it with a glad -feeling of welcome. When the servant came in, she had the fire -replenished—the hearth swept; and in a minute or two, the room had -lost much of its disconsolate appearance. Then, with a continuation of -her feminine love of order she arranged her own dress and hair; giving -to her attire, as much as possible, an at-home appearance. She had just -finished—just sat down, and begun to find the time long—when -a quick, imperative knock at the door, which she recognized at once, -made her heart beat, and her cheek grow pale. She heard a step—a -voice—and Mrs. Derham answer—"Yes, sir; the fire is -in—every thing comfortable;"—and Ethel opened the door, as -she spoke, and in an instant was clasped in her husband's arms. -</p> - -<p> -It was not a moment whose joy could be expressed by words. He had been -miserable during her absence, and had thought of sending for her; but he -looked round his single room, remembered that he was in lodgings, and -gave up his purpose with a bitter murmur: and here she was, uncalled -for, but most welcome: she was here, in her youth, her loveliness, her -sweetness: these were charms; but others more transcendent now attended -on, and invested her;—the sacred tenderness of a wife had led her to -his side; and love, in its most genuine and beautiful shape, shed an -atmosphere of delight and worship about her. Not one circumstance could -alloy the unspeakable bliss of their meeting. Poverty, and its -humiliations, vanished from before the eyes of Villiers; he was -overflowingly rich in the possession of her affections—her presence. -Again and again he thanked her, in broken accents of expressive -transport. -</p> - -<p> -"Nothing in the whole world could make me unhappy now!" he cried; and -Ethel, who had seen his face look elongated and gloomy at the moment he -had entered, felt indeed that Medea, with all her potent herbs, was less -of a magician than she, in the power of infusing the sparkling spirit of -life into one human frame. It was long before either were coherent in -their inquiries and replies. There was nothing, indeed, that either -wished to know. Life, and its purposes, were fulfilled, rounded, -complete, without a flaw. They loved, and were together—together, not -for a transitory moment, but for the whole duration of the eternity of -love, which never could be exhausted in their hearts. -</p> - -<p> -After more than an hour spent in gradually becoming acquainted and -familiar with the transporting change, from separate loneliness to -mutual society and sympathy, the good-natured face of Mrs. Derham showed -itself, to announce that Ethel's supper was ready. These words brought -back to Edward's recollection his wife's journey, and consequent -fatigues: he grew more desirous than Mrs. Derham to feed his poor -famished bird, whose eyes, in spite of the joy that shone in them, began -to look languid, and whose cheek was pale. The little supper-table was -laid, and they sat down together. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Mary Wortley Montagu has recorded the pleasure to be reaped -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"When we meet with champagne and a chicken at last;"</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -and perhaps social life -contains no combination so full of enjoyment as a tête-à-tête supper. -<i>Here</i> it was, with its highest zest. They feared no prying -eyes—they knew no ill: it was not a scanty hour of joy snatched from -an age of pain—a single spark illuminating a long blank night. It -came after separation, and possessed, therefore, the charm of novelty; but -it was the prelude to a long reunion—the seal set on their being once -again joined, to go through together each hour of the livelong day. Full of -unutterable thankfulness and gladness, as were the minds of each, there -was, besides, -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">"A sacred and home-felt delight,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">A sober certainty of waking bliss,"</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -which is the crown and fulfilment of perfect human -happiness. "Imparadised" by each other's presence—no doubt—no -fear of division on the morrow-no dread of untoward event, suspicion, or -blame, clouded the balmy atmosphere which their hearts created around them. -No. Eden was required to enhance their happiness; there needed no -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">"Crisped brooks,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold;"—</span> -</div></div> - - -<p>no</p> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"Happy, rural seat, with various view,"</span> -</div></div> - - -<p>decked with</p> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"Flowers of all hue,"</span><br /> -<span class="i2">"All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste;"—</span> -</div></div> - -<p>nor "cool recess," nor</p> - - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">"Vernal airs,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Breathing the smell of field and grove."</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -In their narrow -abode—their nook of a room, cut off from the world, redolent only of -smoke and fog—their two fond hearts could build up bowers of delight, -and store them with all of ecstasy which the soul of man can know, -without any assistance of eye, or ear, or scent. So rich, and prodigal, -and glorious, in its gifts, is faithful and true-hearted love,—when -it knows the sacrifices which it must make to merit them, and consents -willingly to forego vanity, selfishness, and the exactions of self-will, -in unlimited and unregretted exchange. -</p> - -<p> -Mutual esteem and gratitude sanctified the unreserved sympathy which -made each so happy in the other. Did they love the less for not loving -"in sin and fear?" Far from it. The certainty of being the cause of good -to each other tended to foster the most delicate of all passions, more -than the rougher ministrations of terror, and a knowledge that each was -the occasion of injury to the other. A woman's heart is peculiarly -unfitted to sustain this conflict. Her sensibility gives keenness to her -imagination, and she magnifies every peril, and writhes beneath every -sacrifice which tends to humiliate her in her own eyes. The natural -pride of her sex struggles with her desire to confer happiness, and her -peace is wrecked. -</p> - -<p> -Far different was the happy Ethel's situation—far otherwise were her -thoughts employed than in concealing the pangs of care and shame. The -sense of right adorned the devotion of love. She read approbation in -Edward's eyes, and drew near him in full consciousness of deserving it. -They sat at their supper, and long after, by the cheerful fire, talking -of a thousand things connected with the present and the future—the -long, long future which they were to spend together; and every now and -then their eyes sparkled with the gladness of renewed delight in seeing -each other. "Mine, my own, for ever!"—And was this exultation in -possession to be termed selfish? by no other reasoning surely, than that -used by a cold and meaningless philosophy, which gives this name to -generosity and truth, and all the nobler passions of the soul. They -congratulated themselves on this mutual property, partly because it had -been a free gift one to the other; partly because they looked forward to -the right it ensured to each, of conferring mutual benefits; and partly -through the instinctive love God has implanted for that which, being -ours, is become the better part of ourselves. They were united for -"better and worse," and there was a sacredness in the thought of the -"worse" they might share, which gave a mysterious and celestial charm to -the present "better." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Do you not think yourself truly happy?</span><br /> -<span class="i2">You have the abstract of all sweetness by you,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">The precious wealth youth labours to arrive at,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Nor is she less in honour than in beauty.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 50%;">BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The following day was one of pouring, unintermitting rain. Villiers and -Ethel drew their chairs near their cheerful fire, and were happy. Edward -could not quite conquer his repugnance to seeing his wife in lodgings, -and in those also of so mean and narrow a description. But the spirit of -Ethel was more disencumbered of earthly particles: that had found its -rest in the very home of Love. The rosy light of the divinity invested -all things for her. Cleopatra on the Cydnus, in the bark which— -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">"Like a burnished throne</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Burnt on the water,"</span> -</div></div> - - -<p>borne along</p> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"By purple sails . . .</span><br /> -<span class="i2">. . . So perfumed, that</span><br /> -<span class="i2">The winds were love-sick with them;"</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -was not more -gorgeously attended than Ethel was to her own fancy, lapped and cradled -in all that love has of tender, voluptuous, and confiding. -</p> - -<p> -Several days past before Villiers could withdraw her from this blissful -dream, to gaze upon the world as it was. He could not make her disgusted -with her fortunes nor her abode, but he awakened anxiety on his own -account. His father, as he had conjectured, was gone to Paris, leaving -merely a message for his son, that he would willingly join him in any -act for raising money, by mortgage or the absolute disposal of a part of -the estate. Edward had consulted with his solicitor, who was to look -over a vast variety of papers, to discover the most eligible mode of -making some kind of sale. Delay, in all its various shapes, waited on -these arrangements; and Villiers was very averse to leaving town till he -held some clue to the labyrinth of obstacles which presented themselves -at every turn. He talked of their taking a house in town; but Ethel -would not hear of such extravagance. In the first place, their actual -means were at a very low ebb, with little hope of a speedy supply. There -was another circumstance, the annoyance of which he understood far -better than Ethel could. He had raised money on annuities, the interest -of which he was totally unable to pay; this exposed him to a personal -risk of the most disagreeable kind, and he knew that his chief creditor -was on the point of resorting to harsh measures against him. These -things, dingy-visaged, dirty-handed realities as they were, made a -strange contrast with Ethel's feeling of serene and elevated bliss; but -she, with unshrinking heart, brought the same fortitude and love into -the crooked and sordid ways of modern London, which had adorned heroines -of old, as they wandered amidst trackless forests, and over barren -mountains. -</p> - -<p> -Several days passed, and the weather became clear, though cold. The -young pair walked together in the parks at such morning hours as would -prevent their meeting any acquaintances, for Edward was desirous that it -should not be known that they were in town. Villiers also traced his -daily, weary, disappointing way to his solicitor, where he found things -look more blank and dismal each day. Then when evening came, and the -curtains were drawn, they might have been at the top of Mount Caucasus, -instead of in the centre of London, so completely were they cut off from -every thing except each other. They then felt absolutely happy: the -lingering disgusts of Edward were washed clean away by the bounteous, -everspringing love, that flowed, as waters from a fountain, from the -heart of Ethel, in one perpetual tide. -</p> - -<p> -In those hours of unchecked talk, she learned many things she had not -known before—the love of Horatio Saville for Lady Lodore was revealed -to her; but the story was not truly told, for the prejudices as well as the -ignorance of Villiers rendered him blind to the sincerity of Cornelia's -affection and regret. Ethel wondered, and in spite of the charm with -which she delighted to invest the image of her mother, she could not -help agreeing with her husband that she must be irrevocably wedded to -the most despicable worldly feelings, so to have played with the heart -of a man such as Horatio: a man, whose simplest word bore the stamp of -truth and genius; one of those elected few whom nature elevats to her -own high list of nobility and greatness. How could she, a simple girl, -interest feelings which were not alive to Saville's merits? She could -only hope that in some dazzling marriage Lady Lodore would find a -compensation for the higher destiny which might have been hers, but -that, like the "base Indian," she had thrown -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">"A pearl away,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Richer than all his tribe."</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -There was a peaceful quiet in their secluded and obscure life, which -somewhat resembled the hours spent on board ship, when you long for, yet -fear, the conclusion of the voyage, and shrink involuntarily from -exchanging a state, whose chief blessing is an absence of every care, -for the variety of pains and pleasures which chequer life. Ethel -possessed her all—so near, so undivided, so entirely her own, that -she could not enter into Villiers's impatience, nor quite sympathize with -the disquietude he could not repress. After considerable delays, his -solicitor informed him that his father had so entirely disposed of all -his interest in the property, that his readiness to join in any act of -sale would be useless. The next thing to be done was for Edward to sell -a part of his expectations, and the lawyer promised to find a purchaser, -and begged to see him three days hence, when no doubt he should have -some proposal to communicate. -</p> - -<p> -Whoever has known what such things are—whoever has waited on the -demurs and objections, and suffered the alternations of total failure and -suddenly renewed hopes, which are the Tantalus-food held to the lips of -those under the circumstances of Villiers, can follow in imagination his -various conferences with his solicitor, as day after day something new -was discovered, still to drag on, or to impede, the tortoise pace of his -negociations. It will be no matter of wonder to such, that a month -instead of three days wasted away, and found him precisely in the same -position, with hopes a little raised, though so frequently blasted, and -nothing done. -</p> - -<p> -In recording the annoyances, or rather the adversity which the young -pair endured at this period, a risk is run, on the one hand, of being -censured for bringing the reader into contact with degrading and sordid -miseries; and on the other, of laying too much stress on circumstances -which will appear to those in a lower sphere of life, as scarcely -deserving the name of misfortune. It is very easy to embark on the wild -ocean of romance, and to steer a danger-fraught passage, amidst giant -perils,—the very words employed, excite the imagination, and give -grace to the narrative. But all beautiful and fairylike as was Ethel -Villiers, in tracing her fortunes, it is necessary to descend from such -altitudes, to employ terms of vulgar use, and to describe scenes of -common-place and debasing interest; so that, if she herself, in her youth -and feminine tenderness, does not shed light and holiness around her, we -shall grope darkling, and fail utterly in the scope which we proposed to -ourselves in selecting her history for the entertainment of the reader. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">I saw her upon nearer view,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">A Spirit, yet a Woman too!</span><br /> -<span class="i3">A Creature not too bright or good</span><br /> -<span class="i3">For human nature's daily food;</span><br /> -<span class="i3">For transient sorrows, simple wiles,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 55%;">WORDSWORTH.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The end of December had come. New year's day found and left them still -in Duke Street. On the 4th of January Villiers received a letter from -his uncle, Lord Maristow, entrusting a commission to him, which obliged -him to go to the neighbourhood of Egham. Not having a horse, he went by -the stage. He set out so late in the day that there was no chance of his -returning the same night; and he promised to be back early on the -morrow. Ethel had letters to write to Italy and to her aunt; and with -these she tried to beguile the time. She felt lonely; the absence of -Villiers for so many hours engendered an anxiety, which she found some -difficulty in repressing. Accustomed to have him perpetually at her -side, and without any other companion or resource, she repined at her -solitude. There was his empty chair, and no hope that he would occupy -it; and she sat in her little room so near to thousands, and yet so cut -off from every one, with such a sense of desolation as Mungo Park might -have felt in central Africa, or a shipwrecked mariner on an uninhabited -island. -</p> - -<p> -Her pen was taken up, but she did not write. She could not command her -thoughts to express any thing but the overflowing, devoted, -all-engrossing affection of her heart, her adoration for her husband; -that would not amuse Lucy,—she thought: and she had commenced another -sheet with "My dearest Aunt," when the maid-servant ushered a man into -her presence—a stranger, a working man. What could he want with her? -He seemed confused, and stammered out, "Mr. Villiers is not in?" -</p> - -<p> -"He will be at home to-morrow, if you want him; or have you any message -that I can give?" -</p> - -<p> -"You are Mrs. Villiers, ma'am?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, my good man, I am Mrs. Villiers." -</p> - -<p> -"If you please, ma'am, I am Saunders, one of the porters at the Union -Club." -</p> - -<p> -"I remember: has any message come there? or does Mr. Villiers owe you -any money?" and her purse was in her hand. -</p> - -<p> -"O no, ma'am. Mr. Villiers is a good gentleman; and he has been petiklar -generous to me—and that is why I come, because I am afraid," -continued the man, lowering his tone, "that he is in danger." -</p> - -<p> -"Good heavens! Where? how?" cried Ethel, starting from her chair. "Tell -me at once." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, ma'am, I will; so you must know that this evening—" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, this evening. What has happened? he left me at six o'clock—what -is it?" -</p> - -<p> -"Nothing, I hope, this evening, ma'am. I am only afraid for to-morrow -morning. And I will tell you all I know, as quick as ever I can." -</p> - -<p> -The man then proceeded to relate, that some one had been inquiring about -Mr. Villiers at the Club House. One of the servants had told him that he -lived in Duke Street, St. James's, and that was all he knew; but -Saunders came up, and the man questioned him. He instantly recognized -the fellow, and knew what his business must be. And he tried to deceive -him, and declared that Mr. Villiers was gone out of town; but the fellow -said that he knew better than that; and that he had been seen that very -day in the Strand. He should look for him, no thanks to Saunders, in -Duke Street. "And so, ma'am, you see they'll be sure to be here early -to-morrow morning. So don't let Mr. Villiers stay here, on no account -whatsomever." -</p> - -<p> -"Why?" asked Ethel, simply; "they can't hurt him." -</p> - -<p> -"I am sure, ma'am," said Saunders, his face brightening, "I am very glad -to hear that—you know best. They will arrest him for sure, -but—" -</p> - -<p> -"Arrest him!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, ma'am, for I've seen the tall one before. There were two of -them—bailiffs." -</p> - -<p> -Ethel now began to tremble violently; these were strange, cabalistic -words to her, the more awful from their mystery. "What am I to do?" she -exclaimed; "Mr. Villiers will be here in the morning, he sleeps at -Egham, and will be here early; I must go to him directly." -</p> - -<p> -"I am glad to hear he is so far," said Saunders; "and if I can be of any -use you have but to say it; shall I go to Egham? there are night coaches -that go through, and I might warn him." -</p> - -<p> -Ethel thought—she feared to do any thing—she imagined that she -should be watched, that all her endeavours would be of no avail. She looked -at the man, honesty was written on his face; but there was no intelligence, -nothing to tell her that his advice was good. The possibility of such an -event as the present had never occurred to her. Villiers had been silent -with regard to his fears on this head. She was suddenly transported into -a strange sea, hemmed in by danger, without a pilot or knowledge of a -passage. Again she looked at the man's face: "What is best to be done!" -she exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -"I am sure, ma'am" he replied, as if she had asked him the question, "I -think what I said is best, if you will tell me where I can find Mr. -Villiers. I should think nothing of going, and he could send word by me -what he wished you to do." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, that would indeed be a comfort. I will write three lines, and you -shall take them." In a moment she had written. "Give this note into his -own hand, he will sleep there—I have written the direction of the -house—or at some inn, at Egham. Do not rest till you have given the -letter, and here is for your trouble." She held out two sovereigns. -</p> - -<p> -"Depend on me, ma'am; and I will bring an answer to you by nine in the -morning. Mr. Villiers will pay me what he thinks fit—you may want -your money. Only, ma'am, don't be frightened when them men come -to-morrow—if the people here are good sort of folks, you had better -give them a hint—it may save you trouble." -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you: you are a good man, and I will remember you, and reward you. -By nine to-morrow—you will be punctual?" -</p> - -<p> -The man again assured her that he would use all diligence, and took his -leave. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel felt totally overwhelmed by these tidings. The unknown is always -terrible, and the ideas of arrest, and prison, and bolts, and bars, and -straw, floated before her imagination. Was Villiers safe even where he -was? Would not the men make inquiries, learn where he had gone, and -follow him, even if it were to the end of the world? She had heard of -the activity employed to arrest criminals, and mingled every kind of -story in her head, till she grew desperate from terror. Not knowing what -else to do, she became eager for Mrs. Derham's advice, and hurried down -stairs to ask it. -</p> - -<p> -She had not seen much of the good lady since her first arrival. Every -day, when Villiers went out, she came up, indeed, on the momentous -question of "orders for dinner;" and then she bestowed the benefit of -some five or ten minutes garrulity on her fair lodger. Ethel learnt that -she had seen better days, and that were justice done her, she ought to -be riding in her coach, instead of letting lodgings. She learnt that she -had a married daughter living at Kennington: poor enough, but struggling -on cheerfully with her mother's help. The best girl in the world she -was, and a jewel of a wife, and had two of the most beautiful children -that ever were beheld. -</p> - -<p> -This was all that Ethel knew, except that once Mrs. Derham had brought -her one of her grandchildren to be seen and admired. In all that the -good woman said, there was so much kindness, such a cheerful endurance -of the ills of life, and she had shown such a readiness to oblige, that -the idea of applying to her for advice, relieved Ethel's mind of much of -its load of anxiety. -</p> - -<p> -She was too much agitated to think of ringing for the servant, to ask to -see her; but hurried down stairs, and knocked at the parlour-door almost -before she was aware of what she was doing. "Come in," said a feminine -voice. Ethel entered, and started to see one she knew;—and yet again -she doubted;—was it indeed Fanny Derham whom she beheld? -</p> - -<p> -The recognition afforded mutual pleasure: checked a little on Ethel's -part, by her anxieties; and on Fanny's, by a feeling that she had been -neglected by her friend. A few letters had passed between them, when -first Ethel had visited Longfield: since then their correspondence had -been discontinued till after her return to England, from Italy, when -Mrs. Villiers had wrote; but her letter was returned by the post-office, -no such person being to be found according to the address. -</p> - -<p> -The embarrassment of the moment passed away. Ethel forgot, or rather did -not advert to, her friend's lowly destiny, in the joy of meeting her -again. After a minute or two, also, they had become familiar with the -change that time had operated in their youthful appearance, which was -not much, and most in Ethel. Her marriage, and conversance with the -world, had changed her into a woman, and endowed her with easy manners -and self-possession. Fanny was still a mere girl; tall, beyond the -middle height, yet her young, ingenuous countenance was unaltered, as -well as that singular mixture of mildness and independence, in her -manners, which had always characterized her. Her light blue eyes beamed -with intelligence, and her smile expressed the complacency and -condescension of a superior being. Her beauty was all intellectual: -open, sincere, passionless, yet benignant, you approached her without fear -of encountering any of the baser qualities of human beings,—their -hypocrisy, or selfishness. Those who have seen the paintings of the -calm-visaged, blue-eyed deities of the frescos of Pompeii, may form an -idea of the serene beauty of Fanny Derham. -</p> - -<p> -When Mrs. Villiers entered, she was reading earnestly—a large -dictionary open before her. The book on which she was intent was in -Greek characters. "You have not forgotten your old pursuits," said -Ethel, smiling. -</p> - -<p> -"Say rather I am more wedded to them than ever," she replied; "since, -more than ever, I need them to give light and glory to a dingy world. -But you, dear Ethel, if so I may call you,—you looked anxious as you -entered: you wish to speak to my mother;—she is gone to Kennington, -and will not return to-night. Can I be of any use?" -</p> - -<p> -Her mother! how strange! and Mrs. Derham, while she had dilated with -pride on her elder daughter, had never mentioned this pearl of price, -which was her's also. -</p> - -<p> -"Alas! I fear not!" replied Ethel; "it is experience I -need—experience in things you can know nothing about, nor your mother -either, probably; yet she may have heard of such things, and know how to -advise me." -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Villiers then explained the sources of her disquietude. Fanny -listened with looks of the kindest sympathy. "Even in such things," she -said, "I have had experience. Adversity and I are become very close -friends since I last saw you: we are intimate, and I know much good of -her; so she is grateful, and repays me by prolonging her stay. Be -composed: no ill will happen, I trust, to Mr. Villiers;—at least you -need not be afraid of his being pursued. It the man you have sent be -active and faithful, all will be well. I will see these troublesome -people to-morrow, when they come, and prevent your being annoyed. If -Saunders returns early, and brings tidings of Mr. Villiers, you will -know what his wishes are. You can do nothing more to-night; and there is -every probability that all will be well." -</p> - -<p> -"Do you really think so?" cried Mrs. Villiers. "O that I had gone with -him!—never will I again let him go any where without me." -</p> - -<p> -Fanny entered into more minute explanations, and succeeded, to a great -degree, in calming her friend. She accompanied her back to her own room, -and sat with her long. She entered into the details of her own -history:—the illness and death of her father; the insulting treatment -her mother had met from his family; the kindness of a relation of her -own, who had assisted them, and enabled them to pursue their present -mode of life, which procured them a livelihood. Fanny spoke generally of -these circumstances, and in a spirit that seemed to disdain that such -things were; not because they were degrading in the eyes of others, but -because they interfered with the philosophic leisure, and enjoyment of -nature, which she so dearly prized. She thought nothing of privation, or -the world's impertinence; but much of being immured in the midst of -London, and being forced to consider the inglorious necessities of life. -Her desire to be useful to her mother induced her often to spend -precious time in "making the best of things," which she would readily -have dispensed with altogether, as the easiest, as well as the wisest, -way of freeing herself from their trammels. Her narration interested -Ethel, and served to calm her mind. She thought—"Can I not bear those -cares with equanimity for Edward's sake, which Fanny regards as so -trivial, merely because Plato and Epictetus bid her do so? Will not the -good God, who has implanted in her heart so cheerless a consolation, -bring comfort to mine, which has no sorrow but for another's sake?" -</p> - -<p> -These reflections tranquillized her, when she laid her head on her -pillow at night. She resigned her being and destiny to a Power superior -to any earthly authority, with a conviction, that its most benign -influence would be extended over her. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>END OF VOL. II.</h4> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LODORE, VOL. 2 (OF 3) ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<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. 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