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diff --git a/79390-h/79390-h.htm b/79390-h/79390-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..82c06d6 --- /dev/null +++ b/79390-h/79390-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4814 @@ + +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + <head> +<link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + +<meta charset="utf-8"> +<title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The two brothers; vol. 3 [of 3], +by Emily Charlotte Mary Ponsonby. +</title> +<style> + +a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + + link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + +a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} + +a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} + +body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} + +.blockquot {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;} +.blockquott p{text-indent:-2%;margin-left:5%;} + +.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} + +.fint {text-align:center;text-indent:0%; +margin-top:2em;} + +.figcenter {margin:3% auto 3% auto;clear:both; +text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} + + h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both; +font-weight:normal;} + + h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; + font-size:100%;font-weight:normal;} + + hr {width:90%;margin:2em auto 2em auto;clear:both;color:black;} + + hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; +padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} + +hr.tb {width:15%;margin:1em auto 1em auto;clear:both;color:black;} + + img {border:none;} + +.lftspc {margin-left:.25em;} + +.nind {text-indent:0%;} + + p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} + +.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; +left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; +background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal; +font-style:normal;font-weight:normal; +text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} + +.r {text-align:right;margin-right: 5%;} + +small {font-size: 70%;} + +.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} + +table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} + +div.poetry {text-align:center;} +div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; +display: inline-block; text-align: left;} +.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} +.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 6em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i15 {display: block; margin-left: 14em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + +.toc {margin:1em auto;max-width:25em; +border:2px solid black;text-indent:0%;text-align:center;} + +</style> + </head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79390 ***</div> + +<hr class="full"> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="339" height="550" alt=""> +</div> + +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I., </a> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II"> II., </a> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III"> III., </a> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"> IV., </a> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V"> V., </a> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"> VI., </a> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"> VII., </a> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"> VIII., </a> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"> IX., </a> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X"> X., </a> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"> XI.</a> +</p> + +<h1> +THE TWO BROTHERS.</h1> + +<p class="c">BY<br><br> +THE AUTHOR OF<br> +<small>“THE DISCIPLINE OF LIFE,” “CLARE ABBEY,”<br> +“THE YOUNG LORD,”<br> +&c., &c.</small><br><br><br><small> +“Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay.”—<span class="smcap">Dryden.</span></small> +<br><br><br> +IN THREE VOLUMES.<br> +VOL. III.<br><br><br> +LONDON:<br> +HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,<br> +SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN,<br> +13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.<br> +1858.<br> +<i>The Right of Translation is reserved.</i> +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1">{1}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="THE_TWO_BROTHERS">THE TWO BROTHERS.</a></h2> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></h2> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I look back and in myself behold<br></span> +<span class="i0">The wandering ways that youth could not descry,<br></span> +<span class="i0">And mark the fearful course that youth did hold,<br></span> +<span class="i0">And melt in mind each step youth stray’d awry,<br></span> +<span class="i0">My knees I bow and from my heart I call—<br></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! Lord forget these faults and follies all.<br></span> +<span class="i10"><span class="smcap">Lord Vaux.</span><br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> London season was over, and Mr. Gresham, full of high hopes, began +to turn his thoughts towards Underwood. With that self-control and +wisdom for which he was so remarkable, he had hitherto restrained<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2">{2}</a></span> his +intense desire to be in the neighbourhood of Audley Court. He had argued +thus. “Mr. Vavasour was much attached to his father. He may possibly +suppose two or three months of seclusion to be a proper compliment to +pay to his memory. He will do justice to my motives in withholding +myself for a time, and will the more cordially meet my advances, when +the season of mourning is at an end.”</p> + +<p>So arguing, he remained in London until the end of July; consoling +himself for the inevitable delay, not only by his designs for the +future, but by his admiration of his present self. The failure of his +first plan had for a time humbled him; he had felt certainly humble in +being compelled to inform Mrs. Vansittart that a scheme on which he had +bestowed much thought had ended in smoke. But from this humiliation he +drew many draughts of consolation—the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3">{3}</a></span> equanimity with which he had +borne disappointment, the fertility of imagination which had composed a +second plan equal to the first, and finally the moderation he shewed in +calmly waiting the now certain fulfilment of his hopes—each and all of +these were themes for daily contemplation, admiration, and gratitude.</p> + +<p>There was yet another plan which added to the adoration and wonder with +which he contemplated his self at this present moment, a plan so formed +out of self-conquest, paternal affection, and paternal wisdom, that when +he considered it in all its bearings, he could have fallen down and +worshipped the originator of the scheme. This plan was announced to +Angela a few days before they left London.</p> + +<p>“Have you lately visited Miss Price, my love?” he inquired, as she was +leaving the breakfast room.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4">{4}</a></span></p> + +<p>“I saw her last week, Papa. I go to see her as often as I may.”</p> + +<p>“I believe, my love, her society gives you some pleasure.”</p> + +<p>“The very greatest,” Angela replied with warmth.</p> + +<p>“I have been considering, Angela, that there are occasions in the life +of young females—occasions to which I need not do more than allude at +present,—when a companion of their own sex is desirable; especially +when that companion combines with other qualities something of a +maternal character. Being at all times anxious, my love, to secure your +best welfare, I have determined to send an invitation to Miss Price, +requesting the ... the pleasure of her society during the next few weeks +or months at Underwood, as the case may be; nay, the invitation is +already despatched, and if it will give you satisfaction to enforce it +in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5">{5}</a></span> person, the carriage, my love, is at your disposal.” He drew himself +up and sat the model father studying the welfare of his daughter.</p> + +<p>Angela’s cheeks were dyed with crimson, and her eyes cast down as he +spoke. No length of time, no power of habit, could accustom her to the +matter-of-fact way in which he alluded to events, which caused to her so +much anxiety and unrest. When she looked up, however, the impassive gaze +she met told her how idle were all feelings of sensitiveness in her +intercourse with her father, and banishing her shyness, she forced +herself to express the delight she really felt in the intelligence he +gave.</p> + +<p>Some might have wondered at the pleasure felt by Angela in her aunt’s +society, but there was no cause for wonder. Though poor in intellect +Miss Price was rich in sympathy; though she had nothing to give,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6">{6}</a></span> she +had boundless powers of receiving and cherishing; and in this hard +world, the givers of sympathy are not so many, that the very least can +be other than an object of importance and affection.</p> + +<p>Her delight was so great, that in expressing her gratitude, Angela +kissed her father. Such a heartfelt caress was not common for her to +give or him to receive; and he would have been either surprised or +gratified could the sense of the enormous merit of the act he had +performed, have left room for any surprise in the gratitude it excited. +He smiled benignly indeed, but it was the smile of conscious, modest +merit, not of gratified affection.</p> + +<p>Miss Price accepted the invitation with all the humility and +thankfulness Mr. Gresham had expected. She was indeed almost overwhelmed +by <i>his</i> condescension, and the sense of her inferiority, and but for +her affection<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7">{7}</a></span> for Angela, might have declined it through the dread of +proving herself unworthy of his favours; but that affection bore her +through her many fears, and armed her to meet her brother-in-law with +tolerable composure.</p> + +<p>He behaved with his usual liberality on this occasion, and desired +Angela to spare no expense in making her aunt a fit object for his eyes +to rest upon; and although beauty cannot be given to a faded woman of +sixty, Angela’s taste and efforts did so far succeed, that after a +scrutinizing gaze he pronounced her “passable.” “She can never give +importance to us, my love,” he remarked, “but I am happy to see that she +is able to receive importance from us. A handsome dress, as I have often +observed to you, makes up for most deficiencies in the eyes of the +world.”</p> + +<p>It was the 1st of August, when Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8">{8}</a></span> Gresham and suite arrived at +Underwood. The evening was lovely, the garden and surrounding country +were in all the luxuriance of their summer beauty; and when Miss Price +seated in one of the windows of the long drawing-room, inhaling the +fresh and scented air, and feasting her eyes on the glowing masses of +the flowers, she felt as if she had been caught up into Paradise.</p> + +<p>Tears of rapture fell fast from her eyes on her new silk dress, and her +handkerchief moved rapidly from the latter to the former, her terror for +the destruction of her gown in no degree assisting her in calming the +overflowing of her emotions.</p> + +<p>“What is the matter, dear Aunt Jane?” Angela said, after watching her +for some moments. “Is there anything that makes you unhappy to-night?”</p> + +<p>“Not unhappy, my love, but too happy. I never thought to breathe such +air, or see<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9">{9}</a></span> such sights again, and I am thankful to you and your dear +papa and to God. Kind friends make me weep, my love, but it is with joy +not sorrow.”</p> + +<p>Angela stood in the window observing her in silence. “Such things never +make me thankful,” she said at last. “I have no room to feel them. It is +the mind, Aunt Jane, that makes happiness, not outward things.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps love, to you. My mind is not very strong, and things that +others call little do give me pleasure. I like to look out on all these +flowers, and think how good God is, and how beautiful His new world will +be.”</p> + +<p>“It would be well then if all our minds were weak,” Angela replied. “I +wish I could think such thoughts, but I can’t. I have too much to think +of besides.”</p> + +<p>Miss Price dried her tears to look up in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10">{10}</a></span> her niece’s face. Something in +the tone of her voice compelled her. “You do not look happy to-night, my +love,” she then observed.</p> + +<p>Angela pulled another chair into the window and sat down, leaning her +head on her hand, as it rested on the window sill. “I don’t know how I +look or feel,” she said sadly. “No not happy, certainly.”</p> + +<p>“And why, dearest?”</p> + +<p>Angela burst into tears.</p> + +<p>“My love, my love,” cried her aunt much fluttered, “what is this?”</p> + +<p>“I hardly know,” she replied, driving her tears away. “In London one +cannot think, but everything here looks so calm and pure ... it makes me +feel ... oh! Aunt Jane, that I wish the earth would cover me.”</p> + +<p>“That is what your dear mother used to say,” observed Miss Price. “She +used to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11">{11}</a></span> say that in London she thought of earth, but in the country of +Heaven.”</p> + +<p>“She thought of Heaven everywhere,” Angela said, while softer tears fell +down her cheeks, “and what I mean is not like what she felt. I am +thinking only of earth now,” and she turned again to the window, gazing +out intently on the distant woods.</p> + +<p>“In what direction is Audley Court, my love?”</p> + +<p>“There,” and Angela pointed with crimson cheeks, in the very direction +in which she had been gazing.</p> + +<p>“Shall I some day see Mr. Vavasour?” was the next enquiry.</p> + +<p>“I cannot tell,” and Angela turned her eyes away, and again leant her +head upon her hand.</p> + +<p>“I hope I shall, my love, it would be a great pleasure to me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12">{12}</a></span></p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>“I have heard a good deal about Mr. Vavasour lately, love.”</p> + +<p>“<i>You</i>, Aunt Jane!” Angela, exclaimed, raising her eyes in excited +surprise.</p> + +<p>“Yes, love, it does seem strange, I know, but I have often observed that +one does meet strangely in life. It was singular, love, that you should +meet Mr. Vavasour at my house, and it is strange that I should have met +a person who knew him.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, very,” she replied absently. “But what have you heard?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! so much good, my love, it was quite a pleasure to hear.” Angela +turned her head away again, and listened in silence. “You know, dearest, +we have lately got a new curate at Hampstead. A very pleasing young man, +and particularly kind to me. Quite by chance, I found out that he was +son<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13">{13}</a></span> to a friend or relation of that kind gentleman you have spoken of +sometimes near Audley Court.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Addison?”</p> + +<p>“Yes love; and a fortnight ago he went down to ask his advice on some +business for his father, and he came back so full of Mr. Vavasour. He +could talk of nothing else.”</p> + +<p>“Did he see him?” Angela asked without raising her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my love. He saw him riding. Very grave and sad, he said, but +handsome. <i>He</i> thought handsome, which I never did. But beauty is a +matter of taste, and what we ought not to think of. Well, dearest, and +he told me so much good of him. He says from what people say, he seems +only to live to do good. That he seems to pass his time in finding out +what he can do to help those about him; such a son, such a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14">{14}</a></span> brother, and +such a father to his people; and they say, that young as he is, people +seem to depend on him just as they did on his father, and in fact, that +he is just like his father, so steady, and so good, only more gentle. +And my young friend told me that he had business both nights he was down +there, and had some law papers to copy, and sat up late, and there he +saw the light in Mr. Vavasour’s room burn so brightly till near two in +the morning. In the distance you know, love, and he told Mr.——, (your +friend, love) what he had observed—and he said, many people had noticed +it; and he supposed he felt he had much to learn to make himself fit for +his duties. But, my love, you are shedding tears. Why is this, dearest?”</p> + +<p>“At my unworthinesss,” she said sadly, while bitter tears did indeed +fall down her cheeks.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15">{15}</a></span></p> + +<p>“But you may be worthy, my love, may you not? We all may if we please.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose we may,” she replied more humbly than was her wont, and +without further conference, rising from her seat and mounting on her +chair, she sprang out into the garden, with an agility that astonished +her aunt beyond measure, and wandered off to recover in solitude her +disordered spirits.</p> + +<p>Angela was far from feeling the certainty regarding her future prospects +which her father felt. There were moments, indeed, when her hopes were +strong, that he who had loved her once would love her still; but there +were others when hope utterly died away; and there were more when hope +and fear tortured her with their alternations.</p> + +<p>This night was a desponding night. It was a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16">{16}</a></span> night on which she felt how +unworthy she was of Everard’s recollection, and with equal force that +life without him was utterly worthless in her eyes.</p> + +<p>During the many months that had elapsed since their last meeting, his +image had become somewhat misty and undefined to her eyes. First, +through her pique at <i>his</i> conduct; then through the bewildering +weakness and misery of her own; lastly, through the change in his +circumstances. Unable to realize what he now was, how he thought, +looked, and felt, neither did she realize how her heart had cast its all +of happiness upon him. She knew that there was something which made her +cold as ice to all efforts to win her favour; not only among those she +scorned, but in the more varied society on which she had lately entered; +but her life passed as an exciting dream, and to herself she was an +enigma. Occasionally she saw<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17">{17}</a></span> in her secret imaginations, that could any +man behave to her as she had done to Everard, she <i>never</i> would forgive +it; and on such occasions the cold chill of hopelessness would follow, +lest his thoughts should be like hers. But such reflections came but +seldom. She was now “come out,” and the course of dissipation swept her +along, and admiration and flattery beguiled, though they could not win +her; and the voice of conscience, though not dumb, was faintly heard.</p> + +<p>But Underwood brought her a full awakening. Much poetry has been written +on summer evenings, but nothing has ever yet expressed, as should and +might be expressed, the strange calm charm of the first evening, when +London, with its noise and cares and heat has been left behind. It is +almost such a change as we may fancy the disembodied spirit feels when +it passes out of the worl<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18">{18}</a></span>d’s pain and misery, and enters on its rest. +How poor seem all the vain trifles that have occupied the fancy. How +more than vain, how darkened with sin, the thoughts and imaginations of +the heart. How the soul aches to reach some vision of real good, to +grasp some true thing, to find some stay on which to rest its weariness +henceforward and for ever.</p> + +<p>So Angela felt as she wandered in the stillness and beauty and purity of +that first evening; the soft air fanning her brow; the tranquillity +penetrating her heart; the inexpressible loveliness soothing all her +senses, and yet quickening her to think.</p> + +<p>She became very good as she walked and talked with herself, very +penitent, very humble, very desirous to make a step into a better life; +and though it was but a mood, and though it was an earthly love only +that was beckoning her onward, yet, undoubtedly,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19">{19}</a></span> even such moods are +not valueless; for by whatever name the attraction be called, that must +in its degree be good, which has led and is leading the soul to delight +itself in good.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20">{20}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></h2> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A grace though melancholy, manly too,<br></span> +<span class="i0">Moulded his being: pensive, grave, serene,<br></span> +<span class="i0">O’er his habitual bearing and his mien,<br></span> +<span class="i0">Unceasing pain, by patience tempered, threw<br></span> +<span class="i0">A shade of sweet austerity.<br></span> +<span class="i10"><span class="smcap">Henry Taylor.</span><br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Nine</span> days of wonder is attached to most earthly surprises; but in these +days, when time moves fast, nine days of wonder is as little to be +expected as nine centuries. Nine hours for the most part exhaust +exclamations, consternations, comments, and conjectures regarding any +event, however weighty it be.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21">{21}</a></span></p> + +<p>That the event, the surprise which had taken place at Audley Court, had +survived not only through nine days but even nine weeks of wondering, +and was yet unexhausted, arose partly from circumstances and partly from +the singularly marked characters of the Vavasour family. The indignation +which the disinheriting of Robert had caused, could not die away into +the calm of indifference. The poor indeed in their toils and cares, and +in the discovery that they had a master as good and kind as their late +one, were shortly satisfied. Present pains and gains occupied their +intellects, and if the matter was talked over at all, it was to say in +simple truisms, that “all was for the best no doubt,” or “it was God’s +will, and He knows better than we.” But with the richer portion of the +neighbourhood it was different.</p> + +<p>Though, owing to his long absences and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22">{22}</a></span> other causes, not familiarly +known, Robert was well known by sight and by reputation; and many a gay +fancy had pictured the future at Audley Court under his auspices. Some +rumours of his extravagances, and other careless habits, had mingled +with the report of his marvellous charms, but, although the graver +condemned, the very fact of the interest these rumours excited did but +fasten more fixedly upon him the minds and fancies of all around. But +while this was the case with Robert, Everard, on the contrary, was +unthought of, and untalked of. That he was poor, and that he was not +handsome; that he was grave in his demeanour, and correct in his +conduct, these facts were known. They excited no interest, no +speculations. He was nothing.</p> + +<p>When, therefore, the change came, the announcement was like a +thunderbolt in its fall, and like a thunderstorm was the fury<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23">{23}</a></span> of the +tempest that succeeded. To feel for the wronged and fallen is the +generous characteristic of English nature. In Englishmen and women the +sense of justice is very keen, and every act of injustice is felt with +the force of a personal insult. It was so here. Young and old were up in +rebellion. Mr. Vavasour was indignantly condemned; for Robert, even +tears of pity and sorrow fell. Every thought was turned on Audley Court, +and he was most welcomed at home, who could bring the most authentic +intelligence regarding its inhabitants.</p> + +<p>When, after three weeks, Robert took his departure, this first frenzy +died away. Such violent excitements cannot last, and when there was no +more hope of hearing what he said, or how he looked, that portion of the +subject began to be forgotten. But it was replaced by a new frenzy—hate +of Everard.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24">{24}</a></span> Each heart, each young heart especially, thought it a point +of honour to hate him with all their power.</p> + +<p>Everard had contemplated hate and misinterpretation as his portion when +he made his decision, yet could he have known what things were said and +thought of him, even by the young and gentle, possibly even <i>his</i> +motives could not have supported him under the trial. “Cold-blooded +hypocrite” was by no means an uncommon phrase in which to denote him, +and certainly by no means an uncommon form under which to summon him to +the mind’s eye.</p> + +<p>His doings were therefore watched and criticized through the jaundiced +vision of prejudice; and yet, strange to say, from that cloud, even in +three months he had emerged, and was winning his way in men’s good +opinions. Justice owned that he had been<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25">{25}</a></span> hastily condemned, and justice +became anxious to make atonement.</p> + +<p>The first rumour that wrought a change in his favour, was when it was +discovered,—as discovered things usually are,—and the news circulated +about that he had paid all Robert’s debts. The sum was large, rumour +doubled it, and in that case rumour did him a favour. It was then +discovered that he was making retrenchments at Audley Court, and it +could not but be owned that these retrenchments were not only kindly and +judiciously made, but that he chose such points as must have been least +pleasing to his natural taste; denying himself especially every luxury +in that region, which most comes home to a man’s heart.</p> + +<p>The tide of condemnation came to a stand still, then began slowly to +move backwards. The poor began to tell of his kindness and forethought; +men of business who chanced<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26">{26}</a></span> to have to do with him, spoke of his +excellent sense and judgment; elderly gentlemen of his unpretending +behaviour; and those who are less accustomed to reason than to be guided +by their fancy and feelings, were affected and converted by his +appearance.</p> + +<p>The last Mr. Vavasour, since increasing infirmities had taken from him +his independance, had lived a secluded life, and was but seldom seen +beyond the precincts of his own domain; but Everard, strong and active, +and anxiously bent on mastering all facts important for the discharge of +his new duties, was constantly to be met with walking or riding; and +those who in their drives thus met with him, could not but own that +there was nothing like triumph in his air. The “customary suit of black” +was very plainly the livery of his mind; the most inexperienced, and the +most<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27">{27}</a></span> prejudiced, felt alike touched and softened as they gazed.</p> + +<p>Minds were thus in transition at the time of Mr. Gresham’s arrival; and +as converts are ever zealous, and ever desirous to prove their changed +opinions to be founded on truth, conversation turned on Everard with +very ceaseless flow. Angela heard of all he had said during the last +three months, and every word and every deed won her to esteem, and +honour, and love him, a thousand fold more than before. But while she +heard much—<i>him</i> she saw not.</p> + +<p>The day after his arrival, Mr. Gresham sent his cards to Audley Court. +Cards from himself and his daughter to Mrs. Vavasour and Hope, and a +single card to Everard. The meaning conveyed in Lord Burleigh’s famous +shake of the head, was as nothing compared to what this card was +intended to intimate. A volume might have been written<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28">{28}</a></span> on the +sentiments it was designed to express. To put it shortly, its messages +were seven in number. First it condoled with Everard on the late Mr. +Vavasour’s death. Secondly, it intimated Mr. Gresham’s acceptance of Mr. +Vavasour’s will. Thirdly, it conveyed <i>approval</i> of the will, not mere +acceptance, but approval. Fourthly, it proclaimed Mr. Gresham’s arrival. +Fifthly, his haste and eagerness to claim Everard’s acquaintance. +Sixthly, it showed his urbane desire to efface the past; and seventhly, +it said as plainly as words could speak, that daughter and worldly goods +were laid at his disposal.</p> + +<p>Whether or not Everard understood the hidden language of the card must +be doubtful. He saw it lying on the hall table, glanced at it, and +passed on. In three or four days he sent cards in return, and no further +notice was taken.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29">{29}</a></span></p> + +<p>The meaning Mr. Gresham had affixed to his own card gave him power to +understand the language of Everard’s; and after studying it and reading +in it an expression of genuine satisfaction with all that he, Mr. +Gresham, had intimated, and the announcement of an early intention of +availing himself of the munificent and benevolent gifts awaiting him, he +rested on his oars and was at peace.</p> + +<p>When time, however, passed on and nothing was seen of Everard, he began +to suspect that possibly the language of the card had <i>not</i> been read +aright, and he determined to take a further step.</p> + +<p>“Angela, my love,” he said one morning, “have you visited Miss Linton +yet?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she replied, with a sudden deep blush. “I did not like to go to +her.”</p> + +<p>“Have you written to her on the subject of future intercourse?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30">{30}</a></span></p> + +<p>“No,” she replied again, and added with a murmur, “I did not dare.”</p> + +<p>“I think, my love, she may have cause to complain of neglect on your +part. Possibly in the present state of Mrs. Vavasour’s spirits, she may +be unwilling to leave her for any length of time, but we need not stand +on ceremony, and since you have means of conveyance always at your +disposal, it may be most proper, most considerate on your part to pay +that marked attention which is due to persons who have been in +affliction. I should wish you to write her a note; intimating your +desire to renew that intercourse, which was so fruitful in happiness +during the past year.”</p> + +<p>Angela remained silent with downcast eyes and a heightened colour.</p> + +<p>“Do you not approve of my proposal, Miss Price?” he inquired, turning +blandly to that lady. “I am aware that when the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31">{31}</a></span> sentiments of young +females are concerned, it is possible for a man to be mistaken; but I +confess I am unable to perceive any want of proper etiquette in the +opinion I express.”</p> + +<p>“I think dear Angela had much better write,” was the reply, flutteringly +given—for Mr. Gresham’s condescension always made her nervous—but +perfectly decided in its import.</p> + +<p>“I am happy to find my opinion coincides with yours,” he said, +graciously, and as he left the room he repeated his commands to Angela +to write the note in question. “My groom will call for it in the course +of half an hour,” he added, and disappeared to escape from remonstrance.</p> + +<p>Angela sat in profound thought, but of the feelings that agitated her +said nothing to her aunt. She had been silent regarding the despondency, +which for the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32">{32}</a></span> last ten days had been stealing over her, and of the +struggle with her pride in being the first to claim attention, she was +equally uncommunicative. She once had thought that she should be +perfectly happy could she have her aunt’s sympathy always at hand; but +feelings change, and now that it was there always ready, always +watchful, the desire to avail herself of it had departed. She was sad at +heart and cared not to speak of her sadness.</p> + +<p>The half-hour had very nearly elapsed before the letter was written. She +then suddenly rose and obeyed her father’s wishes. Possibly Mr. Gresham +would have been surprised had the note been laid before him, at the +terms in which she made known her wish to see Hope.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p> + +“Dear Hope,<br> +</p> + +<p>“Will you tell me all the truth. Do you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33">{33}</a></span> like to see me, or do you +not? I know how unhappy you have been, and would not force myself +on you for the world; but if you would like it I should like it +too. I can go to you at any time.</p> + +<p class="r"> +“Yours, affectionately,<br> +“<span class="smcap">Angela Gresham</span>.”<br> +</p></div> + +<p>She gave her orders that the groom was <i>not</i> to wait for an answer; and +he obeyed her. She did not choose to seem in haste to have her offer +accepted.</p> + +<p>Hope’s seeming neglect of Angela was from no backwardness, or distaste +to her society, but simply from uncertainty regarding Everard’s wishes +on the subject. She had expected a visit as a thing of course, but as +Angela did not come, and Everard said nothing, she was uncertain how to +act. She asked the advice of her aunt; but Mrs. Vavasour had always been +reserved with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34">{34}</a></span> Everard, and could not force herself to break the barrier +now. Her advice was to seek the advice of Mr. Addison. Mr. Addison was +out of health, and having been recommended to try the benefit of sea +air, was at this moment absent. As an early return was expected, Hope, +in obedience to her aunt’s suggestion, postponed a decision till he +came.</p> + +<p>When Angela’s note was given to her, she went at once in search of +Everard; and on finding him put it into his hand with the simple enquiry +what he wished her to do.</p> + +<p>He coloured as he read it, but she could not decide what feelings caused +the show of emotion, for, on returning it, he exclaimed with warmth and +anxiety, “My dear Hope, surely you do not so mistake me as to think I +have any wish to control your actions.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35">{35}</a></span></p> + +<p>“No,” she replied, hesitatingly, “only in this case....”</p> + +<p>“Not in any case. If it will give you pleasure to see Miss Gresham, and +I should think it would, pray follow your own wishes without any thought +of me.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him, perplexed and anxious. His manner, though earnest as +regarded her part in the concern, betrayed little as to what he felt for +Angela; betrayed nothing in fact; it was as if he spoke of a common +acquaintance. “Then I will ask her to come to-morrow afternoon,” she +said, after a moment’s thought. “Will you send the note for me?”</p> + +<p>He acquiesced, and waited while she wrote. When it was done, he took it +without any further comment and dispatched it.</p> + +<p>Angela paid her visit the following day alone. Although Miss Price had +specially<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36">{36}</a></span> been invited to Underwood, that she might assist a young +female on such an occasion as the present, she was forced to resign her +office, owing to a severe sore throat. Mr. Gresham had counted on her +chaperonage in this first visit to Everard’s house, and was mortified +that the delicacy of his arrangements should be thus counteracted; but +necessity, as he observed, knows no law of etiquette or otherwise, and +Angela was permitted to go alone.</p> + +<p>To Angela her aunt’s presence or absence was a matter of utter +indifference. She was far too much absorbed in other feelings to +consider whether or not it was Everard’s house. The hope of meeting him +and the dread of meeting him, occupied her imagination to the exclusion +of every other thought, and caused an agitation so excessive, that when +she did actually arrive, was shown into the library, and found herself +in Hop<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37">{37}</a></span>e’s arms, she was unable to speak one word, and scarcely knew +whether she was awake or asleep.</p> + +<p>That long library, quite unaltered, the scene of the strange interview +with Everard, that day of rapturous happiness never to be +forgotten—when she recovered her senses, it was to this that her fancy +flew back, and she sat down, blushing over the recollections it excited.</p> + +<p>This long library was now Hope’s common sitting room. Mrs. Vavasour +rarely left her own apartments, and Everard, shrinking from the +dreariness of the house, had made it a request to Hope that she should +sometimes be found there. It was not to be supposed that Hope should +have the same vivid recollections of the room as Angela had, yet +something of recollection did arrive, as she saw her agitated +countenance, and she wondered with what feel<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38">{38}</a></span>ings her young companion +found herself there again.</p> + +<p>They sat opposite to each other in silence; each uncertain what to say, +and fearful to begin. It was Angela who spoke at last; as she looked at +Hope, the remembrance of death, and the awe of death came over her, and +her exclamation had no touch of selfish dreamings in it.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Hope,” she said, sadly, “how changed you are.”</p> + +<p>Hope was surprised, and a faint streak of colour flitted over her cheek. +She had been thinking of Angela, and not of all the changes at Audley +Court. “Yes, there has been a great change,” she replied, after a +moment.</p> + +<p>“And <i>you</i> are changed in the change. Dear Hope, have you been so very +unhappy?”</p> + +<p>Hope did not immediately answer. An<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39">{39}</a></span>gela’s question made her think of +herself, a thing that rarely happened. “I think I am changed,” she said +at last. “I used to think, it was in my ignorance, that I did not mind +sorrow, that it was my place to comfort, and that if I could have power +to do that, I should not dread the sight of grief. But now....”</p> + +<p>“Now what, dear Hope?” said Angela, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Now I know that sorrow is the punishment of sin, and must have +bitterness;” and as she spoke a tear fell from her eye.</p> + +<p>“Oh! how you must have suffered,” Angela exclaimed, and she felt a kind +of shame at her own trials, as she looked in Hope’s face.</p> + +<p>“I was not thinking of myself,” was Hope’s reply, “but of all I have +seen and still see. It is not that I am unhappy myself, but I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40">{40}</a></span> long to +do more to put grief away, and have not the power. It is <i>here</i>; and I +find now that God must comfort, for man cannot.”</p> + +<p>“Are they all so unhappy?” Angela asked, after a moment, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“My poor aunt; you can fancy what that is Angela. She has lost all that +occupied her; and she is not as some are, calm and strong in their +grief. She is very good, but is miserable. She never murmurs, but I can +see the struggle to submit almost breaking her heart. I had often +thought of such sorrow as hers, but now I <i>know</i> what it is.”</p> + +<p>“And Mr. Vavasour,” Angela asked, after another pause, in a still lower +tone. “Is he too miserable?”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean Robert or Everard, Angela?” And Hope turned her slow +enquiring eyes on her companion.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41">{41}</a></span></p> + +<p>“I mean Mr. Robert Vavasour,” she said faintly, averting her eyes with a +deep blush of shame from the gaze that was upon her.</p> + +<p>“Robert is happier than Everard,” Hope replied, after a moment’s +thought. “He is trying to wash out the past, and that gives him a bright +hope before him. I think Robert is happier than he ever was, for I +think,—I try not to expect too much, but I think”—she paused and +clasped her hands together, and added—“that God has granted him +repentance.”</p> + +<p>Angela sat silent and sighed. Hope’s anxiety for Robert’s welfare, +showed her in true colours what her conduct had been during that mad +time when right and wrong seemed obliterated in her mind. Shame pressed +heavily upon her. It would have been a relief to confess it all, but she +did not dare. She never had approached such sub<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42">{42}</a></span>jects with Hope, less +than ever she dared approach them now.</p> + +<p>After a short silence, during which she hoped but vainly, that Hope +would speak of Everard, Angela inquired after Mr. Addison, and expressed +her disappointment at finding him absent. She told Hope of her desire to +begin to make herself useful, and to lead a better life than she had +done, and said how much she needed advice and help; and this subject was +more easily talked over than others, and the hour of her stay passed +rapidly away. The clock struck five, and she looked up with regret.</p> + +<p>“I told the carriage to come round at five,” she said, “for we have got +a dinner to-night, and I must be home early,” and when those words were +said she suddenly remembered the visit was past, and Everard had not +been seen.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43">{43}</a></span></p> + +<p>The thought had scarcely passed through her mind when he appeared. He +came slowly in from the further end of the library and her heart had +time almost to break with its beating before he reached her. Unable to +articulate one word then she half rose and shook hands with him, and sat +hurriedly down again.</p> + +<p>At first it was Everard’s mere presence that overcame her, but, as he +stood before her, it was himself, his changed self, that affected her.</p> + +<p>Miss Price’s friend had called him handsome, and such an expression +regarding him was no longer without truth. Thought and sorrow had so +softened and refined his features that they in themselves were almost +toned into beauty; and even had it not been so, there was an expression +in his countenance, in his air and manner, so subdued, so melancholy, +and so gentle, even strangers might have been affected by it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44">{44}</a></span></p> + +<p>In that first instant she forgot herself, and tears of pity and love for +<i>him</i> sprang into her eyes; but when he addressed her, thoughts of her +own self returned; and she was chilled into composure by his voice.</p> + +<p>No <i>empressement</i>, no embarrassment; some restraint, perhaps—but a +grave, kind quietness, such as under any circumstances he, in his +position, would have shown to his cousin’s guest.</p> + +<p>“I must do my errand,” he said, “though I hope it will not hurry you +away. The carriage was waiting at the door as I came in, and they were +coming to summon you. I said I would tell you it was ready.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. I must go directly,” Angela said, and she got up with a +strange feeling of mingled sadness and relief.</p> + +<p>As she wished Hope good-bye, she paused<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45">{45}</a></span> to make arrangements about +another visit, and Everard walked first to the window and then out of +the room.</p> + +<p>When Angela turned round he was gone. She pulled down her veil and +hurried away with bitterness in her heart. “He hates me,” she thought, +and before she reached the door, tears at once of passion and sorrow +were in her eyes.</p> + +<p>But by the side of the carriage he stood awaiting her; and then in very +shame she could have flown from him, and hid her agitation from his +sight.</p> + +<p>The same manner, however, gravely, calmly, kind, in an instant composed +her again. A faint glow on his cheek was the only sign he gave of being +in any way moved at her presence.</p> + +<p>He stopped her as she was getting into the carriage and asked, “How do +you think Hope looks?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46">{46}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Very much changed,” Angela said hurriedly.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he agreed, with a sadness that made her reproach herself for her +hasty words, “But do you think her looking <i>ill</i>?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not really ill,” she said, desirous to relieve his mind, “but +thinner than she used to be. She does not <i>seem</i> ill.”</p> + +<p>“Her life is very lonely, and if you can come and see her, I think it +would do her good. I am <i>sure</i> she will be glad to have you come.” He +spoke anxiously, but it was only for Hope’s sake.</p> + +<p>“I will certainly,” Angela replied, and as he said no more, she entered +the carriage.</p> + +<p>He then approached again and asked, “I hear Miss Price is at Underwood. +Is that true?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47">{47}</a></span></p> + +<p>Angela replied that it was; and anxiously waited for what would follow.</p> + +<p>“Will you remember me to her?” This was all that came.</p> + +<p>Angela bowed her head, and so they parted.</p> + +<p>She went on her way shedding bitter tears, and he re-entered the house.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gresham, whose anxiety regarding the effects of the visit was too +great to be restrained, came with much politeness to assist his daughter +from the carriage.</p> + +<p>“Did you see Mr. Vavasour, my love?” he enquired.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Papa.”</p> + +<p>“I hope he is in good health.”</p> + +<p>“He seemed so,” she replied wearily; “he did not say.”</p> + +<p>“You gave him my compliments of course, my love, and expressed my wish +to see him here.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48">{48}</a></span></p> + +<p>“No,” and she shook her head. “I said very little.”</p> + +<p>“Ahem!” and for a moment Mr. Gresham came to a stand still. He then +remembered the delicacy of the female character and added, “That was as +it should be, my love. No young woman is forward to encourage the visits +of the other sex. But no doubt he understood from your manner that you +would receive him with pleasure. Did he express any wish, with regard to +... to <i>our</i> society?”</p> + +<p>“He asked me to go sometimes and see Hope,” Angela replied, feeling that +by that answer she should for the time at least relieve herself from the +torment of his questionings.</p> + +<p>“That is well; you have my permission to avail yourself of the +invitation,” and drawing himself up to a princely air, he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49">{49}</a></span> accompanied +his daughter across the hall, and then allowed her to depart.</p> + +<p>She entered the drawing-room, kissed her aunt, as she lay on the sofa, +said she hoped she was better, and then sat down at the window and +looked out in silence.</p> + +<p>Time passed and she made no change in her position. At last Miss Price +spoke. “Your father was here a short time ago, my love, and said he +wished you to be in good time to-night. I think a Bishop dines here and +you must be ready.”</p> + +<p>Angela came towards her with a smile, and said, “Oh! yes I will be ready +for the Bishop; it is only half-past six, and <i>he</i> will not care how I +am dressed I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“No, love, I suppose not; but your father likes you to look nice.”</p> + +<p>Angela, however, now sat down by the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50">{50}</a></span> sofa, and made no haste to prepare +herself for the Bishop.</p> + +<p>“Did you see Mr. Vavasour, my love?” enquired her aunt at length.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Aunt Jane, I did see him.”</p> + +<p>“Well, love.”</p> + +<p>“Well Aunt Jane.”</p> + +<p>“You know what I would say, dearest. Did you have a happy meeting?”</p> + +<p>“A <i>happy</i> meeting!” she repeated scornfully. “No not exactly happy.”</p> + +<p>“No, dearest, I expressed myself ill,—of course not happy, but I +hope....”</p> + +<p>“If you wish to know all at once, Aunt Jane, I will tell you. He hates +me;” and though tears trembled in her eyes, she drove them back with a +look of indignant pride.</p> + +<p>“I hardly think so love; indeed I feel sure he does not.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51">{51}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Why?” and Angela looked in her face as if her fate was to be read +there.</p> + +<p>“Because he loved you once so very truly. I saw him, dearest, once after +your father refused him. He told me not to tell that he came, and I +promised; so I never did; but he loved you very truly. I could see that; +though I don’t understand such things much, I could see <i>that</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, then he did,” and Angela sighed and suffered the tears to fall +from her eyes.</p> + +<p>“And once, love, he told me, that he was not changeable, and I think I +should say the same from his look; he does not look inconstant.”</p> + +<p>“Inconstant!” Angela exclaimed indignantly, “it is not inconstancy to +change from a worthless object. If he <i>has</i> changed I do not blame him. +If he <i>could</i> have behaved as I have done, I should care for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52">{52}</a></span> him no +more, and would <i>that</i> be inconstancy?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not, love. I do not well understand these things. But I fancy +he loves you still.”</p> + +<p>Angela shook her head, and yet was comforted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53">{53}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></h2> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You give me praise for what I do;<br></span> +<span class="i0">You blame me for what’s left undone;<br></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! how little is pierced through,<br></span> +<span class="i0">How little known of the lost and won<br></span> +<span class="i0">Under the Sun.<br></span> +<span class="i10"><span class="smcap">Barry Cornwall.</span><br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Angela</span> continued to visit Hope; but not as she had done the year before, +with the freedom of eager friendship, regardless of times and seasons; +she could not bring herself to that. Her visits were matters of in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54">{54}</a></span>tense +thought. They occupied her entirely in the intervening days; her whole +desire was to be at Audley Court, and see what one other visit would +bring forth; and yet she restrained herself with an iron rule, and made +her visits few and far between. If Everard had ceased to love her, he +should learn to respect her. This was the thought that animated her to +self-controul.</p> + +<p>The second and the third visit to Hope passed without any further +meeting. Miss Price, now restored to health, accompanied Angela, and sat +patiently by while her young companions talked. She could be no +restraint to any one, and though on the first visit, Angela had been +indifferent as to her chaperonage, she now felt protection in her +company.</p> + +<p>As she and Miss Price were re-entering the carriage after the fourth +visit, Everard<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55">{55}</a></span> and Mr. Addison appeared in the court yard together. +Everard hastened forward, and after shaking hands with Angela, turned +with much kindness to speak to Miss Price who was already seated. Angela +fancied she had learned a great deal of proper pride and self-restraint +during the last month, and yet when she suddenly found herself in his +society again, all she had learned seemed to fail her. She thought his +greeting to herself so cold, while to her aunt it was warm and kind, and +tears no effort could hide sprang into her eyes. It was better Mr. +Addison should see them than Everard, and she went to meet him as he +more slowly walked up the court; but when she met him, she could think +of nothing to say to explain her eagerness.</p> + +<p>He, however, had something to say to her, or else discovered something +at the moment, and he kept her in conversation for a few<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56">{56}</a></span> minutes; it +was only when she was quite composed, that he led the way back to the +carriage.</p> + +<p>Everard assisted her into it, and though there was still the same want +of what is easiest expressed by the word <i>empressement</i>, in his manner +there was a smile, as he said, “You have done a good deed, Miss Gresham, +in bringing Miss Price here. Fresh air has given her ten new years of +life.”</p> + +<p>“I think so too,” Angela replied, more naturally, cheered in spite of +herself by his smile; “but it was Papa’s good deed, not mine.”</p> + +<p>He smiled again, but said no more; nor made any effort to detain them. +He and Mr. Addison drew back, and the carriage drove away.</p> + +<p>Everard went into the house to fetch some paper for which they had +returned home, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57">{57}</a></span> then he and Mr. Addison pursued their way.</p> + +<p>“Everard,” Mr. Addison began, after they had walked for some time in +silence, “will you allow me to say a word to you on a subject ... you +may guess, perhaps, to what I allude.”</p> + +<p>Everard coloured deeply, but he made no answer either of acquiescence or +denial.</p> + +<p>Mr. Addison glanced at him, and observed with a slight smile, “I will +suppose that silence gives consent. May I ask you then, do you not +intend to call at Underwood?”</p> + +<p>“No,” he replied gravely, “this year is and shall be sacred. I do not +intend, I do not wish to enter upon any society, or to mix in any +pleasures this year. If my own feeling did not forbid it, I could not +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58">{58}</a></span>look at my mother and do otherwise, but as it is ... it is my own wish +also.”</p> + +<p>“I understand Everard, and love your intention. I am not one, that you +know well, who would sweep away the influences of sorrow before their +work is done. There is, indeed, a danger of becoming morbid in the +indulgence of sad memories ... but that is not to the purpose now. What +I wished to say was, that I think from many circumstances Underwood +might be an exception. I think....”</p> + +<p>“Forgive me Mr. Addison,” Everard said, in a tone not exactly asking +forgiveness, “but there are subjects on which advice is more than +useless. This is one.”</p> + +<p>“Forgive <i>me</i>, Everard,” he replied gravely and quickly, “I did not mean +to be intrusive.”</p> + +<p>“You think me impatient,” Everard said, colouring, though he smiled, +“and perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59">{59}</a></span> I am. I didn’t mean, however, to be ill tempered; I only +wish to remind you of a very certain truth. Advice in matters of +practice is useful, but in matters of feeling not so. No man can tell +what another man feels; unless, therefore, he makes confession advice is +useless to him.”</p> + +<p>“And would confession be impossible?”</p> + +<p>“Impossible,” he replied with emphasis.</p> + +<p>“Then I will not annoy you with useless advice; only this one word, my +conscience forces me to say. Do not cherish resentment for actions which +I do believe might more justly be excused and pardoned; and do not +needlessly wound the feelings of those who think kindly of you.”</p> + +<p>Everard’s cheek and brow were crimson, and he did not reply till the +momentary passion, whatever it was, was past. He then said very gravely, +“Thank you for advising<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60">{60}</a></span> me; and do not think me obstinate if I repeat +that it is difficult to advise on matters such as these. I am not +ungrateful for your kind thoughts for my happiness; but I must judge for +myself. I think, perhaps,” he added after a moment’s thought, “that you +mistake me, but no matter.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Addison said no more. He was quite of Everard’s mind regarding the +usefulness of advice, if advice is not desired; and though pity for +Angela had drawn him to speak his word of warning, he was content, +having done so, to let the matter rest.</p> + +<p>After another short silence he began again, and in a less grave tone. +“You say advice in matters of practice is useful. Will you take my +advice on a practical subject. You work too hard. I wish you to take +more rest.”</p> + +<p>He might have known that no man is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61">{61}</a></span> amenable, where his health is +concerned, and he did know it; nevertheless, he thought it right to +speak.</p> + +<p>Everard’s only answer was a short laugh, and “I beg your pardon Mr. +Addison, but really I am not a baby.”</p> + +<p>“A baby can be taken care of; but you are a wilful man, and therefore I +speak. Work as you please all day long, but rest at night. Do you know, +Everard, there are many comments on your open window and late vigils.”</p> + +<p>“People are very busy I must say,” he replied colouring, and with very +unaccountable irritation.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, we all are. Perhaps if it were another man you yourself would +make the same comments on his habits; and if you saw one who had once +been remarkable for strength look pale and wearied, you would perhaps +say to him as I do to you—‘Take<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62">{62}</a></span> more rest, and do not waste so +precious a gift as health.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“It is not sleep I want,” Everard said, and he did look at the moment as +if there was a weight upon him more than he could bear.</p> + +<p>“Not alone, perhaps,” replied his old friend kindly, “but still, +Everard, mortal men do want sleep, even the best of them; you are up +early in the morning, and there is time enough for work in the day. Be +advised and rest at night.”</p> + +<p>“I will shut my window,” he said lightly, “reluctantly enough I own, and +so hide myself from curious eyes, but I cannot promise that there will +be any other change. I am very ignorant, Mr. Addison, and the day is not +enough for my work. In practical knowledge I must learn what I can. My +strong body was surely given me for some<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63">{63}</a></span> purpose. There is nothing to +fear for my health.”</p> + +<p>His companion said no more, and Everard continued. “Pray give me some +other advice, for I would not have you think me obstinate. Except on +these two points I think you will not find me so.”</p> + +<p>“Except on <i>these</i>,” Mr. Addison said, with a slight smile, “that is +what we all say. But do not think I mean to reproach you, Everard. I do +not even wish you to take my advice if your conscience and reason +counsel otherwise. You have taken to yourself, I do believe, higher +assistance, and your views may be better and wiser than mine. Be assured +so long as I live, I shall warn when I see cause, leaving it to you to +be guided by my voice or not as you think fit.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Mr. Addison,” Everard said, almost passionately, “I will take your +advice now,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64">{64}</a></span> and always if I could, as if it were <i>my father’s</i>, but at +this time I cannot.”</p> + +<p>“Do not distress yourself,” was the reply, tenderly given. “I fully +trust your motives, and for the rest we each work out our own +experience, and so become our own best guides. Let us speak of these +things no more.”</p> + +<p>On the morning after Angela’s last visit to Audley Court, Mr. Gresham, +who always conducted his interviews with much pomp, wrote a note to Miss +Price, begging her to let him find her alone in the drawing-room at +half-past eleven o’clock.</p> + +<p>Miss Price, no manœuvrer, was plunged into difficulties by this message, +and spent an hour of torture, watching Angela’s movements about the +room, without being able to devise any expedient to get rid of her. Mr. +Gresham relieved her by appearing before the appointed time; he +requested his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65">{65}</a></span> his daughter to make a copy of a paper he put into her +hands, and observed that it would be most carefully done in her own +room. She obeyed and left the room without suspicion, and Mr. Gresham +then placed himself opposite to Miss Price and began.</p> + +<p>“You will excuse me for being a few moments before the hour I specified. +I am somewhat engaged this morning. My wish and desire is to have a +short conversation with you regarding your niece and my daughter, +believing that her welfare is a matter of interest to you.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Angela, yes,” said her aunt, nervously.</p> + +<p>“Will you be so good, Miss Price, as to inform me what sentiments you +suppose Mr. Vavasour to entertain for Angela. You may remember that in +our first interview, I put you in possession of my views and opinions<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66">{66}</a></span> +on this subject, and requested you to give such support to my daughter, +as a young female may naturally require in circumstances of delicacy. +You have, I believe, according to my wish, accompanied her in her visits +to Audley Court, and though I have hitherto refrained from making +inquiries, I have, I confess, been anticipating some disclosure on your +part. I must now request you to be explicit. Do not let me hurry you;” +as he could not but observe the flutter of spirits into which he cast +her, “though engaged, I have always leisure for the proper duties that +devolve upon me.”</p> + +<p>“I have seen Mr. Vavasour only once,” she replied, when she had +collected her senses, “and then only for a very short time.”</p> + +<p>“Am I to understand then, that in my daughter’s frequent visits to +Audley Court,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67">{67}</a></span> Miss Linton has been the sole attraction, or do you +intend to convey, that Mr. Vavasour has no intention of renewing his +addresses to us. Pray, Miss Price, be explicit.”</p> + +<p>“I do not know anything,” she said humbly. “I fancy he loves dear +Angela, but it may be my fancy only. He certainly loved her once, and I +should not suppose him to be one lightly given to change.”</p> + +<p>“I must beg you, my dear Miss Price, to be more explicit. Consider the +importance of the subject on which we are engaged. Collect your mind, +and exercise your judgment, and endeavour to answer me a few simple +questions. I do not speak of the past. No wise man makes account of the +past. Our business is with the present. Endeavour now to collect your +senses, and tell me.... There are certain delicate attentions, trifles, +yet on particular<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68">{68}</a></span> occasions not to be undervalued, by which those whom +in common parlance we denominate lovers, are accustomed to insinuate +their attachment to the object preferred. Can you recall any exhibition +of such delicate attentions in the time, be it long or short, during +which Mr. Vavasour was in my daughter’s company. I believe I make myself +understood. Be so good as to answer me explicitly.”</p> + +<p>“He was very kind to me,” she replied, endeavouring to collect herself +according to his desire, anxious to gratify him, yet too truthful to +compose a narrative for the occasion. “Particularly kind. He spoke to me +more than to dear Angela. Mr. Addison was present, and Angela conversed +with him. The time was short.”</p> + +<p>“You can recall, then, no such attentions as I have pointed out. Is it +possible that his manner denoted no gratification in her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69">{69}</a></span> presence? Have +you no reason to suppose him to be attached to her?”</p> + +<p>“He put her into the carriage, and he spoke to her once, and his smile +was very sweet. He has a sweet smile, and to her I should say it was +particularly sweet.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Gresham. “Pray, proceed, Miss Price.”</p> + +<p>“I fancy that he loves her, but I cannot say, he appeared to wish to +detain us. I should say he is not happy, for his countenance is very +sad, but, indeed, the time was short, and I myself was fluttered, and +... I am sorry I can answer you no better. I will endeavour to be more +watchful in future.”</p> + +<p>“Pray compose yourself,” he said, waving his hand graciously. “I think, +from the observations you have made, that the opinion I have formed is a +correct one. I suppose him to be attached to my daughter, but to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70">{70}</a></span> be +withheld, by—what shall we say, false motives of delicacy from making a +second offer. You are aware, I believe, that his first offer was +declined; properly declined; yet it is possible, declined in terms more +forcible than was wise or polite considering (although the present state +of things no human foresight could, as it appears to me, have foreseen). +I am, therefore, disposed to apologize to him for any improper degree of +warmth I may have shown, and to give him such encouragement as may be +applicable to the occasion. Do you concur with me, that such a +condescension may be desirable.”</p> + +<p>“I hardly know,” Miss Price began with a faint glow on her face; however +small her intellect, too much of a woman to admire such a mode of +proceeding. “Would dear Angela be willing ... I fear....”</p> + +<p>“Fear nothing,” he said, interrupting her.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71">{71}</a></span> “If motives of delicacy +alone forbid it, be assured a daughter’s delicacy is ever safe in a +father’s hands. I confess, I think it possible such an acknowledgment +may be due from me to him. I confess, I think it more than possible, +that after the manner in which I once considered it my duty to address +him, I should personally assure him of the change in my sentiments. You +may be assured, Miss Price, that my actions will ever be ordered with +all proper attention to female decorum and modesty.”</p> + +<p>“You know best,” she said gently. “There is no doubt he was wounded by +your words.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” and he waved his head gracefully, and rose from his seat. “I +have to thank you for the attention with which you have heard me, and +for your concurrence in my sentiments, and I must also request, that, +what we have confidentially communicated to each other, may remain +confidential.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72">{72}</a></span></p> + +<p>He bowed slightly, and left the room, decorum and modesty, and paternal +care and affection, fluttering about him as he went.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73">{73}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a><br><br> +<small>Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?</small></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> plan on which Mr. Gresham had determined had been for some days +forming in his mind. The concurrence of Miss Price was of no real +importance to him, for his decisions were already made, before advice +was asked; but he supposed a female opinion to be proper on such a +subject, and he would have been glad also to secure female concurrence. +Whether or no he had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74">{74}</a></span> that concurrence he was uncertain, but be that as +it might, <i>he</i> had conducted himself with the propriety becoming the +occasion, and was satisfied.</p> + +<p>The very next morning, at an hour when a gentleman, he supposed, would +most probably be found at home, he repaired to Audley Court. The old +black towers shone before his eyes as he rode along, a dazzling sunshine +imparting so much of beauty to their majestic and venerable forms, that +he was positively agitated as he gazed. The attachment of Mr. Gresham to +these old towers has been often dwelt upon; but in truth there was +something really romantic in the fascination they exercised over his +fancy. He longed for them as Haman longed for Mordecai’s bow, only that +all <i>his</i> sentiments were regulated with too much of order and propriety +to allow of any excess.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75">{75}</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Vavasour was at home, and Mr. Gresham was shown into the library.</p> + +<p>While he awaited Everard’s coming his thoughts reverted to the late Mr. +Vavasour, whom until this moment he had forgotten; and he framed in his +mind an exceedingly well-expressed form of condolence, with which to +begin the conversation; but Mr. Gresham was by no means devoid of +kindness of feeling, and when Everard appeared, he felt at first sight +that his formulary would, on this occasion, be ill applied. It was, +therefore, suppressed, and having had no time to frame another +beginning, he contented himself with a remark on the state of the +atmosphere.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I ought to apologise to you, Mr. Gresham,” Everard said, when +they sat down, “for not having called upon you.” For since Mr. Gresham +had thought it right to call upon him he felt that his omission<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76">{76}</a></span> had, +perhaps, been considered ill-mannered. “I assure you I should have done +so if I had called anywhere, but I have not as yet.”</p> + +<p>“I perfectly understand. Let there be no ceremony between us, Mr. +Vavasour. I am far, very far, from wishing for ceremony. I am, on the +contrary, sincerely desirous that there should be a friendly, I might +say a more than friendly relationship between us.”</p> + +<p>He paused, looking both benign and dignified; and Everard coloured and +was silent.</p> + +<p>“In point of fact, Mr. Vavasour,—for honesty, I believe, is the best +policy, and is certainly the most honourable mode of proceeding between +gentlemen—my object and purpose in calling upon you this morning is to +assure you of my friendly, and even more than friendly feelings towards +you. I am<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77">{77}</a></span> aware that you may have cause to look upon me from another +point of view. I have not forgotten a certain event which took place, +certain conversations which occurred between us some months back, and my +purpose this morning is to offer you some apology for my behaviour, and +to make some explanations regarding my motives on that particular +occasion.”</p> + +<p>“It is perfectly needless, Mr. Gresham,” Everard said, interrupting him +hastily. “I am very much obliged to you for wishing to make such +explanations, but I assure you it is not necessary. I am certain your +motives were good, and I have no desire to recur to what is past.”</p> + +<p>“I must request you to hear me, Mr. Vavasour. I consider it due to you, +and due also to myself, that you should consent to hear me. I believe +you will agree with me that a daughter’s welfare is a father’s first<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78">{78}</a></span> +duty. I feel the responsibility, I have always felt it, which Providence +imposes on parents, and more especially on those in my position. I +provided, therefore, for my daughter’s establishment in life, not only +well and wisely so far as she was concerned, but I think you will do me +the justice, Mr. Vavasour, to own, with both wisdom and generosity in +respect to the husband of her, or rather of my choice.”</p> + +<p>He paused for an assent, and Everard gave it.</p> + +<p>“I do own it, Mr. Gresham.”</p> + +<p>“Such being the case, it was certainly natural that I should feel dismay +when I perceived that my designs were in danger of being upset ... even +though by yourself, Mr. Vavasour. In the emotions of the moment, I may +have expressed my feelings more warmly than was just, and if it were so, +if I gave you pain, I most sincerely<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79">{79}</a></span> apologize for what I thought my +duty commanded.”</p> + +<p>“You did give me pain,” Everard replied after a moment’s thought; “but +as you only spoke what you were anxious I should understand, I had no +right to blame you. I will not say that for a time I felt no resentment, +but believe me, it is long past, and I am sincerely sorry that you +should have felt an apology necessary.”</p> + +<p>“An honourable and candid man is never backward to own his failings, Mr. +Vavasour. I am not ashamed to own that I was blind; all men are liable +to error, and I among the rest. No human foresight I believe, could have +anticipated the course which late events have taken. Had I been gifted +with the power to penetrate into the secrets of futurity, believe me, my +dear Mr. Vavasour, my conduct would have been altogether different.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80">{80}</a></span></p> + +<p>A deep flush crossed Everard’s face, but he made no answer.</p> + +<p>“One thing more you must allow me to say. You must allow me to express +my hearty, my entire concurrence in the decision made by your late +father. The manner in which your name is now mentioned, the distinction +which you now enjoy in the eyes of the world, convince me that he was +gifted with that foresight in which I humbly acknowledge I am deficient, +and engages me to extend to you <i>all</i> those feelings which once I +entertained towards your brother.”</p> + +<p>He dilated into his largest proportions as he made this delicate +insinuation of his generous designs, and then paused for an +acknowledgment. But no acknowledgment came. There was a still deeper +glow on Everard’s countenance, but he said not one word.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81">{81}</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Gresham was not a physiognomist; he never saw anything that was not +as clear as daylight. The disturbance, however—whatever it might +mean—on the face of his companion, <i>was</i> clear; and observing it, he +felt no doubt that it proceeded from diffidence, and uncertainty as to +how far the delicate insinuation was to be understood. He, in short, +like other men who are entirely pre-occupied with one idea, and excited +by the expression of it, lost in the warmth of the moment, the +perception of the limits to which he might safely go. He gathered +himself up to express his meaning with more perspicuity, and in so +doing, in some degree forgot the decorum he prized so highly.</p> + +<p>“I had hoped, Mr. Vavasour, that I had spoken so as to be understood. If +I have not done so, if I have seemed to you reserved and obscure in my +allusions, you must excuse me, on the grounds of that regard which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82">{82}</a></span> is +due to the laws of common society. But believe me, I consider such laws +of lesser importance than the serious interests on which our minds are +centered; and for your encouragement and welfare, as well as for my own +gratification, I am willing to sacrifice them, and to speak more +explicitly. Allow me, therefore, to assure you, my dear Mr. Vavasour, +that should it at any time, I speak of no time in particular, but should +it at any time be your wish or desire to renew an application you once +tendered to me, you will find my acceptance, not only willing, but +waiting your orders; and should any scruple regarding my daughter, +should any fears regarding her feelings cause you to hesitate, I believe +I may....”</p> + +<p>But here Everard rose from his seat, and in much agitation interrupted +him. “You must excuse me, Mr. Gresham, but I cannot suffer this to +proceed. I have listened too<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83">{83}</a></span> long. I do sincerely thank you for the +kindness of feeling you express towards me, although,” and here his +already flushed cheek deepened in its crimson hue, and a bitterness he +seemed unable to suppress gave intensity to his voice, “I fear that it +is to my position alone that I am indebted for the change. I can say no +more, nor would I willingly discuss this matter further.”</p> + +<p>“Am I to understand then, Mr. Vavasour,” Mr. Gresham enquired, not +indeed that he really thought the question necessary, but thinking it +both politic and dignified to put it, “that you decline to avail +yourself of the favourable intentions I have expressed towards you.”</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s pause; and Everard’s face, which during the +interview had been flushed and heated, became very pale. He answered, +however, and his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84">{84}</a></span> answer, though low, was unfaltering—“I do!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gresham was so startled at this reply—in common speech was so taken +aback by it—that he relieved himself by a forcible exclamation of +astonishment, and an uplifting of his hands.</p> + +<p>Everard said no other word, although there was a something in his +compressed lips that seemed to say, violence alone restrained him from +speech.</p> + +<p>After a few moments’ indecision, Mr. Gresham recovered his composure, +and rising, with an imperial dignity of manner for which he certainly +might be pardoned, bowed to Everard, and said “I wish you good morning, +Mr. Vavasour, and you must allow me to apologize for having taken up +your time with communications so indifferent to you;” and with another +freezing salutation he was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85">{85}</a></span> leaving the room when Everard arrested him.</p> + +<p>“You must not leave me in anger, Mr. Gresham,” he said, with little of +<i>indifference</i> in his voice; “I wish I could express how far, how very +far I am from intending to show disrespect to you, much more to Miss +Gresham, ...” he stopt abruptly, for his voice became unsteady, then +began again. “If it were possible I would ask you to forget the painful +circumstances of this conversation, and to allow me to remain, what +indeed I must ever be....”</p> + +<p>“What, sir, should you desire to be?” Mr. Gresham asked, with stately +coldness.</p> + +<p>“A friend, and a very grateful one,” Everard said, with emotion, and he +held out his hand.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gresham was softened, but the offence to his dignity could not be so +easily forgotten. He did shake hands; but it was a languid, inexpressive +shake; and merely re<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86">{86}</a></span>peating his “good morning,” he took his departure.</p> + +<p>Everard closed the door after him, and then stood gazing out into the +garden in a vacancy of thought that seemed to have no sense of time +about it; and so remained until Hope’s entrance aroused him.</p> + +<p>“Are you ill, Everard?” she enquired, looking at him.</p> + +<p>“Ill, my dear Hope! why should I be ill?”</p> + +<p>“You look so.”</p> + +<p>“I have had a visit from Mr. Gresham, which has given me some pain,” he +said gravely; “but it is over now,” and he sighed profoundly, as if thus +to sweep away from his memory the recollection of what had passed.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gresham went on his way. While in Everard’s presence, offended +majesty had been the paramount sensation in his mind; but when alone, +disappointment, the dis<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87">{87}</a></span>appointment of his dearly cherished hopes, +overcame his sense of dignity; and to efface disappointment he would +have been contented to sacrifice a considerable portion of his dignity.</p> + +<p>Insensibly he guided his horse’s head to the hill mentioned in the +Introduction to this tale, in order to gaze once more on the glories he +had prepared for the Vavasours and himself. It was a fair vision; but +not for its natural beauty was it now, or had it ever been visited by +Mr. Gresham. There he had often stood, with a swelling heart, gazing +over the fertile and extensive valley, and repeating, “I am monarch of +all I survey,” till tears almost, of pride and thankfulness, had filled +his eyes. It was on the wide extent, brought by his forethought and care +under the sway of one ruler, that his eyes delighted to rest; creation’s +beauties re-created by his hand.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88">{88}</a></span></p> + +<p>In an altered mood he stood there now. Bitter mortification, fallen +pride, insulted benevolence, and the sting of ingratitude, all these +together caused his heart actually to smart with sorrow. For a time the +very powers of his mind were prostrated by his disappointment, and it +was not till they recovered their tone that comfort dawned upon him. He +came at length, in the shape of a wise saying springing up from the +stores of his memory, “The race is not always to the swift, nor the +battle to the strong; but time and chance happen to all men.” If Solomon +in his glory had had experience of this truth, he, Mr. Gresham, must not +be astonished if his schemes were unattended with success. This idea +soothed his mortification; and, endeavouring to compose himself by a +noble submission to the inevitable lot of mortals, he took a solemn +farewell of his idol, and left it at the top of the hill.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89">{89}</a></span></p> + +<p>That is, he supposed he did; but before he reached the bottom of the +hill, strange to say, he found his idol accompanying him home. How it +was, that having solemnly forsworn it as the companion of his thoughts, +he permitted it to cling to him, cannot be explained unless by the fact +that such partings between men and their idols are of daily occurrence; +but certain it is that before he reached Underwood it was not only +whispering within, but was again absolutely tyrannizing over him, and +luring him on to fresh schemes in the future. It had begun to renew its +reign from the moment when he resolved to say nothing to Miss Price or +to Angela of what had occurred. After that wise decision he proceeded to +meditate in a manner which may be shortly embodied in these few +reflections.</p> + +<p>“The future is ever uncertain. It becomes a man to hope the best. Great +de<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90">{90}</a></span>signs are not realized at once; and the noble spirit is not crushed +by one, nor by two repulses. Man is a being of complicated structure; +nor can man’s passions be played upon like a harpsichord. To touch the +proper chord requires a degree of wisdom and experience not perfectly +bestowed on any mortal being.”</p> + +<p>Having reflected in the general, he then proceeded to reflect +practically.</p> + +<p>“The future is uncertain. My plan is wisely and beautifully designed; +and my daughter’s attractions are generally allowed to be great. Wisdom +plans, but practice crowns. Men are punctilious. It is possible Mr. +Vavasour may quarrel with my openness; or, he may consider that thoughts +of matrimonial engagements are unsuited to a house of mourning; or he +may be a man of delicacy and may consider it an offence to delicacy, +that a young lady should<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91">{91}</a></span> be engaged to two brothers in the course of a +few months, or.....”</p> + +<p>Among his many thoughts as on a former occasion, he found comforters +enough, and thus it happened that shortly after the mortification he had +endured, he was building on the future as certainly as ever.</p> + +<p>The sense of his wisdom in thus retaining hope was confirmed shortly +afterwards.</p> + +<p>About ten days after his visit to Audley Court, Everard returned it, and +Mr. Gresham was at home. <i>He</i> was stately, and Everard grave, but there +was perfect politeness on both sides.</p> + +<p>When the visit was over, Mr. Gresham, not without dignity, asked if he +chose to pay his respects to Miss Price, with whom he understood he was +on terms of intimacy.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92">{92}</a></span></p> + +<p>Though it might have been guessed from Everard’s countenance, that the +visit was far from being desired, he, as if unwilling in any way to be +guilty of further disrespect, consented to it, and was conducted by Mr. +Gresham to the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>It was a great mortification to the father to find his attractive +daughter absent, and during the ten minutes of Everard’s stay, his eye +was perpetually on the door; but dignity and decorum did not permit him +on this occasion to mention or to summon her.</p> + +<p>After ten minutes, which passed like so many hours, so utterly unsuited +were the three companions to each other, Everard rose with evident +relief, and went away; and four minutes after his departure, Angela +looked in at the window with her bonnet on.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93">{93}</a></span></p> + +<p>“You have just missed Mr. Vavasour, my love,” said Miss Price, quietly, +even with all her love and sympathy unable to conceive the feelings her +words could excite in her niece. “He has been sitting with your father +and me for a few minutes.”</p> + +<p>Angela stood leaning on the window sill in silence, so astonished was +she at the news.</p> + +<p>“Why did he come?” at last she inquired.</p> + +<p>“To call, my love, I suppose; he was as usual particularly kind, but +exceedingly grave. Perhaps, love, because you were absent, but I cannot +tell.”</p> + +<p>She walked away without asking more questions. It seemed perverse to +have waited, hoped, longed, for this visit for months of weary waiting, +and when it took place to be five minutes too late.</p> + +<p>It was about this time that Angela began<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94">{94}</a></span> to look upon herself as doomed +for her faults and follies, to a life of disappointment; nor did the +events, or rather non-events of the autumn, brighten this not very +cheerful view of things. She never met Everard again. See him, she did +often; sometimes at a distance, sometimes near enough for a bow or a +smile or word; hear of him she did unceasingly, for all delighted to do +him honour, now that their hate was passed by; but meet him she never +did. He called again late in the year,—shortly before they left +Underwood for a round of visits,—and at an hour when on every day but +this, she had been at home, and on this day was only prevented from +being at home by an accident to her carriage; and this last mischance +filled her cup to the brim.</p> + +<p>Though she had ceased to bewail her fate to her aunt, it cost her many, +bitter, secret, silent tears; and much she mused on life and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95">{95}</a></span> its +strange ways, and much on the folly which had estranged the only being +whose love for her, had been for herself, and not her position. Robert’s +confession had deepened tenfold her distrust of the motives of those who +approached her, and suspicion threw its cloud over her already clouded +thoughts. She was in short in a very gloomy frame of mind, and though +she owned she deserved all she suffered, she with her strong +capabilities for happiness, could not bring herself to acquiesce calmly +in such a state of things.</p> + +<p>Having met with other small disappointments in her endeavours to make +some poor people happy, she took advantage of these discouragements, to +ask Mr. Addison his opinion generally on the use of disappointments to +human nature. It was on the occasion of his last visit before she left +Underwood.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96">{96}</a></span></p> + +<p>Reading a good deal more of her mind than she thought she exhibited, he +replied seriously—“I suppose they may be good for all, but for some +characters I think they have a very special and particular use.”</p> + +<p>“For whom?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“For those I think whose natural dispositions lead them too earnestly to +desire a Paradise on earth.”</p> + +<p>“Then for me,” she said, “I confess I do not like to be thwarted, and I +do pine to be happy.”</p> + +<p>“Then for you,” he said with a slight kind smile. “But dear Miss Gresham +remember this. The disappointments will do nothing, will only irritate +the temper unless they are received humbly and borne patiently. They can +do no good in themselves.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid they only irritate me,” she said with humility; “they make +me feel<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97">{97}</a></span> bitter and sour to all the world. I suppose I may be wrong, but +I <i>think</i> if I were happy I should be different. I think happiness makes +me much more amiable and kind.”</p> + +<p>“There is no doubt it does,” he said quickly; “to feel happy and to feel +good are almost the same things; whereas to have the mind fretted with +many cares is almost to feel wicked.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” she cried eagerly; “then surely it would be better not to be +fretted.”</p> + +<p>“It would indeed; and that is just what I wish you to understand we +should never be. There are many thoughts should help us to this. Not to +speak now of more serious ones, that we suffer far, far less than we +deserve; that every trial is sent to do us good, and bring us good, +perhaps on earth, certainly in heaven; and then again, that it is but +for a moment, and will pass<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98">{98}</a></span> away, ‘even on earth that it will pass +away.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>She looked at him very earnestly as if to discover whether he had +meaning in his last words, but she could not trace any special thought +in his grave, kind face.</p> + +<p>“One must be very good to feel all that,” she replied, after a moment.</p> + +<p>“But difficulty never disheartens a sincere person. You must try and +feel it, my dear Miss Gresham.”</p> + +<p>“I will try,” she replied. But her thoughts were evidently wandering, +and after a pause of consideration, she said, blushing slightly, but +speaking composedly and steadily, “Talking of good people, I am going to +ask what you will perhaps think a strange question. I have often wished +to ask it. Do you call Mr. Vavasour a religious man? Good—I know he is, +because everybody speaks of his goodness, but is he religious? You must<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99">{99}</a></span> +not think I ask from levity, or because I would rather talk of my +neighbour’s faults than my own.”</p> + +<p>“What distinction do you draw between a good and a religious man?” he +asked with a slight smile.</p> + +<p>“A good man I can suppose to make mistakes,” she said quickly, “but not +a religious man.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you expect too much even of a religious man,” he replied, +smiling again; “but however, in a degree your distinction is just, for a +commonly good man walks in his own strength, but a religious man in the +strength of God.”</p> + +<p>“Well!” she asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>“In that sense I certainly do consider Mr. Vavasour to be a religious +man. That he has all the feelings some might require for the term, I +will not, because I cannot, assert; but I do believe that he frames his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100">{100}</a></span> +life as in the sight of God, and that from his duty so seen, cost him +what it may, he will not swerve. That his decisions are always right I +would not undertake to be sure. Why do you ask?” he enquired looking at +her fixedly.</p> + +<p>“Only because I wish to know,” she replied gravely. A moment after she +added, “Thank you for so patiently answering my questions. I think you +are right about disappointments, and I will try what I can do to bear +them better. I have a good many trials in that way, I really do think,” +and a tear shone in her eye, “I wish I could take them more cheerfully.”</p> + +<p>“I think you have,” he said kindly. “God grant you may improve and not +waste them.”</p> + +<p>He saw a wistful look in her face, as if she would have won from him +some expression of hope to carry away with her, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101">{101}</a></span> he was too truly +wise to speak only for pity’s sake. What would happen to her or Everard +before another eight months had flown by what foresight could picture?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102">{102}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></h2> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i15">Yet fall<br></span> +<span class="i0">What will, or can, Love makes amends for all.<br></span> +<span class="i10"><span class="smcap">C. Hervey.</span><br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> was after Mr. Gresham’s departure, and the last day of the year, that +the young groom once before-mentioned among the servants at Audley Court +stood up in his place at dinner, and announced to his fellow servants +this piece of intelligence: “that the time was come for him to inform +them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103">{103}</a></span> that he had made up his mind to call Mr. Everard his master, and +to give him his due.”</p> + +<p>The announcement was received with “Hear, hear,” from Harrison the +butler, and a thump on the table and “well done,” from old Roger. And +the two audible expressions of satisfaction, only conveyed the +sentiments of the rest. Everard had already won from his servants an +honour almost equal to that given to his father; but so long as the +young groom stood out in dignified obstinence, a dread of being looked +on as time-servers had withheld them from any strong expressions of +regard.</p> + +<p>When the first buzz of satisfaction died away, Harrison, somewhat +formally, begged to know the reasons on which Thomas grounded his change +of opinion.</p> + +<p>“I said to myself, I’d see,” was the reply, “and I have see’d. I said I +would be in no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104">{104}</a></span> hurry, and I hav’nt been in no hurry. I said, I would do +it if it was just, and now I say it is just; and I’ll tell you the +reason why. I said to myself, if Mr. Everard goes and marries that young +lady over there, and makes a great lord of himself, with ever so many +millions of gold, and tries to cut out poor Mr. Robert every way, then +I’ll have nothing to say to him, nor call him Mr. Vavasour, not if I’m +put in the stocks for it; and I wouldn’t. But now I see what I see, and +I know what I know, and I see no love of money in him, and so I say it’s +just to give him his due, and I’ll do it if all the world goes against +me.”</p> + +<p>“Hear, hear,” said Harrison again.</p> + +<p>“That’s true, Thomas,” replied Betsey, “but I do wish Mr. Everard was +married, poor dear! that I do. He wants comforting. Miss Linton is fond +of him now, and does as much good as she can, poor dear,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105">{105}</a></span> but neither +she nor my poor missus have eyes for him, where Mr. Robert’s in the way; +and I think he feels it. That’s what I think.”</p> + +<p>“All in good time, Betsey,” said Harrison solemnly; “the poet says, the +funeral bake-meats are no fit ornaments to furnish out the marriage +table.”</p> + +<p>“No sure,” she replied sadly.</p> + +<p>“Miss Gresham’s uncommon fond of Mr. Everard, our Mr. Vavasour,” +observed Roger with great simplicity.</p> + +<p>This speech was received with a shout of laughter from most of the +servants, and with “oh, fie Roger!” from Mrs. Allen, Mrs. Vavasour’s +maid.</p> + +<p>“Why, there’s no harm,” he said, looking round bewildered. “Bless her +pretty face, I see it as plain as I see my wig in this pewter plate +here.”</p> + +<p>“Poor dear!” exclaimed Betsey with a sigh.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106">{106}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Be that as it may,” said the young groom, “it’s no business of ours. +Mr. Everard, or Mr. Vavasour, as I mean to call him from henceforth, +won’t have anything to say to her, beyond what a neighbourly gentleman +should. And that’s what shows he has an honourable mind; and that he +don’t mean to cut poor Mr. Robert out. I know his thoughts as well as I +know my own; and that’s what I should do in his place, and so I’ll give +him his due from henceforward, let who will go against it. And so here’s +his health and a happy new year to him.”</p> + +<p>The toast was drunk with enthusiasm, and could the echoes of the country +voices have been carried to Everard’s ears, they might have cheered a +heart which stood in need of cheering; for Christmas had brought Robert +back, and with his return, had returned all the most painful feelings +attending Everard’s new position.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107">{107}</a></span></p> + +<p>Robert came for a visit of three weeks.</p> + +<p>He was well in health, and though, perhaps, in a degree more thoughtful +than he had ever seemed in his life before, he still was the same +Robert, with his wonderful charm and animation, casting gladness about +him, none knew how, without effort, as without consciousness. To his +mother he was loving as ever, and to cheer her seemed the one object on +which he was bent. By his endeavours Mrs. Vavasour was won to smile +occasionally, and to take some interest in what was passing around her. +That which Hope and Everard had utterly failed to do, Robert did in one +week.</p> + +<p>In one respect, however, Robert’s efforts failed like the others; and +that was in his attempt to win her from her seclusion. On his first +arrival he had implored her to come amongst them for his sake, in terms +so fond and endearing, that it seemed strange his adoring mother should +withstand him; but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108">{108}</a></span> she did withstand. She wept bitterly in refusing his +request, but no consent was won.</p> + +<p>It gave him pain at first, on her account it gave him more pain +afterwards, for before the three weeks had expired he saw plainly why it +was she hid herself from their eyes. Her intercourse with Everard was +constant and kindly, but it was cold. To her <i>he</i> devoted time and +thought, and care and affection, but he could make no progress in +healing the wound his advancement had caused. His excellence of nature +she had always owned, she owned it now and trusted to it; but that very +excellence had injured her darling, and she could not love it. She was a +poor unhappy woman, who found that that passion she had cherished with +too much idolatry, had become her tormentor.</p> + +<p>To his position in the house Robert accommodated himself apparently +without pain, certainly without effort; but he perceived<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109">{109}</a></span> that that +which he could, his mother could not do. She could not see Everard +master and Robert nothing. He saw this plainly, and he saw that Everard +understood it also; and he could well imagine that a part of that +gravity which unceasingly sate upon his brow, was caused by his mother’s +conduct.</p> + +<p>He attempted no change until the conclusion of his visit, but the day +before his departure he made it a last request to Mrs. Vavasour that she +would leave her rooms, and give her children the happiness of living +with them once more. “I ask it, Mother,” he concluded, “for Everard’s +sake.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot,” she said, quickly. “Do not ask it yet, dear Robert. I will +do it when I can.”</p> + +<p>“If not for Everard’s sake, Mother, I ask it for mine. I don’t know how +<i>you</i> bear it, but it is to <i>me</i> a perpetual grief to see<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110">{110}</a></span> his face. You +surely see he looks unhappy.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, perhaps,” she allowed, “but there are many reasons for that. You +know there are reasons for that....” She stopt with tears raining from +her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mother,” Robert said, tenderly, “I know; I know there are many +causes, but still there is a something beyond these, and I think you +cause it. Dear Mother, how you used to scold me, if I hurt a worm, or a +poor little tortured bird, and does it now give you no pain to torture +your own son.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Robert,” she exclaimed, “what would you have me do?”</p> + +<p>“I would have you love and honour him, Mother, by every means in your +power, and be proud of having such a son; for if ever a man has +sacrificed happiness to his duty, I think Everard has. Do you suppose +it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111">{111}</a></span> was not torture to him to take my place as he did; but could he do +otherwise? I ask you, Mother, could he have done otherwise? And dear +Mother,” he continued, winding his arms round her, “I want you to own +more than this. I want you to own that my father was right, for has he +not set over his people a son like himself, and has he not, so far as +man can yet see, saved me from destruction. If I had been rich and idle, +I am very sure, even with my best resolutions, there was no hope for me. +Dear Mother, if Everard has saved me, will you not give him your +blessing for that?”</p> + +<p>She did consent. She could not but have consented; but Robert’s words +told both ways; for the more his generous nature shone out the more she +felt the injury he had received; and though with her body she did +endeavour to do Everard honour, she could not force the feelings of her +heart. <i>They</i> held out against her hus<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112">{112}</a></span>band’s will, strong and +rebellious, and while they rebelled she could not but be miserable.</p> + +<p>When Robert spoke of himself as saved from destruction, it was not that +he seemed in any way confident of his persistence in well doing. There +had been one occasion on which disappointment had been bitterly felt. +When on Christmas-day Everard and his mother and Hope knelt at the +altar, Robert was absent. He had left the Church with a flushed cheek +and reluctant step; but though reluctant still had left it.</p> + +<p>Not reproaching, not urging, Mr. Addison simply asked him the reason +why.</p> + +<p>“Because I am not sure I am in a fit state,” he replied, gravely.</p> + +<p>“I think you are, dear Robert, as far as man can judge. Are you not +leading a new life, and sincerely purposing to continue to lead it?”</p> + +<p>“I am not sure,” he said, in the same<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113">{113}</a></span> tone. “I am not at all sure of my +sincerity, or else I would do what I know I ought.”</p> + +<p>On an inquiry from Mr. Addison as to his meaning, he said, “he must have +more time. What he had hitherto done had been from remorse, and now that +that was beginning to lose its power, he was not at all sure of +himself.”</p> + +<p>In this he persisted; he was evidently really distrustful, and his +distrust left some anxiety in Mr. Addison’s mind.</p> + +<p>After his departure, Everard inquired one day of Mr. Addison, if he was +not perfectly happy about him.</p> + +<p>“Happy, yes, Everard,” was the reply, “very happy at what has been done. +But we must have patience.”</p> + +<p>Everard looked annoyed. Very young people do not much like that word +patience.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114">{114}</a></span> To them it implies more of care than hope.</p> + +<p>“You are angry because I do not speak with perfect confidence,” Mr. +Addison said with a slight smile, “but, Everard, there is no wisdom in +over-confidence. I only fear as Robert fears himself, because time has +not sufficiently proved his strength.”</p> + +<p>“I can conceive of no reason but one,” Everard said, with some +vehemence, “for having a single fear; and in that <i>I</i> think Robert was +right. I do not like people to be over rash in such solemn things. In +every way he seems to me perfect.”</p> + +<p>“You make more of the word fear, Everard, than I intend,” Mr. Addison +said kindly; “all I feel is, that poor Robert’s nature is very weak, and +his temptations unusually strong ones. One day’s temptation,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115">{115}</a></span> while his +principles and habits are new, might mislead him again. For him and for +ourselves it is always wisest to face the truth. It has not been +uncommon for one in his position to be disheartened by the very +confidence and over expectations of his friends.”</p> + +<p>Everard said no more, but after a short pause proceeded to speak on a +subject which occupied much of his thoughts, and which, perhaps, was the +cause of his annoyance, in the qualified opinion of Mr. Addison. This +subject was the relations of Robert and Hope.</p> + +<p>To Hope alone his return had brought no increase of <i>personal</i> +happiness, but rather the reverse. During his last stay, with whatever +difficulty it was accomplished, he had managed to keep up the old +intimacy; but on this occasion the tie was altogether broken; and though +forced to be constantly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116">{116}</a></span> in her society, reserve and constraint had +grown up between them. No more confidence from Robert, no more help, no +more advice from Hope.</p> + +<p>Everard watched them both intently, and he could see what Hope evidently +could not see, that Robert’s thoughts were seldom absent from her; and +he put his own interpretation on his brother’s constraint.</p> + +<p>It was on this subject that he now spoke to Mr. Addison, and asked his +advice as to whether or no he might write to Robert and say what he +felt.</p> + +<p>“No, Everard, wait,” was Mr. Addison’s earnest reply. “Do not be over +hasty. Reformation is of slow growth, not in the outward, perhaps, but +in the inward man. Robert has been during the past months under the +influence of excited feelings. Excitement dies; wait and see whether +refor<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117">{117}</a></span>mation grows when excitement is past. I see I give you pain. You +are in too much haste to make others happy; but wait. It is a hard +lesson, perhaps, but a wise man must learn it.”</p> + +<p>Everard smiled, and said, “I will take your advice to-day; reluctantly, +I confess, but I will take it.”</p> + +<p>And he did wait.</p> + +<p>But when Easter brought Robert a second time, not only unchanged, but +with all the best and highest parts of his nature shining in his face +and flowing forth in his life and conversation, Everard felt that he +read him most truly who trusted him most entirely; and that it was more +for his welfare to help him on to happiness, than to leave him longer to +struggle alone.</p> + +<p>One morning in May he said to Hope as she was leaving the +breakfast-room, “I want to speak to you, Hope. I have some letters<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118">{118}</a></span> I +want you to read. Shall I find you in the library about twelve?” There +was seriousness more than usual in his manner.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Everard,” she cried turning back, “not about Robert?”</p> + +<p>“Are you distrustful, Hope?” he said reproachfully, “I did not expect +that from you.”</p> + +<p>A flush of regret flitted over her cheek, but she did not justify +herself.</p> + +<p>“It <i>is</i> about Robert,” he continued quickly. “I want your.... your +assistance and advice. Nothing I hope that will distress you.” And he +left the room without saying more.</p> + +<p>When he returned he had a number of letters in his hand. He found her +awaiting him with evident anxiety, but as evidently without any +suspicion of what he had to say. He came and stood by the fire with the +letters in his hand, and said, “Last year, Hope, I believe<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119">{119}</a></span> you were of +my opinion, when there was a question about my mother’s going to live +with Robert. I think you agreed with me that it was best at that time, +that he should try his strength alone.”</p> + +<p>“Yes I certainly did,” she said, “and I think, Everard, that time has +proved you were right.”</p> + +<p>“I hope there is no doubt about that, dear Hope. But <i>now</i> things are +different. It seems to me now a very great question whether Robert would +not be better with a home. It is on that subject I want your advice.” He +paused and looked at her. “What do you think, Hope?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you are right again,” she said after a little thought. “I had +been so happy to see him as he is, that I had not begun to consider +about a change. But I did hear him say the other day that he was +sometimes dreary of an evening, an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120">{120}</a></span> yet did not feel to care for Mr. +Perceval’s company.”</p> + +<p>“So did I, Hope; that made me think a great deal about it.”</p> + +<p>“Has Aunt Joan decided? Have you talked to her, Everard?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but I do not think she will go.” He paused again, then looking at +her with a furtive smile,” he said, “Will you go to him, Hope?”</p> + +<p>“Me,” she cried turning deadly pale and clasping her hands together. +“Oh! Everard.”</p> + +<p>“My dearest Hope,” he said, stooping towards her tenderly, “have I +startled you? I did not mean to do it; but there it is; will you be +Robert’s wife? He dares not ask you himself, and so I must do it. And +Hope,” he continued seriously, laying his hand on hers, “remember that I +have been made your guardian, and trust me that I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121">{121}</a></span> would ask nothing but +what your own father and my father, could they have been here to act for +you, would have approved. There,” he added quickly, for he saw her +agitation was very great, “read these, and I will come back again +presently,” and he hastily left the room and left her to herself.</p> + +<p>The correspondence was arranged according to their dates. The first +letter was from Everard to Robert, asking his opinion as to the +desireableness of his having a home in London. He told him plainly the +reasons which had made him oppose it the year before, dwelling +especially on that reason which regarded Hope. He said he had fancied +that Robert was not at his ease in her presence, and that he had thought +it most right to save Hope from the pain of altered circumstances as far +as was possible. But now he concluded, he no longer felt the same, and +he would be glad to know Robert’s wishes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122">{122}</a></span></p> + +<p>The style of the correspondence was according to the usual manner of the +two brothers very simple and concise, not a word more than was +necessary.</p> + +<p>Robert in his answer thanked Everard, but said he preferred that no +change should be made. Not he said that there were not times when he +longed to have a home, but the reasons against it were stronger than his +wishes. “These reasons are chiefly two,” he concluded. “First, I am +quite as sure as ever that my mother would be miserable cooped up in +London; and secondly, I really cannot undertake to live constantly with +Hope, as I used to do. I know that I must not think of marriage for some +years to come, and therefore, I had better not be tempted to think of +it. You perhaps may think me very weak, but some people cannot help +saying what is in their minds, and I find it hard work as it is.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123">{123}</a></span></p> + +<p>Everard’s answer to this was to say, that he supposed he understood that +Robert alluded to money matters, when he said he could not marry, and he +was anxious to show him, that provided he could be content to begin +moderately, he thought that question might he satisfactorily arranged. +He then reminded him, that Hope had been left to his guardianship, and +asked him if he could doubt, that in the event of her marriage with any +other person, his father would not have provided for her like his own +daughter. He therefore proposed, he said, to give her £10,000, which, +with what Robert had, would enable them to begin with £1000 a year, or +rather more. Would Robert be content with this? he asked.</p> + +<p>A very serious reply was returned, thanking Everard for his care and +interest, but reminding him of his father’s constantly ex<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124">{124}</a></span>pressed desire +that the property should never be weakened by over charges.</p> + +<p>“I know that I, who have done so much to charge it, have no right to +speak on this point, but I must remind you of it, lest your desire for +my happiness should tempt you to forget.” This was the conclusion of the +letter.</p> + +<p>There was yet another answer from Everard, laying before Robert a full +statement of the present condition of the property. This statement +showed the care and judgment which Everard had exhibited in the +management, for it proved, that, notwithstanding the new charges, the +condition was hopeful and flourishing. He directed his attention +especially to one fact, which he said, enabled him with a clear +conscience to make new charges. This was the paying off an old mortgage +at a very high rate of interest by a sum borrowed at a lesser<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125">{125}</a></span> rate. As +the mortgage was large, this had made a considerable difference in the +yearly receipts.</p> + +<p>Robert now changed his ground, and wrote a somewhat passionate and +excited letter on the subject of his unworthiness of Hope. “That she +loves me,” he said, “I will not even pretend to doubt. I know that angel +cannot change, but that she would marry me, I do very much doubt, and +still more do I doubt my right to ask it. I do not speak of how I have +treated her, for I do believe she would forgive that as she forgives +everything; but think of my past life and hers, and ask yourself if it +is fit that two such contrasts should be joined together. I dare not +think of it, and am inclined to wonder, that you, her guardian, should +propose it, especially, as whatever I may <i>intend</i>, promise and vow I +dare not.”</p> + +<p>There was more, and forcibly put, and by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126">{126}</a></span> the dates of the letters it +was evident that Everard had not replied to it in haste. There was +nearly a week between them. This was the reply, when it came.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p> + +“My dear Robert,<br> +</p> + +<p>“For many days I have been thinking of your letter. You put my duty +towards Hope, in a stronger light than I had yet considered it, and +I would not answer till I had thought it over in every point of +view. I am sure I do not wonder at your feelings, and though it is +hardly for me to say so to you, I can assure you, it is not because +I think lightly of your objections, that I still hold to my wishes. +But there are other points of view in which the case may be +considered. The past is your own consideration, the future is what +I have to do with, and for that I do trust you. One who has behaved +as you have done to me, shows<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127">{127}</a></span> a nature too noble and generous not +to be safely trusted with the care and happiness, even of one like +Hope. So far, therefore, as my consent is needed, you have it.</p> + +<p>“Not for worlds, however, would I press you further, and if you +feel you cannot undertake the trust, this shall be the last I will +say on the subject. I shall be disappointed, but that is not a +matter of importance. Shall you think of coming down and talking to +her?</p> + +<p class="r"> +“Always, dear Robert,<br> +“Yours affectionately,<br> +“<span class="smcap">Everard Vavasour</span>.”<br> +</p></div> + +<p>There was a pause of four days more, and then this answer.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p> + +“My dear Everard,<br> +</p> + +<p>“If you can trust me, that is more to the purpose than my own +feelings.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128">{128}</a></span> You would not unless you saw good reason, and that gives +me confidence. I put myself in your hands. Speak for me to Hope. +Tell her I dare not ask it—tell her what I feel when I think of +her as my wife. Yet tell her that with her love and prayers I do +trust I may yet be more worthy of her. You must tell me how she +looks. If she can bear to think of it, I will come and speak for +myself.</p> + +<p class="r"> +“Yours affectionately,<br> +“<span class="smcap">Robert Vavasour</span>.”<br> +</p></div> + +<p>So ended the correspondence.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Hope was still sitting with the letters in her hand when Everard +returned, and as she did not seem to observe him, he took a book and sat +down at a distance in silence.</p> + +<p>It was some time longer before a slight<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129">{129}</a></span> movement roused her to a sense +of her abstraction. When he saw she observed him, he got up and went +towards her.</p> + +<p>“Have you considered, dear Hope?” he enquired, not with a smile, for he +saw that grave thoughts had occupied her, and were now painted on her +pale cheek.</p> + +<p>She looked up in his face with an expression of confidence that touched +him to the heart.</p> + +<p>“Like Robert, dear Everard,” she said, “I put myself in your hands. I +trust you when I could not dare to trust myself,” and she put both her +hands in his as she said the words.</p> + +<p>“I think you may trust me,” he said, stooping and kissing her brow, with +a something fatherly in his manner, that sat upon him<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130">{130}</a></span> with singular +grace. “We all may be mistaken, but I do believe that Robert is now +worthy of your love. If I did not, no thought for his happiness could +have led me to wish for this marriage. Your happiness was too sacred a +trust. Dear Hope, are you happy now?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, too happy,” she said, and tears shone in her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Then all is well, and God bless you, for you have made <i>me</i> happy!” and +his face did look for the moment as if the weight of care that oppressed +it, was lifted and gone.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>As the course of this love now ran smoothly it needs but a few more +words. The marriage took place in the following month of June. Before +that time Everard went with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131">{131}</a></span> Robert to London to make some arrangements, +and to find a house. A small, but pretty one was chosen near the Green +Park. Its cost was beyond what was justified by Robert’s circumstances, +but Everard insisted on supplying the <i>unjustified</i> part of the sum, +and, as was now felt by all, when Everard insisted he had his way. His +argument was that Hope was unaccustomed to London and must have fresh +air; and to this Robert submitted.</p> + +<p>“I submit,” he said, laughing, “because I can’t help it, and because I +think it gives you pleasure, and because....” He paused and looked into +his brother’s face to see if he might venture. He certainly saw no +invitation to venture, yet he proceeded, “because I hope you will soon +have so much money, you will not know what to do with it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132">{132}</a></span></p> + +<p>There was no answer to this, it had only the effect of restoring the +grave look which was beginning to be shaken off.</p> + +<p>The marriage was celebrated with great privacy. This was partly in order +to induce Mrs. Vavasour to attend, and partly according to a well known +opinion of Robert’s. “I don’t like to see a woman stared at,” he had +often said, “on her wedding day more than any other day, and my wife +never shall,” and he kept his word. Nevertheless, he requested Hope to +dress herself with as much care as if there were to be a thousand +spectators, and she in whose eyes everything was sanctified that could +give pleasure to him, woke up her slumbering taste and did her utmost to +gratify him.</p> + +<p>When she came down in her bridal dress before they set off for the +church,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133">{133}</a></span> he seemed to feel what she was, almost beyond what he had ever +felt before, and stood gazing at her in a kind of transport, as serious +as it was full of love and admiration. “My dear Hope,” he said at last, +with sadness in his voice, “how you make me ashamed. What have I ever +done that I should have an angel to bear me company?”</p> + +<p>Everard and his mother stood at the door to see them take their +departure, when—after the ceremony was over, and they had returned to +Audley Court for Hope to change her dress,—they set out on their way.</p> + +<p>Hope’s last word was to Everard. She came to him and put her hand in +his, looking with grateful affection into his face. “It is to you we owe +it all, dear Everard,” she said in her sweet tremulous voice. “You have +saved him, and made me happy. God bless you for it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134">{134}</a></span></p> + +<p>And Robert’s voice murmured something of the same import as he shook his +hand, and followed her.</p> + +<p>Everard’s heart swelled and tears were in his eyes. He stood watching +them in deep thought.</p> + +<p>When the last sound of the wheels was heard, he was roused by a hand +laid gently on his arm. He turned round. His mother was there looking up +at him, with such a look of love as had often been Robert’s portion but +never his, till this moment. She smiled almost playfully and said, “Can +you be content, Everard, with an old mother for your company.”</p> + +<p>More than a thousand repentant protestations were contained in those +simple words; Everard was loved at last, and he felt it. He kissed her +with an emotion which, in its warmth and freedom, reacted upon her, and +the chains of many years’ binding, fell off and left them free.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135">{135}</a></span></p> + +<p>Robert’s marriage had had the effect of rousing Mrs. Vavasour from the +cloud in which her grief had wrapt her. The thought of the new home of +her darling had won her to look into that future over which so dark a +mist had been brooding, and she found there hope and comfort. Once +aroused she saw her duties more clearly, the shadow fell away, and she +found strength for what yet was left in life for her to do. And when the +shadow departed she saw Everard as he was. She saw what Hope and Robert +felt towards him, the trust they reposed in him, the reverence with +which they regarded him; no longer unwilling she allowed them to speak, +and they told her of all his ways, and all his acts of generous +kindness; of the affection he was winning from his people, of the regard +and estimation of all—she heard and pondered it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136">{136}</a></span> in her heart, and thus +a change came.</p> + +<p>It seemed a strange thing to Everard, that that action, which had cost +him such agony of spirit, which in its beginning had seemed to produce +only hate, should in the end win for him the thing his soul longed for +with feverish longing. He who had been nothing was now all. <i>The</i> one on +whom all seemed to hang for affection, help, and guidance, the one on +whom warm words of grateful love were for ever falling, making his heart +beat and his eyes dim with tears. It was very strange to him, and being +more inclined to humility than to pride, he felt humbled in the +possession of the blessing, which, when absent, he had almost thought he +deserved.</p> + +<p>But though a strange thing in Everard’s eyes, it is no uncommon thing in +the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137">{137}</a></span> ways of the world. The rough path of a hard duty, or that which +looks like a duty to sincere eyes, sometimes becomes strangely smooth, +when the steps are steadfastly set to walk along it; and many a low +valley long despised in men’s eyes, becoming fertile through the dews of +Heaven, draws to itself the gaze which it seemed unwilling to meet, and +in due time is exalted.</p> + +<p>As Everard and his mother re-entered her sitting-room after Robert’s +departure, she again laid her hand on his arm, and said,</p> + +<p>“Dear Everard, do you never mean to be as happy as Robert is?”</p> + +<p>And, again, a shadow fell over his face, and he said, “The future is a +dark place, Mother, who can tell what is hid in it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138">{138}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Do not some make it darker than it need be?” she asked again.</p> + +<p>He silently shook his head, and the subject dropped.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139">{139}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></h2> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The backward flower may yet be wooed to blow,<br></span> +<span class="i0">The dying flame may yet be set a glow,<br></span> +<span class="i0">The truant bird be lured, the fickle heart<br></span> +<span class="i0">Won back again by spell of love’s sweet art;<br></span> +<span class="i0">But thou, so kind, so constant, yet so cold,<br></span> +<span class="i0">What spell for thee shall all love’s store unfold?<br></span> +<span class="i10"><i>From Poems by E. Hinxman.</i><br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“Well</span>, Angela,” cried Miss Vansittart, eagerly entering the drawing-room +at Underwood, “what do you think? Mr. Gresham has proposed, and Mr. +Vavasour has accepted.”</p> + +<p>Angela was seated in a window of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140">{140}</a></span> room drawing. Miss Price was lying +on the sofa. It was in the middle of August. Mr. Gresham (bringing Miss +Price in his suite to be again a chaperone to his daughter “on certain +delicate occasions,”) had returned to Underwood about ten days before, +his mind as tenaciously bent on the acquisition of its idol as in the +previous year. The Vansittart family were paying him a visit.</p> + +<p>There was certainly nothing very attractive even to the most anxious +heart, in the terms of Miss Vansittart’s announcement, but Angela’s +inner life was too constantly agitated to allow her to hear it with +calmness. A flush of astonishment strangely mingled with hope and anger, +dyed her cheeks, and a startled light flashed in her eyes.</p> + +<p>At the sight of her discomposure, Miss Vansittart laughed heartily, as +heartily<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141">{141}</a></span> that is, as she thought it becoming in a young lady to laugh, +and more heartily than she would have laughed had Mr. Gresham been in +the room.</p> + +<p>“Why, Angela,” she exclaimed, “what is the matter? You could not look +more moved, if a proposal of marriage had been in question, instead of a +simple proposal to dine.”</p> + +<p>“You startled me,” Angela said coldly, and resumed her drawing without +further inquiries.</p> + +<p>“But why,” asked her companion eagerly. “What did you think I meant? Did +you really, is it possible you could really suppose, that I was speaking +of a matrimonial proposal. Is it possible?”</p> + +<p>With an effort Angela drove away her annoyance and laughed. “If your +father was my father, Adelaide,” she said, lightly, “you would sometimes +feel as I do, <i>terri<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142">{142}</a></span>fied</i> at what he might think it right to do.”</p> + +<p>“Terror!” said her tormentor. “I don’t think it was only terror I saw in +your face.”</p> + +<p>Angela made no reply. She was now herself again, guarded and prepared +for Miss Vansittart’s questioning.</p> + +<p>“Come, Angela,” she said, drawing a chair into the window. “Now I have +found you alone or as good as alone,” glancing at Miss Price who was +reading, and quite unmoved by what had passed, “do talk to me a little. +I must tell you that I know all about you and Mr. Vavasour. My interest +was excited about him last night, so I made it my business to drag it +all out of your Papa in the course of that walk we took this morning. He +has been telling me everything from beginning to end.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143">{143}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Then probably you know much more than I do,” was Angela’s cold reply.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” with a little air of importance. “But still I know only the +dry facts such as a man can tell; I want the comments which only a woman +can make. Come, do be a good girl, and make a <i>confidante</i> of me.”</p> + +<p>“I will answer any question you please to ask,” Angela said. “But as I +have nothing whatever to tell, you must excuse my making confidences.”</p> + +<p>“You are very ungrateful, do you know,” said Miss Vansittart playfully. +“You owe this dinner engagement entirely to me. After your Papa told me +the dry facts this morning, I made him come in and write an invitation +to dine and sleep for Saturday, on the spur of the moment. He consented, +wrote it, desired the groom to wait for an answer, and the answer being +favorable,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144">{144}</a></span> allowed me to be the bearer of the good news to you at once. +It came while we were playing at billiards, and I resigned my place to +Mamma, and hastened to you.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! you wretch, is that all you have to say after my efforts in your +service?”</p> + +<p>“As you could not possibly know, Adelaide, whether it would please me or +not, I can only suppose you wish to see Mr. Vavasour himself.”</p> + +<p>“There I will confess you are right; for though I am entirely of your +Papa’s mind that the union of the two properties is motive sufficient to +form the matrimonial project, still being somewhat younger than he is, +and in its proper place somewhat more romantic, I allow that the outward +man and manners are of importance. Now tell me—Is Mr. Vavasour +handsome?”</p> + +<p>“My aunt says not.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145">{145}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Do you, Miss Price,” said Miss Vansittart, startling her into +attention. “Do you call Mr. Vavasour ugly? I am sorry for that.”</p> + +<p>“Ugly, my love, no indeed,” replied Miss Price much distressed. “I +believe, I did once say that to my taste he was not handsome; his nose +is large, and his eyebrows very marked—but he is pleasing, decidedly +pleasing.”</p> + +<p>“And what do you say, Angela?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! pleasing, decidedly pleasing,” she replied carelessly.</p> + +<p>“Well, I see I must judge for myself. He comes on Saturday. I told you +that, Angela, did I not? to dine, but not to sleep; and I can tell you, +that since you refuse to confide in me, you must be prepared to be +watched with the eyes of a lynx. I have no doubt that <i>I</i> shall discover +what is the mystery.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146">{146}</a></span></p> + +<p>“What mystery?” Angela said impatiently provoked out of her coolness.</p> + +<p>“What mystery? why, my dear Angela, the very inexplicable mystery of +why, seeing he is now in a position to be accepted, he does not repeat +his former unwelcome proposal.”</p> + +<p>“If you put it in that light, I think what you call the mystery is very +easily explained. Some men are not particularly fond of being accepted +for their position, and some women would scorn them if they were.”</p> + +<p>“Yes some, but not you, Angela,” she replied mischievously. “You would +e’en take him, although he has the misfortune to have a fine property +saddled upon him.”</p> + +<p>“What makes you take so much interest in Mr. Vavasour?” Angela asked, +evading any reply to this accusation.</p> + +<p>“That Mr. Selwyn with whom you sent me<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147">{147}</a></span> in to dinner last night. He +talked of very little except Mr. Vavasour, and as I had nothing better +to hear from him, I allowed him and even encouraged him to speak. You +know, Angela, men say, that a woman never praises a woman. Now I have +happened to remark, that except very young men, a man never praises a +man; and therefore when a man does praise a man, I always suppose there +is good reason.”</p> + +<p>“And Mr. Selwyn praised Mr. Vavasour?” Angela asked with as small a show +of interest as she could possibly put on.</p> + +<p>“He did indeed, he even excited <i>my</i> prosaic mind. He told me that a +year ago he in common with many others, positively hated him for +stepping as he did into his brother’s place, but that somehow or other, +he has so won the good opinion of his neighbours, that there is not one +who does not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148">{148}</a></span> love him. He says, he mixes in society a good deal now, as +much as he can without leaving his mother alone, and that his manners +and conversation are so agreeable, so kind, and so sensible, that ... in +short, I suppose, Angela, that if Mr. Selwyn has any daughters, they are +your rivals; and perhaps a great many others besides. I did not like to +ask the question point blank, but I beat delicately about the bush, and +I found, that Mr. Vavasour is not looked upon as a marrying man, but +that if he were, he would have no great difficulty in finding a wife.”</p> + +<p>“I should think not,” Angela said composedly. “When a person’s character +is very high, and there is nothing in other ways to repel, I think the +difficulty must be <i>not</i> to like them.”</p> + +<p>“That is your opinion, is it, Angela? And you think love is guided by +character?<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149">{149}</a></span> Well, my view of the world differs from yours; and I should +say, upon the whole, that my experience is more to be trusted. However, +I must tell you one thing more that Mr. Selwyn said. He found a fault. +Are you interested? Do you care to know what it is? Have you any fears +for Mr. Vavasour’s character?” and she fixed her mischievous eyes on +Angela’s face.</p> + +<p>“Not much fear for his character,” she said, with a very slight glow on +her cheek, “but I should certainly like to hear what the fault is.”</p> + +<p>“To tell you the truth, it was the fault that most took my fancy. Not +that I myself admire it; I quite agree with Mr. Selwyn, and with your +papa, who joined in the conversation, that it is a great fault; but +still it is not a very common one, and therefore it took my attention. +The world is full of people, worthy and unworthy, who<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150">{150}</a></span> try to make much +of themselves. To be blameably backward is less common, and though a +fault, is not an offensive one. When I hear of a young man in Mr. +Vavasour’s position, being too modest to take his proper place in the +world, I think it a very great pity, and so I shall tell him if I have +an opportunity; but it excites my interest.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Angela replied, with the same quietness of manner with which she +had pursued the conversation.</p> + +<p>Miss Vansittart here gave a slight and affected yawn, as if to do away +with the impression of having been really interested in the +conversation, and began to admire the embroidery of Angela’s collar, and +the fineness of her muslin gown. This was a common change in her ways +and manners. She had more in her than she quite liked to have, or knew +what to do with, and after<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151">{151}</a></span> any unusual shew of interest, retraced her +steps to worldliness or frivolity, as the practice of some serious duty +she had set before her eyes.</p> + +<p>Angela was too lavishly supplied with the means of adorning herself to +take much interest in her dress, and while her companion admired, her +thoughts went far away.</p> + +<p>There was nothing new in their track. The same hope, the same fear, the +same despondency, had occupied her mind for many months, and were +occupying them still. She returned unchanged. “The strength of love is +constancy,” and certainly hers day by day gathered strength, and +engraved itself with iron in her soul. This was not altogether a +conscious virtue, or a willing one. There had been many moments during +the weary, yet exciting months she had passed, when she had said she +would wait no more. There had been moments, when<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152">{152}</a></span> her heart sickening +with hope deferred, and pining to be loved and cherished, had +resolved—among the many who only waited the softening of a glance to +come forward,—to make a new and happier choice.</p> + +<p>But little did these resolutions avail her. It is the happiness, and yet +the trial of attachments like hers, that they cannot be shaken. +Sympathies are broken, fancies change, charms are dispelled; but the +chain that binds to the rock of a lofty character no wind or storm can +break, so long as the rock itself is fast and sure. Inconstant natures +may, indeed, be weary of reverencing, as they grow weary of all things +else in earth and in Heaven; but better natures are not fickle ones—and +in these the love that is built on reverence is as immoveable as the +stars in the sky. Angela struggled with her passion only to find that it +grasped her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153">{153}</a></span> with a might beyond her power to overcome.</p> + +<p>So she returned to Underwood, and so entered again upon her life of +exciting expectation.</p> + +<p>On the Sunday after her return, she had twice seen Everard in church; +but there had been no meeting outside. In the morning <i>she</i> had been +late, and in the afternoon <i>he</i> was so; and on both occasions he had +remained with his mother—who was still unwilling to encounter the gaze +of strangers—when the service was over. Whether this was a pain to him +or no, she could not tell. Their pews were on different sides of the +church; and though she had fancied that his eyes followed her down the +aisle, she could not he sure.</p> + +<p>“I am glad I shall see Mr. Vavasour,” broke in the placid voice of her +aunt,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154">{154}</a></span> about half-an-hour after Miss Vansittart left the room, “I shall +be happy to meet him again.”</p> + +<p>Angela started from her meditations, and went to her and kissed her. She +did feel sanguine at this early acceptance of her father’s invitation, +and thus her heart expressed itself.</p> + +<p>“You will be happy too, love?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot tell,” Angela said, and sighed, and sat down again to her +drawing.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Mr. Gresham stood at the drawing-room door to receive Everard, much in +the same manner as he had received Robert two years before; and with +something of the same pomp he would have conducted him around the room; +but Everard escaped from him. Leaving Mr. Addison, with whom he came, to +hear the conclusion of Mr. Gresham’s speeches, he went quickly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155">{155}</a></span> across +the room to Angela, and having as quickly shaken hands with her, +retreated to the background, where Miss Price sat, and placed himself by +her side. It was all so easily and rapidly done, that Angela’s heart had +scarcely begun to bound, and her cheek to flush, before the meeting was +over. How over she could not tell; but she was so far relieved as to be +convinced that even Miss Vansittart’s curious eyes had seen nothing to +satisfy them; and she resolved that this first meeting safely over, +nothing to gratify them <i>should</i> be exhibited during the remainder of +the evening.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gresham was disappointed in being unable to make a hero of Everard. +He could not appreciate a character that did not love to walk in the +eyes of the world; and he gave a sigh to Robert.</p> + +<p>Mr. Selwyn’s complaint regarding Ever<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156">{156}</a></span>ard’s manners and habits, was the +common complaint of the neighbourhood. Perhaps it is the case in all +countries—in England it certainly is so great a pleasure to admire, and +either privately or publicly to make a hero, that in the same degree as +arrogance offends, over-diffidence displeases. It is a disappointment to +a very good trait in human nature, and human nature is angry. And yet, +on the other hand, it was this very simplicity and modesty of nature +which had won for Everard the regard in which he was now held. It might +disappoint, but it attracted—it might be condemned with the lips, but +the inner heart approved; and, though with reluctance, it was some times +confessed, that in his peculiar position even over-diffidence, perhaps, +was fitting.</p> + +<p>Unwilling to be thwarted in all his efforts to do honor to his guest, +Mr. Gresham,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157">{157}</a></span> when dinner was announced, approached Everard, and desired +him aloud to take his daughter in to dinner. Having made his +arrangements, he then gave his own arm to Mrs. Vansittart, and departed.</p> + +<p>A bright color glowed for a moment on the cheeks of both Everard and +Angela, but he obeyed Mr. Gresham’s commands without hesitation, and +came to her side at once. Not so Angela. Not coldly, yet with dignity, +she stood up on his approach, and with ease and self-possession said, +“No, I think it will be better for you to take Miss Vansittart,” and +making a slight introduction, she drew back.</p> + +<p>Again he colored, but obeyed with the same perfect obedience.</p> + +<p>“Will you take me, Mr. Addison?” Angela asked, having previously +mortally offended a youth, by sending him in to dinner with Miss Price, +and she placed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158">{158}</a></span> herself at the table well satisfied with what she had +done.</p> + +<p>But the satisfaction did not last very long. From her end of the table +she could not help observing what passed at the other end; and the easy +conversation which was kept up between Everard and Miss Vansittart, +annoyed her. She observed, and justly, that he was changed. Having been +forced into notice, all that was awkward in his manners had worn away, +and he was able to bear his part in common society without effort or +pain. His countenance, when in repose, was still singularly grave; but +being no longer permitted to be silent, the gravity was not so striking. +He was changed, as life and society changes all men; and in his case +there was no doubt that the change was an improvement. But Angela could +not, and would not, own it; a feeling of jealousy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159">{159}</a></span> and annoyance crept +over her, and after some struggle, the mind’s feelings came forth in +words.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Vavasour, I see, has quite recovered his spirits,” she observed to +Mr. Addison.</p> + +<p>“In a degree,” he replied, “not entirely. Even yet, I sometimes accuse +him of moroseness.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see much of it,” she said quickly.</p> + +<p>He glanced at her, but said no more.</p> + +<p>“I hear he mixes a great deal in society,” she began again, after +another somewhat angry gaze down the table.</p> + +<p>“Not a very great deal; what he does is chiefly for his mother’s sake. +She will not see any one herself, and he thinks it necessary therefore, +for her good and her happiness, to have some new things to tell her. He +leaves her unwillingly, but he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160">{160}</a></span> thinks occasional absences make +diversity in her life; and he is right.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I dare say. I was not disapproving, I assure you, Mr. Addison. I +was only remarking on the fact as a new one. He strikes me as being very +much changed.”</p> + +<p>“You will not think so when you see more of him. I see him most days, +and I see no change. Except ...” he added, after a moment, “that he +changes as we all ought to change—he improves.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, so I hear,” she replied; but she was not in the mood to think +of any changes with pleasure, and her tone was not cordial.</p> + +<p>“I think <i>you</i> are changed, Miss Gresham,” Mr. Addison said, looking at +her after a short silence.</p> + +<p>“Am I? How?”</p> + +<p>“You are graver and quieter; <i>older</i>,” he added, with a smile.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161">{161}</a></span></p> + +<p>“And is it a good change?” Angela asked, smiling also.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think so,” he replied, kindly.</p> + +<p>“Do you <i>really</i> think I am growing better? I should be very glad;” and +there was real anxiety in her voice.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think so,” he repeated.</p> + +<p>“I wonder why you think so. What have I done; I feel so very far from +being better myself.”</p> + +<p>He looked round to see if any one was listening, and then said quietly, +“You used to give me much pain by your wandering eyes at church, you do +so no longer. That is one good change.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she exclaimed, colouring deeply.</p> + +<p>“I remember you told me once. Yes I have tried to change that. But +perhaps....” She stopped, and sighed, and said no more; but meant +perhaps to say, that the inner eyes were wandering still.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162">{162}</a></span></p> + +<p>They continued to talk during the remainder of dinner; not so +unceasingly, however, as to prevent Angela from perceiving the flow of +discourse between Everard and Miss Vansittart. Not even in the early +days of their acquaintance had Everard been thus conversible with her.</p> + +<p>On returning to the drawing-room, Miss Vansittart approached her with +her hands joined together and said, “My dear Angela, I must really beg +your pardon! I am afraid you will never forgive me.”</p> + +<p>“For what?” Angela said, forcing a smile, but uneasy in heart.</p> + +<p>“I will tell you. Quite inadvertently I am afraid I have deprived you of +Mr. Vavasour’s society this evening. In the course of dinner I asked +your Papa if he would let me play at whist to-night—you know I have +before now begged him to let<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163">{163}</a></span> me join his party, and he has refused, +thinking I did it out of civility—well he agreed at last; and then +quite without thought I asked Mr. Vavasour if he would be my partner; to +my utter dismay, he said yes. I am really sorry, Angela, but I could not +help it.”</p> + +<p>Angela’s heart died within her. This, then, was to be the end of that +meeting, from which she had hoped so much. She turned pale with +disappointment, but seeing four curious eyes eagerly watching her face, +she controlled herself enough to say indifferently, “If it pleases you +and him, you are quite welcome. For myself I hate the very sight of +whist, but that I suppose is a matter of taste.”</p> + +<p>“You seemed to be getting on famously with Mr. Vavasour, Adelaide,” said +her mother. “I was quite afraid Mr. Gresham would be jealous.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164">{164}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, no fear of that,” Adelaide replied, with a slight affected laugh, +“he knew what I was doing. He told me to make much of Mr. Vavasour, and +I was only obeying orders.”</p> + +<p>Angela had now recovered herself, and sitting down and inviting the +others to sit down also, she said, composedly, “What did you talk about, +Adelaide? I should have thought no two people on earth could have had so +little in common.”</p> + +<p>“What has that to do with conversation?” was Miss Vansittart’s reply. +“Society would be very tame if there was nothing but agreement.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want agreement; but to talk pleasantly people must more or less +see things from the same point of view. Now, I should say, you and Mr. +Vavasour might have been born in different planets.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165">{165}</a></span></p> + +<p>“I should think we were, and that he was born in the planet Mars, for +instance; but let people come from whence they may, I will find means to +make them talk to me. But however, Mr. Vavasour and I <i>had</i> a subject in +common, and we did great justice to it.”</p> + +<p>“And what was that?” asked Mrs. Vansittart. Miss Vansittart bowed to +Angela with a peculiar smile.</p> + +<p>“Me!” cried Angela, indignantly. “I should be much obliged to you, then, +not to talk about me.”</p> + +<p>“I am very sorry, but I really cannot oblige you. I talk of you very +often. You are quite one of my subjects. I admire you, and blame you, +and envy you, just as the circumstances suggest, and you would rob me of +one of my greatest pleasures if you set an embargo on my lips.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166">{166}</a></span></p> + +<p>“And what line did you take to-night?” asked her mother smiling.</p> + +<p>“I began by admiring, of course, and then I asked him the question point +blank whether he did not admire also. You know, Angela, I had no reason +to hold my tongue. And what do you think he said?”</p> + +<p>Angela’s heart beat, but she only quietly said, “Very little, I should +guess.”</p> + +<p>“Well, he did not make an oration, certainly; but he answered +readily,—no blushing or stammering, as I had expected, ‘Yes, very +much.’ So then I went on to my next subject—envy; and on that I dilated +at some length. But here we did not agree so well; in fact, to say the +truth, I think he looked on my views as very worldly. When I observed +that I could conceive nothing earthly so happy as your position, he said +gravely, ‘that he did not think great riches were an ad<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167">{167}</a></span>vantage to a +woman, but much more a trial.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>Angela blushed, but remained silent.</p> + +<p>Miss Price, who generally slumbered by fits and starts during the +evening, here softly murmured, “It is all as God ordains,” a sentiment +which was very commonly in her mouth, and which during her half +slumbers, she sometimes applied with less opportuneness than at this +moment.</p> + +<p>“Very true, Miss Price,” said Miss Vansittart good-humouredly, “and I +hope you will not think me wrong if I say I wish it had been ordained +for me. I do not agree with Mr. Vavasour at all, and so I told him; and +I took that opportunity to give him a piece of advice which I had been +treasuring in my mind for some days, namely, that he, in his position, +ought not to keep himself so backward. I told him position was not given +to be hid under a bushel.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168">{168}</a></span></p> + +<p>“What did he say?” Angela asked eagerly, forgetting how little interest +she desired to shew on the subject.</p> + +<p>“He did not much like my advice, I think. He tried to change the subject +again and again, but it is one on which I feel strongly, and so I +persisted, and delivered myself of a great many wise sentiments. He +said, at last, he was very much obliged to me, and he hoped he should +profit by my advice; but it was not serious, and I am very much afraid I +made no impression.”</p> + +<p>“Young men are apt to be perverse,” said Mrs. Vansittart, vacantly, as +she looked over her rings and bracelets, and wondered why the gentlemen +sat so long after dinner.</p> + +<p>“How prettily you are dressed to-night, Angela,” observed Miss +Vansittart, changing her manner. “I made that remark to Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169">{169}</a></span> Vavasour; +and he looked at you and said ‘yes, he liked white;’ so now you know his +taste, if you did not before, which I suspect you did. What did you give +for that silk, and where did you have it made?”</p> + +<p>“I know nothing about it,” Angela said, impatiently. “I have told you a +hundred times that I know no more about my dress than the man in the +moon. Papa told me to bring six new gowns into the country, and I +obeyed, though I thought it was shocking waste. I told my maid to go and +order them, and this is one.”</p> + +<p>Miss Vansittart put up her hands to her eyes and Mrs. Vansittart said, +“I remember when you were quite a little thing, Angela, finding you one +night very angry about wearing silk frocks. Some poet says, I believe, +that the boy is father to the man. I am sure in your case the girl is +mother to the woman.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170">{170}</a></span></p> + +<p>“I think I remember,” Angela said laughing, “that was the first night I +ever saw Mr. Merivale. Do you know that he is coming over. We expect him +here in about three weeks.”</p> + +<p>“I rejoice to hear it,” said Mrs. Vansittart! “He is too great a +stranger to us all. But here come the gentlemen at last!” and as she +spoke Mr. Gresham and his suite entered the room.</p> + +<p>Poor Angela was destined to new disappointment. Had Everard intended to +approach her he could not have done so, for the mortally offended youth, +thinking no small things of himself, and determined to make amends for +the tedium of the dinner hour, took a chair, placed it in front of +Angela, and cut her off from the room; and she, too conscious of her +intense desire to escape from him to allow it to ap<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171">{171}</a></span>pear, was forced to +endure with patience.</p> + +<p>Everard was first seized by the button, while an old gentleman expounded +in his ears his views on foreign politics; he was freed from this grasp +after a time by Mr. Gresham, who brought a request from Mrs. Vansittart, +that she might be allowed to make his acquaintance. She looked on all +young men in Everard’s circumstances under two aspects; first as +valuable in themselves, and secondly, as valuable in respect to her +three daughters; and she laid herself out to make herself agreeable to +him.</p> + +<p>Angela watched, and could she have seen one weary glance directed +towards herself would have been content; but no glance came. She did not +think he looked interested or amused, but there was no appearance of a +wish to escape, and languidly and restlessly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172">{172}</a></span> she endeavoured to attend +to her own companion.</p> + +<p>Then came a move; and hope once more arose; but it was only to the whist +table, which,—in a desire to show his gratitude to Miss Vansittart for +her interest in his favourite recreation—Mr. Gresham caused to be set +out at an earlier hour than usual.</p> + +<p>Everard was summoned; and no longer fearful of her motives being read +too plainly, Angela freed herself from the youth who had poisoned her +evening, and sitting down by her aunt, indulged her troubled thoughts in +silence.</p> + +<p>From this comparative peace she was aroused by an order from Mr. Gresham +to entertain them with music; she obeyed and was followed to the +piano-forte by the youth, and by Mr. Alfred Vansittart, a young +gentleman who for several years had been carrying<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173">{173}</a></span> on a mild courtship, +insipid but constant, never daunted, but never elated into hope.</p> + +<p>Though improved and improving outwardly and inwardly; though softened in +manner, and to a considerable degree disciplined in mind, Angela was +still very far from a saint either in gentleness or patience. Mortified +and disappointed she could not refrain from venting a part of her +irritation on her two pertinacious admirers, and first by obtuseness to +their speeches, and then by rebuffs to their polite attentions, she +endeavoured to soothe herself, and weary them. Of the ill temper in +which she was indulging she was totally unconscious, until, a +considerable time having elapsed in mingled concord and discord, sweet +sounds of music and irritation of temper, she suddenly perceived that +she had a third auditor. Behind Alfred Van<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174">{174}</a></span>sittart Everard was standing +and watching her.</p> + +<p>She felt her cheeks glow, and unable to bear her prominent position, she +closed her music book, pushed back her chair, and said with a laugh that +she had played enough and could play no more.</p> + +<p>The young men remonstrated, re-opened the book, and sorted her music in +search of fresh pieces; and while they thus occupied themselves, Everard +came round to her.</p> + +<p>“I am going now,” he said, “Mrs. Vansittart has taken my place. My +mother likes to sit up for me, and I don’t wish to be late. I have +something to ask you before I go. You saw Hope in London, did you not?”</p> + +<p>“Once. Only once. She only arrived just before we left London.”</p> + +<p>“Did she make a request to you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175">{175}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” Angela said blushing a little, “but....”</p> + +<p>“I hope you will be so kind as to attend to it,” he said earnestly; +“Hope told me she should ask you to come and see my mother, and I cannot +help enforcing her request myself. It will be a kindness, a real charity +if you will; for since Hope went, my mother is too much alone.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think she will see me?”</p> + +<p>“I am almost sure she will, if you can make the attempt.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will.”</p> + +<p>There was a short silence, and then Everard said, “I believe I am very +troublesome, but would it be possible to you to name the day. The reason +I ask this is, that I may be at home when you come. If I tell my mother +of your visit beforehand, it will make her nervous, but I think if I +tell her you are <i>there</i>, she will be very wil<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176">{176}</a></span>ling to meet you. It is +only for the first time.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I cannot go while the Vansittarts are here,” Angela said +after a moment’s thought. “Will this day week do? I think I could manage +it then, at about half-past three.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. That will do perfectly. You see I presume on your kindness. +Mr. Addison says,” he added with a slight smile, “that you are anxious +to do good. I am sure this is an opportunity.”</p> + +<p>Though nothing could be more unlike a lover’s than his manner, it was so +quiet, unembarrassed, and friendly, that Angela forgot for a moment all +discomforts, and took courage to say softly, “Shall I find her very much +changed.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I fear so,” he replied sadly. “Sorrow, such as she has suffered, +leaves deep traces behind it.” His own countenance<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177">{177}</a></span> saddened as he +spoke, and Angela did not dare to say more.</p> + +<p>A moment afterwards he held out his hand, shook hers, and was gone as +quickly as he had made his entrance into the room.</p> + +<p>Angela could not analyze what she felt. When she did attempt to go over +what had passed, to consider his looks and words, she believed his wish +and intention was to return to a friendly intercourse, to show her how +much he desired to be on friendly terms, but also to show that he had no +other thoughts. For a time she felt that this was all she desired. If +she could be friends with him, life must be happy; but alas! this +conclusion did not suffice for more than a few hours. It soothed her +sleep that night, but she woke up to other hopes in the morning.</p> + +<p>The Vansittarts left Underwood on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178">{178}</a></span> Saturday following, leaving, as +Mr. Gresham observed to Angela, a great blank behind them. She did not +agree, but she did not express her feelings. Among the many points in +which she was improved, not the least was patience with her father. She +could not submit her mind and opinions to his, and indeed it was little +desirable she should, but she no longer made her home a battle scene +between two opinions, and her home was the happier in consequence.</p> + +<p>With a beaming smile Mr. Gresham received the news she now imparted to +him, that she was going to see Mrs. Vavasour, and though he refrained +from comment, it was evident that once again he looked upon his hopes as +on the eve of fulfilment.</p> + +<p>Attended by her aunt Angela drove to Audley Court and found Everard +awaiting her. He assisted her from the carriage, and took her himself to +his mother’s room; walking by her side in silence indeed, yet<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179">{179}</a></span> treating +her with that quiet friendliness which could not do otherwise than set +her at her ease in his presence. At the door he begged her to wait while +he gained his mother’s consent for her entrance, and then with a smile +of encouragement, for he saw she was fluttering with the nervousness of +this pause, made way for her to go in alone.</p> + +<p>When she returned to the carriage she found him talking to Miss Price. +He came forward to meet her, and holding out his hand, said warmly, +“Thank you again and again. You have done a great kindness.”</p> + +<p>With a swelling heart and glowing cheeks, Angela re-entered the +carriage, and it was only when they had driven away that she became +conscious there had been nothing in his manner to encourage her aching +heart.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180">{180}</a></span></p> + +<p>He had been very grateful for his mother’s sake, but he had made no use +of the opportunity her visit gave him to renew his acquaintance with +<i>her</i>. He had been silent when they were alone, and had made not even a +momentary effort to retain her.</p> + +<p>“How did you find Mrs. Vavasour, my love?” placidly inquired Miss Price, +after a quarter of an hour of silence.</p> + +<p>The inquiry broke the thread of Angela’s selfish reflections, and she +sadly answered, “Changed, very much changed. Her hair which had not a +thread of grey is quite white, and the beautiful color she used to have +in her cheeks is gone. Oh! Aunt Jane,” she continued, almost +passionately. “I sometimes think it would be better to live as you and I +do, without having any one to care very much for, than to care, and then +to lose it. It makes life too dreadful to think of.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181">{181}</a></span></p> + +<p>“No, my love,” said her Aunt, emphatically, “it is good for those indeed +to whom God appoints it, but it would be a thankless thing to turn from +the blessing for fear of the pain. He who gives the happiness can also +give the power to bear its loss.”</p> + +<p>Angela sighed and from her heart, as she always did when forms of +goodness and submission, that seemed to her unattainable, were placed +before her eyes. Yet the question was not set at rest. Mrs. Vavasour’s +altered countenance haunted her for many days, and she tormented herself +with inquiries, whether it were not better to be a stoic, than to care +so much for what this life contains.</p> + +<p>It was a very useless question in her case, since no efforts could have +made a stoic of her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182">{182}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></h2> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hope can disperse the thickest clouds of night<br></span> +<span class="i0">That fear hath overspread the soul withal;<br></span> +<span class="i0">And make the darkest shadows shine as bright<br></span> +<span class="i0">As the Sunbeams spread on a silver wall.<br></span> +<span class="i10"><span class="smcap">C. Hervey.</span><br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“Well</span>, my dear child,” said Mr. Merivale, “how are you?”</p> + +<p>This enquiry was made the morning after his arrival, when he chanced to +be left with Angela alone.</p> + +<p>Mr. Merivale’s visit took place about a month after the departure of the +Vansittarts, and perhaps it will be as much to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183">{183}</a></span> the weariness of the +reader to hear, as it was to the depression of Angela to know, that the +hopes excited in the last chapter had faded during that month into +nothingness. She saw no more of Everard. When she went to Audley Court +he was absent, and on the occasion of his single call at Underwood, Mr. +Gresham was not at home. Since no good reason now prevented him from +seeking her society, it was plain that the will was not there, and hope +deferred was beginning to cast its deadly chill upon her heart.</p> + +<p>“Quite well,” she replied carelessly to Mr. Merivale’s inquiry.</p> + +<p>“I am very glad to hear that. I like a healthy woman.”</p> + +<p>“Then I am sure you must like me,” Angela said, laughing at his dry +manner. “My health is something quite incomprehensible.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184">{184}</a></span></p> + +<p>“You speak as if you were a little disposed to quarrel with your health. +Have you any strong desire to be in a dying state?”</p> + +<p>“I am very thankful for my health of course,” she replied, gravely; “but +I cannot feel as my aunt wishes me to feel, that health is everything. +It is very possible to be uncomfortable in mind even though one’s health +does happen to be good.”</p> + +<p>“Very possible, indeed, my love. Health of course is a thing to be very +thankful for, and if you had such a pitiful body as mine, you would feel +it more; but still health is not as you say everything, and we should be +but poor creatures if it were. It is difficult to be happy and ill, but +it is not at all difficult to be unhappy and well.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! what a pleasure it is to be understood,” cried Angela warmly. “How +glad I am to see you again.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185">{185}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Is that your grief then, my poor child; the not being understood.”</p> + +<p>“I did not say I had any grief, did I?” she said perversely, longing for +him to question her, and yet dreading it.</p> + +<p>“No—but I have eyes and I can see, and I have intellect, and I can +gather. You are not happy, are you?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I am quite as happy as most people. Books say, you know, that +no one is quite happy in this world.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Angela, but you and I never were satisfied with what books say. We +see that some people are happy. And when they are not, we like to know +the reason why.”</p> + +<p>Angela laughed but did not seem at all the more disposed to make +confidences.</p> + +<p>“Get your work, my dear child, and let us have a talk. I have come all +the way from Italy for the sole purpose of having a talk with you, and +after that you cannot be so un<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186">{186}</a></span>gracious as to refuse. Get your work and +let us make the most of having the room to ourselves.”</p> + +<p>Angela obeyed.</p> + +<p>“What is that?” he enquired, looking at the piece of work she unfolded.</p> + +<p>“A very small baby’s shirt,” she replied, smiling.</p> + +<p>“Oh; and what is that for?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Addison told me it would be good for my restless mind to work for +the poor; and I do most things Mr. Addison advises.”</p> + +<p>“So should I if he were my spiritual pastor and master. He looks wise. I +should like to know more of him. Get your father to ask him to dinner +for me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, certainly; I am sure he will be glad.”</p> + +<p>“There was another person I took a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187">{187}</a></span> fancy to when last I was here—the +second Mr. Vavasour. How is he?”</p> + +<p>“Of course, Mr. Merivale,” Angela replied, without raising her eyes, +“you know his history.”</p> + +<p>“His having his brother’s property—yes; your father wrote me word of +that. How does he bear his honors?”</p> + +<p>“You can see for yourself. I believe he dines here on Thursday.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad of that. I like to see people who have been placed in +difficult circumstances. I look them through and through, and find out +all their secrets.”</p> + +<p>“That is pleasant, certainly.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know, Angela, when last I was here I fancied that young man was +in love with you. Is all that gone off?”</p> + +<p>“How can I tell,” she answered impatiently; “I suppose you know that +papa refused him once.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188">{188}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Why, yes, I heard that; but I confess I thought better of him than to +expect he would be satisfied with such a rebuff. But the world is not +what it was. In my youth people had more spirit, more feeling, more +honor than now-a-days.”</p> + +<p>“As to that,” Angela cried, her temper and her cheeks alike flaming high +in his defence, “the way in which he was treated excuses him from any +want of spirit or truth, if he <i>has</i> changed. I do not know that it +would not have been want of spirit to persist. <i>I</i> would not have +persisted if I had been treated as he has been.”</p> + +<p>“You mean <i>your</i> behaviour. Well, my dear child, I agree with you there. +It was a bad business. And yet I think if I had been in the young +gentleman’s place, even that would not have daunted me. I should have +thought you very weak;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189">{189}</a></span> but, knowing you as I do, not unfaithful.”</p> + +<p>“No, never,” she cried, passionately.</p> + +<p>Mr. Merivale rose from his chair, and coming towards her, patted her +head. “Poor little thing,” he said, kindly, “that was what I thought. +Then how is it—has he forgotten you?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot tell,” she replied, drooping her head over her work, ashamed +of her admission, yet unable to recall it. “Oh! Mr. Merivale, you must +not scorn me.”</p> + +<p>“Scorn! Angela, and why should I scorn?”</p> + +<p>“I scorn myself. I scorn every woman who gives her love to those who +don’t prize it.”</p> + +<p>“And yet though you scorn you are constant. Is that it, my dear child?”</p> + +<p>“If it is to be constant,” she said, with a kind of <i>abandon</i> in her +tone, “to have no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190">{190}</a></span> other thought by day or night—to care for no +pleasant thing—to look forward to no future hope—to find myself at my +age joyless, and hopeless, and all because of.... Oh! how you will scorn +me,” she continued, arresting her excited words. “I have tried not to be +constant, but the more I try the worse it is. There now you have made me +speak, and now you know what I am.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but you have told me nothing I did not see. Don’t be afraid, my +dear child, you need not mind an old friend who was once a constant +fool, with far less reason than you have. Well, I will see this Mr. +Vavasour.”</p> + +<p>“See him,” and Angela almost screamed with terror. “Mr. Merivale, what +would you do?”</p> + +<p>“Poor little fool,” he said, fondly. “I would do nothing, you may be +sure. You are far too precious to be forced on any<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191">{191}</a></span> man. I meant see +with my eyes. Look him through and through, and when I have found out +his secrets ...” he paused.</p> + +<p>“What!” Angela exclaimed, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“I shall keep them to myself. Don’t expect to hear anything from me. +What I discover by dint of the intellect God has blessed me with, I +consider as sacred as if it were revealed to me by confession. You may +trust me. My mind is like the depths of the sea, strewed with treasures +in the shape of secrets, never to be revealed; yours is among them, and +so will his be.”</p> + +<p>“If there be one.”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, if there be one; and now in good time here comes my niece and +your aunt. Very unsuitable companions. Your aunt is as mild as a dove, +but Janet has nothing dovelike about her. I wish she had. I like a soft +woman, even when she has as little intellect as your aunt.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192">{192}</a></span> Well, +Janet,” addressing himself to a young lady of eight or nine and twenty, +black eyed and black haired, and looking as sharp as a needle. “What +have you been doing with yourself?”</p> + +<p>“Making acquaintance,” she replied. “I am never comfortable in a place +till I have made acquaintance; are you Miss Gresham? I don’t mean with +persons but things. Now, I know my way about, I know how to get to my +room in the shortest time, I know the names of the pictures, and how to +find a book when I want it; in short, thanks to Miss Price’s kindness, I +am comfortable, which I was not till this moment.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry for that,” said Angela, laughing. “I could have made you so +last night, if I had but known.”</p> + +<p>“One is prepared for one night’s discomfort,” she replied, in the same +tone. “Are we welcome here?” And she looked about<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193">{193}</a></span> her with bright keen +eyes like her uncle’s; only, as he said, without softness in them. “You +and my uncle seemed to be in deep talk.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” and Angela blushed a little. “Mr. Merivale is a good talker and a +kind one.”</p> + +<p>“Too kind. That is his fault. If he would but see the world as it is, I +should think much more highly of him. Is it not so?” she said, putting +her hand playfully on his shoulder. “Don’t you own that good nature +blinds your eyes.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t attempt to compete with you, certainly,” he said, drily, “but +it may be, because it pleases me better to find virtues than faults.”</p> + +<p>“But it <i>should</i> please you only to find what exists, and you know +faults are more plentiful than virtues,” and Janet Merivale set herself +down to argue, an occupation in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194">{194}</a></span> which she delighted, and in which also +she excelled, for she had quick and original thoughts, and a temper that +could not he ruffled.</p> + +<p>Everard had been for the third time invited to dine at Underwood, and +for the second time had accepted the invitation. New expectation for +Angela and new disappointment. An old lord from a distance had, somewhat +to his surprise, also accepted Mr. Gresham’s invitation to dine on the +same evening, and even the desire to do honor to Everard had been forced +to give way to his claims. Angela went into dinner with the old lord, +and had the mortification of seeing Everard as conversible with Janet +Merivale as he had been with Miss Vansittart, and judging from +appearances, more really amused and interested in her conversation. She +thought she at last understood him. He now received from many that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195">{195}</a></span> +notice, which once had been the charm that won him to think of <i>her</i>; he +was looking about in the world, and saw many worthy of his affection, +and she was nothing. It was a very bitter thought, and very bitter on +that evening was her frame of mind.</p> + +<p>A slight hope rose again when the gentlemen returned to the +drawing-room. Mr. Gresham was talking to the old lord and Everard was +left at peace, and for a moment she fancied he looked as if he were +coming towards her. If it were so his purpose was arrested. He was +called by Mr. Gresham to join <i>his</i> conference, and the old lord—who +had told Angela at dinner that he was anxious to gain Mr. Vavasour’s +co-operation in some plan of benevolent intention,—laid hold of him, +drew some papers from his pocket, and finally led him out of the room to +a smaller adjoining one, where<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196">{196}</a></span> a discussion and examination could be +carried on more at leisure.</p> + +<p>Disappointment, disappointment. It was but a slight addition to the many +her latter life had afforded, but it seemed so cruel a one, that tears +of pity for herself came into her eyes.</p> + +<p>She looked up fearful of being observed, and met the kind, compassionate +glance of Mr. Merivale. Kind as it was, however, his watchfulness vexed +her, and her vexation on that account roused her spirit, and made her +determine to be a slave to her feelings no more. She got up, and to give +time to her eyes to forget their tears, busied herself in fetching and +preparing some work, and then sitting down at a table where Janet +Merivale was seated, entered with interest into her conversation.</p> + +<p>She was a talker and a good one, and several persons were standing about +her.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197">{197}</a></span> When Angela sat down she was praising a novel that had just come +out. She turned to Angela with an eager inquiry as to whether she had +read it.</p> + +<p>“Yes, there it is,” Angela said, pointing to a book on another table, +“but I did not like it at all. It made me wretched.”</p> + +<p>“Wretched, but why? There are no romantic sorrows in it; that is why I +like it. We have novels more than enough with romantic sorrows, but this +is clever, it is like life.”</p> + +<p>“That is, it thinks it is,” replied Angela, “but if it <i>were</i>, the world +would be as unbearable as the book. Does it please you to think society +as false and heartless as that book describes.”</p> + +<p>“Everything pleases me that is <i>real</i>. Of course I should be glad that +the world was better than it is, but since it is not, I like to see it +as it is. Romantic pictures of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198">{198}</a></span> world, with heroes and heroines in +them, are no better than fairy tales. Give me truth, however severe.”</p> + +<p>“I thought <i>I</i> was severe upon the world,” Angela said, laughing, “but +now I find I am very mild. I plainly say that if the world is such a +place as that book makes it appear, I would rather die at once and be +out of it.”</p> + +<p>“And if Miss Gresham dies, I will die too,” said the mortally offended +youth, with a small attempt at a complimentary badinage.</p> + +<p>“But Miss Gresham does not mean to die,” said another gentleman, “for +she knows the book’s picture is false, and so do I. It has chosen to +depict certain classes of people, and the worst specimens of each class. +Now we all know that there are false and heartless people in the world, +but happily also we do know some few with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199">{199}</a></span> feeling, and some few that +are true. And if each of us is happy enough to know a few, the sum total +will not be insignificant.”</p> + +<p>“But I deny the fact,” said Janet Merivale, eagerly. “I know hardly any +one that <i>I</i> call true; and other virtues are just as rare. Now, Miss +Gresham, let us question you. I think you are true, and I think my uncle +is true, but I know no one else of whom I could speak as decidedly; no +one who would not say a false or an equivocating thing if the temptation +were strong. Do you know a true person? Give me an example. I like +examples. General facts are nothing.”</p> + +<p>“I could give several,” Angela said, “but I don’t mean to do it. If I +pick out a few I might seem to impute falseness to others. I am happy to +say I do know many people on whose truth I entirely depend.”</p> + +<p>“We must take your word of course,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200">{200}</a></span> Miss Gresham, and be content,” cried +Janet, “although we might throw a doubt on nameless individuals; but let +us go on to other virtues. What do you think of natural affection? Do +you think the world shines in that particular. What remark does one hear +on all sides at a London party. ‘Look at so and so! <i>how</i> indecent! her +sister only died a month ago;’ or ‘Lady So and So out again! Is it +possible! I heard she was heartbroken for the loss of her son.’ Is it +not true?” she cried, appealing all round. “Am I saying what is false?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said several laughing, “I am afraid not.”</p> + +<p>“Only that the very remarks seem to contradict you. We only remark on +what is <i>un</i>common,” Angela said.</p> + +<p>“I doubt the fact, but I will be generous and give you the benefit of +the doubt. But let me proceed. Do you admire the virtue<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201">{201}</a></span> of constancy. I +do. I am not romantic, but I do admire constancy. Well, what do you say +to that as a common virtue?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! as to constancy,” Angela said, bitterly, all the disappointments +and mortifications of months kindling in her mind into one outburst of +indignant feeling. “I give up to you at once. We read of constancy in +those romantic books you talk of, but as to real life, I very much doubt +if it is to be found.”</p> + +<p>A something indescribable, for it was not a sound made her suddenly turn +her head. Everard and the old lord stood at a little distance behind +her. The light was bright, and though at a distance she could see that +Everard’s eyes were intently fixed upon her, and that his cheek was +pale.</p> + +<p>She turned back her head, shame and regret dyeing her face with crimson. +It was all the work of an instant.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202">{202}</a></span></p> + +<p>Janet Merivale was far too quick not to see that something had ruffled +the surface of the life before her, but she had also perfect tact, and +she continued without a pause; “Very well, then there is nothing more to +be said on that score; let us proceed to some other question. What do +you say to kindness and goodnature? Do you think we are to our +neighbours’ faults a little blind? and to their virtues very kind?”</p> + +<p>“No, Janet,” said her uncle coming up to the table, possibly with the +intention of giving Angela more time to recover herself. “Nobody can +accuse us of that; especially after they have heard us this evening.”</p> + +<p>“You had no business to listen to me,” she said with playful good +humour, “but you have only proved the truth of what I said. Are you to +my faults a little<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203">{203}</a></span> blind? Have you done your best to hide them?”</p> + +<p>The conversation proceeded merrily, and after a time Angela recovered +herself enough to join in it; but her very heart was trembling and +vibrating with emotion. What had he thought of her? What could he think?</p> + +<p>Later in the evening, when Mr. Gresham had made up his whist party, and +Mr. Merivale and Mr. Addison were engaged in conversation, Everard, who +had been listening to them for a time, slowly left them, and sat down +opposite to Angela by Janet Merivale’s side.</p> + +<p>If he had been discomposed, he was so no longer, and he addressed +himself to Janet with ease and quietness. “You were mentioning several +books at dinner Miss Merivale, with approbation. Could you write me down +a few names? I read a good deal<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204">{204}</a></span> to my mother, and I am always glad to +hear of something new; new and good that is to say.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be delighted, if Miss Gresham will give me a pencil and a bit +of paper. What shall I write? What kind of book. What have you been +reading of late.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing very new,” Everard said smiling. “I don’t know what you will +think of me if I confess it was <i>Clarendon’s Rebellion</i>. It is a +favorite book of my mother’s, and as I had never read it, it was like a +romance to me; but it is done, and I should be glad of something a +little less ancient now.”</p> + +<p>“Are you too wise for a novel?” she asked, after writing a few names.</p> + +<p>“Not at all.” There was a silence while she wrote, and considered, and +wrote again; and before she had finished, Everard, with a slight glow on +his cheek, said to Angela<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205">{205}</a></span> across the table, “Do you ever read <i>Camilla</i> +now, Miss Gresham?”</p> + +<p>“No not lately,” she said hurriedly; too much startled by his suddenly +and pointedly addressing her, to perceive the drift of his question.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever read it?” he said to Janet Merivale.</p> + +<p>“I have read it I am sure. Oh! yes, I remember it now very well. It is a +pretty book. Camilla is charming, and Edgar—oh! Miss Gresham, if there +were many Edgars in the world, I should not have given the opinion of +mankind I lately did.”</p> + +<p>A strange remembrance was carrying Angela back to an olden time, and she +could not make up her mind to speak. Her heart was beating so fast, she +almost felt its throbbing must be heard.</p> + +<p>“Your opinion is the same then as Miss<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206">{206}</a></span> Gresham’s,” Everard said in a +firm grave voice. “I remember she once expressed her admiration of +Edgar’s character in much the same terms as yours, but in my opinion, +Edgar failed in one of the first of virtues—<i>trust</i>. I do not call his +love for Camilla perfect, or knowing what she was, he would have trusted +her, however appearances might have seemed to condemn.”</p> + +<p>He did not look towards Angela, he spoke to Janet, but Angela felt the +words thrill through her from head to foot.</p> + +<p>Janet’s quickness again perceived that such serious words must have +meaning in them, but she answered readily, “I quite agree with you, but +I am afraid the virtue is rare. We all give each other up at the very +first rub. I am afraid I do so quite as much as my neighbours. I cannot +have patience with appearances.”</p> + +<p>“If I were a preacher,” Everard said<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207">{207}</a></span> lightly, “I should preach on the +subject, so strongly do I feel. But may I now look at your list? A +thousand thanks for it,” he added, as he glanced over the paper. “Some +of these I am sure we shall like.”</p> + +<p>A slight discussion ensued with Janet over the names, and he then looked +at his watch, and went to ask Mr. Addison if he was ready to go. He came +back to wish both the young ladies good night, and without further +attempt to impress or catch Angela’s attention, went away.</p> + +<p>After a few minutes silence, Janet Merivale observed to Angela, “I think +if I lived much in Mr. Vavasour’s society, I should considerably modify +my opinion of human nature.”</p> + +<p>“I think you would,” Angela said, now perfectly composed and +unembarrassed. “As to truth especially.”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes. His countenance is as clear<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208">{208}</a></span> as daylight. I liked what he +said about trust,” she continued thoughtfully. “I felt it to rebuke me; +for I know I am distrustful of good. I think I should trust him whatever +might be his conduct, and what a blessed thing it is to feel entire +dependence, even for a moment.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Angela replied, and a whole heart and life was in the +monosyllable.</p> + +<p>Mr. Merivale said no more to Angela regarding Everard or her feelings, +until the morning of his departure. He then gravely laid his hand on her +arm, and beckoned her to follow him into a window, at a distance from +the place where his niece and her aunt were standing.</p> + +<p>“You are happier, my dear child,” he then said looking into her eyes, +“and you do not need words from me to reveal secrets or to explain +mysteries.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Mr. Merivale, what does it all<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209">{209}</a></span> mean?” she asked with anxious, +earnest enquiry.</p> + +<p>He made no answer, but drew her towards him and kissed her forehead. +“Forgive that from an old man, my child,” he said fondly. “I do not much +think, Angela, I shall be very long in this world, but if it were right +to make a prayer to Him, who knows best when to call us away, I should +pray to live until ...” he paused.</p> + +<p>With tearful but enquiring eyes, she looked up in his face, silently +asking him when.</p> + +<p>“Until that is accomplished, which for your welfare and happiness I +alike desire. We must have patience, Angela. You and I both. And now God +bless you.”</p> + +<p>He kissed her again, and went straight back to his niece, despatching +Angela with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210">{210}</a></span> his usual kind thoughtfulness to fetch her father, that she +might hide the agitation his words had caused her from the piercing eyes +of Janet Merivale.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211">{211}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h2> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Passive she heard, and in her labouring mind<br></span> +<span class="i2">Strove with the dark enigma, “Part! to part!”<br></span> +<span class="i0">Till having solved it by the beams that broke<br></span> +<span class="i0">From that clear soul on hers; struggling she spoke.<br></span> +<span class="i10"><i>King Arthur.</i><br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> autumn slipped away, the winter came, and nothing worth recording +took place. The relations between Everard and Angela continued exactly +in the same state as they had been before that last evening’s +occurrence. No looks, no words, no empressement, meetings few, and when<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212">{212}</a></span> +meetings occurred, manners calm, kind, and friendly, but distant.</p> + +<p>One morning in December, Mr. Gresham entered the drawing-room, where +Angela was engaged in reading to Miss Price, and observed that he was +come for a few moments’ conversation. He then placed himself with his +back to the fire, and looked at his daughter with a stare of unusual +solemnity.</p> + +<p>“Be so good as to attend to me, my love,” he began. “I have something of +importance to observe.”</p> + +<p>Angela’s heart beat with only too ready expectation, and she laid down +her work and cast down her eyes.</p> + +<p>“I believe, Angela, you have been fully aware of all the purposes and +motives which induced me to make choice of Mr. Vavasour for your +husband. Motives, I must observe, of singular generosity towards him, +and pur<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213">{213}</a></span>poses which it would be unbecoming in me too highly to exalt. +Suffice it to say, that the plan was laid with as much foresight and +wisdom, as the motives which impelled me were beneficent. You have been, +I say, fully aware of my feelings in this matter; and once for all, my +love, I must assure you, that with <i>your</i> conduct I have no fault to +find. You have behaved with dutiful submission towards myself, and with +perfect modesty towards Mr. Vavasour. I thank you for it, and assure you +that it has been highly gratifying to my feelings.”</p> + +<p>He paused, and stood for a moment, the benign and grateful parent; then +again assuming the character of the wise and watchful guardian, he +proceeded.</p> + +<p>“It is now nearly eighteen months since Mr. Vavasour was entitled by his +position to claim my notice. He is perfectly aware of my favourable +intentions towards him<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214">{214}</a></span>self. None can accuse me of want of patience in +my dealings with him. I have allowed for the natural influence of +decorous sorrow; I have excused the resentment he may possibly have felt +in the recollection of certain circumstances. I have allowed for every +feeling which the most fastidious delicacy can have suggested. But in +vain. It is now my intention, therefore, to resign my long cherished +designs, and to dismiss the subject from my mind.”</p> + +<p>Angela turned first red, then pale, but she made no exclamation.</p> + +<p>“I wish you to understand me, my love. When I say that I dismiss the +subject from my mind, my wish is of course to suggest to you the course +I desire you to adopt. I request that you will banish from your +affections every recollection of Mr. Vavasour, and prepare your mind to +receive any future impressions it may be my will to recommend to you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215">{215}</a></span></p> + +<p>“I cannot,” Angela said faintly but firmly.</p> + +<p>“You made an observation, my love.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot,” she repeated.</p> + +<p>“I do not perfectly understand you. It is not, I believe, customary with +a young female of delicacy to obtrude her affections on any man. Let me +suggest to you, my love, that such sentiments are highly indecorous.”</p> + +<p>“He loved me once,” Angela said in the same low tone.</p> + +<p>“Certainly, my love. It was the conviction of his attachment which led +me so quickly to adopt him in the place of his brother; which led me to +anticipate that he would joyfully accept the transfer of my intentions. +But man, my love, is liable to change, and it is evident that Mr. +Vavasour, however estimable may be his character, is subject to the +common caprices of humanity. I must, therefore, again urge upon you the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216">{216}</a></span> +necessity of banishing the expectations I have hitherto encouraged, and +of displacing his image from your mind.”</p> + +<p>“I think he loves me still,” she said breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“Indeed! may I enquire on what grounds this conviction is formed? Have +there been any secret tokens of remembrance? gifts, notes, looks, words, +delicate suggestions of attachment? Let me beg of you, my love, to be +open with me.”</p> + +<p>“None,” she replied, slowly shaking her head.</p> + +<p>“On what then, I again enquire, is your conviction formed?”</p> + +<p>“I feel it,” she replied. “That is all; and I think he would not let me +feel it if it were false. I trust him.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gresham looked much perplexed. He cleared his throat, took two or +three turns about the room, and then resumed his place.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217">{217}</a></span></p> + +<p>“As I am anxious, my love, to banish this subject from our minds at once +and for ever, I must relate to you an occurrence which took place last +year, and which circumstances alone have hitherto led me to conceal. +Anxious to secure your best welfare, and uncertain, whether Mr. Vavasour +in his natural modesty, might fully understand the favorable change in +my sentiments, I visited him about six weeks after our return hither, +and made him a formal offer of your hand, not concealing from him ... +giving him in short, every encouragement—I might even say more than +this—which the delicacy of a parent would permit him to give. I regret +to have to inform you that he entirely disclaimed any desire to ally +himself with my house, and that, in terms it was impossible for me to +misunderstand.”</p> + +<p>Angela became as pale as death. Shame, horror, doubt, and despair, for a +moment<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218">{218}</a></span> took possession of her heart, and expressed themselves on her +speaking countenance.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry, my love, to give you pain,” said Mr. Gresham with kindness, +“but in such circumstances it is most fitting that the truth should be +told. You are now possessed of all the facts of the case, and +undoubtedly will readily acquiesce in my request, that the expectations +which have hitherto occupied our minds should be banished. As to the +future it yet remains to make such arrangements as may seem most +desirable for your well-being.”</p> + +<p>There was a short silence, and then Angela looked up at her father with +a steady countenance, and said gravely, “Papa, I trust him still.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gresham, who had anticipated a totally different conclusion, looked +what he felt, the picture of astonishment. “My love,” at last he mildly +said, “allow me to remind<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219">{219}</a></span> you that romantic fancies are unbecoming in a +young female of sense and delicacy. I had hoped that I had made this +clear to your mind. Since I have failed, I must request you to allow me +a few moments private conversation with your aunt, who will, I am +convinced, join with me in endeavouring to dissuade you from a +prepossession unbecoming to a modest young woman.”</p> + +<p>“It will be in vain, Papa,” Angela replied. “I have said it, I trust +him, and until he is married to another, I <i>will</i> trust him. For what +cause he withholds the expression of his feelings I cannot guess, but my +conviction is unalterable. He loved me once, and I believe he loves me +still. Leave me in peace, Papa,” she continued rising from her seat, +“and I think you will not be disappointed.” Mr. Gresham had taken his +place opposite to Miss Price, previous to his entering on his purposed +private conversation<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220">{220}</a></span> with her. Angela just paused to press her lips on +his brow, a very unusual mark of submission and confidence, and hastened +from the room.</p> + +<p>“Extremely singular,” observed Mr. Gresham to Miss Price. “May I ask you +what opinion you have formed on this subject?”</p> + +<p>“I have long thought,” she gently replied, “that God has made them for +each other.”</p> + +<p>“Ahem! Well, Miss Price, since such is your opinion, I bow to it, and +reserving to myself the right to interfere, should any more advantageous +alliance offer itself, I will consent for a few months longer to wait +upon Mr. Vavasour’s pleasure. You must, however, allow me again to +observe that I consider the case extremely singular.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt,” she agreed placidly, and so ended the conference.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221">{221}</a></span></p> + +<p>That afternoon, although it was a very stormy December afternoon, Mr. +Gresham rode again to the top of the hill, to survey the fair scene, +fair even in the raw winter’s day, and thought it fairer than ever +because, seen through the hazy atmosphere, the limits of the two +properties seemed to melt away into a boundless space. His chest heaved +with renewed ardour as he gazed, and once again, flitting dreams, vague +and uncertain ones, vanished, and left the old idol in undisputed sway.</p> + +<p>“Upon the whole, Angela,” he observed to his daughter that evening as he +kissed her, “you may be right. The case is singular, but the worth of +the object makes it desirable to wait, even though the hope be an +uncertain one.”</p> + +<p>Her heart agreed, but she made no reply beyond a blush. She was not +blind, she was not indifferent to the position, it might<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222">{222}</a></span> be the +humiliating position in which she had placed herself; but she had in +some respects a heroic spirit. She thought he had asked for trust, and +she gave it with her whole heart. Moments of fluttering, of weakness, of +doubt, of hopelessness, there were, there must have been, or she could +not have been the wayward, changeful creature she was; but from every +doubt, and every struggle, the trust arose again and again triumphant, +and bore her along the months of silence and vacancy that followed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223">{223}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></h2> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">... Mercy which had seem’d<br></span> +<span class="i0">A gift reserved to God, was mine to grant.<br></span> +<span class="i0">So love flowed on me from a thousand springs<br></span> +<span class="i0">And pour’d itself around me like a flood.<br></span> +<span class="i10"><i>The Eve of the Conquest.</i><br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">In</span> the July of the following year a son was born to Hope and Robert.</p> + +<p>The event took place in obedience to Everard’s earnest request at Audley +Court. Supposing this request to be made out of care and thought for +Hope’s bodily comfort, and unwilling to refuse one to whom he owed so +much, Robert acquiesced, but he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224">{224}</a></span> wondered the request had ever been +made, and he owned to Hope that he had never more reluctantly agreed to +any petition. Since his marriage, his feelings in regard to the past, +had acquired, perhaps naturally, a keenness they had not exhibited +before. To Everard, however, no reluctance was shown; to Audley Court, +Robert brought his wife, and there their child was born.</p> + +<p>On the evening of the day of his birth, Robert and Everard sat alone in +the drawing-room, for Mrs. Vavasour, tearful, trembling, and excited, +could not be torn from the cradle of the new-born child, and seemed +about to lavish on Robert’s son, all that adoring love with which she +had cherished him.</p> + +<p>Both brothers were thoughtful, and both, as once before they had done, +armed themselves with books for the better indulgence of their +thoughts.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225">{225}</a></span></p> + +<p>From his seat at a distance, Everard stealthily watched Robert. Robert’s +excitable feelings had been much touched during the day, and the ardent +and devoted affection he felt for his wife had been fully manifested. +When his son was born, he had seemed for a time transported with joy, +but now a shade of thought had gathered over his face, and more than +once he pushed his hair from his brow, as if there was a weight he +desired to remove. This thoughtful expression was no longer a rare one, +and if to his uncommon beauty an added charm had been wanted, it was now +given. The play of countenance was more varied, the softness more +intense, the animation more sparkling.</p> + +<p>At last, Everard laid down his book on his knee, and said gravely, “I +should think Robert it was a very responsible thing to feel <i>a +father</i>.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226">{226}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes, I suppose it is.” Robert spoke hastily, almost sharply; as if to +have done with it.</p> + +<p>Everard took up his book and said no more. He was very sensitive,—for a +man too sensitive—to a rebuff, yet it was not altogether wounded +feelings which called a shadow to his brow.</p> + +<p>Robert looked at him two or three times uneasily, and then tossed down +his own book and said, “Now for it, Everard. I did not feel quite up to +a lecture just then, but I am ready now. Go on, you are quite right +about fathers, and I shall be glad to hear what you have to say.”</p> + +<p>“But I am sure I am not prepared to speak,” Everard said laughing. “I +have never turned my thoughts at all in the direction of a father’s +duties.”</p> + +<p>“Then what did you mean to say?”</p> + +<p>“A thought that struck me, nothing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227">{227}</a></span> more. I thought it must be a strange +feeling to feel a father, to have a creature all one’s own, to guide and +influence; that was all.”</p> + +<p>“Not quite all, Everard! you wished me to say <i>I</i> felt it also!”</p> + +<p>Everard coloured, but then replied with a smile, “Yes, Robert, I believe +that is the truth, since you will have it. I am sure I did not say it +lecturingly, for what on earth have I to do with lecturing on a father’s +feelings, but I think I hoped you would say ‘yes.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“I can say thus much,” Robert replied, with feeling. “If with a wife +like mine, and now a child dependent on me, I do not keep in the right +way, I shall be the greatest villain on this earth. I hope, I trust, too +great a villain for me to be, or indeed to have ever been. Are you +satisfied?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228">{228}</a></span></p> + +<p>Everard nodded his head and then asked carelessly, “Have you thought of +the name, yet?”</p> + +<p>“No,” Robert replied, and so the conversation dropped.</p> + +<p>Hope’s recovery though satisfactory was slow. It was a good thing, the +doctor observed to Robert, that she was brought into the country; and +Robert repeated the observation to Everard, and thanked him for having +insisted on it.</p> + +<p>“Come and look at the little creature to-day,” he added, as he stood +with his brother on the stairs. “I hate babies, and I dare say you do, +but this is rather different from babies in general; it has got on a +smart cap to-day, and altogether, I must say, it is rather a pretty +thing.”</p> + +<p>Robert’s pride in his little son was very great; though remembering his +old antipathy to babies, he was half ashamed to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229">{229}</a></span> shew it. He now +conducted his brother into the room where it was lying. It had been laid +down outside its bassinet and a young girl was watching it while the +nurse was absent. Robert despatched the girl on a message, and said he +would stay till she came back.</p> + +<p>The child was now nearly a month old, and in its fair innocent face as +it slept, it was not difficult to see a likeness to its mother. It might +have made a pretty picture to see the two tall men bending over the +little cradle.</p> + +<p>“It is not so bad, is it, Everard?” Robert said, a touching expression +of fatherly fondness shining in his handsome face.</p> + +<p>“I think it is very pretty,” was Everard’s reply; after a moment, he +added gravely, “Robert, I think we must have a celebration of its birth. +The first heir, you know.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230">{230}</a></span></p> + +<p>“No, no,” Robert said, and a crimson flush overspread his cheeks. “No, +no,” he added in a low voice. “No mockery, poor little thing.”</p> + +<p>The girl returned, and the brothers left the room; Robert walking fast +as if to escape from Everard; but Everard pursued him.</p> + +<p>“Robert,” he said, as they entered the library together, “I meant what I +said. Your child is the heir. You must not forbid me to celebrate his +birth.”</p> + +<p>“Poor child,” Robert said with a painful smile, “a mockery of an heir. +No,” he added, with some vehemence, “I will not consent to it.”</p> + +<p>“And why a mockery of an heir? Can you suppose I should mock your +child?”</p> + +<p>Robert looked up in his brother’s grave face. “Everard,” he asked +quickly, and with agitation, “what do you mean?<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231">{231}</a></span> You cannot intend to +live single because of this, and if you have a son....”</p> + +<p>“He shall never suffer the torture his father has suffered,” Everard +passionately said.</p> + +<p>There was a silence, and then Robert repeated, “I cannot consent to it.”</p> + +<p>“You must,” he replied, with that stubborn decision against which it was +idle to rebel.</p> + +<p>“Tell me this,” Robert asked, impatiently, “don’t you mean to marry?”</p> + +<p>“Whether I marry or not,—which is an act that concerns only myself, and +about which I do not wish to speak,—my decision is unalterably made; +your child shall be the heir.”</p> + +<p>“You are determined to humble me,” Robert said, standing before the +empty fire-place, and leaning his head against the marble.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232">{232}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Never, dear Robert; but only determined to fulfil what I am certain was +my father’s will. Let us say no more, only tell me in one word that you +consent to my wish.”</p> + +<p>As no dissent came, Everard left the room, and the subject was not +raised again. Robert repeated nothing of what had passed even to his +wife; and regarding the coming celebration, Everard only said to his +mother that when Hope was well, and the child christened, he should give +a dinner to the tenantry.</p> + +<p>“Will Robert like it?” she asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>“He consents,” was Everard’s reply, and she said no more. Yet there was +a grave look in both brother’s faces that made her anxious she scarcely +knew why.</p> + +<p>It was the middle of August before<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233">{233}</a></span> Everard could perform his +intentions. As soon as he saw that Hope was well enough to hear the +fatigue, he named the day, and then quietly made his preparations, +saying little to any one. It was only two days before the festivities +took place that his mother discovered how much was going to be done, and +on discovering it, shewed some reluctance to be present. But Everard’s +request was too earnest to allow of resistance, and at length she gave +way.</p> + +<p>He then said, “I wrote this morning to invite Mr. and Miss Gresham, and +they accept. Dear mother, you will not mind, will you? they are not +strangers.”</p> + +<p>“No, Everard,” she replied, looking in his face enquiringly, “and I only +wish they were somewhat less of strangers to us.”</p> + +<p>He coloured, but made no reply.</p> + +<p>In the middle of August the weather is generally fine, and it was fine +now on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234">{234}</a></span> day for which fine weather was much required.</p> + +<p>It is not intended here to dwell on the festivities that took place. To +one portion of them alone attention is requested.</p> + +<p>On a piece of lawn-like ground close to the house, a long table was +spread, for the principal tenantry and tradespeople of the Vavasour +family to receive their portion of good cheer on this day of rejoicing. +They dined with much pleasure and comfort to themselves, and when dinner +was over Everard requested them to remain seated, as he had a health to +give.</p> + +<p>He had before sent to summon Hope and her child, his mother, and Mr. and +Miss Gresham, and they now appeared on the lawn. Robert and Mr. Addison +were already there.</p> + +<p>Hope instinctively placed herself by Robert and they stood a little +apart.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235">{235}</a></span> Mr. Gresham and Miss Price seated themselves, with Angela +standing near them, in another place. Everard took his mother’s arm and +drew her to a chair half hidden in the shade of a large tree. To please +him and Robert, and because once more appearing in the world, she had +this day laid aside her widow’s cap; and though the ravages which grief +had made, were, now that she resumed her former self, very apparent, +there was a touching beauty about her, which years and grief, though +they changed, seemed to have no power to efface. The lines</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nor spring nor summer’s beauty has such grace<br></span> +<span class="i0">As I have seen in an autumnal face,<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind">might have been addressed to her, and so her sons felt as they looked at +her.</p> + +<p>“Dear Mother,” Everard said, his voice slightly agitated, as he placed +her in a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236">{236}</a></span> chair. “Forgive me, if I speak of things that must give you +pain to-day. It must be done.”</p> + +<p>She looked up at him and her lips quivered.</p> + +<p>“I know, dear Mother, you will feel it,” he continued, “but I <i>must</i> +have you here and it <i>must</i> be done. So forgive me.”</p> + +<p>She put her hand in his, and then leant back in the shade where he had +placed her.</p> + +<p>Everard then walked to the head of the table, and in a few brief words, +proposed the health of his nephew, Richard Vavasour.</p> + +<p>It was received with enthusiasm. Everard had long overcome the ill will +of his tenantry, was loved, blest, and trusted in by all, but there was +a soft place in every heart where Robert’s image lingered, and their +love for him burst forth, in their reception of his infant son.</p> + +<p>“They are very kind, Everard,” Robert<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237">{237}</a></span> said, with a misty light shining +in his eyes, “must I thank them?”</p> + +<p>Everard had retreated for a few seconds to where Robert stood, but now +said, “No. I will do that.”</p> + +<p>And when the noise subsided he again stood at the table, and took off +his hat.</p> + +<p>“I have taken upon myself,” he began with a smile, “to thank you all, in +the name of one who cannot thank you for himself; and I assure you your +welcome to him has given me a pleasure I shall not easily forget. There +are others here who thank you for it also, but in some respects, my +thanks are due to you more than theirs, for you have proved to me that I +shall act rightly in a decision I have made. Will you all give me your +attention for a few minutes while I speak of some events that are +passed, but not I hope forgotten by any of you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238">{238}</a></span></p> + +<p>He paused, and the long line of eager eyes were fixed upon him, while a +silence like the repose of a death chamber followed.</p> + +<p>“It is now more than two years,” he began again in a firm but solemn +tone, “since it pleased God to take to Himself my dear father. You all +know what followed that event. You all know for what cause I came to +stand to you, in my brother’s stead. I say I believe you know it; but +lest you should not all perfectly know, let me repeat it now. My father +loved you all, and loved the honour and virtue of his house more than +life or any earthly tie; and when he feared that one of his race, the +one on whom his honours ought to have fallen, had left that path of +strict integrity in which he and his fathers had trodden, he shewed what +most he loved, by cutting off <i>him</i> the dearest of all, from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239">{239}</a></span> his +natural rights; and placing <i>me</i>—in all but one respect, the love of +him and his virtues, far inferior—in my brother’s place. He thought it +his duty and it was done; but the effort broke his heart. You know the +rest. I obeyed his will. I never had disobeyed him. I could not disobey +his last request.” Everard paused again and drew a breath of relief as +if a painful task was done; and then while the same breathless silence +continued, proceeded.</p> + +<p>“You may think it is not for a brother to dwell on a brother’s errors; +nor would they have been dwelt upon, were it not that they have since +been so nobly redeemed, that to speak of them is to honour not to +condemn. You, each and all of you, who know as I myself know how weak is +human will, can do honour to him who breaks the bonds of temptation, and +rises never to fall again. For this cause I ask of you all to honour<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240">{240}</a></span> my +brother. The time has passed when my father’s will bound me. I have +obeyed it as you all know; and had it been binding still, I would, cost +what it might, still have obeyed it; but his will points me now to +another course, and I fulfil it. I lay down the burden he laid upon me, +never, <i>such is my unalterable determination</i>, to take it again; and I +<i>know</i> that I have his blessing on the act. I thank you all for having +borne with me during these two years—with my ignorance, and with +my—perhaps in your eyes—mistaken, sense of duty,—and I wish you all +happiness under your rightful master. I give the health of Robert +Vavasour.”</p> + +<p>Everard withdrew from the table. Trembling and tearful his mother rose +to meet him, and came and laid her hand on his arm. They stood thus +together while cheers springing from the inmost hearts of all present, +rent the air—a noise of joy, emo<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241">{241}</a></span>tion, and surprise that seemed as if +it never could cease.</p> + +<p>When it did cease, Robert was unable to speak. Feelings, many and +strange; old recollections, present emotions, and future hopes, overcame +him; and he wept like a child. He touched his wife’s arm and murmured, +“Speak for me, Hope.”</p> + +<p>She looked intently, first at him, and then at Everard, and then walked +steadily with her child in her arms, to the head of the table. Gentle, +modest, and retiring as she was, she made no opposition to his request; +acceding to it, and complying with it for his sake, as simply as in the +performance of her daily duties.</p> + +<p>A faint colour went and came on her pale cheek, and at the first words +her voice was low; but it steadied as she went on, and the sweet tones +were heard, clear and distinct, to the furthest end of the table.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242">{242}</a></span></p> + +<p>“My husband thanks you all; and so do I for him; and if indeed it must +be as his brother says, be sure you shall not regret the change; for his +prayer to God will be that he may follow in his and in his father’s +steps, while life is given him.”</p> + +<p>She was moving from the table, when Mr. Addison, to whom Robert had just +spoken, approached her, and after whispering something led her back.</p> + +<p>With a deepening glow, for this was an act not so much in Robert’s +stead, as from herself, she said, “I give Mr. Everard Vavasour’s health. +It is not for me to praise him. You all know what he is. May God bless +him.”</p> + +<p>She drew back, and Mrs. Vavasour left Everard to hasten to her side.</p> + +<p>Everard stood for a moment alone; and as the noise of the shouting fell +on his ear, that cheer which was for him,—a cheer the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243">{243}</a></span> loudest and +heartiest perhaps of all, for there is no spirit so dull that cannot +feel sympathy with actions like his—a strange, an unexpected sensation +for a single instant agitated his breast; it was in the remembrance that +from those, for whom he had done so much, and into whose welfare he had +so warmly entered, he had severed himself for ever.</p> + +<p>To escape from the unwelcome intruder he turned his head to where Angela +stood, and saw her pale, trembling, breathless, watching him. He forgot +himself, forgot spectators, and self-restraint, and approaching her with +an <i>abandon</i> of manner, utterly unlike his usual self, and with such a +smile as never before perhaps had played on his lips, he said, “Have I +done right, Angela?”</p> + +<p>The suddenness, the exciting circumstances of the day, this unexpected +end to her long suspense, most of all that smile,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244">{244}</a></span> and that look from +his eyes, entirely overcame her. She turned deadly pale, and the next +moment fell flat on the grass.</p> + +<p>Mr. Addison laid his hand on Everard’s arm, and seeing him hardly master +of himself, drew him away, reminding him of the necessity of +acknowledging the cordial reception of his health; he obeyed with a +smile of thanks, while Mr. Gresham and Mrs. Vavasour raised Angela, and +led her to the house.</p> + +<p>“The heat of the atmosphere,” Mr. Gresham observed, as they walked +along.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Vavasour knew better, and as she endeavoured to restore Angela +to herself, she drew her caressingly towards her with a mother’s +affection.</p> + +<p>“Well I never!” at length exclaimed Mrs. Allen, who with several of the +other servants stood at a distance and contemplated the scene.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245">{245}</a></span></p> + +<p>“It’s the very thing I should have done myself,” said the young groom, +“only I don’t think I should ever have thought of it.”</p> + +<p>“No, Thomas,” said Betsey, “that you wouldn’t, nor nobody wouldn’t but +Mr. Everard. To think, poor dear, that he has had this in his mind all +along!”</p> + +<p>“So we have got a new master again,” said Harrison, approaching the +cluster of servants with an empty beer jug in his hand, “or I should +rather say our old one back again. You were a little surprised, Mrs. +Allen, I should imagine.”</p> + +<p>“Not more than you were, Mr. Harrison,” she replied, for Mrs. Allen +always spoke her mind.</p> + +<p>“I’m not so very sure of that,” he said confidentially; “I’m pretty +sharp, and when I heard of this celebration here, I said to myself a +hundred times, that something would come of it. What do you say to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246">{246}</a></span> the +change, Roger?” turning to the old coachman. “Does it have your +approbation?”</p> + +<p>“I say God bless them both,” replied the old man with a tear in his eye, +“and He will bless them. Of that I am certain!”</p> + +<p>“Amen,” said Harrison in a hearty tone.</p> + +<p>“And Miss Gresham too, I hope, poor dear,” said Betsey softly. “She +looks graver than she used to do, and I should like to see the old smile +again.”</p> + +<p>“We’re hardly a match for her now,” observed Harrison, shaking his head +with an air of wisdom. “Wealth likes to go to Wealth.”</p> + +<p>“Then it ought to be ashamed of itself,” said Betsey warmly, “and so I +would tell Mr. Gresham to his face.”</p> + +<p>“And so would I,” said the young groom. “I would tell him that he may +look the world over, before he’ll find as good as Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247">{247}</a></span> Everard. I would +though he put me into the stocks for it.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Allen! you’ve wanted,” said a breathless boy running from the +house to the group. “Missus wants the salverlattlely for Miss Gresham.”</p> + +<p>“Poor dear!” sighed Betsey as she accompanied Mrs. Allen on her way. “I +don’t think it’s the salvolatile that will do her good.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248">{248}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></h2> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">Wait, my faith is large in Time<br></span> +<span class="i0">And that which shapes it to some perfect end.<br></span> +<span class="i10"><span class="smcap">Tennyson.</span><br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">That</span> night Everard and Robert fought out a great battle, but there never +was an instant’s doubt as to how it would end. When Robert at last saw +that his words were vain, he behaved like himself; with the same +touching humility and winning grace receiving back his position, as he +had shewn in submitting to its loss.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249">{249}</a></span></p> + +<p>There was only one countenance on which Everard looked with doubt. Of +Hope’s approbation he was not certain. In every other face, high and +low, rich and poor, (with the exception of Mr. Gresham’s,) he saw a full +and heartfelt approval, and appreciation of what he had done.</p> + +<p>When fatigued with the excitement of the day, Hope early left the +drawing-room to go to bed, Everard followed her.</p> + +<p>“Dear Hope forgive me,” he said, catching her hand, “I know I ought to +have asked your advice in this matter, but I was afraid. I was afraid +you would dissuade me. I could not run the chance, but now I must have +your consent. Are you not contented?”</p> + +<p>“Quite now,” she replied after a moment’s thought. “At first, I will +confess it was a shock. We are so happy now, Robert is so anxious, so +careful, so good; I felt to shrink<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250">{250}</a></span> from the change; but you have done +more than right, Everard, and such actions must bring blessings with +them, and I am content.”</p> + +<p>“There is no fear for Robert, Hope; no more at least than such fear as +there is for us all; we must have done with distrust, and look up to him +with confidence and honor. I do from my heart. I am like the angels in +Heaven,” he added with a sweet, touching smile. “There is nothing on +earth to my mind so great and noble as repentance.”</p> + +<p>“And you have saved him. Dear, dear Everard, it has pleased God to make +it all your work, and it will be your example that will guide him now.” +And with tears of grateful affection, Hope took his hand in both hers, +and kissed it. If there were anything to repay he was well repaid.</p> + +<p>“And now, Everard,” she asked looking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251">{251}</a></span> up with a smile in his face, “may +I ask, do you mean to be happy yourself?”</p> + +<p>He coloured, and shook his head doubtingly, but there was a light of +hope in his eyes, and a brightness in his countenance which had not been +there for many a day.</p> + +<p>He had borne two years of unavoidable suspense. He was not going to bear +one moment that could be avoided, and without a word to any one, he was +off to Underwood as soon as breakfast was over the following morning.</p> + +<p>It was nearly three years since he had taken his first walk on the same +errand, but his feelings now were unlike what they had been then. Then +it was youth’s first romance, vague, sweet, impassioned, and unreal; a +dream, and like a dream it had been swept away. Now it was no more +romance, no longer a dream, but a man’s tried and proved affection, and +the hope for which he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252">{252}</a></span> came to venture, was one which contained a life’s +happiness. He <i>could</i> live without her; he knew he could; for he had +lived through months of doubt, and hourly expectation of her loss; but +he who had felt them, knew what those hours had been, and knew what the +future would he. He had cast his earthly hopes of joy upon her, and he +felt as those feel who have cast that die.</p> + +<p>At first rapid to prevent thought; then slow and steady to weigh again +all he had to say; so his steps came to Underwood, and he found himself +in Mr. Gresham’s study.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gresham was writing, but he politely left his letter, welcomed +Everard with formal kindness, and begged him to be seated.</p> + +<p>Without attending to the latter request, Everard said hurriedly, “I +suppose, Mr. Gresham, you can guess why I am here.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253">{253}</a></span></p> + +<p>“In this point,” he replied gravely, “you do but justice to my +intellect. I confess, that I surmise what the purport of your visit is. +In some other points, I confess my intellect is at fault. Be so good, +Mr. Vavasour, as to be seated. We may have much to say,” and he waved +his hand to a chair.</p> + +<p>Everard saw he must be patient, and he sat down and said, “What is it +you do not understand, Mr. Gresham? Let me explain it. It is my wish and +duty to be perfectly open with you.”</p> + +<p>“To say the truth, Mr. Vavasour, your conduct is an enigma to me. For +what purpose deceive the world, and mislead the judgments of men, with a +false assumption of position....”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Mr. Gresham,” Everard said coloring deeply, and interrupting him +eagerly, “are you not unjust? Can you say that I assumed? Dare you say +that I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254">{254}</a></span> misled. Consider all that passed between us. My own conscience +acquits me. Surely <i>you</i> at least must acquit me also.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, I allow that on one occasion you, as it now appears, very +properly rejected my overtures. But why assume? for what purpose thus +deceive the world? Who could have imagined a course of conduct so +strange as yours? You must allow that towards <i>me</i> at least, the +assumption was most unjust.”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Gresham, I do not allow it. I never for one instant presumed on +the false position in which I stood, to ask your favor. Unjust to <i>one</i>, +to one only I have been; and her pardon I come now to seek.”</p> + +<p>“You never intended then to accept in reality your father’s will. Am I +to understand you so, Mr. Vavasour? Allow me to say, I think the +subterfuge unworthy a gentleman of ancient family, and whose character +stands high in the eyes of the world.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255">{255}</a></span></p> + +<p>“I did accept it,” Everard said seriously, “and had it been necessary, I +would have accepted it for ever. Had my brother continued those evil +courses which drew down my father’s displeasure, I would, I cannot tell +even now whether rightly or wrongly, have accepted altogether the +position he assigned me; but I trusted Robert, I knew he would be won +back, and I waited. I resolved from the first, that in two years I would +consider the point again; and I endeavoured to bear those two years of +trial as best I could. My own conscience acquits me of any dishonest +subterfuge. I wish that you could acquit me also.”</p> + +<p>“A man, my dear sir, a man with the feelings of a gentleman is not +willing to be deceived. I was deceived, I confess; and had it not been +for your honorable conduct, I might have become involved in engagements +highly prejudicial to my interests. Of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256">{256}</a></span> intention to deceive, I +acquit you, but the fact remains the same.”</p> + +<p>“I am sincerely sorry to have given you annoyance. I did my best to +prevent it. But now, Mr. Gresham, will you let me come to that request +which brought me here to day. I came once before, I am come again to ask +the hand of your daughter. It is no idle fancy now. For three years my +thoughts have never wandered from her.”</p> + +<p>“You must allow me to ask in return, my dear Mr. Vavasour, what you can +offer befitting my daughter’s acceptance. Such questions even between +gentlemen are necessary.” He spoke with a calm composure, into the +meaning of which Everard could not penetrate.</p> + +<p>“Very little, Mr. Gresham,” he said coloring. “I assure you none can +know better or feel more than I do, how very little likely it is you +should choose me for a son-in-law.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257">{257}</a></span> Nevertheless, I persist in my +request. Trust her to me, and so far as man is concerned, she shall be +happy; and that is the best thing.”</p> + +<p>“My dear sir, allow me to remind you that we are engaged on a matter of +business. Tell me frankly what you can offer.”</p> + +<p>“I think I may say £500 a year. No more at present; but Mr. Gresham, it +shall be more. I am going back to my own profession, and these years +have not been years of idleness; I have never, even for one day ceased +to study for the law; when the day was not long enough I took the night; +and I think I am fitted to get on. I feel that I have the knowledge, and +the power; and with hope, and an object before me, I think I shall +succeed.”</p> + +<p>“Ahem! Let me now request you, Mr. Vavasour, to listen to me; for I too +have something of importance to communicate.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258">{258}</a></span> Let me beg of you to give +me your attention.” He rose from his seat, and stood majestically on the +hearthrug; summoning to his brows an expression of weighty thought. He +then began an essay. The gifts of Providence, and man’s responsibility +coming in for their usual share of discussion. He proceeded next to the +shortsightedness of man, and the necessity of submission to +disappointment in his most cherished schemes; then to the beauty of that +energy, which could form—unsoured by failure—new schemes.</p> + +<p>The usual intense interest to know what would be the end of all, +supported Everard through the disquisition with unflagging attention. +When the general foundation was laid, Mr. Gresham then again said, +“Ahem, let me request your particular attention,” and proceeded.</p> + +<p>“It is now some months since I observed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259">{259}</a></span> to my daughter, that it was +time for us to renounce our first intentions; that I perceived no signs +in your behaviour of a desire to ally yourself with our house. I begged +her to banish the subject from her mind, and to prepare herself to +submit to any future scheme I might form. To this proposal she declined +to acquiesce. With all due delicacy, I may under present circumstances +inform you, that she expressed so full a trust in your attachment, as +made her unable or unwilling to enter on further engagements at present. +Her confidence was so assured that it animated me, and I again suffered +myself to indulge in the hope of attaining my first desire. For several +months past this confidence has, however, been on the decline, and a new +object of ambition has presented itself to my mind. This has been buried +in my own breast, for with the patience that becomes those who indulge<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260">{260}</a></span> +in lofty dreams, I determined to return here unfettered, and to await +your pleasure. On my return, I heard it idly rumoured that you were +about to celebrate the birth of your brother’s son; such unnecessary +honor offended me, and my mind became the more resolved on my new +design. But I waited, Mr. Vavasour. I would not do you injustice, and I +waited until I could discover your intentions from your own lips. You +know the rest. I now know all, and I consider myself free. I believe I +may say, no man has ever with more patience and generosity wished and +waited to bestow his favors on the unthankful, than I have done. The +time is now passed.” He drew himself up with a majesty impossible to +pourtray.</p> + +<p>“Not unthankful,” Everard said warmly. “My dear Mr. Gresham, not +unthankful. I have always felt the generous nature of your designs. But +there was one gift you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261">{261}</a></span> had to give so far beyond the others; there was +no power to care for any but that.” He paused a moment, and as Mr. +Gresham did not proceed, he asked with a steady voice but beating heart, +“May I enquire? Do your new designs relate to the other gifts, or to +Miss Gresham?”</p> + +<p>“They relate, my dear Mr. Vavasour, to myself. I have determined to have +a son.”</p> + +<p>With a great effort Everard restrained a smile at this conclusion to his +suspense; but the solemn gaze that was fastened upon him forced him to +be grave also, and he calmly and cordially said, “I am very glad to hear +it.”</p> + +<p>“You understand, therefore, that my daughter is no longer my heiress.”</p> + +<p>“If she does not object,—if she will consent to poverty with me, no +piece of news ever made me happier in my life. Her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262">{262}</a></span> riches I ever felt a +burden too great for me to bear.”</p> + +<p>“As to poverty, Mr. Vavasour, I trust I shall allow no child of mine to +suffer poverty. A proper arrangement can doubtless be made. Am I to +understand, therefore, that after this disclosure, you persist in +addressing her?”</p> + +<p>“May I see her?” was Everard’s reply. “Have I indeed, your consent at +last?”</p> + +<p>“Extremely singular, Mr. Vavasour. I consider the case extremely +singular. Certainly if your attachment is so entirely disinterested, I +can offer no further objection. The rest is in my daughter’s hands. +After speaking to her for a few moments, I will bring her to you to give +her answer for herself. I wish you success.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gresham entered the drawing-room where his daughter was sitting with +Miss Price.</p> + +<p>He closed the door with an air of impor<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263">{263}</a></span>tance, and approaching her, +kissed her brow with paternal dignity.</p> + +<p>Surprised at his manner, Angela hastily rose from her chair.</p> + +<p>“Be seated for a moment, my love. I require your attention for a few +seconds. Mr. Everard Vavasour is in my study; on an errand, perhaps, not +wholly unexpected by you.”</p> + +<p>Not unexpected; yet Angela became very pale, and looked with an intent +and speaking gaze, in her father’s face.</p> + +<p>“My love,” he said kindly, “I will not keep you in suspense. I have told +Mr. Vavasour that he shall receive his answer from yourself. But before +your decision is formed, I am anxious to communicate to you a +circumstance which possibly may influence your choice.” He made a pause, +then gravely added, “I am about to take a wife to myself.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264">{264}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Adelaide Vansittart!” Angela exclaimed, somewhat startled, yet when the +announcement was made, feeling as if she had known it for years.</p> + +<p>“As my request for the honor of her hand has not yet been despatched, my +love, your delicacy will perceive, that it is not for me, whatever my +hopes may be, to speak further upon this subject, at present; but I will +not conceal from you that she is the object of my choice.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Papa, I am very glad,” Angela said, rising and kissing him with +tears, she hardly knew of what meaning, in her eyes. “I hope she will +make you happier than I have done.”</p> + +<p>“Enough, my love, enough on that subject—but allow me to point out to +you, that such being the case, it is possible, it is indeed most +probable that you will not be my heiress.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265">{265}</a></span></p> + +<p>“I never wished it,” she cried eagerly, “if Mr. Vavasour does not mind, +I am too happy.”</p> + +<p>“A singular case certainly,” observed Mr. Gresham, contemplating her +like a curiosity. “Two very remarkable young people. Well, then, my +love, there is no need to delay. Be so good as to prepare yourself to +follow me to my study, where you will find Mr. Vavasour awaiting you.”</p> + +<p>She did follow him after throwing her arms in trembling excitement round +her aunt’s neck, and together they re-entered the study. Again, Mr. +Gresham closed the door, and as on a former occasion intruded his +presence on the interview; but this time both were too happy and too +grateful to feel anger, and both silently waited what further he had to +say. Angela with downcast eyes and a crimson cheek—Everard with <i>his</i> +gaze fixed upon her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266">{266}</a></span></p> + +<p>After closing the door, Mr. Gresham took his daughter’s hand, and led +her up to Everard; he then spoke a few words on matrimony, the duties of +fathers in disposing of their children, his own duty in particular, and +his hope that the duty was now fulfilled.</p> + +<p>His voice became slightly agitated as he spoke, and still more so when +at last he put her hand into Everard’s, with these words. “To you, Mr. +Vavasour, my cares being over, I now consign my child, and from what I +have learned of your character, it is my hope that I have no need to +enjoin you to love and cherish her.”</p> + +<p>“No need,” Everard replied, in a low voice. “With God’s blessing she +<i>shall</i> be happy.”</p> + +<p>“To you, my love,” he continued, “I have only to observe that a wife’s +best happiness is in submission to her husband;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267">{267}</a></span> and I think, and in +fact am assured, that the character of him whom you have chosen will +enable you to submit without regret.”</p> + +<p>Tearful, but smiling, Angela raised her eyes to Everard’s face, and met +that stedfast gaze of love and truth bent down upon her, which seemed to +say, as it had ever said, that she had indeed built her house upon a +rock. The storms of this world’s sorrows might assail them, death might +part, but there was that foundation in their love which nothing could +wash away.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268">{268}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></h2> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But though the pleasures of the day were past,—<br></span> +<span class="i0">For lively pleasures are not formed to last,—<br></span> +<span class="i0">And though less vivid they became, less strong,<br></span> +<span class="i0">Through life they lived and were enjoyed as long;<br></span> +<span class="i0">So deep the impression of that happy day,<br></span> +<span class="i0">Nor time, nor cares, could wear it all away.<br></span> +<span class="i10"><span class="smcap">Crabbe.</span><br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">A supplementary</span> chapter is rarely an interesting one. Interest lies less +in broad facts than in details, and a narrative of dry facts is as +unsubstantial and uninvigorating a repast as a dinner of dry<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269">{269}</a></span> bones. +Some few words, however, may be needful here.</p> + +<p>The result for which Adelaide Vansittart had been toiling for several +years (to do her justice, without any hope or wish of displacing Angela) +was attained, and she became Mr. Gresham’s wife, enjoying to the +uttermost that lavish wealth, and that “position,” which she had so long +contemplated with envy. The attainment of their wishes is, however, +sometimes, and to some characters, a benefit, and in the sun of +satisfaction faults die away and virtues appear. So it was with her. She +became less worldly, less frivolous, and less selfish; was pleased to do +good, and if a fine lady, was a very estimable one. There was, indeed, +in both hers and Mr. Gresham’s hearts, a certain hollowness and +shallowness which could not perfectly be overcome; but even this +suffered some change<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270">{270}</a></span> by and through the birth of a son, and through the +anxieties of the very sincere affection they gave to him.</p> + +<p>Upon the whole, Mr. Gresham’s choice was good, and his marriage a happy +one. If his wife did not actually love him she was very contented with +him, consulted him on all points, and governed him absolutely.</p> + +<p>A happiness of another kind was that which reigned at Audley Court. To +say that Robert never gave his wife a moment’s uneasiness, would be to +say what human nature scarcely warrants, for there was that weakness and +indolence in his disposition, which could not fail at times to be weary +in well doing. There were, after his life became more free and +unfettered, occasional returns of his old restlessness; there were days +on which Hope felt a secret vague misgiving that all was not well, that +longings for a more lawless life assailed him;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271">{271}</a></span> but these were but +passing clouds; perhaps to her loving eyes merciful clouds, lest she, +even she, clinging too closely to the joys of this world, should lose +the clearness of her gaze above. Robert was sincerely bent to do well, +and sincerely humble in his distrust of himself, and sincerity and +humility are man’s best guardian angels. With them he cannot wander far, +or, if he wander, cannot fail to be brought back. So far from shrinking +from advice or warning, he again and again implored Mr. Addison to watch +over him; begging him even though he might at the time resent it, never +to fail to speak, if he saw in him anything unworthy of his father’s +heir and Everard’s brother.</p> + +<p>Between the two brothers unchanging confidence and affection subsisted. +If Everard had once been neglected, if but a tranquil love was his +portion, that time<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272">{272}</a></span> was for ever past. He had assumed, he had been +forced to assume, his father’s place, and though the place had been left +for ever, the reverend love he had won in it remained. If Everard spoke +his words were law; if Everard came it was a gala day. Far more than he +had ever hoped for, or desired, was poured overflowing, without measure, +into his bosom, and he was happy.</p> + +<p>Happy, not elated; unconscious, unpresuming; stedfast himself, pitiful +to others; strong, but not in his own strength; guided by the memory of +his father dead, and the will of his Father above.</p> + +<p>Of his and Angela’s married life, one trifling circumstance only shall +be recorded, and this not because an uncommon or an unexpected one, but +simply as one of those every day instances, of how little youth and +inexperience knows of its tastes and requirements.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273">{273}</a></span></p> + +<p>They began life on £2,000 a year, a sum amply sufficient for every +comfort, and most luxuries, but a sum needing management, and certainly +far removed from Mr. Gresham’s lavish wealth. Out of this income £200 a +year was allotted to Angela. When her father mentioned the fact to her, +she remonstrated against the sum as excessive, assuring him her tastes +were very simple, and her needs few. He replied that it was befitting +her position, and refused to attend to her request that an alteration +should be made.</p> + +<p>Six months after her marriage, having been supplied in her trousseau +with everything woman could desire, Everard one day observed to her that +he thought she had a few bills, and it would be as well to collect them. +She readily acquiesced, though at the same time she assured him they +only amounted to a few pounds. The bills were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274">{274}</a></span> collected, and the few +pounds, when added together, amounted to something only a little less +than her year’s income.</p> + +<p>With a countenance expressive of the utmost horror and dismay, Angela +carried the sum total to her husband. He smiled, and furnished her with +the money required without reproach or remonstrance, or, indeed, without +much appearance of surprise.</p> + +<p>This was in March. In the Christmas following the bills had no need to +be collected. They came in of themselves, and in considerable numbers. +During the nine past months Angela had practised what she called rigid +economy; nevertheless, when the accounts were made up, they stood to her +income in nearly the same proportion as before.</p> + +<p>With a countenance of still greater dismay, and yet without much +trepidation, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275">{275}</a></span> total was again carried to Everard; but this time the +effect of her communication was different. Far from smiling, his +countenance was grave and sad.</p> + +<p>“You are angry,” she cried, in sudden terror, for such a cloud had not +shadowed his face since their marriage.</p> + +<p>“Angry, dearest,” he said, distressed at the word, “oh no, very far from +angry; only fearful that I was wrong in allowing you to sacrifice so +much as you did for me when you married me.”</p> + +<p>“You never shall say that again,” she said, with tears of passionate +regret.</p> + +<p>And he never did. There was no need.</p> + +<p>Her life, her joy, seemed to hang upon his approving look. When she saw +a shadow on his brow, she knew she had not done well, and she was not +happy.</p> + +<p>Happy surely are those who have chosen for their earthly guardians, +spirits tried, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276">{276}</a></span> stedfast and strong. Happy. And yet for them life’s +trials are but begun. It is not moroseness, it is but wisdom to feel +that for such, even in their very safety and happiness, the world has +fierce temptations in store; not the snares of earthly vanity, but the +more subtle snare of earthly idolatry.</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whatever passes as a cloud between<br></span> +<span class="i0">The mental eye of faith and things unseen,<br></span> +<span class="i0">Causing that brighter world to disappear<br></span> +<span class="i0">Or seem less lovely, and its hope less dear,<br></span> +<span class="i0">This is our world, our idol; though it bear<br></span> +<span class="i0">Affection’s impress, or devotion’s air.<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="fint">THE END.<br><br> +<small>London, Godfrey & Delany, Printers, 3, Savoy Street, Strand.</small></p> + +<hr> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i_advert.png" +width="250" +height="85" +alt="Under the Especial Patronage of"> +</p> + +<p class="c">HER MAJESTY & H.R.H. THE PRINCE CONSORT.</p> + +<p class="c">NOW READY, IN ONE VOLUME, ROYAL 8vo.,</p> + +<p class="c">WITH THE ARMS BEAUTIFULLY ENGRAVED,</p> + +<p class="c"><i>Handsomely Bound, with Gilt Edges</i>,</p> + +<p class="c">LODGE’S PEERAGE</p> + +<p class="c">AND</p> + +<p class="c">BARONETAGE,</p> + +<p class="c">For 1858.</p> + +<p class="c">ARRANGED AND PRINTED FROM</p> + +<p class="c">THE PERSONAL COMMUNICATIONS OF THE NOBILITY,</p> + +<p class="c">AND CORRECTED THROUGHOUT TO THE PRESENT TIME.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lodge’s Peerage and Baronetage</span> is acknowledged to be the most complete, +as well as the most elegant, work of the kind that has ever appeared. As +an established and authentic authority on all questions respecting the +family histories, honours, and connexions of the titled aristocracy, no +work has ever stood so high. It is published under the especial +patronage of Her Majesty, and His Royal Highness the Prince Consort, and +is annually corrected throughout, from the personal communications of +the Nobility. It is the only work of its class in which, <i>the type being +kept constantly standing</i>, every correction is made in its proper place +to the date of publication, an advantage which gives it supremacy over +all its competitors. Independently of its full and authentic information +respecting the existing Peers and Baronets of the realm, the most +sedulous attention is given in its pages to the collateral branches of +the various noble families, and the names of many thousand individuals +are introduced, which do not appear in other records of the titled +classes. Nothing can exceed the facility of its arrangements, or the +beauty of its typography and binding, and for its authority, correctness +and embellishments, the work is justly entitled to the high place it +occupies on the tables of Her Majesty and the Nobility.</p> + +<p class="c">LODGE’S PEERAGE AND BARONETAGE</p> + +<p class="c">LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS.</p> + +<div class="blockquott"> + +<p>Historical View of the Peerage.</p> + +<p>Parliamentary Roll of the House of Lords.</p> + +<p>English, Scotch, and Irish Peers, in their orders of Precedence.</p> + +<p>Alphabetical List of Peers of Great Britain and the United Kingdom, +holding superior rank in the Scotch or Irish Peerage.</p> + +<p>Alphabetical List of Scotch and Irish Peers, holding superior +titles in the Peerage of Great Britain and the United Kingdom.</p> + +<p>A Collective List of Peers, in their order of Precedence.</p> + +<p>Table of Precedency among Men.</p> + +<p>Table of Precedency among Women.</p> + +<p>The Queen and Royal Family.</p> + +<p>The House of Saxe Coburg-Gotha.</p> + +<p>Peers of the Blood Royal.</p> + +<p>The Peerage, alphabetically arranged.</p> + +<p>Families of such Extinct Peers as have left Widows or Issue.</p> + +<p>Alphabetical List of the Surnames of all the Peers.</p> + +<p>Account of the Archbishops and Bishops of England, Ireland, and the +Colonies.</p> + +<p>The Baronetage, alphabetically arranged.</p> + +<p>Alphabetical List of Surnames assumed by members of Noble Families.</p> + +<p>Alphabetical List of the Second Titles of Peers, usually borne by +their Eldest Sons.</p> + +<p>Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of Dukes, Marquises, and Earls, +who, having married Commoners, retain the title of Lady before +their own Christian and their Husbands’ Surnames.</p> + +<p>Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of Viscounts and Barons, who, +having married Commoners, are styled Honourable Mrs; and, in case +of the husband being a Baronet or Knight, Honourable Lady.</p> + +<p>Mottoes alphabetically arranged and translated.</p></div> + +<hr> + +<p>“A work which corrects all errors of former works. It is the production +of a herald, we had almost said, by birth, but certainly, by profession +and studies, Mr. Lodge, the Norroy King of Arms. It is a most useful +publication.”—<i>Times.</i></p> + +<p>“Lodge’s Peerage must supersede all other works of the kind, for two +reasons; first, it is on a better plan; and, secondly, it is better +executed. We can safely pronounce it to be the readiest, the most +useful, and exactest of modern works on the subject.”—<i>Spectator.</i></p> + +<p>“This work derives great value from the high authority of Mr. Lodge. The +plan is excellent.”—<i>Literary Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>“This work should form a portion of every gentleman’s library. At all +times, the information which it contains, derived from official sources +exclusively at the command of the author, is of importance to most +classes of the community; to the antiquary it must be invaluable, for +implicit reliance may be placed on its contents.”—<i>Globe.</i></p> + +<p>“The production of Edmund Lodge, Esq., Norroy King of Arms, whose +splendid Biography of Illustrious Personages stands an unrivalled +specimen of historical literature, and magnificent illustration. Of Mr. +Lodge’s talent for the task he has undertaken, we need only appeal to +his former productions. It contains the exact state of the Peerage as it +now exists, with all the Collateral Branches, their Children, with all +the Marriages of the different individuals connected with each +family.”—<i>John Bull.</i></p> + +<p class="fint"> +HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,<br> +SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN,<br> +13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET, LONDON.<br> +TO BE HAD OF ALL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT THE KINGDOM.<br> +</p> + +<hr class="full"> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79390 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/79390-h/images/cover.jpg b/79390-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ec0c8fc --- /dev/null +++ b/79390-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/79390-h/images/i_advert.jpg b/79390-h/images/i_advert.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f186182 --- /dev/null +++ b/79390-h/images/i_advert.jpg diff --git a/79390-h/images/i_advert.png b/79390-h/images/i_advert.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8a0a9af --- /dev/null +++ b/79390-h/images/i_advert.png |
