GJSuKGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS.
Ni<
Eri
La:
Th
Rie
Pel
Las
Th
Th
Th
Th^
Me
Ell
Th
Th
I
Th
Th'
Bol
Jan
Manuscript, Archives,
and Rare Book Library
EMORY UNIVERSITY
Philip Rolloj
Legends of the Black Watch.
Mary of Lorraine.
Oliver Ellis ; or, The Fusiliers.
Lucy Arden; or, Hollywood
Hall.
Frank Hilton; or, The Queen's
Own.
The Yellow Frigate.
Harry Ogilvie; or, The Black
Dragoons.
Ml
Greys.
rreys.
The Constable of France.
The Phantom Regiment.
The King's Own Borderers.
The White Cockade.
Dick Rodney.
First Love and Last Love.
The Girl he Married.
Lady Wedderburn's Wish.
Only an Ensign.
Valentine Vox.
By Henry Cockton.
| Stanley Thorn. | George Julian.
Published by George Routledge and Sons.
Novels at Two Shillings.—Continued.
By Author of  Whitefriars.
Whitehall. | Owen Tudor. | Caesar Borgia. | Whitefriars,
By Fielding and Smollett.
Fielding.
Tonf Jones.
Joseph Andrews.
Amelia.
Smollett.
Roderick Random.
Humphrey Clinker.
Peregrine Pickle.
By W. H. Maxwell.
Luck is Everything.
Stories of Waterloo.
Captain Blake.
The Bivouac.
Flood and Field.
Wild Sports in the
West.
Hector O'Halloran.
Stories of the Pepin-
sular War.
Captain O'Sullivan.
Wild Sports and Ad-
ventures in the
Plighlands.
By Theodore Hook.
Gilbert Gurney.
The Parson's Daugh-
ter.
All in the Wrong.
Fathers and Sons.
Gervase Skinner.
AgiPcourt.
Arabella Stuart.
Arrah Neil.
Attila.
Beauchamp. •
The Black Eagle.
The Brigand.
Castelneau.
The Castle of Ehren-
stein.
Charles Tyrrell.
The Convict.
Darnley.
Delaware.
De L'Orme.
The False Heir.
Cousin William.
Man of Many Friends.
Passion and Principle.
The Widow and the
Marquess.
Gurney Married.
By G. P. R. James.
Forest Days; or,
Robin Hood.
The Forgery.
The Gentleman of the
Old School.
The Gipsy.
Gowrie; or, The
King's Plot.
Pleidelberg.
Henry Masterton.
Henry of Guise.
The Jacquerie.
John Marston Hall.
The King's Highway.
Leonora D'Orco.
Morley Ernstein.
My Aunt PontypooL
Jack Brag.
Maxwell.
Cousin Geoffry.
Merton.
Peregrine Bunce.
The Man-at-Arms.
Mary of Burgundy.
The Old Dominion.
One in a Thousand.
Philip Augustus. ..
Richelieu.
The Robber.
Rose D'Albret.
Russell.
Sir Theodore Brough-
ton.
The Smuggler.
The Stepmother.
A Whim and Its Con-
sequences.
The Woodman.
Published by George Routledge and Sons.
Novels at Two Shillings.—Co.cinued.
By Various Authors.
The Night Side of Nature.
Mrs. Crewe.
Scottish Chiefs. Jane Porter.
Rory O'More. Samuel Lov-er.
Who is to Have it ?
Feathered Arrow. Gersta'icker.
Each for Himself. Gerstaecker.
Sir Roland Ashton. Lady C.Long.
The Young Curate. t
Matrimonial Shipwrecks. i
Mrs. Maillatm.
The Two Baronets.
Lady Charlotte Bury.
Country Curate. G. R. Gleig.
Lover.
Miss Cummins.
T. Miller.
Captain Chamier.
_ Gleig.
Handy Andy.
Lamplighter.
Gideon Giles.
Ben Brace.
The Hussar.
Guy Livingstone.
Running the Gauntlet. *\
Admund Yates.
Kissing* the Rod. ttdmujid Yates.
Sir Victor's Choice.
, * Annie Thomas.
The Two Midshipmen.
Captain Armstrong.
Outward Bound. Author of
 Rattlin the Reefer.
The Secret of a Life. M. M. Bell.
Emily Chester.
Phineas Quiddy.
Lewell Pastures.
Gilderoy.
Black and Gold.
Capt. Patten Saunders.
Vidocq, the French Police Spy.
The Flying Dutchman.
GLarissa Harlowe. Richardson.
I (Aives of Burcot. Hesha Stretton.
Mbr. Goethe's Courtship.-
Half a Million of Money.
A. B. Edwards.
The Wandering Jew.
The Mysteries of Paris.
Ladder of Gold.
The Greatest Plague of Life.
Nick of the Woods.
Whom to Marry.
A Cruise on Wheels.
Con Cregan. Lever.
Arthur O'Leary. ' Lever.
The Pirate of the Mediterranean.
Kingston,
False Colours. Annie Thomas.
Will He Marry Her. John Lang.
The Ex-Wife. John Lang.
The First Lieutenant's Story.
Lady C. Long.
RAILWAY LIBRARY.
Price 2s. 6d. each.
The Clockmaker.
The Vicomte de Bragelonne. 2
Sam Slick. | vols. Dumas.
NEW SHILLING VOLUMES.
Routledge's Readings (Comic). The Book of Modern Irish Anec-
Routledge's Readings (Serious). dotes.
Routledge's Readings (Dramatic). The Book of Modem English
The Book of Modern Scotch Anecdotes.
Anecdotes.
Published by George Rout ledge and Sons.
a
LINNY LOCKWOOD
J Uffhi
By CATHERINE CROWE
AUTHOR OF
"SUSA.N llOl'EEE "UHY DAWSON  THE SIGHT SIDE OF If ATUEE 
ETC. ETC. ETC-
LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE
NEW YORK: 416 BROOME STREET
LIN N Y LOCKWOOD.
CHAPTER I.
It was the month of December; the wind blew, and the rain
fell. People—the few that were out of doors—could not
keep their hats on their heads, nor their cloaks on their
shoulders ; umbrellas were .out of the question, and it was so
dark that, except immediately under the dim street-lamps,
they could scarcely distinguish the ground they walked upon.
The gusts blew the rain in their faces, and' almost blinded
them; and there was such a whistling, howling, and patter-
ing, that they could not hear themselves speak. The hackney
coachmen abandoned their stands for the shelter of the
public-house, leaving their horses with their drooping heads
to the care of the waterman, who stood dripping in oil-skin
under the lintel of a door. In short, everybody said there
had never been such a night before; and certainly there had
not been many worse.
Whilst all this clatter was going on outside, in a small
poorly-furnished room in the neighbourhood of Golden-square,
a respectable-looking elderly man was tying a comforter round
his throat, and thrusting his arms into a brown great-coat,
v the lining of which was torn.
"Didn't I beg you, Jane, he said to his wife, who was
seated by the fire reading a novel— didn't I beg you to
mend this pocket ?
"I'll do it now, she said.
 Nonsense! How can I wait for you to do it now, when
I ought to be half-way to Cavendish-square already. I've
waited as long as I dare, hoping the storm would subside.
 It wouldn't take five minutes, objected the wife.
"Then you might have found five minutes to do it in.
"Don't be cross, George! responded the lady; "five
minutes couldn't make any difference ; but you'd rather keep
the hole to grumble about than wait a moment to have it
mended.
a 2
4.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 Five minutes and a moment are two different things;
but you have not the slightest notion of accuracy. I dare
say, it would take ten minutes or a quarter of an hour at
least, and I can't wait, I tell you; and so saying, having
buttoned his coat, and thrust into his bosom a small white
packet sealed with red jvax, that had been lying on the table,
he moved towards the door.
 Shall you be long? inquired his wife.
"No, said he; "not if Hamlet's things are ready. I
shall only give the parcel in, and come away directly, unless
I'm needed for anything else. Just hold the light here, will
you? I want my umbrella.
"I don't believe you'll be able to carry it for the wind.
 I'll take it, at all events; it answers for a stick if I can't
hold it up.
 Be back as soon as you can ! were the last words the
wife uttered as he opened the street-door, thereby blowing
out her candle, whereupon she retreated into the parlour
again; whilst he by a violent effort closed the door, and went
struggling on his way through the tempest, directing his
step first through Leicester-square to the shop of Hamlet the
jeweller, which as early closing was a thing untalked of in
those days, was still so brilliant and inviting, that a spectator
could only wonder how it was that the miserable population
outside did not storm and sack it.
 Well, are you ready ? he said, as he stepped in.
 Just ready, answered a young man behind the counter,
at the same time handing forwards another sealed packet,
larger, however, than the first.
 Stop ! said the stranger, taking the first packet from
his bosom ; "just put them both up together, and I'll thank
you. They'll be the easier carried.
 It's a rough night, observed the shopman.
"About the worst I ever was out in, answered the other.
 Is the marriage to take place to-morrow ?
 If it wasn't I wouldn't be running about the streets such
a night as this, I assure you, returned the first, as he took
the parcel handed to him, which he was again about to put
into the torn breast-pocket of his coat, when he recollected
himself and thrust it into his bosom : and then, bidding the
young man a good night, he quitted the shop and set his
face to the storm. The wind had been at his back before,
and his chief encounters were at the corners of the streets
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 5
and the open places; but now, the blast met him, and he
had literally to fight every inch of the way.
The rain, too, which had intermitted for a short period,
seemed hut to have been gathering itself up for a worse
deluge, and it now fell in such torrents, that, hopeless as it
appeared, our unfortunate pedestrian made an attempt to
hoist his umbrella; but, before he had got it well up, an eddy
of wind took it, that not only turned it inside out, and
snapped the whalebone, but forced the bearer to perform an
involuntary pirouette, in the execution of which feat he for
an instant caught sight of a well-known face, a few paces
behind him, on which the bright light of a druggist's door-
lamp happened at that moment to be shining. It was not
a face he loved to look upon; the unpleasant recollections
connected with the owner of it, gave fresh energy to his
exertions, and he set his breast to the wind with renewed
vigour, in order to escape an interview. Perhaps the ob-
noxious individual observed this design to avoid him; for a
moment aftefrvards he turned suddenly round, darted up a
street to the right, and was no more seen, whilst the other
battled on to his destination, which was a certain square on
the north side of Oxford Road, as it was then called. The
house to which he directed his steps was a large and hand-
some one ; one of the handsomest in the square, in short.
There was a carriage at the door, the coachman belonging to
which had taken refuge from the storm under the lintel,
where, cased in his capes, he stood squeezed into a corner,
when our pedestrian ascended the steps, and, laying his right
hand on the knocker, gave a resolute single rap, betokening
that, although a humble visitor, he had no misgivings about
his welcome ; whilst with the left he unloosed the upper
buttons of his great-coat, and thrust his hand into his bosom
to take out the parcel he had come to deliver, being desirous
of discharging his commission, and getting home again as
quickly as possible. But the parcel was no longer there!
-He plunged his hand deeper; desperately to the right, to the
left, but there was nothing. "Great God! I've lost it!
and upon the impulse of the moment, without pausing to
reflect, lie turned off the steps before the door was opened,
and fled back the way he had come, retracing his path as
closely as he could, searching the ground as he went, till he
reached the spot where he had attempted to hoist his
umbrella ; a conviction flashing across him, that it was in
6
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
that struggle that the lower buttons of his coat had given
way, and thus allowed the parcel to slip down; for this was
not his Sunday coat, and the buttonholes were stretched and
torn, and did not hold them fast. His wife had intended to
repair them ; but, like the lining, she had forgotten to do it.
There were few people in the streets, for nobody was abroad
that could help it; and, unmindful of the wind or weather
now, he rushed frantically forwards, in the hope that the
packet might have been overlooked, and be still recovered. It
was against his chance, however, that it was wrapped in white
paper, and that the spot in question was the best lighted of
any he had passed; for the druggist was a new settler in the
locality, and of an ambitious turn of mind. As our unfortu-
nate hero approached the place, his heart sank—for he re-
marked how clearly he could have distinguished a white
object on the pavement within a certain area; but, alas!
there was no such thing visible now; and he slackened his
steps, and stood for a moment disheartened and amazed, un-
certain what to do next; when, endeavouring to assume a
momentary exterior of composure, he entered the chemist's
shop, and inquired if they had heard of anything being
found in that neighbourhood ?
 Found! echoed the lad.
 Picked up, I mean; I've dropped a parcel—a white
paper parcel—
 No, answered the other, shaking his head;  the wind'll
have blown it away, most likely : I think it would blow my
head off, if I was out.
The wind blown it away ! The packet was not light, but
rather heavy for its size ; but still it might have been blown
along the pavement if a gust took it, till it rested in some
nook far from where it fell. So he paced the street to and
fro, examining every part of it, where he could not use his
eyes, with his hands or his feet, but without success. Then
he walked on as far as Hamlet's door, investigating every
inch of the ground. The shop was closed now, and, being
certain that he had quitted it with the parcel in his posses-
sion, he made no attempt to disturb the watchman who slept
there. Then he retraced his steps once more to the square,
and then back again, till he reached his own house, where his
wife had fallen asleep, over Thaddeus of Warsaw, by the
parlour fire. When he knocked, which he did hastily and
impatiently, she started from her slumbers, out of humour at
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
7
the disturbance, as it was natural she should be; the more
especially as the fire had gone out, and she felt cold and stiff;
for she was subject to rheumatism, and dreaded its attacks,
 Lord bless my soul, Mr. Lockwood, I thought you were
blown away altogether! Do you know what o'clock it is ?
she said, as she opened the door to admit him.
 I wish I was blown away, or dead, or d—d! retorted he
between his teeth, as he stepped into the passage and lifted
off his dripping, shapeless hat.
 Why, what in the name of everything has happened to
you?
"Help me off with this coat, will you? he said fiercely'
for it was so thoroughly soaked through, that it stuck to him
like Nessus's shirt, only it was a little cooler. When, with
her assistance, he had dragged himself out of it, he stepped
into the parlour ; and then, taking one of the tall brass
candlesticks in her hand, she held it up to his face. Heavens !
what a countenance was there! Her heart quailed at the
sight of it.
 In the name of God, George, what has happened ? she
exclaimed.
 Nothing—nothing; only I've lost the money and the
jewels ! That's all!
 Lost the money and the jewels!
 Ay ! lost them—dropped them ; and you've nobody to
thank for it but yourself.
 Why, where did you put them ?
 Where ! Why, where could I put them, but stuff them
in my bosom. You wouldn't have me put them in my out-
side pocket, would you, for anybody to put his hand in that
liked, and take them out ? And I couldn't very well put
them into the breast-pocket, with a hole in it as big as my
fist, could I ?
"Oh, George, George ! exclaimed the poor woman,begin-
ning to weep, and wring her hands;  is it possible ? Oh,
good Heavens ! What shall we do ? What shall we do ?
 Hang or drown ourselves. I'm sure, for my part, I wish
somebody would do it for me, with all my soul!
 But tell me, George, how was it ? Where did it happen ?
Is there no hope of finding shem ?
 Drop five hundred pounds and a diamond bracelet in the
street, and how long do you think it will lie there ?
 But some honest person may have picked it up, George.
8 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 Pshaw! There's not many honest people walking the
streets such a night as this, I fancy. ?
 You were walking the streets, and why shouldn t there
be others ? But tell me, for God's sake, how it happened
and where ?
 How should I know how it happened ? The parcel
slipped down, I suppose ; I tried, like a fool as I was, to put
up my umbrella, and in the struggle with the wind my coat
got unbuttoned. I told you a month ago that the holes
would scarce hold the buttons—didn't I ? but you never put
a finger to them.
 Well, George, don't reproach me now. If it was my
fault, I've reason enough to reproach n^self, as I shall do all
the days of my life ; but tell me how it happened. Let's
see if nothing can be done. Where were }rou when you found
you'd lost them ? Were the money and the bracelet in the
same parcel ?
 Yes ; Hamlet's man tied them up together. I asked
him to do it for safety, and I put the parcel in here, and
buttoned both my coats from top to bottom, and I never
dreamed of anything wrong till I was at Mr. Eardley's door;
and then, when I put my hand into my bosom to take them
out, they were gone!
 And what did you do ? Did you tell them ? Does Mr.
Eardley know it—or Mr. Featherstone ?
 Do ! I went back again—like a madman, as I was—over
every inch of ground, backwards and forwards, a dozen times.
But what was the use of it ?
 Were there many people about ?
 No, very few. There was one person about though, and
not far from me, I suspect, when I dropped it. He may
have picked it up for anything I know ?
* "Who?
 That fellow—d n him—Vaughan Edmonstone !
.  He! what in the world could he be doing out in such a
night as this ?
 God knows ! no good, I'll be sworn. But, oh woman!
what am I to do about this parcel ?
"You must go to all the police-offices—you should have
gone there at once.
 So I should; I'll go directly. A man that I spoke to in
a chemist's shop, suggested that it might have blown away J
 It would be too heavv.
LLNNY LOCKWOOD.
9
 I don't know that. The wind was enough to blow me
away. But I'll go to Bow-street at once ; and to Marl-
borough-street.''
 I'll tell you what, George, if the wind's so high it might
have been blown down an area.
 It might, certainly. But no, no! somebody'11 have picked
it up. The white paper was easily seen near a lamp, or a
person might kick it with his foot. A pretty find it'll be to
some rascal or another.
 I'll tell you what: I'll put on my bonnet and go out
with you.
 What's the use of that ?
 And, as soon as you've been to the police, we'll go to the
place where you think you dropped it, so that we may be
there when the morning breaks, and have the first chance of
seeing it, if it is anywhere there ; and we can look down the
areas before the servants are stirring in the morning.
 It's of no use, none in the world! you'll only get your
death of cold, and we shall have another doctor's bill to pay.
You'd better go to bed.
'"There's no telling what's of use, George ; and I can't sit
here alone in all this anxiety and misery, and as for going to
bed, I couldn't do it!
 But, my good woman, you don't know what a night it
is. It's not fit for a dog to be out in !
 Well, George, I shall go. I can't stay here, I tell you ;
and two pair of eyes are better than one. You must just
wait one moment whilst I fetch my boots. So George
dropped into a chair that was behind him, and in an attitude
of the utmost despondency contemplated the bitterness of his
destiny. It was bitter certainly. Once in his life already he
had been ruined; flung down from a state of prosperity—
modest prosperity, such as filled his soul with content—by no
fault of his own ; and now again, when he had found friends,
and the dawn of better fortunes was breaking, here was a
catastrophe that would sink him altogether; for, taking the
very best view of the case, he was liable to the imputation of
an unpardonable amount of carelessness ; but few, he was well
aware, would limit their ideas of his culpability to that. If
the packet did not turn up somewhere, and prove his inno-
cence by its reappearance, he felt certain he should be sus-
pected of having embezzled it. No character—that is, no
character of a man in his situation of life—could withstand
10 L1NNY LOCKWOOD.
two such assaults as this and the one that preceded it. Yes;
he should he ruined—this time irretrievably; cast off by the
friends that had clung to him, and the patron that had sus-
tained him, and sink into utter poverty and shame ; for as well
be guilty as be thought so by all the world. And his poor
wife dearly loved in spite of her little faults ; and his cherished,
beautiful Leonie, their only child—must sink with him!
How he condemned himself now, that he had pot put on
his best coat, the lining of which was entire—foolish, foolish
economy! or that he had undertaken to deliver the things at
all, (and the worst of it was that he had volunteered the ser-
vice;) or that, having done so, he had not sent for a coach and
driven to Cavendish-square, instead of going on foot. How
easy, how simple, how natural, to have done so, instead of car-
rying such valuables about the streets by flight! Anybody in
the world but himself would have thought of it. But it was
too late now to make these reflections—the misfortune had hap-
pened, and he feared it was irreparable; for how many dishonest
people are prowling about the streets of London by night,
ready to pounce on any prey—and what a prey was there!
When his wife came down, well cloaked and clogged, they
set forth to face the storm, which however had now somewhat
subsided. The rain still fell heavily; but the wind had fallen,
and the two got along much better than he had expected. He
went first to Marlborough-street, and there told his tale.
 Walable was it ? inquired* the officer on duty.
 Worth seven or eight hundred pounds, I suppose. There
were bank-notes to the amount of five hundred, and a diamond
bracelet worth two or three hundred more.
 Done up in white paper ?
 Yes, arid sealed with Hamlet the jeweller's seal.
 Any name or address on it ?
 Not on the outside paper, but on the inside it was directed
to F. Featherstone, Esquire.
 What o'clock did you say it was when you dropped it?
 About nine o'clock, as near as might be.
The officer turned his eye up to tlie clock:  Why, that's
upwards of four hours agone! why didn't you come here
before?
 I did not think of it, I was so confused and distracted
I went backwards and forwards over the ground hopino- to
find it, and then I went home to tell my wife, and she sug-
gested I should come here.
L1NNY LOCKWOOD.
11
George Lockwood was a timid man, easily disconcerted,
and there was something in the officer's question, and an
expression in his eye, that disconcerted him now, and his
CQuntenance denoted it.
 People can't always think of the best thing to do at such
a time, when their mind's so agitated, said Mrs. Lockwood.
Particulars of this information were then taken down, and
George and his wife quitted the office and proceeded to Bow-
street; but, as he turned to go, he heard some remark made
behind him in a low voice, and he felt that the eye of sus-
picion was on him.
 I told you so! he said; "I shall be suspected of em-
bezzling the property, and probably be taken up and flung
into jail.
 Nonsense! returned his wife.  Mr. Eardley wouldn't
do such a thing.
 Why not ? He stood my friend once, when few men
would have done it, and when appearances were as bad as they
could be against me.
 Much more than they are now, said his wife.
 Yes; but you can't expect a man to go on always lifting
up a broken reed that can't stand upright. Besides, I can't
face him. I wont face him; I could no more go and tell him
I've lost the money and the bracelet than I could fly.
 But he must know it to-morrow morning.
 Yes, he must! When he finds they're not come, he'll
send for me.
 But that will look very bad, George—waiting to be sent
for. You must go of your own accord; I wish you'd gone
last night instead of coming home. But you must go in the
morning, before he is out of bed.
 Even if Mr. Eardley should believe me, Mr. Peatherstone
wont. Why should he F He knows nothing about me, but
that I've been suspected of fraud, and was discharged for it.
Of course, he'll suppose I'm at my old tricks, and will say so
at once; and how am I to prove otherwise.
 It's ho use looking at the worst side of everything,
George: and at what may never happen. Things are bad
enough as they are."'
 Bad enough, God knows! echoed poor George, with a sigh.
At Bow-street the interrogatories were much the same as
at the other office ; and, as the consciousness of standing in a
questionable position had now gained strength from what had
1 2 linny lockwood.
passed, the nervous, agitated demeanour of the stranger,
struck suspicion at once into the minds of the officers.
 Does the gentleman the things belong to know ot the
loss of them ? they inquired.
 Not yet; it was too late to disturb him.
 I thought you said it was only nine o'clock.
"Yes, when I dropped them: but I went backwards^ and
forwards over the ground, in hopes of finding the parcel.
A smile of incredulity curled the lip of Tanner as he
remarked, that  retracing your steps in the hope of finding
a parcel dropped in a London street, was like looking for a
swallow at Christmas. You must advertise in the morning
papers. You should have' been at The Times office before
this ; you'll be too late now.
George said he would, and went away still more wounded
and depressed than he was before; and since it was no use
going anywhere else then, as it wanted still four hours of day-
light, they returned home, where he wrote the advertisement,
which was to be sent on the following day to The Times; and
after some persuasion induced his wife, who was cold, wet,
and weary, to go to bed, promising to awaken her as soon
as it was light enough to make any further efforts towards
repairing their misfortune.
CHAPTER II.
Catherine Bardlet, the daughter of a rich banker, a
beauty and a fortune, was to be married to Sir Arthur Glen-
lyon. Her parents doatecl on her, and would have done any-
thing in the world to make her happy except let her marry
the man she liked; but since she had consented to marry one
she did not, they gave her a superb trousseau and twenty
thousand pounds down on the wedding-day, with the prospect
of a great deal more thereafter. Besides these paternal
bounties, she had considerable expectations from a rich uncle,
who was in a bad state of health, and might die any minute.
This uncle, whose name was Featherstone, was a brother of
Mrs. Eardley's, and he had been residing for some years in
the south of Europe for the sake of the climate; but when
he heard his pretty niece was about to be married, he deter-
mined to be present at the ceremony, and wrote home to that
effect. The time at which he should have arrived, however
passed, and he did not appear—a circumstance regretted on
all hands, since it was looked upon as certain that he would
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 13
come down handsomely on the occasion ; and it was even
debated whether the wedding should not be postponed, great
as the inconvenience of such a delay would he, considering
the magnificence of the preparations and the rank of the
guests invited to the dejeuner; when, on the very morning
before that appointed for the ceremony, the old gentleman
arrived in a post-chaise, drawn by four smoking horses, from
Portsmouth. To avoid the fatigue of land travelling, he had
come by sea, and, as there were sailing vessels in those days,
contrary winds had detained him. Here he was now, how-
ever—pale, thin, invalidish as ever; and of course very much
fatigued. It is unnecessary to remark that he was received
with empressement—rich uncles always are; and as he was a
very refined, gentlemanly, and generous old man, a widower
and without children, he was really welcome to his relations.
Mr. Eardley was out when he arrived, but his sister and niece
were at home, and after he had taken a potage and some jelly,
the former recommended a little repose.
 You'll he too fatigued, Francis, to go to church with us
to-morrow morning if you do not lie down. You must go
to your room, and keep jmurself quiet till the first dinner-
bell, and then I'll wake you myself, or send Catherine to
you!
"Perhaps I'd better lie down a little before dinner, an-
swered Mr. Featherstone;  but I've got a little business to
do in the city first, and you must let me have your carriage.
 By all means ; but you'll knock yourself up ; indeed you
will. Couldn't anybody else do the business for you P Mr.
Eardley wont be home till five o'clock; but I saw George
Lockwood here a minute ago, and if he's not gone, perhaps
he could do what you want. I'll ring and ask if he's here
stilland Mrs. Eardley not only rang the bell, but she went
to the drawing-room door and looked over the balustrade into
the hall below, where, as they came up from luncheon, she
had caught a glimpse of our friend George ; for she really did
not like her brother to encounter the fatigue of a drive into
the city; and yet, as she had a shrewd guess as to the kind
of business he wanted done, she did not wish it deferred.
 If Mr. Lockwood's not gone, beg he'll stay a minute, Mr.
Featherstone wishes to speak to him, she said to the foot-
man as he ascended the stairs.
 Mr. Lockwood's in the housekeeper's room, ma'am.
 Then bid him wait till I ring. Yes, Lockwood is here,
at*d you'd better let him do anything you want.
14 LINN Y LOCKWOOD.
 What!—Lockwood's in favour again, then, is he ? 1
thought he was turned off.
 So he was for a time, and very unjustly so, we believe
It's our opinion he had no more to do with that business than
you had, said Mrs. Eardley, nodding her head significantly.
 Why didn't he defend himself more vigorously, then, at
the time ? why did he succumb to the accusation ?
 From a romantic feeling of gratitude, we think. He
owed everything to Mr. Edmonstone, you know.
 Gad ! It's carrying gratitude rather far, though, to take
another man's forgery on your back.
 Why, it might not have been easy to prove his innocence,
you know. Besides, it wasn't a forgery.
 It was something very like it, I fancy.
 It was bad enough, certainly, and might have ruined thft
House. Mr. Eardley will explain it to you, I never can
understand these business matters; but it was something
about altering figures in the bank books. But subsequent
circumstances opened Mr. Eardley's eyes completely. In-
deed, at the time he had his suspicions; but of course it wa«s
desirable to avoid an esclandre, and the affair was comprn-
mised by Mr. E.'s withdrawal from the firm. He had ruined
himself by speculations.
 What are they doing now—the Edmonstones ?
 Heaven knows ! I never hear anything of them ; though
I pity his wife very much. It's certainly extremely hard
upon her. They say Vaughan's living upon the town, some-
how or other; not very honestly, I dare say.
 Eardley should exert his interest to get him some little
place under government. It's a melancholy thing to'see a young
man brought up as he was, reduced to such shifts. I always
thought Vaughan a gentlemanly lad, and I used to think that
he was very much epris with Kate, and that-she liked him.
 They were mere boys and girls then ; and it's a connexion
Mr. Eardley would never have consented to. But, by the by,
hadn't I better ring for Lockwood ? he'll be wanting to go.
 Do ; by the by, is there a small parcel here for me ?
 Not that I know of. I'll inquire.
The footman said a portmanteau had been left the preced-
ing day. It was in Mr. Featherstone's.room.
 That's not what I mean. There's nothing else ?
 Nothing else, sir.
"Send up Mr. Lockwood, said Mrs. Eardley,  and,I'll
go and help Kate, who is engaged with Madame Hubert;
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
15
and, when you've settled your business, pray do lie down till
dinner-time.
"Good morning, Mr. Lockwood! I'm glad to see you,
said Mr. Featherstone, holding out his hand as George entered
the room.  How are Mrs. Lockwood and your daughter?
 My wife's not so strong as she used to he, sir; she's a
good deal troubled with rheumatism; but my daughter's
quite well. I hope you're better, sir ?
 Much as usual, Mr. Lockwood: perhaps, on the whole, I've
been better abroad than I was here; but I feel age creeping
upon me. We're growing older every day, Mr. Lockwood.
"We are indeed, sir.
 Mr. Lockwood, I've been detained by wind and weather
till I' m only just here in time for to-morrow; and I've a
little business in the city that my sister thinks you'll be
kind enough to do for me.
 With great pleasure, sir. If it's at the bank there is no
time to lose.
 Ay, it's getting late, I see. I want to make a little
present to my niece. Here's a line to my broker, Mr. Hackett,
who will do the business for you immediately. You know
Hackett, I dare say ?
 Perfectly, sir.
 Tell him to send the money without fail this afternoon.
 Hadn't I better bring it myself, sir ?
 Do, do; and as you return I wish you would call at
Hamlet's, the jeweller, and inquire why they have not sent a
bracelet I ordered. I wrote about it before I left Naples,
and it ought to be here by this time.
 I will, sir; and if it's ready I'll bring it with me. .
Mr. Featherstone then retired to his chamber, whilst George
proceeded on his mission; but it happened to be a busy day
at the bank, and it was some time before he could get speech
of Mr. Hackett, or that the latter could find time to do the
business required; so that it was late when he got back to
Hamlet's, and then he found the bracelet was not ready. A
delay had been occasioned by a flaw having been discovered
in one of the principal stones ; but it would be finished with-
out fail that evening, and sent home the next day.
George inquired at what time it would be finished, and,
knowing what a disappointment there would be if it was not
delivered in time, offered to call for it; and, having no scruple
about confiding it to a person who they knew was employed
by Mr. Eardley, they promised it should be ready for him by
16
LINN Y LOCKWOOD.
eight o'clock, if possible. By this time, however, Lockwood
wanted his dinner. He had intended to take the money to
Mr. Featherstone before he went home; but he had been
running about all day transacting matters connected with
this marriage, and now he was weary and faint with hunger;
and he knew that his wife would he anxiously waiting for
him; so he determined to go home first, and walk up to
Cavendish-square afterwards; but whilst he was at table, the
rain, which had been threatening all day, began to fall heavily,
and the wind being too high for an umbrella, he felt unwil-
ling to leave his fireside, where he presently fell into a nap,
from which he was aroused by the maid running foul of the
door as she was bringing in the tea-things.
 Bless me! he said,  I ought to have carried that money
to Mr. Featherstone before this. He'll wonder what's be-
come of me.
 It's a dreadful night, answered his wife ;  wouldn't to-
morrow morning do F
 No, no ; I must take it directly. Hive me a cup of tea,
and I'll be off at once!
Mrs. Lockwood wanted him to have a coach, hut George
objected to sending the maid out in such a storm, when pro-
bably there would be none on the stand; if there was one
he'd call it; and after waiting nearly an hour, to see if the
storm subsided, he put on his great-coat and started on his
expedition, as I have narrated.
When Mr. Featherstone was dressing for dinner, he sent
his valet to inquire below if Mr. Lockwood had returned.
When he came into the drawing-room to take his coffee he
repeated the question, wondering he didn't appear.  Lock-
wood has not come back from the city, he said to his sister;
"at least, he has not been here.
 He has gone home to eat his dinner first, I dare say.
He'll be here in the evening, no doubt. He often comes,
poor man, to have a game at whist in the housekeeper's
loom ; so Fenton, my maid, tells me.
 Well, Cattie, said Mr. Featherstone, taking a place on
the sofa beside his niece, which had just been vacated by her
lover;  so you're to be turned off to-morrow, eh ?
 Yes, answered Catherine, with a little toss of her head.
 I always thought Yaughan Edmonstone was to be the
happy man ; you used to be inseparable when I left England.
 & est de Vkistoire anciennesaid Catherine.  Yaughan
linn? lockwood.
17
Edmonstone's poor now. You wouldn't have me marry ft
ruined man, uncle!
 Have you been long acquainted with Sir Arthur ?
"We knew him before he went abroad.
"He's a very fine-looking man.
 Yes, he's not ill-looking.
 Well, my dear Cattie, I'm sure I hope you'll be happy;
and remember you'll always have a friend in Frank Feather-
stone—that is, as long as he lasts; for I'm a broken-down
old fellow, and not likely to hold out long.
"My dear, good uncle! said Catherine, laying her hand
upon his, which rested on the sofa between them;  but I
must go away from you, for I shall be crying in a minute, and
that wont do just now.
Mr. Featherstone looked after her as she rose and went
over to a bevy of fair girls, who were to be the bridesmaids
of the following day, and who, having been introduced in the
morning to her trousseau and jewels, were all envying her
happiness. Such a lovely Honiton veil! Such adorable coif-
fures ! Such inimitably embroidered pocket-handkerchiefs !
 And I believe Mr. Featherstone's present is to be some-
thing superb; but it's not come home yet. He only arrived
to-day himself from Naples.
 Oh ! I know what it is, said another ;  my sister, Lady
Osborne, saw it yesterday at Hamlet's. It's a bracelet—
splendid, she says.
 Well, it's a nice thing to be Lady Grlenlyon and have all
these fine things ! said one ;  we're all saying what a lucky
girl you are, Cattie.
: "Do you think so? said Catherine, with a strange kind
of smile.
 How cold she is ! said one of the girls aside to another.
"I don't think she has the least heart.
 Those very fair girls never have much feeling, said Miss
Beauchamp, who was a brunette.  Do you admire Sir
Arthur ?
 I think he is very gentlemanly, answered one.
 He looks too grave and quiet for me, said another.
 Cattie, my love, why don't you go and talk to Sir Arthur
a little ? He looks quite uncomfortable there in the corner
alone.
 He can come to me, if he likes, mama.
 My dear child, I wish you'd recollect that to-morrow he'll
B
38
LTNNY LOCKWOOD.
your husband, and have it in his power to make you uh-
ecmfortable if you make him so now.
 Perhaps he'll do that whether I do or not.
 Oh, Cattie, Cattie! How thoughtless you are!
"Am I? said Catherine, with a bitter little laugh.
 It's a singular thing, Maria, that Mr. Lockwood has
never returned with the things I sent him for! observed Mr.
Featherstone to his sister.
 I think it's the badness of the weather has prevented
him. Rely on it, he'll be here in the morning.
CHAPTER III.
Tiie storm, which had been the source of so much mischief to
poor George Lockwood—for, had the evening been fine, he
would have put on his best great-coat and carried the parcel
safely to its destination, in the pocket—the fatal storm had
subsided in the night, and the morning dawned as brightly as
December mornings ever do, in London, on Catherine Eard-
ley's wedding day. The household was early astir, and making
preparations for the dressings and the dejeuner, and the in-
cessant ringing of the door bell and the slammings of the
area gate announced innumerable despatches from the pur-
veyors  of all the delicacies of the season, who, with the
artists of the toilet, are not unfrequently the only parties who
have any real cause to congratulate themselves on these splen-
did alliances. Catherine Eardley was sipping her cup of
cafe au lait in her dressing-gown, and her mother was sitting
beside her, with the tears in her eyes and her handkerchief in
her hand, with which she ever and anon wiped them away as
they gathered. Mr. Eardley was looking a little after the
affairs of his cellar, and talking to his butler about the cham-
pagne, when Mr. Featherstone rang his bell for Martelli, hiB
valet, and, having ascertained the hour, he inquired if a parcel
was come for him.
 Si, signor ; the gloves that were ordered yesterday.
 It's not that; go and inquire if Mr. Lockwood has.been
here.
No: it was ascertained on inquiry that Mr. Lockwood had
not made his appearance. This was most extraordinary; and,
as Lockwood had foreseen, the recollection of the former ac-
eusation recurred to the mind of Mr. Featherstone, and sug-
jested painful suspicions. So he ordered a cup of chocolate,
LINNY LOCKWO0D.
19
and sent to request a few words with Mr. Eardley, who im-
mediately obeyed the summons.
"Well, how are you, Featherstone, to-day? Nothing the
worse of your journey, I hope ?
 No, I think I'm much as usual. How are Catherine and
her mother?
 Quite well; very busy, I fancy, with the paraphernalia.
 By the by, I, don't think Cattie looks very well. She
doesn't look so bright as she used to do.
 She has every reason to look bright, I'm sure. Many a
girl would be glad enough to step into her shoes. A title and
a handsome settlement; and Sir Arthur is a man of excellent
character. She ought to be happy, if anything can make a
girl happy.
 I hope she will be happy, poor thing! What I wanted
to see you for, however, was about this Lockwood. I sent him
yesterday to the hank and to Hamlet's, and he has neither
brought what I sent for, nor come back himself! Is he in the
habit of being so negligent ?
 By no means. He's one of the most punctual fellows
alive; something must have happened to him. I'll send off
somebody to inquire.
 Do, if you please ; for what I sent him for is a little pre-
gent for Kate, and I'm impatient to give it her.
 I'll send directly, said Mr. Eardley, quitting the room,
whilst Mr. Featherstone again summoned Martelli, and pre-
pared to rise.
The nimble messenger soon returned, bringing word that
Mr. Lockwood was not at home, but was expected by his wife
every minute; and Mr. Eardley concluded that he had some-
how or other been prevented transacting the business on the
previous day, and was gone to do it now. Mr. Featherstone,
however, though he said nothing, had other notions.  He
has decamped with all the money and the diamonds,
thought he. So he ascertained his address, and, as Martelli
was unacquainted with London, he sent for a coach, and
started himself for Hamlet's, where he learned exactly what
he expected, namely, that. the bracelet had already been de-
livered to Mr. Lockwood.
 We thought you would have had it last night, sir; Mr.
Lockwood called for it between eight and nine o'clock.
 Perhaps I shall find it in Cavendish-square on my return,
Mr. Featherstone said; but his private opinion was that he
b 2
20
LlNNY LOCKWOOD.
should never see either the bracelet or Mr. Lockwood, to whosg
house, however, he next drove.
As the coach stopped, he saw a haggard face appear over
the blinds, at the parlour window, and immediately after-
wards, before the coachman had time to alight, the street
door was opened by Mrs. Lockwood herself, who thought it
was her husband, for whom she had been anxiously watching
for some hours. When she saw that it was a stranger, she sus-
pected what he had come about, and her pale face became
paler as he inquired if Mr. Lockwood had returned yet.
"No, she answered;  but she was sure he would not be
long. He had gone out about business ; and she thought
when the coach stopped that it was he. Mr. Featherstone saw
that she had thought so ; but he also saw that she was very
much agitated and alarmed, and he concluded that she was
beginning to suspect the truth.
"Do you know anything of some money and jewels that he
was to have delivered in Cavendish-square p my name's Fea-
therstone ; and I expected he would have brought them to me
last night.
 I know he intended to do so, she answered.
 Can you tell me if he got the money at the bank ?
 Yes, he did.
 And he also got the bracelet from Hamlet's, for I am just
come from there ; why didn't he deliver them ?
 The night was very bad— she began.
 But he might have taken a coach! Or this morning ?—
what keeps him away this morning ?
 To say the truth, I don't know, sir, she replied, begin-
ning to weep ; "and I'm getting very uneasy about Mr. Lock-
wood. I'm getting very much alarmed, indeed.
 Alarmed at what ? What do you apprehend ?
 That he may have committed some rash act, sir. He
went away in such distress of mind that I shouldn't wonder
at all if he did something to himself. The truth is, sir, she
continued:  I may as well tell you—for you must know it,
at last, I fear—Mr. Lockwood has had a misfortune : he
dropped the parcel last night in Oxford-street as he was car-
rying it to Mr. Eardley's, and he has been out all night trying
to find it.
 Dropped it! that's very extraordinary !
 It is very extraordinary, sir; and it was that distressed
him as much as the loss of the things—he said he was sure
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
21
he should be suspected of making away with itand the
poor woman cried ready to break her heart, adding that it
was all her own fault for not mending his coat; and, after some
further conversation, Mr. Featherstone, who was obliged to
hasten home to be ready for the wedding, left her, pretty
well satisfied of her innocence, but with strong suspicions of
Lockwood's guilt, which, however, he forbore to express at
present, not wishing to disturb the general felicity, nor con-
demn the man unheard; and just then everybody being en-
grossed with their own affairs, no one troubled him with
inquiries respecting the result of his expedition. Once or
twice Catherine and her mother wondered that uncle Fea-
therstone's Cadeau de noces was not forthcoming; but his
liberality and his attachment to his niece were so well known,
that they attributed the delay merely to his late arrival. Some-
thing very pretty was to come they were sure. So they all
went to St. George's church, where the young people made
several very rash promises, which it would have been better
to consider a little more beforehand ; and it was not till they
were at breakfast afterwards, that it occurred to Mr. Eardley
to inquire of his brother-in-law whether he had seen Lock-
wood.
"Mr. Lock wood does not appear to be forthcoming, an-
swered Mr. Featherstone.  I saw his wife, who seemed any-
thing but comfortable, and her account is, that her husband
has lost the things, and has been out all night looking for
them!
 Lost them !
 Dropped them in the street, she says.
 Impossible!
 Well, I should say so, too. A man like that doesn't drop
a parcel of value—five hundred pounds and a diamond
bracelet—in the street very easily.
 Five hundred pounds and diamonds ! D—n the fellow !
I'll send the police after him, exclaimed Mr. Eardley.
 Wait a bit! Don't do anything rashly ! Let's see if he
appears of his own accord.
 Appear ! not he, if he's gone off with things of that value.
 But we're not morally certain he is gone off yet, though
I confess it looks very like it.
Mr. Eardley shook his head, and looked very angry; for
although the moment before he had not the slightest suspi-
eion of Lockwood, and would have willingly trusted him with
22 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
the things himself, and a great deal more, yet the idea of sucli
a loss out of the family excited his avarice and his wia/fchj,
and the circumstance of Lockwood's having been once befote
under suspicion, enabled, and as he felt entitled, him to jump to
the conclusion of his guilt at once. When Mrs. Eardley
learned the state of the case, she was very angry too; the
sum was so large, and the loss of it and the bracelet so vexa-
tious, that nobody doubted Mr. Lockwood's criminality ; and
the whole of the party who were present at the breakfast im-
bibing and circulating the same conviction, a few hours suf-
ficed to spread the report through society ; whilst the servants
and tradespeople took charge of its conveyance and safe de-
livery to less fashionable circles.
When the happy pair had turned their backs on the
paternal mansion, and embarked on that perilous voyage,
beset with rocks, and shoals, and quicksands, wherein so large
a number of adventurers are wrecked—when the carriage had
whisked round the corner of Yere-street, and could be no
longer seen—when the admiring crowd below left off crying
 Hooray ! and began to disperse, and the interested specta-
tors above retreating from the balcony into the drawing-
room, fell to wiping their eyes, and blowing their noses, and
enthusiastically shaking hands with Mr. and Mrs. Eardlqy—■
when the company had unanimously proclaimed that the
bride looked lovely, that the bridegroom was a very fine-look-
ing man, and that the father and mother ought to be exceed-
ingly happy—when the ladies had resumed their cloaks and
shawls, and the gentlemen had taken another bumper of cham-'
pagne, in the dining-room, to the healths of Sir Arthur and
Lady Glenlyon—when the carriages were called, and the ladies
had driven off, and the gentlemen lounged away into Bond-
street, arm-in-arm, and poor Mrs. Eardley had shut herself up.
in her bedroom to weep; and the men-servants and the maid-
servants were draining the decanters, and feasting on the
leavings of their betters, Mr. Eardley and Mr. Featherstone
stepped into a hackney-coach, and set out in search of Mr.
Lock wood and the lost treasure ; but they gained nothing by
their expedition, except stronger conviction than ever that he
had made off with the property. They found his wife in the
utmost distress, for she could put but one construction on his
absence—namely, that he had committed suicide ; whilst they,
on the other hand, made up their minds that he was away
across the Channel. It was very vexatious, doubtless- but
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
23
Kate must not be the loser; and measures were immediately
taken by Mr. Featherstone to repair the mischief, as far as
she was concerned.
CHAPTER IV.
On that same morning-, the events of which I have described
in the'last chapter—the morning that saw Catherine Eardley
made Lady Gflenlyon, shortly after the sun had risen, and
long before the idle and aristocratic part of the world were
astir; whilst the bride in Cavendish-square was still slumber-
ing on her pillow, and the sleepy servants were creeping down-
stairs to the early labours of the day; whilst Mrs. Lockwood,
who had not been in bed all night, with swollen and blood-
shot eyes was peering up and down the street from the parlour
window ;• and he whom she was vainly straining them to see
was balancing his life in his hand, as, frantic with distress, he
paced the banks of the river, and, staring into the water,
wondered how soon the sorrows of a wretch that plunged
therein would be ended; whilst all these things were doing
and suffering in London, a young man in somewhat shabby
clothes—shabby from age, time, and wear, for they were well
made, and of fine materials—having the air and carriage of a
gentleman, drove up to the door of a small inn, or public-
house, near Battersea. The vehicle that brought him was a
g-ig, apparently a hired one, for it was a good deal the worse
of use, and the horse that drew it looked as if he too had
seen better days. The young man threw the reins to the
ostler, bidding him give the animal a feed directly, as he had
not long to stop. He then inquired how soon he could have
breakfast, and as the preparation of that repast seemed likely
to occupy rather more time than he had to spare, he asked
for a tumbler of milk and a glass of rum, which, having
mingled to his taste, he tossed off, and then, saying he should
be back presently, he walked briskly away towards Battersea
Rise, where he rang at the gate of a large brick house, whereon
was inscribed,  Mrs. Barnard's Boarding-School. After a
pause, to be accounted for by the untimeliness of the visit, a
grave elderly man, thrusting his arms into a plum-coloured
coat, and dangling a large key on his finger, appeared at the
door, and, having deliberately surveyed the stranger, advanced
with an air of severe disapprobation to the gate.
 I wish, said the young man,  to see Miss Lockwood.
24- LINNY LOCKWOOD.
"Miss Lockwood! said the servant^ "it's too early to
see Miss Lockwood.
 Not at all too early, returned the other.  She s up, of
course, and I've particular business with her. Have the good-
ness to say so !
 Prayers isn't over yet. She can't leave the school-room
till prayers is over, answered the other, doggedly.
"D—n prayers! ejaculated the visitor. "My business
can't wait: I come from her father, who is extremely ill, and
wants to see her immediately.
This information appeared to have some effect on the
Cerberus, who thereupon opened the gate, and, having intro-
dueed the stranger into a parlour, left him, saying he would
mention it to Mrs. Barnard as soon as she came down-stairs.
 It's not Mrs. Barnard I want to see! expostulated the
stranger; but Daniel was not a man to be moved by expos-
tulations. He had lived with Mrs. Barnard some fifteen
years and more, and he considered the rules of the establish-
merit paramount to all other considerations whatever. Yisitors
to the teachers were unwelcome at any time, and at that early
hour of the morning quite inadmissible; even Miss Lock-
wood's father in extremis must wait till prayers were over,
and the morning lessons read.
When you are in the hands of a person as inexorable as
Daniel, there is nothing for it but to submit with what resig-
nation you may. The present visitor being but indifferently
provided in that department, was extremely impatient, and
employed the interval that elapsed till Mrs. Anne Barnard's
high-heeled shoes echoed on the stairs, in pacing the room
with his hands in his pockets, and muttering numerous oaths
regarding  praying and humbugging, that it is not desirable
should be recorded here. Fully half-an-hour had been spent
in this manner, and, irritated beyond endurance by a delay
so inconvenient, he had his hand on the bell to summon Daniel
to another conference, when the door opened, and a little
woman in a black brocaded silk dress, open in front, a white
muslin apron, and a turban on her head, made her appearance.
An instant sufficed to show the lady that the stranger's clothes
were shabby, but, on the other hand, the bow with which he
greeted her was worthy of St. James's ; and accordingly, under
circumstances so contradictory, she met him with a medium
degree of civility.
 You wish to see Miss Lockwood, I hear ? It is not usual
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
25
for the teachers in this establishment to receive visitors except
at particular hours, and we're obliged to "be very strict in our
regulations. My servant says the young person's father is ill.
 Alarmingly ill, madam ! Indeed, there is not a moment
to lose if Miss Lockwood wishes to see him alive.
 It's very inconvenient—extremely inconvenient, indeed;
just as the examinations are coming on previous to the
vacation! But I suppose in such a case we must relax a
little. If you'll wait a few minutes, I'll go and see what can
be done.
It was fortunate that Mrs. Anne Barnard did not hear the
rejoinder to this oration, or she might not have returned in
the placable humour she presently did, to say that Miss
Lockwood had permission to visit her father, and was getting
ready to accompany the stranger.
 Then I had better step to the inn, and bring up the
carriage, he answered, and with a deferential bow he de-
parted; whilst Miss Lockwood went up-stairs, and, with tears
and trembling hands, hastily exchanged her school-room cotton
dress for her Sunday attire. She loved her father, and he
doated on her; and the separation which circumstances ne-
cessitated had been very bitter to both; and now she was sent
for home to see him die! And it was a considerable aggrava-
tion to her present distress, that they had lately had a dis-
agreement—the first in their lives. Linny had a lover, who,
for manifold and powerful reasons, her father disapproved,
and whom she would not consent to relinquish, and they had
had high words on the subject—for Linny was stout-hearted
where her love was concerned, and maintained her right to
choose for herself; and now, at this awful moment, when she
was going to take leave of her father for ever, she regretted
many things she had said. She might have vindicated her
right more mildly; she might have yielded something; at
least given the promise he required, that she would hold no
communication with the person in question for two years.
He fancied that in that space of time she would, what he
called, come to her senses ; see her own folly, and her lover's
unworthiness, and so be finally cured of what he considered a
pernicious connexion ; but she had refused to enter into this
engagement on the pleathat the man she loved was in adversity.
 Had the world been as well with him as it was formerly,
father, I'd have promised what you wish ; not that the scheme
would have the effect you expect: there you are mistaken. I
26
Lift* i JjUOJvwuulu
sliall never change, rely on it; but he could have done with-
out me then for a couple of years. He had so much to occupy
him and make him happy ; but what has he to console him
now but me ? No, father, it would be base to desert him
under such circumstances ! I cannot forsake in adversity one
to whom I had given my faith in prosperity ! And so she
felt still; but, as she hurriedly prepared for her departure, she
was conscious that she might have said all this more humbly
and considerately; and she resolved that, if her father required
it, she would give her word to abstain from all intercourse for
two years; she could explain her motives to her lover, who,
if he were worthy of her affection, would rely upon her faith;
and, with these thoughts in her head, she made her curtsy to
Mrs. Barnard, promising to return and resume her duties in
the school the earliest moment she could; and, unattended,
carrying her little bundle in her hand, she let herself out, and
proceeded to the carriage that was waiting for her at the gate.
Who she was to see there—who it was that had brought the
summons—it had not occurred to her to inquire; her mind
was too much occupied with the message to think of the
messenger; and she started with amazement when she saw
who it was.
"Oh, Vaughan! she exclaimed; "dearest Yaughan! I
little thought it was you. Did my father send you ? Are
you reconciled ?
 Step in! step in! he cried, jumping down to assist her;
 I'll explain everything by-and-by.
 But is my poor father very ill, Yaughan ? Is he in great
danger ?
 I can tell you nothing now, Linny. You must trust
yourself to me implicitly for the present; and, touching the
horse with his whip, away they went.
 At least you can tell me if he is in much danger ?
 No, he's not. It is I that am in danger, Linny. It is
you alone that can save me.
"You in danger! Oh, Yaughan! what danger? For
God's sake—tell me what all this means ?
 It means that, if you love me, now is the time you must
show it.
 You know I love you, Yaughan; but at least you can tell
me what you require of me.
 To confide in me, and ask no questions till I can answer
them better than I can at this moment. You have sworn to
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 27
be mine; you are my wife in the sight of Heaven, and you are
bound to obey me!
Men who never believed in anything more heavenly than a
pretty woman find heaven a very convenient word on occa-
sion; and women who are really in love are always delighted
at being summoned to obey. They admire the virile asser-
tion of power, and they are flattered by the claim and owner-
ship it implies. It marks her for his own. Am I not his ?
Has he not a right to command me ? Self-abnegation is the
life of a woman that loves, and she has more pleasure in
exercising it than the most self-willed tyrant in controlling
the will of others. So Linny Lockwood, anxious and yet
happy, submitted and wondered ; whilst the old horse trotted
on as fast as his stiff legs could carry him, till they reached
an inn called the King's Arms, in Yauxhall Road, where the
gig was exchanged for a hackney-coach, into which Linny
was assisted; and after a few words with the driver, which she
did not hear, was followed by Yaughan Edmonstone, who in
the interval had been holding a private conference with the
landlord of the house, who was also the owner of the horse
and gig. The jolly host looked after them, and smiled as he
stood upon the steps with a bundle of notes in his hand, and
the ostler threw up a five-shilling piece in the air, and, as he
caught it again, wished the young couple luck.
 She's an uncommon handsome gal, whoever she be!
said he.
 He's up now! rejoined the waiter, who was also caress-
ing with considerable satisfaction an unaccustomed piece of
gold;  and, when he's got it, there's no denying he pays like
a gentleman.
 I never thought to get my money, said the landlord;
 and I'd a mind to have told him yesterday, that I couldn't
give him no more credit till he'd paid up.
 It's lucky you didn't, answered the waiter; "for he'd
ha' gone away in a huff, and perhaps you'd never have got
this here money.
"Like enough! returned the landlord. "One never
knows how to deal with them chaps; for they are down and
up again before you can say Jack Robinson.
 Who's down and up again? inquired the hostess, who
just then emerged from her bedchamber.  Who's that gone
away in a hack ?
 Young Edmonstone.
28 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 What's he adoing in a hack at this time in the morning ?
Where's he going ?
 Across the water, I take it. I heard him tell coachee to
drive to Tower Stairs.
 Lord's sake! Mr. Gamble, you ha'n't let him go away
owing you all that money. Didn't I tell you he d be off
some day, and leave us in the lurch ? What a fool you be to
trust them sprigs of broken-down gentry ! I wish you d leave
them matters to me! I'd see if young Edmonstone, or any
other young mister, should live here eating and drinking of
the best, week after week, and month after month, and we
scarce know the colour of his money !
"Hold your tongue, 'oman! I knew what I was about
better than you could tell me. Mr. Edmonstone's paid me
every farthing he owed like a gen'leman as he is, and as his
father was afore him. You women are always uncommon
wise; but I don't know where the business 'ud be if we men
harkened to you!
"Paid! the deuce he has! exclaimed Mrs. Gamble.
 Where's he got the money ?
 Made a hit last night at play, I s'pose. Howsoever he's
not gone alone.
 Why, who's he got with him ?
"Old Lockwood's daughter. He that was clerk in the
bank, and got into trouble.
 She gone with him!
"Ay, that is she, as sure as my name's Gamble!
CHAPTER Y.
And now, whilst our young lovers are on their way, I must
request my reader to return with me to a period a few years
antecedent to that of which we have been treating, at which
time, to the alarm and astonishment of all parties concerned,
a fraud had been discovered, connected with some transaction
involving considerable sums of money, in the banking-house of
Edmonstone and Eardley ; and as only two persons had been
concerned in the affair, it was clear to everybody that the
guilt must rest with one or both of them : those persons were
Mr. Edmonstone, one of the principals, and George Lockwood
his favourite and confidential clerk. '
A long and private conversation had just taken place
betwixt these two individuals, in a small room appropriated to
linny lockwood. £9
the exclusive use of Mr. Edmonstone; and as thai; gentleman
closed the door, after saying,  Be assured, Lockwood, I shall
always be your friend ; neither you nor yours shall ever want
for anything! the clerk's head sank upon his desk, and he
burst into tears. A long time he wept; varying the expres-
sions of his anguish by pacing the room, wringing his hands,
and inaudible mutterings. Secure from interruption, for he
had turned the key in the lock, upwards of two hours were
passed in this agony and struggle ; by the end of which period,
the afternoon was closing in, the streets were getting dusky,
the lamplighter was lighting his lamps, the higher classes of
pedestrians had forsaken the pave, and people who dined at
five o'clock were making their way toward their clubs and
eating-houses. George Lockwood stood for some time looking
through the window into the street below, when, hearing the
clock in the hall strike three quarters after four, he started,
and, taking up his hat and gloves, he moved to the door; then,
after laying his hand on the key, he paused, turned round,
surveyed the room; took a long look at a picture of Mr.
Edmonstone, painted as a young man in a shooting-jacket,
which hung over the mantelpiece, the outline of which the
dim light rendered scarcely visible; but that did not signify ;
memory supplied all that was wanting—the portrait was in
the mind's eye of the spectator. With a groan of anguish
that seemed to proceed from his very entrails, the clerk then
turned the key and softly opened the door; after listening a
moment, he drew his hat over his brow, crossed the hall, and
issued into the street. Just as the outer door swung after him,
a junior clerk, whose name was Tiggs, passed him, and entered.
 Lockwood's just gone out, said the young man, speaking
in a low tone to one of his companions, as he took his seat at
his desk.  He stole out with his hat over his eyes, and I
don't think he saw me.
 Poor creature! said the other with a sigh and a shake
of the head.  What will become of him and his wife and
daughter, I can't conceive.
"He may think himself devilish lucky, said the junior;
 for if it had happened in any other house he'd have swung
for it; and in this house, too, if Mr. Edmonstone hadn't been
so much attached to him. I believe Mr. Eardley was very
unwilling indeed to let him off.
"I don't wonder at it, rejoined the senior. "It's a very
had example, to say the least of it.
30 LIInNY LOCKWOOLi.
"I don't think anybody'll follow it, rejoined the junior
with a conceited snigger.
 Of all the men I have ever known, Lockwood s the last
I should have suspected, said the elder.  I can^ suspect any-
body after this. Somehow, I can't realize the thing to myself
at all.
 You've known him so long. Were you present when Mr.
Eardley sent for him this morning ?
"Yes.
 And how did he look ? Did he seem alarmed ?
"Not a bit. I never saw anybody more composed in my
life. He was standing close to me at the time, for he had
crossed over to look into Eobinson's book for some amount
he wanted to ascertain, when Crambo came and said he was
wanted in Mr. Eardley's room, and he answered quite care-
lessly, ' I'll come in a minute;' and went on balancing the
debtor and creditor sides of Eobinson's ledger.
 And yet he must have guessed what it was about ?
 Perfectly ; at least, we all knew what the gentlemen were
discussing in Mr. Eardley's room, and of course everybody
suspected him. There was nobody else to suspect.
 And that he must have known ?
 One would think so; only he persisted that the thing
was impossible ; and that the deficiency must arise from some
mistake in figures at the last settlement; and that's what he
said when they examined him.
 And when they taxed him with it, what did he say ?
 Why, when they proved to him that the figures were all
right, and that there was no mistake, Jackson says he turned
as pale as his shirt, even before they accused him, and looked
as if he were going to faint, so that he, Jackson I mean, pushed
a chair towards him, that he might sit down.
 But he denied it, didn't he ?
 Yes, he denied it, but feebly and confusedly, Jackson says.
That is, he said over and over again that he knew nothing
about it, and so forth; but his voice shook, and he looked so
chapfallen and taken aback, that he accused himself in spite
of his words.
 And what did Mr. Edmonstone say ? He must have
been uncommonly astonished; for if ever a man had confi-
dence in another, he had in Lockwood.
 Jackson says that Mr. Edmonstone's face was quite livid;
he never saw a man feel so much for another in his life. He
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
actually couldn't look at Lockwood, and two or three times
he had to take out his pocket-handkerchief and wipe the per-
spiration from his own brow, he was so agitated and distressed.
 I suppose he felt himself to blame for having trusted the
other so much.
 They must trust somebody; and I believe if any one of
us had been asked who was the fittest, we should all have
named Lockwood.
"Next to ourselves, said Tiggs, laughing. "I wonder
what he has done with the money.
 That's what nobody can conceive.
 Perhaps he's secured it somewhere for his pretty daughter
with the fine name. In that case, she'd be a good spec! a
devilish good spec! I wonder if he gambled.
 Grod knows! speculated probably; and expected to be able
to refund before the money was called for. I'm certain he did
not live extravagantly, for I've been frequently at his house;
and, though everything was plenty and comfortable, there was
nothing more than he had a right to have upon his salary.
 Well, the game's up with him now! said Tiggs.
"Yes, poor man! He's done for himself completely; and
though they say the thing's to be hushed up, for the credit
of the firm and so forth, such things can't be hushed up.
It'll be half over the town in a week; you'll see if it isn't. I
wonder if Mr. Edmonstone's gone ?
 Have you seen him since they broke up ?
 No ; he hasn't been this way. Mr. Eardley passed through,
looking as black as thunder; but if Mr. Edmonstone's not in
his own room, he must have gone out by the hall.
 That's the way Lockwood went; I suppose he's been shut
up there ever since.
During the progress of this conversation, books were closed
and put into places of security; desks were locked ; hats lifted
from their pegs, and one by one the gentlemen filed off, or,
to speak more correctly, two by two; for the event that had
furnished the subject of the above discourse, was one that
excited very general interest and wonder; and, as it was under-
stood to be a matter regarding which silence was expected
outside the walls, they naturally made themselves amends by
discussing it freely with each other: the burthen of each
separate discussion being very much to the same tune as the
one above recorded betwixt Morland and Tiggs. Amazement
at Lockwood's deviation from the straight path he had
hlNttY LOCKWOOD.
hitherto so faithfully followed, was tempered,amongst the old#
and more thoughtful, with pity for his folly : whilst some of
the younger, like Tiggs, either over-confident in themselves,
or desirous of appearing to their seniors above the fear of
temptation, were more ready to insinuate their contempt,
than express their compassion, for the unhappy defaulter.
In the meantime, Lockwood, the prey of every careless
tongue, and the unhappy subject of these animadversions, was
approaching his own home, a modest cottage, or villa, a little
way beyond the suburbs of the city. He usually went back-
wards and forwards in an omnibus ; so regularly, indeed, that,
on a hint from the cad, the driver on the present occasion
waited a few moments for their customary passenger.
 Pull up a bit! said the former ;  I don't see Mr. Lock-
wood coming yet.
But on that afternoon Mr. Lockwood had preferred to
walk; he could not comfortably meet the eyes of his fellow-
passengers, men, like himself, engaged in offices and pro-
fessions, some of them his neighbours; he could not mingle in
the usual chat, nor crack the usual jokes. He had need to be
alone. He had quitted his home that morning a prosperous
man; prosperous for his condition in life; respected and
esteemed by all who knew him; he returned to it with a
ruined character, broken fortunes, and a wound in his heart
that could never be healed. The contented present, the
cheerful future, the honoured old age, were wiped out from
the card of his destiny. What had he to hope ? nothing but
death and forgetfulness ! What had he henceforth to do in
this world ? nothing but hide his head and suffer! Absorbed
in his wretchedness he walked on mechanically, neither hearing
nor seeing anything till he was recalled to himself by the
sight of his own dwelling. Then he started and slackened his
pace; other recollections assailed him; feelings which the
hurly-burly of the storm that had broken over his head had
for the moment deadened. There was his home—his com-
fortable blessed home; there was his wife and child—his
faithful Jane and his bright Linny, the object of both their
devoted loves. How should he*meet them? How break to
them the dreadful intelligence he had to communicate ? How
impart to them that he was a ruined man—ruined in fortune,
ruined in character; and that henceforth disgrace and poverty
must be their portion ; ay, poverty—in spite of Mr. Edmon-
stone's promises—poverty! And as these thoughts over-
UNNY LOCKWOOD. 33
whelmed him, he paused, and turned into a side path to
postpone the painful meeting, and recover, if possible, suffi-
cient composure to go through the task that awaited him.
The road he took, though not far removed from numerous
habitations, was not yet built over. Two or three ghastly
skeletons of unfinished houses stood up forlornly at different
intervals by the wayside; but the man that had projected them
had died before his plan was completed, and nobody seemed
willing to carry out his idea. There were consequently no
lamps; and, as the evening had by this time quite closed in,
the darkness would have been impenetrable but for the young
moon sailing through the troubled rack above, which threw
a fitful light athwart the dreary scene. There is something
peculiarly desolate in neglected, uninhabited lanes in the
suburbs of great cities; the solitude is so sudden, and so un-
rural! They are generally all dust or all mud, and they are,
for more reasons than one, not the localities one would select
for a moonlight walk. Lockwood, however, made no such
reflections. He feared no danger, nor thought of any. If he
had, he would have said,  What can hurt one who has lost
everything already? The external world had neither light
nor darkness, nor beauty nor ugliness, for him now; his eyes
were turned inwards, he saw only himself, and those still
dearer than himself. Meanwhile the capricious moon now
showed her face, now veiled it, just uncovering her light suffi-
ciently to prevent his falling over the heaps of bricks that lay
here and there by the wayside; and he went on with a vague
intention of turning out of the lane at the bottom, and
reaching his home by a circuitous road, instead of retracing
his steps.
■ I must face it. I must tell them, and at once. There
can be no delay; besides, they'll read it in my countenance,
my manner. The first word I spoke would betray me!
At that moment a powerful hand seized him by the collar
of his coat; a struggle ensued, rapid and silent; for, however
indifferent to life Lockwood might have felt a minute before,
the instinct of self-preservation urged him to resistance now.
But his assailant was a much more vigorous man than he was.
"I don't want to harm you, said the stranger; "but
I must have this coat. Let me take it, and I'll leave you
immediately!
But Lockwood was not in a humour to acquiesce in such a
demand. The evening before, for the sake of preserving his
c
34
1uhny lockwood.
life, he might have done so, for life was then dear to him;
but he was out of patience now; the hard heel of the world
was treading him down, and he resisted this new injury like
an angry, desperate man. His assailant grew angry, too;
the struggle became more violent, but Lockwood had the
worst of it: a blow on his head stunned him, and he fell back-
wards into the wet ditch by the wayside.
 Cursed fool! I didn't want to hurt him, muttered the
stranger as he stripped off his coat and waistcoat, and pos-
sessed himself of whatever he had about him worth taking;
having done which, he raised him up and set him with his
back against the bank, lest in the recumbent attitude he
should be suffocated; and then, attiring himself in the habili-
ments he had abstracted, he walked rapidly up the lane.
In the meantime, the dinner-hour had long gone by; and
Mrs. Lockwood and Linny were wondering what could have
become of papa! His habits were so regular, that from year's
end to year's end, except on Sundays, or when there was a
holiday at the bank, he as surely arrived at the appointed
period as the planets in their places ; so that his non-appear-
ance was almost as perplexing to his family as a convulsion of
nature. After waiting and wondering for some time, Hetty,
the maid, was despatched to make inquiries at the omnibus
office; but they had seen nothing of Mr. Lockwood, and
hour after hour passed without clearing up the mystery.
 Now, I wish I had started by the last omnibus and gone
to the bank! said Linny;  but I expected every moment to
hear his foot on the gravel.
"Besides, the bank would be shut, and there would be
nobody there but the watchman, and he could not tell you
anything. It's certainly very extraordinary.
 If papa was ill, surely they would have sent to us.
 I hope so. Perhaps Mr. Edmonstone's ill; your father
remarked that he had been looking very poorly of late.
"I hope nothing has happened to Mr. Yaughanl said
Linny.
 That wouldn't detain your father, you know. Why do
you think so much of Mr. Yaughan Edmonstone, Linny ?
 I don't think so much of him, mamma; only you said
Mr. Edmonstone might be ill, answered the daughter with
some confusion ; "and 
 That's a different thing altogether, my dear Linny; but
it's not only what you've said now, but many other things I
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
35
observe, that show me you tbink more of Mr. Vaughan than
you should.
 My thinking of him—even if I do—can do nobody any
harm, mamma.
 It will do yourself harm, my dear child; I'm sadly afraid,
Linny, that those visits to Marlow have been very unfortunate
visits for you.
"Now, really,mamma, that's not fair! In what respect am
I different since those visits to Marlow? Am I neglectful of
you or papa ? Am I low-spirited ? Do I go about the house
sighing like a love-sick damsel ? for that is what you would
imply, I know; and Linny gave a little laugh of good-
humoured triumph, for she knew full well that her mother
could not say yea to any of these questions. She might think
of Mr. Vaughan Edmonstone more often,than was prudent;
she might be in love with him; hut she was cheerful and
happy, affectionate and attentive to her parents, and diligent
in the disposal of her time to a very remarkable degree. In
short, there were few young people in the world whose con-
duct appeared more exemplary; for, besides performing the
ordinary duties of her station—such as looking after her
mother's household affairs, making her father's shirts, and so
forth—she studied various subjects with extraordinary assi-
duity. She sought no society; indeed she avoided it, saying
that she was too happy in her family and her occupations to
need any; and so she seemed. Books, music, drawing, and
the acquisition of modern languages, fully occupied her time.
Her original education had been respectable, and consistent
with her station. She had been taught a little history and
geography; could play a waltz on the pianoforte, sing a
ballad with a sweet but uncultivated voice, and say Comment
vous portez-vous 1 to a foreigner. But after her first visit to
Marlow, Mr. Edmonstone's country-house, new ambitions had
been awakened in her. She had discovered, whilst there, how
inferior her little accomplishments were when compared to the
superior acquirements of the fashionable young ladies she met;
and it was not altogether because she wished to vie with them,
or because her self-love was pained by the inferiority, that she
regretted her own want of cultivation; but also, because she
really valued the things themselves. She liked to listen to their
music and look at their drawings, and she longed to read the
books she heard them talk about. In short, Linny Lockwood
had talents which sought to be exercised; and she needed but
36
linny lockwood.
the opportunity to see how that should be done, to set about it
energetically. The only indulgences she ever asked of her
father was to he allowed books and instructors ; and, having
no child but herself, he was both able and willing to gratify
her. This point gained, her progress, betwixt her talents and
her assiduity, was surprising. She had nothing to take her
attention from her studies, and her heart was in them; and
thence it arose that one might have sought far without meet-
ing in any station with a more accomplished girl than Linny
Lockwood—a prettier one was scarcely to be seen on a
birthday at St. James's.
CHAPTER VI.
Eob the better understanding of my story, it is now neces-
sary to relate some circumstances connected with George
Lockwood's earlier years, which may conveniently be done
just now, whilst we leave him sitting in the'ditch, unconscious
of the lapse of time.
Mr. Edmonstone was the son of an opulent country gentle-
man, who held considerable shares in one of the great London
banking-houses, and George was the son of one of the principal
tenants on his estate, which was called Marlow. Whilst they
were yet quite boys, an acquaintance arose betwixt these two
lads. Young Edmonstone having no brothers to occupy his
affections, they were constantly together, and became very
much attached to each other; and as Lockwood, the father,
was considered a respectable man, Mr. Edmonstone the elder
made no objection to the intimacy, the rather that George
himself was one of the most gentle, affectionate, amiable, and
well-conducted lads in the whole neighbourhood.
In process of time, young Edmonstone went to Harrow,
and Lockwood to a commercial school of inferior note; but as
they still met at the vacations, this separation caused no dimi-
nution in their intimacy, which continued unabated to the age
of manhood, when a circumstance occurred that has broken up
many a friendship, and would probably have terminated theirs,
had not the generosity of one of the parties not only prevented
the threatened rupture, but actually knit the bond that united
them closer than ever. The torch that menaced this mischief
was love. Mr. Edmonstone's agent, Mr. Wedgewood, had a
daughter who was the belle of the neighbourhood; and as the
young heir had a heart, or a fancy, extremely susceptible "to
LINNY LOCKWOOD. S7
.beauty, he fell in love with her, and, confident in his fortune
and position, forbore no opportunity of letting her perceive his
passion; whilst the father, a grasping, eager man, without
giving such encouragement as would commit himself, tacitly
countenanced his attention. This acquaintance was formed at
a period that George Lockwood was absent from home, having
been sent to study farming in the north; and to take the
benefit of a change of air, which some symptoms of infirmity
rendered advisable; and it was a circumstance quite unknown
to his friend, that his heart had long harboured an absorbing
affection for Jane Wedgewood. He had been acquainted with
her from childhood, and had loved her secretly and silently
since he was ten years old; but being of a shy, modest, ex-
tremely sensitive disposition, he had never disclosed his passion
either to his mistress or to anybody else. When he grew to
manhood he did not think himself in a position to make her pro-
.posals; and although his demeanour had betrayed his secret
to his mistress, and her father, no one else suspected it.
With regard to Jane herself, she was of an easy, unambitious
temper, and in that sort of state that she might have been won
to love either of them; and to whichever she had taken she
would have proved an affectionate and faithful wife. She saw
that George loved her, and she liked him in return; but her
father gave no encouragement to the connexion, and as George
never opened his lips on the subject she was perfectly free. On
the other hand, Mr. Edmonstone was very fascinating, and very
flattering; she liked him too; she perceived clearly that her
father would be very glad to see her the Lady of Marlow; and,
by the way matters progressed, there certainly appeared great
reason to suppose she was destined to that elevation; the more
especially, as Mr. Edmonstone the elder, unexpectedly dying in
consequence of an accident, his son found himself at liberty to
marry whomsoever he pleased; and had he been asked at that
period who was to be his wife, he would certainly have given
his vote for Jane Wedgewood.
It was at this crisis that George Lockwood returned from
the north, full of love, and of the resolution to declare it. His
day-dreams and his night-dreams had been all of Jane ; and as
the coach he came by drove through the village and passed
her father's door, he looked eagerly up for a glimpse of that
fair face, and he was not disappointed. It was a fine, warm
April day, and she was standing at an open window, full of
smiles and brightness. As her eye caught sight of him, she
38
L1NNY LOCKWOOE.
kissed her hand, and turned to speak to some one in the room
—who it was he did not see; for though another head appeared
at the window, the wheels had whirled him in the interval too
far to descry the features. However, he reached home full of
hope and gladness; determined to return and visit her that
very evening; hut before the evening came these hopes seemed
dashed for ever. He had scarcely been an hour at home when
Mr. Edmonstone, now the possessor of Marlovv, arrived to
welcome him.
 I was so glad to hear you were come, George, he said,
holding out his hand;  I was in Wedgewood's drawing-room,
and saw you go by—at least, Jane said she saw you; but the
coach had passed before I got to the window.
A cold shiver ran through Lockwood's veins as he said,
"Was it you she spoke to? For Mr. Edmonstone had
scarcely known her when George went away; his being there
with her now seemed to argue a considerable intimacy, and
the bright face he had caught a glimpse of was not to be
frequented with impunity.
"Yes, I was there, said Edmonstone, with a half-conscious
smile;  where could I be better, George, my boy? Isn't Jane
the pearl of damsels ?
"You love her? gasped Lockwood, seizing his arm, and
turning on him a ghastly face.
 Good heavens ! George, my dear fellow, what the devil's
come over you ? You are not in love with Jane Wedgewood,
I hope ? But George was in no condition to answer. He
was leaning against the gate, holding his hand to his side, and
gasping for breath.
 What, is it that old pain in the side ? I thought you'd got
over it! Or is it what I've just said ? Tell me, George, for
God's sake! Is there anything between you and Jane ?
 Nothing! nothing! answered George.  I never said a
word to her in my life! She is perfectly free; quite—quite free.
 But you love her, George ? I see it! how unfortunate
that I did not know this before! I wouldn't have looked
within a mile of her, if I'd ever dreamt of such a thing. Why
in the name of God didn't you tell me about it ?
 I thought you'd laugh at me. Besides, it has grown on
me by degrees, from day to day, from week to week, and year
to year. I. can't remember when I first began to love her.
My father and hers were intimate—I often told you of her,
but you didn't remark it then.
LINNY LOCRWOOD.
39
"Why, bless me, George! You look as if you were going
to faint. Take my arm!
 I shall be better presently, said George.  I'm not so
strong as I thought I was. Say nothing of this to my father,
nor to anybody, I entreat you.
Mr. Edmonstone was very much shocked. He knew
George's character well, and he was aware of his over-sensitive
nature, his delicate constitution, and the strength of his
.attachments; and he was alarmed, as well as distressed, by
.this unfortunate collision.
"My dear fellow, he said, "don't look so miserable, for
God's sake. This is the most painful thing that ever happened
to me, and what to do I don't know. If I thought Jane was
not attached to me 
.  But she is, no doubt; she must be, said Lockwood.  It's
all my own fault; I should have told you; but it never
occurred to me that you would think of Jane.
"You expected I should have looked higher?
 Yes, I did; and I remember you told me yourself that your
father had views for you, and you made no objection to them.
 Very true, George; but then I had not seen Jane; and I
wish now I never had seen her!
 Don't wish that. You couldn't marry anybody more
worthy of you.
 1 know, said Edmonstone, "it is what the world would
call a bad match for me, and that my father would have been
very averse to it; but one don't think of these'matters when
one is looking into such a pair of blue eyes as Jane's. But
this attachment of yours, George, is a different matter; and I
own I feel very much about it.
' "Nevermind me! answered George. "You are not to
blame, nor she either, and perhaps she might have refused me
if I had asked her.
 You have no reason to think she was attached to you ?
"Certainly not, except as an old friend.
 Well, I'll tell you what-, George ; I'll give you a chance—
it isn't every lover would do it, let me tell you ; I'll slacken
my visits; and I shall be going to London next week, and
that will keep us apart for a time. Now, if Jane is as fond
of me as my vanity tells me she is, she'll have nothing to say to
you, and that may reconcile you to the loss of her ; but if you
can win her, you shall wear her ! I think that's fair, isn't it ?
George thought it was heroic, and refused to accept the
40
LINN? LOCKWOOD.
generous sacrifice; but Edmonstone insisted. In the first
place, he was really as sorry and concerned about George as he>
professed to be; and in the second, he had so many points of
the game in his favour, that he did not appear to risk a great
deal. He really meant kindly to his friend; but he felt so secure,
that his kindness did not cost him nearly as much as George,
judging by himself, imagined. George knew that he could not
have done such a thing ; he could not have risked the loss of
Jane for all the friends in the world; and although, every-
thing considered, he entertained no hope of success, his grati-
tude was boundless: insomuch that, in spite of Edmonstone's
having insisted on the performance of the compact, fulfilling
his part of it by relaxing in his attentions, and departing
speedily for London, George, betwixt despondence and delicacy
towards his benefactor, forbore to make any use of the privi-
lege granted him. But fortune at length took the affair in
her own hands, and brought the young people together. By
this time, George, who had returned from the north full of
health and spirits, had fallen to such a wan and wasted con-
dition, that Jane's heart melted with pity the moment she
beheld him; the more so, that his discontinuing his former
attentions, and his agitated manner when they met, revived
and confirmed her old persuasion that he loved her. This
sympathy softened her manner towards him, and the softened
manner gave him courage to pay her a visit. "When the ice
was thus broken, he went frequently—and, by and by, every
day—sitting hours beside her, saying not a word of love,
and yet making love all the time in the most eloquent and
irresistible manner. Jane understood his sufferings, and
comprehended his silence; he adored her, but believed her
attached to his friend.
In the meantime, the friend was in London, enjoying all
the gaieties of the season, and receiving all those flattering
attentions that follow the footsteps of a handsome young man
of fortune; it was natural, under such circumstances, that he
should think less of Jane than he had done in the country.
Perhaps there were moments when the idea that George
Lockwood might supersede him was painful; others, in which
it was less so, when visions of beauty, combined with rank,
fashion, and fortune, hinted that, even under such a calamity,
consolations were to be found. On the whole, in short, he
enjoyed his London season very much, in spite of the perilous
condition in which he had left his love affairs at Marlow.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
41
At letigtli he returned, and asked George the result of their
experiment.
'' I have never said a word to her that was inconsistent
with my duty to you, said Lockwood ;  nevertheless, I wont
deny, that I think she has read my heart.
 But which of us does she like best ?
 You, no doubt. I believe all she feels for me is pity; at
least, I have no reason to presume that it is anything more,
answered George, with a heavy sigh; for Mr. Edmonstone,
with the bloom of London fashion upon him, looked so irre-
sistible, that any feeble hopes he had ventured to indulge in
his absence, were extinguished by the sight of him.
But the ardent love evinced by the wan cheeks and wasted
figure, had effaced the brilliant image of his confident rival.
Jane was of a pitiful disposition, and had vowed to her own
heart that George Lockwood should be her husband; and ere
long an engagement was formed, to be fulfilled whenever the
young man should have the means of maintaining a wife.
Mr. Edmonstone behaved extremely well on the occasion;
probably his wounds did not go much deeper than his vanity,
and it was not long before this youthful fancy was forgotten,
and he was united to a lady whose condition and fortune were
more on an equality with his own. As might be expected, these
circumstances, especially the last, made a considerable diffe-
rence in the intercourse of the young men ; they were much
less together, and gradually each fell back into his original
position. Mr. Edmonstone was very friendly with George
when he met him ; and George, as he had told his benefactor
on the day Jane accepted him, was his sworn slave for ever;
but they were on different rounds of the ladder of life, and
henceforth learned to address each other from above and
below, accordingly.
Besides this natural consequence of their changed situations,
an alteration occurred in Mr. Edmonstone's character and
habits; or, rather, time and years had developed his inborn
propensities, and brought them to the surface. He did not
like the indolent, easy life of a country gentleman; his taste
led him rather to inhabit cities, and take a more active share
in business than his father had done; and in accordance with
these wishes, on the death of one of the principal directors of
the bank, in which he was so large a shareholder, he came
forward, and was appointed to fill the vacant place. Not long
afterwards, he had an opportunity, which he gladly seized, of
42
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
offering a situation to his old friend, for which George's com-
mereial education, integrity, and talents, well fitted him; a
favour which was exceedingly acceptable, as it rendered him
independent of a somewhat despotic father, and enabled him
to marry his beloved Jane. From that period to the present,
an uninterrupted series of good understanding and prosperity
had attended both the patron and the client. Mr. Edmon-
stone had increased in wealth and honours; whilst Lockwood,
without either one or the other, was one of the happiest
• husbands and fathers in the world. Jane had turned out all
she had promised, a faithful, affectionate wife; and so fond of
her husband, and so contented with her condition, that she
never once, in all the years that had elapsed, had felt a grain
of envy, when she saw the lady of Marlow, with two footmen
behind the carriage, going to St. James's; or read, in the
Morning Post, an account of Mrs. Edmonstone's dress and
diamonds at the last Pal Costume. Then came the little
girl, to add to their felicity; inheriting all her parents' good
qualities, together with some more remarkable endowments of
her own: George Lockwood's cup of happiness was full to the
brim; and he owed all this to his early friend and benefactor,
Gervase Edmonstone. The child was named after the heroine
of a romance that had kindled Mrs. Lockwood's imagination;
but Leonie soon resolved itself into Linny, in familiar inter-
course.
Mr. Edmonstone's prosperity was of a different kind—it
was more external and material than his friend's—not but his
wife was a good woman, as women go; neither was there any
deficiency of attachment betwixt them ; but they both lived
more for the world than each other. They both liked pomp
and state, and were eager for money, without which these
things were not to be enjoyed; and money they had in con-
siderable quantities—but, of course, not enough. Nobody
has, who lives for the world; for the world has greedy eyes,
and a large mouth ; and it is quite impossible to satisfy it if
once you begin to try. If you never try, and can make up
your mind to take no notice of it, it will leave you alone, and
not care. Still Mr. Edmonstone's prosperity was remark-
able; for, if he had not as much money as he wanted, he had
a great deal more than most people, besides many other
sources of happiness : amongst the rest, a son, of whom he was
extremely proud, and naturally—for Yaughan Edmonstone was
a very fine, sharp, high-spirited bov—who had only one fault
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
43
ill his father's eyes, and that was, that instead of taking to
business, he insisted on going into a cavalry regiment. It was
not the expense, nor the position, that his father objected to,
hut the folly of following a profession which cost more money
than it brought; for the longer Gervase Edmonstone lived,
the more he loved money.
As George Lockwood became known, he won the esteem
and confidence of all the principals of the firm; and as he rose
from grade to grade, his salary was increased, till he was
exceedingly comfortable, and could even lay by something
towards Leonie's future dower. Added to this, modest and
retiring as he was, certain attentions were paid him, in com-
plirnent to his merit, whilst his patron extended his civility
so far as to invite him, and his wife and daughter, to spend a
fortnight at Marlow every summer. Jane declined; she, with
her humble household cares, had fallen into another way of
life, and would have felt herself out of place at the aristocratic
table, with half-a-dozen footmen observing how she ate her
dinner. Besides, she had no dresses fit for such company;
but Lockwood went, out of love for his patron; and, as soon
as she was old enough, Leonie was eager to go too. White
muslin, and a few yards of pink and blue ribbon, are all that
youth and beauty require for any society, and these, being
easily compassed, Leonie was duly fitted out; and with her
bright brown hair, soft satin skin, all lilies and roses, and just
such another pair of large blue eyes as had once won the
heart of Gervase Edmonstone, she made her debut amongst
the fine ladies at Marlow ; and was, by universal admission
of the gentlemen, pronounced the chiefest jewel of them all.
Amongst those who were of that opinion, there was not one
more clear in it than Vaughan Edmonstone. They were both
very young, but at the very first visit his fate was decided.
At the second, he declared his love one day, when by chance
they met in the garden, and a bee stung her as she was taking
a peach from the wall. Here was a pretty opportunity ; and
the pain of the sting was soon forgotten in the pleasure of the
declaration. But Vaughan had been to Eton, and was a cornet
of dragoons, and he knew the world and his father well enough
to be aware that a premature disclosure of their love would be
fatal to their wishes; and so he told Leonie, who was easily
made to understand that they must wait the unfolding of
time. She had no fear of her own parents; but she appre-
hended that, instead of encouraging the attachment, they
44
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
would feel it their duty to disclose it to Mr. Edmonstone; so
the young lovers kept their own counsel, and loved on in secret.
Having given this sketch of preceding events, I resume the
thread of our story.
CHAPTER VII.
Ix was scarcely light when Mr. Edmonstone's servants were
awakened by an unusual ringing of the door-bell, which they
could in no way account for, except by supposing there was
a fire in the neighbourhood. But for this persuasion they
would have allowed the untimely applicant to ring a little
longer; as it was, some of them got out of bed, and threw up
their windows, inquiring who was there, and what was the
matter.
There was a coach at the door, out of which stepped a lady,
who answered, that she wanted to see Mr. Edmonstone im-
mediately.
 Master's not up; nor wont be these three hours.
 I know that very well; but you must call him : go and
tell him it's Mrs. Lockwood wishes to see him directly on
particular business.
 Master wont like to be disturbed, ma'am ; you'd better
call again between ten and eleven.
 I can't wait till then. Tell Mr. Edmonstone that Mr.
Lockwood is missing, and I am very much alarmed. He has
not been home all night.
The footman did not see anything sufficiently alarming in
that circumstance to justify his being called out of bed at this
unseasonable hour; but he knew that Mr. Lockwood held a
responsible situation in the banking-house, and that he was
often closeted with his master, who might, therefore, take a
greater interest in his disappearance than he, Thomas Sykes,
could by any possibility feel; so, inserting his feet into a pair
of shoes and stockings, and slipping on his coat and continua-
tions, he descended the stairs to Mr. Edmonstone's room, and
knocked at the door.
 Who's there ? What do you want ? inquired that
gentleman.
"Mrs. Lockwood's at the door, sir 
 Mr. Lockwood! Tell him I'll be down directly; show him
into the library, said Mr. Edmonstone, putting his head out.
 It's not Mr. Lockwood; it's Mrs. Lockwood, sir. She
L1NNY LOCKWOOD.
45
says Mr. Lockwood has been missing since last night, and
she's very much alarmed about it.
"Missing?
 Yes, sir; so she says.
 Didn't he go home when the bank closed ?
"No, sir: I suppose not.
 Tell Mrs. Lockwood, I'm very sorry, but I dare say he'll
come home shortly. Say that he left Fleet-street as usual,
and that I've heard nothing of him since. Here, Thomas!
he added, as the man was going away ;  say that I'll make in-
quiries, and if I hear anything, I'll let her know immediately.
Thomas delivered the message, and the anxious wife drove
from the door, disappointed at meeting with no more sym-
p'athy, whilst Mr. Edmonstone and Thomas returned to their
beds again; the former, however, with mixed feelings, that
partook both of grief and gladness. He was afraid some mis-
fortune had happened to his old friend; he knew the regularity
of his habits, and he had more reason than Mrs. Lockwood
had to apprehend mischief; assuredly it was no convivial
party that detained George that night. He suspected, in
short, that under the pressure of the distress in which he had
left him, when they parted the day before, the poor fellow had
indeed made away with himself; and he was not so forgetful
of their past friendship as to be utterly indifferent to such a
tragical termination of that harmless life. No; a pang shot
through his heart as he thought of their boyish days, and of
poor Lockwood's gratitude and devoted attachment. But, on
the other hand, was it not all for the best ? Had not the poor
qlerk done the wisest thing ?—the wisest for himself and for
others ? Mr. Edmonstone believed he had; and so, whilst
Thomas Sykes was endeavouring to take up the thread of his
slumbers, which had been untimely broken, and whilst Mrs.
Lockwood drove from one police station to another, to give
notice of her husband's absence from home all night—a thing
which she assured the officers had not once occurred in the
whole experience of her married life—the banker, to whose
eyes sleep had for some time been but a chary visitor, lay
alternately betwixt moments of temporary oblivion and sudden
starts of wakefulness, which seemed as if he was roused by a
voice whispering in his ear, "George Lockwood's dead; so
simultaneous was the recollection with the awakening.
In the meantime, an early costermonger, who was pro-
ceeding down Dane's-lane with his donkey, had discovered
46
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
Mr. Lockwood sitting in the ditch where the robber had left
him; and having given notice to the nearest public-house,
several persons, urged by benevolence or curiosity, went to
the spot, and amongst them somebody who recognised  the
unfortunate gentleman, as the newspapers designated him,
when they recorded the circumstance of his being found in
such a lamentable condition; a catastrophe which, they hinted,
was supposed to be connected with some painful disclosures
which had unexpectedly been brought before the directors of
the Bank ; although his being without his coat or waist-
coat, and neither watch nor purse found about him, seemed
rather to indicate that an assault and robbery had been com-
mitted.
In the meantime, the early omnibus that carried professional
men from their homes to their offices, conveyed this sad news
on its way to Fleet-street; and Tiggs, busy and inquisitive,
with his ears wide open, arrived at nine full of it.
"Dead! exclaimed Morland.
 Or next thing to it, returned Tiggs.  He can't recover,
and has not spoken since they brought him home.
 Good God! Poor Lockwood! who would have thought
of such a thing this time yesterday ! How did he do it ?
"I couldn't learn, exactly, answered Tiggs. "He was
found early in the morning, in a place called Dane's-lane,
close to his own house, by a fellow with a donkey, who gave
the alarm. But the strangest thing is, that he was partly
undressed; he had taken off his coat and waistcoat.
"That looks as if he meant to drown himself, said
Morland;  perhaps there's a pond somewhere in the neigh-
bourhood. Poor fellow!
 It's tbe best thing he could do, I think, said Tiggs.
"He could never have held up his head again.
 Well, I'm very sorry for him, for one! There was no
man I liked better than poor George Lockwood.
 I wonder how Edmonstone will take it!
 Be very sorry, I should think. They've known each
other since they were boys.
 I wonder if Mr. Eardley has heard of it ? said Tiggs.
"I think I'll just go and mention it.
Mr. Eardle}r had not heard of it, and his surprise was con-
siderable when he did.
 Made away with himself, has he ?
 So it appears, sir. I passed him at the door, as he went
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
47
away yesterday afternoon, between four and five; but it seems
he never went home, though he was found in a lane close to
where he lived.
 Is Mr. Edmonstone come ?
"No, sir; he's not here yet.
 When he comes, tell him I wish to speak to him.
But Mr. Edmonstone did not make his appearance in Fleet-
street that day. He sent a line to Mr. Eardley, saying that
he was so much shocked at this terrible ending of poor Lock-
wood, that it had quite unmanned him.
 Perhaps it's the best thing he could do under the circum-
stances, he added;  but I have known him ever since I was
a boy, and there are certain recollections that stick to one all
one's life.
But whilst his friends were thus prematurely lamenting his
death, George Lockwood, who had been found by his wife, on
her return home, stretched on the bed in a state of uncon-
sciousness, was slowly reviving. The blow on his head had
been a heavy one, and for some weeks he was exceedingly ill,
and unable to give any account of the circumstances that had
reduced him to that condition; but in process of time, with
the constant care and attention of his wife and daughter, he
recovered, at least in a great degree; for it was remarked by
everybody that he was never the same man afterwards, either
physically or morally. His memory was not so good as it had
been, and he was more feeble both in body and mind.
In spite of the disgrace he had fallen into in Fleet-street,
Lockwood's present melancholy situation excited universal
compassion throughout that establishment, in which, till the
day before, he had been so much respected. His fellow-clerks
all called at the door to inquire for him; Mr. Eardley, stern
man of business as he was, sent his footman twice on the same
errand; Mr. Edmonstone's dark-green chariot several times
excited the admiration of the neighbourhood ; and Vaughan,
his handsome son, was almost daily seen curveting in front of
the modest little villa on his prancing steed. He generally
arrived betwixt two and three o'clock, and about that hour a
lovely young head, with neatly-braided hair, would be often
seen at the window.  I am certain, said Miss Fowndes, who
lived next door, "that she is always watching for him. I
wonder how her mother can let her go on so! I'm sure he
has been in an hour! It was just half-past two by our clock
when he came, and it's nearly the half-hour p£;st three now.
48
LINNY LOCKW
That poor groom looks quite tired of walking the horses up
and down!
Perhaps he was ; but the hour passed very fleetly with the
young people within, who spent it alone in the dining-parlour,
whilst Mrs. Lockwood was sitting by her husband's bedside.
Had George himself been below, he would have considered
the encouraging such visits a violation of his faith to Mr.
Edmonstone, "who had a right to seek a wife for his son of a
much higher caste than the poor clerk's daughter; but beyond
the fact that all his friends,  Mr. Eardley, and Mr. Edmon-
stone, and Mr. Yaughan, and all, came to inquire for him,
he knew nothing of what was going on. Mrs. Lockwood was
not so unobservant; she was not altogether ignorant of the
attachment that existed betwixt her daughter and Mr. Ed-
monstone's son, but, more sympathetic and less severe, she
did not interfere to repress it; for, in the first place, where
could he find a bride so worthy of him as Leonie ? so beau-
tiful! so accomplished! so fitted to adorn a high station! and,
in the second, why should she discourage a connexion
betwixt two young people whose parents had nearly been
husband and wife ? Had not Mr. Edmonstone been in love
with her? Might she not have been a fine lady, living in
Grosvenor-street, and driving her carriage, and going to
court, if she had liked ? and yet, what was she in her best
days compared to Leonie ? She had never been half as hand--
some ; and as for accomplishments, she had none at all: yet
Mr. Edmonstone had thought her worthy to be his wife; how
much more would he think her daughter worthy to be the
bride of his son! Such were Mrs. Lockwood's reflections ;
wherein it will be perceived that the logic was good, but the
argument bad. On these premises, however, she acted; and
the consequence was, that the young lovers were as happy as
any lovers in Great Britain, and that their attachment grew
in strength from day to day; whilst the father, upstairs in
his bedroom, was slowly recovering from the effects of his un-
fortunate rencontre; and Miss Fovvndes, growing more and
more incensed at the shamelessness of Miss Lockwood's pro-
ceedings, in daring to captivate and receive the visits of such
a handsome, aristocratic-looking lover, who, she began to
apprehend, might actually be foolish enough to marry her;
and, as she had taken measures to discover who he was, she
declared she felt for his parents, who, she was sure, must be
ignorant of what was going on; at the same time expressing
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
49
a doubt bow far it might be her duty to apprise them
of it.
And, certainly, in her conjecture respecting the ignorance of
the parents, Miss Fowndes was quite correct. Mr. Edmonstone
thought little about Leonie, one way or the other; she was
very young; and, having seen her and his son very little
together, the suspicion of an attachment betwixt them had
not occurred to him. They had never met, as far as he knew,
except on the occasion of those short annual visits to Marlow,
when there was wont to be a bevy of London fashionables in
gauzes and jewels, that he would have fancied much more to
the young cornet's taste than the simple little Leonie, in her
white book-muslin frock. He forgot how, long years ago, he
himself would have gladly married the obscure agent's
daughter, blue-eyed Jane Wedgewood—and would have pre-
ferred her to all the fine ladies of St. James's; and Vaughan,
who, as I have intimated, was already a man of the world,
knew how to play his part so well, that, whilst he was making
desperate love to Leonie, he appeared to be flirting with every-
body but her, and especially with Catherine Eardley, to whom
his attentions were only too welcome. Mr. Edmonstone, who
had grown now to be an ambitious, avaricious man, thought
his son might do worse than marry Catherine, whose expec-
tations were so good; still, he fancied Yaughan might
look higher; he might aspire to rank as well as money, and
therefore, not eager for the connexion, he at present left the
young man free to sport amongst the flowers as he pleased:
where they were so many, he did not think he was likely to
fix in a hurry, and his son encouraged him in his opinion,
because it left him at liberty to play his own game, for he was
really in love with Lockwood's daughter, and determined to
marry her; but he did not want to offend his father, or forfeit
any of the advantages of his position, present or future. How
the thing was to be done—how he was to have his will both
ways—was not at present clear. A secret marriage appeared
the most feasible project; but he had not money enough to
keep an establishment for his wife. His father made him a
handsome allowance, but then his own expenses were great;
inevitably so, as it appeared to him. He must keep up with
the other fellows of his regiment. He must have horses, and
flogs, and drags, and a variety of other things, indispensable
to the character of a gentleman. Money, therefore, was the
obstacle, but for which he would have proposed a secret union
D
50
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
to Leonie at once; and, such, was his influence over her, that
he did not doubt he should prevail. Perhaps, however, some-
thing might happen to facilitate his project. His father might
die. His grandfather had died much at the age Mr. Edmon-
stone had now reached; to be sure it was by an accident, but
people do meet with accidents ; besides, although Mr. Edmon-
stone was apparently a very healthy man, it is often remarked
that, whilst ailing people hang on for years, the healthy drop
off when least expected.
CHAPTER VIII.
When George Lockwood quitted the hank on that fatal day
which, by a strange combination of circumstances, had sud-
denly hurled him down from prosperity to adversity, plunged
him into sickness and suffering, blasted his reputation, and
taken away his means of living, he had made up his mind, as
far as his distress and amazement permitted him to review his
position, to quit London immediately, and hide himself and
his misery in some remote part of the country, where he
should have no chance of being recognised, or of being called
upon for explanations which he could not give. How to break
the calamity to his wife and daughter, or how to account to
them for so unexpected a reverse of fortune, without accusing
himself, he could not tell. All he could do was, to throw him-
self on their generosity, and rely on their faith and affection.
Come what might, however, there must be no delay; almost
morbidly sensitive as he was by nature, to remain henceforth
under the eye of his former acquaintance, the object of curi-
osity, the mark of contumely, would be unbearable. He must
go far away, and go at once. But the severe illness he under-
went, in consequence of the assault and the night's exposure
—an illness that reduced him to the brink of the grave—pro-
duced a revolution in his feelings and temper; the former
were numbed, the latter was humbled. The physical depres-
sion depressed his pride and his spirit. When he was so far
recovered as to recollect all that had happened, he felt mise-
rable enough ; but it was not the quick and biting anguish he
had felt when the blow first fell: it was rather the tempered
and subdued grief of an old sorrow, a settled melancholy, that
robbed him of all energy, and disposed him to sufferance and
inaction. When he was able to leave his bed, he sat in his
chamber by the fireside, staring unconsciously into the grate,
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
51
seldom speaking, and not caring to be spoken to. As he got
better, the sight of his wife and daughter, especially the latter,
appeared rather to give him pain than otherwise. The doctor
sent him drops to take, and said he wanted change of scene,
and should go from home a little, but he only shook his head
at the recommendation; and, when any of his neighbours sent
him a newspaper to amuse him, he turned away his head from
it with aversion. And yet, before his misfortune, he would
as soon have gone without his dinner, as neglected to look at
the state of the money market and the price of stock. But
what had he do with these things now ? His connexion with
the past was broken off, and he shunned everything that
renewed the memory of his lost happiness,  Les souvenirs
du bonhewr passe sont les rides de Tame.
His wife, who attributed the state in which she saw him
wholly to nervous depression, for- she was ignorant that he
had any substantial cause of grief, said and did all she could
to rouse him; representing the fatal consequences that would
ensue to himself and his family, if he did not make some
exertion to rouse himself; but he listened to her with a counte-
nance of settled despair, and only seemed excited for a moment
when she told him that the quarter's salary had been sent.
 Is it ? he said.  Who sent it ?
 I don't know. Mr. Edmonstone, I suppose. It came from
the bank. Mr. Morland brought it. They've paid it this
quarter because you were sick, no doubt; but that can't go
on, you know, if you don't rouse yourself, and attend to your
business. I'm sure it's lucky it came to pay the doctor's bill.
It really vexes me, George, to see you sit there, not trying to
help yourself. Here, do take your drops; though I don't
think they do you a bit of good!
No; they could not cure the hurt mind—the broken heart!
Whilst Lockwood was lying on his sickbed, or crouching
like a wounded animal by his fireside, Mr. and Mrs. Edmon-
stone were entertaining a fashionable Christmas party at
Marlow; and Yaughan was dividing his time betwixt his
father's festivities on the one hand, and making love, in
Leonie's little parlour, on the other. The scenes were
strongl}r contrasted, but he enjoyed them both the more; for
though he was thoroughly attached to Leonie, he was not the
less fond of the pleasures and vanities of the world, nor had
he any intention of sacrificing them to his love. He wished
to reconcile and amalgamate these two opposite elements in
D 2
52
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
his life, and by caution and a little patience, he expected to
effect his purpose. The difficulty was how to deal with his
father, who, he knew, would be furiously displeased at such
an engagement; and probably testify his disapprobation by
immediately withdrawing his allowance, as the most likely
means of bringing him to his senses. This inconvenience
must be avoided. With respect to the world of taste and
fashion, with which he intended also to keep upon the best
terms, he believed that, as he was his father's sole heir, Ms
wealth and personal qualifications, conjoined with Leonie's
beauty and accomplishments, would be sufficient to excuse,
and indeed justify, his marrying a woman of low condition.
He was sure all the men would be on his side; for already,
on her annual visits to Marlow, more than one young aristo-
crat had vowed she was the loveliest creature he ever saw.
Sir Bryan O'Grady swore, that if he had five hundred a year
he could call his own, he would marry her, and be contented for
the rest of his life with a cottage and love; and Lord Derwent
actually made advances, and would, beyond a doubt, have laid
himself and his title at her feet, had not Yaughan warned
him secretly that he was poaching on another man's manor.
 She's been engaged to me ever since she was sixteen,
he said.
"By Jove, then, I must draw off, said Derwent; "but
you're a lucky fellow, Edmonstone, and it's well you've
warned me before I was deeper in the mess than I am! But
you're a devil of a Lothario ! I thought Miss Eardley was
the object of your devotions !
 I like Catherine Eardley very well, responded Yaughan;
 she and 1 are old friends, and we have always a little bit of
flirtation when we come together; but we perfectly under-
stand each other: there's nothing more than that between us.
In this instance, however, Mr. Vaughan Edmonstone was
not speaking correctly. Selfish as men—with very few ex-
eeptions—always are, he knew that it was agreeable to him
to talk and dance with the fair Catherine, by whom he found
Himself always graciously received; but as he did not wish
ner precisely to fall in love, but only to admire him, and per-
Haps indulge some secret and flattering desire on the subject
—just as people, who have no chance of ever getting such a
thing, permit themselves to image the delights of ten thousand
a year, upon the principle that  there is no harm in wishing;
so he did not take the trouble to reflect that her feelings
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 53
.might possibly become more deeply involved than his own,
and that he might end by making her very unhappy ; the
more especially as, having never seen Leonie Lockwood, or
heard more than that one of the bank clerks had a very
pretty daughter, there was no one whom she had any reason
to suspect he liked better than herself. And the fact was,
that Catherine Eardley was very much in love with him, and
only restrained from exhibiting her preference more openly by
his, to her, unaccountable silence. Thrown much together,
from an early period, in consequence of the business con-
nexion between their fathers, there was an easy familiarity in
their mode of intercourse, that was likely enough to result in a
disappointment on one side or the other. Not of a diffident
disposition, and seeing nobody to whom he paid so much
attention as herself, it was natural enough she should attribute
to him corresponding sentiments; and indeed, but for the
singular fascinations of Leonie Lockwood, nothing is more
likely than that Catherine Eardley would have been the sue-
cessful candidate for a heart which they both -estimated far
above its price.
Marlow was at no great distance from London; and
whilst Mr. Edmonstone had occasion to be constantly running
up to town on business, Yaughan, who had lately exchanged
into the Guards, made his duty the excuse for doing the
same thing. Then, when he had had a little course of love-
making in Prospect-place, and dined at the Cocoa-tree, and
lounged into the theatres, and so forth, he drove down again
with his father to the country, and danced and flirted a little
with Catherine.
Young people, engaged by love and pleasure, are generally
little observant, and take very small part in the troubles and
anxieties of their elders; and although Yaughan was weekly
boxed up in a post-chariot with his father for a couple of
hours or so, it had never occurred to him that there was any-
thing in Mr. Edmonstone's demeanour different to what it
usually was. Nevertheless, his wife, and not only she, but
several members of the society of Marlow, were puzzling
themselves to find out the cause of their host's unaccustomed
silence, and of the gloom and depression that sat upon his
brow. Mrs. Edmonstone, of course, kept her observations to
herself; and, since asking questions of vexed men is apt to
elicit sharp answers, she made no remarks even to her hus-
band ; but the visitors, with less delicacy, discussed the sub-
ject freely.
54
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 Something amiss in Fleet-street, I suppose ?
 There was something came out lately about one of the
principal clerks, who is reported to have made away with
large sums of money, apd, when he was found out, committed
suicide. Perhaps it's connected with that.
 I shouldn't wonder; for I believe the man was some
humble relation or dependent of Mr. E.'s, and that he became
voucher for him; so, perhaps, he may have to pay the
money. Do you observe how Mrs. E. often watches her
husband ? I suspect she sees there's something wrong, and
is not in the secret.
"Vaughan doesn't seem to be very uneasy about the
matter, whatever it is.
 Oh! his head's full of love, and the charms of Catherine
Eardley.
 Lucky dog! He can't do better. She'll have all old
Featherstone's money, besides what she gets from her father.
The clerks at the bank, too, remarked the gloom of Mr.
Edmonstone's countenance, and attributed it to his vexation
about Lockwood's affair. It was true the money had been
made good, but it was Mr. E. was the sufferer; for restora-
tion having been made by Mr. Eardley, the inexorable con-
dition of mercy—that is, of forbearance from prosecution—
Mr. Edmonstone had, for the sake of old friendship it was
understood, become responsible for the sum, which he had to
pay out of his private fortune; an action so generous that it
filled the whole establishment with admiration, except per-
haps Mr. Eardley, who appeared less impressed by it than
others.
As for Vaughan, he was not in the secret of these matters;
he knew that Leonie's father was in disgrace, but he knew
none of the particulars of the disagreement, and, whatever
the faults of the father might be, the daughter was not re-
sponsible for them ; and as Leonie was equally ignorant on
the subject, it caused them no disturbance, till one day, in
answer to his wife's objurgations with respect to his not
trying to rouse himself and return to his business, George
astonished her by saying, that he was not going to return to
his business at all—that there was a split betwixt him and
Messrs. E., and that, as soon as he was able, he must look
for something else to do.
At first she would not believe him; she thought he was
under a delusion, or that he had foolishly  taken the huff,
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
55
and was quarrelling with his bread and butter, as she said;
but when he had convinced her that the connexion with
Edmonstone and Eardley was broken off, and that at his
time of life, with broken health and spirits, he had to look
for a new situation, she fell into a passion of tears and
lamentations ; for what was to become of them ? and espe-
cially what was to become of Linny ?—their beautiful,
beloved Linny—she, for whom they had built such castles in
the air! who was to be a lady, and ride in her carriage, and
perhaps go to court with two footmen behind her, as she,
Jane Wedgewood, might have done, if she had taken Gervase
Edmonstone at his word, and married him. Even George,
the steady man of figures, with his head given up to debtor
and creditor accounts all day, had had his bit of romance
about Leonie, never indulged, however, till after five o'clock,
when the bank closed.
But in the evening, when the dinner was over, and she had
left the table, and they two sat together over their little drop
of something comfortable, whilst the sound of the sweet voice
singing to the pianoforte above penetrated the flimsy floors
of No. 3, Prospect-place, perhaps George saw visions of gran-
deur too; at all events he listened, not incredulous, to those
his wife delighted to conjure. But, alas! the hopes of the
future faded before the stern realities of the present; and
Leonie's fortunes, immediate and prospective, must fall with
her father's.
The distress of the mother soon betrayed the secret to the
daughter; when Jane flung her arms about the girl's neck,
and wept and sobbed, Leonie learned that her father had been
discarded, and that they must begin the world anew; and
what was her first thought under this heavy calamity ? "I
wonder if Yaughan knows it! He must; and, if so, how
generous of him to act as he is doing ! It is the knowledge
of our misfortunes that brings him here so often. In our
prosperous days he never attempted to visit me. How gene-
rous ! how noble ! and never even to hint to me that anything
unpleasant had occurred! How can I love him enough ? Oh!
if he should ever fall into misfortune—if adversity should
overtake him—but it can't; he's too high and secure for
calamity to reach him—but if it could be so, what devotion
I'd show him ! How I'd tend him in sickness, and toil for
. him in poverty, and stand betwixt him and the world's scorn ;
lor the world always scorns the unfortunate ! Dear, darling,
50
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
noble, beautiful Yaughan ! He should see how I love him
then ! And she almost wished for the adversity, that she
might have the opportunity of proving her affection.
It was quite true that Yaughan Edmonstone had never
visited Leonie in Prospect-place before, and that he was doing
so assiduously now ; but the reason was not exactly what she
imagined: the truth being, that his fear of Lockwood's strict
integrity, and sense of duty to Mr. Edmonstone, had deterred
him from attempting it earlier. He did not doubt that the
honest clerk would warn him off, and acquaint the father of
his son's desire to form an engagement inconsistent with his
station and fortune. But the assault and subsequent illness
having given him a reasonable excuse for calling, and George
being out of the way, he retained his privilege, and held fast
the footing he had won; such interviews being much more
gratifying than the stolen meetings with which the lovers
had hitherto been obliged to content themselves.
 Don't weep! don't take it so much to heart, dear mama!
Leonie said, when she heard the ill news.  Rely on it, we
shall yet do very well. For how was it possible for her to
feel unhappy at anything that could happen, when Vaughan
Edmonstone was giving her such signal proofs of his affection ?
Ho ! she was invulnerable at all points but one ; the spites of
fortune could not harm her.
 But, Linny, do well! How do well ? How can you
talk so, child ? You see what a state your father's in ; and,
do and say what I will, I can't rouse him from it. How are
we to do well, or do at all, if he can't get a situation ? And
how's he to get one, or keep it when he has got it, if he con-
tinues in this way ?
 But he wont continue in this way, dear mama! Of
course, he must take some time to recover his energies and
recruit his strength; but you'll see he'll be as well as ever,
by and by.
 I doubt it, Linny ; I don't believe your father '11 ever be
himself again. But suppose he should recover in the course
of time, how difficult it may be to get a situation! And how
are we to live in the meanwhile ?
This last was a difficulty that had never occurred to Leonie,
who, although the daughter of a humble clerk, had hitherto
been petted and indulged to the utmost, having all her simple
desires gratified, without occasion to think of money or to
learn its value. The only indulgence she had asked for, was
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 57
to be allowed instructors, and, as the request pleased and
flattered her parents, they had stretched their means to
gratify her. She had been fed and clothed like the lilies ; she
had neither toiled nor spun ; nor, whilst she was singing in
the drawing-room, and her father was standing at a desk in
Fleet-street, with a pen behind his ear, and her mother was
mending his stockings in the parlour, had she ever been
called upon to consider the difficulty many people have in ob-
taining food and raiment. When the idea was for the first
time presented to her now, she was struck with it as some-
thing new, but by no means terrible or insurmountable.
 But, mamd, even if papa can't get a situation imme-
diately, surely I can do something. I could teach music and
singing, or be a governess, or do a great many things. Don't
despond, and make yourself unhappy, when I'm sure there's
no cause. I dare say, Mrs. Edmonstone would recommend
me to somebody to give lessons. And Leonie looked such
a contingency joyfully in the face; for was there not Vaughan's
handsome countenance smiling on her beyond ? But, although
Jane did not know the world very well, she knew it better
than her daughter did; and she had not been paying her
butcher's and baker's bills for twenty years, without forming
some notion of the difficulty there would be in getting along
when the quarter's salary did not come in. She had no
lover's bright eye to gild poverty and privation for her, and
her castles in the air had all tumbled down with her fortunes.
When Yaughan came the next day, Leonie told him of her
intention to give lessons in music and singing; but he de-
murred to the plan at once. It was degrading herself; she
would become known to a variety of people in that humble
capacity, who might recognise her afterwards in society,
which would be very unpleasant. Besides, there were other
points of view in which he objected to the scheme. She
would have to tramp about the town in a manner altogether
unbecoming a lady who was to be his wife ; and would ine-
vitably be exposed to many insults and perils. As he justly
told her, even if she could get employment, she was a great
deal too young and pretty to enter on such a way of life ; for
somewhat the same reasons he objected to her being a private
governess. She would not have to tramp the streets, indeed,
but she might become connected'with parties who would be
glad enough, when they met her at a drawing-room, to pro-
claim that Mrs. Yaughan Edmonstone had lived in their
58
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
family as a governess.  But what am I to do, dear Vaughan?
I must do something to assist papa and mama ?
Yaughan said he'd think of it, and he did think of it, and
wished very sincerely that the governor would pop off and
leave him master of the field; in which case he would swamp
the difficulty by marrying Leonie, and settling an annuity
on the old codger her father, with whom, of course, he did
not intend to maintain any intercourse; indeed he should
make the annuity contingent on their—that is, Lock wood
and his wife—retiring into the country, far from Grosvenor-
street, and far from Marlow. But in the mean time, since
there had been a flare-up between old Lockwood and his
father, what was to he done ? It was certainly a difficult
question, he having a great objection to Leonie's embarking
in anything derogatory; hut, on the other hand, he had
only between seven and eight hundred a-year for his own
personal expenses, and, as he often observed, he was a poor
man, and had nothing to spare, else he would not have
minded doing something for the old chap "himself. Under
these circumstances, it appeared inevitable that Leonie must
exert herself to aid her parents; and chancing, as he rode
through Kensington one day, to see a large house designated
as a Ladies' Boarding School, it occurred to him that she
might obtain a situation as teacher in such an establishment
—an arrangement from which he anticipated no incon-
venience, provided it was not too near London ; for he was
aware that the young ladies of his circle were rarely sent to
such seminaries, as they are called, and therefore there was
not much danger of subsequent exposure. It is true, that
this plan involved the necessity of Leonie's leaving her home
to live under the cold eye and rigid discipline of (probably)
a tyrant in petticoats ; for, whatever benefit the pupils may
derive from a residence at one of these establishments, certain
it is, that the influence on those who keep them is decidedly
prejudicial, unless we are to conclude that none hut the most
unjust, ungenial, disagreeable people in the world consent to
hoard and educate young ladies and gentlemen for sixty
pounds per annum. Yes, it robbed her of her little home
comforts, and separated her from her loving parents, and
them from her, much as they needed the consolation of her
presence; but it rendered remote the chance of any unplea-
sant recognitions afterwards, and that, as Yaughan observed,
was the chief thing to be considered j and so he told Leonie,
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
59
and, moreover, that he had been looking at the advertisements
in The Times, and that there was a teacher wanted at a
ladies' school in Battersea. It was, perhaps, rather near
London, but it was out of the region of fashionable drivers or
riders, and she might be there snug enough for a year or two,
till things mended, or he could make her his own—a sugges-
tion that brought a bright flush of joy into the fair cheeks.
There was another disadvantage attending this scheme,
which, as it personally concerned himself, might have ren-
dered it distasteful; namely, that it would put a period to
those agreeable visits in Prospect-place, which afforded him
so much pleasure. This sort of intercourse could not be en-
joyed under the roof of a pedagoguess, who would doubtless
allow no followers. A teacher with a lover would be an
unheard-of phenomenon, and a very bad example. It may
seem surprising, therefore, that Mr. Yaughan Edmonstone
should countenance a plan which would oblige him to forego
so deai a privilege; nor would he probably, but for a little
circumstance that occurred precisely at this juncture.
It has been mentioned that he was in the habit of going
down in his father's post-chariot once a week or so to the
country, during which expeditions the fellow-travellers sat
each in his corner, absorbed in his own meditations, and fre-
quently not exchanging a dozen words betwixt Hyde Park
gate, which was then a toll, and the gate of Marlow Lodge;
and it has been hinted that, had Mr. Yaughan Edmonstone
been less absorbed with his own agreeable cogitations, he
might haply have remarked that those of the middle-aged
gentleman that sat beside him, wrapped in furs, with a
travelling-cap drawn over his eyes, were of a less cheering
nature; for whilst the son's mind was running upon the
charms of Leonie Lockwood, who adored him, and the state
of his betting-book for the next Newmarket meeting, and
the marked manner in which Cattie Eardley had evinced her
jealousy of his attentions to the beautiful Lady Marion Bell
at Mrs. Heavitree's ball, and the number of points he could
afford to give Jack Campbell in the match they were going
to make up at billiards, and similar interesting questions,
the father was wrestling mentally with several devils that
were fiercely tormenting him, and that he was struggling to
overcome, and could not; as, for example, remorse, a very
black fiend indeed, and a persevering, that had an extraordi-
nary tenacity of life, and took an immense deal of killing;
60
LINJiY LOCKAVOOD.
for, even when you thought he was stone dead, he would re*
cover all of a sudden and sting you when you least expected y
and fear, a miserable devil, that indeed could not show mucK
fight, but who was armed with a terrible eye, that paralysed
whomsoever it looked upon; and avarice—but, to say the truth,_
this combatant had such a winning way with him that resist*
ance seemed folly, and his victims generally preferred capitu-.
lating at once. It will thus be perceived that the minds of
the travellers, being so differently engaged, there was not
much between them to provoke conversation ; but at length
there came a day when the same identical subject engrossed
them both, and this was the very day—or if not the very
day, the very week—that Leonie had confided to her lover
the necessity that existed for some exertions on her part in
aid of her parents; and the cause of this consentaneity
betwixt the father and son was no other than Miss Arabella-
Fowndes, whose patience and forbearance being utterly ex-
hausted by the repeated provocations she received, had taken
measures to relieve the feverish irritation by opening, not a
vein, but a correspondence with Mr. Edmonstone, senior; at
least she did her part towards it, by despatching a note to
him by post, addressed to the bank in Fleet-street, wherein
she admonished him that  a friend and well-wisher felt it a
duty to warn him of an improper connexion in which his son
was involving himself with a young person whose levity
shocked the writer; and. whom, if his parents did not inter-
fere immediately to separate them, there was great room to-
apprehend he might marry; the rather, that the family of
the young person in question were evidently in the plot!
As nothing but a paramount sense of duty—paramount
sense of duty being a phrase Miss Arabella had heard drop
from the lips of her respected pastor on the preceding Sunday
at church—could have induced the writer to interfere in such
a painful and delicate affair, no name or address would be
annexed to the billet; but if the parents of the misguided
young man desired further information on a subject so vital
to his and their future happiness—vide the sermon above
mentioned—a line addressed to F. A., care of Miss Jukes,
dressmaker, Church-street, Lambeth, would meet with imme-
diate attention.
Mr. Edmonstone was as much surprised as annoyed on
receiving this intimation, especially at the hint about mar-
riage. As he had grown eminently worldly, and long since
LINNY LOCKWOOD,
61
forgotten the feelings of his own youth, he would at no period
have listened with toleration-to Vaughan's love passages with
Linny Lockwood, hut the objections to an obscure and por-
tionless bride were, from late circumstances, augmented forty-
fold; so that, when he stepped into the carriage with Miss
Arabella's epistle in his pocket, it was with a determination
to apply the most energetic remedy in his pharmacopoeia to so
inconvenient a disease. On the influence of parental authority,
or the virtue of filial obedience, he had not much reliance in
cases of this description, any more than in the inviolability of
promises given a contre coeur ; but on his son's habit of self-
indulgence, and love of spending money, he counted securely.
It must be a strong attachment, indeed, that would make
Vaughan risk the diminution of his allowance, and he planned
his attack accordingly. Of Miss Arabella Fowndes' letter
he said nothing; but he broke ground by suddenly asking
• his son, after a long silence, how he was getting on with
Miss Eardley ?
"With Cattie Eardley, sir ? said Yaughan, starting out
of a reverie ;  I get on very well with her. Why do you
ask ?
 Because I am a good deal concerned in the result, which
is perhaps of more importance than you are aware of.
 What result do you mean, sir ?
 What result P Why, the success of your suit to be sure.
 Suit, sir, said Yaughan;  I am making no suit. I never
thought of such a thing.
 Nonsense, boy! Do you think I'm blind ?
 Upon my word, sir 
 Pshaw ! Don't be a fool, Yaughan ! this is no time for
fooling, and, I assure you, instead of affecting not to know
what I mean, I wish you would press the thing on as fast as
you can, and get married. If you don't contrive to get her,
or somebody else with a good fortune pretty quickly, you'll
have to curtail your expenses in a way you wont like, I can
tell you!
 I don't understand you, sir, said Yaughan.
"No, I dare say not; but you will understand me if I stop
your allowance, and you find yourself reduced to live upon
your pay!
 No, I shall not, sir; for I can't see what I .have done to
deserve such a thing.
 That's not the question ; although, if I were to set about
62
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
it, I might perhaps allege that you have done a great deal to
deserve it. You've certainly been unjustifiably extravagant
for one thing; and I've twice had to pay your debts.
 Not to any large amount, sir; and, with regard to spend-
ing money, it is just a question of staying with the regiment
or leaving it. If I remain, I must do as other fellows do ; if
I can't, I must sell my commission ; that's all.
 Well, then, I wish you to understand clearly, that that is
an alternative you may shortly be obliged to resort to, unless
you can get hold of some woman of fortune, and marry her.
Now, Miss Eardley is an only daughter, and, besides her
father's money, she will have her uncle's, as you are well
aware; and, as she is ready to take you, I beg you'll lose no
time in clenching the business.
 I have no reason to think she's ready to take me, sir. I
never said a word to Miss Eardley that she could interpret
into a declaration, I assure you, in my life.
 Then I recommend you to say it as soon as you can.
 But where's the necessity for all this haste ? I don't un-
derstand what I have done to give rise to a conversation so
unexpected. I am not more extravagant than other fellows
of my age and standing, and really lately I have not been
spending any money at all.
 Because you had none to spend, I suppose. However, the
fact is as I tell you. I've lost a good deal of money lately,
and we must retrench somewhere.
 It's rather hard you should begin with me, I think.
 Avoid it, then, by following my advice ; and don't ima-
gine this is a vain threat, Yaughan: I am quite serious, I
assure you. Besides, a good marriage secures foolish boys
like you from making a bad one, and ruining all their pros-
pects in life for the sake of some Miss Skeggs, that you mistake
for an angel in petticoats.
This last was an injudicious speech of the banker's, and
considerably weakened the effect of what had preceded it.
Nothing could be so disagreeable to Yaughan Edmonstdfie as
the diminution of his allowance; and the idea that his father
might really mean what he said, was just beginning to pervade
him with an unpleasant sensation, when that hint about Miss
Skeggs came to his relief. He laughed, and turned off the
jest by answering, that he believed he was not a very likely
man to be caught in such a snare; whilst his apprehensions
were dispelled by the persuasion, that his father had somehow
linny lockwood.
or other got an inkling of his visits to Prospect-place, and
that this was a cunning scheme to put a stop to them—a pro-
ceeding which would have been quite in accordance with his,
Mr. Edmonstone's, character.
It was this circumstance that had reconciled him to Leonie's
removal from home, where, if she had stayed, his seeing her
might become difficult; and in the mean time he could
amuse his father by paying a little extra attention to Cattie
—attention that was only too well received, and that un-
happily served to augment an attachment as misplaced as it
was unfortunate.
CHAPTER IX.
Misfortune falls lightly on young people, for they have a
blessed reserve of hope to sustain them through it. What is
the future to them but an illimitable field of hope, wherein
they dwell, scarce conscious of the present ? And herein lies
one of the saddest differences betwixt youth and age. As years
flow over us, hope, that sweetest sauce to all pleasure, recedes,
and leaves us stranded. One of the chief ingredients in the
happiness of the young, is the dream that they will be happier
still: but there are no such dreams for the old. They know
that the present, the ever unsatisfactory present, is the best
that remains for them; that fleeting present, which hourly
deteriorates as it flies, and of all the evils which years bring
with them, that knowledge is perhaps the worst, however
some people, who have little capacity for reflection, may not
consciously suffer from it. That they do wnconsciously suffer
from it, is certain; and it is this that makes old people so
often peevish and disagreeable. Every fold in our couch ruffles
when we know.it will never be smoother. Of course, it is
only of earthly hopes I speak here. Happy are those who, as
they decline in life, can cheerfully and confidently direct their
views to a future beyond it.
So Linny Lockwood, being young, and having a lover in
whom she founded an immense stock of hope, was not to be
made unhappy by the misfortunes that plunged her parents
into despair. They had hitherto been a very happy family,
living in great love and harmony; George was an indulgent,
kind man; and his wife a contented, affectionate woman,
quite able to do the duties of her state, which were by no
means onerous; but she was not prepared for adversity: she
u
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
could not make head against it, but, like her husband, sank
into a sort of helpless despondency, sitting by her fireside,
with her hands crossed upon her knees, and measuring time
with her sighs. Linny tried to rouse her; "Papa wouIq
recover himself by and by, and get another situation. Don't
he always looking at the black side of things. Hope for the
best, dear mama.
 Ah, Linny ! that's the way young people talk. Hope,
indeed! what have we to hope ?
 A thousand things; perhaps I may marry a rich man, and
be able to make you and papa as comfortable as ever you were.
More so; for you would come and live with me, of course.
Oh innocent Leonie!
 Ah, Linny! those are mere castles in the air, I'm afraid,
answered Mrs. Lockwood, looking at her daughter with an
inquiring eye; for she thought of Yaughan Edmonstone and
his visits, and had been lately feeling some anxiety to learn
what they indicated. As long as her husband was danger-
ously ill, and before she was aware of the split, she had attri-
huted them, in some degree, to the interest entertained for
Lockwood by the Edmonstone family; but their continuance,
since G-eorge had been in a state of convalescence, had unde-
ceived her. But Leonie was under a promise to Yaughan to
keep his secret, and although she would have been glad to
share with her mother the consolation that sustained herself,
she durst not disobey him; added to which the instinctive
reliance on Jane's maternal vanity and weakness, which would
have emboldened her to impart her secret to her mother, did
not extend to her father, who, she agreed with Yaughan, would
never countenance the connexion without Mr. Edmonstone's
sanction.
Then Mrs. Lockwood was miserable at the idea of Leonie's
going from home; she had always heard that the life of a
teacher in a school was the most wretched in the world, and
as the time approached for the poor girl's departure, Jane's
eyes were never dry. Lockwood himself seemed more indif-
ferent; not that he loved his daughter less, but because he
was so broken-hearted already, that he was insensible to the
further blows of fortune. At length, however, the afternoon
came that the Battersea coach stopt at the door, and Miss
Arabella Fowndes, attracted by the sound of the wheels, had
the gratification of seeing Miss Lockwood, with her handker-
ehief in her hand, and hev veil down, handed into the vehicle
L1NNY LOCKWOOD.
G5
by Hetty, the maid. "Look, she's wiping her eyes, I'm
certain she's crying! And see, there's her trunk ; and she's
waving her handkerchief up to the window!
. "I suppose they're sending her out of the way of that
young spark that's always coming after her.
 And high time, too, observed Mrs. Fowndes; and so
thought Miss Arabella, attributing the removal complacently
to her own judicious communication to Mr. Edmonstone.
As the coach passed the house she was going to, Leonie
was set down at an iron gate, through the bars of which
appeared a heavy, square, red brick building, across which
stretched a black board, with an inscription in large white
letters, informing the world that that was Mrs. Barnard's
boarding-school. A ring at the bell brought out a severe-
looking elderly footman in a plum-coloured livery, who, without
question or comment, lifted her trunks from the ground, and
preceding her into the house, conducted her upstairs to a
room containing eight small white-curtained beds; whence,
after divesting herself of her bonnet and shawl, she descended,
in compliance with the severe-looking footman's directions,
to Mrs. Barnard's parlour, where she found the family taking
tea. There were two Mrs. Barnards: Mrs. Ann, a little,
sharp-featured woman, with a voice like a sour apple; and
Mrs. Martha, plump, pock-marked, weak, and good-humoured.
Besides these ladies, the party consisted of Miss Milly Bar-
nard, a niece of the elder ladies; Ma'm'selle Coulin, the
French teacher; and a sallow, dirty-looking man with large
yellow teeth, and a very unpleasant, dissatisfied cast of coun-
tenance, who was stooping over the fire toasting a greasy slice
of bread and butter on a fork. Miss Milly, who was a beauty
manque—that is, she ought to have been pretty, but somehow
or other had missed it—was expatiating with animation on
the gaieties of the vacation that had just expired—gaieties
which, being few and rare, were appreciated accordingly ; and
the pleasures of which were much heightened by the persua-
sion she entertained of her own successes in society.
"I'm sure, she said, "if he asked me to dance once, he
asked me six or seven times that night; but I was always
engaged; and at last I really thought there would have been
a quarrel between him and Mr. Davies about who was to
have me. Whereupon the gentleman with the bread and
butter sniggered, and Mrs. Ann remarked, that Milly always
. fancied gentlemen were going to quarrel about her.
E
66
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 It's fortunate that her apprehensions are never realized,
sarcastically observed the gentleman, who was introduced to
Linny as the Rev. Mr. V/hitelaw.
The conversation next turned upon the business of the half-
year, the pupils that were expected, and the duties of the
teachers, the Frenchwoman being admonished on several
points of discipline,till the servants were summoned toprayers;
after which, to their great relief, Ma'm'selle Coulin and Leonie
were at liberty to retire to the room they were that night to
inhabit in common. As Mrs. Ann rose from her knees she
called out to Daniel to bring up the hot water and Hollands;
and, whilst the party enjoyed their potations below, Ma'm'selle
Coulin gave vent to her feelings above.
 Ah Dieu! Quels gens! Quelle vie! she exclaimed, as she
dropped into a chair.
 Are you so uncomfortable here ? inquired Leonie.
 Je crois bien que je suis uncomfortable! she said;  mon
Dieu! si ce n'etait pas pour la honte—if it was not for the
shame, I'd rather sweep the streets.
 But I think Mrs. Martha seems an amiable person, said
Leonie.
 Oui, c'est une bonne femme celle-la; mais l'autre c'est
. une gu6pe qui vous pique a tout propos.
 And the niece whom they call Miss Milly ?
 Sotte, vaniteuse, fausse.
 And Mr. Whitelaw ?
 L'homme le plus detestable qui fut jamais.
 And does he live here always ?
 Toujours, tant pis! He is their nephew, and he teaches the
writing, and the arithmetic, and the English language. Mais
Dieu! Quel homme! How he is greedy ! How he is mechant!
"But I thought he was a clergyman! said Leonie.
 Oui, cure ; qui se croit digne d'etre eveque, et ce sont de
jeremiades eternels sur ce sujet-la. Enfin, c'est l'enfer meme!
 I suppose you arrived here to-night ? said Linny, desirous
of turning the conversation into a less painful channel.
"Comment arrive! said the Frenchwoman. "I do not
arrive; I live here always for four years!
 Always! what, in the vacation, too ?
 Mais oui, toujours!
 That must be very disagreeable when you dislike them so
much.
 Desagreable! je crois bien que c'est dSsagreable! mais que
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
m
Voulez-vous! and Ma'm'selle Coulin shrugged her shoulders
expressively; whilst Leonie congratulated herself that she was
not so badly off as that.
 During the vacation, said the former,  I have all the
house linen, and blankets, and bed-covers, and curtains to
mend and turn ; to repair the mattresses and everything in
the house, and help to get them all cleaned, et mille autres
choses; and I have scarcely finished when the demoiselles
come back again, et c'est a recommencer.
 And do you teach anything besides French ?
 Dieu ! n'est-ce pas assez ? Figurez vous ! soixante enfans
qui n'ont pas l'idee de prononcer un mot. Sixty themes to
look over, Fun plus bete que l'autre!
The secret of all this was, that poor Ma'm'selle Coulin was
an apprentice.
On the following day the young people began to make their
appearance; some arriving by the coach, many in what were
then called one-horse chaises, and a few in post-chaises or
chariots; and it was to be observed that those who came in
the humblest vehicles had generally the saddest faces, a par-
ticularity that Linny could not at first account for, though
time and observation explained it. It was really a melan-
choly spectacle to see one tearful face after another make its
appearance at the school-room door when the parents had
driven away, and the iron gate had closed upon the last link
of the holidays. As they arrived, they were called upon to
retire into a small closet, which was used as a lavatory, and
there the holiday white frock was exchanged for the school
print or gingham, under the superintendence of Ma'm'selle
Coulin, whom, following the example of their superiors, they
treated with impertinence and contempt. Besides, the poor
Frenchwoman 'was exceedingly plain, and children like beauty.
They were, accordingly, much more favourably disposed to-
wards Leonie from the beginning. On being told she was
the new teacher, one or two of the younger ones, after look-
ing in her face, sidled up to her, and a little girl about eight
years old, who had brought a large plum-cake which she was
to have the glory of distributing amongst her schoolfellows,
could somehow never get past the spot where L6onie was
sitting ; one slice after another being, in spite of her protes-
tations, dropped into her lap.
 Why do you give all your cake to me, my dear ? You
know I can't eat so much !
£ 2
68
LIXNY tOCKWOOD.
"Because you're pretty, answered the child: and Miss
Milly wondered how it was that her beauty, which the pro-
vincial beaux had been admiring so much, had never won her
a single extra slice of cake in her life.
On the first day no business was done, and they sat in
corners, or walked about the room with linked arms, narrating
the events that had occurred since they last parted; the con-
versation of the elder ones generally having reference to some
irresistible partner, who was destined to be their hero of the
next four months. On the following morning, the pupils
being nearly all arrived, the regular routine was resumed;
and L6onie found herself seated on a high stool at one end of
the room, hearing lessons in grammar, history, and geography,
and inspecting needlework.
 When they are not perfect you'll turn them back, and
give them a double lesson, Miss Lockwood; and, if they are
imperfect again, you'll send them up to me, said Mrs. Ann
Barnard. But Leonie was extremely merciful; and, having a
lively idea of how unpleasant a thing it must be to be sent
up to Mrs. Ann Barnard, she had not the heart to do it.
Ma'm'selle Coulin's pupils were, on the contrary, for ever
going up, because she could not manage them. They would
not learn their lessons, and when she reproved them they
were impertinent, so that she lived in a perpetual state
militant.
 You have no method ! You don't know how to teach,
Ma'm'selle! You don't make the young people mind you 1
Mrs. Ann Barnard was continually saying.
 Mon Dieu, Ma'm'selle Lockwood ! How shall they mind
me, when I am treated no more than a servant ?
On the third day, in the midst of their studies, a hand-
some carriage stopped at the gate, and soon afterwards a
notification for white frocks was suddenly sent up to the
school-room, whereupon, in the midst of a general scramble,
their dresses were all changed; the coloured ones were
bundled into the lavatory; and presently, a tall haughty-
looking woman, accompanied by two plain, meanly-dressed
children, were ushered into the room by Mrs. Ann Barnard
and the Rev. Mr. Whitelaw; and straightway the whisper
went round, that this was Mrs. Pollard, the bishop of B.'s
lady and his lordship's nieces, who were to be placed under
Mrs. Barnard's care. The young people looked upon the
cortege with indifference; but the royal children themselves
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
69
could not have created a greater sensation in the breasts of
Mrs. Ann and her nephew. They actually seemed ready to
fall down and lick the dust from Mrs. Pollard's feet; and
from that moment these two Misses Pollard, ordinary, stupid
children, born of exceedingly poor parents, and educated at
the expense of their uncle, became the idols of Mrs. Ann and
the curate. Even Mrs. Martha was a little thrown off her
equilibrium, and was occasionally heard reminding the young
ladies who neglected to mend their stockings,  that the
bishop of B.'s nieces mended theirs. The best buttered
slices of bread were given them at breakfast, and the nicest
bits at dinner by Mrs. Ann, who presided; and near whom
places were immediately vacated for them by the Misses
Danby, whose father was supposed to have some influence in
the disposal of a certain vicarage. These young ladies had
for some time held the place of honour, from which they were
now deposed. They, however, had the satisfaction of sitting
next the Misses Pollard; whilst the two Misses Thorn, who
always sat at the bottom of the table (they were in the habit
of arriving in a one-horse chay, and their father kept a shop),
were pushed out altogether, and removed to a side-table, to
make space for the new-comers. No harsh word was spoken
to the Misses Pollard; their lessons were made easy; their
faults overlooked; Mrs. Ann never lost an opportunity of
speaking with unction of the bishop; and the Rev. Mr.
Whitelavv smiled dreadful smiles whenever they came in his
way; casting sheep's eyes at them, as if they carried fat
livings under their pinafores.
 Voyez la bassesse! said Coulin, who disliked them all
alike, whether their relations were bishops or barbers; whilst
there was not a child in the school who did not understand
the manege of the chiefs perfectly. It is quite wonderful at
what an early age children are able to penetrate into the
motives of their elders, and how soon they learn to despise
them when they deserve it. Many a despotic teacher little
dreams, when reproving a pupil, how justly his own character
and motives are appreciated, and what a full measure of con-
tempt he inspires.
Entirely governed by favouritism, the arrival of these two
Pollards augmented tenfold the injustice and partialities of
Mrs. Ann and her nephew. Adieu now to any hopes of a
medal, gold or silver! At all times these had been awarded
to the most indifferent exercises, or the worst copies, if
70 LINN-Y LOCKWOUU.
brought up by a pupil whose condition in. life was exalted
ahove the others, especially if there happened to exist the most
remote connexion with a dignitary of the church; but now
these dull children absorbed all honours and rewards. Miss
Milly did not care for them herself, for she had nothing to
expect or hope from the bishop ; whilst she was quite indif-
ferent to the interests of her reverend cousin, whom she de-
tested, because the natural malignity of his disposition led
him, on all occasions that offered, to snub her vanity; but
she was a dependent, and followed the example of her supe-
riors, an example which Coulin also so far followed, that she
forbore to complain of these children when they did not know
their lessons, and never gave them double ones—an indul-
gence the more readily extended, that their stupidity rendered
them inoffensive. By all this favouritism Linny was wholly
uninfluenced; but still she had Tier favourite, too, though
the preference sprung from a vary different foundation. On
the first day of the session there had arrived a little girl
called Alice Mearns. She was in deep mourning, and came
b}1- the coach, without any friend to attend her; and when
she entered the school-room, though there was no immediate
burst of sorrow, Leonie observed that her eyes were swollen
and red, and her cheeks wan with weeping. They looked as
if the colour had been washed out of them by many tears.
Her figure was slender, and her features, without positive
beauty, were delicate and refined, with large pale ash-grey
eyes, and lightish-brown hair. She had no associate, for it
was her first half-year, and she sat the whole of the afternoon
in a corner by herself, with a book in her hand, of which,
however, she was not seen to turn a leaf. The other girls
eyed her with curiosity, as they walked arm-in-arm about
the room, but not with sympathy. Children, indeed, have
little sympathy for each other; and are generally more like
savage animals, whose instincts impel them to combine
against the unfortunate members of their own community.
"Poor child! thought Leonie; "there is sorrow in that
young heart already, and she crossed over and sat down be-
side her.
 It is dull for you to sit here alone, she said;  but you
have had no time to make acquaintance yet. Have you ever
been at school before ?
 Ho, answered the child, without raising her eyes from
her book.
L1NNY LOCKWOOD.
71
"I have never been from home before either, and it is not
pleasant, at first, to find oneself amongst so many strangers.
One feels as if one could never get acquainted. I dare say
that is what you feel, is it not ? A slight blush suffused
the wan cheek, and the little girl half raised her eyes as she
said,  Yes, ma'am.
 I have no doubt that all those we see chatting together
so freely, felt the same on their first arrival; so we must hope
to get over it, like them. But Alice's lip quivered, for she
thought she should never get over it.
 What book are you reading ? asked Leonie, taking the
volume into her own hand.
 Harry and lucy.
 How neatly it's bound! You must take care and not
spoil this pretty binding. If I were you, I'd put a paper
cover over it. Shall I do it for you ?
 If you please, said the child.
On the title-page was inscribed, in a graceful female hand,
"To Alice Mearns, from her affectionate Mama, and Leonie
wondered, but was afraid to ask, if the black bombazeen frock
was worn for "hat fond mama.
 And is it i pretty book ? Have you read it ?
 Noanc the eyes which had not yet been quite raised
to Leonie's fa;e, fell again.
 Perhaps jou haven't had it long enough to read it yet ?
Alice was slent, but there was a quiver of the lip that told
the tale; themother had given the book, and died.
Leonie laid her hand upon the child's, and pressed it ten-
deriy, and sie saw that Alice could scarcely restrain her
tears; but thit she was ashamed to indulge them before so
many stranges. Prom that time, the little mourner was her
favourite, anc she endeavoured as far as she could to cheer
and sustain kr; and Alice became passionately attached to
her in return Indeed, from the moment she had raised her
large grey e;es to Leonie's face, which was not, however,
during their irst dialogue, the child's heart was won. What-
ever she hadto learn for Leonie's class was learned eagerly ;
and the littli hand often trembled with emotion and anxiety
to please, wien Leonie's fingers guided her through the
crotchets an. quavers at the music lesson. But Alice was
not equally uccessful with all her teachers ; and, above any,
she failed wih Mrs. Ann Barnard, whom she both feared and
detested. Tie lessons she said well to Leonie, she could not
7.2 LIN NY LOCKWOOD.
afterwards repeat to Mrs. Ann, when called upon; and, more
than once, Alice had the intense pain of hearing her beloved
teacher reproved for her own had memory. Mrs. Ann re-
quested Miss Lockwood would he more particular with Miss
Mearns, and not let her come up so unprepared; and Mrs.
Ann's requests were not delivered in the pleasantest tone in
the world. On these occasions, Alice's grief was so great,
that for several hours she could not recover the shock, nor,
impeded hy her sobs and tears, apply again to her studies;
and thus she got into more trouble. In short, she was hy
nature an over-sensitive child, and was placedamongst people
who, with the exception of L6onie, made no allowance for
peculiarities of character or unequal endowments. Of course,
Leonie never reproached her with these failures, for she com-
prehended the source of them, and knew that reproof would
only aggravate the misfortune—a forbearance that endeared
her still more to the grateful, loving heart she had to deal
with; so that, by the time they had strugglec on through
all the petty calamities and vicissitudes of ihe half-year,
Alice's devotion to this one friend she had fouid in the wil-
derness, had warmed into enthusiasm^
CHAPTER X.
 Who is that note from ? said Mr. Edmonstoie to his wife
one day, referring to a modicum of pink paper tiat the foot-
man had just presented to her.
 From Mrs. Eardley—regret they're engagei. It's very
odd! This is the third time we've asked them b dinner, and
I'm sure the notice is long enough. I shall certainly not
dine there again till they've been here. I don'i understand
such airs! •
 When did you see Miss Eardley? inquiredMr. Edmon-
stone of Vaughan, who was sipping his glass of daret.
 This morning, returned the young man.
 Was the mother at home ?"— No ; she waiout.
No more was said at the moment, and shortl afterwards
Mrs. Edmonstone left the table. There was, ndeed, little
inducement to remain at it longer than the eat in' part of the
ceremony required; for of late Mr. Edmonstone sedom opened
his lips to speak, but sat eating his dinner and rinking his
wine like an automaton that had been wound unto perform
those operations; appearing to be no more conscpus of what
LINSY LOCKWOOD.
73
he was doing than such a machine would be; nor did he
generally seem mpre conscious of his wife's presence than of
his own actions. His eye looked out upon vacancy, and when
she spoke to him he as often as not appeared deaf to what
she said. This abnormal state, which had scarcely been per-
ceptible at first, had gradually augmented till it drew the
attention of everybody, and occasioned his wife considerable
uneasiness; and whilst their friends and acquaintance made
their own comments on the subject, she tried to discover the
cause of the change, and administer a cure. She asked her
husband,  If he were ill, or if anything had happened to
annoy himand, when she found it impossible to obtain
any satisfaction, she privately consulted Dr. Winterson, who
described the disease as a well-known form of indigestion con-
nected with torpidity of the liver, aud prescribed Hydrar-
(jyrum cum cretd.
When she presented the dose, however, nicely gilt and
ready to swallow, Mr. Edmonstone went into a violent passion,
called her a fool, and Dr. Winterson an ass ; and forbade her
to interfere with what concerned him. When he wanted a
physician, he would send for one himself. After which,
though no less puzzled and observant, Mrs. Edmonstone kept
her observations to herself for some time, till one day that her
husband dined out, and she and Vaughan were sitting over
their dessert alone, she asked the young man if he did not
think his father was looking very ill, and if he did not remark
a great change in him.
Vaughan, who thought all elderly people, especially fathers,
more or less disagreeable, replied that the governor certainly
appeared to be in a devilish bad temper; but Mrs. Edmon-
stone objected that he used not to be habitually bad-tempered,
and that she was certain there must be some cause for it,
bodily or mental. She wondered whether there could be any-
thing wrong at the bank!
Quickened by this suggestion, and coupling it with what
his father had said to him regarding Miss Eardley, Vaughan
began to suspect there might really be some foundation for
the hint about his allowance, which he had thought only a
ruse; and, habituated to all the indulgences and luxuries of
fashionable life, such a suspicion fell over him like a pail of
cold water. Well he knew that he was never made for poverty,
nor poverty for him; and that, if they came together, the
consequences of the union would be fatal. Whereupon he set
74
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
to watching his father more closely, and growing frightened
at what he saw, he began to turn his thoughts towards Cattie
Eardley, to whom he had for some time been paying a great
deal of ostentatious attention, with the view of satisfying the
governor, without ever saying a word to her in private that
could commit himself; for, strange as it may seem, he was
really in love with Miss Lockwood, and, had he been a rich
man, would have taken her, not only in preference to Cattie
Eardley, but to the greatest heiress in England. But, much
as he loved her, there was one person in the world he loved
better still, and that was Yaughan Edmonstone; and although
to obtain possession of her, he was ready to sacrifice every-
body else's feelings and interests, he could not think of sacri-
ficing his own. It was very unpleasant, indeed, to relinquish
the woman he preferred to all others, but it was more painful
to encounter poverty and the loss of caste, that poverty
without exalted birth entails; so, with considerable regret
and unwillingness, he began making love to Cattie Eardley
in right earnest, and slackened his correspondence with poor
Beonie, who, being at the school, he could not have visited
had he wished it.
On the day with .which this chapter opens, when Mrs.
Edmonstone had left the room, a pretty long silence ensued,
although not only were the minds of both gentlemen occupied
with very much the same subject, but each was pretty well
aware of what the other was thinking of; for by this time,
although there had been no absolute explanation betwixt
them, there existed a tacit understanding. Yaughan compre-
hended that for some reason or other, the fortunes of his
house were tottering; and Mr. Edmonstone knew that his
son was courting Miss Eardley under the influence of that
unpleasant conviction. At length Mr. Edmonstone, lifting
his glass of claret to the light, and contracting his brows as he
gazed at the bright purple it reflected, said, without looking
towards his son, "So you saw Miss Eardley this morning?
 Yes ! answered Vaughan, starting from his reverie;  I
was with her for an hour, or more.
"And do you never see the mother ?
 Never now. I always call when she's out. We've agreed
on a signal by which I know whether to knock at the door or
not. But the fact of the matter is, sir, that it appears to me I
am only getting myself into a scrape. As long as I thought
Mr. and Mrs. Eardley would have no objection to the match,
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
75
it was all very well; but I don't care a d—n for Cattie Eardley,
and it will be deuced hard if I'm to marry a Woman I've no
fancy for, and she's to be disinherited after all.
 If you hadn't been such a cursed trifler you might have
secured her long ago,-and been married by this time.
 I did not want to marry Miss Eardley, sir; and I had no
idea there was any reason why I should. I'm making my
suit to her now in obedience to your commands; not from my
own inclination, I assure you.
 I don't believe her uncle will leave his fortune away from
her, whoever she marries; besides, you used to be a great
favourite of his.
 She's an only daughter, observed Yaughan;  and,
although the father and mother might be very angry at first,
I should hardly think they'd hold out.
Mr. Edmonstone inclined to the same opinion, and he be-
lieved that the connexion once formed, might prove of the
greatest advantage to himself, as well as to his son; for not
only was he persuaded that Mr. Eardley, after a certain pe-
riod of resentment, would forgive and reinstate his daughter,
but he also thought that Mr. Eardley would be desirous of
sustaining rather than depressing a family of which this much-
loved child had become a member; and that thus the crash
of impending ruin that every symptom betokened, and none
more than Mr. Eardley's growing alienation and distrust,
might be finally averted.
Instigated by these motives, as well as by that paternal
pride and fondness that caused him to feel infinite pain at the
thought of his handsome, elegant Yaughan being cast upon
the world a penniless fine gentleman, he covertly gave the
young man every encouragement to prosecute his suit, and
even so far to take advantage of Miss Eardley's avowed love
for him, as to make a runaway match of it.
In the meantime, poor Linny Lockwood was pining at
Mrs. Barnard's boarding-school for the visits she could no
longer enjoy, and for the letters that did not arrive. Had
Yaughan loved her less, he would probably have had as little
remorse in deceiving her as he had in deceiving Cattie—not,
however, that he felt none in this latter instance: to do him
justice, he would much rather have been excused the task;
but inexorable fate, in the shape of an impending empty purse,
compelled him to act as he was doing; with respect to Leonie
it was different. He pitied her, and he pitied himself; and
76
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
whilst he was unwilling to inflict so much anguish as he knew
the truth would carry with it, he had not the heart to write
her falsehoods, and keep alive hopes that were never to be
fulfilled. But many a time, when he mounted his favourite
black mare in Cavendish-square, after his daily visits at Mr.
Eardley's, he turned her head in the direction of Battersea-
bridge; and Linny little thought, as she sat on her high
stool near the window, listening to dull repetitions, that it
Was Proserpine's foot she heard outside.
When the holidays came round, she returned to her father
and mother, who h^d now removed to a much less cheerful
home than she had left them in ; and with her, to the inex-
pressible delight of the girl herself, went Alice Mearns, it not
being convenient to her own friends to receive her. An inti-
mation to that effect had been made to Mrs. Barnard when
first the girl joined her establishment, and no objection was
offered to her remaining during the vacation; but when it
came to be understood, at a later period, that the Misses
Pollard were also to remain, certain qualms had arisen con-
cerning the gentility of Alice's connexions; and Mrs. Ann
and the Rev. Whitelaw, as Coulin called him, were of opinion
that since the bishop would be extremely particular regarding
the intimacies formed by his nieces, it was not desirable to
retain Miss Mearns.
Alice, who hated both Mrs. Ann and her nephew, was
delighted to hear it, and, after a little negotiation, it was
agreed that she should spend the holidays with Miss Lock-
wood; the small stipend for her maintenance not being un-
acceptable to the family in their present reduced circum-
stances. And very glad Leonie was of the child's company,
for hers was a dull home now; her father was broken in
spirits and in health, and her mother, whom no prosperity
would have spoiled, had fallen into a state of indolent depres-
sion, that aggravated the discomforts of their narrow means.
In short, had Leonie been aware of the sort of menage she was
going to introduce Alice to, she would never have acceded to
the plan; but fortunately the grievance was one that never
reached the guest, it being all the same to her, so that she
enjoyed L6onie's society, whether the table-cloth was clean 01
dirty, or whether, when the dinner was placed upon it, there
was anything fit to eat or not. Leonie, however, tried to
bring things into better order, and with some success, whilst
she was present to superintend them; but there was poverty
LINNt LOCKWOOD.
•«EO contend with, and, what was worse, no glimmer of better
fortune in the horizon. Lockwood and his wife were living
sat present on the small savings he had made, and on some
anonymous assistance they had received; assistance which
they both referred to Mr. Edmonstone, and for which Mrs.
Lockwood expressed great gratitude; but which George
would have refused to accept, had not his poverty and his
want of energy, together with his wife's influence, overcome
his repugnance.
v But where was Yaughan Edmonstone? That was a question
that Linny asked herself daily, for he neither wrote nor came;
and, unsustained by the joy that had lighted her path so long,
she had great difficulty in maintaining a semblance of cheer-
fulness.
r Yaughan, in the meanwhile, was making forced love to
Cattie Eardley; and the young lady, having ascertained
beyond all doubt that her parents would not consent to the
match, they were planning a trip to Gretna Green, the im-
mediate execution of which, Mr. Edmonstone, senior, pro-
moted; not perhaps avowedly, but by various indirect influ-
ences which he knew how to use.
Mr. Eardley and his family were now residing at a country
bouse of his called Mayfield, where they usually spent a con-
siderable portion of the year; and from this place Cattie
thought it would not be very difficult for her to escape by
night, her bed-chamber being easily accessible by a ladder,
.and her father frequently absent in London. Accordingly,
arrangements were made for a moonlight flitting, on a certain
Wednesday night, that being the day of the week on which
Mr. Eardley always went to London, whence he seldom
returned till Friday or Saturday. The young people thus
reckoned on gaining a good start, and getting the knot
securely tied before they could be overtaken, for there were
no angry brothers to ride after him; Mrs. Eardley would be
too much amazed and confused to organize a pursuit, and,
tefore a message could reach the father, the fugitives would
be far on their way;  and then we shall come back, said
Cattie,  and make our reverences, and beg pardon, like good
children.
"And be forgiven ? said Vaughan.
"Perhaps not just at first, Cattie said; ^ but very soon,
she was sure. She was an only child, and had always been
the darling of her parents; - and that they could long hold out
78
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
against her, she thought impossible; more especially as,
according to her view of the case, the elopement was forced
upon her by their unreasonable refusal to let her marry the
man she loved—a man with whom she had been intimately
associating for several years, and against whose attentions
her father had not warned her till it was too late. That
Vaughan's love for her was feigned, she never suspected.
Perhaps he was not so tender a lover as she would have liked
him to be; perhaps he did not love her with the same devo-
tion that she loved him; but it might not consist with his
character to do so; and doubtless, if he did not love her as
passionately as would have satisfied her young dreams, lie
loved her better than he loved any other woman in the world.
It is also to be observed, that a certain degree of coolness,
that leaves the heart unsatisfied and anxious, is fully as likely
to dispose a woman to commit a folly as the most enthusiastic
courtship ; and the pretty, spoilt young heiress, afraid of losing
her lover altogether if she did not secure him whilst he was
willing, consented to the scheme, and promised to be ready at
the appointed time.
Running away with the man of one's heart, in perspective,
i3 a lively, exciting sort of affair; but the actual execution of
it is a very nervous one. A thousand regrets and misgivings
are apt to present themselves at last, that were not felt earlier,
because the mind of the fugitive is fixed exclusively on what
she hopes to win; but when that which she so much desires
appears actually within her grasp, the value of what she is
about to lose rises in the balance, in a manner quite unfore-
seen. Cattie Eardley's home had been a very happy one;
and, except in this one point of the marriage with Yaughan,
she had always found her parents complying and indulgent.
She knew they loved her tenderly, and fond memories of the
past shot every now and then like arrows through her breast,
as the time drew nigh that she was to abandon their roof,
and commit an act that would occasion them extreme afflic-
tion; and perhaps—for, although she hoped the contrary, she
could not be certain of the result—perhaps alienate them from
her for ever. Engrossed with these thoughts and feelings,
she grew visibly depressed and absent. Her usual pursuits
were abandoned; she would sit silent for hours if no one
spoke to her; and when they did, she started, and answered
like one awakening from a dream. As there was 110 company
in the house to withdraw her from the observation of her
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
79
parents, this change in a girl who was naturally very lively
aroused their attention, and led to some inquiries, which
resulted in the discovery, that their daughter was maintaining
a secret correspondence with Yaughan Edmonstone. Cattie
had made no confidant; but the ladies' maid had watched the
whole progress of the love affair with intense interest, inso-
much that there was scarcely a letter passed between the
young couple that she did not get a peep into ; and, although
she was not in full possession of the plan formed for the elope-
ment, she was perfectly aware that a private marriage was to
come off shortly, in some way or another; and so she told
Mrs. Eardley.
 It was no business of hers, she said,  to interfere, unless
she was spoken tobut the moment she was interrogated,
she poured out her whole stock of information with delighted
volubility. It is so agreeable to have something to tell, that
throws your auditor into an agony of distress and amazement !
Angry and agitated, Mrs. Eardley rushed into her husband's
library, to communicate the sad intelligence. Cattie was
carrying on a clandestine intercourse with Yaughan! Cattie
was deceiving them! Cattie was going to elope! Mr. Eardley
flew into a towering passion, and swore she should be imme-
diately locked up, and fed upon bread and water till she came
to her senses ; and, had he had his way, Cattie Eardley would
assuredly have never been Lady Glenlyon; but the flame of
the father's wrath extinguished that of the mother—she grew
frightened at the storm she had raised; and, after some argu-
ment, succeeded in convincing him that there was no way so
certain to make a woman run away as locking her up.
 Let me speak to her! she said.  I think if I could get
a promise from her to relinquish all intercourse for a year, till
she has had time to reflect, and see more of the world, we
may manage to break off the connexion altogether.
Cattie was in her own room, packing up a few jewels and
other little matters that she meant to take with her, when
her mother entered in tears, and crying,  Oh, Cattie ! Cattie!
do you mean to break our hearts ? threw herself into the
girl's arms. She aeted upon impulse; but had she studied to
produce the effect she desired, she could not have hit upon
anything better. Such a mode of attack dispensed with all
question; it took everything for granted, and precluded
defence. Cattie burst into tears, and wept a silent confession
on her mother's neck; and then Mrs, Eardley, pursuing her
80
LIN NY LOCKWOOD.
advantage, proceeded to expatiate, not on the misery she
would bring upon herself by a marriage with Vaughan—for
that, of course, she would not have believed, nor was there
any precise reason why she should, Mr. Eardley's motives for
forbidding the connexion being such as he had not thought it
safe or prudent to communicate to his daughter. All she
knew was, that the partners were no longer on friendly terms,
and that the Edmonstones and Eardleys had ceased to visit.
Abuse of Vaughan, therefore, which would have appeared to
her founded only on prejudice, could have availed little ; but
the mother had recourse to a more persuasive argument:—
she pleaded for herself and her husband; urged their affection,
painted their distress; and, instead of demanding an uncon-
ditional surrender, she asked only for twelve months' sub-
mission.
 If, at the end of that period, your mind is unchanged,
I'll then try what I can do with your father; so Cattie
yielded, and Mrs. Eardley engaged that there should be no
reproaches, nor any distrust or supervision, to make her un-
comfortable.
There can be no doubt that Mrs. Eardley left her daughter
much happier than she had found her. Cattie felt a great
weight taken off her spirits and her conscience, She should
not see Vaughan for a year—but what was a year? How
soon it would slip by ! and at the end of it, instead of being
obliged to elope to Gretna Green, she should marry Vaughan
with her parents' consent, and drive away with her four
horses, and her trousseau, and her jewels, and all those appur-
tenances that make matrimony so agreeable.
There was one thing, however, that it became necessary to
do immediately, and that was to write to her lover and com-
municate to him the unexpected aspect affairs had assumed;
for this denouement had occurred on the Monday afternoon,
and in thirty-six hours more they had expected to be gallop-
ing along the north road, at the rate of fourteen miles an
hour. So she locked her door, and occupied herself till the
gong sounded for dressing, in inditing a long and explanatory
letter.
"Be assured, she said, "dearest Vaughan, I shall not
change if you do not; and, therefore, this arrangement is only
deferring our marriage for a few months, and then under how
much happier auspices it will take place ! Shall I confess the
truth to you ? Dearly as I love you—and yon cannot doubt my
LINN.Y LOCKWOOD.
31
love after what I had consented to do—hut, dearly as I love
y<Ju, I anticipated Wednesday morning with dread. I recoiled
from leaving my father's roof clandestinely. Think what a
horrid thing it would have been, to read in the papers how
you had brought a ladder, and how I had got out of the window,
and how we had been pursued! &c. &c.; and suppose we
had been overtaken, how ridiculous we should have looked!
No, dear Vaughan, it is a thousand times better as it is,
believe me ; and if you do not think so in the first moment
of disappointment, rely on it you soon will"—and then fol-
lowed vows of unchanging affection, and injunctions that he
should love her as she loved him, but make no attempt to
interfere with the engagement she had entered into; and,
this letter despatched, she descended to dinner, shrinking a
little from her father's eye, but altogether with a lighter
heart than she had had for some days.
. No allusion was made to what had passed; and Mr.
Eardley, whose passion had evaporated, had the judgment
not only to abstain from reproof, but he contrived to touch
her heart by an unusual degree of kindness. He poured
some wine into her glass and into his own, and, laying his
hand affectionately on hers, drank to her health; and when she
and her mother rose to leave the room, he drew her towards
him as she passed his chair, and tenderly kissed her cheek.
. Scenesof this description never take place in a house un-
observed by the servants. They may not always draw cor-
rect conclusions from what they see; but, as there is no class
of people endowed with a greater share of curiosity, they in-
variably know a great deal more about our family matters
than we suppose. Accordingly, the whole establishment at
Mayfield were not only well aware that Miss Eardley was
carrying on a clandestine acquaintance with young Edmon-
stone, but they also knew that, on this particular day, there
had been what is called a blow-up, and that their master had
taken measures to cut the connexion. When, therefore, Miss
Eardley said to the footman, as she handed him her letter,
 Put that in your pocket, James, and be sure and take it to
the post this evening! James obeyed the first part of the
injunction with alacrity, but with regard to the second he
had some hesitation. He had taken many a one bearing the
same address to the post before, having no orders to the con-
trary; but it occurred to him that, in the present position of
affairs, it might do himself a service if, instead of doing as
82
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
his young mistress desired, he carried the letter to his master;
so after consulting Mrs. Dycer, the ladies'-maid, who offered
to do it for him—a favour which he declined—he ascended
to the dining-room with the missive in his hand, requesting
to know if Mr. Eardley had any message to the post-office,
as he was going there with a letter for Miss Eardley; and
he held forth the paper as if to invite inspection.
"A letter for my daughter ?"— Yes, sir, said James.
"When did she give it you?"— Just before dinner, sir.
 You may leave it here; I'll put it in the post myself.
And James descended complacently to the servants' hall,
very well satisfied with the issue.
CHAPTER XI.
Ok the following Tuesday night, or rather on Wednesday
morning, for it was considerably past midnight, and when all
the family had been some time in bed, Cattie Eardley was
awakened out of a sound sleep by a stone being thrown at her
window. When she heard the smash, she at first thought the
house was attacked by burglars, and she sjbarted up, preparing
for a dart out of the room ; but when, after a few minutes,
nothing more followed, she concluded that the stone-thrower
was Yaughan, and that he wanted to speak to her. She was
very unwilling to infringe on her promise by complying with
his wishes, but, on the other hand, if she did not, he might
remain there till he was remarked ; so she jumped out of bed,
and, softly lifting the window, she put out her head and said,
 Is that you, Yaughan ? But there was no answer,
although she fancied she heard a man's foot not far off.
After waiting and listening awhile, she closed the sash and
returned to her bed, somewhat perplexed at the event.
When Dycer came to her in the morning, the draught of
air soon betrayed what had happened, and, on expressing her
alarm lest Miss Eardley should catch cold, Miss E. related
what had occurred.  It must be some mischievous people
from the village, Dycer said; "very likely the boys that
had been threatened with jail for stealing the wall-fruit.
The young lady desired that the glazier should be sent for,
and the glass mended.
At breakfast Mr. Eardley mentioned to his daughter that
he had just passed her window, and remarked that it was
broken; whereupon Cattie told the story of the stone with
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
83
some confusion, apprehensive that her parents might put an
ill construction upon the circumstance; she added, that
Dycer thought it was done by the hoys that had robbed the
garden. Mr. Eardley said he should not wonder if it were,
and, as he was not going to town that day, he should inquire
into it.
When Miss Eardley went to dress, she was displeased to
find the window was not mended, and inquired if the glazier
had been sent for.
 I desired the groom to go for him, ma'am, returned the
maid;  hut master said he was going down to the village
himself, and would send him.
The evening was cool and windy, and, feeling the draught,
Miss Eardley dressed in her mama's room. At dinner she
inquired why the glazier had not been; and then it appeared
Mr. Eardley had forgotten all about the matter. He was
Very sorry, but it was too late to send for the man now, and
Mrs. "Eardley desired that another room might be prepared
for her daughter that night. Cattie smiled to think what a
curious contretems this would have been, had the elopement
not been given up.
Whilst such was the state of affairs at Mayfield, Vaughan
Edmonstone was extremely busy in London, preparing for the
flight to Gretna Green. No notice had reached him of what
had occurred, and considering that, being in for the thing, it
was best to go through with if thoroughly, he had spared no
pains to avoid failure. Relays of horses were ordered to be
ready at appointed hours for the first hundred and fifty miles;
and. in due time he started from London with an ingeniously
constructed ladder strapped on to the carriage, and a confi-
dential valet inside of it. Perfectly well acquainted with the
house and grounds, he anticipated no difficulty. The carriage
was left at a little distance from the gate, and, accompanied
by the servant, they surmounted the wall that surrounded
the enclosure, and proceeded to the side of the house where
Miss Eardley usually slept. A light gleamed brightly from
her window, which was open; she was evidently ready, and
expecting him; and, bidding the man be sure to hold the
ladder steady when he brought the lady down, he ascended
and jumped into the room, which he had no sooner done than
the light was extinguished, and he found himself seized by
what appeared to be a legion of devils, who belaboured him
with sticks till his body felt as if it was beaten into a
*2
84
LINNY IOCKWOOD.
jelly. When his assailants had taken their revenge, they
suddenly retired, locking the door after them, and leaving
him to make his escape as he pleased.
Of course the attack was attributed to Mr. Eardley, who
indeed had no objection to take the credit of his own scheme;
for it is needless to say that the stone was thrown by himself,
in order to have an excuse for removing his daughter to
another room. Yaughan sent him challenge after challenge;
but Mr. Eardley only laughed at them, and the proud yotmg
guardsman had no alternative but to swallow the indignity.
Erom Kate the adventure was carefully concealed; her
mother took her to Paris, where they stayed some months .*
and, to prevent mischief, an adroit system of surveillance, re-
garding her correspondence, was for some time maintained,
lest Yaughan should write to her. However, he did not, nor
had he the slightest desire to do so; not that he suspected
her of having any part in the insult he had suffered, but he
never loved her, and now he hated her as the cause, however
involuntary, of the disgrace and ridicule that had fallen upon
him. He had been dragged into the whole thing against his
will (so he now considered), by her unsought attachment on
the one hand, and his father's advice on the other; and he
was furious at having incurred all this annoyance for the sake
of a woman he cared nothing about, and having lost the game
into the bargain : that is to say, lost the money he had played
for. And this, unfortunately, proved but the first act of the
tragedy. Mr. Eardley, who had been hitherto restrained, by
certain considerations, from laying before otber parties con-
cerned in the bank, the reasons he had for distrusting his
partner's honesty, now made the disclosures for which he had
been some time preparing, by collecting proof, and retaining
evidence; and thus, with a crash, down fell the fortunes of
the Edmonstone family, and poor George Lockwood was
scarcely a poorer man than his once affluent patron.
The effects of this dreadful reverse, combined with the per-
sonal insult he-had received, and which he had no means of
washing out in the blood of his enemy, were altogether ruinous
to the character of Yaughan Edmonstone. In his prosperity,
he had been very much like a vast proportion of young men,
as we see them in society; neither better nor worse. He was
extravagant, of course; but he would not have done anything
dishonourable for the world, so he thought—that is, he
would not have done anything that would have stained his
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 85
honour or periled his position as an officer and a gentleman;
but trifling with a young lady's affections, or running away
with her for the sake of her fortune, did neither. These are
venial peccadilloes. Of course, too, he was inexorably selfish
—but he did not know it; for it is a very noticeable fact, that
the selfishness of men, and few indeed are they that are free
from it, is a passion so identified with their whole habits and
characters, that they are not in the least conscious of its
existence. It is so entirely engrained in their nature that
they cannot perceive it; and the most selfish of men are
not only indignant and amazed if you accuse them of being
selfish, but they invariably think everybody else is selfish who
does not yield implicitly to their selfishness. Accordingly, in
all this love-making and scheming, Vaughan had thought of
nobody but himself—that was a matter of course; and, as he
did not love Gattie Eardley, she would have found him but a
cold and careless husband, who would have neglected her, and
spent her fortune; but he would have kept his place amongst
men of honour, and been looked upon by the world in general,
as a very agreeable, gentlemanly, nice young fellow. But the
case was altered now. His father's character was blasted;
his own honour was stained ; his position in society was lost;
and he had no money. Then let the world go hang! He
must make out his life without it. So he took to low gam-
bling-houses, frequented horse-races, and earned his livelihood
chiefly by billiards, at which game he was an adept. And
now, also, he renewed his correspondence with Linny, for
whom, even during the most animated period of the affair
with Miss Eardley, his love had never abated. Living in the
suburbs of the city, purposely concealing himself from all his
former acquaintances, it was some time before George Lock-
wood heard of what had happened in Fleet-street; and indeed
the first intimation he had of it was from Morland, who came
to him on the part of Mr. Eardley, to whom he now found he
was indebted for the periodical supplies of money which he
had imagined he owed to Mr. Edmonstone.  To this hour,
Morland said,  we don't know the truth of the business ; but
it appears that Mr. Eardley had his suspicions from the first
and that he has never believed you as much implicated as you
appeared to be; and subsequent investigations, I believe, have
exonerated you entirely in his opinion. Under these cireum-
stances, he thinks it but just you should be reinstated.
Poor George and his wife went to bed very happy that
86
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
night; and their first thought was, that they should he able
to release Linny from her slavery, and have her home again.
It was a proud day, too, when, with his threadbare coat well
brushed, and his shabby hat furbished up to make the best
possible appearance, Mr. Lockvvood started for Fleet-street,
where he found every face with a smile, and every hand
stretched forth to grasp his.
 Well, old fellow, glad to see you back! I've only been
keeping your stool warm for you, said Robinson; whilst
Tiggs swore that he had been under the necessity of dancing
a hornpipe the evening before, when Morland told him that
they were to have honest George Lockwood in his old place
again. '
It soon appeared, however, that George's head was not
what it had been; the injury he had received on that unlucky
night, together with the shock to his mind, occasioned by
the whole affair, had permanently damaged his health and
enfeebled his faculties, memory especially; insomuch that,
although as diligent and punctual as ever, he was found no
longer equal to the situation he held, and from which he was
necessarily deposed, after a short interval, to make way for
some one more capable. Mr. Eardley, who was very sorry
for his misfortunes, gave him some employment that kept
him and his wife from want; and Linny remained at Mrs.
Barnard's, where she had received letters from Yaughan, tell-
ing her of his loss of fortune, and that all that remained to
him now in the world was her love. Of course, she vowed
that that should never fail him; and even when she came
home, and learned from her father what had happened at
Mayfield, she did not retract, for Yaughan had prudently pre-
pared her for the intelligence. He had confessed everything,
adding what was indeed true—that his love for her had never
varied for a moment; and that, as long as he believed his
family prosperous, no authority or entreaties would have
induced him to break his faith with her; but when he saw
his father and mother threatened with ruin, and when they
looked to him to save them, he felt himself bound to sacrifice
his own happiness for their sakes; and the only consolation
he had in all this misery was, that he had escaped marrying a
woman he detested, and was free to marry the only one in
the world he ever could love. But when George discovered
the attachment between his daughter and the son of the man
who had been his greatest friend and his worst enemy, he
LIE NY LOCKWOOD.
87
forbad tbe connexion, both from resentment to the father,
and because he had heard something of Vaughan's way of
life ; but Linny answered that her faith had been given when
she had everything to gain by it, and could not now be re-
tracted because she might have something to lose.
CHAPTER XII.
During the whole period of Yaughan's defection, Linny had,
of course, been very unhappy. Her situation at Mrs. Bar-
nard's was as disagreeable as Coulin had foretold, though not
quite so bad as the poor Frenchwoman's, because she was not
so much at their mercy. Indeed, the Rev. Mr. Whitelaw
treated her with what he intended to be extreme civility; but
she hated him so cordially, and was so thoroughly disgusted
by his injustice and his baseness, that she would have pre-
ferred his aversion to his favour—more especially, as one of
the most marked victims of his unfairness was her protegee,
Alice Mearns, who apparently, having no friends, he was in.
the habit of hitting very hard indeed, whenever the opportu-
nity offered.
As is the case in most establishments of the description of
Mrs. Barnard's, there was considerable inequality of condition
amongst the pupils, and it was because the treatment each
received was very much regulated by the position of the
parents, that the one-horse chaises presented more tearful
faces at the school-room door than the chariots-and-pair. But
the claims of Alice Mearns to consideration were less than
any of the others, inasmuch as she did not seem to belong
to anybody at all; the person who paid the stipend for her
board and education, and who had corresponded with Mrs.
Barnard respecting her, called himself Jessop; but he spoke
of her as Miss Mearns, and did not appear to feel any interest
about her. Her mother was dead, that Linny knew; and,
from a circumstance that occurred whilst Alice was spending
the vacation with the Lockwoods, she also knew that her
father was alive. It was one evening, when they were at tea,
.that the maid entered and said a gentleman wished to see
Miss Mearns. Alice rose directly with a start, as if she had
a presentiment of who it was ; and when Linny proposed that
the gentleman should walk in, the maid answered that "He
said he couldn't. He wants Miss to go out to him.
Presently Alice came back, to fetch her bonnet and shawl;
88
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
and on their inquiring where she was going so late, she replied
that she was going to take a walk with her papa.
 Is -it your papa that has called on you ?
"Yes, said Alice. She was absent about an hour, and
when she returned it was evident that she had been weeping;
but as she offered no explanation, Linny did not feel autho-
rized to ask any, resting satisfied that there was some family
mvstery which Alice did not think proper to communicate.
Before the period of Vaughan Edmonstone's visit, however,
which had so suddenly deprived Mrs. Barnard of her teacher,
Alice Mearns had quitted the establishment under somewhat
unusual circumstances. For a considerable time there had
been an under-current of complaint amongst the young people
that they lost their little properties in an unaccountable
manner. Knives, pencils, scissors, thimbles, and various
other portable articles, were in the habit of making the most
extraordinary disappearance—sometimes, even, vanishing
du.ing the night; and it was nothing uncommon to hear
them saying,  I'm certain it was in my pocket when I went
to bed, and in the morning I couldn't find it, high or low!
As time advanced, the evil augmented. It seemed as if the
thief gathered courage from impunity; for now sixpences,
shillings, and even half-crowns, began to be missed; and it
grew to be observed that the principal sufferers were the
inhabitants of the room in which slept Linny, Alice, the two
Pollards, and six other girls. One of the first, indeed, who
had complained, was Alice herself; at a later period the
Misses Pollard said that they had lost things, and so indeed
said every inhabitant of the room, with the exception of Linny
herself.
For some time this rumour did not extend beyond the
younger members of the society, but, by and by, it reached
the ears of the seniors, through one of the elder girls, who
complained that she had been robbed, by degrees, of nearly
all the money she had brought to school with her. This cir-
cumstance roused the attention of the teachers, and, on ques-
tioning the children, Leonie was grieved to learn that they
had pretty universally fixed their suspicions on Alice Mearns ;
the grounds of this suspicion being, in the first place, their
inability to understand her—and, in the second, the circum-
stance of her having been found possessed of a small gilt pin
which did not belong to her. It was discovered sticking in
her Sunday frock one day, when they were dressing for
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
89
church, and was immediately pounced on by the Misses
Pollard as theirs. Alice resigned it without a struggle, say-
ing only, that she had picked it up the preceding Sunday, and
had forgotten it. To herself the matter appeared trivial; but
not to the others, who were on the look-out for some indica-
tion that should betray the criminal. Elbows were nudged,
significant glances exchanged, and the whisper circulated, that
Miss Mearns was certainly the thief. When Linny became
acquainted with this persuasion, she took Alice aside and
interrogated her.
 I picked up the pin, just as Mrs. Ann came up in the
evening to read prayers, she said;  and directly afterwards
our frocks were taken off1 and put away. I did not want to
keep it; but I did not know whose it was, and I forgot it.
With respect to the other allegations, she declared herself
entirely innocent. "I never took a thing, she said; "but
I've lost my knife, and I cannot find anywhere the little bag
Mrs. Lockwood worked for me, nor the steel buckle you gave
me in the holidays ; and Linny believed her, but nobody else
did. And, as children are generally without mercy, they
openly called her the thief, hooted and hissed at her, and
excluded her from their games; so Alice took to sitting in the
corner, with her beloved book, feeling injured and repelled,
but, seeing that Linny did not believe her guilty, less distressed
than might have been expected.
In the meantime, this repudiation of Alice made little dif-
ference in the proceedings of the criminal, whoever she might
be. For a short time, indeed, after the affair of the gilt pin,
which had created such a sensation, the pilferings had ceased,
which only confirmed the ill opinion entertained of Alice
she was frightened, her companions said, and did not dare to
persevere; but after a little while they recommenced, and
there was seldom a week without complaints. What rendereo
the thing more perplexing was, that few of the young people
had any depository for their little properties that was not
open to public inspection. Their boxes were unlocked, and
their pockets hung up to their bed-posts at night, and the
teachers having received private directions to search them, and
uothing being found, tbe investigation was at a stand-still.
It was an established custom to admit a woman into the
playground on Wednesdays and Saturdays, of whom the
young people purchased fruit or cakes, according to their
means and inclinations. On the first half-year, Alice had dealt
90
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
with her like the others; whilst the Misses Pollard, having
no money, or very little, seldom bought anything. But now
the case was reversed; Alice did not buy, because, as she said,
when Linny inquired the reason, she had not the means; but
the two Pollards were always amongst the purchasers. They
had not been home, but their aunt had been to see them, and
might, possibly, have brought them a supply. It was diffi-
cult to suspect those quiet, demure, stupid girls, of such
dexterous thievery; and yet Linny, persuaded that Alice was
innocent, had doubts, of which she said nothing, knowing it
would be treason to express them. Some time elapsed before
anything happened to strengthen her suspicion, except the
circumstance of being awakened one night by somebody
moving about the room, and being answered by the eldest
Pollard, when she inquired who was out of bed, that it was
she.  I thought you called me, ma'am, said the girl.  You
must have been dreaming, said Linny, that being her first
conclusion; but as the dim light of the window showed the
figure, not approaching her bed, but at the other end of the
room, she afterwards felt somewhat dubious of the girl's
veracity. Still, as she could prove nothing, she said nothing,
and there the matter rested till about six weeks before the
vacation, when Alice, one morning, having instituted a vigo-
rous search for a mislaid stocking which she had carelessly
thrown aside the night before, suddenly exclaimed,  Oh my
here's my bag!
"Where ? said Linny, who was assisting the young ladies
to dress.
 Here, behind my bed, said Alice, drawing it out.
The bed in which Alice slept was a heavy, old-fashioned
piece of furniture, commonly called a turn-up, which had been
introduced into the room for the first time this half-year, in
consequence of a paucity of accommodation for some addi-
tional pupils ; and as it stood in a darkish corner against the
wall, divided from it only by a narrow ledge that surrounded
the skirting, the small space that intervened formed a con-
venient receptacle for anything that was thrust into it.
 Oh my look here! cried Alice again, as she drew the
strings of the bag and took out a silver pencil-case.
 That's my pencil-case ! exclaimed one of the young girls.
 Give me the bag! said Linny, taking possession of it.
"Who put it there P—did you, Miss Mearns ? But whilst
she asked the question of Alice, she instinctively turned her
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
91
eyes on Miss Pollard, who, unprepared for her scrutiny, was
unconsciously standing by with somewhat the expression of a
magpie whose hoards were suddenly disturbed.
"No,".said Alice, in evident amazement, "I did not put it
there.
"I shall keep this hag as it is, said Linny, "and give it
into the hands of Mrs. Barnard.  It is certainly a very extra-
ordinary circumstance. There was an immense chattering
that morning as the children clattered down stairs to the
school-room.
 It was hid behind Mearns's bed.
 Miles's pencil-case was in it.
 I hope my scissors are there.
 She must have hid it herself.
 Miss Lockwood's going to show it to Mrs. Barnard.
"Mearns ought to be turned out of the school; and so
forth.
Although fully persuaded herself of Alice's innocence, yet
Linny was aware that appearances were much against her
favourite ; whilst the flagrant partiality that existed, rendered
it necessary that she should be extremely cautious in incul-
pating another upon evidence so slight as any she could adduce
against Miss Pollard. Still she felt herself bound to declare
her convictions to Mrs. Ann, which she took an opportunity
of doing privately when she gave her the bag.
 I have had great opportunities of observing Miss
Mearns, she said;  and I believe her to be a perfectly
honest child. I feel certain that her surprise at finding the bag
was genuine; and, as nobody saw it till she spoke, there was
no necessity for her saying anything at all, had she wished to
conceal it.
 But somebody must have put it there, and somebody in
that room, said Mrs. Ann.  If it was not Mearns, who
could it be ?
 I should be very sorry to suspect any one unjustly, said
Linny;  but one night, not long ago, I was awakened by
somebody moving about the room, and, on asking who was
out of bed, I was answered by the eldest Miss Pollard, who
was coming from the end of the room where Mearns sleeps.
She said that she fancied I had called her ; but 
"And I dare say she did, rejoined Mrs. Ann, interrupting
her.  I don't see what Miss Pollard's being, by some acci-
dent, out of bed, could have to do with this bag being disco-
92
ijlXMJN Y .LOOK-WOOD.
vered behind Miss Mearns's bed. Children often dream that
kind of thing.
 But it was the child herself that discovered the bag, said
Linny.
"Children of that sort are very cunning, said Mrs. Ann.
"I don't think Miss Mearns is cunning, answered Linny.
"I'm of a different opinion, said Mrs. Ann. "There's
something about her I never liked, and I'm sorry we ever
took her.
 During the time she lived with me, both I and my mother
thought her a very harmless girl. But there's another cir-
cumstance I think it right to mention; when Mrs. Denny
comes, on Wednesdays and Saturdays, with her basket, the
Misses Pollard always have money to spend with her; last
half-year they had none.
An angry red suffused Mrs. Ann's face at this intimation
of Linny's suspicions. She reminded her that the Misses
Pollard were the Bishop of B.'s nieces, and that the manner
in which they had been brought up precluded the possibility
of their being addicted to such practices ;  but we have reason
to believe, she added, "from something that has lately
reached us, that Miss Mearns's family are not respectable, and
that she is not a fit inmate for our establishment; and this
pilfering confirms that opinion. I shall speak to my nephew
about it, and hear what he advises. And, with this, Linny
was dismissed, not at all shaken in her opinion, but aware
that it was in vain to enforce it.
The Rev. Mr. Whitelaw could have but one opinion where
the bishop's nieces were concerned ; he averred that every-
thing tended to inculpate Miss Mearns; and, as that judg-
ment coincided with that of the young people in general, it
was decreed that the friends of Alice Mearns should be re-
quested to remove her. When Alice herself was informed of
this sentence, she fell into the most violent fits of weeping.
She had borne the unkindness of her companions, and the
odium of the crime, not without pain, but with a certain
degree of philosophical resignation ; her sense of justice and
her self-respect were wounded, but her heart was not. Now,
however, her courage gave way. To be expelled from the
school was to be separated from Miss Loekwood; the only
being on earth, now her mother was gone, to whom her
young heart clung! To be allowed to stay she would have
willingly endured all the insults that could have been heaped
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
93
upon her head, bitter as it was; for, except Linny, nobody
spoke to her, and she was not even allowed to eat with the
others, but bad her meals at a table apart. Linny, however,
did not desert her protegee, for whom she felt the more dis-
tressed, because she felt sure the child had no pleasant home
or indulgent friend to receive her. Her mother was gone;
about her father some mystery seemed to hang, insomuch
that Linny inclined to think he was in debt or difficulty, and
in hiding from his creditors; whilst the only person that
appeared to have any charge of her was Mr. Jessop, to whom
Mrs. Barnard had now written. Alice said he was a relation of
her mother ; but she had evidently no attachment to him;
and, with her peculiar character, the poor child's prospects
seemed as dreary as could well be—a circumstance of which
she herself appeared fully conscious. However, there was
no appeal from the tender mercies of Mrs. Ann and her ne-
phew, who were apprehensive that the story of the thieving,
circulated, as it was certain to be by the young people in the
vacation, might injure the reputation of the school, and even
occasion so dreadful a catastrophe as the removal of the
bishop's nieces. A victim was demanded to avert this ca-
lamity, and appease the wrath of these high gods, and Alice,
being apparently friendless, was selected for the sacrifice
without remorse.
In the meantime, however, the contumacious Mr. Jessop,
though requested to fetch the girl away, had neglected to
obey the mandate; for nearly six weeks Alice had been
sent- to Coventry by her schoolfellows, and endured the bitter
scorn of Mrs. Ann, and the contemptuous sneers of the Rev.
Mr. Whitelaw, when one day, when the young people were all
at dinner, Mrs. Ann presiding as usual, and Alice eating in
the corner by herself, a smart ring at the gate bell drew every
eye to the windows which looked towards the road, and
what should the delighted eyes of Mrs. Barnard behold, but
a handsome dark-green carriage with four horses—people
drove four horses in those days—and a tall footman in a rich
livery, who carried in his hand a cane almost as tall as himself.
At this exciting spectacle, Daniel, who participated in the
reverence of his superiors for everything that was grand,
rushed out of the room and down the steps to admit
this distinguished visitor; but what was the dismay of Mrs.
Ann, when, returning as quickly as he went, he produced a
^ard on which was printed the name of  Mrs. Maude
94
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
Stanleyand underneath, in pencil, was written— Come to
fetch Miss Alice Mearns—begs she'll get ready as quickly as
possible.
 It's a lady come for Mearns, Miss Lockwood, said Mrs.
Ann, with a vexation she could not conceal.  You had better
go up with her and put on her things. Is Mrs. Maude Stan-
ley a relation of yours, Mearns ? Mrs. Ann always omitted
the Miss, when she spoke to her favourites.
 Yes, ma'am; she's my aunt.
"Indeed ! I did not know you had an auntshe might
have added, especially an aunt that drove four horses, and
had a tall footman with a tall cane.
It was a mortifying circumstance that this distinguished
aunt would not alight; but, as she obstinately refused to do
so, Alice was sent up stairs with Miss Lockwood, to prepare
for her departure.  I am so glad to find you have a relation
to be kind to you, said she ; "are you much attached to her ?
 No, answered Alice ;  Aunt Stanley always lives abroad;
I've not seen her often. Oh, Miss Lockwood ! I wish you
were going with me. I shall never love anybody so much as
I love you ! Wont you come and see me sometimes P I'll
write and tell you where I live. Linny kissed her and
cheered her, and, as soon as she was ready, led her down to
the dining-room to take leave of Mrs. Ann, who shook hands
with her in a friendly manner, and hoped she should hear she
was a good girl; whilst the young people, who had tossed up
their chins at her for six weeks, now moved by example, held
out their hands too, saying,  Good-bye, Mearns ! good-bye!
and as their eyes followed her down the steps, and into the
carriage, they thought what a pleasant thing it must be to be
expelled from Mrs. Barnard's boarding-school.
CHAPTER XIII.
In one of the pavilion rooms in Dessin's hotel, at Calais, sat
Sir Arthur and Lady Glenlyon at breakfast. They had crossed
the water only the morning before, for the weather had de-
tained them three days at Dover. The storm had now abated,
and it was fine, though cold. As they were going to travel,
they had ordered a dejeuner a, la fourchette, to which the
bridegroom had done ample justice; the lady, however, sat
languidly sipping her cafe au lait, whilst she drew imaginary
figures with her fork on the china plate that was before her.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
95
 It makes me quite uncomfortable to see you eat no break-
fast, my love, said Sir Arthur, as he rose from the table.
 Do you never eat breakfast ?
 Oh yes! I suppose I do sometimes, when I'm hungry.
 I wish I could see you eat now! Nothing makes me so
hungry as travelling. I wonder it hasn't the same effect on
you. I'm afraid you're not well, are you ?
 Quite well, thank you.
Sir Arthur looked at her with a curious eye, whilst she
continued playing with her fork; and then, drawing a chair
to the table, he seated himself beside her, and threw his arm
round her waist.  Tell me, Cattie, he said,  have I dis-
pleased you in any way ?
In all ways, she would have liked to answer; but, instead
of that, she said,  No, certainly not; why should ypu think
I'm displeased ?
 Because you don't seem like yourself. You used to be
merry enough, I'm sure.
 When ? she asked, raising her eyes to his face.
"Why, formerly; before I went to Florence.
 Yes, I was merry enough then, I dare say. I was but a
girl.
 And since I came back, too.
 You fancy so. You seldom saw me except in company,
and one's obliged to get up one's company spirits then.
 Well, I wish you'd get up your company spirits now ! It
makes me quite uncomfortable to see you so depressed; it
does indeed!
 I'm not depressed. I'm just in my natural state. I'm
sure there's nothing so odious as forced gaiety.
 I agree with you; but why should your gaiety be forced ?
 It would be forced if I assumed it to prevent your feeling
uncomfortable. Isn't it better to leave one's spirits to take
their natural course P if they're not good, remarking on them
wont make them better!
 Then you confess yours are not good ?
 I was not speaking of myself; I spoke generally, said
Cattie, rising and seating herself at the window, whilst Sir
Arthur placed himself on the hearth, with his back to the
fire, and stood there with his hands under his coat-tails,
observing his wife, though not appearing to do so—doubtless,
each had thoughts that were best not communicated.
They had remained thus silently for some minutes, when the
96
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
heels of a pair of boots resounded on the pavement outside, and
a gentleman passed along the upper end of the quadrangle, and
disappeared into the house. Where Sir Arthur stood he could
not see him, but Lady Glenlyon could, and her cheek grew first
pale, and then red, and she leaned out of the window to conceal
her emotion. It was Yaughan Edmonstone she had seen,
and her immediate impression was, that he was following her;
an impression that first made her heart leap for joy, and then
recoil with terror. Since the crisis of the intended elopement,
she had neither heard from nor spoken to him ; of the events
of that night she was still ignorant—and, as she had enjoined
him not to write to her, she for some time believed his silence
was in conformity with this injunction; although she did
wonder at the exactitude of his obedience. Then came the
crash, and the fall of the Edmonstones was in every mouth;
their name was coupled with dishonour her father uttered
it with scorn and loathing. It was not now that he did not
approve of the match, and wished the engagement held in
abeyance for a certain period, but, armed with unanswerable
arguments, he could carry it with a high hand. It was hard
to stand fast against this flood of obloquy; but as women who
are really in love, love the adversity of their lovers, Cattie
Eardley might have held out, had Yaughan sustained her; but,
so far from it, he not only made no advances, but on one occa-
sion, when they met by accident as she was stepping out of
her carriage at Harding and Howell's, in Pall-Mail, he cut her,
and with evident design; and whilst she proceeded into the
shop, almost fainting from agitation, he passed on with a
haughty smile of sarcasm and contempt, the true key to
which manifestation it must be remembered she did not
possess. It might be resentment against her father that ac-
tuated him, or it might be against herself, for having yielded
to the influence of her family. Whichever it was, he seemed
determined to abide by the same line of conduct; for, although
irritated by anxiety into breaking her pledge, he took no notice
of the letters she wrote to him; nor did he make any attempt
to approach her when they met one night at the theatre;
although, none of her family being with her, he might have
done so without impediment.
Cattie Eardley was not romantic or sentimental, but she was
passionate; she was not a girl to retire from the world and waste
her life in secret sighs, but, the charm of it being lost with
Yaughan, she felt embittered and angry, and, perhaps, some-
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 97
what reckless. She went into society, and dressed, and danced,
and was admired,and received offers innumerable; but getting
tired of all that, for in the long run such a sort of life becomes
insupportably wearying, even to the young, where there is any
depth of feeling—she thought she would marry Sir Arthur
Glenlyon by way of a change. When he made her proposals,
she neither liked him nor disliked him—he was an object of
perfect indifference to her; but her family highly approved of
the match, and she was herself fully aware of the external ad-
vantages that attended it. So she accepted him, and for some
time the preparations for the marriage occupied and amused
her. But, as the period fixed for the ceremony approached, her
feelings changed their complexion, and what had hitherto been
indifference gradually grew into dislike; not that she discovered
anything unexpected or repellent in the character of her in-
tended husband—what she discovered was, that her own heart
would not be so easily satisfied. It was that that rebelled, and
cried aloud for a reality—not a counterfeit; the passionate
heart, that gratified ambition and worldliness could not con-
tent. With these feelings, the wise thing would have been to
incur the odium of drawing back, even at the eleventh hour;
but Kate was not a woman to do that either. She would have
done it to run away with Yaughan Edmonstone, without a
moment's hesitation, but not to encounter the unpleasant
consequences of such a proceeding, unsustained by him—the
reproaches of her family, the gossip of the world, the temporary
retirement from society, and the subsequent return to it, only
to recommence the same weary existence. No! having stepped
in so far, to return were  as weary as go o'erand it is ex-
tremely possible that had she acted differently, and retracted
her consent, she might, when too late, have equally repented.
Indeed, she was aware of that now; and, however discontented
and unhappy she felt in her marriage, she did not persuade
herself that she would have been happier had she remained
single. Her belief was, that she must have been unhappy
under either alternative; and that her parents were altogether
to blame for not letting her marry the man she loved when
she might have done so without discredit. What if Yaughan
were poor ? would not her fortune have amply sufficed ? And
would he not have loved her when, in addition to her other
proofs of regard, sh#became the source of his material pros-
perity ? For perhaps, in her secret heart, she did not much
overrate either his love or his character, but suspicions, or even
G
98
LTNNY LOCKWOOD.
convictions of this sort, make little difference when once a
woman is in love ; few of us, I am afraid, are cured of a passion
by doubts of the worthiness of its object; at all events, when
we are, it is by a slow process: the cure does not come with
the conviction.
Why Vaughan should have refrained from seeking her before
her marriage, to follow her after it she could not divine ; but
yet, that she was the object of his journey she vehemently sus-
pected, for this was not the first time she had caught a glimpse
of him. She had seen him at Dover, standing at an inn door a,s
she drove into the town on the day succeeding her marriage—
at least she had fancied it was he at the -time, and now she felt
assured of it. That he should act thus, both alarmed and dis-
tressed her—the thought of it fell over her soul like a cloud big
with mischief; and the calm bright future which, as a wife,
should have bounded her horizon, loomed darkly and myste-
riously in the distance—a fate that was not to be read—a
destiny she feared to unravel. And yet, wherefore ? She might
resolve to avoid all danger—to forbid his approach—resolutely
to abstain from any sort of intercourse or correspondence; and
moreover, she might fortify these resolutions, and enable her-
self to carry them out, by her husband's aid. She had only to
place a certain amount of confidence in Sir Arthur, just enough
to show him that it was proper to decline Vaughan's acquaint-
ance, and he would be her best supporter; but she could not
bring herself to do this. Her own pride, her want of love for
her husband, and certain sentiments that lingered in her heart
for the man whose wife she had hoped to have been, forbad it.
"Vaughan is poor, now, she reflected.  Why should I add
to the stings of poverty those of insult ? Besides, I may be
mistaken ; it may not be on my account he is here, after all.
Shortly afterwards, Sir Arthur, having been out of the room,
said on re-entering it, Who do you think I have seen leaning
out of one of the windows that look into the court ?
Kate knew very well who he had seen, but she stretched
her head out of the window, as if looking for the person herself,
and said— Who ?
 Your old playfellow, Vaughan Edmonstone. I had never
seen him since the crash, and felt rather awkward as I caught
his eye.
 l)id you bow to him ?
 Of course. I wonder what he can be doing here ?
 Living cheaper than he could in England, perhaps.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
99
 Not at Dessin's hotel, I should think. If you meet him,
shall you speak to him ?
 Why shouldn't I ? He couldn't help his father's miscon-
duct. I'm sure he has suffered enough by it.
They did not meet, however, for Yaughan had no desire to
encounter Lady Grlenlyon. He was lounging at the door of
the hotel, when he saw two or three servants engaged in
packing a handsome travelling-carriage, which, he was in-
formed, belonged to Sir Arthur. He had observed the notifi-
cation of the marriage in the papers, and understood that they
were on their wedding tour. As he contemplated the elegant
and luxurious conveyance, and saw the busy lady's-maid and
the important liveried servants arranging the cloaks and
shawls, and other matters, he felt, not envious, but angry and
revengeful; for it could not he said that he envied Sir Arthur,
since he never for an instant wished to be the husband of
Catherine Eardley, whom he hated; but, somehow, he felt
that all that luxury and state should have been his; and he
curled his lip with a smile of mingled disdain and mortifica-
tion, when he remembered the love passages betwixt himself
and the fine lady that was about to be conveyed to Paris in
that carriage, whilst he and his wife would be jolting along
the same road in a diligence.
All this he saw and thought, but to Linny he did not
mention the presence of the Grlenlyons. That Miss Eardley
was to marry Sir Arthur, she had heard from her mother;
hut she had no idea that the pale face and languid eye that
bent forward to look at the diligence, as the English equipage
rolled past it on the road, belonged to her rival. Yaughan
sat back and concealed himself; the French passengers re-
marked, that it was a belle voiture Anglaise; Cattie sighed,
and fancied it would be less ennuyant to travel in that diligence
than beside Sir Arthur; and Linny looked out upon the berlin,
and the lady wrapped in her shawls and furs, with interest and
curiosity, because her heart was light, and her mind disposed
to be amused with all she saw. In short, she had got Vaughan
for her husband, and she was on tlie other side of the Channel
for the first time in her life, elated and amused. True, she
had left Mrs. Barnard's in a manner open to very unpleasant
suspicions, for when it was discovered that her father was not
ill, it would be imagined that she was a party to the scheme
of deception; but, en revanche, although she had some kindly
feelings towards Mrs. Martha, Mrs. Ann and the Rev. Mr.
100
linny lockwood.
Whitelavv had inspired her with sentiments of such unmiti-
gated dislike and contempt, that she cared very little for their
opinion, good or ill. A worse view of the case was, that she
had married, not'only without her father's consent, but in
direct opposition to his injunctions. To these injunctions,
however, she had never promised obedience. She had given
her faith to Yaughan when he was at the summit of prosperity,
at least when both he and she believed so, and when her father
would have thought himself inexpressibly honoured by the
alliance. That Yaughan would have fulfilled his engagement
had fortune continued to smile, she did not doubt; and that
she should break hers, because that fickle goddess had turned
her back on him, was a treason to love, that she could not for
a moment consider justifiable. It was natural that her father,
with the worldliness and coldness of age, should think as he
did ; but he had plighted no faith, was breaking no vows ; and
the counsel which prudence excused him for giving, it would
have been baseness in her to follow; and, finally, he would
assuredly forgive her the first time they came together.
CHAPTER XIY.
Mrs. Barnard was not more astonished and disconcerted at
the unexpected appearance of Mrs. Maude Stanley's four
horses, than Alice was surprised and pleased at the unexpected
appearance of the lady herself, whom she had not seen for a
long time, and little dreamed of seeing then: for Mrs. Stanley
had been so many years abroad, that scarcely anything but
her name survived in the memory of her niece. She knew,
however, that this rich lady was her mother's sister, and her
own aunt; and out of the dim past, there stood forth a single
point of time—a single scene—unsustained by anything that
preceded or followed it, wherein she beheld two ladies in an
elegantly furnished apartment, she knew not where situated,
for she had no recollection of seeing that room since ; and she
knew that one of these ladies was her mother, and the other was
Mrs. Maude Stanley. She knew also, although she could not
tell how she knew it, that Mrs. Stanley was beseeching her
sister to go away with her; and she remembered that, in the
course of the conversation between them, her mother had
caught her (Alice) up in her arms, and said, in answer to Mrs.
Stanley's entreaties,  No, Maude, never; but if I die, re-
member I bequeath her to you!
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
101
What the other had answered, Alice did not remember, hut
since that time she had never seen her aunt till she was handed
into her carriage at Mrs. Barnard's gate. From the moment
she had been informed of her intended expulsion, the poor girl
had been extremely unhappy; for, although she hated the
school, her love for Linny had sustained her under all her
troubles, and she was willing to endure every mortification that
the peevish injustice of Mrs. Ann, or the malignant injustice
of the Rev. Mr. Whitelaw, could inflict, rather than be sepa-
rated from the only person she loved in the world since her
mother was gone. Thus, although sent to Coventry by her
young companions, and insulted by her seniors, she had
dreaded the moment of her departure as much as most persons,
under similar circumstances would have desired it; but, like
so many of our anticipated miseries, when the event occurred
at last, it arrived under an aspect so little foreseen, that grief
was swallowed up in the surprise and hurry of the summons;
and she was made ready and handed into the carriage, before
she had time to recover the first effect of the announcement
that her aunt had come to fetch her.
Linny embraced and kissed her protegee, greatly relieved to
find that she was not so friendless as she had apprehended.
Alice promised to write and let her friend know where she
lived, adding, as she ran down stairs,  You'll come and see
me in the holidays! and the next minute she was seated
beside a very grand-looking lady, who, without greeting her
in any way, pronounced the word  Home ! and then desired
her to draw up the glass. This done, and the horses in
motion, Mrs. Maude turned round and surveyed her; and then
after a pause, during which she more than once applied her
handkerchief to her eyes, she broke silence by saying,  What
is this you have done, Alice, to cause you to be expelled from
Mrs. Barnard's school?
 I have done nothing, answered Alice.
"Nay, returned Mrs. Maude, "governesses do not dismiss
their pupils without cause. You must have done something
wrong—and very wrong, too.
Alice was silent, not because she was persuaded that she
had done anything wrong, but because it seemed such an esta-
blished fact in other people's minds, that the attempt to over-
throw the belief appeared useless; at all events, it required
more energy than she could exert in her own cause.
 I might have seen Mrs. Barnard, and learned the distress-
102* LINNY LOCKWOOD.
ing particulars from her, continued Mrs. Stanley,  but I felt
it too painfuland with this she again applied the handker-
chief to her eyes, and Alice was moved by the tears to repeat
that she had not done anything to merit expulsion.
 There were a great many things lost, she said;  I lost
things as well as the others; and at last I found them all in
my hag, hid behind my bed—
 You found them ?
 Yes; I found them one morning when I was looking for
one of my stockings. We had looked everywhere we could
think of for the things; hut nobody had ever thought of
looking there, and, because they were found behind my bed,
they said X had put them there myself; but I didn't.
"Oh, Alice! Alice! said Mrs. Maude, evidently much
distressed, and entirely unconvinced by the protestations of
innocence,  I am afraid you are your father's own child!"—
an apprehension which Alice, not understanding its bearing,
did not attempt to allay by contradiction.  I cannot wonder,
after such a disgraceful occurrence, that Mrs. Barnard should
refuse to retain you in her establishment!
As all this was said more in sorrow than in anger, Alice
felt rather perplexed than hurt. She would have been really
glad to relieve her aunt's distress, by convincing her that she
was lying under a wrong impression; but as she did not see
how that was to be done, she again took refuge in silence;
and as she was whirled along the road to London, thoughts
new and strange passed through her young brain. It seemed
as if everybody was against her—everybody but Miss Lock-
wood—and she wondered why it should be so. Her mother
had adored her; and, as long as that fond mother lived, she
had been environed by love and tender cares; but from the
moment of her death, how everything had changed!—faces,
as well as other things ; and even this aunt, whose intentions
were evidently kind, meets her with a strong adverse prepos-
session. Alice thought it very extraordinary ; but as no arrow
wounded her much that was not thrown by a hand she loved,
she was more puzzled and amazed than distressed by the enigma.
In this way they reached London ; Alice remaining silent,
except when spoken to ; and Mrs. Stanley occasionally asking
her questions about the school, or about Mr. Jessop, who had
placed her at it; but always addressing her in a tone of sub-
dued condemnation, as benevolent people speak to convicted
criminals, mildly and kindly, but with reproof and sadness in
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
103
her voice. The carriage finally stopped at the door of an hotel
in Berkeley-square, where Alice was delivered over to the care
of a Parisian lady's-maid, at the sight of whom she felt a
certain warmth about the heart which Mrs. Stanley had failed
to excite; for Angelique was not only young, but extremely
pretty, and her dress, though by no means inconsistent with
her position, was charmingly tasteful, and becoming.
The first commission received, was to refit Alice's wardrobe,
and arrange her hair in a more appropriate fashion; operations
which occupied the first few days very pleasantly, Alice being
as fond of dress as any other girl. She spent her time during
this period almost exclusively with the lady's-maid, who occu-
pied a chamber adjoining that of her mistress, Mrs. Stanley
being much engaged with visitors and business; and with this
companionship Alice was perfectly contented. It was not that
she loved Angelique as she loved Linny; this was rather a
case of fascination than love; and had no better foundation
than the girl's personal appearance and lively manner. Occa
sionally, however, Alice was summoned to sit with her aunt,
especially after dinner, when Mrs. Stanley happened to dine
at home, and without company; but as the tone her discourse
assumed was generally that of a moral lecture, these inter-
views were not anticipated with much pleasure. Like jrnung
people in general, Alice did not like sermons ; nor, except those
of the Rev. Mr. Whitelaw, which were exceedingly heavy, had
she yet heard many. For a long time previous to her death,
Mrs. Mearns had been in very ill health, and as she could not
bear her out of her sight, Alice, ever since she could remember
anything, had been what is called tied to her mother's apron-
string. Her companion all day, and sharing her room by
night, the child had no other companion, nor wished for any.
They lived without society, in and for each other; but
unconsciously, at least, as regarded one of the parties. Mrs.
Mearns was still young when sickness and sorrow overtook
her, for she was many years Mrs. Stanley's junior, and she
had the remains of great beauty. Gentle, loving, trusting,
there had been perfect unity and confidence betwixt the
mother and the child, without its ever occurring to Alice that
it might possibly have been otherwise, or that she was making
any sacrifice of her own will and liberty in relinquishing the
pursuits of her age to accommodate herself to those of a me-
lancholy invalid. Out of these circumstances, not by precept,
her character had been formed; or perhaps, it would be more
104
LINXY LOCKWOOO.
correct to say, her natural disposition had been developed and
confirmed. There had been no reproof, no lecturing, no system
of moral training. Thus, if Alice was truthful and honest, it
was because nature had inclined her to be so ; and because this
nature, instead of being compressed out of her by severity or
opposition, needful or otherwise, had been allowed to grow
into a habit. By the same process, however, another pecu-
liarity of her character was confirmed, namely, an extreme
indifference to everybody except the few who captivated her
affections. Her mother had been her idol as long as she
survived ; and shortlived as is generally the grief of children,
she was inconsolable at her death, and would probably have
continued long so, had not Linny, with exactly the qualities
to win her heart, succeeded to the vacant throne—a throne
which, indeed, she still filled, although Angelique occupied a
good deal of the young girl's thoughts. She amused her, too,
with strange stories of romantic loves, terminated by a pan
of charcoal or the muddy waters of the Seine.
On Alice's ears Mrs. Stanley's sermonizing fell as upon
stones. When the aunt, anxious to eradicate, if possible,
vices of character which she thought inherent, expatiated on
the deformity of lying and thieving, and the beauty of honesty
and truth, Alice sat perfectly insensible to her eloquence; her
countenance and attitude expressing nothing but ennui; an
exhibition of hardness which filled Mrs. Stanley with dismay.
If she had only shed tears, there would have been some hope
of her; but this was not the sort of thing that made Alice
weep, although Mrs. Stanley's eyes were frequently suffused.
The only thing that did touch Alice, was her aunt's telling
her, one day, that she could scarcely believe that she was her
sister's child;  for there never was a softer or more affec-
tionate heart, or a truer nature, said she,  than your poor
mother! This speech brought a crimson blush into Alice's
cheeks; and, as soon as she found herself alone, she laid her
head down on the side of the bed and wept bitterly. In the
meanwhile, Mrs. Stanley was preparing to leave London; but,
before she did so, it was necessary to determine on some plan
for her niece's education. Attached to the girl, not by affec-
tion, but by a sense of duty, and a promise she had made to
her dead sister, she would have preferred placing her at some
high-class school to keeping her at home ; but how could she
think of introducing into a seminary for young people, one
who had been already expelled from a similar establishment
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
105
for disgraceful conduct! There was another reason, also, why
she feared to leave her in London; namely, the apprehension
that she might fall into the hands of her father, the object of
Mrs. Maude's intense hatred.  An adventurer, as she called
him, t: who, having clandestinely won the affections of her
sister—marrying her contrary to the wishes of her family,
had squandered her money in all kinds of vicious indulgences,
and rendered her life miserable; till at length, unable to
endure the poverty his folly had entailed, he plunged into
crime, in the hope of escaping from his difficulties.
From that period his wife and daughter seldom saw him,
and they were doubtless all the happier for the privation,
although his wife, who still loved him, could not bring her-
self to think so. He returned, however, sometimes for the
sake of being out of the way, and sometimes on the plea of
repentance and reformation ; but unfortunately his wife paid
dearly for his visits, since he never failed to extract from her
every farthing of money she could command—money for
which she was indebted to Mrs. Stanley, who, on leaving
England, had empowered her agent, Mr. Jessop, to watch
over the welfare of her sister, and to take care that she and
her child wanted for nothing. When Mrs. Mearns died,
Mrs. Stanley, who was still abroad, directed that Alice should
be placed at a respectable boarding-school till she could con-
veniently return and determine what to do with her; a point
which was yet undecided, when her equanimity was disturbed
by a letter which reached her at Brussels, enclosing Mrs.
Barnard's demand for the immediate removal of Miss Mearns
from her establishment—an event which inexpressibly shocked
and grieved Mrs. Stanley, but one which, she asserted, by no
means surprised her.
"I long ago told you, she said in her answer to Mr.
Jessop, that I did not believe a child born of that bad stock
was likely to turn out well. Major Mearns, the father, was
a blackleg, who forfeited his commission by some proceedings
of a dishonourable nature; and of his three sons, two of
whom are happily dead, (I wish the third was also,) it is not
easy to say which was the worst. The only daughter he
had, married a profligate for love, and afterwards, I believe,
ran away from him. In short, as far as I have ever learnt,
MeUrns is only another name for a Vaurien, and evil was the
day ours was disgraced by a connexion with it! With regard
to this unfortunate child, who has got herself turned out of
106
LINNY LOCKWOOl).
the school you placed her at, which you see is a sad verifica-
tion of my presentiment, I am really at a loss what to do.
To attempt to introduce her into another, would be unjusti-
fiable; besides which, I fear she will require a more unre-
mitting surveillance than she can receive in an establishment
of that description. I was thinking of placing her in some
clergyman's family, but I do not know that in so doing I
should be strictly fulfilling the promise I made to my sister
—that is, not as she understood it. I confess this promise
hampers me in some degree ; for although, with it or without
it, I should have equally felt myself bound to undertake the
maintenance and education of her child, I would, on the
whole, rather not have taken her to reside in my house. I
believe, however, that for the present that is what 1 must do;
and it will not very much change my plans, as it is necessary,
or at least advisable, that I should spend some time at Craven
Hill. I shall, therefore, start for England as soon as I can
settle my affairs here, and, in the mean time, you had better
leave Alice where she is till I arrive. In this state of per-
plexity about her niece, Mrs. Stanley took occasion to con-
suit a serious friend of hers, who prescribed a strictly reli-
gious education as the appropriate remedy for Alice's moral
obliquities.
"Bring her up in the fear of God! said Mrs. Adam
Walker;  impress her mind with the sinfulness of sin, and
make her acquainted with the awful punishments that God
has prepared in the next world for those who do not obey his
laws in thisand as Mrs. Stanley considered Mrs. Adam
Walker a very high authority on such questions, she not
only yielded to her advice, but she requested her to find a
lady competent to take charge of the juvenile delinquent.
Mrs. Walker said, that it was the most fortunate thing in
the world for Mrs. Stanley, that her—that is, Mrs. Walker's
—friend, Miss Bang, happened just then to be disengaged.
She had been for some years with Lady Tomlinson, and had
given the greatest satisfaction to her ladyship, the whole of
whose family she had brought up; but whom, however, she
had quitted on account of an exceedingly unpleasant circum-
stance that had taken place—namely, that the eldest daughter,
Miss Juliana Tomlinson, had run away with the gamekeeper's
son, and married him. Whereupon Miss Bang felt it due to
herself to quit the family in spite of Lady Tomlinson's en-
treaties; but, of course, Miss Bang had her own reputation
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 107
to look to ; and thus, as Mrs. Adam Walker observed, out of
fevil good had arisen, as no doubt was always the case, though
shortsighted mortals could not discern it.
"Everything in this world, she remarked, "was ordered
with a beneficent purpose; and she trusted that, through the
instrumentality of Miss Bang, the young girl might be early
awakened to a sense of sin, and be yet a soul saved from the
burning.
Miss Bang was accordingly engaged at a liberal salary;
and shortly after Mrs. Stanley's removal to Craven Hill, that
valuable person arrived there, and was introduced to Alice as
her future governess.
CHAPTER XV.
The rencontre at Calais, betwixt Yaughan and Lady Glen-
lyon, was not a happy event for either of them, nor for those
with whom their fates were now so intimately connected.
Xate's discontent and depression were augmented by a sight
of the man she loved, lost to her for ever; and Yaughan's
irritability was aroused by a sight of the splendours that
should have been his. He would have been very unwilling
to change wives with Sir Arthur; he preferred his own a
thousand times ; and yet, as the berlin rolled by, a pang of
bitterness shot through his breast. It was not delicacy, but
mortified pride, that made him shrink back in the diligence;
and, had he been travelling with an equally elegant equipage,
I am afraid he would have been by no means unwilling to
inflict all the pain he could by showing himself; for, although
Sir Arthur Glenlyon was the possessor of Kate Eardley's
hand, well Yaughan knew who reigned in her heart. It was
not a pleasant journey, therefore, to either party. Her lady-
ship was sad, and apt'to be pettish if not let alone: Sir Arthur
was kind, but somewhat thoughtful; whilst Yaughan, ap-
pearing to his French fellow-passengers a nice specimen of the
genus Anglais, they shrugged their shoulders at him accord-
ingly. Linny would have liked to join in their conversation,
but her husband's haughty reserve warned her to be cautious.
 C'est votre mari ? whispered an old Frenchwoman.
 Oui! answered Linny.
 Ha! and the old lady felt heartily glad he was not hers;
yet Yaughan was a young, handsome man, who could be ex-
tremely agreeable when circumstances combined to please him.
108
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
There was amongst the company one elderly Frenchman, s#
full of bonhommie and good-humour, that he could not undety
stand thq sauvagerie of the Englishman ; and, after several ini
effectual attempts at civility, he offered some chocolate dropi
that he had bought whilst they were changing horsesi
Vaughan declined, not only coldly, but as if he considered thf
well-meant attention a liberty. 11
 Ah, il ne connait pas les Anglais! whispered the others;
who conceived it must he something purely national that
could account for so much ill-humour in a man possessing
Vaughan's external advantages, and a lovely young wife intj
the bargain; and I am afraid it is. V
I suppose, however, that men of other countries do occa.
sionally behave in this manner, but they are the exceptions
and not the rule. They are, I fancy, persons of really ilk
temper, or unkindly feelings, who would be disagreeable under
any circumstances ; such as are by the ladies properly callei
brutes. A gentlemanly, well-conditioned foreigner on his
travels, would never think of turningfarouche, and treating
everybody he met de haut en has; whereas an Englishman^
who is a tolerably amiable person at home, will no sooner
cross the Channel than he is transformed into a bear. Hoid?
frequently this is the ease, few women who have travellel
with father, brother, husband, or son, can be ignorant. Uf
course, there are exceptions; there are Englishmen whd;
whilst they are abroad, can so far assimilate themselves ~ta
continental customs as to be comfortable and amused tlien^
selves, and allow other people to be so; and who do not livj
and move in hourly terror lest their dignity should be attainted
by the familiarity of a roturier; a subject, by-the-by, on
which they are apt to fall into the most ridiculous errors, thf
very bonhommie of the foreigner helping to perplex the thin
skinned Englishman. I
Not wishing, for various reasons, to plant himself in i
colony of his own countrymen, "Vaughan engaged apartment!
in the Hotel Valmont, Rue de Richelieu; whilst our othei
travellers established themselves sumptuously at Meurice's
where we will leave them awhile to return to poor Mrs. Lock
wood, who was plunged into the very depths of distress by thi
continued absence of her husband from his home, whither hi
had never returned since we left her standing at the parlou
window with her head over the blinds, watching for his re
appearance. When the night closed in and she could see inti
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
109
the street no longer, her ears took up the service, and hour
after hour listened for that well-known foot; hut he neither
icame nor sent her any tidings, and day after day Mr. Eardley's
fcotman, who was desired to make inquiries, carried back the
answer that Mrs. Lockwood had heard nothing, till it became
&e confirmed opinion in Cavendish-square that the once trusty
clerk had embezzled the property and made off with it, either
to America or the Continent. His wife, however, took a very
different view of the case; she who had witnessed his despair
at the loss of the parcel, believed that, unable to encounter
the suspicion and obloquy that certainly awaited him, he had
sought a refuge beyond the reach of human injustice and error.
: As, in addition to the love she bore him and her natural grief
at his loss, she had to bear the pain of the self-reproach for her
! ewn neglect which had caused the misfortune, her sufferings
: were so great that she fell ill, and was reduced to death's
i ioor; whereupon an acquaintance took upon herself to write
i to Linny, informing her of her mother's situation and the
ijause of it, adding that her immediate presence at home was
desirable. Linny, however, was by this time safely lodged at
the Hotel Valmont; and the letter, which was addressed to
Mrs. Barnard's, was deposited in Daniel's pantry till Miss
Lockwood's return, which was daily expected. In the mean-
time, Linny's letter to her father from Calais, confessing her
flight and marriage, although silent with regard to the stra-
tagem hy which Vaughan had gained his purpose, was lying
unopened on the mantelpiece in the parlour, whilst Mrs. Lock-
wood was up-stairs in bed, struggling for her life; and often,
irhen she was sufficiently at ease to think of it, wishing for
her daughter's presence. When she got better, and was able
to leave her room, the maid threw all the letters that had
arrived, addressed to Mr. Lockwood, into the sideboard
drawer, from an apprehension that the sight of them would
distress her; and thus it was not till the postman delivered a
i summons from Mrs. Barnard, requiring Miss Lockwood's im-
i mediate return, that the poor mother learned the extent of
; her misfortune.
-  What, exclaimed Mrs. Harrison, "left Mrs. Barnard's!
Well, I did think it odd she never took no notice of the letter
I writ to tell her how ill you was, and about poor Mr. L.
But where can she be gone to ?
- Mrs. Lockwood's fears suggested the truth at once—she
had eloped with Yaughan Edmonstone; and then the maid
110
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
exclaiming,  Lauk-a-me! opened the sideboard drawer, say
ing, that a letter had come while missus was ill, that she ha(
to pay one-and-eightpence for, and that it had struck her i'
was like miss's handwriting; but as it was directed to
master, she had put it aside for the present; and so forth.
There had been a time when Mrs. Lockwood wished
nothing better than to see her daughter the wife of Vaughan
Edmonstone, and she could not forget that she had tacitlv
countenanced the attachment, contrary to what she knev
would have been her husband's wishes, not that he would
have considered, then, the alliance less honourable than herseli
hut his sense of duty would have forbidden him to encourage I
connexion that it was impossible Mr. Edmonstone should
consent to. Her desire for this union had naturally ceased
with the fall of the Edmonstone.family; but as she had a
very feminine heart, she could not help pitying the handsome
young guardsman, who would have made a lady of her
daughter, although she forbore to express this sentiment to her
husband, whose aversion to every member of the Edmonstone
family was more deeply grounded than even she was aware of.
'It is a trite observation, that we often obtain the thing we
have ardently wished for when we desire it no longer; and
Mrs. Lockwood, in her sorrow and self-reproach, scarcely felt
herself entitled to be severe on her daughter, when she rememt
bered how proud she would once have been to hear her called
Mrs. Vaughan Edmonstone; but it was a great addition to her
other troubles to have lost Linny, to whom alone she could
have looked for consolation and support. t
Linny had been upwards of a month in Paris, daily hoping
for a letter from her father, whose length of silence she feared
was the measure of his displeasure; when one day, as thej
were sitting after dinner with a bottle of Bordeaux on the
table, thQfemme du concierge entered the room, saying, Voici
une lettre pour madame, je crois looking at the same time
alternately at them and the paper with a certain degree of
surprise at an event so unprecedented, this being the first letter
they had received. Linny changed colour as she took it, and
looked at the address. j
 It's from mamma, she said.  Papa wont write to me.'1
 What does the old woman say ? inquired Vaughan, whq
felt very indifferent on the subject of a reconciliation with his
wife's family, with whom he was far from desiring to hold any
intercourse.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
Ill
"She begins, i My dear LinnyV That's a good sign.
And then she continued to read on in silence for some time,
not being able to disentangle the general signification of the
disjointed sentences, interrupted as they were by exclamations
and interjections; for Mrs. Lockwood's letters were at no time
distinguished by perspicuity, and the one in question, having
been indited under the influence of bodily weakness and mental
distress, was especially confused and unintelligible.
 Poor mamma has been very ill; but I can't think what
she means about papa. She says she's afraid he would never
forgive me, but that perhaps he may never know it—meaning
my marriage—for that he left home in a state bordering on
distraction, and has never returned, nor can she learn what
has become of him.
 But what put him in that state ? said Vaughan.
 She does not explain; nor does she say when he went.
How very extraordinary!—is it not? Poor, dear papa! I hope
nothing has happened to him! Good heavens, Vaughan, per-
haps he had heard somehow or other that I had left Mrs.
Barnard's with you, and it is that has distressed him so.
 But your mother says he knows nothing about it.
"He may not have told her, answered Linny, beginning
to weep at the idea of the pain she had inflicted, and her
mother's desolation. And, suppose Mr. Lockwood did.not
return at all, what was to become of his wife ? This was a
question that occurred to the daughter immediately, but which
she did not like to refer to Vaughan, feeling instinctively how
very little interest he would take in it.
 Come, come, dry your eyes! he said, patting her on the
head as he rose from the table;  I dare say the old fellow will
turn up, by and by; and it will be all right. Did you tell the
porter to get those places ?
"Yes, I have the tickets.
"Is it a good box?
 They're in the Balcon."— D n!
 But the boxes were so extravagantly dear to-night, that I
thought it absurd when we can see and hear just as well in the
Balcon.
 But if I desire to have a box, what business has that
fellow to take tickets for another part of the house ?
 Well, dear Vaughan, it was my fault. I hadn't given him
money enough; and when he came back and told me the price,
I desired him to take tickets for the Balcon. I'm sure it's a
112
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
very good place. You see much better than in the boxes, I
think, and are not so hot.
 But it's not a place I choose to be seen in.
 Why ? Is it improper ?
"Improper—no; hut mauvais ton. I had rather stay at
home than sit there.
 Well, I dare say Badin could sell the tickets for us ; he
says they are in great request, and he had much ado to get
them at all.
Yaughan, however, did not wish to stay at home; there
was a new ballet that he wanted to see, and he liked the excite-
ment of the theatre; but he could not be content with seeing
and hearing well, unless he sat in what he considered the
most fashionable part of the house. Linny thought this very
silly, and she tried to laugh him out of it; representing that
nobody in Paris could care sixpence where they sat; but there
are people in the world who never can realise the indifference of
society to their movements, and who live under the constant
inconvenience of fancying that the eyes of the public are upon
them. Probably, when Yaughan was rich, he had not been
troubled with this susceptibility, and as it would not have
been motives of economy that drove him to the Balcon, he
would have sat there without discomposure. Now, however,
he could not, although surrounded by very good company.
The consciousness that the box tickets were twenty francs
each on that night, whilst he was very well seated for nine,
could not console him ; for he fancied that everybody would
conclude he had selected the cheaper place because he could
not afford the dearer. Everybody is a dreadful person; but
who is he, I wonder ? Is he at all public places observing
where one sits, and spying at the panels of one's carriage to
ascertain whether it is one's own or a remise ? And what
does he do if he discovers that we ride in a fiacre, and take
tickets at nine francs instead of twenty ? I should like to
have this question answered; because as he is in the habit of
putting people to considerable expenses, I should be glad to
learn what would be the consequence of slighting his opinion.
If anyone will tell me, I shall be much obliged to them,
because it is as well to know the worst; and besides, the nature
of the penalty once ascertained, as also who are the parties
that have authority to inflict it, means might possibly be
found of evading, if not defying, a tyranny so fraught with
mischief. For my own part, I shall be exceedingly happy to
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 118
join in a conspiracy against this despotic meddler in other
people's affairs; having at various times been put to serious
expenses by his interference in my family arrangements: whilst
in the course of my life I have seen many worthy people
ruined, and actually reduced from affluence to want, by his
absurd and unfeeling exigeance.
Up to the present period, Linny had lived in happy igno-
ranee of the existence of this despot; she was probably beneath
his notice, and her obscurity had preserved her from his prying
eyes; but now he occasioned her daily inconvenience, and was
the cause of many disagreements betwixt herself and her hus-
band. Had Linny married a rich man, she would have had
no difficulty in adopting the manners and habits of a fine
lady; but,unacquainted as shewaswith the extent of Yaughan's
pecuniary means, or the source of them, she was yet aware they
must be limited ; and she accordingly felt that the economy
which had necessarily been the habit of her life, was still a
duty. Yaughan, however, had very obscure notions of economy.
As a general rule of conduct for those who were not rich, he
admitted its propriety; but in particular instances he abhorred
it. In the first place, he liked the best of everything ; and
the best of everything is generally dear, especially to young
men, who usually estimate the goodness of a thing by what
it costs; and in the second place, in those instances which,
not personally concerning himself, might have left him more
indifferent, he felt compelled to accede to the requisitions of
everybody, whose approbation is unfortunately not to be pur-
chased without considerable expense, even in such little matters
as could only come under the cognizance of the concierge and
his wife. Thus Linny's laudable attempts at frugality were
generally frustrated by her husband, who, probably suspecting
these people of being in league with everybody, would declare
that it looked so d d shabby.
 But, dear Yaughan, you know best, certainly ; but I am
afraid we are spending a great deal of money.
 But how can we help it P If you'll show me how we
can live without spending money, I'll be much obliged
to you!
 But without spending so much ? Surely we need not have
a poulet or cutlets every morning for breakfast, for example;
and we might have fewer plats at dinner. And then there's
another thing; why can't I walk instead of always having a
carriage? I had rather walk, a thousand times, I assure you.
H
114
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 It's not the custom; ladies don't walk in Paris. It would
look very odd.
"But I'm a stranger—a foreigner ; what does it signify V 
 But I dfln't choose that everybody should be making
remarks on my wife.
 My dear Yaughan, think how insignificant we are in this
great city! Surely the people must have something better to
do than to observe whether I go out on foot or in a carriage.
But Yaughan could not realize the fact of this general
indifference, and when his reasons failed him, his will supplied
their place—pro ratione voluntas, he did not choose it, and
so the argument always terminated by his wife's better sense
succumbing.
On the night above alluded to, when the young couple were
seated in the Balcon at the French opera, Yaughan espied Lady
Glenlyon and her husband in a box at some distance from
them; Kate in the most recherchee toilet, and looking exceed-
ingly pretty, though pervaded by an air of languor and indif-
ference, which, vanity whispered, would have been less re-
markable had he been beside her instead of Sir Arthur. When
there was nothing very attractive going on upon the boards,
she sat with her lorgnette to her eye, surveying the company
in the boxes, and then Yaughan rather rejoiced than otherwise
that he was not amongst them ; for, although he would have
had no objection to her descrying himself, he did not think
that Linny, on comparing her with the fashionable women
present, was sufficiently well dressed. That in point of beauty
she excelled them all, he felt satisfied, but in point of style
she certainly fell short of the best models; and ever, of
Lady Glenlyon herself, though she was an Englishwoman'
so that on the following day he sent her to refit herself at
Hubert and Victorine's, desiring she would provide herself
with a proper toilette de theatre. Linny did it very unwill-
ingiy; for she was terrified at the sound of a hundred francs
for a bonnet, three times as much for a dress—a weakness
which, as she could not successfully conceal it, naturally in-
spired the distinguished artistes who sold them with contempt.
However, she made her purchases, that is, she bought a bonnet
and ordered a dress, and, as the corsage of the latter was to
be tried on, Madame Hubert desired to know the name and
address of her customer.
 Madame Yaughan Edmonstone, Hotel Yalmont, Rue de
Richelieu, she replied.  Here is my card!
LTNNY LOCKWOOD.
115
As she turned to leave the room immediately afterwards,
her eyes met those of a lady who was standing before one of
the mirrors with a coiffure of flowers on her head. Her
feature's were pale and fixed, and she seemed to have forgotten
the flowers to stare in the glass at Linny, who, as she
descended the stairs, heard Madame Hubert say,  C'est
charmant, cela, miladi.
CHAPTER XVI.
How many women would escape mischief in this world, if they
could escape jealousy! The pangs of disappointed love are
hard enough to bear at the best; but they are not maddening
till jealousy has infused its venom into the wound. A tender
melancholy, lassitude, indifference to the pleasures of society,
are the well-known symptoms of what may be called the mild
stage, or, as the doctors would denominate it, the benignant
form of this disorder; and of this malady, that eminent phy-
sician Time, in most cases, perfects the cure within a reasonable
period. Infuse, however, but a single drop of jealousy—real,
genuine unadulterated jealousy—into the veins, and the cha-
racter of the disease becomes malignant immediately; symp-
toms of the most virulent nature, too, frequently appear; and
the unfortunate patient is hurried to destruction before the
soothing influences of time can come to her aid.
Catherine Eardley, as I have remarked, had consented to
become Lady Glenlyon chiefly for the sake of variety and a
little excitement—no uncommon expedient amongst those
who are suffering from either forms of this disorder; and,
during the preparations for the union, the daily and almost
hourly selection of beautiful articles for the trousseau, and the
earnest consultations with the artists who were preparing
them, had certainly operated beneficially. This engrossing
affair completed, however, and nothing left to do but to*go
to church, the excitement subsided, and the lassitude, indif-
ference, and depression, returned; and continued, as we have
seen, after the ceremony, in spite of the change from Caven-
dish-square to Calais. But Paris is an entrancing place to a
pretty woman who has money enough to indulge her fancies,
and rank enough to obtain an entre into the best society;
insomuch that, being possessed of these advantages, Lady
Glenlyon was beginning to find her time and thoughts so
constantly engrossed, that she had daily less and less of them
TT 2
116
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
to bestow on Vaughan Edmonstone and her regrets. I really
do not believe—she had that morning found on her breakfast-
table a card for the Duchess of Montenegro's ball—that on
the day she so unfortunately came across Linny at Madame
Hubert's, whither she had driven without delay, to order a
coiffure for the occasion, the existence of her quondam lover
had so much as once recurred to her mind ; and as Sir Arthur
Glenlyon was a quiet, sensible, indeed somewhat philosophi-
cally-minded man, who was not disposed to plague her—for,
beginning to suspect that he had made a mistake in the chcnee
of his wife, he did not think it advisable to aggravate the
mischief prematurely, by either too much love or too much
severity—the chances are that she would gradually have
become so absorbed in the pleasures of her new mode of life,
that the memory of her old sorrow would have imperceptibly
died out. But alas ! the fates were against her ; the aspic's
tooth had touched the healing wound; and the pain she had
felt even in the first flash of her disappointment, was tame and
bearable to the pangs that racked her now.
Yaughan Edmonstone married! So soon! and to such a
pretty woman ! Had it been to an ugly one, or had he chained
himself to grey hairs and wrinkles, there would have been
some consolation ; for then it would have been reasonable to
suppose that he had either sold himself for mone}r, or that he
had run his head into the noose in a fit of despair; and, in either
ease, he would probably have not only neglected, but hated
his wife. The sight of Linny, alas! shut the door to this
source of comfort. She might have money, or she might
have none ; but she was not a woman to be easily hated ; and
indeed Kate felt a painful conviction that Vaughan's wife
was a great deal handsomer than herself; though, at the
same time, it was consoling to observe, that she was deficient
in that air of fashion which familiarity with the world of
fashion alone can give. This, however, was but a small drop
of balm in the cup which was otherwise all of gall; and Lady
Glenlyon drove home that day with her heart full of bitter-
ness. And the anticipated splendours of the Duchess of
Montenegro's ball, and the gorgeous wreaths she had been
selecting to adorn her own pretty head, were dimmed and
faded by the aroma of the orange-flowers with which love had
bound the brows of that strange woman.
Who could she be P where had he picked her up p She felt
that she should like to encounter him, and ask him the ques-
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
117
tion. Before, she had not wished to meet him ; prudence had
whispered her that it was better not. Sir Arthur occasionally
mentioned that he had seen Vaughan at Galignani's and dif-
ferent places of public resort, and she had once or twice caught
a glimpse of him as she drove through the Boulevards; but
she had always instinctively drawn back. Her humour was
changed now. She wondered if he was rich or poor! Poor
he must be, unless his wife had brought him money ; and she
recollected with pleasure that the only carriage she had seen
that day at Madame Hubert's door was a fiacre. She hoped
he was poor, for she knew he was a man to writhe under
poverty; and so, perhaps, when he saw her with her elegant
equipage and liveried servants, he might regret Cattie Eardley,
although he had such a beautiful young wife. And yet, in
spite of all this, Lady Glenlyon was not a bad woman, she
had not what is called a bad heart, she was not malignant,
and she had never sought to do anybody harm ; but she was
jealous ; and, of all the devils that enter into woman, jealousy
I take to be the worst.
When Sir Arthur met his wife at dinner that day, he found
her tuned to a new key. He was some ten or twelve }rears
older than her; and when he had known her as a girl, first
entering into the world, she was a gay, lively, impulsive
young creature; not remarkable for prudence, and rather self-
willed—one of those young ladies who mean no harm—think
no evil—but yet are somewhat difficult for mammas to manage.
Sir Arthur admired her even then—men are often fascinated
by characters that contrast most strongly with their own;
and might probably, in due time, have proposed, had not an
accident whilst hunting, which produced an affection of the
chest, exiled him for some years from his country. When he,
at length, returned with recovered health, and found Miss
Eardley more grave and graceful than he had left her, and
still unmarried, his former penchant revived, and, without
giving himself time to foral an intimate acquaintance with
her disposition, he offered her his hand, and was accepted.
Then came the pleasing hurry of preparation that had tern-
porarily supplied the place of real content; and it was not
till the knot was indissolubly tied, that he saw any reason to
suppose his bride was not all he had imagined and wished.
And yet Catherine Eardley had been guilty of no deception;
from first to last she had not taken the smallest pains to dis-
guise her feelings. Whilst her mind was amused she appeared
118
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
cheerful; when the amusement ceased she appeared sad. At
first, Sir Arthur thought her spirits might he affected by
leaving her home and family, although painful suspicions of
some deeper source of discontent not unfrequently occurred
to him. When, however, he found her cheerfulness gradually
returning in Paris, his hopes revived ; and applauding himself
for the prudence he had exercised in forbearing to trouble her
with question or reproach, he began to hope that a happier
future awaited him than he had lately dared to expect, re-
solving at the same time to court Hymen's smiles by a judi-
cious perseverance in the same wise system of indulgence;
and it was fortunate that he had ; for on the day of the ill-
omened visit to Madame Hubert's, he, for the first time,
found his wife in a fit of extreme ill-temper. Formerly she
had pained him by her depression and listless indifference, but
now she was evidently vexed and angry; although when he
inquired if anything had happened to annoy her, she indig-
nantly denied it. Of course, he was not convinced; but ad-
hering to his system he pressed her no farther, notwithstand-
ing that the impatience and irritability continued with little
abatement. That the young man he had just left reading
the newspaper, and sipping a cup of chocolate in the Cafe
Wagram, was in any way connected with the rise or fall of
his domestic barometer, never occurred to him. How should
it ? When he went abroad, Yaughan was a stripling,
who had only just got his commission, and Kate, a young
lady in her first season. When lie returned, the Edmon-
stones were not only ruined, but forgotten. The}'- had fur-
nished their quota of diversion to the world : firstly, in their
prosperity, when they entertained it with dinners and balls ;
and lastly, in their adversity, when with a damaged reputa-
tion and empty pockets, they vanished from the public eye,
and were the nine days' wonder of the society in which
they had shone resplendent. After that, nobody thought any
more about them. The Prince of Castelcicala had married
Miss Tomkins, the rich tallow-merchant's daughter; Lady
Grimes had run away with her own footman; Lord and Lady
Yellicouert had separated a week after their marriage, nobody
could discover why; Sir Frederick Foster had shot himself,
because he found he had made a shocking bad book for the
Derby; and a hundred other things had occurred to throw
the Edmonstones and their affairs completely into the shade.
Sir Arthur Glenlyon had had no curiosity about people of
linny lockwood.
113
whom he had known but little ; whilst Vaughan, being several
years his junior, had not fallen much in his way. In short,
he had gone abroad before either of the young people had
come out, full fledged, into the world; and, consequently,
knew nothing of the love-passages betwixt them. Few per-
sons, indeed, did ; there had been a rumour that they were to
be married, but whether founded, or not, was uncertain, the
Eardley family having sedulously contradicted it; till, with
the fall of the Edmonstones, it had died away. There were,
doubtless, a few persons farther in the secret, and who be-
lieved that Kate Eardley had been crossed in love; but people
in general thought, her incapable of so vulgar a thing as a
strong attachment; and, on the whole, nobody was in the
least surprised when her approaching marriage to Sir Arthur
was announced. To him, therefore, Yaughan was no more
than the son of Mr. Eardley's late partner, and, therefore,
necessarily an old acquaintance of his wife's ; and the well-
assumed indifference with which she had heard of their meet-
ing at Calais, was not calculated to awaken the slightest
suspicion or curiosity with regard to him.
CHAPTER XVII.
It is possible that if the fates had been so considerate as to
keep Yaughan Edmonstone out of her way, the succession of
balls and soirees, and operas, which the beau-monde of Paris
kindly administered, might, in process of time, have brought
some amelioration of those jealous pangs awakened in the
breast of Lady Glenlyon by the sight of Linny's fair face.
But these fatal sisters, or her evil genius, or whoever it may
be that takes such matters in hand, appeared bent on mis-
chief. For once that she had met him before that unfortunate
rencontre at Madame Hubert's, she now met him ten times.
I wonder what Chance is ! La Place and other learned folks
tell us there is no such thing as chance; that everything is
certain ; and that events only appear to us fortuitous, because
we do not see the chain of circumstances, that has led to such
or such inevitable conclusions. JSTo doubt of it. But how is
it that the links of these chains arrange themselves, or are
arranged, in an order so favourable to some people, and so un-
favourable to others, that these persons become known as
notoriously lucky or unlucky P The answer will be, that  cha-
racter is destiny, and that people are lucky or unlucky in
120
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
proportion to their judgment and prudence, or the want of
these qualities. But this explanation does not comprehend
the whole of the mystery. It is a well-known fact that there
are some individuals so inconceivably lucky at games of pure
chance—by which I mean games in which no skill whatever
can be exercised—that the hell-keepers, in spite of the known
advantage they themselves possess over the players, dread the
sight of them, and if possible close their doors, or fly from
the place as soon as they arrive in it; being well aware of the
fatal consequences that follow a visit from these favourites of
Fortune. How is it, also—and Avhoever has played much at
cards must have occasionally seen something of the kind—
that there are certain people who are invincible at whist, for
example, not by good play, but by good hands ? I remember
a Mr. and Mrs. G- , and a Mr. and Mrs. A , who, being
neighbours, were in the habit of meeting two or three times a
week to enjoy a rubber; and I remember that this arrange-
ment, extremely agreeable to both parties, was at length most
unwillingly relinquished by the A s, in consequence of the
extraordinary partiality of Fortune. In the matter of skill
the two parties were pretty nearly equal; but the run of the
cards was something inexplicable. Trumps and court cards
followed the G s, not only from seat to seat, round the
table, but from house to house. They came, they saw, they
conquered; or, in other words, they sat, they played, they
won! On the whole, I confess myself a believer in luck, although
what luck is it is impossible to conceive ; but, whatever it may
be, at the period I write of, it seemed bent on bringing about an
interview betwixt Vaughan Edmonstone and Lady Glenlyon,
an object which the former was not at all disposed to second.
On the contrary, he avoided as much as possible these frequent
rencontres Avith a person the sight of whom was fraught with
painful regrets and present mortifications. Living, as he was
doing now, au jour le jour, desiring neither to recall the past
nor anticipate the future, it was annoying to be met at every
turn by one who reminded him so forcibly of all he had lost in
fortune and position; whilst his dislike to her, and his resent-
ment at the insult he had received, made him scorn and repu-
diate the sympathy which he did not donbt she would be
xeady enough to bestow.
When they met on the Boulevards now,' Lady Glenlyon did
not throw herself back in her carriage, and pretend not to see
him; she bent forward and tried to catch his eye. If she saw
LIN NY I,OCR WOO I).
121
him in the theatre, she placed herself in a position that enabled
her to watch his movements ; and, instead of attending to the
scene, her lorgnette was directed all the evening to where he
sat—sometimes with Linny; on which occasions she would go
home in a fever of jealousy. She was resolved now to speak
toffiim, if she could get the opportunity; and twice she nearly
succeeded—once at the Louvre, when she came behind him as
he was looking at one of Raphael's frescoes ; but he suddenly
turned round, and with a distant bow, as to a stranger for
whom he made way, walked hastily out of the room. Another
time they almost ran against one another in the Hue de la Paix,
as she came out of Bassot's the jeweller. Just as she was about
to step into her carriage, Yaughan had his hand on the shop
door, and would have entered had not her eagerness betrayed
her intention to follow him in ; hut the moment he saw who it
was, he crossed the street, and was presently beyond her reach.
Such an open expression of aversion as this, may be thought
sufficient to cool any woman's ardour; and perhaps it might
have cooled Lady Glenlyon's—though even that is by no means
certain—if she could have persuaded herself to put the true
construction on it; hut of course she did not. It was resent-
ment, jealousy, mortified pride—anything but dislike. If she
could only speak to him—if he would but give her an oppor-
tunity of explaining the motives that had led to her marriage
with Sir Arthur—if she could but convince him that it was
entirely his own fault that he was not at that moment master
of herself and of her fortune—she fancied there would be a re-
action ; his love for her would revive—and perhaps it might,
if he had ever entertained any; he would be overwhelmed with
regret at his own folly, and perhaps be disposed to look with
distaste on the bonds that united him to another. And what
then ? Lady Grlenlyon did not know, did not inquire. All
she saw, or thought she saw, was, that Yaughan would then
no longer be happy without her ; and, although he could not
he happy with her, no other woman would enjoy the privilege
of making his felicity. So that the sum of the whole was, that
she would have the consolation of knowing that the man she
loved was miserable.
In the meanwhile, Yaughan's felicity was not altogether
so pure that she need have been anxious to alloy it. In the
first place his money was gradually melting away, and he saw
no prospect of replenishing his purse. Then, although Linny
was as pretty, as amiable, and as devoted as he could desire,
122
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
they had their squabbles, like other people; the sole subject
of discord, however, being that fertile one above mentioned—
money. Every bill that came in frightened Linny, and made
her husband angry; and, of course, as he grew poorer, he
grew more irritable. Of course, too, the amount of the
bills was always much greater than he had anticipated.
When Linny represented that they could do without certain
luxuries and indulgences, Yaughan always declared not only
that he must have them, and that everybody had them, but
■also that the difference of expense they occasioned was a mere
trifle. He was sure he did not owe Jonquil, the perfumer,
fifty francs. He had only had some Eau de Cologne, and a
few bottles of that Bouquet d'Esterhazy, and some of that
Creme to make his hair grow; and a few other trifling things.
 And those ivory hair brushes, Yaughan ? Didn't you get
them there ? I'm sure they must be a hundred francs, at least.
 I forgot them. But they're things one don't want again,
you know.
 And gloves ? Some of those gloves you had when first we
came were from Jonquil. I'm certain you owe him more than
you are aware of. And then there's Benoit's bill to pay!
 I haven't had much at Benoit's.
 Indeed you have, Vaughan. You forget what you've had.
There are those fine cambric handkerchiefs."—"Only a dozen!
 And the cambric shirt-fronts, and those chemisettes you
bought for me; and I don't know what besides. And then
there's Provin and Masson to be paid.
 Well, my dear Linny; you wouldn't wish me to appear in
things that are not fit for a gentleman to wear, would you ?
 I'm sure I don't know what a gentleman ought to wear,
Yaughan; but I'm sure a gentleman had better not wear
what he can't afford. And then, my dear Vaughan, I'm sure
that wine we're drinking is very expensive.
 At all events you're wrong there ! Soissons said it was
only four francs a bottle.
 I beg your pardon ! That was the other ; the wine you
said you didn't like. My own opinion is, that he said this
was seven.
"Nonsense! you're thinking of the wine we had at the
Quatre Ereres. That was seven.
 Well, I wish you may find I'm not right; but I'm pretty
sure I am; and I shall send to-morrow for the bill, and then
we shall see.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
123
,,  You needn't trouble yourself. I'll call myself, and ask
Soissons. And here Vaughan would look cross, mutter,
 D it! and either take up Galignani or walk to the
window.
Similar scenes were often repeated; and when the bills
came in, and their amount justified Linny's predictions, their
mutual vexation generally gave rise to another squabble.
 I knew I was right, Vaughan. I was certain Monsieur
Soissons said that wine was seven francs.
 It can't be! Why, the wine we had yesterday at Beau-
villiers', for four, was better—considerably better. It must
be a mistake.
"You'll find it's no mistake. I remember perfectly his
saying it was seven francs.
 Then he's a d d rascal; that's all I can say! I'll
engage to get as good wine as that anywhere in Paris for four
'francs. Cheating scoundrel!
 Then, my dear Vaughan, why do you put it in people's
power to cheat you so ? Why wont you ask the price of
things ?
 I did ask the price, and I could take my oath the fellow
said four francs!
 He didn't, indeed, Vaughan; he said seven. And you
know it's the way with everything. The fact is, you're too
proud to ask the price of things.",
 I know what you'd like—you'd like me to haggle, and
bargain, and beat people down, as women do in a haberdasher's
shop.
"Ho, I would not, Vaughan.
 Yes you would. That's the idea women have of economy.
I'd rather go without a thing— 
 Well, Vaughan, that's precisely what I want you to do.
"Yes, of course you do. You'd like me to wear a blue-
checked shirt and cotton gloves.
 My dear Vaughan!
 Upon my soul, I believe you would! because they're
cheap. I can tell you Linny, there's nothing so impolitic as
letting people think you're poor. If we are poor, don't let the
world know it. Everybody in society spends more money
than they can afford.
 Then I think everybody in society is very foolish; and
I'm quite sure, Vaughan, that when your money is all gone,
you'll be very sorry.
124 LIN NY LOCKWOOD.
Very well; wait till it is. It isn't gone yet; and, at^all
events, it's my own, and I've a right to spend it as I like.
 Oh! certainly; if you like to ruin yourself, you must.
It's not for myself I speak, for I can bear poverty much
better than you can. I'm used to it. Exit Linny, with
the tears in her eyes, leaving Yaughan in a very bad humour.;
CHAPTER XVIII.
It must he admitted, and it is only fair to Yaughan to admit
it at once, that it is a dreadful trial to a young man who has
been brought up in affluence, and accustomed to what is
called the best society, to find himself reduced to straitened
means, and unable to hold his position. If Yaughan, instead
of being the son of a banker, who was the son of a country
gentleman, had been the son of a peer, the pecuniary misfor-
tune would have been more bearable; but the Edmonstones
had neither noble blood nor high alliances to keep their heads
above water, with poverty and dishonour clinging to their
skirts. Many and bitter were the mortifications Yaughan
had endured betwixt the period of his father's fall and his own
flight from England; and, though less frequent, he was not
altogether spared similar pangs in Paris. Young men feel
these things with terrible acuteness, and no wonder. All
their limited experience of life generally tends to the convic-
tion, that there is nothing in it worth having but the privi-
leges that fortune and position give; and, with the kind of
education and habits they have, it is true that, these lost, few
of them have anything left. Yaughan, unfortunately, was
not of that number. Formerly he would not for the world
have been guilty of any action that could be considered un-
becoming a man of honour and a gentleman. It was not till
he had no longer the means of keeping his ground with those
he had been accustomed to live with, that he discovered what
an accommodating virtue this honour was, and how ready to
bend to circumstances. Not without a pang though was this
discovery made ; it cost him, indeed, a great many when he
reflected that the position which, in the first instance, he had
lost by his father's fault, he had now forfeited by* his own.
But reflect is not the word—he shunned reflection; it was in
spite of himself that the thought would intrude ; and when it
did, he always blushed, and chased it away as fast as he could,
endeavouring to sustain himself with the consideration, that
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
125
nobody knew that he had been guilty of a dishonourable
action; and hoping, rather than resolving, that he might
never be tempted to commit another. He had often been
in Paris before, and, when there, was to be met in all the first
houses, French and English. To a few, chiefly amongst the
French, he went still ; but it was with a certain degree of
misgiving—his own conscience, his precarious means, and the
coolness with which he had been latterly greeted in London
by some of his former companions, rendered these parties
Scenes of at least as much pain as pleasure. Then, however,
he had disappeared from his club, was frequenting inferior
Coffee-houses and taverns, and was often ill dressed. Now,
lie dined at Beauvilliers' and Yery's ; and was as well dressed
4s anybody. Still he had not ventured, as formerly, to leave
"his card in the Faubourg St. Honore, and was consequently
never seen there ; this circumstance subjected him to a num-
ber of annoyances, since of course the change in his circum-
stances was not known to everybody.
 I did not see you at the ambassador's last night.
 I was not there.
 Shall I call for you, as I pass to-morrow evening ? Of
bourse, you're going to the ambassador's ball?
1 "Thank ye, I'm not going. And when answers of this
'sort came to be repeated very often, attention was directed
to the circumstance; conclusions were drawn, and Vaughan
found himself by degrees losing the footing in society he had
hitherto retained. It would be difficult to describe the
anguish of heart this gradual process of exclusion occasioned
him—he that had once been as exclusive as anybody, and
but many a poor devil because, for some reason or another,
;he was losing caste—never troubling himself to think of the
'pain he inflicted, or whether the exclusion was just or unjust.
Now, he felt the cruelty of the thing acutely—the cruelty
and the injustice 1 And then conscience would whisper
something, reminding him of a small reckoning betwixt him
and it.
All this time he was not known in that remnant of the
^fashionable world he mixed in as a married man ; the ladies
were ignorant of Linny's existence, or supposed to be so. To
'his male acquaintance he did not deny that he was married,
''but he never declared positively that he was so. If, however,
'he introduced Linny to any one, it was always as Mrs.
Vaughan Edmonstone. People thought what they pleased.
126
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
Perhaps it was a runaway match, or a mesalliance ; perhaps
neither one nor the other. At all events she was  devilish
handsome! In the mean time, the money flew ; and, as
mortifications of the nature above described became more fre-
quent, tradesmen grew more pressing. They always do.
Nor was Yaughan's situation quite unknown to Lady Glen- j
lyon, who, moving in the elite of society, to her vexation
never met him in the salons she frequented; but Sir Arthur
reported to her the gossip he heard, and generally with
some expression of pity for the subject of it, whilst his wife
avowed her detestation of the world's injustice.
 Poor young man! she said;  it was not his fault; and
it is certainly very hard that society should punish him for
his father's delinquencies. He must be very badly off, I've
no doubt; and it is cruel of people to add to his misfortunes
by turning tbeir backs upon him. I wish, Glenlyon,*you
would call upon him.
 I can't do that, because, in the first place, I never knew
him well enough to authorize me to do such a thing; and, in
the second place, we have not even exchanged bows for a long
time. I bowed to him when I saw him at Dessin's; but
when we met here, he either did not remember me—or did
not wish to remember me ; and we never take any notice of
each other.
One day that the rain was falling in torrents, Sir Arthur,
on hearing his wife's carriage announced, asked her if she
would set him down in the Rue Vivienne.
<e I will, she said,  and perhaps I may call for you again
when I've done my shopping. Accordingly, about four
o'clock, Lady Glenlyon drove to Galignani's, and sent in her
footman to inform Sir Arthur she was waiting.
The rain had now nearly ceased, but there were several
carriages and cabriolets in the court waiting for their masters,
half a dozen of whom were standing at the door chattering
together, whilst preparing to mount their several vehicles;
and amongst them was Sir Bryan 0'Grady, who, being
formerly an intimate acquaintance of the Edmonstone family,
and a frequent visitor at Marlow, brought back many recol-
lections of old times and old scenes to Kate's mind, as she
reclined in the corner of her coupe and observed him. Just
at that crisis a fiacre drove into the court, and stopped behind
Lady Glenlyon's carriage, out of which stepped Vaughan
Edmonstone, who, seeing O'Grady, whom he had not chanced
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
127
to meet since they sat together at his own father's table,
advanced holding out his hand, and saying,  Ah ! O'G-rady!
I did know you were in Parisbut, instead of giving his
hand, the Irishman coldly raised bis hat, stepping back to
make way for him to pass. Yaughan felt the slight to his
heart's core, and the rather that there were so many specfca-
tors, some of whom were not unknown to him; and he was
just thinking whether he should not tread on O'Grady's heels,
and try to get up a quarrel, when a voice from the elegant
equipage at the door, which he had not particularly observed,
cried, "Oh, Mr. Edmonstone! Yaughan! wont you come
and speak to me ? The timely support was too precious to
be rejected, and in a moment he was at the door of the
carriage, shaking hands with all the familiarity of other days.
"If you are not very anxious to read the papers just now,
she said in a low voice,  do come in, and let me drive you
home, or wherever you want to go!
 Thank you: I will. The steps were let down; and, as
he seated himself beside Lady Glenlyon, she added,  is there
any place you wish to go to ?
 None particularly.
"Drive to the Bois de Boulogne'—Dear Vaughan! she
continued,  how glad I am to meet you at last! It is not my
fault that we have not met before; but I really began to
think you avoided me !
Under other circumstances he would probably have an-
swered,  So I did! but he had just become aware of the
services she had it in her power to render him; and, sacri-
fining his sincerity to his interests, he replied, "Was it not
better I should do so, Cattie ? Better for us both.
"Certainly not, she answered; "for your conduct has
given me a great deal of needless pain. Though we can no
longer be lovers, Yaughan, there is no reason that I know of
why we may not be friends.
 Is there no danger, Cattie, in such a friendship ?
 None, she replied in a tone of assumed confidence ; for
in her conscience she well knew how ill she was acting.  No,
Vaughan, circumstances, which I confess I have never rightly
anderstood, have changed our destiny; but circumstances do
not change hearts.
 I am sorry to say my experience does not go to prove
that axiom, returned Yaughan, in a melancholy tone of
voice.
128
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
"Circumstances may change the face of the world,
Yaughan; hut they can never change mine.
As Yaughan was not naturally insincere, this was a tone of
conversation he found it difficult to sustain; so he attempted
to turn it into a less embarrassing channel, by asking if he
Vvas nut taking her out of her way ?
"I have no way, she answered; "one is the same as
another ; hut I have so long desired an opportunity of speak-
ing to you, that, now I have achieved it, I cannot let you
escape me. Besides, Yaughan, if you will not be angry with
me for saying so—I do think I could be of use to you.
Her instincts whispered that this was the right string to
touch, and that she could only reach him through his in-
terests. In spite of his little assumption of sentiment, she
felt his coldness; and under her assumed candour, and frank
offers of service and friendship, her heart was boiling with
jealousy.  Sir Arthur, I know, will be quite glad if you will
come and see us. By the by, we have a dinner to-morrow, a
small party—rather select too; only the Mortimers, the
Granbys, and the Bochefoucaulds—will you come and meet
them at seven ?
"But if I were to say yes, answered Yaughan, "can you
really ensure me a welcome ?
 Do you think I would expose you to anything unplea-
sant, Yaughan P Whatever Sir Arthur may be, he is not
jealous, I assure you.
CHAPTER XIX.
Had it been a right thing, it would have been a brave thing,
on the part of Lady Glenlyon, to invite Vaughan Edmonstone
to that select little dinner party, where he was to meet only
the Granbys, and the Mortimers, and the Rochefoucaulds;
for she well knew that they belonged to a circle to which he
had no access ; and, although she considered this a winning-
card as regarded her grand object of pleasing him, and there-
fore played it, she was well aware that it might cost her
something on the other side. The exclusive Englishmen
might be displeased at being brought into relation with a per-
son they did not desire to meet; and, her introducing this ques-
tionable visitor, might reflect somewhat unpleasantly upon
herself. Then there was Sir Arthur—how would he take it ?
He would certainly be extremely surprised, to say the least;
UNNY LOCKWOOD.
129
and so indeed he was, when his wife told him what she had
done.
 I couldn't make out what had become of you, he said.
 They told me at G-alignani's that you were waiting, and
0'Grady said he had seen your carriage at the door ; but
when I came out you were gone.
 The man I spoke to must have made a mistake, she
answered, turning her head away that he might not see the
lie in her face.  He said you were not there.
 Yery extraordinary! for I came out directly.
 I hope you didn't walk home in the damp! You took a
fiacre, of course!
"No, I walked.
 How very wrong, Glenlyon! when you know you are
not free from cold.
 I might have waited half an hour for a fiacre such a day
as this; and I was impatient to get home.
"Did you see anybody whilst you were out ? inquired the
lady, after reiterating her hope that no bad consequences might
ensue from his imprudence.
"Nobody, except the people one sees every day in the
reading-room, answered Sir Arthur, settling himself in his
easy-chair, with the last new number of the Edinburgh
Review.
 Well, I saw somebody that I don't see every day; some-
body that I haven't seen for many a day, and that I was
almost sorry to see now—it gave me so much pain.
 Who?"—"That poor young man, Yaughan Edmonstone.
"Oh! I see him two or three times a week.
"Well, I had not seen him I don't know when; and it
really quite gave me a frisson, he looked so dejected and
unhappy, and yet, at the same time, so gentlemanly. He
has lost nothing in that respect, poor fellow ! has he ?
 He's generally very well dressed; but I'm told he used
latterly to look very seedy in London.
 I don't believe it. He never looked seedy when I saw
him. People are always ready to say that sort of thing.
"Better look seedy than run in debt with his tailor, an-
swered Sir Arthur; whose manner rather testified a desire to
read his Review, than continue to discourse about a person
who was utterly indifferent to him.
"Certainly! returned Kate. "If he was not quite so
well dressed as formerly, the motive was at least an honour-
I
130
I/CSHNy UJL'Kvi uuD.
able one; and it really makes one sick of the world to see
how ready people are to turn their backs on a person who,
without any fault of his own, may be placed in difficult cir-
cumstances. Not that I mean to say everybody is mean
enough to do that; and I was pleased to hear from Yaughan
that all his friends who were worth keeping have adhered to
him.
 Then you spoke to him ?
 Of course, I did; and I've asked him to dine here to-
morrow.
 To-morrow ?
"Yes. I should feel ashamed if I could forget all the
kindness and hospitality I have received from his father and
mother in former times, when Marlow was one of the most
delightful houses one could visit at. I'm sure it was like a
home to me; and many a time poor Mrs. Edmonstone has
gone to a ball when mama was ill, and I could not get a
chaperone. I should blush for myself if I could turn my back
on their son, merely because the family are in adversity.
 It's not necessary you should turn your back on him ; but
I must say, I wish you had not invited him for to-morrow. I
really don't know whether there are any grounds for the pre-
judice; but there certainly does appear to be a prejudice
against him, which, as he did not seem inclined to throw
himself in my way, I have never cared to inquire into 
 My dear Gllenlyon, isn't he poor! What need you inquire
any further!
 There's something more than that, I suspect. I rather
fear, that whilst he has been hanging about London with
empty pockets, he may have formed some questionable asso-
ciations 
 If you mean female association, I believe he has, and has
had for years—a devoted attachment to some young girl in an
obscure position of life—and I have some suspicion that he
has married her, and that she is here with him; but I do not
see what society has to do with that, as long as he does
not attempt to force her into it.
 Certainly not; though such a connexion is not likely to
smooth away the difficulties of his situation, or render his
company more acceptable. However, as you have asked him,
it can't be helped!
If I had imagined you would have had the least objection,
would not have done it; but really it never occurred to me.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
131
Sir Arthur Glentyon was not a person to make a quarrel
out of such a difference as this: moreover, he accepted her
ladyship's version of the affair without a doubt of its accuracy,
and Kate felt a glow of pleasure at the success of her scheme,
and at the prospect of showing Vauglian how much it was in
her power to serve and uphold him. If she could only make
him sensible of all he would have gained by marrying her,
and all he had lost by marrying that wife of whom she was so
jealous, she fancied she should be satisfied, and the sting that
rankled in her heart would be blunted.
 What will your ladyship please to wear this evening ?
inquired her maid, when she retired to her dressing-room.
 This evening ? I don't care, I'm sure, Wharton; what
have you ready ?
 I have been putting the Honiton flounces on the new
white moire antique, my lady, and it looks beautiful.
 Does it ? Show it me! So it does, Wharton; I'll wear
that to-morrow.
 I thought your ladyship would have worn the moire to-
night, with the white wreath that came home this morning.
 No ; the Brussels lace will do very well for to-night.
".I'm afraid it's too soiled, my lady; I don't think it would
do with the white wreath.
 I can wear it over the pink satin, and I needn't wear the
wreath; I'll wear the pink feathers.
It was remarked by the ladies on that evening, at the
Duchesse de Gframmont's soiree music ale,i\\&k Lady Glenlyon's
toilette was by no means so fresh as was usual with her; but,
on the other hand, the gentlemen universally agreed that they
had never seen her look better. Her eyes sparkled, a delicate
flush suffused her usually pale cheeks ; and, instead of the air
of languid dissatisfaction she too frequently exhibited, she was
all animation and good humour. Many people observed the
change, but none had the key to it, not even Sir Bryan
O'Grady; for though he had been surprised at seeing her
invite Yaughan into her carriage, he was not aware that that
was their first interview in Paris.
In the mean time, Yaughan himself went home half glad
and half angry at what had happened. The assistance had
been opportune; but he felt himself snared. Had he ever
been fond of Lady Glenlyon, this generous aid might have
revived the sentiment; but as he never had, the obligations
she was now imposing on him by her countenance and pro-
i 2
132
LINNY LOCKWOOD,
tection, irritated and mortified him. To cut her, to decline
all renewal of acquaintance, and treat her advances with open
scorn, would have gratified his pride ; hut his difficult position
had flung him into her toils, and she had seized the advantage
of the moment to gain her point. This was the view he took
of, her success, and he hesitated still whether to go to the
dinner or not. On the one hand, he would like to disappoint
her by sending a refusal, and he had a pretty just apprecia-
tion of the amount of disappointment he had it in his power
to inflict; but, on the other hand, he had an inextinguishable
longing to recover his footing in society, and be able to render
hack to the Bryan O'Gradys amongst his former acquaintance,
the distant recognitions and haughty bows that so often cut
him to the soul. Then there was another consideration—his
funds were getting low ; and though his credit would be good
for some time, that must fail too ; and what was to be done
then he could not tell, unless he could get—a situation!
What situation he was fit for, it would not be easy to say;
hut that is not the consideration that much troubles people
who want situations. A vague idea of having something to
write for an hour or two a day in a government office, and
then drawing on a pair of canary-coloured gloves, and parad-
ing St. James's-street and Bond-street, and spending his
evenings agreeably in society, or at the opera, embodied his
notions of the duties of a situation ; and such a situation he
saw no hopes of attaining, unless he could make friends with
people in power through the introduction of the Glenlyons
and their fashionable acquaintance. These were the consi-
derations that determined him to go ; and, as far as the result
of the day went, he had no occasion to repent it. Sir Arthur
received him as his wife's guest urbanely; Lady Glenlyon
like an old and intimate friend; the Rochefoucaulds knew
nothing about him or his family ; and the Granbys and the
Mortimers very little—they being people of a certain age,
living in the cream of society, and unacquainted with the
gossip of the young men about town. Moreover, they were
connexions of Sir Arthur Glenlyon, for whom they entertained
a very great respect, and whose selection of his company it
would never have occurred to them to question.
linny lockwood.
133
CHAPTER XX.
Immediately after the receipt of her mother's letter, Linny
had written for further intelligence. Two or three weeks
elapsed without an answer to relieve her anxiety;—an anxiety
that she was obliged to keep to herself, for it was one in which
Vaughan could not participate. With all his faults and his
deviations from the right path he loved Linny: but the father
and mother Lockwood were people entirely beyond the sphere
of his sympathies. Had he, when in prosperous circum-
stances, married their daughter, his toleration would have
extended no further than to allow his wife to visit them occa-
sionally; and his adversity did not dispose him to any greater
degree of familiarity or interest. Even Linny herself had too
many nearer things to think of, to dwell much on the mys-
terious troubles the letter intimated; for what had actually
occurred to distress her mother she could not comprehend.
Explaining, narrating, detailing on paper, is not an easy matter
to a person who had never acquired the art of letter-writing,
and whose penmanship for many years had not extended
beyond the inditing of a washing bill; so that Mrs. Lock-
wood's first epistle conveyed but a very imperfect notion of
the state of desolation she was really in, and furnished no
account of the circumstances that had led to it. Her second
was little more satisfactory. She said that she had been un-
able to write because she had been occupied in removing from
her lodging, which was now too expensive for her; and how
she should do, even in the more humble one she had taken,
she did not know. Then she dilated on the unhappiness
of her mind  on account of Mr. Lockwood's not having
returned; but she did not attempt to explain the cause of
his absence, appearing to think either that she had done
so in her former letter, or that the circumstances must have
reached Linny through some other channel. This vagueness
spared her daughter a good deal of pain; imagination not
painting the reality so black as it was. She fancied that her
parents were in some pecuniary embarrassment, and, had she
had any money at command, she would gladly have assisted
them; but she had too much reason to be uneasy about
Vaughan's impending difficulties to bestow much thought on
those of any other person. She knew that poverty on
Vaughan, and poverty on her parents, would press with very
different weights. The squalid lodging, the sluttish maid-
134
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
servant, or none, the shabby attire the Lockwoods had already
had experience of, when their fortunes were at the lowest
ebb ; but how she and Yaughan were to solve the problem^ of
living without money she could not conceive. Alone, or with
her parents, she could have done -a hundred useful things;
but she had a strong conviction that her husband could not,
be brought to limit his expenses to his means; and that he
would not long love a wife whose arms he saw in the washing-
tub, although it was himself that had plunged them into it.
In the mean time, Yaughan's intercourse with the Glen-
lyons had not ceased with that first memorable dinner. Ce
n'est que le premier pas qui coute; and, whatever his secret
feelings towards Cattie might be, that one initiatory step
taken, the pleasures and advantages to be derived from her
countenance and support were too great to be neglected in
his present imminent position. Her husband too, who, as I
have said, had no notion that there was any occasion for
jealousy, received him with easy civility. He was the old
friend of his wife, fallen into adversity; and, as nobody ap-
peared to have anything positive to allege against him, Sir
Arthur was too liberal, and too much a man of the world, to
take needless exceptions. So Vaughan always had the entre
of her box at the theatres, was frequently the companion of
her airings in the Bois de Boulogne, and generally dined at
her table three times a week; an arrangement that left his
Avife very much to herself; but as he told her he was culti-
vating the acquaintance of these people in the hope they
would serve him, she endured her loneliness with patience.
And there is no doubt that it teas purely interest that had
first induced him to fall as he did, Avith his eyes open, into
Lady Glenlyon's lures ; but habit soon made him like not her,
but the pleasures and elegancies she administered to him, so
well, that love itself could scarcely have brought him more
constantly to her side. Yet he did not love her, and she
knew it. That is a point, indeed, upon Avhich, I believe,
Avomen are never deceived; men, in AAdiom intuitions are
weaker, may sometimes draAv Avrong conclusions; but although
Ave often cajole ourselves, and refuse to look truth in the face,
we see it Avith closed eyes, Avhether Ave will or no. I must
even do Yaughan the justice to say, that whilst he was dining
and driving Avith Lady Glenlyon, his heart often yearned to-
wards Linny, and that, Avhen he returned to her after a plea-
sant evening spent in company, or at the theatre, it was Avith
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
135
undiminished if not augmented affection ; the rather that she
never complained of his absence, nor reproached him with
enjoying pleasures from whieh she was excluded. And thus
it came about that, of these two ladies, Linny was the hap-
piest. She had her cares, and her anxieties, and her fears for
the future, but her nature was more calmly devoted, and less
passionate and excitable than Lady Gflenlyon's; and to such
natures as this last, there is no more irritating pain than that
which Yaughan daily and hourly inflicted upon her, or which
her involuntary clear-sightedness inflicted upon herself. ' Of
course, too, she made the usual mistake; having failed to win
him by her abundant kindness and services, instead of alarm-
ing his pride or his interest by a semblance of indifference, she
tried to excite his gratitude and affection by more kindness
and warmer demonstrations; and the warmer she grew, the
colder grew he. It was like blowing upon ice to make it
burn. But not one woman in a thousand, who has entered upon
this path, ever stops. Like people involved in a hopeless law-
suit, they persist in "throwing good money after bad. She
was always seeking what she could do for him, how she could
flatter him, and heal the wounds his self-love had suffered by
the failure of the elopement scheme, and her subsequent mar-
riage. She told him how her father had discovered their in-
tentions, and won her to relinquish the plan, under a promise
that if, at the end of the period named, she was still resolved
on the match, he would oppose it no longer.
 And I thought how much better it was for your sake,
dear Yaughan, that we should marry with my father's con-
sent and countenance. Besides, you know he might not have
given us any money, and he might have disinherited me; and
so I thought it better to yield so far, and write you that
letter bidding you not come.
 What letter ? I had no letter.
 You did not receive it ?"— Never.
 I gave it to my maid to send to the post. But you didn't
come that night ?
"Yes, I did—and was received by your father.
 And you thought it was with my connivance ! I cannot
■wonder at .your resentment. That wretch Dycer must have
betrayed me; bribed by my father, 1 dare say. But how did
he receive you ? What did he say ?
 Nothing very civil, as you may suppose. However, it's
no use recurring to these unpleasant recollections now.
136
LINNY LOCKWOOD,
 What a tool they made of me! I see it all. And by
keeping back that letter they made you distrust me; and
thus kept us effectually apart, and prevented an explanation.
I'll never forgive it as long as I live! And then I thought
you didn't care for me, and I was so miserable that I didn't
care for myself; and so -I married.
 The best thing you could do.
"Do you say so, Yaughan? returned Kate, reproachfully.
 But, to be sure, that could make no difference to you.
 None; if you were not to marry me.
Could there be anything so cutting ? Yet he did not in-
tend it, though she felt it, and recoiled from it as from the
sting of an adder. What indifference it implied! Whilst
she was bursting with jealousy of that fair wife of his, it had
not occurred to him to be jealous of her husband—a man not
unfit to inspire such a passion either ; a thorough gentleman;
amiable, sensible, well-looking, and well bred. How she hated
Linny at that moment! Fine lady as she was, she would
have liked to fall foul of her, and disfigure that lovely face.
But instead of being repulsed, subdued, beaten, by these de-
feats, they only incited her to the struggle by the pangs they
inflicted. Yaughan must love her; she could never rest till
she had superseded her rival in his heart;—then, she thought,
she should be at peace. So she went on heaping Pelion upon
Ossa.
 Ah, Yaughan! you little know what I had suffered before
I consented to this marriage. Up to the very last, if I had
had but the slightest encouragement from you—if you had
only written to me—I would have broken it off, even as I
was stepping into the carriage to go to church. But you
didn't; and then when it was too late, and the irrevocable
knot was tied, we crossed each other's path at Calais.
Having no direct sympathy with these lamentations,
Yaughan occasionally interrupted them with a yawn, or was
guilty of looking out of the window; yet he deeply regretted
the material advantages he had lost by not marrying Cattie;
and when she dwelt on that view of the question, his sympathy
was more ready, she had the satisfaction of seeing his brow
overclouded, and sometimes of hearing him exhale his unsen-
timental regrets in a sigh. Bitter balm ! Irritating consola-
tion ! Many a time it was on her lips to reproach him* with
his infidelity. She longed to sneer at Linny ; to be caustic
on his liaison with  a common-looking, under-bred girl, but
LIN NY LOCKWOOD.
137
she felt she durst not; the arrow might recoil and strike her-
self, for he loved her, she was sure. What hut love could
attach him to one who had evidently no worldly advantages
to seduce him ? What would she have given to have been
loved thus for herself?
Not daring to trust her tongue with this perilous venture,
she ignored Linny's existence altogether; avoiding any allu-
sion that would lead Yaughan to suppose she was aware of
the true state of the case; but she always lamented to Sir
Arthur-, that Yaughan's prospects in life were ruined by a mad
passion for some girl of inferior connexion, who was either his
wife or something worse.  But for this, she said,  he
might, with his manners and personal advantages, have yet
repaired his fortunes by a good marriage.
CHAPTER XXI.
One day that Mr. Gamble, of the King's Arms, was standing
with his hands in his pockets at the door of his own hostelry,
in the Vauxhall-road, complacently contemplating the nume-
rous stage-coaches long and short, the carriers' waggons, the
gigs and busses, and other pleasing varieties of vehicular inge-
nuity that were groaning or rattling past, he observed a tired-
looking, dusty, footsore traveller, whose features he fancied
were familiar to him, slowly wending his way along the foot-
path. That he had walked many a mile appeared from his
shoes, which were so worn that they scarcely clung to his
feet, and would, indeed, have dropped from them, but that
they were fastened on by bits of twine bound round the in-
step. His clothes, too, which consisted of a black coat and
grey trousers, with the remnant of a black handkerchief round
his throat, had reached the last stage of shabbiness ; and his
hat, though entire, had been such a victim to the elements,
and was so disfigured by rain and dust, that it more resem-
bled brown paper than black felt. The person and carriage
of the wearer of these habiliments were in strict accordance
with them. The complexion was ghastly, the eyes sunken,
the mouth drawn down, and the hair, thin and grey, appeared
uncut and straggling beneath the hat; his body had evidently
decreased considerably in size since his clothes were made;
his hands were without gloves; and his coat was fastened
across the breast with a pin, as if to conceal the deficiency or
imperfections of his under apparel. Mr. Gamble kept his eye
138
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
upon this melancholy figure as he approached, gazing with
no little surprise and curiosity upon, what appeared to him,,
either the apparition of a man he had formerly known, or a
very singular living resemblance of the individual in question.
The traveller advanced, however, without looking about him ;
appearing too much oppressed by fatigue and wretchedness to
raise his head; a thousand-weight of care seemed to be sitting
on his shoulders, and weighing him down. There was some-
thing in the gait, however, that, in spite of his persuasion
that the original of this phantasm was dead, irresistibly im-
pelled Mr. Gamble, as the stranger was passing his door, to
step forward and lay his hand upon his shoulder. The man
started as if the hand had been that of an enemy, and looked
up with an expression of alarm.
 If it isn't, my name's not Gamble ! exclaimed the host,
pursuing the current of his own thought.  Mr. Lockwood!
he continued, for the evident recognition on the other side
confirmed his suspicion;  why, man, we thought you was
dead and buried long ago !
 No, answered Lockwood, shaking his head despondingly
 no such thing—worse luck !
"Step in! rejoined Gamble, laying hold of his arm and
leading him into the house—a measure to which Lockwood
offered no opposition.  I thought I couldn't be mistaken,
he continued, as he opened the door of a small parlour; "if
ever I see Mr. Lockwood, says I, that's he.
 I wonder you recognised me, returned Lockwood ;  I
don't look much like the man you remember, I think.
 Why, there's a pretty considerable change to be sure,
answered Gamble:  and, if it hadn't been for your gait, I
won't say but I might have let you pass. But, come ! a slice
of cold beef and a draught of porter '11 do you good after your
walk. Sit yourself down a bit! and so saving the hospitable
host disappeared to order in the viands, whilst his weary guest,
nothing loth, took out a pocket-handkerchief worthy of Syl-
vester Daggerwood, and began to whisk some of the dust off
his shoes and clothes. It is needless to remark that he wished
they were cleaner and more respectable; for although, whilst
he was tramping along the road, a poor unit in the multitude,
he was too much absorbed with heavier cares to think of his
dilapidated attire, he could not be insensible to the mortifica-
tion of appearing in such miserable guise before a man who
had known him in better days, and who used formerly to doff
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
189
his hat to him—for Gamble had lived as groom at Marlow
when Gervase Edmonstone and George Lockwood were boys;
and, although, of late years, the banker's clerk and the host
of the King's Arms did not often come across each other, yet,
whenever they did chance to meet, it was never without a
friendly word of greeting.
The painful consciousness of his beggarly plight once
awakened, poor Lockwood shrunk from the waiter's eye as
he brought in a fine sirloin of beef, with the bread, beer, and
condiments necessary to a hearty luncheon ; and yet he was a
hftngry and thirsty man, who had not partaken of such a
repast for many a day—a repast to which he was now invited
with an honest welcome; for, as we have seen before, Mr.
Gamble was a good kind of creature, and not disposed to turn
his back upon an old acquaintance in distress, if^he could
help it.
 Come, said he,  fall to! taking up the knife and fork
with an artistic flourish, and cutting out a couple of generous,
juicy, slices of the sirloin ;  travelling, 'specially when a man
hasn't no conveyance but his own ten toes, is hungry work.
 Hungry enough 1 answered Lockwood ;  and it's not
many people that are willing to feed travellers with empty
pockets.
1 Mr. Gamble pushed the plate of beef towards him, cut him
a huge hunch of bread, helped him to salt and mustard, and
placed a foaming pot of porter at his right hand.
"Eat and drink your fill! said he, "and never mind the
pocket.
It was pleasant to see with what hearty good-will poor
.George obeyed the injunction. With an appetite sharpened
by long abstinence, a man, whilst such a meal is before him,
may be excused for forgetting his sorrows. Taking things on
tire whole, there were few people in the world just then worse
off than George Lockwood; and yet many a coroneted head,
with a full purse and a French cook, would have given a
handsome sum to purchase the amount of enjoyment that
fell to the lot of this poor wayfarer, whilst partaking of Mr.
Gamble's hospitalities.
"Don't say no, man—don't say no; there's more where
that comes from, said he, frankly, when his guest declined a
third plateful; and it was not till he felt assured the hungry
stomach was entirely satisfied, that he would allow the food
to be cleared away. When that was done, he desired his wife
no
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
to send them in a couple of glasses of brandy-and-water, and
some biscuits; and then, the door being closed upon them,
George said,  And so you heard I was dead ?
 We did, answered Mr. Gamble.  It was a man I knew
as lived coachman with Mr. Eardley, the banker, that told me
of it.
 What did he say ? inquired George.
 Why, said Gamble, peering into his glass of brandy-and-
water, and playing with his teaspoon,  he hinted that summut
unfort'nate had occurred, and that it was supposed you'd been
and done summut rash. 9
 Committed suicide?"— That's what he meant, I take it.
 Did he say anything about my wife ?
"Not a word. He was not here five minutes: he only
looked in as he was passing the door; but I'm very glad to
find it was a false report.
 I don't know but it would have been the wisest thing I
could have done, said Lockwood.  Many's the time I've
walked by the river's side, or looked into the chemists' shops,
and thought what an easy thing it would be to get away from
all this misery; but when it comes to the point, somehow 
"Why, there's two words to that bargain, responded Mr.-
Gamble.  I don't know much about what the parsons tells
us; and it's my opinion they don't know much more 'about
them things than we do ourselves. I'm a plain man, and I
never had much edication ; but I've got my eyes; and what
I say is, that a man's only got to open 'em to see the works
of God, whereby I know that them aren't the works of man;
and if he made me, what I say is, that I don't think I've no
right to go and unmake myself, because things don't fit just
as I want 'em, which appears to me like flying in the face of
God Almighty. I don't think we've got no business to go
till we're called; and that's too soon for most onus! he
added, with a knowing nod, as he lifted his glass to his lips.
 It was some such feeling as you speak of that always de~
terred me, answered Lockwood.  Trouble is often hard to
bear; but this life is but a span, and we don't know where
we're rushing to.
 Besides, when things is at the worst they often mends,
said Mr. Gamble.
 I'm afraid my affairs are past mending, rejoined Lock-
wood.  For many years there wasn't a happier man in the
three kingdoms than I was, till misfortune came—and it
LIN"NY LOCKWOOD.
m
Wasn't by my own fault either; and since that everything has
gone against me. I suppose you never heard what happened ?
 Why, no, answered Gamble; "no particklers. I heard
summut of the break-up at the bank, 'cause, you know, I keeps
my bit of money there—
 It's not the bank I allude to, said Lockwood,  though
I've been a dreadful sufferer from that business, and, as I said
before, without any fault of my own ; but it was not that
affair that drove me finally to desperation, and sent me wan-
dering over the country like a madman. It was the loss of a
parcel containing money and jewels, that was entrusted to
me by one of the Eardley family, and which, ill-luck I
dropped in the street. Of course, I knew they wouldn't believe
I'd dropped it—why should they ?—especially when a man
was down in the world, as I was ?
 An awkward circumstance, no doubt, responded Mr.
Gamble.  But how came you to lose such a thing as that ?
"Why,.I'd thrust it into my bosom because there was a
hole in the breast-pocket of my great-coat, and in a struggle
with a blast of wind that caught my umbrella—for it was a
terrible windy, rainy night—some of the buttons gave way.
At least, that's the only way I could account for it, for I
never discovered the loss till I reached Mr. Eardley's door,
and then I rushed back like a madman, and searched the
ground all night; but of course it had been caught up. Such
a thing as that was sure never to be heard of again.
"Not likely, returned Mr. Gamble.
 When I went to the police-office to give information
about it, I saw clearly that they suspected me; and 1 was
afraid of being arrested on a charge of embezzlement. What
feould I have said P Nothing that they would believe, I knew.
As for facing Mr. Eardley, I couldn't do it after all that had
happened; and, instead of going home, I skulked about till I
didn't dare to go ; for of course every hour I had kept out of
the way, made my case worse.
"And what have you been doing ever since ?
 Wandering about the country like a vagrant—scarcely in
my right mind, I believe, sometimes. At last I fell ill, and
when I came to my recollection I found myself in an hospital.
When I was strong enough to walk, they dismissed me; and
at length I determined to face the worst, and give myself up
to the police. When you stopped me, I was on my way to
Bow-street.
H2
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 Hang it! I don't see no occasion to do that neither, said
Mr. Gamble.  Better go to Mr. Eardley, and hear what he's
got to say about it.
"I haven't the heart to go to him, answered Lockwood,
 when I have no means of clearing myself. Besides, on second
thoughts, I believe it is better that things should remain as
they are. If I turn up again, 1 can only bring disgrace and
trouble on my family; whereas, I am persuaded from my
knowledge of Mr. Eardley, that he'll not let them want if he
thinks me dead.
"He may think so still for me, said Gamble;  but I should
say—face it out! Tell the truth, and shame the devil. How-
somever, every man must judge for himself in them things.
"If it hadn't been for what had occurred previously, re-
joined Lockwood, "I should have acted quite differently; but
I've been sacrificed in the most rascally manner by a person
I owed a great deal to, and I can't justify myself. I might
have done it, if I'd had resolution; but the time's gone by;
and, as I said before, when a man's down everything goes
against him.
"That's often true enough, returned Gamble; "but
there's more folks down than you, and that have had a
greater fall. One day, as I was a driving in a gig through
the Hew Road, I see'd Mr. Edmonstone. I didn't pretend
to know him; but he was standing at the door of a shabby
house, and looked sadly broke down like. It must be a hard
change for him and his lady.
Lockwood was silent. He, the innocent, had experienced
so much unmerited suffering, that his heart was hardened
against the sufferings of the guilty. He could have said,
 It's no more than he deserves!
"And the youngster, too—the captain.—it's been a sad
trouble to him. He was knocking about town for a long
while, and oft-times he'd have wanted a dinner and a bed I
fancy, if I hadn't taken him in. I never thought to see my
money. He's paid me, though; but the dickens knows where
he got it. A lucky throw with the bones, I s'pose.
 Where is he now ? enquired Lockwood, his mind revert-
ing to his daughter.
"T'other side of the water, among the mounseers. He
comes here one morning, afore my wife was down stairs, with
—hem!—with an uncommon handsome young 'oman, as a
man need wish to see, pays me my money, and away in a hack
LIXNY LOCKWOOD.
143
to the Tower Stairs; ancl my ncvey Jem, that's English
waiter at the Caffy Angly, on the Bullvards, over in Paris,
says he often sees 'em a walking about. By the by, Mr. Lock-
wood, is your girl married ?
 No! answered Lock wood, unsuspiciously,  she's teacher
in a boarding-school at Battersea. The last time I saw that
youth, Yaughan Edmonstone, I shall not easily forget. It was.
on that unlucky night when I dropped the parcel; and I be-
lieve, at the very time I dropped it he was not far from me.
God forgive me! but I've sometimes thought he might have
picked it up!
 Perhaps he did, answered Gamble facetiously; for the
suggestion seemed too improbable to be received seriously.
 Perhaps he did; and paid me with the money.
 It was on the 20th of Dedember, last year, said Lock-
wood; "the evening before Miss Eardley's marriage.
 Faith! I think it was somewhere about that time he was
here, returned Gamble.  I know it wasn't many days
afore Christmas; for I remember my wife had been dinging
into me about his owing us so much money, and I'd promised,
if he didn't pay at Christmas, I wouldn't give him no more
credit;' so,' says she, laughing—says she,' The captain's just
saved his bacon.' 
Here Mr. Lockwood interrupted the jolly laugh with which
the worthy host terminated his recital, by inquiring anxiously
whether Gamble had any means of ascertaining the precise
period at which Yaughan Edmonstone had paid the visit
above alluded to. Nothing was easier, Mr. Gamble said, since
he had entered the payment in his books the day it was re-
ceived; and with that he rose and left the room.
It was a singular circumstance that, although the vague-
ness of his grounds of suspicion on the one hand, and his
despondency and sense of helplessness on the other, would
have effectually prevented his making any effort to investigate
the fact, Lockwood had been perpetually haunted by the idea,
that it was Yaughan Edmonstone who had picked up the
parcel, and that the injury of the son had thus formed a
climax to the injuries of the father. The moment, therefore,
that Gamble seemed to admit the possibility of the thing,
Lockwood's mind eagerly fastened on it; and it was in a state
of excited expectation that he waited the result of a re-
ference to the ledger, with which the host presently returned.
 It was uncommon stormy weather, too, I remember,
144
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
said Gamble ;  for one of the shutters had blown to the night
before, and smashed that there window ; and I recollect the
glazier was mending of it when we came into this room to
settle the account.
"Look at the date, said Lockwood; his hand trembling :
with agitation as he held the candle over the pages that the
host was turning.
 Here it is! exclaimed Gamble, pointing to the entry with
his finger.  £57 : 17 : 8 : paid December 21 st, 18 
Unable to speak, from the violence of his emotions, Lock-
wood dropped into a chair, paler, if possible, than he was
before.
"The very day I he said, striking the table with his.
clenched fist.  I lost that parcel in Oxford-street on the
20th of December, about nine o'clock at night, and I know
that that fellow was close upon my heels, for I saw him with
my own eyes by the light from a chemist's window ; and the
next morning he comes here with his pockets full of cash,
pays you fifty-seven pounds, and cuts across the water!
 It do look uncommon odd, to be sure ! said Mr. Gamble;
 and yet I should be sorry to think the captain 'ud do such
a thing as that.
 I'll go to a magistrate this very night, and lay the whole
circumstances before him, exclaimed Lockwood.
 I wouldn't do no such a thing, if I was you, said Mr.
Gamble,  till I was a little more sartain. You see it's my
opinion that the captain played ; a person I knowed told me
he see him coming out of a hell in St. James's-street, one
morning ahout six o'clock. Now, he may have had a lucky
haul.
But the idea had too fast hold of Lockwood's mind to be
removed by any such suggestions ; whilst the hope of obtain-
ing his own justification, and, at the same time, rendering
back some of the misery that had been heaped upon himself,
was too exciting, in his present state of nervous irritation, to
be resisted. He felt he must seek relief in action, and, in
spite of Gamble's advice,  To sleep upon it, and not let his
passion run away with him, he seized his hat, and declared
his intention of being off to Bow-street immediately.
"Well, said the host, who, for more reasons than one,
had done his utmost to dissuade him,  as you're determined
to go, I'd ha' gone with you, but I shouldn't like to do any
harm to the captain ; howsomever, if they don't keep you
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
145
where you're going to, we sha'n't shut up till 'twixt twelve
and one: come back here, and I'll find a shakedown for you.
It was near midnight when Lockwood walked into the
passage of the King's Arms tired and disappointed—so tired,
indeed, that he was scarcely able to crawl. He had told his
story; but the evidence that appeared so satisfactory to him,
had produced no sensation at the police-office, where the minor
circumstances and connecting links were unknown. The
magistrate could discover little relation betwixt the dropping
of a parcel in Oxford-street one evening, and a gentleman's
paying his bill at a tavern in Vauxhall-road the next morning.
Moreover, Mr. Eardley, in compliance with the wishes of Mr.
Beatherstone, had forborne to make any stir about the matter,
so that the officials were not on the qui vive in regard to it;
and all Lockwood could obtain was a recommendation to
pursue the inquiry, and a promise that if he could produce
any reasonable grounds of suspicion against the gentleman
he alluded to, the affair should be investigated. Gamble told
him he thought he had got off very well, for he had half ex-
pected they would have detained him.
 Quite the contrary, answered Lockwood ;  they seemed
very anxious to get rid of me, and I might have been back
much earlier, but that, when I found myself so near, I couldn't
resist going home to see my poor wife, at least to what was
my home. But she has moved to some other place—the
house is occupied by strangers, so that I couldn't make out
where she's gone to.
 Well, you'll find that out to-morrow, said Gamble; but
Lockwood intimated that he had other plans in his head; and,
although he had yielded to the temptation when he was near
the spot, yet he believed it was much better, since the grief
for his loss must lyive ere this subsided, that he should not
hamper his family by returning to them in his present miser-
able plight.  If I could once clear myself of this business,
he added, "I wouldn't so much mind; and now, that I've got
a clue, I'll never rest till I've got to the end of it; 'where-
upon, whilst they ate a bit of bread and cheese together,, he
proceeded to confide to the host his determination to go in
pursuit of Vaughan. Mr. Gamble thought it a wild scheme,
and tried to persuade him out of it, but Lockwood was reso-
lute. The circumstance he had heard that day, seemed such
a direct confirmation of his own waking dreams, that he
believed Providence had guided him to the spot where it was
v
146
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
decreed he should learn them; and he felt it would he treason
to himself to neglect following up the clue thus offered.
 I'll go down to the quays, he said,  and job about till I
get money enough to take me across the water; once on the
other side, I shall find my way to Paris somehow.
 But Paris is as big as London, I s'pose, said Gamble—
 and a man might as well look for a needle in a bundle of hay,
if so be you don't know where he lives.
But Lockwood was not to be deterred from his enterprise;
the mere idea of having something to do, of having an object
in life—a hope to sustain him under his difficulties, together
with the assurance, that could he prove his own innocence and
convict Yaughan Edmonstone,he would find a warm friend and
supporter in Mr. Eardley, excited him to a degree that made
him overlook all the obstacles that stood in the way of his
undertakings, although Gamble, from a certain remains of good-
will to the Edmonstone family, and pity for  the captain,
by no means neglected to enforce them.
On the following day, Lockwood went away, in pursuance
of his plan, to work at the quays; but as the people who
were regularly employed there looked upon him as an inter-
loper, he  got more kicks than halfpenceand after some
time he returned to the King's Arms, something the worse in
appearance, and in no respect improved in circumstances.
Here, however, he found aid whence he had least expected it.
Mr. Gamble, moved by the gaunt cheeks of his old acquaintance,
again produced the sirloin and porter—complacently sipping
brandy and water whilst Lockwood narrated his recent adven-
tures, and reiterated his determination, notwithstanding his
present failure, never to relinquish his object. Now it hap-
pened that this sederunt was held in the bar, and had for an
auditor Mrs. Gamble, who, entertaining but scanty sympathy
with the guest's misfortunes, looked with a jealous eye at the
consumption of liquor and provisions by so beggarly a cus-
tomer. It therefore occurred to her, that since he was bent
on going over the water, the cheapest thing they could do
would be to send him there. A steerage passage would cost
but a small sum, and, once on the other side, he would not
easily get back again, whilst the outlay for transporting hinji
would be speedily redeemed from future sirloins and pots of
porter—with the additional advantage of being relieved frorh
his visits.
When Mr. Gamble discovered that his wife took this view
LINN* LOCKWOOD. 147
of the case, being too prudent a man to oppose her plan, he
quietly acquiesced; and fitting out Lockwood with an old
suit of clothes and hat of his own, he shook hands, and bade
him good-speed.
CHAPTER XXII.
The English letters had just been delivered, and Lady Glen-
lyon was reading hers before she went out. Yaughan was
engaged with The Times, that had arrived with them. Sir
Arthur had already departed on horseback for the Bois de
Boulogne.
"Poor creature! said her ladyship, as she concluded the
letter she had been perusing.
 Who is a poor creature ? inquired Yaughan.
 You remember Lockwood F He had been a clerk in the
bank. You must have seen him, I suppose ? I recollect
hearing your mother say, that she had had a daughter of his
at Marlow once.
"What of him? askedVaughan.
 It's supposed he has made away with himself."—"Really!
 By the by, I never told you about it."— About what ?
 About the robbery."— At the bank ?
 No, no; the night before I was married. My uncle,
Eeatherstone, had been detained by contrary winds, and did
not arrive till the day before the wedding; but he had written
from Naples to order a bracelet for me to be ready against
his arrival; and, as he did not find it in Cavendish-square, he
sent Lockwood, who used to come about the house to do any
little job that was wanted, to fetch it, and some money also—
five hundred pounds, intended for me, too ; but the tempta-
tion was too great, I suppose. I fancy they were miserably
poor, those Lockwoods, and he made off with the money and
bracelet, and has never been heard of since—at least he has
never been seen since; but mama says here, ' Did I never
tell you that, shortly after you left us, papa had a letter from
that wretched Lockwood; saying that he could not face the
dreadful suspicion from which he saw it was impossible to
clear himself, and that he preferred death to such a life of
misery as he saw before him? He did not confess, however,
but declared his innocence, which of course nobody believes
hi; if he were not conscious of guilt, the natural thing would
have been to have invited and assisted investigation. I think,
K 2
148
LINNT LOCKWOOD.
and so does your papa, that his not coming forward was the.
strongest proof of his criminality. At the end of the letter,
he conjured Mr. Eardley, in consideration of the number of
years he served him faithfully, to be' kind to his wife andj
daughter; the latter, he said, would be able to get her owri
living, but what would become of the former he did not know,
unless we would help her—so of course we did, and have;
maintained her ever since. However, poor creature, she will
not want our help long, for she is exceedingly ill, and not
likely to survive; it appears she has never recovered that
last business about her husband. I sent Dycer to see her
this morning, and she thinks her very bad. Lockwood, it i$
supposed, made away with himself; probably threw himself
into the river. That's your papa's opinion, and it was perhaps
the best thing he could do. The daughter it seems is mar-
ried, which is fortunate; but Dycer says, she did not seem
inclined to mention to whom; so it is probably no great
things of a match.' A shocking affair altogether, isn't it ?
said Lady Glenlyon, laying down the letter.
 Very ! answered Yaughan.
 Poor people like that, that have nothing in the world but
their character, must be mad to do such things. He might
have been certain he couldn't escape. He pretended he had
dropped the parcel in Oxford-street; but who could believe
anything so improbable ? It's fortunate the girl has got a
husband. What did Mrs. Edmonstone have her at Marlow
for ?—was she in any situation ?
"No, my mother liked her, said Yaughan, laying down
the paper, and rising from his chair.  But if we are to have
a drive, had not we better be off?
Yaughan did not go home that night till Linny was in bed.
He refused to dine with Lady Glenlyon, notwithstanding they
pressed him to do so; and although he would have liked very
well to drop into one of the theatres, he could not—being still
in his morning dress, that is, he did not choose to be seen
there in an exceptionable toilette. So, after taking his dinner
at the Cafe de Foy, he paid two sous for a chair in the Jardin
du Palais Royal, where he could sit undisturbed; and, whilst
the gay and varied scene passed before his eyes, allow his
troubled thoughts to pursue their bent.
The nights were warm enough to make the fresco agreeable;
and as Yaughan was neither disposed to go home, nor in a
humour to enjoy the pleasures of solitude, he sat on long after
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
149
the evening had closed in, and the shops were glittering with
iheir brilliant wares and dazzling lights. The centre of the
garden, however, where he and several- other individuals sat,
was in the shade; so that they had the advantage of the
coup d'ceil, without being exposed to observation themselves.
At the end of the first hour, Vaughan was reminded of the
lapse of time by the owner of the chairs, who required a second
payment.
"Si, monsieur, avait encore l'intention de se reposer; in
answer to which appeal, Vaughan silently handed the woman
two more sous, the last he had in his pocket. Shortly after
this the person who occupied the chair next his rose, and
another, who seated himself in it, was immediately accosted
with the  Deux sous, s'il vous plait, monsieur!
.  Give me change, said he in English, at the same time
handing her a franc, a proceeding which required no interpreter
to explain it.
 An Englishman, thought Vaughan, turning his shoulder
towards the stranger, lest he should recognise him for the
same, and thereupon address him; for he was not disposed for
conversation, especially with a compatriot.
The stranger, however, seemed by no means inclined to
trouble him. On the contrary, to judge by his demeanour,
he appeared deeply absorbed with his own affairs—a conclu-
sion which might be drawn rather by his restlessness than
his repose. One moment he would raise his hand to his fore-
head, and rub it, as if he hoped by friction to strike a light on
the subject of his meditations; then he would rest his chin in
the palm of his hand, and, closing his eyes, seem to shut out
the world, whilst his faculties were all condensed on one point.
He fidgeted on his chair, too, sometimes suddenly flinging
himself back, and then as suddenly bending forwards, and
resting one or both elbows on his knee. Now and then, he
seemed to clench his teeth ; and he several times, after a very
long inspiration, sent forth the air almost whistling betwixt
his lips, in such a manner that Vaughan would have been
annoyed by so restless a neighbour, had not the evident dis-
turbance of the man's mind rather interested him, and aroused
his curiosity. Had the stranger been a Frenchman or an
Italian, he would have attached less meaning to these mani-
testations; but when an undemonstrative Englishman is so
far thrown out of his equilibrium as to signalize his agitation
by unconscious gestures, it is to be presumed that he is either
150
LTNNY LOCKWOOD.
insane or in very critical circumstances ; and in either one or'
the other supposition he naturally becomes an object of curio-
sity. Without, therefore, turning towards him, Yaughan
contrived to watch his neighbour out of the corner of his eye.
His features he could not discover, both because it was dusk,
and because the stranger, who had on a broad-brimmed hat,
sat with his face in the opposite direction ; but there was light
enough to observe his agitated movements, and Yaughan, for
a short time, was diverted from the contemplation of his own
embarrassments by the solace of seeing a man either in
greater difficulties, or with less capacity for supporting them
than himself.
This entertainment, sorry as it was, had passed away another
half hour, and Vaughan was just thinking of moving, when
the stranger, with that abruptness that marked the pre-occu-
pation of his mind, drew out his pocket-handkerchief and
wiped his face; and then, suddenly rising, walked rapidly off
in the direction of the Rue Richelieu, Yaughan following him
with his eyes, till he disappeared in the throng that was
moving under the colonnade. As he withdrew them, he
observed something white lying on the ground, which he
stooped to pick up as he himself rose. It was only the back
of a letter, and he was about to fling it away, when it occurred
to him that it must have been dropped by the stranger on
taking out his pocket-handkerchief; wherefore, with a natural
curiosity to see the name of this unquiet spirit, he went
forward to one of the brilliantly illuminated shop windows to
examine it. The first side he looked at was covered with a
sort of French and English vocabulary, which appeared to be
the result of the writer's studies in the former language;
together with some useful scraps of dialogue for daily need,
such as, How far is it? Can I have a bed here to-night? Sfc. Sfc.
and then he turned to the other, expecting to find the name
of the stranger, and a name there was—Yaughan started as
he read it— Lockwood! Mr. Gr. Lockwood, Cafe Anglais.
Is it possible ? Could it have been Lockwood ? and then he
tried to recall the height and figure of the man as he had
observed him when he walked away. They were not unlike
Lockwood's, inasmuch as he was a middle-sized person, and
so was the stranger; but the broad-brimmed hat and the dark
surtout did not form the usual costume of the ex-clerk, who
always wore a swallow-tailed coat, and a hat with a rather
narrow brim. But did not this circumstance augment the
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
151
probability tbat it really was Lockwood, since, if be wished
to disguise himself, he would naturally assume an attire
exactly the reverse of that he was accustomed to appear in ?
He had not made away with himself then, but was in Paris,
where he might any hour fall in with his daughter! How
strange it appeared, that only that morning V aughan had
learned from Lady Gflenlyon the history of Lockwood's mis-
fortune and supposed death! But this is a kind of coinci-
dence that everybody who observes must have frequently
noticed. We hear of a person or a place—mentioned quite
accidentally perhaps—for the first time in our lives to-day;
and to-morrow, a link of some chain from the same quarter,
but altogether unconnected with the first, brings us into
relation with the same place or person. Yes; if this1 was
Lockwood, unless Linny shut herself up in the hotel, the
father and daughter might meet,—and what then? It was
not easy to say. Was it not possible that he had actually
come in pursuit of Linny ? For although the Eardleys were
led by Mrs. Lockwood to believe that she did not know what
had become of her husband, it did not follow that she was as
ignorant as she pretended to be. The probabilities were that
she was not; they might be in communication, and she might
have told him where their daughter was to be found. And
now, if the stranger, whoever he was, had had his eye upon
Yaughan, he would have seen him exhibit very much the
same symptoms of disquietude and perplexity that he had done
himself. He, too, rubbed his forehead, and knitted his brows,
and clenched his teeth, as he walked on unconsciously to the
Boulevards, which he paced from the Madeleine to the Fau-
bourg Poissonniere, and then back again. At length, how-
ever, he was tired; so he turned his steps homewards, where
he found his wife asleep—for she was used to his staying out
now ; and, as nothing had yet occurred to render his absences
subject of anxiety or suspicion, she had ceased to sit up for
him. He moved softly, for he did not wish to wake her; but
she did wake.
 Oh, Yaughan, is that you ? Isn't it very late ?
 Bather.
 Have you had a pleasant day ? Where have you been
ever since the morning ?
 Nowhere. Idling about till I'm as tired as a dog. I'm
quite sick of Paris; and we must get away from it to some
other place.
152
linny lockwood.
CHAPTER XXIII.
"Yes, said Vaughan on the following morning, "we must
get away from this place—I'm tired of it.
 Then, answered Mrs. Yaughan,"we must get in our bills.
 The people will be sure to send them when they find we're
going. You need not fear them forgetting it.
 But they may not hear of it. Where do you mean to go ?
 I don't know. Where would you like to go ?
 I should like to go to Switzerland; but I should think,
since travelling is so expensive, we had better stay where we
are. If you find Paris dull, so you will find every other place,
when the novelty's worn off.
Yaughan said he thought he should like Naples; but he
admitted that the journey would be very expensive. On the
whole, he proposed that they should try Brussels—a plan to
which Linny offered no objection; when, however, she rein-
forced the necessity of announcing their intended departure to
the wine-merchant and a few other tradesmen, who, after being
visited by Yaughan in Lady Glenlyon's carriage, generously re-
quested him not to mention such a thing as paying, he desired
her to do nothing in it at present, since there was no telling
but he might alter his mind.
Linny would have been very glad to return to England, for
she was extremely anxious about her parents ; their silence she
could not comprehend—atleast her mother's, whose displeasure
at her marriage, if it ever existed, she knew would be of very
short duration; but Yaughan had so repeatedly refused to en-
tertain any idea of recrossing the Channel, that she forbore to
express her wishes ; and, since that gratification was denied her,
prudence, she thought, forbade their moving at all; except into
a cheaper lodging—a measure she had frequently advocated
without success. At first, Yaughan, finding himself tolerably
comfortable, had opposed the plan, because it involved some
sacrifice of his ease and his pride, but latterly a more cogent
reason bound him to the spot; his funds were running low;
he had no more money left than sufficed for his daily'expen-
diture in gloves, perfumes, cab hire, and theatres, and an occa-
sional dinner at a restaurateur''s. He could not afford to pay
his bills. Creditors may be very amiable persons, but they
have one characteristic in common with wild beasts—which
L1NNY LOCKWOOD.
153
is, that the best way of keeping them quiet is to remain still
yourself; the moment you exhibit signs of moving they are
down upon you immediately. Vaughan was aware of this
peculiarity; and accordingly, though, for the reasons above
hinted, he would have been glad to escape from Paris, he did not
dare take any steps towards doing so ; notwithstanding that
his freedom and his pleasures were considerably curtailed by
the apprehension of coming into some collision with Lockwood.
Running away with Linny and marrying her was nothing—
in so doing he considered that he had conferred an honour on
the Lockwood family; and had  the head and front of his
offence had that extent—no more, he would have met his
wife's father with a patronising air of civility, and then shaken
him off as fast as he could ; but to do these things we must
be conscience-free. The man who can convict us of a dishonest
action is our master—our tyrant, if he choose to be so : his eye
can make us quail; his whisper unnerve us. Once upon a
time he was a dwarf, and we despised him ; but he is grown
into a giant now, and we tremble at his approach.
The power of opinion is a curious thing when we come to
consider it; and the world, after all, not to look too closely
into its motives, must be a tolerably honest world; for if it
were not so, dishonesty would be able to hold its head more
erect, and we should not stare at a person suspected of a lapse
from integrity, as if he were a rare phenomenon. And what
a hell upon earth society would be, if the case were otherwise!
There are many things done in it that will not bear the light;
but the very necessity for shrouding them in darkness, proves
that honesty is the rule and dishonesty the exception.
Yaughan would not have been disdionest if—as he would
have expressed it himself—if he could have helped it; but how
can a man be honest who can neither work nor beg, and yet
has no money ? Some people indeed adopt the alternative of
starving ; but that is an expedient too romantic and too un-
pleasant to be generally entertained. It might also have been
possible to spend less, and devote every shilling to the pur-
chase of absolute necessaries—a system which, originally pur-
sued, would have made the money go a great deal farther;
but it was no use thinking of that now, since the first symp-
toms of retrenchment Would have only been giving their
creditors the signal for attack. So, in spite of Linny's uneasi-
ness, everything went on as usual, Vaughan lulling the hotel-
keeper into repose, by mentioning that he was expecting
154
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
remittances from England, which by some accident had been
inexplicably delayed.
In the meanwhile, from the scantiness of his funds, time
would have hung heavy on his hands, but for the resources
furnished by Lady Glenlyon's devotion, which supplied him
with a carriage, a box at the theatre, and a recherche dinner
as often as he chose to enjoy these luxuries in her company.
At first he had used these privileges but charily, compromising
betwixt his inclinations and his interest. As his affairs grew
worse, however, his assiduities increased. It must be acknow-
ledged that hours passed in an hotel are inexpressibly wearying.
One can do nothing, and there is nothing to do; where there
is no sense of home, it is not easy to set ourselves to any
occupation. An hotel is not a home, but a place to eat and
sleep in; and when we are not doing these things, we wish to
be out of it. Even Linny, when the weather permitted, spent
a great deal of her time out of doors, where she could always find
plenty to amuse her mind. For some time, Yaughan used to
accompany her; but by degrees this habit fell off, and latterly
they scarcely ever went out together. His resorts were
altogether different from hers; besides, her presence some-
times embarrassed him. His circumscribed means and pre-
carious position prevented his producing her as his wife; and,
both on her account and his own, he wished to avoid placipg
her in equivocal situations. The intimacy with the Glenlyons,
and the introduction to a better set, completed this disjunction.
Linny went her way, and he went his. Perhaps she felt her-
self lonely, and possibly she felt herself neglected; but she
never said so, being aware that complaints do not make
people behave any better. If they will not treat you with
kindness and consideration when you do not complain, they
certainly will not when you do. It is not every woman that
discovers this secret so early as Linny had; but she had learnt
it from Alice, who in expatiating, as she was wont to do in
her confidential moments, on her mother's patience, and virtue,
used sometimes to refer to the counsels she had given her for
her future guidance, during those long hours spent in the
sick-room, when the child, grave and thoughtful beyond her
years, listened with reverence to the words that fell from the
lips she loved.
 Some day you'll be married, she would say, when I shall
not be here. I hope you'll choose well—but generally women
have little choice in the matter!
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
155
 Why can't they choose, mama ? I'm sure I would not
be forced to marry anybody I did not like!
 It isn't that we are forced; hut influence and circumstances
mostly decide for us ; and, even when we think we have chosen
for ourselves, there has often, in reality, been no election !
"How, mama?
 I mean that there has been no time nor opportunity for
comparison. If you had only seen one man in the world, you
could have but a very imperfect idea of his merits.
 I shoxild know if I liked him.
 And what would make you like him ?
 I should like him if he was good-natured and agreeable.
 That's the thing ! almost every man can he good-natured
and agreeable to a woman he desires to marry ; and if he has
some personal advantages, and you have had no opportunity
of comparing him with any other man under similar circum-
stances, it is difficult not to like him. But it was not about
your choice of a husband I was going to speak; for that
would be of little use, I fancy. I can only pray to God, that
whoever you marry , you may be happy; but there is one
thing that I think a woman cannot learn too soon—and that
is, how to make the best of any husband she may get, good
or bad; and that is, never to complain. Even with a good
man who wishes to make you happy, you will probably find
some things you could wish otherwise, and which, if you com-
plain, he may alter to accommodate you: but you will have
caused him to put a constraint upon himself, and he will not
like you the better for it. If he is not good, or is not attached
to you, rely on it, complaint will not mend him.
Alice did not repeat this word for word, nor remember it
so, but she remembered the sum of it; and when Linny found
herself with a husband who required a great deal of forbear-
ance, she applied the moral to her own case. She had en-
deavoured to curtail his expenses—that she thought her duty;
but on other points she never interfered, and the consequence
was, that though he neglected, he loved her, and, whilst he
was philandering with Lady Glenlyon, his heart was at home.
What a large amount of suffering she thus saved herself! all
the pangs of jealousy—all the agonies of suspicion ! as he had
no reproaches to fear, he came home every night; and when-
ever, in short, there was nothing to attract him elsewhere. If
she had little of his company, their intervals of reunion were
not spent in wrangling, and, though he neglected her, he was
156
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
neither cold nor unkind when they were together. Often,
indeed, he was affectionate and tender; remorse stung him
when he looked at her—so young and lovely, so sweet and.
uncomplaining ; and he would throw his arm round her waist,
and pressing her to his heart, call her his  darling little wife.
The difficulty, now that his purse was so low, of finding
amusement, and the restraints he felt even in walking about
the frequented resorts, lest he should fall in with Lockwood,
who he feared was in pursuit of him, or at least, of Linny,
threw him more and more into Lady Glenlyon's society. He
directed his steps to her hotel every day when he went out
lounged in her saloon all the morning; drove out with her in the
afternoon ; returned to dinner after calling at home to dress,
and accompanied her, if she was going to any place of public
amusement, which she contrived to do as often as she could.
Things of this sort become a habit; and many a man, espe-
cially in France, passes a great part of his time in dangling
about a woman he cares little for. From a habit these occupa-
tions become a necessity; and, though Vaughan had not a
particle of love for Lady Glenlyon, he was a good deal annoyed
at finding their freedom of intercourse likely to be curtailed.
"I am not going to the opera, to-night, Vaughan, said
Lady Grlenlyon to him one day. Sir Arthur is beginning
to make himself disagreeable about our being so much to-
gether. He says I'm not to suppose he's jealous; nor that
he entertains the slightest suspicion of any impropriety, but
that I must not subject him and myself to unpleasant obser-
vation. It's a great bore.
 Then I'm afraid I ought not to be driving with you at
this moment, answered Vaughan.
 We shall not meet him, returned Kate ;  he's gone to
St. Cloud. But I don't see why I should relinquish the
society of the only old friend 1 have in Paris, in order
to humour the prejudices of people I don't care a sous
for.
 I thought, from what you told me, Sir Arthur was quite
free from any feelings of that sort, or I should have been
more cautious, said Vaughan.
 To do him justice, I believe he is, returned her lady-
ship;  but it is that impudent fellow O'Grady, whom I can-
not endure, and whom I have brusqued a good deal, that has
put it into his head. He, O'Grady I mean, thought proper
to quiz him about you; Sir Arthur put him down imme-.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
157
diately—silenced him completely; but he says I mustn't
expose him to that sort of thing.
"D n O'Grady! exclaimed Yaughan, who bore the
Irishman no good-will already, for the manner in which he
had treated himself.  However, Sir Arthur need not be
apprehensive that I shall seek to continue an acquaintance
that is no longer agreeable.
"Nonsense, Yaughan! returned Lady Glenlyon; "don't
take up the thing so seriously. Sir Arthur has no desire to
break off the acquaintance, I'm sure.
 But I have! answered Yaughan; "if Sir Arthur has an
objection to unpleasant observations, so have I; and he
might chance to make some that I could not brook. It is
better, therefore, to cut the matter short at once. I don't
choose to visit in the house of any man to whom my visits
are not welcome.
 I wish I had not mentioned the subject to you at all,
said Lady Glenlyon;  men are so hasty and unreasonable ; I
only meant to give up the theatre to-night. Sir Arthur will
have forgotten all about it in a day or two.
 I have been thinking of leaving Paris for some time,
said Yaughan,  and it is the best thing I can do.
"Why? inquired Lady Glenlyon; "why should you
leave Paris because that detestable O'Grady has thought
proper to make some impertinent observations regarding our
intimacy ? I think, if I were you, I should do just the
contrary. I am quite aware that he would not be sorry to
succeed to the situation, she added, with a significant smile;
 but I really do not see why you should be in such a hurry
to relinquish it to him.
This was judiciously put; for although Yaughan cared
nothing for the situation, except for the material advantages
it afforded him, and was far too indifferent to Cattie to be
capable of jealousy, yet he was not disposed to yield the place
to O'Grady, whom he disliked, nor to afford him the triumph
of thinking he had ousted him.
 I should like to let him see that his ruse is quite unsuc-
cessful, continued her ladyship ;  and if you will leave the
management of this affair to me, I think we shall have that
satisfaction.''
It was certainly true that Sir Bryan O'Grady bore a spite
to Vaughan, and that he would have been well enough pleased
to see him on a less comfortable footing with the Glenlyons j
158
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
but his motives were not those insinuated by her ladyship,
towards whom he entertained no sentiment that the strictest
puritanism could have arraigned. His reason for disliking
Yaughan was, that he himself had behaved shabbily to him.
After having lived on familiar terms, and accepted numerous
hospitable invitations to Marlow, he had taken the earliest
opportunity of giving him the cold shoulder; which would
not have disturbed 0'Grady at all, had not the proceedings,
by Cattie's timely intervention in Yaughan's favour, been
rendered premature. Under these circumstances, it was rather
disagreeable to meet him in society, and a word dropped in
season might relieve him of the inconvenience. His motives
went no deeper than this, and Yaughan had discernment
enough to interpret them so; had he been more ejpris with
Lady Glenlyon himself, his judgment would have been less
calm. Nevertheless, the mere suggestion that O'Grady was
trying to annoy him by interrupting their intimacy, had very
much the effect her ladyship desired. He chose to let the
Irishman see that his ruse had failed; and thus, instead of
relinquishing each other's society, Cattie and he only some-
what altered their arrangements.—Beguiled the time, ly loolc-
ing lilce the time.
CHAPTEE XXIV.
It was quite true that poor Jane Lockwood was dying. The
last few years of her life had been full of trouble; and the
climax her misfortunes had lately reached was too much for
her. The death of her husband—for she believed him dead—
under such melancholy circumstances, the suspicion that rested
upon his name, and the consciousness that she was not blame-
less in the business, had broken her heart—that is to say, her
grief and depression had deranged her digestion, and lowered
her vitality to a degree that nothing but a totally new current
of events, and a thorough change in her position, could repair.
Poor and friendless—she moped all day in her dull lodging,
weeping over the memory of the happy past; of the periods
of Linny's bright infancy and hopeful girlhood; when George,
contented with his modest prosperity—happy in the present,
and sanguine of the future—returned daily to his little home
when his work was done, with his kind, smiling face, that
looked as if sorrow could never cloud it. He had then, indeed,
known but one sorrow—that was when he feared that Mr.
LINNY LOCK.WOOD.
159
Edmonstone had superseded him in Jane's affections; and he
was not made to encounter the hard rubs of the world. He
could float on smooth water, but he could not battle against
the storm—with the first wave that washed over him, he gave
up the struggle and went down. On what precise rock their
well-trimmed little bark had struck, Mrs. Lockwood had never
thoroughly understood. Lockwood could not tell the cause
of his dismissal from the bank; for it was out of the question
to expect she would keep the secret, which, in a moment of
.weakness and gratitude, he had sworn should be inviolable.
All she knew was, that they were ruined, and that Mr.
Edmonstone was ruined too; whilst the behaviour of her
acquaintance seemed to imply that her husband was not con-
sidered blameless. She was also aware of the enmity that
subsisted betwixt the late partners; she saw that George's
attachment to his old friend and patron, Gervase Edmonstone,
was changed into hatred; and she was sure that the wrong
must have been great indeed, that could awaken such a
sentiment in his breast—a sentiment that also extended
itself to Yaughan; and yet she could not forget that there
had been a time when Yaughan Edmonstone was Lockwood's
beau, ideal—the perfection of everything that was handsome
and gentlemanly—"the finest young man about town!
How then could she blame Linny for loving him, or expect
her to alter her opinion because her father had ?
Subsequently, however, to her recovery, or rather partial
recovery, from her first illness—the illness that she had
alluded to in her letter to her daughter—in the hope of
obtaining some clue to what had happened, she had devoted
several hours in examining her husband's papers and letters.
Amongst the latter, besides a few regarding matters of busi-
ness, she found some of Mr. Edmonstone's, written during
his boyish intimacy with Lockwood, in a tone of perfect
equality and great kindness ; letters that went far to explain
the poor clerk's devotion in after years, when it is considered
that, besides these early proofs of good-will, this powerful
friend had resigned to him the woman they both loved, and
had conferred on him a situation which enabled him to sup-
port his family in respectability and comfort; and which, but
for the storm that burst and overthrew the fortunes of both
patron and client, would have gradually matured into some-
thing much more remunerative. It was evident that these
letters had recently been read and arranged; for although the
160
LINNY lOCKWOOD.
paper on which they were written looked old, and the ink
discoloured, they were carefully sorted into packets, which
were each encircled with a clean strip of paper, bearing the
date of the year in which the enclosed letters were written.
There were also some marks and interlinings of passages, in
red ink, which appeared to have been lately made ; the nature
and contents of the passages so marked, seeming to indicate,
that Lockwood, in reperusing these letters by the light of
later events, had sought to find indications of those faults of
character, and that infirmity of principle, that subsequent
circumstances had ripened and disclosed.
Jane Wedgewood's letters, too, written before marriage,
were all arranged and docketed. After marriage there were
none; for, except on the occasion of one or two short visits of
his to Marlow, the husband and wife had never been separated.
She had not read them since they were written, and many a
bitter tear was dropped over them now. What a melancholy
thing it is to look upon such records of joys for ever gone! I
often wonder how we contrive to live on, and retain anything
like cheerfulness, when we reflect on all we have lost by the
way. How much happiness we have lived out that can never
be revived! How one and another has dropped from our side
—friends, whom we remember enjoying life so freshly, going
and coming, laughing, talking; doing all that we do now;
seeming as if all that life and motion could not cease, but
must go on so ever; and yet, how they are wiped out from
the face of the earth! How men's tongues have forgotten to
speak of them, or their hearts to yearn for them; and how
their places are not empty ; but with the exception of the few
who have done some good work in the world, everything is—
or, at least, seems as if they had never been; for good or bad,
much or little, every man, as he passed across the stage, has
done his poor part, and helped to make up the world's history.
And to think how we are hurrying on to the same blank!—■
blank for all we see, though not for all we hope and believe;
literally, hurrying ourselves so out of breath with our haste,
that we cannot stop to think of where we are going, nor of
what kind of existence awaits us there beyond ; nor whether
any awaits us; for, I confess, that the belief in a future life
appears to me to sit very loosely on civilized mankind in gene-
ral. A vast proportion of them, I hope, do believe in it, after
a manner; but with how little real interest—how vaguely,
coldly, and incuriously! How few people one meets who
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
161
are disposed to speculate, gravely, or seriously discuss, this
subject of deepest importance, compared to which all the
concerns of this life are mere childish toys; few, at least, out
of the pale of the so-called religious world, whose views, being
fixed and limited, cannot satisfy minds that have not attained
that desirable degree of certainty.
Amongst the papers which Lockwood had carefully ar-
ranged, Jane found a letter sealed and addressed to Mr. Ed-
monstone, with directions that it should be delivered to that
gentleman after his (Lockwood's) decease; or to Mr. Eardley,
if Mr. Edmonstone should not survive the writer. There
was also another letter addressed to his wife and daughter—■
 To he opened after my death.
Now, Jane did not know whether her husband was dead or
not, though she believed he was ; but she had a strong persua-
sion that she was dying herself, and she was very unwilling to
leave the world without acquainting herself with poor George's
last wishes, or whatever it might be that the letter contained.
It was in vain to wait for Linny, though she would rather
have had her daughter's presence on this, to her, solemn
occasion, had it been possible. As it was not, she summoned
resolution, and, having broken the seal, found that the cover
contained two enclosures, one addressed to Mr. Edmonstone,
apparently a letter of some length, and the other, a shorter
one, addressed to Mr. Eardley. On the envelope there were
a few lines to Mrs. Lockwood and Linny, requesting that, if
they survived him, they would deliver the enclosed letters in
person. Jane felt disappointed that this should be all; but
poor George, who had expected to die in their arms, had not
thought of bequeathing them a written farewell. Her first
wish was, of course, to fulfil this injunction; but as she did
not know where Mr. Edmonstone was to be found, and was
unable to seek him, she sent a message to Mr. Eardley, re-
questing an interview, on the plea of having a communication
to make from her husband; a form of invocation pretty sure
to be successful as long as there was a possibility that the
communication might lead to the recovery of the lost valuables.
 I wouldn't have troubled you to come here, sir, but I am
not able to leave this room.
 I'm sorry to see you so poorly, Mrs. Lockwood; I gave
directions that you should want for nothing that was neces-
sary. I hope my orders have been attended to.
 Thank you, sir; your housekeeper called and was so
li
162
linny lockwood.
kind as to send me some wine: the doctor says I ought to
drink wine.
 I'll see that they send you some more. So, you have
heard from Lockwood at last ?
 No—sir, no! I shall never hear from my husband again,
this side the grave. No, sir; it's a letter that I have found
amongst his papers addressed to you; and, as G-eorge desires
that I will deliver it with my own hands, I took the liberty
of sending to you.
As it occurred to Mr. Eardley that the letter had probably
been indited immediately previous to Lockwood's making off
with the money and jewels, he opened it eagerly; but the
date undeceived him, and the contents proved not at all what
he had expected. They were as follows :—
 Honoured Sir,—A promise that I imprudently gave—
a promise that has ruined my prospects, reduced me and my
family to distress, destroyed my health, and driven me to the
brink of despair—I do not think should be binding when I
am dead. I must consider what I owe to my wife and
daughter, as well as to others, great as my obligations may
have been. I have suffered, sir, deeply, terribly, in all that
is dearest to a man, for the latter years of my life; but I feel
that I cannot rest in my grave under the imputation that has
blighted me and mine. God forbid that I should be ungrate-
ful or unmindful of the invaluable benefits conferred! I
know and feel, that there are obligations that no subsequent
injury can cancel; and even from the grave I am unwilling
to raise an accusing voice; but I am a wronged and innocent
man, sir. From the day I first entered your banking-house,
to the day I left it—a despairing, heart-broken wretch—I
never had anything in view but the interest of the concern;
and I never did a thing, so help me God in my dying hour,
that' I would not have done under your own eye. My life, I
know, will not be long, for I cannot bear up against this
weight of trouble and disgrace; and when I am gone, sir,
ash him—put it to him as a man and a Christian—' Was
George Lockwood guilty?' And if he says 'No,' which I
feel sure he will—for it would be an awful thing to malign
the dead that cry for justice from the grave; then, sir, if
he says no, I conjure you to clear me from all blame, and let
every man upon the establishment, from the highest to the
lowest, hear your words. Let my name come out cleansed
and purified from all stain; so that my wife and daughter
linny lockwood.
163
may not be subject to the sneers and the contumely of the
hard-hearted, because they bear the name of the unfortunate
"George Lockwood.
When Mr. Eardley had concluded the letter, he handed it
to Jane. "But, said he, "it was needless to write me aV
this, when I showed my conviction of his innocence by rein-
stating him in his situation—at least, I made an attempt to
do it; and it was not want of confidence, but his own unfor-
tunate incapacity, that rendered my efforts abortive.
"Very true, sir, answered Mrs. Lockwood; "but I per-
ceive, by the date of this letter, that it was written imme-
diately after my husband's recovery from his illness,. and
before you had sent Mr. Morland to him with that message.
 I am free to say, continued Mr. Eardley, who could not
help harping a little upon the lost treasure,— I am free to
say, that until that late untoward accident, I had entirely
exonerated Lockwood, and had every confidence in his in-
tegrity. What could be a greater proof of it than our re-
commending Mr. Featherstone to entrust him with that
business ?
"Oh, sir! said Jane, bursting into tears; "it is the loss
of that parcel that is bringing me to the grave—for it was
all my fault.
 Well, Mrs. Lockwood, said Mr. Eardley, who had heard
her account of that affair at the time it happened,  I am
very far from wishing to distress you; and you may rest
assured that, with regard to the business this letter alludes
to, if I had any doubts before, they are now entirely removed;
and, although it is not easy to believe that a man at your
husband's time of life could be so careless as to drop a parcel
of such value in the street, yet unaccountable things do occur
sometimes ; and I am ready to admit that we may have been
too hasty in our judgment. And now, before I go, pray let
me know if there is anything we can do for you.
 Nothing, sir, thank you! But, under the same cover,
there was a letter for Mr. Edmonstone, and I don't know
where to send to him.
 I believe Mr. Edmonstone is living somewhere about the
New Road; but, if you will entrust me with the letter, I'll
take care it reaches him; and Mr. Eardley held out his
hand to take the paper, which he eyed with considerable
curiosity, since it was likely to be of a much more interesting
nature than the letter addressed to himself, and might indeed
E 2
164
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
possibly contain disclosures of no small importance concerning
matters he had never got satisfactorily cleared up.
 I can't do that, sir, answered Mrs. Lockwood ; "I must
see Mr. Edmonstone, and give it him myself, as poor George
desires; and, if you would take the trouble of letting me
know his exact address, it would be the greatest favour you
could do me.
Mr. Eardley said, that he believed some of the clerks knew
where Mr. Edmonstone was living; and he left her, promising
that she should hear from him on the following day.
Mr. Edmonstone, whose love of money had seduced him
first into speculations that brought him to the verge of ruin,
and then into crime, in order to elude the consequences of his
imprudence, had come to be a poorer man than the poor clerk
whom he had cruelly dragged down with him. He was poorer
by all his habits and all his wants, as well as by the habits
and wants of his unhappy wife, who, like himself, had been
born and brought up in affluence and luxury. At the time he
received Mrs. Lockwood's summons, they were inhabiting a
mean lodging in the outskirts of the town, and a more mise-
rable couple scarcely existed on the face of the earth. Heaven
knows, poverty is bad enough, even where it is not aggra-
vated by the stings of self-reproach, and the contrast with
former experiences; but where it is, and where people are
thrown out of all their habits and associations, we must not
withhold our compassion and sympathy, on the plea that
their misfortunes have originated in their pwn misconduct.
It was towards the close of the evening, that a tall, rather
shabbily dressed man, but still having the air of a gentleman,
knocked at the door of a house in Rupert-street, and inquired
for Mrs. Lockwood.
 Mrs. Lockwood's very ill, said the maid,  and I don't
think she can see anybody.
 I think she'll see me, returned the visiter.  Go and
say that it is the gentleman she requested to call; and the
maid presently returned with an invitation to walk in.
Mrs. Lockwood, with death in her face, was reclining in an
old arm-chair, in a small back parlour, which served both for
sitting-room, bed-room, and kitchen, when the lover of her
youth—the once gay, handsome Gervase Edmonstone—en-
tered. As their eyes met the same recollections rushed upon
both; the recollection of years long ago, when the young rich
squire courted the attorney's daughter; when he was the best
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
165
match, and she the handsomest girl, in the county. There she
sat now, in her squalid little room, wrapped in an old shawl,
her faded cheeks hollow with sickness and sorrow; and the
large bright eyes, that he used to admire so much, staring
with dim wonder on this shadow of the past that stood before
her ; for although death was yet far from him, he was in person
not much less altered than she was. The flush of good living,
and the embonpoint of middle life, which had succeeded to
the bloom and slender forms of youth, had changed into a
lean sallowness ; the head, which used to hold itself proudly up,
ready to meet every glance, was now bent forward ; and though
little past the middle term of life, he entered the room like
an old man. When he had closed the door behind him, he
stood for a moment or two with his hand resting on the
handle, contemplating the scene before him. Then he ad-
vanced, and silently drawing a chair from the wall and placing
it beside hers, he sat down and burst into tears; his breast
heaving, with the strong passion that wrought him, like the
breast of a weeping child. Jane wept, too ; but she was too
feeble for passion—her struggle was drawing to a close; and
her tears streaihed gently over her wan cheeks. There had
been a period when Mr. Edmonstone was the great man to
Mrs. Lockwood, the poor clerk's wife; but as, in the beginning,
love had brought him down to her level, so did misery now.
The first words he uttered were— My Gfod! my God!
"Ah! said Jane, who could not, in spite of all the injury
she now knew he had done her family, help sympathising
with the anguish she beheld,  who would have thought it!
You ruined; poor G-eorge dead by his own rash act; and I
dying in this miserable lodging of a broken heart, without a
creature near that cares for me!
 Is George dead ? said Mr. Edmonstone.
 He must be, she answered,  or he would have returned
to me before this. You heard, I suppose, what happened ?
 I heard something about his losing some money of Mr.
Eardley's ; Tiggs mentioned it to me. Was it never found ?
 Never ; he dropped the parcel on a rainy night in Oxford-
street, as he was going to Cavendish-square ; and he couldn't
face Mr. Eardley, after all that had happened, poor soul! and
so—I suppose— and she stopped, choked by her tears.
 And is it some message he left for me that you have to
deliver ?
 It's a letter that I found amongst his papers. There was
166
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
one, also, to Mr. Eardley, and lie desires that I will deliver
them in person after his death. Poor George! he seems to
have thought he should not live long after that first business.
He never lifted up his head properly after that.
 Has Mr. Eardley got his letter ?
 Yes; he came here, and I gave it to him. There's yours.
 Do you know what was in the letter to Mr. Eardley ?
 Yes, I' do; he showed it to me. George tells him in it what
I'm sure Mr. Eardley believed before, that he had never done
a thing to wrong him, or the bank, in his life; and well you
know he never did! Mr. Edmonstone sat with his elbow
resting on the table, and the upper part of his face buried in
his hand; but she saw the quivering of his lip.  You'll see,
she continued,  what George says; but I know, by his letter
to Mr. Eardley, what he wants—he wants you to do him
justice, that he may, at last, find rest in his grave!
"Poor George! said Mr. Edmonstone, after a pause.
 God knows, I meant well by him, for he was the only boy
I ever cared for, when I was one myself; and I always in-
tended, if the opportunity offered, to help him on in the world
as far as I was able. *
 And you did a great deal for us; and, if ever a man loved
another, George loved you. He'd have gone through fire and
water for you, any day.
"Poor George! said Mr. Edmonstone again. "I was
glad to hear Mr. Eardley had taken him by the hand; and,
rely on it, he wouldn't have done that if he had entertained
any unfavourable opinion. There's not a more rigid man
alive than Mr. Eardley.
 But the wishes of the dead are sacred, Mr. Edmonstone;
and, as I am going where I hope I shall meet my husband,
you must do what he asks, that I may be able to tell him it
is done.
 What can I do ? I never see Mr. Eardley.
 You can write. Here is the pen and ink, and I will
deliver the letter to Mr. Eardley myself. Then I shall be
able to die in peace.
"What has become of your daughter? inquired Mr.
Edmonstone, whilst Mrs. Lockwood was opening the table
drawer to take out a sheet of paper.
 Don't you know ? she asked with surprise.
 No ; how should I ?
 You don't know that she's married ?
linny lockwood.
167
 No; whom did she marry ?
 Well, write that first, and then I'll tell you about it.
'' I can only say, said Mr. Edmonstone, writing,  that I
believe George Lockwood's honesty to have been thoroughly
unimpeachable; and that I am persuaded he was a man of
the highest integrity. Will that do ?
 Yes; sign it, and give it me. Thank you. And now I'll
tell you who Linny is married to; because, as I am afraid it
will make you angry, it is better you should hear it from me-
Do you know where your son is ?
 On the continent, I believe.' I rather think in Paris,
answered Mr. Edmonstone with a deep sigh; for the thought
of his son's ruined fortunes was the sorest wound in his heart.
 And are you not aware that he's married ?
 Married! Vaughan? exclaimed Mr. Edmonstone,pushing
back his chair and rising;  Yaughan married! Impossible!
 George never encouraged it, remember; nor ever would.
 You don't mean to say that—and, pale with passion,
the proud man's voice failed him.
 Yes, I do; and it's no use making bad worse; what's
done can't be undone. Linny's a good girl, and you'll never
have reason to be ashamed of her. You know we gave her
the best of education.
But Mr. Edmonstone was not disposed to listen to any
palliations. For a moment his rage choked him ; but his set
teeth and clenched fingers spoke his feelings more eloquently
than words could have done. Then, turning suddenly, he
made a step towards Mrs. Lockwood, with a look so savage
that, thinking he was going to strike her, she held up her
hand to ward off the blow. What he might have done or
said had he seen before him a woman in the vigour of health,
there is no saying; but the sight of that wasted figure and
ghastly face—ghastly with horror now, as well as sickness—
seemed to recall him to the recollection that she was dying,
and arrested his purpose. He drew in his breath with a long
inspiration, and then hissing through his teeth the word
 damnation! he rushed frantically out of the house.
CHAPTER XXV.
After encountering various difficulties, Lockwood had arrived
in Paris, where he made his way to the Caf6 Anglais, and
introduced himself to the English waiter, whom the host of
168'
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
the King's Arms had alluded to as his  nevey Jem. Jem,
who, like his uncle, had been horn in the neighbourhood of
Mariow, knew Yaughan Edmonstone perfectly well by sight,
and confirmed, on inquiry, what he had said in ^ his letter,
namely, that he had seen him often in company with a lady;
but he did not know where he lived. He had also seen him
pass in a carriage belonging to some English family of dis-
tinction ; there was always a lady with him on these occa-
sions, but he was not sure whether it was the same lady.
"With regard to his circumstances, Jem said he could only
judge by appearances, but* they seemed flourishing. This
report rather puzzled Lockwood, and rendered him uncertain
how to act. Yaughan might have been running away with
an heiress when Gamble saw him, and his sudden prosperity
might be the result of that enterprise. Undertakings like
this of George's always look best at a distance. He felt like
a man who has rushed after another in the street, intending
to accuse him of having picked his pocket, and who out of
breath, and  fiery red with haste, finds himself alongside of
a quiet, demure, moral-looking person, whom to impeach
would appear both dangerous and ridiculous. How could he,
George Lockwood, such a beggarly fellow as he knew he
appeared, accuse a gentleman that wore canary-coloured
gloves, carried a silver-headed cane, and drove through the
streets of Paris in a splendid equipage, of having robbed
him P And on what grounds ? The idea seemed absurd;
and a reaction from the sanguine expectations with which he
had commenced his journey sunk him deeper than ever in
despondency. He regretted, now, that he had entered on
what he considered a  wild-goose chase, and repented that,
instead of impeaching Vaughan at the police-office, he had
not gone to Mr. Eardley and demanded an investigation.
He would have done it now, but that he had no money to
carry him back to England; and, but for the scraps adminis-
tered by Jem, he would have had nothing to eat where he
was. In consequence of this powerful attraction to the Cafe
Anglais, he was generally hanging about the door; and Jem
sometimes contrived to put him in the way of earning a few
shillings from the English customers who happened to want
some trifling service; and at length a gentleman who found
it necessary to discharge the man he had brought from Eng-
land, engaged George, which was the name the ex-clerk was
known by, to wait upon him for a couple of months. This
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
169
gentleman was Sir Bryan 0'Grady, who by reputation was
no stranger to Lockwood, although "they had never met; but
he knew that Sir Bryan was one of the visiters at Marlow,
and that Linny had met him there. He therefore cautioned
Jem not to speak of him by any other name than George.
 If he asks any questions, say I'm called Smith.
One day, when Lockwood had been about a fortnight in
this situation, Sir Bryan, after writing and sealing a letter
which he put in his pocket, bade him take his hat and accom-
pany him to the Rue Yivienne.
 Wait here a minute, he said, as he disappeared within
the door of the reading-room ;  I'll speak to you presently.
Lockwood set his back against the rails, and watched the
people going in and out, taking no precautions to conceal
himself, for he did not expect anybody there would know
him. Presently, however, a carriage drove up, out of which
stepped Yaughan Edmonstone, who, having carelessly kissed
his hand to the lady he was leaving, was turning to ascend the
steps when his eye fell full upon Lockwood. He started, and
appeared to be hesitating whether to recognise him or not,
when the door of the reading-room opened again and Sir
Bryan O'Grady came out, who, glancing at Yaughan as he
passed, beckoned to Lockwood to follow him.
"I want you to take this letter, he said, "to the Hotel
Valmont. It's in the Rue Richelieu. Go with it imme-
diately, and inquire for the apartments of the lady it's ad-
dressed to, and deliver it to her yourself.
In the mean time, Yaughan pushed open the door, and
Went into the reading-room in a state of mind that may be
described as resulting in an utter uncertainty as to whether
he stood upon his head or his heels. Disagreeable events of
the above kind always occur when they are least looked for ;
and this rencontre took Yaughan as much by surprise as if he
had had no reason to suspect the presence of his father-in-law
in Paris. For some time after the incident , in the Palais
Royal, he never went into the street without expecting to
run against him ; but as time flew by, the impression faded;
and when he stepped out of Lady Glenlyon's carriage on that
day, there was nobody further from his thoughts than George
Lockwood. Not that his thoughts were of a very agreeable
character either; on the contrary, his pecuniary embarrass-
ments, which were daily increasing, occupied them more and
more, and were apt to throw him into what is called a
170
LINNY* LOCKWOOD.
f' brown study whenever conversation flagged. In short, it
was frequently with an effort he maintained his share of it
when in company; and Lady Glenlyon had in the course of
that very drive more than once laid her hand on his arm and
said, "Yaughan, what are you thinking of? I'm sure you
have something on your mind. And as his pride would not
allow him to confess the cause of his uneasiness, she suspected
it might he something connected with herself. Perhaps it
was love, and regret that she was not his ! Her devotion had
vanquished and won him at last; when she sounded him, to
try and ascertain if this were the case, he only evaded but
did not deny. He could not afford to do that now. He was
too poor to run the risk of offending her, for what else had he
to cling to, unless indeed he could be content with honest
poverty and Linny; but unfortunately it was rather late for
that expedient, even had he been disposed to try it; since
the premier pas was impracticable—namely, to pay his
creditors, without which initiative step society would not
allow him to pursue the experiment. It is easy to get wrong;
but, oh, how difficult it is to get right again, even where
there is the hearty good-will to do it! The world will not
help you up. It thrusts its hands into its breeches' pockets,
and refuses to lend you even so much as a finger to hang on to.
Yaughan Edmonstone, indeed, reared in luxury and habits
of self-indulgence, was not capable of any strong resolutions
or strenuous endeavours after virtue ; but it must be admitted,
even if he had, that considerable obstacles lay in his way.
Linny had a decided objection to leaving Paris in debt. Con-
scientious by nature, and belonging to a class amongst whom
honesty in pecuniary matters is inculcated as the cardinal
virtue, it was an idea she could not entertain; and accord-
ingly, whenever Yaughan began to talk of moving, she
began to talk of the bills. This antagonism fixed him in
Paris; whilst the fear of exciting suspicion forbade retrench-
ment and fixed him in the hotel; and now here was his father-
in-law come, to complicate the situation! And not only
come, but already in communication with Sir Bryan 0'Grady, a
man who, whatever might be his reasons, appeared to bear
Yaughan no good-will.
 I'll thank you for that paper, if you're not reading it,
said a gentleman somewhat abruptly, tired of waiting for
The Times which the young man was unconsciously holding
in his hand.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
171
 You shall have it when I have done with it, sir, answered
the party in possession, who was by no means in an accom-
modating mood; at the same time settling himself in his
chair, and arranging the paper as if he intended to begin at
the first line and read down to the last.
 If this should meet the eye of George L d, who lately
called at the police-office, Bow-street, to give information
regarding the supposed finder of a parcel dropped in Oxford-
street, he is requested to call again.
Yaughan continued to hold the paper in his hand for nearly
half an hour, but he never got farther than that advertise-
ment, which was the third from the top in the second column.
Over and over, and over again, he read it, trying to extract
the whole meaning of the words; dissecting and analysing,
twisting and turning it: reflecting how many George L ds
there must be in the world, and how many parcels must be
dropped in Oxford-street; and yet unable to relieve himself
from the alarming conviction, that the person and the parcel
alluded to were the identical ones with which he had esta-
blished such an unfortunate connexion. Who it was that had
dropped it, until Lady Glenlyon told him, he had never had
the most remote idea. It was the purest accident that caused
him to be within a few yards of the loser at that critical
moment; and when, seeing some white object on the ground,
he stooped to pick it up, he perceived nobody at hand to claim
it. In that short interval, George, whom Yaughan had not
recognised, had got considerably in advance ; whilst the finder
pursued his way carelessly holding the thing in his hand till
he reached the place of his destination. Then he looked for
the superscription, but although the parcel was sealed with
red wax, there was none. So, after some deliberation, he
broke the seal, when out fell a small packet tied with red
tape. On the inner envelope was inscribed the name of
 T. Featherstone, Esquire, but without any address. So he
laid the parcel on the table, and picked up the other which
was not sealed, and which he found to contain bank-notes to
the amount of five hundred pounds ; a sight which made his
heart stand still betwixt fear and joy. He felt like a man
who had raised the devil. Here was that which would relieve
him from present difficulties, and procure him many things
he desired—but at what a cost! The cost of eternal bondage;
never, never again to be free. This metaphorical bondage is,
I suppose, the real interpretation of the old superstition, that
172
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
a man may insure certain earthly prosperities and delights hv
selling himself to the devil. There is a sublime truth in the
fable; and if people did but know what a cruel bondage they
incur by the commission of a crime, and how inexorably the
penalty is reclaimed, they would never strike the bargain, let
the tempter assume what seducing shapes he would.
When he had recovered the first surprise, Vaughan laid the
notes on the table, and sat down in order to summon his
composure, and review his situation. He was, as we have
seen, in debt, and Mr. Gamble was by no means his only
creditor; for, until his father's ruin had become publicly
known, the tradesmen whom he had formerly employed had
not refused to supply him. For some time past, however,
they had; and the consequence was, that having no money,
and being unable to earn any, he had been taking a painful
lesson in the shifts and expedients that poverty is put to. He
had made acquaintance with pawnbrokers and old clothesmen;
and, after devouring his dressing-case, and the silver-mounted
articles of his toilet-table, he had been obliged to live on his
coats and pantaloons, till his wardrobe was reduced to the
lowest ebb. As long as he could dress well, and keep up
some appearance, his former companions, although many of
them gave him the cold shoulder, had not quite cut him; but
when he began to look seedy, they did—it being a received
axiom, that a man who dresses well, though at his tailor's
expense, is admissible into society, whilst one whom the tailor
refuses to dress, is not; and in the worldly view of the matter,
the criterion is not a bad one, for the tailor will generally
help to keep a man's head above water as long as there is the
least buoyancy in him, and most times only lets him go when
he is past all hope. Under these circumstances, London was
hateful to Vaughan, and he only stayed in it because he was
aware that he would be still worse off anywhere else; but
here was a means of escape from those accumulated difficulties
and mortifications that seemed quite miraculously thrust upon
him in the hour of need—should he accept it ?
There was not much time for deliberation; for no doubt
speedy measures would be taken for the lecovery of the
packet, in the face of which, inexperienced as he was in crime,
he could not have dared to detain it. To deliver it up at
once, or keep it and fly, were his alternatives; and half the
night was passed in the struggle betwixt what remained of
his pride and his principles, and his desires. To continue
LINN'S LOCKWOOD.
173
much longer as he was seemed impossible—something he
must do, good or had, to change the state of affairs; and
what good or useful thing could he do ? No doubt there
were things to he done; but it would have demanded far
more energy than Vaughan Edmonstone had to discover what
they were, and how to set about them. When a man is down
it is not an easy matter to get up again, without soiling his
fingers; and to a young fellow, brought up in luxury and
idleness like Vaughan, any effort he could make appeared
utterly hopeless. He almost thought he would keep the
money. Then he arose, took up the other packet, and ex-
amined it. The contents were evidently not bank-notes;
but from the paper and the shape it occurred to him that it
was a jeweller's parcel; and on examining the seal he saw
that it bore the name of Hamlet. Feather stone, too, was not
a common name; and, although he was not aware that Mrs.
Eardley's brother had returned to England, he thought it
highly probable that the property belonged to him ;  and he is
so rich, and so indifferent about money, that he will never feel
the loss of it. And this reflection was very soothing to
Vaughan's conscience, since it left him at liberty to believe
that, had he had any reason to suppose the appropriation of
the treasure would have distressed the owner, he would not
on any account have retained it. So, after a struggle, he
broke the seal, and his knowledge of jewels was sufficient to
give him a fair notion of the value of what he saw. Probably
the bracelet was designed for Mrs. Eardley or her daughter,
since they were Mr. Peatherstone's nearest connexions; and,
by the by, Cattie was to be bis heir. The better right,
Vaughan thought, he had to the jewels; for well he knew
that she would willingly have given them to him, and herself
into the bargain, if she could. On the whole, it seemed an
equitable adjustment of affairs that he should find this pro-
perty, and no more than was due to him in compensation for
the numerous wrongs he had sustained. Finally, he thought
he would visit an acquaintance of his in the neighbourhood
of Leicester-square, and hear what he had to say about the
diamonds. He could decide afterwards. So, having hid
the notes under the mattress of his bed, he took the bracelet
with him, and proceeded to disturb the slumbers of the
worthy Mr. Solomons, who, it being by this time past mid-
night, was already snoring beside his beloved Leah. A hint,
however, that he was wanted for something particular, soon
174
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
brought bim down-stairs; visits of that mysterious nature,
and at like untimely hours, proving generally sufficiently in-
teresting to compensate for the annoyance of leaving his bed.
Vaughan had had several dealings with Mr. Solomons before,
and the Jew had purchased of him articles of no inconsiderable
value, but none of so much as this; and the young man felt
that offering such a thing for sale, in the present state of his
fortunes, must inevitably subject him to suspicion. This
gave him the experience of a new pain, for it was the first time
his pride had been wounded on that side ; he had been looked
on coldly by his friends, and been cut by his acquaintance ; been
dunned for the rent of his lodging, and refused further credit
by his tradesmen; but he had not quailed under the eye of
suspicion. He tried to hide his embarrassment by an affec-
tation of regret at parting with an object which, he hinted,
associations had rendered dear to him; but Mr. Solomons
had been called out of his bed too often on similar pressing
occasions, not to understand pretty well the nature of the ur-
gency. Yaughan saw that he did, and could not hide his
confusion; and the pangs of shame, combined with the
apprehensions that the Jew's inconvenient discernment
awakened, made him heartily repent that he had embarked in
such a perilous enterprise. But there was no retreating now,
since his security depended on Mr. Solomons' silence, which
could only be effectually secured by his complicity. So a
bargain was hurried through, of which it is needless to men-
tion who had the best; and then, jumping into a hackney
coach, he returned to his lodgings to fetch the notes and dis-
charge his rent.
CHAPTER XXVI.
But to return to Paris and our story. As Yaughan was to dine
with Lady Grlenlyon on the day he saw Lockwood in the Rue
Vivienne, he was obliged to go home to dress ; and, as he
ascended the stairs of the Hotel de Valmont, it was with a
heavy step and a strong presentiment of evil. Linny was in
her bed-room, and the moment his eye fell upon her face, he
perceived that something had happened to distress her; for
the tears were not yet dry upon her cheek. At another time
he would have inquired what was wrong, but now he durst
not; so, pretending not to observe anything unusual, he only
asked her if his things were ready for dressing, and devoted
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
175
himself at once to the affairs of the toilet, without further
parley. This kind of embarrassment in married life is one of
the unfortunate consequences of having anything to conceal.
Dreading that some accidental word may spring a mine,
people take refuge in silence and reserve, frequently thereby
creating suspicions of something much worse than the reality,
and inflicting far more pain than the knowledge of the truth
could have occasioned.
Vaughan was not angry with his wife, and Lady Glenlyon
had not superseded her in his affections; yet his behaviour
might have led anybody reasonably to conclude that one or
other was the case, so dryly and curtly he spoke to her, and
with eyes that never met hers. Again and again the tears
brimmed into Linny's eyes, and again and again she wiped
them away behind his hack ; and he saw it all, too, not with
his eyes, but as we see those things by some other sense,
that informs us of what is passing where we dare not look.
He fancied that she wished him to ask her what was the
matter, and so to bring about an eclair cissement; but the more
he thought she wished this, the more he dreaded it, and the
colder and colder he grew, till, having concluded his toilet, he
seized his hat, and saying he feared it was late, he quitted
the room and rushed down-stairs into the street. He was,
in fact, too early; but as he had no other place to go to, he
stopped the first fiacre he saw, and drove to Lady Glenlyon's
hotel. Her ladyship was still in her dressing-room, and Sir
Arthur had not yet returned from his ride; so he threw him-
self upon a sofa in Cattie's boudoir and took up a book. Pre-
sently, one of the servants came in to arrange the tables j then
another to do something else. A third time the door opened,
but Yaughan did not look round, as it was not the one com-
municating with Lady Glenlyon's apartment, through which
he knew she would come; so he lay still, turning over the
leaves of the book, not reading, but suppressing disagreeable
thoughts, by letting his eye wander over the pages. After an
instant the door closed again; then he looked round, but
there was nobody, and he continued to turn over the leaves.
The last intruder was Sir Arthur Glenlyon. After this a
considerable time elapsed without any interruption, till
Yaughan began to yawn and look at the Dresden clock that
stood on the chimneypiece. It was considerably past the
hour of dinner, and he rose from the sofa, and stretched
himself, wondering at the unusual irregularity. He knew
176
X/INNY LOCKWOOD.
no strangers were expected, as he and her ladyship were
going to the Italiens, to witness the production of a new
opera, so they could not be waiting for the company. At
length he rang the bell, and inquired whether Sir Arthur had
returned.
 Yes, sir."— Isn't it very late ?
 Yes, sir; dinner's been waiting some time.
 Lady Glenlyon is not unwell, is she ?
 Not that I know of, sir.
The man was just retiring when Yaughan added, Does she
know I am here ?
 Mrs. Wharton told her ladyship you were here, sir.
Yaughan began to feel uncomfortable, that is to say he
began to feel apprehensive that there was what he would have
denominated in his gay days "a screw loose. He fancied
the servant looked as if he knew more than he said. Had
Lady Glenlyon heard anything ? Or had Sir Arthur ? Then
the blood rushed to his cheeks as he recollected that they
were acquainted with Sir Bryan 0'Grady; at least Sir Arthur
was, for Kate had withdrawn her countenance from the
baronet, because Vaughan disliked him. He started from the
sofa and seized his hat; but at that moment the door opened
and Sir Arthur entered, bowing coolly, and saying, that he
feared it was late, but that he believed the dinner was on the
table ; and then, turning round, he led the way into the salle d
manger, Vaughan following with feelings that "maybebetter
conceived than described.
 Lady Glenlyon requests you will excuse her, as she is not
very well, said Sir Arthur.
Yaughan tried to say something, but the words stuck in
his throat; so he addressed himself to the potage and his roll,
alfecting to eat as if the delay of dinner had sharpened his
appetite. Whilst the servants were changing the plates, he
succeeded by a violent effort in making an observation on the
weather, to which Sir Arthur responded with cold civility.
A few remarks on the equestrians in the Bois de Boulogne
and the number of English in Paris, however, was all that
his utmost exertions could elicit in the way of conversation ;
and most assuredly "a dinner of herbs in his own apart-
ments would have been much better that day than all the lux-
uries of Sir Arthur Glenlyon's table. But the most trying
moment was when the servants quitted the room, and the
two gentlemen were left alone.  Now it will come, thought
LINNY LOCKWOOb. 17T
Yaughan : he was mistaken, however. Sir Arthur continued
to observe the same distant civility; few words were spoken ;
but those that were, regarded only the most indifferent sub-
jects. Yaughan longed to get out of the room; but he
dreaded making the attempt, lest a move should produce
the crisis. Still he felt he ought to go; to sit there under
such circumstances sipping Sir Arthur's claret, was like a
sneak and a coward. Moreover, it struck him that Sir Arthur
was preparing to say something; summoning resolution to
enter on a disagreeable subject, and hesitating how to begin.
Yaughan felt he could not face it, whatever it was, and sud-
denly, with a desperate resolution, he rose ; but of course, his
hat was not in the salle a manger, and to make such an exit
as that without your hat in your hand, is at once both dif-
ficult and absurd; the snatching up the hat being, as it
were, the natural and indispensable preliminary to such a
climax. Seeing a man rush out of the room without, suggests
the idea that he is taken ill, and all the dignity of wounded
honour and hurt feelings is entirely quashed. Yaughan felt
the awkwardness, looked about for his hat, and  damned it
for not being where of course he knew it was not. Sir Arthur
rose; Yaughan rushed to the door, opened it, called Bastide!
mon chapeau! Diable! Ou est il done ?
The servants who were in the anteroom discussing the
present aspect of domestic affairs, and the clouds that seemed
to be lowering in the horizon, which of course had not escaped
their observation, started up from the reclining postures in
which they were indulging, whilst Bastide snatched up the
hat, and advanced with it in his hand. All this was the work
of a minute ; Sir Arthur seemed to be taken by surprise.
 Good evening, sir, said Vaughan, feeling more able to
cope with the situation now that he had his hat in his hand;
and, closing the door sharply behind him, he passed hastily
through the suite of apartments, down the wide staircase,
into the street.
For the first few minutes he felt inexpressibly relieved, like
a bird escaped from a boy's hand into the free air again, and
he strode away from the house as if he were leaving all his cares
behind him.  Mais, helas ! lis montent en croupe et galop-
pent avec nous. And accordingly they soon overtook him.
What should he do now? Where go? To the Hotel Yalmont?
But Linny would not be in bed yet, and he dreaded to hear what
she might have to say. Probably she would not go to bed at all*
M
178
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
and almost certainly lie would find her awake. She had never
reproached him, never complained, nor did he know that she
was hitherto conscious of having any reason to do so. But
the storm seepaed gathering -about him now, and those un-
accustomed tears of hers—for Linny, though often serious
and anxious, had never exhibited tokens of being unhappy—
portended foul weather at home. Then there was the Palais
Royal, a favourite evening lounge of his when he was, what
is familiarly called, out. of sorts; because there was always
enough to divert his mind, and little danger of meeting his
acquaintance; but now he might meet Lockwood. Finally,
he resolved to go and see the new opera, and that would
divert him, and he felt a curiosity also to see if Lady Glenlyon,
was there.
The Italian company then occupied the Salle Favart, which
has since been destroyed by fire, and when he reached the,
Boulevards des Italiens, the Queue already extended to some-
distance. He had no chance of a box, as he could not pre-
sent himself at Lady Glenlyon's; so he made for one of the
other doors, and after waiting upwards of half an hour, he found,
himself seated in the back row of the parterre. When people
are in an imbroglio like Yaughan's, they have enough to
think of; the hour he had to wait soon passed, and the
fashionable company began to take their places in the boxes
As it was intended he should go to the opera, he had his
lorgnette in his pocket, so that he could inspect each party as
they entered ; and, just before the curtain rose, Lady Glenlyon
arrived, accompanied by her husband—a very unusual circum-
stance, since Sir Arthur had no taste for music, and always,
avowed that he thought an opera the greatest of bores. She
seated herself as far out of sight as she could, and, leaning her
head on her hand, directed her attention to the stage. Sir,
Arthur sat forward, resting his arms on the front of the box,,
and apparently amusing himself with looking about the house.
Kate sat silent and motionless, making no observation to her
companion, nor seeming to share the enthusiasm that the
music inspired. There was something in her attitude and
demeanour that denoted great depression or great ill humour,
and Yaughan raised his lorgnette to her face, to try and dis-
cover which it was.
 Connaissez-vous ces Anglais la ? said his neighbour, an
elderly Frenchman, who had already addressed him more
than once, and whose glass Yaughan now observed was pointe/
hINNY LOCKWOOD.
179
in the same direction ;  ce loge lit ou le monsieur se presente
en evidence et la dame se cache!
 Non, answered Yaughan,  du tout.
 C'est une miledi. Elle vient chez moi quelquefois. Je
crois que c'est le mari celui-lk!
 Prohablement, answered Yaughan.
 Elle a l'air furieusement ennuye n'est ce pas ?
 Yous croyez ?
 Je l'ai remarque tout a l'heure quand le monsieur lui a
adresse une observation—ma foi, quelle mine !
 Yous avez remarque cela ?
 Certainement je l'ai remarque. lis ne sont pas en lune de
miel, ces epoux la.
Yaughan listened to these remarks with interest, for they
confirmed his own impression. Lady Glenlyon's features de-
noted all, and much more than the worthy perfumer of the
Rue du Bac had described. Her cheeks were as* pale as
marble, her brow was contracted, her lips stern and com-
pressed. It was plain that there had been a quarrel, and
Vaughan inclined to believe that it was not with her own
consent she had stayed away from the dinner table. This
was rather a relief to him, although it by no means proved
that all he apprehended had not occurred; for well he knew
the amount of his own influence over Kate, and that even the
loss of his honour might not entail the loss of her allegiance.
Under his present circumstances, which were fast becoming
desperate, he was glad to have her .on his side ; and it must
, not be denied, that feeling himself about to be  let down the
i wind, his heart needed her as something to cling to—some-
thing betwixt him and the desolation he foresaw. Did he
think Linny would desert him, then ? No ; but she would
look upon his conduct with such amazement and terror—she
would suffer such agonies of shame and fear! Cattie would
take it more easily—she was a woman of the world; faulty
herself, and better able to make allowances for others.
CHAPTER XXYII.
When a man is in the wrong, and does not choose to be told
so, it is very convenient to be sulky. Yaughan was not
naturally sulky; but as, when he left the theatre, there was
nothing to do but to go home, he determined to repress all
disposition to confidence on Linny's part, should any* sucfe
m 2
180
linny lockwoob.
appear, by coldness and silence. As soon as he found himself
in the street alone, and that his mind was no longer diverted
by the stage and the audience, and the interest of watching
Sir Arthur and his wife, the painful sense of his situation,
and the horror of the exposure that seemed to be impending
over him, returned with threefold force. He must inevitably
leave Paris now, and without delay; but how to procure his
wife's connivance, without explaining the danger and diffi-
culty, he could not imagine. Perhaps, through one channel
or other, she was already in possession of some of the circum-
stances—so only could he account for her tears, unless indeed
she had been seized with a fit of jealousy; but still, of all the
mortifications that he had to expect, there was none more
repugnant to his feelings than the idea of standing before
Linny as a culprit—and such a culprit! As he picked his
way along the sloppy pavement—for it had come on to rain
hard—he cursed himself and the day he was born ; and then
his mind reverted to his father. Whose fault was it but his
father's, that he was plunged into all this shame and misery?
It was he who cast him down from his natural position in
society, and exposed him to the temptations of poverty. As
he stood at the corner of a street waiting to get across, Lady
Glenlyon's carriage dashed past him: why was it not his
carriage ? It might have been but for his own folly, and he
repented that he had not married Cattie; he could not have
been as miserable as he was now, for he would not have been
so disgraced. When he reached the gate of the Hotel
Valmont, the concierge, as he passed in, handed him a note.
As pretty nearly all the notes he received contained bills, he
took it mechanically; but when he reached his own apartment,
and looked at the address, he saw it was from Lady Glenlyon.
Linny had retired to her chamber, and he eagerly tore it
open. The words it contained were few, but they said much.
 Dearest dear Yattghan—I do not know what sSir
Arthur may have said, or how disagreeable he may choose to
make himself to you; but do not, I entreat you, suppose me
a consenting party to his rudeness. I must see you. Meet
me to-morrow, at Vaugirard's, the perfumer, in the Hue du
Bac, I don't know the number—it is near the Petit Thomas
—at four o'clock. Do not fail. I shall desire the concierge
to give this into no hand but yours.
 Ever your own faithful and affectionate
et Wednesday evening, half-past six  cattie,
LTNNY LOCKWOOD. 181
"Written whilst we were at dinner, thought Yaughan;
and, with a feeling that the same handwriting had never
inspired before, he pressed it to his lips. She would not desert
him, at all events.
When he went to his chamber, Linny either was, or pre-
tended to be, asleep ; and he stretched himself beside her to
pass a restless night. When he had lain for some time, and
might reasonably be supposed to be sleeping, she slipped softly
out of bed, put on her dressing-gown, and left the room,
having lighted her candle at the veilleuse. As she did not
return, curiosity induced him to get out of bed and peep
through the door, which she had left ajar, to see what she
was doing—she was lying on the sofa, with a shawl wrapped
round her, reading a hook of travels he had seen lying on the
table. She could not sleep then ; and, as Yaughan had never
known her to leave her bed in this way before, her doing so
now denoted that she was suffering great uneasiness of mind.
What could have happened ? Had she and Lockwood met P
She looked so sad and so pretty, and there was something so
touching in this quiet, unostentatious unhappiness, that he felt
inclined to go forward, fling his arms about her, and inquire
the cause of her distress; but his conscience would not let him.
She might repulse him with disgust, reproach him with his
baseness; and he knew his temper would not bear it. In
about two hours she returned to bed, and towards morning
he fell asleep ; when he awoke, Linny had already risen and
left the room. This was nothing unusual; 011 the contrary,
she rose before him every day; and yet he felt that she was
avoiding him. Still his dressing-things were prepared as
usual, and as carefully as in the first days of their marriage, for
Linny was his only valet. He lingered over his toilet, but
he was dressed at last; and then he called her and asked if the
breakfast was ready, endeavouring to speak as if there was
nothing amiss. Linny came at his call, and answered his
inquiry; but he contrived to be stretching a new pair of
gloves, and did not look at her. However, he followed her
into the salon, and walked to the window whilst she poured
out the tea.
 Your tea's ready, Vaughan.
 I fear we're going to have another wet day—it looks very
bad in the west. I don't think this water boiled—the tea's
shockingly weak.
"The truth is, I'm endeavouring to make the tea go as far
182
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
as I can. The tradespeople are getting unwilling to serve us,
and Monsieur Bertrand was scarcely civil when I went there
for some tea and sugar the other day.
"D —n it! Don't go to him any more; try somebody else.
 If I do, they'll demand payment when they send the things
home.
This was a subject that always made Yaughan angry, and
he was not sorry to use it as an excuse for being sulky at
present—so he knit his brows, and sipped his tea in gloomy
silence. He observed, however, that his wife ate nothing;
and that two or three times she raised her hand to her head
as if to push back her hair, but in reality to brush away a tear
unperceived. The tea, however, had furnished him with an
excuse for not remarking it. Still he every moment dreaded
that she might say, "Yaughan, I want-to speak to you,"—
or, "Yaughan, I have heard something that I think it my
duty to mention to you; so the moment the breakfast was
over, he arose and took up his gloves and his hat. Linny sat
still with the spoon in her hand, slowly stirring her tea, and
looking into the cup as if she expected to find peace at the
bottom of it. Yaughan put on his hat, walked to the mirror,
pulled down his waistcoat, arranged the lapels of his coat, and
drew on his gloves. As he inspected the general effect, in
spite of the embarrassments that entangled him, he could not
help feeling a faint glow of satisfaction, for he was indubitably
a very handsome, gentlemanly-looking young fellow ; and it
occurred to him, that without seeking any further for a cause,
his poor little wife had motive enough for her tears in his
neglect; since—although in reality he had never been un-
faithful to her, even in sentiment—the pursuit of his own
pleasure and indulgence had made him as much the slave of
Lady Grlenlyon as if he had been subjugated by passion.
This reflection produced a slight reaction, that made him
approach Linny before he quitted the room, and throwing his
arm round her neck, with his hand under her chin, lift up her
downcast face to his.
"Don't look so sorrowful, my little woman, he said,
assuming as cheerful a demeanour as he could.  I know you're
a great deal alone, but it can't be helped at present; and, be
sure of one thing, Linny, that you have no cause for jealousy.
If I am a good deal at Lady Glenlyon's, it is not love that
takes me there, I assure you.
 Oh, Yaughan! she began; but, dreading what might be
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
coming, he put his hand before her mouth, imprinted a kiss
upon her forehead, and darted out of the room, saying,
 There ! no more, no more! you know I detest the pathetic.
I don't think I. shall he home to dress to-day, so you need not
prepare my things.
It was not till he found himself in the street that he re-
membered the difficulty of passing the time till the hour of
his appointment with Lady Gflenlyon—a moment that he
anticipated with far more impatience than he had ever ex-
pected to feel on any occasion where she was concerned. But
from her he now expected to discover if anything was, or was
not known, regarding his connexion with that unlucky
parcel; and she was the only person in the world whom he
could hear to hear speak on the subject. As it was not yet
midday, too early for the fashionable world to be abroad, he
thought it might be prudent to walk through the Rue du
Bac, and ascertain the situation of Vaugirard's, the perfumer,
in order that he might not have to seek it later in the day.
The house was easily found, and. as he looked in at the door,
he was somewhat dismayed to perceive standing behind the
counter the old Frenchman who, on the preceding evening,
had sat beside him in the pit of the theatre. This was awk-
ward, as he had denied any acquaintance with the lady; so he
stepped into the shop, saying, "Ah ! c'est vous ?
 A votre service, monsieur ?"— Yous demeurez ici done ?
 Oui, monsieur, a votre plaisir.
 Belle boutique! Cela doit etre un commerce tres agreable
la parfumerie ?
 Oui, monsieur, il y en a de pire.
And after duly admiring the shop and everything in it,
and delicately hinting to Monsieur Vaugirard that he would
henceforth have the honour of supplying his present visitor
with gloves and perfumery, &c. &c., he added, with an air of
as much nonchalance as he could assume— Par exemple,
cette dame de hier ^u soir, j'ai fait sa connaissance.
 Ah! responded the Frenchman, slightly raising his eye-
brows; "deja?
 I find I am acquainted with her family; in short, they
are old friends of mine.
"Ah! c'est different, returned Monsieur Vaugirard.
 She is a very distinguished person, continued Yaughan,
who was beginning to be short of gloves, and was therefore
not unwilling to seize the opportunity of making a favourable
184
tlNNY LOCKWOOD.
impression on a purveyor of that article;  and has a very
large fortune.
 Je le crois hien, said Yaugirard.
 By-the-by, have you any gloves of this colour that would
fit me ?
 Oui, monsieur, answered the merchant.
 But I have come out without any money, I find.
 What signifies that ?
 Well, just put aside that half-dozen for me, and I'll call
for them in the afternoon.
 I can send them.
 No, no; I shall he passing here about four o'clock, and
I'll call for them myself!
"Bien, monsieur! And with a salutation on the part of
Yaughan, and an  Au revoir! from the Frenchman, they
parted.
In the meantime, Linny, after indulging in a hearty fit of
weeping, sat down to her work. Formerly, when Yaughan
went out, she used to go out too—if not with him, to amuse
herself by walking about and seeing different parts of the city;
hut latterly she had found herself so much annoyed by the
persevering attentions of Sir Bryan 0'Grady, who appeared
to he always lying in wait for her, that she generally stayed
at home rather than encounter him. It will be recollected
that he had met her formerly at Marlow, and admired her
exceedingly; and it is not impossible that even then he might
have been disposed to make advances of one sort or another
to her, had not Yaughan laid claim to her as his own. From
that time he never saw her till she passed him one day on the
Boulevards, when, struck by her beauty, he had followed her
home without recognizing her for the same person, till, on
inquiring the name of the lady who had just entered, the
concierge informed him that it was Madame Vorn Mdmondston.
This occurred shortly after his arrival in Paris, and the very
day after his rencontre with Vaughan in the Rue Yivienne;
and the circumstance furnishes an instance of the curiously
small accidents on which our destinies hang. Had he met
Linny one day earlier, instead of returning her husband's
salutation with insulting coldness, he would have accosted
him with the warmest welcome; but the mistake being irre-
trievable, as Yaughan cut him dead the same evening at
Blangini's Soiree Musicale, the next best card was to become
his enemy—at least, such was Sir Bryan's view of the matter.
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 185
By the same shortsighted precipitation, he had defeated
Vaughan's generalship, and given the victory to Lady Glen-
lvon, into whose toils he had flung this object of her anxious
pursuit when she had nearly relinquished all hope of success,
and so laid the foundation of the numerous events that grew
out of that untoward conjunction.
Yaughan was now tied and bound to her ladyship's chariot-
wheels—partly by interest, partly by gratitude, and partly by
his love of pleasure and of those luxuries he had been early
accustomed to ; and Linny, left to take care of herself, became
the subject of Sir Bryan O'Grady's incessant manoeuvres, he
being uncertain whether she was Vaughan's wife or not,—but
in either case, under all the circumstances, considering her fair
game.
After getting through the weary morning by reading the
papers in an obscure cafe, where he was in no danger of
meeting his acquaintance, and by a walk afterwards along the
quays, when the hour of four approached, Yaughan directed
his steps to the neighbourhood of Monsieur Vaugirard's,
where he lingered, not choosing to enter the shop till he saw
Lady Glenlyon's carriage at the door. She did not keep him
waiting; some minutes before the time, it drove past him,
with the blinds more than half down. He saw her step out
and enter the shop, and immediately afterwards he followed
her. Her anxiety lest he should not come was evident by
the eager look she turned towards the door when he opened
it. She endeavoured, however, to meet him with composure ;
but her face was pale, and her lip trembled with agitation.
They endeavoured to speak of indifferent things—the new
opera—the new tenor—the poverty of the libretto ; he asked
for his gloves, and excused himself that, not having been
home, he had not yet got his purse. Lady Glenlyon offered
to lend him the money ; but Monsieur Vaugirard would not
hear of such a thing. He would not relinquish the honour
of seeing monsieur's name in his books. She bought a variety
of things which she did not want, in order to make friends
with the perfumer; and when these affairs were settled, she
moved to the door, asking Yaughan which way he was going,
and proposing to give him a drive. "Dear Yaughan, she
said, as soon 4s they were seated in the carriage,  I never
was so distressed in my life as at what happened yesterday.
Of course, you understood that I was prevented seeing your"'
"Sir Arthur's behaviour made me suspect so, said Vaughan.
186 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 Who it is that troubles himself with our affairs, I cannot
think, unless it is that odious Irishman, and I cannot see what
interest he can have in interfering with us ; hut I believe, if
Sir Arthur had been left to himself, he would^ never have
made any objection to our intimacy; but now he insists on its
ceasing altogether.
"The measure's rather strong, said Vaughan. "What
reason does he allege ?
"None but his own will;—he says he has very good reasons;
and that he cannot allow me to become the subject of public
scandal. Now, that's ridiculous, because I am sure that in
Paris nobody would think such an intimacy at all outreT
 But Sir Arthur is English, and very English. I confess
I was apprehensive, from the first, that your kindness to me
might lead to something unpleasant. But he did not imply
any particular reason?
 He gave no reason at all but what I have told you.
 Because his coolness to me was so marked, that the first
moment I could I quitted the table and came away.
 Dearest Yaughan, how sorry I am to have subjected you
to anything so unpleasant! However, Sir Arthur need not
congratulate himself on his triumph. It will be a short one,
he may rely on it.
 Cependant, il est le maitre, answered Yaughan.
"Not mine, said Lady Gflenlyon, with a curl of the lip.
 Love alone could make me,the slave of any man.
 And you do not love Sir Arthur ? He knew well enough
she did not.
 Love him ! No, Yaughan ; I never loved hut one man in
this world, and never shall. What could he do but take the
white hand that lay upon his arm, and raise it to his lips ?
 Oh, Yaughan, she continued, dropping her head on his
shoulder,  how cruelly fate has been against us! Betwixt
the imprudence of your father and the ambition of mine, every
obstacle was thrown in the way of our happiness, and we
were separated ; and now that we have found each other again,
and that I could have been perfectly happy if I had been allowed
to see you as much as I have lately, I am told I must give you
up. But I cannot do it, Yaughan! Indeed, indeed, I cannot!
 But how can it be avoided ? said Vaughan.  Besides, to
say the truth, I am afraid I must leave Paris. The hotel I
am living at is too expensive for me, and you know my -pecu-
niary affairs are not very flourishing,
linny lockwood.
187
 And where should you go ? inquired Cattie.
"To the devil, perhaps, said Vaughan, in a half jesting
and half serious tone.
 Oh, Yaughan ! I wish I could go with you!
 There ? said he.— Anywhere ! she replied.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Lockwood, who continued in the service of Sir Bryan O'Grady,
glad enough to he allowed at that price to earn his bread, had
made no advances towards the object that had brought him
to Paris. He was completely nonplussed by finding Yaughan
in such good society, and, to all appearance, in such flourish-
ing circumstances, and the only explanation he could find of
the mystery was, that he had run away with an heiress. A
word from the host of the King's Arms would have unde-
ceived him in this respect, and would, at the same time, have
considerably fortified his worst suspicions ; but that word Mr.
Gamble had abstained from speaking, because he was a good-
natured, peace-loving Christian, who did not like to set fire
to a train of gunpowder. He preferred leaving the secret of
Miss Linny's elopement to be disclosed by time and circum-
stances; but the secret still remained a secret to Lockwood,
for, although he had written to his wife, he had had no answer;
and although he had carried that letter of his master's to Mrs.
Vaughan Edmonstone, in which the baronet urged his suit
more audaciously than he had done before, and attempted to
reinforce his solicitations by the assertion of Vaughan's infi-
delity, Lockwood had no suspicion that the lady was his own
daughter. Sir Bryan, indeed, had desired him to deliver it
into the hand of the person to whom it was addressed; but,
instead of doing so, he had transferred the letter and the
injunction to the concierge of the Hotel Valmont, not choosing
to take a personal part in what he concluded was an intrigue.
As the mysteries of valetism are not very recondite or difficult
to be acquired by an intelligent person, Lockwood, after a
little practice, performed his functions handily enough ; inso-
much that his master, who was glad to have so steady and
respectable a servant, offered him good wages to remain in his
service, and as the ex-clerk had suffered enough in his wander-
ings to value the comforts of his present situation, and saw no
better way of making his bread, he accepted the proposal. But
Lockwood was a very sensitive man, almost morbidly sOj other-
188
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
wise lie would not liave run away from his home and his family
rather than encounter the unjust suspicions he had incurred;
and he was now incessantly tormented with the notion, that if
O' Grady had been aware of the imputation he lay under, he
would have refused to employ him; and that, should the cir-
cumstance reach his ears, he would even now dismiss him
ignominiously. This apprehension preyed on the poor fellow's
mind dreadfully, and kept it for ever brooding on the one
idea, till he was almost monomaniacal on the subject. Had
the advertisement in The Times met his eye he would have
been off to London immediately; but, as it did not, he per-
force remained in uneasy inactivity, not seeing what move he
could make. Whilst he was in this state of mind, his master
one day gave him a pair of silver epaulets, and some lace off
an old suit of regimentals, which, as deputy-lieutenant of an
Irish county, he was entitled to wear; and which he had
carried about with him on the continent to do duty at levees
and other public occasions. When Sir Bryan was dressed and
off his hands for some hours, Lockwood took the things out
with him in order to dispose of them, and having formed a
slight acquaintance with a jeweller on the Boulevard Mont-
martre, to whose shop he had occasionally heen sent on mes-
sages, he resolved to address himself to the same person,
because the man, speaking a little English, he would be able
to make himself understood.
There was no one in the shop but the owner of it when he
arrived, and having unfolded his packet and displayed its
contents, he was waiting to know what Monsieur Richard
would give for them, when madame the wife entered from the
back room with a small red leather case in her hand, which
she opened and exhibited to her husband, saying,  Voyez, mon
ami, e'est parfait, n'est ce pas ?
 Oui, answered her husband with a nod of satisfaction.
 Shall I put it up ? she asked.
 Attendez un petit moment, he said.  Fetch me the
scissors.
Whereupon Madame Richard, without closing the case, laid
it down on the counter, thereby disclosing to the wondering
eyes of George Lockwood a sight that brought his heart into
his mouth.
On the eventful day that he had been commissioned by
Mr. Featherstone to fetch the money and the bracelet which
he intended presenting to his niece, Lockwood had called at
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 189
Hamlet's in the^ afternoon, on his way from the city, to inquire
if the latter article was ready.
 I had hoped it was ready, returned the shopman, taking
up a red case that was lying beside him,  but we think there's
a slight flaw in one of the stones, and we're going to put in
another; at the same time, taking out the bracelet, he held
it over the counter to Lockwood, who took it in his hand and
inspected it with great admiration. It was a design of Mr.
Featherstone's own, and was intended to represent a rattle-
snake. The scales were of emeralds and rubies placed alter-
nately—the eyes were two exceedingly fine rubies—the head
was composed of a large and superb emerald—and the rattle
was marked by six rows of splendid brilliants ; altogether it was
a gorgeous and beautiful ornament, and of course the cost of it
was in proportion. After this description, it may be imagined
what Lockwood's feelings were when he lost so valuable a
jewel, and what his surprise and joy was now, when he recog-
nised it in the hands of Madame Richard. So great was his
agitation, indeed, that at first he could not command his voice
to inquire where they got it, and this, giving him time for a
moment's reflection, showed him the necessity of caution.
Recurring to his original suspicion, he concluded that, finding
both Vaughan Edmonstone and the bracelet in Paris, he would
be justified in acting upon it; but at the same time it might
be necessary to proceed with caution, since doubtless the
jeweller, or whoever the bracelet now belonged to, would not
be willing to relinquish such a prize, nor perhaps to Confess
where they got it; so, after recovering himself a little, he
leaned over the counter and remarked what a curious fancy
it was to imitate such a fearful reptile as the ornament for a
lady's arm—Monsieur Richard admitted that it was, adding,
however, that is was bien beau.
"Very beautiful, answered Lockwood, and very valuable,
of course. I suppose you'll not find many people able to pur-
chase such a thing as that. But perhaps it's not yours to sell.
"Ah! said Monsieur Richard, significantly raising his
finger to the side of his nose— it's a secret—there's a little
mystery in the business.
"Indeed! returned Loclnvood.
 C'est extraordinaire! began Monsieur Richard ; "but it
appears to me that your great folks—English or French—
they're all alike, and as much in want of money as us poor
ones. This bracelet, he continued, taking the case in his
190
LIN NY LOCKWOOD.
hand; "this bracelet shows what people of that class are
capable of.
 Mon ami, soyez discret! said Madame Richard, reappear-
ing with the scissors she had gone to fetch,  C'est une affaire
de confiance, n'est ce pas.
 Bah! returned Monsieur Richard;  a ce bon homme IS,!
Qu'est ce que qa fait ?
Little did Monsieur Richard dream the interest ce Ion
homme la had in the business! How could he ever have sup-
posed that this poor, insignificant fellow was, of all others, the
person in the world who was most concerned in tracing the
history of that bracelet ? So it was, however; but Lockwood
saw that, to betray this interest prematurely, would be most
prejudicial to his purpose. Poor and helpless as he was, shpuld
any suspicion of his object arise, means might easily be taken
to frustrate it. The bracelet, for instance, might be put out
of sight, and his assertion that he had seen it serve only to
bring himself into trouble. He must enlist some power superior
to his own in the cause; and, after a little deliberation, it
appeared to him that there was no one he could so properly
address himself to as Lady Glenlyon herself. He would have
preferred Mr. Eardley, or Mr. Featherstone; but they were
too far off, and her ladyship, being on the spot, he determined,
though not without considerable pain, to go to her, and re-
quest an interview. There was no time to lose, for the bracelet
once away from the shop it might be too late; so he started
without delay for the Rue Royale, where the Glenlyons had
resided since leaving Meurice's. In answer to his inquiries,
however, he was informed that Lady Glenlyon was out, and
would probably not return till seven o'clock. Sir Arthur
was out, too, and they did not know when he would be in.
This was embarrassing; for Lockwood had to make prepara-
tion for his master's toilet, and must be home by a certain
hour. Whilst he was expressing his vexation—for, having
announced himself as Sir Bryan O'Grady's servant, they did
not disdain to listen to what he had to say—the groom, hap-
pening to pass, suggested that he had better wait, as Sir
Arthur had ordered him to be ready with the horses at four
o'clock. Lockwood was therefore requested to take a seat,
and as he naturally felt a good deal of interest in the daughtet
of his old patron, he made some inquiries about Lady Glen-
lyon, that elicited sundry significant nods and winks from
one of the footmen. If ladies did but know how their
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
191
Servants talk of them, when they lay themselves open to
animadversion!
"There'll be a blow-up, I expect, afore long, said the iri-
descent Thomas,"about thatyoung Mr.Edmonstone that she's
always got with her. Master don't like him, and he's getting
tired of it—I can see that fast enough; though he's as good a
gentleman as ever ate salt, and lets her have her own way in
everything that's proper—more than I would, if she was my
wife, I can tell her. They'd a scrimmage about it t'other day;
and I fancy my lady had to promise to mend her ways, for he
hasn't been here since ; but, and here he made a peculiar kind
of knowing noise with his tongue and teeth,  Master aint half
up to snuff!
And this was true; Sir Arthur was by nature neither jealous
nor suspicious; but of a generous, confiding, calm temper. His
wife had, however, for some time so entirely given herself up to
Yaughan's society, and so entirely relinquished his, except when
necessity brought them together, that the most indulgent hus-
band could scarcely he expected to endure it with patience.
Disappointed in his expectations of that domestic happiness he
had hoped for, he was willing to pay the penalty of his mistake
without kicking and floundering. He could not make his wife
love him, nor alter her character; and, as long as she amused
herself without implicating his honour or her own, he was not
disposed to interfere. But for some time past he had been ex-
ceedingly annoyed both by what he saw and by what he heard.
The renewal of the acquaintance with Vaughan at all was dis-
agreeable to him ; not from jealousy, but because he felt there
was something equivocal in his position. When the thing was
done, however, he neither wished to offend his wife, nor put an
affront on the young man, by refusing to receive him; and,
had the intimacy been conducted in such a manner as not to
provoke scandal, he would have allowed it to run its course.
But it was not a pleasant thing every day, when he came
home, to find a man he did not like lounging on his sofas;
nor to see him each afternoon, when he took his ride in the
Bois de Boulogne, or the Champs Elysees, occupying a corner
of his cowpe; and it was still less pleasant to observe the
smiles and sneers, or to overhear the remarks in which his
English acquaintance indulged themselves at his expense. At
first, he only drew her ladyship's notice to the fact, that she
was making herself the subject of unpleasant gossip; then he
expostulated seriously, £gquesting that she would be more
192
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
cautious, for her own sake and his. He next proposed quitting
Paris, on the plea that he was tired of it; but Lady Glenlyon
would not hear of such a measure, and he was unwilling to be
peremptory. At length, however, the affair had been brought
to a crisis by his chancing to be an unwilling auditor of a
conversation regarding his wife amongst his own servants.
He took no notice, nor gave them any reason to suppose he
had overheard their discourses, for what right had he to do
so ? If she acted in a manner that exposed her to their anim-
adversions, were they not free to make them ? for it is in
vain to say that human beings shall not, or should not, make
remarks on their neighbour's conduct. We know that there
are some people who carry this privilege to a vicious excess,
and who take a delight in misinterpreting innocent actions,
seeing a ridicule where none exists, and pronouncing judgment
on those they are incapable of appreciating; but nothing is
to be judged by its abuse. If we never blamed we should
never praise ; or, if we did, our commendations would be very
little worth having. What we have to do, is to judge people
justly, and, in order to judge them justly, we must judge them
kindly and mercifully; since seeing, that as we cannot place
ourselves in their situation, or know all the circumstances of
the case, that severity which appears to us justice may be the
grossest of injustice. In short, in judging the conduct or the
opinions of other people, we are bound to leave a large margin
of allowance; and I confess I have never been able to con-
ceive by what sophistry people, who profess to be Christians,
can reconcile to themselves the judgments they pronounce
upon those who differ with them, not as to what is right and
wrong in morals, virtuous or vicious in conduct, but on points
wherein the wisest and best of mankind have been, and are,
and will be, to the end of time, at issue; and sure I am that
there is no one thing does so much harm to the cause they
advocate, or so discredits the principles they profess as this in-
tolerance ; whilst I do not know any character more engaging
than one, whose mind being thoroughly made up upon subjects
that to others appear questionable, can yet be content to dwell
and consort with those persons in love and charity; accepting
the good that is in them, calm in the trust that if God deems
it necessary that all men should think alike, he will make all
men think alike ; and humbly bearing in mind that he alone is
entitled to pronounce judgment, since he alone possesses the
knowledge that can enable him to do so with unerring justice,
LlNNt LOCKWOOD.
193
CHAPTER XXIX.
Sib Aethub Glenlvon was not unacquainted with Lock-
wood, for he had often seen him sitting in the hall of Mr.
Eardley's house, in Cavendish-square; and he now started
with surprise to find a man he supposed to be dead, waiting
lor him, hat in hand, in the Rue Royale.
 Mr. Lockwood! he exclaimed, "is it possible ?
•  Might I request a few words with you, sir ? said Lock-
wood;  I had intended to mention the business I am come
about to her ladyship, but she is not at home.
"Walk this way, said Sir Arthur, preceding him to his
own dressing-room;  why, Mr. Lockwood, I am glad to see
the report of your having met with some untimely end is
without foundation. Where have you been all this time ?
 Why, sir, that would be a long story that I wont trouble
you with now; hut the truth is, the loss of that parcel
almost deprived me of my reason, and I scarcely know what
I did for some time after; but I have never given up the
hope of tracing what had become of it; and at last, I think,
I've got a clue.
 Indeed! I should be very glad to hear that for your own
sake. Then you must have had some suspicion of how you
lost it.
 I had, ,sir; I have always been persuaded that I dropped
it in Oxford-street.
 In Oxford-street! If you dropped it there, I should
think there is little chance of your finding it again.
 Why, sir, I have always lxad a suspicion that a person
who, I know, was not far from me at the time, might have
picked it up.
 And has anything occurred to strengthen that suspicion ?
 Why, yes, sir—that person is at present in Paris ; and,
if I am not very much mistaken, I have just seen the very
bracelet that I brought that day from Hamlet's.
 Indeed ! in his possession ?
 No, sir; in a shop on the Boulevards. It was a very
remarkable bracelet—I suppose you know what it was ?
 Perfectly.
 And what makes me think that I am not mistaken is, that
the people of the shop own there is a mystery connected
with it.
 Did they say how it came into their possession ?
N
194 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 No, sir; and that is what I should feel very grateful if
you or Lady Grlenlyon would endeavour to discover. It is
not likely they will tell me; hut you, perhaps, they may.
 I don't know that; for, as we cannot prove it to be the
same bracelet, I don't see what right we have to demand the
information.
 You never saw the bracelet, sir ?
 Never; but I have seen the exact copy of it; for Mr.
Featherstone ordered another to be made, which Lady Glen-
lyon ha|.
 It might be Lady Grlenlyon's bracelet, then, that I saw
just now, said Lockwood, disappointed.
 I should hardly think so, answered Sir Arthur.  But
I'll inquire of her maid.
The maid was accordingly summoned, and desired to fetch
the bracelet; but she presently returned with an aspect of
alarm, saying she could not find it.
 That's very singular! Did Lady Grlenlyon take it out
with her ?
 Not to my knowledge, sir, answered Wharton;  and I
think my lady would have mentioned it to me if she had, as
I have the charge of the jewels.
 Are you sure it's not in any of the drawers ?
 I'll take one more look, sir; but I am quite certain I put
it in the jewel-case the last time my lady wore it, and I am
so particular about it, that I never could have put it into the
drawers.
The second search being as unsuccessful as the first, Sir
.Arthur began to suspect there was something extraordinary
in the business. Had the bracelet been seen at any of the
jewellers' they dealt with, he might have supposed she had
left it there to be repaired; but her entrusting it to a stranger
on the Boulevard Montmartre, he looked upon as out of the
question. The natural conclusion, therefore, was, that the
bracelet had been stolen, and somehow fallen into the posses-
sion of these Richards ; and as it might be too late to go to
the shop after his wife came home, he resolved to go there at
once, in company with Lockwood.
 You think, said he, as they proceeded along the Boule-
vards in a fiacre,  that the person who found that parcel is
now in Paris.
 He is in Paris, sir. At least he was, some days ago.
"And on what grounds do you suspect him ?
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
195
«Why, sir, in the first place, I saw him close behind me,
in Oxford-street, about the time I must have dropped the
parcel. Then, though I know him to have been in great
difficulties, the very next morning he paid a pretty large
debt, and then hurried across the water to this place, where
he has been, I fancy, ever since, and seemingly well enough
off.
Some association of ideas, stirred probably by his own per-
sonal feelings towards him, brought Yaughan Edmonstone to
Sir Arthur's mind.
 Do you happen to know what part of the town this per-
son lodges in p
 He is living at an hotel in the Rue Richelieu, sir.
Lockwood was not sorry to have an opportunity of saying
this much, although for various reasons he would now have
shrunk from a more direct accusation. Sir Arthur made no
answer; but somehow'this confirmation of a vague suspicion
suggested another. He was aware, and indeed Lady Grlenlyon
had told him, that Yaughan was very poor. Before he became
a subject of disagreement betwixt them, she had frequently
alluded to his poverty, expressing a wish that some means
could be found of improving his circumstances. Could she
have sold this bracelet in order to give him the money P He
almost feared that would prove the explanation of its myste-
rious appearance on the Boulevard Montmartre; and this
notion did not diminish his desire to penetrate the secret.
 Mon ami! said Madame Richard, who, casting her eyes
through the shop window, was the first to see. Lockwood's
face as the coach stopped at the door;  here is that English-
man again that brought the epaulets. What can be bringing
him back—en fiacre, too! and so saying, she snatched up a
sealed packet that lay upon the counter and thrust it into a
drawer underneath.
Sir Arthur, who had formed his plan of attack as he came
along, opened the campaign at once.
"Excuse me, he said, bowing politely, a. necessary pre-
liminary to every negotiation in France;  but my wife has
lost a bracelet of considerable value, and I am informed that
there is such a one in this shop. Would you allow me to
see it?
 Mais, monsieur! began Madame Richard.
"It is the one I saw here this morning, said Lockwood.
 The snake set in jewels.
K 2
196 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 Mais, messieurs, nous ne sommes pas des voleurs, an-
swered Madame Richard, with an air of insulted integrity.
 I heg you'll not suppose I mean to imply anything of the
sort. I mean no offence, I assure you, returned Sir Arthur;
 but you can't always guard against things being brought
to you that people have not come fairly by. All I ask is to
he allowed to see the bracelet you showed to this person
when he was here to-day.
 Ce n'est plus ici, monsieur, replied Madame Richard with
admirable a plomb, considering that the thing was at that
moment within six inches of her hand.
 If it is not here, of course you can't show it me, returned
Sir Arthur;  but I dare say, whoever has it, will not object
to let me see it, if you will tell me who that is.
 Excusez, monsieur! Ce n'est pas a nous d'incommoder
nos pratiques avec de pareilles inquisitions.
 I shall he sorry to be obliged to resort to stronger mea-
sures, said Sir Arthur; "but this singular unwillingness to
give me the information I require, can only confirm my sus-
picion that the bracelet you have, or had, in your possession is
the one I'm in search of.
 Mon Dieu, monsieur! faites comme vtms voulez, said
Madame Richard;  cela ne nous derange pas du tout.
 You are determined, then, not to show it me ? said Sir
Arthur, moving towards the door.
"Monsieur, c'est impossible, answered the imperturbable
Madame Richard.
"Very well, th^n, you must take the consequences, he re-
joined, as he opened the door;  I wish you good morning.
"Bon jour,'monsieur! Au revoir! and the door closed
behind the baronet and his companion.
"Mais, Stephanie, done, said Monsieur Richard, who had
affected to be very busy in another part of the shop, in order
to leave the management of so critical a passage to the more
astute wits of his wife,  cela va nous porter malheur ! We
shall have the police here! Quel deshonneur!
 Bah! said Stephanie;  ne vois-tu pas que c'est le mari
de cette dame P If he brings the police here, the dishonour'11
he his ; not ours.
 You think he's her husband ?
 Mais j'en suis sure. Didn't I tell you, there was some-
thing curious about that man this morning, with his old
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
197
epaulets to sell ? It's my opinion it was nothing in the world
but an excuse to come here, that he might try and find out
something about the bracelet.
 J'espere que tu as raison, car— said Monsieur Eichard
with a shrug, and holding up his five fingers.
 N'est-ce pas que j'ai toujours raison ? responded Madame
Eichard in a tone of perfect conviction.
But the jeweller was a timid man, without half the acute-
ness and a plomb of madame ; and. although, when he found
matters turn out as she predicted, he was often enraptured
with her cleverness, his faith was not sufficient to support
him through the preliminary stages of any delicate transac-
tion in which they happened to find themselves involved.
Whilst the above dialogue was transpiring betwixt the
husband and wife, Sir Arthur and Lockwood were discussing
the affair in the fiacre, or rather the latter was discussing it,
for Sir Arthur said very little; and Lockwood had nearly all
the talk to himself.
 It is evident to me there is something wrong about it,
sir, said he anxiously.
Sir Arthur shook his head significantly. He was afraid
there was something very wrong about it; but the affair had
assumed a complexion that rendered it impossible for him to
communicate his thoughts to Lockwood, and he was altogether
at a loss how to proceed. He now believed that the bracelet
was Lady Grlenlyon's, and that she had sold it to these people
in order to relieve the necessities of Yaughan Edmonstone ;
and as she set great store by it, both on account of its beauty
and value, and because it was the gift of her uncle, to whom
she professed more attachment than to any one in the world,
such a sacrifice denoted, if not "a foregone conclusion, at
least a very alarming state of proclivity to irreparable mis-
chief. What should he do ? How prevent it ? On the day
of that unpleasant dinner above described, when her ladyship
did not make her appearance, they had had a quarrel—the
first right-down quarrel recorded in the history of their
matrimonial life, for Sir Arthur had generally great command
of his temper; but on that occasion he lost it, and he had
peremptorily insisted on his wife's relinquishing all communi-
cation whatever with Mr. Edmonstone. Her answer was,
 Very well! I suppose I must, if you insist upon it; but, be
pleased to remember that I think such an exercise of autho-
198
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
rity odious; and that, if I submit, it is only because you have
the power to enforce your commands, and not because I
acknowledge their justice.
This was not a promise, it was only a submission ; but what
more could he do except leave Paris ?—a move he now resolved
to make without delay, since, if his suspicions in regard to the
bracelet were correct, the circumstance went far to prove that
his wife was still in communication with Yaughan. He had
not been without his apprehensions on this subject before;
but as he was sure he had seen the snake on her arm the
night he accompanied her to the opera, its subsequent dis-
appearance tended strongly to confirm them, unless indeed
she could account for it.
Sir Arthur dropped Lockwood on their way back, and the
poor man went home to prepare for his master's toilette, con-
siderably comforted—not certainly that he was vindicated;
but he saw that Sir Arthur believed in his integrity. It was
somewhat unusually late when Lady Grlenlyon returned from
her morning's drive. On entering her boudoir, through
which she had to pass to her dressing-room, she was arrested
by Sir Arthur, who said he had been anxiously waiting for
her. >
 Indeed! on what account ? inquired her ladyship.
 I want to know, he said,  where your snake bracelet is ?
the one given to you by Mr. Featherstone.
 Why ? she asked.
 Never mind why just now, he replied;  but you'll oblige
me by answering the question.
 I might refuse to do so, she answered;  for the bracelet
is mine, and I am not obliged to account for it to you, or any-
body; however, since you desire to know where it is—there!
and pushing up the sleeve of her dress, she displayed the
snake upon her arm. It is true that the arm visibly trembled,
and that her lips and cheeks were blanched; but that might
be with indignation at what she had a right to consider an
implied suspicion; still the bracelet was undeniably there.
Sir Arthur was silenced for the moment—silenced but not
convinced.
 I hope your curiosity is satisfied, said his wife, bowing
to him as she passed into her dressing-room.
But the result of this short interview was anything but
satisfactory. In the first place, it occurred to him that she
had arrived fully prepared for the inquiry he intended to make.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
199
She had, somehow or other, become aware of what had hap-
pened during her absence. How ? He did not think it likely
she had seen her maid; indeed she could not, unless she had
returned home whilst he was out with Lockwood, as he
had taken up his station in her boudoir for the express pur-
pose of intercepting an interview. Yet, she had played her
part so ill, that he could not doubt she had somehow become
acquainted with his inquiries about the bracelet. If not, why
was she angry p Why did she look upon the inquiry as an
affront ? The natural thing would have been to answer at
once, "Here it is; why do you ask? Besides, it was an
ornament she never wore in the morning; and, as it was
entirely hidden by her sleeve, there was no object in wearing
it now. Moreover, she had the bracelet; and the conclusion
he came to was, that she had been to the Boulevard Mont-
martre, heard of his visit, and somehow induced the jeweller
to let her have it again. However this might be, the breach
between the husband and wife was considerably widened by
the incident. She saw that she was detected; he saw that
she was deceiving him; and he was philosopher enough to
know all the mischief and all the corruption that that fact
involved. When a woman begins to deceive her husband,
their union is virtually dissolved; and they henceforth become
two individuals with different objects, and different interests.
We despise those who we know are deceiving us; and where
we cannot despise, we fear those we deceive—and out of fear
comes hate. Sir Arthur, however, had not in this instance
himself to blame. He had tried the best method of saving
both all the miseries of a disunion—namely, indulgence; a
system by which many women, who rush into desperate ruin,
might have been saved; but men are generally too selfish—
even when they are not sufficiently in love to feel the pangs
of genuine jealousy—too hasty and violent, too unreasoning,
where this precious selfishness is concerned, to pause or
reflect. Their pride persuades them that to temporize is an
indignity. They fly to severity, look sulky and angry, and
make their homes odious, till a woman runs away, not so
much with her lover, as, from her husband. I am sure this is
the history of many elopements; especially where women are
dependent on their husbands, and have no means of freeing
themselves but by rushing into perdition. With Lady Glen-
lyon, however, the evil was too deep-seated for mild sanitary
measurea; and she received Sir Arthur's announcement (that
200
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
it was his intention they should leave Paris the next day but
one) in haughty silence.
CHAPTER XXX.
In her secret heart Lady Glenlyon had no desire to run away
from her home and abandon her position, and I think if
Yaughan Edmonstone had been so eperdument amoureux as to
have fallen at her feet and conjured her to fly with him, she
would have been able to resist the temptation. But, unfortu-
nately for her, he did not. She was not so blinded by passion,
nor so entirely ignorant of the world, as not to know the
enormous sacrifice a woman makes when she relinquishes her
husband's protection for that of another man, and flings away
her good name for ever; and, moreover, low down in her
bosom there harboured a latent seed of distrust of Yaughan
himself. Yet she loved him too much to give him up and
resign him to her rival; besides which, she had entered upon
a course wherein once embarked women seldom stop. She
had undertaken to conquer and win him by the excess of her
devotion; and, like agamester, every failure only made her
more eager to throw again. But the crisis had now arrived
—and the choice lay betwixt two alternatives; she must
either relinquish the contest and throw down her cards—or
risk all on one coup.
That night—the night succeeding the events recorded in
the last chapter, Lady Glenlyon never closed her eyes in sleep;
for there was a mortal struggle going on within her, as if her
good and her bad angel were in desperate conflict for the vie-
tory. Her whole future life here, and perhaps hereafter, de-
pended on the issue of that battle, and she knew it; and yet
she arose the next morning with no resolution formed but to
abide by circumstances—-to see what the day brought forth.
Sir Arthur slept in another room, and she heard him stirring
earlier than usual. Hitherto he had been in the habit of
coming to her bedside to wish her "good morning before
he went to breakfast. To-day, however, he left his chamber
without doing so, and she was glad of it. When her maid
entered the room, she desired to have a cup of coffee, and,
whilst she was taking it, Wharton asked her what she would
please to travel in.
 To travel ?
 Sir Arthur sent me word by Montjoie that I'm to be
ready with everything packed to start to-morrow, my lady.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
201
This was a throw of sixes in favour of the bad angel. She
thought Sir Arthur at least might have allowed her to give
her own orders— a specimen of the tutelage I may expect
for the future. She answered that she should travel in
black; and that, to save trouble, she would put it on at once.
 Is Sir Arthur at breakfast.
 Sir Arthur has finished breakfast, my lady, and is gone
out. Another unusual step, portending change.
 Give- me my desk, and tell Pierre to fetch me a com-
missionnaire.
 Pierre is just going out with some messages for Sir
Arthur; he could carry a note anywhere.
 Do as I bid you, if you please.
When the commissionnaire arrived, Lady Glenlyon desired
he might be brought up to the adjoining room, and slipping
on her dressing-gown she went to him.  You know the
Hotel Yalmont, Rue Richelieu ?
 Oui, miladi, connais bien.
 Go there with this note, and bring me an answer; but
don't say where you came from.
 Piez-vous a moi, miladi.
 If you bring me an answer quickly, you shall have a
napoleon. v
 Bien, miladi, mais si le monsieur n'y est pas.
 You'll bring it back to me—no—give it to the concierge,
with strict injunctions to give it to nobody but himself,
Courez, courez vite! And having thrust his feet in the shoes
he had left at the bottom of the stairs, away ran the commis-
sionnaire, whilst Lady Glenlyon proceeded with her toilette.
Linny had loved Yaughan in his prosperity with all the
honest love of her young heart, exalted by a strong sense of
gratitude for his generosity in selecting her humble self, in-
stead of one of the numerous advantageous partis she consi-
dered he might have commanded; and with all the enthusiasm
besides, that women are apt to feel for lovers who are much
their superiors in worldly rank, and whose consequent habits
of refinement, and elegancies of manner and attire, are suffi-
cient to elevate them into heroes in the loving and admiring
eyes. When misfortune overtook him, of course she only loved
him more ; and as he had given her every proof of affection
and preference he could, by first selecting and finally marry-
ing her the first moment he had it in his power, whatever
anxieties she had suffered, jealousy had till lately formed no
202 L1NNY LOCKWOOD.
element of her sorrows. She was unhappy regarding their
circumstances, and, for a considerable time past, she felt that
he grievously neglected her; but with the abnegation of love,
and an unselfish nature, she contrived to make excuses for
him. She compared his past fortunes with his present, and
considered how difficult it was for him to bear the latter with
resignation ; and she remembered how, had he married Miss
Eardley, which she had learnt he might have done had he
chosen, how different had been his circumstances ! But for
her sake, for the sake of the obscure clerk's daughter, he had
rejected the brilliant heiress, and, if he now visited her, it
was only from motives of interest; she had Yaughan's own
word for this, and she believed him.
 I would never go near her, he said;  but that I think
through Sir Arthur she may get me a situation; and as
Linny was not naturally jealous or suspicious, and as she
ardently desired that Yaughan should get a situation, this
assurance satisfied her. But Sir Bryan O'Gfrady, for his
own purposes, had opened her eyes; he had written her a letter
avowing a passion which he assured her had originated with
their meeting at Marlow—a passion which he should have
then proved by the offer of his hand and fortune, had not
Yaughan claimed her for his own. But now, he said, that
the possessor of such an inestimable treasure was hourly
proving himself unworthy of it, he could no longer be silent.
And then he proceeded to inform her how Mr. Edmonstone
spent his time; and that his name, coupled with Lady Glen-
lyon's, was the subject of scandal throughout the English
society of Paris; of course, concluding with the offer of his
own heart, &c., &c., in compensation for the one she had lost,
i Formerly, Linny would have turned a deaf ear to these insi-
nuations against her husband, but now, alas! there were too
many corroborative circumstances; hence the tears and de-
pression which she had not been able to conceal from him,
and hence, with the natural dread of reproach that an evil
conscience engenders, Yaughan, careful to avoid all opportu-
nities of a tete-a-tete with his wife, was seldom at home except
during the hours he passed in bed; so that the commissionnaire,
with all his speed, was only just in time; and, indeed, had he
had less savoirfaire than he had, the thing would have missed
as it was; forYaughan had just turned out of the Porte Cochere,
and made a few steps in the direction of the Boulevards when
the commissionnaire met him, But that astute individual ob-
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
m
serving the hotel he came from, and that he was an English-
man, and of an age and fashion likely to be a lady's love,
drew certain conclusions that investigation proved correct.
Yaughan had left home early that morning for the reason
above alluded to, and he had a long day before him which he
did not know very well how to fill up.
Since Sir Arthur had shown those symptoms of restiveness
which were communicated to Yaughan, on the day he met
Lady Glenlyon at the perfumer's, although they continued to
see each other, it was necessarily more rarely than before;
and the interviews now were surreptitious, which previously
had been without concealment. This is the straight and
beaten road to ruin. Two people continue to meet in society,
to visit, to walk, to flirt, to philander; and the world gossips,
and is amused or scandalized, as it may be; when suddenly
some new light breaks upon the husband, or an anonymous
letter from a friend, awakens him from his comfortable con-
fidence to the necessity of stringent measures ; the lady rebels,
of course; they quarrel; live together a short time in mutual
wretchedness, and then comes the sad finale ! Yaughan was
very glad to get the letter, for it brought him something to do ;
it being a summons to meet Lady Glenlyon at Yaugirard's,
the perfumer's, at eleven o'clock. He tore a leaf from his
pocket-book, and having written on it the words  J'y serai
the glad commissionnaire hurried back to receive his napoleon.
From the time the Glenlyons had been in Paris, together
with her ladyship's proclivity for spending money, they had
collected about them a mass of things of all sorts ; objets in
porcelain, bronze, ormolu, marqueterie, and mosaics, enough
to furnish an auctioneer's room; and when she left her
chamber on that eventful morning, she found the whole
house in confusion, the servants dragging about portmanteaus,
and strange men busy with deal boxes, hampers, and sheaves
of straw. The movement was evidently of the most decisive
and energetic nature. There were to be 110 misgivings, no
relentings. Lady Glenlyon smiled contemptuously, and her
nostrils dilated as she eyed these preparations for flight. Hot
only was her maid emptying her wardrobes and drawers, and
depositing their contents in the boxes ; but here were actually
a parcel of strange men packing up the very bijoux of her
boudoir! and all this without any commands from her.
Bursting with indignation and resentment, she felt disposed
to order them all out of the house, but she saw that would
204
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
only compromise her own authority, and expose her weak-
ness ; so, without any observation, she made her way through
the confusion, and descended the stairs to her carriage, which
was already waiting in the court-yard below. The packers
left off their packing in order to go to the window and see
her drive off.
 Dommage! said Montjoie, Sir Arthur's valet, quietly;
"c'est un digne homme, le maitre. Wharton looked after
her mistress with a grave face, and said nothing.
"It was high time some notice should he taken of her
goings on, said Thomas, a pert English footman, who he-
longed especially to Lady Glenlyon, and always went out
with the carriage, hut was now in his shirt-sleeves engaged
like the rest. She had retained him in her service instead of
taking a Frenchman, although he was a much less useful and
efficient servant, because he had been brought up upon her
father's estate, and she believed he was attached to her.
Though without any positive guilt, she felt that her ren-
contres with Yaughan laid her open to the animadversion
of her servants; but she had been kind to poor Thomas,
and he wouldn't gossip about her. As for the coachman, he
was a Frenchman, and belonged to the livery-stable keeper
who jobbed the horses.
 I bet I know where she's a-going to, else she wouldn't be
out at this time in the morning. I've oft-times had a mind
to put master up to it.
"Had you? said Wharton, contemptuously; "and pray,
why didn't you do it ?
 Well, I'm sure I might, for the matter of that, answered
Thomas;  for I never so much as see the colour of that 'ere
Mr. Edmonstone's money yet!
CHAPTER XXXI.
Sir Arthur Glehlyon had a great deal of business to do
on the day which was to be his last in Paris—bills to pay,
arrangements to make with his banker, friends to take leave
of; for, although he had lately ruminated on the propriety of
a move, as Lady Glenlyon objected, no steps had yet been
taken in the way of preparation ; and, not wishing to excite
public attention by the suddenness of the measure, he desired
personally to explain it to his own immediate circle, by alleg-
ing that the post had brought an announcement necessitating
LlNNY LOCKWOOtn
205
his immediate return to England. Having given full direc-
tions, therefore, to the servants how to proceed in his absence,
he stepped into a cabriolet, as the speediest means of getting
through his business. About three o'clock in the afternoon,
he called at home to see how matters were going on, and
learned that Lady G-lenlyon had just been there, and had
gone out again. She had been home to give some directions
to her maid, regarding which of her own boxes she should
take with her, and which send through an agent for the
transference of luggage. The latter she marked, and said
they would be sent for. Sir Arthur left word that she should
not wait dinner for him, as he should probably take a cutlet
at G-rignon's; and then he went out. Shortly afterwards, a
man arrived with a hurley, and inquired if Sir Arthur Glen-
lyon was at home, and was told he was not. He came,
he said, from the office of Hubert and Co., Rue de la Paix,
agents, for certain boxes which they were to forward. Whar-
ton said she had orders about the boxes, and they were duly
delivered to the man, who complacently wheeled them away.
There was, altogether, a great deal to do in the way of pack-
ing; and Wharton, having now completed her own depart-
ment, went to offer her assistance to Montjoie. By and by,
there was a ring at the bell, and Thomas opened the door.
It was Auguste, the coachman, who had brought miladi's
pocket-handkerchief, which she had left in the carriage. He
also wished to know if he could be of any use in cording 01*
strapping the trunks ; so he followed Thomas into the salle
a manger, where they were all at work.
 Mais ou done est miladi ? said Montjoie.
 I left her at the perfumer's, Hue du Bac.
"Diable! said Montjoie, raising his eyebrows, whilst
Wharton looked grave, and Thomas sniggered. A general
feeling pervaded the assembly that there was a rendezvous in
question, and Thomas inquired of Auguste if  that 'ere chap,
Yaughan Edmonstone, warn't there? Auguste, who had
picked up a little English by driving English people, said he
didn't know, he had not looked into the shop.
This sending home the carriage being an unusual step, it
gave Wharton some uneasiness. Eor she put the same con-
struction on the proceeding as the rest did; and having a
lively idea of the state of affairs at home, and of the real cause
of this sudden move, she felt the full force of the imprudence
and the impropriety. Lady Glenlyon was not a bad mistress
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
—she was liberal, good-natured, and easy to live with, except
for those to whom nature or law gave authority over her; for,
having a strong will and passionate impulses, she was restiVe
under all kinds of coercion or external restraint. Wharton,
therefore, liked her; and, thinking that the removal might
possibly tend to restore the domestic peace of the family, she
had rejoiced at the measure ; hut what would Sir Arthur say
if he came home and found that the carriage had returned and
his wife was still out ? An unsuspected woman may do these
things, but. not one under suspicion; and every hour as it
passed augmented the embarras. She was relieved to think
that Sir Arthur was not coming home to dinner. Lady Grien-
lyon having left no orders about hers, it was of course pre-
pared as usual at seven o'clock ; and the dining-room being full
of packing-cases, the cloth was laid in her own little boudoir,
now stripped of all its ornaments except the mirrors and an
ormolu clock which belonged to the landlord. The men were
so busy that they did not think much of the lapse of time;
but Wharton's exertions relaxed as her mind grew anxious,
and she stood at the window that looked into the court-yard,
and faced the arch leading into the street, watching for the
fiacre that was to bring home her mistress. The dinner was
waiting in the kitchen, the lamps were lighted in the boudoir,
and the ormolu clock on the chimneypiece pointed to seven
o'clock. The work was now pretty well done, except the
cording and strapping; and Thomas, no longer in his shirt-
sleeves, but dressed to wait on Lady Gflenlyon at dinner, after
looking into the boudoir, and throwing a log of wood on the
fire, lounged into the room where Wharton, growing every
moment more anxious, was fixed at the window.
4£ Well, this missus of yours ar'n't coming at all, I think.
I shouldn't wonder if she's a-gone off with that 'ere chap.
"Shouldn't you? indeed! said Wharton,contemptuously.
 It don't become you, of all people, Mr. Thomas, to speak in
that way of my lady, I think. I'm sure she has always been
a very good mistress to you.
 Who said she hadn't ? answered Thomas.
 One would think she hadn't, I'm sure, to hear you.
 Some folks is mighty partickler, to be sure, answered
Thomas.  Where's the harm ? and Wharton, not being in
a humour to answer him, he removed himself elsewhere.
"Mais! exclaimed Montjoie by and by, after wiping his
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
forehead and reviewing the result of their labours,  Oh est,
done, miladi ?
This was, indeed, becoming a question. It was long past
&er dinner-hour; Sir Arthur would certainly be home pre-
sently ; and, as Montjoie said, Where was my lady F Wharton
had already blown her nose twice—an unpoetical symptom of
distress with which we are all acquainted—when Montjoie
came behind her and repeated his question.
 The heavens knows ! she answered.  I'm sure, I can't
think where she is! Surely something must have happened
 C/'est extraordinaire! said Montjoie.  Je n'y com-
prends rien du tout. Que faisait-elle chez ce Vaugirard ?
 She might have gone to pay her bill; or to order some
things to take away with her. There's nothing odd in her
going to the shop, nor to any other shop ; but she can't be
at Vaugirard's all this time, you know. If that Thomas
wasn't such a beast as he is, I'd ask him to go there and in-
quire about her.
 J'espere qu'iln'y a pas malheur! said Montjoie.
 I'm in a perfect tremor every moment for fear Sir Arthur
should come home before she arrives, said Wharton.  I'm
sure, I don't know what he'll say if he does; nor what I'm
to say to him.
 There's nine o'clock, said Thomas.  I think I'd better
clear away them 'ere dinner things; what's the use o' leaving
on 'em there ?
 What's the use of being in such a hurry ? returned
Wharton, sharply.
 They may lie there till to-morrow morning for me, said
Thomas,  only it ain't no use; that's all.
 And pray, how do you know that ? You're uncommon
wise, all at once.
 I don't pretend to be no wiser than other people; but
them as has eyes can see, I s'pose.
 Fools always think they see more than other people,
said Wharton.
 None so blind as them as wont see, though, answered
Thomas, chuckling at his own ready answer; which indeed
was apt enough to the occasion. Thomas had lounged off
again, and Wharton and Montjoie were still at the window,
now and again exchanging a few grave words, when they
were roused by the echo of wheels under the archway.
208
LlNNt LOCK.WOOD.
 Enfin ! je crois qu'elle arrive, said Montjoie, hurrying out.
"Heaven be praised if it's her! exclaimed Wharton, as
she followed him, for the portico, being directly underneath,
she could not discern from above who alighted. Thomas had
already run down and was before them.^ Montjoie descended
the stairs ; Wharton stood at the top looking over the balus-
trade. She heard the door of the fiacre opened and the steps
let down; then there was a momentary pause whilst the man
was paid, but the passenger did not speak;  So,'"thought
Wharton,  it must be a single fare, or she would ask How
much?' There was nothing said to settle the important
question that was agitating the femme-de-chambre'$ bosom.
It was not till the foot of the new arrival resounded in the
hall that she lifted up her hands and breathed out,  My God!
It's my master! as she hastily retreated into her own room.
Sir Arthur ascended the stairs leisurely, for he had bad a
hard day's work, and was weary both in mind and body. His
heart, too, was heavy within him; for a long future of dis-
comfort and disappointment lay before him. His marriage
with Miss Eardley had been one of pure preference. I do hot
say of passionate love; but, as I have observed, marriage
from any sentiment, properly deserving that name, is very
rare indeed—at least, to this conclusion my observations
through life have led me. I do not mean to deny that there
is a great deal of passionate love in the world, of one sort or
another; but unfortunately it seems somehow, in the present
state of society, to grow more like a weed than a flower. But
Sir Arthur Glenlyon had retained his early impressions of the
young Cattie Eardley—and when he returned from abroad,
after an absence of some years, and found her ripened into a
fine woman, with the superadded graces and polish of society,
he did not take time to investigate how the character had
developed under this attractive exterior; but there is nothing
new or extraordinary in this omission of Sir Arthur's—nine
times in ten, men and women have no real knowledge of the
person to whom they commit the happiness of their lives;
and the most sensible men generally show no more sense in
this matter than other people. Sir Arthur soon found out
his mistake—and then his good sense came into action. He
did not worry his wife—or drive her into rebellion by opposi-
tion. On the contrary, he left her in the full enjoyment ol
her liberty and independence—and there is every chance that
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
209
his prudence would have been requited, and he would have
won the day, had not circumstances combined against him.
A very comfortable, domestic, loving wife for a philosopher,
Lady Grlenlyon would not have been; but she would have
been a reasonably well-behaved woman of fashion, setting a
due value on her position and the material advantages she
enjoyed, till time might have taught her to appreciate the
character of her husband, and, under his influence and judi-
cious management, the better part of her own might have
gained the ascendant. All this might have been, could they
have steered clear of one rock that lay in their path ; but fate
was against them—and they ran right upon it. The matter
was the worse, too, that Sir Arthur had not the true key to his
wife's character and conduct. He knew nothing of her early
attachment to Yaughan, nor of her subsequent disappoint-
ment; and her late proceedings therefore assumed a deeper
die of levity and perversion than perhaps justly belonged to
them. If she had had the candour to make him acquainted
with all that had occurred with regard to Vaughan, it is pos-
sible that the whole mischief might have been averted. But
Mr. and Mrs. Eardley, well pleased with the marriage, did
not like to risk the effects of such a confidence on his mind;
whilst Cattie was restrained, not by the same motive—for had
she loved Sir Arthur, she would assuredly have had no appre-
hension that a candid avowal of her girlish attachment would
have alienated the affection of a sensible man, or degraded her
in his opinion; but by the consciousness that she could not
honestly and frankly assure him that her early love was en-
tirely extinct, and her heart all his own. Fatal error, to
marry with a secret unrevealed !
Well, Sir Arthur wearily ascended the staircase, saying to
Montjoie that he hoped everything was done. Thomas fol-
lowed, with his tongue in his cheek and a comic expression
in his eyes, pleasingly excited by the prospect of what he de-
I nominated in his own mind a rumpus. Wharton cowered in
; her own room, with a little chink of the door open, against
which she placed her ear in painful expectation of what was
to follow. The first room on the top of the stairs was a sort
of hall or antechamber, which led to the salle d, manger, into
which Sir Arthur proceeded, casting an eye on the various
packages as he went along.
 Are these all ? he said.
o
210
XINNY LOCKWOOD.
"Yes, all, answered Montjoie, "except my lady's boxes,
which go through the agents. Hubert sent for them this
afternoon. .
 But several of these were to have gone, too ; I gave him,
a list, and desired him to fetch them to-morrow morning. .
 He only brought a list of my lady's, and those we gave,
him.
 I suppose Lady Glenlyon called there, and he'll come for,
the rest to-morrow. Bring me some soda-water.
Sir Arthur now entered the salon, the lamp was already
lighted, and seated himself at a table, on which lay a variety
of papers, bills, invitations, &c. &c., and began to look ovei;
and arrange them. There was something melancholy, unclei*
the immediate circumstances, in this unparticipated labour—[
the large room lighted by a single lamp, and the invitations
to, balls and soirees, past or to come, seemed to speak of a
phase of life lived through and gone. Not that he had cared
much for these things at the time; but it appeared to him
now, that it had been pleasant enough when he had been
nightly handing his wife into her carriage, en grande toilette\
satisfied with herself, and therefore amiable to him; and,
small as this amount of domestic felicity was, he felt now he
would have been glad to have recalled the easy tranquillity
and laissez alter of that daily life. People in this world are
apt to make the mistake of desiring and expecting happiness ;
and of not being content when their reckoning falls short of
that sum. The heavens help them! Let them aim at tran-
quillity; at freedom from carking cares, inextinguishable
regrets, and hold themselves blessed when they have attained
that amount of enjoyment. If they do not, they will have'
good grounds for remorse when they look back upon then*
opportunities wasted.
Sir Arthur, during the most genial period of his short expe-
rience of married life, certainly wished that his wife should
evince more regard for himself, and a greater taste for quiet
domestic happiness; he would have been glad now to com-
promise, and take her as she was, with all her faults, before
the intimacy with Mr. Edmonstone, whence he dated the
commencement of his positive discomfort and infelicity. The
past, however, could not be recalled, and he had to set his
face against the future, bleak as it looked; but, like a wise
man, he resolved not to make it worse by needless tyranny
and ill-temper. To leave Paris was indispensable; and on
LINNY LOCK WOOD.
211
that point he and his wife were at the present moment at
variance. He was inexorable, and she would not yield grace-
fully. His idea was to go to Itaty, whither he did not
think it likely Yaughan would follow them; and once there,
to endeavour by indulgence, and a life of gaiety and amuse-
ihent, to extinguish this unfortunate engouement; and, no
doubt, the scheme was a very judicious one—much more judi-
cious than men similarly situated, are usually capable of con-
ceiving. The immediate difficulties, however, were great.
Kate's temper was high—she abhorred coercion of all sorts;
and, as he was dragging her away from Paris against her
will, it was pretty certain that she must hate him. He was
very unwilling that this sentiment should gain strength, and
he would have gladly done anything he could to allay her
resentment, short of allowing a continuance of such conduct
as must implicate his own honour and her reputation. He
had not seen her all day, and he felt unwilling to go to
bed without doing so; but every one can feel how awkward,
and painful an interview is under such circumstances. But
there was a thing he had to tell, which he hoped might pro-
duce a favourable reaction; for he knew very well that she
was capable of generous conduct herself, and would not be in-
sensible to generosity in another. Now, he had put the true
construction on the affair of the bracelet. He was satisfied
that she had been attempting to raise money, either by sell-
ing or pledging it; or by exchanging the jewels for paste, or
by some scheme or another in which the JRichards were con-
cerned; and he did not doubt that the money was wanted to
relieve Yaughan from his embarrassments. Pie had, therefore,
that morning done a thing which, whilst it was pleasing to
the generosity and loftiness of his own nature, he hoped
would be a peace-offering to his wife. He had sent Yaughan
anonymously through his bankers a couple of hundred pounds.
He felt rather inclined to go and tell her that he had done
this, before he went to bed; and he sat for some time resting
his head on his hand, debating this point in his mind, till he
was recalled from his reverie by the clock on the chimneypiece
striking eleven, whereupon he suddenly rose and rang the bell.
Montjoie answered it, and Thomas followed unbidden.
 I am going to bed, he said; "the horses will be at the
door at ten. You had better tell Wharton so, if I don't see
her; the last phrase implying that he was yet uncertain
Whether he should see his wife that night or not.
o 2
212 LINNY LOCKWOOt).
Montjoie took up the bed-candlestick and lighted the candle?
Thomas drew near him and nudged his elbow; implying  Whys
don't you tell him my lady's not come home ? But Montjoie
was an elderly, quiet, respectable man, who shrank from the
disagreeable office; and who kept on hoping still that his
mistress might return. Yet, the crisis became very embar-
rassing; and it would scarcely do to let Sir Arthur go ta
bed in ignorance of so perplexing an event. The next aparts
ment was the back drawing-room, out of which Sir Arthur'!
apartments opened on one side, and his wife's on the others
Into this room Montjoie followed his master, with the candle-
in his hand, closing the door behind him, much to the dis!
pleasure of Thomas, who, under ordinary circumstances, would!
have immediately extinguished the lamp, and retired to bedp
but as he had a strong impression on the present occasion;*
that the business of the night was not over, he judiciously
left the lamp lighted, and placed his ear at the keyhole. Sin
Arthur hesitated a moment; perhaps if he had been alone hd
would have turned to the left, and entered his wife's boudoir;
adjoining to which was her bed-chamber; as it was, with
Montjoie behind him, he turned to the right and entered
his own. Wharton was in the boudoir with her ear at the
keyhole too, and the bedroom door ajar, ready for a retreat
if needful. i
 He don't know it yet, she said to herself, as she heard
him enter his room ; the calm, measured step with which he
crossed the salon assured her of that; would Montjoie tell
him ? She was not left long in doubt. Suddenly, the bed-t
room door was flung open, a hasty foot crossed the salon to-t
wards the boudoir, and Wharton rushed back through hen
mistress's bed-chamber into her own, and shut the door;;
which was opened the next moment by her master.
 Wharton ! where's Lady G-lenlyon ?
 I don't know, sir, I'm sure, said Wharton, beginning to
cry.  My lady called at home about two or three o'clock, j
and gave orders about her trunks being fetched—but where |
she can be, I'm sure, I can't think. Auguste says he left her
at Yaugirard's, the perfumer's.
 Send Thomas for a coach ! said Sir Arthur to Montjoie,
who withdrew to do so.  You had no reason to suppose
Lady Grlenlyon intended not to return to dinner. Was she
dressed for the evening?
 No, sir, not at all. My lady has on the dress she means
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
to travel in. My lady can't be at any party; but then she
may have stayed to dine with some friend, you know, sir.
 She may, certainly, said Sir Arthur.
.  I dare say that's it, .sir, said Wharton, who nevertheless
did not think so.
Sir Arthur cast his eye towards the dressing-table and the
mantel-shelf, in the vague expectation of seeing a letter ad-
dressed to himself; but there was nothing. Was she gone ?
Had she left him ? He feared so; yet it was a proceeding
that did not appear to him altogether consistent with her
character. He had conceived her capable of imprudence,
but not of guilt; violently averse to opposition and control,
but not disposed to purchase the indulgence of her inclinations
at the cost of much self-sacrifice. He had all through acted
on this conception of her character; and it was only the
extreme importance of removing her from Paris that had
induced him to exert an authority he had been desirous
hitherto of keeping in the background. He saw clearly the
Conclusion to which the servants had arrived; Montjoie's sub-
dued voice and serious face, and Wharton's tears, betrayed
their thoughts ; but, however heavy the blow, he had sufficient
command of himself to conceal his own apprehensions, whilst
there was a hope that they might be groundless ; or, at least,
to abstain from any open demonstration of them. His cheek
was paler than usual, his hand shook, and his white lip qui-
vered; but he neither stormed, nor raved, nor indulged him-
self with any outbreak of passion. He had ordered Thomas
to fetch a coach on the spur of the moment, but without any
definite idea of what he was to do. To knock up his ac-
quaintance in the middle of the night, in order to inquire if
they could tell him what was become of his wife, was only to
furnish Paris with a week's gossip at his own expense. He
might go to the police-office, and set them upon the scent;
but he shrunk from such a proceeding on various accounts.
If his wife had really left him what was the use of it ? Did
he want her back ? No. Then why persecute or pursue her ?
It was quite inconsistent with his nature to do either. But
the coach was at the door; and as staying at home was
painful, and he did not know what else to do, he got into it, and
drove to Yaugirard's. The perfumer was in bed with his wife
in the back shop, but by dint of ringing and thumping, the
coachman woke him, and brought him to the door in his
pightcap, in a tremendous fright, persuaded that tbere was
214-
LINNY LOClvU'OOD.
either an erneute or a fire. Sir Arthur jumped out of the
coach, and begging him millepardons, requested a word with
him. Yaugirard admitted him, not a whit the less frightened;
for,-since it was not an emeute or a fire, he suspected a visit
so unusual must' be of a political nature. He was soon re-
lieved, however, by Sir Arthur's saying, after he had apolo-
gised for the intrusion, that knowing Lady Glenlyon was in
the habit of dealing with him, he had called to inquire if she
had been there on that day. Yaugirard responded, by re-
questing to know who his visiter was; and on learning that
he was the lady's husband, he bowed and scraped, and de-
clared his willingness to serve him.  Oui, sans doute, miladi
had done him the honour to call and purchase some little
articles of perfumery that morning; but she had taken them
away in the carriage.
 Then she left your home in her own carriage ?
This was a question Monsieur Yaugirard said he could not
answer; he had not remarked—non mi ricordo.
 Was there any one with her ?
Monsieur Vaugirard had not observed : there were other
people in the shop, he remembered, at the moment; hut he
was engaged in serving his customers, and had not paid atten-
tion to any one in particular. In short, Monsieur Yaugirard
was impenetrable ; and Sir Arthur, perceiving it was no use
to keep the old gentleman out of bed, thanked him for his
politeness, and took his leave. Where was he to go next ?
He could only think of one place, and that was to the Hotel
Yalmont, Rue Richelieu, where Yaughan Edmonstone lodged;
so thither he went. He had never been there, Lady Glenlyon
having preferred to drop his card at the door herself; so he
could speak to the concierge without any fear of recognition.
That worthy functionary responded to the bell immediately.
He was in bed: but as his flock were not all in, he had not
settled himself into a sound sleep—he was sleeping with one
ear open ; so was his spouse.
 Yoila ce gar9on ! said she, giving him a nudge.  Tirez
le cordon!
That Tirez le cordon system, by the way, often strikes me
as singularly dangerous. By day, the porter is supposed to
look through the glass door of his lodge to see who enters ; hut
at night he often does not; and I wonder improper people do
not make more frequent use of the opportunity to effect an
entry. On the present occasion, as they had no doubt of its
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
215
being their lodger returned, neither the man nor his wife
moved till Sir Arthur tapped on the glass and summoned
them to speak to him.
 Monsieur Edmonstone est-il ehet lui ? said Sir Arthur.
 Pas encore rentrd ! returned the man.
 Not yet! answered Sir Arthur with a gasp.  Is he
generally out so late as this ?
 Sometimes."— But you expect him home ?
 Mais oui ; of course, we expect him.
 He does not stay out all night ?
"Never! jamais, monsieur.
Sir Arthur slipped a live-franc piece into the man's hand,
and stepped into the coach, as wise as he came. Had Vaughan
been at home, it would have been satisfactory—it would have
answered one question; but his being out, argued nothing,
and left the matter exactly where it was; so there was
nothing to be done but drive home again with the hope that
he might find his wife there. His heart sank as he entered
the gates and saw the figure of Wharton at the window
above, and Montjoie meeting him on the steps with a light,
peering into the coach to see who might be there.
 My lady is not returned ? he asked, as the valet let down
the steps.
 Non, monsieur ; vous ne l'avez pas trouv6 ?
"No, said Sir Arthur; "pay the coachman. Bring me
a light; and go to your beds.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Sib Akthttk sent his servants to bed, for he felt pretty sure
his wife would not teturn that night; and if not that night
—never. At all events, if she did, he was there to admit
her; and he took up his position in the salle a manger, in
order that, if a carriage entered the court, he might hear it.
There was no danger of his sleeping; indeed, he passed the
remainder of the night in pacing the room. The restless,
agitated mind would not allow the body to be still. It was
not even as if he were sure she was altogether gone; he
would then have been able to direct his thoughts to the future,
and determine what to do next: there was a bare possibility,
however, that she might not have eloped with Vaughan, but
taken refuge with some friend; resolved to resist her husband's
authority, and vindicate her own independence, without com-
216
LINjS'Y lockwood.
mitting herself to any more damaging proceeding ; and his con-
ception of her character inclined him in some degree to this
hypothesis. I need.not dilate on the tedious hours of the
night; for, though passed without sleep, they were not
tedious—thoughts chased each other too rapidly through the
brain for the slow progress of time to he felt; and the morning
broke, and the world, outside and in, began to stir, before
Sir Arthur Glenlyon had arrived at any clear conception with
regard to the first steps to he taken.
As soon as the servants made their appearance, he desired
Montjoie to bring him some coffee, and Thomas to counter-
order the horses. Then he dressed himself, sent for a fiacre,
and drove to his banker's, to inquire if Lady Glenlyon had
been there on the preceding day; he merely said he wished
to know if she had closed her account with them. She had,
and drawn out the balance that 'was in their hands. Then
he drove to Rubert's in the Rue de la Paix, agents for the
transmission of luggage.
 I requested that you would send for my luggage to-day—
Hotel du Rliin, Rue Royale.
 We shall not neglect to do so. It is entered in our hooks.
 But you sent for some of the boxes yesterday ?
 I think not. Were any of the things fetched from the Rue
Royale yesterday ? said the clerk first addressed to another.
"No; none.
"You are sure ? asked Sir Arthur.—"Perfectly.
Lady Glenlyon, then, had provided herself with all the
money she could command, and had secured possession of the
most valuable part of her wardrobe ! Now, then, for the Rue
Richelieu once more! The porter was out, but his wife was
there, poking her nose into her pot cm feu.
 Bonjour, madame! Monsieur Edmonstone, est il chez lui?
"Non, monsieur.
 Do you expect him shortly ?
 I don't know; we have not seen him since yesterday.
"Has he any servant?
 None ; il y a madame sa femme la haut.
 He is married, then ?"— Mais oui; jolie petite dame.
Lady Glenlyon had told Sir Arthur that Yaughan was
married to a person of very low birth, to whom he was
exceedingly attached, but who was not presentable; the first
part of the story she partly believed, the last she wished to
believe. Sir Arthur, at all events, had no reason to doubt the
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 217
information. This poor woman now was probably deserted:
Sir Arthur wondered whether she knew what had become of
her husband. He requested the portress to go up and inquire
when Mr. Edmonstone was expected.
"It's in vain, sir, answered the woman. "She has been
down here twice already this morning, begging my husband
to go and seek him; but seek him—where? Mon Dieu!
Les jeunes gens! who can tell where he may be in a city like
Paris ? He'll turn up again by and by, no doubt, when he is
tired of amusing himself.
The question seemed now pretty well answered—the money
drawn out; the luggage carried off; Yaughan Edmonstone
and Lady Glenlyon missing ; so Sir Arthur drove home again,
where he was saluted with the same inquiring faces. He
shook his head and retired silently to his chamber, in order to
collect his thoughts.  G-one! left me ! and with that fellow
who hasn't sixpence in the world, and deserts his unfortunate
wife! What is to become of her ? and he buried his face in
his handkerchief, and wept as he contemplated the wretched
fate she was carving out for herself.  Poor, unhappy girl!
reared in the lap of luxury and indulgence ; scarcely knowing
what self-denial is; to encounter poverty ; the world's con-
tumely ; the neglect—probably the desertion—of the fellow
for whom she has sacrificed so much; for he will desert her,
as he has deserted the wife she told me he loved so much.
Dreadful! dreadful! poor, unhappy Cattie Eardley! and
with that name she stood before him, the gay, radiant, im-
pulsive Cattie of fifteen, when she had first won his fancy.
For his own part he had been very imprudent; he had for
some time been aware of that.  I have no right to visit
upon her the consequences of my own precipitation and want
of judgment; I should have waited till we were more
acquainted. Had 1 taken more time we should never have
been married, and she might have found somebody she liked
better—for it is plain 1 never had her affections; and she
probably repented her acceptance of me on her wedding-day,
if not before. This catastrophe is ill for me, but far worse
for herself; my life is blighted, but she is ruined.
In these and similar reflections some hours were passed, and
then it became necessary to decide what was to be done next.
The first step seemed to be, that he should assure himself of
the fact that she had eloped with Yaughan Edmonstone ; and
for this purpose he obtained a confidential interview with a
218
LIN NY LOCKUOUiU
commissary of police, who undertook to furnish him with the
requisite information in a few hours. It was easily enough
obtained; a visit to the passport-office settled the question.
Mr. and Mrs. Yaughan Edmonstone, had, it appeared, had
their passport vise on the preceding day for Brussels. Mrs.
Yaughan Edmonstone, the veritable wife, was still at the
Hotel Valmont in the Rue Richelieu ; and, as was ascertained
from the concierge, growing exceedingly alarmed at her hus-
band's continued absence. That was another dreadful phase
of the case ! What was to become of that poor young wife ?
Moneyless, and probably friendless ? Sir Arthur thought of
this, and resolved to call on her. Meantime, by that subtle
conveyance which seems to travel like the cholera and other
evil infections, the news of Lady Glenlyon's disappearance was
beginning to spread abroad. Thomas, the footman, inoculated
everybody with it that came to the house ; the baker and the
milkman were in possession of all the particulars by eight
o'clock ; the postman was indoctrinated about nine. At half-
past, the hair-dresser, who came every morning to instruct
Wharton in the most approved method of brushing her mis-
tress's hair, was primed for further dissemination. The man
that came for the boxes from Rubert's, and the stable-keeper
that was to have furnished the post-horses, were duly informed
of the event; and the porters and footmen at the neighbouring
hotels, were at an early hour prepared to serve up the intelli-
gence to their masters and mistresses with the coffee and dry
toast. By and by one or two of Sir Arthur's acquaintance
called at the gate, and had a few words with the concierge ; the
ladies sent their footmen on the same errand, just to ascertain
if the rumour was well-founded. Amongst the former was Sir
Bryan 0'Grady—it was a matter in which he had a personal
interest; and he lost no time in assuring himself that Mrs.
Vaughan's husband had eloped with another woman, and left
her unprotected.
Whilst these events were occurring in the Rue Royale,Linny
herself was getting more and more alarmed about her husband.
On the previous day he had gone out, as usual, in the morning;
but about noon he had unexpectedly returned.
 Linny, dear, he said,  I wish you to put on your bonnet
and go out directly.
 With you, Yaughan ?
 No, not with me, now. Is there any writing paper here ?
 Here are two sheets.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
219
 That will do. Now; I want you to go round immediately
to all the tradespeople to whom we owe anything, and get
in their bills.
"Yes, said Linny, pleased at the commission; "but can
you pay them, Yaughan ?
 Yes—not to-day ; but tell them they shall all have their
money next week at furthest. I have made up my mind,
Linny, to leave Paris.
 I am very glad of it, Yaughan; and so glad you can pay
the bills.
"By the by, where is that passport? inquired Yaughan,
"I must take it to the police-office.
 Here it is; and don't forget about the lock of your
dressing-case, said Linny.
"Very true. I'm glad you reminded me. I'll get it re-
paired; and now go, there's a good little girl, whilst I write a
couple of letters. Perhaps I may be out before you return;
but I shall not be long. Don't forget to leave me the keys.
Linny retired to put on her bonnet and shawl in a more
pleasing state of mind than she had experienced for some
time. There was something cheering and encouraging about
Vaughan's manner—she did not know what; but something
that portended a change, and surely any change would be an
improvement on the dreary, hopeless, depressing life she had
been leading for some time. Then Vaughan spoke more
kindly and freely to her. The gloom, and mystery, and
reserve, that had lately so much increased the annoyances of
her situation, had given place,to a state of hurry and excite-
ment. It was clear that something had occurred, and as that
something brought money and release, she thought it must
portend a favourable turn in thejr fortunes. Of her husband's
pecuniary affairs she had never known anything, except the
first flush and the subsequent scarcity of money; and she had
no reason to doubt that his funds might be replenished by
the same sources as formerly. At any rate, an event—a
change—a something which seemed suddenly to have broken
down the barriers of ice that were fast congealing the atmo-
sphere betwixt her and Vaughan, and brought them together
again, was cheering and animating; and Linny, as she put
on her bonnet before the glass, saw the reflection of a brighter
face than she had seen there for some time. When she re-
entered the salon, Yaughan was looking over some papers
which he had turned out of the drawer of a chiffonier, of
220
LINNY LOCKWOUi).
which he kept the key himself; and already the hearth was
strewn with remnants of bills, and cards, and notes of invita-
tion. There were evidently serious intentions of a move, and
that suddenly. He was standing with his back to her.
 Well then, Yaughan ; now I'm going.
 Stay a moment, he said ; and he stood still with a piece of
paper in his hand as if engaged in perusing it—but happening
to raise her eyes to the mirror near which he was, she was
startled by perceiving the expression of his countenance.
His eyes were closed, his lips were compressed, his brow was
contracted—he looked, in short, like a person seized with a
sudden spasm, who was endeavouring to stifle the natural
manifestations of his pain.
 Vaughan ! she said,  are you ill ?
"111! no; he answered, turning round. "What makes
you think I'm ill ?
 I thought you looked 
 Well, never mind how I look—my mind is bothered about
things. Well, now you're going, Linny, dear?
 Yes, Yaughan.
There was something in his voice and manner, she scarcely
knew what, that gave her an inclination to weep; it would
have done her good to have laid her head on his shoulder and
had what women call a good cry; but Vaughan hated scenes ;
and she struggled against the rising tears.
 You look very pretty in that bonnet, Linny, he said,
kissing her forehead.
 It's rather a shabby one, she answered.
"The greater proof how pretty you must be, to look so
well in it, said Vaughan. "Yes, Linny; I may be a fool,
and do many things that vex and distress you, and even appear
unkind, and as if I did not realty love you, as I do, better than
any woman in the world; but you must forgive me, Linny.
Don't believe those actions—don't take them as evidence—
but believe my words. Circumstances have been against me,
and have made me do many things I did not wish to do, and
may make me do more 
 But why, dear Vaughan, should you let circumstances—
 Never mind why; we wont discuss that question now.
Men are so. For my own part I have been very unfortunate ;
and the faults of others have involved me in difficulties I could
never have foreseen. It's hard for a young fellow like me,
Linny, accustomed to the best society and plenty of money, to
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
221
find himself cut in the street by the men that sat at his father's
table, and driven to shifts my soul abhorred.
 And then to make it worse, you married me without a
penny in the world. I oughtn't to have let you do it, Yaughan,
but what could I do when you got me away from Mrs. Bar-
nard's ? besides, I didn't know how you were situated, or I'm
sure, even then 
 It's the only wise thing I ever did in my life, Linnv—upon
my soul I think so ; and shall always think so—wise for myself,
I mean ; not for you, poor child! For your sake I wish I had
not done it.
 Don't say that, Yaughan; don't say that; for if you love
me, that is all I care for; and perhaps things may be going
to take a good turn now, and we may be happy yet; happier,
perhaps, than before, if we can only learn to be content with
what we can really afford.
 You may, Linny, and I trust you will—you ought to be
happy, because you deserve to be so; as for me, Gfod knows,
I have no right to expect happiness. There's an old saying,
Linny, ' as we sovsr, we must reap;' I suppose it has always
been so, and always will; and, as he uttered the last words,
he clenched his teeth with desperate agony.
Linny saw the pang, and a new idea took possession of her.
What was the cause of this sudden change ? This melting of
the heart ? Whence came the money which was so unex-
pectedly to relieve their difficulties ? Had Yaughan done any
thing he ought not ? Had he entered into any perilous enter-
prise or dangerous connexion, in order to recruit his funds'?
 Oh, Yaughan ! she said, suddenly seizing his arm, whilst
her countenance expressed the terror with which the idea
inspired her;  Oh, Yaughan! you have not done anything
wrong to get this money ? You are not going to do any-
thing ? I had rather suffer the worst—let them put us in
prison—anything they can do, rather than get money by
dishonourable means.
 Poohl pooh! said Vaughan impatiently, whilst the blood
rushed to his face ;  you're a silly girl! But, come, it's getting
late, and we are losing time. So now, go! Here he threw
his arm round her waist, and drawing her towards him, he
pressed her to his heart and imprinted a kiss upon her lips.
Linny drew out her pocket-handkerchief and wiped the tears
from her eyes, straightened her bonnet and smoothed her hair
before the glass; and then saying,  Good by, dear Yaughan,
for the present' she tripped out of the room and down the
222
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
stairs with a light heart, at least a lighter heart than she had
borne for some time. As she disappeared, Vaughan walked
to the window ; he knew she would cross the street, and go up
the opposite one; and he wished to see her as long as he
could. This was not a usual proceeding on his part; and yet
some sympathy made her turn her head and look up : as their
eyes met, he kissed his hand to her, and she nodded to him.
When shall those eyes meet again ?
When she was out of sight Yaughan turned away from the
window, and, burying his face in his hands, for a few moments
gave way to a natural effusion of sorrow. Then he screwed
himself up to what he had to do ; fortified to go through his
task by the words Linny had dropped in regard to the money.
The promise that he should have supplies to pay the bills and
enable them to leave Paris, was a pure fiction, invented to get
her out of the way whilst he arranged matters for his own
departure; so on that score her fears were groundless; but
the horror she expressed at the mere idea of anything dis-
honourable, gave him a lively notion of what she would feel
if she knew the history of the parcel, and confirmed his
strong repugnance to witnessing the effects of a discovery
which must be made sooner or later. The admiration and
respect with which she had looked up to him before their
marriage as a being of a superior order, and the advantage he
had assumed over her in the knowledge of all that was comme
ilfaut and becoming, rendered him acutely sensible to the
degradation and ridicule of a discovery, that the source of his
sudden prosperity was little better than a robbery; and that
the victim of the crime was her own father. No; Yaughan
felt he could not face that; and hastily scribbling a few lines
on a sheet of paper, which he folded and sealed and put in
his pocket, he proceeded to his bedroom to make some further
arrangements. There hung Linny's dressing-gown against
the door, and all her little properties neatly put away in the
drawers; his own, with equal care, disposed in those appro-
priated to him. He had never felt the want of a valet since
his marriage, for his wife was eminently neat and orderly;
blessed qualities in a woman where there is not much money
in a man's pockets. Presently, Yaughan rang the bell, and
desired G-ovion to fetch him a coach, and on his announcing that
he had done so, he bade him carry down his portmanteau
whilst he himself descended with his dressing case in his hand.
The porter was rather startled at the order to carry down the
portmanteau, for there were arrears of rent owing, and he was
LINN* LOCKWOOD,
pretty well aware that cash was scarce with the young couple
au second; but the order was sudden, and there was no time
for deliberation. Besides, the lady's dressing-gown hung
visibly behind the door, and her trunk and bonnet-box, and
other articles belonging to one or other of them, were quietly
reposing in their places; so, hoping for the best, the honest
man obeyed; and Yaughan drove away from the Hotel Yal-
mont, leaving Linny behind him.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
When a customer enters a shop with a cheerful countenance,
and asks for his bill, the visit is apt to produce a correspond-
ing amenity on the part of the tradesman. Linny's reception
for some time past had not been gracious, and it was extremely
pleasant to her to be able to hold up her head, like an honest
woman who was able to pay her debts, and to find herself
saluted with a bow and a smile on the announcement that they
were going to leave Paris in a few days, and wished to settle
their accounts before they went. Indeed, it was to the real
pain and shame they saw she felt at not being able to satisfy
their just demands, that Yaughan owed the indulgence he had
met with from his creditors. They saw clearly that the pauvre
petite dame was honest, and would pay them if she could ; and,
accordingly, when she now promised them their money, they
implicitly believed her ; so that her errand was a pleasant one ;
and betwixt that bit of sunshine and Yaughan's kindness, she
had not felt so happy for a long time. Her husband had
told her he should not dine at home—indeed h3 seldom did;
and, as she never spent any money on herself she could pos-
sibly avoid, she stopped at the traiteur's nearest the hotel,
and desired him to send her up a quarter of a pound of ham ;
this, with a roll, would give her a dinner for some days, so
frugal was she. When her repast was ended, she thought she
would employ the afternoon in arranging their things for
packing. Anything that seemed like a preparation for a
change was welcome, she had been so heartily wearied and
depressed by her experience of the last few months. So she
opened her drawers, and arranged and folded her clothes,
ready to lay in the boxes, and would have done the same by
Yaughan's, but she found his drawers locked, as was the closet
where his portmanteaus were deposited. She had no notion
why he should have done anything so unusual; but the cir-
224
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
cumstance awakened no suspicion in her mind, and, since she
could not proceed in that direction, she employed herself in
taking off the ribbon of her bonnet; and, when she had ironed
and turned it, she thought it looked very respectable, and quite
good enough to travel in. As she sat at work, her mind re-
verted to her father and mother, whose fate she was most
anxious to learn. She had, soon after her arrival in Paris,
written two or three letters to the latter, but had never re-
ceived any but the two formerly alluded to ; and latterly, en-
grossed with her own anxieties, not well able to spare money
for postage, and having, moreover, nothing pleasant to com-
municate, she had remained silent, but not forgetful of them.
Anything regarding her parents was a subject tabooed by
Yaughan—if not by words, at least by looks ; nothing made
him so gloomy, she observed, as an allusion to them and then1
troubles; and, as she concluded that this.distaste arose from
his annoyance at having connected himself with such low
people, she thought it advisable not to bore him with the
subject. But when she returned to England, she should be
able to see them without incommoding her husband, and this
afforded her another element of satisfaction. So the evening
passed away, and she prepared to go to bed, not at all sur-
prised at Yaughan's absence, as he was rarely at home till
after midnight. He had a key of their apartments, and custom
had enabled her to go to sleep, although at first the sense of
loneliness and insecurity used to keep her awake till he
returned. His arrival always woke her; but, latterly, since
a cloud had grown up betwixt them, he generally undressed
and got into bed in silence.
On this eventful night, with a mind more at ease, and pre-
pared for sleep by a long walk, she rested undisturbed till the
day was beginning to break. Then, indeed, she was surprised
to find that her husband was not beside her; for never before
had he been away all night. He could be at no ball or mas-
querade, for, had he had any such engagement, he would have
been home to dress. It was in vain she tried to sleep again;
she could not; her mind became active, and began to raise
up images of strange fears—fears that had never yet assailed
her, except for an instant during the conversation of that
morning—where were these new funds to come from ? He
had never given her reason to suppose he anticipated any
supplies ; the money must therefore proceed from some secret
and unexpected source, perhaps gaming! If so, what a future
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
225
awaited her! Besides, might he not be at* that moment losing
the very sum he had announced to her as forthcoming, to pay
their debts ? Probably he was, for it is the losing gamester
that sticks to the dice. It was impossible to lie in bed iu
this state of anxiety, and she arose and dressed herself, and
went into the front room, which looked into the street. Dis-
mal, sloppy, and uncomfortable it was! What is there so
dreary as the streets of a large capital on a damp, gloomy
morning? A rag merchant poking in the gutter; an old
fiacre jogging along with some pinch-faced, blue-nosed tra-
veller, and his luggage, to the Messageries ; here and there an
early, grim-featured artisan going to his daily toil. Unless in
a gambling-house, where could Yaughan be on-such a morning
as that ? It was not likely they could give her any informa-
tion, but it was something to do to go down to Govion, and
ask him where he thought her husband could be ? Could he
have fallen into any danger ?
"Never fear! was Govion'sanswer; "pas de danger! but,
said he,  did you expect him home last night ?
 Of course, I did ; he always comes home.
 But he took his dressing-case and his portmanteau with
him; I thought he was going to the country !
 His portmanteau!"— Mais oui; you didn't know it ?
 He was to take his dressing-case to be mended—but, his
portmanteau—I don't understand.
"It was heavy, too—full, said Govion. "He's gone upon
sorpe excursion, no doubt. He said nothing to you about it?
 No, returned Linny.  Are you sure the portmanteau
was full; perhaps he only took it .to be repaired ?
 It was full, said Govion.  I am certain of that.
"And did he say nothing ? Leave no message ?
"None, replied the concierge; who, well aware that the
husband had many engagements that the wife did not share,
concluded the young man had gone off upon some escapade of
his own. v
Linny returned up-stairs with a strange feeling of wonder,
alarm, and perplexity. Why should he carry away his port-
manteau full of clothes, and leave his drawers and the closet
locked, which, if the case was as the porter asserted, must be
empty? And this he had done within half an hour of parting
with her. It was inconceivable ! What was the meaning of
that sudden burst of feeling in the morning ; the look of com-
pressed anguish she had detected in the mirror; the assurances
P
226
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
of his unvarying love and sense of her worth; the moist eye;
the fond embrace ; the watching her from the window till he
could see her no longer ? Cold, pale, and motionless, like a j
figure of stone she sat, for she saw in her mind's eye a Gor- j
gon that congealed her blood. Yes ; Yaughan had left her—
unable to relieve himself from his embarrassments, he had
selfishly fled from them. She had always refused to go
without discharging their debts ; so he had gone alone, and
cruelly left her to fight out the battle as she could. His
having taken away the passport convinced her it was so. He
was not to have the money till the following week—where,
therefore, was the hurry about the passport? Yes ; he was;
gone; but whither ? Would he write to her, or send her
any money ?—probably he had none to send. He would1
write, however, when he had got safe out of the country, beyond
the reach of his creditors ; for it did not occur to her that he
intended permanently to desert her. She thought he was
flying from his debts—not from her;  and he thinks by doing
this, to force me into following his example; and, since I
can't pay them, what else can I do ?'J And the pang this
reflection occasioned her natural integrity", opened the sluices
other tears, and she was relieved by a violent fit of weeping.
Then her thoughts took another turn; it was no doubt very
wrong of Yaughan; but still, if he had no money, he could ;
not pay. • She had constantly opposed his running away from
Paris in debt; but what was "the alternative? Being put
into prison; which, if he had no means of paying, would do
nobody any good. This did not a whit diminish the culpa-
bility of incurring the debts in the first instance ; but it was
a relief to her to be able to look upon his temporary desertion
as a more venial act then it had appeared. Still, her situation
was most painful and perplexing; and how to proceed she
could not tell. Her whole soul recoiled from the idea of es-
caping clandestinely; whilst, on the other hand, what could
be more humiliating than an open avowal of her situation ?
No doubt, she thought, he had sent her round to the trades-
people, not only to get her out of the way, but also, by re-
lieving them from immediate anxiety, to give her time to elude
their vigilance. They would not trouble her for some days ;
and, if she had but the cunning and courage to do it, shfe
might take advantage of the lull. But then spoke out the
integrity again, and there came a fresh burst of tears ; for what
can be more odious and disgusting to an honest mind than
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
227
to be driven, to such degrading expedients! So sat poor
Linny weeping and thinking, and thinking and weeping
again ; unable to come to any decision.
About noon she was startled by a ring at the bell; every-
thing, even the most common events, startle us at such
moments ; for we feel that some fate is impending, and we
know not what may announce it. She had nothing to do with
a street row, yet she had anxiously ran to the window just
before, on hearing loud voices below, as if she had expected
to see Yaughan in the midst of the melee, or a posse of credi-
tors come to attack the house; and she opened the door now
with a blanched cheek and trembling hand.
 Yoici un monsieur qui vous demande, said Govion, and,
as the porter stepped aside, Sir Bryan O'Grady walked into
the room. Govion closed the door behind him, and they
were alone. Linny had had no breakfast; she had had no
time to think of such a thing. She was in her dressing-gown,
and her hair was in disorder; but she was pretty enough to
look pretty under all circumstances of disadvantage, and the
baronet's desire to acquit himself well of his mission was not
diminished by the figure that met his eyes. She drew back
as he advanced, and, taking no notice of his proffered hand,
said— This is a mistake I presume, sir ; it's not here you
intended to call.
 Pardon me ! answered Sir Bryan.  When you learn the
motive of my visit, I am sure you will excuse it. I am per-
fectly acquainted with your situation ; perhaps better than you
are yourself; and I am come to offer you every assistance in
my power.
 Excuse me, sir, she replied;  I must decline any assis-
tance—indeed I do not require any.
"I should be happy to think you did not, returned the
baronet;  but I fear you may find yourself very awkwardly
situated. You are aware, I suppose, of the step your husband
has taken—it is not for me to comment, in your presence, on
such conduct, but I happen to be aware that he has left pretty
considerable debts behind him; and you are perhaps not ac-
quainted with the law here—you may not know that you are
answerable for his debts, and liable to be thrown into prison.
Indeed that is the course that will indubitably be taken when
his flight becomes public.
So far well; Sir Bryan produced all the effect he expected.
To an inexperienced English girl, the idea of being shut up in
p 2
228
LIjSN V LOCKWOOD.
a prison, in a strange country, was terrific. Linuy did not
faint; but she felt as if her limbs were giving way, and she
laid her hand on the back of a chair to support her. She
had reason to believe, too, that this information was correct,
for she remembered some time previously hearing of an
Englishwoman who had been placed in a similar situation.
"I recommend you, therefore, said Sir Bryan,  to quit
Paris instantly, before your husband's desertion becomes
more public. You have no time to lose, I assure you; for an
event of this sort is too appetissant not to be eagerly de-
voured. The news is spreading through Paris like wildfire
already, and creating quite a sensation !
Linny was thunderstruck ; what in the world could occa-
sion the metropolis of France to take so much interest in the
doings of two such obscure individuals as herself and her hus-
band ? What was it to anybody what they did, or where they
went'? except, indeed, to their creditors. How, too, .should
the circumstances of Yaughan's evasion have become so ra-
pidly public, when she, the person most interested in the
affair, knew so little about it P
"But what am I to do ? Where am I to go? she said,
quite thrown off her guard by terror and surprise.  The
people here wouldn't let me go ; I owe them rent: not to
speak of the other debts.
 As for the other debts, said Sir Bryan,  I presume you
have no means of paying them; and it is therefore useless
troubling jmurself about the matter. Allowing yourself to be
arrested will be of no service to the creditors, if you have no
money; but, with regard to the rent, if you will give me leave,
I will relieve you from any embarrassment on that score im-
mediately!
"Oh no, no! said Linny, "that's impossible—that must
not be, I cannot lay myself under such an obligation to you,
sir, nor to any gentleman !
 What will you do, then ? said Sir Brian.
 Go to prison, if I must.
This was quite an unexpected result to the visitor, who,
from the evident terror the idea had inspired, was growing
very sanguine of success.
 To prison! But to what purpose ? Being shut up in
prison will not help you to pay your debts, or rather your
husband's debts ; and I think you must feel that he, at least
has no right to such self-devotion on your part,
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
229
"I think, sir, that is for me to judge, answered Linny,
proudly.  Mr. Edmonstone may he in difficulties, and have
been driven to the step he has taken ; but I have never had
reason to doubt his affection, nor have the insinuations against
him produced the slightest effect on my mind, I assure you.
 But, my dear lady ! began Sir Bryan.
"Excuse me, sir, she answered; "your motive may be to
serve me, and if so, I am obliged by the intention; but I
cannot accept your services ; I must get out of my difficulties
as I can—if, indeed, my husband does not return, which I
think he most likely will. He told me he was expecting some
money; and it is very possible he is only gone to receive it.
To confess the truth, Linny herself did not believe what
she said, but she wanted to get rid of the baronet, and wished
him to think her less forlorn and helpless than she really was.
This answer of hers, however, betrayed a secret that Sir Bryan
had not before suspected.
 Return ! said he, triumphantly ; "gentlemen who go off
on expeditions of the kind in question, are not much in the
habit of returning to their wives, I fancy. What would Lady
Glenlyon say ? She'll take pretty good care he does not return,
I warrant her.
"Lady Grlenlyon! exclaimed Linny, gasping for breath.
 Certainly ! Is it possible you are at this hour ignorant
of the fact, known to half Paris, that your husband went off
yesterday with Lady Glenlyon ?
Up to this moment they had been standing near the door,
Linny not choosing to invite him further; but there was a
chair at hand, into which she now dropped, exclaiming, again
thrown off her guard— Gone ! Deserted me ! Oh Vaughan !
"Vaughan ! I never, never could have believed you'd have done
this!
 You are the only person in Paris then, my dear lady, that
did not expect it. It is an event that has been confidently
looked for, for some time, I assure you. But excuse me for
saying that a man who could so cruelly desert you, Mrs.
Edmonstone, is not worth your regrets. He is gone off with
a woman who is madly in love with him, and has been from
her childhood ; and whom he would, no doubt, have married,
if his father hadn't got into that devil of a scrape which caused
a blow-up betwixt the two families. However, from the
moment they came together here in Paris, the result was
certain; I saw from the first what would happen, and I warned
230
un ny lock/wood.
you oi' your danger/' He undoubtedly had ; but it was not
for her benefit, but to answer his own purposes; and the latter
part of his speech recalled that fact to Linny's mind.
 I don't know, sir, whether I ought to believe j'ou or not,
she said ;  you took the liberty of sending me letters, which
leave you no right to speak so severety of my husband—even
if he has done what you say, which I don't feel at all sure of;
at least, I shall not believe it because you say it.
 Send to the Hotel du Rhin, in the Rue Royale, and
inquire, answered Sir Bryan ;  the thing's no secret, I assure
you. They met yesterday at Yaugirard's, the perfumer's, in
the Ilue du Bac ; there she sent home her carriage—and they
both left in a fiacre presently afterwards. It's supposed they
are gone to Brussels. The servants expected her all day—
but Sir Arthur knew nothing of what had occurred till he
came home at night. It appears they had had a quarrel about
your husband—and that brought things to a crisis.
This account was so circumstantial, that it sounded very
much like truth. Yes, Linny believed it; he was gone.
Yaughan, the idol and pride of her young heart, whom she
had loved alike through good and evil fortune, had forsaken
her—left her to struggle with poverty and debt in a foreign
country, where he knew she had not a friend to help her; and
this for a woman whom he had told her a thousand times he
did not, nor ever could, love, and to whom he avowed he was
only attached by interest! Ay! but there was the balm!
There was a styptic for the bleeding wounds ! The culpability
of the elopement was no doubt increased a thousand-fold by
Yauglian's indifference for Lady Glenlyon; and the cold-
blooded manner in which, on his part, the step had been
taken. He was helping this woman to her destruction;
inflicting grievous injury on a good man ; blighting the happi-
ness of his own wife for ever, and offending public morality,
not under the influence of a frantic passion that left him blind
to all consequences, but from the cowardly, selfish purpose of
getting out of his entanglements. How much better it had
been to brave them than to take this irrevocable step into
deeper perdition! But although, in the eye of reason and
justice, his guilt was augmented by the want of love for Kate,
from his wife's point of view it was diminished. A woman
who really loves can pardon any crime rather than an infidelity
of the heart; and even in this moment of trial, when Linny
recalled the face of anguish she had seen in the mirror., and
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
231
the look and tone in which he had hade her never doubt,
come what might, that he loved her better than any woman
in the world, she felt the sting less pungent.
 If you doubt me you can easily satisfy yourself, said Sir
Bryan, who during the pause had been watching the variations
of her countenance.  Let me send for a commissionaire—
that will be better than sending the porter, and you can
yourself give him the order to go to the Rue Royale—or I
will have the honour of attending you there in a coach, if you
would prefer going yourself 
"No, sir, answered Linny, endeavouring to suppress her
tears,  I shall neither go nor send. It is possible that what
you say may be true ; but that will make no difference in my
conduct. If my husband does not return, I shall know what
to do; and whilst I am obliged by your offers of service, you
must allow me positively to decline them. I must also request
you will not attempt to repeat your visit here ; it would only
subject you to annoyance, as the porter will have my strict
orders to admit no visitors. With these words she opened
the door; and, in spite of another unsuccessful effort to work
upon her fears, the baronet was obliged to retire discomfited.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
I do not know how the men may feel; but I suspect scarcely
a woman in the world ever eloped with her lover—of married
women, I speak—without regretting the step she had taken
by the time she arrived at the end of the first stage—if not
earlier even than that. She may have had a thousand reasons,
and very good ones, too, for wishing to escape from a home in
which she was miserable, and from the man who made her so ;
and she may be perfectly justified in taking measures to free
herself from an onerous and detested bondage, if she can. Un-
fortunately, women have frequently enormous difficulties in the
way of attaining this legitimate end, on account of the depen-
dent state in which they are usually placed with regard to
pecuniary matters; the alternatives are not unfrequentfy—
the street; for their friends will rarely receive them, or if they
do, only condemn them to a similar form of wretchedness;
suicide; or an elopement. Now, I by no means recommend
suicide; for, setting aside its reputed sinfulness, a point on
which we know nothing, since it appears to be nowhere for-
232
LIN NY LOCKWOOD.
bidden (though De Quincey has a notion that it may he the
sin against the Holy Ghost, the character of which is un-
specified), yet it is an extreme and unpleasant expedient, and
has the fault of being irrevocable—a serious fault, because
 whilst there's life there's hope and, if we have patience,
there is no telling but things may mend. Still, I decidedly
consider suicide preferable to an elopement; for the latter has
equally the fault of being an irrevocable step ; and whilst, in
the case of suicide—it being a jump in the dark—we know
not where we are going; in the case of the elopement we do
know, or might know, that we are going to an amount of
misery far exceeding anything we have previously experienced.
Misery of much the same kind, too, not possessing even the
pleasing element of variety; whilst we have to endure it with-
out a grain of sympathy from the world, who complacently
observes that it serves us right! What else did we expect ?
Whereas, if you commit suicide, everybody pities you, even
to the brute that has goaded you to the act, and the jury that
sits upon your body, and brings in a verdict of  temporary
insanity. Better die regretted than live despised. More-
over, the preliminaries of suicide are so extremely depressing,
that they are not unlikely to produce a reaction. The phial
of laudanum, or the dirty, murky river or canal; the grave,
in short, wet or dry, contrasts unfavourably with the bright
fireside, the consoling cup of tea, and the warm blanket—
items which, however despicable from the romantic point of
view, have their weight in the balance of life; whereas, the
preparations for an elopement are rather exciting than other-
wise. A woman who has unhappily consented to take this
desperate step, is quite as much in a state of  temporary
insanity as she who throws herself over the parapet of a
bridge—only that in the latter case she is afflicted with what
is called melancholy madness ; whilst in the former, she is the
victim of that peculiar kind of delusion which led some hero
of old to jump into a boiling caldron in hopes of renewing his
youth ; and, having a partner in her madness who has pledged
himself to jump too, she feels herself bound to go through
with the enterprise, notwithstanding the glimmerings of
reason, the warning voices from within, that seek to change
her purpose. It is not one of the least advantages of the other
alternative, that, as there are no post-horses or irritable lover
waiting round the corner, it is never too late to retreat, till
the dose is swallowed or the waters have closed over your,
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
233
head; and even then, there survives a feeble chance in- the
stomach-pump, or the humane society's drags.
But, an elopement!—of course this dissertation of mine is
confined to but one kind of elopement; I have nothing to do
at present with Gretna Green—what a world of woe that word
stands for—what long vistas of misery stretch out before the
contemplative eye of the thoughtful! Heartless desertion of a
creature, twenty thousand times more forlorn and helpless
than the most forlorn and helpless wife that ever existed ; or
a home cursed by all the miseries of marriage, without one of
its advantages. What an evanescent thing passion is ! How
rarely love survives a chill! how it languishes in cloudy
weather! At least, it is a rare, rare love, that does not; and,
melancholy to say, it is not that rare, rare love, for which
these enormous sacrifices are made, or which would be willing
to accept them. It is not the earnest and the lofty lover that
wrenches a woman from the decencies of life to plunge her
into shame. When a woman rushes into this sort of ruin, it
is generally for the sake of a selfish villain or a fool, who is
certain either to abandon her, or make her wretched.
There is another sort of elopement not unfrequent, and very
grievous; this is when, urged by the peril of discovery, two
people run away together, who have no desire to do any such
thing. The man goes from honour—the woman from fear;
she sees the thunderbolt impending; he cannot leave her to
sustain the shock unaided, and he carries her off; both per-
fectly aware that there sits Bodkin betwixt them in the post-
chaise, not seen but felt, a ghastly figure called Hate; which
will grow and grow, feeding on every incident of their daily
lives, till she has extinguished the charities, stifled the ameni-
ties, perverted the virtues, disfigured the beauties, that first
drew these two unfortunates together ; her foul breath in the
end engendering vices, perhaps crimes; where, in the begin-
ning, nothing was suspected but roseate wreaths of love, and
flowery paths of pleasantness.
To which of these classes belonged the two persons who,
whilst the events above recorded were taking place in Paris,
were rattling along the road to Brussels, behind two lean post-
horses and a light-hearted postilion, who gaily cracked his
whip and kept his horses in a gallop, because at the end of
the stage he knew he should see his fiancee, Ma'm'selle
Amandine Pleurot, whose respected papa sold  vin ordinaire
and bonne biere de mars, at the sign of the  Chaperon Bouge!
234
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
How the horses felt, there is no saying—certainly their cir-
cumstances were' not improved by the engagement above
subsisting; but of the three bipeds, it was easy to see that
the postilion was the happiest. Joseph, albeit no beauty,
exhibited outside a face beaming with pleasant anticipations;
but doubt, anxiety, distrust of the future, and even already
remorse, lowered on the brows within. The travellers sat
each in a corner of the carriage, leaving space enough between
them for that third passenger, whose not unfrequent presence
on these occasions I have above hinted. Lady Glenlyon had
her veil down, and Vaughan had a fur cap drawn over his eyes;
they were both understood to be drowsy; but no two people
were ever farther from sleep in the world. She knew as well
as I that write, or you that read, that she had plunged her-
self into irretrievable ruin, and she felt that the one sole re-
compense she had looked for was unattained; Yaughan was
not grateful, not empresse, not affectionate. Had they been
married twenty years he could not have been colder. She saw
that all her sacrifices were vain; that no devotion could conquer
him; and that his heart and affections were left behind with that
little woman, sans tournure; in Paris. As for her companion,
he had started with no delusive anticipations; and, if he was
gloomy, it was not because he was disappointed. The elope-
ment, as far as he was concerned, was a pis aller ; he had run
away with Lady Glenlyon, because, having no money, he
could not very well run away alone, and because he lived in
hourly terror of some dreadful esclandre, which, amongst
other unpleasant results, might betray his fatal secret to Linnv
—a mortification he could not brave. Of the two, however,
he was the best off by many degrees ; for, putting considera-
tions of honour and morality aside, he, by this escapade, had
sacrificed nothing, but his wife; and, reckoning on the fidelity
and long-suffering of woman, he did not by any means consider
that sacrifice was eternal; whereas, Lady Glenlyon, rich in
possessions, had thrown them all overboard—sunk them beyond
recovery in the dark waters of the destiny she had chosen for
herself.
And she knew all this perfectly well; she struck the balance
as correctly as we can. He might have done so, too, had he
turned his thoughts in that direction; but he did not: his
mind was occupied with his own griefs and with Linny's dis-
tress and difficulties. Lady Glenlyon, as we have seen, was
endowed with a considerable share of obstinacy and self-will;
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
235
she did liot easily yield to her vexations and disappointments,
hut was rather disposed to battle with the obstacles to her
wishes, and try to overcome them by her pertinacity ; neither
did her tears flow very readily. But on the second day of
their journey, as the wheels rolled monotonously round, whilst
Yaughan sat abstractedly in his corner, certain memories were
awakened that caused her more than once to draw out her
pocket-handkerchief and stealthily wipe her eyes. She could
not help being reminded of former journeys; first with her
parents—pleasant journeys,- when she was so petted and
attended to by everybody. She had npt valued these elements
of happiness at the time; they were things of course; but
they started up before her now to show her the contrast.
Then, her journey from London to Paris with Sir Arthur—
how cheerful, affectionate, agreeable, and well-bred he was, as
long as she would allow him to be so! Well-bred he always
continued; and whose fault was it if the other qualities had
not been retained ?—if he had grown somewhat grave and
more reserved ? Certainly, not his; and there sat the man
for whom she had made such enormous sacrifices, scowling in
the corner, like a sulky husband—far more sulky than Sir
Arthur had shown himself under his worst provocations!
Early times for such reflections! and yet, alas! all too late.
Bitterly she felt that it was so; and, as one recollection rose
up after another, her tears dropped faster and faster, until the
frequent raising of her handkerchief to her eyes awoke the
attention of her companion. Tears from the eyes we love
melt or rend our hearts; but where love is wanting we feel
them importunate. Yaughan at first took no notice—he
hoped it would "blow over; but the very insensibility he
manifested was so cutting that, instead of blowing over, the
shower grew heavier. Now, he was not a brute, he was only
a selfish man ; and he was well-bred, except where his selfish-
ness occasionally interfered ; so, perceiving that she was really
suffering, he laid his hand upon hers and said,  What's the
matter, Cattie ? You are not crying ?
"I can't help it, Yaughan, she answered, as if it were a
relief to her to get an opportunity of expressing her feelings.
 It is not a little that will make me cry—you know that;
but there are things it's very hard to bear.
 There's no doubt about that, said he ;  but what's done
is done; there's no use in crying about it now.
 It's not that I'm crying about—I'm not crying on account
236
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
of the step I've taken—it may be very wrong—very foolish—
of course, I know it is ; every woman who does such a thing
knows that; of course, we know how much we sacrifice; but
where a woman is under the influence of a devoted affection,
she hesitates at no sacrifice; still we are not so wholly dis-
interested that we look for no requital; there is one requital
we do expect.
Vaughan knew very well what she meant; and he would
have preferred changing the subject; but that he saw was
impossible, so he replied,  Well, Cattie ?
 Well, Yaughan ; I should think your own heart might tell
you what I mean—a little kindness—a little affection 
 I am not aware of doing anything unkind, he rejoined.
"No doubt there have been times in my life when 1 could
have been more lively, more agreeable ; but, remember, if you
have your cares, so have I; and plenty of them, I assure you.
Besides, I can't be quite insensible to the situation in which
I have left my wife.
This was the first time he had ever used the word in Lady
Glenlyon's presence. The difficulty of introducing Linny as
his wife, owing to pecuniary and other circumstances, had
kept him silent on the subject, in the first instance, and
policy, latterly, had helped to seal his lips. He knew the
avowal of his marriage would be anything but welcome; and,
on all accounts, it suited him better to leave the question of
Linny's position doubtful. The uncertainty suited Lady
Glenlyon, too; whatever she thought, she did not wish to
know that Yaughan was married, or that he should suppose
she knew it; since the knowledge only augmented the culpa-
bility of an intimacy she did not feel disposed to relinquish.
Yaughan's travelling companion was therefore a tabooed
subject. And why did hq use the word now ?—why betray
the secret that had been kept for so many months ? Just
from that recklessness that makes men indifferent to the
feelings of women who are at their mercy. The silence had
been maintained as long as he had a purpose to ensure by it;
it was broken as soon as the only purpose would be to spare
the feelings of his unhappy companion. He did not argue
the question in this way himself; but, acting according to
the nature of man, he acted thus without reflection. But
here was a cure for a wounded, irritated woman!
"Your wife! she exclaimed, with an astonishment not
altogether feigned—for, if not quite unprepared for the fact,
L1NNY LOCK.WOOD
237
she was for the announcement;  what do you mean by your
wife? you never told me that you had a wife!
 You don't mean to pretend you didn't know I was
married, said Yaughan.
 I did not know it, returned Lady Glenlyon.  Who was
to tell me, if you did not ? So, then, you are really married,
Vaughan? she added, with bitterness.
"X am, he answered drily, feeling a strong temptation to
add, that the woman he had married was an angel; but that
would have been giving Lady Glenlyon too fair occasion for
asking why he had left her, then ? so he added, instead, that
he did. not see why she should be so much surprised at his
doing what she had done herself.
 Perhaps I ought not to be surprised, she answered;  but
you cannot wonder that it should give me a pang to hear it.
I married, it is true ; but, Heaven knows, it was not for love!
 Why did you marry, then ? You were not poor; you
had everything you could desire in the world 
"Ho, I had not, Yaughan—that one thing that had ever
been the desire of my heart, I had not; and, as I have fre-
quently told you, I married from that ennui and discontent
with life that often drives disappointed women into unhappy
matches—not, however, that mine ought to have been an
unhappy match; I am very well aware that the unhappiness
has been my own fault. I have deeply injured Sir Arthur;
hut I am bound to do him that justice. As this last pro-
position was incontrovertible, and. called for no response, a
pause of some length here ensued : but Lady Glenlyon, urged
by a restless desire to learn that neither had Vaughan married
for love, could not let the subject drop.  Vaughan, she
said, subduing as much as she could her feelings of irritation
—for was she not at his mercy—it was not her husband she
had to deal with now. The haughty airs of defiance with
which she had treated her liege lord were not to be risked
with a man whom she had made her master, but who was
neither her husband nor her lover. "Yaughan, she said,
placing her hand on his ;  I have told you why I married—
tell me why you did ?
"Well, Cattie, he answered, "what's the use of pressing
this subject ? I'm sure it can't be a pleasant one to either of
us, just now."— But is it not natural I should wish to know ?
 Perhaps it may be, but such questions are ill-judged.
Suppose my answer does not give you satisfaction.
238
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 Then you married for love, I am to understand ?
 You may understand what you please ; hut at all events
you must admit that I may claim the same privilege as
yourself. If you are bound to do justice to Sir Arthur, I arn
equally bound to do justice to Mrs. Edmonstone.
"Oh, of course! answered Lady G-lenlyon. "Pray, do!
Don't spare me; that would be quite a needless piece of
Quixotism. However, I've seen the person you call Mrs.
Edmonstone. She came in a fiacre to Madame Hubert's one
day when I was there. I never dreamt she was your wife.
I confess I should have expected, Yaughan, if you had married,
you would have married a different sort of person.
 I married a lovely, amiable, accomplished girl, whose
beauty I have seldom seen surpassed, answered Yaughan,
with some irritation ; "but what's the use of this ? pray, let
us change the subject. It's not a pleasant one to me; nor, I
should think, to you.
"As you please, said Lady Glenlyon with an affectation
of indifference, which was so ill acted that it could deceive
nobody; and she began playing with some breloques that
were suspended to her watch-chain. This conversation had
certainly had no tendency to tranquillize her feeling. If
previously she had been hurt and depressed, she was now
suffering from an acute fit of jealousy, the irritation of which
it was not easy to find a vent for. A woman knows how to
worry, or be revenged on her husband, or on a man that loves
her; but when he is bound neither by love nor law, it is a
dangerous game. Lady Glenlyon felt it so; and yet the
venom of jealousy, added to her other griefs, rendered the
hours spent in that journey to Brussels the most miserable
she had ever known. Perhaps there had been little delusion
before regarding the future; perhaps she had rather refused
to look at the fate she was invoking, than mistaken it for
something fairer than it was; but, at all events, there could
be no mistake now. The favours she was constantly heaping
on Yaughan, together with his need of them, and her position,
had naturally, and almost without design, maintained a degree
of complaisance and deference in his manner towards her, little
exceeding the ordinary forms of gallantry and good-breeding,
though enough to keep all smooth and free from abrasion.
But vexed and anxious, angry with himself, and secretly dis-
gusted with her, he was in no humour now for the amenities,
nor for those small attentions which had hitherto stood her
linny lockwood.
239
in stead of more earnest manifestations. No; she saw that
he did not love her, nor ever would, since this last great
sacrifice had failed to win him. She had staked everything
on this cast, and was beaten. And then, as she thought of
all she had lost for his sake; of how cold-hearted and un-
grateful he had ever been to her ; of how he had yielded to
her allurements from interest only, and not from love; and
how he had eloped with her now, at such amazing cost to her,
and so little to himself, simply in order to run away from his
own embarrassments—did not she begin to hate him ? What
looks askance she darted at him, as he sat, buried in thought
and his fur cap, in the opposite corner of the carriage! How
she clenched her teeth! and drew long breaths heavy with
vengeance and aversion! Forty-eight hours ago what was
she F What was she now ? And how did this gathering
tempest affect him ? Not at all. He saw it not, felt it not;
he was not thinking of her. His heart and his thoughts were
with Linny, his wife, in the Hotel Valmont.
CHAPTER XXXV.
When- Sir Bryan O'G-rady was on the other side of the door,
and the key turned on him, poor Linny flung herself on the
sofa, and gave free vent to her grief. Yaughan, her long-loved
Vaughan—the idol of her girlish heart, whence his late dis-
covered faults, and his neglect of her, could not depose him—
had abandoned her for another woman.
 But he does not love her, whispered the comforter, when
she had somewhat relieved her anguish by tears.
"Left her to struggle with all the embarrassments that
entangled them.
 But what could he do ? said the comforter,  since he had
no money ?"— Alone and friendless ! he had left her.
 Very true; but had she not repeatedly objected to his
proposal of getting away whilst they could.
 But if he were determined to go, at least he might have
gone alone. Not have added to her misfortunes the sting of
insult, the pangs of jealousy ! There was no excuse for that.
He must have deceived her! His repeated assurances that
interest alone bound him to Lady Glenlyon, had been merely
intended to delude her into a false confidence!
"But, said the comforter, "was not the anguish he ex-
hibited at parting with you genuine ? You know it was!
240
LINNY LOCKWOOB.
 Pity for my helpless situation, and, perhaps, some little
remorse for the barbarity of his conduct—that's all I urged
the other side.
When her mind had been bandied about in this way for
some hours, and she had wept the sluices of her tears dry, she
raised herself from her recumbent attitude, and seating herself
at the table, she tried to collect her thoughts, and determine
on what she was to do ; though it was of little use to form
plans if she was to be imprisoned for her husband's debts, as
Sir Bryan had told her; but perhaps that was only intended
to frighten her, for his own purposes. If she were not ar-
rested, certainly the most rational thing she could do was to
return to England at once, since allowing herself to be shut
up in prison would not in any way promote the discharge of
the debts; but, on the other hand, her natural integrity
shrunk from the construction that might be put upon her
flight, especially after the hopes of payment she had lately held
forth to the creditors. No ; she felt she would rather brave the
worst than lie under the imputation of deliberate dishonesty.
"I'll go round to them to-morrow, and avow the truth; if
they choose to put me in prison, they must.
In the meantime, the news of his lodger's elopement had
reached Hovion, the concierge, who, wishing to see how
matters were going on above, made the excuse of having some
letters to deliver, to pay Madame Edmonstone a visit. Diffe-
rent people accept misfortunes in different ways ; some meet
it with resignation, some make loud complaints, whilst others
are wholly overthrown; some are angry, others ashamed; in
the present instance, in addition to her grief, Linny felt dread-
fully ashamed. It was so mortifying to her womanly pride to
be forsaken! So degrading to be an object of pity, and to
know that her husband would be accounted a vaurien and a
swindler. When the man entered she scarcely knew how to
look in his face.
"Here are some letters, he said, "for monsieur; they
were the accounts sent in, according to order, including an
invitation or two ;  and here is one that was left, by a young
man yesterday, with orders that I should deliver it into the
hands of monsieur himself—mais! he added, with an ex-
pressive shrug, and turning about the letter in his hand.
"You had better give it to me, said Linny, eagerly; the
injunction suggesting the idea, that the paper might contain
a clue to some of her husband's mysteries.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
241
 Monsieur ne reviendra pas ee soir ? said Govion, handing
her the letter.
Linny shook her head;  Je ne crois pas, she replied.
 C'est dornmage! remarked Govion, with a slight shrug.
 Madame a peut-etre quelques connaissances a Paris? he
delicately suggested.
"None, answered Linny, with a sigh.
"Ah! c'est difficile! rejoined Govion, as he turned to
leave the room.  Voyez-vous, he rejoined, pausing with
his hand on the lock of the door,  il y a Monsieur Benoit, le
proprietaire—lorsqu'il apprend que monsieur est parti cela
deviendra embarrassant.
 I shall see what is to he done, returned Linny, "and to-
morrow morning I will speak to you. Leave me now, for I
must look at these letters,"—and Govion retired, exceedingly
sorry for the jolie petite dame; hut resolved on heroically
performing his duty—which was forthwith to inform the pro-
prietor of what had occurred.
 Good heavens! exclaimed Linny, who in the meantime
had opened the letter which had excited her curiosity—
 where in the world can this come from ? she said, as there
dropped out of it a bill, on Lafitte and Co., for two hundred
pounds.  Why, then, Vaughan did expect this money, and
I have in that, at least, wronged him, poor fellow ! and instead
of taking it with him, as he might have done, he has left it
for me! and then her tears began to flow again as fast as
ever; but this time it was more with attendrissement than
positive grief. This little incident was sufficient for the
moment to change the current of her feelings. Vaughan's
faults began to retire into the rear, whilst his good qualities
advanced to the front row. No doubt he had been very
imprudent—but what excuses there were for him! He and
she had been brought up so differently, that what appeared
only a proper economy to her, looked niggardly to him.
People who have been born in luxury, imagine luxuries to be
necessaries ; it is by slow degrees they learn that things they
have always been used to can be dispensed with. How should
he learn it all at once ? On the whole, she was afraid she
had been rather harsh and unreasonable with him ; she ought,
perhaps, to have yielded to his wishes and left Paris, since he
always declared his intention of paying their debts whenever
he got any money. Perhaps, her own obstinacy had in some
degree flung him into the toils of Lady Glenlyon; and, in-
O
242
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
deed, in this respect she was not far wrong. Had her integrity
been of a less rigid texture, the probabilities are considerable
that their residence in Paris would have been curtailed.
When her surprise and emotion had subsided, she began to
calculate how far this unexpected supply would go. It would
not pay all their debts, that was certain; however, it paid
the rent to begin with, very much to the gratification of the
proprietaire, who arrived from Passy by the first omnibus 011
the morning alter receiving G-ovion's intimation, armed to
the teeth, and prepared for war. He had expected nothing
but excuses and tears ; but on seeing the money counted out
on the table, his belligerent propensities suddenly subsided,
and no member of the Peace Congress could be more gentle and
dovelike. Her next business was to visit the tradespeople,
and endeavour to bring them to some sort of composition;
but just as she had put on her bonnet and shawl for that
purpose, there came a ring at the bell, and Gov ion again an-
nounced nn Monsieur, handing her a card, on which she read
to her surprise the name of Sir Arthur Glenlyon. Linny
turned pale, and drew back, unable to conceive the object of
such a visit, and naturally anticipating a scene of violence;
but Sir Arthur advanced into the room with a calm and grave
dignity, inquiring with the utmost deference if he had the
honour of seeing Mrs. Yaughan Edmonstone ? and on Linny's
bowing assent, he proceeded to apologise for his visit.
 I hope you will excuse the liberty I am taking ? he
said;  may I presume to inquire if you are aware of what
has occurred?
 I am, sir ! she answered, with a renewed burst of grief.
 Do not think me impertinent, he continued;  but in a
matter wherein we are both so deeply and unhappily con-
cerned, I hope ceremony may be waved. Plad you any sus-
picion that such an event was impending?
 Oh no, sir; no ! I had not the most remote suspicion.
I had, indeed, heard some hints that there was an intimacy.
I was aware that my husband was a great deal at your house;
but that such a step as this would be taken, I never could
have believed ! Do you know, sir, where  but her voice
faltered, and she could not finish the sentence.
 Where they are gone ? To Brussels, I believe.
"And have you sent anybody, sir 
 Sent! what, in pursuit ? Certainly not; to what purpose ?
 But oh, sir, what a shocking thing ! sobbed Linny.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
243
 Ay; .shocking indeed! said Sir Arthur, with a heavy
sigh.  Ruin, ruin, ruin! God knows whether, by more
judicious management, 1 could have prevented the catastrophe
—sometimes I think I allowed the intimacy to proceed too
far before I interfered ; but they had been old friends ; and,
to speak frankly, Lady Glenlyon is not a person that it is
very easy to interfere with. She was an only daughter, and
accustomed all her life to indulgence.
 So was poor Vaughan, sir; he never knew what it was to
have a wish ungratified till his family got into misfortunes,
which fell very heavily on him.
 Ho, I have no idea of pursuing them ! said Sir Arthur.
"I am going immediately to England, and the object of my
visit was to offer my services to you now, 01* at any future
time, if you will kindly let me know how I could be useful.
It occurred to me that this unexpected calamity might have
placed you in difficulties.
 Thank you, sir ! said Linny, who shrank from the idea
of incurring any pecuniary obligation;  I intend going to
England, too, as soon as I can settle my affairs, which I hope
to do within a day or two.
 Then you are sure I can do nothing for you ? I hope
you would not hesitate to say so if I can : and if not now,
that at any future period, you will not forget how glad I
should be to have an opportunity of being useful to you in
any way. Here is my address—a line there will always reach
me, wherever I may be.
There was something consoling in this visit; and Linny
felt really comforted by it. The self-command exhibited by
Sir Arthur—for the drawn features, and the hollow eye, tes-
tiffed to the conflict within—whilst it afforded her a lesson,
attracted her towards him, and inspired her with reliance.
She was glad to have such a friend to whom she might apply
in extremity; and the sight of his grief, whilst it in some
degree diverted her thoughts from her own, seemed to make
her better able to bear it. Sir Arthur, on the other hand,
went away, wondering at the obliquity which could lead a
man to forsake so sweet a creature, in order to launch him-
self 011 the tempestuous waves of an illicit connexion. He
was quite sincere in his desire to be of use to her, and would
have been more pressing in his offers ot service, had he not
been aware that she had had the bill he had addressed to her
husband cashed at Lafitte's,
Q 2
244
liu ny lockwood.
The news of the elopement having by this time obtained
general circulation, Linny found her creditors, who began to
fear they should get nothing, the more ready to come to
terms of accommodation. Some, indeed, were harsh and
insolent; but seeing there was no more to be had, they took
what they could get; so that on the fourth day she found
herself free to depart. In the interval, the closet and drawers,
left locked by Yaughan, had been opened by a locksmith; the
best part of his wardrobe, as she had expected, had been all
removed ; but in one of the drawers she found a canvas bag
containing four hundred francs, and a short note from her
husband, bidding her a tender farewell; assuring her that,
in spite of all his follies, she was the only woman he had ever
loved in the world, and conjuring her to believe what was
the truth—namely, that the step he was taking was not the
result of inclination, but of the pressure of circumstances.
He concluded by entreating her forgiveness, and advising her
immediate return to England.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
The fugitives arrived late in the afternoon, and put up at the
Hotel de Flandres. Brussels is a beautiful city, as we all
know; and Lady Glenlyon had spent some very happy months
there, a few years previously, with her parents. She had
moved then in the best circles; but as society in that part of
the world is very changeable—that is to say, the English are
seldom permanent residents—it might be hoped that her
former acquaintance had dispersed in the interim. It was,
however, not considered advisable to attend the Table d' Rote,
although their dinners would have been less expensive—a
consideration they were not altogether independent of; nor
the theatre—at least not together. On the following day
they walked out, however, arm-in-arm, the lady with her veil
down; but the scene was not new to either, and they both
found it a listless sort of amusement. Travelling, as Madame
de Stael says, is un des premiers des plaisirs tristes. There
is a sort of pleasure, certainly, in wheeling along a road at a
good round pace, provided your seat is easy, and you are
neither too cold nor too hot. The slightest inconvenience,
however, will convert this pleasure into a pain ; and the desire
to finish your day's journey, and arriver la, ou personne lie
vows attend, becomes the uppermost thing in your thoughts.
LINN* LOCKWOOD.
245
When you have arrived, there is the dinner and the bed—
really pleasant if you are hungry and tired ; and the first
walk out—if the place is new to you ; but sight-seeing is a
triste pleasure too—novelty is soon exhausted ; and, as few
persons can apply themselves to any occupation where they
do not feel at home, time is apt to hang heavy on one's hands.
One of the things that makes all this the duller is, that people
are seldom cured of their anticipations of amusement, so that
there is a reaction from the excitement of expectation to the
ennui of disappointment; if we find things rather flat at home,
it is, at all events, no more than we looked for. Shall we not
travel, then ? certainly—travel everybody that can; the
instruction you gain, and the home content, not to mention
the prejudices you rub off", are well worth the cost; besides
that, what was tiresome enough in action, is often extremely
pleasant in retrospection.
Lady Glenlyon's first inquiry on her arrival at the hotel
was for a maid. Of course, she had left Paris without one,
and, accustomed from her infancy to be waited on, she found
herself very uncomfortable. Vaughan, too, had had to pack
and unpack, and arrange his things—an office hitherto so
neatly performed by his wife; but poor Cattie had enough to
do with her own affairs, and had no time to give to his. The
mistress of the hotel said she knew a person out of place, and
she would send for her ; she was a very excellent, trustworthy
servant, and would not have been disengaged but her mistress
had died. Her name was Fenton. In the evening, the young
woman came, bringing with her a written character of the
most satisfactory kind. Her late mistress was Lady Isabella
Vere, with whom she had lived five years. If Mrs. E. would
like to see Lady Crofton, Lady Isabella's mother, she could,
her ladyship being still in Brussels. Mrs. Edmonstone, how-
ever, declined; she was satisfied with the written character,
and engaged her at once, the girl being very glad to get a
place speedily in this strange city, where she had no friends;
and consenting to commence her service that same evening.
To Kate, whose life had been passed in the gay world, the
hardship of not being able to go to the opera in the evening
was severe; but the dread of falling in with some of her old
acquaintance deterring her, she sent for a batch of French
novels; whilst Vaughan got the newspapers of the last few
days. The evening was chilly, and they sat domestically by
the fire in a room on the second floor of the Hotel de Flandres.
240
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
Suddenly Yauglian made a movement that caused his com-
panion to raise her eyes to his face, whereon she read vexation
and annoyance legibly inscribed.
 What is it ? she said.
 Nothing but what we may expect; but it is not altogether
agreeable when one is the hero of the tale. They've got us
in print already.
 Not names ?
 Not yet; but they will, you'll see and then he read
aloud how the fashionable world of Paris had been thrown
in'o excitement by the elopement of the lady of an English
baronet; and, that the inamorato was reparted to be the son
of a ci-devant London banker.  D d pleasant, certainly!
Kate sighed, and turned her eyes upon her book again; she
could honestl}r have echoed the last ironical sentiment, but
she said nothing, When Yaughan had finished reading the
papers, he rose and walked up and down the room. By and
by, Lady Glenlyon closed her book, and stood up with her
back to the fire, which was made on the hearth. Yaughan
continued his walk in silence; till, by and by, he said,  I
smell something burning; it's your dress. You'll he on fire
if you don't take care.
 It wont burn, she answered, moving a little aside;  so
much the worse, perhaps. One might as well get rid of one's
troubles that way as any other.
u Setting yourself on fire would not be a very agreeable
mode of ending them, I think.
 What signifies the mode, yaughan, so they were ended?
Tell me, now, honestly; wouldn't you be very glad to be rid
of me, at once ?
 Till I do tell you so, answered he,  I do not think you
have any right to draw such a conclusion.
 Do you think I don't see it ? I'm too clear-sighted. I
know very well you'd be glad enough to be back again with
your wife, as you call her.
 What would you have me call her ? She is my wife.
 I wish you'd called her so a little sooner; that's all!
You took care never to say a word about your wife to me, till
I was completely in your power.
 Did you wish me to say anything about her ? Because
you might have asked me the question any day you pleased;
but you know as well as I do that you avoided the subject—
but, as I said before, what is the use of this sort of wrangling ?
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
247
 I'm not wrangling; but it is impossible for me not to see
how dissatisfied you are, and not to feel it either.
 Talking to me about it will certainly not make me better.
 That's so like a man ! They make you as uncomfortable
as they possibly can, and then they forbid you to mention it.
 I don't forbid you; if you choose to go on in that way,
you must.
"In what way, pray P I only remark that you look dis-
satisfied.
 Well, if you will, have it—reminding me every moment
that I have played the fool, for fear I should forget it.
 No danger of that, I fancy.
"Not while you're by me, certainly.
Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of
the new maid, requesting to know what time her lady would
like to go to bed; and as the conversation had reached that
critical stage that there was no saying what would come next,
Lady Glenlyon said she would go at once, whereupon Vaughan
took up his hat, and strolled out to cool his brow with the
fresh air. So terminated their second day in Brussels.
The third and the fourth passed in the same way, varied
with little jars arising out of Lady Glenlyon's too clear per-
ception that Vaughan was not happy; and that he did not
love her any the more for the sacrifices she had made for his
sake, but rather the less. We all know what she should have
done to win him under these circumstances ; how she should
have been humble, patient, kind, long-suffering, and never
reproached him with his want of afiection ; but it is easier to
prescribe this remedy than to apply it; and, moreover, had
she made the experiment, it would in this instance have pro-
bably failed. At all events, Lady Glenlyon was not the
woman to make the attempt. She was full of discomiorts
herself; bored with ennui, thrown out of her usual pursuits,
beset with regrets, if not by remorse. Her obstinacy stood
out as long as it could; but she could not conquer fate and
necessity ; consequences would follow causes ;—she had spoiled
her own destiny; abandoned a home that might have been a
very happy one ; forfeited an excellent position ; in short, she
had played away all these, and lost the prize she had staked
them on. Love is not won by sacrifices—sad to say, even
gratitude, rarely ; at least, that amount of gratitude that
would make a man behave well to a woman he does not like,
even if she be his wife. If she be his mistress; alas ! let her
248 LIS NY LOOK WOOD.
look for nothing. The more lxe has cost her. the worse bar-
gain she will find him.
Fenton was a smart, active, clever young woman, who
knew her business, and went about it in a pleasant manner.
Lady Glenlyon liked her; and, one day whilst her hair was
being dressed, she said, a propos of remarking in the glass,
that Fenton's black dress was trimmed with crape:—
 The lady vou lived with has not been long dead, has shop
 No, ma'am, answered Fenton;  it's about a month
since Lady Isabella died. Lady Crofton wished me to stay
till she went away to Paris. If her ladyship had been going
to England she would have kept rne herself, but she preferred
having a French maid.
 Was Lady Isabella young?
 About six-and-thirty, I believe."— Any family ?
 Two young ladies, ma'am. They're going to Paris with
their grandmama, for education, I believe.
 Then, is their father dead too ?
 Oh no, ma'am ! he's not dead—I thought perhaps you
knew ?
 Knew what ?
 About the family, ma'am, and Mr. Vere; I've heard it
made a great deal of noise at the time—about his going away
with another lady, ma'am.
 Oh, how you pull my hair! cried Lady Glenlyon, sud-
denlv, in order to disguise the rush of blood to her cheeks.
 I beg your pardon, ma'am; it must have been the conib
that caught.
Lady Glenlyon begged she would be very careful with the
comb, her head being extremely susceptible; till, having reco-
vered her self-command, she said,  You were saying some-
thing about Lady Isabella's husband; he's not dead, then ?
 Oh dear! no, ma'am ; he's in London, I believe, mostly,
which was one reason, I've heard, that made Lady Isabella
always live abroad with the young ladies; for though he had
agreed she should have the charge of them, yet he was always
trying to see them, and speaking to them in the street, which,
of course, was very unpleasant to her ladyship, and not right
by any means whilst he was living with an improper person;
and, besides, it kept her ladyship always in such an agita-
tion, poor thing! for it almost broke her heart, his going
away from her. You've heard of the lady he went away
with, I daresay, ma'am ?
l.INNY LOCKWOOI).
 Never ; who was she
 It was the Honourable Mrs. Garstin, ma'am; she was a
very handsome lady, and very fashionable ; and Colonel Gar-
stin, I believe, was one of the best of husbands to her. She
might have eat off gold if she liked, he was so fond of her;
hut some ladies don't know when they're well off! However,
she'd soon good cause to he sorry for what she'd done; for
Mr. Yere and she couldn't get on at all together, and before
the year was out they were separated, and Mr. Vere wanted
Lady Isabella to take him back again ; but she said she never
would. What she might have done if she'd had no children,
there's no saying, for she was very much attached to him ;
but having two young ladies—one thirteen and the other
twelve—it was a thing she could not think of. However, it
shortened her life, poor thing!—for there's no doubt her ill
health was brought on by fretting about Mr. Yere. I'm sure,
ma'am, I often wonder how ladies who have got everything
they could wish can do such things!
 You may well wonder! said Lady Glenlyon, dismissing
her for the night.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Litwy reached Calais and crossed the Channel without any
adventure; and on the following morning she proceeded to
London by a coach that, in those days, was called The Heavy
Dover. She selected this conveyance, because, as it was a
slow coach, and held six people, the fare was lower than the
others. She soon, however, saw reason to regret her selec-
tion; for not only did the coach lumber along the road in a
very tedious manner, which promised not to release the
closely packed insides till a late hour at night, but she found
herself in company which, especially under her present cir-
cumstances, she would have preferred avoiding. The coach
Was occupied, besides herself, by two women, one Of whom
had a young child in her arms, and three men. They were
apparently all strangers to each other; but in one of the men
she recognised a face that was familiar to her—it was that
of Tiggs, the junior clerk in Mr. Eardley's bank. She had
never had much acquaintance with him ; but he, as well as
the other clerks, had occasionally been to her father's house;
and she felt so certain he must know her, that when she met
his eye, although she would have preferred remaining undis-
250
LlKNt LOCIvU'OOi).
covered, she was on the point of acknowledging him by a
bow, when he turned away his head with an assumed look of
unconsciousness, which, however, did not deceive her. He
knew her, but did not intend to acknowledge the acquain-
tance. All the better! She had never liked him, and was
glad to be relieved from the task of talking ; and of, perhaps,
being called upon to answer impertinent questions. He was
very flashily dressed, and had a dissipated, rakish sort of look,
that did not improve features originally rather unprepossessing.
Next to him sat a plain, stmxty-looking man, a farmer appa-
rently ; the object of whose journey seemed to be connected
with hop-growing, as the only remarks he made on the road
touched upon the subject of hops. The sixth passenger was
a nondescript kind of person, to whom it was difficult to
assign any profession or calling. His face and figure were
decidedly handsome, and he looked as if he had been in the
condition of a gentleman, although his soiled linen, which
Linny caught sight of when he unbuttoned his coat, discredited
any such claims at present. His outer habiliments, however,
were in very fair condition; and there was certainly some-
thing in his bearing and demeanour that suggested the (idea
of his having mixed with polished society at some period of
his life.  Perhaps a gambler, thought Linny,  or an un-
successful speculator ; and so he has fallen into difficulties and
lost caste. As for Tiggs, she concluded that he had cut her
because her father was in reduced circumstances ; or, perhaps,
because she had married Yaughan, and thereby offended Mr.
Edmonstone. However that might be, he persisted in the
same course; and as she had plenty of things to occupy her
mind, she soon ceased to think of him. One of her principal
and most urgent subjects of speculation was, what she should
do on her arrival in London. It would be far too late to
think of seeking her parents that night; and she felt some
anxiety to know whether there was any house near where
the coach stopped, wherein she might be suitably lodged.
Had her companions been more, communicative she could
easily have asked the question, but nQbocly seemed disposed
to venture an observation except the hop-grower; and his
remarks being wholly confined to one subject, she felt doubtful
how far he was qualified to give her the information she
wanted. She could have asked the coachman, but perhaps
he had a friend to serve, and might, from ignorance or in-
terest, mislead her.
LIN NY LOCKWOOD.
251
In the next place, there was the probable difficulty of dis-
covering where her parents were, and, when she had found
them, the pain of encountering' their displeasure under cir-
cumstances which so entirely justified it. How grievously
had Yaughan vindicated the ill opinion of her father, and
proved the weak foundation of her own faith! How much
more heartless and criminal, too, he would appear to her
parents than he did to her! They could not make the
apologies for him that she did. If she talked to them of
what Yaughan called "the pressure of circumstances, they
would only see the follies and extravagance that had placed
him in such circumstances. The habits and  the elegant
desires, that early use and custom had made a second
nature to him, and which had helped to fascinate her youthful
fancy, they had no comprehension of; and the internal
evidence which made her believe that, in spite of all, he not
only had loved her, but did so still, could not be communi-
cated to them. She could not impart to another the grounds
of her faith ; she could not paint the face of anguish she had
seen reflected in the mirror; nor convey the echo of those
earnest tones, wherein he had assured her that she alone was
the object of his love. "VVhat could be expected but that
they should laugh at her infatuation ? And what, I should
like to know, is more disagreeable, than to have your secret
convictions sneered at by those who are incapable of. homo-
legating the evidence on which they are founded ?
Next, came the question of what she was to do ; how live ?
how maintain herself ? She saw nothing before her but to
be a teacher in a school, or a governess in a private family;
but to be either, she must procure good recommendations—
and who would give them ? Mrs. Barnard certainly would
not, after the manner in which they had parted. And then
her mind would wander away in pursuit of the travellers;
sometimes with bitter pangs of jealousy—at others, wonder-
ing how they would be getting on. Yaughan was not a bad-
tempered man—if things went exactly as lie liked, he was
good-tempered enough, and this is more than can be said of
every man ; but he was irritable and selfish, and required to
be studied. He had no notion of making any sacrifices for the
comfort of other people—how few men have ! They like you to
be comfortable when there are means of comfort for all; but
when there are not, it is not they who are to be put on short
commons, be the department what it may. Much she
2 5 ?I LI N N V 1.0 OK. WOO I).
thought would depend on whether they had plenty of
money; poverty would be sure to create disunion. The real
and immediate sources of disunion, however, she did not foresee,
since she knew nothing of Lady Glenlyon's character; and
was unable to conceive any woman encountering such a des»
perate  storm of fortunes, except under the influence of an
attachment so devoted that it would be prepared for every
endurance; and then the jealousy was aroused again, for
might not this devoted attachment win Yaughan's heart
quite away from her ? It was doubtless very silly of Linny
to care for such a worthless heart; but such is the weakness
of women.
At length, few words having been uttered on the road, and
nothing having arisen to recall Linny from her own reflec?
tions, the coach stopped at Rochester, to dine; whereupon
everybody turned out except the woman with the child.
When the coachman recommended her to alight, she said she
would sit still and feed her baby whilst she had the coach to
herself. The three men entered the house, as did Linny,
although economy forbidding her to share the dinner pre-
pared for the passengers, she bought a biscuit at the bar, and
refreshed herself with a glass of water. The second woman,
Who had got out at the same time, followed her example,
except that she preferred spirits to water. When she had
taken her dram, she went to the coach to hand her friend
some restoratives also ; and there she stood talking while the
company dined, and Linny walked about till, the horses
making their appearance, they both got into the coach. The
other passengers soon followed, and they continued their
journey as before, nobody appearing to be in any degree
enlivened b}' the refreshment they had taken, except the
hop-grower, who had evidently become more expansive and
communicative; but failing in all his attempts at conversa-
tion, he at length subsided into repose, and, dropping his
double chin upon his breast, went fast asleep. Linny, who had
undergone a great deal of fatigue, both of body and mind,
occasionally dozed too ; and in this way they travelled on till
they reached Deptford, where the coach stopped to change
horses. Here the two women alighted, announcing that they
-had reached their destination; and Linny, as she looked out
of the window, saw them walk away down the street, one
carrying the child, and the other a strong, good-sized basket,
LINKY LOCKWOOD.
25 a
such as thrifty housewives hang upon their arms when they
go to market.
Owing to the exceeding slowness with which this heavy
vehicle travelled, it was late before they reached the Golden
Cross; where Linny, having secured her luggage, inquired
if she could have a cup of tea and a bed—encouraged by
finding that the hop-grower was going to pass the night
there, too; he being the only one of the insides whose appear-
ance had inspired her with confidence. Perhaps his impres-
sions were of a similar kind—for, on hearing her ask for tea,
he proposed that they should take it together, an invitation
which she willingly accepted. When, in the course of con-
versation, he learned that she was returning from France,
he was somewhat astonished, that being a country indis-
solubly connected in his mind with  Boney, as he called
him, and nothing else. His ideas, indeed, were altogether
rather circumscribed—but he seemed to be well off and
liberal; and as he prdered up an ample supply of good food,
—and also insisted on paying Linny's share of the expense
as well as his own, upon the plea that he did not often see
such a  handsome young 'oman,"-^— she, whose funds were low,
and who had for some time been living so sparingly, that a
hearty repast was not unwelcome, found she had no reason to
repent her complaisance.
The tea over, they bade each other good bye, and went to
bed—the old gentleman saying, he should be off into the city
before she was up in the morning. Of course, they expected to
meet no more; but on the following morning, Linny was
disturbed by the chamber-maid's knocking at the door, to
inform her that a person wished to speak to her.
 Who is it ? she inquired.
 It's a gentleman, answered the woman.
 It's you as come up last night by the Heavy Dover, isn't
it?
 Yesreturned Linny;  is it the gentleman I drank tea
with ?
 I don't know, said the other; "I wasn't up when the
coach corned in. But you're wanted directly, master says.
When people are in unusual situations, strange thoughts
enter their heads ; they are prepared for startling events and
romantic incidents. Could it be Yaughan—who, seized with
remorse, had returned to Paris, and, finding her gone, had
25-1
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
come in pursuit of her ? Or could it be Tiggs ? Or fed
Tiggs seen her father, and told him where to seek her ? Or,,
finally, the most probable hypothesis of all, was it the old
hop-grower, who wanted to speak to her—or perhaps wished
her to breakfast with him ? Whilst discussing thip question
she dressed herself—and, on opening the door as soon as her
toilet was completed, she saw a man standing in the passage,
who immediately advanced, and, inquiring if she had been
one of the passengers in the Heavy Dover on the preceding
day, requested her to walk down-stairs. The man did not
look like a servant of the house, nor the master of it either;
in short, he struck her as looking like a constable; and again
the idea of Tiggs recurred to her mind. Unprotected and
inexperienced, she thought he might possibly have informed
Mr. Edmonstone of her arrival in London, and this early
visitor might possibly be her husband's father. Had she, by
running away with Vaughan, or rather allowing him to run
away with her, laid herself open to the vengeance of his
family ? Before, however, she had time to weigh these pos-
sibilities, the man opened a door on the first floor, and intro-
duced her to a gentleman sitting there, as the young lady
that had come up in the Heavy Dover. Linny, although
somewhat reassured by perceiving her friend, the hop-grower,
in close conversation with the stranger, probably looked some-
what frightened—for, as the gentleman presented her with a
chair, he begged her not to be alarmed ; all he wanted was to
ask her a few questions, he said; and thereupon he proceeded
to inquire what her name was—whence she had come—where
lodged—how travelled—and with whom—in what boat she
had crossed the Channel—where put up at Dover—where she
got into the coach—what passengers she found in it—and
whether she was acquainted with any of them ?
"There was one I knew, she replied; "at least, I did
know him formerly.
 But I didn't hear you speak to any on 'em, said the hop-
grower;  I've just been saying, I'd answer for it, they was
as strange to you as they was to me.
 He didn't speak to me, said Linny ;  when I got in and
saw him, I was going to bow; but either he did not know
me, or did not wish to do so. It was the slight man that sat
on your right, she added to the farmer;  the man with the
gold chain and eyeglass. His name is Tiggs, and, when I
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
255
knew him formerly, he was junior clerk in the banking-house
of Edmonstone and Eardley, in Fleet-street.
 I told you she was all right, observed the hop-grower,
apparently moved to the remark by the frankness of her com-
munication. 1
 Oh, no doubt! said the stranger; "your name,^I think
you said, is Edmonstone ? he added.
"Yes, answered she; and then, feeling herself blush, and
apprehending that an ill construction might be put upon her
confusion, she added,  1 am the wife of Mr. Edmonstone's
son.
 Indeed! said the stranger, apparently struck with a new
idea; "you are the wife of Mr.— Mr.— ?
 Yaughan Edmonstone, said Linny, feeling the colour in
her face growing deeper.
 Exactly ; and may I ask where Mr.Yaughan Edmonstone
is just now?
 I don't exactly know, answered Linny, looking more and
more confused. "I believe he is at Brussels.
 Then he is not travelling with you ?
"No, I am travelling alone, answered she; her manner
and countenance, since the queries had taken this new direc-
tion, having undergone a complete change, not unobserved by
the official who was interrogating her.
 He will probably follow you to England ? he said.
"I don't know, really, answered she.
"And you knew nothing of the'other passengers in the
coach yesterday, continued the stranger, after a slight pause.
"Nothing; I never saw any of them before except Mr.
Tiggs.
 Pray, was there any conversation exchanged between
these parties ? Did they appear to be acquainted with each
other ?
 The two women were evidently acquainted. They got
out and went away together: I believe it was at Deptford.
He asked several more questions about these people, both
the men and the women, all of which she answered to the
best of her recollection. Tiggs and the gentleman with the
soiled linen had come on to London, and left the coach at the
same time she did; but being occupied with selecting her
own luggage, and ascertaining whether she could spend the
night at the inn, she had' not remarked their proceedings;
256
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
finally, when she had given all the information she could, sKe
learned what, he being known at the house, had been pre-
viously communicated to the old gentleman—namely, that
the especial cause of the Heavy Dover being extra heavy, was,
that it was bringing up a quantity of Spanish dollars, and
that, somehow or another, two bags of these were found defi-
cient, and were supposed to have been abstracted on the road
betwixt Dover and London, by some of the passengers. The
parties immediately under suspicion were the two women,
which surprised Linny very much ; as, although not prepos-
sessing in their appearance, they had the air of coarse country
people, such as she should not suspect of being thieves. The
circumstance of Tiggs avoiding recognition was rather odd:
53 © © t '
but she could have suggested reasons for that, that she did
not think it necessary to communicate. The other passenger,
however, did strike her as a suspicious person; and, indeed,
it appeared that there existed a strong persuasion that he
and the women had formed one party.
."Measures, said the official personage, "would betaken
to trace them; and as the evidence of Linny and the hop-
merchant might be required for their identification, he're-
quested to know where they were to be found. To Linny
the question was a puzzling one; so she answered that she
had lodgings to seek, but would communicate her address as
soon as she had one.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
In the apartments adjoining those occupied by Lady Glenlyon
and Vaughan, resided a Mr. and Mrs. Venables. They had
not been long married, and Mrs. Venables was an extremely
pleasing woman, with very prepossessing manners. The
ladies often met on the stairs as they were entering their
respective chambers; and when people, especially in a foreign
country, meet each other face to face very frequently, it is
difficult not to allow the features to relax a little, even though
there is wanting that necessary passport to acquaintance, an
introduction. At first, Lady Glenlyon and Mrs. Venables
passed each other, after the usual manner of the English,
with a vacant stare. Then there came a little shyness—a
consciousness that they were neighbours, and that each knew
who the other was : then ensued a slight, uncertain kind of
bow ; till one day. Lady Glenlyon having dropped her hand-
MNXY LOCKWOOB.
257
kerchief on the stairs, Mrs. Venables picked it up and gave
it to her. After that, they wished each other good-morning
when they met, and made comments on the weather, till one
afternoon they found themselves standing side by side, listen-
ing to the band. Mrs. Venables, who was hanging on her
husband's arm, happening to look round, perceived Lady Glen-
lyon and Vaughan close behind them ; their eyes met; there
was a bow and a smile, and room made for the latter to come
forward ; and after this grew remarks on the music, and a sort,
of acquaintance; insomuch that, on the following morning,
Mrs. Venables, observing Lady Glenlyon sitting in the park,
came and seated herself beside her.
Now, there is no doubt that, knowing nothing whatever of
Mrs. Venables beyond her name, Lady Glenlyon would, under
former circumstances, have been very chary of her civilities
to that lady, and her carriage toward her would have been
tant soit peu repulsive; but the case was altered. Not that
she was the person who made the advances—quite the reverse;
the advancing party was Mrs. Venables, who, observing that
her neighbours had the air and manners of good society,
without any extraordinary symptoms of wealth or rank, inno-
cently gave way to her natural desire of being sociable. She
was very happy herself; being just united to the man of her
heart, and was disposed to be kind to everybody ; and  Mrs.
Edmonstone, as she remarked to her husband,  was a very
nice-looking woman, and dressed beautifully ! Added to this,
although both she and Mr. Edmonstone had a considerable
air of fashion, they were not at all supercilious. Mr. E. was
certainly somewhat reserved, and slow to make acquaintance
—so were all Englishmen ; but the lady had very quiet and
pleasing manners— rather retiring than otherwise, observed
Mrs. Venables ;  but I like her decidedly. I wonder, Charles,
whether they would come some day and dine with us at the
table d'hote ?
 They never dine at the table dhote, I observe.
 I suppose he is too reserved for that, and she too shy. I
think she is shy.
 I should not have thought so from her air altogether.
She looks like a person that has mixed a good deal in society.
 Well, she does, certainly; and I think she must to have
acquired that air of fashion. But some people never get over
their shyness with strangers. I wonder if ever they go to the
opera. Perhaps they'd take a box with us ?
B
258
LINNY LOCKWOOt).
 I don't think they go out of an evening. I've a notion
they're like ourselves—on their marriage tour!
 Oh, no! I don't think that at all, said Mrs. Venables.
 Why ? They are both young.
 Oh! but they are not like newly-married people; he is
not at'all empress£—rather the contrary, I think. I know I
shouldn't be at all pleased if you were not more attentive
than he is.
 Really! I didn't observe any neglect; how you women
remark these things!
 It's not so much neglect; he seems well-bred enough, but
froideur. Indeed, to say the truth, I have a little theory of
my own about them.
 And pray, what is your theory ?
 Well, 1 don't think they are over and above happy together.
I always think he looks bored; and that she sees it. There
is a tone of depression about her—disappointment, probably,
at h'is coldness.
 You women are always making romances, Adela; you
don't reflect what an ordinary jog-trot sort of thing life gene-
rally is.
 Ho, nor I don't mean to reflect, Charles; I detest your
jog-trbt couples.
 I suspect they're the happiest though; no great pleasures,
but few pains.
 Well, I prefer great pleasures—"— And great pains ?
"But they don't always follow."—"Too often, I fear!
 Dear me, Charles, what a desponding view of life you're
taking.
 It's the result of my age and experience.
"Age and experience! said his wife, rising and throwing
her arms about his neck ;  you goose ! What do you mean
by your age and experience? And she stroked his smooth
cheek, and twined his dark curls round her finger.  But, to -
go back to our neighbours, I've a very great inclination to ask
them to join us in a box at the opera. I really think she
would like it. Have you any objection ?
 Hone in the world, my darling, if you wish it.
 That's a good little hubby! I'll mention it to Mrs.
Edmonstone to-day. I shall be sure to see her in the park.
Whilst this conversation was carried on in one room,
Vaughan and his companion were discussing matters in the
next. The two couples had walked back to the hotel together,
linny lockwoob.
259
after meeting in the park on the day after the rencontre at
the band-playing, and Mr. Edmonstone's manner, as justly
remarked by Mrs. Yenables, had certainly evinced a great
deal of English reserve. They bade each other good-morning
at the top of the stairs; and it was then that the above
conversation had ensued between Mr. and Mrs. Yenables.
Yaughan having entered his apartment, and closed the door,
at first said nothing; he seated himself at the window, and
took up a newspaper.
A woman who lives with a man on not the most harmonious
terms, soons gets a habit, whether she be his wife, or stands
in any other relation to him, of watching his countenance;
and Lady Glenlyon had not only remarked the reserve of
Yaughan's manner towards her new acquaintance, but she was
perfectly aware that his mind was now brooding on something
unpleasant. She saw that he held the paper before him
rather as a semblance of occupation, and in order to avoid the
embarrassment of silence than because he was reading it; and
she knew that something was coming. Perhaps she was not
without some suspicion of the subject of his meditations; and
as the natural impetuosity of her disposition disinclined her
to await the revelation till it suited him to make it, she
said, after awhile,  You don't seem pleased, I think, Yaughan;
has anybody offended you ?
 Nobody, he answered, without raising his eyes from the
newspaper.
 Not even I ? she asked.
 You don't seem to be aware, he said, after pausing a little
before he answered her,  what an awkward situation you place
me in—I mean with regard to these people you have made ac-
quaintance with. Of course, I can't help feeling annoyed.
 I didn't make their acquaintance; they made mine.
 But you shouldn't have allowed it.
 How was I to help it, I should like to know, without
positive rudeness ?
 Well, positive rudeness would have been better than what
has happened.
 Why, what has happened ? inquired the lady, looking up.
 I mean, better than allowing them to make the ac-
quaintance.
 There's no such great deal of acquaintance—yesterday was
the first time we ever spoke, except upon the stairs; and their
joining us in the park to-day was entirely their own doing< 
n 2
260
LINjNY LOCKWOODj
•• Yes ; but it wont stop there, you'll see. 1 was in hopes
they might not be going to stay ; but from what he said to-
day, they are ; and, of course, it's a thing I can't allow to go
on—so the end of it will be, that we must leave the place; and
where to go, I'm sure I don't know, because the same thing
will be happening everywhere.
 Oh, dear no ! it wont, said Lady Glenlyon, drily;  you
are quite mistaken, I assure you. I shall take perfectly good
care that it never happens again.
 Well, I hope you will.
 I shall, you may- rely upon it.
Lady Glenlyon had a bit of Berlin wool-work in her hand
whilst this conversation passed, and, as it proceeded, she kept
assiduously putting in and drawing out the needle, although
the stitches she was making had no relation whatever to the
pattern drawn on the canvas ; but the mere movement was a
relief to the nervous irritability she was feeling, and helped
her to restrain the tears that were choking her. What a
bitter moment it w^as ! and yet she knew Yaughan was right.
The annoyance might have been more delicately manifested
—the reproof more tenderly administered; but she was well
aware that she must not encourage the advances of this young
married lady, and that he would not countenance her in so
doing. She had felt all this acutely from the first; but Mrs.
Yenables had been so courteous, and appeared so innocently
confident of her little amenities being well received, that it
Avas difficult, for one Avho in her heart felt grateful, to repel
them. Then, she felt the need of society so much. It was
not that Yaughan was much away from her—he really wai
not; he walked with her, dined with her, and indeed, except
the few hours he spent occasionally in a billiard or reading
room, they were always together ; but he was not an enlivening
companion. He was silent, abstracted, depressed—often
gloomy. His thoughts were not upon her—that she knew
right well; his heart was not with her, or if he did think of
her, his thoughts were not to her advantage;—she was per.-
suaded, indeed, that they dwelt more frequently on the difii-
culties she had, and would still bring him into, than on those
she had enabled him to escape. Then to any woman, be she
who she may, the want of female society is a serious privation.
We may like the conversation of men better—and certainly
those carriages and establishments that profess to admit ladies
only, are not inviting; but still there are certain sympathies
LIN NY LOCKWOOD.
261
which, without the association of our own sex, remain unsatis-
fied. Lady Glenlyon was not aware of this till she was put
to the proof; but now, when she saw two or three ladies
walking or driving together, she felt a strange desire to he
amongst them.
On the day succeeding the conversations above recorded,
Lady Glenlyon had a bad cold and kept her room. Mrs.
Venables heard of this through her maid, who had learned it
from Fenton; and- in the evening she sent her compliments,
begging to know how Mrs. Edmonstone was. Fenton enter-
tained much the same opinion as Mrs. Yenables—she thought
the young couple were not happy; and the prevailing senti-
ment between the two femmes de charnbre, who, the hotel being
full, inhabited the same bed-chamber, and had become pretty
intimate, was pity for the wife.
 I don't think he cares a bit for her, and it's my belief she
sees it, poor thing! She never says anything to me ; but of
course I've my eyes open, and there's many little things that
shows a man's feelings. He's such a silent gentleman ! They
never have any chat like married folks. La! I'm sure, when
I lived with Mr. Jenkinson, he was always coming backwards
and forwards when I was doing her hair—they used to chatter
away like two birds in a cage; but Mr. Edmonstone will come
into the room to fetch anything a dozen times before he'll say
a word. For my part, I don't think there's anything the
matter with her now, but just that he's vexed her.
 What makes you think that ? inquired the other abigail.
 Why, I know yesterday afternoon she had a good cry.
It was after they came home with your lady; she came into
the bedroom, where I was putting away her bonnet and cloak,
and told me to leave her, for that she was going to lie down
a bit; so I asked her if I should not cover her up, and if she
would not take off her dress and put on her dressing-gown,
but she said, ' No, no; go!' in a way that made me look at
her ; and if ever I saw a lady ready to burst out she was. I
didn't come back till it was time to dress for dinner, and she
pretended to be dozing; but, la! I could take my oath she'd
been crying all the while ; and when I lifted her pocket-hand-
kerchief, that fell off the bed, it was as wet—you might have
wrung it!
Fenton then went on to describe Vaughan's behaviour, on
learning that the lady was unwell.
 When I went to him and said that my lady would thank
262
LIN MY LOCKWOOD.
him to send her a cup of tea, he was just putting the water
into the pot. £ Isn't she coming to breakfast ?' says he. 'No,
sir,' said I; 1 my mistress feels very poorly this morning.'
Well, he gave me the tea, to be sure, and he asked me if she
would have anything to eat; but, if you'll believe me, he went
on with his breakfast quite cool and comfortable-like, though
it was only the next room you know, and never so much as
went to ask her what was the matter with her. Gracious me!
if it had been Mr. Jenkinson, he'd have been up the stairs in
a jiffey, though it was two-pair up.
A rechauffe of these observations of course reached Mrs.
Yenables; who, being at that moment scarcely out of her
honeymoon, naturally felt shocked and indignant. As early,
therefore, as etiquette would permit, she sent Johnson, on the
following morning with inquiries ; and a message to the effect
that if Mrs. Edmonstone was well enough to see her, she should
have the pleasure of calling on her about one o'clock.
The answer was, that Mrs. Edmonstone's cold and headache
were so bad, that though very much obliged, she could not see
anybody. Upon this, Mrs. Yenables sent in the name and
address of an English physician residing at Brussels, who had
been recommended to her should she require medical advice.
Mrs. Edmonstone sent word that she was very much obliged,
but that she was accustomed to these little attacks; and that
she never found anything of use but perfect repose.
During these and the ensuing days, Lady Glenlyon took her
breakfast in bed, and did not rise till about one o'clock ; the
rest of the afternoon she passed with her Berlin work and her
French novels, Yaughan regularly inquiring—how her cold
was ; whether she would not like to have  something to take
for it; and when he went out, whether he could do anything
for her. He brought her newspapers, and selected amusing
books from the library. On the whole, there was little to be
said about his behaviour: there was no odour of a June de miel
about it, certainly; but it was much like the behaviour of nine
husbands out of ten. You cannot make a man tender and
affectionate any more than you can make a fool wise. Perhaps,
indeed, even to Linny, Yaughan's attentions in the case of a
slight indisposition would not have been much greater; but
the sting of the thing was, that he knew she was not ill, and
that she knew that he knew it, and that he never sought an
explanation, nor endeavoured by kindness and sympathy to
alleviate the mortification he had inflicted, nor the privations
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
m
she was imposing on herself—a line of conduct that naturally
augmented her annoyance a thousandfold; for she could not
shut herself up for ever; besides, walking or driving were the
only recreations within her reach, and she could not afford
wholly to relinquish them. It was so irritating to see Yaughan
every day take his hat, and. to hear him civilly inquire if she
wanted any books, or what he could do for her! So, when
her retreat had lasted nearly a week, one day after he had
gone out, she called for her bonnet and shawl, and, taking her
maid with her, went for a walk, choosing the least frequented
parts of the park, and walking briskly on, in a manner that
almost precluded the chance of any one joining her. This plan
she pursued for two or three days ; but of course not unknown
to her neighbours. Fenton felt sure there had been a quarrel,
and attributed all the blame to Mr. Edmonstone, which was
natural enough from the observations she had the opportunity
of making. Yaughan had many sources of uneasiness, and
was ennuied by the kind of life he was leading; and, as he
could confide his troubles to nobody, they preyed upon his
spirits and temper, and rendered him gloomy and morose. He
lived under a sense of apprehension that something—he knew
not what—might arise out of Lockwood's visit to Paris, and
that advertisement; he was anxious about his wife, to whom
his heart often yearned; he was uncertain where to go, or
what to do; he felt himself oppressed by the presence of a
woman he did not love, and whom he liked hourly less, since
he*felt himself bound to her by an obligation he could not
well shake off. Besides, he felt how cruel it would be to do
so, even if he could. He might have formed acquaintance
easily enough ; but circumstanced as he was, hampered on all
sides, he shrank from the advances of the men, and seldom
went beyond a distant salutation. Lady Glenlyon's unhap-
piness operated differently ; she was melancholy and depressed,
but not ungentle, except in the presence of Yaughan, when
she tried to assume a bearing of resolute calmness, through
which, however, penetrated her strong sense of his ingratitude.
She spoke little, and she never wept when he was at hand;
she seemed to take refuge in silence from the disputes which
would be certain to ensue if they entered into conversation.
But they both felt that there was a wall of aversion growing
up betwixt them hourly, higher and higher. To her maid
she was kind; for she felt her dependence on the woman, and
. was glad to have one of her own sex about her.
264
LIN NY LOCKWOOD.
To Mrs. Yenables—young, happy, and fresh—the romance
and mystery of the couple next door was extremely interesting
and exciting ; and when their sayings and doings had furnished
the two maids with a pleasant repast, it was regularly served
up to the mistress at dressing time.
 How shocking it is, poor thing ! If I were she, I wouldn't
live with him a day ! I'd go home to my friends directly! {
 Perhaps she hasn't any to go to, suggested Mr. Yenables.
 Oh, she must! Such an elegant person as that can't be
without friends to receive her.
 People are not very fond of receiving ladies that run away
from their husbands, I fancy.
 Of course, if they ran away without cause! but do you
think mama wouldn't receive me with open arms if you ill-
treated me?
 Are you thinking of trying her ?
 Take care I don't, sir. You'd better not turn out a brute,
like Mr. Edmonstone! I should be off directly—that you may
rely upon. But seriously, Charles, I am so sorry for that poor
woman!
 Well, my love, I dare say you are; but we can't interfere
betwixt a man and his wife, you know.
 No, certainly ; but, if she would not shut herself up so, I
think it would be better—don't you ?
 Why, you know it is impossible to judge for other people.
You offered her a visit, and you sent to inquire for her, I don't
see what more you can do.
 Fenton told Johnson that she is sure she is miserable ; and
that she often cries when she thinks nobody sees her. By the
bye, does Mr. Edmonstone ever speak to you ?
 Never ; he bows coldly enough.
 I think he is an odious person ! said Mrs. Yenables.
 Why, at first you admired him! He is certainly a very
gentlemanly-looking man.
 Oh, yes! he's gentlemanly enough, I dare say, and
wouldn't be ill-looking if he hadn't an expression like a
thunder-cloud.
One day, as Yaughan entered the reading-room, he brushed
past a gentleman who was coming out. Absorbed in his own
thoughts he was scarcely conscious of the circumstance till he
heard a voice say,  Hollo ! old fellow ! Are you here ?
 Coulson ! by Jove ! Is that you ? exclaimed Vaughan,
thrown off his reserve by the surprise of seeing an old friend.
LINN* LOCK WOOD.
 Why, what are you doing here r said Coulson.
 I think I may return the inquiry, answered Yaughan,
evading the question.  The last time I saw you, you were
going to India.
"Well, I have been there ever since ; and the regiment's
there now; returned Coulson.  But I got ill at last—I stood
out longer than most of the fellows; but it's a d—d country
that, you may take my word for it.
 Then you're on sick leave, I suppose ?
 Yes, I've got two years. Jolly ! Isn't it ?
 Then you've not been home yet, I suppose ?
"No. I came back in a French ship. The captain is a
connexion of ours by marriage ; and so he gave me my pas-
sage—no small consideration to a sub, I assure you. But
now do tell me about some of our old set! What's become
of Clavering ?
"Wiry, he exchanged into the thirteenth ; I don't know
where they are now—at Hounslow, I believe.
 Lucky fellow! I wish I could exchange; but he always
had lots of money. Well, and Seymour ?
 I haven't heard anything of Seymour for a long while.
 Why, you and he used to be very thick.
 I think he married somebody.
 But isn't he still in the regiment, then ?
"Oh, yes ! he's there still; but I have left it some time.
 The deuce you have! what, have you exchanged too ?
 No, I'm out altogether.
 Whew ! Well I never should have expected that! You're
not married, old boy, are you ? added the young man, remark-
ing a certain degree of embarrassment in Vaughan's counte-
nance.  Hang me if I don't think you are!
 Well, perhaps I am, said Yaughan.
 Married! Why, I think everybody's getting married but
me. You remember Frith P well, he's married too, of all men
in the world! He married the paymaster's daughter. Not a
bad-looking girl. Then you're here with Mrs. Fdmonstone I
suppose ?
"No—yes, yes! said Yaughan, not feeling quite certain
which to answer.
"You must introduce me, rejoined Coulson.
"How long are you proposing to stay? asked Yaughan,
already wishing him away, although he was glad to see him
too ; but then he could not forget that, if Coulson knew all
266
LINNY LOCKAVOOD.
he could tell him, he would not he quite so friendly; he was
uncomfortably conscious of the imbroglio of error and crime
into which his father's want of principle, and subsequently
his own weakness, had led him. He shrunk more and more
from mixing with society under false colours, uncertain at what
moment a storm might break over his head, which would fall
all the heavier the more spectators were collected about
him. In short, Yaughan Edmonstone had not reached that
pitch of perversion which is insolent and shameless; perhaps
it was his pride and not his conscience that was wounded, but
suffer he did ; and if he had had more resolution and energy,
and been better provided with mental resources, and, moreover,
had loved the woman with whom he had now linked his
fortunes, he would have been glad to retreat with her from
the world, and hide their heads in solitude—Mais ! An idle,
discontented, loveless solitude! what a future at seven-and
twenty!
In the meantime, after looking at the papers, Coulson took
his arm and they strolled into the street together, and they
had not gone far before, turning the corner of the Rue de la
Madelaine, they nearly ran against Lady Glenlyon and Fen ton.
Yaughan coloured to the eyes, and so did she.
 Miss Eardley! exclaimed Coulson, who had often met
her at Mr. Edmonstone's.  Why, I'm in luck to-day ; meet-
ing all my old friends. Are Mr. and Mrs. Eardley here ?
Or perhaps, he added, that is not the name I'm to address
you by ?
All this had run so glibly off the young man's tongue in the
first moment of surprise, that nobody had had time to say a
word. Lady Glenlyon was the first to speak.
 No, she said gravely ;  mjr name is no longer Eardley.
Mr. Coulson, I believe! You have been in India, I think,
since I saw you ?
"I have, and am just come home on sick leave, replied
Coulson, awed by the gravity of the lady.
 I hope you will find the change of climate beneficial, she
rejoined in the same tone; and with a civil how she passed on.
"The devil! exclaimed Coulson to Yaughan; "what's
the meaning of that ? Is that what you call pride now, or
prudery ? Or what the dickens is it ? She used to be a jolly
girl enough. Who's she married to ?
"To me, at present, answered Vaughan.
 Whew! you don't say—I beg your pardon, Is that really
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 267
Mrs. Edmonstone, then ? To he sure, I remember; you used
always to he rather thick together. I might have guessed it,
if I hadn't been such a looby !
Although Coulson endeavoured to assume his rattling tone,
and in that way carry oft' the embarrassment of the situation,
he was not the less sensible of it. He saw clearly that some-
thing was wrong—that there was what he called  a screw
loose somewhere. Apparently the husband and wife did not
agree very well; they had probably had a quarrel, and a
pretty sharp one it must be, he thought; so, to avoid further
confusion, he changed the subject.
In the meanwhile, Vaughan was thinking what he should
do. It would seem very odd if he didn't ask his old com-
panion to dinner; and his natural hospitality and friendly
feeling to the young man prompted him to do it. He could
not part with one whom he had been at school with, and
known since boyhood, at the door of the hotel, and never
invite him to enter it. Yet, if he did invite him, all manner
of embarrassments would ensue, unless he entered into an ex-
planation, which for various reasons he felt the greatest repug-
nance to make. An explanation involved so much! For, if
he did not relate the history of his own fallen fortunes and
his marriage, he must needs confess himself such an idiot as
.to have eloped without the excuse of love, or any other that
he could allege, to account for the step. And, then, how
would Lady Glenlyon. like him to betray her secret ? And
she would be sure to discover that he had done so by the very
precautions Coulson would use not to tread on tender subjects.'
But whilst he was thus wavering as to what he should do,
Coulson, who was in the midst of a story about  Browu of
ours, and a tiger hunt, partly from old habit and partly from
a desire to finish his tale, settled the question for him by
walking in uninvited; and there he was sitting, having just
reached the climax, and related how Brown had killed the
tiger, when Lady Glenlyon entered the room, not expecting
to find anybody there unless it was Vaughan himself.
Coulson started up and advanced to meet her, saying,  Here
I am, you see, installed in your room already; but, upon my
word, i have to beg you ten thousand pardons !—When I met
you just now, I had no idea I had the honour of addressing
Mrs. Vaughan Edmonstone.
 Neither had you, sir, answered Lady Glenlyon, with calm
dignity.  I am not Mrs, Vaughan Edmonstoneand so say-
268
llnny lockwood.
ing, she bowed and disappeared into her bed-chamber, which
adjoined the salon.
Coulson was so taken aback by this unlooked-for announce-
ment, that for a moment he stood transfixed, staring at the
door she had passed through. Then he turned his eyes upon
Yaughan, who, pale and unnerved, appeared no less surprised.
 Yaughan, my dear fellow, what's it about ? What does
she mean ?
 I can't blame her, said Yaughan.  Perhaps she's right,
poor thing! The truth is, Coulson, we have both played the
fool, and I believe we are both very sorry for it, he added, with
an expressive shrug.  But, you know, these things once done,
can't be undone.
 The devil! Do you mean to say you are not married ?
"Both of us! answered Vaughan.  We are both married.
She's the wife of Sir Arthur Gdenlyon of Parkfield—you'll
remember him, I dare say ?
"Perfectly, answered Coulson, in a sort of maze. "And
you've got another wife ?
 Indeed I have, I'm sorry to say for her sake, poor girl!
Coulson, I married the only woman I ever had any real love
for in my life; and I left her, to run away with a woman I
never cared a d n for! What do you think of that ?
 Destiny—my dear fellow! Destiny! answered Coulson.
 I believe all these things are cut and dried for us. A dish
of Old Nick's cooking, depend upon it.
 You don't think we make our own fate ? said Yaughan,
shaking his head.
 Well, upon my soul, I don't know ! People do such ex-
traordinary things. There was Carey of ours married an
Indian woman without a rap, as ugly as a liottentot, and old
enough to be his grandmother. But I am really sorry for
poor Kate Eardley, for you don't seem over comfortable
together; eh?
CHAPTER XXXIX.
 I should like very much to ask you to dine with me, Coul-
son, said Yaughan ;  but you see how I am situated. I am
afraid it wouldn't be, as you say, comfortable /
 Well, no, answered Coulson :  she wouldn't be pleased,
I suppose.
A few days afterwards he left Brussels for Paris; where he
LIN NY LOCKY'OOt).
lound, that having seen the fugitives, who had lately formed
the subject of general conversation, made him in some sort a
hero himself. Everybody wanted to hear where they were
living; by what name Lady Glenlyon passed; bow she looked;
whether she appeared to feel her position, &c. &c. And, of
course, he related all lie had witnessed, while some sighed
"Poor creature! and others declared it was no more than
she deserved. Of these last, it is worth remarking, that some
ran away themselves not very long afterwards. Amongst those
who heard this gossip of Coulson's was Lady Clifton, Lady
Isabella Yere's mother, whereupon she wrote to a friend of
hers at Brussels, saying,  I feel rather sorry about poor
Fenton. She went to live with some people at the Hotel de
Flandres, and I have a notion that she said their name was
Edwards, or Edmonds, or something of that kind; but it was
only the day before we left, and I did not attend much to it at
the moment. I offered to see the lady, but she said she was
satisfied with the written character I had given her. Now you
must know, that when we reached Paris we found everybody
open-mouthed about an elopement that had just taken place
here—I daresay you have seen it mentioned in the papers—
but it was when my mind was so occupied with all that had
happened in my own family, that I had no thoughts for any-
thing else. The lady was Lady Glenlyon—she was a Miss
Eardley; and married Sir Arthur Glenlyon of Parkfield. The
inamorato was an old lover of hers, it is said, and that they
were once engaged ; but I don't know whether that's true or
not. However, after making themselves the talk of the town
for some months, they thought proper to run away, and were
reported to be gone to Brussels. This report is now confirmed
by a Mr. Coulson—he belongs to the Tadcasters, and is a
cousin of Henry Coulson, who was in the Bays. Well this
young man, Coulson, is just arrived from Brussels, where he
fell in with the runaway couple, both of whom he had formerly
known. He says they are living at the Hotel de Flandres,
under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Edmonstone, and ,far paren-
these, seemed to be heartily tired of each other.
 Now, there is little doubt that these are the people poor
Fenton is living with, and, as it will certainly be very injurious
to her, I wish you would contrive to see her, if they are still
at the Flandres, and give her a hint of the real state of affairs.
I do not like to write, because they may be gone; and, besides,
if I should be wrong, I may get into some awkward imbroglio".
270
LINNY LOCKWOOli.
"I am quite certain, Charles, said Mrs. Yenables to her
husband, "that Mrs. Edmonstone avoids me. At first I
thought it was accident, or that she might be near-sighted;
but to-day I am certain she saw me, and she turned down one
of the side-walks on purpose to avoid speaking. What can be
the reason P I wonder if I have offended her. At all events,
of course, I shall take no more notice of her.
 Perhaps they don't desire acquaintance.
 Well, but she might bow to me—that would cost her
nothing. I think it's that husband of hers that will not
allow her to have anybody to speak to, for fear she should tell
them how abominably disagreeable he makes himself. Where
can Johnson be, that she does not come to dress me ? I wish
you'd desire the gargon to find her, and send her up!
The gargon was accordingly summoned; and in due time
having deterred, Mrs. Johnson, she made her appearance.
 Johnson, you're forgetting the hour. I shall not be ready
for dinner.
 I beg your pardon, ma'am; but Mrs. Fenton was took
ill. She was in such a way I was afraid to leave her alone;
but Mrs. Wilkie's gone to her now.
 Who's Mrs. Wilkie ?
 Mrs. Spencer's maid, ma'am. Mrs. Fenton's met with
something very unpleasant; she's heard as Mr. and Mrs.
Edmonstone ain't married.
 Nonsense! who says so ?
 A lady, ma'am, that was a friend of the family Mrs.
Fenton lived with last. She sent for Mrs. Fenton this
morning, and told her; and she's in a terrible way about it.
 How very extraordinary ! I don't believe a word of it.
She's not the least like that sort of thing. Besides, he
wouldn't neglect her so if she was not his wife.
"Upon my word, that's a compliment to us husbands!
remarked Mr. Yenables. "But why should you be so incre-
dulous ? I think it's very likely to be the case, and that is
the reason she avoids you!
 Well, it may be certainly; but I never could have thought
it! Poor thing! how I pity her ! said Mrs. Venables.  But
why should that man have run away with her if he is so in-
different ? I wonder how long ago it is !
 Only since we've been here, ma'am. They came from Paris,
and Mrs. Edmonstone is Lady Somebody, said Johnson.
 By Jove! we saw in the paper—don't you recollect ? The
LINNY LOCKWOOB.
271
wife of a baronet; and I think it said the man was a
hanker.
 And they say, ma'am, rejoined Johnson,  that she was in
love with this here gentleman, and that her relations wouldn't
let her marry him, and made her marry the other against her
will, because he was very rich, and now they may see what's
come of it.
 It's just what they deserve, at all events! said Mrs.
Yenables, for Mr. Charles Yenables, being a younger son, she
had not obtained the desire of her heart without a struggle.
 Poor thing ! I shall send in by and by, to know how she
is, she rejoined.  And what is Mrs. Fenton going to do ?
 I'm sure I don't know, ma'am, she took on so about it;
but she said she couldn't stay, nohow.
 Well, I suppose she can't; but it's very shocking!
 Do you know, Charles, I can't get that poor woman out
of my head ? said Mrs. Venables to her husband some time
afterwards.  I fancied from the first she was not happy; but
I thought she had a brute of a husband, and that that was the
reason ; but this is twenty times worse.
 But what can a woman expect who does that sort of
thing ? said Mr. Yenables.
 Well, she has a right to expect the man will he kind to
her, at all events ; if she has forfeited her claims upon society,
she has the more upon him, for whose sake she has done it.
 I fancy men are very rarely obliged to women for forfeit-
ing their claims on society.
c; Then why do they ask them to do it ?
 Ah, that's another affair! The women must take care of
themselves.
 Can anything be more cruel than to induce a woman to
take such a step, and then to neglect or ill-treat her when she
has no friend left but yourself.
 It's the case in most instances though, I fancy.
 If a man ill-treats his wife, she at least has society, and
the world is with her; but, in the other case, the whole world
is against her.
 Yery true; hut you must recollect that although there
are, undoubtedly, exceptions—cases where temptation has
been too strong for the virtuous and well-disposed—that
these are exceptions. Generally speaking, when this sort of
thing is done, there are great faults on one side, or on both.
If it is done through levity, and without reflecting on the
27id LINNY LOCKWOOt).
consequences to all parties immediately or remotely concerned,
what can be expected of such levity ? certainly, not a durable
attachment.
 Yery true, said Mrs. Yenahles.
"Marriages so contracted seldom turn out happily, not-
withstanding that the circumstances are much less trying
than in the other case. Then if people run away from a
violent ungovernable passion, that is also not likely to con-
tinue; and when it is extinct, what remains. Disesteem;
the world's disapprobation ; and all manner of vexations and
embarrassments ; which do not improve the temper, and
severely try affection.
 Well, that is all very true, Charles, I admit it; and no
doubt women, under such circumstances, will be apt to get
irritable, and difficult to live with. But still I cannot help
being sorry for this poor lady.
 Well, my love, be as sorry for her as you like ; only don't
commit yourself in any way. Don't be too sorry.
"Do you know there's one thing strikes me, Charles, said
the little lady, looking arclilv at her husband.
 What's that ?
 Why, that if women knew men better, they would never
be tempted to run away with them.
Mrs. Fenton having vindicated her character by falling
into hysterics, was at leisure, when she came out of them, to
consider what she should do, or rather how she should do
what she felt must be done; for being a young woman, and
this only her second situation, she was alarmed lest having
been known to live with a lady of questionable reputation
might injure her own. But on the other hand, being good-
natured, and her mistress's evident unhappiness having
enlisted her sympathies, she shrunk from the task she had to
perform ; the rather, that she had only on that very morning
consented to accompany Mrs. Edmonstone to England, ex-
pressing her great satisfaction at returning thither, where she
had a sick mother, whom she much desired to see.
Lady Glenlyon was anxious to leave Brussels, and had
determined to propose England as their next resting-place.
The objection to Brussels, which extended to all continental
towns, except some very remote and out-of-the-way spot—
was, that she was in the daily and hourly risk of meeting her
former acquaintance. Since the first week or two of her
arrival, she had found it necessary to wear a thick veil, and to
L1NKY LOCKWOOD.
273
walk only in the least frequented places, lest she should be
recognised, and either he addressed by those who did not
know her present situation, or be cut by those who did; either
equally mortifying and embarrassing. To retire with Yaughan
to some  wild, remote from public view, as lovers might
have done, was a step not to be contemplated as regarded
either him or herself. It is true, her solitude was pretty
complete now; but he had certain resources in the reading
and billiard rooms, besides the table d'hote, and frequent visits
to the theatre, in%rhich of late he indulged himself. He went
out now without her, too, and left her to walk alone; all
this licence having been assumed at the time she shut herself
up after the scene about Mrs. Yenables, and not subsequently
relinquished, nor did she desire that it should be. What
cheer is there in the companionship of a sulky man ? and
Yaughan, although not originally of a sulky temper, was
driven into sulks by ennui, depression, aversion, and regret.
What comfort is there in looking across the table at a face,
however handsome, if it be clouded with discontent ? she was
better alone, far, with her books and her Berlin wools, and
her melancholy thoughts, and a free course for her tears. In
the outskirts of London, where nobody inquires about his next
neighbour—whereas in a foreign town, the history of every
English person in it is investigated by his own countrymen—■
removed from the world in which she was formerly known,
she hoped to find obscurity for herself and resources for him';
in his old haunts in'the purlieus of St. James's. She had also
ulterior views in proposing to re-cross the Channel; but she
was surprised to find that he objected to the scheme. England,
he said, was the last place he wished to go to.
 Then where can we go ? she said.
 Hang me, if I know! he answered.  I am heartily tired
of being here.
 But in what foreign place will you be better F At least,
after the novelty is over. You spoke of Home ; but I have
the same objection to Home as to Brussels. I know several
people there. I couldn't bear it. Besides, travelling is dread-
fully expensive ; and already we owe an enormous bill here !
 Have ybu got the bill ?
 Ho; but I know it must be a considerable sum.
 I don't know why it should ; we have lived very plainly.
 Well; you'll see. At all events, there are many reasons,
besides expense, why we can't always live in hotels. In the
a
274
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
outskirts of London we might take a small house, and yon
would have your club to go to, and would meet your old
friends. The world will not turn its back upon you, though
it would upon me.''
 And what will you do in a small house in the outskirts dt
London ?
 Never mind what I shall do! What do I do here ? What
shall I do anywhere ? she answered, gravely.
 Why, then, so anxious to go to England ?
 I think it the best step we can take orf all accounts.
And probably it would have been, hut for circumstances she
knew nothing of, and which he could not tell her. He would
rather have told her earlier, when they were at Paris, and
whilst her infatuation survived. • Then she could have excused
anything; but to tell her now—how he had debased himself;
to confess that he had committed an act that rendered him
amenable to the laws—that he was afraid to return to England
—impossible! Perhaps it was not her esteem that he feared
to lose ; he could hardly suppose that he possessed it! but the
advantage he would he giving her, the contempt she would be
entitled to feel and to manifest!
Fenton had been screwing up her courage against the dress-
ing-time, when she had resolved to give warning. Had Lady
Glenlyon looked at her when she entered the room, she would
have seen that something was impending; for the girl's face
was blanched, and she was quite unnerved by the painful task
she had to perform ; but her mistress was occupied with her
own troubles, and allowed her to proceed with the toilette
in a silence which it became every moment more difficult to
break. At length, however, she summoned courage, and
began:— I have been thinking, ma'am, of what you said
about going to England; and if you please, ma'am, I had
rather not go; so perhaps, ma'am, you had better look out
for another maid.
 Why, I don't know that we shall go ourselves, returned
Lady Glenlyon ; "so you need not give up your place for that.
Mr. Edmonstone is not inclined to go !
 But I've got a place, ma'am, answered Fenton, colouring
violently.  I've been and engaged myself to a lady !
"You have? exclaimed Lady Glenlyon, turning round
upon her.  Then I think you have behaved extremely ill;
and so I shall tell the lady, whoever she is. You had no right
to engage yourself without giving me proper warning.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
275
 I thought, ma'am"—said Fenton.
 Whatever you thought, you should not have done such a
thing! And pray who is the lady ? Fenton burst into
tears.  There's no necessity for crying about it, continued
Lady Glenlyon;  but you must be quite aware that you have
treated me very ill. Is it an English family you are en-
gaged to ?
 No, ma'am, sobbed Fenton.
 Belgian or French ? why you can't speak a word of any
language but your own!
But Fenton sobbed, and cried, and made no answer. Sud-
denly the colour rushed into Lady Glenlyon's cheeks; and she
added, calmly, Yery well; of course you can do as you please.
Let me know what I owe you; and go when it suits you.
Whereupon Fenton's tears redoubled.  That will do; give
me my scarf, and you may go.
Fenton placed the scarf on her shoulders, and quitted the
room. Lady Glenlyon sat for some time resting her head
on her hand in deep thought. Gradually the tears rose to
her eyes, and one after another, slowly, rolled down her cheek.
On the following day, after Yaughan had gone out, Fenton
entered the room with a slip of paper in her hand, and inquired
if her mistress would be pleased to look over her things before
she went.
 It's not necessary; I have no doubt everything is right.
Is that your account ?
 Yes, ma'am ; and this is the list of the things the laundress
has. There is one of your pocket-handkerchiefs missing from
last week, too.
 Very well; here is your money: good-by to you.
Fenton took up the money, curtsied, and left the room
weeping.
CHAPTER XL.
This affair of Fenton, which, after the first moment of sur-
prise and irritation, Lady Glenlyon comprehended, determined
her to quit Brussels immediately. It might be supposed,
considering the terms on which they lived, that she would
not have influence to carry a point of that sort with Vaughan
—for their menage was certainly more like that of a couple
who had been some years married, and were approaching that
stage of incompatibility of temper, of which a separation—
276
LiiJMJNI IAJU.&.VVUU.U.
a Mensa et Thoro—or de Corps et de Biens, as the French
law terms it, was the only conceivable solution. Not that
they fought—or threw the poker and tongs, or the inkstand,
or the knives and forks, at each other, as some couples do,
whom it is falsely said, God has joined together, and whom
man will not allow to break asunder, without, in many cases,
insurmountable forms of law ; but although they proceeded
to none of these extremities, they lived and breathed in an
atmosphere of antagonism, which, had they been married to
each other, would assuredly have broken into words, and in
various ways been manifested much more ostensibly than it
was. Their questionable position—the subjection in which
they had placed themselves before the bar of public opinion—
the right they had given the judgment of the world to arraign
them, operated as constraints, stifled the loud voice of anger,
and arrested the wrathful word. It was incumbent on them,
at least, to be decent—and decent they were ; but with secret
heart-burnings and aversions,thatwere manifested generally by
silence—that is, the abstinence from conversation. They spoke
of things needful,—seldom of anything beyond,—by many a
glance of the eye darted across the table, or a curl of the lip—
not always seen, but rarely unfelt. We are all, more or less,
clairvoyants in similar cases—and often see behind our backs.
Yaughan was a great deal from home; and they took their
daily exercise separately. Nothing could be more solitary
and depressing than Kate's life ; and it would have been so,
even if she had not had the secret sources of regret thatwere
gnawing at her heart. His was a life of depression, too, with
ennui superadded, from which last plague the acuteness of her
internal suffering defended her. She was too miserable to be
ennuied. Yaughan, on the other hand, had no scarcity of
people to speak to if he liked to be social. Men soon make
acquaintance at their places of resort; and the suspicion, or
indeed conviction—for the truth was now pretty well known
—that excluded his unfortunate companion, did not exclude
him from good fellowship at the club or table d'hote. But
he had an uneasy conscience, and a continual sense of inse-
curity, that prevented his throwing himself heartily into any
amusement or pursuit whatever. He was like a man with a
demon, who kept always jogging his elbow, and warning him
not to be merry.
Under these circumstances, Lady Glenlyon's influence was
not likely to be great; but she had a power—the money that
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
277
maintained them was hers. Her settlement had been made
payable to herself, whilst Yaughan had not a sous he could
call his own. In the meantime, ill as they lived together,
with a haughty generosity, common in women, she allowed
him the command of her income; she had begun so, and so
she went on ; but, of course, it was her own to withdraw the
privilege when she pleased. Nothing was ever said on this
subject, for she would have scorned the vulgar revenge of
casting his dependence in his teeth ; but he knew it, and felt
it, and it was one of the bitterest drops of venom in his cup.
Why not fling it away, then ? Alas! these things are
more easily said than done. Danger and difficulty beset him;
and, even if they had not, could he abandon his unhappy
companion ?
 To remain here, under present circumstances, is impos-
sible! said Lady Glenlyon, who had broached the subject
again after Fenton's departure. "I cannot do it, and I will
not. I do not blame the woman, but I will not subject my-
self to that sort of thing any more.
 Well, where would you wish to go P
 Where I said before—to the outskirts of London. I've
always heard tlifere is no place where one can live so com-
pletely unknown.
 I have a great many objections to London.
 I'm sure it would be the best place for you. Perhaps
you're afraid of meeting Glenlyon ?
 Afraid!
 By afraid, I mean you dislike it.
 I should not desire it certainly ; but the Morning Post of
yesterday announces his arrival at Naples.
 He's gone to see my poor uncle Featherstone, no doubt,
said she, with a sigh.  Well, that puts Italy out of the
question; Paris is out of the question—any provincial town
would be as bad or worse than this ; everybody's business in
such places is to discover other people's affairs. What can
be your objection to London ?
 Perhaps I've a few creditors there that might be trouble-
some.
 That may be alleged as a reason for never returning; and
confess to you that that is an alternative I cannot contem-
jjlate. I am determined to go home.
 Home!
"To England, I mean, answered Kate, with a sigh.
278
UXI> ±V A JLjUUA-WUUi^t
 You think you'll be less annoyed there—I don't believe it.
 Well, I am persuaded of it. In those suburbs nobody
knows their neighbours. One sinks into obscurity; and no
creature I ever was acquainted with frequents them.
The conversation was passed in this way for some time,
without making much progress towards a decision ; but for
his fears, Yaughan would as soon have gone to London as any-
where else, and indeed his desire to learn what was become of
Linny would naturally have led him thither; whilst Lady
Gienlyon's whole heart was bent on getting within reach of
her parents. Of her father's forgiveness she had little expec-
tation; but in-her mother's compassion she had hope; and
what comfort the sight of that mother's face would bring!
Her present life was so insupportable, that to look forward to
a continuance of it through the long vista of years that pro-
bably awaited her—for she was not yet five-and-twenty—
filled her with despair. Relief she must have, and where was
it to be found but in her mother's heart P Sometimes, she
• thought of flying at once, and alone ; there could be no doubt
that each would be relieved by the absence of the other. But
a remnant of pride and obstinacy—an unwillingness to parade
before the world the extent of her folly by the suddenness of
her repentance—together with that womanly generosity I
have alluded to, which rendered her loth to leave Yaughan
without the means of support, all combined to withhold her.
She might indeed have offered to divide her income with him;
but she felt that, if they parted, he could not accept it with-
out sinking to a degree of baseness she did not think him
capable of; and, added to all this, she did not forget to attri-
bute to herself the large share of blame that was due in the
production of her own ruin. She looked back upon her in-
fatuation with wonder and disgust; less surprised at the sud-
denness of its extinction, than that it should ever have existed.
Now she saw everything as it was ; she saw that Yaughan had
never loved her, and that the rupture of an engagement that
interest alone had induced him to form, was an event most
desirable. She saw that, although with the wilfulness of her
nature she had set herself against Sir Arthur Gflenlyon, he
tVas really one of the best of men and the most indulgent of
husbands ; with an agreeable person, unexceptionable manners,
and sufficient station and fortune to give her an excellent
position in society. But all this was not enough ; Mordecai
was at her gate; she must have the heart of Yaughan Edmon-
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 279
stone, too! To win that she had sacrificed all the rest; and
- had she won it ? No ; it was farther from her grasp than
; ever; and oh, the malice of fate ! The perversity of destiny!
le ' The inconsistency of poor human nature! She had ceased
I I even to desire its possession!
j It is needless to say that after Fenton's hysterics and Lady
'*■ Crofton's letter, all Brussels became acquainted with the real
Y situation of the handsome couple, who had attracted some
j attention when they were seen daily walking together on
1,1 their first arrival. The circumstances of the elopement and
^ the'names of the parties had become public, and everybody
'E wanted to get a peep at them.
ir;  Dear, I should like to see them ! or,  I have formerly
met her in society; I wonder if she's much altered; or some
P such remark was usually elicited by the information, that the
^ subjects of the newspaper paragraphs which had lately excited
f so much curiosity were at the Hotel de Flandres. Lady
^ Glenlyon read this curiosity in everybody's face. People
51 jogged each other's elbows as she passed them in the street;
the waiter gazed at her as if he had never seen her before;
'''■ and her fellow-lodgers were always peeping out of their doors,
» or contriving to meet her on the stairs as she went in and
I out; or, if they did not designedly do these things, she
fancied they did, which was just as bad. Then Mrs. Yenables
wrote her a letter. It was well intended, but it was the
effusion of a young, innocent, untried mind, which had had
no experiences to enable it to probe the depths of such a
misery. She knew nothing of the real circumstances, and her
arguments and her advice were pointless and inapplicable.
She dwelt chiefly on the sin ; but Lady Glenlyon was not yet
awakened to that view of the case, and Mrs. Yenables' hand
was not the one to arouse her to it. And she talked of re-
pentance—alas! there was repentance enough—not such as
the young preacher 'recommended, indeed; but repentance
deep and agonizing—repentance that brought no consolation,
that opened no door to hope, but that was rending her heart-
strings. The letter appeared weak, and sickly, and imperti-
nent; and, under the access of irritation it produced, she put
it in a cover and returned it to Mrs. Yenables, without a
wcyd of remark—a step which naturally produced an unfa-
vourable impression on that lady and on Mrs. Johnson, her
maid, who had been privy to the proceeding.
"Such a beautiful letter! observed Mrs. Johnson; "it
280
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
would have melted the heart of a stone; but I suppose people
gets hardened in their sins, and don't like to be told of them.
 Such a condescension, too, in missus to write to such
as she! I wonder master let her do it! observed Mr.
Yenables' man.
 No more he would, I'll be bound; but he don't know
nothing about it. She wrote it while he was out, and gave
it to me to give to Pierre, the waiter. I don't think such
people should be allowed into a respectable house like this.
It's enough to drive real gentlefolks out of it.
 I heard Pierre say, said an English valet, who was stand-
ing by,  that he had orders to tell them the rooms were
wanted immediately, so they'll be obliged to cut their lucky.
 Yery proper! said Johnson, with dignity.
 1 should like to see how they'll look when they gets
warning to quit, said Mr. Venables' man, laughing.
"Considerable blue, I should think! rejoined the valet,
echoing the laugh.
The English valet's information proved correct. The hostess
of the Hotel de Flandres was apprehensive not only that the
presence of this exceptionable couple might do her harm with
her English customers, who were of course her most profitable
ones— Les Anglais sont si curieux la dessus, as she sagely
observed; but that persons of such loose morality, and in such
a questionable position, might be found, sooner or later, unable
to discharge their account.
It would have been a study worthy of the investigating
mind of Mr. Yenables' man, had he been present when Pierre
made the announcement that the apartments were wanted for
a family that were immediately expected. It was certainly
an opportunity lost; for the event, being wholly unexpected,
the effect on the features of the unhappy couple was as
striking as any spectator could have desired.
 Bring the bill! said Yaughan; "and order post-horses
for to-morrow at ten o'clock!
CHAPTER XLI.
The bill amounted to a larger sum than was expected—bills
generally do; but, in the present case, there was an additional
item thrown in—a handsome charge for the disadvantage of
having harboured such questionable lodgers; who were, more-
over, not in a situation to dispute the justice of it. Yaughan
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
281
paid the bill with a high hand and a lofty brow, feeing the
servants so liberally that a certain degree of reaction was
produced in his favour. It was admitted that they were  des
gens comme il fautand although the hostess was not in
the hall to speed the parting guests, the domestics were not
wanting in empressement. There were other spectators, how-
ever, whose presence was less agreeable. More than one lady
lodger had stepped out of bed that morning with unusual
alacrity, in order that she might be ready before ten o'clock to
plant herself at the window and watch the proceedings below;
insomuch that, betwixt the ladies' maids and their mistresses,
the windows had quite an animated air. At one stood Mrs.
Yenables, but with greater delicacy than the others—she
shaded herself behind the muslin curtains. Not so her maid,
Johnson, who, since the affair of the letter, had become in-
exorable, and displayed herself without mertry. The tra-
vellers did not look up, but they saw it all or felt it; for
what the eye does not see in such cases, the sensitive heart
knows. Lady Glenlyon wore a thick white veil, under which
she concealed her misery—misery so great, that, after all, this
last mortification was but a small drop in the cup. They
travelled to Calais by Lille and Tournay, taking no interest
in anything they saw, and more like two people driven into
hopeless exile, than running away with each other for love.
As they could not agree about what they were ultimately to
do, they set up their rest at Calais as a mezzo termine; it
brought her nearer to her object, and left him free from his
dreaded annoyances. She felt a certain consolation, too, in
being near the sea. For the unhappy who have either lost
society, or shun it, there is nothing like the sea. It is a com-
panion; for it seems to live—it speaks and moves ; sublime
in its rage; sportive and sparkling in its lighter moods,
soothing and dreamy in its repose. Whilst we gaze upon that
wide, unstable surface, the mind floats away upon its waters,
from this ignorant present, these ignoble griefs ! There seems
nothing real or substantial, in life—no solid joy—no crushing
misery; all is but a vision and a dream, with hues ever moving
and changing, like those restless waters. The most lovely
landscape, the most beautiful situations, encourage melancholy
'in the minds of the lonely—we need some one to share our
delights; but the sea with its noiseless motion and its variable
moods, its deep mysteries and its buried dead—touching upon
sqch far distant shores, freighted with such wondrous histories,
282 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
present and past, is an everlasting book; a poem—itself the
poet; singing its own song; murmuring its own story.
And so for hours upon the shore, gazing on the water, day
after day, sat this unhappy woman, neither thinking nor feel-
ing anything distinctly ; only with a vague consciousness that
she was a lost creature. This was her refuge, whither she fled
from herself, and from her fellow-beings who had the power,
and, perhaps, the will to wound her. It was not till she rose
and turned her face landwards, and paced through the streets
to her own lodging, that she felt the iron in her soul again.
Then she awoke to the full force of her wretchedness and her
disgrace. Then every eye that looked upon her seemed evil;
every casual glance was an affront; every laugh that echoed as
she passed, a meditated insult; yet nobody knew anything
about her—she was to them only  the lonely lady that sat
by the sea-shore.
One day, when she was indulging this contemplative mood
at the water's edge, with a book in her hand, she heard voices
approaching, one of which, as it drew nigh, she recognised.
It was that of her old friend Louisa Menteith—the most
intimate friend of her own sex she had ever had. They were
about the same age; and had been together, at a fashionable
seminary in the neighbourhood of London. Louisa had been
married first—Miss Eardley had been one of her bridesmaids;
and when it was her own turn to be led to the altar, Louisa
was abroad on her marriage tour, from which she was now
returning. Of all the people in the world, next to ,her mother,
Louisa was one whom Lady Glenlyon would have most desired
to speak to. She had been really fond of her; and, as she
possessed greater advantages of fortune than her friend, she
had shown her many kindnesses. Not a few of the ball
dresses and wreaths of flowers that adorned the person of
Louisa Menteith, had been paid for out of Kate Eardley's
liberal allowance. Kate had even helped her to her husband,
Mr. Gordon, the son of a rich Glasgow merchant, who could
afford to take a penniless wife. Cattie herself had been the
first object of his devoirs, but, finding her inexorable, he
transferred his affections to her friend; and was in due time
made the "happiest of men, and Louisa the most grateful of
women to her dear Cattie. "Well, Cattie, dear, she said;
 I shall never be able to return your kindness, because you
have everything in the world you can desire, and being so
handsome and so rich, you'll have everything your own way;
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
283
but remember, Cattie, if ever you do want a friend, tbat there
is such a person as Louisa Gordon in the world. How nice
it will be if, when you're Lady Glenlyon, you could come and
join us on the continent!
Now Lady Glenlyon was not a truster in the world's faith;
she had seen and heard enough of mankind and womankind,
too, to know how little their friendship can be relied upon
when really wanted, or when self-interest puts it to the proof;
or, to speak more correctly, how rare a thing friendship is,
and how .apt people are to deceive themselves when ,they
imagine they feel it; for with friendship, as with a great deal
of the religion that makes a noise in the world, people deceive
themselves as much as they deceive others. But Louisa
Menteith was in her debt for many kindnesses; she had
appeared really sensible of them, and really attached to her
benefactress. Moreover, Lady Glenlyon felt stoutly how she
would act were their situations reversed, and in this respect
she did not overrate herself; for she had plenty of courage
and obstinacy, enough to defy the world and its opinions
when it pleased her. We must always include these funda-
mental differences of character in our estimate of human con-
duct; for that which costs one much, costs another little;
and self-sacrifice may be sometimes greater, but it is often
not so great as it appears. Then Louisa had known more of
Cattie's attachment to Vaughan, and of the difficulties that
had beset her course of love, than anybody. No one was so
well possessed of the circumstances that furnished the key to
her subsequent conduct. She knew that Kate had loved
Vaughan from her earliest childhood; that he had fallen into
adversity; that they were separated; that her father had
treated him harshly: that she married, en depit, a man she
did not love, because she could not marry the man she did.
 And then, Louisa, she had to say,  we met in Paris
quite unexpectedly. He, poor and neglected by the world;
I, rich and coveted by society. Could I turn my back upon
him ? Would you have done it ? Would you not have held
out a friendly hand to the only man you had ever loved on
earth ? I did—I couldn't help it. Then people began to
talk—Heaven knows there was no harm between us ! I gave
him a drive sometimes—for he had no horses—or a seat in my
box at the theatre; and I asked him to dinner. But the
world couldn't let us alone—if it had, no harm would have
happened; but people wrote anonymous letters to Sir Arthur,
284
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
and worried him, and made histories out of nothing, till he
got angry, and then we quarrelled; and, in an evil hour, I did
what I have done—I took the one irrevocable step. God
knows how glad I would have been directly afterwards to
recall the act, and to have been as I was a few hours before,
though I thought myself then very unhappy and very ill
treated. What fools we are ! and how we do play away our
fortunes! I look back upon those days now as if I had been
in a dream; it seems as if I had been bewitched to my ruin;
or that, as Shakspeare says, I had eaten of the insane root.
But, alas ! repentance came too late. There is no retracing!
And she felt how she could have pitied and helped a woman
so situated, and surely Louisa would do it; but she had not
the same confidence in Mr. Gordon, a hard, narrow man, and,
as she instinctively felt, not likely to be the more indulgent
that he had been one of her rejected suitors.
All these thoughts had passed through her brain as the
Gordons were standing behind her. She had recognised their
voices, and stole a glance at their features ; but they had not
a suspicion that the solitary lady gazing at the waves was the
once brilliant Kate Eardley. They were discussing their
future movements, and their prospect of a good voyage across
the Channel. There had been a time when her friend Louisa's
fate appeared to Cattie far from enviable: she used to say,
 Poor Lou ! it is a very good thing for her to get Gordon, for
she's not a girl men generally fancy, and she has no fortune;
but, I confess, I think she pays dear for her carriage and her
luxuries, when she's obliged to take him into the bargain. He
is a man I never could endure! But now, compared to her-
self, how happy, how enviable Louisa appeared! The mere
blessing of freedom that she enjoyed seemed inestimable.
She could go here—go there; recognise whomsoever she knew
—walk unveiled through the streets—present herself un-
shrinkingly wherever she wished to go. Lady Glenlyon felt
as if she was an escaped captive, or the suspected subject of a
despotic government, living under perpetual surveillance.
She shrank from observation. She imagined a significance in
the glance of every eye that looked upon her ; and, if she saw
her landlady in conversation with a stranger, she fancied that
it must be of her they were speaking. Still she ardently
desired an interview with Louisa Gordon—Louisa was going
to England; and would see Mrs. Eardley, and so smooth the
difficulties she apprehended in attaining the object next her
LINNY toCKWOOD.
285
heart. Mrs. Eardley had not been a particularly wise mother;
hut she had been, according to her own notions of what was
essential and desirable, a devoted one to her daughter. Cattie's
prosperity and well doing in the world, had been the chief
object of her life ; and now that unhappy daughter felt that
her mother's arms was the only resting-place she could hope
on earth; and that to throw herself on that loving bosom,
confess her faults, and avow her wretchedness, was the sole
relief her situation could admit of. There she looked to find
ungrudging sympathy—tears that would mingle with her own
—and deserved reproach, so tempered by love and pity that it
would not sting her.
When Mr. and Mrs. Gordon moved on, Lady Glenlyon
rose and followed them, holding her veil over her face, so that
if they turned their heads there should be no premature re-
cognition; what she desired was, to give Louisa an oppor-
tunity of seeing her face unobserved by Mr. Gordon. For
this purpose she kept immediately behind them, watching
for a favourable moment, till they reached the town, where
they presently stopped at the window of a shop, wherein,
amongst odds and ends of trinkets, some watches were dis-
played.
 I wonder whether this man could fit my watch with a
glass ? said Mr. Gordon.
"You'd better go in and ask him, suggested his wife;
and he did so.
"Louisa, whispered a voice, whilst Mrs. Gordon felt her
dress gently pulled;  Louisa! for God's sake come to me!
—here's my address ! and a leaf torn out of the book she
had carried out with her, was thrust into a hand that, alas!
did not open willingly to receive it.
 Can you get a glass, Aleck ? inquired Mrs. Gordon,
stepping into the shop, and, as she did so, dropping the
crumpled piece of paper to the ground.
 Yes; he says he'll fit in a glass, and send it me in an
hour, answered Mr. Gordon.
 Yous n'y manquerez pas! Vous l'aurez; n'ayez pas peur,
monsieur, said the watchmaker.
Mrs. Gordon put her arm under her husband's, and they
descended the steps again.  Stop a moment, she said, as
she looked up and down the street, and picked up the scrap
of paper which, in her first hard impulse, she had dropped.
 What are you looking for ?
286 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 Something I wanted to show you: I'll tell you what it
is when 1 get home.
 What sort of thing ?
 Well, if you must know, it was not a thing, hut a person.
 A person ! what person ? Somebody you know ?
 Yes ; and somebody you know, too.
 English  Yes, English.
 Who ? Tell me who ?
 What do you think of your old flame ?
 I don't know who you mean ? said Mr. Gordon, whose
memory immediately recurred to a certain lady with whose name
his own had once been unpleasantly mixed up—they had, in
short, made themselves the subject of what is called a scandal,
and some rather painful consequences had ensued. But this
was what he would have denominated  an old world story.
He had sown his wild-oats since that; and he was now a
steady middle-aged man of severe morals, who looked with
rigour upon the lapses of those to whom virtue was of less
easy practice than it had become to him.
 I don't see her now ; yes, there she is. Don't appear to
be looking—she's in that milliner's shop opposite—I see her
shawl—a fawn colour—don't you see it ?
 I see a lady in a dark shawl—is that the person you
' 5
mean r
 Yes; come on, now; I don't want her to know we see
her—who do you think it is ?
 I don't see her face; I can't tell. Who is it ?
 What do you think of Cattie Eardley ?
 No! Impossible ! exclaimed Mr. Gordon, drawing up
and wheeling right round, with his face to the milliner's.
 It is her, I assure you. She came up beside me when
you went into the watchmaker's, and tried to speak to me.
That's why I came in to you.
 The devil she did! That's like her impudence! ex-
claimed Mr. Gordon.  I wish I'd seen her do it! I wonder
what she's about here.
 She's here with Yaughan Edmonstone, I suppose, said
Mrs. Gordon.
 I should like to get a look at her, said the husband.
, All the rest of that day Lady Glenlyon spent in waiting
and watching. Yaughan was always out of an evening now.
There were plenty of men at Calais no better circumstanced
than himself, with whom he could associate without any un-
LINNY loC&WOOD.
287
pleasant feelings of embarrassment—men out at elbows in
reputation or in pocket, or both; and the time had already
arrived when no sacrifice was made, or even desired, by his
unhappy companion. Perhaps if Yauglian had seen that his
presence afforded her any consolation, he might have re-
mained more at home; but he knew that it was not so.
There was no illusion now—no attempt at deception; each
knew that the other, though in an unequal degree, repented
the step taken, and each knew that it was irretrievable; for
even Yaughan regretted the elopement. It was true that it
had enabled him to escape his pecuniary difficulties; but it
had separated him from the woman he loved, to link him with
one he did not, and it rendered both these women wretched;
and with all his faults, this was a consideration he was not
insensible to, especially with regard to his wife. But even
in the case of the other, although she had indubitably drawn
her misery upon herself, he could not always forget the long-
epduring attachment that had led to the catastrophe. He
pitied her, but he could not feign a love he did not feel, nor
could he have deceived her if he had tried; neither would
she have thanked him for the attempt—she no longer desired
the love. Even had she conquered his heart, as she had once
hoped to do by her sacrifices and devotion, the victory
gained, the triumph would have been but short-lived—the
longed-for treasure would have lost its value on a nearer
view; as it was, she only wondered how she should have ever
cared for what seemed now so worthless. With these feel-
ings—each conscious of those of the other—they had become
a mutual gene. She lived absorbed in her own thoughts ; his
object was to fly from his; and they were each more at ease
apart.
Thus, it was alone that the anxious hours of that afternoon
passed—alone, that Cattie Eardley, as her former friend
called her, watched and waited, waited and watched, in vain.
She was relieved when she saw Yaughan take his hat after
their early dinner, and go out. She wished him so much to
go, that she feared he would stay. When he was gone she
arranged her little salon, making it look as neat as she could;
and then she seated herself, not at the window, but suffi-
ciently near to have a view of the street. She could have sat
nowhere else, nor done anything else; besides, she wished to
be ready to open the door herself when Louisa came. There
she sat, spraining her eyes in the direction she expected to
288
L1NNY LOCKWOOD.
gee her friend appear; for she had watched them at a dig-
tance, and seen Mr. and Mrs. Gordon enter the hotel. Foi
a long time she sat; and, when she grew weary of sitting,
she rose and paced the floor, always pausing to look up the
street when she reached the window end of the room.
Whether she would come before dinner or after, was a ques-
tion; probably after would he more easy, since Mr. Gordon
was not unlikely to go to sleep ; and Louisa, who had always
shown herself ready enough in expedients when she had her
own ends to gain, would doubtless find a means of eluding
his observation. That she would come, was a hope Cattie
could hardly bring herself to relinquish. Certainly the re-
ception her appeal had met with at the watchmaker's window
was not encouraging, and the dart into the shop was sus-
picious; but this might be merely the effect of surprise at
being so suddenly accosted by an apparent stranger.
 I dare say she took me for some insane person, thought
Lady Glenlyon;  and she may not have known who I was
till she looked at the paper. Good heavens ! she exclaimed,
at length, and her heart began to beat so quickly, that she
laid her hand on her side, and supported herself against the
back of a chair—"here she comes, and Gordon with her!
Oh! I never can meet him. I would rather not see her, than
meet him! I never dreamed of his coming—and yet, per-
haps, he means it kindly. I mustn't refuse—and perhaps hfc
may see my father and speak to him for me and, breathless
with agitation, she drew back to await their ring at the bell.
 Most likely he is only conducting Louisa to the door, and
he will leave her, was her second thought, as they drew
nearer and nearer.
 This is the street! said Mrs. Gordon to her husband.
 Let me see ! is it a pair or impair ? Numero vingt sept—■
impair—there it is on this side ! I think we had better cross
over to the other. It wont do to pass the window.
 Nonsense! why not ? We have as much right to walk
through this street as any other.
 Oh, of course! but I don't want her to see me; or, at
least, not to look as if we had come out of curiosity.
But Mr. Gordon preferred a nearer view.
 I see the house ! said his wife.  It is that new-looking
one With the small bay window. Do come over the way! I
see her, and I'm sure she sees us—she's standing back from
the window, watching us—do cross over!
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
289
^  Indeed, I shall do no such thing! Ladies of her descrip-
tion are not so susceptible that you need he afraid of hurting
their feelings, I assure you. You don't know them. When
women begin to go to the devil, they never stop till they get
to the end of the journey.
Louisa had a conviction that this was a very harsh judg-
ment. Her secret instincts told her that a woman might be
led into error by certain feelings or temptations—feelings not
always in themselves condemnable, or temptations very hard
to resist—and yet recoil from further misconduct; but she
did not choose to dispute her husband's dictum, lest he should
be induced to doubt the severity of her own virtue.
This aphorism, quoted so complacently by Mr. Gordon, has
had its day, and, like other pernicious superstitions, is be-
coming exploded as the world gets more enlightened, and man
more humane. Its birth-place, I think, must have been in
some Eastern country, where men are despotic, and where
women have little opportunity of exercising any virtue but
one, and indeed where no other is required of them; and since
death was considered the appropriate punishment of a lapse
from that one, they certainly had little opportunity of exhi-
biting the redeeming qualities which might have survived
detection. One of the evils of this cruel axiom was, that it
had a dreadful tendency to establish its own veracity at the
expense of its victims. To fling off, in the hours of trial,
those who most need a sustaining hand, is certainly the surest
way to help them on that journey Mr. Gordon condemned
them to; and to persuade a young, erring, passionate creature
that she is utterly lost, is assuredly the readiest.mode of seal-
ing her destruction. Where there is no hope, there can be
no effort; the entire extinction of self-respect is the greatest
misfortune that can befal any human being; and whilst I do
not believe that encouraging a belief in this ruthless axiom
ever prevented an error of the kind in question, because it
does not meet the necessities of such cases, nor combat the
feelings and delusions that lead to such deviations, there can
be no doubt that the inhuman rigour this aphorism counte-
nanced, has lost many a soul that might have been saved—
lost as far as this world is concerned, I mean; for I am far
from thinking that Heaven will second man's injustice—and
has been the fertile source of ten million times more crime
than it ever prevented.
Jffrs. Gordon's curiosity had inspired her with a desire to
T
290
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
see where her old companion lived, and to make any other
discoveries that were attainable without too much indelicacy;
she rather shrank, however, from the pertinacity with which her
husband was prepared to satisfy his. But she had not the
jourage to say so, lest any evidence of pity for the criminal
should be interpreted into sympathy with the crime; and
here, if I had not just delivered myself of one sermon on man's
rigour, I should be disposed to give another on women's
cowardice, which, I am sure, is a fertile source of a great part
of the evils they do and suffer, and suffer to be done. The
horrible dread which women are trained to entertain of the
opinions of other people, quite irrespective of the capacity of
those people for forming opinions, and the state of mental
dependence in which they are educated, would be absurd, if
it were not shocking. But it is shocking; for it is the genuine
source of the very general want of candour, and the too fre-
quent positive insincerity of our sex, which weakens their in-
tellects; for there is nothing more debilitating to the mind
than insincerity—and, instead of straightforward, upright,
independent human beings, converts them into hypocrites and
manoeuvrers. It is this that renders women, generally, value-
less as friends—indeed, incapable of friendship, and too often
unsafe and unreliable even in the common intercourse of life.
So Mr. Gordon dragged on his wife, who cast down her
eyes as they approached Numero 27, whilst a pang shot
through her bosom at the consciousness of her own ingrati-
tude, and the anguish she felt she must be inflicting on one
who had a right to have expected more consideration. Mr.
Gordon stared in at the window; the room was on the ground-
floor, and, although furnished with blinds, he was tall enough
to look over them. As they passed the door, at which she
expected they would have stopped, Lady Glenlyon, in her
surprise and disappointment, involuntarily took a step for-
ward, so that she was in full view, and their eyes met.
- Good God! she exclaimed, "can they mean to pass the
door ? she couldn't believe it; and she moved to the other
side of the bay window, almost expecting to see them turn
back. They might only be reconnoitring the ground before
they rang. But on they went; Mr. Gordon once or twice
turning his head to take another survey.
"Did you see her, Aleck ? inquired Louisa.  How does
she look ? D'you think she saw us ?
To be sure she did. She was watching us all the way up
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
291
the street. Her face was as white as your pocket handker-
chief.
Louisa was going to say "poor thing! hut she arrested
the words before they were uttered. She even wished'now
that she could see her unhappy friend. She felt she was
behaving basely; but then, if Gordon were to find out she
had evinced any sympathy for the offender, it might shake
his confidence in herself. However, she felt depressed and
uncomfortable ; and did not enter heartily into her husband's
speculations as to the bad end  Miss Cattie would assuredly
come to when Vaughan turned her off; which he was certain
to do erelong, if he had not done it already.
With Lady Glenlyon, the first pang of surprise and disap-
pointment over, indignation and contempt took possession of
her mind, and sustained her.
i If this is the world—if these are the friends one loses—
they were at least not worth keeping; I need not sigh after
them / That was her first thought.  I had rather be my-
self, vile as they may think me, than such a base, heartless,
cowardly thing as that! As for him, I always hated him.
I'm miserable enough, Heaven knows! But should I be
happier in Louisa's place ? It would have been a different
kind of misery ;—but I never could have lived with that man!
I knew that when I refused him.
But, then, to blast these somewhat consolatory reflections,
arose the image of Sir Arthur Glenlyon ; his good sense—his
gentlemanly feelings—his reasonableness—his unparalleled
indulgence and forbearance with her humours, irritations, and
discontents. His perfect willingness that she should be happy
in her own way, as long as that way brought no disgrace upon
her own name or his. Never since the world began had any
woman less excuse for the step she had taken, as regarded
what she was leaving behind—never less motive or less illusion
regarding what she was going to. Her self-will—her deter-
mination not to be vanquished—her combativeness, in short,
as the phrenologists call it, the source of some of her best
qualities, had been also, in a great degree, the source of her
most fatal errors. The sharpest sting in her memory now
was the recollection of Sir Arthur—the means of happiness he
had given her, and which she had so recklessly flung away—
the ingratitude with which she had repaid the heavy debt of
kindness she owed him—the dishonour she had cast upon his
stainless name. She had not loved him when she married
x 2
292 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
him; she might, perhaps, had she been willing, hut she was
not—she had made up her mind that she could, love, no man
but Vaughan, and she shut her eyes and ears to the more solid,
but less dazzling merits of G-lenlyon. Still, his sterling quali-
ties would have conquered had they had an open field; but
Yaughan's unlucky advent, and the violent fit of jealousy that
supervened at the sight of Binny's loveliness, counteracted all
the more favourable influences that were gaining the ascen-
dency. Erom that period she had been like a gamester, play-
ing away his all to win some worthless bauble, exalted by his
insane fancy into a jewel of inestimable price—and, like such
a gamester, the less prospect there was of success, the more
desperate she became, and the higher she staked. But if she
had not loved Grlenlyon, when to have done so would have
made her happiness, he had his revenge; for she loved him
now, when that love formed the most bitter aggravation of
her misery and remorse. She saw him as he was—good, kind,
generous, and wise. She fully appreciated his superiority over
Yaughan in every quality worthy of engaging the affections
of a woman—in short, in every respect, except youth, and
beauty of face and figure, which had first dazzled and bewitched
her young eyes. But what was the worth of his youth and
beauty now ? all the favours of nature are good and gracious
in their way, and beauty in men or women is pleasant and
wholesome to look upon ; but it has no sustaining quality for
ourselves or for others—it is charming in fair weather ; but it
will not keep our heads above water when we are struggling
with the storms of passion, or help to free us from the net-
work of our vanities and delusions when they are hurrying us
to perdition.
 If I had had but the wisdom to make Glenlyon my friend!
If I had confided in him ! If I had told him the truth when
I found Yaughan was in Paris ! And she saw how easily it
might have been done with such a man; how he would have
appreciated the candour, and placed himself as a bulwark
betwixt her and her weaknesses. And at this moment, in the
very depths of her wretchedness, there was nobody on earth
she so much wished to see; no one, she felt sure, that would
be so merciful; no one that would make so much allowance,
and so thoroughly comprehend the bad and the good that was
in her, as the husband she had forsaken. And as she sat pon-
dering upon this (alas! too late) object of her devotion—long-
ing with a hopeless longing for that true friend—she resolve^
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
293
tliat she would not leave the world without acquainting him
with the real state of her feelings.  He shall know I loved
him at last—and he'll not despise the love, guilty as I am !
But when was she to leave the world ? Sir Arthur might
very probably leave it before her, for she was young and
healthy, and much less likely to die of grief than he was ; but
the fact was, that a project had been for some time floating in
her mind, that has often entered the minds of young unhappy
women, who could see no way out of their troubles—and this
was, that she would by and by turn Catholic, and go into a
convent in some part of the world where she was utterly un-
known; not, perhaps, to take the veil, but there to live under
a feigned name, unrecognised, and therefore undespised; whilst
the world should remain ignorant of her fate, and she for ever
out of hearing of its censure. There she pictured herself, un-
happy of course, but calm ; freed from the irritations, the dis-
gusts, the daily and hourly mortifications, that attended her
present situation. She would retain a sufficient portion of her
income to pay for her board and give her a respectable position
in the convent; the rest she would make over to Vaughan,
and he could rejoin his wife and spend the money as he pleased.
There would be enough to keep them from want; and this,
she felt, would be some expiation of the wrongs she had done
to them both; for she did not delude herself now; and she
was quite aware that, left to himself, Yaughan would never
have sought her aid, or a renewal of their acquaintance. This
scheme may appear extremely romantic to some people; but
similar ones are more frequently formed than the world sup-
poses. "Repose! repose! repose ! is what the desperate soul
cries out for. What in happier days would have appeared a
living burial, looms now a bed of rest. Where the incidents
of life are all painful, and there appears no possibility of their
becoming otherwise, what can be so much desired as a life
without incidents ? A dull monotony, a dreamless sleep ?
 Give me rest! give me rest! cries the tormented soul; and
so cried Lady Glenlyon!  Bear me from the sting of the
human eye! from the cold glance of suspicion! from the petty
pangs that make up such a dreadful sum of daily suffering!
Allay this eating anguish of my heart! Quell the fiend within
that's ever gnawing at my breast!
Where the circumstances are such as do not exclude the
wretohed from society, it is there, in the vortex, that this ex-
tinction of sensation, this annihilation of individuality, is often
294
LIN3NY .LOOK-WOOD.
sought. A man carried along with a mob, dragged on from
before, pushed on from behind; cheering and huzzaing only
because others do it; or hissing and hooting for the same
reason, is not more divested of his individuality than is many
a one borne along on the more brilliant current of society.
But extremes meet: and in the monotony and discipline of
conventual life, where each member of the establishment
forms but an insignificant limb of a large body, individuality
is equally annulled. Lady Glenlyon did not reason in this way;
but she felt, or fancied, that there repose was to be found.
There was all the force of contrast, too, to allure her. The
less the future resembled the past, the more inviting, or at
least the more endurable, it appeared.
But, before this plan was put in execution, she must see
her mother. To Glenlyon she could make no advances, but to
her mother she could; and although Mrs. Eardley had not
been a wise mother, nor was a wise woman, and although her
qualities of mind and heart were far inferior to those Cattie
had so madly flung from her when she forsook her husband,
still there was a strong maternal instinct—and on this her
daughter relied. Her ardent desire, therefore, was to go to
England and obtain an interview with her mother. There was
a dreadful moment looming in the distance, when, without
her mother's love and support, she thought she should surely
perish. She had hoped Louisa Gordon might have aided her
in this project; but she saw there was no help to be looked
for there; and if not there, not anywhere; and this conviction,
together with the spur of the late mortification and disap-
pointment, clenched her resolution and impelled her into
action. Her difficulty was Yaughan, who would not consent
to go to England; and her aversion to entering into any dis-
cussions or explanations with him—an aversion that aug-
mented from day to day, as from day to day the distance
betwixt them widened. She could not tell him she intended
to give him the money, because she felt it was like offering
him an insult, which he might feel obliged to resent by a
refusal to accept her bounty; whilst she did not wish him to
suppose she was going to throw him penniless on a world
which she had rendered more his enemy than it was before.
She might have left him under the pretext of a journey to
London, in order to obtain an interview with her mother; but
she knew that he would feel, as well as herself, that any separa-
tion must be final—so strong was the repulsion, that the feeble
LINNX LOCKWOOD.
295
link which held them together once broken, there could be no
reunion—once apart, they were parted for ever.
Something, however, was to be done now, and this some-
thing engrossed her the rest of the evening ; she formed her
plans and she commenced her preparations. She had no maid
now but a little French girl, named Celestine, whom she had
temporarily engaged at Calais, who was in raptures at the
superies toilettes her mistress's trunks contained, and desolee
that, instead of exhibiting them, madame would wear nothing
but a sombre robe de taffetas noir. She had sent Celestine out
of the way, and commenced packing her trunks herself, when
Yaughan returned home, and knocked at the door of her bed-
chamber. Supposing it to be Celestine, she said,  What do
you want ?
 Open the door, if you please! I want to speak to you, he
answered. She opened the door, closing it behind her as she
passed into the salon.  Are you ill ? he said, looking at her
with some surprise, for she was in her dressing-gown, and
flushed with excitement and exertion.
 No, only busy.
 Then you're not going out to walk this evening ?
 No. Why?
 If you're not going out it does not signify.
I may go out a little later. Is there anything you wish
me to do ?
 Nothing; but I wish to warn you that there are some
people here you might not like to meet—Louisa Gordon and
her husband, on their way to England. I suppose they'll be
gone to-morrow.
 Thank you; I've seen them.
 Seen them! Have they been here ?
 I saw them pass the window.
 Well, I thought it better to tell you.
She made no further answer, but stood looking at him with
closed lips, waiting to hear if he had more to say ; but he had
not, and he felt embarrassed, conscious that the warning,
though well-intended, was a stab, since it reminded her of her
degradation, and testified to his own sense of it. He took up
his hat, walked to the window for a moment; and then saying,
 Well, I think I shall go out again, he quitted the room
with a feeling of annoyance which made him regret that he
had troubled himself about the matter.
296
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
CHAPTER XLII.
"No! what? Mr. Lockwood—so it is! cried Mr. Gamble,
as he passed through the different stages of doubt into cer-
tainfcy. "I'm glad to see you, sir, he added, as he held out
his hand, for Lockwood was a very different person now to
what he had last seen him; and the addition of sir, was an
unconscious compliment to the well-fed look and the good
clothes, both of which contrasted strongly with the lean
haggard figure and shabby attire which had presented them-
selves to his eyes on a former occasion.
 Walk in, sir, and sit down. You'll take a glass of some-
thing after your walk ?
"Nothing, I'm very much obliged to you, answered
Lockwood.  I'm come to pay my debts, and to thank you for
your friendly assistance when I was really in need of it.
"Well, sir, I'm really glad to hear things is better with
you. I heerd you was in Paris from my nevey. Did you—
hem! Did you succeed in what you went about ?
 Why, I did, and I did not, returned Lockwood.  I soon
found out where he was ; but he was carrying it on with the
fashionable folks—though where he got the money was a puzzle
to me, unless his wife had some—you know he's married ?
 Why, yes, sir; so I s'pose, answered Mr. Gamble.  You
didn't happen to see his wife ?
 No ; I might, for I was sent with a letter to her ; but as
I suspected it was an errand I shouldn't choose to have any-
thing to do with, I left it with the porter. However, he's
gone off with another man's wife now—who do you think ?
"It ain't Miss Eardley as was ?
"The very same, returned Lockwood.
 I heerd as she was off with somebody; but I didn't know
.•is it was he. My stars! You don't say so! They was always
thick, I believe.
 She would have married him, if her father would have
let her; and, as it has turned out, it would have been better
if she had.
 But you didn't find out anything about that business of
yourn ?
 Why, I did and I did not, as I said before, answered
Lockwood, who now related the circumstances of his seeing
the bracelet at the jeweller's, and of his interview with Sir
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
297
Arthur Glenlyon;  but the next day but one just as I thought
I had got him, he was off with her ladyship—I don't know
where—and so slipped through my fingers; but I shall go to
the police-office and mention the circumstance—I'm resolved.
 By the by, did you see an advertisement in The Times
newspaper from the police-office, begging you to call again ?
Least ways, I thought as it was you they meant.
Lockwood said,  He had not; but that he should certainly
go there as soon as he had time to look about him.
 I only arrived yesterday, he continued,  and I wished
to pay my debts to you the first thing I did; and I wanted
to ask you if you know anything about my poor wife and
daughter. I've written several times, and never got any
answer.
Of Mrs. Lockwood, Gamble could safely say he knew
nothing : with regard to Linny, he hesitated. It was scarcely
possible that the secret of her connexion with Vaughan could
be much longer concealed from the father, though by a series
of accidents it had been so hitherto. Still, as the communi-
cation would be a very painful one, and now, since the elope-
ment, more so than ever—he felt he would rather prefer
leaving it for somebody else to make.
"He'll know it by and by, thought he; "and ill news
always comes soon enough.
 1 can't do anything till I've found out what has become
of them, said Lockwood, on learning that Gamble could give
him no information.  I went this morning to the lodging
where we last lived ; but the people that were there then, have
left the house, and I can't find where they're gone to. On
Sunday I hope to get time to go to the school where Linny
was teacher, though I wrote to her there from Paris, and got
no answer.
 Then you're in a situation ? said Mr. Gamble.
"I'm living valet with Sir Bryan O'Grady, answered
Lockwood.  It's not what I was used to, and I should have
thought being in service at all a terrible degradation formerly ;
but we judge of things by contrast, and I've suffered enough
to make me thankful for a clean bed and a wholesome meal.
 Very true, sir; none of us knows what we may come to
afore we die. There's Mr. Edmonstone now—not the young
chap, the old gen'leman, I mean—I see him one day, lately,
looking uncommon seedy. I made as if I didn't see him
though, for I felt aulc'ard-like, thinking of old times, you
298
L1NHY LOCKWOOD,
know, sir, said Mr. Gamble, observing tbe cloud that passed
over Lockwood's face at the recollection of the man who had
been the cause of his ruin ; for with that recollection came
the picture of his once cheerful home, his comfortable wife,
and lovely daughter; the world's esteem, the placid security,
the fearless conscience; for although it was true that he had
committed no crime, the knowledge that he was suspected of
one, from the stigma of which he could not clear himself,
pursued him like a consciousness of guilt.
 It has come back upon himself, sir, said Mr. Gamble,
who, without knowing the particulars of that awful passage in
his life which had first caused Lockwood's dismissal from the
bank, was yet aware that his subsequent reinstatement in Mr.
Eardley's confidence had arisen from the conviction that not
he, but Mr. Edmonstone, was the real defaulter.  It has
come back upon him and his. I never see'd a miserabler-
looking man in all my born days than he is now.
Lockwood sighed, and was silent. He could not forgive
M*. Edmonstone; but the memory of their boyish friendship
and rivalry, and the love and allegiance he had once felt
towards him, and duly paid, touched his honest heart as he
contrasted this picture of wretchedness with the gay, pros-
perous, young master of Marlow.
On the Sunday following, when Sir Bryan had started for
Richmond, Lockwood fulfilled his intention of paying a visit
to Mrs. Barnard's establishment. He did not expect to find
his daughter there; but it was possible he might obtain some
information that would enable him to trace her and her mother.
At the period of his first disappearance from home, whilst he
was wandering over the country a fugitive, and almost a
maniac—for the terrible illness which had made him the
inmate of an hospital was but the climax of a long delirium—
his mind was too entirely possessed by the one subject to have
care or anxiety about any other. It was not till that crisis
was past, and the mental balance restored, that his natural
affections resumed their sway. Since his former visit to Mr.
Gamble, he had been extremely anxious to discover what had
become of his family; although poverty, the desire of conceal-
ment, and the fear of involving them in his troubles, had
hitherto impeded his inquiries. Now, however, he felt bolder.
In the first place, his nerves were in better trim ; he did not
feel like a hunted hare, who at every turn might meet an
enemy, as he had done for some time past. He saw, too, that
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
299
Sir Arthur Glenlyon had believed his story, and hoped that
he might influence Mr. Eardley to do the same; whilst
Vaughan's late exploit was not likely to render them more
incredulous. Relieved, therefore, in some degree from those
personal anxieties, which make us all more or less egotistical,
his anxiety for those who had been so dear to him revived in
full force ; and it was with a beating heart that he inquired
of Daniel—who appeared with the same sour face, plum-
coloured coat, and bunch of keys, as when Linny first went to
offer herself as a teacher—whether Miss Lockwood was still
there.
 Lockwood! That's she that was English teacher—no,
she ha'n't been here a long time.
 Wasn't she here the last half year ?
 No ; she's left this long time !
 Do you know where she went to when she left this ?
 Not I! said Daniel.  I don't know nothin' about her!
and he spoke in a manner that implied he did not wish to
know anything. The fact was, that the manner of her depar-
ture had made anything but a favourable impression in the
household, it being naturally supposed that the elopement
was premeditated, and the story of her father's illness a pure
invention; and Daniel's notions of female propriety being
extremely rigid, as became the Cerberus of such an estab-
lishment, he did not consider the whereabout of Miss Lock-
wood a proper subject of inquiry at that gate which she had
desecrated.
 Can I see Mrs. Barnard? said Lockwood.
 She's engaged, and can't see nobody, answered Daniel,
curtly.
 Well, said the other, getting angry,  I am Miss Lock-
wood's father, and I've a right to come here and inquire for
her.
 Be you ? said Daniel, looking at him with some curiosity.
"Humph! Well, I tell you she ar'n't here, nor likely to be
here, and it's no use inquiring of them as can't tell.
 Wortt tell, you mean, I think. What became of the letters
I addressed here to her from Paris ?
 There corned a letter from some furein part; but missus
wouldn't take it in.
It is true that this colloquy might have been simplified by
a frank narration of the mode of Miss Lockwood's departure,
but such communicativeness involved a degree of familiarity
300
XlNNY XOCKWOOD.
quite opposed to Daniel's ungenial nature; besides that, since
an elopement was an event calculated to throw discredit on an
establishment of which he considered himself an important
member, he thought the less said about it the better. Lock-
wood might perhaps have persevered further; but, not having
the right clue to this repelling reception, he began to seek for
the cause in himself. The rumour of his supposed crime had
reached Mrs. Barnard, and the odium had extended to his
poor child, who had probably lost her situation on his account.
This apprehension depressed and silenced him, and he turned
from the gate with an air of despondency that almost moved
Daniel to relent; but whilst he hesitated whether he should
speak or not, Lockwood had turned a corner, and was out of
sight.
This disappointment, and the suspicion that his family
might be suffering under the odium of his reputed criminality,
however, had the effect of sharpening his somewhat blunted
purpose. We all know the influence of time and habit. These
potent powers had somewhat subdued his irritation, and
deadened his acute sense of injury. The change from want
and the life of a homeless wanderer, to one of abundance and
ease, had had its composing effect. We are so dependent on
the influence of external circumstances, and on our animal
nature, that such results are no reproach ; they are inevitable.
But the visit to Mrs. Barnard's having quickened Lockwood's
purpose, he resolved to lose no time in seeking his own justi-
fication, and convicting, if possible, the real criminal. Had
Sir Arthur Glenlyon been in England he would have gone
straight to him; but he was absent, and he could only, there-
fore, address himself to Mr. Eardley, or the police-office. To
say the truth, he had a nervous dread of both; but as the latter
had summoned him, through The Times, to repeat his visit,
he preferred on the whole presenting himself there ; besides
that delaying to do so, now that he was in England, might
appear suspicious; so on the following day he proceeded to
Marlboro'-street, and having mentioned the motive of his
visit, was told to wait.' After an interval of about half an
hour an officer conducted him into a private room, and desired
to know what he had to say; whereupon Lockwood related
his story, including the circumstances that had lately occurred
in Paris.
"We advertised for you at the desire of Mr. Eardley; when
he heard you had been here, he wished to see you about that
1INNY LOCKWOOD.
301
business of the parcel. You had better go to him. Do you
»kdow where the young man is now—Edmonstone I mean ?
At Brussels, I believe.
' Are you acquainted with a young man called Tiggs ?
;£ I knew Tiggs when I was in the bank.
:£ Was he a visitor at your house ?
' Never. He has been in my house; but he never visited
there.
 Do you know what he's doing now ?
££ No ; unless he is still in Fleet-street.
££ Was he ever intimate with your daughter ?
££ Never! May I ask the reason of that inquiry ? I want
to know where my daughter is.
££ I think we can help you there, if you'll wait a minute.
Her address is, under cover, to Mrs. Martin, staymaker, High-
street, Islington.
 Indeed, said Lockwood, both surprised and alarmed at
finding the police so well acquainted with Linny's residence.
 No doubt, he thought, "both she and my wife have been
suffering for my misfortune.
However it was consolatory to know where she was at last:
and he hesitated whether to go first to her or to Mr.
Eardley. The latter was the most important certainly, as
there he hoped to find those means of justification which would
enable him to present himself to his daughter with a cheerful
and confident aspect; for if it is painful to be thought guilty
by the world, it is still worse to be thought so by those dear
to us; and how far Linny might believe him guilty he knew
not. So to Mr. Eardley's he went. As he approached the
house he observed straw was laid down in the square, and he
found the knocker tied up. He rang gently at the bell, and
was answered by a stranger. Now, that Lockwood was well
fed and well clothed, he had recovered somewhat of his former
air of respectability, and perhaps he even still retained a little
of the odour of Fleet-street about him, for the servant mistook
him for a messenger from the bank.
 If it's business, I suppose Mr. Eardley will see you, he
said;  but missus is very bad.
 Indeed! I'm very sorry to hear that. Has she been long
ill ?
 Yes, these three weeks; but she's taken a bad turn, and
the doctor says she's dangerous. However, you'd better come
in, and I'll let master know you're here.
302
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 Trouble! trouble! everywhere trouble! thought Lock-
wood, as he cast his eye round on' the appliances of wealth
and splendour, and seated himself in the hall to wait while the
servant went upstairs. It was a comfort to find himself there,
however.
What strange things had happened since he last sat in one
of those mahogany chairs ! What anguish he had suffered the
last time he stood on those steps! What an age of misery
ne had lived through since! Here he was, however, once more;
and he trusted with some prospect of justification.
Lockwood rose as Mr. Eardley descended the wide staircase
with a grave countenance and a slow and heavy step. The
rich banker and the ex-clerk were more on a level now; for
misery is a great leveller, and sorrow had been busy in that
house. Since the news of Cattie's elopement reached them,
neither the father nor the mother had held up their heads.
Such a catastrophe would, under any circumstances, have
been dreadful; but that Yaughan Edmonstone should be the
companion of her flight was a climax. He whom they de-
tested; whose family was disgraced—he from whom they had
separated her both by art and force—by manoeuvring and by
authority. The beloved and only daughter was ruined for
ever; her reputation blasted ; her happiness destroyed—and by
him whom they had spurned and despised ! Mr. Eardley fan-
cied that Yaughan had been prompted to effect his daughter's
ruin from a desire to obtain this triumph, and be revenged for
the injuries and insults he conceived himself to have suffered ;
but in that suspicion he wronged him. Vaughan had been
led on by quite other circumstances and motives. However,
this persuasion only added to the bitterness of the cup ; and
as Lockwood, in obedience to his signal, followed him into
the library, he could hardly believe that that bowed back and
tottering step belonged to Mr. Eardley. He would have ex-
pressed the sincere sympathy he felt; but in his present po-
sition, perhaps still considered as a culprit, his doing so might
be thought a liberty. Out of the fulness of the heart, how-
ever, the mouth speaketh, and Mr. Eardley himself said,
 We're in great trouble—Mrs. Eardley is very ill.
 I was grieved to hear it, sir. I hope the danger is not great!
Mr. Eardley shook his head and sighed.
"I heard, he said, "some time since, of your visit to the
police-office, and that you believed you had found some clue
that might lead to the recovery of that parcel.
LINNY LOCKWOQSTV
303
 Not to it's recovery, I'm afraid, sir; but I always bad a
suspicion that I dropped it in Oxford-street, and that it was
picked up by a person that I know was following me at the
time.
 Following with the intention of robbing you ?
 No, sir, I've no reason to suppose that; but he happened
to be behind me; and, as soon as I missed it, I couldn't help
suspecting him.
 But why didn't you come here and say so ? We might
have got hold of him, and recovered the things.
 You know, sir, I was not sure. I'd only my own suspi-
cions from knowing the circumstances of the person—I don't
know, sir, whether you are aware—hem! who  and here
Lockwood began to hesitate and stammer, it having suddenly
come into his head— a thing he had entirely before forgotten
—that he could not tell his story without approaching a sub-
ject not to be alluded to by him in the presence of Mr. Eardley.
"I do know, answered Mr. Eardley, compressing his lips.
"But had you any reason—besides your knowledge of his
circumstances—to suspect him?
 Not at the time, sir; but afterwards, when I learned that
just at that period—the very next day, in fact—he was flush
of money and off for the continent. He paid a pretty heavy
bill, to my certain knowledge, before he went, to Mr. Gamble.
 Gamble ?
"Yes, sir; he keeps the King's Arms, Vauxhall-road. He
lived groom at Marlow before he came to London, and so he
was known to the family, and gave Mr. Yaughan credit.
 And that was the day after you lost the parcel ?
 The very next morning, sir.
 And you are sure he was behind you when you dropped
the parcel ?
 I'm sure he was behind me at the time I thinh I dropped
it. It was a very windy night, if you recollect, sir; and I'd
an umbrella in my hand, and just as I was passing a chemist's
shop, near Johh-street, the wind took it and turned me com-
pletely round, and it was then I saw him by the light of the
shop lamps. I was wondering, as I went along, what he could
be doing there at that time of night—
 And have you met with anything to confirm your sus-
picion, besides his paying that innkeeper's bill ?
 Why, sir, as soon as I heard of it, I went to Paris affcar
him. I was told he was there; and one day that I had to
304
liiwy lockwood.
go about a little business of my own to a jeweller's on the
Boulevards—a circumstance happened— in fact, I saw a
bracelet that I recognised as the one, at least it appeared to
me exactly the same—
"If you please, sir, you're wanted up-stairs, said the foot-
man.
"Is Dr. W come?
"Yes, sir.
Mr. Eardley desired Lockwood to await his return; but,
after an interval of about an hour, a message was sent down
requesting him to call again.
CHAPTER XLIII.
Tiggs, who had formerly been junior clerk in Fleet-street,
having developed somewhat too decided a taste for gold chains,
mustaches, and cigars, had lost his situation; and as he had
grown into a sort of loose fish about town, who could give no
very good account of himself, he became liable to suspicion on
being seen in bad company. It was for this reason that his
fellow passengers by the Heavy Dover had been examined
respecting him, and thus it followed that Linny's address
came to be known to the police.
Forlorn and friendless on her arrival in London, her first
business had been to seek her parents at the lodging she had
left them in; but the house was no longer inhabited by the
same people, and the new residents could give her no infor-
mation. She then had recourse to the shopkeepers in the
neighbourhood with whom they had dealt, butchers and
bakers, &c., but they knew nothing either; and it was not
till one of them promised to make inquiries of the postman,
that she obtained a clue by which she succeeded in tracing her
mother to the place in which she had died, and learned that
the only person who had been with her in her last moments
was a certain Mrs. Martin, whom she knew to be a distant
relation pf the family. Of her father, the pfeople of the house
could tell her nothing; they had always understood that he
was dead. These were overwhelming tidings to Linny, for
with her parents she lost the only links that seemed now to
unite her to her fellow-creatures. She felt like a waif cast
upon the strand, with none to own her. No husband; n<f
father; no mother; no friend! She begged the woman would
allow her to repose a little while till she had recovered the
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
305
shock of this intelligence ; and, seated in the little hack parlour
her mother had occupied, and in that very arm-chair in which
shortly before her death she had confronted Mr. Edmonstone,
Linny wept her bitter tears of regret and remorse. How dearly
these fond parents had loved her; how tender and indulgent
they had always been; how entirely her happiness and pros-
perity had been their first object in life; and, in return for
this, she had deserted them for one who in a few short months
had deserted her ! Left them to struggle with their difficulties,
to weep, to die alone! Oh love—selfish, absorbing love—
what crimes have you not to answer for! And yet whilst she
lamented and bewailed, whilst she mourned for her parents and
accused herself, she felt that she loved Yaughan still. A love
that has once taken firm root in a woman's heart is so difficult
to eradicate—unkindness, desertion, sometimes even cruelty,
will not do it! Yet, had she had an idea of her mother's
situation, she would have come to her ; but the money given
to pay the foreign postage, small as was the sum, was too great
a temptation to the miserable drab of a lodging-house servant,
and the two letters Jane had written to her daughter had
never been forwarded.
 And did no one come to see my mother in her illness P No
one but Mrs. Martin ?
"Mrs. Martin sent in a doctor, answered the landlady;
 but he said as how nature was exhausted, and he couldn't
do nothin' for her; but he ordered she should drink a couple
of glasses of good port-wine every day, and eat whatsomdever
she'd fancy—but, lauk ! how was she to get it ? She'd a small
allowance from a gentleman up in Cavendish-square; he sent
her some wine, too ; and when she died, Mrs. Martin gave 'em
notice, and his steward corned here and gived orders to bury
her. She war'n't so old ; and she just died of trouble, I think i
for she often used to sigh, and cry, and take on sadly; and
she said she'd once been very different off.
These words were daggers to Linny's heart. That kind, fond
mother, that she had really so tenderly loved! And now, alas!
there was no reparation. She was gone beyond recall—gone,
perhaps believing that her daughter's neglect was wilful!
"And was it not ? suggested conscience. "Ought I not to
have come to England to seek my parents ? But how could
I leave Yaughan P would he have allowed me to leave him p
And then I shrunk from encountering my father's displeasure.
Thus do we sin against those who have best loved us; ani
TJ
306
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
when it is too late, and they are gone, we recall their lost love
and cry,  Alas ! there is no reparation now. She had left
father and mother to follow Yanghan, and how had he requited
her! With a heavier heart than she had known yet, Linny
next directed her steps to Mrs. Martin, whose address she had
learned at the lodging, her mind divided, as she went along,
betwixt grief for the past and anxiety for the future. Material
anxieties are in their claims so urgent and imperative, that
they are apt rudely to push aside more delicate cares; and
she found herself occasionally forgetting that her parents were
dead, to think how she was herself to live. Still her father's
fate perplexed her. She remembered the obscure hints, referring
to something regarding him, which she could not understand
in that one letter she had received from her mother. She
remembered that there was something said about the prola-
bility of never seeing him again; but which she had inter,
preted into an expression of his displeasure at her marriage.
Had he been dead, the word probability would not have been
used; perhaps the expression referred to his illness; and if so,
she regretted more than ever that she had not hastened across
the Channel to ask his forgiveness before he expired.
Engrossed with these thoughts and sorrows, the distance
she had to walk was unconsciously traversed; and she found
herself at Mrs. Martin's door before she had made up her
mind how she intended to introduce herself—whether as
Linny Lockwood or Mrs. Yaughan Edmonstone. Eor various
reasons she felt an intense aversion to presenting herself in the
latter character; but then she recollected that, in all proba-
bility, no choice remained to her, as doubtless Mrs. Martin
would have heard of her marriage through her mother.
Mrs. Martin was a widow with a prosperous little business
in staymaking, and the manufacture of some other articles of
female attire, baby-linen inclusive—various samples of which
were exhibited in the window. On one of the panes was posted
a square of white paper, inscribed with the words—a good
hand wanted. This advertisement caught Linny's eyes as she
approached the house, and she resolved to take advantage of
it till she saw her way a little; for Mrs. Martin was quite
unknown to her, although she was aware of the slight family
connexion that existed betwixt her and her mother. The good
lady was standing behind the counter in a neat black gown,
and a close cap with a little odour of widowhood about it—a
fashion she had adopted ever since her husband's death—selling
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
307
a pair of baby's woollen shoes, when Linny opened the glass-
door and stepped in. As the baby was not willing to have
the shoes tried on, the sale occupied more time than it should
have done; and whilst the mother was coaxing the infant
into submission, Mrs. Martin turned to Linny, who, tired by
her walk, and exhausted by her feelings, had seated herself in
a straw-bottomed chair that stood by the counter, saying
respectfully,' What can I show you, ma'am ?
 I will wait, if you please, answered Linny,  till this lady
is served; whereupon Mrs. Martin, apparently thinking the
baby's shoes were occupying too much of her time, called in a
young girl who was at work in the back parlour, and, having
transferred the affair to her, informed her supposed new cus-
tomer that she was at her service.
 I wish to speak a word with you, said Linny, rising, and
moving as far as she could from the woman and the child.  I
see by the bill in the window, that you want a good hand—
at plain needlework, I suppose ?
 Yes, ma'am, and stay-stitching.
 Do you give lodging and food ?
 That depends, ma'am. Sometimes we do, and sometimes
not; it depends on the wages.
Linny wished Mrs. Martin would not keep calling her
ma'am; but the truth was, that instead of looking like the
good hand, she had all the air of a person of a class superior to
the inhabitants of the suburb who were in the habit of dealing
there. A dress made in Paris, of plain but good materials, a
delicate complexion, beautiful features, and graceful carriage,
gave her an air of distinction, not in Paris—but at Islington
—of which she was unconscious, but which naturally influ-
enced Mrs. Martin's manner. This respect, however, embar-
rassed her.
"I want such a situation, she said, with some confusion.
 Is it a young person you want it for, ma'am ? Has she
been used to the business ?
 It's for a person who has never been in such a situation
before, hut she understands needlework perfectly. Circum-
stances render it necessary that she should get her living, and
I think you would find her useful. She can do fine work, too,
if required—baby's caps, or anything of that sort; and
she would prefer smaller wages, and to live under your
roof. . *
"Well, ma'am, if you cap recommend the young person, I
ir 2
308 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
shall be willing to give her a trial. When could she come ?
for I'm rather short of hands just now.
"Immediately. This evening, if you please.
 I'll wait upon you directly, ma'am, said Mrs. Martin to
a full-blown, suburban-looking lady, attired in a very showy
gown adorned with bugles, and a bonnet decorated with
feathers.  You didn't mention the young person's name, I
think ? she added to Linny.
 I'll introduce her to you to-night myself, answered the
latter.  You will be more at leisure when your business is
over. When do you shut up ?
"About eight, ma'am.
 Yery well; she will be with you about that hour.
To get out of the inn, which was expensive, and find herself
earning her daily bread under a safe and decent roof, was a
most important object to Linny, and one the attainment of
which had sorely puzzled her, especially since she had learned
the loss of her parents. The rest was an impromptu, sug-
gested by the bill in the window, and she felt extremely glad
that she had executed the little manoeuvre so successfully.
After eating a bit of cold meat and settling her account,
Linny waited anxiously for eight o'clock, when she put herself
and her luggage in a hackney-coach, and proceeded to Isling-
ton, the landlord not forgetting to remind her that she had
promised to leave her address, in case her evidence should be
required respecting her fellow-travellers; and it was thus that
her place of residence became known at the police-office.
The shop was shut when the coach stopped at Mrs. Martin's
door, which was opened by Betsy, the same girl Linny had
seen in the morning. After the man had lifted her trunks
into the shop she discharged him, whilst Betsy stood eyeing
the luggage with wonder—a bundle, or at most a small deal;
box, being the usual allowance of the girls who accepted such
situations; whilst here were two leathern trunks, a bonnet
box, and a carpet bag, besides sundry smaller matters.
 Is Mrs. Martin at home ? inquired Linny.
 Yes, ma'am; please to walk into the parlour. Missus is
upstairs—she'll be down directly.
 Would you have the goodness to go up and say that I
wish to speak to her alone for a few minutes ?
 Yes, ma'amand Betsy presently returned, followed by
Mrs. Martin, who bade her take her work and a candle into
the shop for a little while.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
309
 Is the young person here, ma'am ? inquired Mrs. Martin,
as Betsy disappeared through the door and unwillingly closed
it; for the sight of the luggage, and the dismissal of the coach
without any appearance of the expected "sewing girl, gave
her an inkling of mystery, extremely exciting to her inquisitive
nature.
 I am going to surprise you a little, perhaps, answered
Linny,  when I tell you it is for myself I want the situation.
 For yourself, ma'am ? exclaimed Mrs. Martin, staring at
her, and beginning to feel a suspicion that there was some-
thing wrong.
 You do not know me, continued Linny,  and I am
much altered since you saw me. I was quite a girl then—
but I am a distant connexion of yours!
"Indeed, ma'am! replied Mrs. Martin; whilst, as she
looked into the beautiful young face, she found the image of
Jane Wedgewood, as she had seen her in her youth, rising
before her. Here was much more beauty, much more refine-
ment and grace; but the family likeness was there.
 You have heard of Linny Lockwood—and I have learned
this morning that you kindly attended my poor, dear mother,
in her last hours. These last words were more sobbed out
than spoken; a circumstance that tended to mollify the heart
of Mrs. Martin, whose prejudices had been excited against
Linny by her apparent neglect of her mother.
"But I understood you were married? said Mrs. Martin.
 So I am ; though I do not wish anything said about it at
present, returned Linny.  If you will kindly let me come
and work for you, I wish only to be known as Miss Lock-
wood. You'll find I can do all you require; I was always
accustomed to do needlework at home. Mamma was a very
good worker, and she taught me.
 I'm afraid you'll find it very irksome, objected Mrs.
Martin.  I've a deal of business, and I require a person to
sit at it a good many hours. To look at you, you don't
look as if you'd been used to anything of that kind.
 I have not, certainly, answered Linny;  but I must get
my living somehow, and, on many accounts, I wish to be under
your roof. It will be more respectable for me, and you need
not fear that I will shrink from the work; if I do not give
satisfaction, you need not keep me, you know.
 It isn't that so much, only it seems so odd like to see you
so out of your place; but, as you say, folks must earn their
310 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
bread if it isn't given them. But you haven't left your
husband, I hope? Excuse me—but 
 I have not left him; he left me, answered Linny, sadly.
 I don't think he would have done it if we had been better
off! but we were in difficulties, and he had been brought up
in a way that made poverty fall very hard upon him.
 But he left you in poverty, I suppose ?
 But I don't mind it so much. If he could only have
been reconciled to a different way of life, I could have been
quite happy. But he couldn't—and temptation was thrown
in his way. I am certain he didn't wish to leave me.
Mrs. Martin naturally thought this the delusion of an over-
fond woman, and she shook "her head incredulously; but as
Linny's tears were chasing each other down her cheeks, she
forbore to contradict her.
 But how was it you did not answer your mother's
letters? she inquired, in order to turn the conversation.
 I answered the only two I ever received, answered Linny,
 and put them in the post myself; but she never wrote again.
Some time after I wrote another letter, and I gave it to
Yaughan to post, and perhaps he neglected to do it. Having
subsequently become aware that her husband did not wish her
to maintain any intercourse with her family, it had occurred
to her that this was possible.
 Your mother told me she had wrote to you, and your not
answering or coming to see her in her last illness, made her
feel very much.
 But where was my father ? asked Linny, weeping bitterly.
"The Lord knows! answered Mrs. Martin; "nobody's
ever known what became of him. Your mother always
believed he'd made away with himself.
 My father make away with himself! exclaimed Linny.
 At any rate, he never came back after that business. He
went away, and nobody ever heard of him after.
"My father went away! What business do you mean ?
"I thought it happened before you was married, replied
Mrs. Martin, proceeding to relate the circumstances that had
caused Lockwood's disappearance, which she had heard from
his wife whilst attending 011 her, immediately previous to her
death; for it was not till she found her days were numbered
that Jane sent for this distant member of her family, with
whom little intercourse had hitherto been maintained.
It is needless to dilate on the pangs of grief, regret, and
tINNY LOCRWOOD.
311
remorse, this narration inflicted on the hearer. That she
should have abandoned her parents at such a crisis—that they
should have died ignorant of the deception that had been
practised upon her—was most distressing; whilst ever and
anon would intrude the recollection, that he for whose sake
she had laid this burthen on her soul, had forsaken her. He
had paid her back in kind ; requited her as she deserved ; so
whispered conscience.
 Why should I arraign him for what he has done ? Could
he owe me more than I owed papa and mamma? And,
although I did leave Mrs. Barnard's under a false impression,
I was undeceived immediately; and I might have insisted on
going home.
This was the natural attitude of self-reproach her mind
assumed, and, for the moment, she forgot her love or under-
rated its power. It seemed to her now that she had only to
put forth a little resolution, and the result would have been
different; that she was free to act otherwise, had she pleased.
Was she ? It's a nice question : when will it be answered ?
Linny, however, did not consider the thing thus; she only
saw one side of it now. She had been governed by the
strongest motive; the love had carried the day; and, in her
self-condemnation, she did not pause to inquire with what
arms the strongest motive is to be assailed.
Mrs. Martin and her unexpected guest sat up till midnight,
discussing these sad events ; and when Linny retired to her bed
it was not to sleep, but to weep and wonder at the complica-
tion of ill-fortune that had befallen her family and herself.
Her father seemed to have been pursued by an evil fate, and
the unlucky period selected—as far as she knew, accidentally
—for her marriage appeared like a climax of persecution. On
the following morning she arose as soon as she heard any one
stirring in the house; and, on descending the stairs, she found
Betsy cleaning out the back parlour. The girl stared when
she looked and saw who it was; for she had been sent to bed
the night before, and remained uncertain what had become of
the strange lady, in whom she did not for a moment suppose
she saw the  new sewing girl.
"Please, mum, I shall have done in a minute, she said;
 missus is in the kitchen. Missus was preparing the break-
fast, and Linny descended and offered her services.
"You must let me do everything like the rest, she said,
seeing that Mrs. Martin was unwilling to accept of her assist-
312
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
ance,  or else I shall not feel I am earning my wages. I
have to get my living, and I must work for it.
 But I can't help thinking you might get something to
do more fit for you. Your mother told me you were teacher
in a school.
 So I was ; and I would rather live with you, and sweep up
your kitchen a thousand times, than go hack there if they
would take me ; which I'm sure they would not.
By the time the breakfast was ready, two or three other
girls made their appearance, and they all sat down together
in the kitchen to take their meal, which the more juvenile of
the party could scarcely eat for staring at the lady, who ap-
peared to them so strangely out of her place. Their amaze-
ment was in some degree mitigated by learning that she was
missus's cousin; still, she remained for some time an object
of wonder and interest; her beauty and air of refinement pro-
ducing an effect very common on young fancies.
As Linny was a superior hand at the needle, and as her
smooth-skinned hands enabled her to turn out her work more
delicately clean than the others, Mrs. Martin was very well
pleased with her bargain. Her presence, too, was a guarantee
for diligence and attention during the "missus's occasional
absences, when business called her from home; so that she
soon felt Miss Lockwood was a treasure, and, being a worthy
woman herself, they got on very well together. The only
dissatisfied person was Betsy, who thought she had lost caste
by having this stranger placed, as it were, over her head.
This Betsy—having been ever since she was ten years old in
Mrs. Martin's service—had gradually assumed a certain
degree of influence and authority over the other girls whose
engagements were more temporal. When Mrs. Martin was
out, Betsy was the responsible person; she spoke to the cus-
tomers, served in the shop, kept the others to their work, and
threatened to complain of them if they were idle. But, with-
out anybody intending it should be so, Betsy now, somehow,
lost her position, whilst Linny quite unconsciously usurped
it. Under these circumstances, it was not likely that she
should entertain a very cordial sentiment towards the usurper;
nor did it tend to placate her, that the young people soon got
the key to her feelings, and when they had an opportunity
played upon them.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
313
CHAPTER XLIY.
Now that Loekwood knew where his daughter was, and ex-
pected through her to learn what had become of Jane, his
mind was easier—especially as, through Mr. Eardley's inves-
tigations, he hoped to be able to vindicate his character, and,
what he called, "put the saddle on the right horse; although,
as I have said above, time had habituated him to a separation
from those formerly so necessary to his daily happiness, now
that he saw a prospect of reunion, he became very impatient;
and he promised himself that, on the morning after his inter-
view with Mr. Eardley, he would request leave for a few
hours, and proceed at once to Mrs. Martin's. But it so hap-
pened, that in the course of that day Sir Bryan 0'Grady
accepted an invitation to spend a week in Norfolk, and as he
was to start the next morning, Lockwood's visit was inevit-
ably deferred. He might have written ; but he preferred
announcing himself in person to sending a letter, which could
not explain everything, and which he was not quite sure might
reach the person it was intended for.
When his master was dressed and gone away to dinner, and
Loekwood had prepared everything for the next day's journey,
he went out to make a few purchases for Sir Bryan—gloves,
perfumes, and so forth, and, amongst the rest, some gilt-edged
letter-paper, which was to be bought at a certain stationer's
in Yere-street. In those days, the shops were kept open
much later than they are now; and it was betwixt eight and
nine o'clock, when, having called at a music-shop in Dean-
street, Soho, to purchase a newly published Irish melody,
with which Sir Bryan expected to bewitch the ears of the
ladies at Lamport, Loekwood was proceeding on his way to
Yere-street, when it occurred to him that he would go through
Cavendish-square, and inquire how Mrs. Eardley was,, the
sudden summons to her husband in the morning having been
explained by the servant when he let him out, in a manner
that testified to her immediate danger.
"Missus is going fast, I b'lieve, said he; "the doctor
thinks she'll be gone afore night.
The Eardleys had, on the whole, behaved very well to him;
quite as well as could be expected by people (emphatically)
of the world, and he felt very sorry for the man thus doubly
bereaved—the wife dead, probably; the daughter worse; and
he left alone.
314-
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
Lockwood looked up at the windows as he approached the
house; there was a light in the bedroom on the second floor,
where Mrs. Eardley lay. The rest of the house, except the
hall and the offices below, was all dark. As he ascended the
steps, he hesitated,—should he ring or not ? The spirit might
be at that moment departing out of the body ! That solemn
separation, that new birth, might be even then. transpiring!
The sound of the bell, and the bland inquiry  How is Mrs.
Eardley? seemed a desecration. Whilst he paused with his
hand on the bell, he observed a'person standing by the rails
just behind him. It was a female figure attired in black—all
black except the bonnet, which was of white straw; but over
it was thrown a large square of black lace, which was held by
the hand of the wearer in thick folds over the face, so as en-
tirely to conceal the features. He judged from her attitude
that she was waiting for him to ring the bell, probably come
to make inquiries like himself; and, under this impression, he
pulled it. An interval elapsed before the door opened, longer
than usual, during which the stranger remained still. When
it was opened, and Lockwood advanced, she ascended the
steps and stood immediately behind him.
 How is Mrs. Eardley now ? inquired he.
 She's alive, and that's all, said the man; "least ways,
she was, just now; but the doctor expects every minute '11
be her last.
 Is she sensible ? Hoes she know people about her ?
 No ; she hasn't known'nobody since yesterday.
 How is Mr. Eardley keeping up ?
 He's terrible bad, poor man! He was a good deal broke
afore, and this has come very hard upon him.
Lockwood shook his head and sighed as he turned away; the
female figure turned away also; and the man shut the door.
There was no necessity for Lockwood's returning through
the square after he had made his purchases in Yere-street;
indeed it was out of his way to do so; but there is to many
minds a strange fascination about that solemn scene, that
makes one linger near the spot where it is acting, to gaze at
the faint light that gleams from the death-chamber. Even
to those who do not bring it home, this grand mystery of life
is an awe and a wonder; children will look with amazed eyes,
and listen with pallid cheeks at the door of the dying, for the
faint sounds and stealthy steps within. Some such feeling, it
probably was, that took Lockwood through Cavendish-square
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
315
Sgarn, and directed his eyes to that window, as he crossed
diagonally from the west to the north side, on which Mr.
Eardley's house was situated. As he did so, he skirted the
rails of the enclosure; and, whilst his eyes were thus directed
upwards, he nearly ran against a person who was leaning
against them, apparently absorbed in the same contemplation
as himself. A casual glance satisfied him that it was the same
female he had before observed. She stood immovable, taking
no notice of him as he passed in front of her; and, when he
looked back, he saw her still in the same attitude.
On the next night, at the same hour, he was in the steward's
room of a great house, where the ladies'-maids, dressed for
conquest, were coquetting with the gentlemen's valets ; whilst
he, and two other elderly members of the second table, were
enjoying a game at whist with the housekeeper.
When the week had elapsed, he and his master returned to
London, whither they arrived in the evening; and, between
nine and ten, he found time to run up to Cavendish-square.
 She is to be buried to-morrow, said the servant,  at two
o'clock; and master goes away to the country directly after.
There was a time when Lockwood would have attended
that funeral as a sort of retainer of the family, and even now he
felt a wish to be there ; so, putting on his best black suit and
a crape round his hat, he walked to the square. The hearse
was at the door, and several black coaches and private carriages
were in waiting—the poor clay was to be carried in state to the
worms' table! Lockwood did not make any attempt to enter
the house, but stood quietly by the steps, intending to follow
the cortege on foot. He rather wished Mr. Eardley might
see that he made this acknowledgment of fealty. Whilst thus
waiting the bringing forth of the coffin, he observed, not in
the line of the carriages, but standing apart near the rails of
the enclosure, a hackney-coach with the glasses up and the
blinds half down. There was somebody in it, but he could not
see who. Presently the door opened, the coffin was brought
out, and the hearse moved slowly on. A black carriage, with
four black long-tailed horses, drew up, and Mr. Eardley, sup-
ported by a friend, appeared upon the steps. Lockwood stood
by with his hat in his hand ; Mr. Eardley passed him without
raising his eyes; but his nerves were so shaken, his limbs
were so infirm, that in stepping into the coach he missed hit
footing. Lockwood darted forward and seized him by thj
arm; Mr. Eardley raised his eyes, and recognised him, Lock'
816
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
wood! he said, grasping his hand with a countenance of an-
guish. Lockwood returned the pressure; it was the  one
touch of nature;"—the rich and the poor; the wealthy banker
and the poor clerk were at that moment brothers.
The procession moved on, Lockwood accompanying it on
foot till they reached the churchyard. In the rear of all came
that hackney-coach—who could be in it ?
Lockwood was in the church during the reading of the
service, and stood behind the mourners at the grave. There
was another mourner there, standing further off. It was the
same female he had observed on a previous evening—at least,
he thought it was the same figure; hut she was now in deep
mourning, with a thick crape veil over her face. She had, a white
handkerchief in her hand, and, from the frequency with which
it was applied to her eyes, appeared to be weeping bitterly.
Lockwood was so much touched by that grasp of the hand,
and even gratified—for it seemed like an acknowledgment of
his honesty—that as the ceremony concluded he moved to the
gate, and was ready again to assist Mr. Eardley into his car-
riage. There were other arms held out to sustain that trem-
bling frame, hut it was Lockwood's he leaned on, and Mr.
Eardley bowed his head to him as the carriage moved away.
There were several faces there well known to the ex-clerk;
some did not observe him, as he stood back with his hat over
his eyes, thinking of past days, and of Gervase Edmonstone
and Yaughan, who should have both been there—others did
not care to recognise him; but Morland, his old comrade,
started with surprise and held out his hand.
"Is it possible! he exclaimed.  Why, man, we heard
you were dead. I'm glad you've thought better of it.
 God knows, I've suffered enough to kill most men ! re-
plied Lockwood;  but I hope now I'm going to get out of
my troubles—at least, so far as vindicating my character. I
think, at last, I can put the saddle on the right horse.
 I'm very glad of it; I hope I shall see you again, said
Morland, as a gentleman took his arm and proposed that they
should walk home together.
When all were gone, Lockwood moved away too.
At a little distance from the other carriages stood the
hackney-coach, which now drove up to the gate; as Lockwood
looked back, he saw the unknown mourner step into it, and
drive away in an opposite direction.
It was astonishing what a vivifying effect these friendlv
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
317
ihakes of the hand, these acknowledgments of old acquaint-
Snceship and good-will, had on Lockwood. He could walk
frith a firmer step now, and look men in the face, instead of
«reeping about with downcast eyes, like the outcast he felt
himself to be. He might enjoy some happiness yet, if he
could only rejoin his family ; a measure of happiness indeed,
which, considering all he had irrevocably lost, he would have
once thought niggardly; but which, contrasted with his late
misery, he welcomed with a glad heart. In the meantime his
daughter was serving her apprenticeship to her new trade.
No doubt it is a tedious thing to sit all day with a needle in
your hand, especially when you are stitching away at things
you have no personal interest in; for I have known ladies, for
sport, work as hard and unremittingly with their Berlin-wool
or their embroidery, as if they were doing it for their daily
bread. It was a sort of life Linny had never had any experi-
ence of before, and she often felt dreadfully weary before the
day's work was done; but it was a physical not a moral
weariness. Young creatures who are chained to a work-table
—little better than being chained to the oar, except as far as
the disgrace is concerned—whilst their hearts are panting for
liberty, and green fields, or perhaps for less pure delights, grow
as weary in spirit as in body; but where could Linny find
green fields now ? what use could she make of liberty if she
had it? None. The shelter of Mrs. Martin's roof, although
purchased by an irksome labour, was a most timely relief from
her embarrassments; whilst the services she was able to ren-
der in return secured her good treatment. She was not
happy ; that she never expected to be again. Her regret and
remorse, her abused love, and her grief for the fate of her
parents, pressed heavily upon her; but she was calm, and
becoming more accustomed to the monotony of her daily life.
Triste as it was, she sometimes asked herself whether she was
not, on the whole, I will not say happier—but less unhappy—
than during the latter part of her life with Yaughan, when
she was tormented by hourly doubts, fears, and anxieties ?
Then she did not know what was coming. She discerned
impending misfortune, but not the precise shape it would
take; now she knew the worst; and it is wonderful what
comfort there is in that. It is true, she did not always think
thus. These were her good moments, when her common
sense prevailed over her weaknesses. But at other times the
wronged love triumphed; raging and storming, aching and
318
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
gnawing within her breast. Then she longed for Vaughan
with a longing unconquerable; and she felt that, to he pressed
to his heart once more, and hear him swear he loved her,
would he a compensation for all she had suffered. In this
external uniformity and inward alternation betwixt calm and
tempest, the days glided on without an event, till at length
the monotony was broken in a very unexpected manner.
There was a hell to the shop door, which was the signal to
Mrs. Martin, when she was working with the others in the
hack parlour, that a customer had entered; when she was
absent or engaged, to attend to this hell was Betsy's office;
and one day, when Mrs. Martin was out, Betsy having been
thus summoned, came back and said,  It's a gentleman wants
Miss Lockwood.
The common phrase, her heart was in her mouth ! is the
best expression of the sudden sensation produced in Linny's
breast by this announcement. Of course, she leaped to the
conclusion that it was Vaughan; what other gentleman could
inquire for her? forgetting that he did not know where she
was; and that it was not by the name of Lockwood he would
have inquired for her. The sudden spring of the heart was
followed by such a reaction that she thought she was going
to faint; the blood forsook her cheeks and lips, and her limbs
felt so powerless that she could not rise from her chair.
Betsy, quick-eyed, and from jealousy observant of Mrs.
Martin's new favourite, perceiving the effect of her announce-
ment, and concluding that Miss Lockwood expected a lover,
resolved to enjoy her discomfiture.
 It's an old gentleman, she said;  his hair is quite grey.
This announcement had a very sobering effect; the only
gentleman with grey hairs she had lately been in eommunica-
tion with, was her travelling companion, the hop-grower; he
had expressed a wish to see her again, and doubtless he had
somehow found her out—she wished he had not taken the
trouble; and rose unwillingly to go. There was a glass door,
with a green curtain between the two rooms, and Betsy,
desirous of witnessing the interview, drew the curtain aside,
that she might have a peep, and it is not everybody who looks
through a peep-hole who is so well rewarded for their pains.
Mo sooner did Linny's eyes fall on this unexpected visitor,
than she threw up her arms, and exclaiming,  Oh Grod! my
father! she rushed into his embrace.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
319
CHAPTER XLV.
Many were the tears shed that morning to the memory of
poor Jane Loekwood. Linny had taken her father up to her
own little bedroom, and the shock of learning his wife's death
for some time banished all other subjects. It was not till they
had eased their hearts by expatiating on her goodness and
her griefs, that Linny at length said, in answer to an observa-
tion of her father's referring to his own absence,  but why
did you leave her, father?
"I was mad, I belieYe, replied Loekwood. "I knew
nobody would believe me; and I couldn't bear to stand before
men's faces and read in their eyes that they thought I was a
liar and a thief; I thought a curse had fallen upon me, and
that every man's hand was against me.
 But then you were ill ?—you were delirious, you mean ?
 Perhaps I was; I don't know. All I remember is, that
I longed to get away from every creature that had ever known
me; and if I could have rushed away into a desert I should
have done it. You have no idea what I have suffered in con-
sequence of the loss of that parcel.
 I never heard anything of it till Mrs. Martin told me,
said Linny,  but surely— Here, however, Loekwood inter-
rupted her. In the hurry and excitement of the conversation,
it had not been made clear to him that Linny had been alto-
gether absent from J ane, and he now naturally inquired if her
mother had never told her.
 I was not with my mother when she died, answered she,
shrinking from the confession she had to make, the effects of
which she dreaded.  I didn't see her for a long time—in
short, I was abroad; but that is too long a story to enter on
now, as you say you can't stay; but tell me, father, where
have you been all this time ?
 Where! half over England, I believe ; at least, I know
that one day I found myself in an hospital two hundred
miles from London. Then I went to Paris—but I had a?,
object in going there.
 Indeed! said Linny, feeling the blood rush into her face*
from the natural suspicion that that object must be herself.
 I don't wish to say anything to give you pain, Linny—
it's all over now, thank God! and you are safe; but you had
a happy escape—a happy escape, I can tell you.
320
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 Indeed! said Linny again, rather shrinking from asking
what he alluded to.
 You know, I suppose, what has happened ?
"No! answered she.
 He has eloped with Lady Glenlyon—Miss Eardley that
was—I needn't say who I'm speaking of—young Edmon-
stone, of course—broken her mother's heart, and her father's
too. I saw Mrs. Eardley laid in the ground yesterday ; and
he'll soon follow her, if I'm not much mistaken. Left his
own wife, too. You know he was married, I suppose ?
 Yes ! faltered Linny.
 God help his wife, I say ! Scoundrel!
 You were always unjust to Yaughan, father.
 Unjust! You don't mean to defend him now, I hope ?
 I don't defend what he has done; but there may have
been reasons and temptations that 
 That what ? What reasons and temptations can justify
anybody's running away with another man's wife,and forsaking
his own, I should like to know ?
 Well, father, but you must remember that you disliked
Yaughan before he had done that, or anything else to deserve
it.
"His father had done something, though, and 
 But that was not Yaughan's fault. It was a prejudice,
and nothing else.
 You may call it a prejudice, or what you please, Linny;
at any rate, he has justified it.
 Many men—gentlemen in high life—do the same thing,
and the world does not call them scoundrels, father; though
of course they are blamed,* and justly. I do not mean to
defend Yaughan; but you are bitter because you hate him.
 Hate is a strong word, Linny, but if I did hate him,
God knows I've reason !—at least, I believe, as sure as I sit
here, that he it was that has been my ruin. It was he that
picked up that parcel, and nobody else.
 What parcel ? said Linny, perplexed.
 The parcel I dropped that night—the money and the
jewels.
 Vaughan picked it up! Impossible, father! and again
i occurred to her that he was not altogether in his right
senses.
 You may think it impossible, but I believe it—I firmly
believe it.
LINNY LOCKWOOD,
321
 This is, a delusion, my dear father; it is indeed. You have
suffered a great deal, and this idea about Yaughan has got
hold of your mind; but only reflect a little on the impro-
bability of Yaughan's picking up a parcel you dropped in such
a place as London! Think of the million chances to one
against it 
"But I saw him—I saw the fellow behind me.
 You saw him ! Then why didn't you reclaim it ?
 I don't say I saw him pick it up; but I say I saw him
behind me when I dropped it. But 1 know, Linny—and I'm
sorry to see it—that it is useless to talk to you about
Yaughan Edmonstone. I should have thought, after what
has happened, that that infatuation was cured; but I see
nothing will cure you till his true character's exposed to the
world ; and that it shall be soon, if I live.
 Father, said Linny,  I don't understand what you
allude to, and I cannot help believing you are under some strange
delusion about Yaughan. That he may have been imprudent
I don't deny, and I can't deny that he has now behaved very
ill; but to say that he would pick up a packet containing
money and jewels in the street, and retain them, is a calumny.
Besides, how could he foresee you would drop the parcel ?
Perhaps you mean to imply that he intended to rob you of
it. Linny spoke not without bitterness, honestly believing
that this suspicion was the mere offspring of prejudice.
Yaughan had wronged her cruelly; but, on the other hand, a
woman who has once really loved a man is not easily cured
of that love, as long as she believes that he returns her affec-
tion, and Linny had a secret conviction that, in spite of all
appearances to the contrary, she still reigned in Vaughan's
heart.
It is true, that to have eloped with Lady G-lenlyon from
motives of interest was worse than to have done the same
thing for love ; it was adding baseness to crime. But since
the greatest crime a man can commit in the estimation of a
woman who loves, is not to love her—Linny's judgment was
not free as long as she fancied her husband guiltless in this
particular. At times she was racked by jealousy; but yet
she believed that Yaughan, ere this, must have deeply re-
pented the step he had taken. She believed that he regretted
her; and, in the far distance, she had occasional glimpses of
a day of reconciliation and reunion, when he would be cured
of his follies by experience and suffering—and when he would
x
322
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
love her more than ever for the forgiveness she intended to
have ready for the asking, and the tender assiduities with
which she would seek to stifle his self-reproaches and make
him happy. All this may appear very weak to strong-minded
women, but Linny was not a strong-minded woman; and,
besides her enduring love for Vaughan, her imagination had
always been touched by what she considered his heroic and
generous preference of her humble self over the rich and well-
born ladies from amongst whom he, no doubt, might formerly
have selected a wife.
 No, no ! answered Lockwood, firmly,  I am not talking
so much without book as you think. That I have proof
positive against him, I don't say ; but this I will say—that I
have what would be considered strong presumptive evidence in
any court in England; and if I don't bring it home to him, I
shall be very much surprised, more especially as I'm pretty
certain I shall have Mr. Eardley and Sir Arthur Glenlyon on
my side. It is not likely they will wish to spare the man
that has brought ruin and disgrace on the family. I saw Sir
Arthur in Paris—and I've seen Mr. Eardley since I came
back; of course he's not in a state to attend to business
just now—and Sir Arthur is still on the continent; but Mr.
Eardley desired me to see him again ; and, as soon as it would
be proper, I shall go and put him in possession of all the
facts.
 What facts ? inquired Linny.  If you have anything
really against Yaughan, I think, father, you are bound to tell
it to me first. Poor Linny ! she spoke here in her character
of wife ; forgetting that she had no right to urge a claim, the
foundation of which she had not acknowledged.
"I don't know that! answered Lockwood; "you are so
weak about that scoundrel, that I don't think you are to be
trusted.
 Tell me, father ! she said;  if I am so weak, it is the
more necessary I should know what you allude to.
"Now, said Lockwood, after he had given her a. sketch
of the circumstances on which he grounded his suspicions,
 you see the chain of evidence—strong presumptive evidence
—against him. He is close behind me at the very moment
in which I feel confident I dropped the parcel; the next
minute he's gone—turned up a side street, no doubt, or
crossed to the other side. On the following morning he is
flush of money, and starts in a great hurry for Paris, although
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 328
it was well known before tbat he hadn't a shilling to bless
himself. There he lives in a fashionable hotel 
 It was not! interrupted Linny.
"Not what?"—"Nothing—go on, father.
 There he lives, I say, in a fashionable hotel, dressing like
a gentleman—where did he find the money to keep it up, I
wonder ? And then, that bracelet—I could swear to that
bracelet anywhere—and the people refusing to account for
how they came by it! Linny sat aghast.
 Father ! she said, when she could draw her breath, lay-
ing her hand on his arm ;  don't do anything in this ! He-
member, Yaughan may not be guilty, and yet he may not be
able to clear himself. Don't, I conjure you—don't do any-
thing to harm Yaughan ; you'll break my heart if you do--
you will, indeed !
 Don't tell me !'' answered Lockwood, with natural indig-
nation.  Am I to suffer all my life under an unfounded
suspicion, and use no means to justify myself? I'm sur-
prised at you, Linny; I should have thought, for your own
sake, if you have no feeling for me, that you would wish to
throw off such a disgraceful imputation.
■  Don't think I have no feeling for you, father!—I have,
indeed. But there are reasons—such strong, strong reasons—
and overcome with distress, she burst into tears.
 Then you are attached to him still ? said Lockwood.
 Oh, father ! I can't help it. If you knew all.
 Good God! after he has married another woman, and
eloped with a third—not to mention the injury he has done
to me!
 That is but a suspicion, father; I can't believe that
Vaughan would do such a thing—I wont believe it!
"There—you have said it! responded Lockwood; "you
wont believe it. You are infatuated, Linny ; and you would
rather your father died under this cruel stigma—you would
rather. it should break my heart, as it did your mother's, than
expose that scoundrel to the infamy he deserves.
 Father, said Linny,  I know I am going to give you
pain—I know I'm going to make you very angry ! Perhaps
even you'll never forgive me! and she fell upon her knees
before him, and laid her head in his lap.
 What are you going* to say now ? asked Lockwood, ner-
vously.  God knows I've had trouble enough, and I didn't
expect you were going to give me more. I came here to-day
x 3
324 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
in the expectation of a happy meeting, for I thought yott
would be rejoiced to hear that I had a prospect of clearing
my character ; and I find that your mother is dead died of
a broken heart—for of that there can be no doubt; and that
you, instead of having any feeling for her, and for me, think
of nobody hut that fellow, whom I hate—God forgive me!
hut I can't help it. It's you thatmake me do it.
"Well, father, said Linny, raising her tearful face, and
looking steadily at him,  I had better speak out; for I am
only deferring what must come at last. Don t think I am
insensible to the sufferings of yourself and my mother. But
there is another I am bound to care for, too—ill as he has
behaved. I know you will be very angry—but, dear father,
I am married to Yaughan !—Yaughan is my husband !
 Gone to be married ! Gone to swear a truce !
So says Constance.
 Married to Vaughan Edmonstone ! Married to the man
of all others he hated ! Married, and forsaken! so said
Lockwood. His brain was in a whirl—his breast was torn
by conflicting emotions—perplexity, grief, disappointment,
anger, indignation. What was to be done now ? Before his
interview with his daughter he thought he saw his way; now,
he could not see it at all. Was there to be no justification ?
no revenge P—for even for revenge he thirsted—no turning
away the chalice from his own lips to the lips of the
guilty ? was he to live and die the victim of that father
and son p They seemed like a fate—a destiny, pursuing him
to destruction.
As he walked back from Islington that day, the people who
met him might have thought him intoxicated; his step was
so irregular, his gait so unsteady, his looks so wild and absent.
He could not justify himself now but at the expense of his
daughter's husband; and although he had left her declaring
he would do it, he felt that he could not go to Mr. Eardley
and put arms in his hands that would inflict so deadly a
wound upon Linny. She was no less dismayed. At times
she indignantly rejected the belief of Yaughan's guilt; but at
others the presumption against him was too strong for her
faith. He had never told her where he obtained the money
he had when he went to Paris; and always lost his temper
when she alluded to the subject. But if he had done this he
was base and contemptible beyond expression, and she recoiled
from him with loathing. Then she saw him as he was—
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
325
handsome, well-bred—looking so complete a gentleman; so
proud, too ! What right had he to be proud if this was true ?
And, if he were guilty, was it just to her father to let him
suffer for her husband's fault—and yet, could she be accessory
to any proceedings that should expose that husband, and cover
him with infamy ?
This question caused a painful struggle in her mind, and
turned to bitterness the meeting betwixt the father and
daughter, which otherwise would have been so satisfactory.
The consequence was, that they saw little of each other, and
when they did meet it was under restraint, both avoiding the
subject nearest their hearts.
CHAPTER XLYI.
Oh done est madame ? said Yaughan one day to Celestine,
as she entered the salle a manger with the tureen in her hand.
He had returned at the usual hour for dinner; and, having
brushed his hair and washed his hands, was standing at the
window looking into the street, when, on the appearance of
thepotage, he made the above inquiry,  Oudonc est madame ?
 Mais, partie ! responded Celestine, staring at him.  Yous
ne savez pas cela? she added, on observing the surprise ex-
pressed in his countenance.
 Gone! When p Where is she gone ? he asked.
 In the boat—to England—this morning; about two hours
ago. Dieu! and you didn't know it! C'est drole, 9a!
 Gone to England! has she taken her trunks—her lug-
gage ? asked Yaughan, endeavouring to conceal his astonish-
ment.
 Some ; the rest are to be sent after her."— Sent where ?
 Mais je ne sais pas, moi. Hasn't she told you ?
 She will write, probably, said Yaughan, as he helped
himself to some soup, which he ate uneasily, conscious of the
inquisitive eyes that were upon him; for this was not the
first time Celestine's curiosity had been awakened regarding
her master and mistress; and she had not neglected to inform
her confidants, male and female, that it was a  menage tout-
a-fait extraordinaire!
They did not quarrel, certainly; but she was aware that
this unhappy couple lived in a state of complete disunion.
 He never walks out with her; and when he's at home
they rarely speak. If they quarrelled, T could understand it
326
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
better. Mais les voill., vis-a-vis l'un de l'autre, sans mot dire,
pour des heures entieres! Dieu! je n'y tiendrais pas, moi. Je
prefererais, mille fois, etre injuriee toute la journee!
 Et cependant c'est une femme jeune et belle, remarked
the confidant;  et avec un air de distinction tout-a-fait remar-
quable.
 Elle dtait veuve! je crois, observed Celestine; "for all
her linen, she added,  is stamped with the letter ' G.' So
are her trunks and other things.
At a later period Celestine went so far as to hint that she
had  ses idees Id-dessus / Ideas that were certainly forti-
lied hy the mode of her mistress's departure.
The news, strange and unexpected as it was, did not spoil
Yaughan's appetite ; and he went on eating his dinner mecha-
nically. He was, in fact, rather stunned than grieved. In
one point of view, Lady Glenlyon's departure was a great
relief; in another, the event was very embarrassing, and ba-
lanced betwixt the two—the relief and the embarrassment—
his immediate condition was rather apathetic. When he had
eaten his dinner, and Celestine had disappeared, he went into
Lady Glenlyon's room in the expectation of finding a letter,
as he hardly thought she would leave him without a word of
explanation. There was none, however ; and after looking at
the two trunks with  C. G. on them, that stood in the
dressing-room, he put on his hat and walked down to the
pier, to endeavour to collect his thoughts.
They were parted! for well he knew that she would never
return. The separation, though never discussed between
them, had become a necessity; the seed of that aversion that
must inevitably grow and grow till it wrenched them asunder,
had been sown in the hour that they both abandoned every-
thing in the world worth retaining, and left themselves no-
thing but each other. Dreadful retribution! They were
parted, then, for ever; and he was alone. She would pro-
bably find a friend in her mother; he knew she reckoned on
Mrs. Eardley's fond maternal love. She had her income, and
all belonging to her were rich; on the whole, he did not feel
himself called upon to bestow much pity upon her, and was
at leisure to think of himself. The first question connected
with this subject was the ways and means; the second was,
what had become of Linny ?—of Linny, with whom poverty,
such as now stared him in the face, would certainly be more
supportable than alone. It is melancholy to think how, it
L1NNY LOCKWOOD.
327
the terrible crisis of life, vulgar interests intrude! It is melan-
choly to think that a man who had destroyed the happiness
of two women, should he thinking of how his shirt-buttons
were to be kept in order, and his collars starched,—but he
did think of these things ; and I am afraid there are a great
many men who would. At any rate, poor Linny might have
enjoyed the consolation of knowing that she was the woman
of all others into whose hands he most desired to commit
.these domestic cares. Are half the unions in the world based
upon any stronger or more dignified motive ?
As an honest historian I am obliged to admit that into
these and similar channels Vaughan Edmonstone's thoughts
ran during the first few hours after the discovery of Lady
Grlenlyon's departure; but on his return to his lodgings, he
found a letter on the table which had been dropped that
morning into the Calais post, and delivered during his ab-
sence. It was from her ; very short, but by no means unim-
portant.
 You will scarcely be surprised at the step I have taken;
and I know you will not regret it. It is vain to waste words
on the- past; it is gone and lost. You may have a future;
men survive these things; and for them the world is willing
to forget. I am perfectly aware that your heart has never
been with me; you may rejoin your wife, and, if she truly
loved you, she will forgive. If you do rejoin her, say to her
from me, that although I robbed her of her husband, it may
be some consolation to her to know that I never robbed her
of his affections.
 At the bank of Messrs. P. and It. you will find the sum
of three thousand francs placed to your account. As soon as
I can, after my arrival in London, I shall make such arrange-
ments at Coutts's as I hope will be perfectly satisfactory to
you. _ _ "C.G.
 Poor, unhappy girl! sighed Yaughan, as he wiped the
tears that rose to his eyes. "Poor, poor Kate Eardley!
He was touched—attendri—by the letter, and his thoughts
followed her across the water, and on her lonely journey; and
he pictured to himself her arrival in that thronged city, which
is but a city of desolation to the wretched and the friendless.
At the expiration of an hour or so, he desired Celestine to
make him a cup of coffee; after he had drank it, he went out
to his club or societe, as it was called, where he read the papers
and played at pool. On the whole, he spent his evening
328
LINJSiY LOCK WOOD.
rather pleasantly; and when he walked home at night, it was
with a lighter heart, and a firmer and brisker step than was
customary with him of late.
In the meanwhile, concealed in a berth in the ladies' cabin,
the writer of the letter crossed tne Channel. She had made
her arrangements so quietly and secretly, that even Celestine
had no suspicion of what was impending till she was sum-
moned to attend her mistress to the pier, where, without a
word of explanation, she bade her  Good-bye, and stepped on
board the vessel. Iler first feeling was also one of relief.
"Thank God! she murmured, as the boat pushed off.
Miserable as she was, there was a sense of freedom in finding
herself alone ; a sensation of release from a heavy clog.
The sea has a recipe for the cure of sorrow, which, when
duly applied, is extremely efficacious. The happy bride, the
broken-hearted widow, or the wretched victim of her own and
others' crimes, are all, I imagine, much upon a par whilst shut
up in the cabin of a packet-boat during a rough voyage. It
was not till the Phoenix touched the pier at Dover, and she
stepped on shore, that Lady Glenlyon was again aroused to a
sense of her desolation, and to the contrast betwixt what was
and what should have been. Where were the tender cares,
the respectful assiduities, she had always been accustomed to ?
There were none but interested hands held out to her now ;
none but sordid voices to welcome her to England!
An inn, irrespective of its own merits, is a very pleasant or
a very unpleasant place; it takes its flavour very much from
the feelings of the traveller. Lady Glenlyon felt wretched
amidst the bustle of the busy and happy, or apparently happy,
people that surrounded her. Bells and voices were ringing
on all sides ; parties going and coming ; husbands and wives;
parents and children, passing to and fro, but she was alone—
an outcast whom nobody would own. None know the value
of human fellowship till they have lost it.
Economy had become necessary now, and the next day she
went to London by the coach, concealing her face by a thick
blue veil, lest she should be recognised by any former acquaint-
ance. She arrived late in London, and slept at the inn the
coach stopped at. The following day she employed in writing
a long letter to her mother, in which she laid bare her heart—
her errors, her sorrow, her repentance, and her schemes for
the future. One sad secret she reserved for the present; that
could only be disclosed kneeling at her mother's feet, and with
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
329
her face buried in her bosom. Many and bitter were the
tears dropped over that letter. When the evening came, she
sent for a coach and drove to her father's door, bidding the
driver ring and inquire if Mrs. Eardley was at home; for she
feared if the letter were left, and chanced to fall into her
father's hands, it might never reach its destination.
"Yes, she's at home, but she's very ill, answered the
servant.
 Let me out, said Lady Glenlyon to the coachman, seeing
the servant was a stranger.  Is Mrs. Eardley very ill ? she
inquired.
 She's very ill indeed, ma'am!"— Dangerously ill ?
 Yes, the doctors say so."— Is there more than one ?
 There's been three on 'em here to-day."— Is it a fever ?
 I don't know. She hasn't been well this some time back.
 Is Mr.Eardley well?"— He's as well as can be expected.
There were some more questions and some more answers,
and then the inquirer stepped into her coach and drove away.
It was no use leaving the letter now. Even if her mother
were able to read it, the agitation might be fatal, and hasten
the catastrophe that was probably impending. Here was the
last stay giving way ! the last prop falling ! The anguish of
mind in which Lady Glenlyon returned to the inn—for where
else could she go ?—was dreadful. All through her misery
the hope in her mother had been her sole support—that
mother's love the one pale star that relieved her utter dark-
ness ; and she was dying.
On the following morning, Lady Glenlyon drove to the
square again, and, stopping at the corner, sent the coachman
to make inquiries. Mrs. Eardley was very bad, not expected
to live. In the evening she was there again, and heard the
answer given to Lockwood; and, on the day of the funeral,
she followed the body to the grave. That was a fearful week
to have lived through, and fearful were the thoughts that
racked that almost frantic brain. Her misery was so great
that she often wondered how she did live at all. She kept
expecting and hoping that she should fall sick and die, and so
be rid of the world and her wretchedness; but 110 sickness
came ; and, since she was to live, she must needs think lohere.
So she sought a lodging in the suburbs, to which, a few days
after Mrs. Eardley's funeral, she removed.
330
linny lockwood.
CHAPTER XLVII.
One day that Mrs. Martin was going into the city to make
purchases, and that Betsy was preparing the dinner, they
heard somebody come into the shop ; and one of the younger
girls having peeped through the curtain and perceived that
the customer was a lady, asked Miss Lockwood if she would
go and speak to her. The stranger, who had seated herself
beside the counter, requested to see some white dressing-
gowns. Linny displayed Mrs. Martin's stock; but they
appeared not to be what was required.
 You could make me some, perhaps ? I want them long
and large, with a cape.
 We can make them according to your directions, ma'am,
said Linny.
She gave her directions, and then she lingered in the shop
as if she wanted something more, taking up several small
articles of infant attire, and examining them ; but, finally, she
went out without making any purchase. She had, however,
ordered the dressing-gowns; but seeing she was gone, Linny
remembered that she had not given her name, or said where
they were to be sent. When Mrs. Martin came home, she
mentioned the circumstance.
 What sort of person was she ? she inquired.  Perhaps
I know her. She may be a customer.
"I don't think so, said Linny. "I think she was a
stranger, she appeared so shy; but she's a lady, certainly:
she seemed very melancholy, and looked very ill. I suppose
she has lost some relation, for she's in deep mourning.
"Is she tall?
 Yes, rather; and good-looking. I dare say she would be
very handsome if she were well.
 I don't know who it can be, said Mrs. Martin,  and, as
she did not leave her address, I don't like to make the dress-
ing-gowns.
The lady herself appeared to recollect her omission, for she
came on the following day, and said they were to be sent to
Mrs. Hargrave, No. 2, Prospect-place. This time Mrs. Martin
herself saw her, and after lingering about the shop, as she
had done the day before, she took up a little frock and said,
with assumed carelessness—it was not real, for her voice
faltered perceptibly—
 You make baby-linen, I see ?"— Yes, ma'am.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
331
 I believe I shall want something of that sort soon—for a
friend of mine: I suppose you could supply me ?
 I shall be very happy, ma'am.
 And you know, perhaps, what is requisite ?
 Yes, ma'am; we've a list of the things necessary. Some
ladies have more: that's at their own option.
Having broken the ice in this manner, she got on more
fluently, and finally took a list of the things that would he
required, which she said she would look over.
 By the by, that lady called again to-day about the dress-
ing-gowns. Her name's Hargrave, said Mrs. Martin in the
evening.  I wonder who she is. She's not in widow's
mourning, or I should think she'd lost her husband; she
seems quite melancholy like. Some days after Mrs. Martin
mentioned that Mrs. Hargrave had called and given orders
for a complete set of baby-clothes.  I can't make out whether
they're for herself, she said; "one time they were for a
friend, and then she spoke as if they were for herself.
 I did not observe her figure the day I saw her, said Linny.
 She wears a black scarf that hides it completely, an-
swered Mrs. Martin.  But I rather think the baby-clothes
are for herself. Some ladies are so shy about it, and it's not
at all uncommon.
Linny found her situation at Mrs. Martin's as little dis-
agreeable as such a situation can be, and she was very thankful
it was no worse; but her mind was restless and uneasy about
Vaughan and her father. It is true, that as the conviction of
Yaughan's guilt grew upon her, she suffered less from his
abandonment. Her heart was detaching. She had made all
the excuses that he would have made himself for his desertion,
because, in spite of appearances, she believed he loved her, and
that he had, contrary to his better inclinations, fallen in the
toils of a seducer, who had left nothing undone to gain her
ends. In the very act of going away she saw his remorse ;
she believed he would be miserable with Lady Grlenlyon—
and that, sooner or later, he would free himself from his cap-
tivity. As I said before, women who really love can forgive
almost anything but an infidelity of the heart; but there is
one thing that love itself cannot survive, and that is contempt.
If he were really as guilty as her father suspected, she should
despise him; and she questioned much whethe-r she ought not
to permit Lockwood to see Mr. Eardley that he might vin-
dicate himself, let the consequences be what they might to
332
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
Yaughan. This question caused her many a sleepless night;
and when she did sleep, many a restless one. She was dis-
turbed by dreams. She dreamed that her mother stood at her
bedside, and looked at her with displeasure; and she knew
the cause of her anger. But ere long there started another
source of disturbance. Mrs. Martin had a nephew, who spent
all his leisure hours at his aunt's, and came to dine with her
every Sunday. Previous to Linny's appearance, Betsy had
been the star he worshipped, and Betsy was not slow to accept
his addresses ; but this new light diverted him from his alle-
giance. He was a vulgar fellow, and being perfectly bewitched
by these superior charms, he took no pains to conceal his
admiration. Sunday became to her a day of penance; he
attended her to church and in her walks; and, as this was
the only day she had for walking, he thus robbed her of her
sole enjoyment; at the same time, as Mrs. Martin was very
proud and fond of him, she could not treat him as she felt
inclined to do, and he was not to be repulsed by any ordinary
means. Betsy was furious; but, not daring to give open
vent to her jealousy, she relieved herself by inflicting every
petty annoyance she could on the object of it. At last, find-
ing that he made no progress in her favour, the young man
took an opportunity of saying that perhaps she misunderstood
his intentions, and assuring her that  they was honourable.
Incensed at this insult, she answered him with contempt,
which he so much resented that he would not come to his
aunt's any more.
Mrs. Martin showed no displeasure to Linny; "but, as she
suffered from the young man's absence (who had no parents
surviving, and to whom she had been a mother), she begged
her to tell him that she was married.
"Then, she said, "he wont feel it any slight that you
wont keep company with him.
But Linny had the greatest aversion to entrusting him
with her secret, sure if she did that it would not be a secret
long. Besides, she did not wish to flatter him with the idea
that the only obstacle to the success of his suit was her mar-
riage; under these circumstances she began to think it neces-
sary to change her situation, and she requested her father to
be on the look-out for something that might suit her.
 You may, perhaps, see something in The Times she said.
 I could take a situation as governess; but then I have no
LtNNY LOCKAVOOO.
333
One to recommend me. But perhaps Mrs. Martin's recom-
mendation might do, if it were only for the nursery.
Accordingly, she waited on two or three ladies in answer
to their advertisements; but she found, even for the nursery,
they required some better evidence of her qualification than
Mrs. Martin was able to afford. They did not like to take
any one who had not been in a similar situation before.
 Mrs. Hargrave has been here, said Mrs. Martin one day,
 to say she's changed her lodging. She thought the people
at Prospect-place wasn't honest—and she wants to know if I
could recommend her a maid.
 There was some talk about them Pollards that she lodged
with once before, said Betsy.  There was a gentleman as
lodged there lost a diamond pin, and Miss Pollard wore it to
church, and his servant snatched it out of her frock; for he
was so angry because he'd got blamed for it.
 That comes of making fine ladies of poor folks' children,
said Mrs. Martin.  They had an uncle a clergyman, and,
somehow or other, he got to be a bishop. They said it was a
gentleman he'd been tutor to got it for him; and what must
he do but send his nieces to a fine boarding-school, to be
taught music and dancing, and such like. But the bishop was
took with an apoplectic fit, and died ; and there was an end
of the boarding-school—and they was sent back to their
mother worse than they went. .
"And does Mrs. Pollard keep a lodging-house ? said
Linny, who recognised, her former pupils, with their pilfering
propensities.
 Yes, said Mrs. Martin, "and Miss Pollard was lady's-
maid to Mrs. Hargrave; but she has lost so many things that
she says she's sure there must be somebody dishonest in the
house. I did not say anything, for it's no use getting one's-
self into trouble ; but I've no doubt they've robbed her.
 Why doesn't she have them up ? said Betsy.
 She says she doesn't wish to say anything about it, only
to get away quietly; and she wants an honest person who
would look after her things, and wait upon her—I'm sure I
don't know who to recommend her.
 Is Mr. Hargrave with her ? said Linny.
"I never heard her mention him1—I don't think he is. I
think she's quite alone. Perhaps he's in the army or navy.
Linny thought the situation might suit her, at least for a
334
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
time; and having ascertained Mrs. Hargrave's present address,
she told Mrs. Martin she wanted to go out for an hour—and
proceeded to Abingdon-terrace. The door was opened by a
decent enough servant, for a lodging-house, of whom she re-
quested to know if she could see Mrs. Hargrave. She under-
stood she wanted a maid. The girl looked at her with some
surprise, and said,  Is it you want to be maid ?
 Yes, said Linny ;  will you ask her if she can see me ?
"Walk in, if you please, she replied, opening the door
wider to admit her into the passage ; and proceeding upstairs
with a deliberation of manner that betokened her sense of the
incongruity between Linny's appearance and the situation
she sought. In a few minutes she returned, and requested
her to walk upstairs. She found Mrs. Hargrave reclining on
the sofa in one of the identical white dressing-gowns that had
been made for her by Mrs. Martin, and she looked more wan
and dejected than ever. She fixed her large hollow eyes on
Linny as she entered the room. "Haven't I seen you
before ? she said.
 Yes, ma'am, said Linny,  at Mrs. Martin's—I served
you the first day you called there.
 Oh, I recollect! she said, apparently relieved;  you are
come to speak about a maid. l)o you know any one that
would suit me ?
 I came to apply for the situation myself, ma'am, said
Linny.
 Are you with Mrs. Martin now ?"—"Yes, ma'am.
 Have you ever been in service ?
 Ho, ma'am; but I can make dresses pretty well, and I
can do all kinds of needlework.
"And you wish to go to service? Well, I dare say you
could soon learn all that I want now—it isn't much, she
added, with a sigh.  When could you come to me ?
Linny said she could go to her immediately; and Mrs.
Hargrave proceeded to engage her without any more ado.
She appeared too languid and indifferent to ask questions or
to be very particular about anything; and Linny thought she
must have been a very meet prey for the Pollards.
 Mrs. Martin will give me a character if you please to
apply to her, ma'am.
 I'll call, said Mrs. Hargrave.  In the meantime, you
had better come to-morrow. What's your name ?
 Linny, ma'am.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
335
Mrs. Martin was sorry to part with Linny, and said that,
when her nephew came to his senses, she hoped she would
return to her. So she packed up her things, and only taking
with her what was necessary, she removed to Mrs.Hargrave's.
Linny entered on her services in the evening. It was
about eight o'clock when she went to her place, and having
taken possession of her bed-chamber, which she found was a
very good one on the second floor, she presented herself to
her new mistress. She found her with the tea-things before
her, and a novel lying beside them on the table, which she
appeared to have been reading. Linny went in with a curtsy,
saying,  I came to let you know I was here, ma'am.
With a look of extreme despondency, she raised her eyes
to her face, and said:  Oh! you had better go to my room
then, and get my things ready for the night. I am afraid
you'll find everything in sad disorder.
 I dare say I shall soon be able to put them right, ma'am.
 Stay, perhaps I had better show you, and with that she
rose and preceded her into the bed-room, where she gave her
a few necessary instructions; but the whole was done with a
languor and depression that bespoke extreme indisposition of
either body or mind.
Linny busied herself in the bed-room, putting things in
order till it was nearly midnight, when Mrs. Hargrave joined
her. She undressed, Linny assisting her, nearly in silence,
and got into bed; but apparently with no immediate prospect
of sleeping, as she had a light and two volumes of the novel
she was reading placed beside her.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
Linny had not lived very long in Mrs. Hargrave's service
before she had arrived at several conclusions with respect to
her. In the first place, she was satisfied that the order for
baby-linen given at Mrs. Martin's, was in anticipation of an
event that was not very distant, though the lady never
touched upon the subject, and veiled the state of the case
from the eyes of her attendant with great care; and, in the
next place, she discerned that, beside the bodily suffering
incident to her situation, she was intensely wretched. Though
at first she gave no expression to these sufferings—at least no
audible expression—in Linny's presence, her whole unconscious
demeanour denoted them; added to which, her cheeks were
336
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
faded and her eyes red with weeping. -It was evident that
she slept little by night, by the quantity of candle she burned;
and yet, when Linny went to her in the morning, she was
wide awake, staring out upon the long desolate day before
her, with those large hollow eyes, which, with her pale face,
sharp features, and long hair, dishevelled by her restless
tossings and turnings—looked quite ghastly. Then she
seemed to have no object in existence: nobody came to see
her; nobody sent to inquire for her; she had no letters.
Linny took it in her head that she was, like herself, a deserted
wife ; and she reflected how much better it had been for her
that she was poor, and had been forced upon her own exer-
tions; perhaps, if she had been rich, she might have succumbed,
like Mrs. Hargrave, and given herself up to despair. She
pitied her with all her heart, and resolved in any case to stay
with her through her approaching hour of trial. In the
meantime, she forbore to give any expression to her feelings,
and kept strictly within the limits of her service. In this
way they lived together some three weeks, and then a cir-
cumstance occurred that broke the ice between them.
It was about eight o'clock in the evening, in the fourth
week of her service, that the servant of the house called her
downstairs, saying there was somebody wanted Mrs. Har-
grave; and she saw, standing in the passage, a respectable-
looking, well-dressed young woman, whom she immediately
concluded to be a lady's-maid come after the situation.
 Did you want to see Mrs. Hargrave ? she inquired.
"If you please, answered the stranger. "Are you her
maid ? She spoke in a low voice and with an air of mystery.
 Yes, I am.
 Can I see her ? Is she alone ?
 Quite alone, said Linny.  Will you send up your
name ?
 I would rather go up to her at once.
 But, said Linny, not knowing who the stranger might
be ;  she may not like it. Besides, she is not well, and seeing
a stranger suddenly may be too much for her.
 I am no stranger, said the woman.  I am an old ser-
vant of hers—and I am— here she hesitated—"and I wish
very much to see her. The tears stood in her eyes, and thfc
tone in which she spoke implied that she w;as aware of Mrs
Hargrave's unhappiness, and acquainted with its cause. (Sha
felt uncertain what to do. She would perhaps displease het
LENNY LOCKWOOD. 337
mistress by admitting a visitor unannounced, and yet the
woman was evidently a friend, and might bring some conso-
lation. It appeared to her that one of the greatest evils
attending Mrs. Hargrave's situation was the unbroken mo-
notony in which day after day, week after week, passed.
 Do let me go up, said the woman.  I bring her some-
thing that will do her good.
"Come! said Linny ;  I'll run the risk of it. And she
ascended the stairs, followed by the stranger. When they
reached the landing-place she opened the door, saying,  Here
is a person wishes to see you, ma'am !
The lady started from the sofa on which she was reclining;
but before she could speak, the woman entered the room; and
as Linny closed the door she heard Mrs. Hargrave say
haughtily— What is the meaning of this intrusion ?
The woman looked round to ascertain that they were alone,
and then answered in a low voice, and with a respectful curtsy,
 I beg your pardon, my lady, but I come by Sir Arthur's
orders.
The flush of surprise faded from the lady's cheek, leaving
it paler than before; but she stood erect, silent, and imper-
turbable.
 Sir Arthur was summoned to England by his brother's
death, and I called to ask him to give me a chai acter, because
the family I went to when -after I left your ladyship,"—
here the blood rushed into Wharton's face— are travelling
in Germany; and Lady Alderton, that I am going to, wouldn't
take a written character, and so I took the liberty of asking
Sir Arthur where you were.
This was true; Wharton being emboldened to ask the
question by having met Mr. Edmonstone at Calais, on her
way to England, and having learned, that her late mistress
was not with him—a piece of intelligence that she judged
would be acceptable to Sir Arthur, who thereupon applied for
her address to the agent through whom she received her
income.
 And did Sir Arthur send you here ? said Lady Glenlyon,
haughtily.
 Yes, my lady, said Wharton, abashed by the stern brow
and the measured tone ;  at least I told him if I knew your
address I should take the liberty of calling, and so he inquired
of Mr. Yilar, and he gave me this letter, and told me to give
it into your ladyship's own hand.
338 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
Lady Glenlyon took the letter.  Say you have done it.*'
 I don't know whether the letter requires an answer, my
lady.
 If it do, I'll address it to the agents, and Lady Gdenlyon
bowed her head, intimating that she dismissed her.
 You'll not repeat this visit, if you please.
Wharton hesitated, curtsied, attempted to say something;
curtsied again, and slowly left the room. Linny was waiting
in the passage.
 I am afraid I did wrong to let you go up, she said, as
she let her out. Wharton burst into tears,  Poor thing!
Poor thing ! she sobbed ;  it breaks my heart to see her!
—such a difference ! Here they heard the drawing-room
door open—no more passed; and Wharton stepped into the
street.
Two hours elapsed before Linny heard anything; then the
bell was rung violently, and when she went up she found Mrs.
Hargrave suffering from violent spasms. Linny wanted to
send for a doctor; but when it was proposed she said,  No,
no, no, only undress me—let me go to bed. She was so bad
that Linny sat up with her all night, and several times en-
treated to be allowed to send for assistance.
"Pray, do let me, ma'am! she said at last, under the
influence of her alarm ;  you may die for want of help.
Then the sluices burst.  Oh, would to Gfod I might!
would to God I might! she exclaimed, in a voice of anguish.
 Why should such a wretch as I am live ?
 Dear lady! said Linny, hanging over her,  don't agitate
yourself in this manner; remember your situation ! Forgive
me, but remember another life may be endangered—
 I hate it! she cried ;  I hate it! Oh, how I hate it!
Oh, that I could die, and it might never see the light!
The night was spent in alternations between these cries of
mental misery and bodily pain.
 Is there no one I can send for who could afford you any
consolation ?
"No one; no one! There's no consolation—none, none,
none ! And with that she melted into tears, and wept for
a considerable time, till she became calmer from exhaustion,
and fell into a slumber.
Linny sat by her bedside wondering what could be the cause
of such extreme wretchedness—weaving all sorts of romantic
stories of cruel husbands and faithless lovers; till towards
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
339
morning she too fell asleep. When she awoke, Mrs. Hargrave,
as we will still call her, was sitting up in bed.
 I'm sorry you've been up all night; it was not necessary,
she said.
"You were so ill, ma'am, I did not like to leave you. Do
you feel better this morning ?
 Oh, better! I shall never be better, girl.
 Every one is apt to think so when they are in sorrow,
ma'am, but time makes us all better.
Mrs. Hargrave shook her head and sighed.
Linny fetched her a cup of tea, and while she was drinking
it, she said,  Remember, you are never to let anybody up
again. You shouldn't have admitted that woman.
 She seemed to wish so much to see you, ma'am; I thought
she seemed attached to you. This affected her, and she
wept. "Excuse me, ma'am, continued Linny, "but I think
the life you lead would make any one low and nervous; it
must be very bad for you to be so much alone.
She made no answer, but said she would rise. When she
was dressed, Linny led her into the drawing-room and placed
her on the sofa, and as she was very weak and faint, not
liking to leave her alone, she proposed to bring her work and
sit with her.
Absorbed in her own griefs, and indifferent to everybody
and everything that surrounded her, Mrs. Hargrave had paid
little attention to her new maid. She bad intended to inquire
her character at Mrs, Martin's, but she had not done it; to
write was too much trouble, and the walk there was beyond
her strength. In the meantime she became used to her; she
was quiet and handy, and altogether a superior sort of person ;
but occasionally very nice young women offer themselves as
lady's-maids—young women, whose parents have been in a
better situation of life—and therefore Lady Glenlyon thought
herself fortunate in getting such an one, without seeing any-
thing extraordinary in the case. She had also been conscious
that she was pretty; but now, as she sat at work beside her,
she was struck by the beauty of expression and the general
air of refinement that pervaded her person and movements.
She watched her for some time, and then said,  Were you
ever in service before ?
The blood rushed into Linny's face as she said,  No,
ma'am, fearing this might be the precursor of more ques-
tionings.
y 2
340 linny lockwood.
Lady Glenlyon penetrated the feeling, and said,  Perhaps
you did not expect ever to he obliged to do so ?
 No, ma'am, answered Linny, blushing more deeply than
before.
 Then you, too, have known what a great change of for-
tune is!
 I never was rich, said Linny,  but I was comfortably
off and very happy ; but my parents fell into adversity, and
many sad things have happened to me since: the tears
started to her eyes at the recollections thus evoked, and she
raised her hand to dash them away.
 What misery there is in the world ! said Lady Glenlyon.
 There is, indeed, ma'am, said Linny,  and often we bring
it on ourselves! she thought of her marriage with Vaughan.
 Yes ! My God, what fools we are! How blind! How
mad! Life's a curse!
Linny started, and looked up at her— I don't think we
ought to say that, ma'am.
 Why not say it, girl ? It's true!
Linny could not feel that it was. She had had many sor-
rows, certainly; some she felt -were merited and some unme-
rited, but she was young and healthy, and she had a fund of
hope at the bottom of her heart. Hope, the riches of the
young—that sustained her. She did not know what she
hoped ; but she trusted that, some day, things would be better
than they were now; and, even if they were not, life was not
unbearable.
CHAPTER XLIX.
One day that Linny had been into town to call on her father,
she was accosted by a woman in the street, whom she did not
at first remember.
 Hey-day, Miss Lockwood! she said— for sure it is Miss
Lockwood—I see you don't recollect me. My name's Garratt;
and your father and mother lodged with me.
"I beg your pardon; I remember you now. You have
perhaps heard of my poor mother's death ?
 Yes, I have; for there was a letter corned for vou before
we moved out of the house, and I took it to where she lodged,
but they said she'd been dead a month.
 A letter ! Where is it ? Did you leave it there ?
 No, no; I did not much like the looks of the woman that
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
341
opened the door to me, so I thought it would be safer in my
keeping; if you'll call for it any time you're our way, you
shall have it.
Anxious to see who the letter could be from, Linny took an
early opportunity of going to Rupert-street to fetch it. The
address told her at once that it was from her old friend,
Alice. It was dated from Craven Hill two years before, and
was written to entreat her dear Miss Lockwood would come
to her immediately. She said she had been miserable with
her aunt, whom she could not love, and a governess whom she
detested. Not that her aunt was unkind, but she was con-
stantly accusing her of faults she had not committed; and
put a wrong construction on everything she did. That she
had been so unhappy, she had attempted to run away to her
papa, but her governess had discovered her scheme, and pre-
vented its execution. That, thereupon, she had told her aunt
the reasons of her discontent, and avowed her determination
to join her father, unless she would send away her present
governess and engage Miss Lockwood in her place.  I told
her, if she would, continued Alice,  that I would do every-
thing she wished, and that I was sure she would like you very
much. And so she consented, because she would not like me
to go to papa, and she sees I am determined; so she told me
to write and ask if you would come ; and if you will, to write
to her and say so; and then she will write and settle every-
thing with you. And now, my dear, dear Miss Lockwood, I
do entreat you not to refuse me; I am sure, if you come, you
will like Aunt Stanley very much, for she is not disagreeable
to anybody but me ; and she does not intend to be so even to
me, but she does not understand me, and thinks me quite
different to what I am. Craven Hill is a beautiful place, with
delightful walks; and we should have our apartments quite
to ourselves, and live as happy as two pigeons. Now do, dear
MissLockwood, come. I write another letter toMrs.Barnard's,
in case you should be there; but I suppose the holidays are
begun, and you are at home. How do the Pollards get on ?
Have they stole anything more P I wish they would, for
then you could write and tell my aunt, and she'd be convinced
it was not me.
Poor Alice! thought Linny, her disappointment must have
been great at receiving no answer to her letter. It was pro-
bably too late to prevent the mischievous effects of Mrs.
Stanley's misapprehension now but she resolved to write
342 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
immediately, and offer to come at a certain period if they still
desired it. Her curiosity to see what the letter contained had
induced her to open it in the street, and as she was walking,
with her eyes fixed on the paper, she nearly ran against two
people who were standing on the middle of the pavement.
As she looked up, she recognised Tiggs, her fellow-traveller
from Dover, in the same flashy attire he then wore, though
something the worse for time. He was in earnest conversation
with a tall, shabbily-dressed man, whose face she did not see,
and, as she did not desire to attract the attention of Tiggs,
she turned her own way; and in so doing her eyes fell on a
female, who seemed to belong to the group, but who was
standing at a little distance from them, waiting till they had
finished their conversation, which was either not designed for
her ear, or in which she took no interest. She, too, was
shabbily-dressed in a faded green silk gown, but the gown
was not more faded than the face. Care was marked in every
line of it; every feature \vas drawn and deformed from its
original expression, by anguish. Yet in this melancholy wreck
Linny recognised Yaughan's mother; and that Mrs. Edmon-
stone recognised her was evident, from her start of surprise.
Indeed, it appeared to be her first impulse to address her;
but a second thought made her draw back, and let her pass.
A crowd of recollections and feelings rushed upon Linny,
and she proceeded on her way along Tottenham-court-road,
scarcely conscious of where she was. She thought of Marlow
and its splendours; and of her short visits there, when she
had looked up to Mrs. Edmonstone as one of the greatest ladies
in the world. She thought of Mr. Edmonstone sitting at the
head of his table, prosperous and important; the sumptuous
dinner, the sideboard of plate, the livery-servants. Of Vaughan,
so handsome, so charming, so well dressed, and of the stolen
looks of love that filled her with rapture. She recalled her
girlish delight in all these things, and her enthusiastic sense
of Yaughan's heroic generosity in preferring her simple self to
the fashionable young girls who formed his ordinary society;
and now
So far she had reached in her soliloquy, when she felt some
one grasp her arm; she turned and saw Mrs. Edmonstone.
 Oh, stay! she said, out of breath with the speed she had
Used to overtake her;  don't you know me ?
 Mrs. Edmonstone, said Linny, taking the offered hand.
v I knew when I passed you, but I was not sure——
LlNNY LOCKWOOD.
343
 Whether I would speak to you ? Oh, yes! there is nothing
I have so much wished for; hut I did not know where you
were. I should have stopped you just now, hut I was with
Mr. Edmonstone—that was him you saw; didn't you recollect
him ?
 I did not see his face, hut I thought it was him when I
saw you.
 But tell me ahout Yaughan! How cruel it is of him never
to write to us!
 Don't you know what has happened ?
 Yes, all! I know you married him, and I know he has
left you with Lady Glenlyon.
 I have heard nothing of him since. They went to Brussels,
I helieve. I suppose they are there still.
 Foolish boy! Nothing hut ruin and mischief. He wouldn't
marry Kate Eardley when we wished him to do it, and then
he runs away with her when she's another man's wife. Mr.
Edmonstone was very angry about Yaughan's marriage with
you; hut, as I told him, there was an end of Yaughan's
making a good marriage, and it didn't signify. Good God!
only think of the change! Did you ever see such a wreck as
lam? But poor Yaughan! That concerns me the most.
Born to such prospects ! It's enough to ruin any young man,
and I'm not surprised at what he's done! Where are you
living now ? —  At Islington.
"I'll come and see you. I'd ask you to call, hut Mr. Edmon-
stone is so soured by his reverses, and so angry at the marriage,
that I dare not do it. But oh! I wish so much to see
Yaughan. If ever you see him, beg of him to write to me.
Because he has quarrelled with his father, he need not extend
his displeasure to me. Heaven knows, I always let him have
his own way, and indulged him in everything!
 And he always spoke of you with affection.
 Then why didn't he write to me ?
 He has such an aversion to writing; and I believe he
didn't wish his father to know where he was.
 But I must go now, for Mr. Edmonstone is waiting. I
made an excuse, and said I wanted to order something at a
shop—but he'll he getting impatient. Then, after giving
her address, in case there was an opportunity of communi-
eating it to Yaughan, and assuring herself that she had got
Linny's correctly, she hastily went away, leaving her daughter-
in-law rather pleased at the rencontre,
344
LINNY LOCKWOOE.
CHAPTER L.
The ice being once broken, it was a relief to Lady Glenlyon
to express her feelings to her maid. Her pent-up griefs were
consuming her; both before and since she left Vaughan, she
was utterly alone in the world. She was too proud to pour
out her sorrow and remorse to him; she despised him too
much to do it; and the fact, that she was more in fault than
he in the elopement would have subjected her to reprisals,
that, when irritated, he would not have spared her, and which
would probably have led to a degrading scene of violence.
Her only hope was in the love of her mother; with Mrs.
Eardley's death she lost it; and the conduct of her old com-
panion, Louisa Gordon, warned her against making any
advances to her former friends. Had her mother lived, she
believed she would not have deserted her in her approaching
hour of trial—that hour that needs all the support of hope
and love—that hour contemplated by her with unmitigated
horror. Her intention had been to have cast the child, for
which she felt no germs of a mother's love, on Mrs. Eardley's
charity, and then to have fulfilled her design of spending the
rest of her life in a convent. If she had been asked what her
faith was, she would have answered Protestant; but in truth
—like many other people who take words for things—she had
no faith at all. She had never thought upon the subject;
but now that she was casting about for some anchor to lay
hold of, some one thing to cling to in the wide sea of desola-
tion that surrounded her, she thought of religion, and won-
dered if perchance there might be any comfort there. She
had heard of people sustained by it under the greatest mis-
fortunes ; but how was it to be got at P She heard no angel's
voice—she felt no spring of piety within her. She was only
irritated against herself and Vaughan; and, above all, with
fate, that in an evil hour had brought him to Paris. She
thought, perhaps, if she placed herself in a situation to receive
impressions, impressions might come. She would go into
some convent in the south of France—turn Catholic if need
be—anything for consolation. Sometimes she thought of
becoming a sister of charity, and seeking forgetfulness in the
active duties of that vocation. She would be exposed to the
excitement of peril, and she might chance to witness misery
greater than her own, and learn to be resigned and to rise out
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
345
of the sink of despondence and hopelessness into which she
had fallen.
One day, when she was talking of the discomforts of her
situation — for she had a good deal of bodily suffering to
endure, besides her mental griefs—Linny took the opportunity
of asking if she had thought of engaging a nurse and a doctor
for the approaching event ?
 No; she had not thought of it. It would be early enough
to do it when the time arrived.
"But then you may not easily find a nurse; besides, you
may be taken ill in the night—you might die for want of
assistance.
"'And if I do, it's the best thing can happen to me. You
always talk to me of life, girl, as if it was a pleasure to live,
or as if I had anything to live for. I tell you I hate life! I
haven't courage to commit suicide, but I wish to die. If
death came naturally, I would welcome it.
 But there is another life besides your own—you have no
right to wish that.
 Would life be a blessing to a wretch that is only born into
hatred—a wretch that has no love to greet him—no father,
no mother!
 Oh, ma'am! wait till you see your child—you'll think
differently then. Every mother loves her baby.
 You don't know anything about it, child. There may be
circumstances that make one hate it.
 But the child is not answerable for these circumstances—
it ought not to suffer for them.
 But it will suffer all its life, if it lives to be a hundred
years old: the world will make it suffer, if I don't. It will
suffer in its infancy, because a child that is not loved must be.
miserable. It must go amongst strangers, and will have
nobody to protect it. It may be beaten and starved, and
nobody will care.
 But can't you keep it yourself?
 Not I! I never mean to look on it. I shall ask the
doctor or the nurse to take it away directly it is born, and I
will allow them money to provide for it.
 Excuse me, ma'am, but I cau't help saying I think it will
be verv wrong and very cruel to do that. I should be afraid
to do such a thing if I had the inclination.
 Afraid of what ?
 Of committing so great a sin as to abandon a poor infant
346 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
to strangers who, you say yourself, might heat and starve it;
and who would, perhaps, train it up in vice and wickedness.
If we bring creatures into the world, surely we're bound to
protect them, even if we cannot love them.
 But I can't protect it unless I keep it with me, and that's
impossible. Besides, would a child be happy with a person
that it would soon see detested it ?
 At least you would not treat it ill, I suppose ?
 I wont answer for myself—I might—wretchedness makes
me savage; and the sight of the child would augment my
wretchedness.
 Have you no friends that would take care of the child,
ma'am ?
 No. Will you take care of it, since you are so interested
in its fate ?
 I couldn't undertake the charge, because I have my living
to get. I certainly do take an interest in it, because I think
it's so shocking for a poor infant to be thrown amongst mer-
cenary strangers.
 I suppose, said Lady G-lenlyon, after a pause,  you will
think me a monster; but perhaps, if things had turned out
differently, I should have loved my child like other people.
If you knew the world better, you would know that there are
circumstances that change one's whole character, and make
one incapable of a single genial feeling ever after.
 We should forgive the past, said Linny, who naturally
concluded that all this misery arose from the desertion and
infidelity of her husband.
"But we can't recall the past. You know nothing of life
and the. real miseries of it. You say you have experienced a
change of fortune, and are not so well off as you have been.
.That's nothing. You have never known real misery.
 Haven't I ? said Linny.
 No ; I can see by your face that you haven't. You don't
know what real misery is. Why, I, who was born to a much
greater fortune than you, would be glad to descend to your
condition to enjoy the peaceful mind that you do.
 I dare say you think so now, ma'am ; but perhaps I have
had greater troubles than you suspect.
Lady Glenlyon shook her head; she saw no.traces of it.
The subdued tone and manner, and the calm serious counte-
nance, appeared quite natural in her maid, and she was not
aware that she had ever had any other.
LINNY LOCKHOOD.
347
 You sleep, said Lady Glenlyon,  and sleep well! Don't
you ?
"Yes, I do.
"That's enough. You little think what nights I pass;
and when I do sleep how dreadful the waking is! Oh, I wish
I could sleep and never wake !
Such conversations as these, however, which now became
frequent, afforded her a certain relief, whilst they interested
Linny, and insensibly diverted her from her own recollections.
What this great grief was she could not conceive, for her
imagination never approached the truth. She never suspected
that the bitterest element in it was remorse and self-condem-
nation; and although Lady Glenlyon seemed constantly on
the eve of disclosing her secret, she never did. Linny was
equally reserved in regard to her own history, which, Lady
Glenlyon observing, she forebore to question her; but gra-
dually the distance between them was diminished—the one
forgot that she was the mistress, and the other that she was
the maid, and Linny insensibly rose to the situation of com-
panion, although she still performed the offices she had been
first engaged for. In the meantime, if Linny's interest and
curiosity were awakened, Lady Glenlyon's was beginning to be
stirred also to know who this pretty young creature could be
that she had got for a maid, who, as they became more fami-
liar, she perceived was as well educated as herself, and perhaps
better. She began ^o suspect there must be a mystery
about her, too ; "for why should she descend to service when
she was so well qualified to be a governess ?
One day that a German band was playing under the win-
dow, Lady Glenlyon said,  I can't think what that air is ; and
yet it's so familiar to me!
 It's from Mozart.
 Do you understand music ? Perhaps you play ?
 I used to play."— And sing ?
"A little, said Linny, blushing at the avowal.
 Will you sing to me ?
 I never sing without an accompaniment.
 We'll have a piano, said Lady Glenlyon, whose curiosity
was considerably awakened.  You shall go out this after-
noon and hire one.
The piano was accordingly hired, and Linny, who had a
rery good voice, well cultivated, astonished her mistress more
and more. She began to think if she could attach this young
348
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
woman permanently to her person it would afford her con-
siderable alleviation ; hut, alas ! when her own story became
known, she would probably refuse to stay with her, and under
this apprehension she one day extracted a promise from Linny
that she would not leave her till after her confinement.
 I would not do so on any account, said Linny;  that
is, she added,  I will stay, on condition that you will con-
sent to let me engage proper people to attend you. I cannot
take the responsibility otherwise; and thus she obtained
Lady Gflenlyon's authority to engage a nurse and a doctor, pro-
vided she was not obliged to see them till they were wanted.
In the course of Lady G-lenlyon's reflections on the subject
of her mysterious maid, it occurred to her that she might
have learned her history from Mrs. Martin ; but she disliked
the appearance of wishing to obtain the information surrep-
titiously, and, moreover, was afraid of doing anything that
might give offence to Linny, and induce her to leave her;
added to which, she might revive some slumbering, curiosity
about herself, which she had better leave in a state of qui-
escence. However, she had no suspicion that her maid was
married. She called herself Miss Linny—which was supposed
to be her surname—and had taken off her wedding-ring; she
looked very young; and she did not appear to have any cuisant
regrets. Lady Grlenlyon concluded, therefore, that she was
probably the daughter of some ruined speculator or gentleman
in difficulties, whose name she did not wish to disclose.
CHAPTER LI.
Linny was suffering some uneasiness in regard to Mrs.
Edmonstone's promised visit. In the agitation of the mo-
ment, when her mother-in-law accosted her in the street, she
had given her address, but had forgotten to tell her that she
nad resumed her maiden name; and she feared she might call
and ask for her as Mrs. Edmonstone, thus betraying her
secret, and at the same time subjecting her to awkward sus-
picions. . She could not write to her, for she did not know
where she lived; and indeed, had she known, she would have
•hardly ventured to do so, lest the letter should fall into Mr.
Edmonstone's hands. As she daily expected her, she never
heard a knock at the door without alarm; and, if she was
sitting with her mistress at the time, she, if possible, made an
excuse to leave the room till she had ascertained who it was.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
349
However, as lock would have it, she was one day standing at
the window when she saw a shabby-looking woman cross over
from the other side of the way. She was much more poorly
dressed than when she met her, and walked as if she was very
ill or very tired; insomuch that Linny was contemplating the
feeble figure with compassion, without suspecting who it was,
till she raised her face and nodded—then she recognised her
mother-in-law, and immediately leaving the room, she ran
down-stairs and opened the door to her herself.
 Gracious, how .tired I am! she said, dropping into a chair
that stood in the passage.  I must rest myself before I go
any further.
"Come up-stairs into my room, said Linny. "We can
be alone there.
 I can hardly crawl up, said the other.  I had no idea
it was so far off; and I've been so ill. It's very hard that I,
who never walked when I was young, should be obliged to
walk when I am old—isn't it F Not that I am so old, either;
but, I have been very ill since I saw you.
 Indeed ! said Linny.  You do look ill.
 I've had an inflammation on my lungs, and I was near
dying ; I'm sure I wonder I didn't, with no one to nurse and
attend to me but the wretched maid of all work in the nasty
lodging we live in. Poor creature ! she is but a girl of six-
teen, and is run off her legs with work; but she did all she
could. Mr. Edmonstone was out all day with that Tiggs, and
never did a thing for me.
 I'm afraid the walk has been too much for you. Let me
get you some refreshment.
 I think I could eat something, and—could you give me
a glass of wine ?
 Yes, I can, replied Linny, and she ran down-stairs to
fetch some veal, off which they had dined the day before, and
the decanter of sherry; she poured out a glass, and Mrs.
Edmonstone swallowed it eagerty.
 Oh, she said,  there's life in that! I suppose it's from
insufficient food; but I often feel as if my whole inside had
wasted away. Give me another glass, will you? Linny
cut a slice of veal and put it on her plate with some bread ;
she took up the knife and fork and put a bit in her mouth,
but it was evident she had a difficulty in swallowing it.  It's
very odd, she said; "and yet I feel so hungry—at least I
feel such a want of food, and I often think how I could eat if
350'
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
I had it; but when I do get it I can't touch a hit. I thought
it was because the meat from the cook-shop that we're obliged
to get disgusts me so—but this is very nice and clean, and
yet I can't eat it.
 Shall I give you another glass of wine ?
 Do, if you please. Are you lodging here ?
 I'm living here, said Linn^ ;  and let me mention,
while I think of it, that they only know me by my maiden
name : I'm called Miss Lockwood. I am obliged to get my
living, and I think it better to do that under my own name,
than under my husband's. If I ever see Vaughan again, it
might be disagreeable to him.
 It certainly would; and what do you do ?
 I am living as maid with a Mrs. Hargrave.
 But with your education, child, you might find some-
thing better to do than that.
"You forget how difficult it is to get a situation without a
character; and who would give me one under a false name ?
Besides, I am very comfortable with Mrs. Hargrave.
 Who is she ?
 I don't know anything beyond her name.
 Hasn't she a husband ?
"I suppose he's dead, or absent abroad. I've never seen
him.
 Doesn't she speak of him ?"— Never.
 She's probably not married at all. You'd better take
care. Does anybody visit her ?
 No one."—"Depend on it she's not what she should be.
 Oh! I can't think that. She's evidently quite a gentle-
woman. She has quite an air of distinction.
 My dear, ladies of distinction don't live in lodgings in the
suburbs of the town. Does she give you good wages ?
 Yes ; a great deal more than I asked her. She gave me
what I asked at first, but now she gives me much more.
 Is she rich ?
 She seems to have sufficient. But how is Mr. Edmon-
stone ? said Linny, who wished to change the conversation.
 Oh ! Mr. Edmonstone's well enough. These things don't
prey upon men as they do upon us. Not but what he is very
miserable, too ; but men always find a vent for their misery in
ill-temper. They appease their own wretchedness by increas-
ing other people's. Then, he's never at home. He's con-
tinually out somewhere with that Tiggs, who has some scheme
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
351
in his head that is to make us all rich again. But it's just
as well; for if he stayed at home he would be intolerable.
My Grod! if people knew what poverty is, they'd never plunge
themselves into it. But now tell me about Vaughan.
 I have never heard of him.
"Haven't youp—you know Lady G-lenlyon has left him?
"Ho, said Linny, suddenly flushing with surprise; "I
never heard it. Are you sure ?
 Oh, certain!—Tiggs heard it from some of the bank people.
She left him at Calais, and crossed the channel alone.
 And where is Vaughan?
 That I don't know. But I wonder he has not written
to you.
 He don't know where I am, said Linny.  He wouldn't
know where to direct to me. But how very extraordinary
that she should leave him so soon!
 Hot at all. People are always tired of each other directly
they've ran away ; and in this case it was certain, for Vaughan
never liked Cattie Eardley, and wouldn't marry her when he
could, though she'd so much money.
 And what can have become of her ?
 Heaven knows! She has plenty of money, you know—at
least, enough to keep her very comfortably; so she'll be at no
great loss. Perhaps she has formed another liaison. But I'm
anxious about poor Vaughan—for I suppose he hasn't a sous.
I can't think what he's to do.
 Hor I, said Linny, her heart beginning to yearn towards
him with the natural weakness of woman.  I'm sure if he
knew where I am he'd write to me.
"I don't know, said Mrs. Edmonstone; "of what use
could you be to him ? If he can't keep himself he can't keep
you, you know.
Linny did not say that she relied on his affection to make
him write, as she was aware that would seem absurd; but yet
she had a strong persuasion that, as soon as he found himself
alone, he would wish her to return to him ; and as her love
for Vaughan, however ill-placed, had been a real and genuine
attachment, she would certainly have done so without hesita-
tion, had he invited her, but for the suspicion against him
raised by her father. That was an act that so shocked her
sense of right, and that would so entirely dissipate the prestige
that still surrounded Vaughan, that she recoiled whenever she
thought of it. She forgot that it was just as mean to run
352 LINNY LOCK.WOOD,
away with Lady Glenlyon for her money, without the excuse
of passion, as it was to appropriate money he picked up m the
street; but she contrived to lay the blame of the elopement on
the partner of his flight; and, in short, she did not stop to
analyse her feelings, hut so it was—she felt she could forgive
the one crime hut not the other.
With respect to Yaughan, both she and Mrs. Edmonstone
were right in their conclusions. His first impulse after Lady
Glenlyon had departed, and he learned that she had divided
her income with him, was to discover Linny's retreat, and
persuade her to return; hut as he could not do it immediately,
not knowing who to apply to, his second thoughts made him
hesitate. He certainly loved Linny still, but he reflected that
the income that was small for one would decidedly he too
small for two; he thought he would take a little time to con-
sider of it. With the money he now had he could keep up
appearances as a single man, pay his way at the restaurants
and cafes, play billiards at the societe, dress well, and pass an
idle, pleasant, lounging kind of life. With a wife to dress and
maintain on the same sum, he would he but a pauvre diable.
Linny was an excellent girl; but he thought he should get
on better without her. For a small fee the blanchisseuse
would sew on his buttons. For the present, therefore, he
resolved to seek some more agreeable residence than Calais,
and to suspend his decision regarding a reunion.
"I should save him money in many ways, said Linny to
Mrs. Edmonstone. "Yaughan has no idea of the use of
money, nor of how far it will go.
 Poor fellow! he had always been used to plenty; and it's
so hard to learn—I'm sure I find it so. I often don't, know
where the next day's dinner is to come from, and nothing puts
Mr. Edmonstone so out of temper as asking him for money;
yet he expects always to have something to eat. I believe
he thinks I ought to coin it—I tell him so sometimes; and
then he says, can't I take credit F But he don't consider how
disagreeable it is to be told in a shop that they can't let you
have any more tea, or sugar, or whatever it is, till their dirty
bill's paid. He hasn't the marketings to do, or I'm sure
he'd never bear it.
 Do you know where Yaughan got the money to go abroad
with? At the time I married, he had money.
 I suppose he won it at cards or billiards ; I know nobody
that would give him any. Well, I must try and walk back
"lenny lockwood.
353
again, and I don't know how I shall crawl, said Mrs. Edmon-
stone, pouring out the last glass of wine in- the decanter; for
whilst she was talking, she had gradually emptied it.
 Let me send for a coach for you, said Linny.
"Then you must pay the man, said Mrs. Edmonstone,
"for I've no money for coaches; and she took her leave,
promising to let her daughter-in-law know if she obtained
any tidings of Yaughan.
CHAPTER LII.
The letter Linny had addressed to Alice at Craven Hill re-
mained a considerable time unanswered; at length, one day
that she called at Mrs. Martin's, whither she had desired the
answer might be addressed, she found it had arrived. It was
written with all the warmth and enthusiasm that formed the
peculiar characteristics of Alice's temperament, and urged
Linny to come off to her immediately. The letter was dated
from Brussels,wherethey had been staying two orthreemonths.
"You must know, said Alice, "when you did not answer
my last letter, I became desperate, and I told my aunt I was
so miserable that I was determined to go to papa. She had
sent away Miss Bang, who said she could do nothing with
me; but still I was miserable, because I had no friend, and
nobody to love and talk to. My aunt was occupied with her
dull country neighbours, and their stupid great dinners; and,
besides, I knew she had got such strange notions of me, that
had been put into her head somehow or other, that I was
never at my ease with her. This brought on a complete
explanation, and I spoke to her plainly, and told her what I
felt. Well, she took two or three daysYo consider ; and then
she proposed to me to go and travel on the continent. She
had often heard me say how dearly I should like to see foreign
countries, and that I envied people that could spend all their
time in travelling about from place to place. So I consented
to this, and we have been travelling ever since; and now we
agree very well. My aunt enters into all the gaieties of the
different places, and takes me out with her; and I have got
.such beautiful dresses and bonnets you can't imagine. I am
sure, if you saw me, you wouldn't know me. I am thought'
rather young to be out, and go to the balls and parties, as I
am only just sixteen; but my aunt can't leave me at home
alone, so she takes me with her. And the truth is, she's very
'A
354 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
indulgent and lets me do what I like, because she don t want
me to go to papa. You'll he so much amused, if you have
never been abroad. Do—dear, sweet Miss Lockwood come
directly, and then you will join us before we leave this
place!
Linny wrote to Brussels immediately, explaining why she
could not come directly, and promising to do so when Mrs.
Hargrave's confinement was- over. Shortly afterwards she re-
ceived another letter from Alice, telling her they were going
to Aix-la-Chapelle and Spa, and she would let her know as
soon as it was decided, wh ere they passed the summer.
One day that Linny had been out shopping for Mrs. Har-
grave, she was surprised on her return to meet a young person
coming out of the drawing-room. Linny stood aside to let her
pass on the narrow staircase, and the stranger, as she did so,
stared at her with evident surprise. When she entered, Mrs.
Hargrave asked her if she had observed the person who had
just left the room.
 It's Miss Pollard, she said,  from the place where I last
lodged. She wants me to take her into my service ; but if I
wanted a maid, I would not take her, for I suspect they are not
honest. I lost several things whilst I was there—trinkets,
handkerchiefs, and silk stockings; and, although they laid it
to the charge of the maid, I suspect they were the thieves
themselves. They say they are reduced gentlewomen, and
that the late bishop of B was their uncle.
"I believe that's true, said Linny; "but they were never
remarkable for honesty. I knew something of them in their
prosperous days, and even then they had an irresistible pro-
pensity for thieving.
"I only said I had engaged a maid that suited^ me perfectly,
continued Mrs. Hargrave,  for it's no use accusing people
when you can't bring any proof; besides, one may get one's-
self into trouble by doing so. She said she hoped if 1 changed
I would give her a chance for the place—but I'll have no
more to do with any of the family. Besides, I hope you will
not leave me.
"I'll certainly not leave you till I see you quite recovered,
said Linny.
"Or dead, returned Mrs. Hargrave.  I have a strong per-
suasion that I shall die, she added in a subdued tone; "and
if I should, you will find directions what to do in my writhm-
desk, and some letters also, that you must put in the post."5
L1NNY LOCKWOOD.
355
 I have heard that almost every woman thinks she shall
die the first time she's confined—it's a mere fancy.
 Why shouldn't I ? How many happy young wives die,
leaving their husbands wretched! It would be more conso-
nant to justice that I should.
 Justice ! said Linny;  I see no justice in the case.
"I mean, said Lady Glenlyon, colouring, "that it is not
so cruel to take away the life of a wretch like me, as to take
that of a happy young wife.
 I see no reason why you should die because you are not
happy; death don't choose his victims among the unfortunate
—rather the contrary, I think. Besides, though you are not
happy now, you probably will be, some day or other.
, "Never, never, never! There are circumstances in a
woman's life that preclude the possibility of happiness.
 However, although I do not think you'll die, of course life
is uncertain with us all, and there is one thing you ought
to make provision for.
 What's that p My funeral ?"— No, your child!
 It's to be hoped it will die, too.
 But it may not; and you must give me directions what'
I am to do with it.
Lady Glenlyon wy..- silent. The idea of the unfortunate
creature she was about to bring into the world was so abhor-
rent to her. that she could not bear to deliberate on its des-
tiny. That it might not survive its birth was her most ardent
wish—this was her usual state of mind; at other times, her
conscience reproved her—her fears were roused—not her affec-
tions—not even her compassion. So strong was her. disgust
and abhorrence of herself and the partner of her crime, that
there was no yearning, no relenting towards its fruits. There
are many deviations from the straight path on which we may
hope the eye of God will look with compassion; but if there is
an unpardonable sin, I think it must be wantonly destroying
the happiness of those whose happiness is at our mercy. She
had destroyed the happiness, as far as in her lay, of every crea-
ture connected with her. She had helped to deprave, and
complete the ruin of the only man she had ever loved; and
she had grown to hate him. His fair young wife, too, of whom
she had caught that momentary glance in the modistes mirror,
where was she ? deserted, probably poor and broken-hearted.
And all this ruin she had brought on herself and others in
wanton selfishness. Sometimes she was lost in amazement
z 2
356
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
when she thought of it—she felt as if it could not he real; as if it
was only a bad dream, from which she should presently awake
to find herself beside her indulgent husband; but at other
times a fearful sense of responsibility came over her. Her
rebellious spirit and impatience of misery had induced her to
invoke death; but, though her pride would not confess it, her
feelings were changing. As her hour drew nigh, she began to
contemplate the possibility of dying with terror. Her mind
questioned with itself about death as it had never done before.
What was it ? What was she desiring, when, in the impa-
tience of misery, she wished to pass through its gates ? People
talk of death as of many other things, without attaching ideas
to words. Lady Grlenlyon had never been ill in her life—she
had never seen any one die—she had never seriously considered
that death was her inevitable doom; but she fancied the un-
easy feelings her present condition entailed on her portended
danger, and she began to look at it face to face. Then she
cast her eyes backward—what had her life been ? A selfish
struggle and a combat with everybody about her to have her
own way; and whither had that way led her ? Had she ever
been happy? No ! She comprehended that her whole life had
been a mistake, and she saw how it might have been a very
happy life, had she acted differently; since all external cireum-
stances combined to make it so—fond and indulgent parents
■—health and prosperous circumstances. In the marriage she
had ventured on so rashly, destiny had still spared her, and
given her another chance for happiness. The fates had not
exacted their penalty till the last; but now it must be paid,
and her whole life, though she lived out its natural term,
would not suffice for the ransom. But if she died—how then?
Would they, the inexorable, forego their claim ? Would they
be content with a few months, instead of years, of wretched-
ness ; for she could not consider the death any part of her ex-
piation. Innocent, happy young wives die—are wrenched
away from the arms of adoring husbands, and from everything
that could make life desirable; whereas death would be a boon
to her, if death were extinction; therefore it could not be so
—justice forbad it. Here, or hereafter, the penalty must be
paid. The thought of this began to fill her with vague terrors.
She brooded on it all day; when she slumbered, it woke her
with a start; she was ashamed to speak of it—it was such
weakness of mind; but she struggled against it in vain—it was
stronger than her. Then she thought of the unfortunate being
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
357
she was about to bring into the world. She could not love it,
but need she sin against it ? She now resolved, if she lived,
that instead of committing her child to the care of merce-
naries, she would keep it with her—although she could only
think of it with loathing—and see it brought up in the
strictest principles of religion and morality. It was like
vowing her child to the Yirgin—she fancied this would be
some expiation. But whilst she resolved, or thought she
resolved, upon performing this duty, her soul recoiled from it;
—she viewed it as a dreadful penance to which she had con-
demned herself; and ever and anon she caught herself waver-
ing, and seeking how she might evade it.
One thing, however, she could do; it was easy, for it would
cost her nothing—she could make a provision for the main-
tenance and education of the child, if she died—and here her
thoughts always recurred to Linny. Though her acquaint-
ance with her companion—for she had ceased to consider her
as her maid—dated only a few months back, she had un-
bounded confidence in her—a confidence that the transparency
of Linny's character fully justified. It is true that there was
a mystery about her—but she never suspected for a moment
that that mystery involved any disgrace. The clear brow,
the calm mind, the upward look, forbad the suspicion. It
was evident that she had a sorrow—a sorrow that made her
graver than her nature. To Lady Glenlyon she appeared
enviably happy. She saw, too, that she was guided by steady
moral and religious principles—principles that inspired Lady
Glenlyon with respect, since she had not been much accus-
tomed to see them used as rules of conduct by the people
she had lived amongst, whose morality was rather the
offspring of favourable circumstances than the result of
principle. Then she was amiable—for a person may be very
religious and very moral without being amiable, or aimable at
all—and she was extremely well educated. Lady Glenlyon
wished, if she survived her confinement, to bind Linny to her
for life; and if she died, that she should take charge of her
child. She had greater hopes of succeeding in the last object
than the first; and she formed a project that she thought
could hardly fail to ensure it.
In the meantime, though Linny intended to accept Alice's
invitation, she said nothing about it, because she saw any
allusion to leaving her distressed her mistress—if so she could
now be called. Shp concluded that, her confinement over,
3oS Lilvwi LGOKvv oGLf.
Mrs. Hargrave would not continue to live as she was now
doing. She supposed that she must have friends somewhere,
to whom she would return; for the conviction to which she
had arrived was, that there was no Mr. Hargrave in the case.
The extreme retirement in which she lived; her desire for
concealment; her evident self-condemnation; the feelings of
horror with which she anticipated the birth of the child—all
led to the conclusion that she was not married. At first, she
had thought her a forsaken wife: now she believed her a
Magdalen—;one who had gone astray and repented. It was,
indeed, not a wholesome, or a holy, but an angry, repentance
—but probably she had been deeply injured, or cruelly de-
ceived. Linny pitied her with all her heart; but she felt that
she could not attach herself permanently to a person with
respect to whose real circumstances she was ignorant. Then
she had her secret to keep, too; and it was painful to her to
be living under false colours. "When she engaged with Mrs.
Hargrave as her maid, this did not much signify. People
seldom know anything of the private history of their servants;
but now that she was her companion, the case was different;
and she often felt embarrassed in the course of conversation
by the tacit falsehoods she was compelled to ; insomuch that
she had been, more than once, on the eve of confessing the
truth, but had been restrained by various considerations.
With Alice, she would not be subject to these embarrass-
ments ; nor would it be necessary to conceal her name and the
circumstances of her marriage. This would be a great relief
from restraint; and she had an additional motive for going,
in the regard she entertained for her young friend, who, she
was aware, had fallen into the hands of one who did not
understand her character. Alice, she well knew, was to be
governed only by her affections. Mrs. Stanley having tried
Miss Bang and rigour, and failed accordingly, had rushed into
the opposite extreme of indulgence, without discovering the
true key to the influence she desired. Her intense hatred of
Captain Mearns, and her apprehensions that her niece would
some day escape to him if she made her unhappy, gave Alice a
power, which, when she discovered, she did not fail to use.
Ardent and exclusive, though externally a subdued and quiet
person, she could not be happy but under the influence of some
vivid sensation. Her mother in her early years, Miss Lockwood
at a later period, had satisfied this necessity. Then she was
stranded onadesert shore; and now her aunt had suddenlyflung
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
359
her into society with all her inexperience and impressibilities
undefended. She appeared for the present delighted with the
novelty; but vanity, dress, and dissipations, could not long
content Alice. Linny knew her too well to suppose it. Next
would come the great danger she had always anticipated for
her—Alice would love—certainly  too weil, and probably
 not wiselyand then who could help her but herself?
CHAPTER LIII.
One day as Linny was coming downstairs, she saw the maid-
servant with a letter in her hand, which she had just received
from the postman. She was turning it about, examining the
address, and endeavouring to decipher the post-mark. When
she heard Linny she handed it to her, saying it was for Mrs.
Plargrave. Probably the woman had not before reflected that
the lodger never received any letters; but now the event
seemed to strike her as something extraordinary, and she
looked at Linny as if she would have asked her the meaning
of it. Linny was at first surprised too, but observing that
the letter had been posted in the neighbourhood, she con-
eluded it was a tradesman's circular. Mrs. Hargrave seemed
equally startled at the sight of it, and afraid to open it; after
looking at the outside, she laid it beside her and took up her
book again. In the afternoon Linny had occasion to go out,
and when she returned the letter had disappeared ; but there
was something in Mrs. Hargrave's manner, that, with that
ready instinct that informs us of -what concerns ourselves,
made her suspect that she was herself in some way the sub-
ject of the mysterious epistle. The expression of Mrs. Har-
grave's eyes when they rested on her, her unusual silence, and
the tone of her voice, convinced her of it. Who could the
letter be from, and what could it contain ? Had some one
recognised her, and written to inform Mrs. Hargrave that
she was passing under an assumed name ? This was impro-
bable too, as scarcely any one knew her as Mrs. Vaughan
Edmonstone. Conscious o: concealment, she felt embarrassed.
However, Mrs. Hargrave made no allusion to the letter, nor
had Linny any reason to suppose that the impression it had
made was unfavourable; ste therefore concluded she had been
mistaken, and soon ceased to think of it. She had, however,
been right in her first conjecture—she was the subject of the
letter.
360 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
It was from Miss Pollard, who had recognised her when
tliey met on the stairs, and who, having ascertained that she
was the maid Mrs. Hargrave alluded to as giving her so much
satisfaction, wrote the letter with a view of displacing her
from a situation she wished to occupy herself. Their uncle,
the bishop, a worthy learned man, who had risen by a Greek
particle, backed by the interest of Lord C., had taken them
from their mother, a poor widow, and placed them at Mrs,
Barnard's boarding-school. At the same time he bought and
furnished a small house for her in Islington, and allowed her
an annuity to enable her to live in it. His premature death
1 arrested the daughters' education, and the mother's humble
prosperity, leaving her no resource but the house which the
bishop had given her. She had therefore recourse to letting
lodgings, whilst her daughters waited on the lodgers; but
the eldest aspired to something better. She was fired with
ambition by the sight of Mrs. Hargrave's wardrobe, and
wished to become her permanent servant. We have seen
how she failed in her object; her ancient propensities adheijed
to her, and she could not resist a few unlawful appropriations.
But, as Mrs. Hargrave left the house without accusing her,
she did not despair of recovering the situation, and 011 the
morning she was met on the stairs, she had called to inform
her that she had been taking lessons in hairdressing, and
that, if Mrs. Hargrave wanted a maid, she hoped she would
give her the preference. Mrs. Hargrave said there was no
probability of such a thing, as she was perfectly well suited;
and whilst under the influence of this disappointment, Miss
Pollard met and recognised Linny 011 the stairs.
The letter was anonymous; it was signed "A Friend;
and it informed Mrs. Hargrave that perhaps she was not
aware that Miss Lockwood was a person of indifferent cha-
racter, who had run away from a school where she was
teacher, with a strange gentleman; and that she was sup-
posed to have lived with him as long as he would keep her,
to the great distress of her parents, who did not know what
was become of her. What she had been doing since nobody
knew; but the writer implied, that there was every reason
to suppose her proceedings woujd not bear investigation.
There was only one part of this letter that made any impres-
sion on the person to whom it wai addressed—that was the
name of Lockwood. She had supposed Linny to be her sur-
name, but if it was Lockwood she thought it furnished a clue
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
361
to all the mystery; and also explained her allusions to the
misfortunes and reverses that had reduced her to her present
situation. She had never happened to see Miss Loekwood,
but she had heard that the unfortunate clerk had a very
pretty, accomplished daughter; and, doubtless, this was she.
It was not from Yaughan, however, that she had this informa-
tion—he had earefulty avoided ever speaking of Miss Lock-
wood ; and neither his parents nor any one else had ever had
the slightest suspicion of his attachment. ■
Lady Glenlyon, who had been accustomed to look upon
Loekwood as a person who had lost his situation through
misconduct, comprehended how his daughter should be re-
duced to seek service, and might wish to conceal her name ;
and, so far from feeling estranged from her companion, she
was rather endeared to her by Miss Pollard's communication.
How singular, too, she thought, that they should have been
thus brought together! The period and circumstances of her
marriage were recalled vividly to her mind; her uncle
Peatherstone's arrival; the impatience for'Loekwood's return
from the city ; the surprise at his disappearance. Then, the
affair of the bracelet on the Boulevard—her giving it to
Madame Richard, to sell the jewels and substitute Paris
diamonds, in order to supply Yaughan with money—the
alarm of Sir Arthur's visit to the jeweller's, which she had
learnt from Madame Richard herself; and her presenting her-
self to her husband with the bracelet on her arm—and then
her resentment and lamentable flight. Kate resolved to
keep her newly acquired information to herself; since, to
evince any acquaintance with Miss Lockwood's previous his-
tory, might tend to betray her own. As, however, accidents
of this sort seldom happen singly, she was destined to receive
the same information a few days afterwards from another
quarter. The postman brought a letter for Miss Lock-
wood when Linny was out; and the maid, who had only once
heard the name from Miss Pollard, carried it up to Mrs.
Hargrave to inquire if she thought it was for Miss Linny.
Mrs. Hargrave said it was—paid the postage, and laid it
beside her. When Linny came home, the maid told her there
was a letter for her, and that she had given it to Mrs.
Hargrave.
 A letter for me ? she said.
 Yes, miss. The postman asked if we had a Miss Lock-
wood living here, and I thought that was the name Miss
362 Llji I\jl -LCCJvVVGGD* *■
Pollard said was your'n; so I asked Mrs. Hargrave, and she
paid the postage. '
It was clear, then, from whom the former letter had come
—that letter of which she suspected herself to be the subject;
and probably this was from the same person. She even pene-
trated the motives of the writer, and saw how congenial they
were to the character of Miss Pollard, as she had formerly
known her; for Mrs. Hargrave's silence sufficiently indicated
the nature of the communication. What her former pupil
might have alleged against her, she did not know; but no
doubt she had invented something to answer her purpose,
though it was evident that she had not succeeded in preju-
dicing Mrs. Hargrave against her. The letter, however,
proved to be from Mrs. Edmonstone ; it consisted but of half-
a-dozen lines, informing her that she was very ill, and in great
distress, and entreating her to come and see her. It con-
eluded with a mysterious allusion to Mr. Edmonstone.
Mrs. Edmonstone wrote a very bad hand, but a very re-
markable one, insomuch that the moment Mrs. Hargrave
handed Linny the letter, she knew who it was from ; but she
was not the only one who recognised.it. Kate Eardley had
seen that hand too often easily to forget it; she was pretty
sure the writer of the letter was her old friend, and Vaughan's
mother; and, as she was aware that the clerk's daughter had
formerly been known to her, their correspondence seemed no-
thing extraordinary.
 This letter is from a friend who is ill, said Linny;  and
she requests me to go to her. If you are pretty well this
evening, and can spare me, I'll go after dinner.
 Gro, by all means! said Mrs. Hargrave.  I hope your
friend is not very ill.
 I don't Jcnow, replied Linny,  but she writes apparently
in great distress. Poor thing! she has had much to suffer.
She was once rich, and now she is reduced to the greatest
poverty.
 Poor lady! returned Kate, who wished to obtain some
information about Mrs. Edmonstone;  and how does she
live ?
 I don't exactly know whether her husband gets anything
to do; but I don't think they have any certain means of sub-
sistence, from what she said when she called here.
 Was she here ? said Kate, startled.
"Yes, about a fortnight ago. She appeared then very
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
363
weak and ill; and I fancy,by lierletter, she is worse. Misfor-
tune seems to have soured her husband, too; and altogether I
fear she is very miserable. Not many years ago she had a hand-
some house in town and country; carriages, horses, servants—
everything. And she was a very handsome woman, and
dressed beautifully. It's a dreadful reverse!
"Ah! said Kate, "there are dreadful reverses in the
world!
 Had she no children ? she added, after a pause.
The blood rushed into Linny's face; she dropped her scis-
sors, and stooped to pick them up.  Yes, she has a son.
The confusion was too evident to be concealed. Kate saw
it, and put her own construction on it. . The handsome
Yaughan had probably flirted with the poor clerk's daughter,
and she had fallen in love with hipi. This was the disap-
pointment, the heart's grief, she sometimes alluded to, when
Kate told her that she did not know what misery was.
 And is he not kind to his mother ?
 He is away, out of England—she has not seen him for a
long time.
Kate felt a strange curiosity to hear further; but Linny
made an excuse to leave the room. In the evening Kate
handed her a five-pound note, saying,  Perhaps that may be
of use to your poor friend.
CHAPTER LIY.
Linny found Mrs. Edmonstone lodging in the New-road, in
the second floor of a mean house, n'ot over clean. She was in
bed, apparently very unwell, and her eyes were swollen and
red with weeping. It appeared that Mr. Edmonstone had
gone off to America with Tiggs. He had been absent for
several days, but, as that was not unusual, she thought
nothing of it; till, on the preceding day, she received a letter
from him, informing her of his departure, and promising that,
on his arrival, he would send for her.  But in the mean-
time, she said,  what am I to do P "What little money we
had Mr. Edmonstone supplied—I don't know how he got it,
and it was not much, but it just kept us from starving; but
now I don't know what I can do, unless I go a-begging.
 I have brought something to keep you for the present,
replied Linny.  When Mrs. Hargrave heard I was coming
to see a friend in distress, she gave me this.
364
L1NNT"~L0CK.W00D.
 It was very kind of her. If you'll call the maid, I'll send
her out for something to eat, for I feel such a sinking in my
inside, and I am sure it is for want of food.
When she had desired the maid to fetch some ham and
bread, and a bottle of sherry, she continued the conversation,
which was frequently interrupted by tears.
 God knows, she said,  whether I shall ever see Mr.
Edmonstone again! I know I'm nothing but an incumbrance
to him now, though he did not always think so. I should
not feel it so bitterly if he had confided in me, and told me he
was going. But to go in this way, without taking leave of
me, is cruel! And I so ill, too, and not a shilling in the
house. I could hardly get enough from him latterly to buy
necessary food—I suppose he was saving everything to pay
his passage out; but I had not the least suspicion that he
was contemplating such a thing. He bids me in. his letter
make an appeal to Mr. Eardley. He says that, when Mr.
Eardley knows he has left me, he's sure he'll assist me. But
I've appealed often enough to my own relations, and, if they
wont help me, what hope is there that Mr. Eardley will ?
 But perhaps, said Linny,  now that Mr. Edmonstone
has left you, your relations will assist you.
 Yes, they may send me a pound or two; but what am I
to do when that is gone ?
"Well, we shall see, said Linny.  The first thing is to
get well, and, if you are ill for want of food, to live a little
better.
The maid now brought the things she had been sent for,
and Linny helped her to some ham, and pourecl out a glass of
wine; the wine she drank eagerly; but when she put a piece
of ham in her mouth she could not swallow it.
"It's very odd, she said; "I thought I wanted food so
much, and now I can't swallow a morsel; and yet I used to
be so fond of a slice of ham ! I don't think I eat two ounces
of food in a week. I fancy I can eat it—but when it comes,
my stomach turns against it.
 But surely it's bad to drink so much wine without any-
thing solid in your stomach, said Linny.
 What can I do ? I must take something to keep body
and soul together, and wine's the only thing I can swallow.
Have you heard anything of Yaughan ?
 No, said Linny.  Have you ?
 Not a word. If I knew where he was I'd write to him;
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
365
perhaps, now his father's gone, he would come to me. He
couldn't forgive Mr. Edmonstone for the ruin he had brought
on us all; and they quarrelled so much when they came to-
gether, that it was quite natural Yaughan should keep away.
Poor fellow ! I wonder what has become of Lady Glenlyon !
 Perhaps she has taken refuge with her friends.
 No; for her father is not a man to forgive her. He'll
break his heart about her, but he wont see her. If her mother
had lived she would, I dare say; with such a proud spirit as
Kate Eardley's she'll go somewhere where nobody knows her ;
probably she's in some little town on the continent—hid in
some obscure place in France or Germany.
"I wish, said Linny,  you did not live so far off. I don't
like leaving you, when you're so ill, to the care of that
lodging-house servant.
 There's nothing the matter with me but want of good
nourishment, and living in this wretched place; nothing in
the world. I have no disease whatever ; but it's shocking to
have no creature to speak to; and everything so miserable
and squalid about one. Oh, my God! when I think of Marlow
and past days ! If anybody had told me, when I married
Mr. Edmonstone, what he would bring me to, I should have
thought they raved.
Linny advised that she should come and lodge near her, as
she could not be absent long from Mrs. Hargrave, and, after
recommending her to the care of the servant, whom she pro-
mised to remunerate for any extra attention, she left her.
CHAPTER LY.
Linny seldom returned home, after an absence of a few hours,
that she did not see the marks of tears on Mrs. Hargrave's
cheeks. The pride that endeavoured to restrain them, not
always successfully, in her presence, yielded ; and she fre-
quently found her stretched on the bed or the sofa, in that
disturbed slumber that ensues when we have cried ourselves
to sleep. This was the case now. When Linny entered the
room with a candle, Kate started from the couch, exclaiming,
 Oh God! Her lids were swollen, her face pale and glazy,
and her looks wild.
 I am afraid I've stayed too long away, said Linny; "but
I found my friend ill, and in great distress.
Oh ! said Kate, without attending to what she said;
366 LINNY LOCK WOOD.
* Oh, I have had such a fearful dream—if it was a dream!
Great God! It seemed so real !"■ . 5
 You have been lying in an uneasy attitude ; your head s
too low on that sofa.
 No, no! it was not a dream of that sort—it was so con-
secutive, so consistent—-'and I don't believe I was really asleep.
I saw pay mother and my father as plain as I see you now.
 So we do, whatever we see in our dreams, while we see it.
 Yes, while we see it, not afterwards ; but now the sense
of reality remains—it was more than a dream, she added,
shuddering.
 But your father, I have heard you say, is alive.
 Yes—what day of the month is this ?
"The 12th.
"My God! Yes, that was the very date I read.
"Read! where?
 In my dream. I thought I was in this room, lying on
the sofa, as I really was—the door opened, and my mother
came in with a large book in her hand, bound in black velvet,
fastened by massive silver clasps. She came to the side of
the sofa and opened the book and said, ' Read!' and she
pointed with her finger to the line—and I read— Mrs. Har-
arave paused : then add1*!,  T read her name and ihe date of
her death. Th--ii the door opened again, and my iatber
entered at the !n d don -—looking dark and angry—I thoughi
my mother looked on me with pity. Here her tears choked
her speech, and it was some time before she could proceed.
Linny brought her a glass of water and tried to soothe her,
alleging that it was only a dream, and that women in her
situation often had unpleasant dreams.
 You'll see. I was confused and terrified when first I woke;
but my conviction grows firmer—it was not a dream—not a
mere dream; but time will show. If my father dies, you'll
believe me.
"Did the dream predict his death ?
 Yes, on the twelfth, this very day; and then my father
turned a leaf, and said again, ' Read !' and I did read.
 What ? said Linny.
Kate covered her face with her hands, and answered in a
low voice,  The date of my own death !
Linny was struck with horror; whether it was a mere
dream, the result of her condition, or a more awful visitation
it was frightful in itself, and likely to make a dreadful im-
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 367
pression on Mrs. Hargrave. The immediate effect was a repe-
tition of the convulsions she had had after Wharton's visit,
and Linny sat up with her all night. Towards morning she
became calmer, but she could not sleep. Whenever she began
to slumber, she started and opened her eyes with affright.
 Oh! she exclaimed,  how we are punished! how we are
punished! Linny smoothed her pillow, but said nothing.
 I wonder, she continued, after a pause,  I wonder if
anybody was ever so wretched as I am!
"Many, no doubt, replied Linny. "Our own misery
naturally appears the greatest. We can't appreciate other
people's sorrows ; and then the capacity for suffering varies,
I suppose.
 I wish mine were not so great. I wish I had more levity
—more hardness of heart—or more religion. I wish I could
be resigned and repentant. G-od knows I do repent, but it
brings me no comfort—I'm only frightened.
 When I was in great trouble, I prayed to God to help
me, said Linny, blushing.
 Did you ? said Kate, turning round to look at her.
 Yes, replied Linny;  and I found great comfort in it.
 But your trouble was nothing—nothing- to mine!
:t Wasn't it ? said Linny.  You don't know.'
 Yes, I do ; you've had a reverse of fortune, which obliged
you to leave home and earn your living. It distressed you
to see your parents reduced to poverty—perhaps you were
disappointed in love. Nothing ! nothing!
Linny shook her head, saying,  I have found it something,
I assure you.
"You have never known remorse! said Mrs. Hargrave.
 You don't know what it is to feel that you have destroyed
your own happiness and that of others for ever, by a moment
of irretrievable folly; you don't know what it is to look back
with inexpressible longings for that happiness which you
have flung away, and which no power earthly or heavenly can
restore you.
 Don't say that.
 I do say it. Heaven cannot revoke the past—what is
done, is done.
 But Heaven can grant peace and forgiveness.
 On what conditions P Itepentance ? Who can repent so
much as I do ? I am mad with sorrow and regret when I
think of my folly. Eepentance consumes me it fr? fluting
368
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
away my life. When I reflect how much happiness I threw
away, never to he recalled, I think, if I were a man, I should
blow out my brains. But I'm a woman and a coward. I do
not find that repentance brings peace; it's only another in-
gredient, and a dreadful one, added to my misery.
Linny was at a loss what to say; she saw there was a fallacy
in the reasoning, but she had not courage to attack it; and
she shrunk from the assumption of preaching to one whom
she thought cleverer than herself.
 If I survive my confinement, said Mrs. Hargrave, after
a pause,  I'll go into a Carmelite convent—but what is the
use of talking of that ?—I shall die!
 How can you attach so much importance to a dream ?
Besides, you'll do yourself harm—the prediction will cause its
own verification, if you allow it dwell upon your mind.
 Perhaps so, but I can't help it; besides, the prediction
will not be the less accurate because it contributes to its own
verification—that may be one of the elements originally com-
prehended in it, you know.
 You speak of remorse, and repentance, and the anguish
they occasion you—and you coolly meditate doing a thing
that appears to me very sinful.
"What's that?
 Abandoning your child—you can't take it with you
into a convent.
 Oh! I shall provide for it.
 Can you provide love for it ?
 More than it would have from me. I shall commit it to
the care of one who will not hate it. I should.
 Pardon me, said Linny,  but you seem to me to have
such a rebellious spirit.
 That's truesaid Kate, after a pause. "I'm afraid I
always had.
 You talk of repentance, but you are in arms against Pro-
vidence, added Linny.
 Against Fate I am.
"Well, what is fate but the consequences of our actions ?
And those consequences God-.has appointed as our natural
punishment when we do wrong.
 Yes, but what feeble, passionate, infatuated creatures we
are! How can such creatures help making great mistakes—
committing great errors—is it not hard that we are to suffer
all our lives for one r
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
369
"We often suffer a long time—rarely all our lives.
 I beg your pardon—there are errors that God may forgive,
but man never. There may be mercy in Heaven—there's none
on earth. I shall not live long, and it's no matter saying it
now. I have committed a great fault—perhaps a crime. I
may be imprudent to tell you—may be you'll not like to stay
with a person who has made such a confession—if so, leave me ;
I can't be much more wretched than I am; I can die alo/ne.
 I shall not leave you, be assured, said Linny.  I would
not leave you till your confinement's over for the world.
"Well, then, I have done this thing; I regret it with all
my soul; you see how I regret it—I'm wild with regret,
frantic with the agony of comparing the present with the past,
and thinking of the happiness I have lost—but the certainty
that there is no hope for me hardens my heart. If I could
recover my position ; if Heaven could forgive and men forget;
if the past could be obliterated from all minds but mine, then
I could repent in the right sense of the word—humbly and
prayerfully.
 That is, if you could escape the natural penalty of the
error you speak of; but, perhaps, if you had not suffered as
you do, you would not have repented at all—it appears to me
that it is the penalty that has brought the repentance.
Kate paused, and then said, "Yes, I should have deeply
regretted the act under any circumstances—it was degrading,
vile, and basely ungrateful. I could never have recovered my
self-complacence, even under the most favourable circumstances
—even though the world had remained ignorant of what I had
done.
 You think of the people who know this as the whole world.
How few they must be!
 More than you would suppose.
 Still they must be a small proportion of the world. You
might live where you would be totally unknown.
 That's why I am here—it is to avoid the world ; but what
a life it would be with nothing better to anticipate—death
would be preferable. If it had not been for the extraordinary
chance of my meeting with you, it would have been much
worse. It would be the same everywhere ; I would not make
acquaintance if I could—I dare not. This is a strange avowal
to make to you—but you have promised you will not leave
me, and I claim that promise.
 I will not till after your confinemen&Y
A A
370
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 And then I shall need you no more. Before I die I'll tell
you my secret, she added, after a pause.
Linny was at work on ahaby's cap during this conversation,
and the tears of pity, which she did. not wish Mrs. Hargrave
to see, almost blinded her. The spectacle of this great misery
constantly before her eyes, on the one hand, and Mrs. Edmon-
stone's wretched condition on the other, almost made her
forget her own sorrows. Unlike Mrs. Edmonstone, she was
able to earn her living, the constant employment kept her
from brooding on her troubles, and she felt it no degradation
to be so occupied. She had concealed her real name, certainly;
but it was only in consideration of Yaughan, who, should she
ever rejoin him, would have been shocked at her going to
service, but in reality she had no occasion to hide her head
before anybody in the world; and Mrs. Hargrave taught her
to feel the inestimable blessing of that freedom. In fact, the
motive for concealing her name no longer subsisting, as the
position she occupied was now not that of a servant, she was
sometimes on the eve of avowing that, and also her real situa-
tion, especially when Mrs. Hargrave made so light of her
troubles. She felt inclined to say,  Yes, it is true that my
father was ruined by a series of unfortunate accidents; that
my mother died when I was absent, from a disease probably
produced by grief; and that I have been forced to earn my
livelihood; but that is not all—my history does not terminate
there; there remains yet a darker chapter. I had a husband
—he was my first and only love—for him I had forsaken
my father and my mother. He was my only treasure, and I
have lost him. He was wiled away from me—seduced by a
woman who valued what she had stolen so little that she
abandoned him within a few weeks! You would scarcely
believe there could be such a woman in the world; yet she
did this, although married herself to one of the best of men
and kindest of husbands—my own husband always did him
the justice to say this.
A certain shyness and shamefacedness, which prevented her
talking of her own affairs, had hitherto kept her silent; but
she was no longer restrained by other considerations.
But who was Mrs. Hargrave—and what was the crime she
alluded to ? she began to suspect that her first conjecture did
not comprehend the whole story. Perhaps she was a married
woman, who had eloped from her husband with some man
who had abandoned her. That would account for her grief
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
37:
and her desire to remain unknown. If this were so, what a
strange coincidence had brought her in contact with a person
so situated! Then her thoughts reverted to Lady Glenlyon.
Did she suffer as this-woman suffered ? Did she repent like
her ? No ; from all she had heard of Lady Glenlyon's charac-
ter, that was very improhahle. She had left Vaughan, most
likely, because she had discovered he did not love her, and
because her high temper could not hend to his. It had not
been difficult to Linny to live with him; but she was well
aware how difficult it would be for a woman of a less yielding
and devoted nature; and, above all, one whom he did not love
—and he did not love Lady Glenlyon. Her cool, dispassionate
judgment assured her of that. She wondered what had become
of her—was she under the protection of Mr. Eardley ? Or had
she thrown herself on the mercy of her husband ? Probably,
when her father came back from Ireland, he might learn
something about her.
Eor her own part, she was growing very anxious to hear of
Vaughan. No longer under the influence of Lockwood's
aversion to him, the suspicions he had infected her with grew
weaker. She had time to reflect on the extreme improbability
of his having picked up the parcel, and viewed her father's
conviction as a sort of monomania, arising out of the injuries
he had suffered from Mr. Edmonstone. She wished she knew
where he was, or rather that he knew where she was ; for the
first advance to a reconciliation must come from him. But
she did not see how a communication was to he brought about,
unless chance should favour her when she went abroad to join
Alice. Eor the present there was nothing to he done. Not
only was she hound by her promise to Mrs. Hargrave, hut by
her sympathies. She had become attached to this graceful,
elegant, and most unhappy woman. She saw the faults of
character; but she saw also the frank, generous nature.
Seldom had any one tq complain of Kate, except those who
sought to control her. As a girl, she had been beloved amongst
her young companions, and she was always kind and indul-
gent to any one she considered her inferior; but with the
first exercise of authority, her rebellious spirit was called into
action, and, just or unjust, she set herself to oppose it. More-
over, now that Mrs. Hargrave had thrown off a great deal of
her reserve, their intercourse was more agreeable, and Linny
had become interested in her fate. She could not on many
accounts bind herself to stay beyond a certain time, and yefi
A A 2
372 LLNJNY LUUlvUUUU.
slie could not hear to think of the desolate state in which she
should leave her. She hoped that some day Mrs. Hargiave
would carry her confidence further, and tell her her his ory ;
and that then, when she became acquainted with her family
and circumstances, she might find out her relations, and by
proper representations induce them to receive her amongst
them. She understood her mother was dead, but her father
still lived ; and she thought the account she could give of the
daughter's sufferings would melt any paternal heart. She
often lay awake at night forming schemes for bringing about
this desirable reconciliation ; and in imagination pleading the
cause of her mysterious friend. This regard was not unre-
quitecl. Mrs. Hargrave was fully sensible of Linny's valuable
qualities, and of her good fortune in having met with her.
She anticipated their separation with dread, and could not
imagine what she should do without her; but in this train of
reflection she was always arrested by one thought—perhaps
she should die! and now the dream had fortified this appre-
hension into a conviction. Yes, she should die—her wish
would be fulfilled. Had she not often and often said she
wished it; but as she thought she saw death advancing, she
recoiled ;—all manner of terrors' assailed her; and, with this
excess of terror, the necessity of providing for the maintenance
and education of the child she bore, recurred to her with
additional force. She need not meet death, burthened with
the sin of neglecting it. But for this purpose she must make
a will; and who was to draw up the document ? Half of the
little property she had at her own disposal she had given to
Vaughan; the other half she proposed to give to Linny—
who was to have the use and enjoyment of it during her life,
provided she consented to maintain and educate the child in
any way she thought fit, that would enable him or her to earn
a living ; and at her death the money was to go to the child,
who was never to be told who was his mother. To obviate
the possibility of a refusal, she wished to make this arrange-
ment unknown to Linny, who, she felt assured, when the
infant was at her mercy, would do her duty by it. But for
this purpose she must inevitably take some one into her con-
fidence; either a lawyer, who was an utter stranger to her to
whom she would have to communicate some family particulars
and avow that she was Lady G-lenlyon; or some one who
already knew her—she shrunk fropi both; but finally resolved
fin the first expedient.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
873
CHAPTER LVI.
Mrs. Hah grave always took her breakfast before she rose ;
and when the newspaper came, sometimes she read it herself,
and sometimes Linny read it to her. On the day after the
dream—that is, oa.the thirteenth—when Linny as usual laid
the newspaper on the bed, she hastily threw it on the floor,
saying,  Don't bring that here !
Linny picked it up and laid it on the chair, without, how-
ever, comprehending why it was not to be laid in its usual
place. When she had given Mrs. Hargrave her breakfast, she
seated herself beside the bed and took up the paper. Mrs.
Hargrave looked annoyed, but Linny did not observe it, and
began to read to herself; but presently, when she had occa-
sion to turn the leaf, the annoyance burst forth.
 Do take that into the other room! You've no idea how
the rattling of the paper annoys me.
Linny laid the paper down, imagining the susceptibility pro-
ceeded from the excessive irritation of her nerves. She read it
herself later in the day, and when about four o'clock the news-
man fetched it, she asked Mrs. Hargrave if she wished to see
it before she sent it away. She answered  No ! During the
whole day she was more than ever depressed, and almost con-
stantly in tears, which she no\y shed freely in her companion's
presence ; indeed, she could not bear to be left alone a moment.
Linny had hitherto slept on the second floor, and Mrs. Har-
grave on the first; but seeing how nervous she was, she now
proposed to sleep on the sofa in the drawing-room—an offer
that was thankfully accepted. She took Linny's hand and
said, "You have great patience with me—I wonder at it.
 Why should you wonder ? It would be inhuman not to
have patience with a person that suffers so much.
"I do suffer, she said, with a heavy sigh;  God only
knows how much: I care nothing for the bodily suffering—
except inasmuch as I hate the cause, and that I am continually
reminded of it—but oh, the anguish of mind ! I feel as if there
was some creature within my breast that's gnawing, gnawing
for ever. When I'm dropping asleep it's that that wakes me
—it gives me no rest. What wretched creatures women are!
Don't you think so ?
"Some are happy, I suppose.
374 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 You suppose! Did you ever know any woman that was
Jttippy?
Linny reflected.  I think my mother was happy before our
misfortunes. I was happy, too.
 You were too young to he otherwise. I exclude very
young people—they are happy after a manner.^ But how
insecure such happiness is, even when you've got it!
"So is everything in the world. Nothing lasts—unhappi-
ness is often as temporary as happiness.
Kate shook her head and sighed heavily.  Mine will last
as long as myself—hut that will not he long. The fact is,
she said, after a pause,  the alternations that you speak of
exist because people are influenced by such trifles—but a real,
deep, heartfelt grief, is never recovered.
 People lose their dearest friends and recover it.
 Never, if they have really loved them! But people do not
always love their dearest friends. Besides it's in the course of
nature that people should die—it's not a special grief that
makes one feel a wretch amongst the happy.
 I thought you said nobody was happy ?
 I don't think anybody is—but they don't reflect on it—
they don't know ; unfortunately I do.
 You have always told me that you might have been ex-
ceedingly happy but for your own fault.
 Ay, tut—there's always a But. I was not happy, at least
I did not think myself so. I think you are one of the happiest
people I have ever known, added Kate.
 Indeed! said Linny, looking up at her with surprise.
"Yes, I do! You have such a happy disposition, that the
little troubles you have had have not destroyed your cheerful-
ness or embittered your temper—I do not reckon them great
sorrows; but 
"I wonder what you call great sorrows ? said Linny, in-
terrupting her.  Don't you think it a great sorrow to have
been forsaken by a husband I dearly loved ?
 You! Are you married ? said Mrs. Hargrave, rising on
her elbow from her reclining posture, and staring in her face.
 Yes, I am! answered Linny.  I came to you under my
maiden name, because, if I should ever rejoin my husband, I
knew my having been in such a situation would distress him;
but I have no reason for concealing the fact of my marriage
from you—I am married; though, perhaps, I shall never see
my husband again. He went away from me, with another
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
375
woman when I'd only been married to him eighteen months—
I think that's-a sorrow, isn't it ?
Linny was making up a morning cap for Mrs. Hargrave
Avhen this conversation took place; and while she spoke, she
continued to work at it without raising her face, for though,
now that Kate was so cordial with her, she rather desired a
good opportunity of making this avowal, she still could not
do it without embarrassment. She did not, therefore, perceive
the effect produced on Mrs. Hargrave by the communication.
She thought her silence proceeded from surprise, and perhaps
displeasure, at having been deceived.
 I dare say, she continued, you think I might have told
you this before, and I often felt inclined to do it; hut I had
not resolution. When one has embarked in a deception oi
this sort, it is difficult to retreat.
"It is, said Mrs. Hargrave, in a choked voice, which
sounded so strangely that it caused Linny to raise her eyes.
She was still in the same attitude, .half risen from the sofa,
leaning on her elbow, and staring wildly in Linny's face ; who
—still concluding that she was shocked at the deception—
said,  I am afraid you think it was not-justifiable to live with
you all this time without telling you the truth—but  She
was interrupted by Mrs. Hargrave's uttering a faint groan,
and falling back upon the sofa. Linny fetched her the usual
remedies, expecting she was going into those convulsions she
had twice seen her suffer from; but that was not the case,
although for several hours she was so ill that Linny thought
the crisis had arrived, and sent for the doctor and the nurse.
It proved a false alarm, and the doctor was dismissed; but
Mrs. Hargrave desired the nurse might stay.
 She can wait upon me and do everything that is neces-
sary, though I hope you'll not leave me till all is overas
she said this, she turned towards Linny and took her hand,
whilst the tears streamed down her face.
 You know I will not, answered Linny, pressing her hand
affectionately.
Mrs. Hargrave laid her forehead on the hand that held hers,
and sobbed as if her heart was breaking.
 Do not agitate yourself so much—you'll make yourself
ill again."— No, it does me good to cry—a great deal of good.
When she had wept some time, she raised her head and
looked at Linny with a calm sorrowful expression, that quite
melted her. She seemed to be perusing her features.
376
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 Poor girl! she said, still holding her hand tenderly;  it
was a vile act, was it not ?
 What ? said Linny.— To rob you of your husband.
 It was, indeed ! said Linny ;  more especially as she had
not enough affection to stay with him.
 She left him, then ?"— Yes, so I hear.
 Perhaps she repented ?
 More likely they disagreed. He was not a man to live
with every woman, though I could have lived well with him,
if she had let him alone.
 Then you think it was her fault ?
 Yes, I do, for many reasons; and I am certain that, even
when he was going away, he was very sorry.
 Then perhaps you could forgive him, and take him back ?
"I don't know.
 How you must hate her / said Mrs. Hargrave, after a
pause. '
 Not hate / said Linny.  I don't hate her. I ought
rather to pity her ; for if she has any feeling she must be a
miserable woman. She had a kind good husband, and was in
the enjoyment of every comfort and luxury in the world, when
she chose to go off with my husband.
"She well deserves to be miserable, said Mrs. Hargrave,
 and probably is.
 Will you rise ? said Linny, in order to turn the conversa-
tion.  I think you had better, if it's only for an hour, and
let us make your bed.
 Listen to me, said Kate.  I have let you wait upon
me hitherto, partly because you had begun to do it before I
saw what sort of person you were—and partly from my ex-
treme dislike to having a stranger about me; but I can't
allow you to do so any longer. I must get used to the nurse,
and it's better in every point of view that I should do it at
once.
Linny thought it was, and acquiesced at once ; nevertheless
she was constantly offering to do little things that she saw
necessary, and Mrs. Hargrave, if' she perceived it, as often
stopped her.
"I can't allow you to wait upon me—do oblige me by
leaving that alone—let Mrs. Hudson do it.
 What does it signify ? said Linny.  I am used to do
it, and I forget.
"It signifies to me—it distresses me; and so it seemed to
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
377
do. In sliort, they would have changed places if Linny would
have allowed it, and Mrs. Hargrave would have waited upon
her. There was such an appearance of humility—such an evi-
dent desire to place herself second to her friend in every way
—that at first she thought it was affectation ; but she soon
became convinced she was sincere ; and then Linny concluded
that the desire to humble herself was a sort of acknowledge
ment that she was an erring woman, whilst Linny was only
an injured one. All these attentions, therefore, were received
by the latter with, affectionate deprecation.
On the fourteenth, Linny, as usual, brought The Times into
the room, when the nurse brought in the breakfast. The
sight of the paper seemed to recall some painful recollections
to Mrs. Hargrave's mind, but she did not throw it on the
floor this time. She only said,  Don't bring me the paper
any more ; it agitates me and makes me nervous. I can't
tell why ; read it yourself in the next room.
 I don't care the least about it, said Linny; "I had better
tell the man not to bring it any longer.
 Do, if you don't care for it.
Linny took the paper into the next room, and although
she was, as she said, not much interested in the news, she
began reading it, whilst the nurse assisted Mrs. Hargrave to
rise. She looked at the curious advertisements in the second
column, and then she read a distressing account of the wreck
of an American brig, with the loss of the whole crew. She
next turned to the deaths and marriages, and was amused
to see amongst the latter, Mildred Barnard to the  Rev.
Whitelaw, as Coulin called him. They used to hate each
other mortally. Then her eye caught a name she knew
amongst the deaths—on the 12th; at Mayfield House, Ri-
chard Eardley, Esq., aged 56.
CHAPTER LYII.
It will perhaps be remembered that when Lady Glenlyonmet
her rival at Madame Hubert's, she only had a glimpse of her
face in the mirror. It is true that this glimpse was sufficient
to convince her that she had a formidable rival in Mrs.
Yaughan Edmonstone, and to arouse her dormant jealousy;
but it was not sufficient to impress the features indelibly on
her memory. She knew that Yaughan had a very pretty
wife; but she could not have told whether she was fair or
378
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
dark, tall or short; neither had she the most distant suspicion,
that she was Lockwood's daughter. When she saw her it
Mrs. Martin's shop, therefore, there was no recognition, nor
subsequently", when she came to live with her; not even whet
.she remarked her blushes on Yaughan's name being mentioned.
It was so extremely probable that the handsome Yaughan
should have flirted with the clerk's pretty daughter when she
visited at Marlow; and that the clerk's pretty daughter should
have fallen in love with him—that she sought no further for
an explanation of her confusion. In short, it had never oc-
curred to her that Linny was a married woman. She was
very young; and from her delicate features, pure red and
white skin, and slight figure, she looked younger than she was;
added to which, Lockwood's misfortunes appeared to her quite
enough to account for the slender veil of mystery that seemed
to envelope his daughter.
But the moment she avowed herself a married woman, and
a forsaken wife, the truth flashed on Kate's mind. She per-
ceived the whole concatenation of circumstances—she recalled
the fair young face she had seen in the milliner's mirror; and
she wondered that she had not comprehended the whole thing
before. In her sudden surprise, she had nearly betrayed her-
self; in fact she was about to rise from the sofa and fling
herself at the injured wife's feet, when a sharp pang, brought
on by the sudden shock, arrested her. This gave her pause
to think; and when, after some hours, the physical suffering
had subsided, she had determined on her line of conduct. She
reflected that, if she followed the promptings of her heart and
confessed herself, Linny would probably leave her; or, if
indeed she had Christian feeling enough to stay beside a
person who had so cruelly injured her, it would be with more
repugnance than she could possibly disguise ; and, at all
events, they would be in such a false position in regard to each
other, that it was scarcely likely such an arrangement could
hold. Now, Kate shrank with horror from the idea of being
left in the approaching crisis without that kind voice and
those gentle ministrations; for various reasons she had always
contemplated the moment with terror—now, more than ever,
since she was persuaded it would be fatal to her; and, if Linny
abandoned her, she would be left alone to die amongst menials
and strangers. Besides her natural horror of such an alterna-
tive, there was another motive prompting her to keep her
secret. She wished to obtain her forgiveness at the last, and
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
379
that she should be the bearer of a letter to Sir Arthur. She
had never answered the one Wharton brought, which con-
tained an offer of money, and a recommendation to seek the
countenance and protection of her aunt, Mrs. Eardley's sister,
who was an elderly widow lady, residing in a remote part of
Scotland, on a very small fortune. Sir Arthur desired that,
if she was disposed to follow this advice, she would let him
know ; in which case he would allow her a sufficient income
to enable her to make it worth Mrs. Macdonald's while to
treat her well, and render her residence as little unpleasant as
circumstances would admit. The letter was kindly worded,
and contained no reproaches. But Kate's situation precluded
the execution of such a project; and, even had it been other-
wise, she could never have entertained it. To live unknown
was to her the condition of living at all. Proud as she was,
she felt that the most wretched existence in poverty and
squalor would be preferable to receiving shelter from a person
who would think she had a right to heap hourly mortifications
on her ; and to whom she, Kate, would attribute the inclina-
tion, even if she forbore to use the power. Moreover, Mrs.
Macdonald was a rigid Calvinist; and although Kate ardently
wished to find that consolation that she had been told religion
could afford, she did not think Mrs. Macdonald was calculated
to lead her into the paths of peace through the gates of piety.
Many a time she wished for some mild pastor, some benign
preacher of God's mercy and forgiveness, who would pour
balm into her heart, and enkindle the dormant spark of faith
in her bosom. She felt so forlorn—cast upon the waters with-
out an anchor to hold to, either in heaven or earth! She
listened, but no voice called her. Immediately before her she
saw the grave, but nothing beyond. What wonder then that
she clung to Linny, who she believed liked and pitied her, and
whose forgiveness, she felt confident, would not be refused to
her dying prayers !
If the intentions with which she had summoned a lawyer
to make her will had required confirmation, this discovery
would have afforded it; but though she felt morally sure that
her present companion was Vaughan's wife, to be secure from
error it was necessary to hear it from her own lips.
 You have often urged on me the necessity of making a
provision for the child that is coming into the world—and I
am going to do it, she said.
 I am very glad of it.
380
LINNY LOCItWOOD.
 But I must have a lawyer to draw up my will—one will
do as well as another: it will be very simple. Do you know
of any ?
 There's a Mr. Wood lives near here. His wife is a cus-
tomer of Mrs. Martin's; and I heard her say they were very
respectable people.
 He will do very well. Get me his address, and I'll write
to him. But then I must have witnesses, you know—will
you object to being one ?
 No, not at all.
 There's one thing, you know—you must sign your real
name—your husband's name, I mean.
 I have no objection, returned Linny.  Now you know
I'm married, T don't wish to make a secret of it—my husband's
name is Edmonstone. He's the son of Mr. Edmonstone the
banker—at least, he was a banker—Edmonstone and Eardley
—perhaps you have heard of them ?
 I think I have, answered Kate, who was lying on the
sola, with her face purposely turned away.
 The lady I went to see, and to whom you sent the five
pounds, is his mother.
 Poor lady! said Kate, with a sigh.  What a dreadful
reverse !
 Dreadful! said Linny;  and she is so unfit to meet it—
wholly without resources, and ignorant of everything that
could be of use in her present situation. She was accustomed
to every comfort that wealth could afford; but something
happened—I never understood what—but it was something
connected with the bank, that suddenly reduced them to
poverty, and my poor father, at the same time. My husband
was their only son, and brought up with great expectations,
but of course his fortunes fell with his father's. Did you ever
hear of Lady Glenlyon ?
"No, murmured Kate.
 She was Mr. Eardley's daughter—Mr. Edmonstone's
partner in the bank—and she married Sir Arthur Glenlyon.
She's the woman my husband's gone off' with—or, rather, she
went off with him—for I believe she had more to do with it
than he had. She was in love with him before she married
Sir Arthur Glenlyon, and, unhappily, he met her in Paris.
Mrs. Hargrave was silent; and, thinking she was fatigued
with a conversation in which she had no interest, and was
beginning to slumber, Linny ceased speaking.
linny lockwoot).
381
A day or two afterwards Mr. "Wood was summoned, and
instructions given to him to draw up the will. Of course, for
more reasons than one, Linny could not witness it, and Mr.
Wood brought two of his clerks for that purpose. Kate
attached her name to it with a pale cheek and a trembling
hand.
 You will keep this deed in your possession till you hear
of my death—till then, remember the strictest secresv is
necessary.
 The strictest secresy shall he observedand so saying
the lawyer bowed himself out, carrying the deed with him.
 When I am dead, my will will be found at Mr. Wood's;
I have made you my executrix, and I shall rely on your
fulfilling my last wishes, she said to Linny.
 If I survive you, I certainly will, to the best of my abili-
ties; but you are not at all nearer death for having made
your will.
 Nevertheless, I feel as if I were. This is the seventeenth,
isn't it ?
 I believe it is ; now, we haven't the paper, I don't know
the day of the month.
Kate counted on her fingers,  Eleven days, she said,  to
the twenty-eighth—are there not ?
 Yes. That is your birthday, I think ?
 Yes—and that is the day I read in the hook.
"What book?
 The hook my father showed me in my dream. I shall
die on my birthday.
CHAPTER LYIII.
 I shall not like to leave you when once you are taken ill,
at least not for the first week or ten dajTs ; and, as I have not
seen poor Mrs. Edmonstone this fortnight, I would go there
this morning, if you can spare me? said Linny a few days
after the signing of the will.
 Certainly, said Kate; "by all means. Poor thing, she
must be dreadfully lonely. You had better take a coach—it
is so far to walk.
 I'll walk there, said Linny,  and perhaps I'll take a coach
back, if I'm tired. I must go as far as Piccadilly, too; we want
coffee and several things; and I can bring them with me.
About two hours after this a coach stopped at the door, and
38^ LINNY LOCKWOOD.
Kate, who was endeavouring to divert her ennui hy walking
up and down the room, went to the window, which was open,
concluding it was Linny returning. The glass was up, but
she descried a bonnet which was certainly not Linny's, where-
upon she retreated. Presently she heard the door open;
somebody alighted and entered the house; and the coach
drove away. Kate concluded it was the landlady or some of
her visitors, and continued her walk, till, feeling weary and
ennuied, she stretched herself on the sofa and fell asleep;
presently afterwards Linny arrived, and being told that a lady
was waiting to see her, she entered the parlour and found
Mrs. Edmonstone there.
 I went out to-day on purpose to call upon you, she said,
as she opened the door;  but I was detained, and when I
went, the maid said you had just gone out.
 I was so weary of staying in that nasty lodging, that I
resolved to spend eighteenpence in a coach and come here,
said Mrs. Edmonstone, who looked as if she had walked out
of her grave.  But, I say 
 You look very ill, returned Linny, interrupting her.  I
am afraid you've done wrong to come out.
 Oh! I am dreadfully ill—that is, there's, nothing the
matter with me of any consequence—I've no disease whatever
—but I am ill with fretting; and I've no appetite. How
can one have an appetite in that disgusting place ? And if one
gets a bit of meat they don't know how to cook it.
 We have a cold tongue in the house—perhaps you could
take a bit and a glass of wine—I'll desire the maid to bring
it up, and she was leaving the room.
 Yes, do, said Mrs. Edmonstone, laying her hand on her
arm to detain her;  but before you go, tell me who was that
I saw at the drawing-room window just now ?
 I suppose it was Mrs. Hargrave.
Mrs. Edmonstone looked at her inquiringly—And do you
really not know who your Mrs. Hargrave is ?
 What do you mean ? said Linny.
 Why, bless you, it's Lady Glenlyon !
 Lady Glenlyon ! exclaimed Linny.
 As sure as you stand there. If I ever saw Kate Eardley
in my life, I saw her just now. She came to the drawing-roonr
window when the coach stopped at the door. I suppose sh&
thought it was you.
"Good God!
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
383
 I told you she was something of that sort—I was sure
of it.
Linny stood aghast. The colour forsook her cheeks, and she
took hold of the back of a chair to support her.
"Lady Grlenlyon! she exclaimed again; "but are you
certain ? Did you see her well ?
 As well as I see you. The glass of the coach was up, but
the drawing-room window was open, and she put her head out.
 But she knows who I am—she didn't at first; but now
she does.
 She may or she may not; but, take my word for it, she's
Lady Grlenlyon. You're not going to faint, child—are you ?
"No, said Linny, making an exertion to recover herself;
 will you ring the bell for some water! It's so extraordi-
nary, she added, when the bell had been answered;  I don't
know how to believe it; and yet, now you have told me, there
are things that seem to confirm it.
 It's certainly very odd that, out of the thousands of people
in London, you two should have come together. Was she
very much startled when you told her your real name ?
"Not at all. She was when I told her I was married ; but
not in the least when I told her my name. I really think you
must be mistaken.
 I am not mistaken, you may rely on it. I know Kate
Eardley too well. I'd stake my life upon it! Besides, when
you come to think, what is there so improbable in it. I told
you she had left Yaughap—well, where was she to go ? Her
mother's dead. In the situation she's in, she dare not go to
her father. She'd naturally seek some place where she could
live in obscurity till her confinement is over,—the only odd
part of it is, that you should have met. You can't stay with
her, you know ; that's impossible !
 How in the world shall I meet her ? said Linny, speaking
more to herself than to Mrs. Edmonstone.
 Don't meet her at all. Pack up your things and leave
the house ; she'll understand it.
 I couldn't do that, said Linny.
 Well, then, write to her.
Linny was silent; she could not collect her thoughts, and
Mrs. Edmonstone only bewildered her by her advice.
"I'll wait for you, continued that lady; "you can soon
put your things together, and go away with me in a
coach.
384 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 I must have time to reflect. I am too agitated to do it at
present; I'll take to-night to think of it.
 I don't think it requires much reflection.—It's very odd;
I thought I should like a bit of that tongue so much, and now
it's before me I can't swallow a morsel. It's always so;
nothing does me good but wine—when I can get it; and that s
seldoiff enough. How pale you look, child! Take a glass of
sherry.
 I've received a great shock, said Linny,  and it's alto-
gether so painful! I've witnessed the miser}'-—the remorse
of that woman ! She has often drawn tears of pity from my
eyes—H wish I'd never seen her!
"How astonished Yaughan would be if he heard it
—wouldn't he? Had you never any suspicion of the
truth ?
 It never occurred to me. How should it ? At first, I
thought she was a deserted wife; latterly, from the things
she said, I thought there was something else; but that she
was Lady Gienlyon never entered my head. I fancied Lady
Glenlyon quite a different sort of person.
 She looks very ill; and at least ten years older than when
she married Sir Arthur.
 It's not so much her looks as her character I speak of. I
had become quite attached to her.
"Well, Kate Eardley did attach people, provided they did
not interfere with her. She was not ill-natured, but entetee
to a degree. By the by, that old Eardley's dead. Did you
hear of it ?
 I saw it in the paper, said Linny ;  and now I under-
stand why she would not look at the paper herself. She
dreamed a frightful dream about her father and mother. She
thought they came to her and told her the date of their own
deaths, and of hers—Mr. Eardley was to die on the twelfth of
this month.
 And so he did, rejoined Mrs. Edmonstone.
 And she was to die on the twenty-eighth.
 Then §he does not know her father is dead ?
 No; if %he did it would certainly kill her, for then she
would believe the dream entirely. Poor creature ! What a
wretched fate!
 You're the last person that should pity her, I think. She
brought it all on herself.
 If you saw her as I do, you'd pity her too.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
385
 Well, I must go, for it's getting late; you'd better pack
up your things and go with me.
u No: I'll do nothing hastily. I'll write to-morrow, and
tell you what I've decided on.
Linny felt relieved by Mrs. Edmonstone's departure. She
ascended to her own chamber, locked the door, and relieved
herself by what, in female parlance, is called a hearty good cry;
after which she felt better able to deliberate.
The thought—the feeling that was uppermost in her mind
was,  If I leave her, I kill her. Not only will the distress
and agitation put her in the utmost peril, but in all proba-
bility she will somehow or other learn, that one part of her
dream is fulfilled, and the terror regarding the other part
will assuredly be fatal. She may die as it is ; but, if she died
in consequence of my leaving her, I should never forgive
myself. Perhaps I ought not to stay—it maybe wrong; but
then it's so cruel to go. If I stay with her till her confinement
is over, should the world know it I may be very much blamed;
but I don't think Vaughan will blame me—I think he would
approve of it; and I am not answerable to anybody but him.
Then, in regard to her personal feelings, resentment was
swallowed up in pity. If she had been brought face to face
with Lady Glenlyon earlier, her indignation and sense of injury
would have taken their natural course; but she had witnessed
the suffering, the heavy penalty paid here, and the fearful dread
of the judgment to come. Heaven's chastisement was upon
her—might not man withhold his hand p and it would not
be long ; her full time had nearly arrived, and then, when she
was sufficiently recovered to be out of danger, she could leave
her. When she had made up her mind to this line of
conduct, she fell upon her knees, and prayed to God to guide
and sustain her through the trial; then she bathed her eyes
with cold water, smoothed her hair, arranged her dress, and
descended with a beating heart, but forcibly composed features,
to the drawing-room. Kate had just risen from the sofa.
 Oh ! she said,  how long you've been gone. I was just
going to ring, and ask if you were not returned.
 I was detained longer than I expected, answered Linny,
struggling to disguise her agitation; but her voice shook in
spite of her, and her cheeks and lips were deadly pale.  I
met my father, who is come over from Ireland, and walked
home with him ; and then I went to Piccadilly, and to Mrs.
Edmonstone's, but missed her; she had come to call upon me.
B B
386 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
Linny added this, partly in the desire to say something to
conceal her emotion, and partly lest Kate should have already
heard of Mrs. Edmonstone's visit from the maid-servant; but
Lady Grlenlyon, who was in a situation to descry every shadow
that announced a misfortune, was struck with the averted eye,
the agitated countenance, and trembling voice. Linny had
been out; had stayed away longer than usual; had returned
in a state that indicated something uncommon, after seeing
Lockwood and Mrs. Edmonstone. What had happened ? what
had she heard P The thought ever present to her for the last
few days, was her father's death, which, if it had occurred on
the twelfth, she would consider a sure precursor of her own.
If Mr. Eardley was dead, Lockwood would know it, and
Mrs. Edmonstone too—she had probably come on purpose to
communicate the intelligence; Mr. Eardley had been Lock-
wood's best friend and patron—he would naturally he grieved,
and his daughter also. She looked—Linny's eye fell before
hers, "He's dead! she exclaimed.
 Who ? asked Linny.— My father!
 How can I know ? returned Linny;  you never told me
who your father was.
 That's true, returned Kate, apparently reassured; "but
I am sure something has happened.
 Nothing has happened. Why should you think so ?
answered Linny; but she could not meet Lady Grlenlyon's
gaze of inquiry. Involuntarily she turned away her eyes.
Kate remained on the sofa, on which she had sunk, silently
perusing Linny's features as she stood before her. She read
there plainly that something had occurred, and something that
concerned herself, else why the embarrassment? why the
endeavour to conceal it ? ' At length the possibility of what
was really the fact—namely, that she had learned who she was
—appeared to strike her. She covered her face with her
hands— You are going to leave me, she said.
 No; I am not, indeed. This assurance seemed to relieve
her.
 Then is it nothing that concerns me ? For that something
has happened, I am certain. You can't deceive me.
 Nothing, answered Linny, with a choked voice, unable to
control her agitation. Kate looked at her, still uncertain.
 If it's any embarrassment about money, she said,
 perhaps I could be of use. Is your father in any trouble ?
 Oh, no! it's nothing, I assure you. Think no more of
tlNNY liOCKWOOD.
387
it. And Linny sat down in the window and took up her work,
hut she could not conceal her emotion. Her tears would flow,
and dropped faster and faster on the little frock she was
embroidering. She knew Lady Glenlyon's eyes were upon her,
and she endeavoured to wipe them away unobserved.
 Linny, said Kate,  you can't hide it; you are in trouble
■—I have no right to your confidence; but can I be of any
use ? I say again, if it's any difficulty about money, tell me.
If I haven't it myself, I think I can get it.
 Excuse me! said Linny;  I am very foolish to cry, but I
can't help it. Take no notice of me, and I shall get better.
If I should be in any difficulty about money, I promise to tell
you.
Linny wrote the next day to Mrs. Edmonstone, to commu-
nicate her determination to stay with Lady Glenlyon till her
confinement was over; and to request she would not mention
to any one the discovery she had made. Mrs. Edmonstone
answered, that she never heard of such a thing! That it was
very wrong! That the world would certainly condemn her;
and that she would lose her character! Nevertheless, Linny
adhered to her resolution. She endeavoured, and in a great
degree succeeded, to resume her former manner towards Lady
Glenlyon, who on her part treated her with augmented kind-
ness and affection, because she thought something had occurred
to distress her. The suspicion that had glanced across her
mind at first was dissipated; taking it for granted that, if
Linny learned who she was, she would fly from her in horror
and indignation.
CHAPTER LIX.
Linny's caution to Mrs. Edmonstone reached her too late. In
her triste and monotonous life, the discovery of Lady Glenlyon
was quite an event; and the singular circumstance of Linny
finding herself the companion of the woman who had eloped
with her own husband, formed too interesting a subject of
conversation to be lost in silence. In her present condition
she had few acquaintance, but her pride had fallen with her
fortunes; and to a certain degree her tastes and habits, like
them, had deteriorated. She was not above gossiping with
her neighbours; nor even, when oppressed by loneliness, taking
a cup of tea with her landlady. Of her former circle of, so
called, friends, not one remained to her. Her husband's loss
b B 2
S88
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
of character enabled them to justify the proceeding to them-
selves, and gloss it over to others. She had a sister very much
like herself—handsome, thoughtless, and shallow—married to
a younger son of a nobleman who lived in the world of fashion
on two thousand a year; always in debt and always in diffi-
culties. This lady, the Honourable Mrs. Augustus Lidyard,
would have been sorry for her sister if she had had time, and
would have assisted her if she had had money; but she never
had either the one or the other—therefore, to spare herself
pain, she forgot the connexion; and no one was so ungracious
as to remind her of what could not be otherwise thah dis-
agreeable. However, when the departure of Mr. Edmonstone
became known, one or two of the old clerks in Fleet-street
were moved with compassion for his helpless wife. Amongst
others, Morland called upon her; and, by representing the
distress in which he had found her, he had induced Mr.
Eardley to make her a small weekly allowance.
 Pay it her weekly, said Mr. Eardley,  or she'll spend it
all in chickens and green peas the day she receives it, and
have nothing for the rest of the time!
When Mr. Eardley died, which was very shortly after this
conversation, Morland wrote to inform her that the junior
partners, who were his successors, would continue this allow-
ance ; and on the evening of the day that Mrs. Edmonstone
had made her discovery, he called on her with the money.
She was in her landlady's back parlour, who was giving her
a cup of tea in return for the remarkable occurrence, the par-
ticulars of which she was relating, when she was informed
"there was a gentleman asking for her! She went out and
ascended with him to her own apartment, which was on the
second floor.
 You received my letter announcing Mr. Eardley's death,
he said.
 Yes, thank you. I am sure I'm very much obliged to
you about the allowance. As for Mr. Eardley, I might have
starved before he'd have given me sixpence, if it had not been
for you; therefore I don't owe him much thanks. What did
he die of?
 A broken heart; he was greatly shaken by that affair of
his daughter, and Mrs. Eardley's death finished him. We all
saw he was going fast!
 Well, we owe him nothing. He was very hard upon Mr.
Edmonstone, and trod him into the dust as soon as he had an
UNNY LOCKWOOD.
389
opportunity; and lie was poor Vaughan's ruin; but be paid
dearly for that, and I don't pity him. If he had not pre-
vented his daughter marrying Vaughan, she wouldn't have
been driven to do what she has done. By the bye, what do
you think ? who do you think I saw to-day ?
 Who ?"— Lady Glenlyon herself. And who do you
think is living with her as her maid ?
 Who ?"— Vaughan's wife! Linny Lockwood that was!
 What! exclaimed Morland, in a tone of amazement.
 Impossible!
 It's true as I am sitting here.
 Mrs. Yaughan Edmonstone, Lady Glenlyon's maid!
 Maid, or companion, or something between both; and
Mrs. Edmonstone proceeded to relate how she had discovered
that Mrs. Hargrave was Lady Glenlyon; "and, would you
believe it, she continued, "now that Linny knows who she
is, she still wants to stay with her. She insists on it, that
she's so miserable and frightened, that if she leaves her she'll
die. Let her die !—Linny's not answerable for that. I never
knew anything so absurd in my life. I wanted her to come
away directly with me; but she said she must take to-night
to think of it, and I see plainly enough how it will end. I
really think it's quite indecent—don't you ?
 It's certainly very extraordinary; but she must have
reasons, I suppose, that satisfy her she's doing right. She
appeared to be a very sensible, good girl, when she was living
in her father's house.
Morland had never seen Lady Glenlyon since her wedding;
and, though he was aware that she had eloped with Vaughan,
and had subsequently left him, he had no idea where she was.
Her agent had told the secret to Sir Arthur, and he had
entrusted Wharton witli his letter, because he. knew she was
attached to her mistress. He thought Lady Glenlyon would
not refuse to see her ; and he hoped by that means to ascer-
tain under what circumstances she was living. He had learned,
too late, her early attachment and engagement to Yaughan;
he perceived how their rencontre in Paris had led to her
'destruction ; and, as far as it was possible, he wished to rescue
her from the miseries incident to her present position. But
by her haughty reception of Wharton, and by sending no
answer to his letter, he judged that her aversion and resent-
ment towards himself still survived. He must wait—the time
was not ripe to serve her. In the meanwhile, he respected
390
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
her secret; and neither he nor Wharton communicated what
had occurred to any one. To her. father alone he gave her
address, and recommended him to write to her; but Mr.
Eardley could not make up his mind to do it, and death sur-
prised him in the painful struggle betwixt his anger and his
affection. The worthy clerk, Morland, was a good deal im-
pressed with • Mrs. Edmonstone's story. On the following
evening, instead of going home to dinner, he took a chop in
the neighbourhood, and walked out to Islington, in order to
look at the house that contained these two young women who
were living together under such extraordinary circumstances.
On the ensuing Sunday, instead of taking a walk with his wife
in Kensington Gardens, as was his wont, he again directed
his steps to the same place, and walked nearly an hour within
sight of the house, hesitating whether to knock at the door
or not. He wished to see Mrs. Yaughan ; he wanted to offer
his services to her; and, through her to her unfortunate com-
panion; but he was doubtful how far he was justified in
intruding on their privacy, and betraying his acquaintance
with their secret. Finally, he came away without taking any
steps towards the attainment of his object.
 Well, said he to Mrs. Edmonstone, when on the Monday
he carried her her allowance,  have you seen anything more
of your daughter-in-law?
 No, it's just as I expected ; she has determined to stay
till Lady Glenlyon has recovered. I think it quite shocking,
and so I told her ; but if she chooses to do it, she must. By
the by, she desires I will not mention where they live, nor
say anything about them to anybody. However, I had
already told you ; and it's of no consequence.
 I shall make no ill use of the information, rely on it.
With his mind full of the strange fate of these two girls, he
walked back; and, although it was not his direct road, an
involuntary impulse made him turn into Cavendish-square, to
look at Mr. Eardley's house. It was shut up, and a bill was
in the window announcing that it was for sale. He leaned
against the rails of the enclosure, and the tears swam in his
eyes. Mr. Eardley had known his family, and through life he
had befriended him. He recalled the scenes he had witnessed
in that now untenanted mansion; those dark windows, blazing
with light; those empty rooms, thronged with gay visitors;
those silent halls, echoing the song and the dance, and the
glad voices of youth. And then he thought of Mr. and Mrs,
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 391
Eardley in their graves; and of Cattie, the pride of their
parents, hiding her head from her own shame and the world's
contumely in that obscure lodging, with no friend at hand to
sustain her through her sufferings, her wretchedness, and her
remorse, but the daughter of the poor ruined clerk—the for-
saken wife of the husband whom she had rendered faithless.
He drew out his handkerchief to wipe away the tears that had
gathered there, and was just moving on, when he was turned
aside by a travelling carriage and four, which rapidly passed
him, and stopped at Mr. Eardley's door. The servant de-
scended from the rumble, ran up the steps, knocked loudly
and rang the bell, and then, after looking up at the windows,
ran down again, went to the door of the carriage and spoke to
some one inside.
. The house appears to be shut up, sir.
 Shut up! said a gentleman, leaning forward and putting
out his head.— There's a bill in the window, sir!
"A bill! what bill?"— The house is to let, sir.
 To let! Is there nobody in.it ? knock again.
This seemed quite a needless operation, for the first knock
would certainly have awakened the soundest sleeper. In the
meantime Morland, who had arrested his steps on seeing the
horses stop at Mr. Eardley's door, now turned back, and ap-
proaching the carriage, said, "I beg your pardon, sir, but
there is nobody in that house.
A gentleman enveloped to the throat in a fur cloak, with a
travelling cap drawn over his forehead, and buttoned under his
chin, advanced his Lead— Mr. Featherstone! exclaimed the
clerk; "my name is Morland.
 Oh, Mr. Morlard, how do you do ? What's the meaning
of this ? said Mr. Featherstone, pointing to the house.
"Perhaps you don't know, sir, what has happened?
 What has happened ? Pray, step into the carriage! said
Mr. Featherstone.  I know my poor sister's dead.
 I'm sorry to say, sir, that is not all. Poor Mr. Eardley
died a fortnight ago—it was on the twelfth: he was buried
only last Wednesday.
"God bless me! exclaimed Mr. Featherstone. "What
did he die of? Had he been long ill ?
 I believe distress of mind had a great deal to do with it.
Mrs. Eardley's death, and that unfortunate affair about his
daughter—I suppose you heard what had occurred, sir ?
 Yes, and I shoold have come to England before, but the
392
tlNNY IOCKWOOD.
doctors wouldn't let me. I've been passing the winter at
Madeira. Do you know anything of Lady Grlenlyon ?• Where
is she?
 If you had asked me ten days ago where she is I could
not have told you, but by an extraordinary chance I now can;
and Morland proceeded to relate how she had left Yaughan,
and the circumstances under which she was now living.
 Poor Kate! poor girl! he said, wiping the tears from his
eyes.  I never augured well of that marriage. I remember
how gloomy she was the evening before it.
 And yet Sir Arthur Grlenlyon is an excellent man. Every-
body speaks well of him.
 I believe he is. But she was attached to young Edmon-
stone. And yet, sir, she has not stayed with him.
 True. Perhaps she found him out; besides, I don't think
Kate could live long with any man under those circumstances.
However, it's no use talking of that; wre must look at the
case as it stands. You know where she is ?
 Yes; she's lodging at Islington. I'll give you her address.
 And that young woman, Lockwood's daughter, with her?
"Yes; it appears that Lady Grlenlyon's mental sufferings
have won upon Mrs. Yaughan Edmonstone's heart; and,
although she now knows who she is, she wont consent to
leave her till her confinement is over.
 She must be a very uncommon person I Can I drive you
anywhere?
 Ho, I thank you, said Morland, alighting from the carriage.
 Then, perhaps you'll call on me to-morrow, or next day.
You'll find me at the Clarendon.
Morland wished him good-day, and thej parted.
On the following morning, Mr. Eeatherione wrote to Kate
to prepare her for a visit on the day after. He himself re-
quired a little repose; and besides he thought it best to spare
her the agitation of a surprise. The letter was addressed to
Mrs. Hargrave, and was as affectionate and tender as if he had
returned to find her the irreproachable vife of Sir Arthur
Glenlyon. He had always been exceedingly attached to his
niece ; but he had been lijttle with her, Ms health obliging
him to live almost continually abroad, jl single man, and
rich, he had kept himself alive by changing the climate ac-
cording to the seasons, and by all those cates and precautions
that wealth can command. Mrs. Eardley kas his only sister,
Kate the only young creature who could plaim relationship
LTNNY LOCKWOOD.
393
with him. He loved her from her infancy, before she had any
character ; and he loved her afterwards, with a very imperfect
knowledge of it. He saw her lively, handsome, and good-
natured, when at intervals he visited England; and, when he
was absent, he received letters from his sister filled with her
praises. The fact being, that although Kate often caused her
mother mu<?h anxiety from her determination to have her own
way, Mr. Featherstone was the last person she would have
chosen to complain to. She knew he intended to leave her
all his money; and she represented her as an angel, in order
to confirm him in so laudable a resolution—a needless de-
ception, as he would have loved her equally with all her faults.
Kate returned his affection as the young return the affection
of the old; she called him her "dear uncle Featherstone,
was rejoiced to see him after an interval of absence, especially
as he always came loaded with presents, and required no
sacrifices of her time or pleasures in return; and generally
wrote a playful postscript to her mother's letters, in which
she told him not to believe a word of all that her mama said
in her commendation, as she was in reality a very naughty,
troublesome girl.
When he heard of the elopement he was grieved to the
heart; hut as it took place in the autumn, when he had been
ordered to Madeira, he could take no steps towards rescuing
her from her difficulties and disgrace; but he had now
arrived with the intention of seeking her, wherever she was,
and serving her in whatever way he found most advisable.
Besides his own affection, which would have prompted him to
this measure, he had been urged to it in a letter written by
his sister when she found herself dying.  Her father is in-
exorable, she said,  and I fear will never sefe her again. But
I know the wretchedness in store for her ; she will awake from
her delusion. I am certain she will not live long with
Vaughan Edmonstone ; she'll leave him—and then, if I am
gone, what is to become of her?
Mr. Featherstone did not hesitate. He had loved Kate in
her prosperity—he loved her in her adversity. Innocent he
loved her; and he loved her guilty. He thanked Grod that
she had left Yaughan ; he rejoiced to hear that she was mise-
rable and repentant, for now his path was plain. He would
take her to live with him, out of sight of all that could dis-
tress or shame her ; he could not hope to restore her peace of
inind, he could not efface the memory of the past; but what-
394
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
ever kindness, affection, and patience could do, he would.
Laden with thesemerciful intentions, he stepped intohis carriage
on the following day, and desired to he driven to Islington.
CHAPTER LX.
The shutter was half closed, and the window curtain drawn
over it, to exclude the broad light of day. On the dressing-
table stood a phial, with a wine-glass and table-spoon beside
it, and in an arm-chair by the bedside sat Linny Lockwood.
Presently she arose, and stepping on tiptoe towards the win-
dow, she looked at a watch that lay on the table. Then she
took up the phial, shook it, measured a spoonful of the mixture
into the glass, returned on tiptoe to the bed, and gently lifted
aside the white dimity curtain that shaded it. There lay the
slumbering mother, and on a pillow beside her lay her new-
born babe. Linny stood still, waiting till Kate opened her eyes.
The pale features were calm. Many hours of bodily pain had
for the moment superseded the mental sufferings; the infant
slept. It would have been a lovely picture, but for the reverse.
Linny looked on it and sighed. Where was the happy hus-
band, the proud father ? Where the present joys, the future
hopes, that new-born infants bring ? There is nothing in life
so melancholy as these transpositions, these mournful births,
these sad weddings, these frustrated joys! Clouds for sun-
shine; tears for smiles ; the songs of triumph changed into
wailings ! The sigh roused Kate from her light slumber, and
she opened her eyes.
 Do you feel comfortable ? whispered Linny.
 Yes, thank ye!
 It's time to take the mixture! said Linny, assisting her
to raise her head. Kate swallowed the draft, and, as she
returned the glass, she seized Linny's hand and looked up in
her face with an expression of ineffable gratitude; the tears
swam in her eyes, and her lip trembled.
 What an angel of mercy you are to me! she murmured,
in a feeble voice.
"Hush! you must keep yourself quiet, said Linny; "you
can tell me so by and by, she added, playfully.
Kate raised the hand to her lips and kissed it.
"You must not uncover yourself, said Linny; and, draw-
ing the clothes carefully over her, she replaced the wine-glass
on the table, and resumed her seat in the arm-chair.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
395
All was still for an hour, and then a little voice whimpered,
and Linny went round to the other side of the bed and took
up the infant.
 Where is the nurse ? asked Kate.
"I've sent her to get a little sleep. She has been up two
nights.
 So have you.
 If she has a good sleep to-day, she'll be able to sit up to-
night, and then I'll go to bed!
Kate looked at Linny, as she stood by her bedside with the
baby in her arms; then she turned away her face and hid it
on the pillow. Linny read her thoughts; and, to chase them
away, she said, "The baby must be fed; will you keep it quiet
while I go into the next room and warm the food? I shall not
be two minutes and she laid the child in her bosom, hoping
by the contact to awaken some maternal feelings in the chilled
heart. Soothed by the genial warmth, the infant slumbered
again. Kate contemplated it with a stern, mournful eye;
■there was some pity in it, but no love. Linny came back
with the food, and when it was ready she went to the bedside
and lifted the infant.
"Unhappy! unhappy! murmured Kate;  and a girl, too.
"Poor baby! said Linny, caressing it; "don't pronounce
its doom in that way, when it's only just come into the world.
Who can tell but it may be a very happy one ?
Kate was silent for a little time, whilst Linny was feeding
the child—then she said,  Who can tell, indeed ? When I
was born there were all manner of rejoicings—and see what
I'm come to!
"Hush! said Linny, "I can't allow you to talk. It's time
for your mixture again, and then you must try and sleep.
The doctor called about ten o'clock, and pronounced that
all was going well; and in the afternoon the nurse made her
appearance, prepared for another night's watching. She took
up the child and talked to it after the approved fashion of
nurses, flattering the mama by discovering that it had  a
little buttonhole of a mouth, and eyes as blue as mama's blue
ribbons. In the evening, after the doctor had been, and
given the assurance that both mother and child were doing as
well as possible, Kate requested Linny to go to bed.
^Do you feel as if you could sleep ? asked Linny.
"Yes, said Kate, speaking very low. "Send the nurse
into the next room for a minute! She watched her out;
396
TINNY LOCKWOOD.
and when the door was closed, she said,  I think I should
like you to read me some of those prayers and thanksgivings
for women that are in the prayer-hook—I ought to return
thanks that my life is spared; I did not expect it.
Linny fetched the prayer-book, and, kneeling by her bed-
side, read the latter part of the service. Kate silently joined
in the prayer, whilst the tears streamed over her cheeks.
 I wish I could persuade you not to think of anything till
you are well, said Linny, after rising from her knees;  these
emotions are very bad for you.
 Now I'm out of pain, 1 can't help thinking, answered
Kate ;  I've so much that I ought to say.
"But you must not say it now, returned Linny; "you
can say whatever you wish when you are stronger.
Kate held Linny's hand during this conversation, and she
now drew it under the clothes and laid it on her heart.  I
wish you could read my heart, she said, "that you knew
everything about me—how faulty, how wicked I've been.
How little I deserve your goodness.
 I can't allow you to talk anymore, replied Linny; "you
know the doctor forbade you to talk—you shall tell me what-
ever you like in a few days ; but now I'm going to bed.
"Do, said Kate, raising the hand she held to her lips.
 God reward you for your kindness to me!
Linny, much affected, bent down and kissed her. Kate
suddenly threw her arms.round her neck— Oh! Linny, she
said,  you're too good to me. I feel as if I was basely de-
ceiving you when I know that if 
 Hush ! I can't hear a word more, I'm so sleepy. Good
night, and I hope you wont attempt to speak, except to ask
for anything you want, till morning; and, to prevent further
confidences, she immediately left the room.
Kate passed a pretty good night, and her friend found her
calmer in the morning. The doctor, who was expected at ten,
did not come till two hours later, He appeared serious and
preoccupied, and told Linny, when they were in the adjoining
room, that he had been detained by a lady who was very ill,
and that perhaps he might not be able to call in the evening;
but he gave her directions for the night, and hoped all would
go on well. Linny had no doubt of it; everything promised
as fairly as could be. Kate received all these tender services
with humility and gratitude, but more silently than the day
before. She was ruminating on her course for the future. The
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
397
belief that Linny was deceived, oppressed her. She longed to
throw herself at her feet and confess the truth, and yet she
dreaded the immediate effects, as well as the ultimate conse-
quences, of the confession. Linny would hate her; spurn her;
fly from her in disgust and horror! Still the secret would
not and could not be kept—she must tell it. She acted over
the scene in her own mind, and figured to herself Linny's sur-
prise and horror; then sometimes a gleam of hope would
arise, founded on her goodness and gentleness. Perhaps she
would forgive her, and, seeing how much she had suffered,
would spare her the sting of contumely, the bitterness of re-
proach. At all events, she was determined to confess; although
she anticipated with dismay and terror the desolation that
would ensue when her companion left her.
As Linny did not wish the emotions of the preceding even-
ing to be renewed, she sat in the adjoining room, coming ever
and anon into the bed-chamber, to see that matters were going
on well. In the course of the day the postman brought a
letter addressed to Mrs. Hargrave, and the maid brought it
up to the drawing-room and delivered, it to Miss Lockwood.
The sight of a letter addressed to herself, was sure to occasion
Kate more agitation than was good for her at present; so
Linny deposited it in the table drawer, to be delivered at a
more convenient season. The doctor did not call again, and
in the evening Kate slept a good deal; the nurse said that, as
the lady was doing so well, she would be glad if she might go
out for half an hour, to see a daughter of her own who had
been confined the day before. When she was gone, after
staying a little time in the sick-chamber, and perceiving that
her patient still slept, Linny went into the next room, and,
having lighted a candle, she sat down to answer Alice's last
letter, which was dated from Spa. Alice appeared to be very
happy there; she described in ecstasies the beauties of the
country, and the charms of the balls and promenades, entreat-
ing Linny to make haste and join them. She added, that she
and her aunt agreed very well now; and that Mrs. Stanley re-
quested Miss Lockwood would come to them as soon as she
could.
Linny thought she might now fix the period with safety.
In a month from that time she reckoned on Kate's being per-
fectly recovered, and able to travel wherever she intended to
go ; then she must leave her. It was not without pain that
she anticipated the separation, and her heart ached to think
398 linny lockwood.
of the sad future that awaited the friendless sinner ; for Mr.
Eardley's death had frustrated her benevolent intentions in
Kate's favour. Had he lived, she intended to have written
to him before she went, pleading his daughter's cause. She
thought it possible that her intervention might prevail; and
that, when he saw the injured wife could forgive, the offended
father would relent. But now she knew no one to whom to
apply except Sir Arthur, and to him she designed to write a
few lines previous to her departure. Her reflections were
interrupted by the voice of her patient.
 Linny! said Kate. The door was open between the two
rooms, and she could hear every movement; she was by the
bed-side in an instant.  I've woke so cold, continued Kate;
"I'm quite in a shiver.
"Are you? replied Linny; "I think the evening has
turned chilly—I'll put some more covering on the bed. She
did so, and administered a warm cup of tea; and, having covered
her patient carefully, returned to the next room. Half an hour
had scarcely elapsed when she heard herself called again.
 Take these things off the bed, I'm so hot! said Kate, in
a somewhat impatient tone.  And I've such a pain in my
head! Linny removed the additional coverings that she had
put on, and fetched the candle from the next room, in order to
look at Kate.
There was something in her appearance that alarmed her;
her face was flushed, and her eye restless. Without making
any observation, she left the room when she had arranged the
bed, and desired the maid to fetch the doctor.
 Don't leave me! said Kate, when she returned.  What
did you go for ?
 To ask if the nurse was not returned.
 You think I'm worse! said Kate, in a tone that evinced
both fear and anger—she was irritated that Linny reflected
her own apprehensions.  I see it in your face.
 I think you seem a little feverish; that's all, replied
Linny.  I believe such changes are quite common in your
situation. I only wanted Mrs. Haddock to tell me whether
you should take anything.
Kate was silent, and Linny, thinking she might sleep, rose
in order to remove the light to the next room.
 Don't go away! Don't take away the light! I can't
bear to be in the dark—I shall soon be where it's dark
enough!
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
399
.  Really, if you talk so much, I must go into the next room.
You know the doctor desired I would not let you talk.
 I wont—hut don't leave me!
After this she remained silent, but she was very restless.
Linny had no experience to guide her; but she felt anxious.
She feared matters were not going well. At ten, Mrs. Had-
dock returned. Linny would have been glad to speak to her
alone, before she saw Lady Glenlyon; but she knew her leav-
ing the room would excite the suspicions of her patient, so she
waited till she came up-stairs. The good woman entered the
room, and walked up to the bed-side, quite unprepared for any
unfavourable change. Linny pulled her dress, and placed her
finger on her lip, as she stood behind the curtain. After look-
ing at the patient and asking her how she felt, she removed
the baby from the pillow on which it lay, and placed it in
Linny's arms.  I think, ma'am, you'd Letter have a little
tea, she said :  I'll go down and make some, and she left
the room. When she reached the kitchen she desired the
maid to fetch the doctor immediately.
"I've been for him, Mrs. Haddock. Miss Linny sent me just
now; but he's out. The boy said he'd tell him when he came in.
 Go again, then, said Mrs. Haddock:  he must come
here immediately—and they must send for him, wherever he is.
 Is Mrs. Hargrave worse ? said the girl.
 She's, not quite so well as she was, replied the nurse.
Kate's eyes had followed her out of the room.  You can't
deceive me, she said ;  1 shall die—I remember my cousin
Emma died so—of inflammation 
 Pray, don't take such things into your head! said Linny;
"it's enough to kill you 
"There! continued Kate. "The maid's gone for the
doctor—I know it—I heard her shut the street door—and
you sent her, too, when you went out of the room—I knew it
then, though I didn't say so—Oh, God! she said, rising up
in her bed,  to-morrow's the twenty-eighth! I shall die on
my birthday. Linny entreated her to be calm; she com-
plained of pain, and her features bore a strong expression of
terror. "I know my doom, she said. "Didn't I read it in
that book P I was a fool to think I could escape it.
Linny tried in vain to soothe her; terror had got complete
possession of her mind.
"My God, to die! she exclaimed, clasping her hands in
despair.
400 LT.NNY LOCKWOOD.
 You wont die if you will keep yourself quiet! This agi-
tation would destroy any one. Pray, lie down !
She obeyed; but she groaned, and became more feverish
and restless. The nurse herself now proposed to go for the
doctor, saying, she would follow him wherever he was gone,
and bring him with her. When she had left the room, Kate
drew aside the bed-curtains.
"Linny! she said, speaking more collectedly, but with
horror in her face.  You'll not desert a dying wretch ?
 You know I wont!
 Even if she were your greatest enemy—if she had done
you the most cruel injury—the most cruel injury than one
woman can do another ?
 Be calm, said Linny, bending over her— don't agitate
yourself about the past—I know all you would tell me 
 You know who I am! she exclaimed, rising on her elbow,
and staring with amazement in Linny's face— You know that
I am 
 Lady Glenlyon; and, if you do not wish to distress me, you
will lie down, and say no more about it till you are better—
then all shall be explained.
Kate sank back in her bed, speechless from astonishment;
her breast heaved, her eyes swam in tears. She seemed for a
moment to forget her pangs and her terrors—they were lost
in her emotions. ■ Her features changed their expression, and
she joined her hands in the attitude of prayer.  Great
God! you knew it, and you have stayed with me, and nursed
me, and waited on me!
 I did not know it till a fortnight ago—Mrs. Edmonstone
saw you at the window, and recognised you.
 I see—your agitation—ah!—but you wouldn't forsake a
repentant wretch, Linny, she said, seizing her hand, and
speaking with solemnity.  Linny, you know how I have
suffered—you know how bitterly I repent—how I despise and
abhor myself! I intended when I made this confession to
kneel at your feet—that is where I ought to be.
 I know all—be composed, I entreat you.
 And you forgive! O, let me hear you say so! let me hear
you say so before I die—for, oh Linny! I shall die—I know I
shall die!
 I forgive you with all my soul! She bent over her and
kissed her.
' Oh, that I had known you earlier! I should have loved
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
401
you, and been saved!—And yet, perhaps not"—she added,
remembering her jealousy and the bad feelings she had in-
dulged towards Yaughan's wife.
"Now, then, we understand each other, and I forbid you
to speak again, said Linny.
"Then pray for me, said Kate, speaking with difficulty,
for she was choking with tears; the force that emotion had
lent her was passing away, and she was suffering great pain.
Presently Mrs. Haddock returned with the doctor—they
both looked-' very grave. He had just quitted one dying
woman, and he knew too well, from what the nurse said, that
he was going to a second. He had carried the fatal infection
from one to the other.
I draw a veil over the hours of suffering that ensued—
physical suffering is not the proper subject of description. The
progress of the malady was very rapid. All that the tenderest
care could do was done by Linny—for her dearest friend she
could have done no more. She not only forgave her injuries;
she forgot them; their memory was effaced by the sharp suf-
ferings, their record washed out by the bitter tears of that poor
sinner ; and, as she knelt by her bedside, she could raise her eyes
to heaven, and pray in faith, that her trespasses might be
forgiven, as she forgave her that had trespassed against her.
CHAPTER LXI.
Mb. Featheestone was eagerly anticipating his visit to his
niece, and building sundry castles in the air regarding the
future. He had never been married, and had lived alone all his
life; that is, not without society. He was a rich man, and
might have had as much as he pleased of that; but, as he
could not live in England, he had inevitably been separated
from his family. Of that family Kate he most loved, and Kate
alone survived—survived to want him. In her prosperous days
he gave her jewels and money to enable her to gratify her
fancies and caprices—now, he could do more; he could
give her his countenance, his protection, and a home. He
could shield her from contumely, and afford her a refuge from
shame. He had now something to live for—some use to make
of his money. He would, rescue Kate from her despair ; raise
her, cheer her; help her to temper the bitterness of her re-
morse by the balm of a genuine repentance.
He did not forget that it was Kate's birthday. He never
c c
403
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
had forgotten her on that day. As sure as it came round,
there arrived a present of jewels or money from uncle Frank
■—now he brought something richer than money or jewels;
he brought a friend to the lonely, love to the outcast, conqfort
to the bruised spirit.
When he reached the row of small suburban houses, his
eyes sought eagerly the one that Kate inhabited. When the
carriage stopped he looked up, expecting she would come to
the window to greet him; but the hot sun was glaring on the
panes, and the blinds were all closed. The footman jumped
down and rang the bell; the door was speedily opened by a
pale and terrified-looking woman, whom, however, his mind
was too much pre-occupied to observe.
 Mrs. Hargrave, said he. He had no occasion to ask if
she was at home. Of course, she was waiting to receive him.
The maid did not answer, but silently preceded him up-stairs,
and threw open a door. The first thing that met his eye
was a bed ; and he arrested his steps for a moment, under the
impression that there was some mistake. There was an
elderly woman in the room, who was engaged in drawing the
upper sheet over the pillow. She might have been making
the bed; but there was something beneath the sheet. Before
he had time to recover his surprise and collect his thoughts, a
young person advanced towards him—
 You are too late, sir! she said, scarcely able to speak
for her sobs.  She's gone!
Mr. Featherstone stood for a moment like one who has
been stabbed in the heart—then he took three steps to the
side of the bed, and with a desperate movement drew back
tbe sheet. There lay Kate Eardley dead. He gazed on the
features a few moments in silence; and then, sinking into the
arm-chair that stood beside the bed, he covered his face with
his handkerchief, and wept like a child. In the midst of her
distress, Linny looked at him with astonishment. She took
him for Dr. C , whom they had sent for a few hours before
Lady Glenlyon expired.
 How did she die ? what was her illness ? he asked, as
soon as he was sufficiently recovered to speak.
 Of inflammation, I believe, answered Linny.  I thought
she was doing very well after the child was born 
"Is there a child? does it live? said Mr. Featherstone,
eagerly.
 Yes, replied Linny, leading the way into the dressing-
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
403
closet, where the infant's bed had been placed to he out of the
way during the mother's last hours.
 Poor infant! said Mr. Featherstone, as he regarded the
sleeping babe with a pitying eye.  Is it a boy ?
"No, sir; a girl. He contemplated the child for some
minutes in silence; and then, turning to Linny, he took her
hand.
 What can I say to you who, under such circumstances—
for I believe I am not mistaken in taking you for Mrs. Yaughan
Edmonstone ?"—Linny, still more perplexed, bowed her as-
sent;— who, under such circumstances, have been so kind
and merciful a friend to my poor niece ?
 Your niece! Was Lady Glenlyon your niece ? said Linny.
 She was, replied Mr. Featherstone, proceeding to inform
her who he was, and that he had written a letter to announce
his visit.
 Yes, the letter came; but I did not dare to give it her.
She seldom had a letter, but when she had, the sight of it
agitated her so much. Poor thing! said Linny, melting
into tears again at the recollection.  Poor thing! Oh ! how
she has suffered!
They then went into the drawing-room, and, seated side
by side on the sofa where poor Kate used to lie, Linny related
to him all that had happened; detailed the circumstances that
had brought them together; how Lady G-lenlyon's sorrows
and sufferings, virtues and faults, had engaged her sympathies;
by what accident she had discovered who she was ; and the
motives and feelings that had induced her to remain with her.
Many were the questions asked, many the tears shed. Before
she had finished her story, Mr. Featherstone was holding her
hand in his, as he might have held Kate's if she had survived
to receive him.
"I can't thank you, he said, pressing the hand he held;
 thanks are too poor for such obligations, such goodness ; and
I can't attempt to tell you what I think of you. I can't trust
myself to speak of it; so now we will talk of business. You
will probably wish to leave this immediately ?
 Directly after the funeral. With regard to the infant,
your arrival is a great relief to me. I did not know what to
do. That reminds me that Lady Glenlyon made her will lately.
She left it with the lawyer, Mr. Wood.
Mr. Featherstone took his address, and said he would call
on him— And till we know what her wishes are, there is no
c o 2
404
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
use in making any arrangements; to-morrow you shall see me
again. He next inquired if she had heard anything of her
husband, and what her plans were in regard to herself; saying
that he felt himself entitled to ask her.  You have done for
me, he said, "more than a lifetime could repay; for I loved
poor Kate as if she was my own child. He added, with a
sad smile, "You must be my niece now!
Linny told him she had a friend on the continent whom
she was going to join, and that she had heard nothing of her
husband since he left her.
On the following day he returned at twelve o'clock, having
appointed Mr. Wood to meet him with the will. He was an
elderly, rigid-looking man; and he drew the parchment out
of his pocket, untied the red tape, and proceeded to the perusal
of the document with the imperturbability and measured
movements of a machine. Wills are not amusing except to
the heirs and legatees; therefore I will not quote this one,
but merely give the substance of it. The preamble was short,
and entirely technical. The little property Kate had at her
own disposal was worth about seven hundred a year; of this,
without reason alleged, she bequeathed three hundred to
Yaughan Edmonstone. The other four hundred she be-
queathed to trustees for the use of Leonie Vaughan Edmon-
stone, his wife, during her lifetime, and at her death to go to
the child of which she was then enceinte; which child,  being
friendless, she committed to the merciful care and noble heart
of the same Leonie Yaughan Edmonstone, whose pardon and
prayers, I, Catherine Frances Glenlyon, humbly beseech.
When the imperturbable lawyer began to read, Mr. Feather-
stone sat with his elbow on the table, and his forehead resting
on his hand. Linny, who expected that she could not hear
the contents of the will unmoved, seated herself behind the
reader to be out of sight. Mr. Featherstone was soon sobbing
behind his handkerchief; Linny was weeping, too, till Mr.
Wood reached the clause referring to herself, then she lifted
up her head, and her tears were arrested in surprise and awe.
That prayer for pardon from the dead, the trust reposed in her
—for she was to enjoy the money unconditionally—whether
she accepted the charge of the child or not, made her feel as if
her heart was too big for her breast; and, as it swelled with
generous sympathy, she pressed her hand to her side, and
swore to be a mother to that friendless child.
Linny was appointed sole executor.
linny lockwood.
405
CHAPTER LXII.
Both Lockwood and Mrs. Edmonstone had called in Abing-
don-terrace, during the week that comprised all these events;
but Linny could only afford them an interview of a few
minutes. She did not then communicate to her; father the
discovery she had made regarding Mrs. Hargrave, lest he
should oppose the line of conduct she had determined to
pursue. Now, however, she disclosed the secret. For a mo-
ment he seemed repelled by the idea of his daughter's remaining
after she knew who she was; but when she described the feelings
on her own part, and the sufferings on the other, his naturally
benevolent heart melted, and he confessed that, under similar
circumstances, he thought lie should have done likewise.
 And now, father, she said,  there is no occasion for your
remaining longer in service; I am rich with my four hundred
a year. There is plenty of money for both of us.
"I don't know, said Lockwood; "at first, it hurt my
pride to be in service; but I've nothing to do that's unpleasant,
and I've somehow got used to it, and like it>. I don't know
what I should do with myself if I were living on an annuity.
I don't know how I should pass my time. I could not get
into the bank, now Mr. Eardley's gone; and I should be like
a fish out of water. I've an easy time of it with Sir Bryan, a
very good salary—for he says he'd give me anything rather
than I should leave him.
 But he's not an amiable man, is he ? said Linny, recol-
lecting his pursuit of herself.
 Well, he's thoughtless, and an Irishman; but he hasn't a
bad heart, and I think he'll improve as he grows older. He
spends too much money; but now I take care of it for him,
and pay his bills, he's going on better. He leaves every-
thing to me; and while we've been in Ireland, I've had a good
deal to do in settling his affairs for him. Then I live well;
and, when we're visiting in great houses, I get a comfortable
game at whist in the steward's room; altogether, I don't
think I could change for the better. And Lockwood cer-
tainly did credit to his keeping. He had recovered all his
former good looks, and appeared quite cheery since his re-esta-
blishment in Mr. Eardley's esteem. Not that he had been
able to produce any proof of his innocence; but the old man's
dislike to Vaughan disposed him to believe anything against
him; and his original good opinion of Lockwood revived,
406 uinny lcck'vVGOw.
when passion allowed him to reflect, more especially since he
had seen his honest face again,
Mrs. Edmonstone was unable to appreciate the feelings that
had governed Linny's conduct; but when she heard of the
legacies, and saw the baby, she was placated. She could not
forget whose child it was; and her maternal feelings for
Yaughan were extended to the forlorn little stranger. When
Linny observed the tenderness with which she took it in her
arms, and kissed it, she said,  I think, as I can't take it with
me when I go to the continent, I had better leave it with
you, if you will take charge of it, and the nurse.
Mrs. Edmonstone was delighted; it was something to do ;
and this arrangement being approved by Mr. Eeatherstone, he
took upon himself the whole expenses, and made Mrs. Edmon-
stone a liberal allowance to enable her to live with comfort,
and in a healthy situation. Linny claimed the right of pro-
viding for the child, who was christened Kate, after its
mother ; but he would not hear of it.  What am I to do
with all my money? he said.  I've no one left belonging
to me now my poor niece is gone.
Lady Glenlyon was laid in the earth as privately as pos-
sible, the hearse being followed by only one mourning coach,
which contained Mr. Eeatherstone, Lockwood, and two of the
clerks, Morland and Robinson. Mr. Featherstone had written
to Sir Arthur Glenlyon, who was on the continent, to apprise
him of what had happened; at the same time enclosing him
a letter from his wife, which Kate, before she died, had told
Linny she would find in her writing-desk.
 You'll hear where he is at the banker's, she said.  Write,
and tell him all you know—all you have witnessed—and en-
close my letters.
Sir Arthur was in Switzerland when the letter reached him.
Its contents were as follow:—
 My deae, deae Husband,—I may call you so now, for
when you receive this letter your once dear Cattie will be in
her grave. I have an impression that I shall die, so strong
that I think it cannot be mere fancy and depression, as they
tell me it is. I ought to wish for death, and I do sometimes ;
for I know it is all that remains for me—a Roman woman,
with half my despair, would not have waited for it, she would
have sought it. But I am weak and terror-stricken. I have
faith enough to fear, but not enough to hope.
 My dear husband, when you sent me that kind letter, I
liixxjNi LOCRWOOD.
407
was too proud to answer it; but I was not ungrateful. Oh,
Glenlyon! it you could have seen my anguish, my tears, my
passionate grief and regret. How I knelt down and kissed
the paper that your hand had touched—the characters that
your pen had traced ! And how I prayed for you as I could
never pray for myself! Prayed that you might be happy;
and that, when I was gone, you might have another wife
worthy of all the goodness and love you so vainly lavished
upon me. Dear Glenlyon, why did you love such a faulty
creature as I, alas! always was P Why did you let me
trouble the clear stream of your existence ? You that should
have been so happy—that so entirely deserved to be so! But
if I have cast a shadow over your life, what have I done with
my own p Oh, Glenlyon, how you are avenged! You cannot
hate my crime as I do—the world cannot despise me as I
despise myself.
 You did not know, when you married me, that I had
loved Vaughan Edmonstone from my childhood. We were
thrown much together. I believe now that he never really
cared for me; but he left me always in a state of uncertainty
whether he did or not, and that uncertainty kept the feeling
alive in me, and inspired me with a restless desire to conquer
him, and make his affections wholly mine. My father and
mother did not interfere whilst the Edmonstones were pros-
perous, but when their misfortunes , overtook them, they
forbad the connexion ; whereupon Yaughan urged me to run
away with him, which I should have done, but my father dis-
covered our plan, and laid a trap to catch him. I believe
there was a terrible scene between them, but I knew nothing
of this ; and when Yaughan forsook me, as he did afterwards,
thinking I had knowingly exposed him to this insult, I could
not comprehend his motive. However, he discontinued our
correspondence, openly avoided me, and even passed me in the
street without an acknowledgment. I suffered a good deal
about it; but at last I ceased to see him altogether, and I
became indignant, and resolved to banish him from my
thoughts. My father and mother did everything they could
to divert me, and to enable'me to overcome my attachment,
and I thought they had succeeded—but I mistook resentment
for indifference.
 Dear husband, I ought to have told you all this before I
married you; but my pride would not allow me to confess
that Yaughan had jilted me. Remember, I thought he had
408
LINNY LOIKWOOD.
done it without provocation, for I did not know of the scene
betwixt him and my father, and apprehended no danger. I
fancied myself safe in my insulted dignity. I never expected
to meet him again. But fate had decreed it otherwise.
 Do you remember, Glenlyon, how out of temper I was at
Calais, and how you tried to soothe me into fetter humour ?
Ah! I had seen my evil genius—I had seenVaughan Edmon-
stone before you saw him, and I thought his affection for me
was not extinguished, and that he was pursuing me. Then
we met in Paris, and he avoided me from jealousy and wounded
feelings, I imagined; and then my pride, my pity, and my
high temper, urged me on to my destruction.
"I cannot attempt to trace the downward steps by which I
reached my ruin and abasement—disgust at my folly and
wickedness forbid it. All I can say is, that the crime I have
committed, I never meditated. I rushed to my destruction,
not from love, not even from passion; but from obstinacy and
self-will. I blush to own this ; but it's the truth. You, who
know my temper and character, will be able to understand
this; no one who did not know me would believe it. But,
oh! what Words shall paint the feelings that succeeded ? I
will not say the veil fell from my eyes; that is an expression
to he used by women who, in a dream of passion, abandon
their homes to awaken from it in horror and amazement;
but—what a confession !—I was under no delusion; I dreamt
no dream. I knew—I knew I was rushing on perdition, and
yet that knowledge did not stop me! I wish I could believe
I was mad when I took that step. Surely, wretches who
thus, with their eyes open, rush upon their ruin must be mad.
 Glenlyon, I was guilty; hut I could not live in shame.
Horror and disgust seized me ; the bitterest remorse racked my
soul; love—I may say so now—my face is hidden in the grave
—worms are feeding where the blushes would have burnt my
cheek—love consumed my heart—love for you, my husband;
for you, my own dear Arthur ;—my noble, generous Glenlyon!
Oh ! I would have given my life for one fond embrace, one kiss
of love, like those of old—like those of old, when I cared not
for them. How I have longed to behold you! how I have
longed to throw myself on my knees before you, and by my
prayers and anguish win your forgiveness; how I have been
tempted to fly to you, and cast myself at your feet, and cry—
Save me! save me! you can never know. I think in my mad-
ness and my despair I should some day have done it; but that
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 409
I bear the badge of my sin—tbe fruits of my accursed crime,
about me.
 I cannot speak of this—you will hear it from others;
shame arrests my pen. But the Scriptures tell us that sin is
death; and my sin will be my death, here as well as hereafter.
 But now I am gone, Glenlyon; for if you receive these
lines the hand that traces them will be cold in the grave—now
I am gone you will forgive me—I know you will; and, hearing
what I have suffered, you will pity me; perhaps, love me
again. Oh, that I could know it! If it be true, as some
believe, that our spirits hover around those we have loved on
earth, I shall be near you, Glenlyon, when you read this letter,
and the poor sinner will be waiting for your pardon and your
prayers; the contrite heart will be watching for one balmy
drop of love to cool its burning pangs. If I could believe this
I should die in hope; but, alas! I believe nothing surely;
know nothing certainly. I am a bark on the wide sea of doubt
and fear, tossed hither and thither; seeking a refuge and
finding none. I would pray, but that I have no hope ; but
when I would pray for you, the words rise freely to my lips.
I can pray that you may be happy and blessed, for you merit
happiness and blessing; and if there is a God above, He must
love the just and merciful man. For me, no ray pierces the
dark curtain of the future, and I see nothing before me but the
blackness of darkness here and hereafter. But, 0 God! there
is no retreating. I must on—on; and meet the inevitable
future.
 And now, dear Arthur, beloved Glenlyon, adored husband
of my broken heart, farewell! I go to my last home ; to the
cold, dark, silent grave. You will, I hope, many a day see
the bright sun arise; enjoy the cool breeze beneath wavy
trees and rustling leaves; or the cheerful hearth and the
bright fire of the long winter nights—but you will remember
Cattie. Perhaps, O God! perhaps you will have another wife
beside you!—0 happy, happy wife! who will sit where I
should have sat—be to you all that I should have been; but
even then you will remember me, and you will give a sigh to
the memory of your poor, erring, repentant  Kate !
 On my tombstone inscribe no name ; only the epitaph of
the Italian girl—
 Imploea pace !
410
linny lockwood.
CHAPTER LXIII.
Having- committed the baby to Mrs. Edmonstone's care,
who with an experienced nurse was established in a pleasant
lodging not far from Hyde Park, Linny, in Mr. Eeatherstone's
carriage, and attended by his servant, proceeded to St.
Catherine's Docks, where she embarked for Antwerp, and
thence by the night diligence to Spa. When she reached the
Hotel de Flandres, where Mrs. Stanley lodged, she was in-
formed by the maid that she and her niece were out.
 Mrs. Stanley is at the Redoute, ma'am ; and Miss Alice
is gone to a pic-nic with Lady Brady. But my mistress will
be back to dinner at four o'clock, and she said, if you came, I
was to show you to your room.
Linny occupied herself with unpacking till Mrs. Stanley
returned, which was not till just before the bell rang, and she
had only time to dress and welcome her visitor before they
descended to the salle a manger.
 I am very glad you are come, said the lady,  for it
fatigues me too much to go about with Alice. I really can't
do it. She has made some acquaintance here, and they take
her to the balls and the promenades. These things are very well
for those that are strong, but I'm not. She's gone with her
friends to the Cascade to-day; and, as there's a large party
and a dinner, they'll not be back till late, I dare say.
 Is Alice quite well ?
 Well, I don't know. I confess I don't understand Alice.
At Craven Hill she was never happy, and she took such an
aversion to the governess I got for her—a most exemplary
person, I assure you—that I was obliged to send her away.
She always wanted to go to that odious father of hers, and I
brought her to the continent to keep her away from him.
At first she seemed pleased and happy enough, but lately she's
quite inconsistent—one day in the most extravagant spirits,
and the next quite low and hysterical. I don't think she can
be well, and I want her to consult a physician; perhaps he
might recommend the waters—I believe the Sauveniere is
very good for the nerves. However, I shall now put Alice
entirely under your care, and as she's fond of you, and I sup-
pose you understand her, I hope you'll have no trouble. I
drive out every morning when it's not too warm; and you
can go with me, if you like. Alice prefers riding on horse-
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
411
back, and she goes with the Brady party—if you like ridinsr,
I'll hire a horse for you !
After dinner Linny accompanied her new patroness to the
promenade, in the Place Royale, where the band was playing,
and thence to the Redoute. Mrs. Stanley sat down at the
roulette table, where she played the rest of the evening.
 I am not strong enough to take exercise, she said,  and
it's considered very bad to read much when you're drinking
the waters ; so I play petit jeu here, and that amuses me.
Altogether she appeared to Linny perfectly good-natured,
but not likely to be a very judicious cliaperone for Alice.
It was near twelve o'clock when they returned to the
Flandres, and in answer to their inquiries the waiter said,
"Mademoiselle was not returned.
 I did not expect she would be home yet, said Mrs.
Stanley;  they'll dance after the dinner, I dare say—for
they're such racketing people, those Bradys ! Camille, you
must sit up for her.
 Oui, madame, said Camille.  Mon Dieu! j'espere que
mademoiselle ne retardera pas trop, car je tombe de sommeil,
moi!
 I will sit up for Alice willingly, said Linny;  and Ma'm'-
selle Camille can go to bed if you don't want her.
Mrs. Stanley assured her that it was all nonsense on the
part of Camille, and that it was impossible she could be
fatigued; but as Camille insisted on it that she knew best,
and that it was not surprising she was tired, since Miss Alice
kept her up every night till one o'clock, and often till two
or three, Linny insisted on taking her place.
"I am so anxious to see Alice, she said, "that I should
not sleep if I went to bed so she provided herself with a
book, and seated herself in Mrs. Stanley's private salon. But
although she opened the page, she found she could not com-
mand her attention to it; her mindwould wander away to other
regions ; to the strange romance into which her once prosaic
life had been developed; all springing out of one germ—her
early love for Vaughan. She recalled him as she had seen
him first, when he appeared the realization of all her girlish
imaginings,  the very glass of fashion, and the mould of
form and her heart yearned, as it always did, at the recol-
lection that he had then, in the days of his glory, preferred
her simple self to all the wealthy and aristocratic beauties by
whom he was surrounded. Then she thought of the evil
412 LTNNY T.OCKWOOD.
clays that had fallen upon him, when he had been stung by
poverty and the cold world's contumety; and how, at the
first dawn of a better fortune, he had sought her and married
her. Whatever liis faults and errors might be, that he had
loved her was certain. Then her father's strange accusation,
which at first had shaken her, but with time the impi'ession
had faded; the thing was so improbable in every point of
view, that she had settled into the belief of its being a sort of
monomania of Lockwood's—so she dismissed it. Then came
her married life—sunshine and clouds, like all married lives;
their growing embarrassments, and Vaughan's consequent
irritability and defection from home; but, at the same time,
she recalled the moments of reaction and tenderness, wherein
he ever assured her that she alone possessed his affections;
and then the catastrophe—the elopement, and all that had
thereon ensued—in spite of which she believdd that she pos-
sessed them still. Had not Lady Grlenlyon with her dying
breath assured her that it was so ?
 He never loved me for an instant—never fancied he did.
If he had loved me, I believe I should never have done what
I did—but I was determined to conquer him. It was
wholly my fault—I'm not deceiving you—I'm a dying woman,
and would not dare—I am convinced he did not want to elope
with me—he was in debt and difficulty ; and angry that Sir
Arthur had insulted him, as he said, and that he could not
take his revenge. These were my seductions—for myself, I
believe in my soul that what he felt for me was nearer hatred
than love!
Kate was in her grave, but where was Yaughan ? Since
Lady Grlenlyon had quitted him at Calais, no intelligence re-
garding him had reached her. Were they destined to meet
again ? And if so, what should she do ? Forgive him ?
But would he wish it ? She thought he would. They had,
between them, a sufficient income now, if they could avoid
extravagance ; and possibly Vaughan's experience might have
taught him ptudence. Well, she would determine upon
nothing till they did meet; when the time came, if ever it
did, her feelings at the moment must decide her conduct.
Then her thoughts reverted to Alice. She did not alto-
gether like Mrs. Stanley's account of her variable spirits;
and she could scarcely understand her love for dissipation
and the company of those  racketing people. These were
symptoms, in such a girl as Alice, of unhappiness ; for natu-
LINNY LOCKWOOL.
413
rally she was not capricious, nor fond of what is called fast
society. Perhaps it was the want of a congenial companion,
and somebody to occupy her affections, that drove her into
these inconsistencies, and Linny hoped she had arrived in
time to rescue her from the danger of these bad habits becom-
ing confirmed.
Then she looked at her watch, and saw it was two o'clock ;
and?presently she heard several horses and carriages pass the
hotel, with sounds of laughing and talking; this, she con-
eluded, was the pic-nic party returning, and she momentarily
expected to see Alice enter the room. But they all passed,
and there was again silence. This must be some other party,
or the first division of Lady Brady's; so she opened her book
and endeavoured to read. She was interrupted by a ring at
the door bell; the waiter opened it, and let some one in;—
this surely was Alice, and Linny went to the door of the
salon, which was on the ground floor, lest the man should
forget she was waiting up, and allow Alice to ascend to her
bed-room; she was just in time to see, not Alice, but a gentle-
man in a riding-dress and a straw hat, who appeared to be
not very sober. He called for a bottle of soda water; and
with a candle in his hand went up-stairs, presently followed
by the waiter.
Linny began to wish Alice would arrive; and, when she
heard the waiter coming down again, she asked him if the
people who had just now passed were the party from the
Cascade.
"Oui, Madame; e'est le pic-nic.
 Et mademoiselle ? Elle n'est pas revenue ?
The gallon shrugged his shoulders ;  C'est possible qu'elle
est allee souper chez miladi, a 1'Hotel d'Orange.
It was possible, certainly; and Linny sat down again to
her book. But when three—four o'clock arrived, and no
Alice, she rang for the gar^n, who, not answering the bell,
she went out to seek him, and found him asleep in the salle
a manger.
 When mademoiselle comes, she said,  show her to my
bed-room; I'm going up-stairs.
The gar9on settled himself for another nap; and Linny,
who felt weary and cold, partly undressed herself, and in her
robe de chambre laid down on the bed. She intended to keep
awake, to be ready to start up the moment Alice rang at the
outer door. She was alarmed for her favourite; she did not
414 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
like the loose sort of life these proceedings indicated for a
young, ardent girl; and she lay listening and thinking, till
at length attention wearied, and she tell asleep.
She was aroused by Camille knocking at her door in the
morning; she had been to Alice's room, and, not finding her
there, had come to seek her in Linny's.
"Mademoiselle is not here? she said, drawing aside the
curtain.
"Dear me! said Linny, waking with difficulty; "what
o'clock is it ?
"It's nine o'clock, replied Camille, "and madame break-
fasts at ten. But where's Miss Alice ?
 I don't know. Isn't she in her room ?
 Mais, non.
 I came to bed about four o'clock, and then she was not
come home.
 Mais c'est drole, 9a, said Camille ;  il faut en prevenir,
madame, and she left the room.
 Bless me! exclaimed Mrs. Stanley, when she heard it;
 what thoughtless people those Bradys are! I suppose
they've stayed out all night; or could she have gone to the
Hotel d'Orange with them ? You had better send somebody
to inquire immediately.
Accordingly the commissionnaire of the hotel was forth-
with despatched; but he returned in five minutes, saying, the
pic-nic party had returned about two o'clock. That Lady
Brady et les demoiselles were still asleep, but the waiter was
positive the young lady was not at the Hotel d'Orange.
 God bless me! it's most extraordinary! said Mrs.
Stanley.  I never will let her go anywhere with those
Bradys again, I'm resolved. Such giddy, improper sort of
people! Where in the world can she be ? She can't have
gone home with that Madame de Yimes!
 Madame de Yimes lodges next door. I'll go and ask,
said Camille, who presently re-entered the room saying, Hon,
madame: j'ai parle a la femme-de-chambre—mademoiselle
n'est pas lk.
 Mais c'est inconcevable! I must know where she is.
Do go to the Hotel d'Orange yourself, and insist upon seeing
Lady Brady or her daughters. The least they could do, I
think, was to bring her home, when they undertook the care
of her! I really feel quite uneasy. Ask Miss Lockwood to
come and speak to me.
LINNY LOCKWOOD. 415
"Would you believe it, she said, when Linny appeared,
 that child has never been home all night. I always disliked
those Bradys, and I think it's most improper conduct. I
shall certainly turn over a new leaf with Alice, now you're
come. I shall not allow her to be so intimate with that set;
and she must attend to her education—she's very backward
in her music and French.
 Have you ascertained where she is ?
 No; I've been sending about from place to place—
Camille's now gone to insist on seeing some of those Bradys
—really young people are such a charge and anxiety!
 Did she ever stay out all night before ? Linny in-
quired.
 Never in her life, I cannot conceive how she could think
of doing it now. She must naturally suppose I should be
very uneasy. Well, Camille ! she added, to the waiting-
woman, who just then entered the room.
 Madame, Mademoiselle Alice n'a pas ete du pic-nic! J'ai
monte a la chambre de cette dame, et la voila tout ebahie.
Elle n'en sait rien; du tout, du tout, and Ma'm'selle Camille
shrugged her shoulders, and extended her arms with a most
significant gesture.
"God bless me! exclaimed Mrs. Stanley again, "where
■ can the girl be gone P I can't believe those Bradys; they
must know where she is!
 Are there any other people she was intimate with ? in-
quired Linny.
 Nobody but that set. Besides, she told me herself she
was going to Lady Brady's pic-nic.
 And she rose early yesterday and. had her breakfast,
said Camille; "and she went out, saying she was to join
the party at the Hotel d'Orange.
 How was she dressed ? inquired Linny.
 En noir, said Camille;  avec un schall vert.
 And a black lace bonnet, trimmed with violet ribbons ?
 Precisement, answered Camille, looking surprised.
 Why ? have you seen her ? asked Mrs. Stanley.
 It's very strange ! replied Linny;  but yesterday morn-
ing, when we were stopping to change horses, another dili-
gence passed us going in the contrary direction ; and I saw a
face so like Alice's that I should have felt certain it was her,
but for the improbability of her being in a diligence. She
was dressed just as Ma'm'selle Camille describes; at least, as
416 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
far as I saw—the young lady had on a green shawl, and a
black lace bonnet trimmed with violet ribbons !
 Je parie que c'est elle ! said Camille.
"But it's impossible ! exclaimed Mrs. Stanley.  Where
can she be gone ? What can she be gone for ?
 I heard the people say it was the diligence for Brussels,'
said Linny.  Has she any friends there ?
 We know some people at Brussels—but she can't be gone
to them ; there's nobody that she cares for. Hod bless me !
she can't be gone off to that horrid father of hers!
 Most likely she is, said Linny;  you say she was often
in low spirits ?
 I couldn't tell what to make of her—low one day and
high the next. That's it, you may depend on it. She's been
corresponding with him, I dare say—Camille, do you know if
she has been having any letters lately?
 I know that she has been writing some, said Camille.
 She's gone to him, said Mrs. Stanley.  He thinks that,
if he can get hold of her, I shall either give him money to
maintain her, or money to send her hack—but I'll do neither,
he may rely upon that.
 But we must try to ascertain where she is, said Linny.
Of course by this time everybody in Spa was aware that
the jeune demoiselle Anglaise had disappeared; but as it did
not appear that any of the young danglers of Lady Brady's
party were missing at the same time, nobody knew what to
make of it. There were all sorts of conjectures, and Mrs.
Stanley was not spared. Everybody blamed her for leaving
the girl to the chaperonage of Lady Brady; whilst the
Bradys themselves asserted, that they had long seen that the
poor young thing was very unhappy, and hinted that she was
dependent on her aunt, who treated her with the greatest
harshness.
But Linny had Alice's own word for this not being the case.
When she last wrote she had appeared very happy; and it
was quite clear, from Mrs. Stanley's own account, that, instead
of being harsh, she had left the young girl a great deal too
much to her own devices.
Several people called out of curiosity, some out of sym-
pathy. Spa was in a state of pleasing excitement. You saw
groups standing before the doors of the different hotels, and
before the Redoute, in close conference; and the little con-
versaziones at the Promenade de Sept-heures were unusually
LIU NY LOCK WOOD.
417
animated. Where could she he gone ? What could be the
occasion of her flight ? Various opinions were hazarded.
 On dit qu'elle a un pere—homme tres roue—meme ce
que vous appelez blackleg—qu'elle aime a la folie, cependant;
on dit, meme, que cet homme est k Bruxelles, said Madame
Fanny V .
 Faith! said Sir Nicholas Brady, an Irish knight of vice-
regal manufacture,  it isn't after her father she'll be running,
I'll engage. It's more likely to be after some of those black-
whiskered fellows—all the girls are fond of black whiskers;
and she'd be a pretty pigeon for one of your beggarly counts
to pluck. She'll have all that old woman's money, they say.
"Eh bien, said Monsieur L , "j'ai raon opinion, a
moi, la dessus—nous verrons. Ah ! continued he, in answer
to their entreaties that he would tell them what that opinion
was,  je ne dirai rien, mesdames—absolument rien. Elle m'a
interesse beaucoup cette jeune fille.
It was in vain that they sought to provoke him to reveal
his thoughts by saying, that he wanted to acquire a reputa-
tion for uncommon sagacity at very little expense. He was
impenetrable, and kept his own counsel. In the meantime,
Colonel G-arstin, who had had a previous acquaintance with
Mrs. Stanley, and had called on her to offer his services, sue-
ceeded in eliciting some information that tended to confirm
Linny's suspicion. The conductor of the diligence, whom he,
had seen, said that a lady dressed, he believed, according to
the description, had gone with him the day before. He only
drpve as far as Liege; but she had gone on to Brussels, he
supposed ; and the waiters at the Hotel du Midi asserted that
they knew the demoiselle Anglaise by sight perfectly; and
that they were standing at their door when the diligence
started, and saw her inside of it.
 It's quite plain—she's gone to that horrid man. I always
knew she would; but I thought it my duty to try to save
her from ruin, for my poor sister's sake, said Mrs. Stanley.
 However, if she chooses to be ruined, she must. But if
Captain Mearns expects me to give him money to maintain
her, he's mistaken. He'll never get sixpence from me, he
may rely on it.
 But, at least, we ought to be sure where she's gone, and
who she's gone to, said Linny.  These are but conjectures ;
would you have any objection to allowing me to go to Brus-
sels after her ?
D D
418
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
"What's the use of it? said Mrs. Stanley. "Bring her
hack, and she'll be off again ! However, if you like—go, with
all my heart; and I'll send Pierre with you. He is acquainted
with Brussels, and may he of use. If she is there you'll find
her through the police. I'm sure, it's very good of you to
take so much trouble about her. Young people are a shock-
ing nuisance ; and it's very hard that I, who never was troubled
with any of my own, should be bored with other people's.
But I promised my poor sister to look after the girl, and I
suppose she'll be a plague to me to the end of my days.
CHAPTER LXIY.
Wm Yaughan Edmonstone left Calais he did not quite
know where to go. He could have lived very well in Paris
on his present income, hut his adventure there with Lady
Gflenlyon was too recent. That step could not be recalled;
and, on the whole, the thing had not ended ill for him, as he
had now an income, whereas before he had none. On the
score of Lady Glenlyon herself, it must be confessed, his re-
morse was not very' oppressive. Men generally are pitiless
with respect to follies or crimes committed for their sakes,
even when they have been sharers in the passion that has
provoked them. They think women ought to take care of
themselves ; and that, when they do not, they must be con-
tent to accept, without mitigation, the penalties which they
must have known beforehand they were incurring. Why do
they do so ? Had not their mothers and their governesses
warned them of their dangers ? Women should believe their
mothers and their governesses, and not the lying tongues of
seducers, who, to gain their ends, tell them quite a different
story ; and a man holds himself under no more obligation to
a woman who has ruined herself for love of him, than he does
to a tailor who has ruined himself by providing him with
coats and waistcoats.
As for Yaughan, he felt, not that ,he had eloped with an-
other man's wife, but that he had been run away with—car-
ried off by Lady Glenlyon, and that he was therefore perfectly
exonerated. So much for conscience; at the same time, as
he was not ill-natured, he was not utterly insensible to the
destruction she had brought upon herself. He thought of
her as an unfortunate, headstrong woman, who pursued him
till she had ruined herself; and sometimes, when he drew a
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
419
cheque upon her banker, he would ejaculate,  Poor Cattie!
She's made a devilish bad business of it, certainly! But she
behaved very well about the money, and I hope she's safe and
Comfortable in Cavendish-square. And as he conceived that
she did not care much for Sir Arthur, and that she would
have a very good fortune from her father, or uncle, or both,
he hoped she'd by and by "come round. Being the only
child of the family, he had no idea they would withhold their
forgiveness.
Brussels was objectionable for the same reasons that ex-
eluded Paris; he went, therefore, to Boulogne, where he heard
of Mrs. Eardley's death—a great misfortune to Kate, he was
aware, but at the same time it was an event which he thought
would be productive of a re-union betwixt her and her father
if it had not already taken place.
Amongst the acquaintance he formed at Boulogne was Lady
Brady and her family, who were very well pleased to enlist
such a handsome, fashionable young fellow as Vaughan into
their service—whilst he, diverted by their vulgarity, was
content to eat their dinners, drink their wine, ride their horses,
and enjoy all the advantages of their admiration, which was
not diminished by their learning that he was the hero of that
tit-bit of Paris scandal, which they had seen alluded to in the
newspapers. It was a subject, however, on which he was him-
self profoundly silent; as he was indeed of his other antecedents.
He was looked upon as 'a single man, moving in fashionable
society, with a small independent fortune, who was temporarily
residing in obscurity at Boulogne, till the noise of that affair
had somewhat blown over. When the season came round, he
accompanied the Bradys to Spa, where he lodged in the same
hotel, went about everywhere with them ; and was supposed
by the ignorant public to be the accepted suitor of one of the
Misses Brady, only nobody could determine which was the
fiancee. This rumour suited Vaughan very well; whilst at
the same time he took care not to commit himself by exclusive
attentions to either. He laughed at them in his sleeve ; and
mentally made insulting comparisons betwixt them and the
two women who had proved their love for him by such acts of
devotion.  If they knew all, they'd know they'd devilish little
chance with me!
' And Linny ? He still saw Linny in the distance ; probably,
some day or other, they would come together again; but at
present, for the reasons before given, it was, perhaps, better
D D %
420
LIXNY~ LOCKWOOD.
not to seek a re-union; and he really did not feel the want of
her, except when the blanchisseuse neglected to sew on his
shirt buttons.
One night, when there was a ball at the Itedoute, one of the
Misses Brady said :  I say, Mr. Edmonstone, I wish you would
go and get introduced to the girl sitting by that old woman
with the diamonds! They say slie^s going to give a hall at
the Flandres.
 Who is she ? what's her name ? who knows her?
 1 don't know the girl's name ; but the aunt's called Mrs.
Maude Stanley, and they say she's monstrous rich, and gives
champagne suppers. Colonel Garstin knows them, and as
she's sitting there without a partner, I dare say he'll introduce
you. Do ask him.
 I'll see about it, said Yaughan, who thereupon proceeded
to a nearer inspection of the ladies in question; they were
sitting side by side on a sofa, at the end of the room, talking
to Colonel Garstin.
Mrs. Maude Stanley looked like a gentlewoman; she was
richly dressed, and, as Miss Brady hinted, with the addition
of a parure of diamonds. The niece appeared to be very young;
she wore a clean white muslin dress, and white satin ribbons;
it was exquisitely made, and perfectly fresh. He was not sure
whether she was pretty; but he was sure she was not ugly.
They seemed to know none of the dancing men; so, when an
opportunity offered, he asked Colonel Garstin to introduce him.
 She seems a nice little girl, he said;  perhaps she'd like
to dance.
"I dare say she would, said the colonel; who thought
Yaughan a very gentlemanly young fellow. He knew him
from lodging in the same hotel, and occasionally playing with
him at billiards.  I don't think they know anybody here
but me, and I'm a little too old to dance.
Accordingly the introduction was effected, and Alice and
Yaughan danced together. He found herself, like her dress,
simple, natural, unaffected; delighted with the novelty of all
she saw, and well pleased to have such a handsome, fashionable-
looking partner. He danced with her more than once, because
he liked it; the Misses Brady thought he did it in compliance
with their request, and said he was a capital fellow. Balls
follow thick at Spa, and having danced once with Alice, of
course he was entitled to ask her again; then he joined her
and Mrs. Stanley on the promenade; and when the ball at
LIJNJN X L,uujvwuOD.
421
the Plandres took place, he obtained an invitation for the
Bradys. Thus the acquaintance grew, and Alice became one
of the Brady set, and a member of all their riding-parties,
much to Mrs. Stanley's satisfaction, who thus found herself
relieved from the weary office of diaper one, and free to devote
herself to her favourite pursuits—roulette, and the gossip of
the Sept-heures promenade.
We have seen what Alice's character was—exclusive and
devoted in her attachments, with a heart panting for some-
thing to love—a necessity which had not been gratified since
she had lived with her aunt: she could not love Mrs. Stanley,
and for sqme time she subsisted on her lively affection' for
Linny; but Linny was absent, and her reign, though not ter-
minated, was suspended. This was the state of affairs when
she was introduced to YaughanEdmonstone,whom she thought
the handsomest and most elegant man she had seen. Too
guileless and unconscious of danger to conceal her admiration,
he read it in her eyes; in the weary and desponding look
when he was devoting his attentions to other people; and the
lighting-up of her features when devoted to herself. He saw
all this, and was flattered. In return, he looked at her with
soft eyes, and addressed her in low tones; praised her dress
and appearance, not directly, but indirectly—by dispraising all
that was unlike; paid her little attentions, that had more the
character of kindness and protection than gallantry; adminis-
tered scraps of friendly advice regarding the Bradys, and their
set; showing the distinction he made betwixt them and her-
self; examined her horse gear before she mounted, and occa-
sionally objected to the pony she was going to ride as unsafe,
insisting on the stable-keeper sending another. These, and a
thousand such little nameless attentions, not calculated to
draw the observation of others, or to commit himself, found
their way straight to Alice's heart. But he never spoke of
love, and had no intention of making a permanent impression
on her affections; he was gratifying himself and her for the
time; and, as he considered her quite a child, he thought—if
he ever thought about it—that she would forget him in a week
after they had parted. As Alice was not fast, but silent and
quiet, the Bradys said it was very good-natured of him to
look after that stupid little girl; and concluded he did it to
keep well with Mrs. Maude, who frequently asked him to
dinner. People who are very intimate at Spa, meet morning,
noon, and night; in a few weeks, Yaughan had grown to
422 LlOTY LOCKWOOD.
be as much a part of Alice's life, as if she had known him
from her childhood, and she loved him with all the enthusiasm
of her nature.
This was the state of affairs when, one day, Yaughan was
saluted by a gentleman in the billiard-room that he did not
at first recollect. Presently he recalled the features—it was
Robinson, one of the clerks in Fleet-street; he went forward
and shook hands with him.
 Who would have expected to see you here, Mr. Robinson ?
I thought your prejudices would never have permitted you to
cross the channel.
 I am ordered here for my health, sir, answered Robinson;
 too much confinement to the desk, I believe, has put me
all wrong here, giving his stomach a significant tap,  and
they tell me these waters will set me up again. I should
have got away a fortnight earlier, but poor Mr. Eardley's
death gave us a good deal to do with the books—you heard
of it, sir, I suppose ?
"I saw it in the paper, said Vaughan; "what did he die of?
 Why, sir, the loss of his wife, and—and one trouble and
another, I believe, took such a hold of him, that his health
was quite broken up. Poor Lady Glenlyon was not long after
him!
"What! said Yaughan, "has anything happened to Lady
Glenlyon ?
"Didn't you hear of her death, sir? she died in her con-
finement.
"Good God! exclaimed Yaughan, turning quite pale;
 dead! in her confinement! Had she a child, then ?
 Don't you know about it ? said Robinson.
 Not a word, said Yaughan.  Come this way, will you ?
and taking him by the arm he led him towards the Marteau.
They walked in silence through the gay, little, thronged street,
for Yaughan was too much agitated to speak on the subject,
where so many eyes and ears were opened, but he could not
avoid meeting his acquaintance.
 How do you do ? Where were you this morning, that you
did not come to the promenade ? said Captain Napier.
"We breakfasted at the Geronsterre, and took a long ride
afterwards, answered Yaughan.
 I was looking for you; you know to-morrow's the steeple-
chase—I want you to ride up and look at the brook. I don't
think it's a fair leap at all; I don't like it.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
423
 Oh ! said Mrs. King,  they say that abominable Mr.
Canterbury is going to make his daughter's pony leap the
brook. Everybody says the pony cgm't do it, and that the
poor thing will be killed, and the jockey too.
 He says the pony has done it before, doesn't he ? said
Yaughan, who was conscious of his agitation, and did not
wish to betray it.
 Yes, but nobody believes him. They say the poor animal*
is fifteen years old, and has been such a good servant to him—
it's quite brutal! and they say the jockey can't well refuse if
he insists, though the poor man expects he shall be killed as
well as the pony.
"Well, if he does it, I think everybody in Spa ought to cut
him; and I will, for one, said Mr. Loyd.
"I should think he wont attempt it, said Yaughan, who
was anxious to get away.  I'll see you by and by.
 Oh, Mr Edmonstone! are you coming to the ball to-
morrow night ? we want to make up a party to dance the
Lancers. Do you know the figures ?
 Not the least in the world, answered Vaughan, who knew
them perfectly.
 How odd Mr. Edmonstone looks ! I wonder if anything
has happened. Who was that man walking with him !
 I can't think. I never saw him before.
"Mr. Edmonstone! Mr. Edmonstone! La! Didn't you
see us ? Upon my word, I think you meant to cut us ?''
said Miss Brady, running after him.  You stared us straight
in the face.
"I beg your pardon! said Vaughan. "I suppose I was
talking, and did not observe.
"We are going to have a pic-nic to Remuehon next Thurs-
day, and you must go.
 Very well; that is, if I am still here.
 Here! Why, where else should you be ?
 I rather think business will call me to England. But, how-
ever, there is time enough to talk of thatand he walked on.
 How odd! What can he be going to England for ? He
never spoke of leaving. I wonder who that is he's walking
with? &c., &c., &c.
"Lady G-lenlyon dead! said Yaughan. "Are you sure ?
 I was at her funeral, sir, answered Robinson.  I went
in the'coach with Mr. Featherstone; Mr. Lockwood was there
too, and Morland—you remember Morland, sir?
424 I.TNNY LOCK."WOOD.
'■ Bat where had she been living ? The fact is, Mr. Robin-
son, I never heard anything of her after she left me. Wasn t
she with her father ?
"No, sir—no ; her father never saw her; and her mother,
you know, was dead. I' don't know whether she ever made
anjr application to him, I fancy not—I believe she concealed
herself from everybody, and went under a false name; but is
it possible that you have not heard about Mrs. Edmonstone,
sir?
 My mother ? said Yaughan.  What of my mother ?
"No, sir; your lady—young Mrs. Edmonstone—you've
not heard that she nursed Lady Glenlyon, and was with her
when she died ?
 My wife! Good God ! Impossible! It must have been
my mother.
"No, sir—no; it was young Mrs. Edmonstone—Miss
Lockwood that was. I heard Mr. Featherstone and Mr. Mor-
land talking of it—they said it was the most extraordinary
conduct—in short, that she behaved like an angel to Lady
Glenlyon—and though she discovered who she was, she
wouldn't leave her, but stayed till her body was laid in the
grave. I assure you, sir, when they told the story, there
wasn't a dry eye amongst us.
Yaughan could not speak—he must give vent to his tears
or be suffocated; there were people before him, and people
behind him—he rushed off to the right, and jumped over the
hedge into the fields.
 Tally-ho! cried young Broughton, taking the same leap.
 What the devil are you after ?
Yaughan felt that if he stayed he should knock him down;
so he waved his hand to him not to follow, and took to his
heels till he reached the wood, where they lost sight of him;
whilst the other stood looking after him in amazement.
Robinson, taken by surprise, stood still likewise.
 I say, said Broughton, returning into the road.  Did
you see that ?
 Yes, who was it ? inquired Sir Walter Long.
"Yaughan Edmonstone ; what's he after, do you think ?
 Well, I think somebody's after him. Look at that re-
spectable individual standing there with his mouth open. I
fancy he's done.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
425
CHAPTER LXY.
The steeple-chase was to come off the next day; and at eleven
o'clock the road to the course was thronged with horsemen
and horsewomen, mounted on Ardennes ponies, and carriages
tilled with gaily-dressed ladies. VaughanEdmonstone was in
no humour for such diversions ; hut he was aware that he had
excited observation by his proceedings on the previous day,
and he thought it advisable to exhibit himself where he was
expected, lest curiosity should be further excited. He there-
fore rode up with the Bradys as he was engaged to do.
 Pray, Mr. Edmonstone, do you intend to leap the brook ?
said Miss Louisa.
 No ; do you ? answered Yaughan.
 Me! Oh dear, no! I've no pretensions to that sort of
thing ; but I heard you had been practising yesterday on the
Marteau, and that you astonished everybody with your agility.
Was it a bet ?
 No ; simply for my amusement.
 Sir Walter said he was sure you were running away from
a dun or after a woman. Which was it ?
 If it was either, you can't expect me to confess.
 Edmonstone, I'll bet you three to one, that Canterbury's
pony don't leap the brook, said Captain Ludlow.
 I've never seen the animal, answered Yaughan.
 Nor I either, so it's all fair.
"It's a great shame, said Mr. Macldnley; "no pony could
do it.
 Don't bet upon it, Mr. Edmonstone, said Alice;  it's
countenancing the cruelty. I hear his daughter has entreated
him not to do it, for it's her pony, and it is fifteen years old.
It feeds out of her hand, and she's so fond of it.
It was a fine day, and everybody looked cheerful and happy,
except poor Miss Canterbury, whose pony was going to be
sacrifiped—the jockey who expected to be killed—and
Yaughan, whose feelings had received a shock that he could
not recover. He wished to appear in his usual assieltq—but
his efforts were vain. Every one saw there was something
wrong with him, and connected his pale cheeks and drawn
features with his escapade of the day before, and the sudden
appearance of the respectable-looking man he had been seen
walking with in the Marteau. Alice watched him with
anxiety ; she too saw there was something wrong, and longed
426
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
to know what it was—from sympathy, not from curiosity—
hut she could get no opportunity of speaking to him unheard.
The steeple-chase went off happily enough—more so than
such follies generally do; no neck was broken, and no horse
killed—although men who understood the thing, said they
considered the brook a very ugly leap for any horse.
 Look at that poor little animal cropping the heather there
—that white-faced thino*; that's Canterbury's pony.
"Oh ! said Alice ;  do beg of him not to'persist!
"It's useless, said Yaughan; "everybody has spoken to
him, but he will do it. Mr. Eeynolds has even offered to
pay the bet for him, if he will desist; but he wont. It's only
two hundred francs.
 There's Miss Canterbury leaving the course; she can't
bear to see it, said Mackinley.
"Nor I, either, said Alice;  I would not see it for the
world. I wish everybody would go! and she turned her
horse's head, and began to descend the hill.
"You can't go alone, said Yaughan, riding after her.
 Oh yes! I can. I had much, rather do it than stay to see
anvthing so shocking.
 She's off!
 There she goes! Three to one against the pony!
 They'll both be killed—man and horse!
 She can't do it! Ten to one against the pony !
 What a shame—it's really a disgrace!
 Look at the jockey—how pale he is!
 No wonder, when he expects to be killed.
A chorus of voices rose behind Alice, offering odds against
the poor pony. She put her hand before her eyes; she would
have hastened down the hill, but Yaughan was beside her.
There was another general outcry.
 What do they say ? Is it over ? she asked.
 They're down!—by Jove he's off!
"Who ?
 The jockey ; he's gone bang against the bank. They're
pulling him up—his face is bleeding !
 But where's the horse ?"— In the water.
 Is she hurt ?
 Killed, I should think. You had better come away—it's
a painful sight.
 I think it's most disgraceful! said Alice, with the tears
in her eyes.  But don't let me take you away.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
427
 I've no desire to stay. I'll see you safe home.
 Are you not well to-day ?—you don't look well at all.
"I'm not very well, answered Yaughan; "I didn't sleep
well. I think I want a change.
 A change of what ? asked Alice, with alarm,
 Of scene—of air. I've been here too long.
Alice turned first red and then pale; but made no answer.
Yaughan fell into a reverie, and they rode on in silence. His
thoughts were far away—with Lady Grlenlyon in the grave—
with Linny, the generous wife, the noble woman ; the humble
clerk's daughter. How unworthy he was of her! How mean,
how base, how unprincipled had been his conduct, how selfish!
He shrunk abased before the picture of himself that his mind
reflected. He had seen Robinson that morning, and heard all
he knew concerning the late catastrophe; he felt that even
Lady Grlenlyon rose far above him ; above him by her remorse,
by her suffering, by her desire to make reparation, as far as
was possible, for the misery she had caused. And what had
he been doing during these hours of anguish—this daily
dying of one woman? this holy sacrifice of the other?
Dancing, playing at billiards, escorting the Misses Brady in
their various excursions; and trying how he could kill time
with the least possible ennui or exertion.
Alice watched him without appeai-ing to do so; she read
his countenance—she felt sure something dreadful had befallen
him. If he would but tell her. If he would but confide in
her. But he would think her too young—and, besides, might
not she have something to do with his grief ? If he loved
her—and she thought he did—and if he was obliged to leave
her, as he seemed to say, would not that distress him ? She
had heard vague rumours of his being the son of a banker or
merchant, and it was said his father had failed. Perhaps this
stranger, yesterday, had brought ill news of his affairs; per-
haps he saw, or fancied he saw, that, being a ruined man, he
must relinquish all hopes of Alice—must tear himself away
without avowing his feelings. If her conjecture was correct
—Oh, that he would tell her!
Thus occupied with their own thoughts, they proceeded at
a foot pace towards the town, till they were overtaken by
some of the horsemen and carriages who had left the course.
The poor pony had been dragged out of the water with ropes ;
it was found that, either from the fright or the fall, she had
broken a bloodvessel in the heart; and, to shorten her suf-
428 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
ferings, they killed her. The jockey's face was much injured,
and he was severely bruised. It was thought he had got off
very easy; and certainly much more easily than he or any-
body else expected.
There was but one opinion of the affair ; but people felt it
acutely, or not, according to their different characters. One
person was heard to say, "It was only a horse killed! to
which the answer was, that "It was a horse murdered I
there was all the difference between a duel and an assassina-
tion; and, moreover, it was not to be forgotten, that the horse
had a rider whose life was placed in imminent peril also. Mr.
Le Eoy talked of sending an account of the whole thing to The
Times, with the name and profession of the owner of the pony.
Mr. Jenkinson said,  Oh, don't! it'll injure the fellow.
But ought not people who do these things to suffer for
them ? Where there is no human life lost, the law cannot
take cognizance of such a misdemeanour; though it does of
much more venial ones. The only check is public opinion.
To expose in print, the faults or follies, defects or misfortunes,
of individuals in private life, I think unjustifiable ; but reck-
less cruelties that the law cannot reach, must be chastised by
the pen.
Vaughan parted with Alice at the door of her hotel. He
jumped off his horse to assist her from hers.
 You'll be tired after being on your horse so long, he said.
 Oh no! I'm not tired—but—
 You're distressed about the pony; you look quite out of
spirits about it.
 I'm very sorry, indeed; but it isn't that. I'm sure, Mr.
Edmonstone, you've had some bad news—you look so ill 
"I am ill, replied Vaughan. "Perhaps I shall be better
to-morrow. I dare say it will be nothing.
 I hope not, said Alice, looking up in his face with eyes
that betrayed her heart's secret. He was touched by the
earnestness with' which she spoke, and the large melting eyes,
so full of love and pity.
 Whether I am or not, I shall never forget your kind interest,
Alice; it's very good of you to care so much about me.
Alice's eyes were swimming; the tears were beginning to
overflow.
"Hush! here's Mrs. Stanley and Lady Lyons coming.
Good by! And he tenderly squeezed the hand he held.
 Not a word of my being unwell!
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
429
Alice's heart was full, and she turned into the house to
avoid meeting her aunt and the party whose carriages just
drove up.
 Oh, Mr. Edmonstone! I'm glad I've caught you. You
must dine with me to-day, said Mrs. Stanley.
Vaughan took off his hat when the carriage drove up, and
acknowledged the invitation, but said he was engaged.
 Dear! I'm so sorry ! I wanted you particularly. Shocking
thing about the pony, isn't it ? I couldn't think what had
become of Alice; but Mr. Mackinley ?aid he saw her leave the
course with you.
 Miss Mearns has just alighted and gone into the house.
Give me leave to assist you, he added, handing Mrs. Stanley
out.
 Well, you wont come to dinner ?
"Not to-day, thank you. And with another graceful
evolution of the hat, he departed.
 What a very gentlemanly young man he is! said Mrs.
Stanley.  So many of the men in these days are such mauvais
ton, that he's quite a treasure.
"Poor fellow! I am afraid he's in some difficulty, said
Lady Lyons.  Harry tells me that yesterday, in the Marteau,
there were two sheriff's officers after him, and that he leaped
over the hedge and took to his heels across the fields, and so
escaped. The men had been sent from England, I suppose.
 Put where are they now ? Why don't they take him
to-day ?
 Oh! I suppose he has settled it somehow or other.
"I hope so; for he'd be a dreadful loss to Spa.
 Well, we shall meet to-night. I must go and prepare for
dinner."— Au revoir.
CHAPTER LXVI.
"How d'ye do ? You've heard the bad news ?
 No; what news ?
 Mr. Edmonstone's gone; went off this morning.
 Quel malheur!
 What a bore!"— Where's he gone ?
 He might have come to the ball last night. He was en-
gaged to me for two dances. It will quite spoil the pic-nic!
 I suppose the sheriff's officer caught him and carried him
off in triumph.
430
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
 Well, we must have another gentleman; so we must go
and look for somebody else.
Alice was up betimes the day subsequent to tbe steeple-
chase, and went down early to the well. She bad not found
Yaughan at the ball, to which she bad gone solely in the hope
of meeting him; and she had been very uneasy all the night.
She had reached the Hotel d'Orange, and was anxiously look-
ing into the cour, as she passed, in hopes of seeing him come
out, when the above conversation betwixt two of the inmates,
who were just issuing forth, reached her ears.
Without understanding the character of Alice Mearns, it
would be impossible to convey an idea of the effect this intel-
ligence produced. She put down her veil and walked on as
fast as she could, lest any one should speak to her.
 There's Miss Mearns; let's tell her the news. And one
of the ladies called to her. Alice was deaf.
 Oh! it's not worth while; she wont care, stupid little
thing!
 I'm sure she ought, for he used to dance with her when
nobody else would. I thought he was very good-natured
to do it.
Meantime Alice was posting on in an indescribable state of
agitation.  Gone! gone already, and without a word of ex-
planation, a word of farewell! Gone! She could not get
any further than this one idea; she could not arrange her
thoughts ; only that word gone seemed to be seething within
her. She walked rapidly through the Avenue de Sept-heures,
unfrequented at that hour, and up the mountain-path at the
end of it; if Yaughan had been before her, and she pursuing
him, she could not have walked faster, when suddenly she
stopped. Where was he gone ? Did anybody know ? If
she could but discover that, she might write to him ! She
turned and descended the hill at the same pace. When she
reached the Place Royale, several people were taking their
lounge before breakfast. She did not avoid them now; on
the contrary, she accosted everybody she knew; some one
might possess the information she wanted.
 Good morning!
 Bless me, Miss Mearns, I thought you didn't walk before
breakfast! What a reformation!
 Sometimes I do ; is there any news ?
"None that I know of. I've seen no one.
"Uninteresting person!—Good morning! to another.
L1NNY LOCKWOOD.
431
 Well, it was you I saw pass down the street just now;
Emily said it wasn't. Have you heard the melancholy news ?
"No; what is it? with assumed carelessness.
"Mr. Edmonstone went away this morning.
 Indeed; where's he gone to ?
 To England, I suppose. Tom says it's his opinion that
he was arrested, and that the sheriff's officer consented not to
take him publicly if he would agree to go quietly. He was seen
talking to a very odd-looking man last night at the Redoute.
Alice obtained many such answers as these; none satis-
factory. At breakfast she could not trust herself to commu-
nicate the news to her aunt; and, directly she had swallowed
her tea, she made an excuse to go to her room. On her
dressing-table lay a sealed parcel. In such critical moments,
what hopes are stirred by a letter or a parcel! She darted
forward, and seized it. It was addressed  Miss Alice Mearns,
H6tel de Elandres. The contents felt like a book. She
broke the seal, and found that it was a volume of French poem*
which she had seen Yaughan reading, and of which he had
read some passages to her. On the titlp-page was inscribed
her name, and below it the word  Souvenir.'''' That was all;
hut, oh, how much! What a soothing halm it brought!
How she kissed the characters his hand had traced ! how she
pressed the hook to her bosom! She was in the seven; a
heaven of joy. Yes, he loved her; everything proved it—1 it
why had he gone without telling her so ? It must be what
she had suspected: embarrassments, pecuniary difficulties,
some odious creditors annoying him. But why should tb. b
separate them ? If he could see her heart, he would have
known that he was only the dearer for his misfortunes. What
would poverty he with him ? She could work for him—starve
with him, if it were necessary; hut she had better hopes. Her
aunt had often told her, that if she would entirely renounce
her father, and engage henceforth to hold no communication
with him, she would make a will, leaving her all her fortune
at her death, and would give her a handsome settlement if
she married. Alice had refused; she cared nothing about the
money, and liked her father ; but what are father or mother
when a lover's in the case ? Now she would consent; and, as
Yaughan was a great favourite with Mrs. Stanley, she would
doubtless fulfil her promise, and approve of their union; then
he would be relieved from his difficulties, and — oh, what
delight! owe all his happiness to her!
432
LIN NY LOCKWOOD.
Intoxicated with this dream, she paced her room m an
ecstasy of joy. Her hopes seemed to her of such certain
realization that she saw hut one obstacle in the way of them,
and that was—not knowing "Vaughan's address. How should
she discover it ? She had never heard him allude to his con-
nexions, nor to any person or place that could assist her. He
had, indeed, been singularly silent with regard to the past.
Even the affair of Lady Glenlyon she did not know; many
were aware that he was the hero of that story; the gentle-
men talked of it among themselves; and the married ladies
hinted it in whispers ; but Alice was considered too young to
be admitted into their confidence.
She joined theBradys at the mid-day promenade, in hopes,
that amongst the numerous people that came to gossip around
them, she might obtain the information she wanted; but it
was evident that nobody kilew or very much desired to know.
The general opinion, however, was, that he would be found in
the King's Bench, or some other place of confinement for
debtors. The more this idea prevailed, the more Alice was
bent upon finding him out, and the more ravished she felt at
the blessings of liberty and love she proposed to confer on
him. It must be remembered that Alice was an enthusiastic
girl of sixteen.
 I wish he had told me he was going, said Colonel Garstin.
''■'I owe him a bet of fifty francs on the steeple-chase.
 Perhaps you might learn at the post-office where his
setters are to be forwarded to, some one remarked.
 Very true, said Colonel Garstin ;  I'll inquire there.
The post-office I To be'sure; she wondered she had not
thought of it, and was on thorns till she could make a reason-
able excuse to move. The ladies had generally brought their
work, and she had hers—presently she found out that she had
forgotten some silk that was indispensable, and said she must
go home and fetch it. Probably, where there were so many
young men, she was almost the only young lady who would
have been allowed to walk back to the Flandres alone; but
she did not understand flirting, and was too reserved and quiet
to interest them, and therefore, much to her satisfaction, she
was permitted to depart unattended.
To the post-office was but five minutes' walk, and after
looking round to see that nobody was observing her, she
entered and knocked at the shutter that conceals the func-
tionary from public view. Perhaps he was at dinner; for an
LiiNjN i LUCK WOOD.
433
interval of two or three minutes elapsed, and then he opened
it with a  Pardon, mademoiselle!
"Would he have the complaisance to tell her where
Monsieur Edmonstone's letters were to be addressed ?
"Ah ! said he, putting on his spectacles, and repeating the
word  Monsieur ? in an interrogative tone.
 Edmonstone, reiterated Alice as distinctly as she could,
at the same time trembling with impatience and fear lest any
acquaintance should surprise her.
"Ah—c'est 9a, peut etre? and he took up a scrap of
paper on which the address was written in Yaughan's hand;
 Yaughan Edmonstone, Hotel de Suede, Bruxelles.
 Merci, said Alice; and with a glad heart and a light step
she turned her steps to the Hotel de Flandres, rushed. up to
her room, locked herself in, and sat down with a sheet of
paper before her. But here was a difficulty unthought of—
how should she express herself ? how convey what she wished
him to understand ? Though she had no doubt he loved her,
and would have made her proposals but for this contretems,
yet he had never declared as much; and there was a degree of
indelicacy in assuming it, that brought the blood into Alice's
cheeks. Still, there was no time to be lost. He was in
Brussels; but' doubtless the business that had so suddenly
carried him away would not allow him to stay there; he would
be off to England; and then where should she find him ? The
letter must be written and posted before half-past three, for
at that hour her aunt would return from the Eedoute to dress
for dinner, and the opportunity would be lost for that day; it
was now more than half past two! After spoiling several
sheets of paper, and hearing the clock strike three, she was
obliged to content herself with the following epistle:—
 Deab Mr. Edmonstone,—You'll be surprised to see my
hand, but indeed I'm so unhappy about you! They tell me
—I mean the people here—that something unpleasant has
happened about money; but, dear Mr. Edmonstone, why
should that distress you ? I have a great deal—that is, my
aunt will give me a great deal; and what could make me so
happy as to give it to you ? Pray, come back; or, if you
can't, write directly. I have a great deal in my power—
more than you think; and all is yours if you will accept it.
 Your sincere and faithful friend,—Alice.
 I write in the greatest haste. Direct, Mademoiselle
A.M , Foste Bestanie, Spa.
e e
434 linjiy lockwqod.
She put on. her bonnet, and concealing the letter in her
handkerchief, she flew to the post-office, and dropped this
grand venture into the box. Then, with flushed cheeks and
a beating heart, anxious but happy, she returned to dress for
dinner.
Yaughan had quitted Spa because the shock he had received
disqualified him for society. Thoughtless and selfish as he
had been, he was not so utterly heartless as to dance on Lady
Grlenlyon's grave, or drown the memory of her sufferings and
his wife's generosity in draughts of champagne. He wanted
to be alone, and he went to Brussels because it was empty at
that seasoii—and he took up his residence at the Hotel de
Suede, because it was a house unfrequented by the English.
Here he could lounge about in the park, and in the Allee
Yerte, beside the canal, and indulge his melancholy humour
unobserved. He could review the past and look at the future.
The former was a sorry sight! full of error, folly, crime ; the
latter was a blank, unless, indeed, Linny could forgive him.
Then he would make her amends for his ill conduct, and she
should find him a reformed husband; and, as they would have
money enough to live on, he did not see anything likely to
come between them again—for his poverty had been the
source of his worst follies and crimes. He felt so much at
sea, so depressed and miserable, that he resolved to write to
Linny; he might express his admiration and gratitude for
her conduct towards Lady Glenlyon, and try to pave the way
for a reconciliation. He had just returned from the park, re-
solved to put this scheme into execution immediately, when
the waiter put Alice's letter into his hand.
 Poor little girl! he said, half smiling when he read it,
"I must write to her. And he did; thanking her for her
kind interest and sympathy.  I did receive some painful in-
telligence, and I came away to escape curious and impertinent
people. I fear my troubles are beyond your power of cure,
dear Alice; but I shall-not forget the feelings that dictated
your letter. • The recollection of your kindness will cheer and
console me; and I shall feel assured that I have one true friend
in the world. I leave this the day after to-morrow, &c. &c.
 There! thought he;  that will set her all right, and
make her happy.
It was not so intended, but this letter of Yaughan's was
precisely calculated to leave Alice in that sort of uncertainty
and suspense which is the most unbearable of all states of
lilJNJNX LOCKWOOD. 435
mind; and therefore to urge her to some desperate act. A
few hard cold lines would have crushed her;"and a genuine
love-letter would have filled her with the hope that, though
temporarily separated, they would be again reunited; and,
relying on his affection, she might have waited—impatiently,
hut still waited—for the next advance to come from him.
But now the next advance was thrown upon her. If he loved
her—and she read the letter over fifty times to confirm her in
that conclusion, without, however, always succeeding in her
object—if he loved her, it was still evident that his difficulties
were such that he saw no prospect of their being* removed,
and that there was no prospect therefore of his seeking her
again with any view of making proposals. He was, perhaps,
retreating from the most honourable disinterested motives;
and it was for her to reward him for such signal virtues.
This was the argument and the reasons ; but over and above
the reasons, there were her blind feelings irresistibly impelling
her to fly to Yaughan and cast herself and her fortunes at his
feet. Those women are very unfortunate who are the victims
of such feelings; but—-judge them not.
Alice had 110 great difficulty in executing her scheme. She
had hut to rise early and tell the maid she was going to
the H6tel d'Orange to join Lady Brady's pic-nic party, to
which she had been previously invited. Mrs. Stanley was in
bed hours after the diligence started; and she stepped into
the vehicle whilst it stood at the office door, unobserved
by anybody hut the waiters of the neighbouring hotel. Alice
was well acquainted with Brussels; she had spent part of the
winter there with her aunt, at the Hotel Bellevue, where she
proposed on the present occasion to seek a bed; but the object
of her journey was first to he accomplished. She must see
Yaughan that night—and it was already late—for he was to
leave on the following day; so she stepped into a fiacre and
desired to he driven to the Hotel de Suede. As the coach
rolled through the streets, she sat rapt—she saw nothing;
heard nothing. She was going to Yaughan ; to carry peace
and comfort, love and wealth, to the man she idolized;—that
was the one idea that engrossed her wholly.
When the coach stopped a fear shot through her heart; if
he should be gone! But no, he was not, the gargon said he
had not come in; but he was momentarily expected. Alice
said she would wait in the carriage; but the gargon was too
polished to permit that, and begged that mademoiselle would
E E 2
*436
LINNY LOCinVOOD.
walk into the salon; and as she felt that the important in-
terview could not take place in the street, she alighted and
entered the house, where she waited nearly three quarters of
an hour before Yaughan arrived.
During this interval of bodily repose her mind was in a
chaos of hopes and fears ; the hopes prevailed, but still certain
misgivings would intrude. She now became more sensible of
the extravagance of her proceeding than she had been before;
but surely the more extravagant, the more he would value it
as a proof of her devotion—if he really loved her. On that
all depended; but she recalled a thousand things that had
filled her heart with joy; and then she hoped again.
 There's a lady waiting to see you. sir, said the gar9011.
"A lady! what lady!
 I don't know—une Anglaise; petite, gentille; she came
in a fiacre from the Messagerie, and I invited her to wait in
the salon.
Yaughan made but three strides up the stairs, for he was
sure it was Linny. He knew of no woman except Lady Glen-
lyon or his wife who would thus seek him at midnight in his
hotel. Lady Glenlyon could come no more; the storm of her
fortunes was over, and she at rest;—it must be Linny.
CHAPTER LXVII.
Linny did not doubt the correctness of Mrs. Stanley's con-
jecture, but she was not the less eagey to pursue Alice. From
all she had heard, making every allowance for that lady's
strong prejudices, Captain Mearns was a very unfit protector
for a young girl; and, although she was far from thinking
Mrs. Stanley herself a very judicious guardian, she considered
her preferable to the father. She therefore started, on the
same evening, armed with authority to offer favourable terms,
and reached Brussels the following morning.
 If she goes to an hotel, it will be the Bellevue, I should
think, said Mrs. Stanley, "for that's where we lodged
before.
So Linny proceeded thither at once, and asked if Made-
moiselle Mearns was there F
 There's a young English lady who arrived last night,
said the waiter.
_ Oui, oui, elle est ici; she is here, said thejille de quartier;
"je la connais bien. Mais elle est sortie.
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
437
 Gone out! Do you expect her back ?
"Oui, oui, elle n'a pas paye; she'll probably return to
breakfast. Will you be pleased to wait ?
 Yes, said Linny, "I will; and opening a door on the
ground floor, the girl introduced Linny, saying,  C'est la
chambre de mademoiselle, and left her.
Linny entered, and cast her eyes around in search of any-
thing that might enable her to draw conclusions respecting
Alice. The first thing that attracted her attention was
several sheets of white paper lying 011 a table in the centre of
the room; there were also an inkstand, a stick of red wax,
and some pens. She had apparently been writing, and had
thrown down the wet pen on the upper sheet of paper; for it
had made a large blot and stuck to it. On another sheet of
paper were some scratches, such as a person makes when a
pen does not mark. She had probably, Linny thought, been
writing to her aunt to account for her disappearance, and was
now gone to her father. There was a shawl on the bed, and
a pocket handkerchief on the ground. Linny picked it up,
and observed that it felt damp ; it had certainly been wet;—
this struck her; for it suggested the idea that Alice had been
weeping. There was nothing else in the room that afforded
any indication of her proceedings.
Linny sat down near the window, and waited with a strong
feeling of anxiety for her return. She knew Alice well, and
she suspected she was the only person that did, since the poor
girl had lost her mother; she knew her faults and her good
qualities ; and was aware that the latter were quite as likely
to militate against her worldly happiness and well-doing as
the former ; and, indeed, much more so. She had always felt,
that without a kind, wise guidance, Alice would be lost; and
that advantage she had never enjoyed, except whilst under
Linny's influence. In the present case, she hardly knew what
shape to give her fears ; but she rather imagined that Captain
Mearns had got himself into some terrible dilemma, and had
appealed to his daughter's sympathy and affection to help him
out of it.
At the expiration of about half an hour, the fille de quartier
—in other words, the chambermaid—put in her head and
said,  Ah, cette demoiselle n'est pas encore rentree ?
 No, said Linny,  did you see her before she went out ?
 No ; Jules let her out; for it was very early, and the door
was not opened; there was nobody up but Jules. When I
438
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
came down, he observed that she was tres matin ale.  Ah,
Dieu! she suddenly exclaimed; "hut she's never been to
bed! The bed's just as I left it last night!
 Haven't you made it since she went out ? inquired Linny.
 Du tout. Mais c'est extraordinaire, 9a.
Linny thought it was, and 'she proceeded to extract from
the woman whatever particulars she had remarked about Alice.
She said that she had arrived in a fiacre about midnight; and
asked if she could have a bed-room, which, as they knew her,
they gave her directly. She had asked for nothing more
except the writing materials, which lay upon the table; and
they had heard nothing of her till she came out of her room
in the morning.
 I inquired of her if she would not have some supper, or
even a cup of coffee, but she said ' she wanted nothing but a
carafe of water.'
The carafe was there upon the washing-stand, and a glass
half full, out of which she had been apparently drinking.
The woman terminated her remarks by observing,  C'est
drole 9a, in a tone of voice that betokened a suspicion of
something unusual, though she did not know what.
Linny passed another half hour in walking about the room,
looking out of the window, examining the paper, the shawl,
the pocket-handkerchief; in short, in doing all those things
that indicate anxiety, uncertainty, and expectation. Suppose
Alice did not return at all, what step was she to take next ?
She must set the police in search of her; but, as for anything
she knew, this might be placing the father in a critical posi-
tion, she hoped this extreme measure might not be forced on
her. In the meantime she watched and waited; but Alice
came not.
Yaughan Edmonstone slept well that night, and awoke in
a complacent frame of mind; he was pleased with himself—
for once he had done what was right; he had done his duty.
On seeing Alice in his room instead of Linny, he was thunder-
struck, and, deeply sensible of the impropriety of the proceed-
ing, he received her with the most repulsive coldness, over-
whelmed her with the severest reproof, denouncing in cutting
language the indelicacy of thus pursuing a man over the
country, and  forcing herself into his apartments in a public
hotel, adding that, even if he had been her lover—an idea
he had never for a moment entertained—such an evidence of
the  total absence of modesty, and of that delicate sense of
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
439
propriety, which forms the chief ornament of the female sex,
would have utterly disgusted him. He recommended her to
go for the night to the Hotel de Bellevue, where, he was
aware, she had lodged with Mrs. Stanley, and to return on
the following day to her aunt, to whom he should write, in
order to exonerate himself from any blame in the affair, and
to ascertain if she had arrived.
This objurgatory address Alice received standing; she had
risen to her feet when he entered the room, and was advanc-
ing towards him with,  Oh, Mr. Edmonstone !
Then he began,  Good God ! Miss Mearns, what is the
meaning of this ? Do you know what you're doing F Surely
your aunt can't be acquainted with this rash step ?
Alice murmured "No! it was the only word she uttered;
for the rest, she stood before him, pale, motionless, with her
eyes on the ground, crushed into silence. She made no ges-
ture indicative of her cruel disappointment; she did not
writhe visibly under the stab that pierced her heart; she
lifted up no voice of justification ; she made no appeal for
mercy. When he had finished what he thought it his duty to
say, he turned, and opening the door, stood with it in his hand
for her to pass through, which she did; slinking like a convicted
culprit from the room, bowed down with shame and anguish.
 It was quite necessary, thought Yaughan;  foolish girl!
She'll ruin herself entirely if she's guilty of such extravagances.
I hope to God she'll get safe back to her aunt! I'd go with
her; but that would be countenancing her madness, and set all
Spa talking of us. No ; I couldn't be too severe ; it's better
to cure her at once of such folly, or she may not get off so
well the next man she runs after.
When he woke in the morning, after a good night's rest,
he had no misgivings with regard to the excellence of his
remedy, or the appropriateness of its application in this par-
ticular case. She would doubtless be hurt and bitterly
ashamed; but, feeling the consequences of such an impru-
dence, she would not repeat it. Still he wished to know if
she had departed to Spa, and not liking to make the inquiry
in person, lest she should see him, and put a too favourable
construction on this evidence of interest, he sent the cornmis-
sionnaire of the Hotel de Suede to the Bellevue, to inquire if
she had slept there, and if she had left that morning. The
man returned speedily with the intelligence that theje.une
demoiselle Anglaise had slept there; but that she had gone
440
XINNY LOCKWOOD.
out early in the morning, whither they could not tell, and had
not yet returned ; adding .that an English lady had come to
the Bellevue in search of her, and was awaiting her re-
appearance.
Of course Vaughan concluded this was Mrs. Stanley, and,
anxious to convince that lady that he had no part in this
escapade of her niece's, he hastily swallowed his coffee, and
started for the Bellevue. When he reached the Place Royale,
he saw the servants and several people standing before the
hotel, and there was a fiacre at the door, into which a lady
was handed and drove off just before he came up. The ser-
vants looked concerned, and were talking gravely to each
other; the bystanders looked inquisitive, and one or two of the
most respectable amongst .them were making some inquiries.
 Mais c'est inconcevable! She was hut a child, said an
elderly woman who seemed to belong to the house;  I re-
member well enough when she was here, with her aunt, in
the spring.
.  She arrived about midnight, said thQfilledequartier, in
answer to some questioner,  and it was I that showed her to
her room. She would not take anything, and I left her; hut
it appears she never went to bed,' cette pauvrejeunejille? and
she went out this morning very early.
 It was I that let her out, said Jules;  I had just come
down-stairs, and she looked out of her room when she heard
me, and said,' Will you be so good as to open the door.'
Mon Dieu! I did it, for how could I suspect ? and in
answer to some inquiry, he added,  I did not look at her; I
was drawing the holts—besides, if I recollect right, she wore
a veil.
 Oui, oui; a black lace bonnet trimmed with violets, and
a lace veil. She left her shawl in her room, and a pocket
handkerchief still wet with tears, car apparemment elle a
heaucoup pleure—cette pauvre enfant! c'est vraiment desolant!
Je n'en reviens pas, moi!
Yaughan overheard the latter part of this conversation;
and he comprehended that it referred to Alice; who, he
thought, had probably eluded her aunt's pursuit, and was not to
he found, which made it the more necessary that he should
see Mrs. Stanley, and exonerate himself from the blame she
must at present think he merited. So addressing the waiter,
he said hastily, that he desired to see the lady who was wait-
ing for the demoiselle they were speaking of.
LINNY LOCRWOOD.
441
 Mais elle est partie justement dans celle voiture, mon-
sieur ; you may almost overtake her—elle est allee chercher
cette pauvre creature.
The coach was just turning out of the Place, and Yaughan,
who thought he could overtake it, not waiting for the con-
elusion of the speech, leaped off the steps and ran after it
down the Hue Royale. He was losing ground, however,
when an empty vigilante overtook him, and the driver observ-
ing the haste he was in, hailed him, and in an instant Yaughan
had opened the door and let himself in.
 Follow that carriage, he said. The driver smacked his
whip, and away they went.
But in that short delay the other had gained on them, and
all they could do was to keep the foremost carriage in sight
till it reached the Allee Yerte, where it stopped at the door
of an estaminet, around which several people were assembled.
Yaughan, who was some hundred yards behind, put his head
out and saw the door opened and a lady alight, for whom the
people made way—falling back to allow her to enter.
What were they assembled there for ? What should take
Mrs. Stanley to that estaminet ? Has that imprudent girl met
with some accident P How devilish disagreeable, that, by
coming after him in that silly way, she had contrived to mix
him up with it, and get him talked about, as if he had not
enough to make him uncomfortable before.
These were the thoughts that rushed through the mind of
Yaughan Edmonstone, in the short interval that elapsed
between perceiving where the first coach stopped and alight-
ing from his own. On seeing a second carriage arrive, the
people fell back, as before, to make way. The door of the
estaminet was open, and he entered. In the centre of the
public room several people were standing together; he ad-
vanced in search of Mrs. Stanley, and, looking over the
shoulder of an elderly man in black, he saw the dead body of
Alice stretched out upon a table.
 Elle est bien morte, said the elderly man;  she has been
dead some hours. There is nothing to be done.
Seized with horror, Yaughan hastily thrust aside the
people who were before him, in order to get a nearer view of
the body.
"What has happened? he exclaimed. "How was she
killed?
 Elle s'est noyee, monsieur, ce pauvre enfant! She threw
linny lockwood.
herself into the water. Some soldiers who were at drill saw
her do it, and we have been two hours trying to find the body.
 My God! he cried;  but where's the lady who just
came in ?
 La voici, monsieur! and the people nearest the table fall-
ing back, they discovered Linny, who, aghast at beholding
her husband, had retreated behind him.
"Linny, he said, hastening round to her; "what has
brought you to this dreadful scene ? Good God! what an
unfortunate man I am!
 Hush! she whispered sternly, waving him aside whilst
her face was livid with amazement and horror;  you can have
nothing to do here! Leave her to me!
CHAPTER LXVIII.
The conclusions which Linny drew on seeing Yaughan beside
the dead body of Alice, were natural enough; but he wrote
to assure her that they were not correct, and that in this in-
stance she had judged him hastily.
"I give you my honour, he said, "that I had no idea she
would follow me, nor do I well understand why she did so, nor
what she expected. I never supposed that she cared seriously
about me, or that she would think of me a week after I had
left Spa. God knows how deeply I lament what has hap-
pened! I came away on account of the shock I received on
hearing of Lady Glenlyon's death, little thinking that another
such dreadful catastrophe awaited me. I give you my word,
Linny, that at the time I found Alice in my room at the
Hotel de Suede, I was coming home to write to you, to tell
you, what was quite true, that I had never been unfaithful to
you in heart, and that, in spite of appearances, I had never
loved any other woman. I know I have no right to ask it,
Linny, but if you will see me—if you will permit me to call
upon you, I am sure I can exonerate myself from any blame
in regard to this last unhappy affair, and convince you that,
in receiving her as coldly as I did, I acted for the best. I can
explain also many circumstances that must appear now wholly
irreconcilable with these assertions.
When Mrs. Stanley arrived in Brussels to make arrange-
ments for the poor child's interment, she brought with her a
letter which tended to confirm Yaughan's statement in regard
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
443
to his own degree of culpability. It was from Alice to Linny,
and dated, Hotel de Bellevue, Brussels.
She said,  I write to you, darling Miss Lockwood, the
last words I shall ever write; you, my best, my only friend;
the only person I have loved since I lost my poor mama—but,
no, that's not true, now ; though it was quite true before I
Went to Spa. Oh, Miss Lockwood, you know what a foolish
heart I have! How it attaches itself, and how unlcindness
breaks it—that is, unkindness from those I love—all the world
else I didn't care for, but him and you.
"I cannot explain it as I would—but I suppose I misunder-
stood him—I am so cold, you know, to everybody that I don't
care for, that I put a false construction on his kindness—I
believe he thought me almost a child, but I thought he was
attached to me, and that he only left Spa because he was in
some difficulty about money. So I wrote him a letter to say
that I could assist him—I knew my aunt would give me a
fortune if I promised not to go to papa, and married somebody
that she liked—and she did like him very much. He answered
my letter, but I thought he did not understand what I had
in my power, or that he was too proud to confess his embar-
rassments ; and I thought he would go away from Brussels
and I should never have another opportunity—and my heart
so longed to fly to him, and to tell him that I had plenty of
money and that it was all his—in short, I suppose I was mad
—for he said I must be to do such a thing. He received
me—oh, how he received me ! what cold, stern looks! what
bitter, bitter words ! Oh, I wish I was dead, that I might
forget them! and I shall be, dear Miss Lockwood, when you
receive this.
"I know how sorry you'll be when you reach Spa and find
this letter instead of your poor Alice; but you used to say
70U were afraid I should never be happy if I did not regulate
my feelings, and that they were not At to live in the world
with ; and now I know what you said was true.
"Write to poor papa and give my love to him. A letter
will reach him directed No. 17, St. Martin's-lane. If you can
persuade my aunt to assist him a little with money, pray do.
I meant, if she had given me a fortune, to have settled some-
thing 011 him, to be paid weekly, that he might not spend it
all at once. And now, darling Miss Lockwood, adieu! don't
be sorry for me, and don't blame me. I could never go back
to my aunt, and I know I could not live with papa, though,
444 LINNY LOCKWOOD.
when I was unhappy, I used to tell my aunt I'd go to him;
and besides, I never could be happy again after what he said
■—never, never, never !
The shock of this catastrophe had affected Linny so much,
that it was not immediately she could turn her mind to
Yaughan's letter, and the wishes it implied rather than ex-
pressed. Yes, he was in a great degree exonerated from blame
in this last lamentable affair. He had done what hundreds
of men do—encouraged a young girl to entertain flattering
feelings for him, without duly reflecting to what extent these
feelings might endanger her happiness; and when, impelled by
them, she was guilty of an indiscretion that might compro-
mise him and herself, he had reproved her harshly. The error
was grievous in its consequences; but it was not unpardonable;
though there was a heart broken—a young life lost.
With regard to Lady Glenlyon's death, and the circum-
stances that led to it, she had thought them over so often, that
they had not to he weighed now. Condemnable as Yaughan's
conduct had been, she knew well enough that, as he asserted,
there had been no infidelity of the heart; she was so well
acquainted with his character, that she comprehended very
well how it had all come about; and Lady Glenlyon's dying
confessions had confirmed her views of the case.
 If you can forgive him, she said;  if you can bring your-
self to receive him again, you may do so with the perfect con-
viction, that although I did all that a woman could do who
was bent on conquering a man's affections, I never succeeded!
He never loved me!
Yaughan had been the idol of Linny's heart, the hero of
her childish admiration; and this  rose of the fair state had
stooped to her—the humble violet growing in the shade. He
had greatly erred; but he had had temptations;—flesh of
man is weak; and poverty to a young man, brought up as he
was, is a snare.
"If, thought she, "I see that he sincerely wishes it, I
shall feel it right to live with him again.
This was the resolution to which she had arrived before she
left England; and although Alice's death grieved her ex-
ceedingly in every point of view—both her loss and the cause
of it—there was no sufficient reason why it should alter her
determination. But there was one thing that must he cleared
up before she could entertain the project of even a distant
re-union—was there any foundation lor her father's accusa-
liIJTNY LOCKWOOD.
445
tion? She did not believe it, but she must be sure of bis
innocence for his sake, for her own, and for her father's ; and
in order that she might form a more correct opinion on
that, and other points, than she could do from a letter, she
consented to grant him an interview at her lodgings; and
Vaughan, who believed—though he sincerely lamented the
death of Alice—that he could exonerate himself on that score
completely, and that therefore he had only to win forgiveness
for his former misdemeanour, attended at the hour appointed
with considerable confidence as to the issue.
Linny was naturally very humble—she had underrated her-
self in thinking that Vaughan had stooped to her; it was she
had stooped to him—but on this occasion she received him
with a calm, sad dignity—the dignity of unpretending good-
ness and honest purpose.
"Linny, dear Linny! how good this is of you! I know I
don't deserve it; but when yod have heard everything, you'll
be convinced that I am not so bad as I seem., With regard
to this poor little girl 
 Don't speak of that; there's no occasion for further ex-
planation; you did not know Alice's character. I do tho-
roughly; she was my favourite pupil at Mrs. Barnard's, and
spent her holidays at my father's. I understand very well
what has happened, though I dare say you do not. The fault
was in allowing her to form an attachment to you unchecked,
and showing her no mercy when her attachment led her into
imprudence; however, we wont speak of that—it's useless.
 Well, Linny, and for that other unhappy affair of Lady
Glenlyon—upon my soul I never cared 
"Hush! She's dead!
 I know all about it—Robinson told me—and of your
noble conduct to her. But you must have seen what an
entetee person she was 
Linny raised her hand;  Hush, Yaughan ! She's dead;
and she died forgiving her own wrongs—for you were not
guiltless towards her—and praying forgiveness from all those
she had wronged. She suffered—I think your heart would
bleed if I could make you understand all she suffered, added
she, her voice trembling with emotion.
Vaughan looked uncomfortable.  Was she long ill ?
 Oh no ! that was a short agony; the long agony was
before. Remorse, regrets, yearnings for what she had for ever
lost the stings of conscience—horror of the grave—terror
446 LINN* LWKWUUUt
of what was beyond it. Linny pressed her handkerchief to
her eyes to stem the tears that filled them.  But I am not
equal to the subject now; we'll not talk of it. She herself
told me all that you wish to say; poor thing! She knew that
she had sacrificed her happiness and her position for what she
never succeeded in obtaining—she knew that you never loved
her.
 No, Linny, I never did; although from her very child-
hood, I knew she was in love with me. I swear to God if these
were the last words I am ever to speak, that I never loved any
woman hut you; and if you could only forgive me and live
with me again you should never repent it; and I am sure we
should go on better and he a great deal happier than we have
ever been. Can you forgive me, Linny?
"Yes, I can forgive you, Yaughan 
"Dear Linny!
 Stay; hear me! I forgive you as we should all forgive
one another; though that such things have been, I must ever
lament. It will he many a day, Yaughan, before we must
think of happiness, or before we can forget the two graves
you have helped to make.
 But, at all events, you admit that Alice 
 Hear me; I have something else to say. You wish me
to live with you again—for the present that is out of the
question.
 Why, Linny ? Why should it be out of the question ?
 I could not, while these things are so fresh upon my
mind. I must take my own time and consult my own feel-
ings. Hereafter we may talk of it; we must part now; hut,
before we do, there is a question I wish to put—it's rather a
strange one—you'll perhaps wonder why I ask it; but I have
a reason. Where did you get the money that you had when
we married and first came abroad ?
 It was money that  he spoke thick, and his lips and
cheeks turned livid.— Why do you ask ?
 Where, Vauglian ? Where ? she said, passionately grasp-,
ing his arm.  Did you, or did you not, pick up a parcel in
the street—a parcel that my father dropped, containing jewels
and money, the loss of which was the cause of his ruin, and
my mother's death, and of countless miseries besides ?
Vaughan's guilt was written in his face ; hut, galled with
shame, desperate, driven to the wall, he made an effort to re-
cover himself.  What is the meaning of all this ? he said,
LINNY LOCKWOOD.
447
sharply.  Why am I to he subjected to this inquisition about
a thing that you have nothing to do with ? What right have
you to ask how I was supplied with money before you were my
wife ?—at least, the first use I made of it was to marry you.
Linny lifted up her hand to stop him.  Enough, Yaughan,
enough! I thought it was a monomania of my poor father's.
Leave me now. Yaughan was getting subdued again, and
was preparing to speak.
 No, no—not now—I'll write; go, I beseech you! and
she sunk into a chair, burying her face in her hands.
Yaughan went to the door, and then turned round.  I did
find that parcel, he said;  but, remember, I did not know
who had dropped it, or what it contained, till I carried it
home. I had not a penny in my pocket, nor did I know
where to get one. You don't knpw what my trials were;
you can't estimate them—and, remember, as I said before,
the first use I made of it was to make you my wifeand he
went out, closing the door behind him.
Five years elapsed before they met again, and then Linny
was summoned from London to Yaughan's deathbed. He had
been on the top of a Brighton coach when it was overturned,
and was lying in the inn at Beigate, mortally hurt. When
she entered- the room, he feebly extended hjs hand, saying,
"Linny, this is very good of you! She bent over him and
kissed his damp brow. "I am dying, Linny; you'll forgive
me all, now?
 Yes, Vaughan, from my soul!
 My poor mother!
 I did not tell her that I was summoned to you, for she
was too weak to accompany me.
 Break it to her gently. And poor little Kate?
 She's quite well; I left her with your mother. I love
her, Yaughan, as if she was my own child.
Tears streamed down Vaughan's pale and distorted face.
 I am going to them! he whispered.
 To whom ?
 To them I sent before to Kate and Alice. God
forgive me ! Pray for me, Linny, pray!
THE END.
LONDON:
tfJLYILL, EDWARDtf AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET
COVENT GARDEN.
NOVELS AT ONE SHILLING.
Bv Captain Marryat.
Peter Simple.
The King's Own.
Midshipman Easy.
RattHn the Reefer.
The Pacha of Many
Tales.
Newton Forster.
Jacob Faithful.
Japhet in Search of a
Father,
The Dog-Fiend.
The Poacher.
The Phantom Ship.
Percival Keene.
Valerie.
Frank Mild'may.
Olla Podrida.
Monsieur Violet,
By J. Fenimore Cooper.
The Spy.
The Deerslayer.
The Waterwitch.
The Two Admirals.
The Red Rover.
Tne Headsman.
The Sea Lions.
Ned Myers.
By Alexandre Dumas.
The Three Musketeers.
Twenty Years After.
Doctor Basilius.
The Twin Captains.
Captain Paul.
Memoirs of a Physician, a vols.
The Queen's Necklace.
The Chevalier de Maison Rouge.
The Countess de Charny.
Monte Cristo. 2 vols.
Nanon; or, Woman's War.
The Two Dianas.
The Black Tulip.
The Forty-Five Guardsmen.
Taking the Bastile. 2 vols.
Chicot the Jester.
The Conspirators.
Ascanio.
The Page of the Duke of Savoy.
Isabel of Bavaria.
By W. h. alnsworth.
Windsor Castle.
Tower of London.
The Miser's Daughter.
Rookwood.
Old St. Paul's.
Crichton.
Guy Fawkes.
The Spendthrift.
James the Second.
The Star Chamber.
The Flitch of Bacon.
Mervyn Clitheroe.
Lancashire Witches.
Ovingdean Grange.
St. James's.
Auriol.
Jack Sheppard.
By Jane Austen.
I Pride and Prejudice. I Mansfield Park.
| Sense and Sensibility. |
By William Carleton.
I Fardorougha. I The Tithe Proctor.
| The Emigrants. |
By Gerald Griffin.
The Munster Festivals I The Rivals. I The Colleen Bawn.
Northanger Abbey.
Emma.
Jane Sinclair.
The Clarionet.
Published by George Routledge and Sons.
4
Ennui.
Novels at One Shilling.—Continued.
By Maria Edgeworth.
| Vivian. | The Absentee. | Manoeuvring.
American Humour.
The Celebrated Jumping Frog.
Mark Twain.
The Luck of Roaring Camp.
Bret Harte.
Truthful James j and other Poems
Bret Harte.
The Hoosier Schoolmaster.
Edward Eggleston.
Roughing It. Mark Twain.
The Innocents at Home.
Mark Twain,
Maum Guinea. M. A. Victor.
By Arthur Sketghley.
The Brown Papers.
Ditto. Second Series.
Mrs. Brown at the Sea-side.
Mrs. Brown in America.
Mrs. Brown at the Play.
Mrs. Brown on the Battle of
Dorking.
Mrs. Brown on the TiChborne
Case.
Mrs. Brown's Visits to Paris.
Mrs. Brown in the Highlands.
Mrs. Brown in London.
Mrs. Brown on the Grand Tour.
Mrs. Brown's Olliday Outins.
Mrs. Brown on the Alabama
Claims.
Mrs. Brown at the International
Exhibition.
Miss Tomkins' Intended,
Out for a Holiday.
The Royal Favourite.
By Mrs. Gore.
| The Ambassador's Wife.
By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
The Scarlet Letter. | The House of the Seven Gables.
By Various Authors.
Violet the Danseuse.
Joe Wilson's Ghost. Banim.
The Old Commodore.
Author of  Rattlin the ReeferT
Cinq Mars. De Vigny.
Ladder of Life. A. B. Edwards.
Respectable Sinners.
Henpecked Husband. Lady Scott.
Nothing but Money.
T. S. Arthur.
Letter-Bag of the Great Western.
Sam Slick.
The Family Feud. Thos. Cooper.
Moods. Louisa M. Alcott.
Kindness in Women.
Stories of Waterloo.
My Brother's Wife.
Tom Jones.
The Vicar of Wakefield.
A Seaside Sensation. C. Ross.
A Week with Mossoo. Chas.Ross.
Love Tales. G. H, Kingsley.
Turf Frauds.
Nicholas's Notes.
Sterne's Works.
The Tichborne Romance.
Published by George Routledge and Sons.
ROUTLEDGE'S SIXPENNY NOVELS.
The Waterwitch.
The Pathfinder.
The Deerslayer.
The Last of the Mohi-
cans.
The Pilot.
The Prairie.
Eve Effingham.
The Spy.
The Red Rover.
(Postage id.)
By J. F. Cooper.
Homeward Bound.
The Two Admirals.
Miles Wallingford.
The Pioneers.
Wyandotte.
Lionel Lincoln.
Afloat and Ashore.
The Bravo.
The Sea Lions.
The Headsman.
Precaution.
Oak Openings.
The Heidenmauer.
Mark's Reef.
Ned Myers.
Satanstoe.
The Borderers.
Jack Tier.
Mercedes.
By Sir Walter Scott.
Guy Mannering. .
The Antiquary.
Ivanhoe.
The Fortunes of Nigel.
Rob Roy.
Kenilworth.
The Pirate.
The Monastery.
Old Mortality.
Peveril of the Peak.
The Heart of Midlo-
thian.
The Bride of Lam-
Waverley.
Quentin Durward.
St. Ronan's Well.
The Abbot.
Legend of Montrose,
and The Black
Dwarf.
The Lady of the Lake.
The Lord of the Isles.
Marmion.
Sir Walter Scott's Poetry.
The Lay of the Last Minstrel.
The Bridal of Triermain.
Rokeby.
By Various Authors.
Robinson Crusoe.
Uncle Tom's Cabin. Mrs. Stovje.
Colleen Bawn. Gerald Griffin.
The Vicar of Wakefield.
Sketch Book. Washington Irving.
Tristram Shandy. Sterne.
Sentimental Journey. Sterne.
The English Opium Eater.
De Quincy.
Essays of Elia. Charles Lamb.
Roderick Random. Smollett.
Autocrat of the Breakfast Table.
Tom Jones. 2 vols. Fielding.
Artemus Ward, his Book.
A. Ward among the Mormons.
The Nasby Papers.
Major Jack Downing.
The Biglow Papers.
Orpheus C. Kerr.
The Wide, Wide World.
Queechy.
Gulliver's Travels.
The Wandering Jew. (3 vols.)
The Mysteries of Paris. (3 vols. )
The Lamplighter.
Professor at the Breakfast Table.
Published by George Routledge and Sons.
6
ROUTL.EDGrE'S RAILWAY LIBRARY,
(From the "Times.")
Among the most surprising instances of the immense revolution which has
taken place of late years in popular literature, are the cheap publications of Messrs.
RouiLEUG:' and Sons, of The Broadway. For several years they have been
issuing the  Railway Library, and have shown an energy and enterprise in
many fields of literature almost IinDaralleled in this country. We believe the great
success which hey have met with mas arisen from the universally popular character
of the works which they have issued. Their books are never above and never
below the standard of public taste. Looking over their list of books, we cannot
but wish the 4 Railway Library s continuation of the immense sale which
has hit erto attended it.
this s|:r! ks, consisting
AT Is. AND
Contains the best Works of Fiction by
LORD LYTTON
JAMES GRANT
ALBERT SMITH
HENRY COCKTON
T. SMOLLETT
W. H. maxvo I:rL
S. RI JIAU.kSON
JANE ALJSTEN
W ®GAR LETON
L. STERNE
MISS FERRIER
MARK TWAIN
BRET HARTE.
THOMAS HOOD
CAPTAIN 11 \MIER
AMELIA B. EDWARDS
GERALD GRIFFIN
W. H. G. KINGSTON
CAPTAIN M,.
MISS WES 1 I-. CI .
AUTHOR ' 1 '-SHIS EFRIARS'
MRS. CROWS
THEODORE COOK
W. HARRISON AINSWORTi 1
MARIA EDG. .VO..TH
SAMUEL LOVI. R ' i
and ' t
OF NEARLY 6oo NOVELS,
2s. EACH,
the following popular Authors:—
EDMUND YATES
JOHN BAN1M
JANE PORTER
THE BROTHERS MAYHEW
JOHN LANG
HESBA STRETTON
EUGENE SUE
CHARLES LEVER
FRANK SMEDLEY
ALEXANDRE DUMAS
H. FIELDING
MRS. GORE
G. P. R. JAMES
J. F. COOPER
N. HAWTHORNE
MRS. TROLLOPE
FREDERICK GERSTAECKER
CAPTAIN ARMSTRONG
LADY SCOTT
BALZAC
G. R. GLEIG
JUDGE HALIECJRTON
JAMES HAN NAY
ANNIE THOMaS
M. M. BELL
LADY CHARLOTTE BURY
london: THE BROADWAY, ludgate hill.
NEW YORK : 416, BROOME STREET.