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LIBRARY VERITAS
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
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GALBIS PE MIN GULAM ARÕE
KELANILIBERMÁLIAN
PRESENTED BY
THE HEIRS OF
NATHAN B. HYDE
PETRONEL.
BY
FLORENCE MARRYAT. ENVI
Sean
PLEA
NEW YORK:
GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER,
17 To 27 VANDEWATER STALET.
FLORENCE MARRYAT'S WORKS
CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION):
NO.
159 A Moment of Madness, and Other Stories
183 Old Contrairy, and Other Stories
208 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, and Other Stories
276 Under the Lilies and Roses
444 The Heart of Jane Warner
449 Peeress and Player.
689 The Heir Presumptive
825 The Master Passion
860 Her Lord and Master
861 My Sister the Actress
863" My Own Child”
864 “No Intentions "
865 Written in Fire
866 Miss Harrington's Husband
867 The Girls of Feversham
868 Petrouel
869 The Poison of Asps
870 Out of His Reckoning
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PETRONEL.
CHAPTER I.
THE ANTECEDENTS OF DR. FORD.
ROCKBOROUGH, a large garrison and seaport town on the southern
coast of England, with a population of some sixty thousand souls,
is a busy, thriving place enough, in which all trades and professions
find ready and continuous practice. It is divided into two parts:
Rockborough-on-Sea, which boasts possession of the beach, the
fort, the parade-ground, and the assembly-ròoms, and is the resort
of all the fashionable visitors during the Rockborough season; and
Lower Rockborough, which contains the arsenal and dock-yard,
and is frequented by no more worshipful company than that of
officials and salesmen, with a sprinkling of tipsy sailors and their
associates.
As may readily be believed, there has never been any lack of
doctors in Rockborough; but at the time my story opens, some ten
or more years ago, although it contained many well known and
valued practitioners, there was but one amongst them all who was
universally acknowledged to have borne away the palm of indis-
criminate popularity: for whose attendance, rich and poor, visitors
and residents, alike clamored, and for which, in consequence, many
were obliged to go without; and that one was Dr. Ulick Ford.
His house, standing in the most central position of the town, was
so well known as scarcely to require the small brass plate which
bore his name upon the door, the iron clapper of his bell knew little
rest, day or night, and his dark-colored brougham, with its noise-
less wheels and thoroughbred horses, might be seen at all hours.
swiftly rolling from street to street, or standing patiently before the
hall-doors of his numerous patients. And there were three very
remarkable circumstances connected with the popularity of Dr.
Ford. In the first place, it had arisen neither from a handsome
face nor a seductive manner; in the second, his medical brethren
6
PETRONEL.
joined as heartily in his praises as did his patients; and, in the
third, it had not spoiled him.
There are as many varieties of the human species in the medical
as in any other profession; and the generality of them are known
to most of us. We have all met the blandly spoken, oily tongued
doctor, who scarcely raises his voice above a whisper, and gives our
hand the slightest suspicion of a sympathetic squeeze as he wishes
us good-bye, who worms out our symptoms from us, and sometimes
even the opinion of others on our case, before he ventures to go
home and look out the proper prescription for its relief. And who
has not been subjected to the ordeal of being catechized by the
brusque doctor who calls a spade a spade, and talks so loud that
the whole house can hear him; who pooh-poohs any suggestion of
the patient, however modestly advanced, and, asking for writing
materials, sits down at your desk, abuses the ink, grumbles at the
paper, and finally takes his departure, leaving a scrawl behind him,
which has utterly disabled your best pen for future use. But the
scrawl cures your complaint, for the brusque doctor, whose friends.
call him a rough diamond, is clever, though intensely disagreeable.
Then there is the talkative doctor, generally a little one with a big
head, who jerks into your room like a split pea, and is always ex-
ceedingly cheerful to counteract your dullness; who tells everybody
they will be all right in a day or two, and brings with him such a
mass of gossip about other people's concerns, that he runs off again
before he has remembered to ask if there has been any change in
your condition since he saw you last, compelling you to send a
message after him before the day is done. And last, though not
least, there is the young, unpracticed hand, who is not quite sure
of himself, and anything but sure of you; but who goes at physick-
ing, hacking, and hewing with a wild recklessness which makes
you shudderingly remember that perfection can be reached only
through repeated failure, and that the few must be sacrificed to
save the many.
هم
A noble sentiment, as everybody must allow, only one can ap-
preciate it so much better when not in the minority.
But Ulick Ford was none of these; he neither soothed his pa-
tients by flattery, nor frightened them by bawling; he carried no
interesting gossip from house to house to please the ladies, nor had
he large black eyes nor glossy whiskers wherewith to captivate
them; whence, then, arose his enormous popularity-more, his
powers? For no one ever thought of disregarding a command
which he had left behind him. Refractory patients, who usually
i
PETRONEL.
ту
put
all pills
behind the fire, and draughts out of the window, swal-
lowed Dr. Ford's prescriptions religiously, if not without a mur-
mur; nurses, who were apt to enlarge on their experience in the ab-
sence of the medical man, and much loved to have their own way
in opposition to his, knew it would be as much as their places were
worth to differ in the smallest respect from the line of action Dr.
Ford laid down for them; and children who bent the spoons, and
bit pieces out of the wine-glasses when their rightful owners at-
tempted to administer medicine to them, meekly opened their little
mouths under the fascination of Ulick Ford's quiet eyes, and said,
Thank you, Doctor Ford," when the obnoxious potion had dis-
appeared.
"
一
​It was his powerful and unerring intellect, the majesty of which
thus made itself felt from basement to attic, and proclaimed him
master wherever he appeared.
Men, women, and children recognized it by instinct; his profes-
sional contemporaries were too proud of him to be envious, and it
may safely be said that no one thought so little of his talent, spoke
so little of it, and cared so little for it, as himself.
Yet his success had been rapid enough and complete enough to
have turned the heads of most men, particularly men of so am-
bitious a mind as Dr. Ford possessed. Ten years before he had
been almost unknown in Rockborough, and quite unknown to
fame; now, his name was on the list of surgeons attached to every
hospital and infirmary in the town, and he himself constantly sum-
moned far beyond its precincts, for the purpose of consultation or
advice. Then he had imagined that to arrive at the top of the lad-
der was to grasp the utmost good that life held for him: now he
stood on the last rung, ready to confess that all things were vanity.
He was uniformly calm, collected, and benevolent; but he was
also uniformly indifferent. There was a secret in the life of Dr.
Ford, which few had mastered beside himself. In athrming that.
ten years before, he had been almost unknown in Rockborough, I
speak of him in a professional point of view. Under no circum-
stances could he personally have been considered a stranger there,
for his connections were irreproachable, and Sir Lionel Halsted,
his uncle by the mother's side, had occupied his hereditary estate
of Frampton, situated a few miles distant from the town, for more
than a quarter of a century. Not that the Halsteds, male and fe-
male, were particularly proud of their cousin "the doctor:" on the
contrary, when his widowed mother, who was considered, by her
own people, to have made a shocking mésalliance by marrying the
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PETRONEL.
late Mr. Ford, had first made arrangements for Ulick to pursue his
prácticé in Rockborough (hoping, thereby, to procure for him the
influential countenance of her brother), Sir Lionel, who was a
purse-proud and arrogant man, had taken the act more as an insult
than a compliment. His sister had sufficiently disgraced them by
marrying a nobody, so he argued, why should she aggravate the
offense by settling her son down in practice under their very noses?
However, he could scarcely refuse to receive his nephew at
Frampton, where, with his mother and sister, he had been a fre-
quent, if not a very welcome, guest, until he had the misfortune to
fall in love with his youngest cousin, Cecilia Halsted, and what
was worse, to permit the young lady to become captivated in her
turn.
*
-
Ulick Ford had been a young, fresh, and inexperienced fellow
in those days; well-looking, if not handsome, and with an amount
of manliness beyond his years; and Cecilia Halsted had appeared to
him all that was loveliest and most lovable in woman. He was not
rich, but he had a moderate income, with the prospect of steady in-
crease, and he was willing to wait; and foolish enough to suppose
that youth, and health, and love, and patience were qualities worth
anything as barter in the matrimonial market. He came forward,
therefore, openly and honorably to Sir Lionel with these pleas upon
his lips, and Sir Lionel was furious at the very idea. Asked to give
Cissy, his youngest, prettiest, most favored daughter, whom he de-
signed for nothing under a title, in marriage to her cousin, a man
of no name, or family, or pretension, who had but just started in
his profession, and possessed no particular interest wherewith to
effect a rise! It was incredible. Sir Lionel was at first perfectly
unable to comprehend the presumption of his nephew; and when
he did so, he gave him a decided refusal, and a broad hint that the
less he appeared at Frampton, for the future, the pleasanter it
would be for all parties. He was unable, beneath the boyish crust
of diffidence, to discern the jewel of the future, or to see the mak-
ing of a good man and a great man in the youth before him; that is
to say, if life used him kindly; or, if he did see, Sir Lionel chose to
ignore it.
Ulick Ford was poor and of no repute, and that was quite suf-
ficient for him. And so the cousins separated, though not without
exchanging vows of eternal constancy, and many a promise to wait
for one another until times changed for them; or, if times never
changed, to wait forever!
What mortal can, with truth, exchange such vows, or answer
PETRONEL.
9
1
for himself that twelve months hence his feelings shall be the same
as they are to-day? He might as well answer for the way the
wind shall brow; for our minds change with our bodies, grow with
their growth, mature with their development, and harden with
their age. Love should be satisfied with the affections of the hour;
the wise ignore all future tenses in that verb. Ulick Ford had had
good reason to cap my theory; he parted with his pretty cousin,
and had they been an ordinary couple, the affair would probably
have ended there; but they were neither of them ordinary-he in
his strength, or she in her weakness.
After her little adventure with her cousin, Sir Lionel and Lady
Halsted, fearing the repetition of such a disaster, saw fit to exercise
a stricter surveillance over their youngest daughter, which Miss
Cissy, being very silly and easily led, resented by eloping, six
months later, with her drawing-master, a young artist by the name
of Fleming. Everybody talked a great deal of the effect which
this calamity had upon the family at Frampton-of how Sir Lionel,
on hearing the news, had lifted his hand to heaven and solemnly
swore never again to meet either his daughter or her husband-of
how the mother had declared that she would far rather have been
called upon to deck out poor, faulty Cissy for her burial, and the
brothers and sisters been enjoined never to mention the name of
Fleming in their parents' ears.
It was doubtless a great shock to them all, and a great blow to
their parental pride; and the world of their acquaintance made the
most of it; but no one thought of Ulick Ford, or how he bore the
downfall of his hopes, and no one could have answered (even his
mother or his sister), if they had cared to put the question.
-
He had not made his disappointment a reason for leaving Rock.
borough; but, strong in the knowledge of his own powers of en-
durance, had settled down quietly to his work, and steadily pro-
gressed with it. Always grave and thoughtful beyond his years,
his mother and sister had perceived no great difference in his de-
meanor, even after the news of his cousin's elopement had reached
him, excepting, perhaps, that the circumstance urged him, in self-
defense, to increased study, and forced the blossoms of reuown,
which he was already commencing to put forth, into fruition a few
years earlier than would otherwise have happened. For, generally
speaking, it is not the young and happy who can apply themselves
to work; their thoughts, like butterflies glancing amongst flowers,
have too many distractions to favor steady application; but when
we have aged, prematurely perhaps, but none the less surely; when
-
10'
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C
life's heaven has assumed neutral tints, and all is barren from Dan
to Beersheba-it is a relief, mentally, to leave one's self behind,
and enter the lists of labor where Fame stands ready to reward the
victor.
Perhaps Ulick Ford, with Cissy Halsted by his side, and the
house filled with children, might have become as famous as he was
now, but the probabilities are that he would not. Home ties may
be a great incentive to work, but they are also a great distraction;
and a man finds less time for thought, and less opportunity for
business, when a dozen little hands are pulling at his coat-tails, and
half as many dulcet voices entreating father to pay them some at-
tention. Any way, Ulick Ford had put no such temptations in his
path; and had prospered in his profession; how his heart had pros-
pered was best known to himself.
It was now fourteen years since these events had happened, and
he was a man of six-and-thirty; his mother had died some time be-
fore, and he lived with his sister Marcia, who was very unlike him
both in appearance and disposition, but the only near relation that
he possessed. It must not be supposed that all these years he had
never renewed his connection with the family at Frampton. Sir
Lionel Halsted had little thought what an indomitable spirit of
pride and ambition lay concealed in the breast of the young man
whom he had so summarily dismissed from his house; a pride which
determined Ulick Ford never to set foot in Frampton again until
he was sent for; and an ambition which promised that the day
would come when he should be so summoned, and make the fam-
ily proud to acknowledge their connection with him—a prophecy
which time fulfilled.
•
After the elopement of poor Cissy, and the marriage of his sec-
ond daughter, Julia, to Lord Otho Vivian, an union after her fa-
ther's own heart, Sir Lionel had thrown out several hints to his
nephew (then looked upon as a fast rising man) that he should be
pleased to see him again within the walls of Frampton; but Ulick
Ford had obstinately refused to take them, and never met his kins-
man except in his own house, until one day, when Sir Lionel's gout
had flown to his stomach, and all Frampton was in an uproar, and
a hasty note, in his aunt's handwriting, had implored him to come
to them, and try what he could do in aiding the other medical men
to save his uncle's life. And he had gone, and Sir Lionel had re-
covered, and chose to attribute his recovery to his nephew's timely
assistance; and an open and permanent truce had thereupon been
signed between Frampton and Rockborough.
I
PETRONEL.
11
ન
Since which time the Halsted family had paid him the compli-
ment of never employing any other medical man; but, as the.com-
pliment was the only thing they ever did pay him, some people
might have considered it rather a flimsy one.
Yet Ulick Ford did not grumble, but perseveringly physicked
them, gratis, all round; even being called upon to extend his at-
tentions to the interesting young family of Lady Otho Vivian, who
generally spent the winter months in Rockborough, whilst her hus-
band passed away his time in the company of coryphées and operatic
singers in Paris.
"(
C
But if his high-born relations ignored the subject of Christmas
bills, Dr. Ford was, at all events, included amongst the guests at
most of the state dinners given at Frampton, and from which he
was generally called away before he had had time to settle himself
to the first course. So that altogether he had attained to a very
comfortable and friendly footing with his family, which must have
quite compensated him for being expected to drive miles to attend
any one of them who chanced to get a cold in the head, and to per-
mit virtue to be its own reward. Besides, as the Halsteds knew and
often said to one another, Ulick Ford had lots of money and could
afford it.
That he had lots of money, "there was no doubt; but he
seemed as indifferent about that as about every other earthly thing,
and gave it away as quickly as he made it. Not in public charities
-if Dr. Ford subscribed to such things, it was done privately, for
his name never appeared upon the lists-but freely, broadcast, sow-
ing comfort as he went, and refusing to acknowledge his generos-
ity, far less to reap thanks in return. For his was a strange char-
acter to any one who tried to dip below the surface, and it was
difficult to say what he liked or did not like, or believed or did not
believe. His nearest friends confessed he was a puzzle past their
finding out; and as for his sister, she had long since given up at-
tempting even to trace the clew to most of his conduct. He was a
scaled book of which it seemed as though the key were lost; but
those who thought so saw his actions without being able to see the
reason of them.
Let his historian, who holds the time-honored privilege of reveal.
ing feelings, as well as facts, try if, by showing all sides of his
character, the riddle may not be solved.
12
PETRONEL.
CHAPTER II.
DR. FORD AMONGST HIS PATIENTS.
Ir was night in Rockborough-a dark, boisterous night in March,
with the rain descending in torrents, and a cold wind blowing
straight from the sea, which drove the shower, slantwise, and
caused it to dash against people's knees, and up their petticoats,
making umbrellas useless and water-proofs a mere name.
But inside the crimson-curtained dining-room of Dr. Ford's
house, where he and his friend Bertram were talking together over
their wine, all looked warm and comfortable enough. It was not a
large room; indeed the whole house was of moderate size, for Ulick
Ford contended that to keep up a mansion without a family to in-
habit it was to convert luxury into desolation; but it was exquis-
itely furnished, and did not contain an article, whether for use or
ornament, that was not plain, solid, and of the very best.
It was the fashion in Rockborough to say that Dr. Ford wasted
incredible sums of money upon the adornment of his residence; and
so far the supposition was correct that if at any time he set his
heart upon obtaining a certain article, whether of ebony, bronze, or
porcelain, he would have it, cost what it might; but that was due
less to his love of luxury than to his love of power, which refused
to be worsted even in so ignoble an encounter as a passage-of-arms
with a broker. But how much real value he set on the objets d'art
thus obtained may be imagined from the fact that it was only nec-
essary for any one whom he liked to admire his purchase to find it
speedily transferred to his own possession. At the same time that
Dr. Ford had a keen eye for the beautiful and artistic was plainly
evidenced by the articles retained for his own use.
He was leaning with his back against the mantel-piece as we see
him now, and, without the slightest- pretensions to being called
handsome, was a man whom few strangers would look at without
observing. I wonder how many really handsome men—that is,
men with beauty of feature as well as expression-have inspired
love, love pur et simple, in the hearts of women. The evidences of
power and strength and intellect in a man's face are almost incom-
patible with beauty; and what a woman most admires in the other
sex are the qualities which are not her own. Soft, languishing eyes,
and pretty features, and delicate hands and feet, form her weapons
•
"
}
PETRONEL.
13
1
of war, and no man should entrench upon his mistress's privileges.
We know that Adonis and Antinous had their admirers, but I fancy
Mars and Jupiter inspired the more lasting passions; and there was
hidden truth in the confession I once heard fall from a woman's
lips, that she loved her lover, because she knew he could crush
her with his little finger, if he chose.”
If he chose! and he did not choose-there lay the charm! And
though modern lovers, at all events in the upper walks of civiliza-
tion, are not in the habit of showing off their muscular ability by
crushing their mistresses, that they could do so, and refrain, will
always raise them in a woman's eyes. She was made for subjec-
tion, and, however much in these days she may fight against the
conviction, she knows that where she loves a man she loves to feel
herself in his power, mentally, and physically, and that without
even the means of resistance. That he should spare her, spare her
ignorance, her folly, or her weakness, adds only to her admiration
of him; but she would rather, mentally, be crushed than see no
power in the man to crush her. Ulick Ford, at all events, would
give no woman reason to complain, either of his excess of beauty
or his lack of strength. He had an easy figure, large and vigorous,
with the bones well covered, as one sees in healthy men who have
attained bis age; and he was fashionably dressed, without bearing
the least appearance of a dandy.
(C
He had a broad, open brow, which was oftener seen wrinkled
with thought than smooth and careless; his nose and chin were
heavy; his mouth expressed a great amount of determination (some
people said obstinacy, but they were those who had never seen it
relax to meet the proffered kiss of a little child), and his face
altogether might have been called stern had it not been for
his eyes, which, though deep-set and penetrating, were remarkably
mild, almost pensive, in their gaze. Du reste, my hero was dark,
wore little hair about his face, and had a serious and dignified com-
portment, which inspired with confidence all those who had any-
thing to do with him.
The friend with whom he was conversing was a great contrast to
him in every respect. William Bertram had originally been in-
tended for a doctor, and entered college at the same time as Ulick
Ford; but want of nerve and an ultra fastidiousness, which he ap-
peared unable to overcome, had disqualified him for the medical
profession, and he had relinquished it to enter the church. He
was a tall man, of much the same age as his friend, but slight as a
reed; with dark hair and eyes, which had too much of the "old
14
PETRONEL.
man still left in their twinkle, and an open, laughter-loving
mouth. He was now the rector of Oxley, a small village fifteen or
twenty miles to the north of Rockborough; but he had never given
up his college intimacy with Ulick Ford, and often came over by
the train, generally unexpected, but always welcome, to spend a
few hours in the company of his old chum, for whom he enter-
tained an affection which was almost brotherly. He had appeared
in his usual manner, without giving any notice of his intentions,
that afternoon; and, dinner being completed, Miss Ford had left the
gentlemen to the enjoyment of their wine.
"Ford, why on earth don't you marry?" exclaimed William
Bertram, abruptly, as he contemplated the figure of his friend.
He must have known him very well to have fearlessly put so
close a question to him; for his Rockborough intimates would as
soon have thought of cutting their own throats as approaching any
subject of so private a nature with Dr. Ford.
Ulick Ford raised the glass of sherry, which he held in his hand,
to the light, and contemplated it for an instant before replying;
perhaps it was done to hide the fact that his cheek had flushed be-
neath the pointed inquiry.
£4
Might I not put the same question to yourself?" he said, pres-
ently.
"
Certainly—and I am ready to answer it. I should marry to-
morrow, if I had the means; but I fancy most of the young ladies
of the present day would pull a very long face if I asked them to
come and sit down with me, for the rest of their lives, in the rec-
tory at Oxley."
""
'It is a very comfortable house, is it not?"
"Well enough for a bachelor; but four hundred a year is not
much to maintain a family on, and I have no prospect of increase.
Besides, I have not your opportunities; you must see dozens of nice
girls in Rockborough."
<<
Indeed, I scarcely ever see one; I have no time to waste on
what Rockborough calls society."
"L
But amongst your patients?"
Dr. Ford looked gravely amused.
CC
'Medical men are not in the habit of falling in love with their
patients, Bertram. In the first place, it is not considered du règel,
and, in the second, they know a little too much about them."
"
But you really should have a wife, Ford.”
"
And why? In what particular should I gain by having a wife?
My sister manages my house to my entire satisfaction."
ܕ
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15
Ah, yes, of course; but still that is not like having a mistress at
the head of your table."
Infinitely better, in my opinion," laughed the doctor. “Marcia
never interests herself in my affairs, but is always ready to do my
bidding; whereas, a wife, in all probability, would first try to
worm out my secrets from me, and then bemoan herself because
she was neglected in order that they might be attended to.
A pro-
fessional man, who spends half his time from home, has no busi-
ness with a wife and family, Bertram."
C
'The world doesn't think so," rejoined his friend. You know
the strong prejudice that always exists against a bachelor doctor;
and, indeed, Ford, I think it but right to tell you, that I have heard
from more than one quarter lately, that were you to marry, your
practice would be materially increased."
"Thank you for nothing, my dear fellow. My practice is more
now than I can manage properly; and Austin has already warned
me that if it continues we must have extra help next season.
Would you burden me further?”
"
*C
But for the look of the thing," urged Bertram; it is always so
much more respectable for a man to have a wife of his own, in-
stead-"
46
f
6C
Instead of the wives of other men, returned Ulick Ford, with
a curious, half cynical smile. Granted; I quite agree with you
there, only you see, Bertram, I have no intention of taking either
the one or the other."
·
66
<<
At this juncture, the doctor's man brought two or three notes in
upon a salver, and whispered some communication in his master's
ear, and at the same time Miss Ford peeped in at the door.
**
Are you ready for coffee, Ulick?"
>>
Yes, certainly, and let us have it directly, Marcia. I have busi-
ness which takes me out at once."
*4
((
Miss Ford drew a long face, and advanced further into the room.
Surely not to-night; the wind and rain are something fearful.'
"It is of no consequence, I must go. Bertram, I need not
apologize for leaving you so abruptly; you know the necessity of
the occasion. I hope to be back in the course of an hour, and finish
our argument."
"
"1
All right-I shall not leave before nine."
And meanwhile Marcia must remain here, and entertain you
with a dish of Rockborough gossip. Wheeler, my coat!" For by
this time Dr. Ford had hastily tossed off the scalding cup of coffee
presented to him, and was ready for departure.
16
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1
PETRONEL...
7.3
"C
'Why, Ulick, you are surely not going to walk in this weather,"
remonstrated his sister, and with the influenza so prevalent as it
is. Why can't you send Mr. Austin?"
<<
""
Dr. Ford answered her never a word, but enveloped himself in a
water proof coat, which made him look enormous, and took his hat
and stick in his hand.
Or take the carriage," continued Miss Marcia, in a plaintive
tone of voice.
vi
,
CC
<<
What! and keep my horses standing in this rain?" he replied,
with elevated eyebrows. That is very likely. Good-bye to both
of you for the present. I shall not be much over the hour, after
which Austin may take the remainder of the work for this evening;"
and with a word or two of direction to his servant he was gone.
"As fond of work and his own way as ever!" exclaimed William
Bertram, as the hall-door slammed, and Miss Ford drew a seat to
the fire. "I have been trying hard to persuade your brother to
take a wife, Miss Ford; but I am afraid he will prove obdurate.'
Miss Ford opened her beady black eyes in sheer astonishment.
She was a great contrast to the doctor in every respect, and no
stranger would have guessed the close relationship between them.
She was an angular, ferrct-faced woman, with very sharp sight, and
on occasions an equally sharp tongue, with something of her
brother's decision of character, without any of his sense to prevent
its degeneration: a first-rate woman to look after servants, to spy
out cobwebs, and keep down the weekly bills; but a very unsatis
factory sort of woman to take to one's bosom with the intention of
keeping the fire at one's heart alight.
She was proud of Dr. Ford, whose senior she happened to be by
a couple of years; but she was considerably afraid of him; and her
surprise at Mr. Bertram's audacity was to the full as great as her
disinclination to hear that such a topic as inarriage had been thrust
beneath the notice of her brother. For to see a wife beneath the
roof where she had ruled so long was the last thing in this world
Miss Ford desired, and an event which she had ceased to fear now
for many years past.
(C
Why do you look so astonished?” said William Bertram, as he
watched the effect of his communication. "Is there anything so
extraordinary in the idea that my friend Ford should some day get
married?"
"
What did Ulick say to it?" was her sole reply.
Oh-he!-he said all the women might be hanged for aught he
cared. Well, not exactly that," seeing the lady's increased surprise;
""
J
PETRONEL.
17
"but he certainly did not seem to take the same view of the case
that I do. Now, what do you suppose can be the reason of it, Miss
Ford?" he continued, as he stretched out his feet to the fire and
assumed a contemplative mood; "is he still hankering after that
old affair, think you?"
"What old affair?" she demanded.
(6
Why, his engagement to his cousin, Miss Halsted."
His engagement to Cissy Halsted? Ulick still hankering after
Cissy Halsted-Mrs. Fleming, as I should say now' Why, Mr.
Bertram, you must be crazy to think of such a thing: it's nearly
fourteen years since it occurred!”
<<
To some men," replied Bertram, reflectively, "forty years
would make as little difference as fourteen or four.
Miss Ford went off into a fit of unaffected merriment.
(C
<<
Oh, really, Mr. Bertram, you must excuse me, but I can not
help it; it does seem so absurd to hear you talking as if Ulick had
any remembrance of those days. Why, I have never heard him
mention the girl's name since the affair occurred. I doubt if it ever
crosses his mind; and as for fretting about it-oh! dear--oh! dear
if you only knew him as I know him, you wouldn't talk like that.”
"
44
I am glad to hear it," was the curt rejoinder.
His whole soul is in his work, as it ought to be," continued
Miss Ford, assuming a high moral tone in her discourse; "and I'm
sure I hope it will be a long day before I see anything or anybody
come between it and him. Ulick couldn't be happier than he is,
and he might be much less happy, that's my opinion;" and, having
none with which he could politely combat it, Mr. Bertram changed
the subject.
Meanwhile Ulick Ford was striding through the wind and the
rain on his way to see his patients.
As has been said before, the night was dark and intensely cold,
not a night on which to call out any man, excepting for a case of
life or death.
> }
??
Dr. Ford knew well that none of the reasons were emergent
which had taken him abroad, and yet he did not murmur, even in-
wardly, at the discomforts he encountered, so wedded was he to the
profession of his choice, and so much had he personified himself
with all its duties. The first house at which he stopped was that
one at present occupied by his cousin, Lady Otho Vivian, whose
note had requested him to visit her without delay.
24
Well, Julia, he said, kindly, as he entered the sitting-room,
"nothing very wrong, I hope.'
ܙܝ
18
PETRONEL.
Lady Otho was the sister who had been most like poor Cissy, in
their youthful days; and, however frivolous the occasion, Dr. Ford
never left one of her messages long unattended to.
""
Well! of course we are alive," she answered, rather fretfully;
but the baby's breathing is very heavy to-night, and nurse says
that Ronald has a rash out all over his chest."
46
"Let us go and see them at once then," he responded, cheer-
fully. "I am afraid this is not very favorable weather for poor
baby's cold; but we shall have a change before long."
Lady Otho conducted him up into the uncomfortable extemporized
nursery, where a heavy infant, nearly choked by its own fat, was
lying fast asleep, and musically breathing through its grievously
afflicted little nose; and Master Ronald, who, on account of his rash,
was not to be put to bed till the doctor had seen him, was sitting up
before the fire, wrapped in a blanket, and trying to look as though
he were going to be very ill indeed.
""
Baby seems more comfortable now than she was," said the anx-
ious mother, as she bent over the cot; “but she has been breathing
very badly-hasn't she, nurse?-and quite alarmed us. I hope she
is not going to have inflammation of the chest or lungs."
Dr. Ford stood by the sleeping child for a few seconds and re-
garded it silently.
C
Nothing of the sort, Julia; you need not alarm yourself; the
child has a heavy cold, nothing more. Wrap her up well, and
don't send her out for the next few days.
fine fellow, what's the matter with you?”
And now, Ronald, my
All children loved Dr. Ford; and at this address the boy in ques-
tion jumped off his nurse's lap and ran into the extended arms of
his cousin.
("
A rash, sir, if you'll please to look," said the nurse, as she
recaptured her charge, and turned down his little night-shirt-“ all
over his chest and arms, you see; and my lady and I thought, with
the scarlatina and that so much about, that perhaps-" but, here
reading utter denial of the suspicion in the doctor's eyes, she
stopped.
C
Put on his night-shirt again, and put him to bed," said Dr.
Ford, quietly. The boy has eaten something to disagree with
him; he will be all right to-morrow. And so your father and
mother have returned from London?" he added, as he prepared to
follow Lady Otho down-stairs again. "I saw the coachman in the
town to-day."
44
Yes, they came home the day before yesterday," she answered
44
1
PETRONEL.
19
•
((
(she seemed to have forgotten to thank her cousin for the needless
trouble he had taken on her behalf; and Wilfred and Archy both
came with them. By the bye, Ulick, have you heard that papa has
received another letter from Cissy?"
"C
I have not heard it." He was following her down-stairs as he
spoke, and each word dropped from his lips as distinctly as though
they had been sounded on a bell. A close observer might have seen
that, after uttering them, his mouth relapsed into its sternest ex-
pression; but Lady Otho was in front of him, and observed nothing.
Yes, indeed! and it has annoyed him excessively; for Cecilia
writes now as though she were the injured party, and makes some
threat about exposing papa's conduct to her since her marriage;
which is, of course, absurd, but made him very angry. I am quite
sure that, if he had had any intention of assisting her before, this
letter would have effectually prevented it."
"Is she in want, then?"
How could she not be under the circumstances? You know
they never had anything to live on.”
66
And from where does she date?" They were standing face to
face now in the drawing-room, but he put the question with the
most supreme indifference.
C
"
(4
I really can't tell you, though mamma did mention the name of
the place—some fishing village where she has been ever since that
wretched husband of hers deserted her. I can't imagine why she
stops there; but I suppose want of money, or this long illness of
hers, has prevented her moving. It has been a miserable business
altogether."
"So it seems," he answered, as he prepared to leave the room.
<"
"
Papa had better have been amenable, after all, hadn't he?"
laughed Lady Otho, as she leaned over the balustrades to light him
down into the hall; for poor Cissy's sake, if not for yours, eh?
Well, good night; and if baby is Lot better to-morrow I will let you
know." And then the hall -door was opened again, and he passed
out once more into the darkness and the rain. The next house at
which Dr. Ford bad to call was very different to the temporary resi-
dence of Lady Otho Vivian, being a large mansion with a wide por-
tico, and an imposing flight of steps; having gained the summit of
which, and made his advent known, the door was opened to him by
one man-servant, whilst another advanced to relieve him of his
dripping overcoat, and a third prepared to show him the way up-
stairs. It was the house of Mr. Beauclerk, a man of immense
wealth and reputation; whose only daughter had been out of health
20
PETRONEL.
for a considerable time past. At the end of the stairs Dr. Ford was
met by the father himself, who eagerly drew him into a side apart-
ment.
"C
My dear doctor, why have you not been to see Miss Beauclerk
so long? We have expected you for three or four days past, and
her state this evening has really been so distressing that, notwith-
standing the inclemency of the weather, I was obliged to summon
you.".
(*
1
The weather is nothing," said Dr. Ford, indifferently. "I am
only sorry to hear that my services are required. I had no anticipa-
tion of such need arising when I saw Miss Beauclerk last."
"But you should see her every day, Doctor Ford-twice a day;
her condition is so very variable.'
Ulick Ford looked grave.
44
"If I considered it necessary, Mr. Beauclerk, I would see your
daughter twice a day; but, I can assure you, it is not; and my time
is so fully employed that—”
CC
I know it is valuable," interrupted the father; "but still, Doc-
tor Ford, you will excuse me for saying it, money is no object with
me, and my child's health is everything."
“And if I could cure her by constant visits," replied Dr. Ford,
she should have them, were you the poorest man in Rockborough
But may I ask what new symptom it is which has alarmed you?'
'She seemed so well when you were here last," said Mr. Beau-
clerk; "but since then she has had fits of hysterics every day, gen-
erally an hour or two after the time that your visits are usually paid;
and neither yesterday nor to-day have we been able to induce her
to touch any solid food; and she has scarcely done anything but
weep. Her poor mother is quite in despair about her.”
ܙ
"
"
'I will see Miss Beauclerk, if you wish it," said Dr. Ford, dryly;
but he did not seem as though he much cared about it himself.
This was one of the most unpleasant and distressing cases which he
had on his hands at the present moment; for the patient's disease
was of the mind, and not of the body; and Ulick Ford had guessed
the nature of that disease, yet felt bound in honor not to reveal
it, to her friends.
Change of air and scene will do more for your daughter than
any of my prescriptions," he added, as they walked upstairs.
• 6
'You must take her away from Rockborough."
""
So I have wished; but Emily is so strongly opposed to the idea.
You must talk to her, doctor, and persuade her that it will be for
her good."
>
PETRONEL.
21
Another minute brought them into the apartment, where a very
pretty girl of nineteen, attired in a white dressing-gown, was lying
extended on a sofa, and watched by a lady who was evidently her
mother. The usual salutations passed between them, and then
Ulick Ford, having heard a second edition of the patient's symp
toms from Mrs. Beauclerk, sat down by the side of the sofa-to feel
her pulse. The poor little pulse, under the pressure of his fingers,
commenced leaping up and down as though it had gone wild, and
then, having replaced his watch in his waistcoat pocket, he let fall
the wrist he held, and turned his quiet, steady gaze upon the face
of Miss Beauclerk. He found that she had risen into a half-sitting
position, and, with flushed cheeks and parted lips, was staring at
him as though her sentence, for life or death, depended on his
words. As he met the look, no correspondent feeling, no expres-
sion, even of pity, passed into his face. I doubt if he felt any: men
and women alike, we are so very hard and unsympathizing with
another's hopelessness where our own hearts are not concerned.
(C
"I am going to prescribe a different medicine for you, Miss Beau-
clerk," he said, than you have taken heretofore. I have been
speaking to your father about it, and my advice is, that, for a little
while, he take you away from Rockborough."
"Oh, not from Rockborough!" exclaimed the girl, as she clasped
her hands together. Don't send me away from Rockborough,
Doctor Ford; it will kill me, indeed it will! Let me stay here--I
will be good! I will take all my tonics, and do everything you tell
me, only don't let them take me away from Rockborough!”
"It will be by far the best thing for her," he said, quietly turn-
ing to the mother. 'Indeed, in my opinion, the only thing. You
must not consult Miss Beauclerk in the matter; I'll engage that she
will be ready enough to agree with you by and by.'
"I won't go!"' sobbed the girl, passionately. "I won't be sent
away from Rockborough; you are cruel; you are unkind: no one
cares whether I live or die!"
CC
เ
46
*
Oh, Emily, my darling!" exclaimed her mother, "how can you
say that, when you know that your father and I are only anxious to
secure your health and happiness?”
46
Which will both be sooner secured by the course I mention than
by any other," said Dr. Ford, as he rose to his feet. Good-even-
ing, Mrs. Beauclerk; you will continue the tonic and the shower-
baths. Good-evening, Miss Beauclerk;" but the girl, lying prone with
her wet face buried in the pillows, refused either to speak to or look
at him.
<<
22
*
PETRONEL.
"You will come again to-morrow?" said the mother, anxiously.
"
I think not. I assure you Miss Beauclerk does not require me.
Meanwhile, I will have a few words with your husband on the sub-
ject."
Outside the door he found the father, with a long face, waiting
for him.
44
Well, doctor, and what do you think of her?"
The same as I have always done-that there is nothing the mat-
ter with her but what change of scene will rectify. Take my ad-
vice, Mr. Beauclerk; carry your daughter and your wife to Switzer-
land, to Germany, or to Italy, for six or twelve months, and you
will bring Miss Beauclerk back as blooming as a rose, and with all
this nonsense knocked out of her head. She fancies herself ill, and
she will end by making herself ill; but as for my visiting her, as
you would wish me to do, it is just taking so much money out of
your pockets to put it in mine, and you will excuse me for saying
that I have neither the inclination nor the conscience to do it any
longer."
1,
“Thank you, Doctor Ford, thank you very much," said Mr.
Beauclerk, as he wrung the doctor's hand. "You have been a
good friend to us. I shall never forget it as long as I live."
"
I have never been a better friend than in this instance, when I
beg of you, as you value your daughter's well-being, to take her
away from Rockborough.'
"I will. I will consult with her mother this very night upon
the subject, and make all arrangements for as speedy a removal as
possible. Good-night!" and with another hearty shake of the hand,
Mr. Beauclerk let the doctor go.
As he commenced again to buffet with the storm, did Ulick Ford
feel that warmth about his heart which is usually supposed to ac-
company the commission of a good action? Did he feel glad that
he had had strength to do his duty, and put a temptation (for to
what man is it not a temptation to be loved spontaneously by a
young and pretty woman?) out of his way?
Not a bit of it; romance and he were too great strangers for such
an idea even to enter his head, and he had so perseveringly trampled
down all the tender springs of sentiment in his heart, that he be-
lieved the evergreen to be dead. He only clapped his hat down
faster, for fear the wind should carry it away, and wondered, since
the girl was fool enough to imagine she must nurse a love-sick fancy
for some one, why she had not fixed on the clergyman of the parish,
or her father's butler, for experiment, instead of himself.
wh
PETRONEL.
23
""
CHAPTER III.
A TELEGRAPHIC MESSAGE.
THE next door which opened to him belonged to a house of far
humbler pretensions than either of the former-a pinched quasi-
respectable sort of dwelling, which was one of a long row, and,
after the manner of sea-side tenements, depended much on its
brothers and sisters for its means of support. Dr. Ford's gentle
knock, being immediately recognized, was answered by the owner
of the house itself, a large-boned, attenuated spinster, over whose
naturally harsh and rugged features love and anxiety now shed an
influence almost softening.
Oh, Doctor Ford!" she exclaimed; "I knew that it was you.
I have told her; I could not avoid it-she asked me the question
direct."
60
That is a pity," he answered, quietly, as he divested himself of
his wet garment. "I thought I had particularly warned you, Miss
Warren, to guard her against any undue excitement.'
"You did-you did; but what was I to do? She fixed her eyes
upon me this evening as I was giving her her tea, and said, 'Lottie,
tell me the truth, am I dying?' I have never told her a falsehood
in my life, Doctor Ford, and you would not have had me do so
now, and when we shall so soon be parted. My poor Annie!"
They had entered a little parlor together by this time-a dreadful
little parlor, with a scarlet and green drugget, and horse-hair-bot-
tomed chairs, and shells ranged along the mantel-piece, and yet at
that moment it seemed like a temple sacred to grief.
"You do not think it will do her any harm?" continued Miss
Warren, anxiously; "that it will hasten-hasten her-the-the
end?" and the hard voice dropped into a broken whisper.
Ulick Ford laid his hand kindly upon hers.
CC
'No, I do not! You may comfort yourself with this reflection,
that nothing could have prolonged her life beyond a few more
days."
,
Small comfort, though, as perhaps he was aware of, even as he
uttered it, for the attenuated spinster had sunk down upon her knees
by the small, rickety table, and was sobbing bitterly beneath the
shelter of her bony hands. He waited very patiently, as though he
24
PETRONEL.
had been attending a sister or a dear friend; but when her grief had
somewhat exhausted itself, he touched her gently on the shoulder:
Come, Miss Warren! remember, she still needs you; there will
be time for all this by and by."
(6
He could have used no argument more potent with the woman be-
fore him, and as she heard it, Miss Warren rose, dried her eyes,
settled her cap upon her grizzled hair, and prepared to lead him to
the bedside of the invalid.
"How did she take your communication?" he asked, in a low
voice, as they mounted the creaking, narrow staircase.
C6
Like an angel!" returned the sister. Oh, Doctor Ford, if
you had heard her speak of it, you would have said there was faith
indeed. But she is sure to mention it to you."
And, in fact, the first words which his patient addressed to him,
on entering the room, were:
"Doctor! why were you afraid to tell me? The knowledge
would have made this long illness so far less hard to bear. And I
have been so impatient. I fear I have been so wickedly impatient,
when, after all, it has been but the toilsome path by which I was
climbing to eternal happiness. Oh, how good God is!"
C
'I am glad to find you take it in this spirit," said Ulick Ford,
as he counted the rapid beatings of her weak pulse.
The news
would have made some people worse, and that is why I kept it
from you.
""
64
"(
<<
Ah! but those must be people who have no hope beyond the
grave; poor creatures! They can not be those who look upon it as
the gate of heaven!"
"But I must forbid you exciting yourself in this manner, you
know," he continued, gravely, "or you will make yourself worse,
and give your sister more trouble, which I am sure would grieve
you."
查看
​Ah! poor Lottie!" and the two women, both middle-aged, em-
braced each other as affectionately as though they had been girls.
'And she has had so much fatigue, too, lately. I must try to be
patient. But, Doctor Ford, how can I help exciting myself?
Think what it must be to know for certain that in a few hours you
are going straight, straight up into the very presence of the dear
Lord who died for you, to kneel down at his feet, and beg him to
believe that you have tried to love him a little. Oh! I feel as if I
could not wait another hour. Lord Jesus, come quickly!" and
then, hearing the low weeping of her sister behind the bed-curtains,
the dying woman was recalled to earth again. "Ah! dear Lottie!
PETRONEL
25
/
7
to be left alone; it is sad: but remember, dear, that it is only for a
little while. Doctor! doctor' you see so many people die: tell her
she must not sorrow as one without hope; that, if I am going, I can
not take Him away from her, and that He is all in all."
She sunk back upon her pillow, exhausted with so much speak-
´ing, yet watching eagerly for the response which did not come. Ulick
Ford looked and felt deeply sympathetic with the grief before him,
but he did not attempt to administer any such comfort to it as his
patient had demanded. Yet his voice sounded very sweet as he re-
plied:
<<
I am sure that your sister will come to acknowledge that what
is, is best. Meanwhile, she has your wants to attend to, and will
be courageous for your sake. And as for yourself, I shall send you
a soothing draught, which you must promise me to take, for you
both stand sadly in need of rest.”
(C
1
Not I-not I!" said the dying sister, triumphantly. “I shall
soon be where there is no more fatigue, nor sickness, nor sorrow;
what can matter a little restlessness now? But I will take it for her
sake, doctor-for Lottie's sake.'
. ،
"I am sure you will," he said, confidently; and then he ex-
changed farewells with her, and groped his way down-stairs again.
Was I not right?" said the tearful voice of Miss Warren, at his
elbow. Is not her faith and resignation beautiful? Oh, Dr.
Ford! pray that when we come to die we may as surely anticipate
the future before us."
(1
"I will send the sleeping draught as soon as may be," was all his
answer; “and I depend upon you to see that it is taken. Good-
night."
2
ܙ
He was making straight for his own house then; but as he passed
through a by-street, an Irish woman ran out of a small green-
grocer's shop, and seized him by the coat-sleeve.
"C
Shure, and it's your own self; I thought I could niver mistake
ye. Now, docther dear, come in thin and spake a word of comfort
to poor Biddy, for it's crying for ye she's been all this blissed
night."
He stopped at once, although he was longing to get back to his
own fireside, and, stooping his tall head beneath the low, blackened
portal, passed through the shop to a dirty room beyond.
""
'Well, Biddy, and how's the child?”
"Och! docther," exclaimed a younger woman, who was weeping
and rocking herself backward and forward before a small wood-fire,
"it's gone to his rest, he has, these two hours past, and me heart's
26
PETRONEL.
just broke intirely!" and with that she threw her apron over her
head and burst into a loud and violent fit of sobbing.
"C
Dead!" replied the doctor; "I am very sorry to hear it. Why
did you not let me know of it sooner? I would have come to see
the child."
He was speaking to the woman who had summoned him from
the street, and followed him into the presence of the bereaved
mother.
Shure now, and, docther, you wouldn't have us to be distarbing
rale gintlemin like yourself to rin backards and forrards afther a
poor man's child."
*
"I would have you do as I tell you," he replied, sternly, "and
my last orders were that I was to be told if you observed any
change for the worse.
">
"
Shure, thin, and we didn't obsarve any change, unless 'twas
half an hour may be before the darlint wint, and thin you
wouldn't have had us to lave him to enter heaven all by hisself,
would ye?"
"
Och hone-och hone!" wailed the mother, "he's gone thin,
and I shall niver see my pretty Brian no more. Oh, docther, if
you'd been but here to see his dying eyes, which said 'Mother' as
plain as iver his pretty tongue spake the word, you'd niver have
forgot it, niver!"
“Hold over, Biddy," said the elder woman, as she stroked the hair
of her companion with no ungentle touch, "don't you belave as others
can fale for ye? Isn't the blissed mother of God a-looking at ye this
very moment, and crying wid ye, tear for tear? Ain't all the saints
and angels a-sorrowing for ye? Spake to her, docther; I can't put my
tongue to such things, I'm too unlarned; but you're a clever gin-
tleman as ever was, and must know all about it. Tell the poor
craythur as she'll have her boy ágin by and by; give her some com-
fort, docther, darlint; it'll come better from your lips than from
mine."
“It is scarcely time for it," he urged, in a low voice.
"
Scarcely time?" she echoed loudly, "scarcely time to tell the
poor, sorrowin' mother, as all the blessed company of heaven is
faling for her, and how they've got her Brian, safe and sound, up
there, and 'ull keep him for her agin she goes herself? And it
won't be long first, Biddy, my dear; it won't be long for none of
us: think of that!"
She did seem to think of it, for she stayed the violence of her
weeping, and, lifting her poor, wearied head, laid it with closed
*
PETRONEL.
27
eyes against the bosom of her warm-hearted friend. Dr. Ford rose
to go; his heart bled for the rough sorrow he encountered; but he
had none but worldly comfort to administer to it, and he felt sadly
as though his place were no longer there. For all the good that he
could have done that weeping mother, the necessity was past. But
he pressed gold into her hand, and bade her remember that she had
another child, and must bear up for its sake; and then he took his
leave, followed by the thanks and blessings of both women, and
feeling very much as though he were accepting gratitude to which
he had no due.
As he walked homeward he felt subdued, but not more sad than
usual; for the scenes he had encountered were everyday scenes to
him. What did this man believe, or wish, or hope for? What
were his thoughts concerning the past, the present, or the future?
Neither memory, nor love, nor religion, nor death, seemed to have
any effect upon him. Was it true that, as his friends constantly
affirmed, he had outlived all feeling whatsoever, excepting love for
his profession? Time and occasion only can reveal.
When he reached home the door was opened to him by his own
servant, Wheeler, who took the opportunity to silently present him
with the letters which had arrived during his absence. Why are
doctors' and dentists'"familiars" always made after the same
pattern, something between a mute at a funeral and Dickens's
Littimer"? Are they bred and brought up to order, or selected
on account of their promising qualities, and subjected to a strict
moral training before they are admitted to the mysteries of the
consulting and operating rooms? Their countenances may slightly
differ, but their stereotyped manner makes them appear as one man.
How noiselessly and discreetly do they open the door to you; how
they invite your confidence by demanding in a subdued voice if you
have made an appointment with their master; and when they are
satisfied that your presence there is not illegal, with what deferential
solemnity do they usher you into that dismal waiting-room, the
table of which is strewn with "Punch" and other comic journals,
and where your fellow victims are despondently ranged around the
walls! If, on their reappearance, you leap up from your chair,
expecting to be admitted to the oracle before your turn has come,
with what an awful look, half surprise, half reproof, do they check
your impatience, as they silently bow out the lucky mortal whose
ordeal is finished; and finally, when you pass out of those mysteri-
ous doors, with what an air of respectful compassion do they send
you forth to the outside world again, as if they knew quite as much
C
28
PETRONEL.
:
"
t
4
1
1
about your internal mechanism as their master, and pitied you for
being so terribly in want of mending!
Wheeler was no exception to this rule; solemn, stiff, and silent,
every day might have been to him the day of a funeral, and every
patient a doomed creature. He meant it well, no doubt, and had
studied his manner to suit his situation; but had any stranger
stopped to think about the matter, he could hardly have taken it as
a compliment to the skill of his master. Doctor Ford received the
envelopes presented to him, crushed them together in his hand, and
with the order "Send round and tell Mr. Austin that I wish to
speak to him," passed quickly into the dining-room, exclaiming:
"4
Here I am, you see, and not so much over my time, after all.
Let us have something hot and strong, at once, Marcia, and tell
Wheeler to bring down my cigars. I suppose you've kept poor
Bertram without one all this while. How inconsiderate you wom-
en are!"
'Well, really, Ulick, how was I to know?" was Miss Ford's re-
monstrance, as she left the room.
The doctor threw his letters on the table, and stooped to the blaz-
ing fire.
""
A bitter night, Bertram!" he remarked, as he shivered and
warmed his frozen hands. "I don't know when I have felt a
colder wind; but either it or the rain must stop before long. The
thermometer is still falling."
"You will not stir out again to-night?"
'Not 1," was the hearty answer. "I think I have done my
share of the day's work, though I'm sorry to say I must turn poor
Austin out to see one or two cases for me.
.،
((
""
>>
Then he turned from the fire, and took up the crushed papers he
had cast aside. One, a long blue envelope with “By telegraph
printed on it, caught his eye at once, and, with a sudden look of
vexation, he tore it open.
Bertram noted the look, and, watching his face to ascertain the
cause, was surprised to see the eager expression resolve itself into
one so stern and cold as he had seldom viewed upon that counte-
nance since he and Ulick Ford had called each other friend.
The broad brow became plowed with lines of thought; the mild
eyes clouded over; the lips closed upon the teeth, as they close when
a man is determinately bracing himself up to undergo great torture,
either of mind or body; but Bertram had hardly had time to feel
surprise at so remarkable a change before the mood was past; the
feeling, from whatever cause it may have arisen, conquered, and
}
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PETRONEL.
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I
Dr. Ford himself again, which was but another word for decisive
action. With one hand he pulled the bell, with the other seized a
Bradshaw from an adjoining table; having found what he desired
in the pages of which, he proceeded to examine the contents of his
other epistles.
Wheeler and Miss Ford re-entered the room together.
Wheeler, send for a cab to go to the station at once, and pack
my night-bag. I have a message there which takes me out again,
and I shall not return till morning. Have you sent to Mr. Austin?
Let the boy go round to hurry him; say I must speak to him within
ten minutes.'
<<
*C
Ulick!" exclaimed his sister, pathetically, whilst Wheeler, who
would not have expressed any surprise if his master had told him
to pack his bag to go to Hades, and who knew better even than Dr.
Ford himself what was needed on so sudden an occasion, withdrew
silently to execute the orders given him.
"
""
CC
"It's of no use talking," said the doctor rather testily; "an immi-
nent case has come to hand, and I must see to it myself. Bertram,
old fellow! I've not had much of your company to-day; but you'll
be here again, I hope, before long. Ah! here is Austin," as a
frank and pleasant-looking young man entered the room. Austin,
I am off by train, at once; you must see to those two cases for me:
the carver's child is worse, and Mrs. Richardson will require you
to-night. Tell Mr. Richardson why it is that I can not possibly
attend his wife in person."
You will be away long, sir?" said the younger man, interroga-
tively.
"I do not know; it is quite impossible to say; but if I am not
back by ten o'clock to-morrow morning, ask Dr. Elliott if he will
take part of my early rounds. You will find my case-book in the
writing-table drawer.
announced Wheeler.
The cab is at the door, sir,"
All right; put in the bag. You'd better remain here awhile,
Austin, and I will send back the cab for you and Bertram. Good-
night, Marcia; you will see me to-morrow;" and with a nod which
included the whole company, Dr. Ford disappeared.
The trio left behind looked very blank.
44
19
ܙ
He had come in so confident of spending the remainder of the
evening at home, and he had whisked off so like a whirlwind, that
his departure left a most unsatisfactory feeling in its train.
"Where is he going to?" demanded Bertram of Mr. Austin, as
The
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!
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they closed in around the fire, and helped themselves to the spirits
and water which their host had left untasted.
CC
I don't know," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Nor
you?" to Miss Ford.
"How should I?" she interrogated in her turn.
"C
It seems very strange, doesn't it?" said Bertram.
<
I should have thought you had known Dr. Ford too long to say
so," remarked Austin.
፡፡
Well, I certainly have never had anything to do with his pro-
fessional concerns, but speaking from my experience I should not
have called him a reticent man.
..
>>
No? What do you say to that, Miss Ford?”
Now Miss Ford, notwithstanding that she was proud of her
brother's popularity, loved to nurse little imaginary grievances
against him, and the chief grievance of them all was that he never
reposed any confidence in her. Where he went; whom he saw, and
what he thought of them, were mysteries which no wheedling, nor
coaxing, nor reproaching, on her part, could force him to reveal;
and, being gifted with all a woman's curiosity, she resented his
conduct in this particular as though it had been a real injury. And
Mr. Austin, being well aware of her favorite weakness, was sure
that his appeal would bring forth the usual results.
"What do I say to it? Why, that Mr. Bertram can not know
what he's talking about! Considering that Ulick does not choose to
disclose his plans even to me, I should think it was very unlikely
that his friends would find him communicative. Does he ever tell
us, Mr. Austin, on what errand he is going, or from which house
he has come? I'm sure, when my own particular friend, Harriett
Bruce, died last year "-here Miss Ford pulled out her pocket-
handkerchief, but failed to look interesting-“Ulick walked into
this room and eat his dinner as though nothing had happened, and
I don't believe I should have heard of the sad event at all if I had
not been in the habit of calling daily to ask after her, poor dear!
But now I always take in the Rockborough Gazette,' so that I
may see who has been born and died during the week; for, as I tell
Ulick, it must seem very strange indeed to outsiders that his
own sister should be kept in the dark in these respects. But my
brother is very peculiar in some things, very peculiar indeed; and I
should be sorry, for his own sake, that he should hear all that peo-
ple have said of his omission in this particular;" and Miss Ford
wagged her head solemnly as she recalled some of the remarks
made by sympathetic tabbies on the melancholy subject. It was so
เ
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•
sweet to be able to cast just a little wee stone at Ulick behind his
back, because to his face she stood so wholesomely in awe of him.
Meanwhile, the doctor having caught the train, threw himself in
the corner of a first-class carriage in a state of mind which would
have puzzled his own brain to describe. He was alone, and, after
a few minutes of confused thought, he suddenly dived his hand
into the pocket of his coat, and produced the telegram which had
called him forth. The paper was crumpled and disfigured from
the rough treatment to which it had been subjected; but Dr. Ford
smoothed it carefully, and spread it out upon his knee, and pored
over it as though he half doubted whether on a first perusal he had
read the words aright.
But there was no mistake, either in substance or address; and
even by the dim carriage-lamp the large official handwriting looked
back upon him legibly.
"From MRS. FLEMING-SALTPOOL.
*
ει
TO DR. FORD-ROCKBOROUGH.
"I am dying and alone; if you ever cared for me, you will come
to me now. I have no hope left but in you."
He stared at it-this message from his buried past-as though the
dumb characters could tell him something further; and then, crush-
ing the paper once more into his pocket, he leaned back, with closed
eyes, upon the carriage cushions, and delivered himself up to
thought.
CHAPTER IV.
CISSY'S DEATH-BED.
'SALTPOOL! Saltpool! Saltpool!" sounded in the short, sharp
tones of the guard, as he ran along the line of arrested carriages.
Dr. Ford started from his seat, and hastily collected his belongings.
During the whole of that long three-hours' railway journey he had
not once permitted himself to be overtaken by sleep; indeed his
mind had been too actively employed for the body to gain ascend-
ency over it; and yet, so deep had been his reverie, that he opened
and shut his eyes, and stumbled down the carriage-steps like a man
just roused from slumber. It was now twelve o'clock. The night
was still intensely dark, but the rain had ceased, and a sharp, frosty
feeling become apparent in the air. The whistle sounded; the long
train of carriages moved slowly away, and Dr. Ford found himself
the only passenger left standing on a small, soaked-through, un-
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covered platform, where a solitary porter was waiting to take his
ticket.
46
'Is there no one to meet you, sir?" he demanded, as he did so.
"No. Is it far from Saltpool?"
"About a mile and a half; but a nasty road, sir."
"Can I procure any conveyance to take me there?"
"There's nothing to be got nearer than the place itself, and I've
no one at present that I could send for you."
Then I must walk.
، ،
Will you direct me in which way?"
Straight on ahead, sir,” replied the man, as he followed Dr.
Ford through the station wicket, and pointed to a country road
stretched out before them, and you can hardly miss it. It isn't
much of a path, but the hedge runs the whole way, till it brings
you to the slaughter-house, and t'other side of that you'll come to
the street itself. Thank you, sir"—as an equivalent dropped in
his hand-" and I hope you'll find it without much trouble." With
which the porter retreated to the station-room fire, whilst Ulick
Ford commenced to plod bravely in the direction intimated to him.
A country road, ankle-deep in mud, is not a pleasant promenade at
twelve o'clock at night in the month of March, even when the
route is most familiar; but to tread a strange path under such cir-
cumstances, unknowing into what evils the next step may not
plunge you, nor for what length of time the martyrdom may be
prolonged, is sufficient to make even a bold man feel a little faint-
hearted and disposed to rail at Fate. Yet not a murmur escaped
the lips of Dr. Ford, who was too well inured to hardship to care
for inconvenience; and if a thought crossed his mind respecting the
journey before him, it was to congratulate himself that the rain had
ceased, and rendered it, comparatively speaking, easy. Used as he
was to sudden calls and emergencies of all kinds, his brain was still
in a whirl with the shock it had received that night; for, contrary
to the speculations of his sister and the surmises of his friends,
Ulick Ford had not yet forgotten what had been, and, as he groped
his way along the muddy and irregular country-path, carrying his
bag in his hand, his mind wandered away from the present far back
into the past, when he had hoped that Cissy Halsted's hands would
close his dying eyes. It was fourteen years since he had endured
the blow of learning that she was faithless to him, and he had never
seen her since-never written to her-never even mentioned her name,
excepting when it was of necessity forced upon him. One or two
letters, transcribed in a weakly attempted palliation of her fault,
had, shortly after her marriage, reached him; but he had put them
..
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}
sternly aside, unable to sympathize with any feeling so foreign to
his own nature, and since then the tidings of his early love had been
few and far between. At first her relations had avoided mention
of her, as a subject distasteful both to him and to themselves; and,
latterly, their own communication with her had been most irregular.
He knew that she was living, and he asked no further. What was
it to him now whether she lived or died? So Ulick Ford told him-
self, and would have told others had there been occasion; but it was
not the truth.
Because he was silent, because he poured out to no one the
burden of his sorrows, his relations argued that he did not feel;
whereas God and his own soul only knew how much the man had
suffered.
By night, in the privacy of his own chamber; by day, in the bar-
ren solitude of his heart; in leisure, when memory would mocking-
ly intrude herself upon him, and in occupation, when he had to
strain each nerve before he could command attention - he had
suffered until feeling had become deadened; the force of suffering
seemed spent, and his trust in the wisdom which guides all things
shaken. To some natures it is as difficult to uproot a well-planted
passion as to detach an oak-tree from the soil. And yet, futile as
had been his efforts to banish the age of Cissy Halstead from his
heart, he had instituted so rigorous a law for his own actions with
regard to her, that it is doubtful if he would have gone to her as-
sistance on any occasion less urgent than her death-bed. But when
he had received that telegram, worded by her dying lips, and with
the remembrance of what Lady Otho Vivian had told him freshly
in his mind, he could not choose-he, who had never been known
to disregard a pauper's cry for help-but hasten to the relief of the
woman who was to have been his, and would soon be no one's.
His heart, busy with such thoughts, and his mind, full of curious,
wondering questions, it is no marvel that the walk seemed short to
him, and that he found himself in Saltpool before knowing it.
Having passed the slaughter-house alluded to by the porter, a rapid,
stony descent brought him quickly to the village; but, as he threaded
the narrow street, he looked in vain on either side for a lighted
house where he might make inquiries for his cousin. But none
such appeared. Saltpool was evidently unused to keep late hours,
and Dr. Ford considered himself fortunate when he, at length, ran
against a sigu-post, thus discovering the whereabouts of the village
inn. A continuous hammering of his stick against the door, and a
few lusty shouts, brought in due time a disheveled landlady and
اب
1
2
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half-caparisoned hostler to his aid; when, upon making his desires
known, the latter was ordered to light him to the apartments occu-
pied by Mrs. Fleming.
"Up at Mrs. Mitchell's," said the landlady, sharply, in explana-
tion to the unwilling hostler. "You're never going to pretend,
Roger, as you don't know where the poor lady lays a-dying? I'm
afraid you've had but a cold walk, sir. Can I get you any refresh-
ment?"
No. Dr. Ford would not stay for any refreshment, though he
made the landlady happy by ordering a room and breakfast to be
ready for him on the following morning.
"
Can you tell me who is in attendance upon Mrs. Fleming?" he
demanded.
""
Oh, surely, sir-Mr. Burrell, our own medical gentleman! and
as clever a gentleman as ever stepped. I'm sure when our William
had the quinsy, he—”
""
(6
,
Where could I speak with Mr. Burrell?"
'Well, sir, he must be up with the lady, I reckon, for she has
been very bad all day. Mrs. Mitchell was here two hours ago her-
self, and they didn't think then as the poor dear could last through
the night."
66
..
"I must go at once," said the doctor, hastily. Is your man
ready? Let him carry my bag; I may want it;" and, preceded by
the hostler with a stable-lantern, Ulick Ford soon found himself at
Mrs. Mitchell's door. Some one was evidently stirring within, for
his summons was answered as soon as made, and a stout country-
woman showed him into a small sitting-room.
"Is Mr. Burrell here?"
(C
'Yes, sir; he is upstairs."
'Give him my card, and say I wish to speak to him;" and in
another minute a rosy-cheeked little man was in the room, all
bustle and flutter at being introduced to the Dr. Ford, of Rock-
borough.
The usual preliminaries having been gone through·
•
+
""
ܕ
Perhaps you are aware," commenced Ulick Ford, in that meas-
ured voice with which he knew so well how to disguise all feeling,
"that I received a telegram this evening from Mrs. Fleming to say
that her state was considered dangerous, and to request my pres-
ence here.'
看看
​I am aware of it," replied Mr Burrell;
replied Mr Burrell; indeed, when Mrs.
Fleming expressed a wish to see you, and to have your advice, 1
"
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7
1
urged the sending of the message, although I am afraid you come
too late to do more than give her comfort."
"Her complaint?" said the other, interrogatively.
"Her present attack, from which I have no hesitation in saying
she is in the greatest danger, is inflammation of the lungs; but Mrs.
Fleming has been out of health for many years past.
And then the two men sat together at the table, and entered into
a detailed conversation on the state of the patient, during which
Ulick Ford forgot himself in his profession, and discussed her
symptoms as phlegmatically as though she had been a stranger to
him.
""
>>
She had suffered much both in mind and body," said Mr. Bur-
rell, in conclusion. "A great want of energy apparent, if you will
excuse my saying so."
"
I had not heard of her ill-health; it is some years since I have
had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Fleming.”
""
When I learned that you were a relation of hers," continued
the country doctor, bluntly, "I was surprised that she had not ap-
pealed to you before."
""
If she had done so I would have come before," he answered,
simply, and Mr. Burrell thought that for so great a man Dr. Ford
was wonderfully affable and quiet.
CC
You must have had a very unpleasant journey, sir," he re-
marked. "Had I thought it possible you could arrive so soon, I
would have sent my chaise to meet you at the station. Can I offer
you anything, or would you like to see the patient at once?"
“I will go and see the patient, if she is ready to receivę me.”
Co
C6
She was but half sensible when I left her," said Mr. Burrell, as
they mounted to the upper story, and indeed she has been wan-
dering all day; but she has had intervals of consciousness, and
doubtless will recognize you when they occur. Well, Mrs. Mitch-
ell," to a woman who met them at the head of the stairs, and
courtesied low to the new-comer, "and how does our patient seem
now?"
"C
Very weak, sir, very low, and quite light-headed. Can I help
you, sir? Have you dropped anything?" This to Ulick Ford, who
had suddenly stooped toward his boot-lace.
"
'No, thanks! no, thanks!" he uttered, hurriedly; it is all
right;" and then he stood erect, and followed Mr. Burrell to the
sick-chamber.
A
How little did they guess who watched him-the famous surgeon
whose cool nerve and physical endurance had made his name known
36
PETRONEL.
far and wide-that in that moment of delay he had turned coward,
and was silently gathering courage wherewith to face the woman
he had loved. Mr. Burrell, having entered the bedroom first,
turned round and beckoned to his companion.
"She is just as I left her," he said, in a low voice. "You can
enter with the greatest impunity;" and Ulick Ford, with a sudden
straightening of himself, as though to make sure his armor fitted
him, stepped forward firmly, and stood at the bottom of the bed.
The room was dimly lighted, but not so dimly but that he could
perfectly discern the figure lying there; yet had he not been assured
that it was she, he never would have recognized his cousin, Cissy
Halsted. The golden hair, which used to appear to him as the
aureole of some angelic creature, dulled and thinned and streaked
with gray, lay matted on her pillow; her bloom had all departed;
her hollow eyes, open, but without expression, had lost their brill-
iancy; she was a mere wreck of what she had been. Ulick Ford
advanced to her side, and examined her gravely, almost solemnly,
for a few minutes, then he turned hastily away, and, lifting a cor-
ner of the white blind which shaded the window, professed to look
out upon the starless night. He had seen at a glance that the coun-
try doctor's estimate was just, and that his cousin had not many
hours to live. Whether he might or might not have cured her, had
he been called in sooner, he would not ask himself, for the question
was now futile, her disease having reached that stage when profes-
sional skill could be of no avail. But a brief, a very brief space of
time, and she would be no longer there. He was about to part with
her in real earnest now.
F
"Love strikes one hour-LOVE! those never loved,
Who dream that they loved ONCE."
Had any one quoted such lines to Ulick Ford that morning, he
would have laughed at them outwardly, and inwardly been ready
to cite his own case as contradiction of their truth. Now, as he
stooped his head behind the white blind of Mrs. Mitchell's meagerly
clothed window, and the conviction thrust itself upon him that that
chapter of his life which had begun so sweetly, and ended in such
bitterness, must close, a child's voice, the carol of a bird, a gleam
of sunshine, would have had power to overthrow his fortitude.
How long he stood and mused there little matters. It was Mr. Bur-
rell's chirping voice that recalled him from his reverie, and with a
start he turned again toward the bed.
46
You know
Mrs. Fleming feels better again now, Doctor Ford.
me, do you not, madame? Ah! I thought so," as a wintery smile
!
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""
repaid his efforts to attract her; "and here is your cousin, Doctor
Ford, who has traveled all the way from Rockborough to see you."
Cousin Ulick!" faintly exclaimed the dying woman, and then,
even in that hour, a flush of shame passed over her pale features,
and she turned away her head, and buried her face in the pillow.
Ulick Ford drew a chair to the bedside, and took her hand, and
Mr. Burrell seized the opportunity to leave the cousins to them-
selves.
..
How good of you to come!" she murmured brokenly, as she
felt the warm clasp of his fingers.
"(
Did you doubt my doing so, Cissy?" he answered, gently.
"I can not tell-every one has deserted me; no one has answered
my letters, and you, I wronged you so!"
Ay! she had wronged him; how much, his own soul, on which
the blight of his life seemed equally to have descended, could alone
have answered. Could Ulick Ford have found it in his heart to tell
the whole hard truth to the dying creature beside whom he sat, he
might have proved to her that the injury wrought to him by her
want of faith exceeded far the woe which it occasioned. He might
have told her that the knowledge of her falsehood had made him
disbelieve in much which before he had never dared to doubt; that
with the sunshine of ber love, God's presence seemed to leave the
world for him, and himself to be uncared for and unthought of,
either by Heaven or earth. He might have told her that, in trifling
with his strong affection, she had kindled a fire which eat into his
heart, and left him alike indifferent to love, or fame, or religion.
He might have reproached her with all this; had he been a woman,
he probably would have done so, if solely for the pleasure of ex-
tending a divine forgiveness afterward; but he was not only a man,
strong enough to pity weakness, and conscious that no explanations
could restore him what was lost, but a doctor, anxious by all means
to avoid any emotion which could make his patient worse, although
by no knowledge in his power could he make her better! and so,
when Mrs. Fleming sadly murmured, I wronged you so," the
cloud which passed over his features was all the token which be-
trayed that her words pained him.
¿
64
Do not let us speak of that," he answered quietly, “or rather
let me say at once, Cissy, that it is all forgiven and forgotten. I
should be hard, indeed, could I have cherished resentment against
any one, most of all yourself, for so long a time.'
Then she lifted her worn face and looked in his, and shed weak
tears.
ܕ
+
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""
Oh! but you are changed-you are sadly, sadly changed; and
it is all my doing."
"L
We are both changed; you, still more than I am, Cissy; it is
impossible it could be otherwise-remember how many years it is
since last we met. But I am sorry to find you so ill. I came here,
hoping to be of some professional aid to you.'
>
"But you can not-I am dying!" she interrupted him. He
would not gainsay her words, although her wistful eyes seemed as
though they pleaded for a respite.
“I am dying,” she repeated despondently—" dying without a
creature to regret me."
He bit his lip, and looked at her in silence.
'If you have any wishes that you desire to see fulfilled," he con-
- tinued, presently, "any message to be carried to your parents, who
can not have been properly apprised of your condition, look on me
as a brother, and make what use of me you may.”
"My child!" she gasped, for she was breathing with the utmost
difficulty; Ulick! you must take my child to them."
""
Dr. Ford started. This was not the first intimation he had re-
ceived that his cousin was a mother, but he had heard, or imagined
he had heard, that she had lost her children in infancy; and the
announcement came as news to him-news which caused a pang.
Your child!" he echoed. "I did not know there was one—a
<<
boy?"
"6
No, no, a little girl; so friendless-so alone. Take her to
Frampton-to my father; tell him he must receive her-she has no
one else:" and then, as he was silent, she continued, anxiously,
He must have it in his heart to relent; else why has he sent me
money-often, often-who but he would do it?”
*C
.
CC
What of your husband?"
He put the question firmly; but it was in a very subdued voice.
(6
Gone away-dead, for aught I know-will never trouble them."
But Dr. Ford looked grave. He was not sure that the Frampton
people would view the matter in the same light that she did; it was
a serious undertaking to promise to present the child of the draw-
ing-master to their notice; and the dying mother saw the look, and
guessed the meaning of it.
<+
Oh! my poor child! my poor child!" she wildly exclaimed, as
she feebly threw her wasted arms about; "no one will take her-
no one will love her-she will die as I am dying-all alone."
He saw what harm the agitation was causing her, and promptly
interfered.
}
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:
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""
me.
Cissy," he said, in a firm voice, as he laid his strong, gentle
hand upon her feverish frame, "I am your doctor now, you know;
you must attend to what I say; lie still and listen to me. You re-
-member the old days, Cissy, when you fancied that you cared for
I never broke a promise to you then; you can not think that I
would do so now. I will take your child to Frampton, and recom-
mend her by every persuasion I can think of to your father's care,
and if he refuses to accept the charge "-the large blue eyes were
fixed hungrily upon his face-"I will see, unless the right be
wrested from me, that she is reared and looked after as befits her
station. Will you believe me, and set your mind at rest?"
(C
You?-Ulick-you? You would do so much for me?" she
said, in a strange, low voice of wonder.
66
15.
Why not, my dear?" he answered, unconcernedly, and to speak
so was the greatest effort he had made. After all, remember we
are cousins, and-you made me very happy whilst it lasted, Cissy.'
The great hand was taken prisoner in her burning palms, and car-
ried to her lips. He drew it hastily away.
"I am not worthy!" she cried, in a voice of sudden unguish; and
the temporary excitement over, a crisis arrived in her disease which
resolved itself into an attack of convulsions-an event not unlooked
for, although it had occurred rather earlier than expected. Dr.
Ford rang the bell, and Mr. Burrell and Mrs. Mitchell were in im-
mediate attendance.
<<
She will not recover consciousness again," he said, in a low
voice, as the other doctor joined him, and it will be over before
long. She has no strength to stand against a second attack."
So he spoke, without a falter in his voice, or a shade of trouble in
his eye, as he supported the fragile body of the woman he loved
best on earth. No one who saw him could have guessed how fast,
beneath that calm exterior, his wounded heart was beating.
At his announcement, Mrs. Mitchell lost her nerve.
""
""
+4
•
Going, sir; is she really going?" she exclaimed, wringing her
hands. Poor lady!-the Lord have mercy on us! Oh! I must
waken the child-she'd never forgive me if the little gal wasn't
alongside of her when she breathed her last,"’
"Stay where you are!" interposed the voice of Dr. Ford. It was
neither raised nor angry, but it effectually commanded the obedience
of Mrs. Mitchell. You may be wanted, and this is no fit scene
for a child."
66
Submissively she dropped into a chair, whilst the medical men
continued to hang over their dying patient, and interchange observa-
40
PETRONEL.
tions on her condition. Presently they thought of something which
might be needed, and Mr. Burrell left the room to fetch it; at the
same time a young voice was heard to call over the upper balusters,
'Mrs. Mitchell, Mrs. Mitchell, how is mamma?"
"It is Miss Petronel," exclaimed Mrs. Mitchell, in dismay.
"She is coming down-stairs.
""
Keep her away," said Dr. Ford, authoritatively, as each con-
vulsion of the expiring frame was weaker than the last, and the end
was evidently near.
"
1
>"
Mrs. Mitchell hurried out to do his bidding; they were once more
alone together. He raised the dying face to his, and gazed earnestly
upon it; and, as he did so, placidity stole over it again-the feat-
ures lay at rest; the weak lips parted with a sigh; the dim eyes
opened and returned his gaze.
Death was even then upon them; yet, through their fast glazing
orbs, he could discern the question which her tongue refused to
utter-the anxious question, if she were forgiven; and he answered
it by bending down his mouth to hers. The action seemed to be
the signal for her soul's dismissal; for with the very faintest smile
the lips of woman ever wore, she closed her eyes again, shivered
once or twice, and, stretching herself out very gently on his breast,
lay back, and went in peace.
He held her for a few seconds in his arms, and then, very softly
indeed, he replaced upon the bed the corpse of Cissy Fleming.
Voices were heard in argument upon the stairs, and he was about
to go forward with the news, and bid them keep silence, when the
door of the bed-chamber was suddenly pushed open, and the figure
of a girl of thirteen appeared upon the threshold.
""
""
'Leave me alone, Mrs. Mitchell!" she was saying, with childish
command; if mamma is ill, I am the proper person to be with
her."
Ulick Ford started to his feet, and gazed at her in silent astonish-
ment.
On the bed before him he had just placed the dead body of his
early love-a wreck of the beautiful girl whom he remembered in
past days; and as he did so the thought had flashed across his mind
that now, indeed, all that concerned that time had died with her,
and he should not even have the memory of her youthful face to
haunt his loneliness, when before him stood what seemed like an
apparition of the past-a ghost evoked by his vain longings for all
that he had lost-a richer incarnation of the loveliness once pos-
sessed by Cissy Halsted. Startled, humid, gray eyes, set wide apart
"
ܢ
T
K
PETRONEL.
41
under a broad, white forehead, over which the hair hung in a
golden fringe; a piquante nose, contradicting the soft expression of
the eyes; pointed chin, with a deep dimple in it, a curved mouth,
displaying firm and even teeth, and over all a cloud of golden-
brown hair, with here and there a darker shade athwart it—such
was Petronel Fleming, as she first appeared to Click Ford.
A tall girl, too, who carried her thirteen summers bravely, stand-
ing upright as a young poplar, and who, although younger by three
years than her mother had been when first he saw her, looked almost
as old as she had done. What wonder if the sight of her-recalling,
as it had, the memory of the dead creature before him, as he had
last seen her in the blossom of her youth, or as she had visited him
in his half-waking, feverish dreams-thrilled through him with
fresh pain!
t
He attempted to say something to his little cousin which should
prepare her for the news of her mother's death; but, before he
could find his voice, she caught sight of the motionless figure on the
bed, and darted forward to his side.
CHAPTER V.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL.
""
'I SHALL never forget-no! not if I live for five hundred years
(which, when I come to think of it, is to say the least unlikely)—
the first day that I saw Cousin Ulick. It was when we were living
down at Saltpool.
""
We had been at Saltpool for some time, mamma and I-how
long I can hardly tell; but so long that I had but very little recol-
lection of any other place-and we never saw any one down there
excepting Mr. Burrell, and we were poor, and sometimes very dull.
Mr. Burrell was our doctor, and I didn't like him, because he used
to pull my hair and call me ' Dunce Double D,' and tell mamma I
must take a dose of Gregory's powder every morning to stop my
growing, and she used to believe him. Besides, I always observed
that mamma cried more after Mr. Burrell had been to see her, and
said she made no progress, and never should make any, as long as
she remained in that hateful place. Yet she never tried to leave
Saltpool; nor would she tell me, when I asked the reason why: but
Betsey Mitchell said we could not go because we had no money,
and I was child enough to rest satisfied with that reply. But I
sometimes wished we had a little more, if it were only to make my
→
1
..
}
42
mother happy. She had been very sick, my poor mother, ever since
I could remember. She was very pale and pretty, with yellow hair
like mine; but she would cry for hours together, till her eyes were
all red and swollen, and her head ached so that she could hardly
speak. She never went for a nice walk along the rocks or came
and sat down on the beach with me; but lay on the sofa all day,
sometimes with a book, sometimes doing nothing at all, and often
reading old letters and papers, over which she would weep until she
made herself ill. I had a mighty compassion for my mother in
those days-a great longing to make her as strong and well as I was
-to take her up in my arms and carry her away to some nice, pretty
place, where she should be comfortable and happy, and have every-
thing she wanted, and never see Mr. Burrell, nor one of those tire-
some old letters again. But I was so impotent to serve her. Noth-
ing that I could do seemed to be of any use. Sometimes I would
stay in from my play to wait upon her, and would hang about her
sofa or her bed: but, after awhile, she always sent me away. I
was too boisterous, she said: too rough in my manners and too loud
in my speech, and I did her more harm than good. When she said
this I used to feel very sad, and go up to my own room and have a
good cry. I knew that I was rough and noisy-Mr. Burrell often told
me so-but. it was dreadful to think that I should make my mother
worse by it; and when I used to try and be so gentle by her side,
because I loved her! Sometimes mamma would ask me to read
aloud, and then I was very proud, and fetched the volume with
alacrity. But I was a shocking bad reader, for I had had no educa-
tion; and, after I had stumbled over a few pages, I was invariably
told it was enough, and I might put the book away.
And then my
mother would say I had had less advantage than many a pauper's
child, and it was a shame that her own daughter should lack the
necessaries of life; and if I had only seen the style in which she
used to live in her father's house, I should be able to understand
what she meant. But I had never seen it; my earliest recollections
were of this sorrowing, suffering mother, who scarcely ever thought
of my redundant health and buoyant spirits, in her lamentations.
over my want of polish and shoe-leather. But her strictures on
the subject of my deficient education were unfortunately correct.
It is a dreadful thing to have to confess that, at thirteen years old,
I could not read or write properly; but neither could Betsey
Mitchell, and the amount of instruction we had received was about
equal. I can remember that, when first we went to Saltpool, I was
sent to a small school in the neighborhood for a few hours daily;
PETRONEL.
1.
PETRONEL.
43
but the last two years I was left to run as wild as a colt, and the
little learning I had acquired was speedily forgotten. We had but
one sitting-room, and my poor mamma was never able to bear any
noise; and so, summer and winter, I used to be turned out of the
house all day with Betsey Mitchell, and scarcely, ever appeared´at
home excepting for my meals, which I generally took in the kitchen,
because the smell of meat made my mother feel sick. Betsey Mitch-
ell was a very nice girl-a charming girl, I used to think her in
those days, with her black hair and eyes and her rosy cheeks; and
such friends were we that I never remember to have had a quarrel
with her, excepting upon one occasion, when she set on Tommy
Miller, the baker's boy, to say that I had a pug nose and red hair.
If my hair is red, my mother's hair is red,' I exclaimed, tri-
umphantly.
CC
;
++
And so it is,' repeated the daring Tommy.
Now I don't think I should have so much minded his remark
upon my nose, for I had a private suspicion, maintained to this
-hour, that it turned up rather more at the tip than those of the Gre-
cian models do; but a reflection on my mother's soft yellow hair,
which I used to smooth down with such pride-my poor mother,
who was too sick to resent such impertinence on her own behalf-
was more than I could bear with equanimity. And so I set to and
had a regular 'round' with Tommy Miller, knocking him about
with my sturdy young fists until I sent him wailing to his mother;
and then I walked home to mine, without vouchsafing so much as
a backward glance to Betsey Mitchell. Nor would I speak to her
again in my offended dignity, until she crept up to my bed-side that
evening and humbly begged my pardon, which I generously ex-
tended to her, coupled with an invitation to share my couch; and
we slept in each other's arms all night, as though we had been born
of the same parents. So that, although I associated with the vil
lage boys and girls as familiarly as if they had been my brothers
and sisters, and even on occasions condescended to close in' with
them, I managed to maintain a certain rank amongst the rough
crew, who, whilst calling me Miss Pet' to my face, always spoke
of me as the young lady' behind my back. Yet what a life it was
for a child of gentle birth! Scrambling over the rocks after sea-
birds' eggs, or lying at full length amongst the long grass, making
daisy-chains and cowslip balls, in summer; and loitering about the
blacksmith's forge, or the farmers' barns, or the inn kitchen, in
winter, I spent my time just as the laborers' children who were
too young to work spent theirs, and with more harm to myself from
""
+
44.
PETRONEL.
I
being old enough to understand and remember much that I should
never have heard. From mixing also with companions younger
and lower in station than I was, I became imperious and domineer-
ing, ordering them about as though I had been their mistress, yet
lowering myself to quarrel with them as if they had been my
equals.
C
All this time I have mentioned but one of my parents; that is,
because, to my recollection, I never saw the other. There was a
very dim, faint memory floating in my mind of another place of
residence than Saltpool; which was totally different from Saltpool
in every respect, and where there had been a gentleman I called
'papa.' I did not know till afterward that that place was in
France.
""
When first we settled in our present home I had asked my
mother where my father was, and she had said, 'Gone away on a
long journey;' and I accepted her answer as decisive, and thought
no further about it, for I must have been but a little creature at that
period, not more than seven years old. But the next time I put the
question, some years later, I was told in an uncertain manner that
he was dead; that I should never see my father more; and the an-
nouncement was made with such a fit of weeping that I was afraid
to renew the subject. And yet I never remember to have seen my
mother dressed in mourning, nor to have worn a black frock my-
self, which struck me at the moment as rather strange; but my
father was not necessary to my happiness, and so I soon forgot the
circumstance, and made the village believe what I believed myself,
that I had no parent but the one with whom I lived.
(
'I was born in the blustering month of March, and so I had just
completed my thirteenth year when my poor mother was seized with
her last illness. How little I thought it was her last! She had
always complained so much; she had always been so weak, and
delicate, and fragile, that when she caught a bad cold and was
obliged to keep her bed, I imagined it was but a repetition of what
had occurred a hundred times before. I remember that I crept into
her room, night and morning, to ask if I could do anything to serve
her, and that she complained of a great deal of pain in her chest,
but said that she had everything she wanted. And Mrs. Mitchell,
who was nursing her, begged me not to 'bounce' in and out of the
room any more, as Mr. Burrell had said my mamma was to be kept
as quiet as possible. Quietness and I were strangers; I knew that
wel enough and so I wandered away during the daytime as usual,
and only felt a little sorry each time I recalled the fact that my
1
PETRONEL.
45
:
1
mamma had such bad pain to bear. But on the day of her death
Mrs. Mitchell excited my curiosity and anxiety for the first time. I
had been out for a long ramble with my friend Betsey, and we were
late for the one o'clock dinner, which was set for us in the kitchen.
"Now, Miss Pet,' exclaimed Mrs. Mitchell, as we reappeared,
'you and Betsey must put up with what you can get for dinner to-
day, for I've had more work than enough upstairs, and no time to
think about the cooking, far less look after it.'
COC
Never mind!' I answered carelessly, as we sat down to hard
dumplings and cold meat; ‘anything will do; we're both so hun-
gry. But how is mamma, Mrs. Mitchell? Is the pain in her chest
better?'
Well, my dear, it is easier; but I'm afraid the doctor don't
take it as a particular good sign; and she's terrible weak to be sure.
But I believe,' with an oracular nod, ' as there's another gentleman
been telegraphed for to come and see her.'
C
""
Another gentleman!' I exclaimed, throwing down my knife
and fork. 'What good should a gentleman do her?'
Another doctor, my dear; but don't speak so loud, Miss Pet;
sounds do reach so easy upstairs.'
C4 C
C
66 6
'And what's the use of another doctor?' I persisted, 'hasn't
mamma got Mr. Burrell? They can't give her two kinds of medi-
cine at once, Mrs. Mitchell!'
C
Mrs. Mitchell looked puzzled.
"Well, no, my dear, I don't suppose they can; but the gentle-
man will talk a deal, and see what's best to be done for her, poor
lady!'
46 C
Is mamma very ill, Mrs. Mitchell?'
"Lor' bless you, my pretty! no!' replied the good woman, as
she laid her rough hand on my head; she'll be ever so much better
by and by, you'll see; but I mustn't stand talking here, or maybe
she'll want me.'
<< •
6
Mayn't I go with you?' I asked, quite humbly. Something in
the manner of her speaking had awakened a painful sensation of
anxiety in my breast.
6. <
Better not, Miss Pet,' was the reply. Mr. Burrell, he's
awful particular about her being kept quite quiet; so you must rest
here, my dear, and take your dinner along of Betsey!'
"But Mrs. Mitchell's news had completely spoiled my appetite,
and as soon as she had disappeared, I pushed my plate away, and
went into our own little parlor. I could not understand why my
mother should require the services of another medical man. We
}
Bun
46
PETRONEL.
Į
had lived in Saltpool now for so many years, and she had so often
been ill, and yet I had never heard any one speak of the probability
of her wanting more than one doctor before. In my youthful ideas,
one doctor was sufficient infliction at a time for any one, and two
only conveyed the notion of a double quantity of physic and other
obnoxious remedies. My poor mamma! I remained in the little
cold parlor, in which no one had considered it worth while to light
a fire, sadly brooding over what I had heard, until the short March
afternoon had resolved itself into dusk, and my fingers were blue
and frozen. Then I crept off the sofa, where I had been sitting
cross-legged, and upstairs to my mother's bedroom door, and laid
my ear against the keyhole. All was silent within, and I thought
I might venture to enter; but at the first creak of the opening door,
Mr. Burrell was on the threshold.
" ·
What do you want, my child?' he said, in a far gentler tone
than he was used to speak to me.
( <
I want to see mamma,' I replied. 'Let me in, Mr. Burrell, I
have not kissed her since the morning.'
'If I let you kiss her, will you promise me to go away directly
afterward, and to have your tea and go to bed without giving any
trouble, like a good child?'
<<
Yes, I promise!'
CC C
'I can trust you, Petronel?'
"
I don't tell lies, Mr. Burrell,' I answered, shortly. At which
he opened the door wider, and let me pass through. I had prom-
ised that I would be quiet and docile, and I kept my word. I
walked on tiptoe to my mother's side, and looked at her in silence.
"She was lying quite still, although her eyes were open, and I
thought that she was half asleep. I stooped down and kissed her
gently, and then she raised her eyelids and looked full at me.
(C
Not yet, not yet!' she said, in a hurried, thick voice. 'I
called, but there is no answer, darkness everywhere; I feel though
I can not see it!'
CCC
Mamma, mamma! I am Pet!' I exclaimed, in affright. 'Oh,
Mr. Burrell, what is the matter?”
((
'Nothing, nothing whatever, my dear child,' he said, as he
laid his hand upon my shoulder, and pushed me toward the door.
• Mamma is a little feverish to-night, and doesn't quite know what
she is saying, but she will be better to-morrow. Now, you must
remember your promise to me, or I shall not let you come in here
again.'
"I do remember it,' I replied, as I walked down-stairs, but I
1
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47
PETRONEL.
cried bitterly the while. I knew now that my mother had something
worse than an ordinary cold, but I was very far from guessing the
real truth. When it was time for me to go to bed, and in those
days. I was generally fast asleep by eight o'clock, Mrs. Mitchell
came down into the kitchen, and I could see she had been crying
also. This fact again roused my suspicions.
"Mrs. Mitchell!' I demanded, quickly, 'why have you been
crying?'
64 4
Crying, Miss Pet!' she said, reddening as she spoke, 'what-
ever put such a fancy as that in your head?'
664
I can see it in your eyes,' I replied, stoutly. 'Is mamma
worse? Oh, do tell me!'
66 6
C
Bless the child! she can't think of nothing but her mamma!
No, of course she isn't worse; didn't you hear what Mr. Burrell
told you, Miss Pet, that she'd be ever so much better to morrow?'
But if she is to have another doctor, she must be worse,' I
persisted.
C (
Oh, drat the other doctor, then! we won't say nothing more
about him, if it's to make you fret. Now, Miss Pet, Mr. Burrell's
orders is that you're to eat a hearty tea, and then go comfortable to
bed, and we'll have good news for you, please God, to-morrow
morning.'
"'I don't want any tea, thank you, Mrs. Mitchell.'
* C
46 C
Co
'But, Mr. Burrell's orders-'
What is Mr. Burrell to me?' I cried, impetuously. I'm not
sick. I don't want to eat, and I won't eat; so there's an end of
it!'
CC
I suspected they were conspiring to deceive me, and the sus-
picion made me fractious. I suppose they did it kindly, and with
the idea that suffering comes soon enough to all; but I have often
thought since, that such kindness is mistaken, and only tends to
make us distrustful, when perhaps there is no occasion for alarm.
I persevered in my determination not to eat my tea, but I went to
bed at the usual time, because I had promised Mr. Burrell I would
do so; not, however, without making Mrs. Mitchell almost swear
that if my mother grew worse she was to call me.
And having
gone to bed I fell asleep, for I was but thirteen, and quite uncon-
scious of the calamity which awaited me. For how long a time I
slumbered I have no idea, but I know that I waked without any
palpable reason, and had, in a moment, perfectly recalled the events
of the day before.
My mother was ill, worse than usual, and another doctor was to
|
48
PETRONEL.
·
come and cure her. I wondered what time of night it was, whether
that other doctor had arrived, and what he said about mamma.
Having wondered for a few moments, I felt that I must inquire,
and for that purpose left my bed, slipped on a flimsy dressing-
gown, and walked out on the landing. All was very still and silent;
a tallow candle, with a long wick, was spluttering away on the
folding table outside my mother's room; but though I listened for
several minutes, I could hear no sound, either of persons moving
about or talking. Presently the door opened rather hastily, and
Mr. Burrell came out.
46 4
Mr. Burrell,' I said, in a low whisper, 'how is mamma?' But
he passed on without hearing me and ran down-stairs, and then my
anxiety got the better of my prudence, and I called out louder:
"Mrs. Mitchell! Mrs. Mitchell! how is mamma?'
"I stood silent after making this appeal, for I feared I had done
wrong, and in another minute, I was sure of it. Mrs. Mitchell,
with very red eyes, came bustling out of my mother's room; but it
was only to order me back to mine.
The new doctor's here, Miss Pet,' she said, in whispered ex-
planation, and he says as your poor mamma is very bad; and
you're to be kept away from her by all means.'
(6 (
Very bad!' I repeated; 'is she worse?'
"Oh, Lor', dear child! don't go for to ask me,' was the sobbing
reply, but just get back to your bed, and lie quiet till the morn-
ing; do, there's a dear!'
"" ·
C L
Lie quiet,' I echoed, indignantly, when my mother is so ill.
1 won't do any such thing; I shall go down-stairs and stay with
her!'
1
4
You can't, my dear!' exclaimed Mrs. Mitchell, in alarm, as
she attempted to restrain me; 'it's the new doctor's particular
orders as you are to be kept out of the room.'
...
<
Leave me alone, Mrs. Mitchell,' I said, loftily, as I wrested
myself from her grasp; if mamma is ill, I am the proper person
to be with her;' and with that I ran down the remaining stairs, and
pushed open the bedroom door. At first I saw no one there, but
a tall, dark gentleman, who looked up as I entered, and stared at
me-stared so hard that I remembered I had bare feet and only my
cotton dressing-gown on, and blushed for fear that the knowledge
had struck him also. But in another moment my thoughts had
flown back to my mother, and my eyes turned to the bed. There
she lay, pale and pretty, much as I had seen her last, but in a
position which made me think that she had swooned.
1:
PETRONEL.
49
“'Sir! sir!' I hastily exclaimed, 'do you not see that my mam-
ma has fainted?' and I ran up to the bedside, knelt down there,
and, taking her hand, slapped it gently as I had been taught to do
on similar occasions. Yet the strange gentleman, to my astonish-
ment, stood quite passive, and made no effort to assist me in restor-
ing her.
"Fetch water, if you please, sir, or eau-de-Cologne, or anything
that will do her good,' I pleaded, looking up into his face, and then
for the first time I saw how good and kind a face it was. Still he
said nothing, but gazed at me so sadly and compassionately that the
truth seemed suddenly to burst upon me; and, rising quickly from
my knees, I dropped my mother's hand, and seized hold of his.
Tell me! tell me!' was all that I could utter; but he compre-
hended the entreaty.
***
She will suffer no more,' he answered, quietly; and, rough
and unlearned as I was, I knew by intuition that he meant that my
mother was dead.
66%
The shock came upon me as though I had been ordered to pre-
pare for instant death myself; and, dropping down again upon my
knees by the bedside, I buried my face in my hands, and burst into
a long fit of weeping, over which I seemed to have no control.
"
66
2
My mother gone-gone--dead-to be taken away from me—to
be buried in the church-yard-never to see her or hear her again; I
could not believe it-I could not realize it; but if I stayed my sob-
bing for one moment to collect my senses, the bitter truth again
forced itself on me, and I burst forth afresh.
CC
The strange gentleman was very patient with me; very patient
and very tender. At this day I can appreciate his patience and
tenderness far better than I could then.
66 C
Why was I not sent for?' I wailed, between my tears: you
should have let me know how ill she was. I am her child; it was
cruel, it was unkind, to forget me so.'
CC
I felt his hand laid gently on my head
If she had expressed a wish to see you,' he answered, quietly,
you should have been sent for, but before she could do so, she be-
came unconscious, and remained in the same state until the end. It
could only have given you more pain to see her suffering.'
"At this remark I commenced to weep anew; but I wept the
more quietly for feeling that he still kept his hand upon my head.
At last I was exhausted; the fountain of my tears seemed dried up,
and with swollen eyes and throbbing temples I laid my head down
upon the counterpane. I had heard other voices in the room beside
<
}
50
4
PETRONEL.
J
2
my own, during this period-the voice of Mrs. Mitchell, crying in
sympathy with me, and demanding if I wouldn't take a cup of tea
or something; and the voice of Mr. Burrell, urging me to bear up,
and be a good girl, as my mother would have desired to see me;
but I paid no attention to either of them; and the strange gentleman
had hushed them down, and urged them to leave me to myself.
"
'But when I felt that I was thoroughly worn out, and for the
moment could cry no more, he put his strong arms round me and
lifted me from the ground, as if I had been a baby, and I offered no
resistance.
66 (
Where are you taking me?' I whispered, as he carried me
away.
"To your own bed!' was his reply, and, although I did not
wish to go there, I made no objection, but passively laid my head
upon his shoulder, and suffered him to do as he thought fit.
""
He placed me on my bed, and mixed a draught for me, and
made me drink it, and though I thought my eyes could never close
again, in a few minutes I fell asleep, and did not wake until the
morning. Then all the misery came back in fullest force, and was
aggravated by the news that the strange gentleman was some rela-
tion of my dead mother's, and that I was to leave Saltpool with him
that very day. It seemed so cruel to tear me away from her while
still she lay upon her bed.
(6
}
Yet I was too much of a child to make any resistance against
lawful authority, and so Mrs. Mitchell packed my scanty wardrobe
in a box, and after an agonized parting with my poor mother's
body, and a more subdued one with my humble friends, I was
lifted into the fly which took us to the railway station. Then came
a long journey, during which, though the strange gentleman
scarcely spoke except to ask if I were confortable, I seemed to cling
to him as the only creature left to care about me; and at length we
arrived at a large, bustling town, and dizzy and bewildered with
grief, I found myself driving with him through the streets.
""
The carriage stopped at the door of what appeared a most beau-
tiful house to me, and for a few minutes I was left quite alone,
whilst he went to speak to some one. Then he reappeared, and,
helping me to alight, hurried me through the hall into a room
where a lady, with evident surprise in her looks, waited to receive
us. She was not a nice-looking lady; she gave a hard sort of smile
as she shook hands with me; but I saw that the smile was forced,
and I turned from her to cling to the gentleman who had brought
me there.
1
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PETRONEL.
51
}
ار
Petronel,' he said, 'this is my sister, and your cousin. I must
leave you under her charge for a few hours, but I shall soon return,
however. Marcia, you will see that she has everything that she can
possibly require.'
"
66 4
The lady promised, though not in a very cordial manner.
Really, Ulick,' she exclaimed, 'to hear you speak, one would
think I had never received a guest in the house before!' But he
took no notice of the sneer.
“‘I shall pay a few visits that are absolutely necessary,' he said,
'and then go straight to Frampton Shall I be very late, she may
have to sleep here.'
"
The lady elevated her eyebrows, but he took no notice of that
either. He was going away then, when he looked round and saw
my weary, tearful face wistfully regarding him. He stopped short,
retraced his steps, and took my cold, gloveless little hand in his.
"I will not be longer than I possibly can help,' he said, kindly.
'You will be a good girl and wait patiently till my return.'
"Yes, yes, I will,' I answered; but I still retained his hand, as
though loath to part with him. I suppose the action reminded him
that I was very friendless, for he stooped down and kissed me on
the forehead.
Then I began to cry afresh, remembering my mother's kisses,
and by the time I had recovered myself he was gone, and I was
alone with the lady whom he called Marcia, and who sat on the
opposite side of the room without saying a word, but staring at me
all the while with her hard, black eyes. How I disliked her, even
at first sight!
C
“And that strange gentleman was Cousin Ulick-though I had
not thought to ask his name, nor cared to inquire what relationship
he bore to me."
CHAPTER VI.
HOW DR. FORD'S BENEVOLENCE WAS REWARDED.
DR. FORD did not bestow more time upon his patients that morn-
ing than he could absolutely avoid. It was noon before he reached
Rockborough; and, having changed his clothes and taken some
refreshment, he held an interview with Mr. Austin and a gentle-
man of the name of Elliot, who had undertaken part of his day's
practice for him, saw two or three cases that were urgent, attended
a consultation, visited a hospital, and then finding it was close upon
52.
PETRONEL.
four o'clock, threw himself into his brougham, and gave the order
to drive to Frampton. The estate of Sir Lionel Halsted was distant
about five miles from Rockborough, and the road lay chiefly through
the preserves of landed gentry; so that, once clear of the town, there
was nothing to distract Ulick Ford's mind from reverting, with
painful distinctness, to the events of the day before. And yet, al-
though be made no effort to repel the thought, and the deepest lines
which Time and Care had engraven on his face appeared as he de-
livered himself up to it, he did not seem much more sad or grave
than he had done for the last fourteen years; and it is questionable
if he felt so. He had lost his cousin then, and he had never re-
gained her, nor wished to do it; for, such was his disposition, that,
having been once deceived in her, could she have been freed twice
over from the bonds for which she had voluntarily broken her faith
to him, Ulick Ford would not have made Cecilia Fleming his wife.
She had caused him years of suffering by destroying his belief in
the worth of woman, and shaking his trust in the goodness of God;
but she had never succeeded in making him seriously wish that
that time of deception could come over again, or that he could take
her as she was and make her part of his own life. Therefore, the
mere fact of her death could make no material difference to him,
although seeing her again, after such an interval of pain, and in
so pitiable a condition as to command the sympathy of any man,
had, for the moment, greatly excited his feelings respecting her,
and opened his old wounds afresh. But she was gone. At last
there was an end to it, and he knew that he must return to his
"work and labor until the evening "the evening which cures all
things, which soothes our pain, and bids a sweet, eternal rest de-
scend upon our bodies, wearied with fighting the battle of life and
sin-and that the memory of the love he had been compelled to re-
sign would intrude upon his duty no more and no less than it had
done before. And so, as he leaned back in his carriage, unoccupied
with either book or paper, his thoughts dwelt more upon the in-
terview in store for him than that which he had lately passed
through. It was not a pleasant task which he had undertaken.
His uncle's family and he were excellent friends, and he could
hardly believe that Sir Lionel would refuse to befriend his own
grandchild. At the same time he had never approached the sub-
ject of Cecilia with either of her parents since the day on which she
had left them; and he was aware that the news he carried respect-
ing Petronel was not likely news to insure his welcome. But the
same nerve which had made him what he was, prevented his shrink-
w
- PETRONEL.
53
1
ing from any scene, however disagreeable. And as he found him-
self driving rapidly through the park of Frampton, he did not even
take the trouble to wish it were well over.
Frampton Hall, as the house itself was called, was one of the
show-places of the county, and strangers traveling by that line of
railway seldom failed to ask their fellow-passengers if they could
tell them the name of the handsome white building, which, situated
on a gentle rise, stood out so well against its own grand background
of dark trees. It was built in the Italian style, being low and long,
with porticos jutting from the principal windows, and a conserva-
tory at either end. The property on which it stood was of great
value, and the eldest son, Major Wilfred Halsted, of the 100th
Hussars, was considered an admirable parti by most of the mothers
of Belgravia.
The younger son, Archibald, was in the law, and, though by far
the steadier character of the two, was the least good-natured. Lady
Otho Vivian had mentioned that both her brothers were staying at
Frampton, and Ulick Ford, in thinking the matter over, hoped that
Wilfred might be present at the coming interview, to join him, if
necessary, in pleading the cause of his friendless little niece. In
which respect his wishes were gratified, as, on entering the library of
- Frampton Hall, he found the whole family party there assembled.
Sir Lionel, a delicate-featured old man, who bore too strong a re-
semblance to his two pretty daughters to be called handsome, was
dozing in the arm-chair before a blazing fire, whilst Lady Halsted,
a little round, roly-poly woman, with dark eyes, and pink cheeks,
and snow-white hair, was sitting by his side, engaged upon some
knitting-destined for a counterpane-about which Ulick Ford had
seen her busy ever since he could remember.
-
At a table near sat Miss Halsted, writing letters-the only Miss
Halsted left upon the tree; a younger edition of her mother-
whilst Major Wilfred, sheltered by the "Times," lounged upon a
sofa; and Archibald was reading at the further end of the room.
They all roso, or spoke, as evidence of welcome when Ulick Ford
broke in upon them; for our cousin, the doctor," notwithstand-
ing the "lowness "of his occupation and his birth, was a general
favorite with the Halsteds, for his own sake as well as theirs.
66
He greeted them familiarly in his turn, although they noticed that
in doing so his air was somewhat hurried.
*¿
Well, Ford," said Sir Lionel, as he shook off his drowsiness,
and sat more upright, "and what is the news with you to-day?
Did you come of your own accord, or were you sent for?"
· 54
PETRONEL.
1
J
“I was not sent for," replied Ulick Ford, as he drew a chair be-
side him; "I came of my own accord. I am the bearer of distress-
ing news to you, Sir Lionel."
"Eh! ay!" exclaimed the old man, turning about to face his
nephew, how is that? Julia not ill, I hope. She was here the
""
day before yesterday."
""
My errand has nothing to do with Lady Otho; it relates to your
other daughter, Mrs. Fleming."
"Then I have no wish to hear it," replied the father, as, frown-
ing visibly, he turned away his head again; but Ulick Ford went
steadily on.
"I received a telegram late last night, requesting my presence at
Saltpool, and I went at once and spent several hours there."
""
No details, if you please; no details," said Sir Lionel, waving
off the coming communication with his hand.
"I found Mrs. Fleming dangerously ill," continued Ulick Ford,
" and I left her-dead!"
In hopes of making some impression on his implacable hearer, he
had purposely been abrupt in communicating the intelligence of his
daughter's death to him; and at first the effect seemed to be all that
he could desire.
Sir Lionel, opening his eyes to their widest extent, stared at him
fixedly as though to read the truth in his countenance, and then fell
back in his arm-chair with a feeble exclamation of horror. Lady
Halsted, after a cry of incredulous distress, produced her pocket-
handkerchief, and relapsed into a fit of childish sobbing, in which
she was joined by her daughter; the major exclaimed, "By Jove!"
threw down his newspaper, and took his legs off the sofa; and
Archibald, casting aside his book, and advancing into the family
circle, seemed to wait for further particulars of his sister's death.
Dead!" repeated Sir Lionel, half to himself,
dead! It ap-
(4
pears impossible! Poor girl! poor girl!"
("
Oh, my dear Cissy!" sobbed the mother; "it seems but like
the other day that she was here-so happy and so innocent! Oh,
dear! oh, dear!"
(6
Where is that d-d scoundrel, Fleming?" demanded the
major, in a low voice, as he pulled his mustache.
"You saw, doubtless, that she had all that she required?" inter-
posed the voice of Archibald Halsted, and his remark afforded his
cousin the opportunity for which he was waiting.
"C
Unfortunately," he replied, "I was sent for only in time to see
her die. She breathed her last about an hour after my arrival.
CC
PETRONEL.
55
1
She had evidently been living in straitened circumstances, but I
observed no evidences that the necessaries of life had been wanting
to her condition."
Was he there?" demanded Sir Lionel, with set teeth,
"He was not, nor as far as I could ascertain has he ever been at
Saltpool. I found Mrs. Fleming under the charge of a medical man
of the name of Burrell, who labored under the impression that she
was a widow. I had a long conversation with him respecting her,
and he told me that she had been in ill-health for several years
past."
،،
46
How did she live?" asked the major, curiously.
CL
"How do I know?" was the reply, not conveyed without a
sinister reproach and heightened color. I was not the person to
look after her. I have put a seal upon her desk and drawers, and
when you go down to her funeral (as I conclude you will do), you
will learn all that their contents can tell you."
"It is his fault," muttered Sir Lionel. "It is all the fault of
that low-born, rascally scoundrel who came and stole my child
from me, that she lies as she does to-day. What woman of her
birth and station could survive the disgrace of being linked with
the fortunes of a drawing-master? It was enough to kill her."
፡፡
6.
Her lungs were affected," said the doctor, dryly. She would
have died under any circumstances. Though that her life might
have been made more happy I do not deny."
"Oh! you don't mean to say, Ulick," exclaimed Lady Halsted,
that we could have visited her, poor dear, after the way in which
she had disgraced herself? It was impossible. Think what he was
-only a drawing master, at seven and sixpence the lesson; and
I'm sure when I engaged him for the girls, little did I think that I
was bringing down ruin and devastation upon all our heads. And
so pretty as she was, too, and so admired! Oh, dear! oh, dear!"
Come, come! Let's have no more of this," interposed Sir
Lionel. "I am much obliged to you, Ford, for what you have
done for our poor girl, and I wish we had known of her illness
earlier. However, as you say it was not to be avoided, we must
bear it as best we may, and try to forget that we ever hoped other-
wise for her." Here the old man's voice faltered, and he stopped a
moment to recover himself. When did you say the funeral was
to be-next Thursday? Well, I don't know whether I shall be able
to attend it myself, but Wilfred and Archibald will, of course,
I shall take it as a favor, Ford, if you will accompany them.”
"I always intended to do so, Sir Lionel.'
and
2 C
64
"
13
}
56
PETRONEL.
·
A
"And will you see that arrangements are made for its being
properly conducted? conducted as it should be for my daughter;
and-and-don't let us talk any more about it at present, Ford, for
'I don't mind confessing that the news has somewhat upset me—
somewhat upset me;" and here Sir Lionel retreated behind his silk
bandanna, and Lady and Miss Halsted burst forth afresh.
But Ulick Ford could not leave without delivering Cissy's last
message to her father, and he thought no opening could be more
favorable than the present.
"I am sorry to distress you further, Sir Lionel; but my duty
compels me to say a few more words to you. When I first saw
your daughter she was sensible, and she committed a message for
you to my charge.'
"
"Go on!"
She said, 'Take my child to Frampton-to my father; and tell
him he must receive her-she has no one else.'"
"
..
Dr. Ford repeated these words slowly, pausing between each
sentence to note what effect it had upon his aunt and uncle; but
when he concluded, there was on all sides a dead silence.
"Did you undertake to do as she desired you?" demanded Sir
Lionel, after a long pause.
"I did. I had no choice but to do so, else the poor child
would have been left alone. I brought her home to Rockborough
with me this morning, and she is now at my house-a fine, healthy,
handsome girl, of whom any family might be proud."
Proud! proud!" exclaimed Sir Lionel, all the softened de-
meanor which he had exhibited at the intelligence of his daughter's
death vanishing as if by magic, to be replaced by a kindling eye
and heightened color. "Do you mean to tell me, Ford, that the
Halsteds could be proud of a Fleming? Do you forget what that
child is--whose blood runs in her veins? No, there are few re-
quests that my daughter might not have asked me on her death-
bed, and had granted to her; but I will never consent to receive
David Fleming's child beneath my roof, nor to acknowledge her as
my grandchild. I should have shrunk from it had the man himself
been dead; but living, and liable to claim his own at any time, it
becomes impossible to me. I will not hear of it."
C&
I hinted at that contingency to Mrs. Fleming," said Ulick Ford,
"and her reply was that her husband had gone away was dead,
for aught she knew to the contrary, and would never trouble you.'
"
66
'Who can be sure of that?" responded the old man, hotly;
besides, were it so, have we not suffered enough, for the last
PETRONEL.
57
fourteen years, in the mere knowledge of the fact, that we are now
asked to keep his very flesh and blood beneath our eyes, to torture
us each time they fall upon it? I will not hear of it. My daugh-
ter was my own, but her child is a Fleming, and I utterly renounce
it, from this day henceforward and forever;" and exhausted with
the argument, and trembling with excitement, Sir Lionel again
relapsed into silence.
Then Ulick Ford turned to the other members of the family to
learn what they had to say on the subject.
""
"I think Sir Lionel is right,” plaintively advanced Lady Hal-
sted. You see, Ulick, if our poor dear Cissy were still living,
it would be so different; but since she is gone "-with a succession
of sniffs-"it would seem strange, after the firmness we have con-
sidered it our duty to maintain for so many years, that we should
consent to receive Mr. Fleming's child, which would of course be a
precedent for receiving himself, whenever he chose to make his ap-
pearance."
"And what should we do with a great girl running about the
house?" said Miss Halsted.
""
Seems doosid hard on the child," remarked the major, thought.
fully; "but I quite agree with the governor, Ford, that to acknowl-
edge her claims on the family might prove very inconvenient to us.
Of course we can never have any communication with the father
again, and there is no knowing to what lengths such a cur might
not go, in order to annoy us through the child. We can't take her
up one day and disown her the next, you see."
Perhaps we shall discover Fleming's address from my sister's
papers," said Archibald Halsted; "but if not, the man, if alive,
can be reached through the medium of an advertisement, and I
think, after all, that will be the best plan, Ford. We'll communi-
cate with him by that means, and he can write where he wishes the
child sent to. He can not possibly shift the burden of supporting
her on to our shoulders.”
<<
"C
'And meanwhile she may starve," said Ulick Ford. In the
largeness of his own heart he sat wonder-struck at the narrowness
of his relations' feelings, whose brief emotion at hearing of poor
Cissy's untimely death had been ali swallowed up by their fear of
being expected to acknowledge the child which she had left behind
her.
<<
'There is the work-house!" said Sir Lionel, sternly, "and the
fittest place for the daughter of a pauper."
<<
And your grandchild, Sir Lionel!”
58
PETRONEL.
>
"She is not my grandchild, Ford! I utterly deny it. I have
never thought of her as such, nor shall I ever do so."
"Very well," replied his nephew, quietly rising from his seat,
if that is your final decision I have no argument wherewith to
gainsay it; so I need spend no more time here. The girl will not
be neglected, you may rest assured of that, for I promised her
mother that if you would not receive her, I would do so."
"Do you intend to keep her in your house at Rockborough?
demanded Lady Halsted, with surprise.
"With respect to that, I have no time to decide; but I intend to
do as I have promised, and the future will right itself."
'You're a doosid good fellow, Ford," said the major, warmly;
and then he crossed the hearthrug and whispered a few words in his
father's ear, whilst Ulick was saying good-bye to his aunt and
cousins.
،،
Ford!" exclaimed Sir Lionel, as he was about to leave the
room; come back here for a minute, Ford, will you? I want to
speak to you;" and as the doctor retraced his steps, he continued:
You know, that though it would be altogether against my princi-
ples, and against my notions of what is right" (through what
strange tinted glasses do people not view their own selfish actions!)
"to receive the little girl at Frampton, and let all the world hear a
daughter of that rascal Fleming calling me grandfather, I don't
want I shouldn't like to think, you know, that you were being
put to any outlay on her account; and therefore, if she remains
unclaimed, and your sister will be good enough to fit her out with
decent mourning, and so forth, and place her at a respectable school,
I will be answerable for her expenses, until something further is
settled about her. But remember "-with an uplifted hand-" that
I never wish to hear any particulars relating to the child; draw on
me for what amount you think fit, and, since by your own account.
you have undertaken the charge, in case of my refusing it, lay it
out as may be required for her; but, if possible, don't let me hear
her name."
(C
+
'Well! I don't think the governor could make a fairer proposal
than that, Ford," said the major, admiringly.
Ulick Ford bit his lip. He had listened patiently to the proposal
of Sir Lionel, but it had grated terribly against his feelings. If
there was one point above another upon which he was peculiarly
sensitive, it was the subject of money; and it was greatly to his
credit that, when his answer came, it was delivered without the
least appearance of pique or annoyance.
1
I
the
../.
类
​;
i
59
*If I should require your assistance," he said, quietly, “I will
not fail to ask it; but you know, Sir Lionel, that I have very little
to do with my money, and-in fine, if I accept this charge at all, it
must be single-handed; without either help or interference."
፡፡
PETRONEL.
Very well, very well," replied his uncle, “ have your own way,
but, remember, I offered it, and don't let this affair make any dif-
ference between you and me, Ford. Your presence at Frampton is
too valuable to be easily dispensed with. Ah! I wish I could have
foreseen things a little, fourteen years ago! So the funeral is to be
on Thursday, at three. We shall not forget. Poor Cissy! poor
thing! Who would have thought it?" And with that the doctor
was allowed to bow himself away, and return to Rockborough;
whilst his relations, according to their several lights, commented on
his extraordinary philanthropy with respect to poor Cissy's "
child.
"
"C
As for Ulick Ford himself, he hardly knew what to think. He
had not believed it possible that Sir Lionel could so openly and de-
terminately refuse to have anything to do with his own grandchild;
and yet, here was he, returning to Rockborough with Petronel
Fleming, to all appearance thrown on his protection for life (for
that her worthless father would ever take the trouble to reclaim her
was at the least improbable); and, notwithstanding the promise he
had made his dying cousin, he felt very much as though the
"blushing honors "of guardianship had been thrust upon him.
Yet he neither repented the promise, uor shirked the responsibility,
though he foresaw that in the future it might prove a source of
serious trouble.
The sight of Cecilia Fleming's daughter was a pain to him, but it
would have been a greater pain to see her cast forth upon the tender
mercies of the world. As to what that world (so fond of meddling
with its neighbor's concerns) would say to his adoption of her,
Ulick Ford thought nothing and cared less; his was too great a nat-
ure to mind, when doing what he knew was right, how other people
viewed the action. But, for the child's sake (not his own), he was
anxious to hear what Marcia said upon the subject; and, conse-
quently, as soon as he reached home, he sent word that he desired
to speak with her alone, and she came to him in his consulting-
room.
How is the child?" he said, abruptly, as she entered.
“ Child!” retorted Miss Marcia. "If you mean that girl of
Cecilia Fleming's, Ulick, I don't know whom you will call a child
60
PETRONEL.
"
F
next; why, she is nearly as tall as I am." And, indeed, in bulk
and stature the young cousin had almost the advantage.
"How is Petronel, then?"
Oh! well enough, as far as I can see. I wonder, by the way,
who on earth chose that outlandish name for her. I am sure it
never came from the Halsted side of the fam.v. She was rather
silent and sulky after you left us, and so I gave her some books to
look at, and sent up her dinner to the breakfast-room; and I see she
has fallen asleep on the sofa there. You saw Sir Lionel and Aunt
Mary?"
He took no notice of her question, but feigned to be arranging his
papers.
"C
CC
{
'Poor child! she must be quite worn out with fretting and
fatigue. You had better get her to bed at once, Marcia!"
Miss Ford turned sharply round.
'Is she to sleep here, then? I can not see the necessity. Surely
there is sufficient time for her to reach Frampton tò-night.
((
'Perhaps so; but she is not going there at all. Sir Lionel refuses
to receive, or even to acknowledge her!"
Ulick!"
<<
""
'You may well feel surprised at the announcement. hardly
thought myself that any one could show so little feeling in the mat-
ter; but it is the case, and there's an end of it!"
(6
And what is to be done with the girl, then-after to-night I
mean?"
"She will remain here; unless her father comes forward to re-
claim her, which is unlikely."
Remain here! HERE-live here-with you and myself!"
It is out of the power of italics or capitals to convey one tithe of
the astonishment, horror, and dismay which thrilled through Miss
Ford's broken words.
'Yes!-here with you and myself. I promised her dying mother
that, in case of her grandfather refusing to receive her, it should be
so."
"But if they refuse, why should we be burdened? What claim
has the girl on us-on you?"
Miss Marcia would have added more in the same strain, had not
her brother raised his eyes and looked at her. She knew that look
of old-the firmness which brooked no gainsaying, the decision
which forbade all argument-and before it she shrunk into herself,
and offered no further opposition to his wishes.
"Where is she to sleep?" she demanded, humbly.
PETRONEL.
:
61
"Oh! anywhere!" was the careless answer.
spare bedroom to put the child in?"
(C
The best bedroom!" she echoed, aghast.
"Yes! if you like it; it signifies but little so you make her com-
fortable. And one word more, Marcia; you will be getting your
own mourning, shortly, I presume. See that the child is properly
equipped from head to foot. I wish no expense to be spared about
her clothes."
(+
..
Am I to get black silk and crape, then, for a girl of that age?”
"I know nothing of your terms for millinery," he answered;
but if that is the proper thing, she is to wear it. And now, Mar-
cia, send up your maid to attend to her, and let us have our dinner.
I have heard enough of this subject for to-day." And with a heavy
sigh he walked upstairs into his dressing-room.
វ
CHAPTER VII.
(6
'Have you not a
THE STORY OF PETRONEL.
t
"I CAN NOT remember, at this distance of time, how or when it
happened, I first received the information that I was to stay with
Cousin Ulick and his sister; but I know that the news, when it
canie, was very pleasant news to me. I had heard rumors of a
place called Frampton, where my mother used to live, and I was
afraid they were going to send me away to the care of some grand
relations, who would not love me-far from it; but her manner,
though stiff, did not alarm me, for I was a bold child, whom it
would have taken a great deal to intimidate; and on the other hand,
little as I had seen of my cousin Ulick, and little as he noticed me
when we did meet, I had already conceived an attachment for him
which amounted to veneration. The first few days I spent at Rock-
borough were naturally very sad days-I could not all at once for-
get my poor mother, still lying white and silent on her bed at Salt-
pool; and I was miserable and undemonstrative, and Cousin Marcia
mistook my grief for temper, and left me almost entirely to myself,
or care of her maid, Pinner, and at this time I saw almost nothing
of her brother. I think the first event which roused me was the
coming home of my new mourning. I knew it was the day of my
dear mother's funeral, and cried bitterly when I put it on, and let
my tears drop all down the front of my black silk frock; but I had
never had such fine clothes in my life before, and the mere ex-
amination of them gave me interest. It had been arranged I should
+
62.
PETRONEL.
✓
}
j
my
not take my meals down-stairs. I breakfasted alone with Cousin
Marcia, in her morning-room, and dined at the luncheon-table,
where Cousin Ulick scarcely ever made his appearance, and took
my tea with Pinner whilst the late dinner was going on, after which
the man-servant, Wheeler, always knocked at the door to say that.
Doctor Ford was ready to see Miss Fleming in the dining-room.'
And then I used to have my hair brushed, and go down-stairs until
my bedtime; but, though always kind, Cousin Ulick seldom spoke
to me after the first greeting, and I would sit in silence all the even-
ing with my book or work, and never raise my voice except in an-
swer to some question. This was very different from my former
habits of boisterous mirth; but I am speaking of the first week,
when my spirits were subdued, and I felt strange and shy in
new position. When I had become familiar with the place and
people, I returned to my old self. On the evening of my mother's
funeral, the message was that Miss Ford' was ready to receive me;
and when I descended to the dining-room, I fount Cousin Marcia,
also robed in a black dress, sitting there alone. The fact that she
was wearing it for the same memory as myself seemed to draw me
closer to her, and she, for her part, appeared more cordial than be-
fore; but when her brother entered her manner altogether changed.
He came in hastily, throwing his hat, which had a deep crape band
upon it, on the sideboard, and swallowing the dinner, which had,
been kept back for him, in utter silence. I did not like to thank
him for going to Saltpool to see my mother buried, although I
knew that he had been there, but, unoccupied with book or work,
I drew my chair as near his as I dared, and kept my eyes fixed
upon his face, as if in the expectation of his speaking to me. Once
he looked up suddenly, and caught me thus, and from the haste
with which he turned away I feared I had displeased him; but the
next moment he raised his head again, and saying, 'Well, little
woman! can't you find a book to interest you to-night?' patted me
on the shoulder. I rose to get one off the side-table, and as I did so
I heard his sister say, eagerly, though in a low voice:
664
Were the papers examined to-day?'
"Yes!' was the curt answer.
And no information gained-no address-nothing?'
Nothing!'
66 6
666
•
<< 4
You will advertise,
won't you?'
"I do not know. Say no more on the subject at present,
please!'
How very strange-quite unaccountable.
./
PETRONEL.
ins
63
""
I knew they were speaking of me, or of something which con-
cerned me, and that their minds were not one upon the matter; but
as I brought my book to the table, she was silent, and he resumed
his dinner. I felt curious to learn the reason.
Am I going away?' I asked, timidly, as I pulled his coat-
sleeve.
(C
He looked up, oh! so kindly at me.
64 6
No! my child!' he said. You are to remain here.'
"I am so glad!' I answered, fervently. And then his eyes
wandered for a moment over my black frock, and he said no more.
It was then that Cousin Marcia's manner seemed to change,
and she bounced about and spoke so sharply to me, that I began to
wonder what I had done wrong.
<C
66 6
'Come, Petronel,' she exclaimed, as the clock struck nine, and
Pinner appeared at the door, it is your bed-time. Don't keep the
servant waiting.' And she was about to bundle me out of the
room, before I had spoken to her brother.
(<
"
"Let me say good-night to—to him,' I pleaded; for I had not
yet been told how I was expected to address him.
<< "
Pray, Ulick, by what name do you intend Petronel to call
you?' she demanded, as he gravely kissed my forehead. She can
hardly go about the place speaking of "the gentleman,” and
him "!'
44
66 6
He did not answer her, but seemed as though considering what
title would be best for me to use.
Perhaps you would like her to call you "papa, continued
Cousin Marcia, with a bitterness in her tone for which, whilst recog-
nizing, I was unable to account; it is the custom, I believe, with
adopted children.'
*
64
<
44
Even then he did not answer, although I waited breathlessly for
his reply, for he seemed so good I thought I should much like to
call him father;' but he raised his eyes and looked at his sister,
and I saw that she grew very red.
C
•
,
C 4
'Do you know what relation I am to you, Petronel?' he said,
after a moment's pause, as I still stood by his side.
CCC
Cousin, are you not? You were cousin to my poor mamma;`
and at the recollection my eyes overflowed.
44 (
"Yes! I was her cousin, and I am yours, although I am so
much older than you are. You can call me no better name than
Cousin Ulick!'
Used mamma to call you so, Cousin Ulick?'
64
PETRONEL. -
!
Į
"'Yes-sometimes-I believe so-there, child, that will do.
Good-night.' And he dismissed me to the care of Pinner.
"After that day my spirits began, gradually, to revive, and
though it was some time before I became as noisy and troublesome
as of old, I had not been at Rockborough a month before I had
contrived to get into several scrapes. I was left too much to myself
at that period, and the confined life, so different to the free, un-
shackled existence I had led hitherto, fretted and galled me, so that
I did mischief for lack of excitement. Cousin Marcia did not
understand the requirements of so restless a creature as myself, or
she would have found me employment to keep me out of tempta-
tion; but, as I have said before, I had very little idea of amusing
myself intellectually, and other amusements in that house there
were none. Every morning that was fine, I was led out for a walk
by Pinner, the maid, whom I used to persuade to take me into the
town to see all the pretty things in the shop-windows; but such
well-regulated excursions were necessarily short, and for the re-
mainder of the day I was left to myself. At first I derived great
interest from examining the house, which was replete with paint-
ings, and figures in bronze and china, and all sorts of curious arti-
cles; and I shall never forget one day, when I was standing before
a beautiful landscape which hung in the drawing-room, watching
how the real sun, shining through the windows, lighted up the
water ripples in the picture, and made them look like life, and
Cousin Ulick came in unawares and caught me there-how pleased
he seemed to be; for a minute, that is to say, for when, encouraged
by his smile, I began to tell him how fond I was of pictures, and
how sometimes I lay down with closed eyes, and traced out new
ones for myself, a kind of cloud came over him, and, greatly to my
disappointment, he went down-stairs again.
"I
'But the drawing-room, although full of treasures, was not inex-
haustible, and another day, when Cousin Marcia had gone out visit-
ing, and Wheeler, with a solemn face, had twice appeared from the
lower regions with a caution that, if I slid any more up and down
the balusters, he should inform against me, I wandered listlessly
about the house until I found my way into a new apartment, even
to my cousin Ulick's consulting-room. Now, although I had never
been strictly forbidden to enter it, I knew that room was held as
something sacred by the other members of the household; that the
door was usually kept locked; that no one but Wheeler was allowed
to clean or dust it, and that Cousin Marcia never set her foot within
its precincts unless her brother specially invited her to do so. But
↓
половин
;
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1
PETRONEL.
65
all this caution only served to make the inspection of it more seduc-
tive to me; for I argued that if the place demanded so much care, it
must contain things of the greatest value, and the few glimpses I
had obtained through the half-opened door had made me feel most
anxious to see further. And so, on this particular occasion, the
portal being left ajar, and Wheeler and the other servants quiet
below stairs, I pushed it boldly open, and entered Blue-beard's
chamber. At first I was a little disappointed; the mystery seemed
no mystery after all, and I only saw a moderate-sized room, fur-
nished with modern oak and leatner. At one end was a long, large
sofa, and I wondered whether patients were ever tied down upon
it, whilst Cousin Ulick sawed off their legs and arms; and if so,
what he did with all the blood, to say nothing of the severed mem-
bers, and if Wheeler came in and helped to hold them, and how
they ever managed to get home afterward. And then there was a
big arm-chair, that doubtless was where they sat to have their teeth
drawn. (How horrified my cousin would have been at the mere
supposition! But my notions at that time of the duties of the medi-
cal profession were but vague.) Poor creatures! how I pitied them
-I, who had never been sick in all my life, and how much I mar-
veled that both chairs and sofa looked so clean and innocent of the
dreadful slaughters committed on them. And yet my exaggerated
ideas had no power to shake my faith in my cousin Ulick; on the
contrary, I admired him greatly for being so clever as to be able to
do such grand things; and I felt quite sure he was too kind to hurt
anybody more than he could possibly help, and that if he put them
to pain, another doctor, Mr. Austin, whom I had sometimes met,
for instance, would put them to much worse. So I left inspection
of the chair and sofa, and turned my attention to the writing-table,
which was a handsome, massive piece of furniture, laden with arti-
cles in bronze and ivory, and strewn with paper, both written on
and plain. There were books, too, in the consulting-room, some
of which lay on an oaken shelf, and others were scattered carelessly
about the table, and, having seized on one of the latter, I was soon
absorbed in its contents. I had never seen so strange a book be-
fore, nor yet such curious pictures, and I laughed aloud as I turned
over the colored prints which it contained, and puzzled my ignorant
little head to find out what they were intended to represent. But
the letter-press was horribly difficult to me, full of long, hard words,
and many of them in a language of which I did not even know the
name; and so I cast the book aside, and, having covered a dozen
sheets of writing-paper with pen-and-ink sketches of every one in
3
66
PETRONEL.
the house, took up three small bottles which stood upon the table.
White glass bottles they were, sealed at the top, and full of water,
in which were floating indescribably funny things. Pickles of
some sort, I concluded, but thought it strange at the same time that
my cousin should keep pickles for his private consumption in the
consulting-room; but perhaps he sometimes had his luncheon there,
which made it seem natural enough. Pickles were not sufficiently
interesting for me, however, and I had caught sight of something
which promised to be so-an open drawer lined with velvet, and
filled with the prettiest things possible, all bright and shining, and
each lying in its own particular little place. I pulled the drawer
right out, and examined them with eagerness; I had never met with
such a collection before. There were long, thin scissors, which
looked as though they had nearly starved to death, and short, fat
scissors, that seemed as though they had been cut in two, and scis-
sors that shrugged their shoulders; and others again, all curly-wurly,
which reminded me of nothing but a corkscrew. And then there
were knitting-pins of every shape and size, and rolls of silk and
wire, and tiny saws, and long, sharp knives, and things like gim-
lets, until I felt bewildered at the number of them, and was unde-
cided whether Cousin Ulick employed his leisure in sewing like a
lady, or working like a carpenter. But viewing them as I had
placed them, in a heap upon the table, a happy notion struck me,
that they would do famously for a big game of spellicans. I had
possessed a box of spellicans at Saltpool, and many an hour had I
spent over the game; but in the hurry of my departure, the box,
with many of my minor possessions, had been left behind. But
nothing could be better to play with than all these shining twisted
pins and needles, and no sooner had the thought occurred to me
than I threw them in an artistic heap upon the blotting-book, and,
selecting a spoon-shaped instruinent for my own use, mounted on
For
my cousin's morocco chair, and set to work in good earnest.
how long I amused myself thus I can not say, but I know that in
my anxiety to lift each instrument off the heap without disturbing
the remainder, I quite forgot the outer world, until I was recalled
to it by the sudden opening of the door, and the voice of my cousin
Ulick exclaiming, with astonishment, Petronel!' as though he
}
(
scarcely could believe his senses.
CCC
'Petronel? Petronel in your room, Ulick!' sounded in the sharp,
incredulous tones of his sister; and then I looked up, and saw them
both regarding me. I colored violently, for if I had not been pre-
viously aware that I was doing wrong, the accent they spoke in
裴
​PETRONEL.
67
C
¿
would have told me so; and in another moment my cousin Marcia,
who, owing to the emergency of the occasion, had ventured to ad-
vance over the threshold, left me in no doubt of my transgression.
Petronel!' she exclaimed again, is it possible you have dared
to come into this room? Don't you know that no one is allowed to
do so, without leave; that even I am obliged to ask your cousin
Ulick before I enter here? And-good heavens! Ulick,' she con-
tinued, as she espied my occupation, 'see what the girl is about!
She has actually touched your instruments-taken them out of the
drawer-strewn them over the table!'
CC C
I was playing at spellicans with them,' I said, in explanation,
as I gazed dubiously at my unfinished game.
(64
At spellicans! the instruments which it is as much as any
servant's place in this house is worth, even to touch-which cost
pounds upon pounds; the girl must be simple. And look at your
paper, Ulick-scribbled from one end to the other; and all your
books tossed about! Oh, you naughty, mischievous, disobedient
girl, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!'
CC C
'I was never told not to touch them!' I answered, doggedly,
though I was very sorry to think I might have offended Cousin
Ulick, who all this time had said nothing, but stood at the fire-place
with his back toward us.
"'You ought to know it without being told,' resumed Miss Mar-
cia, vehemently; 'you must have known it if you have any sense;
I don't believe that-'
C6 C
Marcia!' interrupted Cousin Ulick, without turning round,
'that is enough; let us hear no more upon the subject.'
66 6
'
No more!' she echoed, with surprise. Do you see what the
girl has done, Ulick? she has taken all your beautiful instruments
out of the drawer.'
406
Wheeler shall replace them.'
"She must have injured them by her rough treatment.'
"If so, it is not irreparable!'
´´´ But she has drawn all over your writing-paper.'
"There is plenty more where that came from.'
'He spoke so mildly that my courage returned, but his demeanor
seemed to have a different effect on Cousin Marcia, who, after look-
ing at him for a few minutes, without answering, burst into sudden
tears, and rushed out of the room. Then I thought that I really
must have committed a greater trespass than I had been aware of,
and I crept up to Cousin Ulick's side, and took one of his hands in
mine.
68
PETRONEL.
""
1
14
?
'I am so sorry,' I said, in a low voice. I didn't know that it
was wrong to come into this room; indeed I didn't, Cousin Ulick!'
"You know it now, Petronel,' he answered, gravely, and you
must remember it in future. You have sadly disarranged my
things, and it will take some time to get them right again. This is
not the place for little girls, or indeed for any one except such peo-
ple as I choose to bring. You will not forget again!'
(60
And must I never come here, then?' I demanded, sadly; 'not
if I promise to be very quiet, and not to touch a single thing?'
Why should you wish to come, my child?' he answered.
66 6
Only because you are here; and I like to be with you and see
you, Cousin Ulick. Do let me come-sometimes, just for a little
while!' I pleaded, coaxingly; but he laughed at me, and unclasped
my hand from his, and said, jestingly, that if ever I crossed the
threshold again I should have a dose of medicine; and then he bid
me go upstairs to Cousin Marcia, and do all that she desired me,
like a good girl.
(((
But say you have forgiven me, first,' I urged, still hanging
to his arm, and raising my face to his.
"Yes! yes!' he answered, hurriedly; but he did not give the
kiss I tacitly demanded, and I was disappointed at his non-compli-
ance with my wish. -I hardly knew why.
66
I found Cousin Marcia upstairs, not yet entirely recovered of
her tears, and complaining bitterly to Pinner that everything seemed
changed for the worse since that child' had come into the house;
but, on perceiving me, she stopped, and proceeded to administer the
rating which her brother had cut short below, and for which, since
he had pardoned my offense, I cared but little. But I was very
particular, after that circumstance, never to enter the consulting-
room, though I often sat upon the mat outside, that I might get a
word and a pat on the head from Cousin Ulick, as he passed in or
out.
16
<
Spring was now well advanced; the blustering month of March
had been succeeded by a soft, warm April; even the town gave evi-
dences, here and there, that Nature's term of penance was complet-
ed, and I can hardly say how I panted to be allowed to race freely
in the open air. I had been permitted to have so much license in
this particular; my rambles with Betsey Mitchell (the loss of whose
company I often deplored) and the village children of Saltpool had
been so unlimited and unrestrained, that my decorous walks with
Pinner, which lasted exactly one hour, and were usually taken in
the same direction, were of as little use to me in the way of exercise
PETRONEL.
69
1
as a canter round a gravel path to a young stag. I longed to break
loose from her, and have a jolly run on top of the ramparts, or
round the parade-ground; and she being as stiff and starched an old
maid as her mistress, complaints of my want of steadiness when
out walking, became an almost daily occurrence.
""
One afternoon, however, the temptation to take a ramble by
myself proved altogether too strong for me. It was a lovely, balmy
day, toward the end of April, when all the fires in the house had
died out without meeting the least opposition, and the windows
which had been opened for duty had remained unclosed for pleas-
I had breathed the fresh air for my accustomed hour in the
morning, and had plaintively entreated the virgin Pinner to give
me a few minutes' grace; but true to her orders, she had dragged
me home again, and, much against my will, disrobed me of my
walking things.
ure.
"
But luncheon being over, Cousin Marcia, according to her gen-
eral custom, sailied forth on her own business, without the narrow-
est hint that I might accompany her: and having amused myself for
some little while by gazing out of the windows and watching the
gay-colored flowers which men were commencing to hawk about
the streets, I saw no reason why I should not follow her example.
Why should not I see something of the grand place in which I had
come to live? I was perfectly well able to take care of myself--I,
who at Saltpool had climbed the tallest trees for birds' nests, and
scrambled over rocks so difficult of access that I had been compelled
to take off my shoes and stockings before doing so. It was impos-
sible I should ever see anything with Pinner, who walked so slowly,
and thought it vulgar to look into shops, and would never even let
me take off those horrid tight kid gloves which made my fingers so
uncomfortable.
No! I would have a walk for once without any gloves; and if
Cousin Marcia found it out and did scold a little, I was quite sure
that Cousin Ulick could not be angry, because it had nothing
whatever to do with his instruments or pickle-bottles. And so hav-
ing secured my little crape-bound hat from the wardrobe where
Pinner duly deposited it, I clapped it on my head-anyhow, so it
was there—and, having crept down into the hall, soon found my-
self outside the door.
"How delightful it felt to be once more free! But I was not
quite decided which way I should go. That, I knew led to the
parade-ground and the beach, which was my usual promenade; and
this to the High Street of the town, where Cousin Marcia had gone
**
70
PETRONEL.
y
"
AND HAND LOTION S
shopping; and so I adopted a middle course, and commenced to skip
down a road which ran directly opposite to the house I had just
left. Skipping is no name for the manner in which I commenced
that memorable stroll, for I positively bounded along the flags, so
excited was I at having broken loose. The sun was still shining
brightly; the shops looked brilliant in his beams; every one I met
seemed smiling and cheerful, and as I leaped along, I commenced to
whistle-an accomplishment which requires a light heart to keep in
practice, and which, therefore, I had somewhat neglected since iny
poor mother's death. It was a fine, broad street which I had chosen
for my promenade, but the shops in it were second-rate, though
they appeared most beautiful to me, and I thought that I could
never tire of looking at the toys, and millinery, and confectionery
which they contained. But after awhile the thoroughfare narrowed,
and the shops were less attractive; yet still I went on, careless as a
bird, and rejoicing too much in my liberty to take notice of my
surroundings.
Street after street 1 traversed in this manner, until even my
ignorance began to perceive that I had gained a much lower portion
of the town. The pavements were no longer broad and smooth,
but narrow and uneven. The shops, whose merchandise was gen-
erally displayed outside, were mixed with dwelling-houses of the
poorer classes, at the doors of which slatternly women, with dirty
babies in their arms, gazed at me with visible surprise. And there-
fore, though I still felt interested in inspecting the birds and rabbits
and clothes which were exposed for sale, I knew that I had better
try and find my way back again; and, with that intention, turned
my steps in the opposite direction. Whether I mistook the land-
marks, or was purposely misdirected, I know not; but after awhile
the case, instead of bettering, began to look more serious. The
streets were narrower and dirtier, and, in some instances, wet linen,
which flapped against my head, was hung on lines across them.
The women seemed to me half clothed, and oaths and tipsy songs
resounded on all sides. Presently a drunken sailor, roaring out
some incoherent chorus, came rolling down the pavement, threaten-
ing to upset me, and at the same moment a gutter urchin, who had
been watching his opportunity, pulled my long, loose hair with no
gentle hand, whilst he sneeringly imitated my visible fear. I had
been nervous before, but I was regularly frightened then, and, with
a cry of alarm, I broke from the boy and ran quickly down the
street. For how far or how long I can not say; but when, panting
and breathless, I stopped from sheer necessity, glancing up in
..
→
i
}
PETRONEL.
71
I
dread lest my little tormentor should have pursued me, I saw what
appeared to me as a haven of safety-Cousin Ulick's carriage stand-
ing before the door of one of those low houses.
""
There it was! Not to be mistaken, with its dark, glossy panels,
its two beautiful horses, which I had so often longed to pat and
caress, and its stolid, immovable coachman, from whom I could
never extract even a look of recognition when passing him during
my morning strolls.
"I was too much frightened to feel fear at its appearance. My
only sensation was one of ineffable relief; and, rushing up to it,
without a word of explanation I opened the door and jumped
quickly inside. As I had expected, it was empty. Cousin Ulick's
carriage-basket, filled with papers and letters, and Cousin Ulick's
case-book and wooden trumpet (as I used to call his stethoscope),
were all there; but he was in the house before which we stood, and
in another minute would come back to find me seated in his place.
Once safely housed and sure of reaching home again, this recollec-
tion made me feel uncomfortable; and it was with anxiously ex-
pectant eyes and very burning cheeks that I watched my cousin
leave the house in question with two other gentlemen, and, having
parted with them, turn the handle of the carriage door.
"Petronel!' he exclaimed, in the same voice of surprise which
he had used on catching me in the consulting-room, but with a
deeper meaning in its tone.
CL 4
Oh, Cousin Ulick,' I eagerly replied, 'I didn't mean to come
so far. I was only going for a little walk; but I can't find my way
back again, and so-'
C
Home!' he ejaculated in a loud voice to the coachman; and
then he took a seat by my side and remained quite silent, as we
quickly rolled through all those dirty streets again.
“´Are you very angry with me, Cousin Ulick?' I said, presently,
finding that he did not speak.
444
Angry? No! but do you know where you have been? You
have been traversing the very lowest and worst quarter of the town
—a place where no lady ever sets her foot-and it is quite by acci-
dent I happened to be here myself. Do you know what might have
happened if I had not met you—but no; how should you? What
was Pinner about to allow you to come out by yourself?'
"I didn't ask her,' I replied, hanging my head. I always
walked alone in Saltpool; and Cousin Marcia never takes me out,
and Pinner is so stupid.'
"He did not answer me, but he sighed heavily, and looked out
-
72
PETRONEL.
2.
of the opposite window, whilst the carriage bore us swiftly toward
home. I dared not speak again. I thought I really had offended
him this time; and when we stopped before the house, and he led
me into the presence of Cousin Marcia, I believe that I was trem-
bling.
Cic
Has Petronel been out with you, Ulick?' she exclaimed, in a
voice of displeasure, as we entered together. And in that state,
too! Well, I think you might have told the servants, or some one, of
your intention. We have had no end of trouble searching for her in
one direction and the other. I am sure I thought the girl was lost!'
“And so she was, or might have been,' he said. 'I found her
in Fish Alley-the most dangerous and demoralized quarter of
Lower Rockborough, where she might have been robbed, or kid-
napped, or injured in God only knows what manner. Is this the
way that you look after your charge, Marcia?'
.. .
"
It is not my fault,' she answered.
by herself.
C
1
“.
She must have gone out
Am I to blame if the girl is unruly and disobedient?'
CC C
Oh, no, Cousin Ulick!' I exclaimed: for my heart was pene-
trated with the idea of his accusing himself in the matter; 'indeed,
it is no one's fault but my own. I knew I ought not to go out
without Pinner; but it was such a lovely day, and I had nothing to
do, and I did long for a run so!'
CL C
Well, perhaps you will believe it now,' sneered Miss Marcia.
'You hear what the girl says herself that she knew she was doing
wrong, and yet she did it. It is not to be expected that I can con-
trol the actions of a young person of that age.'
We are both to blame,' he said, sadly.
Why have you not provided her with occupation suitable to
her age? I think I spoke to you upon the subject.
1
'I did buy her both books and needle work; but she can barely
read or write, and has no idea of making herself useful.'
66
At this accusation, so unfortunately well-founded, I blushed
scarlet. I was not ashamed of being detected in a fault, but I was
terribly conscious of my educational deficiencies.
" 6
666
"Is that really the case?' said Cousin Ulick, as he regarded me.
But I've never been taught,' I argued, bravely, although my
breast was heaving, and the tears had forced themselves into my
eyes. 'I should have been very glad to learn if any one had taken
the trouble to teach me.'
Well, you shall learn, Petronel,' he answered. 'We have
been altogether wrong not to think of it before. I can not stay now,
PETRONEL.
73
Marcia, but we will speak again on the subject this evening. And
now, child, dry your eyes. I allow no tears in this house."
“So said Cousin Ulick as he passed out of the room again, and
re-entered his carriage. As the hall-door slammed behind him I
glanced timidly up at his sister, hoping that she might say some-
thing to show she was not angry with me. But the look which
met mine was one of unmitigated dislike.
"" C
Go upstairs to Pinner,' she said, sharply; there is nothing
but wrangling and unpleasantness whenever your name is men-
tioned.' And then, as I slowly and, I must confess, somewhat
saucily, obeyed her, I heard her mutter to herself: I wish to good-
ness we had never seen her face; we shall have all the old infatua-
tion coming over again!'"
•
CHAPTER VIII.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL-CONTINUED.
("
I HEARD no more of my escapade from either Cousin Ulick or
his sister, but the result of the cogitation which, I conclude, they
held upon the subject, was that about a week afterward I was called
down-stairs to be introduced to an extremely proper-looking lady,
of the age of fifty, and the name of Penfold, to whose notice Cousin
Marcia commended me in the following terms:
C4 •
This is Miss Fleming, Miss Penfold. I am sorry to say that
she has everything to learn, and it is therefore our wish that she
should make as good use of her time as possible. The distribution
of it, of course, we leave to you; but I trust you will not allow too
much license in any way.'
"
To which Miss Penfold, with a simpering smile-which did not
seem at all natural to me-replied that she was sure her pupil and
herself would become the most excellent of friends; and that Miss
Fleming would take too much interest in her new studies to desire
any more recreation than was thought necessary by her indulgent
guardians.
"Seeing my look of blank amazement, Cousin Marcia conde-
scended to explain matters further to me.
46 C
This is the lady, Petronel, whom your cousin Ulick and my
self have chosen to conduct your studies. She has kindly consent-
ed to come to us every day for that purpose, from nine o'clock in
the morning till five in the afternoon, during which hours you will
74
PETRONEL.
be entirely under her control, and I trust you will behave yourself
in every respect as you should do.'
CC C
Oh, no doubt of it; no doubt of it,' encouragingly murmured
'Miss Penfold.
16 As for myself, the announcement took me quite by surprise. I
had said that I was willing to learn, and had been honest in saying
so; but my ideas of learning were associated with running backward
and forward to school twice a day; not of sitting for hours cramped
up in Cousin Marcia's dull morning-room, which looked out on the
back yard and the pump; and of acquiring knowledge in company
with a dozen bright faces like my own, instead of all by myself, be-
neath the rigid scrutiny of a Miss Penfold. I had heard of private
governesses, but I had never seen one, and as my eyes turned upon
the future guardian of my mind and morals, my heart sunk.
""
Miss Penfold was, as I have before observed, a lady of middle
age, and, as after experience led me to believe, a woman of great
accomplishments and experience, and doubtless my cousin Ulick (so
careful in his goodness of my rough self) had, in engaging her, re-
ceived high references, and agreed to give an equally high salary;
yet she was not a woman to command a girl's affections. Pinched
and withered and soured by the monotony and dreariness of the life
she was compelled to lead, the germs of interest, which at one time
and another she had doubtless put forth for the dramatis personæ
that appeared before the shifting scenes of her existence, had been
so often nipped and come to nothing, that she seemed afraid to con-
ceive more than a mere liking for any earthly thing.
She held within her every desideratum for causing the mind to
unfold; but with the feelings of the heart she did not consider she
had anything to do, and that it would be, in fact, intruding on her
province to try and influence it; and therefore, whilst carrying a
stereotyped smile and pleasant, easy manners for all parties, she de-
cidedly repressed anything like an ebullition of feeling on the part
of her pupils. Perhaps it had been otherwise in days gone past, and
Miss Penfold's own heart had suffered from the temporary indul-
gence. However that may be, I was the sufferer now. A few days
inore saw me thoroughly established in the school room with my
governess, and though Miss Penfold's propriety was evidently
shocked at the woful ignorance I displayed, she was too well
drilled to tell her thoughts to me, and we went on as easily as
though I had been the most promising of pupils. But it was not
my mind that most required culture; my heart's blossoms were all
running to seed for want of objects on which to expend their sym
PETRONEL.
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}
pathies, and they attempted to strike root even in the sterile soil of
Miss Penfold's affections.
'I missed my mother terribly; more at this period than I had
done at first, for, as the time went on, I discovered, to my cost,
that there was no one to replace her. From Cousin Marcia I seldom
received a kind word, far less a caress; sometimes I almost thought
she hated me; and of my cousin Ulick I saw so little, and that
only in his sister's presence, that I had no opportunity to unfold my
heart to him; so that I felt very much alone, and when I found that
I must not even love Miss Penfold-prim and proper as she was—
my spirits sunk to zero. Not that she repulsed me by so many
words, but if I ever attempted to make my studies appear lighter
to me by pretending that they were a pleasure rather than a duty,
she always recalled me by her manner to the fact. She would re-
place the hand which I had slipped into hers upon my lap with
the reminder, lightly given, 'Lessons now, my dear; we must think
of nothing that will draw off your attention. And, once or twice,
when I ventured to lay my head—which ached with trying to under-
stand arithmetic, or remember dates-upon her shoulder, she looked
as horrified as though I had committed an impropriety.
'Miss Fleming, my dear, pray sit upright; we are at study, re-
member. I really can not permit you to loll in that unladylike
manner; you will quite spoil your figure by doing so.'
(C
Whereupon I would be reinstated in the straight-backed chair
which had been considered a necessary accompaniment to the gov
erness, and the weary round of grammar and geography and history
renewed.
"
"It is true that I had, as Cousin Marcia had remarked of me,
everything to learn; but they might have been a little more merci
ful at the beginning. Rudiments are so exceedingly uninteresting,
and I had been so unused to application, that the mere habit was a
study in itself. But neither Miss Penfold nor my cousin Marcia,
who visibly interfered in every part of my education, seemed to
think the fact worthy of consideration. I had no time to spare,
and therefore every moment must be made use of, and with the ex-
ception of my morning's walk (now taken with my governess in-
stead of Pinner-which was a change rather for the worse) and my
early dinner, no intervals of recreation were permitted me.
dragged from one class of study to another, until my head and
fingers tired, my ignorant little brain was in a whirl, and, notwith-
standing my natural courage, my cheeks often stained with in-
effectual tears.
I was
76
ܡܘܬܳܐ
PETRONEL.
"For sums which won't come right have a wonderful faculty for
subduing the inost rebellious spirits; and to be turned three times in
one lesson, and have to unpick one's work twice, is sufficient to
quell the buoyancy of a child who has no mother to go to for con-
solation. I know that it considerably quelled mine; though when
I thought myself unfairly treated, my old daring temper often
gained the ascendency over me, and was the cause of my getting
into many troubles. But then, when I could, as I imagined, get
neither justice nor right feeling from either Miss Penfold or my
cousin, I used to fly to my bedroom and lock myself in, and call
passionately on the name of my mother, and wish that I was lying
with her in the church-yard at Saltpool.
"I am quite sure that my cousin Ulick never knew anything of
all this; for it was a remarkable fact to me at the time, that how-
ever naughty she had been pleased to call me during the day,
Cousin Marcia never prevented my being dressed to go down to the
dining-room after dinner; and on one occasion, when I had ob-
stinately refused to do so, she came up herself and brushed my hair
and coaxed me back into good humor. It never either struck me
to make him acquainted with my troubles, for mine was a quick,
forgiving temper, and by the time I met him the storm had usually
passed over. Besides, when at home all the evening, which was
very seldom, he was generally too silent and too tired to make even
a selfish little creature like myself think of worrying him further.
Added to which, old and grave as he appeared to me, I loved my
cousin Ulick dearly; and, not being quite certain on which side his
sympathies were enlisted, would have been afraid of bringing more
reproof upon myself, which from his lips I should have found it
twice as hard to bear, for he was the only one in my new home who
had engaged my heart. I could not forget that he had stood by my
dying mother's bedside, and befriended me when I was worse than
friendless; and though he had never told me that he loved me, my
instinct whispered that were it not so I should not be there, and I
Το
repaid the notion with all the warmth of a very ardent nature.
see him, or to speak to him, was like a gleam of sunshine on my
dullness; and in order to effect that purpose I did not care to what
stratagem I had recourse. Sometimes I would rise very early, so
as to meet him before he left home, or to stand by whilst he took
his hurried breakfast, and as this was an occasion on which Cousin
Marcia was never present it was usually a happy one; and if, at
any time during the day, my sharp ears caught the peculiar click
which his pass-key made in opening the hall-door, I would frame
}
PETRONEL.
my
1
"{
the first excuse which came into my head for leaving the apartment,
and rush down-stairs for a momentary greeting.
66
•
On one particular morning I was very restless, and very anx-
ious to discern that sound which no one knew I listened for, except
myself. It was now May, the time of the annual fair in Rock-
borough; and some curiosity which I had expressed concerning_it,
the night before, had led Cousin Ulick to say that I should visit it
under the charge of Miss Penfold, and that he would give me half
a sovereign to spend there. To witness a fair, which was to me a
thing unknown, and to have ten shillings all to myself, were treats
not likely to be forgotten by such a little rustic, and on the morn
ing in question I had boldly announced my expectations in the ears
of Cousin Marcia. But to my extreme disappointment I found that
Miss Ford did not think my pleasure at all certain; on the contrary,
she expressed her belief that I was mistaken in my supposition, and
that her brother could never have intended that I should be allowed
to visit so low a place as Rockborough fair, and bade me think no
more about the matter. To which Miss Penfold, who always
chimed in with Cousin Marcia's dictums, added that a fair was any.
thing but a proper scene for a young lady, and that for her part she
was quite assured that did Miss Fleming know what she was likely
to witness, she would be the last person to wish to go there.
(1
'But I was not at all assured upon the subject, consequently my
disappointment was keen, and I sat for the whole morning lament-
ing the loss of my half-sovereign, and longing to gain speech of
Cousin Ulick, and ask if he had not really been in earnest.
..
When, as I was inking my fingers to the bone over a refractory
large-hand copy, I heard the well-known click of the hall-door
lock, and with some frivolous excuse to Miss Penfold, I started from
my seat and left the room before she had time to stop me.
<<
There were four apartments on the ground-floor of Cousin
Ulick's house: the dining-room, the consulting-room, and two
others which were used as waiting-rooms for patients of the upper
and lower classes. In three of these I dared not enter; but as I
bounded down the stairs I heard, to my great delight, his voice pro-
ceeding from the dining-room, which proved that he was disen-
gaged, and, pushing open the half closed door, I rushed impetu-
ously to his side, exclaiming:
66 C
Cousin Ulick! did you not say that I might go and see the
fair?'
"But then I stopped short, perceiving he was not alone, and,
blushing violently, pressed closer to him, for there were two gentle-
}
i
}
породенит
馒
​66 4
(64
78
men in the dining room, to whom my appearance seemed to be a
matter of interest, if I might judge from the manner in which they
regarded me.
16 (
By Jove!' exclaimed one, as he raised an eye-glass to his eye,
' is that the child, Ford?'
<
A remarkable likeness,' said the other, 'I declare she quite
startled me! Fine features!'
66
'Doosidly handsome,' remarked the first. 'Come here, Miss
What's-your-name, and give me a kiss!'
No-no!' I exclaimed, as I clung to Cousin Ulick.
"Nor a lock of your hair?'
Certainly not!' I said, decidedly.
How dare you ask me?'
And then I turned away from them, and hid my face upon my
cousin's coat-sleeve, feeling uncomfortable at their scrutiny, and
wondering what right they had to make such observations on my
personal appearance.
66 C
"" <
PETRONEL.
They are rude!' I murmured, sotto voće, in his ear.
No, Petronel,' he answered, they are not rude. You must
be good friends with them. This is your Uncle Wilfred '-intimat
ing the gentleman who wore the eye-glass- and that your Uncle
Archibald'
66 C
•
66 6
魔
​"My uncles!' I exclaimed, with surprise. 'Poor mamma's
brothers? I never saw them before, Cousin Ulick!'
44 4
Perhaps not,' he replied; and then all parties seemed to wish
to change the topic, whilst I ventured to look up again and scrutin-
ize the strangers in my turn. I found that Uncle Wilfred was tall
and thin and pale, with blue eyes, and fair mustaches and whiskers
that seemed to hang down weakly by themselves; but every time he
caught my eye he smiled, and I decided he must be good natured.
My other uncle, Archibald, was the darker and stronger and
cleverer-looking of the two, but I did not like his face half so well.
'Have you received no answer to your advertisements, no in-
timation of any kind?' he was saying when next I attended to their
conversation.
{
None whatever,' was Cousin Ulick's answer; nor do I expect
to do so.'
"" 4
No letters have been forwarded from the place itself?'
"No!-nor have arrived; but as far as I understand from
the medical man there, it had been the same thing for some time
beforehand, and the debts Sir Lionel canceled would lead me to
suppose that his account was true.'
"
And no loss, either,' said my uncle Wilfred. It would be a
5
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j
}
1
PETRONEL.
79
blessing if one could make sure of never hearing the name again.
But what do you think the silence intimates, Ford-death or de-
sertion?'
;
64 6
'It is impossible to say-very probably both. It was her own
ideal'
If the governor could only be brought to regard it in that
light,' said Uncle Wilfred, slapping his knee, by Jove! I believe
his prejudices would evaporate. And I don't think myself he could
withstand a sight of the child-she's so doosidly like her mother.
She's her mother over again.'
41
•
"Better looking-more force,' interposed my uncle Archibald.
"Let me take her back with me to Frampton, Ford,' continued
Uncle Wilfred, and I'll lay a pony you're never troubled with her
again. If the governor did hold out a bit, the old lady would be
on our side, and the girl herself would do the rest. He must be
pleased with her; she's such a regular Halsted! I never saw such
a likeness, by Jove!' And up went the eye-glass again, and fixed
itself upon my features.
"But I was clinging to Cousin Ulick, and gazing up into his
face. That kind face was troubled, and I felt it was for me.
66 6
'Say no! say no!' I whispered, hurriedy. 'I don't want to
go anywhere but to the fair.’
"Come! you'll let me take her, Ford?' urged Uncle Wilfred.
'No, Wilfred,' was the determined answer. 'Sir Lionel had
the offer and rejected it; and Petronel will never visit Frampton
with my consent until she is invited there. You know the terms
on which this duty was accepted by me-that I should be allowed
to perform it without either help or interference-though I thank
you all the same for the intention.' And then he turned to me, and
seemed anxious to dismiss me from the room.
LCC
C&
Well, little woman, what is it that you want with me? We
shall have Miss Penfold coming in search of you, if we do not take
care.'
"At this sentence all my eagerness about the fair returned.
666
Did you not say, last night, that I might go and see the fair?
"I believe I did.'
CC C
Oh, then, do tell Cousin Marcia so; because both she and
Miss Penfold say it is so vulgar!'
At this they all three laughed heartily, and Cousin Ulick en
gaged to put matters straight for me.
CCC
'But did I not promise something else besides the fair?' he de-
manded, slyly.
80
PETRONEL.
"A half sovereign,' I answered, in a bashful whisper.
65 6
Suppose I haven't got a half sovereign,' he said, as he put his
fingers to his waistcoat-pocket, and produced in turn, half-crowns,
and shillings, and sixpences, and every coin except the right one.
But it appeared at last; and in my gratitude I threw my arms round
his neck and kissed his face until I felt his dear cheeks burn. He
was ashamed of being hugged after that fashion, by a great, clumsy
girl, and before a couple of strangers too.
But I was so pleased at
my success, that I had not thought of that.
60 C
Lucky fellow, Ford!' said Uncle Wilfred, and I fancied he
was laughing at me, and grew red with indignation.
"So you're going to spend all that at the fair,' he continued, as
he regarded my treasure. 'Let me see if I can't find something to
add to it,' and he dived into his pocket. I'm not so rich as Cousin
Ulick, you know; it's better to be a doctor than a major: but if I
can find a yellow-boy you shall have it. Why, I declare, there's
one!' as he deposited a sovereign on the table; it's a little bigger
than yours, but it will pass as well. But I must have a kiss for it,
mind, just like Cousin Ulick's, or I shall put it back into my pocket.'
Put it back, then,' I said, abruptly; 'I won't give a kiss for a
sovereign!
C
"" •
• (
•
C
Brava!' he exclaimed. 'Brava! An answer worthy of a
Halsted! I wish the governor could have heard it!'
"C
But Cousin Ulick seemed displeased.
“'You had better go now, Petronel,' he said. 'Your governess
will be waiting for you.'
The tears rushed to my eyes. (I feared I had been very rude).
I advanced timidly to Uncle Wilfred, and held out my hand.
FC <
I will give you a kiss, sir,' I said, ' and Uncle Archibald, too,
if he wishes it, for my mother's sake.'
66
Neither of them made reply, but they embraced me several
times, and, as I turned to leave them, Cousin Ulick also stooped and
kissed me on the forehead. That kiss was very grateful to me, for
it was the first which he had voluntarily bestowed.
* C
Come, little one,' said Uncle Wilfred, you must not leave the
sovereign behind; take it—as I took your kisses-for your mother's
sake.'
$4
The plea was one not to be resisted, and so, when at last I re-
gained the school-room, and recommenced the blotted round-hand
copy, I had thirty shillings in my pocket, and the prospect of spend-
ing the afternoon at the fair; for that Cousin Ulick would forget
his promise to set matters straight for me I already knew to be im-
►
PETRONEL.
81
¿
possible. Full of care and business as he was, and insignificant as
were my pleasures, to have obtained his word was to have obtained
my cause; and it was only what I fully expected, when Cousin
Marcia announced to Miss Penfold, over the luncheon table, that Dr.
Ford desired she would take Miss Fleming to see the best part of the
fair. The acid tones in which this message was delivered, and the in-
credulous dissatisfaction with which it was received, had no power
to mitigate the transport of expectation it raised in me, and as soon
as my dinner was concluded, I dragged the unwilling Miss Penfold
into the midst of the scene she considered so unfit for both of us,
and spent all my money upon presents for various members of the
household, including a shell tea caddy for Cousin Ulick to keep his
tea in, and which he accepted from me with many thanks and the
utmost gravity. But from that period my childish troubles became
almost too hard for me to bear. I look backward into the unforgot-
ten past, and can distinctly date from Rockborough fair the time
when Cousin Ulick showed his affection more openly for me, and
Cousin Marcia more openly her spite. I can remember that it was
from that day he expressed a wish that I should dine at the late
dinner with his sister and himself, and told me, if I chose to get up
early, I should always make his coffee for him (a duty hitherto in-
trusted to no hands but Wheeler's), and even spoke of buying me a
pony and teaching me the art of riding (an exercise he often prac-
ticed in the early mornings), as soon as the weather should be set-
tled.
"I can remember that it was from that day Cousin Marcia took to~
annoying me in a petty, unworthy manner, by such means as set-
ting before me food which she was conscious I disliked, restricting
the direction of my daily walks, and keeping story-books and play-
things from me on the plea that I was a great deal too old for any
such nonsense. But much as a child's heart makes of little things
(and from having lived so countrified a life my heart was peculiarly
childish), such trifles would have caused me small annoyance had
Cousin Marcia's spite found vent in them alone. I had a healthy
appetite, which defied the efforts of stale bread and salted butter to
upset it; and my walks with Miss Penfold had always been so tame,
because she would attempt to improve the opportunity, as she called
it, by talking botany, geology, or conchology all the time, that it
was a matter of indifference to me whether the direction in which
she discoursed lay north, south, east, or west.
"I certainly felt the loss of my story-books, and had a good cry
when I found the wax-doll which I had purchased at the fair, lying
82
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PETRONEL.
.
on the floor, face downward, with her nose smashed in; but what
aggravated me seriously was to hear Cousin Marcia speak of me and
my past life to Miss Penfold, and even to the servants; whilst she
often made my ears tingle with insinuations against my dead
mother, which were not sufficiently open to be taken notice of.
sc
She would bring her work into the school-room of a morning,
and descant on ignorance and pauperism and her brother's infatua-
tion, and how she trusted that some day his eyes might be opened;
and I knew all the while that she was alluding to myself, although
I dared not say so. And Miss Penfold would acquiesce, and condole,
and ejaculate, until I longed to jump off my seat and soundly box
her ears. And, oftener than not, their conversation would be broken
in upon by an angry rush of tears, and an impotent challenge on
my part, at which Cousin Marcia would call me an impudent and
daring girl, and my governess would threaten to double my lessons
for the morrow if I so far forgot myself again. I think I could
have held my own against them, unfeeling as they were toward me,
had it not been for those same lessons; but alas! my ignorance was
such, and my capability of learning by heart had been so little ex-
ercised, that 1 regarded my daily tasks with the utmost horror, and
a caution that they should be increased, generally made me shrink
into myself, and lament in secret that I had been so unfortunate as
to survive my mother. She had often called me rude and boister-
ous, and said I never should be like a lady, but from the moment
of my birth until her death, I could not remember that she had
spoken a harsh word to me. Neglect I had doubtless encountered;
it was almost of necessity it should be so; but unkindness had not
hitherto been my portion, and Heaven knows I felt it bitterly.
;
"
At last matters reached a crisis; not that they were worse upon
the day of which I am about to speak than they had been for weeks
previously, but that they came to Cousin Ulick's knowledge.
፡፡
We were sitting at the luncheon-table one afternoon, Cousin
Marcia, Miss Penfold, and myself; and I was considered to be in
particular disgrace, because I had remarked that morning that the
more my governess talked about the Rule of Three the less I under-
stood it, and had been promised 1 should be kept at arithmetic for
the remainder of the day in consequence. But I hated it all so that
it made little difference to me how I was employed, and I certainly
permitted the prospect to make no difference to the quantity of
bread and cheese which I consumed; Miss Marcia having given it
as her opinion, in which she was of course seconded by Miss Pen-
PETRONEL.
83
be wo
fold, that meat more than once a day was quite unnecessary for
girls of my age.
64
You had better make haste with your luncheon,' she said,
sharply, as I attacked the loaf for the third time; those sums must
be completed by the dinner-hour, and if they are not, your cousin
Ulick will have to hear of the disgraceful way in which you have
been behaving.'
(64
'I have already remarked that Cousin Marcia interfered in my
studies, and her interference at this period had gained such a pitch
that the school-room discipline seemed to have merged from Miss
Penfold's hands into her own; and the governess only carried out
the hints conveyed to her by Miss Ford.
(4 <
If they are not finished by dinner-time, your cousin shall cer-
tainly hear of it,' she repeated-a proceeding which, though often
threatened, had never yet been put in execution.
Cousin Ulick won't be home to dinner,' I said, as I helped
myself to cheese.
.. •
•
Not home to dinner! Pray how should you know that? It's
like your impertinence to do so.'
** 1
I know, because he told me,' I answered, doggedly.
44 6
He told you! My brother confided his probable movements to
a child like yourself! I have heard nothing about the matter, and
I don't believe it.'
C 3
Well, then, it's true!' I said, decidedly. Cousin Ulick called
me into his consulting-room this morning, and told me it was very
likely he should not see me again before I went to bed, because he
was going out into the country to attend a lady who is very sick,
and he might be detained all night; and he kissed me, and said that
must last until to-morrow morning.'
X
60 C
"I gave my evidence boldly, desiring nothing but to clear myself
from the imputation of speaking without warrant, and I was quite
unprepared for the effect which it had upon my cousin Marcia.
She stared full in my face, until I had concluded, as though ready
to deny anything I might advance; but reading, I suppose, that I
had said the truth, she turned very white, made one or two attempts
to answer, but, finding them ineffectual, burst into a flood of tears
instead.
Dear Miss Ford!' exclaimed Miss Penfold, flying to her assist-
ance, pray do not permit yourself to be upset by such a trifle; and
I am surprised, Miss Fleming,' she continued, turning to me, that
you should presume to speak to your cousin in such a manner.'
<
84
PETRONEL.
"/
C
"What manner?' I demanded, with genuine surprise; I only
spoke the truth. Cousin Ulick did tell me so!'
(((
6
'I don't believe it! I can not believe it!' gasped Cousin Mar-
cia, between her sobs. My brother-who has always been so con-
siderate hitherto-tells me nothing, but goes and confides his inten-
tions to a child like that! It is impossible!' with a fresh flow of
tears.
•
'Of course it is impossible!' cooed Miss Penfold; there is not
the least doubt of it. It is not in the slightest degree likely? Miss
Fleming must have mistaken her cousin's words.'
<<
But here was another imputation on my sense or my veracity,
and I would not stand it.
<
"It is the truth, I say!' I cried, determinately. Ask Cousin
Ulick if it is not. And the place he has gone to is called Fairley
Down, that's more.'
<
<<
'At this indisputable proof that my information was correct,
Cousin Marcia turned on me like a fury.
CCC
Oh, you wicked, disagreeable, mischief-making little animal!
What business had you to go into your cousin's consulting-room at
all when you know it's disobedience of orders to do so?'
"It can not be disobedience when he calls me.'
"Don't you answer me in that way, miss! You had no right
to be hanging about the door.'
"I was not hanging about the door.'
"'That's a falsehood,' said Cousin Marcia, impressively raising
her finger. 'Miss Penfold, you will double Petronel's lessons to-
morrow for this!'
666
CC C
It is not a falsehood,' I exclaimed, crimsoning under the ac-
cusation; 'you always say I tell falsehoods, Cousin Marcia, and I
do not. Mamma always said I was truthful, and—'
604
Oh, don't mention your mamma to me,' she interrupted,
rudely; she gave more than enough trouble in her lifetime, and
you bid fair to follow her example. I never wish to hear her name!'
'What trouble? What do you mean?' I asked, quickly.
"It is not likely I'm going to tell all the disgrace of the family
to a chit like you,' she commenced; but she was stopped short by
my own voice. My share in the business had been hard enough to
bear, but a libel on my dear mother pulled down at one blow the
fortress of my patience.
C4 6
How dare you?' I said, stamping my foot with passionate ex-
citement; 'how dare you say anything against mamma! I will not-
PETRONEL.
85
}
bear it-I will not stand it! I will tell Cousin Ulick the minute he
comes home. He never called my mother a disgrace to me!'
CC
Then Miss Ford evidently thought she had gone too far, and
tried to patch up matters.
(( C
'No more did I, you foolish girl,' she said: but I saw that she
was trembling.
You did-you did!' I went on raving; you meant me to think
so, which is just the same. But she was much dearer, and nicer,
and prettier than you are; she never made me miserable, as you do,
nor took away everything from me that I cared about. I loved her,
Cousin Marcia-and I hate you; I hate you more and more every
day, and I shall tell Cousin Ulick so the minute he comes back!'
..
At this rank blasphemy Miss Ford tried force with me, and
boxed me soundly on the ears, when I flew to my own room, and,
having locked the door, refused to reappear. It was then about
three o'clock in the afternoon, the sun was shining brightly, and
there were several hours of daylight before the dinner would arrive;
but had there been weeks to intervene it would have made no differ-
ence to me, for I was flatly determined that I would not again en-
counter by myself the woman who could make such gross insinua-
tions against my mother's name. My pride had been sorely wound-
ed; it was not the box upon my ears-by no means the first I had
received—that tingled there, so much as the hint which I had heard
relative to my dependent position and the aversion with which I
was regarded by the household. And yet I felt myself powerless
to do more than feel; others had fixed my destination for me, and it
was incumbent on me to stay there.
CC
Long did I lie upon my bed, with my face buried in the pillows,
calling passionately on my mother to come down from heaven and
help me; and then, as I recognized the impotency of my wishes, re-
lapsing into floods of childish tears, and renewing my old longing
to be buried by her side at Saltpool.
"I heard Miss Penfold's voice outside the door entreating me, in
the language of the newspapers, to be a good girl and come down-
stairs, and all should be forgiven and forgotten: yet I paid no at-
tention to her, and, after awhile, came the stiff, harsh tones of
Cousin Marcia ordering me to stop that nonsense, and come down
at once;' but at the sound I only closed my ears with my fingers
and buried my face still deeper in the pillow. And then, when
another hour or so passed over us, and the afternoon was lapsing
into evening, the voices came again, much softer now, and coaxing
me by promises of holidays and presents to let Pinner wash my face
C
·
•
،
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PETRONEL.
).
1
and hands and put on my dress for dinner. But I was still obdur-
ate, and only yielded sufficiently in reply to answer that I wanted
none. And then I sobbed afresh, for I was a little angry with my-
self as well as them, and sobbed myself asleep.
66 4 Petronel!'
The sound was anything but vehement, but it roused me in a
moment, for it was Cousin Ulick's voice. He had returned to din-
ner after all. What would he think of me-what say to me?
"There was no time to speculate, for he was tapping at the door
and mildly, but firmly, desiring to enter; and, leaping off the bed,
I turned the key and flung myself into his arms.
Oh, Cousin Ulick, Cousin Ulick, send me away! Don't let me
stay here any more! Oh, how I wish that I had died with dear
mamma!'
CL C
"<
Hush, Petronel! hush, child!' he said, as he supported me;
'why, what is all this about?'
(1 {
She says-Cousin Marcia says-that I have no right here; that
I have no earthly claim upon you, and that my mother was only a
trouble and disgrace!' I ejaculated as well as my sobs would per-
mit me: 'and, oh, Cousin Ulick, it has gone on for so long, and I
can not, can not stand it any longer!' And I proceeded to give the
details of the case. I glanced up in his face as I concluded, and I
saw that it was sternly, terribly grave, and pale as though the
shadow of death had passed above it.
[C
Will you undress yourself?' he said, quietly, and go to bed?
and I will come back to you in half an hour, Petronel.'
<sc
Yes,' I answered, for I never questioned any wish of Cousin
Ulick's.
He left me then and went into his dressing room and I made
ready for my bed, glad at the thought of getting there; for emotion
had exhausted me, and I felt weaker than I had ever done before.
When he returned he held in his hand a glass of sparkling wine.
Drink that,' he said; and you must cat the dinner I shall
send you, and then you may go to sleep.'
(66
C
66 C
And I shall see no more people to-night?' I inquired, anx-
iously.
C
Nobody, except the maid; and remember, Petronel, whatever
others may say to you '-here Cousin Ulick halted for a moment,
but, soon recovering himself, went on- no one in this world has
greater claims upon me than yourself. I have adopted you as my
child—my dear child—an | you must try to regard me as a—a father!
Now, don't think any more of what has passed to-night, but try to
"
<
PETRONEL.
87
i.
go to sleep and recover your strength, and I will see you again be-
fore I leave home to-morrow.'
}
And so he left me; and the assurance of his sympathy and the
glass of sparkling wine were both so good for my complaint that I
fell fast asleep before the servant had time to bring up the dinner
he had promised me."
CHAPTER IX.
DR. FORD RESOLVES TO PART WITH PETRONEL..
THERE can be but few things more aggravating to a large-minded
man than to watch the wreaking of a woman's petty spite against
one of her own sex. It is so utterly incomprehensible to him; so
beneath the workings of his nature; so opposed to all his ideas of
honor and generosity of humane feeling. There are men, of course,
or rather animals of the masculine gender, who are not above ren-
dering their families miserable by an adoption of the nagging sys-
tem; but, fortunately for earthly happiness, they are few and far
between: and, when we meet one of the species, we recognize his
inferiority to his fellow creatures by the remark that he goes on
"exactly like a woman.
No! For discovering the best ways and means of annoyance, and
for unflagging perseverance in pursuit of it; for touching up an old
raw skillfully, or thrusting in a probe without remorse; for looking
conscious or unconscious, as occasion calls for, and taking the small-
est possible blame to herself for want of honor-commend me to a
woman, pitted against woman! She may, upon emergence, be
honest to the other sex, and, when honest, she is thoroughly faith-
ful and unselfish; but even a woman, open, kindly and generous
toward men, will become just the opposite in her intercourse with
women. There is an innate and inextinguishable jealousy amongst
them, from which even the best are not quite free, and which, in
minds of a low order, vents itself in actions of a low standard.
Men have been known to storm and rave, and bully and be brutal
before now; but it has been reserved for women to win the first-
class gold medal for the best method of wearing away a stone by
constant dropping. Dr. Ford had seen, from the commencement,
that his sister Marcia's feelings toward his ward were most an-
tagonistic; but he had had no idea, until that evening, that she had
dared to carry her malice so far. Having found the case at Fairley
Down less imminent than the messenger had led him to suppose, he
1
1
88
PETRONEL.
ka
was enabled to return home in time for dinner, and his first inquiry
had been for Petronel, whose laughing "Good-night," given that
morning, had sounded more than once in his ears during the day,
and for whom he had purchased a little trinket as he drove through
the town. He had found his sister sitting with his friend Bertram,
who had come over from Oxley, as usual, to take his dinner with
them, and at her brother's unexpected appearance and demand Miss
Ford's confusion had been palpable. At first she had attempted to
overcome the difficulty by evasion; but, finding that he was deter-
mined to be answered, and Petronel was determined not to appear,
she gave a very garbled statement of the matter, greatly exaggerat-
ing the girl's part in it and palliating her own. But Ulick Ford, as
had been recorded, took upon himself to learn the truth: and, when
he redescended to the dining-room, his face was, as Petronel ex-
pressed it, "terribly stern and pale.
terribly stern and pale." His authority had been set at
naught in his own household, and he was not a man to brook op-
position with impunity. Miss Ford knew that also; and, uncertain
how far the girl's relations might not go, waited her brother's reap-
pearance in a very uncomfortable state of fear.
As he descended the staircase he heard her voice, speaking to
Mr. Bertram in tones of wounded anger.
""
I call it very hard, very hard indeed, Mr. Bertram, that that
child is to be brought into the house to upset all our peace and
quietness. She is unruly, and disobedient, aud impertinent; but
everything she does is perfection; and she is neither to be spoken to
or corrected. I've been my brother's housekeeper now for twelve
years; and we never had so many words as have passed between us
this last month, on account of that girl of the Flemings—a little
rough, ill-bred, impudent creature, too, as ever you saw.
I'm sure
it's quite time I went, for if she's to be the mistress of the house-
hold, I really can not stand it any longer. To have a child like
that upheld in her naughtiness before my very face! I think that
Ulick has gone mad, and I wish the girl had been dead beside her
mother before he-;" but here Miss Ford suddenly came to a full
stop, and buried her face in her handkerchief to hide the confusion
which she felt as her brother entered the apartment.
44
Pray go on!" he said, quietly, although his mouth was very
hardly set.
"Don't let me interrupt you.
But Miss Marcia commenced to sniffle behind her cambric ambush
instead; and Bertram looked uncomfortable at finding himself a party
to a domestic disagreement, and wished there had been a fire in the
grate that he might have covered his uneasiness by punishing it.
""
I
PETRONEL.
89
·
F
"
Why do you not finish, Marcia?" continued Ulick Ford.
เ
I was only saying," whimpered his sister, "that if you knew
what I have suffered from the rudeness of that girl, Ulick, you
would not be so ready to take her part against me as you seem to
be. Miss Penfold can tell you what I have gone through, and that
no mother could have taken greater trouble with her clothes, and
food, and education, and everything concerning her; and now to
be repaid with the basest of ingratitude on her part, and no thanks
on yours-I can not but feel it to be very, very hard.”
<<
<<
In what particular instance do you draw on Petronel for grati-
tude?" he demanded, caustically. For throwing her family in
her teeth; for visiting the errors of the dead on her unoffending
head; or for taunting her with having no claims upon my protec-
tion, or your generosity ?”
་་
16
From this address, delivered with all the severity of a condemn-
ing judge, Miss Ford saw no appeal but by relapsing into tears.
""
Oh, I had better leave," she sobbed. If it is to come to this,
I had far better leave the house at once; this night, this very min-
ute, if you choose. I have been foolish and credulous even to im-
agine that things could go on in this manner. I might have fore-
seen that that girl would usurp my place in your affections; that she
would be everything, and that I-I, who have looked after your
house for the last twelve years, and spared neither pain nor trouble
to keep things as you wished them-I am nothing; and the best
thing we can do, Ulick, is to-to-to part !”
He made no answer to this agitated speech, but rang the bell
sharply and ordered the dinner to be served at once.
One word more," he said in the temporary absence of the serv-
ants. Was Miss Penfold a witness to the disgraceful scene which
took place between you and Petronel this afternoon?”
(6
Of course she was," murmured Miss Ford, who was employed
in drying her eyes, preparatory to making a decent appearance at
the dinner-table.
And never interfered; never even remonstrated on your con-
duct?"
"
'Do you suppose that she would dare to do so, Ulick?"
'Not even when you boxed the poor child's ears?" persisted Dr.
Ford.
At this, his sister reddened considerably: but she still attempted
a defiant answer.
""
I should have been very much surprised if she, or any one, had
done so!" was the reply.
<<
(@
•
90
PETRONEL.
(c
4
'Very well," he said, carelessly; then, when Miss Penfold
comes to-morrow morning, you will tell her from me, if you please,
that her services are no longer required here."
CC
Dismiss Miss Penfold, Ulick? We shall have to pay her a
quarter's salary; besides, there is no just cause for doing so."
"I consider that there is more than sufficient cause. I engaged
her to perform certain duties, and she has failed in them. I shall
trust her no longer. As for payment, you may give her a year's
salary, if you like, but she does not occupy her position here
another day."
Co
You will have the whole of Rockborough talking about your
conduct," said Miss Ford, panting with indignation; "and what is
to be done with that girl, I should like to know, if Miss Penfold
goes away?"
<<
(6
"My concern, from first to last!" he replied, coolly.
And now
let us have our dinner and change the subject. I think we have
given poor Bertram enough of it.
""
Whereupon he sat down to table, and conversed with his friend
as pleasantly as usual, asking after the health of the live stock and
state of the garden at Oxley Vicarage, and giving him all the news
of Rockborough in return, with such apparent interest that a
stranger might have supposed the events of an hour before had com-
pletely faded from his memory; but not so Mr. Bertram, or his sis-
ter. The former traced deep vexation beneath the seeming light-
ness of his manner, and the latter felt he was in earnest, and knew
that with her brother earnestness meant deeds as well as words.
She knew Miss Penfold's doom was sealed, for Dr. Ford never de-
parted from his word; and she trembled to think what fate might
not also be in store for herself. She had a narrow niind, which,
after years of close companionship, could not stretch itself to meas-
ure his; and she judged of her brother's intentions by what her own
would have been. She was not worthy of being the same blood.
As dinner was concluded, she rose from her seat and was about to
leave the room. Dr. Ford was engaged in a deep argument with
Bertram; but he perceived her action, and interrupted his discourse
to make the quiet aside:
,
""
"Where are you going, Marcia?"
Only to the drawing-room," she answered, submissively,
fetch my work, Ulick."
(C
Very good. No going to Petronel's room, if you please. The
child has been worried enough to-day. Leave her to sleep off the
effects of her agitation." And then, as the door closed behind Miss
(C
to
PETRONEL.
91
☛
Ford, the men seemed by mutual consent to drop the subject they
had been discussing, and to become silent and uneasy.
..
It is impossible this can go on, Bertram," said Ulick Ford,
after a pause, as he pushed the decanter toward his friend. "The
child's life is rendered wretched, and I suppose Marcia's is not
much better. I must make an alteration somewhere.'
""
'It doesn't look as though they hit it off very well together,” re-
marked Bertram. "Miss Ford seems confoundedly-I mean, con-
siderably put out about the business."
66
The question is, what alteration to make," resumed Ulick Ford,
thoughtfully. A larger house would not mend matters, for I can't
prevent my sister coming in contact with her."
"
No; but why not send the child to school?"
CA
1
เ
tram.
"C
What! send her away-out of the house-to a boarding-school?”
"Yes. I think it would be by far the best plan. She wants
education and amusement; and a few years later Miss Ford and
she may get on better than they do now."
Ulick Ford turned suddenly about and commenced to walk up
and down the room.
"I never thought of sending Petronel away," he said, quietly.
He had never thought of it, and, as he did so, a sharp pain shot
through his breast, which startled him. Was it possible that this´´
child of Cissy Fleming's was winding herself about his heart? That
her presence was hecoming necessary to his contentment? At the
mere notion Ulick Ford made up his mind that he would part with
her; that he would learn to do that voluntarily which he might at
any moment be called upon to do; and, when he had arrived at this
determination, the matter was no longer one of choice, but of neces-
sity.
""
CC
"You are right, Bertram," he said, after a few turns; a good
boarding-school will be the best place for Petronel. I have pledged
myself to look after her happiness and well-being; but it would be
unfair, both to my sister and myself, to keep her here to be a con-
stant source of dissension in the household.”
CC
Miss Ford has certainly great claims upon you," remarked Ber-
•
Undoubtedly she has. I am the last person to deny that; and I
feel I am bound to consult her interests. Still, I consider she has
shown a most unamiable spirit in this matter, and-I'm not going
to have the child bullied, and there's an end of it.”
You have heard me speak of the school at Antwerp, where my
sisters are placed," said Bertram, after an interval of silence.
92
PETRONEL.
;--
"No-have I? I have forgotten; but what of it?"
"I think it would be just the place for Miss Fleming. Jessy
and Ellen-who are about her age-are extremely happy there, and
my mother speaks of the school itself in the highest terms."
"(
Antwerp is a long way off," said Ulick Ford. He had thought
of a boarding-school in Rockborough, where he might see the child
as often as he pleased; but, detecting himself in this second weak-
ness, inwardly resolved that if his inquiries proved satisfactory,
Antwerp should be the place.
"Our girls
.
'It's nothing of a journey," replied Mr. Bertram.
go safely enough; my father puts them on board the steamer at St.
Katharine's wharf, and a teacher is sent to meet them at the other
side. Numbers of children pass backward and forward from school
to home in that way."
<<
C
I would rather take your mother's opinion on such a subject
than that of any lady known to me," said Ulick Ford; and her
recommendation of the school would go a long way. I must write
to her about it. My sister and I have been so utterly unused to
children ”—here the speaker heaved something very like a sigh-
we know so little of their ways or their requirements, that I sup-
pose I ought never to have undertaken such a charge."
54
Oh, come, Ford! you are going too far; there's no reason be-
cause things don't rub quite smoothly at first that they should
never do so. But without doubt Miss Petronel is a girl of remark-
able spirit, on whom undue coercion might have bad effects. She
wants companions of her own age, and will get on twice as well at
school as at home. And when she is grown up, with her education
finished, and herself no longer subject to Miss Ford's control, you
will find them agree well enough.
>>
"
That's a long time to look forward to," remarked the other.
"
("
'Do you think so? It will come sooner than you imagine. Girls
grow up very fast nowadays, and in three or four years Miss Flem-
ing will be a woman.
In three or four years!-so soon! The idea was anything but
palatable to him. He must separate himself from her as a child;
and when a woman she would separate herself from him. He could
not hope to keep her beside his hearth: and the same thought seemed
to strike his friend, for he continued, laughing:
Miss Petronel is
"You will not have much trouble with your ward after that
time, I fancy, unless it be to keep suitors at bay.
not the sort of a young lady to hang long on hand.
very beautiful woman.
She will be a
""
""
*****
- PETRONEL.
93
F
"Do you think so?" was the curt rejoinder.
"
I don't think about the matter; I'm sure of it; and were you
not such a thorough old bachelor, Ford, you would have found it
out for yourself. Why, where are your seven senses? Her skin and
hair and features are sufficient to make a beauty of her, and joined
to the expression of her eyes and mouth, are irresistible to me.
Glorious eyes; they seem to look right through one!”
* 4
Have another glass of wine," said Ulick Ford; and by the time
that Bertram had helped himself he found his friend had started a
different topic, and Petronel Fleming was not mentioned again be-
tween them.
the
But when Mr. Bertram had departed, and the household was at
rest, Dr. Ford sat down to indite, amongst other correspondence, a
letter to the clergyman's mother, in which he asked for all necessary
details respecting the school at Antwerp, and particularly if he could
place his ward there at once. For, as the separation was to be, he
felt the sooner it took place the better.
A few days brought the answer, which was as satisfactory as he
could have hoped to find it.
Mrs. Bertram, a lady of great experience, and the mother of a
numerous family, could not speak too highly of the school in ques-
tion. Her younger daughters, as she reminded Dr. Ford, had been
reared in the country, and deprived of the advantages obtainable for
children in a town, and therefore she had been advised to put them
to a foreign school as the quickest means of making up for lost time,
but for awhile had been so prejudiced against the idea of parting
with them that she had been unable to make up her mind to it. But
she never could be sufficiently glad that she had done so.
The es-
tablishment at which they had been placed was situated at Numero
40, Rue des Capucines, Antwerp, and was conducted by a Mme.
Gobeaux and a Miss Little, under whose care Jessy and Ellen had
made such wonderful progress that their improvement was only
equaled by the happy life they led there. Here Mrs. Bertram ram-
bled off into lengthy statements of dress, diet, and vacations, inter-
esting to no one but her correspondent, and Dr. Ford laid the letter
down with a sigh. There was apparently not one objection to the
plan which he had thought of, not a loop-hole through which he
might escape with comfort to his conscience. He had told himself
that Petronel was very young to go so far away from home, but
Jessy and Ellen Bertram were not much older; that she was too
ignora ît to take her place in a large, thriving school, but their edu-
cation had also been neglected: that he had promised, as far as in
Ways
94
PETRONEL.
シュー
​him lay, to insure her happiness as well as comfort, but these girls
were parted from their own relations, and yet confessed that they
had all they wished for. It was very evident that his scruples were
for himself and not for Petronel, and therefore they were not to be
regarded, or, rather, all the more to be ignored; for Ulick Ford had
so long trained himself not to care for trifles (or what he considered
such), that he felt angry and contemptuous, as though detected in
a folly, when he found they had the power to annoy him; which
feeling tended as much as anything to fix the destination of Petronel
Fleming; and as soon as the necessary arrangements were com-
pleted between Rockborough and Antwerp, he took her to the lat
ter place himself, and left her under the safe charge of Mme.
Gobeaux and Miss Little.
On the third day he returned. Miss Marcia, who, though
silently indignant at her brother considering it necessary to see
that odious girl" to the end of her journey, could not but re-
joice that at any cost the house was rid of her, had ordered the very
best of dinners and put on the most smiling face wherewith to
welcome him back to the home where peace had been restored. But
neither the dinner nor the beaming countenance were to the taste of
Dr. Ford that evening. He eat little, and talked less; retired to his
own room as soon as the meal was concluded; and, when Wheeler
went to announce that coffee was ready, was found to have left the
house-" without telling me a word of what he had done, or where
he had been, or anything about it," as Miss Ford (who, notwith-
standing her pretended want of interest in Petronel, had been dying
with curiosity to hear some particulars of the journey) remarked the
next day to her bosom friend, Miss Matilda Upjohn; “but really,
men are so strange. I'm sure, my dear, the more I see of them, the
more thankful I am to have kept as clear of the sex as I have. A
brother is bad enough-a husband must be something awful!''
"C
<<
Well, I don't know," simpered Miss Matilda Upjohn; who was
not quite innocent of thinking occasionally that some people's
brothers might make very tolerable other people's husbands. "We
must all have our trials in this world, you know, dear; and it would
be cowardly to shirk them "-which remark was indeetl so far in-
genuous that had Miss Matilda's trial appeared in the shape of
matrimony, she would have been the last person to run away
from it.
But it did not console Miss Ford for the total silence which the
doctor continued to maintain toward her, with regard to Petronel
Fleming, although each week she knew that he received a scrawled
!
PETRONEL.
95
.
CHAPTER X.
and blotted envelope from Antwerp, nor for the minimum of leisure
he bestowed upon herself. She thought that he had never ap-
peared to have so much work to do in his life before, nor so little
to spend at home, and her complaints upon the subject to Pinner,
and other sympathizers, became more numerous every day. She
even arrived at the point of questioning herself whether the house
had not been more agreeable when Cissy Fleming's daughter (not-
withstanding the nuisance of her presence) made one of the home
circle.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL.
"I HAVE been advised that it is as unnecessary as it would be im-
provident to enter into further details of this period of my life, since
subsequent events, which held far greater influence over me, will
call for wider space. In my relation, therefore, of what took place
during the next two years, I will be as brief as possible.
"I woke up, on the morning following my grand adventure, to
find Miss Penfold had been summarily dismissed, that Cousin Mar-
cia's actively enforced authority had degenerated into silent cold-
ness, and that some important change was evidently looming on the
horizon of my fate. In a few days more I was informed of what it
was. Cousin Ulick had decided that I should be sent to school. I
don't think I was sorry at the news, and I think he was disap-
pointed at my not appearing so. But I had so much dreaded the
engagement of another governess, and a return to the dreary routine
in Cousin Marcia's morning-room, that I hailed the prospect of new
scenes, and young companions, and did not hesitate to show it,
even when I heard my destination was to be to a town called Ant-
werp, and that to reach it I must cross the sea. Distance and
separation were but names to me, who had so few to care for in the
land I left. The only creature that I loved was Cousin Ulick, and
the idea of visiting a strange country almost compensated for that
trouble. At least I thought so till the moment came for parting
with him, and then I felt it almost as bitterly as when my mother
died. He took me there himself. At this distance I can look back
and wonder at what seemed but natural to my ignorance then, that
a man, occupied and famous, should have thought it worth his
while to bestow both time and trouble on a child of whom he knew
so little. But so it was, and in his tender, unobtrusive care of me
"
96
PETRONEL.
during the sea-voyage and railway journey, I began to appreciate
what I was about to lose in him, and when he left me under the
joint care of a tall, sandy-haired Englishwoman called Miss Little,
and a short, merry-faced Belgian lady named Mme. Gobeaux, I
cried heartily, and, clinging round his neck, begged him to take me
back to Rockborough with him. But, though exquisitely gentle,
he was very firm, and having condescended to explain why he con-
sidered a school life the best for me at present, he tried to cheer me
with the near prospect of the summer holidays, and then abruptly
took his departure. At first I was not to be comforted. Cousin
Ulick had laden me with farewell gifts and pocket-money, and I
had been introduced to two nice, quiet-looking English girls called
Jessy and Ellen Bertram, the sisters of a gentleman whom I had
often met at Rockborough, and recommended to make friends with
them; but neither one fact nor the other had any power to console
me. I wanted Cousin Ulick. I longed for the touch of that strong,
gentle hand which I discerned no longer, and a glance of those kind
eyes which I felt as thougn I never should see more.
I sobbed so
bitterly as soon as he was gone that neither governesses nor school-
fellows could make anything of me, and at last they let me go to
bed and sleep off the effects of my emotion and fatigue.
"With the morning came reaction, and my cheerfulness was soon
restored, for extreme youth has seldom the capacity of cherishing
sorrow, and everything in my new abode was so delightfully strange
and curious to me. Besides, I woke to popularity; for the liberal
manner in which my outfit had been provided for me, and the
arrangements for my board and education made, had magic influ-
ence over my companions, and before the end of the first day, every
one was desirous of effecting an acquaintanceship with me, and I
was holding up my empty head amongst them as though I had been
a scholar or a queen, instead of only an ignorant little pauper.
School girls are terrible toadies, and there are few creatures more
overbearing than their universally elected favorite. Why I became
so at Numero 40, Rue des Capucines (unless on account of Cousin
Ulick's generosity, and the rumor that I was heiress to a great En-
glish milord), it is difficult to say; but the result was to make me
quickly intimate with every class of girls assembled there, and con-
sequently to save me from most of the disagreeables usually en-
countered by strangers on entering a large educational establish-
ment.
"
"The 'pensionnat des demoiselles kept by Miss Little and Mme.
Gobeaux was, as may be supposed, a mixed one; most of the foreign
1
PETRONEL.
97
*
..
pupils being Roman Catholics, and the English, Protestants; and,
having said so much, it is almost needless to add that the latter class
were the better born and bred of the two.
CC
Quiet, countrified Mrs. Bertram (who I afterward ascertained to
have been the means of introducing this school to the notice of my
guardian), and Cousin Ulick, absorbed in his professional studies,
had probably never had the fact brought beneath their notice, that
as a rule the higher families of France and Germany and Belgium
educate their daughters at home or in a convent, and would con-
sider them degraded by entering a boarding-school, so that the for-
eign pupils met en pensionnat, with whom young English ladies
acquire French, are chiefly children of the middle classes, or upper
tradesmen. I do not mention this as a reflection upon either their
grammar or their companionship, but simply to account for much
that I shall have to relate hereafter. The establishment at which I
was placed was no exception to this rule. The building itself,
which was rambling and spacious, had formerly been a convent,
and was surrounded by a large, walled-in garden, recreation in
which formed our chief exercise, as, excepting to church, we were
seldom trusted outside the gates. The pupils who, exclusive of
erternes, numbered nearly a hundred, were culled from every coun-
try in Europe, only twenty of them, perhaps, being English. We
had square-built, hard-featured Dutch girls, and stolid, good-tem-
pered Germans; and blue-eyed, saucy Belgians, and sallow, dark-
haired French; and, though all were obliged to wear the same cos-
tume, the medley we presented in the class-rooms was most
apparent. Our dress was neat and simple, but it never varied all
the year round. On week days black alpaca frocks, with a broad
blue ribbon across the breast, bearing the number of our class; on
Sundays, black silk, with a knot of white upon the shoulder, and
small black hats trimmed with fluted ribbon, to which, in winter,
was added a black cloth mantle covering us to the feet. There was
not much impetus afforded to our vanity here, and yet it managed
to creep out in many a fantastical mode of dressing the hair, or
wearing the knots of ribbon; for if the liberty of the subject is
openly curtailed, he generally finds some means of enjoying it in
private. And we certainly had (or, after my bold, rough life, it ap-
peared so to me) very little liberty accorded us at Numero 40, Rue
des Capucines. The school plan having been formed, I suppose,
on the combined judgment of Miss Little and Mme. Gobeaux,
united much of the liberality of English establishments with the
restrictions of foreign ones, and whilst the table was amply provid-
4
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PETRONEL.
ed, and our comforts in other respects well attended to, the license
permitted us in freedom from supervision was very small. This
restraint, considered so necessary for young girls abroad, was doubt-
less wholesome for all of us, but it engendered, as it too often does,
distrust of our superiors, and in many cases a desire to circumvent
their vigilance by fraud.
}
"We were never left alone, except it might be by the under-
teacher's negligence of orders, and to bribe or coax these subor-
dinates to infidelity, was the daily ambition of some one or other of
us. Our education was conducted on the plan of public classes and
lectures-the best plan of all when the pupil is advanced, but terri-
bly difficult for a creature who knows nothing. Master succeeded
master, and mistress mistress, at the desk in the large class-rooms,
all day long; and for the first few weeks I could no more than hang
my head and grow red when I was asked a question, until some one
stepped in to my relief by explaining that I did not understand the
language. But at the end of that time I began to pluck up courage,
I was ambitious, and I was quick, and had soon plucked up suffi.
cient French wherewith to prosecute my studies; and, having once
commenced, I went on rapidly. Endued with vigorous health, and
a strong, active mind, I was just at the age when learning is no
trouble; and, as soon as I could take a fair place in my class, I be
came as happy and interested in my own progress as it was natura
for me to be; so that when August arrived, and I found myself
journeying homeward in company with the Bertrams, if it had not
been for the prospect of seeing Cousin Ulick again, I should almost
have felt sorry to be going there.
C
❤
But a surprise awaited me. I was not to spend my holidays at
Rockborough, but at a country place called Oxley, with the family
of Jessy and Ellen Bertram. At first hearing I was sorry for this;
afterward I was very glad, for the Bertrams were charming people,
who were as kind to me as though I had been one of themselves;
and let me run about the green fields and despoil the orchard, in
company with my school-fellows, for six happy weeks, and at the
end of which time we all went back to Antwerp together. And it
must not be supposed I saw nothing of my cousin Ulick all that
period, for he came to Oxley before I had been there a week, and
many times afterward, and rapturous were the greetings I bestowed
upon him. He sent over a short, fat pony for my use, on which
Ellen and Jessy and myself rode about by turns; and he told me he
was very much pleased with the report Miss Little had sent of me,
and the improvement I had made. And when I went back to school
PETRONEL.
99.
•
he gave me a beautiful little gold watch and chain, of which I was
exceedingly proud. But I did not see Cousin Marcia once all the
holidays, and I don't think I even asked how she was.
""
My second term at Antwerp passed more pleasantly than the
first. By the end of that time I had made myself fully acquainted
with all the rules and habits of the school. I was at home there;
had commenced to feel some confidence in my own powers, and to
exhibit a taste for painting, which gave me much credit with my
masters.
"I returned to Rockborough at Christmas, taller in stature by
half an inch, and wonderfully developed in my understanding. I
could see now how perverse and unruly I had been on first know-
ing Cousin Marcia; how much I must have upset the comfort of the
household, and resolved, if only for Cousin Ulick's sake, that I
would never do it again. Miss Ford met me undemonstratively,
but made no allusion to the past, and after a few days I think she
was struck with the improvement in my manners, for she generally
took me out walking with her, and never said anything that was
positively unkind. But Cousin Ulick seemed more reserved toward
me here than he had been at Oxley, and I was still too young to
guess the reason of the change, and fretted at it.
สเ
Still the Christmas holidays passed peacefully away, and at the
close of them, whilst wetting her brother's face with my impetuous
tears, I felt a little sorry to part even with Cousin Marcia; and
though she never grew, like Cousin Ulick, to be fond of me, I grew
too sensible to take umbrage at chance words, and thenceforth, with
an occasional difference of opinion, we managed to rub on pretty
well together. And so lapsed the succeeding twelvemonth, during
which period I paid two visits to Rockborough, finding myself each
time more loath to say good-bye, and more anxious to return.
41
'It was again spring-the spring of my fifteenth birthday-and
when I reached Antwerp with the Bertrams, we found that-as
usual-alterations had been making in our absence; that several old
school-fellows were gone, and ten or twelve new pupils recruited in
their stead. Amongst them was one who bore an active part in the
ruling of my future destiny, and whom, therefore, I shall introduce
at once; her name was Félicité d'Alven, and we took a fancy to
each other at first sight. I had not been in the habit, hitherto, of
associating intimately with the foreign pupils; for, though merry
and amusing enough, there was a great want of honor and upright-
ness amongst them from which I shrunk; but it was impossible to
look on the face of Félicité d'Alven, and imagine her deceitful.
-
100
1
PETRONEL.
She was by birth a Belgian; in figure petite, but full; in complex-
ion, blonde, with very fair hair, and large blue eyes, that looked
upon occasions as innocent as those of a child, but had a roguish
twinkle in them when amused, which, though the reverse of child
look, was still more enchanting. I was then just verging on fifteen,
and she was two years older; yet we seemed to come together by
mutual attraction, which increased with better knowledge.
"¿
To me, who had found the Bertrams, with all their good nat-
ure, to be just a little stupid for companions, Félicité was charming;
full of fun, full of anecdote, ripe for any mischief, and talking of
everything in and out of school like a little woman of the world.
Notwithstanding which, she was no further advanced in study than
myself; but that circumstance only threw us the more together, and
developed our attachment. The society of Félicité imparted a zest
to my lessons which they had never had before; she made me in all
things her companion and confidante, and before we had been a
month together we were acknowledged bosom friends.
*C
Such company was not the best thing in the world for me, for
was not only Félicité d'Alven my senior in age, but, notwithstand-
ing the deficiencies of her education, her mind was so much more
advanced than mine, that, save in one respect, I was her pupil. She
exercised over me the influence which girls just budding into wom-
anhood possesses for curious children a few years younger than
themselves. I accepted her information as gospel; considered her
full-grown in every respect, and myself next door to it for having
been elected to her friendship. And, out of my gratitude and ad-
miration, the bond resolved itself, as such bonds usually do, into
Félicité swaying me exactly as she chose, and my degenerating to
her willing slave. It was not long before I found that the manners
and customs of Miss Little's establishment were not at all in har-
mony with the tastes of my new friend. She had never heard of
such absurd rules; she had imagined she was coming to a pension-
nat, and not a convent. Was it possible that we never went out-
side those walls except to church? or that, if so, we were not allowed
to walk through the town? Did I mean to tell her, seriously, that
I had never visited the cathedral, nor the museum, nor the Church
of St. Paul! That I had lived in Antwerp for nearly two years and
had not seen the Jardins Zoologiques, nor even knew the names of
the streets through which I passed to church? Bah! it was incredi-
ble. Félicité would not give that (with a snap of her pretty fingers)
for girls of so little spirit or adventure. But what could you ex-
pect from Germans or Dutch? with an emphasis anything but com-
Maou
, with
1
!
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101
•
plimentary upon the words; and, pour les Anglais, ' pardonnez moi,
mamie,' continued the little Belgian, but I have not often met a
specimen of that nation with so much chic about her as yourself.'
And, without being quite clear as to the whole meaning of that
comprehensive term 'chic,' I nevertheless knew it was intended for
a compliment, and accepted it accordingly. But Félicité's animad-
versions on the strictness with which we were kept in bonds touched
me nearly. How often I had longed, since coming there, to be
allowed to traverse the wonderful old town at my leisure, and see
something of the many curiosities I had been told that it contained!
How often had I envied the Roman Catholic pupils who attended
mass with Mme. Gobeaux every morning, and were regularly taken
to see all the religious fêtes and processions; whilst we poor Prot-
estants stayed at home to hear Miss Little sonorously reading a long
commentary on the daily portion of the Scripture through her nose,
or were permitted half an hour's airing in the garden instead! And
Félicité's half-jesting, half-earnest pity for the faith in which I had
been reared, and her expostulations with me to change it as soon as
possible, used only to render me discontented, who had erstwhile
been so happy, and impatient with the coercion thought necessary
for me.
C
It was thus, by little and little, that the influence of Félicité
d'Alven prepared me for what followed, and paved the way for my
joining her in an overt act of rebellion. Miss Little's was not the
first pensionnat at which this young lady had been placed; and,
upon my sacred promise to keep the fact a secret, she confided to
me that her departure from the last, a school at Brussels, had not
been voluntary; but she had been expelled thence for the merest
trifle in the world-only fancy! because she had received and an-
swered a letter from one of her admirers. As if a girl of her age
could be expected to exist without such things! It was absurd! It
betrayed the ignorance of the poor creature under whose charge she
had been placed. And so her parents had removed her, and she
had come to Antwerp instead; and I was not to whisper a word of
the affair, under pain of never being spoken to by her again,
for if it came to the ears of Mees' or madame, she should
never gain an opportunity of having a little fun whilst there,
and Félicité had no intention of giving up her fun, she could
assure me. To this narration I listened with wide-open eyes.
An admirer! a lover! To raw fifteen the word alone conveyed
an area of unknown delight-a thing that seemed hardly prob-
able even in the future, and impossible at the distance of only
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PETRONEL.
two years. And yet Félicité knew all about it, and I was eager to
learn particulars of her: how tall the admirer had been; what he
was like; where she had met him, and in what words he had made
love to her.
"L
At which questions my experienced friend smiled compassion-
ately, whilst she assured me that I should think nothing of it when
I had arrived at her age; and that, though the gentleman in ques-
tion (who, by the way, was English, a Mr. Ernest Moore) was tout
ce qu'il y a de plus beau, he had been but one amongst a number,
and she did not care a bit more for him than for any of the others
--which assertion greatly raised her in my estimation; and, when
she added that she only trusted none of them would come bothering
after her to Antwerp, I admired her still more. It was now sum-
mer weather again. The out-door fêtes had commenced, and we
could not walk backward and forward to church without reading
announcements of concerts and other festivities that made our
mouths water. Added to which, there was scarcely an cvening that
Miss Little and Mme. Gobeaux, and often some of the teachers, did
not spend at the Botanical or Zoological Gardens, returning as late
as twelve o'clock at night; whilst we, more discontented than ever,
were left at home to recreate ourselves by learning our lessons for
the next day, under the charge of a little German subordinate,
whose chief duties were to darn our stockings and keep silence in
the class-rooms.
"C
One morning I felt particularly dull and enervated; for Félicité
had commenced to abuse the school and everything concerning it,
directly she opened her eyes; and Miss Little had kept us listening to
a commentary on Leviticus for nearly three quarters of an hour. But,
as I was listlessly obeying the summons of the breakfast-bell, and
thinking with pleasure that there was only a month left to the holi-
days, my friend, just home from mass, overtook me in the corridor,
and, to my surprise, I saw that her demeanor was entirely changed.
She had left the house unwillingly-almost angrily; she returned to it
with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes that dance? with some hid-
den expectation. I threw my arm round her waist and pressed her
to reveal the cause: but she bade me keep silence till she could
speak to me alone, an opportunity for which I anxiously watched.
At last it came; in an interval of leisure we met in one of the empty
class-rooms, and I flew to her side.
16 0
Félicité,' I exclaimed, what is it?'
"Mamie,' she answered (she could never bring her foreign
tongue to pronounce my barbarous name, which, she declared,
MOD
·
·
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PETRONEL.
103
ś
PASSEE.
1.
was only fit for people who had teeth like horses and mouths from
ear to ear-Félicité was not always so complimentary to my nation
as she might have been)' Mamie, will you promise to do me a
favor?' and, like a rash young fool, I promised, not having reached
the age when 'if I can' follows' I will.'
66 4
That is right,' she answered, clapping her hands. 'There is
one good trait about you English-if you promise a thing you
always do it. So I can depend upon you, mamie, without whom
there's no pleasure for your poor Félicité;' and she laid her head
coaxingly upon my shoulder.
66 C
What do you want me to do?' I demanded, beginning to fear
I might have promised too much.
(4
'Oh, it is nothing-a mere bagatelle; stoop your ear closer,
mamie-we mustn't let the walls hear us! It is only that we are
going to the Jardins Zoologiques together, you and I, this evening,
to hear the open-air concert-that is all!"
"To the Jardins Zoologiques?' I exclaimed, starting from her in
my astonishment. But how-has madame given us leave?'
Given me leave? Bah! you little simple,' said Félicité.
· Will a jailer dare to let out the prisoners committed to his charge?
much less mees or madame the two best-looking girls in their
school; and to the Jardins too! Mon Dieu, quel idée !'
C
'But, then, how can we go, Félicité?'
How did we go-not one time, but twenty-from our school at
Brussels? By finesse, mamie, as we shall go this evening, and no
one will be ever the wiser. Leave all that to me; not that I would
propose such a thing to any girl in the pensionnat but yourself;
there is not another worth that to me' (with her favorite snap of
the fingers); a set of heavy fräuleins, who have it not in them to
know what "chic" means. But you are different, mamie, you are
my friend; clever, handsome, spirited-and you have promised to
do as I ask you.'
Had it not been for this unlucky promise, I am sure that, not-
withstanding my affection for Félicité, and my great desire to see
something of foreign life, I should have refused to accede to her
proposal, which I knew to oe in defiance of what was right; but
curiosity and false shame at the idea of being classed with the mean-
spirited Germans and Dutch, combined to urge me forward until I
had renewed it; and my fate once sealed I became eager to know
the means by which it was to be accomplished. But on this point
Félicité chose to keep her own counsel, not being able I believe, at
that moment, to reveal it, only begging me to leave all the arrange-
Derm
406
64
•
•
C
104
PETRONEL.
.
.
ments to her, and have no fears upon the subject. It was un fait
accompli―we should go!
But what made you think particularly of to-night, Félicité?'
I asked, hurriedly, as the sound of approaching footsteps warned
us that the class was reassembling. You seemed so dull and out
of sorts this morning.' But Félicité only answered me with a
roguish look and a finger laid upon her lip.
"
C
Tais toi, chèrie,' she whispered, ' et tu verras.'
:
CHAPTER XI.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL-CONTINUED.
THE prospect of the evening's dissipation did not tend to con-
centrate my attention on the classes of the day, but the feeling by
which I was swayed respecting it was less pleasure than anxiety.
I was too unused to such illegal escapades not to dread the conse-
quence of probable detection: but at the same time I had un-
bounded faith in Félicité, and was most curious to ascertain how
she would manage matters so as to avoid it. Tardily the long, hot
afternoon dragged itself away, but it was gone at last, and the main
business of the day concluded. By five o'clock the masters and
externes had taken their departure; at seven, Miss Little and Mme.
Gobeaux, together with several of the resident teachers, followed
suit, and by nine the sheepfold was unguarded, save by two Ger-
man governesses, Fräulein Netta, and Fräulein Graub, who were
much more afraid of the hundred lambs of which they were left in
charge than the lambs were of them.
..
'Fräulein Graub, perceiving that the flock seemed quietly dis-
posed, retired to her room to write letters; leaving Fräulein Netta,
who was weak-eyed and very submissive, darning stockings close
to her nose, at the head of the long table where we learned our
lessons. Félicité edged herself to my side.
[66
Be ready to come upstairs directly the bell rings,' she whis
pered. 'We must be up and down again before the dormitories
are filled.' And I acquiesced, though not without a quaking fear.
"The order of the dormitories at our pensionnat was as follows.
the rooms, which were very small, having formerly been cells for
nuns, were situated on either side of a long corridor, and held four
beds each, two of which were appropriated to younger pupils and
two to elder; a rule supposed to enable us to help the children in
their dressing. These cells contained no furniture except the beds,
MYC
¿
PETRONEL.
105
and a couple of chairs, as the lavatories were public, and the
pupils' clothes were all kept together in a room at the further end
of the corridor. In the center of each cell hung a lamp. At nine
o'clock (the younger pupils having gone to bed at eight), a bell rang
for the elder girls to retire to their dormitories, where half an hour
was allowed them for disrobing, after which time one of the Ger-
man teachers alluded to went her rounds and extinguished every
lamp that was still burning. If, however, the light had been put
out, she merely closed the door. Such were Miss Little's rules, and
they rendered the first part of our adventure comparatively easy.
As soon as the bell rang that evening, according to Félicité's in-
structions, we rushed upstairs together, and went into our dormi-
tory. The younger pupils, little girls of eight and ten, were sleep-
ing soundly, and from beneath the bed Félicité produced two dark
bundles which she thrust into my hands.
66 4
Our cloaks!' she said, hurriedly; 'they are all that we shall
require. Come on, mamie.'
46 L
Oh, Félicité, how did you procure them?'
Never mind! I will tell you afterward. We have no time to
lose.' And, extinguishing the lamp, she drew me down-stairs
again, where we mingled with the crowd as though we were about
to follow it to bed.
เ
<< •
:
Good-night, fräulein, good-night!' echoed from all sides; and
then the girls commenced to toil up the steep staircase; and Félicité
and I found our way through an unfrequented lobby into the gar-
den.
44 "
How are we to get out this way?' I ventured to ask, as we
struck into a sequestered by-path.
64 C
Through the grille. I have the key,' she answered.
Was it
not a good idea-no one ever uses it? We can go out and enter as
often as we please.'
"" ·
"
<
But the lobby-door, it will be locked,' I suggested, as 1 laid
my hand upon her arm.
64 6
No fear of that, mamie. I threw the key amongst the bushes;
so Susette can not possibly lock it to-night, whatever she may do
to-morrow. But you are positively trembling. You do not mean
to tell me you are not going to enjoy yourself.’
46 6
Oh, yes! I hope so; but, Félicité, suppose we were found out,
what should we do?'
'My Belgian chum was very contemptuous of my fear.
'Bah! enfant,' she said, deridingly, why are you so afraid?
I tell you, neither mees nor madame will find us out; but were it
106
PETRONEL.
une chose impossible, where would be the fun? Ah! you are but
English after all.'
:
Then you don't think that Miss Little and Madame Gobeaux
are at the Jardins Zoologiques, themselves?' I said, reassuringly.
"I do not think-I know they are, mamie; all the world is there
this evening; it is an extra concert.'
"And will they not see us then?'
66 6
See us! in that crowd! But what am I saying? I forget that
you are a poor unfortunate, that has never mixed in such a scene.
Allons, mamie, put on your cloak, and leave me to take care of you.
Should we meet the griffins face to face we have but to draw on
these hoods.'
"
'So saying Félicité drew me after her, not at all unwillingly
and having, with some difficulty, unlocked the rusty grille, we
passed beyond the precincts of the convent-garden, and stood upon
the open road.
It was still dusk; the town lamps were burning, but the moon
had not yet risen, and the uncertain light threw our dark figures
into deeper shadow; a most favorable time for an unlawful ex-
ploit.
"
We closed the grille upon the outer side, and I wished to leave
the key within the lock, but Félicité argued that, were it moon-
light an hour hence, it might attract attention,
66 6
↓
Safer in my pocket, mamie,' she exclaimed, as she deposited it
there. Mees and madame will not be home till nearly midnight,
but we must return by eleven at the latest, and we should find
ourselves in a pretty plight if some one stole the key meanwhile.
But here it is secure. And now vive le plaisir.'
46
She linked her arm in mine as she spoke, and we proceeded
gayly on our way. The Jardins Zoologiques were situated close by
the railway station, a quarter of a mile from the Rue des Capucines,
but our light feet traversed the distance in a few minutes; and I
became quite excited with the description Félicité gave me of all I
should see there, when suddenly the girl stopped speaking, pressed
my arm closer, and commenced to sidle along the pathway; which
extraordinary proceedings caused me to glance upward, and see a
young man who approached us, hat in hand.
<
Mademoiselle d'Alven! Is it possible that I have the pleas-
ure of seeing you?'
(64
Mon Dieu!' exclaimed Félicité, with well-acted surprise; ' you
are the very last person I should have thought of meeting!' and then
}
PETRONEL.
107
she turned to me, and in a conscious manner introduced the new-
comer as Mr. Ernest Moore.
""
I looked at him with the greatest curiosity, this lover who had
actually fulfilled Félicité's undesired prophecy by following her to
Antwerp, and I saw a slight, dark gentlemanly young English-
man, of from eighteen to twenty years of age, who appeared very
much pleased at encountering us, but otherwise disappointed my
preconceptions of what an admirer should be.
64 6
Félicité, he will not tell of us!' I whispered, fearfully.
No, I think not,' she answered in her own language (Made-
moiselle d'Alven could speak no other); and then she turned to our
companion, and put the question to him jestingly. Of course he
promised the profoundest secrecy: more, he declared that he must
have the pleasure of accompanying us to the concert, and seeing us
safe home afterward; to which Félicité gave a gracious assent, and
being close to the gardens, we pulled our hoods over our faces.
Mr. Moore paid the money for us, and we entered boldly. Of
course I saw afterward that this pretended rencontre between the
lovers was merely a preconcerted assignation, but at the moment I
was so much a child that I really thought it was an accident. How
Félicité had managed it-by what means arranged the day and
time and place of meeting is best known to Heaven and the con-
science of a Belgian, for I never could discover; but whether it
were through the agency of an externe, or at mass that morning (as,
remembering her manner, I afterward suspected), the plot had been
well laid and carried out, and by the time we had reached the site
of the concert, she was deeply engaged in her flirtation, and as far
as conversation went, had left me to my own resources. I had
plenty of food to occupy my mind, however, in the scene by which
I now found myself surrounded, and I gazed at everything and
everybody with so much interest and pleasure as almost to forget
my bête noir-the dread of encountering the faces of Miss Little and
Madame Gobeaux amongst the crowd.
446
"But I was no longer astonished at Félicité's assurance of our
safety in venturing there, for it would have been difficult to recog-
nize the friend you were expecting; far more one whom you
thought safe at home. In the middle of the gardens, surrounded
by pens of wild animals, who seemed restless and uneasy, from the
unusual glare and noise, was a raised and covered rotunda, in-
twined with flowering creepers, and lighted with Chinese lamps;
beneath which a first-rate orchestra was discoursing most excellent
music. All about this center of attraction were disposed innumera-
108
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PETRONEL.
ble little tables, at which were seated parties of three and four in
number, smoking, talking, and laughing, or drinking beer, coffee
and lemonade, whilst waiters ran to and fro in obedience to their
orders, and the cry of 'garçon' mingled incessantly with the clash
of the band. Up and down the narrow vistas, caused by the
division of these tables, danced strings of fantastically dressed
children hand in hand, whilst the outer paths of the garden were
thronged by a crowd of promenaders, so dense that they could only
proceed at a foot's pace. The flashing lamps, exciting music, gay
dresses, and continuous chatter, so bewiidered and amused me that
I never listened once to what was passing between Félicité and Mr.
Moore; and as, in consequence of our position, we only kept to the
unlighted paths, I had full opportunity to stare at everything with-
out the chance of being stared at in return.
<<
After a little while our conductor left us, but soon returned
with a waiter bearing a table and chairs to be set down in the shade
for our convenience, where we were quickly served with anything
that fancy dictated to us. This was charming this was real en-
joyment; so Félicité and I repeated to each other a dozen times, as
we rested ourselves in the security of the unlighted pathway, and
sipped coffee, and eat cakes. We could have lingered there all
night, listening to the music, and criticising our fellow creatures;
but ten o'clock soon slipped away, and Félicité was firm in her
resolution to be home by eleven.
'It is the first time,' she said, as we unwillingly drew the hoods
of our cloaks over our faces again, and prepared to leave the gar
dens, but it does not follow that it need be the last; in which senti-
ment both Mr. Moore and myself fervently acquiesced. In fact, so
elated was I by the entire success of the proceeding, that I even
proposed we should make it a daily occurrence. We reached the
Rue des Capucines without any adventure, for, as Félicité had
prognosticated, all the world was at the concert, and the streets
were nearly empty. The old convent looked grim enough as we
came in sight of it, for not a light was to be seen in the windows,
nor a sound to be heard upon the premises.
Safe as can be!' said Félicité, triumphantly, as we all three
stood before the grille, and she fumbled in her pocket for the key.
We have only to creep through the lobby, mamie, and up the
stairs, and no one will hear us; those Germans sleep like pigs'-
but there she stopped suddenly, and her face changed, as she made
a deeper dive into her pocket.
Can I help you, mademoiselle?" said Ernest Moore, tenderly,
¿
"
1
PETRONEL.
109
}
✅The key!' she ejaculated, with a look of alarm. What shall
we do? I have lost the key!'
"Oh! it is impossible,' I cried, not daring to believe in such a
misfortune; but we turned her pocket inside out, and its contents
belied my faith, added to which there was a large hole in the cor-
ner, where the heavy piece of metal had evidently worked itself
out.
* "
What are we to do?' we asked simultaneously, as we gazed
blankly in each other's faces.
. .
Mr. Moore pulled his budding mustache, and seemed unable to
assist us.
46 C
Climb the wall,' I suggested, looking upward.
"Ha!' said Félicité.
3
That would be easy; it is only twenty
feet high, and smooth as a table. Think of some other clever
plan, mamie!'
C
4
เ
It is not my fault,' I answered, indignantly.
66 0
It is the fault of no one; it is our bad luck. Well, we can not
stay here, at all events, for mees and madame will be home present-
ly, and sure to notice any one standing at the grille. Let us move
onward.'
"" (
+(
Are you quite sure the key is gone, Félicité?'
""
At this, we instituted another search, but with the same result.
Nothing was produced except a pocket-handkerchief and a few
gingerbread nuts, and the hole in the corner which had done all the
mischief was an undoubted fact. We were compelled to give up
the key as a bad job.
"Would it be of any use my returning to the gardens to look
for it in the place where we last sat?' suggested Mr. Moore.
No! Mademoiselle d'Alven thought it would be useless; besides
the concert would probably be over by the time he got there, and
the gates closed. The only chance was to rouse up some of the
servants before Miss Little and Madame Gobeaux returned, and
trust to their generosity for concealing our peccadillo; with which
intent we were cautiously approaching the ponderous porte-cochère,
when we perceived, to our horror, that it was already besieged by
the party we were so desirous to avoid, who had returned earlier
than we had anticipated, and were vigorously ringing for admit-
tance. All chance of entering without discovery was over then;
and, according to my unsophisticated ideas, the only thing left for
us was confession and promises of amendment; but just as I ex-
pected to see Félicité rush forward to tell the whole truth to Miss
Little and her partner, she pulled me violently in the opposite direc-
1
$
110
PETRONEL.
!
tion, and at the same moment the heavy porte-cochère opened and
closed again; and they had disappeared.
CCC
Oh, Félicité!' I exclaimed, almost crying, ' why did you not
speak at once? Now they have entered the house, and we shall
have to ring before they will admit us.
Ring!' she echoed, scornfully.
1
66 6
'Do you think I would ring
at that bell, mamie, and confess I've spent the evening at the gar-
dens before Graub, and Netta, and all the rest of them, just to be
turned out as I was from the pensionnat at Brussels? I would die
first!'
"" C
But what shall we do with them? Where can we go?' I de-
manded, in astonishment.
"We will sit by the road-side, or walk about the town till the
morning breaks,' she said, decidedly; it wants but four hours to
daylight, and as soon as the servants are stirring at Numero 40, I
will go down and speak to the old cook Fanchette, and she will
make it all right for us. Come! we had better not loiter about here;'
and imperiously she marched off in the direction of the town.
664
•
"I was but a foolish, willful child, yet I had wit enough to see
that this measure was the most detrimental we could adopt.
Oh, speak to her, Mr. Moore!' I exclaimed, the shyness
which I had hitherto preserved toward our companion being swal-
lowed up in my distress at making a bad matter worse. 'Persuade
her to do what is reasonable; we can not possibly pass the night in
the town.'
(C
'He seemed to agree with me, for his face was thoughtful and
perplexed.
""
Mademoiselle d'Alven,' he commenced, entreatingly; but
Félicité would not listen to him.
•
•
I do not ask you to accompany me,' she said, abruptly. We
want no assistance, monsieur; you can return to Brussels. But I
am determined not to humble myself before Miss Little or Madame
Gobeaux, and the only way of avoiding it is to wait until the morn-
ing.' And she continued to proceed in the same direction.
((
What could I do but accompany her? To return to the pen-
sionnat alone would have been to betray the secret I had promised
to preserve, and, whatever was in store for me, I was not capable
of that. So I heaved a deep sigh, and looked at Mr. Moore, and,
tacitly agreeing no other course was open to us, we slowly and un-
willingly followed in the footsteps of the headstrong Mademoiselle
d'Alven. The Rue des Capucines was situated on the outskirts of
the town, and for some little while our way through a line of pri-
(
Male
+
PETRONEL.
111
I
vate houses; but suddenly the features of the faubourgs changed,
the trees disappeared, the road became narrower and more confined,
and in a few minutes more we found ourselves, where I had often
wished to be, in the very heart of Antwerp.
""
CHAPTER XII.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL-CONTINUED.
NEVER shall I forget that nocturnal walk through the com-
mercial capital of Belgium. It was now midnight, the multitude of
pleasure-seekers so lately congregated at the Jardins Zoologiques
had dispersed in every direction; some to their quiet homes, and
others to the various cabarets with which the place abounded. The
streets, so full of life a short time since, were silent and deserted;
a solitary individual here and there hurrying homeward, or a half-
starved cur seeking for refuse in the gutter, were all the living ob-
jects we encountered. The moon, now fully risen, was shining
brilliantly, illuminating every nook and corner of the fine old town.
At the commencement of each street a lamp was burning before the
figure of the Blessed Virgin. The view was clear and unobstructed,
and no better opportunity could have been afforded me of examin-
ing the beauties and curiosities I had so ardently desired to see.
But I was almost too alarmed and miserable to use my eyes, far less
my senses.
C.
Mr. Moore had left my side to rejoin Félicité. Seeing that her
determination not to re-enter the pensionnat until the morning ap-
peared immovable, he thought, without doubt, that it was useless
to dissuade her further, and that the next best thing he could do
was to protect her from the probable consequences of her folly; so
he whispered something in her ear, which induced her to place her
arm within his own, and they were proceeding in a very comforta
ble style together, taking little heed to me, who trudged behind
them, trembling with fear at the echo of our advancing footsteps.
We wound in and out of the narrow, irregular streets, formed by
houses of six and seven stories high, the luxuriant carving about
some of which, characterizing the buildings erected in Flanders by
the Spaniards, would at any other moment have called forth my
fervent admiration, easily excited by the beautiful either in art or
nature; but now I scarcely saw them for my tears. I could enjoy
neither the quaintness of the architecture, nor the novelty of the
situation, whilst I considered what Cousin Ulick would say when
"
112
PETRONEL.
he heard that I had been wandering about the streets of Antwerp
all night in such company as that of Félicité d'Alven and Ernest
Moore, whom I had never seen until that day. Was it possible that
so mad a freak could go undiscovered, and that I should not be sent
to Rockborough by the next steamer, covered with shame, to be sub-
jected to the taunts of Cousin Marcia, and the reproach of my dear
guardian? For the taunts, even whilst I shuddered at the prospect
of them, I knew I should care little; but for the disappointment in
store for Couin Ulick I could have wept aloud, and did so, for after
awhile Félicité, dropping the arm of her admirer, retraced her
steps to my side, and angrily told me that if I could not behave less
like a baby, I should draw attention on us from the houses; which
threat, involving perhaps immediate detection, had the effect of
quelling the noisy torrent of my tears, though I still continued at
intervals to wipe them silently away with my pocket-handker-
chief.
·
"In this manner we made the tour of Antwerp, and, Félicité,
who, once out of sight of the Rue des Capucines, had quickly re-
gained both her self-possession and her spirits, was now as viva.
cious if not as noisy as before, declaring that it was an excellent finale
to the evening's exploit, and for her part she was thoroughly enjoy-
ing it. Only Mr. Moore, I thought, did not quite acquiesce in her
assertion that she would not have missed this midnight ramble for
any consideration in the world, for, though very attentive, he
checked her more than once when she would have turned into the
larger thoroughfares, and pulled the dark hood over her face, which,
from a spirit of coquetry or the sultry weather, she kept jerking
backward. Finding herself deterred, and with some degree of
firmness, from traversing the principal streets, Félicité expressed
her intention of going down toward the quay; it would be cooler
there, she argued, and we should find some planks to sit on (for we
were getting very tired), and when the dawn broke there would be
plenty of vigilantes to take us back within a stone's throw of the
Rue des Capucines. This proposal was more reasonable, for at that
hour the quay was sure to be deserted, and Mr. Moore permitted
her to lead him in the direction which she intimated; I, as before,
following listlessly upon their heels. But as we came upon a large
open space, which I knew afterward to be the Place Verte, I incon-
tinently raised my eyes, and the exclamation of delight that burst
from my lips was so fervent, that it attracted the attention of my
companions, who, mistaking the cause, and hurrying backward,
asked if I were hurt.
-
:
V
{
1
$4.4
PETRONEL.
113
No, no!' I answered, in a tone of awe, my gaze still directed
4
upward. But, oh, Félicité, look there!'
C
There! you goose! Well, and what of that? It is only the
cathedral!'.
{
Only the cathedral? In that first moment of rapturous wonder,
I still had leisure to question, familiar as she was with its outward
details, how Félicité could speak so lightly of such a work of art.
The base of the massive building was hid from us; but far, far
above the tops of the tall houses that enveloped it rose the Gothic
spire, tapering to the clouds, through the beautiful tracery of which
the pure moonlight streamed, exhibiting its delicate structure to the
utmost advantage. In all my life I had never seen anything like
this; I had never even conceived that architecture could be brought
to such perfection, and in the contemplation of its marvel:us beauty
I forgot everything that had distressed me, and even those by whom
I was accompanied.
464
Come on, mamie!" said Félicité, impatiently, as she took my
hand; 'we are close to the quay.'
+64
Oh, don't touch me! don't speak to me!' I murmured,
dreamily. Go on and leave me here. I never saw anything so
lovely in my life before.'
66
'The next moment I was sorry I had spoken.
"Mademoiselle must be an artist,' said a quiet voice at my
elbow, for it requires the soul of one to appreciate such beauty as
we see before us now.'
""
4
}
+
"I started and looked round, alarmed at the notice I had pro-
voked, and indignant that it should have been offered. Mr. Moore
did the same, bristling with English readiness to resent the supposed
affront; but, as soon as his eye fell on the figure of the person who
had addressed me his manner changed to a pleasant surprise.
"Mr. David!' he exclaimed; 'where did you spring from? I
had no idea you were in Antwerp!'
"I am here but a few days,' replied the stranger, for the pur-
pose of taking a sketch by moonlight of the very building, the per-
fections of which mademoiselle' (with a bow toward myself) ´ sc
evidently appreciates;' and with this he touched the sketching-block
he held in his hand.
€
"At Mr. Moore's first recognition of him, Félicité and I, pulling
our black hoods well over our faces, had retreated to some distance,
where we stood together, with fast-beating hearts, trying to calcu
late what the extent of the risk we now ran might be. Yet we
were not so far off as to be unable to hear and see what passed be-
114
PETRONEL.
tween the gentlemen; and when the stranger bent his head in my
direction, I stole a glance of curiosity at him. He was not a young
man, by any means; at least he looked much older than my Cousin
Ulick; but he was very handsome, with large, dark eyes, and a
beard which lay upon his chest, and was picturesquely attired in a
painter's cap and blouse. Altogether I liked his appearance,
although I felt frightened lest he should discover who I was.
CL L
Were you at the concert at the Jardins Zoologiques this even-
ing?' said Ernest Moore, apparently because he had nothing better
to observe.
666
'I was, for a few minutes; but my time is precious. I suppose
you came from Brussels for that purpose. Does Monsieur Servan
give his pupils carte blanche as to the hour of their return?'
"f
This question, pointedly directed at the extraordinary fact of
our appearance in the Place Verte at two o'clock in the morning,
made both Félicité and myself tremble, whilst it considerably dis-
concerted Mr. Moore.
("
Yes-no-that is, he is always ready, of course, to accept a rea
sonable excuse; and this evening an unavoidable accideni—but,
wait a minute, Mr. David, will you?' and with that he hurried back
to us.
6+
'Let me tell him,' he urged, rapidly; 'he's our painting-mas-
ter at Brussels, and a first-rate fellow; kindest heart in the world,
and would as soon think of blowing out his brains, as letting the
cat out of the bag.'
CL C
'But where is the necessity?' said Félicité, who had a large
amount of caution where anything like discovery was concerned.
"He can not help us; we shall do very well without him and he
need never know who we arc.'
“‘But he may talk else, without knowing how important conceal-
ment is for you. I assure you, since we have met, it will be best to
make him our confidant.'
. . ،
You are certain he is safe?' she inquired, in a low voice.
Certain as of myself; and he will be an extra protection for
-you till the morning.'
"Do as you please then, monsieur,' she answered, carelessly;
'I dare say, after all, that it will be the better plan.'
"As for myself, I said nothing. No one had asked my opinion
on the subject, and I considered things had arrived at such a pass
that it would be difficult to make them worse. Mr. Moore returned
to where the stranger stood still, block in hand, looking up occa-
sionally at the spire of the cathedral, and putting in the shadows
66 6
PETRONEL.
115
J
€18
with black chalk. A few words passed between them, low but
earnest; and then Mr. David desisted from his occupation, and came
toward the spot where I stood with my friends.
466
Mesdemoiselles,' he said, as he removed his cap from his
head, 'I am sincerely sorry to hear from Mr. Moore the awkward
position in which you find yourselves placed. I wish I knew any
lady here whom I could trust to assist you, but
<
"Oh! no! no!' volubly interrupted Félicité, to whom the notion
of a woman's interference was the most obnoxious of all. Pray do
not concern yourself, monsieur; we shali manage extremely well.
It has been an unlucky contretemps, as you will perceive; but there
are some contretemps, I need not remind you, which are best kept
to ourselves.'
6
64 6
'I understand you perfectly,' he answered, with a smile, and
you may depend upon my discretion; meanwhile, you will permit
me to do what lies in my power to make you more comfortable. I
am afraid you must be sadly tired.'
C
His suspicion was correct, for we had been walking all the
time, and could hardly drag one foot before the other. Even Féli-
cité's vivacious spirits were beginning to flag, and as for myself I
felt quite worn out; so that when Mr. David proposed that we
should first find some benches whereon to rest ourselves, we fol-
lowed thankfully where he chose to lead us.
C
'The Place Verte, a large square formed by houses, had for its
center, an unoccupied piece of ground, planted with trees, beneath
the shade of which was daily held the flower market.
"It was to this center that Mr. David now conducted us, and,
having reached one of the seats he spoke of, he laid his plaid upon
it, and made us rest our wearied limbs as though it had been a sofa.
Félicité, whom the fresh chance of detection had, for a moment,
considerably subdued, now fully recovered her former ease, and
chatted as familiarly with Mr. David (who, with Ernest Moore, oc-
cupied a bench near us) as though they had been old acquaintances.
But, for my part, I was not equal to any further exertion. Until I
lay down I had no idea how tired I was, and, in a few minutes after
assuming the recumbent position, Miss Little, Cousin Ulick, and
Mr. David, the fear of discovery and the dread of punishment,
alike faded from my mind, and I fell fast asleep. I must have slept
for two hours, if not more, for when I waked again it was broad
daylight, and some one was speaking of myself.
CCC
Fleming! Petronel Fleming!' said the unfamiliar voice.
most uncommon name, surely.'
'A
i
I
<
Paka+
116
PETRONEL.
“We are talking of you, mamie,' exclaimed Félicité, as she
and Mr. David thinks your
watched my eyes slowly unclose,
name as barbarous as I do.'
464
Scarcely that,' interposed the artist, since I have the honor
of belonging to the same country as mademoiselle.'
"Then I started up, all drowsiness banished by the sound of their
voices, and found that my friend was arranging her cloak prepara-
tory to departure, and that whilst I slept, my hood had fallen off
my face and head.
"Permit me, mademoiselle,' said Mr. David, as he replaced it.
'I trust you will feel no ill effects from sleeping in the night air;
but I am afraid it is a custom of which Madame votre mère would
not approve.'
<
"I have no mother, sir,' I answered, quickly. The mention of
my mother, and from a stranger's tongue, had still the power to
cause me pain.
CC C
Ah!-forgive me! I should have known better than to speak
so hastily. But doubtless mademoiselle finds in the affection of a
father some compensation for that loss.'
"I have no father, either!' I replied, as curtly as before. My
English blood, always ready to take offense at anything like im
pertinent curiosity, rose up to resent the queries urged upon me;
and yet Mr. David had put them so deferentially, and seemed so
hurt to have been twice mistaken, that I had not the heart to appear
angry with him.
(C
Félicité,' I said, anxious to change the subject, 'I must have
been sleeping a long while. Is it not time for us to return?'
،، ،
Quite time, mamie, a little over time, perhaps madame would
say, if we consulted her upon the subject; but Mr. Moore has gone
to fetch a vigilante.' And, indeed, at that moment he came back,
and stopped with the vehicle before our party.
"Mr. David would not leave us even then, but insisted upon see-
ing us as far as he could, and therefore we were accompanied by
both the gentlemen. During the drive Félicité was monopolized by
Mr. Moore, and the artist confined his conversation entirely to my-
self. I thought he was trying to make up for the slight offense his
allusion had occasioned me; and notwithstanding I felt indisposed
for talking, there was something in his smile and manner which
disarmed resentment, and drew me almost unconsciously toward
him. At last we came in sight of the garden walls, and it was con
sidered safer for us to dismount, when Félicité, taking a most
coquettish, but at the same time tender adieu of her admirer, shook
!
PETRONEL.
117
hands with Mr. David and skipped out of the vigilante as though
nothing were the matter: whilst I, half-stupefied by insufficient
rest at the idea of what might be in store for us, almost forgot to
bid them farewell at all. Yet the look of interest with which Mr.
David's eyes followed my exit from the carriage struck me even in
that moment of suspense, although it had no power to reassure me.
Both he and Mr. Moore had promised to remain where they were
until they saw us safely disappear behind the porte-cochère; but
what protection could their presence afford me, in the event of my
being met by Miss Little or Mme. Gobeaux, with the news that I
was to be expelled from school, and sent back in disgrace to Cousin
Ulick? I may truly say that in that hour, frightened as I was, the
prospect that he would be ashamed of me was the bitterest that
chance presented. So that, though I followed in the wake of Mlle.
d'Alven's light heels with slow movements and a heavy heart, they
were induced by thinking of the distress I should cause others more
than by that I might bring upon myself.
""
But inexperienced, and ignorant of the full meaning of the
word finesse, I had yet to learn the resources of my friend's active
brain, and the means to which she would resort in order to effect
her object. I was but a mere blunderer by the side of Félicité
d'Alven.
1
1
1
(C
It was still the earliest hour of morning. A few carts drawn
by dogs, and laden with milk and vegetables from the country,
were all the life we had met upon the road; and the servants at
Numero 40 were just astir. The double doors of the cochère stood
open, and for a moment we even hoped we might creep in without
observation: but such fortune was too good for us, for standing in
the vestibule, shaking rugs, appeared the fat figure of the cook,
Fanchette, as unattractive a specimen of a greasy Flemish woman
as one could possibly desire to see. I knew that Félicité's original
intention was, if possible, to make her peace with the same Fan-
chette, who possessed a good deal of authority over the other servants:
but my English notions of bribing the lower classes not extending
beyond money, or soft words, I was little prepared to see my bosom
friend rush up to the Flamande, and, throwing her arms about her
neck, cover her coarse face with kisses, whilst she entreated her,
pour l'amour de la Sainte Vierge, not to reveal that we had been
outside the garden grille. Indeed, so impetuous was Félicité in her
embraces, and so voluble in her words, that she made Fanchette
purposely understand that we had merely slipped out for a few
minutes that morning through the opened porte-cochère; and, anx-
118
PETRONEL.
ious as I was to escape the consequences of my own misconduct, I
stood aghast at the means by which my safety was being effected.
But Fanchette was not to be appeased entirely by kisses; if Félicité
understood the meaning of the word finesse, so did she; and, know-
ing that the matter was one of some importance, would not accede
to our desire of secrecy until she had been promised something more
substantial than embraces. This was sufficiently easy, for we both had
well-filled purses; and it was to me a far more satisfactory method
of buying over the mercenary creature before us than the one I had
seen practiced. And so, dependent on her Flemish conscience for
ulterior safety, she permitted us to creep up to our dormitory, which
we reached without further observation.
"
Thanks to the Blessed Virgin!' exclaimed Félicité, as she
closed the door behind us, that affair is all over. Are you not very
much tired, mamie? Would it not be pleasant to undress and
lie in bed for the whole day? But we shall only have time to wash
our faces and rearrange our hair before the bell rings for getting
up. We shall be down first in the class-room this morning. How
studious fräulein will consider us to be! Quite examples to the
rest of the pensionnat, are we not?' And she finished with a light
laugh.
f.
" เ
But I could not answer her; I was too much overcome. Once
free from the dread of detection, the thought of the fearful risk
which I had gone through returned in full force upon my mind,
and exclaiming: 'Oh, Cousin Ulick! Cousin Ulick!' I sunk down
on my knees by the bedside, sobbing.
66 (
Bah! enfant!'" said Mlle. Félicité d'Alven.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL-CONTINUED.
THE best effect resulting from my unauthorized visit to the
Jardins Zoologiques was that it cured all desire in me for engaging
in similar exploits. I had had no idea that what seemed at first
sight a mere school-girl's frolic could culminate in so dangerous an
experiment on our respectability as walking about the streets of
Antwerp all night; and a few words on the subject which Mr. David
addressed to me in the vigilante, coming home, had made me feel,
if possible, still more acutely than before, the lowering position in
which we had placed ourselves. I was becoming old enough to
understand such things when presented to me, and consequently no
""
THE
+
3
PETRONEL.
119
港
​persuasions on the part of Félicité d'Alven could induce me to ac-
company her outside the garden grille again. I did not love her
less after the scrape into which she had led me, but I no longer
looked up to her for guidance. My estimation of her wisdom was
considerably lessened, and thenceforth I walked as her equal, instead
of her slave.
''
At first Félicité professed to be very unhappy at the change;
she accused me of perfidy and ingratitude, and several other offenses
against our plighted friendship, yet, though I was eager in my
denial of the charge, the thought of Cousin Ulick's approval was
dearer to me than her affection, and I remained firm in my refusal
to transgress the rules of the pensionnat again.
. .
'But when Félicité concluded by saying that as I was convinced
I had committed a mortal sin, she supposed the next thing I should
do would be to go to confession, and reveal her secrets with my
own, I replied boldly that what I had promised to conceal was safe,
and that no persuasion or cross-questioning would draw it from
me. And in this I spoke the truth, for, without being of a secretive-
disposition, I never felt any desire to repeat what was confided to
my keeping.
CC
ܕ
And then we made up our little difference with many kisses and
a few tears, and Félicité and I were as good friends as before.
"It was not long afterward that we separated for the summer
holidays, and when I returned to Rockborough I took with me sev-
eral water-color drawings, which I had finished without assistance.
I have mentioned before that this art was a favorite one of mine; as
a child, at Saltpool, I had been fonder of a pencil and paper than
any other sedentary occupation, and when the opportunity for
learning drawing was afforded me, I seized upon it eagerly. Arith
metic, grammar, geography, and history had a marvelous capacity
for being nowhere' when required, and even with music I pro-
gressed very slowly; but for languages and drawing I seemed to have
an innate liking, which needed but the means of development to
bring it to perfection. I chatted French and Germau as easily and
far more grammatically than my mother tongue, and had been,
almost from the commencement, the favorite pupil of the drawing-
master who attended Miss Little's pensionnat. I loved the occupa-
tion, treasured up each hint afforded me concerning it, listened
breathlessly to the lectures we sometimes heard upon the subject,
and spent every minute I could spare from other studies before my
easel.
"The consequence was that I progressed rapidly, and stood in
120
PETRONEL.
+
C
danger of losing all humility from the praises lavished on me by
my master; and it had been a source of disappointment to me,
thitherto, that Cousin Ulick, whose approval I looked for more than
that of any other creature, should seem to ignore the performances
of which I was so proud. I had regularly taken home my draw-
ings to be exhibited at Rockborough, and had even been bold enough
pointedly to draw his attention to them: but the result had in-
variably been the same-a cursory glance, then a deep sigh, and the
lukewarm commendation of Very nice, my dear; very nice indeed!'
followed by apparent abstraction. So I had concluded, with a
slight amount of pique, that Cousin Ulick, notwithstanding all his
cleverness, knew nothing about drawing, and it was waste of time
to ask him to examine my sketches. And this summer I saw no.
reason to alter my opinion; he was as kind, nay, kinder to me than
ever, although there were times when he seemed nervous and un-
like himself in my presence, as though I were a great, big nuisance
that he did not know how to get rid of; but of my drawings he
took as little notice as before, or I thought he did so.
"I had carried some very fair specimens of water-colors in my
traveling trunk, and when I laid them on the table, even Cousin
Marcia, although she hardly knew a water-color from a crayon,
said that I had wonderfully improved. But Cousin Ulick only took
them up one by one, examined them in silence, and put them down
again. 'I wish I learned in oils,' I cried, impetuously, for I inter-
preted his silence as depreciation of my efforts. 'I could do twice
as much in oils as water-colors, the style is so much more to my
taste.'
46 4
Do none of the pupils learn in oils?' he asked.
No, not at present; they used to do so about a year ago, but I
was not sufficiently advanced to join them then, and now the furor
seems to have died out. So tiresome!' and I collected together my
despised productions with some degree of annoyance.
64 6
It is as well to be contented with what we have,' said Cousin
Ulick, sententiously, and I dubbed him unsympathetic, until, in
leaving the room, I looked up and caught the quietly amused smile
with which he was watching my impatient movements.
(4
"I thought that he did not recognize my talent, that he took no
interest in what interested me, or cared to see me enthusiastic in
the pursuit of any particular branch of study; and how hardly I
judged him! For when I returned to Antwerp I was the bearer of
a letter from him to Miss Little, with the contents of which she
soon made me familiar. Dr. Ford was so satisfied with the prog-
I
PETRONEL.
121
ress I had made in drawing, that he wished me to commence oil-
painting at once, and if no master attended the school for that pur-
pose, she was to procure one for my sole benefit.
"Miss Little and Madame Gobeaux were both present on the oc-
casion, and their enthusiasm at my guardian's generosity was un-
bounded. It was just like Dr. Ford, they said, always so liberal in
his arrangements for my welfare. I was a fortunate girl to have so
careful a guardian, and they trusted I should show my apprecia-
tion of his kindness by renewed diligence.
¿
4
"And it is a curious coincidence,' added Miss Little to her
partner, considering the application that was made to us last week.'
"¿Madame Gobeaux nodded her head oracularly. It will make it
better worth his while,' she answered, if we can secure him half a
dozen pupils, which I think this term we shall do-oh, yes! very
curious and very convenient into the bargain. You had better-
write at once, my dear; he is the best master for oil-painting dis-
engaged, and we may lose the chance of securing him by delay!'
'You are right, madame! Miss Fleming, you can join your
companions, and you may consider it a settled thing that you begin
the study of oils this term.'
Co
'I was in raptures; it was the one boon which I had ardently
desired to obtain, but been too shy to ask for, and I could not feel
sufficiently grateful to my cousin Ulick for having remembered the
wish so roughly expressed in his presence. There was but one
drawback to the prospect-that Félicité, whose attempts at sketch-
ing had often called forth my unfeigned merriment, could not
share the pleasure in store for me, nor even sympathize in my an-
ticipation of it; but then we were together in all other studies, and
in music she far excelled myself, so that our fortunes were but
fairly balanced after all. And, before I slept, I penned a letter to
my cousin Ulick, not quite so badly written, or so blotted, I trust,
as those of two years since, in which, though I found words very
inadequate to express all I felt toward him, I think he must have
read that I was grateful.
"A few days passed, and I commenced to feel curious on the
subject of my painting-master, the name of whom had not trans-
pired. Miss Little was not used to be communicative with her
pupils, and, having told me that I was to learn, she considered, till
the time arrived, my information was sufficient. A class of four or
five girls was formed to prosecute the study with me, and on the
day appointed for taking our first lesson we were all assembled in
the painting-room, anxiously awaiting the appearance of the mas-
1
122
PETRONEL.
ter. The hour which had been fixed was four, and the clock now
pointed to half past.
" "
The Brussels train must be late,' remarked Miss Little, as she
glanced up at the time-piece; and we huddled together, and whis-
pered to each other that the new master had come all the way from
Brussels to instruct us. At that moment the front bell rang.
66 C
Here is monsieur!' said Miss Little, calmly; and, rising, she
shook out her silken skirts, and left the room to meet the new-
comer.
"Then I was seized with a sudden shyness. I knew I should be
brought forward as the most promising pupil there, and my heart
palpitating with fear lest I should not prove equal to the task be-
fore me, I left the circle of my companions and busied myself with
some portfolios and sketching-blocks at the further end of the
apartment. I heard the door reopen to admit Miss Little and the
painting-master, and each young lady named him in turn, without
looking up from my occupation, and then I was summoned sharp-
ly, and with some asperity.
. . .
Miss Fleming, why are you not here? I am astonished. This
is Miss Fleming, Mr. David.'
At the name I looked up hastily, and encountering the gentle-
man who had met Félicité and me upon the Place Verte, grew scar-
let. In one moment flashed upon my mind the circumstances under
which we had last seen each other-the time of night, the public
streets, in the company of Ernest Moore-and I blushed so pain-
fully and vividly that my governess looked at me in surprise, and
Mr. David, compassionating my discomfort, turned his face away.
เ
'I am glad to see that you feel your remissness in not having
been ready to welcome Mr. David, Miss Fleming,' said Miss Little,
in a voice of displeasure; and then she went on to explain under
whom I had been studying the art of drawing, and how far I was
advanced in it.
61
((
Meanwhile, I stood by, my head in a whirl, hardly hearing
what she said, or understanding what I heard, my whole soul filled
with the question whether Mr. David remembered as accurately as
I did, and, if so, what use he was likely to make of his knowledge.
Ernest Moore had said that he was safe, but, in the eyes of a school-
girl, all masters and mistresses are made in the same mold, and
leagued together to prevent the enjoyment of the young. I had
not forgotten my midnight escapade; far from it; but the interven-
ing holidays had seemed to thrust it further into the past than in
reality it stood.
And now the actual presence, to be repeated
ا,
PETRONEL.
123
weekly, and in the pensionnat itself, of one of the chief actors in
it, seemed not only to revive the danger of detection, but to bring
it close at hand. Not that I had any reason to suspect Mr. David
of treachery; but what unlucky wind had driven him in my partic-
ular quarter? The mere fact of his contiguity made me tremble.
When I had sufficiently recovered myself to be able to listen to
what was going on around me, I found that Miss Little was in the
midst of her farewell speech and about to quit the room.
+
"Then I shall leave you, Mr. David,' she concluded, to find
out your pupils' capabilities for yourself, and I trust you will have
no occasion to complain of their want of attention to your instruc.
tions.' With which Miss Little bowed to Mr. David, and Mr.
David bowed to Miss Little, and the lady bowed herself away alto-
gether, to be presently replaced by Fräulein Netta, who, with a
bundle of work, settled herself in one of the windows to play
chaperon. But, as Fräulein Netta's eyes were so weak that she
could scarcely see the length of her own nose, and she did not un、
derstand a word of any language except German, and was too bash-
ful to look up whilst a master was in the room, her office of duenna
was a sinecure.
{{
As soon as Miss Little had disappeared I sprung to assist my
school-fellows in setting the easels, for I could not bear to meet the
scrutiny of Mr. David's eyes, I so feared they might remind me of
the past. But I was needlessly alarmed; for nothing could exceed
his personal politeness nor apparent unconsciousness of ever having
seen my face before. He examined my productions with a critical,
and yet well-satisfied air; which made my cheeks burn with pleas-
ure; and when the easels were erected, and ourselves busily employed,
although he walked constantly from one pupil to another he kept
his chair by mine, from which custom he never afterward departed.
It was not until the close of the lesson that I ventured to ease my
heart by reminding him how important it was to me that he should
keep his own counsel with respect to having met me on that event-
ful night, but by that time his self-possession had restored mine and
made me bolder.
"Monsieur!' I whispered, as he bent his head over my canvas,
'you will never say anything, will you, about-' and there I halted,
blushing like fire.
464
Of course not,' he answered, with ready intuition; you may
fully depend on my discretion;' and he spoke so firmly, and with
such sympathy for my half-uttered fear, that I never disturbed him
again, and remained quite satisfied of the subject thenceforth.
124
PETRONEL.
५
"(
"The knowledge of this little secret, and the reticence he ob-
served concerning it, no less than the marked attention he continued
to pay me, laid the foundation of an intimacy for the painting-
master and myself which did not exist between him and his other
pupils. He attended to them all, of course, but I was the acknowl-
edged favorite, not only professionally but privately; and I am not
sure in which capacity I pleased him most. He was delighted with
my aptitude for acquiring his art, and took the utmost pains to in-
struct me in it, often remaining over his time that he might linger
by my easel and watch the progress I was making. Meanwhile, he
neglected no opportunity to assure me of the interest he took in my
personal welfare; and that the pleasure of his visits to the pension-
nat was not derived solely from his pride in the most promising
pupil he had ever possessed. And my heart readily responded to
these expressions of kindness from Mr. David, for in the first place
there was a great sympathy between us, on account of the art we
mutually pursued; and, in the second, I had heard tones of affection
from so few lips besides those of Cousin Ulick and Félicité, that
the making of a friend was still a new delight to me. Therefore,
my painting-lessons, which had always been a source of interest, be-
came now my greatest pleasures, and I watched for the day of their
return as though it had been a holiday. Mr. David, in his quiet
way, was a great talker, and, being English (though he had lived
for many years upon the Continent), his conversation held more
charm for me than that of a foreigner.
"L
He began by telling me much of his past life, which drew me
on to speak of mine, until I had confided to him the whole history
of my mother's death, and my adoption by my cousin Ulick. I
dilated on this latter topic, pleased to find some one to whom I
could praise my idol unreservedly; and Mr. David encouraged me
to talk of Rockborough and the luxuries by which I was surround-
ed there. He supposed my guardian, like most Englishmen, was
very rich, and I confirmed his suspicions unhesitatingly, not being
above a school-girl's vulgarity in feeling pride in the possession of
a wealthy home.
66
''Oh, yes, indeed! I had heard several people say that Cousin
Ulick must be the richest man in Rockborough; and he had such
beautiful carriages-three of them-and two pairs of horses, and
when I went back for good he had promised that I should have a
riding horse all to myself. Wouldn't that be jolly?'
"And I suppose, then-use burned umber for that foreground,
1
PETRONEL.
125
፡
mademoiselle-that this same Cousin Ulick keeps you well supplied
with pocket-money?'
"
'I should think so-more than I can use; for what opportunity
have we for spending it here? And if I were to ask him for a hun-
dred pounds, I believe that he would give it to me.'
$6
This I said, not that I should have liked to put my guardian to
the test, but because I was a boastful little fool, whose tongue was
apt to outstrip her common sense.
C
Ah! very good of him, I'm sure,' murmured Mr. David,
though I imagine it would be difficult to refuse you anything,
mademoiselle. A little more light on the branches of those trees
-that is better. We must ask Miss Little to allow us to have a few
lessons in the garden before this fine weather passes. I should like
to see you attempt a sketch from nature, and there are several trees
there well worth copying.'
""
He mentioned the subject to Miss Little, and from that day our
easels were carried out upon the lawn instead of being erected in
the atelier, which plan necessarily divided the pupils more than
heretofore. It was now October, the weather was warm, and the
convent garden was shady, for the trees, although beginning to
change color, were still in full foliage. Mr. David selected a group
for our experiment in sketching, and, desiring each girl to take it
from a different point of view, set my easel in a by-path thickly
surrounded by bushes, and, as usual, made it his resting-place,
although he never neglected the other pupils.
"We had not taken many lessons in the open air before I found
my intimacy with my master had made rapid strides. He even
dropped the formal appellation of mademoiselle, and addressed me
by my Christian name; but as none of my companions were En-
glish, the familiarity of our converse passed unnoticed; and for my
part I talked so confidentially to him under the shadow of the bushes
in the by-path as almost to authorize the change. Yet I can hardly
say that I was fond of Mr. David; flattered and interested, I certain-
ly was, both by the pride he expressed in my performances, and
the affection I seemed to have provoked; but my pleasure consisted
more in the novelty than a sense of the worth of his friendship,
and, had it not been for the startling revelation I am about to make,
I should probably have left Antwerp and my painting-master with
not much more regret than is usually accorded to the rupture of an
agreeable intercourse. But on one particular afternoon-how well
I remember it!-he told me that which, whilst almost turning my
feelings against him, bound me more closely to him than ever!
126
PETRONEL.
“I had finished my group of trees, and, flushed and triumphant
at what Mr. David called a brilliant success, was idling away the
afternoon before my easel, putting in a light there, or a shadow
here, and stopping every moment to talk to my master. He had
drawn me on to speak again of Saltpool; and I had been describing
with some enthusiasm the scenery which I could remember there,
when he interrupted me to ask from whom I had derived my taste
for drawing.
!
"For undoubtedly your talent is remarkable,' he said, ' and such
gifts rarely come by chance; they are usually inherited. Did your
mother draw?'
666
Not that I can remember, Mr. David. Whilst I knew my poor
mother she was always ill, and seldom moved off the sofa.
I can
not recollect ever seeing a pencil in her hand.'
، ، ،
Perhaps your father was an artist, Petronel!' And as Mr.
David spoke, he busied himself putting in a fern at the root of one
of my trees.
"I shook my head doubtingly.
"C
"I don't know anything about papa. I think he must have gone
away when I was quite a baby. I can not even recollect his face.'
Did your mother never speak of him, then?'
6. C
"Never; but she often used to cry, and call me her poor, fa-
therless girl. Is that group quite finished now, Mr. David?'
CCC
Quite; and for a beginner, I consider it a most creditable un-
dertaking. I shall bring you my sketch of the cathedral to copy
next time. But apropos of your father, Petronel. I suppose you
can remember going into mourning for him?'
(6 เ
Indeed I can't. I never had a black frock on, to my knowl-
edge, until I wore it for my poor mamma.'
CC C
That is curious, though, is it not, if, as you say, your father is
dead?'
(C
The question made me blush. I had often thought it curious
myself of late, and wondered at the cause, though it only seemed
part of the mystery which enveloped all that concerned my father's
name.
"I think sometimes,' I said, with a heightened color, as I com-
menced violently to clean my palette,' that perhaps, as we were
rather poor at Saltpool, my mother had not the means to put me
into mourning for him.'
CL
No, Petronel, that was not the reason,' answered Mr. David.
"I stared at him in silent wonder. What could he possibly know
PETRONEL.
127
about my family concerns? If he had suddenly told me I was not
a Fleming, I could not have felt more surprised.
"How do you know?' I commenced, abruptly.
"Because your father is not dead; he is alive at this moment,'
replied my master, firmly.
1. ،
Alive! Oh, Mr. David! Who can have told you so?'
"The news set me trembling like an aspen-leaf. I had never
dwelt upon the memory of my father with any particular affection
or regret, because, being a total stranger to me, I could not realize
the loss I had experienced in him; but to hear that I had been mis-
taken, that he was alive, that I might yet come to know him and
love him, and have once more a parent of my own, was such a
mighty, unexpected revelation, that at first reception it over-
whelmed me.
"I had no power to question its probability, or realize its truth,
or even marvel at it. I could only lay my hand upon my heart,
and draw my breath in long, gasping sobs, and Mr. David, perceiv
ing my agitation, feared lest it should attract the notice of my com-
panions.
666
Be quiet,' he said, almost angrily. Collect yourself, Petronel,
or I shall tell you no more.'
"I am quiet,' I replied, making a great effort to be calm.Tell
me the rest, Mr. David; pray tell me all. Do you know my father;
have you seen him; and why have I been kept all these years in
ignorance of his existence?'
C
"I was nearly breathless with agitation, and Mr. David did not
seem much more at ease.
(
'I do know him,' he answered, after a short pause, and have
seen him lately. Your last question I can not answer, Petronel!'
Where is he, Mr. David? Oh! tell him to come here and see
me-his poor child, to whom he is a stranger.'
44 C
"He will come, my dear, never fear; but you must keep what I
have told you strictly secret. Meanwhile, let me see if I can estab
lish a claim upon your confidence.'
<<
He drew some cases from his pocket as he spoke, and placed
one in my hands.
"C
Do you know who that is meant for, Petronel?'
"I opened it tremblingly, eagerly. It was an old-fashioned
daguerreotype, but through the faded, half-obliterated coloring I
could trace the sweet features of my dead mother, smiling, with an
infant in her arms. I had no portrait of her, and this (small like.
ness as it bore to the sad, sick creature I remembered) touched my
128
PETRONEL.
heart almost as keenly as though it had been a living face which
looked upon me, and, as I recognized it, the tears burst from my
eyes.
"L"
Mamma! mamma!' I cried, as I cast myself upon the grass,
and sobbed like a little child above the lifeless pictured thing.
Yes, your mother,' replied Mr. David, with yourself in her
arms. You can scarcely remember the time when that was taken,
Petronel,' he added, with a smile, ' yet I stood by the while and saw
it done.'
64 6
66 C
،
You did?' I exclaimed, starting to my feet again. Then
you must have been a friend to both my parents, Mr. David. Oh!
why did you not tell me this before?'
"Because I wished to gain your trust and confidence before I
put it to so great a test. Now, read these letters, Petronel. I
commit no breach of friendship in showing them to you,'
<
"C
I took the papers which he handed me, and skimmed over their
contents. They were in my mother's writing, and dated from Salt-
pool, and, though in general brief and very sad, bore undoubted
marks of being genuine.
"But these letters were
finished my examination.
sion, Mr. David?'
66 6
I have his authority to show them to you, Petronel, and to ask
if you are ready to receive him with the affection of a daughter.'
""
At these words my heart warmed toward my unknown parent.
I did not stay to consider why he was unknown to me, nor by
whose fault it was we had been separated. I only heard that he
was living, and willing to claim me for his child.
CC C
<
written to my father,' I said, as I
How did they come into your posses-
Ready!' I exclaimed, joyfully, how can he doubt it? Tell
him that I am more than ready, Mr. David; that I am burning with
impatience to find myself in his arms.'
C
Is it so, dear girl?' replied my master, as he rose from his seat
and advanced toward me; then he is as ready to bestow his
caresses as you are to receive them;' and without further preface
he clasped me to his breast.
"I was indignant, insulted, and struggled in his embrace as
though I would have put the world between us.
64 4
Mr. David! leave me alone. How dare you-how dare you?'
I panted as soon as rage would let me speak; but his reply struck
on my heated brain, like ice on fire.
"Dare! Come, Petronel! you must never use such a word to
me again! I am-your father !'"'
}
*
PETRONEL.
129
¡
CHAPTER XIV.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL-CONTINUED.
"AT these words the very blood in my body seemed to be
arrested in its circulation, and I recoiled from him with so visible
an action and distinct a feeling that the natural impulse could be
hid from neither of us. Mr. David saw it and turned frowningly.
away; I felt it, and covered my face with both my hands.
(
Whilst he had been speaking of my unknown father, I had
rapidly built up for myself an ideal of what that father would be
like. Old and careworn in all probability; sick, perhaps, and need-
ing patience at a daughter's hands; poverty-stricken, without doubt,
or why should we have been so poor? yet with it all, and through
it all, a noble English gentleman, of whom I should be proud to
call myself the child; not quite like Cousin Ulick (for in my estima-
tion there could not be another like him in the whold world), but a
man formed somewhat after that pattern, whom ill-fortune and un-
toward circumstances alone had combined to make less lovable. But
like my painting-master! like Mr. David! No! a century of
thought would never have made me light on that idea.
"I have said that I was partial to him, and I spoke the truth.
As an artist I delighted in his intelligence and capability; as an in-
structor in his patience and attention; and as the acknowledged
friend of both my parents my heart would have been drawn toward
him still more closely; but as the man to whom I owed filial affec-
tion and obedience and duty, to whom I was beholden for my life,
and in whose hands lay my future fate-presented to me in this
capacity, God forgive me! I felt I almost hated him.
<< <
My news does not appear to please you, mademoiselle,' said
Mr. David, as he resumed his seat before the easel. I removed my
trembling hands from before my eyes and gazed upon him.
<<
There he sat, the same as ever; his long, artistic beard, slightly
grizzled, lying on his breast; his dark, keen eyes bent upon the
canvas; his aquiline nose the only other feature of his face left visi-
ble; the picture of a handsome, careless artist; a naturalized French-
man; a model painting-master; but of my father-oh, no! I never
could believe it.
C
"It is not true,' I said, in a low voice; it can not be true; you
are only playing with me, Mr. David.'
5
;
PETRONEL.
130
}
He glanced at me with interest and some amusement. Doubt-
less I betrayed my headstrong character with every word I spoke on
that occasion.
"You have not had proofs sufficient,' he replied, diving in his
pocket. Well! there are more for you-the certificates of your
mother's marriage and your own baptism. Will they convince you
that I speak the truth? But perhaps I stole them with the letters
and daguerreotype.'
}
C
The sarcasm was lost on me, for I was gazing through my tears
upon the legal documents, which recorded the marriage of David
Fleming with Cecilia Halsted, and the baptism of their daughter
in the English Church at Boulogne-sur-Mer. They were the first
papers of the kind which I had ever seen; but I perceived at once
that they could not have been forged.
66 6
us.
But why,' I exclaimed, as I returned them to him, recollection
flashing on me in that moment and overpowering me with the
multitude of its details-' why, if your account is true, have I never
seen you, or been told of your existence, till this hour? And, if
you are my father, why are you not called Fleming? and what have
we done that we should be ashamed of our name?'
""
I do not think I can have borne much resemblance to his obedi-
ent pupil of a few days since, as I put these questions to him. A
week before I should have been ready to defend the conduct of the
father whom I supposed dead by every argument known to me,
however illogical; but, with the assurance that he was alive and
standing there, I panted to unravel the mystery which had separated
66 6
Why have you never sought me out before?' I continued, im-
petuously. 'Do you know that I am in my sixteenth year? And
that my mother-my poor, suffering mother- would have died
alone if Cousin Ulick had not come to her?' and at that remem-
brance my eyes again overflowed.
"
Mr. David (I can not bring myself to call him by any other title)
continued to work upon my canvas as though those few last touches
were all the importance in the world.
CC C
"
When you are a little calmer,' he said, as he delicately handled
my brush, I will explain those matters to you, mademoiselle, and
then you can decide for yourself whether I have forfeited all claim
upon my daughter's respect. Her affection I imagined I had gained,
but' (with a deep sigh) I suppose I was a presumptuous fool to
think so.'
+
""
'At this my heart smote me. What right had I to give him
B
بله
PETRONEL.
131
•
pain? If—if he were not quite all that I had hoped or fancied he
would be, still he was my father-given to me of God-and, at the
least, I owed him outward duty.
CC C
I am sorry,' I said, drawing nearer to him; 'I did not think-
it is all so new to me. Will you forgive me for speaking in that
manner to you?'
"
'Mr. David laid down his brush and took my hands.
'I will,' he answered, ' on one condition-that you call me fa-
ther, Petronel.'
(<
ἐ
How the word stuck in my throat! At first I thought I never
could have uttered it; but it came at last, feebly, and with an ac-
cent very unlike its own generous, God-given sound a mere
shadow of the divine title, but sufficiently like it to satisfy the desire
of my parent.
66 (
That is right,' he said, encouragingly; and now, with regard
to the questions that you asked me, I acknowledge that you have a
claim to have them answered, and I am quite ready to satisfy it;
only you are aware that such explanations can not be made in a
minute, and therefore you must wait until next Friday to receive
them.'
66 €
Until next Friday!' I exclaimed, aghast. Are you still going
to give me painting-lessons, then? Will you not tell Miss Little
that you are my father?'
"
"
(
6
At this interrogation it was Mr. David's turn to stare.
•
Tell Miss Little!' he ejaculated; is the girl mad? No, Petro-
nel; by no manner of means. You must keep what I have told
you a profound secret; I should never have confided it to you under
any other condition.'
<< C
A secret-all my life?' I faltered.
"All your life, unless I desire otherwise,' he repeated, firmly;
and then, perceiving, I suppose, that I still looked mystified and
uncertain, he added, 'I can not tell you more at present, because it
is past the hour for my departure now; but remember this, Petronel
-that my safety depends upon your secrecy.'
(.
Nothing that Mr. David could have added to this injunction
would have given it greater force; and, had the explanations which
he promised never been afforded me, I should have kept his counsel
until now. As it was, his words frightened me, and I saw him quit
the pensionnat that day with a heavy foreboding that the happiest
and most careless part of my existence was concluded. I went to
bed that night feverish in body and miserable in mind. The gloom
which had always envelope ther's fate to me was deeper than
132
PETRONEL.
?
A
ever, and I worried my brain to discover the import of his last as-
sertion. I could not realize that, in my painting-master, I had found
a parent; and, the more I dwelt on the idea, the more distasteful did
it become. One moment I believed that all I had heard from Mr.
David's lips was false; the next, that Heaven had sent another friend
to me who had so few, and that my heart was hardened not to feel
more grateful. Yet instinct. told me that my master was not the
kind of man with whom Cousin Ulick would make friends, and
that my guardian and my father should be strangers was an anomaly
in my imagination. And then came the remembrance that, whether
Mr. David's claims on me were just or otherwise, he had left my
mother to a lonely life and death, and myself to the mercy of the
world, whilst he remained in a foreign country under a feigned
name; and, unable to unravel all this myself, yet feeling something
must be wrong, I buried my face in my pillow, and with tears.
lamented that he had ever discovered himself to me. I had liked
him as a master, yet now I felt as though I never wished to see his
face again; at the same time I yearned for Friday to arrive that I
might hear all the explanations he might be able to afford me. I
rose the next morning harassed and wearied, both in mind and
body; my conscience burdened with the secret which I longed, yet
dared not, to share with anybody else; and feeling as though the
revelation of the day before had transformed me from a child into
a woman. Félicité was astonished at the alteration in my looks and
manner; she was sure I must be ill, or my eyes could never seem so
heavy, nor my step so slow, and she worried me with her affection-
ate importunity till I was nearly beside myself; and nothing but the
recollection of Mr. David's last injunction would have preserved
me from telling her the truth. Yet, in spite of rigid cross-exami-
nations, I kept it to myself; and, after a few days, the girls grew
tired of questioning me, and I was left in peace. The week went
round. Friday arrived again, and, sick with suspense, I awaited
the moment when I should gain private speech of Mr. David. He
came as usual, bland and affable to all, yet I blushed scarlet as he
took my unwilling hand, and thought that every girl must notice
the empressement of his greeting to me. It was the last lesson we
were to take in the garden, and I was as eager as my master used
to be to erect my easel in a position where we should be unob-
served. Burning with impatience to find myself alone with him, it
disheartened me to see the nonchalant manner in which, after hav-
ing delivered a few directions as to the sketch I was about to make,
he walked away to look after his other pupils without saying a word
PETRONEL.
133
*
or giving me a look to intimate that he participated in the suspense
which I was suffering. Indignant at what I considered a want of
sympathy, I dashed my black chalk recklessly over the fair canvas,
and when, after an unprecedented long interval, he returned to my
side, I was in anything but a spirit of filial reverence.
CA C
Well?' I said, interrogatively, as he bent his head over my
shoulder, and, taking the chalk from my fingers, corrected part of
my hastily made sketch:
*C C
Well?' he echoed, in a tone very unlike the politeness with
which he had formerly addressed me.
"I am waiting for the explanations you promised to give me,' I
replied, in a more subdued voice, for Mr. David's manner had re-
called me to a sense of our relative positions.
46 4
If so you must ask for them more civilly,' he said. 'I am
not used to be addressed in that curt way, even by my pupils,
Petronel.'
"But I am so anxious,' I commenced, falteringly.
And naturally so; but anxiety is not incompatible with polite-
Now what do you wish to ask me? I am all attention!'
66 4
ness.
<
'I had prepared a long string of defiant questions on the subject
of his right to claim me as a daughter; and if that were well estab-
lished on his right to have left my mother and myself in penury at
Saltpool; but when he so decidedly asserted his authority over me,
my courage wavered, and all I dared to say was:
66 C
'Tell me everything-from the very beginning; I want to learn
your whole history.'
(4
Mr. David laughed.
That would be rather a lengthy matter,' he said, lightly. 'I
think you must assist me by putting a few questions, made-
moiselle!'
<<
16 <
Why, then,' I commenced, eagerly, though not without a
doubt of the reception which would be accorded to my words, ' why
did you never live with poor mamma and me, or send to fetch me
when you heard that she was dead?'
"I glanced up in his face as I concluded, and saw my boldness
had called forth a frown.
" C
There are some matters very difficult of explanation to chil-
dren,' he said, after a short pause; but as far as I can satisfy you
I will. Perhaps you know already, Petronel, that I married your
mother against the wishes of her family.'
"I know nothing,' I .nswered, with some bitterness, partly in-
134
}
PETRONEL.
}
duced by the term he had applied to me; I have been reared in
total ignorance of everything.'
،، ،
So much the better.
strictly in the background.
ther, Sir Lionel Halsted-’
66 C
The gentleman who lives at Frampton?' I inquired, interrupt-
ing him.
CC C
now—'
666
Yes! I suppose you know the place.'
“'Indeed I don't; and Cousin Marcia tells me that I never shall,
for my grandfather has sworn not to receive me-'
،، ،
Ha! ha!-the sins of the fathers visited on the children, is it?
That is what they call Christian charity. Well, from your de-
scription of Rockborough, I should think you had no great loss.
Frampton's a fine place, but terribly dull; it always was, and
:
You met my mother there,' I said, recalling him.
* C
I did, and married her, which was about the worst thing either
of us could have done. It would be impossible for me to enter so
fully into the past as to make matters perfectly clear to you; but it
is sufficient you should know that after our marriage Sir Lionel
Halsted and his family displayed so ungenerous a spirit toward us
that neither I nor your mother ever spoke to them again.'
"But you loved each other, and you were together,' I said, gaz-
ing into his face; why did you not remain so?'
CC C
My dear girl, you are still very young; but when you are a
little older you will know that love, however ardent, can not put
bread into our mouths. Your mother and I did live together on the
Continent for many years after our marriage, during which time
you were born; but business called me to Paris, where her health
failed, and by medical advice I sent her, together with yourself, to
Saltpool.'
66 6
Unpleasant facts can not be kept too
However, it is the case; your grandfa-
เ
1
And left her there to die?' I said, drawing my breath quickly,
and tapping the ground with my foot.
<< C
"
Hey-day!' said Mr. David, what is this little foot about?
Please to stop that action, mademoiselle. We are not rehearsing
high tragedy.'
፡፡፡
'But why did you never come to see us?' I continued, regard-
less of his caution.
Simply because I could not, as you would have heard before,
had you been less impatient. In the first place, the expenses of
married life, which were far greater than I anticipated, had so in-
volved me that it was impossible I could visit England without the
..
PETRONEL.
135
chance of being arrested, and therefore I sent your mother there
alone, in hopes that on the restoration of her health she would be
enabled to rejoin me.
<< 4
But when you saw that she could not-that her whole life was
one of suffering?'
$64
By that time, I had, unfortunately, fallen into a fresh snare.
In a country where the liberty of the press is interfered with, I soon
became embroiled in literary partisanship, and having a share in the
management of a newspaper, suppressed on the charge of propagat-
ing republican principles, I, together with my colleagues, was
banished from Paris, and have not been able to set my foot in it
since. It is this same reason which led to the necessity of changing
my name, at least for awhile.'
"6
I had listened attentively to his explanation, and though it
seemed vague and unsatisfactory to me, I knew I had but a child's
understanding for such things, and that the case might appear
more justifiable to those who understood it better. Still, I could
not forget my deserted mother, nor my neglected self, and mur-
mured, reproachfully:
66 (
You might have written, though; might have let us know where
you were, and what you were doing.
44 (
That supposition, my dear child,' replied my father, carelessly,
'simply betrays your ignorance. To have revealed my address in
writing to any one would have been to risk my personal safety; and
grieved as I was to learn all that had happened at Saltpool during
those last years, my presence there could only have been an aggra-
vation of your mother's sufferings. She was an estimable creature,
Petronel, in many respects, but she had not the gift of prudence;
and if I had not judged, and rightly, that her daughter excelled her
in that particular, I should not have dared to reveal myself to you
—for I am still living under a ban. Secrecy is as necessary for me
now as it was then, and the least indiscretion on your part may be
followed by my arrest and imprisonment.'
(C •
And I might have starved or gone to the work house,' I said,
quickly reverting to the former topic.
64 1
Scarcely! when I knew that you were adopted by your
Cousin Ford, and had everything you could require.'
<< C
< < (
But how did you know that?'
Because he advertised in the papers for me, and I read them.
But I had no money, Petronel, wherewith to make up to you for
the loss you would have sustained in him, and therefore I kept
silence. I am a poor man-a very poor man, depending on my
:
:
136.
PETRONEL.
[
daily exertion to earn a crust of bread. What right had I to claim
my own? But you have everything that you can desire: money,
luxuries, friends; and so I am contented-contented to see you
happy-and to remain as I am.'
This sounded like a very noble and disinterested sentiment, and
yet it did not please me. I thought I could detect a false ring in
the metal, and the only answer that I made was something to the
effect that affection is better than riches, and a daughter's place
was by her father's side. But Mr. David would not have it so.'
666
No! no!' he answered, shaking his head, 'my deprivations
are heavy enough, borne alone; to see you share them would be in-
tolerable to me. And your cousin Ulick loves you; it would pain
you both to part. Only, Petronel, remember sometimes that you
have a father, too unfortunate to own you publicly; and, whatever.
the world believes me, don't let me be dead to you. If you could
know the feeling I experienced when I first discovered your identity
on the Place Verte (I knew I could not be mistaken, for you bear my
mother's name), you would pity rather than condemn me.
It is no
common misfortune which has bound me, who had both wife and
daughter, to live widowed and childless,' and here Mr. David drew
his hand hastily across his eyes.
CC C
I do not condemn you, father,' I said, in a low voice. I was
sorry to see him thus; and yet he had not satisfied me.
The story
I had heard seemed plausible enough; but since he was my parent,
into whatever unfortunate combination of circumstances life had
plunged him, I should have shared his lot; and, notwithstanding
my ardent love for Cousin Ulick, my heart swelled proudly at the
idea that I owed means of support to any but my rightful guardian.
But then, again, Mr. David was poor; very poor; he had told me
so himself; and I could have done nothing to help him-I, who at
the moment, was richer than many people twice my age.
CL C
(
•
If,' I stammered, if anything that I possess could help in
any way-don't be offended, monsieur-but I have so much money
-so much more than I need-and-'
"C <
"
"
You are a good girl,' said Mr. David; a good, thoughtful
daughter. It is hard in any case for a parent to accept favors from
a child; and on no account could I take your money as a gift; but
as a loan, my dear-if you are sure it will not inconvenience you-
to be repaid as shortly as may be, I do not mind taking advantage
of your generous offer.'
"I plunged my trembling hand into my pocket, and nervously
thrust my purse upon him. I did not know, nor care to ask, how
1
12:
{
A
137
66 6
much coin it contained. I only felt the incongruity of my position,
and I longed to get the business over. But my father seemed to
have no such scruples; he opened the purse, examined its contents,
and, closing it again, placed it in his pocket with great satisfaction.
'You are fortunate in having so liberal a friend,' he said.
'Well! well! my girl, the good fortune for you, and your poor
father will accept the bad as philosophically as he may. And now
I must go and look after the other demoiselles, or Miss Little will
take me to task for neglect. It is a pleasant thing to be at the
mercy of every old woman's tongue in the kingdom. Adieu, ma
fille!' and he stooped to kiss me on my forehead.
"
•
PETRONEL.
How the kiss burned upon my brow through the remainder of
the day! I had to tell myself twenty times that it had been im
printed by my father, before I could be persuaded that it was not
lawful to wash the remembrance of it away with unromantic soap
and water."
CHAPTER XV.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL-CONTINUED.
THE explanation was over, and I not a whit happier than when
it had been impending. In my own mind I recounted again and
again the story which Mr. David had related to me, and, without
being able to pick out any particular flaw which should shake the
testimony of the whole, I still felt as dissatisfied and uneasy as
though called upon in duty to believe something which contradicted
the natural evidence of my senses. The account of my father's life
was possible, even probabie; yet I remained incredulous, and one
fact, which struck me almost immediately after the conversation
detailed in my last chapter had taken place, remained a constant
puzzle to me.
(4
If, as he affirmed, for fear of his own personal safety, he had
neither seen nor communicated with my mother during the last
years of her life (a proceeding which at first I pronounced brutal,
and which at the best would ever lay him open in my opinion to
the charge of selfishness), on whom did we depend for existence at
Saltpool? Trying to solve this question, I threw my own thoughts
back as far as possible into the past, and could not remember fru-
gally as we had lived, that we had ever lacked the necessaries of
life. We had occupied the most primitive of rooms, in an out-of-
the-way fishing hamlet, and we had worn the same dresses year
138
PETRONÉL.
after year, without considering any change but that of seasons.
But, on the other hand, we had always had sufficient food and
warmth and clothing, and during my mother's illness she had never
wanted even the luxuries necessary to her condition. Whence,
then, had these things comé, or who had sent the money to procure
them? If Mr. David's tale were true, he had not taken the trouble
to support us; and I knew that my poor mother had had no means
of making money. The more I thought of this the more it puzzled
me, and I resolved to take the first opportunity of asking Cousin
Ulick for a solution of it. Cousin Ulick had been acquainted with
my mother from her girlhood; it was he alone who had gone to her
in her distress, and I was of an age to require him to tell me all he
knew about the circumstances of my family. Some may wonder,
perhaps, that I did not ask so simple a question of the man who
said he was my father; but if by words I could convey one tithe of
the repulsion which I felt toward him from the day on which he
made that revelation to me, the wonderment would cease.
"My painting-lessons, which used to be so delightful, had
changed into a misery. I dreaded Friday afternoon more than any
in the week, and entered the atelier as though it had been a torture-
chamber. Especially did I dislike the idea of ever again speaking
with Mr. David on the subject of my mother and myself. The
cool, uninterested tones in which he mentioned her name had con-
vinced me that, with whatever feelings he had once regarded her,
he bore no love toward her memory, and it seemed like sacrilege to
disinter it for his criticism. Besides which, he had denied all com-
munication with her during that period, or capability of adding to
our maintenance; and if he spoke the truth I should gain little sat-
isfaction from further questioning on the matter; if not, there was
no dependence to be placed on what he might affirm respecting it.
Therefore, I determined to leave all prosecution of my inquiries
until I should return to Rockborough. Meanwhile, my decreased
enthusiasm for my painting-master did not pass unnoticed. I was
a sorry actress, and had talked too openly beforehand of his kind.
ness, and talent, and attention, not to render very palpable my
present avoidance of every subject which concerned him; and if it
had been left to me I should never again have mentioned even his
name. I had consequently to submit to a great many jests on the
fickleness of my disposition; and Félicité (who was not without
her own admiration of the good looking artist who had religiously
kept the secret which he shared with Eruest Moore), could not im-
agine what had occurred to make me turn against him. In self-
1
¡ .
PETRONEL.
139.
defense, therefore, I was obliged to keep up a greater familiarity
with him than my heart dictated to me; but I was always exceed-
ingly grave during the hours I passed in his companionship, and
avoided private conversation as much as lay in my power.
It was
only a few words now and then, demonstrative of the relationship
existing between us, that he could continue to say to me in the
atelier, and though, remembering from whom he had authority so
to speak, I tried hard not to show him how distasteful were his
whispered words. I am afraid that Mr. David too often read aver-
sion in my silence, or impatience in my curt replies. Even his en-
comiums lavished on my paintings failed now to give me any pleas
ure, for I knew the gift to be inherited through him, and traced my
praises downward from himself. So passed the term away, and on
the arrival of December I carried home with me an older and a
heavier heart than I had ever taken to Rockborough before.
"The promise of secrecy which my father had extracted from
me did not entail my preserving silence on the subject of his name;
and my anxiety to learn how much of the truth was known to
Cousin Ulick was so great that I watched eagerly for an opportunity
to broach it to him. It came sooner than I had anticipated. On
the third day of my return, Cousin Marcia was confined to her
room with a severe cold, and as I discussed my solitary luncheon,
wondering whether I should be able to procure a walk that after-
noon, the door opened and Cousin Ulick entered. This was an un-
expected pleasure, because so very rare, and with a beaming smile,
I sprung from my chair to set him one. But Cousin Ulick would
not let me wait upon him, for he declared I had grown such a
woman, that it was his business to serve me.
66
C6 C
<
'A woman!' I exclaimed, as, delighted with the title, I paused
before the looking-glass. Is it possible, Cousin Ulick, I am so
altered?'
His words seemed to open a new world for me; and I gazed on
my reflection as though looking on it for the first time. I had often
fancied I was nearly grown up; but that my guardian, who was so
very old himself, should think the same, was placing the seal of
authority on my erratic imaginations.
"But as I gazed a light burst on me, and I saw that he was right;
in outward appearance, at least, I was no more a child. A face
less round than oval, a full bust, formed waist, and head of hair
dressed in the fashion, looked back upon me from the mirror,
which, added to my height, combined to make, what he had desig-
!
*
Bras
PETRONEL.
140
*
" C
nated me, a woman. But as I contemplated my own image, smil-
ing, a sigh from Cousin Ulick recalled my wandering fancy.
How rude of me to desert the luncheon-table!' I exclaimed,
reseating myself; but really I had no idea that you would find me
so grown.'
CC C
Young people generally make a start at your age,' he answered,
quietly. 'How old are you, Petronel?'
66 6
Sixteen, next March.'
66 (
Ah, well, it's time you left your childhood behind you. And
your face has grown more thoughtful-I was struck with that on
our first meeting.'
"It was my turn to sigh, for I remembered the events which
had conspired to make me think, and with them my desire to ask
my guardian certain questions.
"What better time could I hope for than the present? It was so
seldom that I found myself alone with him.
"Cousin Ulick,' I commenced, abruptly, when did my father
die?' And as I spoke I bent my face over my plate to hide the
blush which I felt rising for the subterfuge. It was a full minute
before he answered me.
46 L
tively.
<
What put that into your head, Petronel?'
1
'I have never received any certain information on the subject,'
I continued evasively, and I think I am old enough to hear all
that you can tell me.'
"But it is so little that I know, my dear. Until the period of
your-your mother's death, I had held no communication with
your parents for many years.'
"
'It was a strange thing to me, and often inwardly commented
upon, that Cousin Ulick had never voluntarily spoken to me of my
mother, although of late years I had more than once pressed the
question on him. And as I introduced this conversation I saw a
nervous, uneasy manner, most unlike his usual firm and decided
bearing, gradually steal over him, and a dull, filmy appearance
cloud the brightness of his eye. And, ignorant as I was of the
antecedents of his life, I knew that I was troubling him, and almost
wished that I had not spoken.
CCC
My father was not a friend of yours, then?' I said, interroga-
"No! Petronel.'
"Was he a good man?'
64 6
My dear, that is not for me to tell you; besides, 1 knew too
little of him to be able to deci le.'
PETRONEL.
141
}
prise.
C
"' But he married mamma without the wishes of her family,
and they never spoke together afterward,' I said, confidently.
<<
How do you know that, Petronel?' he demanded, with sur-
44
I heard it, Cousin Ulick; and that is the reason I have never
seen my grandfather at Frampton.'
"I suppose he thought I might have heard it from his sister, or
the servants, for he questioned me no further.
'Well, Petronel, so far you are correct; your parents' mar-
riage was contracted without leave, and the occasion in consequence
of a great deal of misery, as such marriages usually are. But it's
all over now.'
66 C
Do you know where I was born, Cousin Ulick?'
CC C
I am not sure; but I believe somewhere abroad. Are you bent
on a pilgrimage to find your baptismal certificate?' he added, with
a smile.
64 <
No!-but I want to find out all I can about the matter. It
seems so stupid to know nothing of one's own family. Did my
father die before we settled at Saltpool?'
"I can not tell you, Petronel. I never heard of the event at
the time, nor received any definite assurance of it.'
66 6
Are you sure that he is dead, Cousin Ulick?'
66. Your mother believed him to be so.'
"She was not certain?'
No; she had heard nothing of him for some years. But I
think you may rest satisfied that it is the case, my dear, and for
this reason, that at the time you were first confided to my care, I,
conceiving that your father had the prior claim to you, took such
means of communicating with him through the public papers, that,
had he been resident in any civilized country, the news must have
reached him. But it is now nearly three years ago, and he has
never sent or written to me, therefore I feel myself quite justified
in believing he is dead. No consideration would keep a father from
claiming his own child, Petronel.'
"
How little he knew of him! How inadequately could his
noble, generous heart gauge the narrowness of a mind like Mr.
David's! I dared not trust myself to dwell longer on this topic
and dashed at once into the cream of my investigation:
16 (
Then how on earth did we live at Saltpool?'
""
At the impetuosity of this question, Cousin Ulick laid down his
knife and fork to look at me.
66 6
What are you talking about?'
1
The g
142
PETRONEL.
"'Sound sense, Cousin Ulick! If my mother had received no
assurance of my father's death, and yet had no communication with
him for years before her own, how did we subsist during that time?
Who paid for what we eat and drank and wore? Where did the
money come from? For though we were very poor, you know, we
contrived to pay our way.'
When Cousin Ulick called me a woman, I do not think he had
any idea I had so much calculation in me as this; for as I conclud
ed my inquiry, and glanced up into his face, I saw that he looked
quite confounded. A blush as vivid as any I had ever boasted of
had mounted to his very forehead, and his eyes were bent uneasily
upon the table.
C
1.
I don't think that is a question which concerns you now,' he
said, after a long pause, during which I watched his features ear-
nestly.
"But it is an enigma which I am determined to find out. Why
should I be kept in ignorance any longer?'
66 6
Only because no one has the power to satisfy your curiosity.
Your mother said something to me about having received money
from her father.'
"From Sir Lionel Halsted; the man who refuses even to see
me? Now, Cousin Ulick, is that probable?'
"I don't know, my dear. The hearts of men are such myster-
ies, even to themselves-your grandfather might have felt consid-
erably softened toward his daughter (indeed, I know at one time he
did feel so), and yet be disinclined to receive her child. He was
very angry with the behavior of your father; and it is but natural
the sight of you would give him pain.'
66 6
And so he turned me over to your care; to be a burden and a
nuisance to you all the days of my life!' I said, vehemently.
46
Cousin Ulick's eyes, grave and reproachful, were raised to
mine.
66 6
You can scarcely think of what you are saying, Petronel!'
"I know that I have no earthly claim upon your goodness, I
replied; ' and that you give me everything. Cousin Ulick, how can
I ever repay you?'
CC C
By never mentioning the subject, my dear.'
"I won't, if you don't wish it; but tell me that one thing. Who
supported my mother and myself at Saltpool?'
Staring in his face as I repeated the question, I saw the crim-
son blood again mount to his brow and overspread his features, and
a suspicion, hasty but unanswerable, darted into my mind.
""
PETRONEL.
143
{
"Oh!' I exclaimed, drawing a long breath, as the light burst
upon me—' I do believe--'
C
"But here Cousin Ulick interrupted my oration by rising sudden-
ly from his chair and making for the door.
Come, come, my time is up, and we have had enough heroics
for to-day. You can believe what you like, Petronel, but you must
rest satisfied with an uncertain foundation for your trust. It is
your misfortune to be unable to solve all the secrets of your life-
time. Had your poor mother lived it would have been different.
Good-bye-be as good and as happy as you can.' And with a nod
of the head, and his usual smile, Cousin Ulick disappeared.
(*
'But I lingered for some time over my unfinished luncheon,
pondering on what that conversation had revealed to me. My
guardian had tried, by interrupting, to deny the charge I was about
to make against him, but the play of his features had told more
than his lips chose to confess; and I felt certain that my suspicion
was correct; he himself had been the friend to help us at Saltpool.
How, or in what degree, I could not of course find out for myself;
and the manner of his reply was a tacit request that the subject
should not be renewed between us; but I never again parted with
the belief, which, strange to say, proud as was my nature, gave me
an unutterable sense of pleasure. From the commencement I had
loved my cousin Ulick, but from that hour I reverenced him (and
all the more because I did not thoroughly understand the motives
of his conduct) with a reverence that made it gladness to think that
I was beholden to him for all things; and I often caught myself
wishing I had been born his own child, or his sister, or niece, or
some one with a nearer and more indisputable claim upon his gener.
osity and love; some one whose right it would have been to stay
by him all his life, and minister to his comforts and necessities, this
being in reality the line which I had resolutely chalked out for my-
self, only I was not quite sure whether I should be allowed to walk
in it. I even became jealous of Cousin Marcia, who knew so much
more of him than I did, and was admitted to his confidence when I
was shut out, and can remember the sense of loneliness which used
to oppress me, when, hurried perhaps by business of importance, he
would thrust his head in at the door of the room we occupied, and,
without taking notice of myself, exclaim, Marcia! I want to speak
to you.' Could he have seen the tears that would rush to my fool.
ish, jealous eyes, as they disappeared together, I think Cousin
Ulick, in his thoughtful goodness, would have been more touched
than amused. I was but
<
144
PETRONEL.
-
666
Standing with reluctant feet
Where womanhood and childhood meet."
And my mind was in the same stage of transition as my body; only
I was very earnest in the affection which imbued my life, and anx
ious to do something, however humble, to make his happier or more
comfortable, who had done so much for mine.
".
With this idea growing stronger in me day by day, I was vexed
to find that Cousin Marcia had accepted an invitation for me from
the Bertrams, and that Cousin Ulick thought I had better go. It
was now some time since Jessy and Ellen Bertram had left Miss
Little's pensionnat, and they were most anxious their old school-
fellow should spend part of the vacation at Oxley. Of course it
was very kind of them to think of me, and I ought to have been
most grateful; only I was not. Oxley had been all very well when
I was a tom-boy, whose chief delight was in clambering over
fences, or despoiling fruit-trees; but to a mind possessing any ideas
beyond apples and doughnuts, Oxley, as a place of residence, was
apt to be oppressive. My friends were kind but unintellectual, and
my young, presumptuous brain, sufficiently developed to form an
opinion without having acquired the virtue of moderation, with
which experience teaches us to pass judgment, unhesitatingly pro-
nounced them 'stupid,' and the whole concern a bore,' a fact
which confirmed Cousin Marcia in the belief that to send me there
was the proper thing to do.
"And so, according to my own imagination, I wasted three weeks
of my holidays at Oxley, only consoled by the idea that they were
the last holidays I ever could be called on to resign, and that the
next time I returned from Antwerp it would be for good. For
Cousin Ulick had made me very happy, for more reasons than one,
by the knowledge that, the impending term concluded, it was his
intention to have my education finished by masters at home.
"As I had anticipated, I did not enjoy my visit to Oxley, but for
a reason which I scarcely dared to acknowledge even to myself.
The Bertrams, père et mère, occupied a large house on the outskirts.
of the village, whilst their eldest son, the clergyman who was such
a friend of Cousin Ulick's, lived at the vicarage, though scarcely a
day passed that he did not dine at his father's table.
66
I had already seen a good deal of this gentleman, who was con-
stantly at Rockborough and had been used, as a child, to be very
intimate with him; but now I was no longer a child, and I consid-
ered the familiarity he displayed toward me unwarranted by our
knowledge of each other. I could not see why, because he was
}
!
PETRONEL.
145
/
Cousin Ulick's friend, he should so constantly contrive opportunities
of being alone with me, nor make such use of his opportunities as
flattering my outward appearance, or the capability of my mind.
I should have thought little of such remarks if made by Cousin
Ulick (only he was a man who never praised by open admiration);
but from the lips of Mr. Bertram they were offensive to me, and
particularly when his eyes confirmed the expression of his mouth.
I knew he was considered witty and amusing, and a general favor-
ite; yet from being simply indifferent I took a positive dislike to
him, in the demonstration of which I was encouraged by the diver-
sion it seemed to afford his family and the nonchalance with which
he received it himself. At last I came to hate the sound of his
voice, or the quick, bright look of his dark eyes, or the touch of his
hand. I became nervous in fact of being left alone in the room
with him, and experienced an unutterable relief when the last day
of my visit arrivéd, and I was permitted to return to Rockborough,
although I knew that return was but the prelude to another separa-
tion from my guardian. This time I journeyed back to Antwerp
in the company of Miss Little, who generally spent the Christmas
vacation with her English friends; and so palpable was my depres-
sion during the transit that she was drawn, more than once, to re-
mind me it was the last occasion I should quit my home.
CC
But it was not the thought of returning to school which dis-
tressed me (for my life there, until within the last few months, had
been the happiest part of my existence); it was the dread, increasing
as it approached, of a renewed intercourse with Mr. David. I
have not mentioned the dull oppression of my secret, which cloud-
ed all the pleasure of those holidays, because the misery and the
burden of it pressed so far more heavily on me afterward, that in
retrospection the trouble of that time seems light. Still I had felt
it, and never more than when receiving some token of my cousin's
generosity, calculated to make me remember that whilst he spent
his means on me, my lawful guardian contributed nothing to my
support, and did not even give me the protection of his name. If I
had left Antwerp with feelings for Mr. David unlike such as a
daughter should entertain, I returned to it with those feelings en-
larged rather than moderated; for my conversation with Cousin
Ulick had still further lowered his character in my eyes. Conse-
quently, our meeting proved to be anything but congenial.
"Mr. David, professing to be enthusiastic on the subject of our
reunion, found me lukewarm in my expressions of pleasure, and
disposed to laugh at rather than second any idea of sentiment exist-
:
146
PETRONEL.
ing between us. He was anxious to hear all that had taken place
during our separation, even down to the conversations that had
passed between my cousins and myself; but I ignored his right to
inquire of such things, or the possibility that Rockborough news
could possess any interest for him. And finding me thus totally
changed from the friendly, docile pupil he had at first taken in
hand, and more decided in my answers, and less shy of him than I
had been on parting, Mr. David adopted another cue, and tried to
frighten.me. I am sorry to have to write this down; but in omit-
ting it I should condemn my own conduct. He tried to frighten
me, not by promises of his displeasure or punishment, for which he
knew I should not care, but through my heart and my affections,
through my love for Cousin Ulick.
"L
I have said elsewhere that on my first acquaintance with my
painting-master I had talked open mouthed of my guardian and all
his goodness to me; but little did I think my want of reticence
would be one day used against me. Yet so it was. Finding that I
no longer cared to laugh or talk with him; that I had grown silent
and uncommunicative, and had evidently lost much of my enthusi-
asm for painting-Mr. David seized the first favorable opportunity
to inform me that if I did not alter my behavior, he should take
means to make me do so. Unconscious of having omitted any
duty which as a pupil was required of me, my spirit rose at the
rebuke, and I defied him to do me any further harm than he had
done already.
""
.
Not if I make known my claim?' he hissed into my ear; 'not
if I attest my right to remove you from the protection of your
cousin?'
""
At the idea my heart failed; but I remembered the precarious-
ness of his position, and breathed again.
You can not-you dare not!' I replied. 'I have not forgotten
what you have told me of yourself.'
"I saw that my cool answer had confounded him; but it was only
for a moment.
666
There are more ways of doing it than one, mademoiselle,' he
said. 'If your cousin is an honorable man, my secret would be as
safe with him as with yourself; and, having once proved my iden-
lity, it would be easy to take you to a country where neither of us
would ever be troubled with French foes or English friends again.'
At this threat, idle as I knew it afterward to be (for the last
duty my father would have taken on himself was the incumbrance
of a half-grown daughter), I absolutely shook with fear.
((
>
"
4!
PETRONEL.
147
Was it possible that he could be in earnest, or that such an
event could legally come to pass?
""
cruel.'
44
I was too unversed in his ways, or the ways of the world, to be
able to answer these questions satisfactorily to myself; but I knew
that the probable accomplishment of it was a terror to me. I cón-
trasted my home at Rockborough, my happy home (as, notwith-
standing the uncongeniality of Cousin Marcia's disposition, it had
come to be), with the wandering Bohemian life my father led; my
English friends and acquaintance with his foreign confréres; above
all, my guardian's never-failing care with his behavior, past and
present, and concluded inwardly that I would sooner die than
change one protection for the other. And Mr. David read some-
thing of this feeling in my pallid cheek and troubled eye.
CEL
Well! Mademoiselle,' he continued, lightly, ‘are you ready
to set out?'
"Don't speak of it,' I murmured.
'You could not be so
"
He saw that he had gained his point.
"Of course not, if you give me no occasion. But we must
make a little compact to be mutually good to one another. Are you
agreed?'
66 6
I will do anything—everything, so that you will not take me
away from Rockborough!'
<< ·
You will laugh, talk, and be amiable as you were at first;
give me every opportunity of speaking to you privately, and follow
the directions I may then give you?'
(4
"Yes-yes! Monsieur, as far as I am able, indeed I will. And
you, on your part, will not try to separate me from Cousin Ulick?'
Not if you are amenable, mamie; but it will all depend upon
your own behavior,'
46 C
"The uncertainty of this response. in itself so much a threat, was
the keystone of all my future behavior toward Mr. David. From
that moment he wielded my will much as he thought fit, and made
me miserable, although his tyranny was so well covered by a bland,
insinuating manner, that it was only one who held the secret of his
past life that would have detected the selfishness of his present
course of action. At his demand I furnished him with every in
formation respecting my cousin Ulick's house and habits of profes
sion, described the style in which we lived, the objets de luxe which
'were obtained expressly for myself, even the amount of money
which was regularly given me, and the usual sum that I received in
presents. I detailed these luxuries with inward fear, dreading lest
148
PETRONEL.
at
་
they should prove a temptation to my hearer to put in his claim to
part of them; but having promised to reply, I was too honest to de-
ceive him, and found to my infinite relief that the worst event which
followed my disclosures was the gradual disappearance of all my
pocket-money. At first, this fact gave me little concern, for my
purse was always amply provided, and I had not much use for my
allowance.
1
66
'It was gone and there was an end of it; and I resolved to think
no more about the matter. But when a further call was made upon
me, and I returned what I considered a conclusive answer, by
merely stating that I had no coin left, my father startled me by
the assertion that that was of no consequence, as I could easily
write home for more.
66 C
'Ask Cousin Ulick for more,' I exclaimed, when I brought
back so much to school with me!'
64
C
And what of that?' was the reply. You say he never refuses
you anything. Tell him that you wish for an increased allowance.'
66 C
But what reason can I give for the demand?'
That you must decide for yourself; but there is nothing more
natural than for a school-girl to outstrip the constable; and from
all accounts your cousin is not likely to trouble you with ques-
tions.'
66 6
'He will think me so encroaching!' I faltered.
"Well! if it is too much to do for me, leave it alone. Though,
mind, I do not call this keeping to the terms of our agreement, and
you already know the consequence of infringing them.'
"This thought decided me; and, loathing my task the while, I
sat down and wrote the letter he demanded. How many hours I
spent over the composition of it; how many tears I shed for the
acted if not actual deception I was compelled to employ, and how
wretched I felt when I knew my messenger was on its way to
Rockborough, was best known to myself; but they left their fruit
behind them.
'An answer came almost by return post-an answer which
might have rejoiced some hearts, so generously did it respond to my
application, so kindly bring the assurance that whatever I needed I
was at once to ask for; but it only made me feel humbled and
ashamed to think I had intrenched upon such goodness. I could
not bear even to look upon the bank-note which it contained; but
on the earliest opportunity thrust it in my father's hands, with a
passionate request that he would never set me so hard a task
again.
PETRONEL.
149
1
Vain hope! I was like à fly caught in the spider's web, and
had no chance of extricating myself except by doing what I had,
over and over again, sworn not to do-reveal the relationship which
bound me to my painting-master, and with my honor destroy his
chance of safety. One by one disappeared all the little trinkets
which had been given me by Cousin Ulick, even to my cherished
watch, and the letter which had been blotted by my tears was not
the last which went to Rockborough with a demand for money to
supply his need. I was becoming ashamed of myself and my own
ungrateful conduct, and began to dread the hour when I should go
home and be liable to a personal catechism on the subject. And
still the petty tyranny went on, and I had no reason to believe that
it would cease even after I had returned to the protection of my
guardian. The effect of this state of mind was that I grew very
thin and pale. I was just at that age when I required all my
strength to meet the demands of my rapidly increasing stature, and
the distressing, anxious life I led robbed me of my rest and appetite,
and prevented application to my studies; so that Miss Little, obscrv-
ing my altered looks, though far from guessing at the cause, wrote
and advised my guardian to remove me from Antwerp before the
hot weather set in. I knew nothing of this letter until the answer
requesting that I should be sent home to Rockborough under proper
escort at once arrived; and then, with Fräulein Graub as my pro-
tectress, I was put on board the English steamer at a few hours'
notice, and without meeting my painting-master again. It wanted
a month yet of the holidays, and, a year back, how I should have
rejoiced at my early release and the lengthened pleasure that it
promised me! Now I felt too dull and heavy to care about it. I
was not even distressed at parting with my friend Félicité, who
nearly cried her pretty eyes out at our separation. I could only
feel relieved to have lost sight of Mr. David, and hope, with a sort
of dull, uncertain hope, which seemed like sin, that I should never
see his face again."
CHAPTER XVI.
DR. FORD RECEIVES AN UNEXPECTED PROPOSAL.
It is three years since we met Ulick Ford face to face-years, as
might be expected, that had not brought the change to him they
had wrought in Petronel Fleming. At thirty-five a man has finished
growing, mind and body; at thirty-eight he is yet in his prime, and,
150
PETRONEL.
J
if the intervening period makes any difference in his personal ap-
pearance, it is usually an improvement. At any rate, it was so with
Dr Ford. The death of Cecilia Fleming, whilst it could not in
crease the sorrow he had felt for her loss, removed the anxiety
relative to her deserted and destitute condition which, during her
existence, had never ceased to trouble him, and his adoption of her
orphan daughter had created a new interest in his life which was
palpable to everybody but himself. The removal of a single care,
or even the birth of an unexpected happiness, could not, whilst un-
acknowledged, turn a grave mau to a gay; but, unconsciously, they
imparted new zest and vigor to all he said or did. His step was
lighter, his eye quicker, and his tone more brisk than it ever had
been before; and patients were never tired of remarking to one an-
other how wonderfully weil Dr. Ford was looking, and speculating
on the reason of the change. Some thought he must be about to
marry, but when a playful creature, less scrupulous tifan the rest,
ventured to hint before him at the general suspicion, she received
such a look, my dear, as she afterward described it, that no one
else dared to follow her example. Others said that it must be the
rapid success of his career which had had, at last, the power to
gratify his ambition; and most of his male friends held by this idea,
which was so far natural that Ulick Ford was universally acknowl
edged to have nearly gained the top of that tree on whose highest
branches there is room for so few to sit.
There was no greater honor attainable to him, unless it were to be
made physician to the queen, and it is questionable whether he
would have cared to fill that post so much as his present one. The
medical profession, and a large circle of admiring patients, wanted
him to commence a London practice; but he had firmly refused to
bind himself to any such promise, at all events, for the present.
"He had risen in Rockborough," he said;
he said; "to Rockborough he
chiefly owed his popularity, and, so long as the old town needed
him, his services were hers. When he had found a man to fill his
place, and satisfy his patients, he might think of changing So
he told his friends; but when he repeated the asssertion to himself
he made the mental reservation-" If the child has left me. And,
in fact, this was the secret of his indifference to the proposal which
would either compel him to separate from Petronel, or take her to
reside in London, which he did not consider would be beneficial to
her health. The welfare of the child" (as he would obstinately
continue to call her even when she measured five foot four in height)
intruded more into all his calculations than he chose to acknowl-
> }
""
("
PETRONEL.
151
:
edge, although he knew that he was fond of her, and sighed to think
that the intimate relations they now maintained would be, in all
probability, so soon cut short by marriage. He could not deny,
even to himself, that when that day came it would bring with it a
pang; for his life had been so lonely. Had he married at the time
that most men do, he might have had half a dozen such daughters
by his fireside, and the prospect of keeping one or two old maids,
at least, to solace his declining years.
But that was all a dream; so he dismissed the ideal daughters with
a sigh, and fell to wondering for how long he might reasonably
calculate on keeping the bright face, which for the nonce was his,
to cheer his home. For four years, perhaps five; not longer! Well,
for that time, at least, she should not be subjected to the influence
of town life; she would be healthier and, he believed, happier, at
Rockborough, and he should have more leisure to spend in her
society; and when it was over, and she had left him to the tender
mercies of his sister (the prospect was not a brilliant one), he would
think of the proposal of his professional friends, that he should take
up his residence in London.
Having arrived at which conclusion, Dr. Ford, being in his car-
riage, seized on the last number of the “Lancet,” and tried by such
engrossing subjects as orthopaedics and teratology to shut out the
winning face of Petronel Fleming from his mind. And it was
winning; so much so that strangers turned to look upon it in the
streets, and told each other afterward that the remembrance haunted
them. She can not speak for herself in these pages, nor praise the
features reflected from her mirror, and therefore I must do it for
her. Let me promise that she had more than fulfilled the promise
of her childhood; that she united the fair delicacy of her mother
with the handsome features of her father, and joined to them an
expression all her own, that was arch, without pertness; innocent,
without stupidity; soft, without languor. Her piquante nose, curled
lip, and pointed chin, betrayed a lightness of disposition contradicted
by the earnest look of her eyes, which were neither blue nor gray,
but the color of wood violets when the dew is on them, and had
large, dark pupils, which dilated or contracted as she was pleased
or frightened.
In figure she was rather above the middle height, but so beauti-
fully molded and proportioned that her exact size was seldom
noticed, and her white skin was marbled with blue veins. Her.
hair, though somewhat darkened by time-being more like bronze
than gold-retained its sunny appearance, and she still wore the
?
PETRONEL.
44
152
fringe across her forehead, which contrasted strangely with her
dark eyebrows and lashes. And yet with all this, she was not a
beauty, for her chief charm lay in her varying expression; but she
was what is far better-a fascinating woman. For the figure which
she has mentioned as looking back upon her from the looking-glass
on the occasion that her cousin Ulick called her by that title, was
no chimera, provoked by her ambition; though but in her seven-
teenth year, Petronel Fleming was, to all intents and purposes, a
woman.
Her early education, although in it had been omitted all that aids
the development of the intellect, had not been without its use in
giving power to her mind. During those years of neglect at Salt-
pool, she had learned to take care of herself, to settle her line of
conduct, and to form her own judgment on what passed around
her. This, whilst it had made her too independent and disposed to
rebel against due authority, had strengthened her character, so that
when the channel of her ideas were turned into the right source, she
soon commenced to speak and act like a sensible person.
Of course, she was very girlish in her manner; to lose that would
have robbed her of half her charm; but she thought more seriously
than she spoke, and she was always ready to imbibe and adopt the
ideas of those older and cleverer than herself. She was light-hearted
and mirthful, without being frivolous; easily moved to tears or
laughter, and fast becoming a little epitome of all Cousin Ulick's
wise sayings and opinions. It was small wonder that he loved her;
but of the quiet, almost unconscious devotion with which she re-
garded him, he had not the least idea.
He knew that "the child" was grateful and affectionate, but he
also saw that she was less demonstrative each time that she returned
home; and he told himself that it was natural, for whereas at one
period he had been her sole friend, she now had many, and her
affections were divided. What would he have said if any one had
suggested that the child's feelings were merging into the woman's
feelings, and still directed toward himself? He would have ridiculed
so wild and improbable a notion as unworthy his attention, de-
clared he could as readily believe his own heart was slipping out of
his safe-keeping, and-never ceased to dream of the absurdity for
the remainder of the day.
But though he was fond of Petronel, and no longer hesitated to
say so, few strangers would have guessed the fact from seeing them
together. In the first place, Dr Ford was not a man to obtrude his
feelings on the notice of the public, and, had he been a husband
PETRONEL.
153
}
and a father, he would have kept his conjugal and pateria endear
ments for the sanctity of private life. And, in the second, he had
too vivid a recollection of the treatment to which Petronel had been
subjected by his sister, not to dread provoking her jealousy again.
There was a truce of peace between these antagonistic natures, it
is true, but since his ward had been at school, they had never met,
excepting for a few weeks at a time; and even during these short
terms of trial, he had seen looks, and caught half-smothered words
from Marcia, which warned him that the fire was smoldering, not
extinguished. And whilst he anticipated, he almost dreaded, the
moment of Petronel Fleming's final return.
.
Things were just in this state when he received the letter from
Miss Little alluded to, conveying the news of his ward's ill-health,
and without hesitation he ordered that she should be at once sent
home. Prompt and decisive in all his actions, he did not stay to
consider how Miss Marcia would like the intelligence of this sud-
den return, and the unwelcome surprise with which it was evident-
ly received made him rather more thoughtful than usual during
the ensuing evening.
He was not alone, for William Bertram was staying with them.
This gentleman, who, like several of the doctor's friends, was apt
to take advantage of Ulick Ford's well-known liberality, had in
duced a neighboring clergyman to perform his duty at Oxley, whilst
he invited himself for a fortnight's visit to Rockborough. How he
passed his days there it was difficult to say, for his host was far too
busy to look after him; but he always turned up, smiling and full
of anecdote at dinner, and seemed to have no thought of dullness-
and yet there was a difference in him which puzzled Dr. Ford,
although he was unable to define in what it lay. Sometimes he
thought that Mr. Bertram seemed younger and more jaunty than
before; but he had always been a dandy and a talker, and a great
contrast, in all respects, to his sober, deep-thinking friend. But
there certainly was about him now an affectation of youth, and a
mysterious manner of alluding to the future, which struck his host
as something new and strange, until the evening in question, when
the mystery was revealed to him. Mr. Bertram was thinking of
taking upon himself the arduous duties of a married life. And the
way in which his disclosure came about was as follows:
The news of Petronel's immediate return a full month before the
proper time had been broken to Miss Ford in the afternoon, but her
brother mentioned the circumstance again to Bertram during the
dinner; and the silence with which it was received by both his com
}
•
154
panions made him believe that they had already spoken of it to-
gether, and when he glanced at them he saw that his sister, with a
rigid mouth, was deliberately consuming what lay upon her plate,
whilst Mr. Bertram, having become very rosy about the gills, was
swallowing two or three glasses of wine in rapid succession. The
confusion of his manner struck Dr. Ford as singular, but he made
no remark upon it.
""
""
'I am afraid Antwerp is not a healthy place during the hot
weather," he continued, quietly; "it lies too low."
<<
When when do you expect Miss Fleming to arrive?" demanded
Bertram.
J
"
PETRONEL.
15
Within the next few days; the steamers leave twice a week, but
I am not quite certain when. May I give you another slice, Ber-
tram?"
C
"C
And then the dinner went on, and nothing but the grimness of
Miss Ford's manner intimated that anything unusual was about to
happen. But when she had left the gentlemen to themselves, it was
evident that Ulick Ford had caught the infection of her silence, for
his friend found it very difficult to engage him in the conversation
he was longing to bring forward.
""
You are annoyed about something to-night, Ford," he sug
gested presently; "is anything wrong with you, old fellow?”
،،
Not that I know of," returned the other, making an effort to
appear more sociable; but I can not help confessing that I feel
rather uncomfortable."
Not about Miss Fleming's health, I hope?" said Bertram,
quickly.
"No! although doubtless it will require attention, for she is
growing very fast, and has not been so strong lately as I could have
wished to see her. But it is provoking to think, that at the very
time, perhaps, when she will need most care and tenderness, there
is no one here to show it her."
"Miss Ford?"
You have seen the way in which she received the mere knowl-
edge of the child's return; is it likely that she will be ready to con-
ciliate or be patient with her in case of illness?"
•
"But I thought that old feud between them was completely made
up. Miss Fleming has always seemed so perfectly happy here,
during the holidays; and I am sure if you had heard her speak of
Miss Ford when we had the pleasure of her company at Oxley, you
would say she entertained none but the most kindly feelings toward
۳
PETRONELA
155
her. She often told us how she assisted in her Dorcas work, and
accompanied her when she visited the poor."
"That is all very true; and during the few weeks Petronel has
spent here they have preserved, at all events, an outward peace.
But the child is very amenable, Bertram, she possesses, without
doubt, a remarkably sweet temper."
""
'Every one can see that," interposed Bertram, warmly.
66
And my sister has put some restraint upon herself in order to
please me. But-I don't mind saying this to you, who are so old
a friend, and know all the facts of the case-there is no denying
that she is terribly jealous of Petronel, and disposed to view every-
thing she does or says in the worst light; and when the child takes
up her residence with us, I am very much afraid of what this may
lead to."
("
But Miss Fleming is too affectionate, too honorable, too high-
minded altogether, to make your house the scene of continual quar-
reling. Could you hear her speak of you, Ford, and all you have
done for her, you would never believe it possible. She is too good,
too grateful, in fact."
"I know all you would say," interposed Ulick Ford, for he did
not like to hear even William Bertram discuss "the child's" char
acter so freely, "and it might alter, but scarcely improve, the case.
Petronel would suffer alone, but she would still suffer; and it is the
suffering from which I would, if possible, save her, who has no one
but myself to look to. I wish I could bring Marcia to view the
affair in a more womanly light."
"I am sure—at least you must be aware," said Mr. Bertram, in a
fidgety manner, that we—that is, my mother, will always be most
delighted to see Miss Fleming at Oxley, for as long a period as you
will let her stay, Ford!"
"
CC
Thank you, my dear fellow; I know your kindness, and that of
your family, of old; but, though a relief, it would scarcely mend
matters. As long as the child remains unmarried, her home must
be here, and I want to make that home as happy as I can for her."
"Why do you always speak of Miss Fleming as a child?" in-
quired Bertram, dubiously.
Because she is one, is she not? You don't call fifteen a wom-
an's age?"
X (
But Miss Fleming is past sixteen, in her seventeenth year: at
least she told me so," said the other, visibly blushing.
CA
"Is she?" rejoined the doctor, indifferently.
"
Well, it is much
156
PETRONEL
the same thing; for several years, at least, her home is likely to be
here."
(4
You do not, then, contemplate the probability of her marrying
soon?"
"I never think of it at all; it would be an absurdity until it
comes."
And yet Miss Fleming thinks of it, I dare say. Most young
ladies do."
<s
Probably! she is not above the weaknesses of her age, though I
do not see how that fact increases the likelihood of its occurrence.
We must bear in mind, Bertram, that she has two great points
against her-want of fortune, and want of birth. I don't know
what her father was; I don't know where he is; nor at what mo-
ment he may not spring up to annoy those who may befriend his
child. And all this would have to be explained to the man who
might wish to make Petronel his wife."
"
"I can't see that it would form an insuperable difficulty," said
Mr. Bertram, as he turned away toward the table. "In fact I—I
-came down here, Ford," he continued, nervously, because-
not so much perhaps for change of air, as to-speak-that is to say,
to consult you about an affair, rather similar-that is, much the
same as the affair of which-or rather, perhaps I had better say at
once, just the same as the one you mention, and—”
"Between my sister and the child?" inquired Ulick Ford, knit-
ting his brows.
..
No!-oh, no!-not between them; but with regard to Miss
Fleming. You were speaking of marriage, and I have been think-
ing lately, indeed for some months past, that in my condition-you
know the rectory, Ford, it's not a bad place, and though my income
is small, yet at my grandmother's death I shall have some increase,
and-"
66
You are thinking of marriage yourself," said his friend, with
sudden intelligence. Well, you have my hearty congratulations,
Bertram. And who is the lady, if.I may venture to ask so soon?”
"That is just the point I wished to speak to you about," replied
Mr. Bertram, as he began to play with a napkin-ring; "but I
thought you would have guessed it from what I have already said.
Of course, I agree that she is very young, and you might not like
it to be just yet, and had it not been for this discussion, and the
likelihood of her not being happy here, I should not have men-
tioned it perhaps so soon; but I think now it may be a comfort for
""
>
PETRONEL.
157
1
42
you to know it, and at all events I should like to hear your opinion
on the subject, and the probability of my success.
Mr. Bertram had spoken very rapidly, and, considering his age
and the length of his acquaintanceship with Ulick Ford, with un
usual agitation; but when he had concluded and waited anxiously
for a reply, none came.
"I am afraid you don't approve of the idea," he continued,
sheepishly, after a pause of a few seconds.
Were you speaking of Petronel Fleming?" inquired the doctor,
in a constrained voice.
"Of course
Of whom else should I speak?"
1
..
And proposing to marry her?"
Asking to be allowed to pay my attentions to her, to be followed
by marriage in due course of time, if you, as her guardian, give
your consent to it."
6.
>>
>"
Bertram, how long have you known each other?"
"I am sure I can hardly remember, Ford, but fifteen or sixteen
years at least."
"C
As long as that child has actually existed, and you consider
there would be nothing incongruous in your marrying her?”
"Not more so than in half the marriages of the present day. I
am aware that I am no longer a boy; but am four years younger
than yourself, in excellent health, and very youthful in my tastes
and habits. It is said that a man of forty is not too old for any
woman, and I confess myself I should see nothing peculiar in mar-
rying a girl of seventeen, and I should not desire to claim Miss
Fleming before that age.'
Ulick Ford, who had become very white and turned away to
ward the mantel-piece, replied:
"And so you wish to commence courting this child as soon as
she returns from school. Perhaps you have already done so!"
Bertram smiled consciously.
44
I have certainly hinted at my admiration to Miss Fleming, and
as far as I could judge she had no objection to my advances. But
of course I should not think of proceeding more definitely without
your permission, Ford. You stand in the position of her father,
and we shall have to submit to your tyranny."
He said the last words in a tone of youthful complaint, which
was very irritating to the nerves of his hearer.
""
But since you consider it likely," he continued, “that Miss
Ford and Miss Fleming may not go on well together at home, I
thought you would be glad to know that she has a prospect of
4
158
PETRONEL.
changing her condition, if it pleases her to do so. And we have
been such intimate friends for so long, Ford, and know each other
so well, I think you might trust her to me with as much confidence
as to any other man."
Ulick Ford had been struggling for some minutes past with an
evil spirit, which made him feel inclined to catch his dear friend,
whom he had known so long, by the throat and throttle him; but
at these words the demon vanished, and, walking up to him, he
held out his hand instead.
"I am sure of it, Bertram. Forgive me, if in the intense surprise
of your communication I have forgotten to enter so cordially into
it as I should. I still feel quite mystified, and unable to compre-
hend how much or how little has really passed between you and
Miss Fleming on this subject. Does she know of your affection
for her?"
"No, I can hardly say she does; she may guess it; girls are so
devilishly—I mean wonderfully-sharp; but I never told her so.”
And you will not tell her so, I hope, at least for some time to
come. She is far too young to think of such things, and 1 should
hardly conceive her capable of forming a right judgment in the
matter."
"
"But I may continue to visit here, may I not?” said Bertram, in
a voice of disappointment. Remember, I have not so much time
"
to lose, Ford.”
66
That is true," replied the doctor, whose face had settled down
into a very weary expression, and of course you will be always
welcome here; but, if you will allow me I had rather not enter any
further into the subject with you to-night. You have taken me so
much by surprise, and the whole business still appears to me so
extremely premature, that I am not in a fit state to argue about it.
Give me a few days to become accustomed to the idea, and I shall
be better able to form an opinion."
Miss Ford sympathized far more cordially with me than you
do," remarked his companion, ruefully; "indeed, she felt so certain
of your ready acquiescence, that she encouraged me to speak to you
at once."
"
**
""
You have already communicated your wishes to my sister?"
said the doctor, quietly. "I am sorry for that, Bertram; I had
rather you had spoken to me first. And then there was a dead
silence between them for the space of many minutes, during which
Ulick Ford stood, still as a statue, against the mantel-piece, and
William Bertram piled up little pyramids of white pounded sugar
PETRONEL.
159
on his dessert-plate, as though his fortune depended on their attain-
ing a particular shape.
"C
"You will not think me inhospitable, I hope," said Ulick Ford,
at last, if I ask you, Bertram, not to prolong your present visit to
us until my ward returns from Antwerp. Under the circumstances,
it will be better you should not. When Petronel is settled at home,
and I have attended to the state of her health, it will be time enough
to enter into a discussion of her feelings. Meanwhile, you may feel
satisfied that with such a child as she is (the appellation being de-
livered with an accent that rather grated on his hearer's ear) “* your
intentions are not likely to be forestalled."
..
Miss Fleming is not such a child as you imagine," repeated
Bertram; and the assertion which seemed to proceed from personal
conviction, had as much power to irritate the doctor as the cause of
it had done his friend. Another long silence passed between them,
and then Ulick Ford, with some half-intelligible excuse, passed out
of the dining-room and left the house. He had no particular busi-
ness to do, but he felt it impossible to stay longer in the same room
with the man who wanted to rob him of "the child," and not tell
him exactly what he thought of it.
Petronel-a baby, a mere infant-to be given in marriage to a
husband more than twice her age, and whose ideas and feelings and
habits had been formed before she possessed any! Pshaw! it would
be absurd; a folly, an enormity! He did not believe that the child
had ever dreamed of such a thing, or even entertained the thought
of marriage in connection with herself. And yet he could not
help remembering that, during the vacation past, Petronel had not
been quite the same as heretofore: that there had been a diffidence
in speaking of her school pursuits, a sort of novel shyness when left
alone with him, and an occasional clouding over her brightness,
for which he had been unable to account. Was it possible that
those could have been symptoms of her blossoming love for William
Bertram, unrecognized, perhaps, even by herself, but ready to bear
fruit if the sun of fortune shone upon them? Was his friend, then,
really so fascinating a man amongst women that a young, innocent
creature of sixteen was unable to stand proof against his attraction?
Dr. Ford recalled the period when they were at college together,
and he had gone by the pseudonym of “Handsome Bertram," to
distinguish him from another student of the same name, and
acknowledged that it might be the case. He knew that he had
always been very different from himself. And if the girl were
really in love with him, what excuse could he make for objecting
"C
19
160
PETRONEL.
7
!
to the marriage? As for the disparity of age between them, it was
not greater than what had been and would be again in numberless
instances of the kind; and in every other respect, by birth and edu-
cation, in character and profession and means, Mr. Bertram, not-
withstanding his former lamentations on the subject, was considered
to be an eligible match. He could not, in the face of all this, ad-
vance his own paltry and selfish desire to keep the child he had
befriended beside him for a few years longer, as a reason for with-
holding his consent. Petronel was very young; but, after all, not
younger than many women when they married; and since he was
to lose her, perhaps the sooner that she went the better. Her going
would not leave the same blank in his home that it might do a few
years hence. And yet he could not satisfy himself upon the sub-
ject. He walked rapidly about in the fresh air for more than half
an hour, and returned to his house as full of conflicting thoughts
as he had set out. His sister was talking with Mr. Bertram in the
dining-room; as he reached the door-step he could hear the low
murmur of their voices borne through the half-closed windows and
the boxes of fragrant stocks and mignonette. Perhaps they were
discussing this very matter, and Marcia was administering another
dose of comfort and encouragement to the dejected suitor.
Ulick Ford felt that he could not easily encounter them; that he
was in no condition to speak easily or frankly on that or any other
topic; and he went straight up to his own dressing-room.
This dressing-room was characteristic of himself; whilst the rest
of the house was lapped in luxury, it contained nothing but what
was absolutely needful. The plain, uncarpeted floor, the large
bath, the small, bare dressing-table, and the unornamented walls
bespoke the apartment of a man who had more thought than imag-
ination, and did more than he felt. And yet God, who searched
his heart, knew that feeling was not inactive there as he entered it
that evening.
..
To what sort of man, then, would I give her?" was the ques-
tion running in his mind as he closed the door and threw himself
into a chair before the dressing-table; and the answer seemed to
come in the perplexed features which looked back upon him from
the mirror. "I never can have been thinking of that!" he said,
defiantly, and yet he trembled as he said it. "It is impossible; it
would be too ridiculous; I should become a laughing-stock to my-
self."
Such were the thoughts which coursed each other through his
brain, whilst he still sat and stared at his reflection in the looking-
PETRONEL.
161
i..
glass. It was not an uncomely face that met his gaze; grave it may
have been, and dark, and somewhat rugged-looking, but it was a
face of power, and intellect, and benevolence, such as women at
once fear and love. But to its owner, and in this hour of weakness,
what availed its charms? At him there only frowned back the pict-
ure of a middle-aged man, of forbidding aspect, who had no more
to do with thoughts of love and marriage than Ulick Ford with the
fate of Petronel Fleming. As this last remembrance struck him he
sprung from his chair and prepared to go down-stairs again. What
demon had he permitted to take possession of him? What night-
mare had been haunting him during these few solitary moments?
He must be mad, or going mad, from overpress of work and study.
And he had actually left Bertram and his sister to a tête-à-téte for
more than three quarters of an hour; that might be detrimental to
the peace of Petronel; he must go and look after them at once.
W
And, laughing at the notion of Miss Marcia, with her attenuated
figure, and beady black eyes eclipsing the rounded bloom of his
adopted daughter, Ulick Ford joined the couple in the dining-room,
CHAPTER XVII.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL.
"I THINK I must have been really ill when I reached Rockbor-
ough. I am sure I felt so. The voyage had been rough, and I had
been seasick-a most unusual occurrence for me; and Fräulein
Graub, who was my chaperon, fidgeted, and worried me so much
with her fears of missing the trains, and being overcharged by the
cabmen, that, by the time the journey was ended, I felt quite worn
out.
''
to us.
I remember how we arrived at Cousin Ulick's house, and with
what languid indifference I sat in the cab until the door was opened
It was about four o'clock on a hot June afternoon, and I
leaned back, gazing at the half-closed windows, shaded by lace
curtains, and fronted by boxes of dark blue and white tiles, filled
with mignonette and flowering red stocks, as though it were a
strange residence, and not my own dear home that I was coming
to. And when Wheeler appeared at the door to welcome me-for,
notwithstanding my rebellious childhood, I was a favorite with
Wheeler-instead of leaping to the ground and tearing up the steps
like one possessed (my usual mode of effecting a re-entrance), I
crept lazily to the ground, and, scarcely returning his smiling but
·
6
"Y
1
{
162
;
PETRONEL.
1
respectful recognition, dragged my weary limbs into the dining-
room, feeling less inclined to laugh than to cry. Cousin Marcia
was already there; but the meeting was an awkward one, and I
threw myself into one of the big arm-chairs, hardly knowing what
to say next.
"
(66
There stood Fräulein Graub, full of tremor at conversing with
a stranger, and an English woman; trying hard with a dozen words
of English-which was as far as her knowledge of the language
extended-to make her account of the journey explicable, whilst
Cousin Marcia, standing opposite, with eyes perfectly void of un-
derstanding, listened in polite silence, and I had, every now and
then, to rush in to the rescue, and interpret the labyrinth of German
into which the poor fräulein had lapsed. I thought that she would
never go, for Cousin Marcia-who was always hospitable-in-
sisted on her taking some refreshments before leaving, and I
leaned back in my arm-chair, watching her sip wine, and eat bis-
cuits out of the familiar silver biscuit-box, with an occasional inter-
lude of hybrid sentences, until I almost believed that night would
fall before she had sufficiently refreshed herself.
64
However the closing day at last warned her she must depart,
and with some final compliments to Miss Ford, and an embrace-
which was rather distasteful to my feelings for myself, Fräulein
Graub re-entered the cab, which had been kept waiting for her,
and drove back to the railway station. I was terribly tired by that
time, and I thought that Cousin Marcia would have sympathized
with my altered looks and evident weakness; but I found that it
was her cue to ignore the idea of my being ill at all.
Come, Petronel,' she said, in a brisk tone, as the cab rolled
away with Fräulein Graub, ‘you had better run up to your room,
and see that your boxes are properly unpacked. You are to sleep
in the blue room now; and Jane, the under house-maid, is to wait
upon you. You have full two hours before dinner, and it would
be a pity to waste the afternoon.'
66 6
I am so tired,' I said, slowly rising to my feet.
***I dare say you are; every one must feel this heat; I do myself;
but it only requires a little resolution to shake it off.
off. And you
know that your cousin Ulick never approves of any one lounging
about.'
•
'I did not know it at all; but Cousin Marcia was sufficiently
aware that if she desired my obedience, the best way to secure it
was through her brother's name. And, in the present instance, she
could have used nothing more magical than the mention of the
PETRONEL.
163
dinner-hour, when I might hope to see him again—for I was look-
ing forward to that event with a sick longing, such as I had never
felt before. I fancied that the very sight of him would heal me;
that at his touch my languor must depart, and my indifference to
all that passed around me vanish. Knowing, as I well did, that he
was never at home in the afternoon, I had yet been half ready to
cry on arrival, because he had not been there to welcome me; and
now the desire to prepare myself to meet him had power to make
me comply with Cousin Marcia's wishes, although I did not show
much alacrity in doing so.
""
I found the blue room, and superintended the unpacking of my
boxes, whilst Jane treated me to all the news of Rockborough;
and I was unable to fix my thoughts upon anything in particular,
unless it were the coming of my cousin Úlick. I remember that I
was sitting before my looking-glass, occupied in piling up my hair,
when I heard his step and voice upon the staircase, and that, at the
sound, my trembling hands refused to fix the hair-pins, and the
tiresome mass came tumbling down again. It turned me sick and
faint merely to think he was so near, and yet not in my presence;
and as I proceeded to my task again, I wondered whether any
daughter was ever so fond of her father as I was of Cousin Ulick;
and that thought led me on to the remembrance of my own father,
and the burdensome secret I was forced to hold concerning him.
"I dressed so quickly after this, eager to run down and greet my
guardian, that I tore the gathers of my muslin skirt out from the
waist, and had to wait whilst Jane repaired them. And then I found
-thanks to my agitation and the heat-that I had grown crimson
in the face, and not fit to be seen. But expectations triumphed
over vanity, and as soon as my toilet was completed I sought the
drawing-room. The windows were still open; a gentle breeze was
lifting the lace curtains up and down; and after the flurry into
which I had thrown myself I felt quite chilly. But Cousin Ulick
had not yet appeared.
CC
I went to the piano-which was never opened in my absence-
and struck a few chords to intimate that I was ready; but still he
did not come. Then I grew fretful. I thought he might hurry
himself a little when he knew I had reached home. I believed that
he was doing it on purpose. The second bell sounded, and down
came Cousin Marcia, who was punctuality itself.
"" (
Isn't Cousin Ulick ready?' I demanded, impatiently. Surely
I heard him on the stairs. What a long time he is dressing!'
•
Is there any hurry?' said Cousin Marcia, primly.
اد
•
164
PETRONEL.
"It was always her pleasure to ignore that I had any particular
interest in Cousin Ulick, or he in me; and when I showed it openly
she even went the length of reproving me for being tiresome.
My brother will doubtless descend as soon as he is ready,' she
added, on the present occasion; but if you are hungry, Petronel,
why not have a biscuit?'
"But before I could frame the indignant reply which rose to my
lips, he entered the apartment. I sprung to meet him: but some-
thing in his manner, or my own heart, made me draw backward,
and, shy and blushing, I stood still, in the middle of the room, till
he should notice me.
en he the guy when
664
.. .
<C
Well, Petronel,' he said, kindly, but in not nearly so warm a
tone as he was used to greet me, 'so you have cheated the profes-
seur's out of a month's study; but you are certainly thinner. We
must fatten you up, and give you some sea-bathing, and you will
be yourself in a month. There is no place like Rockborough for
setting. little girls up. Marcia, if you are ready, we will go down,'
and, without further comment, he followed us to the dining-room.
I was terribly disappointed-I who had so built on meeting
this dear friend again, and hearing him welcome me back in his
own hearty manner. And he had scarcely said a dozen words to
me, and those in as commonplace a tone as though he had been
speaking to an ordinary acquaintance. A great lump rose in my
throat, and though I fought hard against the emotion, it was with
difficulty I could swallow anything that was placed before me.
The conversation at the dinner table ran on the most ordinary
topics, but I took no part in it, and more than once, I caught the
earnest gaze of Cousin Ulick fixed upon my face, and the idle knife
and fork. Yet he made no remark until the meal was concluded,
and then, as I was about to leave the room with Cousin Marcia, he
called me back again.
<< "
Petronel! I must have a little talk with you. Will you come
into my consulting-room?'
"I followed him into the apartment where I had played my early
pranks, and as my eye fell on the books and instruments and
bottles, I could hardly help smiling, although I felt anything but
inclined to do so. Cousin Ulick placed me on the sofa, and took a
seat beside me.
،
ECC
Why, you are actually trembling,' he observed, as he laid his
hand upon my wrist; 'you are not afraid of me, and of this mys-
terious room, I hope, Petronel, as you used to be in days gone by.'
""
The tears had gathered in my eyes, and were beginning to roll
PETRONEL.
165
P
#
down my cheeks. I seized the big hand between my own, and
pressed my lips upon it. The action did not seem to please him,
for he drew his hand away, and did not again place it near me.
666
You are nervous,' he said, calmly; you have been overwork-
ing yourself—you want rest and quiet.' And then he proceeded to
ask me various questions concerning my health, in a methodical
and professional manner, which drove me nearly wild. I longed
to throw my arms round his neck, and tell him that I wanted noth-
ing except the assurance of his love for me; but I was too big to do
that now-too big and too ashamed; and so I only sat where he had
placed me, and cried in silence.
"That is it!' said Cousin Ulick, standing opposite to me, and
regarding my tearful face as though it had been the symptom of a
well-known disease. You are nervous, evidently, and you have
lost strength. I must write a prescription for you.'
<
And then he sat down at his table, and, dashing off a dozen
Latin words, rang the bell, and desired Wheeler to have the paper
sent to the chemist's at once.
"6
66 [
'The medicine will be here in half an hour, and you must take
a dose of it before you go to bed. And now, my dear Petronel,'
with a paternal pat on my shoulders, 'let me advise you to retire as
soon as may be. You are very much fatigued with the effects of
your long journey, and need a good night's rest; we shall see you
a different creature in the morning.'
C
66
He held the door open as he spoke, evidently waiting for me
to leave the room, and, with a smothered 'good-night,' I rushed
past him, and, seeking the refuge of my own apartment, threw my-
self across the bed in an agony of tears.
"
For it is not too much to say that in that moment all that made
life beautiful to me seemed clouded over. My affection for my
cousin Ulick was not an ordinary affection. My mother had been
my first love, and to him I had transferred all the devotion I had
felt for her, mingled with the admiration and reverence due to one
so immeasurably above me. I cared for Félicité d'Alven, for the
Bertrams, even a little for my cousin Marcia; but all these loves
degencrated into fancies before the silent but absorbing attachment
which I entertained for my guardian; and if he had ceased to care
for me, if I was no longer an object of interest to him above what
he felt for others, I said passionately to myself that I would rather
die. What could be the reason of this mysterious change? For
the last two years we had been so very sociable together, so intimate
and confidential-so much like a dear father and daughter, or rather
166
PETRONEL.
I
1
like an elder brother, always ready to listen and sympathize, and a
little sister who leaned entirely on him. I had been used to be
the first down, even upon winter mornings, to make his coffee, and
see him set off upon his early rounds, and even sometimes to wait
his coming home after a hard night's work, and minister to his
comforts with my own hands; and on such occasions Cousin Ulick
had shown me more of his heart than upon any other-had let me,
to my great joy, peep in upon its silent working, and read that if
there was a niche there consecrated to one object it was my happi-
ness and welfare. Those had been moments of almost solemn
gratification to me, that I had recalled to help me through perplex-
ity, to comfort me in trouble, to assure me that, whatever hap-
pened, I should always have a friend who loved me better than
anybody else.
"And was this assurance-the only treasure, as, sobbing bitterly,
I now acknowledged to myself, which I possessed, or cared to pos-
sess- to be taken from me? Was Cousin Ulick's affection destined
to die, as my poor mother had done, and leave me once more to the
tender mercies of a cold-hearted world?
"
Yet, if not, what could be the reason of his altered manner-he,
who had met me hitherto with at least a warm pressure of the
hand, and eyes that spoke cloquently of his pleasure at our reunion?
Why should he look so indifferently, and speak so uninterestedly,
and appear so little pleased to see me home again? Could he be
vexed at what he himself had ordered, that I should return a month
before the time? My knowledge of his perfect equity gave the lie
to this suspicion. Or, was it possible that rumors could have
reached him of what had taken place at Antwerp; of my meeting
with my father; of the manner in which I had met him; of the
communication kept up between us since?
"At this thought the hot blood rushed to my face, and my eyes
refilled with tears. If Cousin Ulick, who always spoke of truth as
the foundation of all other virtues, thought me deceitful-me, to
whom he had been so generous and kind-it was little wonder that
his love should turn to contempt. Had I obeyed the great impulse
of my heart on that occasion, I should have rushed down-stairs,
then and there, and made a full disclosure of all my folly and dis-
obedience and weakness; but the remembrance of what such a con-
fession would involve, of the promise of secrecy which I had given,
of the danger which threatened a revelation of my father's name
and place of residence, combined to keep me where I was. All
that related to myself I was free and eager to repeat; but on that
PETRONEL.
167
which concerned my painting-master, much as I despised both the
caution and the conduct which had made it necessary, I had
solemnly vowed to keep a rigorous silence, and mine was not the
character to hold a promise cheap.
"
But though a few moments' reflection made me aware that it
was very unlikely my guardian had ascertained the facts which I
believed to be known to no one but myself, if his love for me were
on the wane it little mattered from what cause the effect proceeded.
""
The fear of it alone was enough to make me wretched. I lay
crying on my bed until I had rendered myself perfectly unfit to go
down-stairs again; and was thankful when, having commissioned
Jane to make my excuses to Cousin Marcia, the only result was a
cup of tea and a message to say that the sooner I went to bed the
better. I had been so afraid she might have taken it into her head
to come upstairs and look after me. Only that would have been
very unlike the want of interest which Miss Ford usually expressed
in anything I said or did. She always seemed to regard me as a
great, lumbering school-girl (as indeed I was), who had no ideas be-
yond skipping-ropes and bonbons (which, however, was an injustice
to me).
.،
I drank the tea which Jane presented, for I was hot and fever-
ish, and then I permitted her, though sulkily, to take off my clothes
and put them all away. I would not touch the medicine, which
had been sent up to my room, but thrust the bottle to one side; re-
solving inwardly that if Cousin Ulick refused to give me the only
medicine that I needed-an assurance of his unchanged affection—
he might keep his nasty physic to himself; I didn't want it; I
wouldn't touch it; and if I got ill and died, so much the better,
since no one cared for me, and I was a nuisance and a burden.
"Anxious to find myself alone and unobserved, I dismissed Jane
rather hurriedly, and threw myself upon the bed without saying
my prayers. I knew that this was wrong, and it was not often I
dared to make so great an omission; but that night I seemed at war,
not only with myself, but everything, Heaven not excepted. I
locked my door, and lay there in the evening light, for it was but
nine o'clock, very weak and feverish and miserable; but more dis-
posed (now the first storm was past) to feel offended than to cry. I
fell asleep at last, but spent a wretched night of broken. rest, and
rose in the morning more languid than when I had laid down.
Cousin Ulick was not at the breakfast-table, nor did I see him until
dinner, when I had been somewhat refreshed by a drive with Cousin
168
PETRONEL.
•
Marcia, in a beautiful open carriage, which I found her brother had
provided for our use.
"He was very kind, then, uniformly kind and attentive, and he
inquired particularly after my health; but I could not help observ-
ing there was something gone, not from his manner, but from his
look and voice-something which indicated that the warmth of his
affection had gone with it; and the bitterness of my heart increased.
He had hardly laid his hand upon my pulse, however, before
he discovered I had not followed his direction respecting the taking
of my tonic, and accused me of it.
CCC
pg
You have not tried the medicine I sent up to you.'
"I colored violently, although he had taken an opportunity of
speaking to me while his sister was out of the room, for I had not
thought he would be able to detect my delinquency.
"I don't want medicine,' I commenced, hesitatingly,' and--
and it is so bitter.'
66 6
Have you tasted it, Petronel?'
“No!' I was compelled to answer, though I burned with shame
to think he had discovered such a paltry subterfuge. Cousin
Ulick was pained. I was sure of it, though I only guessed it from
the tone his voice and the tenor of his words.
66 6
'You will not find it so very nauseous, and it is absolutely
necessary that you should take it regularly; in fact, I must order
you to do so. And try to be open with me, my dear child; it is
always the best plan; and I can not be your friend unless you have
full confidence in me.'
፡፡
I
'I was so horribly ashamed and sorry; first that he should think
me capable of prevarication, and, secondly, toward himself.
tried to stammer out some acknowledgment of this; but Cousin
Ulick mistook my self-blame for embarrassment.
464
Never mind,' he answered, gently; it was only a caution.
It may not signify much with regard to a bottle of medicine; but in
weightier matters' (here he stopped an instant before finishing his
sentence) — more important matters will come to you, Petronel, as
you advance in life; and you must remember that, under all circum-
stances, honesty is the best policy. It has been a great misfortune
to you, my dear, to lose your mother; but don't make it worse
than God intended by refusing to place confidence in the friends
whom he has left to you.'
Co
'Then I felt sure that he must have heard something about my
having met my father, and was hurt at my never mentioning the
subject to him; and cager, as far as lay in my power, to exonerate
+
PETRONEL.
169
myself, I answered, quickly, 'Oh, Cousin Ulick, if you only knew!
if I might-'
"He laid his hand upon my mouth and smiled; but I remember
thinking at the time that he would have looked less sad if he had
sighed.
66 6
Hush, Petronel! I don't wish to hear any secrets that are not
wholly your own. Don't mistake me: I was only alluding to
generalities. And now, with respect to this very bitter medicine
which you have never tasted, will you promise me not to think it
nastier than you can help, and to take it as regularly as you can? I
would not give it you unless I were sure it is for your good.'
"I promised him earnestly, touched to hear him ask me as a
favor to do what he had a right to command; but this conversation
left me more uneasy than before, for I could not dismiss the notion
from my mind that Cousin Ulick had alluded to the information I
had received respecting the existence of my father, and yet I dared
not say a word which should lead him to the subject. It was at
this juncture that Cousin Marcia re-entered the room, and private
communication dropped between us.
44
But a few days afterward I heard something which led me to
believe I had solved the mystery of my guardian's altered manner,
and the discovery did not tend to make me happier. The new car-
riage-an easy barouche-was a source of great comfort to us, and
we drove in it regularly every afternoon. I was never excluded
now from sharing Cousin Marcia's walks or drives, though, whether
her complaisance in this particular arose from her brother's stated
wishes, or an increase of interest in myself, I never ascertained.
The fact remained, however, and was sufficient for my pleasure,.
although I often wished that so much of the lovely summer weather
were not wasted in paying visits to old ladies cooped up in stuffy
drawing-rooms. But Cousin Marcia's universal benevolence, or
her pride in her new possession, with its pair of noble horses, in-
duced her to make many such calls at that particular period; and I
remember the disgust which I felt one afternoon, when I had an
atrocious headache and was feeling more languid than ordinary, to
hear, as we stopped at the door of an unpretentious house, that
Miss Upjohn was at home and would be pleased to see us. I glanced
entreatingly at Cousin Marcia, but she was always firm in insisting
I should accompany her into the presence of her friends, and there-
fore I had no alteruative but to follow her brisker footsteps. I had
never seen Miss Upjohn before: but, as soon as the usual greetings
had been exchanged, and a horrid Pomeranian dog, who was as
3
170
PETRONEL.
1
J
>
broad as he was long, and rejoiced in the name of Fidèle (pro-
nounced by his mistress, Fiddle) had been persuaded to cease bark-
ing and making snaps at our legs, I perceived that she was a mid-
dle-aged, faded woman, who closed her eyes whilst speaking, and
scarcely raised her voice above a whisper. In which particular, Fid-
dle did not set himself to copy his mistress, which was a pity, since
Miss Upjohn was compelled to interrupt her speeches every second
minute to quell the harsh, grating bark of her odious favorite. But
I understood that she was an intimate friend of my Cousin Marcia's,
for they called each other by their Christian names, and behaved
much in the same silly manner that Félicité and I had been used to
adopt at school. The latest topics of Rockborough gossip had been
brought forward, commented on, and dismissed; the ladies had
simultaneously lifted up their hands and eyes over the details of a
divorce case when occupying half the columns of the daily papers;
and then Miss Upjohn alluded to a subject, the first mention of
which made me, safely ensconced behind a number of the Illus-
trated News,' listen with painful eagerness.
6
"
But what is this rumor, dear,' she exclaimed, that I hear con-
cerning the good doctor? (Hush, Fiddle! doggie mustn't make a
noise when his mistress is talking.) I was over at Mrs. Hunter's
last night; you know how often we just drop in to tea with one
another (Lie down, sir! naughty, naughty Fiddle!)—and she was
telling me how very much improved in general appearance Miss
Samwell considers the doctor to be looking: and I'm sure she ought
to be a judge so often as she sees him, poor dear! And then Mrs.
Tracey, who happened to call at the time, said—(Now Fiddle; no
sugar for Fiddle to-night!)--that she had heard there was a very
good reason for the alteration, and that it is generally reported
there will be a great change soon at Wessex House,' which was the
name of Cousin Ulick's residence.
S
"At this I pricked up my ears eagerly, for the ladies were con-
versing in a low voice: but as I held the newspaper before my face,
1 think that Cousin Marcia was less cautious in answering than she
would otherwise have been.
"I wish people would not talk so,' she said, complainingly;
'really, scarcely a pin can drop to the ground in Rockborough, but
what the intelligence flies all over the place.'
66 C
Oh! then there is some truth in it,' replied the other, in what
sounded to me like a tone of disappointment.
6.
'I don't say so; and I should not think of disclosing my broth-
er's affairs, if there were. He is not a boy, Matilda, as you know;
PETRONEL.
171
and men are ill-disposed to brook interference in such delicate mat-
ters. It may be, or it may not be, any way it is an event which lies
quite in the future.'
" •
But, still, may be expected,' said Miss Upjohn, inquisitively.
'On the contrary, my dear, you have my authority for contra-
dicting the report. Nothing is arranged-you may take my word
for that; and, until it is, the less attention one pays to Rock-
borough gossip, the better.'
44
46
Ah!-but I shall know now what to look for. Well, well, it
is always so in this world-changes everywhere. (Hush, Fiddle, be.
quiet directly!) But you will never change to me, my dear friend,
will you?' And hereupon Miss Upjohn relapsed into such a wishy-
washy state, that I half suspected she had been entertaining faint
hopes for herself in the quarter from which hope now seemed ex-
cluded.
(
It was not long afterward that I was raised from the reverie
into which I had sunk, by the voice of Cousin Marcia, desiring me
to accompany her home.
Good gracious, child!' she exclaimed, as she caught sight of
my face, how white you are! Has the room been too warm for
66 6
head.
you? You should have spoken before.'
( (
My head,' I said, putting up my hand to my throbbing fore-
(
64
+
44 C
Does it ache so much?-how tiresome!-and when I particu-
larly wanted to call upon old Mrs. Hayden and Miss Litchfield this
afternoon. Would you rather I dropped you at home, Petronel?'
Oh! yes-so very much. Let me go home and rest, Cousin
Marcia; I am not fit to be out in the sun.' And so, to my infinite
relief, I was put down again at Wessex House, and left to think
over what I had heard, in peace.
"Peace! Is there such a thing upon this earth, or was the word
composed in mockery of our usual state of feeling here?
"I could not misunderstand the import of the conversation I had
overheard, nor deny to myself that at the least it admitted the
probability of my cousin Ulick's marrying. And, strange to say,
such a probability had never struck my mind before. I had con-
sidered him so old-so much past love or any youthful feeling-so
fated to remain forever as he was, master of Wessex House, with
Cousin Marcia and myself as housekeepers and general attendants,
that the idea of his bringing home a wife to live with us—a wom-
an who would be more to him than we were, and greater in the
house than we could be-seemed to me incongruous, impossible,
172
PETRONEL.
,
almost unnatural!-Cousin Ulick married! with a wife to be the
first to welcome him when he came home; with little children, per-
haps, to shout the news that he was coming. Ah, no! the situation
did not fit him; he would have to change his nature first. I could
as soon imagine the Pope of Rome dancing the trois-temps.
But Cousin Marcia had certainly said it might be; and, suppose
it were, how should I regard this lady whom Cousin Ulick was to
love; how feel toward the new cousin to whom he would present
me? Should I, could I-love her, too?
("
At first, my angry, jealous little heart cried out no! I thought
that I should hate her, coming smiling and smirking to take the
head of the table, and order us all about, and to say at what hour
she wished for the carriage, and where the coachman was to drive;
and to sit in the chair next to Cousin Ulick, and to have the right
of keeping all his clothes in order, and pouring out his coffee in the
mornings. I should detest her! But then came the remembrance
of how grave he would look if I were naughty, and how sad it
would make him if he loved her very much (ah me!) to see his
adopted daughter rude too, or unmindful of her! Oh, no! if it ever
did come true, which God forbid! I must try to be good and gen-
tle, and obedient, not for her sake, but for his. And surely, the
woman who could appreciate and love him truly (and he would
marry no one else) must have some good in her; the very fact of
loving him, and being loved by him, would make her good. For
how dear he was; how much above all other mortals; how in-
finitely removed from such men as Mr. Bertram and my uncles, and
my poor father! How could any woman help loving him? Why
was not all female Rockborough at his feet? And then, with my
usual inconsistency, after having scouted the possibility of his
marriage, I fell to wondering it had never taken place before.
""
Who was there so good and affectionate and gentle and clever
as he was? Who else had so much patience, so much courtesy, so
much benevolence? What other friend had risen up to the aid of
my poor mother and the protection of myself?
"To whom else could I go for counsel or advice? Where find
another home worthy to be called such? At this thought the differ-
ence that his marriage might make in his affection for me; the
difference that the prospect of it had already made (for to naught
else would I now attribute the alteration in his manner), caused me
bitter pain.
""
'I could see it all now-could understand it all. This woman,
whoever she might be, who was to become his wife, had crept be-
PETRONEL.
173
1
tween himself and his adopted daughter, and he had no more extra
love to spare for me. She occupied his leisure thoughts, and time,
and feeling. She sat at the feast his heart spread for her, and there
were only falling crumbs left for outsiders.
""
Oh, how I prayed to Heaven that I might die! At one moment
I hated her-this visionary rival!-so much so that I should have
liked to see her laid before me on the bed, and run a knife into her
heart; the next, I was sobbing over the base ingratitude of my nat-.
ure, and in imagination begging the pardon of my guardian for hav-
ing entertained such wicked thoughts toward any creature that was
dear to him. And so I wept, making myself miserable with my
suspicions and my fears, until my headache had increased to fever,
and I was seriously ill.
31
44
THE STORY OF PETRONEL-CONTINUED.
THE last thing I can remember is tossing about upon the bed,
and crying over the probability of my cousin Ulick's marriage;
for, although two or three days elapsed before I became light-
headed, the interval was a blank to me, when I woke up to con-
sciousness again. A whole week is swept away from that portion
of my existence; but I can recall the moment when the fact of liv-
ing was once more borne in upon my mind, as distinctly as though
it happened yesterday.
<c
It was late in the afternoon; the sun was already sinking be-
neath the horizon, and the birds were twittering to one another, as
they do twitter at the commencement and the close of long hot sum-
mer days, when I roused myself as from a heavy sleep. I was
aware that something must have happened, because my body
seemed as heavy as lead, and my head so weak, that I did not be-
lieve that I could turn it on the pillow; and yet I felt no inclination
to inquire why I lay there, or what had been the matter with me.
But as I slowly moved my weary eyes about the room, they en-
countered the gaze of my attendant, Jane, who was sitting by the
bedside, working at her needle, and I suppose she guessed by their
expression that intelligence had returned to me.
C
CHAPTER XVIII.
Miss Petronel!' she said, half fearfully.
'Well, Jane!' I answered, in a voice which surprised myself, it
was so hoarse and weak, I suppose I have been ill. Is it very
late?'
4C C
1
174
PETRONEL.
66
**
'Oh, miss! I am so glad to hear you speak sensible again,
You have been that bad all the week,' and as she spoke Jane rang
the bell, which soon brought Cousin Marcia to my room.
She ex-
changed a few words with the servant, and then advanced to the
bedside.
66
And so you are better, my dear Petronel!' she said, in a tone
so unusually affectionate that I guessed at once I had been very ill.
'That is right, you must be very thankful for your recovery. Do
you think you could take something to eat?'
66 6
Some tea!' I murmured, for neither lips nor tongue had any
moisture on them.
(C {
And some nice dry toast. Make haste, Jane, and get them
ready at once. I will remain by Miss Fleming's side till you re-
turn.'
""
And she sat down by my pillow, whilst I closed my eyes
again, already aching from the subdued evening light. The tea and
toast were soon brought to me, and, having drank the one, I found
that I could eat the other, and fell off to sleep, feeling as though a
new warm life had been poured in my veins. When I woke again
the lamp was lighted, and some one was saying through the half-
opened door, 'I think she is asleep, but you can look at her.'
66 6
Oh, no! no! no!" I said, imploringly, a sudden impulse,
made up of fear and shame and modesty, seeking hold upon me. I
do not remember if I had been dreaming, or if, in that brief sleep,
strength had so far returned as to make easy the exercise of
memory; but I know that, as I heard my cousin Marcia's whisper,
I divined it was her brother she desired to admit, and the recollec-
tions of my suspicions and longings and misery concerning him,
together with an unaccountable dread lest he should see me as I
was, rushed on me with such force that I could not resist giving
vent to the words which I have written. But Cousin Marcia was
disposed to resent an exhibition which she thought absurd.
46.
What are you talking about?' she inquired, sharply. 'It is
only your cousin Ulick come to pay his evening visit.'
.. (
<
Oh, don't let him come in, Cousin Marcia!' I exclaimed, and
as I clung to her I positively trembled. I can not see him, indeed
I can not. I am much too ill to see anybody.'
(Cl
Too ill to see the doctor? Why, child, what folly you are talk-
ing; the worse you are, the more occasion for his presence. Come,
lie down again at once, and let me put the bedclothes over you;
your cousin's time is valuable; we can not keep him waiting in
this way.'
尺
​Cate
1
I
}
PETRONEL.
175
"I did as she desired me, but buried my face in the pillows,
nevertheless, weakly crying:
(64
'I can not see him; it is no use.
Do ask him to go away.'
"But Cousin Marcia would do no such thing.
"She is very low still,' I heard her say, as she returned to the
open door, and feverish. You had better come in at once and
get it over.'
“But she objects to seeing me,' replied the gentle voice of
Cousin Ulick, and I fancied (though it might only have been my
fancy) there was an extra ring of sadness in its tone.
C
How my heart bounded at the sound! I longed and yet I feared
to meet him. Every pulse in my body seemed to throb and quiver
until, with my face still buried in the pillow, I turned sick and
faint from sheer emotion; but Cousin Marcia's answer was like a
tonic to my failing system.
CC C
Objects! what nonsense! she has taken a fancy in her head
for being deft alone, but you are surely not going to indulge her in
such folly?'
66 +
Not if my presence were necessary; but from what you say
there can be no particular reason for my seeing her to-night, and I
would rather she were not worried. Let her go on with the same
medicine, and have tea and toast as she requires it. She will have
gained more strength by the morning.'
C
And you are really not coming in to see her?'
Not this evening, though of course I depend upon you for
letting me know if there is any change. Jane must sit up with her
6 6
to night.'
"" I
Well! I never heard such rubbish in my life!' exclaimed Miss
Marcia, either on your part or hers. I suppose now that she is ill,
she will be more spoiled than ever.'
But all the answer that came from Cousin Ulick was the sound
of his retreating footsteps, as he tried to walk noiselessly down-
stairs.
"I felt sorry then that I had not seen him, and I attempted to
make an apology to Cousin Marcia, which she did not appear very
well disposed to receive.
" 4
""
It's done now,' she answered, curtly; so it's no use saying
anything about it. It is to be hoped you will be a little more sensi-
ble to-morrow. If every one were to behave in so silly a manner as
you do, doctors might give up their profession altogether, for it's
quite impossible to cure a patient from outside the door.'
"I saw then that I had been very foolish, and making a fuss
1
"" says "ter
176
about nothing at all; but still, whenever I thought of meeting
Cousin Ulick again, the same hot, miserable feeling came over me,
and I fell to sleep for the night dreading the return of day, which
should bring into my presence the person I loved best in the world.
My mind was a strange chaos at that moment; a funny contradic-
tion of itself; and I acknowledged so, even whilst I had no power
to call reason to assist me in its cure. But when I woke upou the
following morning much of my depression had disappeared. The
sun was shining brightly through the windows; my apartment--
furnished with its rosebud-speckled chintz-looked gay and cheer-
ful, and Jane, by my bedside, was standing ready with my break-
fast. Everybody knows the grateful, placid feeling with which we
welcome the return of health, before we are compelled to enter on
the second stage of convalescence, and task our weakness with the
day's routine of duty.
PETRONEL.
"C
I was under the influence of this feeling now; there was no call
for me to do more than lie still and be waited on, and without any
desire to be disobedient, I had yet strength sufficient to derive
pleasure from my state of inactivity.
EC
I enjoyed my simple breakfast and plentiful ablutions, and a
brush and comb passed through my tangled hair, after which I lay
still, rather exhausted, but full of anxiety for the moment when I
should hear my cousin Ulick's voice. For I was as eager then to
meet him as I had been backward on the night before, and could
not imagine how I had been so foolishly opposed to that to which I
now looked forward as a source of the greatest contentment. Each
step upon the staircase (although his was so familiar to me) made
me start; the sound of an opening or a closing door sent the color
to my face, and I watched with breathless anxiety for the tap upon
my own which should announce his advent. It was in this con-
dition that Cousin Marcia found me when she paid her early visit.
Dear me! what an improvement!' she exclaimed, as she came
in sight of me. 'Why, you are looking quite yourself again,
Petronel; a different creature to what you were yesterday.'
. . .
"Miss Fleming have slept beautiful,' interposed the servant.
'She never stirred all night, and I had quite a difficulty to get her
to take her medicine. And she eat her breakfast hearty, didn't you.
miss?'
"Oh, any one can see that she is better!' replied my cousin. 'I
could almost think her cheeks were fuller. Well, Petronel, I must
just run down again, and tell my brother the good news, for he is
waiting to hear my report before he goes his rounds.'
1
J
}
}
"
iwyg
“Is Cousin Ulick going out already?' I said, in a voice of disap-
pointment. But Cousin Marcia was never quick at reading peo
ple's feelings.
“'Yes, directly he has heard how you are. He would have
come up himself, of course, if you had not expressed so strong a
dislike to seeing him. It was very strange of you, Petronel. I can
not understand it.'
"I am so sorry-' I commenced, but my cousin had whisked
out of the room before I could conclude my sentence, and in an-
other minute I heard the wheels of the departing brougham. How
my heart and spirits sunk as I listened to the sound! Oh, what a
fool I thought myself, to have been so untrue to the affection God
had planted in my breast!
PETRONEL.
There was no more pleasure in the morning left for me. I had
looked forward with such certainty to his appearance, and the re-
freshment of his kindly greeting, even calculating on the possibility
of extracting some assurance from him that he had no intention of
letting any one step in between his adopted daughter and himself
(which knowledge I believed would be sufficient for all my future
happiness), that I felt the disappointment to a degree almost
absurd. All my little stock of strength-which had been, indeed,
but a phantom called up by excitement- seemed to fade away, and
for several hours I remained hopelessly tired, yet unable to sleep,
and subject to so much fruitless expectation that my cheeks became
flushed with fever again, and my eyes suffused and bloodshot. With
the afternoon came Miss Ford's caustic question:
"Pray may I ask how much longer you are going to keep up
this farce of not seeing my brother, Petronel? because, it seems to
me you are not so well this afternoon, and if you still refuse to
admit him I must call in Mr. Austin. I am not going to take the
responsibility of your illness on myself.'
Then, strange to say, the longing I had entertained all day to
see my cousin Ulick vanished, and I felt only inclined to hide my-
self from his observation. But I dared not say so; Miss Marcia ap-
peared too much in earnest.
C
<<
Well, what is your decision?-though it seems utterly non-
sensical to me to ask the opinion of such a child as you are. Your
cousin will be home again directly. Is it to be him or Mr. Austin?'
Oh! Cousin Ulick, of course,' I answered, tremblingly; and
so in the cool gray evening he entered my bed-chamber. How much
I had had to say to him; and yet, when after the first greetings he
662
I
туман ма
178
PETRONEL.
drew a chair to my bedside, and took my hand in his, I closed my
eyes and remained quite silent.
<< <
What have you been doing to excite yourself?' he demanded,
as he felt my pulse.
Coc
I don't know-nothing,' I answered, faintly, though my heart
throbbed loudly as I spoke, and the tears rushed to my eyes.
C
You have everything you want, my dear, I hope,' he said,
affectionately.
/
"Yes, everything.'
C
66 C
L
And are in no pain?'
No.'
"
66 6
I dare say you feel very ill, and rather low-spirited, but you
must not lose heart. You have had a sharp attack of fever, and
will be weak for some days to come; but I hope, if this beautiful
weather continues, that we shall soon get you out in the carriage,
and then you will pick up strength as rapidly as you have lost it.
Why do you keep your eyes closed; is this light too strong for
you?'
666
'They are so weak, I can not read,' I murmured.
"You must not attempt it; can not Jane read to you?'
´´Yes, but so indifferently—it is pain to listen to her.'
“That is a great privation,' he said, sympathizingly; and then we
were both silent, for the same thought occurred to us. Cousin
Marcia ought to have been the one to supply that need to me, but I
should as soon have thought of asking her to do it as Cousin Ulick
would of suggesting the idea. She could trot about the house, and
order servants right and left, and see that everybody did his or her
duty at the proper time; but as to her sitting down quietly to per-
form a simple, womanly action, such as reading to a sick friend,
the mere notion was incongruous with a knowledge of her nature,
and for my part I should as soon have asked Wheeler to do up my
back hair. So that Cousin Marcia was left out of our calculations
altogether.
<
I wish I could remedy that deficiency for you,' said Cousin
Ulick, after a pause; I will think about it, Petronel!' and then he
left me, with a kiss upon my forehead which made me miserable;
it felt so cold and formal, and set me wondering what sort of kisses
he probably gave to the person Miss Upjohn had alluded to, until I
cried myself to sleep.
"C
'From that moment, my daily existence was marked out by two
epochs-the hours when Cousin Ulick paid his morning and his
evening visit to me; and the intervals were spent in alternate
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anxiety to see him again, and dread of the moment of his approach,
until I was a puzzle to myself, and thought I must be going mad
to be so uncertain of the state of my own mind.
"
But I never made another objection to his visits, and he never
neglected to pay them, however busy or pressed for time he might
happen to be.
66
A few days after that first interview I learned what he had
meant by saying he would think about it;' that is, about my hav-
ing nobody to read aloud to me; and he introduced the subject with
so much caution that my suspicious, jealous heart immediately rose
up in arms against it. It was on the occasion of his having observed
that I had not made so much progress as he had anticipated.
۔
“'I am afraid that you are dull,' he said; ' that you are too much
alone; and you must feel it after the busy life you have just quit-
ted. Is it so, Petronel?'
"
CC (
€
It is dull,' I answered, with a sigh.
And you have no one to read to, or talk with you-no young
person of your own age, I mean. You must miss your companions
very much.'
<<
I made no reply to this, though the remembrance of my dear
Félicité came powerfully to my mind.
66 6
'I know a very estimable-indeed, a very charming young lady,
who would be more than pleased to make friends with you, Petro
nel, if you wished it; and, in fact, it had been my intention, if this
little illness had not come upon you, to introduce you to one
another. She is older than yourself by several years, but that
would be an advantage to you, and she would prove, I am sure, in
every respect, a most valuable companion. Would you like her to
come some afternoon, and read to you?'
<<
C
Cousin Ulick, not being a man of many words, and doubtful,
perhaps, how his proposal would be received by me, had spoken
with some degree of hesitation, and the idea which darted into my
silly mind on hearing him was, that this estimable,' and 'charm-
ing,' and valuable' creature, .whom he offered to introduce to my
sick-chamber, was the identical woman whom he had engaged himself
to marry, and whom I should be called upon to look up to, and ad-
mire and respect. And with an utter but utterly unreasonable sense of
being insulted, and outraged, and ridiculed, with a heaving breast,
and burning cheeks and eyes suffused with tears, I angrily ex-
claimed:
"I won't see her! I don't want to see her! She shall not come
here! I will have the door shut in her face!'
*#*#
$180
PETRONEL.
* A
"Petronel!' he ejaculated, with surprise.
"I can't help what you think,' I answered, sobbing,‘and I
don't care; but I won't see any of your young ladies, so it's no
good their coming;' and then ashamed of my rudeness and impetu-
osity, buried my face from sight, and refused to look up at him
again.
C
66
I don't in the least know what Cousin Ulick thought of my be-
havior; but I suppose he took me for the young bear I was, for he
did not attempt to argue or reason with me. He sat by my side
without speaking, though I could imagine, in my self-inflicted
darkness, the grave, troubled expression of his dear, kind face.
Was this the duty I had promised myself to exercise toward him?
I was horribly, bitterly abashed!
• C
Oh! I am so sorry,' I said, after a minute's pause, but with-
out revealing my tear-stained countenance.
Never mind!' he answered, gently; 'I thought the company
of a girl of your own age might give you pleasure, but I was mis-
taken. I am sure, though, that you would talk otherwise you
knew Miss Raymond; (did I tell you her name was Raymond?) but
the last thing in the world that I desire is to see you worried. I
want to keep your mind perfectly at rest, that your body may have
every opportunity of regaining strength. Did Cousin Marcia tell
you that Mr. Bertram has been over here, to-day, inquiring for
you?'
66 6
No,' I answered, in a broken voice.
"He has been very anxious about you, Petronel, and we have
sent daily accounts to Oxley of your progress. You like Mr. Ber-
tram, don't you?'
CCC
'Oh, yes;' though I was not thinking a bit of what I said, and
Mr. Bertram might have been at the bottom of the sea for aught I
cared about him.
..
666
Cousin Ulick arose to go.
Well, good-night, my dear. Don't fret yourself about Miss
Raymond or anything else. You shall always do as you like, as
long as you are under my guardianship, Petronel;' and he walked
away before I had plucked up courage to disclose my face in token
that I was ready for his good-night kiss.
el c
The doctor's changed your medicine again, miss,' said Jane, an
hour afterward, as she brought in a bottle of red mixture on a tray,
' and I'm sure if it's as good as it looks, it ought to taste beautiful.'
The prescription in its printed envelope, as it had been returned
by the chemist, lay by the side of the medicine, and I took it up
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181
،
idly and unfolded it. The Latin words bore no meaning for
me, but the familiar writing touched me almost as deeply as
though it had spoken words. I gazed at the 'Miss Fleming' at
the top, and the signature Ulick Ford,' at the bottom, until my
eyes swam in mist, and I fancied that I saw his fingers tracing
them. Had he thought very much of me whilst he was writing it?
Had my impatient, rude repulsion of the offer which he had meant
to be so kind rung in his ears, and made him think I was not worth
the trouble he was taking for me? I tortured myself with the as-
surance that it had, and expiated my rebellion by a sleepless night,
during which the cherished prescription which had been fingered
by the chemist as a common thing (how could any one, and even a
chemist, look upon the words which Cousin Ulick had transcribed,
without experiencing something like a heart-beat?) served as a pil-
low for my feverish cheek. It was a mighty fuss to make over a
mere piece of paper. I wonder if any other woman in this world
has ever done the same before my foolish self? As may
As may be sup-
posed, I was none the better in the morning, notwithstanding that
Jane faithfully poured the mixture down my throat at stated peri-
ods. But excitement and unrest were the worst agents in my res-
toration that I could employ, and even Cousin Ulick's prescription
had not much force against them; so that when he saw me next he
was anything but satisfied with my appearance.
CC
Not had a good night?' he said, in answer to Jane's explana-
tions; why, how is that? Was Miss Fleming overtired yesterday?'
<
CC L
I don't know, I'm sure, sir; but she never closed her eyes,
except for half an hour or so, and she kept moaning terrible all the
time. I would have called you up, only miss wouldn't let me.'
You are not to attend to Miss Fleming's desires in that re-
spect,' replied Cousin Ulick. And then the old routine of medical
inquiry was gone through, and I was ordered a different medicine
and a different diet.
↓
"Yet I made but feeble steps toward recovery; though every-
thing that thought could provide, or it was in the power of money
to procure for me, was poured lavishly at my feet. Flowers, and
fruit, the most delicate of diet, and entertaining of literature, were
liberally sent into my sick-room; and yet I seemed to be unable to
care for any of them. Unless, indeed, Cousin Ulick gave me the
rosebud from his button-hole, or brought up the peach from his own
dessert, and then, whilst I eagerly accepted the offering, I as often
wept over it as not. So that, instead of soon regaining flesh and
strength, as he had anticipated for me, I was still in bed a fortnight
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after my attack of fever, looking almost as pale and thin as I had
done the day of its departure, and could see that Cousin Ulick was
both puzzled and distressed at my unsatisfactory condition.
6. L
'Have you a headache, Petronel?' he said one afternoon (he used
to see me three times a day at that period), when he came upstairs and
found me lying prone upon the bed, with both my hands clasped
upon my forehead.
"I don't think so,' I answered; and I took his hand, and held
it close in mine, and laid my hot cheek on it. He did not draw it
away, as he had done once before; indeed I think that he was sorry
for my weak and pitiable condition, for as my tears dropped on his
palm I felt it shake beneath my weary head.
66 4
What can I do for you, my dear?' he said, anxiously; but I
only raised my eyes to his, bent so earnestly upon me.
60 6
'Petronel!' said Cousin Ulick, presently (I am sure he had been
making up his mind to speak to me), 'this must not go on. You
are making no advancement toward health; each day finds you as
weakly as the one before, and you are causing your friends a great
deal of distress, as well as injuring yourself. What is the reason
of it? Have you anything upon your mind? I think you must
have-something which you do not choose, or like, perhaps, to tell
to me, but which you may be assured you need have no fear in dis-
closing. If your mother were alive, Petronel, or if you had a
father, you would not hesitate, I suppose, to tell your griefs to
them; and though, of course, I can hardly expect you should lɔok
on me as on a parent, yet you know that I stand in that position to
you, and am always ready to help you with my affection or advice.
Won't you tell me what it is that retards your recovery now?'
..
He spoke so seriously, so kindly, so like one deeply interested in
my welfare, that I could not resist the influence of his address, and
all my heart was revealed to him in one burst of passionate entreaty.
“Oh, Cousin Ulick! pray, pray tell me,' I exclaimed, as I threw
myself sobbing in his arms, will you ever love me less than you
do now?'
?
"I am sure that this question was the very last my cousin had
expected me to put; for, though he held me close against his breast,
the arms by which I was encircled trembled violently, and I heard
him draw his breath in labored strokes.
""
But still I clung there, though terribly ashamed of what I had
confessed, and fearful of the explanation by which I knew it must
be followed. He was the first to break the silence.
!
<?
PETRONÉL.
183
* B
"Have I ever given you occasion to doubt my affection for
you, Petronel?'
CC &
No!-oh, no!--but then they said—'
"Who said? Don't tremble so, my darling; you will make me
think you are afraid of me.
"It was the first time his lips had ever called me by that endear-
ing name, and as I heard it, my arms relaxed their hold about his
neck, and I sunk back upon my pillow. I was a woman again,
and the childish impulse by which I had been actuated made me
feel as though I could never afford him the explanation which he
now demanded.
“'I am waiting to hear what they said, Petronel. You will not
refuse me your confidence again.'
Ce C
Oh! it was nothing-indeed it was nothing,' I answered, with
a painful blush. I saw that he looked disappointed. He thought
I was again about to shelter myself behind my former reserve.
"Then I am not to hear it after all?' he said, rising from his
chair.
66
But I loved him too much to let him leave me thus uneasy and
unsatisfied. I made a huge effort to conquer my shyness; and,
swallowing something in my throat, replied:
<< C
They said that is, Miss Upjohn said—at least she said that
she had heard you were going—to be married, Cousin Ulick.'
The great secret jerked out violently and unnaturally, but it
was confessed at last; and then I stole a glance up at his face to
see how he had borne it. He was standing as he had risen, to all
appearance very calm and quiet, but with a look upon his counte-
nance which I had never seen before.
"C "
66
You are not angry?' I asked, fearfully.
"Is this the intelligence which disturbed you, Petronel?' he
said, without noticing my question.
“'I—I did not like it,' I replied, shamefacedly. 'You could
not care for me so much, you know, and-and-all things would
seem so very altered.'
"Be quiet, child,' he said, in a tone the anguish of which was
unmistakable; you try me fearfully.' And then he walked away
to the window and stood there looking out upon the street.
<?
Oh, Cousin Ulick, I was afraid I should do wrong."
He did not answer me.
'Pray, don't be angry! I would not have mentioned it unless
you had desired me, I am so sorry that I spoke.' And when the
66
4
<
184
PETRONEL
oppressive silence had continued for another minute, I commenced
again:
*** Cousin Ulick, you will forget all that I said. You know I
did not mean to be impertinent or rude.' I thought that, by my
carelessness, I might have touched some inner chord of his deep
nature, for which he never would forgive me: but when he returned
from the window, his face was not only cheerful-it was gay.
"" C
And so somebody told you that I was about to marry and
bring an old woman to the house, to lock up all the sugar, and whip
you when you were naughty. And you believed it-you little sim-
pleton-and thought the best way of mending an evil in the future
was by crying over it beforehand. Now, what am I to do to you
for making yourself ill about nothing at all?'
"It is not true,' I uttered, joyfully.
<< C
Not true! Why, what business had you to believe it true,
until I told you so myself? But, perhaps, Miss Upjohn, who
knows so much about it, gave you the lady's name.'
666
Oh, no!-only I thought perhaps-Miss Raymond-'
Cousin Ulick burst out laughing; and this reaction on his part
so disconcerted me, that I felt too awkward to proceed.
66
"You are a wise child, Petronel,' he said. 'Why, Miss Ray-
mond is not more than twenty, and I have known her since she was
short-coated. No! no! if you ever catch your old cousin making a
fool of himself, it won't be with a girl young enough to be his
daughter. But I can not have you talk or think about such non-
sense any more. It is utterly untrue, and, were it not, you might
be quite sure that I should never contemplate taking any step which
would either militate against the comfort of any one connected with
me, or rob you of a tithe of my affection. And now, my child, I
must go; but if this absurd report was really the cause of your
trouble, let me never see you welcome me with a long face on that
account again.'
"
I do not think I did, for his assertion made me so much hap-
pier that from that day my recovery had no drawback, and I made
rapid strides to convalescence. But there were two things in his
answer which had somewhat troubled me, although the reason they
should do so was inexplicable even to myself. I did not like to
hear Cousin Ulick always call me by the name of child,' as though
he were so very, very much older than myself; and I could not see
why he should have ridiculed the idea of marrying Miss Raymond.
<
66
Of course I was very glad to know he would not think of
marrying her, for the many arguments detailed before; but still-if
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he had wished it, and she had wished it, and we had all wished it—
it would have been absurd of him to think twice about her age; she
was a woman, and no one can be more. And I really began to
wonder if Cousin Ulick expected me to marry a boy of twenty-
like Ernest Moore, for instance-because, if he did, he was utterly
mistaken. I hated boys, and always had done so; and I never in-
tended to marry at all, unless I were allowed to do exactly as I
chose; from which it may be inferred that my sauciness having re-
turned, I was in a fair way toward standing on my legs again.”
CH
CHAPTER XIX.
THE INNER LIFE OF DR. FORD.
IF Petronel Fleming, in the innocence of her sixteen summers,
mistook the gayety of Ulick Ford, recorded in the last chapter, for
genuine feeling, I am not afraid that any of my readers who have
perused the first part of this story will follow her example. Had
she been older, or more versed in the bitter experience of the world,
she would have learned to suspect so sudden a transmutation; to
look upon it as unnatural, and consequently assumed to cover the
disturbance which was going on within; to hide, in fact, the lan-
guage of the heart.
But to her, whose heart had not yet spoken, or rather, to whom
circumstances had not yet revealed the interpretation of its silent
whispering, her cousin's manner conveyed no idea but that his mind
was relieved at the same time as her own; and that they should be
free to clasp each other's hands, without the shadow of that grim
secret, which had haunted her, falling between them, was sufficient
for her present happiness; and happiness was sufficient for her res-
toration to health.
It was well it was so, or her recovery might have been still fur-
ther retarded. Could she have seen the workings of Dr. Ford's
heart, as he stood looking out of the window unable to find words
wherewith to answer her, notwithstanding the assistance of a mighty
determination to make his tongue obey the dictates of his will, and
to crush the inclination he felt rising within him, she would have
been frightened by the power of the machinery which her simple
inquiry had set in motion.
Let no one imagine there is such a thing as getting out of the
habit of loving; or lay aside all fears of tempest, because, for a
given period, the waters have been calm. The dissection of a
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•
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!
human heart is too delicate an operation for human hands, and only
those attempt it who "rush in where angels fear to tread:" but its
wheels and chains and springs are not made of steel or iron to rust
and become brittle with disuse; and experience teaches us that it is
often found to be in full working order when its very owner has
laid it aside as useless. We know so much, and we know no more.
The hand which alone can set those wheels and chains and springs
in active motion is the hand of God; and under whatever circum-
stances, even the most untoward, the work would be for good did
we but trust ourselves to his Almighty guidance. But with human
precautions, or passions, or petulance, we interfere, until the
machinery becomes entangled and goes wrong, and then we cry
that Heaven is against us, and our burden is greater than we can
bear. How patiently He suffers that complaint! How patiently sets
His great compassion to unravel the tangle we have made, and
brings light out of darkness in His own way and time, let those
hearts who have felt His mercy, say!
But in the contemplation of the many I must not forget the one
heart for which I desire to excite your interest, the heart of Ulick
Ford, which suffered, perhaps, on that occasion of apparent gayety,
as much as it had ever been called upon to do. For though he had
suspected that he cared more for Petronel Fleming than befitted
the difference in their ages; though a miserable fear had darted
through his mind as he contemplated the proposals of William Ber-
tram (such a fear as that with which one would glance upward at
an avalanche about to fall and crush him), he had never realized
until that moment that the deed was done: his affections no longer
in his own keeping, and that, through rashness, or negligence, or
folly, he had brought trouble on himself for the remainder of a
life which he had hoped to pass in the exercise of no deeper feel-
ings than such as were provoked by the variations of his profes-
sional career.
And the burden of this reflection was bitterer to him than it would
have been to most men; it was a keener disappointment, for in its
train came self-ridicule and self-contempt. It is not difficult to
imagine the feelings of a man who has spent the best part of his
life in bringing to perfection an original idea-an idea which, per-
fected, shall insure him fortune-when he discovers a flaw some-
where which, in one moment, makes the patience of past years use-
less, and blights the hopes of a prosperous old age.
He would feel very much as though everything for him were
over-as though he never could attempt to battle with a difficulty
PETRONEL.
187
again; and that, since he was so unable to cope with the trials of
this life, the best thing he could do would be to leave it. And it
was some such thoughts as these which coursed each other through
the mind of Ulick Ford as, with bitter shame, he acknowledged to
himself that he had fallen in love with Petronel Fleming.
To understand this it must be remembered what his previous life
had been. From a boy he had possessed a thoughtful mind and a
strong, resolute spirit; and when Cecilia Halsted requited the
earnest love which he had given her by infidelity, he vowed to
himself, not orally indeed, but every time he set his fierce will to
trample down his fiercer passions, that he would never again sub-
ject himself to be the plaything of a woman's fancy. He had wept
for her, and ridiculed his tears; he had thought of her, and despised
himself for not being able to forget; he had longed for her, and
laughed at the weakness of his folly, until all this self-contempt
and self reproach had resolved itself into a hatred, not of the
woman, but the cause. He was of too noble a nature to hate the
creature he had loved; but he grew, or thought he grew, to scorn
the passion which thus led men captive; which had the power to
render the strong weak, the wise foolish, and the prudent rash.
He learned to look with pity on the friends whom he saw entangled
in love's meshes to wonder at their blindness, sigh for their fatuity,
and silently prognosticate a quick repentance. Women thenceforth
became, in his eyes, but a necessary part of the creation, against
whom he prided himself on being perfectly impregnable. To him
it signified little if their eyes were large or small, blue, black, or
brown; whether their complexions were fair or dark, their figures
round or spare, their hair and teeth their own, or imported from
Truefitt or Gabriel. He walked amongst them, a doctor, but not a
man, curing their melancholy and subduing their hysteria, but car-
ing nothing if his patient were young or old, beautiful or repulsive;
the daughter of a duke in her seventeenth year, or an Irish woman
dying of delirium tremens, whose speech was as ill-flavored as her
breath. And yet Ulick Ford had not turned into a misanthrope,
nor lost the sense of heavenly compassion with which he had been
born, as the impartiality of his conduct alone would testify. He
was benevolent, and tender, and patient to all, hearing with the
weak because he was strong, and with the foolish because he knew
himself to be wise; never so angry or harsh in judgment as with his
own conduct, and intolerant of nothing unless it were the passion
called Love. And that he regarded as men may look on the dead
beast whose fangs they have escaped; as something that could never
}
188-
PETRONEL.
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hurt himself again, but which, having left behind it fellows as wild
and ferocious as itself, ready to destroy such as ventured in the
forest whence he had providentially been liberated, was a danger
against which to warn others.
His feelings, at the time of Mrs. Fleming's death, have been re-
corded. For years he had been supplying her with money, sending
it privately, as though it was her father's or her brothers' gift, hid-
ing his light under a bushel, and denying to himself that he was
actuated by any deeper motive than the dislike to hear his cousin
was in need. But when he stood by her death-bed he knew that
he had partially deceived himself; that, although smoke had ceased
to rise from the fire of his old love, the ashes were not quite ex-
tinguished, and had been forced to acknowledge that, who grants
the power of loving, is the only One who can decide when IIis gift
shall cease to trouble or to bless us. The sight of his poor cousin's
dying struggles had raised up very powerful emotions in his mind, as
though one had violently raked those moldering embers, and caused
them to flame up again; but when she was laid peacefully to rest,
and all his anxiety on her account was over, the ashes settled down
once more and quietly went out. Poor Cissy's charms had always
laid more in her attractive features than her mind; and, when her
beauty moldered in the grave, there was nothing left for fancy to
build a Castle of Despair upon. And so, gradually, Ulick Ford
arrived at the conclusion that it was indeed all over, and that his
heart would never again be called upon to bestir and fret and
worry itself about anything of importance in this world. As his
was considered to be the soundest head at a medical consultation,
and the coolest hand at a surgical operation ever known, so he be-
lieved his private judgment to be sound and cool, and his fancy
entirely under his own control. And to such a mind, the discovery
that, at eight-and-thirty years of age, after so many years of self-
discipline and control, he had inadvertently fallen in love with a
girl of sixteen-again placed all his hopes of happiness upon a
woman; bah! not a woman, upon a child-was a shock so terrible,
a knowledge so humiliating, that, had he not been where he was,
he could hardly have carried it off in the light manner that he did.
For the insight which he had gained of his own weakness was not
the only thing which disquieted his heart. Another fear had struck
him —a fear founded on the remembrance of the entreating accents
in which Petronel had put that question to him; of the languid look
in her soft eyes; the close pressure of her feverish hand; the hot
tears which fell upon his own.
<<
PETRONEL.
189
With agitated rapidity, he threw his thoughts backward to the
symptoms he had lately noted in her-the restless nights, the loss
of appetite, the depressed spirits, and, like a flash of lightning
blinding him, the suspicion crossed his mind that what he had im-
agined was in honor of her preference for William Bertram might
be for himself. Good God! could it be possible? So young, so in-
nocent, so child-like-he could not trust himself to dwell upon a
thought which seemed like blasphemy.
Can any one imagine what he felt as he stood by her bedroom
window, overwhelmed with the unpalatable truths his conscience
forced upon him; trying to find his voice, but choked with the
mere effort; battling with the strong tide of passion-all the stronger
because so long repressed-which rose higher in him every moment,
and compelled to the confession that the cause of it was his adopted
daughter-the girl whom he had encouraged to look on him as on a
father-the offspring of his dead love!
That fact alone seemed to interpose a mighty barrier between
them—to call out against the mere idea as sacrilege. To have loved
the mother, and then to love the daughter, it was a horrible, an
unnatural conception, and at the first start made Ulick Ford feel
guilty as well as miserable. He stood there, burning with shame,
sick with surprise, and trembling with prophetic knowledge of the
wretchedness in store for him (for at all costs he even then resolved
the misery should fall on him alone), and then he returned to the
bed, as Petronel herself has described it, with a face "not only
cheerful, but gay," and spoke such words as he considered best cal-
culated to soothe her mind, and conceal his own discomfort.
He conquered his inclinations for the sake of hers, and such a
proceeding was but characteristic of the generous nature which I
attempt, but find it so far beyond my powers, to describe. When
he had alleviated her fears, he left her presence, never again, as he
imagined, to find consolation in it. For that he should ever take
advantage of the suspicion her behavior had aroused in him was a
notion the very furthest from his heart.
Were he correct, it could be nothing but a sick girl's fancy, the
consequence of seeing no one but himself, and to be easily eradicated
by the proper means, the means which he should put at once in mo-
tion. For self-conceit made no part of this man's composition.
Humble, in his profession, he was not; no one, the possessor of such
talents, and with a right sense of the responsibility incurred by
them, could be so; but with respect to his individual merits, to his
personal appearance, and powers of making himself agreeable to
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PETRONEL.
the other sex, Ulick Ford was the most diffident of men. Even in
his youthful days, he had attributed the blasting of his hopes more
to his own deficiencies in the art of pleasing than to his lady's fickle
fancy; and at the present time, he had no more belief that any
woman, with proper opportunities of choice, would select him from
the rest of mankind, as the only one to whom she wished to vow
allegiance, than he had that he was growing younger instead of
older with each passing day. He knew that he could purchase a
wife, if he desired to do so, and his friends' counsel on that score
had been unlimited both as to quality and to quantity; but with all
his indifference to the sex, the name of marriage was a sacred name
to Ulick Ford, and his chief fear lately had been lest Petronel, his
charge and ward, should enter hurriedly into so solemn an engage-
ment. Now he determined that the kindest action which in his
capacity of guardian he could do, would be to afford her the oppor-
tunity of substituting a solid, sensible affection for the wild, in-
tangible chimera which he fancied floating in her childish brain.
What he suffered was of little consequence; he was used to suffer-
ing; his nerves were hardened as his muscles, and if the wrench of
detachment were all the stronger for that fact, he was a man, and
could bear what other men had borne before him; but for that soft
girlish creature, which scarcely a feeling or a thought matured,
whom one could influence with a word, and who succumbed to a
kind look, the case was very different. At any risk—at all risks—
her present ideas must be diverted from their channel, and no
incans could be more effectual than placing her in a way of receiv-
ing serious admiration. And then when she had been prevailed
upon to return it-as she would, girls were so pliable, they did not
know their own minds for ten minutes together-when all was
over, and she had the protection of a husband, he might return to
the feelings with which he had first regarded her, might even learn
to forget that the quiet existence of his sister Marcia and himself
had ever been broken in upon by this bright, wayward, incompre-
hensible mixture of smiles and tears. It was not probable, perhaps,
but it certainly was possible, and he should consider it his duty, no
less than for his benefit, to make it come to pass. Acting upon this
determination, Dr Ford sat down and wrote to his friend Bertram.
He was aware that he had received the news of his intentions with
regard to Petronel Fleming very coolly, on account of her extreme
youth, as he had said and thought; but he could deceive himself
on this point no longer. If she were old enough to feel a penchant
for himself (and, humble was, he could not help recurring,
1
PETRONEL.
191
with a burning sense of mingled joy and misery, to the thought),
she was old enough to feel it for another; and he had promised
William Bertram that he should not be forestalled.
(C
In writing, therefore, to announce her convalescence, a few days
after the incidents I have related, he told his friend that, having
reconsidered his proposals, the field was open to him, and he night
commence his courtship of Miss Fleming when he chose, and, as
may be concluded, it was not long before the suitor showed his face
at Rockborough. Dr. Ford did not send this letter without con-
sulting Sir Lionel Halsted. It was true that the old man had never
taken any notice of Petronel, further than making an occasional in-
quiry after her well-doing; but still he was her grandfather, and
Ulick Ford always cherished the hope that he should one day see
the child" in her proper place at Frampton. On this occasion
his desire appeared nearer its fulfillment than it had ever been be-
fore, for Sir Lionel and Lady Halsted seemed quite interested in
the prospects of their grandchild; asked innumerable questions con-
cerning Mr. Bertram's family and fortune, and concluded by saying
that when the affair was finally settled, they should be glad to see
the bride-elect at Frampton. And as he thanked them, Dr. Ford
reflected with a sigh that he should probably be expected to make
one of that congratulatory party, and become a witness to what it
tore his heart only to think of. Still he wrote and sent that letter,
and prepared with Spartan firmness to receive his friend as the
acknowledged suitor of his ward, and to extend to him that hos-
pitality which comes so readily when the heart guides the hand, but
is as hard to drag from the depths of a jealous and uneasy mind, as
to tear diamonds from the unyielding bowels of the earth.
Mr. Bertram arrived, all smiles, and glossy whiskers, and white
teeth; laden with bouquets and affectionate messages from Oxley,
and prepared to carry on, at least, a fortnight's siege. But he did
not seem to make much progress. Petronel, still weak and languid,
and lying on the sofa, declared openly he annoyed her; asked Cousin
Marcia why she could not sit down-stairs instead of in the drawing-
room; and finally beat a retreat to her own room, and refused to
reappear unless she might secure some part of the day to herself.
Dr. Ford reasoned with her; but she pouted, and said he was a
tyrant, and a horrible, domineering old guardian; and held his
hand between her own, and looked up in his face whilst she was
speaking, until he fairly ran away from her.
And then, one afternoon, ten days after his arrival, William Ber-
tram followed Ulick Ford into his toy, and told him, with a blank
*
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##GOP *}*
face, that he had been betrayed by his deep feelings into speaking
to Miss Fleming and was afraid that he had injured his cause by
´doing so.
.: 64
Spoken to her," said Ulick Ford, unable to comprehend so
much imprudence. "Do you mean to say that you have proposed
to Petronel?”
**:
Mr. Bertram, very crest-fallen and uncomfortable-looking, was
forced to acknowledge that he had done something of the sort.
""
Rather premature, was it not? And what is the child's 'an-
→swer?"
t .: ¿¢ She I am really afraid Miss Fleming does not think I am in
earnest she laughed so at me."
Ulick Ford drew a long breath of relief. He would not marry
her himself-no! not for ten thousand worlds-he would not do
her such an injury, nor submit to encounter the fairly earned con-
tempt of all sensible people; but it would be harder (or he thought
it would be harder) to give her to his intimate friend than to an
utter stranger. Besides which, in the latter case, she would be left,
just for a little time longer, to brighten the home in which she
could not dwell forever.
7
She laughed, did she? That was very rude of her; but as I told
you, Bertram, when we first spoke upon this subject, she is but a
child, and was probably quite unprepared for your announcement.
I think you have been rather rash in introducing the subject so
early. I had no idea that you intended doing so during your pres-
ent visit to us.”
+ $
"I'm sure I wish I hadn't," said Mr. Bertram, ruefully; but I
thought Miss Fleming quite understood my intentions.'
""
66
Are you sure she does so now?”
"I really can not say. She treated the whole matter with so
much frivolity that I dropped it as quickly as I could. It's rather
awkward, when a girl won't believe that you are serious, Ford!"
"Yes!-I should think so. But what do you intend to do next?”
"It's hard to know," replied the other, pulling his long whiskers;
"but I think, if you would speak to her-"
I?-speak to Petronel about her incivility?"
Well, not exactly that; but if you could manage to put the case
explicitly before her, to point out its advantages-if you think it
has any, you know-and to tell her, in fact, how very much I am
in earnest; and that the happiness of my life is bound up in her
answer, she might perhaps come to look upon the business alto---
gether in a different light. For I am exceedingly attached to her,
CC
PETRONEL.
193
T
Ford, and you know that she thinks so very much of all you say or
advise."
"Yes?-I am afraid you overrate my influence with the child;
but as far as repeating to her what you have just told me, I have no
objection to be the bearer of your message. Not to-day, perhaps,
but when a favorable opportunity presents itself; and meanwhile,
were I you, I should leave the matter entirely alone."
#6
But you will not keep me in suspense, Ford?”
Not longer than is necessary; but, as you know, my hands are
very full of work, just now, and I have little time to spend at
home, or in the discussion of any topics unconnected with my busi-
ness; and the commission you intrust to me is too delicate a one to
be undertaken hastily, or without previous thought.'
Co
6 +
But you will not forget it; and I have your good wishes,
Ford, I hope?'
Dr. Ford's voice was rather husky, and he cleared his throat be-
fore he answered him.
Yes, certainly-that is to say, Bertram, I wish my ward to
have the husband of her choice, and, if you prove her choice, I
shall wish to give her to no other man.
With which assurance Mr. Bertram was fain to be satisfied before
he returned to his vicarage again.
C
>>
}}
CHAPTER XX.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL.
"THOSE first few days of steady convalescence were very charm-
ing days to me. It was so delightful to lie on the drawing-room
sofa, doing nothing; or, at the most, lazily communing with
Thackeray or Dickens. Cousin Marcia was properly scandalized,
of course, at my having access to such literature, but Cousin Ulick
had procured me several novels during my illness, and I could not
be prevailed upon to part with them again. So there I used to lie,
in the cool, shaded apartment, the windows of which were filled
with stands of flowers, dreamily sympathizing with the trials of
'Philip,' or the loves of David Copperfield;' and after turning
from them to remember, with a calm sigh of satisfaction that Cousin
Ulick was not going to be married, and that I should remain his
little friend and companion for the rest of my days. The mere
thought brought with it such a sense of happiness that the grateful
feeling it evoked was a prayer in itself; and so thoroughly con-
C
7
194
PETRONEL.
1
23
tented and peaceful was I at this juncture, that the worst fate I
wished for even poor Cousin Marcia was that Mr. Bertram, or some-
body, would marry her, and take her away from Rockborough, so
that her brother and I might be left together and alone for ever
more. My mind was as yet too weak to grasp more than one sub-
ject at a time, and the topic which engrossed it was the relief it had
lately experienced. This relief was so intense, that, in the con-
sciousness of it, I was contented to let all other matters be, and
took no notice, either of Cousin Marcia's expressed impatience to see
me going about the house like other people, or the fact that Cousin
Ulick's visits were paid less often than before, and were generally
hurried, and sometimes formal.
"
It was sufficient for my happiness to lie there, and bless the
knowledge that no one was about to interpose herself between him
and his relations; that we lived in the same house, and I could
always see his kindly face at least once a day; and that if ever he
fell sick, or needed woman's care, he would receive it åt my hands.
And had I at that period been informed, that on this chance the joy
of my whole long life depended, I should have accepted my destiny
with eagerness, and never dreamed of thinking it a poor one.
"But at the end of three or four days my pleasant reveries were
rudely put to flight. I was lying, one morning, in that drowsy,
lazy state I have described when Cousin Marcia entered the room,
accompanied by Mr. Bertram. At first I was annoyed, almost
ashamed; but trying to stand upon my feet, I failed, and was obliged
to sink back into my old position.
Don't move, Petronel,' exclaimed my cousin, though really I
think it is high time you got upon your feet again. Here is Mr.
Bertram, who has been kind enough to inquire after you; it will do
you good to see a friend and have a little cheerful conversation, and
so I shall leave you to amuse each other, whilst I look after my
household concerns.'
"
•
She left us as she spoke; and, remembering the distaste I had
conceived for Mr. Bertram during the Christmas holidays, I am
afraid I did not welcome him so cordially as gratitude for his inter-
est in my recovery demanded; but he expressed such pleasure in
seeing me again, and brought so many kind messages from his
mother and sisters, besides a splendid bouquet of flowers from the
vicarage garden, that gradually I thawed toward him; and derived
both gratification and amusement from the conversation which
ensued between us. Mr. Bertram had always been considered a
witty and facetious man, and I think he tried hard to make himself
1
195
agreeable upon this occasion, for the morning passed most pleas-
antly away, and I was not even sorry to hear that he had agreed to
pass a fortnight in Cousin Ulick's house. That was the first time
that I saw him, however, and I felt very differently about the
matter after the lapse of a few days. When I found that the draw.
ing-room, or the morning-room, or any apartment in which I look
up a position, he considered his head-quarters, and that Cousîn
Marcia encouraged him in the idea, I grew rebellious. I had no
rest from his society-could neither read nor write for the nuisance
of his continual presence-and thought it rather hard, that whilst
under the plea of keeping house Cousin Marcia shirked the enter-
tainment of her guest, the troublesome duty should devolve on me,
and at a time when I was least able to bear it. For after the riddles
and the jokes had been exhausted, and all the news of Oxley told,
I found that Mr. Bertram, for lack of further occupation, reverted
to the behavior which had offended me before, and, dropping sen
sible conversation, took to personal compliments and deep-drawn
sighs instead.
3
!
PETRONEL.
温馨
​I could not bear that he should sit opposite to me all the morn-
ing, with a book in his hand, but his eyes riveted on my face, so
that cach time I raised my own I met a look, which, from him, I
chose to interpret as an insult. I told him several times that it was
disagreeable to me to be stared out of countenance in that way; and
I wished he would remove himself and volume to another side of
the apartment: but when I found that my expostulations had no
effect, and that Mr. Bertram's conversation became so particular as
to be offensive, I remained in my own room, and refused to go
down-stairs at all. Cousin Marcia told this to her brother, and he
spoke to me about it. He came up, and in his own quiet, gentle-
manly way talked about the duties which we owed to society, and
the necessity that, as members of one large family, we should yield
our individual wishes for the good of the community: but I did
not see how this had anything to do with my sitting in the same
room with Mr. Bertram, and I told him so.
1
You offend him by a studied avoidance, ' replied Cousin Ulick;
and you must remember that he is one of my oldest friends."
And well he may be,' I exclaimed, pertly,
considering his
whiskers are quite gray.'
I thought that Cousin Ulick looked annoyed at this remark.
•
He is younger than I am, child,' he auswered.
Is he? I don't believe it. I dare say he tries to make himself
out younger than he is; and then, catching the faintest glimmer of
bille
196
FETRONEL.
a smile about my guardian's mouth, I continued, 'it's true, Cousin
Ulick; he has got white hairs in his whiskers, for I saw them yes-
terday, and crow's feet about his eyes'
"How closely you must have been examining him, Petronel!?.
'He gives me so many opportunities,' I answered, pouting;
'it's enough to make any one sick of a man to see him sticking in
the same place with the same face, day after day.'
"
£
¡
66 4
I think it is rather unreasonable of you to expect him to change
his face so often,' said Cousin Ulick, with grave amusement, and
then we both laughed at the absurdity of the idea,
"But you will be a reasonable child, and sit down in the draw-
ing-room, like other people,' he resumed; 'you excite remark by
absenting yourself, you know, and I am sure you are not envious
of doing that.'
CCC
When is your friend going away?' I persisted. I'm so tired
of him; he has been here more than a week already.'
66 6
My dear, if you are weary of your friends in a week, what will
you do when you get a husband, and have to sit opposite the same
face year after year?'
"
'I shall never have one,' I answered, quickly, and if I do, he
will be very different from Mr. Bertram.'
I'
How different, Petronel? He might be worse, surely.'
Well, in the first place, he will never bother me to do things I
don't like,' I said, coaxingly, as I wound my arms about him; to
sit in drawing-rooms, for instance, and talk to old friends with gray
whiskers, and all that sort of fuss; and, in the second-'
"But how my husband would act in the second place, Cousin
Ulick never learned, for, rising hastily, he told me with a nod and
cheerful look that he knew I was going to be a good girl, and do
exactly as I was told, and left me to myself.
What I did do was to gather up my work and books, and de-
scend to my old quarters, for I never thought of disregarding his
advice, far less disobeying his commands, and was rewarded for my
obedience by finding that Mr. Bertram had actually gone out for a
walk. The relief, however, was but temporary; in a few hours he
returned, delighted to find me once more ready to be bored; and for
several days the nuisance continued in full force. At last, one after-
noon, we had a little kind of quarrel over it, which threatened to
turn out more seriously than eventually it did. I felt as well now
as ever, but was still restricted to carriage exercise, and therefore
unable to pass any time out-of-doors, excepting the hours when Į
PETRONEL.
197
drove with Cousin Marcia; and on this particular occasion she had
gone out visiting.
""
'It was intensely hot, which made me feel more languid than
usual, and I had just arrived at the most interesting part of my
novel, so that I was only anxious to be left alone to read in peace.
But Mr. Bertram had come straight upstairs after luncheon, and
there was no such thing as peace whilst he was fidgeting about the
room. Lounging in my arm-chair, I could hear the crackling of
the Times' as every second he lowered its sheet to look at my
figure, which action made me so impatient, that, my book held so
as to conceal my features, I set my teeth each time I heard it, and
tapped my foot upon the carpet.
C
Are you not comfortable?' he inquired, after a little while;
'let me get you a footstool!' and he brought one as he spoke.
C6 C
I don't want it,' I said, rudely, as I kicked it to one side.
Would you like to lie down upon the sofa?'
No, thank you.'
Can I fetch you anything?'
#
""
<
เ
CC C
C6 C
Nothing-I only want to finish my book.'
"Is it so very interesting?' he demanded, as he threw down the
newspaper and advanced to my side.
، ،
I was angry then. Why could he not leave me in peace and
quietness? It was too annoying to be always interrupted thus, and
with a school-girl's impetuosity I forgot to be civil.
66
No!-not at all, when you sit in the next chair to me,' I ex
claimed, jumping up from my own, and taking possession of the
sofa. Really, Mr. Bertram, I wish you would attend to your
newspaper; there is nothing in my book that could possibly interest
you.'
"
440
How can you be so sure of that?' he answered, in no way dis-
concerted by my address (and, indeed, on retrospection I can not
remember that with all my incivility, I ever had the power to put
him out of countenance, which fact only made me dislike him the
more). Do you think I am so old that I must needs have forgotten
all about lovers and love-making, Petronel?'
<
"I don't know, I'm sure,' I said, bluntly, 'I have never thought
about it. It has got nothing to do with the story I am reading.'
06 C
'Has it not? It must be a funny sort of novel then. But it
will have something to do with your own future, I suppose?' But
to this remark I did not deign to make any answer.
'Do you never think of the time when you will be married and
have a house of your own?' he continued,
198
?
PETRONEL.
$
´ ´I don't want a house of my own. I do wish you'd go cut
walking, Mr. Bertram!'
( All in good time, mademoiselle! So you never mean to give
up the title of Miss Fleming, but intend to remain an old maid,
like-like-’
Like Cousin Marcia?-I'll tell her that you said so."
No-no!-pray do not; by no manner of means. Miss Ford
was the person furthest from my thoughts. I should never think of
connecting her with the title which I used. She will; doubtless,
some day marry, herself-and-'
*C C
Why don't you marry her?' I demanded, more with the idea
of stopping his tongue than asking an impertinent question. But
Mr. Bertram seemed to take my nonsense quite in earnest.
466
'Because my heart is not my own to give away,' he said, as
he again pursued me to the sofa; 'because somebody, very different
from Miss Ford, stole it from me a long time ago; and I shall never
feel any happiness till I receive hers in return.'
"But at this idea, which appeared to me most ludicrous, I burst
:
"
1
out laughing.
看​“ <
Why do you laugh?' he said, quickly. What have I said
that seems ridiculous in your eyes?'
*
Only to fancy you exchanging hearts with anybody-swap-
ping, as we used to call it at school. I hope you'll make a good
swap." Mr. Bertram, I'm sure.'
" C
(
42
,
**
There is no doubt of it, if I can but succeed in my desires,' he
continued, as earnestly as though I had not been making fun of him;
for, though it is a very young heart, Petronel, and sometimes a
very careless heart, it is the most valuable one that I have ever met
with.'
Indeed! Well, I hope it has got as good a body attached to it,
because the idea of a heart hopping about the vicarage by itself is
so very absurd. How shall you dress your heart when you get it,
Mr. Bertram? Stuffed and roasted, as we used to have them at
Antwerp?-horrid things!'
The heart I allude to can scarcely be more beautiful than the
body it is clothed in,' replied Mr. Bertram, edging closer to me;
and I want to see them both in the vicarage at Oxley. Will they
come, Petronel? Will you give up your plan of being an old maid,
for the sake of making me the happiest man in England?'
Me! Mr. Bertram?-Have you been speaking about me all
this time?' I said, in amazement.
I could not misunderstand his meaning, and I knew that it was
4
· C
Y
PETRONEL
199
.
*-*-
a serious moment, and that I ought not to laugh; but somehow the
remembrance of the 'heart,' and the 'hopping,' and the way in
which it was to be roasted, so overpowered my prudence that, from
a nervous giggle, I degenerated into a peal of laughter which en-
tirely discomposed and much offended Mr. Bertram.
" (
4% 4
If the most important subject I have ever broached to you is
to be turned into ridicule,' he commenced-and I saw that he had
grown very red and uneasy-looking- it is indeed time that I—'
Oh! pray forgive me,' I exclaimed, fearful of exciting Cousin
Ulick's anger if he should hear of the incivility with which I had
treated his oldest friend.' Do forgive me, Mr. Bertram; I wasn't
thinking, I-' And here, pull down my lips as I would, those
wretched muscles gained the mastery over me again, and off I went
into a second and worse attack of hilarity.
6
"
'Is there anything so extraordinary in what I said?' demanded
Mr. Bertram, as he rose from the sofa and commenced to pace the
room.
66 6
C
'No!-oh, no!' I answered, still shaking with the mirth I vain-
ly strove to suppress; only-at the vicarage, you know-me—you
can not be in earnest-you must have said it all in fun.'
“I am in earnest,' he answered, angrily, and any one but a
child would have seen it long ago. When I endeavored to make
known my wishes to you at Christmas-'
(6 •
Oh, please don't,' I uttered faintly, as I experienced the same
dreadful, irresistible feeling of mirth creeping over me again. I
was in a giggling mood, and had he remained there till sunset, ex-
erting his finest eloquence in my behalf, should only have tittered
more at every outburst. I felt my only chance of safety lay in
flight.
"Let me pass,' I pleaded, as he attempted to bar my egress. 'I
want to go to my own room. I know that I've been very rude, but
you can have no idea what awful nonsense you've been talking.
Awful nonsense!' he reiterated. Is it impossible to make
you understand, that when I offer you my hand and heart, I incur
the most serious responsibility that a man-'
4
4 •
Oh, pray don't begin it all over again!' I exclaimed, as I
darted past him. 'I assure you I don't believe a word that you
say; and no more will you when you've had time to think about it.'
And with that I escaped to my own room. All my stupid inclina-
tions to laugh had vanished by that time, and I only felt very seri-
ously annoyed. I was not such a child as my admirer had called
I understood perfectly well that he desired to make me his
ine.
C
1
200
PETRONEL.
wife; but the idea of becoming 'Mrs. William Bertram,' and set-
tling down in the vicarage at Oxley, with a gray-whiskered hus-
band, and all the Bertrams for brothers and sisters, was in my
girlish judgment so far-fetched and ridiculous, that I looked upon
the proposal as an affront rather than a compliment.
The idea-so I said to myself-the idea of such an old fellow
daring to ask a girl of my age to go and live in a dull place like
Oxley, and never see any one but himself all the rest of her life!
(I had evidently forgotten, or overlooked, my own private remon-
strance on Cousin Ulick's disparagement of a similar proceeding.)
As if I should be contented to make that dark, old-fashioned vicar-
age my home, and never meet my cousins, perhaps, except once in
three months, and go about all day in a sun-bonnet feeding
chickens or picking slugs out of the cabbages! A pleasant prospect
truly! A nice compliment to pay a girl to ask her to give up every-
thing she cared for to go and keep house for a man three times her
age! What could Mr. Bertram have seen in me to make him im-
agine I should accede to such a proposal on his part? With what
excellent taste he must credit me! So I pondered, until, beneath
the influence of distempered imagination, what had been intended
for an honor degenerated to an insult, and I felt inclined to cry at
the prospect of meeting and conversing with Mr. Bertram again.
Still, I knew it must be done, for we had a dinner-party that even-
ing, and Cousin Marcia had decided that, for the first time, I should
dine at table. I suppose she found it inconvenient to have the
ordering of two sets of meals so often on her hands; besides, it was
my guardian's wish that I should always be in the drawing-room
after dinner; and the continual astonishment which was expressed
by strangers concerning my age may have opened her eyes to the
fact that I was growing too tall and womanly in appearance for the
childish position which I held. Any way, I was destined to make
one of the guests that evening, and, as some hours later Jane dressed
me for the grand occasion, I congratulated myself on the fact that,
in the presence of company, it would be impossible for Mr. Ber
tram to remind me or acquaint Cousin Ulick with what had passed
between us. For that my guardian should hear of all the silly
things his friend had said, and the rude manner in which I had re-
ceived them, was the last circumstance which I desired. I knew
how much my cousin Ulick valued Mr. Bertram's friendship; how
much he wished that I should always act and speak like a young
gentlewoman; and I could not conceive his looking graver than he
would do at the knowledge of my late behavior. This belief made
PETRONEL.
201
1
me feel very hot and uncomfortable, and, as soon as I was dressed,
I hastened down below, anxious, if possible, to meet my tormentor
before the rest of the company assembled, and beg him, as he de-
sired my good will, not to disclose to any one by word or look, that
any subject more than ordinary had been broached between us.
But Mr. Bertram was not in the drawing-room, nor, to my sur-
prise, did he appear. The visitors, some ten or twelve in number,
duly arrived, and made the usual exclamations of astonishment at
my rapid growth and development; still the one I looked for did
not come, and in a short time I found myself being taken in to din-
ner by Mr. Austin himself (as I accepted his arm, what a wonderful
stride in the march of civilization I seemed to have made!) without
either of my cousins having mentioned the name of their guest, or
expressed any concern at his absence.
666
'Mr. Bertram is not here,' I remarked, in a low voice, as we
seated ourselves at table.
'No,' replied my companion, with the utmost indifference;
'late, perhaps. What a splendid rose you are wearing, Miss Flem-
ing.'
.. .
'Mr. Bertram has returned to Oxley,' said Cousin Marcia, in
her most frigid tones.
66 6
"I looked up in amazement, not having imagined I spoke loud
enough to be overheard; but, catching the expression of her features
which was one of cold annoyance, I believed at once that she must
have guessed, or been told, the reason of her friend's departure,
and dropped my eyes upon my plate in direct confusion. I did not
care for Cousin Marcia's displeasure, far from it; but what she
knew, her brother, too, must know; and that he would be angry at
this sudden rupture of a pleasant visit, and blame my conduct as its
cause, was a hard thought to bear. What, then, was my relief, as
the entertainment proceeded; to see no trace of such a feeling in my
guardian's countenance. On the contrary, I almost fancied he was
gayer and more blithe than usual, and I certainly was not mistaken
in imagining that, on more than one occasion, as he caught my
timid, inquiring glance directed to his own, he smiled and nodded
I turned, in mystified astonishment, from his cheerful face
to Cousin Marcia's sour, gloomy looks, wondering what had caused
them; and, if it were my conduct, why her brother did not share in
her displeasure. That Mr. Bertram had left Rockborough, and she
was vexed at his departure, there was no doubt; but the question
remained whether she knew what share I had had in this decision,
and if she had communicated the same to Cousin Ulick.
to me.
202
PETRONEL.
a
1.
10:0
The fear that I might be receiving his kind looks and words,
without the right to take them, made me chary of turning my eyes
in his direction, but every time I did so I found his fixed upon
my person as though he were trying to familiarize himself with such
a novelty as seeing me seated at the dinner-table. The tedious mea!
was concluded at last, however (Cousin Marcia's dinner-parties
were always slow, heavy affairs, of which the least objectionable
portion was spent over the table-cloth), and in the comparative
privacy which followed, I thought she might have condescended to
afford me some explanation of her altered manner. But none came.
She noticed and spoke to every lady in the drawing-room except
myself, and even left her usually authoritatively expressed desire
that I should play the piano to be conveyed to me by her brother.
Throughout the evening it was the same; Cousin Ulick continued
as cheerful, and Cousin Marcia as frigid as before; and the prob-
able cause of Mr. Bertram's unexpected departure was not once re-
verted to by either of them."
"
•
"C
{
<<
CHAPTER XXI.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL-CONTINUED.
FOR the next few days it was much the same thing. I did not
like to allude to Mr. Bertram, and my guardian and his sister
seemed equally to avoid the subject. It was a scaled book between
us; and the fact of its being so was sufficient to prove that they
knew more about the reason of his departure than they chose to
acknowledge. Added to which, the change in Cousin Marcia's
manner was unmistakable. The geniality with which she had
lately treated me all disappeared; and although she no longer dared
to scold me, as in the first days of our acquaintanceship, her words
and actions were so formal as to have made a bolder spirit even
than mine feel vastly uncomfortable.
..
I attributed this alteration to the fact that Mr. Bertram must
have told tales of me, and I thought it horribly mean of my ad-
mirer, and owed the poor man a double grudge for having com-
plained in that underhand manner, and made Cousin Marcia irate
by a detail of the incivility with which his addresses had been re-
ceived. It never struck me that her anger had been provoked by
reason of my refusal of them; for what object had she, as far as I
knew, for wishing to see me married and got rid of? On the con-
trary, I fancied that the idea of my entering into such an engage-
·
L
PETRONEL.
203
ment would have been ridiculed by her with the greatest scorn; that
she would have declared it to be utterly nonsensical, and myself a
child who hardly knew her right hand from her left, and more fit
to go back to the nursery than to enter upon married life. She
generally spoke of and treated me in that way. I could never have
guessed that she would be glad to see me united to a man more than
twice my own age. So that I imagined she was only brooding
over my want of politeness; and, ignorant of what Mr. Bertram
might have reported of me, was impatient for the moment of ex-
planation, which I was too little familiar with my cousin to be
courageous enough to hasten. For Cousin Marcia, fenced in by
what she considered a dignified reserve, was a very formidable per-
son to lay siege to. Hopes and hints and timid advances had no
effect upon her; she simply let them pass unnoticed; and there was
no breaking through the barrier of her ill-temper but by direct as-
sault, which, in this case, would naturally have been succeeded by
an explanation most embarrassing to myself. For, notwithstanding
my opinion of Mr. Bertram's aspirations, and my determination
that nothing could ever induce me to regard them otherwise than
in the light of an affront to my good taste, I was very ashamed of
my part in the transaction and anxious to forget it as speedily as
possible. At last my cousin's manner made me angry. Why could
she not speak out, I said to myself, and have it over; and I rebelled
against being obliged to sit in the carriage with her and not have a
word addressed to me from the time we went out to the time we
came in; and naturally the change in my tone increased the asper-
ity of hers.
CCC
The carriage is ordered for four o'clock,' she said, one day, in
the coldest of voices, as we rose from the luncheon-table; and I re-
turned no answer to the remark.
404
Petronel! did you hear what I said to you? The carriage is
ordered for four o'clock.'
44
Very well, Cousin Marcia!”
You will be punctual, if you please!'
"I am not going out.'
• C
C
664
•
(
•
May I inquire the reason?' with mock politeness.
Because I don't wish to do so.'
Oh! indeed! I must beg your pardon for having put the ques-
tion. I forgot you are grown up, and at an age to form your own
opinions. But perhaps you do not expect me to remain at home to
entertain you.'
204
PETRONEL.
****Most decidedly not; and if the farce is concluded, Cousin
Marcia, I will go upstairs.'
"And up the stairs I flew, not to dissolve in passionate tears as
was my wont in younger days, but to speculate with a flushed
cheek (if the time would ever come when I and that woman would
dwell in the same house in peace. The prospect was more than
improbable. There seemed to be something so vastly antagonistic
in our natures, that we could not come together without clashing;
and I was too inexperienced to discover that the reason which thrus
prevented our amalgamation was, that we were swayed by feelings,
not opposite, but too much alike; by feelings, which, though in her
matured and hardened, and in me incipient, yet recognized each
other's rivalry and refused to bide together; by affection, and by
jealousy of the same object.
"Yet though unrecognized, and unaccountable, they gave me
pain and, left alone, I was not happy.
"Cousin Marcia, with all her spitefulness, was too nearly related
to her brother, to permit a quarrel with her to afford me pleasure.
I wandered about the house, blaming my own impetuosity, and
wishing she would return to make it up again; and by and by
hearing the carriage-wheels, hung over the balusters, prepared to
welcome her in such a manner that she should see my naughty
spirit had evaporated.
"
But it was not Cousin Marcia, it was Cousin Ulick. He came
in hastily, making straight as usual for his consulting-room; but,
as he caught sight of me, he looked up and nodded, and asked if
his sister were at home.
64 6
No; she went out more than an hour ago.'
And why did you not go with her, Petronel?
"I shrugged my shoulders saucily. Under the influence of his
words, so different from hers, so interested in all I did or said, the
naughty spirit was taking the advantage to come back again.
"'I don't know! It is pleasanter at home.'
"" C
What, all by yourself?'
66 6
'Yes, all by myself. Solitude is preferable to some people's
company.'
"I laughed as I said this; but Cousin Ulick's face did not re-
spond to mine; on the contrary, it grew graver.
"Wait a minute,' he replied; 'I have a note to write, and then
I will join you in the drawing-room. I want to speak to you,
Petronel!'
!
64 6
16
1
'At this, my jaw fell, and my heart began to beat very fast. I
PETRONEL.
205
*
in the home for what
was sure I had got myself into a regular scrape. Without doubt,
my guardian had noticed my behavior, and been making up his
mind to speak to me for some days past, and I had just afforded
him the opportunity he coveted. Oh' why had I been so silly as
to lean over the balusters in that absurd manner? It was a stupid,
unlady-like trick. I never, never would do it again! Yet, when
Cousin Ulick came to me, it was with no face of grave displeasure. I
had rushed to the flower-stands as soon as I heard his foot upon the
stairs, and was still standing there, with my back toward the door,
when he entered, and placed his hands upon my shoulders.
66 6
What is the use of my buying a carriage, if you won't drive
in it?' he said, gently.
This question, which seemed to allow that I was foremost in
his thoughts, which reminded me of all his generosity and kindness,
melted me at once, and, turning toward him, I replied:
664
'Oh, Cousin Ulick! I am very sorry. I know it seems ungrate-
ful of me; but Cousin Marcia is so-so very disagreeable to me just
at present, that it is no pleasure at all to drive with her.'
W
Just at present,' he repeated; and what can have happened,
just at present, to make her disagreeable?'
"He had drawn me from the window, and we were seated on the
sofa, side by side. I was about to answer to his last question that
I did not know;' but the remembrance that I did know stopped
the prevarication, and the blush, over which I had no control, must
have been patent to him.
666
C
So you won't tell me, Petronel?'
Oh, yes! I would-I would, indeed,' I stammered, if there
were any necessity for it; but, Cousin Ulick, what she knows of
course you know-and-and, I dare say I was very rude; but I hate
all that sort of thing, and I don't see why Cousin Marcia should be
angry if you are not.'
<< •
My dear child, you are talking the most dreadful nonsense
that was ever heard.'
66 6
"I know I am. I always talk nonsense when I am with you,
because you are so awfully good and clever.’
44 C
That's a fearful penalty to pay for my extreme goodness and
sense, isn't it? But, joking apart, Petronel, I suppose you mean
that you think your cousin Marcia is displeased with you on ac-
count of your answer to Mr. Bertram?'
666
'Oh, don't, Cousin Ulick, pray don't!' I said, imploringly.
'It can't do any good, you know, and the man must be stark, star-
ing mad; so the sooner we forget all about it the better.'
306
PETRONEL.
I am sorry if I shall be the means of causing you any distress,
he replied, in the courteous tone which it was characteristic of him
But you know that Mr. Ber-
to use alike to peer and peasant.
tram is one of my oldest friends—
CE S
You've told me that before,' I interrupted, impatiently.
And when he left he confided to me much of what had passed
between you and—’
C
.ཀ་
10
"
How dared he? The nasty tell-tale!' I exclaimed, with burn-
ing cheeks. I always hated him, and I wish I had told him so.'
And requested that I would speak to you upon the subject
when he was gone,' continued Cousin Ulick, who had waited most
patiently to finish his sentence, until my interruption was concluded.
Well, then, it's no use,' I said, determinately; so let us talk
of something else.'
Y
...
66 C
No, Petronel, I can not allow that. I made a promise, and I
must fulfill it, and so with whatever feelings you may regard my
words, I beg you will be so good as to listen quietly to them. I
stand in the position of your guardian, and it is my positive duty to
speak to you upon this subject.'
"
66 4
Then put your arm round me, and let us be comfortable.'
"No, not yet. I think it will be better not; you will listen
more attentively if you do nothing else.'
“
"I settled myself in my seat with a shrug of disapprobation, and
Cousin Ulick continued:
""
'Mr. Bertram, I understand, made you an offer of marriage.
·
No, he didn't. He talked a lot of nonsense about my going
to live in the vicarage of Oxley—as if I would, with an old fellow
like that!-and about giving him my heart-such stuff!-and I
laughed (how could I help it?) and he was angry, the old stupid!'
Never mind all that. Whatever he said, you understood that
he intended to ask you to be his wife. Did you not?'
44 •
Yes! I suppose he meant that.'
You are very young to have had such an offer made to you,
Petronel; but you are much too old to have ridiculed it; for it was
unwomanly, unfeeling."
“Well, I shouldn't if it had been anybody else, but-'
64 6
1
46
Are not Mr. Bertram's feelings of as much consequence as
those of younger men? Do you think they can not be wounded he-
cause he is what you term old? I dare say he would give much at
this moment to be able to carry off his disappointment with the
lightness of a younger spirit. You glory too much in your youth,
child, if you think it gives you license recklessly to make hearts sad.'
}
PETRONEL.
207
You speak so seriously about it,' I said, hanging my head.
Perhaps I do too seriously, perhaps I hope I may But
seeing that in your thoughtlessness you do not seem to be aware of
the value of the advantages which have been offered you, it is but
right that I should point them out. And, first and foremost, Petro-
nel (and having known Bertram since he was a boy, I say this from
my heart), I believe that he is a man well calculated to make any
woman happy
,
44 •
**
Cousin Ulick! how can you?'
He could not help smiling at my stupidity, but he immediately
resumed his subject.
$
If I did not believe that, Petronel-firmly and honestly believė
it-I would not say another word in his behalf. But he is kind
and amiable.'
C
"He's an awful bore,' I put in, sotto roce.
And, what is of far more consequence, he is a good man: a
good son and a good brother; therefore certain to make a good bus-
band; and he has the means to keep you in the position in which
you have been born.'
46 6
"But what is all this to me, if I don't care for him?' I said.
Have you ever seriously considered whether you might not be
able to bring yourself to care for him, my dear? As yet you have
only seen the light company side of his character; but there are
sterling qualities hid behind all that fun and jesting.
No one
wishes you to make a hasty decision in the matter, but there are
several reasons, Petronel, why you should not throw aside such an
offer with impunity. It is possible that you may not always have
a home in this house, in which case-’
660
You are not going to marry any one?' I exclaimed hastily, as I
turned and grasped his arm. Oh, Cousin Ulick! you said, the
other day it was untrue!'
44
*
The mere renewal of the idea had thrown me into such trepida-
tion that I trembled with eagerness and fear; and I don't think
Cousin Ulick was much better, for I saw the light fade away from
his face as though one had removed a candle from behind a trans-
parency, leaving it dull and gray, and looking ten years older.
64 4
No! no! Whatever put such a notion in your head? There
is no chance of it.' And with that my guardian drew forth his
handkerchief, and passed it hurriedly across his brow.
464
I thought that was what you meant,' I answered, falling back
in my old position with a sigh of relief,
208
PETRONEL.
}
666
"Nothing of the kind, Petronel. I was only alluding to the
chance of my dying, and leaving you again without a protector.'-
Dying!' I uttered, blankly. The possibility of my strong, stal-
wart cousin's death had never presented itself to me before; and the
idea struck me with horror. Were he to die, what would become
of me? What pleasure could this life ever hold for me again? I
could not contemplate it: the visionary prospect sent the tears rush-
ing to my eyes.
84 6
My dear child, do you think I am immortal? I am an older
man than Mr. Bertram, remember, Petronel; and in the pursuit of
my profession subjected to greater risks. I have my sister to pro-
vide for, and should not be able to leave you more than a mere com-
petency, and I often wonder what would become of you were my
life suddenly cut short.'
6
"I should die too!' I murmured, hoarsely.
"He did not answer me, but stroked the hand which I had laid
in his, softly up and down.
66
It would be a great comfort for me in that case to feel that
you were provided for; that you were safe under the protection of
one who would not permit you to feel either the reverses of fortune
or the loss of friends. And even without that contingency, Petronel,
even supposing that things go on as they are now, still, for a woman,
there is no affection like the affection of a husband, and no home
like a home of her own.'
"
t.
He delivered this so earnestly; so much as though he wished
me to believe him; and I had so seldom heard my cousin Ulick
speak to me on other than ordinary topics, that a fearful thought
flashed through my mind-the thought that he desired to get rid of
mne! In an instant I recalled the years which I had spent there;
the trouble I had given from the first-which had compelled him to
banish me to Antwerp-and now that I had returned, come back of
an age to receive offers of marriage and reject them, I was no bet-
ter than before. I was still rebellious-not against him, it is true,
but with his sister-and upset the quiet of the household by con-
tinual jars and worry. In an instant I had pictured to myself the
peaceful life which probably he led before he saw me; the days
that passed without bickering; the evenings when he could return
to his dinner without the dread of hearing of fresh strife; and I
realized how different this life must be, and that I was the unhappy
cause of the great change. He was annoyed and uncomfortable;
my presence turned his home into a purgatory; his sister and I
could not agree together, therefore one of us must go-and that one
1
PETRONEL.
209-
was myself. And in what way could I more fitly take my depart-
ure than into the willing arms of Mr. Bertram? Like a flash of
lightning I had summed up this misery for myself, and the burden
of it burst forth from my lips.
66 6
Oh, Cousin Ulick! I see it all now. I make this house
wretched to you: and you want to get rid of me!'
“I sprung from my position, and stood before him, with clasped
hands and a look of unutterable woe. But my words had taken
him entirely by surprise.
(6
Get rid of you!' he exclaimed. Get rid of you, child! You
don't know what you are saying. I would keep you here all my
life if I could.'
C
"He put his hand before his eyes as he spoke, and I threw my-
self on my knees beside him.
66 4
Would you? say, would you really? Cousin Ulick, are you
in earnest? Oh, let me stay, then! Why should I not stay? I will
be good, indeed I will; I will try to be patient with Cousin Marcia,
if you will only promise never to send me away from you. Oh, I
am so glad I am so thankful! I thought you were going to ask
me to marry that horrid man, and I could not marry him. I don't
want to marry any one. I only wish to live all my life with you.'
"I had thrown my arms impetuously about him as I spoke, and
I had taken his dear hands prisoner, and held them fast in mine.
And yet he did not look as though I had made him happy. His
eyes expressed more anxiety to have the business over than anything
else.
"
C
Do I worry you, Cousin Ulick? Am I saying anything I
ought not to say? Is there any reason why I should not stay beside
you, all my life?'
60 4
You do not know what you ask,' he said, in a low voice.
You are too young to decide on such a subject. You will see
others; you will marry.'
44 <
Never!' I replied, decidedly; never, unless you say that you
are tired of me, and wish me to go away. But you won't do that,
will you? And if Cousin Marcia marries (she may yet, you know,
Cousin Ulick; old women sometimes do), or if she dies, why, I
will be your housekeeper, and your nurse, and your everything,
until we both die too, sha'n't I? Promise, do, and I'll promise
also, and then it'll be a bargain between us for evermore!"
464
My child, you don't know what you wish to undertake. Such
a promise as you would extort from me should be given nowhere
but at the altar,'
•
*
3..
1
L
210
PETRONEL.
These words were uttered in a melancholy, despondent tone,
as though the speaker were inwardly commiserating my want of
judgment and experience; but the minute they were spoken, the
meaning of them flashed upon us simultaneously, and we both grew
scarlet.
(.
**
66
"¿
I may say truly that, till that moment, the possibility of such
an event had never entered my mind. I knew that I loved him; I
believed that he loved me, and I had contemplated his probable
marriage with girls as youthful and ignorant as myself; but the
idea that I could ever aspire to so lofty a position as to become the
companion of his life; to be his own, his very own, for evermoṛc,
had never mingled with my wildest dreams. Now, as his unguard-
ed sentence made me aware that it might be; that it was not so
utterly impossible an occurrence; that he might even have thought
of it himself, I quickly disengaged myself from his embrace, and,
rising to my feet, covered my face with both my hands.
CC
44
At the altar-as a wife-as his wife!
HIS WIFE!
He recovered self-possession before I did.
<
Don't mistake me,' he said, hurriedly; it was only a slip of
the tongue. I am well aware that that can never be!'
Why not, Cousin Ulick?' I inquired, with parted lips, and
quick-drawn breath.
"He gazed up at my excited countenance earnestly and search-
ingly; and there I suppose he read more than I intended him to
do, for after a minute he turned away his own with a deep sigh.
Good heavens!' he exclaimed, is it really true? God forgive
me!' And then he got up from the sofa and walked away to
another part of the room, and left me standing there by myself.
<
Oh, I felt so miserable, so wretched, so ashamed! I saw that
he had read what was passing in my heart-what had been in my
heart for many months before, although I had never guessed it till
that moment-and I thought he would despise me ever afterward.
What would I not have given to recall that unfortunate question
which had burst so anxiously from my lips? How I hated myself
for being so weak and silly as to say just everything that came into
my mind! But what was the use of hating, or anything else, when
Cousin Ulick stood at the other end of the room, and knew that I
should like to marry him. I was so bitterly humiliated that I began
to cry, and the sound of my weeping disturbed his meditations.
“My darling!' he said, suddenly, and he came forward and
'took me in his arms,
CC (
4A #
..
PETRONEL.
211
Oh, Cousin Ulick!' I sobbed, do please forget all about it. I
never meant to say that. What can you think of me?'
"I think you are a dear, generous child, of whose affection I
dare not take advantage. It would be injuring you, my darling. I
am old enough to be your father.'
Oh, not too old-not too old!' I whimpered, with my face hid
in his breast.
What, not too old for the girl who refused poor Bertram! I
am eight-and-thirty, remember, Petronel.'
"I wouldn't care if you were a hundred!'
464
**
"
'But think what my life has been, dear child-think what it
is! A man of business, hurrying here and there, often worried and
anxious, and always pressed for time. I have no leisure to give to
those who love me; few moments, as other people have, to spend in
my own home. And when there, am I a fit companion for a girl
like you? What thoughts, what wishes, have we in common, or
how could the dry subjects which engross my mind, find any inter-
est in yours?'
""
'We should be very happy,' I whispered, earnestly.
"Do you love me then?'
*C
'He put this question in a low, murmuring voice; but I under-
stood him. The light of life came streaming in from his soul upon
mine, and I comprehended what it was to be a woman and to love.
I had often dreamed of it, and spoken of it, and laughed at it, but
I never knew the meaning of the words until my cousin Ulick whis
pered that sentence in my ear.
#
64 4
'Do you love me, darling?' he repeated.
"I felt unable to reply, but I clung to him, pressing my cheek
closer to his own, and I think that he was satisfied.
446
'Now it is all settled,' I whispered, presently, and you will
never be able to send me away from you again.'
"
The assertion seemed to startle him.
""
Settled!' he exclaimed. Settled-what, that you-a child,
an infant-should unite yourself to me!-drag out your days beside
a man of my years? Oh! it is impossible! I have been dreaming
—mad—the mere thought is folly. What have I suffered you to
say or think?'
<
C
<
At this sudden and startling change in his demeanor, I shrunk
back ashamed. What had he done, indeed, to compromise me in
this manner? He had known my youth, and foolishness, and igno-
rance from the beginning; but he might have saved me from my
212
PETRONEL.
own contempt and his. And yet I had so little pride, I felt that he
was right.
เ
I know I am not worthy!' 'I said, humbly.
Not worthy?' he repeated
You are worthy of all a man's
love and honor and devotion. I was not thinking of myself,
Petronel; my fears are only for you. You are in the blossom of
your life, and the best half of mine is over; how can I permit you
to join your fate with that of a man who has outlived all his youth-
ful feelings?'
You did not remember that caution with respect to Mr. Ber-
tram,' I said, complainingly.
" <
Bertram's existence has been a very different one to mine; his
heart is twenty years younger than my own. Petronel!-before we
go any further, I must tell you there is one great bar to our union
-what you will, I fancy, call an insuperable objection. I-many
years ago—seventeen or eighteen years ago-was engaged to be
married to your mother!'
To my mother?-10 mamma?—and you did not marry her?'
'Because she preferred another, Petronel!'
She left you-it was her wish-her doing. Oh! how could
.. <
"
J
เ
6.
}
+
66 6
she?'
"The news surprised me; but it was not the news that occupied
my mind. Instantly my heart traveled back to those days at Salt-
pool; to the facts which had struck me then as singular; to the con-
jectures I had since formed; and in them all I traced the workings of
that tender, generous heart, which had loved and been deceived, and
yet had not forgotten. His conduct to me since my mother's death
had been but part of a great, noble whole; and I felt as though I
never could repay him for all he had done and suffered for us.
66 6
'She left you, and you remembered her and cared for her,
through everything? Oh, Cousin Ulick, how very, very much I
love you!'
"I experienced no shame then. I only thought how impossible
it was that he should ever know the tumult of gratitude which ex-
isted in my breast; and, with a fresh burst of weeping, I ran again
into the arms which opened to me.
'Oh! let me try and make it up to you! Let me love you as
much as ever I can, that you may forget my mother did not do the
same. Let me stay by you always, Cousin Ulick. Let me wait on
Let me
you, and nurse you, and run for everything you want.
repay with each day of my life the debt my mother owes you for
herself.'
PETRONÉL.
218
(6 (
My darling Petronel!" he said. 'My dear, dear girl!--this
moment pays me back a thousand times for anything I may have
done or suffered!'
'And then there was a long pause between us, whilst I could
feel the beating of his heart against my own.
** ·
06
Five o'clock!' he said, with a comical look of dismay, when
at last I disengaged myself from his encircling clasp. 'Five
o'clock, you monkey, and I have at least a dozen visits to make be-
fore dinner-time. I must run away at once.
>
"Take me with you,' I entreated.
"That would be a famous expedient for getting through my
work, wouldn't it?' he answered, laughing; and I really thought
he looked younger and brighter already for what had passed be-
tween us. 'No-no! my child; we must part till seven; and then
I shall come back to have another look at my-what am I to call
you now, Petronel?'
666
Your-your-anything you like,' I answered blushing, unable
to form the word which trembled on my tongue.
“Is it possible?' he ejaculated, with a gesture of incredulity, as
he put his hand beneath my chin, and raised my face to his, ' possi-
ble that such a chit as this is to become my wife? No, Petronel, I
can't believe it. I never shall believe it until it comes to pass; and
till that time you must remain my child. I can call you nothing
else.'
* C
I won't be called a child,' I answered, with an affectation of
affront, which made him smile so brightly as he passed away from
me, that his look remained behind him like a sunbeam, glorifying
all things in my sight.
"I was standing still where he had left me, reviewing with
tremulous excitement the scene I had just gone through, and won-
dering with him whether it really could be possible that a marriage
had been arranged between us-between me-insignificant girl as I
was-and my beloved, esteemed, and reverenced Cousin Ulick-
when Wheeler entered the room, and handed me a letter. The re-
ception of a letter was, generally speaking, a great event with me,
although I had no correspondents but such as I had left behind in
Antwerp; but at the present moment, even whilst recognizing the
handwriting of Félicité d'Alven, I was too much agitated to do
more than think what a grand thing it would be to write and tell
her I was engaged to be married to my guardian. I tore open the
letter carelessly; the envelope was not entirely filled with the
scratchy foreign calligraphy of my dear friend; it contained an in-
K
+
PETRONEL.
214
closure which fell to the ground. As I stopped to recover it, the
color which Cousin Ulick's whispers had left burning on my cheeks
faded as though by magic; my hands commenced to tremble again,
but this time it was from fear, for the paper which Félicité had
forwarded to me was a letter from my father."
.
1
66
T
CHAPTER XXII.
DR. FORD REFLECTS ON WHAT HE HAS DONE.
THE dark-green brougham, with its thorough-bred bay horses,
had been standing patiently before the hall door for more than hour,
when Dr. Ford, with flushed cheeks and an excited air, ran down
the steps and leaped into his seat.
"Twenty-four Wellington Crescent!" he said, quickly; and, as the
carriage rolled away he glanced up at the lace shrouded windows
of the room he had so lately quitted. In another instant he pulled
the check-string.
[C
To five Annesley Terrace," he shouted through the tube.
'I've made a mistake."
The coachman touched his hat, and turned his horses' heads;
wondering at himself the while what could have happened to his
master. It was almost the first time in his experience that Dr. Ford
had altered a command once given, the clearness of his head being
no less remarkable than the firmness of his decisions. Could he
have glanced inside the vehicle he was driving, the servant would
have been still more astonished; for Ulick Ford, with unusually
bright eyes, and an expression about his mouth as though he were
not quite sure whether to laugh or cry, was fidgeting with his books
and papers in a womanish and uncertain way, most foreign to him-
self. First he took up what Petronel in former days had called his
"wooden trumpet," and, turning it several times over in his hands,
in a meaningless manner, laid it back into the carriage-basket, and
seized upon a number of some medical journal instead. But what
availed to the man, at that moment, scientific discoveries or profes-
sional experiments-he who had just made a discovery on his own
part more wonderful than any he had ever heard or dreamed of, to
be followed by an experiment more astounding still? At that mo-
ment, printed letters held no meaning for him, and he skimmed
column after column without the least idea of what they contained:
whilst something beneath his left ribs kept bumping and thumping
with so unorthodox a motion as to distract his attention from every-
*
!
215
thing but itself. It was certainly inconvenient; but the very incon-
venience made him feel young again, and when he left the carriage
at number five Annesley Terrace, and stood on the hall steps wait-
ing for the door to be opened, he seemed to look on the busy world
of traffic passing before him in a new light; to have more part with
the young and gay, and less with the sick and weary, than he had
before. There was a music ringing in his heart which made him
feel as though he must be moving in measure to its tune; and he
became impatient even of the slight inaction to which he was com-
pelled by waiting for an answer to his summons. It came at last,
and he passed through the hall into the library, where he knew that
he should find his patient.
!
PETRONEL.
""
There had been no occasion to ask if Mr. Barnard was at home,
for Mr. Barnard sat day after day, and month after month. in the
same arm-chair in the same room, and would always be "at home,''
at all events to Ulick Ford, until his place knew him no more. He
was a good old man, on the shady side of fifty, who had been
paralyzed for many years past, and bore that affliction, and others
which accompanied it, with the cheerful resignation of one who
recognizes the sacred truth, that those who do not suffer will not
reign. In general, his mood was far more placid and contented than
that of his medical adviser, but on this occasion, Ulick Ford, who
was freshly disposed to view every circumstance of life in its best
light, was surprised to find Mr. Barnard depressed, even melancholy;
and, after a futile attempt to engage his interest on the topics of the
day, he rallied him on his evident discomposure.
Your friends have been leaving you too much alone, Barnard;
this fine weather tempts every one to spend their time out-of-doors.
I must send my sister to look after you. Have you heard from
your brother Henry lately?"
This brother, a few years the junior of his patient, was a solicitor
in practice in London, who had visited Rockborough the summer
before, in company with his wife, a fine, handsome young woman
of not more than five-and-twenty. But at the mention of his name,
an expression of unmistakable suffering passed over the countenance
of Mr. Barnard.
"Don't speak of him, Ford; I can not bear even to think of him
to-day. I received a most painful communication from him this
morning."
"Indeed! I am sorry to hear it," replied the doctor, who knew
that to give him the opportunity of unbosoming himself would be
216
PETRONEL.
the best medicine he could prescribe his charge; "nothing to do, I
hope, with his health?”
""
Oh, no; bodily suffering would be little to this. Perhaps I had
best tell you about it, after all, for the world will hear it soon
enough, and, until it does, I know the secret will be safe with
you."
“If discussing the subject is any relief to you, you may depend
upon my keeping it to myself," said Dr. Ford, who fully expected
to hear that Henry Barnard had failed in monetary matters.
*
**
Yes, yes! I know that, of course," replied the other, but it is
such a very painful business! so very painful and distressing. You
remember my brother's wife, perhaps, Ford: a fine-looking girl
with dark eyes?"
<<
1
C
**
'The bride who was with him here last summer? most assuredly
I do. I hope your bad news has no reference to her."
، .
Indeed it has, and in the worst way. I always said she was too
young for Henry, Ford; a man of nearly fifty to take a young creat-
ure of five and-twenty to himself was folly-madness. How was it
possible that in tastes, or feelings, or modes of occupation, they
should ever agree? You might as well have mated a butterfly with
the ox that treads out the corn.
>>
But, you surprise me, Barnard; they always seemed excessive-
ly happy when they were down here. I remember remarking to
myself that I had seldom seen a more united couple.
•C
Ah! they were early days. I have noticed their behavior since,
and I foresaw what was in store for him. She has left him,
Ford."
• C
"What would you have me say?
and swear it is all her own fault?
business more than I do; in fact it
affirm what I believe to be untrue.
You don't mean to say so?" and Ulick Ford's face assumed a
look of the keenest anxiety.
(4.
* I do, indeed, and how was it to be prevented? He, engaged all
day, often all the evening, in his professional pursuits, and she (as
is natural to her age) anxious for amusement and the companion-
ship of such as were of the same mind as herself. And thought-
lessness and the opportunity for evil have ended in this-utter dis-
grace to both of them."
"You speak of it rather leniently in my ideas," remarked Ulick
Ford.
Call the poor girl hard names,
No mere spectator could feel the
has quite upset me, but I can not
She was not worse than others;
gay, frivolous, and fond of admiration, perhaps; but so are half the
}
2 Begins
217
young women that you meet, and yet, with proper care, they make
good wives. No! No! the first error lay in inducing her to accept
the hand of a man more than double her age, and without the op-
portunity of either guarding her morals or cultivating her esteem.
Henry should never have married her; but, having done so, he
should not have left her to herself."
"
'But, at that rate, no men engaged in active profession would be
able to afford themselves the solace of a wife.”
PETRONEL.
<"
'Did I say so, Ford? It is not his marrying that I blame, but
his marrying a woman so much younger than himself. Why could
he not have chosen some one nearer his own age? No happiness
ever comes of ill-assorted unions, and to him it has proved utter
ruin.”
44
Well, I am very sorry to hear it,” replied the doctor, as he rose
from his seat; "but it is a case in which one can do no more than
say so.
And since it is irremediable, it is useless to let it prey upon
your spirits. Is there anything in the shape of book or newspaper
that I can send you? You must not sit here longer moping by
yourself!"
"Nothing, thank you-except, indeed, it be what you promised
-a visit from your good sister, whom I am always pleased to see.
I hope she is well; and that bright creature, with the strange name,
that ward of yours. I trust she has quite recovered from her late
illness?''
10
Perfectly, thank you," replied Ulick Ford, whose heart at this
simple allusion commenced to make its existence self-evident again.
"I'm glad to hear it! She is a sweet creature. The last time she
was in this dark room, with her cousin, her smile alone seemed to
make it brighter. She always puts me, somehow, in mind of
primroses-she seems so fresh, and innocent, and childlike. You
must take care of her, Ford-great care of her!"
*
I hope to do so.”
That's right. Don't let her go and throw herself away upon a
fellow twice her age! They are always the first to go after those
young girls; but it never answers; and it's sure to end, as poor
Henry's marriage has done, in disgrace and desolation. Good-bye,
my dear Ford; your visit has actually done me good; there is noth-
ing like opening one's heart to a friend. Good-bye, good-bye;" and
Ulick Ford was once more set free, from what had proved to him a
torture-chamber.
"C
He gave the necessary orders, leaped into his carriage, slammed
the door after him, and threw himself back upon the scat with a
218
PETRONEL.
re
ř
sensation very akin to misery. Until that moment all had been ex-
citement, exultation, and joy; now he had time to recall the serious
resolutions which he had formed and broken. He had been unable
to avoid feeling gratified at the news of his friend Bertram's re-
fusal; because the idea of giving Petronel away in marriage to any
man had been so distasteful to him; but he had none the less in-
tended to guard with jealous watchfulness his own impressions with
respect to her. He had meant diligently to uproot any tendency on
his part to bestow more than parental love upon her, and to check
those glowing ebullitions of affection with which she was some-
times wont to indulge him, and which he found so sore a trial of his
tempered equanimity. And a word on his side, a look on hers, had
scattered all these prudent resolutions to the wind. They had come
to a mutual understanding; how, he could hardly even now remem-
ber; but he believed it never would have happened so except by
accident. And in this he was correct. He loved the girl with a
passion, the fervor of which is unknown to men who fritter the best
feelings of their lives away in a multitude of paltry admiration;
but he considered that to take advantage of her innocent liking for
himself was to fetter a free spirit, which did not yet know its capa
bility for happiness, and unfairly secure a heart which had had no
opportunity of choice. He felt much as one does who, having
wantonly gathered a handful of fragrant lilies, which he found
blooming freshly in their native soil, carried them home to lie upon
his table, until their purity is soiled, and they wither and turn
brown. The disposition of such an one, if he loves flowers, is to
thrust the drooping blossoms, as soon as may be, out of sight, that
he may forget the floral murder he committed, for nothing is more
painful than to find we have destroyed that which we never can
replace; and Ulick Ford also, for the moment, felt as though, in
order to regain his peace of mind, he must dissolve the engagement
into which he had just entered, and set Petronel Fleming free again.
She was like a fresh, white lily in her youth and purity; and what
had he to give her in exchange for that, except his love? He could
love her, it is true. God and his heart knew that well enough!
But his time was not his own to bestow on any woman; and he
thought of the way in which he had been deceived before; of the
vow he had registered never again to make himself the plaything of
the fickle sex, and of the dreadful story he had just heard, until it
seemed imperative that he should release her and himself. She
imagined that she loved him! Dear, innocent child! Heaven bless
her for the mere idea! But what could she know of love and its
PETRONEL.
219
1
requirements? She had had no experience of the world; had hard-
ly peeped into its vast arena! it was natural to her to think that she
should like to pass her whole existence with the person who had
been most kind to her. It was the yearning of the friendless
orphan for a home and sure protection; not the trembling eagerness
of the woman of mature age to find herself united to the man whom
she had chosen from the world. He must convince her of her mis-
take, and loose her from the promise she had so rashly made to
him.
But when he seriously thought of parting with her, his heart
called out against it. He had gathered the lilies, but he could not
cast them away; he had lived so many years without holding a
flower in his hand. She had so twined herself about his being.
that he shuddered to think what life would be without her—what
it would have been even, had she of her own free choice left him for
another man. And if, of her own free choice, she stayed-if she
wished to stay-if parting were a misery to her as well as him,
should he be justified in urging it upon her? Into what impru-
dence might disappointment not plunge her? How would her love,
thrown back upon itself, act on a nature so impulsive, so imagina-
tive? No! the lilies were in his hand-had almost been placed
there; he would grasp them whilst he had being; he would be
happy.
But then rose up again the dark history of Henry Barnard and his
wife; and in imagination Ulick Ford pictured all that exuberance
of girlish love which was so enchanting to him fade away into the
indifference of married life, and Petronel, through all her youth
and loveliness, left to her own guidance and the admiration of the
herd.
What if he, now among the most honored and respected of the
inhabitants of Rockborough, should live to be an object of contempt
and pity—to be condoled with for having pinned his faith upon the
promise of a child; or pointed at as a fool, who had considered he
possessed sufficient attractions to chain the affections of a girl young
enough to be his daughter!
Deeply humble where his powers of pleasing were concerned (or
he would have been aware that a man of his talents and standing
confers an honor upon any woman by making her his wife), he was
yet very proud on any subject which affected his good name, or
capability of judgment. He would rather any day have been called
knave than fool, for he maintained that in the long run the fools
did most harm of the two. And he believed implicitly that he could
220
PETRONEL.
:
not survive such a disgrace as had fallen upon Henry Barnard, and
that, if it did not mercifully kill him outright, it would at least
compel him to resign the sphere of usefulness in which he labored,
and to quit forever the place where it occurred. His first trial had
been hard enough to bear, but this would be infinitely worse; and
at that moment, with all his love and admiration for Petronel, he
could not help remembering that she was the daughter of her moth-
er, and that Cissy Halsted also had once hung about his neck, and
whispered loving words into his ear.
It was a miserable recollection to come at that juncture; but there
was no evading it, and Dr. Ford divided the rest of the time that
was not spent with his patients in brooding upon the misery of his
past and the uncertainty of his future. Try as he would, he could
not regret what had occurred, nor promise himself that he would
give up one iota of the happiness which Fortune had so unexpected-
ly presented to him; and yet he felt very much as though he had
accepted something which he had no right to take.
His passion
was fighting against his cool judgment. He had no doubt of what
he wanted, but great doubt of what he ought to have; and his mind
was full of conflicting sensations. This is a state very common to
every one who has a conscience and a strong natural will, and by
such it will be easily recognized; but it is a difficult condition to
render plain by pen and ink. If, therefore, to some of my readers
the character of Ulick Ford at this crisis appears unsatisfactory; if
he seems too fearful and undecided for the firm, courageous man
I have attempted to sketch, let the deficiency be attributed to my
feeble power of description, rather than to my hero's vacillation.
At the same time I would urge that, under the circumstances, he
was not himself; and, if he had been, he would not have been in
love. And in love with Petronel Fleming he most decidedly was.
He reached home that evening, half triumphant and half uneasy,
and ran upstairs to dress for dinner, under a comical fear lest he
should meet his sister on the way, and find she had been already
informed of his intentions. But no such calamity befell him. He
was, as usual, late, and when he entered the dining-room Miss Ford
and Petronel were already seated at the table. He said a hurried
grace, and, sitting down, helped the soup before him, feeling as
bashful as a school-boy the while, and not daring to raise his eyes
to the white-robed figure which sat on his right hand. He fancied
that even the servants in attendance must be cognizant of the weak-
ness into which he had been betrayed; and he remained to all ap-
pearance so entirely engrossed by the consumption of what was put
PETRONEL.
221
upon his plate, that at last his sister rallied him on his unusual
silence.
..
"A penny for your thoughts, Ulick!" she exclaimed, as the
second course was removed. "Have you been to a funeral this
afternoon that you have so little to tell us?"
At the sound of her voice he started, and regarded her earnestly.
No! Miss Ford had certainly heard nothing of the impending change
in his circumstances, for she looked pleasanter than she had done
since the occasion of Mr. Bertram's departure, and was evidently
more in a jesting than a complaining mood. He took heart at the
lightness of her remark, and replied much in the same tone.
"No, indeed! I have had more to do with resurrections this
afternoon, than with burials, Marcia.'
??
Oh! a miraculous cure, I suppose! Well, I have no desire to
meddle in your professional secrets; I know you too well for that.'
"
A complete cure!" he answered, enigmatically, and thereupon
he ventured to let his glance rove toward his fiancée. Petronel's
dreamy gray eyes met his with a fond, confiding look that set all his
pulses in rapid motion, and made the veins start out upon his sun-
burned forehead; and as soon as she had turned her head away, his
gaze followed and riveted itself upon her. Her white muslin dress,
made perfectly plain, was cut square in front, and in her bosom
nestled two or three pale blossoms of the tea-rose, resting on their
sad, green leaves. She wore no ornament except the twisted masses
of her bright hair, on which streamed the last rays of the setting
Her clean-cut features, turned toward the light, were not less
pure in their outline than the expression of her tender mouth, or
the long, earnest gaze of her clear eyes. As he regarded her,
wrapped in pensive thought, perhaps of him, the feelings he had
experienced in the drawing-room that afternoon returned in full
force, and he determined inwardly that no powers on earth should
make him give her up.
sun.
There was a soft melancholy about Petronel that evening which
drove him wild; it seemed as though she must have guessed the
tenor of those thoughts which now appeared like blasphemy against
his love for her. What was it to him, if wives went wrong aud
women were deceptive? This was not a creature formed in com-
mon mold, and reasoning which held good in ordinary cases could
have no bearing upon one in which she was concerned. How pure
she looked, how calm, how thoughtful! The very knowledge of his
love had changed her from a child into a woman; what might not
the experience of it do?
+
222
PETRONEL.
He gazed at her as she sat thus, with her unconscious face turned
toward the evening sky, and fancied that he saw her passing from
a girl into a matron, more beautiful with each succeeding change,
with children clinging to her skirts, children as fair, as loving as
herself, and yet who called him father. What! children in that
house, so silent till she entered it-tottering feet about those floors,
baby smiles to welcome his return, and that sweet face to teach
them how to love him-was this the blessing that he wanted to re-
sign; that his friends would persuade him it was dangerous to ac-
cept; that he fought against as though it could be offered him from
any hand but that of Heaven? Perish all such worldly arguments,
such weak, cowardly, groundless fears! The cup of pleasure was
held up to his lips, and he would drain it to the dregs.
"Really, Ulick, you will break your wine-glass if you go on in
this way. What are you thinking of?" exclaimed Miss Marcia,
who was not well pleased at his noncompliance with her former re-
quest.
What he had done he hardly knew himself, but he had caused a
disturbance amongst the crockery, which had attracted the attention
of his sister, and made Petronel turn round. How sweet was the
change from her meditative mood to the girlish laughter which
rippled over her features as she caught sight of his expression of
dismay!
He started and apologized; returned her look with one so ardent,
and so new, that the blood mounted to her very forehead, and then
the meal proceeded as before.
>
Only that Miss Marcia, having unfortunately intercepted that long
gaze, and seen the blush which it called forth, remarked rather
querulously that she wished her brother would attend to his dinner
whilst he was about it, and leave brown studies for the consulting-
room. And then she called upon Petronel to sit up straight, and
not lean back in her chair in that absurd manner, and wondered
what young ladies of the present day would say if they were treated
in the way in which she used to be served at the same age. Upon
the appearance of which deadly symptoms, Ulick Ford hurried over
the remainder of dinner as quickly as possible, that he might ex-
pedite the moment when he could run away to his own room.
Nothing but sunshine followed him there, however; the black cloud
had passed away, and the sky was bright and clear. Only that he
grudged every moment spent away from Petronel, and longed for
the one when he should be able to clasp her once more in his arms,
and say how dear she was to him,"
PETRONEL.
223
"Cousin Ulick, may I come in? I have something to tell you."
She stood at the door, over the threshold of which she never
passed without permission, looking like what she was, the angel of
his life. He drew her in, and closed it after her, and took her to
his heart without another word. If heaven itself had thundered
out anathema maranatha against her then, he could not have be-
lieved but that she held in herself all he required to make him per-
fectly and infinitely happy.
CC
Cousin Ulick! are you sure you don't repent?''
The question came as an echo of his previous thoughts, but he
answered it decidedly.
'Repent, my darling! It is I who should ask you that. You
are far more likely to repent this business than I am."
"
How can you say so?
and you so far above me in every respect.'
Age included, Petronel; do you realize there is a difference be-
tween us of two and-twenty years?”
"
How you will harp upon the difference between us!" she said,
with a pretty affectation of complaint. "I believe you do it on
purpose, Cousin Ulick; you like to make me feel small and stupid.”
"It is a terrible gap," he answered.
"C
'Too wide for love to stretch across?" inquired the girlish voice,
softly.
"
'Oh, Petronel! you are right; I must come and learn from you
-there is no age for love. God bless you for saying so! And I
have been tormenting myself all this afternoon, fancying that you
can never be happy tied down to an old man like me.
1
"
6.
An old man!” she echoed, pouting. You will try and make
me believe that you are deaf and blind and lame next. I wonder
you allow there is any strength left in these great hands and feet.
Well, I have been worrying myself too, Cousin Ulick; so you see
that we are quits."
"What about? Pitying poor me for the prospect of having such
a great, troublesome child to look after and keep in order?”
"C
""
"
When I am so foolish and so young,
""
Something like it. Wondering if you will ever tire of my non-
and oh! particularly whether anything on earth could make
you leave off loving me.'
sense,
"Nothing on earth, or in heaven either, Petronel! You may
rest assured of that."
44
Nothing that I have ever said or done, Cousin Click; nothing
that has ever happened to me? For I have often been very wild and
thoughtless, remember, and got into all kinds of horrid scrapes?''
224
1
PETRONEL.
"I don't think I am much afraid of that, darling; but if you had
been in what you call a 'horrid scrape' from your birth till now, it
would make no difference to me.
""
"I am so glad." she answered, softly. "I have been bothering
myself about it this afternoon, because one never knows what may
happen, you know, and I could not bear you should be vexed with
But you will always trust me, Cousin Ulick, won't you,
and never believe any stupid stories that you may hear against
me now.
me?"
"6
My dear child, is it likely? No one will dare to bring them to
me, Petronel, so there is no occasion for your warning.'
"}
Still, he thought it a strange thing to mention on the first day of
their betrothal; but he attributed her fear to her great love for him,
and soon forgot it in the contemplation of the love itself.
""
One thing more," she whispered, as they prepared to ascend to
the drawing-room; you will tell Cousin Marcia for me. I am too
much afraid of her to do it myself."
"I will, certainly, as soon as you have decamped to bed. I
meant to do so; but you must lose your fear of her now, Petronel,
for she will be your sister."
Oh, no," replied the girl, with a half-shudder; she won't!
she never can be! Cousin Ulick, I sometimes think she would be
glad if I were dead!”
"C
ܕ
""
46
""
He placed his hand before her mouth.
""
'I do, indeed! but-it is not necessary I should love her, is it?
I want to keep every bit of my love for you, if you won't get tired
of it or think it is too much.'
They were on the staircase; the lamp was not yet lighted in the
hall; and he answered her as they passed through the dusk together.
CHAPTER XXIII.
WHAT HIS FRIENDS THOUGHT OF IT.
IF Dr. Ford felt as awkward as a schoolboy under the suspicion
that his sister might have become coguizant of his intentions with
respect to his ward, he felt still more so, when, at their usual hour
for retiring, he saw her about to follow Petronel from the apart-
ment, and knew that the moment for disclosing those intentions
had arrived.
ܕ
Wait a minute, Marcia," he said, hurriedly; “I want to speak
to you;" and, at the words, Petronel flew up the staircase like a
bird and bolted herself into her own room.
PETRONEL.
225
Certainly, Ulick," replied Miss Ford, in measured tones, as,
laden with a key-basket, a desk, a work-box, and three books, she
returned to her brother's side.
“I wish to inform you of something which occurred to-day-
something which very nearly affects us both. I don't know why I
should imagine that the news will be unwelcome to you, because,
of course, if you care for me you must consider my happiness to be
of some importance, and I confess that it is considerably bound up
in the matter of which I am about to speak."
• C
You are talking in perfect riddles to me," said Miss Ford, in a
mystified manner.
He had been going on rather glibly until then, but her remark
seemed to render him confused. He drew out his handkerchief
and passed it over his forehead, bit his lip, puckered his brow into
a hundred wrinkles, and changed his position on the hearth-rug
more than once.
C
"It is of no use beating about the bush," he said, at length, with
a violent determination to be explicit. Has it never entered into
your head, Marcia, that I might choose to marry?”
If Dr. Ford had told his sister to prepare for instant death, she
could not have looked more astonished or displeased. The key-
basket, work-box, desk, and books, slid from her yielding arms in
a confused heap upon the table, whilst, disregardant of the damage
and the clatter, she stood opposite her brother, staring at him with
wide-open eyes and mouth.
Her threatening aspect made Ulick Ford himself again. He did
not relish being forced upon the penitential stool to confess his
errors: but, having done so, he was not likely to brook unkindly
comments on what he had thought fit to do.
"
I have taken you by surprise," he said, coolly, answering the
blank look with which she was regarding him.
"I can not believe it!" gasped Miss Marcia.
marry. Do I understand you right, Ulick?”
66
CC
CC
Perfectly right. I am about to marry, and I hope shortly. Is
there anything peculiar in a man of my position desiring to have a
wife?"
You are about to
But after all these years, and the circumstances of your past
life, and when I have kept house for you, too, to the very best of
my ability; it is a dreadful blow!"
་
(C
I am sorry to hear that," he answered, kindly; "you have been
a good housekeeper to me, Marcia, and I shall not forget it, you
may be assured; at the same time I should like to place a legitimate
8
226
PETRONEL.
::
mistress at the head of my table, and if it is ever to be, it must be
soon. I have no years to lose.
"But that poor girl," resumed Miss Marcia, who was suddenly
smitten with a profound compassion for Petronel's forlorn condition
you adopted her, you know, Ulick, to all intents and purposes;
and when a bachelor of your age adopts a child, he naturally gives
the world to suppose that he has relinquished all ideas of marriage,
and that his protégée will reap what benefits he may be able to leave
her. I can't help saying that it will be very unfair to Petronel
Fleming, if, after all, you go and take a wife to yourself."
Do you think so? I hope not. You may be sure I shall take
good care that Petronel is not injured by any step of the kind which
I may have in contemplation."
، ،
That's nonsense!" retorted his sister, hotly; "for it is impossi-
ble that she can hold the same position in the house that she does
now."
"
46
I 6
}
C
I don't intend her to do so."
Well, then, it's just as I said. You will do her an injury in
order to gratify your own inclinations. I don't speak of myself,
though some might think me justified in doing so; but for that poor
child-'
"
How glad you will be to hear what I have to tell you, Marcia!
What a load you have taken off my mind by your remarks! Petro-
nel's position will be bettered by my marriage, instead of rendered
worse, because-it is just herself whom I intend to make my wife."
Nothing that Dr. Ford had said had prepared his sister for this
piece of intelligence; she had not even understood that he had fixed
upon his future wife; and for a minute surprise quite deprived her
of the means of utterance. She turned deadly pale; her black
eyes seemed to stand out from her white face like bits of jet sur-
rounded by marble, and her lips and hands were livid. Dr. Ford.
perceived the shock was great to her; and he awaited the storm,
which he foresaw would follow, in patient submission.
"Petronel!" she ejaculated at last-" Petronel! you intend to
marry that child whom you adopted-whom you have taught to
look on you as a father-to whose own mother you were engaged?
You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
He looked ashamed of himself, although he had no real reason to
be so.
It was almost the first time since his disappointment that
Miss Marcia had presumed to mention his broken engagement to
him; and as he heard her, the honest color came and went in his
flushed check, and he turned his face to one side. He had antici-
PETRONEL.
227
pated the scorn with which the world would criticize his weakness;
he felt that in some measure he deserved it; and he determined, so
long as her vituperation fell on him alone, to hear his sister out in
silence.
"C
I have not the slightest hesitation," she recommenced, "in say-
ing that you ought to be very much ashamed of yourself. What
will people say? What will your patients think, and those of your
profession who place their reliance on your good sense and judg-
ment? They will say you are in your dotage! To marry at all at
your age, when you have everything at home that you can possibly
desire, and had apparently given up all idea of changing your con-
dition, is utter folly! but to take a child out of the school-room—a
raw, romping girl, who has never thought of you except in the
light of a grandfather-it's disgusting-indecent-and you might
have a little more sense of what is due to propriety."
There was a short pause, during which Miss Ford first took
breath, and then, searching for her pocket-handkerchief, began to
wail:
"If-if-you had chosen some discreet and experienced person,"
she continued, amply sniffing, "I should not perhaps have felt it so
cruelly; though of course-under any circumstances-considering
what I have been to you, your marriage must have proved most
painful to me. But to think that I should be displaced-to make
room for a child, who no more knows how to order a house than to
build a palace—that I shall see everything going to rack and ruin—
and yourself the laughing stock of Rockborough-to say nothing of
the indecency of the whole affair--is enough to break my heart
altogether."
("
Come, come, Marcia, it will not be so bad as that," he said,
smiling, as he placed his hand upon her shoulder. But she could
not endure that, smile. She could not bear to think that he was
exulting in the prospect which made her so miserable; and she
shook off the fraternal touch as though it had been that of an
enemy.
"It will be ten thousand times worse than that," she exclaimed,
indignantly," as you will find to your cost, Ulick Ford, if you are
ever foolish enough to install that girl as mistress of this house! Do
you imagine she can care for you-a child, just set free from school?
Did she not refuse William Bertram because he was so old? And
which is the elder-you or himself? And what should Petronel
take you for, except it is your money and position? An artful little
chit, with the head of five and the craft of fifty! I've watched her
238
PETRONEL.
}
affected ways with you long enough; but I little thought you were
so weak as to be taken in by them.'
((
(C
Hold your tongue!" thundered Ulick Ford. His grasp was
again upon her arm; but this time it was placed there in anger. He
had patiently heard all her remarks upon himself; but when she
attacked "the child," she had gone too far; and before the look
with which he regarded her Miss Marcia cowered back in affright.
Hold your tongue, and listen to me. I have borne a great deal
from you to-night, but you have forfeited all claims to being longer
listened to. I love Petronel Fleming-not as a child, but as a
woman; and I believe she loves me in return; and if all England
were to rise up in opposition, I should marry her. You know now
what attention I am likely to pay to the advice of friends; but to
you I have something further to say. That child has no home but
this; and, under present circumstances, she could not stay here
without the protection of your presence. If, therefore, you either,
in a fit of temper, leave it, or make the house so disagreeable that
we can not dwell in peace, you and I, Marcia, part forever, and I
shall not consider myself in any way bound to consult your future
comfort; therefore, it will be to your advantage to put as good a
face as you can on this matter. Nor have I yet concluded: you
must learn to look upon Petroncl Fleming as my future wife-the
future mistress of this household, and all belonging to me; and to
uphold her dignity, both before strangers and myself. You can no
longer abuse her without abusing me; and disregard to my injunc-
tions will be the cause of a rupture between us, not so easily healed
as this one may be."
He spoke with all his old command of voice and manner, and the
only answer he received was the sound of Miss Marcia's sob; her fit
of rebellion was over, and she had returned to her normal state of
dutiful submission. He perceived that he had nothing more to fear
from her, and with the perception his voice and manners softened.
"C
(
You have never liked the child,' Marcia! why, God only
knows, for a sweeter creature, I verily believe, was never sent to
brighten up a desolate man's home; nevertheless, I saw it from the
first. You have magnified her childish and girlish faults until you
have brought yourself to believe they are what you choose to im-
agine them; but I have had clearer sight bestowed on me. I do not
mean to say that Petronel is perfect, far from it; nor should I take
her for my wife if she were so; but she is thoroughly honest, and
affectionate, and docile, and would readily respond to the least show
of interest on your part. I have no wish to see you dissemble, but
tyres
PETRONEL.
229
you will be careful, if you please, no' to hurt her feelings on this
score, or to let her see more than you can help of your distaste for
our intended marriage.
"Another subject which you mentioned just now," he continued,
after a little while, "I must beg never to hear from your lips again.
You alluded to the fact of my having been engaged to Mrs. Flem-
ing. That I was so is no more real obstacle to my union with her
daughter than to my union with any other woman; but, at the same
time, it is not a memory that I choose to hear recalled. It is suffi-
cient that Petronel knows of it, and considers it no bar to our mar-
riage; therefore, I desire that you will keep silence on the subject
henceforward. And now, my dear Marcia, if I have said anything
to wound your feelings, you must forgive me. I can quite under-
stand that my news has been a great surprise to you, and that you
find a difficulty at first in reconciling yourself to the idea; but you
must not permit your surprise to make you forget what is due to
me, to Petronel Fleming, and to yourself." With which words,
stooping and kissing her very gravely on the forehead, Dr. Ford
left his sister standing in the drawing-room by herself, whilst
she felt that in having given way to that outburst of temper
she had played a wrong card, and effectually destroyed the chance
(if she ever possessed any) of interposing her influence between
her brother and the step he had in contemplation. The very
thought of his marriage filled her breast with jealous indignation.
She would have been deeply hurt at the idea had he wished to take
to himself her dearest bosom friend, although (as in the case of Miss
Matilda Upjohn) she had often encouraged the notion of his being
secretly engaged, in order to ward off the attentions she dreaded his
receiving. She had never had any good reason for disliking
Petronel, but she had been jealous of her brother's attachment to his
cousin, Cissy Halsted, and jealous of the constancy with which he
mourned her loss; and this jealousy extended to the benevolence with
which he had received her daughter. She had longed to see
Petronel married to Mr. Bertram, and taken away to live at Oxley;
not because she thought their old friend would gain a good wife,
but that she feared the increasing interest Dr. Ford took in his
ward. She had feared that some day Petronel might supplant her-
self, but never in so complete a way as was now threatened. She
felt, from the fearless dislike she had evidenced toward her youth-
ful cousin, that it was not probable her brother, once married, would
desire her to continue to reside with him, and she looked forward
with a dread to a solitary existence, unenlightened by her great
230
PETRONEL.
solace, pride in his possession. And that she owed this to the girl
who had so often recklessly disturbed her comfort and rebelled
against her authority, was not a thought calculated to make her feel
more kindly toward the author of the mischief. She was old
enough to be her mother, but she should be obliged not only to fall
into the second place, but to speak and act as though she liked it;
and all because her brother had shown so little strength of mind or
force of character as to become enamored of dimples and pink
cheeks. She could not have believed it of him; it would seem per-
fectly incredible even now, and, betwixt tears and bewilderment,
poor Miss Ford crept up to bed and fell to sleep with a kind of hope
that she should wake in the morning and find it was a dream. But,
alas! there was no such happiness in store for her. The way alone
in which Dr. Ford jumped up from his seat directly the breakfast-
room door opened to admit Petronel, and went forward to meet the
blushing girl, would have convinced her of the vanity of her hope,
had he not, during the meal which succeeded, spoken openly of his
engagement, and of his intention of driving over to Frampton that
afternoon to announce it to Sir Lionel and Lady Halsted. And
Miss Marcia not only forced herself to smile at this communicatiou,
but even spoke some congratulatory sentences, at which her brother
looked pleased, and Petronel indulged her with what she herself
would have termed a good hug." And thus the business was sup-
posed to be concluded. It was not with temperate pulses that Ulick
Ford alighted at the door of Frampton that afternoon. The house
happened to be full, for Lady Otho Vivian and her children were
staying there, and Archibald Halsted, who had taken to himself a
wife about a year previously, was also down for a few days from
London, besides several strangers. Yet it was not the number of
listeners, nor the confession he had come to make, which staggered
Ulick Ford; it was dread of the comments he might hear on the
peculiarity of his wishing to marry the daughter of his cousin Cissy.
He found the whole family assembled in the garden, but a word on
his part brought Sir Lionel and Lady Halsted into the library
again, and there, after a brief explanation, he soon made them ac-
quainted with the business which had taken him to Frampton. His
uncle listened in perfect silence, his aunt, who was never very
quick at comprehension, with round, incredulous eyes, and Ulick
Ford felt his courage oozing out at his fingers' ends.
C
"I am quite aware of the vast disparity in our ages," he said, as
he commenced nervously to play with a paper-cutter which he had
taken off the table, "and I have put the disadvantages of it before
ļ
231
Petronel in the strongest possible light; but I hope you will not
consider me presumptuous in saying that I believe she entertains a
very sincere affection for me, which I shall make it the duty of my
life to return.”
(C
And you really want to marry her?" remarked Sir Lionel,
meditatively.
A
46
:
“It will make me happier than I can say if you approve of such
an intention."
But I thought she was going to marry a Mr. Bertram, Ulick,"
said Lady Halsted.
"
PETRONEL.
answer.
Lady Halsted, I do wish you would not interrupt at every turn
in this way, and make me completely forget what I was going to
say to young Ford," exclaimed the baronet, petulantly; and Ulick
was obliged to satisfy his aunt's natural curiosity by a whispered
"C
(C
And so you desire to marry this grandchild of ours, Ford, eh?
the daughter of that rascally sign-painter, Fleming?" recommenced
Sir Lionel. Are you prepared to find the drawing-master's blood
coming out in her, and to see his virtues reproduced in your wife
and children?"
("
'Sir Lionel, if you knew Petronel Fleming, you would never
speak of her in that manner; she has inherited nothing but what is
good and pure; she is a lovelier edition of her poor mother;" and
at this slip of the tongue, Ulick Ford colored deeply and stopped.
، ،
'I have often wished we did know her, poor child!" sighed Lady
Halsted.
"Ah! like her mother," growled Sir Lionel, who had long re-
covered the slight shock he had experienced on hearing of his
daughter's death. "I shouldn't have thought that was any great
recommendation in your eyes, Ford. This is not the first time
you've been closeted with me on an errand of this sort; but times
are altered now, aren't they? greatly altered.”
"Ah, poor Cissy!" said the mother; "remember, she is gone, Sir
Lionel, and will never vex us any more; and I'm sure we can not
thank Ulick enough for his kindness to her daughter.”
*
She vexed us enough while she lived," replied the baronet;
“she was an undutiful daughter to us, and she was a cursed jade
to you, Ford. I said it all along, and you were well rid of her,
though you didn't think so at the time.'
"
Sir Lionel! Sir Lionel! think of whom you are speaking!" in-
terposed his wife.
""
232
PETRONEL.
4
"Lady Halsted! I shall say what I think; and I'll thank you
not to interrupt me at every turn in this disagreeable manner.
"You must excuse me," said Ulick Ford, "but this conversation
is growing very painful to me. If my cousin Cecilia preferred
another man to myself, it is a matter long past, and surely not worth
our present discussion. Whatever I have suffered, I can say truly
that I have always respected her name, and never more so than
now, when I do it for her daughter's sake."
<<
""
You are always so good," murmured Lady Halsted.
Then you are determined to make a fool of yourself," said his
uncle.
"I was sure you would consider the difference in our ages an
immense objection," replied Dr. Ford, dubiously; "but you know,
Sir Lionel, that I am in a position to keep Petronel in the station to
which she was born."
3,
"
'Pooh! nonsense! I was not thinking of ages. If a man of your
standing and intelligence chooses to throw himself away on the
child of a nameless adventurer, he confers an immense honor on
her, be she fifteen or fifty. It is of you I am thinking, not of her."
You have not yet seen her," repeated his nephew, with a proud
smile.
"C
44
66
You have had all the trouble and all the expense of her," con-
tinued Sir Lionel, and therefore if you have not the right to keep
her for yourself, I don't know who has. I suppose you came here
with some idea of asking my consent or approbation, and, if so,
you have it heartily. I think the child is uncommonly lucky, and
I hope she'll bring you more pleasure and less disgrace than her
mother did. And now, my lady, I think we'll go back to the gar-
den."
Ulick Ford was pained by that second allusion to the faults of the
dead, and his face showed it. If Cecilia Halsted had sinned
against him, she had bequeathed him satisfaction in the affection
of her daughter, and although he had quite recovered his first dis-
appointment, he could not bear to hear it lightly spoken of.
"I am sincerely obliged for all your good wishes," he said,
shaking hands with his uncle, "but I am sorry you should couple
them with an unkind thought of those who are gone. That you felt
with me, and grieved for my early disappointment, I am sure, but
you would confer a still greater obligation on me if I could hear
you say that what caused your pain and mine is forgiven; that you
entertain none but kindly feelings for the dead, and that you can
hope with me that God will grant us all to meet again in peace."
PETRONEL.
233
The old man seemed moved; he stopped in the center of the room
with his hand resting in that of his nephew, and for a few seconds
he did not speak.
We must all meet again, Sir Lionel, and that sooner, perhaps,
than we think for. It would be terrible to die with such rancor in
our hearts: it seems terrible to me to cherish it even now. I do not
mean to say that I always felt so; there has been a time when grief
and disappointment so hardened me that I scarcely believed in any-
thing, and certainly never looked forward to feeling happiness
again. But it has come, and in so much greater a degree than what
I lost, that I can almost feel thankful it has not come before.'
CC
""
,!
Then this child appreciates you; she loves you as you deserve?””
..
'I believe so; I fully believe so,” replied Dr. Ford, earnestly.
She makes you happy?”
(C
"
Very happy."
‘You have a good hope that it will last; that she will not deceive
you as her mother did?"
"
>?
"
"I am sure that she will not.”
Then I will say God forgive poor Cissy for her sake, and grant
that we may all meet again in peace."
"C
Thank you, Sir Lionel."
There was no further comment on his words-they needed none
-and the silence was not broken until Lady Halsted exclaimed:
*C
Then Petronel is not going to marry the clergyman, Ulick, and
what will he do?"
"L
I really don't know," said Dr. Ford, laughing, "though I am
sorry for his disappointment. He must find some one else, I sup-
posc. He has been in love a great many times before, to my cer-
tain knowledge."
"
When will you bring her to Frampton?" interposed Sir Lionel.
Ulick Ford's eyes lighted up with pleasure.
"Who? Petronel? Why, whenever it will be convenient for
you to receive her, Sir Lionel."
""
Can't you all come out and stay a few weeks here? Let me see.
This is Thursday, and the Brandons and Scotts leave us on Mon-
day, and then we shall only have our own people, and that young
cousin of Lord Otho's. Now supposing you and Marcia and my
grandchild come here, Tuesday or Wednesday, for a fortnight or
so; wouldn't it be a nice change from Rockborough this hot
weather?"
"A charming change for my sister and Petronel if you will kindly
receive them. As for me, my dear uncle, you know what my life
234
PETRONEL.
is, and how impossible it is for me to get a holiday; but if you are
making the acquaintance of my future wife, I shall be more than
satisfied."
"You will be able to run out to dinner with us in the evenings,
perhaps," suggested Lady Halsted; and Dr. Ford agreed to do so
as often as he found it possible; and then he left Frampton, hardly
able to believe that everything was going so well with him, and that
Fortune had really turned the wheel in his favor at last.
He had one very unpleasant part of the business to transact that
evening; and that was to sit down and inform William Bertram of
the success which had attended his suit. He so much feared lest
his friend should suspect he had been taking an unfair advantage
of his absence, and so he told him plainly what had been his senti-
ments from the beginning, and that he had purposely concealed
them in order to give him the first chance.
Having relieved his mind in which manner, Ulick Ford yielded to
a thorough enjoyment of the prospect which lay before him, and
was scarcely exceeded in light-hearted fun by Petronel herself.
He came out in quite a novel character; the possession of her young
love seemed to infuse youth into his very being. Of what avail
were then to him the idle stories he had heard, the warnings he had
received, the misgivings which had emanated from his own heart?
He had but to set eyes on Petronel to forget them all, or, if he
remembered them, it was only to laugh at himself for having been
so weak as to attach any credit to improbabilities.
And here I must once more give place to my heroine, who comes
forward to continue the story of her own life.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL.
"It was hard to have that state of tremulous delight broken in
upon by the reception of my father's letter. I was only just begin-
ning to realize what life might hold for me, to believe there was
such a thing on earth as perfect happiness, and to dream of a future
unclouded by care, when at my feet was cast a moral hand-grenade,
which at any time before that happiness was secured might explode
and mar it all. Others have believed and dreamed as I did, and
lived to find themselves mistaken; but few, I fancy, have indulged
their pleasant reveries for so brief a moment. I turned cold and
miserable at once, believing that it would be equally impossible for
PETRONEL.
235
:
me to marry my cousin without revealing the truth to him, or to
gain the consent of my father that the truth should be revealed. I
have referred so little since the account of my return to Rockborough
to the episode of Mr. David, that it may be imagined I had forgotten
it, or ceased to let it trouble me; but such is very far from being
the case.
C
'I had not thought quite so much about it, perhaps, during my
illness and convalescence, because my heart had been occupied with
a question (to me) of such vital importance, that the fact of my fa-
ther's existence had naturally taken the second place; added to
which, with very young people, out of sight is generally out of
mind, and I felt so safe at Rockborough, under Cousin Ulick's
wing, I had almost brought myself to believe I should never hear
the name of Mr. David again. I had certainly never expected that
he would write to me.
<
And now that it had occurred, I wondered I had not feared it
all along. I had received several letters from Félicité d'Alven, who
had quitted the pensionnat to reside with her parents at Brussels,
and only once had she reverted to my late drawing-master, and that
was in mentioning the fact that he had informed Miss Little his
professional engagements were too numerous to permit of his con-
tinuing his weekly attendance upon her pupils; for which decision
on his part I was able easily to account. Yet it had never struck
me that Félicité had, in all probability, received the information
from the lips of Mr. David himself, who resided in the same city as
he did; but in accounting for her inclosure she revealed it all.
'Cet bel homme,' as she was pleased to designate my paternal par-
ent, was not only in Brussels, but in the constant habit of meeting
her. He was giving private lessons in painting to her dearest friend
(after myself, of course!), Eulalie Themar; and as she generally
passed her mornings with Eulalie, she had abundant opportunities
of seeing and conversing with him. He was as handsome and gal-
lant as ever; and were it not for a certain Monsieur Moore (now
resident in England, and for the cruel separation from whom her
heart was déchiré), her peace of mind would certainly be endangered
by him. He constantly spoke of me and my affairs; was most in
terested in hearing extracts from my letters to Félicité, and often
lamented the slight probability there was of his meeting me again.
Enfin, mamie,' concluded Félicité 'you have certainly made a
conquest in that quarter; and I can only regret for your sake that
Monsieur David is not a duke in disguise. As it is, however, I
could not refuse to forward the inclosed note from him to you,
[C
-236
PETRONEL.
which he assures me contains information relative to some effect in
painting on which you have consulted him. I offered to give him
your address; but he says it is not English etiquette for gentlemen
to write to young ladies. Far less is it Belgian, as you are well
aware; but you know how to keep a secret, mamie, and so long as
no one hears of it except ourselves, no harm will be done.'
▼
{
"I took up the note which she alluded to and tore it hastily open.
To a stranger it would have seemed to be simply what she described
it, a few lines of advice respecting the merits of various colors,
coupled with one or two commonplace regrets for the termination of
our lessons, and hopes that we should some day meet again. But
in my eyes persecution was stamped upon every word. The note
had evidently been carefully penned, with a view to the chance of
its falling into the hands of strangers; but the very fact of its hav
ing been sent without any necessity, of its professing to be an answer
to information which had never been required of him, and of its
alluding confidently to the fact of receiving an answer in return,
were to me convincing proofs that it had been written to forewarn
me of what should follow, and that it was but the precursor of a
long line of similar epistles. What was I to do about it? What
measures could I take to prevent a correspondence which would be
odious to me? I carried the letters up to my own room, and sat
down quietly to consider my best line of conduct.
"6
Of one thing I felt certain; if I refused to answer him at all,
my father would grow angry-angry, as on that terrible day when
he nad threatened to remove me from Cousin Ulick's care, and to
take me to some far-off country, where neither he nor I should ever
see our French and English friends again. That threat had often
rung in my ears since, and I had shuddered to think it was even
now possible that it might come to pass, and if I incensed him whilst
still unprotected, and he possessed the highest claim to me, he
might write openly for me to join him abroad, and keep me there,
or marry me to one of his confrères. I knew that he would run no
risk in declaring his existence to my guardian, and I was yet so
young and simple as to believe that in order to revenge himself he
would be encumbered with the burden of my support in preference
to seeing me married to a wealthy man.
He knew my antecedents; the circumstances of my present life;
was even in possession of my address, and, believing myself to be
completely in his power, I determined that the only way to maintain
peace between us was to inclose him a few lines of answer in my
next letter to Félicité.
CL
1
PETRONEL.
1237
"Anxious to get the matter off my mind, I sat down at once and
wrote that answer. I made it as brief and little cordial as I dared,
and whilst thanking him for his information, told him that I had
been ill, and should probably leave Rockborough shortly for change
of air. This was a proposition which had been made more than
once lately by my cousin Ulick, and by telling my father which I
hoped to prevent his writing again to me, at all events for some
time, as he must needs be uncertain how his letters would follow
me about. And when he did write, if ever he wrote again (which
in my heart I said God forbid!) I might be married-there was no
saying—and safe forever from persecution and annoyance. Yet it
was all very miserable; the mere uncertainty and want of candor
made it miserable to me, and I felt as though I had no right to be
engaged to Cousin Ulick when everything about me was so differ-
ent from what he thought.
This circumstance made me feel very melancholy and doubtful
what I ought to do. My father's and Félicité's letters had stirred
up all the old heart-aching fears which I had experienced when at
Antwerp, and until I saw dear Cousin Ulick's face again they had
almost the power to make me wish he had never told me that he
cared so much for me. But when I met him the joy was so great it
swallowed up my trouble. It was such happiness to sit beside him
and know that I should always sit there, and he would never care
for anybody more than me; only somehow I felt more shy with him
than I had done before-almost afraid, indeed, if fear were not too
harsh a term to use. It was so new to think I was a woman in his
.eyes; that, instead of looking at me as a child, he thought me old
enough to be engaged to him; to see that when I raised my glance
to his I made him blush. I remember that power of blushing on
my cousin Ulick's part was a very wonderful and novel discovery
to me. I, who had always looked up to him as something so im-
measurably above me (as indeed I still did) and at the same time so
collected, so sensible, and so grave; to find that I could make him
blush, and that when he blushed the hot blood rushed to my own
face, was to discover that, notwithstanding the infinite distance be-
tween our ages, intellects, and standing, we were man and woman.
It was serving my novitiate for taking those vows which were to
bind me irrecoverably to him. It was my first lesson in the art of
love!
i
64
CC
When I came down to breakfast on the following morning,
Cousin Marcia kissed me on the cheek, and said, 'I congratulate
you, Petronel.'
238
PETRONEL.
She did not say it very warmly, but I perceived that it was
meant to tell me she had heard all about it, and knew that we were
to be sisters; and I accepted her words literally, and gave her a good
hug in return. I am afraid I crumpled her collar in doing so, for
she seemed to be very glad to be released again, and remarked that
it was high time now that I left off all my romping habits. But
Cousin Ulick was in the room, and I was too delightfully happy and
confused to care about an idle word, and sat out breakfast in such a
state of flutter as I had never experienced before, unable, almost for
the first time in my life, except when I was ill, to make a hearty
meal.
"The next day a wonderful piece of news awaited me, and I can
scarcely say whether it gave me pleasure or annoyance.
64
Cousin Ulick had spoken of our engagement to my grandfather,
and it was Sir Lionel's wish that Cousin Marcia and myself should
go to Frampton the following week, to stay for some time.
"My guardian seemed delighted with the prospect, and was cer-
tain that I should much enjoy myself, and make great friends with
all my cousins; but I stood silent before him, unable to say whether
I was grateful or not for the notice so tardily extended to me. It
was now more than three years since my poor mother's death; for
three years I had been left by her family a pensioner upon the
bounty of my cousin Ulick, during which period, if they had in-
quired after me, they had certainly taken no pains to make my
acquaintance, and my breast heaved with pride at the idea of being
ordered to appear at Frampton at their will and pleasure. Cousin
Ulick, who had always possessed a marvelous faculty for guessing
everything which passed through my mind, replied to my unspoken
thoughts as though I had given them a voice.
"You do not like the prospect, Petronel. You think that this
invitation should have been extended years ago, and that because it
comes so late it is not worthy your acceptance.'
"I have no desire to accept favors which are not offered for my
own sake, Cousin Ulick. When I wanted friends and protection,
my grandfather refused to see me; now that I require nothing at his
hands, he is pleased to say that I may go to Frampton. I've a great
mind to tell him that I will do no such thing.'
<< <
You think the obligation is to be incurred solely for my sake.'
No, no, Cousin Ulick! I am not too proud to take anything
for your sake. I would rather it were for your sake than my own.
Have I not taken everything from you for years past? Only that I
(( (
PETRONEL.
239
can see this invitation is sent simply because they think I shall not
be much longer in a position to disgrace them.'
"You are mistaken, my darling! The disgrace never sprung
from you. It came from him whom I believe it can never come
again-your unfortunate father.”
เ
At these words I started, and felt myself turn pale, and Cousin
Ulick, perceiving my agitation, put his arm round me.
CL 6
Was it was it—very great?' I whispered.
"It was as great, Petronel, as the disgrace can be that arises
from being connected by marriage with a man of no birth and
utterly worthless character. It is a hard truth, my dear child, but
it is best you should know it at once. It is still harder for me to
have to speak such words to you, and of one whom I believe to
have gone to his account.'
But suppose he should not be?' I uttered, fearfully-sup-
pose he should come back, Cousin Ulick-that he should claim me
as his daughter?'
66
'I almost felt guilty as I pronounced these words, but my agita-
tion was so great I hardly knew what I said.
"
►
There is not the slightest chance of it, my dear; so you may
set your mind entirely at rest. And it is simply because Sir Lionel
has not felt so certain on the subject as myself that hitherto he has
refrained from seeing you, or having you at Frampton. I suppose
he thought he could scarcely do one without the other, and he was
afraid lest, hearing of your acceptance by your mother's family, your
father might start up again to put in his claim to a share of your
good fortune. Now, that is the whole state of the case, Petronel,
and, though it displays your grandfather in rather a selfish light, it
is not sufficiently bad to justify your refusing to make friends with
him, when he wishes to be so. Considering that your future cir-
cumstances are now settled '-here Cousin Ulick began to play with
the fingers of my left hand-' Sir Lionel believes that he can show
you some natural affection, without running any risk of being im-
posed upon; and therefore, if you wish to please me, you will try
and meet him half-way, and be careful not to let him read by your
behavior that you cherish any resentful feelings for his past conduct
to you.'
66 €
=
But Cousin Ulick-if-if-it should ever really be the case-
that my-father-came back again, and claimed me-would you be
ashamed of me also?-would you be sorry you were engaged to
me?'
"Petronel! how could you ask such a question? But the last
240
PETRONEL.
thing I want you to imagine, dear child, is that there is the slightest
probability of such an occurrence. It will only worry and disturb
you, and is utterly futile. Your poor father has gone to his rest;
you may be assured of that; for, though we have received no cer-
tain intelligence of his death, every circumstance points to its credi-
bility. Therefore, I should wish you to put the idea of his exis-
tence quite out of your head, as I have done out of mine. You are
as much an orphan as I am.'
(
1.
Still I clung to him; unable to lift up my face for shame, and
wishing he were not quite so sure that he would never be troubled
by my father's name again. How I longed to tell him everything;
but my promise, and the threat which had extracted it rose up to
chase away the desire; and I only hid my face in his breast and
was silent.
What roused me from my dejection was feeling my left hand
in the possession of my guardian, and something hard being pushed
on to the fourth finger. I looked up curiously, and there I saw a
ring of brilliants--such a ring as I never dared to hope that I should
possess before-composed of large, pure stones, which reflected a
thousand rainbow colors, and quite threw the hand they were in-
tended to adorn into the shade.
60 6
Oh, Cousin Ulick; how beautiful! What great, big diamonds!
They are much too good for me. Are they really to be mine?'
"If you will have them, darling.'
CCC
What can I give you in return?'
"Be faithful to me, child! it is all I ask of you,' he answered,
in a voice of uneasiness, almost akin to pain. I saw that I had
troubled him, and I tried to make amends.
1. ،
Cousin Ulick, I'll go to Frampton, and be as good as gold
while there. Don't worry yourself about it any longer.'
(
"That's my good child,' he answered, smiling. I was sure
you would come to see the matter in its true light. You will oc-
cupy rather a distinguished place in Rockborough society soon, you
know, Petronel, and I should not like people to say that my wife
was not on good terms with her own family.'
"At Cousin Ulick's mention of the connection I was about to
form with him, the color rushed to my face with painful violence.
It is very strange that, much as I loved him, and gloried in the fact
of our engagement, I seldom looked beyond the present, and would.
have been quite content that it should always have continued so.
To be betrothed to him-to wear his ring as proof that he belonged
to me to have the right of disturbing him at all times (which I am
'
PETRONEL.
241
afraid I wantonly abused)—and occasionally to find myself folded
to his heart, and called by names of endearment-this was such
perfect happiness that I desired nothing more. I knew, of course,
that it must culminate in marriage-that a day would come when I
should be called ' Mrs. Ford '—(oh, dear, how funny it did sound!)
—and wear a wedding-ring where my brilliants were now flashing.
But I never cared to dwell on the idea; and the mere mention of it
from his lips made me so confused and wretched, that, in pity to
my feelings, he seldom alluded to it. But I am sure now that my
bashfulness arose from my great love for him.
To be his pet and darling; to run quickly when he called me;
to open the hall-door on his return, and hide behind it as soon as he
appeared-all this was natural enough to me; it was but part of the
happy, childish past, made happier by the knowledge that I had
acquired a right to tease or coax him; and that he was equally con-
tented with whichever whim I chose to indulge myself or him.
But the idea of becoming his wife was quite another thing; it was
so awfully solemn a business. I felt afraid of it; I was so utterly
unworthy, in my own eyes, of filling such an exalted position.
"I think he must have found me very childish at this period, for
I remember that whenever his conversation took a serious turn, or
his affection-leaving trickery and nonsense behind-became more
like the ardent reality which men and women call love, I used to
grow quite frightened, and leave him to himself. He wanted to
place us on a level, by dragging me up to his great height-to see
me act and feel more like a woman than I did; and I, who had been
accustomed to worship him from a respectful distance, could not
bring myself to recognize equality between us. So long as I played
with him as a child does with its parent, things went smoothly
enough; but directly he required more of me than that I used to
take alarm, and he was disappointed in me.
4C C
"
C
Do you think you really love me?' he asked, with knitted
brow, on one or two occasions of the kind. Are you sure that you
know what it is to promise to pass your whole life with one person
only?'
666
Oh, Cousin Ulick! what have I said or done to make you
doubt it?' I would reply, looking up at him with such worshiping
eyes that he would have been very unreasonable to be dissatisfied
with my assurance. Whereupon, a few minutes after, he would
say something, make an allusion to the future, perhaps, or express
a hope for it, which, while it caused me to flush and tremble, made
me also feel so much as though he were leading me too rapidly for
:
242
ward to fill a place for which I was utterly unfit, that I would be
silent, or slip away from him with every appearance of incompre-
hension, to recommence making love in my own childish way.
And more than once I heard him sigh and murmur:
V
PETRONEL.
"You know nothing about love, Petronel, you are a thorough
child;' and his complaints made me uncomfortable, although I did
not in the least know how I could supply their remedy. I was in-
tensely proud and happy in the possession of his affection, but I
think I was as yet too young to thoroughly appreciate its great and
solemn depths, and as a child may make a toy of flashing jewels,
thinking little, so long as they will glitter, of their intrinsic worth,
so did I play with Cousin Ulick's love, content to have as much of
it as I had had before, and in the pre ent to ignore the future. But
a man does not love in the same measure as a young girl, and I
think that, in the midst of his professional engagements, he must
often have started to remember that he had really pledged himself
to marry such a silly, stupid, intractable piece of goods as I was.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL-CONTINUED.
..
I DON'T think that Cousin Marcia relished tlre idea of paying a
visit to Frampton any more than I did. I believe that she had al-
ways been tolerably good friends with her aunt and uncle; but she
was not fond of moving from home, and considered it most un-
necessary that she should be called upon to take so much trouble
for my sake. She was certain that nothing would go right in the
house while she was absent, although most of her servants had
lived in it as long as herself, and bemoaned the prospects of Cousin
Ulick's uncomfortable meals, until he grew quite cross, and asked
her how she would have expected him to manage had she never
been called into existence. But there was another circumstance
which fretted her temper considerably during those days of prepara
tion, and that was the additions her brother desired her to make to
my wardrobe. Ever since my cousin Ulick had adopted me my
dress had been a subject of contention between his sister and him.
self. I had not heard much of this, but I had often seen it. She
would have clothed me in lilac prints and linsey-woolseys; he in-
sisted upon my being robed in the finest of muslins and richest of
silks. I was never dressed gayly, but I was always dressed well;
and my attire had been made the subject of much comment in
محل
1
PETRONEL.
243
Rockborough, as more than once my cousin Marcia had complain-
ingly informed me. Not that my guardian ever took upon himself
to choose my clothing; he was no man milliner, and the last person
in the world to interfere in what is so essentially a woman's prov-
ince; but as he always signified his disapprobation of any of his
sister's purchases on my behalf by ordering her to see that I never
appeared in it again, she was compelled, for his sake, to be careful
in her choice. From this it may be presumed that my wardrobe at
any time would have been equal to the emergency of a fortnight's
visit; and I was astonished myself at the costly additions that were
made to it on this occasion, and almost as ready as Cousin Marcia
to resent the extravagant generosity which had commanded them.
Soft India muslins, covered with Valenciennes; expensive silks, for
the first time made in the extremity of the fashion, with train that
swept half a yard upon the ground behind me, and added five years
at least to my appearance in my own estimation; delicate gloves,
and shoes, and ribbons, and every accessory to the toilet, which
youthful female vanity could desire, were laid upon my bed pre-
paratory to being packed into my traveling trunk, while Cousin
Marcia's own wardrobe swelled almost in the same proportion.
But what pleased me, far more than all this finery, were the orna-
ments which Cousin Ulick gave me; the bracelets and the brooches
that he chose himself, and with each of which thenceforward was
associated some dear recollection of looks, or words, or actions on
his part, which became engraven on my heart. What did I care
for dresses, or cloaks, or bonnets, which a shower of rain might
spoil, or a month's wear render useless? It was very good of him
to get them for me, so good that the mere remembrance of his gen-
erosity would bring tears of grateful feeling to my eyes; but they
were no use at all as souvenirs of him, whom I hoped never again
to forget. But when he bought me emeralds, because my skin (he
said) was fair, or pearls, because he was foolish enough to think I
looked as pure as they did-the lovely, milk-white things!-then I
really felt as though each present had an individuality for his sake;
that without tongues they spoke to me of him and his great love,
and I treasured them so much that I often went to bed with four or
five such ornaments upon my arms and bosom. I wonder what on
earth he would have said if he had known I was so silly! At last
the day arrived when we were expected to appear at Frampton.
I had previously received a very kind letter from my grandmother,
renewing the invitation sent by Cousin Ulick, but still I was terribly
afraid of facing this family so nearly related to me, and yet to
244
*
PETRONEL.
which I was an utter stranger; and I made such a point of Cousin
Ulick introducing me, and did so coax and entreat that I might not
go alone with Cousin Marcia, that my dear guardian half killed him-
self with work during the morning that he might be free to spend
the first evening at Frampton with us. We set out rather gayly;
even Cousin Marcia was not in worse spirits than were usual to her
at that time, and Cousin Ulick was in the highest in which I had
ever seen him indulge himself. He laughed freely, in which I was
not slow to join him, pointed out all the gentlemen's estates which
we passed upon the road, and even went the length of making jokes
and telling sundry bon mots about their owners. But as we drew
nearer our journey's end we both became more grave. I was think-
ing of my poor mother; so, I believe, was he. I believed it at the
moment, and slipped my hand in his, not to disturb his gravity,
but to assure him silently that I sympathized with it, and it was not
displeasing to me. Oh! what a rich, full smile he turned upon me
for that act; how firmly his dear, big fingers closed over my hand,
while both look and pressure seemed to assure me that my love re-
paid him for all that he had lost in her! To be so quickly under-
stood and responded to by him gave me infinite pleasure; it seemed
to place us more upon an equality than we had been before, to
lessen the difference between us. I can not say that the knowledge
of my cousin Ulick's love for my dead mother had been altogether
fraught with happiness for me. I was not jealous of her-dear
saint!-lying so lonely and deserted in the Saltpool Church-yard-
God forbid! but I had often feared that Cousin Ulick would find
me very tame and stupid after her. She had been so lovely and so
fair. I could see it even in the faded, passive beauty I remem-
bered, and I had too much of other features mingled in my face
to be other than a bad reproduction of her. Then, she had been so
lady-like and quiet; when she spoke it was hardly above a whisper,
and she always found fault with others for loud speech or coarse-
ness of expression, and though I hoped I never was guilty of the
latter solecisin, I knew that I was often boisterous and excited and
apt to say much more than I intended. If Cousin Ulick had so
loved my mother as to wish to marry her, I wondered if he some-
times cast his eyes on me and desired me other than I was, or more
like her. One day this thought had been so strong that I cast my
arms about his neck and entreated him to tell me if it were the case,
and if he only cared for me because I reminded him of her? And
his answer had been so low, so sweet, and yet so sure, that I had
never let that thought trouble me again.
↓
PETRONEL.
- 245
*** Petronel,' he whispered, 'I loved her because I had never seen
you; and now if I love her memory, it is because she has left me
what is so much dearer than herself.'
I
64
So that it was pure sympathy with his past trouble and my own
which made me link my hand in his, as we approached the gates of
Frampton, and he did not release it until we stopped at the hall
door. It was a beautiful place where my poor mother had been
born and married from. A bell was rung as we drove through the
drive-gates, and two men-servants were standing in the hall to re-
ceive us.
As we passed through the vestibule together, I slipped
my hand again into my guardian's, but he laughed and put it from
him.
66 6
‘Mademoiselle,' he said warmly, 'will you please to remember
the dignified position in which you appear here?'
CC C
Oh, but I am in such an awful fright,' I whispered, and then
he drew my arm through his, which made me ten times worse, it
felt so dreadfully pompous and grown-up. The footman led us to
the door of a large library, and when he threw it open, announcing,
<
Miss Ford, Miss Fleming, and Dr. Ford,' how glad I should have
been could I have run back to Rockborough, without the chance of
being pursued and caught again! But I had greatly magnified the
terrors of an introduction to my mother's family. The room
seemed full of people, but indistinctly my eyes sought and rested
upon two figures only—an old gentleman with weak eyes and snow-
white hair, who sat in an arm-chair near the window, and an old
lady, brisk and busy by his side, with a large bundle of knitting in
her lap.
"With her bright, dark eyes, diminutive stature, and plump.
figure, she was as far removed from my preconceived ideas of my
grandmother as any one could be; but had I been in doubt as to her
identity, it would soon have been dispelled, for as Cousin Ulick led
me forward, the brisk old lady changed countenance, and, starting
from her chair, gazed at me fixedly for a few moments, and then
with a cry of Oh, Sir Lionel, Sir Lionel! look here!' fell sobbing
on my neck.
<
"C
After their previous conduct to me, I was quite unprepared for
this reception, for coldness and formality were the least I had ex-
pected from the Halsted family; but to this natural outburst of
feeling my heart immediately responded. I only remembered that
the same arms which clasped me had been clasped about my
mother, and notwithstanding sundry twitches on the part of Cousin
Marcia, and adjurations not to be so foolish, I held tight round my
S
246
PETRONEL.
grandmother's neck and began to cry too, Nobody interrupted us,
and when at last I lifted up my tear-stained face, I saw Sir Lionel
tucking away a large bandanna behind the cushion of his chair.
"Grandpapa,' I said, timidly, as I advanced toward him, and
putting out his hand he drew me forward, and kissed me several
times upon the forehead. Then I was surrounded by a bevy of
ladies, who embraced me in turn, and concerning whom I was in
such sad confusion, that on my release I was not sure which was
my aunt Julia and which was my aunt Mary, or whether the shy
girl who joined her kiss to theirs was wife to Uncle Archibald or
Uncle Wilfred. But we all calmed down after awhile, and then
the pocket-handkerchiefs were stowed away, and I found I was
likely to be made as much of as I had been hitherto neglected.
Aunt Mary wished to escort me over the grounds, Aunt Julia was
sure that I would rather rest in my own room; whilst my grand
mother declared she had not seen half enough of me, and no one
should take me from her yet. Cousin Marcia appeared to be quite
overlooked in the general fuss which was made about me, and my
guardian said, laughingly, that if they were all going to spoil me
after that fashion, the sooner he took me back to Rockborough the
better. But it was very pleasant, nevertheless. It touched my
heart to meet my grandfather's eyes fixed so earnestly upon my
countenance, as though he were comparing me with what my
mother had been, or to hear the slip of the tongue with which my
grandmother addressed me more than once as Cissy, my dear,' nd
then correcting herself with a smile that was half a sigh, laid her
still plump hand on mine with a pressure of unmistakable interest.
•
C
"My mother's sisters, also-though, from a feeling of delicacy
toward Cousin Ulick and myself, they did not openly mention her
name-could not avoid making a few observations to one another,
which reached my ears, on the extraordinary likeness I bore to her.
"I was glad to hear this; I thought they would feel as though
my dear, lost mother had come amongst them again, and resolved,
by my behavior, to make them, if possible, forget all that was un-
pleasant connected with her memory. It seemed as though a sacred
duty had opened out before me-as though I had gained a new ob-
ject for living: and the notion made me respond warmly to the ad-
vances of my newly found relations.
'But we had reached Frampton late in the afternoon, and after
an hour spent in the library there was no time left to do more than
prepare for dinner. Cousin Marcia, who, whilst her brother, with
bright eyes and eager interest, was listening to the remarks upon my
PETRONEL.
247
•
肯
​·
general appearance, had been sulking by herself upon a sofa, was
the first to remind us how the hours were passing, upon which
Aunt Mary proposed to show her to her room, whilst Aunt Julia
took me under her protection for the same purpose. I was not
quite sure which of these aunts I liked the best. Miss Halsted was
the most like my kind old grandmother; she had the same dark
eyes and pleasant smile, but Lady Otho Vivian (though far less
pretty) was the one who resembled most my darling mother, and I
seemed to long to cling to her, and tell her so. As we passed up
the broad staircase and through the upper corridor together, she
threw her arm about my waist, and I summoned courage to falter
out:
"
(CL
''Oh, Aunt Julia, if mamma were but here!'
Hush! my dear girl,' she said, quickly; 'you mustn't talk
about that, unless you wish to upset papa altogether. He never
mentions her name, and you are so like her that I hardly know how
he will stand your daily presence here.'
"You are like her also,' I murmured;
CC
▸
"Yes! so it has always been considered. Ah! well, poor Cissy!
it's a sad remembrance. But come in here, my dear, and make the
acquaintance of your cousins. I have five little ones, altogether—
quite a family, is it not? Well, nurse, I think it is time you sent
down for Master Ronald and Master Otho.'
,
€
She led me into a spacious nursery as she spoke, where two
little girls were sitting at tea in their high chairs; and a baby lay in
a bassinet upon the ground. They were pretty creatures, and I
was fond of children, and glad to think they were related to me.
"This is Julia,' said the mother, proudly, and that is Ade-
laide; and baby is to be called Mary, after grandmamma. Your
uncle wants her to be Helen, which is his favorite name; but I hope
that I shall get my way. I think that family titles should always
be preserved.'
44
a little.'
"I sighed; it had suddenly struck me there was no Cecilia
amongst them; and I wondered if there would be-or if that name
was lost for evermore.
Fearful lest my sad thought might be interpreted, I quickly
changed my position, in doing which my glance fell on an oil-
painting, which hung above the nursery mantel-piece. It was the
portrait of a girl, an old-fashioned and second-rate, as I immediately
pronounced it to be; the large, blue eyes, fair curls, and pensive
sinile, made me believe it could have been intended for no one but
248
.
PETRONELY
淼
​{
my mother. I started and changed color; and my aunt's look fol
lowed the direction of my gaze.
J.
666
"E
(
1
I
She appeared annoyed.
Oh, no! How foolish of me not to have mentioned it! I really
quite forgot, my dear, when I brought you in to see the children,
that that picture was still here. Mamma must have it taken down."
"But why-oh! why?' I pleaded.
"This is too general an apartment for it to hang in; it should be
put in a more private place. The fact is, my dear girl (if you will
know it), that portrait was the unfortunate occasion of your father's
coming to Frampton; and when he ran away in that dastardly man-
ner with my poor sister, it was natural that your grandfather should
order it to be destroyed. My mother, however, could not make up
her mind to carry out his instructions to the letter, but she had the
picture hung in this nursery, which at that period was not used, and
which to this day my father never dreams of entering. But I for-
got it when I asked you in here; though I dare say you have some
sort of portrait of her yourself?'
1
C
No, no! I have none!' I answered, fervently. I have noth-
ing but my memory of her. But, oh! that never could have done
her justice-it is not half beautiful enough.'
"It was considered very like her,' replied my aunt, indifferent-
ly; and then a diversion was caused by the entrance of my boy
cousins, clamorous for bread and jam. After this, I was glad to
escape to the apartment destined for me. I wanted leisure for
quiet and reflection. I hardly realized whether this visit was to
make me glad or sorry. Although I had never seen Frampton be-
fore, everything about it seemed to remind me of my mother; and
I found myself looking at each article of furniture with inward
wonder if she had ever used it; and scanning every ornament, with
the idea that her eyes had rested there before mine. I should have
liked to be allowed to go all round the house, and try to fancy how
the rooms looked when she was moving through them; to see the
bed she was wont to lie on, and lay my head on the same pillow;
to handle the different things apportioned to her use, and hear what
every servant had to tell me of her youthful frolics. But I felt this
was a luxury which would be denied me; my aunt had told me that
my likeness to my mother would be sufficient of itself to disturb her
parents' peace of mind, and therefore I must be careful not to vex
them further.
"I was very grateful for the warmth with which they had re-
Aunt Julia, was that meant for you?' I stammered.
}
•
PETRONEL.
249
room.
CL C
!
ceived me, and wondered I had been so foolish as to be frightened
at the thought of meeting them; but I felt intuitively that the sub-
ject of my mother's life and death was a forbidden one; and specu-
lated whether it would be disloyalty in me, her child, to second it.
"I had not much time for thought, however, for my maid was
waiting to dress me, and I knew that Cousin Ulick would wish to
see me very carefully arrayed for this first dinner, at which I was
to meet the gentlemen of the family. So that I yielded to her en-
treaties that I would wear my new blue silk dress and pearl orna-
ments, and had the satisfaction when I descended to the library of
feeling that I was looking as well as nature would permit me to do.
On the stairs I met my grandfather, who walked very feebly, even
with the assistance of a stick, groping his way down, step by step.
I offered him my arm, which he accepted, and, as we entered the
library together, I saw Cousin Ulick's features glow with pride and
satisfaction; and I believe nothing could have pleased him better
than to see how soon I was at home in Frampton. There were two
gentlemen in the library beside himself; one was my uncle Archi-
bald, of whose appearance I had but a faint recollection, never
having met him since that one interview at Rockborough, years
before; the other, Lord Otho Vivian, my aunt Julia's husband.
My uncle seemed both pleased and surprised at meeting me again;
and afterward, when talking with his wife upon the sofa, I heard
him mention my dear mother's name, and say I was her very image.
Lord Otho was an old man-much too old, I thought, to be the fa-
ther of the little babies I had seen up in the nursery: and he wore
a wig and a glass stuck in his eye, and began each sentence with
the words, By gad!' I did not like Lord Otho; he stared at me
so hard, and for so long a time; and it made me feel uncomfortable
to see his eyeglass turning in the same direction that I did. I got
as close as possible to Cousin Ulick, and was glad when the ladies
were at last assembled, and it was time to go in to dinner.
¿
“As it was announced, my grandfather cast his eyes around the
C
Are we all here?' he demanded of his daughter.
"'Your cousin--' said Aunt Mary to Lord Otho, interrogatively.
"Oh! never mind him,' testily interrupted my grandfather;
we can't keep the dinner waiting for young men like that. If he
doesn't want his meals let him go without them. Come, my dear!'
to me, I'm a very old gentleman, but you and I must go in to-
gether this first day. Ford, take your aunt.' And so we proceeded
to the dining-room.
250
PETRONEL.
""
-L:
M
It was a splendid service and a splendid dinner that awaited us.
Sir Lionel and Lady Halsted had entertained but little of late years,
but they spent their money liberally on themselves, and every day
was a gala day at Frampton. Their long table, covered with the
choicest of china and glass, and gleaming with plate, was profusely
decorated with hot-house flowers, and as by my grandfather's re-
quest I took my seat at his right hand, a towering épergne quite in-
tercepted my view of the lower part of the table, and shut me out
from the gaze of all but the few persons who sat opposite to me,
amongst whom was Cousin Marcia. We spoke but little, for I was
still too strange with every one at Frampton to do more than answer
questions put to me, and I think both soup and fish had been re-
moved when there was a visible commotion amongst the servants in
attendance, and somebody hastily entered the room and took a
chair down at the other end. 1 knew it was a gentleman who was
expected, and I could hear the comments passed on his appearance,
but I was far too bashful to inspect him all at once, and so for some
minutes kept my eyes upon my plate.
(6 C
By gad! late as usual!' said Lord Otho, laughing.
"The new-comer muttered some apology to my grandmother,
unintelligible at the distance which intervened between us, and
commenced to attack the cold soup placed before him.
66 6
When did you return?' inquired my aunt Julia, and by
which road? It is strange we did not meet you! Why, Ernest,
what's the matter?'
"
"Her question had in it so much of curiosity that every one
looked up at her and him.
CC (
'By Jove!' exclaimed the stranger, as though startled out of
all propriety, Miss Fleming!'
At the sound of his voice, I also raised my eyes, and nervously
glanced round the stand of flowers which divided us. At my grand-
father's table sat the companion of my unauthorized visit to the
Jardins Zoologiques, and my midnight ramble through the streets
of Antwerp-the young Englishman, Ernest Moore!"
•
C
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL-CONTINUED.
"I LOOKED at him for a few seconds without speaking, hardly
able to credit that my eyes did not deceive me, and yet without the
least doubt that it was he. I had not seen him before except by
ست.
¿
251
gas-light, and he wore more hair about his face than on the mem-
orable occasion of our first meeting; but the circumstances of my
introduction to the lover of Félicité d'Alven were too painfully im-
pressed upon my memory to permit me to forget the least thing
connected with them. Had I recognized him, remaining incognita
myself, I should have been sufficiently overcome with the mere
rememberance he invoked; but when, in that unguarded manner
he pronounced my name, revealing to the whole company that we
had met before, my confusion and distress exceeded all bounds. I
felt the blood mount to my forehead until my head swam with the
effort to retain composure, and turning my eyes in a frightened
manner upon Cousin Marcia, I found that she was fixedly regarding
me with looks of stern surprise. I essayed to speak, to offer some
account of Mr. Moore's acquaintance with me; but my speech
failed, and I hung down my head instead, and pretended to be busy
with my plate. General curiosity, however, soon extracted the in-
formation I was too shy to give, and I am sure that Mr. Moore had
ample occasion to repent the slip of the tongue which had excited it.
“Miss Fleming' exclaimed Aunt Julia, in a tone of astonish-
ment. Why, what are you thinking of, Ernest? you can never
have seen Petronel Fleming before; she has but just arrived.'
Perhaps-perhaps-I am mistaken!' I heard him hurriedly
reply. It was very foolish of me.'
CL C
<
"But how did you know her name?' inquired my grandmother.
'Who mentioned her arrival to you?'
(64
•
PETRONEL.
I can hardly say; Julia, most likely.'
"I am quite sure it was not I,' replied Aunt Julia; 'besides,
you have been absent for the last three days. Have you ever seen
Petronel in Rockborough?'
"I think, for my sake, that, driven thus into a corner, Ernest
Moore might even have been tempted to a falsehood; but I could
not bear the thought of that, and though still painfully confused, I
raised my burning face from the contemplation of cutlets and green
peas, and firmly uttered the monosyllable' No.'
46 C
She says no!' repeated Miss Marcia, in a loud, sharp key.
* Petronel, here, says that she has never met this gentleman in Rock-
borough; where could it have been then?'
"It was at Antwerp,' I replied, with a violent attempt to ap-
pear indifferent to the subject.
"In Antwerp?' exclaimed Cousin Ulick.
"It was the first time he had spoken, and there was a tone in his
voice, something between surprise and disappointment, which
252€
1
PETRONEL.
5
prophetically warned me that this discovery was but the beginning
of evil. I longed to give him as full an explanation as I dared, but
it was neither the time nor place. Meanwhile the universal cate-
chism went on.
466
In Antwerp!' echoed Aunt Mary. 'Is that where you were
at school, Petronel?'
66 ( Yes. I was with Miss Little in the Rue des Capucines.'
"But how came you in Antwerp, Ernest? I thought you told
us the other day that you learned French in Brussels.'
46 6
So I did; but I often ran down to Antwerp; it is not far by
train, you know.'
666
By Gad! And did Miss What's-her-name allow such danger-
ous visitors in her establishment, Miss Fleming?' inquired Lord
Otho, as he leaned forward to fix his eye-glass on me from the other
end of the table.
Co
In looking up to answer him I encountered the gaze of my
guardian, who sat between us.
66 6
Oh, no!' I said, hurriedly, and hardly knowing what I said,
'of course not.'
64 4
"Then where did you meet him, my dear?' asked Aunt Julia.
At a-at a--concert,' I faltered, with a deep blush, and my
faltering and my blushing must have been patent to all.
"C (
Very extraordinary proceedings, it appears to me,' remarked
Cousin Marcia; and then Mr. Moore thought it time to come to my
rescue.
64 6
'Not at all,' he said, speaking to no one in particular, but with
an evident desire to refute Miss Ford's statement, which had been
heard by the whole table; 'society is conducted so very differently
upon the Continent to what it is in England that it would be unfair
to judge them by the same standard. I had the pleasure of meeting
and being introduced to Miss Fleming at an open-air concert in
Antwerp when she was in the company of some friends of my own,
and that, having once seen, I had not forgotten her, it is unneces-
sary for me to add. I confess that, not having heard of her ex-
pected arrival, I was a little startled at meeting her here; but all I
can say now is that my surprise is quite swallowed up in the pleas-
ure of renewing our acquaintance.'
"C
Saying which, Mr. Moore bowed to me, and his explanation
was considered so satisfactory by the generality of those assembled,
that the immediate cause of it was at once dismissed, and the con-
versation turned on life abroad. Only, I felt that something fur-
ther would be due to those who had placed me at Antwerp, and im-
PETRONEL.
253
agined they had been made acquainted with all my doings of im--
portance whilst there.
CC C
And so they have concerts in the open air! how charming!'
exclaimed Aunt Julia; and at the same time Cousin Marcia leaned
across the table to me.
(04
Why did you never mention to us that you had met the gen-
tleman, Petronel?'
To Cousin Ulick I was not only ready but anxious to afford all
the explanation that lay in my power, but the authoritative air with
which his sister addressed me made the old spirit of rebellion rise
uppermost in my heart.
"Is it absolutely necessary that I should describe the appearance
of every stranger whom I may encounter?' I answered, carelessly.
"It is very necessary that you should not have concealments
from my brother and myself; we never heard a word about your go-
ing to concerts in Antwerp, or anything of the sort.'
64 6
'I never went to but one,' I said, briefly; but I felt wretched
the while, and uncertain as to what the discovery might not lead.
(
And are the young ladies from pensionnats allowed to attend
concerts and theaters and entertainments of that sort?' Aunt Julia
was saying when I was again able to listen to her. They must in-
terfere greatly with their studies. I don't think I must send my
girls abroad to be educated if that is the case.'
<< "
Might we not change the subject with advantage?' said Ernest
Moore, good-humoredly; and the hint was taken by all whom it
concerned.
(C
But for my own part I remained very silent during the re-
mainder of the meal, and thankfully saw my grandmother give the
signal for the ladies to retire. It was a fine, warm evening, and as
soon as we had taken coffee, it was proposed that we should stroll
into the flower-garden, to which all assented except Cousin Marcia,
who preferred, she said, to remain in-doors. I believed then, and
I know now, that she only stayed behind that she might comment
to her brother on the extraordinary likeness which my confusion at
the dinner-table bore to guilt; but I intended to make all that right
with him, and therefore I gave my arm to my old grandmother,
with a spirit more of defiance than misgiving, and led her down into
the grounds of Frampton.
C
6.
These grounds, as well they might be, were her pride, and that
of the whole country, for in point of beauty, with respect to their
arrangement, decorations, and contents, i have never seen them
equaled, far less excelled. Naturally fond of flowers, I became
事
​254
PETRONEL.
1
enthusiastic on the variety of beautiful blossoms which were now
presented to my view, and so charmed my grandmother by my ap-
preciation of her favorite possessions, that she kept me by her side
the whole time, and insisted upon taking me through the range of
hot-houses, till I was sick and faint with the unnatural atmosphere
to which I was subjected. As we emerged from them again into
the cool evening air, I perceived that black coats mingled with the
skirts that swept the gravel paths, but I looked in vain amongst
them for some token of my Cousin Ulick's presence; he was invisi-
ble. Not so, however, Ernest Moore, who spied us out before the
hot-house door had closed behind us, and was almost simultane-
ously by our side, begging to be allowed to offer his arm to my
grandmother, and to carry the basket in which she collected blight-
ed buds and faded leaves. Not a suspicion appeared to have en-
tered Lady Halsted's head, or, indeed, that of any of her immedi-
ate family, that our acquaintanceship had been commenced in an
unorthodox manner, and she accepted his aid, laughingly imputing
the offer of it to my contiguity (which of course he strenuously de-
nied), and conversing most agreeably and affably with both of us,
as we accompanied her back to the house. I had fully intended to
re-enter it with her, being desirous to speak to Cousin Ulick, but
as we reached the large white portico, my grandmother lifted two
keys from the basket on her arm.
CC C
C
My dear!' she said, addressing me, I have brought the hot-
house keys up with me, and I should have left them at the gar-
dener's cottage. Run down, will you (and Mr. Moore here will go,
too), and give them back to Brownlow. He will want them the
first thing in the morning.'
<<
She had plenty of servants to do her bidding, but she handed
me the keys as though she thought it could only be a pleasure for
a girl of my age to have an extra run in the garden. Anxious as
I was to meet my guardian, I would far rather have remained with
her, and under the circumstances, I was not desirous to appear to
court the company of Mr. Moore; but I had no plausible excuse to
offer for not carrying her message or refusing his escort, and there-
fore we turned back together and set off at a fast walk for the
gardener's cottage.
66 6
Miss Fleming, I am so deeply grieved that I made that mis-
take at dinner,' he began as soon as we were out of ear-shot. 'I
can not imagine what possessed me. Do you think it will lead
to anything like trouble?'
"I hope not. Oh, I trust not!' I replied.
I intend to tell my
1
PETRONEL.
255
guardian as much of it as concerns myself, but I promised Félicité
most faithfully that I would never betray her even by a look, and,
whatever he says to me, I shall not mention her name.'
"You will not let him think you went alone, Miss Fleming?'
he said, anxiously.
EL C
Well, no-I hope not; I can not yet say how it all will turn
out; but I am sure of one thing, that, however much he blames
me, I must not say a word about Félicité. By the bye, Mr. Moore,
do you ever hear anything about her now?'
(6
He blushed like a girl, as he replied:
66 6
Yes, constantly-we correspond.'
CC 4
Do you? but how will it all end?'
“'In the usual way, I hope; but you won't say anything about
it, Miss Fleming. I am too low in the world as yet to think of
marriage; but I can't forget her, and I never shall!'
"I was very glad to hear that, and I told him so. I knew that
Félicité was rather shallow and wanting in good sense; but the re-
membrance of our school-girl attachment still claimed respect from
me, and from what she had told me in her letters, I believed that if
the pretty little Belgian felt deeply upon any subject, it was with
reference to Monsieur Moore.
**I was so very much surprised to meet you here,' I continued,
presently, 'I had so little expected it, it almost took away my
breath."
66 6
And all my sense,' he answered, with a look of comical dis-
may. 'How can I have been such a fool? But, the fact is, Miss
Fleming, since I met you at Antwerp, I have never heard your
name until to-night; and as for thinking you were a grandchild of
the Halsteds, it was the furthest thing possible from my imagina-
tion. And yet I have been acquainted with them several years.'
C4 C
I am afraid my name has been very little mentioned here,' I
said, shaking my head. It is not a pleasant sound to grandpapa.
He was very angry when my poor mother married, and this is the
first visit I have ever paid to Frampton.'
'Really? How strange! With whom, then, do you live?'
“' With my guardian, Doctor Ulick Ford,' I answered, blushing.
66 6
What! that good-looking young fellow who sat opposite me
at dinner? I thought he seemed ready to be up in arms when I
called out your name. Well, that accounts for my not meeting you
here before, then, at which I was wondering.'
646
“'Do you often stay at Frampton?'
CCC
''I generally run down for a few days about this time, particu-
Uor M
256
PETRONEL.
17.
larly if Julia and Otho are here. I suppose you know I am related
to the latter.'
"I heard Aunt Julia say so; but I little thought the cousin
would turn out to be you. Is this the gardener's cottage? Will
you take the keys to him?'
CC
As we returned home we renewed our conversation. Mr.
Moore informed me he was not going back to Brussels, at least for
the present, as he had finished his education, and was already em-
barked on his diplomatic career. He spoke with the confidence of
youth of rising in his profession, and with the confidence of a lover
of how Félicité would adorn any position in which she might be
placed. I had my doubts upon that subject, having long arrived at
the conclusion that the best part of Mlle. d'Alven lay in her blue
eyes and flaxen hair; but I could not utter treason in the ears of her
admirer, and therefore I silently acquiesced in his assertion. But
the mention of Félicité naturally took our thoughts back to the Con-
tinent, and as we conversed on trivial subjects connected with our
residence there, I was startled by the question:
66 6
'By the way, Miss Fleming, how did you get on with my old
friend David? You had lessons in painting from him afterward,
had you not?'
"I liked him pretty well,' I answered, with assumed noncha-
lance.
"> (
Only "pretty well"? Why, I thought he was a first-rate
fellow, so friendly and agreeable, and such a man for talk. He
used to keep capital cigars, too, and whenever I went to his rooms
he would bring the box out, and throw them about like a lord.'
60 (
'I am no judge of cigars, you see,' I said, curling my lip; 'so
that was one link of sympathy lost between us.'
CC C
Ah! you don't like him, that's evident; but I am surprised to´
hear it. He is such an universal favorite. He has been very un-
fortunate, too; comes of an excellent family, and had great wealth,
but lost it all in some of these confounded bank failures. Hard
lines for a man who has been affluent, to have to descend to give
lessons in painting-isn't it?'
""
C
Very hard,' I said, if you are sure it is true.'
C
*
Miss Fleming, you are a cynic. I shall speak to you no longer.
I had no idea you were so dangerous a person. But, seriously, you
are very hard upon poor old David, who is as good and honest a
fellow as ever breathed. Who is this coming to meet us?'
+6
'It is Cousin Ulick!' I exclaimed, descrying my guardian in
Mou
C
PETRONEL.
257
the distance, and without ceremony I quitted Ernest Moore, and ran
to meet him.
LL L
=
Cousin Ulick! I do want so much to speak to you.'
"He had been looking grave, and almost anxious; but at my ad-
dress his face brightened up with its old, cordial smile, and he
pressed the hand I slipped within his arm warmly.
"What is it, Pet?' (He had taken of late to use this diminutive
for my Christian name.)
CL
Only about what they said at dinner, of Mr. Moore and me. I
want to tell you all I can about it.'
C
And so you shall; but this is not quite the right time. Are
you not walking with Mr. Moore?'
We were just going home. Grandmamma sent us down to
the gardener's cottage, but that doesn't signify.'
66 C
'Oh, yes, it does. It would not be polite to leave him now.
We can all walk back together.'
66
And so we did; but at the portico I prevented my guardian
from entering the house, and Ernest Moore passed in without us.
What does my child wish to say to me?' asked Cousin Ulick,
as we turned again into the now-deserted flower-garden.
CC 4
64 C
Only that I am so sorry; you must have thought it all so
strange.'
“'I did think it very strange; but concluded it would bear an
explanation, and waited till you gave it me. I am quite ready to
hear it, Pet.'
CC
CA
'I was very wrong,' I commenced, falteringly; but they kept
us all so strictly, and we never saw anything, and did so want to
hear the concert, and as Miss Little and Madame Gobeaux always
went themselves, I did not think there could be any harm in it.'
You did not go alone?' he interrupted, anxiously.
'No,' I answered, but with considerable hesitation.
"With whom, then?'
66 C
That's just what I can't tell you, Cousin Ulick, because I
promised not.'
"He was silent, and I felt, however honest I might be individ-
ually, he would never quite believe it whilst one iota of my esca.
pade was kept back from him. It is always so in this world; it is
futile to try and make our friends credit, whilst we conceal one tit-
tle of our doings from them, that that tittle is not the most important
item of the whole affair. It is the testimony of human nature
against itself.
CCC
4
9
258
PETRONEL.
So Cousin Ulick did not speak to me, and therewith my courage
faltered.
"I am so sorry,' I continued, after a little while; but you see
I promised-
"Was it at night, Petronel?"
"
CC
66
"" 6
C
44 4
By appointment?'
Not by mine, Cousin Ulick; indeed, not mine. I had never
seen or spoken to him before that evening.'
66 6
C
46.6
"
Who took you back again?'
'He did; and-and-another.'
66
C6 C
Another man? Another stranger?'
"Yes. Oh, Cousin Ulick, pray don't look so vexed about it.
We lost our way; it was a complete mistake; it was quite uninten-
tional, and no harm was done-and-’
66 6
Yes.'
And you met this young man there, for the first time?'
He met us.'
'You have grieved me, Petronel,' he said, in a low voice.
"I felt what a lame story I had made of it, and that I had almost
better have left the matter as it was, and yet how could I be more
explicit? How could I have repeated the whole history of my ren-
counter with Mr. David; of his position and subsequent connection
with myself, without running the risk of betraying the parent whose
personal safety depended in a great measure upon my discretion? I
felt it was impossible; that I must bear any blame sooner than
break my solemn promise; but I trembled as I clung to Cousin
Ulick's arm, and awaited the verdict he would pass upon my con-
duct. And that, when it came, it was more sad than angry, only
made the matter worse.
66 6
44
C
You were very young, Petronel; your youth must plead ex-
cuses for you. I hope that you know better now.'
f
'Oh, Cousin Ulick! can you doubt it?'
How long ago did this occur?' he said, at last.
A year ago: June twelvemonth.'
"
And that you perceive wrong-doing generally bears bitter fruit,
even in this life. You can hardly have raised yourself in the
opinion of your new relations by what took place at dinner to-day.”
Have they spoken to you about it?' I inquired, anxiously.
66 6
(6 C
It was hardly probable they should. I shall be the last person
in future, Petronel, to hear of your ill-doings. If you are not hon-
est with me yourself, others are not likely to take the trouble to be
so.'
Maou
#
PETRONEL.
259
F
thing!'
CC C
"But I will be, Cousin Ulick, indeed I will.'
C4 C
46 4
I believe it, my dear. If I did not, I should be most wretched.
There must never again be any concealment between you and me.
'There should not be now, if I had not promised,' I recom-
menced; but there I stopped and blushed, remembering that in any
case it was forbidden to me to be quite open with him.
66 C
The first harm lay in giving such a promise,' he replied; 'de-
pend upon it, where there is secrecy, there must be wrong, partic-
ularly amongst young people; and when you are my wife, Petronel,'
he added, in a lower key, 'I shall expect your heart to be as open
to mine, as in all, save professional matters, my heart will be to
you.'
-
..
'He stooped down and kissed me as he spoke, and I burst out
crying and buried my face in his.
CL C
Oh, Cousin Ulick! how I wish that I could tell you every-
C
You will, dear child,' he answered, soothingly, taking my
words as an aspiration for the future, instead of a lament for the
present. It will come as easy to you, by and by, to tell me every-
thing that passes through your mind, as it is now to wish that you
could do so. You will learn the meaning of the word one
then, Pet!-one in heart and soul, as well as one in name, my
dearest girl.'
CC
"It was all over then, and I knew the subject would never be re-
newed between us; for Cousin Ulick's pardons, like everything else
which emanated from him, were full, free, and decided. With
him, a fault forgiven was a fault completely blotted out, and I en-
tertained no more apprehension that my Antwerp peccadillo would
again rise up in judgment against me, than I had lest it should oc-
cur a second time. We did not join immediately the company in-
doors, but Cousin Ulick led me up and down beneath the twilight,
talking of the future which was to be ours, and much as in general
I shrunk from discussing that subject, I listened eagerly to all he
had to say upon it now, for I hailed its introduction as a pledge that
nothing that had passed between us was to be a bar to the happi-
ness we pictured for ourselves. As I strolled backward and for-
ward, with one of his arms thrown around my form, I believed as
implicitly that, safe beneath his guidance, I should never err, as I
did that, under his protection, no danger could approach me. I
knew our bearts were one, and I thought it would be easy to keep
our minds so, and resolved from that hour that I would never again
deceive him, not so much as by writing a few lines in answer to my
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father's letters. The upshot of such a silence on my part, I could
not foresee; but I felt that, were it even separation from my prom-
ised husband, it would be preferable to raising in his breast doubts
of my perfect sincerity toward him. It was a moment of enthusi-
asm-or, rather, a moment when Nature had her own way with me,
unbiased by any calculations of expediency, or fears of results
which were not in my hands. I saw the gulf which lay between
us; but if he chose to stretch out his arms, and lift me across it, to
share the good things he had gathered for himself, he should have
all that was best in me in return for his great love. So I said to
myself; so I believe, in some garbled fashion, I even said to him. I
only know that he quite understood me, and that we were perfectly
happy.
"C
Indeed, when it was time for him to return to Rockborough,
and he took me back into the library, and delivered me over to my
grandmother, and she laughed at him for a pretty doctor to keep
young ladies in that way out in the night air, I thought that I had
never seen him look so young or handsome. So I went to bed, com-
pletely satisfied that all had turned out very well, and without a
thought of coming evil."
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL-CONTINUED.
'I was up and dressed in good time the following morning, for
the nights were sultry, and overexcitement is not conducive to
sound sleep. Frampton was not the home of early risers-Sir Lio-
nel and Lady Halsted being too old, and Lord Otho and Aunt Julia
too fashionable, to care about breakfasting before ten o'clock. I
heard Cousin Marcia paddling about in the next room to mine, and
could fancy that, after the punctual hours we were obliged to ob-
serve in Rockborough, she found it as difficult as I did to keep her
eyes closed after their usual time for opening; but not a footfall
sounded in the corridors, and it seemed as though even the servants
could not yet have left their beds. I threw up the sash of my bed-
room window, which commanded a view of the park and carriage-
drive, and leaned out upon the sill. The scene before me was most
beautiful; the leaves and flowers were still bathed in dew, and the
faint twitter of the year's second nestlings sounded from all sides;
a group of fallow deer, with their noses pressed close against the
park fence, stood beneath a clump of lordly trees, whose thick foli-
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1
age the sun was just beginning to penetrate in flecks of light; and
a splendid peacock, with his tail spread out to court his rising deity,
strutted up and down the grass which stretched in front of the
house. There was something in the sight of all this quiet beauty—
in the fragrant odors which saluted my nostrils, and the peaceful
call of the does to their fawns, or the birds to their callow broods-
which reminded me of the conversation I had had with Cousin
Ulick on the night before, and of the picture he had then drawn of
our future married life. He had promised me no startling happi-
ness (although he little knew how much there lay in the contempla-
tion of the picture which he drew for me), nor did I desire it; but
he had spoken softly, as we speak of heaven, and left a calm within
my soul which was renewed by what I gazed upon. I leaned forth
from my window, thinking of nothing but the subject I had alluded
to, until my attention was distracted by seeing the group of deer
first huddle together, and then, with pricked-up ears, dash away
into the distance; at the same moment a groom led a saddled horse
up to the hall-door, which was almost immediately beneath me:
and, a few seconds after, Mr. Moore appeared upon the steps.
"
'He spoke a word to the servant, gathered up his reins, and
vaulted into the saddle; but, as he turned his horse's head in the
direction of the park gates, he caught sight of my face at the win-
dow, and lifted his hat-nothing more. For my part, I watched
him with interest, until he had passed out of sight. He was cer-
tainly a very fine young man—graceful and good-looking, of noble
family, and attached to an eminent profession; and I considered
that Félicité was a fortunate girl to have secured his affection. For
my friend, though charming, and piquant, and lively, was not of
the ancienne noblesse of Belgium; and I doubted whether the family
of Mr. Ernest Moore would be much gratified by her admittance
into their circle. It was not pride which made me think thus, for I
was well aware of the lowliness of my own birth, and how good it
was in my guardian to overlook the fact; it was more interest in
the affairs of people similarly situated to myself, and anxiety that
all should go well with them. I could see that Mr. Moore cared for
Félicité, by the way in which he looked whenever he had occasion
to mention her name; and so long as he did that, it was sure to
come right; he was too manly and determined to give her up for
the sake of a few scruples on the part of his relations. I was sur-
prised to hear they corresponded so regularly, and wondered why
Félicité, who was usually most communicative, had not mentioned
the fact to me. Thinking on Félicité's letters drove my thoughts
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i
back to the undesirable inclosure she had lately sent me; and then
of a sudden, the idea flashed upon my mind that Mr. Moore would
mention my being at Frampton to her, and my father would again
obtain the knowledge of my whereabouts. This fear made me turn
quite sick; for, after the promises I had made to Cousin Ulick, I
was resolved never to write to him again, without the knowledge
of my guardian, and was most desirous he should learn nothing
more of me until marriage should have taken place. (For I may as
well mention here that Cousin Ulick had asked my consent, the
evening before, to its being celebrated in about six weeks from that
time; and I had answered that I belonged altogether to himself, and
he might fix the day for when he chose.)
"I had ceased to dread that making known my father's story to
my future husband would be the signal for his arrest; but that be-
lief did not release me from a promise which I had most solemnly
assented to. The only way that I could see, therefore, by which to
extricate myself from a life's labyrinth of deception was to decline
answering Mr. David's letters, however threatening; by which
means I hoped to make him either discontinue them, or reveal him-
self to Cousin Ulick. But did he receive a hint of my present posi-
tion, and I presumed in any way to thwart him, I feared lest he
should again descend to torturing me by threats of forbidding
my marriage or removing me from Rockborough, unless I complied
with his demands. This fear, increasing and magnifying with
every point of view from which I regarded it, made me impatient
to see Mr. Moore again, that I might extract from him a promise
not to mention in his letters to Félicité that he was staying in the
same house with me. What excuse to give him, for so extraordi-
nary a request, I did not know; but at all risks of exciting his
curiosity, I felt it must be made, since anything was preferable to
the chance of his innocently revealing my present circumstances to
Mr. David. But the doubt and the anxiety made me nervous, and
when I descended to the breakfast-room I had flushed cheeks and
an expression of fatigue. Aunt Mary observed that I did not look
as though I had slept well, and Cousin Marcia said that if that was
the case, there must be some unusual cause for it, as I had always
been considered to be a remarkably sound sleeper. But I was so
anxious to meet Ernest Moore again that I hardly listened to their
remarks. The breakfast party assembled in very straggling order,
but though my eyes roved incessantly toward the door, it opened to
admit every one but him. At last, the very latest and most un-
punctual, which was Lord Otho, had made his appearance, but the
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1
{
I
one I watched for came not; it was evident he had not yet returned
from his early ride.
"Who are you looking for, my dear?' inquired Aunt Mary, as
she followed my restless glance.
& •
Oh, nobody; it is of no consequence!' I uttered hurriedly, as I
returned to the business of the hour.
C6 C
You are not making a good breakfast, I am afraid; try some
apricot jam.'
""
I accepted the apricot jam, but in another minute the entry of
a servant made me start and look up with an eagerness which did
not pass unnoticed.
<
"If you are on the lookout for Ernest, Petronel,' exclaimed
Aunt Julia, laughing, you may eat your breakfast in peace first,
for I believe he has gone into Rockborough. Did not Mr. Moore go
out riding this morning?' she continued, addressing a servant.
He did, my lady!' was the answer.
CC C
"I colored up furiously, and had nothing to say in defense of
myself. Cousin Marcia did the same, though from a very different
feeling than that which actuated me.
CL C
Petronel on the lookout for Mr. Moore?' she said, bridling
with virtuous indignation. 'I should think it a very extraordinary
proceeding if she were.'
CC C
Oh, nonsense!' replied Aunt Julia, who appeared to derive
great pleasure from crossing swords with Cousin Marcia whenever
she had the opportunity; young people take to each other as
naturally as a spaniel does to water. Why, you haven't forgotten
all about it yet, have you, Marcia?'
"I trust I have not forgotten what is due to propriety, and the
responsibility of my station in life,' she answered, frigidly; and I
felt very uncomfortable at having been made the subject of dis-
cussion, and did not venture to raise my eyes again until the meal
was concluded. As soon as it was over, Aunt Mary proposed that
I should take a drive with her in her little pony-chaise, and, de-
lighted to escape the scrutiny of Cousin Marcia, I joyfully accepted
her offer. Thus I did not meet Mr. Moore after all, until we as-
sembled at the luncheon-table, when he took a seat by my side, and
devoted himself entirely to me. In the course of conversation, he
asked if I had any commands for London, as he intended running
up there that afternoon, and down again the next day.
64 C
“Are you going to start soon?' I exclaimed, with a blank face.
Directly after luncheon; that is, at three o'clock,'
"He was going to leave Frampton, and though for so short a
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time, there was no knowing of what indiscretion he might not be
guilty before his return. The case was desperate; I must make an
effort to speak to him before he left.
CC4
Mr. Moore,' I said, timidly.
66 C
I am all attention, Miss Fleming.'
C6 C
'I wanted so much-that is, I have something to say to you
before you leave Frampton, and I can't say it here-something
rather particular—and—'
..
...
He looked surprised, but was equal to the emergency.
You know the saloon,' he replied, in a low voice; 'go to it
directly after luncheon, and I will join you there.'
""
<
The saloon' was a long, narrow chamber, leading from one
set of apartments to the other, which was ornamented with marble
statues set in niches in the wall, furnished with Indian chintz and
Japanese matting, and never used as a sitting-room except by
dreamers in the depth of summer. I had hardly set my foot in it
:
before he joined me.
"Don't think me rude,' he said, courteously, if I ask you to
be brief; for my journey to town is conected with the diplomacy,
and I must absolutely catch the four o'clock train from Rock-
borough.'
"I won't keep you a minute,' I replied, casting to the four
winds all idea of explanation. It is only this: don't say, please,
when you write to Félicité, that you have met me here. I will give
you my reasons when you return.'
""
His face fell immediately.
CCC
"Oh, Miss Fleming!' he exclaimed.
You have already done so,' I said, guessing the tenor of his
thoughts.
666
'I have, indeed. I wrote to her last night after I went up to
bed, and posted the letter in Rockborough this morning. I thought
that she would be pleased to hear that we were together, and could
talk of her. I am so sorry.'
66 6
•
Never mind,' I answered, lightly, anxious to relieve his mind,
although my heart sunk at the news; it is not of much conse-
quence. I regret now that I mentioned it.'
66 6
But there is another thing,' he interrupted me.
'Let me
make a clean breast of it at once, Miss Fleming-I have done worse
than that. I told her (don't be angry with me!) what Juliet told
me last night, that you are going to be married to that jolly fellow,
Dr. Ford.'
Oh, how I wish you hadn't!'
Myou
666
PETRONEL.
265
"I was so vexed at his intelligence that I could not help saying
that; but his annoyance became so evident that I regretted it in the
moment after.
CL C
And so do I; but I had no idea it was a secret, and I knew
Félicité would consider it such a grand piece of news. What shall
I do, Miss Fleming?'
*4 <
You can do nothing now; besides, it is not so great a matter
after all. Pray forget I ever spoke of it.'
" [
I can't; I never shall. You have made me miserable for life.
Shall I cut off my right hand, or burn it in the candle, like old
Cranmer?'
66
""
་
This made me laugh, although I was in no mood for laughing.
"You had better "cut off to the train,' I answered, or you
will have two misfortunes to lament instead of one.
CL C
One moment! say that you forgive me.'
"Of course I do; it was not your fault, and I dare say will turn
out of no consequence.'
6 6 6
Oh, I am sure it will not. Félicité knows none of your ac-
quaintance, and if she were to repeat it to the Brussels people, they
would only suppose—'
Cl
Mr. Moore, you had better go. You will certainly be late,
and I think I hear Aunt Julia calling you.'
"" <
"We shook hands as I spoke, he called out au revoir, and ran
down the saloon, and at the same moment Cousin Marcia entered it.
Lady Otho Vivian is looking for you everywhere,' she said,
en passant, to Mr. Moore, and then she walked straight up to me,
affecting not to have seen that I was there before.
(( 6
'Petronel!' she exclaimed, starting back, how very extraordi-
Dary! Why, what are you doing here? Did you see Mr. Moore
pass down the saloon?'
"Of course.
I have just been talking with him.'
64 6
You appear very intimate. May I ask how many times you
met in Antwerp?'
66 6
Only once.'
'Only once! it must have been a long interview. How many
hours were you together upon that occasion?'
"C
But I was not going to stand there to be catechised by Cousin
Marcia, and so I told her passively.
40 C
,
Cousin Ulick knows all about it,' I replied, as I prepared to
leave the saloon, and you can get any information that you need
from him. I have not the patience to make statements twice over;"
{{
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PETRONEL.
and ĺ waltzed before her all the way down the saloon, and until we
reached that part of the corridor which led to my own bedroom.
""
But though I carried things off with a high hand before Cousin
Marcia, I was in reality uneasy concerning what I had heard from
Ernest Moore, and unable to guess what the issues of it might be,
though Cousin Ulick came to dinner again that evening, and the
fond pride which he evinced in seeing the familiar way in which I
was treated by all the Halsteds went far toward reconciling me to
wait with patience for what the future might bring forth.
เ
We had another delightful stroll, too, in the park, during which
he informed me that it was Sir Lionel's wish that I should be mar-
ried from Frampton, and Lady Halsted's that I should remain there
until the event took place. I was pleased and flattered by this mark
of my grandparents' esteem for my future husband and myself, and
so was Cousin Ulick. Moreover, he affirmed, it was the most con
venient arrangement that could possibly have been made. He had
taken another house, a large, beautiful house not far from the one
in which we then resided; and during the period of its refurnishing
and decoration his own would necessarily be somewhat upset. 1
knew the place to which he alluded, for it was one of the best resi-
dences in Rockborough, and I feared lest I should look and feel
very small as the mistress of it. I told Cousin Ulick so, but he
laughed at my misgiving. He never would believe but that I was
so much better than I really was, that I trembled to think what he
would say if the whole of my past life could be laid open to him.
"The more confidence, however, that he reposed in my well.
doing; the more generosity he displayed with respect to what had
gone before; the more he showed, in fact, that he did not simply
indulge me as a child, but he loved and trusted me as a companion,
the firmer did I resolve within myself that never again would I
commit an action which I should be ashamed to confess to him.
He believed me to be good and thoroughly open; I would try to be
good and force myself to be thoroughly open, that he might not be
disappointed in his trust. His noble nature was making me noble
in spite of myself, and when I heard him express what he felt for
me, I used to make all kinds of resolutions to be worthy of him.
"Mr. Moore returned upon the following afternoon, and for
several succeeding days we were thrown very much together. By
that time I had quite become l'enfant gâté du maison at Frampton;
my grandfather completely laid aside the reserve with which he had
at first regarded me; with my grandmother I was a pet and play-
thing; and my aunts vied with each other in showing me attention.
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PETRONEL.
267
'I want Pet.' 'Where is Pet?' resounded constantly over the
house, and scarcely a day passed without my receiving some pres-
ent or other token of affection.
As soon as it was discovered that I rode on horseback an animal
was selected from the stables for my use, and I regularly accom-
panied Lord Otho and Aunt Julia and Mr. Moore in their excur-
sions, often riding into Rockborough, and refreshing myself with
unexpected bows from Cousin Ulick as he dashed past us in his
brougham. All the little désagrémens connected with my first in-
troduction to them seemed to have disappeared; it was almost as
though my grandparents had accepted me instead of their lost Cissy
(since the marriage of whom Frampton had not been the house it
used to be), and Aunt Julia told me, more than once, that she liad
never expected to see her father and mother so cheerful again as
they were at that present moment.
46
(6
This was welcome news to me; it made me redouble my efforts
to render myself agreeable to them, until at last it was as settled a
thing that I should read the newspaper to grandpapa directly after
breakfast, and walk down to the flower-garden with grandmamma
directly after luncheon, as it was that I should partake of either of
those necessary meals, and I should have thought I had fallen into
sad disgrace had they omitted to summon me. But what pleased
me most of all, was the day when dear old grandmamma called me
into her dressing-room, and there solemnly invested me with that
portion of her jewelry which would have fallen to the share of my
dear mother had she married according to their wishes. It was not
the value of the gems themselves (though it was really very great)
that gave me such delight; it was the assurance that my grandfather
had desired they should be presented to me in my mother's name,
and as a wedding-gift from her.
"
'It was a sacred hour to me, and one to which I often afterward
looked back with pleasure, for my grandmother spoke much of my
dead mother, and encouraged me to speak in my turn. She told me
all she could remember of her girlhood, when she was so beautiful
that strangers in the street turned round to look at her, and I talked
in a low voice of those last sad days at Saltpool, when her beauty
was all faded with her early hopes. We cried heartily together as
we recalled her last illness and her death; and my grandmother
blessed me and said I had been a good daughter, and a comfort to
her poor Cissy, and that I must never cease to pray that we might
all meet again. And then I gathered up my jewels and departed,
forgetting, till the interview was over, that not a word had been
268
PETRONEL.
¿
said of my unhappy father, or the connection he had borne to me
and her.
The only one of us who seemed discontented in these days was
Cousin Marcia. My grandparents were cheerful, my aunts affec-
tionate, the children boisterously devoted, Mr. Moore affable and
Cousin Ulick radiantly happy. Everybody was kind to me, and
disposed to take me at my best, excepting Cousin Marcia, and what-
ever I said or did I found it impossible to please her.
<<
If I laughed she said that I was rude and forward; if I was
silent that she hated sulkiness; my caresses to my new relations
were sycophantic; my harmless mirth with Ernest Moore coequetry.
She saw no reason, because I was going to be married, that my
grandparents should load me with presents, or ruin me with flat-
tery; her brother's absurd infatuation was the right way to undo all
the benefits I had received from her example, and she trembled to
think what was to be the end of it.
tr
In fact, Cousin Marcia was making herself as disagreeable as it
was possible for her nature to do, and had it not been for Cousin
Ulick's express commands to the contrary, I believe that she would
have returned to Rockborough. As it was, however, in his absence
(for he did not dine at Frampton more than two or three times a
week) she instituted a species of surveillance over me which was as
galling as it was inconvenient; for it not only deprived me of several
innocent enjoyments, but tacitly betrayed her want of faith in my
prudence and discretion. I felt it keenly, but I did not like to worry
Cousin Ulick with the knowledge, for it was a sickly season in
Rockborough, and he had much business and anxiety on his hands
and mind; and I knew that when he escaped to Frampton, and to
me, it was to be refreshed and strengthened, before returning to
hurd work, and not depressed by the repetition of a petty trouble,
which, after all, I hardly saw how he could mitigate. I believed
that it was in Cousin Marcia to tease and aggravate all members of
her own sex, and that she could no more avoid it than she could
help being a woman. And I knew that the day was near at hand
when I should be free from all authority but that of one.
..
Yet it was tiresome sometimes; more than tiresome, it was in-
finitely provoking; as, for instance, when she insisted upon taking
a seat on the same sofa where I sat and conversed with Mr. Moore,
or joining us as we rambled through the grounds together, and he
wanted to talk with me about Félicité.
، ،
66
It was the suspicion that I hated, the suspicion which I detected
lurking in her watchful eyes, or read in her ill-disguised hints, that
PETRONEL.
269
I was playing fast and loose, either with Ernest Moore or with her
brother. And, conscious of my own immunity from such a charge;
conscious that I loved my cousin Ulick above all created things,
and only looked on Ernest Moore as my friend's future husband,
my spirit rose against the want of confidence, and, as in old days,
was sorely tempted to rebel.
"One evening Mr. Moore seemed very anxious to gain speech of
me, and she as anxious to prevent him.
""
He was about to take the chair next to me at dinner, in which,
indeed, he usually sat, when Miss Ford dropped into it instead,
waving him abruptly to the other side of the table, and when, the
meal concluded, the ladies moved into the library, she watched me
like a lynx. I rose to get a book.
CC C
Petronel, where are you going?' she said, sharply.
"To fetch my novel.'
""
CL C
!
. . .
I can't think why you should not be able sometimes to sit still,
instead of continually running about the house in this fashion.'
CCC
Oh, I'll sit still, soon enough, Cousin Marcia, if you'll fetch
the volume for me.'
C4
But Cousin Marcia did not approve of so frivolous a turn being
given to the conversation, and I was permitted to use my legs in
my own service.
Where did you leave it?'
In my bedroom.'
"C
On my way down-stairs again, I encountered the gentlemen
emerging from the dining-room, and as a matter of course they ac-
companied me into the library, where, on our entrance, Cousin
Marcia looked up with a gesture of dissatisfaction.
CCC
'If you want to make yourself useful, Petronel, come here and
help me wind these skeins of cotton for your grandmamma's knit-
ting,' she said immediately.
"
Oh, Cousin Marcia!-on this lovely evening; are you not com-
ing into the flower-garden? I thought we were all going there to-
gether.'
·
“´´I have heard nothing of it,' she answered, coldly, and if fine
weather is a proper excuse for wasting our time, Petronel, we
should do nothing for six months of the year.'
"She looked most distasteful, with her brow contracted, and her
sour mouth screwed up; but I remembered who she was, and that
winding the cotton could not take very long, and determined to give
up so much time to her before I took my pleasure.
A
C
270
PETRONEL.
fon
“All right, Cousin Marcia! I will help you; I can go into the
garden afterward.'
"
I took the seat next to her, and (the rest of the party, with the
exception of my grandfather, having left the room) Mr. Moore, as
though waiting till I should be ready, threw himself upon a sofa
near us.
“The winding went on slowly; it was not a task that was ever
pleasant to me, and I fancied Cousin Marcia was longer over it this
night than usual. Presently Ernest Moore cast down the paper he
had been reading, and advanced toward us,
"Are you not coming into the garden to-night, Miss Fleming?"
"I hope so. Presently, when I have helped my cousin.'
""
'He took up the newspaper again, and another quarter of an
hour passed away.
"It is getting late,' he murmured; will that dreadful skein of
cotton never come to an end?'
"You are very impatient,' I laughed; but I felt as eager as he
did to find myself at liberty.
66 6
<
We may as well finish now we have begun,' said Cousin
Marcia, sedately, as she placed another skein upon my outstretched
hands. At last Mr. Moore appeared to lose his patience; he wrote
something on the margin of the newspaper, and, while affecting to
observe the method of our operations, leaned on the table so as to
enable me to read what he had written. It was but one word,
News!' but I guessed at once that he had something to tell con-
nected with Félicité, or with my father, and determined that I
would hear it that same night. I trembled with impatience, until
the winding of the wearisome skein which held me prisoner should
be accomplished; and when it was completed, regardless of two
more which lay upon the table waiting for their turn, I danced out
of the reach of my tormentress, exclaiming:
465
That's enough, Cousin Marcia; I can not oblige you any more
to-night; my hands ache so that I should drop the next skein in the
middle.'
<
"
That is absurd,' she said, rather testily; if you fancy your-`
self fatigued by so small an exertion as this has been, how will you
ever be fit to pass through life? But, since you decline to help me
any further, may I ask where you are going?'
"To the garden, to be sure!'
66
To the garden, so late as this; you must be joking. Your
grandmamma and aunts will return very shortly, I fancy, and it is
certainly not worth your while to join them.'
PETRONEL.
271
Now, Cousin Marcia, I call that too much of a good thing,' I
replied, jestingly: 'you have detained me all this time upon your
own business, and now you want to prevent my taking a little re-
"The
laxation; but I really can not comply with your request.
laborer is worthy of his hire," and if I help to wind cotton one hour,
I consider I have a right to enjoy myself the next. So good-bye to
you!"
(LL
"I ran upstairs, put on my hat and cloak, and was soon standing
with Mr. Moore beneath the portico; but as we prepared to start
down the garden path, and I was just about to ask him for the
anxiously expected news, Cousin Marcia issued from the house and
joined us,
"If you are quite determined to do what is imprudent, Petro-
nel,' she said, 'resolved to act in defiance of what I know would be
my brother's wishes, and to expose yourself to the night air, I con-
sider it my duty to go with you, and see that you run no greater
risk than is unavoidable. We will walk which way you please, but
I hope for all our sakes that you will not stay out longer than half
an hour.'
..
Ernest Moore looked at me, and I looked at Ernest Moore, but
it was impossible to gainsay Miss Ford's decision, and with length-
ened faces we commenced to walk slowly in the direction of the
flower garden."
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE STORY OF PETRONEL-CONTINUED.
(.
It was not long before we came in sight of the other party,
when I immediately linked my arm within that of my grandmother,
hoping thereby to escape the espionage of Cousin Marcia, with whom
Lady Halsted was no favorite. But as Mr. Moore ranged himself
upon the other side, Cousin Marcia kept pertinaciously to mine, and
we walked four abreast from that time forward, brushing the
standard roses on the borders of the garden path as we went.
CC C
$
Have you been through the orchidæ house lately, Mr. Moore?'
demanded the old lady; for it is a real treat to see them, they are
coming on so wonderfully. Mary, my dear, give me the key.'
"My grandmother, though intelligent enough in most respects,
was quite childish on the subject of her flowers, and whether the
guests of Frampton understood anything about the matter or not,
they were still bound, if they desired to make themselves agreeable
▸
272
PETRONEL.
to their hostess, to pretend to admire them as much as she did. So
that, though Ernest Moore scarcely knew an orchid from a potato,
and Cousin Marcia hated all vegetable life excepting on the dinner-
table, and I was only anxious to procure a quiet moment in which
to hear the news I was impatient to obtain, we were all compelled
to accompany Lady Halsted through the orchide house, and respond
to her eulogies on the beauties of her favorites with the best grace
we could. Of course we could not continue to walk abreast through
the hot-houses; we broke into a line on entering there, and toddled
after each other, just like ducks, my grandmother going first, I
next, then Mr. Moore, and Cousin Marcia bringing up the rear, my
aunts having declined to be dragged a second time on this weary
round of inspection.
C
"We kept on repeating, Beautiful!' How very curious!'
'Just like a bee!' The image of a fly!' etc., until our vocabulary
of orchidaceous adjectives was exhausted, and I found Mr. Moore
was pressing closely on me from behind.
46 6
'Take care!' I said, laughing, for he had nearly made me push
my grandmother into a stand of her rarest specimens; and then I
discovered that he was trying to put something into my hand.
A lovely plant that, isn't it, Miss Fleming?' he exclaimed, as he
affected to bend forward and examine two or three brown suckers
in a pot before us; 'the beetle-orchis, I believe, or beadle, which is
it? (take this note)' in a low voice, and here five fingers and an en-
velope appeared in front of me. The Bumbledonia Dickenia, I
should imagine from its flourishing condition-(I was to be sure and
give it to you when alone). What a very interesting study (have
you got it?) that of orchidæ must be!"
C
"
One glance at the envelope he held sufficed to show me it was in
the handwriting that I dreaded; but I was about to take it from
him when my grandmother turned sharply round, and in my flurry
I let it slip through my fingers to the ground.
(C
What was that you said, Mr. Moore?-that is a specimen of
the Bumbledonia? I never heard of one of that name before. By
whom was it introduced? I should much like to find out, for
Brownlow and I have been puzzling over this bulb and fancying it
might be new. Does your father take much interest in the cultiva-
tion of these plants?'
""
(
{
C
While Ernest Moore was stammering over his answer to this
query I was feeling about everywhere with my foot for the fallen
epistle. The path we traversed was so narrow, and we were so
crowded together, that I could not have stooped without disturbing.
PETRONEL.
273
ITS
every one, and betraying what I sought for. After two or three
fruitless efforts, therefore, to recover the letter, and without having
had an opportunity to apprise my next neighbor of my loss, I slowly
and unwillingly passed on with the rest, hoping when we turned,
by some lucky chance, to get ahead and pick up my fallen prop-
erty. But I was destined to regain it before that. What was my
horror, when having trod but a few paces more I saw Cousin Mar-
cia's eyes suddenly directed from the flowers to the ground, and
her body simultaneously bent forward! I guessed instinctively
what she had seen and gained possession of, and with great indis-
cretion called out:
60 C
'Give it to me, if you please, Cousin Marcia; that is mine.'
"What is yours, Petronel?' she demanded, with willful misun-
derstanding.
´´What you picked up-the note!' and then I stopped, blushing
violently and fearful lest I had betrayed myself without occasion.
Do you mean this envelope in a gentleman's handwriting?'
she inquired, holding it up for my inspection.
" (
"It is not a gentleman's handwriting,' I replied (but, alas! I
knew it was, and my confusion must have given me the lie); it is
from my friend, Mademoiselle d'Alven.'
CLE
Mademoiselle d'Alven writes very unlike the generality of
young ladies,' remarked Cousin Marcia, as she continued to turn
the unfortunate envelope about in her hands.
"Did it not come in Félicité's letter?' I demanded, boldly, of
Ernest Moore, forgetting his secret was entangled with my own.
But Mr. Moore did not seem disposed to help me; on the contrary,
he turned away. He saw and regretted that he had been the means
of getting me into an awkward scrape, but he was not ready to come
to my rescue by confessing his own share of the business, and I had
scarcely uttered the words before I felt how ill-advised they were.
<<
'Mr. Moore declines to back your assertion, you see, Petronel,
though doubtless he knows as much about this note as you do.
But I think you must be lost to truth, indeed, if you persist in
maintaining that it has been written by a lady.'
Then the fear struck me that she might have seen the calligraphy
before; that it was possible she had been brought into contact with
my father's writing, and would recognize it, and my impatience
and anxiety outstripped all bounds.
64
"'I don't care whether it has been written by a
exclaimed, vehemently; it does not belong to you!
at once! You have no business to detain it!'
lady or not!' I
Give it to me
זי
:
مه
274
i
1
PETRONEL.
(
At this outburst my grandmother, röusing herself from the in-
teresting employment of digging out wood-lice with the point of her
parasol, and slaughtering them with the garden scissors, turned
round to ask what was the matter.
(* C
Only that Cousin Marcia has picked up one of my letters,' I
replied, angrily, and refuses to give it back to me.'
' ite
Oh, no, my dear! you must be mistaken. It is a joke of Mar-
cia's,' said Lady Halsted, soothingly.
" C
A poor joke,' I answered, bitterly. Am I to have my letter
or not?'
،، ،
'Did I refuse to give it to her, Mr. Moore?' said Cousin Marcia,
appealing to that gentleman, as she handed the envelope to me
across him.
""
But, if Ernest Moore had declined to battle in my cause, far
less would he join odds against me, and only remained silent as
before.
66 6
Well, I suppose it is scarcely reasonable that I should expect
you to second me in my assertion,' said Cousin Marcia to him,
spitefully; and he replied that he made a point of never interfering
in ladies' quarrels, and therefore begged she would not compromise
him by an opinion on the matter.
، ، ،
Come, come! we must have no talk of quarrels here,' inter-
posed my grandmother, who had found it had grown too dark to
find any more wood-lice and was therefore thinking of returning
home; so I tucked my letter down the bosom of my dress, and
walked on with her leaving Mr. Moore and Cousin Marcia to finish
their discussion as was most agreeable to them.
"But as soon as I reached Frampton I ran up to my own room,
and tore the letter from its hiding-place, and violated the seal im-
petuously.
"
'It was as I had anticipated: my father had heard all about my
present circumstances and future prospects from Félicité d'Alven,
and wished to trade upon them. The address was most affectionate
—(or would have appeared so, had I not known his motives)-al-
most fawning. I was his dear child-his dearest child-his only
child, from whom Fortune had so cruelly separated him; and I had
every luxury that money could procure me, and was about to enjoy
all the happiness that life could give me, and he rejoiced, for my
sake, that it was so. But did I, in the midst of my enjoyment,
ever think of him?-did I ever cast back a thought to the days that
were past, and the sad history he had then disclosed to me? and, if
so, would it interest me to receive some news of one from whose
.t
PETRONEL.
275
mind I was never absent? Then followed several details of his
present life, drawn, in powerful contrast to the picture which pre-
ceded them, but interpolated more than once with the assurance
that, so long as I was happy, nothing else was of any consequence.
Except, indeed (he should have added), the trifling item of filthy
lucre, to the paucity of which he several times alluded; finally
winding up, as I had anticipated, with a request that I would at
once lend him as much as I could conveniently spare. And as he
had not hesitated in the first part of his epistle to let me know that,
to be married under age, I should by rights obtain the consent of
my surviving parent, I knew he intended me to take his request as
a command, under penalty of being thwarted in my wishes. Yes,
though this was precisely the sort of letter I had dreaded to receive
from him-though to prevent this had been the object of my appeal
for secrecy to Ernest Moore-strange to say, now it had arrived, I
was not in the least afraid of it, or of its consequences.
"C
My heart swelled with indignation as I perused its cowardly
appeals to my remembrance; and when I had read the last line, and
looked almost with loathing on the assumed signature, I tore the
sheet of paper into a hundred pieces, and casting them down upon
the floor, stamped on them with my feet. I don't know that I had
ever given way to such a paroxysm of passion before; but, as I re-
flected on what his selfishness had cost me, and on all that it might
cost me yet, my anger rose so high, that if the man himself had
been beneath my feet, I believe I should have trampled on him, just.
as I did upon his letter. I did not fear-I hated him! What did
he care, so long as his wants were supplied, into what trouble or
disgrace he brought his dearest, only child?' He knew how he
had made me weep before, with the knowledge of my incapability
to supply his demands; to what degrees of shame and deception he
had forced me; how he had been compelled to threaten in order to
obtain his wishes!
<
(4
And he would bring all that to pass over again; he would
market now upon my honest love-make me encroach upon the
generosity of my future husband-lie to him with an unblushing
face, in order to supply my father's necd-receive his kisses while I
picked his pocket-and that for a man whom I despised far more
than I compassionated!
""
No! I said to myself, while I pounded on the fragments of this
letter, and wished that I could stamp out the very remembrance of
him from my mind-I will not! I have done it once, but I will
never do it again! I was not betrothed to Cousin Ulick then-I
+
PETRONEL.
276
2
was ignorant and frightened, and did not know how great a fault
1 was committing. But now I felt there could no longer be a mid-
dle course. I must be open with my future husband-completely
and entirely open-or I must cease to be his promised wife. And
as that was an alternative which I could not contemplate, I resolved
to take no notice of my father's letter; he must act as he thought
fit. I should not write to him again. But, having dismissed this
subject from my mind, it reverted to the scene which had taken
place in the hot-house; and I wondered what would be the end of
it; and if Cousin Marcia really imagined I could be corresponding
of my own free will with any gentleman, except her brother.
"4
'It appeared to me as though all my friends were combining to-
gether to get me into a scrape; Félicité in forwarding a letter, by
doing which she at least knew she was transgressing the laws of
etiquette; Mr. Moore by delivering it to me in so public a manner;
and Cousin Marcia by a suspicion unworthy both of her and of me.
Could I have gone openly to Cousin Ulick in this trouble, all would
have been well; but deeply as I lamented the secrecy I was obliged
to maintain, and much as I despised the person who imposed it on
me, I was not yet so untrustworthy as to betray what I had prom-
ised to conceal.
"
'I bathed my eyes, therefore, from which had flowed a few pas-
sionate tears, rearranged my dress and hair, and, trying to look as
unconcerned as I could, descended to the drawing-room. Mr.
Moore was not there; and as I entered Cousin Marcia glanced up
suspiciously; she evidently thought that we had been together, and
I felt sorry for the unfortunate coincidence. Nothing more was
said, however, on the subject of our little difference; nor (excepting
in an apologetic manner from the lips of Ernest Moore) did I hear
it again mentioned. I concluded, therefore, that the storm had
blown over and was forgotten.
<<
And when, in the course of another week, Ernest Moore and
the Vivian family took their departure from Frampton, things went
on so quietly and smoothly with the little circle left there, that I
quite ceased to annoy myself with the recollection of the breezes
which had taken place during the visit of Félicité d'Alven's lover.
I had now been staying for three weeks with my grandparents, and
it wanted but a month to the day of my wedding, the trousseau
and preparations for which were all to be procured at the expense
of Sir Lionel Halsted. I felt quite at home at Frampton, and had
no desire to quit it until I went to a house of my own; but Cousin
Marcia was very discontented and impatient to return to Rock-
+
PETRONEL.
2777
borough. I know that, upon more than one occasion, she spoke to
her brother on the subject, for he told me so; but his reply was that
neither house was fit to live in, both being turned topsy-turvy; and
that he had settled down into bachelor habits, and had so much
work on his hands that he would rather remain undisturbed for the
present; his real reasons, however, being that he did not intend 'her
to live with us after our marriage, and thought the news would
come less hard if broken to her away from home. When Cousin
Ulick repeated this to me I did not know what to say. Of course
it was not very agreeable to think of Cousin Marcia being always at
my elbow, finding fault with everything I did, and ordering me
about as though I were a baby, but at the same time she had lived
with her brother ever since she could remember; she loved him very
dearly; she had taken a great deal of trouble and care for him; and
she had no other home to go to. I knew she did not like me; that
she was often cross, interfering, and jealous; but I tried to think
what I should feel if Cousin Ulick were my only relation, and I
were cast out from his society and forced to live by myself. I pict
ured poor old Cousin Marcia (she was two years older than her
brother, and looked ten), sitting alone in some poky little house,
with only one or two servants to grumble at, missing the luxuries
which she had learned to regard almost as her own-missing, before
all, the dear love and companionship which I thenceforward was to
engross, and I could well imagine she was almost disposed to hate
the person who took all this from her. It was bad enough for me-
was it not?-to be the first and dearest to my Cousin Ulick; but if,
at the same time, I was to usurp all her little comforts and enjoy-
ments, it would be very hard indeed to her; in fact, I felt I could
not do it.
"On the other hand, the prospect of never having a quiet hour,
nor a private room in one's own house, was certainly not a pleasant
one; and, altogether, I was so undecided on the matter that I put
off speaking of it to my guardian, although he gave me numerous
opportunities. For his part, he seemed quite to ignore the existence
of an alternative, for he alluded to the departure of his sister as the
most natural thing in the world, and even said he should advise her
to leave Rockborough as the best means of keeping peace among
us. I am sure he was a good, kind brother; he always had been,
and it was not likely he would alter then; but he was short-sighted,
as I suppose all men are when in love, and too occupied with the
happiness just before him to have leisure to search about to secure
that of others. He knew that I had always been naughty with
278
PETRONEL.
OKO
71
Cousin Marcia, and impatient of her control, and he thought to
please me by this new arrangement. Poor Cousin Marcia! what a
dreadful grief it must have been to give up the first place in so
noble and generous a heart as his!
"She fretted at his continued request that she would remain at
Frampton; but she obeyed him, nevertheless, and another fortnight
passed uneventfully away. We were a very small, quiet party
then, as even Uncle Archy and his wife had returned to London,
and our days were chiefly passed in driving and walking about the
grounds. Sometimes my grandmother would say that she did not
know what they should do when I was gone; that the old house
would seem quite deserted when I had left it again; and once I
even heard Cousin Marcia answer that the wonder would be if they
did not miss me when I made myself of so much use to both of
them. Averse as she appeared to be to the notion of my marriage
with her brother, she took a great deal of interest in the preparation
of my trousseau, and the furnishing of the new house at Rock-
borough, and so often spoke of what we should do when settled
there, that I perceived she had no idea, poor thing! but that she
should live with us and be our housekeeper as of old. And I could
not bear to think that all this pretty fabric of future usefulness
which she was so innocently weaving for herself was destined to be
destroyed by an intimation from her brother that thenceforth she
was to have no part nor lot with him or me.
..
One morning, about a fortnight after the Vivians and Mr.
Moore had left Frampton, I came down to breakfast in particularly
good spirits. I forget now what circumstance it was that had es-
pecially affected me-a visit from Cousin Ulick, perhaps, or some
unexpected act of kindness on the part of his sister-but I remem-
ber that I entered the room singing, and, with a smile, suddenly
checked myself for such a breach of good manners. Only my
grandmother, Aunt Mary, and Cousin Marcia, were at table, my
grandfather having been slightly indisposed for some days past.
You are late, Pet,' said Aunt Mary, cheerfully.
'I know I am, Aunt Mary,' I replied, as I kissed each of them
•
in turn; I sat up too late last night, which made me shockingly
lazy this morning. Is your headache better, Cousin Marcia?'
"""
""
CC (
'It is much the same, thank you.'
"At the sound of her voice, which was wonderfully constrained
and formal, I glanced up quickly. We had parted so cordially the
night before, and our intercourse together had been conducted on
so much more friendly a footing during the last week or ten days,
+
PETRONEL,
279
that I was surprised to hear the old, unpleasant tone come back
again, and looked eagerly to see if the sour look had returned with
it. It was too true; some unfortunate event had certainly occurred
to ruffle Cousin Marcia's temper, for her eyes were hard and un
sympathizing, and her mouth pursed up and prim. At the sight
my spirits fell, but I said nothing, knowing it would be useless, and
that if I were the delinquent she would not be long in making me
acquainted with the fact.
And I was right. Hardly had I settled myself to the disposal
of my breakfast and the first inquiries which greeted my entrance
died away, before, drawing a letter from beneath her plate, where
until then she had successfully concealed it, she placed it before me
in the center of the table, and deliberately fixing her glance upon
my startled countenance, remarked:
"C
644
'I presume that letter is intended for you, Petronel. It came by
this morning's post from London.'
44
These words were delivered slowly, almost solemnly, and the
keen eyes were not once removed from the contemplation of my
features. I looked up hurriedly, and stared at the envelope, while
the guilty color flew to my face. It was a letter with a penny
postage stamp upon it, addressed to my full name, and in the hand-
writing of my father. Crimson as a peony, I seized it eagerly, and
thrust it into my pocket, while Cousin Marcia continued to stare me
out of countenance.
<A C
It is from the same person who wrote the letter which you
dropped in the hot-house,' she said, presently, and with hidden
meaning in her tone; 'pray do not let us prevent your reading it.'
“'Oh, I can wait; it is of no consequence,' I answered, with a
sorry attempt at unconcern, though I was shaking with trepidation
all the while. What could that penny stamp portend?
"
66 6
'I suppose we must not inquire the name of your correspon-
dent,' continued Cousin Marcia.
"It is only a friend,' I muttered-' a friend I knew at school.'
“' The young lady has come to London then, I suppose, as her
letter bears that postmark. Will you not just open it and see?'
64
Goaded on by her repeated sarcasms, desirous to pretend I did
not mind them, and believing myself to be stronger than I was, I
drew the envelope out of my pocket again, and hurriedly glanced
over its contents. But what I read there had nearly been the cause
of my betraying at once the secret which I held. I gazed at the
paper as though I had been paralyzed. I felt sick and trembling in
every limb, and my color came and went in rapid rushes. I was
}
280
PETRONEL.
now the object of general observation, and it was impossible that
* 2,
my emotion should pass unnoticed,
C
My dear Pet, what is the matter? No ill news, I hope,' said
Aunt Mary, anxiously, as I thrust the crushed paper back again
into my pocket, and with pallid lips attempted, though vainly, to
drink some of the tea which stood before me.
66 C
Mary, my dear, the child is going to faint!' exclaimed my
grandmother, in alarm; but at her words I shook myself, and made
a violent determination to be strong.
" ·
No, grandmamma, thank you,' I said, as I sat upright in my
chair, and raised my eyes to Cousin Marcia's still glaring as though
they would transfix me. 'I am all right now; it was only a sudden
qualm, it has passed away.'
CC C
A very strange attack,' remarked Miss Ford; and to come so
immediately upon the receipt of that letter. Have you read it yet,
Petronel?'
464
'I have read it, thank you,' I said, proudly.
(0 C And it contains no news?'
"None that would interest you.'
'Would you like to leave the room, my dear?' interposed my
grandmother, kindly; 'to go and lie down again, or rest upon the
sofa in the library? Mary will send you in your breakfast.'
"I was longing to get away, to have a moment to myself in
which to reperuse the strange intelligence I had received, and de-
cide how I must act upon it; but I would not afford Cousin Marcia
the trumph of seeing me beaten off the field, and so I refused the
considerate offer.
666
4.4
'No, thank you, grandmamma! I felt a little faint, but it is all
over now. I would rather remain here, and finish my breakfast, if
you please!'
"C
I spoke heroically, but it was more than I could act. Try as I
would, I could not swallow a morsel, the bread stuck in my dry
throat, and something rose up to prevent my swallowing the tea; so
that I only played at eating and drinking, and sat through the in-
terminable long meal with the sick consciousness that every expres-
sion of my features was being noted down by the watchful eyes
across the table. We were very late that morning, and the clock
had struck eleven some time before we rose from breakfast.
+6
Just as we were about to do so, there was the sound of carriage-
wheels upon the drive, and a commotion in the hall.
"66
'It must be Wilfred,' said Aunt Mary; or, perhaps, Archy's
business has taken him to Rockborough.'
}
PETRONEL.
281
"But it was neither of them; in another minute the dining-room
door was thrown open to admit the new arrival, and, to the amaze-
ment of us all, in walked Ernest Moore.
"""
Why, Mr. Moore!' exclaimed my grandmother,
what brings
you back to Frampton? Nothing wrong, I trust, with Julia or the
children?'
666
"In the midst of my own trepidation I was surprised to see how
pale and harrassed he appeared, and I forgot my trouble in waiting
for an explanation of his return.
C
Oh, no! I trust not,' he replied, as he shook hands with each
of the party; but I have not seen them lately. I came straight
from home.'
€
CC 4
•
Lady Frances is well, I hope, and Mr. Moore?'
Quite well, thank you, and the season promises to be a fine
one. My father says he never had the preserves in such capital
order as they are at present. That last gamekeeper we got from
Frampton has turned out a treasure.'
"C
This was all very interesting, but it did not explain the motive
of his reappearance at Frampton, and we should probably have ad-
journed to the library without further comment on the subject had
not Cousin Marcia, with an affectation of interest, observed, ' We
have not yet heard the reason that we have the unexpected pleasure
of seeing you again, Mr. Moore.'
"He had dropped into a chair by my side, and at this address he
started, colored, and, after a little hesitation, replied:
CC C
No!-but the fact is, Miss Ford, you must not question the
servants of the diplomacy too closely, you know, for our secrets are
not our own;' and then regardless of the manner in which she
tossed her head, saying, 'Diplomacy, at Rockborough—absurd!' he
turned to me, and under cover of the little confusion caused by a
general rising, whispered:
"I am very anxious to say a few words to you alone; do stay
here, or come into the garden.'
64 C
I will go into the garden!' I answered, quickly.
"I was most anxious to gain space to attend to my own business,
at the thoughts of which my heart still beat rapidly; but he looked
so really anxious as he asked for my attention that I could not re-
fuse it to him, and we passed out from the breakfast-room windows
together and commenced to pace up and down the terrace.
* C *
I was obliged to stuff diplomacy down your cousin's throat,'
he at once commenced; but the fact is. Miss Fleming, I came
↓
}
Peo
282
PETRONEL.
down here simply to speak to you. I've had a most distressing let-
ter from poor Félicité.'
60 6
'I am very sorry,' I replied. 'What is the matter?'
""
He sought in his pocket for a moment, and then produced a
long, tear-stained epistle in the scratchy handwriting of my poor lit-
tle Belgian friend, the meaning of which, being extricated from the
depths of bad grammar and spelling, was to the effect that M. and
Mme. d'Alven, having arrived at the conclusion that the English
gentleman, M. Moore, was far too young to know his own mind
concerning their daughter, and very unlikely, when he did know it,
to fulfill his boyish promises of marriage, had ordered Félicité to
give up all thoughts of him for the future, and prepare herself to
accept the hand of a comfortable, fat, old Dutch merchant, whom
they had long selected as a very fitting match for her. And this
news having nearly broken the heart and blinded the eyes of poor
Félicité, she had written post-haste to tell her lover of it, leaving
him, of course, to act as he thought proper in the matter.
1
7
66 6
What can you do?' I said, as I returned the letter to him.
·
I mean at once to tell my father and mother all about it; and
why I ran down here, Miss Fleming, was to ask you (I didn't like
to write-I thought your cousin might make a fuss about it, after
the row we had that evening in the hot-house) if you will speak up
for Félicité to them. I know they won't relish the idea at first, and
will require proofs and opinions, and all sorts of things; and I
thought if you would kindly let me refer Lady Frances to yourself,
you might be able to satisfy her scruples. You could tell her what
a dear, good girl Félicité is, you know, and how attached to me,
and that her beauty alone is sufficient to make her a credit to any
family. And you'll make the best of the old D'Alvens, and all
about it, won't you?'
"
"I will, indeed, for your sake as well as hers; if you think that
my opinions will carry any weight with Lady Frances. But I am
so young, you see.'
"
Yes, but you know Félicité, and that goes a long way. Thank
you so much, Miss Fleming. I am sure I may leave our cause in
your hands, you have taken such a load off my mind.'
(66
And if your parents do not make any objection—'
"Well, then, the sooner I am off to Brussels, to turn the fat
Dutchman out of the field, the better for Félicité and me. My
wedding may not be so long after yours, Miss Fleming.'
"I hope not,' I answered, vacantly, for my thoughts had wan-
PETRONEL.
283
dered far away from the topic in hand. 'Do you stay here, Mr.
Moore?'
(C 6
Only till after luncheon. I persuaded my mother I had some
business in London; she would have thought it so strange my com-
ing here again.'
66 C
Then I will say good-bye to you for the present, as something
of importance claims my attention.'
<<
I held out a cold hand to him as I concluded, and passed quick-
ly upstairs. In the corridor I encountered Cousin Marcia, fully
equipped as if for walking.
(C
Are you going out?' I asked, mechanically.
"I am going to Rockborough,' she answered; and, miserable as
I felt, the dear, familiar name for a moment charmed me out of my-
self.
666
Are you?' I said, smiling; give my dear love to Cousin
Ulick, then.'
4C 4
Petronel,' said Cousin Marcia, 'I hate a hypocrite.'
At those words I stopped short.
(
·
So do I,' I answered, decidedly. I hope you do not think
that I am one.'
But before my sentence was concluded, Cousin Marcia had
stridden down the staircase, and passed out of sight. I looked after
her for a brief moment, and then I turned into my bedroom with a
sigh. I had another and a weightier matter to concern me then.
As soon as I had closed the door behind, I sunk into a chair, and
let my hands fall listlessly upon my lap. The letter which had so
disturbed me was still in my pocket. I had no need to draw it forth
in order to recall what it contained, for the few words which I had
read were fatally engraven on my brain; yet after awhile I laid the
crushed paper on my knees, and smoothed it out, and looked to see
if I might possibly have been mistaken.
<<
"
**
"No, it was but true! Mr. David was in England, in Rockbor-
ough; and desired I should go to him. Few and hurriedly written
as were the lines I gazed on (the letter having been posted on his
way through London), there was no second interpretation to be
placed upon their meaning. My father was in Rockborough at that
moment, and if I had any wish to see him again alive (so he wrote)
I was to go at once to the address he sent me.
"At first I said that I would not go, that I could not go, that it
would be unladylike and unusual in the extreme, and that he had
no right to ask me to make such a sacrifice. But then came second
thoughts-second thoughts which we are taught are best. I had
284
PETRONEL.
941
not answered his last letter. I had disregarded his appeal for help;
it might have been my cold-heartedness which had brought him to
this plight; yet he did not reproach me with it. If I wished to see
him again alive, he said I was to go. The letter did not mention
what was the matter with him, whether he were dying or in danger
of the law, but the meaning of the words was very plain. Suppose
I disregarded them, as I had disregarded former ones, and he really
died, or was thrust in prison, and I, his daughter, had to remember
to my last day that I had let him go without a farewell word! I
thought of my poor mother, and that she had loved him once, and
might be looking at me then, and I resolved that I would be cour-
ageous, and do as he demanded of me. But there was Cousin
Ulick. Had I not resolved that I would never have any more com-
munication with my father without his knowledge? and how could
I leave Frampton without its coming to his ear.
66
A bright thought struck me; I jumped up from my position
and ran down-stairs to seek my grandmother.
Grandmamma!' I exclaimed, may I have the carriage to go
into Rockborough?'
Lady Halsted made the very roundest of eyes above her specta-
60 6
،،
cles.
"Into Rockborough, dear child? Why didn't you speak half an
hour ago? Your Cousin Marcia has just gone in the chariot.'
Oh, has she? What a nuisance!'
CL L
"' And Mr. Moore will require the open carriage after luncheon.
He tells me that he must meet the three-o'clock train.'
4. ،
May I not go with him? I so much want to speak to Cousin
Ulick!'
"'I see
no objection, my dear. He can drop you at your
cousin's house on his way to the station, and you can return with
Marcia in the afternoon. You had better ring the bell and give the
orders at once.'
"I did as she desired me, and was, comparatively speaking, calm,
for I had quite made up my mind what I should do.
"I intended to go straight to Cousin Ulick, and, without betray-
ing my father's secret, tell him that I had an errand to perform in
Lower Rockborough, and beg him to trust me not to do anything
unbefitting his station or my own. I felt certain I could depend on
the nobility of his nature for understanding mine, and that, how-
ever unsatisfactory my conduct might appear, he would at least feel
that I was honest, and above the meanness of stooping to deceive
him. And in whatever condition I found my unfortunate father, I
;
PETRONEL. *
285
meant to tell him that by myself I could bear the burden of his se-
cret no longer, and that, if I might not share it with my future
husband, I should behave as though I had never heard it.
Determined as I felt within myself, the idea of carrying out my
resolutions was attended with a certain trepidation, which made my
behavior that morning more than once remarked upon as nervous
and uneasy; but my heart was still full of the thoughts which I
have described as I took my seat in the carriage which was to con-
vey Mr. Moore and me to Rockborough."
•
"
MISS FORD KNOWS ALL ABOUT IT.
WHEN Miss Ford asked for the use of the chariot to take her into
Rockborough, she was in a state of great perturbation, which even
the long drive had not the power to dispel, for she imagined she had
discovered ample proof that her brother's affections were being
trifled with, and it was her duty to inform him of it as soon as pos-
sible. She sat in state with ruffled plume, brooding over what she
had seen and heard, until the carriage set her down at her own door,
when she rushed into the house, brimful of her unwelcome news,
and had cold water thrown upon her zeal by the intelligence that
Dr. Ford was not at home. It was of little consequence, though;
she should wait till his return; with which intent she dismissed the
Frampton vehicle, and turned the handle of the dining-room door,
What was her disgust to find it all dismantled-the carpet up,
pictures removed from the walls, and the articles of furniture piled
one upon another, preparatory to being moved into the new house.
And where does your master dine?" she inquired, with some-
thing like contempt, of Wheeler, who had followed her into the de-
serted room.
46
Doctor Ford seldom dines at home now, ma'am," was the re-
ply; "but when he does, he uses the breakfast-room.'
+ C
Does Whichcote " (the upper house-maid) see that the draw-
ing-room furniture is regularly aired and attended to?”
CC
*
CHAPTER XXIX.
The drawing-room is empty, ma'am; everything that was in it
has been moved over the way, and Whichcote spends most of her
time in the other house; I believe she is there at present."
<<
((
What! are the ornaments gone-and the piano!"
Yes, ma'am! and all the bedroom furniture; except that in my
master's room."
286
PETRONEL,
Miss Marcia sighed; she did not like this thorough dismantling of
the old home; it seemed as though nothing was to remain as it had
once been, now her brother had conceived this unhappy infatuation
for a girl who was playing double with him. She turned sharply
away lest the servant should perceive her emotion, and said:
"Have you any idea when your master will be at home?"
Not the least, ma'am; the doctor left no orders; but he gen-
erally looks in about one o'clock.'
..
Very well; I will just step over and see how things are going
on in the new house; and, if he should return in my absence, tell
him that I am there.
一
​}
("
""
""
She passed over the threshold again as she spoke, and crossed the
road to the entrance of the noble-looking residence which Ulick
Ford was fitting up for the reception of his bride. Workmen were
still employed about the decorations of the outside, and, as the hall-
door opened to admit her, the sound of carpentering was plainly
audible. Whichcote, all smiles and courtesies, and never doubting
but that the grand doings in hand would be as agreeable to her
mistress as to herself, came to meet her in the hall, and volunteered
fo show her over those apartments which were finished.
You never saw anything so beautiful as the drawing-room in
your life, ma'am; and as for the bedrooms, they're just like fairy-
land," she said, enthusiastically.
Up a broad, commanding staircase, and through a suite of lofty
rooms, furnished with every luxury that taste can devise or money
purchase, Miss Ford followed her in silent displeasure, whilst she
thought her brother must have lost his senses before he would have
taken and decorated such a palace for the use of a romping, flirting
school-girl. Wherever her eye turned, it rested upon some article
of luxury; delicate papers, soft hangings, and rich carpets, con-
trasted with pure marble, carved wood, and Venetian glass. She
stared around her in angry surprise, growing more indignant at each
discovery, until, to Whichcote's amazement, as she was entreating
her mistress to come and admire the new green-house, upon which
the boudoir had been made to open, Miss Ford bounced down-
stairs without another word, and flung herself out of the house as
though she had been insulted. The fact was, her jealous spirit
could bear the sight no longer; it was not in human nature to de-
spise the idea of living in such a residence as she had just inspected;
but the thought that it had been prepared, not for her, but for the
girl whom, try as she would, she could not bring herself to love,
was gall and wormwood to her. She had been her brother's friend
PETRONEL.
.287
V
and housekeeper now for many years, but when had it ever entered
into his imagination to have her bed-chamber hung with pale-blue
silk, and furnished with rosewood and French china? or to think
that she might like to have a green-house opening into her morning-
room? Like the elder son in the parable, she was ready to exclaim,
Ve
All these years have I been with thee, and thou never gavest me
a kid!" and mortification mingled with her other feelings as she
re-entered Dr. Ford's house.
She was as angry as before, but she felt more inclined to cry than
rave, and would probably have done so had not her intentions re-
ceived a wholesome check, when, on gaining the consulting-room
(the only place, as she affirmed, fit to sit down in), she perceived a
rose, which she remembered to have seen Petronel transfer from her
bosom to her lover's button-hole a night or two before, still bloom-
ing in a glass upon his table.
This trifling circumstance (and in his position so natural a one)
completely turned the current of Miss Marcia's feelings; all her in-
dignation and suspicion against the unfortunate subject of his at-
tachment returned; and by the time Dr. Ford looked into the room,
which was about half an hour later, she was primed to the barrel
with suspicious stories that should make him miserable.
C
"Holloa, Marcia!" he said, cheerfully, as he caught sight of his
unexpected visitor, what brings you into Rockborough?”
A most unpleasant duty, Ulick," she replied with awful calm-
"
ness.
Dr. Ford's face fell. He well knew his sister's opinion of his ap-
proaching marriage, and guessed that her unpleasant duty" was
in some way connected with Petronel, and he was not in a disposi-
tion to enter upon any discussions concerning her just then.
Co
He had plenty of hard work upon his hands at that time in Rock-
borough, and not always a mind entirely at ease. As far as his in-
dividual prospects were concerned, he was intensely happy; so hap-
py that sometimes he could hardly realize that in so short a while
the pure, bright, innocent girl, for whom he had thought no creat-
ure good enough, was coming to his unworthy arms of her own
sweet will; but, apart from this, he had much to make him anx-
ious. Fever, and that of the worst type, was rife in Rockborough;
the medical men were engaged night and day, and wherever the vic.
tims fell thickest, and the cases were most obstinate of control,
there was his presence needed. He had most responsibility and
most anxiety of any doctor in the place, and more than once, lately,
288
PETRONEL.
-
falke t
he had thought that, unless the pestilence considerably abated, duty
would compel him to delay his marriage.
So long as Petronel was safe and happy at Frampton, this signi-
fied but little, although for caution's sake he visited there less often
than before; but to hear there had been a renewal of the old
squabbles between his sister and herself would, he knew, have the
effect of considerably disturbing his equanimity at a crisis when he
required it all.
66
"If that is the case,
he replied to Miss Ford's statement, "I
hope that you will delay the performance of it, Marcia, as I have a
great deal of business to do, and very little time to spare at the
present moment!"
"
C
""
£
11.
If you had but a second," she said, determinately, "I would
make it sufficient for my purpose. Ulick, you have been grossly
deceived. I should not be acting a sister's part did I not tell you so.
What do you mean?" he inquired sternly.
"""
Just what I say! You imagine that Petronel Fleming tells you
everything, whereas she has been behaving in the most underhand
manner toward both of us. For a long time I could not believe it
myself; after all the kindness she has received, and the generosity
with which she has been treated, I thought it quite impossible, and
that I must be mistaken; but this morning I have had proof of her
duplicity, which can neither be denied nor explained away.'
She paused a moment, expecting her brother to interpose some
word of surprise or incredulity; but he said nothing, evidently wait-
ing for her to proceed, and she went on, though not so bravely:
"
You know that young man, Ernest Moore, Ulick, Lord Otho's
cousin?"
"I do! Take care what you are about, Marcia; be cautious, that
is all."
"I should not have thought of speaking to you,
she resumed,
hotly, "if caution were not a thing of the past. Have I not held
my tongue for weeks? But an angel could not have seen what I
saw this morning, and be expected to keep silence."
6盒
​What did you see?"
I 1
""
12
"I saw Petronel receive a letter by the post from Mr. Moore; but
I must begin at the beginning. Three weeks ago, before he left
Frampton, he was always by her side, and everybody knew how
anxious she used to be to get alone with him. I have found them
together in the garden and the saloon, and once, when we were all
in the hot-house, he slipped a letter from himself into her hand,
which she let fall and I picked up again.”
1
PETRONEL.
289
"This is rather a serious charge that you are bringing against
her, Marcia. Are you sure you can substantiate it?”
"
Quite sure; she took the letter from my own hand.”
'How do you know it was from Mr. Moore?"’
"
Because it was in the same handwriting as the one she received
from town this morning."
64
6+
But how can you prove her London correspondent is Lord
Otho's cousin?”
"I prove it by the confusion she evinced at its reception, by her
refusal to let us know from whom it came, and by the fact that Mr.
Moore arrived at Frampton in about an hour after the letter, unex-
pectedly to every one but herself, who had evidently received the
news of his returu beforehand. And would you believe it, Ulick,
he had not been ten minutes in the house before they rose from the
table, and in the most barefaced manner, before my very eyes,
walked out into the garden together?"
1
'No, no, Marcia; you must be mistaken," said Ulick Ford, in a
tone of dejection.
•
•
Mistaken!" she replied, in a shrill voice, "how could I be mis-
taken, when I was in the room at the time? And I tell you, Ulick,
that you are blind with respect to that girl; that while you are spend-
ing your money right and left to procure her luxuries, and imagin-
ing that she lays every thought of her heart bare to you, she is car
rying on a flirtation with this young man under your very nose.
Why did we never hear of her meeting him at Antwerp? What is
the grand mystery which covered her with confusion the first day
we dined at Frampton? Depend on it, this is only continuing here
what she began abroad. I call it perfectly disgraceful."
Dr. Ford sat down in a chair, and turned his face slightly to one
side. He seemed to have forgotten the pressing business that
awaited him; but no stranger watching his countenance could have
told how he was affected by the news to which he listened.
"You are quite sure, Marcia, that the letter Petronel received
this morning came from Mr. Moore?"
•C
Quite sure! as sure as I am that I sit here."
"And that it is not the first he has conveyed to her?"
2
"Have I not told you that I restored the other with my own
hands? Besides which, it has been a great deal worse than letters!
Why, I found them together one afternoon in the saloon-a room in
which no one ever sits, and where I went quite by accident myself!"
•
Might not the same accident have taken Pet there?''
10
***
+
PETRONEL.
290
105“Oh, doubtless, and Mr. Moore also; only it was unnecessary
that they should remain talking close together in the window.'
(10) Dr. Ford sighed heavily, and, rising from his seat, commenced to
turn over a quantity of papers.
blue really have no leisure to investigate this matter now,” he
said, presently (he was terribly unwilling that Miss Ford should see
how deeply her intelligence had wounded him), for I have busi-
ness which must be attended to, and that immediately; but I will
go out to Frampton, if possible, this evening, and speak to Petronel
upon the subject."
Das
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J!
**
"
A PR
Speak to Petronel upon the subject!" exclaimed his sister;
and is that really the way in which you take my information,
Ulick? I must say you are wonderfully cool about the matter!"
There is no occasion for me to be otherwise than cool until I
have proved your information to be correct," he answered; and
you must forgive me, Marcia, for observing that the ill-feeling you
have always borne toward Petronel, as well as the position in which
I stand to her, demand that I should be thoroughly certain of my
proofs before I insult her by advancing them."
D
x+
}
-
""
Oh, yes, of course!" remarked Miss Ford, relapsing into tears.
Nothing that I say is of any consequence, and that child's word
will be taken against mine. It is what I might have expected."
There was a short pause, broken only by feminine sobs, until, en-
raged by her brother's apparent indifference, she resumed, with
withering scorn:
66
"
7
But mark my words, Ulick Ford! You refuse to take warn-
ing, and it will be the old business over again. You have been de-
ceived once, and you will live to be deceived a second time. Pe-
tronel will serve you in the same way her mother did, and-"
She was proceeding vehemently, when he turned and looked at
her, and, as he did so, her eyes and voice dropped.
"
I thought I told you that I would not have that subject men-
tioned again,” he said, firmly, and she certainly appeared in no dis-
position to continue disregarding his command.
í
"I
Whatever Petronel is," he went on, presently, "I can find out
for myself without your assistance, nor do I thank you for proffer-
ing it. What she has been to me, and what I believe her to be at
this present moment, no words of mine could tell you, and if I have
deceived myself, I am not likely to bless the hand that leads me to
the discovery. Meanwhile, let us say no more about it. I suppose
you imagined you were doing me a service, and I must take the will
PETRONEL;
291
for the deed. The rest, if there is anything more to be dope, I can
#
""
accomplish for myself.'
1J
He collected his papers, took his hat in his hand, and stood mid-
way between her and the door.
{
201
64
"Wheeler tells me that you have been to see the house."
towy bice
"I looked into two or three of the rooms," she answered, sulkily.
Just so; and I wished to say a word to you about the furniture,
which I may as well do now as at a future day. I know you feel a
sort of attachment to some of the old articles, those that belonged to
our mother, for instance; and you are quite at liberty to select such
as you may like to keep for yourself."
*C*
How do you mean?" she said, in a mystified manner.
↑
"I mean that if you have a fancy to carry any of the things out
of this house to your new abode (I am not aware if you have yet de-
cided where you are going to live when I am married), you have
but to tell Wheeler to put them on one side for you. In fact, I
should like to know that you would keep such articles as we have
always used together."
Miss Ford was thunder-struck; she could not mistake the purport
of his words; but it was the first intimation she had received that
she should not live with him and Petronel, and she felt as though
the earth were giving way beneath her. Alone! to dwell alone; to
be shut out even from the view of his felicity? Was it for this that
she had tried at every turn to circumvent her brother's love for his
young ward, to force him to the conclusion that it was better they
should separate? The knowledge stunned her, she could not realize
such a misfortune for herself, and the sight of her emotion touched
him.
CA
Hold
"I thought," he said, “you would have guessed it must come to
this, without my telling you. You have shown yourself in all
things so adverse to the interests of my future wife that it would be
folly to imagine you could live happily in the same house with her.
Look at your last piece of work!" and then, fearing that the allu-
sion might again rouse his anger, he added, hurriedly, "Well, we
will say no more about that now, I shall be over at Frampton this
evening, and then we can talk further on the subject. Good-bye!"'
And with that he disappeared, leaving Miss Ford in no enviable
state of mind.
"At what time will you have luncheon, ma'am?" demanded
Wheeler, presently; and at his voice she roused herself to say she
needed nothing, she was going to a friend's; and left the house to
pour her troubles into the sympathizing bosom of Miss Matilda Up-
*
Res
292
PETRONEL.
|
2%
john, who had always been ready to shake her head over the folly
and weakness of "poor Doctor Ford," since she had heard of his
lamentable engagement to that child, Miss Fleming!"'
"2
An afternoon with her dear Matilda so far did Miss Marcia good,
that when, at five o'clock, she set out to return to Frampton, it was
with a thorough conviction that she was a domestic martyr of the
first water; and we all know it is far more agreeable to believe that
we are sinned against, than sinning.
But as for her brother, he had sustained a thrust at her hands
which it required all his moral courage to enable him to go through
the day's work without showing. There was no tale she could have
brought him which would have wounded him to the quick like this,
although he was too proud to let her see it. As he reflected on it.
hating himself the while for being so suspicious, and yet unable to
banish the shadow from his mind, all the doubts and fears which
had at first assailed him returned in full force to make him miser-
able. He thought of his own scruples and experience, of his sister's
sneers, and the warnings of his friends; and he remembered how,
through all their courtship, his darling's love had been so much
more tender than impassioned, so undisguised and childish, so dif-
ferent to some that he had read and heard of.
His sister said that she made opportunities for meeting Ernest
Moore; had she ever devised such opportunities for him? He
thought of the young man, though somewhat with a shudder, le
was so different to himself, and honestly acknowledged that if the
girl liked him he would prove a dangerous rival. Not that for one
moment he accused Petronel of playing double; she was too pure,
too good, too innocent for that, and if she preferred the stranger it
must be unconsciously. Were she aware of it she would have been
the first to break it to him.
Well! since he had known her, and believed she loved him, he
had often thanked God for having restored his faith in womankind;
and if he had to give her up again, and with her all his hopes of
future happiness, he should still thank God that the dream had not
been so roughly broken as before. For, he would not wait to be
deceived; he would not let his dear girl have the chance, through
fear of him, of doing anything that should disgrace her own good
name or his.
He could not, and would not, believe. his sister's story on her au-
thority alone; but if he proved it to be true, he would give up Pet-
ronel of his own free will, and do all that lay in his power to make
her happy. He owed her so much for the joy she had afforded him!
{
PETRONEL.
293
**
#
the
看着
​}
He was still thinking in this strain, when he drove out to Framp-
ton at seven o'clock that evening; but for all his heroism he was
very wretched. It is so miserable to doubt a person that we love;
and though we go on repeating, “It can not be so; I will not be
lieve it," yet somehow we do believe it, and feel, perhaps like Ulick
Ford, that it would be a very merciful thing if death would come
and put a stop to our investigations.
He reached Frampton a little after seven, and was surprised on
alighting to see the look of inquiry which the servant, who opened
the door to him, threw upon the carriage, as though he expected
that he had not come alone.
And in the vestibule his sister met him, inquiring, "Where is
Petronel? I suppose you have brought her back with you?”
Petronel!" he ejaculated. "What do you mean? Is she not
here? I have not seen her."
CC
CA
"I said as much," returned Miss Marcia, almost triumphantly,
and then, followed by her brother, she ran back to the library with
the ill news. Here is Ulick, and he has seen nothing of her.
Now, what do you think of it?"
"I don't know what to think, my dear," replied Lady Halsted,
dejectedly."
It can never be the case," exclaimed Aunt Mary, as she began
to cry; but Sir Lionel waved them all to one side, and, laying his
withered hand upon that of his nephew, said, almost solemnly:
Ford, my dear fellow, what is your opinion?-tell us honestly."
My opinion about what?" repeated Dr. Ford, looking round
him for an explanation. "What do you mean? what are you talk-
ing about? Where is the child?”
<<
Ah, where, indeed?" said Miss Marcia, shaking her head.
"I never thought there could be any harm in it, Ulick," inter-
posed his aunt, "or I would not have let her go with him."
44
'It all seemed so natural at the time," said Miss Halsted. "How
could one have thought that she intended anything?"
She was always artful," exclaimed Miss Ford.
་
As one after another the women's opinions poured like molten
lead into his ears, Ulick Ford turned deadly pale. Something had
happened, something very unfortunate; but he could not under-
stand what; and like an animal dumbly craving to be put out of its
torture, he turned his beseeching look upon Sir Lionel.
(1
Tell me what it is!" he gasped.
She has left us, my dear Ford. She asked permission to drive
into Rockborough, this afternoon, with young Moore, who was go-
}
ܕ
294
PETRONEL.
i
ing to the station, saying she intended to call at your house and re-
v tum here with her Cousin Marcia, since which time nothing has
been seen of her."
****
:
760
But I have not been home this afternoon," said Ulick Ford,
hurriedly..." She must still be waiting there, poor girl!"
“Pardon me, Ulick," interrupted his sister; "but I called at the
house on my way back, and especially inquired if anybody had
been there, and Wheeler answered No.'"'
fot!! Well! what of it?" he demanded, fiercely. "You don't sup-
pose, do you?—you can't be such a fool as to imagine that she's-"
But there, remembering what he had heard that morning, and
how he had been served in that house once before, and by whom,
Ulick Ford dropped down into the nearest chair, and said no more.
Oh, Ulick! my dear boy, I am so sorry for you," said Lady
Halsted.
6.
•
"
There's a curse upon the family," muttered Sir Lionel.
And we thought her such a dear girl," sobbed Aunt Mary.
""
It is not true," said Ulick Ford, but in a voice which sounded
""
very unlike his own; there must be some mistake about it! Has
anybody been into her room? Is there no letter, not a word, noth-
ing?"
At this suggestion his sister left the library. The look of mali-
cious triumph, which, at the thought that her brother and she
would again be all in all to one another, her face assumed, had
faded before the appearance of his abject misery; but as she re-
entered the apartment where they were assembled, holding an open
letter in her hand, a gleam of the expression had returned.
..
Here is the letter," she exclaimed, as she held it at arm's-length,
which Petronel received this morning from Mr. Moore. She must
have dropped it in her bedroom by mistake. Now, perhaps, you
will believe me, Ulick."
<
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}
46
He held out his hand in silence for the paper; he was too de-
spairing even to argue the point with her.
"As I still stand in the position of her guardian," he com-
menced, in a voice which he took no pains to conceal was broken:
and as-we-we were so very shortly to have been united, I think,
under the circumstances, I shall be absolved from any breach of
confidence if I read this letter before you all. It may afford some
clew to the solution of this mystery."
Like a hero who steadily regards the sword on which he is about
to fall, he deliberately flattened out the crumpled sheet of paper,
and took it to the lamp-light. There was a mist before his eyes
PETRONEL.
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which prevented him at first from seeing the characters so distinct-
ly as he might have done; but after a slight effort that cleared away,
and he was enabled to discern their meaning. In breathless silence
his audience waited for the anticipated intelligence: but it did not
come. Ulick Ford read the letter, once-twice-three times; ex-
amined the signature and the postmark, and then started as from a
dream, exclaimed with vehemence:
M
Good God! can it be possible?”
What is it? What is the matter? Tell us quickly!” resounded
from all sides; but for the moment he seemed to have lost all com-
mand of himself,
..
•
'My poor girl! my poor darling!" he exclaimed. "Do not de-
tain me, I must go to her at once!''
1
CL
But where is she? Where are you going?"
To the worst part of Rockborough; to a nest of foul dens, reek-
ing with fever and pollution. Good heavens! that she should be
subjected to such an influence. I must go to her help as quickly as
the horses can carry me.
"}
But I do not understand," interposed Sir Lionel. Petronel in
such a quarter as you describe, Ford! What can have taken her
there; not young Moore, I hope?”
*C
'Moore! no!-at least this letter bears no allusion to his name
--and even in that moment of suspense Ulick Ford could not resist
throwing a look of angry reproach-before which she shrunk-
upon his sister. "She has gone, Sir Lionel, at the summons of one
who, more than once before this, has brought misery and deception
in his train. This letter is evidently from her father, David Flem-
ing."
66
C
>
CHAPTER XXX.
CC
J
And before they had recovered from the astonishment into which
his news had thrown them, he was in full pursuit of her.
19
THE STORY OF PETRONEL-CONCLUDED.
'MR. MOORE and I, driving into Rockborough side by side, were
wonderfully taciturn; the few sentences we did exchange being all
about Félicité, and the chances for his parents giving their consent
to his engagement to her. My thoughts were full of my approach-
ing interview with Cousin Ulick, and wonder how he would receive
the announcement which I had to make to him, and those of my
companion were doubtless molded much after the same pattern. The
1
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direct road to the railway-station branched off rather to the right of
Cousin Ulick's house, and as the carriage reached that point, I
pulled the check-string, and desired the footman to let me out. The
errand on which I was bound appeared so imminent, and my anx-
iety to reach Rockborough had been so great, that I had overlooked
the fact that after what had been said about Mr. Moore and me, it
would seem strange that I should choose to drive alone with him.
But leisure for reflection brought the remembrance to my mind; and
then I thought I would rather not be set down at our own door,
under the. full blaze of Cousin Marcia's eyes. He was, of course,
vehement in his opposition to my walking a hundred yards upon
the pavement by myself, and even the servant ventured to observe
that it would make no difference in the time they reached the sta-
tion; but I proved the most determined of the three, and so Mr.
Moore was obliged to give in, and drove off, waving his hand,
whilst I turned my feet in the direction of my home.
46
64 (
As the hall-door came in sight, I became nervous and unde-
cided. It was now close upon three o'clock. Cousin Ulick would
of course not.be within; and equally of course Cousin Marcia would
be, and I should be subjected to her scrutiny and catechism until
her brother reappeared. Still, it must be done; there was no time
to lose; and, with a vigorous determination to be brave, I screwed
my courage to the sticking-point, and advanced boldly to the front-
door. On the steps, just going out, all smiles and blue satin rib-
bons, I encountered Jane, whom I have before alluded to as the girl
who used to wait on me until deposed in favor of a lady's-maid, and
to her I at once appealed for information.
"Well, Jane, how are you? Is the doctor at home?'
Why, miss, who'd ever have thought of seeing you? No!
that he ain't, miss. He's gone out for the day, so I heard Wheeler
tell, and won't very likely be back until the morning.'
66
At this intelligence my face fell, and yet I ought to have been
prepared for it, for it was a circumstance likely at any moment to
occur.
"Where is Wheeler?'
He's out, too, miss; stepped round to see a friend, I believe:
for cook told me as there was to be no dinner this evening, and all
messages was to be sent over to Mr. Austin.'
"But Miss Ford is here,' I said, hurriedly; she came in from
Frampton, this morning.'
"Did she, miss? She ain't in the house at the present, any
way; but, now you come to mention it, I did hear Wheeler say as
PETRONEL.
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•
Miss Ford had looked in for a minute or so about one o'clock. But
there's no one here now. Did you expect to meet Miss Ford, miss?
Won't you step in and wait? may be she's coming back.'
6. C
Oh, no! it's of no consequence,' I answered, quickly, fearing
lest the servant should begin to suspect there was something wrong;
'you were going out yourself, Jane, were you not?'
66 6
66 (
'Well, miss, as there's very little work to be done, now, in
either house, Whichcote did say as I might go home this afternoon;
but if there's anything as I could do for you, miss-' dubiously.
Dear me, no, Jane! I want nothing; don't let me keep you
from your friends. I will just go over and have a look at the new
house;' and with an affectation of perfect ease which sent Jane
smiling on her way, I crossed the road and entered the building
which was to be my future home. It was full of the noise of work-
inen putting down carpets and moving furniture, but they were all
occupied above, and I passed through the hall unnoticed; and creep-
ing into a yet unfurnished room, which was to be my darling's (for
so I always called him in my heart, though to his face I felt too shy
to say more than Cousin Ulick '), I sat down on a dusty chair, and
rested my head despondently upon my hands.
<<
I had no idea what on earth I was to do! I had intended to ask
his consent, or at all events his lenient judgment for my conduct;
but he was out, and might not be home until the morning, and I
knew from experience how far oftener than not his mights' re-
solved themselves into 'musts.'
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7
44
Meanwhile, I could not remain all night in Rockborough; my
grandparents would be frantic at my non-appearance, and were I to
do so, the errand on which I was bound might by that time have be-
come fruitless. The letter said that if I wished to see my father
again alive, I must go at once, and already it was six hours since
that message had arrived at Frampton. What, if I delayed longer
in the vain hope of obtaining an indulgence, which after all might
not be granted me, and when I went to him it proved too late! The
afternoon was all before me: an hour might accomplish the work I
had in hand, whereas, if I put it off-
As I cogitated thus, I thrust my hand nervously into my pocket.
with the intention of again looking at my letter of instructions, and
trying to decide how long it would take me to reach the place of
meeting mentioned there. But my pocket was empty; I must have
dropped my father's letter, or in my hurry left it behind, at Framp-
ton. It was this circumstance that decided me. I thought by my
carelessness I had exposed him to danger: and the only reparati a
298
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I could make was to go at once, and grant him the interview he de-
manded, and then return as quickly as I could to prevent the con-
sequences which would accrue from his letter being found. I had
wished to be straightforward in my 'actions, but Fortune had denied
me the opportunity, and there was nothing left now but to perform
my duty. As I came to this resolution I rose staggeringly to my
feet, and, dizzy with the confusion in my brain, walked out at the
hall-door, and down the street. There was a stand of cabs not far
from my cousin's house, and I hailed the first one on the rank, and
stood upon the pavement till it drew up to me.
10.
Where to, miss?' said the cabman, as he shut the door.
"The address I had been given was written in letters of fire on
my brain, and I answered, unhesitatingly:
" A
To the Angel, Lower Ship Street.'
6.
· Perfectly ignorant of the part of Rockborough where I desired
to go, and unknowing if the Angel were a first-class inn or a mere
public-house, I yet read the opinion of my destination in the face of
the man who took the order.
“I beg your pardon, miss,' he said, as though quite unable to
believe that he had heard aright, where did you say?'
"
" •
To the Angel, Lower Ship Street,' I repeated, rather testily,
and drive as fast as you can.'
The cabman, glancing at my general appearance, which was
always that of one in affluent circumstances, feigned to be busy
with the handle of the door, and observed, awkwardly:
•
•
64 4
There's a deal of sickness down about there, just now.'
Yes, yes; I know it!' I replied, catching at the cue afforded
me by his remark, and it is a sick person whom I wish to visit.
Take me there as quickly as you can, please,' and, finding that I
was quite determined, he mounted his box, and I was soon on my
way to my unfortunate father.
46
Nervous as I felt at the prospect of remeeting him, I yet could
not help noticing with surprise the extreme squalor which appeared
on every side as soon as we had left the more respectable part of the
town behind us. I was about, in fact, to penetrate that very quarter
which once before I had traversed without leave, on the occasion of
the memorable walk which I had taken on first coming to Rock-
borough, but of the degradation of which I was now far better able
to form an opinion. Then I had skipped joyously down the most
disreputable streets, stopping in childish innocence to examine
everything which seemed strange or uncommon to me; now I turned
away with loathing from some of the faces which peered into the
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cab as it passed, and stopped my ears against the sounds by which
they were saluted; and more than once I half decided that I could
not go on; that it was quite impossible I could alight in such a
quarter, and had it not been for the remembrance of my father's im-
perative assertion, I should have certainly begged the cabman to
turn back again. He seemed intuitively to guess my thoughts, for
once he stopped without being told, and, bending down from the
coach-box, asked me seriously:
"Are you quite sure, miss, you've not made a mistake in the
direction?
60 6
,
Quite sure,' I answered, with tears standing thickly in my
eyes from uncertainty and fright; but, tell me, is it such a very
-A
bad place?'
F
44 •
Tain't much of a place for such as you,' he answered, du-
biously; but it is better than this here.'
•
“Oh! never mind, then. Drive on!' I said, decisively, feeling
there was no alternative, and in a few minutes more the cab turned
into a better-looking street, close to the quay, and drew up at the
door of a building, which I afterward discovered was a large house
of call' for the dock-yard people, and which my friendly cabman
informed me was the desired Angel.
46
'Wait for me till I come out again,' I whispered hurriedly, as
I leaped to the ground; and then I crossed the threshold, and
blushed violently at finding myself for the first time in my life
standing in a public bar.
(6
There was a stout woman, wearing a black velvet jacket, and a
cap with artificial flowers, behind the counter, and a pert-looking
girl with gold ear-rings and long curls; and they both leaned for-
ward eagerly as I appeared, as though to ask what I could possibly
want there.
Is there a gentleman-is there any one sick staying here?-I
began, timidly-` a gentleman from abroad, who-'
< •
It's all right,' interrupted a voice, which I immediately recog-
nized at my elbow. Come this way, my dear.' And before I
could express any feeling, either of surprise or displeasure, Mr. Da-
vid had drawn my arm through his own, and led me into an inner
parlor. But I heard the coarse laugh from the women behind the
counter, and the men lounging in front of it, which greeted my de-
parture; and my cheeks burned with shame as it saluted me. The
apartment into which Mr. David first conducted me was immedi-
ately behind, the public room; but he did not remain in it.
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PETRONEL.
"Let us go upstairs,' he said. 'We shall be more private
there; and, as you may suppose, I have much to say to you!'
"He had led me up a narrow staircase, to a room on the first floor,
and as we entered it he turned the key in the lock.
66 4
Why do you do that?' I said, fearfully. I already began to
doubt if I had been wise in visiting him.
*K 4
Only to prevent interruption,' he answered, quietly; and now
that we are alone, my dear girl, let me have a look at you.' He
took me to the light, and held me at arm's-length. Ah! not
changed; but wonderfully improved since we last met; sprung
from a girl into a full-grown woman, Petronel! and in so short a
time-why, how is that?'
"I have been ill,' I faltered, 'and-I thought to find you so,
from your letter.'
CA
He smiled, as though amused at my simplicity.
"And you would not have come to me, unless you had thought
so, eh, mademoiselle? In employing, then, a little ruse in order to
obtain this interview, I have not proved myself so entirely devoid
of penetration.'
"He looked so malicious as he said this, that I was indignant to
think I had been gulled.
+66
Is it a ruse?' I rejoined, hotly. Are you not ill, or even in
danger? Oh! what have I done? I wish that I had never come.
You had no right to lure me here on false pretenses!'
46 4
6
Softly-softly—young lady,' he replied. Do you remember
who I am? I have not only the right to demand your presence, but
to detain your person. So you had better sit down and make your-
self agreeable.'
´´I can not-I will not,' I said, wildly, making for the door. 'I
came here, because you pretended you were dying, and that I
should never see you again; but even in that case I never meant to
stay. There is what I brought you,' I continued, throwing down
my purse upon the table; it is all I have, and you may take every
penny; but I must go home, and that directly.'
"I wrenched the handle of the door, but it was locked, and the
key had been withdrawn. I turned round imploringly to Mr. Da-
vid to lend me his assistance; but he stood where I had left him,
smiling. I saw at once the trap into which I had fallen, and cover-
ing my face with my hands burst into tears.
"Oh! do let me go. Pray let me go!' I said, descending to en-
treaty. The cab is waiting for me, and no one knows that I have
left my home. I will give you everything I have: my bracelets,
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PETRONEL.
301
rings, and brooch. You may take them all, if you will only let me
return to Rockborough. They will be so frightened when they find
that I am gone!'
44 4
They will survive it,' he answered, coolly, and as for cabby,
I will dismiss him, and get you another when you are ready to re-
turn. You will surely not refuse an hour's visit to a parent whom
you may never see again.'
C
* 4 <
He left the room as he spoke, carefully locking the door after
him, and in another minute I heard the cab in which I had arrived
there, drive away. Its departure seemed to leave me so utterly in
the power of my father, that I was frightened beyond measure; and
when Mr. David returned to my side he found me weeping violently.
Now, please to stop that!' he said, sharply, because in the
first place it can do no earthly good, and in the second, it is very
annoying to my feelings. Come! that's right,' he added, as, cowed
into submission by his tone, I sat in my chair, and wiped my
streaming eyes. 'I want to hear all the particulars of this grand
marriage of yours, and what your grandfather is going to stump
up on the occasion, and how much of it is likely to fall to my share;
for I don't suppose you mean to forget your poor father entirely in
the matter, do you?-though I'm afraid you don't bear much love
to him, or to your mother's memory.'
*
“´´ Oh, I do!—I do indeed!' I said, alluding to the latter clause
alone.
44 6
4
Well-if it's the case, though it doesn't look much like it, I
suppose you would hardly be contented to enjoy all the good things
of this life, whilst you know that he lives in abject poverty. What
may be the amount of Ulick Ford's income?'
#64
'I really can't tell you,' I said, candidly, for I have never
heard; but I suppose it must be several thousands.'
64
Ah! thousands !-and I get five francs an hour, from January
till December! There's a slight difference between our fortunes,
isn't there, mademoiselle?"
گر
"It is not my fault,' I answered, bitterly, and then I added,
with some earnestness: If Cousin Ulick knew of your condition
he would better it, but he believes you to be dead. I know you
wronged him by marrying my mother; but he is so good and gen-
erous, and he loves me so, that, if he knew it, he would never let
my father want. Oh, Mr. David, do let me tell him! Let me go
home at once, before they become alarmed at my unusual absence,
and I will take the first opportunity of letting him know your his-
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PETRONEL.
I
302
tory as I have heard it from you; he will be your friend as he has
been mine. Your secret will be as safe with him as me.'
271
My whole heart was in my words, so anxious was I to get free;
but he evidently did not sympathize in my proposal, for he put his
veto at once upon it.
66 6
‘Do you remember the solemn promise I extracted from you on
our first acquaintance, Petronel?’
"Oh, well! Have I not kept it?'
Doubtless! and you must keep it still; my motives for secrecy
are as imperative now as they were then.'
AM
Are you still in danger of the law, then?'
More than that; of the guillotine.’
""
I shuddered and turned pale. What greater horror could have
been presented to the mind of a young girl, sensitive as I was!
Political offenders have expiated their crimes upon it before
now, my dear, and there is no reason to believe that, if betrayed, I
should be exempt.'
I will never betray you!' I exclaimed, excitedly. 'But what
good can I do you by remaining here? I have no money but what
lies there; no jewelry about me but that you see; and, as I said be-
fore, you are welcome to it all if you will only let me go. What
can they be thinking of my absence even now? What shall I say to
them when I return?'
"I wrung my hands in my distress; but he only laughed at me.
66 6
'Why, do you mean to tell me you are not clever enough to
trump up a story that shall satisfy a parcel of old women like that?
Can not you pretend that you lost your way, or strayed with a
friend, or forgot the time? Are they so very hard of belief as to
doubt the innocence of a face like yours?'
264
I can not tell a lie!' I exclaimed, passionately.
Oh! is it to
be the same as this all my life? Will you never give me leave to be
open, even with my husband?'
Never!' he replied, angrily; and if you do not at this mo-
ment renew the promise which you made before, and swear it by all
your hopes of salvation, I will take care you do not return to your
friends to blab tales of me. Swear it, mademoiselle! swear it as I
have told you, or I will carry you away from England, as I have a
right to do, and you shall never see any one whom you care for
here again.'
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46
I thought of my darling; of the agony he would experience at
my mysterious loss; of the vision of happiness which he had pict-
ured for us; of the guillotine descending on my father's head; and
1.
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303
I swore drowned in tears and trembling with affright-I swore
that I would preserve his secret, as I had done, till the hour of my
death.
“My obedience seemed to restore my parent to good-humor.
TUO
Come, come!' he said, cheerfully, we must have no more
tcars. You're a good girl, and you've done as I asked you. Now
let's have something to eat.'
"1
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He rang the bell, and desired the chamber-maid to bring some
refreshment, while in utter despondency I crouched in the bow-
window, which looked out upon the quay, and from which I heard
a public clock strike seven. I had been there nearly two hours.;
"Rum place, this, isn't it?' observed my father, as he took up.
his station by my side, and placed his hand familiarly upon my
shoulders, but since I heard you were going to be married, and
you refused to answer my letters, I thought it my duty to run over
and have a look at you before the event came off. When is is to
be?'
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44
4
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sort?
for the honey-moon?'
"To Paris. We can only get a fortnight's holiday.'
Quite long enough, my dear; too long in most cases. And
then you will return here to enjoy your thousands.'
66 6
Yes.'
"Got a fine house ready, I suppose, and everything of that
646
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""
In three weeks,' I answered, in a low voice.
So soon as that? I had no idea of it.
'Yes.'
Carriages and horses! How many does he keep?'
He has six horses at present.’
C
And where do you go,,
Upon my word, not bad for a country doctor. I think I must
take to physicking myself. And how much from all this do you
mean to spare for your poor father?'
(4
The meal had been spread by this time, but I was too wretched
to be able even to pretend to partake of it, and Mr. David sat at the
table playing at knife and fork, while I retained my seat in the
bow-window.
"How do you mean?' I said, raising my weary eyes in answer
to his question. 'What more do you want of me?'
664
Well, a little more, my dear, than you have given me yet, if
that forms the sum-total of it,' he replied, as he threw a contempt-
·
I don't suppose you im-
uous glance at my purse upon the table.
agine that will keep a man long, do you?'
•
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PETRONEL.
"I have my watch,' I said, nervously, as I tried to detach it
from waist-belt, and the other things which I mentioned to you;
but that is really all, as you can see for youself.'
66 6
Nonsense, girl! your frippery is no use to me; it would be
missed directly you go home, and you would have to account for
its disappearance. No! no! you're duller than I took you for, and
you and I must come to some explicit agreement. You say,' con-
tinued Mr. David, as he paused in his meal, and turning round,
with his hands upon his knees, directly confronted me, that this
Ulick Ford has, at least, several thousands a year. How much of
that do you intend to hand over to me annually?
stand now?'
Do you under-
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544
•
At this abrupt demand I was completely taken aback. I had
no positive knowledge of the amount of my future husband's in-
come, and to be asked point-blank how much of it I intended regu-
larly to remit to one who had no claims on him, struck me dumb.
I stared, and made no answer.
..'. Well! how much longer are you going to keep me waiting?'
he said, rudely.
66 C
What do you mean?' I gasped. 'I don't know yet how much
he will give me.'
"
What has that to do with it. What is his will be yours, or
under your control. You may make it as much as you like, but I
will take nothing under two hundred, and I must have your written
word for its regular payment, too, or you will be giving me the slip.
Now, considering how little you seem to enjoy my company, I
think I am letting you off very cheap, and as soon as you've signed
your name to the agreement, you may cut home to your friends as
quick as ever you like. Is it a bargain?'
+
I was frightened and miserable: uncertain how long he would
detain me there, or whether I should ever see my friends and home
again; but I thought of all that was implied by his proposal, of the
lifelong deceit it would entail, of my never being able worthily to
receive my husband's kiss, nor share his confidence, and I answered
firmly-I almost shouted-' No!`
66 6
What do you say?' exclaimed Mr. David, angrily, as he started
from his chair. I had also left mine, and we met in the center of
the room.
·
No!' I repeated, firmly, though he looked as though he would
strike me for my boldness. 'I will neither sign an agreement nor
make a promise for the future. All that is mine at present 1 have
offered you; but that which will be mine will come to me in trust
M
PETRONEL.
305
M
33
only for my husband, and I shall render back an account to him for
every penny of it.'
CCC
You refuse, then? You utterly refuse, out of your abun-
dance, to help your father's need?'
60 C
'It will not be my abundance. I have nothing of my own. It
all belongs to him. He gives it to me freely, it is true; but not to
be paid back in deceit. Monsieur, I have kept your secret, and,
though it is a sore burden, I will keep it still; but I will incur no
weightier responsibility, nor (dearly as I love him) would I marry
Ulick Ford upon the terms which you propose to me. You have
imbittered my life sufficiently already.'
"I really thought then he would have struck me, and instinct-
ively I shrunk backward; but he only grasped me savagely by the
arm, and dragged me forward.
€ £
Do you know how much you are in my power?' he hissed into
my ear, as he glared at me with eyes of hatred.
44
There was a constant tumult going on below. Vehicles coursed
each other in the busy street, while the clattering of glasses mingled
with the din of voices, and footsteps sounded on the stairs; but all
this confusion only served to make my situation more perilous, and
the scene enacting between us pass unnoticed.
66
I was terribly afraid. I thought, perhaps, that he might even
go the length of killing me in his rage and disappointment, and in
my agony, hardly knowing what I said, I called out loudly,
Ulick!'
•
In another moment the door was tried by some one on the out.
side. I renewed my scream for help, and, several powerful thrusts
having burst it open, Cousin Ulick, followed by the landlord, rushed
into the room. It seemed to me as though my cry had pierced the
very clouds, and Heaven had sent an immediate answer to my
•
prayer.
44 ¿
Ulick! Ulick!' I exclaimed, in accents of the deepest thank-
fulness; and as my cowardly assailant heard the name he threw me
from him, and attempted to escape by the open door. But my
cousin and the landlord were too quick for him.
444
Not so fast, my fine fellow!' said Cousin Ulick, as he pinned
Mr. David in his powerful grasp.
You and I have an account to
↓
settle before we part. Hames, fetch a policeman!'
400
No-no!' I exclaimed, forgetting everything but the fatal con-
sequences which I made sure would ensue from his summoning the
force. Ulick! dearest-for Heaven's sake, think what you are
about-it is my father !'
"
7.
306
PETRONEL.
*
68 6 This your father?' he replied, as with no gentle movement he'
turned up Mr. David's pallid face to the light. You have been
deceived, Petronel. This is a mere impostor, who shall answer to
me for the false influence he must have used with you.'
·
"Not my father!' I ejaculated, trembling with the sudden de-
light of renewed hope. Oh, Ulick, are you sure?-quite sure?
He has passed himself off for such for two years past.'
"Petronel! if any features were ever engraven on my memory,
never to be forgotten, they are those of the man who robbed me of
your mother. And I tell you again, this is not he!'
64 6
But he has all her letters and her portrait. He has shown me
my baptismal certificate, and that of his own marriage,' I said, ex-
citedly. 'Speak!
Speak! Have you not?' turning to the person who had
so deceived me. Was it not upon the production of these alone,
and the relation of your past history, that I believed you were my
father?'
60 L
'Ay! speak!' reiterated Cousin Ulick, as he gave a rough shake
to the writhing creature whom he held. 'Account for your pos
session of the articles mentioned by Miss Fleming, or I will give you
into the charge of the police for being found with stolen property.'
"He-he-left them behind him,' replied Mr. David, fearfully;
' and, as no one claimed them, I looked upon them as my own.'
16 •
Whom do you mean by "he "?'
""
"
'David Fleming-her father. He died of malaria, ten years
ago, while we were together at Rome; and I kept his boxes. There
was very little in them.'
But why,' I foolishly interrupted, 'why did you take the
trouble to find me out at Antwerp, and persuade me that you were
my father, when you knew how miserable your bond of secrecy
rendered me?'
666
•
I looked anxiously at him as I spoke-sorry for the poor
wretch in his humiliation, for he had been kind to me once-and I
think he actually blushed as he met my gaze.
66 £
Answer Miss Fleming,' said Cousin Ulick, with another of
those dreadful shakes.
CC (
Money!' muttered Mr. David. 'I was wretchedly poor; I am
so still; it was a temptation.'
(6
A temptation that will lead you to the gallows, I hope,' said
Cousin Ulick; but I knew he was too kind to mean it.
66
By this time Hames the landlord had returned to announce that
the policeman was below; should he walk upstairs?
#6 C
No! no!' I exclaimed, carnestly, 'Ulick, Mr. David was my
'
PETRONEL.
307
f
painting-master; he was kind to me at Antwerp; he was very kind
indeed at one time, and I used to like him; and I dare say it was a
temptation. Pray, don't do him any harm! It is all over now, Mr.:
David, is it not? You will never annoy or frighten me again—'
By heavens, he had better not!' interrupted Cousin Ulick.
"And we must try to forget what is past,' I said, with an ap-
pealing glance at my lover, because we have so much, Ulick.'
66 6
"This argument seemed to carry weight with him, for he re-
leased his hold of my poor painting-master's coat-collar, and only
stood for caution with his back against the door.
* 4
.
'Now, monsieur,' he said, as the other cowered before him,
'if it is to be as Miss Fleming in her charity desires, you must
answer a few questions first. What is your proper name?'
插着
​12
"
"Philip Watson.'
“'And you took the name of David to forward your own thiev-
ing propensities?'
'I took it, because, as I told mademoiselle, I am in danger of
the law. It was suggested to me by the name of my late friend,
her father. And when I met her in Antwerp and learned who she
was, the temptation to gain a little assistance by passing myself off
for him proved too great for me.'
CA C
'Cowardly brute! And where are the papers by which you
attempted to deceive her?'
(
I have them with me.'
'Produce them, then!'
"He fumbled for a minute in a large leather case, which he car-
ried in his pocket, and placed in Cousin Ulick's hand the certificates
of my father's marriage and his death, and of my own baptism. I
could have wept for joy when I beheld them.
"" C
In my traveling portmanteau,' added Mr. David, 'I have the
letters and the portrait which I had the honor to show Miss Flem-
ing. If you permit me, I will fetch them.'
04
Hames! go with him!' said Cousin Ulick, shortly; and when
the men had left the room he folded me in his arms, and held me
close against his bosom. My own girl! my own dear girl! Oh,
Petronel! if you only knew what I suffered until I found the letter
you had left behind you! Without that chance I shudder to think
what might have happened to you.'
"I shuddered, too, but felt too happy then to grieve about the
past.
* 4
"
'Ulick, dearest,' I whispered, as I clung about his neck, you
have still more to hear when we are alone again; but promise me
<
308
PETRONEL.
E
one thing; that you will let the poor man go; and not mar the hap-
piness before us by the recollection of too stern a justice.'
CL C
For your sake, then,' he answered; and as he did so, Mr.
David, still in the custody of Hames, returned, and placed the
articles for which he had gone in search upon the table.
"C
'Very good,' said Cousin Ulick, as he ran his eye over them;
and now, Mr. David, what am I to do with you?'
CC C
'If,' said the poor creature, trembling, 'if Miss Fleming would
be good enough to intercede for me. I know I have been acting a
cowardly and disgraceful part; but poverty, sir; the actual lack of
food; I trust that you may never know it'
66 6
If it is to be allied with treachery, Mr. David, I trust not.
However, for this young lady's sake, who pleads for you, and be-
cause I know it is impossible you should act such a dastardly part
to her again, I will yield to your solicitations and let you go.' And
without waiting for the thanks which commenced to pour from my
late painting-master's mouth, Cousin Ulick quickly led me down-
stairs, and placed me in his carriage; and before another hour was
over, I was again lodged at Frampton, and the mysterious círcum-
stances which had created so much suspicion fully explained to the
satisfaction of my friends.
*
*
*
*
The events which I have attempted to describe happened ten
years ago, and I was married three weeks afterward. I am an old
woman now; I was twenty-six on my last birthday. I should have
left my story just where I broke it off, for my darling and I were
perfectly happy then; and so we have remained till now. But
there was Cousin Marcia to be accounted for. She was very un-
happy about the time of our wedding, very unhappy, indeed; and
I never knew the cause until Ulick informed me one day that she
was not to live with us in our beautiful new house at Rockborough,
and that he had told her so! Oh, I was sorry! I knew that she
would feel it dreadfully; and as for myself, I seemed to lose all
interest in the new carpets and curtains and chair-covers, when I
heard that she was not to help me to take care of them. I really
believed that, for all her crossness and jealousy and suspicion, I
loved Cousin Marcia just a little bit. So, one day, when she had
been looking as miserable as possible, and I could bear it no longer,
I went down on my knees before her, and told her-what was per-
fectly true-that I knew I shouldn't be half so happy in the new
house if she were not there; and that I begged her to come and try
if we could not all live comfortably together again. I expected that
46
"
+
PETRONEL.
309
she would be angry, or at least affronted, for I spoke very openly;
but, to my surprise, she threw her arms round my neck and had a
good cry, and it was all made-up from that day forward.
"And now, I really do not know what I should do without her,
for there are six babies in the nursery, and she spends the best part
of her time among them. Indeed, I have never known her to be
jealous since our eldest child was born; and so long as she can
uurse and wash and play with his dear little ones, she lets me keep
my darling to myself.
64
Ernest Moore is married to Félicité, and I believe she makes
him a good wife; but they live chiefly on the Continent, and I have
not seen much of them lately; not nearly so much as of another
couple, who often visit us, and with whom we are the best of
friends-Mr. and Mrs. William Bertram, of Oxley.
CA
The old people at Frampton are still alive, and make a great
deal of my husband and my children; more than of me, I often tell
them; but that is nonsense, for every one makes more of me than I
deserve.
•
I have never again seen, nor ever wish to see, the face of Mr.
David; but I know that my dear, generous, forgiving Ulick did not
forget to minister to his necessities; and that his gratitude, like that
of many another, has come back in blessings on my husband's head
-Cousin Ulick! His name was the first with which I commenced
this narrative; it shall be the last that I transcribe here. No words
can tell what he has been to me; and when I try to sum up all my
love for him it resolves itself into that one hope-God bless him!”
THE END.
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....
··
2 2 2 2 2
20
20
10
10
20
90 Ernest Maltravers. By Sir E. Bul-
wer Lytton..
786 Ethel Mildmay's Follies. By
author of "Petite's Romance
* 20
162 Eugene Aram. By Sir E. Bulwer
Lytton..
764 Evil Genius, The. By Wilkie
Collins..
20
20
20
10
10
20
284 Doris. By "The Duchess." 10
820 Doris's Fortune. By Florence
10
20
20
10
465 Earl's Atonement, The. By
Charlotte M. Braeme, author.
of "Dora Thorne "
20
8 East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry.
Wood..
20
827 Effie Ogilvie. By Mrs. Oliphant 20
685 England under Gladstone. 1880
-1885. By Justin H. McCar-
thy, M.P...
521 Entangled.
Byrrne...
By E. Fairfax
625 Erema; or, My Father's Sin.
By R. D. Blackmore.
118 Eric Dering. "The Duchess
96 Erling the Bold. By R. M. Bal-
lantyne..
2 22
20 319 Face to Face: A Fact in Seven
Fables. By R. E. Francillon. 10
877 Facing the Footlights. By Flor-.
ence Marryat.
20
Fair Country Maid, A. By E.
Fairfax Byrrne..
Fair Maid, A. By F. W. Robin-
20
261
20
son
20 538
721 Dolores, By Mrs. Forrester... 20
107 Dombey and Son. By Charles
Dickens. First half.
107 Dombey and Son. By Charles
Dickens. Second half.
282 Donal Grant. By George Mac-
Donald ..
20
417 Fair Maid of Perth, The; or,
St. Valentine's Day. By Sir
Walter Scott....
20
20
20
671 Don Gesualdo. By "Ouida.”. 10
779 Doom! An Atlantic Episode.
By Justin H. McCarthy, M.P. 10
51 Dora Thorne. By Charlotte M.
Braeme.....
549 Dudley Carleon; or, The Broth-
er's Secret. By Miss M. E.
Braddon...
10
470 Evelyn's Folly. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne "
·
···
20
62 Executor, The. By Mrs. Alex-
ander..
20
13 Eyre's Acquittal. By Helen B.
Mathers...
10
4
155 Dynamiter, The. By Robert
Louis Stevenson and Fanny
Van de Grift Stevenson...... 20
(4).
626 Fair Mystery, A. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne "
•
Warden..
230 Dorothy Forster. By Walter
Besant...
678 Dorothy's Venture. By Mary
Cecil Hay..
665 Dove in the Eagle's Nest, The.
By Charlotte M. Yonge...
585 Drawn Game, A. By Basil.
By Basil.... 20 680 Fast and Loose. By Arthur
151 Ducie Diamonds, The. By C.
Blatherwick……….
Griffiths
548
*
20
727 Fair Women. By Mrs. Forrester 20
30 Faith and Unfaith. By "The
Duchess"
••
20
16
819 Fallen Idol, A. By F. Anstey... 20
543 Family Affair, A. By Hugh
Conway, author of Called
Back
20
338 Family Difficulty, The, By Sa-
rah Doudney.
""
690 Far From the Madding Crowd.
By Thomas Hardy.
798 Fashion of this World, The. By
Helen B. Mathers.
…….
...
10 246 Fatal Dower, A. By the Author
of His Wedded Wife
299 Fatal Lilies, The. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne"
2 20
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20
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Fatal Marriage, A. By Miss
M. E. Braddon.
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693 Felix Holt, the Radical. By
George Eliot...
542 Fenton's Quest. By Miss M. E.
Braddon..
••
7 File No. 113. By Emile Gabo-
riau.
575 Finger of Fate, The. By Cap-
tain Mayne Reid..
95 Fire Brigade, The. By R. M.
Ballantyne ...
10
674 First Person Singular. By Da-
vid Christie Murray.
20
199 Fisher Village, The. By Anne
Beale...
10
579 Flower of Doom, The, and
Other Stories. By M. Betham-
Edwards....
745 For Another's Sin; or, A Strug-
gle for Love. By Charlotte M.
Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne
""
→
"For a Dream's Sake." By Mrs.
Herbert Martin..
"
197 For Her Dear Sake. By Mary
Cecil Hay..
Mede
150 For Himself Alone. By T. W.
Speight....
278 For Life and Love. By Alison.
608 For Lilias. By Rosa Nouchette
Carey.
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20
156
20
173 Foreigners, The. By Eleanor C.
Price...
20
20
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29 230
•
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20
586
712 For Maimie's Sake. By Grant
Allen...
For Percival. By Margaret
Veley...
171 Fortune's Wheel. By "The
Duchess
468 Fortunes, Good and Bad, of a
Sewing-Girl, The. By Char-
lotte M. Stanley.
10
216 Foul Play. By Charles Reade. 20
438 Found Out. By Helen B.
Mathers.
10
20
R
10
225 Giant's Robe, The. By F. Anstey 20
20| 300 Gilded Sin, A. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne
**
10
508 Girl at the Gate, The. By
Wilkie Collins..
10
867 Girls of Feversham, The. By
Florence Marryat
644 Girton Girl, A. By Mrs. Annie
Edwards..
10
333 Frank Fairlegh: or, Scenes
From the Life of a Private
Pupil. By Frank E. Smedley 20
805 Freres, The. By Mrs. Alex-
ander. 1st half
805 Freres, The. By Mrs. Alex-
ander. 2d half.
226 Friendship. By "Ouida
288 From Gloom to Sunlight. By
Charlotte M. Braeme, author
of "Dora Thorne"
10
732 From Olympus to Hades. By
Mrs. Forrester..
20
348 From Post to Finish. A Racing
Romance. By Hawley Smart 20
331 Gerald. By Eleanor C. Price.. 20
208 Ghost of Charlotte Cray, The,
and Other Stories. By Flor-
ence Marryat..
613 Ghost's Touch, The. By Wilkie
Collins...
20
285 Gambler's Wife, The..
772 Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood
Trader. By R. M. Ballantyne 20
549 George Caulfield's Journey.
By Miss M. E. Braddon...
365 George Christy; or, The Fort-
unes of a Minstrel. By Tony
Pastor..
10
20
140 Glorious Fortune, A. By Wal-
ter Besant...
647 Goblin Gold.
melin.
By May Crom-
450 Godfrey, Helstone. By Georgi-
ana M. Craik..
153
Golden Calf, The. By Miss M.
E. Braddon.
306
57
10
10
Golden Dawn, A. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne
656 Golden Flood, The. By R. E.
Francillon and Wm. Senior.. 10
Golden Girls. By Alan Muir 20
292 Golden Heart, A. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of “Dora
Thorne".
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20 667
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758"Good-bye, Sweetheart!" By
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20
20
10
...
597 Haco the Dreamer. By William
Sime...
668 Half-Way. An Anglo-French
Romance...
10
Boyle...
801 Good-Natured Man, The. By
Oliver Goldsmith..
710 Greatest Heiress in England,
The. By Mrs. Oliphant...………. 20
439 Great Expectations. By Charles
Dickens..
20
20 244
135 Great Heiress. A: A Fortune in
Seven Checks. By R. E. Fran-
cillon..
Great Mistake, A. By the author
of "Cherry
20 170 Great Treason, A. By Mary
Hoppus...
""
20
18 18 18
20
20
2 2 2 2 2 2
10
20
20
20
10
20
30
Great Voyages and Great Navi-
gators. Jules Verne. 1st half 20
Great Voyages and Great Nari-
gators. Jules Verne. 2d half 20
Green Pastures and Piccadilly.
By Wm. Black.
Griffith Gaunt; or, Jealousy.
By Charles Reade…..
Griselda. By the author of "A
Woman's Love-Story "
20
→ •
20
20
10
10
20
663 Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover 20
84 Hard Times, By Chas. Dickens 10
(5)
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition.
***
622 Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. By
Anthony Trollope..
..
•
191 Harry Lorrequer. By Charles
Lever..
··
569 Harry Muir. By Mrs. Oliphant 20
873 Harvest of Wild Oats, A. By
Florence Marryat
785 Haunted Chamber, The.
"The Duchess"
By
169 Haunted Man, The. By Charles
Dickens.....
533 Hazel Kirke. By Marie Walsh 20
385 Headsman, The; or, The Ab-
baye des Vignerons. By J.
Fenimore Cooper..
811 Head Station, The. By Mrs.
Campbell-Praed.
20
20
572 Healey. By Jessie Fothergill. 20
167 Heart and Science. By Wilkie
Collins.
20
...
20
444 Heart of Jane Warner, The. By
Florence Marryat…….
391 Heart of Mid-Lothian, The. By
Sir Walter Scott..
20
695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and
Deuce. By David Christie
Murray
……………
•
A
...
...
•••
806 Her Dearest Foe. By Mrs. Alex-
ander. First half……
806 Her Dearest Foe. By Mrs. Alex-
ander. Second half.
160 Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah
Tytler...
SA
20
•
378
461 His Wedded Wife. By author
of "A Fatal Dower ",
Homeward Bound; or, The
Chase. By J. F. Cooper..
Home as Found. (Sequel to
"Homeward Bound.") By J.
Fenimore Cooper.
20
...
379
20
800 Hopes and Fears; or, Scenes
from the Life of a Spinster.
Charlotte M. Yonge. 1st half 20
10 | 800 Hopes and Fears; or, Scenes
from the Life of a Spinster.
Charlotte M. Yonge. 2d half 20
Hostages to Fortune. By Miss
M. E. Braddon.
20
10
703 House Divided Against Itself,
A. By Mrs. Oliphant..
20
248 House on the Marsh, The. By
F. Warden.
10
≈ 22 & A AR
10
•
20
·
741 Heiress of Hilldrop, The; or,
The Romance of a Young
Girl. By Charlotte M. Braeme,
author of "Dora Thorne "... 20
823 Heir of the Ages, The. By James
Payn.....
20
689 Heir Presumptive, The. By
Florence Marryat..
20
513 Helen Whitney's Wedding, and
Other Tales. By Mrs. Henry
Wood..
20
10
535 Henrietta's Wish; or,
or, Domi-
neering. By Charlotte M.
Yonge..
10
20
20
10
814 Heritage of Langdale, The. By
Mrs. Alexander.
20
20
860 Her Lord and Master. By Flor-
ence Marryat..
576 Her Martyrdom. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne
""
28
20
10-
874 House Party, A. By “Ouida". 10
481 House That Jack Built, The.
By Alison..
20 754 How to be Happy Though Mar-
ried. By a Graduate in the
University of Matrimony.... 20
Hurrish: A Study. By the
Hon. Emily Lawless..
Husband's Story, A.
10
20
552
600 Houp-La. By John Strange
Winter. (Illustrated).
351 House on the Moor, The. By
Mrs. Oliphant...
748
198
19 Her Mother's Siu. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne'
10
824 Her Own Doing. W. E. Norris 10
196 Hidden Perils. Mary Cecil Hay 10
518 Hidden Sin, The. A Novel……. 20
297 Her Marriage Vow; or, Hilary's
Folly. Charlotte M. Braeme,
author of "Dora Thorne
10
294 Hilda. By Charlotte M.Braeme,
10
author of "Dora Thorne
658 History of a Week, The. By
Mrs. L. B. Walford..
165 History of Henry Esmond, The.
By William M. Thackeray…….. 20
...
(6)
••
...
389 Ichabod. A Portrait. By Bertha
Thomas..
…….
10
188 Idonea. By Anne Beale. ... 20
807 If Love Be Love. D. Cecil Gibbs 20
715 I Have Lived and Loved. By
Mrs. Forrester..
20
762
Impressions of Theophrastus
Such. By George Eliot.. .. 10
303 Ingledew House. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of “Dora
Thorne"
·
796 In a Grass Country. By Mrs.
H. Lovett Cameron
.
304 In Cupid's Net. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne "
10
404 In Durance Vile, and Other
Stories. By "The Duchess 10
324 In Luck at Last. By Walter
Besant..
10
672 In Maremma. By "Ouida." 1st
half..
672 In Maremma. By "Ouida." 2d
half...
Innocent: A Tale of Modern
Life. By Mrs. Oliphant. First
Half..
20
20
604
604 Innocent:
►
19
A Tale of Modern
Life. By Mrs. Oliphant. Sec-
ond Half...
20
10*
10
20
••
20
10
577 In Peril and Privation. By
James Payn.
10 038 In Quarters with the 25th (The
Black Horse) Dragoons. By
J. S. Winter.
10
20
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition.
Mat
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769 In Shallow Waters. By Annie
Armitt..
20
39: In Silk Attire. By William Black 20
738 In the Golden Days.
By Edna
20
Lyall.
682 In the Middle Watch. By W.
Clark Russell.
452 In the West Countrie. By May
Crommelin………….
383 Introduced to Society. By Ham-
ilton Aïdé
122 Ione Stewart. By Mrs. E. Lynn
Linton..
เ
233 I Say No;" or, The Love-Let-
ter Answered. By Wilkie Col-
lins...
20
235"It is Never Too Late to Mend."
By Charles Reade..
20
28 Ivanhoe. By Sir Walter Scott. 20
*
4
519 James Gordon's Wife. A Novel 20
15 Jane Eyre. By Charlotte Bronté 20
728 Janet's Repentance. By George
Eliot...
2
11
20
20
10
20
•
506
10
142 Jenifer. By Annie Thomas.... 20 155
841 Jet: Her Face or Her Fortune?
1
982 Kidnapped. By Robert Louis
Stevenson..
20
20
219 Lady Clare; or, The Master of
the Forges From the French
of Georges Ohnet
20
20
20
534 Jack. By Alphonse Daudet.... 20
752 Jackanapes, and Other Stories.
By Juliana Horatio Ewing... 10 469 Lady Damer's Secret. By Char-
416 Jack Tier; or, The Florida Recf.
lotte M. Braeme, author of
By J. Fenimore Cooper.
"Dora Thorne"
743 Jack's Courtship. By W. Clark 268 Lady Gay's Pride; or, The Mi-
Russell. 1st half..
ser's Treasure. By Mrs. Alex.
743 Jack's Courtship. By W. Clark
McVeigh Miller.
Russell. 2d half
Lady Gwendoline's Dream. By
Charlotte M. Braeme, author
of "Dora Thorne "
Lady Lovelace. By the author
of "Judith Wynne
Lady Muriel's Secret. By Jean
Middlemas..
20
20 305
1
...
20
20
857 Kildee; or, The Sphinx of the
Red House. By Mary E.
Bryan. First half.
20
2
265 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love
Affairs and Other Advent-
ures. By William Black.... 20
332 Judith Wynne. By author of
"Lady Lovelace"
20
20
80 June. By Mrs. Forrester
561 Just As I Am; or, A Living Lie.
By Miss M. E. Braddon.
20
857 Kildee; or, The Sphinx of the
Red House. By Mary E.
Bryan. Second half
126 Kilmeny. By William Black.. 20
80 King Arthur. Not a Love Story.
By Miss Mulock
753 King Solomon's Mines. By H.
Rider Haggard..
435 Klytia: A Story of Heidelberg
Castle. By George Taylor... 20
&
By "The
733 Lady Branksmere.
Duchess"
35 Lady Audley's Secret. By Miss
M. E. Braddon...
20
··
4
By Mrs. Annie Edwards...... 10 | 161
767 Joan. By Rhoda Broughton.. 20
357 John. By Mrs. Oliphant.
203 John Bull and His Island. By 497
Max O'Rell.
Lady of Lyons, The. Founded
on the Play of that title by
Lord Lytton..
20
10
Lady's Mile, The. By Miss M.
E. Braddon..
10
20
289 John Bull's Neighbor in Her
True Light. By a "Brutal
875
Lady Valworth's Diamonds. By
"The Duchess
20
10
Saxon
11 John Halifax, Gentleman. By
Miss Mulock…….
20
652 Lady With the Rubies, The. By
E. Marlitt..
20 269 Lancaster's Choice. By Mrs.
Alex. McVeigh Miller.
10 599 Lancelot Ward, M.P. By George
Temple..
209 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate.
By W. Clark Russell..
694 John Maidment. By Julian
Sturgis ...
570 John Marchmont's Legacy. By
Miss M. E. Braddon.
488 Joshua Haggard's Daughter.
By Miss M. E. Braddon.
619 Joy; or, The Light of Cold-
Home Ford. By May Crom-
melin.
..
...
88 2 2 8
יי
20
20
•••
20
20 32 Land Leaguers, The. By An-
thony Trollope.
684 Last Days at Apswich.
40 Last Days of Pompeii, The.
Bulwer Lytton…..
By
130 Last of the Barons, The, By Sir
E. Bulwer Lytton. 1st half.. 20
20 130 Last of the Barons, The. By Sir
E. Bulwer Lytton. 2d half.. 20
60 Last of the Mohicans, The.
J. Fenimore Cooper..
By
20
267 Laurel Vane; or, The Girls'
Conspiracy. By Mrs. Alex.
McVeigh Miller.
20
455 Lazarus in London. By F. W.
Robinson..
20
20
839 Leah: A Woman of Fashion,
By Mrs. Annie Edwards.
886 Led Astray; or, "La Petite
Comtesse, Octave Feuillet, 10
10
10
20
20
20
10
20
2 2 2 2 5
10
20
....
(7)
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY-Pocket Edition.
353 Legend of Montrose, A. By Sir
Walter Scott..
20
164 Leila; or, The Siege of Grenada.
By Bulwer Lytton...
885 Les Misérables. Victor Hugo.
Part I...
885 Les Misérables.
Part II.....
885 Les Misérables.
Part III..
Victor Hugo.
Victor Hugo.
408 Lester's Secret. By Mary Cecil
Hay
562 Lewis Arundel; or, The Rail-
road of Life. By Frank E.
Smedley..
437 Life and Adventures of Martin
Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dick-
ens. First half...
20
437 Life and Adventures of Martin
Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dick-
ens. Second half....
774 Life and Travels of Mungo
Park, The....
20
698 Life's Atonement, A. By David
Christie Murray..
617 Like Dian's Kiss. By "Rita". 20
307 Like no Other Love. By Char-
lotte M. Braeme, author of
"Dora Thorne
402 Lilliesleaf; or, Passages in the
Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait-
land of Sunnyside. By Mrs.
Oliphant..
10
···
...
17
...
..
•
397 Lionel Lincoln; or, The Leaguer
of Boston. By J. Fenimore
Cooper
**
20
··
354 Lottery of Life. The. A Story
of New York Twenty Years
Ago. By John Brougham
10 453 Lottery Ticket, The. By F. Du
Boisgobey
20 479 Louisa. By Katharine S. Mac-
quoid.
-20
20
20
2 2 2 2
10
*
20 742 Love and Life. By Charlotte
M. Yonge..
20 273 Love and Mirage; or, The Wait-
ing on an Island. By M.
Betham-Edwards..
Love and Money; or, A Peril-
ous Secret. By Chas. Reade. 10
Love Finds the Way, and Other
Stories. By Walter Besant
and James Rice..
20 306 Love for a Day. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne"
••
20
20
10
20
20
20
20
29
10
92 Lord Lynne's Choice. By Char-
lotte M. Braeme, author of
"Dora Thorne
749 Lord Vanecourt's Daughter. By
Mabel Collins..
67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Black-
more. First half.
20
...
20
232
146
67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Black-
more. Second half..
473 Lost Son, A. By Mary Linskill. 10
(8)
....
10
··
20
313 Lover's Creed, The. By Mrs.
Cashel-Hoey.
573 Love's Harvest. B. L. Farjeon 20
175 Love's Random Shot. By Wilkie
Collins..
10
10
••
757 Love's Martyr.
Alma Tadema.
By Laurence
291 Love's Warfare. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne".
118 Loys. Lord Berresford.
"The Duchess "
·
94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick-
ens. First half..
94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick-
ens. Second half……….
279 Little Goldie: A Story of Wom-
an's Love. By Mrs. Sumner
Hayden..
20
109 Little Loo. By W. Clark Russell 20
179 Little Make-Believe. By B. L.
Farjeon...
10
10
→→
45 Little Pilgrim, A. By Mrs. Oli-
phant...
272 Little Savage, The. By Captain
Marryat...
""
69 Madolin's Lover. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne
10 341 Madolin Rivers; or, The Little
Beauty of Red Oak Seminary.
By Laura Jean Libbey.
10
•••
111 Little School-master Mark, The.
By J. H. Shorthouse..
878 Little Tu'penny. By S. Baring-
Gould..
20
10
377 Magdalen Hepburn: A Story of
the Scottish Reformation. By
Mrs. Oliphant..
804 Living or Dead. By Hugh Con-
way, author of "Called Back" 20 | 449 Maiden All Forlorn, A, and Bar-
797 Look Before You Leap. By
""
Mrs. Alexander.
bara. By "The Duchess' 10
64 Maiden Fair, A. Charles Gibbon 10
121 Maid of Athens. By Justin
McCarthy...
►
By
582 Lucia, Hugh and Another.
Mrs. J. H. Needell.
By
589 Luck of the Darrells, The. By
James Payn.
370 Lucy Crofton. By Mrs. Oliphant 10
20
633 Maid of Sker, The. By R. D.
Blackmore. 1st half.
633 Maid of Sker, The. By R. D.
Blackmore. 2d half.
20229 Maid, Wife, or Widow? By
→
10
Mrs. Alexander
20 803 Major Frank. By A. L. G. Bos-
booni-Toussaint.
•
By E.
44 Macleod of Dare. Wm. Black. 20
526 Madame De Presnel.
Frances Poynter.
345 Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant..
78 Madcap Violet. By Wm. Black 20
510 Mad Love, A. By the author of
Lover and Lord "
20
20
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10
...
10
10
20
2
20
R 2 2 2 2 2
20
20
20
20
10
20
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition.
702-Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col-
lins. First half..
702 Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col-
lins. Second half.
-
277 Man of His Word, A. By W.
E. Norris……….
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132 Master Humphrey's Clock. By
Charles Dickens..
688 Man of Honor, A. By John
Strange Winter. Illustrated. 10
217 Man Slie Cared For, The. By
F. W. Robinson..
20
371 Margaret Maitland.
Oliphant.....
By Mrs.
755 Margery Daw. A Novel..
451 Market Harborough, and Inside
the Bar. G. J. Whyte-Melville 20
773 Mark of Cain, The. By Andrew
Lang
334 Marriage of Convenience, A.
By Harriett Jay...
10
10
480 Married in Haste. Edited by
Miss M. E. Braddon...
20
615 Mary Anerley. By R. D. Black-
646 Master of the Mine, The. By
Robert Buchanan.
...
-
•
•
424 Mercedes of Castile; or, The
Voyage to Cathay. By J. Fen-
imore Cooper..
406 Merchant's Clerk, The. By Sam-
uel Warren..
...
···
31 Middlemarch. By George Eliot.
First half.
5 5 * *
20
20
·
10
►
20
20
2 2 2 2 2 2 ≈
20
337 Memoirs and Resolutions of
Adam Graeme of Mossgray,
including some Chronicles of
the Borough of Fendie. By
Mrs. Oliphant..
20
•
771 Mental Struggle, A. By The
Duchess "
20
10
20
825 Master Passion, The. By Flor-
ence Marryat.
578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules
Verne. (Illustrated.) Part I. 10
578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules
Verne. (Illustrated.) Part II 10
578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules
Verne. (Illustrated.) Part III 10
398 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan. 159 Moment of. Madness, A, and
By Robert Buchanan..
723 Mauleverer's Millions. By T.
Other Stories. By Florence
Marryat...
Wemyss Reid...
20 125
330 May Blossom; or. Between Two
Loves. By Margaret Lee.... 20201
791 Mayor of Casterbridge, The. By
Thomas Hardy..
Monarch of Mincing Lane, The.
By William Black.
Monastery, The. By Sir Walter
Scott....
20
10
2
10
88 ŏŏ 23 H
692 Mikado, The, and other Comic.
Operas. Written by W. S.
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur
Sullivan...
20
20
10
**
414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to
Afloat and Ashore.") By J.
Fenimore Cooper...
3 Mill on the Floss, The. Br
George Eliot...
157 Milly's Hero. By F. W. Robinson 20
182 Millionaire. The.
20
205 Minister's Wife, The. By Mrs.
Oliphant..
399 Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee.. W
369 Miss Bretherton. By Mrs. Hum.
phry Ward
10
866 Miss Harrington's Husband. By
Florence Marryat:
20
245 Miss Tommy. By Miss Mulock 10
315 Mistletoe Bough, The. Edited
by Miss M. E. Braddon.
20
618 Mistletoe Bough, The. Christ-
mas, 1885. Edited by Miss M.
E. Braddon………
20
390 Mildred Trevanion. By "The
Duchess
20
10
1)
26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Emile
Gaboriau. Vol. II..
20 166 Moonshine and Marguerites.
By "The Duchess
………
··
·
890 Mistletoe Bough, The. Christ-
mas, 1886. Edited by Miss M.
E. Braddon
20
298 Mitchelhurst Place. By Marga-
ret Veley.
584 Mixed Motives..
887 Modern Telemachus, A, By
Charlotte M. Yonge..
881 Mohawks. Miss M. E. Braddon 20
2 Molly Bawn. "The Duchess 20
Cooper.
26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Emile
Gaboriau. Vol. I..
31 Middlemarch. By George Eliot.
Second half…….
187 Midnight Sun, The. By Fredrika
Bremer.
763 Midshipman, The, Marmaduke
Merry. Wm. H. G. Kingston. 20
729 Mignou. By Mrs. Forrester... 20 113 Mrs. Carr's Companion. By M.
492 Mignon; or, Bootles' Baby. By
G. Wightwick..
876 Mignon's Secret. John Strange 675 Mrs. Dymond. By Miss Thacke
Winter....
10
J. S. Winter. Illustrated.... 10
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37
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25 Mrs.Geoffrey.
"
116
495 Mount Royal.
Braddon.
501 Mr. Butler's Ward. By F. Mabel
Robinson..
•
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20
20
119 Monica. By "The Duchess".. 10
431 Monikins, The. By J. Fenimore
" ··
By Miss M. E.
20
10
102 Moonstone, The. Wilkie Collins 20
20 303 More Bitter than Death. By
Charlotte M. Braeme, author
of "Dora Thorne ".
178 More Leaves from the Journal
of a Life in the Highlands.
By Queen Victoria.
Moths. By Ouida"
2 RRR
10
10
20
≈ 2 2 2 2 2 22
10
20
20
20
20
20
10
28 R & A RA
10
20
20
20
10
20
20
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1
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition.
606 Mrs. Hollyer. By Georgiana M.
Craik.
20
546 Mrs. Keith's Crime.
10
10
20
440 Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings. By
Charles Dickens...
256 Mr. Smith: A Part of His Life.
By L. B. Walford.
645 Mrs. Smith of Longmains. By
Rhoda Broughton..
339 Mrs. Vereker's Courier
By Mrs. Alexander...
635 Murder or Manslaughter? By
Helen B. Mathers.
10
Maid.
10
10
•
20
596 My Ducats and My Daughter.
By the author of The Crime
of Christmas Day".
848 My Friend Jim. By W. E. Norris 10
405 My Friends and I. Edited by
Julian Sturgis.
10
726 My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester.. 20
799 My Lady Green Sleeves. By
Helen B. Mathers
20
623 My Lady's Money.
Collins..
721 My Lord and My Lady. By
Mrs. Forrester.
10
20
20
10
··
•
..
863 "My Own Child. By Florence
Marryat.
504 My Poor Wife. By the author
of "Addie's Husband"
433 My Sister Kate. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne "
861 My Sister the Actress. By Flor-
ence Marryat………….
271 Mysteries of Paris, The. By Eu-
gene Sue. Part I..
By Wilkie
662 Mystery of Allan Grale, The. By
Isabella Fyvie Mayo...
•.
•
20
***
...
271 Mysteries of Paris, The. By Eu-
gene Sue. Part II..
366 Mysterious Hunter, The; or,
The Man of Death. By Capt.
L. C. Carleton..
··4
.
454 Mystery of Edwin Drood, The.
By Chas. Dickens.
514 Mystery of Jessy Page, The,
and Other Tales. By Mrs.
Henry Wood..
10
43 Mystery of Orcival, The. By
Emile Gaborian.
20
255 Mystery, The. By Mrs. Henry
Wood...
725 My Ten Years Imprisonment,
By Silvio Pellico..
"1
612 My Wife's Niece. By the author
of "Doctor Edith Romney
366 My Young Alcides. By Char-
lotte M. Yonge...
..
2
A
20 20
20
2 2 2 2 2
20
20
215 Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa
Nouchette Carey..
765 Not Wisely, But Too Well. By
Rhoda Broughton...
20
614 No. 99. By Arthur Griffiths... 10
766 No. XIII.; or, The Story of the
Lost Vestal. Emma Marshall 10
10 640 Nuttie's Father. By Charlotte
M. Yonge.
20
|
20
20
856 New Arabian Nights. By Rob-
ert Louis Stevenson.
464 Newcomes, The. By William
Makepeace Thackeray. Part
I...
464 Newcomes, The. By William
Makepeace Thackeray. Part
II..
52 New Magdalen, The. By Wilkie
Collins.
37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles
Dickens. First half..
22 20
20 425 Oak-Openings, The;
or. The
Bee-Hunter. By J. Fenimore
Cooper...
20
211 Octoroon, The. By Miss M. E.
Braddon...
10
20 183 Old Contrairy, and Other Sto-
ries. By Florence Marryat.. 10
10 Old Curiosity Shop, The. By
Charles Dickens.
410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oli-
phant...
Marlitt..
20
4.
37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles
Dickens. Second half....... 20
105 Noble Wife, A. John Saunders 20
864"No Intentions." By Florence
858 Old Ma'm'selle's Secret. By E.
Marryat
565 No Medium. By Annie Thomas 10
290 Nora's Love Test. By Mary
Cecil Hay.
595 North Country Maid, A. By
Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron..... 20
812 No Saint. By Adeline Sergeant 20
168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens
and Collins....
840 One Thing Needful; or, The
574 Naboh, The: A Story of Paris-
ian Life and Manners. By Al-
phouse Daudet....
Penalty of Fate. By Miss M.
E. Braddon..
227 Nancy. By Rhoda Broughton. 20 384 On Horseback Through Asia
509 Nell Haffenden. By Tighe Hop-
Minor. By Captain Fred Bur-
naby...
kins....
181 New Abelard, The. By Robert
Buchanan,
20
10
(10)
20
342 One New Year's Eve. By "The
Duchess "
20
10
20
2 22 22 2 2 2 2 2 Ra
►
72 Old Myddelton's Money. By
Mary Cecil Hay
20
645 Oliver's Bride. By Mrs. Oliphant 10
41 Oliver Twist. By Chas. Dickens 20
605 Ombra. By Mrs. Oliphant..... 20
10 280 Orania Vanitas.
A Tale of So-
..
20
20
10
20
2. 9 2 2-RR 28 2 2
ciety. By Mrs. Forrester.... 10
883 Once Again. By Mrs. Forrester 20
143 One False, Both Fair. By John
B. Harwood...
20
10
20
20
10
20
498 Only a Clod. By Miss M. E.
Braddon..
29
20
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​THE SEASIDE LIBRARY-Pocket Edition.
496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss
M. E. Braddon...
20
655 Open Door, The. By Mrs. Oli-
phant...
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708 Ormond. By Maria Edgeworth 20
12 Other People's Money. By
Emile Gaboriau..
""
639 Othmar. By "Ouida
859 Ottilie: An Eighteenth Century
Idyl. By Vernon Lee.
••
•
131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles
Dickens. First half.
131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles
Dickens. Second half.
747 Our Sensation Norel. Edited
by Justin H. McCarthy, M.P.
870 Out of His Reckoning. By Flor-
ence Marryat…..
73
20
838 Ought We to Visit Her? By
Mrs. Annie Edwards..
20
20
264
206 Picture, The, and Jack of All
Trades. By Charles Reade... 10
Piédouche, a French Detective. ·
By Fortuné Du Boisgobey... 10
Pioneers, The; or, The Sources
of the Susquehanna. By J.
Fenimore Cooper...
20318
10
10
530 Pair of Blue Eyes, A. By Thom-
as Hardy.
20
587 Parson o' Dumford, The. By
G. Manville Feun...
238 Pascarel. By "Ouida
822 Passion Flower, A. A Novel... 20
517 Passive Crime, A, and Other
Stories. By
By "The Duchess 10
886 Paston Carew, Millionaire and
Miser. Mrs. E. Lynn Linton.
First half..
A
""
449 Peeress and Player. By Flor-
ence Marryat..
20
20
613 Percy and the Prophet. By
Wilkie Collius..
20
886 Paston Carew, Millionaire and
Miser. Mrs. E. Lynn Linton.
Second half.
309 Pathfinder, The. By J. Feni-
more Cooper..
720 Paul Clifford. By Sir E. Bulwer
Lytton, Bart...
571 Paul Carew's Story. By Alice
Comyns Carr.
525 Paul Vargas, and Other Stories.
By Hugh Conway, author of
"Called Back
">
By
2 222 2
336 Philistia. By Cecil Power.
669 Philosophy of Whist, The. By
William Pole..
20
20
20
20
20
10
≈ 2 282 2 28 2
10
20
776 Père Goriot. By H. De Balzac 20
314 Peril. By Jessie Fothergill ...
568 Perpetual Curate, The. By Mrs.
Oliphant..
133 Peter the Whaler. By William
H. G. Kingston...
20
868 Petronel. By Florence Marryat
392 Peveril of the Peak. By Sir
Walter Scott...
326 Phantastes. A Faerie Romance
for Men and Women.
George Macdonald..
56 Phantom Fortune. By Miss M.
E. Braddon...
20
845 Philip Earnscliffe; or, The Mor-
als of May Fair. By Mrs.
Annie Edwards.
10
20
20
10
20
20
16 Phyllis. By "The Duchess 20
372 Phyllis' Probation. By the au-
thor of His Wedded Wife". 10
537 Piccadilly. Laurence Oliphant 10
24 Pickwick Papers. By Charles
Dickens. Vol. I...
20
20
448 Pictures From Italy, and The
Mudfog Papers, &c. By Chas.
Dickeus...
20
**
10 697 Pretty Jailer, The. By F. Du
Boisgobey. 2d half.
20 207 Pretty Miss Neville. By B. M.
Croker....
**
24 Pickwick Papers. By Charles
Dickens. Vol. II...
Cooper....
422 Precaution.
Cooper
393 Pirate, The. By Sir Walter Scott 20
850 Playwright's Daughter, A. By
Mrs. Annie Edwards..
818 Pluck. By John Strange Winter 10
869 Poison of Asps, The. ~ By Flor-
ence Marryat..
•
836 Point of Honor, A. By Mrs. An-
nie Edwards..
329 Polish Jew, The.
(Trauslated
from the French by Caroline
A. Merighi.) By Erckmann-
Chatrian...
10
831 Pomegranate Seed. By the au-
thor of "The Two Miss Flem-
ings," etc...
325 Portent, The. By George Mac-
donald...
*
...
•
8 & 29 2 8
•
20
··
10
6 Portia. By "The Duchess " ... 20
655 Portrait, The. By Mrs. Oliphant 10
558 Poverty Corner. By G. Manville
Fenn.
310 Prairie, The. By J. Fenimore
By J. Fenimore
828 Prettiest Woman in Warsaw,
The. By Mabel Collins.
697 Pretty Jailer, The. By F. Du
Boisgobey. 1st half.
10
20
& 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2
20
10
20
20
20
20
20
475 Prima Donna's Husband, The.
By F. Du Boisgobey..
531 Prime Minister, The. By An-
thony Trollope. First Half.. 20
531 Prime Minister, The. By An-
thony Trollope. Second Half 20
624 Primus in Indis. By M. J. Col-
quhoun.
10
249" Prince Charlie's Daughter."
By Charlotte M. Braeme, au-
thor of "Dora Thorne"
556 Prince of Darkness, A. By
Warden...
F.
859
Prince of the 100 Soups, The.
Edited by Vernon Lee…….
704 Prince Otto. By R. L. Steven-
son...
20
20
10 118 128 16
10
20
20
(11)
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"" 20
20
355 Princess Dagomar of Poland,
The. Heinrich Felbermann. 10
228 Princess Napraxine. "Ouida
23 Princess of Thule, A. By Will-
iam Black....
88 Privateersman, The. By Cap-
tain Marryat.
321 Prodigals, The: And Their In-
heritance. By Mrs. Oliphant. 10
144 Promises of Marriage. By Emile
Gaboriau..
20
10
260 Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker 10
516 Put Asunder; or, Lady Castle-
maine's Divorce. By Char-
lotte M. Braeme, author of
"Dora Thorne "
·
487 Put to the Test. Edited by
Miss M. E. Braddon.
...
•
214 Put Yourself in His Place. By
Charles Reade.
20
68 Queen Amongst Women, A. By
Charlotte M. Braeme, author
of "Dora Thorne"
591 Queen of Hearts, The. By Wil-
kie Collins..
641 Rabbi's Spell, The. By Stuart
C. Cumberland..
147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Troll-
ope...
661 Rainbow Gold. By David Chris-
tie Murray.
433 Rainy June, A. By "Ouida"
700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony
Trollope. First half..
700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony
Trollope. Second half.
815 Ralph Wilton's Weird. By Mrs.
Alexander
………
442 Ranthorpe. By George Henry
Lewes.
·
tyne...
463 Redgauntlet.
Scott..
1
89 Red Eric, The. By R. M. Ballan-
f
By Sir Walter
20
10
20
f
780 Rare Pale Margaret. By the au-
thor of "What's His Offence?" 20
327 Raymond's Atonement. (From
the German of E. Werner.)
By Christina Tyrrell...
··
2020
10
10
20
20
10
20
2 2 2 2 2
....
20 396 Robert Ord's Atonement. By
Rosa Nouchette Carey.
20 190 Romance of a Black Veil. By
Charlotte M. Braeme, author
of "Dora Thorne"
10
10
66 Romance of a Poor Young Man,
The. By Octave Feuillet.
139 Romantic Adventures of a Milk-
maid, The. By Thomas Hardy 10
42 Romola. By George Eliot..... 20
360 Ropes of Sand. By R. E. Francil-
lon.
20
427 Remarkable History of Sir
Thomas Upmore, Bart., M.P.,
The. Formerly known as
Tommy Upmore." By R.
D. Blackmore..
*C
20
237 Repented at Leisure. By Char-
lotte M. Braeme, author of
"Dora Thorne "
10
740 Rhona. By Mrs. Forrester.
375 Ride to Khiva, A. By Captain
Fred Burnaby, of the Royal
Horse Guards
580 Red Route, The. By William
Sime...
•••
361 Red Rover, The. A Tale of the
Sea. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20
421 Redskins, The; or, Indian and
Injin. Being the conclusion
of the Littlepage Manuscripts.
By J. Fenimore Cooper...... 20
(12)
By
816 Rogues and Vagabonds.
George R. Sims, author of
""Ostler Joe "
...
20
210 Readiana: Comments on Cur-
rent Events. By Chas. Reade 10
768 Red as a Rose is She. By Rhoda
Broughton..
20
381 Red Cardinal, The. By Frances
Elliot...
10 616 Sacred Nugget, The. By B. L.
Farjeon...
20
73 Redeemed by Love. By Char-
lotte M. Braeme, author of
"Dora Thorne "
223 Sailor's Sweetheart, A. By W.
Clark Russell..
418 St. Ronan's Well. By Sir Walter
Scott...
•
...
222208
***
20
20
664 Rory O'More. By Samuel Lover 20
193 Rosary Folk, The. By G. Man-
ville Fenn..
""
10
670 Rose and the Ring, The. By
W. M. Thackeray. Illustrated 10
119 Rose Distill'd, A. By "The
Duchess
10
103 Rose Fleniing. By Dora Russell 10
296 Rose in Thorns, A. By Char-
lotte M. Braeme, author of
"Dora Thorne "
10
129 Rossmoyne. By "The Duchess" 10
180 Round the Galley Fire. By W.
Clark Russell...
10
··
566 Royal Highlanders, The; or,
The Black Watch in Egypt.
By James Grant………
20
736 Roy and Viola. Mrs. Forrester 20
409 Roy's Wife. By G. J. Whyte-
Melville...
20
489
457
222 20
20 420 Satanstoe; or, The Littlepage
Manuscripts. By J. Fenimore
Cooper..
20
20
Rupert Godwin. By Miss M. E.
Braddon..
Russians at the Gates of Herat,
The. By Charles Marvin.
10-
660 Scottish Chiefs, The. By Miss
Jane Porter. 1st half.
660 Scottish Chiefs, The. By Miss
Jane Porter, 2d half.
2 2 22 23
177 Salem Chapel. By Mrs. Oliphant 20
20 795 Sam's Sweetheart.
B. Mathers……..
By Helen
20
20
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20
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SA
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699 Sculptor's Daughter, The. By
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699 Sculptor's Daughter, The. By
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441 Sea Change, A. By Flora L.
Shaw..
20
←
20
82 Sealed Lips. F. Du Boisgobey. 20
423 Sea Lions, The; or, The Lost
Sealers. By J. F. Cooper...
85 Sea Queen, A. By W. Clark
Russell
20
20
490 Second Life, A.
ander..
By Mrs. Alex-
20
101 Second Thoughts.
By Rhoda
20
Broughton..
781 Secret Dispatch, The. By James
Grant....
10
810 Secret of Her Life, The. By Ed-
ward Jenkins.
20
387 Secret of the Cliffs, The. By
Charlotte French..
20
607 Self-Doomed. By B. L. Farjeon 10
651 "Self or Bearer." By Walter
Besant...
10
474 Serapis. By George Ebers 20
792 Set in Diamonds. By Charlotte
M. Braeme, author of Dora
Thorne"
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548 Shadow in the Corner, The. By
Miss M. E. Braddon.
10
445 Shadow of a Crime, The. By
Hall Caine.
20
293 Shadow of a Sin, The. By Char-
lotte M. Braeme, author of
Dora Thorne
+
11
10
18 Shandon Bells. By Wm. Black 20
141 She Loved Him! By Annie
Thomas,
10
520 She's All the World to Me. By
Hall Caine..
10
801 She Stoops to Conquer. By
Oliver Goldsmith…….
10
57 Shirley. By Charlotte Bronté. 20
239 Signa. By "Ouida"
20
707 Silas Marner: The Weaver of
Raveloe. By George Eliot... 10
539 Silvermead. By Jean Middle-
mas.....
20
681 Singer's Story, A. By May
Laffan..
10
252 Sinless Secret, A. By "Rita" 10
283 Sin of a Lifetime, The. By
Charlotte M. Braeme, author
of "Dora Thorne
515 Sir Jasper's Tenant. By Miss
M. E. Braddon..
>>
643 Sketch-book of Geoffrey Cray-
on, Gent, The. By Washing-
ton Irving..
•
456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative
of Every-day Life and Every-
day People. By Charles Dick-
ens
601 Slings and Arrows, and other
Stories. By Hugh Conway,
author of "Called Back"
491 Society in London. By a For-
eign Resident…….
10
20
20
10
10
505 Society of London, The. By
Count Paul Vasili,
10
778 Society's Verdict. By the au-
thor of "My Marriage
1.
114 Some of Our Girls. By Mrs. C.
J. Eiloart....
686
| 412 Some One Else. By B. M. Croker 20
194" So Near, and Yet So Far!"
By Alison..
880 Son of His Father, The. By
Mrs. Oliphant
368 Southern Star, The; or, The Dia-
mond Land. By Jules Verne 20
63 Spy, The. By J. Fenimore
Cooper
281 Squire's Legacy, The. By Mary
Cecil Hay
817 Stabbed in the Dark. By Mrs.
E. Lynn Linton.
158 Starling. The. By Norman
Macleod. D.D..
436 Stella. By Fanny Lewald
802 Stern Chase, A. By Mrs. Cashel-
Hoey.
846 Steven Lawrence.
20
By Mrs.
Annie Edwards. 1st half………. 20
846 Steven Lawrence.
By Mrs.
Annie Edwards. 2d half…………. 20
145 Storm-Beaten:" God and The
Man. By Robert Buchanan. 20
673 Story of a Sin. By Helen B.
Mathers.
4.
610 Story of Dorothy Grape, The,
and Other Tales. By Mrs.
Heury Wood…….
•••
A
524
Strangers and Pilgrims.
Miss M. E. Braddon...
83 Strange Story, A.
Bulwer Lytton..
592 Strange Voyage, A.
Clark Russell..
277
363
By
By Sir E.
511 Strange World, A. By Miss M.
By W
2 22 2 2 2 2 2 2 28 228 22
10
53 Story of Ida, The. By Francesca 10
50 Strange Adventures of a Phae-
ton. The. By William Black. 20
756 Strange Adventures of Captain
Dangerous, The. By George
Augustus Sala..
Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde. By Robert Louis
Stevenson...
21 Sunrise: A Story of These Times
By Wm. Black.
250 Sunshine and Roses: or, Diana's
Discipline. By Charlotte M.
Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne"
Surgeon's Daughters, The.
Mrs. Henry Wood…….
Surgeon's Daughter, The.
Sir Walter Scott..
20
20
10
By
By
20
20
20
W
2 2 2 2 RA
10
10
20
20
20
E. Braddon..
550 Struck Down. By Hawley Smart 10
467 Struggle for a Ring, A. By Char-
lotte M. Braeme, author of
"Dora Thorne "
10
71
Struggle for Fame, A. By Mrs.
J. H. Riddell….
222 Sun-Maid, The. By Miss Grant 20
20.
20
20
20
20
2 22 2
20
20
20
10
10
10
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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY-Pocket Edition.
844 Susan Fielding. By Mrs. Annie
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123 Sweet is True Love. By "The
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or, Aline
316 Sworn to Silence;
Rodney's Secret. By Mrs.
Alex. McVeigh Miller....
••
559 Taken at the Flood. By Miss
M. E. Braddon…….
20
117 Tale of the Shore and Ocean, A.
By William H. G. Kingston.. 20
77 Tale of Two Cities, A. By
Charles Dickens.
""
***
""
•
……..
By Jules
";
20
10
***
20
20
343 Talk of the Town, The. By
James Payn..
349 Two Admirals, The. A Tale of
the Sea. By J. Fenimore
Cooper
20 307 Two Kisses. By Charlotte M.
Braeme, author of "Dora
Thorne
784 Two Miss Flemings, The. By au-
thor of "What's His Offence?" 20
242 Two Orphans, The. By D'En-
10
By
213 Terrible Temptation, A.
Chas. Reade.
696 Thaddeus of Warsaw. By Miss
Jaue Porter…..
nery.
By
49 That Beautiful Wretch.
William Black.
136 "That Last Rehearsal, and
Other Stories. By "The
Duchess"
355 That Terrible Man. By W. E.
Norris....
563 Two Sides of the Shield, The.
By Charlotte M. Yonge.
311 Two Years Before the Mast.
By R. H. Dana, Jr…….
10 407 Tylney Hall. By Thomas Hood 20
10
833 Ticket No. 9672."
Verne. First half.
10
367 Tie and Trick. By Hawley Smart 20
485 Tinted Vapours. By J. Maclaren
•
879 Touchstone of Peril, The. By
R. E. Forrest..
888 Treasure Island.
Stevenson..
Robert Louis
20 20 20
•
20
20
10
Cobban.
503 Tinted Venus, The. By F. Anstey 10 508
120 Tom Brown's School Days at
་་
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By
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"Dora Thorne "
346 Tumbledown Farm. By Alan
Muir....
20
20
20
862 Ugly 'Barrington.
Duchess."
By "The
10
137 Uncle Jack. By Walter Besant 10
541 Uncle Jack. By Walter Besant 10
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By Charles Dickens..
10
•••
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10
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174
654
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{
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PRICE 20 CENTS
P. O. Box 8751.
For sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaid, on
receipt of the price, 20 cents, by the publisher. Address
GEORGE MUNRO, MUNRO'S PUBLISHING HOUSE,
17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York.
SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION), NO. 745.
FOR ANOTHER'S SIN;
OR,
A STRUGGLE FOR LOVE.
By CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME,
Author of “ Dora Thorne.”
PRINTED IN LARGE, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE.
PRICE 20 CENTS.
For sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaid, on
receipt of the price, 20 cents, by the publisher. Address
GEORGE MUNRO, MUNRO'S PUBLISHING HOUSE,
P. O. Box 2751.
17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York.


HUNTERS' YARNS.
}
A COLLECTION OF
Wild and Amusing Adventures:
COMPRISING
THRILLING BATTLES WITH INDIANS, TER
RIFIC ENCOUNTERS WITH SERPENTS
AND ALLIGATORS, LONG SWIMS,
RACES FOR LIFE, WONDERFUL
FISH AND GHOST STORIES,
ETC., ETC., ETC.,
As Related by Hunters to their Compan-
ions Around the Camp-fire.
This book is beyond question the best publication of its class that
has yet appeared. It is a neat volume of one hundred pages, closely
printed matter, all original, and embraces many side-splitting jokes and
yarns of the ever-ready and sharp-witted trapper and hunter.
P. O. Box 3751.
PRICE 25 CENTS.
For sale by all Newsdealers, or sent to any address on receipt of the price
cents, postage prepaid, by the publisher. Address
GEORGE MUNRO,
Munro's Publishing House,
17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N

DEARS SON
HEALTHFUL
SKIN
GOOD
COMPLEXION
Wris
شده
ཙ, དྷཡཾ, ཨཱརཱཝརཝིཡཱཡཱམིནཾ, ཨཀ ཨཱདཱནྟཔཱ
--
PREVENTS
Time
PEARS
SOAP
SOFT, WHITE
BEAUTIFUL
HANDS.
REDNESS PEARS SOAP
ROUGHNESS & THE PUREST & MOST. DURABLE
TOILET SOAP,
CHAPPING
HENCE THE BEST & CHEAPEST:

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32
THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
DATE DUE
DEC 9 1996
DEC 3 0 1996
DEC 16 1996

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