■■■, : 
 
 ■■':
 
 GERTRUDE
 
 'Battantgne -press 
 
 BAI.I.ANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON
 
 GERTRUDE 
 
 
 BY 
 
 ELIZABETH I\I. SEWELL 
 
 Turn to private life 
 
 And social neighbourhood : look we to ourselves : 
 
 A light of duty shines on every day 
 
 For all. 
 
 The Excursion 
 
 'nuw ^Din-ox ' - r ■ 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO 
 
 1 886
 
 TV 
 GERTRUDE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IT was a calm, bright morning in the beginning of September. 
 The brilliancy of the summer tints had scarcely begun to 
 fade, and the warm breath of the south breeze, as it wandered 
 amongst the foliage of the trees, and played with the flickering 
 shadows on the turf, gave no indication that the glory of the year 
 was departing. But there is something in the knowledge that 
 autumn is near, which will often cast a shade over the fair face 
 of nature, from the contrast between the charm of its present 
 beauty and the desolation which we feel to be at hand. Lovely 
 though it may be, we view it with something of sadness mingled 
 with our pleasure, for, like the last sweet smile of a cherished 
 friend, we are conscious that, even while we are yet gazing, it is 
 passing away from our sight. 
 
 And perhaps it was a thought such as this which caused the 
 sigh that escaped from Edith Courtenay, as she stood at the 
 library window of Elsham Priory, and looked upon the sunnv 
 prospect before her. 
 
 The scene was one of quiet home beauty, often to be met with 
 in England. To the right lay a cheerful village, partly em- 
 bosomed in trees, and partly clustering around the base of a 
 steep, conical hill, which had once been the station of a Roman 
 encampment. The church, with its spire pointing to the blue 
 heavens, and its white tombstones shining in the morning sun, 
 stood near upon another hill of less considerable elevation, 
 while, immediately adjoining, stretched the woods and lawns of 
 Allingham Park, long in the possession of the elder branch of 
 the Courtenay family. The house, an edifice of Grecian archj. 
 
 465466
 
 2 GERTRUDE. 
 
 tecture, with no pretensions to beauty beyond a handsome Ionic 
 colonnade, almost fronted the Priory ; and to the left, the eye, 
 after passing over a few miles of wooded country, rested upon 
 the outline of the low hills, which, receding one behind the other, 
 formed a barrier between the valley of Elsham and the sea. 
 
 The Priory of Elsham existed now only in name, its rich en- 
 dowments and lands having, in the reign of Henry the Eighth, 
 shared the fate of the other church properties which were saci i- 
 ficed to the rapacity of that monarch and his favourites. From 
 that time the building, deserted by its former inmates, gradually 
 fell into decay, and the crumbling walls at length entirely dis- 
 appeared, as the stones were taken to form barns and stables for 
 the farm which, in after years, occupied the spot where the Priory 
 had stood. The modern Priory, consisting of a square front of 
 recent date, and a long wing erected about a hundred years be- 
 fore, had no connection with the old religious house except that 
 of bearing the same designation. It was of moderate size, con- 
 taining the usual number of apartments— a library and drawing- 
 room opening into each other, a good dining-room, a small study, 
 and bedrooms in proportion, — and in its general appearance 
 gave signs of comfort, opulence, and good taste, the latter being 
 principally exhibited in the quiet, unostentatious style of the 
 furniture, and the skill with which the few acres of pleasure- 
 ground adjoining the house were laid out, so as to afford the 
 greatest variety, and command the most striking points of view. 
 To the world it might have seemed that, with such a home, 
 and in the possession of youth, health, friends, and affluence, 
 Edith Courtenay could have had no cause to sigh ; and certainly 
 there were no traces of sorrow in her open brow, her deep blue 
 eye, or the half smile upon her lip. At nineteen, she was too 
 young to have experienced the cares of the world, and too buoy- 
 ant in spirit to feel more than a passing dread of its trials ; but 
 she was not too young to have had experience in those petty- 
 everyday annoyances which are often mercifully sent us in 
 eatl'y life, to prepare us for the real afflictions that await us in 
 after years ; and, much as she might have been envied by many, 
 there were circumstances in her situation which might justly 
 have caused them to hesitate before they pronounced her happy. 
 On this morning, however, the shade soon passed from her 
 mind. It was only caused by the remembrance of the summer 
 pleasures which were now almost gone ; and when she joined 
 her mother and her two sisters at the breakfast-table, her voice
 
 GERTRUDE. 3 
 
 was the most cheerful, and her smile the gayest of the little 
 party. 
 
 'We are very late this morning,' said Mrs Courtenay, looking 
 at her watch. ' Do, Jane, go into the drawing-room, and tell me 
 exactly what o'clock it is by the timepiece.' 
 
 'It is not much later than usual, mamma,' replied Jane, in a 
 languid tone, and not Offering to move ; ' I dare say your watch 
 is quite right.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, Jane,' said Edith, ' it is just now half-past 
 nine ; and I have been waiting at least half an hour.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Jane, rather sharply, ' I suppose it will not kill 
 you, even if you have.' 
 
 ' No, not kill me,' replied Edith ; ' but it is very inconvenient ; 
 I ought to be at the school by ten.' 
 
 'The school again to-day!' exclaimed Charlotte, who had 
 hitherto been busily employed in making breakfast ; ' I thought 
 you were there yesterday.' 
 
 ' So I was ; but that is no precise reason why I should not be 
 there again to-day.' 
 
 'No,' replied Charlotte, with a satirical smile, 'not in your 
 case, though it might be in another person's. All the world are 
 not so devoted to schools as yourself.' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay, who was still examining her watch, again 
 spoke : ' Charlotte, my dear, I am certain that I am at least ten 
 minutes too fast, and it really makes me uncomfortable ; I wish 
 you would look at the timepiece.' 
 
 ' In a minute, mamma,' said Charlotte ; and she continued to 
 pour out the tea, and then proceeded to cut bread for the party, 
 while Edith went to obtain the desired information. ' Ah ! thank 
 you, my love,' said her mother, when she returned ; ' I thought 
 I was wrong. It quite disturbs me in the night if I fancy that 
 my watch is out of order ; and last night I could hardly sleep at 
 all — I was so dreadfully nervous.' 
 
 'Did you try Gertrude's remedy?' asked Edith; 'it did you 
 good before.' 
 
 ' Yes, so it did ; everything that comes from Gertrude does me 
 good ; but it was not mixed, and I was obliged to go without it.' 
 
 Edith looked reproachfully at her sisters. ' I was so busy, 
 yesterday,' she said, ' at the school in the morning, and in the 
 village in the afternoon, and I depended upon you to attend 
 to it.' 
 
 ' I forgot it,' replied Charlotte ; ' and I had no time. Miss
 
 4 GERTRUDE. 
 
 Forester called and paid a long visit, and I was only able to 
 have a few minutes' walk before dinner.' 
 
 ' I wish Gertrude would make me sleep too,' said Jane. ' I 
 never have more than three hours' rest at once, and I am as tired 
 this morning as if I had walked ten miles. I am sure Mr Hum- 
 phries cannot understand my case.' 
 
 ' Can any one ?' asked Charlotte, whose brilliant colour and 
 sparkling eyes differed so entirely from Jane's sallow complexion, 
 and look of general ill health, that the family likeness was 
 scarcely discernible. 'You have as many cases as there are 
 days in the year — which is it this morning ? Gout, rheumatism, 
 tic douloureux, or ague? or is it all conjoined — the essence of 
 every complaint that ever was heard of?' 
 
 ' 1 wish you could feel as I do, only lor ten minutes,' said 
 Jane. 
 
 'Thank you, I dare say I should survive it; but remember, 
 Jane, what I complain of is not your taking possession of any 
 one pet malady, but making a monopoly of the whole race of 
 diseases, — monopoly of illness implies monopoly of pity ; and 
 really I have so many little secret griefs of my own, that I must 
 insist upon having a share in the commiseration our friendb 
 bestow upon you.' 
 
 ' I would not give you much for the whole,' said Jane ; 'there 
 is not one person in a hundred who knows what real pity means.' 
 'Perhaps not,' answered Charlotte; 'but for everyday pur- 
 poses make-believe pity does just as well.' 
 
 'No, no,' exclaimed Edith, 'nothing that is make-believe can 
 ever be of any value.' 
 
 ' Is that to be your motto all your life, Edith ?' asked Char- 
 lotte ; 'because, if so, you had better retire from society at once, 
 for every one knows it is made up of make-believes.' 
 
 'That is one of your misanthropical notions, Charlotte, which 
 you hold from mere perversity. 1 know that fashionable society 
 often is pretence and show ; but I never will think that there is 
 no sincerity to be met with in a quiet country-place like this.' 
 'Miss Forester, for instance,' said Jane, sarcastically. 
 'She is an exception, and of course proves the rule. In Lon- 
 don, I dare say she might not be remarkable ; but here, the very 
 fact of your bringing her forward, shows that she is different from 
 her neighbours.' 
 
 'Well,' exclaimed Charlotte, 'I am thankful to say that I am 
 neither philosophical nor metaphysical. I am willing to take the
 
 GERTRUDE. 5 
 
 world as I find it ; and if people are civil to me, it never enters 
 my head to analyse their motives.' 
 
 ' But,' said Edith, ' there is no occasion for you to do it ; you 
 determine beforehand that they are all interested and selfish.' 
 
 * Yes ; and I find it is much for my happiness in the end — I 
 am never disappointed in any one.' 
 
 ' Indeed, Charlotte,' said Edith, gravely, ' I wish you would 
 not talk in such a random way; because, I am sure, when per- 
 sons are in the habit of saying the same things continually, they 
 at Inst believe them to be true.' 
 
 'But that is just my case,' replied Charlotte; 'I do believe 
 them to be true, and therefore I say them ; and I am not alone 
 in my opinion. Jane talks in the same way sometimes. Besides, 
 Edith, we are older than you, and must know more of the 
 world.' 
 
 'A year or two can make but little difference,' replied Edith; 
 ' and if you were a hundred years older, I should not agree with 
 you. I will give you some examples, and prove to you that you 
 must be wrong. What do you say to Edward and Gertrude? 
 You do not think them hypocrites?' 
 
 ' Gertrude a hypocrite, my dears ! ' said Mrs Courtenay, look- 
 ing up from the newspaper she had been reading; 'what do you 
 mean ? ' 
 
 'Nothing, ma'am,' replied Charlotte, shortly; and then, un- 
 heeding the interruption, she went on : 'You will use such hard 
 words, Edith ; no one pretends to say that all the world are 
 hypocrites, but only that there is a certain gloss, a French 
 polish, over their words and actions, which does not hide, but 
 exaggerates. As for Gertrude, I always put her out of the ques- 
 tion when I am talking of people in general. I suppose she is — 
 yes, she must be — sincere.' 
 
 ' And Edward,' said Edith, eagerly, ' you do not doubt 
 him?' 
 
 ' No,' said Charlotte, ' not doubt exactly— he is sincere at the 
 moment he is speaking, but what he says is not quite to be 
 depended upon.' 
 
 ' O Charlotte!' exclaimed Edith, indignantly, while the colour 
 mounted to her cheeks, as she heard such an opinion expressed 
 of her only brother — the very idol of her imagination. 
 
 'You need not be in such a hurry to be angry,' said Charlotte, 
 coolly. ' Edward is my brother as well as yours, so I have an 
 equal reason for wishing him to be perfection; but I am not
 
 6 GERTRUDE. 
 
 blind ; I can see, and so can every one else who watches him, 
 that he is inconsistent. You could see it if you would.' 
 
 ' It may be either can, or will, which is the cause,' replied 
 Edith; 'but I am certain I do not see it. I wish you had 
 heard his conversation with me when he was last here, and all 
 his plans for doing good.' 
 
 ' Excellent they were, of course, beginning with the rebuilding 
 of the burnt cottages at the quarry, and ending with a new 
 church on Torrington Heath.' 
 
 'And the intermediate degrees being infant, national, and 
 Sunday schools, upon Edith's most approved principles,' said 
 Jane. 
 
 ' You may sneer at me, if you will,' exclaimed Edith, angrily; 
 'but if only a fourth part of the world were as good as 
 Edward ' 
 
 ' It would be a very different world from what it is,' said 
 Charlotte. ' I quite grant, Edith, that to hear Edward talk 
 you would believe him an angel, and that to see him act you 
 would think him a superior mortal; but I must contend for 
 it, that he does not show to you or to the world the average 
 standard of his principles. Every one sees the best of him at 
 first sight.' 
 
 'I thought you were no philosopher,' said Edith, in a sup- 
 pressed tone of extreme annoyance. 
 
 ' It does not require much philosophy to see the faults of one's 
 brothers and sisters,' replied Charlotte. 
 
 ' Nor one's own, either,' said Edith, recovering herself. ' I 
 know that I have felt angry, and I am very sorry for it.' 
 
 Charlotte scarcely noticed the apology, but, rising from the 
 breakfast-table, began to search amongst the books for some- 
 thing she had mislaid. . 
 
 'At what time shall you be able to practise with me?' she 
 said ; ' we sang that trio wretchedly last night, and really I can- 
 not exhibit myself in the same way again.' 
 
 'You must practise without me,' said Edith; 'I shall not be 
 home till half-past twelve; and directly after luncheon I am 
 going with Mrs Grantley to see nurse Philips.' 
 
 ' Do let nurse Philips rest fcr to-day,' said Jane ; ' you were 
 with her only three days ago.' 
 
 'Six at the least/ replied Edith; 'besides, I have pro- 
 mised.' 
 
 ' Oh ! of course,' said Jane, 'all promises must be kept— those
 
 CERT RUDE. 7 
 
 made at home excepted. You said you would try over the trio, 
 and some of the ducts besides.' 
 
 'Well, so I will, by and by; but I must go now, or I shall be 
 dreadfully late.' 
 
 'Is Edith gone?' asked Mrs Courtenay, looking round when 
 her daughter had left the room. 
 
 'Yes, to the school, mamma,' replied Charlotte. 
 
 'But she told me she would show me how to do the knitting 
 from the pattern which Gertrude sent. I shall never be able to 
 manage it without her.' 
 
 'You understand it, Jane, don't you?' said Charlotte. 
 
 ' Yes ; that is, I tried it once ; but I should not be able to 
 begin ; and I must finish this book, for it must be sent away 
 to-day.' 
 
 ' It would not be much trouble to try the work,' said Charlotte; 
 ' and if you succeed, mamma will be able to go on.' 
 
 'Well, I will see about it presently,' replied Jane; and she. 
 went to fetch her book, and then, seating herself by the drawing- 
 room window, forgot her mother's wishes, till again reminded of 
 them by Charlotte. 
 
 Edith pursued her walk to the school in no very enviable state 
 of mind; for although daily accustomed to such a conversation 
 as had just passed, use had not as yet become a second nature. 
 She differed with her sisters upon almost every point, both of 
 principle and taste ; and the irritation of perpetual disagreement 
 was at times more than she could bear with temper. 
 
 She felt something like degradation, also, in thinking of the 
 impression a stranger would have received from the tone in which 
 she had been tempted to reply to Charlotte's observations ; and 
 her conscience bitterly reproached her for having broken the 
 serious resolution, made only a few hours before, of endeavouring, 
 if possible, to spend that one day without yielding to provocation. 
 Perhaps on any other subject she might have been invulnerable; 
 but to speak against Edward was to touch that which was nearest 
 and dearest to her in the world ; and if her self-accusation had 
 been less sincere, she might have found some excuse for her 
 annoyance in the greatness of the trial ; but as it was, she was 
 too vexed with herself to complain of her sister, or to feel pained, 
 as she often did, at the contrast between what her home really 
 was, and what she knew it ought to be. 
 
 The school in some measure diverted her thoughts from herself. 
 The mistress was ill, and she had engaged to take charge of the
 
 8 GERTRUDE. 
 
 children for an hour and a half every day, till a proper substitute 
 could be found ; and the necessity of attending to them had a 
 great effect in restoring her equanimity, as she forgot for the time 
 that there were any other persons in the world besides tiresome 
 Anne Godfrey, and dull little Sarah Plowden, and the rest of the 
 half mischievous, half frightened tribe of children, whom she was 
 endeavouring to reduce into something like order. The morning 
 passed quickly away, for Edith had an innate love of teaching 
 and managing, and what to others would have been the most tire- 
 some of all tiresome tasks, was to her only a subject of interest ; 
 and she felt sorry when at twelve o'clock the children were dis- 
 missed, and she was obliged to return to the Priory — to her 
 mother's uncongeniality, and Jane's peevishness, and Charlotte's 
 satire. The feeling was not exactly acknowledged, but it caused 
 her unconsciously to linger on the road, and to indulge in a day 
 dream of happiness which could never be realised, but in which 
 her two sisters had no share. There was another, indeed, who 
 was always foremost in Edith's visions of enjoyment, but she was 
 absent — living with an invalid aunt of her father's, who had taken 
 a fancy to her when she was about fourteen, and had persuaded 
 her parents to part with her, on the promise that she should 
 inherit all her little property at her death. The temptation might 
 not to some have been very great, since Mrs Heathfield's income 
 was not more than five hundred a year; but it would at least be 
 a comfortable provision for Gertrude, and Mr Courtenay was too 
 much harassed with family cares to allow a dislike to parting with 
 his child to interfere with a plan which promised well for her 
 worldly advantage. 
 
 How Gertrude was to be educated, or what principles were to 
 be instilled into her mind, he never inquired. Though possessed 
 of first-rate talents himself, he considered them of but little im- 
 portance in a woman. He had married a young and very pretty 
 girl, devoid of any cultivation of mind beyond the superficial 
 acquirements of the day; and she had implicitly obeyed his 
 orders, and had never thwarted his wishes even by a look of ill- 
 humour; and, though now and then irritated by her weak sim- 
 plicity, on the whole he was contented; — what satisfied him must 
 of course satisfy every one else, — he asked nothing more than 
 that Gertrude should possess lady-like manners, a moderate 
 share of accomplishments, a quiet, easy temper, and five 
 hundred a year. With these advantages she would pass 
 through life easily, and would die surrounded by friends and
 
 GERTRUDE. 9 
 
 comforts ; and than — but of what was to come afterwards Mr 
 Courtcnay never thought. This world was his home, his hope, 
 his happiness. In the existence of another he believed — he had 
 been taught to do so from his childhood — and in occasional 
 moments of weariness he could discourse eloquently upon the 
 vanity of earthly enjoyments; and when grieved at the loss of a 
 friend, he could sigh and express a hope of meeting him again 
 in heaven — but when the words were repeated, the feeling was 
 gone; and Mr Courtenay returned to his easy chair, and his 
 well-stored library, and forgot that if the heaven of which he 
 had spoken were ever to be reached, it must be through the 
 strait gate of penitence and faith, and by the narrow way of 
 daily self-denial. 
 
 If left to her father's care, Gertrude Courtenay would probably 
 have grown up the very counterpart of himself, except with supe- 
 rior energy of mind. She had his generosity, his good temper, 
 and his high sense of honour ; but she had also his pride, his love 
 of command, his keen sense of the importance of the world's 
 applause, and his delight in everything that was beautiful and 
 luxurious. And in her own home these feelings would have been 
 fostered to the utmost ; but in the retirement of a country vil- 
 lage, with no companion but her aunt, there was little opportunity 
 for their development ; and before she was placed in any scenes 
 of greater temptation, she had learned to study her own heart, and 
 to pray and strive against its weaknesses. In what way the 
 principle of religion had first taken root in her mind, it would 
 have been almost impossible for her to have told. It had sprung 
 up, unnoticed even by herself, in constant intercourse with one 
 whose minutest actions were governed by its rules ; for although 
 Mrs Heathfield, from illness and natural reserve, but seldom 
 conversed upon the subject, there was an influence in her meek, 
 uncomplaining resignation, and her self-denying charity, which 
 it was impossible for a mind so thoughtful as Gertrude's to with- 
 stand. 
 
 Perhaps, indeed, the influence was the greater from the very 
 fact of there being something of silence and mystery connected 
 with it. When first taken to Farleigh Cottage, Gertrude had 
 felt as if removed into a new world ; new not merely in its ex- 
 ternal appearance, but in the motives and feelings of the persons 
 who inhabited it ; and when the first grief at separation from her 
 home had subsided, she found daily cause for increasing wonder. 
 Her aunt watched over her carefully by directing her studies ;
 
 io GERTRUDE. 
 
 but she was too unwell actually to superintend them. She could 
 only recommend the books she wished her to read, and give her 
 reasons for admiring them ; and then Gertrude was left to think 
 by herself upon the difference between her father's taste and her 
 aunt's; and to endeavour, if possible, to discover which was based 
 upon the highest principles. The answer, if left to her own incli- 
 nation, would have been in her father's favour; but, to counteract 
 the force of an early impression, she had daily before her eyes the 
 picture of patience, humility, entire freedom from selfishness, and 
 a thoughtful care which never forgot even the most distant objects 
 of compassion. Gertrude deeply felt her aunt's goodness ; she 
 looked on it as on something surpassingly strange, almost un- 
 earthly; and she could not but believe that the subjects which 
 interested her must be in themselves far superior to all others. 
 And so the first bias was given in favour of religion ; and the seed 
 which had been implanted at baptism, and then buried beneath 
 the distractions and frivolities of a careless education, grew up by 
 imperceptible degrees into a strength and beauty unknown only 
 to its possessor. 
 
 But notwithstanding the quiet peacefulness of Gertrude's life 
 at Farleigh, her heart still clung to the recollection of her owp 
 home and her childish pleasures, with a tenacity which neither 
 time nor distance could entirely destroy. There were many 
 solitary hours in which she longed for the society of her sisters ; 
 although the letters received from them made her occasionally 
 doubt whether difference of education would not prevent any 
 similarity of taste and feeling between them. This doubt amounted 
 to a painful certainty when, after an absence of three years, she 
 paid a long-promised visit to the Priory. It had been anticipated 
 with delight for weeks beforehand, and every passing cloud of 
 distrust had been driven from her mind, as something unkind in 
 herself, and unjust to her family ; but when a week had been 
 spent under her father's roof, and she had watched the tone and 
 temper exhibited in her sisters' everyday life, the fond illusion 
 was dispelled, and she was forced to acknowledge, with bitter 
 disappointment, that the retirement of Farleigh afforded her in- 
 finitely greater sources of happiness than the comparative dissi- 
 pations of her home. Perhaps the effect of this visit on Gertrude's 
 mind might have been different if Edith had been of an age to 
 be her companion; but she was then only fourteen, and not yet 
 out of the schoolroom, and it was impossible to foresee the cir- 
 cumstances which contributed afterwards to form her character;
 
 GERTRUDE. II 
 
 and Gertrude returned to her aunt, with the belief that there 
 existed a barrier between herself and her sisters, far more real 
 than any which outward separation could occasion. In her 
 mother she had found warm feelings, but a mind so inferior to 
 her own that there was scarcely a subject on which they could 
 converse in common ; and in her father she had met a proud, 
 worldly man, who saw in his children only the reflection of his 
 own imaginary consequence, and thought but little of Gertrude 
 when he discovered that she possessed neither beauty nor showy 
 accomplishments, which might bring credit on himself. And 
 yet, in spite of all these drawbacks, Gertrude still dwelt upon 
 the recollection of her home, not indeed with pleasure, but with 
 an interest deeper than she could feel for any other spot, how- 
 ever associated with enjoyment. Her aunt's age and illness were 
 constantly before her, warning her that the time would probably 
 soon come when she must return to it ; and even without this 
 thought, the very names of father, mother, sisters, and brother 
 awakened visions of happiness which she could not persuade her- 
 self it would be impossible to realise. 
 
 Two years had elapsed after her first unsatisfactory visit to 
 the Priory, when Gertrude was again recalled from Farleigh by 
 the sudden and most alarming illness of her father. He had 
 been dining with a party of friends, when he was seized with an 
 apoplectic fit, from which it was at first thought he could not 
 possibly recover ; and although he partially regained his re- 
 collection, his mind was very much broken, and after lingering 
 for about a week he expired, awakening, by his unexpected loss, 
 feelings of sympathy and regard which had but seldom been 
 accorded to him during his life. Every one exclaimed, ' How 
 dreadful ! ' ' How distressing ! ' ' Poor Mrs Courtenay ! how 
 much she will suffer;' but few dwelt for more than an instant 
 upon the awfulness of the event which had thus summoned a 
 fellow-creature, engrossed in the pursuits of the world, to the 
 tremendous presence of his Maker. If Gertrude had known her 
 father better, the trial would have been much more severe ; but 
 being ignorant of his habitual tone of mind, she could only listen 
 to the stories which were repeated of his honourable conduct and 
 occasional benevolence, and trust that her own judgment had 
 been mistaken, and that these passing acts of virtue were really 
 signs of that inward purity of heart which God requires. Mr 
 Courtenay's fortune had always been considered equal to the 
 style in which he lived ; by some it was reported to be two thou-
 
 12 GERTRUDE. 
 
 sand a year, by others three, and some even magnified it to four 
 or five ; and much wonder had been expressed that with such 
 ample means he should have chosen to educate his only son for 
 the bar. But the event of his death proved that in this Mr 
 Courtenay had acted the part of a prudent though selfish father. 
 He had lived much beyond his income, and he well knew it ; but 
 he could not consent to diminish one iota of his consequence in 
 the eye of the world ; and therefore he still kept his carriage, and 
 horses, and paid his annual visit to the metropolis, and vied with 
 his more wealthy neighbours in the splendour of his country 
 establishment ; and contenting himself with providing for his 
 wife and daughters, left his son with no expectations beyond 
 those which were derived from high talents and the probability 
 of success in his profession. To many young men upon their 
 first entrance into life, this might have appeared a hardship ; but 
 Edward Courtenay, fresh from the excitement of college honours, 
 and longing for future distinctions, was satisfied with the know- 
 ledge that his father's death would make no very material altera- 
 tion in the comfort of his mother and sisters, and considered his 
 own situation merely an additional stimulus to exertion. Even 
 his dreams of wealth, and his projects of benevolence, received 
 but a momentary check ; for his expectations had never been 
 great, and to a mind so ardent and energetic the hope of gaining 
 riches and honour by his own efforts, and then devoting them all 
 to good, was more alluring than the prospects of the most splendid 
 hereditary fortune. 
 
 His wishes, however, were not destined to be fulfilled. The 
 wealth denied by his father's extravagance was bestowed from 
 another source ; and about two years after Mr Courtenay's death 
 his son found himself, by the unexpected death of his cousin 
 Colonel Courtenay of Allingham, and of his only child, a boy 
 about six years old, the possessor of the family estate, and a 
 fortune reported to be six thousand a year. At an earlier period, 
 Edward's feelings at this sudden change might not have been 
 altogether unmixed with alloy ; but four years' experience of the 
 difficulties attendant upon a barrister's life had somewhat 
 deadened his enthusiasm. His imagination still pictured the 
 honours that might be gained in his profession ; but his expecta- 
 tions of attaining them were less vivid, and the necessity of daily 
 economy, made him turn from his former visions of benevolence 
 as from childish dreams, which it was in vain to imagine could 
 ever be put in practice. At such a moment, therefore, when the
 
 GERTRUDE. 13 
 
 first bitterness of that 'hope deferred,' which is the portion of all 
 at some period of their lives, was just beginning to be felt, the 
 relief afforded by the alteration of his circumstances was as great 
 as it was unforeseen. 
 
 Had the choice been granted him, he would have preferred the 
 acquisition of fortune by some other means ; but his acquaintance 
 with his cousin had been merely that of common courtesy ; and 
 his regret for the extinction of the elder branch of the family was 
 soon overpowered by the brilliant prospect opened before him. 
 Six thousand a year to one who, but a few days previous, would 
 have considered six hundred amply sufficient for the gratification 
 of every ordinary wish, was an inexhaustible mine of wealth ; 
 and, for the first week, Edward revelled in day dreams of enjoy- 
 ment and generosity, for which even the riches of Crcesus would 
 scarcely have sufficed. 
 
 But, with time and consideration, came the usual concomitant 
 evils of a large accession of fortune. Lawyers, relations, tenants, 
 and dependants flocked around him, all clamorous for attention ; 
 and, at the expiration of a month a serious doubt arose in his 
 mind, whether his new position would indeed be the bed of roses 
 which fancy had so fondly pictured. A second month not only 
 converted the doubt into a certainty, but brought with it also the 
 conviction that his wealth was not what the world believed it. 
 The family failing of the Courtenays, — the fear of the world's 
 ridicule, and the corresponding love of the world's applause, — 
 had operated to its fullest extent upon his predecessors at Alling- 
 ham. That which they were reported to possess, they felt 
 themselves bound to expend. To own that there was a necessity 
 for retrenchment, would have been to lower their consequence 
 in the eyes of their fellow-creatures ; and as Mr Courtenay of 
 the Priory had acted on a small scale, so had his cousin Colonel 
 Courtenay of Allingham acted on a very large one. The family 
 estates had become every year more and more encumbered ; and 
 the income, which was believed to be six thousand a year, was 
 not in reality more than two. Unhappily for Edward, he had 
 had but a slight experience of the fearful evils arising from 
 ostentation. His father's conduct had produced no visible 
 effect upon the happiness of his mother and sisters, his own dis- 
 appointment had been-eomparatively trifling, whilst his cousin's 
 extravagance, though at first startling, was productive of even 
 less apparent evil. Possibly, if any friend had been near to 
 suggest the real motives of their actions, Edward might have
 
 i 4 GERTRUDE. 
 
 been more alive to the similar defect which, unknown to himself, 
 existed in his own character ; but, as it was, he, too, yielded to 
 what he considered the necessity of keeping up appearances, 
 and with a secret resolve of redeeming all that others had lost 
 through extravagance by his own strict attention to economy, 
 he carefully kept the fact of his disappointment from his relations 
 and friends, and suffered himself to be congratulated by all, as 
 the possessor of a property of nearly three times its real value. 
 To one person alone, besides his lawyers, the actual state of his 
 affairs was confided, with a strict promise of secrecy, and this 
 was his sister Edith ; but her knowledge of the world was too 
 slight to enable her to advise him as to his future conduct ; and 
 the reason which he adduced for concealment was so plausible, 
 and her reverence fbr his opinion so profound, that she could 
 not doubt the propriety of his decision. It certainly did appear 
 unbecoming to publish to the world the follies of a near relation, 
 from whom so much wealth had been derived ; and, with 
 Edward's prudence and strength of resolution, it might be 
 possible for him, in a few years, to recover the ground that had 
 been lost, and be in reality what he now was only in appearance. 
 And when once the past had been retrieved, the same habits of 
 simplicity and carefulness would enable him to indulge to the 
 utmost his plans for the good of others ; and as he said this, 
 Edward convinced himself of his own sincerity by sketching the 
 rough outline of a new church to be built on Torrington Heath, 
 with a large schoolroom adjoining, and some picturesque alms- 
 houses in the distance. Edith was quite satisfied. It was clear 
 that wealth had made no change in her brother ; he still re- 
 tained the noble, generous mind, and the high religious principle 
 which had first attracted her admiration, and afterwards mainly 
 influenced her conduct ; and the only difference perceptible was 
 in the enlargement of his schemes of usefulness. And Edward 
 was equally contented. Possessed of talent, feeling, and energy, 
 he had passed through his college life with the esteem both of 
 his companions and his superiors ; his tutors had been men of 
 real goodness ; his friends chosen from amongst the elite of the 
 University ; he had been peculiarly guarded from temptation, 
 and the weakness of his own heart was a lesson still to be 
 learned ; or, if an occasional misgiving as to the strength of his 
 moral courage crossed his mind, it vanished before the bright- 
 ness of those daydreams of the future which made him overlook 
 the duties of the present. His sister Charlotte had indeed spoken
 
 GERTRUDE. 15 
 
 the truth, when she said that he was not consistent ; but it was 
 a truth which few but herself would have discovered. It re- 
 quired all her insight into character, and, perhaps, likewise, a 
 certain coldness of feeling not liable to be led astray by sym- 
 pathy, to discover that Edward sometimes mistook wishes for 
 actions, and gazed upon the promised land of holiness, till he 
 forgot the struggles and the toils of the wearisome wilderness 
 which must be passed before it could be attained. In the 
 present instance his self-deception, if such it could be called, 
 was complete ; and when he left Allingham with the intention 
 of spending a few months in London, his last words to Edith 
 were a repetition of the plans of strict economy which he in- 
 tended to practise on his return. Charlotte, perhaps, would 
 have inquired why they were not acted upon at once ; why the 
 same overgrown establishment of servants (who, it was known, 
 had cheated their master at every opportunity) was still kept ; 
 why the same array of hunters and dogs was still to be seen ; 
 and, above all, why a person whose professed object was re- 
 trenchment, should voluntarily choose to expose himself to the 
 temptations of a London season. But Edith's confiding disposi- 
 tion shielded her from every doubt; and, amidst the annoyances 
 of her home, her mind still dwelt upon the thought of her brother, 
 as upon the first and greatest of earthly blessings. It was to 
 him, therefore, even more than to her absent sister, that she 
 looked for comfort. Gertrude's letters, indeed, were delightful, 
 and her interest in the most minute details of home made Edith 
 forget how little she had actually known of it ; but no such 
 intercourse could equal the charms of Edward's daily sympathy 
 and affection ; and as Edith walked slowly from the school, she 
 began to reckon the weeks, and even the days, which must elapse 
 before his promised return, as eagerly as a child calculates the 
 approach of its holidays. Engrossed in her own thoughts, she 
 passed the gate of Elsham parsonage, without recollecting that it 
 was necessary to give an account of her morning's occupations to 
 Mrs Grantley ; and would probably have forgotten it altogether, 
 if the approach of the person whom, of all others in the neigh- 
 bourhood, she least desired to meet, had not awakened her from 
 her reverie. The lady, who advanced quickly towards her, was 
 of that doubtful age which is sometimes expressed as being ' no 
 age.' Her fawn-coloured silk dress, satin mantilla, and Tuscan 
 bonnet, with its drooping white feather, had been adjusted with 
 every attention to that which might be most becoming ; and, at
 
 i6 GERTRUDE. 
 
 a little distance, her light step, and not ungraceful figure, would 
 have justified the belief that she was very young ; but, on a 
 nearer approach, the faded brilliancy of her complexion destroyed 
 the illusion. The expression of her countenance was as little to 
 be depended on as the youthfulness of her figure ; for the 
 smile upon her lips was contradicted by the keenness of her small, 
 dark eyes, while the easy suavity of manner, which at first was 
 alluring, excited, upon maturer observation, a suspicion that it 
 was intended as a mask for feelings not meant for inspection. 
 Edith's first impulse was to retrace her steps ; but the motive 
 would have been too obvious, and, earnestly wishing herself in 
 Mrs Grantlcy's drawing-room, she hastened her steps, hoping to 
 be allowed to pass with only a bow of recognition. She was not, 
 however, so fortunate ;— a hand was extended to greet her, and 
 the lady's voice, in the blandest, softest of tones, expressed the 
 utmost pleasure at their meeting, and then proceeded to ask after 
 the health of her dear mother and sisters, and her absentee 
 brother, as if the whole happiness of the speaker depended upon 
 the information. Edith's answers were short, almost abrupt ; — 
 she was obliged by Miss Forester's inquiries, her mother was 
 tolerable, her sisters pretty well, and her brother expected home 
 in about a fortnight ; he had been at Hastings for the last six 
 weeks, and was now in London on business ; — and trusting that 
 this account would be sufficient, Edith would have passed on. 
 but she was again prevented. 
 
 'You are in a hurry, I see, my dear Miss Courtenay ; some 
 errand of kindness, no doubt, as usual ; but you really must 
 spare me one moment,— on such an occasion you must allow one 
 of your oldest friends to offer her congratulations;' and Miss 
 Forester, fixing her eyes upon Edith, as if determined to dis- 
 cover the slightest change of countenance, continued, 'It is a 
 delightful prospect for you,— such a good family ; so highly con- 
 nected, and so fashionable ; and the young lady the belle of the 
 season. I can imagine nothing more satisfactory in every way. 
 
 Happily for your brother, money is no object, or perhaps ' 
 
 ' Really ! ' exclaimed Edith, with a sudden perception of what 
 must be intended, ' you are under some very great mistake. 
 You allude, I suppose, to some reports you have heard of my 
 brother's marriage ; we hear such constantly, but in this instance 
 you seem to be much better accpiainted with the circumstances 
 than myself.' 
 
 'Of course,' replied Miss Forester, with a peculiar smile,
 
 GERTRUDE. 17 
 
 * near relations always are ignorant of these matters. There is 
 considerable pleasure in a little mystery.' 
 
 ' Not to me,' said Edith ; ' I never can endure mystery, and 
 there can be none now, for there is no secret.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! I must have been strangely misinformed ; but you 
 may trust me entirely. I am aware that family reasons may 
 render secrecy expedient ; and I am almost as an fait at keep- 
 ing my countenance as yourself. I promise you not to name the 
 subject again, since you seem so much to dislike it.' 
 
 Edith felt extremely provoked ; ' I can have no wish in a case 
 of which I am ignorant,' she said ; ' if you will do me the favour 
 to mention the report you have heard, I will give you full author- 
 ity to contradict it.' 
 
 ' But that is so absurd. I really cannot bring myself to re- 
 peat what you ought to have known a week since ; my cousin 
 writes me word that the affair has been all but settled for at 
 least that time.' 
 
 ' What affair ? ' said Edith ; ' you are still speaking enigmas.' 
 
 ' Oh ! this marriage with Miss Howard — the beautiful Miss 
 Howard — whom all the London world have been raving about ; 
 I see there is a little consciousness of guilt in you. It is impos- 
 sible but that your brother must have named his intentions to 
 his own relations.' 
 
 ' My brother would have named his intentions assuredly, if 
 there had been any to name,' said Edith, with a slight haughtiness 
 of tone. ' I am aware that he is acquainted with Miss Howard, 
 for he frequently mentions being at her father's house, and once 
 or twice he has noticed her style of beauty ; but perhaps you 
 will assure your correspondent that this, at present, is the full 
 extent of his intimacy or his interest. It is due both to himself 
 and the lady to contradict the report as soon as possible.' 
 
 ' Certainly, since you wish it, it shall be done ; but I could 
 hardly have supposed the subject an unpleasant one. Nothing 
 apparently could be more natural or desirable.' 
 
 Edith did not reply to the remark, but only made a few com- 
 monplace observations on the beauty of the weather, and then 
 saying that she should be too late for luncheon, coldly wished 
 Miss Forester good morning. There was now a fresh subject 
 for her meditations, but her thoughts dwelt more upon the civil 
 curiosity evinced during the conversation, than upon the con- 
 versation itself. Reports of the kind were so common as to be 
 mere matters of course ; and Edith had entirely overcome the 
 
 B
 
 1 3 GERTRUDE. 
 
 awkward denial, and hesitating tone, with which at first she had 
 endeavoured to put a stop to them. With the certainty in her 
 own mind that nothing would induce Edward to marry for 
 several years, the credulity of her acquaintances was rather 
 amusing than annoying ; and Miss Forester's congratulations 
 would have been received with total indifference, but for the 
 manner in which they were offered. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ' "W'OU have been taking advantage of this fine weather, I hope, 
 
 J- sir,' said Miss Forester, when she entered her father's 
 drawing-room, just before dinner was announced. The obser- 
 vation was addressed to a tall, sallow-complexioned, gray-haired 
 man, whose prominent forehead and piercing eye betokened 
 high intellect, as plainly as his compressed lips, and stiff, almost 
 cold manner, indicated reserve. His age it would have been 
 difficult to guess. At the first glance, he would have been pro- 
 nounced old, decidedly on the verge of seventy ; but a nearer 
 observation would have subtracted at least ten years from the 
 supposition. It was not time alone which had whitened his 
 hair, and sunk deep furrows in his cheek, but care, and thought, 
 and the turmoil of life, and the exposure to a sultry climate. 
 There were no signs of age in the quickness of his eye, the keen- 
 ness of his remarks, or the deep, full tones of his voice ; while 
 the calmness of his ordinary manner, though by some mistaken 
 for the insensibility of one to whom long experience has rendered 
 all things unexciting, was but the result of the habitual check 
 placed by necessity and principle upon feelings which in youth 
 had been nearly uncontrollable. 
 
 ' I have been walking about the village for an hour or two,' 
 was his reply to Miss Forester's insinuating remark — insinuating, 
 rather from its tone than its purport. 
 
 ' I am so rejoiced to hear you say so, for I had great fears that 
 you might have been too fatigued to venture beyond the garden. 
 Did you go far ?' 
 
 The question was not answered, when Miss Forester, with 
 great emftressemenl, turned to a gentleman who had just made 
 his appearance, and insisted upon his sympathising with her
 
 GERTRUDE. 19 
 
 happiness in finding that Mr Dacrc was able to lake so much 
 exercise. — 'I am sure, papa, you will be as surprised as I am. 
 We shall have no fear now for Mr Dacre's amusement.' 
 
 There was a pause, in expectation of a compliment. Mr Dacre 
 drily remarked, that the neighbourhood was very beautiful ; but 
 whether it had really afforded him any gratification, it would 
 have been impossible from his tone to decide. 
 
 ' We shall discuss the beauties of the scenery more at our ease 
 in the dining-room,' said General Forester, a tall, portly man, 
 with a pompous humility of manner, as a servant entered to an- 
 nounce that dinner was on the table. ' No one expects a hungry 
 man to be enthusiastic in anything but the praises of fish and 
 soup, Maria. Not that I can hope, Dacre, you will find anything 
 to admire in that way with us. We are very plain, humble people 
 in our style of living; you must have seen that yesterday.' 
 
 Mr Dacre was provokingly silent ; even the recollection of the 
 French entremUs and pates, the curry and mulligatawny on 
 which the whole skill of the General's cook had been expended, 
 excited nothing more than a grave, almost melancholy smile. 
 He was as insensible to the charms of the table as to the loveli- 
 ness of nature, — at least so thought Miss Forester; and she 
 determined to explore his taste in another direction. 
 
 Why there should be so much anxiety upon this subject, 
 might possibly have excited the wonder of the ignorant ; but a 
 flight insight into Mr Dacre's history would have solved the 
 problem. Mr Dacre was Miss Forester's uncle by marriage, — a 
 sufficient motive for all ordinary attentions ; but he was also in 
 ill health, and nothing could be more natural or right than the 
 endeavour to soothe his feelings, and charm away the sense of 
 suffering. Above all, he was rich, and if other inducements had 
 been of no avail, there was something in the contemplation of 
 wealth which excited Miss Forester's sympathy and interest to 
 the utmost. In the present instance, there was an especial rea- 
 son for exertion. Mr Dacre was but just returned from India, 
 broken in constitution by the enervating effects of the climate, 
 and broken in spirit by grief for the loss of his wife and two 
 children. In all human probability his own life would not be 
 long spared, and then came the important question, who was to 
 inherit his property. 
 
 Mrs Forester had been Mrs Dacre's youngest and favourite 
 sister, and in default of nearer ties, it seemed natural to suppose 
 that her family would be chosen as his heirs. But there were
 
 no GERTRUDE. 
 
 too many instances on record of the injury done to near connec- 
 tions by the plausible attentions of strangers, and both Miss 
 Forester and her father were too sensible of the value of the 
 interests at stake, to allow any unnecessary time to intervene 
 before taking some steps for securing them. Mr Dacre was 
 invited to the Grange almost immediately upon his arrival in 
 England. His reception was cordial and affectionate, even 
 beyond what circumstances demanded ; and he was pressed to 
 consider General Forester's house his home, as entirely as he 
 might have done if his sister-in-law had been still living to 
 welcome him. All this was very common— so common as to be 
 rather suspicious ; and although the General's blunted feelings 
 induced him to believe that nothing more was required to win 
 Mr Dacre's heart, except perhaps a little attention to his ap- 
 petite, and a few inquiries after his health, Miss Forester 
 thought very differently. Her hopes rested upon the daily 
 evidences of consideration, the actions, and not the words, 
 which insensibly soften the most obdurate heart ; and which 
 would, she was convinced, produce in time their full effect upon 
 Mr Dacre, notwithstanding the alarming fence of cold reserve 
 with which he seemed to repel them. Miss Forester knew that 
 her manner was soft, her voice melodious, and she believed that 
 her conversation was agreeable. From childhood she had be- 
 lieved herself a very fascinating person, and this not merely 
 from the consideration of her own perfections, but from the 
 positive assurances of relations and friends. Time had pro- 
 duced no change in her early self-appreciation. It had deadened 
 the brilliancy of her complexion, and marred the smoothness of 
 her skin, but its effects were visible in no other way, and, at 
 five-and-thirty, Miss Forester trusted as much to her powers of 
 pleasing as she had done at eighteen ; and in some degree 
 justly. The only mistake lay in thinking that she had ever 
 really possessed them ; in believing that suavity of manner 
 could compensate for an uncharitable temper, and that external 
 refinement could conceal the vulgarity of a low, worldly mind. 
 Yet it was a delusion worthy of compassion, for it had been 
 fostered by education and society. The loss of her mother 
 when she was about twelve years of age had deprived her of the 
 only friend likely to raise her standard of excellence, and from 
 that time she had been surrounded by fawning dependants and 
 relations, who, poor themselves, looked upon wealth and fashion 
 as the great objects of existence, and who, if they could not
 
 GERTRUDE. 21 
 
 attain the reality, contented themselves with the semblance. 
 She had lived in an atmosphere of pretension, and every thought 
 and feeling had been tainted by it ; and from the time when, as 
 a young girl, she adorned herself with mock jewels, and rejoiced 
 in the success of the deception, to the period of her introduction 
 to -Mr Dacre, the same desire had been the ruling motive of 
 her actions, — that of making the greatest possible show in dress, 
 ornaments, opinions, and virtues, with the least possible ex- 
 penditure of money and trouble. But neither skill nor energy 
 was lacking when the occasion demanded; and now, carefully 
 and thoughtfully, Miss Forester pursued the conversation, in 
 the hope of gaining that knowledge of Mr Dacre's tastes, with- 
 out which all her efforts at pleasing must be useless. 
 
 'Which way did your rambles lead you to-day, sir? Hardly, 
 I suppose, to the Roman hill, though there is such a splendid 
 view from the top.' 
 
 ' No, I was too tired to attempt it ; it is rather beyond a sick 
 man's stroll.' 
 
 ' But you must go there now, whilst the fine weather lasts. 
 We will order the carriage to-morrow, at any hour you choose 
 to name, and then we can drive to the foot of it, and walk up.' 
 
 'Thank you. I shall be glad to see it again ; I used to find 
 some amusement in tracing out the line of the encampment.' 
 
 It was a delightful hint for Miss Forester. Mr Dacre must 
 be an antiquarian ; and immediately, with the most simple, 
 childlike professions of ignorance, she entered eagerly into the 
 subject, asking the names of the most celebrated Roman 
 stations, and begging for a minute description of the different 
 trenches and circumvallations. But again she was foiled. Mr 
 Dacre knew little of the subject, and was only interested in the 
 spot from association. Antiquities, therefore, were dropped. 
 
 ' I think you will find Allingham Park a pleasant distance 
 when you do not feel equal to a regular walk. In the summer 
 it is delightful to sit under the trees, reading ; and the Courtc- 
 nays have always been such intimate friends of ours, that we are 
 perfectly at home there, and do just as we like.' 
 
 1 Mr Courtenay is absent, I think,' said Mr Dacre. 
 
 'Yes, in London, but his sister told me to-day that he would 
 return in about a fortnight. 
 
 ' He is not much of a sportsman, willingly to lose the begin- 
 ning of September.' 
 
 'No,' replied Miss Forester, with a smile, 'it is said that his
 
 22 GERTRUDE. 
 
 occupation at this moment is rather more exciting than part- 
 ridge shooting.' 
 
 ' Then the report is true, Maria,' said the General. ' I only 
 hope young Courtenay will keep up things in as good a style as 
 the Colonel. He ought to do it, with his income.' 
 
 ' His sister Edith professes ignorance/ replied Miss Forester, 
 'but every one knows what the denial of a near relation means.' 
 
 'And what does it mean?' asked Mr Dacre, gravely. The 
 tone was rather startling, and there was a pause before the 
 answer. 
 
 ' Of course, I don't mean to say always, but generally speaking 
 it is; — I know, but I don't choose to tell.' 
 
 'Therefore you do not believe Miss Courtenay's words ?' said 
 Mr Dacre. 
 
 ' That is so very severe, my dear sir; I only meant that I put 
 my own interpretation upon them.' 
 
 'Oh!' was the only reply; and it was completely baffling to 
 Miss Forester's wishes, for it was an 'Oh' peculiar to Mr 
 Dacre. It expressed neither pleasure nor pain, neither assent 
 nor dissent, neither surprise nor indifference — yet, that it had 
 some hidden meaning, was evident from the frequency with 
 which it was used, and the silence with which it was invariably 
 followed. 
 
 ' I can scarcely suppose my cousin to have been misinformed,' 
 continued Miss Forester. ' She says that the marriage was told 
 her as a settled thing, by Miss Howard's intimate friend ; and 
 I think she mentions next month as the time fixed for the 
 wedding.' 
 
 ' The wonder is,' said the General, ' that young Courtenay has 
 not married before this. I should have imagined the very first 
 thing he would have thought of, on coming into his fortune, 
 would have been a wife.' 
 
 'He is so fastidious,' replied Miss Forester; ' nothing but a 
 last-rate piece of excellence would satisfy him; though how he 
 has made fashion and seriousness agree, in his present choice, it 
 13 difficult to understand.' 
 
 'What do you mean by seriousness?' asked Mr Dacre, rousing 
 himself from an apparent fit of abstraction. 
 
 Miss Forester felt anxious. She had never been in the habit 
 of explaining her words, and yet upon this definition what im- 
 portant consequences might depend ? Mr Dacre miyht be 
 serious himself — nothing, indeed, was more probable, con-
 
 GERTRUDE. 23 
 
 sidering that he bad arrived at the mature age of sixty, and had 
 lately lost his wife and two children. Her answer, therefore, 
 was most carefully worded. 
 
 ' I suppose different people mean different things by the same 
 word. My notion of seriousness is when persons stay at home a 
 good deal, and talk about schools and poor people, and say that 
 they like reading sermons. I may be wrong, but that, I believe, 
 is the general idea.' 
 
 ' Perhaps so. Are Mr Courtenay's relations generally con- 
 sidered serious?' 
 
 'His mother is not considered anything, and his two elder 
 sisters are just like every one else; but the youngest is the coun- 
 terpart of her brother; and there is another, living with an aunt, 
 who they say has the same turn.' 
 
 Miss Forester believed that she had so expressed herself as to 
 give no impression of her own feelings ; but even a single intona- 
 tion of voice will betray volumes to a practised ear. Mr Dacre 
 needed no further explanation of his niece's sentiments on the 
 subject of seriousness. 
 
 ' It is a great change for so young a man, said the General. 
 ' Six thousand a year is a magnificent fortune for a briefless 
 barrister.' 
 
 ' Not briefless, papa,' observed Miss Forester. ' Every one 
 said that he was succeeding astonishingly well.' 
 
 ' So they did ; but what is a barrister's succeeding? merely the 
 difference between a crust of bread and starvation— at least for 
 the first half dozen years. Edward Courtenay is the most for- 
 tunate man I know.' 
 
 'What did you say his fortune was?' asked Mr Dacre, with a 
 greater appearance of interest than he had hitherto shown. 
 
 ' Six thousand a year, decidedly; it may be more.' 
 
 Mr Dacre looked a little astonished ; but the expression was 
 only momentary. If he had any reason for doubting General 
 Forester's assurances, he concealed it under his safe mono' 
 syllable— 'oh!' 
 
 ' 1 should have gained more information as to the wedding, 
 said Miss Forester, 'if I had met either of the other sisters. 
 Jane tells everything from not knowing how to keep it, and 
 Charlotte from not thinking it worth while; but Edith is im- 
 penetrable.' 
 
 ' A valuable quality in a woman,' observed Mr Dacre. 
 
 'Yes, certainly, most valuable. No one esteems it more than
 
 24 GERTRUDE. 
 
 myself; but there is a manner, — some people have a much more 
 agreeable way of being silent than others ; and they say, — how- 
 ever, one must not speak ill of one's neighbours — but I shall not 
 envy Edith Courtenay's husband. 5 
 
 ' What relation was Colonel Courtenay to the present Mr 
 Courtenay?' asked Mr Dacre, seemingly unmindful of Miss 
 Forester's remarks. 
 
 ' Rather a distant cousin,' replied the General ; ' but the elder 
 branch of the family has dwindled to nothing of late years. 
 Colonel Courtenay certainly was a splendid man— kept the first 
 table in the county — he married a daughter of Sir Henry Vivian's 
 — I think you must remember her — a poor, weak, sickly creature, 
 who died a few years afterwards. They had some girls who 
 never lived long ; but the little boy appeared quite strong till he 
 fell from his pony, and injured himself, and so brought out all 
 his lurking maladies.' 
 
 ' Was Colonel Courtenay a prudent man ? ' inquired Mr Dacre. 
 
 ' As prudent, I suppose, as he had any occasion to be. I be- 
 lieve he gambled a little, as a young man, but I never heard of 
 his doing it latterly. There was only this one child to be careful 
 for, or I dare say he might have lived differently.' 
 
 'You forget the elections, papa,' said Miss Forester; 'he 
 spent enormous sums in them.' 
 
 ' You can scarcely call that extravagance ; he only did what 
 his ancestors had done for years and years before him. The 
 Courtenays of Allingham always represented the county, and so 
 will Edward, of course.' 
 
 ' But,' observed Miss Forester, ' Mr Vivian will not give up 
 his seat ; and I should think Mr Courtenay would hardly choose 
 to oppose a family connection.' 
 
 ' Why not ? one is a Whig and the other a Tory. Depend 
 upon it, Vivian would have no chance if Edward Courtenay 
 were to come forward. The seat has always gone with the 
 property, and half the people who voted for Vivian only did it 
 because they disliked Lord Montford. Vivian is not a popular 
 man, and never will be.' 
 
 ' But have you not often heard Mr Courtenay rave against the 
 excitement and wickedness of a contested election?' inquired 
 Miss Forester. 
 
 Mr Dacre again looked interested. ' Do you think so >oung 
 a man could withstand the temptation of a seat v,\ Parliament ? ' 
 he asked.
 
 GERTRUDE. 25 
 
 ' No,' replied the General ; 'neither he nor any one else in his 
 position ; and why should he ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly,' observed Miss Forester, with a soft smile, under 
 which lurked an expression of a very different nature, ' it is a 
 delightful thing for high-principled people, when duty and incli- 
 nation go together. I suppose it might be possible to persuade 
 Mr Courtenay to stand for the county as a matter of duty. I 
 have heard him discourse most eloquently on the responsibilities 
 of a legislator.' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Mr Dacre, more earnestly than usual, ' the duties 
 are most important.' 
 
 ' You would feel them to be so if you were in my place,' said 
 the General. ' The first thing I shall urge upon Edward 
 Courtenay, when he is in Parliament, will be the reduction of 
 taxation. If something is not done, we shall all be ruined.' 
 
 'Your words will have very little effect, I am afraid, sir,' 
 answered Miss Forester. 'Mr Courtenay's favourite hobby is 
 the improvement of the manufacturing districts ; he harangues 
 upon it as if he were making a speech upon the hustings, and 
 everything else is secondary in his eyes.' 
 
 ' That was all very well when he was living upon bread and 
 cheese in his chambers in London. Taxation was nothing to 
 him then ; he had nothing to be taxed for ; but he will feci now 
 that philanthropy is rather an expensive amusement.' 
 
 ' For a person with six thousand a year?' said Mr Dacre, in 
 a tone of quiet irony. 
 
 Miss Forester saw instantly that her father was upon dangerous 
 ground. Commonplace as the conversation had been, it had yet 
 given her some idea of her uncle's principles ; and she perceived 
 that the utmost tact would be required to prevent a collision 
 between him and her father. Not that General Forester's senti- 
 ments were such as would shock the world in general ; on the 
 contrary, he was what would be called a sensible, good-hearted 
 man ; rather fond of eating and drinking, yet not so as to be posi- 
 tively ungentlemanly ; rather selfish, but not more so than his 
 neighbours ; rather careless in his way of speaking of religion, yet 
 very constant at church, and as benevolent as he said he could 
 afford to be. If his standard of virtue were a low one, it was his 
 own concern ; and, at any rate, he had the credit of acting up to 
 it ; and, if not very strict in his life, he had the charity to be 
 lenient to the faults of others. Perhaps the leading feature of his 
 character was a paltry ambition — the desire of bringing himself
 
 26 GERTRUDE. 
 
 into notice as a politician, though his fortune would not admit of 
 his attempting anything beyond the being chairman at an election 
 committee. It was his object, but one which he had never yet 
 attained ; and his positive assertion that Edward Courtenay 
 would ultimately be in Parliament, might arise from the hope 
 that, under such circumstances, he should, from his long acquaint- 
 ance with him, become his adviser, and a very influential person. 
 What Mr D acre's opinions were could not as yet be decided, 
 but Miss Forester felt that they were not such as she was 
 accustomed to ; and during the remainder of dinner she care- 
 fully checked every allusion to subjects of more than surface 
 interest, reserving any further attempts at discovering Mr Dacre's 
 character, to the more favourable opportunity of a tcte-H'tfte. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MISS FORESTER'S gossip was repeated by Edith to her 
 mother and sisters without exciting any greater surprise 
 in their minds than it had done in hers. It was amusing, but 
 nothing more. Yet, so strange is the power of a positive asser- 
 tion, even when we have the strongest evidence for its contradic- 
 tion, that Edith could not restrain a certain impatient curiosity 
 when the letter bag was placed on the table the following morn- 
 ing ; and the search after the mislaid key, with the difficulties 
 of the patent lock, had seldom before been so provoking. 
 
 ' It is Edward's handwriting!' she exclaimed, as her quick eye 
 caught part of the direction of a letter, nearly concealed by a 
 newspaper. ' Mamma, it is for you — do open it.' 
 
 'Edith believes Miss Forester's nonsense, I am sure,' said 
 Charlotte. 
 
 ' That would be too absurd,' replied Edith. ' I am not more 
 eager than usual. 
 
 ' Conscience doth make cowards of us all,' said Charlotte. ' I 
 never said you were eager ; but you know you were. Here is 
 another letter from Gertrude ; will not that excite your interest 
 too?' 
 
 Edith, without answering, began looking for her mother's 
 spectacles. 
 
 'They are in my room, dear,' said Mrs Courtenay, 'in the
 
 GERTRUDE. 27 
 
 lower tray of the inner drawer of my bureau — the oak bureau, I 
 mean. Don't you disarrange my things, though.' 
 
 But Mrs Courtenay's injunctions were disregarded. Even the 
 power of the Fairy Order herself could not have withstood the 
 rapidity of Edith's movements, and in less than a minute she 
 returned ; the spectacles were properly adjusted, and the seal 
 was slowly broken. Edith watched her mother's countenance 
 as she read, and saw directly that the contents of the letter wire 
 unusual. 
 
 'Let me have it, dear mamma,' she exclaimed. 'You never 
 can decipher Edward's writing.' 
 
 'No, my dear, no,' replied Mrs Courtenay ; ' it is impossible. 
 But it can't be true — he is only joking.' 
 
 ' What can't be true, mamma ? Do tell us ; we really are 
 anxious.' 
 
 ' He writes so very badly,' said Mrs Courtenay. ' H— no ; it 
 is not an H ; it must be a C. C-o-w— Coward.' 
 
 ' Dear, dear mamma/ said Edith, her impatience becoming 
 every instant more painful, ' if you would only let me have 
 it ' 
 
 ' Stop, my dear, I shall tell it in a moment ; but he ought not 
 to have left school when he did ; I told his poor father so. 
 Coward— it is Coward ! Miss Coward, of Oakhampton Court.' 
 
 ' Howard ! ' exclaimed Edith, who saw directly the confirma- 
 tion of Miss Forester's intelligence. 
 
 ' So it is,' replied Mrs Courtenay. ' Edward is going to be 
 married to Miss Howard. Edith, you must read it all over to me 
 again, for I cannot quite make out what he means.' 
 
 Edith eagerly seized the letter, but her voice trembled as she 
 began, and she was obliged to yield the task to Charlotte, who, 
 not sharing her sister's anxiety, read with perfect composure. 
 
 ' My dearest Mother, 
 
 'You must, I am sure, have been expecting to hear from 
 me for some time ; for I have allowed my usual writing day to 
 pass without giving you any information as to my movements. 
 The fact is, that my mind has been so occupied with a subject of 
 engrossing interest, that I could not turn to ordinary matters, and 
 yet I was unwilling to mention my hopes, until I could tell you 
 that they were likely to be realised. After this preamble, I trust 
 it will not be a matter of astonishment to you to learn, that I 
 have, after very serious consideration, made an offer of my hand
 
 28 GERTRUDE. 
 
 to Miss Howard, the daughter of Mr Howard, of Oakhampton 
 Court, in Warwickshire — a gentleman of considerable fortune, 
 and highly connected, with whom I have lately become very in- 
 timately acquainted at Hastings. 1 need scarcely express to you 
 the great happiness I experienced on receiving this morning a 
 letter containing the acceptance of my proposals ; and my only 
 desire now is, to obtain your sanction to a step which promises so 
 much for my future life. It would be absurd in me to attempt a 
 description of one in whom I feel such a deep interest, but 1 am 
 sure you will believe that my choice has been the result of a very 
 close observation of character, and a firm persuasion that with no 
 other person whom I have yet seen should I have an equal chance 
 of happiness. Situated as I am, it was almost necessary that I 
 should marry ; and I look forward to the friendship of my sisters 
 and my dear Laura as a source of infinite comfort to us all. It 
 was indeed of my own family that I principally thought when 
 first I decided upon this important step ; for with your ill health 
 it will be far better for my sisters to depend upon a sister-in-law 
 to take them into society, than to be indebted, as they otherwise 
 must be, to strangers ; and Allingham will be a much greater 
 source of enjoyment to them now, than it could have been when 
 inhabited only by a bachelor brother. I shall expect your an- 
 swer with the greatest anxiety, though I have not really any 
 doubt of your approbation. Perhaps it will please you to know 
 that Miss Howard is idolised in her own family, and considered 
 the belle of the season. The first, however, is the only thing 
 which is really of consequence. I do not write to my sisters 
 to-day, knowing that they will hear everything from you, but I 
 shall depend upon Edith's services as bridesmaid, and either 
 Jane or Charlotte besides. Laura will be anxious to become 
 acquainted with you all as soon as possible, and when our 
 arrangements are made, my sisters can spend a few days with 
 me in London, and then proceed to Oakhampton. 
 
 ' The postman's bell is ringing ; I have only time to add my 
 best love to my sisters and yourself, and my earnest entreaties 
 that you will write by return of post. — Ever, my dearest mother, 
 most affectionately yours, ' Edward Courtenay.' 
 
 1 P.S. — Laura attained her eighteenth year the day before 
 yesterday ; so that she will be a most suitable companion for 
 dear Edith. You will not expect any increase of wealth to the 
 family, when I tell ycu that Mr Howard has seven children to
 
 GERTRUDE. 29 
 
 provide t\n, and six of them sons ; but happily this is a matter 
 oi no consequence to any of us. I must decide, when my 
 sisters come, about new furnishing the drawing-room at Al- 
 lingham, and perhaps the library.' 
 
 There was a moment's pause after Charlotte had finished, 
 u hich she was the first to break. 
 
 1 Miss Forester was right then. How she will glory in having 
 heard the news before us ! ' 
 
 ' It is very sudden,' said Jane. ' Love at first sight, I suppose.' 
 
 'No,' replied Charlotte; 'it was a subject of very serious 
 consideration, decided on principally from regard to his family. 
 I do like to see people deceiving themselves, especially, 
 when they do it as perfectly as Edward. What do you sav, 
 Edith?' 
 
 But Edith had left the room, and was spared the renewal of 
 the preceding day's observations. 
 
 ' I do highly estimate disinterested fraternal affection,' said 
 Charlotte, ' it is so rare. Most brothers marry to please them- 
 selves ; every brother, in fact, that I ever heard of before has 
 done it — but Edward is a solitary, glorious instance of self- 
 sacrifice.' 
 
 ' You are not sorry that he is going to be married, my dear, 
 are you ? ' said Mrs Courtenay. 
 
 ' Oh no, ma'am, very glad. I shall like having a sister-in-law 
 extremely ; as Edward says, it will be very convenient. And I 
 am so pleased she is beautiful. Next to being lovely one's self, 
 the best thing I can imagine is having a lovely relation.' 
 
 ' It looks very smooth and pleasant,' said Jane ; ' but if Shake- 
 speare is true it cannot last.' 
 
 ' I do not see why it should not,' observed Mrs Courtenay. 
 ' Edward seems quite satisfied himself, and you must own, my 
 dears, that he writes very kindly about you.' 
 
 'Very,' repeated Charlotte, emphatically. 'Marcus Curtius 
 was nothing to him. He had the benefit of his country as a 
 motive for his self-devotion, but Edward is going to leap into the 
 far more dangerous gulf of matrimony, merely to give his sisters 
 the benefit of a chaperone.' 
 
 ' You are rather hard upon him, Charlotte,' said Jane. 
 
 ' Not hard upon his actions, only upon his words. He is per- 
 fectly right to marry, and Miss Howard maybe as likely to make 
 him happy as any one else ; but why does he not sav at once
 
 3 o GERTRUDE. 
 
 that be wishes to please himself, instead of making a foolish 
 parade of consideration for us ? ' 
 
 'My dear Charlotte,' observed her mother, 'you are not kind 
 to Edward. He never says what he does not mean.' 
 
 ' Indeed, mamma, that is the ®ne thing which I am always 
 quarrelling with him for. He does say what he does not mean ; 
 that is, he puts things in such a plausible way, that he is as much 
 deluded as the rest of the world.' 
 
 ' Exclusive of his sister Charlotte,' said Jane. 
 
 ' Yes, exclusive of his sister Chai'lotte. I am convinced that I 
 know him better than he knows himself. I can tell exactly what 
 passed through his mind to induce him to write such a letter as 
 that. First of all, he was desperately in love, and resolved upon 
 making his offer ; but, at the same time, a little anxious as to 
 what we should say; and then — "his wish being father to his 
 thought" — it struck him what a delightful thing it would be for 
 us to go everywhere with Mrs Courtenay, instead of being in- 
 debted to the chance kindnesses of friends ; and what pleasant 
 parties and amusements we might have at Allingham, instead of 
 the dull, family meetings that have been held there lately ; and 
 so, in about five minutes, these everyday advantages were 
 magnified into first-rate blessings, and Edward made his offer, 
 and gained his object, and piqued himself upon being the most 
 affectionate brother in the world.' 
 
 'And he is so, my dear,' said Mrs Courtenay; 'no one in 
 the neighbourhood is like him.' 
 
 ' I quite agree with you, mamma,' replied Charlotte ; ' and 
 that makes it the more provoking. If he had not a great many 
 real excellences, one would be less angry at his mock ones.' 
 
 ' I don't see why you should be certain they are mock ones in 
 this instance,' observed Jane. 
 
 'Simply for this reason. If he really thought so much of us, 
 why did he not write to consult us ? Surely we were the best 
 judges as to whether our happiness depended upon having 
 society at Allingham, and a sister-in-law for a chaperone. Just 
 ask yourself, Jane, — do you think that Edward's determination 
 would have been for an instant shaken by finding that we dis- 
 liked his marriage?' 
 
 ' No,' replied Jane ; ' but it would not be natural to ex- 
 pect it' 
 
 'Certainly not ; but according to his own showing it ought to 
 have been. He says that he thought of us principally, and yet
 
 GERTi 31 
 
 he acted precisely in tlie way to prevent our wishes from being 
 of any avail.' 
 
 Jane smiled. 'I suppose half the world would have done the 
 same.' 
 
 ' No, one-half would not have considered their own families 
 at all ; and the other half would have been desirous of their ap- 
 probation, yet determined upon going their own way in spite of 
 them. There are not many who have Edward's happy knack of 
 making duty and inclination go hand in hand.' 
 
 'There was no great duty at stake, in this case,' said 
 Jane. 
 
 'Perhaps not, according to the usual opinion; but Edward 
 piques himself upon being a pattern son, scorning the ordinary 
 modes of action ; so it might have been imagined that he would 
 have consulted his mother before he made his offer.' 
 
 'Which of you will be bridesmaid?' inquired Mrs Courtenay. 
 
 'You must, Charlotte,' said Jane. 'The bustle and fatigue 
 would half kill me.' 
 
 ' I have not the slightest objection ; in fact, I shall like it very 
 much. It will enable me to judge what sort of a choice Edward 
 has made, by seeing Miss Howard in her own family ; besides, 
 there is something awful to me in a host of unknown connec- 
 tions, who may prove a disgrace to you at any moment. I like 
 to know the full extent of a matrimonial calamity at once.' 
 
 ' It is no calamity, my dear, that I can understand,' said Mrs 
 Courtenay ; ' I was very happy for a great many years, and so 
 was my mother, and I hope dear Edward will be the same.' 
 
 ' No one can join in the hope more cordially than I do,' replied 
 Charlotte ; ' but, to make the best of it, it is a sort of kill-or-cure 
 business ; however, that is not my affair ; as far as I am perso- 
 nally concerned, I am rejoiced at it, and I shall go and take a 
 solitary walk in the back shrubbery, for the purpose of settling 
 what my bridesmaid's dress is to be.' 
 
 'You had better consult Edith,' said Jane, 'for you must be 
 dressed alike.' 
 
 ' Oh no ! I am the eldest, and even if I were not, Edith would 
 be entirely at a loss to decide. I would consult her upon the 
 pattern of cotton frocks for the school children, but nothing 
 beyond.' 
 
 ' Give me my desk before you go, Charlotte,' said her mother. 
 ' I must write to dear Edward directly.' 
 
 'We have forgotten Gertrude,' obs^ved Jane. 'You had
 
 3 2 GERTRUDE. 
 
 better take her letter to Edith as you go up stairs ; I dare say 
 there is nothing very important in it.' 
 
 Edith's door was bolted, and when it was opened, Charlotte's 
 careless good humour was startled at seeing traces of agitation 
 in her sister's face. Edith did not, however, say anything, but 
 look the letter, and then, turning away, again fastened her door. 
 Charlotte, in surprise, waited for a few minutes in the passage, 
 irresolute as to whether it would be advisable to request admit- 
 tance ; but there was so little sympathy between them, that it 
 would have been felt almost as an intrusion ; and certain that 
 Edith had some whimsical fancy with regard to her brother's 
 marriage, Charlotte consulted her own wishes, and went into the 
 shrubbery. It would indeed have been impossible for her to 
 have entered into the feelings with which Edith had received the 
 intelligence in Edward's letter ; not that she had ever supposed 
 he would not marry eventually — on the contrary, they had often 
 conversed upon the subject together, and built pleasant castles in 
 the air as to the manner of life to be pursued at Allingham, and 
 the friendship that was to subsist between Edith and her brother's 
 wife; and in the uncertainty of Gertrude's return to her home, 
 Edith had looked forward to the affection of a sister-in-law, as 
 to something that was to compensate for the want of congeniality 
 which was now so painful to her. But the idea of a sudden 
 marriage with a fashionable London belle, effectually destroyed 
 these bright visions ; and, joined with other portions of her 
 brother's letter, brought with it that most bitter of all feelings, — 
 the first perception of a secret fault in one whom we have been 
 accustomed to revere. Edward was not only Edith's dearest 
 treasure, but he was also her guide and counsellor. His enthu- 
 siasm and high principles had given the original impulse of good 
 to her mind, and his letters and conversation had daily strength- 
 ened it. Unknown to herself, she had believed him perfect ; 
 and now, a secret misgiving, felt long before it was acknow- 
 ledged, suggested the possibility that he might have been in 
 error. It was in vain that she owned the folly of attempting to 
 judge before the circumstances were fully known. In vain that 
 she accused herself of unkindness, and even selfishness, in trem- 
 bling at the thought of anything that was to make him happy. 
 One thing was certain : Edward's plans of economy, and with 
 them his plans of benevolence, must for the present fall to the 
 ground. Even with the best intentions, considerable expense 
 must be incurred ; and though Edith could not believe that his
 
 GERTRUDE. 3, 
 
 resolutions were forgotten, it was strange to find how soon they 
 could be set aside. Love might excuse a great deal ; it might 
 induce him to see excellences where none existed, and blind him 
 to the probability of disappointment in a hasty marriage ; but it 
 could not completely obliterate the recollection, that without 
 constant economy he might soon be a ruined man : and the idea 
 of the newly-furnished drawing-room, and the long upholsterer's 
 bills, fixed itself in poor Edith's mind as firmly as that of having 
 a fashionable sister-indaw. Unhappily, the effect produced by 
 solitude and reflection was one not likely to conduce either to her 
 own happiness or that of her family. This evil was but increased 
 by consideration, and Edith's principles were as yet so new, and 
 her feelings so warm, that she was not aware of the error which 
 lay at the bottom of her determination to decline the office ot 
 bridesmaid ; and if her sister-in-law proved, as she expected, a 
 mere elegant, accomplished beauty, to content herself with her 
 ■usual pursuits, and to depend upon Allingham as little as possible, 
 either for comfort or pleasure. It was the resolve of a moment 
 of pique and disappointment, made without the serious thought 
 which should accompany most actions of our lives, and in igno- 
 rance that the first duty of a woman is to be found in the quiet, 
 soothing influence, exerted within her narrow circle upon her 
 own immediate relations. She believed her sister-in-law to be a 
 person with whose principles she could have no sympathy, and 
 did not remember that this should be an especial reason for 
 striving to win her affection, and lead her in the right way ; and, 
 feeling pained at her brother's conduct, instead of patiently sub- 
 mitting to events, over which, since the engagement was already 
 formed, there could be now no control, she ran the risk of vexing, 
 perhaps offending him, in order to avoid what she considered 
 the insincerity of sanctioning an act that her conscience could 
 not entirely approve. The tone of Gertrude's letter somewhat 
 softened her feelings. It was so gentle, so thoughtful, so full of 
 consideration for every one at Elsham, that involuntarily Edith 
 paused, and asked herself whether her sister's sentiments would 
 resemble her own under similar circumstances, — whether she 
 would not be likely to feel more calmly, and bear more patiently, 
 the thought of Edward's weakness. But Gertrude could not be 
 an example for her ; she had never given her whole affection to 
 her brother, and trusted and reverenced him as a superior being ; 
 and she had never looked forward to his marriage as a source of 
 comfort amidst daily annoyances. To see an error in his conduct 
 
 C
 
 j4 GERTRUDE. 
 
 might be painful to her, but it could never be as trying as it was 
 to Edith ; and the character of his wife could be but of little 
 consequence to one who had learned to depend so entirely upon 
 herself. With a secret doubt as to the propriety of her deter- 
 mination, Edith put her sister's letter aside, and went to her 
 mother to beg that she would inform Edward that it would not 
 be in her power to comply with his request. Mrs Courtenay 
 wondered, and inquired, and even began to urge the subject, 
 but Edith was firm. She had little respect for her mother's 
 judgment, and had been permitted so long to follow her own 
 path, that the obligation of attending to a parent's wishes did 
 not very forcibly strike her ; while the arguments she brought 
 forward to support her decision strengthened her conviction 
 that she was acting rightly, and soon overcame Mrs Courtenay's 
 remonstrances. The point was at length yielded with the usual 
 phrase, — ' Well, my dear, I do not understand these things ; 
 people were very different when I was young ; but you must do 
 as you choose.' 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 EDITH'S determination was received by her sisters with 
 surprise, but without any wish to combat it. Jane pro- 
 fessed it a matter of indifference what others did, as long as they 
 did not interfere with her own comfort ; and Charlotte, whose 
 fundamental principle was, that every one was the best judge of 
 their own actions, after expressing it as her opinion that Edith 
 was whimsical, and that Edward would be annoyed, considered 
 the affair settled, and easily made up her mind to go to Oak- 
 hampton alone. Edith, however, was not so indifferent. Out- 
 wardly, indeed, she was tranquil and cheerful, but her brothers 
 next letter was looked for with anxiety, and even her disappoint- 
 ment as to his strength of character could not render her happy 
 in the prospect of displeasing him. But the deed was not to be 
 recalled ; she had refused to be bridesmaid, and Miss Howard 
 would naturally make choice of some personal friend to fill her 
 place. It was in vain to repent of acting hastily, or to doubt 
 whether her motives had been justifiable. Edward's anger, if 
 excited, must be borne patiently, and she could only hope that 
 he would trust to her affection, and not inquire too minutely
 
 GERTRUDE. 
 
 35 
 
 into the circumstances which rendered it so impossible for her 
 to leave home at that time ; yet, even with this, Edith was not 
 contented. It was not clear that she had been wrong ; but it 
 was not certain that she had been right. She distrusted her 
 motives ; and, as usual in such cases, Edward's letter was to 
 decide the question ; for Edith was young, and inexperienced in 
 self-knowledge. Her most glaring faults had been seen and 
 corrected ; but the real difficulty of a Christian life — the struggle 
 against secret sins — was just commencing. She was not yet 
 aware of the slight self-complacency, and absence of the 
 ' charity which thinketh no evil,' that had induced her to form a 
 hasty judgment of her intended sister-in-law ; and she left the 
 goodness of her decision to be determined by its consequences, 
 rather than by an inquiry into her own intentions. Edward's 
 letter, when it arrived, kept her still in a state of doubt. He 
 expressed himself much hurt at her refusal ; and hinted that all 
 other engagements should have given way to one so urgent. 
 But he did not press his wishes. His mind was pre-occupied, 
 and his heart full of his anticipated happiness ; and two sides 
 of his paper were filled with plans for alterations at Allingham, 
 and descriptions of the style in which he intended to furnish, 
 not only the drawing-room and library, but a great part of the 
 house. Edith's pride was wounded. His indifference was more 
 galling than any irritation ; and her aversion to her new sister- 
 in-law increased. She believed that her vexation arose princi- 
 pally from being disappointed in Edward. Six months before 
 his plans had been of lavish profusion in works of charity, and 
 the most rigid self-denial in personal expenditure. If he ever 
 married, his wife was to possess similar tastes : and yet, in one 
 week, 'the baseless fabric' of his visions had vanished. Orna- 
 mental lodges had taken the place of alms-houses ; painted glass 
 was superseded by French windows ; altar cloths and pulpit 
 hangings had yielded to the superior charms of silk curtains and 
 rich carpets. The alteration could not be in Edward himself— 
 it was impossible that a taste for luxury should have sprung up 
 in so short a time ; but Miss Howard's influence must naturally 
 be great ; and, no doubt, it was to please her that Edward now 
 gave such an exclusive attention to things which once he had 
 considered of little value. So Edith argued — and so she would 
 willingly have blinded herself to the fact of her brother's weak- 
 ness. But in this she did him more than justice. In his bar- 
 rister's chambers, Edward Courtenay sat in his easy chair, and
 
 36 GERTRUDE. 
 
 surrounded himself by the supposed necessaries of life, and built 
 in imagination the most perfect church that had been erected for 
 centuries. In his drawing-room at Allingham he reposed upon 
 a sofa, and amused himself with books and pictures, and his 
 church grew more splendid, and his charities more extensive. 
 And now, he gave orders which would have accorded with a 
 fortune double his own ; and the next minute, pictured the de- 
 light he should experience in having some one to share his plans 
 for the comfort of his tenants, and assist in distributing his 
 benevolence. The change over which Edith grieved was a 
 change of circumstances, not of heart. 
 
 A polite note from Mrs Howard, containing a general invita- 
 tion to Oakhampton, made Edith think for a few minutes of 
 retracting her refusal ; but a letter from Edward, at the same 
 time, told her that Miss Howard had already thought upon a 
 friend whom she wished to supply her place. The wedding was 
 fixed for an early day, and it would not do to propose any altera- 
 tions, though Edith began to see that her feelings throughout the 
 whole affair had not been entirely unblamable, and now that the 
 immediate annoyance was over, she would willingly have been 
 the first to conciliate. But the time was gone by ; Edward en- 
 gaged to meet his sister Charlotte in London, and Edith bade 
 her good-bye with a heavy heart, and almost the conviction that 
 her proper place would have been by her side. 
 
 The interest of so very important an event raised the spirits of 
 both Mrs Courtenay and Jane, and their many maladies were 
 occasionally forgotten in the eagerness with which Charlotte's 
 account of Oakhampton and its inhabitants was expected. But 
 Edith felt that little comfort was likely to be derived from any- 
 thing that her sister might relate. She might give vivid descrip- 
 tions of Miss Howard's personal appearance, and of the general 
 style of the family; but where such a difference of opinion 
 existed on the most important points, there could be no great 
 dependence on the judgment; and Edith trusted as little to 
 Charlotte's estimation of character, as Charlotte did to Edith's 
 taste in dress. Her only consolation was found in writing to 
 Gertrude ; yet even this was far from satisfactory, while one of the 
 chief causes of uneasiness was obliged to be withheld. It seemed 
 absurd to grieve so much over Edward's marriage when unac- 
 quainted with his wife ; and the necessity for economy, of which 
 Edith thought so much, was a fact unknown to all but herself. 
 
 The congratulations of the neighbourhood were soon added to
 
 GERTRUDE. 37 
 
 the list of annoyances, and Edith scarcely knew which was the 
 most painful, Miss Forester's soft flattery of her brother's per- 
 fections, and ironical praises of the self-command shown by 
 herself on a former occasion ; or Mrs Grantlcy's earnest decla- 
 ration, that 'Mr Courtenay possessed her highest esteem, and 
 she only trusted he had found a wife worthy of him.' Praise of 
 Edward was very different from what it had been. Once it 
 would have found a ready echo in her own opinion, but now a 
 feeling of distrust checked her satisfaction- and her manner 
 became so evidently constrained whenever he was mentioned, 
 that even the most unobservant could not fail to notice it ; and 
 the gossiping morning visitors shook their heads, and looked 
 grave, as they hoped ' Mr Courtenay's marriage was approved 
 at the Priory, but they had their doubts.' But the view of 
 Allingham was that which caused Edith the greatest pain. The 
 road through the Park could be seen from the Priory drawing- 
 room, and she seldom stood at the window without observing 
 some of the workmen employed in the alterations, for which 
 Edward had already given full directions, passing backwards 
 and forwards ; or, if she failed to notice them herself, her mother 
 was sure to call her attention to them, or Jane to remark— 
 ' What a happy thing it was that Edward was rich, for really his 
 ideas were so magnificent, that a man with a smaller income 
 would soon be ruined.' Of what was doing Edith had not a 
 very clear idea. Her mother and sister often drove to the house 
 to note the progress of the work, but she resolutely kept from 
 inquiries on their return, as tending to fix in her mind the 
 thoughts she was most anxious to banish; and enough was 
 heard in the ordinary course of conversation, of boudoirs, and 
 ante-rooms, cornices, moulding, damask, silk, rosewood, and 
 mahogany, and the other et ceteras of an upholsterer's shop, to 
 convince her that for once Edward's dreams were about to be 
 converted into substantial realities. From Charlotte's first letter, 
 on her arrival in town, they found that the idea of mutual con- 
 sultation as to the style of furniture had quickly passed by. 
 Edward's impatience was too great to brook delay; and Char- 
 lotte rejoiced that she had been spared the thankless task of 
 endeavouring to decide for a man bent upon following his own 
 way : and said she had little doubt, from the description of what 
 had been chosen, that Allingham would be more handsomely 
 fitted up than any place of its size within the distance of a 
 hundred miles.
 
 38 GERTRUDE. 
 
 The words sent a pang through Edith's heart, and she became 
 more and more depressed; and feeling a difficulty in writing 
 without restraint, she allowed the burden of the correspondence 
 to rest with her mother and Jane ; and only twice contrived to 
 fill a sheet of paper with the commonplace hopes and fears, 
 which might prevent Edward from thinking himself entirely for- 
 gotten. Even this was only cursorily noticed in some of his 
 short notes. Edward's heart was engrossed: and Edith, though 
 piqued at his neglect, was thankful to be freed from the task so 
 easily. 
 
 Happily for her equanimity, there was at the time much em- 
 ployment for her in the village, and she was prevented from 
 dwelling entirely upon one subject. Yet the visits to the cottages 
 were often very trying. The people were so desirous of knowing 
 all particulars ; so certain that Miss Edith must be happy; so 
 pleased at the prospect of a lady at the Hall; and above all, so 
 curious about the grand alterations, that Edith's composure was 
 sometimes nearly overcome. Edward's old nurse, in particular, 
 assailed her with questions ; and being ill and infirm, had a great 
 claim upon her attention. Once a week Edith had lately been 
 in the habit of seeing her; and it seemed unkind to make any 
 change at a moment when there was much passing that was 
 interesting ; although the old woman's querulous disposition, 
 and apparently unwilling gratitude, made it occasionally doubtful 
 whether the visits were really valued. 
 
 ' I thought you was never a coming again,' was the salutation, 
 as Edith entered her cottage, after a fatiguing walk, which she 
 had voluntarily lengthened to avoid passing through the Park; 
 ' I sat all day yesterday expecting you, but nobody came near me.' 
 ' I was too busy, nurse,' said Edith ; ' don't you remember I 
 told you there was a great deal to do just now, and that I could 
 not be sure of my own time ?' 
 
 ' Well ! I suppose there must be a good deal. Fine works 
 there are up there at the house. It's quite right great people's 
 business should be attended to first.' 
 
 ' But indeed, Martha, I have nothing to do with the house ; I 
 never go near it.' 
 
 ' Now don't you tell me that, Miss Edith. Why, all the neigh- 
 bours go ; my son was down here last night, talking about it. 
 Poor Willie ! he 's got a hard lot of it— a sick wife and seven 
 children. If so be as he 'd gone with the rest, he 'd have had 
 less trouble.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 39 
 
 Martha's voice sank into a low whine, and bending over the 
 fire, she diligently stirred the smouldering embers ; and in a 
 half crying, half muttering tone, continued her lamentations. 
 
 ' Poor Charlie and Beckie ! I grieved for 'cm at the time ; and 
 sure, if they'd lived, things wouldn't have been like they arc ; 
 and I 'm so old, and so ill, and nobody comes to an old woman. 
 But dear ! Miss Edith,' and in an instant her sorrows were 
 forgotten : 'did you see the cart go by ? There's some things 
 for the Park in it, I '11 be bound. Just sit down, and tell me what 
 they 're doing;' 
 
 ' I told you all I knew the other day, nunse,' replied Edith. 
 ' Really, 1 have not been there since.' 
 
 'That's so contrary of you; you never was contrary before. 
 Willie said there was a power of money spending, and he made 
 me look across to see where my lady's new room is to be ; that's 
 the room that the Colonel's lady had : I watched Tom Slater at 
 work there this morning. Poor Tom ! he was to have married 
 my Becky, only there — she died.' 
 
 ' I am afraid he is not very steady,' observed Edith, wishing 
 to change the conversation. 
 
 ' Oh ! as to that, he's just like all the others ; but he's doing 
 very fair now. I wish Willie was half as well off. The bailiff 
 turned off in a huff when he asked for something to do.' 
 
 ' My brother will assist him if he can, I am sure,' said Edith, 
 ' when he returns.' 
 
 ' Yes, I dare say he will ; though Willie 's been out of work a 
 precious long time, — but I don't complain. It's not my way to 
 find fault, — if it was I should be better off.' 
 
 Edith's patience was almost exhausted ; but as she looked at 
 the old woman's shrivelled features and bent figure, and remem- 
 bered how much she had really suffered, and the warmth of heart 
 that was concealed under so repulsive a manner, her sympathy 
 was again excited. 
 
 ' I don't think that is quite the case, Martha,' she said ; ' at 
 least I am sure, if you mean that my brother does not think of 
 you, you are very much mistaken.' 
 
 ' May be,' replied Martha, bending again over the fire, and 
 then remaining silent. 
 
 ' Come, nurse,' said Edith, ' I did not think you would be 
 vexed with me to-day. I really put myself out of my way for 
 you. I was very busy at home.' 
 
 'You gets busier and busier every day,' answered the old
 
 40 GERTRUDE. 
 
 woman. ' I suppose when the new lady comes to the Park 
 you '11 be so busy that you '11 never come near me.' 
 
 Edith rose hastily from her seat, and was preparing to go, 
 when Martha's heart softened. 
 
 ' There, don't you be angry now, Miss Edith, I meant no 
 offence. Sit down again, and just tell me a little about things. 
 When is the wedding to be ?' 
 
 ' The day is not fixed,' said Edith, reseating herself on a 
 wooden stool by Martha's side ; ' but I think it will be early in 
 the week after next.' 
 
 ' And you not to go to it ! really it 's a shame ! so fond as you 
 were of Mr Edward. Why didn't you say you would go ? ' 
 
 ' Because I had rather not, nurse ; I shall see Edward very 
 soon here— he is to be at Allingham in about a month after his 
 marriage.' 
 
 ' That 's not like you,' said Martha, raising her keen eyes to 
 Edith's face. ' I dare to say, now, you 'd have been just as well 
 content if he wasn't going to have such a fine new wife.' 
 
 ' I shall be most contented with whatever makes him most 
 happy,' said Edith, involuntarily sighing ; and then she added, 
 more gaily, ' It will be a nice thing for you, nurse, to have a lady 
 so near you. It is rather a long walk for me from the Priory, 
 but if I lived at Allingham, I should be able to see you nearly 
 every day.' 
 
 ' Tom Slater says he doesn't think I shall stay here much 
 longer,' said Martha; 'but I told him I knew better than that — 
 Mr Edward promised I never should move again — so I don't 
 take what the neighbours say much to heart.' 
 
 ' I don't understand you,' replied Edith ; ' does he think 
 you 're ill ? ' 
 
 'No, no, not that. Thank God ! I am as strong and hearty 
 as any of them ; but the sight from my lady's new window is not 
 so good as it would be if the cottage was away ; and the chat- 
 tering fellow declares Mr Edward will have it pulled down.' 
 
 'There is no occasion to be afraid of that: Edward would 
 rather have the finest view in the world spoilt, than turn you out 
 of your home. But let me see how it comes in the way.' Edith 
 walked to the door, and saw directly that the remarkably ugly, 
 red brick tenement stood opposite to the front of Allingham ; 
 but how much of the view was intercepted by it she could not 
 determine. 
 
 If any one but Martha had inhabited the obnoxious dwelling,
 
 CERTRUDE. 41 
 
 there was no doubt it would have been speedily removed ; but 
 Edward's attachment to his nurse was very sincere, and he had 
 so often promised that she should remain in the cottage as long 
 as he was the owner of it, that Edith agreed with Martha in 
 considering any change impossible. 
 
 ' Tom Slater says there 's no guessing how bad it looks from 
 the new room,' said Martha; 'but how should he know? He 
 can't tell pretty from ugly if he sees it in a book.' 
 
 ' It does come just in the way of the new window,' said Edith ; 
 and she thought of her sister-in-law, and wondered whether she 
 would be able to endure such a blot upon the prospect. 
 
 ' But there 's no doubt about Mr Edward's promise, is there, 
 now ?' asked Martha, anxiously. ' He told me I should stay 
 here — three times he said it ; the very first day I came in, that 
 was when my poor husband was so ill, and they turned us out 
 of the cottage on the heath, because of the rent. I could never 
 go to a new place in this world ; if he sends me away it will be 
 to another/ 
 
 'Don't worry yourself about it,' said Edith, kindly. 'It is 
 only the workmen's fancy. Edward is so good, you need not be 
 afraid.' 
 
 Martha was rather deaf, and not much alive to variations of 
 tone, or she would have noticed the slight hesitation with which 
 this was spoken. Not that Edward's kindness of heart was 
 really doubted, but it was no longer so implicitly confided in ; 
 and without exactly reasoning upon her motives, Edith decided 
 upon returning home through the Park, in order to judge for 
 herself whether Martha Philips' cottage was as great a delight 
 as it had been described. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THREE weeks had elapsed since Edith last visited Ailing- 
 ham, and in that time the improvements had made con- 
 siderable progress: but the good taste displayed in everything 
 that Edward undertook, brought no charm to his sister's mind ; 
 for as she gazed upon the elegance and beauty which surrounded 
 her, something in her own heart whispered that Edward's fabric 
 of happiness was insecure. It was based upon self-gratification,
 
 42 GERTRUDE. 
 
 not upon self-denial. A short time was sufficient to satisfy her 
 curiosity, and to show that the offending cottage was conspi- 
 cuously ugly ; and after wandering over the empty rooms, and 
 asking a (e\v questions of the workmen, Edith sadly pursued her 
 way homewards. The autumnal tints were just beginning to 
 colour the foliage of the trees, adding a richer hue to the broad 
 masses of light and shade, so peculiarly beautiful in park and 
 forest scenery ; and even Edith's melancholy reflections were 
 beguiled, as she paused on the summit of a slight ascent, and 
 looked back upon her brother's home. The long, regular range 
 of buildings, the portico and colonnade, the straight walks, and 
 the formal parterres of the Italian garden, contrasted indeed 
 curiously with the wildness of the luxuriant oaks and beeches, 
 and the winding glades of the Park ; but, in the mellowed light 
 of the afternoon sun, every object seemed harmonised in form as 
 well as in colour, and the only impression made upon the mind 
 was that of an abode of peace, wealth, and freedom from earthly 
 anxieties. Edith leant against the trunk of a magnificent beech 
 tree, near which she had often rested with her brother to enjoy 
 the same view ; and while recalling his tones of kindness, and 
 his warm feelings, and noble projects, reproached herself for 
 having ever imagined the possibility of a change. That one spot 
 brought him more vividly before her than almost any other, for 
 it was there they had last parted ; and she well remembered the 
 delight visible in his countenance, as he pointed to the hamlet 
 where he hoped one day to erect a church, and calculated the 
 smallness of the sum to which he might reduce his personal ex- 
 penditure, in order to obtain the necessary means; expressing, at 
 the same time, the deepest gratitude for having been trained in 
 habits of prudence before he had been entrusted with wealth. 
 For the time, Edith's feelings of confidence in her brother re- 
 turned, and with it the dreams which had been a constant source 
 of enjoyment to them both. Her eye rested happily upon the 
 distant cottages, and her imagination pictured the spire of Ed- 
 ward's church appearing amongst the trees, and adding to the 
 beauty of the scenery those associations of purity and holiness, 
 without which the loveliness of nature can afford no perfect en- 
 joyment. A slight rustling among the leaves disturbed her 
 reverie, and turning suddenly round, she perceived a gentleman, 
 whom at first sight she believed to be unknown to her; but as he 
 came nearer, she recognised the stranger who had lately been 
 seen at church in General Forester's pew ; and about whom so
 
 GERTRUDE. 43 
 
 tr.nch curiosity had been excited, as almost to rival the interest 
 of her brother's marriage. Edith had never been introduced to 
 Mr Dacre, but they had met so frequently as scarcely to require 
 the ceremony ; and she felt little surprise when he advanced to- 
 wards her, and apologised for intruding upon her brother's 
 property, saying that permission had been given him by Mr 
 Courtcnay's friend, General Forester, to wander over the Park ; 
 and he trusted he had not presumed too far in approaching so near 
 the house. His excuse must be the wish again to see a place 
 which he remembered when a boy. Edith was, of couse, pleased 
 that the Park should afford Mr Dacre any gratification ; and 
 was certain it would be her brother's wish that it should be open 
 to him at all times. 
 
 ' For the next month,' she added, ' you will De likely to retain 
 undisturbed possession. We do not expect my brother home 
 yet.' 
 
 ' I suppose, though,' observed Mr Dacre, ' it is a favourite 
 walk of yours ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Edith, ' I never come here without admiring it : 
 but there are so many things to be done every day, that I seldom 
 walk merely for pleasure.' 
 
 ' You should become something of an invalid, like myself,' said 
 Mr Dacre, ' and take out a license from the court of conscience 
 to kill time in the most agreeable way.' 
 
 1 It must be a tiresome occupation,' observed Edith. 
 
 ' Yes, if you really make it a pursuit ; but time may die a very 
 innocent and peaceful death in such a place as this.' 
 
 'Provided one has a license/ said Edith, smiling; 'but it 
 pleases me better to have no time to kill.' 
 
 Mr Dacre sighed, and a passing contraction of his forehead 
 showed some painful thoughts had been awakened. ' I agree 
 with you,' he said. ' I am sure one of the great secrets of hap- 
 piness is to have no moment unemployed ; but illness is a stern 
 master, even to the most active.' 
 
 ' I hope it is not wrong,' said Edith ; ' yet I think I would 
 rather die than be condemned to a useless life.' 
 
 'Are we the best judges of what is useful?' replied Mr 
 Dacre. ' Don't you think we are too much in the habit of con- 
 sidering no actions important but obvious and exciting ones ? 
 The moment any occupation becomes a duty, even if it is merely 
 picking straws, it ceases to be useless, and the manner in which 
 we do it must be of infinite consequence.'
 
 44 GERTRUDE. 
 
 Edith did not know what to reply, for she was surprised at the 
 turn the conversation had taken. ' Perhaps,' continued Mr 
 Dacre, thinking that she wished to return home, 'you would 
 nllow me to walk through the Park with you. I have been here 
 a long time, and General Forester will scarcely forgive me if I 
 keep his dinner waiting.' 
 
 Edith willingly assented, feeling an unusual degree of interest 
 in her new acquaintance ; but she was too shy to renew the sub- 
 ject that had been dropped, and Mr Dacre did not again allude 
 to it. 
 
 ' Your brother is losing a beautiful season,' he said ; ' I can 
 scarcely imagine any place having charms for him like this.' 
 
 Edith smiled, but it was a smile quickly succeeded by a sigh. 
 1 You would not say that,' she replied, ' if you were as well 
 acquainted with his affairs as the rest of the Elsham people.' 
 She did not see Mr Dacre's face, or she might have remarked 
 the half-serious, half-amused expression with which he answered, 
 'Mr Courtenay is not entirely a stranger. I have heard of his 
 intended marriage, it is a subject of general conversation.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Edith, ' I dare say the world is acquainted, ot 
 thinks itself acquainted with the most minute particulars.' 
 
 ' Even the colour of the bridal dress,' observed Mr Dacre ; 'and 
 if so much is said beforehand, what will it be afterwards ?' 
 
 ' I shall not envy my sister-in-law's position for the first few 
 months,' continued Edith. ' I don't think women were formed 
 for notoriety of any kind : it must always make them feel awk- 
 ward and out of place.' 
 
 ' Happily it will only be for a few months,' said Mr Dacre ; 
 ' and when the excitement of the arrival is over, we may hope 
 real happiness will begin.' 
 
 ' The situation seems very enviable,' said Edith ; ' almost 
 enough so to be alarming. Few people are permitted to enjoy 
 uninterrupted prosperity.' 
 
 ' Very few ; but I suspect the fault lies in themselves. The 
 trial is too great.' 
 
 ' And money makes a person so independent,' said Edith. ' It 
 is seldom a rich man hears truth, even from his own relations.' 
 
 ' Yes, perhaps that is one of its greatest evils. There is an 
 indirect influence, though, which no one is beyond the reach of, 
 and I think it is always more powerful than advice.' 
 
 As Mr Dacre said this, they reached the Park gates; but he 
 was plainly determined to pursue the conversation, for, unmind-
 
 GERTRUDE. 45 
 
 (ill of General Forester's dinner-hour, he continued his walk in 
 the direction of the Priory. 
 
 'I don't think I quite understand you,' replied Edith : ( wh t 
 influence do you mean?' 
 
 'Affection. A young man will often be led by a brother or a 
 sister, when he would not listen to his father or mother.' 
 
 ' Leave out the sisters,' said Edith. ' Brothers are not apt to 
 pay much attention to them.' 
 
 'Indeed, I think you are mistaken. You speak from belief; 
 I speak from experience. The greatest blessing of my life was 
 the example of a sister.' 
 
 ' Edward would think some wonderful change had taken place 
 if I were to presume to offer him advice,' said Edith, laughing. 
 
 ' But advice is not the necessary form of influence,' replied 
 Mr Dacre. ' We may safely act as drags to a wheel which 
 is going too fast, when we should be crushed in attempting to 
 stop it.' 
 
 'Edward has chosen a drag for himself now,' said Edith, with 
 a slight sharpness of tone, which did not escape her companion's 
 observant ear. 
 
 ' Or is there but another wheel added, which may accelerate 
 the motion?' 
 
 ' Perhaps so,' replied Edith. ' Yet it may be dangerous for 
 bystanders to interfere.' 
 
 'Of that I can be no judge,' said Mr Dacre. 'My observa- 
 tions were only general. But I believe we often commit fatal 
 errors from the belief that we have no influence.' 
 
 There was an earnestness in his manner which struck Edith 
 forcibly. It was so different from the tone of an ordinary 
 acquaintance, that for an instant she fancied Mr Dacre must 
 have had some secret meaning in his remarks ; but a little 
 reflection convinced her of the improbability of the idea. They 
 parted at the Priory Lodge. Edith walked slowly to the house, 
 thinking of the unusual pleasure she had experienced; and Mr 
 Dacre stood by the gate till she was out of sight, watching her 
 with evident interest, and then, with a sigh, retraced his steps 
 towards the Grange.
 
 46 GERTRUDE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ' A LETTER from Charlotte at last,' exclaimed Jane Cour- 
 ■E\. tenay on the following morning. ' Now, I suppose, we 
 shall hear all the particulars,' and her eye ran rapidly over the 
 crossed sheets ; while a few of the principal subjects were 
 enumerated. ' Very busy — wedding fixed for Thursday, because 
 of an old uncle going away. The archdeacon of some place or 
 other to perform the ceremony — Bride's dress white silk, Honiton 
 lace veil. — 'Bridesmaids to be all alike — pale blue watered silk — 
 bonnets sent for from Paris — jewels magnificent — Edward spend- 
 ing a fortune — carriage the most elegant affair that can be 
 imagined— Edward a universal favourite — told to his face that 
 he is perfection. Slight symptoms of conceit in consequence. 
 Tell Edith this — it will please her.' 
 
 ' No, indeed, you shall not tell me,' exclaimed Edith, inter- 
 rupting her sister. ' Nothing is so provoking as to hear bits of a 
 letter in that manner. Do let me have the satisfaction of reading 
 it all quietly to myself.' 
 
 'Nay, but you must listen to this,' said Jane; 'it is just in 
 your way. All the villagers are to have a jete on the wedding- 
 day, and Edward intends giving new frocks and bonnets to 
 twenty of the school girls, and new jackets and hats to the same 
 number of boys ; and he talks to me about the patterns of 
 cottons and the shape of bonnets till I begin to think the 
 wedding-dress an affair of much less consequence.' 
 
 'And what is to be done at Allingham?' asked Edith. 'I 
 should have thought Mr Howard might have provided for Oak- 
 hamptom himself.' 
 
 ' Not when he has such a long purse and such a ready hand 
 near, to save him the trouble,' said Jane. ' Let me see, there is 
 a postcript about Allingham. Edward has written to the bailiff 
 to provide a dinner for the tenants; and he hopes you will all go 
 and see them enjoy themselves.' 
 
 'There will be a sufficient occupation for you, Edith.' 
 
 ' Mrs Grantley talked about the school children,' replied Edith. 
 * I don't mean that she intended they should be feasted at 
 Edward's expense; but she wishes them to have some pleasure 
 to mark the day, because many of them are the children of his 
 tenants ; and I said I was sure mamma would assist' 
 
 'Poor little things!' said Mrs Courtenay. 'It is hard they
 
 GERTRUDE. 47 
 
 should not be happy one day in their lives. You arrange every- 
 thing, my dear, and then tell me about it afterwards.' 
 
 ' It makes me ill to think of it,' said Jane, yawning. ' Such 
 a quantity of trouble for such a set of dirty little creatures ! 
 What can be the good of giving them a taste for things which 
 they will never have when they grow up ? It will be long be- 
 fore they have tea and plum-cake again when they once leave 
 school.' 
 
 ' So much the more reason that they should enjoy it now,' re- 
 plied Edith. ' If your principle had been acted upon, Jane, we 
 should all have been miserable children, for it is impossible to 
 have the same pleasures at twenty that we had at ten.' 
 
 ' Perhaps so,' said Jane, languidly. ' I shall be glad when it 
 is all over ; one has lived in such a whirl lately, that none but a 
 strong person can stand it. How I envy you, Edith; nothing 
 seems to annoy you.' 
 
 If Jane had known what was passing in her sister's mind, the 
 words might have been unsaid. Edith had taken up the letter, 
 and, after turning to the account of Edward's plan for the Oak- 
 hampton school, was thinking of the reasons which could induce 
 him to consult Charlotte on such subjects rather than Miss 
 Howard. The only explanation was in the supposition that to 
 the latter it was an affair of no interest ; and the circumstance, 
 though slight, contributed to strengthen Edith's predjudice. It 
 would have been happy if some friend, wiser than herself, had 
 been near to caution her against a rapid judgment, even when 
 drawn from facts ; but the only person who could have advised 
 her was Gertrude, and to her Edith had only mentioned, in 
 general terms, a fear that Edward's marriage was hasty ; and 
 though Gertrude, in answer, had spoken of the care and con- 
 sideration which might be required in. the future intercourse 
 between Allingham and the Priory, Edith did not apply the 
 observations to herself, having no idea that she was likely to be 
 tempted to say or do anything which would give offence. 
 
 No more letters were expected before the important one which 
 was to announce that the marriage had taken place, and it was 
 thought better to defer all rejoicing till the fact was positively 
 known. There were so many wonderful stories of brides and 
 bridegrooms dying, or quarrelling, or changing their mind, at the 
 very last moment, that the Committee of the Elsham National 
 School decided it would be less presumptuous to wait, and not 
 run the risk of wishing health and prosperity to Mrs Courtenay
 
 48 GERTRUDE. 
 
 of Allingham, when no such person might be in existence. But 
 Edith had no fears. From the first moment, she felt that there 
 was little hope of escape. All was easy and bright — a practical 
 comment upon Caesar's motto, ' Came, saw, and conquered.' And 
 yet, when the thirteenth of October arrived, and with it the ex- 
 pected packet from Oakhampton, her heart beat quickly, and as 
 her heart caught the joint names at the bottom of her brother's 
 letter, she felt even greater pain than she had anticipated. 
 
 'You will go at once to Mrs Grantley, I suppose,' said Jane, 
 when she had finished Charlotte's glowing account ot the wedding 
 - — with the titled guests — and the carriage and four — and the 
 school children — and the breakfast — and all the other ct ceteras 
 by which such events are celebrated, both by those who can, and 
 those who cannot, afford it ; 'and we may as well send to Rayner, 
 and ask him what has been settled about the dinner. I suppose 
 we must drive to the Park to look at them, but I wish Edward 
 had let the matter rest till he came home.' 
 
 'No, my dear,' observed Mrs Courtenay, 'that would have 
 been quite wrong. In my days there used to be a great deal 
 more done. Every poor person in the parish had a dinner when 
 I was married.' 
 
 ' Edward would have had enough to do in the parish of 
 Elsham, to provide for the two thousand poor,' said Jane. ' I 
 think, mamma, as you patronise the thing so warmly, you had 
 better superintend it, and leave Edith to exercise her talents 
 in the school feast. It will be a great relief to me if I can be 
 left out.' 
 
 ' And so it would be to me,' replied Mrs Courtenay, suddenly 
 reminded of her maladies. ' I thought the night before last I 
 should have been obliged to send for Mr Humphries, — I had 
 such a dreadful pain in my shoulder.' 
 
 ' Bilious, I dare say,' replied Jane. ' You know, mamma, you 
 would eat pudding and macaroni at dinner.' 
 
 'Mr Humphries declares it is rheumatism,' said Mrs Courtenay, 
 ' I must ask one of you to rub my shoulder for me.' 
 
 ' I would, if I were not obliged to go to bed early,' said Jane, 
 ' Edith, you don't mind being late.' 
 
 ' I am obliged not to mind it,' said Edith ; 'there is no time 
 to do anything in the day — but I heard you moving about till 
 half-past twelve last night.' 
 
 ' Because I wanted to finish a book ; and see how ill I am to- 
 day in consequence.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 49 
 
 'The night before it was twelve,' continued Edith ; and then, 
 seeing the angry flush on Jane's cheek, she stopped, vexed at 
 having persisted in a disagreeable conversation, and seated 
 herself at the table to calculate the expenses of the school 
 feast. 
 
 ' My dear,' said her mother, 'you Are so careless. Just look, 
 you have destroyed that nice gilt-edged paper for nothing ; why 
 will you always write from that portfolio ?' 
 
 ' I forgot,' replied Edith ; and she took up a common sheet. 
 
 ' O Edith ! ' exclaimed Jane, ' you are scribbling on the letter 
 I had begun, and yesterday you did the very same thing. No 
 one ever makes such blunders as you do.' 
 
 ' I did not mean any harm,' said Edith ; ' if you had as many 
 things to think of as I have, you would make mistakes too.' 
 
 ' Charity begins at home, and care ought to do the same,' said 
 Jane. ' I do think you benevolent people are the most tiresome 
 race in existence.' 
 
 Edith had recourse to silence — and went to her own room, 
 with a passing consciousness that it might be better to attend 
 more to the general comforts of the family. 
 
 The day fixed for the dinner and the school feast was unusu- 
 ally fine for the season ; and even Mrs Courtenay threw off her 
 fur cloak, as she stepped into the open carriage that was to 
 convey her to the Park, and allowed that it might be possible to 
 enjoy a drive in the month of October. Jane declined going, 
 under pretence of not being able to bear the excitement, while 
 Edith accompanied her mother with a grave countenance, to 
 witness rejoicings in which she by no means participated. The 
 dinner was painful : for Mrs Courtenay was so little in the habit 
 of mixing with the poor, that she was entirely deficient in the 
 ease and cordiality which win their affections much sooner than 
 even words or actions. With hasty steps she passed along the 
 different tables, repeating, as a matter of form, that ' she hoped 
 they would enjoy themselves ;' and Edith lingered behind, en- 
 deavouring to efface any disagreeable impression, by inquiring 
 minutely after the children and the invalids of the different 
 families. 
 
 Martha Philips was present, complaining that she was too old 
 for such grand doings, and Edith was endeavouring to soothe 
 her, when the old nurse suddenly recollected her fears for the 
 t.ottage and began to inquire, whether Edith really thought it 
 as ugly as she had been told ; for they said, ' that Mr Edward's 
 
 D
 
 So GERTRUDE. 
 
 lady came from a hard family, and she would be sure to have 
 her own way.' 
 
 'Who says ? what do you mean ?' asked Edith, eagerly, and 
 bending down, that the answer might not be overheard. 
 
 ' Tom Slater says he heard it from one of the London work- 
 men who knew all about them. He was at work down in their 
 country one winter, and a weary time he had of it ; but never 
 a bit of help from the great folks.' 
 
 - Here's health and long life to Mr and Mrs Courtenay !' cried 
 the bailiff from the top of the table, ' and we will drink it with 
 three times three.' 
 
 Edith's heart sank within her ; but she was spared the pain of 
 such ill-timed rejoicing, by an imploring look from her mother ; 
 who, alarmed at the prospect of the stunning noise, requested 
 that the cheers might be deferred. A murmur of disapprobation 
 ran round the table, and the weakness of Mrs Courtenay's nerves 
 gained her on that day more unpopularity than the kindness ot 
 weeks could have retrieved. 
 
 The poor are seldom conscious of the existence of nerves ; and 
 anything which shows an absence of sympathy with their feel- 
 ings is sooner resented than even the neglect of their bodily 
 wants. This Edith knew; and, vexed and uneasy, she hastened 
 her mother away, and advising her to return home, walked to 
 the school alone. 
 
 The children were all placed in order, and the tea and cake 
 distributed ; but they had waited for her, as the Queen of the 
 Day ; and she was just beginning to excuse herself for being 
 late, when a soft voice behind her murmured, 'A peculiarly 
 interesting spectacle, this, Miss Courtenay' — Edith turned, and 
 saw Miss Forester leaning on her uncle's arm, — ' most gratifying 
 to you it must be in every way. I daresay you will remember 
 your feelings on this occasion to your latest moment.' Of this 
 Edith had no doubt, but whether the nature of the feelings was 
 such as Miss Forester imagined, was another matter. ' I need 
 not introduce my uncle/ Miss Forester was going to say ; but 
 she checked herself. There was a possibility that Mr Dacre 
 might not choose to be exhibited in such an old relationship. 
 ' I believe you are already acquainted with Mr Dacre. He gave 
 me a most glowing account of a walk in Allingham Park, about 
 a week ago.' 
 
 ' It was a beautiful afternoon,' said Mr Dacre drily ; ' we have 
 had few like it.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 51 
 
 1 Miss Courtenay has such powers of walking,' observed Miss 
 Forester ; ' and that is so very enviable. I should not have 
 been able to see these little, merry creatures this afternoon, if 
 my father had not promised to call for me in the carriage at five 
 o'clock.' The little, merry creatures were, at that instant, look- 
 ing peculiarly solemn, waiting for Mr Grantley to say grace, and 
 Edith could scarcely repress a smile. 
 
 'You take great interest in the school, I think,' said Mr 
 Dacre. 
 
 'Yes,' replied Edith, simply; 'it is my hobby. Every one 
 must find something to occupy them ; but of course I am only 
 head assistant.' 
 
 'It is easy to see in these cases,' said Mr Dacre, 'what a 
 blessing eating and drinking is. You might try for years with 
 other things before you could make these children feel, as plainly 
 as they do now, that they were cared for.' 
 
 ' I am not sure they understand much about it at any time,' 
 said Edith, smiling. 
 
 ' We will try,' continued Mr Dacre. 'What do you say, my 
 little fellow ? ' and he patted the shoulder of a flaxen-headed 
 urchin who, with both hands, was lifting his cake to his mouth ; 
 ' don't you think Miss Courtenay is the kindest young lady you 
 ever saw ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said the boy, still fondly clasping his treasure, 
 and speaking with his mouth full. Edith and Mr Dacre 
 laughed. 
 
 ' Oh ! but that is rude,' said Miss Forester, who had been 
 standing close behind : 'put your hands down, and tell us if you 
 are not extremely obliged to all the ladies and gentlemen whe 
 take so much interest in your welfare.' 
 
 The boy stared, and understanding only that he was to put his 
 hands in his lap, quickly moved them. 
 
 ' There's a good boy !' said Miss Forester, patronisingly, and 
 advancing as near to the table as she dared without touching it. 
 ' It is quite delightful to see them brought up in these habits of 
 obedience. You must be very fond of all the ladies and gentle- 
 men, I am sure, my dear ?' 
 
 ' He is more fond of his cake than of anything else just now/ 
 half whispered Edith ; ' you had better let him go on.' 
 
 The child, seizing upon the permission, snatched up his cake ; 
 and then, lifting his cup to his mouth with an awkward jerk, 
 divided its contents between Edith, Miss Forester, and the floor
 
 p GERTRUDE. 
 
 Miss Forester started back with an exclamation of disgust, 
 which included not only the little culprit before her, but all others 
 of his race ; while Edith wiped her dress, and began to assure 
 the boy that no one would be angry. In an instant Miss 
 Forester had caught the words, and with the prospective view 
 of sufficient wealth to purchase the most splendid silks in 
 Waterloo House, thought it worth while to sacrifice her fawn- 
 coloured satinet, for the sake of appearing amiable in Mr Dacre's 
 eyes. ' These sudden frights make one nervous,' she said ; 'but 
 one would bear anything rather than mar their enjoyment. 
 Don't think anything more about it, my dear. Certainly it is a 
 beautiful dress spoiled ! ' — and he rvoice became louder, and 
 her countenance flushed, as she gazed at the large, greasy stain. 
 ' It was a present, too, from my father, only a month ago ; 
 and you know,' she added, with a pleading apologetic look 
 at Mr Dacre, 'we are often annoyed at these misfortunes for 
 a friend's sake, when we should not care about them for our 
 own.' 
 
 ' It is rather a handsome dress for the occasion,' said Mr 
 Dacre, as his eye glanced upon Edith's dark silk and straw 
 bonnet. 
 
 Miss Forester perceived the comparison, and her previous 
 dislike to Edith was not a little increased. ' It is rather better, 
 perhaps, than was absolutely necessary ; but I was afraid of 
 keeping you waiting, my dear sir ; and therefore chose the first 
 dress that was at hand. A poor woman detained me, or I should 
 have gone to my room sooner.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' was Mr Dacre's answer ; and he walked away, and 
 began a conversation with Mr Grantley. 
 
 Miss Forester remained with Edith, and pertinaciously devoted 
 herself to her for the rest of the afternoon. The appearance of 
 interest in Mr Dacre's manner had alarmed her, and she was 
 resolved there should be no more tete-a-tetes : not that she had 
 formed any positive plan for preventing him from becoming 
 intimate with other persons — she acted merely from the impulse 
 of the moment ; and perhaps, if her motives and objects had 
 been placed before her in words, she might have acknowledged 
 them to be wrong. But Miss Forester had never entered upon 
 the task of self-examination. The outward world, with its pomp 
 and pride, its cares, its business, and its pleasures, was to her all 
 in all ; and, engrossed in its pursuits, she was passing through 
 lii'c without devoting one moment to the consideration of that
 
 GERTRUDE. 53 
 
 busy world within — that tumultuous crowd of thoughts and feel- 
 ings, which at every moment arc born, and die, and are forgotten, 
 but upon which God has stamped the seal of immortality. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE dinner and the school feast, the congratulations and the 
 visits, passed quickly, as all human events must pass ; and 
 left upon Edith's mind only the recollection of the effort it had 
 been to keep up appearances, and avoid betraying to the world 
 the uneasiness lurking in her heart. But a greater trial was now 
 approaching. The letters from the travellers spoke of their wish to 
 return home earlier than they had at first intended. The weather 
 wasunpropitious for excursions ; and the beauties of Normandy 
 and the Seine lost much of their charm under the depressing in- 
 fluence of a November sky. Not, indeed, such a sky as that which 
 weighs down the spirit of an unfortunate Englishman, in a country 
 village, without resources in himself, or interest in his neigh- 
 bours ; but, nevertheless one sufficiently gloomy to make even a 
 bride and bridegroom sigh for a blazing fire, and the cheerfulness 
 of home society. Why they should have visited the Continent 
 at all, in the autumn, for so short a time, was a subject of 
 astonishment to their friends. But Edward was married in 
 October, — a month proverbially fine ; and under the influence of 
 a clear sky, a bright sun, and a happy heart, he had, as usual, 
 allowed the brilliancy of the present to hide the coming shadows 
 of the future, and persuaded himself that nothing could be more 
 agreeable than to give Laura a foretaste of the pleasures of a 
 foreign tour, preparatory to a longer residence in Italy the 
 ensuing year. 
 
 The dulness of the weather did not, however, appear to have 
 brought any change in their real enjoyment. Both were evidently 
 perfectly happy ; and even Edith, as she read Edward's amusing 
 lamentations over their disappointments, and Laura's affectionate 
 assurances that she was too well satisfied to find fault with passing 
 storms, could scarcely tremble for the prudence of the step her 
 brother had taken, or doubt whether he had chosen a wife suited 
 to hischaracter. Charlotte was still absent, paying a round of 
 visits in the neighbourhood of London; there was therefore no
 
 54 GERTRUDE. 
 
 opportunity of gaining from her any of the minute details which 
 can only be learned in conversation, and with which Edith longed 
 to be acquainted; and she was obliged to summon all her patience, 
 and occupy herself in her ordinary duties, while she waited for 
 the day on which Edward and his bride were to be welcomed at 
 Allingham. 
 
 It was on a chill, gloomy evening, when the fog that had hung 
 over every object during the day was turning into a drizzling 
 rain, while the moaning wind among the leafless trees, and the 
 thick bank of leaden clouds, partially gilded by the setting sun, 
 portended a stormy night, that Edith paced the gravel-walk from 
 the house to the carriage-drive through the Park, anxiously lis- 
 tening to every sound, and regardless of the weather, from the 
 excitement of her feelings ; for now that she was about to meet 
 her brother, she remembered her offences against him, and 
 doubted whether he could so entirely have excused her neglect 
 of his wishes as he appeared to have done. Mrs Courtenay and 
 Jane had thrown themselves, one upon the sofa, the other into a 
 large arm-chair wheeled close to the fire, and were contriving to 
 banish the weariness of delay by occasional complaints of the 
 season and the state of the roads ; to which Jane added a few 
 remarks upon Edward's want of punctuality, that were by no 
 means responded to by her mother. Even these topics were, 
 however, at last exhausted : and, in default of conversation, Jane 
 closed her eyes, merely, as she said, because the firelight was 
 painful; and in a short time, Edward and Laura, and all out- 
 ward circumstances, were forgotten. Edith, too, was tired of 
 her solitary walk, and began to be sensible that a November 
 mist might as well be avoided. She resolved upon taking one 
 more turn, and then attending to her mother's request, sent about 
 ten minutes before, that she would on no account stay out any 
 longer. The resolution was scarcely made, when the distant 
 sound of bells reached her ear. It was a joyous peal from the 
 old village church, yet something of a saddened undertone 
 seemed blended with it, as the wailing autumnal wind bore it 
 towards her, now loudly and merrily, and again so faintly as 
 nearly to be inaudible. In Edith's melancholy mood, she could 
 almost have fancied it a token of the consequences that would 
 follow upon her brother's marriage; an event regarded by all 
 but herself with unmixed satisfaction. But the certainty that 
 Edward was arrived, put a stop to any longer reverie; and she 
 had only time to give her mother the information, when the
 
 GERTRUDE. 55 
 
 carriage was heard approaching the house. The next minute 
 Edward was in the hall, receiving his mother's blessing, and 
 presenting to her his young and beautiful wife. 
 
 ' She is your youngest child, my dearest mother,' he whispered, 
 ' and you will love her very dearly for my sake' 
 
 Laura withdrew her arm from her husband, and advanced to 
 receive Mrs Courtenay's kiss. 
 
 ' For your sake, now/ she said, as she looked in Edward's face 
 with a sweet, bright smile; 'for my own, I trust, soon.' And 
 then turning to Jane and Edith, she added, ' May I not be intro- 
 duced to your sisters ? ' 
 
 Edith's warm affections were in a moment roused. The tone 
 and manner were so simple and winning, that it was impossible 
 to retain any feeling of coldness ; and as her eye rested upon the 
 slight, fairy-like form, and childish, but exquisitely lovely face 
 before her, all Edward's offences were forgotten. His love was ac- 
 counted for, and his extravagance seemed but the natural homage 
 paid to the captivating grace of the object of his choice. Laura 
 indeed appeared born to receive and enjoy all that wealth and 
 affection could lavish upon her, and even the most foreboding 
 mind could hardly have associated any idea but that of happi- 
 ness with her sparkling, hazel eyes, laughing mouth, and brilliant 
 complexion. At the first glance, whilst she was standing en- 
 veloped in shawls and furs, Edith was fascinated with her beauty ; 
 and when, on entering the drawing-room, she carelessly threw off 
 her bonnet and cloak, and showed the delicately-moulded little 
 head, and long, fair neck, which suited so well with the general 
 contour of her features, Edith felt that she had never looked upon 
 anything so lovely. Edward said but little ; he was watching 
 with intense pleasure the effect of his wife's appearance and man- 
 ner ; and Edith, though she noticed his silence, was more at her 
 ease than she expected to have been, for his greeting had been 
 cordial and affectionate. The delight of the moment had made 
 him forget any causes of annoyance, if he felt them to exist. Mrs 
 Courtenay, afraid lest Laura should be suffering from cold or 
 fatigue, soon began to urge upon her, what, in a similar situation, 
 she would have thought absolutely necessary for herself, — a 
 speedy retirement to her own room. 
 
 ' But,' said Laura, in the clear, joyous tone of one who had 
 never known care, 'you will make me think I am an invalid, and 
 I never was ill in my life. I am stronger than any one. I can 
 go to a ball, and dance all nVit. and get up just the same the
 
 56 GERTRUDE. 
 
 next morning ; and when we were in town in the spring, I was at 
 the Opera regularly on a Saturday night, and yet, however late 
 it was when I went to bed, I never missed being in time for the 
 music at the Roman Catholic chapel on Sunday morning.' 
 
 Edith looked at her brother, — she thought he bit his lip, and 
 a cloud passed over his face ; but he turned away ; and again, 
 with a chilled, blank feeling, she gazed upon her beautiful sister- 
 in-law. 
 
 ' But, my dear,' said Mrs Courtenay, whose notions of right 
 were more shocked by the idea of the Roman Catholic chapel 
 than by the dissipation, and almost inevitable profanation of the 
 Sunday, ' Edward never told me you were a Roman Catholic' 
 
 ' Oh no ! ' exclaimed Laura, laughing, ' I only went there for 
 the music. In the country we always go to church once a day ; 
 but in town there are so many engagements, it is not practicable.' 
 
 ' Laura,' said her husband — and there was something in his 
 tone, which, to Edith's ear, betokened anything but satisfaction 
 — ' you had better go to your room now, or you will be late for 
 dinner. I suppose you had my letter,' he added, speaking to his 
 mother ; ' we were not able to stop on the road, so I thought a 
 late dinner would be the wisest arrangement/ 
 
 ' I should like much to go all over the house first,' replied 
 Laura. ' You promised me I should, and I have been dreaming 
 about it all the way.' 
 
 ' It is too late, my love ; you will see nothing to-night, and it 
 will be a pity to lessen any pleasure you might have to-morrow. 
 I should just like yon, though, to come with me into the servants' 
 hall, and speak to the housekeeper, and the other people about 
 the place. I suspect they are all waiting there to see you.' 
 
 ' It is too late, my love,' said Laura, with an arch smile. ' I 
 don't fancy going into the servants' hall to-night. That pleasure 
 shall be deferred till to-morrow too.' 
 
 ' But if I wish it,' said Edward. 
 
 ' But if I don't wish it,' continued Laura. 
 
 'You would not vex me, I am sure, my love. It is expected 
 of you.' 
 
 ' That is a pity,' said Laura, ' because you see there are such 
 things as false expectations ; so now we will go up-stairs.' And, 
 rising from her seat, she playfully put her arm within his to lead 
 him from the room. Edith again glanced at her brother ; bu'„ 
 the expression of dissatisfaction had passed away. 
 
 'You are a sadly spoiled child,' he said, only half reproachfully,
 
 GERTRUDE. 57 
 
 as he watched his wife's graceful motions ; ' but you must have 
 your own way, I suppose, to-night, at least as regards the ser- 
 vants.' And Laura's bewitching smile of gratitude completed her 
 victory. 
 
 ' It is not difficult to see who will rule at Allingham,' said 
 Jane, when they were gone. ' How one is deceived in people ! 
 I should have thought that Edward, of all persons, was the least 
 likely to be governed by his wife.' 
 
 ' Hush ! my dear Jane,' exclaimed Mrs Courtcnay ; ' you speak 
 so loudly. It is all very natural and right ; you know they are 
 but just married ; and she is very young.' 
 
 ' Quite a child,' said Edith ; and the words spoke volumes of 
 disappointment. 
 
 ' And so beautiful ! ' continued Mrs Courtenay ; ' she must 
 have been a most lovely baby.' 
 
 ' I don't see that she is much more now,' observed Jane ; 
 'Charlotte said she did not look more than sixteen, but I must 
 say I was not entirely prepared for such infantine ways.' 
 
 'My dear Jane, you are hard judging. Her manners suit her 
 exactly.' 
 
 ' That is just the objection to them. They suit her face and 
 figure, but they do not suit her position. A playful kitten is all 
 very well, but a playful bride is detestable. What do you say, 
 Edith ? ' 
 
 The question was either not heard, or not sufficiently agreeable 
 to be attended to ; and, in a short time, the sound of the dinner- 
 bell, and the re-entrance of Edward and Laura, put an end to 
 any further observations. 
 
 ' You are silent, my dear Edith,' said Edward, with a. slight 
 effort of manner, when the second course was removed, and the 
 first esprit of the conversation had subsided ; ' I hope you are 
 not ill?' 
 
 ' No, thank you, I never was better ;' and silence again ensued. 
 
 'You have been overworking yourself, I am afraid. I have 
 told Laura what an indefatigable person you are, and that she 
 must become your assistant.' 
 
 'But Laura did not agree to the proposal,' said his wife, with 
 a smile which always had the effect of neutralising any un- 
 pleasant impression her words might occasion. ' I am rejoiced 
 that there is some one to take the Lady Bountiful's burden from 
 me ; it was always my horror in a country life : besides, you 
 know, it would be interfering.'
 
 58 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' She is only joking,' said Edward, observing the increased 
 gloom on his sister's face. ' You will know her better by and by, 
 and then you will not believe anything she says of herself.' 
 
 ' No one was ever more in earnest, Edward — I don't under- 
 stand such things, and never shall — so Edith shall be lady para- 
 mount over the Allingham charities, to her heart's content.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Edith, gravely ; ' but I have enough to do 
 at Elsham.' 
 
 Laura looked at her sister-in-law as if rather astonished at her 
 manner, and then sunk into an unusual fit of abstraction. Edward 
 fidgeted, and began to be uncomfortable. He had that indescrib- 
 able feeling of something being uncongenial in the elements of 
 his family party, which perhaps is more painful than open differ- 
 ence of opinion. 
 
 'You have told me nothing about Gertrude,' he said, willing 
 to change the conversation. ' What account does she give of 
 my aunt ? ' 
 
 ' Very much as usual,' replied Jane. ' Mrs Heathfield is always 
 complaining ; some people are.' 
 
 'I do so long to see Gertrude,' said Laura. ' She wrote me 
 such a kind note just before we were married, as kind as any I 
 had, even from my own relations ; and I have a cousin who 
 knows her, and says she is not at all like people in general.' 
 
 ' I don't see that,' said Jane. ' She has eyes, nose, and mouth 
 like the rest of the world ; and eats, drinks, and sleeps, like a 
 rational being. Then she is neither tall nor short, nor pretty 
 nor ugly ; neither a genius nor a dunce. In fact, I don't know 
 where you would find a less singular person.' 
 
 ' But her mind,' said Edward. ' We are scarcely judges, 
 indeed, as to what she really is ; but if her letters and general 
 report speak truth, she is singularly good.' 
 
 ' No, no, Edward,' exclaimed Laura ; ' I am sure she is not 
 like that. Singularly good people are always disagreeable. We 
 had one staying with us once, and she did nothing but find fault 
 from morning till night.' 
 
 ' It is a melancholy truth though, with regard to Gertrude, 
 said Edward, smiling. 
 
 ' Perfectly impossible,' continued Laura, ' or she would have 
 sent me a sermon on my wedding-day, with a little book bound 
 in silk and gold, as you put medicines for children into sugar, 
 containing "Advice to a young wife." I had three given to me 
 as it was. from three singularly eood old aunts.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 59 
 
 ' They meant kindly, my love,' said Edward, in the tone in 
 which he would have gently reproved a forward child. 
 
 ' Good intentions ! ' exclaimed Laura, laughing ; 'lam tired 
 of them. I had a fit of them once, and they made me uncom- 
 fortable, so I gave them up.' 
 
 'Certainly/ said Edith, 'they are of little use without good 
 actions.' 
 
 ' That is exactly what I feel ; and as I am too humble to 
 suppose I shall ever perform any good actions, I see no reason 
 to trouble myself with the intentions.' 
 
 ' You will frighten my mother if you talk so wildly, my love,' 
 said Edward. ' She is not accustomed to such rhodomontade. 
 Edith, I suspect, is alarmed already.' 
 
 'Not half so much as I am,' said Laura. 'Do you know, 
 Edith, Edward has done nothing but describe your virtues all 
 day.' 
 
 ' 1 only told the truth,' replied Edward, in his natural kind 
 manner. ' I hope she will not think it too much trouble to teach 
 her own good ways to such an idle child as you are.' 
 
 Laura drew up her long neck, and appeared not quite pleased. 
 Child though she was, she was fully aware of her position as a 
 married woman, and did not desire the dictation of an unmarried 
 sister-in-law ; and Edward had no sooner spoken than he per- 
 ceived his mistake. 
 
 ' I have no ways to teach,' said Edith, coldly, her pleasure in 
 the praise struggling with her disappointment ; ' and if I had, I 
 should rather have looked forward, Edward, to learning some- 
 thing from your wife.' 
 
 Edward looked ominously grave. He felt what was intended, 
 and he also felt that it was neither the place nor the time for the 
 observation to be made. 
 
 ' All persons, I imagine,' he replied, in a tone as cold, ' have 
 some points in which they may be useful to others. Laura has 
 been accustomed to a London life ; you to a country one. I 
 suppose you may mutually benefit each other.' 
 
 ' We will make a compact then,' said Laura, gaily ; ' I will 
 teach you the fashions, and you shall take charge of my 
 duties.' 
 
 There was a smile from all but Edith, who was immovably 
 rigid ; and Laura, feeling provoked, proposed an adjournment 
 to the drawing-room. 
 
 Edith's stiffness relaxed as they drew round the fire, and she
 
 6o GERTRUDE. 
 
 tried to find a subject of conversation. ' Is this the last new 
 reticule?' she said, taking up a large and very handsome 
 carriage bag, which had been left on the sofa. 
 
 ' No,' replied Laura. ' It was a wedding present ; you shall 
 guess from whom.' 
 
 'Gertrude,' said Jane; 'no one else would have thought of 
 such a thincr ' 
 
 'Because no one else is so much in the habit of consulting 
 other persons' comfort,' observed Edith. 
 
 'The note I mentioned was sent with it,' said Laura; 'and 
 she told me she preferred work to ornaments, because it was the 
 association generally which made them valuable ; and therefore 
 she would rather wait till she could hope I really loved her, and 
 in the meantime give me something useful. Just see how nicely 
 the bag is fitted up.' 
 
 'Gertrude has a great idea of suitableness in presents,' said 
 Edith. ' She always contrives to think upon the very thing one 
 wants, even if it is a mere trifle.' 
 
 ' She is rich,' remarked Jane ; ' and can afford to give presents.' 
 
 ' Not much richer than we are, now,' said Edith. 'And besides, 
 she seldom does give what people call handsome presents.' 
 
 ' Gertrude must be the hundred and first wonder of the world.' 
 said Laura. ' I shall give up wishing to see her. I never met 
 with agreeable perfection yet.' 
 
 ' Her perfections are not dazzling ones,' said Edith, a little 
 mollified by the appreciation of her sister's gift. ' You must 
 know her intimately before you find out her superiority.' 
 
 'So much the worse,' observed Laura. 'Hidden goodness is 
 the most alarming of all. One goes on blundering, and imagin- 
 ing one is doing and saying everything that is right ; and, all at 
 once, some unlucky look or word touches the vulnerable point, 
 and a whole host of virtues stand up in battle array, and crush 
 one before one is at all prepared.' 
 
 'Crush, my dear/ said Mrs Courtenay, who was just settling 
 herself for her evening doze; 'don't talk of crushing — it is so 
 cruel ; put it out of the window carefully. I dare say it will 
 recover.' 
 
 Laura laughed heartily ; Dut it was not the Priory fashion to 
 correct Mrs Courtenay's mistakes, and the conversation con- 
 tinued. 
 
 'One thing I really give Gertrude credit for,' said Jane,— 
 'consistency. If it were not for her, I should really think some-
 
 GERTRUDE. 6 1 
 
 times that all the world were hypocrites. They talk so well and 
 act so badly.' 
 
 ' You learn to think them so, on the Continent,' said Laura, — 
 'at the Roman Catholic chapels. There can be no sincerity in 
 all the bowing, and ringing of bells, and walking about.' 
 
 'Were you there often ?' asked Edith. 
 
 ' No, we were only absent three weeks ; but the Sundays were 
 wet and dull, and I persuaded Edward to go, just for amuse- 
 ment.' 
 
 ' People might say the same as you do of our forms,' observed 
 Edith, 'if they did not understand them.' 
 
 ' Oh, no,' exclaimed Laura ; 'there is meaning in what we do, 
 but the Roman Catholic ceremonies are absurd. What is the 
 use of the little boys and the tapers ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Edith ; ' I never was at a Roman Catholic 
 chapel.' 
 
 ' Never!' repeated Laura, in astonishment. 'But it is a sight 
 to be seen, like any others ; and then the music is exquisite.' 
 
 ' It can scarcely be right, though,' said Edith, ' to make any- 
 thing solemn a matter of amusement. We should be shocked 
 to see the service of the Church represented in the theatre ; and 
 I can fancy good Roman Catholics feeling just the same when 
 their worship is considered a mere show.' 
 
 'As to the Church service in a theatre,' said Laura, ' I am no 
 judge, for I never saw it ; but I dare say I should not think it 
 wrong, if no one else did. You know in Masaniello they kneel 
 down on the stage, and chant, and very beautiful it is. It 
 makes one feel very religious at the time — so it must be good.' 
 
 ' But do you think the people who sing are feeling the same ?' 
 asked Edith. 
 
 ' Oh no. They are mere actors — of course all that they care 
 for is singing in tune and putting themselves in proper atti- 
 tudes.' 
 
 ' But the words,' said Edith, looking extremely grave, — 'only 
 think of the words they use.' 
 
 ' They don't mean them,' replied Laura. ' Greek and Latin, 
 or mere nonsense, would do just as well.' 
 
 ' And the third commandment !' said Edith. 
 
 Laura seemed a little startled. ' We are running away from 
 our first subject,' she said. ' The chanting in " Masaniello" has 
 nothing to do with the Roman Catholic chapels. The people are 
 not acting there.'
 
 62 GERTRUDE. 
 
 1 You said they were,' replied Edith. ' You called them hypo- 
 crites.' 
 
 ' I did not mean exactly that they were; only that they seemed 
 so.' 
 
 ' And when you go/ continued Edith, ' you of course put on an 
 appearance of reverence, and yet all the time you are thinking of 
 the service as an amusement. Who is acting then ? ' 
 
 There was a short pause, broken by Laura. ' You are hard 
 upon me, Edith,' she said ; ' I daresay you think me dreadfully 
 wicked ; but I was bred up with my notions, and you were bred 
 up with yours ; so we shall never agree ; but I am sure you are 
 a great deal better than I am.' 
 
 Edith felt this was true ; and a certain consciousness of man- 
 ner unfortunately showed it, — unfortunately, for it served to efface 
 the impression her words had made. Laura would have been 
 touched by humility and gentleness, in one whom she candidly 
 acknowledged her superior ; but Edith's smile of acquiescence 
 irritated her. A little reflection indeed brought to Edith's mind 
 follies, and worse than follies, both of thought and action, which 
 sunk her infinitely low in her own esteem; but it was then too 
 late to be humble. The conversation was interrupted by the 
 entrance of her brother and the preparation for tea, and the 
 opportunity was lost. So it is through life : we yield to the im- 
 pulse of the moment, and utter a hasty word, or are silent when 
 we should have spoken, or suffer a proud look to betray our evil 
 feelings ; and then turn and repent, and bewail the infirmity of 
 our nature ; and the sorrow, when it is the sorrow of a Christian, 
 is seen and accepted, but the impression of our weakness is 
 stamped upon another's heart, and its effect we may well dread 
 to calculate. On this occasion it was plainly visible. Laura's 
 constraint for the short remainder of the evening was the more 
 perceptible, from the contrast it afforded to her general openness 
 of manner ; and when Edith, on her return home, thought over 
 in solitude the occurrences of the evening, the remembrance of 
 her sister's worldly notions and of Edward's inconsistency, was 
 less painful than the consciousness of her own self-conceit and 
 coldness of manner. And Edith was sincere in her self-accusa- 
 tion ; but the fault lay too deep to be easily corrected. Never- 
 failing humility is the last acquired virtue of a Christian.
 
 GERTRUDE. 63 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 * \70U are grave, my love,' said Edward, as he stood by the 
 
 JL breakfast-room window on the following morning, point- 
 ing out the different objects of interest in the neighbourhood. 
 
 ' Not exactly grave,' replied Laura, keeping her eyes still fixed 
 upon the Priory, which Edward had been minutely describing — 
 ' I was only thinking.' 
 
 ' Thinking of what ?' 
 
 ' Oh ! nothing, — it is very pretty. That bow-window, you say. 
 is the library ? ' 
 
 ' " Nothing" will not do for me,' said Edward, as he drew her 
 fondly towards him, and forced her to look in his face. 'Remem- 
 ber our agreement, Laura ; we were to have no concealments 
 of any kind, — whether in grief or joy, it was to be all the same.' 
 
 ' So it shall be, when there is anything to be told; but it would 
 be absurd to confess every foolish thought that passes through 
 one's mind, and makes one look grave for the moment.' 
 
 ' Not absurd, if I wish it,' replied Edward ; ' so tell me what 
 was it ? Were you thinking of home ?' 
 
 'Oh no,' exclaimed Laura, earnestly; 'why should I ? You 
 are my home now.' 
 
 ' Then you are disappointed in the place : it is not so pretty as 
 you expected.' 
 
 ' Yes, it is a great deal prettier, larger and handsomer, and the 
 view more extensive. I cannot tell you what it was, Edward, 
 that came over me — it was a feeling more than a thought.' 
 
 ' A feeling about the Priory,' said Edward. 
 
 Laura hesitated. ' I can hardly understand why I should have 
 it ; your mother is so kind ; and Jane, too ; and Edith ' — 
 
 'Is what?' % 
 
 ' So — so good, I think : so much better than I am.' 
 
 'Time will prove that,' said Edward, as he imprinted a kiss 
 on the fair, open forehead of his young wife. 'You are good in 
 my eyes. Is not that sufficient ?' 
 
 ' But I am not good in Edith's,' continued Laura ; ' I can see 
 I am not — and I am frightened — I shall never feel at ease where 
 she is.' 
 
 ' Never is a very long day,' said Edward, smiling. ' It is only 
 Edith's manner at first — she is so warm-hearted and sensible ; 
 you must be fond of her by and bv.'
 
 64 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' That is not the question ; she will never be fond of me. She 
 thinks I am not fitted for you. I am sure she does ; and you will 
 find I was right about her not being my bridesmaid. She did 
 not choose to be. and that was her only motive for declining.' 
 
 ' Rather severe,' said Edward. ' You know I was vexed myself; 
 but we agreed that we would not begin our home life with being 
 annoyed. Her time is very much occupied, and I really think 
 that nothing but necessity would have induced her to refuse. 
 You must remember, too, that although we are all in all to each 
 other, we cannot cut ourselves off from our relations.' 
 
 ' Who would wish it ? ' said Laura. ' I am sure I only want 
 to be one of the family in everything ; but then I must be met 
 half way.' 
 
 'And so you will be. In a week's time, Edith and you will be 
 the dearest friends imaginable.' 
 
 Laura shook her head. 
 
 ' I can never get on with any person I am afraid of ; and you 
 know I am shy, though I do talk fast.' 
 
 'You were shy of the servants last night,' said Edward ; 'but 
 you must conquer the feeling to-day. I want you to know them 
 all — to take the management of affairs into your own hands ; and 
 remember we are to be very economical.' 
 
 ' Say it once more,' exclaimed Laura, laughing ; ' I have not 
 heard it quite often enough yet. Economy is an admirable 
 thing ; I like it extremely ; it means a handsome house and a 
 fine park, and splendid furniture, and six thousand a-year. This 
 room is a specimen of your economy ; it suits my taste exactly.' 
 
 ' I am really in earnest, Laura,' replied her husband, more 
 gravely than usual. ' It has been a great delight to procure 
 everything that might make your new home pleasant ; but there 
 is not the less occasion for care.' 
 
 'Of course you are right^' said Laura; 'men always are. 
 Papa recommends economy too, and with more reason : I know 
 his property is encumbered.' 
 
 The colour mounted to Edward's cheek. ' I talked to your 
 father,' he said, ' and he perfectly agreed with me ; and you must 
 take advice upon our judgment. Ladies do not understand the 
 details of business.' 
 
 ' No, indeed,' exclaimed Laura ; ' I never wish to hear the 
 word. Just tell me how much money I may spend, and I shall 
 need nothing more.' 
 
 ' Suppose I were to say that we ought not to exceed two
 
 GERTRUDE 65 
 
 thousand a year?' and Edward looked earnestly in Ins wile's 
 face. 
 
 ' Then I should say you were speaking nonsense. With a 
 fortune of six thousand, why should we confine ourselves to two? 
 You must be growing miserly in your old age, Edward, or has the 
 burden of a wife brought with it an overburden of prudence ? : 
 
 ' It has brought a burden of anxiety, lest my best earthly 
 treasure should ever have a wish ungratified,' said Edward, 
 affectionately. 
 
 'Then I may have my own way,' continued Laura, 'and we 
 will hear nothing more about economy ; it is such a very vulgar 
 virtue.' 
 
 Edward felt ashamed of his own weakness, but had no strength 
 to overcome it. He could not bear to cloud the brightness of 
 Laura's prospects at the very opening of their married life, and 
 contented himself with the knowledge that he had acted an 
 honourable part by acquainting Mr Howard with the state of 
 his property before he had made his proposal. 
 
 ' You must learn to believe me serious, my dear Laura,' he 
 replied. 'All comforts and luxuries that are suitable to your 
 position in society I trust you will never want, but anything 
 beyond we must both be contented without.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' exclaimed Laura ; ' I am perfectly satisfied. 
 My position in society is a very desirable one — the mistress of 
 Allingham, and the wife of one of the first persons in the county.' 
 
 ' Not exactly one of the first ; I could name six or seven at 
 least whose fortune is more than double my own.' 
 
 ' It is not fortune merely,' continued Laura ; ' your family and 
 connections must be considered ; and, besides, you know, you 
 will soon be a member of Parliament. Papa told me that.' 
 
 ' It was more than I said,' replied Edward, hastily. ' I ac- 
 knowledged that I might almost certainly be a county member if 
 I wished it, because the seat has been held by the Allingham 
 Courtenays for years and years ; but I did not at all mean to 
 imply that anything would induce me to stand.' 
 
 ' But I should so like you to be in Parliament,' said Laura ; 
 ' you would speak so well. Papa said he was sure you would 
 distinguish yourself.' 
 
 ' Silly child,' replied Edward, in a tone of half earnestness ; 
 ' you must not talk of things you don't understand. Your father 
 was fond of me, and saw everything I did or said in a favourable 
 point of view ; but if I had the united talents of all the first men 
 
 E
 
 66 GERTRUDE. 
 
 of che age, I have not wealth to support a contested election. It 
 would be ruin.' 
 
 Laura laughed gaily : ' They say that there is some point or 
 other upon which every person is insane, and I do think this of 
 economy is yours, Edward. If you practised it I should be 
 frightened, and think you required a keeper ; but happily it all 
 begins and ends in words. 1 
 
 Unknowingly Laura had touched upon a discordant note. 
 Edward could scarcely have told why the conversation was dis- 
 agreeable; but he felt it to be so, and threw himself into a chair 
 and took up a book. 
 
 ' Not now,' said Laura, playfully, as she caught the volume 
 from his hands. ' We are to go over the house together, and I 
 am to look demure, and make speeches to Mrs Somebody the 
 housekeeper, and Mr Somebody the house-steward, and beg them 
 to keep all the other somebodies in order. You know I, who am 
 nobody, cannot possibly talk to somebody, unless you are near 
 to help me.' 
 
 'You who are everybody, you mean,' said Edward — 'the per- 
 vading spirit of the establishment.' 
 
 ' No, no !' exclaimed Laura ; ' I have warned you often before 
 that I cannot be any such thing. You tell me that you have no 
 intention of making laws for the nation, and I tell you that I have 
 no intention of making laws for the household. They must take 
 care of themselves. 
 
 ' We shall see,' replied Edward. ' Some persons, you know, 
 are born to greatness, some achieve greatness, and some have 
 greatness thrust upon them. Now, as I conceive that a woman's 
 greatness consists in the proper management of her husband's 
 home, I must insist upon thrusting it on you ; and, as a preli- 
 minary step, we will go to the servants' hall.' 
 
 Laura made no further objection, and the remainder of the 
 morning was spent in listening to domestic details — which she 
 acknowledged could never be irksome while Edward was at her 
 side — and in wandering from room to room, forming plans for the 
 future, and talking of the friends who were to be invited to fill 
 the house as soon as they were comfortably settled. Something 
 also was said of the poor, and Mrs Dixon, the housekeeper, was 
 strictly enjoined to have soup made three times a week, and allow 
 nothing like waste amongst the servants — an injunction received 
 with such low curtseys and fair promises, that Laura considered 
 nothing more was required to be done.
 
 GERTRUDE. 67 
 
 ' I have kept this for the last,' said Edward, as he threw open 
 the folding doors that opened from the antechamber into Laura's 
 morning-room. ' This is especially for yourself, dearest— a place 
 of refuge when you arc tired of me, or of your company. You 
 see it is not finished yet, but I intend it to be perfect of its kind.' 
 
 Laura's delighted countenance spoke her full approbation, and 
 she ran eagerly to the window to look at the view, but started 
 back immediately. ' O Edward ! that cottage— that frightful 
 cottage ! — it is precisely in the way.' 
 
 'What do you mean?' asked Edward ; ' there is no cottage 
 in the front.' 
 
 ' No, but at the side. Just come where I am, and you will see. 
 It hides the prettiest part of the village, and it is so detestably 
 ugly — you will have it taken down.' 
 
 Edward looked considerably annoyed. ' I see how it is,' he 
 said ; ' I cut down one or two trees there just before I went away, 
 and it made very little difference from below, but this new window 
 has the full benefit. It was stupid of me not to think about it 
 when I sent my orders. I am sure we might have managed the 
 room differently.' 
 
 ' But it will be easy enough now,' said Laura; 'you have only 
 to order it to be taken down. The poor people will find plenty 
 of other cottages to go to.' 
 
 ' If it were a common labourer's cottage, it would not signify,' 
 replied Edward ; ' but, unfortunately, it is inhabited by my old 
 nurse, who is fidgety and cross, and has met with many misfor- 
 tunes ; and when she went into it, I promised she should never 
 be turned out again.' 
 
 ' Shall I quote you a very, very old proverb about promises ?' 
 said Laura, as she looked very archly in his face. ' Don't be so 
 solemn, Edward ; I am not really advising you to break your 
 word ; but there are ways and means.' 
 
 ' Fire, arsenic, and prussic acid, for instance,' said Edward. 
 
 ' Oh fie ! I never thought of anything half so wicked. What 
 I meant were little, gentle, insinuating ways.' 
 
 ' Such as the cuckoo uses when it turns its neighbour out of 
 its nest, I suppose,' continued Edward. ' You must explain 
 yourself more clearly.' 
 
 ' Not yet, because I don't exactly know what I mean myself; 
 but I am sure the thing is to be done, and well and graciously 
 too ; and I shall never rest till it is.' 
 
 Shall I tell you a better mode of satisfying yourself?' said 
 
 i
 
 68 GERTRUDE. 
 
 Edward. ' Make up your mind to bear it patiently, and not 
 think about it. We should never forgive ourselves for making 
 poor old Martha uncomfortable for the few remaining years of 
 her life.' 
 
 ' But she should not be uncomfortable,' persisted Laura. 'We 
 could easily manage for her to have a cottage quite as good, and 
 a great deal prettier. Besides, Edward, it is a question between 
 your wife and your nurse— which do you love the best?' 
 
 ' Which have I the greatest confidence in ? you should ask. 
 I think that my nurse is old, and ignorant, and fretful ; but I 
 think that my wife is sensible, and kind-hearted, and self-denying, 
 and therefore I expect far more from one than I do from the 
 other.' 
 
 ' Very pretty,' said Laura, ' but not very true. Your wife 
 never was self-denying in her life. It was not the Oakhampton 
 fashion.' 
 
 ' But it will be the Allingham fashion — and this shall be the 
 first lesson.' 
 
 Laura looked disappointed, and there was a little petulancy in 
 her manner as she moved from the window, and walked about 
 the room examining the furniture. 
 
 ' It is hopeless to think of planting it out,' she said, as she re- 
 turned to the window ; ' it would be years before any trees would 
 grow high enough to hide it.' 
 
 ' We might cover it with evergreens,' replied Edward ; ' it will 
 not be objectionable then. And it might be much worse ; it is 
 old and thatched.' 
 
 ' But the time — just consider the amazing length of time be- 
 fore that hideous red wall can possibly be covered ; and every 
 person who comes into the room will see it and talk about it ; 
 and I shall have to repeat the story over and over again ; and, 
 after all, no one will understand why it is not taken away ; for 
 there is not one person in a hundred who would care like you 
 for an old nurse.' 
 
 'Dear Laura!' said Edward; 'you cannot possibly be as 
 vexed as I am. I had set my heart upon your having everything 
 to please you ; and if you only knew how I had planned the room 
 for weeks and weeks, I think you would feel that it was not my 
 fault. 
 
 ' No,' exclaimed Laura, regaining in an instant her natural 
 sweetness of temper, when she saw that her husband was annoyed ; 
 ' I know you could never do anything but what was kind and
 
 GERTRUDE. 69 
 
 thoughtful. You will try, though,' — and she laid her hand upon 
 his arm, and looked at him beseechingly. 
 
 'Why do you ask me? dearest ! you know it is impossible ;'■•- 
 but the tone was less decided, and Laura saw her influence. 
 
 ' Not quite impossible — only say you will think about it.' 
 
 ' If it could do any good, I would : but where is the use of 
 thinking, when it is out of one's power to act.' 
 
 ' There can be no harm in it, and you may find some way of 
 managing.' 
 
 Edward turned again to the window, and the cottage was more 
 unsightly than before. He did not say that he would think ; but 
 he stood for some minutes in silence ; and then, gazing intently 
 on the lovely face at his side, proposed that they should go into 
 the pleasure-ground. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE dressing bell at the Priory was heard at the usual hour 
 on that same evening ; and Mrs Courtenay and Jane re- 
 tired to prepare for dinner ; but Edith still lingered by the draw- 
 ing-room fire, her eyes fixed on the dreary scene without, but her 
 thoughts wandering to other subjects. She had seen nothing of 
 her brother and sister during the day, yet they had scarcely been 
 absent from her mind for a single hour. They were now expected 
 to dine, and she was to be ready to receive them ; and if they had 
 been strangers, the task would have been easy ; but the recollec- 
 tion of the preceding evening's conversation was too vivid to allow 
 of her feeling any pleasure in the prospect of a family party. She 
 was uncomfortable in Edward's presence, from the doubt whether 
 she had behaved kindly ; and Laura had scarcely uttered a sen- 
 tence without paining her. To have seen her in society, and 
 watched her graceful manners, and the varying expression of her 
 features, and listened to her clear, silvery laugh, would have been 
 agreeable and interesting ; but to hear her converse and be re- 
 minded every moment of Edward's weakness in suffering himself 
 to be captivated by mere external attraction, was a trial of no 
 ordinary nature. Such at least it seemed to Edith ; and as she 
 recalled the different subjects introduced, and the opinions Laura 
 had expressed, her vexation almost vented itself in tears. Instead
 
 7 o GERTRUDE. 
 
 of a friend and companion, she had found only an elegant, worldly- 
 minded girl, with some natural cleverness, and a certain simpli- 
 city and warmth of manner, pleasing on a first acquaintance, but 
 possessing no real charm apart from more valuable qualities. 
 Whatever her disposition might be, it was evident that she had 
 been spoiled by education ; and the only hope for Edward's happi- 
 ness was in his remaining blind to the follies of his wife. In a 
 certain degree, this judgment was correct. Laura was as yet 
 nothing more than an elegant, amiable, clever girl ; but it is hard 
 to say that the faults of eighteen are incurable ; and whatever had 
 been the defects of her education, the influence of her husband and 
 his family might be all-powerful for good, if only it were exerted 
 aright. In this, however, lay the difficulty. Edward's affection, 
 and inherent weakness of character, caused him to be led, rather 
 than to lead. His mother, and Jane, and Charlotte, possessed 
 scarcely higher principles than his wife ; Gertrude was absent ; 
 and Edith, the only person who could really be of use, was uncon- 
 scious of the duty devolving upon her. Even now, as she pondered 
 upon the deficiencies of Laura's character, it never occurred to 
 her that she might be the instrument of effecting a change. Her 
 own duties seemed evident ; she was to pursue her usual path, 
 attend to the schools, and visit in the parish and work for the 
 poor, and Laura was to occupy herself as she chose. There 
 was no probability that their tastes would harmonise ; and, 
 therefore, the more agreeable line of conduct would be not to 
 interfere, but to wait patiently, in the hope that Edward's example 
 might be of service in raising her tone of mind. And as the 
 resolution was formed, Edith gathered up her work, and, startled 
 by the sound of carriage wheels, went to dress for dinner. The 
 second bell had rung before her toilette was completed, and she 
 felt glad to be spared the irksomeness of the quarter of an hour's 
 formal conversation in the drawing-room, since formal she had 
 determined it must be, while there were so many topics on 
 which there could be no sympathy. But Laura's merry laugh, 
 and Edward's smile, as she seated herself at the table, and 
 apologised for being late, gave no symptoms of formality ; and 
 in a few minutes Edith's restraint was subdued" by the recital of 
 some travelling adventures, and the grace and ease with which 
 Laura took off the French manner, and mimicked the Normandy 
 patois. 
 
 ' It must be a delightful thing to have travelled,' said Jane, 
 when they left the dining-room. ' It saves such an infinity of
 
 GERTRUDE. 71 
 
 trouble in finding subjects of conver ationj and really, with so 
 
 many acquaintances, talking is the labour of one's life.' 
 
 ' Not with you, Jane, I am sure,' said Edith ; ' you seldom 
 trouble yourself to entertain any one.' 
 
 ' Nor with you, Edith ; for you are never in the way when any 
 one calls. My whole morning is often wasted by visitors.' 
 
 ' It is not of so much consequence to you as it is to me,' re- 
 plied Edith ; ' for you have not as much to do.' 
 
 ' There I must beg to differ,' said Jane, pettishly ; ' my occu- 
 pations arc as numerous, although they arc different from yours.' 
 
 ' But you cannot mean to say they are equally important,' said 
 Edith. 
 
 ' Indeed I do. The cultivation of one's own mind is as im- 
 portant as the cultivation of other persons'.' 
 
 'Is this the best mode of cultivating one's mind?' asked 
 Edith, ironically ; and she took up the last volume of an inferior 
 novel. 
 
 Jane made no reply, but her annoyance was evident in her 
 countenance ; and Laura, who had never been accustomed to 
 anything like discordance between sisters, felt extremely uncom- 
 fortable, and endeavoured, if possible, to turn the conversation. 
 Edith would indeed have been pained, if she had known the 
 impression these few sentences produced. From long habit, she 
 was not aware how perceptible the disagreement between herself 
 and her sisters was to a stranger. She had been accustomed to 
 speak openly — sometimes from an irritation of feeling, sometimes 
 from a real, though mistaken, idea of doing good ; and as the 
 difference of opinion seldom went beyond a few passing expres- 
 sions, or a satirical look, she had not supposed that it would be 
 noticed. Neither was she in general sensible of the extent of 
 the wrong she was committing. The error was so trifling in 
 appearance, as frequently to be unthought of ; but it is the con- 
 stant repetition of a slight fault which effectually destroys the 
 happiness of domestic life ; and whether it be indolence, pro- 
 crastination, carelessness, hastiness of temper, or any of the 
 numerous other minor defects of character, it must always, in 
 the end, mar the influence of the highest virtues. Edith was 
 sincere, and generous, and self-denying ; earnest in religion, 
 and unwearied in exertion ; and beyond the circle of her own 
 family, was considered a pattern of all that is amiable in woman : 
 but, in her home, she was at times irritable and forgetful, and 
 pursued her notions of duty without sufficient consideration for
 
 7 2 GERTRUDE. 
 
 the prejudices of others ; and her sisters acknowledged her 
 goodness, but accused her of inconsistency, and felt little in- 
 clined to follow an example which produced so doubtful a result 
 upon the general happiness. 
 
 ' How often do you hear from Gertrude ? ' asked Laura, think- 
 ing the subject a safe one. 
 
 'Once a week, generally,' said Mrs Courtenay ; 'when her 
 aunt is ill, she writes more frequently, or if she has anything to 
 send. What was there in the packet that came this morning ? I 
 forget.' 
 
 ' A new duet,' replied Edith. ' She fancied it would suit you, 
 Laura, as Edward said you sang a great deal.' 
 
 ' I used to do so at Oakhampton, for I had almost always a 
 cousin or some one to practise with ; but I never sing anything 
 alone.' 
 
 'You must practise a great deal now, my dear,' said Mrs 
 Courtenay; 'you have such a beautiful instrument, and either 
 Edith, or Jane, or Charlotte, when she is at home, will be de- 
 lighted to sing with you.' 
 
 Laura looked at her sisters, expecting the proposal to be re- 
 ceived with pleasure, but she was disappointed. 
 
 'I sing very little,' said Jane, 'only when no one is at hand 
 to take my part. It is such a great exertion.' 
 
 ' I don't care for the exertion,' observed Edith ; ' music is 
 worth any trouble, but it takes up so much time.' 
 
 ' But what is time given us for ? ' asked Laura, except to 
 enjoy ourselves ? I mean a lady's time. Gentlemen and poor 
 people are different.' 
 
 'You shall come and stay here,' said Jane, 'and then you will 
 discover. Edith intends giving lectures soon upon the useful 
 expenditure of time, in contradistinction to the ornamental.' 
 
 'What do you consider useful, Edith?' asked Laura. 
 
 ' Let me tell you/ said Jane, before her sister had time to re- 
 ply. ' First and foremost, teaching reading, writing, and arith- 
 metic, to the dirtiest children in the parish — the dirtier the better ; 
 secondly, walking over ploughed fields and muddy lanes, to see 
 poor creatures in infectious fevers, and returning home, to the 
 serious alarm of your friends, so ill that you can neither speak 
 nor eat ; and thirdly, spending every wet day in making flannel 
 petticoats and smock frocks, and reading sermons.' 
 
 ' That is an exaggeration, Jane,' said Edith ; ' but even if it 
 were not, no one would dem* that it would be a more profitable
 
 GERTRUDE. 73 
 
 way of employing one's self than in music, and drawing, and 
 worsted work.' 
 
 ' And do you mean that you would never attend to such things ?' 
 asked Laura. 
 
 'Oh yes, occasionally, if I literally had nothing else to do; but 
 that is never the case with me. 
 
 Laura was thoughtful for a moment. ' I cannot understand 
 it,' she said. ' I hope Edward will never expect me to lead such 
 a life.' 
 
 ' What life ? ' inquired a voice behind her. ' I will answer at 
 once that it can be none which you would dislike.' 
 
 ' I don't know that, Edward ; you have always told me that 
 Edith was your pattern of goodness ; and she thinks nothing 
 right but teaching little children, and making poor people's 
 clothes. 
 
 'And to a certain point I agree with her. In the primitive 
 days women occupied themselves in necessary domestic duties, 
 and works of charity ; now, they fritter away their lives in draw- 
 ing flowers, and working cross-stitch.' 
 
 ' But these are not the primitive days,' said Laura; ' we are 
 living in the nineteenth century, and you may as well tell us that 
 we ought to dwell in huts, and live upon acorns. We cannot 
 possibly follow the fashions of centuries ago.' 
 
 'It is a sad state of things,' replied Edward, as he seated 
 himself in a luxurious easy chair by the fireside. 'The whole 
 condition of society is corrupted ; people seem to have forgotten 
 the very meaning of self-denial, and start back when it is men- 
 tioned, as if its name only were a spell to conjure up the errors 
 of Popery.' 
 
 ' But what has that to do with drawing flowers, and working 
 cross-stitch ? ' said Laura. 
 
 ' I was merely thinking of the lives of the sisters of charity, 
 and comparing them with our modern efforts of benevolence. I 
 do most sincerely believe, that the nearest human approach to 
 an angel's life upon earth has been made amongst them.' 
 
 'Very possibly,' said Laura; 'but again, will you tell me 
 what has that to do with flowers and cross-stitch?' 
 
 Edward laughed. ' I want to hear you sing, my dear ; I am 
 sure your voice and Edith's will suit admirably ; just try my 
 favourite duet.' 
 
 ' I will make you answer my question by and by,' said Laura; 
 'nothing is so unsatisfactory to me as hearing people talk so
 
 74 GERTRUDE. 
 
 much of what used to be. What can it signify to us whether the 
 sisters of charity were angels or not, if it is out of our power to 
 be like them ? ' 
 
 ' I never said that/ replied Edward ; ' what I contend for is, 
 that all ought to be like them. If there were any right feeling 
 amongst us, we should see institutions of a similar kind intro- 
 duced immediately.' 
 
 'But as there is not any right feeling, we may follow our own 
 pleasure,' said Laura ; ' I am glad at last to have arrived at a 
 conclusion. So now, Edith, we will go and sing.' 
 
 Edward only smiled. As usual, he had theorised well ; and with 
 this he was contented, and spent the next hour in lounging in a 
 comfortable posture, listening to the sweet voices of his wife and 
 his sister, and forming Utopian schemes of possible perfection, 
 which only served to impress upon his mind more fully the 
 present evils of society, and the ignorance and folly of the world. 
 
 ' To-morrow will be my last day of peace,' observed Laura, 
 when the carriage was announced, and the evening closed. ' On 
 Monday, I suppose, we shall be overwhelmed with visitors.' 
 
 ' I depend upon you, Edith, to help Laura out of her diffi- 
 culties,' said Edward, turning to his sister ; ' you know every one 
 so well, that it will be a real charity to introduce them and find 
 subjects of conversation.' 
 
 ' There can be no need of that,' replied Edith ; ' your foreign 
 tour will be sufficient.' 
 
 ' But that will involve so much talking of one's self,' said Laura, 
 ' and besides, it is tiresome to repeat the same things over and 
 over again to twenty different persons ; and if they happen to 
 compare notes it becomes absurd.' 
 
 ' You will be at Allingham, of course,' said Edward. 
 
 Edith hesitated. ' I would if I could see the use of it, and if 
 Monday were not such a particularly busy day.' 
 
 ' But is it impossible to obtain one morning's holiday ? I should 
 imagine even a secretary of state could do that.' 
 
 ' A secretary of state is not half such an important person as 
 Edith,' said Jane. ' I wonder you can compare them.' 
 
 'You may laugh if you will, Jane,' replied Edith ; 'but it is 
 very difficult to find a free day.' 
 
 Laura turned to Mrs Courtenay. ' I am sure,' she said, ' you 
 would take compassion upon me if you could, but I was afraid 
 it would be a tax upon you, and therefore I did not think of 
 mentioning it.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 75 
 
 'Certainly, my dear, if I were but twenty yeai^ younger, I 
 would do it directly ; but either Jane or Edith will be de- 
 lighted.' 
 
 ' We did not reckon upon you, Jane,' said Edward, 'knowing 
 you arc so uncertain in your health.' 
 
 'You were quite right,' was the reply ; ' I do not feel equal to 
 support such a day's labour.' 
 
 ' It will not be at all easy to manage,' said Edith, carelessly ; 
 ' but I will see what I can do.' 
 
 Laura looked and felt hurt. ' Oh ! pray don't put yourself 
 out of the way for me ; I should be quite distressed if you were 
 to do it.' 
 
 ' My dear,' said Mrs Courtenay, ' Edith will like it. Nothing 
 is so pleasant as to sit at home and see one's friends, and have a 
 pleasant chat, when one is strong enough.' 
 
 Edith did not echo the sentiment ; but merely repeated that 
 ' she would see what could be done, only she could not promise ;' 
 and Laura, after again begging her not to inconvenience herself, 
 wished them ' good night,' and returned to the Park. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ' T HAVE been looking forward to this introduction with so 
 -*- much pleasure,' said Miss Forester, as she glided into the 
 drawing-room at Allingham, accompanied by Mr Dacre. Laura 
 slightly bowed, and acknowledging the compliment, made the 
 usual observations on the state of the weather. 
 
 ' Yes, it is very gloomy without ; but with so much comfort 
 within, one easily forgets that the day is stormy. You don't 
 venture out, I suppose, unless it is fine.' 
 
 ' I have not done so yet ; but Mr Courtenay laughs at my 
 fears, and says that people who brave the weather seldom take 
 cold.' 
 
 ' That is so exactly a gentleman's speech. They never give 
 ladies credit for anything but rude health ; and I suppose Mr 
 Courtenay is inclined to think lightly on the subject, from the 
 example of his sister Edith : she goes out at all times.' 
 
 ' A very good practice,' said Mr Dacre. 
 
 'Admirable. I have often envied Miss Courtenav's resolution.
 
 ?6 GERTRUDE. 
 
 and lamented that my indifferent health prevents my following 
 the example.' 
 
 There was a short pause, interrupted only by Mr Dacre's dry 
 cough. ' Have you been much in this neighbourhood before ?' 
 he said, turning to Laura. 
 
 ' No, never ; and I am longing for the spring : they tell me 
 that the scenery is beautiful.' 
 
 'Oh lovely, perfectly lovely,' echoed Miss Forester; 'but it 
 may not please you as it does us, for you will find the most 
 charming spots around your own door. We consider Allingham 
 the gem of the county.' 
 
 Laura's good taste revolted against the flattery, and she took 
 no notice of it. 
 
 ' There is a pleasure in novelty,' continued Mr Dacre, ' which 
 to some minds counterbalances everything.' 
 
 ' I am not sure that it would to mine,' replied Laura. ' From 
 having lived all my life in one home, I cannot fancy any place 
 delightful without some association attached to it.' 
 
 ' But it need not necessarily be a long one,' said Mr Dacre. 
 ' There are feelings which can do the work of years, and we may 
 hope,' he added, kindly and earnestly, ' that your first associations 
 with Allingham will invest it with a charm beyond all other 
 places.' 
 
 Laura felt that the wish was sincere, and her interest in her 
 visitors was increased. ' I am fortunate in one respect,' she said, 
 ' that my expectations were not too highly raised ; Mr Courtenay 
 was especially guarded in his descriptions.' 
 
 ' That is so like him,' softly murmured Miss Forester : ' he is 
 so very thoughtful upon all subjects.' 
 
 'Thank you,' said Laura, smiling; 'he ought to be here to 
 thank you himself.' 
 
 ' Mr Courtenay is coming towards the house now, is he not V 
 asked Mr Dacre, looking out of the window. 
 
 Miss Forester appeared surprised. ' I was not aware that you 
 were acquainted, my dear sir.' 
 
 'We have met once before,' was the reply; 'but it is not 
 very probable that Mr Courtenay will recollect me.' Edward, 
 however, did recollect, and as he shook hands, made an allusion 
 to their former acquaintance ; yet there was a slight confusion 
 in his manner, and an attentive observer might have discovered, 
 that the circumstances recalled by the sight of Mr Dacre were 
 not perfectly agreeable.
 
 GERTRUDE. 77 
 
 The awkwardness, however, soon wore off, and the conversa- 
 tion flowed rapidly and agreeably. The Continent, its scenery 
 and customs, and the comparison with English habits, were dis- 
 cussed for at least the third time that morning ; but Mr Dacre's 
 strong sense, and Edward's quickness of intellect, gave a superior 
 tone to all that was said ; and Laura listened with delight, and 
 felt annoyed when the entrance of a servant with a note and a 
 parcel interrupted their remarks. 
 
 ' These are a few lines from Edith,' she said, apologising for 
 reading them ; ' she has sent me the duet we sang the other 
 night, Edward, but she cannot come to us to-day, there is a 
 school meeting in the way.' Edward looked very much dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 ' Miss Courtenay is so much occupied,' said Miss Forester, 
 - that she has but little time at her own disposal, I imagine.' 
 
 Edward was still grave and silent, and Laura felt uncomfort- 
 able. ' Do you know this duet ?' she said, taking up the music, 
 and rejoiced at having found something to say. 
 
 ' I have seen it, but I have only tried the second ; indeed, I 
 never sing anything else — my voice is worth so little.' 
 
 ' I don't know when I shall learn it properly, Edward,' said 
 Laura, ' if Edith is so much engaged. It requires to be practised 
 together.' 
 
 ' She will not always be busy, my dear ; you must have 
 patience.' 
 
 ' It does require patience, certainly,' said Miss Forester, ' to 
 wait for music ; one is always so anxious to hear it in perfection 
 immediately — at least, if I may judge from myself. It is quite a 
 passion with me.' 
 
 ' I did not know that before,' observed Mr Dacre ; ' you have 
 not opened the piano since I have been at the Grange.' 
 
 ' Oh ! that was because I knew you to be such a judge, and I 
 was shy.' 
 
 ' I can scarcely understand how you could have known it. I 
 have never mentioned music, and really can only tell what I like 
 or dislike.' 
 
 ' But that is everything with a correct taste ; it is far beyond 
 mere scientific knowledge.' 
 
 ' Experience must decide whether a taste is correct or not,' 
 continued Mr Dacre ; 'you will be a better judge of mine when 
 you have had a specimen of it. I like " Auld lang syne" much 
 better than " Tu che accendi." '
 
 78 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' " Auld lang syne" is sweetly simple and touching, certainly ; 
 I have known some people quite overcome by it.' 
 
 ' I never was overcome,' replied Mr Dacre ; ' if you mean 
 crying. 
 
 Laura laughed. ' At any rate,' she said, ' you would not con- 
 fess it. I should like to try the experiment upon you some day.' 
 
 A melancholy expression passed over Mr Dacre's face. He 
 did not accept the challenge. Laura took up the duet, and 
 looked at it disconsolately. ' It is very tantalising,' she said, 
 ' and I never sing solos.' 
 
 ' Ah ! that is just like me,' observed Miss Forester ; 'perhaps 
 — I hope I am not intruding, but it would give me so much 
 pleasure if sometimes I could make myself useful, as a second, 
 when the Miss Courtenays are engaged.' 
 
 If Laura had watched her husband's countenance, she would 
 have discovered that the proposal did not meet his wishes ; but, 
 bred up in indulgence, and having never been taught to consult 
 any will but her own, she seldom considered it worth while to 
 inquire what was thought of her actions ; and Edward's fond- 
 ness had hitherto caused him to see everything she either did or 
 said in so favourable a point of view, that it seemed impossible 
 he could object to anything which suited her inclinations. Miss 
 Forester's humble offer of making herself useful was therefore 
 accepted with pleasure ; and not without a feeling of satisfaction 
 in Laura's mind, from the consideration that there would be in 
 consequence less claim upon Edith's time. Since she had 
 proved herself either so unwilling or so unable to sacrifice her 
 usual occupations, it would be equally irksome to make a second 
 request, or provoking to be compelled to relinquish a favourite 
 amusement. Without hesitation, therefore, Laura fixed an early 
 day for a musical morning ; and Miss Forester and her uncle 
 took their leave. 
 
 ' I wish you had consulted me before you made that arrange- 
 ment, my dear Laura,' said Edward, when they were left alone, 
 ' could you not see, by my manner, that I disapproved of it ?' 
 
 ' Perhaps I might have seen it if I had watched ; but for such 
 a trifle it did not seem worth while to ask advice. It must be 
 entirely a matter of indifference to you.' 
 
 ' The choice of your society, my love, can never be a matter of 
 indifference to me.' 
 
 ' That is absurd, Edward. Singing a duet with Miss Forester 
 cannot be called choosing society.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 79 
 
 'It is the first step to it. Music encourages intimacy more 
 than anything.' 
 
 'But supposing I am intimate with Miss Forester, why should 
 you object ? ' 
 
 ' Ask yourself, my dear ; the question will be easily answered 
 by your own good sense. What is the impression you have 
 received from Miss Forester's manners and conversation ?' 
 
 ' Oh ! that she is a very good-natured sort of person ; 
 rather too soft and flattering to be perfectly lady-like ; but very 
 well. More agreeable, at any rate, than half the people one 
 meets with.' 
 
 ' And these are sterling good qualities upon which it is safe 
 to build a friendship ? ' 
 
 ' You are so extreme in your conclusions, Edward. If we are 
 to wait till we meet with perfection before we form acquaintances, 
 we may as well become hermits. We must take the world as we 
 find it. Besides, if I don't practise with Miss Forester, I shali 
 lose my music entirely.' 
 
 ' You forget my sisters,' said Edward. 
 
 ' No, indeed I don't ; — but what can I do ? Charlotte takes 
 the same part that I do, Jane is an invalid, and Edith is busy.' 
 
 ' It is very provoking of Edith,' exclaimed Edward, hastily. 
 ' But she would manage it, I am sure, if you were to ask it as a 
 favour.' 
 
 Laura drew up her long, white neck, and looked very proud. 
 ' I am not in the habit of asking favours of any one ; volun- 
 tary offers I am most grateful for, but a forced obligation is 
 oppressive. 
 
 ' But Edith cannot know how much pleasure she could give by 
 a little arrangement of time.' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, she does. You were not in the room when we 
 were talking about it the other night. Your mother made the 
 offer for her, but she did not second it ; so I must entreaty 
 Edward, that the subject is not mentioned to her again.' 
 
 ' I have a peculiar aversion to Miss Forester,' said Edward, 
 speaking his thoughts aloud ; 'almost a dread, she is so utterly 
 insincere.' 
 
 ' Well ! ' said Laura, with a disappointed air ; ' it is not worth 
 while to vex you about it. I will give up the notion, though I 
 can't in the least see why you should object to my making her 
 useful.' 
 
 ' Because usefulness between persons in the same rank of life
 
 So GERTRUDE. 
 
 implies familiarity. If we allow people to put themselves out of 
 their way for us, we must do something for them in return. And 
 this is all very well where there is real regard ; but, if not, there 
 must be a pretence in the matter. Common civility will not 
 satisfy a person who has been doing an uncommon kindness.' 
 
 ' You would do away with all the forms of society,' said 
 Laura, 'if you would allow nothing but what is true. How 
 many people are really dear to us, whom we call dear when we 
 write to them.' 
 
 ' Very few, probably ; but then every one understands that. 
 Dear, in a note, only means that you have a kindly feeling 
 towards them.' 
 
 'That you would not murder them,' said Laura, laughing. 
 ' Well ! perhaps you are right there. But about Miss Forester 
 — I only want her to be dear in that sense.' 
 
 ' Then treat her as you do the rest of the world— be civil to 
 her, but nothing more. If you once allow her to advance one 
 step towards you, you must advance one step towards her ; and 
 if you don't, she will be offended ; and if you do, you will be 
 untrue. There is no alternative, that I can see.' 
 
 ' Poor Miss Forester ! ' said Laura ; ' there is little hope for 
 her. She will never be admitted at Allingham.' 
 
 ' Not on the footing on which your practising mornings would 
 place her, certainly.' 
 
 ' Then good-bye to my singing,' said Laura, casting a wistful 
 glance at the splendid piano. 
 
 'That is exaggerating the case, is it not?' said Edward. 'You 
 will soon learn to sing by yourself ; and my sisters, as I said be- 
 fore, will practise with you whenever they can.' 
 
 ' Which will be never,' exclaimed Laura, petulantly. ' It is 
 clear, Edward, you do not care to hear me sing.' 
 
 ' O Laura ! how unkind ! If you only knew the delight it 
 gives me.' 
 
 'Are you in earnest?' she said, and a tear glistened in her 
 bright eye. Edward was much pained ; it was the first tear he 
 had seen since their marriage. 
 
 * I will not tell you how truly I am in earnest, ' he replied ; 
 ' you would think that I exaggerated. Yet you would not for 
 that reason have me consent to what is wrong.' 
 
 ' I do not wish you to consent to anything, Edward, for a 
 continuance. I only wish to try just for two or three times, and 
 then you shall see how well I can manage to be quite civil with-
 
 GERTRUDE. 8l 
 
 out being hypocritical.' Edward hesitated ; and Laura's sweet 
 smile showed that her hopes were raised. ' We will meet half 
 way,' she said ; ' you shall let me follow my own wishes for the 
 next fortnight or three weeks, and then wc will have another 
 discussion.' 
 
 Still Edward hesitated. He knew that by yielding then, he 
 was probably giving up the point entirely ; but the compromise 
 was all that was required at the moment ; and too conscientious 
 completely to sacrifice his judgment, too weak to say No, he 
 laughingly observed that, ' All the world would say he was 
 governed by his wife ; ' and Laura was triumphant. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MISS FORESTER'S proposal, as might easily be conjec- 
 tured, was not entirely the result of disinterested kindness. 
 It signified nothing to her whether the young bride were pleased 
 or displeased, whether she sang or whether she were silent ; but 
 to be placed on an intimate footing at Allingham was an object 
 of considerable importance. It involved amusement for her idle 
 hours, of which she had very many ; the enjoyment of luxuries 
 without expense ; and, most probat»ly, influence over one who 
 was likely to become the foremost in the society of the neighbour- 
 hood. Even in her childhood, Miss Forester had indulged in no 
 dreams of ambition, for the success of which she was to depend 
 on her own exertions. Her mind was of too low a stamp for the 
 formation of those bright visions of fan'.e, or rank, or magnificence, 
 which, however delusive in themselves, imply a craving for 
 enjoyments the world cannot give, and are often accompanied 
 with an energy which may, when rightly directed, enable us to 
 obtain them. She was not indeed insensible to their charms, but 
 she sought them through the efforts of others, rather than 
 through her own ; and since the splendour of neither talent, 
 rank, nor riches had been granted her in a degree equal to her 
 wishes, she compensated for the deficiency by living as much as 
 possible in the reflected light of those who were more fortunate 
 than herself. She was mistaken, however, in supposing that 
 Laura was entirely blinded by her flatteries, or willing to put 
 faith in her sincerity. The real foundation of Laura's character 
 
 F
 
 S2 GERTRUDE. 
 
 was truth ; and however the false cold maxims of her home had 
 corrupted her natural disposition, there still remained enough of 
 simplicity and earnestness to render her easily alive to Miss 
 Forester's artificial character. But beyond this she did not go. 
 Knowledge and action had been so long disconnected in her 
 mind, that the idea of checking an agreeable intimacy on ac- 
 count of its insincere foundation never suggested itself; for 
 right was not on the list of Laura's motives. Of what was 
 pleasant, she thought constantly ; of what was necessary, she 
 was forced to think occasionally ; but what was right she seldom 
 took the trouble to consider, except when Edward endeavoured 
 to imbue her with some of his own principles ; and then she 
 listened, and smiled, and declared he was too good for the 
 world — better than she ever imagined any one could be — so 
 much better than herself that he quite frightened her ; and 
 Edward praised her ingenuousness, and delighted in her 
 humility ; and so the subject was dropped, and the good im- 
 pression vanished as quickly as it had been made. 
 
 For some time, the resolution of holding Miss Forester at a 
 distance, and only allowing her to be useful when the occasion 
 offered, was carefully kept ; and Laura frequently appealed to 
 her husband to acknowledge how well she had estimated her 
 powers, and how exactly she meted out the due measure of civility. 
 But, as Edward had foreseen, a change, gradual, yet not the less 
 perceptible, was after a time produced in the intimacy between 
 Allingham and the Grange. Miss Forester was so extremely 
 good-natured, so easily pleased, so full of anecdotes of Elsham 
 and its vicinity, that Laura's suspicions of her sincerity faded by 
 degrees away. No exertion was needed for her entertainment, 
 for she usually came stored with some family or village history, 
 ' which must on no account be repeated, which she would not 
 indeed have mentioned to any one except her dear Mrs Courte- 
 nay, on whose judgment and secrecy she placed such implicit 
 reliance;' and Laura, who, owing to Edward's engagements, 
 passed many a solitary morning, was glad to escape from the 
 irksomeness of worsted work, or the stupidity of a novel, or the 
 fatigue of writing letters, to the excitement, false and petty 
 though it was, of Miss Forester's tittle-tattle. The frequency of 
 the visits at length, however, became so apparent, that Edward 
 was obliged to enter his protest against them ; but he was met 
 by the same pleading looks, the same earnest assurances that the 
 acquaintance should never go beyond the bounds of ordinary
 
 GERTRUDE. S3 
 
 civility, together with complaints of solitary hours, and compari- 
 sons between Miss Forester's attentions and Edith's neglect. 
 
 ' It is useless to make excuses for her, Edward/ exclaimed 
 Laura, at the termination of one of their frequent discussions 
 upon her conduct. ' I know all that you would say, and I believe 
 it to be true. Edith is a most superior person; but it is that 
 very superiority which prevents us from assimilating, and makes 
 her shun me.' 
 
 ' My dear Laura, you are mistaken entirely ; Edith does not 
 shun you ; but she is so engaged that she has very little time to 
 bestow upon you.' 
 
 ' Whatever the reason may be, the effects are the same. We 
 never meet, or, at least, only just in the evening as a matter of 
 propriety. As far as the Priory society goes, I might as well be 
 living at Nova Scotia; and it really is hard, Edward, to be 
 debarred from the company of the only person who is willing to 
 take compassion upon my solitary mornings.' 
 
 • But such a person ! I should have thought that the loneli- 
 ness of a few hours would have been paradise compared to the 
 prattle of so very ordinary a person as Miss Forester.' 
 
 'Perhaps it might be to a Latin and Greek scholar like your- 
 self, or a saint like Edith ; but I am neither the one nor the 
 other ; and you know, Edward, if you shut up a poor captive in 
 a cell, he will create companionship for himself, even though it 
 may be with flies and spiders.' 
 
 ' Rather a spacious cell, though,' said Edward, as he looked 
 round upon the handsome drawing-room, 'and containing con- 
 siderable stores of amusement ; but I am surprised, Laura, at 
 your dislike of being alone : I had your morning room fitted up 
 purposely, because I thought you would enjoy retirement.' 
 
 ' I should be the first of my family who did, then/ replied 
 Laura, laughing ; ' and as to the morning room, it is perfect in 
 its waj — every one says so — but I cannot sit there till the cottage 
 is gone. I feel like Aladdin in his fairy palace, only I have a 
 roc's egg too much, instead of one too little.' 
 
 ' I have thought about it often, my love, since you first men- 
 tioned it ; but, indeed, I see no remedy except patience.' 
 
 ' Which is the last remedy I am inclined to use. The wish is 
 scarcely ever out of my mind.' 
 
 ' But I am sure, dearest, you will not indulge it at the expense 
 of another's comfort.' 
 
 ' How can I help it ? The thoughts come whether I will or not.'
 
 34 GERTRUDE. 
 
 'They may come, certainly, against your inclination ; but it is 
 at your own option whether they shall remain.' 
 
 ' Oh no, Edward ; I never can believe that. Actions may be 
 ordered, but not thoughts.' 
 
 ' My dear Laura,' exclaimed Edward, becoming graver than 
 usual, ' you forget : if we were left to ourselves, you might be 
 right ; but you know there is a higher strength than our own, 
 which will always be given us if we ask for it ; and remember, 
 in the Bible, evil thoughts are coupled with the greatest 
 crimes.' 
 
 1 How can that be ? they seem sent to us.' 
 
 ' So they may often be ; but as we have it in our own power to 
 cherish or reject them, we are responsible for them.' 
 
 ' I never shall understand,' said Laura. ' Thoughts and feelings 
 have been my puzzle from my childhood.' 
 
 'And, unhappily, they must be to the end of your life,' replied 
 Edward, smiling. ' But we have proofs every day of our power 
 over our own thoughts. If an idea is disagreeable, we turn 
 from it.' 
 
 * Yes, but instinctively ; we cannot help ourselves.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon ; we merely obey our own will ; and the 
 same power which we exert then, is ours equally at all times. 
 It is the will which is at fault ; and one important reason for 
 realising this truth is, that it enables us to study our own hearts 
 so much more easily. Our feelings come and go, and we cannot 
 recall them, but our thoughts are remembered without much 
 difficulty, and by them we may try ourselves, — that is, we may 
 judge whether we are improving, by seeing whether we encourage 
 the good and reject the evil.' 
 
 ' So I shall not be good, I suppose, till I leave off thinking 
 about that hideous cottage,' said Laura, ' and that will be a very 
 long time. Even you yourself, Edward, wish it away.' 
 
 ' It is not the wish which is wrong, but the indulging it. You 
 know that a wish is the germ of an action.' 
 
 ' It cannot be in this case. I might try for ever, and I should 
 not be able to turn that tiresome old woman out of her house. 
 That must be your doing.' 
 
 ' Yet, if you go on wishing, you will infallibly do all that yoi 
 can. It is more dangerous for a man or a woman to play with 
 wishes, than for a child to play with edged tools.' 
 
 ' I should care less if there were any hope,' said Laura — 'if I 
 thought you would even hint at the subject.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 85 
 
 ' There would be no use in it,' replied Edward ; ' I know old 
 Martha better than you do.' 
 
 Laura perceived symptoms of wavering in the tone in which 
 this was spoken. 
 
 'A hint could not be wrong,' she said, 'and it would at 
 least be satisfactory. It is so provoking to be obliged to sit 
 down contentedly when no effort has been made to gain one's 
 point.' 
 
 ' But you would not be contented even then,' said Edward. 
 
 ' That is prejudging ; but I will not quarrel with you ; though 
 I own I am disappointed.' 
 
 The words jarred painfully upon Edward's feelings of affection, 
 and Laura saw it. 
 
 ' I ask only for hope,' she said, ' that you should promise to 
 try, if you find a fitting opportunity.' 
 
 ' Well, then, will you sit in your morning room, and like it ?' 
 he said, as he looked at her fondly. 
 
 Laura smiled, and was about to reply and thank him, when the 
 sound of the hall bell interrupted the conversation ; and a few 
 moments afterwards Miss Forester's soft, sliding step, was heard 
 in the passage. Edward seemed annoyed, and, taking up his 
 hat, he opened the French window, and turning an angle of the 
 house, was out of sight before Miss Forester entered. 
 
 ' So very thoughtful ! my dear Mrs Courtenay,' was the first 
 exclamation. ' I am afraid I have intruded at a mal-a-propos 
 moment.' 
 
 ' No, not at all, my meditations were not peculiarly agreeable, 
 since they were bordering upon impossibilities. I have been 
 talking to Mr Courtenay upon the same subject which you and 
 I discussed the other morning.' 
 
 ' The cottage ? But surely that is not an impossibility !' 
 
 ' Perhaps not precisely ; but there are great difficulties in the 
 way ; and I can only make Edward say that he will give hints ; 
 he will take no active measures.' 
 
 ' Gentlemen are so tiresome,' said Miss Forester, who well 
 knew that few things are more winning than sympathy in a sup- 
 posed grievance : ' but he must own that it is frightful, and the 
 view wowld be perfection without it.' 
 
 ' Yes, Edward fully allows its ugliness, though he does not hate 
 it as I do. If I were master, it should not remain where it is 
 another day.' 
 
 'I suppose,' continued Miss Forester, 'that Mr Courtenay
 
 86 GERTRUDE. 
 
 would not object to anything being done if the old woman's con- 
 sent were gained first ?' 
 
 ' No ; but how is that to be accomplished ? He does not say 
 that he will not interfere, but I can see he is not inclined to do 
 it.' 
 
 ' Then, perhaps, he would prefer your saying something to 
 sound the old woman. It would save his conscience, and might 
 gain what he must desire nearly as much as yourself.' 
 
 ' I don't think that is likely, because Martha is proverbial for 
 obstinacy and ill-humour.' 
 
 ' Then she certainly can have no claims upon your forbearance. 
 Do you know her ? ' 
 
 ' No ; I have talked of going there several times, for Mr 
 Courtenay has been rather anxious I should ; but there are so 
 many things to be done every day, and I am such a bad walker, 
 that I have never yet been able to manage it.' 
 
 ' It is not far,' said Miss Forester, ' and the morning is delight- 
 ful ; so very fresh and bracing.' 
 
 ' I could not go without saying something to Edward first,' 
 replied Laura. 
 
 ' Mr Courtenay's horse was standing ready saddled as I passed 
 the stables,' said Miss Forester, ' so I conjectured he was going 
 out this morning.' 
 
 ' Yes, he did intend it, but he can scarcely have set off yet; he 
 was with me but a few minutes ago.' 
 
 ' I heard the trampling of horses' feet just now,' continued 
 Miss Forester. ' Does Mr Courtenay wish particularly to accom- 
 pany you when you pay your first visit to this old favourite?' 
 
 ' Not that I am aware of ; but there would be no good in 
 seeing her if we did not suggest something about the cottage, 
 which I really should not like to do.' 
 
 ' But it would not be necessary to speak openly ; and, at any 
 rate, a visit now would pave the way for future operations.' 
 
 ' That is true,' replied Laura, thoughtfully. ' We might go and 
 make friends, and by degrees prevail on her to yield ; and, as you 
 observed just now, Edward may prefer my taking the task off his 
 hands, since he allows that it may be possible to give Martha a 
 few hints, though he will have nothing done against her will.' 
 
 ' Exactly so. Mr Courtenay would be pleased rather than 
 otherwise, I should think, to find that you had taken so much 
 trouble about the poor old woman.' 
 
 Laura's sincerity, at first, could not suffer an amiable motive
 
 GERTRUDE. 87 
 
 to be falsely imputed to her ; and she quickly disclaimed all idea 
 of goodness, though still agreeing that it would be worth while 
 to go, and that it might be of use in the end. A slight misgiving 
 rested upon her mind as she went to prepare for her walk, and 
 once she recollected Edward's warnings against wishes ; but as 
 she was merely intending a kind, conciliatory visit, they did not 
 seem precisely applicable ; and when conscience again whis- 
 pered that all was not right, she wilfully turned away from the 
 consideration of her real motives, and soon almost persuaded 
 herself that Miss Forester was correct, and that she really was 
 about to do what her husband would entirely approve. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THERE was something of timidity and hesitation in Laura's 
 gentle knock at old Martha's door ; partly caused by her 
 utter ignorance of the feelings and habits of the poor, and partly 
 by the secret self-distrust which yet lingered in her heart. Miss 
 Forester, however, participated in neither feeling ; and finding 
 that no answer was given, lifted the latch, and without further 
 ceremony entered the cottage. 
 
 Martha was seated, in her usual position, on a low, half-broken 
 elbow chair, by the side of the open hearth. A book was placed 
 on the little round table beside her, but she did not appear to 
 have been reading it ; and, bending over the smouldering fire, 
 she was busied only in watching the black pot suspended from 
 a stick that crossed the wide chimney, and from time to time 
 stretching out her withered hand to stir the burning logs, or to 
 add fresh fuel from the basket of chips in the corner. An eye 
 accustomed to the sight of poverty, would have traced symptoms 
 of competence and comfort in the simple furniture of the room ; 
 in the short curtain hanging before the door, and the old-fashioned 
 handsome clock, and mahogany chest, and neat dresser, with its 
 range of pewter dishes and china cups and basins ; but Laura, 
 who from infancy had been carefully kept from all scenes but 
 those of opulence and luxury, thought only that the cottage was 
 low and dark ; that the walls were smoke-dried ; that the floor 
 was uneven ; and the furniture by no means sufficient for comfort. 
 
 ' .She must be glad to leave such a wretched hole.' whispered
 
 83 GERTRUDE. 
 
 Miss Forester, as she drew her dress closely around her, and 
 bent her head in an assumed fear lest it should touch the dingy 
 rafters. 
 
 Martha raised herself from her crouching posture, and gazed 
 with surprise on the intruders. Her strongly marked features, 
 and the cold, stern expression of her thin lips, and dim gray 
 eyes, startled Laura so much, that she forgot, for an instant, the 
 necessary apology ; and Miss Forester, feeling that the visit was 
 not hers, was silent likewise ; but Martha was not in the humour 
 to wait patiently for an introduction. 
 
 ' Maybe you '11 be pleased to tell me what you 're come here 
 for ? ' she said, in a harsh voice. 
 
 ' We came to see you,' replied Laura, gently ; ' I am Mrs 
 Courtenay, of Allingham.' 
 
 Martha's rigid features relaxed, and something which she in- 
 tended to be a smile brightened her wrinkled face. — ' Mrs Cour- 
 tenay, are you ? Master Edward's fine lady. Well ! I 'm glad 
 you 're here at last.' 
 
 ' I am sure you must be extremely grateful to Mrs Courtenay 
 for walking so far to see you/ suggested Miss Forester. 
 
 ' Grateful ! yes, I 'm as grateful as most people where there's 
 anything to be grateful for ; I'd be grateful to God first, and to 
 Master Edward afterwards, and Miss Edith and the parson, but 
 I don't know much about other folks.' 
 
 ' You are an old servant of Mrs Courtenay's family, are you 
 not?' said Miss Forester ; ' you seem very comfortably provided 
 for.' 
 
 'Maybe I am,' exclaimed Martha, turning sharply round ; 'I 
 lived twenty years up at the Priory there, and worked for them 
 night and day ; so, 'twould have been hard if they had not done 
 something for me.' 
 
 ' I am sure Mr Courtenay would be very sorry if he thought 
 you were in want of anything,' observed Laura, anxious to 
 soothe her. 
 
 "Tisn't my way to doubt it,' said Martha, shortly. 
 
 ' Mrs Courtenay will think you are not obliged for all that has 
 been done for you, if you speak in that way,' said Miss Forester ; 
 'she is not used to it.' 
 
 ' No ! I daresay not : Tom Slater says that down at their fine 
 place no one is thought anything of that doesn't ride in a carriage. 4 
 
 'Who is Tom Slater?' asked Laura ; wondering that any one 
 at Elsham should profess an acquaintance with her home.
 
 GERTRUDE. 89 
 
 'Tom Slater is the head man who was at work up at the Hall 
 there. Poor fellow : he and my Becky were to have made it up 
 together, and then 'twould have been all very well ; but the fever 
 came, and Becky got ill, and when she was gone, 'twas all over 
 with me in the way of being happy again ! To have lived up at 
 the Park would have been no pleasure then.' Tears filled the old 
 woman's eyes, and Laura's naturally kind feelings were touched ; 
 yet she could not forego the occasion of introducing some allu- 
 sion to the object of her visit. 
 
 ' Then, I suppose,' she said, ' it does not signify to you where 
 you live now ; one place must be just like another.' 
 
 ' Well ! perhaps it is ; but I never liked change ; where I 
 settled myself down, I chose always to stay.' 
 
 ' Only, I suppose,' said Miss Forester, ' that when the trouble 
 of moving was over, you would not care.' 
 
 Martha raised her head, and looked full in Miss Forester's 
 face. 'Are ye driving at anything?' she said, her suspicions 
 easily excited upon the subject which had lately been uppermost 
 in her thoughts. 
 
 Laura felt a little abashed, but Miss Forester answered with 
 nonchalance, ' We were only anxious to know if you were well off 
 here, or would be more comfortable elsewhere. Mrs Courtenay 
 is extremely desirous that you should have everything you may 
 require.' 
 
 'Is she?' said Martha. 'I want nothing but to be left in 
 peace where I am ; and Mr Edward has promised me that. 1 
 
 'I suppose,' said Miss Forester, 'he only promised it, in case 
 he could not find any place better suited for you. He could not 
 have thought this dark room as good as many others in the 
 neighbourhood.' 
 
 ' He never told me what he thought, but I told him what I 
 thought ; and if a dark room pleases me, 'tis no one's concern 
 but my own.' 
 
 ' You forget,' said Miss Forester, ' that there are many persons 
 who wish to see you well provided for : Mrs Courtenay for one, 
 besides your own family.' 
 
 'Who's the best judge of what's being well provided for?' 
 said Martha. ' No one knows my own mind like myself. If Mr 
 Edward would order a pint of porter sometimes for Willie's little 
 girl, I 'd thank him ; and a shilling or two for the family, I 
 shouldn't say "No" to ; but I don't wish him to trouble about me.' 
 
 ' Does your son live far off?' asked Laura.
 
 90 GERTRUDE. 
 
 1 Something about half a mile ; but he generally contrives to 
 see me every day ; or one of the children comes to me.' 
 
 ' If you were close to them you would be more comfortable, 
 surely/ said Miss Forester; 'you must spend so many hours 
 alone.' 
 
 'It's best for an old woman like me : the children are noisy, 
 and I can't bear them for long.' 
 
 Laura could scarcely help smiling at the pertinacity with 
 which Martha refuted all the objections that could be made to 
 her present situation ; but the very difficulty of success served 
 to increase her anxiety, and she sat for a few moments in silence, 
 endeavouring to discover some new point of attack. Martha, 
 finding that the conversation had dropped, turned again to the 
 fire ; and Miss Forester walked towards the door, unwilling to 
 take any more trouble in a cause which did not materially affect 
 her own personal comfort. 
 
 Martha was the first to break the silence, with a remark which 
 plainly showed she desired the departure of her visitors. ' It's 
 getting on late,' she said ; ' my bit of meat will be ready by 
 twelve o'clock ; and I thought Miss Edith would have been here 
 before, — she said she would.' 
 
 'Do you expect Miss Courtenay, then?' said Laura, half- 
 alarmed at the prospect of a rencontre with her sister-in-law. 
 
 'It's her day for coming, and she most times keeps true to 
 her word.' 
 
 ' Don't you think we had better think of returning ?' said Miss 
 Forester, entirely participating in Mrs Courtenay's feelings. 
 
 Laura moved, with the intention of wishing good-bye. The 
 few civil words at parting were quickly said : and she thought 
 they were safe ; but Edith, true to the appointment, approached 
 the cottage just as they were leaving it ; and the meeting was 
 unavoidable. At another time, Laura might have felt indifferent 
 to the smile on Edith's face, and to her expressions of pleasure 
 that she should have taken the trouble to visit a poor person ; 
 but now, with the consciousness of a selfish motive, they sounded 
 reproachfully, and the tone of her own reply was hurried, and to 
 Edith's ear ungracious. 
 
 ' It is the first day I have been able to walk so early,' she said, 
 ' and I daresay I shall not do so again for some time.' 
 
 'Oh yes! I am sure you will, since you have once begun,' 
 replied Edith, kindly; ' it is but the first effort that is difficult.' 
 
 'There is nothing very alluring in the occupation,' observed
 
 GERTRUDE. 91 
 
 Miss Forester, ' when only discontent and rudeness are to be 
 met with.' 
 
 Edith almost started. In her surprise at meeting her sister- 
 in-law, she had scarcely thought who was her companion ; but 
 the well-known voice brought the fact forcibly before her ; and 
 her satisfaction in the meeting was considerably damped. 
 
 ' Martha is not very civil, certainly,' she said ; ' but there are 
 great allowances to be made for her ; she had no education, and 
 was early soured by misfortunes ; and her heart is much softer 
 and more grateful than it appears.' 
 
 ' It may be so,' said Laura, carelessly; ' but I wish you would 
 give her a lesson in good manners. It will be long before I am 
 tempted to come again.' 
 
 ' But,' said Edith, ' when your motive is kindness, her civility 
 cannot make any difference to you, except in the pleasure you 
 receive. It is rather an additional reason, indeed, for seeing her 
 often, and teaching her better.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I leave that to you ; besides ' — and Laura slightly- 
 coloured — ' I don't wish you to think me better than I am, 
 Edith ; my motive was not entirely kindness.' 
 
 Edith looked surprised, but did not know what reply to make ; 
 and Miss Forester felt bewildered by a candour, to which there 
 was no counterpart in her own breast. 
 
 'I should really feel obliged to you, Edith,' continued Laura, 
 speaking very quickly, ' if you could find some means of persuad- 
 ing that tiresome old woman to move out of her cottage; she 
 is beyond hints.' 
 
 ' O Laura ! ' exclaimed Edith, indignantly, ' you have not been 
 saying anything ! Remember Edward's promise. It would be 
 so very wrong to urge the point.' 
 
 ' Perhaps I am an equally good judge with yourself as to the 
 right or wrong of the case,' replied Laura, in a cold, proud tone, 
 — which proved that her transient fit of humility had vanished 
 before her sister's reproach. ' I have given no hints that could 
 be understood, or inflict the least pain, and you may be sure that 
 Edward will be a very safe guardian of his own promise.' 
 
 'He will intend to be,' replied Edith; 'but you cannot be 
 ignorant of your influence, Laura.' 
 
 ' I think too highly of him to suppose I could make him do 
 anything he considered wrong,' said Laura ; ' but you seem to 
 have a more unfavourable opinion.' 
 
 The assertion was provoking, from the mixture of unpleasant
 
 92 GERTRUDE. 
 
 truth it contained ; for, doubtful as Edith had lately been of hei 
 brother's firmness, she did not always acknowledge it to herself. 
 
 'Whether your power over Edward is great or small,' she 
 replied, 'it ought equally to be exerted rightly; and you cannot 
 really think it would be justifiable to ask any one to do a thing 
 they had promised not to do.' 
 
 ' Really, Edith,' exclaimed Laura, ' I must discuss the subject 
 another time; it is too cold this morning to stand so long in the 
 open air— so good-bye.' 
 
 1 Good-bye,' replied Edith, in a calm tone, which told little of 
 her real feelings; and with a distant bow to Miss Forester, she 
 walked towards the cottage. 
 
 1 So you 're come at last,' was Martha's salutation. ' If you 'd 
 been here a minute before, you 'd have seen Master Edward's 
 lady.' 
 
 ' I have just seen her, nurse; we parted only ten yards from 
 your door.' 
 
 ' Then maybe, Miss Edith, you can tell me what she came 
 for ; it 's more than I can.' 
 
 ' Oh ! it is not very difficult to imagine,' said Edith, striving 
 to evade the question. ' Being my brother's nurse, she must 
 naturally feel interested about you.' 
 
 ' But it wasn't that,' said Martha, as she fixed her keen eye 
 upon Edith. ' She didn't come for nothing — I 'm sure she didn't 
 — and her talk wasn't like it. Nothing of asking for the 
 rheumatism, or the pigs, or how I slept, and such like things, 
 —only speering to know if I shouldn't like to change house. 
 Maybe, Miss Edith, she means that I shall, whether I like it 
 or not.' 
 
 'You must not be fanciful, Martha,' said Edith; ' why don't 
 you think that I have some motive for coming here ? ' 
 
 ' Because it wouldn't be like you,' said Martha, as she took 
 Edith's hand in hers: 'it wasn't like you when you was a child; 
 and I 'm sure it isn't like you now, for all the village says there's 
 no one that thinks of them as you do — only the parson and his 
 lady.' 
 
 ' But you must not praise me, and think unkindly of my sister,' 
 said Edith : ' she won't be willing to come here again, if you are 
 not more pleased to see her.' 
 
 ' I shouldn't mind so much if she was to come alone,' said 
 Martha ; ' but that Miss that was with her, no one ever found 
 any good where she was. All the people for twenty miles round
 
 GERTRUDE. 93 
 
 would tell you so; she is always prying and fault-finding, and 
 doing some mischief.' 
 
 ' Hush ! hush ! Martha,' said Edith ; ' you know we are told 
 not to speak evil of our neighbours.' 
 
 ' It isn't evil,' said Martha; 'only what's true. They never 
 give away to the value of a brass farthing up at the Grange.' 
 
 ' But it may be evil though it is true,' replied Edith ; ' and 
 the less we speak of other people's faults the better.' 
 
 'Well, then, I won't say no more about her — only I never 
 knew her to be seen anywhere but what mischief was sure to 
 follow after ; and so 'twill be now, as certain as I 'm living.' 
 
 Martha's tones were so raised by the excitement into which 
 she was working herself, that Edith did not hear the sound of 
 approaching footsteps ; and the first notice she received of the 
 presence of a third person, was by a hand laid upon her shoulder, 
 while Edward's voice asked ' how long she had been there.' 
 
 Edith's face brightened with pleasure. In his presence the 
 charm of his society made her forget her doubts and disappoint- 
 ments, except when painfully reminded of them by Laura's con- 
 versation, or his own inconsistencies ; and at that instant, when 
 she thought that he was no partner in his wife's selfishness, the 
 deep, pure love of her childhood, the love which years, and 
 absence, and opposing interests may stifle, but can never extin- 
 guish, rose in its full force, and with a warmth which lately had 
 been seldom shown, she expressed her delight at their meeting. 
 
 'One would think you'd been over the seas,' said old Martha, 
 not entirely pleased at being made of secondary importance : ' I 
 daresay now you was together all day yesterday.' 
 
 ' No indeed,' said Edith ; ' nor the day before, nor the day 
 before that ; we are becoming quite strangers to what we once 
 were.' 
 
 'And whose fault is it, Edith?' said Edward, kindly, yet 
 gravely. ' Not mine : you know the Hall is your home, at all 
 seasons and all hours.' 
 
 ' Nor mine,' replied Edith ; 'circumstances cannot be avoided.' 
 
 ' So we think when we do not make the effort : but we will 
 talk of that by and by. I want to know how you are, Martha : 
 how is the rheumatism ? You must be feeling it again now, I 
 should fear ; the weather has been so damp till to-day.' 
 
 'Yes, it's bad enough sometimes,' said Martha, in a less sulky 
 tone than usual ; ' but it's not like last winter. The curtain up 
 there keeps out a deal of air.'
 
 94 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' That was your thought. Edith,' said Edward ; c it would never 
 have entered my head ; but is the cottage comfortable, Martha ? 
 — you used to say it smoked.' 
 
 ' So it does still with a north-easter, but somehow I 'm got 
 used to it, and a little of it seems thick and snug.' 
 
 ' That is a novel notion,' said Edward, laughing ; ' but you 
 have turned over a new leaf since you came here, Martha, and 
 are determined to make the best of everything.' 
 
 The old woman smiled grimly, as she answered — ' No, no, 
 Master Edward, that never was my way yet : but I don't care 
 for things so much as I used, only for being quiet. A long life 's 
 a long journey, and one is glad to sit down at the end of it.' 
 
 ' Still I can't help wishing you had a more comfortable resting- 
 place,' observed Edward. 'A little more light, for instance, 
 would be an advantage.' 
 
 ' So Tom Slater says, when he comes here and talks about 
 the cottage at the end of the lane ; but I tells him to let me be 
 quiet, for you've promised I shan't move unless it pleases me, 
 and I 'm sure it never will. As for the light, there's a very good 
 place for another window just behind the door, if so be as you 're 
 inclined for it.' 
 
 This did not exactly meet Edward's wishes. During his 
 solitary ride he had been pondering much upon his conversa- 
 tion with Laura, and longing to devise some plan for gratifying 
 her ; and although without any intention of breaking his word, 
 or forcing his old nurse to consent to what might be against her 
 notions of comfort, the desire of pleasing his wife became, upon 
 consideration, so strong, that after a little hesitation, he turned 
 his horse's head in the direction of Martha's cottage, with the 
 determination of sounding her upon the subject of the exchange. 
 She seemed, however, more bent than ever upon being satisfied 
 on this one point, though discontented on almost every other, 
 and Edward felt irritated as the conversation proceeded, and as 
 he found how insuperable a barrier lay between his inclination 
 and his duty ; and breaking off abruptly in the middle of a sen- 
 tence, he exclaimed, ' Well, Martha, I see you are resolved to 
 live and die where you are ; but if you were nearer to us it would 
 be better : Mrs Courtenay would be able to see you oftener 
 then.' 
 
 ' Laura has been here this morning,' said Edith : 'we parted 
 just before you came.' 
 
 'Has she indeed?' exclaimed Edward, with evident pleasure.
 
 GERTRUDE. 95 
 
 'That is so like her — doing the very things she knows I most 
 wish, yet so secretly that I can never find them out till after- 
 wards. You must go with her, Edith, now she has once begun 
 seeing the poor people ; she will want some one to introduce 
 her.' 
 
 Edith looked grave, and was silent. 
 
 ' I don't think your young madam is much used to poor folks,' 
 said Martha : ' she didn't seem to know what to do with herself 
 when she came.' 
 
 ' She was shy, I daresay, at a first visit,' replied Edward ; ' but 
 she will be delighted to send anything for you that you may 
 want from the Hall, and I am sure she will come and see you 
 frequently.' 
 
 ' Don't let her come with that Miss from the Grange, then,' 
 said Martha: 'nobody wants her— there's always mischief at 
 her heels.' 
 
 ' Was Miss Forester here too?' asked Edward, turning to his 
 sister, and speaking quickly. ' What could have induced Laura 
 to bring her?' 
 
 ' I only spoke to them for a minute,' replied Edith, 'and had 
 no time to ask questions; but I wonder you are surprised: Miss 
 Forester is always at the Hall.' 
 
 Edward frowned and bit his lip, scarcely knowing whether to 
 be most provoked with Miss Forester's visits, or his sister's 
 observations. 'Did the ladies stay with you long, Martha?' 
 he said. 
 
 'Oh no; just while they were putting some questions about 
 the cottage, and my liking it, as you might have been doing but 
 now, Master Edward. They didn't seem to care for anything but 
 that ; and if you please to ask them when you gets home, they'll 
 be sure to tell you they was driving at something. They didn't 
 come here for nothing, not they. That Miss never went nowhere 
 for nothing.' 
 
 'What does she mean, Edith?' said Edward, taking his sister 
 aside. ' What has Laura been doing?' 
 
 ' Really I cannot say. As I told you, I only met her at the 
 door, and then she seemed annoyed at Martha's manner, and 
 asked me to find some way of making her consent to leave her 
 cottage.' 
 
 Edward took up his hat as if to go away, but suddenly recol- 
 lecting himself, exclaimed, ' I have no time to stay any longer, 
 nurse, — I shall come another day, so good-bye now. Edith, you
 
 06 GERTRUDE. 
 
 will walk home with me.' And they left the cottage together. 
 Martha looked after them for a few moments in considerable sur- 
 prise, and then, with a raised hand and a muttered ejaculation— 
 'Hugh! what's come over the young things? they're up and off 
 like a windy day!' — she drew her chair nearer the hearth, and 
 began her preparations for dinner. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 EDITH and her brother continued their walk for some little 
 distance without speaking ; but Edward's quick step and 
 impatient flourish of his whip, as he demolished every thistle 
 and bramble within his reach, showed that his feelings were not 
 quite calm. ' What can be done?' he exclaimed at length, partly 
 addressing himself to Edith, and partly giving utterance to his 
 secret thoughts. ' She is the last person Laura ought to be with.' 
 
 'Who?' asked Edith, quietly. 
 
 ' Why do you ask, Edith ? There is but one person in the 
 neighbourhood whom we really dislike, and it is so provoking 
 that Laura should have taken such a fancy to her.' 
 
 ' And still more provoking that she should be led by her/ 
 observed Edith. 'I am certain Miss Forester was at the bottom 
 of that visit to old Martha.' 
 
 ' You must be mistaken there,' said Edward. 'Laura would 
 not take any steps about the cottage without consulting me, and 
 she knows my determination. I will never trust any one but 
 myself to sound Martha upon the subject ; she is so keen that 
 she would see through it at once, and think I meant to break 
 my word; and indeed it would be useless; I went as far as I 
 dared just now, and it was evident that she will never willingly 
 
 move.' 
 
 'Certainly,' replied Edith, 'nothing could be more clear; but 
 I don't think I am mistaken in supposing that Laura wished to 
 induce her to consent. In fact, she implied as much in the short 
 conversation we had together, and I was longing to see you, 
 Edward, to speak about it.' 
 
 'You don't mean,' exclaimed Edward, pausing abruptly in his 
 walk, 'that you imagined for one instant that any persuasions 
 could induce me to break my promise?'
 
 GERTRUDE. 97 
 
 'Not exactly,' replied Edith, hesitatingly, not choosing to 
 inquire to what extent she had learned to distrust him ; ' but the 
 very idea would be painful to poor old Martha, and I don't think 
 Laura perceives this ; and she might wish you to propose, though 
 not to urge it.' 
 
 'And you don't think I have firmness to refuse,' said Edward. 
 ' That is not what I should have expected from you.' 
 
 The tears rose to Edith's eyes, and her voice slightly faltered, 
 as she answered, hastily — ' I don't know what you ought to 
 expect now, Edward, it is all so changed.' 
 
 ' What do you mean? who is changed? — not myself, I am sure. 
 Tell me what you mean?' 
 
 'Nothing — nonsense. There is no good in talking of it: we 
 cannot make things as they once were : and you would not 
 wish it.' 
 
 ' But you would,' said Edward, in a grave, reproachful tone. 
 
 Edith was silent. 
 
 ' It is your own fault, Edith,' he continued. ' The change, if 
 there is a change, is in yourself. The love which was yours 
 before I married, is yours still. Allingham may be your home 
 now, as it was then ; but you refuse it ; you estrange yourself 
 from us, and then complain of alterations.' 
 
 ' No, Edward ! ' exclaimed Edith ; ' I do not complain — I never 
 could — I have no right — your choice was your own, and no one 
 can blame you for consulting your own happiness.' 
 
 ' Then why is there this reserve between us ? ' asked Edward. 
 ' We have often talked of my marriage as a thing of course — no 
 one could have entered more warmly into my feelings. Why 
 should you shut yourself up from me now, and shun the society 
 of the person I flattered myself would have been as dear to you 
 as your own sisters ? ' 
 
 ' I do not shun any one,' replied Edith : ' but I have many 
 occupations, and but little time to myself; and my society is not 
 likely to give Laura any pleasure.' 
 
 ' That will not deceive me,' said Edward ; ' constrained 
 humility never can.' 
 
 ' I don't wish to deceive any one,' replied Edith, with some- 
 thing of haughtiness ; ' but if persons are unlike in taste and 
 disposition, it is vain to hope they will ever assimilate.' 
 
 ' Certainly not, if they resolutely determine that there shall be 
 no neutral ground upon which to meet — and this seems to be 
 
 your case.' 
 
 G
 
 98 GERTRUDE. 
 
 'There can be no neutral ground formed, where none exists, 
 said Edith ; ' but we are talking foolishly, Edward ; you can 
 never understand, and I can scarcely desire that you should.' 
 
 'But, indeed, I do understand,' replied Edward ; 'you fancy 
 that Laura, because she has been bred up with London notions, 
 cannot enter into yours ; but she can into mine — and once, 
 Edith, that would have been sufficient.' 
 
 ' Yes, once — once ! ' exclaimed Edith, eagerly, ' but ! ' and 
 
 she paused. 
 
 'Why should you hesitate?' continued her brother; 'my 
 most earnest wish is, that you should speak to me without 
 reserve.' 
 
 ' It is impossible ! ' said Edith. ' And I know I am wrong — I 
 ought not to grieve over a disappointment which is a mere trifle, 
 compared with what others suffer. If you are happy, Edward, 
 I will be so too.' 
 
 ' You are unintelligible,' replied Edward. ' Where is the dis- 
 appointment you speak of? Is it in my affection ?' 
 
 ' Oh no — no ! — but pray do not let us talk any more about it ! 
 it can only be painful to both.' 
 
 ' Nothing can be so painful as reserve between those who once 
 shared every thought,' said Edward ; ' imagination always con- 
 jures up worse visions than reality.' 
 
 ' Not always ; ' and Edith sighed deeply. 
 
 ' I cannot bear this, Edith!' exclaimed her brother, impatiently. 
 ' You know me too well to believe that I can. If you have any 
 complaint to make of me or of Laura, I must entreat that you 
 will speak openly.' 
 
 ' I have said before that I have nothing to complain of,' 
 replied Edith, with forced calmness ; „' but, Edward, you are 
 unreasonable to expect that I can tell you everything I think 
 and feel, now, as I did before your marriage. Our positions are 
 totally changed.' 
 
 ' They are, indeed ! ' exclaimed Edward ; ' more so than I 
 could have imagined possible. I am only thankful there is still 
 one person in the world who has no mysteries with me.' 
 
 Edith turned away in bitterness of heart, and then, giymg way 
 to the hasty feeling of the moment, ' If you are satisfied with your 
 wife, Edward,' she said, 'it is enough. Whatever I may think 
 can be a matter of no consequence.' 
 
 ' But it is ; it must be a matter of consequence!' he exclaimed. 
 ' How can I endure to see one who is dearer tome than my own
 
 GERTRUDE. 99 
 
 life, misunderstood and depreciated by those who ought to love 
 and delight in her?' 
 
 ' Ought ! ' repeated Edith, ironically. 
 
 ' Yes, ought ! ' continued Edward, ' if gentleness, and temper, 
 and grace, and all that can make a woman amiable, are to be 
 loved and admired, then Laura ought to have your warmest 
 affection.' 
 
 The irritable feelings working in Edith's mind were com- 
 pletely roused by what she saw to be the blindness and error 
 of the assertion ; and forgetting the delicacy of her position, 
 and the respect due to her brother's feelings, she exclaimed : 
 ' If gentleness consists in being led by no one but Miss Forester, 
 and amiability in wishing to turn old Martha out of her cottage, 
 few can give Laura more credit for both than myself.' 
 
 The words were no sooner uttered than they were repented 
 of; but the wish to efface their impression was as vain as the 
 endeavour to recall them. 
 
 Edward's face became very pale, and his brows were closely 
 knit. He did not trust himself with a reply; and making a 
 sudden leap over a stile near him, walked with rapid strides 
 across the adjoining field, and Edith was left alone to her 
 meditations. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 LAURA'S glance at her husband, as he entered the dressing- 
 -* room in which she was resting after the exertion of her 
 unusually long walk, convinced her that something had occurred 
 to annoy him ; and her conscience reminded her instantly of 
 her offence, not indeed against his commands, but against his 
 wishes. In general, she would have risen with delight to meet 
 him, and her book would have been thrown aside without 
 regret ; but now, with a faint smile, she merely observed that 
 he was quickly returned, and then, fixing her eye on the page 
 before her, appeared engrossed with its contents. She was 
 wrong, however, in imagining herself the sole or even the prin- 
 cipal subject of his angry feelings. By far the larger share was 
 bestowed upon Edith ; yet the truth contained in the observa- 
 tion that had so deeply excited him was too evident to be
 
 loo GERTRUDE. 
 
 entirely withstood ; and although, while retracing his steps 
 homeward, his quick and varying thoughts had found ample 
 cause for indignation at his sister's unkindness, their bitterness 
 was increased by the consciousness that her reproach was not 
 without foundation. Blindly and devotedly as he loved his wife, 
 Edward was still, in some measure, alive to her faults ; but 
 there was a wide difference between an acknowledgment made 
 in the secrecy of his own heart, and Edith's open accusation ; 
 and the faults which, from their apparently trifling character, 
 were allowed, when observed only by himself, seemed unjustly 
 magnified when they excited the attention of another. Resent- 
 ment against his sister, therefore, was the feeling uppermost in 
 his mind ; and it was one which he scarcely endeavoured to 
 check, since it sprang from a sense of his wife's wrongs rather 
 than his own ; and the first glimpse of Laura's beautiful features 
 tended considerably to increase his irritation against one who 
 had proved insensible to her fascination. For a short time he 
 stood at the window, watching her in silence ; and at last, 
 annoyed at the change in her manner, said, with something of 
 severity — 
 
 ' Your book must be peculiarly interesting, Laura.' 
 
 ' Yes ! it is — very ' — she replied, hastily, and not daring tc 
 lift her eyes to His. 
 
 ' Are you tired, that you are lying down ? ' 
 
 ' Tired ? yes — no — not particularly — only I have been walk- 
 ing.' 
 
 ' So I suppose : did you go far ? ' 
 
 ' Yes — that is, not any great distance — I don't know exactly 
 what you call far' — and Laura gazed again upon her book ; but 
 her natural ingenuousness overcame her timidity, and throwing 
 down the volume, she rose from the sofa, and said, after some 
 hesitation, ' I went with Miss Forester to see your old nurse.' 
 
 Edward's features did not relax, and his voice was even graver 
 than before. 
 
 ' If you had asked me,' he answered, ' there would have^Teen 
 no occasion for Miss Forester's services ; it must have been a 
 sudden freak.' 
 
 ' You are vexed with me, Edward,' said Laura ; ' I wish you 
 would tell me so at once.' 
 
 ' There can be no occasion for it, since it is so evident. It 
 cannot be a matter of surprise to you that I am annoyed at your 
 preferring Miss Forester's society to mine.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 101 
 
 ' O Edward ! that is unjust — more than unjust — it is cruel ; 
 but you do not mean it.' 
 
 ' I merely reason from facts. You knew that it was only neces- 
 sary to express a wish, and I should have been delighted to go 
 with you. I have been urging the visit for the last three weeks 
 without success ; but I must ask Miss Forester the secret of her 
 eloquence, when I wish to gain my point another time.' 
 
 ' This is nonsense, Edward,' replied Laura ; ' you are not really 
 jealous of Miss Forester's influence, or of any other person's. The 
 idea is too absurd to make me angry. It would be much kinder 
 to tell me plainly what is the matter.' 
 
 ' I leave it to you to find out,' he said ; ' if you are unconscious 
 of having done anything against my wishes, of course I am mis- 
 taken.' 
 
 Laura became pale, and her voice was tremulous as she replied, 
 ' I did not expect this from you, Edward. I thought our agree- 
 ment was one of openness and sincerity on each side. But I will 
 not be the one to forget it,' she continued, in a firmer tone ; ' I 
 have been wishing for something which you desired me not to 
 think of ; I have been longing to get rid of the cottage, and I have 
 been sounding old Martha about it, but I have done nothing more ; 
 and I should not have ventured even upon that, if you had not 
 almost promised me you would give her a hint yourself. If it is 
 a fault, it is one easily repaired.' 
 
 ' O Laura!' exclaimed her husband, his displeasure vanishing 
 before the ingenuousness of the avowal ; ' why will you not show 
 yourself to every one such as you are to me ? Why will you give 
 rise to observations and misconstructions, and cause me the great 
 pain I have experienced this morning ? I felt Edith was harsh, 
 and yet she said nothing but what was true.' 
 
 'Edith!' repeated Laura, in surprise; 'your sister! I knew 
 she did not love me, yet she need not have spoken against me to 
 my husband ;' :.nd Laura's tears flowed fast as she spoke. 
 
 'That need not be a cause of grief, dearest,' replied Edward ; 
 ' the whole world might speak against you, without causing the 
 slightest shade of variation in my love ; but there is something 
 which ought to pain you, as it does me — that you should act in 
 a way to give rise to any unkind observations.' 
 
 ' But how — why — what have I done ?' exclaimed Laura, raising 
 her head ; ' why should Edith interfere, and make remarks ? I 
 will confess to you, Edward, where I have gone contrary to your 
 wishes ; and I will bear anything and everything you may choose
 
 102 GERTRUDE. 
 
 to say ; but I will never submit to have my actions commented 
 on by any other human being, much less one who has shown me 
 so little kindness as Edith.' 
 
 ' It is what we must all submit to,' replied Edward ; ' the 
 world, and our relations, and our friends, will comment upon our 
 actions, whether we will submit to it or not ; it is vain to hope 
 that we can escape unnoticed ; but nothing that is said against 
 us can be of any consequence, unless it is well founded.' 
 
 'And what did Edith say ?' asked Laura, eagerly. 
 
 'She implied that you suffered yourself to be led by Miss 
 Forester; and she added something about your want of con- 
 sideration for poor old Martha, which it was most painful to me 
 to listen to.' 
 
 'And she heard it from myself,' exclaimed Laura; 'I said a 
 little to her on the subject, merely because she should not give 
 me credit for better motives than I deserved ; and then she turned 
 my own words against me, to injure me in my husband's estima- 
 tion. Is this your pattern sister, Edward?' 
 
 ' Not to injure you in your husband's estimation,' replied 
 Edward, fondly. ' No one can do that but yourself.' 
 
 ' Yet you believed her, and felt angry with me.' 
 
 ' I had reason to believe her. Miss Forester's intimacy is daily 
 before my eyes ; and the motive of your visit to old Martha you 
 had acknowledged yourself.' 
 
 ' Miss Forester would never speak against me behind my back,' 
 replied Laura. ' Whatever her faults may be, she will not 
 endeavour to make mischief between us ; and as to your old 
 nurse, it is absurd to make a fuss about such a trifle. I merely 
 asked a few questions as to whether she was comfortable in her 
 cottage, in order to find out whether she would be inclined to 
 move ; and she was extremely ungracious and disagreeable, and 
 then I went away.' 
 
 ' It would have been rather better to have waited, would it 
 not?' asked Edward : ' I had not forgotten your wishes, and went 
 myself for the same purpose ; and I was much the most proper 
 person to do it.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you were,' said Laura ; ' but you must own, Edward, 
 that it was a very tiny fault, and extremely unkind of Edith to 
 say anything to you about it.' 
 
 ' I don't think you meant any great harm, certainly,' replied 
 Edward, delighted to be relieved from the feeling of vexation 
 against her ; ' but you must be more careful another time.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 103 
 
 'Yes, believe me,' exclaimed Laura: 'I will never commit 
 myself again. Since I know how my words are to be turned 
 against me, I will be more sparing of them. Your sister shall 
 not be troubled for the future with cither my conversation or my 
 society.' 
 
 ' Hush ! my love,' replied Edward ; ' this is not kind to me. 
 The first wish of my heart is that you should be loved and 
 cherished by my own family.' 
 
 ' Do not wish it,' said Laura, sadly ; ' it will never be.' 
 
 'It must be,' replied her husband. 'It is impossible they 
 should be insensible to' 
 
 ' To what ? ' asked Laura, archly ; ' I like of all things to hear 
 my own praises.' 
 
 Edward only answered by a kiss ; and immediately afterwards 
 left the room, with his feelings calmed, but with a bitter recol- 
 lection of Edith's remarks, and a keener sense than ever of the 
 neglect shown to his young wife. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IT is interesting and useful, though often very painful, to retire 
 into ourselves, after the first tumult of excited feelings has sub- 
 sided, and consider the probable consequences of our words and 
 actions. We may indeed frequently be mistaken, and magnify or 
 diminish the importance of what has occurred ; or look forward 
 to events that may never happen ; but by endeavouring to connect 
 the past and the future, we strengthen a habit of thoughtfulness, 
 and are able to trace more easily the secret sources of the suf- 
 ferings which so frequently arise, apparently from the ignorance 
 or selfishness of our fellow-creatures, but in reality from some 
 error in ourselves. The conversation between Edith and her 
 brother was not of a nature to be speedily forgotten by either, 
 but the pain it had occasioned was most acutely felt by the 
 former ; and when she recurred to her unguarded expressions, 
 and their probable effect upon Edward's mind, all feeling of 
 displeasure against him or Laura gave way before her own self- 
 reproach. She would willingly have made any sacrifice to efface 
 the impression of those few hasty words— for it was easy to
 
 104 GERTRUDE. 
 
 foresee that they would probably create a barrier which years 
 even might not be able to remove ; and bitter was her regret for 
 the weakness which had induced her to yield to an angry impulse. 
 It was impossible to suppose that Edward would overlook and 
 make allowances, for his feelings had been wounded in the 
 tenderest point. If she attempted to be kinder than usual, he 
 might think her insincere ; and if she were cold as before, the 
 breach must effectually be widened. It was Edith's first lesson 
 in the importance of words — in the fearful power which we pos- 
 sess of giving a body, as it were, to the thoughts within us, but 
 a body which we are unable to destroy. Her repentance seemed 
 as if it could be of no avail in preventing the natural conse- 
 quences of her folly ; and she looked forward with shame and 
 repugnance to the next meeting with her brother and sister. 
 The awkwardness, which was equally felt by them, caused seve- 
 ral days to elapse before it took place ; but having no excuse to 
 offer for not going to the Priory, Edward at length prevailed on 
 Laura to overcome her unwillingness and accompany him, with 
 the secret hope that Edith might be absent. His wish, however, 
 was not gratified. Luncheon was rather later than usual ; and 
 the footman, ignorant of the effect produced by his words, in- 
 formed them that Mrs Courtenay and the young ladies were in 
 the dining-room. 
 
 ' Just in time, my dear,' was Mrs Courtenay's salutation. ' We 
 are so glad — I was only that instant saying what an age it was 
 since you had been here.' 
 
 ' It is rather long,' began Laura. 
 
 ' Long, my love ! it seems a twelvemonth. But I won't com- 
 plain. Now, do, Edith — no, not Edith, she has a toothache, poor 
 child — Jane, you can ring the bell. Johnson never will bring up 
 knives and forks enough.' 
 
 ' I think there are some more on the side-table,' said Jane, 
 languidly, turning her head. ' Isn't it bitterly cold to-day ? ' 
 
 ' Not bitterly,' replied Edward ; ' rather bracing it is, cer- 
 tainly ; I suppose, Edith, it is the cold which has given you the 
 pain in your face.' 
 
 Edward tried to be unconstrained ; but Edith felt it was an 
 effort, and her answer was given in the same tone — 
 
 ' Perhaps it may be ; but it is not of any consequence.' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear, don't say so ! ' exclaimed her mother ; ' nobody 
 knows ; and it is so much better to take things in time : you 
 know it may turn to tic-douloureux any day.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 105 
 
 ' Is it very bad ? ' inquired Laura, feeling more grateful to 
 a toothache than she had ever done before. 
 
 ' Oh no ; it is a mere nothing,' said Edith, in the same re- 
 served tone as before ; and she rose as if to leave the room. 
 
 ' You are not thinking of going out, of course, Edith,' said 
 Charlotte ; ' it would be madness.' 
 
 ' I don't know exactly : I ought to go if I could, and my face 
 is better now.' 
 
 'A martyr, as usual,' exclaimed Charlotte ; 'what a pity it is 
 that you had not lived in Queen Mary's reign ! I don't know 
 any one who would have made a better figure at the stake.' 
 
 ' You would not be so foolish, Edith,' said Edward : ' nothing 
 is more likely to make you worse than this north-east wind. It 
 is not fit for you to venture out.' 
 
 'That is right, my dear,' exclaimed Mrs Courtenay ; 'do try 
 your influence ; nobody has so much : I often say that you have 
 more power over Edith than all the world besides.' 
 
 ' Had more power, you should say,' replied Edward, with a 
 quiet emphasis, understood only by two of the party. 
 
 ' I don't know why you should say that, my dear, except, 
 perhaps, that now you are married, there are two persons for 
 Edith to listen to, instead of one. Laura, I wish you would 
 say something. Edith observed only the other day, that you 
 never set your heart upon doing anything without accomplish- 
 ing it.' 
 
 The colour mounted to Laura's cheek, and after a moment's 
 pause, she said coldly — 
 
 ' I could not be so presumptuous as to suppose ' the end 
 
 of the sentence was lost, for the speaker took up a glass of water, 
 being apparently seized with a violent thirst. 
 
 ' I don't know what you all mean,' said Jane, as she moved 
 her chair from the fire to discover the cause of the silence ; ' but 
 it seems to me that we are remarkably polite to each other ; so 
 polite, that one could almost fancy we were on the point of being 
 otherwise.' 
 
 ' I am the cause, I am afraid,' said Edith ; ' but I very much 
 wish no one would trouble themselves about me ; I shall do ex- 
 tremely well ; and really I must go.' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay sighed and looked resigned, and Charlotte 
 coughed and looked provoked. 
 
 ' You may take the club-book with you, if you will go,' she 
 said ; e we shall have to pay a fine as it is.'
 
 106 GERTRUDE. 
 
 * I have not finished it yet,' replied Edith ; ' one day will not 
 make much difference.' 
 
 ' Why not stay at home, then, and do it now ? It would be 
 much better.' 
 
 ' No, I don't feel that I could attend ; and indeed I never can 
 understand heavy books, except at night.' 
 
 ' But you do not mean, my love,' said Mrs Courtenay, with a 
 start of horror, ' that you ever sit up at night reading ?' 
 
 ' Oh yes, frequently,' replied Edith ; ' but there is no fear, I 
 assure you ; I am extremely careful.' 
 
 ' It is very well to talk,' exclaimed Mrs Courtenay, with a 
 degree of energy unusual to her ; ' we shall be burnt, I know we 
 shall ; it is in the family.' 
 
 There was a general laugh, in which Edith could not help 
 joining. But Mrs Courtenay did not at all understand the cause 
 of the amusement, and immediately began citing cases to prove 
 the correctness of her assertion. 
 
 ' My dear Edward, you must remember old Sir Lionel Cour- 
 tenay in Henry VIII.'s time, — he was burnt at the stake. And 
 there was his grandson in Queen Mary's ; and your two little 
 cousins, last year, in Kent. So, Edith, I must beg you won't 
 read any more by candle-light. You know quite enough.' 
 
 ' At all events,' said Edith, smiling, ' I don't think I can take 
 the club-book ; it is so large.' 
 
 ' We might drive her to Elsham,' said Laura to her husband, 
 in a low voice. 
 
 Edward hesitated. The tone of his family had seldom struck 
 him so forcibly, and he was not inclined for Edith's company. 
 Laura, however, repeated the suggestion, and finding that he 
 did not object, followed Edith, to make her the offer. 
 
 It was decidedly refused ; and Laura felt as if her overtures 
 of peace had been rejected. Yet Edith's manner, cold and con- 
 strained as it seemed, was by no means an index to her heart. 
 She was fully conscious of her own ungraciousness ; and if Laura 
 had been in the wrong, instead of herself, she would have been 
 the first to make an advance towards reconciliation. But now, 
 unable to conquer the feeling of shyness, arising from self-re- 
 proach, she hurried away to her own room, and the estrange- 
 ment between the sisters-in-law was completed. Laura, piqued 
 and disappointed, returned to the dining-room, resolving never 
 again to attempt being on any terms with Edith but those of 
 politeness — a resolution which her good-nature would," under
 
 GERTRUDE. 107 
 
 other circumstances, have made it rather difficult to keep. Foi 
 some time, indeed, she refrained from visiting the Priory more 
 frequently than was absolutely necessary ; and when in Edith's 
 company avoided any conversation with her. But the first irri- 
 tation of feeling by degrees subsided ; and with a disposition 
 incapable of long retaining the sense of injury, she might easily 
 have been won over to cordiality, if Edith had only known how 
 to redeem her past mistakes. But of this, unfortunately, she 
 was ignorant. Though freely acknowledging her fault in the 
 one instance which had openly separated them, she was not 
 aware that a fundamental error lay at the root of all her actions 
 — the belief that family duties are of secondary importance ; and 
 the result was a continued series of petty neglects, which Laura's 
 quick perception, and hasty, though generous temper, could not 
 fail to resent. The breach, however, was not perceptible to the 
 world in general, and scarcely even at the Priory. Mrs Cour- 
 tenay seldom noticed anything but the changes of the weather ; 
 Jane was engrossed with her maladies ; and Charlotte only 
 thought that Edith, as usual, made herself disagreeable, and 
 was not surprised that Laura cared so little for her society. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 r 'P , HERE were, however, two persons whose interest in Ailing- 
 -L ham and the Priory rendered them fully alive to the clouds 
 which so frequently obscured the domestic sunshine — Miss For- 
 ester and Mr Dacre. The former, in pursuance of her object of 
 becoming useful and agreeable to Laura, was peculiarly observant 
 of the influence of others; and was not sorry to perceive the 
 numerous indications of indifference and reserve which every day 
 afforded, especially when it gave her an opportunity of civilly 
 making some remark to Edith's disadvantage, and thus venting 
 her spleen against the only person whom she considered likely to 
 rival herself in her uncle's regard. The sources of Mr Dacre's 
 interest were less simple. A worn out, solitary invalid — solitary, 
 not so much from the absence of outward friends, as from the 
 isolation of mind attendant upon a grief too sacred to be told to 
 any human ear, he had consented to remain at the Grange long 
 after the period fixed for the termination of his visit, not because
 
 io8 GERTRUDE. 
 
 he was pleased with Miss Forester's flatteries, or gratified by the 
 General's attentions, but from the powerful charm attached to 
 the place where he had originally become acquainted with the wife 
 he had so tenderly loved. It was at the Grange that they had 
 first met — in its neighbourhood that they had enjoyed those 
 opportunities of intimate acquaintance which first inspired a 
 mutual regard, and then ripened it into love ; and it was in the 
 parish church of Elsham that they had knelt, side by side, before 
 the altar, and in the presence of God exchanged those vows which 
 death alone could sever. 
 
 Years passed away after that sunny time, and care, and sickness, 
 and sorrow, and the deep yearning of the stranger's heart in a 
 foreign land for its native home, were bitterly felt by both ; but no 
 circumstances, however untoward, could weaken an affection 
 based upon principles of piety and mutual reverence ; and when, 
 after a union of thirty years, Mrs Dacre sank into her grave, 
 under the influence of a lingering, painful disease, the stunning 
 effects of the trial produced an effect upon her husband's health 
 which his constitution never afterwards recovered. Had his two 
 children lived, Mr Dacre's sufferings would, however, have been 
 comparatively light ; for a mind like his could not long permit 
 sorrow to interfere with the duties of life, and the necessity of 
 exerting himself for their sake would probably in time have 
 diverted his thoughts from the one all-engrossing remembrance. 
 But they also were taken from him. Within a few months of 
 each other they were laid by their mother's side ; and their 
 father, his health completely shattered by this fresh blow, was 
 compelled to return to England, as the last hope of preserving an 
 existence which, at the first moment of his loss, seemed scarcely 
 of consequence to any human being. But the sorrow of the 
 Christian, though often great, can never be without alleviations ; 
 and Mr Dacre's heart had been too well practised in submission 
 when all was prosperous around him, to sink under the burden 
 of affliction. As his constitution became partially re-established by 
 his native air, his energy of mind was again roused. The world 
 had lost its charm, but it had not lost its duties ; and projects of 
 usefulness continually suggested themselves, to the accomplish- 
 ment of which his uncertain health appeared the only obstacle. 
 Day after day, and week after week, glided on, and still his plans 
 were unsettled ; but in that time his original attachment to the 
 Grange and its neighbourhood had strengthened into a deeper 
 home feeling ; the result partly of habit, and partly of the interest
 
 GERTRUDE. 109 
 
 excited by his acquaintance with Edward Courtenay. Edith, 
 indeed, was the first to attract his regard, from a fancied resem- 
 blance to the daughter he had lost, and the charm of a simple, 
 earnest, intelligent mind, bent upon the fulfilment of duty, at 
 whatever sacrifice of personal enjoyment ; but Edward's character, 
 though in many respects strongly resembling his sister's, was as 
 yet so imperfectly formed as to awaken a sympathy deeper, but 
 far more painful, which the circumstances of their previous ac- 
 quaintance tended considerably to increase. They had met at a 
 lawyer's office in London, a short time before Edward's marriage 
 when Mr Dacre was endeavouring to arrange some business for 
 a mutual friend ; and in the course of their transactions, the con- 
 dition of the Allingham estate was, from necessity, made known 
 to him, to a much greater extent than Edward desired. The 
 information was not then of any importance, and would probably 
 soon have been forgotten, but for his visit at the Grange, and the 
 opinions expressed every day as to the value of Mr Courtenay's 
 property, and the style in which he was expected to live. Even 
 then, until he had gained a more intimate knowledge of Edward's 
 disposition, he had thought but little upon the subject, consider- 
 ing the common belief merely the gossip of a country place ; but 
 the observation of a few months made him fear the power of 
 general opinion over an enthusiastic, unstable mind. 
 
 Edward was not accused of extravagance ; he indulged in no 
 follies, and gave way to no expensive habits ; but he followed the 
 customs of society, and complied with all that was considered 
 requisite for his position ; and when that position was a false one 
 the consequences were not difficult to foresee. The world said 
 that Mr Courtenay's establishment ought to be on a certain scale ; 
 Mr Courtenay himself knew that it was larger than his actual 
 income would allow ; but it was expected of him — it would appear * 
 strange to live without it — economy might be practised in less 
 obvious points ; and the butler, and coachman, and footmen, and 
 grooms, lounged over their nominal duties, and injured themselves 
 by idleness, and their master by waste, because it was necessary 
 to keep up appearances. The world said that of course Mr 
 Courtenay would not part with the splendid hunters, the pride of 
 the Colonel's heart ; if he did not use them himself, there would 
 be always some persons to appreciate them ; and Edward, though 
 caring nothing for field sports, and even entertaining some doubts 
 as to their being entirely allowable, kept hunters for his visitors, 
 and grooms for his hunters, simply because he would not acknow-
 
 no GERTRUDE. 
 
 ledge that he could not afford it. The same principle ran through 
 everything — dinners, equipages, furniture, entertainments, all 
 were upon a like scale ; and daily and hourly the secret burden 
 of anxiety pressed more heavily upon Edward's heart. But its 
 existence was scarcely acknowledged by himself, and perceived 
 only by Mr Dacre. Similarity of taste, and, in a great measure, 
 of principle, had quickly softened the recollection of their previous 
 interview • and, after the bridal visit, Mr Dacre was a frequent 
 and welcome guest at Allingham : yet his desire of being really 
 Edward's friend was not completely gratified. Friendship neces- 
 sarily implies confidence, and while Edward was acting a part, 
 even though he persuaded himself it was a justifiable one, confi- 
 dence was impossible. The subject, too, was one of so delicate 
 and personal a nature as to forbid all interference, except from 
 relations or long-tried friends ; and Mr Dacre's only hope rested 
 upon Edith. Laura, it was evident, either did not know the state 
 of her husband's affairs, or, if she did know, shared in his thought- 
 lessness ; but a few expressions dropped in the course of conver- 
 sation with Edith, led Mr Dacre to imagine that she, like himself, 
 was acquainted with her brother's difficulties, and alive to his 
 yielding character, and the effects it must in time produce. Here 
 again, however, he was disappointed. From causes not confessed, 
 but easily to be conjectured by a mind of any penetration, a re- 
 serve had sprung up between Edith and Edward, which effec- 
 tually excluded every hope of influence on her part ; and Mr 
 Dacre was forced to observe silently and thoughtfully the plan of 
 life pursued at Allingham, with the certainty that it must at last 
 end in suffering, but without the power of interposing a warning 
 voice against it. Yet this very sense of inability served perhaps 
 to increase his interest. It is with a kind of painful fascination 
 that a good mind notices the dawning of sorrow upon the young 
 and inexperienced. There is the wish to save, and the conscious- 
 ness of the vanity of human efforts ; the affection that would 
 prompt the breaking down of the barriers of custom, and the fear 
 lest a hasty action, or an ill-timed word, may defeat the purest 
 intentions. To speak or to be silent seems equally dangerous ; 
 and the spirit thus endowed with the fatal gift of prophecy can 
 but watch anxiously, and pray earnestly, and strive to learn the 
 lesson of patient trust, which God would teach us all from the 
 miseries we see, but may not relieve. 
 
 So at least felt Mr Dacre, and his wish to remain at Elsham 
 became every day more fixed. The world was before him, and
 
 GERTRUDE. m 
 
 in his youth he would have delighted in travelling ; but even if 
 his health had permitted it, the knowledge that there was no one 
 now to share his pleasure would have effectually destroyed the 
 inclination. He had no near relations, — none who, from being 
 friendless and unprovided for, claimed his attention. Elsham had 
 been his home for the happiest period of his life,. and no other 
 place seemed so likely to soothe him in his present loneliness. 
 Miss Forester and her father, indeed, were not congenial, but in 
 his own house there would be no necessity for their constant 
 society ; while the footing of intimacy on which he was placed, 
 both at Allingham and the Priory, afforded him resources in his 
 solitary hours, which he could not be equally certain of finding 
 in any other situation, and might, if he remained in the neigh- 
 bourhood, offer some occasion of guarding Edward against the 
 danger he was incurring. 
 
 So many considerations were not long in producing results. 
 As the Elsham world had long ago decided must be the case, 
 Mr Dacre determined upon taking a house ; but wonder and dis- 
 appointment were in no small degree excited when his intended 
 residence was made known. The village doctor overlooked his 
 numerous engagements as he discussed the motives that could in- 
 duce a man of Mr Dacre's wealth to be content with so humble 
 a dwelling. The lawyer rested his pen upon his desk, and philo- 
 sophised upon the falsity of common report, and the certainty 
 that Indian fortunes were always exaggerated. The coachmen 
 and grooms of the different establishments pronounced that Mr 
 Dacre could be no gentleman : a rich gentleman with only one 
 riding horse, was a thing never heard of. The elderly ladies 
 assembled round the whist-table forgot to mark tricks and count 
 honours, while comparing notes in loud whispers upon the fact of 
 their new neighbour being a shocking miser : and the ladies' maids 
 received but a gentle reprimand, although guilty of misplacing a 
 ringlet or producing a wrong dress, from the eagerness with 
 which they repeated to their young mistresses the innumerable 
 stories of the nabob's oddities. And during this time the object 
 of so much interest, the observed of all observers, with calm in- 
 difference pursued his own path — settled himself in his cottage — 
 furnished his little library with books — cared studiously for the 
 comfort of the friends who might visit him — and showed himself 
 fully sensible of the charms of order and even of elegance, when 
 it was to be enjoyed with others ; but made no preparations for 
 personal gratification beyond those which age and infirmity im-
 
 112 GERTRUDE. 
 
 peratively required. And why? Why, when the drawing-room 
 and library were so stored with all that might minister to ease 
 and innocent amusement, was Mr Dacre's private study so 
 simple, even homely, in its appearance ? Why were there no 
 damask couches, no soft-cushioned chairs, none of the apparatus 
 of luxury which are considered the necessary appendages of 
 wealth ? Why, when the only spare room the little cottage 
 afforded was a model of refinement, was the chamber of its 
 owner so perfectly unadorned ? It was a question only to be 
 answered by those who could have watched the secret principle 
 of Mr Dacre's life, — who could have seen him in his hours of 
 devotion, in his moments of suffering and trial, and heard the 
 warning voice for ever sounding in his ears — ' How hardly shall 
 they that have riches enter into the kingdom of heaven ! ' From 
 the period when prosperity first assailed him with its temptations, 
 this difficulty was never absent from his mind. He noticed the 
 progress of others from toil to ease ; from ease to luxury ; from 
 luxury to selfishness and forgetfulness ; and his knowledge of 
 the human heart told him that such might too probably be his 
 own course. The gradations were so gradual as not to be per- 
 ceptible : the excuses so plausible as scarcely to be withstood. 
 Society and friends ; the noble and the mean ; the prince and 
 the beggar, alike have claims upon the expenditure of the rich 
 man. To cut ourselves off from everything that may be deemed 
 a superfluity, and rigorously to insist upon 'giving to nature no 
 more than nature needs,' seems a disregard of the intentions of 
 Providence, and a faithless fear lest evil should lurk under every 
 occasion of enjoyment. Mr Dacre saw and felt this. He did 
 not shut his eyes to the requirements of society and his family ; 
 but without any obtrusive singularity, he nevertheless persisted 
 in the practice of strict self-denial, for the very reason which 
 would have induced others to give way to self-indulgence. Be- 
 cause his means of gratification were ample, he guarded against 
 yielding to his own inclinations ; and while his house, and his 
 table, and his equipage, were in accordance with his station in 
 the world, he himself, even in India, — the land of indolence and 
 ease, pursued in secret a course of life which by many would 
 have been considered one of severe mortification. The apparent 
 inconsistency might have surprised yet wiser persons than the 
 gossips and newsmongers of Elsham ; especially when it was 
 known that Mr Dacre's charities, although extensive, were not 
 such as obviously to demand any unusual economy. He sub-
 
 GERTRUDE. 113 
 
 scribed freely to the schools, gave largely at the offertory, and 
 was foremost in providing for the necessities of the poor, but he 
 by no means relieved his neighbours from the obligation of con- 
 tributing their share also. With benevolence which, after a 
 short experience, no one could doubt, he still kept within such 
 limits, that none could plead the munificence of the rich Indian 
 as an excuse for their own selfishness. That there must be a 
 considerable surplus, even after every possible expense had been 
 taken into calculation, was decided ; and how was it appro- 
 priated? Was it stored up for his heir-at-law — a distant cousin 
 — himself the owner of a considerable estate? It was possible, 
 but not probable ; and the idea, when suggested at a tea-party 
 in Elsham, was almost immediately rejected. Was it to be an 
 inheritance for Miss Forester? The notion was plausible, but 
 the lady in question was not sufficiently a favourite in society for 
 it to be generally received. All felt it was the last way in which 
 they should dispose of their own money, and the natural sup- 
 position was, that Mr Dacre shared the same feeling. Some 
 said he intended to found an hospital; others, that he was wish- 
 ing to endow alms-houses; a few declared that plans were pre- 
 paring for a new church ; and one or two, incapable of attributing 
 liberality to their neighbours from being totally devoid of it 
 themselves, hinted that the first idea was the true one, and that, 
 with all his show of generosity, Mr Dacre's disposition was 
 miserly. Time and observation threw no light upon the subject ; 
 at the end of six months the Elsham world was still in a state of 
 uncertainty as to the private affah-s of their wealthy acquaint- 
 ance, and, after many discussions, finally arrived at the conclu- 
 sion that he could not be as rich as had been reported. This, 
 however, was a mistake; Mr Dacre's fortune was large, and the 
 claims upon it, according to the usual standard of benevolence, 
 were small; but the measure of the world's charity is very 
 different from that of the Christian's; and while India, with its 
 enormous heathen population, its fearful ignorance, and scantily 
 endowed Church, stood before him as the land from whence his 
 property was derived, there could be no limit to the demand 
 upon his resources. English blindness and wickedness might be 
 great, and the destitute state of the Church a never-failing source 
 of regret, but Providence points out to all who wish to be so 
 guided, the true objects for their grateful offerings; and even in 
 those cases in which we are apparently most at liberty to follow 
 our own will, a heart earnestly bent upon obedience will rather 
 
 M
 
 T14 GERTRUDE. 
 
 seek to discover the path indicated by circumstances, than to 
 chalk out a line of action merely in accordance with inclination. 
 India had been the source of Mr Dacre's wealth; and to India 
 he desired it should return. 
 
 The great interest excited even by a rich widower in a 
 country neighbourhood, cannot, however, continue undiminished. 
 Mr Dacre's affairs were at length only occasionally canvassed, 
 when some fresh eccentricity, as it was deemed, or some remark- 
 able munificence, again attracted observation. His health, too, 
 though a constant source of suffering to himself, did not as yet 
 appear likely entirely to fail, and speculations as to the ultimate 
 disposal of his fortune were forgotten in admiration of his winter 
 charities, and his splendid presents to General Forester and his 
 niece. Yet, in the monotony of everyday life, his vicinity was 
 felt to be a considerable relief. There was always something to 
 be told about him, — which road he had chosen for his walk, 
 what visits he had paid, how he was looking, whether he wore a 
 great-coat — or some wonder to be expressed as to why he had 
 not thought proper to walk at all ; and in the absence of culti- 
 vation of mind, or business of consequence, these topics formed 
 the staple source of conversation with the unoccupied better 
 class of Elsham ; varied only by similar remarks upon then- 
 other neighbours, and especially by minute criticisms upon the 
 dress, manners, and conduct of the beautiful Mrs Courtenay of 
 Allingham. 
 
 Laura, in the meantime, unsuspicious of evil, and seeing no 
 indications of any necessity for prudence, felt no scruple in urg- 
 ing upon her husband the gratification of each wish as it arose. 
 Expensive ornaments, new carriages, costly furniture, — all were 
 successively thought of ; when thought of, desired ; and when 
 desired, considered indispensable ; and Edward, 'driving from 
 his mind every idea but that of giving her pleasure, persuaded 
 himself that each separate expense was so trifling as to be of no 
 consequence, and though often distrustful of his own conduct in 
 secret, still laughed and talked, rode over his farms, inspected 
 his improvements, and formed plans of benevolence far beyond 
 his means, as energetically as if no causes of uneasiness lay 
 beneath his outward prosperity. Edith looked on in sorrow ; 
 but her influence with her brother was gone. He was guided 
 (though unknown to himself) solely by his wife ; and she, in equal 
 unconsciousness, was yielding day by day more completely to 
 the soothing power of Miss Forester's flatteries ; and was soon
 
 GERTRUDE. 115 
 
 persuaded by her that, as the wife of Mr Courtcnay of Ailing- 
 ham, it was absolutely requisite she should be surrounded with 
 every luxury which selfishness and indolence could devise. And 
 to the outward eye there was no change for many months ; but 
 there is One who ' secth not as man seeth,' and before whom 
 each day, as it passes, registers the growth either for good or 
 evil of the inner man ; and if Edward Courtenay had compared 
 the state of his mind half a year after his marriage, with that 
 which he had believed it to be when he made his offer to Laura, 
 he must have been aware of his own religious declension ; but 
 the variations from week to week were as unnoticed as from 
 hour to hour, and even the symptoms which might naturally 
 have awakened distrust were disregarded. Perhaps among the 
 chief of these, was the constant recurrence of one small wish, — 
 the same which he had once endeavoured to check in his wife. 
 Each morning, as Laura seated herself in the drawing-room, 
 Edward recollected the pleasure he had felt in preparing the 
 morning-room, and sighed over her disappointment. Sometimes 
 he accused Laura of fastidiousness, and sometimes quarrelled 
 with old Martha for pertinacity ; and the cottage at length be- 
 came an eyesore to him, and he would go considerably out of 
 his way to avoid it, unless, as was frequently the case, he visited 
 it under the pretence of kindness, but with the real though secret 
 intention of making another effort to gain his point. 
 
 His frequent allusions to the possibility of a change did not 
 fail to excite old Martha's suspicions. She complained to Edith ; 
 but, believing it impossible that Edward could ever think of 
 breaking his word, and not daring to approach the subject with 
 him, Edith tried to persuade her that she was fanciful. The 
 impression, however, on the old woman's mind, weakened as 
 she was by age, was too strong to be overcome ; and it was not 
 without foundation. Edward did at length firmly resolve to 
 effect his purpose ; he determined to gratify both himself and 
 Laura by insisting upon Martha's agreeing to his wishes, in re- 
 turn for the many kindnesses she had so long been in the habit 
 of receiving. He even fixed upon the cottage to which she was 
 to remove, and planned the particular steps which it would be 
 necessary to take ; but the opportunity for effecting his object 
 was never afforded him. Some unguarded expressions used by 
 him so worked upon the poor old woman's enfeebled mind, and 
 so increased her dread of being forced into compliance, that hei 
 strength and spirits gave way ; and when Edward went to her
 
 ji6 GERTRUDE.' 
 
 with the intention of acting upon his selfish resolution, he found 
 her incapable of listening to him. The cause of her illness he 
 did not suspect ; and without noticing the secret feeling of satis- 
 faction which arose in his mind, he believed, as he gave orders 
 for everything to be provided for her comfort, that he was obey- 
 ing the dictates of a benevolent heart. 
 
 Apparently he was unpunished for his conduct, and so was 
 Laura ; but the consequences of our sins are not the less certain 
 because they are long delayed, and in the blindness of our reason 
 we cannot discover the connection between causes and effects. 
 If Edward had strenuously resisted this temptation from the first 
 moment when it assailed him, — if he had never given Laura 
 reason to suppose that he would yield to her wishes, even against 
 his own knowledge of right, the breach between himself and 
 Edith, the source of so much unhappiness, and such future trials, 
 might never have taken place ; his moral principle would have 
 been strengthened, and his conscience have become more sensi- 
 tive to the approach of evil in any other shape. But his resistance 
 had been only in words. Immediately after cautioning Laura 
 against wishes, he had acted against his own convictions, and so 
 he had continued ; not, as in other instances, from impulse and 
 weakness, but wilfully ; and the injury to his moral character 
 could only be estimated by future trials. It is a fearful mistake 
 to believe, that because our wishes are not accomplished they 
 can do no harm. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ' T S Edward at home, Laura?' asked Edith, as she walked into 
 J- the drawing-room at Allingham, one morning soon after 
 breakfast. 
 
 1 At home ? Yes, he is, but he is engaged : do you want to 
 see him particularly?' 
 
 ' He told me to let him know wnen anything was settled about 
 a girl to wait upon old Martha ; and Mr Dacre has been pro- 
 posing a niece of his housekeeper's. He is coming here himself 
 presently ; I left him in the road talking to General Forester.' 
 
 ' I don't think Edward can attend to you very well, just now,
 
 GERTRUDE. 117 
 
 said Laura. ' He is busy making a plan for taking in the con- 
 servatory.' 
 
 Edith appeared distressed, though not surprised. She seldom 
 came to Allingham without finding some alterations either pro- 
 posed or commenced ; and before she could reply, Edward entered 
 the room. 
 
 ' Will this do, Laura ? ' he said, after he had spoken a few 
 words to his sister ; ' it looks pretty well on paper, I think.' 
 
 ' Oh ! beautiful,' exclaimed Laura ; ' and you will begin about 
 it at once.' 
 
 ' I don't know as to that ; one must consider expense a little.' 
 
 1 For such a trifle ? why, it will not cost fifty pounds.' 
 
 ' Nearer a hundred.' 
 
 1 Or two,' said Edith, gravely ; the next minute repenting of 
 having interfered. — ' Can you attend to me, Edward ? ' 
 
 1 Wait one minute. You see, Laura, it will be very well if we 
 can manage about the wall ; but it won't do to endanger any 
 other part of the house ; so I should like to have a mason's 
 opinion.' 
 
 There was a ring at the bell, and Mr Dacre was announced. 
 Edward was going to put his drawing aside, but Laura took it. 
 
 ' I must have Mr Dacre's opinion,' she said, as she advanced 
 to shake hands. ' Won't this be an immense improvement to 
 our room ? We are thinking of opening it into the conserva- 
 tory.' 
 
 ' Extremely pretty, indeed,' said Mr Dacre ; ' not quite equal 
 to this though ;' and he pointed to a splendid design for Torring- 
 ton Church, which lay on the table. 
 
 1 Oh, that ! ' replied Edward, hesitatingly — ' it is only a plan : 
 to realise it would require thousands ; therefore it can be but a 
 matter of amusement.' 
 
 ' Even in that way it must be a great pleasure,' said Mr Dacre ; 
 'but I doubt if it would be quite satisfactory.' 
 
 'Why not?' 
 
 ' Merely because it is an amusement and unreal.' 
 
 ' I don't see how it can be otherwise, when it is so much be- 
 yond my means.' 
 
 ' The thing one feels in these cases,' said Mr Dacre, ' is a dis- 
 trust of one's self ; at least, I know I used to have it as a young 
 man.' 
 
 ' Were you given to day-dreams then ? ' said Edward. 
 
 ' Yes, constantly ; and I can remember now the pleasure of
 
 TiS GERTRUDE 
 
 putting by the first five pounds towards the fifteen hundred which 
 I once wanted.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Mr Dacre,' exclaimed Laura, laughing ; ' I see you are 
 an enemy in disguise. If I let Edward talk to you much longer, 
 I may say good-bye to the conservatory.' 
 
 ' It is more a case of feeling than anything else,' said Edward, 
 ' I should not suppose myself at all nearer my object because I 
 had advanced a snail's step towards it.' 
 
 'Very likely,' replied Mr Dacre, in an indifferent tone; 'but 
 sometimes one is glad of an earnest of one's own sincerity ;' and 
 turning from the subject, he began talking about old Martha. A 
 few arrangements were to be made for the girl who was to live 
 with her ; and Edward entered into the most minute details, 
 though Mr Dacre seemed to think it more a lady's province, and 
 proposed that it should be left to Edith to settle. He did not 
 know that Edward's present consideration was a salve to his con- 
 science. Edith listened, but finding that she was not of much use, 
 soon proposed going ; and was just wishing Laura good-bye, 
 when Mr Dacre stopped her. There was something pointed in 
 the way in which he asked her to wait, and allow him to walk 
 home with her ; and she fancied, as she had done once or twice 
 before in the course of the conversation, that he looked restless 
 and disturbed, which for him was very unusual, and after a little 
 more conversation he took his leave. Whatever his motive 
 might have been for desiring Edith's society, he did not seem 
 inclined to take advantage of it ; and neither of them spoke 
 till they had walked some little way. Edith was meditating 
 upon the conversation, and at length uttering her thoughts 
 aloud, said, — 
 
 ' I can scarcely imagine my brother understood all you implied 
 just now.' 
 
 ' Perhaps I did not express myself clearly. It is such an awk- 
 ward thing to give opinions which appear like advice.' 
 
 ' You seemed afraid to press yours at least,' said Edith ; 'but 
 I am sure they were right.' 
 
 ' So I am, as a general rule ; but one does so much harm by 
 being dogmatical, especially when it is not one's business. And 
 after all, your brother may not have the same reasons to fear 
 being visionary that I had when I was at his age.' 
 
 ' That is not likely,' said Edith ; ' no day-dreams can surpass 
 his, I am sure ; and he has no one to warn him against them.' 
 
 Mr Dacre thought for a few moments, and then said, rather
 
 GERTRUDE. 119 
 
 abruptly, ' Do you remember our conversation the first day we 
 met in the Park, last autumn ? ' 
 
 'Yes,' replied Edith : 'it interested me too much to be* easily 
 forgotten.' 
 
 'We spoke of influence, I think,' continued Mr Dacre ; 'it is 
 a subject often in my mind.' 
 
 ' I have no influence with Edward,' said Edith, ' if that is 
 what you would imply. Do you think I have ? ' 
 
 'If I answer your question,' he replied, ' I am afraid I shall 
 be forced to obtrude some more opinions.' 
 
 ' Not obtrude,' replied Edith, ' if you mean they would not be 
 acceptable.' 
 
 ' Will you then give me an old man's privilege, and forgive 
 mc if I say that you ought to have an influence, though it is not 
 always evident that you have ? ' 
 
 ' It never can be,' said Edith. ' Who could rival Laura ?' 
 
 ' Who would wish it ? But I was wrong in saying that you 
 had no influence, since no human being is without it. The diffi- 
 culty is, to make the best use of it.' 
 
 ' Mine is so slight now,' said Edith, 'it can be of no importance.* 
 
 ' You hold a common opinion,' said Mr Dacre ; ' but have you 
 ever considered what we should feel if we were suddenly made 
 to see the effect of every careless word and action ? I think we 
 should scarcely say then that we had no influence.' 
 
 ' It is a frightful thought,' said Edith. ' I don't think I could 
 always bear it.' 
 
 ' No,' replied Mr Dacre ; ' our eyes are blinded in mercy ; but 
 it is well sometimes to realise the truth, though only for an in- 
 stant. All that we have once said or done may fade from the 
 memory, but it does not therefore die.' 
 
 A bitter recollection flashed upon Edith's mind, and she felt as 
 if it would be impossible to speak. 
 
 ' You must forgive me,' continued Mr Dacre ; ' I was accus- 
 tomed to talk upon these subjects once with my own child, and 
 the habit is renewed unconsciously.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' exclaimed Edith, ' if you would only look upon me in 
 the same light, and tell me all you think I ought to do, I might 
 be saved from many trials. I do wish, — yes, most earnestly wish 
 to do right.' 
 
 ' No one who is acquainted with you could for a moment doubt 
 it,' said Mr Dacre, in a tone of deep interest. ' Unfortunately, I 
 am so circumstanced as to deal only in generalities, and they are
 
 120 GERTRUDE. 
 
 most frequently useless. I cannot tell you how you may influ- 
 ence your brother, but I know that a great power has been 
 placed in your hands, as it has been in the hands of every 
 human being, and that we shall have to render a most strict 
 account for it ; and I own I am very anxious to impress this 
 truth upon you.' 
 
 ' And why ? ' asked Edith. 
 
 Mr Dacre paused. ' Are you satisfied,' he said, ' that your 
 "brother's life is likely to be a happy one ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Edith, hastily, surprised at the question ; 
 ' do you ask me because you are afraid for him ? ' 
 
 ' If I were a member of your family ' began Mr Dacre. 
 
 'But why should you not consider yourself such?' said Edith; 
 ' I am sure we are not common friends.' 
 
 ' No, I hope not. But I may be mistaken ; and many persons 
 would think me ridiculous in fancying that your brother is not 
 quite alive to the expenses of his splendid establishment.' 
 
 Edith was silent from astonishment ; the remark implied a 
 knowledge of Edward's affairs which she could not account for. 
 
 ' Pray don't think me impertinent,' continued Mr Dacre ; 
 ' indeed I have reasons for what I say.' 
 
 ' I should scarcely have imagined,' replied Edith, ' that 
 Edward's style of living would be thought beyond what six 
 thousand a year permits.' 
 
 Mr Dacre felt puzzled. He had ventured as far as he dared, 
 and began to think that, after all, his conjectures must be wrong, 
 and that Edith knew no more of her brother's affairs than the 
 rest of the world. 
 
 ' A clear income of six thousand a year might possibly cover 
 all expenses,' he said, pointedly. 
 
 Edith paused suddenly in her walk. 'A clear income ! ' she 
 repeated, as she anxiously watched the expression of Mr Dacre's 
 face. ' Then, do you know ? — has Edward told' 
 
 ' He has not told me anything, my dear Miss Courtenay ; but 
 our acquaintance did not commence at Allingham. We met 
 once, previously to his marriage, at a lawyer's office in London.' 
 
 ' And it was there you learned all ! ' exclaimed Edith. ' Do 
 
 you know how deeply' 
 
 ' I know but few particulars,' said Mr Dacre, interrupting her ; 
 ' but I certainly understood enough to convince me that the most 
 prudent economy was required, — and to make me feel frightened 
 this morning, when General Forester told me he was going to
 
 GERTRUDE. 121 
 
 propose to your brother to stand for the county at the expected 
 dissolution of Parliament.' 
 
 Poor Edith looked aghast at this announcement. 
 
 ' I don't wish to alarm you,' he said. ' Very probably your 
 brother may not even have the wish to be in Parliament.' 
 
 'But he has, I know!' exclaimed Edith: 'and Laura will 
 urge it ; and Edward is so blinded by his affection for her, he 
 will do anything to please her.' 
 
 'Then, perhaps,' said Mr Dacre, 'she is the most important 
 person to influence. Of course she knows more of Mr Courtenay's 
 affairs than any one.' 
 
 ' I think not,' said Edith, trying to overcome her agitation. 
 ' It may sound strange, but I am nearly certain she is as ignorant 
 as every one else. Edward never told any one but me, and then 
 it was with an implied promise that I was never to mention the 
 subject.' 
 
 ' It is very unfortunate,' said Mr Dacre, thoughtfully ; ' but at 
 all events you can do something, and you are the only person. 
 As to myself, I have taken now a step which many would con- 
 sider an intolerable liberty.' 
 
 ' Their feelings would be very different from mine,' said Edith ; 
 and her sweet smile brought a fond remembrance to Mr Dacre's 
 heart. ' But you don't know Laura. We are so unlike in taste 
 
 and disposition ; and besides' She stopped, remembering 
 
 that there were other causes why her sister-in-law was not likely 
 to be guided by anything she might say. 
 
 ' There must be some points on which you may meet, surely, 
 replied Mr Dacre. 
 
 ' None !' exclaimed Edith, despairingly. 'Edward must take 
 his own course, for I have no power to stop him.' 
 
 ' Yet he is your brother.' 
 
 ' Yes ; but natural ties are slight when circumstances combine 
 to separate them.' 
 
 'Are they indeed slight?' said Mr Dacre, very gravely. 
 ' They are formed by God, and what He has joined together, who 
 may dare to put asunder ?' 
 
 Edith looked bewildered and miserable. ' You talk to me as 
 if all were in my power — as if Edward's safety or ruin depended 
 upon my actions ; and you may be right, — but if I were to dwell 
 upon the thought, I should be incapable of doing anything. 
 Who will venture to walk in darkness, when one false step may 
 do such incalculable mischief?'
 
 122 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' May I answer you in very solemn words ?' replied Mr Dacre 
 ' You must remember where it is said, " Who is among you that 
 feareth the Lord, that obeyeth the voice of His servant, that 
 walketh in darkness, and hath no light ; let him trust in the 
 name of the Lord, and stay upon his God." And is not life all 
 darkness ?' 
 
 'It is so now to me,' said Edith, with less of calmness than 
 usual. 
 
 ' It is so to us all ; but perhaps you may have sometimes 
 watched a lamp let down into one of those deep wells which, 
 centuries ago, were cut out of the solid rock, and seen how, as it 
 went down, it threw a clear light immediately around, though 
 above and below all was dark as before. Did it ever strike you 
 as a type of the principle of faith, which gives us just sufficient 
 comfort for our hour of need, though the past and the future may 
 still remain mysteries ?' 
 
 ' Oh !' exclaimed Edith, ' if I could only have some one with 
 me always, to whom I could talk freely ! but no person can enter 
 into the difficulties of a family, except those who live with them; 
 and if we are doing wrong, we can have no right to trust to the 
 lamp of faith.' 
 
 'And have you really no one to sympathise with you ?' said 
 Mr Dacre. ' You will not think the question a curious one ?' 
 
 'If Gertrude were at home,' said Edith, 'everything would 
 be well. She understands so much better than I do what ought 
 to be done, and she would never give offence.' 
 
 ' I thought you knew but little of her. She is seldom at the 
 Priory, I believe.' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Edith ; ' but her letters, and the interest she 
 takes in everything, make us feel as if she lived amongst us. 
 Perhaps, though, she could not help me now, for she has never 
 been made acquainted with Edward's affairs ; and all my feelings 
 about his marriage were so mixed up with anxiety upon this one 
 subject, that I have scarcely ventured to allude to them, lest I 
 should say something which might seem like a betrayal of his 
 confidence. She thinks me reserved, I know ; and I can never 
 tell her, — I feci I must be left alone.' 
 
 'Yet I must again entreat you to do your utmost,' said Mr 
 Dacre, ' if you should find your brother at all inclined to listen to 
 General Forester. It may be a great temptation, and the con- 
 sequences may be of such infinite importance to him.' 
 
 Edith sighed deeply ; 'I don't think there is any cause to be
 
 GERTRUDE. 123 
 
 afraid really,' she said, 'because the danger is so evident. A 
 man cannot deceive himself about elections ; every one knows 
 they are ruinous, unless there is a large fortune to support them ; 
 but the notion frightened me very much at first.' 
 
 Mr D acre's silence showed that he was less sanguine as to the 
 power of Edward's common sense ; but he had said all that he 
 considered necessary, and he felt that he was not called on to 
 interfere farther. They parted at the gate leading to old 
 Martha's cottage. A tear glistened in Edith's eye, and her voice 
 trembled, as she bade Mr Dacre good-bye. The shadow of a 
 coming sorrow was passing over her mind, and Mr Dacre saw 
 and felt it ;— felt it the more, that he had been himself in some 
 degree its cause. 
 
 ' You will think of me as a friend who longs to be of service to 
 you,' he said, as he warmly pressed her hand ; ' and may I also 
 remind you, that if I am powerless, there is One who can guard 
 you and all you love from harm.' 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 * T ANE, my dear Jane, are you both going out this morning ? 
 J My knitting is so tangled, I shall never put it right again ; ' 
 and Mrs Courtenay's voice was rather more elevated than usual, 
 and not entirely free from querulousness. 
 
 ' Edith will be at home presently,' replied Jane, who was 
 standing in the doorway, prepared for a morning visit, and not 
 at all inclined to delay the gratification of exhibiting the new 
 bonnet and scarf which had arrived from town only the previous 
 evening. 
 
 ' Just look, my dear,' continued her mother : ' here are three 
 stitches let down ; and my eyes are so bad I shall never take 
 them up properly.' 
 
 Jane advanced slowly into the room, and carelessly surveying 
 the work, declared it to be in such a state that it was better to 
 begin it entirely afresh ; and as she knew very little of knitting, 
 it would be foolish to undertake the task herself ; and, besides, 
 they should be late for their visit, if they did not set off at once. 
 ' Don't you agree with me, Charlotte ? ' she exclaimed, as her 
 sister entered.
 
 124 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' Oh ! of course. I don't know at all what you are talking of; 
 only I guess it is something about staying at home.' 
 
 ' It was about my knitting,' said Mrs Courtenay : 'Jane tells 
 me it must be begun again. I wish Gertrude, dear child, had 
 thought upon something easier ; but then she did not know how 
 you were all occupied.' 
 
 ' I suspect Gertrude knows very little of anything that any one 
 else knows/ exclaimed Charlotte ; ' she and Edith will do ad- 
 mirably to go through life together. My dear mamma, I quite 
 agree with Jane, you had much better wait till Edith comes.' 
 
 ' So provoking it is of Edith,' said Jane, pettishly ; ' she is 
 always out of the way. This is the fourth day we have seen 
 nothing of her from breakfast to dinner.' 
 
 ' She is gone to see old Martha to-day, my dear,' said Mrs 
 Courtenay ; 'so you must not complain of her.' 
 
 ' I don't complain,' replied Charlotte ; ' the business would be 
 hopeless if one once began it. All I wish is, that we lived in a 
 mud cottage, and went about without shoes and stockings, and 
 then we might hope to have a little of Edith's attention.' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay raised her eyes from her work, and looked at 
 her daughter in vacant astonishment. ' No shoes and stockings, 
 my dear, — how very dreadful ! Pray don't say so before Ed- 
 ward.' 
 
 ' I would say so before the whole world/ said Charlotte, 
 laughing : ' I don't mean to be hard upon Edith, but I must 
 say she neglects home duties. Come, Jane, we have no time to 
 spare.' 
 
 Jane quickly obeyed the summons ; and Charlotte, having 
 given her opinion upon Edith's faults, went for her walk with a 
 contented conscience. 
 
 For the next quarter of an hour Mrs Courtenay meditated in 
 silence and solitude upon the three delinquent stitches ; and then ; 
 finding the occupation slightly wearisome, walked to the window, 
 sighed and yawned, and at last crept up-stairs, to search in the 
 right-hand corner of her oaken cabinet for a piece of silk to make 
 a bag ; the use of which was not yet decided upon, only bags 
 were always useful. The sound of Edith's voice disturbed her, 
 while yet undecided between the different claims of brown and 
 purple ; and with natural kindness of heart she hastened to in- 
 quire for old Martha. Edith was looking tired, harassed, and 
 ill. She had unexpectedly again met with her brother on her 
 way home, and while Mr Uacre's words yet weighed heavily upon
 
 GERTRUDE. 125 
 
 her mind; and the conversation which had taken place between 
 them, instead of affording any opening for attempting to warn 
 him against his danger, had ;been short and unsatisfactory. 
 Edward's thoughts were full of the splendid drawing-room which 
 was to open upon the conservatory, and he paid but little atten- 
 tion to the few observations made by his sister ; and Edith mused 
 sadly upon the days that were gone by, and upon the barrier 
 which a slight want of consideration, and a few hasty words, had 
 raised between them. She longed to speak as she might once have 
 done, freely and openly — to tell him of her fears— to entreat him 
 to be on his guard : but it seemed impossible. At the period 
 when their confidence was unbroken, the task would have been 
 difficult ; and with their present estrangement, she scarcely dared 
 hope that he would listen to her, even if she had summoned up 
 resolution to introduce the subject. Perhaps, if she had known 
 all the weakness of Edward's heart, she might have been more 
 inclined to excuse herself; but the only remark he made which 
 at all interested her, showed thought and kindness for poor 
 Martha ; and Edith blamed herself more than usual for having 
 ever said anything to vex him. They were together but a few 
 minutes, for Edward pleaded Laura's solitude as an excuse for 
 returning to the Park, and Edith assented directly, and, without 
 any expression of regard beyond a careless shake of the hand, 
 allowed him to depart. And yet, at that moment, she would 
 have given up all that was most valuable upon earth — time, and 
 comfort, and health, and affluence, and scarcely reckoned it a 
 sacrifice— to save him from suffering. 
 
 With so much to depress her, the recollection of the absence 
 of sympathy in her home was more painful than ever, and she 
 felt relieved on hearing that her sisters were gone out ; but Mrs 
 Courtenay met her in the hall, and assailed her with a host ot 
 rapid, unimportant questions, to which, notwithstanding some 
 newly-formed resolutions of respect, Edith found it difficult to 
 reply with temper. There was, however, no escaping from them ; 
 and too weary to bear the exertion of standing, she proposed 
 adjourning to the drawing-room, and was just entering, when the 
 appearance of Miss Forester, stationed by the table, with a book 
 in her hand, caused both herself and her mother to draw back in 
 surprise. 
 
 ' I am afraid I startled you, my dear Mrs Courtenay. The 
 servant went to let you know I was here, and in the meantime I 
 have been amusing myself with some of your enticing books. Is
 
 n6 GERTRUDE. 
 
 this interesting, Miss Courtenay ?' and Miss Forester held out a 
 volume of Jane's usual studies. 
 
 ' Really I don't know, I never read novels. 
 
 ' Indeed ! but I was foolish to ask the question. I confess 
 myself a mere ordinary mortal, so I am not ashamed of doing 
 what every one else does. But you will have very little time for 
 reading for several months to come ; canvassing votes will be a 
 sufficient occupation for all Mr Courtenay's family, since Parlia- 
 ment is to be dissolved immediately.' 
 
 Edith's countenance betrayed her uneasiness. Although pro- 
 fessing in her own mind never to belie-ve more than one-half, at 
 least, of any news brought by Miss Forester, yet this decided 
 assertion made her almost fancy that everything was settled. 
 
 ' I am not surprised at your astonishment,' continued Miss 
 Forester ; ' it has astonished every one ; but there was a long 
 debate the night before last — ministers were beaten, and the 
 consequence is a resignation, and, of course, a dissolution ; so 
 now I must congratulate you. My father says Mr Courtenay is 
 certain of success.' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay was breathless from astonishment. Her eyes 
 opened to their fullest extent, and, unable to speak, she turned to 
 Edith for an explanation. 
 
 ' This is the first intelligence my mother has received,' said 
 Edith, recovering herself completely, and speaking in the calm, 
 dignified tone with which she generally succeeded in checking 
 Miss Forester's friendly impertinence ; ' I heard the report of the 
 dissolution from Mr Dacre just now.' 
 
 Miss Forester looked angry, as she always did when Edith 
 mentioned her uncle's name. ' Indeed ! I should have imagined 
 him less communicative. The news has only just arrived. It 
 was brought privately to my father, and he set off for Allingham 
 instantly.' 
 
 ' Then the congratulations are rather premature.' 
 
 ' Oh no ! there is not the slightest doubt of Mr Courtenay's 
 being returned. The feeling of the whole county is in his favour. 
 My father questions even whether Mr Vivian will oppose him.' 
 
 'But you seem to have forgotten the principal point,' said 
 Edith ; ' my brother must first consent to stand.' 
 
 ' You do not mean to say he would refuse ? But, no, I see 
 you are only joking; no one could hesitate with such a prospect 
 before him.' 
 
 ' What is it, my dear ? ' said Mrs Courtenay, laying her hand
 
 GERTRUDE. 127 
 
 on Edith's arm. 'My dear Miss Forester, what is it? what are 
 they going to do with Edward ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing, I hope,' said Edith. 
 
 1 Make him a member of Parliament,' replied Miss Forester. 
 
 'Well! yes, certainly,' said Mrs Courtenay ; 'that will be 
 quite right. The Allingham family always were members till 
 the poor Colonel died ; and then, you know, the little boy was 
 too young.' 
 
 'There is very little use in thinking upon the subject,' said 
 Edith, coldly, ' where the only foundation for the idea is re- 
 port.' 
 
 ' There I shall beg to differ from you. All that I say comes 
 from the very highest authority ; — and here are your sisters : I 
 must see if they are equally unbelieving.' 
 
 ' Unbelieving about what ? ' exclaimed Charlotte, as she 
 shook hands; 'my creed is unbelief; so I can give you but 
 little hope.' 
 
 ' I merely wish you to believe in the fact, that Parliament is 
 about to be dissolved immediately, and that, as a necessary con- 
 sequence, your brother will be member for the county in the room 
 of Mr Vivian.' 
 
 'The first proposition admits of no doubt, since you are the 
 
 person to vouch for it ; the second ■ what do you say, 
 
 Edith?' 
 
 ' Your sister denies the possibility entirely,' said Miss Forester, 
 'though she has not informed me upon what grounds. But you 
 do not seem at all surprised : had you heard the news before ?' 
 
 ' A rumour as to the resignation of ministers reached us when 
 we were paying our last visit, but I did not give any particular 
 attention to it : nothing was said about Edward.' 
 
 ' But don't you agree with me ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly, as to the fact that he will stand : it is just the 
 foolish thing he would do. Success is another question.' 
 
 ' Why should you say he will do it, if it is foolish, Charlotte ?' 
 said Edith, still unable to endure patiently any implication upon 
 Edward's stability of character. 
 
 ' Your sister is as strong a champion for her brother as ever, I 
 see,' observed Miss Forester to Charlotte, with a soft bitterness 
 of voice, peculiarly her own. ' I should have supposed that six 
 months of matrimony — eight months, indeed — Mr Courtenay, I 
 believe, was married in October — might have had some effect 
 upon her zeal.'
 
 128 GERTRUDE. 
 
 Edith took no notice of the observation, though her heightened 
 colour showed that it was understood. 
 
 ' Our curiosity will soon be set at rest,' said Jane. ' If Edward 
 has resolved upon standing, he will give us the earliest intelli- 
 gence.' 
 
 ' Or rather Laura will,' said Charlotte. ' In fact, my own 
 opinion is, that if we wish to know Edward's determination, the 
 most certain mode will be to ascertain hers.' 
 
 'Are you not a little severe ? ' said Miss Forester. 
 
 ' Why should you think so ? Laura merely exercises a wife's 
 rightful influence.' 
 
 ' All married women rule,' said Jane; 'only some have more 
 tact than others in hiding it. A perfect stranger could discover 
 it at Allingham.' 
 
 Edith longed to change the conversation, feeling that such a 
 discussion of family affairs before a common acquaintance was 
 not merely a breach of good taste, but implied a degree of 
 intimacy which she was not at all inclined to acknowledge. As 
 usual, however, her suggestion was of no avail, from the awk- 
 ward manner in which it was made. 
 
 ' There is nothing to be gained by knowing who rules, or 
 who does not rule,' she said, shortly. ' Edward's affairs are his 
 own, and he must be the best judge as to what most conduces to 
 his happiness.' 
 
 ' Can I do or say anything for any one at Allingham ? ' said 
 Miss Forester. ' My time is precious, and I must go and con- 
 gratulate Mrs Courtenay upon her husband's prospects.' 
 
 ' And urge her not to allow him to neglect them/ said Char- 
 lotte. 
 
 ' Yes, certainly, I shall make a point of doing it. As a matter 
 of duty to my father, to further his wishes, I shall state all the 
 advantages he foresees. Not that there can be any need of my 
 arguments : Mr Courtenay is too sensible a person to resist the 
 entreaties of his best friends ;' and Miss Forester, aware, from 
 Edith's manner, that she disliked the idea of Edward's being in 
 Parliament, trusted that she had inflicted some little pain. 
 
 ' Well ! ' exclaimed Charlotte, ' I can only repeat what I said 
 before — whoever wins Laura, wins Edward.' 
 
 'Then I am certain of success. Mrs Courtenay and I have 
 often talked together upon the subject, and I know her wishes 
 perfectly.' 
 
 Edith sighed, and so deeply as to attract general observation.-
 
 GERTRUDE. 129 
 
 ' Your sister seems to take a very gloomy view of the subject,' 
 continued Miss Forester. ' I am afraid her influence will be 
 exerted in the opposite scale to mine, so I had better take the 
 field at once. There is generally great wisdom in being before- 
 hand. Good morning to you. I will call on my return to let 
 you know Mrs Courtcnay's feelings.' 
 
 Even Jane was roused by this freedom, and observed sharply, 
 that ' it would be an unnecessary trouble, for they should 
 probably have heard everything long before ; but Edith, 
 conscious of the power which Miss Forester exercised over 
 Laura's mind, and with a vivid remembrance of Mr Dacre's 
 warnings, sprang forward to stop her as she was about to leave 
 the room. 
 
 ' Pray, pray,' she began, and then paused. 
 
 Miss Forester gazed upon her with the same unpleasant smile 
 she usually wore. 
 
 ' Let me beg' Edith again commenced, and Miss Forever 
 
 was still silent. 
 
 'Don't keep your friend in the draught, my dear,' said Mrs 
 Courtenay : ' no one can stand it. My last cold was caught in 
 that way.' 
 
 ' What is the meaning of this nonsense?' exclaimed Charlotte. 
 ' Really, Edith, you are too ridiculous. 
 
 'lam in no hurry,' said Miss Forester, keeping her sharp 
 bright eyes fixed upon Edith, whose embarrassment was every 
 moment increasing. 
 
 Will you — will you ask Mr Dacre's opinion before you 
 
 
 urge 
 
 For the third time the sentence remained unfinished. Edith 
 felt that she could give no explanation of the request. Miss 
 Forester's indignation, however, was sufficiently excited. 
 
 ' There can be no occasion to apply to my uncle to learn his 
 opinions upon any subject,' she exclaimed, in a tone of proud 
 anger, very unlike her usual affected suavity. ' Your opinions, 
 it is well known, are his ; where so much is to be gained by- 
 agreement you would not venture to differ.' 
 
 ' I do not understand you,' said Edith, restored to self-pos- 
 session by the sight of Miss Forester's irritation. ' All that I 
 meant to say was, that Mr Dacre has had great experience, and 
 I am certain has my brother's interest at heart, and I think he 
 would say that it is unwise for any person to attempt to influence 
 Edward's decision.' 
 
 1
 
 130 GERTRUDE. 
 
 'You are behaving in a most extraordinary manner, Edith,' 
 said Charlotte. ' You seize upon Miss Forester, and begin 
 speaking vehemently, and look most mysterious ; and when the 
 explanation comes, it is merely that you think one person will 
 consider it unwise for another person to try to influence Edward. 
 If you are so uneasy lest he should be induced to stand 
 (though why you should be no one can imagine), you had better 
 go and advise him. A sister's opinion will surely be listened to.' 
 
 Edith scarcely waited for the concluding words before she had 
 left the room, overcome by a painful sense of her own want of 
 self-command and presence of mind, and keenly sensible of the 
 ridicule she had incurred. Yet, as she ran up-stairs, she could 
 not avoid hearing Miss Forester's words, spoken expressly in a 
 loud tone : 
 
 ' I may tell Mrs Courtenay, then, that you are rejoicing in the 
 idea?' 
 
 Charlotte's reply was not clear, but Miss Forester's laugh 
 was ; and, as the climax of consolation, she departed with the 
 assurance that, even if Mrs Courtenay disapproved, there were 
 arguments to be brought forward which must be all-powerful 
 with her husband. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AN unusual excitement prevailed at Allingham on that day, 
 not from the number of visitors, or the preparations for an 
 entertainment, or the tumult of unexpected grief or joy, but simply 
 from the great, almost magical effect of a few mysterious looks 
 and words. General Forester called, and was told that Mr 
 Courtenay was gone out. ' It was a most unfortunate event. 
 Which way was he gone ? How long was he likely to be 
 absent ? Had he said anything about his return ? No mes- 
 sage could be left, for a personal interview was absolutely 
 necessary ; ' and the obsequious footman suggesting the privacy 
 and convenience of the library, the General, after ascertaining 
 that Laura was not in the house, remained, as he thought, 
 unobserved for the next quarter of an hour, whilst the unem- 
 ployed domestics, making various excursions in front of the 
 window, watched him carefully perusing papers and writing
 
 GERTRUDE. 131 
 
 notes, and went back to their companions to conjecture and 
 decide upon what was going to happen. Then came their 
 master's return ; and a long conversation in the library with care- 
 fully-closed doors, through which, however, General Forester's 
 pompous tones were occasionally caught, as he spoke of patriot- 
 ism, and- self-sacrifice, and family influence, and the necessity for 
 exertion in such troubled times. Mr Courtenay*s answers were 
 at first low and short, indicating firm decision ; but the General 
 was not easily to be repelled, and longer explanations, and 
 greater energy, were soon brought into play. Still the exact 
 purport of the interview was unknown ; but a practised listener 
 would have detected a certain softening of the pleader's voice, 
 and an earnest deprecatory emphasis in the defendant's replies, 
 which showed that the latter had begun to place more reliance 
 upon the sound than upon the strength of his arguments. After 
 two hours spent in this manner, the General took his leave, with 
 a pleased, satisfied smile upon his lips, and an expression of 
 conscious importance in his demeanour. Edward, on the con- 
 trary, was moody and restless. He inquired for his wife, and 
 finding that she was not returned, paced the colonnade rapidly 
 and steadily for a considerable time, and then suddenly walked 
 away in the direction of Mr Dacre's cottage — and here the curi- 
 osity of the Allingham establishment was baffled ; but neither, 
 if it had been possible to gain an insight into Edward's mind, 
 would it have been easy to discover the motives of his actions. 
 He had, in fact, no determinate motive. General Forester's 
 proposition, when first made, had been declined, gratefully, but 
 decidedly ; then gratefully but thoughtfully ; and at last grate- 
 fully and waveringly ; and now, with an agitated, excited mind, 
 Edward was about to apply to a human counsellor, disinterested 
 indeed and high-principled, but still only human ; because he 
 could not brave alone the struggle between duty and inclination, 
 and dared not, in the secrecy of his own chamber, ask for that 
 guidance from God which he was conscious of being but little 
 inclined to follow. And in this, as in many other instances, 
 Edward acted so as completely to deceive himself. He acknow- 
 ledged the all-sufficient obstacles in the path of his ambition ; 
 he believed he saw them in their strongest light ; and he felt 
 that, in applying to Mr Dacre, he was consulting a person who 
 would not for an instant allow his judgment to be blinded by 
 sophistry ; but he did not see that, until these obstacles were 
 removed, the opinion of a third person could not be required ; and
 
 1 32 GERTRUDE. 
 
 that, in submitting the case to human judgment, he was, in fact, 
 leaving himself free to decide according to his own will. A self- 
 chosen authority may be self-deposed, and can never be ot any 
 avail, except in cases where the question of right and wrong is 
 so nicely balanced as to be difficult of adjustment, or when wc 
 entirely distrust ourselves, and arc willing to submit implicitly 
 to another, whether for or against our inclinations. Edward's 
 state of mind was the very reverse of this. Even in ordinary 
 cases he piqued himself upon abiding by his own decision, 
 unconscious that weakness of resolution was his prevailing 
 defect ; and when shown into Mr Dacre's study, he entered far 
 more like a person who has performed a noble action, and is in 
 expectation of well-merited praise, than one who is desirous of 
 advice under trying circumstances. 
 
 ' You are come, I suppose,' said Mr Dacre, 'to tell me some- 
 thing more about your old nurse and my little firotigee ; I am 
 sorry you should have so much trouble.' 
 
 ' That was all settled this morning with my sister," replied 
 Edward; 'my business now is rather more important. You 
 must have heard the news before this.' 
 
 'The resignation of ministers?' said Mr Dacre. 
 
 ' Yes, and the consequent dissolution. The papers have not 
 yet publicly confirmed the report, but General Forester has had 
 private information, which puts it beyond doubt.' 
 
 'And are you come so early to canvass for Mr Vivian?' said 
 Mr Dacre, with a considerable misgiving as to the answer he 
 should receive. 
 
 'No, no,' exclaimed Edward, eagerly. 'You forget that wc 
 differ entirely.' 
 
 ' Then for his intended opponent ?' 
 
 ' Wrong again ; — but I am not come to canvass at all,— merely 
 to ask advice.' 
 
 Mr Dacre's countenance resumed its usual expression of grave 
 interest. 
 
 ' That is to say,' continued Edward, 'not advice exactly; but 
 I should be glad to know whether our opinions agree. What— 
 what should you think if I were to stand myself?' 
 
 The very tone of his voice was an index to his wavering 
 mind, and Mr Dacre's ordinary self-possession was rather 
 shaken. 
 
 'The suggestion is startling to you, I see,' added Edward, who, 
 though not in general vain, felt slightly annoyed at perceiving
 
 GERTRUDE. i;i 
 
 that his friend did not consider him the fittest of all persons to 
 represent the county. 
 
 ' It is natural to be surprised when such a notion is started for 
 the first time,' said Mr Dacre ; 'but you surely cannot be 
 anxious for my advice on this point ; you must know so much 
 better than I do the reasons for or against it.' 
 
 'As in most cases, there is much to be said on both sides,' 
 replied Edward. ' General Forester has been with me nearly 
 two hours this morning, setting forth in the strongest manner 
 the reasons which should induce me to come forward.' 
 
 ' The General is a party man,' observed Mr Dacre. 
 
 ' So' he may be, but our principles entirely agree. He said 
 many things which were very striking ; — and certainly these are 
 times when to be in Parliament is to obtain a vast influence.' 
 
 ' Fearfully vast,' said Mr Dacre. 
 
 'Rut you would not on that account shrink from it, I suppose ?' 
 
 ' Not when a clear path of duty is pointed out ; but the diffi- 
 culty in these cases is to decide whether it is our path or some 
 other person's which we fancy ourselves called upon to enter.' 
 
 Edward was provoked at finding that his adviser's decision 
 was likely to be in favour of his conscience against his inclina- 
 tion ; and a little reflection at this instant might have convinced 
 him that his Judgment was not so irrevocably settled as he had 
 imagined. 
 
 'Then you think,' he said, endeavouring to conceal his pique, 
 ' that the path of a member of Parliament is not mine ?' 
 
 ' Before I answer,' replied Mr Dacre, •' I must ask you to ex- 
 plain your meaning rather more clearly. Do you wish to know 
 whether I think you fitted for the office, or merely whether it 
 appears prudent in you to stand for it ?' 
 
 ' Both — both : I include everything,' said Edward, hastily. 
 
 Mr Dacre was considerably embarrassed. If Edward had 
 openly stated his difficulties, and then appealed to his judgment, 
 the case would have been easily decided ; but now it was impos- 
 sible to speak conscientiously, without alluding to those pecuniary 
 affairs which seemed, by a tacit agreement, to have been hitherto 
 forgotten by both. 'The question of personal fitness,' he said, at 
 length, 'must be left to every man's conscience. I should con- 
 sider any person with a clear judgment, and strict, unbending 
 principles of duty, justified in obtaining, if possible, a seat in 
 Parliament, provided that his situation in life offered him the 
 means.'
 
 134 GERTRUDE. 
 
 'Yes, — certainly, — yes,' — said Edward, hesitatingly ; 'but, in 
 fact, General Forester assures me that the expenses of the elec- 
 tion shall cost me nothing. The gentlemen of the county, he is 
 certain, will guarantee them.' 
 
 ' I would not distrust the gentlemen of this or any other 
 county,' replied Mr Dacre ; 'but experience is against the fact 
 of any man's obtaining a seat in Parliament without expenses. 
 And then the consequences, a frequent residence in town, ar.d 
 the perpetual claims, and the exertions to maintain popularity.' 
 
 'Ah! but I should make no exertions,' exclaimed Edward. 
 ' No person can be less inclined than myself to pay court to that 
 " many-headed monster-thing," the people.' 
 
 'So much the worse,' continued Mr Dacre, 'as far as your 
 expenses are concerned. You may pay court to the little farmer 
 and the petty tradesman with tobacco and small beer, but your 
 supporters in the higher ranks will require ices and champagne.' 
 
 ' No, no !' exclaimed Edward, impatiently, 'you do not under- 
 stand my ideas. If I went into Parliament, it would be on a 
 totally different footing. I could never lower myself by trying 
 to conciliate any one ; it would not be worth while. The seat 
 itself is a mere nothing to me ; it could neither add to nor dimi- 
 nish from my happiness, yet it might open a wide field of useful- 
 ness, and this is the only thing which makes me hesitate, — 
 although,' he added, in a less determined manner, ' I have de- 
 clined General Forester's proposals for the present ; that is, I 
 have told him he must not depend upon me.' 
 
 Mr Dacre seemed disinclined to speak, and Edward continued 
 in a loud, eager tone : — 'It is a most alarming responsibility, 
 certainly, to take upon one's self — but something must be done. If 
 men of property, and educated in good principles, do not sacri- 
 fice themselves, the country will infallibly be ruined. Just look 
 at the manufacturing districts — the abject misery of the poor, 
 and the enormous fortunes of the rich ; — look at the statistics of 
 crime — at the rapidly increasing population, and the misery 
 occasioned by the New Poor Law ; and then turn to the colonies 
 — see the mass of vice which is daily accumulating in our con- 
 vict settlement?, with scarcely a hope of improvement, and almost 
 destitute of a church ; and then consider for one instant the 
 condition of that Church in England. — deprived of all power by 
 the state, forbidden to assemble in convocation, and illegally 
 robbed of the means of providing for her children. The Church ! ' 
 — and Edward became still more excited and enthusiastic —
 
 RTRUDE. 135 
 
 'yes, if it were for the Church alone, I should long to be a 
 member of Parliament.' 
 
 'It is an awful, a most awful picture,' said Mr Dacrc, in a 
 tone of solemnity which contrasted forcibly with Edward's 
 energy; and then, resting his forehead upon the mantelpiece, 
 he appeared for some minutes buried in thought. • Yet,' he con- 
 tinued, rousing himself from his reverie, ' unless we are clearly 
 pointed out by Providence as the instruments of so great a work 
 as the salvation of our country, I think we ought to consider 
 seriously before we undertake it.' 
 
 'Then who will dare to attempt it?' replied Edward. 'No 
 one can look into his own heart, and say that he is qualified to 
 judge correctly upon the least of those subjects upon which men 
 are perpetually required to legislate.' 
 
 ' It is not an inward, but an outward call which I should deem 
 necessary,' said Mr Dacre ; 'not merely a man's talent and 
 principle, but the being provided with the means of exercising 
 them.' 
 
 'Money!' exclaimed Edward, with a slight, a very slight, 
 accent of sarcasm. 
 
 'Yes, money: ^ou have expressed precisely what was in my 
 mind.' 
 
 ' But surely — surely,' continued Edward, ' you cannot see any 
 connection between the possession of money and the making just 
 laws.' 
 
 'There is no necessary connection, I own; but if a father, 
 perfect in wisdom and goodness, were to place his child in sight 
 of a battle, and, after enjoining upon him strict obedience to 
 whatever line of conduct he might point out, were to fetter his 
 hands and chain his feet, I think we should say that the duty of 
 that child was patience and submission rather than active exer- 
 tion.' 
 
 ' It is an imaginary case,' said Edward, ' and it cannot be mine. 
 If I were to stand, General Forester assures me I should be 
 brought in free of all expenses. I am not blind enough to take 
 such a phrase literally, but it must mean something.' 
 
 ' Even then I confess I should have considerable scruples,' said 
 Mr Dacre. 
 
 ' Why, why ? ' asked Edward, impatiently. 
 
 ' Because it would be engaging in a most important business 
 without the authority to control it. Every one knows the mis- 
 chiefs of an election,— the drunkenness, and falsehood, and deceit
 
 i 3 6 GERTRUDE. 
 
 — I will not say bribery and perjury — which are almost always 
 its attendants.' 
 
 'But you cannot imagine I should allow such things,' exclaimed 
 Edward, looking extremely hurt : ' then indeed you have mis- 
 taken me.' 
 
 'No, believe me ; I am certain you would not ; and it is for 
 this very reason I am convinced that after consideration you could 
 not allow yourself to be brought forward by others, instead of 
 standing independently. If they undertake your expenses, they 
 must manage your affairs. You will be a mere tool in their hands. 
 Whatever they may do will have the sanction of your name, and 
 yet you will not be able to raise a finger against it. Can you 
 trust yourself to this?' 
 
 There was a silence of several minutes, whilst Edward com- 
 muned with his own thoughts. ' You are right,' he said, at length, 
 turning to Mr Dacre ; ' I sec it now even more clearly than be- 
 fore. It must not be ; and yet, do not consider it merely the vanity 
 of a young man : I think I should have done my duty.' 
 
 ' I am sure, quite sure, that no man would ever have entered 
 upon the office with a more firm intention of doing it ; but I think 
 you will agree with me, that when we place ourselves in any 
 position which it is not clearly the intention of Providence we 
 should occupy, we have great reason to doubt whether our best 
 intentions may not fail. All situations of importance are situations 
 of temptation likewise.' 
 
 'If we could shut our eyes to the miseries of the country,' re- 
 plied Edward, ' it would be easy to submit to a life of seclusion 
 and inactivity ; but it is impossible to look at what England is, 
 and what she might be, and not long to exert oneself.' 
 
 'And are you sure that there may not be exertions for good 
 made in private, as powerful as any which a public man may 
 exercise— the influence of daily example, for instance; meekness, 
 and purity, and charity? If it is the will of God that England 
 should be saved, is it not possible that the end may be attained 
 by the constant prayers and efforts of good men whose names 
 may never be heard beyond their own narrow circle ?' 
 
 ' But to feel that we have a power, and to be forbidden to use 
 it,' said Edward, 'that is the trial. To see other people acting 
 on false, low principles, and know that our own education has been 
 different, and therefore to hope that we should act from higher 
 motives, and still to be patient !' 
 
 ' The highest of all principles,' replied Mr Dacre, ' is surely
 
 GERTRUDE. 137 
 
 obedience. If we arc deficient in this, — if we have a wish to 
 escape from it,— we cannot answer for any other.' 
 
 ' I scarcely sec the case in as strong a light as you do,' an- 
 swered Edward ; ' but I suppose it is right to distrust oneself.' 
 
 ' It is safest, at least,' replied Mr Dacrc. 
 
 ' Then it is decided,' said Edward ; ' that is to say, your opinion 
 is merely a confirmation of my own ; but I am glad to have 
 had it. 
 
 This speech, so evidently a salve to Edward's wounded pride, 
 would have been amusing to almost any person except Mr Dacre ; 
 but although, with his peculiarly clear insight into human nature, 
 he detected instantly the feeling from which it arose, it only gave 
 him a sense of insecurity and doubt as to Edward's ultimate con- 
 duct ; and with this he could not be amused. Yet there were 
 many kind words at parting ; many expressions of gratitude and 
 regard ; and a stranger would have supposed that Mr Courtenay's 
 decision was immovably settled ; but Mr Dacre thought otherwise. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WHEN Miss Forester left the Priory, it was with the inten- 
 tion, as she had said, of calling at Allingham ; but the 
 sight of Mrs Courtenay's low phaeton and gray ponies, in the 
 road leading to Elsham, proved that her visit would be useless ; 
 and not being able to satisfy her curiosity in the way she de- 
 sired, her next step was to return home as quickly as possible, 
 to obtain from her father all the further information he was able 
 and willing to give. And as she walked, visions — bright, tempt- 
 ing visions — dreams of luxury and magnificence — of elegant 
 dinners, and fashionable society — balls and soirees — Almacks 
 and Buckingham Palace — filled Miss Forester's head ; and the 
 stepping-stone to this grandeur was Edward Courtenay's scat in 
 Parliament. Let this point once be gained, and everything else 
 was easy. As his wife's intimate friend, but little management 
 would be required to enable her to share her pleasures ; and 
 Miss Forester, notwithstanding the five and thirty years which 
 had passed over her head, dwelt upon the idea with the false 
 excitement of a girl of eighteen. Laura, in the meantime, drove 
 into Elsham ; paid her visits in proper form ; inquired after the
 
 138 GERTRUDE. 
 
 health of the various households ; discussed the weather, and 
 praised the children ; and then, that she might return home 
 with a conscience completely at ease, turned her ponies' heads 
 in the direction of the Priory. It was a duty-visit, such as she 
 now was in the habit of making at regular intervals, and which 
 was becoming daily more and more irksome. It was not merely 
 that Mrs Courtenay was weak-minded, and her sisters-in-law 
 either thoughtless and satirical, or cold and uncongenial ; but 
 there was something in the family circle, scarcely to be told in 
 words, but jarring even upon the least susceptible nerves, which 
 to Laura was peculiarly distressing. Almost every sentence, 
 and gesture, and action, betrayed the absence of harmony ; and 
 as Laura became, by observation, more alive to the distinctive 
 traits of character, she naturally felt more painfully the little 
 intonations of voice, and trifling marks of selfishness, which by 
 an ordinary acquaintance would probably have been unheeded. 
 And then she thought of Edith's sense, and decision, and' energy, 
 and self-denial ; of her kindness to the poor ; her affection for 
 Edward, blended with her forgetfulness of her home and the 
 unkind words and great neglect of herself; and the problem 
 became too difficult for Laura to solve ; only she felt that, if 
 Edith were good, goodness was disagreeable. 
 
 Jane and Charlotte, with their mother, were still in the draw- 
 ing-room when Laura entered, and, imagining that she was come 
 to inform them of the expected event, addressed her with ques- 
 tions and congratulations, so rapidly as to give her no time to 
 inquire their meaning. 
 
 1 Just think, my dear,' began Mrs Courtenay, ' what a change ! 
 and you will be in London so much ; and poor Edward is not at 
 alb strong; we never thought he would live when he was two 
 months old.' 
 
 ' Rather jumping to conclusions, without giving the premises, 
 mamma,' said Charlotte, observing her sister-in-law's bewildered 
 expression ; ' but really, Laura, we do want to know what Ed- 
 ward says to this business.' 
 
 ' Yes, my dear,' interrupted Mrs Courtenay ; ' sit down here, 
 and tell us all about it ;— a little closer — you know I'm rather 
 deaf; now then, when did he hear about it first?' 
 
 ' This morning, of course,' observed Jane. ' Miss Forester 
 said the General went off directly.' 
 
 ' Went off where ? what do you mean ? what are you all talk- 
 ing about ?' exclaimed Laura.
 
 RTRUDE. 139 
 
 'Oh ! my love, you know,' said Mrs Courtenay ; 'and we are 
 so longing to hear — pray tell us quickly.' 
 
 ' But what? tell what?' repeated Laura; 'I should be very 
 much obliged if some one would explain.' 
 
 'There is no particular explanation needed, that I can see,' re- 
 plied Jane ; ' we only want to know if Edward intends standing.' 
 
 ' Standing ! ' again repeated Laura. 
 
 'Yes, my dear,' said Mrs Courtenay; 'if you would only 
 make haste, I should be so glad ; I really am nervous from 
 being kept so long in suspense.' 
 
 'And there can be no good in it,' continued T ane 'for we 
 must know sooner or later.' 
 
 ' Besides, I thought you disliked mysteries,' said Charlotte ; 
 'and if you did not, elections are such public things, it is useless 
 to attempt keeping them to one's self.' 
 
 ' Then Parliament is dissolved ! ' exclaimed Laura, starting 
 "rom her seat, in an excitement of surprise and pleasure; 'the 
 very thing, of all others, I have been longing for.' 
 
 ' So he will stand, my dear?' asked Mrs Courtenay, in a tremu- 
 lous voice ; and she laid her hand upon Laura's arm in order to 
 be certain of detaining her till the question was answered. 
 
 Laura moved away ; and, heedless of anything but her own 
 gratification in the prospect suddenly opening before her, began, 
 in her turn, to ask questions with such volubility that poor Mrs 
 Courtenay, in silent despair, laid down her work, and sat, patient 
 and resigned, with her head bent forward, endeavouring to ex- 
 tract an answer for herself, since it seemed in vain to expect one 
 from others. A few words of explanation sufficed to prove that 
 Laura was equally ignorant with themselves ; but her wishes were 
 so decidedly in favour of Edward's coming forward, that Char- 
 lotte, at least, felt little doubt as to his decision. 
 
 ' He will have the cordial support of every one in the family 
 except Edith,' said Jane • ' she sets her face decidedly against it 
 — why, no one can tell.' 
 
 'And no one would wish to tell, I should think,' observed 
 Charlotte ; ' but you must not let her talk to Edward, Laura, if 
 you wish to persuade him without trouble.' 
 
 ' I have no fear of any persuasion,' began Laura, proudly ; but 
 her sentence was interrupted, for, at that instant, the door opened, 
 and Edith appeared. ' Good-bye ; I must go ; the ponies will be 
 very fidgety if I keep them so long: Edith, you must excuse my 
 running away, but '
 
 140 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' But you cannot rest till you have secured Edward's promise 
 to stand for the county,' said Charlotte, laughing. ' You see, 
 Edith, whom you will have to fight against.' 
 
 Edith looked not merely vexed, but unhappy ; and seeing that 
 she should probably have no other opportunity of gaining a 
 patient hearing, determined upon following Mr Dacre's advice, 
 and endeavouring, if possible, to accomplish the object upon the 
 importance of which he had so strongly insisted. 
 
 ' I would not willingly detain you, Laura,' she said ; ' but in- 
 deed it is of great consequence that I should say a few words to 
 you alone.' 
 
 Laura slightly shuddered, and recurred involuntarily to her 
 many offences. ' If it is of consequence,' she replied, ' I can say 
 nothing ; but I assure you I have no time to spare ; would not 
 to-morrow do ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid not ; but really I will not keep you more than a 
 few minutes ;' and with a countenance grave, almost to severity, 
 Edith opened the folding doors, and ushered her sister-in-law into 
 the library. 
 
 Laura sighed in submission to her fate, though at the same 
 time feeling considerably irritated ; for it was Edith's misfortune 
 frequently to wear the appearance of pride, when she was in reality 
 humble ; and this was peculiarly the case in the present instance. 
 The stiffness of manner, which to Laura appeared haughtiness 
 and conceit, was in fact merely the effort to restrain deep and 
 anxious feeling ; but its effects were painfully repelling, especially 
 when heightened by the constrained tone in which she began : 
 ' You must forgive me, Laura ; I know it is not my part to inter- 
 fere ; but indeed it is only from a sense of duty.' 
 
 The words were humble, but the tone was not ; and Laura, from 
 childhood unable to endure suspense, hastily interrupted her with 
 — ' I will forgive anything you wish, if you will only tell me at 
 once what is the matter — what have I done ?' 
 
 'Nothing,' replied Edith ; 'it is not what you have done, but 
 what you are going to do.' 
 
 ' Me ! I am not going to do anything, except to drive back to 
 Allingham.' 
 
 ' But you are intending, at least you said you were — you want 
 Edward to stand for the county.' 
 
 'Yes, certainly,' said Laura, looking extremely surprised ; 'and 
 so do you, I suppose ; so do all his friends.' 
 
 ' Not his real friends,' replied Edith ; ' those who sincerely value
 
 GERTRUDE. 141 
 
 his happiness would most strongly urge upon him the folly of such 
 a scheme. I am sure you would, Laura, if 
 
 ' If what ? ' continued Laura ; ' am I not his sincere friend ? 
 Is not his happiness my happiness ? Are not our interests one 
 and the same ? Why should you speak of ifs ?' 
 
 ' Because I don't think you have well considered the subject, 
 and calculated the expenses. I think you are led away by ex- 
 citement, and not likely to have an unbiased judgment.' 
 
 ' Very possibly,' said Laura, in a tone of pique ; ' but pray, have 
 you the same opinion of Edward ? I thought he was your paragon 
 of excellence.' 
 
 ' My opinion of Edward has nothing to do with tnc case,' said 
 Edith, coldly : for any allusion to what she had formerly felt for 
 her brother was never patiently borne. ' It is you, Laura, of whom 
 I am speaking now. Everything depends upon your influence ; 
 and you cannot tell the importance of what you are going to urge 
 Edward to do.' 
 
 ' So I can well imagine. I dare say he will make a noise in 
 the world, and be thought a great deal of.' 
 
 ' I3ut that is all nothing,' said Edith ; ' pray, pray, think of the 
 expenses.' 
 
 ' No, indeed,' exclaimed Laura ; ' that is not a wife's province. 
 If Edward thinks he can afford it, I am sure I shall not be the 
 person to say nay.' 
 
 'And you will not warn him ? ' said Edith. 
 
 ' Why should I ? What are your objections ? ' 
 
 ' I can't explain them all,' replied Edith, looking embarrassed ; 
 ' but some must be clear to every one.' 
 
 'And you wish me to follow your guidance against my own 
 inclinations ? ' 
 
 ' Because I have your truest interest at heart,' said Edith ; 
 1 besides, it is impossible not to see the danger of extravagance.' 
 
 ' Extravagance ! nonsense,' repeated Laura ; ' if Edward can- 
 not afford election expenses, I am certain he cannot afford to live 
 in the style he does. He must have money at command, for I 
 never ask for a thing which he does not give me.' 
 
 ' And therefore you would ruin him,' said Edith, gravely. ' O 
 Laura! listen to me but this once ; I only desire to save you from 
 suffering.' 
 
 ' I cannot understand you, Edith,' said Laura ; ' and I am in a 
 hurry.' 
 
 ' Only one moment!' gsslaimed Edith, in a tone of deep
 
 i 4 2 GERTRUDE. 
 
 anxiety; 'I am sure you don't know all, or you never could 
 persist.' 
 
 ' I know that I am determined Edward shall be in Parliament.' 
 
 ' But won't you believe me ?' said Edith ; ' I can have no object 
 but your happiness.' 
 
 ' Indeed !' answered Laura, ironically ; ' I should scarcely have 
 supposed that from past experience, considering that the only 
 harsh words Edward ever spoke to me were caused by your 
 remarks.' 
 
 Poor Edith's eyes filled with tears. She remembered Mr 
 Dacre's words : the solemnity with which he had reminded her 
 of the account to be rendered for influence, as for every other 
 talent ; and she felt that hers had been neglected. Now, when 
 it was so much needed, it was gone. It was the first time that 
 Laura had ever directly alluded to the chief cause of their 
 estrangement. Yet Edith dared not explain or apologise : for 
 the opinion she had incautiously expressed was still retained. 
 
 ' Then you will not listen,' she said; 'and I must appeal to 
 Edward.' 
 
 ' No, no,' said Laura ; 'that shall never be. I will trust nothing 
 that concerns us in any hands but my own. Whatever I may 
 be in your eyes I am dear and precious in my husband's ; and I 
 will never allow a cold, unsympathising perfection to come be- 
 tween me and him. Tell me what I am to say, and I will pro- 
 mise to deliver your message without variation.' 
 
 ' There is no need,' replied Edith, as calmly as her agitation 
 would allow. 'I had hoped that you would have consented to dis- 
 cuss the subject dispassionately ; and then you might, perhaps, 
 have been induced to view it in a different light. I know that 
 Edward will be influenced, more than he will himself allow, by 
 your wishes, and therefore I desired to enlist you on the side of 
 prudence.' 
 
 'And why, if I may ask,' said Laura, drawing herself up, and 
 speaking in a tone as calm though less gentle — ' why are you 
 alone to be the judge of what is prudent ? Why may not Edward 
 be considered the fit guardian of his own affairs ? And why 
 should you urge upon a wife to undertake the task of dissuading 
 her husband from his public duty.' 
 
 ' Because there is a private duty which is more imperative,' 
 replied Edith ; ' and Edward knows it. I cannot say more ; but 
 since you have promised, Laura, to deliver any message which I 
 may send, let it be that,— it may be but casting words to the
 
 GERTRUDE. 143 
 
 wind, — yet it may also induce him to hesitate,— and to-morrow' 
 ' I will see him myself,' she was about to add, but some- 
 thing in the expression of Laura's countenance checked her. 
 
 ' To-morrow,' said Laura, 'you will probably find that Edward 
 has decided upon his duty without asking counsel of any one. 
 If you have nothing to say upon anv other subject, Edith, I had 
 better go, for my time is valuable.' 
 
 Edith coldly held out her hand, which Laura as coldly took. 
 A formal good-bye was spoken on both sides ; and, without re- 
 turning to the drawing-room, Laura seated herself in her pony- 
 carriage, and drove from the Priory. Edith watched her as she 
 left the room, and listened to the departing sounds ; and then, 
 unable to control her vexation, shed tears of regret and self- 
 reproach. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 PROUDLY as Laura had behaved during the interview with 
 her sister-in-law, she was not entirely untouched by what 
 had passed. Edith's opposition, though unaccountable, was still 
 too earnest not to awaken some idea that it might be well-founded ; 
 and when the first excitement of her feelings had subsided, Laura 
 resolved upon repeating to her husband all that had been said, 
 without offering any comment of her own, and then demanding 
 an explanation ; but unfortunately the resolution was made at 
 the very moment of passing the Grange, and the sound of Miss 
 Forester's siren voice, as she stood by the lodge-gate and en- 
 treated that her dear Mrs Courtenay would give her the pleasure 
 of ten minutes' conversation, proved so soothing to Laura's 
 temper, that she could not resist the temptation to alight. 
 There was no difficulty in discovering that something had hap- 
 pened to disturb Laura's equanimity, and her openness of char- 
 acter quickly revealed the cause to one so keen in observation. 
 Miss Forester's selfish tact had never, perhaps, been more care- 
 fully brought into play. She suggested a jealousy of Edith's 
 influence over her brother, ridiculed the idea of prudence being 
 necessary to a man of Edward's fortune, lauded his splendid 
 talents, and repeated her father's opinion of his certain success ; 
 and then proceeded to describe in glowing colours the path that
 
 144 GERTRUDE. 
 
 was open to his ambition — the position in which he would be 
 placed — the popularity he would command — the gratification of 
 being looked up to and courted ; and Laura listened to the 
 honeyed words, and yielded unresistingly to the temptation of 
 dreams so alluring to a young mind, and, before she left the 
 Grange, gave a promise that if Edward were inclined to hesitate, 
 no argument which she could use should be spared in inducing 
 him to consent. The conversation lasted so long, that, on reach- 
 ing Allingham, Laura found that dinner had already been 
 announced, and heard with pleasure that General Forester was 
 to be her guest. It was evident that Edward had not yet de- 
 cidedly refused ; and much as she longed to be with him alone, 
 she was willing to bear the delay of a few hours, in the hope 
 that the General's arguments would render her own entreaties 
 needless. The dinner was dull and uninteresting. The General, 
 a shrewd, worldly politician, bent upon obtaining Edward's con- 
 sent, because it was most likely to ensure success to his party 
 and render himself a person of consequence, carefully abstained 
 from all allusion to the subject uppermost in his thoughts, but 
 cculd not prevent his attention from wandering from the trilling 
 tooics of conversation. Laura watched every change of her 
 husband's countenance, in the hope of gaining some clue to his 
 determination ; and Edward sat silent, endeavouring to satisfy 
 himself that, in inviting General Forester to dinner, he had 
 merely performed the part of a friend, without any wish of 
 swerving from the resolution of the morning. At length the 
 dessert was placed upon the table, and the servants retired ; 
 but Laura listened in vain for the subject in which she was so 
 deeply interested. Farming and manufactures, railway and 
 mining companies, were successively introduced and languidly 
 discussed — but then came a solemn pause ; and having lingered 
 as long as etiquette could possibly allow, she was obliged to 
 retire. The solitary evening seemed as if it would never end. 
 Hour after hour wore away, and still the gentlemen in the 
 dining-room continued in earnest conversation. Laura ven- 
 tured twice to summon them, but finding the message disre- 
 garded, gave up the attempt, and, after many endeavours to 
 amuse herself, forgot her anxiety in sleep. She was awakened 
 by the sound of voices in the hall. General Forester was taking 
 his leave, thinking it too late again to intrude upon her. Ed- 
 ward's tones were so low as to be unintelligible, but the General's 
 concluding words were perfectly audible, — ' Then by eight to-
 
 GERTRUDE. 145 
 
 morrow I shall hear from you ;' and the next minute his carriage 
 drove off. 
 
 Unable to restrain her eagerness, Laura, after waiting a few 
 moments, hastened into the hall to meet her husband, but he 
 was not there. She knocked at the door of his study, but re- 
 ceived no answer; and was going back to the drawing-room 
 again, when, the hall door being opened, she caught sight of 
 him in the colonnade. He was pacing it with rapid strides, his 
 arms folded upon his breast ; and the cold light of the moon, as 
 it fell upon his noble features, so deepened their expression of 
 thought and anxiety, that Laura became alarmed. 
 
 ' Are you ill, Edward ?' she exclaimed, suddenly arresting his 
 progress. 
 
 Edward started, as if recalled from a dream. ' 111, my love? 
 no ; why should you think so ?' 
 
 ' But you are ill ; you look so — pray come in.' 
 
 ' There is nothing for me to be afraid of on such a night as 
 this,' he replied, and he pointed to the glittering heavens ; ' but 
 it is too late for you to remain.' 
 
 ' I could not rest even if I were to leave you ; besides, Edward, 
 your thoughts concern us both.' 
 
 • Indirectly, perhaps ; but politics are not a woman's business. 
 I merely wish to consider something General Forester has been 
 saying.' 
 
 ' And to decide that to-morrow you will consent to stand for 
 the county,' added Laura. 
 
 'Where did you hear it?' he exclaimed; 'I thought it was 
 merely a question of private business between the General and 
 myself.' 
 
 • It has long been considered a matter of course by every one ; 
 and this you know quite well, Edward ; but my first intelligence 
 of the dissolution was from the Priory.' 
 
 'And what did they say there?' inquired Edward, with 
 
 eagerness. 
 
 ' Approved entirely, of course— all, that is, but Edith.' 
 
 ' Edith ! did she object ? what reason did she give ? ' 
 
 ' None ; at least none that I could understand ; but she chilled 
 
 me by her manner, and teased me with her words, and so I came 
 
 away as soon as possible.' 
 
 ' She must have said something, though. Did she think me 
 
 unfitted?' 
 
 ' No, nothing of that kind. It appeared to be some notion of
 
 146 GERTRUDE. 
 
 the expense which she had in her head ; and then slie talked 
 about private duties. Stop, I think I can recollect the whole 
 sentence ; it was a sort of message to you. I was to tell you 
 that there was a private duty which was more imperative than 
 a public one.' 
 
 The words were an abstract of Mr Dacre's arguments ; and 
 Edward, shrinking from their truth, turned away, unwilling to 
 hear more. Laura watched him in silence, and then, fearful lest 
 his determination should be about to fix in a direction contrary 
 to her wishes, again ventured to interrupt him. 
 
 ' You consider that women have no concern in politics,' she 
 said, putting her arm within his ; ' and yet you are anxious to 
 know the opinion of your mother and sisters ; and have you no 
 thought also for your wife ? ' 
 
 ' It is because I think of her too much, that I do not speak to 
 her on the subject,' replied Edward, with a faint smile. ' Only 
 say that it is a matter of indifference to you, and I shall not be 
 afraid to tell you what I have resolved upon.' 
 
 ' Not to decline ! ' exclaimed Laura, in a tone of extreme dis- 
 appointment : ' you could not have been so foolish.' 
 
 ' So wise, rather ; — so willing to sacrifice everything — ambi- 
 tion, and fame, and influence — for the interest of one who is 
 dearer to me than my own life.' 
 
 ' And do you think,' exclaimed Laura, pausing suddenly in her 
 walk, ' that your wife would be unwilling to risk the same con- 
 sequences as yourself for the sake of seeing you what you ought 
 to be ? ' Would it not be worth any sacrifice to know that your 
 talents were estimated, — to feel that you were honoured through- 
 out the whole country ? What can the consideration of a few 
 paltry thousands be to such a prospect as yours if you only con- 
 sent to come forward ? ' 
 
 Edward was silent ; but he gazed with a feeling of love and 
 admiration, mingled with something of compassion, upon Laura's 
 young and lovely features, lighted up with an enthusiasm, which, 
 though false in its origin, might be directed to so much good ; 
 and, drawing her towards him, said gently, ' Laura, you will not 
 ask me to do wrong — your husband could refuse you nothing.' 
 
 'Then you will not refuse me this,' exclaimed Laura, eagerly 
 seizing upon the weakness caused by her own fascination, whilst 
 the recollection of Miss Forester's brilliant prophecies came 
 vividly before her. ' It is the first, the sole object of my wishes ; 
 and it is not for myself alone, — it is for the good of thousands ;
 
 GERTRUDE. 147 
 
 you have yourself said it. What is to become of your resolu- 
 tion, dearest Edward, if you shrink from the contest because 
 you will not incur the expense ?' 
 
 Edward pressed his hand upon his eyes, and sighed deeply ; 
 and little did Laura guess the bitterness of the struggle which 
 was then passing in his breast — the last dying effort of duty to 
 regain its power. ' Laura,' he said, at length, ' you are urging 
 me to a step which, when once taken, cannot be retraced. Are 
 you indeed sure that you will never be inclined to repent having 
 done it ?' 
 
 ' Never ! ' answered Laura, earnestly. ' Whatever trouble or 
 anxiety it may cause, I can never look back with regret upon 
 having entreated you to place yourself in the position for which 
 your fortune and talents have so evidently fitted you. But after 
 all, Edward, why are you to be ruined by acting as thousands 
 have done before you, who had not half your means ?' 
 
 ' It need not be ruin,' replied Edward, attempting to smile ; 
 ' certainly it would not be, if General Forester's offer were ac- 
 cepted.' 
 
 'What ofrer ? What has he said ? You can have no secrets 
 now from me.' 
 
 ' He proposes that the expenses should be borne by the gentle- 
 men of the county, who are all willing to support me ; and the 
 plan is plausible, but Mr Dacre suggested objections.' 
 
 ' And have you really been consulting Mr Dacre?' exclaimed 
 Laura ; and there was something of scorn in her light, silvery 
 laugh. ' Have you determined upon making him your oracle 
 in an affair which requires mere common sense and knowledge 
 of the world ? ' 
 
 ' I do not make him my oracle,' replied Edward, proudly ; ' I 
 would make no man such.' 
 
 ' Then why attach such weight to his opinion ? It is but the 
 decision of one man, and there are hundreds who would be 
 against him.' 
 
 Edward made no answer. The decision of that one man was, he 
 well knew, the decision of an unbending, conscientious mind ; and 
 as the impression of the morning's conversation returned in full 
 force, once more his wavering resolution might have been fixed, 
 but for the jealousy of Mr Dacre, suggested by Laura's observa- 
 tion. 
 
 ' It is not worthy of you, Edward,' she continued ; 'and when 
 you see what opportunities of good you have lost, it will not
 
 143 GERTRUDE. 
 
 satisfy you to remember that you gave them up merely because 
 you chose to follow Mr D acre's dictation, rather than your own 
 judgment.' 
 
 ' But what will he think when he finds that I have so soon 
 changed my determination ?' 
 
 ' Rather, what will the world think when it is known that you 
 have made it ?' 
 
 ' The world,' repeated Edward, mournfully ; and, walking a few 
 paces aside, he leant against one of the pillars of the colonnade. 
 For some minutes he continued silent, listening to the plashing 
 of the fountains in the garden, as their slender columns rose into 
 the still air, and then fell sparkling in the moonlight into their 
 marble basins, while his gaze was fixed intently on the deep blue 
 sky, through which the moon was tranquilly sailing, undimmed 
 by even a passing shadow. 'It is a glorious night,' he said, at 
 length, as Laura drew near to him. ' Is it not strange that we, 
 upon whom such beauty has been lavished, should be so insen- 
 sible to it ?' 
 
 Laura looked at him in wonder. ' Do you mean,' she said, 
 1 that because wc have been speaking upon other subjects, we 
 are therefore unable to feel how lovely it is ?' 
 
 'We do not feel it,' replied Edward; 'it is too calm — too 
 pure. What has the world to do with the moon and the stars, 
 and the unutterable vastness of the heavens ? ' 
 
 'I do not understand you,' said Laura. 'If it is wrong to 
 think of the world, why should we have been sent to live in it ?' 
 
 ' I did not say it was wrong,' replied Edward ; ' but it is so 
 strange — so incomprehensible. Tell me, Laura, — is not the 
 bustle of the election more important in your eyes than all the 
 beauty of nature ?' 
 
 ' Perhaps so, at this moment,' replied Laura ; ' but it is 
 natural.' 
 
 ' Yes, natural, perfectly natural ; but that itself is the cause of 
 wonder.' 
 
 ' It is not so to me,' replied Laura. ' The election is nothing, 
 but you are everything.' 
 
 ' Are you sure, dearest,' said Edward, ' that it is only for me 
 you are anxious ? ' 
 
 ' Do not ask that question again,' replied Laura ; ' it implies 
 distrust. If I have visions of distinction, they cannot be for my- 
 self ; I am but a woman, and fame can be nothing to me.' 
 
 ' But we can be happy without fame,' said Edward, in a tone
 
 GERTRUDE. 149 
 
 which evidently showed his willingness that the assertion should 
 be contradicted. 
 
 ' Yes,' exclaimed Laura ; and again her clear, sweet voice was 
 marred by an accent of sarcasm ; ' and we may be happy in a 
 hovel, labouring with our hands for our daily bread. Philo- 
 sophers tell us so — Mr Dacre is a philosopher.' 
 
 ' If there were no obstacles' began Edward, pursuing his 
 
 own train of thought aloud, rather than replying to his wife's 
 observation. 
 
 ' I do not see them/ interrupted Laura ; ' and surely I must 
 be a better judge than Mr Dacre ; he cannot be as intimately- 
 acquainted with all that concerns you as I am.' 
 
 Edward's conscience painfully smote him. His first want of 
 moral courage in not acquainting Laura with the encumbered 
 state of his property was beginning to work its punishment ; for 
 the only reason which could satisfy her of the propriety of his 
 refusal was truth, and truth it seemed now impossible to tell. To 
 confess that he had deceived her would, he felt, be a degradation ; 
 yet her implicit reliance upon his sincerity was more galling than 
 the keenest reproach. Besides, he was becoming, every instant, 
 more and more convinced that the obstacles of which he spoke 
 were not insurmountable. At the distance of several hours Mr 
 Dacre's suggestions were seen through a dim, unsubstantial haze, 
 while General Forester's baits hung rich and glittering before 
 him. He had been promised the support of almost every man of 
 consequence in the county ; flattered with insidious praises of his 
 talents, bribed by the hope of lucrative and honourable appoint- 
 ments ; and now he required but one more inducement to deter- 
 mine the balance, and this was Laura's entreaty; and Laura's 
 natural inclinations had been strengthened by Miss Forester's in- 
 fluence, and Miss Forester's influence was mainly to be attributed 
 to Edith's neglect. How little can we discover of the secret chain 
 of human events ! and how little did Edith imagine, as she sat 
 alone in her chamber, dwelling in wretchedness of heart upon the 
 fatal step her brother was meditating, that her own conduct was 
 one of the ultimate causes of the decision he was about to make ! 
 Laura perceived the wavering of her husband's mind, and well 
 knew how to take advantage of it. It was not the first occasion 
 on which she had exerted her power over his affections to gain an 
 object desired ; and now, gently forcing him to re-enter the house, 
 she led him into the drawing-room, and seating herself by his 
 side, looked up into his face with a smile of such exquisite sweet-
 
 150 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ness, that a man of far greater strength of mind than Edward 
 might easily have found his resolution shaken ; and then she 
 said — 
 
 ' For your wife's sake, Edward ; it is the first wish of her 
 heart.' 
 
 Edward's countenance was grave, but his tones were yielding, 
 as he replied : ' And when I am taxed with imprudence and am- 
 bition, will my wife uphold my cause ? Or, if others undertake 
 my expenses, will she answer that my affairs shall be conducted 
 in an honourable manner ?' 
 
 ' This is beyond my comprehension,' exclaimed Laura, laugh- 
 ing. ' You have been talking to Mr Dacre, Edward, till you are 
 become as visionary as himself. Do tell me all his objections in 
 a few words.' 
 
 ' He allows that there are but two — the expense being one ; 
 this would in a measure be done away by accepting General 
 Forester's proposal : but the next difficulty seems to be, that, if 
 the management of the affair is to be taken out of my hands, I 
 shall not be able to put a stop to anything I may think wrong 
 in the way in which it is carried on.' 
 
 'How extremely absurd!' exclaimed Laura: 'so like Mr 
 Dacre's ultra-particularity ; as if it were possible to have an elec- 
 tion conducted without things being done to which one must shut 
 one's eyes. And so, Edward, you will throw away your greatest 
 chance of being really useful to your country upon a mere scruple 
 of conscience, which common sense must at once condemn ?' 
 
 Edward did not exactly see the truth of this observation, but 
 it was given authoritatively, and sounded well ; and he was not 
 inclined to contradict it. ' I must own,' he replied, ' that Mr 
 Dacre's arguments do not strike me as unanswerable. It would 
 be at my option to retire if I saw things going on in a manner 
 which I disapproved.' 
 
 ' Certainly it would,' exclaimed Laura ; ' and the example then 
 would be more valuable than all which you do or say now.' 
 
 ' I should retire undoubtedly,' repeated Edward ; ' nothing 
 would induce me to allow the horrid system of bribery and 
 wickedness which generally accompanies an election ; and I own 
 I should be glad to show the world that a business of this nature 
 may be carried on on high principles.' 
 
 Laura placed a sheet of paper before him, and put a pen into 
 his hand. Edward still hesitated. ' Mr Dacre will think it very 
 strange.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 151 
 
 'Still Mr Dacre!' exclaimed Laura, impatiently. 'I did not 
 think you were to be governed so easily.' 
 
 The arrow was rightly aimed. Fear of being led was Edward's 
 most vulnerable point ; *ind, taking up the pen, he commenced 
 a letter to General Forester. Laura leant over him as he pro- 
 ceeded, strengthening his resolution by insisting upon the bene- 
 fit to be derived from such an example as his must necessarily 
 be ; and when the letter was concluded, Edward delivered it to 
 his servant, with strict injunctions that it was to be sent to the 
 Grange before eight o'clock the next morning, and retired to rest 
 with scarcely a doubt that he had acted nobly and conscien- 
 tiously. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 WHEN Edith met Mr Dacre after the first public announce- 
 ment of Edward's intentions, it was in the drawing- 
 room at the Priory, and in the company of strangers, where 
 private conversation was impossible ; and nothing but an ear- 
 nest pressure of the hand showed that he understood and felt 
 for her uneasiness. The chances of the election were then 
 under discussion, and she was compelled to listen with apparent 
 indifference to hopes, fears, and congratulations, which were all 
 equally painful ; until Mr Dacre, with a tact and delicacy pecu- 
 liar to himself, led the conversation from the election ir. par- 
 ticular to elections in general, and from them to the political 
 subjects of the day, and the customs and habits of foreign 
 countries ; and Edith was again at ease. One look, one more 
 cordial shake of the hand, as they parted, told her gratitude ; 
 and then, as if by mutual consent, the subject was avoided 
 during several succeeding interviews. Both felt that conversa- 
 tion was useless, and could not be entered into without throw- 
 ing reproach upon Edward. But Mr Dacre, though a silent, 
 was not an unobservant spectator of what was passing, and each 
 day gave him more reason to apprehend the consequences of 
 Edward's weakness. Allingham was now the centre of attraction 
 to the whole neighbourhood ; for Mr Courtenay, with lavish hos- 
 pitalitv, opened his house, not only to his friends, but to his most 
 distant acquaintances ; and, casting aside his weekly bills, con- 
 tented, himself with the belief that it was absurd to think of ex-
 
 152 GERTRUDE. 
 
 pcnse at such a moment, — the election must cost him something, 
 and it was better to let everything take its course, and do what 
 was absolutely necessary, without making himself uneasy as to 
 the result. And Laura entirely agreed. She was now in her 
 element — admired, courted, flattered, caressed, by all who sought 
 their own interest through Edward's advancement, and by many 
 who, with greater disinterestedness, were captivated by her 
 beauty, grace, and vivacity. Every day she was assured of the 
 certainty of Edward's success, and that, when once in Parliament, 
 he would necessariiy be placed amongst the most distinguished 
 men of the age ; and with her youthful ignorance, and warm 
 affections, she implicitly believed all that was told her, and 
 already began to contemplate the duties which must devolve on 
 the wife of a Secretary of State, or, it might be, the First Lord 
 of the Treasury. During this time, Edith withdrew herself more 
 and more from her own family circle, and found her greatest relief 
 in solitude at home, and active exertion abroad. She wrote also 
 frequently to Gertrude ; for the advantages of the election were 
 in themselves so doubtful, that she was able, without any breach 
 of confidence, to express her disapprobation : and Gertrude's 
 letters in return were so considerate, so full of gentleness and 
 sympathy, that, at times, Edith felt as if the diminution of her 
 brother's regard was repaid by the increased affection between 
 herself and her absent sister. But in that one word 'absent,' 
 was contained the great obstacle to her comfort. No love, no 
 interest, however sincere, could make amends for the want of daily 
 intercourse ; and once Edith was on the point of writing to entreat 
 that Gertrude would come to them, if it were only for a few 
 weeks ; but the same day's post brought such painful accounts 
 of Mrs Heathfield's debility and suffering, that she felt it would 
 be selfish even to indulge the wish. Unfortunately it was on that 
 morning also that the nomination clay was publicly announced, 
 and this alone would have been sufficient to depress her ; for while 
 all others were in the highest spirits, delighting in the brightness 
 of Edward's prospects, she believed that they were delusive. Miss 
 Forester especially was full of flattering prophecies ; and feeling 
 delighted at Mr Dacre's more frequent visits to the Grange, 
 which she attributed entirely to his increasing regard for herself 
 and her father, she rejoiced equally in the prospect of excitement 
 and gaiety for the present, and the hope of a splendid legacy, if 
 not a fortune, for the future ; while she flitted between Allingham, 
 and the Grange, and the Priory, as unceasingly as if everything
 
 GERTRUDE. 153 
 
 depended upon her gossiping information of what was going on. 
 Edith spent a part of the morning alone, answering Gertrude's 
 letter ; and then, carefully stealing into the dining-room, when 
 she was sure that every one else had left it, ate her hasty and 
 uncomfortable luncheon, and went out as usual to visit some poor 
 people. Amongst them, old Martha had the chief claim upon her 
 attention. The illness with which she had been attacked was 
 rapidly gaining ground, and every day brought some fresh symp- 
 tom of declining strength and powers. Edith willingly gave her 
 all the time that could be spared from her other engagements, 
 and was thankful to perceive that the secret feelings of gratitude 
 and devotion which had occasionally been hidden by the old 
 woman's roughness of manner, had now the effect of softening her 
 natural infirmity of temper, and enabling her to bear her trials 
 with patience. Vet there was an oppressive contrast between 
 the careless merriment, the stir and interest, which surrounded 
 Edith's domestic life, and the awful truths so clearly brought to 
 view as she stood by the poor old woman's sick-bed. Even when 
 repentance and faith gave an earnest of happiness to come, it was 
 impossible to watch in silence the sinking struggles of a spirit 
 about to appear before its Maker, and not to feel that death and 
 eternity, and the inward preparation of the soul, were the realities 
 of existence ; and fame and riches nothing but the delusions of a 
 perishing world ; and though, happily for Edith's peace of mind, 
 she did not understand the share which Edward had had in 
 aggravating Martha's sufferings, it was with a feeling approaching 
 to terror that, in the midst of light words, and gay smiles, she 
 sometimes recalled the image of the dying woman, and involun- 
 tarily placed it in stern contrast with those about her, outwardly 
 so different— but soon, it might be, to be brought into the same 
 condition. 
 
 There were seasons when she could almost have envied them 
 their thoughtlessness. Yet she had no cause. Edward himself, 
 in the height of his popularity, and according to all human pro- 
 bability, about to attain his highest wishes, had moments, and 
 even hours, of suffering to which Edith's anxieties were as nothing. 
 He had plunged into the whirlpool, and he was carried on with- 
 out his will, but not without his knowledge. Mr Dacre's words 
 were realised ; and he was no longer master of his own actions. 
 With a sense of honour almost fastidious, he was dragged into the 
 trickery of an election ; forced, if not to say and do himself, yet 
 to consent that others should sav and do for him. things from
 
 15-1 GERTRUDE. 
 
 which both his taste and his principles revolted. He had put 
 himself into the hands of a party, without inquiring into their 
 intentions, and his punishment was bitterly felt. The idea of 
 drawing back, — that one point on which he had dwelt so much 
 beforehand, — did at times cross his mind, but it was rejected. 
 The interests of his friends, and his own honour, were at stake ; 
 for after the support that had been tendered and accepted, he felt 
 bound to carry the contest to its conclusion. What the event 
 would be, his supporters did not seem to doubt ; but the possi- 
 bility of sacrificing so much, and gaining nothing in return, some- 
 times crossed Edward's mind with a pang of dread ; and then he 
 exerted himself more, and gave way to whatever was proposed, 
 and at last wrought himself up to a pitch of feverish excitement 
 which carried him through any difficulties, but also made him 
 sink under any temptations. And time fled swiftly on, affording 
 but few and transient intervals for thought, till the night preced- 
 ing the nomination day. The midnight clock had struck, and 
 the household at Allingham were gone to rest. Silence, and the 
 semblance of peace, reigned throughout the mansion ; but a light 
 still gleamed through the window of one room, where, seated at a 
 table covered with papers, Edward was engaged in writing. It was 
 but a calculation of votes which he was making, for the fifth time, 
 on that day; but his thoughts were intently occupied, and with- 
 out his notice the door of the apartment was softly opened, and 
 Laura, gliding into the room, laid her hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 'Edward, this must not be; you will never be able to si and 
 the fatigue of to-morrow. Why should you sit up longer ? ' 
 
 'Because I cannot sleep. When to-morrow is over' 
 
 ' And the polling days,' added Laura. 
 
 'To-morrow will perhaps decide. Mr Vivian is sure to resign 
 if he sees the case is hopeless.' 
 
 ' Then all anxiety may be at rest in a few hours,' exclaimed 
 Laura, and her face brightened ; 'and we shall be thankful and 
 happy. You could not bear this life long.' 
 
 ' Bear it ! No, indeed ; but Laura, there may be something 
 worse, if I fail.' 
 
 ' Impossible ! you have reckoned every chance of disappoint- 
 ment.' 
 
 'But if I should?' 
 
 ' Why mention it or think of it ?' said Laura. 
 
 ' Only tell me how you should feel ; I shall be less uneasy if I 
 know you are prepared for everything.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 155 
 
 ' But I am not prepared ; I never should be. After the trouble, 
 and the exertion, and the' 
 
 'What?' 
 
 'The misery, I was going to say ; but it seems too strong a 
 word.' 
 
 ' It is misery !' exclaimed Edward. 'If I could have known 
 one-half of what I have had to bear, I should never have ventured 
 upon the undertaking.' 
 
 ' And to fail after all,' said Laura ; ' it could not be. 
 
 Edward rested his head upon his hand : it was one of his short 
 intervals of repentance, and the errors which he had been striving 
 to banish from his mind crowded before him. Laura leant over 
 him, and kissed his forehead, and endeavoured to cheer him by 
 repeating the almost certainty of success ; but it was not the 
 comfort which Edward needed. 
 
 ' This is weakness in you,' she said, at length ; ' who would 
 imagine to see you as you have been, — as you will be again to- 
 morrow, that fear could have such power over your mind.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Laura,' exclaimed Edward, ' how little you know ! 
 Who can judge except myself whether the prize is worth the 
 sacrifice?' 
 
 ' I can,' said Laura, firmly. ' When the day is gained, and 
 you feel that you have the power of doing good to thousands, you 
 will laugh at your own doubts.' 
 
 'Good,' repeated Edward, thoughtfully : 'if I could be sure of 
 that' 
 
 ' I will not listen to you,' said Laura. ' This is but the distrust 
 of a morbid mind. You shall not write any more,' and she took 
 the paper from his hands. 
 
 ' ' I must look over it once again,' said Edward, with a deep 
 sigh. ' I am not satisfied. What did you do with the other 
 corrected list ? ' 
 
 Laura began searching amongst a collection of books on a 
 side table, and after some moments took up a long roll of papers. 
 She brought it to the light, but it was not the list of voters, — it 
 was the plan for Torrington church, and she was about to throw 
 it aside when Edward unfolded it. The design was his own, 
 and many were the hours of enjoyment it had afforded him. 
 ' But now,' — Laura spoke his thoughts as she unrolled the list 
 of voters, which she had just found, and placed it by the side 
 of the church ; — ' that is gone by,' she said ; ' it can never be 
 done.'
 
 156 GERTRUDE. 
 
 "Why should you say so?' inquired Edward, with something 
 of irritation in his manner. 
 
 ' Because it is impossible. Even I, with my careless notions, 
 can see that : but, dearest Edward, you look really unhappy, as 
 if you had done something wrong : and, after all, it is but ex- 
 changing one duty for another.' 
 
 For once, Edward was deaf to the flattering sweetness of his 
 wife's accents. ' Leave me ! leave me ! ' he exclaimed. 
 
 ' Then you will not sit foreboding evil, Edward. Remember, 
 you have intended only to do good.' 
 
 Edward's answer was a hasty motion of his hand, and Laura 
 saw by his countenance that she must not urge him farther. She 
 did leave him to the trial of his own thoughts : and it was not 
 till morning dawned that Edward's mingled agitation and remorse 
 were subdued, and he closed his eyes to gain a few hours' rest, 
 before the coming fatigue of the day. 
 
 The election morning shone bright and beautiful — a dazzling 
 sun and an unclouded sky — and Edward, forgetting the suffering 
 of the previous night, felt the flush of exultation as he welcomed 
 his friends at the breakfast-table, and listened to the confident 
 assurances of success which reached him on all sides. The 
 numbers had been calculated again and again ; every doubtful 
 vote had been set aside, and the lowest computation made, yet a 
 large majority was fully anticipated on the first day's poll. 
 
 'And without doubt,' said General Forester, who had been 
 talking in a mysterious undertone to Edward, in order to con- 
 vince the rest of the party that he was the most important man 
 amongst them ; ' without doubt the affair will be ended to-day. 
 Vivian will of a certainty withdraw. I heard it in a roundabout 
 way, but from most excellent authority ; and it will be just like, 
 him, exactly what a haughty fellow would do. He knows what 
 a victory we shall gain if he persists in carrying matters to ex- 
 tremities. Your friends at Elsham are to have the earliest in- 
 telligence, that they may ring you a welcome on your return.' 
 
 Edward smiled incredulously, and could not promise himself 
 so easy a victory ; but his spirits were raised by the certainty of 
 those on whom he most depended ; and when the splendid pro- 
 cession, with its long train of carriages, and well-mounted horse- 
 men, and waving banners, at length set forth, he could scarcely 
 believe the possibility of a defeat. 
 
 The day was one of interest and excitement to the whole 
 neighbourhood ; all who could find means of conveyance, and
 
 GERTRUDE. 157 
 
 rooms for their accommodation, whether feeling personally in- 
 terested in the election or considering it merely an amusement 
 for the passing hour, crowded to the county-town, which was 
 distant about four miles, and amongst them the first, and the 
 most anxious, were Mrs Courtcnay and her two eldest daughters. 
 But Edith was absent. Entreaties, and sarcasm, and ridicule had 
 been used in vain. Her refusal was given decidedly, and not 
 quite graciously ; and when Mrs Courtenay and Jane had seated 
 themselves in a comfortable lounging position, and were duly 
 provided with salts and Eau de Cologne, and Charlotte had 
 properly arranged the folds of her peach-blossomed silk dress, 
 and given the final shake to the falling feather in her white 
 bonnet, the carriage drove from the door ; and Edith, taking up 
 a book, resolved to occupy herself strenuously, and not to allow 
 her mind to dwell upon a subject so entirely beyond her control. 
 But she had miscalculated her powers. The words were before 
 her eyes, but they were not regarded ; and the sentences were in 
 her thoughts, but they were not understood ; and after half an 
 hour's fruitless effort, she turned to another occupation. This 
 soon proved wearisome ; and at last, with a faint hope of relief 
 from restlessness, she resolved upon a walk. It was a sultry, 
 oppressive afternoon ; a dim mist was floating in the horizon, 
 and a few white clouds, rising against the wind, gave signs of an 
 approaching thunderstorm. There was a deep stillness prevail- 
 ing around ; even the hum of the insects had ceased, and large 
 flocks of birds, forewarned by instinct of coming danger, were 
 swiftly wheeling their flight homewards. But Edith scarcely 
 noticed these symptoms ; her mind was wholly engrossed, al- 
 though her ideas were wandering and unconnected, turning from 
 the present to the future, and in a moment reverting to the past, 
 often without any apparent chain of association. She thought of 
 Edward, and his prospects ; of the change which that day's 
 success might make in his destiny for life ; and of the pride 
 which her father would have felt in seeing him occupy a position 
 of such importance. And then she dwelt, almost with regret, 
 upon the total extinction of the elder branch of her family ; and 
 the painful surprise which Colonel Courtenay would have expe- 
 rienced, if, before his death, he could have known how soon his 
 name would be uncared for, when his place was filled by another. 
 And again she recurred to the future — to the question how soon 
 it might be the same with Edward ; and in the uncertainty of 
 even the longest life the delusion of earthly honours seemed more
 
 15S GERTRUDE. 
 
 startling to her reason than it had ever done before ; while at the 
 very instant her heart beat quickly as in fancy she heard the 
 sound of the Elsham bells, and remembered that a peal from 
 them was to be the signal of Edward's triumph. 
 
 Finding her anxiety increase as the time drew near for the 
 return of the election party, Edith continued her walk towards 
 the village, with a secret hope of meeting some one who might 
 voluntarily give her the information which she had not the courage 
 to ask. Once she passed the turning to Martha's cottage, and 
 felt partly inclined to go to her ; but the hope that her mind 
 might be more at ease in another quarter of an hour, induced her 
 to follow her first intention ; and it was not till she had nearly 
 reached the beginning of the village, without meeting a single 
 person, that she decided upon returning. On approaching the 
 cottage, the young girl who had lately been Martha's attendant, 
 came out of it, dressed as if going on an errand. Yet, natural as 
 the circumstance was, a strange foreboding of something sad and 
 unusual flashed in an instant upon Edith's mind. She quickened 
 her steps, and when the girl drew near, asked eagerly, and as if 
 certain of the answer, whether the poor old woman was much 
 worse. ' They think she is dying, Miss Edith,' was the reply, 
 ' and you said you would be told.' 
 
 ' Dying ! ' repeated Edith, shocked at the suddenness of the 
 intelligence, notwithstanding her previous impression. 'Why 
 was I not sent for before ? ' 
 
 ' The change was so quick, Miss,' answered the girl ; ' only 
 within this quarter of an hour, and the doctor was called, but he 
 was out ; and Mr Grantley is there, and one or two of the 
 neighbours, and they are doing all they can ; some of them 
 thought you had better not know, but I was sure you would be 
 angry if you didn't.' 
 
 Edith waited no longer, and without inquiring whether Martha 
 was sufficiently sensible to derive any comfort from her presence, 
 hastened forwards. But she was scarcely prepared for the scene 
 which presented itself. The sick woman was stretched upon her 
 low bed ; her arms extended upon the dingy coverlid, and her 
 hands feebly moving. The paleness of death was resting upon 
 her wrinkled brow and hollow cheek, and her dim, half-closed 
 eye, and distorted mouth, showed that the last struggle of mor- 
 tality was at hand. Yet sense and consciousness still lingered, 
 and with them the longing for that support in the hour of trial 
 which prayer alone can obtain ; and as Edith lifted the latch,
 
 GERTRUDE. 159 
 
 and softly entered the cottage, the first sound that fell upon her 
 ear, mingled with the moanings of the suffering woman, was the 
 solemn entreaty to the ' Father of mercies, and God of all comfort, 
 that He would look graciously upon His servant, and strengthen 
 her with His Holy Spirit.' 
 
 Edith's natural impulse was to draw back, half in alarm, and 
 half fearful of intrusion ; but the words of fervent intercession 
 calmed her agitation, and after a few moments she also knelt to 
 ask that the pardon of the immortal spirit might be 'sealed in 
 heaven ' before it was summoned from the earth. Deep and 
 earnest was the petition, and as it proceeded poor Martha's rest- 
 less murmurings were stilled, and a fixed but tranquil expression 
 settled upon her wasted features. Edith buried her face in her 
 hands, and continued kneeling after the prayer was ended. There 
 was an awful silence in the chamber, broken only by the quick, 
 faint breathing of departing life ; and then, from without, was 
 heard a distant heavy roll of thunder, — another, and another. 
 One vivid lightning-flash lit up the rigid countenance of the 
 dying woman ; and when it passed away, there came, blended 
 with the peal of the advancing storm, a clear, joyous sound of 
 village bells. Edith started. One glance she cast upon the 
 bed, and it told that all was over. The tumult of life, and the 
 fearful stillness of death, had met in that hour. One spirit had 
 passed to the world where riches and honours are nothing, and 
 another had entered with pride and hope upon a new era ot 
 mortal existence. — Edward Courtenay had gained the object of 
 his ambition. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 WE must pass over the space of four years before we again 
 attempt to watch the progress of events at Allingham 
 and the Priory. Time, which produces so great an effect upon 
 all things gifted with life, had made but little alteration in the 
 internal appearance of either place ; and the drawing-room at 
 Allingham, on the morning on which we would resume our 
 story, was, in its principal features, such as it had been when 
 Laura was first introduced into it, save only that her husband's 
 affection had induced him to gratify her wishes to the utmost,
 
 i Go GERTRUDE. 
 
 and open it, as she desired, upon the conservatory. Its in- 
 mates, however, were not so entirely the same. Laura was 
 seated at her work-table, with a form as elegant, and a face 
 as lovely as ever ; but the careless thoughtlessness of very 
 early youth had faded from her open brow and brilliant eye ; 
 and except when she gazed, with a mother's fondness, upon 
 the beautiful boy who was playing at her feet, it was easy 
 to perceive that her heart was burdened with many a secret 
 care. At a little distance from her stood Edward, his counte- 
 nance expressive of a restless, dissatisfied mind, and by his 
 side a plainly-dressed elderly man, who, with bent brows and 
 a care-worn face, was turning over some folded papers which lay 
 upon the table. Edward looked on without speaking, but a few- 
 heavy sighs involuntarily escaped him, as from time to time he 
 pondered the titles of the different packets. There was an air of 
 business and solicitude in the countenances of all ; the only sound, 
 except the rustling of the papers, which disturbed the solemnity 
 of the little party, being the occasional laugh of the merry child, 
 whose attention seemed fully engrossed by the presence of a 
 young lady dressed in deep mourning, who was seated on a sofa 
 at the farther end of the apartment, and beckoning him towards 
 her. She had, apparently, but ju^t entered the house, for she 
 still wore her walking-dress, although her bonnet was thrown 
 aside, as if to enable her more easily to amuse herself with her 
 little playfellow. Her figure was slight and delicate, and her face 
 chiefly remarkable for a high, thoughtful forehead, and a mouth 
 which, although indicating great gentleness, betokened also a 
 spirit of natural energy and decision. Her complexion was 
 sallow, and her clear, dark gray eyes told rather of a sensible, 
 meditative mind, than of any superior quickness of intellect. 
 Yet Gertrude Courtenay was not a person to be seen and for- 
 >/otten. Even bv the side of her beautiful sister-in-law, it might 
 have been doubted which possessed the greatest power of 
 awakening interest. At a first notice, it would have been said 
 that hundreds in the world resembled her — that such features 
 were to be met with continually ; a second glance more firmly 
 riveted attention, from the expression of inward peace which 
 pervaded her countenance ; a third established as a certainty 
 that there must be something in her very different from the 
 world ; and when she moved and spoke the charm was completed. 
 There was no resisting the winning tones of that low, clear voice, 
 the softness and quietness of those gentle actions, the least of
 
 GERTRUDE. 161 
 
 which seemed inspired by sonic consideration for another, sonic 
 wish to give pleasure or comfort. Whether Gertrude's disposi- 
 tion was naturally lively, had often been a question with her 
 friends ; and, on a slight acquaintance, it might perhaps have 
 been supposed that some suffering in early childhood had sub- 
 dued her spirit, and cast a shade over the light-heartedncss of 
 youth ; but it was an opinion contradicted by the mirth which so 
 frequently lighted up her eye when her manner was the most self- 
 possessed, and by the delight with which she was welcomed by 
 the companions of her own age in their gayest and happiest hours. 
 No one felt her presence a restraint, except in moments of heed- 
 less folly, and one look was sufficient. If she refused to smile, 
 the thoughtless laugh was instantly checked ; — and yet Gertrude 
 seldom ventured to find fault, and when she did, it was with such 
 humility, such consciousness of her own deficiencies, that no 
 offence could be taken. The magic of her influence was to be 
 found, not in words — scarcely in actions — but in her inward, un- 
 ceasing remembrance of the God in whose presence she lived. 
 It was her earnest endeavour never to forget Him, and the recol- 
 lection purified her heart, and hallowed her daily conduct, until 
 the careless and worldly-minded felt that the atmosphere with 
 which she was surrounded was one in which they could never 
 venture to dwell. 
 
 Even now, as she sat with her eyes fixed upon the laughing 
 child, who, after conquering his pretended shyness, ran eagerly 
 towards her and jumped into her lap, there was something in her 
 countenance which bespoke a mind that naturally turned to sub- 
 jects beyond the amusement of the moment. It seemed to be 
 the pressure of a first grief that checked the bright smile with 
 which she gazed upon her little companion, for there were traces 
 of sorrow in her voice and manner, as well as in her mourning 
 dress ; but Gertrude's affliction was blended with so many 
 thoughts of happiness, that it could only cast a temporary gloom 
 over her feelings. She had lost her aunt about six weeks pre- 
 viously, and the separation from her best and earliest friend was, 
 in itself, a bitter trial. But Mrs Heathfield's great age and 
 weakness had prevented her for the last two years from being in 
 any degree a companion to her niece ; and one who had watched 
 her patient suffering, and perfect resignation, could scarcely 
 lament when a spirit so purified by earthly trial was at length 
 summoned to its rest. After the time spent in making some 
 necessary arrangements, and paying a short visit to a friend in 
 
 L
 
 1 62 GERTRUDE. 
 
 the neighbourhood of Farleigh, Gertrude s natural wish was to 
 return to her mother's roof, for there was a pleasure expected in 
 the home of her childhood, and the society of her family, to which, 
 notwithstanding the remembrance of her former disappointment, 
 few could have been more alive. The few days she had as yet 
 passed at the Priory had been so full of novelty and interest, as 
 often to divert her mind from thoughts of grief ; whilst, from the 
 same circumstances, she still remained in some degree ignorant of 
 the extent of those sources of annoyance which lay hidden under 
 an exterior at first sight so promising. Gertrude's return had 
 been hailed with delight by all. Mrs Courtenay received her 
 with the warmth and sincerity of a mother's affection, and Jane 
 forgot her illness, and Charlotte her sarcasm, in the pleasure of 
 welcoming her, whilst Edith's spirits rose to their former cheer- 
 fulness in the prospect of a companion who could understand her 
 feelings. For the time, Gertrude was the one object of attraction 
 at the Priory, and hardly less so at Allingham, though Edward 
 was sometimes conscious of something uncongenial in the guile- 
 less openness of his sistei-'s disposition, and Laura was not sure 
 that she enjoyed the presence of one whose actions were perpe- 
 tually reminding her of her own deficiencies. The little boy was 
 the great link between them, for grief can often find solace in 
 the simple innocence of childhood, and no mother can withstand 
 the most endearing of all attentions — that shown to an only 
 child. Neither was Edward insensible to the interest taken by 
 his sister in the one object on which all his hopes and all his 
 ambition were centred ; and on this morning, as he stood by the 
 table, apparently intent only upon business, his eyes often wan- 
 dered to the farther end of the room, and for a few moments he 
 forgot his cares whilst watching Gertrude's endeavours to retain 
 her restless charge. 
 
 'Hush, Charlie, hush !' she said, softly, as the spell of silence 
 was again broken by a joyous laugh. 
 
 'We must be quiet. Hark ! listen to my watch.' 
 The little fellow laid his head upon her shoulder, and seemed 
 wrapped in wonder at the hidden sound ; and Gertrude, bending 
 over him, parted his clustering ringlets, and kissed his fair, deli- 
 cate forehead. 'Charlie loves aunt Gertrude,' whispered the 
 child, as he threw his arms round her neck. There was a slight 
 quivering in Gertrude's lip, a momentary glistening in her eye ; 
 perhaps the tone of innocent affection, — even the affection of 
 infancy, — came home to her the more forcibly from the remem-
 
 GERTRUDE. 163 
 
 brance of all that she had lately lost ; and hastily lifting the 
 little boy from her lap, she moved towards the distant window at 
 which Laura was working. 
 
 'We ought to beg your pardon, dear Gertrude, for bringing 
 business into the drawing-room,' said Edward ; ' I did not 
 intend troubling you or Laura so long when we began talking, 
 or I should have gone to my study.' 
 
 ' No one will complain of the trouble if you can bo cheerful 
 about it,' said Laura. ' But indeed, Mr Rivers, the sight of you 
 will soon be associated with everything that is depressing. 
 Edward is not like himself for two or three days after you have 
 teased him with those horrid papers.' 
 
 ' Nay, my dear Laura,' replied Edward, ' you must not say that 
 Mr Rivers teases me ; it is I who tease myself. He is always 
 begging me to have nothing more to do with them.' 
 
 ' Certainly,' said Mr Rivers, in a serious voice ; 'if I might 
 be allowed to say it without offending you, I must own that it 
 would give me great satisfaction to feel that they were the last 
 with which I should have any connection.' 
 
 ' Then I will promise you,' said Edward, with a laugh which 
 sounded hollow and unreal : ' since you have such an objection 
 to them, you must not think it strange if I trouble others rather 
 than yourself, the next time they are required.' 
 
 Mr Rivers took up his hat, bowed to Laura, and walked to the 
 door, followed by Mr Courtenay. 
 
 ' You understand me,' said Edward, in an undertone, as he 
 held out his hand ; ■ I can quite appreciate your kindness, but if 
 this sort of thing is painful, why should you be worried with it?' 
 
 ' It is not painful for me, only for yourself,' replied Mr Rivers. 
 'You do not know the end, and I do. I have seen, I may almost 
 say, hundreds running a similar course.' 
 
 Edward knit his brow, but in suffering, not in anger. ' What 
 would you have me do ? What can I do ?' 
 
 ' Retrench. It was my first, and it will be my last word. 
 You must excuse my saying it ; we are not acquaintances of 
 yesterday.' 
 
 'Again I must ask, how is it to be managed V replied Edward. 
 
 Mr Rivers smiled gravely. ' We have discussed the subject 
 often,' he said ; ' and I fear there is nothing new to be brought 
 forward. I must wish you good morning now, for my time is 
 precious.' 
 
 'Those dreadful lawyers!' exclaimed Laura, when Edward
 
 i64 GERTRUDE. 
 
 returned to the table. ' Why should you have anything to do 
 with them ? with Mr Rivers in particular! he is a complete bird 
 of ill-omen.' 
 
 ' That may not be his fault,' replied Edward ; ' but we will 
 not trouble Gertrude with business ; she is come to pass the day 
 here, of course.' 
 
 ' Not quite that,' said Gertrude ; ' I expect Edith every minute, 
 and then I have promised to go for a long walk with her to Tor- 
 rington Heath ; but she was engaged at home when I left her, 
 and I thought it would be pleasant to spend my spare minutes 
 here.' 
 
 Laura looked pleased ; but Edward was recalled to the recol- 
 lection of something disagreeable by his sister's words. ' Tor- 
 rington,' he repeated, thoughtfully. ' Oh ! I remember now. 
 Those unhappy poachers were to be brought here at twelve, and 
 it must be nearly that.' 
 
 ' Five minutes after,' observed Laura, looking at her watch, 
 and almost at the same instant a servant entered to summon his 
 master away-. Edward gave orders that the men should be 
 Jaken to his study, but still lingered, as if unwilling to enter upon 
 a painful office. 
 
 ' If it were not Torrington you would not care,' exclaimed 
 Laura, with a smile which had in it something of the arch bright- 
 ness of former days. But the smile had lost its power. Edward's 
 brow grew darker, and his manner sterner, and without noticing 
 the observation he left the room. 
 
 When he was gone, Laura's countenance resumed its former 
 expression of care, and turning to her sister, she said, ' You will 
 have the thanks of the county if you will undertake to reform the 
 Torrington people, Gertrude. That is your mission, I suppose.' 
 
 ' Hardly,' replied Gertrude, smiling. ' I really don't know why 
 we are going there to-day ; only Edith wished it.' 
 
 ' I beg Edward not to worry himself about them,' continued 
 Laura; 'but he will do it. You know that the greater part of 
 the hamlet belongs to him, and it is out of Mr Grantley's parish ; 
 and the rector is a very old man, who can do nothing himself, 
 and cannot afford to keep a curate ; and the nearest church is 
 two miles distant ; so the people are left to themselves, and cer- 
 tainly they are a set of desperate wretches, beggars, and thieves, 
 and poachers, and even worse, some people say. But what good 
 can it be to distress one's self about a case in which we can do 
 nothing ? '
 
 GERTRUDE. 1O5 
 
 'Yes, if \vc really can do nothing,' said Gertrude, in a tone so 
 gentle, that it scarcely seemed to imply reproof. 
 
 'Is it not so?' inquired Laura. 'Think of the enormous 
 claims Edward has upon him. The mere expense of his parlia- 
 mentary dinners, and his house in town, is enough to ruin him. 
 And he is not like a common person — people think so much of 
 him for his talents; he is forced to be a great man, whether he 
 will or not.' 
 
 Gertrude was not forced to give an opinion in answer, for the 
 conversation was changed by Laura's exclamation that a carriage 
 was coming down the road. 
 
 ' It is my mother,' said Gertrude, going to the window ; ' she 
 and Jane proposed taking a drive this morning, but they did not 
 say they were coming here.' 
 
 'They do not often favour me,' observed Laura ; 'your mother 
 is so nervous, and Jane such an invalid ; that is, according to 
 her own account.' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay appeared, wrapped in a silk cloak and furs, 
 although the bright April morning would have rendered an or- 
 dinary spring dress oppressive to many ; and Jane followed with 
 languishing steps, and a countenance which evidently demanded 
 sympathy. 
 
 'Ah ! Gertrude, are you here?' was her mother's first excla- 
 mation. ' Why did you not wait for the carriage ? it would have 
 been much pleasanter. They persuaded me to go out to-day, 
 my dear Laura, so I told the coachman to drive here ; but I 
 don't know — your road is very steep, it frightens me to death.' 
 
 ' Then it would not probably have been agreeable to Gertrude,' 
 said Jane, shortly, as she took possession of an easy chair. 
 
 ' I am not sure of that,' replied Gertrude. ' Persons' nerves 
 are very different when they are young, from what they are as 
 they grow old. Let me take off your cloak, dear mamma, or 
 you will find the change by and by.' 
 
 ' Thank you, my love, perhaps it will be best. Now, Charlie, 
 come and speak to grandmamma.' The child hesitated, from 
 wilfulness and shyness. 
 
 ' Don't be naughty, Charlie,' said Laura, in a voice of mild 
 entreaty. Charlie moved a few steps forward, and then turning 
 quickly round, ran and hid his face in Gertrude's lap. ' Never 
 mind,' continued Laura, 'he will go presently ; he is not accus- 
 tomed to see so many people in a room, and I think he is cutting 
 a tooth ; he has been so fretful for the last few days.'
 
 1 66 GERTRUDE. 
 
 'What a blessing children's teeth are to them!' observed 
 Jane ; ' they bear the burden of every fault ! ' 
 
 The colour rose in Laura's check. 
 
 ' Poor little darling ! ' said Mrs Courtenay. ' Have you tried 
 the soothing syrup, my dear ? I am certain it will do wonders. 
 My grandmother constantly used it. She had seven children, 
 and most of them had strong convulsions in cutting their teeth. 
 It was a great trial to her, and only three lived beyond two 
 years.' 
 
 ' An additional reason for Laura's putting faith in it,' said 
 Jane. ' Gertrude, you seem to be the favourite ; why don't you 
 attempt to rival our great grandmother's soothing syrup, and 
 persuade Charlie to be a good boy ?' 
 
 'Perhaps you had better let the matter rest/ said Gertrude. 
 ' Laura thinks he is not well.' 
 
 The yielding tone of this reply had as great an effect upon 
 Laura's irritated feelings as the celebrated syrup could possibly 
 have had upon her little boy, and she immediately begged that 
 Gertrude would make him do what was right ; but whether the 
 endeavour would have been successful was not destined to be 
 known ; for at that instant Edward reappeared, followed almost 
 immediately by Edith. 
 
 'Have you been waiting for me long, Gertrude?' asked Edith, 
 after she had coolly shaken hands with Laura and kissed the child. 
 Gertrude's reply was attentive, as usual, though at the instant 
 her thoughts were engrossed by the painful expression of her 
 brother's face. His conversation with his mother was evidently 
 constrained ; and Laura, although lately accustomed to see him 
 gloomy, could not avoid noticing his manner. 
 
 ' What have you done about the poachers, Edward ? ' she in- 
 quired, in a tone of greater timidity than she would have used 
 four years before. 
 
 ' Nothing,' was the reply ; ' it is a bad business. My keeper 
 is much hurt, and the affair must be inquired into more.' 
 
 ' Torrington people, I suppose,' said Jane. ' One never has a 
 doubt upon that point.' 
 
 ' Torrington is not in this parish, I believe, ' said Gertrude, 
 who perceived directly that Edward was anxious to avoid the 
 subject of the poachers, and hoped to turn the conversation 
 nnperceived. 
 
 ' No, my dear/ exclaimed Mrs Courtenay; ' it is in the parish 
 of Ringwood — old Mr North's. Your grandfather gave him the
 
 GERTRl />/■■ 167 
 
 living— four hundred a year it used to be. Every one thought 
 Mr North would have died ten years ago, but now no one seems 
 to think about it.' 
 
 ' Poor Torrington ! ' said Edith ; ' it is a miserable place ; no 
 schools, no clergyman, no anything.' 
 
 'And they are such a bad, ungrateful set/ observed Mrs 
 Courtenay. ' They abuse you so dreadfully, my dear Edward. 
 Miss Forester was with me for a whole hour yestei day, telling me 
 all about it. She says they grow worse and worse ; and ' 
 
 ' Do you want your pony-carriage this afternoon, Laura ?' said 
 Edward, contrary to his usual habit, interrupting his mother in 
 the middle of a sentence. 
 
 ' Not if you clo. I have settled to take a drive.' 
 
 ' I cannot want it/ replied Edward. ' I only thought it might 
 as well be ordered in time, and perhaps Gertrude would like to 
 go with you.' 
 
 Laura blushed, and hesitated ; and Gertrude began to de- 
 cline, saying, ' that she had a prior engagement with Edith, but 
 she should be very glad to take advantage of the offer another 
 
 day.' 
 
 : Then to-morrow/ persisted Edward. Gertrude again glanced 
 at her sister-indaw, and reading her wishes in her countenance, 
 laughingly observed, that ' it would not do for such a busy person 
 as herself to form plans beforehand. She had undertaken to 
 make acquaintance with the whole neighbourhood, and she 
 must not think of mere pleasure.' 
 
 ' That is right, my dear/ said Mrs Courtenay ; ' I am so glad 
 you like paying visits. Poor Jane never can, and Edith has no 
 time ; and so Charlotte is left alone, and has to do it all, and I 
 know we are sadly rude : but now you are come, Gertrude, there 
 will be no difficulty. You can always go, since you enjoy it.' 
 
 ' I don't know that I exactly enjoy it, dear mamma/ said 
 Gertrude ; 'but I shall be very willing to take my share in the 
 duty.' 
 
 'We are going into Elsham now/ said Jane ; 'but I suppose 
 you won't give up your walk for the pleasure of accompanying us.' 
 
 ' Impossible ! ' exclaimed Edith. ' It is the first walk Gertrude 
 and I have promised ourselves. Indeed, Jane, you must not 
 think of such a thing.' 
 
 ' I never knew before there was any harm in thinking/ said 
 Jane ; 'but you need not be frightened, Edith ; I am not going 
 to run away with your new idol.'
 
 i63 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' Not till the new idol runs away with you herself,' leplied 
 Gertrude. ' You know, Jane, I must pay visits by and by, and 
 then I shall be most thankful to any one who will take the trouble 
 to go with me.' 
 
 Jane was soothed by her sister's manner ; and, in a more good- 
 humoured tone than usual, proposed to her mother that the 
 carriage should be ordered round. Mrs Courtenay made no 
 objection ; and after ten minutes spent in adjusting cloaks, saying 
 good-bye, and bribing the little boy to good behaviour by the 
 promise of sugar-plums, the formal morning visit was concluded. 
 Gertrude followed her mother to the carriage, to see that she was 
 comfortably settled, and to endeavour, if possible, to arrange 
 Jane's cushion for the head in the way she deemed indispensable 
 to her comfort, and then with a smile hoped they would enjoy 
 their drive, and returned into the house to summon Edith. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 (T AURA,' said Edward, when they were left alone, 'what 
 -L' was the cause of your repelling manner to Gertrude just 
 now ? No one but herself could have endured it.' 
 
 ' Repelling ! ' exclaimed Laura ; ' indeed I did not mean it to 
 be so. It was not convenient for me to take her, that was all.' 
 
 ' You mean,' said Edward, almost sternly, ' you are engaged 
 with Miss Forester — why don't you tell me so at once?' 
 
 ' Because ' and Laura hesitated, and her eyes sank under 
 
 her husband's gaze. ' You know it never pleases you to hear 
 of her, and therefore I always think the less that is said the 
 better.' 
 
 ' The less that is done, I should say,' replied Edward. ' You 
 have had a specimen this morning of her gossiping interference 
 in public matters, and you will be grievously mistaken if you 
 imagine it will be different in private.' 
 
 Laura's cheek became suddenly flushed, though for what cause 
 it was difficult for Edward to understand. 
 
 ' You must forgive me for speaking in this way, dearest,' lie 
 added, mildly ; ' but you know the subject of complaint is an old 
 one. Miss Forester never ought to have been your friend.' 
 
 'But if she is,' answered Laura, 'what is to be done? We
 
 GERTRUDE. i6g 
 
 cannot draw back, after taking her to London and introducing 
 her everywhere as our friend.' 
 
 Edward restlessly paced the room, and after a pause of some 
 instants, exclaimed, 'And the General, too — how one is de- 
 ceived ! There is no truth— no sincerity ' Again he 
 
 paused. 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Laura, desirous for private reasons to turn the 
 current of censure in another direction, and not considering that 
 it was impossible to separate the interests of the father and 
 daughter,— 'the General, I do believe, is false. He will support 
 you, Edward, whilst you submit to him implicitly ; but the very 
 instant you propose to differ, he will cast you off.' 
 
 'Let him do it ! ' exclaimed Edward ; 'let him turn against 
 me if he will ! I am not a person to submit implicitly to any 
 man, far less to a pompous fool, whose only talent is intrigue. I 
 will never be the slave of a party, and he knows it — they all know 
 it, and that is the cause of offence.' 
 
 ' It is so unfair, too,' said Laura, 'alter your allowing them 
 so much liberty at the time of the election, and doing so many 
 disagreeable things merely to please them.' 
 
 ' And what has been the consequence ? ' exclaimed Edward, 
 indignantly ; ' I acted against my own sense of honour, because I 
 fancied they had more experience than myself; and now they 
 complain of me, because they say I have disappointed their ex- 
 pectation. What reason had they to suppose that because I 
 listened to them in one case I should do so in all ?' 
 
 ' Miss Forester says,' began Laura 
 
 ' I wish never to hear the name again,' interrupted Edward. 
 ' Forgive me, my dear Laura : you cannot know the family as 1 
 do ; your nature is too open and guileless to understand them. 
 They are false — false in word and in deed ; and if it were possible 
 to taint the simplicity of an angel's mind, they would make you 
 false also.' 
 
 Laura's brilliant colour for an instant faded to a deadly hue, 
 and then as suddenly returned, while with a hasty impulse she 
 rose from her seat, and advanced towards her husband, as if about 
 to speak, but the resolution, whatever it might have been, passed 
 as rapidly as it had been formed ; and without answering him, 
 she occupied herself in collecting her work from the table. 
 Edward's mind was too much absorbed to notice this sudden 
 change ; and recurring to his former subject of complaint, he 
 repeated his indignant expression at General Forester's pro
 
 I ;o GERTRUDE. 
 
 sumption, in supposing that he would consent to be an instru- 
 ment in the hands of any man. 
 
 'And what is the point of issue between you?' inquired 
 Laura ; 'is it anything of importance ?' 
 
 ' Of the utmost vital importance. But it is not one point — 
 there are many ; questions which concern the Church, and the 
 poor, and the manufacturing districts, and on which the whole 
 prosperity of the nation depends ; and he and his party think 
 that, because they supported me at the time I first came for- 
 ward, I am now to agree to be led blindfold, and to vote just 
 according to their will.' 
 
 'There may come another election soon,' said Laura ; ' when 
 you will be better able to stand alone.' 
 
 She stopped, expecting an answer; but Edward did not give it. 
 He leaned his head upon the mantelpiece, as if struck by some 
 overpowering thoughts ; and at the same moment the sound of 
 footsteps announced the approach of a visitor ; and Laura, with 
 a conviction that it must be Miss Forester, hastened to prevent her 
 from intruding herself upon Edward in his present mood of irrita- 
 tion. Left alone, Edward roused himself from his musing posture, 
 but not for the purpose of exertion. He stood for some minutes, 
 looking thoughtfully upon the splendid furniture of his drawing- 
 room — the gilded couches and silk hangings, the marble vases 
 and mosaic cabinets — the varied refinements of luxury with which 
 taste and extravagance had filled it ; and then turned to gaze upon 
 the beauty so profusely lavished upon the fair domain which owned 
 him as its possessor. A brilliant sunlight was resting upon the 
 foreground of the landscape, where the massive trunks of the 
 splendid forest trees were marked with glittering lines, and the 
 young leaves, just bursting into life, were sparkling with a golden 
 hue. Deep shadows were cast upon the turf by the outstretched 
 branches, beneath which the herded deer sought refuge from the 
 noonday heat, and between the natural arches were caught occa- 
 sional glimpses of the distant country, shrouded in the rich purple 
 mist, which veils all that when clearly seen might mar the loveli- 
 ness of nature. Edward gazed, but not in admiration. That which 
 a stranger would have dwelt on with delight, to him brought no 
 charm : for, written in legible characters on every tree and flower, 
 traced even upon the cloudless heaven, he saw but one word — 
 ruin ; how distant he could not tell — how near he dare not think. 
 Yet, whether close at hand, or thrown far off into future years, 
 equally in the end, ruin — and inevitable. Ingenuity and expe-
 
 GERTRUDE. 171 
 
 dienls might for a time ward off the evil day, but the follies of the 
 past could never be retrieved. For one moment he ventured to 
 contemplate the prospect, for he pictured only his own suffering ; 
 but the next brought before him the image of Laura, in her youth- 
 ful grace and refinement, the spoiled child of luxury, and the re- 
 membrance of the innocent child, whose earthly fortunes would be 
 sacrificed to a father's imprudence ; and unable to endure the 
 bitterness of his feelings, with a vigorous effort he turned from 
 the idea, and lefc the room to seek, as he had often done before, 
 a temporary forgetfulness in the claims of parliamentary business. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 'AND that is Torrington Heath,' said Gertrude, as she stood 
 -^*- with her sister on the summit of a steep hill, from which 
 was seen, at a short distance, a wild, open common, covered with 
 furze and brambles, indented with cart ruts, and enlivened only 
 by a long line of low, mud hovels, the broken windows and bent 
 palings of which bore testimony to the poverty of the inhabi- 
 tants. 
 
 ' Yes/ replied Edith ; ' and unfortunately you are looking at 
 the best side of the picture. Those cottages are much worse in 
 the inside than the outside.' 
 
 Gertrude forgot her usual habit of attention, whilst watching 
 the groups of squalid children, who were playing in front of the 
 cabins. ' And can Edward really do nothing for the people ?' 
 she said, at length. 
 
 ' He has done something, replied Edith ; ' that is, he has 
 repaired the houses, and given the children clothes, and some- 
 times excused a few from paying rent ; but they are such a 
 wretched set ; and the district is so large — it extends to the other 
 side of the hill.' 
 
 ' It is clear what they want,' said Gertrude ; ' a church, and a 
 resident clergyman.' 
 
 'Yes ; no one doubts that : but I wish you would not talk of it.' 
 
 'Why not?' 
 
 ' Because it recalls so many hopes and plans which have come 
 to nothing ; it was a grievous mistake, Edward's going into Par- 
 liament.'
 
 \1 z GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' No, no,' exclaimed Gertrude ; ' I cannot agree with you 
 there ; with his high talents and principles, what could he have 
 done better ?' 
 
 ' You don't know,' began Edith ; and then stopping suddenly, 
 she added, ' can you bear a half-confidence, Gertrude ?' 
 
 ' I hope I could, but I have never been tried ; perhaps it may 
 be difficult from a sister.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Edith, thoughtfully ; ' sisters ought to be all in all 
 to each other ; but no sisters are ' 
 
 ' Few, rather,' said Gertrude ; 'we may be among the excep- 
 tions.' 
 
 'Not if you require unlimited confidence. You know I have 
 told you in my letters that I could not explain everything I 
 alluded to.' 
 
 ' Your letters have been puzzles very often,' said Gertrude ; 
 ' but with regard to confidence, I am very willing to take as much, 
 or as little, as you may be able to give. Where we love, we must 
 also trust.' 
 
 'But if there is some one else whom I can talk to with greater 
 freedom than I can to you, what should you say then ?' 
 
 ' Trust again,' replied Gertrude ; ' besides I really have no 
 right to expect that you should be able to talk to me as if we had 
 been together all our lives.' 
 
 ' But I wish it, above all things,' said Edith ; ' if there were no 
 obstacles. You will never guess the name of the only person who 
 consoles me in all my troubles.' 
 
 ' Air Dacre,' said Gertrude ; ' I could have seen that he was 
 not a common friend the first clay he was with us, even if you had 
 not spoken of him so often.' 
 
 'Miss Forester is jealous,' said Edith, laughing; 'though I 
 don't believe she has ever yet made up her mind whether I in- 
 tend to be his wife, or his adopted daughter. But to return to 
 matters of fact ; Mr Dacre is really my principal friend and 
 guide in all cases of difficulty ; but why he is so must be one of 
 the mysteries.' 
 
 ' And are these mysteries of consequence ? ' inquired Gertrude. 
 
 ' Really I can hardly tell ; once I thought they were of the 
 greatest ; but lately, both Mr Dacre and myself have begun to 
 doubt our own convictions. Edward's very extravagance makes 
 me comparatively easy about him.' 
 
 'You forget,' said Gertrude, 'that I don't know the circum- 
 stances vou refer to.'
 
 GERTRUDE 173 
 
 ' Some arc easily told,' replied Edith : ' there .ire reasons which 
 used to make me afraid that Edward was living greatly beyond 
 his income ; but since he has been in Parliament he has been so 
 separated from us, that we know much less of his affairs than we 
 did ; and now there is a report that he is to have a government 
 appointment whenever a change of ministry comes, which every 
 one declares must be soon ; not that I believe reports in general, 
 but there seems some foundation for this, because of Edward's 
 style of living, which would be madness if he had not some pro- 
 spects of the kind.' 
 
 ' I can hardly fancy that,' said Gertrude ; ' he has a very good 
 fortune.' 
 
 ' Ah ! if you did out know all,' began Edith ; and then remem- 
 bering her promise to Edward, she added, ' it seems so unkind, 
 Gertrude, to be reserved with you.' 
 
 'You must let me be the judge of the unkindncss, dearest,' 
 said Gertrude, affectionately ; 'only tell me that you are not 
 unhappy about anything.' 
 
 ' No, I don't think I am — that is, not very — in fact, 1 don't 
 let my mind dwell upon the future ; it can do no good. Edward 
 must understand his own affairs, and if he is to have this ap- 
 pointment I hope it may all be right. But this would not have 
 satisfied me some years ago, Gertrude. I should have been 
 miserable then if he had not told me all.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Gertrude ; ' a wife makes an essential difference.' 
 
 ' Yet I could have borne that ; I could have borne anything,' 
 exclaimed Edith ; ' if — tell me, Gertrude, do you like Laura?' 
 
 Gertrude smiled at the abruptness of the question. ' Like her, 
 I do very much — more than I expected from your account. Love 
 her I do not yet, but I am nearly certain I very soon shall.' 
 
 ' Do you really think so ?' said Edith ; ' she is so unlike you ; 
 she has no idea of acting from fixed motives — it is all from im- 
 pulse.' 
 
 ' An amiable impulse often, I should think,' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' Perhaps so, but still it is only impulse, and that is not likely 
 to suit either you or me ; at least I can answer for myself. 
 Laura and I were not formed for the same hemisphere.' 
 
 ' Except that you have been placed there,' said Gertrude in a 
 careless tone, under which a grave meaning was only partially 
 hidden. 
 
 'That is no reason for our suiting,' said Edith. 
 
 ' No ! only for trying to suit.'
 
 174 GERTRUDE. 
 
 'But you would not have any one who is endeavouring to do 
 right associate with a person whose principles are worldly, 
 would you ?' exclaimed Edith : ' the whole tone of the mind would 
 be lowered by it.' 
 
 ' Don't you think there is a difference between relations and 
 other people?' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' Not much ; only that if they are disagreeable, they are ten 
 times worse than they would be as strangers, because you can't 
 escape from them.' 
 
 'Ah!' said Gertrude; 'that is the very point; I know we 
 cannot escape from them, and so, I suppose, it was intended we 
 should make the best of them.' 
 
 Edith sighed. ' I don't mean, of course,' she said, ' that I do 
 not love my brother and sisters, or that I have no interest in my 
 connections ; but it would be impossible to dance attendance 
 upon them all day without neglecting other duties.' 
 
 ' I dare say it is difficult,' said Gertrude ; ' and I know I am 
 not a fair judge ; but perhaps a little "dancing attendance," as 
 you call it, might win their hearts, and induce them to help in 
 the duties.' 
 
 ' It might be so,' answered Edith, thoughtfully ; ' but I don't 
 think it likely at home.' 
 
 Gertrude did not urge the subject. She had given a hint, and 
 she left it to work its own way. They walked on for several 
 minutes in silence. 
 
 ' You don't mean to say/ observed Edith, at length, ' that you 
 would give up visiting poor people, and attending to schools ?' 
 
 ' No, no,' replied Gertrude ; ' all that I mean is, that our duties 
 are like the circles of a whirlpool, and that the innermost in- 
 cludes home ; and the next, perhaps, the rich and poor imme- 
 diately about us. The circumstances of our position in life, our 
 fortune and talents, seem in fact to point out our business.' 
 
 ' Rich people ! ' said Edith, in surprise. 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Gertrude ; ' do you not remember my showing 
 you the other day that Bishop Andrewes mentions, amongst the 
 persons to be interceded for, those who were entitled to his 
 prayers by vicinity of situation ; as if that were in itself a suffi- 
 cient claim?' 
 
 ' But surely we should feel so tied down,' said Edith, ' in being 
 forced to think of and care for people, merely because they live 
 near us.' 
 
 'I don't know that that is an objection .*. because, if we are
 
 GERTRUDE. 175 
 
 not tied down, there may be as much self-will in choosing dul 
 as pleasures.' 
 
 Still Edith was inclined to object, and Gertrude, disliking even 
 to appear dictatorial, made some common remark, so as to give 
 an opening for changing the conversation; but Edith could not 
 bear the thought of casting blame upon another when she had 
 been in fault herself ; and again recurred to Laura. 
 
 ' Can you understand, Gertrude,' she said, ' that when I com- 
 plain of Laura, it is not because I feel innocent. She may be 
 wrong in some things, but I have been wrong too. You remem- 
 ber, perhaps, that I told you, a long time ago, we had had a sort 
 of quarrel about the removal of old Martha's cottage, because it 
 intercepted the view from the morning-room. It stood just 
 where the opening is now, which shows the spire of Elsham 
 church, and the top of the Roman hill. Laura urged that 
 Martha should remove in defiance of Edward's promise — and 
 Edward himself would have liked it, though I am certain nothing 
 would have induced him to break his word. 1 own I was very 
 angry, and said some unpardonable things, and Laura behaved 
 extremely well; but we never made it up. I was shy, and we 
 differed about the election ; and, unfortunately, the day of the 
 nomination I was too unwell to go to Allingham in the evening, 
 which gave great offence. Stupidly enough, I sent a message 
 instead of a note, and the message was not given. I have learned 
 a lesson, however, from that for the rest of my life. I have never 
 trusted to messages since. Then, after Martha's death, they 
 pulled the cottage down, and Laura rejoiced. I can't say that I 
 sympathised, and I am not sure that Edward did either, for he 
 had it taken away during his absence, and never said anything 
 about the view. A few observations passed then between Laura 
 and me, which did not make us better friends ;— I could not bear 
 to see her so ecld-hearted. But the worst thing of all was, that 
 when they went to London, they took Miss Forester with them. 
 I hated the intimacy, and so did Edward, but it still goes on, 
 and it is considered a settled thing for her to go to town every 
 year with them.' 
 
 'I must say that is strange,' said Gertrude. 'Miss Forester 
 and Laura I should fancy differed in everything — that is, if 
 Laura's countenance tells truth. Independent of its beauty, 
 there is an openness and purity in its expression which charms 
 me; and Miss Forester's is so very unlike it.' 
 
 'So it is,' said Edith; 'and I really believe both faces speak
 
 176 GERTRUDE, 
 
 the characters. Laura is very sincere, but Miss Forester has an 
 immense power over her, notwithstanding : lately, indeed, there 
 lias been a change. Miss Forester still governs, but I think it is 
 in a different way. Laura seems afraid of her, and I have seen 
 her sometimes shrink away, as if she knew what Miss P'orester 
 was, and yet did not venture to cast her off. And besides this, 
 Laura is grown so grave— melancholy 1 may say, at times ; and 
 she and Edward don't seem so happy together as they used to 
 be. Edward is irritable ; and Laura appears frightened at him. 
 I have been at Allingham more the last few months, and have 
 seen more of it. Generally Laura is in town at this season, but 
 this year they hurried back unexpectedly, and gave no reasons 
 for it. In fact, Gertrude, there is some mystery, but I have 
 given up attempting to fathom it ; and we all do tolerably well 
 together. Laura and I are very civil.' 
 
 ' And Charlie,' said Gertrude ; ' docs not he help you to be 
 friends?' 
 
 'Oh no; he is quite spoiled, and I can't bear to see it. If I 
 ivere his godmother it would be different ; but a cousin of Laura's 
 stood, because Jane refused, so I feel I have nothing to do with 
 him. You must allow, now, that progressing at Allingham is 
 out of my power ; I could never waste time in telling Charlie he 
 is the sweetest little creature in the world, which is the only way 
 to Laura's heart.' 
 
 Gertrude did not say that she agreed, and Edith pressed for 
 an answer. 
 
 'I don't see things exactly in the same light you do,' replied 
 Gertrude, after a short silence ; ' because, if Laura were a 
 labourer's wife you would go and play with her child directly, 
 for the very purpose of making her feel you took an interest 
 in her.' 
 
 ' But, if I do not take an interest,' said Edith ; ' you would not 
 have me a hypocrite?' 
 
 They had reached the door of the cottage which Edith was 
 wishing to visit, and Gertrude's reply was short : ' You are 
 interested in poor people,' she said, 'because they are fellow- 
 creatures, and want help, and have never perhaps been properly 
 taught their duty; and especially you are anxious to assist them, 
 if they are members of the Church ; Laura has all these claims, 
 and one besides — she is Edward's wife.' 
 
 Edith would willingly have continued the conversation, but 
 the approach of the woman, to whom the house belonged, pre-
 
 GERTRUDE. 177 
 
 vented her; and Gertrude was not sorry to defer a longer discus- 
 sion until her sister had had more time for reflecting upon what 
 had been said. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 DAY after day glided on swiftly and silently, each bringing 
 hopes and fears, pleasures and pains, — to the careless 
 eye all light and momentary, and in such rapid succession as 
 scarcely to lay claim to remembrance. Yet under the most 
 unruffled surface of domestic life flows a deep under-current 
 either of joy or sorrow, which, gathering strength from every 
 trifling action and event, bursts at last suddenly, and often 
 overwhelmingly, upon hearts that have not learned to watch the 
 bubbles which indicate its existence. Perhaps it is well that it 
 should be so. It may be in mercy to many that their eyes are 
 blinded, and their ears closed, and, like the victim about to be 
 sacrificed, they are able to advance gaily and unhesitatingly to 
 the scene of their trial. If it were otherwise, might not exist- 
 ence to them be a burden wearisome and intolerable ? — haunted 
 by spectres of coming evils, the sight of which can only be 
 braved by those who have learned at their first entrance into 
 the world that lesson of unshrinking faith which the experience 
 of a long life so frequently fails to impart ? It was but a gradual 
 change that was passing over the inmates of Allingham. No 
 one could tell the exacj moment when Edward's countenance 
 grew more gloomy, and Laura's smiles were deepened into sighs. 
 No one could look back to the precise time when care first in- 
 vaded a happy home ; but few could fail to perceive its wither- 
 ing effects, in the hasty word, and the moody reverie, and the 
 silent and daily increasing reserve, which had sprung up where 
 once there had been only open, unsuspicious confidence. The 
 original fault lay with Edward — in the weakness which had in 
 duced him to conceal from his wife the encumbered state of his 
 property. From that error followed, as a necessary consequence, 
 innumerable others, and amongst them many in which Laura was 
 by no means free from participation. Even had her husband's 
 fortune been all that she imagined, it could not have sufficed for 
 the gratification of every idle wish — still less for the fearful ex- 
 travagances of London dissipation ; and this she well knew : 
 
 M
 
 178 GERTRUDE. 
 
 but, unaccustomed to self-control, and led by Miss Forester's 
 persuasive flatteries, she had set no bounds to her expenses ; 
 and whilst Edward brought himself into notice by making 
 splendid speeches in public, followed up by splendid dinners in 
 private, Laura gained equal notoriety by the magnificence of 
 her frequent entertainments. Edward murmured, remonstrated, 
 and paid his bills — the last being a conclusive evidence to Laura's 
 mind that she had done no wrong. But the moment at length 
 arrived when he was compelled to interpose his authority. At 
 the commencement of a third season of thoughtless frivolity, a 
 discussion, the first of an angry nature which had yet arisen, 
 was ended by a peremptory enforcement of strict economy, and 
 Laura soon afterwards returned to Allingham, in the beginning 
 of the London season, with no hope of solace or amusement 
 beyond the few hours which Edward was able occasionally to 
 devote to her — the society of a country neighbourhood when 
 half its members are absent — and the friendship of Miss 
 Forester. But notwithstanding her life of indulgence, Laura 
 bore the sacrifice with temper and patience. 
 
 The follies of fashionable life had not as yet weakened the 
 force of that strong attachment to her husband upon which so 
 many virtues might have been grafted. He was still the object 
 of her love and reverence, and his will, when once openly 
 expressed, was a law which, however she might dispute, she 
 would not venture to disobey. It was not regret for the morn- 
 ing breakfasts and the evening fetes, the gay acquaintances and 
 insidious flatteries, from which she was thus suddenly snatched, 
 that caused her melancholy. Past pleasures were remembered 
 and longed for, but the loss of them would have had no lasting 
 power to mar her happiness. If Allingham had been what it 
 was in the first days of her married life ; if Edward had been 
 still the companion of her walks and drives, the promoter of her 
 daily amusements, and the sharer of her every feeling ; above 
 all, if there had been no thought which she dared not com- 
 municate, no action which she dreaded to confess, a spring 
 spent in the country might have proved a season of enjoyment 
 rather than ennui. 
 
 But the case was far otherwise. Edward's engagements were 
 numerous, his absence was frequent, and his attention pre-oc- 
 cupicd. Affection, indeed, he still gave her, deep and sincere, but 
 shown only in fleeting moments, and upon passing impulses. If 
 Laura had her causes for reserve, he had his also; and more
 
 GERTRUDE. 179 
 
 painful, mote enduring, since they involved not merely the pro- 
 sperity of all he most loved, but the sacrifice of those firm prin- 
 ciples of right upon which, in his parliamentary career, he had 
 hitherto constantly acted. PI is talents were by this time known 
 and appreciated ; his character was respected ; his opinions were 
 received with deference : but for the purposes of a party he was 
 too independent ; and whilst he persisted in carrying out his own 
 views in opposition to his influential friends, there seemed no 
 prospect of his obtaining, under any circumstances, the position 
 of prominence for which so many had declared him calculated. 
 The knowledge of this fact had, at first, only stimulated Edward 
 more openly to prove himself free and unbiassed. There was a 
 satisfaction in the consciousness of self-sacrifice which nerved 
 him against ridicule, and gave him something of a martyr's pride 
 in his devotion to the public good. Every suggestion of flattery 
 was repelled ; every thought of a compromise rejected ; and, for 
 a time, the task was comparatively easy. But when at length 
 there seemed a prospect of his own friends being in power, the 
 trial assumed a different shape. In the excitement of public life 
 he felt equal to any resistance ; but then came quiet hours and 
 seasons of comparative retirement — moments when a present 
 pressure and a future dread weighed down his spirits and be- 
 wildered his judgment, and when the prospect of escape from 
 impending evil seemed a blessing to be purchased at any price. 
 The hope of bribing him to abandon his principles was one which 
 no person who knew him would have ventured to entertain ; but 
 there were other forms in which the proposal could more 
 delicately be made; and when it was whispered in his ear that 
 some concession upon two or three important points might soon 
 be the means of placing him in a situation, which, by increas- 
 ing his influence, would also increase his usefulness, it seemed 
 scarcely right at once to refuse the idea without consideration. 
 As on other occasions, Edward listened to the temptation, thought 
 upon it, and rejected it, and then carried its remembrance in 
 his heart, to be dwelt upon and coveted. It was at this time that 
 a temporary cessation of parliamentary business allowed him to 
 return with Laura to Allingham ; and, with the growing con- 
 viction in his mind that on the success of his public career de- 
 pended his prosperity or his ruin, the evident symptoms of 
 distrust which he discovered amongst his former supporters were 
 naturally regarded with considerable alarm. Officious friends 
 were constantly on the watch to remind him of danger, and to
 
 180 GERTRUDE. 
 
 retail speeches and anecdotes, some half true, others wholly 
 false, but all tending to show that unless he could consent to 
 give up the opinions he had hitherto most strenuously asserted, 
 his success, upon the event of a new election, would be most 
 doubtful. General Forester, in particular, shook his head with 
 looks of surprise and reproach, upon finding that the member he 
 had himself proposed — the man for whom such sacrifices had 
 been made — was resolved to follow the guidance of his own 
 judgment, and steadfastly set his face against many of the most 
 approved measures of the day. 
 
 It was a perversion of reason attributed to ignorance, and 
 argued against accordingly ; but as weeks went on, and no im- 
 pression was made upon Edward's prejudices, the General's zeal 
 in his behalf sensibly diminished ; and nothing but respect for 
 his talents, and the certainty that, if Mr Courtenay ceased to be 
 member, he himself would cease to be a person of any import- 
 ance, induced him still to range himself amongst the number of 
 his political adherents. Since Edward's return to Allingham, 
 however, General Forester's hopes of his conversion had con- 
 siderably revived. With such a spy as his daughter upon the 
 family secrets, he could not be entirely ignorant of the position 
 of Mr Courtenay's affairs ; and his own knowledge of Edward's 
 character made him easily believe that no compromise need be 
 despaired of whilst it was possible to hold out to him the pro- 
 spect of relieving himself from his difficulties ; and that this 
 might be done, if he remained in Parliament, the General had 
 good reason to imagine. He had indeed no idea to what extent 
 Edward was embarrassed. It was a secret only in the posses- 
 sion of his lawyers ; but Miss Forester had gained, by observa- 
 tion and questions, an insight into his hidden subjects of care, 
 which years of intimacy would have failed to impart to Laura. 
 And this knowledge she felt no scruple in imparting to her 
 father. 
 
 And there was yet another person who watched the onward 
 course of events with deep, untiring interest. The four years which 
 had glided over Mr Dacre's head had been unmarked by any in- 
 cidents of importance, but each as it passed had borne with it 
 some portion of strength from the body, and added some impress 
 of heaven to the soul. Calm he was still, and thoughtful, and dig- 
 nified, and self-possessed ; but it was the calmness rather of a spirit 
 escaped from earthly cares than, as it once had been, of a heart too 
 heavily oppressed to be conscious of them. None but himself
 
 GERTRUDE. 181 
 
 knew the toil <ind watchfulness, the careful examination and earnest- 
 prayer, by which alone the last clinging to bygone recollections 
 had been subdued ; and fewcould understand the fulness of peace, 
 which seems grantednstheforetasteof eternal rest, when the spirit, 
 after its weary struggle with sin and sorrow, has at length been 
 permitted to attain that high point of human excellence from 
 which heaven in its purity is seen unclouded above, while the 
 mists and shadows of the world float unheeded beneath. Yet it 
 was this very elevation of character which caused Mr Dacre's 
 unwearied care for the welfare of those whom he saw still battling 
 with the trials of life. They who have escaped from clanger can 
 best understand the difficulties of others when plunged into it ; 
 and although Edward's reserve and secrecy had latterly induced 
 Mr Dacre to believe, as Edith had said, that he must be in ex- 
 pectation of some sources of affluence unknown to his friends, 
 and thus in some degree diminished his anxiety, yet it was im- 
 possible to watch without deep regret the gradual deterioration 
 of a naturally noble mind, gifted with a clear perception of the 
 path of duty, but weakly turning aside at every step. He had 
 failed, too, in obtaining that intimacy with Edward, of which he 
 had once hoped to avail himself. Allingham was open to him 
 at all hours, and his welcome gave him no cause to consider 
 himself an intruder; but the day of confidence was over ; for, 
 having once rejected Mr Dacre's advice, Edward was unwilling 
 to confess the consequences which his own wilfulness had 
 brought upon him ; and guardedly abstained from all allusions 
 to his personal feelings or his private affairs. And at the Priory 
 it was equally hopeless to obtain any information as to his true 
 position. Edith, who knew most, now daily lamented her 
 estrangement and ignorance ; but there was a pleasure in feel- 
 ing that it was in his power to be a comfort to her, which 
 induced Mr Dacre to take frequent advantage of Mrs Cour- 
 tenay's hearty assurances, that ' it was quite a relief to see him 
 frequently, for really she began to think sometimes he would go 
 out of his senses with melancholy if he kept so much to himself.' 
 Perhaps, if he had known the effect of his visits, they might 
 even have been more frequent ; but the most pure and holy are 
 also the most humble-minded ; and Mr Dacre would have been 
 the first to feel surprise at being told that his presence was a 
 check upon Charlotte's satire and a stimulus to Jane's energy ; 
 while Mrs Courtenay often wondered ' what there was in Mr 
 Dacre which made things seem different when he was there ;
 
 1 82 GERTRUDE. 
 
 everybody was so quiet, and all went on so much more smoothly ; 
 she thought it must be because he was such an invalid that 
 people were afraid of talking out before him, for fear of dis- 
 tressing him.' 
 
 ' Mr Dacre has forgotten us for three days,' said Charlotte, as 
 she lingered one morning in the breakfast-room, a practice 
 which, since Gertrude's return, had become more enticing than 
 formerly. 
 
 'Not forgotten, my dear,' said Mrs Courtenay ; 'but you all 
 tire him out when he is here. I thought he never would have 
 done walking up and down the terrace the last time. Poor man ! 
 and the night air is so bad for him.' 
 
 ' He is rather a romantic person for an old one,' observed 
 Jane : ' I am sure he likes moonlight a great deal better than 
 I do.' 
 
 ' We were matter-of-fact enough that evening,' said Edith. 
 ' He was talking about the poor man who shot Edward's keeper, 
 and settling what was to be done with the wife and children.' 
 
 ' Ah, yes ! ' exclaimed Mrs Courtenay ; ' to be sure that must 
 be it. I dare say he is gone to see after them now. What a 
 good thing it is to be so kind.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Jane, more earnestly than usual ; ' if one were but 
 to equal it. I can fancy a great deal of pleasure in being able 
 to do what he does.' 
 
 ' Mr Dacre is a miserable invalid,' said Edith, shortly. Jane's 
 colour rose, and she was about to make an angry reply ; when 
 Gertrude, turning to her mother, inquired if she were not intend- 
 ing to go for a drive in the middle of the day. 
 
 ' Why, yes, my dear, I did think of it, and Jane too ; but why 
 did you ask?' 
 
 ' Because, if you were, I thought perhaps you would not mind 
 going by Torrington Heath, and taking Susan Philips a little 
 bundle of clothes we have been looking out for her — that is to 
 say, if it is ready ; but I must work hard to finish making up the 
 baby's frock.' 
 
 ' Leave it for to-day,' said Edith, ' and come with me to the 
 school ; we shall meet Mr Dacre there, perhaps, and then he 
 will tell us what he has been doing, and you will be able to say 
 anything you wish.' 
 
 The last words were spoken in a tone which implied that a 
 conversation with Mr Dacre was an all-powerful temptation ; 
 but Gertrude resolutely resisted it.
 
 GERTRUDE. 183 
 
 'If you would wait till the afternoon/ she replied, 'it would 
 be more convenient, because I really should be glad to finish 
 my work, and I want rather to help Charlotte to put in her 
 seeds.' 
 
 ' But you don't mean to say you would stay at home for such 
 a tritle as that ? ' exclaimed Edith ; ' I thought you were very 
 anxious about poor Philips, and I am nearly certain we shall hear 
 something from Mrs Grantley, if we don't meet Mr Dacre.' 
 
 ' We should not be delayed very long,' said Gertrude ; ' and 
 it is such an exquisite morning for gardening, and Charlotte 
 and I have been looking forward to it. You must remember 
 the work, too.' 
 
 ' We would take it up ourselves to-morrow,' persisted Edith ; 
 ' and it would do just as well, and better, because we should be 
 able to talk to Susan.' 
 
 ' I thought/ said Gertrude, ' that if mamma took it, perhaps 
 she would not mind telling Susan how to doctor her baby. I am 
 sure she knows a great deal about it, and we could not help her 
 at all in that way. 5 
 
 ' If mamma would/ said Edith ; ' but she dislikes getting in 
 and out of a carriage.' 
 
 'Perhaps Susan would be able to tell her about the child 
 without giving her that trouble/ said Gertrude. ' Don't call me 
 wilful, Edith; I really do hope to go out with you in the course 
 of the day.' 
 
 ' What is that you want me to do, my dear?' inquired Mrs 
 Courtenay ; 'you must not ask me to go amongst any of your 
 people : it makes me so very nervous — it upsets me quite.' 
 
 ' I did not mean you to be worried about it, dear mamma/ 
 said Gertrude; 'but you know so much about children, that 
 perhaps, if Susan Philips came to the carriage door you could 
 just tell her something that might be good for her baby.' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay hesitated, thought, and at last acquiesced. 
 Prescribing for babies was the point on which she peculiarly 
 piqued herself, and this Gertrude had lately discovered. 
 
 ' Well, then, it is settled, I suppose/ said Charlotte ; 'and we 
 will go to our gardening, Gertrude, and leave the others to their 
 own devices.' 
 
 ' Only if you could spare me a little time to finish my work 
 first/ said Gertrude, ' I should be very grateful.' 
 
 Charlotte looked disappointed ; and Jane, following the ex- 
 ample set her of assisting others, offered to undertake the task.
 
 1 84 GERTRUDE. 
 
 Gertrude was obliged, but not too much so. She did not appear 
 to consider that Jane had made an unusual effort, which would 
 have implied that she was generally selfish ; and thanked her 
 more for the favour conferred on herself than for the kindness 
 done to the poor woman. And Edith looked on in surprise : 
 that her mother should take any trouble for a sick child, and 
 Jane put herself out of the way to work for it, she would an hour 
 before have considered perfectly unnatural. Now, both actions 
 came as a matter of course, while Gertrude seemed to have cast 
 aside her own duties, and to devote herself merely to a trifling 
 amusement — why, Edith, notwithstanding her late conversation, 
 had yet to learn. 
 
 The morning wore quickly away, and Gertrude talked, and 
 laughed, and gardened, and discussed the merits of a new club 
 book, and assisted her mother out of the intricacies of her knit- 
 ting, as if her whole thoughts were devoted to the present hour. 
 No one would have imagined that she had any one engrossing 
 subject of thought, or that any other motive than mere curiosity 
 caused her to listen so frequently to the hall bell, and wonder 
 whether Mr Dacre would come to luncheon. Yet at that very 
 time Gertrude was longing to indulge the day-dream, which for 
 years had been floating before her, and which nothing but a firm 
 habit of self-control had kept from occupying her mind, to the 
 exclusion of her daily duties. It was a dream, not of fame and 
 honour, not of luxury and earthly splendour, but of riches dedi- 
 cated to the God who had conferred them. And at length the 
 period seemed arrived when she might be permitted to realise it. 
 Even before Gertrude had been made aware of her aunt's inten- 
 tions in her favour, her naturally generous temper had led her 
 to form plans for giving pleasure to others ; and all that could 
 be spared from her personal allowance was bestowed freely, 
 sometimes even profusely and extravagantly, upon her friends. 
 It was the family defect. The luxury of making presents was 
 too great to be resisted, and poor Gertrude had often brought 
 herself into difficulty by the thoughtless kindness which had 
 induced her to lavish her last sovereign upon a knick-knack for 
 a companion, when she was in want of absolute necessaries 
 herself. But, with more steady principles came the corrective 
 of this error. The first check which she received was from the 
 knowledge that she could not throw her money away upon idle 
 fancies, and also have enough to bestow upon the poor ; and 
 although it was not so agreeable, at first, to relinquish a pur-
 
 GERTRUDE. 185 
 
 chase i'or which she was certain to receive warm thanks and 
 caresses, in order to buy a hundred of coals, or a few yards of 
 flannel, with scarcely any prospect of gratitude in return, — yet 
 the lesson was learned at last ; and Gertrude was contented to be 
 thought prudent and economical by the world, so that she could 
 be generous in the eye of God. Her natural disposition, how- 
 ever, though diverted into another channel, still remained in full 
 force. The visions of the future which came the most fre- 
 quently, and were the most difficult to subdue, were of some 
 time when she should be able to build churches, and found 
 hospitals, and endow alms-houses, and give up everything to 
 religion. They constituted to her the romance of life ; for they 
 were associated with all those feelings of reverence, and self- 
 devotion, and dedication to the service of another Being, which, 
 even when turned upon earthly objects, are among the highest 
 and purest of which our nature is capable. And since her 
 return home, the occasion seemed afforded of gratifying her 
 most cherished wish. She had wealth beyond any others of 
 her family, since she shared her father's fortune equally with her 
 sisters ; there were no pressing claims upon her charity, and if, 
 with the sanction of her friends, she might take upon herself the 
 duty which had been exclusively her brother's, and sacrifice her 
 fortune for the church so much needed at Torrington, she could 
 scarcely be accused of going beyond her appointed sphere of 
 action. The first thought upon the subject was one of exquisite 
 delight — the next of deep humiliation. In bygone ages there 
 had been a monarch ; in whose heart it was to build a house of 
 rest for the ark of the covenant of the Lord, and for the footstool 
 of his God ; and who had made ready for the building. But 
 God said unto him, Thou shall not build an house for my name.' 
 And after the rejection of David, the man after God's own heart. 
 Gertrude trembled, lest it might be presumptuous in one so 
 young, and frail, and untried as herself, to venture upon a similar 
 undertaking. Her spirit sank as she dwelt upon the greatness 
 of the work, and her own weakness and sinfulness ; she longed to 
 find some person who would enter into her feelings, and advise 
 her rightly, whilst she shrank from confessing her secret wishes 
 and hearing her ideas discussed and argued upon, and, it might 
 be, ridiculed, by those who would consider it a deed of merit, 
 rather than an infinite privilege, to make an offering of worldly 
 wealth for the benefit of the Church of Christ. Delicacy naturally 
 prevented her from speaking to Edward, and reserve formed an
 
 1 86 GERTRUDE. 
 
 equal barrier to applying to Mr Grantley, of whom she had seen 
 but little ; next to him her mind turned to Mr Dacre, whose in- 
 timacy with the family made him appear an old friend. Once or 
 twice, in their late conversations, she had endeavoured to intro- 
 duce subjects of the kind uppermost in her thoughts, in order to 
 gain an insight into his opinions, and discover whether she might 
 dare to acknowledge her wishes and her own self-distrust, with- 
 out fear of being considered weak and enthusiastic; for Gertrude, 
 like all persons of a warm and earnest temperament, could better 
 have brooked open opposition, than a matter-of-fact, uninterested 
 inquiry into the reasonableness of her views. Edith had, as yet, 
 been her only confidante ; and even she, though delighted at the 
 prospect, seemed to consider principally the sacrifice her sister 
 was about to make, and spoke of it as an act of munificence, 
 which she desired might be known to every one ; and poor Ger- 
 trude, humbled by praise more than by censure, dreaded lest 
 after all she should be mistaken in Mr Dacre's character, and 
 receive flattering commendations, where she desired only 
 sympathy and advice. It was with a beating heart, therefore, 
 that on this morning, when she had resolved if possible to speak 
 to him unreservedly, she heard his now well-known ring, followed 
 by the inquiry for Mrs Courtenay and the young ladies. Objec- 
 tions to her plan started up instantaneously. Mr Dacre might 
 consider it premature — an infringement upon Edward's peculiar 
 province ; he might think it hasty, and counsel delay ; or he 
 might see other and less interesting claims upon her fortune; or, 
 still worse, he might be preoccupied, and so might give her only 
 a half attention. And at the instant Gertrude felt as if the least 
 check would throw her back upon herself, and make her bury 
 her wishes in her own bosom for ever. Mr Dacre appeared in 
 due time, was chided for his long absence, invited to take 
 luncheon as usual, and then pressed to give every particular 
 about the unfortunate poacher and his family. It was a hard 
 trial for Gertrude ; yet she forced herself to attention, by re- 
 membering how much of happiness or misery to a fellow-creature 
 was involved in the subject ; and no one, in listening to her con- 
 siderate questions, would have imagined how great was the 
 effort of making them. All was, however, at length told ; and 
 Gertrude waited for a pause, as an excuse for breaking up the 
 party ; but Mrs Courtenay was too delighted at finding a new 
 topic of conversation to relinquish it willingly, and continued 
 asking questions till the carriage had been twice announced ;
 
 GERTRUDE. 187 
 
 when, to Gertrude's disappointment, it was insisted that Mr 
 Dacre should go for a drive with them. He was to return, how- 
 ever, to dinner ; and again Gertrude meekly submitted to the 
 delay, and strove to turn her mind to other subjects. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 'I 
 
 CANNOT imagine, Gertrude, how you contrive to be so 
 calm about everything,' said Edith, putting her arm with- 
 in her sister's as they left the dining-room, and leading her into 
 the garden ; ' I watched you during the whole of dinner, and 
 never once saw you look absent.' 
 
 ' I saw myself, though,' said Gertrude, smiling ; ' but indeed, 
 Edith, you are enough to prevent any one from being calm — half 
 my worries now are for you. I am sure you will be grievously 
 vexed if objections are made.' 
 
 ' Naturally enough,' said Edith ; ' and angry too, perhaps ; 
 for, after all, who is to hinder you from doing as you like with 
 your own money ?' 
 
 ' No one, legally,' replied Gertrude ; ' and if I were some 
 twenty or thirty years older, and had experience and judgment. 
 I don't think anyone would ; but it is the old story of times and 
 circumstances pointing out duty. I should feel I was pre- 
 sumptuous in determining upon it, if such a man as Mr Dacre 
 seriously objected ; for I sometimes think, Edith,' and Ger- 
 trude's voice involuntarily assumed a deeper tone, 'that holy- 
 works should only be undertaken by holy persons.' 
 
 ' And who is holy if you ' , began Edith, but the sentence 
 
 was unfinished. 
 
 ' Who is holy, indeed ? ' said Gertrude, not perceiving her 
 sister's meaning — 'holy as one should be who desires such a 
 privilege as I am seeking. Does it never seem to you, Edith, 
 when you look upon beautiful scenery, that nature is the only 
 temple fit for the worship of God ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Edith, ' and I suppose, if our minds were in a 
 right state, devotion would be the natural result of all keen per- 
 ception of beauty ; but, as it is, we can so seldom view it without 
 some lower associations. It constantly appears to me like a 
 stranger — as if I could see onlv the outward form, and the spirit
 
 1 88 GERTRUDE. 
 
 was hidden. I have looked upon this view, for instance, day aftei 
 day, and gained no real pleasure or benefit from it.' 
 
 ' I can understand that,' replied Gertrude, ' and it is humbling 
 and disappointing to have nothing but mean or common ideas 
 suggested by what we admire so much. That is the reason, I 
 suppose, why the solemnity of a church is generally necessary to 
 raise our minds. The natural temple is profaned.' 
 
 'Yes,' continued Edith, ' the earth maybe a temple for angels, 
 but it can never be for us.' 
 
 ' Only as we become more like them,' replied Gertrude ; ' and 
 then,' she added, with greater earnestness, 'can you not fancy, 
 Edith, the infinite charm of being able to rend the spirit of 
 nature truly ; of being so thoroughly religious, as never to look 
 coldly upon the meanest flower, because God made it, and really 
 to feci that His voice was in the thunder, and His glory upon 
 the seas ?' 
 
 The tears were in Edith's eyes, and she paused before reply- 
 ing. ' O Gertrude ! ' she exclaimed, at length, ' if it were only 
 possible to be what we know we ought to be ! But how is it 
 possible ? If we lived alone in deserts there might be a hope : 
 but there can be none for us, when we are constantly in contact 
 with our fellow-creatures, and so have our worst feelings brought 
 into play at every instant.' 
 
 ' I have thought lately,' replied Gertrude, ' that the difficulty 
 might be less, but for our way of looking at people, and thinking 
 of them. If we could constantly realise the fact that we are 
 baptized members of the Church of Christ, to live with our fel- 
 low-creatures would be not merely an intercourse with human 
 beings, but with souls training for eternity.' 
 
 ' One is so apt to forget the very existence of a Church,' said 
 Edith. 
 
 4 Yes, and yet I am sure that no mind can be raised to its 
 highest tone without a remembrance of it ; because there is 
 much involved in it : it tells in a wonderful way upon daily 
 life.' 
 
 ' I don't see that,' replied Edith ; ' of course it is a truth, and 
 a great one ; but there seems nothing very practical in it.' 
 
 ' So I should have said once,' replied Gertrude, ' but I think, 
 when a person begins to act up to the rules of the Church, 
 however imperfectly, they must be felt to be a great assistance in 
 keeping the mind in a right state ; even though their meaning 
 and spirit are not thoroughly understood.'
 
 GERTRUDE. i8g 
 
 4 You arc speaking of yourself, Gertrude,' said Edith. 4 I 
 always felt there was some great difference between us.' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Gertrude, ' I was speaking of myself, because we 
 must be better judges of the effect of certain principles from our 
 own experience than from hearsay. My notions about the 
 Church began from practice. A friend talked to me of the duty 
 of observing certain days, and attending daily services, which 
 were just introduced at Farleigh ; she was not at all a clever 
 person, and understood nothing of controversy, but she was most 
 entirely in earnest, and never, that I could find out, knowingly 
 omitted a duty ; and all her argument was, that fasts and fes- 
 tivals were ordered, and that there was a form of daily service in 
 the Prayer-book, which the clergyman of the parish intended to 
 use ; and she asked me whether 1 thought we were at liberty to 
 follow our notions of right, rather than obey the rules of the 
 Church.' 
 
 'It is a strong way of putting the case,' said Edith: 'the 
 reasoning I have generally heard has been upon a question of 
 expediencx .' 
 
 ' Perhaps I might have been inclined to reason with any one 
 else,' said Gertrude, ' but it was impossible in that instance. 1 
 do not think she would have understood it ; and when she saw 
 me pause and consider, she merely said, " Don't you think it 
 would be safer to do what we are told ? " ' 
 
 4 And did that convince you ? ' exclaimed Edith. 
 
 ' Not as to the theory, but it did as to the practice.' 
 
 ' Vet you must have felt yourself immensely superior to her all 
 the time,' began Edith ; but Gertrude stopped her before the 
 completion of the sentence. 
 
 1 O Edith ! ' she said, ' you do not know of whom you are 
 speaking. Even then I felt she was meet for happiness, and three 
 months afterwards she died. How could I be her superior ? ' 
 
 ' In intellect, surely you were, from your own account,' said 
 Edith. 
 
 'But what is intellect?' replied Gertrude. 'How can it 
 weigh for one instant in the balance against an honest and good 
 heart, which she possessed in a greater degree than any other 
 person I ever knew ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid,' said Edith, with a sigh, ' that I should not feel 
 as you do. I could scarcely have brought myself to listen to the 
 suggestion of one whose judgment I thought lightly of.' 
 
 ' I did not think lightly of it,' replied her sister. ' Consider,
 
 190 GERTRUDE. 
 
 Edith, from whom all good comes. Her knowledge of duty was 
 clearly not the result of human reasoning, and therefore seemed 
 to claim the more reverence.' 
 
 'But about the Church,' said Edith. 'I don't see how think- 
 ing of it will act upon daily conduct.' 
 
 'Try,' said Gertrude. 'The next time a morning visitor 
 comes, and you are worried at being interrupted, just think of 
 her as a member of the Church, and therefore as having the 
 same blessings and the same prospects as yourself, and see 
 whether you will not feel an interest in her, and be much more 
 inclined to be kind and attentive to her.' 
 
 Edith laughed, in spite of the seriousness of the subject. 
 ' Don't be shocked at me, Gertrude,' she said ; ' but you know 
 morning visitors are allowed to be the greatest torments in life. 
 Every one says it ; and it seems absurd to talk gravely about 
 them.' 
 
 'That is rather what I said just now,' replied Gertrude : 'we 
 create difficulties for ourselves. Look at a morning visitor 
 merely as a morning visitor, and the tone of your mind is 
 lowered directly ; — you cannot help it. She very frequently 
 breaks in upon your time, and tries your temper, and you cannot 
 help wishing to be alone again ; and when you once have this 
 feeling, your style of conversation will be lowered too ; and as a 
 mere mode of passing a few minutes, you will naturally speak of 
 your neighbours.' 
 
 'Yes,' said Edith; 'I have felt that many times. I don't 
 think really I am fond of gossip, but persons would think I was 
 who heard me talk, merely because, as you say, I want to pass 
 away a few minutes.' 
 
 ' And yet morning visits are not trifles/ said Gertrude. ' Even 
 those which are most hurried and uninteresting must make some 
 impression upon our minds — they must tell in some degree upon 
 our destiny for eternity.' 
 
 ' It is a fearful way of viewing things,' said Edith. 
 
 'But if it is true, dearest, why should we shrink from it? 
 Will it not be better to pass through life with awe and trembling, 
 watching our every step, and so learning to lean the more stead- 
 fastly upon God, than to wake up, when it is too late, to the 
 knowledge that what we called trifles were the only opportunities 
 afforded us of fitting ourselves for heaven ? ' 
 
 'There would be but little merriment on earth if all thought 
 as you do, Gertrude,' said Edith.
 
 RTRUDE, .91 
 
 'No,' replied Gertrude : 'there would be care, and prudence, 
 and at times anxiety ; but when we once set ourselves earnestly 
 to the work, we should be cheerful, as children are cheerful, who 
 can play in the midst of danger, because they have faith in a 
 father's power to protect them.' 
 
 There was a short pause, which Edith was the first to break. 
 ' I can fancy,' she said, ' that dwelling much upon our position 
 as belonging to the Church would make things appear more 
 serious, if we could only remember it at the right time.' 
 
 'It would become a habit by degrees,' said Gertrude, ' and 
 then it would influence every action ; and for this reason, that 
 it is to the Christian what the consciousness of noble birth is to 
 the man of the world. It gives a feeling of dignity and im- 
 portance, though without any admixture of pride. When we 
 know ourselves to be what the Bible says, — "heirs of God and 
 joint-heirs with Christ," — I think we shall hardly be tempted to 
 act lightly, and the fear of falling away will be constantly before 
 us, to make us watch against sin. Do, dear Edith, read over St 
 Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians, carefully, and see whether the 
 whole argument does not rest upon this foundation ; and then 
 think what a calm, contented, humble tone of mind must be the 
 result of it.' 
 
 ' I am not sure that I do see it,' replied Edith. 
 
 1 You will own,' replied Gertrude, ' that as members of the 
 Church, there can be no rivalry, or selfishness, or wish to attract 
 notice beyond others. Think of the feeling there is in a family 
 when any one is distinguished beyond the rest. The gratification 
 is felt by all, because the honour belongs to all ; and so it is in 
 the Church.' Edith still looked doubtful, and Gertrude con- 
 tinued : — ' What I mean,' she said, ' is, that if we labour for the 
 prosperity of a body, not for our own benefit, we strike at the 
 root of all selfishness ; and if we are poor, or have no talents, 
 or no opportunity of exercising them, we shall still be satis- 
 fied, because the object we have at heart — the good of the 
 Church of Christ — will surely be attained, though not through 
 our means.' 
 
 'And would that satisfy you?' said Edith. 'Could you, for 
 instance, bear to be told that the church at Torrington was to 
 be built by another person ? ' 
 
 Gertrude was silent, and when her sister turned to look at her, 
 the expression of her countenance showed that the question had 
 excited some painful feeling.
 
 192 GERTRUDE. 
 
 'You have misunderstood me, dearest,' she said, at length, in 
 her usual quiet manner ; ' I could not dare to speak to you of 
 myself, or of what I should feel under any circumstances. To 
 see the height one longs to attain, is far different from setting 
 out on the weary journey to reach it.' 
 
 ' Yes/ said Edith, and she sighed deeply ; ' it is a weary 
 journey. And if you find it so, Gertrude, what must it be to 
 me?' 
 
 Gertrude was about to answer, when the appearance of Mr 
 Dacre at the farther end of the walk stopped her. 
 
 ' The hour is come at last,' said Edith, with a smile, which 
 was checked as she saw the colour fade from her sister's cheek, 
 and felt her arm tremble. 
 
 'Who would think I could be so absurd?' said Gertrude: 
 ' yet if he should bring forward any objections I have not seen, 
 it would be such a bitter disappointment.' 
 
 Edith was inclined to remind her of her own principles, but 
 she felt it would be almost a reproach. Gertrude, however, 
 needed no suggestions. ' 1 know what you would say,' she con- 
 tinued, observing that Edith was going to speak; 'if it is not 
 my duty, it will still be performed by the person whom God sees 
 fitted for it ; and then, Edith, you must teach me to submit.' 
 
 Edith pressed her sister's hand, without venturing upon a 
 reply ; and, turning into another path, left Gertrude to open the 
 subject of her wishes to Mr Dacre. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 ' "V "X 7"E thought you would have been tempted out before this,' 
 V V was Gertrude's first observation, as she walked by Mr 
 Dacre's side, not knowing how to introduce the desired topic. 
 
 ' Ten years ago I should have been,' was the answer ; ' but 
 illness makes an old man think more of the charms of repose 
 than of a beautiful evening ; besides, you were so fully engaged, 
 I should only have been an interruption.' 
 
 'Not that, indeed,' exclaimed Gertrude, in an eager, trem- 
 bling voice : ' I was wishing for you so much — I thought— I 
 wanted '
 
 GERTRUDE. 193 
 
 'Anything that I can give?' said Mr Dacre, struck by the 
 hesitation so foreign to her usual manner. 
 
 ' I do not know,' replied Gertrude, struggling to regain self- 
 possession ; ' and yet I do know. If you would listen to me — I 
 think that is what I want most.' 
 
 ' You are looking upon me as a stranger,' said Mr Dacre, in a 
 tone of gentle reproof, ' and it does me injustice. I was a father 
 once, and I have not forgotten a father's feelings.' 
 
 Gertrude tried to answer, but her words came with difficulty. 
 ' 1 will tell you,' she said, at length, ' but, indeed, I do not think 
 of you as a stranger ; if I did, I could not let you know what is 
 in my thoughts.' She stopped again ; and Mr Dacre looked at 
 her inquiringly. 
 
 ' Do not keep me in suspense,' he said ; ' if I can be of any 
 service, you have only to name it.' 
 
 ' I don't know why I should trouble you,'' replied Gertrude ; 
 and then, unheeding the appearance of abruptness, she con- 
 tinued, rapidly, ' I have a wish — a great wish : it has been in 
 my mind for years — and I think it is right, but I am not sure. 
 It is such an important thing ; so very serious ; it does not seem 
 as if it could be intended for me to do it ; — only I have the 
 means. I — I wish, — I should like,' — and with evident effort the 
 words at last were spoken, — 'I should be so glad to build a 
 church at Torrington.' She paused, and finding that Mr Dacre 
 did not immediately answer, continued, as if anxious to relieve 
 herself of a burden weighing upon her heart, — ' You must know, 
 I think, that I am richer than my sisters. My aunt's fortune 
 is mine now ; I have five hundred a year at my own disposal, 
 and there are no claims upon me yet ; and if there were, this 
 would seem almost the greatest, because the place belongs to 
 Edward, and he cannot do anything for it himself, — he has 
 said so several times. If it were a common thing, I should not 
 hesitate ; but I think/ you will understand ; it would give me 
 such pleasure, I am afraid I may not see whether it is my 
 duty ; and if I am presumptuous, and do not undertake it 
 rightly, God's blessing may not go with it ; and I think about 
 it sometimes till I am frightened, and fancy that perhaps I 
 ought to give away my money differently now, upon things 
 which would be greater sacrifices, and wait for this till I have 
 lived longer, and suffered more, and learned to be better, only the 
 case seems so urgent ; but then again I long to be able to do it so 
 much that perhaps I am not a good judge. It may not be ray
 
 194 GERTRUDE. 
 
 duty, though I fancy it is — if you would only give me your 
 opinion.' 
 
 Mr Dacre still hesitated, and Gertrude, looking at him 
 anxiously, said, ' I have tried to prepare myself for objections 
 and disappointment.' 
 
 ' Needlessly, I hope/ said Mr Dacre, recovering from the 
 feeling of surprise at a request for advice so different from any 
 he could have expected ; ' I will tell you first, that I fully under- 
 stand your feelings. An offering of this kind is a most solemn 
 duty, and must not be undertaken lightly. It may be that the 
 spirit in which it is commenced will prove a blessing or a curse 
 upon generations to come.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' exclaimed Gertrude ; ' I thought you would 
 understand me. It has always appeared to me very sad that 
 worldly motives should be mixed with works of religion ; and 
 occasionally, when I have seen the ruins of old churches and 
 abbeys, I have thought that there might have been something 
 wanting in the spirit in which they were begun, and therefore 
 they were suffered to decay ; and it seemed impossible then that 
 it could ever be my duty to attempt such things.' 
 
 'Yet,' replied Mr Dacre, ' we must be careful that self-distrust 
 does not lead us into a morbid fear of being presumptuous. The 
 most fervent piety could not prevent our offerings from being 
 marred by some earthly alloy ; and it would be rather a doubt 
 of God's mercy than of our own worthiness, which would lead us 
 to fold our hands and do nothing, because what we did was not 
 perfect' 
 
 ' Then you think that I might — you do not see any objec- 
 tions ?' inquired Gertrude. 
 
 'Not at this moment,' was the reply; but Mr Dacre's tone 
 was less certain than Gertrude had expected. ' Can you bear 
 to hear the subject discussed in a cool, dispassionate, perhaps 
 you would call it a worldly, manner, now that you know how 
 entirely I feel with you ?' 
 
 ' Why should it be worldly ?' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' The word sounds out of place, I own ; but when I say 
 worldly, I do not for an instant mean to imply that we must 
 lower our principles, but merely that we must not let zeal, how- 
 ever pure, warp our sober judgment.' 
 
 Gertrude's countenance expressed disappointment. ' It 
 frightens me to hear zeal condemned,' she said ; ' these are 
 not days when it is too abundant.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 195 
 
 ' It is not the virtue, but the manner of exercising it, which 
 we must guard against,' replied Mr Dacre. ' I have often found 
 it advisable, when my heart has been very much set on any 
 object, to endeavour to view it in the same light in which it 
 would be regarded by men of the world ; and I hope, by that 
 means, I may have avoided giving unnecessary offence.' 
 
 ' And what do you think a man of the world would say to my 
 project?' inquired Gertrude. 
 
 ' The first question he would be likely to ask,' replied Mr 
 Dacre, ' would be as to any other claims upon your fortune ; 
 but this you tell me has been already considered.' 
 
 ' I think so,' said Gertrude ; ' there are no family claims, cer- 
 tainly.' 
 
 Mr Dacre hesitated a little before proceeding. He was 
 doubtful how far his suggestions might be considered intrusive. 
 f Perhaps,' he said, ' there are no claims which are absolutely 
 pressing ; but is it not as well to guard against any appearance 
 of injustice ? I mean, that when you are calculating how much 
 you may expend, you should take into consideration, that other 
 persons may have naturally and fairly looked forward to some 
 increase of their own comforts when you came into possession 
 of your property.' 
 
 ' I understand you now,' exclaimed Gertrude. ' I know that 
 I cannot live at home upon the same footing with my sisters, 
 though we have all an equal share in the family property. I 
 ought to add something to it.' 
 
 ' Yes,' he replied, ' I think you should ; and this might be 
 first cared for. It will not prevent your following out your own 
 wishes afterwards ; but it will prevent any one from blam- 
 ing- you for doing it. It will be avoiding the appearance of 
 evil.' 
 
 ' And my sisters,' said Gertrude. ' I have thought of them 
 also. Edith agrees so entirely with me, that she will not hear 
 of my reserving any portion for her ; but I should be sorry for 
 the others to be disappointed.' 
 
 ' And most probably,' observed Mr Dacre, ' the very care you 
 show for them will induce them to enter more fully into your 
 plans, and be anxious to share them. It is a great thing to put 
 it into a person's power to act rightly.' 
 
 ' One so longs to do everything,' said Gertrude, • but I suppose 
 in all these cases there must be some self-denial.' 
 
 ' Yes 3 and where there is not, gmy virtue must be doubtful
 
 196 GERTRUDE. 
 
 generosity, ior instance — which is a mere luxury, unless it is 
 founded upon the restriction of personal indulgence.' 
 
 ' And justice,' added Gertrude, smiling, ' which you have been 
 so carefully inculcating upon me.' 
 
 'Not because I thought you had quite forgotten it, but because 
 it is a grave, shy virtue, very fond of keeping in the background 
 — hidden like the stars by the sunlight of generosity — though 
 without it the most munificent actions may be, and generally are, 
 condemned, and by none more than by keen-sighted, cold-hearted 
 men of the world ; and so we return to the point from which we 
 set out, — that it is well to look at our actions in the way in which 
 they look at them, that we may not give unnecessary offence, and 
 repel instead of attract them.' 
 
 ' I am afraid,' said Gertrude, 'these necessary provisions will 
 principally interfere with the endowment. The church need not 
 be large for such a small district, and I could manage it without 
 the least difficulty. What I should have wished certainly would 
 have been to have done all that might be required — schoolrooms, 
 and things of that kind ; but I suppose it would be better not 
 to attempt too much, the endowment is of so much more import- 
 ance.' 
 
 'Yes,' said Mr Dacre ; ' once provide a good clergyman, and 
 as far as human calculation goes, you need have no fear of the 
 result being what you wish.' 
 
 ' It will be but a small income,' replied Gertrude ; ' hve thou- 
 sand pounds, or even six or seven, will not go very far in these 
 days.' 
 
 ' If it is all that is allowed you to give, there can be no cause 
 for regret. The blessing rests not upon the little or the much, 
 but upon the spirit in which it is offered.' 
 
 Gertrude sighed. ' And that,' she said, after a short silence, 
 ' we forget. Things become so low and earthly when we descend 
 to details.' 
 
 'Yes,' replied Mr Dacre ; ' they are the body of dust in which 
 the spirit is enshrined ; and I fear you are scarcely aware of the 
 trouble and even pain you are bringing upon yourself by en- 
 gaging in them. But it is a great victory when we have learned 
 to infuse a holy principle into the minutest concerns of life — 
 money matters especially.' 
 
 'Edward must be spoken to,' said Gertrude, ' and mamma, and 
 my sisters ; but I wish there was no occasion for it.' 
 
 'Your brother of course has the first claim to be consulted.
 
 GERTRUDE. 197 
 
 I should be glad to spare you the effort of mentioning it, but it is 
 
 impossible.' 
 
 'It will be the hardest task of all,' said Gertrude. 'And I 
 seem to know so little of him. 1 shall be sadly afraid of jarring 
 upon him.' 
 
 Mr Dacre smiled, but it was not cheerfully. ' Vuu must jar 
 upon him,' he replied ; ' for many reasons you must. Princi- 
 pally, because the duty is one which was once his own ; and 
 scarcely any person can bear to see another fulfil his office. 
 And now I must give you one piece of advice, which I am afraid 
 will sound cold and prudent beyond what is necessary. If, at 
 the end of six months, you see no reason to alter your plans, 
 then I hope you will be able to begin immediately ; but I think 
 you will be doing right to wait, and well consider every ob- 
 jection,— to " count the cost," in fact, before you undertake so 
 great a work.' 
 
 Gertrude was scarcely disappointed by this suggestion, for 
 she had not believed it possible to follow out her plans im- 
 mediately. All that she desired was the permission to think 
 upon them. Mr Dacre did not press the point. He seemed 
 wearied, and Gertrude proposed they should return to the house. 
 He stopped, however, before entering, and in a voice almost 
 tremulous from repressed feeling, said, 'The first wish of my 
 heart would have been gratified, if it had been permitted me to 
 have had such a conversation with my own child as I have now 
 held with you. Will you let me consider it a bond of union 
 between us, and allow me to help you, if possible, under all cir- 
 cumstances, as I would have helped her ? ' 
 
 Gertrude's answer was a warm pressure of the hand, which said 
 all that Mr Dacre required. Edith met them at the door, and 
 read in her sister's calm, sweet smile that all her doubts were at 
 rest ; but there was something of disturbance in Mr Dacre's 
 countenance, which, now that Edith's thoughts were less occupied 
 by Gertrude, she could not avoid noticing. It was remarked, how- 
 ever, only by herself. The evening passed as usual ; if any secret 
 care was preying upon his mind, it was diverted by music and 
 conversation ; and when the little party broke up, the observation 
 made was, that Mr Dacre had seldom appeared so comfortable. 
 And Gertrude retired to her room, to indulge for the first time 
 without fear the dream that had haunted her from childhood. 
 She knelt in her accustomed place to repeat her accustomed 
 prayers ; but as she closed her eyes to shut out all earthly objects,
 
 1 98 GERTRUDE. 
 
 tall, clustering pillars, and carving-, and fret-work, arose before 
 her, and in imagination she felt herself worshipping in the 
 temple of holiness which she was about to raise to her Maker's 
 honour ; and when her head was laid upon her pillow, the same 
 visions floated before her in dim and shadowy beauty ; while 
 tones of solemn music seemed borne upon the soft night breeze 
 to soothe her sinking fancy, with the prophecy of what might so 
 soon be reality. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 IT was late on the following morning that Laura, after •^tete-'h- 
 teie breakfast with her husband, of more than usual length 
 and silence, wandered into her morning-room, to endeavour, if 
 possible, to find some occupation that might pleasantly engage 
 her thoughts, and prevent her from dwelling upon the contrast 
 between Edward's present gloom and reserve, and the light- 
 hearted cheerfulness of former days. It was useless to account 
 for the change by attributing it to a passing annoyance. Certainly 
 he had pronounced the coffee insipid and badly made, the eggs 
 not sufficiently boiled, the marmalade inferior, the cutlets uneat 
 able ; but Laura felt too truly that the real grievance lay in the 
 secrecy of his own heart. It might perhaps have been increased 
 by some information in the letters, which so deeply absorbed his 
 attention as to cause him entirely to forget his wife's presence ; 
 or it might be attributed to the last night's interview with Mr 
 Rivers, which had occasioned her a dreary, solitary evening ; or 
 it might be the result of General Forester's visits, which had 
 latterly become very frequent, and never failed to put him out of 
 humour ; but after long consideration, it still remained a mystery, 
 known only by its fatal effect upon her domestic happiness. 
 From her husband, Laura turned for comfort to her child, but 
 the nurse had taken him out, and he was nowhere to be found ; 
 and in his absence she would willingly have had recourse to a 
 friend ; but at the thought of Miss Forester, Laura's countenance 
 assumed a deeper gravity, and something like a tear dimmed her 
 bright eye. There was but one person whom at that moment 
 she could have seen with pleasure, though why, she could not 
 have told. Gertrude's features were plain, her manners were
 
 GERTRUDE. 199 
 
 simple, her talents were not brilliant ; she never was known to 
 flatter — she did not appear anxious to please ; and Laura had 
 been idolised from her cradle, and taught to consider elegance, 
 beauty, and vivacity essential to an agreeable person, and their 
 deficiency only to be atoned for by the homage shown to her own 
 superiority. There could not have been two characters more 
 unlike — and Edith would have said, that, as a necessary conse- 
 quence, it would have been useless to attempt creating any 
 mutual interest between them. And yet, in Laura's present state 
 of depression, the thought of Gertrude's gentle smile, and the 
 recollection of her soothing voice, was like the oasis in the 
 wilderness — the one green spot on which alone she could bear 
 to dwell. For Gertrude had gradually and unobtrusively con- 
 nected herself with Laura's best and happiest feelings. In many 
 a morning conversation and evening walk she had given her that 
 which we are accustomed to consider a trifle, to be bestowed 
 according to the humour of the moment — sincere, unaffected 
 attention. Laura spoke of her childhood, and Gertrude's ques- 
 tions led her to enter into details of her home ; she mentioned 
 her first acquaintance with Edward, and Gertrude, instead of 
 bringing forward other instances of happy marriages after a short 
 acquaintance, made her relate the little details which were fondly 
 treasured in her memory. She told of her foreign tour, and 
 Gertrude, though she had never travelled herself, entered fully 
 into her pleasures and disappointments ; and, above all, when, 
 with a mother's doting partiality, Laura praised her darling child, 
 Gertrude showed no symptoms of weariness, but listened to the 
 little incidents of his daily life, and deduced from them his future 
 character, with as much earnestness as if their positions had been 
 reversed : and this without effort or insincerity, but because she 
 had taught herself to look upon all connected with her, or related 
 to her, as portions of one great family, into which she had been 
 born at her baptism. It is a habit of immense importance — 
 that quiet attention of which we think so little : we speak of 
 sympathy, and commend it, and wonder that it is so rare and so 
 difficult of attainment ; and the next minute lose ourselves in a 
 dream of business or enjoyment, and repel with a short answer 
 or an abstracted look the very persons who most require 
 our friendship ; and when once repelled we may regret, but we 
 can scarcely hope to retrieve, our error. The regard and confi- 
 dence, however, which Gertrude had thus awakened in Laura's 
 mind, were as yet shown only in trifles. Laura had not become
 
 2O0 GERTRUDE. 
 
 sufficiently unreserved to speak to her of her hidden causes of 
 anxiety. All that she felt was a sense of protection in Gertrude's 
 presence ; and when oppressed by care, something of refresh- 
 ment and repose in the tones of kindness, which expressed 
 sympathy without asking why it was needed. But on this morn- 
 ing Laura was not destined to receive any such comfort. A 
 short time only elapsed after she had left the breakfast-table, and 
 she was still standing sadly at the window of her morning-room, 
 when a gentle, a very gentle tap was heard at the door, and with 
 an involuntary shrinking she gave permission for Miss Forester 
 to enter. 
 
 1 Alone as usual,' was the first observation that greeted Laura's 
 ear, recalling in insinuating accents her now frequent subjects of 
 complaint against Edward ; ' I thought it would be so.' 
 
 ' We have just finished breakfast,' replied Laura, impatient at 
 any imputation upon her husband from another person, however 
 she might be inclined to find fault with him herself. 
 
 'Ah ! you are late at night, I know ; and my father says Mr 
 Courtenay looks dreadfully harassed just now. This prospect of 
 a change of ministers, and another election, must give him a great 
 deal to think of.' 
 
 'So soon? it is impossible. lie has said nothing to 
 me.' 
 
 'Very likely ; the thing is not certain ; and gentlemen seldom 
 think it worth while to converse with ladies about politics — my 
 father excepted. He tells me everything. But I did not intend 
 to talk to you about elections ; my business is a little private 
 affair of our own.' And Miss Forester drew her chair near to 
 Laura, and lowered her voice to the strictly intimate mysterious 
 tone, while she took from her reticule a packet of papers and 
 tetters. Laura with difficulty suppressed a heavy sigh, and looked 
 uneasily at the door. ' You need have no fear,' continued Miss 
 Forester; ' if any person should come in, they would not under- 
 stand anything. In fact, there is little to understand ; it is a 
 mere trifle ; and I should not have reminded you of the affair, 
 but that Hanson's bill came by this day's post, and I thought 
 you would be glad to sec it.' 
 
 1 And know the worst,' murmured Laura. 
 
 ' No, no ; you must not call it the worst, — a few hundreds 
 can be nothing to you. It is absurd to look at this splendid 
 room, and then think of your being distressed at a jeweller's 
 account.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 201 
 
 'You forget Waterloo House, and Madame Larue, and your- 
 self.' 
 
 ' Myself! that really is not worth mentioning; merely a question 
 of five hundred pounds to you who have thousands. Waterloo 
 House, too, is nothing ; and as to Madame Larue, she is a per- 
 fect impostor. Hanson is the most provoking of them all ; and 
 of course impertinent dunning from him comes home to me, be- 
 cause the last purchases were made in my name.' This was said 
 with a martyr-like air, which was both painful and irritating to 
 poor Laura ; but without trusting herself to notice it, she said, 
 hesitatingly — 
 
 ' I thought — but I must have been mistaken, — only I under- 
 stood that you could arrange these things, without trouble, for 
 me.' 
 
 Jt was now Miss Forester's turn to be confused ; but she had 
 studied her part beforehand, and knew well how she was to act. 
 Her eyes were bent on the ground, and her fingers busy with 
 the silk tassel of her parasol, while, with an effort more evident 
 than was necessary, she said — 
 
 ' Certainly I had thought so ; nothing could have given me 
 greater pleasure ; but you know,- — I can scarcely bring myself 
 to say it, — these are not times when it is in one's power to do all 
 that one wishes. With Mr Courtenay's guarantee there would 
 be no difficulty ; but without it, however my own inclinations 
 might prompt me to make sacrifices for one so dear, 1 do not 
 think my father would approve.' 
 
 'But you said — you told me'— began Laura, and her voice 
 trembled as she spoke. 
 
 'And at the time,' interrupted Miss Forester, 'I fully be- 
 lieved that I could have accommodated you without difficulty ; 
 but the last few days have forced me most unwillingly to alter 
 my views. My father so highly disapproves ' 
 
 ' General Forester ! ' exclaimed Laura, starting from her seat 
 and drawing up her slender figure to its full height, while the 
 flush of indignation crimsoned her face and neck. ' How could 
 he know ? how could he venture to offer an opinion upon the 
 subject ?' 
 
 'You forget,' replied Miss Forester, coolly, and a sarcastic 
 smile curled the corner of her thin lips, ' the business is mine ! 
 and the interests of a father and a daughter are inseparable. 
 Laura reseated herself, despairingly, and the expression of sarcasm 
 on Miss Forester's countenance became more marked as she pro-
 
 202 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ceeded' : ' It was a disagreeable task, but my father is not a man 
 to be trifled with. The money which I had advanced was indeed 
 my own, but the authority of a parent is too sacred to be disputed ; 
 and when he insisted, a few days since, upon receiving some 
 account of my little pittance, that he might be better able to 
 settle a business matter of his own, it was impossible for me to 
 refuse.' 
 
 ' Your promise !' murmured Laura. 
 
 ' Yes, I own it was broken in the letter, but not in the spirit. 
 Your affairs are as safe with my father as with me. The only 
 misfortune now is, that I no longer feel my own mistress. I 
 cannot do what I would. It is so distressing, so very distressing 
 to confess it.' 
 
 Laura shrank from the touch of the hand which was placed 
 caressingly on her shoulder. The plausible excuse for the 
 moment silenced her; but the feeling of distrust which had long 
 been eatherin^ in her mind was increased to aversion. 
 
 'The affair itself is a trifle,' continued Miss Forester; 'but 
 just now, when Mr Courtenay is likely to be much worried, it is 
 a most unfortunate moment to be obliged to call upon him for 
 money; and gentlemen never make allowances for a little im- 
 prudence in ladies. These tradespeople, too, are so very pressing. 
 One thing is, that the difficulty will soon be over; it is but the 
 momentary effort of mentioning what has been done.' 
 
 Laura raised her head, but the expression of her countenance 
 was beyond Miss Foresters comprehension. She would have 
 ridiculed as impossible the idea that any person in Mrs Cour- 
 tenay's position could be more grieved at the recollection of 
 having been guilty of deceit, than at the prospect of confessing 
 folly and extravagance. 
 
 'I am afraid,' added Miss Forester, 'that my father will not 
 endure the subject to be mentioned again, unless indeed, — but 1 
 need not tease you about politics, I know you dislike them.' 
 
 Laura made a gesture of impatience: 'Why keep me in 
 suspense about anything?' she exclaimed; 'nothing can tease 
 me.' 
 
 ' but it is such an intricate business, and unless you give your 
 mind to it you won't understand it: and if you do, you may not 
 view the case as we do.' 
 
 ' Why? What are you speaking of?' inquired Laura ; and she 
 rose from her seat, and stood before her tormentor with a coun- 
 tenance so beautiful even in its suppressed suffering, that Miss
 
 GERTRUDE. 203 
 
 Forester's selfishness was for the moment overpowered by regret 
 for the pain she was inflicting. 
 
 'My father says/ she replied, 'and I think he must know, 
 that after Mr Courtenay's heavy expenses since the last election, 
 he should be wrong in permitting me to involve myself in any 
 way without security being given; and he implies — (you must 
 not think I believe it though) — that just now this would be a 
 difficult matter; that, — in short, you know what I mean, — all 
 gentlemen are distressed at some time or other, and if it were to 
 come to the worst, a few years abroad would set everything to 
 rights.' 
 
 A glimmering of the truth flashed upon Laura's mind. 
 Edward's gloom, and impatience, and reserve; the long visits 
 from Mr Rivers; the restless irritation with which, day after 
 day, he had opened his letters, all tended to confirm it ; but the 
 effect of the idea was not what Miss Forester had imagined. 
 Laura neither shed tears, nor fainted, nor burst into exclamations 
 of distress; but a red spot burned upon her colourless cheek, and 
 her pale lips were scarcely seen to move, as in a nearly inaudible 
 voice she replied — 
 
 ' Tell me why you say this ?' 
 
 'Perhaps it will be best to be candid at once,' said Miss 
 Forester, soothingly; 'and when I have put the case before you, 
 you will see there need be no cause for uneasiness, if Mr Cour- 
 tenay can be persuaded to be reasonable. You must know that 
 he has peculiar opinions of his own, and will go against the 
 wishes of his party. My father has often talked to him, but he 
 can make no impression; and if he persists there really is very 
 little chance of his re-election, at least, so my father says. There 
 is no doubt, indeed, that instead of walking over the ground 
 without a rival, some one else will be brought forward by many 
 of his former friends to oppose him.' 
 
 'And what has this to do with me?' exclaimed Laura, im- 
 patiently. 
 
 'You will see in one moment,' replied Miss Forester, in the 
 same unruffled tone as before. ' The being re-elected would not 
 in itself, perhaps, be of so much importance to Mr Courtenay. I 
 dare say he could be very happy in private life, though certainly 
 he would be casting away most brilliant prospects ; but a letter 
 my father had yesterday from a very influential quarter, says, 
 that Mr Courtenay would certainly be appointed to a very high 
 office under the new ministry if it were not for his obstinacy —
 
 204 GERTRUDE. 
 
 (excuse the word) — upon two or three points; the same, in fact, 
 which his friends in the country are so anxious about. From 
 this you will understand how much depends upon his being re- 
 elected.' 
 
 Poor Laura had but a faint perception of Miss Forester's 
 words. They appeared spoken without any object; and again, 
 though more mildly, she entreated to be told what connection 
 there could be between Edward's being in Parliament, and her 
 debts. 
 
 ' I think you will understand upon consideration,' said Miss 
 Forester, coolly. ' A child could see the difference between 
 entering into a money engagement for the wife of a member of 
 Parliament, holding a government office, and the wife of a 
 private gentleman, reported to have considerably outrun his 
 fortune.' 
 
 ' It is false! it must be false!' exclaimed Laura, driving from 
 her mind the doubt which had a few minutes before possessed it. 
 ' How can General Forester lend himself to such gossip?' 
 
 ' It may be false or not,' replied Miss Forester ; ' but one thing 
 is quite true, — that my father will not consent to allow my affairs 
 to remain in their present state without interfering, unless he 
 finds Mr Courtenay's prospects assume a different shape from 
 their present one. A fourth part of the legacy left by my grand- 
 mother is already risked.' 
 
 Laura's crushed spirit was roused by the threat implied in this 
 speech. ' I will not give General Forester or any other person 
 the trouble of mixing himself up with my affairs,' she replied. 
 ' By to-morrow ail shall be settled ;' and she moved, in order to 
 suggest to her visitor to leave her. But this was far from Miss 
 Forester's idea. She had no intention of bringing matters to a 
 crisis, and separating herself from Laura entirely. Her wish was 
 rather to draw her more completely into her power. Notwith- 
 standing the opinion she had given as to the state of Mr Cour- 
 tenay's affairs, neither she nor her father believed him to be 
 suffering from more than a temporary embarrassment ; but the 
 opportunity of forcing Laura to use her influence over her hus- 
 band, was one of which both, from different motives, were most 
 desirous to take advantage. Since another election had been 
 considered probable, General Forester had been endeavouring by 
 every argument in his power to bring Edward to his views, and 
 induce him to pledge himself to his party upon the points at issue 
 between them, and Edward had continually refused. If this
 
 GERTRUDE. 205 
 
 refusal were persisted in, his former friends were certain to for- 
 sake him, and bring forward another candidate : there would 
 then be a division of interests, and the cause which General 
 Forester fancied he had at heart would most probably be lost ; 
 or perhaps, as the truer motive, General Forester's lately acquired 
 importance as Mr Courtcnay's adviser and oldest friend would 
 be at an end ; and he would return to his former insignificance. 
 Miss Forester's reasons for wishing Laura's position to remain 
 unchanged were very much the same with those which had first 
 caused her to thrust herself upon her friendship. She liked to 
 be on terms of intimacy with a person of fortune and fashion, and 
 felt herself raised in dignity, both in town and in the country, by 
 being known as the chosen companion of the beautiful Mrs 
 Courtenay. And within the last year she had experienced the 
 satisfaction of ruling one whom all others were willing to obey. 
 She had fostered Laura's extravagance, assisting her originally 
 by trifling loans, but afterwards by sums which she had no power 
 to repay; and at length, by inducing her to keep her affairs a 
 secret, from the dread of her husband's displeasure, she had bound 
 her to her, as she hoped for ever. Her will was now the law 
 whenever they were together, except when Edward occasionally 
 objected ; and even then there had been but few instances in 
 which she had not been in the end victorious, by insisting upon 
 Laura's urging in private what she could not venture to mention 
 in public. Laura felt the tyranny, and struggled to escape from 
 it ; but every day's delay in confessing her folly to her husband, 
 rendered her more completely Miss Forester's slave. The very 
 ingenuousness of her disposition made her shrink from acknow- 
 ledging deceit ; and though she had often been goaded by the 
 misery of her feelings to the point of owning all, she had never 
 yet summoned resolution even to allude to it. Miss Forester 
 knew well the person she had to govern, and felt but little afraid 
 of any sudden fit of heroism. 
 
 1 You understand your own affairs, no doubt,' she said, in 
 answer to Laura's proud speech. ' If you think it well to trouble 
 Mr Courtenay with money matters at this time, I have nothing 
 to say. I should dislike the task myself, because there is no 
 doubt of his being very much pressed ; and with the prospect ot 
 a new election before him, he will certainly be extremely angry 
 now. though by and by he might not care about it.' 
 
 • I thought,' said Laura, indignantly, ' that it was only a ques- 
 tion between General ^orester's interference and my own."
 
 2o6 GERTRUDE. 
 
 1 Oh no ; you mistake entirely. My father would not think of 
 sacli a thing, if he were not obliged to do so from consideration 
 to me. He and I have been talking a great deal about the affair 
 since yesterday, and he really has but one wish — to do what is 
 best.' 
 
 ' Best ! ' repeated Laura, scornfully. 
 
 ' Yes, best. It must be for Mr Courtenay's advantage to give 
 up these foolish scruples, and secure his seat and his appoint- 
 ment ; and it certainly must be for yours, because, in that case, 
 nothing would be told to Mr Courtenay at present, and I should 
 no longer be forbidden to help you, as I have been able to do 
 before. My father would be satisfied with your promise to use 
 your influence. However, since you are willing to take the 
 matter into your own hands, I may as well leave Hanson's bill 
 with you, and go.' 
 
 She held out the paper, but Laura did not take it. She stood 
 for a moment as if stunned ; and then her head grew dizzy, and 
 her knees trembled, and, sinking into a chair, she burst into tears. 
 At that instant the door opened, and a servant entered the room 
 with a note, which he was going to give to his mistress, but 
 seeing her incapable of attending to it, he laid it on the table and 
 withdrew, — sufficiently observing what was going on, to enable 
 him to report in the servants' hall that something was very much 
 amiss, for Mrs Courtenay was in violent hysterics. But Laura 
 was not in hysterics, nor anything approaching to them. For a 
 few minutes her tears fell fast ; but they were quiet and unob- 
 trusive, requiring no aid from the Eau de Cologne which Miss 
 Forester was offering, as she stood over her, with a patronising 
 air, smoothing her shoulder, and begging her to be composed. 
 She was also quite aware that the note had been brought, and 
 fully equal to the exertion of reading it, though Miss Forester 
 entreated her not to trouble herself about it, and proposed to open 
 it instead, and see whether it required an answer. Taking it 
 from her hand, Laura hastily read it ; but something there was 
 in its contents which evidently took her by surprise. A second 
 time she perused the few pencil lines, and turned the paper in 
 every direction, to extract some further information ; and at last, 
 folding it together, she said, coldly — 
 
 ' I have been wrong in allowing myself to give way ; but I 
 am not equal to discussing these things further. They must be 
 delayed till 1 have had time for consideration, and then I will 
 write.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 207 
 
 Miss Forester was frightened, for Laura had seldom appeared 
 so determined. She would willingly have pressed the subject, 
 but finding that Laura would not listen, she pushed the papers 
 towards her, saying — 
 
 ' Then I may suppose you are decided. You will find the 
 accounts correct. The old ones and Hanson's bill together make 
 up more than six hundred pounds.' 
 
 Laura mechanically laid her hand upon the papers, and then, 
 scarcely waiting for Miss Forester to leave the room, threw her- 
 self upon the sofa in an agony of distress. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THAT little note — how much pain had it caused ! Edward 
 had left her for London ; — left her, without even returning 
 from Elsham, where he had gone to speak with Mr Rivers, to 
 give her one parting kiss, one word of explanation. Yet his ex- 
 pressions were more than usually affectionate, as if purposely 
 meant to soften the annoying intelligence. He entreated her to 
 forgive him for what might appear unkindness in his sudden 
 departure, which was caused by important business, and begged 
 her on no account to make any change in their plans for the 
 week. The archery party which had been invited for the next 
 day but one was still to be received, for he had little doubt that 
 he should be with her before their arrival. If anything occurred 
 to vex her, he should recommend her applying to Mr Dacre. 
 And this was all; and again and again Laura read the note, and 
 again and again pondered its contents, but without gaining any 
 insight into its meaning, beyond the certainty that something 
 was amiss. Yet, although in most cases the first thrilling appre- 
 hension of impending evil is worse than the fatal reality, to 
 Laura, the hints she had received from Miss Forester, even when 
 coupled with Edward's absence, brought ideas so vague as to 
 make but a faint impression upon her mind. Her own cares 
 were more pressing than her apprehensions for the future. A 
 dark cloud was hanging over it, but what might be behind she 
 did not attempt to conjecture. It was sufficient suffering to 
 know that Edward had gone away from her, depressed and 
 harassed, and that when he returned she must either brave his
 
 208 GERTRUDE. 
 
 displeasure, and add to his heavy anxieties, by confessing her 
 past folly, or persist in a course of deceit, and put herself com- 
 pletely in Miss Forester's power. She thought long and dccplv, 
 but, although shrinking from the prospect of a life of wretched- 
 ness such as she had lately endured, she still felt herself unequal 
 to the task of increasing Edward's uneasiness at such a time. 
 Delay seemed everything, and the hope of relief which had been 
 held out was too tempting to be rejected. At what sacrifice ii 
 was to be obtained she did not fully comprehend, for she had 
 never inquired particularly into Edward's views, and cared so 
 little for politics, as to consider it generally a matter of indiffer- 
 ence which side he supported, so long as he distinguished himself. 
 Besides, General Forester was a man of honour, and Edward's 
 friend, and she had no just reason to doubt the kindness of his 
 intentions ; and influenced, partly by the hope of saving her 
 husband, and partly by the wish of saving herself, Laura 
 smothered her pride, though not without considerable difficulty, 
 and endeavoured to believe that by giving the promise to do her 
 utmost in furtherance of General Forester's wishes, the threat- 
 ened storm would be dispelled, and all be bright as before. 
 
 The morning, however, passed slowly ; work was irksome, 
 reading was impossible ; even little Charlie's gentle tap was an- 
 swered by an order to run away then, and come again by and by ; 
 for Laura's mind was dissatisfied. Her thoughts would revert to 
 the past ; the events of her married life came before her, one 
 after the other, and still with each was associated some remem- 
 brance of Edward's trust in all she had done or said ; while the 
 words which he had used in the conversation held the day after 
 their first arrival at Allingham haunted her incessantly: 'We 
 were to have no concealment of any kind.' This had been their 
 agreement, and how had it been kept ? If she followed General 
 Forester's advice, how must it be kept ? Sincerity was still the 
 foundation of Laura's character, — hidden, but never destroyed, 
 by the false principles of her education, and the follies of her 
 life ; and, miserable at the idea of continued deception, she 
 longed for some friend in whom she might confide without fear ; 
 and the wish was no sooner felt than the image of Gertrude rose 
 before her. But how would it be possible to apply to her? 
 Could one so free from weakness, so superior to herself, sym- 
 pathise with her anxieties ? Would she not turn away in disgust 
 from the thoughtlessness which she could not understand, and 
 reproach instead of advising her? If it had been Edith, Laura
 
 GERTRUDE. 209 
 
 felt that she could have endured any pain rather than confess to 
 her the smallest fault; but Gertrude's winning gentleness and 
 sympathy had so softened the effect of her strict principles that 
 Laura's awe of her superiority was forgotten in the recollection 
 of her humility ; and before the afternoon was over she had 
 ordered her pony carriage, and was on her way to the Priory, 
 with the purpose of acknowledging to her sister-in-law the errors 
 which had produced such bitter consequences. And Gertrude, 
 in happy ignorance of the gathering storm at Allingham, had 
 spent the morning in writing for Mr Dacre a detail of all the 
 plans respecting the church, and in trying to amuse her mother. 
 Mrs Courtenay's usual habit was to retire to her own little 
 sitting-room soon after breakfast, from which she was seldom 
 known to emerge till nearly luncheon-time. How she occupied 
 herself in the intermediate time was a mystery, which none of 
 her family had hitherto thought it necessary to penetrate. Some- 
 times, indeed, a letter was produced for the post — the result of a 
 morning's thought ; and occasionally she was heard to inquire 
 for a club-book ; but these were the exceptions : as a rule, she 
 was never actually discovered to have done anything ; but the 
 general belief was that she principally employed herself in 
 putting drawers in order, and looking over old papers ; and with 
 this idea, Jane, Charlotte, and Edith felt perfectly at liberty to 
 follow their own inclinations. Mrs Courtenay never complained, 
 so of course she was happy. Gertrude, however, thought differ- 
 ently, and constantly endeavoured to persuade her mother to 
 join them in the drawing-room ; but it was not Mrs Courtenay's 
 way, and even if she consented, it was evident that she was out 
 of her element, and preferred her own apartment, though she 
 confessed that sometimes it was rather lonely. ' Don't trouble 
 yourself about me, my dear,' she said, as Gertrude made a last 
 effort to persuade her to remain with them, by proposing to 
 assist her in her difficult knitting. ' You know I never knit in 
 the morning: I am a great deal too busy; though, to be sure, 
 the day before yesterday, you all laughed so, I had rather a wish 
 to come down.' 
 
 ' I don't think you would have entered into what we were 
 laughing about, mamma,' said Charlotte ; ' it was a book Gertrude 
 was reading out.' 
 
 ' Very probably, my dear ; I dare say I should not ; but you 
 all seemed very merry, and I liked to hear you. I hope you will 
 do the same to-day.' And with this wish Mrs Courtenay 
 
 o
 
 210 GERTRUDE. 
 
 gathered up her keys, her spectacles, and her knitting, and left 
 the room. Her departure was succeeded by the beginning of an 
 entreaty that Gertrude would enable them to follow the advice 
 which had been given ; but Gertrude had disappeared ; and Mrs 
 Courtenay had only just reached her room, when a soft voice 
 asked for admittance. ' Your room is so quiet and sunny, dear 
 mamma, and mine is not in order yet, — would it worry you very 
 much if I were to sit here for a quarter of an hour and read ?' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay's face brightened with pleasure. She insisted 
 upon Gertrude's occupying her favourite seat, and moved away 
 everything she thought might be in her way ; and Gertrude 
 thanked her with a kiss, and opened her book. 
 
 ' That is so like your dear father, my dear ; so fond of reading 
 he always was. I have seen him sit for hours together, and not 
 open his lips, when he had a book he liked.' 
 
 Gertrude smiled, and said that she had learned to prefer quiet 
 employment from being so much with an invalid, and the con- 
 versation dropped; but after a short pause it was again resumed 
 by Mrs Courtenay. 
 
 ' Is it a very interesting book you have there, Gertrude, my 
 dear?' 
 
 ' I don't know that you would exactly call it interesting,' 
 replied Gertrude. ' It is a volume of sermons, which has just 
 been lent to me. There is one not unlike part of Mr Grantley's 
 last Sunday: I think you will remember it.' And she read out 
 a few lines. 
 
 ' That is not all, my dear, is it ?' said Mrs Courtenay, her ear 
 caught by the beauty of the language and the melody of Ger- 
 trude's voice. 
 
 ' Not all,' replied Gertrude ; ' but I thought perhaps you would 
 not like me to go on.' 
 
 'Ah! you are tired, my love, I dare say; but I don't very 
 often have any one to read to me.' 
 
 ' No, indeed, I am not tired,' exclaimed Gertrude. ' I used to 
 read to my aunt for more than an hour at a time. Should you 
 mind my finishing the sermon aloud ?' 
 
 ' Oh no, my dear, I should be glad. It is not very long, I 
 suppose ?' 
 
 Gertrude relieved her mother's apprehension as to the length, 
 and began to read. As she proceeded, Mrs Courtenay laid down 
 the papers which at first she had rustled incessantly, took off her 
 spectacles, and drawing her chair close to Gertrude's, listened as
 
 GERTRUDE. 211 
 
 she would have done to the tone of a familiar air sung in a voice 
 she loved. 
 
 ' That sounds better than when Mr Grantley preaches/ she 
 said, as Gertrude paused, fearing that her mother's attention 
 might be wearied. ' Your voice is so clear I can tell every word, 
 though I am a little deaf. But why don't you go on ? isn't there 
 some more ? ' 
 
 Gertrude accordingly continued ; and, as she closed the 
 volume, ventured to say, ' If you would like it, dear mamma, I 
 can read another day to you anything that you like.' 
 
 'Well, that would be very nice,' replied Mrs Courtenay ; 'but 
 are you going away now ?' 
 
 ' Not if you like me to stay,' said Gertrude ; ' I was wishing 
 to write something, and I can do it as well here as down-stairs ; 
 but I must go and fetch my desk first.' 
 
 The desk was in the drawing-room ; and Gertruae no sooner 
 appeared, than she was assailed by half laughing, half serious 
 reproaches for running away. 
 
 ' There,' said Charlotte, drawing a chair to the table, and 
 almost forcing her sister into it, 'you must stay, Gertrude. 
 Here is the book open at the very place ; now begin. You have 
 no excuse, for the gardening was all done yesterday ; and Jane 
 and I have a good fit on us, and are going to work, so you are 
 bound to encourage us. That is so like you charitable people,' 
 she continued, observing that her sister looked rather puzzled ; 
 ' you never will believe that any one out of your own set can do 
 a virtuous action.' 
 
 ' Some day or other, Charlotte,' said Gertrude, smiling, ' you 
 shall tell me what you mean by a set ; but now I must go back 
 to mamma, for I promised I would.' 
 
 'Mamma!' exclaimed Jane; 'what business can you have 
 with her ? You don't mean that she has admitted you into her 
 cabinet of antiquities.' 
 
 ' Admitted and begged me to remain,' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' What have you been doing there ? Why are you going back 
 again?' And at the idea of Gertrude and Mrs Courtenay's 
 spending a morning together, even Edith's attention was 
 roused. 
 
 ' I will tell you,' said Charlotte ; 'mamma is going to publish 
 a treatise on the art of knitting, and Gertrude intends to edit it.' 
 Three of the party laughed, but not Gertrude. 
 
 'Mamma was busy when I went in,' she said ; 'but I did no
 
 212 GERTRUDE. 
 
 observe particularly what she was doing. And when she saw I 
 had a book, she wished me to read out.' 
 
 'Readout what?' inquired Charlotte ; ' Smith's " Wealth of 
 Nations," or "Jack the Giant Killer?"' 
 
 Gertrude held up the book which she had in her hand, and 
 showed the title. Charlotte looked slightly abashed ; and Edith 
 observed that her mamma had been better employed than she 
 had been. 
 
 ' Thanks to Gertrude,' said Jane. ' What an immense pity it 
 is that you are not a man, Gertrude.' 
 
 ' Why ! what do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' Only that you would have made such a first-rate missionary. 
 I don't think any one could have resisted you.' 
 
 Gertrude looked grave, and closed the conversation. ' When I 
 have finished what I have to do in mamma's room,' she said, ' I 
 dare say there will be time for a little reading before luncheon, 
 and I will come back again.' 
 
 Edith sighed as her sister left the room, and the sigh was 
 echoed by Charlotte ; and then struck with a sense of absurdity, 
 both involuntarily laughed. 
 
 'Now, for confession,' said Jane; 'what was vour sigh for, 
 Edith ? ' 
 
 ' Charlotte is the elder,' said Edith ; ' you should applv to her 
 first.' 
 
 ' Mine ! ' exclaimed Charlotte ; ' I don't know that I can tell. 
 It had something to do with Gertrude, but I am not clear what.' 
 
 'And yours, Edith! Such a lucid explanation is quite an 
 example.' 
 
 ' I have no doubt what mine was for,' said Edith ; 'but I am 
 not so certain that I shall be disposed to own.' 
 
 ' Envy,' exclaimed Jane ; 'that must have been it. -You are 
 envious because Gertrude has such a peculiar knack of making 
 herself agreeable.' 
 
 ' The strange thing to me,' said Charlotte, ' is, that Gertrude 
 finds time for Edith's duties and her own too. She takes im- 
 mense care of her district, and works, and has her days at the 
 school, but she manages her time so well. I do wish you would 
 take a lesson from her, Edith.' 
 
 At another time Edith might have been angry, bujt Gertrude's 
 humility was infectious. ' I mean to do it,' she said ; ' I should 
 be more glad than I can tell to be like Gertrude. It would be 
 so pleasant to feel that one's presence was like oil upon the
 
 GERTRUDE. 213 
 
 troubled waves, and that is always the effect being with her has 
 upon mc.' 
 
 'A very old simile, very well applied,' said Charlotte. 'I must 
 own that sometimes I am guilty of the weakness of believing 
 that if Gertrude were to set up 'a convent and turn lady abbess, 
 I should choose to be one of her nuns.' 
 
 ' It would be a peaceful household, if it had no other -recom- 
 mendation,' said Jane ; 'and that is a rare thing to find in these 
 days.' 
 
 ' I don't know that,' observed Edith ; ' there arc the Grantleys, 
 and their seven children.' 
 
 ' Peace and seven children ! did they ever dwell together for 
 five minutes ?' 
 
 'They would if Gertrude was at the head of affairs,' said 
 Charlotte. 
 
 ' Mrs Grantley is too indulgent ; she is as bad as Laura ; and 
 there is a peaceful household,' exclaimed Jane, sarcastically ; 
 ' Charlie ! — to live in the same village with him shakes one's 
 nerves out of all order, and to be in the same house would 
 shatter them to pieces.' 
 
 'Allingham is a mystery to me,' said Charlotte ; 'and it has 
 been ever since Edward married. I don't know why, but I 
 never go there without feeling as if I were treading upon a 
 volcano that was going to burst.' 
 
 * I can tell you why,' said Jane ; ' it is because of that care- 
 worn, abstracted look of Edward's.' 
 
 'And Laura's too,' said Edith; 'I never saw any one so 
 changed as she is lately. One would think sometimes she was 
 brooding over a great crime.' 
 
 'To be committed?' exclaimed Charlotte, laughing; 'Laura 
 is very much indebted to you, Edith, for your good opinion.' 
 
 'No,' said Edith; 'whatever sins Laura may commit, they 
 will never be premeditated. But let the cause be what it will, 
 I am sure she is very unhappy.' 
 
 'And Miss Forester is at the bottom of it,' said Charlotte; 
 'that I have discovered. Just notice, the next time you have 
 an opportunity, how Laura changes colour when her dear friend 
 comes into the room.' 
 
 ' Friend ! ' repeated Jane, with emphasis, ' I could as soon 
 have petted a toad.' 
 
 'A viper,' said Charlotte ; 'toads have no sting.' 
 
 'A gift peculiarly reserved for human beings, some people
 
 214 GERTRUDE. 
 
 think,' said a gay, gentle voice ; and Gertrude's arm was thrown 
 round her sister's waste, while she looked laughingly in her 
 face. 
 
 ' Now, Gertrude, that was a speech not intended for your ears, 
 so you have no right to find fault. Besides, I protest against 
 anyone taking Miss Forester's part; and moreover, you look 
 satirical ; and I thought satire was your peculiar horror.' 
 
 'Always excepting on certain occasions,' continued Gertrude, 
 in the same light tone, 'self-defence, et cetera? 
 
 'Then this is not one — no one is accusing you of being a 
 viper.' 
 
 ' Only one of my acquaintances — I cannot say friend.' 
 
 ' No, that would be too absurd. You Miss Forester's friend ! 
 The poles are not more widely separated.' 
 
 ' Yet friend, too/ said Gertrude, ' inasmuch as she is not my 
 enemy.' 
 
 ' I would not answer for her not being the enemy of ever) 
 member of the family,' said Charlotte ; ' Edith's I am certain 
 she is.' 
 
 'So much the more reason for taking her part,' replied Ger- 
 trude, rather more seriously than before. Charlotte looked at 
 her sister, in the belief that she was in jest : but Gertrude's 
 smile had nearly vanished, and Charlotte saw directly what was 
 in her mind. 
 
 ' No lecturing ! Gertrude,' she exclaimed. ' I will not bear 
 it, even from you.' 
 
 ' If one could only conceal one's thoughts better,' said Ger- 
 trude ; 'but when grave notions are in the mind, they will show 
 themselves in the face, — in mine at least ; so please not to 
 quarrel with me, Charlotte. Lecturing, as you call it, is my 
 misfortune, not my fault.' 
 
 'Well, then, let me hear. I know you won't be happy till you 
 have delivered your testimony.' 
 
 ' It would be a very long testimony, if I were to begin,' said 
 Gertrude, gaily ; 'and I don't at all think you are in the humour 
 to hear it.' 
 
 ' Never more so; I made some resolutions upon humility only 
 this morning. Or, stay, I can give a lecture myself just as well. 
 Listen ; I will divide my discourse into three parts : first, the 
 characteristics of Miss Forester ; secondly, those of the veno- 
 mous reptiles called vipers ; thirdly, the utter dissimilarity be- 
 tween the two ; to be concluded with some practical reflec-
 
 GERTRUDE. 215 
 
 tions upon the pernicious habit of evil-speaking. And first for 
 the characteristics of Miss Forester ' 
 
 ' Which shall be reserved till another day, to please me,' said 
 Gertrude, playfully; ' because if we go on talking now, there will 
 be no time for reading.' 
 
 ' But I thought you were going to mamma,' said Edith. 
 
 'Yes, and I did go, but I happened to mention Susan Philips's 
 name, and then she remembered having promised to mix some 
 medicine for the child, and went to do it ; and I thought I would 
 come down to you in the meantime.' 
 
 ' We shall be a reformed household in time,' said Charlotte. 
 1 If mamma takes to mixing medicines, and Jane and I to poor 
 ■work, there will be no calculating upon anything. We may all 
 end our days as Sisters of Charity.' 
 
 Gertrude smiled ; and, taking up her book, she begun to read, 
 and sd the morning passed; and to many it might have seemed 
 unprofitable, for Gertrude had nothing to show as the fruit of 
 two hours' labour ; but one glance at the temper of mind culti- 
 vated in her sisters by the sacrifice of her own occupations, 
 might have induced a different opinion. Edith especially felt 
 the difference caused by Gertrude's attention and tact, and 
 stopping her as they were going into luncheon, said — 
 
 ' I must say one word to you ; really I won't keep you five 
 minutes, but I want you to tell me something. Why do you 
 think Jane and Charlotte find so much fault with me ?' 
 
 ' What a question, dearest !' exclaimed Gertrude. ' How is it 
 possible that I should tell?' 
 
 ' But you must have some notion. Do I ever do disagreeable 
 things ?' 
 
 ' We all do occasionally,' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' But I in particular. They are always complaining of me. I 
 know I am untidy, and not at all punctual; but have you ever 
 remarked anything else ?' Gertrude hesitated to reply. 
 
 ' I should be very glad if you would tell me,' continued Edith ; 
 'because I often wonder why you suit them so much better than 
 I do, when your notions are quite as different; and I am sure 
 the fault must be in myself.' 
 
 'There are some little trifles,' said Gertrude; 'but they are 
 merely trifles. One thing I thought I would tell you of: the 
 other day, do you remember, when you were making breakfast, 
 you had finished before any one, and you went away, and left us 
 all to pour out the tea for ourselves V
 
 216 GERTRUDE. 
 
 'But what was the use of remaining? I had a great many 
 things to do.' 
 
 ' Merely that it was uncomfortable : it disarranged us, and 
 broke up the party, and made us feel as if we ought all to be in 
 a bustle too. And for the time being, you know, you were the 
 lady of the house.' 
 
 Edith thought for a minute, and then said, ' Go on quickly, or 
 they will wonder what has become of us.' 
 
 Gertrude smiled. 'I really can't remember in such a hurry; 
 especially when they are not such very great offences. I think, 
 perhaps sometimes you irritate Charlotte by your manner of 
 saying you can't do as she wishes, or that you do not like things. 
 You put the objection first, and the desire to oblige afterwards, 
 and then it does not tell' 
 
 'I don't quite know what you mean,' said Edith: 
 
 'It is only the turn of a sentence,' replied Gertrude; 'as I 
 heard some one call it once, putting the negative before the 
 affirmative in life.' 
 
 ' Indeed, that is such a mere nothing,' said Edith. 
 
 'So it is; but the impression of the two sentences will be as 
 different as possible ; and I am sure you will find it so if you 
 observe.' 
 
 ' The objections always come to my mind first,' said Edith. 
 
 ' They do to most persons ; but if they are spoken they give 
 the idea that you are not pleased, or that you do not wish to 
 oblige, which is the last thing any one has a right to say of you.' 
 
 'And is that all?' said Edith; ' I should like to know every- 
 thing.' 
 
 ' Those arc all the great faults I can remember to-day,' said 
 Gertrude, laughingly, ' except, perhaps, such trifles as putting 
 the chair you are sitting in in an awkward place, so as to make 
 the room look uncomfortable; and running away in the middle 
 of a conversation in which we are all interested, as if you did 
 not care about it.' 
 
 ' If I were not so busy,' said Edith. 
 
 ' But it is easy to make a little excuse, and then no one would 
 mind. I very often feel a blank when you are gone, as if the 
 subjects we liked were of no consequence to you.' 
 
 ' No, indeed, Gertrude ; whatever pleases you I am sure 
 pleases me.' 
 
 ' I know it dees in reality; but at the moment I can hardly 
 believe it.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 217 
 
 ' One thing I must say,' replied Edith, 'that if we are to be 
 so very particular, you do away with all the liberty of home.' 
 
 'Only in little trifles and courtesies,' said Gertrude ; 'and I 
 don't see how it can be otherwise, when a number of grown-up 
 people have to live together. If they arc not under some restraint 
 they must quarrel. And certainly one's first object — earthly 
 object, I mean — should be to make one's home comfortable.' 
 
 ' I don't think Jane and Charlotte care much about it,' said 
 Edith. 
 
 ' Perhaps they have not quite the same principles to act from 
 as you have ; but when all are on an equality, some one must 
 yield ; and I think those who are most anxious to do right should 
 set the example.' 
 
 Edith sighed and exclaimed sadly, ' I am always doing wrong, 
 I know. I make all sorts of good resolutions in general, but I 
 never know how to put them in practice.' 
 
 'You will if you study character more,' said Gertrude ; 'and 
 consider in the morning what is likely to happen in the day, and 
 what you will be called on to do. It is the being busy and ab- 
 stracted which makes it so difficult, and the business, I know, 
 you cannot well avoid ; though it might worry my sisters less if 
 you could go out when they do, and stay at home oftener in the 
 morning, to practice and read with them.' 
 
 ' Such a waste of time all that seems,' exclaimed Edith ; ' and 
 accomplishments lead to so much vanity.' 
 
 ' But not if they are cultivated from high motives,' said Ger- 
 trude. ' There is a difference between wishing to please and 
 wishing to give pleasure.' 
 
 Edith seemed inclined to agree, and to continue the conver- 
 sation further ; but Gertrude was afraid of annoying her mother, 
 and hastened her into the dining-room, where Mrs Courtenay 
 was already beginning to be uncomfortable at her non-appear- 
 ance. 
 
 There were many rumours afloat at Allingham on that day, as 
 to the cause of Mr Courtenay's sudden journey : and the spirit 
 of curiosity was not quelled by the sight of Laura's pale, tearful 
 countenance, as she stepped into her pony carriage, with the in- 
 tention of driving to the Priory. So visible, indeed, were the 
 effects of her sorrow, that the old butler, who met her as she 
 alighted, was tempted to inquire whether anything was the 
 matter with Master Charlie ; but hastily turning from him, she 
 begged to see Gertrude alone, and walked into the library to wait
 
 2i8 GERTRUDE. 
 
 for her. The few minutes of delay were an age ; and Laura 
 stood before the pictures, and looked out of the window, and 
 drew patterns on the carpet with her parasol, whilst her courage 
 sank to its lowest ebb, and she almost resolved to go back as 
 speedily as she had come. There were voices in the lobby and 
 a message was given to a servant, and then a light footstep was 
 heard on the stairs ; and Laura, conquering a strong impulse to 
 run away, moved to the door, and met, — not Gertrude, but Edith. 
 Her disappointment was evident, and Edith, too, did not appear 
 pleased at the meeting. She was dressed for walking, and to be 
 stopped was very provoking. 
 
 'You here, Laura !' she began ; 'how strange ! No one said 
 anything about it ; but you are looking so ill, — what is the 
 matter? where is Edward?' 
 
 'Nothing is the matter,' replied Laura, quickly; 'nothing, 
 that is, in which you can help me. I wanted to see Gertrude.' 
 
 ' She is gone out, but I expect her home every minute. There 
 is something the matter, Laura ; I am sure there is.' 
 
 ' My head aches,' said Laura ; ' I think I have been walking 
 too much lately.' 
 
 ' But that is not all,' exclaimed Edith, beginning to be alarmed. 
 ' Won't you tell me where Edward is ?' 
 
 ' In London, I believe, or at least on his way there. He left 
 me this morning.' 
 
 ' In London !' repeated Edith ; 'but what took him there ?' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Laura, coldly ; ' he did not tell me.' 
 
 * And when will he return ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know — possibly the day after to-morrow.' 
 
 ' O Laura ! this is cruel,' exclaimed Edith. ' I am sure 
 something is the matter.' 
 
 ' Not particularly with Edward,' said Laura ; 'but I suppose 
 all persons have reasons for looking grave at times.' 
 
 ' It is not merely being grave, — you are so pale. Can't I get 
 you anything ? a glass of wine or some water only ?' And Edith's 
 manner softened at the sight of her sister's uneasiness, till it 
 became almost affectionate. 
 
 'Thank you,' answered Laura, with a faint smile; 'but you 
 can't do me any good. If I could only see Gertrude.' 
 
 'She must be back in a few minutes,' said Edith. 'Are you 
 sure I can't help you ?' 
 
 ' Quite sure.' 
 
 Laura's tone was decided, and Edith felt annoyed.
 
 GERTRUDE. 219 
 
 • I don't wish to intrude upon you, Laura,' she said : ' but it 
 is natural to be anxious about one's own family concerns.' 
 
 ' Yes, very natural,' replied Laura. ' I low long has Gertrude 
 been out ?' 
 
 'More than half an hour; and she only went to speak to a 
 person about some work. She must be here directly. Are you 
 sure that Edward is well ? 
 
 < So far as I can be sure from having seen him in perfect health 
 this morning. Indeed, Edith, you need not worry yourself; my 
 concerns are my own.' 
 
 ' If I could be quite certain about Edward/ said Edith, half 
 speaking to herself ; and then she added, in a louder tone, ' He 
 has looked so harassed of late. You say he has gone to London 
 upon business ?' 
 
 ' Yes, private business. Why should you cross-question me 
 in this way, Edith?' 
 
 ' I did not mean to do it,' said Edith ; ' but you make me sc» 
 anxious by your manner. I only wish to be treated as a common 
 friend, — as Miss Forester.' 
 
 Unknowingly) Edith had touched upon a most vulnerable 
 point. Laura's cold dignity gave way under a torrent of bitter 
 recollections, and she exclaimed, ' I have never had a friend. 
 Those whom I looked to for affection neglected me.' 
 
 'Do you mean Miss Forester?' said Edith. 'You must 
 indeed have been blind if you expected anything lasting from 
 her.' 
 
 ' No, no — not Miss Forester,' said Laura, striving to hide her 
 tears ; and as the wretchedness of her feelings became more 
 overpowering, she added, in a tone of the deepest dejection, 
 ' If Gertrude had been here, I should never have been left to 
 
 her.' 
 
 Edith had no words to reply. That one sentence was the key 
 to many a misgiving which had lately arisen in her thoughts as 
 to the conduct she had pursued ; and as a vivid consciousness 
 of unnumbered neglects flashed like lightning upon her mind, 
 Laura had no cause to dread the confession of her own follies : 
 the heart just awakened to the sense of a hidden fault would 
 have been the last to condemn another. For several minutes 
 both remained in silence, Laura leaning her head upon her 
 hand, and Edith standing by her side, longing, yet not venturing, 
 to offer her sympathy. 
 
 Perhaps the delicacy of Gertrude's tact would have suggested,
 
 220 GERTRUDE. 
 
 that, under such circumstances, solitude would be the most 
 effectual relief; but Edith had never thought it worth while to 
 observe the effects of her words and actions, and, as a conse- 
 quence, she had no tact ; and would probably even then have 
 forced upon Laura the avowal of her own self-reproach, if 
 Gertrude's entrance had not prevented it. Edith no sooner saw 
 her, than she exclaimed, ' How long you have been, Gertrude ! 
 Laura has been waiting for you till she is tired.' 
 
 ' Not quite that, I hope,' said Gertrude, glancing at her sister- 
 in-law ; and untying her bonnet, she placed it on the table, and 
 then made Edith assist in arranging her dress. ' I really could 
 not help myself, though I was uncomfortable all the time, know- 
 ing you would wonder where I was. Anne Downer would tell 
 me a long story about one of her children being in disgrace at 
 school. I said I could not understand it, because this was not 
 my week ; but she would persist, and at last I told her she 
 should come and speak to you, and she is waiting for you in the 
 hall. Won't you see her ? ' 
 
 Edith left the room, and Gertrude, going up to Laura, who 
 had not till then summoned resolution to look up, placed her 
 hand gently upon hers, and said, as she kissed her forehead, 
 ' I should have been more vexed if I had thought I had vexed 
 you.' 
 
 Laura again covered her face with her hands, and tears 
 streamed through her slender fingers. For some minutes Ger- 
 trude did not attempt to stop the course of her grief, but at 
 length she said, ' It would be such a pleasure to be a comfort to 
 you.' 
 
 'To me!' exclaimed Laura, forcing herself to be calm. 
 ' Gertrude, you do not know me.' 
 
 ' I know myself, though,' replied Gertrude ; ' I know that I 
 cannot bear to see you unhappy.' 
 
 ' But I deserve it,' exclaimed Laura ; ' I have done wrong — 
 worse than you would have imagined. Do not despise me, 
 Gertrude.' 
 
 Gertrude shrank from the word. ' It would be sad indeed,' 
 she said, 'for me to dare to despise any one, — most of all my 
 sister.' 
 
 ' And will you indeed think of me kindly ? ' said Laura. ' Will 
 you listen to me ? I have so much to tell, and I am so miserable 
 —so very miserable.' 
 
 ' Say to mc anything — everything — dearest,' replied Gertrude ;
 
 GERTRUDE. Mi 
 
 * let it be much or little as you please ; only give me the oppor- 
 tunity of helping you.' 
 
 Laura heaved a deep sigh : 'That cannot be,' she said ; 'even 
 you cannot undo the past.' 
 
 ' But perhaps I can be of use to you for the future.' 
 
 ' I have no hope,' replied Laura, mournfully ; ' I do not come 
 to you for that ; but Edward is gone, and I am alone ; and I am 
 so wretched that I cannot bear myself.' 
 
 ' Edward gone ! ' exclaimed Gertrude, — ' so suddenly ! You 
 cannot be in earnest.' 
 
 'He is in London : he was called there on business ; but he 
 is to be back again the day after to-morrow.' 
 
 'And then you will be happier,' said Gertrude, gently. 
 
 'No, no,' exclaimed Laura ; 'his coming can never make me 
 happier. Not that I do not love him,' she added, eagerly ; — love 
 him ? — none — none on earth can tell how well ; but Ger- 
 trude, I cannot say it ; you must despise me.' 
 
 ' You will not repeat that again, I am sure,' said Gertrude : 
 ' it pains me very much.' 
 
 ' But I have deceived,' exclaimed Laura, — ' deceived Edward, 
 when he loved and trusted me. Yet, indeed, Gertrude, I did not 
 know what I was doing when I began. Miss Forester urged me 
 to do it. She told me that things were necessary, and I bought 
 them ; and wherever she went she was always admiring and 
 wishing for what she saw, and I could not help giving it to her ; 
 and there were my own relations, who thought me rich, and 
 looked to me for so much. I was obliged to spend money upon 
 them too, and at last it all came to such a sum, that I was despe- 
 rate, and was going at once to tell Edward — but she — Miss 
 Forester, I mean — persuaded me not ; she said he would be 
 angry, and I knew that was true, for he was in a dreadful state 
 whenever he was asked for money ; and then she offered to lend 
 me some, and from that time she used to tease me into doing; 
 whatever she wished, and so I could not go on better. She was 
 always alluding to what she had done for me, and if she saw I 
 was inclined to do what she did not like, she used to hint that 
 she should be obliged to tell everything to Edward. I have 
 many times made up my mind that I would confess it all, and 
 rid myself of her, but, when it came to the point, my courage 
 always failed. If I could only have avoided taking her to Lon- 
 don, it would have been so much better ; but I did not dare ; 
 and I was forced sometimes to make Edward angry, by per-
 
 222 GERTRUDE. 
 
 suading him to allow it, all the time hating it myself. And now ; 
 Gertrude, after all this, she has told her father, and I have had 
 such a visit from her this morning. General Forester has said 
 such strange things of Edward. He thinks, I believe, that he is 
 going to be ruined, and that the only hope is for him to give 
 some pledge which way he will vote, and then he will have a 
 government office ; and if I were to try and persuade him, 
 General Forester would not mind his daughter's helping me 
 even more than she has done ; but if I don't, everything must 
 be told to Edward at once. I thought at the time anything 
 would be better than leading such a miserable life as I have 
 done lately ; but afterwards — Gertrude, it would kill me if Ed- 
 ward were to love me less. Even when he looks grave I am 
 wretched ; and how could I endure it if he were to change 
 entirely ? ' 
 
 Gertrude's heart sank within her. Laura's statement, rapid, 
 and even incoherent though it was, opened before her a vague 
 but fearful prospect of trial for Edward and every one con- 
 nected with him ; yet even then her ready sympathy did not 
 forsake her. She saw that Laura dwelt far less upon Edward's 
 danger than upon her own fault ; and setting aside her impatient 
 desire to hear all that Miss Forester had said, she answered — 
 ' Are you not distrusting Edward, by imagining that he could 
 change ? Could you do so in his place ?' 
 
 ' I cannot tell,' replied Laura, sadly ; ' but he would never 
 have acted as I have done. Yes, he must change when he hears 
 it. He can never think of me as he did.' 
 
 ' He may not think you faultless, but he will surely forgive 
 one whom he has promised before God to love and comfort.' 
 
 'And honour,' exclaimed Laura; 'you forget that, Gertrude. 
 He can never honour me.' 
 
 ' Not when he sees that you prefer the pain of owning all that 
 has passed to continuing in what is wrong ? Dearest Laura, 
 indeed you do him a grievous injustice.' 
 
 ' If I could only think so,' said Laura. ' Perhaps I might be 
 able to tell all if he were here now ; but my courage will never 
 last till he returns.' And after a few minutes' pause, she con- 
 tinued : ' It is easy for you to talk, Gertrude, but you cannot 
 know a wife's feelings. It would be such bitter degradation to 
 confess.' 
 
 ' But still more bitter to deceive,' said Gertrude. And then, 
 fearing lest the words should have been too strong, she added. ' I
 
 RTRUDE. 223 
 
 know that I cannot tell all a wife's feelings, and I know too that 
 it is easy to give advice which perhaps the person who gives it 
 would be the last to follow ; but, dearest, have you not said 
 yourself that any suffering would be endurable rather than that 
 you have borne lately?' 
 
 ' It would only be delay,' said Laura ; 'and if Edward were to 
 follow General Forester's advice he would not be worried about 
 money, and then he would not care half as much when he heard 
 what I had done.' 
 
 ' And if he does not follow it ?' said Gertrude. 
 ' But he must — there is no help for him. He will not be re- 
 elected if he does not ; and I know he would make any sacrifice 
 rather than fail in that.' 
 
 ' Not the sacrifice of honour,' said Gertrude ; ' and you would 
 be the last person to wish him to do it.' 
 
 'Honour!' exclaimed Laura, with a bewildered look: 'it is 
 no question of honour ; it is merely a political affair, which 
 ladies have nothing to do with.' 
 
 ' So it is said,' replied Gertrude, ' and so I agree in most cases ; 
 — but has General Forester spoken to Edward himself?' 
 
 ' Yes, I believe so, a good many times ; but he says Edward 
 will not listen to him ; and I suppose he thinks he will to me. 
 Gertrude, why do you look so pale and shocked?' 
 
 'And Edward is in London, you say?' continued Gertrude. 
 'Yes, he went away this morning, quite unexpectedly ; he did 
 not even stop to say good-bye. Stay, here is a little note he wrote 
 just before he started.' 
 
 Gertrude took the note, and read it hastily. 
 ' He was so grave at breakfast,' continued Laura — ' more so 
 than usual ; and Mr Rivers was with him till twelve o'clock last 
 night, and I am nearly sure Edward went to him again this 
 morning. Gertrude, you would not have me make him more 
 anxious than he is !' 
 
 ' Dear, dear Laura !' exclaimed Gertrude, earnestly, 'do not 
 ask me for advice ! I cannot give you what you will like, — and 
 it is hard to feel that I am disappointing you.' 
 
 ' Not disappointing,' replied Laura. ' I thought what you 
 would say ; but it cannot be. It has gone with me through my 
 whole life — that power to see the right. But, Gertrude, I am not 
 like you — I have never yet been able to do it. The beginning of 
 my life was weak and sinful, and the end must be so too.' And 
 she burst into tears.
 
 224 GERTRUDE. 
 
 The faint colour on Gertrude's cheek went and came as her 
 sister spoke ; and as she watched the expression of despairing 
 suffering which rested upon her young, fair features, a pang of 
 bitterness shot through her heart at the thought of all that she 
 might yet be destined to endure. ' Laura,' she said — and she 
 knelt by her side, and looked fondly in her face — ' when you pro- 
 mise your child that you will give him all that he may need, 
 could you bear him to doubt your word ?' 
 
 ' He is too young to do it,' said Laura, in a tone of surprise. 
 
 ' But if he were older,' said Gertrude, ' would it not vex and 
 pain you ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Laura ; ' but ' 
 
 ' But are we not all children?' continued Gertrude; 'and is 
 it not distrust to think that we shall be permitted to remain weak 
 and sinful when we have but to ask for strength and receive it ? ' 
 
 'Do not talk of those things,' exclaimed Laura; 'I cannot 
 listen to them ; they have no power to comfort me.' 
 
 ' Then there is indeed no hope for me,' said Gertrude, sadly ; 
 ' I have nothing else to say that can give you relief.' 
 
 'And will you leave me?' exclaimed Laura, bitterly, — 'leave 
 me to my misery ?' 
 
 Gertrude's answer was in action more than in words. With 
 the tenderness of a mother for a petted child, she threw her arm 
 round her sister's neck, and, gently unloosening her bonnet, said, 
 as she laid her head upon her shoulder, ' How could I leave you 
 when you have confided in me ?' 
 
 ' And you will still love me,' murmured Laura, 'though I can- 
 not feel as you do ?' 
 
 ' I must love you through everything,' said Gertrude ; ' but it 
 is a love which will but give me pain, if I may not talk to you 
 upon the only subject which can be a blessing to you.' 
 
 ' A blessing to the good, you mean, not to me,' replied Laura. 
 ' There is no blessing for me, Gertrude ; I am not worthy of it.' 
 
 'And who may expect it, if worthiness is needed?' said Ger- 
 trude. ' You may have done wrong, very wrong ; but if there 
 is no help for you, there can be none for the best of human 
 beings. Will you not think of this, and pray?' 
 
 ' It will not make me happy,' said Laura, in a faint voice. 
 
 'Yes, in time it will, it must,' replied Gertrude. 'If at this 
 moment you could be assured of Edward's pardon, it could not 
 be sufficient for your happiness without the pardon and the assist- 
 ance of God ; but if you have that you need not fear anything.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 225 
 
 * My life has been so different from yours, Gertrude. I cannot 
 think about it at all now. When I have nothing else upon my 
 mind 1 will try to be better.' 
 
 'And if that time should never come — if you were never to 
 find courage to speak to Edward, and were to go on for years 
 with this secret preying upon you ?' 
 
 Laura shuddered. 
 
 ' It is the power to do right which you want,' continued Ger- 
 trude ; ' and that power cannot be obtained by your own efforts, 
 and therefore you cannot look forward to anytime when you will 
 be able to amend. I know that you are miserable, dearest ; and 
 perhaps it seems idle to talk so generally, when you are thinking 
 only upon one subject ; but I cannot offer you comfort, which 1 
 feel to be false. I may tell you that Edward will forgive, and I 
 am sure he will ; but I am sure also that his forgiveness is not 
 all you require, and that if you trust to yourself you will not have 
 courage to ask it. You would not bear to believe that your future 
 life was to be like the past.' 
 
 ' No, no !' exclaimed Laura, vehemently. 
 
 'And you have owned to me that you are wretched, and that 
 you are most grieved for having acted wrongly ; and you wish 
 me to help you. O Laura ! why will you not confess this to One 
 who can ? ' 
 
 ' But,' exclaimed Laura, ' it is no use to be sorry, and pray lo 
 God to forgive me, whilst I am deceiving Edward.' 
 
 ' No,' replied Gertrude ; 'and if you feel this, there can be no 
 doubt of your duty.' 
 
 Laura was silent. 
 
 ' For Edward's sake, for your own sake, for all our sakes, do 
 not delay!' continued Gertrude, in a deep, earnest tone. ' Only 
 say that you will not — only ask that your courage may not fail!' 
 
 Still Laura was silent. The agitation of her mind was fully 
 visible in her countenance, and twice she strove in vain to answer. 
 At length, rising from her seat, she said, with a forced effort, ' I 
 shall see you, Gertrude, to-morrow. I cannot talk of other things 
 now.' 
 
 ' To-morrow, if you will,' replied Gertrude ; ' and shall it be at 
 Allingham ? ' 
 
 Laura busied herself with her dress, and appeared not to hear; 
 and Gertrude added, — ' If I might, I should ask to be with you 
 this evening. I should only be unhappy here in thinking you 
 
 were alone.' 
 
 P
 
 22.6 GERTRUDE. 
 
 The manner in which this was said completely overcame 
 Laura's effort at self-command. 'Why are you not with me 
 always ! ' she exclaimed. ' Then I might be different ; but 
 now ' 
 
 ' Now you will think of all we have been saying,' replied 
 Gertrude, affectionately, ' and resolve, but not in your own 
 strength, and then promise that you will act.' 
 
 'Yes,' began Laura, earnestly, 'I will promise you;' but 
 Gertrude stopped her — ' Stay, dearest/ she said ; 'a promise is 
 too sacred to be given in haste. When we meet this evening you 
 will have had more time for consideration.' 
 
 ' And you — will you not go back with me ? ' said Laura, 
 imploringly. ' I have many things to say besides this one. If 
 Edward should not return in time, what shall I do on Thursday? 
 I am feeling so ill and tired, as if I could not possibly receive all 
 those people alone.' 
 
 ' You must trust that Edward will keep his word,' said Ger- 
 trude, encouragingly ; but Laura's sigh reminded her that both 
 his absence and his presence would be equally painful. 'At any 
 rate, we can talk over your difficulties to-night,' she added ; 
 ' which will be more convenient to me than going back with you 
 at once ; and with so many sisters, it will be strange if you are 
 left without some help.' 
 
 Laura tried to smile, but her heart was too heavy, and her 
 manner alone showed her consciousness of Gertrude's affection. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 IF Laura had need of solitude, it was not less required by Ger- 
 trude; and, dreading interruption, she shut hers&lf up in her 
 own room to think at leisure upon what she had heard. The 
 interest of the conversation had prevented her thoughts from 
 dwelling upon the fears which had been awakened for Edward, 
 but when Laura was gone they returned in full force. She was 
 too keen-sighted not to have perceived that something had been 
 preying upon her brother's spirits ever since her return to the 
 Priory ; but it was the fashion to attribute it to parliamentary 
 worries, and the style of living at Allingham forbade any one to 
 think that economy was at all requisite. Even the conversation
 
 GERTRUDE. 227 
 
 which she had held with her sister on Torrington Heath had only 
 made her uncomfortable for the moment ; as Edith herself seemed 
 then to think that her former apprehensions were groundless, and 
 it was difficult for Gertrude's charity to believe that one so perfect 
 as Edward in word and feeling, could be so faulty in practice. 
 And now, it was not that she at all surmised the true state of the 
 case, but she was oppressed by that dark, fearful apprehension of 
 coming evil, which is often experienced by persons whose early 
 lives have been free from trial, and who know that, in the course 
 of God's providence, affliction must sooner or later be at hand. 
 Sad visions of care passed before her as she thought upon Edward, 
 but there was something worse than care, which she scarcely 
 dared to dwell upon. If he were embarrassed, who could tell how 
 strong might be the temptation to free himself at any sacrifice ; 
 and little as Gertrude had hitherto known of political affairs, she 
 felt that the pledge proposed by General Forester could scarcely 
 be consistent with strict honour. She tried to persuade herself 
 that she had mistaken Laura's words, but the impression of them 
 still remained. She reasoned, but reason was useless. It seemed 
 impossible that Edward could act so dishonourably, but the 
 firmest characters had failed in less trying circumstances. It was 
 unlikely that the proposal had been made, but certainly Laura had 
 mentioned it. General Forester was not a man of any weight, 
 and Edward would not listen to him ; but he had lately been his 
 chief guide in his election affairs. Gertrude's clear intellect was 
 bewildered with fear. She closed her eyes, striving to shut out 
 all that might distract her, that so she might more clearly see 
 whether anything could be done to guard her brother from the 
 temptation. Money seemed the one thing required ; and as she 
 felt this, a doubt, painful almost to agony, crossed her mind. 
 With an involuntary effort she resisted it, but again it came. 
 Gertrude's conscience was not one to be trifled with. Once 
 more she turned from it, but only for an instant ; and when still, 
 through every other consideration, the question forced itself 
 upon her, she knelt to pray that if the sacrifice of her long- 
 cherished wishes were required, it might be made without repin- 
 ing. The words had scarcely been uttered, when a knock was 
 heard at her door, and a servant begged that she would go and 
 speak to Mrs Courtenay. Gertrude's first impulse was to send 
 an excuse. It seemed impossible at that moment to give atten- 
 tion to any one ; but respect for her mother conquered her re- 
 luctance, and without delay she went to her room. Mrs Cour-
 
 228 GERTRUDE. 
 
 tenay was resting after a drive to the county town, but seemed 
 full of business and excitement. 
 
 'Ah ! my dear,' she exclaimed, ' you have not been out. That 
 is very wrong ; you will never be well if you shut yourself up so. 
 And what have you been doing ? We have had such a nice 
 drive. I saw the child, and she is a great deal better, — quite a 
 different creature, — that medicine is so remarkably good ; though, 
 by the by, they have made it up very badly. But, do you know, 
 we were intending to call at Allingham, and they told us at the 
 lodge that Edward was gone to town ; and Johnson says that 
 Laura has been here, and that she was looking ill, and it put me 
 in such a fright that I sent for you directly.' 
 
 ' Laura has been here,' replied Gertrude, in a tone which, to 
 any other ear than her mother's, would have betrayed a painful 
 effort ; ' I don't think she was looking particularly well, but I 
 shall hear more about her this evening, for, if you have no objec- 
 tion, I am going to drink tea with her.' 
 
 'Objection, my dear ! no, what objection could I have? but 
 you had better order the carriage directly — Foster is not half as 
 punctual as he used to be.' 
 
 ' Laura will be alone,' said Gertrude, ' for Edward is gone to 
 town.' 
 
 ' But what for ? He said nothing about it yesterday ; and 
 why doesn't Laura come and drink tea here, instead of taking 
 you away. It would be much more sociable ; just let me send 
 and say so. Edward can't really be gone, though, — there is the 
 party on Thursday ; he must be at home then.' 
 
 ' Laura hopes he will,' said Gertrude ; ' but if he should not, 
 she must do as she can without him ; so I had better go to her 
 this evening, because she wants to talk over some arrangements, 
 and they would only be tiresome to you.' 
 
 ' Oh no, my love ! not at all tiresome. There is nothing I like 
 better than arrangements. But it is best to let young people 
 please themselves, so if you like to go, do ; only don't let Laura 
 think we should not have been glad to see her. I must give you 
 some sugar-plums for Charlie, which he was to have had tins 
 afternoon, but we did not go in.' Mrs Courtenay dived into the 
 depth of a most capacious reticule, and drew out one by one its 
 various contents, commenting upon each as she laid it on the 
 table. ' That — no, that is not it ; it was a little square box ; 
 there are some lozenges for you in it too, my dear. I heard you 
 cough last night several times. Wait one minute, I must take
 
 GF.R- :UDE. 
 
 229 
 
 out the parcels first, and then I shall find it. The ribbon is for 
 my morning cap ; and the gloves I bought at Karl's — Sadler's 
 gloves are so bad, they don't wear any time. So provoking it is ! 
 what is wanted first, is always sure to be last. Dear me ! Jane 
 forgot her letter for the post.' 
 
 ' Can I help you, dear mamma?' said Gertrude, in consterna- 
 tion at the sight of a little packet of bills, two more boxes, and 
 a thimble. 
 
 ' No, my dear ; no, thank you. I shall find it presently ; it is 
 one of these, but they are so much alike.' 
 
 'There is the first dinner bell,' said Gertrude, mildly. 
 
 ' Never mind, my dear : it won't signify about your dress, we 
 are only ourselves. So tiresome this is ! I do think I must have 
 Kit the box at Earl's.' 
 
 'Perhaps some one will be going to the town to-morrow,' said 
 Gertrude, ' and then it can be asked for.' 
 
 'Well ! that would be a good plan ; but — now I recollect — I 
 left the sugar-plums on the drawing-room mantelpiece, just by 
 the middle vase ; you had better go and fetch them, my dear, or 
 somebody will be sure to take them.' 
 
 Poor Gertrude ! what would she not have given for those few 
 minutes alone ; — but it was not to be. The sugar-plums were 
 found, and brought back ; and then, considering that Gertrude 
 was in the room, and her maid not, Mrs Courtenay thought it 
 better to trouble one than the other, and suggested that her 
 bonnet should be put in the wardrobe, and her shawl in the 
 drawer, and all the other et celcras of her walking dress properly 
 provided for, till the second bell rang before all her wants were 
 attended to, and Gertrude had only time to make a hasty toilette, 
 and descend to the dining-room with an apology for being late. 
 The dinner appeared interminable ; and, with all her endeavours, 
 Gertrude could not prevent herself from occasionally beginning 
 to weigh the conflicting claims of Edward and the church, 
 Charlotte addressed her twice without being answered, and Jane 
 several times begged for the salt in vain ; and then both began 
 to rally her upon her unusual abstraction, till the tears rushed to 
 Gertrude's eyes, and a choking sensation was felt in her throat ; 
 and, as a last resource against observation, she pleaded — what 
 was indeed the case — a bad headache. Edith watched her with 
 the greatest uneasiness, and followed her to her room when 
 dinner was over, to seek an explanation, but Gertrude could not 
 feel at liberty to give it. All that she owned was that Laura was
 
 230 GERTRUDE. 
 
 unhappy about some personal affairs, and had come to consult 
 her ; and this, with the headache, was the best information 
 Edith could obtain. She was silenced, but not convinced, and 
 was just beginning an account of her own interview with Laura, 
 when the carriage was announced, and the few minutes, which 
 Gertrude had calculated upon having to herself, were gone. 
 Yet there was no impatience in her replies, no annoyance in her 
 countenance, not even a symptom of irritation in her manner, 
 when Mrs Courtenay stopped her in the hall, to entreat that she 
 would send an excuse to Laura, and go to bed, or (if that were 
 impossible) take a dose of sal-volatile before she set off. She 
 did, what the most obedient of daughters would scarcely have 
 thought necessary ; and Mrs Courtenay returned to the draw- 
 ing-room, to spend a comfortable evening, satisfied that poor, 
 dear Gertrude's headache was nervous,— she could tell it from 
 the way in which her hand trembled when she held the glass, — 
 and nothing could be so good for nervous headache as sal 
 volatile. Charlotte resisted the notion of Gertrude's having any 
 nerves ; declaring that, in nine cases out of ten, they were only 
 an excuse for ill-temper. Jane complained very much of her 
 going away ; and Edith strongly took her part ; and, in the 
 olden time, such a source of disagreement might have brought 
 on a skirmish of words for at least half an hour ; but Edith had 
 not passed several months under the same roof with Gertrude 
 without learning something of her way of preserving family 
 harmony ; and the proposal of a few turns upon the terrace with 
 Charlotte, followed by a little music, was successful in restoring 
 unanimity of feeling. 
 
 It was late when Gertrude returned. The drawing-room was 
 empty, and the lamp extinguished, and with silent steps she 
 stole up the stairs to avoid disturbing any one. But Edithls 
 quick ear had caught the sound of footsteps, and gently un- 
 fastening her door, she beckoned her sister to her room. 
 
 ' They are all gone to bed, except me,' she said, as Gertrude 
 entered; 'but I could not make up my mind to go till I 
 had seen you, you looked so miserably ill when you went 
 away.' 
 
 ' Did I ?' said Gertrude, with a faint smile. 
 
 'Yes; and you are not much better now. There must be 
 something very much the matter. Why won't you tell me ?' 
 
 ' Perhaps I might tell you part,' replied Gertrude, 'though of 
 course not what concerns Laura personally. Do you remember
 
 GERTRUDE. 231 
 
 something you said to mc a few months ago when we were 
 walking on Torrington Heath — it was about Edward ?' 
 
 'And my fears?' said Edith, 'and Mr Dacre's? Yes, I re- 
 member it perfectly.' 
 
 'If they should come true?' continued Gertrude, in a calm 
 voice. 
 
 Edith started. 'O Gertrude! tell mc ; pray tell me! What 
 do you know ? ' 
 
 'Hush! dearest,' replied Gertrude; 'we must not frighten 
 mamma ; and I do not exactly know anything.' 
 
 ' But you suspect something.' 
 
 ' I suspect — indeed, I am nearly sure he is in very great diffi- 
 culties. I guessed it from some facts Laura told me this after- 
 noon, and I have been talking to her since ; and though she will 
 not face the possibility of the case being a bad one, she allows 
 there is something amiss.' 
 
 'Then it has really happened as Mr Dacre and I imagined/ 
 exclaimed Edith, bitterly ; 'and Edward has been wilfully blind. 
 What fortune of two thousand a year could stand the expenses 
 of six.' 
 
 'How?' said Gertrude, and her tone of surprise awakened 
 Edith to the consciousness of having betrayed her brother's 
 secret. 
 
 ' It is scarcely a thing to be kept private, now,' she replied ; 
 'at least from his own family. When Colonel Courtenay died, 
 the Allingham property was worth only two thousand a year ; 
 but no one knew it except Edward and his lawyers, and the one 
 or two persons who learned it from him. My mother was never 
 told, nor Jane, nor Charlotte ; but at that time he kept nothing 
 from me.' 
 
 'And Laura?' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' I cannot tell. I have often tried to find out ; but we have 
 known so little of each other intimately, that it was impossible 
 to do it ; and after Edward married he threw such a veil of 
 mystery over all his affairs, that I could not ask him anything 
 about them.' 
 
 ' Laura does not know, I am nearly certain,' said Gertrude. 
 ' I have been talking to her a great deal this evening, and she 
 has given me an account of their London life. Even with six 
 thousand a year they would have been dreadfully extravagant.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Edith, ' I know they must have been. Charlotte 
 spent one spring with them, and gave us details of enormous
 
 232 GERTRUDE. 
 
 expenses ; but it was just then that every one was praising 
 Edward's talents and prophesying that he would be a great man, 
 and I thought less about it.' 
 
 'And do you really mean,' said Gertrude, c that Edward's in- 
 come has never been more than what you say?' 
 
 ' Never ; and it was the knowledge of this which made me 
 tremble at the election.' 
 
 Gertrude almost shuddered at the very name of the election. 
 'Tell me, Edith,' she said, after a short pause, 'if Edward's 
 affairs are really in the state which we fear, how will he be able 
 to bear it ? Will he have courage to face the evil ?' 
 
 ' No,' said Edith, sadly, but decidedly. ' He will drive it 
 from his thoughts till it is forced upon him without the possibi- 
 lity of escape. And then, — I cannot tell' And poor Edith 
 
 turned away to hide, even from her sister, the bitterness of her 
 feelings. ' You have never loved him as I have loved,' she said, 
 when Gertrude strove to comfort her. ' You cannot know how 
 all my purest enjoyments have been blended with him. If I have 
 ever had a good thought, or been able to conquer a bad feeling, 
 it was because of the principles he taught me ; and he is good — 
 he must be good now ; others have been extravagant, too — it is 
 not a sin. Gertrude, dearest — only say so ; say you do not think 
 the worse of him.' 
 
 It was a painful appeal for Gertrude's sincerity. Wilful ex- 
 travagance involves so much of self-indulgence, and thoughtless- 
 ness, and neglect of solemn duties, that she could not bring her- 
 self to answer. 
 
 'You may condemn him,' continued Edith, eagerly; 'but if 
 you had but known him as he once was — so noble, and kind, 
 and careful for every one, and thinking so little of his talents, 
 and only wishing to do good ! Gertrude, he was perfect ; yes, 
 indeed, he was perfect ; and oh ! how I loved him.' 
 
 ' And we all love him now, dearest,' said Gertrude ; ' and 
 must try to help him. And it was this which I wished to speak 
 tu yen about.' 
 
 'And can you help him?' exclaimed Edith, a gleam of hope 
 lighting up her countenance. 
 
 ' Not permanently, but I might do something for the present ; 
 only then' , the sentence was unfinished, but Edith under- 
 stood it. 
 
 ' No ! ' she exclaimed, ' that cannot be.' After all your wishes 
 — your plans — and it would not be right.'
 
 GERTRUDE. ?33 
 
 ' I cannot say,' replied Gertrude, quietly. ' There may be 
 duties even greater than the building of a church. If it were 
 to save him from a great temptation, Edith — from the sacrifice 
 of his highest principles ? ' 
 
 ' But is it so ?' said Edith, in alarm ; and, after a minute's con- 
 sideration, she added, 'and if it were so, your fortune is so small.' 
 
 ' It would be something ; it might stay the evil, though not 
 prevent it.' 
 
 ' But you could not,' exclaimed Edith. ' The church has been 
 your dream for years ; you said so only the other day.' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Gertrude: ' yet that may be the very reason why 
 it may be necessary I should relinquish it.' 
 
 Poor Edith felt confused by the conflicting ideas which pre- 
 sented themselves to her mind, and could not realise the danger 
 to Edward's principles to which Gertrude had alluded. ' Have 
 you really determined upon giving up the church?' she said, at 
 length. 
 
 ' No ; I have not had time for considering the subject, and as 
 yet everything is uncertain. But merely upon the supposition, I 
 like to think how I should be bound to act. How could we 
 endure any person's assisting him upon terms which are not 
 honourable ? ' 
 
 ' How could we endure any person's assisting him upon any 
 terms?' interrupted Edith, proudly. 'Do not mention it again, 
 Gertrude. A Courtenay submit to an obligation ! Even Jane 
 would sacrifice her last farthing to prevent it.' 
 
 ' The Courtenays may be doomed to greater trials than that,' 
 said Gertrude, mournfully. ' Dishonour is more galling than 
 obligation. I would give — but it is not right to distrust — only it 
 seems as if there would be less cause to fear if Edward were not 
 gone.' 
 
 For some minutes Edith stood mechanically playing with the 
 candle, and gazing upon its light ; at length she said, ' Can you 
 not fancy, Gertrude, what it would be to be borne along by the 
 eddies of a whirlpool — to see before you the gulf in which you 
 must sink, and to feel yourself at every instant approaching it 
 with greater velocity ?' 
 
 ' Yes/ said Gertrude : ' life has its whirlpools, and this may be 
 one ; but we need not be afraid of sinking without the power of 
 rising again ; it would be a want of faith. Hark, Edith ! the 
 clock is striking twelve. How frightened mamma would be if 
 she were to hear us I '
 
 234 GERTRUDE. 
 
 'Never mind,' replied Edith; /we shall neithei of us sleep 
 very much, if we do go to bed.' 
 
 ' But I have so much to think of,' said Gertrude : ' indeed 1 
 must not stay.' 
 
 ' I would rather not go to sleep,' replied Edith ; ' there will be 
 the waking to-morrow with that vague, horrible feeling of some 
 unknown evil hanging over one.' 
 
 'And the gradual dawning of the truth, and the wretchedness 
 of the full reality,' added Gertrude, attempting to smile, as she 
 took up her candle to go ; 'but we will not fear ; it is wrong.' 
 
 Edith's reply was a whispered ' God bless you, dear, dear Ger- 
 trude ;' and the sisters separated, Edith remaining to meditate 
 upon the long-dreaded events which seemed now approaching, 
 and Gertrude stealthily treading the carpeted floors, to avoid 
 disturbing the household, before she reached her room. And 
 with what different feelings did she now enter it from those which 
 had so filled her heart on the previous evening ! There were the 
 same walls, the same furniture, the same books. There was the 
 table piled with drawings of churches, which it had been her 
 pleasure to collect from her friends. There was the desk, on which 
 lay the letter which she had finished for Mr Dacre. There were 
 papers scattered about, on which she had even proceeded to make 
 calculations of different items of expense. But the charm of all 
 was gone. Scarcely allowing herself a glance, she replaced the 
 drawings in her portfolio, and the letter and papers in her desk; 
 and, forgetting the lateness of the hour, and the mental fatigue 
 she had undergone, once more knelt to ask for strength, both in 
 judgment and in action, and then set herself seriously to consider 
 what ought to be her conduct under the circumstances which 
 Laura had more clearly explained in their evening conversation. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE breakfast party at the Priory was not now what it had 
 been, when, more than four years before, Edith had so 
 sighed over the absence of family union. Mrs Courtenay still 
 complained of sleepless nights, and Jane lamented her habitual 
 ill health ; Edith also took as great an interest in the parish 
 school, and Charlotte talked as lightly, and cut bread as dili-
 
 GERTRUDE. 235 
 
 genlly as before. But the sharp edges of character had been 
 much worn away by the influence of tact and example ; and, 
 notwithstanding their serious causes of uneasiness, Edith would 
 have hesitated to exchange her present feelings, had they not 
 been mixed with self-reproach, for the loneliness and discomfort 
 which she had experienced on the morning when she received 
 from Miss Forester the first hint of Edward's intended marriage. 
 All trials are comparatively light whilst the sanctuary of home 
 is untouched ; and Edith, though burdened with regret for the 
 past and forebodings for the future, could still be thankful for 
 the mercy which was sparing her the additional pain of domestic 
 discord. Gertrude, however, was not so fully alive to the effects 
 of her own conduct, and still saw much which she longed to 
 alter ; but every other feeling was now engrossed in anxiety for 
 Edward. 
 
 A sleepless night had brought its natural consequences — a 
 continued headache ; and Mrs Courtenay's faith in sal-volatile 
 was rather shaken, when she observed Gertrude's heavy eyes and 
 pale lips. 
 
 'You were so late last night, my love,' she said; 'Mitchell 
 told me that you were not back till after eleven, and I am sure I 
 heard you moving about after twelve.' 
 
 Gertrude pleaded guilty to being late, but said 'that Laura 
 never went to bed early herself, and so persuaded her to stay.' 
 
 ' And talk over to-morrow, I suppose,' said Jane. ' What does 
 she intend to do, all by herself?' 
 
 ' She depends upon Edward's returning,' said Gertrude ; 'but 
 I tried to persuade her not to do it. It seems very uncertain.' . 
 
 ' If it is uncertain,' observed Charlotte, ' you may be quite sure 
 what will happen. Gentlemen only say they are uncertain when 
 they have fully made up their minds, and have not courage to 
 confess it ; and Edward hates archery parties.' 
 
 ' Yet they are better than anything else,' said Edith — ' less 
 formal, and not so expensive.' 
 
 ' Who cares for expense at Allingham ?' exclaimed Charlotte. 
 'Besides, from what I have heard Laura say, I suspect this will 
 be anything but an economical affair.' 
 
 'A splendid imitation of the Vivian parties last year, I sup- 
 pose,' said Jane. 
 
 ' It will be an extremely pretty thing, if it is well managed,' 
 said Gertrude. 'They are going to light up the conservatory in 
 the evening, and give up the drawing-room for dancing, and the
 
 236 GERTRUDE. 
 
 library is to be used for the reception-room, and the dining-room 
 for the dejeuner and the refreshments.' 
 
 Edith sighed audibly, and Gertrude, fearful of her attracting 
 observation, hastily continued — 
 
 ' Laura will have so many things to do to-day that I have 
 promised to help her. She is not at all equal to any exertion.' 
 
 "I don't think I shall go,' said Jane : 'it is a very agreeable 
 thing to talk about ; but one pays a dreadful penalty afterwards 
 for being amused.' 
 
 ' Laura said she hoped we should all go,' observed Gertrude ; 
 ' and, if Edward is not there, we might be extremely useful.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Charlotte ; ' she might station us at different 
 places, with certain divisions to look after. Remember, I put in 
 my claim for the dining-room. I venture to say I shall be more 
 popular than any one of you.' 
 
 'The reception is the awkward part of the business,' said 
 Gertrude] 'half the persons invited are election acquaintances, 
 and Laura has never seen them above once or twice, and some 
 not at all.' 
 
 ' I am not sure that I like these huge omnibus parties,' 
 observed Charlotte; 'one gathers up such a quantity of scum 
 with them.' 
 
 ' It is better than having the scum alone,' said Jane. ' If you 
 must invite disagreeable people to your house, it is far better to 
 swallow them whole, with something to make them palatable, 
 than to have a separate dose of each individual.' 
 
 Gertrude felt distressed at the turn the conversation was 
 taking, and quietly made an effort to divert it. 'Laura and 
 1 were wondering last night,' she said, ' whether Mr Dacre 
 would go. He had a most pressing invitation, and says he will 
 if he feels equal to it, but I suspect that is more than half an 
 excuse.' 
 
 ' I don't want to see him there,' said Charlotte ; ' he would be 
 out of his element.' 
 
 'How unkind, my dear!' exclaimed Mrs Courtenay ; 'and 
 we all make so much of him when he comes here.' 
 
 'The very reason why I hope he will keep away from Ailing- 
 ham,' replied Charlotte ; ' I respect him too much to wish to see 
 him in a false position.' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay adjusted her spectacles, and looked at her 
 daughter for a minute, but, reading no explanation of her words 
 in her countenance, returned to the newspaper ; and Edith,
 
 GERTRUDE. 
 
 weary of a trifling conversation, when her thoughts were en- 
 grossed with more important subjects, took the opportunity of a 
 pause to rise from the table, and beg Gertrude to go with her 
 into the garden. 
 
 'How can you talk with such indifference, Gertrude,' she 
 exclaimed, when they were alone; 'and about things which 
 come home to one so painfully? I thought I must have Kit 
 the room when they were discussing the archery parly.' 
 
 ' I thought so too, at first,' replied Gertrude. ' Certainly 
 nothing could be more contrary to one's inclinations than 
 talking about it, except, perhaps, joining it : and poor Laura 
 is so sadly worried, she says that if Edward does not come 
 home, she shall never be able to go through with it. That is 
 one reason why I suggested our all going ; for really, if she is as 
 unwell to-morrow as she was yesterday, we might be of the 
 greatest use to her.' 
 
 ' Not you, I am sure,' said Edith ; ' you arc more fit now to 
 be in your bed than anywhere else.' 
 
 ' To make up for want of sleep last night,' replied Gertrude, 
 with a sad smile ; 'but I am more comfortable upon one point. 
 1 have determined upon consulting Mr Dacre as to what should 
 and might be done ; and I have written to him to ask him to 
 come to me this morning.' 
 
 Edith's face brightened with greater satisfaction than she had 
 yet experienced. 'Yes,' she said, 'there is no one else to help 
 us : and, Gertrude, I told you ; he knows all. He learned it from 
 some business transactions which he had with Edward's lawyer 
 —that is, he guesses it, for I suppose he could not have been 
 told details. But it is so strange. I cannot realise that there 
 is any reason for great alarm, as I did last night. Then I 
 was utterly miserable, now I think I am only irritable and 
 impatient.' 
 
 ' It is because everything about us is just the same ; and 
 besides, sunshine and beautiful scenery help persons through so 
 much, when they are not absolutely overwhelmed.' 
 
 'And another feeling I have,' said Edith, 'is, that if anything 
 is going to happen, I long that it should come at once. I think 
 1 could make up my mind to bear a great calamity, but it is the 
 sitting still and watching for it which tires me.' 
 
 ' Suspense is a great temptation to impatience, certainly ; but 
 the calamity will come soon enough, I suspect. There was 
 something in the tone of the little note Edward wrote to Laura
 
 238 GERTRUDE. 
 
 yesterday which makes me think he must be prepared for some 
 shock, and that he is wishing to prepare her too.' 
 
 'Any change would be bad for her,' said Edith. 'To be 
 obliged to reduce, with her habits, would half kill her.' 
 
 ' I think you do her injustice,' replied Gertrude ; ' she has 
 one point of character, which is everything as a foundation.' 
 
 ' Truth ; yes, I acknowledge that.' 
 
 ' And take her from Miss Forester, and place her in situations 
 of trial, in which others are dependent upon her, and I am nearly 
 sure you would find her very superior. Trial would strengthen 
 her religious principles.' 
 
 'Religious principles!' exclaimed Edith; 'she has none;' 
 and then, shocked at her own words, she began to qualify them : 
 ' I mean, that she has never acted upon any.' 
 
 ' It is hard to say that, when we cannot look into the heart,' 
 said Gertrude ; ' and Laura's candour, and good temper, and love 
 for Edward are, it may be almost said, germs of religion ; — very 
 weak, indeed, and in themselves nothing, but showing that there 
 is a good disposition to work upon.' 
 
 Edith walked on for several minutes in deep thought. ' Ger- 
 trude/ she said, at length, in a very serious tone, ' I felt yesterday, 
 when Laura was miserable, as if I was the cause of it, and I 
 was miserable too. I could almost wish that the feeling would 
 continue.' 
 
 ' Not exaggerated,' said Gertrude ; ' there can be no good in 
 that.' 
 
 'But,' said Edith, 'perhaps it is not exaggerated. Perhaps 
 I might really have worked upon all the good which you say is 
 in her character ; and if she had been a different person, Edward 
 might have been so too. I can speak about it calmly now, but 
 I could not have done it last night, when I lay awake thinking 
 upon it.' 
 
 ' I am afraid,' said Gertrude ; ' even the best of us would have 
 something to regret, if we were to compare what we have done 
 with what we ought to have done.' 
 
 ' But what should you say,' continued Edith ; ' do you think 
 I have been very much to blame?' 
 
 ' You must remember that I was away from you ; how can I 
 judge?' 
 
 ' You can form some idea ; you know something of what 
 passed from what I have told you. I am sure you think I have 
 done very wrong, and you are afraid to say it.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 239 
 
 1 1 am not afraid, if you are not afraid to hear it/ replied 
 Gertrude. 
 
 Edith stopped suddenly, and her countenance changed; 'I did 
 not believe/ she said, in a voice of mingled agitation and dis- 
 pleasure, ' that I was likely to be of any use. And there were 
 other duties which I had been accustomed to, and I did not like 
 to neglect them.' 
 
 ' It seems cruel in me to say anything at this moment/ replied 
 Gertrude. 
 
 ' No one can think it is cruel to receive an opinion which has 
 been asked for/ said Edith, with a little pique in her manner. 
 
 ' But, perhaps, I implied more than I ought ; there is such a 
 difference between an error of judgment and a wilful fault ; and, 
 after all, it is impossible I should be able to decide how far you 
 were right in acting as you did.' 
 
 ' You need not retract/ said Edith, in the same proud tone ; 
 ' your first words were sufficiently plain.' 
 
 1 Plainer than I meant them to be ; and I am vexed with 
 myself for using them, because they have given you a false 
 impression.' 
 
 Edith bit her lip, without answering, and moved a few steps 
 towards the house, and then, as quickly returning, she exclaimed, 
 while tears rushed to her eyes, — ' Gertrude, I am very wrong, 
 but you have made me really wretched.' 
 
 ' If I might only tell you, dearest, what I meant/ replied 
 Gertrude. 
 
 'But I know it/ said Edith. 'You mean that I have been 
 the cause of it all ; that I might have prevented it.' 
 
 ' No/ replied Gertrude ; ' not the cause, as if there were 
 only one. Edward's own weakness has been the cause, and 
 his hasty marriage, and his ambition. There have been many 
 causes.' 
 
 ' But I have been one,' persisted Edith. Gertrude could not 
 deny it, and Edith was not in a state to listen to any extenuations 
 that might be offered. 
 
 ' Yes ! ' she exclaimed, ' if I had been at Allingham oftener, 
 and tried to please Laura more, perhaps I might have been 
 to her what you are now ; but she says that I neglected her, 
 and she is right. And now the time is gone, and I can never 
 make amends.' 
 
 ' Do not say that,' said Gertrude ; but Edith interrupted 
 her.
 
 240 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' I must say it, for it is true. How can I make amends now ? 
 Who can recall the years that are passed, and how can I save 
 Edward and Laura from misery ? And when the worst is come, 
 and they are ruined — ruined for their whole lives— how shall I 
 feel, when they look back and say I was the cause of it ? ' 
 
 ' They cannot say so,' replied Gertrude, gently ; ' if they blame 
 you, they must blame themselves far more.' 
 
 ' It is no comfort,' said Edith ; 'do not think of it, Gertrude. 
 Words are useless.' 
 
 Gertrude felt that at such a moment it was too true ; words 
 were useless. And when Edith again walked away, though not 
 proudly, as before, she did not attempt to follow her; but leaving 
 the torrent of excited feeling to exhaust itself, before attempting 
 to offer advice or consolation, she re-entered the house to find her 
 mother, and occupy herself with her till the arrival of Mr Dacrc. 
 And now, as often before, Gertrude experienced the benefit of 
 that self-control which she habitually practised. With her atten- 
 tion absorbed by one subject of anxiety, she was yet mindful of 
 the duty she had imposed on herself the previous day ; and Mrs 
 Courtenay's smile of pleasure, as she opened the door and told 
 her she had been expecting her, would alone have been a sufficient 
 recompense. But the effort, though painful at first, served to 
 divert and relieve her mind ; and when before she had ended, the 
 sound of a bell announced, as she believed, Mr Dacre's arrival, 
 she scarcely dreaded the interview. It was not, however, Mr 
 Dacre. It was a note, saying that he should not be able to call 
 at the Priory till the afternoon; and at the same time came a few- 
 hasty lines from Laura, begging that Gertrude would on no 
 account delay going to her, adding, as a postscript, that the 
 pony carriage had been sent, in order that there might be no 
 excuse. 
 
 ' I am so sorry for it, my dear,' said Mrs Courtenay; 'but it is 
 all right, of course ; and do tell poor Laura to send here for any 
 thing she may want for to-morrow ; plates, or glasses, or knives 
 and forks.' 
 
 Gertrude could scarcely forbear smiling at the notion of Laura's 
 knowing anything about the importance of providing such humble 
 necessaries ; but she did not enlighten her mother's mind as to 
 the extent of her daughter-in-law's ignorance of domestic affairs, 
 and only assured her that there was no doubt the housekeeper 
 would ask for all that was required. 
 
 'And Foster shall go for you earlier to-night, my dear,' added
 
 GERTRUDE. 24: 
 
 Mrs Courtcnay. ' It is bad for you to sit up late, and Laura, 
 too, will have enough to fatigue her to-morrow. So mind you 
 don't consent to stay longer than ten o'clock.' 
 
 Gertrude promised to attend to her wishes, and set off; 
 leaving, however, a note to be sent to Mr Dacre, with a request 
 that he would, if possible, see her at Allingham in the course of 
 the day. 
 
 ' My mistress is in her bedroom, ma'am,' was the information 
 Gertrude received upon alighting ; and, to judge from the appear- 
 ance of the lower part of the house, a bedroom seemed likely to 
 be the only safe refuge from carpenters, housemaids, and footmen, 
 who were rushing to and fro with chairs, and tables, carpets, 
 benches, and lamps, all in preparation for the next day. But 
 Gertrude moved on through the confused mass of furniture, with- 
 out overturning more than one chair, or entangling herself more 
 than twice with balls of packthread ; whilst she felt a little 
 amused at the sudden transformation of the elegant, orderly 
 house and establishment, though distressed at what must be an 
 additional expense, at the very moment when economy was 
 above all things needed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ("170U see what a state we are in,' exclaimed Laura, with a 
 
 X forced laugh, as she opened her door, just in time to 
 save Gertrude from being struck by a long ladder which two 
 men were carrying along the gallery : ' I have scarcely ventured 
 out of the room the whole morning, and it has been so lonely.' 
 
 ' Has it, indeed ? ' said Gertrude, kindly ; ' I thought you 
 would be too busy to want me.' 
 
 ' It would be absurd for me to interfere much,' said Laura ; 
 ' my housekeeper understands everything ; so I give the orders 
 occasionally, and leave her to see them executed. But you must 
 not think that I can never bear solitude. It is only rather bad 
 just now.' 
 
 Gertrude was beginning to express regret for not having been 
 with her sooner, but Laura stopped her : ' I cannot bear excuses 
 from you,' she replied, sadly ; ' I have no claim upon you, or 
 upon any one. It is very kind in you to come at all, and perhaps 
 
 Q
 
 242 GERTRUDE. 
 
 you will read this, and help me to decide what is to be done ;' 
 and she took up a letter which lay on the table. 
 
 Gertrude looked at her sister, as she spoke, with deep com- 
 passion. Her brilliant complexion was faded, and almost sallow; 
 her eyes were heavy and sunken ; her lips parched ; and even her 
 dress, so generally admired for its neatness and elegance, seemed 
 carelessly thrown on without any attempt at arrangement. ' You 
 know the handwriting,' continued Laura. 
 
 'From Miss Forester?' 
 
 'Yes, but I do not understand much more of all she refers to 
 than I did yesterday.' 
 
 Gertrude received the letter, and began to read, but found her- 
 self by no means as much perplexed as Laura. It commenced 
 with protestations of the strongest affection, which no circum- 
 stances, however trying, could weaken ; it then went on to recall 
 the proofs that had been given of sincerity, hinting at enormous 
 sacrifices made, with no hope of an adequate return ; and declar- 
 ing that all which had been done was as nothing compared with 
 the happiness of being of service to one so dear. Then followed 
 mysterious allusions to impending dangers, from which there 
 could be no escape except by Mr Courtenay's following General 
 Forester's advice ; and at last came vehement entreaties that, in 
 order to save herself and all around her from misery, Laura would 
 undertake to persuade her husband to yield his opinion upon 
 points of no importance. The letter ended with renewed protes- 
 tations of affection, and as a postscript were these words : — ' I 
 have said nothing about our own private affairs ; delicacy forbids 
 me to enter upon them in detail ; but you will yourself be the 
 best judge how far you can venture to explain all that has passed 
 to Mr Courtenay, at a moment when my father knows him to 
 be harassed almost to desperation. Delay I fear is impossible, 
 as my father will no longer allow matters to remain in their pre- 
 sent state. I need scarcely say how sincerely I desire that you 
 should promise to use your influence in bringing Mr Courtenay 
 round. If his pledge were once given, my father's natural fears 
 on my account would be at rest, and I should be able fully to 
 indulge my own wishes.' 
 
 ' What does it mean, Gertrude ? ' said Laura, as her sister 
 laid the letter upon the table with a disgust which she scarcely 
 endeavoured to suppress ; ' is there really any harm in it ?' 
 
 'Can you doubt it?' replied Gertrude, who, with all her 
 knowledge of human nature, scarcely understood, as yet, to what
 
 GERTRUDE. 243 
 
 extent a person of Laura's character would be influenced by a 
 wish ; ' I do not, of course, know all that General Forester re- 
 quires, but there can be no question of its involving a sacrifice of 
 some honourable principles.' 
 
 ' I don't see that,' said Laura, musingly; 'and Edward would 
 be happy again if he were out of his difficulties.' 
 
 ' But, my dear Laura, is it a case which concerns General 
 Forester, or anything he has said or done ? If he were to offer 
 to settle everything, without any conditions, could you con- 
 sent?' 
 
 Laura's lip quivered, and she could scarcely restrain her tears. 
 ' I thought of it all last night, when you were gone,' she answered, 
 in a half-frightened tone ; ' and I said over to myself all that 
 Edward would say, and fancied him just opposite to me, listen- 
 ing ; and afterwards I went to bed, and then it came to me again, 
 — the same scene I had been picturing : but he was changed. 
 He looked at me as he had never done before, and he said that 
 his love was gone; and I threw myself before him, and clung to 
 him, and prayed him to forgive, and he spurned me. Yes, Ger- 
 trude, he spurned me ; and I know it must be so.' And Laura 
 leaned her head upon the table in agony. 
 
 'And will this save you, dearest?' said Gertrude, quietly. 
 ' When you have gained your point, and Edward is in possession 
 of all you expect, must not the confession be made ?' 
 
 ' But the time is distant,' replied Laura ; ' he will be happy, 
 and he will not care.' 
 
 ' Happy that he has been mistaken in his wife ? — that she 
 talked to him, and persuaded him, apparently for his own good, 
 when in reality she had secret motives of her own ? O Laura ! 
 concealment between any friends is dangerous — between a hus- 
 band and wife it is certain misery.' 
 
 ' I would only delay,' said Laura, faintly. 
 
 'And if delay could save you from suffering, without being 
 wrong, can you think that a sister would not be more willing to 
 help you than Miss Forester ?' Laura seemed unable to reply; 
 and Gertrude, placing a sheet of paper before her, and a pen in 
 her hand, said, ' It is but the work of a few moments, and it may 
 be for your happiness for years; only say that you have resolved 
 to speak to Edward.' 
 
 Laura took up the pen almost unconsciously ; it seemed as if 
 the burden upon her mind had destroyed her power of self-guid- 
 ance ; and trusting instinctively to Gertrude, she wrote the words
 
 244 GERTRUDE. 
 
 which were dictated. But they were no sooner ended, than she 
 drew her pen across the paper, and casting it aside, rose hastily 
 from her seat, and walked the room. 
 
 * Go, Gertrude,' she said ; ' you have done all that was in 
 your power, and it is vain. Why should you distress yourself 
 more ? ' 
 
 ' No,' replied Gertrude, firmly; 'it cannot, and it must not be 
 in vain. The decision is to be made now, and if you will not 
 follow me, you must follow Miss Forester. Will you write and 
 tell her so ? ' 
 
 Laura looked hopelessly around, as if seeking some means of 
 escape. 
 
 ' Will you bind yourself to her,' continued Gertrude, ' to be 
 her friend and companion, — to have her with you always,— to 
 risk even Edward's annoyance, rather than her anger ? And 
 will you consent to feel that General Forester knows more of 
 your private affairs than your husband, and that at any moment 
 he may betray you ? ' 
 
 ' And can you be cruel, too, Gertrude ? ' exclaimed Laura ; 
 ' then my last hope is gone.' 
 
 'Not cruel, dearest,' replied Gertrude, earnestly, 'but merciful 
 — most merciful ; for I would save you from years of suffering.' 
 
 ' And at what price ? ' continued Laura. ' You talk to me in 
 ignorance, for you cannot understand my feelings.' 
 
 ' And do you really think I cannot ?' replied Gertrude. ' Do 
 you think I cannot tell what you will feel when you have placed 
 yourself in Miss Forester's power, and how you will shrink from 
 Edward's love and confidence, and how bitterly you will repent 
 having yielded to the temptation of this moment?' 
 
 Laura heaved a deep sigh, and again took a sheet of paper 
 from her desk, and recommenced her note ; but she had only 
 written the first words when it was once more put aside. ' It is 
 useless to write,' she said ; ' I know she will call by and by, and 
 I will see her.' 
 
 ' The note may prevent her calling,' said Gertrude : ' Laura, 
 why will you delay ? If you are grieved at having deceived him, 
 why will you not take the first step towards truth ?' 
 
 Laura shook her head, but made no attempt to write : and 
 Gertrude, vexed and disappointed, moved away from the table, 
 when a sound of footsteps on the stairs caught her ears. 
 
 ' She is coming,' exclaimed Laura, in a feeble voice of terror, 
 and she sank into a chair. Gertrude ran to the door and locked
 
 GERTRUDE. 245 
 
 it ; then, returning, said in a low voice, as she seated herself by 
 Laura's side, while her whole frame, trembled with agitation — 
 
 ' You said to me yesterday that you would promise ; and I 
 would not take your promise ; but now, if you have ever loved 
 me, you will give it.' 
 
 Laura raised herself in her chair, and with a look of anguish 
 her eye rested upon her husband's picture. 
 
 ' Remember,' said Gertrude, as she watched the expression of 
 her countenance : ' there is but one moment ; it is a decision 
 between confidence in him whose every thought, whose whole 
 heart is yours, or in Miss Forester. Laura, you must promise.' 
 
 Laura threw herself upon her sister's neck, and whispered, ' I 
 will promise, but I cannot see her.' 
 
 ' It shall be my duty,' said Gertrude, rising. ' Go into the 
 dressing-room, and trust in me to say and do all that is neces- 
 sary.' 
 
 Laura left the room ; and Gertrude, unlocking the door, 
 admitted Miss Forester. There was a start of surprise at the 
 meeting, followed by an expression of pleasure ; for Miss Forester, 
 on the same principle which induces a child to stroke a mastiff, 
 was always lavish of her civilities in proportion to her awe : and 
 she had long since discovered that Gertrude was not to be dealt 
 with as an ordinary person. 
 
 1 1 am afraid I am intruding,' she said, as she looked in vain 
 for Laura : ' I was told I should rind Mrs Courtenay here.' 
 
 ' My sister has been here,' said Gertrude, with an emphasis 
 upon the word sister, which served to remind her visitor that in 
 Laura's house she had more right than a friend to feel at home : 
 'but she is not able to see any person just now, and I must ask 
 you to excuse her coming to >ou.' 
 
 ' Oh certainly, if it is necessary. I should have supposed, 
 though, that Mrs Courtenay would have made an exception in my 
 favour. Is she so very busy ? ' 
 
 ' Not busy,' replied Gertrude, ' but she is desirous of being 
 alone. Can I be of any service in taking a message to her ?' 
 
 ' I think she would admit me, if she knew I was here,' replied 
 Miss Forester, stealing on tip-toe to the dressing-room door ; but 
 Gertrude dexterously placed herself before it. 
 
 ' I am sorry to prevent you,' she said ; ' but quiet is so essen- 
 tial to my sister, that I cannot allow her to be disturbed.' 
 
 A frown gathered on Miss Forester's brow, but her tones in- 
 creased iii gentleness, as she replied, ' Indeed ! I am so grieved
 
 246 GERTRUDE. 
 
 to hear it. How long has she been so unwell ? It must be quite 
 a sudden seizure.' 
 
 'It is no seizure,' said Gertrude, coolly; 'but she has had a 
 good deal to think of this morning.' 
 
 'Ah, yes ! all the arrangements for this grand party ; but she 
 is so energetic about everything. I am afraid she has worried 
 herself, without waiting for me to come and help her, as I pro- 
 mised. Between ourselves, my dear Miss Courtenay, she is like 
 many other lovely young creatures of her age, — not at all pru- 
 dent. I saw a great deal of it when we were in town lately : and 
 when we go up again, I intend to keep a strict watch upon her.' 
 
 'Thank you,' said Gertrude, politely ; ' but with regard to her 
 occupations to-day, the housekeeper manages everything so well, 
 there is scarcely any necessity for Laura's interference. She has 
 been engaged this morning upon rather a different subject — this 
 letter' — and she pointed to the lengthy epistle which lay upon the 
 table. Miss Forester glanced at it, and turned pale ; and then 
 glanced a second time, and coloured ; and stretching out her 
 hand to take it, said, with a faint laugh — 
 
 ' Oh ! that — it is not a matter of any consequence ; to-morrow 
 will do just as well.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' said Gertrude, ' but my sister is of opinion 
 that no day can be like the present for business of this kind ; 
 and being unable to undertake it herself, she has begged me to 
 arrange it for her.' 
 
 ' Certainly — if you will — no one more competent ' began 
 
 Miss Forester, and then stopped in confusion. 
 
 ' She would be sorry,' continued Gertrude, 'for either General 
 Forester or yourself to be misled as to her intentions.' 
 
 'My father would be unwilling to hurry Mrs Courtenay,' said 
 Miss Forester, 'but — I may speak plainly, I see, to you, my 
 dear Miss Courtenay ; it is a very awkward business.' 
 
 'Particularly so,' replied Gertrude, in a tone which Miss 
 Forester did not entirely like or understand. ' If you will do me 
 the favour to listen for a few minutes,' continued Gertrude, ' I 
 think we shall be able to put things on a better footing. With 
 regard to my brother's opinions, General Forester must judge for 
 himself how far it is right to urge any gentleman under any cir- 
 cumstances to profess a change without conviction. It is a poli- 
 tical affair with which my sister has no desire to intermeddle.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, very right, quite natural ; but my father is so devoted 
 to Mr Courtenay's interests — so anxious for his welfare, — Mrs
 
 GERTRUDE. 247 
 
 Courtenay may safely trust him,' said Miss Forester, evidently 
 much piqued. 
 
 'Possibly,' said Gertrude, quietly; 'but in the present instance 
 there is no necessity for trusting to any one. Laura would have 
 spoken to my brother this morning if he had been at home, as 
 she is desirous that you should no longer be inconvenienced by 
 the assistance you have been kind enough to give her. In my 
 brother's absence, perhaps my cheque will be equally satisfac- 
 tory.' And without waiting for a reply, Gertrude seated herself 
 at the table, wrote an order for six hundred pounds, and put it 
 into Miss Forester's hands. It was received mechanically. 
 For the first time for many years Miss Forester was sensible of 
 shame ; — she felt that Gertrude knew her. 
 
 ' It is correct, I believe,' said Gertrude, rising. ' Perhaps you 
 will do my sister the favour also to return the different bills ot 
 her London trades-people, which you have had the goodness to 
 keep.' 
 
 ' I really — I did not wish — I scarcely expected ' — stammered 
 Miss Forester. ' I should be so sorry to give Mrs Courtenay any 
 additional trouble just now.' 
 
 'Pray do not distress yourself,' said Gertrude. 'It will in- 
 volve no trouble to my sister ; she merely wishes my brother to 
 see them when he returns.' Miss Forester's keen face expressed 
 incredulous surprise, but Gertrude did not choose to explain 
 f arther than was necessary. ' Perhaps,' she said, in a tone 
 ,vhich, notwithstanding her native humility, was tinged with 
 hauteur, ' you will also be kind enough to say to General Forester, 
 that my sister prefers leaving to him the task of persuading her 
 husband to profess a change of principles. She has neither the 
 inclination nor the power to attempt it herself.' 
 
 Miss Forester looked things unutterable ; but as she attempted 
 to speak them, her spirit quailed before the calm, pure dignity 
 of Gertrude's manner. Something she murmured of interests, 
 and wilfulness, and regret, but the sentence was lost in con- 
 tusion, as her eye met Gertrude's searching glance, fixed as if 
 she could read her inmost thoughts ; and, thrusting the cheque 
 into her reticule, she turned away and glided from the room, 
 without appearing to notice Gertrude's civility, when she hastened 
 to open the door, and politely wished her good morning. Ger- 
 trude listened to her retreating footsteps, and when the hall 
 door was closed against her, drew a long breath, as if relieved 
 from a great oppression. The first act of the sacrifice she
 
 243 GERTRUDE. 
 
 expected would be required had been made, but she did not for 
 an instant regret it. Laura was saved from temptation ; and if 
 Edward's affairs were prosperous, the obligation would soon be 
 repaid ; if not, the experience of that morning had left but little 
 doubt upon her mind as to the course to be pursued. And 
 now, her first impulse was to go instantly to Laura, and tell her 
 she was free from Miss Forester's snares ; but a little con- 
 sideration checked her. When she had once owned what had 
 been done, it would be difficult to insist upon Laura's keeping 
 her promise, since it might appear that she had a personal 
 interest for urging it ; and though Laura's word had been given, 
 Gertrude still felt doubtful whether, when the moment for con- 
 fession came, she would not make some excuse for putting it 
 off. Yet it was a difficult resolution to keep, when, as she 
 entered the dressing-room, Laura sprang from the sofa, and 
 entreated to be told all that had passed. Gertrude gazed with 
 pity upon the countenance once so full of happiness, now so 
 marked by sorrow, and longed, as she had seldom longed before, 
 to act against her knowledge of what was right. One smile, 
 such as Laura had given in brighter hours, would have repaid 
 and satisfied her; but the time was not arrived; and Gertrude, 
 though with an effort known only to herself, could be as firm in 
 inflicting pain, as she was gentle in soothing suffering. A few 
 words of explanation were soon given. Gertrude merely thought 
 it necessary to say that she had told Miss Forester that Laura 
 declined interfering in political affairs, and intended upon 
 Edward's return to take some steps for the immediate settlement 
 of her affairs ; and Laura, although she felt frightened at being 
 thus bound to her promise, without the possibility of delay, 
 seemed in a degree more satisfied. Edward's displeasure was 
 indeed inevitable, but she was no longer called upon to struggle 
 against her own failing resolution ; and Gertrude, trusting that 
 she would now be able to take a little rest, persuaded her to lie 
 down, and left her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 AND rest Gertrude required herself, but more for the mind 
 than the body; and hoping to find refreshment in solitude 
 and the open air, she wandered into the Park. On other occa-
 
 .- 
 
 GERTRUDE. 249 
 
 sions, the beauty of nature had never failed to soothe her in her 
 greatest uneasiness; but on this clay its influence was gone, 
 '['here were dark shadows passing over the distant hills, and 
 thin lines of blue smoke curling upwards from cottages half 
 hidden by trees; and the sunlight rested upon the tall spire of 
 Elsham church, as it stood with its ' silent linger' pointing to the 
 sky; and before her spread the green sward sprinkled with wild- 
 flowers, and parted into dells and glades by the inequality of the 
 ground, and the varied masses of oaks and beeches, the growth 
 of years gone by. But Gertrude looked at all with a saddened 
 heart. She seated herself on the trunk of a splendid tree, which 
 had been one of the finest in her brother's possession, but which 
 now lay leafless and prostrate, and closed her eyes, striving to 
 forget, if possible, a beauty associated with so much earthly care. 
 But care still haunted her — thoughts of Edward, and his talent . 
 and his influence and station, and the account which must one 
 day be required of him ; and, shrinking from the prospect, she 
 raised her head, and, turning involuntarily from the lovely land- 
 scape before her, looked up into the clear, blue sky. It was the 
 faint image of heaven, — taintless and unchangeable ; and Ger- 
 trude dwelt upon its purity, and strove to pierce into its depths, 
 as if seeking to reach that home of peace, where her spirit longed 
 to be. For she felt that the struggle of life was beginning. 
 Hitherto the current of her existence had ilowecl smoothly and 
 tranquilly, unmarked by sorrow except in the one first grief, 
 which had left little but peace behind it. But those unruffled 
 days were now vanishing. She was to feel, and act, and judge ; 
 to bear with others' sufferings, — to stand prepared for any duty ; 
 and though she had long looked forward to the day of trial, there 
 was a natural failing of the heart at the first perception that it 
 was near. And it is a bitter consciousness — (none can tell how 
 bitter but those to whom it has been given) — when we are 
 wakened from our youthful dream of happiness by some stern 
 reality, and know that from henceforth it may never be indulged 
 again — when an all-powerful though an all-merciful hand ha? 
 passed over the beautiful vision we so fondly cherished, and its 
 dazzling colours have faded beneath the touch, and we see that 
 the form is the same, but the lustre can never be recalled. We 
 may have thought that our minds are ready for the change, — we 
 may have pictured it to ourselves, and sorrowed for the inevi- 
 table hour, and even prayed for strength to bear it, — but the 
 expeiience of one real grief will teach us what no preparation
 
 250 GERTRUDE, 
 
 will impart. It will show us our own weakness, and the vastness 
 of that mercy which stooped to share a nature endowed with 
 such capacities for suffering. It will force us to look upon the 
 unknown future with a chastened and a thoughtful eye ; and 
 whilst it bids us bear thankfully in our hearts the remembrance 
 of our early joy, as the type granted us by God of the blessings 
 reserved for us in heaven, it will tell us that from henceforth 
 the warfare of human life must be ours; and that, till the grave 
 has closed upon our heads, we may hope but for intervals of rest. 
 And so it was with Gertrude. Till within the last two days 
 she had never known the value of the unanxious life which she 
 had hitherto led. Not that a mind like hers could be insensible 
 to mercies, or blind to the possibility of losing them ; but her 
 anticipations of the future had been vague and unreal, and from 
 principle she had never suffered herself to dwell upon them. And 
 now, almost without warning, trial seemed near at hand, and in 
 the form most at variance with her own disposition. She could 
 think, and repent, and amend for herself; but Edward was 
 beyond her reach, except through that privilege of intercession, 
 the power of which we so little understand ; and to some minds 
 the sufferings of others are far more dreadful than any personal 
 sorrow. Sad, however, as Gertrude's meditations were, she felt 
 that as yet she did not comprehend all that it might be required 
 of her to bear. There was still much cause to hope that her 
 fears might be unfounded ; and in a calmer frame of mind she 
 would have reproached herself for giving way to what might be 
 a causeless dread ; but in her present excited state — feverish 
 from wearying thought, and want of sleep, and the agitation of 
 the morning : — it seemed that the worst reality would be preferable 
 to the wretchedness of apprehension. It was a morbid state of 
 mind — most unusual and painful ; and Gertrude had indulged it 
 only for a few minutes when she was conscious that it was wrong. 
 She tried to bring her mind to the right temper of unhesitating 
 faith, and was striving to collect her thoughts to pray for a spirit 
 more in accordance with the will of God, when an approaching 
 footstep startled her; and she turned and saw Mr Dacre coming 
 towards her. Gertrude rose, and was about to utter an exclama- 
 tion of pleasure ; but the words died upon her lips as she saw 
 the expression of his countenance. It was grave and sad — far 
 more than usual ; the lines of care more rigidly marked, and the 
 anxiety of his mind revealed by the frown upon his forehead, and 
 the compression of his lips.
 
 GERTRUDE. 251 
 
 ' I have frightened you,' he said, in a deep tone, observing 
 that Gertrude did not speak : ' I was told you were walking in 
 this direction, and I knew you were wishing to see me.' 
 
 ' Thank you, yes,' replied Gertrude ; and she reseated herself 
 on the fallen tree, for her knees trembled so that she was unable 
 
 to stand. 
 
 Mr Dacre looked at her with compassion. ' You have been 
 exerting yourself too much,' he said, ' and you are ill.' 
 
 Gertrude shook her head, and, endeavouring to recover herself, 
 said faintly, ' It was very kind in you to come so far.' 
 
 Only a morning's walk,' replied Mr Dacre ; 'and perhaps 
 our meeting will be better here than elsewhere ; it will be less 
 liable to interruption.' 
 
 Gertrude raised her eyes to his, and as they met, unable 
 longer to endure suspense, she exclaimed, ' If you have anything 
 to tell me, I would hear it now, at once — only speak.' 
 
 ' And might I not say the same V he replied : ' I came at your 
 request.' 
 
 ' My request !' exclaimed Gertrude : for in the confusion of 
 her feelings she felt a difficulty in recalling all that had been in 
 her mind.' 
 
 ' Yes ; and I hoped you were going to mention some way in 
 which I might be of service to you.' 
 
 'Edward' began Gertrude, and then paused, scarcely 
 
 knowing how to introduce the subject of her fears. 
 
 ' Mr Courtenay is absent, I know,' continued Mr Dacre. ' He 
 is in London on business.' 
 
 'But is he well? have you heard anything? will he return to- 
 morrow ?' 
 
 ' I have heard nothing of his movements,' was the reply ; ' but 
 the dissolution of Parliament is hourly expected : will not that 
 account for his sudden journey?' His voice was steady, but 
 his manner was agitated ; and Gertrude said, firmly— 
 
 ' It is useless to attempt reserve ; there can be but one cause 
 of uneasiness where Edward is concerned. You have heard, I 
 am sure, the reports that are abroad, and you know that they 
 are well founded.' 
 
 ' I have just left Mr Rivers,' replied Mr Dacre, very gravely ; 
 ' and therefore I cannot be totally ignorant.' 
 
 'And you can tell me,' exclaimed Gertrude, while the colour 
 rushed to her pale cheek; 'is it what they say? Has Edward 
 indeed been acting so blindly ?'
 
 352 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' 1 will tell you all that I know,' replied Mr Dacre ; ' it is right 
 you, at least, should be prepared for what must in all probability 
 soon come.' 
 
 ' At least,' thought Gertrude ; and she mechanically repeated 
 the words to herself. 
 
 ' Mr Courtenay has acted blindly indeed,' pursued Mr Dacre ; 
 'but we must be careful in our condemnation. He has done but 
 what thousands have done before him, and perhaps with less 
 excuse. The chief object now must be to prevent him from 
 engaging in another election. It would be madness.' 
 
 ' But is there nothing to rest on ? — no hope of retrieving ?' 
 exclaimed Gertrude. ' If I could but know the worst ! ' 
 
 ' It is soon told ; and I see that it will be no kindness to keep 
 it from you. If anything could have been done to stay the evil, 
 I hope I need not say to you who would have been most anxious 
 to assist ; but in the present condition of your brother's propcty, 
 his best friends cannot aid him.' 
 
 ' But not for the present,' exclaimed Gertrude, eagerly, — ' not 
 to save him from a great temptation ?' 
 
 Mr Dacre looked at her in astonishment. 
 
 ' I forgot,' she continued, and she bent her eyes upon theground, 
 for she was about to speak against those who were among his 
 nearest connections : ' I fear that what I say may displease you ; 
 but surely Edward's friends are guilty of a grievous error in 
 urging him to pledge himself to them against his own convictions, 
 and offering to reward him by an appointment.' 
 
 ' Indeed I do not understand you,' said Mr Dacre. ' I have 
 neard nothing of this, — who is your authority ? ' 
 
 ' Laura, and General Forester,' replied Gertrude, hesitating, as 
 she pronounced the last name. 
 
 Mr Dacre started, — every muscle of his countenance seemed 
 working with repressed indignation, and broken exclamations of 
 'base!' 'mean!' 'dishonourable!' escaped him, notwithstand- 
 ing his utmost efforts to be calm. At length he said, as he leaned 
 for support against a neighbouring tree, ' You may tell me all. 
 General Forester's opinions and mine, I know, are very different.' 
 
 ' It is but little that I have to tell,' replied Gertrude. ' The 
 offer has been made, and General Forester has been strenuous in 
 urging it, and hitherto Edward has refused it. I have known 
 this only within the last two days ; but when I was told of it, I 
 was told also of his embarrassments, and then it was that J 
 became alarmed lest he should yield.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 253 
 
 ' And do they really think,' exclaimed Mr Dacre, vehemently, 
 1 that any cause will prosper when such means are used to pro- 
 mote it ? And if they were to bind your brother to them as they 
 desire, what recompense could they offer him in return?' 
 
 ' They would save him from ruin,' said Gertrude, and her 
 
 voice trembled as she spoke. 
 
 ' Do not believe it,' replied Mr Dacre, gently, but very gravely, 
 as he seated himself by her side. ' It is better that such a de- 
 lusion should be taken from you at once. Your brother may 
 think — possibly he does think — that there is hope ; but there is 
 none. If now the whole of his property were sold, he might be 
 
 freed from his difficulties, but he would be left without 
 
 resource.' 
 
 Gertrude felt paralysed. Miserable as her suspicions had 
 been, they yet fell short of the reality. 
 
 ' If you knew — if you could imagine,' continued Mr Dacre, 
 ' the bitter pain of being the first to open your eyes— but it may 
 save you all from worse suffering. Let him pause now, and no 
 one will dare to lift up a finger of reproach against him. Another 
 year, spent as the preceding ones have been, and his loss may 
 involve the sufferings of many others.' 
 
 ' A.nd does he know this ? ' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Mr Dacre, ' he knows it as far as words can 
 make him acquainted with it ; but I am afraid he does not 
 realise it. This morning I went to Mr Rivers, in consequence 
 of the report which had reached me, for I hoped it might have 
 been in my power to do some good ; and he then told me that 
 for many months he had been endeavouring to force the truth 
 upon him, especially since the election had been thought prob- 
 able. Yesterday morning, when the dissolution was announced 
 as certain, your brother went to make some inquiries, prepara- 
 tory to coming forward a second time ; and when the hopeless 
 condition of his affairs was at last put beyond doubt, he gave no 
 hint of his intentions, but started immediately for London.' 
 
 ' Then it is done,' exclaimed Gertrude, clasping her hands in 
 agony ; ' oh that he had been spared the trial ! ' 
 Mr Dacre scarcely knew how to reply. 
 
 ' You believe it is so,' continued Gertrude, raising her eyes to 
 his face, with an expression of calm wretchedness which was 
 more touching than any words ; ' or perhaps/ she added, in a 
 voice so faint that it almost died into a whisper, — 'perhaps you 
 are certain of it.'
 
 254 GERTRUDE. 
 
 1 No, no, indeed,' exclaimed Mr Dacre, eagerly, ' I am not 
 certain of it. I am totally ignorant of the cause of his sudden 
 journey.' 
 
 ' But can you not follow him ? Can you not save him ? Can 
 no one warn him V 
 
 i It is too late, — he is to return to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Dishonour !' murmured Gertrude to herself, in a low, bitter 
 tone. 
 
 ' There is hope,' said Mr Dacre ; ' we must think of that. 
 The temptation is less than you imagine — at least if he should 
 allow himself to reason. It may be delay, but it cannot be 
 escape.' 
 
 ' God grant that he may see it,' said Gertrude, with a sigh of 
 relief; ' it may all be borne but that : and when he had done it 
 he would never know happiness again.' 
 
 ' No ; and it is the knowledge of this which may give us hope 
 that he will pause. His high sense of honour is not often to be 
 met with.' 
 
 1 And if he is firm,' said Gertrude, ' the alternative is ruin.' 
 
 f The world would call it so, but you will not.' 
 
 ' You are right,' exclaimed Gertrude, eagerly ; ' there can be 
 no ruin where there is no dishonour. If I could know that 
 Edward were saved from that snare, I think I could see Ailing- 
 ham a desert, and scarcely consider it a trial.' 
 
 Mr Dacre gazed on her with sorrow, for he knew that she was 
 little aware of her own feelings ; and the next moment Gertrude's 
 mind had turned from herself to one who would be a far greater 
 sufferer. ' Laura ! ' she exclaimed, in a tone of anguish, and 
 unbidden tears rushed to her eyes. 
 
 ' Do not think,' said Mr Dacre,—' if it is possible, do not 
 think. There must soon be trial on every side of you ; but if 
 you dwell upon it you may be prevented from alleviating it.' 
 
 ' And can it be alleviated ?' exclaimed Gertrude. ' Is it in my 
 power ? Tell me quickly, for it will be my only comfort.' 
 
 Mr Dacre looked towards the hamlet on the heath, the dark 
 cottages of which were at that moment touched by the lustre of 
 the mid-day sun ; and Gertrude felt the direction of his eyes, 
 though she had not followed it. 
 
 ' Do not fear to speak,' she said, gently ; ' I have already 
 thought of it. It was a bright dream, but I was not worthy of 
 it ; and it is over.' 
 
 'And can you indeed relinquish it?' said Mr Dacre, with
 
 GERTRUDE. 255 
 
 mingled pity and reverence: 'shall you have no regrets— no 
 doubts ?' 
 
 'Regrets!' exclaimed Gertrude, mournfully. 'It was the 
 vision of my happiest days — the charm of my solitary hours. 
 It has kept me from so many vain and evil thoughts, that it has 
 seemed as a guardian angel sent to chase from my heart every 
 earthly feeling ; and I thought that it was blest by God ; but 
 His ways are best, and I must learn to think so.' 
 
 ' You will think so,' said Mr Dacre ; and he took her hand 
 affectionately. ' The bitterness of this moment will pass — not 
 it may be soon — not entirely for years ; but it will pass ; and 
 when you look back upon it, you will own how great has been 
 the mercy which has taught you, in your youth, to sacrifice your 
 purest wishes without murmuring.' 
 
 ' And now,' said Gertrude, ' tell me what I must do. You say 
 that I cannot save Edward.' 
 
 'No,' replied Mr Dacre. 'His only safety will be in giving 
 up Allingham immediately.' 
 
 Poor Gertrude shrank from a truth which she had not ven- 
 tured before to utter, even to herself. ' His home !' she said. 
 and her eyes wandered over the beautiful park, and rested upon 
 the splendid colonnade, which was seen as the termination of a 
 long vista of trees. 
 
 ' It will be a heavy trial,' said Mr Dacre, ' but who would 
 not rather leave his home with honour than live in it with self- 
 reproach ?' 
 
 ' And where will he go V exclaimed Gertrude, overwhelmed 
 by the prospect which was opening before her — ' how will he 
 support himself? He will never consent to be dependent upon 
 us.' 
 
 ' The usual resource is a residence in a foreign country.' 
 
 'Oh no !' exclaimed Gertrude, 'he cannot do that. His life 
 would be without object — he would be miserable, and his talents 
 would be wasted.' 
 
 ' I am glad you think as I do. There are indeed grave reasons 
 against leaving our natural duties, though there may be cases 
 in which it is necessary ; but I do not see that your brother's is 
 one. His profession is still open to him.' 
 
 ' If he would return to it !' exclaimed Gertrude, while a feeling 
 of hope lighted up her countenance ; but it died as quickly as 
 it had been excited. ' Who will persuade him to do it?' she 
 added.
 
 256 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' That must be your duty. He will not bear the idea at first, 
 for he will feel that he is exposing himself to public observation ; 
 but if he should consent, you' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Gertrude, interrupting him ; ' I see it now. If 
 my fortune were Edward's, he would begin life a second time 
 with comfort. But you do not know him — he will never listen 
 to the offer.' 
 
 ' I do not know him as you do, yet I think if it is in the power 
 of any human being to induce him, it will be in yours.' 
 
 ' He is proud,' said Gertrude ; ' he will shrink from the very 
 idea of obligation.' 
 
 'Not so much to a member of his own family— and you 
 must remember the proposal may be made as a loan, not as a 
 gift.' 
 
 Gertrude thought for a moment. ' Yes,' she said ; 'it may be 
 a loan now, and a gift in years to come.' 
 
 'That may not be necessary,' said Mr Dacre. 'If your 
 brother should prosper in his profession, he may be able to 
 repay the obligation, and you will be once more free to follow 
 your own wishes.' 
 
 But Gertrude shrank from the words, as if struck by a sudden 
 pain. 'Talk to me of Edward and his plans,' she said — 'not 
 of that ;' and she turned away her head to conceal her tears. 
 
 ' Forgive me,' said Mr Dacre ; ' I thought it might have given 
 you comfort.' 
 
 ' No, no,' she replied, eagerly. ' Years must pass before I could 
 venture to hope it ; and I feel, now that it has been denied me, 
 as if it would still be wrong to cherish the wish. But,' she con- 
 tinued, with greater unreserve, 'it could not have been presump- 
 tuous ; the property was Edward's, and the people were so 
 miserable ; and lately I have been amongst them very often, and 
 fancied them peculiarly my own charge, because I had been told 
 by the rector that I might have a school at one of the cottages, 
 and Edith and I had planned it, and next week we were to have 
 talked to Edward about it, and to have made Laura take an 
 interest in it ; but it must all go now.' 
 
 Mr Dacre did not try to comfort her; he felt that it would do 
 no good. 
 
 ' It may be superstitious,' she continued, ' but I have some- 
 times had a horrid feeling in returning from the heath, as if 
 there was a curse on the rest of Edward's property because of 
 it;' and forgetting her resolution of forcing her thoughts from
 
 GERTRUDE. 257 
 
 the subject, she fixed a long and earnest gaze upon the little 
 hamlet. 
 
 Mr Dacrc was still silent. 
 
 ' If wc could only look upon our fellow-creatures as we did ii:. 
 childhood,' added Gertrude, ' when they seemed but moving 
 machines, and wc lived with them, day by day, and had no con- 
 sciousness that they were immortal.' 
 
 ' You would not wish it,' said Mr Dacre. 
 
 ' No ; I would realise truth at whatever sacrifice of happiness : 
 but there are moments when it is almost more than one can bear.' 
 And rising, she walked a few paces apart ; and, as Mr Dacre 
 followed her with his eye, the remembrance of one, who, like her, 
 had given up the best years of a young and happy life to the ser- 
 vice of her God, and who was, he trusted, then reaping a glorious 
 reward, rose before him. If Edith resembled his child in features, 
 Gertrude was even more like her in character, and it was with a 
 father's pity that he felt for her grief, and longed to inquire 
 whether the idea, which, during the conversation, had been 
 gradually strengthening in his mind, could ease the burden upon 
 hers. After a few moments, Gertrude returned, saying that she 
 wished to go back to Laura ; but Mr Dacre observed that the 
 cloud still rested upon her spirits. She spoke but little, and 
 walked slowly and thoughtfully. There was no opening for 
 what he wished to say, yet he could not leave her in such a 
 state of depression ; and as they approached nearer to the 
 house, he became nervously anxious for some occasion of re- 
 newing the conversation, though conscious that his intended 
 plan might to some minds give pain rather than satisfaction. 
 
 As they stopped at the shrubbery gate, Mr Dacre saw that 
 Gertrude expected they should separate. ' My road lies in a 
 different direction from yours,' he said, ' but you must let me go 
 with you a few steps farther. I had one thing more to say to you.-' 
 
 ' I had many to say to you,' replied Gertrude ; ' but I am 
 afraid to leave Laura alone when she is ill. Perhaps wc shall 
 be better able to tell what is to be done after Edward's return.' 
 
 ' I was not going to speak of him, but of yourself.' 
 
 ' You would teach me to be satisfied,' said Gertrude, with a 
 melancholy smile. 
 
 ' I was going, not to teach you,' he replied, ' but to suggest a 
 notion of my own, which might possibly — I do not know — but it 
 might accord with yours ; and if it did, it would give me greater 
 satisfaction than I have felt for some years.' 
 
 R
 
 258 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' Is it what I can do ?' asked Gertrude. 
 
 ' Not what you can do, but what you would have done.' 
 
 Gertrude looked bewildered, and Mr Dacre was vexed. He 
 had hoped that she would have guessed his meaning. ' I am a 
 solitary man/ he said, ' with few claims in England, though 
 many in a distant land ; and perhaps the best offering I could 
 make for the benefit of a place which is associated with so much 
 of early happiness, would be the church in which we are both so 
 interested/ 
 
 Before the sentence was concluded, its meaning had flashed 
 upon Gertrude's mind. Respect and gratitude struggled fearfully 
 with the keenness of a disappointment which till that instant she 
 had never fully realised ; and, yielding to a sudden impulse, she 
 turned away without one word of reply. When she again looked 
 for Mr Dacre, he was gone. 
 
 Poor Gertrude ! it was a bitter moment — one that in after 
 years was never remembered but with penitence and shame. 
 She, who had believed that her will was subdued, even as her 
 reason was convinced, had been betrayed into coldness and un- 
 thankfulness towards the person whom of all others she most 
 reverenced. With a heavy, aching feeling of regret, which none 
 can understand but those who have suddenly failed when they 
 surely trusted that they stood firm, she entered the house ; 
 wretched at the recollection of her proud, rebellious spirit, and 
 doubtful whether it would ever be possible to re-establish herself 
 in Mr Dacre's regard. After some thought, she determined 
 upon writing to him at once, confessing her weakness, and 
 begging him to return as early as possible, to assure her of his 
 pardon. ' I cannot attempt excuses,' were the concluding words 
 of her note ; ' they will not raise me in your estimation, or 
 render me less unworthy in my own ; but as you once re- 
 minded me that you could enter into a father's feelings, so, as 
 an erring child, I would entreat you to forget, if possible, my 
 apparent ingratitude. I believe I was disappointed at not being 
 permitted to follow my own will ; and the only evidence that 
 will really convince me I am forgiven, is such as I scarcely dare 
 to ask ; but if I might be allowed to assist you in any way, it 
 would prove to me (what now it is difficult to hope), that you 
 will still give me the blessing of your friendship.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 259 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 WHEN this note was despatched, Gertrude's mind was com- 
 paratively relieved. She had done her utmost to atone 
 for her fault in human eyes, but the fault was not therefore for- 
 gotten. It still remained, to increase the burden upon her spirits; 
 and her manner was so altered, when she went to her sister's 
 room, as to excite Laura's observation. 
 
 ' I was going to ask you, Gertrude,' she said, ' to go down- 
 stairs and see what the people are about, but really you look so 
 fagged, I don't think you ought to do it. Where have you been 
 walking to ?' 
 
 ' Only into the Park. What shall I do for you below?' 
 
 ' Anything you please. They have been to my room for orders 
 half a dozen times already ; and at last I said no one should 
 come again on any pretence whatever ; for my head aches so 
 dreadfully, I cannot bear it.' 
 
 ' Lie down again,' said Gertrude, ' and let me place the 
 cushions for you, and then you shall send me about just as you 
 please.' 
 
 ' That is what I don't want ; I had rather it should be as you 
 please. There is some fuss about the conservatory ; it must be 
 lighted at night, and yet we want it to look pretty in the day, and 
 they can't exactly tell how to manage it.' 
 
 ' I will do my best,' said Gertrude ; ' but you must remember 
 it is not much in my way.' 
 
 ' Quite as much as it is in mine,' said Laura, sighing. 'Edward 
 had planned it all, and we talked it over one night ; but I don't 
 know exactly what he decided on. Is it not strange, Gertrude, 
 how differently one feels now about things from what one did a 
 few years ago ? ' 
 
 ' Or a few months ago,' thought Gertrude, but she did not say 
 it; though it 'seemed almost wrong, knowing what she did, to 
 allow Laura to remain in ignorance of the whole truth. 
 
 ' I think so much about to-morrow,' continued Laura ; ' and 
 ever since you have been away, I have been startled when I have 
 been trying to go to sleep, by some sudden noise, which made 
 me fancy Edward was here ; and once I thought I heard Miss 
 Forester's step ; but you don't think she will come again, do you ? ' 
 
 ' No,' replied Gertrude, ' you are safe from her at any rate ; 
 and as for Edward, we may hope that after to-morrow '
 
 260 GERTRUDE. 
 
 1 To-morrow ! ' interrupted Laura, in a tone strangely different 
 from usual ;— ' I feel as if to-morrow would be the end of one 
 life, and the beginning of another. I have feared many days in 
 my life, but none like it. Gertrude, what will come after to- 
 morrow ? ' 
 
 There was a wild sadness in the expression of her sparkling 
 eyes, which chilled and startled Gertrude. She trembled, lest 
 excitement and agitation should be about to produce fever ; and 
 again entreating Laura to lie down and rest, she left her, and 
 went down-stairs. Here she found everything in very much the 
 same state of confusion as she had left it. In the absence of a 
 presiding head, there had naturally arisen a conflict of public 
 opinion ; and carpenters, gardeners, footmen, and housemaids, 
 had all considered it incumbent on them to leave their several 
 stations, in order to give their ideas for the general good. There 
 was an assembly of the lower house in the entrance hall ; and 
 the housekeeper, who justly considered herself entitled to at 
 least the casting vote, was declaiming vehemently in favour of 
 silver sconces, instead of oil lamps, when Gertrude appeared on 
 the staircase. ' Hush ! hush ! here is the young lady — here is 
 Miss Gertrude ! ' was murmured around ; but the full tide of 
 Mrs Dickson's eloquence was not to be stopped by either mis- 
 tress or master. 'How should they know?' she said; 'which 
 one of them was there that could tell a silver candlestick from a 
 tin one, till she taught them the difference ; and now, for them 
 to sit up and judge ! But it was the way of the world. She 'd 
 seen enough of it, and all she longed for was a quiet life, only 
 she would see justice done. While she lived at Allingham, there 
 wasn't one that should say that things weren't handsome : and 
 silver sconces and wax candles there should be, if she bought 
 them, and paid for them herself.' — ' But 'tis what we all wants, 
 that things should be handsome,' interrupted the butler ; and he 
 was proceeding to expatiate in his turn upon the opposite side 
 of the question, when Gertrude, stepping in amongst the group, 
 caused a sudden dispersion. The carpenters took up their 
 hammers, the housemaids their brushes and dusters, the foot- 
 men returned to their occupations ; even Mrs Dickson vanished, 
 though not before Gertrude had overheard her issuing strict 
 orders to one of the men, to run down to Elsham and tell them 
 to send nil the wax candles in Johnson's shop — there wouldn't 
 be one more than was wanted, and if there was they could easily 
 be returned. Gertrude could not smile. The thing might be a,
 
 GERTRUDE. 261 
 
 trifle — an accident — but it was a sympton of a most dangerous 
 disease. 
 
 'Perhaps, ma'am, you'd be so good as to show us how we arc 
 to go on here,' said one of the workmen, accosting her respect- 
 fully ; 'they've brought up the evergreens, but we don't know 
 how Mrs Courtenay chooses to have them put ; and Mrs Dick- 
 son says there 's to be some flowers stuck up somewhere.' 
 
 Gertrude followed, rather as if about to superintend the pre- 
 parations for a funeral than a ftte. Her head swam, her eyes 
 were dizzy, and the complete transformation of the house made 
 her feel as if in a painful dream. The drawing-room was empty 
 and uncarpeted, and strewn with branches of laurel, laurustinus, 
 and evergreen oaks, some of which were carelessly piled against 
 the delicate paper on the walls, and others struck against the 
 splendid glasses, without taste or design. Gertrude sighed at 
 the task before her, and, as a preliminary step, was going to 
 propose that the room should be half cleared, when a merry 
 voice exclaimed— 
 
 ' Chacun h son gout, Gertrude. I should not have said this 
 was yours.' 
 
 'Necessity,' said Gertrude, with a faint laugh; 'but what 
 brings you here, Charlotte ?' 
 
 ' That which takes all women everywhere — at least, so say 
 all men — curiosity. Where is Laura ? ' 
 
 ' Up-stairs, very unwell.' 
 
 ' That means I am not to see her ; but I shan't break my 
 heart. Mr Dacre, you may venture in — there is no one here.' 
 
 Mr Dacre appeared in the door-way, but was evidently shy of 
 coming forward. 
 
 'What was your correspondence about?' whispered Charlotte 
 to her sister. Gertrude's reply was a deep blush, and Charlotte 
 looked very malicious. ' I shall leave you to your tete-h-tete] 
 she said, ' and when you have finished, you may send for me.' 
 
 ' My errand is soon done,' said Mr Dacre, turning to Gertrude ; 
 ' I received your note just as I was talking to your sister, and 
 I walked back with her to say, that if you had any plans or 
 drawings you can let me see, I shall be very much obliged. 
 Good-bye to you ; I won't keep you when you are so busy.' 
 
 ' Good-bye,' said Gertrude, and her voice shook; 'you shall 
 have the drawings this evening.' And as she held out her hand, 
 there was a long, warm pressure, which told that all was forgiven. 
 Gertrude felt very foolish, almost as if she could have cried, but
 
 262 GERTRUDE. 
 
 Charlotte's eye was upon her, and she exerted herself to be 
 composed. 
 
 'A strange person that,' said Charlotte, musingly, when Mr 
 Dacre was gone; 'but one can't think about him now. What 
 are you doing here, Gertrude ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing.' 
 
 ' What have you done ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing ; — and what am I going to do ? — nothing. So do, 
 Charlotte, take the affair off my hands.' 
 
 ' It looks inviting, certainly ; but may I have my own way ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, anything and everything you please. Laura can't 
 work, and I won't.' 
 
 ' Won't ! that is very unlike you. I thought you would do all 
 things.' 
 
 'Would, if I could,' said Gertrude, with an unconscious em- 
 phasis upon the words. 
 
 ' Well ! I like to see great geniuses baulked occasionally. So 
 you leave the reins of government in my hands ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, if you will let me retire ; ' and without listening for an 
 answer, Gertrude ran out of the room ; for her heart was full, 
 and she could not trust herself to another sentence. Charlotte 
 thought her manner peculiar, but did not trouble herself to ask 
 questions. The bell was rung ; the housekeeper summoned, and 
 when Gertrude returned, she found her sister in full consultation 
 with Mrs Dickson, as to what was going on, and giving rapid 
 orders to the work-people for the decorations. The first sentence 
 which she heard made her repent having yielded her authority. 
 
 ' Mrs Dickson, these hangings look awkward ; I think if some 
 one were to go down to Elsham, they might find some silk to 
 match them, and we might have festoons between the windows.' 
 
 ' Yes, ma'am ; yes, certainly. One of the housemaids shall go 
 directly.' 
 
 ' She can take a tassel to get a good match : and stop,' con- 
 tinued Charlotte; 'let her tell Miss Harvey to send up all her 
 artificial flowers. She had a great box from town, I know, only 
 the other day.' 
 
 ' And some more twine and tin-tacks, Mrs Dickson,' said one 
 of the men. 
 
 Poor Gertrude listened in extreme discomposure, — the twine 
 and tin-tacks seemed the climax of extravagance. ' You can't 
 have used all I saw here this morning,' she said, as she picked 
 up half-a-dozen from the floor ; and then went searching about
 
 CERTRUD 263 
 
 for more. Charlotte burst into a fit of laughter, and begged to 
 know what tin-tacks were a hundred. 
 
 ' I don't know,' replied Gertrude, gravely ; ' but it is as well 
 to be careful.' 
 
 ' Quite as well : mind they match the silk properly, Mrs 
 Dickson.' 
 
 ' O Charlotte ! you are not in earnest,' exclaimed Gertrude ; 
 ' there is not the least occasion for it.' 
 
 ' I thought I was to have my own way,' replied Charlotte. 
 
 'Yes, as long as it is a rational one.' 
 
 'That was not an article in our agreement.' 
 
 Gertrude could not dispute the point while the servants were 
 present, and before she had time to speak to Charlotte alone, a 
 summons was sent her from Laura. ' Promise me you will not 
 send for anything till I return,' said Gertrude ; but Charlotte 
 was resolved, and although Gertrude was only wanted to report 
 progress, the interruption was fatal to her economical wishes. 
 Laura kept her in her room talking for a considerable time ; and 
 when she again went to the drawing-room, a shopman was 
 measuring out lengths of pale blue silk, and Charlotte was 
 kneeling by a bench picking out the handsomest artificial flowers 
 from a heap which lay beside her, to form wreaths for the sconces 
 and the glasses. The whole of that evening was as a miserable 
 mockery to Gertrude. Charlotte stayed to dinner at her own 
 request ; and Laura appeared, and exerted herself to seem cheer- 
 ful, and light conversation was held, and all the ordinary cour- 
 tesies of life went on, as if no secret spring of grief was working 
 beneath. Yet to Gertrude almost every word and look was 
 burdened with a double meaning. The furniture of the room, 
 and the elegancies of the table, were no longer Edward's. The 
 deference of the servants was an outward show. She felt herself 
 only acting a part in the general deception ; and the dark eyes 
 and stern countenances of the old family portraits seemed to re- 
 proach her with the ruin about to be associated with their name. 
 Ruin— and it might be, dishonour ; and as the possibility crossed 
 her mind, she longed to shut her eyes to the light, and close her 
 ears to the sound of human voices, and banish the very name of 
 her family from the world's remembrance. Charlotte was too 
 busied with her new office to notice very minutely what was pass- 
 ing; and dinner was no sooner ended, than she again adjourned 
 to the drawing-room to put the finishing stroke to her work. 
 The room was cleared, and the benches were put in order : and
 
 264 GERTRUDE. 
 
 then some candles were lighted, and a few lamps placed in the 
 conservatory, to give an idea of what the general effect would be 
 the next evening. 
 
 ' It is beautiful, you must own,' exclaimed Charlotte, when all 
 was completed, and Laura was ushered into the room in state ; 
 'and just fancy how it will look to-morrow night, filled with 
 people. I am sure Edward will be pleased.' 
 
 A smile of gratification lighted up Laura's pallid features ; but 
 ns it died away, a hectic flush crimsoned her cheek, and she put 
 her hand to her forehead to still its painful throbbing. ' Why 
 does she speak of him, Gertrude ?' she said, in a faint voice, while 
 the same wandering expression gleamed in her eyes, which Ger- 
 trude had noticed once before. 
 
 ' She hopes he will come,' was the reply ; ' and so we all do.' 
 
 ' Come ! yes, there is no doubt of it. Who says there is ?' 
 
 ' Now, Laura, look this way ; at the effect through the pier 
 glass,' interrupted Charlotte, beckoning her to the lower end of 
 the room. 
 
 Laura went, and as she caught sight of her own figure in front 
 cf the brilliant reflection, she stopped, and a ghastly smile passed 
 over her countenance. ' How will it be to-morrow ?' she said, 
 tinning to Gertrude, who stood by her side, with her arm en- 
 circling her waist, from a vague fear lest she should be seized 
 with a sudden giddiness or faintness. ' Edward will be here ; 
 and Miss Forester — what will they say ?' 
 
 ' Edward would say now, that you are tired, and ought not to 
 be here,' replied Gertinde : 'will you not go with me to your 
 own room ? ' 
 
 Laura took no notice of her sister's words. She stood for 
 several minutes as if fascinated by her own exquisite beauty, 
 and then, in a sad voice, murmured, ' He said that his love was 
 gone;' and seating herself upon one of the benches, she burst 
 into tears. 
 
 ' I cannot leave her in this state,' said Gertrude, drawing her 
 sister aside ; ' mamma will not care. Tell her that Laura is not 
 well, and that I shall sleep here.' 
 
 ' She frightens me,' said Charlotte ; ' what is the matter V 
 
 1 Don't ask,' replied Gertrude ; ' only say what I tell you, and 
 don't let mamma be anxious.' 
 
 ' But what shall you do if she is not better to-morrow ? how 
 shall you manage ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know — I can't think. To-morrow will be sufficient
 
 GERTRUDE. 265 
 
 for itself; let us do what is best to-night.' And Gertrude again 
 began to entreat Laura to go to her own room. 
 
 ' I cannot, indeed, I cannot,' she replied ; ' I shall be alone. 
 Hark ! did you not hear a carriage ?' 
 
 Gertrude listened anxiously, but caught no sound : ' It is but 
 the wind/ she said, ' and your fancy.' 
 
 Laura dragged herself, rather than walked, to the door, to be 
 quite certain ; and Gertrude followed, assuring her that if she 
 would only consent to go to bed, she would herself remain with 
 her. 
 
 ' But he may come ; it is not too late/ persisted Laura ; ' and 
 he did not say he would not be here to-night.' 
 
 'And if he should come, will he be pleased to see you ill V 
 
 ' Pleased ! ' repeated Laura ; ' pleased with me ! ' 
 
 Gertrude saw that it was in vain to reason, and assuming a 
 different manner, she said, 'Laura, you must go. I will stay with 
 you, and do everything you may require if you do ; but if you 
 do not, I will leave you directly.' 
 
 'Alone ! ' again muttered Laura ; but her voice was faint, and 
 when Gertrude gently led her from the room she no longer re- 
 sisted. 
 
 The scene which she had just witnessed had convinced Ger- 
 trude that it would be right at any risk to calm Laura's mind as 
 much as possible ; and they were no sooner left by themselves 
 than she told her in few words of all that had passed with Miss 
 Forester. But the effect of the communication did not answer 
 her expectations. Laura's gratitude and affection were excited 
 to the utmost, but Gertrude saw that she had not understood 
 her character. She no longer spoke of delay, but seemed rather 
 to think that there was a greater necessity than before of con- 
 fessing everything to Edward in order that Gertrude might not 
 be inconvenienced. And the pressure of this idea still weighed 
 upon her mind so painfully, that Gertrude did not venture to 
 continue the conversation. Every mention of Miss Forester's 
 name recalled some cause of repentance or regret ; and Ger- 
 trude, feeling that her only hope of giving comfort was at an end, 
 was obliged to confine her observation to common subjects.
 
 266 GERTRUDE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 IT was late that night before Gertrude retired to rest. Laura's 
 nervous agitation was so great that she could not bear a 
 moment's solitude ; and after assisting her to undress, Gertrude 
 sat by the bedside, watching her breathing, with the intention 
 of sending for medical advice, if she saw any indications of in- 
 creasing fever. The symptoms which had alarmed her seemed, 
 however, more the result of anxiety of mind than natural illness ; 
 for after some hours' restlessness, Laura's uneven pulse grew 
 calmer, and her countenance more composed, and at length sleep 
 gradually stole over her. It was then midnight ; but Gertrude 
 felt no weariness ; she almost dreaded to lie down, from the 
 knowledge of what her waking would bring. It was the first 
 night, too, that she had passed at Allingham ; and the strangeness 
 of the apartment, its size and furniture, so different from her own 
 little room at the Priory, contributed not a little to the unnatural 
 excitement of her feelings. A sensation of awe came over her, 
 as she looked at the large bed and massive cabinets, and tried 
 to find out what was hidden in the dark corners ; and then 
 caught the still almost inaudible sound, which reminded her she 
 was not alone ; and when she placed herself at the dressing-room 
 door, which had been left open, and looked down the long gallery, 
 listening to the dull, regular ticking of the timepiece in the hall, 
 and feeling herself the only waking being in the house, — a chill 
 fear, such as she remembered to have been the torment of her 
 childhood, came over her, while shadowy forms seemed to be 
 gliding near, and the rustling of her own dress, and the touch 
 of her own hand startled her. Gertrude was not timid, but she 
 was worn with harass of mind. She did not reason with herself, 
 or even ridicule the absurdity of her own fancies ; but she quietly 
 closed the door, and kneeling down, buried her face in her hands, 
 and brought herself at once into the real presence of that unseen 
 world, the shadows of which had caused her to tremble. God 
 was guarding, and her Saviour was watching over her, and the 
 Spirit of Holiness was strengthening her feeble heart, and angels 
 of peace were waiting to minister to her comfort ; and when, 
 with solemn reverence, the humble confession, and the earnest 
 thanksgiving, the entreaty and the intercession, had been made, 
 Gertrude rose from her knees tranquil and trusting, and when 
 she lay down, slept as a child would sleep beneath a parent's eye. 
 
 t>
 
 GERTRUDE. 
 
 With the first dawn of morning she awoke, but not with the 
 wretchedness which she had anticipated. The light was indeed 
 blue and cheerless, very different from the rich, fading glow of 
 sunset ; and the flickering of the expiring lamp reminded her 
 that the rest of night was over ; but Gertrude's Inst thoughts 
 had been of peace, and peace had not deserted her. After a 
 glance at Laura, which satisfied her that there was no particular 
 reason to be uneasy, she went to the window, though with no 
 wish to see if the weather was likely to be propitious for an 
 archery party. She had almost forgotten that it was of import- 
 ance, but the vain longing to know what 'the clay might bring 
 forth,' made her look upon its first opening with something of a 
 superstitious eye. There was little comfort, however, to be 
 gained from the outward world, for dimness covered the distant 
 country, and the trees in the Park were still in comparative 
 darkness. Only the white road gleamed in the twilight, 
 and a thin column of smoke arose from one solitary cottage; 
 while, far away in the east, a bright crimson streak was gra- 
 dually extending itself and dispersing the masses of gray clouds 
 which had gathered to greet the rising sun. For a long time 
 Gertrude remained at the window, watching till the crimson 
 streak had spread into a broad belt, and the gray clouds had 
 separated into light flakes ; and then the glorious orb of fire 
 stole upwards between the shadowy hills, marking their smooth 
 outlines, and brightening their glassy slopes ; while still as it 
 ascended, the mist floated from before it, anal the radiant sky 
 melted into a clear, pale blue ; and silently and swiftly the glad- 
 dening rays travelled onwards, till hill and valleys, streamlet 
 and trees, tall spires and clustering cottages, had felt their magic 
 power, and started into life beneath their touch. Alas for Ger- 
 trude ! That dazzling scene was not for her ; those brilliant rays 
 had no charm to cheer her burdened spirit. She was in Ed- 
 ward's home, looking upon Edward's property ; and the next 
 few months might see him banished from both by his own errors. 
 With an aching heart she turned away, for the sunlight had 
 brought with it visions of earth, and earth has no spell to soothe 
 the troubled breast. Yet she was not condemned to inaction, 
 that most painful of all trials when sorrow is at hand. The 
 comfort of many might be promoted by her exertions ; and it 
 was with this thought that she steeled herself to bear, not only 
 patiently but cheerfully, whatever might be in store for her. 
 By the time Laura awoke she was dressed, and ready to
 
 208 GERTRUDE. 
 
 attend upon, or talk to her, or do whatever might be needed ; 
 and Laura, refreshed by her night's rest, and ignorant of the 
 chief sources of uneasiness, was less insensible to the influence 
 of a brilliant summer morning, though something unnatural still 
 lurked in her smile, when she spoke of all that was to be done 
 during the day. 
 
 ' I am so much better this morning,' she said, in answer to 
 Gertrude's inquiries; 'and I must get up and see what they 
 have been doing.' 
 
 Gertrude entreated her to remain quiet, and to think as little 
 as possible, for that everything had been prepared the day before. 
 ' If you will promise me not to worry yourself,' she added, ' I will 
 leave you after breakfast, for they will be anxious for me at 
 home.' 
 
 ' I will be quiet if I can,' said Laura ; ' but you will not be 
 gone long ? '* 
 
 ' Not longer than I can help, and I can bring my dress with 
 me for the afternoon.' 
 
 ' Ah ! that reminds me,' exclaimed Laura, starting up in bed. 
 'Just look in my wardrobe, there is a dress there. I don't know 
 
 how it is' and she sank back on her pillow; 'my head is 
 
 very troublesome when I move.' 
 
 ' Then do not move, dearest ; stay where you are till after 
 breakfast.' 
 
 ' But the dress— Watson knows about it. It is that very pale, 
 violet-figured silk, Edward's favourite. I shall wear it, I think.' 
 
 'And why am I to take it down ?' 
 
 ' I must look at it, and the white bonnet too — the new one 
 with the wreath, and the lace mantilla. I should like to see 
 them all.' 
 
 ' But what is to be done with them ?' inquired Gertrude. 
 
 ' Nothing ; but Edward asked me what I should wear, and I 
 wish to be in time. He will be pleased to see me dressed ; don't 
 you think he will?' 
 
 Gertrude's fears of the previous night returned as Laura spoke ; 
 but after a few minutes she mentioned a few alterations which were 
 to be made in the arrangements, with so much clearness that 
 Gertrude could scarcely help accusing herself of being fanciful in 
 feeling uneasy. ' Remember your promise,' she said, at parting ; 
 ' you are not to ask any questions, or trouble yourself about 
 anything, and trust to my being back in time to see that all is 
 ready.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 269 
 
 Laura agreed, and Gertrude set off for the Priory. There was 
 but one person whom she dreaded to sec. It would be easy to 
 satisfy her mother and Jane, whatever inquiries they might make; 
 and Charlotte, too, was not likely to suspect anything wrong, 
 except Laura's illness ; but Edith had a right to know every- 
 thing ; and after leaving her in such a state of distress the pre- 
 vious day, Gertrude really feared what the consequence might 
 be when she was told the truth. She was not in the drawing- 
 room, however ; and Gertrude had only at first to reply to a 
 string of questions from Mrs Courtenay, and assure Charlotte 
 that Laura was not dangerously ill, and that no one had pre- 
 sumed to interfere with her decorations. 
 
 ' Well, my dear, I am so glad !' exclaimed Mrs Courtenay ; ' I 
 did not know what was going to happen last night, when Char- 
 lotte came back without you ; something terrible, I was sure. 
 Edward's going up to town in that strange way seemed so odd, 
 and then Laura's crying, as Charlotte said, and your looking so 
 ill. But it is very natural after all. I know what it is to have a 
 large party. Have as many servants as you may, they must be 
 looked after.' 
 
 ' Laura has not been well for two days,' said Gertrude. 
 
 'Poor child ! it is a very nervous business, and Edward was 
 very thoughtless in running away from her just now ; but men 
 always are so ; your poor, dear father was exactly the same.' 
 
 ' But about to-day,' said Jane \ ' do you think Laura really 
 expects us all ? ' 
 
 ' She expects me,' observed Charlotte. ' I consider it my 
 party, since I had the dressing up of the room.' 
 
 'It is very troublesome,' said Jane; 'one doesn't know what 
 to put on. It is neither an out-of-door, nor an in-door affair. 
 What shall you wear, Gertrude ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know ; I have two or three dresses that will do.' 
 
 'Now, is not that like Edith ?' exclaimed Charlotte. 'Actu- 
 ally this party has been talked of for the last fortnight, and at 
 List the day is come, and Gertrude has not made up her mind 
 what dress she shall appear in.' 
 
 ' But I have made up my mind,' said Gertrude, endeavouring 
 to appear interested ; ' at least, so far as to settle that it shall be 
 one of three.' 
 
 'And you did really think about it?' said Charlotte, doubt- 
 fully. ' And you do consider it a matter of consequence whether 
 you are dressed in brown holland or silk ? Then you shall come
 
 270 GERTRUDE. 
 
 and choose for me. Miss Harvey has sent home my peach 
 coloured satinet such a figure that it is not fit to be seen. A 
 desperate scolding she shall have to-morrow, but that won't help 
 me in my difficulties to-day.' 
 
 Gertrude was dragged away to Charlotte's room, and soon 
 employed in deciding whether blue silk or white muslin would 
 be the more becoming; and comparing flowers and ribbons, 
 scarfs, mantillas, and gloves, in order to find out which would 
 suit best. Then came Mrs Courtenay, with an earnest request 
 that dear Gertrude would just try and alter the folds of her 
 black satin dress ; she was sure no one could do it as well. 
 And she should like to know, too, whether Miss Harvey had not 
 put too many flowers in her bonnet. ' There are no lady's maids 
 in the house,' whispered Charlotte, satirically ; but Gertrude did 
 not reply in the same tone. She did all that was required — 
 took out the flowers, and put them in again differently, sewed 
 some edging to a pair of cuffs, and then, when the clock had 
 struck one, petitioned to be allowed to return to Allingham. 
 And all this time she had not seen Edith. She had asked for 
 her several times, but no one knew anything about her, except 
 that at breakfast she had scarcely spoken ; to which Charlotte 
 added, that she was pale, and did not eat ; but since then she 
 had not been seen. 
 
 ' You will find her at the school, I have no doubt, my dear,' 
 said Mrs Courtenay ; ' I saw her go out with her bonnet on.' 
 
 ' And did she say nothing about me ? ' inquired Gertrude. 
 1 She must have thought I should be here.' 
 
 ' No, nothing at all ; but you are not going to run away, my 
 dear. Now I have settled my dress, I want you to tell me some- 
 thing more about Laura, and what time we are to go, and 
 whether you think the archery ground will be damp, because, if 
 so, I shall send my galoshes ; and about Edward — when does 
 Laura expect him ? Just sit down quietly, and tell me.' 
 
 Gertrude sighed inwardly but patiently. The pettiness of 
 trifling duties at such a moment was irksome almost beyond 
 endurance. Once or twice she felt an impulse to own everything. 
 The sorrow must come sooner or later, and deception seemed 
 wrong ; but then she checked herself with the remembrance that 
 it was not her part to tell what Edward had concealed. The 
 trial ended at last. Mrs Courtenay repeated several times that 
 the carriage should be at the door exactly at half-past two, and 
 that she would put some cloaks and galoshes in, for fear they
 
 CERT: 271 
 
 should all take cold : and after desiring Gertrude to send word 
 if Edward was arrived, and if she met Edith to be sure and tell 
 her to be in time, she allowed her to depart. 
 
 ' I am half inclined to go with you,' said Charlotte, as they 
 met on the hall steps ; ' only there is the trouble of returning.' 
 
 Gertrude did not press the matter, for she longed to be alone. 
 ' You will have fatigue enough,' she said, ' before the day is over ; 
 and if you are not here, no one will be ready to start before three 
 o'clock.' 
 
 ' But that will be time enough ; we shall have plenty of archery 
 between that and half-past four.' 
 
 'Yes, but mamma wishes it. She wants to be at Allingham 
 before any one comes, because she dislikes going into a crowd. 
 Besides, if you stay, you can attend to some little matters for me. 
 I have looked out all the things I want and ordered them to be 
 sent after me directly ; but I dare say the servants will forget, or 
 send them wrong, if they are not watched.' 
 
 ' That is the good of having so many idle people about,' said 
 Charlotte. ' However, we are better than at Allingham. I tried 
 to count the servants there one day, and actually I could not do 
 it, there were such shadowy groups of kitchen maids and under- 
 gardeners in the background. Rather expensive, I should think ; 
 but Edward knows best.' 
 
 They were Charlotte's last words : and poor Gertrude, as she 
 walked along, repeated them over and over again to herself, 
 though not always attaching any meaning to them. She wan- 
 dered through the Park, turning from time to time, as she 
 fancied she heard the wheels of a carriage, or the trampling of 
 horses. It was scarcely possible that Edward should have 
 arrived ; but Gertrude was not in a mood to calculate pro- 
 babilities ; and when she distinguished two figures, a gentleman 
 and lady, at a little distance, the fancy crossed her that they 
 might be Edward and Laura. A second thought made her 
 smile at the folly of the supposition, and as she drew nearer she 
 had no difficulty in recognising Edith and Mr Dacre. Edith 
 was standing under the shade of the large beach, from which 
 the full front of Allingham could be seen. Her face was not 
 directed to Mr Dacre, and she did not appear engaged in con- 
 versation ; but as she leaned against the huge trunk, her eyes 
 seemed bent upon the ground, and when occasionally she 
 raised her head it was but for a moment, and immediately she 
 resumed her former dejected attitude. Gertrude hesitated
 
 272 GERTRUDE. 
 
 whether it would be well to interrupt them ; but there was no 
 time to spare, and she knew that Edith would naturally be 
 desii ous of seeing her : and, whilst she still doubted, Mr Dacre 
 perceived and came up to her. Gertrude held out her hand 
 rather in confusion ; for Mr Dacre might have forgotten, but 
 she had not. It was taken exactly as usual, and as she looked 
 towards Edith, he said in a tone of compassion — 
 
 ' I am glad you are come. Your sister has been forcing me 
 to talk to her.' 
 
 ' Has she, indeed ? ' exclaimed Gertrude, and she sprang 
 forwards. 
 
 ' Don't startle her,' said Mr Dacre, ' she is sadly upset.' 
 Gertrude's step was stilled in an instant. ' I knew she must 
 feel it,' she said, 'for many reasons— every reason.' 
 ' And you,' — he replied. 
 
 ' Do not think of me, but teach me how I may help others to 
 bear it. Does Edith know all ? ' 
 
 ' All without reserve. One secret has been hers and mine 
 for very long ' 
 
 ' Yes, the secret— the foundation of everything ; but it is use- 
 less to look back. Oh ! if Edward would come and satisfy the 
 one horrible doubt remaining.' 
 
 Mr Dacre said nothing till they drew near to Edith, when he 
 stopped. 'You will remember,' he said, 'that you were to 
 allow me to be of use to you under all circumstances. I shall 
 wait anxiously to know if there is anything I can do. And now 
 good-bye : I do not think we shall meet again to-day.' 
 
 Gertrude did not press him to remain, for she felt that his 
 presence might be a restraint ; and after watching him for a few 
 moments, as he crossed the Park in the direction of his own cot- 
 tage, she walked on. Edith was still standing motionless, with 
 her head averted ; and her name was twice repeated before she 
 recognised Gertrude's voice, and turned towards her. A look 
 from each told what words could never have expressed of sorrow, 
 and sympathy, and self-reproach ; and Edith, throwing herself 
 into her sisters arms, wept long and bitterly. ' Can you love 
 me, Gertrude ?' were the first words she spoke. ' It is my doing 
 — misery — misery for us all.' 
 
 ' Edith, dearest, you must not think so. Who could bear it ? ' 
 ' And I cannot bear it ; but it is true— even you can do no 
 good — no one can.' 
 ' That is despair,' said Gertrude.
 
 GERTRUDE. 273 
 
 ' Is there' hope, then ? Can anything save Edward?' 
 
 ' Not from earthly trial ; but, Edith, you know that his 
 present suffering may be his greatest good.' 
 
 ' And I ! ' exclaimed Edith ; ' he will never look upon me with 
 kindness ; and if he does, I shall not be able to endure it. Ger- 
 trude, no one can tell how wrong I have been. The world will 
 blame him when it is my doing. I was everything to him once, 
 and I did not act by him as I ought.' And she again burst into 
 tears. 
 
 ' I cannot leave you whilst you are so unhappy,' said Gertrude, 
 kissing her; 'but I do not think you will care to hear what I 
 could say.' 
 
 ' I would rather be wretched,' implied Edith — ' but must you 
 go?' 
 
 ' Laura is expecting me, and it is late.' 
 
 ' Then go, go, — do not delay an instant. Yet there is no fear 
 — you will not neglect her as I have done.' 
 
 ' We shall see each other again to-day,' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' Not at Allingham — it is impossible.' 
 
 ' But it is Laura's wish that you should be there ; and for my 
 sake I hope you will come. Remember there is no one who can 
 feel with me as you do ; and if Edward returns I may sadly want 
 some one.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' sighed Edith. 'But I am not afraid as you arc. 
 He could never be tempted to dishonour.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not,' said Gertrude, doubtfully ; ' yet, at any rate, I 
 shall long for you so much.' 
 
 'Am I fit for it?' said Edith. 'I shall never bear to see 
 Laura ; and to hear her laugh would be worse than any other 
 suffering.' 
 
 'She will not laugh much,' said Gertrude. ' There are things 
 upon her mind, as well as upon ours.' 
 
 ' What things ? — what do you mean ?' 
 
 ' I cannot explain now, but you need not fear her cheerful- 
 ness ; only come — it will be such a comfort to feel you are 
 there.' 
 
 'Who could deny you anything, Gertrude?' said Edith, 
 earnestly ; ' but you would not ask me if you knew the effort it 
 will be.' 
 
 ' The long afternoon, alone,' said Gertrude, ' will be very bad. 
 If we are together we can at least feel that we understand each 
 other 
 
 s
 
 274 GERTRUDE, 
 
 'And you will be lonely in a crowd/ said Edith — ' lonely and 
 wretched from my doing. Gertrude, there is one thing you can 
 never forgive me — the church.' 
 
 Gertrude tried to conceal the exquisite pain which the allusion 
 gave her, yet she was not able. ' It is not your doing,' she said, 
 but her voice was choked. 
 
 ' Yes, yes, it is, it is all my doing. I blamed Edward once, 
 and thought he had much to answer for, because Torrington 
 was left without a church ; and now there might be one, if I had 
 acted differently.' 
 
 ' There is to be one,' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' Is ? — impossible ! How can you do everything ?' 
 
 ' I am not going to do it, — Mr Dacre is.' 
 
 There was no symptom of agitation in Gertrude's manner, and 
 Edith looked at her in astonishment, and after a minute's silence, 
 exclaimed, ' Is it really true ? And can you say it so calmly ? 
 O Gertrude ! I shall never be like you.' 
 
 ' Hush ! hush ! Edith. If you love me, never speak such 
 words again. Will you come with me now ?' And with a rapid 
 step Gertrude walked towards the house. 
 
 ' Not now,' said Edith, following her ; ' but I have vexed 
 you.' 
 
 Gertrude's lip quivered, and her voice was tremulous. ' No, 
 you never vex me ; but I am so — I have been so wrong — I will 
 tell you another time. Say you will come by and by.' 
 
 The sight of Gertrude's distress was decisive. Edith con- 
 sented, and the sisters parted. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 WHO has not experienced the weight which presses upon 
 the spirits, as the hour draws near for the arrival of a 
 large party when but one wish is uppermost in the mind — the 
 longing for solitude and silence ? Gertrude felt it intensely, as 
 she approached the house, and saw the marquee erected on 
 the archery ground, and heard the distant sound of the instru- 
 ments which the musicians were setting in order for the fete. 
 During her absence all the preparations had been completed ; 
 the hall was dressed with flowers, the dining-room glittered with
 
 GERTRUDE. 275 
 
 glass and plate, and the dancing-room, with its smooth floor 
 and ornamented walls, looked inviting' even in the daylight 
 Gertrude glanced into the different rooms, but had no time to 
 inquire into the minuticB of the arrangements. It was already 
 a quarter-past two, and some punctual people would be sure 
 to arrive by half-past ; and almost dreading reproaches for her 
 delay, she hastened to Laura's room. She was standing by the 
 window, her eyes directed to the road by which Edward must 
 arrive. Gertrude entered unperceived, and when she gently 
 said, ' Did you think I should never come?' Laura started, 
 and in a frightened voice exclaimed, 'You, Gertrude ! I fancied 
 it was Edward.' 
 
 ' He may be here soon,' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' Have you heard? Is he come ?' exclaimed Laura, hurriedly. 
 
 ' No, no one is come ; and I have heard nothing : but I am so 
 late — I must go and dress quickly. I came though, to know if 
 you wanted anything first.' 
 
 ' Thank you ; but I think I am ready ; just look at me and 
 sse.' 
 
 Gertrude gazed with a criticising eye, but the most fastidious 
 taste could scarcely have found anything to amend in the simple, 
 elegant dress, which displayed Laura's slight figure and delicate 
 features to the fullest advantage. She was less pale than she 
 had been in the morning, for the flush of excitement was tinging 
 her cheek, and the restlessness of her deep, hazel eye had ceased, 
 though in its stead there remained an unnatural brilliancy, 
 which Gertrude remarked with disquietude. 
 
 'You v/ill find me in the marquee,' said Laura. ' I suppose I 
 must go, and I believe I am longing for the fresh air.' 
 
 ' Mamma and my sisters will be here presently,' said Gertrude, 
 ' so they will help you ; but I can dress very quickly when I tiy ; 
 and as I am not lady of the house, it won't so much signify if I 
 am not perfect.' 
 
 'Perfect in mind,' said Laura, earnestly; but Gertrude did 
 not wait to hear the compliment. She was gone to her own 
 room to complete a more hasty toilette than she had imagined 
 possible ; but with all her speed the rumble of carriages was 
 heard in the Park before she could go down-stairs. 
 
 ' The company are all in the marquee, ma'am,' said the butler: 
 ' Mrs Courtenay, and the young ladies, and Lady Stapleton, and 
 Sir Henry Colburn, and Mrs Ringwood, and Captain Stuart, 
 and'
 
 276 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' Poor Laura,' thought Gertrude, not anxious to hear any 
 more arrivals, and leaving the butler in the middle of his sen- 
 tence, she hastened into the garden. It was even then a brilliant 
 scene, filled with people, some clustered in groups and engaged 
 in conversation, — others wandering leisurely through the walks, 
 — and a few, just arrived, lounging at the entrance of the 
 marquee. There were bright dresses, and young, happy faces, 
 and the music was sounding joyously, and laughter and light 
 words were passing on all sides ; and rich flowers — geraniums, 
 fuchsias, heliotropes, and verbenas, and every choice treasure of 
 the greenhouse, — were scattered in profusion amid the green 
 lawns, and the unclouded splendour of a summer sun shed a 
 dazzling lustre over all ; but the envied master of the fete, the 
 possessor of so much beauty, was — where ? Few cared, though 
 many asked ; — only Gertrude, as she heard the whispered in- 
 quiries and civil regrets, felt that each word was torture, and 
 watched the expression of the speakers' countenances, and 
 weighed the accent of every sentence, to discover whether any 
 but herself surmised the reason of his absence. It was some 
 time before she could make her way to Laura, who was seated 
 in the marquee, with little Charlie by her side. She was sur- 
 rounded by a large party, and talked quickly and gaily. Her 
 eyes sparkled, her mouth was brightened with smiles, and occa- 
 sionally the sound of her silvery laugh was heard, as she replied 
 to some witty remark or satirical observation. Was there indeed 
 anything hidden beneath? Was it Gertrude's fancy that the 
 brilliant flash of the eyes was unnatural, — that a convulsive 
 movement as of great pain made her suddenly raise her hand to 
 her head ? and in that clear, sweet voice, could it be true that 
 there was discoverable a secret tone of anguish ? If it were so, 
 none perceived it but Gertrude. Lovely and fascinating as 
 Laura had always been considered, on that day she was thought 
 to surpass even her former self. Praises of her dress and man- 
 ner, and beauty, were circulated on all sides ; and even in the 
 midst of her anxiety, Gertrude could not help feeling pleasure as 
 she looked at her. But the pleasure was momentary, — the pain 
 that followed lasting. As the music ceased for a few minutes, 
 the rumble of a carriage was heard, and Laura's eye was in an 
 instant directed to the turn of the winding road through the 
 Park. Some one spoke to her, and she laughed ; but the remark 
 that was made could not have been the cause, for she blushed, 
 and apologised, and again gazed into the distance.
 
 GERTRUDE. 277 
 
 * Laura, my dear, Mrs Ferrers is waiting to introduce her 
 daughter,' whispered Mrs Courtcnay. 
 
 'Yes, certainly, most happy;' but Laura's head was fixed in 
 the opposite direction, and Mrs Ferrers looked haughty and 
 annoyed, while her timid daughter seemed ready to hide herself 
 in the farthest corner to escape observation. 
 
 ' Laura, my dear Laura,' — and Mrs Courtenay touched her 
 arm. 
 
 'It is not Edward,' said Gertrude, in a low voice. 
 
 Laura breathed more freely ; and without attempting an ex- 
 cuse, received the introduction as if nothing had been amiss. 
 Mrs Ferrers was stiff and cool, but her annoyance was thrown 
 away. Gertrude felt vexed, and moving from her seat, offered 
 it as a little atoning civility. It was accepted, and conversation 
 followed as a matter of course. Mrs Ferrers had never been at 
 Aliingham since it came into Mr Courtenay's possession, except 
 at a morning visit ; she had no idea of the beauty of the grounds 
 — they were so extensive — Mr Courtenay must have such good 
 taste, they were so well laid out. She remembered them in 
 Colonel Courtenay's time, but now they were completely altered. 
 The observations were very natural and civil; but to Gertrude 
 they were fretting, so that she could scarcely listen to them with 
 patience. From the mamma she turned to the young lady, but 
 it was the same thing. What else could they say upon such a 
 short acquaintance? Gertrude felt herself unjust, and started 
 another topic. The charms of archery — the difficulty of practising 
 — the good excuse it formed for bringing people together. She 
 knew exactly what to say, for everybody makes the same obser- 
 vations at archery meetings, and she could almost have repeated 
 the words in her sleep ; and whilst she was able to keep to this 
 subject, there was no difficulty in watching Laura, thinking of 
 Edward, and noticing every one who passed, to endeavour to 
 find out if Miss Forester had made her appearance. But Mrs 
 Ferrers grew tired of her secluded position, and proposed to walk, 
 and Gertrude had no excuse for not accompanying her. Miss 
 Ferrers did not shoot, and took no particular interest in the 
 amusement ; and she thought it would be extremely pleasant to 
 stroll through the gardens ; and then Gertrude's penance again 
 began. She was stopped every five minutes with admiration, 
 inquiries, and regrets, — forced to explain where Edward was,— 
 when he was expected, — condoled with upon the piospect of a 
 new election, but congratulated that Mr Courtenay's success
 
 278 GERTRUDE. 
 
 was certain. Even Mrs Ferrers laughed at hearing the same 
 things repeated from all quarters. 
 
 'A tax for being related to a distinguished person,' she said. 
 ' One is so thankful for one's insignificance on these occasions. 
 However, it is better than being distinguished in any other way. 
 It would be dreadful to go through the world with a story 
 attached to one's name.' 
 
 Gertrude assented heartily. She felt as if the story of her 
 name had already begun. ' Will you rest here ? ' she said, point- 
 ing to a bench upon a high, green bank, which commanded a 
 view of the gardens and archery ground. It was the favourite 
 point, and several parties had already collected there ; and 
 Gertrude hoped that amongst so many she might be spared the 
 exertion of entertaining, at least for a few minutes. She began 
 to be seriously uncomfortable at the effect which Edward's non- 
 arrival might have upon Laura, and vexed with herself for having 
 left her ; and she dreaded also the appearance of Miss Forester, 
 and the first meeting in her absence, which would bring back 
 so much that was painful, and might even induce Laura to give 
 some open expression of her feelings. But it was useless to 
 gaze upon the marquee, and try to find out what was going on, 
 for Gertrude was still kept a prisoner. Kind friends crowded 
 round her, and Miss Ferrers, frightened at so many strangers, 
 suggested that, instead of remaining where they were, they 
 should walk up and down the pathway below, whilst her mamma 
 rested. Gertrude's consideration made her fully alive to the 
 poor girl's embarrassment ; but just as they were leaving the 
 little hill she caught sight of a bonnet with a profusion of 
 feathers, and a rich satin dress, glancing in the sunshine. It 
 was the glitter of a snake in Gertrude's eyes, but she did her 
 utmost to feel charitable. Miss Forester was accompanied by 
 her father and advancing to the marquee ; and Gertrude as she 
 watched her, and thought of Laura, forgot that she might appear 
 rude, and making a sudden apology, committed Miss Ferrers to 
 the charge of an elderly lady who was standing near, and 
 quickly retraced her steps. Miss Forester saw and came 
 towards her — a smile full of contemptuous meaning was on her 
 lips. They met in silence, and bowed ; General Forester bowed 
 too. Gertrude could not understand the expression of his face ; 
 it was not contemptuous, but triumphant. They pressed on to 
 the marquee, Gertrude longing to give Laura warning; but she 
 was just then engaged in showing the prizes which were to be
 
 GERTRUDE. 279 
 
 distributed, and the people were standing round and admiring 
 them. Jane, wrapped in an Indian shawl, was seated by her ; 
 and Mrs Courtenay, in a state of nervous bustle, was insisting 
 that no one could see either the ring or the pencil-case in such 
 a bad light ; but Edith and Charlotte were nowhere to be seen. 
 Gertrude narrowly observed Laura's countenance, and as she 
 did so, felt thankful for the crowd which kept Miss Forester 
 from her view. Her face was flushed, the blue veins in her 
 transparent forehead was swollen with agitation, her hands 
 trembled, and from time to time, she cast a quick glance behind, 
 and then with a slight shudder began talking rapidly. Charlie 
 still stood by her side, amused and wondering, and sometimes 
 as Laura looked at his innocent face, and heard him admired 
 and petted, she smiled with a natural and happy smile ; but in 
 another moment the smile was gone, and in its stead came a 
 forced, hollow laugh. 
 
 It is a miserable thing to see too deeply behind the exterior of 
 any scene of earthly enjoyment. Gertrude marvelled as she saw 
 the gaiety, and listened to the mirth around her. It seemed 
 impossible that all should be deceived ; there must be some 
 who felt with her— who knew that Laura was wretched, and 
 Edward ruined. They were but acting a part, and in a few 
 minutes the veil would be cast aside, and the name of Courtenay 
 would be a mark for their ridicule and contempt. The thought 
 was in her heart, and she turned and saw Miss Forester's eye 
 fixed upon her, and at the same instant a voice whispered in her 
 ear — 
 
 ' I was anxious to tell you a friend of mine saw Mr Courtenay 
 yesterday, in London. He was at one of the Treasury offices. 
 I knew you would like to hear of him.' 
 
 If Miss Forester desired revenge, she had it to the utmost of 
 her wishes. Gertrude's face became deadly pale, but the tone in 
 which she said, ' Who saw him ? ' was calm, from the very excess 
 of her anxiety. Before she could receive an answer, there was a 
 movement in the party, and Mrs Courtenay' s hand was stretched 
 out to greet Miss Forester. 
 
 ' I am so sorry I did not see you before. Have you looked at 
 the prizes yet ? I suppose you have, though : Laura told me 
 they were your ordering.' 
 
 Laura turned at the sound of her own name. Miss Forester 
 approached sweetly and courteously as usual, but Laura seemed 
 spell-bound. Miss Forester was resolved that there should be
 
 2 So GERTRUDE. 
 
 no appearance of a diminution of intimacy ; and unheeding Mrs 
 Courtenay, who held up the prizes before her, she bent forward, 
 and taking Laura's unresisting hand, said — 
 
 ' I am afraid you must have thought me very remiss in not 
 being with you the last two days, but I assure you it was not my 
 own doing.' 
 
 ' Laura,' interrupted Gertrude, who, forgetting everything but 
 her dread lest her sister might betray her feelings too strongly, 
 had pressed forward behind Miss Forester, ' I think you are 
 wanted in front; there are many persons wishing to see you, and 
 you are quite hidden here.' 
 
 Poor Laura gazed upon Gertrude as upon a guardian angel. 
 She put her arm within hers, as if for support ; and Gertrude 
 passed her hand caressingly over her trembling fingers, and led 
 her from the marquee. 
 
 ' Gertrude, my dear,' exclaimed Mrs Courtenay, ' if you are 
 going to walk, do see if you can meet Charlotte and Edith. 
 They were to have come with us, but Edith was not ready, and 
 so I sent the carriage back. But they ought to have been here 
 long ago, and they will miss the best part of the day.' 
 
 'Shall I look for them?' said Miss Forester, following, and 
 though slightly abashed at her reception, determined to be one 
 of the family. Laura looked beseechingly at her sister. 
 
 ' Take me away, Gertrude,' said she, in a faint voice ; ' I am 
 so ill ; I cannot bear it. If they would only go, all of them.' 
 
 ' Perhaps, mamma,' said Gertrude, ' you would like to walk 
 round with Miss Forester. It is not far, and you will be amused 
 to see what is going on.' 
 
 ' Oh ! yes, my dear, the very thing ; and Charlie, little darling, 
 shall come too. Jane, you can take care of him.' 
 
 Jane consented, though unwillingly ; and Miss Forester, hav- 
 ing no objection ready, was obliged to set off with Mrs Courtenay 
 by her side. Gertrude felt that she had secured their absence at 
 least for half an hour, and seeing that Laura looked relieved and 
 tranquil, persuaded her to stay and watch the archery, and pay a 
 few necessary attentions to her guests ; but she soon repented 
 having done so. The last round was shot, and the marks were 
 counted ; and when this business was transacted, the prizes were 
 brought to Laura to be presented. All who had not seen them 
 came to look at them, and amongst them Mrs Ferrers and her 
 daughter. Mrs Ferrers was a connoisseur in jewellery, and ad- 
 mired in the warmest terms. She had never seen anything so
 
 GERTRUDE. 281 
 
 perfect as the workmanship of the ring ; she remembered to have 
 seen one like it in some great shop in town. 
 
 ' Hanson's, I think, mamma,' said Miss Ferrers. 
 
 ' Hanson's, was it? Yes, I think you are right. Every one 
 deals with Hanson : the taste of his things is so perfect. Don't 
 you think so, Mrs Courtcnay?' 
 
 Laura's reply was indistinct, and Gertrude felt extremely un- 
 comfortable. 
 
 ' Tremendously expensive Hanson is,' said an officer, taking 
 up the ring. 
 
 'And so enticing,' observed Mrs Ferrers. You can never 
 escape from him. He has such a way of recommending things.' 
 
 ' There will be a law against ladies entering his shop by and 
 by,' said Captain Stuart ; ' at least I am inclined to think I shall 
 make one when I have a wife.' 
 
 ' She will rebel.' 
 
 'Very possibly, but I suspect I should prove the conqueror.' 
 
 ' He has never tried, Mrs Courtenay,' said Mrs Ferrers, 
 laughing ; ' and I don't think either you or I should advise him 
 to make the experiment.' 
 
 Laura clung to her sister's arm, and trembled violently ; and 
 Gertrude looked round for some opening to escape, or change 
 the conversation, but in vain. 
 
 ' It is very well for ladies to talk,' continued Captain Stuart ; 
 ' but there are occasions on which a man must have his own way. 
 A friend of mine was ruined the other day by his wife, and I am 
 afraid it is a case beyond forgiveness.' 
 
 Laura uttered a faint exclamation, which to Gertrude's ear 
 was agony. 
 
 'Hark! there is a flourish!' exclaimed Captain Stuart; 
 ' now we shall hear who has been the winner. Mrs Courtenay, 
 allow me to give you the pmes.' 
 
 Gertrude took them, for Laura's hand was powerless. 
 
 ' Only for one moment exert yourself,' she whispered : ' it 
 must soon be over ; you can sit down for a minute.' 
 
 There was a little bustle of preparation, and an opening was 
 made for the successful archeress. She was young, interesting, 
 and happy looking ; and as she came forward, Gertrude felt 
 painfully the contrast between Laura's expression of misery and 
 the brightness of one who appeared never to have known care. 
 Laura rose ; and Gertrude once more whispered to her to be 
 calm. Again, for the last time, the bugle sounded. Was it the
 
 282 GERTRUDE. 
 
 rattle of a carriage which jarred with the lingering notes? A 
 thick shrubbery divided the archery ground from the road ; and 
 no one could see. Laura held the brooch in her hand, but her 
 lips were parched, her voice was choked. Every one listened 
 instinctively. The carriage rolled on, but stopped before it could 
 have reached the house, and the attention of all was directed to 
 the path leading into the Park. It must be Edward. Gertrude's 
 countenance showed that she had little doubt, and Laura's face 
 became crimson and pale at each instant. Some few advanced 
 beyond the rest, and Mr Courtenay's name was repeated on all 
 sides. Laura caught the sound, and the ring dropped from her 
 hand. She withdrew herself from Gertrude's grasp, and rushed 
 forward ; but as she came in sight of her husband, a miserable 
 fear overpowered her, and she stood motionless. Gertrude 
 watched her with mingled interest and alarm, and would have 
 followed, but Edward was close at hand. His step was firm, 
 his manner collected, and his countenance— what would not 
 Gertrude have given to read it ? He came near to Laura, but 
 she did not move ; he held out his hand, but her eyes were bent 
 upon the ground. Gertrude feared that she would faint, but in 
 another moment the charm of his voice had broken the spell ; 
 she started, and raised her head ; and when the crowd, which at 
 this moment pressed in front, again separated, Gertrude saw 
 her advancing towards her, leaning upon Edward's arm. 
 
 Could it be pleasure that made Gertrude smile, and step for- 
 ward and speak words of congratulation ? She did not know. 
 All that she did or said was mechanical. She saw that Laura 
 was composed, but in exterior only ; that her manner to Edward 
 was restrained, and that he was noticing and suffering from it. 
 He turned to her perpetually, and seemed with difficulty to show 
 the proper courtesies to his friends ; but Gertrude could dis- 
 cover nothing of that which she so longed to be told : only once, 
 when General Forester was seen at a little distance, Edward's 
 brow darkened, and his voice grew louder, as he asked a few 
 rapid questions of a gentleman who was near him. Laura 
 noticed him too, and trembled, but Gertrude was prevented from 
 observing anything further. There was a general movement 
 towards the house, and in the crush she was separated from her 
 own party. With her usual thought she looked round for her 
 mother, and seeing her with no one but little Charlie at some 
 distance, was hurrying towards her, when she was stopped in one 
 of the walks by the sudden appearance of Edith and Charlotte.
 
 GERTRUDE. 283 
 
 'Gertrude running so fast! — what a dignified proceeding!' 
 began Charlotte, in a laughing tone. 
 
 'Hush! hush!' exclaimed Edith; 'something is going on. 
 Edward is come, I am sure.' 
 
 ' Well, suppose he is, what does it signify ! A very pleasant 
 surprise it will be. Why should you all look like frightened hares ?' 
 
 ' Charlotte, Charlotte, pray don't talk so. Is he come, Ger- 
 trude?' • 
 
 ' Yes, don't keep me. I am going to mamma.' 
 
 ' But have you seen him — what does he say ?' 
 
 ' Never mind,' interrupted Charlotte. ' Don't you see that 
 Gertrude is in an agony at being kept ? You are so tiresome, 
 Edith !' 
 
 ' Only one word.' 
 
 ' I have scarcely spoken to him,' replied Gertrude ; and with- 
 out waiting for another question, she went on. 
 
 'Mystery!' exclaimed Charlotte. 'You do delight in it, 
 Edith ; and Gertrude too — I really am angry with her.' 
 
 'Gertrude!' exclaimed Edith; 'she is an angel, if you did 
 but know it.' 
 
 Charlotte laughed, and Edith suddenly stopped. ' I cannot 
 go with you,' she said ; ' I told you I should be much better at 
 home.' 
 
 'This is mere folly,' said Charlotte ; 'after I have wasted the 
 whole afternoon for you, and taken the trouble to dress you, and 
 make you look respectable (for you were anything but that 
 before), why should you be so tormenting ? I can't go on the 
 ground alone.' 
 
 ' Stay, there is the bell,' said Edith ; ' dinner will be ready in 
 a few minutes : let us wait here till afterwards.' 
 
 ' Thank you, what good will that do to either of us ?' 
 
 ' I cannot see Edward,' exclaimed Edith : ' it will drive me 
 wild.' 
 
 ' You will drive me wild, Edith, and I will not put up with 
 it. I am your sister, and I have a right to know things as well 
 as you.' 
 
 ' A right ? — yes : but if it is to make you wretched ? ' 
 
 ' Then let me be wretched : it is not my fashion ; but I sup- 
 pose I shall survive it.' 
 
 Edith hesitated, and longed for Gertrude to decide whether 
 she should tell. Charlotte held her firmly : ' I am resolved,' 
 she said, ' we will neither of us go till I have learned all.'
 
 234 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' Then have your will — Edward is a ruined man.' 
 
 The words were just uttered, when the band struck up a joyous 
 air, and the larger portion of the company crowded into the 
 walk. Charlotte stood aside to allow them to pass ; and before 
 she could reply to Edith, Gertrude and her mother came up. 
 
 'Take care of mamma, Charlotte,' said Gertrude. 'Jane is 
 behind somewhere, and I must carry Charlie to his nurse.' 
 
 Charlotte felt it was no moment for explanation, but she caught 
 Gertrude's arm, and said hurriedly, ' Is it true ? Is Edith 
 dreaming?' 
 
 ' I don't know— who told ? — ask nothing now,' exclaimed Ger- 
 trude : and taking the child by the hand, she led him away. 
 
 ' Charlotte, my dear, don't you see you are in the way?' said 
 Mrs Courtenay. ' Move, my love, move.' 
 
 Charlotte looked round — Edith was gone, and Gertrude ; be- 
 fore her were passing groups of the gay, the beautiful, and the 
 wealthy, and on all sides were sounds of mirth and light-hearted 
 enjoyment. How could the words she had heard be true ? 
 
 ' Charlotte, my dear, you have lost your senses ; pray, come 
 on, we shall be very late.' Mrs Courtenay spoke in a tone which 
 for her expressed great irritation. You know there will be such 
 a crush presently. I wish I had not been so foolish as to send 
 General Forester away ; but I wanted him to speak to Edward. 
 I was just going after him to shake hands with Edward myself, 
 when Gertrude came, and I meant to have got into the house 
 before any one to avoid the bustle, but it has all gone wrong 
 together.' 
 
 Charlotte silently offered her arm, and Mrs Courtenay's mind 
 was in a few minutes relieved by the approach of a gentleman 
 who proffered his services. They passed on to the house. 
 Charlotte's eye sought her brother as she seated herself at the 
 dinner-table, but his place was empty, and some minutes elapsed 
 before he appeared. 
 
 ' Mr Courtenay is looking remarkably well — don't you think 
 so?' observed Charlotte's right-hand neighbour. 
 
 ' Yes, very.' 
 
 ' And such an unexpected pleasure it is, his having arrived in 
 time. Every one had given him up.' 
 
 ' Yes, every one.' 
 
 ' His stay in town must have been extremely short; but rail- 
 roads make travelling a mere farce compared with what it used 
 to be.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 285 
 
 • Certainly — it is very different.' 
 
 There was a silence. Charlotte Courtenay was generally con- 
 sidered a lively, agreeable person, but at her brother's table on 
 that day she did not shine. 
 
 ' My master begs you will drink wine with him, ma'am,' said 
 the butler to Mrs Courtenay. 
 
 Edward looked down the table. 'My dear mother, you will 
 excuse me ; it is very old-fashioned, but we have not met be- 
 fore to-day.' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay was proud and pleased. Her son never forgot 
 her, and she murmured her satisfaction to Charlotte. ' Dear 
 Edward ! he is so unlike other people,— so very considerate, and 
 it is such a pleasure to have him here. The party would have 
 been nothing without him. And did you ever see a table so 
 beautifully laid out ? Just look at the flowers in the vases, and 
 all those curious pastry and sugar figures, and the cut glass and 
 plate : how well it is all arranged ! Dickson is a very clever 
 person, certainly. I suppose she managed it all.' 
 
 ' I don't know ; I suppose so.' 
 
 ' Courtenay,' exclaimed Charlotte's discomfited neighbour, 
 ' you cut me dead, yesterday.' 
 
 ' Yesterday ! ' — Edward stopped, as he was about to address 
 an observation to the lady on his right hand—' I was not here.' 
 
 ' No, nor I neither. We passed each other as you were com- 
 ing out of one of the Treasury offices. If you were not near- 
 sighted I should have thought they had been making a great 
 man of you, and given you a fit of pride.' 
 
 'Ah! indeed! — Stupid fellow! don't you see what you have 
 
 done ? ' 
 
 A plate of blanc-mange fell from the hands of one of the 
 servants ; Edward bent his head, and trusted that Lady Pau- 
 lett's dress was not hurt, and then turned angrily to the man. A 
 little confusion followed. Lady Paulett's dress was very much 
 spotted, and Edward was still more provoked. The servant 
 apologised humbly, and retired as quickly as possible to com- 
 plain to his companions that Mr Courtenay caused the accident 
 himself, and afterwards laid the blame upon him. Charlotte 
 watched the scene, but discovered in it nothing unusual, and 
 Edith from the opposite side of the table watched too, and per- 
 haps saw deeper into his meaning. And Gertrude— in a dis- 
 tant corner of the room, at a side-table, she was engaged in 
 making herself agreeable to a little knot of young boys, invited
 
 286 GERTRUDE. I 
 
 out of mere compliment, who, from shyness and awkwardness 
 had been the stragglers of the party, and suffered the usual fate 
 of boys in a large party— no seats, and very indifferent attend- 
 ance. Whether she noticed much beyond what was passing 
 immediately around her, none but a very keen observer would 
 have perceived. Several times, indeed, she moved her seat 
 so as to obtain a view of Laura, and once she forgot to answer 
 a question ; but beyond this her whole mind seemed given 
 to the task of entertainment. Enjoyment was the ostensible 
 object of the meeting, and enjoyment all seemed determined 
 to have, Laura not excepted. Gertrude distinguished her 
 laugh, and saw that she was eager in conversation ; and her mind 
 rested contented, for she had lately learned to feel that, under some 
 circumstances, 'sufficient' unto the hour, as well as unto the day, 
 'is the evil thereof.' Yet the ordeal was a trying one. The 
 highest principle will scarcely stand the wearying exertion of 
 appearing gay when the heart is sad, for any length of time ; 
 and Gertrude's spirits nearly failed her before the ladies rose 
 from the table. The change was a relief, but only a temporary 
 one. Laura's face told a tale of hidden suffering, which Gertrude 
 trembled to see ; and her first entreaty was, that she would leave 
 the party, and go to her room. ' For an hour — only for an hour, 
 dearest,' she said; 'we will do everything that is wanted, and 
 you shall appear again when the dancing begins.' 
 
 Laura shook her head : ' You don't know what you are 
 advising, Gertrude. Feel.' And she put her hand within Ger- 
 trude's. It was burning with fever. 'I must stay/ she said: 
 'an hour's rest would be no rest,— only do not leave me: my 
 head is giddy — I cannot trust myself ; and I might be obliged 
 to talk — Miss Forester might come : I know her eyes are fixed 
 on me now ; I feel them wherever I move ; but she shall not 
 see. Gertrude, she sat near me at dinner. Did you hear me 
 laugh ? ' 
 
 ' Ah ! my dear,' exclaimed Mrs Courtenay, who had over- 
 heard the last words, 'I wanted to know what you were so 
 merry about. It did one's heart good to hear you. I must tell 
 you,' she added, lowering her voice, 'everything was so very 
 nice; I was charmed that it went off well— all but poor Lady 
 Paulett's gown — dear me! there she is sitting alone; I must 
 really go and ask her whether anything can be done about it.' 
 
 Laura followed, glad to have some excuse for moving; and 
 Gertrude, rousing herself to exertion, did her best to make the
 
 RTRUDE. 287 
 
 next hour pass agreeably. She was left almost alone to the task, 
 for Jane was tired, and Charlotte and Edith were gone. Ger- 
 trude from the window perceived them once at the farther end of 
 the colonnade. They were talking earnestly; but as they turned 
 the angle of the house she lost sight of them. Their conversation 
 was no mystery — nothing was a mystery now but Edward's 
 journey, and Miss Forester's meaning smile. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 <HPHE dancing is just going to begin, my dear; where are 
 
 -L your sisters ? ' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay's voice awoke Jane from a reverie. ' Gertrude, 
 mamma, do you mean ? There she is, talking to that young lady 
 in blue,' 
 
 ' No, not Gertrude, but the others.' 
 
 ' Oh ! never mind, they can take care of themselves. Look, 
 mamma, that really is perfect.' 
 
 The folding doors were thrown open, and a sudden blaze 
 burst upon the spectators. The splendid drawing-room, appar- 
 ently forming but the anteroom to the illuminated conservatory, 
 glittered as if by magic lights, sparkling amid dark leaves and 
 gay wreaths, and reflected, again and again, from opposite 
 glasses. 
 
 'Charlotte's work, — how beautiful!' exclaimed Jane: 'what 
 pleasure she will have in seeing it ! ' 
 
 A heavy sigh, so close as to be heard even amongst the mur- 
 murs of admiration, Mas the answer. Charlotte was standing 
 near them in the doorway. 
 
 ' My dear,' exclaimed Mrs Courtenay, going up to her, ' I have 
 been looking for you so long. Captain Stuart has been asking 
 for you ; he wants you to dance the first quadrille.' 
 
 ' Me? I can't dance ; don't let him ask me.' 
 
 ' My dear Charlotte, you are foolish. What did you come here 
 for but to dance ? Do persuade her, Jane. Where is Gertrude ? 
 I do hope some one will make her do it.' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay became agitated, as she often did when other 
 persons would have been out of temper.
 
 238 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' Yes, where is Gertrude ? ' exclaimed Charlotte ; and without 
 attending to her mother, she moved away. 
 
 The music sounded, and dancing commenced ; but Gertrude 
 was not seen. Standing in a corner of the library by the entrance 
 of the drawing-room, she was watching with breathless interest 
 the progress of a conversation between Edward and General 
 Forester, who, taking advantage of the noise and gaiety, were 
 evidently engaged in a discussion cf no light moment. General 
 Forester's manner was eager and authoritative; his arm was oc- 
 casionally stretched out, as if forgetting the attention he might 
 attract in the importance of the question ; and once his hand was 
 placed upon Mr Courtenay's shoulder, with the familiarity of an 
 old, long-tried friend. And Gertrude's longing desire to discover 
 as much, at least, as Edward's countenance could reveal, was 
 granted. Pride was stamped upon his noble brow, and bitter 
 thoughts of scorn curled his lip. He leaned against the doorway, 
 and his foot moved with restless impatience, but his eyes were 
 fastened upon the ground, and when from time to time he raised 
 them, there was that in their expression from which Gertrude 
 shrank. Was it her brother? — was it Edward? with his high 
 principles, and splendid talents, and strong resolution. Could 
 he be reckless and despairing ? Oh ! who shall smile at weak- 
 ness and think lightly at vacillation, when they may be the first 
 steps on the downward road to ruin ? 
 
 The music ceased, and the hum of merry voices rose around. 
 Gertrude heard her name repeated, and ventured forth. It was 
 only her mother inquiring where she had been hiding herself; 
 but when she had once appeared there was no retiring again. 
 To dance was not necessary, but to assist Laura was. Yet, was 
 the exertion possible ? She stood by Laura's side, but her gaze 
 was fixed upon Edward ; she moved, but her attention was still 
 directed to him ; she knew the precise moment when he ceased 
 speaking to General Forester ; she saw the effort with which he 
 engaged in conversation ; she noticed every person whom he 
 addressed, and heard his hollow laugh through the din of light- 
 hearted merriment. And the moments fled away, and the coun- 
 tenances around her grew more joyous, and the music more 
 exhilarating, and the brightness of the scene more dazzling. 
 How was it that in Gertrude's ear a solemn under-tone blended 
 with every note ; that when her thoughts wandered for an in- 
 stant from the one engrossing subject, the glittering ball-room, 
 its lights and decorations, passed from before her, and in their
 
 GERTRUDE. 289 
 
 stead arose the dim, narrow aisles, and arches, and windows of 
 a simple village church? Was it strange that, when she looked 
 at Edward, a feeling more bitter than regret crossed her mind? 
 There was indeed much to struggle against. The vision she 
 had so long dwelt upon with delight, and which for the last two 
 days she had so earnestly striven to forget, was recurring with 
 painful distinctness. The remembrance of what might have 
 been her duly, and of Edward's folly — worse than folly, his sel- 
 fishness, pressed upon her mind. The sacrifice seemed so great ; 
 would it indeed be necessary ? As she asked herself the ques- 
 tion, a well-known voice whispered in her ear — 
 
 ' Will you allow me a few minutes' conversation ? ' 
 
 Mr Dacre was standing beside her. Gertrude coloured with 
 surprise, and perhaps with the consciousness of her own 
 thoughts. She felt that they were wrong, for she would have 
 been ashamed to confess them. 
 
 'Did you speak to me?' she exclaimed. 'I did not know 
 you were here.' 
 
 ' I am but just come,' he replied. 
 
 ' So late ? ' and Gertrude looked and felt alarmed. ' There 
 must be a cause.' 
 
 1 Yes ; can you grant my request ? ' 
 
 ' A crowd is the best solitude,' said Gertrude. 
 
 'But can you trust yourself?' 
 
 ' I don't know. I can bear anything but suspense.' 
 
 ' Only for a few minutes. I am come because there is no one 
 but yourself who can act in this case, and no one who will 
 understand that it is necessary. Have you spoken to your 
 brother ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, but not alone. There has been no opportunity.' 
 
 They were standing at the lower end of the dancing-room, 
 and a quadrille having just finished, several parties came up to 
 them. Mr Dacre seemed hurried and uncomfortable. 
 
 ' It will not do here,' he said. 'We shall be interrupted. Is 
 there no other place ?' 
 
 Gertrude led the way into the conservatory, and, seating her- 
 self on a bench by the door which led into the garden, said — 
 
 ' We shall be private here for a few minutes at least ; and now 
 tell me — I am prepared for everything.' 
 
 ' Even for the fulfilment of your worst fears ? ' 
 
 Gertrude grasped Mr Dacre's arm, and looked wildly in his 
 face. 
 
 T
 
 »90 GERTRUDE. 
 
 'I am torturing you,' he said ; 'but I cannot help it. I know 
 nothing for certain, but to-morrow (I heard it about half an hour 
 ago from Mr Rivers) there is to be a meeting held previous to 
 the announcement of the candidates for the next election. If 
 your brother intends coming forward, he must declare himself 
 immediately.' 
 
 'Intends!' said Gertrude, faintly. 'I have tried to think 
 there could be no doubt of his refusal.' 
 
 Mr Dacre gazed upon her with an expression of the deepest 
 commiseration. 
 
 ' You are pitying me,' she exclaimed. ' Why ? What have 
 you kept back ? ' 
 
 'Nothing but' 
 
 'But what? If you can feel for me, you will hide nothing. 
 It is misery.' 
 
 Mr Dacre took her cold hand in his, and said in a tone of 
 affection — 
 
 ' I have not concealed anything, but I have a dread, it may 
 be a fancy, that all is not right — that Mr Courtenay's journey 
 to London may have determined him. He may be already 
 pledged.' 
 
 Gertrude clasped her hands despairingly. 
 
 ' To-night there is hope,' he continued. ' General P'orester is 
 here ; with what intention we can both guess. Before he is gone 
 your brother's resolution must be taken ; and before this time to- 
 morrow it must be known by many, and with it his change of 
 principles ; for he will be forced openly to declare which side he 
 will support in every question of importance. If he does not, he 
 will be forsaken by more than half his party. Will you save 
 him ? Will you go to him and urge him to pause ?' 
 
 Gertrude closed her eyes, and her breathing was quick and 
 irregular, but she made an effort to reply; — 'Now he will not 
 listen. He will feel that it is not for me to interfere.' 
 ' Now or never. Who can say anything if you do not ?' 
 ' No one. I see it must be so ; but I am ignorant. 1 have no 
 arguments to use.' 
 
 ' It is not a case for arguments. It is the heart, not the reason, 
 which requires to be convinced ; and I need not remind you, 
 that if words are powerless, prayer is not.' 
 Gertrude sighed deeply. 
 
 'This is not the scene fur such an undertaking,' she said; 
 'but if it is rigrht'
 
 GERTRUDE. 291 
 
 'Your brother is not here,' interrupted Mr Dacrc ; 'he left 
 the dancing-room with General Forester at the moment we 
 did.' 
 
 Gertrude started from her seat. 'If lie is pledged!' she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 'Still go to him, — pray him, — force him to retract. Tell hint 
 he cannot save himself. If you have ever loved him, do not let 
 him sell his honour for a hope that must be vain.' 
 
 ' Found at last,' exclaimed a bland voice. 
 
 Mr Dacre withdrew himself from the touch of Miss Forester's 
 hand. 
 
 ' I heard you were here, and I have been looking for you so 
 long.' 
 
 ' I thank you. You have given yourself too much trouble.' 
 
 ' Oh no, none at all ; but I was so anxious. Some one told 
 me you had passed down this way, and I was sure you would 
 take cold.' 
 
 Mr Dacre looked at Gertrude entreatingly, 
 
 ' You have nothing more to say?' she inquired, in a low voice; 
 'no arguments ?' 
 
 ' Nothing. Only go to him immediately.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you will tell my father where I am to be found, if 
 you see him,' said Miss Forester, as Gertrude turned away: 'I 
 suspect he is closeted with Mr Courtenay. They have been 
 looking very business-like the whole evening.' 
 
 Gertrude did not see the look which accompanied the words : 
 she was gone before the sentence was concluded. 
 
 'Where did you say your father was?' inquired Mr Dacre, 
 coldly. 
 
 ' I don't know exactly, but he told me he had a good deal to 
 say to Mr Courtenay. In fact, I suspect they are just determin- 
 ing what the address is to be. My father wishes to carry it 
 away with him. But, my dear sir, you do distress me so by 
 staying here. Fancy what it would be if you were to be 
 taken ill' 
 
 ' Very unpleasant,' said Mr Dacre. 
 
 ' Now you will go back with me ; I am really frightened about 
 you. Remember I shall have to nurse you.' 
 
 ' Thank you, but my housekeeper generally takes that trouble.' 
 
 ' So obstinate, so very obstinate,' said Miss Forester, sweetly. 
 ' You will at least let us take you home in the carriage. It is 
 very late.'
 
 292 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' I am obliged, but I have no intention of going yet. Do you 
 know where I shall find Mrs Courtenay?' And Mr Dacre 
 walked hastily away. 
 
 Miss Forester's face was anything but amiable as she followed. 
 The Courtenays, in some shape or other, seemed destined to 
 come between her and every endeavour she could make to win 
 Mr Dacre's favour. 
 
 The room was gradually thinning, and the spirit of the evening 
 seemed evaporating. The dancing still continued, but many of 
 the party were gathered together in little knots, talking with 
 more than usual earnestness, and glancing occasionally at a 
 group formed at the upper part of the room, of which Mr Dacre 
 saw with uneasiness that Gertrude was one. She was bending 
 over Laura, who was seated upon a sofa, talking quickly. The 
 burning crimson of fever was on her cheek, and her eyes rolled 
 vacantly but incessantly round the room. Edith and Charlotte 
 were with her, and there was an evident desire to conceal what 
 was passing. Gertrude looked at Mr Dacre, as if to ask his 
 forgiveness for delay; but as he approached Miss Forester 
 came up also. 
 
 'Stand near,' whispered Gertrude to Edith; 'she must not 
 see her.' 
 
 Laura turned hastily. 
 
 ' Go,' she said, wildly. ' You crowd me. Give me air. Ger- 
 trude — where is Gertrude?' 
 
 ' Close to you, dearest,' said Gertrude, gently; and she placed 
 herself directly in front. 
 
 Mr Dacre held back, but Miss Forester pressed on. Several 
 other persons came up at the same time, and Laura's voice was 
 again raised, begging that they would leave her. 
 
 ' She is not well ; there are too many about her,' said Ger- 
 trude ; ' I must beg you not to come so near.' 
 
 The words were addressed to Miss Forester, but she did not 
 or would not hear. 
 
 'Oh, it is the excitement! I knew she would do too much. 
 I must offer her these salts.' 
 
 Her hand was stretched out, but Gertrude thrust it aside with 
 a civil apology — 
 
 ' Excuse me; 1 must insist.' . 
 
 She looked round for Mr Dacre. 
 
 ' Have you forgotten everything?' he said, as he came close 
 to her.
 
 GERTRUDE. 293 
 
 1 It is impossible to go,' replied Gertrude ; ' Laura is ill.' 
 
 ' It must be possible. Another quarter of an hour may be too 
 late.' 
 
 ' But Laura' 
 
 ' Leave her, leave her. There are others to care for her.' 
 
 ' Let me come for one minute,' said Miss Forester, pushing 
 herself before Charlotte. ' Dearest Mrs Courtenay, only try this. 
 You used to be very fond of it.' 
 
 Laura had sunk back upon the sofa, and her head was averted ; 
 but the smooth accents fell upon her ear, with all their miserable 
 associations, and with a scream of anguish she started up. The 
 music suddenly ceased, and there was a general rush of inquiry. 
 
 ' Go,' said Mr Dacre to Gertrude, almost sternly. 
 
 Gertrude cast one lingering look upon Laura. 
 
 ' Remember, you are to see him, whoever may be with him.' 
 
 Gertrude turned away as Laura uttered her name, and, with- 
 out being noticed by any one, left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 IN the small, luxurious apartment, hung with prints and 
 crowded with books, which was appropriated as a study, 
 Mr Courtenay was seated in company with General Forester. 
 Both were engaged in writing ; the one deeply, with his brows 
 knit, and his head leaning upon his hand ; the other carelessly, 
 as if merely for the passing away of a few spare minutes, or, more 
 probably, as a screen to conceal the attention with which he 
 marked the progress of his companion. The door was closed 
 and locked, the curtains were drawn, and the lamp burnt brightly 
 on the table. It seemed an hour devoted to business, but bursts 
 of music and tones of gaiety were sounding faintly from the 
 farther extremity of the corridor ; and the roll of carriages and 
 the bustle of departing guests told that a different scene was 
 passing in the other part cf the house. 
 
 ' It is late,' said Edward, laying down his pen with a weary 
 sigh, and looking at his watch ; ' will not to-morrow do as 
 well?' 
 
 ' No time like the present,' was the answer ; ' besides, we have 
 a meeting at ten in the morning.'
 
 294 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' It is not a thing to be done in a hurry/ exclaimed Edward ; 
 ' if it were, only to judge how the sentences should be worded.' 
 
 ' Oh ! that — there is no difficulty in managing the words ; let 
 us only have the sense. May I be allowed to look ?' — and he 
 took up the paper, which lay on Mr Courtenay's desk. 
 
 ' What do you say ?' inquired Edward, rather anxiously ; ' will 
 it do ?' 
 
 'Ah, hem ! we will see : it is a good commencement.' Edward 
 beat his foot in irritation. To be patronised, was more than any 
 ordinary temper could endure. General Forester went on read- 
 ing ; but the writing was bad — the sentences were interlined — 
 many required consideration. Edward's eyes were fixed upon 
 him ; it seemed as if he would never end. 
 
 ' You had better let me have it ;' and he took the paper from 
 his hand. 
 
 ' No, no ; I understand it perfectly. It is very well — very 
 right, as far as it goes ; but' 
 
 'Well! what?' 
 
 ' It won't suit. It is not explicit.' 
 
 ' Every subject is mentioned which we have ever discussed.' 
 
 ' Yes ; but not your definite opinion.' 
 
 Edward pushed aside the table, and rose angrily from his seat. 
 ' I can bear a great deal,' he said, ' but not to be dictated to. 
 I will give my promise upon every point ; Church question — ■ 
 manufactures — poor laws ; my honour will be pledged upon all ; 
 but the manner in which I am to express myself to my consti- 
 tuents is my own affair ; and I am, and must be, the best judge 
 of what is right.' The word 'right' was pronounced with 
 hesitation. 
 
 ' Then we part,' said General Forester, coolly. ' Put forth 
 such a declaration as this, and two-thirds of your supporters 
 will leave you. They require, and will have, a positive, open 
 avowal.' 
 
 ' Require ! will have ! ' repeated Edward. 
 
 'Yes ; they are strong words, but true ones. Who wiil believe 
 that you are intending to vote against all you have hitherto up- 
 held, unless you profess it plainly ? ' 
 
 ' Who ? — who, indeed?' were the words which rose to Edward's 
 lips. He walked to the window, and, drawing aside the curtain, 
 looked out upon the bright summer night. 
 
 'Time is passing,' said General Forester; 'do you repent?' 
 Edward's gaze was upon the deep blue sky, and he did not
 
 GERTRUDE. 295 
 
 answer. ' Mr Courteiiay, this is trifling ; I am not here I 
 your leisure. Am I to consider this paper as the only declara- 
 tion you intend to give?' 
 
 Still Edward paused. From the purity of the heavens, he h d 
 turned to the beauty of the earth, — to the fair domain, the out- 
 line of which was dimly shadowed forth by the pale moonlight. 
 Let him offend General Forester and his party, and his election 
 was lost. Let his election be lost, and the hope for which he had 
 been willing to sacrifice his honour, the prospect of retaining his 
 property and saving himself from ruin, was lost likewise. General 
 Forester waited in angry surprise, and was about to make another 
 and a last effort, when Edward placed himself again at the table. 
 ' It must be,' he said. ' Yes, you are right ; it must be ; but the 
 recompense will be ample.' The pen fell from Edward's hand. 
 Why did the thought of recompense make him start with the 
 fear of a coward ? 
 
 ' Half-past eleven,' said General Forester ; ' my watch is very 
 correct. I am sorry to hurry you.' 
 
 ' Some one knocked,' exclaimed Edward, and he turned 
 pale. 
 
 ' Oh ! no ; never mind. The door is fastened ; we can't be 
 interrupted.' Edward took up his pen again. Another knock, 
 and a louder one. ' No admittance ! ' exclaimed General Fores- 
 ter. But he had gone a step too far ; Edward allowed no one 
 but himself to be master in his own house. His pen was once 
 more cast aside, — his paper carefully covered, — and the door 
 was opened. It was Gertrude, trembling and agitated ; her face 
 of care sadly contrasting with the light elegance of her dress, and 
 shrinking with a natural timidity from a task for which her 
 youth and sex rendered her in her own opinion unfitted. 
 
 ' Edward, I am come — may I see you ? Could I speak a few 
 words ? ' she began. 
 
 ' Not now — by and by. I am engaged particularly.' He was 
 about to close the door, but she prevented him. 
 
 'It is necessary — -indeed I must ; it is something which must 
 not be delayed.' 
 
 ' Laura ! ' exclaimed Edward, in a tone of uneasiness. 
 
 ' No,' replied Gertrude, though her conscience smote her as 
 she remembered the state in which she had left her. 
 
 ' Then go, go. I cannot listen to you now.' 
 
 ' Edward, dear Edward ; let me come but for five minutes ; it 
 will make me wretched if you refuse.'
 
 296 GERTRUDE. 
 
 'Are you foolish, Gertrude? Don't you see I am engaged? 
 General Forester is here.' 
 
 ' General Forester ? that is but another reason. I must speak 
 to you at once.' 
 
 ' Ridiculous ! absurd ! ' exclaimed Edward, allowing her to 
 enter. ' If you insist, you shall make your own apology.' 
 
 ' General Forester will excuse it, I am sure,' said Gertrude, 
 recovering her usual quiet dignity of manner. ' My business is 
 of consequence, or I would not dream of intruding.' 
 
 ' It will be attended to, I have no doubt,' said General Forester, 
 with a formal bow ; ' but perhaps you will not object that mine 
 should be ended first.' 
 
 Poor Gertrude felt abashed and confused, but did not offer to 
 retire, and Edward looked at her impatiently. ' You forget,' he 
 said ; ' a lady, and a young lady, may surely give way.' 
 
 ' I would indeed, Edward, if I dared. If General Forester 
 will allow me but a few minutes.' 
 
 The General's countenance expressed irritation and contempt. 
 
 ' I can scarcely ask you to wait,' said Edward ; 'this important 
 matter can be nothing but a trifle.' 
 
 ' My time is not generally at the disposal of every young lady 
 who may require it,' said General Forester ; ' however, since you 
 
 wish it . You will send, I suppose, when I may be allowed 
 
 to return.' 
 
 He left the room. Gertrude's heart failed her ; she stood 
 before her brother mute and trembling. Edward seated himself 
 in pettish silence. ' I am ready,' he said, after a short pause. 
 Gertrude's lips moved, but no sound escaped them. She drew 
 near to the table, and took up the papers, and touched the pens, 
 but no words came to her assistance. ' Gertrude,' exclaimed 
 Edward, ' 1 am in no mood to bear this trifling.' The allusion 
 dispelled the charm by which Gertrude was bound. 
 
 ' I know it,' she said ; ' it was for that reason I came ; only 
 bear with me patiently.' 
 
 ' Speak !' he replied, hastily ; ' I wish for no mysteries.' 
 
 ' It is not my place,' continued Gertrude ; ' but I am forced 
 into it. General Forester is urging you to stand for another 
 election.' 
 
 ' Well ! yes. Why should it distress you ? Do you think I 
 shall lose it ?' And he tried to laugh. 
 
 ' I don't know. It is not the election ; it is not your success 
 which I care for.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 297 
 
 ' Go, Gertrude ! ' exclaimed Edward ; ' this is unworthy of 
 your sense. What folly has possessed you ? If this is all, 
 General Forester had better return immediately.' 
 
 ' Stay, stay !' exclaimed Gertrude ; ' it is not all. Blame me, 
 laugh at me, if you will ; yet I must speak. Edward, is it true 
 that you are going to sacrifice your principles ?' 
 
 'Do you know what you are saying ?' interrupted Edward; 
 and he held her firmly by the arm, and fixed on her a gaze which 
 made her shudder. ' Even Laura herself should not speak to me 
 in such terms/ 
 
 Gertrude's heart beat violently, — she was almost on the point 
 of leaving him. ' They are hard words,' she said, ' but there are 
 none others that I can use. I have been fearfully wretched since 
 I heard it.' 
 
 ' How can it signify to you ?' he exclaimed, in a softened voice. 
 ' It is a woman's weakness which makes you fear ; you do not 
 understand these things.' 
 
 ' No,' replied Gertrude, endeavouring to be composed. ' There 
 are many things which I do not understand, but this is not one. 
 You are not fitted for dishonour, Edward ; you could not bear 
 it. It would crush you to the dust ; you would be miserable — 
 miserable for life, and Laura too.' 
 
 Edward returned to his seat, and again began writing. 'You 
 will tell General Forester,' he said, without raising his eyes, ' I 
 am ready for him.' 
 
 ' Edward, I cannot go. I will not, till you have granted me 
 one favour. Wait only till to-morrow.' 
 
 'To-morrow !' exclaimed Edward, throwing himself back in 
 his chair. ' Folly ! impossibility ! ignorance ! Listen, Ger- 
 trude ! ' He held her hand, and looked at her with a ghastly 
 smile of despair. ' I am pledged. Now go.' He pushed her 
 from him, and once more rose from his seat. 
 
 Gertrude stood thunderstruck. A mist floated before her eyes, 
 and her thoughts were wandering and indistinct. Hopelessness 
 was in her heart, but she forced herself to speak. ' I will hide 
 nothing from you, Edward,' she said ; ' I know all. You are 
 driven to this, because you have no other resource. You cannot 
 bring yourself to declare that you are ruined.' 
 
 Edward recoiled from the word. He clenched his hand firmly ; 
 and the veins in his forehead swelled with indignation, as he 
 moved towards the door. 
 
 ' I am going,' said Gertrude, in the quiet tone of misery, which
 
 298 GERTRUDE. 
 
 cannot be expressed. ' I would save you— God knows how will- 
 ingly ! and not with words only.' 
 
 Edward heard, but did not comprehend. He stood with his 
 arms folded, his eyes fixed. At that moment a bustle was heard 
 in the passage, and immediately afterwards a quick knock at the 
 door. Gertrude thought of Laura, and hastened to open it. ' I 
 gave orders not to be interrupted,' exclaimed Edward. 
 
 ' My mistress, sir,' replied the servant. 
 
 ' What of your mistress ? Speak instantly.' 
 
 The maid looked at Gertrude. ' Is she worse ? What has 
 been done ? ' asked Gertrude, eagerly. 
 
 ' Miss Edith thinks, ma'am, that some one should be sent for, 
 but she wishes my master to say.' 
 
 ' What does it mean ? ' exclaimed Edward. f Gertrude, you 
 have kept it from me. I saw she was unlike herself.' 
 
 ' You would pardon me if you knew,' began Gertrude, but 
 Edward would not listen. He thrust aside the hand which she 
 had laid upon his arm, and rushed to Laura's apartment. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 'T^HE excitement of Laura's mind during the whole of that 
 ■*- eventful day might have affected even a much stronger con- 
 stitution than hers, and when added to the anxiety, not of days, 
 but of weeks and months previous, its effects were very alarming. 
 When Gertrude left the dancing-room, it could no longer be con- 
 cealed that Laura was seriously ill. Her voice and manner, so 
 strange and wandering, roused general attention ; and inquiries 
 and surmises circulated quickly through the room, but it was a 
 considerable time before she could be prevailed on to move. Edith 
 entreated, Charlotte insisted, Mrs Courtenay, in great alarm, 
 threatened an immediate visit from a physician, but Laura was 
 inflexible. Mr Dacre stood by, at first afraid of interfering. 
 He could not go away, for he felt as if he was responsible for all 
 that might happen in Gertrude's absence ; but seeing that Miss 
 Forester's presence was painful, he ventured at last to exert the 
 power which he knew he possessed, and, in a tone that sounded 
 like command, suggested, that in cases like the present, relations 
 were the only proper persons to take any active part. Miss
 
 GERTRUDE. 299 
 
 Forester frowned her annoyance, but obeyed ; and withdrew lo a 
 distant corner, to express her fears that 'dear Mrs Courtenay 
 was worried. Her sisters were very kind, but it was clear they 
 did not understand how to treat her.' There were few, ho v. eve: 
 to listen. One by one the guests had dwindled away,— son 
 from delicacy, others from fatigue. The dancing had ceased, the 
 lights were burning low, the evergreen leaves were drooping, the 
 sounds of waltzes and quadrilles were exchanged for the tread of 
 the musicians as they stepped over the empty benches with their 
 instruments clattering against the stands. There was a bustle in 
 the anteroom ; a search for shawls and furs ; and a whispered 
 murmur amongst those whose carriages had not been announced ; 
 but by degrees these also ceased. The guests had departed, with 
 the exception of Mr Dacre, Miss Forester, and her father, who 
 was waiting in gloomy silence his summons to the study, and 
 Laura was then induced by mingled force and entreaty to retire. 
 Miss Forester would have followed, but Mr Dacre prevented her ; 
 and in a fit of irritation which could not be concealed, she threw 
 herself back upon the sofa. Mr Dacre seated himself opposite, 
 and General Forester paced the room. No one was inclined for 
 conversation, and few words were spoken, except when Miss 
 Forester occasionally urged upon her father the folly of remain- 
 ing longer. 
 
 Minutes and half-hours passed ; the lights were nearly extin- 
 guished ; and the General grew impatient. Footsteps and hushed 
 voices were heard perpetually. Mr Dacre went to the door, and 
 meeting a servant, made inquiries for Laura. ' It is a brain 
 fever, sir,' said the man, in a low voice. ' My master has sent 
 off for advice.' Miss Forester heard the announcement, and the 
 colour forsook her cheek. She said no more about going, but 
 sat still and silent ; — perhaps she was meditating upon her own 
 share in Laura's illness. 
 
 They are stern but most salutary truths which are taught by a 
 sick-bed ; and taught, not always by degrees, but often as suddenly 
 and impressively as the visitations with which we are afflicted. 
 Edward had passed through life with scarcely any experience of 
 illness ; he had known but one great shock — his father's death, 
 and this had taken place when he was absent from home ; and 
 since that time, disease and death had never been brought closely 
 to him. And now, with his conscience burdened, his heart dis- 
 tracted with worldly care, he was in a moment, as it were, con- 
 fronted with them. He placed himself by Laura's bed, but she
 
 300 GERTRUDE. 
 
 did not see him ; and when he spoke, she seemed not to hear. 
 Her beautiful eyes were glaring and vacant, her mouth was half 
 open, her lips were dark with fever. A gulf seemed suddenly to 
 have opened before him ; and in it, in a few short hours, might 
 be entombed all that had made his life desirable. Without his 
 wife, what would wealth or honour profit him ? During the 
 first stupefying horror, no one dared to address him ; but when 
 his face relaxed from his expression of agony, and he began to 
 inquire what had been done, Charlotte, in ignorance of his tone 
 of mind, spoke to him of hope. He took no notice of her, but 
 immediately left the room. To tell him there was hope, was to 
 tell him also that there was fearful danger. After a short interval 
 he returned ; and Gertrude suggested to Edith that she should 
 give up her place by Laura's pillow, and leave him to do any- 
 thing that might be required. He seated himself, but it was only 
 to gaze for a minute, and then to turn away, as if unable to endure 
 the sight. Gertrude thought of General Forester ; but the past 
 and the future seemed suddenly to have vanished from Edward's 
 mind. His only thought was for the arrival of the physician, 
 whose delay seemed longer than was necessary. He came, how- 
 ever, at last ; and all felt thankful and relieved, if it were only to 
 be saved from the misery of doubt as to what should be done. 
 The first order given was to send from the room all except those 
 who could really be useful. Jane went willingly ; but Mrs 
 Courtenay insisted upon remaining in the dressing-room ; and 
 Edith still lingered, though conscious she could do little to assist. 
 Gertrude was uneasy ; she would willingly have gene herself, 
 but her long experience of illness made her presence necessary. 
 Edward was becoming impatient : he seemed distressed at the 
 least noise, — and to see any persons about him beckoning and 
 whispering, was more than his irritability could bear ; for, besides 
 his anxiety about Laura, he had still on his mind the weight of 
 his other cares. He had not forgotten General Forester, though 
 Gertrude thought he had ; but, in that chamber, he could not 
 resolve to follow his guidance. Whilst others were attending 
 upon Laura, he had leisure for meditation. Stationed behind her, 
 he watched all that was passing, and listened to her wandering 
 words ; and the sudden change— the possibility of what the end 
 might be — awoke feelings which had long slumbered in his 
 breast. Suffering and sorrow bring us near to the invisible 
 world ; and in the presence of saints and angels, and before 
 Him who is the Lord of all, how shall we resolve to sin against
 
 GERTRUDE. 301 
 
 our own convictions? Edward thought, and hesitated. He 
 looked at Gertrude, and the word ' dishonour' rang in his cars. 
 He gazed upon the features of her whom he most loved, and the 
 still image of death rose up before him, to warn him of the 
 vanity of earthly hopes. He knew that if the world thought 
 lightly of what he was about to do, yet his own conscience would 
 continually accuse him ; and even then, pledged as he was, he 
 asked himself if it would not be possible to give up the election, 
 to forget the offer that had been made him, and again retire into 
 privacy; and if Laura were restored to him, should he not appre- 
 ciate as he had never clone before the happiness of domestic life. 
 But the scene changed. His happiness was to be centered in 
 his home. And his home, where would it be ? He was a beggar. 
 He clasped his hands, and bent his head upon Laura's pillow. 
 With a wild unconscious movement she pushed him from her ; 
 and then, in a tone which thrilled to his very soul, called upon 
 him to come to her; accused him of unkindness, and prayed him 
 to forgive her. 
 
 ' Take me, take me,' she exclaimed ; ' Gertrude, I deceived 
 him. He is gone. Who says he did not love me ?' 
 
 Edward leant over in agony. ' Go,' he said, aloud, as the 
 physician would have beckoned him away. 'Leave me, all; you 
 can do nothing.' 
 
 ' He is right, Edith,' whispered Gertrude ; 'some one must go, 
 for all our sakes.' 
 
 ' Jane and my mother,' began Edith. She was interrupted by 
 Edward, who came up to her as if a sudden thought had struck 
 him, and said, in a hurried under-tone, 'Why do you stay? You 
 did not care for her.' 
 
 ' O Edward ! forgive me ; I have done wrong ; but do not 
 punish me so cruelly.' 
 
 ' This is not the place, Edith,' said Gertrude. ' He will not 
 listen to you.' 
 
 ' He must. I cannot go. It is in vain to insist' 
 
 ' Edward, Edward,' again repeated Laura. And Edward 
 groaned in misery. 
 
 ' You can do nothing now,' said Gertrude, drawing Edith 
 aside ; ' if you will take my mother home, and leave Charlotte 
 with me, you shall hear the very first thing. It is madness for 
 us all to waste our strength, when we cannot tell how it may be 
 required.' 
 
 ' But you, Gertrude, who- have had so much to bear.'
 
 302 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' I must not leave Edward. Everything depends on the next 
 few hours. Things are worse than we imagined. I have spoken 
 to him, but as yet to no purpose ; and I must try again. What- 
 ever happens, he must be kept from sacrificing himself.' 
 
 ' But there can be no such great reason for being uneasy at 
 this instant.' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed there is. I cannot explain, but you must not urge 
 my leaving him.' 
 
 Edith still seemed unwilling to consent to the arrangement ; 
 she returned to the bed, and Gertrude stole noiselessly from the 
 chamber. Two servants passed her in the gallery, and from 
 them she learned that General Forester was still in the house. 
 She listened at the top of the staircase, and heard his step as he 
 walked the room below, and directly afterwards the drawing- 
 room bell rang. Gertrude waited till a second peal, and then 
 hurried back to the sick-room. Edith was waiting with her 
 mother in the dressing-room, and Edward had given up his 
 place to Laura's maid, and was seated at the bottom of the bed. 
 Gertrude dreaded to make him angry by speaking, when he 
 longed for silence. She placed herself by him, doubting what 
 to do, but he soon observed her, and inquired eagerly if she 
 wanted anything. 
 
 ' Let me speak but two words with you.' 
 
 ' Not now,' he replied, gloomily : ' spare me ; I have had 
 enough.' 
 
 ' But it must be now, — General Forester is waiting.' 
 Edward rose hastily, and signed her to follow him. 
 ' Your incautiousness is maddening,' he said, as they stopped 
 at the head of the staircase. ' Why are my private affairs to be 
 betrayed to every one ?' 
 
 Gertrude made no excuse. She stood meekly before him, as 
 
 if really in the wrong, and then said, ' I know you have much to 
 
 excuse ; but may I take your message to General Forester? He 
 
 is still here, and of course expects that you will see him again.' 
 
 ' Tell him— but no, there is no time. Say that I will leave 
 
 everything' He paused again. 
 
 ' Not to him ! ' exclaimed Gertrude. ' O Edward ! have 
 pity!' 
 
 ' And bring Laura to misery,' exclaimed Edward. ' Gertrude, 
 it is but selfishness in you to ask it.' 
 
 ' Selfishness ! ' began Gertrude, with the proud consciousness 
 of innocence: but the sentence went no farther, and leaning
 
 GERTRUDE. 3^3 
 
 against the balustrade, she shed tears such as she never shed 
 before. For the third time the drawing-room bell rang, loudly 
 and angrily. -A servant crossed the hall, and Edward called to 
 him, ' Is General Forester here still?' 
 ' Yes, sir ; he has just rung.' 
 
 ' Stop ; take him this message.' Edward put his hand before 
 his eyes, and Gertrude, with her hands folded, and her gaze 
 riveted upon her brother, waited for the next word with an in- 
 tensity of expectation only endurable because it was blended with 
 prayer. The dull ticking of the clock told the rapid moments. 
 To Gertrude they were as the slow passing of an hour. Edward 
 did not move, and the servant stood patiently below, looking up 
 into the glimmering darkness of the gallery, when Laura's un- 
 conscious laugh was faintly heard. ' Tell him I cannot see him ; 
 he shall hear before ten,' exclaimed Edward. He was gone the 
 next minute. The message was taken to General Forester, and 
 Gertrude was left alone. 
 
 It was a reprieve — only a reprieve ; yet Gertrude was inex- 
 pressibly thankful. She felt that it was the answer to her prayer. 
 She remained still certain that General Forester was gone, and 
 then went to find Jane, and prevail on her to return to the Priory, 
 as an inducement to Mrs Courtenayand Edith to go too. When 
 the house was free, she hoped that Edward might be less 
 harassed. Jane roused herself from a slumber on a sofa, in a 
 distant chamber, and objected to being sent away in the middle 
 of the night ; but Gertrude's influence was seldom exerted in 
 vain, and with some demur she consented. Mrs Courtenay was 
 obstinate, and Edith very miserable ; and it was not until after 
 a conversation of nearly half an hour, that all parties agreed at 
 last to order the carriage. The physician was upon the point of 
 departure also, for Laura was quieter, and all had been done 
 which could at that moment be required. He spoke cheerfully, 
 and told of several cases in which, when all hope was relin- 
 quished, recovery had been granted ; but Gertrude read in his 
 countenance a fear which he would not confess, and even Edward 
 seemed scarcely comforted by an opinion so doubtful. There 
 was now, however, a stillness in the house, which in cases of 
 sickness is almost as necessary to the watcher as to the sufferer. 
 Laura still lay with a vacant distressed gaze, but her pulse was 
 less violent, and her manner more composed. That she was in 
 danger no one could doubt ; but after the lapse of more than an 
 hour, Edward, as he remarked the dangerous symptoms diminish*
 
 3 o4 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ing, although almost imperceptibly, felt that he need not despair. 
 Under other circumstances the blessedness of hope would have 
 been without alloy — but now it brought only a change of care. 
 While Laura's state was so appalling, he forgot in a measure 
 that any other trial awaited him ; but when that ceased, the 
 future in store for them both came distinctly into view. Vacil- 
 lation would soon be no longer in his power. He had left 
 Elsham for London, on a sudden impulse, because ruin stared 
 him in the face. Without allowing himself time for recollection, 
 he had seen his friends, and pledged himself to give up all that 
 he had hitherto upheld in opposition to them, if only he could be 
 assured of the promised office, — and in a few hours' time he was 
 to profess his weakness publicly. All this he had engaged to 
 do. And when he had done it, what would be his feelings ? 
 How would he enjoy his home, and the society of his family: 
 With what pleasure would he listen to the praise of his talents ? 
 How would he endure to meet the eyes of those who had hitherto 
 respected him ? Above all, how would he dare to kneel before 
 God and ask His blessing, when bound by a promise to his 
 fellow-creatures to support the very measures which in his heart 
 he believed to be evil ? 
 
 Gertrude knew her brother well, when she said that dishonour 
 would crush him to the dust. But there was something more 
 terrible than dishonour which at that moment pressed upon 
 Edward's mind. He had erred, blindly and foolishly, but his 
 conscience was not yet deadened. Memories of the past, re- 
 collections of early resolutions, of dreams of goodness, and 
 longings to attain even upon earth the holiness of heaven, rose 
 before him in the gloom of those solemn hours ; and when the 
 morning light stole through the crevices of the window, upon 
 Laura's darkened chamber, Edward in the bitterness of his 
 anguish could almost have been satisfied to be told, that on 
 earth she would never wake to the consciousness that he was a 
 guilty or a ruined man. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 BUT the hour of final decision rapidly approached. The gray 
 twilight faded before the rising sun, and the distant sounds of 
 busy life broke upon the deep stillness of the dawn. The servants
 
 GERTRUDE. 305 
 
 movcd with silent footsteps about the house, unlocking doors, and 
 opening shutters, and endeavouring, as much as possible, to re- 
 move the vestiges of the last evening's festivities. The maid left 
 Laura's bedside, and crept softly about the room, putting the chairs 
 against the wall, and smoothing the carpets, and arranging the 
 glasses and bottles on the stand. Edward envied her occupa- 
 tions. To have gone forth to work for his daily bread would 
 have been delight compared with the mental suffering he was 
 enduring. He looked round for Gertrude. She had been rest- 
 ing on the sofa for a considerable time, and he thought she was 
 asleep, but she had left the room unperceived. He waited long, 
 expecting her return. Though he could not ask her to forgive 
 him, he thought he should like to show by his actions that he 
 was no longer angry, and it was an excuse for delaying the task 
 of reading over the papers which had been left in the study, so 
 as to re-write them to suit General Forester's views. Still 
 Gertrude did not come, but he could not make up his mind to 
 go, for Laura was becoming more restless. He begged Charlotte 
 to relinquish her seat, and poured out some medicine himself, 
 and was about to give it ; but Laura bent her eyes upon him, 
 and asked him who he was, and the glass dropped on the floor. 
 
 'Where is Gertrude?' he inquired, going up to Charlotte 
 again. 
 
 ' I don't know. I think she is gone to lie down somewhere 
 else. She has had no real sleep.' 
 
 'Is it late?' said Edward. 'Do you think she will come 
 back?' 
 
 ' Half-past seven. I dare say she will stay some time ; she 
 requires rest more than I do.' 
 
 Two hours and a half still. But Edward was becoming dread- 
 fully excited. He felt that he must determine at once. Another 
 hour of indecision would be more than his mind would bear. 
 The dressing-room was closed, and fancying that he heard some 
 one move, he softly opened it. Gertrude was there, but Edward 
 dared not speak to her. She was kneeling before the open 
 window, her hands clasped in prayer. He gazed upon her for 
 a few moments, while many thoughts of self-reproach filled his 
 mind, and was then about to shut the door, when she suddenly 
 rose. A deep blush overspread her countenance, as she turned 
 and saw him. 
 
 ' I am interrupting you,' he said. ' I did not know you were 
 
 here.' 
 
 V
 
 So6 GERTRUDE. 
 
 i Perhaps I ought not to be,' said Gertrude ; ' but I could not 
 go far from Laura ; and when we are unhappy what can we do 
 besides ? ' 
 
 ' What can you do, you mean ? ' replied Edward ; and he put 
 his arm round her and kissed her. ' It is not every one that 
 can pray.' 
 
 ' It must be so horrible not to be able to do it,' said Gertrude, 
 with a sigh. ' Life must be such a burden without it, I have 
 wondered sometimes that any one can keep his senses who does 
 not do it.' 
 
 ' But there is hope for us now/ said Edward. ' Laura is not 
 worse.' 
 
 ' No,' replied Gertrude : ' and she has a strong constitution 
 which has never been much tried. There are many things in 
 her favour.' 
 
 Both paused ; for they felt that Laura's illness was not then 
 their chief anxiety. 
 
 ' We shall be happy,' began Edward ; but the word grated 
 upon him. 
 
 'Happy! when?' asked Gertrude. 
 
 ' I don't know. Never ! ' 
 
 Gertrude longed to speak ; but she had done her utmost, and 
 now she was resigned. 
 
 ' There is no happiness for me, Gertrude,' he continued. 
 ' There may be for you.' 
 
 ' Not for me, without you. I may submit and be grateful, but 
 I can never be happy.' 
 
 ' Then there is a long life of misery before you,' exclaimed 
 Edward : ' inevitable. Whichever way I act, there is no escape.' 
 
 ' You are speaking from feeling and not from reason,' said 
 Gertrude. ' In one case I know you must be miserable, and so 
 we all must-; but not in the other.' 
 
 ' Not miserable ! ' exclaimed Edward. ' Then you do not 
 know one-half of what is in store for me. Look,' and he drew 
 her to the window, and pointed to the Park and gardens ; ' you 
 
 think all this is mine — but, Gertrude' and his voice sank 
 
 with agitation — ' I tell you, not one tree, not one flower, not one 
 stone upon the whole of the estate is mine, unless I consent to 
 keep my pledge. And when all is gone, what am I to do ? 
 Where am I to wander to ? Must I return to my mother, and 
 beg her to receive me as a dependent, and give me bread to eat, 
 and feed my wife and child ? I would die first.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 307 
 
 ' Is there no alternative?' said Gertrude, gently. ' Your pro- 
 fession is still open to you.' 
 
 'And what? Scorn and poverty. How am I to enter upon 
 my profession, when I am penniless? And if I were to do it, 
 how could I bear the taunts and ridicule I should be expo- d 
 to ? For myself, I could brave anything, but I am not alone : I 
 must think for others.' 
 
 ' It is a question between the scorn of good men and of bad,' 
 said Gertrude. ' I do not think you have sufficient confidence in 
 yourself, Edward. You do not know how much you could bear, 
 if you felt you had acted uprightly.' 
 
 'And Laura is to be punished for my folly ! She would curse 
 the day of our marriage.' 
 
 ' She would endure all things, thankfully and cheerfully,' said 
 Gertrude. ' If ever deep, pure love was felt for any human being, 
 she feels it for you.' 
 
 Edward struggled against betraying his emotions. ' I think 
 she loves me,' he said; 'though lately — but I cannot talk of 
 her ; she was too good to be thrown away upon one who has 
 deceived her.' 
 
 ' Yet,' said Gertrude, ' you still can determine to deceive her 
 more. Edward, if you care nothing for your own happiness, still 
 remember hers.' 
 
 There was a light tap at the door. Little Charlie's voice was 
 heard entreating that he might come in. Edward rested his head 
 against the window, and Gertrude saw that he could not trust 
 himself to answer. She tried to send the child away with the 
 promise that he should return soon, but he still lingered, peti- 
 tioning that he might come, only just for one minute. Gertrude 
 doubted, and was going to admit him, when Edward signed to 
 her to stop. 
 
 ' I have ruined him,' was all he said. 
 
 His countenance told the hopeless misery of his mind. Ger- 
 trude's heart sank. 
 
 ' General Forester's servant is coming down the road,' said 
 Edward, in a deep, changed tone. 
 
 He roused himself, as if to go, but immediately sank back again 
 to his former posture. Gertrude made no answer, and at that 
 instant the heavy sound of the old church bell was borne toward? 
 them on the morning breeze. It was tolling for an early funeral. 
 Edward heaved a heavy sigh, and Charlie's voice was again 
 heard.
 
 ■jo8 GERTRUDE. 
 
 j 
 
 ' Take him — send him away ! ' exclaimed Edward, in a voice 
 of agony. 
 
 Gertrude opened the door, and the child in a moment was in 
 the room. 
 
 ' Papa, dear papa ! ' and he seized his father's hand, and tried 
 to climb up his neck. 
 
 ' Papa is busy,' said Gertrude ; l we must not disturb him.' 
 
 ' Papa will go to church,' persisted Charlie, trying to drag 
 Edward from the window. 
 
 ' Not to-day,' said Gertrude ; 'another day, perhaps.' 
 
 ' Is papa naughty ?' said the child, and he looked wonderingly 
 in Gertrude's face. 
 
 Edward stooped suddenly; lifted him in his arms, and covered 
 him with kisses ; and when he set him down, Gertrude saw that 
 his little cheek was wet with tears. 
 
 ' Charlie must not stay here,' she said, coaxingly, as she took 
 him by the hand. 
 
 The little fellow rebelled for a few moments, till Gertrude 
 gently insisted, and the door was again closed. But Edward did 
 not notice what was passing. He was listening to the slow, 
 regular toll of the funeral bell, and wrapped in thought. Gertrude 
 listened too, and an overpowering sensation of awe mingled with 
 the bitterness of her feelings. It was as a voice sent to warn 
 them of death, and the judgment that shall follow it. Many 
 minutes elapsed, and neither of them spoke. Edward was the 
 first to break the silence. 
 
 ' I have been harsh to you,' he said. ' Can you forget and 
 pardon it ? ' 
 
 ' It is you who have to pardon,' answered Gertrude ; 'that I 
 should have dared to say so much.' 
 
 'Your duty is done now,' replied he ; 'you have but to leave 
 me to my fate. I cannot bring Laura to poverty.' 
 
 ' But if I were to ask one more favour,' said Gertrude ; ' for the 
 last time — tell me you will not be angry.' 
 
 She spoke faintly, and Edward pushed a chair towards her, 
 and made her sit down. 
 
 ' I have talked of honour,' she continued ; 'but I felt all the 
 time that it was a low, worldly term. O Edward ! even honour 
 must so soon pass — it is but a dream ; and if you could keep 
 Allingham, and be happy to the end of your life, it would be such 
 a mere nothing, it seems strange that we can ever think about 
 it. So that, perhaps, if you had only little, and knew that you
 
 GERTRUDE. 309 
 
 were exerting yourself, — I mean if you had just enough for Laura 
 and yourself, and were practising in your profession, — you might 
 be really as happy as you have been. And if you could bring 
 yourself to think so, and would take what I have, it would be 
 something to begin upon. It is nothing to what you have been 
 accustomed to, I know' 
 
 Gertrude's voice grew husky, and she stopped. Edward strug- 
 gled with his rising agitation. Gratitude and astonishment were 
 succeeded by far different feelings. The very offer— the putting 
 it in his power to give up Allingham without involving Laura in 
 absolute poverty, seemed like the completion of the act. He saw 
 himself already bereft of his home — a wanderer upon the world ; 
 and the beauty upon which his eye at that moment rested, was 
 but an aggravation to his trial. Gertrude waited in patient ex- 
 pectation, for she knew what must be passing in his mind. 
 
 'You will hate me,' he said, at length, in a tone of deep dejec- 
 tion; 'it cannot be otherwise; but I am unworthy of such 
 love.' 
 
 ' I only ask that you should not reject it hastily,' replied Ger- 
 trude ; ' that you should think upon it.' 
 
 ' And can thinking be of any avail ? No, Gertrude, no ; the 
 time for drawing back is past. But when you would condemn 
 me, remember that I am not acting for myself.' 
 
 ' You would leave an inheritance to your child,' said Gertrude ; 
 ' but if it is purchased by the sacrifice of right, what will be its 
 value ? Poverty is hard to bear, but shame and self-reproach are 
 still harder.' 
 
 Edward was silent. 
 
 ' When you have done all that is in your power to retrieve the 
 past,' continued Gertrude ; ' when Allingham is gone, and you 
 have entered upon your new life, surely there will be happiness 
 in reflecting that you have resisted a great temptation ; in look- 
 ing round upon the world, and knowing that no human being 
 can cast a slur upon your name.' 
 
 ' My name ! ' exclaimed Edward, vehemently. ' Yes, you may 
 well remind me of it. It will be remembered as the last of the 
 Courtenays of Allingham.' 
 
 ' And if it should be,' replied Gertrude, gently and solemnly, 
 ' it is but a name of Earth.' 
 
 Edward threw himself into a chair. His thoughts were to be 
 read in the changes of his countenance. It was as the struggle 
 of life and death, and Gertrude turned aside, that she might not
 
 3 io GERTRUDE. 
 
 witness his suffering. When he again spoke, his manner was 
 altered. 'I have been blind and thoughtless,' he said; 'but 
 whatever may be the consequences of my folly, I cannot involve 
 you in it. It would be but a miserable reward for affection 
 which can never be forgotten. If I am to bear poverty, it shall 
 be alone. Laura would never endure that you should be 
 injured; and, Gertrude,' he added, in a tone which chilled her 
 with its quietness, ' it may be that she is to be spared the bitter- 
 ness of my trial.' 
 
 Gertrude dared not comfort him. 'Why will you talk of 
 injury?' she said. ' If our positions were changed, how should 
 you feel ? ' 
 
 'It would be injustice,' he exclaimed; ' the world would say 
 it, and you yourself might live to rue the day on which you had 
 urged me to consent. You may marry.' 
 
 ' And if I do,' she replied, ' I am not worse off than thousands ; 
 but I may also die, or '—and her voice changed—' I may choose 
 to appropriate my money for other purposes. My duty, Edward, 
 cannot lie with the future; that is in the hands of God, and with 
 Him I do not fear to trust it.' 
 
 She knelt by his side, and threw her arm around his neck, 
 and Edward kissed her pale forehead, with a feeling of reverence 
 and affection too deep for words to have told. ' Gertrude/ he 
 said, ' do not tempt me. You may be about to mar the happi- 
 ness of your whole life. It is not a common risk which you will 
 run. If I fail in my profession your fortune will be irrecoverably 
 
 gone.' 
 
 ' Then let it go,' she exclaimed, eagerly, ' without a thought or 
 a regret, — only with thankfulness that it was bestowed upon 
 those I loved so dearly.' Edward wavered. The vision of a 
 name unstained, a life without disgrace, was nerving him for the 
 sacrifice. 'It is your own lesson,' continued Gertrude. 'Years, 
 — years have passed since it was first taught me. Can you 
 recollect your twelfth birthday and my mother's present of a 
 sovereign ? I cried because I wished to have one too, and you 
 came to me, and forced me to accept it, because you said I wanted 
 it more than you did, and that we were both of one family, and 
 what was given to one was for the use of all. O Edward ! why 
 are we not children now ? ' 
 
 It was the whisper of an angel's voice, and Edward could not 
 but obey it. He buried his face in his hands, and Gertrude rose 
 and stood by him, motionless as a lifeless statue. There was a
 
 GERTRUDE. 311 
 
 Jong, long silence — a bitter conflict, seen but by one eye— and 
 the trial was over. Half an hour afterwards, General Forester's 
 servant was returning to the Grange, bearing a letter from 
 Edward, in which he stated, that, after deliberation, he felt it 
 would be advisable to relinquish the honour of again standing 
 for the county. He therefore begged General Forester to express, 
 in his name, his grateful thanks to the friends who had hitherto 
 supported him, together with his regret that family circumstances 
 would prevent him from taking any active part in the coming 
 election. The letter concluded with acknowledgments of the 
 General's exertions in his behalf, and an apology for having led 
 him to suppose on the previous evening that he had intended to 
 act differently. When it was gone, Edward realised, for the first 
 time, that, by his own act, he was ruined without hope of re- 
 demption.' 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE deed was done. Edward repeated the words as he shut 
 himself up in his own room, and Gertrude pondered upon 
 all that was involved in them, as she returned to her task of 
 watching by Laura's bedside. But it is not in moments of ex- 
 citement that we fully know what sorrow means. There is a 
 greatness in intense suffering which unconsciously ennobles and 
 upholds us. We feel that we are called to act a part above our 
 fellow-creatures, and the knowledge that all which is important 
 to them has suddenly become nothing to us, gives dignity and 
 strength to our minds. And in seasons of distress men are more 
 to be pitied than women. Gertrude, besides the unspeakable 
 relief which her brother's decision had afforded her, found many 
 things to distract and occupy her thoughts. Laura required 
 constant attention, and, at her own request, she agreed to remain 
 with her for several hours, whilst others took their rest. The 
 inquiries of friends seemed incessant, and verbal answers and 
 notes were to be sent in return. Edith came from the Prior}-, 
 and to her Gertrude could speak without reserve ; and all this, 
 together with the interest of writing to Mr Dacre, and making 
 airangements for Laura's comfort, served to pass the weary hours. 
 Fatigue and sleep also came to her assistance ; but not so with 
 Edward. He was chilly and uncomfortable, and his head ached,
 
 312 GERTRUDE. 
 
 and his limbs were stiff; but he had no thought of rest. From 
 Laura's bedroom to the hall, and from the hall to his study, and 
 from the study to the garden, he wandered without object. The 
 visit of Dr Grant was the only event which seemed left him to 
 anticipate. His bailiff came to consult him upon some farm 
 business, but he was sent away. What good could it be to in- 
 terest himself in property which would soon cease to be his ? 
 The post brought letters, but most of them were upon parlia- 
 mentary business, and no longer concerned him ; — only a few 
 bills were opened in a fit of desperation, and spread out before 
 him, and conned with an abstracted mind, as if the mere looking 
 at them might be the means of diminishing their amount. And 
 during all this Edward's mind was reverting with miserable doubt 
 to Laura's state. He believed her better, and Dr Grant had 
 assured him that if the dangerous symptoms did not increase, he 
 might reasonably entertain hope ; but the blessing seemed 
 greater than he could dare to expect. One grief makes us fear 
 another ; and, with a self-tormenting spirit, Edward thought 
 over all he should feel when left alone; the bitterness with which 
 he should regard every object connected with her ; the loss to 
 his child ; the hopelessness for the long life which probably lay 
 before him ; till in agony he was about to pray that if she were 
 taken he might not be spared. The prayer was not uttered, for 
 something in his own heart made him tremble lest it should be 
 granted. And so the day wore on, Dr Grant came, and his 
 report was satisfactory ; and when he spoke of the possibility 
 that Laura would be restored, a gleam of happiness passed over 
 Edward's darkened heart. But it was momentary. How should 
 he dare to tell her the miserable truth ? 
 
 It was late in the evening, after a sad and silent dinner with 
 his two sisters, that he resolved upon sending for Mr Rivers, in 
 order to take some immediate steps for the settlement of his 
 affairs. Gertrude heard him say that he was going f o write a 
 note, and suggested that the walk might refresh him ; and the 
 idea was seized upon with avidity : it was something to do. 
 
 ' I shall not see you again to-night, probably,' she said, as he 
 took his hat to depart ; ' I am going to bed. We have a nurse 
 for to-night, and Dr Grant says she will be sufficient alone.' 
 
 Edward held out his hand ; he was too wretched to be affec- 
 tionate, and Gertrude was deeply hurt. She bad made a sacrifice 
 of every prospect most valuable to her, and after the first moment 
 it seemed scarcely to be appreciated. Edward had shown her,
 
 GERTRUDE. 313 
 
 during the whole day, not the slightest mark of peculiar regard. 
 But a person must be far advanced in goodness before grief makes 
 him thoughtful for others ; and even Edward's kindness of heart 
 was not proof against the numbing effects of his sorrow. 
 
 ' Don't go yet ; this is the first moment we have had togeth<?< 
 alone,' said Charlotte, as Gertrude was leaving the room. 
 
 ' I can do little good by staying, I am afraid/ replied Ger- 
 trude. 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, you can, by telling me everything, and putting 
 me out of my misery. What is Edward going to do ?' 
 
 ' I can say it to you,' said Gertrude ; ' you are not a person to 
 be overpowered. He must give up all he has and leave Ailing- 
 ham.' 
 
 Charlotte was not overpowered, but she was inexpressibly 
 shocked. 
 
 ' That is the worst, at once,' continued Gertrude. ' It is best 
 for some minds not to be prepared.' 
 
 ' Prepared ! ' said Charlotte. ' I have been prepared enough 
 all day, and yesterday too. But it is an absurdity. A man of 
 his fortune ! You must be dreaming.' 
 
 ' What do you think his fortune is ? ' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' Six thousand a year, of course.' 
 
 ' Two ; it was never more.' 
 
 Charlotte stood in mute astonishment. 
 
 ' It was mortgaged when he came into possession,' continued 
 Gertrude : ' Edith knew it from the first.' 
 
 ' That explains, then,' exclaimed Charlotte, interrupting her. 
 ' So many things in Edith's manner have puzzled me for a long 
 time, besides some strange hints she gave me yesterday; but 
 when did she tell you ? ' 
 
 ' Two or three days ago ; she has had a great deal to bear.' 
 
 'And has made other people bear a great deal ; but, however, 
 I don't ""derstand now. Edward may be in difficulties, but 
 what you say is impossible.' 
 
 'Just consider,' replied Gertrude. 'He set out with Colonel 
 Courtenay's establishment, which was princely ; married, and 
 new furnished his house. Then came the election.' 
 
 ' The expenses of which were paid,' said Charlotte. 
 
 ' So it was understood ; but we both know Edward too well 
 to believe he would accept more assistance than he could avoid. 
 After the election followed the house in town, and parlia- 
 mentary dinners, and Laura's .grand fetes; and open house here
 
 3'4 
 
 GERTRUDE. 
 
 in the intervals. No fortune of two thousand a year would 
 stand it.' 
 
 ' Two thousand a year ! ' repeated Charlotte, slowly. ' 1 don't 
 believe it.' 
 
 ' Whether it is true or not, there can be no doubt of the state 
 of Edward's affairs at this time.' 
 
 'And what will he do?' exclaimed Charlotte. 
 ' I don't know, at present. Return to his profession by and 
 by.' 
 
 ' Don't hesitate,' said Charlotte ; 'I am in a mood to hear 
 anything.' 
 
 ' That is all,' said Gertrude, quietly. 
 ' And enough,' was the reply, in the same tone. 
 Both were silent for several minutes. 
 
 ' I am glad you told me, Gertrude,' said Charlotte, at length ; 
 'and not any one else.' 
 'Why?' 
 
 ' Because you say it all out in a minute, and don't moralise.' 
 ' It is a case for action, not for moralising,' replied Gertrude. 
 ' If you would give me the world I could not cry,' said Char- 
 lotte. ' What is Edward gone to see Mr Rivers for ? ' 
 ' All sorts of business, I suppose ; but I did not ask him ' 
 ' It will half kill mamma,' said Charlotte. 
 ' Yes, I have thought of her ; but it must be broken to 
 her gently. We shall see how to manage when the moment 
 comes.' 
 ' And Laura too — does she know anything ? ' 
 ' She has suspicions ; but nothing like the truth.' 
 ' Wonderful changes,' exclaimed Charlotte. ' No wonder 
 you have looked like a ghost the last day or two. And how 
 horridly people will talk ! If one could only change one's 
 name ! ' 
 
 Gertrude could not avoid smiling. 
 
 ' It is a happy thing that no strangers are here,' she said. 
 ' Because they would not understand? Very possibly not; but 
 you do. I am as unhappy as heart can desire in reality ; yet 
 just now — did you ever hear of a person in a sort of trance 
 knocking his head against a wall and not feeling it ?' 
 ' The waking will come soon enough,' said Gertrude. 
 ' Yes ! ' and Charlotte sighed from the bottom of her heart 
 ' This is but the beginning ; but we will not sink, Gertrude. No 
 one shall pity us.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 315 
 
 1 Not if we can help it ; for my mother's sake \vc must 
 keep up.' 
 
 ' They must go abroad,' said Charlotte, after some con- 
 sideration. 
 
 ' I suppose they must, for a year or so, but not for a con- 
 tinuance.' 
 
 ' How will they manage to live in England if they have 
 nothing? Edward's profession will not support him at his out- 
 set ; and he will never hear of being dependent upon us.' 
 
 'He will have something,' said Gertrude. 'You know my 
 fortune is a great deal more than I can spend.' 
 
 ' You are not going to give up your fortune ? exclaimed 
 Charlotte. 
 
 ' Why not? It may as well be used by one member of the 
 family as another.' 
 
 Charlotte's firmness was shaken. Her eyes glistened ; and, 
 with an earnestness of feeling most unlike her usual cold, 
 light-hearted indifference, she said, as she kissed her sister, 
 ' Gertrude, if I were only certain that I should some day be 
 like you ! ; 
 
 The next moment she dashed her hand across her eyelid ; and 
 ran out of the room, declaring that she had been wanted to take 
 the nurse's place a quarter of an hour before. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THREE days had gone by — days of wearisome, anxious 
 watching, and gloom. Edward's time had been divided 
 between Laura's chamber and his own study ; he could not 
 summon resolution to go beyond. A barrier had suddenly 
 sprung up between him and the world, in which he had played 
 so busy a part ; and all that passed in it was now but ' as the 
 idle wind, which he regarded not.' His note to General Forester 
 had been answered the day after it was sent ; but even the 
 cold, sarcastic tone in which the General lamented the unfortu- 
 nate circumstances that had induced him so totally to mislead 
 his party, nor the information that a personal friend of his own 
 was about to occupy his position and stand for the county, 
 served to excite pain. Some hasty expressions of contempt
 
 3i6 GERTRUDE. 
 
 escaped him, and the note was tossed aside, and thought of no 
 more. Gertrude noticed his manner, and strove, by every means 
 in her power, to interest him. She had determined upon re- 
 maining at Allingham with Charlotte, notwithstanding Edith's 
 entreaties that she might share the fatigue, for she could tell, 
 from the few words which now and then dropped from Edward, 
 that he disliked seeing Edith attempt to nurse Laura. He 
 remembered her neglect in former days, and he fancied that 
 Laura herself would dislike it. This decision was a sad trial to 
 Edith, whose only wish now was to atone, as much as lay in her 
 power, for her former conduct ; but Gertrude was firm. She 
 had deemed it necessary to tell Dr Grant her opinion, that 
 distress of mind had increased, if not entirely brought on, Laura's 
 illness, and he had so strongly insisted upon the necessity of keep- 
 ing her free from excitement, whenever the fever should decrease, 
 so as to restore her to consciousness, that Gertrude dreaded 
 to allow any person but herself to remain with her. She en- 
 treated Edward to keep himself out of sight, and he obeyed ; 
 not because he considered it necessary, but because his spirit 
 was so sunk that he had not energy to resist ; and then Gertrude 
 stationed herself in the sick-room, and smoothed the pillow, 
 and administered the medicine, and bore with all the harassing 
 requirements of serious illness, till at length the office of nurse 
 was tacitly yielded to her ; and even Charlotte only came into 
 the room now and then to know if anything was wanted. Ger- 
 trude was contented at her post, for it occupied her usefully] 
 but it also gave her much leisure for thought, and thought was 
 very bitter. One thing seemed absolutely necessary — that 
 Edward should be told of Laura's debts. To leave her to make 
 the confession herself, when both mind and body were weakened 
 by illness, would be out of the question ; but it was not easy to 
 find a favourable moment for the disclosure. He was silent 
 at breakfast, silent at dinner, silent whenever they met in the 
 course of the day. He never mentioned Laura's name, or 
 referred to the past ; and Gertrude shrunk from intruding upon 
 his sorrow. Every hour, however, increased her anxiety to 
 speak to him ; for Dr Grant became more hopeful at each 
 visit, and spoke confidently of his expectation, that if a tranquil 
 sleep could be produced, Laura might again be fully restored to 
 them. 
 
 Gertrude was in the room alone when this opinion was ex- 
 pressed ; and Dr Grant was no sooner gone than she hastened
 
 GERTRUDE. ?,n 
 
 to the study. Edward was there engaged in looking over sonic 
 papers, which, at her entrance, he thrust into a drawer. Iiis 
 countenance did not give her encouragement ; and the tone in 
 which he inquired what she was come for, augured ill for the 
 patience with which he would be inclined to hear Iter. She in- 
 formed him first of Dr Grant's opinion, and he expressed himself 
 deeply thankful ; but when she still lingered, he became restless, 
 and glanced at the door, plainly wishing that she should go. 
 Gertrude felt that the shortest would also be the best way of 
 proceeding, for he was not in a mood to bear circumlocution. 
 
 ' If Laura should get well,' she began. 
 
 'If? You have just told me that Dr Grant has little doubt 
 of it.' 
 
 ' Just so, and that is the reason I wanted to say a few words.' 
 
 ' They must be very few then. I am busy.' 
 
 Gertrude bore with the ungracious permission, and in a manner 
 of perfect gentleness stated to him briefly, but cautiously, the 
 circumstances which had produced so deep an impression upon 
 Laura's mind ; the temptations of her London life; her belief 
 that Edward's fortune was large ; Miss Forester's influence and 
 the power which she had obtained by assisting her in her diffi- 
 culties ; the unhappiness which Laura had experienced, whilst 
 conscious that she was deceiving her husband; and the firmness 
 with which at last she had resolved to give up all offers of further 
 help, and confess everything. ' I have told you myself,' con- 
 cluded Gertrude, 'to save her, and in order that you might know 
 how to act ; and now I will go : but you need not trouble your- 
 self with regard to Miss Forester ; I have settled her part of the 
 business.' 
 
 She was about to leave him, but he caught her hand. The 
 settled gloom upon his countenance had given way to a expres- 
 sion of intense suffering ; ' Stay, Gertrude,' he said. 
 
 ' Not now, unless you have questions to ask.' 
 
 ' No,' he exclaimed, vehemently, ' it is too clear for questions. 
 If you had been here, Gertrude, all might have been different. 
 It was Edith who threw her into that woman's hands.' 
 
 ' Edith has suffered much for her error,' said Gertrude. 
 
 'It was cruel,' he continued; 'Edith, whom I trusted so 
 entirely ! I am not blind to my own faults. I know they have 
 been great, — so great that at times I dare not dwell upon them ; 
 but my offences have not been against Laura's happiness. I only 
 loved her too well, and therefore I could not mar her enjoyment
 
 318 GERTRUDE. 
 
 by checking it as I should have done ; but Edith neglected and 
 repelled her.' 
 
 ' You would forgive her,' said Gertrude, ' if you knew her 
 misery.' 
 
 ' Heaven forbid that I should not forgive ! ' replied Edward, 
 solemnly; 'but she can never make amends. Did Laura indeed 
 dread my anger ? How little she knew ! ' He stopped, overcome 
 by the ideas which crowded upon his mind. ' It was that one 
 concealment,' he exclaimed, after a pause. ' Fool that I was ! 
 if I had but told her all, she would have warned and supported 
 me. And you, Gertrude/ he added, ' who have done no wrong, 
 must be punished for us all ! Edith thought her selfish,' he con- 
 tinued, 'and accused her to me of selfishness ; but she had not a 
 care for herself. She was idolised in her home, and when they 
 trusted her to me, they thought they were sending her to those 
 who would idolise her too. Gertrude, if you had only seen hei 
 as she was when first we married, you would own that it was q 
 harsh spirit which could utter a word against her.' 
 
 ' There are few to equal her now,' said Gertrude, feeling that 
 it was not the moment to attempt Edith's defence. 
 
 ' She was perfect,' exclaimed Edward, enthusiastically ; ' and 
 she was happy as she deserved to be. She knew no care till she 
 knew me, and I made her give up all, and promised to cherish 
 and protect her, and then brought her to misery.' 
 
 ' You will not think it misery by and by,' said Gertrude. 
 
 'If it is not so,' he exclaimed, eagerly, 'it will be through 
 your means. Do not judge me hardly, Gertrude. I may seem 
 to you cold and ungrateful, but it is only from wretchedness.' 
 The tone was one of despair, and Gertrude feared to allude again 
 to the former subject, though she knew that something ought to 
 be done immediately for the settlement of the remainder of 
 Laura's debts. But Edward had lately brought himself to think 
 over the details of business, whatever might be the state of his 
 mind. With a calmness which surprised while it pained her he 
 asked for the bills, and said that he would consult Mr Rivers as 
 to the best mode of discharging them. ' It will be the first step,' 
 he said, ' towards freeing myself : — freeing myself, that is, from 
 all obligations but the one which no money can repay.' 
 
 The words were common, but the manner in which they were 
 spoken, and the look which accompanied them, sank deeply into 
 Gertrude's heart. She left him, satisfied, and comparatively 
 cheerful, and returned to Laura's chamber. She had not reached
 
 GERTRUDE. 319 
 
 it before the door was very softly opened, and Charlotte's ringer 
 was held up in token of silence. Dr Grant's prescription had 
 taken effect, and Laura was sleeping. Gertrude beckoned her 
 sister into the gallery, and then entreated her to leave her alone 
 in the room ; but Charlotte strongly objected, saying that no one 
 could tell how long the sleep might last, and that Gertrude was 
 not equal to such constant fatigue. There was a little pique 
 mixed with Charlotte's determination ; she did not approve of 
 wholly giving up the duty of nursing, and she was not unselfish 
 enough to see that there are times when sitting idle is as great a 
 virtue as exertion. Gertrude was equally firm, though conscious 
 that she must appear wilful — perhaps unkind and selfish. It 
 was essential that Laura's mind should be kept quiet on first re- 
 covering its tone, and no one could do this as effectually as her- 
 self ; but it was not easy to explain this to Charlotte ; and when 
 at length the point was yielded, it was with a very bad grace. 
 Gertrude was extremely vexed. Circumstances had compelled 
 her to take more upon herself than she would otherwise have 
 thought of doing ; and it was peculiarly disagreeable to insist 
 upon anything in which her own gratification seemed involved ; 
 but there are duties to be performed through evil report as well 
 as good, and this was one. She crept into the room, and sat down 
 in the accustomed chair. Laura lay with her head bent down, 
 her lips apart, and her thin, white hands spread upon the coverlid. 
 Her breathing was so still that it could scarcely be heard, and a 
 horrible suspicion crossed Gertrude's mind, as she watched for 
 some symptom of life. There was not a sound in the house ; her 
 least movement might disturb, and she dared not summon the 
 nurse; and hour after hour she sat in the same posture, her dread 
 increasing at every instant, till the sun had sunk low in the 
 horizon, and its parting rays shed a golden light over the room, and 
 lit up Laura's pallid features with something of an unearthly 
 radiance. Gertrude trembled ; she rose, leant over her, and 
 tried to listen again for the breathing, but her nervousness had 
 become so great that she could hear nothing but the beating of 
 her own heart. With a faint feeling, from mingled fatigue and 
 alarm, she tried to reseat herself as before, but her foot touched 
 the chair, pushed it along the floor, and with the noise, slight 
 though it was, Laura awoke. The unspeakable relief of that 
 moment Gertrude never forgot. In the happiness of finding 
 that her fears were unfounded, she did not even observe that 
 the glaring lustre of Laura's eye had been succeeded by a quiet,
 
 320 GERTRUDE. 
 
 natural clearness, and when her name was repeated in a sweet, 
 feeble voice, she started as if awakened from a dream. 
 
 ' Is it very late ?' asked Laura, as she looked wonderingly at 
 her sister. 
 
 ' Not very,' replied Gertrude ; ' but you have been asleep some 
 time.' 
 
 'Asleep!' repeated Laura, and she glanced restlessly over 
 the room. 
 
 ' Yes, and ill too ; but you must be still ; you are not strong 
 enough to talk.' 
 
 Laura acquiesced, for even these few words were an effort ; 
 but after a few moments she again signed to Gertrude to draw 
 near. ' Did you say I had been ill ? Weren't there people 
 about ? It is such a trouble to think.' 
 
 'Wait till presently,' said Gertrude. 'You must take some- 
 thing now.' 
 
 ' But only tell me, — Edward, — why is he gone away?' 
 
 ' Edward is not gone ; he is here. I shall go and tell him you 
 are better.' 
 
 ' But he won't come to me, I know ; my head is so dizzy. 
 What is it that is so dreadful ?' 
 
 'Nothing is dreadful, dearest,' replied Gertrude, 'and Edward 
 will come to you presently, when you are strong enough to see him.' 
 
 Laura was silent from exhaustion, and Gertrude was uncertain 
 whether to assist her in recalling what had passed, or allow 
 her to remember it gradually. She seemed, however, too much 
 weakened for thought of any kind, and Gertrude rang for the 
 nurse, that something might be given her ; but she would not 
 allow any one else to be told of the amendment, fearing lest 
 Edward's impatience might get the better of his prudence, and 
 mischief might be the consequence. When her strength was a 
 little restored, Laura's mind again began working ; and Ger- 
 trude, seeing that she would not rest till everything had been 
 explained, sent a message to Edward to tell him that he need no 
 longer be uneasy, but entreating him on no account to come 
 into the room until she sent for him. 
 
 ' Master won't listen to that,' muttered the old woman, as she 
 left the room ; and Gertrude was of the same opinion, and re- 
 turning to Laura, resolved to say at once all that was necessary, 
 if she found that her sister could bear it. ' You will be better 
 now,' she said, with a smile, as she took Laura's hand, and 
 arranged her oillow.
 
 GERTRUDE. 321 
 
 ' No,' said Laura ; ( I am not better. I can't remember ; it is 
 very unkind in you, Gertrude, not to help me.' 
 
 ' I will help you now,' said Gertrude ; ' you have been ill two 
 or three days ; and the people you have been thinking about 
 were at the archery meeting. 5 
 
 ' Yes, yes, I remember,' said Laura, slowly; 'but that was not 
 all. There was something dreadful. Why am I afraid to see 
 Edward ? ' 
 
 'Because you had something to tell him, which you though! 
 would worry him ; but I have told him all, and he docs no! 
 care.' 
 
 ' Something ? I thought he would be very angry.' 
 ' It was about Miss Forester,' said Gertrude, 'and the money 
 she lent you, and the bills from London ; but it is all settled. 
 Edward took the matter very cmietly, and he will come and give 
 you a kiss whenever you wish to see him. I think, though, you 
 had better lie still a little while first.' 
 
 Laura looked distrustful. ' Why should I not see him at 
 once ? ' she said. ' Are you sure he loves me ? Some one said 
 he did not. It was a voice — I heard it always.' 
 
 ' That was your fancy when you were ill,' replied Gertrude ; 
 ' but he will come soon, and tell you himself.' 
 
 ' Bills ? ' said Laura, thinking ; ' were they long ones ? ' 
 ' Rather ; but don't distress yourself about them. Edward is 
 not at all displeased.' 
 
 A slight noise was heard, — the door was opened, and a 
 stealthy footstep approached the bed. Gertrude knew that it 
 must be Edward. She lifted up her finger to stop him, but 
 Laura's attention was attracted. 
 
 ' W T ho is it?' she said, quickly, as she tried in vain to rouse 
 herself to see. 
 
 ' Only be still,' replied Gertrude, laying her hand upon her. 
 ' It was Edward,' said Laura, in an agony of expectation ; ' is 
 he gone without speaking ? Then he has not forgiven. O 
 Gertrude ! why did they not let me die ?' 
 
 Edward heard the words, notwithstanding the faint tone in 
 which Ehey were spoken, and, regardless of his sister's warning, 
 came forward suddenly. Laura's eyes met his with a fixed, 
 earnest gaze. She held his hand as he bent over her, and whis- 
 pered words of purest affection and thankfulness, but she could 
 not articulate a reply ; and by degrees her feeble grasp was 
 relaxed, her head drooped, and she fainted away. 
 
 X
 
 3 23 GERTRUDE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE calm which follows a storm may be, and often is, a season 
 of thankfulness and hope ; but it may be also nothing but 
 the lulling of the winds before the gathering of another tempest. 
 And so it was felt at Allingham. All things were returning to 
 their usual course. Laura's good constitution had borne her 
 through the trial of severe illness, and now it assisted her in 
 regaining her lost powers. Day by day some new progress was 
 made, trifling, perhaps, and only marked by the eye of affection, 
 but serving: to show that she might in time be restored to her 
 former health. Gertrude seldom left her, and ventured by de- 
 grees to talk to her upon the subjects weighing upon her mind. 
 And when her memory grew clearer, Edward himself encouraged 
 her to speak openly. But her confessions, in their simplicity and 
 humility, were often very painful. She told of her vanity and 
 weakness ; and he remembered his own. She entreated him to 
 forgive her deception ; and the sin, not of months, but of years, 
 lay upon his own breast; and she promised amendment, and 
 begged him to guide and teach her, at the very moment when 
 he felt that his own errors had marred his happiness for life. 
 Laura saw that something was amiss, but she attributed it to 
 regret at her own conduct, and this brought deeper expressions 
 of repentance than before ; till Edward was often on the point 
 of acknowledging the truth, without thinking of the consequences, 
 merely to save himself the wretchedness of feeling he was deceiv- 
 ing her. One thing he was obliged to own, that he had declined 
 standing again for the county ; but this, though startling intelli- 
 gence, did not awaken suspicion, for Laura's mind was not 
 entirely clear as to all that had occurred previous to her illness, 
 so as to enable her to put facts together, and reason upon them. 
 She thought that he must be tired of the responsibility, and per- 
 haps willing to avoid the expense. But this was all ; and her 
 own feeling was that of satisfaction, for, with her newly-formed 
 resolutions, it would be keeping her out of the way of temptation. 
 But the time was fast approaching when concealment would no 
 longer be possible. Edward's embarrassments became more 
 and more pressing, and Mr Rivers urged the necessity of some 
 decisive step being taken, for rumoui-s were afloat, and com- 
 mented on, and circulated, by all but his own family. Mrs 
 Courtenav, with that happy buoyancy of spirit which can accom-
 
 GERTRUDE. 323 
 
 modate itself to all circumstances, no sooner learned that Edward 
 had resolved upon giving up the election, than she declared it 
 was by far the best thing that could have been done. It had 
 always been too much for him; and now he would be able to 
 live quietly at Allingham with dear Laura, and they should see 
 so much more of him. She quite looked forward to the winter, 
 and he would be able to give such nice parties ; though, to be 
 sure, she never went to any of them, for fear of taking cold ; but 
 it was pleasant to think other people were enjoying themselves. 
 The observations were made to Charlotte, whose reply was brief 
 and unceremonious ; and Edith, who was present, also escaped 
 as quickly as possible, to go to her own room. 
 
 ' There is but one comforting thought in the whole of the busi- 
 ness/ said Charlotte, following her, ' and that is, that if Edward 
 is not member, no other of his party will be. I care not one iota 
 about politics, but I could not bear the notion of his being thrust 
 aside, and no one missing him.' 
 
 ' But how do you know no one else will be ?' 
 
 1 Because there is a split amongst them. Mr Dacre, or some 
 one, was saying so this morning; and there is to be an opposi- 
 tion. There would have been none if Edward had stood. And 
 I saw General Forester ride past just now, as I was standing 
 at the lodge gate, and I thought he looked as black as 
 November.' 
 
 'That accounts for General Forester's being so anxious about 
 Edward,' said Edith ; ' but, however, it does not signify to us 
 now. Public affairs are all very well when there is nothing else 
 to think of, but that is not the case with us.' 
 
 ' And will not be for many a long day. I wish Edward would 
 settle something. This living with a sword hanging over one's 
 head is not agreeable.' 
 
 ' How can you talk so lightly, Charlotte !' exclaimed Edith. 
 
 'No, it is not lightly ; it is sober truth. But there is no good 
 in putting on a sad face ; misfortunes are never the less for 
 our being doleful about them. Life to me is very like a furze 
 brake ; you must be scratched, go which way you will ; but if 
 you step out boldly, and make up your mind not to care, you are 
 sure to be better off than you expected.' 
 
 ' We are in the midst of a very thick furze brake just at pre- 
 sent,' said Edith. 
 
 ' Yes, very ; but we shall see our way out of it by and 
 by.'
 
 324 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' 1 wish Jane knew it,' said Edith ; ' I really think she ought 
 to be told.' 
 
 ' What for ? — to make her uncomfortable before there is any 
 occasion ? Just leave her to me ; I understand her better than 
 you do, and I will tell her when it is necessary.' 
 
 ' But she^will be annoyed at being the only ignorant one,' said 
 Edith. 
 
 ' We cannot help that. For all our sakes she must be kept 
 quiet as long as possible. You know what she is like when 
 thing's go wrong.' 
 
 Edith did know from bitter experience. A vision of dark 
 looks, sharp words, and a fit of hysterics, presented itself; and, 
 following Charlotte's counsel, she said no more about telling 
 Jane. 
 
 But though Edith and her sisters were so regardless of public 
 affairs, Edward still felt some interest in them. He received the 
 information of the progress of the election with an air of proud 
 indifference ; but when at length the news reached him of the 
 defeat of his former friends, he felt a momentary satisfaction ; 
 for it proved that his own importance had been greater than he 
 imagined. If he had stood, no one would have ventured to 
 oppose him. He was, however, too wretched and too penitent 
 to dwell upon the idea ; and, after a little exertion, so disciplined 
 his mind, that even the report of some hasty expressions made 
 use of by General Forester against him, scarcely excited his 
 indignation. The General had, in truth, considerable cause for 
 annoyance. With Edward's retirement and the downfall of his 
 party was involved the loss of his own position. He was no 
 longer the friend and adviser of the county member, possessing 
 influence and occasionally patronage, and the change was keenly 
 felt. His ambition had been low, but earnest ; and in the bitter- 
 ness of his disappointment, he accused Edward of inconsistency, 
 and even duplicity. Miss Forester shared his feelings, though 
 in a different way. The enjoyments of the last four years were 
 now at an end. Under any circumstances she felt that her inti- 
 macy with Laura must cease, and with it much of the pleasure 
 derivable from luxuries and amusements, which to her were the 
 grand objects of her life. But Miss Forester's selfishness did 
 not render her wholly callous to the misery that might be the 
 result of Mr Courtenay's embarrassments, — the report of which 
 was now very generally believed. She had some regard for 
 Laura,— deeper than she herself was aware of, — and her anxiety
 
 GERTRUDE. 3 
 
 3 
 
 during her illness had been sincere ; and when she remembered 
 that she had done her utmost to encourage the thoughtlessness 
 which seemed about to bring such fatal consequences, something 
 like repentance arose in her heart. She did not dare offer her 
 society or assistance ; but if they had been sought, her mind 
 would have heen relieved from a burden of unusual weight. 
 
 It was a day of exquisite beauty when Laura was carried out 
 of doors, and laid on a sofa under the colonnade. The season 
 had been unusually fine, and the garden, instead of being burnt 
 up by a scorching sun, retained very much the appearance of 
 early spring. Laura, her mind relieved from great care, felt as 
 if she had never before enjoyed the loveliness of her home. She 
 delighted in the sunshine, the birds and flowers, the lights and 
 shadows upon the lawn, and the soft, warm breeze that fanned 
 her cheek. She could not believe that the summer was so 
 nearly gone, and appealed perpetually to Edward to join in her 
 ecstacies. 
 
 ' Now that you have given up the election,' she said, ' we shall 
 have so much time together, and I intend to make you fond of 
 gardening ; and in September it will be such delicious weather 
 for riding. I suppose by that time I shall be strong enough to 
 bear it. Edward, dearest, don't be so grave, it makes me un- 
 happy. Do teach him to"smile, Gertrude.' 
 
 ' I would if I could, you may be sure,' said Gertrude, attempt- 
 ing to smile herself ; ' but he is obstinate. I see Mr Uacre 
 coming,' she added ; ' but I shall not let him talk to you now ; 
 you have had enough excitement for to-day.' 
 
 This was perfectly true ; but Gertrude was not sorry to have 
 an excuse for a tcte-cl-tete, for it was her chief comfort. This 
 day, however, she had less satisfaction than usual ; Mr Dacre was 
 looking very ill, and walked feebly ; and Gertrude fancied she 
 could see the effects of thought and anxiety for her brother. He 
 was not a person to take a half interest in a character like Ed- 
 ward's ; and perhaps the consciousness that his own strength was 
 rapidly diminishing, and that, in all human probability, he should 
 never live to witness the effect of the change of circumstances 
 upon Air Courtenay's mind, served to increase his care, and made 
 him peculiarly watchful for the little indications of firmness and 
 resolution, which he fancied he discovered in the course of their 
 conversations. Laura followed Gertrude with her eye, till she 
 had joined Mr Dacre, and taken his arm, and turned into the 
 shrubbery ; and then, looking at Edward, she said —
 
 326 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' We are alone now, Edward ; there can be no reason for not 
 speaking out. Why are you so changed ? ' 
 
 ' I have had enough to change me/ he replied, 'if it were only 
 fear for you.' 
 
 ' Yes, my illness ; but not other things, — you tell me you have 
 forgotten them ; and if I thought you had not, I should never 
 forgive myself/ 
 
 ' Forgotten ! ' he exclaimed ; ' if everything were but as easy 
 to forget as that, I should indeed be a fortunate man.' 
 
 ' But am I the cause of your vexation ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; ' and then checking himself, he added, in as indifferent 
 a tone as he could assume, ' you must always be, since you are 
 dearer to me than anything on earth.' 
 
 Laura looked agitated and excited, and Edward was frightened, 
 
 ' It is all nothing,' he said, carelessly ; ' every one has moods. 
 Don't you think you have been here long enough ? ' 
 
 ' I have not been out ten minutes. You never used to have 
 moods.' 
 
 'Yes, frequently ; only you don't remember.' 
 
 ' There are a great many things I don't remember,'' said Laura ; 
 'but it will all come again in time, I hope. What should you 
 say, Edward, if it did not ?' 
 
 ' Why ask ? ' he said, anxiously. ' Do you feel worse ? ' 
 
 ' Not exactly, but I think sometimes it would be very dis- 
 agreeable always to feel as I do at present.' 
 
 A deeper gloom overspread Edward's countenance. 
 
 'You want change,' he said, and paused. 'Will you go 
 abroad ? ' 
 
 The tone was startll'ngly abrupt, but Laura did not remark it. 
 
 ' Really, are you in earnest ? ' she exclaimed, and her eyes 
 sparkled with almost childish delight. 
 
 'Will you go?' 
 
 'Yes, everywhere with you ; but abroad would be so very 
 delightful ! You have often promised you would take me again, 
 and there has always been some reason against it.' 
 
 ' There is none now,' he replied, in the same gloomy voice. 
 
 'And the season of the year would be so good,' continued 
 Laura, ' if we set off at once. September is always fine, and 
 deliciously cool. Do you remember what torrents of rain we 
 had when we were in Normandy, four — nearly five — years ago ? 
 How time passes ! Ah, Edward, we were very happy then 1 ' 
 
 ' Are you not happy now ? '
 
 GERTRUDE. 327 
 
 ' Yes, if you arc ; but there is something in being very young, 
 and not having known what care meant. And all was so new 
 to mc. Only Allingham, I think, is pleasanter and dearer every 
 year.' 
 
 Edward suddenly left her side, but immediately returned. 
 
 'Are you very fond of Allingham?' he asked. 
 
 ' What a question ! Is there any other spot on earth which 
 has half its charms ? ' 
 
 'Will you leave it?' 
 
 There was that in his voice which made Laura look up into 
 his face, r and shrink from the expression which she saw there. 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' she exclaimed. ' You frighten me, 
 Edward. Why are you so strange ?' 
 
 Edward felt that he had done wrong, but he could not retract. 
 
 ' Tell me, Laura,' he said, ' if you had united your fortunes 
 with those of a man whom the world thought wealthy, — if he 
 deceived you for years, and suffered you to act wrongly, and set 
 you the example, and then brought you and your child to ruin, 
 — how should you feel ? ' 
 
 Laura gazed on him, bewildered and alarmed. 
 
 'You would hate and despise hh;\' continued Edward, vehe- 
 mently ; 'and with justice. But if he loved you, Laura, — loved 
 you, — idolised you, — felt that life was only endurable when 
 shared by you, — if his deception was the result of an affection 
 so great that it would have ransacked the whole world to gratify 
 your slightest wish, — could you forgive him?' 
 
 'Who? What?' exclaimed Laura. 'You, Edward! Is it 
 real ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Edward, bitterly ; ' you may well ask " is it real ? " 
 Who would believe that the man whom hundreds honoured, — 
 the man who dared to seek your love, — could act a part so base ? 
 Yet, Laura, I am he, — most miserable, — most unworthy.' 
 
 He cast himself on the ground beside her, and as he bent his 
 head on her hands, scalding tears of anguish fell upon them. 
 A mist seemed suddenly to vanish from Laura's eyes. The dim 
 past came vividly before her, and the rumours which before 
 her illness had been so little regarded, returned clearly to her 
 recollection. 
 
 ' Edward, dearest,' she said, gently ; ' this is not the posture 
 for you. If sorrow is at hand, who shall teach me to bear it if 
 you fail?' 
 
 Edward clasped her hands convulsively.
 
 328 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' Why should you fear to tell me all ?' continued Laura. ' Am 
 I not your wife ? Is not our existence one ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' he exclaimed, rising suddenly ; ' and therefore the more 
 wretched ! Laura, you little know what is before you. I am 
 ruined. Allingham can no longer be your home.' 
 
 He bent upon her a steadfast gaze, as if to read her inmost 
 thoughts ; but she did not shrink from it. The sight of his grief 
 had nerved her, and not a muscle of her countenance moved ; 
 only the faint tinge of red forsook her cheek, and her voice 
 slightly shook as she said — 
 
 ' My home is in your heart. Whilst you are spared to me, all 
 trials will be light.' 
 
 'And can you, indeed, say so?' exclaimed Edward. And 
 bending over her, he imprinted a long, fervent kiss upon her 
 brow. 
 
 ' But you have never felt privation, and how will you bear 
 that Charlie's lot in life should be so different from that to 
 which he was born ? ' 
 
 ' If it is your lot,' replied Laura, ' you will teach him to sup- 
 port it nobly ; and for myself, I am not, Edward, what I was. 
 I have lived many years within the last few months, and life can 
 never again be the light and valueless thing I once thought it. 
 If you could give me boundless wealth, it could not make me 
 happy ; and I trust I should not wish it for my child.' 
 
 ' But the shame, — the ridicule,' exclaimed Edward. 
 
 ' Let them come. I have deserved them, if not for this, for 
 other and worse follies. Only tell me all that has happened.' 
 
 Edward hesitated, for Laura sank back on her sofa exhausted. 
 
 ' I would rather hear it now,' she said, earnestly; 'and you 
 would rather too.' 
 
 ' Yes, but I can bear delay. The worst suffering is past.' 
 
 Laura, however, again entreated, and Edward then confided 
 to her the whole state of his affairs, together with the weakness 
 which had caused him to conceal from her the heavy claims 
 upon his estate, when first they married. 
 
 ' It is this which lies heaviest on my conscience,' he said. 
 ' It was the root of all other errors. And, Laura, if you have 
 ceased to respect me ' 
 
 Laura stopped him. 
 
 ' Do not recall my own faults. Love might be your excuse, 
 Edward, but I fear could not be mine.' 
 
 Edward heaved a bitter sigh. His wife's humility and strength
 
 GERTRUDE. 3^9 
 
 of character were as so many reproaches for the part he had 
 acted towards her. 
 
 ' I would rather you should speak hardly of me/ he said. ' 1 
 could bear anything but this ; and I feel you must be miserable.' 
 Laura's eyes filled with tears as she answered — 
 ' O Edward ! is affection indeed of so little worth in your 
 estimation? When I vowed to love, to honour, and obey you, 
 was it for your money and your position ? If you had been poor 
 and homeless, to have been your wife would have been greater 
 happiness than to have been united to the wealthiest noble in 
 the land. And now, what have I done that you should doubt 
 me?' 
 
 'Doubt you!' exclaimed Edward. 'No, never for one 
 moment. You are my hope — my comfort — my precious in- 
 estimable treasure ! You will endure with an angel's patience ; 
 but it will still be endurance, and I shall be the cause. And, 
 Laura, there is one thing yet untold. What if our only prospect 
 of subsistence, until I can rise in my profession, should be by 
 dependence ?' 
 
 Laura's cheek flushed crimson. 
 ' You would not consent,' she said, eagerly. 
 ' Not if Gertrude entreated, — if she said that her happiness 
 depended on it ? ' 
 
 Laura looked at him, to discover his meaning, and then burst 
 into tears. At that instant Gertrude returned. 
 
 ' I have done it,' exclaimed Edward, in a frightened voice, as 
 he hastened towards her. ' I can't tell what possessed me. 
 Why did you leave us, Gertrude ? ' 
 
 ' You have not told her all ? ' said Gertrude, alarmed in her 
 turn. 
 
 < Yes — all. I could not help it. It was agony to be with her 
 longer, and deceive her.' 
 
 'And she has borne it — how?' 
 
 ' Nobly ! — wonderfully ! I never understood her, or appre- 
 ciated her, till to-day. But go to her, Gertrude ; she can con- 
 sent to all but what you would do ; and I cannot consent 
 either.' 
 
 He walked into the house, and Gertrude quietly seated her- 
 self by her sister's side. Laura tried to raise herself, and when 
 Gertrude put her arm round her to assist her, she leaned her 
 head on her shoulder, and sobbed with the weakness of a child. 
 Gertrude kissed and soothed her, and strove to restore her to
 
 330 GERTRUDE. 
 
 composure ; but her presence only seemed to increase Laura's 
 distress ; though once, when she attempted to leave her, Laura 
 caught her hand, and signed to her to remain. 
 
 ' I cannot think of it,' she said, at length, in broken words, 
 ' for you to suffer. I could beg my bread rather.' 
 
 'We will not talk of it now, dearest,' said Gertrude. 'When 
 you are better you shall hear all I have to say, and no one shall 
 force you to do anything against your will ; but Edward must 
 carry you to your room. He has done enough mischief for to-day.' 
 
 'I would bear all pain — all imaginable pain/— whispered 
 Laura, 'rather than you should' 
 
 'Yet you will not agree to the only plan which will save me 
 from it.' 
 
 Laura was going to answer, but Gertrude would not give her 
 the opportunity; and summoning Edward, insisted upon her 
 being left without disturbance for several hours. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 TJ* DWARD had said that his worst trial was over, and so 
 J—' perhaps it was. There was at least no longer anything to 
 conceal— no necessity for appearing cheerful when his heart was 
 sinking in despondency. But there was also, now, no pretext 
 for further delaying his ultimate intentions. Before the winter, 
 Allingham must be left ; and in Laura's delicate state, a few 
 weeks might make a considerable difference in the prudence of 
 travelling ; for this was the final arrangement. A twelvemonths' 
 residence abroad would give Mr Rivers time for settling Edward's 
 affairs, and enabling him to return to his country with freedom 
 and honour ; and he would then take the necessary measures 
 for again resuming his profession. And all this sounded easy; 
 but how much was involved in it ! How many bitter remem- 
 brances, and self-accusations for the past !— how many sad 
 visions for the future ! It required all Edward's newly-strength- 
 ened principles to teach him to submit to the duty before him. 
 If there had remained any hope of a competency, however small, 
 out of the wreck of his fortune, he might probably have been 
 tempted to continue abroad for the remainder of his life, rather 
 than brave the observations which must follow his intended line
 
 GERTRUDE. 331 
 
 of conduct. But to be dependent upon Gertrude, to feel that he 
 was depriving her of her right merely to gratify his own weak- 
 ness, was impossible ; and if, for a moment, his resolution 
 wavered, Laura was at hand to warn and support him. Trial, 
 with her, was indeed working its great end, repentance and 
 amendment. Her step was slow, and her eye dim, and her whole 
 bearing thoughtful and sometimes sad, but not in Edward's 
 presence. With him she was cheerful, contented, sanguine ; 
 occupied only in endeavouring, as far as lay in her power, to 
 smooth the rugged path upon which he had entered. If she 
 could not actively exert herself, shej could write for him, and 
 think for him ; she could discuss his plans, and brighten his 
 dark prospects by hopeful smiles, till even in the midst of his 
 grief Edward sometimes felt that a spring of happiness had 
 opened in his desert life which might make amends for all that 
 he had lost. But this was but seldom. Too heavy a burden lay 
 upon his conscience to be cast suddenly aside. His offences 
 were errors in the eyes of his fellow-creatures, but they were 
 sins before God, and the sins of years, in the face of warnings 
 and instructions ; and years must pass before he could hope to 
 enjoy that peace of mind which long-confirmed habits of watchful 
 obedience alone can give. The plans were at length definitely 
 fixed; the day of departure, the route, the place of destination. 
 Edward had committed his affairs without reservation to Mr 
 Rivers, in the certainty that all would be done which talent and 
 integrity could effect, and two things only remained to be thought 
 of; the one, the best mode of breaking the intelligence to Mrs 
 Courtenay ; the other 
 
 ' Gertrude will not consent to it/ said Edward, when Laura 
 first proposed it. 'To leave her home for a twelvemonth! I 
 think you can hardly ask it.' 
 
 ' She will tell us at once if it cannot be,' replied Laura ; 'and 
 it might be less painful than remaining behind.' 
 
 ' That will not weigh in the scale,' said Edward. ' But you 
 must write to her. It is not fair to take a person by surprise in 
 these cases.' 
 
 The note was written. It was urgent and affectionate, begging 
 that, if it were possible, Gertrude would agree to accompany 
 them. 
 
 ' If it were merely a question of pleasure/ wrote Laura, c I 
 should hesitate in asking, knowing the claims you already have 
 at home ; but, dearest Gertrude, there are many things in which
 
 332 GERTRUDE. 
 
 you are become necessary to us both. It is net a common case. 
 Edward will have much to encounter, and I feel myself so over- 
 whelmed when he is miserable, I scarcely know how to comfort 
 him. Pray think of it. If it is not right, I will be contented ; 
 but I cannot resist proposing it, even if you should be obliged 
 to say no.' 
 
 The idea was not new to Gertrude's mind. She had observed 
 with anxiety Laura's delicacy of constitution since her illness, and 
 often dreaded the consequences of the fatigue and distress of mind 
 which must attend her journey; but the duties of her home were 
 primary, and, for a long time, her decision wavered. She knew 
 that she was useful to Laura, but she still felt doubtful as to leav- 
 ing her mother until aware of the effect which the intelligence of 
 Edward's circumstances might have upon her. If Edith could go 
 instead — but no, Edith could never regain her lost place in Ed- 
 ward's affection. He had seen and acknowledged to Gertrude his 
 injustice in accusing any but himself of having led Laura into 
 error, and his manner to Edith had lately been peculiarly kind, 
 as if to atone for the harsh words he had spoken ; but the love 
 that has once been chilled can never be restored to its former 
 warmth. And Edith felt this, daily and hourly. It was the most 
 bitter drop in her cup of sorrow, for it was the consequence of 
 her own actions. In the doubtful state of her mind Gertrude had 
 recourse to Charlotte, whose quick yet cool judgment she had 
 learned especially to appreciate since it had been lately called into 
 action. 'What new mischief is there?' was the observation 
 with which her request for a few minutes' private conversation 
 was received. 
 
 ' Not mischief at all as yet,' replied Gertrude ; ' but I want 
 your advice. Edward and Laura go next week.' 
 
 'And they wish you to go with them? — exactly what I said 
 they would. Edith and I were talking of it only last night.' 
 
 'And what did Edith say?' 
 
 ' She is in the passage. I will make her come and tell herself.' 
 
 Poor Edith looked so very unhappy, that Gertrude did not like 
 to drag her into the conversation, but Charlotte began without 
 mercy. ' Now, Edith, give your own opinion. Is it best for 
 Gertrude to stay at home with us, or go abroad with Edward and 
 Laura ?' 
 
 ' I don't know — I don't care. Why should you ask me?' said 
 Edith. 
 
 ' Because you are a party concerned. If Gertrude goes, the
 
 GERTRUDE. 333 
 
 care of mamma and Jane will fall upon our shoulders : do you 
 foci equal to bearing it ? ' 
 
 'Should you very much object ?' said Gertrude, gently. 
 
 Edith appeared extremely distressed. 
 
 ' Well ! ' exclaimed Charlotte, ' if you will not speak, I may 
 as well do it. Go, by all means, Gertrude. I shall hate it cor- 
 dially, and be wretched till you come back ; but still, go. If 1 
 were you, I should dislike such short notice ; but that is not my 
 affair ' 
 
 ' My mother ! ' said Gertrude. ' That weighs with me most. 
 I know if we ask her to consent, she will ; but the whole thing 
 will be a shock to her. I cannot think what she will say.' 
 
 ' She has a notion already,' said Charlotte. ' The rumour bxs 
 been mentioned by visitors, though she has always contradicted 
 it, and I took an opportunity, yesterday, to say that I thought 
 it very probable Edward and Laura would spend the winter 
 abroad, and she opened her eyes, and said that it would be a 
 very good thing, and that it might make Laura quite a different 
 person.' 
 
 'But the circumstances?' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' Why say anything about them? Nothing will be done with 
 Allingham for some time, and when she has once become accus- 
 tomed to their absence she will feel it much less. It must be 
 broken to her gently at all events.' 
 
 ' But she must hear of it all soon,' said Gertrude. 
 
 Charlotte looked annoyed. ' I see how it is, Gertrude,' she 
 said ; ' you distrust us ; you think we shall not take care of my 
 mother ; but,' she added, more gravely, ' I think you might give 
 us credit for having learned something within the last twelve 
 months.' 
 
 ' I was really thinking only of myself,' replied Gertrude. ' I 
 could not agree to the notion unless mamma did ; but even if she 
 were to consent, I could not go with an) comfort if I fancied she 
 had anything dreadful hanging over her head, to be told her 
 when I was away.' 
 
 'Then tell her at once yourself,' exclaimed Charlotte; 'you 
 have no time to lose.' 
 
 ' That is the difficulty : perhaps it would be better ; but we 
 must decide immediately.' 
 
 'Yes, a week is a very little time for you to settle everything, 
 if you are going. But how will you manage?' 
 
 ' I am not sure,' said Gertrude, ' whether it would not be the
 
 334 GERTRUDE. 
 
 best way to say everything at once. I don't mean suddenly : but 
 one trouble neutralises another, and the selling Allingham will 
 swallow up all minor evils. Mamma will scarcely care for my 
 going when she thinks of Edward.' 
 
 ' If it is to be done/ said Charlotte, 'the sooner the better. I 
 should infinitely prefer myself sitting down in a dentist's chair, 
 which I used to think the acme of human misery ; however, you 
 are a person of courage, Gertrude.' 
 
 ' I do not feel at all courageous just at this minute,' replied 
 Gertrude. ' I must consider about it quietly alone first.' 
 
 She walked to the door, and Edith followed her. ' Did you 
 think me cross just now?' she said. ' It was very foolish and 
 wrong, but I think I was jealous. Five years ago, Edward 
 would not have asked you to go abroad with him.' 
 
 Gertrude wished to say that the time might come when he 
 would feel again as he had once done, but she had little hope oi 
 it, and Edith, having made her confession, hurried away. 
 
 Mrs Courtenay was in her little room, as usual ; but not, as 
 usual, busied in doing nothing. She was knitting a pair of 
 woollen socks for a poor old woman in Elsham, and a book lay 
 open beside her. ' I was just looking out the place where we left 
 off, my dear/ she said, ' and thinking I would go on by myself. 
 What kept you so long ? ' 
 
 ' I have been talking to Charlotte and Edith/ replied Gertrude. 
 
 ' Well ? but you have been with them ever since breakfast. 
 What can you have to say to each other ? ' 
 
 ' We were talking of Edward and Laura/ said Gertrude. 
 ' You know they have some idea of going abroad.' 
 
 ' Yes ; Charlotte told me so yesterday ; but is it settled ? How 
 quick they are in all their plans ?' 
 
 ' It is Edward's way generally/ replied Gertrude ; ' and now, 
 I believe, he has particular reasons for it. It is rather necessary 
 he should make some change ; he has been at such heavy ex- 
 penses.' 
 
 ' So he has, poor fellow ! As your dear father used to say, 
 people don't go into Parliament for nothing.' 
 
 ' No, indeed, they don't/ said Gertrude ; ' and Edward has 
 been particularly pressed lately.' 
 
 'Has he, indeed?' and Mrs Courtenay looked up from her 
 work rather frightened. 
 
 ' I think you must have seen he was worried/ continued Ger- 
 trude : ' and that has been the cause.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 335 
 
 ' Ah ! very likely ; nothing is so troublesome as money mat- 
 ters. When I first married I always had a headache whenever 
 I thought about them ; and at last your father took them out of 
 my hands entirely.' 
 
 'If Edward goes abroad,' said Gertrude, 'he will probably 
 stay some time.' 
 
 ' Yes, I dare say, when he is once there, he will wish to see 
 everything — all young people do. But, my dear, I don't like to 
 think about it. It made me very nervous when Charlotte told 
 me yesterday. Some one called at the time, and I thought it 
 was merely a notion of hers, not of any consequence. He won't 
 be going just yet, though?' 
 
 ' Next week, I rather think.' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay laid down her work. ' Next week ! Gertrude, 
 my dear ! you are dreaming. He can't — it is impossible — he 
 won't be ready.' 
 
 ' He does not like to delay,' said Gertrude, ' because of Laura. 
 Travelling later in the season will be inconvenient on her account.' 
 
 ' To be sure, I forgot. But, my dear, what will he do with 
 Allingham? Not trust it with Mrs Dickson, I hope? I don't 
 know why, and I have no wish to say a word against her, but I 
 can't help thinking she cheats him.' 
 
 ' Allingham is a very large place,' said Gertrude ; ' too large 
 for a man who desires to economise.' 
 
 ' So it is, dreadfully expensive ! I forget how many servants 
 the Colonel used to say it required, but it was an immense 
 number ; and Edward, poor fellow, is so fond of having things 
 in style.' 
 
 ' Perhaps it would be better if he were to let or sell it,' said 
 Gertrude, pronouncing the last word with hesitation. 
 
 ' Better, my dear ! ' repeated Mrs Courtenay, and she placed 
 her spectacles on the table, in utter astonishment and horror. 
 ' Better to let or sell Allingham ! Why, it has been in the family 
 for I can't tell how many years. It came to them just when the 
 last wall of the Priory that stood near here was pulled down. 
 The house then was an old place, all full of gables and chim- 
 neys ; and old Mr Courtenay, Samuel Courtenay, that was, your 
 great-great-grandfather, had it taken down, and built up again as 
 it is now. I have heard your father talk of it a hundred times, 
 and he always had a notion that some day or other it would 
 come into his part of the family. He and the Colonel never 
 likccl each other verv much.'
 
 336 GERTRUDE. 
 
 ' It would not be desirable, I grant,' said Gertrude, ' but if it 
 were right, dear mamma, you would be the last person to object.' 
 
 ' My dear, you are not serious. Right ! how could it be 
 right ? ' 
 
 ' It would be better to sell it,' said Gertrude, ' than to live in 
 it and run in debt.' 
 
 ' But who talks of running in debt ? Edward has a very hand- 
 some fortune, — ten times better than he had any reason to expect 
 when your father died.' 
 
 ' It was not so large as people imagined,' said Gertrude ; 'an J, 
 at all events, he has had immense claims upon it ; and I think, 
 if he were to go abroad, he would most likely decide upon doing 
 something with Allingham during his absence. Mr Rivers 
 strongly advises it.' 
 
 'Mr Rivers, my dear! advise! What are you talking of? 
 Mr Rivers is no relation.' 
 
 ' No, but he has the whole management of the property, and 
 knows what would be most prudent. And, dear mamma, if they 
 did go away, they still will be tolerably near you, because 
 Edward would most probably live in town. He thinks sometimes 
 of trying his profession again.' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay looked at Gertrude, and then rubbed her eyes. 
 ' I don't know,' she said, ' it is a very strange world ; things 
 come so suddenly. Has he only thought of it all since yester- 
 day?' 
 
 ' Oh yes, he has been planning it for some time, but he has 
 only just decided ; and what made me think of talking to you 
 about it this morning was, that Laura has written me a note to 
 ask if I would go abroad with them for a twelvemonth ; and, of 
 course, I could not consent unless you did.' 
 
 This last request was the completion of the shock. Mrs 
 Courtenay threw herself back in her chair and gasped for breath. 
 
 ' Abroad ; all of you gone ! to leave me.' 
 
 ' It would not be very long,' said Gertrude. 'Time passes so 
 quickly, and I think you would be more comfortable about Laura 
 if I were with her, and you would hear much oftener. Edward 
 is an extremely bad correspondent.' 
 
 ' Yes, to be sure, Laura looks very thin ; but, my dear, what 
 shall I do ? If you are not here, who will read to me ?' 
 
 'Edith will, I am certain,' said Gertrude; 'and one thing, dear 
 mamma, their being abroad will accustom you to their absence ; 
 you will not care so much for Edward's giving up Allingham.'
 
 GERTRUDE. 337 
 
 This was the important point which Gertrude felt it necessary 
 to insist on, as it was clear her mother by no means realised it. 
 ' It will be a very great trial for us at first,' she continued ; ' but 
 if he can sell Allingham, he will be freed from all his encum- 
 brances, — his debts, I mean ; and he will begin life, as it were, 
 afresh ; for he will go to the bar, and he is certain of doing well, 
 as far as any man can be, he is so clever.' 
 
 A glimpse of the truth was dawning upon poor Mrs Courtenay's 
 mind. She obliged Gertrude to repeat her words, and questioned 
 and wondered, till the facts were clearly brought to view, and 
 then her burst of grief was terrible to witness. The whole pride 
 of her heart was centered in Edward. From the day of his birth 
 till that hour she had looked upon him as something almost more 
 than mortal, and the idea of distress ever reaching him in his 
 journey through life had never yet entered her mind. Gertrude 
 felt for her mother's sorrow, the more because it was so hard to 
 comfort. Her mind was not equal to listening to reason at such 
 a time. She wrung her hands and cried, — one moment entreating 
 that they should all give up everything, — that they should leave 
 the Priory, and live upon nothing, rather than Edward should 
 suffer ; and the next declaring that the report must be untrue, — 
 it was only what ill-natured people thought, and she wondered 
 Gertrude could attend to such nonsense. With unwearied 
 patience Gertrude listened and sympathised, but she did not 
 attempt explanations. She knew that the feeling could not be 
 lasting from its very violence, but she felt thankful that the truth 
 was known ; and when Mrs Courtenay at length lay upon the 
 sofa, silent and still, because her strength was exhausted, Ger- 
 trude alluded to the only point which she had not yet mentioned, 
 and which she had purposely kept back, in the hope that it might 
 be some slight consolation. 
 
 'We will do something for him, dear mamma,' she said ; 'he 
 can have aunt Heathfield's fortune, instead of me, and that will 
 make him comfortable now, and by and by he may be a rich man 
 again.' 
 
 'Ah ! my dear, yes. Poor fellow ! Who could think it? Your 
 aunt's fortune was little enough.' 
 
 Gertrude felt a pang of disappointment, though she reproached 
 herself for it. She did not wish to be praised for a common act 
 of duty ; but she forgot that no one but Edith, herself, and Mr 
 Dacre understood the full extent of the sacrifice — how her bright 
 day-dreams had been destroyed, and how overpowering had been 
 
 Y
 
 338 GERTRUDE. 
 
 the first feeling of disappointment. Yet she continued trie subject 
 for nearly an hour ; and, at the end of that time, had in some 
 degree reconciled her mother to the arrangements, and obtained 
 permission to accompany Edward and Laura. 
 
 That day at the Priory was more painful than any which had 
 yet passed. Jane, who could no longer be kept in ignorance, 
 went to her own room and refused to see any one. Mrs Courtenay 
 cried incessantly ; Edith sat by, the image of blank despair ; while 
 Charlotte and Gertrude discussed the proposed journey, and the 
 preparations required. The tone of the conversation was not 
 agreeable to Gertrude's feelings. Charlotte was extremely useful, 
 sensible, and practical; she thought of everything, obviated every 
 difficulty, suggested plans, which none butherownpeculiarly clear 
 head could have devised ; even insisted upon making considerable 
 sacrifices for her sister's comfort ; but it was all done cheerfully, 
 and poor Gertrude was wretched, The idea of going abroad, 
 which at another time would have been a delight, was now full of 
 gloom. She fancied herself in a foreign country, amongst people 
 who could neither understand nor sympathise with her, — Edward 
 miserable, Laura ill. She thought of her mother's distress- at 
 home, and Edith's loneliness, and the desertion of Allingham, and 
 the trial it would be to them to see it inhabited by another family. 
 It seemed equally hard either to go or to stay. And then came 
 other thoughts, of the church and Mr Dacre. She had schooled 
 herself into submission, but the vision had never ceased to haunt 
 her. Even in the midst of all her late anxiety, it had been with 
 her, — in fancy and in dreams.; and before she returned it would 
 in all probability be reality. Some necessary steps had already 
 been taken, and now that the Allingham property was to be sold, 
 there would be no difficulty in determining the site. It was a 
 painful interest which Gertrude felt whenever Mr Dacre had 
 lately alluded to the subject. She longed to hear everything, 
 and yet when she had heard, she almost wished that it had never 
 been introduced. From any other person it would have been 
 overpowering, but Mr Dacre's perfect consideration and gentle- 
 ness softened the trial ; and even when suffering most, she felt as 
 if she had never before sufficiently estimated his character. And 
 of him, when they were so soon to part for many months, Ger- 
 trude thought much and anxiously. He had been a friend when 
 friendship was above all things needed, and he had understood 
 and sympathised with feelings so sacred and private, that she 
 could not have mentioned them in words. When she returned to
 
 GERTRUDE. 339 
 
 England, would he be waiting to welcome her, or was it more 
 than probable that, before a year had gone by, his troubled life 
 Avould be over? That his health was sinking there could be no 
 doubt ; it was the general remark, and he himself frequently 
 spoke of it, but the knowledge had never pressed so heavily upon 
 her before ; and when Edith mentioned it as they sat together, 
 after the remainder of the family were gone to rest, Gertrude 
 turned from the idea with a hasty assent and began talking of 
 other thing's. 
 
 CHAPTER XL VI. 
 
 THE evening was clear, soft, and motionless ; no breath of 
 wind stirred the leaves ; the song of the birds was stilled ; 
 the hum of the insects had nearly ceased. A few bright, flaky 
 clouds were gathering around the setting sun, which, as it slowly 
 sank to its repose, lit up the western horizon with abroad, golden 
 belt, melting through scarcely perceptible shades from brilliant 
 orange into a dim, shadowy green, and rising again from the 
 most delicate azure to the deep purple of the overhanging sky. 
 It was an hour for sweet yet solemn thoughts, for chastened 
 memories of earth, and tranquil hopes of heaven — a time when 
 holy influences seem hovering near, hushing to rest the cares of 
 the busy world, and shedding a secret charm over the homes of 
 earth unfelt and unthought of in the dazzling lustre of day. 
 And Edward and Laura stood together for the last time beneath 
 the colonnade at Allingham. The parting words had been said, 
 the last farewells taken. It was their own request that their few 
 remaining hours should be alone. And who could venture to 
 intrude upon such sorrow ? Who that has felt the bitterness of 
 parting for years, even Avith the prospect of return, from scenes 
 endeared by associations with all that life holds most precious, 
 could wish to disturb the grief which must fill the heart, when 
 the parting is brought upon us by our own folly, not for years, 
 but for ever ? And it seems vain at such a time to say that 
 happiness may be found in any place. Perhaps it may, and so 
 may kind words and voices of affection ; but do we therefore 
 feel the less when forced to relinquish all which we have hitherto 
 prized ? And the beauty of nature, and the scenes of home, are 
 not senseless and inanimate. There is a spirit enshrined in
 
 340 GERTRUDE. 
 
 each object on which our eyes have long been accustomed to 
 dwell, for we have hung upon it hopes and fears, thoughts of 
 love, and dreams of enjoyment ; and when the hour of separa- 
 tion draws nigh, they will crowd around us like the ghosts of by- 
 gone days, to mock us with the remembrance of pleasures which 
 may never again be ours. 
 
 It was not a moment for words ; deep feeling is, and must be, 
 silent ; but Laura clung to her husband's arm as she tearfully 
 gazed on the gorgeous sky ; and when a sigh escaped him in 
 the anguish of his soul, she turned to him with the same smile 
 which had once possessed such power to lead him from the 
 right path, and whispered, as she laid her hand upon his, ' Mine 
 still for ever.' Edward dared not speak, but he threw his arm 
 round her, and pressed her to his heart, and then slowly and 
 sorrowfully they went forth together. Through the walks, and 
 shrubberies, and terraces — by the green lawns, and the radiant 
 flowers, which shone mistily in the evening light — not one spot was 
 left unvisited, though Laura's weary step told that her strength 
 was nearly gone, and Edward, in anxious apprehension, urged 
 her to return. The task was at length over. Laura again stood 
 under the colonnade, and cast a lingering look upon the garden. 
 
 The sun had sunk, and by the pale streak of light which 
 marked where his path had been, the evening star now glittered 
 in solitary beauty. Edward raised his hand and pointed to it. 
 ' Will it be as lovely in a foreign land ?' he said. 
 
 ' Not to our eyes,' replied Laura ; ' but shall we murmur, 
 Edward ? Is there not much left us V 
 
 Edward thought for a few moments. 'Yes/ he said; 'this 
 same hour might have come, and I might have been alone.' 
 
 'And Charlie,' said Laura, 'and Gertrude, and the conscious- 
 ness that no one will have suffered but ourselves ; that no slur 
 can be cast upon our name. We have much to be thankful 
 for.' 
 
 ' Much, everything, while you are spared,' he exclaimed 
 earnestly. 
 
 ' And our child,' said Laura ; ' will you not come and look at 
 him?' 
 
 Edward hesitated. ' Go alone,' he said. ' Why should I be 
 reminded that I have injured him?' 
 
 The tone was so wretched that Laura could not press him. 
 She entered the house, but Edward immediately followed her. 
 The hall presented a dreary contrast to the beauty without. It
 
 GERTRUDE. 
 
 34i 
 
 was filled with boxes and trunks, and the few servants who had 
 not been dismissed were collecting the remaining articles for 
 the travelling bags, and discussing in an undcr-tonc the reasons 
 for their master's movements. Laura passed up the splendid 
 staircase, and through the long gallery, hung with family portraits, 
 till she reached her own luxurious apartment. The furniture 
 had been chosen to suit her particular taste, and involuntarily 
 she stopped and looked wistfully at the 'tables and chairs, the 
 glasses and couches, with which it was adorned. It was not 
 a sigh of regret, but of affection, which escaped her; but 
 Edward heard it, and it cut him to the heart. 
 
 ' You will come,' said Laura, opening a door which led into 
 her little boy's sleeping-room. 
 
 And Edward went. Laura bent over the bed and in the 
 delight of a mother's heart, forgot as she gazed upon her child's 
 fair forehead, and long, dark eyelashes, and rounded cheek, 
 flushed with the rosy tint of health, that life could have any 
 trials whilst he was with her ; but to Edward's mind they were 
 more vividly present at that instant than they had ever been 
 before. He stood apart, his arms folded on his breast, and his 
 features rigid with the effort to control his feelings ; but when 
 Charlie moved in his sleep, and softly murmured his name, his 
 stern self-command gave way, and for the first time, unmindful 
 of Laura's presence, his grief burst forth without restraint. 
 
 Who may tell the wretchedness of the remainder of that 
 dreary evening? The comfortless tea taken in Laura's room, 
 because she was too tired, and too sick at heart, to go down- 
 stairs. The pain with which Edward looked at the smallest 
 article with which he was to part. The trial of searching over 
 Laura's own books to see which it would be best to keep, and 
 then the last walk through the long, dark rooms, partly from a 
 wish to see them once more, and partly with the view of deciding 
 whether it would be desirable to give up two or three favourite 
 pieces of furniture. It was one protracted suffering, yet neither 
 of them could forego it. The drawing-room was the last place 
 they visited. It had not been used since the night of the dance, 
 and Laura shuddered as she recollected the splendid misery of 
 the archery party. Everything in it was to be sold : Laura's 
 inlaid work-table (Edward's present on her last birthday), her 
 chess-table, and flower-stand, and Mosaic cabinet ; even the 
 enamel miniatures, and collections of drawings by modern 
 artists. It was her own especial request. Since a sacrifice was
 
 342 GERTRUDE. 
 
 necessary, she desired it might be complete. Gertrude indeed 
 had urged that her mother was anxious to spare the several 
 articles which were especially valued, but Laura was resolved 
 They were luxuries, she said, and from henceforth her duty was 
 to live without them. Yet she could not resist going round to 
 each, and turning over the drawings, and opening the drawers 
 of the cabinet ; and Edward moved mechanically wherever she 
 did. 'This rubbish had better be thrown away,' she said, as 
 she took out some old papers. ' Let us just look through the 
 cabinet. We should be sorry to leave things which people may 
 remark upon.' 
 
 'They must have been here an immense time,' observed 
 Edward, unfolding a roll. It was the plan for the church. He 
 had never seen it since the night preceding the nomination-day 
 of his election. Laura looked at it now attentively, with far 
 different feelings from those which she then had. 
 
 ' The mistake was great,' said Edward, answering what he 
 felt must be in her thoughts. ' If this had been my object, how 
 different things would have been ! ' 
 
 'You did what you imagined your duty,' said Laura. 
 
 ' No,' he exclaimed, firmly, though sadly ; ' I made my duty 
 suit my will, not my will my duty.' 
 
 'But how could you have known what was your duty?' 
 
 'External circumstances — property — my own doubts — the 
 opinion of a man like Mr Dacie : but repentance has come too 
 late.' And heaving a deep sigh, he cast the paper aside, and 
 leaning his head upon the cabinet, remained buried in thought. 
 
 With that one sin came the remembrance of many others. 
 The doubtful acts which, though not encouraged, had been al- 
 lowed in order to secure his election ; the weakness and ir- 
 resolution which had induced him so frequently to act against 
 his conscience, in compliance with his wife's wishes, and which 
 had been the cause of Miss Forester's influence ; and an offence, 
 little thought of at the time, and long since forgotten, but which 
 now, by some mysterious power, returned upon him in all its 
 reality — the selfishness which had urged him to meditate an act 
 of cruelty, only not carried into effect, because the hand of death 
 anticipated his purpose. Was it superstition which made him 
 read in the trial of that hour, when he was bidding farewell to 
 his home, something of retribution for the hardness of heart 
 which would have inflicted a similar suffering on a fellow- 
 creature ? They were bitter thoughts ; and if Laura cculd have
 
 GERTRUDE. 3-13 
 
 known the secrets of his soul, she might have heard his earnest 
 confession in the words of one who also had wandered far astray: 
 ' Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before Thcc, and 
 am no more worthy to be called Thy son.' 
 
 ' There is no use in staying here longer,' he said, at length. 
 ' My sisters will take care that nothing is left which ought not 
 to be. I have spoken to them about it — and it is late. Re- 
 member we must set off early to-morrow.' 
 
 Laura still lingered ; past hours of happiness crowded upon 
 her memory, and her heart was full ; but she looked at her 
 husband, and recovering herself in an instant, she said quietly, 
 ' I think we have done all that was necessary ; ' and led the way 
 from the room. The timepiece in the hall was striking ten, 
 and Edward insisted upon her going immediately to bed. He 
 feared the fatigue of the next day, and he thought she might be 
 able to sleep ; but for himself he knew it would be vain to 
 expect it ; and many times in the course of the long night, as 
 Laura awoke from her broken slumbers, she heard him pacing 
 the adjoining room, and groaning in the anguish of a repentant 
 spirit, over the desolation which his own sins had caused. 
 
 And on that evening there were other farewell looks and part- 
 ing thoughts arising from the same circumstances, but mixed 
 with better, happier feelings. Gertrude walked with Edith and 
 Mr Dacre on the Priory terrace, and watched the golden sunset, 
 and welcomed the pale, evening star, and knew that the morrow 
 would see her far away from the scenes and the friends she loved 
 so well ; but her heart was thankful and at peace. She had 
 endeavoured to conquer the vain regrets for Edward's suffering, 
 from the hope that it might be the beginning of a new and holier 
 life ; and she could look back on the events of the last few months 
 with the consciousness that, with all her faults, she had acted 
 with a single heart. Purity of intention is the great secret of 
 peace ; and after a long conversation with Edith, in which she 
 received a strict promise that all other ordinary duties should 
 give way to the paramount obligation — her mother's comfort — 
 Gertrude enjoyed with melancholy pleasure her last conversation 
 with Mr Dacre. She spoke to him of the church, of her weak- 
 ness, her disappointment, the difficulty of submission ; and, if he 
 had allowed it, she would again have begged his forgiveness for 
 her hasty unkindness. And then she entreated that he would 
 himself write to her a detailed account of the plans for the build- 
 ing and the progress made. Mr Dacre listened with the deepest
 
 344 GERTRUDE. 
 
 interest, and entered into all her feelings ; but when she alluded 
 to the future, his manner changed. ' He would write,' he said. 
 ' whilst he was able ; but a year was a long time, even for the 
 strongest to calculate upon.' 
 
 Gertrude understood him, and a choking sensation arose in 
 her throat. 
 
 ' You will be in my thoughts,' he said, — ' all of you, every 
 day. My prayers may comfort you, when my fingers are power- 
 less.' 
 
 Gertrude felt a gratitude which she could not speak. She had 
 often longed to ask him to remember her thus. ' I little ima- 
 gined,' she said, ' that my first visit to the Continent would have 
 been so unjoyous. It was one of my childish dreams of perfect 
 happiness.' 
 
 ' And it is in this way that the greater number of our early 
 wishes are granted,' replied Mr Dacre, 'and at length we learn 
 the meaning of our disappointments ; we fear to wish at all. So 
 at least, I think you will feel, if you ever reach my age.' 
 
 'I have begun to feel it now,' said Gertrude. 'At this mo- 
 ment I am not aware that I have any great wish.' 
 
 ' Not for Edward ? ' inquired Edith. 
 
 'No, not even for him, beyond the desire that he may act 
 rightly. Which of us would venture to restore Allingham to 
 him if the means were in our power?' 
 
 ' My mother would,' said Edith. 
 
 ' Poor mamma ! ' exclaimed Gertrude. ' It is a worse trial 
 for her than for any of us ; but she will be better when to- 
 morrow is over.' 
 
 'She was sadly upset this afternoon when Edward and Laura 
 came over to see her,' said Edith. ' I think she fancied it was 
 the last visit, from their manner, though they did not exactly 
 say it.' 
 
 ' It will have been the last,' said Gertrude. ' The carriage is 
 to come for me first to-morrow morning. We agreed about it 
 before they went away.' 
 
 'Then I shall not see you again?' said Mr Dacre, in a pecu- 
 liarly suppressed voice, as he directed his steps towards the 
 entrance-gate. 
 
 ' We start early,' replied Gertrude, ' but is it impossible ? ' 
 
 * It could do no good,' he said, ' and you will have enough 
 farewells without my adding to the number.' 
 
 Gertrude felt he was right, but she could not force herself to
 
 GERTRUDE. 345 
 
 acknowledge it. They reached the gate in silence. ' You will 
 
 think of me in my long, weary journey ?' said Gertrude, as Mr 
 Dacre lingered, unwilling to open it. 
 
 'And you of me in mine, if such should be the will of God ? 
 It may be a long, but not, I trust, a weary one.' 
 
 ' Why — why should you say it ? ' exclaimed Gertrude ; and 
 her cheek was pale, and her lip quivered. ' I told you 1 had no 
 great wish ; but I have one, — that we may meet again.' 
 
 'And it will be granted,' he said, solemnly, 'though many 
 years may pass first.' 
 
 Gertrude's tears came in spite of her utmost efforts. ' It may 
 be on earth,' she said. 
 
 ' Yes, and if not ' . He took her hand and pressed it to 
 
 his lips. ' May God's blessing be with you through life ! ' 
 
 Gertrude would have spoken, but he had turned away. For a 
 few minutes he pursued his path rapidly, but then his strength 
 il.igged ; and when she looked at his tall, attenuated figure, and 
 feeble steps, Gertrude felt as if the decree had already gone forth, 
 that she should see him on earth no more. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 ALL who have experienced the oppression of that moment 
 when we first awake to consciousness upon a day of heavy 
 trial, will understand the weight upon Edward's heart, when the 
 light broke into his chamber, and roused him from the deep 
 slumber which had followed his long hours of watchfulness. It 
 was a glorious morning. The sun shone brilliantly in the un- 
 clouded sky, and the freshness of the early dew was lying on the 
 smooth turf; insects were humming on the window, and 
 straggling sunbeams dancing on the many-coloured carpet and 
 damask furniture. The luxury and beauty of his home struck 
 Edward with the vividness of a scene which is gazed on for the 
 first time. He thought that he was leaving happiness for 
 ever. Other scenes might be as fair, — other spots as fitted for 
 enjoyment ; but, even were they his, where would be the associ- 
 ations which had made Allingham so dear? and when would 
 the buoyancy of spirit be restored to him which had enabled 
 him to enjoy them ? The answer came from the depth of his
 
 346 GERTRUDE. 
 
 heart — 'Never!' And Gertrude awoke yet earlier, with the 
 knowledge that much was still left her to think of. Her last 
 evening had been occupied with her mother, whose anxiety for 
 Edward had increased daily as the time drew near for his 
 journey. Understanding little or nothing of business she could 
 not persuade herself that his ruin was complete, and harassed 
 herself with the idea that it would still be possible, by some 
 great personal sacrifice, to save him. Edward, when the notion 
 had first been hinted to him, rejected it without a moment's 
 hesitation; but Mrs Courtenay would not be convinced, and with 
 all a parent's partiality for an only son, she would have given up 
 all herself, and overlooked the privations entailed upon every 
 other member of her family, to save him from suffering. Ger- 
 trude's sacrifice she scarcely considered. Nothing indeed would 
 have satisfied her but the complete restoration of his fortune, 
 and it was not until Gertrude had reasoned, and entreated, and 
 repeated the same arguments again and again, that she had been 
 persuaded, late on the preceding evening, to give up the idea of 
 their all leaving the Priory, and agreed only to make such altera- 
 tion in their style of living as would enable him to live with 
 greater comfort abroad, and to begin his profession upon a com- 
 petency, when the year of exile was expired. And even this 
 Gertrude knew must not be hinted to her brother. Whatever 
 was to be done must pass through her hands, and this formed an 
 additional reason for being contented to go with him. There 
 were so many ways in which he might be assisted without his 
 delicacy being wounded, wh:~h no one but a member of his own 
 family could discover. Mrs Courtenay was, however, at length 
 convinced, apparently, if not really, and Gertrude was relieved at 
 finding that her mother's tears ceased, and that she became more 
 tranquil. She bade her good night with the earnest request that 
 she would not think of rising early the next day. It would only 
 make her ill, and the rest of the family uncomfortable, and she 
 promised to go to her room the last thing. Mrs Courtenay 
 assented, but the next morning, before Gertrude was dressed, 
 she heard her mother's voice, inquiring whether the coffee was 
 ready, and sending the footman to the lodge, to look down the 
 road, and see whether the carriage was coming. Gertrude left 
 the conclusion of her packing to Charlotte, and went down-stairs. 
 Jane and Edith were writing directions, and Mrs Courtenay, 
 whose sorrow and nervousness were conquered for the moment 
 by the interest of providing for her daughter's comfort, was
 
 GERTRUDE. 347 
 
 cutting some meat at a side-table. ' I thought you would never 
 come, my dear,' she exclaimed ; ' your coffee is quite cold, and 
 you will have no time to eat.' 
 
 ' I want very little, thank you,' said Gertrude. ' I am not at 
 all hungry.' 
 
 ' Oh ! but my love, just consider, you are going such a long 
 journey ; you will make me very unhappy if you don't ; and I 
 ordered the chicken to be dressed expressly, for I thought poor 
 Edward and Laura might come without any breakfast, and then 
 perhaps they would finish here.' 
 
 ' I scarcely think they will be ready in time,' said Gertrude, 
 ' and they wish me to go to them. Perhaps it will be the best 
 arrangement.' 
 
 The knife and fork dropped from Mrs Courtenay's hands, and 
 all the grief which had been for the time suppressed burst forth 
 again. Lamentations, sighs, tears ; but in the midst of all she 
 still insisted upon Gertrude's eating. 
 
 ' Don't attempt it,' whispered Jane ; but Gertrude saw her 
 mother's eyes fixed upon her, and forced herself to do the only 
 thing which she knew would satisfy her. 
 
 ' You will write to me ? ' said Edith, in an under-tone. ' All 
 my comfort will go with you.' 
 
 ' Not all, dearest ; and I am sure you may make things 
 better.' 
 
 4 1 will try it ; but I don't understand it as you do.' 
 
 ' Attention,' said Gertrude, — ' attention to other persons' ways 
 and habits. I think that is the secret.' 
 
 Edith looked very desponding. At that instant Charlotte 
 entered. ' Done at last ! ' she exclaimed, holding up the keys. 
 ' I would not have taken the trouble for any other human 
 being.' 
 
 ' Just in time,' said Jane ; ' I hear the carriage.' 
 
 Mrs Courtenay went into the hall with the faint hope of seeing 
 Edward. 
 
 ' We shall hear from Boulogne ? ' said Jane. 
 
 Gertrude promised that she would not delay a single hour if 
 she could possibly avoid it. They should have a detailed ac- 
 count of everything. And anxious to shorten the parting, she 
 hurried out of the room, followed by her sisters. 
 
 ' This time twelvemonth, dear mamma,' said Gertrude, as she 
 threw her arm round her mother's neck, — 'we must look forward 
 to that.'
 
 348 GERTRUDE. 
 
 Mrs Courtenay seated herself in a chair, and cried bitterly ; 
 and Gertrude felt inclined to repent her decision. The servants 
 crowded into the hall ; she could scarcely speak to say good-bye 
 to them, and almost wondered at herself for feeling so much. 
 ' My mother ! ' was her last word to Edith, as she held her 
 hand. 
 
 ' You may depend on us both,' said Charlotte. 
 
 Gertrude stood up in the carriage till it had turned the corner 
 of the road, and then gave up her mind to Allingham. 
 
 And much indeed there was to prepare for ; but the drive was 
 short, and before she had summoned up all the thoughts which 
 she trusted might support herself and others in the coming trial, 
 the carriage stopped. Edward and Laura were awaiting her 
 arrival in the hall ; and little Charlie, standing by his nurse, was 
 expressing in broken accents his wonder and delight at the novelty 
 of the scene. Edward leaned against a marble pillar, with a coun- 
 tenance which told but too plainly the tale of his broken rest and 
 his morning's agony of mind. He looked at all that was passing, 
 but he gave no orders ; even then he felt himself a stranger in his 
 own halls. And Laura was at his side, silent and trembling ; 
 only occasionally she stroked her child's glossy hair, or in a faint 
 voice inquired if every direction had been attended to. There 
 were few servants present, and of those few, none who had any 
 peculiar interest in their master. All whom he had most valued 
 he had provided with other situations before parting with them. 
 The housekeeper had taken upon herself the whole authority, and 
 moved and spoke with an air and tone which, a few months be- 
 fore, would have insured her immediate dismissal. Edward was 
 not insensible, though he appeared so. He heard every word, 
 and saw every action, and each symptom of indifference or inat- 
 tention was felt with the keenness of a broken spirit. Gertrude 
 greeted him briefly. She expressed no fear lest he had been kept 
 waiting, but assisted in collecting the few things that were not 
 already packed, and then going up to her brother, she said, ' The 
 carriage is ready.' Edward sprang forward as if he dared not 
 think. With perfect calmness he assisted Laura to put on her 
 cloak, and tied his child's hat, and walked round the hall to see 
 that nothing was left behind, and then, placing Gertrude and 
 Laura in the carriage, he seated himself with Charlie by his side, 
 and drawing his travelling cap over his forehead, closed his eyes, 
 Gertrude held her sister's trembling hand. Laura sat upright, 
 and her breath was quick and faint. It seemed as if her earnest
 
 GERTRUDE. 349 
 
 gaze was seeking to retain the impression of every tree and fence, 
 — every winding of the road ; and onward the carriage roiled, 
 rapidly and easily, each turning of the wheel robbing them of 
 some spot endeared by memory and affection. It was but the 
 work of a few minutes. They reached the Park gate. The 
 lodge-keeper, an old, gray-headed servant of the family, came 
 forward to express his wishes for his master's prosperous 
 journey. Edward raised his head, and tried to thank him, but 
 the tone was strained and unnatural ; and Laura bowed her 
 gratitude, — she could do no more. And the greeting was over. 
 Edward, in a hoarse voice, called to the postilion to proceed, 
 and then once more the carriage rolled on, and Allingham 
 was left for ever. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIIL 
 
 ABOUT half-way up the ascent of a wide, heath-covered hill, 
 distant nearly two miles from the village of Elsham, 
 stands a small church of modern date, in the decorated style of 
 the fourteenth century. The beauty of the situation, command- 
 ing an extensive view over the valley of Elsham, backed by the 
 Allingham woods, might alone excite admiration ; but a more 
 rare and perhaps more interesting subject for observation, is to 
 be found in the building itself. The deep porch, with its mas- 
 sive door and ornamented hinges, the flowing tracery of the 
 windows, the rich mouldings, the buttresses surmounted by 
 carved pinnacles, the trefoil parapet, the spire rising from a 
 tower of exquisite proportions, all tell that the hand of taste as 
 well as of piety has been busied in erecting a fitting temple for 
 the worship of God. And to those who have gazed on it with 
 pleasure, it may perhaps add something of a deeper interest to 
 know that he who dedicated no small portion of his worldly 
 substance to be thus employed for his Maker's honour, was 
 summoned to his great reward before he had been permitted to 
 witness the full completion of his work. 
 
 About three weeks previous to the day fixed for the consecra- 
 tion of Torrington church, Mr Dacre breathed his last, after an 
 illness of a few hours; his final request being that no alteration 
 might take place in the arrangements which he had made. He 
 had no regrets, no longings : the praise of man could be nothing
 
 350 GERTRUDE. 
 
 to him, who for so many years had sought only the favour of 
 God. Some thoughts, indeed, there were of one, who in the 
 course of a few days was about to return to her home, and 
 whose voice it would have soothed him once more to hear ; but 
 they were thoughts of comfort and peace, for Gertrude's frequent 
 letters from abroad had relieved him from many sources of 
 nnxiety. She had told him of Edward's increasing stability of 
 character, of Laura's improving health, and her own perfect 
 satisfaction in all that had been done. She was not, she said, 
 resigned merely, but grateful. Edward's peace of mind had 
 been lightly purchased by the sacrifice of her own inclinations, 
 and all that she desired was to know that the task which had 
 fallen into Mr Dacre's hands had been fulfilled according to 
 his wishes. To have received the assurance from her own lips 
 would, indeed, have been a blessing ; but Mr Dacre had learned 
 most perfectly the lesson of submission, and when he was told 
 that a few hours must, in all human probability, terminate his 
 existence, he turned from the prospect of an earthly meeting, 
 to the hope of one upon which no parting should follow. And 
 as Mr Dacre had lived, so he died, — humbly, thankfully, and in 
 faith, — his hands crossed upon his breast, and his lips moving 
 in prayer to the Saviour, in whose merits alone he trusted ; and 
 when the last breath was drawn, not one of those who viewed 
 the smile which rested upon his worn features, dared, even for 
 an instant, to indulge the wish that would have recalled him 
 from his deep repose. 
 
 It was a bitter trial for Gertrude when the intelligence first 
 reached her. She was then on her way to England, and the 
 latest accounts had been so good, that he had buoyed herself up 
 with the idea that the foreboding tone of their last interview had 
 been merely the effect of passing circumstances — that they might 
 meet again, and that, perhaps, it might be granted to her to be a 
 comfort to him in his last days. She thought of her home, and 
 longed to be restored to it ; but the remembrance of the voice 
 now silent, which she had hoped would join in welcoming her, 
 cast a melancholy shade over every anticipation of pleasure. 
 
 The arrangements of Edward's property had by this time been 
 made. Alhngham had passed into other hands ; and, with no 
 fortune but that of a name unstained, and resolution strengthened 
 by trial, he was about to recommence his career in life. Gertrude 
 stayed with him till he was settled in London, in a small house, in 
 a quiet street, with two servants, — no carriages, no luxuries,
 
 GERTRUDE. 351 
 
 nothing but the necessaries of life; and when she had seen him 
 smile, as Laura occupied herself with domestic affairs, and laugh 
 at the deficiencies of his establishment, her mind was happy. If 
 he had no false shame, she had little doubt of his ultimate success. 
 And Edward was hopeful also. He knew his own powers, but 
 he did not trust to them. If the blessing of God went with his 
 endeavours, they would prosper — if not, the wisdom of ages 
 could not help him. And the blessing of God rests upon a pure 
 intention, a heart which will shrink from evil, at whatever risk, 
 under whatever temptation. With Allingham in his possession, 
 purchased by the relinquishment of a single principle of right, 
 his happiness would have hung upon a thread, which a single 
 instant might sever ; and this he now unhesitatingly acknow- 
 ledged. 
 
 The moment was a happy, though a trying one, when Ger- 
 trude once more found herself seated in the drawing-room at the 
 Priory, her mother questioning her about Edward, and her 
 sisters crowding round her, as around a newly-found treasure. 
 But the pleasure was quickly damped, — an allusion to Mr Dacre 
 brought back the full remembrance of her loss. Yet it was only 
 when by herself, or with Edith, that she ventured to give way 
 to her grief, for Edith alone had known and appreciated him 
 truly. To hear his name mentioned carelessly was a profanation 
 scarcely to be endured ; but it was a trial to which she was 
 daily subjected. A person of Mr Dacre's character and fortune 
 could not die without leaving many causes for curiosity and 
 speculation. 
 
 Every one turned to General Forester, as the party most in- 
 terested in the event ; and the General attended at the opening 
 of the will, with a self-important manner, but ill concealed by an 
 affectation of regret. Yet he might have spared himself any 
 anxiety. He was remembered, so was his daughter, so were 
 Edward, and Gertrude, and Edith, and the housekeeper and 
 servants, with kind expressions and small legacies, but the bulk 
 of Mr Dacre's fortune was gone. He had disposed of it during 
 the latter part of his life, in favour of some public institutions in 
 India, and the church had swallowed up the remaining portion, 
 which he had reserved for his own especial need. He was a rich 
 man, but he died poor ; no one knew how poor, but those who 
 had witnessed the increasing abstemiousness of his habits, and 
 the denial of what to many would have been only necessaries, 
 after he had decided upon the building and endowment of his
 
 352 GERTRUDE. 
 
 church General Forester's disappointment was keen, and 
 plainly shown. Miss Forester affected indifference, but not 
 with her usual success. The last year had robbed her of much 
 of the interest of her existence ; and middle age was creeping 
 upon her before she had forgotten the follies of youth. The 
 Grange was distasteful, the Priory odious, Elsham insipid. She 
 spoke of travelling, and her father seconded the idea. He 
 thought it might amuse, and relieve ennui; but it was a delusive 
 fancy. Happiness lies in our own hearts, and they who seek it 
 elsewhere will assuredly seek in vain. 
 
 It was with an involuntary feeling of satisfaction that Gertrude 
 heard of their intention to leave the Grange, at least for two 
 years. Every association connected with them was full of pain. 
 She could not endure Miss Forester's inquiries after Laura, or 
 the tone in which she alluded to Mr Dacre, as her late dear uncle ; 
 and when, about a fortnight after her return, she understood that 
 business had called both the General and his daughter to town, 
 and that it was thought they would not return again, the relief 
 was not to be expressed. Yet, notwithstanding Gertrude's many 
 subjects for regret, there were some changes in her home circle 
 which were a source of never-ceasing thankfulness. Mrs Cour- 
 tenay's mind was not, indeed, enlarged, but she had become less 
 excitable, less dependent upon luxuries, and estimated more 
 deeply the importance of religious duties ; and Edith and her 
 sisters were more united, more willing to take a common interest 
 in the poor, and to exert themselves in the schools. Edith was 
 considerate, and Charlotte softened, and Jane less wrapped up in 
 herself. The difference was not very marked, but it could not be 
 hidden from Gertrude, for trial had brought with it thought, and 
 thought was maturing into practice ; and as Gertrude watched 
 these dawnings of a better spirit, she thought that no affliction 
 could be overwhelming, which brought such blessings in its train. 
 Yet, when the day of the consecration arrived, the spring of her 
 past sorrow seemed opened afresh. Since her return she had never 
 summoned courage to walk to the Heath ; and when she stood, for 
 the first time, with Edith before Mr Dacre's church, the memo- 
 ries which flashed like lightning upon her mind were sad almost 
 to tears. Allingham and its beauty, Edward's ruin, her own dis- 
 appointment, Laura's illness, seemed again realities ; and Mr 
 Dacre seemed still near her, — she almost heard his grave, quiet 
 tones, and saw his deep-searching eye, and sweet though sad 
 smile ; and then she looked upon the beautiful building before
 
 GERTRUDE. 35 3 
 
 her, raised as if by magic in the wilderness, and it was a dream — 
 a phantom. Edith chew her into the church, for the crowd was 
 pressing on. Through the stained windows was gleaming a misty 
 light, and upon the clustered pillows rainbow hues were flickering ; 
 and dimness rested upon the dark oak roof and the raised char 
 — a dimness which was, as it were, the shadow of heaven. The 
 building was the type of the spiritual temple of God, and His 
 peace seemed resting upon it. With soothed and tranquil hearts 
 Gertrude and her sister took their places, where, retired and un- 
 observed, they might join without distraction in the services of 
 the day. By degrees the church was filled, the rustling murmurs 
 ceased, and the procession of the bishop and clergy moved down 
 the narrow aisles. And then was heard the solemn acknowledg- 
 ment of the sovereignty of the Lord of Heaven, and the encour- 
 agement to those who, with clean hands and pure hearts, would 
 seek to rise up in His holy place ; the exhortation to pray faith- 
 fully and devoutly for the blessing of God; and the entreaty thai- 
 He would vouchsafe to be present with those who were there 
 gathered together; that He would accept their service and blesb 
 it with success; that He would sanctify those who in that house 
 should be dedicated to Him by baptism ; that He would keep for 
 ever, and preserve in the unity of His Church, those who should 
 there renew their vows ; that He would fill with His heavenlv 
 benediction whosoever should in that place receive the blessed 
 sacrament of the body and blood of Christ ; that He would give 
 strength for the performance of the marriage vow ; grace to the 
 hearers of His holy Word ; steadfastness of faith, seriousness, and 
 sincerity to the penitent ; and to all such a portion of His Holy 
 Spirit, that, after serving and worshipping Him below, they might 
 finally be received into His presence. 
 
 The service proceeded. The appointed psalms, the lessons, 
 with the solemn words in which Solomon dedicated the Temple 
 of Jerusalem, the daily prayers, in which the needs of the Church 
 are intended to be continually represented before the throne of 
 grace ; the entreaty that the people of God might be filled with 
 an awful apprehension of His Divine Majesty, and a deep sense 
 of their own unworthiness ; the assertions of the Apostle of the 
 mysterious privileges by which Christians are made the temples 
 of the living God ; and the awful warning against profaning the 
 dwelling-place of the Most High. 
 
 The sermon followed ; and when it was ended, and the final 
 prayers were read from the altar, Gertrude's heart beat quickly. 
 
 z
 
 354 GERTRUDE. 
 
 There was one most fervent petition for unity, and then the 
 bishop paused. He, for whom the next prayer should have been 
 offered, was beyond the reach of intercession. Lonely and child- 
 less, he had passed to his eternal rest, and the kindness which 
 he had showed for the house of his God was written among the 
 deeds which shall be blessed, not on earth, but in heaven. 
 For him there was no need to seek ' the peace that passeth 
 understanding.' 
 
 Gertrude and Edith were among the first to leave the church. 
 They did not pause, or speak, or look back, till they had reached 
 a still, sheltered spot, far from the road which they believed all 
 others would take ; and then Edith drew a long breath, and, in 
 a low, half-broken voice, said — 
 
 ' Gertrude, was it a sinful wish ? The prayer was uttered for 
 no one ; — it might have been for you.' 
 
 Gertrude's answer was firm. ' Yes ; and at that moment a 
 thought of self might have arisen, and the offering would have 
 been marred.' 
 
 On the north side of the altar in Torrington church there is 
 inserted in the floor a small brass plate, inscribed with Mr 
 Dacre's name, and the date of his birth and of his death. It is 
 all that remains to tell of him who founded and endowed the 
 beautiful edifice which is now the admiration of the beholder, 
 and the centre of instruction and blessing to the neat and orderly 
 population which has sprung up around its walls. But there 
 needs no earthly monument to remind those who once dwelt 
 within reach of his bounty, of the friend thus granted for their 
 aid. In the cottage and the hovel, in sunshine and in gloom, 
 beneath the summer's sun and by the winter's hearth, his name 
 is yet remembered and beloved ; and when years have gone by, 
 and the great and the powerful have sunk into oblivion, it may 
 be that the light of his example shall still linger upon earth ; for 
 ! the memory of the just is blessed.' 
 
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 12*. Libraiy Edition, 2 vols. 8vo. 36*. 
 Mendelssohn's Letters. Translated by Lady Wallace. 2 vols. cr. 8vo. 5*. each. 
 Mill (James) Biography of, by Prof. Bain. Crown 8vo. 5*. 
 
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 — — Autobiography. 8vo. 7*. 6d. 
 
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 MUller's (Max) Biographical Essays. Crown 8vo. 7*. 6d. 
 
 Newman's Apologia pro Vita Sua. Crown 8vo. 6*. 
 
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 Trevelyan's Early History of Charles James Fox. Crown Svo. 6*. 
 
 Wellington's Life, by Gleig. Crown Svo. 6*. 
 
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 Bacon's Essays, with Annotations by Whately. Svo. 10*. 6d. 
 
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 Bagehot's Economic Studies, edited by Hutton. 8vo. 10*. 6.?. 
 
 — The Postulates of English Political Economy. Crown 8vo. 2*. (id. 
 Bain's Logic, Deductive and Inductive. Crown Svo. 10*. 6d. 
 
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 — The Senses and the Intellect. Svo. 15*. 
 
 — The Emotions and the Will. 8vo. 15*. 
 
 — Practical Essays. Crown 8vo. 4*. 6<f. 
 
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 Crozier's Civilization and Progress. Svo. 14*. 
 
 Crump's A Short Enquiry into the Formation of English Political Opinion. 
 
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 Green's (Thomas Hill) Works. (3 vols.) Vol. 1, Philosophical Works. 8vo. 16*. 
 
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 Hume's Essays, edited by Green & Grose. 2 vols. 8vo. 28*. 
 
 — Treatise of Human Nature, edited by Green & Grose. 2 vols. 8vo. 28*. 
 Lang's Custom and Myth : Studies of Early Usage and Belief. Crown 8vo. 7*. 6d. 
 Leslie's Essays in Political and Moral Philosophy. 8vo. 10*. Gd. 
 
 Lewes's History of Philosophy. 2 vols. 8vo. 32*. 
 
 List's Natural System of Political Economy, translated by S. Lloyd, M.P. 
 
 8vo. 10*. 6d. 
 Lubbock's Origin of Civilisation. 8vo. 18*. 
 
 Macleod's Principles of Economical Philosophy. In 2 vols. Vol. 1, 8vo. 15*. 
 Vol. 2, Part 1. 12*. 
 
 — The Elements of Economics. (2 vols.) Vol. 1, cr. 8vo. 7*. Gd. Vol. 2' 
 
 Part I. cr. 8vo. 7*. Gd. 
 
 — The Elements of Banking. Crown 8vo. 5*. 
 
 — The Theory and Practice of Banking. Vol. 1, 8vo. 12*. 
 
 — Elements of Political Economy. 8vo. 16*. 
 
 — Economics for Beginners. 8vo. 2*. Gd. 
 
 — Lectures on Credit and Banking. 8vo. 5*. 
 
 Mill's (James) Analysis of the Phenomena of the Human Mind. 2 vols. 8vo. 28*. 
 Mill (John Stuart) on Representative Government. Crown 8vo. 2*. 
 
 — — on Liberty. Crown 8vo. 1*. 4d. 
 
 — — Essays on Unsettled Questions of Political Economy. 8vo. 
 
 6*. Gd. 
 
 — — Examination of Hamilton's Philosophy. 8vo. 16*. 
 
 — Logic. 2 vols. 8vo. 2.')*. People's Edition, 1 vol. cr. 8vo. 5*. 
 — ■ — Principles of Political Economy. 2 vols. 8vo. 30*. People's 
 
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 — — ■ Subjection of Women. Crown 8vo. 6*. 
 
 — — Utilitarianism. 8vo. 5*. 
 
 — — Three Essays on Religion, &c. 8vo. 5*. 
 Miller's (Mrs. Fenwick) Readings in Social Economy. Crown Svo. 2*. 
 Mulhall's History of Prices since 1850. Crown 8vo. 6*. 
 
 Sandars's Institutes of Justinian, with English Notes. 8vo. 18*. 
 
 Seebohm's English Village Community. 8vo. 16*. 
 
 Sully's Outlines of Psychology. Svo. 12*. Gd. 
 
 Swinburne's Picture Logic. Post 8vo. 5s. 
 
 Thompson's A System of Psychology. 2 vols. Svo. 36*. 
 
 Thomson's Outline of Necessary Laws of Thought. Crown 8vo. 6*. 
 
 Twiss's Law of Nations in Time of War. Svo. 21*. 
 
 — — in Time of Peace. 8vo. 15*. 
 
 Webb's The Veil of Isis. Svo. 10*. Gd. 
 Whately's Elements of Logic. Crown 8vo. 4*. Gd. 
 
 — — — Rhetoric. Crown 8vo. 4*. Gd. 
 Wy lie's Labour, Leisure, and Luxury. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 Zeller's History of Eclecticism in Greek Philosophy. Crown 8vo. 10*. Gd. 
 
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 — Pre-Socratic Schools. 2 vols, crown 8vo. 30*. 
 
 — Socrates and the Socratic Schools. Crown 8vo. 10*. 6d. 
 
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 — Outlines of the History of Greek Philosophy. Crown Svo. 10*. Sd. 
 
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 Arnold's (Dr. Thomas) Miscellaneous Works. 8vo. 7*. Gd. 
 Bagehot's Literary Studies, edited by Hutton. 2 vols. 8vo. 28*. 
 Beacousfield (Lord), The Wit and Wisdom of. Crown Svo. 3s. Gd. 
 
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 How to Play Whist. Crown 8vo. 5s. Star Primer. Crown 4to. 2s. GJ. 
 
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 CLASSICAL LANGUAGES AND LITERATURE. 
 
 JEschylus, The Eumenides of. Text, with Metrical English Translation, by 
 J. F. Da vies. 8vo. 7s. 
 
 Aristophanes' The Achamians, translated by It. Y. Tyrrell. Crown 8vo. 2s. Gd. 
 
 Aristotle's The Ethics, Text and Notes, by Sir Alex. Grant, Bart. 2 vols. 8vo. 32*. 
 
 The Nicomachean Ethics, translated by Williams, crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 
 — The Politics, Books I. III. IV. (VII.) with Translation, &c. by 
 
 Bolland and Lang. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 Becker's Charicles and Gallus, by Metcalfe. Post 8vo. 7s. Gd. each. 
 Cicero's Correspondence, Text and Notes, by K. Y. Tyrrell. Vol. 1, 8vo. 12s. 
 Homer's Iliad, Homometrically translated by Cayley. 8vo. 12s. Gd. 
 
 — Greek Text, with Verse Translation, by W. C. Green. Vol. 1, 
 Books I.-XII. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 Mahaffy's Classical Greek Literature. Crown 8vo. Vol. 1, The Poets, 7s. Gd. 
 
 Vol. 2, The Prose Writers, 7s. Gd. 
 Plato's Parmenides, with Notes, &c. by J. Maguire. 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 Sophocles' Tragoediag Superstites, by Lin wood. Svo. 10s. 
 Virgil's Works, Latin Text, with Commentary, by Kennedy. Crown 8vo. 10s. Gd. 
 
 — -<Eneid, translated into English Verse, by Conington. Crown Svo. 9s. 
 
 — Poems, — — — Prose, — Crown 8vo. 9s. 
 Witt's Myths of Hellas, translated by F. M. Younghusband. Crown 8vo. 3s. Gd. 
 
 — The Trojan War, — — Fcp. Svo. 2s. 
 
 — The Wanderings of Ulysses, — Crown Svo. 3s. Gd. 
 
 NATURAL HISTORY, BOTANY, & GARDENING. 
 
 Allen's Flowers and their Pedigrees. Crown 8vo. Woodcuts, 5s. 
 Decaisne and Le Maout's General System of Botany. Imperial 8vo. 31s. Gd. 
 Dixon's Kural Bird Life. Crown Svo. Illustrations, 5s. 
 Hartwig's Aerial World, 8vo. 10s. Gd. 
 
 — Polar World, 8vo. 10s. Gd. 
 
 — Sea and its Living Wonders. Svo. 10s. Gd. 
 
 — Subterranean World, 8vo. 10s. Gd. 
 Tropical World, 8vo. 10s. Gd. 
 
 Lindley's Treasury of Botany. Fcp. Svo. Cs. 
 Loudon's Encyclopaedia of Gardening. 8vo. 21s. 
 
 Plants. 8vo. 42s. 
 Rivers's Orchard House. Crown 8vo. 5s. 
 
 — Bose Amateur's Guide. Fcp. 8vo. 4s. Gd. 
 
 — Miniature Fruit Garden. Fcp. Svo. 4s. 
 Stanley's Familiar History of British Birds. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 Wood's Bible Animals. With 112 Vignettes. Svo. 10s. Gd. 
 
 — Common British Insects. Crown Svo. 3s. Gd. 
 
 — Homes Without Hands, 8vo. 10s. 6(/. 
 
 — Insects Abroad, Svo. 10s. Gd. 
 
 — Horse and Man. Svo. 14s. 
 
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 — Strange Dwellings. Crown 8vo. 5s. Popular Edition, 4to. Gd. 
 
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 THE FINE ARTS AND ILLUSTRATED EDITIONS. 
 
 Dresser's Arts aud Art Manufactures of Japan. Square crown 8vo. 31*. Gd. 
 Eastlakc's Household Taste in Furniture, &c. Square crown 8vo. 14*. 
 Jameson's Sacred and Legendary Art. 6 vols, square 8vo. 
 Legends of the Madonna. 1 vol. 21*. 
 
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 — — — Saints and Martyrs. 2 vols. 31*. Gd. 
 
 — — — Saviour. Completed by Lady Eastlake. 2 vols. 42*. 
 Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome, illustrated by Scharf. Fcp. 4to. 10*. Gd. 
 The same, with Ivry and the Armada, illustrated by Weguelin. Crown 8vo. 3*. Gd. 
 Moore's Lalla Rookh, illustrated by Tenniel. Square crown 8vo. 10*. Gd. 
 
 New Testament (The) illustrated with Woodcuts after Paintings by the Early 
 
 Masters. 4to. 21*. cloth, or 42*. morocco. 
 Perry on Greek and Roman Sculpture. With 280 Illustrations engraved on 
 
 Wood. Square crown 8vo. 31*. Gd. 
 
 CHEMISTRY, ENGINEERING, & GENERAL SCIENCE. 
 
 Arnott's Elements of Physics or Natural Philosophy. Crown Svo. 12*. Gd. 
 Bourne's Catechism of the Steam Engine. Crown Svo. 7*. Gd. 
 
 — Examples of Steam, Air, and Gas Engines. 4to. 70*. 
 
 — Handbook of the Steam Engine. Fcp. 8vo. 9*. 
 
 — Recent Improvements in the Steam Engine. Fcp. 8vo. 6*. 
 
 — Treatise on the Steam Engine. 4to. 42*. 
 
 Buckton's Our Dwellings, Healthy and Unhealthy. Crown 8vo. 3*. 6</. 
 
 Crookes"s Select Methods in Chemical Analysis. Svo. 24*. 
 
 Culley's Handbook of Practical Telegraphy. 8vo. 16*. 
 
 Fairbairn's Useful Information for Engineers. 3 vols, crown 8vo. 31*. Gd. 
 
 — Mills and Mill work. 1 vol. 8vo. 25*. 
 Ganot's Elementary Treatise on Phvsics, by Atkinson. Large crown 8vo. 15*. 
 
 — Natural Philosophy, by Atkinson. Crown 8vo. 7*. Gd. 
 Grove's Correlation of Physical Forces. 8vo. 15*. 
 Haughton's Six Lectures on Physical Geography. 8vo. 15*. 
 Heer's Primaeval World of Switzerland. 2 vols. Svo. 12*. 
 Helmholtz on the Sensations of Tone. Royal 8vo. 28*. 
 
 Helmholtz's Lectures on Scientific Subjects. 2 vols, crown 8vo. 7*. Gd. each. 
 Hudson and Gosse's The Rotifera or ' Wheel Animalcules.' With 30 Coloured 
 
 Plates. 6 parts. 4to. 10*. Gd. each. 
 Hullah's Lectures on the History of Modern Music. 8vo. 8*. Gd. 
 
 — Transition Period of Musical History. 8vo. 10*. Gd. 
 Jackson's Aid to Engineering Solution. Royal 8vo. 21*. 
 Jago'a Inorganic Chemistry, Theoretical and Practical. Fcp. 8vo. 2*. 
 Kerl's Metallurgy, adapted by Crookes and Rbhrig. 3 vols. 8vo. £4. 19*. 
 Kolbe's Short Text-Book of Inorganic Chemistry. Crown 8vo. 7*. Gd. 
 Lloyd's Treatise on Magnetism. 8vo. 10*. Gd. 
 
 Macalister's Zoology and Morphology of Vertebrate Animals. Svo. 10*. Gd. 
 Macfarren's Lectures on Harmony. Svo. 1 2*. 
 
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 Miller's Elements of Chemistry, Theoretical and Practical. 3 vols. 8vo. Part I. 
 
 Chemical Physics, 16*. Part II. Inorganic Chemistry, 24*. Part III. Organic 
 
 Chemistry, price 31s. Gd. 
 Mitchell's Manual of Practical Assaying. 8vo. 31s. Gd. 
 Northcott's Lathes and Turning. 8vo. 18s. 
 Owen's Comparative Anatomy and Physiology of the Vertebrate Animals. 
 
 3 vols. 8vo. 73s. Gd. 
 Payen's Industrial Chemistry. Edited by B. H. Paul, Ph.D. 8vo. 42s. 
 Piesse's Art of Perfumery. Square crown 8vo. 21s. 
 Keynolds's Experimental Chemistry. Fcp. 8vo. Part I. Is. Gd. Part II. 2s. Gd. 
 
 Part III. 3s. Gd. 
 Schellen's Spectrum Analysis. Svo. 31s. Gd. 
 Sennett's Treatise on the Marine Steam Engine. 8vo. 21s. 
 Smith's Air and Rain. 8vo. 24s. 
 
 Stoney's The Theory of the Stresses on Girders, &c. Royal 8vo. 36s. 
 Swinton's Electric Lighting : Its Principles and Practice. Crown 8vo. 5s. 
 Tilden's Practical Chemistry. Fcp. Svo. Is. Gd. 
 Tyndall's Faraday as a Discoverer. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 — Floating Matter of the Air. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 
 — Fragments of Science. 2 vols, post 8vo. 16s. 
 
 — Heat a Mode of Motion. Crown 8vo. 12s. 
 
 — Lectures on Light delivered in America. Crown Svo. 5s. 
 
 — Lessons on Electricity. Crown 8vo. 2s. Gd. 
 
 — Notes on Electrical Phenomena. Crown Svo. Is. sewed, Is. Gd. cloth. 
 
 — Notes of Lectures on Light. Crown 8vo. Is. sewed, Is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 — Sound, with Frontispiece and 203 Woodcuts. Crown Svo. 10s. Gd. 
 Watts's Dictionary of Chemistry. 9 vols, medium 8vo. £15. 2s. 6d. 
 Wilson's Manual of Health-Science. Crown Svo. 2s. Gd. 
 
 THEOLOGICAL AND RELIGIOUS WORKS. 
 
 Arnold's (Rev. Dr. Thomas) Sermons. 6 vols, crown 8vo. 5s. each. 
 Bouitbee's Commentary on the 39 Articles. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 Browne's (Bishop) Exposition of the 39 Articles. Svo. 16s. 
 Colenso on the Pentateuch and Book of Joshua. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 Gender's Handbook of the Bible. Post 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 Conybeare & Howson's Life and Letters of St. Paul :— 
 
 Library Edition, with Maps, Plates, and Woodcuts. 2 vols, square crown 
 8vo. 21s. 
 
 Student's Edition, revised and condensed, with 46 Illustrations and Maps. 
 1 vol. crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 Cox's (Homersham) The First Century of Christianity. 8vo. 12s. 
 Davidson's Introduction to the Study of the New Testament. 2 vols. 8vo. 30s. 
 Edersheim's Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah. 2 vols. Svo. 42s. 
 
 — Prophecy and History in relation to the Messiah. 8vo. 12s. 
 EUicott's (Bishop) Commentary on St. Paul's Epistles. 8vo. Galatians, 8s. Gd. 
 
 Ephesians, 8s. Gd. Pastoral Epistles, 10s. Gd. Philippiaus, Colossians and 
 Philemon, 10s. Gd. Thessaloniaus, 7s. Gd. 
 
 — Lectures on the Life of our Lord. Svo. 12s. 
 Ewald's Antiquities of Israel, translated by Solly. 8vo. 12s. Gd. 
 
 — History of Israel, translated by Carpenter & Smith. Vols. 1-7, 8vo. £5. 
 
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 Hobart's Medical Language of St. Luke. 8vo. lGs. 
 Hopkins's Christ the Consoler. Fcp. 8vo. 2*. Gd. 
 Jukes's New Man and the. Eternal Life. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 — Second Death and the Restitution of all Things. Crown 8vo. 3*. Gd. 
 
 — Types of Genesis. Crown Svo. 7s. Gd. 
 
 — The Mystery of the Kingdom. Crown 8vo. 3s. Gd. 
 
 Lenormant's New Translation of the Book of Genesis. Translated into English. 
 
 8vo. 10*. Gd. 
 Lyra Germanica : Hymns translated by Miss Winkworth. Fcp. 8vo. 5*. 
 Macdonald's (G.) Unspoken Sermons. Second Series. Crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 Manning's Temporal Mission of the Holy Ghost. Crown 8vo. 8s. Gd. 
 Martineau's Endeavours after the Christian Life. Crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 
 — Hymns of Praise and Prayer. Crown Svo. 4s. Gd. 32mo. 1*. 6<f. 
 
 — Sermons, Hours of Thought on Sacred Things. 2 vols. 7s. Gd. each. 
 MonseU's Spiritual Songs for Sundays and Holidays. Fcp. 8vo. 5s. ISmo. 2a. 
 Muller's (Max) Origin and Growth of Religion. Crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 
 — — Science of Religion. Crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 Newman's Apologia pro Vita Sua. Crown 8vo. Gs. 
 
 — The Idea of a University Defined and Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 7s. 
 
 — Historical Sketches. 3 vols, crown Svo. Gs. each. 
 
 — Discussions and Arguments on Various Subjects. Crown Svo. Gs. 
 
 — An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine. Crown 8vo. Gs. 
 
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 sidered. Vol. 1, crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. Vol. 2, crown Svo. 5s. Gd. 
 
 — The Via Media of the Anglican Church, Illustrated in Lectures, &c. 
 
 2 vols, crown Svo. 6s. each 
 
 — Essays, Critical and Historical. 2 vols, crown Svo. 12s. 
 
 — Essays on Biblical and on Ecclesiastical Miracles. Crown Svo. Gs. 
 
 — An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent. 7s. Gd. 
 Overton's Life in the English Church (1660-1711). Svo. 14s. 
 Rogers's Eclipse of Faith. Fcp. 8vo. 5s. 
 
 — Defence of the Eclipse of Faith. Fcp. 8vo. 3s. Gd. 
 Sewell's (Miss) Night Lessons from Scripture. 32nio. 3s. Gd. 
 
 — — Passing Thoughts on Religion. Fnp. Svo. 3s. G,l. 
 
 — — Preparation for the Holy Commnnion. 32mo. 3s. 
 Smith's Voyage and Shipwreck of St. Paul. Crown Svo. 7s. Gd. 
 Supernatural Religion. Complete Edition. 3 vols. Svo. 36s. 
 
 Taylor's (Jeremy) Entire Works. With Life by Bishop Heber. Edited by the 
 
 Rev. C. P. Eden. 10 vols. 8vo. £5. 5s. 
 Tulloch's Movements of Religious Thought in Britain during the Nineteenth 
 
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 Aldridge's Ranch Notes in Kansas, Colorada, &c. Crown 8vo. 5s. 
 Alpine Club (The) Map of Switzerland. In Four Sheets. 42s. 
 Baker's Eight Years in Ceylon. Crown Svo. 5s. 
 
 — Rifle and Hound in Ceylon. Crown 8vo. 5s. 
 Ball's Alpine Guide. 3 vols, post 8vo. with Maps and Illustrations :— I. Western 
 
 Alps, 6s. Gd. II. Central Alps, 7s. Gd. III. Eastern Alps, 10s. Gd. 
 Ball on Alpine Travelling, and on the Geology of the Alps, Is. 
 
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 10 
 
 General Lists of Works. 
 
 Bent's The Cyclades, or Life among the Insular Greeks. Crown Svo. 12k. Gd. 
 Brassey's Sunshine and Storm in the East. Crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 
 — Voyage in the Yacht ' Sunbeam.' Crown 8vo. 7*. 6d. School Edition, 
 
 fcp. 8vo. 2s. Popular Edition, 4to. 6<7. 
 
 — In the Trades, the Tropics, and the ' Roaring Forties.' Edition de 
 
 Luxe, 8vo. £3. Ids. Gd. Library Edition, Svo. 21s. 
 Crawford's Across the Pampas and the Andes. Crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 Dent's Above the Snow Line. Crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 Froude's Oceana ; or, England and her Colonies. Svo. 18s. 
 Hassall's San Renio Climatically considered. Crown Svo. 5s. 
 Howitt's Visits to Remarkable Places. Crown Svo. 7s. Gd. 
 Maritime Alps (The) and their Seaboard. By the Author of ' Vera.' 8vo. 21s. 
 Three in Norway. By Two of Them. Crown 8vo. Illustrations, 6s. 
 
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 Beaconsfield's (The Earl of) Novels and Tales. Hughenden Edition, with 2 
 
 Portraits on Steel and 11 Vignettes on Wood. 11 vols, crown Svo. £2. 2s. 
 
 Cheap Edition, 11 vols. fcp. 8vo. Is. each, sewed ; Is. Gd. each, cloth. 
 Black Poodle (The) and other Tales. By the Author of ' Vice Versa.' Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 Brabourne's (Lord) Friends and Foes from Fairyland. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 Harte (Bret) On the Frontier. Three Stories. 16mo. Is. 
 
 — — By Shore and Sedge. Three Stories. 16mo. Is. 
 In the Olden Time. By the Author of ' Mademoiselle Mori.' Crown Svo. 6s. 
 Melville's (Whyte) Novels. Cheap Edition. 8 vols. fcp. Svo. Is. each, sewed ; 
 
 Is. Gd. each, cloth. 
 The Modern Novelist's Library. Crown Svo. price 2s. each, boards, or 2s. Gd. 
 
 each, cloth : — 
 By the Earl of Beaconsfielil, E.G. i By Anthony Trollope. 
 
 Lothair. 
 
 Sybil. 
 
 Coniugsby. 
 
 Tancred. 
 
 Venetia. 
 
 Henrietta Temple. 
 
 Contarini Fleming. 
 
 Alroy, Ixion. Sac. 
 
 The Young Duke, &c. 
 
 Vivian Grey. 
 
 Endymion. 
 
 By Bret Harte. 
 
 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 
 In Trust, the Story of a Lady 
 and her Lover. 
 By James Payn. 
 
 Thicker than Water. 
 
 Barchester Towers. 
 
 The Warden. 
 By Major Whyte Melville. 
 
 Digby Grand. 
 
 General Bounce. 
 
 Kate Coventry. 
 
 The Gladiators. 
 
 Good for Nothing. 
 
 Holmby House. 
 
 The Interpreter. 
 
 The Queen's Maries. 
 By Various Writers. 
 
 The Atelier du Lys. 
 
 Atherstone Priory. 
 
 The Burgomaster's Family. 
 
 Elsa and her Vulture. 
 
 Mademoiselle Mori. 
 
 The Six Sisters of the Valleys. 
 
 Unawares. 
 ,6d. 
 Crown Svo. 3s. 
 
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 Oliphant's (Mrs.) Madam. Crown 8vo. 3s. 
 Payn's (James) The Luck of the Darrells. 
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 General Lists of Works. 11 
 
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 — — translated by Webb. 8vo. 125. Gd. 
 
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 Nevile's Farms and Farming. Crown Svo. 65. 
 
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 12 General Lists of Works. 
 
 SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 
 
 The Badminton Library of Sports and Fastimes. Edited by the Duke of Beaufort 
 and A. E. T. Watson. With numerous Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 10s. Gd. 
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 Hunting, by the Duke of Beaufort, &c. 
 
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 Campbell-Walker's Correct Card, or How to Piay at Whist. Fcp. Svo. 2s. Gd. 
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 Francis's Treatise on Fishing in all its Branches. Post Svo. 15s. 
 Jefferies' The Red Deer. Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. 
 Longman's Chess Openings. Fcp. 8vo. 2s. Gd. 
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 Year's Sport (The") for 1885. 8vo. 21.?. 
 
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