GEETEUDE. BY E. M. SEWELL, " Turn to private life And social neighborhood ; look we to ourselves, A light of duty shines on ever}' da} - F' 857112 GERTRUDE. the low hills, which, receding one behind the other, formed a bar- rier between the valley of Elsham and the sea. The Priory of Elsham existed now only in name ; hs rich endowments and lands having, in the reign of Henry the Eighth, shared the fate of the other church properties which were sacri- ficed to the rapacity of that monarch and his favorites. From that time the building, deserted by its former inmates, gradually fell into decay, and the crumbling walls at length entirely disap- peared, as the stones were taken to form barns and stables for the farm, which, in after years, occupied the spot where the Pri- ory had stood. The modern Priory, consisting of a square front of recent date, and a long wing erected about a hundred years before, had no connection with the old religious house, except that of bearing the same designation. It was of moderate size, containing the usual number of apartments, — a library and draw- ing-room opening into each other, a good dining-room, a small study, and bedrooms in proportion ; and in its general appear- ance 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 buoyant in spirit to feel more than a passing dread of its trials ; but she was not loo young to have had experience in those petty every-day annoy- ances which are often mercifully sent us in ea'rly 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 circumstan- ces 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 onfy 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 was the most cheerful, and her smile the gayest of the little party. " We are very late this morning," said Mrs. Courtenay, look- ins at her watch. " Do, Jane, go into the drawing-room, and tell me exactly what o'clock it is by the time-piece." " It is not much later than usual, mamma," replied Jane, in a languid lone, and not offering to move ; " I dare say your watch is quite rignt." GERTRUDE. " 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 ; " hut it is very inconve- nient : 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 .n 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 time-piece." " 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 niglit I could hardly sleep at all ; I was so dreadfully nervous." " Did you try Gertrude's remedy V asked Edith ; " it did you good before." " Yes, so it did ; every thing that comes from Geitrude 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." " 1 forgot it," replied Charlotte ; " and I had no time. Miss 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. " 1 never have more than three hours rest at once, ai d I am as tired this morning as if I had walked ten miles : I am s ire Mr. Hum- phries cannot understand my case." " Can any one V asked Charlotte, whose brilliant color and s-parkling eyes differed bo entirely from Jane's sallow complexion, and look of general ill health, that the family likeness was Bcarcely discernible. " You have as many case's as> there arp days m the year : which is it this morning ! (lout, iheumatism tic douloureux, or ague ! or is it all conjoined — the essence ot ei eiy complainl thai e\ er was heard of f" GERTRUDE. " I wish you could feel as I do, only for ten minutes," said Jane "Thank you, I dare say I should survive it ; but remember Jane, what 1 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 friends be- stow 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 every-day 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 1" 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. I 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 London, I dare say she might not be remarkable ; but here, the very fact of your bringing her forward, shows that she is differ- ent from her neighbors." 1 Well," exclaimed Charlotte, "I am thankful to say, that I am neither philosophical nor metaphysical. I am willing to take the world as I find it ; and if people are civil to me, it never enters my head to analyze 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 1 find it is much for my happiness in the end : 1 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 last 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 in v 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 wronw. What do you say to Edvard and Gertrude ! You do not think them hypocrites]" GERTRUDE. " Gertrude a hypocrite ! my dears," said Mrs. Courtenay looking up from the newspaper she had been reading ; " what dc you mean V "Nothing! ma'am," replied Charlotte, shortly; and then unheeding the interruption, she went on: "You will use such harsh 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." " Oh ! Charlotte," exclaimed Edith indignantly, while the color mounted to her cheeks, as she heard such an opinion ex- pressed of her only brother — the very idol of her imagination. " You need not be in such a hurry to be angry," said Char- lotte 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 1*1 1 n e J ; 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 rebuild ing of the burnt cottages at the quarry, and ending with a new cliun-h onTorrington 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 Ed- ward " "It would be a very different world from what it is," said Charlotte. "] 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, th il he does not Bhow to you or to the world the average stand- 8 d of his principles: every one sees the best of him at firs! t." '• I thought you were no philosopher," said Edith, in a sup- pressed tone of extreme annoyance. '* It does not require inueli philosophy to see the faults of one's brothei tcrs," replied Charlotte. 10 GERTRU.DE. "Nor one's own either," said Edith, recovering herself: "] know that 1 have felt angry, and I am very sorry for it." Charlotte scarcely noticed the apology, hut, rising from the break fast "table, began to search among the books for something she had mislaid. "At what time shall you be able to practise with me 1" 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 he home ti' 1 half-past twelve ; and directly after luncheon, I am going with Mrs. Grantley to see nurse Philips." " Do let nurse Philips rest for to-day," said Jane ; " you were with her only three days ago." " Six at the least," replied Edith ; " besides I have promised." " Oh ! of course," said Jane, " all promises must be kept — those made at home excepted. You said you would try over the trio, and some of the duets besides." " Well, so I will, by and by ; but I must go now, or I shall be dreadfully late." " Is Edith gone 1" 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 Char- lotte ; " and if you succeed, mamma will be able to go on." " Well, 1 will see about it presently," replied Jane ; and she went to fetch her book, and then, seating herself by the drawing- •oom 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 conversa- tion as had passed, use had not 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 hi a Inch she had been tempted to reply to Charlrtte's observations ; and her conscience bitterly reproached her for having broken the serious resolution, made only a few hours before, of endeavor- hig if possible to spend that one day without yielding to provo GERTRUDE. 1 1 cation. Perhaps on any other subject she might have been in- vulnerable ; 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, ^r 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 her- self. The mistress was ill, and she had engaged to take charge of the 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 be- sides tiresome Anne Godfrey, and dull little Sarah Plowden, and the rest of the half mischievous, half frightened tribe of children, whom she was endeavoring 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 tiresome of all tiresome tasks, was to her only a subject of interest ; and she felt sorry when at twelve o'clock the chil- dren were dismissed, 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 acknowl- edged, but it caused her unconsciously to linger on the road, and to indulge in a day-dream of happiness, which could never be re- alized, but in which her two sisters had no share. There was another indeed, who was almost 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 he educated, or what principles were to be instilled into her mind, he never inquired. Though pos- ed of first-rate talents himself, he considered them of but little importance in a woman. He had married a young and very pretty girl, devoid of any cultivation of mind beyond the superfi- cial acquirements of the day ; and she had implicitly obeyed hia orders, and had never thwarted his wishes even by a look of ill humor ; and though now and then irritated by her weak simpli- city, on the whole he was contented; — what satisfied him mual 12 gertrlde. i»f course satisfy every one else, — he asked nothing more than that Gertrude should possess lady-like manners, a mode rale 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 comforts ; and th en — ou t of what was to come afterwards Mr. Courtenay never thought. This world was his home, lis 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 enjoy- ments ; 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. Courte- nay returned to his easy chair, and his well-stored library, and forgot that if the heaven of which he had spoken were ever to l>e 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 proba bly have grown up the very counterpart of himself, but only with superior energy of mind. She had his generosity, his good temper, and his high sense of honor ; but she had also his pride, his love of command, his keen sense of the importance of the world's applause, and bis delight in every thing that was beau- tiful and luxurious. And in her own home these feelings would have been fostered to the utmost ; but in the retirement of a country village, 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 m her mind, it would hive been almost impossible for her to have told. It had sprung up, unnoticed even by herself, in constant inter- course with one whose minutest actions were governed by its rules ; for although Mrs. Heathfield, from illness and natural re- serve, but seldom conversed upon the subject, there was an in- fluence in her meek, uncomplaining resignation, and her self-de- nying charity, which it was impossible for a mind so thoughtful as Gertrude's to withstand. 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 felt as if removed into a new world; new, not merely in its external 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 , but she was too unwell actually to superintend them. She could GERTltTJDE. 13 »j. (y 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 endeavor, if possible, to discover which was based upon the highest principles. The answer, if left to her own inclination, would have been in her father's favor; 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 unearthly ; and she could not but believe that the subjects which interested her, must be in themselves fax superior to all others. And so the first bias was given in favor of religion ; and the seed which had been implanted at baptism, and then buried beneath the distractions and frivolities of a care- less 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 own 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 ire, she paid a long promised visit to the Priory. It had been anticipated with delight for weeks beforehand, and every pass- ing cloud of distrust bad been driven from her mind, as some- thing unkind in herself, and unjust to her family : but when a week had been spent under her father's roof, and she bad watch- ed the tone and temper exhibited in her sisters' every day life, the fond illusion was dispelled ; and she was forced to acknowl- edge, with bitter disappointment, that the retirement of Farleigh afforded her infinitely greater sources of happiness than the com- parative dissipations 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 he her companion : but she was then only fourteen, and not yet out of the school-room, and it was impossi- ble to foresee the circumstances which contributed afterwards to form her character ; and Gertrude returned to her aunt, with the belief thai there existed a barriei 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 infe- rior to her own, that there was scaii-r.lv a Bllbject on which they could converse in common; and in her father she had met i 14 GERTRUDE. proud, worldly man, who saw in his children only the reflection of his own imaginary consequence, and thought but little of Ger- trude 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, however 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 with- out this thought, the very names of father, mother, sisters and brother, awakened visions of happiness which she could not per- suade herself it would be impossible to realize. 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 first thought he could not possibly recover ; and although he partially regained his recol- lection, 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 : " Plow dreadful!" " How distressing !" " Poor Mrs. Gourtenay ! 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 honorable 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. Gourtenay's fortune had always been considered equal to the style in which he lived ; by some it was reported to be two thousand a year, by others three, and some even magnified it to four or five ; and much wonder had been expressed that with inch 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 metro- polis, and vied with his more wealthy neighbors in the splendoi of his country establishment ; and contenting himself with pro GERTRUDE. 15 riding for his wife and daughters, left his son with no expecta- tions 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 honors, and longing for future distinctions, was satis fied with the knowledge that his father's death would make no very material alteration 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 expecta- tions had never been great, and to a mind so ardent and ener- getic, the hope of gaining riches and honor 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 honors that might be gained in his profession, but his expec- tations of attaining them were less vivid, and the necessity of daily economy made him turn from his former visions of benevo- lence, as from childish dreams, which it was in vain to imagine could ever be put in practice. At such a moment, therefore, when the 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 eal as il was unforeseen. ll.nl the choice been granted him, he would have preferred the acquisition of fortune by some other means; but his acquaint- ance with his cousin had been merely thai of common courtesy; and his regret for the extinction of the elder branch of the family was soon overpowered by the brilliant prospect opened !>■ fore him. Six thousand a year, to one, who, but a few days previous, would have considered six hundred amply sufficienl lor the gratification of every ordinary wish, was an inexhaustible mine of wealth; and, for the first week, Edward revelled in day- dreams of enjoyment and generosity, for which even the riches of Croesus would scarcely have sufficed. But, with time and c . ition, came the usual concomitant 1 GERTRUDE. evils of a large accession of fortune. Lawyers, relations, ten- ants, and dependents, 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 prede- cessors at Allingham. 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 Allinjrham 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. Unhap- pily for Edward, he had had but a slight experience of the fear- ful evils arising from ostentation. His father's conduct had pro- duced no visible effect upon the happiness of his mother and sisters; his own disappointment had been comparatively trifling; while 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 iniL r ht have 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 ap- pearances, 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 congratu- lated by all, as the possessor of a property nearly three times its real value. To one person alone, besides his lawyers, the ictual 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 for his opinions 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 fur him, in a few years, to recover the ground that had been lost, and be in reality what he now was only in ap- pearance. And when once the past had been retrieved, the samo GERTRUDE. 1 "J 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 sketch- ing the rough outline of a new church to be built on Torrington Heath, with a large school-room adjoining, and some pictu- resque alms-houses in the distance. Edith was quite satisfied. It was clear that wealth had made no change in her brother ; he still retained the noble, generous mind, and the high, religious principle, which had first attracted her admiration, and after- wards 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, feel- ing, 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 les- son still to be learnt. Or, if an occasional misgiving as to the strength of his moral courage crossed his mind, it vanished be- fore the brightness of those day-dreams of the future which made him overlook the duties of the present. His sister Char- lotte had indeed spoken the truth when she said that he was not consistent, but it was a truth which few but herself would have discovered. It required all her insight into character, and per- haps, likewise, a certain coldness of feeling not liable to be led astray by sympathy, to discover that Edward sometimes mistook wishes for actions, and gazed upon the promised land of holi- ness, 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 lie left Allingbam 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 lie intended to practise on his return. Charlotte perhaps would have inquired why they were not acted upon at once: why the Bame 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. Hut Edith's confiding dispo • Bition shielded her from every doubt, and amidst the annoyances of her home, her mind Still dwelt upon the thought of her broth- ex, as upon the first and greatest of earthly blessings. It wag tc him, therefore, even more than to her absent sister, thai she Looked tor comfort. Gertrude's letters, indeed, were delightful, iiid hex interest in the most minute details of home made Ediili IS GERTRUDE forget how little she had actually known of it ; but no such in'.er- sourse could equal the charms of Edward's daily sympathy and affection ; and as Edith walked slowly from the school, she be- gan 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 alto- gether, if the approach of the person whom of all others in the neighborhood she least desired to meet had not awakened her from her revery. The lady who advanced quickly towards her, was of that doubtful age which is sometimes expressed as being " no age." Her fawn-colored silk dress, satin mantilla, and Tuscan bonnet, with its drooping white feather, had been adjust- ed with every attention to that which might be most becoming ; and, at 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 inspec- tion. Edith's first impulse was to retrace her steps, but the motive would have been too obvious ; and, earnestly wishing herself in Mrs. Grantley's drawing-room, she hastened her steps, Imping 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 pro- ceeded to ask after the health of her dear mother and sisters, and her absentee brother, as if the whole happiness of the speak- er 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 en, — but she was again prevented. " You are in a hurry, I see, my dear Miss Courtenay ; some errand of kindness, no douot, as usual ; but you really must spare me one moment, — on such an occasion you must allow one af your oldest friends to offer her congratulations ;" and Miss Forester, fixing her eyes upon Edith, as if determined to discover the slightest change o 17 countenance, continued, "It is GERTRUDE 1 9 a delightful prospect for you, — such a good family ; so highly connected, 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 pei- haps — " " Really !" exclaimed Edith, with a sudden perception of what must he 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, iut in this instance you seem to be much better acquainted with the circumstances than myself." " Of course," replied Miss Forester, with a peculiar smile, " 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 ' au 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 favor 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 ail but settled for at least that time." '• What affair?" said Edith; "you are still speaking enig- mas." "Oh! this marriage with Miss Howard — the beautiful Miss Howard — whom all the London world have been raving about : I see there is a Utile 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 haughti- ness of tone. " 1 am aware that he is acquainted with Miss Howard, lor he frequently mentions being ;it her father's house ; j.ud once or twice he has noticed her style of beauty; but per- haps vou will u.^ ii: c your corresp hut, that tins, at present, is the full extent of his intimacy or his interest. It is due both to himself and the lady to contradict tin: report as soon Ms possible." " Certainly, since you wish it. it shall be done ; but I could hardly have supposed tic Bubjecl an unpleasant ono. Nothing rently could ';'■ more natural or desirable." HO GERTRUDE. Edith did not reply to the remark, but only made a few com- mon-place 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 awkward denial, and hesitating tone, with which at first she had endeavored to put a stop to them. With the certainty in her own mind that nothing would induce Edward to marry for seve- ral 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 IT. " You have been taking advantage of this fine weather, 1 hope, 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 pronounced 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 tur- moil of life, and the exposure to a sultry climate. There were no signs of age in the quickness of his eye, the keenness of hip remarks, or the deep full tones of his voice ; while the calmness of his ordinary manner, though by some mistaken for the insen- sibility 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. GERTRUDE. 21 " 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 empressement, turned to a gentleman who had just made his appearance, and insisted upon his sympathizing with her hap- piness in finding that Mr. Dacre was able to take so much exer- cise. — " 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 dryly remarked, that the neighborhood 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 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 announce that dinner was on the table. "No one expects a hungry man to be enthusiastic in any thing but the praises of fish and soup, Pdaria. Not that I can hope, Dacre, you will find any thing 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 entremets 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, lie was as insensible to the charms of the table, as to the loveli- ness of nature, — at least so thought Miss Forester ; and she de- termined 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 Blight 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 endeavor to sooth his feelings, and charm away the sense of suffering. Above all, he was rich, and if other induce- ments had been of no avail, there was something in the con- templation of wealth which excited Miss Forester's sympathy ami interest to the utmost. In the present instance, there was an especial reason for exertion. Mr. Dacre was but just re- turned 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 favcrite 22 GERTRUDE. sister, and in default of nearer ties, it seemed natural to suppose that her family would be chosen as his heirs. But there were too many instances on record of the injury done to near connec- tions by the plausible attentions of strangers, and both Misa Forester and her father were too sensible of the value of the in- terests at stake, to allow any unnecessary time to intervene be- fore taking some steps for securing them. Mr. Dacre was in- vited to the Grange almost immediately upon his arrival in England. His reception was cordial and affectionate, even be- yond 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 wel- come 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 appe- tite, and a few inquiries after his health, Miss Forester thought very differently. Her hopes rested upon the daily evidence of consideration, the actions, and not the words, which insensibly soften the most obdurate heart; and which would, she was con- vinced, produce in time their full effect upon Mr. Dacre, not- withstanding 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 conver- sation was agreeable. From childhood she had believed her- self a very fascinating person, and this, not merely from the consideration of her own perfections, but from the positive as- surances of relations and friends. Time had produced 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- arid-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 re- finement could conceal the vulgarity of a low worldly mind. Yet it was a delusion worthy of compassion, for it had been fos- tered 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 dependents and rela- tions, who, poor themselves, looked upon wealth and fashion as the great objects of existence, and who, if they could not attain the reality, contented themselves with the semblance. She had iived in an atmosphere of pretension, and every thought and feeling hail been tainted by it ; and from the time when, as a GERTRUDE. 23 young girl, she adorned herself with mock jewels, and rejoiced in the success of the deception, to the period of her introduction o 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 expen- diture 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 gaming that knowledge of Mr. Dacre's tastes, without which all her efforts at pleasing must be useless. •• V\ Inch way did your rambles lead you to-day, sir"? Hard- ly, I suppose, to the Roman hill, though there is such a splen- did view from the top." " 2s"o, 1 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 sta- tions, and begging for a minute description of the different trenches and circurnvallations. 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 reguiar walk. In the summer it is delightful to sit under the trees, reading; and the Courte- nays have always been such intimate friends of ours, that we are perfectly at home there, and do just as we like." '■ 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." " lie 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 occupation at this moment is rather more exciting than par- tridge .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 Ins income." His sister Edith professes ignorance," replied Miss Fores- ter " but every one knows what the denial of a near relation means." l> 4 GERTRUDE. " And what does it mean V asked Mr. Dacre, gravely. Th tone was rather startling, and there was a pause before the answer " Of course I don't mean to say always, but generally speak ing, 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. Da- cre. 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 misinform- ed," 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 mentioned 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 first-rate piece of excellence would satisfy him : though how he has made fashion and seriousness agree in his present choice, it is 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 hab- it of explaining her words, and yet upon this definition what important consequences might depend. Mr. Dacre might be serious himself: nothing indeed was more probable, considering that he had 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 1" " His mother is not considered any thing, and his two eldest sisters are just like every one else ; but the youngest is the counterpart of her brother," and there is another living with au aunt, who they say has the same turn." GERTRUDE 25 Miss Forester believed that she had so expressed herself as »o give no impression of her own feelings , but even a single in- tonation of voice will betray volumes to a practised ear Mr. Dacre needed no further explanation ot his niece's seiiliiiieiiia 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 fortunate man I know."' " What did you say his fortune was V 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 monosylla- ble—" oh !" " I should have gained more information as to the wedding," said Miss Forester, " if I had met either of the other sisters. Jane tells every thing 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 myself; but there is a manner — some people have a much more agreeable way of being silent than others ; and they say — however, one must not speak ill of one's neighbors — but I shall not envy Edith Courtenay's husband." "What relation waa 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 eld- er 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 Vi- vian's — I think you must remember her — a poor, weak, sickly creature, who died a few years afterwards. They had some giils who never lived long; but the little boy appeared quite Btrong till he fill from his pony, and injured himself, and so brought out all Ins lurking maladies." " Was Colonel Courtenay a prudent man '" inquired Mr. Dacre 26 GERTRUDE. " 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 ol his doing it latterly. There was only this one child to be care ful for, or I dare say he might have lived differently." " You forget the elections, papa," said Miss Forester ; " ht 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 1 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 young a man could withstand the temptation of a seat in Parliament V he asked. N " 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 Courte- nay, 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," an- swered Miss Forester. " Mr. Courtenay's favorite hobby is the improvement of the manufacturing districts ; he harangues upon it as if he were making a speech upon the hustings, and every thing 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 GERTRUDE. 27 then ; lie had nothing to be taxed for ; he will feel 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 danger- ous ground. Common-place as the conversation had been, it had yet given her some idea of her uncle's principles ; and she per- ceived that the utmost tact ivould be required to prevent a col- lision between him and her father. Not that General Forester's sentiments 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 positively ungentlemanly ; rather selfish, but not more so than his neighbors ; rather careless in his way of speaking of re. ligion, 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 into notice as a politician, though his fortune would not admit of his attempting any thing 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 acquaintance with him, become his adviser, and a very influential person. What Mr. Dacre'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 carefully checked every allusion to subjects of more than surface interest, reserving any further attempts at discover- ing Mr. Dacre's character to the more favorable opportunity of a tete-a-tete. CHAPTER III. Miss Forester's gossip was repeated by Edith to her moth- er and sisters withoul 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 assertion, even when 28 GERTRUDE. we have the strongest evidence for its contradiction, that Edith could not restrain a certain impatient curiosity when the letter bag was placed on the table the following; morning ; 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 eve 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. "lam not more eager than usual." " Conscience doth make cowards of us all," saij Charlotte. " I never said you were eager ; but you know you were. Here is another letter, from Gertrude, — will not that excite your in- terest too ?" Edith, without answering, began looking for her mother's spectacles. " They are in my room, dear," said Mrs. Courtenay, " in the lower tray of the inner drawer of rny bureau — the oak bureau, I mean. Don't you disarrange my things, though." But Mrs. Courtenay's injunctions were disregarded. Even t he 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 coun- tenance as she read, and saw directly that the contents of the letter were 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 impossi- ble. Hut 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. " 11 — 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 ; 1 told his poor father so. Cow- ard — it is Coward ! Miss Coward, of Oakhampton Court." " Howard !" exclaimed Edith, who saw directly the confir- mation 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." GERTRUDE. 29 Edith eagerly seized the letter, but her voice trembled as Bhe began, and "she was obliged to yield the task to Charlotte, who, not sharing her sister's anxiety, read with perfect compo- sure. " 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 tel 1 you that they were likely to be realized. After this preamble, 1 trust it will not be a matter of astonishment to you to learn, that 1 have, after very serious consideration, made an offer of my hand to Miss Howard, the daughter of Mr. Howard of Oak- hampton Court, in Warwickshire — a gentleman of considerable fortune and highly connected, with whom I have lately become very intimately acquainted at Hastings. I need scarcely express to you the great happiness I experienced on receiving this morn- ing 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 to my future life. It would be absurd in me to attempt a description of one in whom I feel such a deep interest, but I 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 1 look forward tn 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 impor- tant 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 tiny 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 answer with the greatest anxiety, though I have not really any doubt of your approbation. Per- ps it will please you to know that Miss Howard is idolized in her own family, and considered 'he 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 i very thing from you, but I shall depend upon Edith's servici s as bridesmaid, and either Jane or Charlotte besides. Lama will be anxious u< become acquainted with you all as soon as possible, ind when our arrangements are made, my Bisters can 30 GERTRUDE. spend a few days with me in London, and then proceed to Oak- hampton. " 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. " 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 familv, when I tell you that Mr. Howard has seven children to provide for, and six of them sons ; but happily this is a matter of no consequence to any of us. I must decide, when my sisters come, about new furnishing the drawing-room at Allingham, and perhaps the library." There was a moment's pause after Charlotte had finished, which she was the first to break. " Miss Forester was right then. How she'will glory in hav- ing heard the news before us !" " It is very sudden," said Jane. " Love at first sight, I sup- pose." " 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 say, Edith V 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 rela- tion." " It looks very smooth and pleasant," said Jane ; " but if Shakspeare 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." " Ycry," repeated Charlotte emphatically. "Marcus Cur- GERTRUDE. 31 lius was nothing to him. He had the benefit of his country as i motive for his self-devotion, but Edward is going to leap into the far more dangerous gulf of matrimon)', 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 may be as likely to make him happy as any one else ; but why does he not say at once thai he wishes to please himself, instead of making a foolish parade of consideration for usV " 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 one 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 Charlotte. 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 let- ter as that. First of all, he was desperately in love, and resolved upon making his oiler ; but, at the same time, a Tittle 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 l"> everywhere with Mrs. Courtenay, instead of being indebt- ed 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 every-day advantages were magni- fied into first-rate blessings, and Edward made his offer, and gained his object, and piqued himself upon being the most affec- tionate brother in the world." " And he is so, my dear ;" said Mrs. Courtenay, " no one in the neighborhood is like him." " 1 quite agree with you, mamma," replied Charlotte ; " and th.it makes it the more provoking. \t' he had not a great many real excellencies, 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 lo consult us ! Surely we were the best judges as to whether our happiness depended upon having so- ciety at Allingham, and a sister-in-law for a chaperone. Just ask yourself, Jane, — do you think that Edward's determination wu.ild have been fur an instant shaken by finding that we disliked his marriage V '• No," replied Jane • " bul it would not be natural to expect it." 32 GERTRUDI " Certainly not ; but according to his own showing it ought to have been, lie says that he thought of us principally, and yet he acted precisely in the 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 have not 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 ; fn 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 connections, who may prove a disgrace to you at an}- 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 that dear Edward will be the same." " No one can join in the hope more cordially th^n I do," re- plied Charlotte ; " but to make the best of it, it is a ? ort of kill- or-cure business ; however, that is not my affair : as far as I am personally 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 hsv mother. " I must write to dear Edward directly." " We have forgotten Gertrude," observed Jane. " You had better take her letter to Edith as you go up stairs ; T dare say there is nothing very important in it." Edith'f door wis bolted, and when it was opened, Charlotte's careless good humor was &tartled at seeing traces of agitation in her sister's face. Edi'r GERTRUDE. 33 did not however say any thing, but took the letter, and then, turn- ingaway again, fastened lier door. Charlotte, in surprise, waited for a few minutes in the passage, irresolute as to whether it would be advisable to request admittance ; but there was so little sym- pathy 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 pur- sued at Allingham, and the friendship that was to subsist be- tween Editli 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 compen- sate for the want of congeniality which was now so painful to her. But the idea of a sudden marriage with a fashionable Lon- don belle, effectually destroyed these bright visions; and, joined with other portions of her brother's letter, brought with it that must 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 enthusiasm and high principles had given the original impulse of good to her mind, and his letters and con- versation had daily strengthened it. Unknown to herself, she lieved him perfect ; and now, a secret misgiving, felt long before it was acknowledged, 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 trembling at the thought of any thing 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 'tit fall to the ground, liven with the best intentions, con- siderable expense must be incurred; and though Edith could nol believe that his resolutions wen- forgotten, it was strange to find how soon they could le set aside. Love might excuse a greal deal ; it might induce him to see excellencies where i i existed, and blind him to the probability of disappointmi ty marriage ; but it could not completely obliterate the recol- lection, that without, constant economy he might s i lie a ruined man; and the idea of tie: newly furnished drawing-room, and tie- long upholsterers' bills, fixed itself In poor Edith's mind aa firmly as that of having a fashionable sister-in-law. I tihappily he effeel produced by solitude and i m was nol one lik< Ij r l 4 GERTRUDE. to conduce either to her own happiness or that of her family. The evil was but increased by consideration, and Edith's prin ciples 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 determi- nation to decline the office of 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 A-llingham 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 ignorance that the first duty of a wo- man is to be found in the quiet, soothing influence, exerted within her narrow circle upon her own immediate relations. She be- lieved 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 hei in the right way : and feeling pained at her brother's conduct, instead of patiently submitting 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 Ger- trude'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 cir- cumstances, — whether she would not be likely to feel more calmly, and bear more patiently, the thought of Edward's weak- ness. 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 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 learnt to depend so entirely upon herself. With a secret doubt as to the propriety of her determination, 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 com- ply' 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 per- mitted so long to follow her own path, that the obligation of at- tending 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 al GERTRUDE. 35 length yielded with the usual phrase, — " Well ! my dear, I don't understand these things : people were very different when [ was young ; but )*ou must do as you choose." CHAPTER IV. Edith's determination was received by her sister's with sur- prise, but without any wish to combat it. Jane professed it a matter of indifference what others did, as long as they did not interfere with her own comfort ; and Charlotte, whose funda- mental 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 Oakhampton alone. Edith, however, was not so indifferent. Outwardly, in- deed, she was tranquil and cheerful, but her brother's next letter was looked for with anxiety, ami even her disappointment as to his strength of character could not render her happy in the pros- pect of displeasing him. But the deed was not to be recalled ; she bad refused to be bridesmaid, and Miss Howard would nat- urally nnko 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 pp.tiently, and she could oidy hope that he would trust tn her affection, and not inquire too minutely into the circum- stances which rendered it so impossible for her to leave home at ib.it lime; yet, even with this, Edith was not contentful It was mil clear that she had been wrong: but it was not certain that she had been riirbt. She distrusted her motives : and, as usual in such cases, Edward's letter was to decide the question ; for Edith was young, ami inexperienced in self-knowledge. Hit mosl glaring faults had been seen and corrected; but the real difficulty of a Christian life — the struggling 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 hei intended sister-in-law ; and Bhe lefl 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, left her siill ie. a state of do St. He expressed himself much hurt 36 GERTRUDE. at her refusal ; and hinted that all other engagements should have given way to one so urgent. But he did not press hia wishes. His mind was pie-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 stvle 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 irrita- tion; and her aversion to her new sister-in-law increased. She believed that her vexation arose principally from being disap- pointed in Edward. Six months before his plans had been of lavish profusion in works of charity, and the most rigid self-de- nial 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. Ornamental lodges bad taken the place of alms-bouses ; 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 ex- clusive attention to things which once he had considered of little value. So Edith argued — and so she would willingly have hi iniled herself to the fact of her brother's weakness. But in this she did him more than justice. In his barrister's chambers, Edward Courtenay sat in his easy chair, and surrounded him- self 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 Allington 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 delight 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 re- tracting 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 alterations; tnough Edith began to see that her feelings throughout the whole affair uad not been entirely unblameable, and now that the immediate annoyance was over, she would willingly have been GERTRUDE. 37 llis first to conciliate. But the time was gone by; Edward en- gaged to meet his sister Charlotte in London, and Edith bade her good-by 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 Char- lotte'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, fcj'he might give vivid descriptions of Miss Howard's personal appearance, and <)f the general style of the family; but. where such a difference of opin- ion 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; vet 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 unacquainted 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 neighborhood were soon added to the list of annoyances, and Edith scarcely knew which was the must 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. Grantley's earnest declara- tion, 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 ling of distrust checked her satisfaction ; and her manner be- came 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 Allinghaui was that which caused Edith the greatest pain. The road through the park could be seen from the Priory drawing-room- and she seldom stool al the window withoul observing .some ■;• the workmen employed in the alterations, for which Edward ha.'. eady 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 hing it was that Edward was rich, for really his ideas were bo magnificent, that a man with a smaller income would soon be ruined." 0' what was doing Edith had not a very clear idea. 38 GERTRUDE. Her mother and sister often drove to the house to note the pro- gress of the work, but site resolutely kept from inquiries on theii return, as tending to fix in her mind the thoughts she was mos* 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 7 ? 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 consultation as to the style of furniture had quickly passed by. Edward's impatience was too great to brook delay ; and Charlotte rejoiced that she had been spared the thankless task of endeavoring 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. 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 re&t with her mother and Jane ; and only twice contrived to fill a sheet of paper with the common-place hopes and fears, which might prevent Edward from thinking himself entirely forgotten. Even this was only cursorily noticed in some or 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 cotta- ges was often vory trying. The people were so desirous of know- ing 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 habi< of seeing her ; and it seemed unkind to make any change at a moment when there was much passing that was in- teresting; although the old woman's querulous disposition, and apparently unwilling gratitude, made it occasionally doubtful whether the visits were really valued. " 1 thought you was never a-coming again." was her saluta- tion, 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 GERTRUDE. iiS " I was too busy, nurse," said Edith ; " don't you remember f told you there was a great deal to do just now, and that I could not be sure of my own time 1" " 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 ousiness 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 bors 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." .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 Beckv ! I grieved for 'em at the time ; and sure, if they'd lived, things wouldn't have been like they are ; and I'm so old, and so ill, and nobody comes to an old woman. Bat dear ! Miss Edith," and in an instant all her sorrows were forgotten : " did you see the cart go by '? There's some things for the park in it, I'll be bound. Just sit down, and tell me what they're doing." •• 1 told you all I knew the other day, nurse," replied Edith. " Really, 1 have nol i> en there since." " Thai'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 : 1 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 jusl like all the others; hut he's doing \< iv fair now. I wish Willie was half as well oil". The bailiff tin ned 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.' 1 '• Yes, I dare say he will ; though Willie's been out of work a precious lon'_ r time — but I don't complain. It's not my way to find fault, — if it was I should be better oil"." Edith's patience was almost exhausted; but as she looked at (he old woman's shrivelled features and bent figure, and remem- bered bow much she bad really Suffered, and the warmth 'i! heart that w a - concealed under so repulsive a manner, her sym- pathy was again excited. ■• I don't think thnt is quite the ca e, Martha," she said ; " at 10 GERTRUDE. least I am sure if you mean that my brother does not think ol you, von are very much mistaken." " May be," replied Martha, bending again over the fire, and then remaining silent. " Come, nurse," said Edith, " 1 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 woman. " 1 suppose when the new lady comes to the Park, you'll be so busy that you'll never come near me." Edith rose hastily from her seat, and was preparing to g", when Martha's heart softened. " There, don't you be angry now, Miss Edith, I meant no of- fence. 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 1" " 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 mos! happy," said Edith, involuntarily sighing ; and then she added, more gayly, " 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 belter than that — Mr. Edward promised I never should move again — so I don't take what the neighbors 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 chatter- ing 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 GERTRUDE. 41 row much of the view was intercepted by it she could not deter- mine. If any but Martha had inhabited the obnoxious dwelling, 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 I he owner of it, and 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 pros- pect. " But there's no doubt about Mr. Edward's promise, is there, now V 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 fro to a new place in this world ; if he sends me away, it will he 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 exact 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 desight as it had loo o t'crn described. (J II A PTE R V . THfiEE weeks had elapsed since Edith last visited Allingham, and in that time tin: improvements bad made considerable pro- is ; hut the good taste displayed in every thing that Edward undertook, brought no charm to his sister's mind ; lor as she gazed upon the elngan 'e and beauty which surrounded her, 42 GERTRUDE. something in her own heart whispered that Edward's fabric of happiness was insecure. It was based upon self-gratification; not upon self-denial. A short time was sufficient to satisfy hei curiosity, and to show that the offending cottage was conspicuously ugly ; and after wandering over the empty rooms, and asking a few questions of the workmen, Edith sadly pursued her way home- wards. The autumna. tints were just beginning to color the foli- age 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 par- terres 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 harmonized in form as well as in color, 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 de- light 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 intrusted with wealth. Eor 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 amongst the leaves disturbed her revery, 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 much curiosity haa 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 GERTRUDE. 43 »he ceremony: and she felt little surprise when he advanced to- wards her, and apologized for intruding upon her brother's prop- erty, saying that permission had been given him by Mr. Courte- nay'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 course, pleased that the park should afford Mr. Dacre any gratification ; and was cer- tain 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 be likely to re- tain undisturbed possession. We do not expect my brother home yet." '•I suppose, though," observed Mr. Dacre, "it is a favorite 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 sel- dom 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 con- science to kill time in the most agreeable way." "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 Bighed, 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 sterr in:i>ter, 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. Da- cre. " Don't you think we are too much in the habit of consid- ering no actions important but obvious and exciting ones ? The moment anv occupation becomes a duty, even if it is merely pick- ing straws, it ceases to he useless, and" the it aimer in which we do it must he of infinite consequence." 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 al- low me to walk through the park with you. I have been here a lonf> time, and General Forester will scarcely forgive me if I keep his dinner waiting." Edith willingly assented, feeling an unusual degree of interesl in her new acquaintance ; hut she was too shy to renew the sub- 14 GERTRUDE 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 sigl " You would not say that," she replied, " if you were as well ac quainted 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, or thinks itself acquainted with the most minute particulars." " Even the color of the bridal dress," observed Mr. Dacre ; " and if so much is said beforehand, what will it be after- wards]" " 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 alway*s 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 i i d is too great." " And money makes a person so independent," said Edith " It is seldom a rich man hears truth, even from his own rela- tions." " 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 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- ful 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 ; " what 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 lo 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." GERTRUDE 45 " 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 he 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 com- panion's observant ear. '■ Or is there but another wheel added, which may accelerate the motion ? u " Perhaps so," replied Edith. " Yet it may be dangerous for by-stand ers 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 ac- quaintance, 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. CHAPTER VI. " A letter from Charlotte at last," exclaimed Jane Courte- nay, 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 — Donnets sent for from Paris — jewels magnificent — Edward spend- ing a fortune — carriage the most elegant affair that can be igined — Edward a universal favorite — told to his face that 46 GERTRUDE. he is perfection. Slight symptoms of conceit in consequence Tell Edith this — it will please her." " No. indeed, )'ou 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 oi reading it all quietly to myself." " Nay, but you must listen to this," said Jane ; " it is just \t your way. All the villagers are to have a fete 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 cot- tons 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 V asked Edith. " 1 should have thought Mr. Howard might have provided for Oak- hampton 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 postscript 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 pleas- ure 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 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 I It will be long before they have tea and plum cake again when they once leave school." " So much the more reason that they should enjoy it now," replied 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 tier, and after turning to the account of Edward's plan for tin »■ GERTRUDE. 47 Oakhampton 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 circum- stance, though slight, contributed to strengthen Edith's prejudice. It would have been happy, if some friend, wiser ..han 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 iu the future intercourse between Allingham and the Priory, Edith did not apply the observation to herself; having no idea that she was likely to be tempted to say or do any thing 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 pos- itively 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 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 Csesar's motto, " Came, saw, and conquered." And yet, when the thirteenth of October ar- rived, and with it the expected packet from Oakhampton, her heart beat quickly, and as her eye caught the joint names at the bottom of her brother's letter, she felt even greater pain than she had anticipated. '• \ ou will go at once to Mrs. Grantley, I suppose," said Jane, when she had finished Charlotte's glowing account of the wed- ding — with the titled guests — and the carriage and four — and the school children — and the breakfast — and all the other et 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, lias 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," ob erved 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 hive had enough to do in the parish of Elsham, to provide for the two thousand poor," said Jane. "1 48 GERTRUDE. think, mamma, as you patronize the thing so warmly, you had better superintend it, and leave Edith to exercise her talents in the school least. It will be a great relief to me if I can be left out." " And so it would be to me," replied Mrs. Courtenay, sud- denly reminded of her maladies. " I thought the night before last I should have been obliged to send for Mr. Humphries, — 1 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. Cour- tenay. " 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 any thing in the day — but I heard you moving about until half-past twelve last night." " Because I wanted to finish a book ; and see how ill I am to- day in consequence." " 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 V " I forgot," replied Edith, and she took a common sheet. "Oh! 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, •vjth a passing consciousness that it might be better to attend n.ore to the general comfort of the family. The day fixed for the dinner and the school feast was un- usually 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 c;ertrude. 49 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- deavoring to efface any disagreeable impression, by inquiring minutely after the children and the invalids of the different fam- ilies. Martha Philips was present, complaining that she was too old for such grand doings, and Edith was endeavoring to sooth her, when the ohl nurse suddenly recollected her fears for the cot- tage ; and began to inquire whether Edith really thought it as ugly as she had been told, for they said, " that Mr. Edward's la- dy came from a hard family, and she would be sure to have her own way." " Who says 1 what do you mean V 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'll 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 of weeks could have retrieved. The poor are seldom conscious of the existence of nerves ; and any thing which shows an absence of sympathy with their feelings, is sooner resented than even the neglect of their bodily wants. This Edith knew ; and, vexed and uneasy, she hasten- ed her mother away, and advising her to return home, walked to t lie 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 ate, when a soft voice behind her murmured, "A peculiarly interesting spectacle, this, Miss Courtenay 1 ' — Edith turned, and saw Mi Fori >ter leaning on her uncle's arm, — "most gratify- ing to you it must be in every way.. I dare say you will remem- ber your feelings on this occasion to your latest moment. " Of this Edith had no doubt, but whether the nature of the feelings 50 GERTRUDE. was such as Miss Forester imagined was another matter. " 1 need not introduce my uncle," Miss Forester was going to say ; but she checked herself. There was a possibility that Mr. Da- cre 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, dryly : " we have had few like it." " 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 fa- ther 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 plain- ly 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 who take so much interest in your welfare." The boy stared, and understanding only that he was to put his bands in his lap, quickly moved them. " There's a good boy !" said Miss Forester patronizingly, 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 any thing else, just now," half whispered Edith ; " you had better let him go on." GERTRUDE. 51 The child, seizin? 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. Miss Forester started back with an exclamation of disgust, which included not only the little culprit before her, but all oth- ers of his race ; while Edith wiped her dress, and began to as- sure 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 Water- loo House, thought it worth while to sacrifice her fawn-colored satinet, for the sake of appearing amiable in Mr. Dacre's eye's. " These sudden frights make one nervous," she said ; " but one would bear any thing rather than mar their enjoyment. Don't think any thing more about it, my dear. Certainly it is a beau- tiful dress spoiled !" and her voice became louder, and her counte- nance 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 in- timate 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 lie without devoting one moment to the consideration of that busy world within — that tumultuous crowd of thoughts and feel- ings, which at every moment are born, and die, and are forgot* ten, b it upon which God has stamped the seal of immortality. 52 GERTRUDE. 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 was unpropitious for excursions ; and the beauties of Normandy and the Seine lost much of their c'harm under the depressing influence of a November sky. Not, indeed, such a sky as that which weighs down the spirit of an unfortunate Eng- lishman, in a country village, without resources in himself, 01 interest in his neighbors, 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 noth- ing 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 evi- dently perfectly happy ; and even Edith, as she read Edward's amusing lamentation 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 pru- dence, of the step her brother had taken, or doubt whether he had chosen a wife suited to his character. Charlotte was still absent, paying a round of visits in the neighborhood of Lon- don : there was therefore no opportunity of gaining from her any of the minute details which can only be learnt in conversa iion, and with which Edith longed to be acnuainted : and she GERTRUDE. 5£ was obliged to summon all her patience and occupy herself in her ordinary duties, whilst she waited for the day on which Ed- ward 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 driz- zling rain, while the moaning wind among the leafless trees, and the thick bank ofleaden clouds, partially gilded by the set- ting sun, portended a stormy night, that Edith paced the gravel walk from the house to the carriage drive through the Park anxiously listening to every sound, and regardless of the weath- er, 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 fire-light was painful, and, in a short time, Edward and Laura, and all outward 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 re- quest, sent about ten minutes before, that she would on no ac- count stay out any longer. The resolution was scarcely made, when the distant sound of bells reached her ear. It was a joy- ous peal from the old village church, yet something of a sad- dened under-tone seemed blended with it, as the wailing au- tumnal wind bore it towards her, now loudly and merrily, and again so faintly as nearly to be inaudible. In Edith's melan- choly 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 revery ; and sho had oidy time to give her mother the information, when the 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 wile. " She is your youngest child, my dearest mother," he whis- kered, ''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 54 GERTRUDE. 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 introduced to your sisters ?" Edith's warm affections were in a moment roused. The tone and manner were so simple and winning, that it was im- possible to retain any feeling of coldness : and as her eye rest- ed upon the slight, fairy-like form, and childish but exquisitely lovely face before her, all Edward's offences were forgotten. His love was accounted 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 en- joy all that wealth and affection could lavish upon her, and even the most foreboding mind could hardly have associated any idea but that of happiness with her sparkling hazel eyes, laughing mouth, and brilliant complexion. At the first glance, while she was standing enveloped in shawls and furs, Edith was fascina- ted with her beauty; and when, on entering the drawing-room, she carelessly threw oft" 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 any thing so lovely. Edward said but little; he was watching with intense pleasure the effect of his wife's appearance and manner ; 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 night, and get up just the same the next morning; and when we were in town in the spring, 1 was at the Opera regularly on a Saturday night, and yet, how- ever 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 beauliful 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." GERTRUDE. 55 M Oh, no !" exclaimed Laura, laughing, " I only went there tor the music. In the country we always go to church once a day ; but in town there are so many engagements, it is not prac- ticable." " Laura," said her husband — and there was something in his tone which to Edith's ear betokened any thing 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 you 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. " 1 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, but the expression of dissatisfaction had passed away. " You are a sadly spoilt child," he said, only half-reproach- fully, as he watched his wife's graceful motions, " but you must have your own way I suppose, to-night, at least as regards the servants." And Laura's bewitching smile of gratitude com- pleted her victory. " It is not difficult to see who will rule at Al!in