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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 D A C R E: 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF MORLEY. 
 
 Un ouvrage d'imagination tie doit pas avoir un but moral, mais un 
 resultat moral. II doit ressembler, a cet egard, a la vie humaine, qui n'a 
 pas un but, mais qui toujours a un resultat dans lequel la morale trouve 
 ii^cessairement sa place. Benjami.n Constant. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMAN, 
 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 1834.
 
 V, 
 
 D A C R E. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The company is " mix'd " (the phrase I quote is 
 As much as saying, they 're beneath your notice). 
 
 Btrok. 
 
 " I WONDER at what time we may expect 
 Mr. Dacre," exclaimed Mrs. Plummer, as she 
 folded up her work, and drew her chair towards 
 the fire, in order to give herself up wholly to 
 the pleasures of what she called " a comfortable 
 bit of talk : " but every body was so accustomed 
 to hear Mrs. Plummer wonder about all coming 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 <4S #^i!r*'.
 
 2 DACRE. 
 
 events, that none listened to her speculations, 
 unless compelled by repetition to give her some 
 token that she was not a visitor to the Deaf and 
 Dumb Asylum. " I suppose you young ladies 
 often met Mr. Dacre in London last spring," 
 continued she, addressing two sisters who were 
 seated on an opposite sofa — the one embroider- 
 ing a skreen for any refugees that might next 
 season require a bazaar ; the other, with equal 
 diligence, copying the Mazurka that had been 
 confided to her by Lady E. D., and on no ac- 
 count to be given to any body else, having been 
 allowed only to catch it by ear from Lady 
 C. B. 
 
 Mrs. Plummer still got no answer. She was 
 an acknowledged " bore," and therefore not to 
 be encouraged. Moreover, she was a country 
 bore ; and though it might be very well loirthe 
 Molesworths to receive her because she was a
 
 DACRE. 3 
 
 relation (and not a poor one), there could be 
 no occasion for the guests at Thornbury Park 
 either to listen or to talk to her. So thought 
 the Misses Ashby; and accordingly the youngest 
 took no notice, and the eldest merely looked up, 
 with a vacant smile, as if she did just know she 
 had been addressed, but was quite unconscious 
 what was said. 
 
 Perhaps Mrs. Plummer would have been 
 daunted by this discouraging reception of her 
 endeavours to get up a little conversation, had 
 not a fortunate reinforcement saved her from 
 the danger of being obliged to re-open the large 
 worsted-work carpet border, that had been care- 
 fully rolled up and deposited in her capacious 
 basket, or of retiring to her room without a 
 syllable of chat before the dressing-bell rang. 
 
 She was rescued from this frightful alternative 
 
 by the entry of Mr. John Molesworth, his bro- 
 
 B 2
 
 4t DACRE. 
 
 ther Harry, and his cousin George Saville? 
 They had returned from shooting; an event 
 which ensures in all country houses some little 
 commotion in the room. The pet dog receives 
 from the tip of a thick-soled shoe a gentle hint 
 to resign his comfortable post on the hearth-rug; 
 the ladies suddenly find themselves excluded 
 from the sight of the fire ; while, with eyes cast 
 down upon the shoes and gaiters that have rob- 
 bed the fields of their soil, apologies are made 
 for the unseemliness of their appearance, and 
 assurances are given that it matters not the 
 least. 
 
 Miss Ashby now ceased to work ; Miss 
 Cecilia quitted the writing-table; Mr. Rowley 
 shut up the volume of the peerage, in. which 
 he had been tracing the genealogy of a neigh- 
 bouring family; Mary Bingley, the adopted 
 daughter of Mrs. Molesworth, laid down her
 
 DACRE. 
 
 book; and all assembled round the fire-place 
 with such a decided appearance of coming con- 
 versation, as convinced the talkative Mrs. Plum- 
 mer that silence would cease to reign, and that 
 somebody would at least listen to somebody — 
 and perhaps to her. 
 
 " I suppose you have had capital sport," said 
 the loquacious old lady, addressing the sports- 
 men. 
 
 " Nothing particular," replied John Moles- 
 worth. 
 
 " Well I I say we have had very good sport, 
 and have bagged enough for one day's cruise," 
 rejoined Harry, the naval hero of the family. 
 
 " What ideas you fellows have ! " said George 
 
 Saville, in a tone of good-humoured pity — 
 
 " You '11 not catch me again toiling all day to 
 
 procure food for the family consumption." 
 
 * Dear ! " exclaimed Mrs. Plummer, " where 
 
 B 3
 
 DACRE. 
 
 can the game be gone? Mr. Molesworth al- 
 ways used to have more than enough for himself 
 and his friends too." 
 
 " Ah ! well, may-be there is as much as a 
 rabbit to spare to the parson. Really," con- 
 tinued he, addressing the Misses Ashby, "when 
 one comes so far from London, one expects to 
 be rewarded by getting at least country sports 
 in perfection ; but the nearer to Town the bet- 
 ter every thing is to be found. I go on Monday 
 to Woolston, not twenty miles from London. 
 
 The Duke of • will be there. That is 
 
 shooting," said he, emphatically : " never was 
 any thing better done. The last time I was 
 there they had got five hundred pheasants, and 
 turned them out two days before; and they 
 treat them really like civilised beings, and always 
 feed them with figs and raisins. Ah ! there you 
 have something like a batttce ! "
 
 DACRE. 7 
 
 " I don't see the fun of hattuesy" replied 
 Jolin. " I would just as soon shoot at the 
 fowls in the poultry-yard, as stand all day to 
 have the game driven down the muzzle of my 
 gun." 
 
 " My dear fellow, it is all very well to affect 
 to despise what you do not possess; but, re- 
 member, the first object in life is to save one's 
 self trouble ; and the more we can book, at the 
 least possible expense of personal exertion, the 
 better." 
 
 Young Saville now threw himself upon the 
 sofa where Miss Ashby was seated ; and, having 
 secured his personal comfort by the application 
 of a cushion to his back and the bar of the 
 table to his feet, looked both at her and her 
 sister, as if he expected to be noticed, talked 
 to, and perhaps amused. The hint was kindly 
 taken ; and the young ladies, immediately re- 
 
 B 4;
 
 8 DACRE. 
 
 curring to his mention of Woolston, commenced, 
 in a tone as loud and animated as if they were 
 talking for the benefit of all, a discussion on 
 persons and topics unknown to the rest of the 
 party. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Plummer, who loved to impart 
 both her speculations and her facts, was again 
 in danger of becoming a mere listener, when 
 Harry Molesworth announced his intention of 
 walking out to meet his friend Dacre. This 
 was an opening. 
 
 " I wonder," said she, " whether I shall 
 know him again ? I hope he is as handsome 
 as people say." 
 
 " Does Dacre come to-day ? " said Mr. Sa- 
 ville, without noticmg Mrs. Plummer's attempt 
 to take part in conversation. 
 
 The Misses Ashby supposed he did, with as 
 much indifference as young ladies should ex-
 
 DACRE. 9 
 
 press respecting the arrival of any young man 
 of note and fortune. 
 
 " I long to know him," said Mary Bingley ; 
 *' I am sure I shall like him." 
 
 *' Candidly said. Miss Bingley ! " observed 
 Saville : " most people feel sure of liking a good- 
 looking fellow, with a handsome competency." 
 
 " Come, come, George," said John Moles- 
 worth, " I won't have little Mary bullied by 
 any body ; she knows very well that Harry 
 and Dacre are friends, and that we all mean to 
 like him accordingly." 
 
 Mary blushed, and looked almost as much 
 confused by the defence of her champion, as at 
 the raillery of young Saville. The Misses Ash- 
 by were evidently shocked at her interest in the 
 arrival of the expected guest ; and, though they 
 smiled a little at Mr. Saville's observation, they 
 
 prudently maintained a dignified silence, till 
 
 B 5
 
 10 DACRE. 
 
 the simplicity of Mary and the bluntness of 
 John had subsided. 
 
 Questions and answers now passed in quick 
 succession, upon the subject of Mr. Dacre's 
 fortune, the remote and immediate causes of 
 the illness and death of his uncle, the late 
 Lord Hexham ; the extent of the family pro- 
 perty — and of its disposal, by will, or by en- 
 tail. 
 
 Mrs. Plummer knew more, or said she knew 
 more, of the matter than any one. In vain did 
 Mr. Rowley systematically correct her state- 
 ments. She had one unanswerable argument 
 to bring forward in support of each assertion, 
 namely, that she had known the facts in detail 
 before any body else. In vain did the party 
 look hicredulous and inattentive ; Mrs. Plum- 
 mer had obtained, for a few minutes, what they 
 call, in the Congress, " possession of the floor,"
 
 DACRE. 1 1 
 
 and would soon have driven her audience from 
 the room, had not the subject of her gossip been 
 of sufficient interest to induce others to follow 
 her information with a few remarks of their 
 own. 
 
 " I never could give myself the trouble of 
 getting on with him," said Saville. 
 
 « Nor I," said the elder Miss Ashby. " I 
 believe he rather gives himself airs, and expects 
 people to pay court to him." 
 
 " No wonder then, my dear, that you should 
 never have made much acquaintance with him," 
 remarked Mrs. Ashby, who had entered the 
 room during the discussion. 
 
 " You know," she continued, addressing her- 
 self principally to John Moles worth, " I am 
 always obliged to lecture down that proud spirit 
 of Julia's. If she thinks a man is recherche in 
 
 society, she would be hardly civil to him, or 
 
 B 6
 
 12 DACRE. 
 
 even drop his acquaintance, I believe, lest the 
 man himself — or the world — or somebody — 
 or nobody — should suspect her of following the 
 fashion." 
 
 " But, mamma, Mr. Dacre is not agreeable," 
 interrupted Cecilia. 
 
 " For shame, my dear ! " said she, looking 
 round to the sofa where sat her second daughter 
 and where reclined Mr. Saville ; " you are too 
 fastidious about people being agreeable. It is 
 not a good plan to judge every one by too high 
 a standard." 
 
 The girls bore this lecture with true filial 
 respect, and, ere they could defend themselves 
 from the heavy charges thus proffered against 
 them, Mrs. Ashby wound up her maternal 
 strictures by adding, " Really it is lucky for me 
 that I don't want to get rid of you two young 
 ladies " (and she laughed as good-humouredly
 
 DACRE. 13 
 
 as if it had been true) ; " for though I hate 
 fashion-hunting, and have a sad weakness for 
 an agreeable man (even, I am ashamed to say, 
 should he be the tenth son of a poor curate) ; 
 yet you girls carry your fastidiousness so far, that 
 you must make up your minds to live and die, 
 Mrs. Julia and Mrs. Cecilia : " and here they 
 all laughed, and acquiesced with all the good- 
 humour and complacency which their intimate 
 conviction of the impossibility of such a con- 
 tingency could inspire. John looked as if he 
 thought that Mrs. Ashby did her daughters the 
 greatest injustice, and, without vouchsafing any 
 observations, left the room. 
 
 *' I am quite glad," continued Mrs. Ashby, 
 that Mr. Dacre is coming here ; for I am deter- 
 mined now to judge for myself. You two have 
 given me quite a feeling against him, and I really
 
 14 DACRE. 
 
 think it is very wrong to indulge m those sort of 
 prejudices." 
 
 " There is no doubt of his having plenty to 
 say for himself," rejoined Saville, " when he 
 chooses to say it, though I never heard him. It 
 is not in my line to give myself trouble for any 
 man. It is as much as one can do to meet a 
 woman half way, and more than one often does." 
 
 « Well," said Mrs. Pliimmer, " I had heard 
 that Mr. Dacre did hold himself rather high ; 
 but I am happy to tell you, Mr. Saville, that I 
 understand, from undoubted authority, that he is 
 as kind and condescending to his inferiors as if 
 they were his equals." 
 
 " Do you speak from experience ? " enquired 
 Saville, in a listless tone, and looking significantly 
 at Miss Cecilia, to be sure that the point of his 
 impertinence was not entirely thrown away. 
 
 " No ! " replied the unconscious Mrs. Plum-
 
 DACRE. 15 
 
 raer, " I am sorry to say I have not seen him 
 since he was a boy of sixteen, when all that un- 
 fortunate story came out." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mrs. Plummer," said 
 Mr. Rowley ; " Dacre was then eighteen." 
 
 " You will excuse me, Mr. Rowley, but I 
 am not likely to be mistaken, considering that I 
 know his age from his own nurse's sister, who 
 happens to live with a niece of mine ; and 
 nobody is likely to forget the year in which he 
 came home, poor boy — the year of the comet, 
 and when the mill-dam at Pipe broke down, and 
 Sir Richard Coulson's carriage horse was stolen. 
 Indeed, I may say that nobody knew so much 
 of the family at that time as myself. But to 
 return to what I was saying, Mr. Saville ; I un- 
 derstand from the medical gentleman who at- 
 tended poor Lord Hexham, that Mr. Dacre's 
 kindness and generosity " ,
 
 16 DACRE. 
 
 But Mr. Saville had no intention of en- 
 couraging Mrs. Plummer in any further con- 
 versation, and, having no particular inclination 
 to listen to her praises of Dacre, he affected not 
 to perceive that he was addressed. The hour 
 fui'nished a plea to break up the conclave, and 
 the subject of their discourse was thus for the 
 present spared all further discussion on his 
 character.
 
 17 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 His manner was, perhaps, the more seductive. 
 
 Because he ne'er seem'd anxious to seduce ; 
 Nothing affected, studied, or constructive 
 
 Of coxcombry or conquest ; no abuse 
 Of his attractions marr'd the fair perspective, 
 
 To indicate a Cupidon broke loose. 
 And seem to say, " Resist us, if you can," 
 
 Which makes a dandy, while it spoils a man. 
 
 Btron. 
 
 The dinner hour approached, and Mrs.Plummer 
 was soon re-seated in the drawing-room. Her 
 toilette hud been accomplished with the greatest 
 haste, in order that she might steal a march upon 
 the others ; for, should fortune favour her so far 
 as to make the new comer punctual, she hoped 
 to have thus actually re-established a former
 
 18 DACRE. 
 
 intimacy, ere the rest of the company had had 
 time to commence their first acquaintance. At 
 length the door opened, and she started from 
 her seat to welcome the wished-for guest ; when, 
 to her vexation, she perceived her solitude was 
 interrupted only by the entrance of Mr. Rowley. 
 Mrs. Plummer was not sufficiently sure of being 
 remembered, to wish for witnesses at the ex- 
 pected meeting, and Mr. Rowley was the last 
 person she would have selected as spectator to 
 any failure she might wish to conceal. Mr. 
 Rowley's presence always made her uneasy — 
 " He is such a talker," as she never failed to 
 remark when he had left the room ; " I don't 
 like to hear people pretending to know every 
 thing about every body in the world." 
 
 Francis Dacre next appeared. He had been 
 apprised by his friend Harry Molesworth that 
 his acquaintance would be claimed by Mrs.
 
 DACRE. 19 
 
 Plummer : he had really not forgotten her ; and 
 they met with the mutual cordiality of former 
 acquaintance. The rest of the party now fast 
 assembled ; introductions were made, and ac- 
 quaintances renewed. Mrs. Ashby bowed gra- 
 ciously — her daughters curtsied coldly. Mary 
 Bingley had tendered her hand with a warmth 
 that had struggled successfully with her habitual 
 shyness, and which confirmed the Misses Ashby 
 in their bad opinion of her manner. The dinner 
 was announced; and Francis Dacre soon found 
 himself seated between Mrs. Molesworth and 
 Mrs. Ashby. 
 
 Mrs. Molesworth's conversational powers 
 were small. From the time of her mar- 
 riage, she had, rather from inclination than 
 from any other cause, resided principally in the 
 country. Her circle of friends was soon nar- 
 rowed into that of her immediate neighbours.
 
 20 DACRE. 
 
 Her correspondents gradually dropped off, and 
 she was left the more uninterruptedly to follow 
 the natural bent of her inclination, and to fuss 
 with unremitting diligence over all the petty 
 cares and arrangements that now occupied her 
 attention. Her most intellectual conversation 
 soon became a conference with the village doc- 
 tor, upon nostrums for " teething," and prevent- 
 ives against infection ; but, happily, her infants 
 were strong, and their teeth came not the worse 
 for the pain they had been made to endure for 
 their relief; and, in spite of their mother's care 
 and camphor, they caught all the complaints 
 that children do catch, and survived all the 
 remedies that were practised upon them. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Molesworth — she had much to 
 endure ! Mr. Molesworth insisted upon send- 
 ing the boys to a public school ; and many a 
 sleepless night did it cost the anxious motlier,
 
 DACRE. 21 
 
 as she thought upon the unwholesomeness of 
 excessive study, the cruelty of ushers, and the 
 tyranny of the upper forms. 
 
 Other trials came ; and many who expected 
 Mrs. Molesworth's alarms to increase in pro- 
 portion to the reality of their cause, feared she 
 would never survive the anxiety that must be 
 kept so painfully on the stretch, by the tastes 
 which riper years developed in her boys. John 
 became a sportsman, and Harry insisted upon 
 going to sea. Mrs. Molesworth remonstrated 
 upon the pleasures of her first-born and the 
 chosen profession of the second ; but for both 
 they received the paternal sanction. 
 
 " John has got nothing else to do," argued 
 Mr. Molesworth. " You thought they would 
 both be killed by going to school, and yet they 
 are none the worse for it." 
 
 " There, my dear, I, alas ! differ from you,"
 
 22 DACRE. 
 
 said Mrs. Molesworth, with a sigh. " If Harry 
 had not been sent to school, we might have pre- 
 vented his intimacy with Dacre ; and it is he, I 
 am convinced, who has drawn my dear boy into 
 this shocking mania for the sea. During the 
 last hoUdays, what should I find among his 
 books, but a present from Dacre of * Southey's 
 Life of Nelson ? ' I understand there never was 
 a more dangerous book ; they say it has tempted 
 more promising boys to go to sea than all the 
 voyages ever written — and they are all bad 
 enough." 
 
 But Mr. Molesworth was firm about his sons ; 
 declared hunting was necessary to health, and 
 the yellow admirals the longest-lived men in the 
 kingdom. Nor did Mrs. Molesworth's health 
 and happiness sink under these trials, as might 
 have been expected. Her utmost powers of 
 apprehension had been for years excited upon
 
 DACRE. 23 
 
 small and groundless causes. It was not in the 
 power of mortal woman to have been more un- 
 easy than she had repeatedly been from the 
 apprehensions of her own imagination. Reality 
 could do no more; for she had suffered her 
 worst about nothing. 
 
 She had happily now two fresh objects, for 
 whom she could indulge in all her wonted 
 apprehensions, without Mr. Molesworth's too 
 frequent interference. Her orphan relative, 
 Mary Bingley, who had been under her 
 guardianship from her earliest infancy; and 
 Dash, the faithful companion of Harry, was 
 confided to her care when he went to sea : on 
 these two beings, Mrs. Molesworth lavished the 
 attentions she had formerly devoted to the ser- 
 vice of her offspring. These amiable cares did 
 not, however, render Mrs. Molesworth an 
 agreeable member of society, or an amusing
 
 24) DACRE. 
 
 neighbour at dinner. The task of entertaining 
 Mr. Dacre, upon the present occasion, devolved, 
 therefore, with little interruption, upon Mrs. 
 
 Ashby. 
 
 Mrs. Ashby was one of those persons whom 
 the world, with laudable candour, designates as 
 a worldly-minded woman. Her objects were 
 worldly, and equally so were her means to 
 their attainment. To the world she sacrificed, 
 and from the world she hoped for reward. 
 She had laid, in the days of her youth, a suc- 
 cessful siege to, not the heart, but the hand 
 and purse, of her late husband. They had 
 never known the blessings of domestic hap- 
 piness, but they had always treated each other 
 with civility; and as no glaringly bad result had 
 ensued from this prudent match, her good 
 opinion of ^^mariages de convenance" was con- 
 firmed by experience.
 
 DACRE. 25 
 
 She was by nature indolent, and careless of 
 expense : but an increasing desire that her 
 daughters should be early and brilliantly esta- 
 blished in matrimony overcame the first; and 
 a small jointure, which required the utmost 
 pinching in ordinary comforts to purchase a 
 little occasional show, perpetually thwarted her 
 incHnation to the second. To keep up a good 
 appearance was the ruling maxim of her life. 
 Upon this precept were formed the principles, 
 tastes, and opinions of her daughters; and they 
 learnt, therefore, to be satisfied with appear- 
 ances, and indifferent to realities. 
 
 There was no natural disposition to immo- 
 rality in Mrs. Ashby, but there was no severe 
 predilection in favour of morality. She had 
 always certain ends in view ; and for their at- 
 tainment she laboured, without permitting the 
 intrusion of minor scruples. Had Mrs. Ashby 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 DACRE. 
 
 been really clever, she would probably have suc- 
 ceeded earlier in her matrimonial speculations ; 
 but, although her abilities were not always equal 
 to her designs, still, perseverance effected much. 
 In angling for a husband, she caught a partner 
 for the dance ; and secured at least an invitation 
 to dinner, where she hoped to make a sejour, in 
 the country. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that the opportunity 
 now offered for monopolising the attention of a 
 young man of Mr. Dacre's position in society, 
 was neglected by so prudent a person as the 
 lady in question. Mrs. Molesworth, too happy 
 to be released from the troublesome necessity of 
 taking her part in conversation, was well pleased 
 that Mrs. Ashby should talk enough for two, 
 and remained a silent observer of the well- 
 satisfied looks of her guests. 
 
 The latest arrival at a country house gene-
 
 DACRE. 27 
 
 rally furnishes an interesting topic of convers- 
 ation to the rest of the party ; and so soon as 
 the ladies retired from the dining room, they 
 instantly conferred upon Mr. Dacre the ho- 
 nours of that full discussion which is usually 
 allotted in such cases. 
 
 Mrs. Ashby, regardless of his position in 
 society, and in high-minded defiance of a sneer- 
 ing world, pursued what she thought "a great 
 policy;" threw over him the broad shield of her 
 protection ; and boldly maintained that whatever 
 her fastidious girls might say, he was " really a 
 very charming person." The fastidious girls, 
 with sundry smiles and exclamations, and bri- 
 dlings and noddings, said and unsaid a great 
 deal of delicately mingled praise and censure, 
 which, while it supported the credit of their 
 difficulty to be pleased, advanced no full-fledged 
 
 c 2
 
 28 DACRE. 
 
 opinion which malice could retail, and just left 
 his character where they found it. 
 
 Mrs. Plummer dealt more with the past than 
 with the present. She was full of recollections, 
 and gave an historical sketch of his progress 
 through every interesting change of habiliments, 
 from nankeen frocks to a frock coat. 
 
 Mrs. Molesworth said little, but her praise 
 was sincere, discriminating, and founded on 
 observation. She had been struck and touched 
 by the benevolent care with which he avoided 
 treading upon her dingy fat lapdog, who was 
 scarcely distinguishable from the colour of the 
 hearth-rug. 
 
 He had, in truth, won golden opinions from 
 all — even from those who seemed to accord 
 their praises grudgingly. He had conquered 
 as much as it is given to heroes of the limited
 
 DACRE. 
 
 29 
 
 modern standard of perfection to conquer in 
 the brief course of one single evening. 
 
 The morrow came, and Dacre still advanced 
 in the estimation of the inmates of Thornberry 
 Park. In one way or other he had gained the 
 good will and good opinion of all. He had 
 proved himself the best shot of the party — and 
 was contented with such sport as the place 
 afforded. He had listened with praiseworthy 
 patience to Mr. Molesworth's minute descrip- 
 tions of his improvements, whether made or 
 projected. lie was no interruption to Mrs. 
 Molesworth's daily state of passive inanity. He 
 had treated Mrs. Plummer with a civility from 
 which her well-known tediousness often ex- 
 cluded her. He made no attempt to repress 
 the familiarity with which his acquaintance was 
 rather claimed than sought by George Saville. 
 
 He bestowed a well-bred attention on the vocal 
 
 c 3
 
 30 DACRE. 
 
 performances of the Misses Ashby ; and Henry 
 Molesworth had the pleasure of hearing from 
 Mary Bingley, that the merits of his friend were 
 duly appreciated. 
 
 Dacre had come determined to please and to 
 be pleased. Between Harry and himself, unin- 
 terrupted friendship had subsisted from child- 
 hood. The Molesworths, too, had been neigh- 
 bours of his deceased uncle, and had been 
 disinterestedly attentive to Lord Hexham in his 
 state of melancholy loneliness. Dacre, there- 
 fore, felt doubly anxious to coiiciliate their 
 good will. He was well aware that, in the habits 
 and manners of the house of Molesworth, he 
 was not likely to find much attractive refine- 
 ment ; but he was equally confident that, in the 
 friends of his uncle, and in the family of Harry, 
 he could never be offended by false preten- 
 sions, unworthy servility, or those petty feelings
 
 DACRE. 31 
 
 that are the unfailing offspring of vulgarity of 
 mind. 
 
 One endowed with powers far inferior to those 
 possessed by Dacre, might, perhaps, without 
 effort, have insured approbation amongst people 
 whom experience had not rendered fastidious. 
 Nor did he attempt to win his way by effort : 
 his intercourse with the world had taught him 
 to be courteous, without condescension — re- 
 spectful, without obsequiousness — and easy, 
 without familiarity. He knew how readily the 
 stigma of pride and conceit is attached, by those 
 who live in comparative seclusion, to any on 
 whom habit, position, or the voice of the public 
 have fixed the reputation of fashion ; and he 
 therefore entered the gates of Thornberry Park 
 with a determination to preserve a gentleman- 
 like ayoidance of manner and topics that could 
 
 risk making apparent his sense, either of rus- 
 
 c 4
 
 32 DACRE. 
 
 ticity on their part, or of superiority on his 
 own. 
 
 " I hear London is a perfect desert now," 
 said Mrs. Ashby. 
 
 " I think," replied Dacre, smiling, " a real 
 desert would be surprised at the comparison." 
 
 " You forget," said Mrs. Plummer, edging 
 up to the side where conversation seemed likely 
 to flourish ; " you forget, my dear Mrs. Ashby, 
 that my old friend here has been a great traveller 
 by land and by sea, and that he can tell us what 
 a real desert is." 
 
 Mrs. Ashby took no notice, and fearing Mr. 
 Dacre should be guilty of the unnecessary ci- 
 vility of attending to her, quickly turned away, 
 and continued as though unconscious of the 
 loquacious Mrs. Plummer's remarks. 
 
 " Will London begin early this year ? " 
 
 " I fear," said Dacre, still wishing to ward
 
 DACRE. 35 
 
 off the one great topic of the Ashbys, " I am 
 the last person likely to know, for I am neither 
 in the secrets of the Premier or the Patronesses ; 
 and upon Parliament or Almack's depend what 
 people mean by ' the London season.' " 
 
 " Julia, when did Lady Stourbridge say she 
 should begin her Fridays ? I gave her your 
 letter this morning." 
 
 Mrs. Ashby did not care so much for the 
 date, as to let the company know that she had 
 heard from Lad}' Stourbridge. 
 
 " Really, mamma, I forget — much too soon, 
 I dare say. How one dreads," continued Miss 
 Ashby to Mr. Dacre, " the recommencement 
 of a London campaign ! Society might be very 
 well in a quiet way, but nothing is so w^earisome 
 as the grand monde." 
 
 " I am glad, then, for the sake of others, 
 
 that Miss Ashby is not wont to betray that feel- 
 
 c 5
 
 34t DACRE. 
 
 ing in her countenance," replied Dacre, in a 
 tone that implied a well deserved compliment 
 on her pretty inexpressive face. 
 
 " I fear, then, that I am a sad hypocrite," 
 retorted Julia, with a look of self complacency 
 that showed she fully understood — almost more 
 than fully understood — his meaning. 
 
 " 1 really believe you must," said the ever 
 pertinacious Mrs. Plummer ; " you have quite 
 taken me in, for I never should have guessed 
 you to be a stay-at-home person." 
 
 " But Miss Ashby did not announce herself 
 to be quite such a heretic as to profess a pre- 
 ference for home. She has gone no further than 
 to confess that crowds afford her no amusement," 
 rejoined Dacre. 
 
 " If so, poor girl ! she is very ill used," 
 thought John Molesworth, who stood by, listen- 
 ing.
 
 DACRE. 35 
 
 " I must say for the young people of this day, 
 that they are much quieter, and more domestic, 
 than they were in my time," said Mrs. Ashby. 
 " It surprises me sometimes, but I grant it is an 
 improvement," continued she, addressing Dacre, 
 in order to see whether he looked approvingly 
 of domestic women. " I believe Julia would 
 never care to set foot in a ball-room again ; am 
 I not right, my love ? " 
 
 " Can it be really true, Miss Ashby, that you 
 meditate so severe a blow to the dancing in- 
 terest? What! abjure all balls ! Remember 
 there is a great variety to be found between the 
 full-dress ball, and a carpet hop." 
 
 " My dear fellow," exclaimed George Saville, 
 as he joined the party, " surely your conscience 
 is not burthened with the horrors of such Goth- 
 like diversions as carpet hops ? " 
 
 c 6
 
 36 ■ DACRE. 
 
 *' I cannot honestly deny the guilt of such a 
 misdemeanour," rejoined Dacre. 
 
 " Ah ! I understand — a case of filial obe- 
 dience — ordered, I suppose, to increase the 
 crowd of the over-crammed rooms of some friend 
 of your mother's." 
 
 Dacre made no reply, but turning quickly 
 towards Saville, there shot from his eyes a look 
 of such piercing enquiry as might have discon- 
 certed its object, had he not at that instant been 
 diligently employed in removing some imper- 
 ceptible dust from the surface of his shoes. 
 Dacre's look, however, did not escape the notice 
 of Miss Ashby; and perceiving that Mr. Saville's 
 observations had, from some cause, proved un- 
 welcome, she left the labour of smiling at this 
 sally, to )ier sister ; and looking languidly up at 
 Dacre, as if the very recollection of a ball
 
 DACRE. 37 
 
 fatigued her, said, " Now, is not Almack's the 
 most horrid place in the world ? I really wonder 
 how so many people can be found to annoy 
 themselves by going there ! to me it is quite in- 
 tolerable." 
 
 John Molesworth raised his eyebrows, and, 
 with a look of unceremonious surprise, said, 
 somewhat abruptly, — " You are all riddles to 
 me, Miss Ashby ! I see your names as being pre- 
 sent at parties in every newspaper I take up ; 
 and, by the by, I remember calling one morning 
 in town, when tickets were not forthcoming, 
 fancying you were disappointed, and offering to 
 ride all over London to repair the mischief. 
 How you must have hated me for my officious- 
 ness." 
 
 John Molesworth was not cultivated or re- 
 fined, but he was shrewd and observant, had
 
 38 DACRE. 
 
 some humour, and held in honest aversion every 
 species of what he called " humbug." It was a 
 circumstance of no unfrequent occurrence for 
 their annual guests, the Ashbys, to be reminded 
 of his prejudices on that subject ; but both 
 mother and daughters were of forgiving dispo- 
 sitions — particularly to the first-born of the 
 land ; so he was only called " odd," and " ori- 
 ginal," or " very droll," and " wanting in 
 manner," when he spoke the truth too plainly. 
 " Now, T declare, Mr. Molesworth, you shall 
 be punished by a long explanatory story, for 
 supposing that we were not really obliged for 
 your good nature about those foolish tickets," 
 said Mrs. Ashby, drawing her chair towards 
 him, and thereby making a judicious separation 
 between themselves and the rest of the party, as 
 though her communication was meant only for
 
 DACRE. 39 
 
 his ear, but in reality to prevent the recurrence 
 of similar recollections and observations in the 
 hearing of Dacre. 
 
 By this little move, a chair was released, and 
 Mrs. Ashby was well pleased to see that Mr. 
 Dacre availed himself of the opportunity thus 
 afforded of seating himself by the side of her 
 daughter. 
 
 " How provokingly reserved you cire ! " said 
 Julia, in a tone that invited discussion ; " one 
 never can make out your real opinions." 
 
 " Their concealment is not intentional, I 
 assure you," replied Dacre ; " they are too un- 
 important to be worth a mystery." 
 
 " That is at least a modest confession on your 
 part ; but though it may be very proper for you 
 to suppose that no one cares to hear your opin- 
 ions, I really am anxious to know what you think 
 of the London world."
 
 40 DACRE. 
 
 " I am afraid," said Dacre, " you would 
 hardly have patience to hear all I think on such 
 a subject." 
 
 " But tell me in a few words." 
 
 " Really," pursued he, " that would be al- 
 most as difficult as I once found it to answer an 
 acquaintance of mine, who asked me what would 
 be the price of a picture. Remember what a 
 world of variety it is." 
 
 " Well ! you do surprise me," replied the 
 exclusive Miss Ashby ; " for I think there is 
 such a sameness in town — one always sees the 
 same people night after night, and one always 
 goes to the same houses." 
 
 " But you must allow that this monotony of 
 place and person, of which you complain, is not 
 one of the necessary evils attendant on London 
 society." 
 
 " Indeed, it appears to me to be quite unavoid-
 
 DACRE. 41 
 
 able ; for," added she, with a look that was meant 
 to be particularly sensible, " we, of course, never 
 think of accepting invitations to any but the best 
 places. Mamma has, very properly, always ob- 
 jected to such a complete waste of time as that 
 would be." 
 
 " As nothing can be better than the best, to 
 dispute the wisdom of that rule will sound very 
 paradoxical," replied Dacre ; " but to me, I 
 confess there is a charm in variety ; I had rather 
 take my chance for amusement by ranging over 
 this large library, and selecting for myself, than 
 be condemned for life to the perusal of one small 
 shelf of even the best written books in the lan- 
 guage." 
 
 Miss Ashby, whose liveliness of manner ex- 
 ceeded her quickness of comprehension, did not 
 fully understand the meaning of Mr. Caere's 
 last observation ; but she smiled, and removed
 
 42 DACRE. 
 
 the ringlets from her forehead, just to fill up 
 time, and then said, in an insinuating tone that 
 must be safe whatever he might have meant, — 
 " I suspect you are a very odd person ! " 
 
 " Am I flattered or accused by that suspicion ? " 
 rejoined Dacre, who was rather amused at this 
 sudden digression. 
 
 " That you can best tell ; some people, you 
 know, like to be odd." 
 
 " I have no predilection in favour of oddity." 
 
 *•' You acknowledge yourself fond of variety, 
 so you must like change : — in short, I suppose 
 you are what is called an uncertain person." 
 Miss Ashby, who felt the necessity, rather than 
 the power, to keep up what she had intended to 
 be a judicious mixture of flattery and banter, 
 was a little embarrassed at perceiving that Dacre 
 looked more surprised than pleased by this 
 doubtful compliment. " Now, don't pretend not
 
 DACRE. 43 
 
 to understand me," she continued, with rather a 
 forced laugh, " for you must have been told the 
 same thing often enough before now — you must 
 know that every body says you are very singular, 
 very — I hardly know what to call it, if I may 
 not say uncertain — very different sometimes from 
 what you are at others." 
 
 " Capricious," replied Dacre, " is the word, 
 I believe, which best expresses your meaning; 
 and," he added in a tone of pique, " it is so very 
 flattering that every body should take the trouble 
 of passing sentence on my character, that it 
 would be quite unreasonable in me to question 
 its justice. I should have thought myself ut- 
 terly unworthy the high distinction of being 
 put on my trial when absent." 
 
 " What a shocking propensity you have to 
 undervalue yourself I have heard you talked 
 over a hundred times : I really felt I knew you
 
 44 DACRE. 
 
 thoroughly, though we had never exchanged a 
 word till you came here." 
 
 " I am sorry you should have been so pre- 
 judiced against me, before we had the pleasure 
 of being acquainted," replied Dacre, coldly. 
 
 " Indeed, you are quite mistaken there," said 
 Miss Ashby ; " for the very last time you were 
 discussed was at a small party — just ourselves, 
 and a few other intimates, at Lady Kendal's, 
 where you had such a champion ! " 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied Dacre, with a coun- 
 tenance that betrayed some interest in her com- 
 munication. 
 
 Miss Ashby felt satisfied that she had now 
 regained the high road to his attention, and 
 added, with more vivacity than discretion, — " I 
 never heard a better defence." 
 
 " Surely, then, you will tell me to whom I am 
 indebted."
 
 DACRE. 45 
 
 " Now I have a great mind to torment you, 
 for I see you are curious." 
 
 " You know it would be ungrateful in me to 
 be indifferent, considering how much I probably 
 owed to my solitary defender." 
 
 " You must guess, then," said she, with an 
 archness that was not in accordance with his 
 feelings. " 1 have given you a clue, by saying 
 where I heard it." 
 
 " Could it be Lady Kendal herself? " en- 
 quired he, eagerly. 
 
 " Oh, no ! she was not your friend ; but," 
 continued she, significantly, " it was a person 
 who is seldom absent from her house." 
 
 " I caimot guess — do, pray, tell me," said 
 Dacre, in a tone that, to one better read in the 
 book of nature than the fair Julia, would have 
 betrayed more than mere curiosity. 
 
 " You are provokingly impatient ; but if you
 
 46 DACRE. 
 
 won't guess, I will tell you that your defender 
 was no other than Sir Edward Bradford." 
 Dacre's countenance changed — the colour rose 
 for a moment to his cheek ; and, with a look of 
 mortification that clouded the expression of his 
 features, he said drily, — " It was very obliging 
 in Sir Edward to undertake so arduous a task : " 
 and turning hastily round, as if seeking some 
 pretence to avoid any rejoinder from Miss 
 Ashby, he gladly availed himself of the entrance 
 of Mary Bingley to ask her to repeat a song he 
 had admired the evening before. 
 
 The abrupt termination of Dacre's convers- 
 ation with Julia had not escaped the observation 
 of Mrs. Ashby. She felt too much confidence 
 in her daughter's laudable desire to please, to 
 be under any uneasiness upon that score, but 
 she was anxious to know the cause ; and upon 
 receiving, when they retired at night, a faithful
 
 DACRE. 47 
 
 report of all that had passed, she saw no reason 
 to apprehend the annihilation of her quickly 
 formed hopes, that she might find in Dacre an 
 admirer for her daughter. She just admonished 
 her to substitute, in future, the word eulogium 
 for defence, it having occurred to her that Mr. 
 Dacre might not have quite relished the idea 
 of being supposed to need a defender; and she 
 could imagine no other cause for his so un- 
 accountably preferring to listen to an air sung 
 by Miss Bingley, to a continuance with Julia of 
 what she was pleased to term rational convers- 
 ation.
 
 48 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 " The worst fault you have is to be in love." 
 
 " 'T is a fault I will not change for your best virtue." 
 
 As You Like It, 
 
 Whairfore sou'd ye tauk o' love, 
 
 Unless it be to pain us ? 
 Oh, whairfore sou'd ye tauk o' love, 
 
 When ye say the sea maun twain us ? 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Will it be time to praise this cheek 
 When years and tears have blencht it ? 
 
 Will it be time to tauk o' love 
 
 When cauld and care have quencht it ? 
 
 Scotch Ballad. 
 
 For the better understanding of Mr. Dacre's 
 feelings and character, the reader shall be made 
 acquainted with the principal circumstances of 
 his life previous to his visit to Thornberry Park. 
 Francis Dacre was the only son of Major 
 Dacre, the younger brother of the late Lord 
 Hexham. Major Dacre had early in life en- 
 tered the army, — a profession well suited to his
 
 DACRE. 49 
 
 disposition, and calculated to call forth the qua- 
 lities of zeal, activity, and courage, by which 
 he was distinguished. He was cheerful, in- 
 telligent, and prepossessing, and, therefore, 
 naturally a favourite in society; but his judg- 
 ment was weak, his passions strong, and he 
 was guided too often by the feeling of the mo- 
 ment rather than by the dictates of principle. 
 Though he was capable of warm attachment, 
 and had cultivated those best affections which 
 cling round home and its inmates, he was jealous 
 of interference even from them ; and, like many 
 men of weak judgment, he was the pertinacious 
 maintainer of hasty opinions — fearful of being 
 led by others, he became a ready slave to his 
 own prejudices. His was a character peculiarly 
 formed to render him an object alike of affection 
 and anxiety to all who were really interested in 
 his behalf. 
 
 VOL, I. D
 
 so DACRE. 
 
 Nearly two years previous to the birth of our 
 hero, Major Dacre joined his regiment, then en- 
 gaged on foreign service ; and it was not long 
 after he quitted England that Lord Hexham 
 received the painful intelligence of a circum- 
 stance that aroused at once his anger and his 
 
 sorrow. Upon his arrival at the town of , 
 
 Major Dacre was billeted upon a family where 
 he was received unwillingly, and treated with 
 as little hospitality as might be expected from 
 those who, without sympathy in the cause which 
 brought a stranger to their land, were compul- 
 sorily obliged to receive him as a guest. To the 
 kindness of one individual only was he indebted 
 for such comforts as he enjoyed, and that indi- 
 vidual was she, on whose account it was deemed 
 by the family peculiarly advisable to avoid all 
 such intercourse as could lead to intimacy. Isa- 
 bella (for such was her n^me) had been brought
 
 DACRE. Si 
 
 up strictly, rather than judiciously, by the uncle 
 and aunt, with whom she had resided from her 
 infancy. They had, it is true, secured a never 
 failing obedience to their commands — but it 
 was the obedience of habitual fear. To the de- 
 ference which love or gratitude inspire, she was 
 a stranger. At the time when Major Dacre 
 became an inmate of the house, Isabella had 
 attained her seventeenth year. The denial of 
 kindness had rendered her acutely sensitive to 
 the feelings and wishes of others, and it grieved 
 her to see the undisguised manner in which her 
 relatives availed themselves of daily opportunities 
 to show that his presence was felt as an intrusion. 
 She sought frequent occasion to atone for their 
 neglect, and the young officer soon found him- 
 self the object of kindly solicitude to a very 
 lovely and interesting girl. 
 
 Such a position was fl sure prelude to attach- 
 D 2
 
 52 DACRE. 
 
 ment. An understanding between them soon 
 arose — an understanding not expressed in words 
 — and having, for the world, no voice; yet 
 silently and unconsciously encouraged in that 
 mute lanofuafje of look and manner which is 
 clearly intelligible to the quickened perceptions 
 of mutual love. 
 
 To Isabella, love was a spring of thought and 
 action hitherto unknown ; her early years had 
 been uncheered by parental affection — to love 
 and be beloved had, with her, existed only in 
 imagination. It was an idea which the lonmna-s 
 of a tender heart had suggested to her fancy, 
 but it was now for the first time that the over- 
 whelming reality rushed upon her, with all the 
 additional force of novelty and surprise. Me- 
 mory supplied no standard by which she could 
 try her present feelings ; she lived as in a day- 
 dream of delight. She feared nothing from
 
 DACRE. 53 
 
 the sudden change that had been eftected in 
 her sentiments and character. Fear was 
 associated in her mind with the by-gone days 
 of sorrow and indifference, and she ceased to 
 apprehend when happiness burst upon her. 
 
 It was not so with Major Dacre : — the more 
 he became alive to the mutual and increasing 
 attachment that had arisen between himself and 
 Isabella, the more sensibly did he feel the 
 embarrassment of his position, the more clearly 
 did he see the difficulties and dangers which 
 must attend ti.c indulgence of such a passion. 
 
 Isabella, though respectably connected, was 
 still, in point of birth, inferior to himself; 
 portionless, a foreigner, and untutored in the 
 ways of the world. She was ignorant of the 
 habits of his country, and every rule of con- 
 duct that experience would teach to fit her for 
 a life of certain privation, and possible tempt- 
 
 D 3
 
 54 DACRE. 
 
 ation. To marry her would be the height of 
 imprudence : to be the betrayer of one so 
 young, so devoted, so confiding, would be a 
 baseness from which he recoiled. A thousand 
 resolutions were daily made, in her absence, to 
 resist a fascination which thus presented to his 
 better judgment such a vista of disappointment 
 and misery ; and as often were those resolu- 
 tions abandoned when his senses were again 
 beguiled by her presence. Her charms had 
 enchained him, but he felt no happiness : he 
 knew that poison lurked beneath the cup of 
 seeming bliss ; and he inwardly dreaded the 
 period when she, too, would awake to the 
 knowledge of their real position. 
 
 At length his regiment received orders to 
 quit their present quarters, and to proceed by 
 slow and regular marches to . He de- 
 layed to the last possible moment announcing
 
 DACRE. 55 
 
 to Isabella the melancholy tidings, that the hour 
 of separation was at hand. 
 
 It was in one of those stolen interviews, in 
 which, so fatally to their peace, they had 
 habitually indulged, that she learnt the sad 
 intelligence of the morrow being fixed for the 
 day of her lover's departure. It was a stunning 
 blow, and for a while the consternation of 
 surprise and grief seemed to overpower her 
 senses. Overcome by this undisguised demon- 
 stration of her attachment, and by the prospect 
 of their fast approaching separation, he could 
 no longer refrain from the expression of his 
 passion ; and Isabella was first aroused from a 
 state of apparent insensibility by the words of 
 love and sympathy that now burst from the 
 lips of her admirer. This avowal of his feelings 
 restored her to calmness, if not to happiness : 
 a deep silence ensued, as if each feared that 
 
 D 4
 
 S6 DACKE. 
 
 Utterance would destroy the delusive repose 
 which had thus succeeded to the impassioned 
 declaration of mutual affection. 
 
 The sound of footsteps first aroused them to 
 the recollection that their interview had already 
 been prolonged beyond its usual duration, and 
 that its further continuance must be attended 
 by the danger of discovery. With the tone of 
 one who was about to part from all he held 
 most dear, Dacre prepared to take his leave. 
 
 " Not yet," interposed Isabella ; and then, 
 with a firmness of voice and manner which he 
 had never witnessed in her before, and least 
 expected to see at such a moment, she empha- 
 tically added, " We must meet again : this 
 need not be our last fiirewell." 
 
 The morrow came, and Major Dacre repaired 
 early to the spot where the interview of the 
 preceding evening had been held, in the hope
 
 DACRE. 57 
 
 of meeting Isabella ; but she was not there. He 
 sought her elsewhere, but m vain. He feared 
 that the apprehension of discovery might have 
 prevented her from seeking the hoped-for meet- 
 ing. The appointed hour of his departure was 
 at hand, and in breathless anxiety he listened 
 for the sound of her voice, and the light tread 
 of her foot ; but all was silent. 
 
 Tormenting doubts occurred to him : she 
 might have wished to avoid the risk of another 
 interview, or the trial of a last parting. She 
 might have been prompted by the most com- 
 mendable feelings to wish to see him no more : 
 for " what," he asked himself in the bitterness 
 of self-reproach, *' had he ever allowed himself 
 to say which should inspire on her part confid- 
 ence in him ? " 
 
 With inward anxiety, but outward calmness, 
 he returned to the apartment where he learnt 
 
 D 5
 
 53 DACRE. 
 
 that the rest of the family had assembled to 
 survey the busy scene now presented in the 
 streets, by the removal of the troops. His first 
 quick glance at the group told him that Isabella 
 alone was missing. It was an anxious moment, 
 and the more painful because it was necessary 
 that he should assume an air of calmness and 
 indifference ; and though burning to know the 
 cause of her absence, he waited awhile with 
 ajiparent tranquillity, and then asked carelessly 
 where she was. 
 
 Till then, her absence had been unperceived, 
 but the attention of the party was awakened to 
 the fact by this enquiry ; and they remembered 
 that Isabella had not been seen by them that 
 morning : others were questioned — none had 
 seen her. The alarm soon spread throughout 
 the household. They searched long and 
 anxiously ; but in vain. She was nowhere to 
 be found.
 
 DACRE. 59 
 
 Scarcely had the alarm become general, and 
 the apprehension that she was lost dreadfully 
 confirmed by the fruitless endeavours to find 
 her, than a command to Major Dacre from his 
 superior officer, obliged him instantly to join 
 his troop. To quit, without a moment's delay, 
 a scene so filled with asronisino; doubts and 
 painful recollections as that from which he 
 was now called, was an awful trial; but his 
 duty as a soldier precluded all choice, and he 
 rushed from the house in obedience to the 
 summons, with the reckless desperation of hope- 
 less misery. 
 
 It is needless to describe the melancholy 
 forebodings and bitter self-reproaches which 
 oppressed the mind of Major Dacre, as his 
 thoughts for ever dwelt on the lost image of 
 Isabella. He repented alike his self-indulgence 
 in having yielded to a fascination that could 
 
 D 6
 
 60 DACllE. 
 
 not lead, ultimately, to the happiness of either ; 
 and for the selfish prudence that had withheld 
 the offer of his hand from accompanying the 
 open declaration of his attachment. 
 
 Not many months subsequent to this period, 
 Major Dacre received, with pain and surprise, 
 a letter from Lord Hexham, filled with the 
 strongest animadversions upon his conduct, 
 relative to circumstances with which he had 
 believed him wholly unacquainted. 
 
 Lord Hexham was many years senior to his 
 brother. He was one to whom a compromise 
 between duty and inclination was unknown, 
 and whose principles and irreproachable life 
 rendered him, deservedly, an object of respect: 
 but strong in the conscious rectitude of inten- 
 tion by which he himself was guided, he was 
 regarded by some as prone to censure too 
 severely the weakness or frailties of others.
 
 DACRE. 61 
 
 It had reached his ears that Major Dacre had 
 not only formed an unfortunate attachment, 
 but that, since his departure from the town of 
 
 , he had been secretly accompanied by the 
 
 person who was its object. His informant added 
 that the most inviolable secresy having been pre- 
 served, both as to the name and history of the 
 lady, accident alone brought to his knowledge 
 either her existence or her connection with 
 Major Dacre, and he could give no further in- 
 formation on the subject. 
 
 The difference of age between the two bro- 
 thers, and the early succession of Lord Hex- 
 ham to his property, had placed him in a 
 situation which, whilst it increased his fraternal 
 interest in the welfare of his younger brother, 
 had also accustomed him, too frequently, to the 
 exercise of paternal authority for him to hesitate 
 in the expression of his unequivocal condemn-
 
 62 DACRE. 
 
 ation of such conduct as now called forth his 
 displeasure. 
 
 Under feelings of irritation, and without 
 waiting for further information, he instantly 
 wrote to Major Dacre, upbraiding him with 
 the circumstance that had reached his know- 
 ledge, in terms that were little calculated to 
 produce explanation or repentance; and, 
 while he bitterly reproached him with being 
 either the dupe of artifice, or the ungenerous 
 destroyer of another's innocence, he warned 
 him of the consequences that would attend his 
 marriage with any person who would be re- 
 garded as unworthy of the family to which he 
 belonged. 
 
 True it was that, long ere the receipt of this 
 letter, Isabella had become the clandestine 
 companion of Major Dacre ; true, that appre- 
 hensive lest any clue to the place or object of
 
 DACRE. 63 
 
 her flight should be traced by those she had 
 left, her name and situation had been most care- 
 fully and successfully concealed. 
 
 To remain in a home that had owed its onlv 
 happiness to the lover who was departed — to 
 be again condemned to breathe nought but that 
 chilling atmosphere of cheerless indifference with 
 which she should now be surrounded — to look 
 only upon those whom she feared, and yet to 
 know that she was beloved by him for whom 
 life itself would have seemed no sacrifice, and 
 that he was still within her reach, proved a sore 
 temptation to one who loved " not wisely, but 
 too well." The dictates of passion were blindly 
 obeyed, and she sought refuge from her hated 
 abode by throwing herself at once upon the 
 protection of Major Dacre. 
 
 The answer received by Lord Hexham to 
 his ill-judged epistle, though in reality such as
 
 64 DACRE. 
 
 might have been expected from one of Major 
 Dacre's temperament and character, surprised 
 and offended him in the highest degree; and 
 the result of this correspondence was so decided 
 a disagreement, as caused, for a while, a sus- 
 pension of all further intercourse between the 
 two brothers. 
 
 In time, this unnatural estrangement became 
 too painful for longer endurance; and though 
 pride forbade concessions on either part, letters 
 were again exchanged : but the confidence of 
 former days was not restored, and from all allu- 
 sion to the subject of their unhappy difference 
 each carefully abstained. 
 
 Major Dacre's regiment remained long on 
 foreign service ; and four years had now elapsed 
 since Lord Hexham had been first apprised of 
 the fact which occasioned their quarrel. From 
 that time he had remained in ignorance of all
 
 DACRE. 65 
 
 that regarded the fate of his brother's com- 
 panion. Though annoyed by the persevering 
 silence of Major Dacre on this subject, Lord 
 Hexham sought not to learn from others what 
 his brother had chosen to conceal. He knew 
 by experience, that remonstrance would be 
 useless, and he scrupulously avoided prying into 
 the secrets of one, who purposely withheld from 
 him his confidence, and by whom, it was pro- 
 bable, his advice would be rejected. 
 
 Time strengthens the barrier which reserve 
 has erected; and the difficulty of communication 
 (often at first so easy to be overcome) is formed 
 by delay into an obstacle of almost uncon- 
 querable power. So was it with Major Dacre, 
 and so might it long have continued, had not 
 the hand of the destroying angel scattered the 
 vain erections of pride, and subdued, with one 
 fell stroke, the remembrance of every feeling
 
 66 DACRE. 
 
 save that of grief for the loss of her he 
 mourned. 
 
 A short illness, produced by the extreme 
 hardships to which she had been unavoidably 
 exposed, had terminated the life of Isabella. 
 In the hour of desolation that succeeded her 
 death, he clung with affection and sadness to 
 the recollection of his youth ; his heart now 
 yearned for the sympathy of those he had loved, 
 and the ties of kindred pressed their claims 
 with new force upon his mind. He wrote to 
 his brother: and in the heart-broken confes- 
 sions of misery contained in that letter for the 
 loss of a wife. Lord Hexham received his first 
 intimation of the actual marriage of Major 
 Dacre. 
 
 By the decease of Isabella, the sole care of 
 an only child devolved upon the surviving 
 parent; and this circumstance determined Major
 
 DACRE. 67 
 
 Dacre to effect an exchange, whenever an op- 
 portunity should oflPer of doing so with honour, 
 that he might return to England with his infant 
 son. But difficulties arose in making the 
 desired arrangement, and another year had 
 elapsed before Lord Hexham received the 
 joyful intelligence of the period being fixed 
 for his brother to set out on his homeward 
 journey. 
 
 The probable time of his arrival had almost 
 passed, when unhappily his name appeared in 
 the Gazette, under the head of " severely 
 wounded." An unexpected attack had been 
 made by the enemy, a few days previous to his 
 intended departure : a general engagement had 
 ensued, and at the close of the day this gallant 
 officer received a wound in his breast, and was 
 carried senseless from the field of battle. The
 
 68 DACRE. 
 
 ball was extracted ; and the wound, though 
 severe, was not considered mortal. 
 
 For a short time he patiently submitted to 
 the treatment deemed necessary to his recovery, 
 but wjth the first return of strength, he became 
 weary of medical restraint, and impatient to 
 return to England. In vain was he assured of 
 the risk that would attend his too speedy re- 
 moval. His military duty was at an end : his 
 thoughts were turned towards home, and deaf 
 to all counsel but the dictates of his wishes, he 
 sought his child in the convent where he had 
 been placed for safety, and hastily pursued his 
 journey northward. 
 
 He had written the day before his depar- 
 ture, to apprise Lord Hexham of his intention 
 to return immediately : the next letter received 
 by him from Major Dacre was to announce his
 
 DACRE. 69 
 
 arrival at the sea-port from which he had in- 
 tended to embark for England, and where he 
 was now detained by illness. The hand-writing 
 was much altered, and the desponding expres- 
 sions of the few sentences that composed his 
 letter, awakened such serious apprehensions in 
 Lord Hexham's mind, that he lost no time in 
 leaving England to join his brother, and to 
 satisfy his anxiety respecting his real state. 
 
 His alarms proved but too well founded. 
 Major Dacre had been sinking fast ere his 
 arrival, and though for a moment revived by 
 the unexpected happiness of once more behold- 
 ing his brother, all hope of recovery was past. 
 He had, indeed, scarcely accomplished the half 
 of his journey, when he became painfully sensi- 
 ble that his strength was not equal to the task 
 he had to perform; but having already pro- 
 ceeded too far to gain much by return, and
 
 70 DACRE. 
 
 urged by the fear of being detained on the 
 road, he pressed forward with renewed despatch, 
 hoping that by thus shortening the time of ex- 
 ertion, he might still have vigour sufficient to 
 support him through the fatigues of the re- 
 mainder. But in this hope he miscalculated 
 the powers of his exhausted frame ; and though 
 arrived at the port from which he was to sail, 
 he found himself quite unable to attempt the 
 passage. Conscious of his own rapid decline, 
 his anxiety hourly increased to reach England. 
 He ardently desired to look again on those dear 
 inmates of his former home, whom time had 
 still spared, and to consign to their hands the 
 care of his only child ; but this anxiety served 
 only to augment the fever that had long preyed 
 upon his enfeebled body, and to hasten the 
 moment that must terminate his existence. 
 The presence of Lord Hexham, and his
 
 DACRE. 71 
 
 affectionate assurances of protection to the little 
 Francis, tended greatly to relieve his mind ; and 
 desirous to relate to his brother those circum- 
 stances connected with the fate of the unfortu- 
 nate Isabella, with which he believed him un- 
 acquainted, he summoned resolution sufficient 
 to allude to the severe affliction he had sus- 
 tained in her loss. In spite of his endeavours 
 to be composed, it was evident to Lord Hexham 
 that the subject was of too agitating a nature to 
 be discussed without danger to one in so very 
 precarious a state ; therefore, earnestly beseech- 
 ing him to postpone for the present any further 
 conversation on that topic, he availed himself 
 of the first opportunity to quit the apartment, 
 trusting that perfect tranquillity might quiet an 
 excitement so perilous to the sinking patient. 
 
 Lord Hexham had not long retired ere he 
 was summoned to the chamber of sickness.
 
 72 DACRE. 
 
 The servant whom he had placed in the room 
 during his own short absence ran quickly to 
 inform him that a sudden change had taken 
 place in Major Dacre's appearance, and that his 
 attempts to speak were inarticulate. In a mo- 
 ment Lord Hexham was again by the bed-side 
 of his brother. The dying man made an effort 
 to speak on his approach, and for an instant his 
 features were convulsed by the painful anxiety 
 he displayed to make himself understood ; but 
 the power of utterance was gone, and a vacant 
 stare soon succeeded his hopeless attempt to 
 impart his wishes. 
 
 It occurred to Lord Hexham that he might 
 possibly have desired once more to gaze upon 
 his child. The terrified boy was quickly placed 
 within his reach upon the bed. He turned his 
 dimmed and glassy eye towards him, and by a 
 slight movement of the lips as he endeavoured
 
 DACRE. 73 
 
 to imprint the last kiss upon his cheek, showed 
 that his senses had not yet forsaken him. Lord 
 Hexham affectionately pressed his brother's 
 hand, and repeated his assurances of parental 
 care to his nephew ; the pressure was not re- 
 turned — the hand was already powerless ; but 
 his features relaxed into a faint smile, as though 
 he comprehended the meaning of those words. 
 He breathed one heavy sigh — his eyes closed 
 — and in another instant Lord Hexham bent 
 with heartfelt sorrow over the lifeless body of 
 his brother. 
 
 VOL. 1. E
 
 74> 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 " Such is the weakness of all mortal hope, 
 So fickle is the state of earthly things, 
 That ere they-come into their aimed scope. 
 They fall so short of our frail reckonings ; 
 And bring us bale and bitter sorrowings. 
 Instead of comfort, which we should embrace. 
 This is the state of Csesars and of kings ; 
 Let none, therefore, that is in meaner place, 
 
 To greatly grieve at any his unlucky case." 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 Major Dacre had ever been so averse from 
 business, that it afforded no matter of surprise 
 to Lord Hexham to perceive that among the 
 few scattered papers discovered with his scanty 
 effects, none were to be found of the slightest 
 importance to himself or to his child. There 
 was but little more money than was necessary
 
 DACUE. 75 
 
 to the accomplishment of his journey — no let- 
 ters ; and, with the exception of a small trinket 
 containing a lock of black hair, which he habi- 
 tually wore, not a relic of Isabella was to be 
 seen. 
 
 The servant who had accompanied Major 
 Dacre, having been hired only for the occasion, 
 could not be expected to afford much inform- 
 ation upon the subject of his late master's pro- 
 perty ; but suggested, as the readiest means to 
 account for any apparent deficiencies, that part 
 of the baggage belonging to Major Dacre's 
 regiment had been captured by the enemy on 
 the day in which he received his fatal wound. 
 Lord Hexham was much pleased with the zeal 
 with which he volunteered his services to dis- 
 cover, if possible, the truth of this supposition, 
 and at his activity in returning more imme- 
 diately to head-quarters than was required for 
 
 E 2
 
 76 DACRE. 
 
 the fulfilment of his subsequent engagements, 
 in order that he might have the better chance 
 of gaining the desired information. 
 
 Lord Hexham was a widower and a father, 
 but these circumstances were not wanted to 
 awaken his sympathy in the fate of his orphan 
 charge. His affection for his departed brother, 
 not wholly unmixed with self-reproach for their 
 temporary estrangement, and the satisfaction 
 evinced by Major Dacre at his promise of pro- 
 tection, combined with the lively intelligence 
 and endearing disposition displayed by the 
 little Francis, could not fail to secure for him 
 in his uncle the interest and kindness of pa- 
 ternal love. 
 
 A few years subsequent to this period. Lord 
 Hexham was visited by a severe affliction in the 
 death of his only son, and to his nephew he 
 now turned with the increased devotion of an
 
 DACRE. 77 
 
 undivided affection. Previous to the death of 
 his cousin, Francis Dacre had declared his 
 predilection in favour of the navy, and had ob- 
 tained his uncle's consent to enter that service. 
 Gladly would he have revoked his consent 
 when by this change in the prospects of his 
 nephew a profession was no longer necessary, 
 and when with a heart half broken by domestic 
 affliction, he fondly clung to the hope of future 
 comfort in the society of his adopted son. 
 Ignorant of these feelings in his uncle, and 
 careless of ihe advantages to be derived from 
 the prospective change in his worldly condition, 
 young Dacre resisted every covert attempt to 
 dissuade him from his purpose. Lord Hex- 
 ham might perhaps have been tempted to offer 
 more open and peremptory opposition to the 
 fulfilment of his wishes, had not a painful di- 
 lemma arisen about the period when Francis 
 
 E 3
 
 78 DACRE. 
 
 was of an age to enter into his chosen profes- 
 sion, which made him not only scrupulous of 
 thwarting his nephew, but almost disposed him 
 to rejoice at his choice. 
 
 The manner in which Major Dacre had 
 alluded to his wife, had left on Lord Hexham's 
 mind no doubt of his brother's marriage ; but 
 he was still ignorant of the time and place at 
 which their union had occurred. It was a sub- 
 ject on which hitherto he had felt that enquiry 
 was immaterial ; but the death of his son had 
 changed the aspect of affairs, and It now be- 
 came important to the future prospects of his 
 nephew, to obtain proofs of the fact and period 
 of his parents' marriage. 
 
 The regiment to which Major Dacre had 
 belonged, was at this time expected shortly to 
 return; and to the arrival of his friends and 
 companions, Lord Hexham looked forward
 
 DACRE. 79 
 
 with some anxiety, as the readiest means of ob- 
 taining the wished for information. But in 
 this expectation, he was disappointed. In vain 
 he made enquiries of all those who had lived 
 on terms of intimacy with his late brother. 
 Every circumstance connected with the elope- 
 ment and marriage of Major Dacre and Isabella 
 had been attended with such secrecy, that the 
 subject had remained a mystery even to those 
 with whom he was best acquainted. An im- 
 pression had existed generally amongst his 
 friends that he was married: but as it was also 
 surmised that he had been accompanied by 
 Isabella for some time previous to their know- 
 ledge of her being his companion, they could 
 form no idea of the period of their marriage ; 
 and some indiscreet raillery having once nearly 
 produced a serious quarrel, all observation or 
 
 enquiry had been from that time forward care- 
 
 E 4
 
 80 DACKE. 
 
 fully avoided. His most intimate friend had 
 been killed in action. One only servant had 
 attended him from the time he quitted Eng- 
 land, till within a year of his return ; respecting 
 this man Lord Hexham could obtain no cer- 
 tain information, till on looking over a packet 
 of his brother's letters, he met with one, con- 
 taining expressions of regret for the loss of this 
 faithful attendant, who had just died after a 
 very short illness. 
 
 The difficulty, now apparent, of obtaining 
 such proofs of the legitimacy of Francis Dacre 
 as were requisite for ensuring the succession to 
 his uncle's title, determined Lord Hexham to 
 offer no decided opposition to his entering the 
 profession on which his mind was bent. He 
 was anxious that one so young should be 
 spared the knowledge of those harassing 
 doubts respecting his birth, which Lord Hex-
 
 DACRE. 81 
 
 * 
 
 ham hoped by continued exertion would even- 
 tually be dispelled. He dreaded the effects 
 upon his nephew's mind of thus early debasing 
 the memory of his parents, whom Francis had 
 hitherto been taught to cherish and revere. 
 Should his unwearied perseverance be rewarded 
 by S'Uccess, Francis would have been exposed 
 to unnecessary trials ; but if, on the contrary, 
 the search should prove fruitless, or serve only 
 to confirm his fears, he thought it desirable 
 that the years of childhood should have passed, 
 and the character of his nephew be more 
 formed, ere the painful truth was revealed to 
 him. 
 
 It was a mournful day to all at Hexham 
 house, when Francis was summoned * to ioin 
 the ship to which he had been appointed. 
 Daring in spirit, and of a generous, lively, and 
 
 affectionate disposition, he was the darling of 
 
 E 5
 
 82 DACRE. 
 
 his uncle, and the spoiled child of all the house- 
 hold. There was not one, who had not thanks 
 to mingle with their farewell blessing for some 
 little token of remembrance presented to them 
 by the warm hearted boy ; and when he quitted 
 his home, there were none who did not feel in 
 some degree that cheerless blank, which the 
 absence of a cherished object must ever pro- 
 duce. 
 
 To Lord Hexham his loss was indeed se- 
 vere, it was the loss of that companion who 
 had alone the power to arouse him from the 
 habitual seriousness which his heavy affliction 
 had produced. 
 
 The only occupation in which he now felt 
 disposed to engage with feelings of real interest, 
 was the prosecution of that enquiry in which 
 the fate of his nephew was so materially in- 
 volved. He carefully abstamed, however, from
 
 DACRE. S3 
 
 mentioning the subject to any but those who 
 were likely to render him assistance, and to 
 them he particularly requested that his en- 
 quiries should be regarded as strictly confi- 
 dential. 
 
 It was after a layise of five years that Francis 
 received the affectionate welcome that awaited 
 his return to Hexham house. Amidst the joyful 
 confusion of first meeting, Francis perceived 
 nothing in the manner or appearance of Lord 
 Hexham, that denoted any unfavourable change 
 in his spirits ; but it could not long escape the 
 young sailor's observation, that such a change 
 had taken place, and that he no longer pos- 
 sessed, as in days of yore, the power to dispel 
 the gloom that affliction had gathered on his 
 uncle's brow. He apprehended no diminution 
 of the parental affection with which Lord Hex- 
 ham had ever treated him, but he was grieved 
 
 E 6
 
 84 DACUE. 
 
 and disappointed to feel his present unexpected 
 inability to enliven or amuse him. In vain he 
 recounted such anecdotes and adventures, as in 
 absence are often valued, and fondly treasured 
 in the memory chiefly from the hope of impart- 
 ing pleasure in the home we have left. 
 
 Upon one occasion whilst Francis was giving 
 vent to the confident hopefulness of a sanguine 
 disposition, and on another when with pride 
 he recounted to his uncle the eulogium he had 
 accidentally heard pronounced upon his father, 
 he was surprised at the silence preserved by Lord 
 Hexham; nor was his surprise diminished, when, 
 on looking up, he perceived that the eyes of his 
 uncle were riveted upon him with an ex- 
 pression of melancholy earnestness, as though 
 silently contemplating an object of pity. More 
 than once did Lord Hexham appear anxious 
 to communicate something to his young com-
 
 DACRE. 85 
 
 panion, but as often did the communication die 
 on his lips. 
 
 At length the time arrived when Francis was 
 again summoned to fulfil the duties of his pro- 
 fession. Lord Hexham appeared much agitated 
 when his nephew informed him how near the 
 hour of separation was at hand ; and, for a few 
 minutes afterwards, he remained thoughtful and 
 abstracted — then rising abruptly, as if sum- 
 moning resolution to perform some act of pain- 
 ful duty, he desired Francis would follow him 
 to his study, where they should not be liable 
 to intrusion. 
 
 Francis's heart beat quick with emotion as 
 he obeyed his uncle's command ; he experi- 
 enced that nervous trepidation which even the 
 strongest minds must feel, when finding them- 
 selves on the eve of a disclosure so obviously 
 painful. On entering, he found Lord Hexham
 
 86 DACRE. 
 
 busily employed in selecting some letters from 
 a box. "Francis!" he said, as he looked 
 affectionately towards him ; " Francis ! my dear 
 boy ! the day is fixed for your departure. You 
 entered the profession to which you belong as 
 a child, but you return to it a man ; and I can- 
 not run the risk of your learning by accident 
 that which it is my duty to tell you. To me 
 you stand in place of a son ; and to my death 
 you look forward with hope, if not with cer- 
 tainty, to the inheritance of all I possess." 
 
 " My dear uncle," exclaimed Francis, with 
 warmth, " can you suppose me capable of 
 looking forward to such an event with " 
 
 " No," interrupted Lord Hexham, " I believe 
 you to be incapable of entertaining any feeling 
 discreditable to yourself or painful to me ; but 
 by the law of nature you should be my sur- 
 vivor!" He paused for a moment, and then
 
 DACRE. 87 
 
 added in an agitated voice, " Would to heaven 
 I could say that you must be my heir ! " 
 
 To detail the conversation that followed this 
 unexpected declaration would be useless. Francis 
 was fully apprised of those circumstances which 
 had so visibly affected the spirits of his uncle ; 
 and having heard with pain and surprise the 
 communication to which he was summoned to 
 listen, he hastily quitted the apartment, in order 
 to conceal the emotion he could no longer sup- 
 press. 
 
 We have said before, that Lord Hexham 
 had been anxious that the doubts concerning 
 the period of his brother's marriage should 
 remain unknown to the world at large ; but a 
 secret, which is known to many, is seldom 
 inviolably preserved. The real position of 
 Francis Dacre was not unknown to some of 
 Lord Hexham's neighbours ; but as none could
 
 88 DACRE. 
 
 presume to volunteer an observation on such a 
 subject to Lord Hexham, he believed that it 
 was still unsuspected; and assured his nephew 
 that such was the case. 
 
 Francis had hitherto felt indifferent to the 
 prospect of wealth and power held out to him 
 as heir presumptive to Lord Hexham. To have 
 dwelt on the thoughts of deriving any advantage 
 from the death of one so dearly loved would 
 have been revolting to his feelings, and his mind 
 had as yet been principally engrossed by his 
 profession. Perhaps, therefore, the extinction 
 of any hope of hereditary honours, was less 
 likely to be viewed as a disappointment by him, 
 than by one less affectionate in disposition, or 
 more advanced in years. The shock was, never- 
 theless, severe : bred up in a family who adhered 
 with the strictest tenacity to the honours of 
 ancestry, he had been accustomed from his
 
 DACRE. 89 
 
 infancy to hear the stain of illegitimacy regarded 
 as little short of personal disgrace. 
 
 But it was not at first that the full extent of 
 its influence upon his feelings was likely to be 
 visible; for, anxious to conceal from his uncle 
 the pain he had so reluctantly inflicted, he 
 struggled with tolerable success during the few 
 remaining days they were to spend together, 
 against the distressing effects of his altered 
 position ; but the influence upon his character 
 was not the less sure, for being too slow to be 
 seen by Lord Hexham, too gradual to be per- 
 ceived by himself. The spirits of youth, and 
 the activity of his profession, preserved him 
 from the gloom which so often succeeds to 
 mortification and disappointment; but they 
 could not preserve him from that sensitiveness 
 which was the precursor of suspicion and irri»
 
 90 DACRE. 
 
 tability, to which he had hitherto been a 
 stranger. 
 
 When his uncle assured him that his situation 
 was unknown, he had comforted himself with 
 the reflection that the ignorance of others would 
 long spare him the increased mortification that 
 must attend its publicity ; but he soon felt con- 
 vinced, that even for publicity he would willingly 
 exchange the oppressive consciousness of being 
 regarded as other than he knew himself to be. 
 The careless gaiety which till now had charac- 
 terised his disposition, was constantly checked 
 by circumstances the most trivial. Sometimes 
 he would fancy his secret was known, and then 
 the most casual and unintentional observations 
 were converted by his now morbid imagination 
 into pointed and premeditated allusions to him- 
 self. Sometimes he wished for protection from 
 the painful, though accidental allusions, to
 
 DACRE. 91 
 
 which this secresy exposed him in society ; and 
 at other times, reproaching himself with the 
 deceit of maintaining a false character, he was 
 almost tempted to disregard the breach of con- 
 fidence to his uncle, and to declare at once the 
 secret which rankled in his breast. But he was 
 ever checked by the recollection that such an 
 avowal would not only affect the consideration 
 he might personally enjoy in the world, but 
 must tend still more to debase the estimation in 
 which the memory of his parents was held. 
 " No," thought he, " though I am no longer 
 allowed to regard my mother as blameless, I 
 will be grateful to her as the guardian of my 
 infancy. Should I survive my uncle, the cir- 
 cumstances of my birth must at his death be 
 know to all ; but I will never deserve the re- 
 proach of having voluntarily revealed the errors 
 of a parent."
 
 92 DACRE. 
 
 It was not long, however, ere Francis became 
 aware that to one at least of his companions a 
 disclosure on his part was needless. A few 
 months subsequent to his departure from Eng- 
 land, Harry Molesworth was appointed to the 
 ship in which Dacre was serving. They had 
 been neighbours in the country — friends at 
 school — and had beffun their naval career un- 
 der the same captain. It was therefore matter 
 of no small satisfaction to each, to find them- 
 selves once more embarked as companions in 
 the same voyage. 
 
 Upon more than one occasion Francis having 
 remarked that his friend Harry had appeared 
 anxious to turn such conversation as was calcu- 
 latedtowound his feelings, began to suspect that 
 he could not be quite ignorant of his real situ- 
 ation. A discussion one day arising as to the 
 surest road to promotion, Francis was jestingly
 
 DACRE. 93 
 
 attacked upon the certainty that the heir of a 
 peer (who voted with government) would be 
 found one of those fittest to be promoted upon 
 the earliest opportunity. Francis could ill con- 
 ceal how little agreeable to him were these 
 allusions to his future prospects ; but his young 
 companions, encouraged by the effect they had 
 produced, and unrestrained by the discretion 
 of riper years, persevered in this strain. Francis 
 became irritated beyond endurance; declared 
 he had been insulted, and that the youth whom 
 he regarded as ringleader in the attack should 
 be held seriously responsible for his conduct. 
 Harry Molesworth had joined the circle too 
 late to avert this injudicious outbreak on the 
 part of his friend, but he lost no time in speak- 
 ing to him alone, to repair the mischief that had 
 occurred. 
 
 " Say no more," replied Francis, impa-
 
 94 DACIIE. 
 
 tiently. " I have more reason to be vexed 
 than you perhaps imagine : if you knew but 
 half, you would feel with me." 
 
 " No," said Harry. " It is because I do 
 feel with you, and for you, that I am so anxious 
 you should press this matter no further. I 
 know to what you allude ; I will not deceive 
 you." 
 
 Dacre looked at him earnestly for a moment, 
 for he doubted the reality of his knowledge ; 
 but the expression of Moles worth's countenance 
 soon undeceived him. Stung by the imaginary 
 disgrace of detection, Dacre then abruptly 
 turned away, saying, bitterly, " I see you know 
 it, but I did not expect to have been taunted 
 by a friend like you." 
 
 " Dacre," replied Molesworth, with emotion, 
 " forgive me if I have wounded your feelings 
 in attempting to serve you. Heaven knows, 1
 
 DACRE. 95 
 
 wished to save you from pain, but I have failed ; 
 my bluntness may have offended you, but I am 
 much mistaken in you if you will not at least 
 do justice to my motives." 
 
 Such an appeal could not fail to produce the 
 desired effect. Francis held out his hand. The 
 zeal and affection of his friend had overcome in 
 an instant all feelings of anger ; and reproach- 
 ing himself for the harshness and injustice with 
 which he had repelled his kind interference, he 
 now willingly accepted the offer of mediation, 
 which at first he had so unwisely rejected. 
 
 The good understanding that had always 
 subsisted between Dacre and Molesworth be- 
 came necessarily strengthened by the explanation 
 that took place on this occasion. Though 
 greatly inferior to Dacre in natural ability, 
 Harry Molesworth had the advantage of a 
 judgment unwarped by the wayward fancies of
 
 96 DACRE. 
 
 a wounded and susceptible mind. Though 
 devoid of much of that refinement of feeling 
 and taste which commanded for Dacre the 
 affection and respect of all who knew him, he 
 was greatly his superior in evenness of temper 
 and of spirits, differences which tended greatly 
 to rivet their mutual regard. Moreover, know- 
 ing as he did the secret cause, he could sympa- 
 thise with those feelings in Dacre, that were 
 regarded by others as the fruits of a haughty 
 and capricious disposition ; and though often 
 deprecating the effects which sprung from that 
 cause, he felt only regret when others felt re- 
 sentment. In the society of Harry Molesworth, 
 Dacre also felt a pleasure unknown to him in 
 that of any other person; for in his company 
 he was free from the self reproach which he 
 had attached to the concealment of his situation. 
 To these combined circumstances, rather than
 
 DACRE. 97 
 
 to any particular resemblance in character, must 
 be attributed a constancy of friendship, un- 
 clouded by those interruptions which, too often 
 on the part of Dacre, disturbed the goodwill 
 of others towards him, and procured for him 
 the injurious reputation of caprice. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 98 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
 
 Whatever stirs this mortal frame ; 
 All are but ministers of Love, 
 
 And feed his sacred flame. Coleridge. 
 
 At the age of four-and-twenty Dacre quitted 
 the navy. His youthful enthusiasm for the 
 service had somewhat subsided : it had ah-eady 
 afforded liim the means of seeing much of the 
 world, and the hope of continued peace de- 
 prived him of the prospect of any glorious dis- 
 tinction in sucli a career. These circumstances 
 alone would probably not have been sufficient 
 to induce such a change; but with increasing 
 years and with declining health, Lord Hexham
 
 DACRE. 99 
 
 If- 
 
 became daily more conscious of the cheerlessness 
 of a solitary home. This fact he no longer con- 
 cealed from his nephew ; and Francis, who owed 
 to his uncle almost more than filial duty and 
 affection, consented, without hesitation, to fore- 
 stall the half expressed wish that he should quit 
 a profession which necessitated such long separ- 
 ations. 
 
 It was about a year previous to this important 
 step that Dacre had formed an acquaintance in 
 Italy, which materially influenced his feelings, 
 and promised to have no slight effect upon the 
 happiness of his after life. At that period he 
 first became acquainted with Lord and Lady 
 Kendal ; and it was not long before he felt him- 
 self powerfully attracted by their daughter, Lady 
 Emily Somers. The arrival of Lord Kendal 
 and his family at Naples by land, had preceded 
 
 by a very short time that of Dacre by sea. An 
 
 F 2
 
 100 DACRE. 
 
 introduction was soon effected, and as Lord 
 Kendal was rich and hospitable, and showed no 
 lack of that sociable desire to cultivate the ac- 
 quaintance of his countrymen, which the English 
 so invariably display as soon as they have quitted 
 England, no opportunity was wanting for ripeu' 
 ing acquaintance into friendship, or friendship 
 into love. Invitations were given and accepted ; 
 the hand of Lady Emily was sought, and re- 
 ceived for the dance ; parties of pleasure were 
 formed, and scenes equally new and enchanting 
 to both were viewed for the first time together. 
 A thousand opportunities for falling in love 
 are afforded to young people in a continental 
 tour, which are denied them in England. The 
 mountain path cannot be ascended alone, but 
 imperatively requires the supporting arm of the 
 companion: without his careful assistance the 
 mule would not thread its dangerous way, and
 
 DACRE. 101 
 
 her safety requires his attendance at her side. 
 The distant expedition brings a moonlight re- 
 turn. They Hsten to the murmuring ripple of 
 the wave as it gently readies the shore, and the 
 joyous sound of voices softened by the distance 
 breaks upon the ear. They gaze on the tre- 
 mulous stream of silver light which dances on 
 the scarcely ruffled waters, and watch with won- 
 der and delight the red bickering flame that 
 ever and anon shoots upwards from the summit 
 of Vesuvius. Their feelino-s are brought into 
 unison by sympathy in the contemplative plea- 
 sures which such scenes must produce ; and the 
 gay frivolity of the ball-room is exchanged for 
 the silent enthusiasm which nature awakes. 
 
 It is at moments like these, when the petty 
 anxieties of life are absorbed in the sublimity of 
 the scene — when the thoughts are not selfishly 
 engaged in a search for admiration — when the 
 
 F 3
 
 102 DACRE. 
 
 heart is not hardened by the vain ambition of 
 conquest — that we are most accessible to ten- 
 derness and attachment. It is at moments Hke 
 these that — when silence is at length broken — 
 the warm in heart and the pure in mind dare to 
 pour forth those sentiments which are least suited 
 to the gaiety of society, and least understood by 
 the cold and reckless. 
 
 It was under circumstances thus favourable 
 to the growth of his passion, that Dacre became 
 warmly attached to Lady Emily Somers. He 
 loved with all the freshness and ardour of a first 
 attachment ; and the kind welcome with which 
 he was ever received by Lord and Lady Kendal 
 would have flattered him with the belief that his 
 attentions to their daughter were not displeasing 
 to them, had not the suspicion that he was in- 
 debted for this encouragement to their ignorance 
 of his real position and prospects, proved a con-
 
 DACRE. 103 
 
 stant check to his hopes. The child who be- 
 lieves itself concealed when it closes its eyes, 
 does not practise a greater self-delusion, tlian 
 the man who believes that the motives and feel- 
 ings by which he is actuated, and which are ever 
 most present to his own mind, must be equally 
 apparent to the minds of others. How often 
 does this delusion give a meaning where nothing 
 was meant. What a superstructure of perverted 
 facts are raised upon this groundwork of im- 
 agination, and how great, how humiliating the 
 astonishment, when the disappearance of the 
 baseless fabric reveals the naked truth ! 
 
 In the facilities so frequently afforded to Dacre, 
 Lord Kendal had no matrimonial views for his 
 daughter. The attractions of Lady Emily had 
 accustomed him to see her always attended and 
 courted, and he was totally unconscious of there 
 
 existing in Dacre any particular preference to- 
 
 F 4«
 
 104? DACRE. 
 
 wards her. Lord Kendal had deservedly the 
 reputation of being a clever man ; but he was 
 not an observant one. He was well-informed, but 
 was more proud of being conversant with the 
 fine arts than, as was thought by some, his know- 
 ledge warranted. In Dacre he ever found an 
 obliging and an intelligent listener. He knew 
 that Dacre had much taste and information upon 
 these subjects ; and if Lord Kendal had the ill 
 luck to misname a picture, miscall a statue, or 
 misdate a building, the admirer of his daughter 
 had too much tact to betray the error. Dacre 
 was therefore found an agreeable addition to 
 every party; and thus, whilst seeking a pleasant 
 companion for himself. Lord Kendal was inno- 
 cently providing a lover for his daughter. 
 
 With Lady Kendal the case was different. 
 She had no doubt of the real cause of Dacre's 
 willingness to seek, and to be sought, by them.
 
 DACRE. 105 
 
 She liked to see her daughter admired, and felt 
 a preference for those who admired her. She 
 approved of all that she had observed or heard 
 of Dacre ; and though in no hurry to part with 
 Emily, yet, as her maternal vanity was flattered 
 by his devotion, she opposed no obstacles to the 
 opportunities of being with hei*, which Lord 
 Kendal so frequently afforded him. Lady Ken- 
 dal carefully abstained from all mention of her 
 opinions on this subject to her husband — Lord 
 Kendal was not to be trusted in such matters. 
 He had never lived much with young people. 
 Early in life he had married the only person 
 upon whom he had ever bestowed his affections, 
 and he looked upon every flirtation that did not 
 terminate in matrimony, as an idle and repre- 
 hensible expenditure of time and sentiment. He 
 forgot that time was often necessary to create a 
 
 reciprocity of feeling; and in more than one 
 
 F 5
 
 106 DACRE. 
 
 instance he had most unceremoniously dropped 
 all intercourse with those whom report had in 
 any degree connected wath the name of his 
 daughter. His modes of discouraging were 
 pointed and decisive; but were certainly not 
 considerate or mild. Lady Kendal was aware 
 that not even the charms of Lady Emily could 
 overcome the effects that frequent repetitions of 
 such treatment must produce. When, there- 
 fore, Lord Kendal possessed the same means as 
 herself of judging upon such matters. Lady 
 Kendal did not think it necessary to sound the 
 alarm, by imparting to him the results of her 
 own observations. She had been so accustomed 
 to see her daughter pass unharmed through the 
 fiery ordeal of flirtation, that the danger of risk- 
 ing her happiness by tacitly permitting her ad- 
 mirers to Avin her affections, if they could, did 
 not occur to her mind.
 
 DACRE. 107 
 
 Though Dacre was not mistaken in supposing 
 that Lady Kendal perceived his attentions to 
 Lady Emily, it may easily be imagined that he 
 deceived himself as often in the degree of mean- 
 inc: which he attached to her conduct towards 
 him, as in believing that Lord Kendal had either 
 desired or accepted him as a son-in-law. The 
 more he felt secure of the approbation of Lord 
 and Lady Kendal, the more sensitively alive did 
 he become to the fear lest he might be indebted 
 for much of their good will to their erroneous 
 impression concerning his future position in the 
 world. These fears were exchanged, in time, 
 for the painful certainty that Lord Kendal did 
 regard him as the heir to Lord Hexham. 
 
 The day preceding that which was appointed 
 
 for the departure of Lord Kendal and his family 
 
 from Naples, a conversation took place at his 
 
 house upon the new members who were likely 
 
 F 6
 
 1 08 DACRE. 
 
 to be elected for the ensuing Parliament. Dacre 
 was strongly advised, by some of the party who 
 were present, to take the opportunity of his ap- 
 proaching return to England to come forward 
 in political life. In the course of the evening 
 he had the mortification of accidentally over- 
 hearing Lord Kendal explain to the gentleman 
 who was most pressing in his advice upon the 
 subject, the inexpediency of Dacre making any 
 effort to become a member of the House of 
 Commons, when in all probability he would be 
 called before the next dissolution to take the 
 place he must inherit in the House of Lords. 
 Dacre saw that the conversation did not stop 
 here ; but he heard no more. He had been an 
 unwilling though an interested listener to a 
 remark that was obviously not intended for his 
 ear, and he felt bound in honour instantly to 
 remove out of the reach of any further observ-
 
 DACRE. 109 
 
 ations on himself. He stole one glance at Lord 
 Kendal, and fancied that he read in his counte- 
 nance a look of surprise at the answer he re- 
 ceived from the gentleman with whom he was 
 conversing. The idea that, at that moment, 
 Lord Kendal might possibly be, for the first 
 time, learning the error he had committed in 
 regarding him as heir to Lord Hexham, in- 
 stantly rushed upon his mind. He felt humili- 
 ated and oppressed by the thought; and though 
 a few short hours must now bring that separ~ 
 ation between himself and Lady Emily, to which 
 he had hitherto looked forward with so much 
 dread, he was the first of the party who arose 
 to depart. 
 
 A last meeting of those who during many 
 previous months have lived in frequent habits 
 of friendly communion is always sad, — sad to 
 the heart, even when it wears a fictitious garb
 
 110 DACRE. 
 
 of forced gaiety ; but most sad, when, as in the 
 present instance, it is a last meeting in a foreign 
 land. It is not only that when abroad the ties 
 of country bind us more closely to each other, 
 and seem as it were like ties of kindi'ed ; but 
 there is the superadded consciousness that, too 
 probably, we may never meet again under cir- 
 cumstances that will cause those ties to be of 
 equal value. In our own land we often witness 
 the dispersion of a society of intimate friends. 
 We fly from the town to the country — from 
 the country to the town — but our parting is 
 not embittered by a thought that we shall never 
 participate in such scenes again ; or that if we 
 meet, it will be with that change of feeling 
 which altered position and associations, and a 
 diminished dependence on each other for friendly 
 offices or social pleasure, have a natural tend- 
 ency to produce.
 
 DACRE. Ill 
 
 Upon these occasions there is a melancholy 
 sense of every thing being clone for the last 
 time, which even the spirits of the gayest can 
 scarcely resist. As the evening v^^ears away, 
 the easy flow of conversation is arrested by 
 this depressing thought; the force of argu- 
 ment seems paralysed ; the brilliant sally and 
 the quick repartee die iniuttered on the lips ; 
 the laugh is seldom raided ; the voice of merri- 
 ment is hushed; and silence at length gives 
 warning that the moment of separation is at 
 hand. All feel that a term of pleasure is con- 
 cluded; and each is unwilling to proclaim its 
 end, and bid good bye. 
 
 There were many of those friends assembled 
 at Lord Kendal's for the purpose of taking 
 leave, who lingered late that evening; there 
 were others who arose early the next morning 
 to bid adieu once more ; but Dacre did neither :
 
 112 DACRE. 
 
 he could think only of the change that might 
 have been effected towards him in the feelings 
 of the parents (perhaps even in those of their 
 daughter herself) by the possible disclosures of 
 the preceding evening, and he thought even 
 absence was preferable to the chance of being 
 exposed to the chilling blight of an altered 
 manner. 
 
 Lord Kendal returned to England ; and many 
 months had not elapsed before Dacre, soon after 
 his own arrival in London, found himself warmly 
 greeted by the family on whom his happiness 
 now so much depended. Their meeting was 
 accidental. In Lady Emily he flattered himself 
 he ^aw just such embarrassment as he could 
 have wished ; and by Lord and Lady Kendal 
 he was kindly reproached for not apprising 
 them of his return. The charm of this unex- 
 pected kindness was however soon broken. He
 
 DACRE, lis 
 
 could not feel certain that Lord Kendal had 
 been undeceived respecting him ; and he deter- 
 mined one morning, when alone with Lady 
 Kendal, to ascertain whether he might consider 
 the ready welcome that always awaited him at 
 their house, as proceeding only from personal 
 regard to himself, or as possibly directed to- 
 wards the heir of Lord Hexham. He suc- 
 ceeded in his object; but discovered, to his 
 mortification, that they were no better informed 
 as to his prospects than at the time when he 
 overheard that, which he knew to be false, so 
 innocently stated as matter of fact by Lord 
 Kendal. 
 
 Till now his conscience had been free from 
 giving any sanction to the error. So long as 
 he felt doubtful upon the subject, he could 
 hot reproach himself with knowingly encourag- 
 ing the deception ; but the case was now altered.
 
 114; DACRE. 
 
 He had so led the conversation with Lady 
 Kendal as to elicit all he sought to know, with- 
 out committing himself to any assertion or 
 contradiction on the subject ; but he could not 
 any longer plead doubt to himself as an excuse 
 for a want of openness, which might be re- 
 garded by them as dishonourable. His position 
 became extremely embarrassing ; he could not 
 feel at ease ; and this constraint diminished even 
 the pleasure which he had hitherto derived from 
 the society of Lady Emily. If they met at a 
 ball, he abstained from offering himself as her 
 partner: others were allowed to hand her to 
 her carriage. He no longer maintained his 
 position in the opera-box : his visits became 
 less frequent, his attentions less marked ; and, 
 though his feelings were unaltered, it seemed to 
 be as often his wish to avoid as to seek the object 
 of his affections.
 
 DACRE. 115 
 
 This state of affairs was too painful to admit 
 of any pleasure, and he therefore resolved to 
 join his uncle in the country, in order that he 
 might either obtain his consent to an open 
 declaration being made to Lady Emily and her 
 parents, of his prospects and his wishes, or else 
 to withdraw at once from the society of her 
 whose attractions became daily more destructive 
 to his peace. 
 
 Lord Hexham was one with whom all were 
 obliged to consider well the time, and watch 
 for the most fitting opportunity to mention 
 any subject which demanded his attention, 
 or to which it mi^ht not be agreeable to him 
 to listen. He was of a nervous and irritable 
 disposition, and it was very unfortunate for 
 Dacre, that on his arrival at Hexham House, 
 he found his uncle more than usually un- 
 well. Dacre was aware how important it was
 
 116 DACRE. 
 
 to his health that he should not be agitated, 
 and for above a fortnight he delayed, in the 
 daily hope of seeing such amendment as would 
 enable him, without risk, to lay open his heart 
 to his uncle. He waited in vain : at the end 
 of that time. Lord Hexham had a seizure from 
 which he never recovered, though his existence 
 was prolonged for some montlis : but his facul- 
 ties had been impaired by the shock ; his powers 
 of reasoning and comprehension were extin- 
 guished, and he expired in the arms of his 
 nephew, wholly uninformed of all that Dacre 
 had wished to impart. 
 
 The circumstances which Dacre had so un- 
 willingly kept secret were now known to all. 
 Lord Hexham was dead, and the supposed 
 heir presumptive did not assume the title. He 
 was, therefore, no longer fettered by scruples 
 from declaring his affection for Lady Emily ;
 
 DACRE. 117 
 
 and his uncle having, greatly to his surprise, 
 bequeathed him a considerable fortune, he 
 hoped, that should he succeed in procuring her 
 consent to his wishes, he should meet with no 
 opposition from her parents. There had been 
 no commvuiication between them and himself 
 since he had left London, the preceding summer. 
 Durino; the lino;erinff illness of his uncle, he had 
 never quitted him for a single day : he had 
 heard nothing from them ; and, situated as he 
 was, he had been restrained by delicacy from 
 writing unasked.
 
 118 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 Oh ! impotent estate of human life ! 
 Where hope and fear maintain eternal strife ; 
 Where fleeting joy does lasting doubt inspire, 
 And most we question what we most admire. 
 Among thy various gifts, great Heaven, bestow 
 Our cup of love unmixed! Prior. 
 
 It was late in the spring, when Dacre returned 
 to London, in a mood of mingled excitement 
 and depression. His heart glowed with the 
 ardent hope of successful love, but his spirits 
 were still depressed by the loss of his earliest 
 friend and protector. The cheering expect- 
 ations, excited by the recollection of past kind- 
 ne^es, were sometimes involuntarily checked by 
 the fear lest worldly ambition should impede
 
 DACRE. 119 
 
 their fulfilment. He was determined to lose no 
 time in explaining his feelings, and he looked 
 forward with feverish impatience to the moment 
 that must release him from the suspense in 
 which he had so long remained. His first act 
 after arriving in town was to call at Lady Ken- 
 dal's ; but he called in vain. It was a Wednes- 
 day morning, and it occurred to him that 
 Almack's might possibly afford him that even- 
 ino; the wished-for meeting, and thither he 
 determined to go. 
 
 There are many to whom the name of a ball 
 conveys no other idea than the meeting of va- 
 rious persons, to indulge in the unmeaning 
 practice of dancing : there are others who look 
 upon a ball as the means of conquest and dis- 
 play. By some it is regarded as the business of 
 life ; by others as the frivolous recreation of un- 
 thinking people. By the wily matron It is
 
 120 DACRE. 
 
 viewed as a market ; by the presumptuous hen- 
 apparent as the bazaar from which he may 
 select his mate at pleasure ; and there are those 
 among the elders, who, regarding it as the inno- 
 cent outbreak of joy and mirth in the young, 
 benignantly approve of such safety-valve to the 
 exuberance of youthful spirits. But with far 
 other feelings is such a scene viewed by the 
 lover, for to him only it becomes the theatre 
 of romance, and the dwelling-place of passion. 
 
 There have been some who think that love 
 is a native of the rocks; but its birth-place 
 matters little, when once it is called into being, 
 for it can thrive alike wherever it is trans- 
 planted. It shrouds itself in an atmosphere of 
 its own creation, and sees the surrounding ob- 
 jects through the medium of its own fanciful 
 halo. The existence of colour depends not 
 more on the rays of the sun, than depends the
 
 DACRE. 121 
 
 hue which is lent to all that is external, upon 
 the internal feelings of the mind. The bustling 
 scenes of gaiety may appear ill suited to the 
 indulgence of deep feeling; yet the mind which 
 is preoccupied by one absorbing thought, has 
 not only an inward attraction that bids defi- 
 ance to the intrusions of others, but has even 
 the power of converting into aliment all that 
 should tend to destroy its force. The crowds 
 that pass before the eyes of a lover, seem but 
 as a procession of which his mistress is the 
 queen. If he talks to another, it is to listen 
 to the welcome theme of her praise from the 
 voice of partial friendship; and if the actions 
 of others ever attract his attention, it is to 
 observe, with the jealous watchfulness of a 
 lover, the manner and reception of those whom 
 he regards as rivals. 
 
 It was in a frame of mind very accessible to 
 
 VOL, I. G
 
 122 DACRE. 
 
 such feelings that Dacre entered the room. 
 His nervous impatience had induced him to 
 repair there early; and he found himself 
 among the little knot of company who prowl 
 about the room waiting for the expected crowd, 
 half angry at the tardiness of others, and half 
 ashamed of their own punctuality. His eyes 
 were intent upon the door, and he anxiously 
 watched that slow distinct arrival of group 
 after group, which marks the languid begin- 
 ning of a ball. But now the plot thickens — 
 the group have mingled, and there are bowings 
 of heads, and greetings of tongues, and shak- 
 ing of hands ; the tide presses forward ; the 
 music tempts not in vain ; partners are chosen ; 
 chaperons scramble for benches ; the crowd 
 becomes dense, and the ball is alive. 
 
 Dacre waited in painful suspense till within 
 a few minutes of the hour of hopeless exclu-
 
 DACRE. 123 
 
 slon, and had almost resigned his hopes, when 
 he saw, with nervous delight, the long delayed 
 entry of Lady Kendal and her daughter. He 
 approached, but with an alacrity which was 
 checked more and more, every instant, by the 
 misgiving which their manner inspired. He 
 saw at the first glance that they had perceived 
 his presence from afar ; but where was that 
 look of pleasure which ought to have accom- 
 panied the recognition ? He missed it ; but no 
 matter : " Women," said he to himself, " are not 
 demonstrative. I dare say they will be glad to 
 see me;" and to this humble point of unro- 
 mantic expectation had his high hopes been 
 cooled down in the course of the very few 
 seconds which elapsed before he was near 
 enough to shake them by the hand. 
 
 Alas! proximity brought no improvement. 
 He strufTirled for an instant against admitting 
 
 6 £i
 
 1 24 DACRE. 
 
 to himself that there was positive alteration in 
 their manner; but the fact was undeniable: 
 Lady Emily received him with cold embarrass- 
 ment; Lady Kendal with the indifference of 
 mere civility. Lady Emily, when he drew near, 
 was talking gaily to Sir Edward Bradford. His 
 approach visibly checked her liveliness ; and it 
 seemed a welcome relief, when, an instant after- 
 wards, Sir Edward offered her his arm to lead 
 her away to another part of the room. 
 
 Dacre watched her with bitter intentness — 
 saw the cloud of gravity which his presence 
 had cast, continue for a few pioments — and then 
 smiles returned — and she even began to lauffh 
 gaily with her companion ; and then Dacre 
 looked at her no longer. He turned away, and 
 it was with a pain and desolation of heart that 
 he had never known before ; for at that moment 
 he felt the first access of a passion to which he
 
 DACRE. 125 
 
 had hitherto been a stranger, — jealousy. To 
 be subjected to change — to coldness — was 
 cruel ; but to see another preferred, and to feel 
 that another now occupied the place he would 
 have filled — and to see that Emily could smile 
 at the pain she inflicted, — all this was a severe 
 aggravation. 
 
 With a heart swelling at the thought, he 
 resolved to obtain that evening some explanation 
 of this unexpected change of manner. He 
 sought an opportunity of again approaching 
 Lady Kendal, and addressed her with some 
 trifling observation, in the vain hope of en- 
 gaging her in conversation. She answered him 
 with the same cool civility with which she had 
 greeted him on her entrance ; but she originated 
 nothing in return. Dacre would gladly have 
 exchanged the most pointed rudeness for such 
 chilling politeness ; for the one might have 
 
 G 3
 
 1£6 PACRE. 
 
 seemed a justification for his asking the explan- 
 ation he sought; whilst the other blasted his 
 hopes without the power of redress, or even of 
 complaint. Just as he was about to retire 
 under the galling consciousness that his presence 
 was unwelcome, Lady Emily returned from the 
 Jance to take her station by her mother's side. 
 To quit the spot as she drew nigh was repug- 
 nant to his feelings ; and he still lingered, in 
 hopes of once more awakening in her the tone 
 of friendly intimacy that her mother had aban- 
 doned. But again he was disappointed ; she 
 carefully avoided meeting his eye, and it was 
 not till Lady Kendal had gently touched her 
 arm that she appeared to heed him. Her reply 
 was short and repulsive ; and immediately tak- 
 ing advantage of the vicinity of a female friend, 
 she engaged herself in conversation, so as to
 
 DACRE. 127 
 
 preclude the possibility of being again addressed 
 by him. 
 
 Dacre retired to his lonely home, disappointed 
 and wounded by the events of the evening. 
 During the whole of that day, the expected 
 meeting with Lady Emily had been the one 
 prevailing subject of his thoughts. His imagin- 
 ation had been busily employed in picturing to 
 himself the time and the manner of that meet- 
 ing ; his fears had faded, as the coming pleasure 
 of again beholding her had, with its approach, 
 gained force ; and he had entered the ball-room 
 full of anxious, yet hopeful, anticipations. Those 
 past occasions rose to his mind, on which he 
 had felt that, had he been differently situated, 
 he might have dared to declare his sentiments. 
 He imagined their recurrence, and, in fancy, 
 rehearsed the scene that now, under altered cir- 
 cumstances, might soon ensue — perhaps that 
 
 G 4
 
 128 DACRE. 
 
 very evening. But the evening was past — the 
 meeting was over — and all his bright visions 
 had faded before the cold reality of unrequited 
 aiFection. His imagination had exalted him to 
 the station of an accepted lover ; and he had 
 sunk in a few short minutes to the chilling level 
 of a mere acquaintance. 
 
 Yet what right had he to complain? Had 
 their conduct been such as to justify his asking 
 — " What is my offence?" He might have 
 then looked forward to the enjoyment of that 
 exciting happiness which attends a reconciliation 
 with those we love. But he felt that their 
 conduct did not warrant any such question, 
 and that he could not presume to reproach 
 them with having merely disappointed his 
 expectations of the pleasure they would testify 
 at meeting him, or in the degree of regard they 
 entertained for him. He saw his prospects were
 
 DACRE. 125) 
 
 clouded, and that his hopes of happiness were 
 delayed, if not extinguished. 
 
 Dacre soon found that it was not only from 
 Lady Kendal and from Lady Emily Somers 
 that he was destined to endure a change of man- 
 ner. He was no longer Lord Kendal's chosen 
 referee upon a meditated purchase of a statue or 
 a picture — on the bet he might venture to make 
 at his club, or the vote he ought to give in par- 
 liament — no lonofer the welcome third to en- 
 liven his tete-a-tete ride with his daughter — no 
 longer the guest whom they almost scolded if 
 he did not frequently avail himself of a general 
 invitation to their table. The idea that he was 
 despised by the parents on account of his birth, 
 and possibly superseded in the affection of their 
 child, soon took possession of his mind. He felt 
 at once offended and humiliated; and gladly 
 would he have rooted from his heart an attach- 
 
 G 5
 
 130 DACRE. 
 
 ment which was secure only of opposition, and 
 which he now saw so much reason to beheve was 
 not reciprocal. But this was impossible ; and 
 the tenacity with which this feeling still clung, 
 and the vigour with which it resisted every effort 
 to uproot it, served only, by convincing him of 
 its strength, greatly to increase the depression 
 of spirit, and morbid sensibility, which rendered 
 valueless in his eyes every advantage he pos- 
 sessed, and to deprive him, by degrees, of all 
 power of enjoyment. 
 
 Still were there many by whom Francis Dacre 
 was envied. It was not known to the world that 
 his affections were preoccupied ; but it was well 
 known to all that he bore a high reputation for 
 talent and acquirement — and that he was young, 
 good-looking, and rich. His manner was na- 
 tural, his countenance expressive ; and his story 
 had excited interest. He was still sufficiently
 
 DACRE. 131 
 
 new in the London world to be an object of cu- 
 riosity ; and the diversity of opinion respecting 
 the merits and failings of his character, made 
 him a theme of more frequent discussion, and 
 of far greater interest, than if all had been 
 agreed upon the qualities that entitled him to 
 praise or to censure. By some he was lauded with 
 enthusiasm, and by others regarded as disap- 
 pointing and cold ; by one party he was accused 
 of melancholy — by another, of caprice. At one 
 time, the untainted freshness of his mind was 
 extolled — at another, he was reproached for his 
 untimely indifference to the pleasures of life ; and 
 those whose imagination supplied them with no 
 better comment to offer, were contented to say he 
 was unlike other people. From one danger he al- 
 ways safely escaped — that of being overlooked, 
 even in the crowded society in which he lived — 
 for, without effort, he became " the fashion." 
 
 G 6
 
 132 DACRE. 
 
 With such recommendations, it was not sur- 
 prising that Dacre should find himself an object 
 of interest to match-making mothers, flirtatious 
 daughters, and coquettish wives. In the vain 
 hope of supplanting the image of her who alone 
 occupied his mind, he sometimes endeavoured 
 to appreciiite the charms and admire the 
 beauties, of others ; he tried to be, or to seem, 
 amused and interested ; but to no purpose. There 
 were two objects which often passed before his 
 eyes, and rendered futile his strongest resolution- 
 The sight of Lady Emily Somers made in- 
 effectual his assumption of indifference ; and he 
 never met Sir Edward Bradford, but the spirit 
 of jealousy, which he flattered himself was dor- 
 mant, would boil anew as fiercely as before. No 
 wonder, then, that the jury of fair ladies who 
 kindly sat in judgment upon his disposition, 
 should have returned against Dacre the terrible
 
 DACRE. 133 
 
 verdict of " wilful caprice, and cold indifFereiice," 
 
 — no wonder that all who convicted him of such 
 
 offences, should earnestly desire his punishment : 
 
 ' for man's heart is the natural prey and property 
 
 of woman ; and he who refuses to surrender it to 
 I 
 
 any one of the many who may be willing to 
 accept it, is apt to be treated as a common enemy, 
 that has resisted a just authority. To subdue 
 him, is ever accounted a service to the common 
 cause; and success is hailed with applause, 
 though it may not outweigh the envy which it 
 excites. 
 
 " So Lady Anne has fixed upon Mr. Dacre 
 for her next conquest," said the dowager Lady 
 
 A , who always touched, without preface or 
 
 scruple, upon any bit of gossip it had been her 
 good fortune to learn. 
 
 " She will do less harm than usual," replied 
 the sarcastic Mrs. B . <' There will be no
 
 134 DACRE. 
 
 love lost between those two, for both are equally 
 void of feeling;." 
 
 Lady C cast a significant look towards 
 
 her daughter, as she whispered to a few con- 
 fidential friends, that Lady Anne had succeeded, 
 as usual, in spoiling a match ; but whether the 
 
 daughter of Lady C could, with truth, 
 
 claim the proud distinction of having been ne- 
 glected by Mr. Dacre, or whether both he and 
 Lady Anne were in reality so totally void of 
 susceptibility, it is at present unnecessary to 
 disclose ; but certain it is, that when the eye of 
 gossip saw the bright countenance of Lady 
 Anne Preston beaming with pleasure at the 
 approach of Mr. Dacre — watched him evening 
 after evening listen with unusual attention to 
 her flow of conversation — the tocsin was 
 sounded, a flirtation proclaimed, and a theme
 
 DACRE. 135 
 
 for curiosity and a subject for inquisitive specu- 
 lation was founded. 
 
 It so happened tliat both the Kendals and 
 Lady Anne Preston lingered late in* London — 
 Dacre did the same — and whilst he could not 
 disguise from himself that the breach had un- 
 equivocally widened between himself and the 
 former, he became daily more conscious of the 
 power possessed by the latter to occupy his 
 attention and promote his amusement. But all 
 things must have an end ; and by the time the 
 last waggons bore their cumbrous weight from 
 the doors of those who tarried longest — and 
 when assizes and races, bow meetings and 
 regattas, had robbed London of its last idlers 
 — they also had all departed in the difFerent 
 directions to which duty or pleasure had sum- 
 moned them.
 
 136 DACRE. 
 
 It is well that, once a year, the tide of folly 
 and malice is checked in its course by the timely 
 interference of change of company and place. 
 Many an error is repented, and many a slander 
 is forgotten, in this fortunate cessation of oppor- 
 tunities to feed and promulgate the gossip of 
 society. It may be sad to take leave of the 
 scenes of pleasure ; but to how many does the 
 absence of temptation prove the best safeguard 
 for their conduct ! Let it, therefore, be some 
 consolation to the benevolent lingerer in town, 
 who is daily obliged to witness the dreary West- 
 end scene, to remember that, by this cheerless 
 priyation of bustle and amusement, some may 
 be spared that worse desolation of heart — the 
 loss of an approving conscience.
 
 137 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Vain pleasures of luxurious life, 
 
 For ever with yourselves at strife ; 
 * * * * 
 
 When will your hapless patrons learn 
 To watch and ponder — to discern 
 The freshness, the eternal youth. 
 Of admiration sprung from truth, 
 From beauty infinitely growing 
 Upon a mind with love o'erflowing; 
 To sound the depths of every art. 
 That seeks its wisdom through the heart. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 The scene changes to Hatton, the country 
 residence of Lord and Lady Whitby, where 
 Dacre was an expected guest. In Lord and 
 Lady Whitby there was a fortunate similarity 
 of disposition. They lived in a state of self- 
 gratulation on the superiority of their wealth
 
 138 DACRE. 
 
 and possessions over those of their more 
 humble neighbours. Endowed with large for- 
 tune, and small understanding, they cultivated 
 their failings and miscalled them virtues ; and if, 
 Pharisee like, they felt grateful for being not as 
 others are, they certainly thought it matter of 
 still greater gratitude to all around, that such 
 a statesman — such a Lord-lieutenant — such a 
 landlord — and such a Lady Bountiful, should 
 have blessed the neighbourhood with their pre- 
 sence. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Jackson ! I really must leave 
 it to you : I had no idea so many people would 
 have accepted," said Lady Whitby, in a tone 
 of despair to her housekeeper, after trying in 
 vain to arrange with her that most perplexing 
 matter — the location of more guests than the 
 house could conveniently hold. 
 
 " It is very unfortunate indeed, my Lady,"
 
 DACRE. 139 
 
 replied the disconsolate Mrs. Jackson. '' Is n't 
 there no chance of some of your Ladyship's 
 friends being unable to come?" 
 
 " None, I am afraid. Remember we have 
 settled that the Duke and Duchess of Bolton 
 are to have the red damask room; and then 
 there is the yellow satin, and the blue silk, and 
 the green room, and the Eastern apartment ; and 
 then there is the governess's room. Tell Miss 
 Pearson she can sleep in the nursery ; and some 
 of the young ladies who are coming can be 
 put into the attics : as for the single gentlemen, 
 they can go into the servants' room; you know 
 single gentlemen can always be put any where : 
 in short, you must manage it some how." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Jackson wondered how she should 
 ever succeed in making fifteen rooms afford a 
 room apiece to twenty people ; but seeing all 
 further assistance from her Ladyship was hope-
 
 140 DACRE. 
 
 less, she quitted the apartment, leaving Lady 
 Whitby to the uninterrupted perusal of an 
 answer to one of the recently issued invitations 
 to Hatton. The letter was from Mrs. Ashby, 
 as follows : — 
 
 " My dear Lady Whitby, 
 
 " I need hardly assure you with how 
 much pleasure both my daughters and myself 
 have received your kind summons to Hatton. 
 It is so good of you to have thought of us ; but 
 pray never think of mentioning our rooms ; you 
 know of old that we like to be treated sans 
 Jhfon, and that you can put us into any corner. 
 We are so delighted at having the opportunity 
 of seeing dear Lady Maria's debut, though the 
 idea of yoiir having a daughter old enough to 
 come out is really incredible. It seems but yes- 
 terday since your marriage ; and as my imper-
 
 DACRE. 141 
 
 tinent children always accuse me of being a little 
 too honest, you must know it is no flattery when 
 / say, that seeing you, does not help to un- 
 deceive me. 
 
 " Nobody thinks or talks of any thing but 
 the birthday ball at Hatton. It always is the 
 topic throughout the county, and now excites 
 even double its usual commotion from the 
 curiosity and interest felt in the appearance of 
 Lady Maria. What a pity it is, my dear Lady 
 Whitby, that every mother who wishes well 
 to her daughters, does not adopt your excellent 
 plan, of keeping them strictly confined to the 
 school-room till they take leave of it for ever. 
 It not only keeps their minds fresh, but gives so 
 much eclat to their first appearance. 
 
 " You ask me how Mr. Dacre was liked at 
 Thornbury. Poor, dear, good Mr. and Mrs. 
 Molesworth, who know nothing of the world,
 
 142 DACRE. 
 
 and see very little difference between one per- 
 son and another, found no fault in him. Young 
 Saville called him age?ie ,- and my naughty girls, 
 who will always say what they think, declared 
 they found him such a very incomprehensible, 
 unsatisfactory person, that he was no acquisi- 
 tion. I will not deny that I was a little dis- 
 appointed in him myself: it is so very difficult 
 to become acquainted, that I really think I knew 
 him better the first evening, than I did the last ; 
 but I am grown old enough to make allowances, 
 and the fact is, we were such a humdrum party 
 there, that, except ourselves and George Saville, 
 there was nobody dans son genre. I am quite 
 glad to think we shall meet him at Hatton, 
 where he must shine if he can. You know 
 every one envies your talent of drawing people 
 out; so you must not be surprised at ray giving 
 no opinion till I have seen him chez vous.
 
 DACRE. 143 
 
 " The ffirls wish to know whether the starv- 
 ing Irish are to have a fancy ball, or a bazaar 
 next spring. We hear the patriots are to have 
 whichever the Irish don't want. We, of course, 
 mean only to go to the one you patronise ; and 
 they would send directly for the materials for 
 Poonah painting, if you were likely to want 
 things for a stall. 
 
 " I suppose you have heard that Lord Win- 
 throp is ruined, and his creditors will only allow 
 him 5000/. a year, jjow tout ■pot age. Lady 
 Winthrop is very much to be pitied. Poor 
 soul ! her famous diamond necklace and tiara 
 are to be sold with the other things. 
 
 " Lord John Fareham's marriage with Miss 
 Cobb is on again. Cobb jpere has behaved 
 shamefully, and has placed every farthing of 
 her fortune out of Lord John's power. (One 
 should really suppose he didn't know why he
 
 144 DACRE. 
 
 marries her !) The marriage was off for a few- 
 days, and dear Lord John, who wrote to Mr. 
 Saville, said, in his Jia'if way, that nothing short 
 of the ill-bred knocking of his distracting cre- 
 ditors should have made him sell himself to 
 such a Jew ! 
 
 " Georgiana Gordon's marriage is declared. 
 The young people are all happiness ; but Mr. 
 Tracy can boast of little more than good abili- 
 ties and good character ; and as neither love, 
 learning, or virtue will do to live upon, I do 
 think it is very wrong in her parents to give 
 their consent. She really is a pretty girl, and 
 was so much admired, that I cannot understand 
 their allowing her to throw herself away. 
 
 " Now, then, my dear Lady Whitby, having 
 written, as you desired, all the news I had 
 heard, I will conclude by repeating the expres- 
 sion of the pleasure with which we look forward
 
 DACRE. 145 
 
 to the day appointed for our visit to Hatton ; 
 and begging you will accept for yourself, and 
 give to dear Lady Maria, my daughters* kindest 
 remembrances^ believe me, my dear Lady 
 Whitby, yours very sincerely, 
 
 " Lydia Ashby." 
 
 As most people like to be thought what they 
 wish to be, to hear the echo of their own 
 opinion upon such a subject is always agree- 
 able. Lady Whitby felt this, and had the wis- 
 dom always to take some one under her special 
 protection, who, like Mrs. Ashby, was " a little 
 too honest ; " no wonder, therefore, that she 
 should mentally exclaim, as she finished the 
 letter, " how remarkably well Mrs. Ashby 
 writes ! " 
 
 The time that had elapsed between the dis- 
 cussion of those arrangements which had so 
 
 VOL, I. H
 
 H6 BACRE. 
 
 much embarrassed the anxious Mrs. Jacksouj 
 and the arrival of the company in question, 
 brought nothing worth recording. Dacre was 
 but slightly acquainted with Lord and Lady 
 Whitby; but as Lord Whitby had always pro- 
 fessed a regard for his uncle, Lord Hexham, 
 and Lady Whitby knew he was the fashion, 
 they had both agreed on the propriety of his 
 being invited to Hatton. When, however, 
 Dacre approached the vast front of this large 
 Palladian house, and began to consider on how 
 little he knew of its owners, and to speculate 
 on the number of guests it might contain, and 
 to think of the lottery of country-house plea- 
 sures, he almost doubted his own wisdom in 
 having accepted the invitation. 
 
 There are, perhaps, few people to whom the 
 feeling of shyness is unknown. Neither sex nor 
 age are always proof against its visitations ; and
 
 DACRE. 147 
 
 there is no time when its presence is more 
 sensibly felt than on first arriving at the large 
 country house of a slight acquaintance. Cir- 
 cumstances had rendered Dacre peculiarly sen- 
 sitive; and in spite of having lived much in 
 society, he was easily accessible to the influence 
 of this feeling. The well-bred groom of the 
 chambers having politely presumed he would 
 like to be shown to his room immediately on his 
 arrival, he was spared the shower of questions 
 respecting the state of the roads, and the road 
 he came, and the hour he set oflP, and the com- 
 parison of clocks, with which a new comer is 
 always assailed : but on whom he was to depend 
 for a week's amusement he was still ignorant. 
 
 The dinner hour came, and Dacre was 
 greeted on the stairs by the well-known voice 
 of Lady Anne Preston. It was a welcome 
 sound, and the pleasure of the meeting was 
 
 H 2
 
 148 DACRE. 
 
 heightened by its unexpectedness. Lady Anne 
 had not only the power of generally making 
 others bestow their admiration on her, but 
 had also the more endearing quality of putting 
 them on good terms with themselves ; and 
 Dacre entered the drawing-room far better 
 satisfied than when he had quitted his own 
 room, with the prospects of his visit. 
 
 The company assembled at Hatton consisted 
 of the Duke and Duchess of Bolton, Mr. and 
 Lady Anne Preston, Lord Clermont, Lord 
 and Lady Henry Mansel, Mr. Maitland, Mr, 
 Rowley, a melancholy-looking chaplain, and a 
 smiling young tutor. Amongst the first of 
 those by whom Dacre was accosted on his 
 entrance, was the Duke of Bolton. They had 
 met occasionally in London ; and the little they 
 had seen of each other had produced a mutual 
 inclination for further acquaintance.
 
 DACRE. 149 
 
 The Duke was some years senior to Dacre, 
 undistinguished in appearance, but of an intel- 
 ligent and agreeable countenance ; sensible in 
 conversation, and sometimes humorous, though 
 never brilliant. He was eminently right- 
 minded — a man whom the ultras of party fac- 
 tion, whether Tory or Radical, dreaded and 
 disliked ; the former fearing his liberality — the 
 latter disappointed in the hope of his support. 
 He was calculated to satisfy neither of these 
 classes, for he was not a selfish monopolist, 
 and would saci ifice nothing for mob popularity. 
 A natui'ally good understanding had been well 
 stored with information, and habits of occupa- 
 tion had been carefully cultivated. He had 
 read and observed much — much, not in one 
 sphere alone, but in the various aspects of 
 many-coloured life ; and, to use a phrase hack- 
 neyed but expressive, he had learned " to 
 
 H 3
 
 150 DACRE. 
 
 march with the age." In the social exercise 
 of those advantages to which he was born, he 
 showed good taste, sense, and feeUng. Hospi- 
 table without ostentation, he encouraged by his 
 weahh without humiliating by his patronage; 
 and free from the pride of birth and station, 
 he remembered only his own situation as a 
 means to procure him the society of those 
 whose superior talents and acquirements he 
 respected. 
 
 It is the fate of distinction to be most often 
 misjudged, because obscurity is not judged at 
 all — and under this disadvantage the Duchess 
 of Bolton too frequently laboured. Before her 
 marriage she was considered a quiet, well-man- 
 nered girl ; and had she been the wife of an 
 obscure individual, she would have passed for 
 a dull, unobtrusive woman ; but as the Duchess 
 of Bolton, she was accused of hauteur. The
 
 DACRE. 151 
 
 accusation was undeserved ; but as she was very 
 shy, rather short-sighted, and a little indolent, 
 her manner did, in truth, sometimes justify the 
 impression. Dacre was amongst those who 
 held this unfavourable opinion of her disposi- 
 tion ; and when he found himself accidentally 
 placed by her side at dinner, he felt even more 
 than ordinary pleasure at finding on the other 
 Lady Anne Preston — for Lady Anne never 
 failed to be agreeable. 
 
 Vanity was with her the one great moving 
 principle of tb.')ught and action. She sought 
 admiration from all, and obtained it from many; 
 for she possessed in a remarkable degree that 
 quick discrimination of character, which taught 
 her to select with judgment the weakness she 
 assailed. Coquetry became to her an art, and, 
 like the skilful chess-player, she laid her plan 
 
 H 4
 
 152 DACRE. 
 
 upon a sagacious application of rules founded 
 on experience. But though the charm of con- 
 quest was great, the pain of defeat was greater ; 
 and her life was one of triumph without hap- 
 piness, and mortification without humility. 
 
 Mr. Preston was a good-looking young man, 
 about twenty-seven years of age, of serious pur- 
 suits, and a frivolous mind. Not fond of study, 
 and very fond of display, he affected deep 
 researches, and acquired shallow knowledge. 
 An early propensity for collecting shells, and 
 stuffing birds, had been construed into a love 
 of science; and a memory for technicalities, into 
 the fruits of labour. The decorations of his 
 library confirmed him a scholar, whilst the ima- 
 gination of an upholsterer, and the judgment of 
 a jeweller, gave pretensions to taste. 7'hus dis- 
 guising the soul of a dandy in the garb of a 
 pedant, he deceived himself, if not others, into
 
 DACRE. 153 
 
 the belief that his objects were elevated, and 
 his abilities universal. 
 
 Lord Clermont had just attained his majority. 
 During a long minority, his guardians had la- 
 boured hard to increase his store, but not his 
 wisdom ; and at the age of twenty-one, he found 
 himself in the dangerous possession of a full 
 purse, and an empty head. 
 
 Lord Heni'y Mansel was a good-humoured, 
 pennyless, handsome, younger brother, who had 
 been fortunate enough recently to obtain the 
 hand and affections of an heiress. Lady Henry 
 was lively and pretty ; and they were both de- 
 voted to amusement and to each other, and 
 both equally ignorant of the value of money. 
 Their marriage produced neither increase of 
 luxury on his part, nor diminution of expendi- 
 ture on hers, for he had always had every thing 
 he desired without paying, and she could 
 
 H 5
 
 154 DACRE. 
 
 always pay for every thing she desired. Lady 
 Henry would have viewed retrenchment in him 
 as a reflection on her generosity, and Lord 
 Henry would have been horrified at the sacri- 
 fice of any self-denial in her; so, whilst every 
 one was speculating on how long a limited in- 
 come would supply unlimited demands, they 
 rejoiced in the present, and feared nothing for 
 the future. 
 
 Mr. Maitland was a constant dweller in other 
 men's houses. He was one of those gentlemen 
 of little means and great wants, who barter 
 criticism for luxury, and whose sickly fastidious- 
 ness and avowed discontent diminished the 
 obligation, without impairing the economy, of 
 gratifying his tastes at other people's expense. 
 Shrewd in worldly knowledge, he had the ad- 
 vantage of understanding society better than 
 society understood him ; and, therefore, though
 
 DACRE. 
 
 155 
 
 he valued himself highly, he was taken at his 
 own valuation. His self indulgence was called 
 exquisite refinement; his love of detraction, keen 
 observation ; his insatiable curiosity, the inter- 
 est of friendship ; his love of interference, a 
 desire to be useful ; and his treacherous gossip, 
 amusinor conversation. 
 
 Mr. Rowley was a dull man of deep reading, 
 and profound ignorance. He pored over musty 
 folios for half a century, without understanding 
 their contents ; and once wrote an article in the 
 " Gentleman's Magazine " upon the illegible in- 
 scription of a newly discovered tombstone. But 
 that tomb was supposed to contain the moulder- 
 ing remains of an undistinguished ancestor of 
 Lord Whitby; and Mr. Rowley became a fre- 
 ■ quent guest at Hatton. He was raised to the 
 dignity of an antiquarian, and rescued from 
 the ignominious obscurity of a tiresome country 
 
 H 6
 
 1 56 DACRE. 
 
 neighbour, to become the obsequious hanger- 
 on of a great house. Lord Whitby was fond of 
 patronage; and as Mr. Rowley was willing to 
 be patronised, Lord Whitby had the advan- 
 tage of encouraging merit, without risking his 
 dignity. 
 
 Such was the company ; and their comment- 
 aries and opinions upon such topics as a dinner 
 table produces, were just what might be expected 
 from their respective dispositions. The Duke 
 of Bolton playfully endeavoured to correct some 
 of Lady Whitby's erroneous statements of elec- 
 tioneering stories; but that was quite hopeless; 
 for she never understood a joke, and liked her 
 own version best. Lord Whitby praised every 
 thing at his table ; owned he piqued himself 
 on the Hatton venison, and could venture to 
 recommend some wine, because he had imported 
 it. Mr. Preston, who made a point of talking
 
 DACRE. 157 
 
 to every body on their own subject, utterly con- 
 fused Mr. Rowley by asking his opinion respect- 
 ing some fossil bones, of which he had never 
 heard. Mr. Maitland explained in a confidential 
 tone to Lady Whitby, that one of the entrees 
 was not what it should be. Lady Henry 
 Mansel admired the silver ornaments ; and 
 Lord Henry and Lord Clermont talked of 
 Newmarket and Melton. 
 
 The Duchess of Bolton said little : she 
 listened patiently to all Lord Whitby had to 
 say, and upon him only she depended for con- 
 versation. From Dacre she received nothing 
 but the occasional attention which ffood breed- 
 ing demanded. The Duchess had barely ac- 
 knowledged him on his first appearance in the 
 drawing-room, and so slight was her bow of 
 recognition, that Dacre had felt it impossible to 
 approach her. He found no difficulty in as-
 
 158 DACRE. 
 
 signing a cause for this marked distance of 
 manner, and that cause was a source of great 
 and undeniable mortification. He knew that 
 she was the near relative and intimate friend 
 of Lady Emily Somers ; and he instantly re- 
 garded it as an additional proof of the un- 
 friendly disposition of her family towards him. 
 But Lady Anne Preston addressed most of her 
 conversation to him, and talked so brilliantly, 
 and flattered so delicately, that he soon became 
 animated and agreeable in return. 
 
 Dinner concluded, a swarm of well-dressed 
 children flocked into the room, and a little 
 amicable discussion was carried on from the 
 top to the bottom of the table, between Lord 
 and Lady Whitby, as to whether the children 
 should go to a side table ; and then the com- 
 pany, as in duty bound, declared that there
 
 DACRE. 159 
 
 was more than room for double the nmnber ; 
 and chairs were pushed, and children squeezed 
 into places where their presence was an inter- 
 ruption.
 
 160 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 The long carousal shakes the illumined hall ; 
 Well speeds alike the banquet and the ball ; 
 And the gay dance of bounding beauty's train, 
 Links grace and harmony in happiest chain : 
 Blest are the early hearts and gentle hands 
 That mingle there in such according bands. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 So soon as the ladies retired, Lady Anne 
 Preston became anxious to display to her own 
 sex those powers of fascination she was so 
 conscious of possessing, and which she so sel- 
 dom used in vain. " My dear Lady Henry," 
 said she, " I must congratulate you on Lord 
 Henry's good looks ; I suppose I may venture 
 to tell you how very handsome I think him."
 
 DACRE. 161 
 
 Lady Henry looked pleased. 
 
 " When do you go to Melton ? " she con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " Next week." 
 
 " Well, now, do exert a little authority over 
 your husband, and don't let him over hunt 
 again this year." 
 
 " I hope he will not," replied Lady Henry ; 
 " but he is very strong, and thinks nothing can 
 be too much for him." 
 
 " The fact is, I suspect, you are so proud of 
 his feats, you have not the heart to put a check 
 upon them. Now, own the truth; does not the 
 pleasure of his being considered the first rider 
 of the hunt quite disarm your prudence ? " 
 
 Lady Henry, who always thought whatever 
 Henry did best was best worth doing, felt the 
 compliment as it was intended, and Lady Anne 
 rose immediately in her estimation. Then
 
 162 DACRE. 
 
 turning to Lady Whitby, Lady Anne enquired 
 how her new school succeeded. 
 
 " Perfectly," answered Lady Whitby, with 
 great satisfaction. 
 
 " I was sure it would, for you are so inde- 
 fatigable. Nothing shames me so much as a 
 visit to Hatton ; " and Lady Anne looked quite 
 penitent as she said so. " Did you find much 
 difficulty," continued she, " in getting the child- 
 ren to wear the dress ? Poor people are some- 
 times so prejudiced, that they are not easy to 
 manage." 
 
 " What is the dress ? " enquired Lady 
 Henry. 
 
 " The prettiest thing possible," replied Lady 
 Anne. " Did you never see the sketch that 
 was made for it ? " 
 
 " Here it is," said Lady Whitby, as she un- 
 clasped her Album ; " and I assure you I am
 
 DACRE. 163 
 
 rather proud of the idea. I think it may be 
 the means of introducing more of a national 
 costume amongst the lower orders. You see 
 the hat is just the Lausanne shape; and then 
 the white body and sleeves, with the short red 
 petticoat, light blue stockings, and white apron, 
 have an uncommonly picturesque effect." 
 
 " It must be very pretty," said the Duchess 
 of Bolton ; " but don't you find the parents 
 object to so much washing ? " 
 
 " They certainly did at first, — however, we 
 have managed all that now, by paying for every 
 thing — we maintain the children entirely our- 
 selves : they sleep at home ; but we feed, and 
 clothe, and wash for them. Indeed, I was very 
 glad when Lord Whitby consented to that 
 arrangement; for the school-house is made into 
 a Swiss cottage; and the cow, and the dairy, 
 and a kitchen, add very much to the effect."
 
 164 DACRE. 
 
 " I dare say the school is in great request," 
 observed Lady Anne. 
 
 " Yes, I am happy to say," replied Lady 
 Whitby, with a benevolent smile, " we have 
 daily applications to be admitted into this esta- 
 blishment, and it has done a great deal of 
 good : not one of those children has received 
 parish relief." 
 
 " That is natural," said the Duchess, who 
 thought, however, that this fancy workhouse 
 for picturesque paupers was not likely to con- 
 tribute much to the prudent habits and inde- 
 pendent feelings of the poor. " Do you find," 
 continued she, " that your gratis establishment 
 has much affected the prosperity of other 
 schools." 
 
 " Yes," replied Lady Whitby, exultingly : 
 " nothing can be so triumphant as mine ; the 
 poor people like it so much. Dame Trotter
 
 DACRE. 165 
 
 told me, yesterday, she was losing her pupils ; 
 for that they all hoped to get their children into 
 My Lady's school, and that they preferred 
 sending them to none, for the chance of being 
 admitted." 
 
 " You will soon be obliged to enlarge your 
 pretty cottage," said Lady Anne. 
 
 " No; do build another, and let it be like 
 those in the Tyrol," added Lady Henry. 
 
 " Really," said Lady Whitby, in her most 
 sensible tone of voice, " I must think of some 
 such plan ; for it is not only very gratifying to 
 see that sort of dependence upon the higher 
 orders, but it is so very desirable to encourage 
 the feeling." 
 
 " I think, my dear Duchess, you must be 
 tired with your drive this morning," said Lady 
 Anne, who quickly perceived that the Duchess 
 of Bolton's opinions were not in accordance
 
 166 DACRE. 
 
 with those of Lady Whitby : " do let me give 
 you a footstool." 
 
 The Duchess looked shocked, and placed 
 her feet on the stool. 
 
 " I am afraid you have not been quite well 
 lately : you must excuse my saying so, but I 
 think you look a little pale to-night." 
 
 The Duchess had no objection to be thought 
 an invalid, for delicate health often served as 
 an excuse for real indolence, and she pleaded 
 guilty to a slight headach. 
 
 "Whom do you consult now?" continued 
 Lady Anne. 
 
 The Duchess named her medical adviser ; 
 but still no conversation resulted from these 
 friendly enquiries. Though Lady Anne seldom 
 failed in her desire to please whenever or who- 
 ever she wished, yet there were a few who 
 remained proof against her attractions, and
 
 DACRE. 167 
 
 foremost in that number was the Duchess of 
 Bolton. She read her character with a woman's 
 penetration into the motives and feelings that 
 actuate her own sex. She despised the restless 
 vanity, and disapproved the conduct to which 
 it gave rise. 
 
 The return of the gentlemen produced its 
 ordinary change in the drawing-room scene. 
 There is generally some difficulty in passing 
 the first evening of a country-house visit ; and 
 it is upon these occasions that even the sem- 
 blance of something to do, is an object to 
 the unoccupied guests. Then it is that the 
 pages of splendid Albums filled with nonsense 
 verses, and bad drawings on richly embossed 
 paper, are eagerly turned over, more to employ 
 the fingers than to please the eye. Then does 
 the click of the billiard ball sound sweet as
 
 168 DACRE. 
 
 melody to the ear; and music becomes welcome, 
 not for its beauty, but its noise. 
 
 The following day was one of considerable 
 bustle throughout the house at Hatton. No- 
 thing was to be found in its ordinary place : the 
 bells went unanswered : the servants were to be 
 met in all directions, moving furniture, and 
 fixing lamps and candelabra. Every member 
 of the household wore an air of importance 
 and business : the guests were neglected ; the 
 breakfast was late, and the dinner was early. 
 The day of annual rejoicing had returned ! 
 The forty-eighth anniversary of Lord Whitby's 
 birth was to be celebrated by a ball. To ex- 
 hibit the magnificence of Hatton House to his 
 admiring neighbours, was an agreeable task to 
 Lord Whitby; and as no event appeared to 
 him so deserving of commemoration as that of 
 his own nativity, he fixed on his birthday as
 
 DACRE. 169 
 
 the most befitting occasion to open his doors to 
 all who were able and willing to come. 
 
 Breakfast was scarcely concluded before 
 Mrs. Ashby and her daughters were announced. 
 They had come so early " on purpose," as they 
 said, "to be useful to dear Lady Whitby ;" 
 and during the whole day they were allowed 
 the enjoyment of fulfilling their intention ; for 
 though Lady Whitby piqued herself upon her 
 taste in arrangement and her never-failing ac- 
 tivity, she preferred to fatigue herself by 
 deputy. She liked to be pitied and thanked 
 for giving herself so much trouble, and she 
 found " those Ashby girls" (as she called 
 them) never betrayed how little she had taken 
 herself, and how much she had given to them ; 
 consequently, they were always in favour upon 
 occasions like the present. 
 
 The company assembled. Lord and Lady 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 DACRE. 
 
 Whitby played their respective parts to their 
 own and each other's admiration, if not to that 
 of others. Lord Whitby hoped each succes- 
 sive party had found the night both warm and 
 light, as if he had had it warmed and lighted 
 for them; and talked of the improvement that 
 had been made since his time in all the various 
 roads by which they had arrived, as if they 
 were more indebted for the change to him than 
 to themselves. Lady Whitby told every body 
 to whom she spoke, how fortunate they were in 
 being present at Lady Maria's first appearance ; 
 and whilst poor Lady Maria began to wish 
 herself back again in the school-room, she 
 heard with patient surprise her mother assuring 
 every body how happy she was at her first 
 ball. 
 
 Mr, Preston, who, being a resident visitor, 
 felt that some share in doing the honours had
 
 DACRE. 171 
 
 devolved upon him, was seen busy talking to 
 every one he knew. 
 
 Dacre had lived too little in the country to 
 be acquainted with many, and was enjoying 
 the lively prattle of Lady Henry, and the real 
 vivacity of Lady Anne, when he heard himself 
 addressed in a tone of familiar intimacy by 
 George Saville. He returned the greeting, and 
 immediately enquired if the Molesworths were 
 come. Saville heeded not the question, but 
 extended his listless hand to Lady Henry ; 
 seated himself by her side ; and shortly obtained 
 the acquaintance he had desired to make with 
 Lady Anne Preston. Saville talked of London, 
 and Paris, and Crockford's, and of every body 
 he knew, or did not know, by their Christian 
 names. He was, in fact, little more than a 
 piece of ball and club-room furniture ; but as 
 his waistcoats deserved to be quoted, and his 
 
 I 2
 
 172 DACRE. 
 
 sayings forgotten, his presence was always tole- 
 rated, and his absence never perceived. 
 
 Dacre rose soon after Saville had joined the 
 coterie, to go in quest of the Molesworths, 
 thinking it probable they were also arrived. 
 
 " If the coachman had not had perfect 
 command of the horses, nothing could have 
 saved us," said a voice, in a tone of great self- 
 commiseration. 
 
 Dacre felt no doubt of his vicinity to Mrs. 
 Molesworth, whom he found energetically de- 
 scribing to a lady all her alarms at the narrow 
 escape of the accident she might have had on 
 her way to Hatton. Dacre patiently awaited 
 the end of her personal narrative, before he 
 accosted her. Mrs. Molesworth received him 
 with her wonted cordiality ; but neither her 
 salutation, nor the kind and gentle smile of 
 Mary Bingley, had the power at that moment
 
 DACRE. 173 
 
 to engage his attention. The ample person, 
 and the full blown turban of Mrs. Molesworth, 
 had effectually screened from his view the lady 
 to whom she was speaking ; but as she moved, 
 Dacre perceived that, leaning on the arm of 
 that lady, was Lady Emily Somers. 
 
 Though he had long schooled his manner 
 into one of indifference, to see her without 
 emotion was still impossible. He was not aware 
 that she was in the neighbourhood, and the 
 surprise of thus meeting her unexpectedly, and 
 the absence of Lady Kendal's chilling civility, 
 gave him confidence to speak to her. He mut- 
 tered some expression of astonishment at seeing 
 her, which was answered, on her part, by an 
 introduction to Mrs. Wentworth, on whose 
 arm she was leaning, and with whom she had 
 come. He then made enquiries after Lord and 
 Lady Kendal, and learned that they preferred 
 
 I 3
 
 174 DACRE. 
 
 staying quietly at home with Mr. Wentworth, 
 having confided Lady Emily to the care of 
 Mrs. Wentworth. A few more sentences had 
 passed, and Dacre began to think her more 
 like her former self; and almost forgot, in the 
 delijjht of hearing? her voice and watching her 
 countenance, the pain she had inflicted by her 
 caprice. 
 
 It was long since he had ventured to offer 
 himself as her partner, but he now lingered by 
 her side, irresolute, yet almost tempted once 
 again to ask her to dance. In another moment 
 he would have made the request, but Mr. Mait- 
 land had just volunteered his services to Lord 
 Clermont to introduce him to Lady Emily. 
 The introduction was permitted — the bow was 
 made — and in an instant Dacre saw her smil- 
 ingly accept the arm of her newly made 
 acquaintance to lead her to the quadrille. He
 
 DACRE. 175 
 
 was angry with himself for his delay, and angry 
 with her for having accepted another ; and as 
 he leaned against a column, musing silently 
 over the cause of his displeasure, his coun- 
 tenance bore testimony to the vexation he felt. 
 
 " You look a little bored with too much 
 amusement this evening," said Lady Anne, in 
 a playful tone, as she approached him. 
 
 " Do I ? " replied he, scarcely conscious of 
 what she had said. 
 
 " I know balls have little more attracton for 
 you than for me," she continued. 
 
 Dacre said nothing. 
 
 " What a draught comes in from that door!" 
 remarked Lady Anne, as she shivered, and coiled 
 her boa round her neck. " I dare not stay. 
 Can you tell me where the tea is to be found ? 
 I have been looking in vain for the right 
 
 room." 
 
 I 4
 
 176 DACRE. 
 
 Dacre could do no less than offer to conduct 
 her. When there, she seated herself on a sofa, 
 and ffivinij him a look of invitation to avail him- 
 self of the vacant place by her side, remained 
 for some time endeavouring to rouse his wonted 
 interest in her conversation. But she felt her 
 efforts were less- successful than usual. Lady 
 Anne knew by experience the wisdom of trans- 
 ferring her attention to others, before the one 
 she most cared to please had time to discover 
 she could possibly fail ; and she therefore took 
 advantage of the entrance of Lady Henry and 
 Mr. Maitland, to exchange her tete-d-tete for 
 more general conversation. 
 
 " Dacre is distrait to-night," remarked Mr. 
 Maitland, in a semi-confidential tone to Ladv 
 Anne, when Dacre had sauntered back to 
 the ball-room. " Is he ill, or out of spirits, 
 or- — »
 
 DACRE. 177 
 
 " Out of humour ?" interposed Lady Anne, 
 ** for that, I see, is what you mean ; — really, 
 I am not in Mr. Dacre's confidence." 
 
 *' Certainly, to judge by his looks in the 
 other room, I should have fixed on your alter- 
 native," replied Mr. Maitland. " I introduced 
 Clermont to Lady Emily Somers, to whom he 
 chanced to be talking ; and if I had offered hiiii 
 a personal affront, he could not have looked 
 blacker than at her dancing with him." 
 
 " No wonder," replied Lady Anne, more 
 carelessly than she felt, " that Mr. Dacre was 
 not particularly pleased at the interruption. 
 Few are more admired than Lady Emily 
 Somers." 
 
 " I am much mistaken," said Mr. Maitland, 
 *' if Lady Emily in any way occupies his 
 thoughts ; I never saw him speak to her before, 
 
 I 5
 
 178 DACRE. 
 
 and I generally know pretty well what is going 
 on in the world." 
 
 Of that Lady Anne was aware, and felt that 
 it was to this knowledge she was indebted for 
 his having thus addressed these observations on 
 Dacre to herself. There was nothing remark- 
 able in the tone, and still less in the words that 
 passed between Mr. Maitland and Lady Anne 
 upon this subject; but as Lady Anne always 
 dreaded a rival, and Mr. Maitland made a point 
 of knowing every body's motives as well as 
 actions, it proved sufficient to arouse the jealous 
 vanity of the one, and the prying curiosity of 
 the other ; and both rose from their seats with 
 the mental determination to discover something, 
 if something was to be discovered.
 
 179 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Our operator, before he engaged in this visionary dissection, 
 told us, that there was nothing in his art more difficult than to 
 lay open tlie heart of a coquette, by reason of the many laby- 
 rinths and recesses which are to be found in it, and which do 
 not appear in the heart of any other animal. — Addison. 
 
 Dacre again found himself in sight of Lady 
 Emily. She had just returned to Mrs. Went- 
 worth, and a seat was vacant by her side. The 
 temptation was great, and he availed himself of 
 the opportunity of again attempting to converse 
 with her. It is never so difficult to talk upon 
 the light topics of slight acquaintance, as with 
 one to whom, under happier circumstances, we 
 have dared to display those better stores of mind 
 and feeling which intimacy can alone unlock; 
 
 I 6
 
 180 DACRE. 
 
 and Dacre found himself not only reduced to 
 talking of the weather, the room, and the heat, 
 and the cold ; but conscious also that the ob- 
 servations called forth by subjects so trivial were 
 rendered doubly uninteresting by the effort with 
 which they were made. 
 
 " Dacre ! I wish you would dance," said 
 George Saville, in a tone of listless persuasion. 
 
 " Do be our vis-a-vis, dear Lady Emily ! " 
 said Miss Cecilia Ashby, with prodigious ani- 
 mation. 
 
 Both felt the awkwardness of saying they were 
 not engaged. Miss Cecilia perceived the he- 
 sitation, and, alarmed lest she should be defeated 
 in her object, added, with increased eagerness, 
 " Lady Whitby is bent upon our having a 
 quadrille at this end, on purpose that she may 
 see Lady Maria dance ; and it will be so good- 
 natured in you to help us ! "
 
 DACRE. 181 
 
 Dacre viewed this request as a sanction to his 
 asking Lady Emily, and in another moment his 
 heart beat with tumultuous joy, as he once more 
 felt her hand within his arm. The quadrille 
 was formed ; and though Mr. Maitland used his 
 censorial privilege to tell Lady Whitby that her 
 daughter's wreath was too large, and her gown 
 the wrong colour, she looked on with maternal 
 satisfaction at the performance of Lady Maria's 
 best steps. She informed the Duke of Bolton, 
 who knew nothing to the contrary, that her 
 
 daughter was Mon. 's favourite pupil, and 
 
 called his attention to the intricate beauties of 
 a hattement, just as if he had been a ballet- 
 master ; and the Duke good-naturedly supposed 
 it was all perfection, as her mother was satisfied, 
 though he only perceived a plain little girl 
 trotting about the dance, with some agility, and 
 no grace.
 
 182 DACRE. 
 
 Music and motion have great influence on the 
 courage of mankind. Lady Emily could not 
 disguise from herself that there had, as yet, been 
 a degree of constraint in her conversation with 
 Dacre, which did not accord with the resolutions 
 she had long ago formed, and she now deter- 
 mined to shake off at once this conscious recol- 
 lection of the past. Her spirits rose with the 
 dance; the excitement of the effort gave ad- 
 ditional brilliancy to her beauty, and she became 
 even more than usually animated. Dacre could 
 scarcely repress the admiration with which he 
 watched each playful smile ; but anxious to con- 
 ceal the feelings she still inspired but did not 
 return, he also sought refuge in the disguise of 
 careless gaiety. The ease, at first assumed, with 
 a little practice became natural ; and when the 
 dance was concluded, Dacre ventured, under 
 pretence of pointing out some picture, to per-
 
 DACRE. 183 
 
 suade Lady Emily to accompany him into the 
 adjoining gallery. 
 
 This movement was watched with interest by 
 Lady Anne Preston. Her jealous vanity had 
 been piqued by Mr. Maitland's observations ; 
 and, as her eyes fell upon Dacre, whilst engaged 
 in lively conversation with one so attractive as 
 Lady Emily, her alarms were confirmed that a 
 rival was in the field. It was at the moment that 
 this unpleasant idea had occurred to Lady Anne, 
 that she perceived Mr. Maitland was crossing 
 the room to address her. We are all apt to 
 believe that the thought which stands uppermost 
 in our own minds must hold the same position 
 in that of others ; and as Ladj'^ Anne felt no 
 doubt Mr. Maitland had something to com- 
 municate on the subject of her own meditations, 
 she determined to betray no unnecessary eager- 
 ness to hear it.
 
 1 84? DACRE. 
 
 " Lady Anne ! " said Mr. Maitland, " I want 
 to consult you, upon rather a difficult point ; " 
 and he looked as mysterious as if he did not 
 mean to tell her what the point in question was. 
 
 " Then," said Lady Anne, " I will be paid 
 cVavance^ by your telling me who is that odd- 
 looking foreigner to whom you were just now 
 talking so earnestly." 
 
 " The very man about whom I want to con- 
 sult you." 
 
 *' Then it is imperative I should know his 
 name and nation." 
 
 " He is not a foreigner," replied Mr. Mait- 
 land, " but an old friend of mine." 
 
 " I am all impatience for his name," inter- 
 rupted Lady Anne, no longer interested in the 
 matter. 
 
 " You will know his name," said Mr. Mait- 
 land; " for though his reign in society was
 
 DACRE. 185 
 
 long before yours, every body has heard of 
 Crofton." 
 
 " Certainly — as the sayer of good things, 
 and the player of bad tricks — the delight of the 
 social, and the bugbear of the moral," rejoined 
 Lady Anne, laughingly. 
 
 " Half your description is just; but take my 
 word for it. Lady Anne, the rest is all scandal 
 and prejudice : Crofton is a very good fellow, 
 and he has just been asking my opinion as to the 
 line he had best pursue with respect to Dacre." 
 
 Lady Anne listened attentively. 
 
 " Crofton," he continued, " though a distant 
 relation, is the heir-at-law of the late Lord Hex- 
 ham. Lord Hexham had never shown him any 
 kindness ; and he, like the rest of the world, 
 had looked upon Dacre as the heir presumptive. 
 Lord Hexham left every thing in his power 
 away to his nephew. Crofton, of course, feels
 
 186 DACRE. 
 
 the injustice of this, but is anxious to show 
 Dacre he bears him no ill will, and has con- 
 sulted me about making his acquaintance." 
 
 " And why should he not?" enquired Lady 
 Anne. 
 
 " Because he is afraid, and not quite without 
 reason, of being misconstrued by Dacre." 
 
 " Why so?" 
 
 " You will be angry with me for saying so, 
 but it must be allowed that nobody views things 
 occasionally more de travers than our friend 
 Dacre. Still, however, I am inclined to effect 
 an introduction." 
 
 " How right you are ! " exclaimed Lady 
 Anne : " but," added she, with increased ear- 
 nestness, " do not delay the good deed ; success 
 so often depends on the choice of the moment, 
 and this is just the sort of case when it is better 
 to take a person by surprise."
 
 DACRE. 187 
 
 " I don't know what has become of Dacre," 
 rephed Mr. Maitland, as if musing on this kind 
 advice to lose no time in interfering in other 
 people's concerns. 
 
 " I saw Mr. Dacre just now passing with some 
 lady towards the gallery door," said Lady Anne ; 
 " and the presence of a stranger in these little 
 difficulties may be turned to advantage by one 
 who understands, as you do, the management of 
 men and things." 
 
 " True," replied Mr. Maidand. " I see Crof- 
 ton is disengaged, and I shall go on my friendly 
 errand directly." Mr. Maitland liked the al- 
 lusion to his worldly wisdom, immediately ex- 
 alted Lady Anne into a woman of superior mind, 
 followed her suggestion, and as effectually spoiled 
 Dacre's tcte-a-tete with Lady Emily Somers, 
 as Lady Anne wished and intended. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that any interruption
 
 188 DACRE. 
 
 would have proved welcome to Dacre under 
 such circumstances, but it was hardly possible 
 to have fixed upon one so peculiarly unwelcome 
 at that moment, as the introduction of Mr. 
 Crofton ; and though Mr. Maitland was perhaps 
 satisfied with the result of his mission, the cold- 
 ness with which Dacre received his new ac- 
 quaintance did not escape the notice of Lady 
 Emily. She withdrew the hand that rested on 
 his arm, and retired from his side to listen to 
 Lady Henry Mansell's eager commendation of 
 her Parisian gown. 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth soon resumed the chaper- 
 onage of Lady ISmily — the ball was on its wane 
 
 — and they were preparing to depart, when 
 Lady Whitby, as in duty bound, pressed them 
 to stay. " It is too bad to be in such a hurry 
 
 — Maria will be quite disappointed at your 
 going away so early from her^^-5^ ball — sha'n't
 
 DACRE. 189 
 
 you, my love?" said Lady Whitby, appealing to 
 her little frightened daughter. 
 
 " If you please, mamma," said Lady Maria, 
 not sufficiently collected to understand what she 
 was asked. 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth pleaded the common-place 
 excuses for doing as she liked ; and Lady 
 Whitby added, in a tone of friendly for- 
 giveness, " Well then, as you have promised to 
 come with Lord and Lady Kendal to-morrow 
 before luncheon, I will say no more; you know 
 we are going over to my school early, and I de- 
 pend upon you. Lady Emily, to join our party ; 
 and don't forget to tell Sir Edward Bradford 
 that there is a room at his service at Hatton 
 to-morrow." 
 
 The ladies shook hands and departed. Dacre 
 had overheard their parting conversation with 
 Lady Whitby, and the half-formed resolution
 
 190 DACRE. 
 
 of escorting Lady Emily to the carriage was 
 checked by the mention of a name with which 
 so many bitter recollections were associated. 
 He turned away; and seeing Harry Moles- 
 worth, was greeted with the unsympathetic ex- 
 clamation of — 
 
 " Well ! Dacre, this has been the pleasantest 
 ball I ever was at ! " and he looked as happy 
 as Lady Maria was supposed to be. " Do 
 tell me," added he in the same light-hearted 
 tone, " who was that beautiful girl with whom 
 I saw you dancing ? " 
 
 Dacre answered drily, " It was Lady Emily 
 Somers." 
 
 " I give you joy of your partner; and you 
 must have found each other very agreeable, for 
 Mary and I were equally struck with the ani- 
 mation with which you were talking." 
 
 " My animation is seldom long-lived," re-
 
 DACRE. 191 
 
 plied Dacre, moodily ; " and I have, as usual, 
 found more to harass than to please me." 
 
 Molesworth had his own reasons for being in 
 remarkably good spirits, and he had the charity 
 to suppose that his friend had reasons equally 
 good for being depressed ; he therefore shook 
 him warmly by the hand — just named the day 
 on which it was settled he was to join the party 
 at Hatton, and bade him good night, without 
 further conversation. 
 
 " All things must have an end ;" and when 
 dancers and musicians were equally exhausted, 
 the birthday ball died a natural death, and the 
 company took leave of Hatton and its owners. 
 Lord and Lady Whitby were, as usual on such 
 occasions, all condescension, and ventured to 
 hope their guests had been amused, with the 
 conscious certainty of the desired reply. The 
 Misses Ashby besought dear Lady Whitby to
 
 192 DACRE. 
 
 retire to rest ; they were so sure she must be 
 tired to death after all her exertions, botK morn- 
 ino- and evening; and Mrs. Ashby hinted to 
 Lord Whitby that the county had wished them- 
 selves as many returns of that happy evening, 
 as they had wished him happy returns of the 
 day. George Saville then yawned ; Lady Maria 
 looked pale and wan, and by common consent 
 the little group retired to seek repose from the 
 labours, or to meditate on the events of the 
 hygone/ete. 
 
 The morrow came, but the weather was hope- 
 lessly bad. Lord Whitby never allowed any 
 but job horses to go out in the rain; Lady 
 Whitby was therefore obliged to abandon her 
 drive to the school for that day. Immediately 
 after breakfast, Mrs. Ashby and her daughters 
 were allowed to assist Lady Whitby in the 
 re-arrangement of her boudoir, and to discuss
 
 DACRE. 193 
 
 with her the sensation created by Lady Maria's 
 debut. The languid JuHa did 50 envy her the 
 enjoyment in dancing she had never felt her- 
 self; and the more energetic Cecilia said, that 
 dear, innocent-looking white gown, a la vie- 
 time, had become her so much, and that every 
 one thought she looked so nice ! and then 
 there was something " so dear" in all her little 
 mistakes in the dunce ! and Mrs. Ashby re- 
 marked it was " so deligiilful to see a mind so 
 fresh ! " and lamented her own folly in having 
 brought out her girls when they were mere 
 children. 
 
 The party from Mrs. Wentworth's felt ab- 
 solved from their promise by tiie badness of the 
 weather, and arrived not at the hour expected. 
 Never did Dacre find a morning pass so slowly. 
 In vain did he endeavour to occupy himself 
 with the various publications that bestrewed 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 iQt DACRE. 
 
 the tables ; at four successive games of billiards 
 he had been beaten by Mr. Preston; offered to 
 mark for Lady Anne, and scored her adver- 
 saries' strokes ; tapped the barometer, then 
 walked to the window, and wondered, so au- 
 dibly, when it would clear, as to attract Lord 
 Whitby's attention. 
 
 " No chance till four or five o'clock. They 
 say I pique myself on being weather-wise at 
 Hatton, but you know one always understands 
 one's own sky. You see to the right of those 
 splendid old trees the young clump of my plant- 
 ing — well, till it looks light above that plant- 
 ation, the rain will continue." 
 
 The rest of the company resorted to the 
 usual expedients for killing time on a wet 
 day with better success. Some read — others 
 worked — many talked — a few listened — all eat 
 luncheon ; and then the bang of the battledore
 
 DACRE. 195 
 
 echoed through the hall, whilst Lady Whitby 
 volunteered her services to show the house from 
 the cellar to the garret, to all such guests as 
 were unacquainted with the superior arrange- 
 ments of Hatton. 
 
 At last. Lord Clermont, looking out from the 
 window of one of the uppermost rooms, an- 
 nounced the arrival of a carriage with " four 
 uncommonly fine horses ;" but when Lady 
 Whitby assured them all that she would finish 
 ffoing over the house before she went down to 
 receive the Kendals and Wentworths, Dacre 
 felt that his patience and civility were at their 
 last gasp, and availing himself of the first op- 
 portunity that favoured his escape, he hastened 
 towards the apartment where he expected to 
 find Lady Emily Somers. His retreat escaped 
 the observation of all but one ; but that one was 
 Lady Anne Preston : her interest in his move- 
 
 K 2
 
 196 DACRE. 
 
 nients had greatly increased during the last four- 
 and-twenty hours, for during that period she 
 had been harassed by doubts of the stability of 
 her own empire, where she had hitherto thought 
 it secure. 
 
 Dacre perceived that Lady Emily had already 
 been pressed into the active service going on in 
 the hall ; he did not, therefore, proceed to the 
 drawing-room, where Mrs. Ashby was doing the 
 honours for Lady Whitby to Lady Kendal and 
 Mrs. Wentvvorth, but became as intensely in- 
 terested in the fate of the shuttlecock as though 
 he really cared whether it fell or flew. Fatigue 
 and twilight terminated the game ; and as Lady 
 Emily drew towards the group now assembled 
 rounil the fire, Dacre enquired if she had been 
 fatigued by the ball. Lady Emily carelessly 
 replied in the negative ; and then remarked to 
 Miss Ashby what a beautiful fete it had been.
 
 DACRE. 197 
 
 (( 
 
 It was, indeed," she replied ; " but no won- 
 der, for dear Lady Whitby arranges ever thing 
 so well — she has so much taste." 
 
 " Barring the cuisine" observed Mr. Mait- 
 '' land ; I must really speak to Whitby about 
 that : they ought to talk to the artiste himself — - 
 the man is discouraged if his works are not un- 
 derstood — there were two or three things quite 
 wrong at supper." 
 
 " Well ! " rejoined Lady Emily, playfully, 
 " let us spare the cook a rechauffe of his gastro- 
 nomic delinquencies ; I feasted my eyes on the 
 tout enseinhle, and it all looked so brilliant that I 
 longed to sketch the supper scene." 
 
 " Alas ! Lady Emily, the dress of the day is 
 unworthy such a compliment," said Mr. Preston, 
 as he sighed to think how well he should have 
 looked in fallinor collars and lona; curls. 
 
 " Dear ! I cannot agree with you," exclaimed 
 
 K 3
 
 198 DACRE. 
 
 Lady Henry, " for I was remarking to Henry last 
 night that country people now dressed so well, 
 that one must spend double the money to look 
 distinguee amongst them." 
 
 " Really," said Mr. Saville, " I thought the 
 rustics were wonderfully well got up last 
 night ! " 
 
 " It was such a pity ! " observed Miss Cecilia : 
 " there were hardly quizzes enough to amuse 
 
 us." 
 
 " It is grievous," rejoined Mr. Preston, with 
 gravity, " that those striking contrasts of habits 
 and manners, to which our dramatists of old 
 were indebted for their success, seem now to be 
 utterly lost." 
 
 " There ! Mr. Dacre," said Miss Ashby, with 
 a look that was meant to be full of expression, 
 " you see that Mr. Preston complains, as I do, 
 that every body is the same,"
 
 DACRE. 199 
 
 « 
 
 It is an awful charge against the age," said 
 Dacre, jestingly ; " but supposing even that ca- 
 ricature should ever cease, surely, Miss Ashby, 
 variety may still be found in the study of cha- 
 racter." 
 
 " Oh ! as to character," rejoined Miss Ashby, 
 in her most sensible manner, " I assure you I 
 have taken so much pleasure in the study of all 
 the characters one sees at the play, that I have 
 learnt many of their parts by heart; but if, as 
 Mr. Preston says, there can be nothing new on 
 the stage now, it will soon be as flat as real 
 life." 
 
 Dacre dropped the subject, for he was too 
 good natured to encourage poor Miss Ashby 
 to make any more blunders ; but he instinctively 
 turned towards Lady Emily. The glance was 
 furtive; and good breeding forbade the faintest 
 smile to play around their lips : but their eyes 
 
 K 4
 
 200 DACRE. 
 
 met, and the conscious sympathy of thought, 
 that prompted this exchange of looks, brought 
 remembi-ance of other days to Dacre's mind ; 
 and Lady Emily felt an unbidden blush rise to 
 her cheek. 
 
 Then followed a lively succession of queries 
 and replies upon the names and vocations of 
 the guests ; and the tall man in black, and the 
 short lady in yellow, and the thin girl in blue, 
 and the large girl in pink, and the gentleman 
 with red hair, and the dandy in a wig, were 
 speedily discussed and dismissed, Mrs. Moles- 
 worth's name was mentioned. Lady Emily 
 praised the beauty of Miss Binglev. 
 
 " She is a good little girl," said Miss Ashby, 
 *' but there is nothing in her." 
 
 " She is sadly unfashioned," said Miss 
 Cecilia.
 
 DACRE> 201 
 
 *' English girls never have tournure till tliey 
 have been abroad," said Lady Henry, 
 
 " But," observed Lady Emily, " she has a 
 countenance that savs ' let us be friends,' that 
 made me wish I knew her more." 
 
 " It gives me great pleasure," rejoined 
 Dacre, " to hear you judge her as she de- 
 
 serves." 
 
 Perhaps Lady Emily observed a slight em- 
 phasis on the you — it was too slight to be 
 observed by others — but she said no more on 
 the subject, and took great pains at that 
 moment to make each finger of her glove fit 
 each finger on her hand. A little pause ensued : 
 nobody else had ever thought about Mary 
 Bingley; and Dacre and Lady Emily were 
 conscious that they two had again sympathised 
 in a feeling unshared by the rest of the com- 
 pany. 
 
 K 5
 
 202 DACRE. 
 
 How strange to the indiflPerent, that trifles 
 such as these could revive forgotten hopes in 
 Dacre, and create embarrassment in Emily. 
 But love knows no trifles : for love, at once 
 the strongest and the softest passion of our 
 nature, — love, on whose breath the fate of 
 nations has depended — love, at whose altar 
 life, faith, honour, wealth, and power have 
 been sacrificed — love, at whose shrine am- 
 bition has been lulled and fanaticism slept, — by 
 some strange anomaly, can depend on the tone 
 of a voice, and a glance of the eye — on the 
 word that is spoken, and the word that is with- 
 held — to indicate its presence, and preserve its 
 existence.
 
 203 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Almighty vanity, to thee they owe 
 
 Their zest of pleasure, and their balm of woe ! 
 
 The morrow proved just such a day as Lady 
 Whitby most wished, — unusually bright, and 
 unseasonably warm. She knew that her orna- 
 mental cottage would look to advantage, and 
 hoped that her guests would not be too chilly to 
 admire. She considerately recollected it would 
 not be fair that an impromptu visit should take 
 the school-mistress by surprise; timely notice 
 was, therefore, sent to the school of her Lady- 
 ship's intentions ; and the heart of the " Lady 
 Bountiful" glowed with inward satisfaction as 
 
 K 6
 
 204? DACRE. 
 
 she announced to the company at breakfast, 
 that there would be horses and carriages ready 
 to take the whole party at twelve o'clock, to see 
 how good and charitable she was. 
 
 Mr. Maitland knew better than to run the 
 risk of being bored by joining a party of plea- 
 sure. Lord Henry Mansel accepted Lord 
 Whitby's offer of shooting: Lord Clermont 
 might have liked to follow their example, but 
 he would not mention such a wish, for he was 
 too much flattered by Lady Anne Preston's 
 saying he could not be spared. Mr. Rowley 
 and Mr. Preston were kindly promised the 
 sight of a mound, which was close to the school, 
 and which had certainly served as an encamp- 
 ment for the Romans — or the gipsies. Lady 
 Anne Preston volunteered her services to 
 chaperon the riding party ; and it was speedily 
 arranged that she. Lady Emily Somers, Miss
 
 DACRE. 205 
 
 Cecilia Ash by, Lord Clermont, Dacre, and 
 Mr. Saville, should go on horseback; and the 
 rest be marshalled in carriages, pony chaises, 
 britchkas, and phaetons, as best suited their 
 tastes and nerves. 
 
 The seasons are often accused of not being 
 sufficiently marked in our variable climate; but 
 who is not ready enough to forgive this caprice, 
 when autumn condescends to borrow a day 
 from the summer? It was now the middle of 
 November, but there was nothing to remind 
 the gay party of the sad and sober feelings that 
 poets and moralists would associate with the 
 season of decay. The sun shone forth with 
 unbroken brilliancy, spangling the drops that 
 still lingered on the bright green lawn. At the 
 bottom of the slope lay the broad smooth sheet 
 of water, all sparkling with light, the brightest 
 ornament of the cheerful scene, and the faithful
 
 206 DACRE. 
 
 mirror of surrounding charms. The deep-dyed 
 
 evergreens that fringed its edges brought out 
 
 in strong relief the lordly swan, now gliding 
 
 upon its glassy surface, with his full-set plumage 
 
 slisteninff in the sun. Even the leafless trees 
 
 had borrowed beauty from the mosses that 
 
 clung to their stems, and lent their boughs to 
 
 the birds, who chirped gaily as they flew from 
 
 branch to branch. The rich columns of the 
 
 portico stood distinct and hard against a clear 
 
 blue sky; and the absence of flowers was 
 
 scarcely remembered, when the eye rested on 
 
 the marble white vases that so gaily adorned 
 
 the terrace and garden. Every body who had 
 
 not been in Italy, declared it was quite an 
 
 Italian day ; and as Dacre beheld Lady Emily, 
 
 standing at the door, equipped for the ride, as 
 
 he had been wont to see her on their first 
 
 acquaintance, and with that smile upon her face
 
 DACRE. 207 
 
 of careless joy, which youth and innocence 
 alone can wear, he, too, thought of Italy. But 
 Lady Anne Preston was thinking of him, and 
 by claiming for herself his services to place her 
 on her horse, defeated his hope of reviving the 
 Neapolitan practice of assisting Lady Emily. Li 
 a moment Lady Emily had mounted on hers ; 
 and Dacre, for the first time, felt vexed with 
 Lady Anne; for she had thwarted his pur- 
 pose. 
 
 The ride was pretty ; the conversation 
 sometimes general, and sometimes particular; 
 and the party arrived, soon after the appointed 
 hour, in good spirits, and good humour, to 
 admire all that Lady Whitby had to exhibit. 
 
 The school and its appurtenances were 
 prettily situated at the extremity of a wood. 
 Two beautiful little Alderney cows were grazing 
 in front of the ha-ha that surrounded the
 
 208 DACRE. 
 
 buildings; and two little girls, dressed in the 
 costume of Lady Whitby's own invention, stood 
 on either side of the gate by which the company 
 entered the enclosure. Though the cottage 
 was a very successful imitation of the German 
 Swiss, and the outhouses as closely resembled 
 the chalet of the Alps, the necessity of intro- 
 ducing the family arms and crest, as often as 
 possible, was not forgotten. The arms, sur- 
 mounted by the coronet, supported the corners 
 of the large pent roof; and on the wicket of the 
 o-ate — on the locks of each door — on the 
 handles of the drawers, and the knobs of the 
 shutters — on the centre of the table, the 
 backs of the chairs, and the covers of the 
 books — sat the owl on a coronet, the pic- 
 ture of dignified wisdom, and the family crest 
 of their noble possessor. The Swiss custom of 
 writing on the outside of their habitations was
 
 DACRE. 209 
 
 not omitted; and in lieu of the moral precepts, 
 and other sentences, with which they adorn the 
 exterior, was here displayed in old English 
 letters, the interesting intelligence that " This 
 cottage, erected by Henry Guy, seventh Earl 
 of Whitby, at the benevolent suggestion of his 
 wife, Charlotte Matilda Louisa, was presented 
 by him to her, on the seventeenth anniversary 
 of the day of their marriage." 
 
 " I am so gkd you had an inscription," 
 remarked Lady Henry, without reading it, " it 
 looks so natural on that style of cottage." 
 
 " And it is such a very nice one — so like 
 dear Lord Whitby," observed Miss Cecilia. 
 
 " It is very simple," said Lady Whitby, 
 turning complacently towards the group, who 
 were reading, with some difficulty, the old 
 English charactei". "Lord Whitby writes poetry 
 remarkably well, and had rather wished to have
 
 210 DACRE. 
 
 it in verse, but I begged it might be quite plain 
 and easy; it is so much better that the poor 
 people should be able to understand it." 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Taylor, and how are you all 
 getting on?" continued Lady Whitby, address- 
 ing the school-mistress ; and immediately the 
 door was thrown open, and exhibited four-and- 
 twenty little girls, dressed in their best, ranged 
 round the three sides of the school-room. 
 Four-and-twenty little courtesies were instantly 
 dropped in honour of Lady Whitby, and four- 
 and-twenty more for the company. 
 
 " I hope, my Lady, your Ladyship will find 
 the children come on in their learning since 
 your last visit. Would your Ladyship be 
 pleased to examine them to-day ? " 
 
 " Do you attend to the school much your- 
 self?" enquired the Duchess of Bolton, as the 
 ladies sat down.
 
 DACRE. 211 
 
 " Not in person," replied Lady Whitby, " it 
 is so difficult to find time for every thing ; 
 but I send my governess. Miss Pearson, con- 
 stantly." 
 
 The four best scholars were then called up 
 " to show," as Mrs. Taylor said, " what the 
 others could do ; " and the writing was thought 
 much improved; and their needle-work very 
 good, and the sums had been proved, and 
 were all quite right. Then followed some 
 miscellaneous questions, out of the book Miss 
 Pearson had written herself for the use of the 
 school; and though one girl thought the 
 twelve apostles were the twelve tribes of Israel, 
 and another said the seven wise men were the 
 ten plagues of Egypt, and a third that the 
 moon was only the sun in the dark ; yet con- 
 sidering neither teacher or pupils understood 
 much of the contents of Miss Pearson's little
 
 212 DACRE. 
 
 work ; and, that to save trouble, the answers 
 were generally repeated without the questions 
 being asked, it was natural there should be 
 some confusion in fitting them right, and a 
 sreat wonder that the task should have been 
 got through without more mistakes. 
 
 The examination over, the children were 
 desired to fetch the cows to be milked in 
 front of the windows, and as they tripped along 
 the grass. Lady Henry was loud in her admir- 
 ation of the costume, and declared " it all 
 looked as picturesque as a pretty scene in a 
 ballet." 
 
 " What has become of that nice-looking 
 girl with black hair, I used to admire last 
 year? " said Lady Anne, in an under voice to 
 Lady Whitby. Lady Whitby tried to recol- 
 lect who she meant ; and Lady Anne succeeded 
 in brinfjins: the child to her recollection.
 
 DACRE. 2 IS 
 
 " I know, now, who you mean, perfectly — 
 it was poor Sally Briggs ; " then, shaking her 
 head, she added, " that is a sad story," and 
 turning immediately to Mrs. Taylor, she en- 
 quired if she had heard lately what had become 
 of Sally. Mrs. Taylor looked solemn, and was 
 sorry to say she had heard no good. Sally 
 had complained bitterly that she was used to 
 better food and smarter clothes than she got at 
 home ; and so, as she sang very well, a com- 
 pany of strolling players had persuaded her to 
 accompany them. 
 
 " Dear me ! " exclaimed Lady Whitby, 
 " how provoked Miss Pearson will be to hear 
 that all the pains she took to make that girl 
 sing well, should be so wasted ! " 
 
 " It is shocking, indeed, my Lady," said 
 Mrs. Taylor, " after all your Ladyship's kind- 
 ness, too, for her father, to be so ungrateful."
 
 214 DACRE. 
 
 " To be sure," observed Lady Whitby, in 
 a tone of vexation, to the ladies standing near 
 her, " it is very disheartening to meet with so 
 much ingratitude; but I believe every body 
 finds the same. Of course no girl is admitted 
 into my school, whose father does not vote for 
 Lord Whitby's member ; but it happened that 
 I had taken a fancy to this child, and had ac- 
 tually offered her father the vacancy, for which 
 I had neai'ly a hundred applications ; and, would 
 you believe it ? this very man gave his vote at 
 the election, last summer, to one of those hor- 
 rid Mr. Bartons, who always oppose Lord 
 Whitby's interest?" 
 
 " How very disgraceful ! " said Mrs. Ash by, 
 indignantly. 
 
 " The fact is," continued Lady Whitby, 
 " that some of those canting Miss Bartons 
 wanted his vote for their brother, and so they
 
 DACRE. 215 
 
 took vast interest in the fate of his sick boy 
 last year." 
 
 " Then, after all, he did give his vote out 
 of gratitude," said the Duchess of Bolton. 
 
 " Yes ! but all recollection of what we had 
 done for the girl was forgotten." 
 
 " How abominable ! " exclaimed Miss Cecilia. 
 
 " Poor little girl !" said Lady Emily. 
 
 " Ah !" said Lady Whitby, " I was very 
 sorry for the child, and it was a great sacrifice 
 to me to part with her, she was so very intelli- 
 gent; but you know, my dear Duchess, when 
 one makes a rule one must adhere to it ; and I 
 feel it a duty towards Lord Whitby, to lose no 
 opportunity of keeping up the family interest." 
 
 Lady Emily now called Lady Whitby's at- 
 tention to a little girl who had hid herself behind 
 the door; she was coughing violently, and 
 looked very ill.
 
 216 DACRE. 
 
 " Is any thing the matter with her, Mrs. Tay- 
 lor?" enquired Lady Whitby. 
 
 " Nothing in particular, my Lady ; she has 
 only taken a chill." 
 
 Lady Emily placed the child upon her knee, 
 and asked if she had ever had the hooping 
 cough ? 
 
 " My dear Maria, make haste out of the 
 room," said Lady Whitby, in great trepidation. 
 
 Some one enquired if Lady Maria had not 
 yet had that complaint ? 
 
 " Oh, yes ! but one cannot be too careful ; 
 and she may take it home to the younger chil- 
 dren." 
 
 " You are quite right, dear Lady Whitby," 
 said Mrs. Ashby. " Cecilia, do follow Lady 
 Maria — quick, my love ! " 
 
 Lady Whitby told Mrs. Taylor she might 
 send to the housekeeper if any medicine was
 
 DACRE. 217 
 
 wanted; gave orders that Lucy Black should 
 not come to the school again till she had left off 
 coughing ; and then, with Mrs. Ashby, followed 
 the young ladies out of doors. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Duchess and Lady Emily 
 occupied themselves in discovering under what 
 degree of illness the poor child was really 
 labouring ; and the Duchess felt her pulse ; and 
 Lady Emily so successfully coaxed her to reply 
 to their questions, that they soon ascertained 
 she was suffering from pain and fever, and re- 
 quired care. 
 
 Dacre looked with interest at the group. He 
 quite envied the poor sufferer the caressing 
 kindness of Lady Emily ; and for the first time 
 believed that the Duchess was capable of being 
 touched by the sufferings and sorrows of others. 
 It did not escape Lady Anne's observation, that 
 Dacre's attention was thus arrested. She 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 DACRE. 
 
 guessed, in part, the subject of his thoughts ; 
 and fearing to appear less amiable in his eyes 
 than they, she immediately placed herself on 
 the floor, by their side, in an attitude of such 
 perfect grace and ease, as no man could fail to 
 admire. 
 
 In a few minutes more they were all sum- 
 moned by Lady Whitby to walk a short distance 
 to the place where luncheon would be ready. 
 On arriving at the spot, they found three low 
 huts, like the wigwams of an American settle- 
 ment. In the largest of the three was the 
 luncheon, set out in due form; and on each 
 side of the entrance stood two tall footmen, 
 who reached nearly to the roof of the building. 
 
 « I built this," said Lady Whitby, " after 
 the print in ■ 's Travels in North America. 
 We call it the Blind Orphan's Hut. There 
 are none whose position seems to me to require
 
 DACRE. 219 
 
 protection so much as blind orphans,'* added 
 she, compassionately ; " and I therefore erected 
 this building on purpose for the reception of 
 any I might chance to hear of; but you cannot 
 think how difficult I found it to meet with one 
 that suited ; — indeed, now I have given up the 
 idea, and I assure you we find our wigwams 
 very useful on occasions like the present." 
 
 People are always hungry in a party of 
 pleasure ; none of the company were therefore 
 disposed to object to the use to which it was 
 now appropriated. So soon as the eatables 
 were eaten, and that Lady Henry had suffi- 
 ciently declared her preference for wooden 
 trenchers over either silver or China plates, and 
 that Miss Cecilia had repeated often enough 
 that " the dear little wooden handles to the 
 knives and forks looked so nice and innocent," 
 Lady Whitby thought it time to propose a stroll 
 
 L 2
 
 220 DACRE. 
 
 through the walk of rhododendrons and azalias 
 that were planted near their fellow-country- 
 men, the huts. 
 
 Dacre found himself immediately by the side 
 of Lady Emily. They talked at their ease ; but 
 though their conversation might have served to 
 remind one another of the power of each to 
 give amusement, and point to subjects the most 
 indifferent, so little had it savoured of any 
 deeper interest, that Lady Emily was almost 
 startled at the tone in which he said, as they 
 advanced towards their horses, — " Will you 
 let me prove, Lady Emily, that I still remember 
 how to assist you to mount?" Dacre felt that 
 her reply in no respect differed from that which 
 she might have made to any body else, in ac- 
 cepting a similar offer, but still it was accepted ; 
 and Lady Anne perceived that he was engaged, 
 when she looked for his attendance.
 
 DACRE. 221 
 
 No sooner was the cavalcade set in motion 
 than Lady Anne enquired of Dacre, in a low 
 confidential voice, whether he thought Lady 
 Emily would very much object to their making 
 a d4t(mr to the village where the parents of the 
 sick child lived, in order to try and make them 
 understand that no time should be lost in pro- 
 curing advice for their daughter. The proposi- 
 tion so made ingeniously suggested the possi- 
 bility that Lady Emily might object ; and if it 
 failed in neutralising with Dacre the effect of 
 her kindness in the morning, it at least suc- 
 ceeded in making him feel that Lady Anne was 
 no less benevolent. 
 
 L 3
 
 222 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 Yet not your heavenly beauty gives 
 
 This heart with passion soft to glow ; 
 Within your soul a voice there lives : 
 
 It bids you hear the tale of woe. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 The width of the lanes through which their road 
 now passed soon divided the party in pairs, 
 and the conversation between Dacre and Lady 
 Emily turned naturally upon the object of their 
 morning's expedition. Lady Emily talked of 
 the picturesque beauty of the spots they had 
 visited, and Dacre fully agreed to their merit as 
 subjects for the pencil; "but," continued he, 
 after a short pause ; " surely, Lady Emily, you 
 are not disposed to carry your admiration of
 
 DACRE. 223 
 
 Lady Whitby's establishment beyond the beau- 
 ties of the exterior." 
 
 Lady Emily looked as if she did not, or would 
 not, understand his meaning, and answered eva- 
 sively. 
 
 Dacre was a little provoked at her reserve, 
 and rejoined, with some warmth, — " People differ 
 much, I know, upon the subject of charity; but 
 I own it gives me no pleasure to see a theatre 
 of display erected on the poverty of others." 
 
 " I fear to know how to do good is often 
 more difficult than we imagine," said Emily; 
 " but," added she, playfully, " as it is a part 
 of charity not to think or to speak evil of others, 
 should we not avoid personalities in talking of 
 charity ?" 
 
 Dacre assented. 
 
 " Then," continued she, " you know we must 
 not begin by a pointed attack on our hostess." 
 
 L 4.
 
 224 DACRE. 
 
 Dacre loved her the better for the observ- 
 ation, and acknowledged its truth. 
 
 " You must not think me ill natured," said 
 he ; " but you know I always forget to be pru- 
 dent on those subjects in which I take great in- 
 terest." 
 
 " It is a subject that interests me also very 
 much," replied Emily : " but then I have had 
 so little experience that I dare not act on my 
 own opinions ; and even when acting by advice, 
 I have sometimes reason to know that I have 
 only done harm where I wished to do good." 
 
 " I bought my experience," said Dacre 
 gravely, " at a time when I was unfitted for 
 amusement; and one is better able then, per- 
 haps, to sympathise with the distresses of 
 others." 
 
 " And that led you to visit the poor ? " said 
 Lady Emily, enquiringly.
 
 DACRE. 225 
 
 " Yes, but it was no merit of mine : at first 
 it was not even matter of choice." 
 
 « How so?" 
 
 " You may have heard," he continued, " of 
 the melancholy state in which Lord Hexham 
 lingered for months ; and when illness had made 
 him unable to act, it fell to my lot to decide on 
 matters that would not bear delay." 
 
 " And the wants of the poor are generally 
 urgent," observed Lady Emily. 
 
 " They were the last Lord Hexham would 
 have wished should be neglected, and it was 
 therefore a duty in me to give them the atten- 
 tion which he could not give." 
 
 " I have always heard Lord Hexham was so 
 kind to the poor, I suppose there must have 
 been many who were dependent on his bounty." 
 
 " Not quite dependent," said Dacre : " Lord 
 Hexham was, in reality, what many are called, 
 
 L 5
 
 226 DACRE, 
 
 — a charitable man ; but his great object was to 
 teach the poor to be independent of charity." 
 
 *' That must have been difficult," observed 
 Emily ; " and when the management fell into 
 your hands, did you continue the same plan?" 
 
 " At last I did ; but I made as many blunders 
 at first as any man might be expected to do 
 who puts to sea without a compass." 
 
 " Then you had not even the knowledge of 
 Lord Hexham's opinions to assist you." 
 
 " No, — I had been so much from home ; but 
 I soon arrived at that knowledge, by comparing 
 the tendency of such charity as he always prac- 
 tised, with that which was promoted by many 
 of our neighbours." 
 
 " But is it possible," said Emily, " to per- 
 suade the poor that the wish to see them inde- 
 pendent is not the wish to save ourselves 
 trouble or expense?"
 
 DACUE. 227 
 
 " I found it was possible," replied Dacre, 
 " though difficult and irksome ; but I believe 
 the fear of being misconstrued by others, as well 
 as the poor, occasions a great deal of misplaced 
 generosity. There are some who seem less 
 afraid of the on dits when they do ill than when 
 they mean well." 
 
 " And it does seem hard to refuse what we 
 can spare to those who are in want," observed 
 Emily. 
 
 " But," rejoined Dacre, " as there is, and 
 must be, a limit to that which can be spared 
 either in time or money, the more judicious the 
 distribution, the more extended will be the 
 benefit." 
 
 " I often hear long discussions on the subject 
 of time and money," said Lady Emily. " There 
 are two friends of my father's, both equally 
 anxious to do good, and both determined to 
 
 L 6
 
 228 DACRE. 
 
 prove the truth of their own theories ; and so 
 one gives all his time, and the other his money, 
 for the benefit of the poor." 
 
 " I suspect I should not quite agree with 
 either," rejoined Dacre ; " though I am inclined 
 to think that the dispenser of money is more 
 likely to do harm than the other." 
 
 " Then do you disapprove of pecuniary re- 
 lief?" 
 
 " Not always," replied Dacre; " for as I 
 think that charity is well bestowed in assisting 
 the poor to bear up against the casualties and 
 unforeseen accidents of life, money must some- 
 times be the relief best adapted to their wants." 
 " There I quite agree with you ; and it has 
 often struck me," said she, " on thinking over 
 all I have heard, how impossible it must be 
 that a uniform theory should be applicable to 
 every variety of distress."
 
 DACRE. 229 
 
 " True," replied Dacre ; " but then," added 
 he, smiling, " even you would find it as diffi- 
 cult to persuade the rider of a hobby that such 
 is the truth, as to convince the madman, one 
 has heard of, that horse-chestnuts will not pay 
 the national debt. However, though one may 
 avoid the delusion of a theory, one should 
 keep a principle in view by which to determine 
 one's course on every occasion." 
 
 " And that principle with you was to teach 
 the poor to be independent of charity ?" 
 
 " Certainly, to the utmost of my power. At 
 least, I avoided the evil of teaching them to be 
 dependent ; for I had abundant opportunity of 
 seeing the mischief that arises from such assist- 
 ance as the poor can calculate upon as a cer- 
 tainty. They soon look upon such charity as 
 their right, and regulate their expenditure ac-
 
 230 DACRE. 
 
 cordingly ; and if withheld, it creates more dis- 
 tress in the end than it originally relieved." 
 
 *' Papa was saying the other day that he 
 must give up particular donations at stated 
 times, on that very account ; and I am in hopes 
 he will then appropriate some of the money as 
 I most wish." 
 
 " And would it be impertinent in me to ask 
 how that would be ?" asked Dacre. 
 
 " Not impertinent," replied Emily, kindly; 
 " and, indeed, I hope we should agree in think- 
 ing that it cannot be better employed than in 
 establishing schools, which are sadly wanted in 
 our neighbourhood." 
 
 Dacre fully agreed with her in the expe- 
 diency of promoting education ; and they talked 
 of the different methods of conducting schools. 
 Dacre also mentioned such other charities as 
 most encouraged the poor to become provident ;
 
 DACRE. 231 
 
 and Lady Emily showed so much interest on 
 the subject, that he was induced to offer her 
 the perusal of some memoranda of Lord Hex- 
 ham's on the principle and regulation of the 
 particular charities in question. The offer was 
 readily accepted. A slight pause ensued ; both 
 looked thoughtful. The topic on which they 
 had conversed was one rather to interest than 
 to exhilarate; but whilst it seemed to have thus 
 cast a shade of thought upon the countenance 
 of each, there was a flutter of happiness, too 
 like that of hope, which played, unbidden, 
 round the heart of Dacre. 
 
 The day was fast drawing to a close, as they 
 entered the gates at Hatton. The streaks of 
 red light that gleamed like a fire, through the 
 leafless wood, announced the setting of the sun ; 
 whilst the bustle and cawing of the homeward 
 bound rooljs showed that the warning beacon
 
 232 DACRE. 
 
 had been acknowledged by those whose wander- 
 ings depended on the broad sunshine of day. 
 On emerging from the wood, the landscape, 
 that all had so admired in the morning, again 
 burst into view. The objects were the same, 
 yet how changed was the scene ! The dazzling 
 brightness of the morning was gone ; the gay 
 variety of colour was exchanged for one uniform 
 tint ; the general sparkle that gave life to all it 
 touched was withdrawn. The borrowed riches 
 of the sun were now gathered round his throne, 
 and left the earth in cold contrast with those 
 shining caves of variegated gold, in which he 
 sat enshrined, as he departed from the scene he 
 had adorned. In a few minutes more, a long 
 bright line that backed the purple distance was 
 all that remained of the splendour of his exit ; 
 and earth and sky seemed wrapped alike in 
 that sad, but pleasing serenity, which belongs
 
 DACRE. 233 
 
 to unruffled repose. Emily and Dacre had 
 watched the decline of the sun in silence. 
 
 " The progress of our life has often been 
 compared with that of a day ; but where is the 
 death so glorious, yet serene, as this?" ex- 
 claimed Dacre. 
 
 " Or a life so cloudless as a day like this?" 
 rejoined Emily gravely. 
 
 " Yet I can imagine," said Dacre, " that such 
 a life may be passed by those, who are born to 
 be loved, and to whom nature has given the 
 power to dispel even the sorrows of others." 
 
 His eyes turned involuntarily towards her 
 as he spoke; but she leaned forward to caress 
 her horse, and their eyes did not meet, as she 
 replied, with a slight falter in her voice, " I 
 fear to expect unbroken happiness would be 
 only to court disappointment: a day like the 
 present may be an emblem of some bright pas-
 
 234 DACRE. 
 
 sages of a life, but surely not of its entire 
 course." 
 
 " I believe you are right," said Dacre ; *•' but," 
 continued he, with increased interest, " you will 
 not, I trust, deny that a day like the present, 
 which has closed in giving hopes of returning 
 brightness, is, to say the least, very cheering." 
 
 " But not the less delusive," replied Emily, 
 as she pointed to a rising bank of clouds. 
 " You see there will be no sunshine to- 
 morrow. The weather has been unseasonable 
 to-day, but these clouds will soon remind those 
 whom it has misled, that we are in the chilly 
 month of November." 
 
 There was a mixture of the grave and the 
 gay in the way in which Lady Emily uttered 
 these remarks, that could not but be felt by 
 one who watched her every word and look : 
 there was an earnestness, perhaps a shade of
 
 DACRE. 235 
 
 bitterness, in the tone in which she had said 
 " there will be no sunshine to-morrow," that 
 struck coldly on his ear. He felt he had been 
 but too well understood; and the lightness of 
 manner, with which she concluded her sentence, 
 convinced him that to reply would be worse 
 than useless. Another minute brought them 
 to the door ; and jumping, unassisted, from her 
 horse, Emily immediately retired to her room, 
 without exchanging any further conversation 
 with Dacre.
 
 236 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 Whatever nature has in worth denied, 
 
 She gives in large recruits of needless pride ; 
 
 For as in bodies, thus in souls, we find 
 
 What wants in blood and spirits, swell'd with wind. 
 
 Pride, where wit fails, steps in in our defence. 
 
 And fills up all the mighty void of sense. Pope. 
 
 On entering the drawing-room before dinner, 
 Dacre perceived not only that Sir Edward 
 Bradford had arrived, but that he was stand- 
 ing by Lady Emily. He saw her look up at 
 Sir Edward, with a smile on her countenance, 
 and he thought she had never yet smiled so 
 kindly on him. He viewed in Sir Edward the 
 dreaded black cloud, and the painful conviction 
 that " there would be no sunshine to-morrow "
 
 DACRE. 237 
 
 now gained additional force. He turned to- 
 wards Lady Anne, but she appeared too much 
 occupied in captivating Lord Clermont to per- 
 ceive his approach. Perhaps he was piqued 
 at her manner ; for though he carefully avoided 
 both her and Lady Emily, as the company 
 arranged themselves at dinner, yet certain it 
 was that never had a shy girl, and an ignorant 
 tutor, less to dread from the conversation of a 
 neighbour, than had Lady Maria and the family 
 pedagogue on that day from the agreeable, well- 
 informed Dacre. Once and once only in the 
 course of the evening Dacre approached Lady 
 Emily. " Would she play a game at bilhards ?" 
 
 " Sir Edward was just gone to fetch the cards 
 to teach her how to play at ecarte." 
 
 Dacre turned away : Lady Anne caught his 
 eye ; and in a tone half-playful, half-sentimental, 
 volunteered to accept the proposal Lady Emily
 
 238 DACRE. 
 
 had rejected. No one knows better than a 
 coquette the healing powers of an appeal to 
 the vanity when the spirit is wounded ; and she 
 felt that her temporary encouragement of Lord 
 Clermont's attentions had enhanced the value 
 of her smiles. 
 
 " Preston," said Lord Whitby, addressing 
 himself to that gentleman as he took his seat at 
 breakfast the following morning, — " Preston, 
 Mr. Rowley has just been telling me of the 
 very interesting discovery you made yester- 
 day." 
 
 " It was, indeed, both unexpected and cu- 
 rious," replied Mr. Preston ; " and I must ac- 
 knowledge myself greatly indebted to Mr. 
 Rowley for having led me to the spot." 
 
 " What spot ?" " What discovery ?" was 
 instantly echoed by the Miss Ashbys, Mr. Mait- 
 land, and such others as did not already know.
 
 DACRE. 239 
 
 The fact was, that when Mr. Preston and 
 Mr. Rowley had walked up and down, and 
 over and round the mound Lady Whitby had 
 advised them to explore, and had said all that 
 could be said about possible tesselae and probable 
 coins, Mr. Rowley had proposed, as in duty 
 bound to his patron and himself, that they 
 should proceed to the church, where the sub- 
 ject of his sole literary effort had been de- 
 posited ; and then they talked of mullions and 
 stanchions, and transepts and naves, of archivolt 
 mouldings and clustered columns, of triforiums 
 blahk and quatrefoil panels, and of every other 
 style and mark that serve as dates in architec- 
 ture, till both were sufficiently puzzled, for each, 
 to be duly impressed with the other's superior 
 learning ; when suddenly Mr. Preston's atten- 
 tion was rivetted by the faint inscription on a 
 tombstone. He had discovered not only the name
 
 240 DACRE. 
 
 of an ancestor, but of that very ancestor whose 
 place of interment he had most wished to dis- 
 cover. 
 
 Mr. Preston then informed Mr. Rowley that 
 many proofs were extant of his having existed 
 some five generations back ; " but," added he, 
 in the delight of the first moments of discovery, 
 " till now I have never had any satisfactory 
 proof of his demise." 
 
 The nature of Mr. Preston's good fortune 
 having been explained to the company, Mr. 
 Rowley expressed his hope that he might be 
 allowed to see Mr. Preston's work when it was 
 accomplished. . * 
 
 " Since when have you turned author, Pres- 
 ton?" enquired Sir Edward Bradford with 
 good-humoured incredulity. 
 
 " I am no author," he replied, " only a great 
 collector of autographs and inscriptions."
 
 DACRE. 24 1 
 
 « 
 
 The autographs of remarkable men are 
 certainly interesting," observed the Duke of 
 Bolton : " perhaps one fancies, at the moment, 
 that the sight of that which was the positive act 
 of their own hand seems to realise their exist- 
 
 ence." 
 
 " Just let me know, Preston, whenever you 
 are in want of any particular autograph," said 
 Mr. Maitland, " and I dare say I can procure 
 it for you." 
 
 " You are very good, Maitland ; but the fact 
 is, I have such a passion for collecting, that I 
 am obliged to limit myself strictly to particular 
 objects: my present" object is to ascertain the 
 dates of births, marriages, and deaths of all my 
 own ancestors, to obtain a copy of such inscrip- 
 tions as are to be found at their places of inter- 
 ment, and to collect as many of their autographs 
 as possible: by that means I flatter myself I 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 DACRE. 
 
 shall secure just such a family history as every 
 man ought to possess in his own library." 
 
 " "What an excellent idea ! " exclaimed Lady 
 Whitby ; " I think it is such a sensible thing to 
 do, that I should really like to follow your ex- 
 ample. Lord Whitby ! should you not like just 
 such a book for Hatton ? " 
 
 Lord Whitby thought he should, and sug- 
 gested that Mr. Rowley's assistance would be 
 invaluable. Accordingly, Lady Whitby and 
 Lady Maria, Mrs. Ashby, and her daughters, 
 were busily employed all day in examining 
 family pictures, and looking out for names in 
 the peerage and baronetage. On Mr. Rowley 
 devolved the task of threading intricacies of 
 lineal and collateral descent; whilst Mr. Preston 
 was appealed to every minute for instruction 
 how to arrange and classify the scattered in- 
 formation thus acquired.
 
 DACRE. 243 
 
 Lady Kendal and Lady Emily, accompanied 
 by Lord Clermont and Sir Edward, drove out 
 to call at the house of a friend in the neighbour- 
 hood ; and Dacre and Lady Anne were thus 
 left in the undisturbed enjoyment of each other's 
 society. Lady Whitby never abandoned a new 
 employment, and she could think and talk of 
 nothing but the new book, and its projected 
 contents. Most of the ancestral portraits having 
 been fully discussed, the Duke of Bolton asked 
 the names of some that hung in the room. 
 
 " That," said Lady Whitby, pointing to one 
 over the door, " was Lady Dorothea Shafton, 
 sister to Lord Whitby's grandmother." 
 
 " It is a very well painted picture," observed 
 the duke. 
 
 " But what a dress to be painted in !" ex- 
 claimed Lady Henry. " I always feel so 
 
 M 2
 
 244 DACRE. 
 
 thankful not to have lived in times when people 
 made such figures of themselves." 
 
 Lady Whitby looked grave. " I cannot 
 agree with you, Lady Henry," said she; " I 
 think there was a dignity and propriety in the 
 style of dress at that time, far superior to the 
 present fashion." 
 
 " I am quite of Lady Whitby's opinion," 
 said Lord Whitby. " Every one in those 
 days must have looked like a gentleman, or a 
 lady, who had a right to do so : I only wish," 
 added he, " that we imitated the wisdom of 
 our ancestors a little more in that respect, as 
 well as in others." 
 
 Perhaps Lord Whitby could not brook com- 
 parison with the living ; so he spared his self- 
 love, and displayed his modesty by always 
 upholding the superior sagacity of his fore- 
 fathers.
 
 DACRE. 245 
 
 « To be sure," said Lady Whitby, " the 
 dress was better suited to the dignified conduct 
 and stately habits of the aristocracy of that 
 time, than to the degenerate manners of our 
 own." 
 
 " Certainly," rejoined Lord Whitby ; " no 
 gentleman in point ruffles ever thought of 
 driving stage-coaches ; and ladies in hoops did 
 not think of waltzing. I can just remember 
 the great aunt, whose picture you admired, 
 duke, and her husband : they both persevered 
 to the last in making no change in their good 
 old-fashioned dress and manners ; and they have 
 remained in my mind as the very personification 
 of aristocratic dignity." 
 
 " I fear, Lord Whitby, you are inclined to 
 think more unfavourably than I do of the morals 
 of the present generation," observed the duke ; 
 " but we must remember that the manners 
 
 M 3
 
 246 DACRE. 
 
 and costume of the generation just within our 
 recollection, and yet furthest removed from 
 our own, have one great advantage." 
 
 " "What advantage?" enquired Lord Whit- 
 by. 
 
 " That of being associated in our minds 
 with those only whose follies we have never 
 witnessed, and whom we have been taught to 
 respect for their years." 
 
 " I am glad to hear the duke stand up for 
 the manners of the day," said Sir Edward, in 
 an under-tone to Dacre, as they stood together 
 at a little distance from the rest ; " for I can 
 no more believe that virtue and decorum are 
 the better guarded by stiff stays and powdered 
 frizzes, than that honour and gentility depend 
 upon the carrying a sword or wearing a bag- 
 wig." Dacre smiled, and agreed ; and for a few 
 minutes more they continued in conversation.
 
 DACRE. 247 
 
 There was, indeed, in Sir Edward's manner 
 a degree of good-humour towards Dacre, that 
 almost approached to friendliness, and which half 
 disposed him, at times, to forgive him the sin of 
 sympathising too well in his own taste for the 
 society of Lady Emily Somers. But whether 
 from a certain want of tact, of which he accused 
 Sir Edward, or from that over-sensitiveness, 
 which certainly existed in himself, his moments 
 of good-will towards his rival had seldom yet 
 been of long duration. 
 
 " Lady Whitby, why don't we have some 
 music?" asked Mr. Maitland, who thought 
 the ancestral conversation had lasted quite long 
 enough. Lady Whitby always attended to the 
 dictatorial suggestions of Mr. Maitland ; and so 
 the Miss Ashbys were instantly desired to go and 
 sing that pretty duet that ended in " Z,a, la, la^^ 
 The tiny book and its illegible contents were 
 
 M 4
 
 248 DACRE. 
 
 forthwith produced, and the sisters sang just 
 such a duet as is sure to end in " La, la, la^ 
 The company nodded their heads when the 
 quick part began, in the full enjoyment of the 
 tune, and said at the end, " How national ! " — 
 and, " So gay ! " — and, " So characteristic ! " 
 — " Charming talent ! " — and, " Sisters' voices 
 go so well together ! " — and all the other things 
 that are to be said upon such an occasion. 
 
 " May we not hear Lady Maria to-night ? " 
 said Mrs. Ashby, in an imploring tone. 
 
 " Oh yes ! if you please ; now she is out, I 
 don't mind her playing in company," replied 
 Lady Whitby. 
 
 " I assure you, duchess," continued she, as 
 Lady Maria walked in meek obedience to the 
 piano-forte, " that she is one of Kalkbrenner's 
 favourite pupils : he has taken great pains with 
 her." Whether the master would have recog-
 
 DACRE. 249 
 
 nised his own composition under the hands of 
 his supposed favourite, was, to say the least, 
 doubtful; for the music was difficult, and her 
 alarm very great : her fingers ran wild upon the 
 instrument — she crossed her hands to bang the 
 wrong note — chased up and down the keys 
 with all possible hurry and confusion, whilst her 
 neck, face, and arms, grew more and more red 
 from exertion and fright. 
 
 Mrs. Ashby remarked, " What a rapid 
 finger she has ! " Lady Kendal asked if Lady 
 Maria was fond of music ; and the duchess said 
 nothing. The Miss Ashbys having both said 
 before she began, " Now do play, dear ; " and, 
 " You play so well ! " and, " We shall all like 
 to hear you so much," thought they' had done 
 enough ; and as Miss Ashby had found an oppor- 
 tunity of gaining Dacre's attention, and Cecilia 
 found George Saville disposed to vote the music 
 
 M 5
 
 250 DACKE. 
 
 a bore, and herself agreeable, they abandoned 
 even the neighbourhood of the terrified per- 
 former. 
 
 Lady Emily saw her position, and felt for her 
 embarrassment. She immediately rose from her 
 seat, and placing herself by the side of Lady 
 Maria, turned over the leaves for her, encouraged 
 her by her attention and remarks, and succeeded, 
 at last, in bringing back the wandering fingers 
 into some degree of order. Dacre saw, and ad- 
 mired this act of good-nature ; yet still he felt 
 as if her kindness to others made the contrast 
 more painful of her coldness towards himself. 
 
 It happened that Lady Emily was the last of 
 the amateurs who were called upon that night 
 to sing ; and perhaps it might be that all which 
 had gone before served as a foil to her per- 
 formance, for certainly her voice never sounded 
 to better advantage ; and the superior taste with
 
 DACRE. 251 
 
 which she sang, was sensibly felt by those who 
 could feel the charms of expression. She sang 
 in Italian, in German, and in French ; and all 
 with the spirit, the pathos, or the liveliness, 
 which their meaning and melody required. One 
 of the company named an English song he had 
 once heard Lady Emily sing, and requested her 
 to let him hear it again. She did so. The air 
 was one of those low, simple melodies, whose 
 fitness to the theme seems to heighten the poetry 
 of the words ; and Lady Emily had the peculiar 
 merit of pronouncing distinctly. The hopeless 
 regret of disappointed affection had been the 
 subject selected by the poet: not a word was 
 lost ; and there were touches in those lines that 
 came home to the hearts of all that could love. 
 Perhaps, however, in music and poetry, as in 
 most other things, the effect produced depends 
 less on the abstract merit of the composition, or 
 
 M 6
 
 252 DACRE. 
 
 its performance, than upon the susceptibility of 
 the listener's mind to receive the full impression 
 of its power and beauty. The person who had 
 asked for the song in question heard in it only 
 a pleasing melody, sung with proper expression ; 
 but Dacre saw in those words the reflexion of 
 his own thoughts, and heard in that plaintive air 
 the echo of his own feelings. His attention was 
 so fixed, that he seemed lost in reverie. Her 
 voice now slightly faltered. " Can she, too, then, 
 have known the bitterness of neglect ? " His lip 
 quivered, and he tightly grasped the book which 
 rested in his hand, as the idea glanced through 
 his mind. But, no ! her voice again is steady, 
 and he once more abandoned himself to the sad 
 fascination of awakened associations. 
 
 The song concluded. Lady Emily did not rise 
 from her seat, but kept busily turning over the 
 leaves of her music-book, as if in search of some
 
 DACRE. 253 
 
 Other song, whilst exclamations of " How beau- 
 tiful ! "— « How full of feeling ! »— « How very 
 touching ! " — " How delightfully melancholy! " 
 were heard on all sides. Dacre said nothing ; 
 but, as he turned towards the sofa near which he 
 sat, he saw that tears glistened in the eyes of 
 Lady Anne Preston. The big drops collected 
 and fell without leaving a trace of emotion on 
 her countenance ; but still he felt in those tears 
 a bond of sympathy between her and himself. 
 
 " How I envy the calmness of those who can 
 sing such a song so well ! " said Lady Anne, in a 
 subdued voice, to Dacre. 
 
 At that moment Sir Edward, who had just 
 returned to the drawing-room, approached the 
 piano-forte, saying, " Lady Emily, if you have 
 not already fixed on any song, will you let me 
 hear that very pretty barcarole you brought from 
 Italy ? " Lady Emily complied, with nervous
 
 254- ' DACRE. 
 
 haste. The barcarole was one that she and 
 Dacre had first heard during one of their ex- 
 peditions at Naples ; one which they had admired 
 together for its inspiriting liveliness, and which 
 he had afterwards succeeded, with some trouble, 
 in procuring for her. She sang it with a degree 
 of animation that exceeded what she had dis- 
 played before : her cheek was flushed, and her 
 eyes seemed to sparkle with the excitement of 
 the music. Lady Anne still looked pensive, as 
 she remarked, sotto voce, to Dacre, " What en- 
 viable spirits she has ! how well this careless 
 gaiety suits her ! " 
 
 " I cannot keep up with such sudden changes," 
 replied Dacre. 
 
 " But you forget," rejoined Lady Anne, " that 
 the transition is probably not so great in her 
 mind as it seems to us. I imagine that the 
 actress who has broken our hearts through a
 
 DACRE. 255 
 
 tragedy could perform in the farce with less real 
 change of feeling than we experience in seeing 
 it." 
 
 The observation told as it was meant. Dacre 
 tried to convince himself that Emily was 
 false and cold; and, though his dislike to Sir 
 Edward was in no small degree increased for 
 having thus helped him to come to this painful 
 conclusion, his regard for Lady Anne was 
 strengthened by the sympathy in taste and feel- 
 ing she had displayed ; and he did not again 
 quit her side that evening. 
 
 " Emily ! your hand is burning hot," said the 
 Duchess, as they parted on the stairs : " I am 
 sure you are feverish." 
 
 *' No, dear Caroline ! I am quite well," re- 
 plied Emily : but she trembled from head to 
 foot as she said so ; her temples throbbed, and 
 a lump rose in her throat as she kissed the
 
 256 DACRE. 
 
 duchess, and again pressed her hand affection- 
 ately. She could not speak ; but, hastening to 
 her room, her over-excited frame found in un- 
 restrained tears the relief it needed.
 
 257 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 All impulses of soul and sense 
 
 Had thrilled my guileless G^n^vieve ; 
 The music and the doleful tale, 
 
 The rich and balmy eve ; 
 And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
 
 An undistinguishable throng; 
 And gentle wishes long subdued, 
 
 Subdued yet cherished long! Coleridge. 
 
 Lady Emily was later than usual at the break- 
 fast-table the following morning, and she found, 
 on joining the assembled party, that the day had 
 just been voted fine enough, by Lord Whitby, 
 to see one of the show places of the county. 
 Lord Whitby always accompanied his guests 
 on this expedition himself, as it gave him an 
 opportunity of displaying to advantage all such
 
 258 DACRE. 
 
 points of beauty, comfort, and splendour, as 
 might be deemed inferior to Hatton. Lady 
 Whitby continued too much occupied with the 
 new book to go herself, or to allow Mr. Preston, 
 Mr. Rowley, or more than one of the Ashbys 
 to be of the party. So soon, however, as it was 
 arranged how all were to be conveyed. Lady 
 Emily took an opportunity of begging Lady 
 Whitby would allow the other Miss Ashby to 
 supply her place. She had got a headach, 
 and would rather be excused ; and was sure 
 Miss Cecilia would like to go. 
 
 " Very well, my dear," replied Lady Whitby, 
 who did not much care who went, provided the 
 right number staid to assist her. " Then Ce- 
 cilia shall ride instead of you. Mr. Dacre, you 
 know," continued she, " has promised to take 
 care of the ladies on horseback." 
 
 Emily did know that he had engaged to
 
 DACRE. 259 
 
 do so; and for that very reason she greatly 
 preferred to increase her headach in Lady 
 Whitby's service, than to witness all day the 
 increasing attentions of Dacre towards Lady 
 Anne Preston. 
 
 This object once gained. Lady Emily made 
 light of her indisposition; and, when called upon 
 for music in the evening, she had no excuse for 
 not complying. It was some relief to her to 
 perceive that Dacre had left the room before 
 she began, and that it was not till the Miss 
 Ashbys had succeeded her at the piano-forte 
 that he returned. 
 
 " Have we no chance of hearing you sing to- 
 night?" said Dacre, as he found himself acci- 
 dentally standing close to Lady Emily. 
 
 " I have already sung, till I am nearly tired," 
 she replied. 
 
 " It is, I believe, always my fate to lose what
 
 260 DACRE. 
 
 I admire," rejoined Dacre; and his eyes dwelt 
 on her for a moment with an expression of sad- 
 ness. His look embarrassed her ; and, to turn 
 the conversation, she asked if Wenbury had 
 answered his expectations. 
 
 " I believe it is very magnificent ; but place- 
 seeing, like most other premeditated pleasures, 
 generally ends in disappointment." 
 
 " I had heard it was worth seeing," observed 
 Emily ; " and Sir Edward Bradford seemed de- 
 lighted with all he had seen ; but," added she, 
 with a smile that tried to be gay, " perhaps you 
 are too fastidious for enjoyment, and he is easily 
 amused." 
 
 " It is natural that those who are happy should 
 always enjoy themselves ; but happiness is not 
 always to be had at command," replied Dacre, 
 gravely. 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Emily, " though the re-
 
 DACRE. 261 
 
 verse is always to be found by those who seek 
 
 it." 
 
 " Tlie reverse needs no seeking," observed 
 Dacre, drily. 
 
 " So one should think," rejoined Emily ; " and 
 yet I really believe that the art of self-tormenting 
 is practised with more ingenuity, and to a greater 
 extent, than any other art." 
 
 Dacre reddened as she spoke. " It is quite 
 true," said he, after a moment's pause ; " we do 
 sometimes court the unhappiness that destroys 
 us ; and it is true, also, that such self-tormentors 
 deserve to be held in contempt: you have made 
 me sensible of the truth of this, and I feel 
 obliged to you." 
 
 Lady Emily had no time to reply, for he 
 turned abruptly away. She quivered from head 
 to foot, and her heart beat so quick, that it 
 almost impeded her powers of respiration : but
 
 262 DACRE. 
 
 these were sensations that betrayed no secret, 
 and she determined to make the effort that was 
 necessary to conceal her feelings. 
 
 The evening's amusement concluded : the 
 company adjourned to an ante-room ; and then, 
 in the confusion of offering refreshments, draw- 
 ing the corks of soda water, lighting the hand- 
 candles, and bidding good night, Dacre took 
 courage once more to address Lady Emily. " I 
 have taken the liberty," said he, " of copying 
 for you those memoranda of Lord Hexham's, 
 which you expressed a wish to read. You may 
 no longer care to see them ; but, in that case, you 
 will, perhaps, not mind the trouble of throwing 
 them into the fire : this is only the copy." 
 
 Emily blushed as he spoke : she had thought, 
 till then, that, if an opportunity offered, she would 
 endeavour to do away the false impression he 
 had received from her previous observations;
 
 DACRE. 263 
 
 but the cold and formal manner in which he had 
 now addressed her, at once obliterated from her 
 mind all such intention. She thanked him in a 
 tone that too well accorded with his own ; and, 
 taking the paper in her hand, immediately quitted 
 the room. 
 
 It was not long after Emily had retired, that 
 a slight knock might have been heard at her 
 door ; but the knocker received no answer, and 
 entered without further ceremony. Emily was 
 alone, standing by the fire, her arm resting upon 
 the chimney-piece, whilst her hand supported 
 her head : her eyes were moist ; and she started 
 on the duchess's entrance, as though awakened 
 from a dream. " Is it you, Caroline ?" said she, 
 as if surprised at her appearance. 
 
 " Yes, love ! it is only me," replied the 
 duchess ; " so you need not look so startled : we
 
 264) DACRE. 
 
 are early to-night, so I am come to pay you a 
 little visit. I wished to know if your head was 
 still aching." 
 
 " I believe there is not much the matter with 
 my head," saidjEmily ; "I am only a little nervous 
 and foolish this evening. I shall be quite well 
 to-morrow ; " and she hastily brushed the tears 
 from her eyes. 
 
 " I fear not : I suspect your malady is one less 
 speedily cured." Emily was silent. 
 
 " Emily ! " continued the duchess, earnestly, 
 " do not trifle with your own happiness. I have 
 thought you unusually reserved of late; but I 
 cannot see you suffer, and be silent." 
 
 " Oh, Caroline ! you are kinder than I de- 
 serve," exclaimed Emily, as she threw her arms 
 round the duchess's neck, completely overcome. 
 " I feel so degi'aded ; and you must, you will.
 
 DACRE. 265 
 
 despise me, when I tell you how wretched I 
 feel." 
 
 " Do not talk so, my dear Emily ! how can 
 I despise you whom I have loved from your 
 • childhood?" said the duchess, as she fondly 
 returned her embrace. " But tell me, — is my 
 aunt as completely in your confidence as she 
 ought to be?" 
 
 Emily looked distressed. " No ! " she re- 
 plied; " there is one subject upon which mamma 
 does not know my feelings." The duchess 
 withdrew her arm from round her neck, whilst 
 her countenance betrayed some surprise at this 
 avowal. 
 
 " I told you, you would despise me," con- 
 tinued Emily, with increased emotion ; " but do 
 not — pray do not imagine that I have inten- 
 tionally deceived my mother : deceiving myself, 
 I have perhaps misled her ; but now I have not 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 DACRE. 
 
 the heart to tell her all that has forced itself too 
 late on my mind." 
 
 " But why should you suppose that your 
 mother would regret this change in your senti- 
 ments ? '* 
 
 " Can you ask me why ? when you must 
 know that such a change can only be productive 
 of disappointment." 
 
 " I do not quite understand you," rejoined 
 the duchess ; " and yet I think we need not now 
 speak in riddles. Am I not right in believing 
 that it is upon Francis Dacre that you have 
 bestowed your affections?" 
 
 Emily pressed her hand in token of assent. 
 
 " Then why not impart the secret of your 
 preference to your mother ? " 
 
 Emily shook her head, and said, " I should 
 make her wretched, but she could not make me 
 happier."
 
 DACRE. 267 
 
 " Have you, then, reason to believe that 
 either she or Lord Kendal would dislike or dis- 
 approve your choice ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! they would not — they could not 
 have disliked him, had he been constant or sin- 
 cere; but what would be the feelings of my 
 mother, so often as she has warned me against 
 his fickle and uncertain disposition, to find that 
 the happiness of her child was at the mercy of 
 one upon whom she cannot depend." 
 
 " But her advice might support you— her 
 sympathy comfort you in this distress." 
 
 " No! no ! it is too late now; I ought to 
 spare my mother the unhappiness she wished 
 to spare me. It is no more than I deserve to 
 pay the penalty of over self-confidence. Oh, 
 Caroline!" continued she, "you have some- 
 times laughed at me for what you called my 
 pride ; how little did you then think to see me 
 
 N 2
 
 268 DACRE. 
 
 SO humiliated?" Then hid ing her face in her 
 hands, she gave way to the tears that struggled 
 for mastery from the time she had entered her 
 room. The duchess paused for a while, and 
 it was not till her cousin had in some degree 
 regained her composure that she again ad- 
 dressed her. 
 
 " My dear Emily," said she, " I give you 
 credit for too much good sense, not to say feel- 
 ing, to suppose you would thus speak of an 
 attachment you believed to be mutual ; but you 
 Ibrget that you have given me no reason, as yet, 
 to doubt the evidence of my own senses, in be- 
 lievino; it to be almost more than nuitual on his 
 part." 
 
 Emily shook her head. 
 
 *' You think I am mistaken," continued the 
 duchess; " but I know not to what you allude 
 in talking of his uncertain disposition. You do
 
 DACRE. 269 
 
 not deny his admiration of you at Naples; 
 and when I think of our expedition to Lady 
 Whitby's school — when I have still before my 
 eyes his look whilst you were singing, I cannot 
 believe that you do not still reign paramount in 
 his thoughts." 
 
 " At Naples I was indeed happy. I saw that 
 I was loved, and I knew that I returned the 
 affection I inspired. He too must have known 
 it; for those who feel alike under:- tand each 
 other quickly." 
 
 " But did he never give expressicn to his 
 feelings?" enquired the duchess. 
 
 " He implied his attachment in a thousand 
 different ways, but he never explicitly sought 
 to know if it was returned by me, or approved 
 by my parents." 
 
 " Not even at the moment of parting?" 
 
 N 3
 
 270 DACRE. 
 
 " We parted without my knowledge, for he 
 never took leave." Emily then related to the 
 duchess the manner in which Dacre had so 
 abruptly quitted their farewell party at Naples, 
 and how she had hoped in vain that he would 
 appear the next morning to bid her adieu. 
 
 " The fear of betraying his feelings might 
 account for this seeming indifference," observed 
 the duchess; " but what reason had you to 
 doubt his constancy when next you met?" 
 
 " None, at first. We met in London ; it 
 was very soon after his return to England ; and 
 the dream of happiness that had begun abroad, 
 was, for a time, renewed at home. But it was 
 soon over," added she; and her voice faltered 
 with returninoj emotion. 
 
 " Dear Emily ! it grieves me to distress you," 
 said the duchess ; " but having been absent at 
 that time, you know I am ignorant of much that
 
 DACRE. 271 
 
 has passed upon this subject; — tell me what 
 awoke you from your dream?" 
 
 " It was plain that, once secure of my prefer- 
 ence, he was anxious to withdraw those atten- 
 tions that had gained him my affection." Emily 
 then detailed to her cousin such circumstances, 
 as, though trivial in themselves, seemed but too 
 well to bear out the truth of this assertion. 
 
 " In what light did my aunt view his con- 
 duct?" enquired the duchess. 
 
 " Mamma looked upon it as the effect of va- 
 nity and caprice. She knew my feelings towards 
 him ; and she often said that he was vain enough 
 to seek, but too capricious to enjoy the triumphs 
 of conquest. She attributed his conduct the 
 last evening at Naples to the same cause as his 
 change of manner in London ; and she warned 
 me so repeatedly never again to place my hap- 
 
 N 4
 
 272 DACRE. 
 
 piness in the power of one so selfish and fickle, 
 that I consented, when next we met, to avoid 
 his society." 
 
 " And to that resolution I know you steadily 
 adhered." 
 
 " Yes, during the whole of last season in 
 London, I avoided, at first, perhaps, rudely 
 avoided him. I should have been more civil, 
 had I only been indifferent ; but I suppose he 
 was offended at my manner, and though we 
 often met, we seldom spoke." 
 
 " Had you any reason to think he regretted 
 this estrangement, or did you believe in those 
 reports that must have reached your years ! " 
 
 " I liardly know what I believed. I could 
 not help remarking that he looked at me, I 
 might almost say watched me, with an expres- 
 sion of interest; and though his words and 
 manner were cold and constrained whenever
 
 ^ 
 
 DACRE. 273 
 
 we spoke, I felt sure he was not careless. Still 
 the world gave him to Lady Anne Preston ; 
 my pride was aroused ; I determined to be gay, 
 and I tried to forget him." 
 
 " But without much success," said the 
 duchess, half smiling, as she looked at her 
 iiffectionately, 
 
 " Alas ! you see how completely I have 
 failed," replied Emily, mournfully. " I quitted 
 London, as willing to magnify his faults, and 
 detract from his merits, as my mother could 
 wish. The repose and occupations of the 
 country made the time pass quickly ; I flat- 
 tered myself I had overcome my feelings to- 
 wards him ; and I was anxious only for an 
 opportunity to prove I was indifferent." 
 
 " Had I been your confessor, Emily, I should 
 have told you that such anxiety was, in itself, a 
 contradiction to your indifference.'* 
 
 N 5
 
 274) DACRE. 
 
 " And you would have told me the truth," 
 replied Emily, " but I did not then think so ; not 
 even here, at the ball, when we met and spoke, 
 and even danced together, was I undeceived. 
 I felt my spirits rise in his society, and I 
 thought I was free." 
 
 " In other words," said the duchess, " like 
 many other people, you mistook the excitement 
 of hope for what it least resembles — the calm- 
 ness of content; but what has brought you, 
 dear, to this sudden self-knowledge?" 
 
 " You say you observed, how^ much he was 
 with me when we visited the school ; there was 
 something that day in his manner which forcibly 
 reminded me of old times. We were some- 
 times gay, and sometimes grave together; and 
 I felt, as formerly, that his gaiety amused, and 
 his gravity interested me, more than I was ever 
 amused or interested by that of any other per- 
 son. The suspicion then crossed my mind that
 
 DACRE. 275 
 
 my happiness was again at his mercy, and I 
 blushed at the thoughts of such weakness. I 
 still hoped to combat the feeling I dreaded: 
 another day convinced me I was too late. So 
 long as his attentions were directed to me, I 
 was happy, and could perhaps have continued 
 to deceive myself as to the cause; but I saw 
 that his affections were really transferred to 
 another. I saw that Lady Anne was the object 
 of his devotion. I was no longer happy, and 
 the veil that had blinded me, dropped at once 
 from my eyes." 
 
 Emily's tears flowed fast as she made this 
 confession, but she composed herself sufficiently 
 to repeat to the duchess the little conversation 
 that had passed between Dacre and herself 
 that evening; and with which the reader is al- 
 ready acquainted. 
 
 '• Now then," continued Emily, *' I have 
 
 N 6
 
 276 DACRE. 
 
 told you all, and I am sure you will never be- 
 tray my confidence. I fear," added she, with 
 some hesitation, " you will despise my weak- 
 ness, but, dear Caroline, do not love me less 
 now, that I am unhappy." 
 
 The duchess said nothing, but she folded her 
 in her arms, with a look of interest and affection 
 that spoke more of comfort on this point than 
 words could have conveyed. Emily pressed 
 her fingers against her eyes, to check the fast 
 flowing current to which she had given way ; 
 then swallowed a glass of water that stood within 
 her reach, and leant against the chimney, as if 
 waiting for her cousin to speak. The duchess 
 had been much overcome by all that had passed, 
 still a smile played round her lips as she spoke. 
 
 " Emily," said she, " now that you have told 
 me all, having ' nothing extenuated,' or ' set 
 down aught in malice,' shall you be very much
 
 DACRE. 277 
 
 surprised, if I tell you in return, that it is my 
 firm belief, that your fate lies still at the disposal 
 of yourself and your parents." Emily stared, as 
 if her ears must have deceived her. She was 
 too much surprised to utter. 
 
 " Do you believe," continued the duchess, 
 " that if Mr. Dacre declared his attachment to 
 you, that Lord Kendal or my aunt would offer 
 any objection to your acceptance of him?" 
 
 " I am sure they would never object to my 
 happiness," replied Emily, with a sigh ; " and 
 indeed he was, for some time, a great favourite 
 with both." 
 
 " And if he forfeited their good opinion, 
 only because they thought him inconstant to 
 you, do you think that he would regain their 
 approbation if he proved himself guiltless of 
 any such crime ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; but why do you ask?"
 
 278 DACRE. 
 
 " Because I would not run the risk of offer- 
 ing you advice that might be counter to their 
 wishes." 
 
 Emily begged she would be more explicit. 
 
 " I have told you," said she, " that all I 
 had seen here convinced me that you are the 
 object of Francis Dacre's affection. All you 
 now tell me to persuade me to the contrary has 
 confirmed that opinion. "_ 
 
 " You cannot really think so!" exclaimed 
 Emily, whilst a gleam of pleasure passed over 
 her countenance. " No, no ! it cannot be," 
 continued she ; " I cannot be mistaken on that 
 point." 
 
 " Why not? You have been deceived in 
 your own feelings towards him, and are still 
 more likely to have been mistaken in his towards 
 you." 
 
 " I fear it is easier to be deceived in favour
 
 DACRE. 279 
 
 of one's wishes than to be misled against 
 them." 
 
 " True," replied the duchess ; " but pride 
 can mislead as well as hope : is it not possible 
 that, in your anxiety to spare your own dignity, 
 you may have impressed him too effectually 
 with the idea of your indifference, or even dis- 
 like?" 
 
 " It is impossible," said Emily, " that he 
 can so mistake me." 
 
 " Not so impossible as you imagine : remem- 
 ber, dear, you are naturally gay ; your counte- 
 nance is bright, and your manner lively ; your 
 spirits here have seemingly risen, and gaiety 
 always passes for happiness. How should even 
 Mr. Dacre know any thing of that under-cur- 
 rent of sadness, which only forces itself upper- 
 most when the fever of excitement has passed ? 
 Who would believe that the Emily who now
 
 280 DACKE. 
 
 stands before nie, was, an hour ago, the Lady 
 Emily of tlie drawing-room, who sang so giiily? 
 and looked so cheerful?" 
 
 " Yet I did not mean to be false or afl^ected." 
 
 " I am sure you did not ; but you have been 
 playing a part that was dictated by pride. 
 Why not lay it aside ? " 
 
 " What!" exclaimed Emily, in surprise, 
 " would you have me betray my feelings to 
 one who actually prefers another ?" 
 
 " That preference I deny ; depend upon it, 
 Emily, that Mr. Dacre's pleasure in the society 
 of Lady Anne arises only from the soothing 
 influence of flattery to a mortified spirit. Lfe 
 is piqued at your coldness, whilst Lady Anne 
 never fails to encourage his attentions." 
 
 " But what can I do?" enquired Emily, 
 despairingly. 
 
 " Simply appear in your own true character.
 
 DACRE. 281 
 
 Speak to him kindly; do not discourage his 
 attempts to converse with you ; and, above all, 
 be careful to avoid the possibility of wounding 
 his feelings, in all you say or do." 
 
 " I wound his feelings ! " said Emily, in a 
 tone that would indeed have brought Dacre to 
 her feet in a moment, had he been within 
 hearinjT. 
 
 J 
 
 " Yes ! I see you think that impossible 
 rejoined the duchess ; " but remember it is my 
 belief, that by forced gaiety and assumed indif- 
 ference, you have already done so. Promise 
 me, Emily, that you will no longer adopt this 
 manner towards him. If I am right, you will 
 soon see him return to his former allegiance — 
 if I am wrong, you will, at least, have the sa- 
 tisfaction of feeling yourself blameless. You 
 camiot be more distressed than you are now ; 
 and I think your peace of mind will be easier
 
 282 DACRE. 
 
 restored, when more positively certain of his 
 coldness and inconstancy, than you have now 
 any right to be." 
 
 Had the duchess spoken words of inspired 
 prophecy, Emily could not have hung with 
 greater interest on every syllable. 
 
 " You must know," she replied, " that the 
 task you impose will be only too easy to per- 
 form." 
 
 " Then," rejoined the duchess, " arm your- 
 self only against the possible disappointment of 
 finding that I am mistaken, and you in the 
 right. 
 
 " That disappointment cannot be worse, as 
 you justly observed, than my present distress." 
 
 " Now, then, good night ! " said the duchess, 
 as she arose to depart. " Try to compose 
 yourself to sleep ; and to-morrow will,. I hope,
 
 DACRE. 283 
 
 give birth to happier thoughts than those that 
 have of late taken possession of your mind." 
 
 " How can I ever thank you enough for all 
 your kindness?" said Emily, as she warmly 
 returned her cousin's embrace; " but," added 
 she, " I dare not — will not — indulge in 
 hope ! " 
 
 Such were her words as the duchess quitted 
 her room, but the expression which played on 
 her face as she spoke, was not that which sat 
 fixed upon her countenance when the duchess 
 had entered.
 
 284 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 The inquietudes of fear, like lesser streams 
 Still flowing, still were lost in those of love ; 
 So love grew mightier from the fear ; and nature 
 Fleeing from pain, shelter'd herself in joy. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 The blessings of sleep rank high amongst the 
 blessings of youth; and Emily must either have 
 been indebted to the soothing powers of a tran- 
 quil night, or to the reviving influence of the 
 duchess's conversation, for the unimpaired 
 beauty with which she appeared the following 
 morning at breakfast. But few of the company 
 had assembled when she entered the room, and 
 none but the duchess perceived that she was
 
 DACRE. 285 
 
 somewhat paler, more thoughtful, and more 
 nervous than usual. 
 
 Each time the door opened to admit a fresh- 
 descended guest, Emily felt sure it was Dacre; 
 and there was a consciousness that made her 
 dread his presence, and yet an anxiety that he 
 should appear, which almost caused her to start 
 at each approaching footstep : nor could she 
 raise her eyes, till she knew by the voice that it 
 was some more indifferent person who had en- 
 tered. Every place at the breakfast-table was 
 now occupied, save one. The vacant seat was 
 next to Emily ; and it increased her nervous- 
 ness not a little, to know that Dacre must thus 
 necessarily become her neighbour. 
 
 Breakfast was half over when Mr. Maitland 
 asked Lord Whitby whom he expected to fill 
 the vacant place? How strange it seemed, to 
 Emily that any one could forget who ought
 
 286 DACRE. 
 
 to be there ! Nor did Mr. Maitland forget; he 
 only thought Lord Whitby might require some 
 information respecting his guests. 
 
 " I expect no one," replied Lord Whitby, 
 who happened to be as well informed as Mr. 
 Maitland on the subject ; " it was laid for 
 Dacre, but he is gone." 
 
 "Gone!" exclaimed several voices; "and 
 when did he go?" 
 
 " Early this morning," said Lord Whitby. 
 
 " What a sudden flight ! " said Mr. Preston. 
 
 "I am so sorry he is gone," said Lady Henry. 
 
 " I am sure he had no intention yesterday 
 of going away to-day," said Mrs. Ashb}'; who 
 thought he had certainly talked a little more of 
 late to her eldest daughter, and did not approve 
 of his departure. 
 
 " When did he tell you he was going?" en- 
 quired Lady W^hitby.
 
 DACRE. 287 
 
 " Last night, just before we went to bed," 
 replied Lord Whitby. " He look leave of me, 
 saying, he was sorry to be obliged to go away 
 so abriipdy, but that he must be in London to- 
 morrow on particular business." 
 
 " All men make the excuse of having busi- 
 ness to transact," said Lady Henry, laughing ; 
 " but I don't believe they ever do any. How 
 I should like to know what can have taken him 
 away in such a hurry." 
 
 " Nothing very pleasant, I fear," observed 
 Lord Whitby ; " for he seemed very low, and 
 looked so ill that I thought his particular busi- 
 ness might be to get home, before he was laid 
 up." 
 
 " No ! no ! it was not that ; I believe I know 
 the reason," said Mr. Maitland, looking as sig- 
 nificant as if he did. " I heard what he said 
 to you last night, and it puzzled me amazingly
 
 28S DACRE. 
 
 to make out why he went; but I was up early 
 this morning, and I understand it now." 
 
 Mr. Maitland was pressed to explain, which 
 was just what he wished. 
 
 " Crofton comes here to-day," said he; " and 
 I fancy he has no friendly feelings towards him. 
 I introduced them to each other at the ball. 
 Dacre was very ungracious in his manner then ; 
 and when I asked him this morning if he knew 
 that Crofton was expected here to-day, it was„ 
 very evident that he had no wish to meet him." 
 
 Nobody doubted the probability of this ex- 
 planation of Dacre's movements; and the rest 
 of the company had only therefore to comment 
 upon the fact of his having gone away because 
 Mr. Crofton was coming. Then came the re- 
 marks on looks, manners, disposition, &c. that 
 are sure to follow the mention of a departed 
 guest,
 
 DACRE. 289 
 
 Lady Henry said Mr. Dacre was very good- 
 looking. 
 
 Mr. Preston thought him well informed. 
 
 Miss Ashby thought he improved on ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 Lord Clermont allowed him " a good seat on 
 horseback ;" and Lord Henry pronounced him 
 " a capital shot." 
 
 The Duke of Bolton said he liked all he had 
 seen of him ; and Lady Anne, with apparent 
 nonchalance, observed that he was " very agree- 
 able, though very uncertain." 
 
 Mrs. Ashby waited to hear what Lady Whitby 
 would say ; and as her Ladyship declared " she 
 could not quite make him out," Mrs. Ashby 
 thought " he was very odd." 
 
 *' He is a very odd-tempered fellow," ob- 
 served Mr. Maitland ; " one never can be sure 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 DACRE. 
 
 of him ; he sometimes looks half offended when 
 one means to do him a kindness." 
 
 " I have always heard he is very capricious," 
 said Miss Cecilia. 
 
 "I think he is capricious," said Lord Kendal: 
 " at Naples we saw a great deal of him ; and 
 I thought him a very clever agreeable young 
 man, but I have lost sight of him now. He 
 has left us off, Lady Kendal, I think, has n't 
 he?" 
 
 " I suppose so, unless we have left him off," 
 replied Lady Kendal, slightly colouring; " we 
 seldom meet now." 
 
 These observations were not lost on Ladv 
 Anne. 
 
 " I wonder he do n't marry," said Mrs. 
 Ashby, just to see if other people thought 
 he would.
 
 DACRE. 291 
 
 " He is not a marrying man," replied Mr. 
 Maitland. 
 
 " I should think not," rejoined Lady Anne ; 
 " I have so often heard him say things which 
 implied his preference of a single life: so many 
 men prefer what they call their liberty, and he 
 is quite one to enjoy being independent." 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed Sir Edward, laughingly, 
 " I see it is no joke for a man to go away from 
 a country house, and leave his character behind 
 him. I suppose sudden departures, like sudden 
 deaths, demand an inquest; and within five 
 minutes we have been able, I think, to pass 
 sentence on the character, motives, and inten- 
 tions of our absent friend. I only hope nobody 
 expects me to go away from Hatton ; for I fairly 
 own myself afraid of being tried by such a 
 penetrating jury." 
 
 o 2
 
 292 DACRE. 
 
 Sir Edward's observations proved a good- 
 humoured check to ill-natured remarks, and 
 conversation flowed easily into other channels, 
 more free from the rocks and shallows of which 
 personal discussions must ever be in danger. 
 
 Those only who have felt, as Emily did feel, 
 from the moment that Dacre's name had been 
 mentioned, can fully appreciate the subdued 
 misery she endured. The hope that had 
 cheered her first waking that morning had 
 been rudely crushed, when Lord Whitby an- 
 nounced the departure of her lover. Her 
 mind was ill fortified to bear the tone of 
 careless praise or undeserved censure, which 
 indifference, or ignorance suggested; and she 
 knew that every unfavourable word that was 
 uttered, must tend to confirm her mother's 
 impression of his inconstancy. The knowledge
 
 DACRE. 29S 
 
 f 
 
 of our thoughts being read by another, often 
 adds to the difficulty of resisting their influence: 
 and Emily therefore found, at this moment 
 of trial, that even the consciousness of the 
 duchess's sympathy only added to her em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 The duchess was, however, a comfort to her 
 cousin. She was the first to rise from break- 
 fast ; and, by calling her attention to a flower 
 in the adjoining conservatory, she not only 
 afforded Emily the readiest means of quitting 
 the table, but gave herself the opportunity of 
 proposing that they should take a tete-a-tete 
 walk. The walk was long; and though the 
 subject did not vary, conversation never flagged. 
 
 " Perhaps, after all," said Emily, as they 
 returned towards the house, " I ought to think 
 it better that he should be away. Admiring 
 
 o 3
 
 294- DACRE. 
 
 Lady Anne, as he does, it is very natural that 
 he should not Avish to marry." 
 
 " Then you still persist in your belief of his 
 admiration for Lady Anne?" enquired the 
 duchess. 
 
 " Yes," replied she, mournfully ; " indeed 
 I think it almost impossible that he should not 
 be fascinated by one so fascinating." 
 
 " I confess," said the duchess, " she has no 
 charm for me." 
 
 " My dear Caroline!" exclaimed Emily, in 
 a tone of unfeigned astonishment, " that you 
 should not always approve of her, I can, of 
 course, understand; but surely you cannot be 
 insensible to her beauty; or to that peculiar 
 charm of voice and manner, and that extra- 
 ordinary power of adapting her conversation 
 to the tastes of others, which have made me
 
 DACRE. 295 
 
 feel each day that I have passed here, how 
 irresistible she must be where she wishes to 
 please." 
 
 The Duchess smiled. 
 
 " You see in her, my dear, every charm 
 that apprehension could suggest, or that could 
 justify the inconstancy of a lover; but I see, in 
 all she says or does, a motive, that at once 
 disfigures its grace, and destroys its effect: so 
 I tell you fairly," added she, " that so soon as 
 I am convinced that Mr. Dacre has ever reallv 
 allowed Lady Anne to supersede you in his 
 thoughts, I give him up. I shall make no 
 excuses for him." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " rejoined Emily with warmth, 
 " you must not ; pray do not give him up, 
 even on that account; but," added she, after 
 a short pause, " whatever may be the cause of
 
 296 DACRE. 
 
 his disinclination to marry, I think it is very 
 clear, from what Lady Anne said this morning, 
 that such is the case." 
 
 "It is very clear to me, Emily, that she 
 intended you should think so. What reliance 
 can be placed on words dictated by self-interest? 
 Lady Anne is never natural ; and she would 
 sacrifice truth itself at the shrine of her in- 
 satiable vanity." 
 
 " Yet she seems so open, and her manner 
 is so unstudied," observed Emily. 
 
 " True ; and in that consists her power. Her 
 manner is unaffected, though her character is 
 false. She can well afford to be natural in 
 externals, without endangering her objects ; for 
 the part she assumes sits easier in the garb 
 with which nature has gifted her, than in any 
 other she could devise."
 
 DACRE. 297 
 
 That after the events of the morning, Emily 
 should have appeared gay, or even composed, 
 for the rest of the day, may seem strange ; but 
 certain it is that Lady Anne was never more 
 completely guilty of playing a part, than was 
 Lady Emily in reassuming her own natural 
 character. But the last words of the duchess 
 in entering the house, had been, to urge her to 
 conceal from those who had no right to her 
 confidence the painful interest she had taken 
 in the departure of Dacre. 
 
 " His misunderstanding of your feelings to- 
 wards him may have occasioned his leaving us so 
 suddenly," said she ; " but I feel so persuaded 
 that he is not indifferent, that I am not afraid 
 of encouraging you to hope that all may still 
 end well. Keep up your spirits, dear Emily, 
 I entreat you. It will make me miserable to 
 see you depressed, when I am sure there is no
 
 298 DACRE. 
 
 reason to despair. Depend on me ; I will never 
 commit you ; but your suspense shall not be as 
 lengthened as you now think, if it is in my 
 power to shorten its duration. Next week we 
 go to London.*' 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoodk, 
 
 New-Street-Square.
 
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