Ji 
 I! 
 
 pi 
 
 • yut~f**^y*tf^,i^>te*^ 
 
 ,^y. 
 
 xE^^<H«iM4M)«^$sii^»ssM;K:nKa'A&<Cri<'' 
 
 
 ! r 
 
 ^waitwwji 
 
 H ii 
 
 'I < 
 
 111 
 
 
 
 m em^iru^^^.tmmM 

 
 w. 
 
 SL 
 
 AND 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 
 'S 
 
 li'. 
 
 S. 
 
 
 d(- 
 
 A^
 
 MRS. GERALD'S 
 NIECE. 
 
 BT 
 
 LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON, 
 
 ATJIHOE OF " TOO STBAIfGE NOT TO BE lEUE, ETC. 
 
 IN" THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON : 
 EICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET, 
 
 ^ublisljer in ©rMnarg ia fia ^aj^stg. 
 
 1869. 
 All Sights Reserved.
 
 F. BENTLET AND CO., PBINTEIiS, SHOE LANE, LONDON.
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 FASK 
 
 Chapter I. . 1 
 
 Chapter II. ...... . 43 
 
 Chapter III 82 
 
 Chapter IV 114 
 
 Chapter V 144 
 
 Chapter VI 190 
 
 Chapter VII 256 
 
 Chapter VIII 291 
 
 Chapter IX 315 
 
 5538£7 
 
 RESERVE
 
 PART I.
 
 MRS. GERALD'S NIECE. 
 
 iH a r t L 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "Yes, is it not a pretty place ? " Annie 
 Derwent said as she and lier visitors, the two 
 Miss Conways, were returning from a walk 
 in Holmwood Park on a beautiful evening 
 early in July. This was said in answer to 
 Eliza Conway's remark that she had never 
 seen such beautiful scenery. There was 
 greater truth in this assertion than is often 
 the case with these sort of exclamations, for 
 she and her sister lived almost all the year 
 round in London, and only went in the 
 autumn for a few weeks to the seaside. Their 
 father, a hard-working lawyer, cared chiefly 
 
 TOT.. I. 1
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 for fresli air and boating during tlie short 
 time lie devoted to liealtli and relaxation ; 
 and their mother, a great invalid, could not 
 bear a long journey. They had, therefore, 
 seen little or nothing of the beauties of 
 English scenery, and had never been abroad. 
 Holmwood House was a pleasant, old- 
 fashioned, country place in one of the most 
 picturesque counties of England. It had 
 been in former times a monaster}^, but not 
 much of the original building remained. 
 What were now the offices were said to have 
 belonged to the original conventual pile. 
 The grey stone walls of the kitchen- garden 
 and an old archway overgrown with ivy and 
 bearing the fragments of a Latin inscription, 
 were likewise supposed to be remnants of the 
 ancient enclosure. The present house dated 
 from the reign of James I. Successive addi- 
 tions had been made to it which were not 
 all improvements ; but whatever faults it 
 possessed in an architectural point of view 
 were disguised by the abundance of creepers 
 which covered its walls. On the southern 
 side especially, pink, white, yellow, and red 
 roses, pomegranates, and myrtles, passion-
 
 Mrs. Gerald'' s Niece. 
 
 flowers and jessamine climbed up to the 
 second storey, invading and wreathing with 
 their blossoms the framework of the windows, 
 peeping into the sunny rooms, and mingling 
 their delicate shoots with the stout branches 
 of the Westeria, which in spring clothed the 
 whole of the front and western side of the 
 house with its luxuriant lilac clusters. The 
 garden, too, was one bright mass of colours, 
 not a mere flower}^ patchwork of various 
 hues, laid out in a systematic manner, but a 
 charming: combination of flowers, such as 
 Perdita might have woven, or Ariel couched 
 in — 
 
 " Merrily, merrily, 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough." 
 
 This blooming maze occupied the whole 
 space between one side of the house, and a 
 low moss-grown wall which separated it from 
 the churchyard — one of those old-fashioned 
 burial places full of tall trees and waving 
 grass, and daisies innumerable grov\^ing on 
 the nameless graves of obscure villagers, and 
 white roses and clematis adorning the tomb- 
 stones of the more honoured, if not more
 
 4 Mrs. Gerald^ s Niece. 
 
 honourable, occupants of the consecrated 
 ground. On the opposite side a smooth, 
 green lawn extended to the edge of a grove 
 of ash- trees, and a hill, covered partly with 
 wood and partly with gorse, rose behind the 
 house. Before it flowed a rapid and trans- 
 parent stream, in which many a speckled 
 trout and careless minnow courted its doom. 
 The constant sound of rippling water was 
 one of the charms of the place. It was like 
 its own peculiar music in the ears of those 
 who loved it. Little diminutive brooks 
 wended their way through the park, the 
 shrubbery, and the grove, singing their songs 
 of joy under the bushes, across the lawn, 
 amongst the flowers. Though sheltered by 
 its woods and secluded in its ow^n grounds, 
 Holmwood had also glimpses of distant coun- 
 try. Through the branches of the grove, 
 where it was thinned, and straight away in 
 front of the house, was to be seen, in the 
 midst of a wide extent of pasture-land and 
 corn-fields, the spire of Ashdown Cliurch, and 
 farther on a broad river bearing on its bosom 
 black barges which looked in the distance like 
 flies on a mirror. A ridge of blue looking
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 hills, over which a heavy mass of clouds 
 generally rested, was discernible towards the 
 west ; and by certain lights, especially when 
 the sky was stormy, the sea could be per- 
 ceived lining the horizon with a silvery thread 
 or a dark-blue ribbon. 
 
 The Avhole of this fair scene was gilded by 
 the rays of the setting sun, when the three 
 girls reached the steps in front of the house, 
 and turned back to give a last look to the 
 illuminated landscape and the sky tinged by 
 fiery and rosy-coloured clouds. What need 
 is there to dwell on what every one has felt, 
 the delight of the first evening in the country 
 after months spent in a town ? Who does 
 not know that delio-htful sensation ? Even 
 those whose lot is by their own choice cast in 
 that great huge London, so forcibly described 
 by a modern writer as " That monster which 
 looks so unmanageable and is so awfully 
 wicked, so hopelessly magnificent, so here- 
 tically wise and proud after its own fashion, 
 and yet after a fashion so good also ! Such 
 a multitudinous remnant in it who have never 
 bowed the knee to Baal. Such numbers 
 seeking their way to the light ; so much
 
 6 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 secret holiness, siicli supernatural lives, such 
 loj^alty, mercj, sacrifice, sweetness, and great- 
 ness." Yes, even they who love it with all 
 its miseries, and who would not willingly live 
 many days out of the year far from, the great 
 City, the mighty pulse of which seems to 
 throb in their own hearts, they know the 
 joy of leaving it behind for a time. More 
 than others, perhaps, they appreciate the 
 luxury of the silence which seems only the 
 more deep for the low twitter of the birds 
 amongst the leaves, or the drowsy hum of 
 the bees over the flower-beds. With more 
 or less of gladness or of melancholy, of hope 
 or of souvenance, that beautiful old French 
 word, according as life, and age, and God 
 have dealt with their souls, they gaze on the 
 shadows lengthening on the dewy grass, and 
 listen to the night wind whispering among 
 the branches. It would be difficult to say 
 which is sweetest at that hour — the young 
 man's vision or the old man's dream. 
 
 We who are old remember the gradual 
 manner in which the sense of this agreeable 
 change used to steal upon us in days of 
 yore, as we passed from the streets into the
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 suburb, wliere tlie houses, standing wider 
 and wider apart, admitted glimpses of green 
 fields and hedges, till at last the high road 
 was reached, and the fragrance of the air 
 gave token that we were really getting into 
 the country. How welcome was the sight of 
 the little roadside inn, where we stopped to 
 change horses — the picturesque gable-ended 
 cottage-like hostelry, with its tiny garden 
 and large spreading tree. And then, after 
 perhaps three or four days' journey, came 
 the longed-for arrival, the glad revisiting of 
 favourite haunts, the sunset hour, the quiet 
 stroll, the falling asleep that first night 
 lulled by the profound stillness, one of 
 Nature's greatest charms ; and yet Charles 
 Lamb, the London poet, fled from Words- 
 worth's house, in Westmoreland, scared by 
 the silence of those mountainous regions. 
 He could not rest far from the murmurs of 
 the great City. 
 
 Now that a few hours will take us to the 
 furthest part of England, the transition is 
 more striking still. The noise of the streets 
 has scarcely died away in our ears, when we 
 find ourselves in the midst of pure air, rural
 
 8 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 scenery, and sylvan shades. A newspaper 
 or a doze liuve filled up the time, and we 
 seem scarcely to have left behind the bustle 
 of the London station before wo are landed 
 in the depths of country retirement. But 
 the exquisite pleasure of the contrast is 
 seldom purchased nowadays by an uninter- 
 rupted residence of many months in town. 
 Eliza and Jane Conway, however, had bought 
 their enjoyment at that price, and thoroughly 
 appreciated the change. 
 
 " It seems so strange, Annie," Jane 
 exclaimed, " that this wonderfully beautiful 
 place should be your own — your very own, 
 as children say." 
 
 "And those woods and fields, and that 
 pretty little village, does it also belong to 
 you ?" Eliza Conway asked. 
 
 "Almost all you see from here is my 
 property," Annie replied; "one or two of 
 the cottages in Holme are Mr. Hendon's ; he 
 is our nearest neighbour." 
 
 "Wliat an immense responsibility it is 
 for a young girl like you to possess such a 
 property." 
 
 " But I do not, of course, manage it
 
 Mrs. GeraliVs Niece. 9 
 
 myself; Aunt Gerald does all the business 
 with the trustees and agents." 
 
 " But it will not always be so ?" 
 
 "No, not when I am of age, I suppose. 
 It amuses me to see that the gardener 
 begins to inquire what flowers I wish to 
 harve in the beds, and the housekeeper 
 actually asked me this morning which rooms 
 she was to get ready for you. I think my 
 aunt had told her to do so. If you are 
 not comfortable you must complain of me, 
 you see." 
 
 "We will complain to you in that case," 
 Eliza answered, smiling ; " but fj%n what I 
 saw of them before I came out, there is not 
 much chance of our being discontented, I 
 think." 
 
 " Oh, no, they are quite charming," Jane 
 added. 
 
 " Come this way," Annie said, " I want 
 to get some flowers. Do you not like 
 wearing natural flowers in your hair in the 
 country?" And she led the way to the 
 conservatory, where, somewhat to the dismay 
 of the old gardener, who was watering the 
 plants, she gathered a handful of red and
 
 10 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 
 
 white camelias, wliicli she gave to her 
 friends. 
 
 "You have not kept any for yourself," 
 EHza said. 
 
 "Yes, this white one," Annie replied; 
 " I have so much hair that I can only wear 
 in it one little sprig or flower." 
 
 "It is really very hard in those days," 
 Eliza said, laughing, " for those who have a 
 great deal of hair of their own. Nobody 
 gives them credit for it. 
 
 }) 
 
 a 
 
 Don't you believe in mine ?" Annie ex- 
 claimed. " Look." She took off her bonnet 
 and comb, and masses of jet black hair fell on 
 her shoulders and half-way down her back. 
 
 " Indeed, I behoved in yours without this 
 ocular demonstration," Eliza answered. " I 
 knew you well enough to feel sure that you 
 would not wear anything false." 
 
 " I see nothins^ false in wearino- false 
 hair," Jane said, " any more than artificial 
 flowers. It is the fashion, and everybody 
 does it." 
 
 "Everybody does it!" Eliza repeated 
 " The worst reason in tlie world ! Don't 
 you think so, Annie ?"
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 11 
 
 Annie had twisted up lier hair, and 
 stuck the white cameha behind her ear. 
 "It is not a reason I care about," she 
 answered. " It is nothing to me what people 
 say or do ; but I agree so far with Jane that 
 it prevents there being any deceit in the 
 matter. There is the dressing-bell! Are 
 you long getting ready ?" 
 
 " Oh, dear, no !" both the sisters replied. 
 Is there any one who ever honestly answer 
 " yes " to that question ? 
 
 " Have you company at dinner to-day ?" 
 Jane inquired, with a view to the choice 
 between her blue silk and her white muslin 
 gown. 
 
 '' Only Mr. Hendon, Mr. Pratt, our 
 clergyman, and my cousin Edgar. 'Not a 
 very formidable party, you see. What are 
 you counting on your fingers, Jane ?" 
 
 " That makes seven ?" 
 
 " Well, and what of that ?" 
 
 " I never can open my lips at dinner 
 where there are fewer than eight persons." 
 
 "You don't say so? Why, at the cours 
 you used to be one of the quickest at 
 answering. I remember being quite jealous
 
 12 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 at the number of presidencies yon got. 
 ' Mademoiselle a la langue tres bien pendue,' 
 some of the girls said when they thought 
 you took the shine out of them." 
 
 "Oh, Annie, slang!" Eliza exclaimed. 
 " It is not pardonable in you who have no 
 brothers." 
 
 Annie laughed, and answered, " Take 
 care, Lizzie. I shall be on the watch, and I 
 venture to say I shall detect you using some 
 slang expression before the day is over." 
 
 " We shall have to define what is slang, 
 and Avliat is not," Eliza answered, with a 
 smile. " Rather a difficult thiug I fancy." 
 
 *' But how long have you been afraid of 
 the sound of your own voice, Jaue ?" Annie 
 asked. 
 
 "I do not mind answering a question, 
 but I do not like to converse Avith my 
 neighbours when everybody can hear what 
 I say." 
 
 " But do you think they listen ? I find 
 it difficult enough to attend to what is said 
 to myself. I should never think of listening 
 to Avhat was said to other people. Should 
 vou, Lizzie ?"
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 13 
 
 " Oil, as to Lizzie," Jane exclaimed, 
 " slie knows every word everybody utters all 
 round the table. And that is another thing ; 
 I cannot bear her to hear what I say." 
 
 "Whv?" 
 
 " Because I know she thinks it all so 
 stupid." 
 
 "Really, Jane, you are too humble," 
 Annie said. 
 
 "Or too vain," Eliza added, with a 
 smile. 
 
 " It is getting very late," Jane observed. 
 And, as that remark was undoubtedly to the 
 point, they all ran into the house, and up to 
 their rooms. 
 
 " Are you ready, dearest love ?" Mrs. 
 Gerald asked, as she knocked at her niece's 
 door at a few minutes before seven. Annie 
 appeared dressed for dinner, and looking 
 very handsome. They went downstairs to- 
 gether. The windows of the drawing-room 
 were wide open, and when they came in a 
 young man, who was walking on the terrace, 
 hastened to meet them. This was Edgar 
 Derwent, Mrs. Gerald's nephew and Annie's 
 cousin. They both seemed very glad to see
 
 14 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 « 
 
 him ; there was, however, something a little 
 reproachful in the tone with which Mrs. 
 Gerald said, " I was almost afraid you would 
 not come. We fully expected you would 
 arrive by the four o'clock train, and I went 
 in the pony-chaise to the station in hopes 
 of finding you there, and having the pleasure 
 of driving you home. But I suppose you 
 did not think we should expect you by that 
 train?" 
 
 " To say the truth, I did not know when 
 you would expect me ; but I could not leave 
 London by an earlier train." 
 
 " It was fortunate Annie did not volunteer 
 to fetch you. She would not at all have 
 liked to be disappointed. I have lived long 
 enough to know that people can never get 
 away from London till the very last possible 
 minute." 
 
 Edgar smiled good humouredly, and said, 
 "If I had come when you expected me, I 
 should have had a much pleasanter drive 
 than in that creeping fly, which went at the 
 rate of four miles an hour, I think." 
 
 " And you would have had the society of 
 two young ladies," Annie said; "that is, if
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 15 
 
 you had happened to sit in the same carriage 
 with them." 
 
 ''Friends of yours coming here?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes ; the Miss Conways. I have known 
 them a long time. We were always meeting 
 at M. Roche's cours." 
 
 "Are they daughters of Mr. Conway, a 
 barrister ?" 
 
 " Yes, their father is a lawyer ; they live 
 in Bryanston Square." 
 
 " I know him, and I am very glad his 
 daughters are friends of yours." 
 
 "Mr. Hendon and Mr. Pratt are also 
 coming to dinner. There is Mr. Pratt in his 
 gig coming up the avenue." 
 
 A moment afterwards both those gentle- 
 men, who had driven up to the door at the 
 same time, were announced. Just as dinner 
 was on the table, the Miss Conways came 
 do^Ti. It had taken a long time to fasten 
 the camelias in their hair. Jane explained 
 this to Mr. Pratt, who took her in to dinner, 
 and she also defended herself warmly from 
 the charge of unpunctuality, which, in a 
 rather pointed though jesting tone, Mrs.
 
 16 Mr,i. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 Gerald had made against her and her 
 sister. 
 
 If it had not been for Mrs. Gerald's 
 exertions, there would have been very little 
 conversation durino; dinner ; she had manao-ed 
 to keep it going, and to start subjects gene- 
 rally suitable, rather than particularly inte- 
 resting. She was a warm-hearted and well- 
 informed person, but her manners were stiff 
 and her language studied. Her voice, too, 
 was always pitched in the same key, and the . 
 use of set phrases had become so habitual 
 with her that it had iijrown into a second 
 nature. It is said that Mrs. Siddons and all 
 the Kembles acquired so strong a habit of 
 using Shaksperian expressions in ordinary 
 conversation, that they did it at last uncon- 
 sciously. Mrs. Gerald, without any effort, 
 talked like a well- written book. Is it our/i^ 
 own fault that we find this tedious — more 
 tedious than many a worse defect? There 
 was, however, much difference of opinion as 
 to her powers of agreeableness ; some people 
 thought her very clever. There was no doubt 
 that she acquitted herself extremely well 
 at tenants' dinners or school-examinations,
 
 M7's. Gerald's Niece. 17 
 
 when she made fluent httle sj^eeches in what 
 the schoolmaster called a mellifluous voice, 
 and the housekeeper generally informed the 
 ladies' meids, the first evening they were at 
 Holmwood, that her lady read prayers beauti- 
 fully. "It was quite a treat to hear her." 
 But if Mrs. Gerald's voice and her way of 
 expressing herself were under strict control, 
 not so her countenance, which, by a singular 
 contrast, manifested with strano-e clearness 
 the various emotions of a quick temper and 
 keenly susceptible nature. She easily changed 
 colour, her lip"s sometimes quivered, and her 
 eyes filled with tears on aj)parently trifling- 
 occasions. She had been very pretty, and 
 was stiU good looking. She had light-blue 
 eyes, a small aquiline nose, and thin lips. 
 There was in her disposition a mixture of 
 impulsiveness and of reserve, of coldness of 
 manner and impetuosity of character. In 
 theory she worshipped common sense, and 
 what the French call Jes convenances cle la, 
 cie. She was very severe on any follies of 
 conduct or aberrations of mind in others, 
 and was rather prone to read lectures to her 
 friends on the faults she observed in their 
 
 \o:.. I. 2
 
 18 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 cliaracters and proceedings ; but under tliis 
 worldiy-wise exterior were hidden man}?' of 
 the weaknesses of a womanly and ardent 
 nature. 
 
 Mrs. Gerald had been a widow for more 
 than twenty years. Her husband had died 
 of a fever at Nice a few months after their 
 marriao'e : and althousfh she had not been 
 supposed to be excessively attached to him, 
 she grieved deeply over his loss, and never 
 thought of marrying again. 
 
 The person she had always most loved 
 was her eldest brother, Robert Derwent, 
 Annie's father; and one of her strangest 
 feelings was her passionate fondness for the 
 home of her childhood, and the old family 
 place of the Derwents. 
 
 After the death of her idolized brother 
 and his young wife, who had perished by a 
 terrible accident which occurred about a year 
 after she had lost her husband, Mrs. Gerald 
 fixed all her affection on their infant daughter, 
 of whom she was left sole guardian. Holm- 
 wood devolved to this child, though a girl, 
 her father having been the last of the entail. 
 His younger brother, Herbert, was Edgar
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 19 
 
 Derwent's father. Mrs. Gerald devoted her- 
 self to her niece with all the energy and 
 exclusiveness belono^ino- to her character. 
 Little Annie's health and education, and the 
 care of her property, were the only objects 
 she lived for. 
 
 Annie was four years old when her aunt 
 brought her for the first time to Holm wood. 
 They stayed there almost constantly till she 
 was about fourteen ; then they began to 
 spend some time every year in London for 
 the sake of masters, and to attend the cours, 
 which were beginning to be in fashion. It 
 was there she had made acquaintance with 
 the Conways. Jane was her own age, Eliza 
 older. As soon as her aunt told her that she 
 was old enoug^h to invite her own friends to 
 Holmwood, which she had done about the 
 time our story begins, Annie had proposed 
 to ask the Conways. Mrs. Gerald had 
 avoided till then giving that invitation. 
 Perhaps she thought Eliza likely to gain 
 influence over Annie, and, without owning it 
 to herself, had a secret jealousy on that 
 point. However, when Annie pressed it, she 
 saw no reason to object, and in that, as
 
 20 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 in everything else, Annie had hei' own 
 way. 
 
 Any one who had only judged Mrs. Gerald 
 by hearing her talk, would have fancied her 
 to be the last person in the world likely to 
 spoil any one. She was so sensible in her 
 theories of education, so judicious in her 
 views of moral and intellectual training, so 
 severe on the Aveakness and folly of the 
 generality of parents, that it would have 
 been natural to suppose that Annie's educa- 
 tion woidd have been systematic and strict, 
 if not severe. But far from it — the lectures 
 freely given to the rest of mankind were 
 scarcely ever bestowed on her own niece. 
 She literally worshipped her, and expected 
 that others should join in that worship. It 
 was easy to perceive that she was always on 
 the Avatch to see if the idol of her heart was 
 sufficiently admired. There was something 
 touching in this over-weaning affection, be- 
 cause it was not selfish ; not in one sense at 
 least. Perhaps it engrossed too much of her 
 heart ; perhaps it made her hard, indifferent, 
 and exacting towards others ; but as regarded 
 herself it was self-sacrificine: and disinterested.
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 21 
 
 Slie would have offered up the whole human 
 race as a holocaust, if it could have ensured 
 Annie's happiness ; but she would have readily 
 laid herself also at the top of the pile. She 
 had no jealousy of those Annie loved, if only 
 they loved Annie as mach as she thought 
 they ought. When this was the case, she 
 gladly admitted them to offer up incense at 
 the shrine of her idol. 
 
 The habit Mrs. Gerald had of constantly 
 looking at Annie through her spy-glass, 
 might have been annoying to the young girl 
 had she not been so accustomed to it from 
 childhood, that she hardly noticed it. She 
 did not seem at all aware that her aunt was 
 fonder of her than the generality of parents, 
 aunts, or guardians are wont to be of their 
 children, nieces, or wards. She loved Mrs. 
 Gerald, and knew she had taken great care 
 of her all her life, but looked upon that care 
 and affection rather as a matter of course. 
 At nineteen years of age, she had all the 
 simplicity, straightforwardness, and brus- 
 querie of a girl of twelve. There was a 
 great deal to admire in Annie's looks, and 
 yet it was not everybody that thought her
 
 22 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 handsome. Slie Lad a well-sliaped head and 
 magnificent dark hair, a good figure, a way 
 of "walkino; and holding' her head which made 
 her French dancing-master say, " Mademoi- 
 selle a le port d'une duesse." But her hands 
 and feet were large — her complexion pale, 
 though healthy — her mouth rather wide. 
 She had large, honest, bright, fearless blue 
 eyes, whose innocently bold expression and 
 confiding gaze, together with the guileless 
 simplicity of her manner, reminded one of 
 Dryden's matchless lines — 
 
 "Without unspotted, innocent within, 
 She feared no danger, for she knew no sin." 
 
 Annie and her cousin Edgar had been 
 great fi:'iends ever since she could remember. 
 She had always cared for him, in fact, more 
 than for anybody else in the world. As long 
 as she had been a child her power over him 
 had been aljsolute. Afterwards this state of 
 things became reversed ; a girl from the age 
 of thirteen to seventeen naturally looks np 
 with some degree of awe to a young man four 
 or five years older than herself. Now again 
 s he felt thsre would be another change in
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 23 
 
 their relative positions. Tliey had not met 
 for a long time, and in the meanwhile she 
 had come out, an old-fashioned expression 
 still in use, but hardly applicable in the pre- 
 sent day, when even little girls are oftener 
 out of the school-room than in it. 
 
 In Annie's case it meant dining late with 
 Mrs. Gerald instead of at one o'clock with 
 her governess, and dressing in a manner 
 more accordant with the existing fashion 
 than had been till then considered necessary. 
 But the change had made her. of course, a 
 much more important person, and she flat- 
 tered herself that Edgar would now talk to 
 her as much as to her aunt. There was a 
 heightened colour in her cheeks, and a bright 
 look in her eyes, when she shook hands with 
 her tall, pale cousin. The last time he had 
 been at Holmwood, she had been somewhat 
 vexed and mortified at the little notice he had 
 taken of her. She was too old at that time 
 to be played with, and he was perhaps not 
 old enough to like the trouble of conversing 
 with a young girl between sixteen and seven- 
 teen, who had suddenly become shy and re- 
 served with him. Since then he had travelled
 
 24 Mo's. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 fibroad, Mrs. Gerald and Annie had been a 
 great deal away from lionio, and tliey had in 
 consequence seldom met, but now for several 
 months he had been studying for the bar in 
 London, and had gladly accepted his aunt's 
 invitation to spend some time with them in 
 the country. He was delighted at the 
 thoughts of seeing the place again, which 
 had been to him in boyhood a sort of earthly 
 Paradise, and at renewing his former intimate 
 intercourse with the only relatives that were 
 dear to him, besides his mother whom he loved, 
 but with whom he had but little sympathy. 
 Annie was very happy to meet again her old 
 jDlaymate and companion, and at the same 
 time felt as if they were for tlie first time 
 really to make acquaintance with each other, 
 for now they were both grown up, and would 
 be on a different footing together. 
 
 When he took her in to dinner, she felt 
 pleased and a little excited. Any kind of 
 feelings with her rose slowly to the surface. 
 It was like one of those great waves which 
 surge up from the depths of the sea, and are 
 slow to break because of their strength. 
 
 They did not talk much during dinner,
 
 Mrs. Gerald'' s Niece. 25 
 
 but as soon as Edgar came into the drawing- 
 room lie sat down by her at the table where 
 she was working with her two friends. 
 " How soon you have come," she said, look- 
 ing up Yvdth a bright smile. 
 
 " Too soon ?" he added, smiling also. 
 
 " Oh, no ; I did not mean that. On the 
 contrary, I was afraid Mr. Pratt and Mr. 
 Hendon would have kept you ages in the 
 dining-room." 
 
 " What are you working ?" Edgar asked, 
 taking up a corner of the bit of stuflP on her 
 knees. 
 
 "A child's pinafore," she answered ; "I 
 can do nothing but plain work. But look at 
 that wonderful thing Eliza is making." 
 
 Edgar glanced at the piece of silk in Miss 
 Conway's hand. He smiled as his eyes met 
 hers, and looking tow^ards the card table 
 where Mrs. Gerald, Mr. Hendon, and Mr. 
 Pratt were about to sit doAvn to wliist, he 
 said, in a low voice, " What would Mr. Pratt 
 say to that piece of work ?" 
 
 " Would not he approve ? " Eliza in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Approve of a vestment ? The very
 
 26 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 sight of it, I think, would give him a nervous 
 attack." 
 
 " I am so sorry," she answered. " Per- 
 haps I had better put it by." 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Gerald asked Miss 
 Conway if she could play at whist ; and, 
 when Eliza said " Yes," she exclaimed, 
 " Then do come and save us from dummy ; 
 we are so tired of him." 
 
 Eliza immediately complied, and in a 
 few minutes Jane inquired if the pianoforte 
 was Erard's or Collard's ; upon which hint 
 Annie spoke, and begged her to play "that 
 pretty thing Le Zephir ; " and then Edgar 
 and she began to converse comfortably under 
 cover of the rattling execution of Jane's well- 
 practised fingers. Each time a piece came to 
 an end, Annie said, " How pretty that is ! 
 Won't you play that other pretty thing, 
 Jane?" and the pleasant noise and the 
 agreeable conversation went on in perfect 
 harmony. 
 
 " Annie, how beautiful Holmwood is look- 
 ing," Edgar said, drawing aside a little the 
 curtain of the window near which they were 
 sitting. The moon was shining on the lawn,
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 27 
 
 on the grove, and on tlie river, wliicli was 
 glittering in its rays like a ribbon of liquid 
 silver. It was nearly as bright as day. " It 
 is almost a shame," he added, " to be indoors 
 on such a night as this ! " 
 
 *' I am glad you admire Holmwood as 
 much as ever," Annie said. " I think it is in 
 great beauty just now." 
 
 " I much more than admire it ; I love it 
 as if it was a person. I am afraid I should 
 dislike any one who did not appreciate Holm- 
 wood. To my mind there is no place in the 
 world to be compared to it." 
 
 " That is saying too much. There must 
 be some very beautiful places in the world, if 
 we are to believe travellers." 
 
 " I am sure everybody would admit it to 
 be one of the lovehest places in England." 
 
 " JSTow you are getting more reasonable. 
 England is a small part of the world." 
 
 "Well, England is the world to me. I 
 see the beauties of other countries — I feel 
 those of my own. If ever I write a novel, I 
 shall begin by describing Holmwood." 
 
 " What will you say about it ?" 
 
 " That it is an old house, but not a
 
 28 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 gloomy one. That not even the moonhght 
 can make it look sad, which is saying a great 
 deal. Just before dinner, Annie, I walked 
 round the garden, and thought it all so 
 prett}^, prettier than ever. I delight in 
 that dear old court, the vine, the fig-trees, 
 the sun-dial, and the sunflowers, the holly- 
 hocks, the pigeon-house, and, more than 
 everything else, the archway and its in- 
 scription." 
 
 " Oh, so do I. I repeat it very often — 
 ' Nisi Dominus edificavit domum in vanum 
 laboraverunt qui edificat earn.' " 
 
 *' Very well pronounced for a woman, 
 Annie," exclaimed Edsfar, lauo*hino\ " I am 
 so glad to find that you are worthy to 
 possess this beautiful place of yours. You 
 used not, I think, to be so fond of it." 
 
 " I remember 3^our being very angry with 
 me three years ago, because I was glad to go 
 to London. You always used to scold me 
 for not liking it enough." 
 
 " Yes, I know I am touchy on that point. 
 Holmwood not only reminds me of tlie 
 happiest days of my life, but it is to me the 
 type of the most beautiful descriptions of
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 29 
 
 scenery in the old English poets, and of 
 the good old times in English country 
 life." 
 
 " Good old times ! Well, I never shall 
 understand . . . ." 
 
 " What, I Avonder ! " 
 "I say I don't understand, and never 
 shall, why people will always call old times 
 good times. Even the Greeks and Romans 
 did so." 
 
 " The Greeks and Romans? why, Annie, 
 I did not know you were a classical scholar !" 
 " Nonsense. I am not a scholar at all — 
 but one of the good things of these poor new 
 times is that one learns a little of every- 
 thing." 
 
 " I should say that it was one of the bad 
 things of the present day, and the reason 
 why so few people now know anything really 
 well" 
 
 " But you will not deny that ever since 
 good books have been written they always 
 speak of the past in that way. I dare say a 
 hundred or two hundred years hence our 
 great grand-children, if such people ever 
 exist, will be siofhino; over the wickedness of
 
 30 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 the twentieth or twenty-first centur}-, and 
 calhng fJiis time the good old time." 
 
 " Well, the world may have really grown 
 so wicked by that time, that the present age 
 may in comparison seem good to them." 
 
 " But I do not believe that the world is 
 getting so wicked — worse, I mean, than it 
 used to be." 
 
 " Do you know much about the world, 
 Annie?" 
 
 " I have read with Miss Rose no end 
 of histories of the world — Greek, Roman, 
 French, English, ancient and modern his- 
 tories. It is rather hard to be told after that 
 that I know nothing about it." 
 
 " I only asked the question. I hope you 
 will never know much more of its wickedness 
 than you learned in the school-room. But 
 we have lost sight of my novel." 
 
 " Let us go back to it. You have de- 
 scribed the house ; you must now say some- 
 thing of the people who live in it." 
 
 " Oh, I did not bargain for that. How 
 could I, for instance, describe the mistress of 
 Holmwood to her face ?" 
 
 " The mistress of Holmwood ! How
 
 Mrs. GerakVs Niece. 31 
 
 funny that sounds ! I who am not even my 
 own mistress." 
 
 " No, really ? I thought you had always 
 managed to have your own way ever since 
 you were born." 
 
 " Now that is just the sort of thing people 
 choose to suppose. You would not at all 
 fancy giving up your own will as often as I 
 do. But never mind about that, I want you 
 to describe me. It will be hke looking into 
 a glass . . . ." 
 
 " And then going away, as the Bible 
 says .... 
 
 " Foro-ettina; what manner of creature I 
 am ? Very likely ; but as I am not obhged 
 to believe in you as much as in the Bible, or 
 even the looking-glass, I "will take my chance, 
 and hear what you have to say of me. Here 
 is a pencil and a bit of paper. Begin and 
 imagine you are writing a book." 
 
 Edgar mused a moment, with a half pen- 
 sive, half amused expression of countenance, 
 as if collecting his thoughts ; and then wrote 
 rapidly, stopping now and then to read sotto 
 voce what he had scribbled. " This enchant- 
 ing abode, the sylvan beauties of which bring
 
 32 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 
 
 to our recollection some of the prettiest de- 
 scriptions in Sir Philip Sydney's ' Arcadia,' 
 owns for its mistress a young lady . . . ." 
 
 " Do not call me a young ladij.^' 
 
 " Well, a young woman . . . ." 
 
 " That is still worse." 
 
 " A young girl." 
 
 " That sounds as if I was not more than 
 fifteen." 
 
 " . . . . the descendant of one of the 
 oldest families in the county of . . . ." 
 
 "But I don't know if it is one of the 
 oldest families . . . ." 
 
 " Well, let that pass, as we are writing a 
 novel .... and one of the handsomest 
 girls . . . ." 
 
 " I do not like to be called handsome, it 
 is so much nicer to be pretty." 
 
 ■" Her blue eyes and jet black hair give a 
 somewhat peculiar character to her .... 
 frettiness. Her smile is charming — her frown 
 awful. If her mouth i6^ rather wide . . . ." 
 
 " I did not know it was." 
 
 " . . . . this defect is redeemed by the 
 most brilliant white teeth . . . ." 
 
 " Come, I don't want to hear any more
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 33 
 
 of that nonsense. It is my character I wish 
 described." 
 
 "But I have not seen anything of it for 
 two years. It may be quite changed since 
 that time." 
 
 " Say what you thought of it then, and I 
 will tell you if it is changed." 
 
 " Well, the merits of this young lady are, 
 first, a very honest, truthful nature. She 
 would sooner have her head cut off than tell 
 an untruth. She never beats about the bush 
 to gain her end, but goes straight at it, even 
 through thorns and briers. She has, on the 
 whole, a very good temper, but, like som_e 
 climates we read of, it is subject to rather 
 violent storms. There is a little stubborn- 
 ness and not a little pride in her character. 
 She likes better to oblige others than to own 
 herself obliged to any one ; and when she is 
 offended at anything . . . ." 
 
 " Oh, now I know what you are going to 
 
 say!" 
 
 .'i. 5J 
 
 " Xo, I am sure you don't. 
 " Yes ; you will say I am then like Hel- 
 vellyn." 
 
 " What do you mean ? 
 
 uciL au you. mean r " 
 
 ■VOL. I.
 
 34 Mrs. GeraMs Niece. 
 
 " Don't you remember that you used to 
 tease me by repeating wlien I was angry that 
 line that teaches ^children to pronounce the 
 letter H— 
 
 ' How high Helvellyn holds his haughty head ! ' " 
 
 " I assure you that I had quite forgotten 
 that old jDiece of impertinence of mine, and 
 that now I should not think of saying any- 
 thing so rude." 
 
 " I suppose your description of my 
 character is a true one, and that it will be so 
 to the end of mv life. I don't believe in 
 characters chanmncr." 
 
 " Surely faults can be cm-ed." 
 
 " Have you ever known an ill-tempered 
 person become good-humoured, or a lazy one 
 :active? " 
 
 '* Yes, I have observed great changes of 
 that kind ; and, moreover, I believe the best 
 tempers are those which have been made so 
 by effort and self-conquest, and that the most 
 indefatigable activity is that of an indolent 
 person who has become hard-working." 
 
 " How clo you account for this ? " 
 
 " By the fact that mere natural good
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 35 
 
 qualities are not made of such solid stuff as 
 those acquired with labour and difficulty ; and 
 then distrust of self is the first condition of 
 perseverance in goodness." 
 
 "That may be so. But still I think 
 natural sweetness of temper would always be 
 more attractive than the acquired self-control 
 you speak of." 
 
 *' Perhaps so ; but attractiveness is a poor 
 sort of merit after all. It is a charm, but 
 not a virtue." 
 
 " It is like sunshine, I think ; whereas the 
 other kind of good temper is like gas-light or 
 candle-light — always the same, but without 
 warmth or brio-htness." 
 
 " I think I could convince you of the 
 contrary. Think the matter over, and watch 
 those two sorts of dispositions." 
 
 " I will. Every time I make a new 
 acquaintance, I shall try to discover if they 
 were born good-tempered or made themselves 
 so; and I will tell you which I find the 
 pleasantest." 
 
 " By the way, talking of new acquaint- 
 ances, have you seen yet Mr. Hendon's sister- 
 in-law. Lady Emily ? "
 
 36 Mrs. Gerald^ s Niece. 
 
 " No, she does not arrive till to-morrow. 
 It is a great many years since slie lias been 
 at Marclibanks." 
 
 " I lieard in London that she has a young 
 girl with her." 
 
 "Yes; Mr. Hendon told us about her. 
 She is the daughter, I beheve, of some friends 
 of Lady Emily's who died abroad. Her 
 name is Miss Flower. We shall be obliged 
 to see a great deal of her, I suppose." 
 
 " I have heard that your friend Miss 
 Conway is a very delightful person." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; she is so good and clever, and 
 not tiresome about it." 
 
 Edgar laughed. 
 
 " Well, but some good and clever people 
 are tiresome. I think, if it is not high 
 treason to say so, that Lady Emma Cars is 
 one of them. She is not pleasantly good, 
 like EHza." 
 
 " I dare say not ; I am very glad you like 
 Miss Conway." 
 
 " Ah ! I see they have finished their 
 rubber. I wonder who won. Mr, Pratt, 
 have you won ? " 
 
 " No, Miss Annie, I have lost eighteen-
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 37 
 
 pence. But it was not Fortune's fault. I 
 revoked, and my partner bore it like an 
 angel." 
 
 " I was only too glad," Eliza said, witli a 
 smile, "tliat that one great crime covered 
 mv numerous misdeeds." 
 
 The good clergyman smiled too, and soon 
 afterwards took his leave. He was a vene- 
 rable, gentle-looking old man, with a kind 
 and simple manner which prepossessed every 
 one in his favour. When he had left the 
 room, Mr. Hendon said — 
 
 " Dear old Pratt is much aged lately." 
 
 "He has had many annoyances this 
 year," Mrs. Gerald answered. " When he 
 went away last spring, the young curate who 
 did duty for him introduced into his church 
 some of the novelties which are now the 
 fashion, and when he came back many of his 
 parishioners were not at all pleased that he 
 suppressed them." 
 
 Eliza Conway's face flushed a little, and 
 Edgar bit his lip. 
 
 *'Was daily service one of those inno- 
 vations ? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes," his aunt replied. "And early
 
 88 Mrs. GeraUVs Niece. 
 
 communion, too, on Sundays. And then 
 Mr. Eolles iDut a cross of flowers over tlie 
 altar, and made a wretched attempt at 
 teaching the school children to chant. This 
 sort of thing should not be attempted unless 
 it can be done properly. Our beautiful 
 Liturgy, when it is well read, is far more 
 impressive than abortive attempts at a choral 
 service." 
 
 " But does not that depend on the sort 
 of persons whom we wish should be im- 
 pressed?" Edgar said. "Paintings and 
 music, which appear to us very imperfect, 
 often may and do excite devotion in un- 
 educated people." 
 
 " Of course they do," Mr. Hendon cried. 
 " 1 have seen peasants abroad praying most 
 fervently before some ugly, tawdrily-dressed 
 image of the Madonna, wliich would have 
 made educated persons smile." 
 
 " But I do not call that ignorant fervour 
 real devotion," Mrs. Gerald exclaimed. 
 
 " Well, I remember," Mr. Hendon said, 
 " observing one day a woman kneeling at 
 Lagheto before a statue of the Virgin, praying 
 with outstretched arms and streaming eyes.
 
 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 39 
 
 Slie cried over and over again, ' Madre mia, 
 ho quattro fauciulli e sono fuor di testa. 
 Capisce, Madre mia ?' (•' My mother, I have 
 four children, and I am out of my mind. 
 Do you understand me, my mother ?') There 
 was something in that simple statement of 
 a terrible fact, and the urgency with which 
 it was repeated by the poor insane creature, 
 that seemed to me more like real prayer than 
 anything I have ever heard or witnessed in 
 our churches." 
 
 " I suppose," Mrs. Gerald rejoined, " that 
 a rational religion would not suit the insane, 
 but you must excuse me if I think that this 
 is no reflection upon it." 
 
 "Have we not all a ' petit coin de folic,' 
 which it would be well to take oftener into 
 account?" Mr. Hendon said. 
 
 " Surely," Edgar began — he was fond of 
 beginning his sentences in that way — " surely, 
 we may impart beauty to our services, and 
 enlist imagination, which is, after all, one of 
 God's greatest gifts to men, in the cause of 
 religion, and yet avoid the blamable lengths 
 to which Roman Catholics carry outward 
 practices of devotion."
 
 ■iO Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 "I clo not myself object to anything in 
 good taste," Mrs. Gerald said. 
 
 "I did not like what Mr. Rolles did," 
 Annie observed, " because it vexed dear Mr. 
 Pratt, and he said things about him I cannot 
 forgive. He called him a heretic. I am sure 
 he is much more of a heretic himself." 
 
 "Are you certain, Annie," Edgar whis- 
 pered, " that you know what it means to be 
 a heretic ?" 
 
 *' It is something bad," she quickly an- 
 swered, "and I know no one so good as 
 Mr. Pratt." 
 
 Edgar was preparing to answer that argu- 
 ment, but Mrs. Gerald changed the subject 
 by asking Mr. Hendon how long it was since 
 Lady Emily had been at Marchl^anks. 
 
 "More than twenty-two years," he replied. 
 
 " This is the first time since my brother's 
 death that I have been able to prevail upon 
 her to pay me a visit. I hope she will spend 
 all the autumn with me, and that it will be a 
 fine one. She has lived so entirely abroad, 
 and is so delicate, that I am rather anxious 
 about her. You remember Lady Emily, I 
 suppose?"
 
 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 41 
 
 " Oh, yes. We used to meet very often 
 in former days." 
 
 "I hope Miss Derwent will be pleased 
 with my sister-in-law's adopted daughter, 
 Miss Flower. If she is as attractive now 
 as she was when I last saw her, four or five 
 years ago, she must be a very engaging little 
 person." 
 
 . Mrs. Gerald said she was sure Annie 
 would be delighted to make acquaintance 
 with Miss Flower. 
 
 Annie made no remark. 
 
 As Mr. Hendon was going away, he said, 
 " I hear the Carsdales are going to give a 
 ball for Lord Carsdown's coming of age." 
 
 " So I have been told," Mrs. Gerald said. 
 "If we are asked, I think we must go. It 
 will be, strange to say, Annie's first ball." 
 
 " I may tell Lady Emily you will soon 
 come to see her? " 
 
 " Certainly, I will," Mrs. Gerald answered, 
 and then Mr. Hendon departed. 
 
 The ladies lighted their candles, and went 
 to bed. Edgar walked on the terrace, and 
 smoked a cio'ar. The nig^ht was beautiful — 
 the sky perfectly cloudless and starry. Not
 
 42 Mrs. GerakVs Niece. 
 
 a breath of air stirred the leaves — no sound 
 reached the ear except the murmur of the 
 Httle river. 
 
 " Dear, dear old place, I love you better 
 than ever!" he thought, or perhaps ex- 
 claimed, for the window of Annie's room was 
 open, and she heard, or fancied she heard, 
 him say those words ; and she smiled as she 
 looked at the view, which she had never 
 before admired half as much.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Mrs. Gerald went into Annie's room, as she 
 often did the last thing at night. She found 
 her, having just closed the window, and 
 sitting before her dressing-table in a pensive 
 attitude. She kissed her, and said — " I 
 hope you have been amused and happy to- 
 night, my darling ? " 
 
 " Yes, very happy indeed. I am so glad 
 Edgar likes Eliza. I thought he would. We 
 are such a snug, comfortable party just as we 
 are, I hope nobody else will come. Oh, 
 Aunt Gerald ! that Miss Flower ! Shall we 
 be obliged to see much of her ? " 
 
 " It will be difficult to help it. But let 
 us hope for the best ; from what Mr. Hendon 
 said she is likely to be pleasing. Perhaps she 
 will prove a pleasant addition to our society." 
 
 "I do not want any additions to it."
 
 44 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 
 
 " You did not take too lono* a walk to- 
 day ? I hope you did not overtire yourself? " 
 
 It was one of Mrs. Gerald's peculiarities 
 to be in constant fear of fatigue for Annie, 
 who was really as strong as a little horse. 
 
 '' Tired," she exclaimed, bursting out 
 laughing ; " what, with walking once round 
 the Park ! You know I am never tired when 
 I am amused." 
 
 " You seemed to get on very well this 
 evening with Edgar. I never saw you talk so 
 much to any one before, I think, except the 
 Conways." 
 
 "It is very easy to talk to him. It 
 seemed so natural. Don't you^ think he is 
 grown very handsome ? " 
 
 " Yes, and he looks so refined — so distin- 
 guished." 
 
 " And you can't think how enthusiastic 
 he is about Holmwood. He does not think 
 I am half as fond of it as I ought to be." 
 
 " I hope he is mistaken there, dearest 
 Annie ; I flatter myself you are getting 
 every day more alive to its beauties, more 
 grateful for the possession of such a place, 
 and more anxious to fulfil your duties towards
 
 Mrs. GeraMs Niece. 45 
 
 those whom Providence has, in a certain 
 sense, placed under your care." 
 
 '' Oh yes. Did you remember to speak 
 to Davis about the croquet ground ? Jane 
 would like to play, I know." 
 
 " He will come to-morrow morning to 
 receive your directions about it." 
 
 " I must go after breakfast to-morrow to 
 the East Lodge to see N^ancy Drake; Mr. 
 Pratt says she wants some broth. Edgar 
 will walk there with Eliza and me." 
 
 "You must not go there if she has a 
 fever, my love." 
 
 " She has broken her leg. That is not 
 catching," Annie replied, looking at her aunt 
 in a triumphant manner. 
 
 Mrs. Gerald kissed her over and over 
 again, and then wished her good-night. 
 Before 2:oino- to bed she wrote the followinsf 
 letter to Miss Rose, who had been Annie's 
 goveimess. She wa 
 as a music-mistress. 
 
 goveimess. She was now settled in London 
 
 "Mr DEAR Miss Hose, — I must write a 
 few lines to tell you that Edgar arrived to- 
 day. As far as I can judge, he is as much as
 
 46 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 
 
 ever all I could wisli. Amiable and pleasing 
 in manner, and, moreover, much handsomer 
 than I used to think he would be. There is 
 great beauty in the expression of his brow 
 and eyes, and something refined and intel- 
 lectual in his countenance, which recalled to 
 my recollection Mrs. Norton's lines — 
 
 ' Pale to transparency the pensive face, 
 Pale not with sickness but witli studious thouglit, 
 The body tasked — the fine mind overwrought. 
 With something faint and fragile in the whole, 
 As though 'twere but a lamji to hold a soul.' 
 
 " Annie seems delighted with her cousin, 
 and shows it in her own charming, unaffected 
 manner. It would be a great happiness to me 
 if the affection which always existed between 
 her and Edgar as children should now assume 
 a different character, and they were to marry. 
 It has always been my wish, and I am giving 
 him now, as it were, the first chance of winning 
 this great prize, which so many would try for 
 if I allowed them the opportunity. I know so 
 well the strength of Edgar's principles and 
 the goodness of his heart, that I should not 
 hesitate to confide Annie's happiness to his 
 keeping. Of course, few girls would have so
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 47 
 
 many opportunities of marrying in what is 
 called a brilliant manner as this dear child. 
 But that is the very reason why I dread 
 taking her into society, where she would 
 become an object of interest and pursuit to 
 persons bent on making or mending their 
 fortunes, and run the risk of attaching herself 
 to a man not sincerely devoted to her. 
 
 " There is another reason, perhaps a 
 foolish one, which makes me, I own, very 
 much wish her to marry Edgar. If it had 
 not been for her narrow escape from death 
 when a baby, he would have inherited 
 this large property and this place, which 
 you know he is so passionately fond of. 
 Twice she was nearly dying: on that fatal 
 day when both her parents perished ; and 
 again, a year or two afterwards, by a long 
 lingering illness. When she was slowly re- 
 covering at Nice, where she spent the early 
 years of her life, Edgar came there with his 
 mother, the present Mrs, Langdon. His father 
 (my brother Herbert) had not long survived 
 poor Robert and his wife. He was then a 
 little fellow, about six or seven years of age, 
 and proved at that time the greatest of com-
 
 48 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 forts to liis tiny cousin. She was so delicate 
 that I could not venture to let her play with 
 other children, but he was so gentle and 
 sensible that he could be trusted with her, 
 and the society of her young companion did 
 her more good than any medicine. I dated 
 her recovery from the time when she began 
 to play with him in the garden of the Villa 
 Bianca. They used to stay out for hours 
 together, creeping under the orange-trees, 
 building houses with cones, or digging 
 trenches in the sand. I can see them now ; 
 the strong rosy boy full of health and vigour, 
 and the pale wee toddling creature trotting 
 after him, or sitting on his knees, looking 
 like a wax doll. He seeming almost afraid of 
 hurting the fragile little thing, by touching 
 her, while she cuffed him and tyrannized over 
 him with all the pretty despotism of indulged 
 infancy. Even then I remember thmkirg 
 that they might perhaps one day marry, and 
 possess together this place which neither of my 
 brothers lived to enjoy. This evening, seven- 
 teen years afterwards, here at Holmwood, as 
 I saw them sitting together on the sofa near 
 the window, I was musing on the change
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 49 
 
 wliicli time had wroug'lit. The pale, delicate 
 infant grown into onr healthy blooming Annie, 
 and the robust, rosy boy of former days 
 turned into a grave, thoughtful-looking man. 
 Both still handsome, each in their way, but 
 so different from what they were as children. 
 And now you may imagine, dear Miss Rose, 
 how anxiously I wait to see what course 
 things will take. 
 
 " You sometimes see Edgar's mother. I 
 should have no objection to your giving her 
 a hint of my feelings on the subject. Under 
 the circumstances it is clear that he could 
 hardly think of such a thing himself with- 
 out some very decided encouragement from 
 Annie herself and from me. What amount of 
 encouragement she may give him remains to 
 be seen, but there would be no harm in his 
 knowing that if she wished to marry him I 
 should offer no opposition to that wish. 
 
 " I have never been on terms of intimacy 
 with my sister-in-law. I could not speak, 
 and still less write, to her on the subject ; 
 but a remark which would seem to come 
 from yourself might be a sufficient hint, and 
 yet not commit us in any way. 
 
 TOL. I.
 
 50 ■ Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 " I will soon write again, for I know liow 
 anxious you are to hear everything about 
 Annie. I wish you were here ; I miss our 
 conversations in the school-room ; you are 
 the only person to whom I can speak of her 
 without reserve. 
 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 "M. Gerald." 
 
 When Mrs. Gerald had written, sealed, 
 and directed this letter, she went to one side 
 of her bed-room and drew aside a silk curtain 
 which covered the pictures of several mem- 
 bers of her family who were dead. She kept 
 their portraits in a sort of sacred seclusion. 
 What to many persons is a consolation — the 
 hourly sight, amidst the occupations and 
 business, the joys and trials of life, of loved 
 faces which were once the objects of hopes 
 or of cares which made life happy or anxious, 
 of faces never again to be seen in this 
 world — was to Mrs. Gerald a pain too acute 
 to endure. She never would look at them 
 except when alone. Amongst these pictures 
 there was one of Annie's mother, with Annie 
 herself in her arms when a baby of a few
 
 Mrs, Gerald's Niece. 51 
 
 montlis old. It had. been painted in Florence 
 a short time before Mrs. Derwent's death. 
 Annie used sometime to go into her aunt's 
 room, when she knew she was out, to have a 
 good look at these family portraits. There 
 was a half-length picture of her father, and 
 some small sketches of him as a boy. One 
 also of Edgar's father, of Mrs. Gerald's 
 parents, and her husband. That evening the 
 curtain was lifted up, and Mrs. Gerald stood 
 for a few minutes gazing first on one and 
 then on the other of those pictures, with a 
 thoughtful, scrutinizing look. Especially she 
 fixed her eyes long and wistfully on the 
 jDortrait of Annie's mother, and sighed 
 deeply as she turned away. 
 
 On the following morning, Jane and 
 Annie played duets together, Eliza wrote 
 letters in her room, and Edgar read in the 
 library. When at about one o'clock Annie 
 came in to fetch a book for her aunt, he looked 
 up and said, "Are you a worthy possessor 
 of this delightful library, Annie ? Do you 
 make much use of these charming books ?" 
 
 She shook her head, and answered with a 
 smile, " ' Vous vous moquez de moi,' as
 
 o2 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 M. Legrand said when I asked liim if he 
 could teach me the figure of an Enghsh 
 country dance. No, I have not, unfortunately, 
 any taste for reading." 
 
 " You don't say so ? 1 could hardly have 
 believed this possible for any one brought up 
 by Aunt Gerald." 
 
 " She cannot believe it herself. I assure 
 you that she labours under the illusion that I 
 read a great deal — at odd times, she says. 
 I have heard her tell people so. Have you 
 not observed that she has a wonderful talent 
 for believing whatever she wishes ? It pro- 
 vokes me very much sometimes. I don't 
 know if it is right or not to let people go on 
 thinking things are true when they are not 
 so, if it gives them pleasure." 
 
 " If the illusion does not do them nor any 
 one else harm, I suppose you are not bound 
 to dispel it." 
 
 "Oh, as to dispelling Aunt Gerald's 
 notions, it would be quite labour thrown 
 away to attempt it. All I can do is to 
 protest against them." 
 
 '•' Suppose you were, in this one instance, 
 to turn her illusion into a reality."
 
 Mrs. Geralcrs Niece. 53 
 
 "By reading more, you niean? "Well, 
 perhaps I may try that some day. I suppose 
 a library is quite a paradise to you ? " 
 
 "It is a great enjoyment, and this par- 
 ticular library is such an available one. The 
 books are so close at hand, so easily reached, 
 and so well arranged. There is a combined 
 smell of flowers and of books here which is 
 very delightful, and I have been reading since 
 breakfast without a single interruption." 
 
 " Did not the playing in the next room 
 disturb you ? " 
 
 "Not at all. The quadrilles did not 
 interfere in the least with my enjoyment of 
 the 'Idylls.'" 
 
 "What ! were you reading doleful poems ? 
 I wonder, then, that our merry tunes did not 
 bother you." 
 
 " No, gay music always gives me a 
 feeling of pleasant sadness — if those two 
 words can go together — so there was no 
 discordancy between the impressions pro- 
 duced by Tennyson's poetry " 
 
 " And our strumming ! Well, I'm glad 
 of it." 
 
 " Is music your favourite occupation ?"
 
 54 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 
 
 " No, what I like best is work — plain 
 work, at least. Gardening also amuses me, 
 but there is such a fuss made about my 
 not standing in the sun, or in the wet, that 
 it ends by being tiresome. I believe I like 
 nothing so much as riding. Will you ride 
 with me this afternoon ? I want to take you 
 to see the new road across the Park, and the 
 summer-house we have built at the top of 
 Lonehill." 
 
 " I shall like it very much. Do your 
 friends ride too ? " 
 
 " Jane does, and Eliza will drive in the 
 pony chaise with Aunt Gerald." 
 
 So Annie had planned, and so it hap- 
 pened, except that Jane had a headache, and 
 would not go out ; so she and her cousin had, 
 in consequence, another long conversation, in 
 the course of which she found out that he 
 was very High Church, which vexed her a 
 little. Not that she had any clear ideas her- 
 self on the subject of churches, high or low, 
 or broad, but because he would not now, 
 she was afraid, like Mr. Pratt, or Mr. Pratt's 
 sermons, as much as she wished him to do. 
 They stopped at the parsonage on their way
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 55 
 
 home, and paid the clergyman a visit. They 
 found hira, having just finished his five 
 o'clock dinner, and sitting by the window 
 which overlooked his o-arden watchino- his 
 bee-hives, a favourite amusement of his, and 
 one which Annie had often shared. " To go 
 and see Mr. Pratt's bees," had been held out 
 to her, and indeed always proved through 
 her childhood an extraordinary treat. A 
 pleased smile beamed on the old man's face 
 as he saw the cousins dismount and walk up 
 the narrow approach to his house. 
 
 "Welcome, Miss Annie," he said. " How 
 do you do, Mr. Edgar? It is some time. 
 Miss Annie, since you have paid my bees and 
 me a visit. ' How doth the little busy bee 
 improve each shining hour.' Eh ? Do you 
 remember my teaching you that hymn the 
 first time you ever came to see me after you 
 arrived from abroad ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course I do ; and have not I 
 been ever since ' gathering honey from every 
 opening flower ' ? " 
 
 " Well, my dear, I hope you have. There 
 is a pretty lesson in that line. The world is 
 divided between those who go about gather-
 
 56 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. • 
 
 ing honey, like my good bees, and those that 
 sting and leave poison behind them, like idle, 
 mischievous wasps. Have you been showing 
 Mr. Derwent all the new improvements, as 
 you call them ? I do not know that I think 
 them all improvements, but then I am an old 
 man, and I dislike changes and novelties of 
 every kind." 
 
 This, he said, kindly but pointedly, as 
 he looked at Edgar, who coloured a little, 
 and replied, " But do you not think it de- 
 sirable to build up again the iniins of the 
 past?" 
 
 " To build up ruins, my dear sir, is a 
 hazardous undertaking, and an imprudent 
 one I think, if, in order to accomplish it, you 
 pull down a good serviceable house, as my 
 friend Mr. Bayley did at Rangeside. In 
 trying to restore part of his mansion, which 
 was old, he pulled to pieces the remainder, 
 which had been inhabited by his father and 
 his ancestors for many generations." 
 
 Edgar smiled and said, '*You are 
 speaking allegorically I suppose, Mr. 
 Pratt?" 
 
 "Well, I confess, my dear sir, I am
 
 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. ^^7 
 
 afraid tliat with those new ideas of reviving 
 old practices, the good people of this day 
 will pull down our Protestant Church of 
 England and deal a fatal blow to the re- 
 formed religion." 
 
 Edo-ar winced at the word Protestant. 
 He had been associating with members of 
 the Church of England who repudiated the 
 name of Protestant, and called Protestantism 
 a heresy. It was very painful to him to hear 
 an Anglican clergyman use that obnoxious 
 word. It vexed, it shocked him very much, 
 and yet what could he say ? It was difficult, 
 indeed almost impossible, to give expression 
 to this feeling. To persons of advanced age 
 in England, there is something so pre- 
 posterous in the idea that the church which 
 they have always considered to be Protestant, 
 and which was universally accepted as such 
 till within the last few years, is not so, that 
 it would really require some degree of moral 
 courage to make the assertion in their pre- 
 sence. An old-fashioned clergyman of the 
 Church of England, surrounded by Kitualists, 
 must feel somewhat as a sane man would do 
 if accidentally shut up in a lunatic asylum.
 
 58 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 Such a one mio-ht hear those about him 
 declare so confidently that they were empe- 
 rors or kings, that he might, after a while, 
 almost question his own sanity in disbelieving 
 their assertions. Perhaps, after all, they 
 might be in their right mind, and he himself 
 insane. Certainly, if anybody had attempted 
 to prove to Mr. Pratt that England was not 
 an island, he would not have been more 
 taken by surprise than by being told that 
 its church was not Protestant. 
 
 Edgar felt a consciousness of this, and 
 said nothing in reply to his last remark ; and 
 Annie, in order to change the subject, began 
 to speak of the approaching school feast, and 
 of the number of buns and pounds of tea 
 which would be required. She saw her 
 cousin in the meantime taking up one after 
 another the books on the table, and putting 
 them down again with a look of annoyance. 
 This disturbed her calculations, and she had 
 to go over them a second time. 
 
 When that part of the l)usiness was 
 accomplished, Mr. Pratt said, " I have just 
 seen Mr. Hendon's carriage drive by with 
 Lady Emily in it. She is not as much
 
 Mrs. Gerald\s Niece. 59 
 
 altered as I should have expected. I should 
 have known her again, though it is nov^ 
 twenty- three years since she went away." 
 
 " Did you see if her ward, Miss Flower, 
 was with them ? " 
 
 " There was a young lady by her side. I 
 did not know who it was." 
 
 Edgar made an effort to join in the 
 conversation. " I wonder if there is more of 
 pain or of pleasure in this return after so 
 long^ an absence." 
 
 " I should think there must be a great 
 deal of heartache in it. Mr. Charles Hendon 
 died here quite suddenly, and he was not the 
 sort of man one would have wished to see 
 die in that way." 
 
 " I am curious to know," Annie said, " if 
 I shall hke Miss Flower. What did you think 
 of her looks ?" 
 
 " I scarcely saw her. They passed very 
 quickly, and I was thinking only of Lady 
 Emily." 
 
 After a little more talk on various sub- 
 jects, the young people took leave of Mr. 
 Pratt. He wished them a pleasant ride 
 home. The parsonage was at one end of
 
 60 Mrs. GerakVs Niece. 
 
 Holmwood Park, about half a mile from the 
 house. 
 
 " By the way," Annie said, turning back, 
 " may I have the key of the church ? Edgar 
 Avants to go into it, and it is always 
 locked." 
 
 " The sexton has got the key, my dear ; 
 but there is nothing new to be seen there 
 since your cousin was here before." 
 
 "But he says that when he was abroad 
 he often went into the churches, which were 
 always open. I think," she added, lowering 
 her voice, " that he likes saying his prayers 
 there." 
 
 "Well, my dear, it is always a good 
 thing to pray ; but I read in the Bible that 
 we are to go into our closets, and shut the 
 door, that men may not see us praying; 
 and except at the time of public worship, 
 I own I think we may as well keep to 
 that precept. I do not see myself what there 
 is in an empty church to help us in our 
 prayers." 
 
 "Nothing certainty," Edgar answered, 
 " unless there are in it objects which excite 
 holy thoughts, and aid us to lift up our souls
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 61 
 
 to God. In many of our cliurches now we 
 do find such objects." 
 
 " You will not find any tiling Popish in 
 mine, dear Mr. Derwent. God fi)rbid I 
 should speak harshly of any class of Chris- 
 tians, but as long as I live I will resist the 
 introduction amongst us of practices which 
 lead to errors of doctrine, and to a mode of 
 worship quite inconsistent with the spirit of 
 our reformed church." 
 
 Edgar did not make any reply, but looked 
 pained. Annie got upon her horse. Her old 
 friend gathered a bunch of Banksia roses, and 
 as he gave them to her whispered — 
 
 "You can have the key of the church, 
 my dear, as often as you want it. I am always 
 glad to find a young man caring about saying 
 his prayers, wherever it may be ; and your 
 cousin seems a thoughtful kind of person, not 
 giddy — ' fast,' I think, they call it now-a-days 
 — as so many young people are. Only I hope 
 he Will not make you a Puseyite. I should 
 be sorry, my dear, very sorry, if you were 
 ever to be ashamed of calling yourself a 
 Protestant." 
 
 "How could I ever be ashamed of being
 
 G2 Mrs. GeraliVs Niece. 
 
 what you are !" exclaimed Armic, smiling 
 affectionately on tlie old man. "But I am 
 glad you are not displeased with Edgar. I 
 want you to like liim, because," she lowered 
 her voice a little, and added, " because I like 
 him very much — more than ever." 
 
 Mr. Pratt smiled too, and said, as they 
 rode off, " God bless you both." 
 
 He stood a moment shading his eyes 
 with his hand from the slanting rays of the 
 afternoon sun ; and when they were out of 
 sight he returned to his bee-hives, and sat 
 thoughtfully musing on the visit he had 
 received. 
 
 "Dear me!" he murmured to himself, 
 " what a pity it is that young men in our days 
 cannot be contented with reading their Bibles, 
 and being quiet, practical Christians. If they 
 think of their souls at all, they must be 
 taking up all sorts of strange crotchets, and 
 unsettling people's minds. This cousin of 
 my little Annie's seems a good sort of youth, 
 I saw he was vexed at what I said about the 
 Puseyites ; but he did not tell me to my face, 
 as Mr. Rolles did, that I had been teaching 
 heresy all my life, and did not understand
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 63 
 
 tlie Prayer-book, wliicli I used and loved long 
 before he was born." 
 
 Everything seemed to promise well for the 
 fulfilment of Mrs. Gerald's wishes. Eds^ar 
 had been more than a fortnight at Holmwood. 
 Annie was apparently delighted with his 
 society, and he showed no disinclination to 
 prolong his visit. Miss Rose had written 
 that she had not seen Mrs. Langdon since 
 she had received Mrs. Gerald's letter, but 
 that when she had an opportunity of doing 
 so she should not fail to convey the important 
 intimation. Mrs. Gerald did not res^ret the 
 delay ; on the contrary. It would be all the 
 better that a little more time should elapse 
 before the hint was conveyed to Edgar, 
 and there could be no doubt his mother 
 would lose no time in doing so, when once 
 in possession of the fact. 
 
 Towards the end of July, several days of 
 almost ceaseless rain confined to the house 
 Annie Derwent and her friends. Time, how- 
 ever, did not hang heavy on their hands. 
 Eliza Conway had plenty to occupy her mind, 
 and Jane had no mind to occupy, or at any 
 rate so small a one that a little stitching, a
 
 64 M7's. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 little music, and a very little thinking were 
 enougli to fill it. Mrs. Gerald and Eliza 
 Conway conversed a great deal with Edgar, 
 and Annie listened attentively ; less, perhaps, 
 that she cared much for the subject of these 
 conversations, than because she liked to hear 
 her cousin talk. Mrs. Gerald often introduced 
 topics of discourse, that related to politics 
 and literature. Edgar and Eliza eagerly- 
 entered on these discussions, but did not 
 confine themselves to the limits she would, 
 liave been inclined to assign to them, such 
 as the state of political parties and the 
 comparative merits of different books and 
 authors. With the spirit of the present 
 generation strong within them, they plunged 
 into the social and religious questions of the 
 day, and descanted upon them with all the 
 fervour of youth and inexperience, and the 
 ardent interest which the actual state of the 
 world, and our own country in particular, 
 excites in earnest natures. For everything 
 now in politics and literature, whatever 
 relates to the fate of nations or affects the 
 course of legislature, is connected with the 
 creeds of men, and bears directly or indi-
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 65 
 
 rectly on those all important questions, 
 " Church or no Church," " Faith or no faith," 
 and, as far as the world's verdict goes, " God 
 or no God." 
 
 Christianity has never been, perhaps, so 
 openly blasphemed, in the ears of the multi- 
 tude at least, so intensely hated, so violently 
 attacked, as at the present day ; but never, 
 also, has it been less despised and less 
 ignored. Y/hereas, some of the most popular 
 authors of the beginning of this century could 
 write volume upon volume of fiction with 
 hardly a word in them indicating that the 
 thought of it ever crossed their minds ; now 
 scarcely a book of any sort is published which 
 does not take sides for or against religion, or 
 attempt to reconcile the denial of revealed 
 truth with a vague adherence to some name- 
 less faith. Atheism itself has become a sect, 
 and despair a creed. Rehgious forms of 
 speech are borrowed by the sceptic, and 
 sentimental allusions to an unknown God, 
 wind up with open attacks and covert sneers. 
 On the other hand, no real Christian, of any 
 denomination, can treat of the realities of 
 life, or picture in fiction its mysteries of 
 
 VuL.
 
 G() Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 sorrow and joy, without reference to the 
 supernatural truths which influence the souls 
 of men. While democracy rises like a 
 surging- sea, and men feel that, whether for 
 good or for evil, the masses of their fellow- 
 creatures must gain more and more power, 
 the more eager, strong, intense, becomes the 
 desire of the Christian and the Atheist, of 
 the Catholic and the Infidel, to win them to 
 hold or to deny, to retain or to abjure the 
 faith which stands like a battered fortress, 
 incessantly assailed by fresh enemies, but 
 eternally defended by new combatants. The 
 immense change in England witli regard to 
 the books which take the greatest hold on the 
 mind of youthful readers of the better sort, 
 of those that shun in fiction unwholesome 
 excitement, is strikingly exemplified when we 
 contrast the works of Miss Edgeworth with 
 those of Miss Sewell, those of Miss Austin 
 with Miss Yonge's. Even Sir Walter Scott's 
 novels have almost ceased to charm the pre- 
 sent generation. Stirring descriptions of his- 
 torical events, glowing pictures of the pagean- 
 tries of past ages, have far less interest, 
 even for the young, than the analysis of
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 67 
 
 character and revelations of a hidden life, 
 which are often contained in the writings of 
 the present day. Whatever treats of inward 
 conflicts, secret perplexities, and the various 
 trials of individual minds and hearts, neces- 
 sarily commands attention at a moment when 
 anything that can throw light on the diffi- 
 culties which so many are experiencing may 
 tend, even remotely, to their solution. 
 
 Edgar and Miss Conway shared the 
 tendency of their generation in this respect. 
 They had already taken their side in the most 
 important point at issue in the religious 
 community to which they belonged. The 
 revival of Catholic doctrine and practice in 
 the Ano'lican Church excited to the utter- 
 most their sympathy and enthusiasm. Both 
 of them had been lately living in London, 
 and had been actively engaged in works 
 of charity in connection with the Established 
 Church. Miss Conway was intelligent, well- 
 informed, conscientious — capable of laying 
 down her life had it been necessary for a 
 principle, a friend, or a fallacy. Although 
 naturally most honest and truthful, she had 
 an extraordinary power of shutting her eyes
 
 68 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 
 
 to the clearest amount of evidence if it told 
 against her own views, and disliked the 
 society of those wlio differed from her ; not 
 from any unamiable feeling towards them, 
 but simply because it gave her absolute pain 
 to hear a doubt expressed or implied with 
 regard to the theory on whicli she rested her 
 faith. 
 
 Mrs. Gerald, on the contrary, delighted 
 in discussion ; she was an extremely candid 
 and liberal person, and objected to no 
 opinions which did not involve disagreeable 
 practical conclusions. She had very great 
 skill in drawing out people in conversation, 
 and leading them to express their ideas, and 
 a way of listening, which conveyed the im- 
 pression that though she did not altogether 
 agree with them, there was, nevertheless, a 
 great deal in what they said which struck 
 her very much. She always seemed ready to 
 give a favourable construction to the opinions 
 of others, and to allow the most she could 
 for their side of the question. It was in this 
 manner that she lent a willing ear to Edgar's 
 Ano-lo- Catholic views. At first she had felt 
 uneasy from the fear that some Eomish ten-
 
 Mrfi. Gerald's Niece. 69 
 
 dencies might exist in liis mind. But wlien 
 she found that he was decidedty averse to 
 Eomanism, and that in answer to some re- 
 mark she made on recent secessions, he made 
 a most energetic protest against what he 
 called the sin of abandoning " the Church of 
 our baptism," she was quite reassured, and, 
 without adopting his opinions, was willing to 
 extend to them the utmost indulgence. 
 
 As to Annie, she neither understood, nor 
 approved, nor sympathized with her cousin's 
 opinions ; but she admired him. It was 
 quite new to her to hear any one, and espe- 
 cially a young man, speak of religion in the 
 earnest way he did. She had been used to 
 think it rather a dull subject than otherwise. 
 It had not much occupied her thoughts. She 
 had followed the daily routine to which she 
 had been accustomed from childhood. What- 
 ever Miss Rose had told her was right to do 
 she did, and what Mr. Pratt had taught her 
 she believed. The books through which she 
 had learnt history and ethics, were, on the 
 whole, guiltless of having imparted to her 
 mind any particular shades of opinion, beyond 
 a general idea that Catholicism was wrong,
 
 70 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 and Protestantism right; but no reflections 
 on the subject, or comparison in lier own 
 tliouglits between different creeds, had ever 
 disturbed or even occupied her mind. Since 
 she had Icnown Ehza Conway, iudeed, she had 
 sometimes felt surprised at her saying things 
 that seemed to her very different from what 
 she had ever learnt in the school-room, or 
 heard from the pulpit ; but her attention had 
 not been roused, and she had taken little heed 
 of them. But it was very different now that 
 she listened to Edg^ar talkino; " on serious 
 subjects," as Miss Eose used to call them. 
 It was with awe and pleasure, though some- 
 times with a little uneasiness also, that she 
 watched his eager countenance, when he was 
 broaching what seemed to her new and 
 startling doctrines. Perhaps the very novelty 
 of his opinions interested her in his favour ; 
 they implied belief in what was more super- 
 natural than anything she had ever been 
 tauo-ht about reliofion. She did not feel the 
 least inclined to adopt those views ; but by a 
 strange, yet not uncommon inconsistency, 
 she liked him the better for holding them. 
 He was pleased at the attentive way in
 
 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 71 
 
 which she Ustened to him ; for he had been 
 afraid, from what he had heard, that she 
 ^70uld take very little interest in the questions 
 he had most at heart. At first he hoped 
 Annie might be easily made into a good 
 clmrchwoman ; but though she did not 
 oppose anything he said, 'he soon perceived 
 that he was not making any impression upon 
 her. She did not show any disposition to 
 adopt the opinions of the school to which he 
 belonged. The fact was that her plain, 
 straightforward, imimaginative mind was 
 incapable of admitting the idea that the 
 Protestant Church, in which she had been 
 educated, was, after all, not a Protestant 
 Church. Everything she had ever been 
 taught or read now came back to her mind, 
 and in the midst of Edgar's learned explana- 
 tions and appeals to antiquity she kept 
 saying sometimes to herself, and sometimes 
 aloud, " But for all that, I am a Pro- 
 testant." He was vexed at this one day, 
 and answered, "I am afraid so, Annie." 
 This made her a little angry. Hers was not 
 one of those womanly natures which are 
 always ready to follow in the wake of those
 
 72 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 they love. If she had been ever so much 
 attached to any one, it would not have 
 influenced her on such points. It might 
 even have induced her to remain more im- 
 movably attached to the ideas instilled into 
 her in childhood. Nevertheless, she would 
 have been perhaps less attracted by her 
 cousin, less occupied about him, less inclined 
 to muse over what he said and thought, if he 
 had not held this new faith, or led in many 
 respects a different life from other people ; if 
 he had been, like herself, a Christian and 
 a churchman after Mr. Pratt's flishion. 
 
 One chilly afternoon, towards the end of 
 the third week in July, Mrs. Gerald was 
 sitting with Annie, over a wood fire in her 
 own room. The conversation turned, not 
 an unusual occurrence, on Edgar's merits. 
 
 " There is something so noble, so gene- 
 rous about liim," Mrs. Gerald said. " Some 
 of his ideas are a little enthusiastic and eccen- 
 tric ; but this is so often the case with clever 
 people that it does not surprise or alarm me." 
 
 '' I suppose it is because he is so clever 
 that I sometimes feel frightened when I talk 
 to him."
 
 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 73 
 
 " Do you feel afraid of liim, my love ? I 
 thought you seemed quite at your ease with 
 Edgar." 
 
 " I am never shy with anybody. It is not 
 that sort of feehng I mean, but I am puzzled 
 by the things he says — about religion, for 
 instance. I cannot argue with him. I am 
 not clever enough. But it is all quite 
 different from what Mr. Pratt thinks, and 
 a clergyman, after all, ought to know 
 best." 
 
 '* I do not think, my love, that you ought 
 to trouble your mind on that subject. There 
 is such a variety in men's minds that you 
 will hardly find two persons thinking alike on 
 every point, and there are many things about 
 Avhich it is not at all necessary that people 
 should a2:ree." 
 
 "Well, perhaps not; but I like things to 
 be settled. I was always sorry there w^ere 
 so many different religions in the world, but 
 it is still worse if in the same church people 
 think so differently." 
 
 " They agree in essential points." 
 
 " Do you think so ? Edgar and Mr. 
 Pratt?"
 
 74 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 " Tliey liave both signed tlie Thirty-Nine 
 Articles." 
 
 *'0h! the Thirty-Nine Articles! But 
 Edgar wants to do away with them." 
 
 "At any rate, they use the same 
 prayers." 
 
 "Yes, on Sundays, I suppose they do. 
 But Edgar says prayers that Mr. Pratt would 
 not use on any account. He told me so." 
 
 "But those are minor points. There is 
 surely enough to establish sympathy between 
 members of the same church if they believe 
 in the great truths of Christianity and go to 
 the same church." 
 
 " Ah, but Edgar says Mr. Pratt does not 
 believe in some great truths of Christianity, 
 and Mr. Hendon believes only in the existence 
 of God and a future state, and not that the 
 whole Bible is inspired, and he thinks it 
 shocking if people call our Lord Jesus Christ 
 God ; and yet he says he is a, member of the 
 Church of England. Then Mr. Pratt is a 
 Protestant, and so are we, if I am to "believe 
 what I have always been taught; and yet 
 Edgar and Eliza do nothing but abuse 
 Protestantism, and won't be called any-
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 thing but Catliolics. It is dreadfully 
 puzzling." 
 
 "But, at any rate, we all go to cliurcli 
 together, and use the same beautiful 
 Liturgy." 
 
 *' Oh, yes. Going together to church is 
 a great thing. I was thinking yesterday how 
 nice it was to have Eclo-ar with us asj'ain in the 
 dear old pew, where he used to find for me 
 the lessons when I was little. Don't you 
 remember ? Those first Christmas holidays he 
 spent here ? But I was sorry that he said as 
 we came out that he hated those old pews." 
 
 " He has such good taste that anything 
 ugly shocks his eyes; and you must own, 
 dearest Annie, that those dear old pews, as you 
 call them, disfigure a church." 
 
 " I don't care ; I like the old green baize 
 thing, and nobody shall talk me out of that 
 
 likin 
 
 o-. 
 
 jj 
 
 "Not even Edear ? " 
 
 "&' 
 
 "No; not even Edgar," Annie answered, 
 with a rather conscious smile. There was 
 something in her countenance at that moment 
 that made Mrs. Gerald think that the moment 
 was perhaps come to give her niece a hint as to
 
 76 Mrs. GcrahVs Niece. 
 
 her own long-clierishecl desire. Since Edgar 
 had been at Holmwood this time she had 
 rejoiced to see how well the cousins were 
 getting on together, and seemed to enjoy each 
 other's society. Her disposition to believe 
 whatever she wished led her to conclude that 
 everything was progressing favourably to- 
 wards the accomplishment of her hopes. She 
 longed to speak to Annie on the subject. It 
 was a dangerous experiment, but she could 
 not resist the impulse. If any one had seen 
 her face and Annie's during the conversation 
 that ensued, it would have been supposed 
 that the aunt was more deeply interested in 
 the matter than the niece. " Dearest love," 
 she began, " you know I cannot help 
 thinking a great deal about the future, and 
 often wondering what your fate will be. 
 There is nothing I care about as much as 
 your happiness, and lately my thoughts have 
 been runnino- . . . ." 
 
 " On what, Aunt Gerald ? " Annie quickly 
 asked. 
 
 *' Well, I have been wondering whether if 
 Edgar was to fall in love with you .... 
 there are more improbable things than that
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 77 
 
 .... whether you would be inclmed to like 
 him . . . ." 
 
 " Like him ! " Annie exclaimed. " ^^hy, 
 Aunt Gerald, don't you know that I have 
 loved Edgar with all my heart since I was 
 quite a baby? . . . ." 
 
 " Oh yes, my love ; but what I mean is, 
 whether you would like him in a different 
 
 kind of manner AVhether he is the 
 
 sort of person you — would wish to marry ? " 
 
 Annie blushed, but answered bluntly, 
 " That is just what I have been thinking of 
 myself." 
 
 "Have you indeed?" Mrs. Gerald ex- 
 claimed; " and what do you think ?" 
 
 " When he was speaking yesterday after 
 church of this place, and giving me advice 
 about building cottages and making all sorts 
 of improvements here, it occurred to me how 
 very nice it would be for both of us if he should 
 like to marry me. He said, with that eager 
 look in his eyes which they have when any- 
 thing interests him, ' Oh, Annie, what a posi- 
 tion yours will be ! What a field to work in : 
 what talents God has placed in your hands ! 
 You will have a strict account to give of
 
 78 Mr.s-. GerahVs Niece. 
 
 them ; but I am sure you will do all you 
 ought.' Now you know. Aunt Gerald, if he 
 was my husband he would help me to do 
 everything that is right, and it would be easy 
 to be good with one like him to teach me 
 what to do." 
 
 " These are the very thoughts I have had, 
 Annie darhng, not for some hours or some 
 days, but for a long time past. It would make 
 me so happy." 
 
 " "Well, and so it would me ; but I do not 
 expect it will happen. He is very fond of 
 me and very kind to me ; but I do not think 
 I am the sort of girl he would like to marry. 
 I am too stupid for him." 
 
 *' My love, that is a great mistake. You 
 are not at all stupid ; on the contrary, you 
 have a great deal of good sense and intelli- 
 gence, but the merits of your understanding- 
 are of a different sort from his, and that is 
 what gives you a sense of inferiority. This 
 does not at all make it unlikely that he 
 should admire and appreciate you; on the 
 contrary, it is often the persons least similar 
 in mind and character who get on best 
 together. I have seen him look sometimes
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 79 
 
 when he is talking to you as if he might be 
 in danger of admiring you too much for his 
 peace." 
 
 " I am sure he does not think of anything 
 of the sort. He sometimes speaks of the time 
 when I shall be married, and not at all in the 
 way he would if he was thinking of himself." 
 
 "Well, you know he would not easily 
 imagine that such a possibility existed." 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Because, as the opinion of the world 
 goes, it would be such a bad marriage for 
 you. He has no fortune at all, and you are 
 a rich heiress. This would make him, of 
 course, very diffident. He would feel afraid 
 that the attentions he might pay, and the 
 attachment he might show to one whom it 
 would be so very much his interest to marry, 
 might be ascribed to worldly and selfish 
 motives. Edgar is so generous and high- 
 minded that I am sure he would feel this 
 very strongly." 
 
 " Would it be then like with the Queen 
 and Prince Albert ? Should I be obliged to 
 say to him, ' My cousin, would you like to 
 live always at Holmwood ?' "
 
 80 Mrs, Geralifs Niece. 
 
 " No," Mrs. Gerald answered, lauo-liing. 
 
 " You Avould not bo obliged actually to 
 propose to liim. All I meant was, tliat in 
 your relative positions a little more en- 
 couragement on your side would be needed 
 tlian is generally the case. But mind, Annie 
 darling, you must take time to consider 
 whether he is really the person most likely 
 to make you happy. It is fair to tell you 
 that if I was to take you to London, and you 
 went much into society, you would soon have 
 ten offers of marriage rather than one." 
 
 " Because I am so rich, you mean. But I 
 should not like any of those people ; I should 
 never care about any of them as I do for 
 Edgar." 
 
 " You have not had opportunities of 
 comparing him with other young men." 
 
 " I am sure I should not think anybody 
 to be compared to him, and there is no one 
 who would be so fond of Holmwood, or who 
 would like so much to liave it for his own, 
 as he would." 
 
 Mrs. Gerald could not help smiling. 
 
 "As to liking to have Holmwood, I am 
 not so sure. But I am quite ready to agree
 
 Mrs. GeraltVs Niece. 81 
 
 with 3^ou that no one would be worthier of 
 possessing it and of marrying my Annie. And 
 so you feel about your cousin as Miranda did 
 about Prince Ferdinand ! She had no ambi- 
 tion to see a goodlier man, and wished for no 
 other companion, nor could she form in her 
 imagination a shape to like of besides him. 
 Is it even so, Annie ?" 
 
 Aimie laughed. " But for all that. 
 Aunt Gerald, I do not think Edgar will ever 
 
 VJ\^ • • • • 
 
 "At your feet, my Miranda. Well, we 
 shall see." 
 
 There the conversation ended, and the 
 rain that had kept for so many days the 
 inhabitants of Holmwood imprisoned within 
 doors, came also to an end. There Avas a 
 bright red sunset that evening, and the next 
 morning the sun was shining brightly. 
 
 VOL. T.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 On the following^ mornino', Annie rose in 
 liigli good humour. Her conversation with 
 her aunt had left an agreeable impression on 
 her mind ; and when she came downstairs, 
 and went out from the breakfast-room on to 
 the terrace where everything was fresh and 
 lovely, the flowers smelling deliciously, and 
 the distant views veiled by a transparent and 
 most becoming haze, promising a fine day, 
 she felt a pleasurable emotion in the thought 
 that this home, this ancestral home of hers, 
 as Mrs. Gerald liked to call it, was a gift in 
 her possession, a gift she could bestow on 
 any one she loved. Her heart swelled with 
 some little self-complacency, and a shade of 
 that feelino^ mio-ht have been detected in her 
 manner as she walked into the house and 
 took her place at the breakfast table.
 
 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 83 
 
 The post arrived at Holmwood early in 
 the morning, so that Edgar had read his 
 letters before leaving his room. When he 
 came down, Annie said to him, "The sun, 
 you see, has come out as -I predicted last 
 night ; but the worst of it is that I am sure 
 Aunt Gerald will insist on our o-oino- to 
 Marchbanks to-day." 
 
 "I do not see, Annie, how we can put it 
 off any longer," Mrs. Gerald observed; 
 " and you must come with us, Edgar, you 
 have not called yet on Mr. Hendon." 
 
 '' I am so sorry," Edgar answered, " but I 
 am obliged to go away to-day." 
 
 "To-day!" 
 
 " Yes ; I have received letters which 
 oblige me to go to London." 
 
 " On business ?" Mrs. Gerald asked with a 
 heightened colour. " Will it detain you long ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell. It is quite uncertain." 
 
 "l!Tothing unpleasant has happened, I 
 hope ?" 
 
 " Nothing that concerns me personally, 
 or any of our friends," he replied. 
 
 Annie was looking grave. She was very 
 much disappointed, and not at all used to
 
 84 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 disappointment. She had been gradually 
 discovering that she not only loved Edgar 
 very much as she had always done, but that 
 since he had been this time at Holmwood a 
 new feeling towards him had been springing 
 up in her lieart, like wdiat she had often read 
 of, not exactly in novels, for few of them 
 had been put in her hands (and indeed of her 
 own accord and for her own pleasure she 
 seldom opened a book), but in tales and poems 
 she had read with Miss Rose. It was, she 
 thought, or would be some day like what 
 Amy in the " Heir of Eedclyffe" felt for Guy, 
 or Evano'eline for Gabriel the son of the 
 blacksmith. These descriptions had made 
 little impression upon her at the time, but 
 now tliey helped her to see that she was 
 really likely to love Edgar, j)i'Ovided he also 
 loved her in the w^ay Mrs. Gerald meant. 
 Almost all night she had been awake thinking 
 over the new ideas suo-o-ested by what her 
 aunt had said, and considering what was the 
 sort of encouraoi-ement she ouo'ht to ffive to a 
 cousin who was not rich, but whom she 
 should like very much to marry if he should 
 wish it himself
 
 Mrs. Geralt's Niece. 85 
 
 Annie had never tlioii2:lit mncli for a ffirl 
 of lier age, and this had been ahnost the 
 first occasion on which she had exercised her 
 reflective powers on a subject of importance. 
 On the whole those sleepless hours had been 
 happy ones, and the conclusion she had come 
 to satisfactory. It was, therefore, with diffi- 
 culty that she restrained tears of vexation, 
 not only at Edgar's going away so suddenly, 
 but at the suspense and uncertainty in which 
 this departure had left her. Annie was not 
 romantic or sentimental, but her feelino-s 
 w^ere strong, and they were at that moment 
 wounded. She hardly spoke during break- 
 fast, and answered very shortly the questions 
 addressed to her. As soon as the meal was 
 over, Mrs. Gerald drew Edgar aside, and 
 tried to extract from him the reason of his 
 departure, but she did not succeed. He 
 would only repeat that he was obliged to go 
 to London, and could not tell for how long. 
 When his fly drove up to the door, he went 
 to shake hands with Annie, who said, " You 
 know, of course, that we shall be very glad 
 to see you whenever you can come back, but 
 I do not expect you will care to do so."
 
 SQ Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 "You would not say that," lie answered, 
 " if you knew how happy it has made me to 
 be here. There were many things I wished to 
 say to you .... and as it is possible . . . ." 
 (there was a little emotion in his voice which 
 made Annie look at him with surprise), "as 
 one never knows what may happen," he con- 
 tinued, " I thought I would just say this 
 much. Do, dear Annie, think over some of 
 the things we have talked about, and read the 
 books I have left with you." 
 
 " I should like very much to be as good 
 as you are," Annie answered in a softened 
 manner. 
 
 " Do not talk of my being good, dear 
 Annie ; but pray that you may be led into all 
 truth." 
 
 " Led into truth ! " she said to herself, as 
 he drove away. " But who is to lead me ? I 
 suppose he means God, as I am to pray for it. 
 But God seems to lead him one way and Mr. 
 Pratt another ; for I am sure they both wish 
 to know the truth, and to do what is right — 
 they both pray a great deal. Oh dear me ! 
 What is the use of my reading about the 
 Apostolical Succession, and the power of the
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 87 
 
 keys — I. cannot make out wlio is rigkt, and 
 who is wrong." 
 
 In this desponcling mood slie sat down to 
 her work, having, somewhat crossly, refused 
 to play duets with Jane Conway. Mrs. Gerald 
 was also very much annoyed. It had crossed 
 her mind that Miss Rose had perhaps given 
 a hint to Edg-ar's mother as to her wish 
 that he should marry Annie, and that Mrs. 
 Langdon (Mrs. Herbert Derwent had married 
 again) might possibly have written to him on 
 the subject. If so, his abrupt departure was 
 perhaps in consequence of this letter. Per- 
 haps he was attached, possibly engaged, to 
 some one else ! And she had been putting 
 her own foolish ideas into Annie's head ! 
 She would have given anything to unsay what 
 she had said ! When a plan is likely to fail, 
 people are apt to get unreasonably angry 
 with themselves for having made it ; that is, 
 if they cannot find any excuse for being angry 
 with anybody else. Mrs. Gerald did, in- 
 deed, begin inwardly blaming Miss Eose for 
 having so quickly acted on her suggestion, 
 taking no time to think — it was so like her. 
 There were two ways of doing things — she
 
 88 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 
 
 had no tact, no judgment. " Then Avhy did 
 you emplo}^ her in so delicate a matter?" 
 retorted conscience, or something between 
 conscience and temper — and the inward voice 
 had the best of it. We generally test the 
 merit of our actions by their results ; and 
 there are few persons good enough to feel 
 as the holy Cure d'Ars did, and said when he 
 had lighted his candle with a bank-note, that 
 the greatest mistake is not half so bad as the 
 smallest possible sin. Mrs. Gerald was in a 
 state of conditional anger with herself, Edgar, 
 Miss Rose, and Mrs. Langdon. If what she 
 feared was true, she could not forgive herself 
 or any of them. 
 
 After luncheon, the newspapers arrived 
 by the second post. Miss Conway was 
 reading the "Times," whilst the rest of the 
 party Avrote their letters. She suddenly 
 looked up, and said to Jane — 
 
 " Now I am sure I know why Mr. Der- 
 went has gone to London." 
 
 Mrs. Gerald instantly asked what she 
 meant, and then Eliza felt sorry she had 
 made the remark. Even sensible people 
 sometimes speak without thinking ; but
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 89 
 
 there was no help for it, and so she 
 answered — 
 
 " I see the cholera has broken out very 
 badly in the Borough, and particularly in the 
 district where I know he visits the poor." 
 
 " Good heavens !" exclaimed Mrs, Gerald, 
 "I hope he will not go there now." 
 
 Eliza made no answer. 
 
 Annie said, "I am certain he will. He 
 was talking last night about the poor, and 
 the sort of feeling people ought to have 
 about them; and this is just the kind of 
 thing he would do." 
 
 Mrs. Gerald felt in one respect greatly 
 relieved and pleasedalso with Annie's manner 
 of speaking about her cousin ; though auxious 
 about his being exposed to the danger of 
 catching the cholera, she was less distressed 
 and better satisfied with herself than a 
 moment ago. So she listened complacently 
 to Eliza's next remark. 
 
 " You can have no idea how much good 
 he has been doing in London ever since 
 his return from abroad ; he has set before 
 his eyes the example of the saints in all ages, 
 and his continual object is to imitate their
 
 90 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 charity, and help to rekindle the same spirit 
 in our Church. There is not one of our 
 Anglican Sisterhoods or Houses of Charity 
 that he does not in some way or other assist. 
 Sometimes he sits up all night himself with 
 sick people." 
 
 *' How strange !" Annie said. 
 
 " Strange in one sense certainly, because 
 so few persons act in that way. But is it 
 not most strange that, considering what our 
 Lord has said, there should be Christians 
 who do nothing at all for the poor?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; of course people ought to be 
 charitable." 
 
 " In the account of the day of judgment, 
 are not works of charity made the criterion 
 of a man's prospect of salvation ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I have often thought that chapter 
 a very uncomfortable one. Lizzie, do you 
 think Edgar would like me to give him some 
 money for those poor sick people he goes 
 to see?" 
 
 Eliza's face brightened. "Yes, I am sure 
 he would," she answered. " People who do 
 not see or hear much of the poor, little know 
 what a suffering it is to be constantly
 
 Mrs. GevaltVs Niece. 91 
 
 witnessing misery without tlie power of re- 
 lieviuo' it — to feel how much could be done 
 with a little money, and not to have it to 
 give, whilst it is squandered in every 
 direction, and lavished on dress and luxury. 
 If your cousin is, as I am fully persuaded he 
 is, visiting the cholera patients, often and 
 often he must meet with persons who would 
 die with resignation if-they knew their orphan 
 children would be provided for. He finds, 
 no doubt, cases of terrible misery wherever 
 he goes." 
 
 Annie went up to Mrs. Gerald, and said, 
 "Aunt Gerald, will you immediately send for 
 me to Edgar fifty pounds." 
 
 " Yes, my love ; but you must write to 
 him yourself, and I will enclose a cheque for 
 you," 
 
 Annie sat down, and wrote with a full 
 heart : — 
 
 " Dear Edgae, — I wish more than ever 
 that I could be as good as you, though I am 
 afraid if I think ever so much over the things 
 you said to me about being High Church, 
 that I shall not understand them. I send
 
 92 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 
 
 you some money for the poor people Eliza 
 says you go and see in London. 
 
 " Your affectionate cousin, 
 
 "You must let me help you, Lizzie, with 
 your j)Oor people when you go back to 
 London," she whispered to her friend. 
 
 " Thank you, dear," Eliza answered. 
 
 "And now, darling," said Mrs. Gerald, 
 when she had sealed the letter to Edgar, 
 " do put on your things. We must drive to 
 Marchbanks; we really cannot put it off any 
 longer. They arrived, 3^ou know, three 
 weeks ago, and Lady Emily wrote to me 
 four days ago that she felt now quite well 
 enough to see me." 
 
 " Very well," Annie said, with a look of 
 resignation. " If you all knew how I hate 
 making new acquaintances, you would pity 
 me. AVliat is Miss Flower's Christian name, 
 Aunt Gerald ?" 
 
 "I don't know, my love. JSTow, do get 
 ready." 
 
 At last they started. During the whole 
 drive Annie was thoughtful, and spoke very
 
 ilfr.9. Gerahrs Niece. 93 
 
 little. Slie was not sliy, but slie had a sort 
 of sauvagerie as tlie French call it, wliicli 
 made her dislike to meet strano-ers. But 
 besides this, her aunt's thousfhts and her 
 own were much engrossed by the conversa- 
 tion about Edgar which had just taken place, 
 and the idea of the dangler he was runnino- 
 in visiting the cholera patients in an infected 
 district. Mrs. Gerald mused on this subject 
 with the nervous apprehension of one who 
 had known many losses and sorrows. Annie 
 dwelt upon it with comparatively little fear. 
 Young persons untried by grief do not realize 
 danger ; or, if they do, it is with a kind of 
 excitement which hides from them the 
 amount of suffering involved in it. Still, 
 whilst picturing to herself her cousin in a 
 sick-room kneehng by the side of a dying 
 person, she thought of death more seriously 
 than she had ever done before. She had 
 never communed much with herself, but had 
 taken life day by day, as it came before her, 
 with all its little pleasures, vexations, and 
 anticipations. Death seemed immeasurably 
 far off, and heaven something^ more distant 
 and unreal still. Perhaps she had with
 
 94 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 regard to it a little of the feeling of the 
 farmer, who said with a deep sigh to a fellow 
 traveller who happened to speak of it, " Ah, 
 well, I suppose we must all come to that at 
 last." It was a matter of course she shoidd 
 go to heaven some day, but luckily not for a 
 long time to come. But now the appearance 
 of the cholera in London, and Edgar actually 
 exposing himself to the risk of catching it, 
 seemed to change a little the position of 
 things. It really made her think that people 
 did die, young as well as old people ; but she 
 did not communicate any of her thoughts to 
 her aunt, only as they turned into Marchbanks 
 Park she asked her if she had put her 
 letter to Edgar into the letter-box. AVhen 
 satisfied on this point, she said, "March- 
 banks is not nearly so pretty a place as 
 Holm wood." 
 
 "' Is that a new discovery you have 
 made ?" Mrs. Gerald answered. 
 
 " It never struck me so much before." 
 
 " I think Edgar has taught you to apjjre- 
 ciate HolniAvood." 
 
 Annie smiled. And now that Mrs. Gerald 
 was relieved from the fear that her nephew's
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 95 
 
 departure had been the result of the message 
 she had wished conveyed to him, all her self- 
 reproach vanished, Miss Rose was acquitted, 
 and she began again to pursue her favourite 
 object with the same ardour as before. 
 
 Lady Emily Hendon was at home, and 
 Mrs. Gerald and Annie were shown into the 
 drawing-room, which looked more habitable 
 and cheerful than when its use was confined 
 to the days on which Mr. Hendon gave 
 dinner parties. An invalid couch, books 
 besides those in the book-case, flowers on all 
 the tables, and two little dogs in two separate 
 arm-chairs, were new features in the room, 
 which was now exclusively occupied in the 
 morning by Lady Emily. Twenty-three years 
 had elapsed since she and Mrs. Gerald had 
 met, and both seemed afi^ected with the sense 
 of the changes that had occurred since they 
 had last seen each other in that house. They 
 sat a moment without speaking, a silent 
 pressure of their hands expressing what was 
 passing through their minds. Mrs. Gerald 
 then said, " This is my niece, Annie Der- 
 went." 
 
 Lady Emily shook hands with her, and
 
 90 Mrs. GerakVs Niece. 
 
 exclaimed; "I am so sorry Ita is not at 
 home." 
 
 Tlioiigli Annie had dishked the idea of a 
 new acquaintance, she was perverse enough 
 to feel disappointed that she should not after 
 all see Miss Flower. 
 
 " If you go into the garden, my love, 
 perhaps you will meet her," Lady Emily 
 added. 
 
 Annie did not quite like to be told like a 
 little girl to go into the garden, or to be 
 called "my love" by somebody she hardly 
 knew. But on thew^hole, as it was pleasanter 
 to stroll out of doors even if Miss Flower 
 was not to 1)0 seen, than to sit with the two 
 friends, feeling herself in the way, she took 
 the hint, walked out into the shrubbery, and 
 went to a bench where a shawl and a book 
 indicated that somebody had been sitting. 
 She looked at the title-page of the volume, 
 and saw that it was a French translation 
 of Fabiola. A little picture of the sort that 
 Catholics keep in their Prayer-books fell 
 at her feet ; this one represented a heart 
 with a sword running through it. Annie 
 hastily replaced it between the leaves,
 
 Mrs. (jeralcVs Niece. 97 
 
 witli a feeling which was almost like one of 
 fear and disgust ; she saw it was something- 
 religious, and most minds recoil from what is 
 new and strange to them on that subject. 
 She had hardly done so when she saw a small 
 fissure hastenino; towards her, whom she, of 
 course, knew must be the young lady of the 
 house — ^the little Miss Flower she was to 
 make acquaintance with. "It is rather a 
 bore without any one to introduce me," she 
 thought ; however, starting up, she advanced a 
 few steps towards the breathless girl, who had 
 been running to meet her. They both smiled 
 and shook hands. " You are Miss Derwent, 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, and you, Miss Flower ? " 
 
 "I am Ita; nobody calls me any thing- 
 else. Will you sit here, or come back into 
 the house? " 
 
 " Just as you like. It's just the same 
 to me." 
 
 " We can, if you please, stay out till the 
 clock strikes five, and then go in to tea. 
 Mamma must be verv fflad to see Mrs. 
 Gerald. She is such an old friend of hers." 
 
 Annie took at once a fancy to her new 
 
 TOL. I.
 
 98 Mrs. GeraliVs Niece. 
 
 acquaintance. A most engaging little being 
 Mr. Hendon had said slie was four or five 
 years before, and Annie tliouglit slie certainly 
 continued to bo so now. What was she 
 like ? When the Conways put that question 
 to Annie on her return home, she said, " I 
 am sure I cannot tell; she is nice all over." 
 And this was perhaps the best description she 
 could give of Ita. She had the sweetest, pret- 
 tiest, dearest face imaginable — perfectly brown 
 eyes, shaded with dark black curling eyelashes, 
 a little round nose with no particular shape at 
 all, the loveliest small mouth, with a charming 
 smile that rippled over her face, dimpled and 
 soft as a child's. Her hair was of a colour 
 that matched perfectly with her eyes. Her 
 whole figure, her hands, her feet, were exactly 
 of the size that suited her face. There was 
 not anything about her that was not pretty, 
 though nothing perhaps was beautiful. Her 
 voice and her laugh had a pleasant sound in 
 them which made one think of the low twitter 
 of birds in hedges. Three French words, 
 were applicable to her : she was mignonne, 
 spirituelle, caressante, and yet she was not 
 like a Frenchwoman. " Lovely " is perhaps
 
 Mrs. GerakVs Niece. 99 
 
 the English -word which woukl best describe 
 httle Ita. As soon as Annie saw her she had 
 a singular feeling that her face was somehow 
 familiar to her, though, at the same time, she 
 could not remember having ever set eyes on 
 one so engaging. Almost for the first time 
 in her life she felt a wish to make herself 
 agreeable. 
 
 " I am so glad to know you," Ita said, 
 "Mr, Hendon promised me I should, and I 
 have been looking forward to it so much." 
 
 " We should have called last week, but 
 the rain prevented us." 
 
 " And mamma is scarcely ever well enough 
 to drive out." 
 
 *' Is this the first time you have been in 
 England?" 
 
 " Yes ; I have lived all my life abroad." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Almost always at Mentone." 
 
 " Where is that — in Italy ? 
 
 " No, not exactly. We say we are not 
 Italian, French, or Piedmontese. We are 
 Mentonese ? " 
 
 " We,'* said Annie, smiling. " Are you 
 Mentonese?"
 
 100 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 " I cannot tell what I am," Ita answered, 
 blushing a little. " I know I love Mentone 
 as if it was my native place." 
 
 " Oil, I am sorry for that ; I am such a 
 thorough Eno-lish woman." 
 
 " In time, I dare say I shall grow fond of 
 England. I can fancy that the country about 
 here may be very pretty." 
 
 " Can't you see it is ? " Annie answered, 
 in an offended tone of voice. 
 
 " It has rained a great deal, you know, 
 since I have been here," Ita rejoined, with 
 one of her pretty smiles. 
 
 " And does it never rain at Mentone ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; it pours sometimes for days 
 together, and everybody is so glad. But 
 when once the rainy season is over, the sun 
 shines for weeks, and sometimes for months, 
 without ceasing. 
 
 " I hope you will soon come to Holm- 
 wood." 
 
 " Is that the name of the place where you 
 live in? " 
 
 "It is my own place." 
 
 " Your own, because you love it ? " 
 
 " No, because it belongs to me, and I
 
 iL/>'N. GeraliVs Niece. 101 
 
 shall like to show it you. Everybody thinks 
 it pretty." 
 
 " Thank you, I should like very much to 
 see it. You are so kind to me, T feel alreadv 
 as if I was not speaking to a stranger." 
 
 " It is very odd you should say so. I 
 cannot get it out of my head that I have seen 
 your face somewhere before. Are you only just 
 come to England ? I thought we might, per- 
 haps, have come across each other in London." 
 
 " Oh no ; I never was there except for a 
 few days." 
 
 " Are you going to stay here long ?" 
 
 "I do not know. It will depend on 
 mamma's health ; she is very dehcate." 
 
 '* Did you always stay at Mentone ? " 
 
 " In the summer we generally went to the 
 Italian lakes or to Switzerland." 
 
 " How much you have travelled ! " 
 
 " Not very much, I think. I should like 
 to go to Rome and Jerusalem." 
 
 " I have never been abroad since I was 
 quite a little child. I can just remember 
 Nice, and a garden with orange-trees I used 
 to play in." 
 
 '•' Mentone is close to Nice, and it has
 
 102 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 beautiful orange-trees and such lovely olive 
 woods. I wish I could show you Mentone — 
 its dark blue sea and its lovely mountains. It 
 is my own dear place, not because it belongs 
 to mc," this Ita said smiling, "but because I 
 love it so much; I would rather live there 
 than anywhere in the world — everything is 
 so pretty — the sky, the sea, the flowers, and 
 the people's faces." 
 
 " Have they dark eyes and brown skins 
 hke the Italian boys we see in London ?" 
 
 " No, they are not very dark. Some of 
 the women have blue eyes like yours, and 
 black hair. You are very like some of the 
 Mentonese girls." 
 
 " I hope as you are so fond of them that 
 it will make you fond of me." 
 
 This was a sort of speech Annie had never 
 made to any one before. She was quite sur- 
 prised at herself, and still more so when in 
 return Ita kissed her. It was done so gently 
 and simply, just as a child gives a kiss 
 instead of saying " Thank you," that she was 
 touched and pleased. The clock struck five, 
 and the two girls went into the drawing- 
 room. Ita was introduced to Mrs. Gerald,
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 103 
 
 and brought her a cup of tea. When she 
 gave it into her hands, and said something 
 about the pleasure it was to have made 
 acquaintance with Annie, there was a charm 
 in her manner that immediately struck Mrs. 
 Gerald. Whenever she saw for the first time 
 a young person of Annie's age, her first 
 impulse was to compare them. During all 
 the rest of the visit she seemed unable to 
 take her eyes off Miss Flower. Perhaps she 
 thought that her sort of beauty was so 
 different from her niece's that nobody but 
 herself would think of comparing them, or 
 else that her manner possessed exactly the 
 sort of charm which was wanting in Annie's ; 
 for intense as was her worship of her niece, 
 she was keenly sensible of certain deficiencies 
 in that idolized being. She was so absorbed 
 in watching the two girls that it made her 
 quite absent ; Lady Emily's languid remarks 
 were scarcely attended to. It would have 
 been difficult to say if it was with jealous or 
 admiring eyes that Mrs. Gerald noticed Ita's 
 winning, feminine, graceful movements — the 
 way in which she unconsciously sat or stood 
 in the attitude which an artist would have
 
 104 Mrs. Gerald's Xiece. 
 
 appreciated, her pretty manner of speaking to 
 Lady Emily, even the engaghig playfulness 
 with which she coaxed the two little spaniels 
 that jumped on her knees, as if they were as 
 fond of her as Mrs. Gerald felt everybody was 
 likely to be. 
 
 " Ita, have you and Miss Derwent been 
 taking a walk?" Lady Emily asked. 
 
 " No, mamma, we have been making 
 friends," was the answer; and the smile with 
 which this was said contrasted with Annie's 
 stiff silence. Not but that her smile was 
 sometimes very beautiful also ; it came and 
 went like a sudden flash of light, and was 
 very diff'erent from the dimpling sweetness of 
 Ita's laugh. Whatever was the reason of 
 Mrs. Gerald's absence of mind, it was so 
 remarkable that Annie, very unobservant of 
 such things in general, could not help 
 noticing it. 
 
 As they were driving home, Annie said, 
 "Don't you think Miss Flower very pretty? 
 Why, I wonder, is she called Ita? Do 
 you suppose it is the short for any- 
 thing?" 
 
 "I do not know, dear love."
 
 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 105 
 
 " She does not call Lady Emily mamma, 
 but mamma, in the Italian way." 
 
 "Does she?" 
 
 " How long has she lived with Lady 
 Emily?" 
 
 " I do not know. Mr. Hendon, writing 
 from the Baths of Acqui about fourteen or 
 fifteen years ago, said his sister-in-law was 
 there, and had brought with her a pretty little 
 creature, who could speak nothing but a kind 
 of patois.'''' 
 
 " I am sure T have seen somebody like 
 her before, though I cannot remember where. 
 I don't mind how much we see of her now. 
 I never took so great a fancy to any one." 
 
 In the evening, Annie gave the Miss 
 Conways an account of her visit, and of the 
 minutest circumstances connected with it, 
 not forg:ettin2: the French Fabiola and the 
 strange little picture within its leaves. 
 
 " If this Miss Ita is an admirer of 
 Fabiola," Eliza said, "we should sympathize 
 on one point at least." 
 
 " I hope she is not a Roman Catholic," 
 Jane exclaimed, who in most points, and 
 about religion particularly, liked to show her
 
 106 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 
 
 independence, bj strenuously opposing her 
 cleverer sister's opinions. 
 
 "Oh, I hope not," Annie cried; and, as 
 Eliza did not speak, she insisted, as she was 
 fond of doing, on making her give an answer. 
 "Don't you hope, Eliza, she is not a 
 Catholic?" 
 
 " I wish you would say a Eoman 
 Catholic." 
 
 " Oh, well, a Eoman Catholic, if you like ; 
 it all comes to the same." 
 
 " That is just your mistake ; ' it makes 
 all the difference. I wish everybody was 
 Catholic . . . ." 
 
 "And nobody Eoman Catholic?" inter- 
 rupted Annie. 
 
 " 'No, I do not exactly mean that ; and I 
 was going to say about this young lady, that 
 I could hardly express a wish on the subject, 
 unless I knew to what country she be- 
 longs " 
 
 " She is English, of course. She is called 
 Miss Flower. Ita must be her pet name." 
 
 " Well, even granting that she is English, 
 if she has always lived abroad, and never had 
 an opportunity, which is often the case, of
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 107 
 
 knowing what are the true principles of the 
 Church of England, it is, I think, question- 
 able whetlier it would not be better for her 
 to have been brought up a Eoman Catholic 
 than in the heretical Protestant ideas 
 unfortunately prevalent amongst so many 
 members of our branch of the Catholic 
 Church." 
 
 '^ Well, I did not expect," Jane replied, 
 " that you would go so far as that — that you 
 would wish anybody to worship a wafer and 
 adore the Virgin Mary." 
 
 " Oh, Jane, you cannot know what pain 
 you give me," Eliza exclaimed, an indignant 
 blush rising to her cheeks, and her voice 
 trembling with emotion. "It is these igno- 
 rant and unjust accusations against the 
 Church of Rome, which drive so many 
 persons out of our purer Church into her 
 communion, which in this country is schis- 
 matical. Roman. Catholics may disfigure the 
 truth sometimes by abuses and excesses, but 
 they are right in all essential points of 
 doctrine : tliev adore our Lord in the Blessed 
 Sacrament, and a belief in the Real Presence 
 has always been maintained by our Church."
 
 108 2Ir6. (rcraltVs Niece. 
 
 " Mr. Pratt does not think so," Annie 
 retorted. " Do you know what the Church 
 teaches better than a clergyman ? " 
 
 " Well, Annie, I do not wish to say any- 
 thing presumptuous, or anything that would 
 give you pain — but I have been taught by 
 those who have gone deeply into the question, 
 men of great learning and ability, and very 
 holy men too, that the true doctrines of the 
 Church of England have been fearfully mis- 
 understood and misrepresented by men of 
 Mr. Pratt's ao^e, who lived at a time Avhen 
 heretical principles prevailed almost univer- 
 sally in our Church . . . ." 
 
 "I am sure Mr. Pratt would never 
 misrepresent anything," Annie indignantly 
 exclaimed ; " and I believe he is just 
 as good a man as any of those you speak 
 of." 
 
 " I am sure he is a good man," Eliza said 
 with an earnestness that brought tears into 
 her eyes. "I only think he is deceived on 
 some points. The ideas I mean quite took 
 possession of the Anglican Church at one 
 time, like Arianism and the Donatist heresy 
 invaded the Catholic Church in former times,
 
 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 109 
 
 so that at one moment hardly any bishop held 
 by the truth except St. Atbanasius." 
 
 Now, Eliza had it all her own way. She 
 had gone far beyond the depth of her com- 
 panions. Annie could only say, " I wish 
 Mr. Pratt was here to argue with you," and 
 Jane fell foul of St. Athanasius ; "I should 
 not at all have liked to be on his side, for I 
 think his creed is very uncharitable. When 
 mamma," she said, "was well enough to go 
 out, she would never go to church when it 
 was read." 
 
 "Mr. Pratt never reads it," Annie said. 
 
 " You don't say so ! " exclaimed Eliza. 
 
 There was a silence — Jane folded up her 
 work and went away. Annie was occupied 
 with her drawing and looking grave. 
 
 " I am afraid, dearest Annie," Eliza said, 
 " that you are more disposed to agree with 
 Jane than with me on these subjects." 
 
 " I don't know. I don't want to side 
 with any one. Since you and Edgar have 
 talked to me about these things, I am puzzled 
 what to think. You take these Church prin- 
 ciples so much to heart, and you are both so 
 
 good .
 
 110 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 " Oil no, he is good, but I am not." 
 
 " Now don't make me angry, Eliza, by 
 saying what you really can't think. Look at 
 Jane, look at me — you must see that we are 
 neither of us one half as good as you are." 
 
 '' Perhaps I do more useful things, and 
 see more plainly than you do truths which, 
 when once admitted, oblige us to act up to 
 them. But then nobody but God knows how 
 much or how little we each of us correspond 
 to the amount of grace He gives us, or 
 how far what looks like goodness may be the 
 result of natural tastes and inclinations. It 
 is only when we die that we shall know what 
 we really are." 
 
 Annie laid down her pencil and ex- 
 claimed, " Yes, that is just what I mean, what 
 I was going to say. There is, I am sure, 
 something in your religion which goes deeper 
 and takes a greater hold of you than is gene- 
 rally the case with people, as far as I can see." 
 
 " I think I can tell you, Annie, "^vhat that 
 something is." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Catholic teaching — the teaching of 
 Christ's Church."
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. Ill 
 
 " But what Church do you mean ? " 
 
 " The Catholic Church wherever it exists 
 — the great tree whose branches extend all 
 over the world. Each little leaf growing on 
 that tree draws its spiritual life from the 
 particular branch to which its baptism has 
 attached it. To ns the English Church is 
 that branch — for a long and dreary time it 
 has been languishing, and disfigured by ugly 
 excrescences ; but now the sap is beginning 
 again to flow, and the true Catholic spirit to 
 revive amongst us. The duty of every one 
 of her children in this country is to help on 
 that revival by promoting, as much as pos- 
 sible, the spread of Catholic doctrines and 
 practices." 
 
 " But I thought you said it was the 
 teaching of the Church that made people 
 good." 
 
 " So I did." 
 
 " But now you say it is her children that 
 are to make her good — that they are to help 
 her to teach what is true. But, then, how 
 are they to know what is true ? " 
 
 " The creeds, the Prayer-book, the general 
 consent of antiquity testify to Catholic truth."
 
 112 Mrs. Geral'V.^ Niece. 
 
 " Mr. Pratt says not." 
 
 Eliza felt a sensation which, in a less good 
 and less well-educated person might have 
 betrayed itself, perhaps, by some exclamation 
 such as " Hang Mr. Pratt ! " but she only 
 coloured a little, and answered : "If you 
 choose to pin your faith upon what one par- 
 ticular person says, it is useless to argue." 
 
 " How many persons do you build yours 
 upon r 
 
 " No particular number. I receive the 
 teaching of the Catholic Church." 
 
 " But who tells you what its teaching- 
 
 is ? " 
 
 *' Those who have deeply studied it." 
 
 " But there are other people, I suppose, 
 who havQ deeply studied it too, and don't 
 agree with them. You told me the other day 
 that the Roman Catholics had added a lot of 
 new things to the teaching of the Church. 
 How do you know that they are wrong, and 
 those who say so right ? " 
 
 " The persons who tell me so are my own 
 appointed teachers ? ' ' 
 
 " Well, Mr. Pratt is iny appointed teacher 
 — I don't see Avhv I'm not to believe him."
 
 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 11 
 
 o 
 
 The clock struck seven, tlie dressing bell 
 rang, and tlie argument ended — fortunately, 
 perhaps, for the cleverest of the two dis- 
 putants. 
 
 TOT. T.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A. FEW days later on Annie received the 
 following letter from lier cousin : — 
 
 "Deaeest Annie, — I was so busy last 
 week that I could only briefly acknow^ledge 
 the receipt of your kind note and the cheque 
 enclosed in it. I must write now more at 
 length : in the first instance, to thank you 
 from my heart for that welcome gift, which 
 has enabled me to relieve much suffering, and 
 afford many comforts to the sick and dying. 
 What pleased me most was that you should 
 have thought of doing this unasked. It was 
 far, far better than if I had made the request, 
 and you had, however good-naturedly, com- 
 plied with it. We feel alike, I am sure, on 
 many points, and I do not despair of bringing 
 you one day to think as I do with respect to
 
 J/r.y. Gerald's Niece. 115 
 
 those principles which are the ruhng ones of 
 my life, and have opened as it were a new 
 world to me. From the time I began to know 
 anything about religion up to the age of 
 twenty, I lived quite unconscious of the 
 spiritual treasures which the Church of 
 England has it in her power to bestow upon 
 her children ; I did not in the least realize 
 its relation to my soul or my duties towards 
 her : the whole of her sacramental system was 
 a dead letter to me. Baptism seemed no 
 more than the ceremony of admission into the 
 Christian body; the word Church conveyed 
 to me no other idea than that of a society 
 which met together for public worship once 
 a week — of the supernatural effects of baptism 
 on the soul I never dreamed. In the same 
 way the power of the keys, the commission 
 by God of an absolving power to man, was 
 perfectly unknown to me as existing in our 
 Church; and, yet more, that divine and 
 awful gift, the Holy Eucharist, which Alex- 
 ander Knox, the parent of the great Catholic 
 revival in this country, discerned and de- 
 scribed as the sine qua non of a true Christian 
 faith ; justly observing that if we did not
 
 IIG Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 possess Christ's real presence amongst us, we 
 were less favoured than the Jews of old, who 
 in the cloud and in the ark did enjoy an actual 
 real presence of God, leading them through 
 the desert, and abiding with them in the 
 promised land; that sacred mystery ap- 
 peared to me only in the light of a mere com- 
 memoration, a devout ceremony, but not the 
 real dwelling of an incarnate God on our 
 altars and in our hearts. It was at Oxford 
 that I began to hear of CathoHc principles in 
 our Church, and to associate with those whose 
 belief and whose lives Avere influenced by 
 them. I soon felt that this was the creed I 
 was in need of Once or twice in my boy- 
 hood books had fallen into my hands which 
 had caused the thought to pass through my 
 mind that Roman Catholics had helps in 
 their religion which we did not possess in 
 ours. I had coveted these helps, and 
 mentally exclaimed, like Dr. Newman, before 
 his apostasy, ' that thy creed were sound, 
 thou Church of Rome.' 
 
 " The world was beginning to display to 
 me its attractions ; temptations met me at 
 every turn ; I wanted not merely to be
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 117 
 
 warned in a general way against its dangers, 
 but to be armed against them ; I felt the 
 need of a stimulus to enter the narrow path, 
 of a helping hand to guide and support 
 me along it ; above all, I wanted a divine love 
 to put in the place of that of self — a love 
 which would be as fervent as a human love, 
 and the object of which should be within 
 reach of my soul. I yearned for that near- 
 ness to God which Roman Catholics seemed 
 to me to enjoy, though I recoiled with intense 
 dislike from some of their doctrines and 
 practices, and had then an instinctive feeling, 
 as I now have a settled conviction, that I 
 could never join their communion. Judge 
 then with what rapture I hailed the new ideas 
 about the English Church, which were then 
 presented to me. I remember exclaiming, 
 with intense joy, after reading some of the 
 High Church publications of the day, ' This 
 is beyond my hopes ; this is what I have 
 longed for without knowing that it existed — 
 Catholicism without Popery ; a new rehgion, 
 but one which does not oblige me to forsake 
 the churches I have jorayed in since my child- 
 hood, to part company with my mother and
 
 118 Mrs. GerahVs JSlece. 
 
 my friends, or to separate myself from our 
 thoroughly English National Church, and 
 yet which offers everything I have been 
 tempted to covet in Romanism, and opens to 
 me the accumulated treasures of the universal 
 Church, pm^fied from the dross which human 
 infirmity has attached to them.' 
 
 " These anticipations have been fulfilled. 
 I travelled abroad after leaving Oxford ; I 
 have lived and worked in London since my 
 return. Wliilst on the Continent, I found I 
 could enjoy much in the devotions and ser- 
 vices of the Roman Catholic Church, even 
 wliile I clunof with increasino^ earnestness to 
 that purer Church which is reviving in our 
 own land. The writings of the Fathers and 
 the lives of saints inspired me with an ever- 
 increasing love for Catholicism, and detesta- 
 tion of the Protestant heresy, which has so 
 lone: disfio-ured and bli2:hted our AnMican 
 faith. When I returned to London I found, 
 to my great delight, that, in several of our 
 churches. Catholic doctrines were openly 
 taught. Catholic devotions revived, the daily 
 service adopted even where the true faith 
 had not yet made decided progress, and the
 
 Mrs. GerakVs Niece. 119 
 
 Eucliaristic sacrifice ofiered up with a dis- 
 tinct recognition of its propitiatory cliaracter. 
 Religious houses were opened also, and per- 
 sons were consecrating themselves by vow to 
 the service of God and the poor. I cannot 
 tell you with what ardour I entered into this 
 movement ; how I felt I had something real 
 to live for, that the Church of England was 
 the true home of my soul, and my one object 
 in life to assist in the development of her 
 true character. But this object is not one of 
 easy attainment ; a faltering heart, an un- 
 certain aim, will not advance it. We must 
 be prepared to pursue it in the midst of dark- 
 ness, gloom, reproach, and discouragement. 
 Our loyalty to the Church of our baptism 
 must be staunch, unflinching, persevering ; 
 no disheartenino; difficulties within must shake 
 our faith in our spiritual Mother, no seduc- 
 tions from without must allure us from her 
 bosom. Like the youth in Longfellow's 
 poem, who bore through snow and ice the 
 banner with that strange device, 'Excelsior,' 
 we must endure to pass through a frozen 
 region on our way to the smnmit we shall 
 one day reach. Our Chmxh has been shorn
 
 120 i¥r,s'. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 of its beauty, of its riches — I speak, of course, 
 of spiritual riches — but it is pure ; it has 
 kept clear of the superstitions and errors 
 whicli liave so fatally beset the Church of 
 Rome, and on that point our filial feelings 
 may justly exult. Yes, we must be true to 
 the Church of England : many false, weak, 
 deluded persons have abandoned her, ex- 
 changing an arduous struggle and a lofty aim 
 for a faithless ease — a noble strife for the 
 self- gratification of a wayward impatience. 
 But I, Annie, will never forsake the English 
 Catholic Church. I have nailed mv colours 
 to her mast ; I have blended, in one inteuse 
 feeling, my devotion to her, and my passionate 
 love of my own country. In our cathedrals 
 and colleges, and above all in our beautiful 
 parish churches, I see the pledges of her 
 future restoration toCatholictruth and beauty, 
 and often find myself addressing to England, 
 dear England, the words of Ruth, 'My people 
 shall be thy people, thy God my God.' 
 
 " What a grave letter, dear Annie ! But 
 the truth is that I have, since I left you, 
 seen several persons on the brink of eter- 
 nity. I have seen peaceful death-beds and
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 121 
 
 dreadful ones, and ' cela donne a penser,' as 
 Erench people say. I met Miss Rose yester- 
 day at my mother's, and had a long talk -with 
 her about dear Holmwood. Do write again 
 and tell me what you think of all I have been 
 telling you. Till the cholera disappears, I 
 cannot bring myself to leave these poor people. 
 Pray that I may be able to prove of real use 
 to some of them. — ^Your affectionate Cousin, 
 
 "Edgae Deewent." 
 
 "P.S. — Dear Annie, I cannot close this 
 letter without telling you of a thought which 
 has been pressing more and more on my 
 mind since I have had an opportunity of 
 judging of the great want there is of clergy- 
 men devoted to our Church, and anxious to 
 instil her true principles into our people. I 
 think I might do much more good as a clergy- 
 man than in any other way, and have almost 
 made up my mind to take holy orders. I 
 did not mean to have mentioned this to you 
 at present ; but, on the whole, I prefer doing 
 so, and should very much wish to know your 
 opinion on the subject." 
 
 Annie was very much perplexed — the
 
 122 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 postscript especially " lui donnait a penser," 
 though not in so serious a sense as the death- 
 bed scenes Edgar had been so impressed 
 with. The idea of his becoming a clergyman 
 was not at first agreeable to her ; it did not 
 seem natural, and she had a feeling that it 
 would not be quite proper that the mistress 
 of Holmwood should be a clergyman's wife. 
 The two ideas did not q-o toQ-ether. There 
 was, however, no real reason against it, and, 
 on second, thoughts, she did not see why 
 Edgar should not be a clergyman if he 
 wished it, or why it should be an obstacle to 
 their marriage, should such a thing ever be 
 in question; on the contrary, among those 
 she had lived with it was generally assumed 
 that a wife was almost a necessary condition 
 of usefulness for a clergyman, and, though 
 there had been a time when she would have 
 disliked the idea of that kind of life, it did 
 not now seem unattractive to her. Edgar's 
 last visit had changed her v/ay of tliinking 
 in many respects. And then she recollected 
 that in the course of a few years it must of 
 necessity happen that dear old Mr. Pratt 
 should die, and the living of Holmwood would
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 123 
 
 be, her aunt had told her, in her gift. She 
 would then, of course, give it to Edgar 
 whether he was her husband or not ; if he 
 was her husband then, they could make 
 Holmwood a perfect paradise for themselves 
 and the poor. 
 
 Annie had made some progress during the 
 last few weeks. A little while before she would 
 have planned a Garden of Eden for herself, and, 
 at most, two or three other individuals ; but 
 now, thanks to her cousin and Eliza Conway, 
 she included in her castle in the air, alms- 
 houses and schools, and, perhaps, a little 
 hospital and a nurse, such as thej^ had told 
 her some friends of hers had established in a 
 villao'e near their home. Then she went on 
 to think (Annie had never thought so much 
 in her life before) that she should like to hear 
 Edgar preach. When he talked about religion, 
 and all he hoped and wished on that subject, 
 she had often felt that it was very interesting 
 to listen to him, and she could fancy that his 
 sermons would be very beautiful. If he was 
 one day the master of Holmwood and its 
 vicar also, he would be able to make all the 
 improvements he liked in the church. Peo]3le
 
 .24 Mrii. (JeralfTs Niece. 
 
 would admire him very much, they would say 
 it was very good in a man who had married a 
 rich heiress, to give up the world and live in 
 retirement at Holmwood, devoting himself to 
 his parishioners. The postscript of Edgar's 
 letter had made her entirely overlook all that 
 preceded it. 
 
 There is a strange indifference about doc- 
 trines amongst Protestants. As long as they 
 can walk to the same church with their 
 friends and relatives, that is to the same 
 visible buildino- kneel down side bv side and 
 use the same form of j^rayers, they often 
 seem not to care the least if their opinions 
 are as wide as the poles asunder. One may 
 believe that when the clergyman utters cer- 
 tain words our Lord reallv descends on the 
 altar, and another that this is a gross super- 
 stition, a miserable idolatry ; and yet as long 
 as the outward semblance of union exists, 
 nothing more is said than that so and so is 
 very extreme in his opinions, or that so and 
 so is very much against Puseyism. If the 
 family is an affectionate and good-humoured 
 one, these remarks are made in rather a 
 playful manner with an amused smile. Yet
 
 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 125 
 
 one would have supposed that it was a matter 
 of deep and vital importance whether a stu- 
 pendous miracle was continually taking place 
 amongst us unacknowledged, denied, and 
 neglected, or, on the other hand, adoration 
 paid to a piece of mere bread. 
 
 It was that vagj-ue habit of mind, which 
 results from the uncertain teaching of a 
 Church that has no undoubted or undisputed 
 tenets of its own, that made Annie so per- 
 fectly satisfied with the prospect of marrying 
 one whose opinions were as opposed as pos- 
 sible to those in which she had been educated, 
 and who differed from her old instructor on 
 almost every point. It did not even occur 
 to her that it would be wroag or a hardship 
 on any one to transfer the spiritual charge of 
 a congregation, which for nearly fifty years 
 had been taught by Mr. Pratt to believe 
 what he and she herself believed to be true, 
 to the care of one who would teach them 
 exactly the reverse. 
 
 This strange toleration of every kind of 
 opinions, so that it is within the limits of the 
 Anglican Establishment, is no doubt an ad- 
 vantaofe in tlie eves of those who think that
 
 126 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 women have no right outwardly to differ from 
 their husbands in matters which concern their 
 souls. The rights of parents, uncles, aunts, 
 elder brothers, and sisters on this point 
 are considered to vary according to circum- 
 stances; but, the husband's right being gene- 
 rally regarded as indisputable, it would be 
 well, perhaps, now that there are two dif- 
 ferent religions in the English Establishment, 
 to adopt the plan formerly followed in the 
 Eoyal Protestant families abroad, and not, as 
 has been seen by some recent examples, yet 
 exploded — that is, of educating girls in no 
 particular religion in order that they may be 
 ready to adopt, when they marry, the one 
 which is professed by their husbands. In- 
 deed, among foreign Protestants, not of 
 royal birth, this system is apparently ac- 
 knowledged. Some years ago, a German 
 young lady wrote to a friend to announce 
 her marriage ; after describing the merits of 
 her future husband's character and position, 
 she ended her letter as follows : " There is 
 only one thing I regret. You know how 
 long I have wished to be a Catholic, and I 
 had always iioped, when I married, to have
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 127 
 
 been able to follow my inclination. But it 
 
 unfortunately happens that Mr. is a 
 
 Protestant ; I must therefore submit to the 
 will of God, and resign myself to continue 
 one also." 
 
 In the afternoon of tlie day on which she 
 had received Edgar's letter, Annie asked 
 Eliza to take a walk witli her, and contrived 
 to lead the conversation to the subject of 
 clergymen marrying. She remembered that 
 her friend had expressed, one day, an opinion 
 rather unfavourable to their doing so. She 
 had taken no heed of it at the time, but now 
 felt anxious to revert to it. Eliza seemed 
 averse to commit herself at first on that 
 point. She said she did not tliink it was 
 always desirable, but celibacy should never 
 be compulsory as in the Church of Eome. 
 Is it not curious how young ladies will some- 
 times pronounce on points which it has taken 
 the experience of ages, and the deliberations 
 of councils under the guidance of the Holy 
 Ghost, to decide ? 
 
 " But then you think," said Annie, " that 
 High Church people consider it most perfect 
 not to marry ? "
 
 128 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 " As a general rule, but not in all cases," 
 Eliza answered ; " in the Greek Church 
 priests marry, but, if their wives die, they 
 cannot marry again, and no married man can 
 be a bishop." 
 
 " And Roman Catholic priests never 
 marry at all?" 
 
 " No, never — that universal prohibition is 
 one of the abuses of the Church of Rome." 
 
 "In that case," Annie thought, "it will 
 be a good thing for me to marry Edgar if he 
 becomes a clergyman, because it will prevent 
 him from ever becoming a Roman Catholic." 
 
 He had asked her to answer his letter — 
 to tell him what she thought of all he had 
 said. This was very difficult, because really 
 about a great deal of it she had no 
 thoughts at all, or at any rate, she did not 
 know how to put what she did think into 
 words. But this might be a good oppor- 
 tunity, perhaps, of giving him the sort of 
 encouragement Mrs. Gerald had spoken of, 
 and so she sat down and wrote this short 
 letter : — 
 
 "' Dear Edgak, — All you say about the
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 129 
 
 Cliurcli and your attacliment to it, and tlie 
 help it is to yon, is very interesting. I sup- 
 pose that about some things men and women 
 do not feel quite alike. It would be so much 
 pleasanter, and easier I think, and better for 
 us, too, if we could be sure who is right and 
 who is wrong. You are much more likely 
 to be rio-ht than I am ; but then I do not see 
 why Mr. Pratt is not likely to know about 
 these sort of things as well as you and your 
 friends. If you both told me the same thing 
 there would be no difficulty, it is the differ- 
 ence that puzzles me; you can't both be 
 right. Sometimes I think that, perhaps, it 
 does not much signify what j^eople beheve if 
 they are good ; but when I say that, Eliza 
 tells me I am quite wrong, that there are 
 very good Jews and Mohammedans, and yet 
 that it must signify very much to be a Chris- 
 tian or not, to be baptized or not baptized ; 
 and then I really do not know what to say. 
 If you become a clergyman, and especially if 
 one day you should happen to be our clergy- 
 man here, perhaps you would in time per- 
 suade me to think as you do. It must be a 
 very serious thing to become a clergyman, 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 and I suppose you will reflect a great deal 
 before you decide. If you make up your mind 
 to it I shall not be sorry. Aunt Gerald is 
 writing to you ; at , first slie did not seem 
 pleased, but I think she is coming round to 
 it. I wish you could come back to Holm- 
 wood, I shall get less fond of it again if you 
 stay away a long time. I have seen Miss 
 Flower, Lady Emily's adopted daughter, she 
 seems a very nice girl. 
 
 " Your affectionate Cousin, 
 
 "Annie Derwent." 
 
 A few days after this letter was sent the 
 Miss Conways left Holmwood to join their 
 parents by the sea-side. They spent one day 
 in London on their way to Worthing. Mrs. 
 Langdon, Edgar's mother, called on them in 
 the morning, and asked them to dine with 
 her and her husband that evening. She said 
 they would be quite alone, but that Edgar 
 would come in after dinner, and that he would 
 be so glad to see them. Jane had arranged 
 to go to the play that evening with one of 
 her brothers, but Eliza was delighted to 
 accept the invitation, and to have an oppor-
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 131 
 
 tunitj of talking over witli Edgar tlie many 
 subjects of interest tliey had in common. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Langdon were one of those 
 oddty matched pairs in each of which seems 
 to abound the quality the other wants. She 
 overflowed with good humour; he was 
 crabbed and uncertain in temper : she had a 
 wise way of saying foolish things ; he had an 
 arch clever way of talking nonsense. He 
 would not have hked a sensible wife ; it was 
 a constant amusement to him to wrangle 
 with Mrs. Langdon and puzzle her in argu- 
 ment, an easy triumph which did not, however, 
 seem to lose its zest. He did not dislike his 
 stepson, but yet could never resist making- 
 sarcastic remarks on what he considered 
 his eccentricities ; this would have irritated 
 Mrs. Langdon, if anything could do so, for 
 she worshipped her son and thought him in 
 every respect perfect. During dinner there 
 were a few skirmishes of this kind, but Mrs. 
 Langdon had informed her husband that Ehza 
 was quite of Edgar's way of thinking, and 
 he was therefore too civil to say anything that 
 would have displeased her. She was amused 
 at his dry humour, and found the evening
 
 132 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 was pleasant even before Edgar arrived. He 
 came in at nine, looking pale and tired, but 
 seemed cliarmed to see Miss Conway. After 
 a few words of general conversation, Mrs. 
 Langdon proposed to her husband to play at 
 piquet in another part of the room. "What, 
 my dear," he whispered as she led him away, 
 " are they going to hold a council on Church 
 affairs ? She is a deaconess, is not she, or 
 something of the kind ?" 
 
 " ^0, my dear, you always make mistakes. 
 It is the Protestants who have deaconesses, 
 the English Catholics have sisters." 
 
 " Oh ! then she is a sister ?" 
 
 " No, she is nothing that I know of." 
 
 " But she is serious, is not she, as people 
 used to say in my youth ?" 
 
 " No, not more serious than she ought to 
 be." 
 
 "And how much is that?" 
 
 " I really cannot answer that sort of 
 question." 
 
 " No, my dear, I do not think you can, so 
 will you cut." 
 
 In the meantime Edgar and Ehza did not 
 begin by talking of the affairs of the Church.
 
 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 133 
 
 They spoke first of Annie. "You like my 
 cousin very mucli, don't you ?" lie asked. 
 
 "Very much indeed," she answered; 
 " she is so good, so true. If once she can 
 see life, its duties, and its objects in their 
 real light, she will be more than commonly 
 good. But I sometimes wonder that having 
 been educated by so superior a person as Mrs. 
 Gerald there should be something in Annie 
 that gives one the idea that her mind has not 
 been very much cultivated. Do you perceive 
 this ?" 
 
 '' I understand what you mean, but I do 
 not think this is quite the case. There is 
 perhaps in her a slowness of apprehension 
 which sometimes almost seems Uke a defi- 
 ciency of intelligence ; but I have often been 
 struck by her good sense and the excellence 
 of her understanding." 
 
 " Your visit had a great effect upon her. 
 Even after those few days I could see that 
 she was much less childish, that she thought 
 more. I am sure you would have great 
 influence over Annie if you saw more of 
 her." 
 
 Edg-ar remained silent a moment, and
 
 134 ilfr.9. GeralcVs Niece. 
 
 then said in a low voice, " How difficult it 
 sometimes is to satisfy oneself as to which 
 would be the most perfect of two lines of 
 conduct." 
 
 "Yes," Ehza answered, "and there is 
 nothing so trying in the world as perplexity. 
 But others, and especially those who are used 
 to guide and to direct us, often see more 
 clearly than we do ourselves which course we 
 should follow." 
 
 " I am in the greatest doubt at present on 
 two of the most important points a man can 
 have to decide upon. I cannot quite make 
 ujD my mind whether to go into the Church 
 or not, and in the next place whether, if 
 I do so, I ought to marry. It may seem 
 very strange that after so short an acquaint- 
 ance I should speak to you so openly on 
 such subjects as these ; but, though I have 
 not known you long. Miss Conway, I feel as 
 if we were old friends and that I can open 
 my heart to you without folly or indiscretion. 
 On the first of the two points I mentioned I 
 have nearly come to a decision. As I have 
 taken my degree at Oxford I can be ordained 
 with very little delay; and it seems to me that
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 135 
 
 every man who enters our Cliurcli, with a full 
 sense of the duties and responsibihties of a 
 priest, is lending strength to the cause of 
 truth." 
 
 "Oh, yes!" Eliza exclaimed, **it is an 
 inestimable blessing that such persons should 
 take holy orders. I am very, very thankful 
 that such is your intention." 
 
 "What has forced the thought upon me 
 has been the sight of so many poor creatures 
 dying without absolution. Whilst the 
 Papists, as a matter of course, sent for 
 their priests and received the last sacra- 
 ments, our poor people, in the first place, 
 had never, many of them, been taught to 
 think anything of confession and absolution, 
 or cared to send for a clergyman ; and, 
 secondly, if they were visited on their death- 
 beds by an Anglican priest, alas ! it was often 
 only to have a few prayers and verses of the 
 Bible read to them, and not a word said 
 about confession. Indeed, in one instance, a 
 poor dying man, who had some wish to con- 
 fess, was told to confess to God and not to 
 man, and actually dissuaded from seeking 
 sacramental absolution. On another occasion,
 
 136 il/rs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 wlien a clergyman was going to administer 
 Holy Communion to a sick person, he spent 
 some time in explaining that our Lord was 
 not present in the sacrament as he said 
 Roman Catholics falsely teach. It is heart- 
 breaking to see God's ministers so utterly 
 ignorant of the treasures of grace they 
 hold in their hands ; and baptized persons 
 equally unconscious of their rights to those 
 blessed privileges. I longed during those 
 days, when death was striking on every side 
 those poor sufferers, I pined to possess the 
 right of speaking, of acting as a priest, 
 and then came the thought that God was 
 calling me to devote my life to the sacred 
 ministry." 
 
 " I have no doubt it was an inspiration, 
 dear Mr. Derwent." 
 
 "But then comes the second question. 
 At the very moment that I was anxiously 
 turning over in my mind that important 
 subject, I happened to meet here Miss Rose, 
 Annie's governess. I have known her, of 
 course, all my life, and we have always 
 been great friends. We happened to be left 
 alone together for nearly an hour, and had a
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 137 
 
 long conversation, in the course of wliicli I 
 heard, to my infinite surprise, that my Aunt 
 Gerald's favourite wish is that I should marry 
 Annie ! It had never crossed my mind that 
 such a thing would be possible, that she 
 would be content to see her marry a man as 
 poor as myself. I have always been very 
 fond of Annie, and since my last visit to 
 Holmwood have felt an interest in her which 
 might easily grow into a warmer affection. 
 Of course there is everything in this idea that 
 would naturally attract and tempt me — my 
 attachment to Holmwood, the possession of 
 great means of usefulness and influence, and 
 also the thought that, if I succeeded in 
 winning Annie's heart and became her hus- 
 band, I should lead her to the knowledge of 
 those truths which, for those I love as well 
 as for myself, I value more than life. But 
 then there comes the doubt . . . ." 
 
 " What doubt ? What makes you hesi- 
 tate ?" 
 
 "I do not know. I scarcely think that a 
 clergyman should — mind I do not say that he 
 may not, not even that he ought not — but I 
 doubt if he should marry, especially at a time
 
 138 Mrs. GeraltVs Jsilece. 
 
 wlien all those wlio have the interests of the 
 Church at heart, seem called upon to practise 
 heroic self-denial." 
 
 "I admit," Eliza answered, '*' that there 
 are great advantages in some cases in priests 
 beino- unmarried . . . ,," 
 
 " There is a growing feeling of that kind 
 iu our Church, I think," 
 
 " But are there not cases also which form 
 an exception to the rule, if, indeed, it amounts 
 to a rule, and yours seems to me to be pre- 
 cisely of that number. Are we not to con- 
 sider the greater amount of good which can 
 be effected in one way or in the other in each 
 individual instance. The ad majorem Dei 
 glorimn, which you were telling us the other 
 day was the motto of the Jesuits ? I am not 
 inclined to like them, but I admire these 
 words. And now tell me, do you think 
 Annie would object to your going into the 
 Church ?" 
 
 " No, as far as I can judge by her letter. 
 She even gives me a hint that I might become 
 some day Yicar of Holrawood." 
 
 " Oh ! my dear Mr. Derwent, if that could 
 ever be realized, what a career of usefulness
 
 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 139 
 
 would open to you ! What we want are 
 opportunities for the full development And 
 carrying out of Church principles. If our 
 people could see the effect and judge of the 
 results of Catholic teaching, we might look 
 to a wonderful increase of Euo-lish Catho- 
 licism. I am, perhaps, biassed by that 
 thought. Holmwood, with its beautiful old 
 church and its ancestral home, exhibiting 
 the ideal of Catholic worship and Christian 
 domestic virtue, with all its sanctity and its 
 poetry, would convert half the county !" 
 
 " Mind that, when I said Annie seemed 
 to approve of my intention, I did not mean 
 to imply that she gave me the least reason to 
 suppose she would marry me. You know I 
 might be Vicar of Holmwood when poor dear 
 Mr. Pratt departs this life, and Annie be 
 somebody else's wife." 
 
 " Not half the good would be done in that 
 way as if you were her husband. And now 
 as you have talked o|)enly to me, I will in 
 return speak openly to you, I have studied 
 Annie's character, and I am quite convinced 
 that with all her apparent strength of will 
 and independence of opinion, she is very liable
 
 1-iO Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 to be influenced. I believe this is one of the 
 reasons tliat makes Mrs. Gerald wish her so 
 much to marry you. She has, for instance, 
 seen Miss Flower only a very few times, but I 
 can perceive that she would be easily guided 
 by that girl." 
 
 " And is not she a good companion for 
 Annie ? " 
 
 " I hardly know her ; I only saw her once. 
 She is very pleasing, remarkably so. I could 
 not help being fascinated by her manner ; but 
 I suspect what is indeed perfectly natural, as 
 she has lived abroad all her life, that she has 
 either no religion at all, or a very strong bias 
 towards Roman Catholicism. It could hardly 
 perhaps be otherwise, but it would not be the 
 less a terrible danger for Annie. At present 
 she is very ignorant about everything relating 
 to the Church of Rome, and has the strongest 
 prejudices against it; but, with her particular 
 turn of mind, I should very much dread her 
 hearing some of those insidious arguments 
 which Papists use, to make it appear that the 
 position of our Church is untenable ; for 
 sometimes she has seemed to come of her 
 own accord to that mistaken conclusion, and
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 141 
 
 I found it very difficult to make lier under- 
 stand tlie real state of the case. When she 
 is puzzled, she falls back on Mr. Pratt's 
 teaching, which is the safer extreme of the 
 two for the present, for she could not long 
 remain satisfied with the vague, miserable 
 barrenness of mere Protestantism. But an 
 influence leading her in an opposite direction 
 would be most dangerous. I look to your 
 influence to counteract the effects of her inti- 
 macy with Miss Flower." 
 
 " I have not the least idea if there would 
 be any hope of her accepting me." 
 
 " I should say there was every probability 
 of it, and am sure, from what I saw during 
 your visit, and still more so since your de- 
 parture, that she is, to say the least, very 
 much inclined to return your affection." 
 
 " I do not know," Edgar replied, with a 
 smile, "that I can say that I am actually in love 
 with her yet. At Holmwood I never thought 
 of such a thing ; but since the possibility of 
 obtaining her has been placed before me, I 
 find in myself some of the symptoms of that 
 passion such^as Shakespeare describes them, 
 and when I see her next I am only afraid of
 
 142 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 tlie malady taking too rapid a development. 
 However, God knows I can say with truth 
 that I would not accept the hope of this 
 happiness which has been, as it were, offered 
 to me, if I did not think it was His will I 
 should accept it, or if it was to stand in the 
 way of my following what I believe He has 
 called me to — the sacred duties of a priest." 
 
 Some further conversation took place 
 between these young people which it is 
 unnecessary to relate. Eliza succeeded in 
 dissipating Edgar's doubts as to the desira- 
 bleness of a clergyman's marrying, at any 
 rate in his own case. Though she had recom- 
 mended him to consult a spiritual adviser on 
 the subject, she had unconsciously assumed 
 the ofiS.ce herself It is not fools only who 
 rush in where angels fear to tread, but good 
 and clever people also) especially those whose 
 training and habits of mind have not taught 
 them that there are days and hours in men's 
 lives, turning moments in their destinies, too 
 awful, too sacred, for -casual advice, for uncon- 
 sidered counsel, foi" decisions taken anywhere 
 but on their knees and in God's presence. 
 Perhaps few people think enough of the fear-
 
 Mrs. Gerald^s Niece. 143 
 
 ful responsibility of giving advice. More liarm 
 is sometimes done in this way tlian by acts of 
 unkindness, or even perliaps by bad example. 
 Especially if any possess tlie dangerous gift 
 of influence, let tliem beware liow by a few 
 rash words they turn the scales in which the 
 fate of a life, and of an immortal soul, may be 
 tremblino'. 
 
 O 
 
 Edgar made up his mind that evening to 
 try and win Annie. He said to himself, 
 " Eliza is conscientious, sensible, and quite 
 unprejudiced in the question. She thinks it 
 would be the means of so much good, and I 
 see that she is convinced Annie likes me." 
 If he afterwards asked anybody else's advice, 
 it was probably for the chance of its falling 
 in with what he had previously resolved 
 upon, not with the least idea of shaping his 
 course according to its purport.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The intimacy with Ita Flower, which Miss 
 Conway so much dreaded for Annie, was pro- 
 gressing rapidly. There were few days that 
 they did not contrive to meet. Mr. Hendon's 
 carriage, on the days that Lady Emily did not 
 go ont, was always at Miss Flower's disposal; 
 and, if Annie had not driven over in the 
 morning to Marchbanks, Ita was almost 
 certain to appear at Holmwood immediately 
 after luncheon. They soon became friends, 
 though their dispositions, tastes, and characters 
 were- very different. Ita's imaginative and 
 pictorial view of things amused Annie, whilst 
 she in turn was interested by her friend's 
 original turn of mind, and matter-of-fact re- 
 marks. As to Mrs. Gerald, she was strangely 
 capricious with regard to their young neigh- 
 bour. She used to complain of her coming
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 145 
 
 too often and monopolizing Annie's time ; 
 but, if she chanced not to appear for two or 
 three days, she inquired why she stayed 
 away, and seemed fidgetty till she came 
 again, and was very inquisitive as to the long 
 conversations they held together. 
 
 " What were you talking about, my love, 
 during those two whole hours I saw you 
 sitting in the shrubbery ?" she one day asked 
 her niece. 
 
 "Was it so long as that? It did not 
 seem so. Ita has seen so many places, and 
 known all kinds of people abroad ; she tells 
 me all sorts of amusing things." 
 
 " Has she spoken to you much about her 
 childhood ?" 
 
 " Yes, a great deal. I think I know as 
 much about Mentone as if I had lived there 
 myself." 
 
 " But does she remember anything of the 
 time before she came there ? Does she ever 
 speak of her parents ?" 
 
 " No ; I asked her one day if she had 
 always been with Lady Emily ? She said, 
 *No — not always;' that she lived, when she 
 was very little, at a cottage near the sea- side 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 somewhere, but that it seemed like a dream. 
 I asked her if she was with her parents then, 
 and I was sorry I had put that question to 
 her, for she grew very red, and the tears 
 came into her eyes. So I suppose they 
 are dead. It was a foohsh, thoughtless ques- 
 tion ; for, if they had been alive, she would 
 not have been, I suppose, Lady Emily's 
 ward." 
 
 " Do you know why she does not come to 
 church ? Is she a Roman Catholic ?" 
 
 "No. I thought at first she was, and so 
 I asked her. She said, 'No;' but that she 
 had been very much used to go to Roman 
 Catholic churches, and that she liked them 
 much better than ours." 
 
 " That is the worst of English girls living 
 abroad ; they are influenced by what they see 
 of the pageantry of the Romish service, and 
 then they get to dislike our simple and beau- 
 tiful form of worship." 
 
 " I told Ita that Edgar says we have 
 lighted candles, and incense and flowers, in 
 some of our churches now ; but she says it is 
 not those sort of things she cares about. I do 
 not like talking to her about religion. I do
 
 Mrs. GeroJiVs Niece. 147 
 
 not know how to explain to her what Edgar 
 says about our Church being Catholic." 
 
 " You are quite right, I think, to avoid 
 that sort of conversation. No good can come 
 of young girls discussing such subjects. I 
 sometimes question, Annie, whether Miss 
 Flower is a good friend for you." 
 
 " Oh 3^es, she is. Aunt Gerald, I like her 
 very much. It is only now and then that 
 we ever speak about religion. Oh ! and now 
 I want to know .... we are going to Cars- 
 dale next week, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Yes ; on Monday. The ball is to be on 
 Thursday, and we stay till Saturday." 
 
 " Well ; but Ita is asked — if she had only 
 anybody to go with — and I want her to come 
 with us." 
 
 "With us?" 
 
 " Yes ; Lady Emily cannot go, of course, 
 and it would be awkward for her to go with 
 Mr. Hendon. I shall not amuse myself at 
 all if she is not there. She and Edgar are 
 the only two persons I like to be with now." 
 
 " And the poor Con ways ?" 
 
 " Well, I will tell you the truth. I like 
 them, but not quite so much as I did before
 
 143 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 tliey were staying -with us. Eliza is too 
 good for me, slie bores me a little about 
 schools and poor people ; and Jane is ratlier 
 tiresome when you come to see a great deal 
 of her." 
 
 " But does not Ediyar talk almost as 
 much as Eliza of those sort of things?" 
 
 " No, not so incessantly, and he some- 
 times makes me laugh. I like to hear him 
 talk, whatever the subject is. But now I 
 want to know, will you take Ita with us to 
 Carsdale?" 
 
 " I suppose I must, if Lady Emily asks 
 me." 
 
 "You cannot think how fond she is of 
 you. Aunt Gerald." 
 
 " Of me !" Mrs. Gerald exclaimed, with a 
 sudden colour rushing into her face, " what 
 can make her fond of me ? I have scarcely 
 said two words to her." 
 
 " "Well, she says she does not know why 
 it is, she has taken such a fancy to you. 
 Only to hear your voice, or sit in the same 
 room with you, is a pleasure to her. She is 
 such an odd girl ; she thinks that people 
 have lived in some other world, or in this
 
 Mr8. GeraltVs Niece. 149 
 
 one perhaps, at some former time ; and that 
 when we Hke or dislike people in some nn- 
 accountable way, it is because we have known 
 them in some other state of existence." 
 
 " I never heard such nonsense, my love. 
 It is, I suppose, some superstitious notion 
 that she has learnt from Catholics." 
 
 " Xo ; she says the Abate Somebody, 
 whom she knows at Mentone, told her it was 
 a false idea." 
 
 "Well, the sooner she gets it out of her 
 head the better. You have, I am sure, too 
 much good sense to listen to such absurdi- 
 ties." 
 
 " Those sort of thoughts never came into 
 my mind. I was never much alone, you 
 know ; perhaps that makes a difference. Ita 
 used to be hours and hours by herself, and 
 she has told me that all sorts of painful 
 ideas, and sometimes funny ones, occurred 
 to her. She fancied all kinds of things, and 
 held long conversations with imaginary people, 
 and invented histories about them, when she 
 was sitting in the olive woods, or on the sea- 
 shore at Mentone. And then about religion 
 she was so bothered, always wondering what
 
 150 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 heaven was like, and how anything could last 
 for ever. She often lonsred to talk to some- 
 body about those things, but, if she said any- 
 thing to Lady Emily, she cried, ' Oh, pray, 
 my dear, don't talk of that, you make me 
 nervous;' and her governess answered, 'II 
 m'est defendu. Mademoiselle, de vous parler 
 de religion.' So she had to think it all out 
 for herself." 
 
 " Her case has been an unfortunate one 
 m that respect. She had better speak to 
 Mr. Pratt, or perhaps Edgar's views might 
 suit her. But talking of him, Annie, I must 
 tell you that I heard from him this morning, 
 and that he has quite made up his mind to 
 become a clergyman. He has been to see 
 the Bishop of , and, after a long con- 
 versation he had with him, it was settled 
 that the bishop will ordain him privately 
 early in September. I suppose he was struck 
 by his zeal and earnestness, and the purity of 
 his motives in entering the Church." 
 
 " Early in September ! As soon as that ! 
 Then will he not meet us at Carsdale ? I 
 know they have invited him." 
 
 "He says he hopes to be there for two
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 151 
 
 or three days, and then he will go and stay 
 with a clerical friend of his to prepare for 
 his ordination. He speaks very beautifully 
 on that subject, and very touchingly, too, 
 about you, Annie. I do not think, when 
 you meet again, that he will leave you long 
 in doubt about his feelings." 
 
 " Oh, then, I hope we shall not meet at 
 Carsdale." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " Because I should not like him to speak 
 of that anywhere but here. I would wish it 
 to be on the terrace on a fine day, late in the 
 afternoon. If he asks me to marry him, and 
 I accept him, I shall be making him, as it 
 were, a present of Holmwood ; and I should 
 like it to be looking as beautiful as possible, 
 and then I should say, ' There, I give it you ; 
 it is yours.' " 
 
 " Why, Annie, I do not know you again I 
 That is quite a poetical idea. But, my love, 
 you seem to be always dwelling on that 
 thought of giving h.im Holmwood. It is, 
 after all, but a slight gift in comparison with 
 your affection." 
 
 " No, not a bit of it. If I had not this
 
 152 Mrs. GerdcVs Niece. 
 
 place he is so fond of to give him, nothing 
 would induce me to marry him. He is 
 twenty times better and cleverer than I am ; 
 he has a taste for all sorts of things I do not 
 care at all about ; he can express what he 
 feels, and I cannot. If I love people ever 
 so much I cannot tell them so. No, certainly. 
 If I had only myself to give Edgar I would 
 not accept him, but the possession of Holm- 
 wood, which he is so excessively fond of, will 
 make up for my deficiencies." 
 
 When EdG:ar was describing^ Annie's 
 character, he had said she was proud, and 
 perhaps there was pride in the feeling she 
 had just expressed, but there was also some- 
 thins: touchino' in the humble estimate of 
 herself which it implied. Mrs. Gerald felt 
 this, and kissed her with deep emotion. 
 Annie's manner of returnino- this caress had 
 in it more kindness than warmth. 
 
 Mrs. Gerald, as usual, complied with her 
 niece's wishes, and wrote to propose that Ita 
 should go with them to Carsdale. The offer 
 was gladly accepted, and on a lovely day 
 towards the end of August they called for 
 her on their way there. The two girls were
 
 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 153 
 
 in high spirits. Ita exclaimed, as they went 
 through a lovely glade full of magnificent trees, 
 "Oh, how beautiful!" and, as Mrs. Gerald 
 looked at her beaming face, she also mentally 
 exclaimed, " How beautiful !" and leaning 
 back herself in the carriage, she listened to 
 the conversation that went on between her two 
 companions. It was merry, full of girlish 
 nonsense and fun. But no smile came on 
 Mrs. Gerald's lips ; once there were a few 
 tears in her eyes. When they reached the 
 park of Carsdale and came suddenly on a 
 new and extensive view, Ita's cheeks flushed 
 with delight ; soon the house itself appeared 
 in sight — a large stately building, standing 
 in the midst of what looked like a bound- 
 less extent of flower-gardens, with fountains 
 playing in the midst of the dazzling masses 
 of colour, and bordered by a lake intersected 
 with little green islands and floating clusters 
 of the large-leaved water-lilies. In a trans- 
 port of delight Ita seized Mrs. Gerald's hand, 
 kissed it, and kept it a moment in her own. 
 The hand so fondly held was quickly snatched 
 away ; she raised her soft eyes with a look of 
 surprise and then cast them down. Mrs.
 
 154 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 
 
 Gerald almost turned lier back upon lier, and 
 smoothed Annie's liair, wliicli liad been 
 blown about by tlie wind. Before she had 
 done putting it to rights, they arrived at 
 the house, and were show^n into a drawing- 
 room, where Lady Carsdale and her daughter, 
 Lady Emma, were sitting with three or four 
 other persons. 
 
 Lady Carsdale was a short, plump, good- 
 natured-looking woman, full of the milk of 
 human kindness, and on whom the cares and 
 troubles of life seemed to have sat lightly. 
 Though advanced in years there were no hard 
 lines in her fair placid face, and her small 
 blue eyes twinkled with incessant glee. She 
 seemed satisfied with herself and the whole 
 ■world, except when the Avorld made a fuss 
 about anything. This discomposed her, 
 though nothing else did. " If people only 
 took things quietly, nobody would be uncom- 
 fortable," she used to say. The principle 
 was to a certain degree a good one, only 
 Lady Carsdale' s application of it was too 
 general. Lady Emma was very unlike her 
 mother, a slight shade of superciliousness 
 was visible in her countenance, a perceptible
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 155 
 
 consciousness of being a person of conse- 
 quence. There were two more ladies in the 
 room, one of them was a Mrs. Harper, who 
 had a sharp inquisitive face that seemed 
 constantly asking a question; there was 
 something in the very shape of her nose that 
 reminded one of a note of interrogation, and 
 her black eyes might have belonged to a 
 detective officer. The other was Mrs. Walter 
 Sydney, a lady of about thirty-seven or eight 
 years of age, still pretty, and with a most 
 attractive countenance. Her husband was 
 an amiable-looking man, a great deal older 
 than herself. Mrs. Gerald shook hands with 
 her, and inquired after Mr. Sydney, her 
 father-in-law, a very old gentleman, more 
 than eighty years old, and then presented 
 Annie to her. 
 
 Ita had no one to speak to. There was 
 a gentleman sitting near her, but he went 
 on reading the newspaper and did not change 
 his position during the half-hour which 
 elapsed before Lady Carsdale asked her 
 guests the welcome question on such occa- 
 sions, " Would not you like to see your 
 rooms ?" But he had nevertheless contrived
 
 156 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 to rather in that time more information 
 about tlie new comers tlian Mrs. Harper 
 herself. Her curiosity was as active as Mr. 
 Lorton's, but not under sucli good control. 
 By not seeming to bo on tlie watch, he dis- 
 covered a thousand details which would have 
 escaped a more unguarded observer. 
 
 There was a running current of jealousy 
 sroino; on between these two individuals. 
 Nothino' vexed Mr, Lorton more than to be 
 told a piece of news by Mrs. Harper, and 
 vice versa. Though each was glad to get 
 every possible scrap of information, it was 
 gall and wormwood to their feelings to find 
 themselves in the case of being informed of a 
 new fact by a rival collector. Ita, meantime, 
 was quite satisfied with looking about the 
 room. There seemed to her a whole world 
 of beauty within those four walls. She was 
 gifted (is it always a gift?) with an in- 
 tense capacity for enjoyment, she took a keen 
 delight in things which many people scarcely 
 pay any attention to — which they would miss 
 if taken away from them, l}ut of the presence 
 of which they are hardly conscious. The 
 beautiful hot-house flowers in the recesses of
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 157 
 
 the windows, and even the pretty Dresden 
 china figures on the chimney-piece, gave her 
 pleasure ; but, more than all, the pictures. 
 Her glance wandered from the portrait of a 
 knio'ht in armour to that of a cardinal in his 
 full robes ; but when she cauo-ht sio-lit of a 
 group of ragged boys quarrelling over a 
 melon, and then of a procession of Pilgrims 
 on their way to St. Peter's, her ecstasy was 
 such that she could hardly help jumping up 
 from her chair. She tried to catch Annie's 
 eye, but did not succeed; if she had, there 
 would not, perhaps, have been much sym- 
 pathy shown for her admiration of these 
 works of art. She was in no hurry to move, 
 there was still so much to look at ; but every- 
 body else was glad when Lady Carsdale led 
 the way upstairs. 
 
 " We are quite a small party to-day," 
 Lady Carsdale said as she stood for a mo- 
 ment in Mrs. Gerald's dressing-room. "My 
 son and two of his fi'iends, Mr. Bayham and 
 Sir John Leishp, we expect by the next 
 train. The Rockcastles are here ; and Mrs. 
 AYehersby — she is a Spaniard — and that 
 clever Mr. Harman you met here last year are
 
 158 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 
 
 coming to-morrow. They are all very com- 
 fortable people that one feels quite at one's 
 ease Avith. The Sydneys you know ver}' 
 well ? Oh, of course you do. They are 
 nearer neighbours of yours than of ours. 
 It is a great pity that they have become 
 Roman Catholics. They are very nice people. 
 Emma used to be very fond of Mrs. Sydney, 
 but lately she has seen very little of her. 
 Lord Carsdale, however, insisted on my 
 inviting them. Mr. Sydney has always been 
 a OTeat friend of his. It is so useless to 
 make a fuss about that sort of thing. I am 
 for people thinking and doing what they like 
 about religion, so that they leave others alone, 
 and keep their opinions to themselves. For- 
 merly, in this part of the world, people in 
 society did not trouble their heads about 
 what religion others were of. I remember 
 one of my constant partners, when I was a 
 girl, was a Eoman Catliohc, and I never had 
 the least idea of it till long afterwards. I^ow 
 Emma knows not only if her partners are 
 Catholics or Protestants, but what churches 
 they go to, and what views they have. In 
 my days people rode, hunted, dined together,
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 159 
 
 and even marrieclj -witliout all the fuss that 
 goes on now." 
 
 "As to marrying, dear Lady Carsdale," 
 Mrs. Gerald answered, " I must say I am 
 very much against mixed marriages. I 
 would allow any amount of latitude in our 
 own Church, but surely husbands and wives 
 ought to be able to pray together." 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course it is much better ; 
 then there is no difficulty. I always said 
 that, as Mr. Sydney became a Catholic, it 
 was much better Mrs. Sydney should be one 
 also. It makes things so much easier about 
 children and everything." 
 
 "Yes, but then conversions, or rather 
 perversions, to Popery are very sad. How- 
 ever, some people say that the best remedy 
 will be the increase of Catholicism in om^ 
 Church." 
 
 " Oh ! I dare say. I beheve that is what 
 Emma thinks," Lady Carsdale rephed. "I 
 am sure I hope so." She would have hoped 
 anything rather than have had an argument. 
 
 Mrs. Gerald had been suffering all day 
 from neuralgia ; she had struggled against it 
 in order not to disappoint the two girls by
 
 IGO Mrs. GeraliVs Niece. 
 
 putting off their visit to Carsdale. But 
 while dressing for dinner the pain increased 
 so much that she was forced to remain in her 
 room. Lady Carsdale kindly came to fetch 
 Annie and Ita, and took them down with her 
 to the drawing-room. It was a great dis- 
 appointment to Mrs. Gerald not to see Annie 
 make her appearance almost for the first time 
 in society. She asked her to come up after 
 dinner and tell her how she had got on. 
 Annie did so. 
 
 " Whom did you sit by, my love ?" 
 
 '' Between Lord Carsdown and a clergy- 
 man whose name I don't know." 
 
 " Did you converse much with your 
 neighbours ?" Mrs. Gerald inquired, with her 
 hand pressed on her forehead to still the 
 pain. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; Lord Carsdown talked a great 
 deal." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 "About riding, and his horses. He is 
 so surprised I have never seen a race. He 
 described to me how exciting it is. He said 
 that two people he knew were once watching 
 a race, and it depended on which horse won
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 161 
 
 if they were to be married or not. I wonder 
 they could look at all. And sometimes 
 people know they will be quite ruined, if one 
 particular horse does not win. I am very 
 glad Edgar is not a racing man." 
 
 " Do you think Lord Carsdown pleasing ?" 
 " Yes, very pleasing ; he has such an eager 
 way of talking, and is so much struck by all 
 one says. It amuses me when he thumps the 
 table and cries, ' By Jove ! you are quite 
 right.' He said that five or six times at 
 least durinof dinner." 
 
 " And your other neighbour ?" 
 " I did not like him at all. He would tell 
 me thatPuseyites are very dangerous, insidious 
 people, who are pulling down the Church of 
 England, and that it is a dreadful thing that 
 almost all the young men in these days who 
 think seriously become Puseyites. He asked 
 me if it was true that Edgar was going into 
 the Church. When I said I believed he was, 
 he shook his head and said he hoped he had 
 not adopted those dangerous opinions, and 
 went on arguing about it, which I hate, for 
 though I cannot always agree with Edgar I 
 cannot bear any one to find fault with ]iim. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 162 Mrs, GerahVs Niece. 
 
 As soon as I could I turned to Lord Cars- 
 down, and asked him about the horse they 
 are o:oino; to lend me to ride." 
 
 " You will enjoy yourself here, darling?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, very much. We are going to 
 have a round game to-night." 
 
 " Do not stay up here then. Give me a 
 kiss, dear love, and do not think any more 
 about me." 
 
 " How is your head ?" 
 
 " Still very bad. N^ever mind. T hope 
 you will be amused, dearest." 
 
 Annie kissed her aunt and left the room, 
 shutting the door after her not quite so 
 quietly as might have been desirable for a 
 person every nerve of whose head was 
 quivering with pain. But Annie did not 
 know herself what headaches are, and had 
 not imagination enough to realize what she 
 had not felt. 
 
 A little while afterwards the door was 
 opened again very softly, and the lightest 
 possible footstep crossed the floor. It was 
 Ita, who timidly came up to the sofa on 
 which Mrs. Gerald was lying, and sitting 
 down by her side, said in a low voice, " I
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 163 
 
 thought it would please you to hear how 
 much my two neighbours at dinner admired 
 Annie." 
 
 "Who were they?" Mrs. Gerald asked, 
 raising her head from the pillow. 
 
 " Lord Rockcastle and Mr. Bayham, they 
 both think her so handsome ; and after we 
 came out of the dining-room, Mrs. Sydney 
 said the same thing. She is looking so par- 
 ticularly well to-night. And now I will not 
 talk any more, but would you let me tie a 
 handkercliief tightly round your head ? It 
 is the only thing that does mamma any good 
 when she has a bad headache." 
 
 Mrs. Gerald smiled, and looked about for 
 a handkerchief. 
 
 " I have brought a silk one, a very soft 
 one," Ita said; and kneeling down by the 
 sofa, she tied the handkerchief round Mrs. 
 Gerald's head, and performed this little act in 
 the quiet pleasant manner which gives to 
 some people a pecuhar talent for ministering 
 to pain. This simple remedy afforded the 
 throbbing temples some relief, and Mrs. 
 Gerald remained for a few minutes motion- 
 less and silent, but a moment afterward she
 
 164 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 said, "You had better go downstairs, my 
 dear; do not let me keep you here." 
 
 " Do let mc stay a little, I like so mucli 
 to be with you." 
 
 " But Annie will miss you." 
 
 *' I do not think she wants me, they are 
 going to play a round game." 
 
 " The young people, you mean ; you ought 
 to be with them." 
 
 As she was saying this, Ita had slipped 
 her arm under Mrs. Gerald's neck, and placed 
 her head in a more comfortable position. " I 
 see you have a talent for nursing," Mrs. 
 Gerald said, with a smile ; "you have really 
 done me good." 
 
 " Have I ? I am so glad." Ita hesitated 
 a little, and then blushing, said, " I love you 
 so much." 
 
 Mrs. Gerald was one of those persons to 
 whom people seldom show affection ; partly 
 because there were not many who felt it, and 
 also because those who did were apt to refrain 
 from giving outward signs of that feeling, 
 so greatly did the formality of her manner 
 repel its expression. Ita's simple exclama- 
 tion, and the little caress which accompanied
 
 Mrs. GeraliVs Niece. 165 
 
 it, took her by surprise, and caused her a sort 
 of agitation. There are, to use a common 
 expression, strange ins and outs in the human 
 heart, and especially in natures at once im- 
 petuous and reserved. Mrs. Gerald's pas- 
 sionate affection for Annie had never met 
 with any return beyond a very matter-of-fact, 
 proper, dutiful sort of regard. In ordinary 
 cases this would have chilled and disgusted 
 her, for she measured her likings for others 
 very much by what is called in French la 
 toise perso7ielJe ; but this did not apply to the 
 child who had been snatched from the ffrave 
 in her infancy, and restored to her when she 
 had thouQ^ht never to see her ao^ain — to the 
 girl whom she had watched, trained, and 
 cared for with parental affection, in whom she 
 had centred all her hopes, her pride, and her 
 delight. She had always felt — more than she 
 knew, perhaps ; certainly more than she had 
 ever acknowledged to herself — the want of 
 tenderness in Annie's character, but it had 
 never been on her she visited the pain it gave 
 her. On the present occasion it was with Ita 
 that she seemed vexed. Why should a mere 
 stranger, one to whom she had only shown a
 
 1G6 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 little casual kindness, express wliat Annie so 
 seldom did — a warm affection for her. Slie 
 felt almost angry at the contrast being forced 
 on her notice, and there was a shade of 
 annoyance in the manner with which she 
 said, " Really, my dear Ita, I do not under- 
 stand what I can have done to make you so 
 fond of me in so short a time." 
 
 Like a sensitive plant bruised by a slight 
 touch, not meant to hurt, but exquisitely 
 painful, Ita felt one of those pangs which 
 run, not like a dagger, but like a thorn, into 
 the heart. She kissed Mrs. Gerald's hand ; 
 that little act of homage familiar to those who 
 have lived much abroad, but which generally 
 surprises English people, and then said, " I 
 will go down to Annie." 
 
 Mrs. Gerald wished her good-night ; she 
 felt that she had been unkind, but if she had 
 said anything it would have been too much or 
 too little. When the door was shut and the 
 young girl gone, she burst into tears. 
 
 The round rame was goins: on when Ita 
 slipped quiet I3' into the drawing-room. A 
 whist party had also been made up, and Lady 
 Emma was playing on the pianoforte. Most
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 167 
 
 of the persons present seemed to think that 
 the chief advantage of music was to help on 
 conversation. Annie was very much en- 
 grossed with her hand at Commerce, and did 
 not pay much attention when Ita whispered 
 to her that Mrs. Gerald's headache was a 
 little better ; and, as Mrs. Sydney seemed 
 the only person at that moment not engaged 
 in any way, she went and sat by her. Mrs. 
 Sydney was listening to the playing, but 
 smiled and looked pleased as she made room 
 for her on the sofa near the pianoforte. When 
 the piece was finished, and some of the gen- 
 tlemen came up to speak to Lady Emma, 
 Mrs. Sydney said to Ita, "Are you fond of 
 music?" 
 
 " Yes, very fond of it ; but I am aft'aid I 
 like a barrel-organ better than some kinds of 
 playing on the pianoforte." 
 
 " A barrel-organ has its merits, I allow. 
 Do you play yourself?" 
 
 " Not well ; but I can remember tunes 
 and play them from memory — I like my own 
 playing as I do my own thoughts. Nobody 
 else I think w^ould." 
 
 The simplicity with which this was said,
 
 168 Mrs. OeralcVs Niece. 
 
 made Mrs. Sydney smile, and she answered, 
 " Perhaps I should. Will you try some 
 day-:" 
 
 " Yes, with great pleasure ; but it is not 
 real playing — not at all like Lady Emma's." 
 
 " She has a great deal of execution and 
 taste, but it is not the sort of playing I care 
 about. I believe that the sort I like has 
 gone out of fashion ; I only hear old people 
 play now with a soft touch that seems to 
 lino;er on the notes and to draw from them 
 tones that are almost like speaking. My 
 husband's mother used to play in that 
 way." 
 
 " Oh yes ; I know exactly what you mean. 
 Lady Emily, too, played like that. Wlien I 
 was a child it was my delight to sit by the 
 pianoforte and listen to her playing. I could 
 have fancied she had velvet at the end of her 
 fingers, and one tune followed another as if a 
 bird was sino-ino;. I like that so much better 
 than pieces and variations ; it made me feel 
 as if I was myself the instrument played upon. 
 I do hope there will be a great deal of music 
 in heaven. Do you think there will ? " 
 
 I suppose all that is beautiful and 
 
 it
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 169 
 
 charmiDg on earth is a foresliadowing of the 
 enjoyments of heaven : as beautiful scenery, 
 I often think, must be a rehc of Paradise. 
 But Holy Scripture says that we can make to 
 ourselves no idea of heaven." 
 
 *' Almost everybody that believes there 
 is a heaven seems to make sure of going- 
 there." 
 
 "Too sure, perhaps." 
 
 " Have you ever met with anybody who 
 really longed to leave this world, not because 
 they were unhappy in it, but because they 
 wished to go to heaven ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know that many do, and I have 
 seen it myself in one instance." 
 
 " Was it a young or an old person ? " 
 
 "A young person." 
 
 "And one who was happy on earth ? " 
 
 " She had known much sorrow, but it had 
 passed away, and at last she had everything to 
 make her happy " 
 
 " Ah, but that is different from being- 
 happy!" 
 
 Mrs. Sydney smiled sadly. " You are 
 right ; but I think my sister, for it is of her I 
 am speaking, was happy during the last years
 
 5) 
 
 170 Jlfrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 of lier life ; but still slic longed, intensely 
 longed, for heaven." 
 
 "Are you speaking of tliat beautiful Mrs. 
 Neville, whom Mrs. Gerald told us was the 
 loveliest person she ever knew.' 
 
 " Yes ; she was my sister.' 
 
 " Was she not called Ginevra ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I ought not perhaps to have asked 
 you about her." 
 
 " Why not ? I like to speak of those who 
 are gone before us, and I feel nearer to her 
 now than when she was on earth. Then 
 we had not the same faith. Though I do not 
 see her now, it seems to me as if we Avere 
 more closely united." 
 
 " You are a Roman Catholic ? " 
 
 "Yes; I was received into the Church 
 two years after my sister's death." 
 
 "Is it as great a change as one fancies 
 ti must be? " 
 
 " An immense change certainly, but not 
 of the sort many people imagine." 
 
 " What do you think they imagine ? " 
 
 Mrs. Sydney smiled, and said, " That, 
 for instance, we cease to care for our
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 171 
 
 relatives ; that we tMnk it right to tell 
 untruths and to betray confidence. I was 
 asked by a very dear friend, a few days after 
 my conversion, if I should think it my 
 duty to show all her letters to my con- 
 fessor." 
 
 Ita, too, could not help smiling. " It 
 would be hard work," she said, "for con- 
 fessors to read over all the letters some 
 ladies write and receive; but what is the 
 great change that you do feel ? " 
 
 "It would be impossible to answer that 
 question in a few words. It is like setting 
 foot on dry ground after slipping about in a 
 bog, or like the clearing off of a mist and 
 getting into sunshine. It is like laying hold 
 of something real after grasping at shadows. 
 Yes, it is a great change." 
 
 " And has it made you happier ? " 
 
 " It has given me a happiness which I 
 believe none but Catholics know. I was very 
 happy as a girl ; very, very happy as a wife ; 
 but I had no idea of what real joy is till I 
 became a Catholic." 
 
 " But good Protestants say they are quite 
 happy and satisfied with their religion."
 
 172 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 " Yes ; but is it not because tliey do not 
 know what it is to be in the true Church ? I 
 used to say the same thing in former days ; I 
 remember often telHng my dearest Ginevra, 
 who had always been a CathoHc, that I was 
 sure I had the same consolations and helps in 
 my religion as she had in hers. She could not 
 know, I said, what I felt, and so how could 
 she tell. But when my husband became a 
 Catholic, he who had always been a good 
 pious Protestant, not belonging to any 
 extreme party, but acknowledged by all to be 
 a thoroughly good man — when he assured me 
 that since he had made the chano-e he had 
 never had a doubt as to the truth of the 
 Catholic religion, and found in it helps and 
 consolations he had never dreamt of before, 
 I could not but be influenced by what he 
 said." 
 
 "And now you can judge for yourself? " 
 " Now I can remember and compare. 
 Suppose a child had been born and brought 
 up in a dark room, and had never gone out of 
 it. He might be quite satisfied, l)ccause, not 
 having ever known anything different, he 
 could not possibly form an idea of the beauties
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 173 
 
 of earth, sea, and sky, or desire anything 
 beyond what his prison could afford " 
 
 " He might have perhaps some vague 
 yearnings, an undefined, restless pining for 
 light and fresh air, even if he was not 
 exactly conscious of it " 
 
 " Perhaps so. And have not some 
 persons a feeling in their souls which would 
 answer in a spiritual sense to what you 
 describe ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think they sometimes have. I 
 wonder if the child would listen if a stranger 
 came and talked to him of the world and its 
 beauties." 
 
 " I should tlnnk that would partly depend 
 on the child's character, and partly on what 
 had been instilled into his mind since his 
 birth. If his nurse and companions had 
 always kept repeating that outside those four 
 walls everything was bad, deceitful, and 
 poisonous, and that those who would try to 
 take him out of prison were knaves or fools, 
 that were either deluded themselves, or were 
 endeavouring to deceive him by speaking of 
 green fields, fair flowers, and starry skies, he 
 would probably stop his ears whenever they
 
 *•&■■ 
 ii 
 
 ii 
 
 174 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 approached him, or, if obhged to listen, would 
 answer, * I know better than you do what a 
 horrid place you live in.' " 
 
 " I do think it is odd that people are not 
 more inclined to attend to the opinion of 
 those who have made the trial of both 
 religions." 
 
 I suppose you are a Protestant ?" 
 Yes ; that is if I am anything at all. 
 I have lived entirely abroad, and was not 
 taught a great deal about religion whilst I 
 was a child. Since I have been grown up, 
 and have come to England, I find that English 
 clergymen do not agree at all amongst them- 
 selves. One person tells me I am a Protes- 
 tant ; another a Cathohc. One says the Bible 
 is everything ; another the Prayer-book. 
 Some tell one to beware of Eome and Eoman 
 Catholicism, as if they were the devil ; others 
 say they want to make the Church of England 
 as like the Roman Catholic Church as possi- 
 ble, and be reunited to it. Sometimes I hear 
 that the Anghcan Church is the onty Catholic 
 Church in this country, and sometimes that 
 it is only a branch of the Universal Church. 
 It is very puzzling. One clergyman told me
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 175 
 
 tliat the clergyman in the next parish to his 
 had estabhshed an idolatrous form of worship; 
 and, when I repeated this to Mr. Hendon, he 
 said that that other clergyman says ours is a 
 downright heretic. I tried to find out what 
 the Prayer-book teaches ; but that is worse 
 than all. In one place it says one thing, and 
 another in another. I cannot make it out at 
 all. I began to think that the prayers — a 
 good many of them at least — were like those 
 in the Catholic Prayer-books, and that, per- 
 haps, it came nearly to the same ; but when 
 I looked at the Thirty- Nine Articles it seemed 
 quite a different religion. I said this to a 
 Miss Conway, whom I met at Holmwood, and 
 she tried to explain to me that everybody 
 signed them — all the clergy at least' — but that 
 they did not understand them in their natural 
 sense ; and that it was for the sake of peace 
 that they had been drawn up, so that people 
 might subscribe them, and yet believe as 
 they pleased. Do not you think it is very 
 puzzling?" 
 
 " So puzzling, that it is really impossible 
 to believe that such a Church can be a church 
 at all."
 
 176 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 " I thouglit at one moment I would be a 
 real good, quiet Protestant, and think of 
 notliing but what the Bible said. But this 
 was worse still. I could not read it without 
 thinking who was right and who was wrong ; 
 some texts seemed to tell one way and others 
 another. I thought there were Catholic texts 
 and Protestant texts ; and one day I could 
 not help fancying the Unitarians were right, 
 and this made me very unhappy." 
 
 " What made you think so ?" 
 
 " That text, ' My Father is greater than 
 I,' and I could not find anything positive 
 about the Three Persons of the Holy Trinity 
 being equal: It made me wretched, for I 
 could not bear to think as those people do — 
 they seem hardly to be Christians." 
 
 " Did you keep all these thoughts to your- 
 self?" 
 
 " Yes. What was the use of talking 
 about them ? I had not often opportunities 
 of speaking of such things to people ; but, if 
 I did, they only told me it was right to be- 
 lieve in their way ; and how was I to know that 
 they knew better than those who said just the 
 contrary ? I have spent miserable hours by
 
 Mrs. G£rald's Niece. 177 
 
 myself reading some parts of the Bible wliicli 
 made me quite miserable ; for instance, what 
 St. Paul says about predestination; and 
 then again the idea of eternity, even a happy 
 eternity, used to give me a giddy, aching, 
 terrible sensation which was almost unbear- 
 able. I have suffered a great deal in these 
 ways. I do not know if other children feel 
 as I did ; but what I do know is, that if it 
 had not been that other things distracted my 
 thoughts, I should have been almost driven 
 wild by all those doubts. Sometimes the 
 thought came (and that was the worst of all), 
 that I did not believe in anything, and then 
 I felt so dreadfully wicked !" 
 
 " But are you troubled with those doubts 
 now ?" 
 
 " No ; not since a lady, who hved near us 
 at Mentone, lent me a Httle French Cathohc 
 book, in which I found that thoudits of that 
 kind, if we detested them, were not wicked. 
 When I was not so frightened about them, 
 they went away ; and then if I went into a 
 Catholic church I could always pray; it 
 seemed as if God was near me, as if I felt His 
 presence " 
 
 VOL. I. 32
 
 178 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 "He wrt.9 there," Mrs. Sydney murmured 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " How strange it is tliat I should sjDeak 
 to you in this way," Ita said, suddenly 
 astonished at her unreserve towards a 
 stranger. " I wonder what makes me do it." 
 
 " Perhaps it may be God's will you 
 should ; perhaps He means me to be of use 
 to you. I never went through the trials you 
 have done in childhood and early youth. I 
 took everything for granted, and never ques- 
 tioned the truth of what I had been tauQ^ht. 
 I was pained when my sister came home at 
 her being a Catholic, but still I troubled my- 
 self very little on the subject. It was vexa- 
 tious, I thought, that she did not come to 
 church with us, and that was all. I think 
 the chano-e in her husband struck me more 
 than anything else — more than her patience 
 through a long trial — more than her holy life 
 and death. I have seen a great many good 
 and pious Protestants, but I have never seen 
 a person who had been proud, selfish, hard, 
 worldly, become, under the influence of reli- 
 gion, so entirely changed as was the case with 
 my brother-in-law after his conversion, and I
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 179 
 
 scarcely think such miracles of grace occur 
 except in the Catholic Church." 
 
 " Is not Mr. Neville now a priest ?" 
 
 " Yes J and a most devoted and hard- 
 working one. Ever since his wife's death he 
 has had but one object and one thought." 
 
 "To do good?" 
 
 " YeSj the highest sort of good — to make 
 men know and love our Lord." 
 
 " Where is he now ?" 
 
 " In one of the poorest districts in Lon- 
 don, in the midst of his L^ish fellow-country- 
 men. When I look back and think of the 
 days when we first knew him, it seems incre- 
 dible. He always says he has so m^uch to 
 atone for. You have heard perhaps of the 
 strange mamier in which his marriage with my 
 sister was concealed for some time, and the 
 reason of that secresy ?" 
 
 " Yes, I heard Mr. Hendon speak of it 
 some years ago when he came to see us at 
 Mentone, and Mrs. Gerald the other day 
 reminded me of it." 
 
 " He often says he is not worthy to be a 
 priest, but he is so good and humble now. 
 He thinks Ginevra's life was shortened by the
 
 180 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 
 
 sufferings slie went tlirougli during those 
 terrible years, and the onl\^ thought which 
 comforts him is that all that misery increased 
 her holiness and merits." 
 
 "You must have found it difficult to 
 forgive him. I think that must be the 
 hardest thing in the world to bear, seeing 
 those we love ill-used." 
 
 " So it is, but in this case I did not know 
 how cruelly he had acted towards my sister, 
 till his own grief and repentance compelled 
 me to pity and forgive him." 
 
 Just at that moment Lady Emma began 
 playing again, and the conversation was 
 interrupted. Ita gave a little sigh, and 
 turned J towards the pianoforte with a look 
 of resiofnation. She was charmed with Mrs. 
 Sydney in the way young girls are apt to be 
 with an attractive married woman, much 
 older than themselves. She delighted in the 
 bright smile, the pleasant voice, the kind, 
 unaffected manner of her new friend. The 
 history of her sister's singular marriage and 
 early death, which had made a deep impres- 
 sion upon her some years before, invested 
 Mrs. Sydney herself with a kind of romantic
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 181 
 
 interest in her eyes. Slie longed to go on 
 talking to lier of Mrs. Neville, but there did 
 not occur another opportunity that evening. 
 After the music was over some of the gentle- 
 men came up to the sofa where they were 
 sitting, and amongst them Lord Carsdown 
 and Sir John Leislip, who had been playing 
 at billiards, and discussing the looks of the 
 young ladies who had arrived that day. 
 
 "What do you think of the heiress?" 
 Lord Carsdown had asked his friend. 
 
 " She is rather handsome, but she does 
 not look distinguished," Sir John replied 
 whilst he chalked his cue. 
 
 "Well, I should say she was particularly 
 distinguished-looking. She has a magnificent 
 figure, and such a fine open countenance." 
 
 " But such large hands ! and such a 
 wide mouth ! That other girl — I forget her 
 name — who came with them, she is pretty 
 enough, with her soft brown eyes and merry 
 laugh." 
 
 " Yes, she has a nice little fiice." 
 
 " Is she the other's dame de coiiipagnie ?^' 
 
 " No, she is a niece, or ward, or some- 
 thing of that sort, of Lady Emily Hendon's.'
 
 182 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 " She lias plenty to say for herself. I 
 like talkmg to girls who are just come out, if 
 they are quick." 
 
 " Fast, you mean ? " 
 
 " No, quick, not fast— nothing is more 
 different." 
 
 " I thought they were synonymous 
 words." 
 
 " No, not when applied to girls." 
 
 When the game was finished, the two young 
 men and Mr. Sydney, who had been looking 
 on, moved to the part of the room where Ita 
 was sitting with Mrs. Sydney. 
 
 "Miss Flower," Lord Carsdown said, 
 " What do you think of Miss Derwent's 
 looks ? Leislip and I have been differing on 
 that point." 
 
 " I like her face so much," Ita rejolied, 
 " that I can hardly tell if I admire it ; and yet 
 I am pretty sure I do think her very hand- 
 some, and she is such a nice girl." 
 
 " Is she ? Is it true that she is enfjao'ed 
 to a cousin of hers, one Edgar Derwent, as 
 our forefathers would have said ? " 
 
 " I have never heard it from herself or 
 Mrs. Gerald, but I know it is reported."
 
 M7'8. GerakVii Niece. 183 
 
 " For my part, I think it is very unfair," 
 Lord Carsdowii said, "to hand over a o-irl 
 in that way to a cousin without even 
 giving her the opportunity of seeing other 
 people." 
 
 " I am sure Annie would never be handed 
 over to anybody. She would know her own 
 mind as well as any one in the world. If she 
 is going to marry Mr. Derwent, it must be 
 that she likes him." 
 
 " But if she has not seen much of other 
 people," Sir John said, '* she may meet, when 
 she goes into society, with those she would 
 have hked better." 
 
 Ita shook her head with an impatient 
 little gesture which was peculiar to her, and 
 exclaimed : " Xow, really, if you did not mind 
 my saying so, I think that idea is such a 
 very . . . ." 
 
 "Very foohsh one," Sir John said with 
 a smile. 
 
 " Well, yes, I think so," Ita replied ; " be- 
 cause, unless a person could see at once all the 
 people she was ever to meet, the same thing 
 might always happen. I suppose it is loving 
 one person very much that prevents the pos-
 
 184 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 sibility of liking another ; do not you think 
 so, Mrs. Sydney? " 
 
 " Yes, as long as the feeling lasts ; but as 
 it may change, the only real security consists 
 in the principle of duty which makes a woman 
 love only where she ought to love." 
 
 " Then you agree with me, and not with 
 Sir John ? " 
 
 " No, not quite. I should think it de- 
 sirable for a girl to see something of society 
 before she marries, not exactly for the reason 
 he mentions, but because, without it, she 
 can hardly judge whether the character and 
 tastes of her future husband are likely to suit 
 her or not." 
 
 Sir John remarked, " I have heard people 
 say that the more dissimilar they are the 
 better." 
 
 "I cannot believe that," Ita answered. 
 " Of course, if people had the same faults, it 
 would be very bad ; and yet I do not know. 
 Two misers would get on better than a gene- 
 rous husband and a stingy wife." 
 
 " They might quarrel less," Mr. Sydney 
 said, laughing; "but then they might die of 
 starvation."
 
 Mrs. Gerald'.^ Niece. 185 
 
 "What do you think, Mrs. Sydney?" 
 Lord Carsdown asked. " Ever since I can 
 remember, I have heard you and Mr. Sydney 
 quoted as the happiest couple in the world, 
 so you ought to be good authority. Are your 
 tastes and characters ahke ? " 
 
 Mrs. Sydney turned her dark blue eyes 
 on her husband with a look of unmistakable 
 affection, and said : "Are they, Walter ? " 
 
 "No, my dear, decidedly not," he 
 answered with an amused smile; "but as 
 you would marry an old man like me, you 
 knew what you had to expect." 
 
 " You mean that I like to dine out 
 and you do not, and all that sort of thing ? 
 You would never go beyond j^our library 
 and your garden if you could help it ; but 
 it is very good for you to be dragged out 
 sometimes, and to be obliged to do what I 
 like." 
 
 " There," Sir John cried out, " there is 
 dissimilarity of taste working well. We are 
 getting to the root of the matter." 
 
 " But in some respects I have already 
 seen that you and Mr. Sydney are alike," Ita 
 said.
 
 186 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 it 
 
 Indeed, wliat have you observed hi 
 
 us?" 
 
 " First, that you have both happy faces — 
 there is one hkeness ; and then this : when 
 a servant spilt some sauce on Mr. Sydney's 
 arm and hand at dinner, he managed to hide 
 it so quickly that nobody, and hardly the 
 servant himself, noticed it ; and after dinner, 
 when Lady Rockcastle made a blunder and 
 confounded together Charlemagne and Charles 
 the Fifth, you, Mrs. Sydney, set her right so 
 cleverly, that it only seemed as if she had said 
 one word for another by mistake. I am sure 
 you are both kind, and that must be a great 
 comfort. It would be dreadful to see any one 
 we loved giving pain to others." 
 
 "And yet it is sometimes right to give 
 pain," Mr. Sydney said. 
 
 Oh, very seldom, I hope." 
 What dreadfully quick eyes you 
 must have. Miss Flower," Sir John said. 
 " If you see people's merits so quickly, 
 you must be equally observant of their 
 faults." 
 
 " Yes, I am ; and there are two persons 
 in this room I cannot endure." 

 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 187 
 
 " Do mention who they are, or I shall 
 think I am one." 
 
 " Oh no, not you. One of them is 
 that man who is speaking to Lady 
 Emma." 
 
 "Mr. Lorton?" 
 
 " Yes. The name of the other person I 
 will not mention, because I may perhaps 
 change my mind." 
 
 " That's right," Mr. Sydney said. " La 
 Eochefoucauld said we ought to live with our 
 fi'iends as if they were to be one day our 
 enemies. A more Christian maxim would be 
 to speak of every one as if he might one day 
 be our friend." 
 
 " Nothing I am sure would ever make me 
 like Mr. Lorton, he looks like the man who 
 bothered Harry Hotspur ' when the fight was 
 done.' " 
 
 " He is, in his way, as quick an observer 
 as you are. Miss Flower." 
 
 " Then I do not only dislike, I quite hate 
 him." 
 
 '* Ah, there is an instance of similitude of 
 character producing hatred. You and Lorton 
 should not marry."
 
 188 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! Who could marry sucli 
 a man ?" 
 
 " Lady Emma Cars is supposed to bo 
 thinking of it." 
 
 " Lady Emma ! Oh, tlien, what is the use 
 of her looking so proud ? ]' thought she was 
 like Lady Clara Yere de Yere. I wisli she 
 would break Mr. Lorton's heart." 
 
 "I doubt his having one." 
 
 " Ohj come !" Mrs. Sydney exclaimed, 
 " you young people are very unmerciful. 
 Hearts often lie hidden deeper than you 
 know of." 
 
 Sir John looked earnestly at Ita, and said, 
 " Do you think you know wdien people have 
 hearts or not?" 
 
 " I guess sometimes," she answered, a 
 little blush and a bright smile dimpling over 
 her sweet face. 
 
 " Oh, that horrid procession !" Sir John 
 exclaimed, as Lady Carsdale got up and led 
 the way to the table, where a long array of 
 flat candlesticks stood. " What a barbarous 
 custom it is for people all to go to bed at the 
 same time, whether they like it or not. We 
 were just beginning to be pleasant, and now
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 189 
 
 you must perform wliat a foreigner called * the 
 English ceremony of walking upstairs with 
 a candle in your hand.' He brought his 
 own down the next morning, thinking that 
 part of the function. Good-night, Miss 
 Flower."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 On tlie following day Mrs. Gerald's headache 
 was better ; and, after breakfast, she came 
 down to the drawing-room. Lady Carsdale 
 greeted her with the assurance that everybody 
 was enchanted with Annie. It might be so, 
 but, as far as appearances went, it was Ita 
 who seemed to be the favourite with most 
 people. Even Lady Emma, to the annoyance 
 of some of the party, seemed determined 
 to monopolize her ; she carried her off to 
 her own room and, after detailing some 
 of her plans for improving the neighbour- 
 hood, told her of several things she ought to 
 make Mr. Hendon attend to at Marchbanks. 
 
 " But I can't make him do anything," Ita 
 expostulated. 
 
 " That must be because you do not set 
 about it in the right manner. Where there
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 191 
 
 is a will, there is a way. I am sure if I was 
 staying in liis house as you are, I could 
 manage it." 
 
 *' But then, you see. Lady Emma, you are 
 yourself, and I am myself." 
 
 " But I can tell you how to set about it ; 
 if you have not tried, of course you have not 
 succeeded. He ought to have a school under 
 Government ; the number of children is suffi- 
 cient, and it is the only way of securing a 
 really good education. And then he ought to 
 build more cottao-es and not to allow lodo-ers. 
 
 o o 
 
 As to the Church, it is quite disgraceful to 
 see it filled up with those horrid pews ; such 
 a scandal ought not to be allowed in these 
 days." 
 
 " Why is it worse in these days than in 
 any other days, Lady Emma ?" 
 
 "Because people ought to know better." 
 
 " But I don't see why I should know 
 better than Mr. Hendon and the clergyman." 
 
 Lady Emma's countenance seemed to 
 imply, though she did not utter the words, 
 "jSTot you, indeed, but J." However, she 
 only said, " Because .... because it stands 
 to reason that it is a great abuse for rich
 
 102 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 people to enjoy tliese sort of privileges. There 
 ought to be equality in the house of God, 
 every reasonable person must see this ; but 
 Mr. Hendon belongs to a class of men . . . ." 
 
 What class Ita was not destined to hear, 
 for at that moment Lord Carsdown burst into 
 his sister's room to inquire what were her 
 plans for the day. He was charmed to find 
 Ita in what he called Emma's den, and she was 
 very glad the conversation was interrupted. 
 Tlie task of lecturing Mr. Hendon about the 
 state of the parish of Marchbanks, did not 
 at all take her fancy. 
 
 "Will you drive to Grantley Manor, 
 Em ? Mrs. Sydney wants to go and see 
 how her tribe of children get on without her, 
 or had you rather . . . ." 
 
 "Anywhere but to Grantley Manor," 
 Lady Emma said, in a sharp voice. 
 
 Ita's eyes had brightened. She had taken 
 what Annie called an enthusiasm about Mrs. 
 Sydney, and would have enjoyed nothing so 
 much as to have driven with her to Grantley 
 Manor. 
 
 "You can take some of the company if 
 you like to the Roman Camp," Lord Cars-
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 193 
 
 down said, " for there are to be two sets of 
 carriages. AYliicli party will you belong to, 
 Miss Flower?" 
 
 Ita was longing to say what she really 
 wished, but was afraid it would not be civil 
 to Lady Emma ; and, whilst she hesitated, 
 the latter pronounced the verdict, " She ought 
 to see the Roman camp." 
 
 Ita began to think that if she lived much 
 with Lady Emma it would make her like to 
 do everything she ought not. But she was 
 made to be in one respect Lady Carsdale's 
 beau ideal, she never made a fuss about any- 
 thing, and so remained doomed to the Roman 
 camp. Lord Carsdown was fidgeting about 
 the room, and looking at the weekly papers 
 which were lying on the table. " I say, 
 Emmy," he exclaimed, " I don't understand 
 your High Church people. Here I find one of 
 your favourite organs — is not that the word ? 
 — speaking of the decayed carcase of Pro- 
 testantism ; and another calling the Bishop 
 
 of a good-natured old Pagan. I wonder 
 
 what you w^ould have said if poor Mrs. Syd 
 had used such expressions." 
 
 "I do not defend the expressions, but it 
 
 Vol. I. IJ
 
 194 Mrs. GeralcV>< Niece. 
 
 is natural to feel strongly when one of our 
 own bishops promulgates heresy." 
 
 " They had better make nou a bishop, 
 Emmy. It has always been your hobby to 
 set everything to rights." 
 
 " There is a great deal that wants sotting 
 to rights." 
 
 " I dare say there is. . Mrs. Harper's wig, 
 for instance ; it comes down so low on her 
 forehead, that it makes her eyes look un- 
 naturally sharp. By Jove, what a woman 
 that is for talking ! She is anxious to find 
 out. Miss Flower, if you are related to a 
 Mr. Flower she knew abroad. So you must 
 prepare to be cross-examined about your 
 cousins three or four times removed." 
 
 Ita coloured, and said nothing. 
 
 "•' Why is not Mr. Harman arrived, Em ? 
 I thought he was to come yesterday." 
 
 *' So he was, but something or other 
 prevented him happily." 
 
 " Uajojnhj ? I tliink he is a very pleasant 
 sort of man. Why don't you like him ?" 
 
 " He talks, but he docs not converse ; I 
 always feel that he would say just the same 
 things if he was speaking to any one else
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 195 
 
 as lie does to me, and I cannot bear 
 that." 
 
 " I say that is all pride. Those who 
 have the honour of speaking to you must 
 bear it in mind all the time, I suppose." 
 
 " I like people to know whom they are 
 speaking to." 
 
 " That they may treat you with due 
 respect ?" 
 
 " No ; but I expect them to think of 
 what I say as well as what they say, and 
 that is what Mr. Harman never does." 
 
 " I hope I thought of what you said at 
 dinner, Miss Flower, yesterday, as well as of 
 what I said, as that is the right thing." 
 
 *' Oh, yes, you repeated everything I 
 said," Ita innocently answered. 
 
 " With the addition of ' By Jove,' " Lady 
 Emma added. 
 
 Lord Carsdown reddened a little. " You 
 are so confoundedly sharp. It is very hard on 
 a man to have a clever elder sister. By the 
 way, what are the essays about this month ? 
 Has Em enrolled you in her literary 
 society, Miss Flower? There are I don't 
 know how many 3'ourig ladies wlic look upon
 
 196 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 lier as an oracle. They write monthly 
 essays, and she judges of the merits of these 
 compositions, and cuts out what she pleases. 
 She is a great tyrant in her way, is Em. 
 Don't knock under to her too much ; she 
 will rule you with an iron rod, if you don't 
 take care. Come, what are the essays about 
 this month? The likelihood of the moon 
 being inhabited, or the character of Jack the 
 Giant-killer?" 
 
 "You may talk as much nonsense as you 
 please. There is more ability in what my 
 friends write than in anything you and your 
 friends have ever written." 
 
 " As far as I am concerned, I dare say ; 
 but I don't see why you should abuse my 
 friends. There is Edgar Derwent, for in- 
 stance ; he is a fellow who would write you 
 all down in a minute. Do you know him. 
 Miss Flower ?" 
 
 *' No ; but I have often heard of him at 
 Holmwood. He is going into the Church, I 
 believe." 
 
 "And is he going to marry Miss 
 Derwent ?" 
 
 " I do not know ; people say so."
 
 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 197 
 
 " I cannot make lier out," Ladj Emma 
 said. 
 
 " There is nothing in her to make out," 
 Ita answered. " She is what she looks — 
 good, honest, and true." 
 
 " Mr. Lorton thinks her hke one of 
 Murillo's Madonnas — the same kind of laro-e 
 deep eyes and broad forehead. Well, I 
 must go and order the carriages. You have 
 booked Miss Flower, then, for the Roman 
 camp ?" 
 
 " Not if she would like better to go with 
 the others. I always wish people to do what 
 they please." 
 
 Lady Emma thought she was speaking 
 the truth. There is a wonderful deal of 
 unconscious lying in the world ! 
 
 Ita said, " The Roman camp must be 
 very interesting." Perhaps she should have 
 said ought to be so, for at that moment 
 she certainly did not feel any particular 
 interest on the subject. 
 
 "When the carriages drove up to the door 
 after luncheon, [she found that Mrs. Gerald, 
 Annie, Mrs. Sydney, and Sir John Leislip 
 were going in one of them to Grantley
 
 198 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 Manor ; and that slie was to drive with Lady 
 Emma, Mrs. Harper, and Mr. Lorton in the 
 other to the Roman camp. Her heart sank 
 a httle within her at that arrangement ; the 
 other party would have been so much the 
 Dleasantest. How keen are those little dis- 
 appointments which stand, as it were, mid- 
 way between the miseries of childhood and 
 the real sorrows of life. Lord Carsdown was 
 on the box, and he could hardly help smiling 
 when he overheard Mrs. Harper seizing the 
 opportunity, before they were out of the 
 park, of saying to her opposite neighbour in 
 an insinuating voice — 
 
 " I wonder, Miss Flower, if you are 
 related to dear old Mr. Flower, whom I knew 
 at Naples some years ago ?" 
 
 " No, I am not," Ita answered. 
 
 " Oh, I thought it likely you were, as you 
 have lived so much abroad. It was not 
 then at Naples that you were brought 
 
 up f 
 
 " No ; I have never been there." 
 " But you were born in Italy ? " 
 " No, not exactly," Ita answered, blushing 
 
 very deeply; she thought Mrs. Harper one
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 199 
 
 of the most disagreeable women she had ever 
 met with. 
 
 " I remember, some years ago, when I 
 was travelling along the Corniche, that Lady 
 Emily Hendon's villa was pointed out to me 
 on a height, a little above the road, near a 
 little chapel, before arriving at Mentone. 
 But, somehow, I fancied she must have been 
 at Naples also, and that you were the 
 daughter or niece of my old friend. Flower 
 is not a common name ; I never knew any 
 one called so except him, and now you. Is 
 Ita your Christian name ? 
 
 " My name is Margaret.' 
 
 " Ah, Margarita ! " Mr. Lorton cried ; 
 " Ita is a pretty diminutive. I suppose you 
 speak Italian fluently ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know Italian." 
 
 Mrs. Harper was not satisfied. "What 
 was the name of the villa you lived in near 
 Mentone?" 
 
 " The Villa Sant Anna ; but it was oftener 
 called the Villa Hendon." 
 
 " I suppose your earliest recollections are 
 of that place ? " 
 
 No answer was made to this remark. 
 
 59
 
 200 Mrs. (ierahVs Niece. 
 
 " There is nothing about which people 
 are more different," Lady Emma said, " than 
 in tlie power of recollecting' their own child- 
 hood. I can call to mind all sorts of things 
 that happened when I was in the nnrserv." 
 
 " Do you look back to childhood as a 
 golden age ? " Mr. Lorton asked. 
 
 " Far from it. I have always been sceptical 
 about the happiness of children. How can 
 the subjects of the most irresponsible power 
 in the world be happy ? I know of no more 
 absolute tyranny than that of the school- 
 room." 
 
 " Is not the despotism of a woman who 
 knows her own power and uses it without 
 mercy, still m^ore tyrannical ? " Mr. Lorton 
 asked, folding his arms, and trying to look 
 sentimental. 
 
 Lady Emma laughed, and Ita felt pro- 
 voked with them both. 
 
 "Has Lady Emily given up her villa 
 abroad?" Mrs. Harper inquired. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then I suppose you will return to the 
 South next winter r " 
 
 " I suppose so."
 
 3[rs. Gerald's Niece. 201 
 
 "What self-control the world teaches ; how 
 like virtue are its requirements at times. Ita 
 could not help feeling angry at Mrs. Harper's 
 pertinacious curiosity ; but necessity com- 
 pelled her to show her impatience only by 
 the brevity of her answers and a troubled 
 look, which none of her companions noticed. 
 She was left to the mercy of her opposite 
 neighbour's inquisitiveness, for Lady Emma 
 and Mr. Lorton kept up an animated con- 
 versation between themselves. Ita could not 
 at all understand the pleasure Lady Emma 
 seemed to take in that gentleman's society ; 
 for though she was not very much charmed 
 with what she had seen of her, it struck 
 her, nevertheless, that she was too good 
 to take an interest in the vapid talk of 
 a person who seemed to care for nothing but 
 the emptiest worldly gossip. She thought of 
 the schools, the essays, the parish reforms, 
 and wondered what points of sympathy could 
 exist between them. There are enigmas of 
 this kind which often puzzle us ; it requires 
 some knowleds^e of character to solve them. 
 Ladv Emma had a cravino- for admiration, 
 joined to a pride which would not suffer her
 
 202 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 to appear to court it. She was not hand- 
 some, and felt early that she must seek 
 distinction more by her merits than her 
 attractions. She took therefore a line of her 
 own, and became a person looked up to by a 
 certain number of friends and acquaintances, 
 who made much of her, as the centre of a 
 small pliilanthropic and hterary circle. Her 
 position, her activity, her not inconsider- 
 able amount of talent, which, tliough it did not 
 amount to genius, rose above mediocrity, 
 enabled her to play a part amongst those who 
 were exactly of the same way of thinking as 
 herself. She had not the gift of winning 
 others, or of moulding them ; they must be 
 made to her hand, and, in that case, she 
 ruled them absolutely. What Lady Emma 
 said, or Lady Emma wrote, formed the 
 opinions of her own particular set of asso- 
 ciates and readers, almost as much as the 
 leadino; articles of the " Times " 2:uide those 
 of the English public. This acknowledgment 
 of her power and homage to her superiority 
 gratified, but did not quite satisfy, her restless 
 desire for admiration. Nobody liad ever 
 fallen in love with her, and when Mr. Lorton
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece, 203 
 
 did, or at any rate professed to do so, the 
 iilm which so often forms itself over a 
 woman's eyes concealed from her all his im- 
 perfections and his entire want of sympathy 
 with all she had hitherto cared about. It 
 seemed to open to her a different view of life, 
 it was quite a new excitement. It is said that 
 Madame de Stael declared she would rather 
 have been a beautiful woman than have pos- 
 sessed all the genius she was gifted with. If 
 this is true, it would go far to show how little 
 genius without religion can exalt the soul. 
 We cannot imao-ine Madame Swetchine, or 
 even Euo-enie de Gruerin in the humble 
 obscurity of her decayed old manoir, uttering 
 such a sentiment, l^either of these enjoyed 
 in life the prestige of a hterary reputation ; 
 they never knew the good they would do 
 to thousands and thousands of readers, but 
 they would never have compared for a 
 moment the gratification of conscious beauty 
 with the intellectual gifts which gave to their 
 goodness so great a charm, and to their 
 lives so deep an interest. There is but one 
 thing greater on earth than genius — and that 
 is holiness ; united they work miracles. And
 
 20-i Mrs, Gerahlh Niece. 
 
 genius lies hid in strange corners, it lurks 
 ^liere it never lias had, and perhaps never 
 will have, opportunities of expanding. In 
 our days it does not remain buried in 
 obscurity as frequently as heretofore, l)ut cir- 
 cumstances, idleness, or humility still conceal 
 in many instances its existence. Is it not 
 suppressed genius that makes some people 
 so charming, and others so disagreeable ? In 
 the former it finds an outlet in happy ways of 
 amusing, cheering, and helping people ; or in 
 a gaiety and originality, which gi^es to their 
 conversation an indescribable fascination. 
 It betrays itself in their talent for em- 
 bellishing a home, planning a garden, and 
 even arranging flowers. It explains the un- 
 accountable influence they exercise; it is a 
 fire which warms and brightens all within its 
 reach. In the latter case it acts like a 
 suppressed moral gout, and makes life almost 
 unendurable. If these kind of geniuses wrote 
 books, their families would be happier; but, 
 in the former case, let those who rejoice in 
 their sunshine pray that they may never set 
 pen to paper. 
 
 Ita had perhaps a little touch of genius in
 
 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 205 
 
 her composition, unused except for loving 
 and social purposes. One of the characteris- 
 tics of this hidden fire is enjoyment of beauty 
 in nature and art, and quick sympathy with 
 everything that works on the imagination. 
 When the carriage stopped on the brow of 
 the hill where the remains stand of what had 
 once been a Roman camp, her heart swelled 
 with delight at the glorious view before her, 
 and at that thought which to some people 
 is full of strange emotion, that the very 
 scenery before her was gazed upon in days of 
 yore by men with whom we have at once so 
 little and so much in common. The day was 
 perfectly beautiful — a true lovely English 
 day — the sweet short grass of the Downs 
 scented with wild thyme ; the woods below 
 the height which they had reached already 
 displaying their bright autumnal tints ; the 
 heather and the gorse in gold and purple 
 radiance adorning the waste patches of lands 
 between the masses of forest trees. " I 
 wonder if the Eomans admired all this as 
 much as we do!" she exclaimed; " did they 
 write much about scenery in their books ?" 
 '•' There, Emmy," Lord Carsdown ex-
 
 206 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 
 
 claimed, "let that be the subject of your 
 next essays. The comparative appreciation 
 of .... of scenery shall it be, Miss Flower ? 
 or of the beauties of nature, by the Ancients 
 and the Moderns ?" 
 
 " You are coming out quite in a new line, 
 brother,'" Lady Emma said; "you will soon 
 write an essay yourself." 
 
 " Did not Virgil write some very beautiful 
 thing's ?" Ita asked. 
 
 "I should think he did," Lady Emma 
 answered with rather a scornful smile. 
 
 " But what I want to know is, whether 
 those old poets admired wild scenery. Do 
 not they talk of rocks, and mountains, and 
 precipices as of something horrid, and only 
 of cornfields and orchards as somethino- 
 beautiful ? I wonder what makes the dif- 
 ference between their idea of beauty and 
 ours." 
 
 "As to precipices," Mr. Lorton exclaimed, 
 " I rather agree with them ; but for goodness' 
 sake let us see what is to be seen, and leave 
 the Romans alone." 
 
 What was to be seen happened to be some 
 pieces of tessellated pavement in very good
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 207 
 
 preservation, and mounds of grass wliich had 
 once been fortifications. These remains were 
 glanced at; and "how queer!" "how 
 pretty!" and "is that all?" were the 
 exclamations of those of the party who had 
 never been there before. Lady Emma and 
 Lord Carsdown treated the Roman encamp- 
 ment like an old friend that was not to be too 
 much depreciated, nor yet too much made 
 of It was one of the chief sights in the 
 neisrhbourhood, and all their o-uests ouo-ht 
 to see it. 
 
 "Wonderful people, certainly, the Eomans 
 were!" Mr. Lorton exclaimed, as they sat 
 down again in the carriage, in the tone of a 
 person who thinks it necessary to say some- 
 thing civil. The drive home was very dull to 
 one half of the party. Mrs. Harper had 
 no more questions to ask. Mr. Lorton en- 
 deavoured to ascertain Lady Emma's opinions 
 on every possible subject — religious, political, 
 and social — in order to agree with her entirely 
 and to make some foolish remark on each in 
 turn ; and she practised that weary labour, 
 which she was preparing to assume for 
 life, of making that appear sensible or at
 
 208 Mrs. Gerald's Miece. 
 
 least plausible by lier answers and interpre- 
 tations, which in itself was vapid and foolish. 
 Sometimes they were at cross purposes. 
 She had once to pull him up very suddenly, 
 when he had mistaken her strono- sense of 
 the necessity of securing for women employ- 
 ment in various lines for a desire thev should 
 take degrees and become doctors and lawyers ; 
 and because she did not see why they should 
 not have votes, he jumped to the conclusion 
 that she hoped one day to sit in Parliament. 
 "What admirable speeches you would make. 
 Lady Emma," he enthusiastically exclaimed. 
 "I thought so the other day when you were 
 addressing the Sunday-school children." 
 
 " My ambition does not extend so far," 
 she said quickly. '* Public speaking and 
 preaching are not within a woman's province. 
 Our duty is to influence, to urge, to stir up 
 men to the fulfilment of their obligations." 
 
 " Exactly so. That is just how I under- 
 stand it. I have always felt that if I was 
 stirred up and urged, I could do anything." 
 
 " The evils that surround us are so ram- 
 pant that, unless desperate efforts are made 
 by every class of the community to stem the
 
 Mrs. Gerald'.^ Nlerr.. 209 
 
 progress of infidelity and vice, we must fall 
 into the abyss." 
 
 " Of course we must — like that Roman 
 who plunged into it. The encampment 
 makes me think of him," 
 
 Lady Emma reddened. Some women 
 would have passed over an admirer's blunder, 
 but that was not in Lady Emma's nature : 
 she must set him rio-ht at all costs. "It 
 was to save his country that Curtius sprang 
 into the abyss, and we are all hurrying on 
 to destruction." 
 
 " Of course we are. It is a melancholy 
 fact," Mr. Lorton sighed. 
 
 " But we may yet be saved," she resumed, 
 "if the Church and the nation join together 
 to resist the torrent." 
 
 " Oh, of course, the Church and the nation 
 are everything," 
 
 "But we have to fight on one side 
 against the inroads of Popery, and on the 
 other against dissent and infidelity — and now 
 unfortunately against infidelity within the 
 Church as well as without it." 
 
 "That is the worst of it," ejaculated Mr. 
 Lorton. " Traitors in the camp." 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 Mrs. GeraltVs Niece. 
 
 " And deserters also," Lady Emma added. 
 " Men who pervert tlieir talents in the cause 
 of error, and abandon the Church of England 
 out of wanton impatience and confidence in 
 their own judgment." 
 
 "Ah, indeed, clever men are verv mis- 
 chievous. I never trust a clever man," 
 exclaimed Mr. Lorton, with an energy which 
 reminded Ita of one of Mr. Hendon's stories, 
 the colloquy between the witty Madame de 
 Coigny and an old French emigre. 
 
 " Ah, Madame ! Ce sent les gens d'esprit 
 qui ont perdu la France." " Et pourquoi 
 done, Monsieur," she exclaimed ; " ne I'avez 
 vous pas sauvee ? " 
 
 On arriving at home, Ita went immedi- 
 ately in search of Annie, whom she had seen 
 very little of that day. She found her just 
 returned from her expedition, but looking 
 very thoughtful. " Have you had a pleasant 
 drive, Annie ? " she said, sitting down b}'- 
 her side, and putting her arm round her 
 waist. 
 
 " Yes ; Grantley Manor is a pretty place." 
 
 " I hope you like Mrs. Sydney ? " 
 
 " I don't see anything wonderful about
 
 Mrs. GeraltVs Niece. 211 
 
 lier. I like Mr. Sydney, but I wisli they had 
 not become Roman Catholics." 
 
 " Do not let us talk about that, Annie. 
 We do not feel alike about it." 
 
 "No, and that is why I am vexed. I 
 know that woman was getting round you last 
 nis^ht. I could see it all the time vou were 
 talking to her. I saw in your face you were 
 speaking about something that interested you, 
 and I am sure it was that — you cannot deny it." 
 
 " No ; I do not want to deny it. But, 
 Annie, if she thinks her religion is the true 
 one, ought she not to wish everybodj^ to 
 belong to it ? " 
 
 " Wish is all very well, but she has no 
 business to meddle with people." 
 
 " She did not begin talking about it. I 
 did ; but if she had, I cannot see where would 
 be the harm." 
 
 "I do ; it is wrong to unsettle people's 
 minds." 
 
 "As to that, people's minds are so un- 
 settled just now, they hear such different 
 things fi^om their own clergymen, that I 
 cannot see that there is much dano^er of what 
 you call unsettling them. Why should it
 
 212 Mr.s. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 unsettle me more to hear what Mrs. Sydney 
 and the Roman Catholics believe, than what 
 that clergyman I went to hear in London at 
 Wells Street believes, or, when I come down 
 here, what your own Mr. Pratt teaches. I 
 am sure there is much more difference be- 
 tween that 'High Church' preacher's doc- 
 trines and Mr. Pratt's, than between what 
 the Puseyites say and what the Roman 
 Catholics believe." 
 
 " Wc all belong to one Church, and that is 
 all I care about. I hate controversy. People 
 ought to be left alone and not tampered with. 
 Mrs. Sydney was talking with Aunt Gerald 
 of the proselytizers in Ireland, and complain- 
 ing of their meddling with the poor Roman 
 Catholics. Why should Roman Catholics 
 meddle with Protestants ? " 
 
 "In the first place, in Ireland the pea- 
 sants are bribed to leave the religion they 
 believe in, and their poverty is taken advan- 
 laee of in an unfair manner. So I have 
 lieard Mr. Hendon say. In the next place, 
 Annie, I do not think tliat any one has a right 
 to urge another person to adopt his religion 
 unless he is perfectly certain, entirely sure,
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 213 
 
 that it is the true one, and that he beheves 
 the Church he belongs to is infallible. That 
 seems to me to make the whole difference 
 between a Catholic and a Protestant seeking 
 to convert others. Now you, Annie, I do 
 not speak of myself, because I know I am 
 quite puzzled, and really do not know what 
 to think on the subject ; but can you, for 
 instance, say positiuehj that you are convinced 
 that Mr. Pratt's teaching is the true one, and 
 that what Mr. Derwent believes is false?" 
 
 " I have already told you that I do not 
 want to make up my mind about it. I hope 
 both are right enough to be saved." 
 
 " Very well ; but then how could you go 
 and try to make Roman Catholics join a 
 Church which teaches in one of its churches 
 one thing, and exactly the contrary in an- 
 other. You say you hope enough truth is 
 taught in both to save a person's soul, and 
 you think the same about Roman Catholics, 
 don't you? " 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so." 
 
 " Then of course you must leave them 
 alone." 
 
 " I am sure they are wrong in all sorts of
 
 214 Mr8. GemlcVs Niece. 
 
 ways, but I don't Avant to meddle with them. 
 Why, then, should they meddle with us." 
 
 " Why, Annie, if you saw a person losing 
 his way when it was most important for him 
 to reach quickly a place of safety'-, would it 
 be right and kind not to meddle with him, 
 not to tell him at least which you were cer- 
 tain was the right road, though you might 
 think that possibly by scrambling through 
 briers and getting over dangerous fences he 
 might perhaps arrive at the place of shelter." 
 
 " I might be mistaken as to the road." 
 
 " If you had a doubt on the subject then, 
 I suppose you would be right not to advise 
 him which way to go. But if you were 
 sure . . . ." 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Ita, I will not talk to 
 you any more about these subjects. You are 
 cleverer than I am, you have read much more 
 than I have, and talked with Mr. Hendon, 
 who seems a strange kind of Protestant, w^ho 
 says everything in favour of Roman Catholics, 
 though he is not one himself. When Edgar 
 comes here, or at all events at Holmwood, you 
 can argue with him — he will be able to answer 
 you."
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 215 
 
 " But then it will be by an entirely dif- 
 ferent set of arguments, because you and Mr. 
 Derwent, who thinks, I suppose like Miss 
 Conway, differ almost as much as you and 
 Mrs. Sydney." 
 
 " That is nonsense. People who belong- 
 to the same church cannot really difier very 
 much." 
 
 " Oh, Annie, I must get some of the num- 
 bers of the 'Church Times' and the 'Union' out 
 of Lady Emma's room, that you may sea what 
 they sa}^ about Protestants and Protestantism." 
 
 " I do not want to see them. Lady 
 Emma hates Popery as much as anybody. 
 She says Mr. and Mrs. Sydney have com- 
 mitted a great sin by becoming Roman 
 Catholics; she will hardly speak to them." 
 
 "Oh, that is too absurd, too inconsistent," 
 Ita exclaimed; "if she goes abroad, she 
 thinks it right to go to the Roman Catholic 
 churches, where the priests all teach that the 
 Anglicans do not belong at all to the Catholic 
 Church, and are living in schism and heresy. 
 If the Holy Ghost guides the Church and 
 teaches in it, how can it teach one thing in 
 one place and another in another ?"
 
 216 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 "You only puzzle and tease me, Ita, by 
 going on in this way. I will not have any 
 more conversations of this sort with 
 you." 
 
 "Dearest Annie, I did not begin on this 
 subject. You started by attacking Mrs. 
 Sydney because she talked to me about 
 religion. I only wished to defend her. As 
 to whether she is right or wrong, or her 
 religion the true one or not, I really do not 
 know. I wish with all my heart I could 
 make up my mind, for even this little bit of 
 the world and society which we are seeing 
 here, makes me feel that it is necessary to 
 have some settled ideas about religion. I 
 am terribly inclined to care more for amuse- 
 ment than anything else. Do you like being 
 here ?" 
 
 "Pretty well," Annie replied; "not so 
 much as being at home. I fancy Edgar may 
 come to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, really. I long so much to see 
 him." 
 
 Annie blushed, and said, " I think you 
 wdll like him. Everybody does." 
 
 " Do you think him more agreeable
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 217 
 
 and pleasing than any of the gentlemen 
 here ?' 
 
 "Without any comparison," Annie said, 
 quite affronted. " I should be very angry 
 with you for asking that question if you had 
 seen Edgar." 
 
 " Sir John Leislip is very agreeable." . 
 
 Annie shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " And Lord Carsdown and Mr. Bayham 
 are very handsome." 
 
 " I don't see that." 
 
 " Don't you think they are good-looking ?" 
 
 "■ jSTot in comparison with my cousin 
 Edgar." 
 
 "I hope," said Ita, laughing, "that I 
 shall not take a dislike to Mr. Derwent, just 
 because I have heard him so much praised. 
 There is a perversity of that sort in human 
 nature you know. Oh ! if that is not the 
 dressing-bell. Will you knock at my door as 
 you go down to the drawing-room ? How is 
 Mrs. Gerald's head to-day ?" 
 
 " Better, much ; but she is not in good 
 spirits. I cannot make out what is the 
 matter with her." 
 
 I am afraid I did something last 
 
 ((
 
 218 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 niglit, which must have displeased your aunt. 
 I said I was so fond of her ; I do not 
 know why she should have been offended, 
 and she had been so kind to me just before ; 
 but ever since her manner has become cold 
 to me." 
 
 " Aunt Gerald is very changeable about 
 some things, and I have observed that she 
 is particularly so about you. T never feel 
 sure whether you are a favourite with her or 
 not." 
 
 " I want her so much to like me." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I hardly know." 
 
 *' Well, you must try and be satisfied with 
 my liking you, which I do, though you are 
 very tiresome about some things." 
 
 Ita laughed and ran away to dress. The 
 ball was to take place the following evening. 
 In the morning there came a note of excuse 
 from Edo-ar Derwent to Lady Carsdale, and 
 a letter from him to Mrs. Gerald, in which 
 he said that he could not bring himself to 
 leave London at that moment for the sake of 
 any pleasure, however great, and that in any 
 case, such a scene of gaiety as that at Cars-
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 219 
 
 dale would not liarmonize vritli his feelings 
 at a time when he was lookiuo- forward to the 
 solemn act he was so soon to accomplish ; 
 but that he hoped to pay another visit to 
 Holmwood in October; and again he alluded 
 in a delicate manner to the hopes which he 
 cherished, and which he was now aware she 
 allowed him to entertain, as least as far 
 as her own wishes were concerned. Mrs. 
 Gerald in her answer to his last letter had 
 spoken in a manner wdiich warranted him 
 fully in thus expressing himself. 
 
 Annie was disappointed at finding that 
 she should not see Edgar till October, but on 
 the whole was not sorry that he did not come 
 to Carsdale. Her sense of what was right 
 made her see the propriety of his feeling on 
 the subject, and then, just in the state of 
 things between them, it was not in the midst 
 of a large party that she would have liked to 
 meet him again. 
 
 In the course of the day arrived Lady 
 Octavia and Miss Berwick, Mrs. Hurst and 
 her daughters, Mr. Harman, and several 
 young men, whose chief merit was supposed 
 to be their love of dancing.
 
 220 Mrs. GevaliVs Niece. 
 
 Mrs. Hurst was Lady Carsclale's greatest 
 friend. It was to her she confided her few 
 little gTievances. The fuss Lord Carsdale 
 made because one of his horses had broken 
 its knee ; the fuss Lady Emma made because 
 those poor dear Sydneys had changed their 
 religion; the fuss the housekeeper made 
 because the new set of china had not arrived 
 from London : these drawbacks to her peace 
 of mind were dwelt on with a serenity and 
 unconquerable cheerfulness which contrasted 
 with Mrs. Hurst's melancholy sympathy. 
 She did not know how to be sorry enough for 
 the broken knee, the strange conduct of the 
 Sydneys, or the carelessness of the trades- 
 man who did not send the china ; but she was 
 still more sorry that dear Lord Carsdale, and 
 dear Lady Emma, and poor Mrs. Price, took 
 these misfortunes so much to heart, and it 
 was so sad for dearest Lady Carsdale to be 
 so worried in the midst of her party, and 
 when she must have so much on her mind. 
 One glance at her friend's beaming counte- 
 nance ought to have reassured her, but Mrs. 
 Hurst revelled in soothing imaginary suffer- 
 ino-s. Her dauditers were as healthy, as
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 221 
 
 merry, and as light-hearted girls as could be 
 seen, but she never spoke of them but as 
 " poor dear Fanny," and " my poor Theresa ;'*" 
 and the happiest events drew from her ex- 
 pressive sighs and pitiful ejaculations. 
 
 "Mamma," Lord Carsdown had once 
 disrespectfully said to his mother, " you and 
 Mrs. Hurst are ' Jean qui rit ' and ' Jean qui 
 pleure.' I like the first Jean much the 
 best." 
 
 " Do not say anything against Mrs. 
 Hurst, my poor dear boy. She is the greatest 
 comfort in the world to me." 
 
 '*' I do not breathe a syllable against her, 
 only I had rather be your son than hers. 
 She has a way of sighing over me on every 
 occasion which depresses my spirits." 
 
 Ita found it extremely agreeable to make 
 so many new acquaintances. When the 
 dancing began that evening, all the gentle- 
 men seemed anxious to engage her. Before 
 any of the neighbours arrived, she had 
 partners enough in prospect for the whole 
 evening. The Miss Hursts were amiable, 
 good-humoured girls, and, though they did 
 not say much that was worth hearing, it was
 
 222 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 all very pleasant as far as it went. As to 
 Miss Berwick, she changed her mind about 
 her three times at least in the course of as 
 many hours. The first impression was very 
 unfavourable ; she was dressed in the extreme 
 of the fashion, and there was something bold 
 and free in her manner wliich went against 
 Ita's ideas of good taste. She could not 
 help thinking she painted, and her hair was 
 of a colour that hardly could be natural. 
 Perhaps Ita would have been too inexpe- 
 rienced to observe this, if Lord Carsdown, who 
 had again sat next to her at dinner, had not 
 pointed it out. When the ladies were in the 
 drawing-room afterwards, Miss Berwick gave 
 a glance at the younger ones, and instantly 
 fixed upon Ita as the one most likely to 
 enable her to pass the next half-hour without 
 being too much bored. They had been intro- 
 duced to each other previously, and she came 
 and sat by her. Though rather disposed to 
 draw back from any approach to intimacy, 
 Ita, whose foible it was to like to please, 
 could not help being flattered at being thus 
 singled out. It is seldom that a girl of her 
 age is not gratified by the notice of one
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 22o 
 
 older and more used to societ}^ than herself. 
 She could not help being very much amused 
 by Miss Berwick's talk ; it could hardly be 
 called conversation. She was droll, she was 
 daring, she Avas unscrupulous in the things 
 she said; they were not, perhaps, quite in 
 keeping with good taste and good feeling, 
 and yet it would have been difficult to define 
 how, and when, and to what degree they 
 were objectionable. Later in the evening, 
 and when the dancing began, Ita was still an 
 object of attention to her new acquaintance, 
 who evidently wished it to be understood 
 that she was the only woman of the party 
 whom she cared to associate with. 
 
 There is always some excitement in any- 
 thing like danger, and this is unfortunately the 
 case even in a moral point of view. From 
 what is decidedly bad those who are good 
 shrink ; but from what is questionable they 
 do not always recoil, and even find a sort of 
 charm in the society of those who venture to 
 say, out of honesty they declare, what sounds 
 startling — this sort of affectation of candour, 
 this recklessness, a tolerably well- studied 
 recklessness however, is one of the most
 
 224 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 dangerous snares with which people delude 
 themselves and others. The semblance of 
 humility — notwithstanding Professor Porson's 
 famous adage — and the assumption of sensi- 
 bility, which was the prevalent affectation in 
 the society of the last century, were more 
 creditable than the cynical truthfulness which 
 some people now display. It is better to 
 pretend to be amiable than to be brutal. 
 But the very novelty of this sort of freedom 
 of manner and style of language to a girl 
 educated in different habits of mind, excites 
 a sort of interest such as is felt on a first 
 acquaintance with a foreign country. People 
 who say without reserve anything that comes 
 into their heads, must be rather amusing 
 if they are not very tiresome. Ita was 
 rather amused by Miss Berwick's funny 
 ways, as she called them. She found her a 
 more amusing companion than Lady Emma, 
 and consequently lost ground very rapidly in 
 the latter's good opinion, Avho took an oppor- 
 tunity of saying to Annie, that she was sorry 
 to see Miss Flower had taken a fancy to that 
 very objectionable girl. She should not have 
 thouo-ht that she was the sort of person to be
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 225 
 
 captivated by anybody so mauvais genre, but 
 that she began to see what was her character. 
 
 " One evemng she was engrossed by 
 Mrs. Sydney's exciting talk about rehgion, 
 and making her beheve she was ready to 
 become a Roman Catholic ; and the next as 
 amused as possible with the slang and give- 
 and-take style of that Miss Berwick's con- 
 versation. Depend upon it," she added, 
 " she is a person who will always go into 
 extremes, and I feel convinced now, that in 
 a year's time your little friend will be either 
 a Papist or as fast as Miss Berwick herself" 
 
 " L'un n'empeche pas 1' autre," ejaculated 
 Mrs. Harper, who was following them; "for 
 the Berwicks are Catholics." 
 
 "Really? Mamma never told me so!" 
 Lady Emma exclaimed, half displeased at not 
 having been previously informed of the fact, 
 but glad that the fast young lady should turn 
 out to be a Papist. She felt, and perhaps 
 justly, that Miss Berwick's dress and manners 
 might do away with much of the favourable 
 impression Mrs. Sydney might have created 
 in favour of her creed. For the first time 
 since the latter' s conversion Lady Emma 
 
 TOL. I. 15
 
 226 Mrs, Gerald's Niece. 
 
 volunteered to go and sit by the latter, with 
 no other purpose apparently than to put 
 a question relative to her coreligionist, which 
 implied surprise at her worldly ideas and 
 questionable manners. M>'S. Sydney felt in- 
 wardly pained, but said quietly, " Dear Lady 
 Emma, I am quite as sorry as you could wish 
 about it, but I have one consolation : I feel 
 more hope that the paint and the false hair, 
 which shock you so much, may be one day 
 discarded, and the whole tone of that poor 
 girl's mind changed, than you perhaps would 
 have, if you saw a Protestant give way to 
 those follies. There is a power of recovery 
 in our religion, which does not, I think, exist 
 in yours. Protestants often keep on a height ; 
 but if they fall seldom regain their footing." 
 
 " I assure you, Mrs. Sydney, you are 
 mistaken. Numbers of girls who once led 
 worldly, or sometimes worse than worldly 
 lives, enter our sisterhoods." 
 
 " Perhaps so. But it is not the Pro- 
 testant religion which forms sisterhoods ; you 
 imitate us — ^you borrow from us without, 
 indeed, paying interest or giving security, 
 and time will show whether the profits are
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 227 
 
 real and lasting. But whatever the results 
 may be, you must own that the religious life 
 is not the offspring of Protestantism." 
 
 " Certainly not. We dislike Protest- 
 antism quite as much as you do." 
 
 With something made up of a smile and a 
 sigh, Mrs. Sydney heard that assertion. 
 
 " This is not the moment to discuss that 
 point," she said ; " but I should very much 
 like to talk it over quietly with you some 
 other time." 
 
 *' Oh, I always avoid controversy !" Lady 
 Emma replied, and, crossing the room, joined 
 Lady Rockcastle, and said in an aggrieved 
 voice, " The worst of Eoman Catholics is that 
 they always want to get one into an argument 
 and throw things in one's teeth !" 
 
 Meanwhile the dancing was actively going 
 on. Ita, even in the midst of her enjoyment 
 of what was quite a new pleasure, rather 
 longed to be sitting by Mrs. Sydney. Amused 
 as she was with Miss Berwick, and pleased at 
 the consciousness of being a general favourite, 
 and more asked to dance than any one else, 
 she felt there was as much difference between 
 the sort of liking she had for her new
 
 228 Mrn. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 acquaintance, and that slie felt for Mrs. 
 Sydney, as between the admh^ation one might 
 have for a comic song or an exquisite poem. 
 She resolved to try and see more of the latter 
 the next day ; she wanted to get her to tell 
 her all the history of her sister, and she did 
 hope before they parted that she would ask 
 her to Grantley Manor. 
 
 Annie had been making friends with the 
 Miss Hursts, and Mr. Harman had devoted 
 himself to Mrs. Gerald. He had travelled a 
 great deal, and most people thought him 
 agreeable ; but he did possess the peculiarity 
 Lady Emma had mentioned, he was too full of 
 his own thoughts to attend much to those of 
 others. Perhaps there was a likeness between 
 him and Mrs. Gerald in this respect — only the 
 difference was, that he poured out his thoughts, 
 and that she kept hers to herself. He spoke 
 of the East, and of Egypt, and of languages, 
 and of tribes, while she watched every look and 
 motion of the two young girls under her care. 
 Once Ita came and stood quite close to her. 
 She was flushed with exercise and excitement, 
 her hair falling down on her shoulders, and 
 her lovely face looking really beautiful. Mr.
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 229 
 
 Harman had not taken notice of her before, he 
 then asked who she was. A7hen Mrs. Gerald 
 had answered his question, he exclaimed, 
 " You don't say so ! Then that is the very 
 little girl I saw at Lady Emily's some sixteen 
 years ago. She had just adopted her — a 
 formal proceeding abroad, which both parties 
 are obliged to abide by. To be sure, what a 
 pretty creature she is ! Miss Flower, you say, 
 she is called. I remember there was a OTeat 
 
 o 
 
 debate as to the name they would give her. 
 ' Fior del Mare ' was proposed, and then Mar- 
 garita-Pearl of the Sea. She was a wonderfully 
 engaging child. Lady Emily, after her hus- 
 band's death, sank into a sort of melancholy 
 which nothing could rouse her from. Mr. 
 Hendon betliouQ;ht himself of borrowino- this 
 little girl to amuse her, and she took such a 
 fancy to the young lady that it ended by her 
 adopting her. We were great friends at that 
 time — Margarita and I. We must renew 
 acquaintance. Ita she used to call herself." 
 
 " Who was she ? " 
 
 " She came from a villao-e between San 
 Eemo and Mentone. Very poor people, I 
 believe, had brought her up. Some difficulty
 
 230 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 was made about lier religion, I remember. 
 Tliey said slie was to be a huona Christiana. 
 Lady Emily said, ' Yes, of course she would 
 be educated a good Christian,' and there the 
 matter ended. Will you introduce me to 
 Miss Flower?" 
 
 " Ita I " Mrs. Gerald said, in a low voice. 
 Immediately the young girl turned round 
 with a pleased, eager look, as if the very 
 sound of Mrs. Gerald's voice gave her pleasure. 
 " Here is a gentleman who knew you years 
 ago, and wishes to be introduced to you." 
 
 Ita looked at Mr. Harman with her in- 
 genuous bright expression. She did not, of 
 course, recollect him at first ; but suddenly it 
 flashed upon her that he was the kind, good- 
 natured man who used to play with her in 
 those early days at Mentone when she first 
 lived with Lady Emily. She was delighted at 
 this reminiscence, and felt quite sorry to be 
 hurried away by her partner. 
 
 As he sat down again he said, " She is 
 charming, that little lady, but not at all like 
 an Italian. What a pretty way she has of 
 speaking, with just the slightest possible 
 foreign accent."
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 231 
 
 " Did you ever see lier before she came to 
 Lady Emily ?" 
 
 "Xo; I did not." 
 
 " Used slie ever to go and see lier 
 family P" 
 
 " I think not. It was made, I believe, 
 one of the conditions of the adoption." 
 
 *' There is something very unnatural in 
 that arbitrary severance of natural ties." 
 
 " I remember hjaring something about 
 her being a child picked up at sea. Somebody, 
 speaking of her, said she had been picked up 
 in the street by Lady Emily, and the answer 
 was ' No, not in the street.' I think the 
 story was that she had been found, like a 
 little Moses, floating in her cradle, by some 
 fishermen, who had taken her home. I won- 
 der if she knows herself anything about it." 
 
 Mrs. Grerald made no answer ; but when 
 Mr. Harman, an instant afterwards, began 
 speaking to her about the sources of the 
 Nile, she could not even pretend to attend 
 to him. Her abstraction was so great, that 
 it forced itself even on his notice, and he was 
 obliged, as soon as possible, to look out for 
 another listener.
 
 232 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 Ita had seen a great deal of Mrs. Sydney 
 on tlie last day of their visit ; they had walked 
 round the grounds together, and had some 
 further conversation about religion. She had 
 been invited, as she wished, to Grantley 
 Manor, but was afraid that Lady Emily would 
 not be able to spare her again for a long time. 
 She heard all the story of Mrs. Neville's 
 sufferings, her secret marriage, her fidelity to 
 her faith under the most trying circumstances, 
 her reconciliation with her husband, and her 
 death which soon followed. It was a ro- 
 mantic story, and one calculated to make an 
 impression on the mind of an enthusiastic 
 young girl. All her predilection at that 
 time for the Catholic religion w^as founded on 
 romance — on the beauty of its worship, and 
 the picturesque associations connected with 
 it. She longed to see the chapel of Grantley 
 Manor, because it would remind her of her 
 favourite churches abroad, and because there 
 is something poetical in the historical tradi- 
 tions of English Catholicism. She had, at 
 the same time, met with a person, whose 
 character, looks, and manners had singularly 
 attracted her, and, for the first days after her
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 233 
 
 return to Marchbanks, she thought much more 
 of Mrs. Sydney than of any other person she 
 had made acquaintance with that week ; even 
 than of Sir John LeisHp, whom she had Hked 
 very much, and who had seemed to hke her in 
 a way which might have made a deeper im- 
 pression upon her, if there had been more time 
 on both sides for better acquaintance. Her 
 return to Marchbanks was gloomy enough. 
 It seemed very flat and uninteresting to spend 
 the evenings alone with Lady Emily and Mr. 
 Hendon : for, though the latter was a clever 
 man, lie did not think it worth while to make 
 himself agreeable in domestic life ; and Lady 
 Emily's feeble health, and want of interest in 
 everything a young person would naturally 
 care for, was painfully distressing to her 
 adopted child. In a different and inferior 
 sense, Ita experienced the feeling thus de- 
 scribed by St. Theresa, "I seemed as one 
 who had a great treasure, and who was 
 desirous that all should share in it, and yet 
 my hands seemed tied as if to prevent me 
 from distributino; it." Thousfhts came to her 
 which she longed to impart to others ; there 
 was in her heart a deep power of loving,
 
 234 Mrs. Gerald's Mece. 
 
 wliicli as yet had found no object ; a super- 
 abundance of activity, mental and bodily, 
 perpetually seeking for exercise. She seemed, 
 morally speaking, to wander tkrougli desert 
 places and to find no rest. 
 
 To Annie, on the contrary, it was an un- 
 mitigated delight to be at home again, and 
 the weeks which intervened between her return 
 fi'om Carsdale, and Edgar's visit in October, 
 were full of sweetness. She had had a glimpse 
 of the world, and had convinced herself how 
 little she cared for it. She had seen other young 
 men, and had been able to judge of what she 
 had never doubted, and that was, that Edgar 
 was sujDcrior even to those who were generally 
 acknowledged to be pleasing and agreeable. 
 His letters to Mrs. Gerald, parts of which 
 her aunt read aloud to her, showed more and 
 more with what true rehgious feelings he was 
 entering on his new career, and though there 
 was much in his enthusiasm and his devotion 
 she could not entirely sympathize with, her 
 admiration for his goodness daily increased. 
 Her mind dwelt continually on the thought 
 that he was soon coming — coming, she hoped, 
 to propose to her — and that she had it in her
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 235 
 
 power to make liim happy — liappy in every 
 way ; to make her home his home ; to give 
 him the means of carrying out his dearest 
 wishes ; to please him ; to see him smile, 
 that smile which since her earliest childhood 
 she had never seen on his face without de- 
 light. Annie really loved nobody in the world 
 very much but him, and it was a quiet, great 
 deep happiness that they would spend their 
 lives together in that placu which she was 
 about to make him master of. It was well that 
 she had so many pleasant thoughts to dwell 
 upon, and that she enjoyed sohtary rambles 
 and evenings by herself in the drawing-room, 
 for Mrs. Gerald was very much out of spirits, 
 and, which she had never known her before, 
 strangely irritable. She stayed for hours 
 together locked up in her room, and Annie 
 found it hard to please her, especially with 
 regard to anything that had to do with 
 Marchbanks. If she proposed to go there, 
 or to ask Ita to come to them, Mrs. Grerald 
 generally looked annoyed, and said, " She 
 really could not see any reason for this violent 
 intimacy." If, on the contraiy, Annie said 
 nothing about it, she sometimes hinted at her
 
 236 Mrs. GeraUVs Niece. 
 
 being changeable, and neglecting those she 
 at moments made such a fuss with. When 
 Ita came, her manner to her was more than 
 ever uncertain. Annie thouGfht this rather 
 provoking ; but she was too happy to care 
 much about it. They had, however, one 
 scene which, for a moment, disturbed and 
 annoyed her very much, especially as it led 
 to her uttering a hasty expression which she 
 deeply regretted, and which offended hor aunt 
 more than anything she had ever said or done 
 in her life. 
 
 Mrs. Gerald had gone to pay a visit at 
 some distance, and Ita came unexpectedly to 
 spend the afternoon with Annie. They had 
 talked for some time, drank tea in the con- 
 servatory, and then Ita happened to say she 
 had never seen the whole of the house. 
 
 "Oh, I will take you all over it," Annie 
 exclaimed. " Come upstairs, I will show you 
 m}'- bed-room and dressing-room, and the 
 visitors' rooms, and Aunt Gerald's rooms too, 
 for she is out." 
 
 And so she did ; they wandered through 
 the house to their hearts' content, and looked 
 into every nook and corner. As they passed
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 237 
 
 through Mrs. Gerald's room, Annie said, " I 
 must show you my mother's picture." 
 
 She drew the curtain aside, and Ita ex- 
 claimed, " Oh, what a charming face ! and is 
 that you, Annie, when you were a baby ?" 
 
 "Yes," Annie answered, and then she 
 suddenly exclaimed, " Xow I see who you 
 are like ! It has always bothered me. You 
 are so like that picture of my mother." 
 
 " Am I ? Well, I can fancy it from what 
 I have seen of my own face in the glass." 
 
 " Let me put a scarf round your head to 
 look like that turban, and arrange your hair 
 in the same way, and then you shall look in 
 the glass and see if the likeness is not 
 striking." 
 
 She ran into her room and brouo-ht back 
 a blue scarf of the same colour as the turban, 
 which she twisted and arranged on Ita's 
 head, and put on her shoulders a black lace 
 shawl similar to the one in the picture. 
 Then she led her before the pier-glass, and 
 said : '•' Don't you look exactly like it ?" 
 
 Just at that moment the door opened, and 
 Mrs. Gerald came into the room. The first 
 thing she saw was Ita's form and face in the
 
 238 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 glass opposite to lier. She gave a scream, 
 and, when the two girls turned round and 
 moved towards her, she was looking deadly 
 
 pale. 
 
 "We have startled you," Annie ex- 
 claimed. "I am so sorry. I thought you 
 were out, and I was showing Ita the 
 
 house." 
 
 She kept, as she spoke, undoing the 
 turban, and pulling off the scarf from Ita's 
 shoulders. Mrs. Gerald glanced round the 
 room and saw the curtain drawn aside. Her 
 lips quivered, and laying her hand on Annie's 
 shoulder with a pressure that was almost 
 painful, said with violence : " I cannot forgive 
 you for daring to bring that girl into my 
 
 room." 
 
 Annie was passionate — not easily roused, 
 but capable of being roused to anger, espe- 
 cially by anything like injustice. She saw 
 the burning flush on Ita's cheeks, and her 
 eyes filling with tears, and she said in a tone 
 of indignation, " This is rather hard in my 
 own house 1" 
 
 Mrs. Gerald fixed her eyes upon her with 
 a strange expression, a wistful, troubled look.
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 239 
 
 in wliicli there was a mixture of tenderness 
 and resentment. As tlae two girls were 
 leavino- the room, she called back Ita, and 
 said in a trenlbling voice, " It was not your 
 fault — forgive me." 
 
 The young girl threw her arms round her 
 neck. Mrs. Gerald seemed as if she was 
 trying to endure the caress for a second, and 
 then shook her off almost roughly. When 
 she was gone, and Mrs. Gerald and Annie 
 met again before dinner, both were very 
 much embarrassed. They had never had 
 anything of a quarrel before, and did not 
 exactly know how to behave to each other. 
 As usual, the one whose affection was the 
 strongest, and who also felt perhaps that she 
 had been the most in the wrong, made the 
 first advance, and said : "Annie, if I did not 
 love you so much . . . ." there she paused, 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Gerald, I ought not to have 
 said those odious words about this being my 
 own house." 
 
 " It would have been better not," Mrs. 
 Gerald answered. ' " You do not know how 
 thoughtless words may wound. I wish you 
 never to take anybody into my room. When
 
 240 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 
 
 you are married I shall leave you, and then 
 you may do as you like. I shall carry away 
 with me the memorials of those who live 
 only in my recollection, and whose likenesses 
 I cannot bear to see you trifle with. God 
 only knows what I have suffered to-day !" 
 
 All this seemed strange and exaggerated 
 to Annie. She could ill brook reproaches 
 from one who had so unceasingly worshipped 
 her ; and longed more than ever for Edgar's 
 arrival since Mrs. Gerald had ventured to be 
 displeased with her. It Avould be very trying 
 she thought if her aunt took to being cross, 
 and really she did not know how to act about 
 Ita. She almost wished that November was 
 come, and that she had left Marchbanks. It 
 was so awkward, and those caprices about her 
 so tiresome. 
 
 Edgar arrived, and about a week after- 
 wards, just as Annie had wished and planned 
 it, they stood together on a blue and gold 
 evening in October on the terrace — the red 
 and yellow leaves falhng to the ground in 
 gentle showers — the robin red-breasts twit- 
 tering about thorn, the last roses of summer 
 blossoming on the walls of the old house, the
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 241 
 
 sound of the runniDg water making music in 
 tlieir ears — lie told her he loved her, and 
 asked her to marry him. She gave him her 
 hand, and said with a glistening eye and a 
 faltering voice : "It is what I have always 
 wanted. I have always wished your happi- 
 ness more than anything else in the world." 
 
 " And you care for me, Annie ? You 
 will be hapjDy with me ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; only too happy," she answered ; 
 and they returned to the house engaged to 
 each other. 
 
 Mrs. Gerald was very much affected when 
 she heard it was all settled, and of course very 
 glad. But it was a restless sort of happiness. 
 A heavy sense of responsibility seemed to 
 weigh upon her, and she was nervous and 
 almost ill when the arrangements about the 
 marriage came to be discussed. It was 
 agreed that the wedding should not take 
 place till the spring. There were circum- 
 stances connected with the property which 
 made it difficult for the settlements to be 
 drawn up in a hurry, and one of the principal 
 trustees had gone abroad for some months. 
 In the meantime Edgar accepted Lord Cars- 
 
 VOL. I. IG
 
 242 Mrs. OeraliVs Niece. 
 
 dale's prospective offer of the small living of 
 Bramblemoor, wLicli had hitherto been held 
 m conjunction with his own larger one by 
 the Rector of Carsdale. This gentleman had 
 readily consented to give up this small 
 appendage to his parish in consideration of 
 an arrangement better suited to his conve- 
 nience, which Lord Carsdale was able to 
 make. He also obligingly appointed Edgar 
 as his curate until such time as he should be 
 in priest's orders, and could take possession 
 of the li\dng. 
 
 The church stood in the centre of a 
 straggling hamlet, the cottages of which 
 were scattered over a wide common, inha- 
 bited by a wild set of people, almost all 
 Dissenters, whom Edgar told Annie it would 
 take care and labour to brins; over to the 
 Chm'ch. He intended to reside there till 
 after their marriage, and even then, though 
 Holmwood would of course be their home, 
 lio should still devote much of his time to 
 Bramblemoor. 
 
 Annie did not object to anything — she 
 was quite contented, quite happy; and she 
 thought, though she said nothing about it.
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 243 
 
 that it would be mucli better he should 
 pursue all his own plans at Bramblemoor 
 than interfere with Mr. Pratt, whom, above 
 all things, she wished to be left undisturbed 
 during the remainder of his life. She could 
 not judge of doctrines, and, as to practices, 
 what suited one person might not suit 
 another; and she did not, for her part, mind 
 if she said her prayers in a church with 
 flowers and candlesticks on the altar, or in 
 one with a table, with two chairs on each 
 side of it. It was nothing to her if clergy- 
 men liked to put on vestments, or to wear a 
 plain black gown. She wished everybody to 
 be good, and, as Mr. Pratt and Edgar were 
 her two ideals of goodness and thought as 
 differently as possible about rehgion, she 
 could not believe it signified much — the old 
 point she had so often discussed with Ehza 
 Conway — what people did believe. Only on 
 one subject Annie was prejudiced, she could 
 not endure Roman Catholicism. There was 
 a mixture of feelings in this antipathy. First, 
 the strono- Eno:lisli idea that the Church of 
 England, the Establishment, whatever it 
 might teach or not teach, do or not do, was
 
 244 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 tlie English form of religion wbicli all English 
 people should adhere to. Then, one of 
 Edgar's ideas was that an English clergyman 
 was a priest, and the Roman Catholic Church 
 forbade priests to marry. This fact made 
 his marriage a sort of reflection upon him on 
 the part of that Church, which, with feminine 
 susceptibility, she resented. Her love for 
 Edgar was a peculiar and very deep feeling — 
 that kind of affection which undemonstrative 
 people sometimes have for the one person 
 they really care for — an intense engrossing- 
 devotion capable of every sacrifice, but seldom 
 expressed by word or by look, except when 
 any strong emotion calls forth a vehement 
 outburst of the hidden fire. One of its effects 
 in Annie's case was her growing hatred of 
 the Church of Rome. It had always been 
 the object of Mr. Pratt's aversion, and it was, 
 though in a different way, dreaded and dis- 
 liked by Edgar. These two reasons arrayed 
 her strongest feelings against it. 
 
 Meanwhile, Ita was spending a melan- 
 choly autumn at Marchbanks. Lady Emily's 
 strength had so rapidly diminished after a 
 cold she had caught in October, that it was
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 245 
 
 thought impossible for her to traveh When 
 she got a httle better, the season was too far 
 advanced to make a journey safe, and the 
 doctors recommended that she should spend 
 the winter in two rooms kept at an even 
 temperature. This arrangement suited Mr. 
 Hendon. He was glad to have his sister-in- 
 law in his house : neither she nor Ita inter- 
 fered with his comfort, or took up his time. 
 Ita was the only one to whom this change 
 of plans proved to be a great disappointment. 
 She longed for the south, for sunny Mentone, 
 its blue bays, its lovely valleys, and its 
 orange and olive woods, with a strong yearn- 
 ing ; she pined for the churches, and chapels, 
 and crosses, and all the outward symbols of 
 rehgion, which she had been accustomed to 
 all her life, and which she loved with an 
 ignorant, unreasoning fondness. For she knew 
 nothing of the truths symbohzed by these 
 objects ; she did not understand why she felt 
 a peculiar feehng of awe and consolation when 
 she knelt in a Cathohc church, or why certain 
 words and certain blessings seemed to have a 
 mysterious effect upon her. She had no 
 conscious faith in the Eeal Presence, and yet
 
 246 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 at the elevation during mass and when 
 benediction was given, it had always seemed 
 to her as if a heavenly dew refreshed her 
 soul. And she yearned to feel all this again. 
 She longed for the beauty of earth, sea, and 
 sky; for her morning walks, in the early 
 dawn, to the Annunziata, the beautiful little 
 sanctuary of the hills, in the midst of a 
 smiling desert. For Lagheto, the monastery 
 where thousands and thousands of peasants 
 flock every year from every point of the 
 Riviera, to ask for favours or to bring their 
 simple ex votos. She longed to hear again 
 the litanies and hymns of the poor women 
 in the cathedral of San Michele — untutored 
 strains which have proceeded from the hearts 
 and lips of generation after generation of 
 simple pious souls, whose lives were as pure 
 as their own skies, till the inroads of a 
 civilization, falsely called progress, made its 
 way among them with its accursed train of 
 luxury and vice. Yes, Ita longed to get 
 away from the clouds, the cold, the dulness 
 of an English winter. Everything in and 
 about Marchbanks appeared to her at that 
 moment uninteresting and unprofitable. She
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 247 
 
 liad nothing to do, no cares and no occu- 
 pations. Mrs. Gerald's capricious conduct 
 spoilt the pleasure of her visits to Holmwood, 
 nor was Annie, though she liked her very 
 much, quite a congenial companion. She did 
 not see the least prospect of going to 
 Grantley Manor ; Lady Emily required just 
 enough of her attention to prevent her being 
 able to leave home, and yet took up very 
 Httle of her time, which consequently often 
 hung heavy on her hands. For even reading 
 does not suffice to fill up the hours of a long 
 day, or to satisfy the impetuous cravings of 
 an ardent spirit. And as to religion, what 
 was there in Protestantism to compare with 
 the beauty of the glimpses she had had from 
 without of the inward loveliness of the 
 Catholic Church abroad, the crumbs which 
 she had gathered here and there from its rich 
 stores of love, faith, and hope ? The one 
 Sunday service, in the dreariest little ugly 
 parish church imaginable— the prayers read in 
 a pompous tone, and responded to by a clerk 
 with a nasal twang — psalm-singing of the 
 most depressing and monotonous sort™ a dull 
 sermon read by a dull preacher !
 
 248 Mrs. GeraliTs Niece. 
 
 She felt saddened and depressed beyond 
 description by tliis pure Protestant form of 
 worship, and her only comfort was the idea 
 that began to dawn in her mind that one 
 day — when, how soon, Avliere, how, she knew 
 not — she must be a Catholic. It was an idea 
 that enabled her to endure the present, it was 
 something to hold on to. She clung to this 
 thought like a person in a dangerous position 
 grasps a rope which, if the case becomes 
 more desperate, may afford a hope of safety. 
 Many hold this spiritual rope in their hand 
 for years, so long that their grasp of it 
 grows feeble, and at last the hand becomes 
 paralyzed, and loses its power over it. Then 
 the crisis comes — one of those turning-points 
 when there can be no standing still, when 
 an advance must be made or a retrograde 
 step taken. God help, in that hour, those 
 who have let go the resolution they had made, 
 who have allowed the rope to slacken till it 
 has escaped from their hold ! It will be a 
 signal mercy if, in the decisive hour, they do 
 not sever themselves for ever from the haven 
 they had once hoped to make. 
 
 Edgar was obliged to absent himself from
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 249 
 
 Holmwood almost the whole of November, 
 but early in December he was to take 
 possession of the cottage he meant to make 
 his home at Bramblemoor. Annie had quite 
 neglected Ita during the days he had been at 
 Holmwood after their marriage was settled, 
 but after his departure, they met oftener 
 again, and she told her of her engagement. 
 Tlie tidings had already reached Marchbanks, 
 and also the news that Edgar was to be 
 curate at Bramblemoor, and eventually have 
 the living. Ita knew the place very well. 
 The little village, the picturesque common, 
 the clusters of cottages belonging to the 
 parish, but widely separated from one another, 
 had often attracted her notice. The inha- 
 bitants of these sheds, or cabins, for they 
 were hardly anything better, had originally 
 been squatters on the common, and had 
 gradually taken possession of these tene- 
 ments, which Lord Carsdale permitted them 
 to occupy at a merely nominal rent. Some 
 of them were of gipsy extraction, others had 
 once been poachers, many of them were only 
 the poorest of the poor, — neglected, wild, un- 
 cared-for beings, who led the nearest approach
 
 250 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 to a savage life possible in a civilized, old 
 world country. It was strange how long and 
 how entirely they had been unnoticed. A small 
 Independent Methodist chapel existed on one 
 side of the common, the furthest from the 
 village of Bramblemoor; some of the squatters 
 frequented it, others did not go to any place 
 of worship. There was a small church in the 
 village, but no resident clergyman ; the ser- 
 vice had only been occasionally performed by 
 the Rector of Marchbanks. But Lady -Emma 
 Cars had entreated her father to repair the 
 church, and had superintended these repa- 
 rations herself She gave herself up with 
 ardour to this employment, going over there 
 several times a week, to watch and direct the 
 progress of the work. The plans had been 
 drawn up in strict accordance with proper 
 ecclesiastical architecture ; beautiful glass 
 windows designed — the altar, with a cross 
 upon it, placed duly in the eastern direction, 
 an elaborately carved font, given by Lady 
 Emma herself, near the entrance, and every 
 detail carefully studied, so as to exhibit as 
 near an approach as possible to the appear- 
 ance of a Catholic church, and yet not to
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 251 
 
 infringe the letter of the law or the direct 
 prohibitions of the bishop of the diocese : for 
 some years ago these dignitaries of the 
 Church of England were not quite so openly 
 defied, disobeyed, and scouted by the self- 
 termed Catholic portion of their flocks, as is 
 now the case. 
 
 This church was really a very pretty one ; 
 and, when it was nearly completed. Lady 
 Emma's next object was to get her father to 
 induce the Rector of Marchbanks to give up 
 this small living, and to bestow it upon a 
 churchman of the highest and, she added, the 
 soundest Church principles. Lord Carsdale, 
 who was himself rather broad church than 
 anything else — at least in so much that he 
 carried the good-nature which belonged to 
 his character into religious questions, and 
 would have gladly included in the pale of the 
 Estabhshment Mohammedans and Pagans, it 
 they had desired — was quite wilHng to agree 
 to what his daughter wished. She urged 
 that those scattered wild people on the 
 common ought to be Christianized, and that 
 a resident clergyman alone could undertake 
 that work, and that, as it was most important
 
 252 Mrs. Gerald's JSiece. 
 
 the services should he attractive, it was 
 necessary to appoint one who would promote 
 chanting, and carry out church principles. 
 
 " Very well, Em, look out for one," her 
 father dutifully replied, in a tone befitting an 
 age when children often think it their business 
 to be spiritual directors to their parents. 
 And so Lady Emma turned the subject over 
 in her mind with no little anxiety, and cor- 
 responded about it with Eliza Conway, who 
 immediately suggested Mr. Derwent. She 
 thouo-ht nothino- could be better than his 
 beo^innino: at Bramblemoor what he would 
 carry on at Holmwood whenever Mr. Pratt 
 departed this life. Lady Emma objected that 
 when Mr. Derwent was married to his cousin 
 he would not reside at Bramblemoor, and. to 
 have a resident clergyman was the chief object 
 in view. Miss Conway replied that he was 
 not going to be married for some months, 
 that he would subsequently, no doubt, appoint 
 a curate, who would, when he left, act under 
 his directions and in his spirit — that the 
 poverty of the people among whom the work 
 had to be carried on made it desirable that 
 their clergyman should have some means of
 
 Mrs. GeraWs Niece. 253 
 
 assisting them ; all sorts of charities would 
 have to be founded, and if once Edgar Der- 
 went took charge of the parish, he and Annie 
 would always take an interest in it. These 
 arguments were rather cogent. Lady Emma 
 hesitated, however, a little about appointing 
 or making her papa appoint, which came to 
 the same thing, a married, or to be married, 
 clergyman. There were floating ideas in her 
 mind as to the higher perfection of the single 
 state ; but then there was this important 
 consideration, unmarried High Church clergy- 
 men were more easily susceptible of being 
 perverted to Rome. A wife was a great safe- 
 guard, though unfortunately not an absolute 
 preservative, from Popery. This consideration 
 decided her, the living was offered to and 
 accepted by Edgar. 
 
 Sach an opening for active, zealous work 
 was most acceptable to him at that moment. 
 He was preparing to take upon himself sacred 
 duties — to devote himself to what he thought 
 the highest caUing. He was also preparing 
 to enter a state of life which some persons, 
 even in his own communion, deemed not per- 
 fectly in accordance with that high calling.
 
 264 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 and he wislied to prove to himself, far more 
 than to others, that there was nothing in 
 those bright prospects of human happiness 
 and prosperity which mihtated against his 
 intention of devoting himself most ardently 
 to apostolic labour. He rejoiced in the 
 thought of taking \xp his abode, for a while 
 at least, in this poor little village among those 
 ignorant people, and of leading Annie to 
 share with him all the interests and the occu- 
 pations which were to be for ever interwoven 
 with their married life. Those months would 
 be a sort of preparation for future usefulness. 
 Visions of future self-renouncement, of wealth 
 devoted to the spiritual and temporal welfare 
 of others, of a holy simplicity which would be 
 all the more meritorious because it would be 
 voluntary, floated in his mind and deepened 
 his enthusiasm. 
 
 Wliether Annie perfectly understood, or 
 perfectly shared, these aspirations might seem 
 a little doubtful. She did so certainly so far 
 as this, that she would never object to any- 
 thing he wished or which would make him 
 happy ; the pleased look with which she 
 listened to his plans, and the delight she took
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 255 
 
 in Ms enjoyment of these schemeSj made Hm 
 imagine that she was as eag:er about them as 
 
 CD o 
 
 himself. To Ita she nsecl to say exactly the 
 truth : " If Edgar were to like me to go and 
 live at Bramblemoor, in that ugly little 
 cottage he has taken, I would. But I hope 
 he never will wish it."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It was a few daj^s before Christmas, the 
 season was a particularly mild one. There 
 were roses in the gardens, and actually prim- 
 roses in the woods. The air had a strange 
 softness ; the pale northern sun was shining 
 through the painted glass windows, on the 
 tesselated pavement of the little church of 
 Bramblemoor, and shedding its faint light on 
 the green graves of the churchyard, on the 
 vast expanse of the neighbouring common, 
 and the clumps of fir-trees and holly bushes 
 which dotted its surface. 
 
 Edgar Derwent had lately taken posses- 
 sion of his small house. It was scarcely 
 better than a labourer's cottage ; the furni- 
 ture Avas poor ; one old woman he had 
 engaged as cook and housekeeper, and a 
 young savage under her orders was being
 
 Mr.i. Gerald's Niece. 257 
 
 trained into an errand boy, or rather a boy-of- 
 all-work. There was scarcely a mark of dis- 
 tinction about the place except a tolerably 
 large number of books, almost more than the 
 place would hold, on the shelves of the sitting- 
 room and his own bed-room, and several 
 beautiful religious engravings and prints, 
 which hung on the walls. He was standing 
 before a table covered with flowers, which 
 had been brought in by the children he had 
 already gathered together under the care of a 
 dame competent to teach them the alphabet, 
 and not to fio-lit, at least within the walls of 
 the awful edifice, dignified by the name of 
 school, a sort of outhouse of his own abode. 
 It was a Saturday, and he wanted to have a 
 cross of flowers and wreaths prepared for the 
 decoration of his church the next day, St. 
 Thomas's Feast. He was hesitating whether 
 to ask his cook or his schoolmistress to under- 
 take the task, when Annie drove up to the 
 door in her pony-chaise, and Ita with her. 
 He came to the door with a bright smile on 
 his pale, thin, but very!^handsome face, and ex- 
 claimed : " Why, Annie, you are come just in 
 time to help me." Then, as she said, " Miss 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 17
 
 258 Mrs. GevaliVs Niece. 
 
 Flower, Eclo:ar," lie bowed to the other young 
 lady, and helped them both out of the carriage. 
 When they came mto his little sitting-room, 
 Annie, exclaimed, "What a number of flowers! 
 What are you going to do with them ?" 
 
 " I want wreaths for the church. I want 
 it to look very pretty to-morrow. I have 
 gone round to a great many of the cabins on 
 the common, and made people promise to 
 come to church, who have not been into one 
 for years." 
 
 " Do you think they will care about 
 flowers ?" Annie asked. 
 
 " Oh, I am sure they will," Ita exclaimed. 
 Edgar smiled : " I suppose then that you 
 are fond of them yourself: I mean, that you 
 like to see them in a church." 
 
 " Oh, yes. I was glad to hear that even 
 in Marchbanks Church there will be holly at 
 Christmas. 1 do so long to see something 
 there besides the pews, the reading-desk, and 
 the green baize on the communion table." 
 
 "It is as ugly a church as can be seen," 
 Annie said ; " but I wonder if we could help 
 Edsrar about these wreaths ?" 
 
 " The worst of it is that I wanted to go
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 259 
 
 to the other side of the common this after- 
 noon to look up some more people, and I 
 thought you would like to walk with me. You 
 could have your pony put up in the farm 
 stable for a couple of hours." 
 
 " I should like it very muchj but then 
 your wreaths ?" 
 
 "Annie," Ita said, in a low voice, "could 
 not I make the wreaths while you walk with 
 Mr. Derwent ? I should like it so much. I 
 made very pretty ones at Mentone." 
 
 " I know you arrange them beautifully. 
 May she stay here, Edgar, and I will go with 
 you?" 
 
 " It is very kind of you. Miss Flower," 
 Edgar said ; " but are you sure it will not 
 bore you ?" 
 
 " Not in the least. I shall like it so much. 
 And if I have not enough, may I get some 
 more flowers out of your garden. I see a 
 few left." 
 
 "Yes," he said, laughingly. " Take them 
 all if you like. We cannot expect they will 
 last long now, and on Christmas Day we 
 shall fall back on our traditional holly." 
 
 The pony-chaise was put up, and Annie
 
 260 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 and Edo^ar went off to tlie common, look- 
 ing very happy. Ita began lier work. She 
 drew the table nearer to the window that 
 she might see the moor, and one particular 
 holly-bush which she had taken a fancy to 
 from the moment she had looked out of that 
 window. The sky was particularly pretty, 
 too, that afternoon. She had not felt, since 
 she had been in England, so pleased with any 
 scenery, not even the beauties of Holmwood 
 or Carsdale, as with that bit of wild landscape, 
 or set about anything with so much pleasure 
 as making these wreaths, She finished them 
 in about an hour and a-half, and then strolled 
 into the village, and on to the little church, 
 the door of which was open. She was 
 •surprised at the beauty of the inside. The 
 painted glass was exceedingly pretty, and the 
 tesselated pavement also. The communion 
 table really looked like an altar ; there was a 
 ])icture of the Crucifixion above it, and the 
 whole aspect and arrangement of the building 
 was altogether different from the cold bare 
 churches she had hitherto seen in English 
 villag:es. She sat down on one of the front 
 benches, and took up a book which was lying
 
 Mrs. GeraltVs Niece. 261 
 
 there. It was a manual of prayers and devo- 
 tions, extracted from Catholic authors, and 
 adapted to the use of tlie Enghsh Church. 
 A smaller volume contained a preparation for 
 Confession and Communion, modelled on those 
 she had seen abroad. She was absorbed in 
 examinino^ these books when a slio-lit touch 
 on the shoulder startled her. Annie whispered, 
 " We must be going home." She followed 
 her to the door, and there they met Edgar, 
 who had seen the wreaths and was delighted 
 with them. He expressed his gratitude and 
 pleasure very warmly. She told him she had 
 been looking at some of his books, and he 
 offered to lend them to her. Annie had 
 been talking to him, during their walk, of 
 Ita's Catholic tendencies, and her conversa- 
 tions with Mrs. Sydney. He had eagerly pro- 
 mised to use his best efforts to keep her in 
 the Anglican Church, and felt convinced he 
 should succeed. The minute he had seen 
 her he perceived that she was no ordinary 
 person ; that she was worth taking pains 
 with. 
 
 "We must not lose her," he said to 
 Annie.
 
 262 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 She smiled and said, " It will be a 
 struggle between you and Mrs. Sydney." 
 
 " No, dear Annie," he answered. " No — 
 it will be a struggle between the power of 
 fascination in the Eoman Church, so dan- 
 gerous to warm hearts and imaginative 
 minds, and the holy, quiet influences of our 
 own Church, which, if religiously accepted, 
 gently mould the character and discipline the 
 soul. From what you tell me of your friend. 
 Protestantism could never gain or retain 
 any hold on her mind; but when she 
 understands that our Church is thoroughly 
 Catholic, though not Roman, I hope it will 
 be quite a new light to her." 
 
 Though Annie had said they were to go 
 home, none of the party were in a hurry to 
 separate. The two girls sat down on the 
 stile at one end of the little churchyard 
 listening to Edgar's plans and hopes. It 
 was a new thing to Ita to hear any one 
 speak as Edgar did — he was so earnest, so 
 deeply earnest. As he dwelt on what he had 
 already been able to do amongst the poor 
 people, and of the feelings with which he was 
 striving and praying for their conversion, her
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 263 
 
 heart burnt within her. She longed to help 
 him in more important ways than by making 
 wreaths ; and, for the first time, there rose in 
 her mind thoughts of what life might be with 
 a great aim and a great work. She admired 
 him very much. In the prime of youth, and 
 engaged to be married to one who evidently 
 idolized him, as Annie did — his whole heart 
 and soul seemed engrossed by the intense 
 desire of winning to God some of those poor, 
 sinful, ignorant souls. When they passed 
 the httle makeshift for a school, some twenty 
 children came running out and clustered 
 round Edgar, clinging to his coat or catching 
 hold of his hands and knees. He shook them 
 ofi" good-naturedly, and showed his visitors 
 the narrow low room which served for the 
 present as a school. Some pretty Scripture 
 prints hung round it, and there was a large 
 mattress in one corner for babies to sleep 
 upon when tired of learning the alphabet. 
 
 " I have a night school here," Edgar said, 
 " and I read aloud amusing books to the 
 young men. I have got seven or eight to 
 come regularly, and I hope to make them 
 into valuable assistants in time. I want to
 
 264 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 be like that bishop who found seventeen 
 Catholics in his diocese, when he first came to 
 it, and all the rest were heretics ; but before 
 he died, all his people were Catholics, save 
 seventeen who remained heretics." 
 
 " You want to make these people Catho- 
 lics ? " Ita timidly asked. 
 
 " Yes — good, thorough English Catholics. 
 I mean to make them love their Church — 
 delight in her services, and value her sacra- 
 ments. I have got two or three of the best 
 disposed persons amongst them to come to 
 daily prayers ; it is but a small beginning, but 
 I hope in time that, at break of day and at 
 sunset, the whole of my little flock will offer 
 up together the sacrifice of praise and prayer. 
 I have been reading an account of what the 
 Cure of Ars, a small place in France, accom- 
 plished in his parish. I mean to make him 
 my model." 
 
 Ita coloured deeply. " Do you mean that 
 you take a Catholic priest for your model ? " 
 
 " Yes, as far as his virtues and his holi- 
 ness go. I only wish I might hope to 
 emulate them ever so distantly, but I am 
 grateful that my own Church is a purer one
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 2G5 
 
 than liis. It is in her, by her, for her, and 
 throug^h her that I have to work ; I thank 
 God for it, and take for my motto that bean- 
 tiful sentence — the watchword of the Cathohc 
 party in England : ' In quietness and confi- 
 dence shall be thy strength.' " 
 
 " Yes, those are beautiful words ! " Ita 
 ejaculated, looking very thoughtful. 
 
 " They ought to be the motto of those 
 who labour to convince others of the 
 truth." 
 
 " I like your church, I mean that little 
 church there, verv much. I should like to 
 come and pray there every day." 
 
 " Well, at eight in the morning and seven 
 at night Ave have prayers, and in the evening 
 I give a short instruction. Annie and Mrs. 
 Gerald are coming on Christmas Eve, per- 
 haps you will also ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ! " Annie exclaimed. " You 
 must come and hear Edgar preach. I should 
 have liked so much to come here to-morrow, 
 but I cannot take the carriage out on Sun- 
 day." 
 
 "Could not you walk?" Ita quickly 
 asked.
 
 266 ilirs. GeralcVs Niece. 
 
 "Oil dear no ; Aunt Gerald would not 
 hear of it. We must really be going 
 now, she will wonder what has become of 
 us." 
 
 They got into the pony-chaise, and Edgar 
 gave into Ita's hand a little parcel of books. 
 " I think," she said to Annie as they drove 
 off, " that you are likely to be very happy. 
 Mr. Derwent looks so good, so clever, and he 
 is so handsome too." 
 
 " I almost wish sometimes he was not so 
 much better and nicer than other people, as 
 he is. I am afi'aid I am not half good enough 
 for him." 
 
 " But you can grow more and more good. 
 He will show you the way, and lead you on." 
 
 Annie shook her head. "I admire him 
 more than I can say, but I do not feel as if I 
 could keep up with him. I am afraid I 
 shall lag behind." 
 
 " How you must have enjoyed walking 
 with him, and hearing him talk to the poor 
 people." 
 
 " It was very interesting. They seemed 
 at first to listen only out of civility, but, after 
 he had said a few words, they paid more
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 267 
 
 attention, and I could see that some of tliem 
 were touched. Most of them promised to 
 come to church." 
 
 " Goino- to church at Bramblemoor must 
 be a very different thing from going to church 
 at Holmwood or Marchbanks." 
 
 " Very different indeed. What a number 
 of things Edgar has put up which are not 
 seen elsewhere." 
 
 " There is something very nice about it. 
 I never saw a church I liked so much before, 
 that was not a Catholic one." 
 
 "But Edgar says ours is the Catholic 
 Church, or, at any rate, a branch of it." 
 
 " And do you beheve it, Annie ? " 
 
 " In a sort of way I do ; but you know I 
 think he goes a great deal too far." 
 
 "But what is going too far?" Ita ex- 
 claimed. " What does it mean ? I wish 
 you would not always use those sort of vague 
 expressions. Who shall- decide what is far 
 enough and not too far ? " 
 
 " I have gone too far this way," said 
 Annie, laughing ; " and must turn round in 
 this narrow lane. Now, do not talk to me 
 just now. There, have not I done it beauti-
 
 2G8 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 fully? How fond the school children seem 
 of Edgar." 
 
 " You must not let him get too fond of 
 Bramblemoor. He would make you forsake 
 Holmwood." 
 
 " There is no fear of that ; he is so pas- 
 sionately fond of it, and he has been telling 
 me of a plan I like so much. Eliza Conway 
 is engaged, he says, to a clergyman, a Mr. 
 E-oland, and w^hen wo are married, and he 
 lives at Holmwood, he will make him his 
 curate at Bramblemoor, and then they can 
 marry also and live there. In the meantime 
 she and a friend of hers are coming to live in 
 a cottage and work among the poor and nurse 
 the sick." 
 
 "I shall ask to help them. AYhat a dif- 
 ferent thins: life must be with real interests 
 and objects." 
 
 *' Yes, of course, it must be very nice to 
 do a great deal of good, but I have not any 
 talent for it ; I am glad Edgar will manage 
 all our charities. My aunt has done so till 
 now, I always ask her about everything." 
 
 Mrs. Gerald had been paying Lady Emily 
 a visit, and waiting for Annie to call and take
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 269 
 
 lier home. She came down as soon as Ita 
 told her that she had arrived. She was 
 looking very ill ; so much so, that both the 
 girls were struck with her paleness ; and 
 she hardly spoke at all during the drive home, 
 thouo-h Annie was lons^ino- to talk about 
 Edgar and Bramblemoor. 
 
 " Would you like to live there ?" her 
 aunt asked at last in an absent manner. 
 
 " Oh dear no : how could I live there ? he 
 has only got a little tiny cottage." 
 
 " Poets talk of love in a cottage." 
 
 " I do not care about poets. Love in a 
 nice country house is much better. How is 
 Lady Emily?" 
 
 "Very feeble, and her mind wanders a 
 little, I think, at times." 
 
 Mrs. Gerald became absent again. Poor 
 woman ! She was beoinnino: to know what 
 it is to suffer silently, secretly, increasmgly; 
 to have an unwelcome, strange, wretched, 
 fanciful fear, haunting the waking hour and 
 the sleepless night, mixing itself with every 
 pleasant image, thrusting itself into each 
 thought of the future, and mingling with it 
 doubt and perplexity.
 
 270 . Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 Ita had carried up to lier room the Httle 
 parcel of books Edgar had given her; and, 
 after dinner, when Lady Emily had fallen 
 asleep and Mr. Hendon had gone to his 
 library, she too went to her study, a little 
 recess in the corner of her room, lighted the 
 candles, and began to examine those books. 
 There must be many amongst us, of those that 
 are now far advanced in age, who remember 
 what an epoch it was in their lives when the 
 various publications of the Oxford school 
 began to be placed in their hands ; how, after 
 years of meagre, cold, lifeless, shallow reli- 
 gious observances, diversified perhaps by 
 periodical fits of evangelical fervour or Cal- 
 vinistic enthusiasm, alternating with vague 
 yearnings and instinctive predilections for the 
 Church of Rome, struggled against and re- 
 pressed indeed, but forcing their Avay into 
 minds which had come into contact with it ; 
 how, after this seeking for rest and finding 
 none, a vision rose before them, a fair fabric, 
 a seemly building, on the gates of which 
 seemed inscribed, '' Ye that enter in," not as 
 in Dante's line, "leave all hope behind," but 
 rather find the fulfilment of every hope and
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 271 
 
 sacred wish." It was like a dream of beauty 
 and of joy to admit into om' souls, our minds, 
 and our prayers, tlie long-forbidden names and 
 words, wliicli had since childhood rung in our 
 ears like a far distant music, the Catholic 
 Church, the Blessed Virgin, the Festivals, the 
 Fasts, AH Saints and All Souls, Matins and 
 Evensong, Confession and Absolution. All 
 that we had heard of and gazed on with a 
 sigh as lovely but dangerous visions, what 
 every teacher of our youth and every clergy- 
 man of the Protestant Church of England 
 had warned us against as Popish delusions, 
 was placed before us as the truth, was offered 
 to our acceptance in the most attractive and 
 cono-enial form. The cathedrals and the old 
 parish churches of our native land seemed to 
 assume a new aspect, and the prayers we had 
 so long used, to have a new meaning. There 
 was a tranquilhty, a dignity, an earnestness 
 about the writers of that period and that 
 school which took a great hold on the mind. 
 The religious depth and literary merit of Dr. 
 ISTewman's sermons, the exquisite poetry of 
 the " Christian Year," the stories which, in 
 various ways, illustrated church principles.
 
 272 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 
 
 tlie lessons of self-training contained in 
 Fatlier Faber's and Arclideacon, now Arch- 
 bishop Manning's writings — all did their work 
 and prepared the soul for the reception of 
 Catholic truth and discipline. It was very 
 delightful to think that, without offending 
 relatives or losing friends, we might become 
 what many of us had longed to be, Catholics 
 to all intents and purposes. Catholics after a 
 fashion of our own indeed, but still a genuine 
 and real fashion. A void was, as it were, 
 filled up, a craving satisfied, a hope realized. 
 
 All this Ita felt as she examined the books 
 she had brought home with her. They made 
 a great impression on her mind ; a new kind 
 of existence seemed to open before her. 
 There is a turning-point in many lives, a 
 moment in which we perceive that there is a 
 great inward work to be done, and the means 
 by which to do it ; when we see that religion, 
 if it is anything, must be everything, that we 
 must not give to our Creator less than all. 
 The mere perception of this is an event in 
 our spiritual history, and, if we do not turn 
 back, it will lead us very far. This insight 
 into a new world is sometines indistinct and
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 273 
 
 dim like the first liazy light of morning, some- 
 times sudden like a burst of sunshine. We 
 begin to understand how a monotonous and 
 obscure existence may be interesting, and life 
 become more beautiful as it advances, instead 
 of losino^ its charm and its value as we once 
 feared it would when youth was at an end. 
 In one shape or another this revelation is 
 vouchsafed to all those whom God calls to a 
 more than ordinary amount of devotedness 
 to his service ; and it was probably on that 
 night that Ita sat in her little study, lighting 
 one candle after another while she pored 
 over Edgar's books, that the first ideas rose 
 in her mind which were eventually to have 
 the greatest influence over her fate. The 
 calm, strong, simple tone of what she then 
 read struck her wonderfully. There was 
 something authoritative in it which she felt 
 to be what she needed. It was a relief, like 
 finding a wall to lean against when pushed 
 about by a moving crowd. She repeated 
 over and over again the words, " In quietness 
 and in confidence shall be thy strength;" 
 and they seemed to impart to her peace 
 and energy. She could hardly read a 
 
 t:l. I. 18
 
 274 ilfrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 wliole page tlirougli of any of those books 
 wliicli were revealing a new world to lier, 
 without shutting up the volume in her 
 hand and musing in silence, as she walked 
 up and down the room, or stood at the 
 window gazing on the starlit sky, which had 
 never seemed so wonderful to her before. 
 Then taking pen in hand she made plans, 
 drew up for herself rules, formed resolutions, 
 and longed for the morning to begin putting 
 them into practice. " In quietness and con- 
 fidence shall be thy strength." The sentence 
 rang in her ears, it seemed to have a magical 
 power over her; not that she felt at that 
 moment quiet, far from it, nor could she well 
 have defined in whom or in what she had 
 confidence ; but there was light and strength 
 in the distance, she foresaw, she felt it ; an 
 inward hidden life had quickened in her soul. 
 After a short sleep she woke with a con- 
 sciousness of a change in her existence. She 
 said her prayers more attentively, more fer- 
 vently than was her wont. Even the service 
 at the church at Marchbanks on the following 
 Sunday seemed to her less tedious than usual. 
 Some of the things she had read in Edgar's
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 275 
 
 books gave more interest to certain portions 
 of the service ; tlie idea wbicli ran througli 
 tliem all tliat the Cliurcli of England was, 
 after all, Catholic, though its catholicity had 
 been so long disfigured and concealed, was 
 traceable she felt in many of the prayers. 
 She repeated the Creed with a new feeling — 
 " I believe in the Holy Catholic Church," was 
 not then perhaps an empty phrase without 
 any meaning in it ! The absolution had some 
 connection with those awful words of Scrip- 
 ture about binding and loosing which had so 
 often puzzled her. It was difiicult to look at 
 Mr. Power and think of him as a priest, he 
 was so utterly different from any of the 
 persons she had been in the habit of consider- 
 ing as such; but the very activity of the 
 debate which was going on in her own mind 
 made the dulness of his sermon endurable. 
 The rest of the day she spent in reading and 
 musing over the various works which, with 
 judicious care, Edgar had selected as most 
 likely to give her a favourable bias towards 
 High Church principles. She found in them 
 much of what had so powerfully attracted her 
 to Catholicism abroad — a reverence for anti-
 
 276 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 quity — the use of time-honoured words and 
 names — a poetry thrown over devotional 
 duties and observances, which she did not 
 fancy could ever have been met with out of 
 the Church of Rome. Besides all this, she 
 was struck with the moral and religious 
 training which this system seemed to promise 
 — that education of the soul, the development 
 of Avhich she had had very little opportunity 
 of witnessing anywhere else, for she had gazed 
 from without on the Catholic Church, she 
 knew nothing of its inward treasures. Mrs. 
 Sydney, indeed, had indicated that it pos- 
 sessed gifts of unspeakable power and virtue 
 in those respects, but she had not had time to 
 describe or analyze them ; and neither expe- 
 rience nor memory at that time enabled Ita 
 to flill back on anything superior to the 
 teaching which the new views, set before her, 
 seemed to promise. 
 
 The days which intervened between St. 
 Thomas's Day and Christmas Eve were spent 
 in this interesting study, and passed very 
 quickly. Annie had promised that she and 
 Mrs. Gerald would call for Ita at half-past 
 eight on the Wednesday evening on their
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 277 
 
 way to Bramblemoor. The night was clear, 
 cold, and starry — a beautiful night for the 
 time of year. It was freezing, but the air so 
 still that it did not feel very cold. The trees, 
 bushes, hedges, and grass looked lovely, glit- 
 tering with hoar finest in the bright moon- 
 light. As they approached the village, the 
 tinkling of the church bells was heard, 
 joyously sounding a welcome to the wor- 
 shippers that were crossing the common in 
 various directions, attracted by the novelty of 
 a service on that night and at that hour. 
 
 '' What odd dreams one sometimes has !" 
 Ita said, as they drove past a clump of elms, 
 which stood on one side of the small church- 
 yard. " I dreamt last night that I had been 
 drowned and had come to life again." 
 
 "I never dreamt that," Annie answered, 
 " but it really happened to me. Did not it, 
 Aunt Gerald ?" 
 
 " You were not actually drowned, but you 
 were in danger of it." 
 
 " But did not I remain in the water long- 
 enough to be quite insensible ?" 
 
 " Yes, my love. What are you looking at 
 so earnestly, Ita ?"
 
 278 Mrs. GeraUVs Niece. 
 
 " I have such a strange clishke to moon- 
 hght. It always gives me a nervous feeUng 
 of faintness. It makes me quite ilL" 
 
 The young girl had turned very pale. 
 Mrs. Gerald took her hands in hers and 
 found them cold. She drew her close to 
 herself, and there was a wistful look in her 
 face as she bent over her. As they drove up 
 to the gate of the churchyard, and the 
 carriage stopped, Ita said, " It is over now — 
 I am well again." The colour had returned 
 to her cheeks, and, when they entered the 
 church, Mrs. Gerald was the palest of the 
 two. 
 
 Never had any of the rural congregation, 
 which met in the little church on that 
 Christmas Eve, seen so pretty a sight before 
 in a place of worship. The walls were hung 
 with wreaths of holly, glowing with their 
 coral berries. A large cross composed of 
 flowers stood over the communion table, 
 which was made to look as much like an altar 
 as jpossible. Two lighted candles were on 
 each side of it, and the whole of the building 
 brightly illuminated. These decorations had 
 a joyful effect on the hearts of all present.
 
 ilfn*?. Gerald's Niece. 279 
 
 Even Anniej the stauncliest Protestant of the 
 lot, could not help feeling pleased. The old- 
 fashioned hymn — 
 
 " Hark, tlie herald angels sing, 
 Glory to the new-born King" — 
 
 was sung before the service ; and, though the 
 school children's voices were not particularly- 
 melodious, Edgar's deep bass notes and Ita's 
 sweet voice made the simple chant seem full 
 of beauty. After the prayers, the " Adeste 
 Fideles," with English words, delighted Ita's 
 ears — that air she had so often heard in 
 Catholic churches, and which had such a 
 famihar sound to her, seemed to establish a 
 link between the worship she had secretly 
 loved and the one she was beginning to feel 
 attracted to. After the service was over, 
 Edgar gave a short familiar instruction to 
 his parishioners. He did not read it, but 
 spoke words that seemed to come from his 
 heart. Entirely new were the substance and 
 style of this address to his listeners. He 
 described in a familiar manner, even like one 
 who might have seen it, the place where the 
 Virojin Mother had taken refuo-e. He told
 
 280 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 liis hearers to fancy themselves there — to 
 watch what Avent on — to picture to them- 
 selves the scene. He spoke of the Blessed 
 Virgin gently, reverently, lovingly ; and of 
 the divine Infant in a fervent, earnest way, 
 which made their hearts burn within them. 
 Edgar had drunk deeply from the wells of 
 Catholic piety, and his was a heart and a 
 mind which could wonderfully exert influence, 
 and captivate other hearts and minds. All 
 who heard him that night were astonished at 
 his simple eloquence ; it certainly was elo- 
 quence, for whatever touches, moves, and 
 persuades others must be so. One old man, 
 as he left the church, said he had never 
 known before what Christmas meant, and 
 should think much more of it than he had 
 hitherto done. 
 
 Ita was much impressed by the whole 
 scene, and coming, as it did, upon the 
 thoughts of the last few days, no wonder 
 that it should affect her. She had no idea 
 that an Anglican service could have moved 
 her so much, and it must be true, she thought, 
 that the Church of England was quite diff'erent 
 from what she had supposed it to bo. It must
 
 Mrs. (jferald\s Niece. 281 
 
 have hidden merits whicli only required to be 
 brouo-ht to lio-ht. The new resokitions she 
 had made grew stronger ; she resolved to be 
 good, very good, more than commonly good. 
 Edgar had spoken of the joyful tidings which 
 the angels had announced to the shepherds, 
 and then he had said that there was a day and 
 an hour in many persons' lives,;in which tidings 
 of great joy were brought to them. An 
 angel's voice seemed to whisper, for the first 
 time, secrets concerning God and their souls. 
 It was a strange joy, he said, that that voice 
 sometimes promised, one from which the 
 cowardly shrink, for it often presages suffering. 
 Perhaps the shepherds who heard the angels' 
 tidings on the green hills of Bethlehem were 
 doomed soon afterwards to listen, in their 
 desolate homes, to the loud cry of Rachel's 
 anguish. God's special graces, he said, were 
 the harbingers of special griefs, and the joys 
 of Christians most fully felt by those on 
 whom the shadow of the cross had rested 
 since infancy. 
 
 Ita went home with these words in her 
 ears and in her heart. "As the}' left the 
 church she leant on Annie, and said, " Oh,
 
 282 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 dear, darling Annie, how good you must 
 always be, you who are to be Mr. Derwent's 
 wife." 
 
 Annie looked unusually grave, and an- 
 swered nothing. There was very liitle con- 
 versation in the carriage in which they all 
 drove home. Before Ita was deposited at 
 the back-door of Marchbanks house. Mrs. 
 Gerald asked her if she thought Lady Emily 
 would be well enough to see her, if she 
 called in a day or two. Ita thought 
 she would, unless she happened to have 
 had a bad night ; and thereupon they 
 parted. 
 
 A new era had began in Ita's life. The 
 glimpse she had had of the gaieties of the 
 world at Carsdale, had made little im- 
 pression upon her. She would never have 
 been in danger of becoming worldly and 
 frivolous; other dangers and other snares 
 she might have found on her way through 
 life. She might have gone into extremes of 
 various kinds; she might have indulged in 
 hero-worship of a false and perilous nature. 
 She was just at the age wlicn the character 
 is apt to take a new dKection, If she had
 
 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 283 
 
 seen more of Mrs. Sydney, lier influence 
 would, perhaps, have induced her to enter at 
 once on the question of the claims and merits 
 of the Church of Rome ; and she would then, 
 probably, have joined it, and her own fate 
 and that of others been different from what 
 it eventually proved. But Edgar's arrival at 
 Bramblemoor — the opening of the church 
 there — the services she attended — the ser- 
 mons she heard, and the books she read, 
 took an entire hold of her mind. What 
 religious wi'iters called first fervours were 
 kindled in her soul. Those are wonderful 
 days in which notliing seems hard or difficult, 
 when there is a joy in every opportunity for 
 exertion or sacrifice — when the will seems to 
 rush forward 'to the accomplishment of every- 
 thing which the mind lays hold of in the way 
 of duty — when doctrines hitherto unknown 
 or misunderstood assume a mastery over us 
 which results in new practices, new thoughts, 
 a new and cheering sense of what we are hv- 
 ing, hoping, and striving for. Divine consola- 
 tions, in mercy given to lead the soul onward, 
 mingle with human feelings, which in those 
 early days of the spiritual life prevail largely.
 
 284 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 tbougli unconsciously, in much of what seems 
 to ourselves to be piety, and to others excite- 
 ment. Ita felt as if she had never been 
 happy before. Everything connected with 
 religion had become pleasant. She took 
 delight in getting up at daybreak, whatever 
 the weather might be— rain, sleet, snow, wind, 
 or mist — and with her waterproof cloak and 
 umbrella, walking swiftly across the park 
 and the common, a good three miles, to the 
 morning service. The tinkling of the bell 
 used to sound pleasantly in her ears as she 
 faced the cold north wind, and there was a 
 consciousness of making a great exertion, of 
 despising luxury and comfort, of doing some- 
 thing out of the common way, which pro- 
 duced a particularly agreeable sensation of 
 self-approval; not blamable, good as a be- 
 ginning, but perhaps a little tainted by self- 
 complacency. She, the school children, and 
 three or four other persons, made up the 
 congregation on week-days. She wondered 
 Annie did not come, forgetting that she lived 
 seven miles off, and must have had the 
 coachman and servants up at a most incon- 
 veniently early hour; and, when she was
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 285 
 
 reminded of this, her wonder changed into 
 pity. One day that she was expressing this 
 feehng, Annie exclaimed, " I think it is just 
 as well to say one's prayers at home ; so, if I 
 went, it would not be for the sake of the 
 prayers, but to hear Edgar's voice and see 
 him, which is to me the greatest happiness 
 in the world. It is on that account I don't 
 go to Bramblemoor even on Sundays. I 
 might be thinking more of him than of my 
 prayers." 
 
 I should have thought," Ita replied, 
 that such a feeling as yours for Mr. Der- 
 went would have helped you to pray more 
 fervently. I think that to admire and love 
 any one on earth very much makes one love 
 God so much more. I remember once reading 
 that somebody said of St. Francis of Sales, 
 the Holy Bishop of Geneva, who wrote that 
 book Mr. Derwent likes so much, ' The In- 
 troduction to a Devout Life,' ' If Monsieur 
 de Geneve is so good, how good must God, 
 who made him, be.' When I feel an enthu- 
 siasm about good people, I always have had 
 that idea in my mind. But, Annie, when 
 you are married, and if Mr. Derwent is Vicar 

 
 286 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 of Holmwood, you will be obliged to go to 
 cliurcli there." 
 
 " Of coarse I sliall, it will be my 
 duty to do so. On tlie whole I am not 
 sure that I am glad Edgar is a clergy- 
 
 man." 
 
 cc 
 
 Oh, AnniOj it is such a beautiful useful 
 life !" 
 
 "But it is a very engrossing one. I 
 really see very little of him." 
 
 "But cannot you be yourself engrossed 
 in it ? Cannot you make every one of his 
 interests yours, and work for liim, both in his 
 absence and in his presence. He should be 
 the sun and you the moon of his parish ; whilst 
 he shines by his virtues and his eloquence, 
 you should win hearts by your gentleness 
 and sweetness. If all wives ought to be help- 
 mates, clergymen's wives should be so more 
 especially." 
 
 " Your flights are too high for me. I 
 cannot make myself into a moon. I have no 
 talent for winning hearts." 
 
 "Yet how much loved you are." 
 
 " 1 have not won anybody's heart that I 
 know of. Those who care for me have done
 
 Mrs. GerakVs Niece. 287 
 
 so without my having anything to do "with it. 
 Have you heard that Eliza Conway is coming 
 next week to Bramblemoor ?" 
 
 " Yes. The schoolmistress told me so. 
 She is to live with her and nurse the sick, 
 and I am to spend three days in the week 
 working with her, when Lady Emily can 
 spare me ; and she is often now quite willing 
 I should be away for the whole day. She 
 dozes over her knitting, and does not want 
 anybody but her maid." 
 
 " Is it true that you go twice a day some- 
 times for the service to Bramblemoor ?" 
 
 " Yes, but it tires me very much ; and 
 now, if I can stay between whiles with 
 Eliza and be of use there, it will be a great 
 rehef." 
 
 " I hear you do not eat meat now on 
 Fridays." 
 
 Ita coloured ; for she had begun with a 
 kind of eager excitement to act upon Edgar's 
 advice in that respect. Nothing could exceed 
 her zeal in complying with his instructions ; 
 whatever he intimated in his sermons that it 
 would be well to do, she instantly practised, 
 but she had not as yet had any private con-
 
 288 Mrs. GeraUVs Niece. 
 
 versation with him, or been much in liis so- 
 ciety. Her admiration of him was unbounded ; 
 but there was one point alone about which 
 she did not feel as if she should ever be able 
 to practise what he told her he hoped his 
 parishioners would many of them do when 
 he was ordained priest. She could never, she 
 thought, go to confession to him. She could 
 not analyze her feeling on that subject. She 
 could imagine that it would be a great help, 
 a great consolation, to kneel at the feet 
 of some grey-headed, venerable, old man, 
 and accuse herself of all the sins and miseries 
 of her life ; and that to hear words of abso- 
 lution addressed individually to herself would 
 be the greatest of comforts ; but it must be 
 under peculiar circumstances — hei' secrets 
 spoken to an unknown ear, and the message 
 of God conveyed to her soul by an unknown 
 voice. 
 
 Edofar worked verv hard, and it was true 
 that he had not much time to give to Holm- 
 wood and Annie. She was very patient with 
 him, though somewhat exacting with others. 
 There is nothing more touching than the 
 gentleness of a self-willed person under the
 
 Mr. Gerald's Niece. 289 
 
 influence of a strono- aflection. Without 
 taking any very keen interest in his plans, 
 she listened with unwearied attention to all 
 he said, because it was he who said it. She 
 helped him to the best of her ability — not 
 that she could see the use of many of the 
 things which he wished to do and establish 
 in his church and parish — but still in defer- 
 ence to what she considered his better judg- 
 ment, she assisted him with money to effect 
 these changes whenever he wished it. She 
 read the books he recommended assiduously, 
 attentively, but without result as far as con- 
 viction w^ent. Some of the moral lessons and 
 religious ideas in the " Plain Sermons," and 
 other works of the Oxford school, she ad- 
 mired, but her practical, positive, unimagi- 
 native mind could neither see consistency 
 nor reason in the theory on which Anglican- 
 ism is. built, nor enable her to do without 
 seeing it. It seemed to her utterly illogical 
 in j)rinciple, and, as it did not accord with 
 her tastes and inclinations, she turned from 
 it with pain indeed, because she would have 
 very much desired to feel and think like 
 Edo'ar, but with an increasino; dislike and 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 290 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 suspicion. The only merit slie could see in 
 Anglicanism was, that some people were 
 kept by it from Roman Catholicism, which 
 she hated still more. It certainly had that 
 good result, she thought, in Ita's case, and of 
 that she was very glad.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Soon after Cliristmas, Mrs. Gerald had paid 
 a long visit to Lady Emily Hendon. Slie 
 had found her much altered in looks, and 
 evidently very ill. They had begun by 
 talking of various indifferent subjects, and 
 then Mrs. Gerald said, in an indifferent 
 manner also, " How well Miss Flower is 
 looking ! " 
 
 " She is very well, I think," Lady Emily 
 languidly replied. 
 
 " Annie and I like her so much." 
 
 " I am very glad you do. It is such 
 a good thing she should make friends, for 
 I am sure I shall not live long, and I cannot 
 think what she is to do when I die. Perhaps 
 you could suggest something ? " 
 
 " 1 hope, dear Lady Emily, that you are 
 mistaken, and that you will hve a long time
 
 292 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 yet. But has not Miss Flower any rela- 
 tives ? " 
 
 " No ; not a soul that anybody knows of. 
 I may as well tell you about her. The 
 people I took her from had picked her up 
 at sea, somewhere on the coast. They were 
 fishermen going to Corsica. They took the 
 baby into their boat, and brought her home 
 w4th them some months afterwards. They 
 used sometimes to beg from travellers on the 
 plea of having adopted this bab}^ She was 
 very pretty ; and when, two or three years 
 afterwards, some of my friends thought it 
 would amuse me to have a child in the house, 
 they told me of this little thing, and I adopted 
 her and brought her up. We called her 
 ' Margarita,' the Pearl of the Sea, it seemed 
 so appropriate, and she called herself ' Ita.' 
 She has always been a good, dear little thing. 
 I wish now I had married her to somebody 
 abroad; you cannot well arrange that sort 
 of thing here, and really I do not know what 
 she is to do when I die. I shall leave her 
 something, of course, but I have not much 
 besides my jointure. You cannot tLink, I 
 suppose, of any one who would like to
 
 Mrs. GerakVs Niece. 293 
 
 marry her. She will have four thousand 
 pounds." 
 
 There was something husky in Mrs. 
 Gerald's voice as she answered, " No, I can- 
 not say I do. I suppose she was given up 
 to you altogether ? " 
 
 " Yes ! Those people signed a paper to 
 that effect. I dare say Mr. Hendon would 
 be kind to her if I died ; but it would not 
 suit him, I am sure, to have a girl to take 
 care of." 
 
 " You will get better soon, and return to 
 Mentone," Mrs. Gerald answered, as if try- 
 ing to say something. 
 
 " Oh, no ! I am more ill than you 
 suppose. I ought never to have come to 
 England." 
 
 Mrs. Gerald inwardly re-echoed the words, 
 but not on Lady Emily's account. It was 
 for her own sake that she felt it. What was 
 the importance of a few more or less years 
 of existence to a languishing invalid, com- 
 pared with the doubt which had arisen in 
 her own mind, and wdiich had begun to em- 
 bitter her existence. 
 
 To understand this it is necessary to go
 
 294 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 back some years, and describe what hap- 
 pened at the time of her eldest brother's 
 death. It has ah^eady been said that her 
 affection for him was the strongest feehng 
 of her heart, and that her dishke to her 
 younger brother, Edgar's father, had dated 
 equally from childhood. Herbert Derwent 
 had never shared hers and her brother 
 Robert's attachment to Holmwood, or any 
 of those family feelings which were so marked 
 a feature in their characters. He was a 
 selfish, careless, extravagant young man, 
 who professed to hate living in the country, 
 and had been known to say that, if the old 
 place ever came into his hands, he would sell 
 it as soon as he could. Mrs. Gerald had 
 brooded over those words with profound 
 resentment and indignation. He married in 
 a way which did not particularly tend to 
 please his relatives, and they became still 
 more estranged from him, and in consequence 
 he from them and from Holmwood. It was, 
 therefore, with an intense joy that Mrs. 
 Gerald, soon after her widowhood, heard of 
 her eldest brother's marriage, and some 
 months afterwards welcomed him and his
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 295 
 
 young wife at Mce, wliere site had remained 
 since her husband's death. They spent the 
 winter there, and Mrs. Derwent, towards the 
 end of February, gave birth to a little girl. 
 As soon as she was recovered from her con- 
 finement, she travelled on with her husband 
 and child to Florence and Eome. Mrs. 
 Gerald was to meet them at Genoa, on their 
 way back, and thither she went on one of 
 those days in May, which in Italy fulfils 
 everything that poets of every age have 
 sung or said of that smiling month. She 
 travelled along the Corniche road, lately 
 opened, revelling in the matcUess beauty of 
 scenes which pass before the eje like visions 
 which it would fain retain and dwell on in 
 protracted admiration, but which too quickly 
 succeed each other, like dreams of a fairer 
 world than our own. What will it be when 
 we are carried at railroad speed through 
 that dazzling magnificence of earth, sea, and 
 sky. Will beauty penetrate the mind hence- 
 forward as deeply, will it mould the fancy 
 and saturate the soul as in days of yore, now 
 that one glance only is allowed at objects 
 which a poet would once have gazed on for
 
 296 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 
 
 hours with the silent worship of passion or 
 of prayer ?" 
 
 A dehghtful anticipation of approaching 
 enjoyment mingled in Mrs. Gerald's heart 
 with the emotions of that journey. She 
 fondly loved her young sister-in-law; and 
 the little baby who had been born in her 
 house had become the dearest object of in- 
 terest to her. She was cold in manner, but 
 when she loved it was very intensely. This 
 little child, though a girl, was to inherit 
 Holmwood if she had no brother. It was 
 only to pass to Herbert or his children if 
 Robert had none. This new treasure of 
 their lives was to be carried back that summer 
 to the old home, was to grow up in the love 
 of it, and, as she looked at the little brown 
 creatures playing in the olive woods or on 
 the sandy shores of the Riviera, the thought 
 of "our baby," "our little Annie," "our 
 child," was ever in her mind. Robert 
 Derwent had married rather late in life, and, 
 therefore, all the joy of his wedded life and 
 the sweetness of loving his child had come 
 as a new happiness to his sister. When she 
 approached G-enoa her heart beat with glad
 
 Mrs. GerakVs Niece. 297 
 
 impatience ; when the proud and beautiful 
 city, Genova la Superha, burst on her dehghted 
 sight, her eyes still turned towards the sea 
 and to the countless sails on the bosom of 
 the broad bay, and of the wide realm of blue 
 sunny waters beyond, with a bound of eager 
 hope and exulting delight. " To-night," she 
 thought, "to-night perhaps, at latest to- 
 morrow, I shall see my own dear ones, the 
 only ones on earth whom I love and who 
 love me : his dear kind face ; her smile when 
 she shows me the babv in her short clothes ; 
 his quiet delight ; Maud's 'Oh, Aunt Gerald !' 
 for so she always called her. " She pictured 
 it all, she lived through it many times in 
 thought, never again in reality. 
 
 That night there was a storm, fearful and 
 sudden, and a great darkness, and, near the 
 entrance of the bay, two steamers came in 
 collision ; one went down, the other was 
 shattered to pieces. From the former only 
 two human beings escaped — a cabin-boy was 
 picked up with a child in his arms. 
 
 Mrs. Gerald had received the night before 
 a letter which said her brother with his wife 
 and baby had sailed from Leghorn in the
 
 298 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 steamer "Acquilea," and the news was 
 brouglit lier in tlie morning that the vessel 
 had gone down and all on board of her were 
 lost. A few hours afterwards when she was 
 sitting in the dull hopeless stupor that a 
 sudden and extraoi^dinary calamity brings on, 
 the English Consul asked to speak to her. 
 He said a little girl, apparently three or four 
 months old, had been saved by a sailor, who 
 was the only survivor besides that child of 
 the passengers in the " Acquilea ;" that the 
 night-gown this baby had on was marked 
 with the initials A. D., and that the boy said 
 he thought it was the child of an Enghsh 
 gentleman and lady who had a cabin to 
 themselves. The rush of something between 
 renewed anguish and an awakened hope, with 
 its whole future of consolation, roused at 
 once Mrs. Gerald ; and, though the instant 
 before she would have been incapable of 
 stirring, she sprang now to her feet and in- 
 sisted on immediately going to see the child. 
 She felt at once that any question of recog- 
 nizing a baby only four months old and 
 whom she had not seen for three months was 
 out of the question ; that as far as that went
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 299 
 
 she could not trust lier own impressions ; but 
 the night-gown she would of course be able 
 to identify, as she had herself helped her 
 sister-in-law to prepare, and, in particular, to 
 get marked, the clothes for little Annie. The 
 letters A. D. seemed to float before her eyes 
 as she walked to the Spedale, and the intense 
 excitement of her mind seemed for a while to 
 overcome the terrible suffering she endured. 
 It was a strange moment for her when she 
 was led up to the woman who was nursing 
 the baby. Kneeling down she looked at it 
 with inexpressible eagerness. The eyes 
 seemed to her like those of her infant idece, 
 and there was notliing in the small features 
 dissimilar to the little face she remembered. 
 But when the night-gown was produced, 
 every doubt vanished. It was certainly 
 Annie's. Not only did the initials prove it, 
 but Mrs. Gerald recognized the pattern of 
 the lace trimming which she had herself 
 chosen. 
 
 The cabin-boy was summoned and cross- 
 examined. " Was there more than one infant 
 on board ?" 
 
 Three he believed, but he could not tell if
 
 300 Mrs. GeraliVs Niece. 
 
 they were boys or girls ; the English Signora's 
 child was a girl he knew. 
 
 How did he get hold of this little child ? 
 
 Somebody gave it to him to hold just as 
 the crash took place. Everybody was run- 
 ning about in confusion. " For the love of 
 the Madonna, take the creature," some one 
 said. 
 
 That could not have been Eobert or 
 Maud, Mrs. Gerald thought, but she did not 
 say a word. 
 
 " Had this English lady and gentleman 
 Italian servants ? " the Consul asked. 
 
 " Sicil'ro," the boy replied ; " the baby had 
 an Italian nurse." 
 
 In an agitated voice Mrs. Gerald declared 
 that the night-gown was sufficient evidence 
 that this was her little niece, and appealed 
 to the Consul, who agreed with her, that the 
 evidence appeared conclusive, but suggested 
 at the same time that some one should come 
 from Florence who had lately seen the child, 
 and could testify to her identity. 
 
 Mrs. Gerald took the baby home with her, 
 and from that moment was absorbed in the 
 care of this little being, who, in consequence
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 301 
 
 of the exposure and fatigue she had under- 
 gone, was for a long time in a precarious 
 condition. In a short time, the master of 
 the hotel where Mr. and Mrs. Derwent 
 had been staying at Florence, and one of 
 the servants there, arrived for the purpose 
 of declaring Avhether the little girl so 
 wonderfully preserved on the night of the 
 accident was their child. They no doubt 
 perceived with Italian acuteness that there 
 was a passionate desire on the rich English 
 lady's part that their evidence might corro- 
 borate the fact ; and, not having, jorobably, 
 any distinct impression to the contrar}", they 
 did not hesitate to assure her and other 
 witnesses, in the presence of the Consul, that 
 the Bambina was the little Signorina Anna, 
 the daughter of that poor lady and gentle- 
 man whose fate had made so great a sensation 
 at Florence, as well as at Genoa. 
 
 There the matter rested — no one called 
 in doubt, and nobody did doubt, that Annie 
 Derwent had been rescued from a watery 
 grave, and she lived to be the idol of her 
 aunt. Herbert Derwent did not question it, 
 nor did he lono; survive his brother. Strano-e
 
 302 Mrs, Gerald's Niece. 
 
 to say, the only person on wliose mind the 
 faintest shadow of a doubt remained was Mrs. 
 Gerald herself. She believed what she had 
 asserted, her reason was satisfied by the 
 evidence, and every feeling enlisted on the 
 side of that belief. It would have been 
 despair to her to have doubted it, for her 
 whole soul, from the first days of that dread- 
 ful grief, was wrapped up in the rescued 
 child, but with the nervous, self-tormenting 
 which belongs to some natures — that prone- 
 ness to a secret harrowing, analyzing of 
 transient thoughts and unacknowledged mis- 
 givings which exist in some reserved charac- 
 ters, she had sometimes inward arguments 
 with herself in which, what seemed to her 
 the devil's advocate, was perpetually suggest- 
 ing every sort of possible supposition which 
 might affect the evidence which, to indifferent 
 persons, seemed conclusive. 
 
 As little Annie advanced in age, she 
 watched for a family likeness to her parents, 
 or to any members of her family, with a 
 feverish anxiety. It so happened that no 
 such resemblance did appear. Of course 
 this was no real evidence against her identity,
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 303 
 
 but still it tormented Mrs. Gerald, and slie 
 had a nervous fear tliat others, also, might 
 notice this. It was partly for this reason 
 that she collected all the family pictures in 
 her own room, and even there screened them 
 from sight. If anybody remarked that Annie 
 was not hke her parents, it caused her a 
 paroxysm of pain. If she could have seen a 
 gesture, a look, a habit of any kind, which 
 bore in it an hereditary stamp, the relief 
 would have been great. Sometimes she held 
 her head with both her hands and tried to 
 crush this ever-recurring mental strife. She 
 told herself that even if she had the least 
 susjDicion that Annie was not Annie (and she 
 would writhe at the bare thought of such a 
 supposition), she would not be justified in 
 harbouring it. Since others had accepted the 
 evidence as sufiicient, even those interested 
 to disprove it, she had no business to question 
 it even for an instant; it seemed like treachery 
 towards that idolized child, and it was this 
 secret, involuntary misgiving which made her 
 particularly anxious that Annie should marry 
 her cousin Edgar. In no possible' case, then, 
 would any one be wronged, and she felt she
 
 304 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 would be a happier person when that matter 
 was settled. A new nervousness, however, 
 had now taken possession of her mind — a new 
 fear, doubt, presentiment, delusion, fancy, 
 whatever it was, had begun to haunt her. It 
 began on the day when she had called for the 
 first time at Marchbanks — the very moment 
 she set her eyes on Ita Flower. What for 
 twenty years she had looked for in vain — 
 what for twenty years she had been pining 
 to see in Annie's face, that girl had, she saw 
 it at once — a striking likeness to her late 
 sister-in-law. The brown eyes, the long dark 
 lashes, the dimples in her cheeks, the full 
 lips, the small mouth, the very picture her 
 memory was for ever drawing, seemed to 
 stand before her eyes. It did not at first 
 suggest any idea beyond an accidental re- 
 semblance ; but even that aAvoke in her a 
 sort of jealousy. It seemed so hard that a 
 stranger could be so like what Maud Derwent 
 had been, and her own child bear no resem- 
 blance to her. She felt at once attracted 
 by Ita, and yet indisposed towards her. 
 Annie was handsome and good, and some 
 people admired very much her fine counte-
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 305 
 
 nance and bright glance ; but Mrs. Gerald had 
 never been herself so painfully conscious of a 
 want of grace and charm in her manner as 
 after making acquaintance with Ita. She 
 wished not to see this grace and charm, she 
 tried not, but it so happened that they were 
 exactly what naturally most captivated her. 
 This struggle went on till the time of the 
 visit to Carsdale, and there she heard that 
 Ita was not the daughter of any of Lady 
 Emily's friends, but a child adopted abroad — 
 ^'picJced up at sea.'" 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the 
 tumult which these words raised in Mrs. 
 Gerald's mind — the sickening terror of 
 mental suffering which seized upon her. It 
 was as if the faint misgiving, which had so 
 long haunted her, had suddenly assumed a 
 real tangible form. It was, however, too 
 painful a possibility to contemplate when 
 anything of reality became connected with 
 it. She had not repulsed the shadowy doubt 
 of past days, with the vehemence with which 
 she thrust back the grave question whicli the 
 present was forcing upon her. She fought 
 against it with a desperate resolution. She 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 306 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 argued, with lierself, that it would be wrong 
 even to give the subject a thought ; to re- 
 open the case, as it were, which no one but 
 herself would ever dream of reconsiderino-. 
 But whenever, from that moment, she heard 
 Ita's voice, or laugh, whenever — which she 
 avoided as much as she could— she looked at 
 her, the feehng returned ; thehkeness haunted' 
 her. She could not bear to turn her eyes on 
 the picture in her room, nor could she contain 
 herself sometimes when Ita said or did some- 
 thing, which seemed quite insignificant to 
 others, but had some peculiar effect upon 
 herself. The way she had of throwing up 
 her hands when surprised or pleased ; or of 
 sitting clasping her knee and bending forward, 
 when listening to something which particu- 
 larly interested her, brought her young 
 sister-in-law so vividly before Mrs. Gerald, 
 that she felt as if she should go out of her 
 mind. And yet it might all be fancy, she 
 might be giving the most ridiculous import- 
 ance to an accidental resemblance. Some- 
 times she thought of showing the picture in 
 her room to Mr. Pratt, and asking him if lie 
 saw the likeness — even of telhno- him of her
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 307 
 
 misery on the subject ; but when she set 
 about acting on that thought, she recoiled 
 from it with terror. It was an absurd, ner- 
 vous fancy, which it was her duty to keep 
 under and suppress. In the meantime, her 
 feehng towards Ita was a strange one. At 
 times it would almost have seemed as if she 
 hated her, and yet at others an irrepressible 
 tenderness stole into her heart and manner. 
 All this was taking place in the soul of a 
 person who had all the sufferings of an im- 
 petuous nature, without the relief of an 
 expansive disposition. Storms passed over 
 her face ; but they never burst forth in words, 
 and seldom in tears. It was like fire in a 
 vase, which would not break. 
 
 It was on a day when as usual this inward 
 strife had been raging, that she felt impelled 
 to go and see Lady Emily Hendon. The 
 present state of her mind seemed to her — as 
 is always the case when we are suffering — 
 the most intolerable she could conceive. A 
 little more or a little less reason to think of 
 that extraordinary possibility would be a 
 relief; for now and then she could not help 
 feeling, " Oh ! if that was Robert's child — if
 
 308 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 she was, after all, tlie little infant Annie I 
 received into my arms at Nice, and made him 
 kiss for the first time." She wept over this 
 recollection, and then her own darling, her 
 beloved, real Annie came smiling into the 
 room, and she was frightened at having, even' 
 for a minute, dwelt on the doubt. The visit 
 to Marchbanks was paid a day or two after- 
 wards, A pause in the conversation, which has 
 been already related, ensued after Lady Emily 
 had expressed the wish that she had never 
 come to England. Mrs. Gerald at last said, 
 " If it should be God's will. Lady Emily, that 
 you should die before Miss Flower is married, 
 I promise you that I will do all I can for her. 
 But will you allow me to say that it would be 
 a great object in such a case to place that 
 paper you spoke of — I mean the document 
 that was drawn up and signed by the people 
 who gave her up to you — in safe hands. I 
 suppose it contains the date of the day when 
 she was found." 
 
 "Oh! yes, I suppose so; but I have not 
 ffot it here. I think I must have left it in my 
 bureau at Mentone ; but it is so long since 
 I have seen it, that I am not quite sure."
 
 Mi's. Gerald's Niece. 300 
 
 *' That is very unfortunate. One would 
 tliink that it must have been extremely im- 
 portant to preserve every particular connected 
 with Miss Flower's history. Do you remem- 
 ber what it said about the date, and the part 
 of the coast where she was found?" 
 
 " It was somewhere on the coast of the 
 Riviera ; but rather far out at sea, I think. 
 We always keep her birthday on St. Mar- 
 garet's day — her festa, as they say at Men- 
 tone — but, you know, the day she was found 
 of course was not her birthday." 
 
 " But when was it ?" 
 
 " I really do not remember." 
 
 " Do you remember which year it was ?" 
 
 " I tliink it was twenty-one years ago." 
 
 " As much as that ?" 
 
 " Well, it might be twenty ; I am not 
 sure. By the way, I think it was only 
 eighteen. Wo, no — twenty." 
 
 Mrs. Gerald threw herself back in her 
 chair with a feeling of despair. " Do you 
 recollect hearing if there were any initials on 
 her clothes when she was found ?" 
 
 " No, I don't think there were ; but by 
 this time it cannot signify, you know."
 
 310 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 " Have you any servants wlio lived with 
 you at the time you adopted Miss Flower ?" 
 
 " Not here. My maid, who was with me 
 then, died two years ago. Her husband lives 
 at Mentone." 
 
 " Would Mr. Hendon remember about 
 that paper and its contents ?" 
 
 " I dare say he would. No, by the way, 
 he would not ; for he was asking me about 
 it the other day." 
 
 " I must say that it appears to me incon- 
 ceivable that you should have allowed so 
 important a circumstance to escape your 
 memory, as whether or not there were any 
 initials on the child's clothes." 
 
 " I never heard whether she had any 
 clothes at all. I w^anted a child to adopt, 
 and was told it would be a great charity to 
 take this one, as she belonged to nobody. 
 That is all I recollect. You are a very for- 
 tunate person, Mrs. Gerald, if your own 
 experience has not shown you that people 
 cannot always remember thhigs, but you 
 have not been like me, an invalid for thirty 
 years." 
 
 " But that paper ought to have been
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 311 
 
 kept," Mrs. Gerald answered, with a 
 heightened colour. 
 
 "I have no doubt I have it safe at Men- 
 tone," Lady Emily replied, with a look of 
 weariness, which implied what was indeed 
 ^oassing through her mind. " Really, when 
 I asked you to be kind to that girl I did not 
 mean to be bored in this way." 
 
 " Will you write for that paper ?" Mrs. 
 Gerald persisted. 
 
 " Nobody could find it but myself. What 
 makes you so anxious about it ?" 
 
 If Lady Emily had not been short- 
 sighted, and the room darkened on account 
 of the weakness of her eyes, she must have 
 observed the agitation which her pettish 
 question caused. With a tremulous voice 
 Mrs. Gerald answered: "I think it very 
 unfair to Miss Flower that this record of the 
 only fact which could throw any light on her 
 birth, should not be forthcoming." 
 
 " I think, dear Mrs. Gerald, that I am 
 likely to be more anxious about her interests 
 than you can be. It is only a question of 
 time. The paper is either at the bottom of 
 one of my trunks here, or in my bureau at
 
 312 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 Meotone ; it cannot be anywhere else. If I 
 die, my executors will find it. I do not see 
 wLy, weak and ill as I am, I should worry 
 and fatigue myself with a useless search for 
 it. And, after all, I really cannot imagine 
 that, whether those initials were A. B. or 
 D. C, it can make an atom of difference to 
 Ita. Have you heard," she continued, in 
 the tone of a person determined to change 
 the subject of conversation, " have you heard 
 that Lord Carsdown is going to stand for the 
 county at the next election instead of Mr. 
 Bayham ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I heard it mentioned the other 
 day. I cannot help sometimes regretting 
 that my nephew Edgar has gone into the 
 Church. I think he would have made an 
 admirable speaker. He might have played a 
 part in political life, and been a very distin- 
 guished man." 
 
 " He has very odd ideas, has he not ?" 
 
 " He is very High Church." 
 
 " But, dear Mrs. Gerald, surely, when I 
 left England, to be High Church meant 
 everything most sensible and quiet. It was 
 what almost all the Archbishops and Bishops
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 313 
 
 were. The Evangelical party was the one 
 that did strange things then — not going to 
 the play or to balls, and eating cold meat on 
 Sundays, and all that sort of thing." 
 
 " Great changes have happened since 
 then," Mrs. Gerald answered. " It is very 
 curious to observe the phases through which 
 the mind of a nation passes." 
 
 " Since Itahas heard Mr. Derwent preach, 
 she does not eat meat on Fridays. I do not 
 think that can be good for her. I asked my 
 doctor, and he says it will not do her any 
 harm. But I do think she takes too long 
 walks in the morning, and now I hear she is 
 going to nurse sick people with a Miss Con- 
 way. I hope she will not go anywhere where 
 there is fever. But her life is so dull here 
 that I am really glad of anything that amuses 
 her, poor child ! There is no accounting for 
 tastes. I find much talking tires me very 
 much, and so I cannot be a very agreeable 
 companion for her." 
 
 This hint about much talking induced 
 Mrs. Gerald soon to take her leave. The 
 visit had not tended to throw a feather's 
 weio'ht into the scales which she was con-
 
 314 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 tinually weigliing in her own mind without 
 daring to ask herself what she would do if 
 one of the two should ever happen to kick 
 the beam. Two strans-e fears — two strano-e 
 doubts — two strange loves it might almost 
 be said, were perpetually contending with 
 each other in her weary soul. The old deep 
 love of bygone years, and the actual passion- 
 ate ajffection of half a hfetime, rushed against 
 each other in contending eddies of self- 
 reproach, whether she harboured or repulsed 
 the thoughts which forced themselves upon 
 her with a relentless pertinacity.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The 13 til of January was a happy day for 
 Ita. Eliza Conway liad arrived at Bramble- 
 moor on the preceding afternoon, and taken 
 possession of two little rooms above tlie 
 grocer's shop, for wliicli lie liad been only too 
 pleased to find so good a tenant. Eliza was 
 engaged to be married to a clergyman. Her 
 ideas on tlie subject of the celibacy of Angli- 
 can priests had been modified, in the first 
 place, in favour of Edgar's peculiar case, and 
 since then in favour of the above-mentioned 
 excellent, hard-working curate, in whose 
 parish she had been labouring for more than 
 a year in London, and who had recently 
 proposed to her. Eliza's ideas Avere seldom, 
 if ever, changed by the influence of other 
 people ; but, in some instances, they under- 
 went a spontaneous change, and she was as
 
 316 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 earnest and confident in lier own opinions for 
 the time being, as if they had always remained 
 the same. She had a pecuHar talent for 
 drawing fine distinctions, and it was fortu- 
 nate she possessed that power ; for, with her 
 great anxiety always to act in the most 
 perfect manner possible, it might have often 
 been difficult without it to reconcile even in 
 her own mind her former opinions with 
 present views and intentions. 
 
 From the time she had determined to 
 marry Mr. Roland, she had been full of the pro- 
 ject of a sort of confraternity of clergymen's 
 Avives with a preparatory noviciate for young- 
 women disposed to enter that state of life. 
 She thought clergymen might be bound, or 
 at any rate advised, to choose their wives 
 from amongst this class of ladies. She did 
 not, indeed, adopt Dr. Hook's memorable 
 suggestion that the wives of the clergy 
 should act as confessors to the women of 
 their parishes ; for she understood too well 
 the Catholic doctrine on the subject of the 
 Sacrament of Penance to advocate this 
 extraordinary innovation, but she thought.
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 317 
 
 and so far perhaps rightly enough, that the 
 kind of duties generally performed by the 
 wives of English clergymen would be all the 
 more efficiently executed, if a special training 
 and appropriate teaching had prepared them 
 for the exercise of active charity, and semi- 
 ministerial functions. It was, therefore, with 
 all her heart, mind, soul, and strength — with 
 that honesty of purpose and fervent zeal 
 which are the redeeming points of our times, 
 and the element through which modern 
 society, with all its vices and errors, may yet 
 be saved, even as ten righteous men, could 
 they have been found, would have averted a 
 fiery deluge from the cities of the plain — that 
 she resolved to devote the time that was to 
 elapse before her marriage could take place, to 
 a life of poverty and labour in a place where 
 she could hear from the pulpit what she 
 believed to be true, where she would not 
 have mentally to protest against almost every 
 word her clergyman uttered, or be obliged 
 when she taught poor children, or spoke to 
 sick people, to express herself in ambiguous 
 lano-uao'e, which might afford them a chance
 
 318 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 of imbibing Catholic doctrines or consola- 
 tions, and yet not expose lier to the censures 
 of her spiritual pastors. 
 
 In the great majority of parishes in 
 England this would have been her position, 
 and she was rio-ht to avoid the harassing 
 dilemma. But it is impossible not to be 
 struck with the thought of the number of 
 persons in the Established Church who have 
 no option as to the teaching they shall receive, 
 and of "the anomaly that lies in the very words 
 that imply that this is or ought to be a 
 matter of choice on the part of individuals. 
 For how are the poor and ignorant to re- 
 cognize the boundary line which divides the 
 orthodox from the heretic, the Catholic priest 
 (sic) from the Protestant minister, who both 
 call themselves clergymen of the Church of 
 England ? — how settle for themselves when 
 they ought to accept or to reject the teaching of 
 their spiritual pastors and masters, and laying 
 their finger on the spot in the graduating 
 scale, at the foot of which, for instance, the 
 present Dean of Ripon takes his stand, and 
 at the top of which the ritualistic incum- 
 bent of St. Alban's, Holborn, holds his
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 319 
 
 position — decide when a humble and docile 
 soul is or is not to ''hear the Church," 
 and accept its doctrines on trust. It is said 
 that there is but one single moment when a 
 pear is ripe enough and not too ripe — the 
 chances are greatly against its being picked 
 at that moment. It would be an equally 
 delicate point to fix on the shade of opinion 
 in the Church of England that would be pro- 
 nounced orthodox by even a small number of 
 those who call themselves its members. 
 
 Edgar's parishioners, poor, neglected, and 
 unlettered men and women, were neither com- 
 petent nor disposed to offer any opposition to 
 him, or to take umbrage at the High Church 
 teaching and practices he at once proceeded 
 to introduce amongst them. They became 
 associated in their minds with the charity and 
 kindness of their new clergyman, with many 
 comforts bestowed upon them in sickness, 
 with visits on the one hand from Lady Emma 
 Cars, and on the other from Miss Derwent, 
 which ended in warm gowns, waistcoats, and 
 flannel petticoats for the aged — shoes for 
 the children — situations in good families for 
 the young girls — and school feasts connected
 
 320 Mrs. Gerald's Mace. 
 
 more or less, with the Church services. This 
 was better, they thought, than anything the 
 Methodist chaj)el on the other side of the 
 common had ever done for them ; and, as one 
 okl man expressed it, the new clergyman's 
 religion would serve his purpose as well as 
 anything else. But there was something 
 beyond this after a while, especially when 
 Eliza Conway had settled in the village, and 
 Ita came most days to help her in her work. 
 It would not have been possible that three 
 young ardent souls, two of which were carry- 
 ing out long-cherished hopes and desires, and 
 the third, in the full fervour of a recent 
 change from indifference and listlessness to 
 strong religious impressions, should have 
 failed to win the hearts and influence the lives 
 of those amongst whom they laboured. For 
 they were bringing to long neglected but, 
 generally speaking, not hardened or vicious 
 persons, tidings of great joy ; they were 
 teaching them some of the principal truths of 
 Christianity, and in good faith what they 
 themselves believed to be true — they were 
 raising them by prayer and worship, to new 
 conceptions of what is good and beautiful.
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 321 
 
 At a time when Anglicanism did not 
 pretend to an imreal identity of doctrine and 
 similarity of ceremonial with the Catholic 
 Chm^ch, but directed its efforts to the main- 
 tenance of some important Christian truths, 
 to the cultivation of a piety more fervent and 
 more sober than that which had hitherto 
 prevailed in the Church of England, and 
 a more reverential and attractive mode of 
 worship, a real improvement was often seen 
 in con g-r eolations under the influence of 
 clergymen of the new school. They were 
 advancing themselves and leading on others 
 towards Catholic truth, and with the heart 
 and spirit of apostles devoting themselves 
 to the work before them. 
 
 In Edgar Derwent's case there was at once 
 a great zeal for the spiritual welfare of his 
 parishioners, and also an eager interest in the 
 success of a system, the merits of which he 
 felt he was now himself putting to the test. 
 He was not a vain man, perhaps not even a 
 proud one, but self-reliant to no ordinary 
 degree. He could not see anything except 
 from one point of view ; he would have died 
 sooner than do anything he did not think 
 
 vop. I. 21
 
 322 • Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 right, but then what he was determined to do 
 he always did manage to think right. There 
 was, in this respect, a hkeness between him 
 and Eliza Conway, but with this difference — 
 she had not his abilities, his gifts, his charm 
 of mind and manners, but she had a more 
 devout mind, and greater personal humility. 
 His character would have seemed at first 
 sight one very independent of the sympathy 
 of others, nevertheless he prized it more 
 than could have been supposed. To feel 
 that he was admired, excited him to excel — 
 to know he was appreciated, helped him to 
 persevere. 
 
 For instance, Ita's constant attendance 
 at the daily service in his church stimulated 
 his fervour. The profound attention with 
 which she listened to his sermons made him 
 more eloquent. Her eager adoption of his 
 opinions gave him the most intense satis- 
 faction. He had been the means of counter- 
 acting the fatal bias, for so he considered it, 
 which had inclined her towards the Church of 
 Rome — he had seen her adopt one by one all 
 his views, and put in practice whatever he 
 recommended. He expected her to furnish a
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Nieoe. ' 323 
 
 glorious proof of what the Cathohc teaching 
 of the Church of England can effect in train- 
 ing an impulsive character, leading forward 
 a generous soul, and disciplining a superior 
 intellect. Like a fine instrument which 
 responds to the player's touch, her whole 
 disposition seemed to be undergoing a trans- 
 formation under his influence. His example, 
 his advice, his books, and his sermons were 
 gradually forming her into his ideal of a 
 Christian woman. She was finding new ele- 
 ments of strength, of peace, and of happiness 
 in the life of prayer and of labour she was be- 
 ginning to lead. Her gratitude to him was 
 real, and he deserved it at her hands ; for never 
 can anything cancel the debt we owe to those 
 who at any time, or in any measure, and 
 however imperfectly, have been the means of 
 bringing us to know and love our Creator 
 and Saviour : and it was in the little church 
 where Edgar ministered that Ita had taken 
 the first step in that direction ; for up to that 
 time nothing but transient emotions or occa- 
 sional desires to be good and to serve God 
 had crossed her soul. He had taught her 
 to pray by rule, not by mere impulse; to
 
 324 Mrs. GeraliVs Niece. 
 
 examine her conscience ; to love the poor in 
 a Christian manner. She owed him much, 
 and on the other hand she helped him a 
 great deal in his parish work. There was a 
 charm in Ita which told on everybody she 
 approached. It was felt by the rough pea- 
 santry of the moorlands as much as by persons 
 of refinement and education. She had a gift 
 which, when it is joined with quick tender 
 feelings and earnestness of spirit, exercises 
 a wonderful influence on all sorts of persons. 
 It is not wit — not even humour ; it is what 
 the French call, le mot pour rire. It is like 
 the ripple of the stream ; it gladdens every- 
 thing, and gladness is so much wanted by 
 weary hearts. A smile on the face of a poor 
 man has a countless value. " She is a bit of 
 sunshine ;" " she is a good sight for sore 
 eyes ;" " she is a terrible one for cheering 
 one up," were common sayings in the mouths 
 of the poor, as Ita went in and out of their 
 cottages. 
 
 As to herself, this kind of life was like 
 the beginning of a new existence. Her 
 natural activity had, for the first time, found 
 an object, her conscience was at rest, her
 
 ilfrs. Geralcfs Niece. 325 
 
 devotional instincts satisfied. The evenings, 
 between Mr. Hendon, who read, and Lady- 
 Emily, who slept, she found no longer dull. 
 She read volume after volume of relisrious 
 and controversial writings with unflagging 
 interest, and watched eagerly in the news- 
 papers for everything relating to the Oxford 
 movement. The Church principles she heard 
 so much of were connected in her mind with 
 the new interests, the new feelings, the new 
 happiness which filled her soul. 
 
 The winter passed pleasantly and quickly 
 by. The only person who did not look well 
 or happy at Holmwood was Mrs. Gerald. 
 She sometimes seemed anxious to fix an early 
 day after Easter for Annie's marriage, and at 
 other moments to delay it. She announced 
 that, as soon as it was over, she should settle 
 in a little cottage of her own by the sea- 
 side ; and, one day that Ita was alone with 
 her, she said, abruptly, " What do you mean 
 to do when Lady Emily dies ? " This ques- 
 tion took the poor girl by surprise. She 
 had often enough put it to herself, but to be 
 asked it in this sudden manner was painful. 
 Her eyes filled with tears, and she remained
 
 326 Mrs. GeralcVs Niece. 
 
 silent. Then Mrs. Gerald said, in a faltering 
 voice, " Would you come and live with me?" 
 
 Ita looked up very much surprised. She 
 had fancied Mrs. Gerald disliked her, and this 
 proposal was perfectly unexpected. Some 
 time before it would have given her pleasure ; 
 now she was touched and grateful; but a 
 change had lately taken place in her wishes 
 and feehngs. Thoughts had been running 
 in her mind about joining one of the sister- 
 hoods that Edgar Derwent's friends had 
 begun to establish. There was a question 
 of founding a small community of that kind 
 at Bramblemoor, and she had almost made 
 up her mind to ask to be admitted. She 
 made, therefore, a grateful but evasive 
 answer to Mrs. Gerald's inquiry, and the 
 subject dropped, perhaps to the relief of 
 both, for they never felt at their ease with 
 one another. 
 
 Time went on. Lent was nearly over. 
 One morning, in April, Annie was sitting 
 in the flower-garden with Eliza, who was 
 spending a few days with her to rest after 
 a short attack of illness, and Ita, who had 
 come over from Marchbanks for the day.
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 327 
 
 Eliza was reading a letter ; she looked up, 
 and said, " Ita, Miss Dorrell and Miss Main- 
 wriglit, Sister Mary and Sister Anna, you 
 know, are very much inclined to take the 
 red house on the common, the largest of the 
 two, and to begin at once, if you make up 
 your mind to join them when poor Lady 
 Emily no longer requires your care." 
 
 There was a dead silence. Eliza had let 
 a terrible cat out of the bag. If there was 
 one thing Annie disliked more than another, 
 it was convents, and the imitation of monastic 
 life amongst Anglicans she especially could 
 not endure. Edo-ar was to have broken to 
 her the scheme about the contemplated sister- 
 hood at Bramblemoor, but he had put off 
 doing so, and this was the first time she had 
 heard of it. She fixed her eyes on Ita with 
 a look of inquiry and of displeasure. There 
 was as much of a sneer in that look as was 
 possible in a countenance the characteristic 
 expression of which was openness. Annie 
 could look angry, but not easily scornful. As 
 to Ita, she blushed deeply — she really did not 
 know why — but the disagreeable consciousness 
 that she was doing so increased her con-
 
 328 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 fusion, and, at last, from mere nervousness, 
 she burst into tears. 
 
 Botli Eliza and Annie looked distressed. 
 The former supposed that she must have 
 changed her mind with regard to the plan 
 she had been so eager about till then, and 
 was afraid of being taken at her word. So 
 she quickly said, " Do not be alarmed, my 
 dear Ita; you need not give any answer 
 about it just now. I thought you were 
 longing to know what they said about the 
 house. I must write some letters before 
 post-time ; so if you will excuse me, Annie, 
 I will go in for a little while." 
 
 Annie made a rather ungracious nod, and, 
 when she was gone, said to Ita, " What 
 made you cry just now ? " 
 
 " I can hardly tell. It sometimes hap- 
 pens to me all of a sudden to fancy that 1 
 shall be supposed to think or feel something 
 I do not a bit think or feel. Then I get red 
 — then I am vexed with myself — then I am 
 afraid of crying — and then, like a fool, I 
 cry." 
 
 '* Are you thinking of becoming a sister ?" 
 
 "Well, I have thought of it."
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 329 
 
 "Really, truly?" 
 
 " Yes — if tliose sisters settle at Bramble- 
 moor." 
 
 A dark flasli — if the two words can go 
 together — passed over Annie's face. " Oh, 
 you mean, then, to live here — I mean at 
 Bramblemoor ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so ; I have every reason 
 to wish it." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "I should like to be near you and Miss 
 
 Conway, and then I should like to go on 
 
 .working for Mr. Derwent. He has taught 
 
 me more than any one else has done, and, if 
 
 I am ever good, I shall owe it to him." 
 
 Annie seemed touched. " Well, it is a 
 great thing for any one to have done that 
 for another." 
 
 " Yes ! Is it not a great thing to help 
 others to be good and happy ? Is it not 
 worth any amount of suffering ? It is so 
 beautiful to think of what some persons 
 have done in that way, of the sacrifices they 
 have made, of all they have surrendered 
 without counting the cost." 
 
 " The Bible says we are to count the
 
 330 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 cost," Annie answered in a tremulous voice. 
 Perhaps she was even then in the silent 
 depths of her heart counting the cost of a 
 great sacrifice. 
 
 A few days afterwards Eliza went to 
 Marchbanks and asked to see Ita. She 
 wanted to know if she had made up her mind 
 about the work among the poor, and the 
 sisterhood at Bramblemoor. She was very 
 much disappointed at her indecision on the 
 subject ; it had fitted in so beautifully with 
 all her plans that the little community should 
 settle in the parish where her future husband 
 was to be curate, and eventually incumbent, 
 when Edgar became Vicar of Holm wood, for 
 so it had been arranged between them and 
 Lord Carsdale. The little income which 
 Lady Emily had settled on Ita would have 
 helped to support the house. Everybody 
 knew that she could not live at most more 
 than a few months, and what could be more 
 desirable than that Ita should find a home 
 near her greatest friends, and one in which 
 she could devote herself to the mode of life 
 she had so ardently embraced. What was 
 most to be dreaded was her going abroad and
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 331 
 
 falling again in the way of Romisli influences. 
 It was, therefore, with the fullest intention 
 of exerting to the uttermost her powers of 
 reasoning and persuasion on the subject, that 
 Eliza walked up the stairs leading to Miss 
 Flower's little room. She was welcomed 
 with the usual sweet smile, which was one of 
 the great charms of Ita's face, but it quickly 
 passed away, and the dove-like eyes had an 
 unwonted expression of sadness. Eliza 
 began by talking of the poor people and the 
 school, but nothing seemed to interest her 
 companion. " You are out of spirits," she 
 said at last. 
 
 " I do not feel very well." 
 
 " What is the matter with you, dear ?" 
 
 " Nothing particular. People cannot be 
 always in spirits, you know. Mamma is much 
 worse, I think." 
 
 " I am so sorry. It must be a great 
 grief to you ; but it is a consolation to think 
 that when you lose her, you will have friends 
 around you to comfort and love you." 
 
 " I shall be quite alone in the world then. 
 I have never thought that poor mamma 
 cared very much for me ; it is wrong perhaps
 
 332 Mrs. OeraWs Niece. 
 
 to say so, for she lias always been very kind 
 to me ; but, wlien she is gone, nobody will 
 care for me." 
 
 " How can you say so, dear Ita ? Mrs. 
 Gerald, Annie, Mr. Hendon, Mr. Derwent, 
 and I all care for you." 
 
 " I hope not, for then it will make you 
 sorry to part with me." 
 
 " But we shall not part with you. Tell 
 me, why have you given up that plan which 
 you used to take so much delight in? 
 Do not you mean to try to be a Sister of 
 Charity, and remain amongst us and the poor 
 people who love you so much ?" 
 
 " No, I cannot stay here after mamma's 
 death." 
 
 "What do you mean to do?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 Eliza looked annoyed. Suddenly an idea 
 struck her. "Have you seen Mrs. Sydney 
 lately ?" 
 
 " No," Ita answered with surprise. 
 
 " Oh, I thought she had been trying per- 
 haps to unsettle you, and disturb the peace 
 of mind you have found in your own 
 Church."
 
 Mrs. GerahVs Niece. 333 
 
 " She would be quite right to do so, if she 
 thought it was not a real peace." 
 
 " But it ivas real." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so. I never had been 
 so happy as during the last few months." 
 
 " Why then have you made up your mind 
 to leave this place ?" 
 
 There was no answer to this question, so 
 Eliza asked again, " Where do you mean to 
 go ?■' 
 
 Ita sighed and said, "To Mentone, I 
 think, to some of my old friends there. I 
 want to see the mountains, and the blue sky, 
 and the sea again. Oh, if I could go and 
 pray at San Michele as I used to do when my 
 heart was sore, in old days !" 
 
 " You know very well that you have told 
 me yourself that it is our books and our 
 services that have done you good. It must 
 be a temptation this hankering after a foreign 
 Church." 
 
 " Perhaps it is ; I do delight — I mean I 
 have taken delight in the services at Bram- 
 blemoor, and learnt, oh, so many good things 
 there ; but I do not know how it is, when 
 sorrow or difficulty come, I think of Catholic,
 
 334 3frs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 Roman Catholic cliurclies, I mean, and feel 
 as I used to do when I was a child, and had 
 a longing to lay my head on a real mother's 
 breast." 
 
 " I am so sorry to hear you speak so," 
 Eliza said, sadly; "I hoped you had learnt 
 to love our Church." 
 
 " Oh, I do in a sort of way ; I do love 
 Bramblemoor Church ; but when I go into the 
 one here or at Holmwood it gives me a cold 
 chill." 
 
 "But I am speaking of the Church of 
 England." 
 
 " It is very well, Eliza, to speak of the 
 Church of England, but the religion at Bram- 
 blemoor is not a bit like the religion here; 
 and then I think it is all very inconsistent 
 and wrong, all the talk about priests, and 
 calling clergymen priests, and then that they 
 should marry. They have no business to 
 marry." 
 
 Eliza blushed deeply, and Ita immediately 
 perceived that she had vexed her ; her gentle 
 little heart could not endure to give pain, and 
 she said, " Dear Lizzie, I am cross to-day 
 with everything and everybody. I cannot
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 335 
 
 judge of tliose things. I dare say it is all 
 right. Must you go ? Will you not stay for 
 luncheon ?" 
 
 "No, indeed, I must walk home as fast as 
 I can. There are several families I must see 
 this afternoon." 
 
 *' Then will you take this parcel with 
 you ?'• 
 
 " To Mr. Derwent ? You do not mean to 
 say you have copied those two long articles 
 and written out that sermon since last 
 night ?" 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
 " But you must have sat up all night ?" 
 
 " Not all night, Eliza ; you know he must 
 not write at night ; his eyes are very weak." 
 
 " I am afraid they are ; they do not look 
 so, they are such beautiful eyes, but Annie 
 told me the doctor says he must not over- 
 work them. But you are overworking yours, 
 I think I can guess now why you are a little 
 out of sorts to-day. It is all fatigue." 
 
 " It does not tire me." 
 
 IVhen Eliza was gone, Ita sank back in 
 her chair, her eyes fixed on the ground. She 
 repeated to herself the words, " It does not
 
 336 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 tire me;" adding, "but oli ! I am so tired 
 since yesterday." 
 
 This was what had happened the night 
 before : she was writing in the Hbrary, and 
 having occasion to look for a quotation which 
 Edgar had asked her to insert in an article in 
 the " British Critic" which she was copying 
 for him, she asked Mr. Hendon where she 
 could find the book. He went to get it for 
 her, and as he was bringing it back said with 
 a smile, " Do you know what I heard this 
 morning, Miss Ita P" 
 
 " No," she said, holding out her hand for 
 the volume. 
 
 " That Miss Derwent had better look 
 sharp, for that you are running away with 
 the parson's heart." 
 
 Ita did not blush, but turned as pale as 
 a sheet. Was this said in earnest, or was it 
 only a silly joke ? Did people think it, and 
 was it true ? She did not know what to 
 answer. Everything she could say seemed 
 too grave or too light. She could not repel 
 such a charge with a jest. At last she got 
 out the words, " People say many foohsh 
 things. 
 
 j>
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Mece, 337 
 
 " Yes," Mr. Henclon answered in a good- 
 natured manner ; " no doubt tliey do ; but 
 there is sometimes a grain of truth in a 
 pound of folly, and if you do not mean, my 
 dear little lady, to get yourself and others 
 into trouble, I would have you be on your 
 guard." 
 
 It was right to warn her ; and, great as 
 the pain was, she could feel and see that it 
 was so. She had been living in a state of 
 delusion — had begun by admiring Edgar Der- 
 went's goodness and his cleverness, and then 
 gradually allowed her whole thoughts, and at 
 last her whole heart, to be engrossed by an 
 unselfish, humble devotion to him which 
 neither expected nor wished for the least 
 return or acknowledo-ment. Lono- before she 
 knew him she was aware of his engagement 
 to his cousin, and she could dwell with 
 satisfaction on the thought of Annie's affec- 
 tion for him, and the prospect of his future 
 happiness at Holmwood. There are women 
 with tender and unambitious hearts who 
 would willingly accept very scanty crumbs of 
 happiness for themselves ; who, if they could 
 see (so at least they fancy) the object of their 
 
 VOL. I. 22
 
 338 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 aflPectious now and then, hear a kind word 
 from him, and above all labour and toil in his 
 service, would be quite content to leave to 
 another the higher treasures of mutual affec- 
 tion which they have never ventured to covet. 
 While Ita was working for Edgar, and learn- 
 ing from him, while she paid him the homage 
 of an enthusiastic adoption of his views and 
 opinions, and saw him perfectly satisfied both 
 with Annie and herself, no clouds obscured 
 her secret and innocent devotion to him. 
 They began to arise, though she was liardly 
 conscious of them, when she saw that he 
 began to find in her the sort of sympathy 
 Annie could not give him. This he never, of 
 course, expressed in words, but he could not 
 always conceal that he felt it. The fact was 
 that Ita was the very woman to captivate 
 him. Everything about her was feminine, 
 winning, and soft, but there was a marvellous 
 power of loving in that gentle heart, and an 
 energy of will, which, like the tendrils of a 
 delicate plant, could force its way through 
 every obstacle. When she saw he wished a 
 thing done, it seemed as if nothing could stop 
 her — she went straight at it with a resistless
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 339 
 
 impetuosity, whicli a word or a look from 
 him, however, would instantaneously check 
 and direct. It was her delight to execute 
 difficult things when he had suggested them. 
 There was in her character naturally a strong 
 desire to jolease, and with one whom she 
 looked up to and loved, it easily became a 
 passion. The slightest shade of displeasure 
 or disappointment on his face she could not 
 endure; and it did surprise her to see that 
 Annie could thwart him, and could say before 
 him things he did not like. She did not 
 know, however, that sometimes afterwards 
 Annie cried bitterly in secret because they 
 did not and could not agree, and often felt a 
 pang which no one knew or guessed at, when 
 she watched Ita listening to him like an 
 oracle, and flushing with excitement when 
 his favourite subjects were discussed. 
 
 Annie did not think herself capable of 
 helping her cousin as Ita did. She was 
 profoundly difficleut of her own capabilities, 
 and sensitively afraid of putting herself for- 
 ward. She longed, for instance, to copy for 
 him when she found another did so, but half 
 through pride, half through shyness, she
 
 340 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 could not bring herself to offer it. Ita wrote 
 such a good hand, and she knew always 
 where to find the books he wanted. She 
 could not bear to propose to do what she 
 might fail in. It was the same about the 
 poor people, she seemed always to give them 
 more or less than he would have advised. 
 She was not at her ease with them, and sick 
 persons used to ask anxiously, within her 
 hearing, if Miss Flower would soon come to 
 see them. 
 
 This had all tacitly been going on for some 
 time, but to not one of the three had any 
 defined discontent, hope, wish, or regret 
 occurred till a few days before the one when 
 Eliza Conway paid the above-mentioned 
 morning visit to Ita. Perhaps Annie was 
 the first who had seen clearly what was the 
 real state of the case. She had looked it in 
 the face, and owned to herself with an aching 
 heart, that she did not suit Edgar, that she 
 was not the wife fitted for him. But there 
 was Holmwood. .It must be his. She would 
 have given up all her own happiness, but she 
 could not deprive him of Holmwood, for he 
 was getting to love it every day more. Mr.
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 341 
 
 Pratt had been getting gradually weaker 
 during the winter, and Edgar had often been 
 called upon to assist his curate. By Mrs. 
 Gerald's express desire he had also begun to 
 manage Annie's property. The interest he 
 took in this occupation gave her the greatest 
 delight. They rode together over the estate, 
 looking at the farms, examining the state of 
 the crops, settling what trees were to be 
 planted or cut down, and what new cottages 
 built. This, at least, was an enjoyment no- 
 body but herself could give him, and on that 
 thought she rested with satisfaction, and 
 also on the hope that when once they were 
 married, and Ita had left the neighbourhood, 
 she would learn to be more useful to Edgar. 
 She should not feel so shy about it when the 
 contrast was no longer before her eyes of her 
 own awkwardness, and another person's effi- 
 ciency. On hearing, however, in an unex- 
 pected manner that she intended to settle 
 down as a Sister of Charity at Bramblemoor, 
 a jealous pang seized her. For a moment she 
 felt indignant. The frank avowal which 
 immediately followed of Ita's gratitude to 
 Edgar, and of her own wish on that account
 
 342 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 to remain in the neighbourhood, dispelled her 
 resentment, but not her uneasiness. Both 
 she and Ita were humble each in their way. 
 It was a singular instance in two such 
 different persons of an equally unselfish at- 
 tachment for the same person. Sometimes, 
 perhaps, it crossed Ita's mind that she could 
 have made Edgar happier than Annie did or 
 ever would do ; but she not only recoiled 
 from the idea as from a sin, but felt it would 
 be a misfortune, a terrible misfortune, if he 
 should like her better than his cousin. She 
 could not brook the idea — Holmwood, beau- 
 tiful Holmwood, before her eyes as before 
 Annie's, ever stood coupled with the thought 
 that it must be his. Till Mr. Hendon made 
 that passing remark to her, she had allowed 
 herself to think tliat she mio-ht live at 
 Bramblemoor, working among Edgar's poor, 
 looking after his school, hearing him preach, 
 sharing his interests, copying his manu- 
 scripts, though there would be no more inter- 
 course between him and her than between 
 him and Miss Conway, or any Sunday-school 
 teacher in the parish. She liked the idea of 
 belonging to a sisterhood, because it would
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 343 
 
 cut her off from all opportunities of meeting 
 liim in society. Slie did not see even the 
 shadow of anything wrong in making him the 
 object of a secret worship, provided neither 
 he, nor Annie, nor any one in the world 
 knew of it. She had not yet learnt the 
 fallacy and the danger of these secret in- 
 dulgences of unavowed feelings, however 
 pure and unselfish they may be. 
 
 But Mr. Hendon's words dispelled the 
 whole fabric of her hopes and her illusions, 
 and threw her into a strange disturbance. 
 Others had seen that Edgar cared for her — 
 perhaps that she cared for him. She felt 
 guilty, miserable, almost as angry as it was 
 in her nature to be ; and then an involuntary 
 joy flashed across the gloom. So then, per- 
 haps, he did love her ; but if so, there was 
 certain misery in store for him. It could 
 never be a right or a happy love ; for he was 
 bound to marry Annie, and she must go away. 
 There was the sting — there the terrible 
 pang — the blank future. A separation for a 
 given time from any one we love is to be 
 borne ; but to go where no natural ties give 
 a prescriptive right to hope we shall meet
 
 344 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 
 
 again — to cast future existence in a new 
 mould wliich will sever it for ever from the 
 past — this is very like death. And as Lady 
 Emily Hendon grew worse, and the shadows 
 of the grave gathered visibly around her 
 declining form, the young heart that watched 
 that slow decay — the close of which was to 
 be the end of the new life it had lately known 
 — seemed invaded also with the chill heavy 
 gloom of approaching dissolution. 
 
 It was a melancholy deathbed. There 
 was in it little regret for anything on 
 earth ; but little care or thought of anything 
 beyond it. The flame slowly expired with 
 many a flicker. The man of the world, the 
 man of letters on the one hand, and, on the 
 other, the young girl who scarcely knew how 
 to suggest to a dying person any of the new 
 ideas and principles she had herself recently 
 acquired, watched side by side. No one sent 
 for the clergyman; it was not much the 
 custom to do so when Mr. Hendon and Lady 
 Emily were young. " To keep her quiet," 
 was the doctor's injunction; and quietly 
 as she had lived, so quietly she died. Mr. 
 Hendon, when she had breathed her last.
 
 Mrs. Gerald's Niece. 345 
 
 said, " Bequiescat in pr?ce." He was one of 
 those men who have had ghmpses of CathoUc 
 truth, theoretic perceptions of the beauty of 
 the Church, poetical sympathies with some 
 of her tenets, and who suppose that if there 
 is any true rehgion it must be Catholicism. 
 And so he breathed that prayer by the 
 remains of poor Lady Emily, and comforted, 
 as well as he could, the weeping girl who had 
 lost her only friend. 
 
 END OF FIEST VOLUME. 
 
 F. BENTLET AlfD CO., PEIlfTEES, SHOE LANE, FLEET STREET, LONDON.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-10m-3,'48(A7920)444 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 ERSITY OV C'^'FOn'NIA 
 LOS Ai\uLLES
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 373 668 
 
 SOLO BV 
 
 GEO. A. POYNDER, 
 
 THE SECOND-HANO BOOKSHOP, 
 
 23. CR03S ST. , READING
 
 ■fV^riVli} MSjl^t<U) *M hW •f^NiitfM*i«tMkj^«AbOM 
 
 •t>r»<t>]«r<My wtM »t»n>:>»«w»rMrti > ]i| o^m 
 
 If 
 
 ■ .iiu<iA«<n«i«o«incHis>i)a<n«<uiiCrdU^ 
 
 
 ^iemKmiSf::iXi!mmiiimi'!mg>i^ ■ 
 
 
 !!• 
 
 M^ 
 
 ;i^ 1 
 
 i,: 
 
 
 i\ 
 
 
 > 
 
 4 ■ ; 
 
 
 < t ; 
 
 i 
 
 ,V 1 
 
 
 " 1 : 
 
 1 
 
 
 [ y. 
 
 '- V 
 
 li 
 
 '■5 ! 
 
 r-^ 
 
 PI 
 
 "*•■*=% K»V** ■% rt —-