■li 
 
 ^A'i'^t 
 
 C 
 
 
 ^'■^"^ "Mi- ■ .1 
 
 LI E) FIARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 
 ra444e 
 
 v./
 
 THE CO-HEIRESS. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE CO-HEIRESS. 
 
 % foW. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 AUTHOR OF "CHARLEY NUGENT," AND 
 " ST. AUBYNS OF ST. AUBYN." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 
 1866. 
 
 iThe rights of Translation and Heprodtiction are reserced,']
 
 LONDOX : 
 
 SAYILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET, 
 
 COVENT GARDEN.
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 . THEFIRSTVOLUME. 
 
 i 
 
 ■ I 
 
 ^ CHAP. PAGE 
 
 ^ I. THE LAST SUNSET 1 
 
 ^ II. A NIGHT OF WEEPING 22 
 
 III. LADY DE burgh's FUNERAL 39 
 
 ^ IV. FUTURE A.RRANGEMENTS 55 
 
 n V. AUGUSTA DE BURGH 72 
 
 VI. MARIAN DE BURGH 03 
 
 Vn. MOTHER AND SON 127 
 
 VIIL AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE . . . 145 
 
 
 IX. THE RIVAL BELLES 
 
 165 
 
 X. DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGH's . . 189 
 
 ^ XL CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON 236 
 
 '^ XII. TWO PROPOSALS 274 
 
 ? Xin. THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS 305
 
 THE CO-HEIRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE LAST SUNSET. 
 
 One of England's stateliest homes lies be- 
 fore us, bathed in the golden glory of a 
 magnificent autumnal sunset. Dome, turret, 
 and pinnacle glitter as the warm rays fall 
 upon them ; the many windows reflect the 
 rich crimson glow, which even lights up 
 the dark heavy buttresses and the huge 
 masses of shining ivy that crown them ; the 
 whole building seems bright and luminous, 
 all trace for the moment gone of the solemn 
 grandeur and cold stateliness that are its 
 ordinary characteristics. 
 
 A heathery mountain, fringed with noble 
 woods, forms the background to the man- 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 2 THE LAST SUNSET. 
 
 sion; the foreground is an extensive and 
 beautifully undulating park, dotted here 
 and there with judiciously selected trees, 
 which on one side skirt the banks of 
 a broad rapid stream, almost a river in 
 size and depth. 
 
 It is a fair and beautiful home — few 
 fairer in all England, famous as she is 
 for homes of grace and beauty; and so 
 thinks its owner. Sir John de Burgh, as 
 on this particular evening he leans on 
 the balustrade of the wide terrace sur- 
 rounding two sides of the mansion, and 
 drinks in the silent glory of the scene, 
 his heart, unnoted by himself, swelling 
 with admiration and pride as each lovely 
 feature becomes impressed on his sight and 
 on his brain. 
 
 So, also, thinks that young girl (for 
 she is little more) who leans beside him 
 — silent because he is silent — one small 
 hand resting lightly on his arm ; her soft 
 innocent eyes gazing at him even more 
 frequently than at the glorious sunset,
 
 THE LAST SUNSET. 6 
 
 though she thinks it wondrously beautiful, 
 and for the last few minutes has been 
 deeply and sadly pondering in the recesses 
 of her trembling heart whether she shall 
 ever again look on the declining rays of 
 the setting sun. For young Lady de 
 Burgh, though not yet twenty-two, is the 
 mother of that bright- eyed little girl run- 
 ning about the terrace in pursuit of a wiry 
 Scotch terrier; and she is now on the 
 eve of presenting her husband with, as he 
 fondly hopes, the son who is to inherit 
 those broad acres and that stately home. 
 Marian Talbot, the undisputed belle of 
 
 shire, was hardly seventeen when she 
 
 became the wife of Sir John de Burofh ' 
 its most wealthy landowner. 
 
 It was not his fortune nor his ancient 
 lineage that won for Sir John the heart 
 of the beautiful Marian: he was twenty 
 years her senior, and yet if ever there 
 were a true love-match this was one. 
 From the hour she first knew him she 
 loved him; he was devoted to her, and 
 
 1—z
 
 4 THE LAST SUNSET. 
 
 no difficulties stood in the way of the 
 marriage, for Mr. and Mrs. Talbot entirely 
 idolized their only child, and would have 
 consented to her union with a man of 
 much smaller means than the wealthy 
 baronet had they thought thereby to secure 
 her happiness. 
 
 She was an heiress, too, of a very pretty 
 little property adjoining "The Abbey," as 
 Sir John's estate was called; but if his 
 possessions had no weight with her, hers 
 had still less with him ; he loved her solely 
 and entirely for herself. He was a very 
 handsome man, tall, and extremely digni- 
 fied in appearance and demeanour; he had 
 travelled much, and knew the world; 
 he was moreover fitly entitled to take a 
 leading position in his own proper sphere, 
 and on every occasion this pre-eminence 
 was unanimously accorded to him. All 
 this won the heart of the simple and lovely 
 Marian Talbot ; he became her preux cheva- 
 lier, her beau-ideal. In her young and 
 ardent imagination he was elevated to a
 
 THE LAST SUNSET. 
 
 throne from which he was never again 
 unseated. 
 
 On his part he was attracted by her 
 beauty and her utter guilelessness, so re- 
 freshing to a man who knew the world as 
 he did, and which he saw so well was per- 
 fectly unassumed, and not a piece of refined 
 acting, as was the case with many as young 
 and fair as herself. The more he learnt 
 of her sweet pure nature, the better he 
 loved her: it was inexpressibly charming 
 to this man of more than middle age to 
 find himself the chosen and adored lover 
 of a beautiful girl in her earliest summer; 
 to see himself on every occasion preferred 
 to those who were more her equals in 
 respect of years, who were as rich, as well 
 born, and perhaps even better looking than 
 himself. 
 
 He won and wedded her; and Marian's 
 choice was not misplaced. The fair flower 
 he transplanted from her own happy home 
 to his, Sir John de Burgh tended with un- 
 remitting love and solicitude. His chief
 
 6 THE LAST SUNSET. 
 
 care and thought seemed to be her happi- 
 ness, her preservation from everything that 
 might vex or distress her; and very happy, 
 very loving, their married life had been. 
 
 At the close of a twelvemonth the ex- 
 pected birth of a child was gladly hailed 
 by both : Sir John looked for the heir who 
 was to continue the line of his ancestors, 
 Lady de Burgh for the little nursling that 
 was to nestle in her bosom, to gaze with 
 sweet yearning eyes in her face, to link 
 her husband and herself still more closely 
 in their great love and happiness. 
 
 The child came ; but not a boy — a girl. 
 
 The young mother was very ill, dan- 
 gerously so indeed ; and Sir John was too 
 anxious for her safety to feel the disap- 
 pointment as he might otherwise have 
 done. Indeed, considering how much he 
 had wished for a son, he behaved most 
 magnanimously when the sex of the child 
 was announced to him, and rewarded the 
 nurse in a manner she on some occasions 
 described as " princely," and on others as
 
 THE LAST SUNSET. 7 
 
 '*most genteel, but just what you would 
 expect in a gentleman like Sir John." 
 
 *'I am so sorry, dear," murmured the 
 pale young mother, as she raised her sweet 
 eyes to his face when Sir John was per- 
 mitted an entrance to the sick room. " I 
 did so wish it might be a boy." 
 
 " Don't vex yourself about that, my 
 darling," said Sir John, pressing more 
 than one very lover-like kiss on her fair 
 cheek ; "I am told that she is a very fine 
 little girl, and any child of yours must be 
 precious to me, my own Marian. Besides 
 
 " and he stooped over the pillow and 
 
 whispered smilingly in her ear, " the boy 
 may come yet, dearest; better luck next 
 time." 
 
 Marian blushed a little and smiled a 
 little, and then began to attract Sir John's 
 attention to the tiny bundle of muslins 
 and laces lying beside her in the bed; and 
 both parents gazed fondly on the helpless 
 little being that had come to brighten 
 their already bright home, and mcrease a
 
 8 THE LAST SUNSET. 
 
 happiness beyond the lot of many in this 
 world of care and sorrow. 
 
 The baby was named Augusta after Sir 
 John's mother, to w^hom, from her birth, 
 she bore a strong resemblance. The Lady 
 Augusta de Burgh was a duke's daughter 
 and a celebrated beauty : she had also been 
 remarkable for a cold proud disposition, in 
 which particular the young mother devoutly 
 hoped her little namesake might not take 
 after her. For the large piercing hazel 
 eyes were there, the pure pale complexion, 
 the glossy dark hair, and the nobly formed 
 features; and soon it became apparent that 
 a very decided character was there, if not a 
 very haughty one. The Nevilles were 
 proud and cold, the De Burghs proud and 
 hot; and the infant scion of both houses 
 soon evinced that in her would be found no 
 declension from the ruling traits of both. 
 
 While a mere babe in arms she stoutly 
 insisted on having her wishes attended to ; 
 a loud fit of crying followed the slightest 
 neglect. Father, mother, and attendants all
 
 THE LAST SUNSET. 9 
 
 ■united in striving to gratify every whim ; 
 and the little girl seemed on the high road 
 to being utterly spoilt, when the probable 
 arrival of the much longed-for heir gave a 
 new direction to the anxieties of the estab- 
 lishment, and that event now immediately 
 impending, filled every mind with eager and 
 joyful expectation. 
 
 Anxiety, not unmixed with a faint mis- 
 giving, was in the hearts of some ; for the 
 lovely young mistress of the Abbey was a 
 very tender plant; fragile and delicate in 
 appearance she had always been, and since 
 the birth of her little daughter she was 
 even less robust than formerly; and some- 
 times there was a tint on her cheek and a 
 light in her eye that caused beholders to 
 regard her sorrowfully, and made a few of 
 Sir John's old and attached servants 
 sigh and shake their heads ; for all loved de- 
 votedly the sweet and gentle lady, whose 
 light rule was so kind and yet so wise. 
 
 The sunset was now nearly over. The 
 bright rays had fallen lower and lower, and
 
 10 THE LAST SUNSET. 
 
 the broad red disc just touched the summit 
 of the range of far away hills, behind 
 which it would soon disappear. Sir John 
 and Lady de Burgh still silently watched 
 its progress: he admiring the gorgeous 
 colouring of sky and cloud, she admiring 
 too, but fondly and wistfully, as one gazes 
 on the loved features of a departing friend, 
 whom possibly we may never meet again. 
 
 Lower and lower it sank till only one 
 half rose above the mountain tops; lower 
 still, till only a luminous crimson speck 
 was visible ; and as that too vanished sud- 
 denly, Marian's hand pressed heavily for a 
 moment on her husband's arm, and a deep 
 sigh escaped her lips. Sir John turned his 
 head quickly and looked at her. 
 
 "What is it, my darling? Why do you 
 sigh? This beautiful evening should raise 
 your spirits, not depress them." 
 
 Lady de Burgh strove to answer him, 
 but could not ; her under lip was quivering, 
 her eyes filled with heavy tears. 
 
 '^ My own Marian, you must not give
 
 THE LAST SUNSET. 11 
 
 way SO,'* said her husband tenderly ; "you 
 are indulging in those foolish fancies again, 
 and this is wrong, dearest. I think we will 
 go in, now ; you have been out long enough ; 
 the sun has set, and it will soon become 
 chilly." 
 
 " A little longer, John, a very little longer ; 
 it is quite warm, and I do so enjoy being 
 here with you," replied his wife in a plead- 
 ing voice, "I feel as if I were here for 
 the last time — as if I should never again 
 look on the setting sun." 
 
 " Hush, my dearest, you must not talk 
 so. I will not listen if you do. Please 
 God, you shall be here often, darling, watch- 
 ing your boy running about as Augusta is 
 doing now. She will be the better for 
 having a little companion, though at pre- 
 sent she seems quite well pleased with 
 Snap." 
 
 "My boy!" murmured Lady de Burgh 
 softly, as if to herself. " I may not live to 
 see him. And oh ! John — if it is a daughter 
 — another girl !"
 
 12 THE LAST SUNSET. 
 
 "Well dear, if it is we cannot help it; 
 though I confess I shall be disappointed. 
 But don't let us imagine evil beforehand : I 
 have a conviction it will be a boy. Now, 
 if you will remain out longer, take a turn 
 up and down the terrace, for I dread your 
 catching a chill sitting there." 
 
 She took his arm, and they walked slowly 
 along the terrace to the spot where their 
 little daughter was occupied with her 
 canine pet. She was trying to induce him 
 to sit up, in return for which he was to have 
 a bit of biscuit. 
 
 '^ Snap is naughty ; he won't beg," said 
 the child ; " but he shall. Look mamma ! 
 Up, sir ; this very minute !" and she stamped 
 her foot angrily on the ground. 
 
 Snap glanced askance at the morsel of 
 biscuit held in her uplifted hand; but 
 having lately come across some very ex- 
 cellent bones, his appetite was far from 
 keen, and he entirely declined the per- 
 formance expected of him. 
 
 " Oh! you won't, won't you?" exclaimed
 
 THE LAST SUNSET. 13 
 
 Miss Augusta; " but I'll make you!" She 
 knelt do^vn immediately, took hold of the 
 dog and held him up for about a minute, 
 and then gave him a sound box on the ear, 
 and dismissed him without his reward; 
 whereupon poor Snap retired, looking ex- 
 tremely crestfallen. 
 
 " I made him do it," said the child tri- 
 umphantly, tossing back her thick glossy 
 curls : " I said I should, and I did it." 
 
 Tiny creature as she was, barely four 
 years old, there was a gleam of satisfac- 
 tion in her eye and a resolution in the ex- 
 pression of the exquisitely moulded lips 
 that somehow struck uneasily on her young 
 mother's heart, and brought the remem- 
 brance of her namesake, the Lady Augusta, 
 very unpleasantly to her recollection. 
 
 "Upon my word, young lady, there is 
 no want of decision about you," said Sir 
 John, smiling; " if you can't get your own 
 way by fair means you will have it by foul." 
 
 He passed one of her rich curls thi^ough 
 his fingers as he looked at her with admiring
 
 14 THE LAST SUNSET. 
 
 affection. Augusta was a very beautiful 
 child, with the air and features of one very 
 highly descended; and Sir John had long 
 ago recovered his disappointment at her 
 sex, and was both proud and fond of his 
 handsome little daughter. 
 
 Snap reappearing at this moment, Augusta 
 again set off in pursuit, aad her parents 
 continued their stroll on the terrace. 
 
 " I am afraid of Augusta's temper," said 
 Lady de Burgh, in a meditative tone ; " she 
 is very violent sometimes if her wishes are 
 not granted. I fear we have been too in- 
 dulgent — not firm enough with her." 
 
 " An only child always runs the risk of 
 being spoilt," replied Sir John; "but that 
 will soon be cured, and the little rival will 
 be very good for her. She has been an 
 heiress -presumptive hitherto; and, young 
 as she is, she has very strong notions of her 
 own importance. T wish she were more 
 like her sweet mother, who is just too 
 good and gentle." 
 
 *' We must try and teach her to restrain
 
 THE LAST SUNSET. 15 
 
 her temper," said Lady de Burgh, thought- 
 fully, "or it will bring much unhappiness 
 on herself and others by-and-by. If I am 
 not here to watch her will you do so, John, 
 and check her when she requires it?" 
 
 " I will indeed, my dearest," replied her 
 husband ; " but why should you speak in 
 this way? It distresses me, Marian, very 
 much indeed. You will live, I hope and 
 trust, to train your children yourself: no 
 teaching is like that of a mother, especially 
 such a mother as your children will have. 
 And now let us talk no more in this 
 gloomy strain ; you have no cause for sad- 
 ness, my darling, all your prospects are 
 bright." 
 
 " They should be," said Lady de Burgh, 
 in a low tone, " and yet I cannot help feel- 
 ing depressed this evening. Do you be- 
 lieve in presentiments, John? I felt one 
 to-night when I watched the last beams 
 of that setting sun. I felt that it was 
 setting for ever for me. A cold shiver 
 came over me as it sank behind the hill,
 
 16 THE LAST SUNSET. 
 
 and I could not help thinking of the old 
 superstition that some one was then walk- 
 ing over my grave." 
 
 Her voice was tearful and distressed, a 
 melancholy shadow was over the fair 
 young face now averted from her hus- 
 band's loving study. 
 
 Sir John saw that tenderness or sym- 
 pathy would at this moment be unwise, as 
 only tending to increase her depression ; 
 he tried a little cheerful raillery. 
 
 '' What old woman has been inocu- 
 lating your mind with all this folly, my 
 dear Marian ? Presentiments and cold 
 shivers ! One would think you had been 
 brought up among the superstitions of the 
 Highlands, where they believe in second 
 sight, in ghosts, and all kinds of nonsense. 
 If you felt a cold shiver it is the clearest 
 possible proof that you have stayed out 
 quite long enough. So come in now, and 
 have a cup of tea in your easy chair by the 
 fire, and we shall hear no more of chilli- 
 ness."
 
 THE LAST SUNSET. 17 
 
 She made no reply, and he led her gently 
 towards the side door which opened from 
 the house to the terrace. She paused for 
 a moment before entering, and once more 
 gazed earnestly on the fair landscape now 
 fast shadowing over with the cold hues of 
 evening. What passed through her mind 
 none could tell : she still leant on her hus- 
 band's arm, but she said nothing more, 
 and Sir John wisely forbore from speak- 
 ing, and merely pressed her hand to his 
 lips as they passed through an empty 
 corridor leading into the great hall. She 
 looked up as he did so, and a bright smile 
 chased away the gloomy expression from 
 her sweet face, and Lady de Burgh was 
 once more herself, the loved and happy 
 mistress of the Abbey. 
 
 Some time she passed in the retirement of 
 her luxurious dressing-room, and then she 
 descended with Sir John to the drawing- 
 room to await the announcement of dinner. 
 
 Very lovely she looked in her blue silk 
 dress with its garniture of costly lace; the 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 THE LAST SUNSET. 
 
 rose placed among her soft curls matching 
 the tint of her glowing cheek. The walk 
 on the terrace has done her good, she says ; 
 and her husband glances at her with fond 
 admiration as he gives her his arm into 
 the dining-room, and places her in her 
 accustomed chair. 
 
 Many portraits of stately ancestors and 
 ancestresses looked down on the couple 
 seated at table, who might indeed well 
 bear a comparison with the proudest and 
 loveliest among them; for a handsomer 
 man than Sir John de Burgh could not 
 often be seen, nor a fairer type of graceful 
 and delicate English beauty than the 
 gentle girl he had chosen for his wife. 
 
 Dinner is ended, and they are once more 
 in the drawing-room ; and Marian has 
 seated herself at the piano to charm her 
 husband's ear with the tones of her liquid 
 voice in his favourite songs. Her voice, 
 though not powerful, is exquisitely sweet, 
 and has been carefully trained ; and she 
 sings with much expression some touching
 
 THE LAST SUNSET. 19 
 
 English ballads especially prized by Sir 
 John, while he leans back in his chair and 
 thinks how good and lovely she is, how 
 she is the sunshine of his home, and how 
 black a darkness would fall on it were that 
 bright sunshine to be taken away, were 
 his Marian to die and he be left alone. 
 
 Her conversation on the terrace has led 
 to these reflections on his part; he had 
 felt her remarks more deeply than he had 
 cared to show, for he saw she had been 
 strongly impressed by this presentiment, 
 as she had called it, and he trusted it 
 would exert no malign influence on her 
 rather excitable imagination. 
 
 To dispel this mournful train of thought 
 he rose and approached the piano, and laid 
 his hand fondly on his wife's shoulder as 
 she sang on, all unconscious how grave a 
 countenance was behind her. 
 
 "And now, one very nice one for the 
 last," said Lady de Burgh, turning over 
 the leaves of her music-book. *' What shall 
 it be?" 
 
 2—2
 
 20 THE LAST SUNSET. 
 
 '* Something gay, dearest ; you have sung 
 rather dismal ditties to-night. Let us have 
 a merry one now." 
 
 ^'Not a merry one, John," she replied 
 softly, as she paused in her search ; " the 
 sad ones seem to suit me best. Ah ! here 
 is one : ' Angels ever bright and fair.* I 
 will sing that ; it is so lovely, and it is not 
 dismal at all." 
 
 For how long afterwards that glorious 
 
 strain rang in his ears ! Throwing herself 
 
 into the full spirit of the sacred song, her 
 
 voice seemed to gain a power and richness 
 
 it did not usually possess. The concluding 
 
 words, 
 
 Angels ever bright and fair, 
 Take, oh take me to your care ! 
 
 fell on Sir John's ears almost with a fore- 
 boding of impending calamity ; he thought 
 that not even to those guardian angels 
 could he resign his darling wife; in his 
 arms, in his unceasing love she should find 
 all the protection she needed; never harm 
 should come near his treasure that he could 
 by any possibility avert from her.
 
 THE LAST SUNSET. 21 
 
 Before retiring for the night, the young 
 mother proceeded, as was her wont, to visit 
 the nursery, and impress a fond kiss on the 
 brow of her sleeping daughter, all warm 
 and rosy in her little muslin-curtained bed. 
 She bent over the child, and gazed at her 
 long and thoughtfully; smoothed out the 
 dark curls with her fingers and raised one 
 of them softly to her lips. The nurse told 
 afterwards how reluctantly she left the little 
 bed ; how she returned to it again and again, 
 and always bent over and kissed the child ; 
 and how, on her finally quitting the room, 
 she, the nurse, went to arrange the curtains 
 Avhich had become displaced, and saw on 
 the little girl's cheek the traces of tears 
 that had fallen there from her young 
 mother's eyes. 
 
 "And they say it is not lucky for a 
 sleeping child to have tears fall on it," con- 
 tinued the nurse, who was not above be- 
 lieving such superstitions; "for they say it 
 means sorrow in after life, though indeed 
 there's not many that escape it ; and some 
 of hers has come early enough, poor lamb."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 
 
 A HEAVY sorrow had indeed fallen on every 
 inmate of the Abbey. Its young and gentle 
 mistress lay at the point of death. 
 
 On the morning following that last walk 
 on the terrace, she became suddenly and 
 alarmingly ill; and Sir John despatched 
 one messenger for the doctor and another 
 for Mrs. Talbot, the mother of Lady de 
 Burgh. 
 
 The doctor speedily arrived and went 
 up to visit his patient, with whom he re- 
 mained a long time ; so long that Sir John 
 became very anxious, and paced up and 
 down the library in a state of ill-concealed 
 agitation. At length Dr. Hood was heard 
 descending the staircase, and Sir John ad- 
 vanced to meet him. and receive his report.
 
 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 23 
 
 The doctor's usually cheerful countenance 
 was grave and troubled. Sir John took his 
 hand, and looked at him eagerly. 
 
 " You seem uneasy, doctor — there is no- 
 thing wrong, I trust?" 
 
 '' I hope not, Sir John — I hope not, in- 
 deed," replied Dr. Hood, after a moment's 
 hesitation. 
 
 " You hope not, doctor?" said Sir John, 
 slowly, becoming very pale as he spoke. 
 ''Is anything Avrong? Is Lady de Burgh 
 not doing so well as you could wish?" 
 
 " There are some symptoms not quite 
 satisfactory, I must confess," replied Dr. 
 Hood, seriously. '' Her ladyship has not 
 been very strong for some time past, and I 
 rather dread the shock to her constitution. 
 If you will permit me to send for further 
 advice, it mil be a satisfaction to myself; 
 and — I think you mentioned you had 
 already written to beg Mrs. Talbot's pre- 
 sence ?" 
 
 " I have," said Sir John; '' and she will, 
 no doubt, be here directly. But, doctor.
 
 24 A I^IGHT OF WEEPING. 
 
 you do not mean that there is any occasion 
 for alarm — that my wife is in any danger?" 
 His voice was husky and broken as he 
 almost whispered his inquiry. 
 
 "I am anxious about her ladyship," 
 replied the doctor, endeavouring to avoid 
 Sir John's w^atchful eyes ; for he even then 
 dreaded the worst, and wished to prepare 
 him more gradually for the blow he feared 
 was awaiting him. *' She has but little 
 strength, and there are symptoms I do not 
 
 like. I will send an express for Dr. A 
 
 at once, if you please; he is very skilful; 
 everything will be done that is possible. 
 In the meantime I will do my best." 
 
 He turned to ring the bell and avert any 
 further discussion. 
 
 Sir John paced up and down till the 
 servant appeared, when he ordered a groom 
 to prepare instantly to ride over to the 
 nearest railway station. While he was 
 speaking, Dr. Hood wrote a few lines and 
 delivered them to the man, who imme- 
 diately quitted the room, and Sir John was
 
 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 25 
 
 about to resume his inquiries, when the 
 sound of rapidly advancing wheels was 
 heard and a carriage drove hastily up to 
 the front door. 
 
 An elderly gentleman and lady alighted 
 from it, making eager inquiries of the old 
 butler as they entered the house. They 
 were Mr. and Mrs. Talbot, the father and 
 mother of Lady de Burgh. Sir John went 
 into the hall to meet them, and they were 
 at once alarmed by his pale, gloomy coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 " John, you frighten me !" said Mrs. 
 Talbot, sinking into a chair, and also be- 
 coming very white. " Marian is not ill — I 
 trust?" 
 
 "She is ill, Mrs. Talbot," replied her 
 son-in-law, gravely; "and, from what 
 Dr. Hood says, there must be cause for 
 great anxiety. He wished me to send for 
 Dr. A , and I have done so." 
 
 He turned to appeal to the doctor for 
 confirmation of his statement, but he had 
 quitted the hall on the arrival of the car-
 
 26 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 
 
 riage, and returned to the chamber of his 
 patient. 
 
 *' You have sent for Dr. A !" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Talbot in an agitated tone. 
 " Then she must be very ill. Dr. Hood 
 would not have wished him, otherwise. 
 Oh, Marian! my own darling girl! Am 
 I to lose you?" 
 
 She wrung her hands, and sobbed deeply 
 for a few minutes, the others remaining 
 sadly silent; all felt for the poor mother, 
 so soon, perhaps, to be bereaved of her 
 only child. 
 
 Her husband then spoke to her kindly, 
 though he, too, had been overcome by the 
 melancholy intelligence ; for he loved his 
 daughter very dearly, and felt that the 
 blow was a terrible one. 
 
 "My dear Jane, try to be calm, for 
 Marian's sake. You cannot go to her till 
 you are more composed. We will hope for 
 the best. God is very merciful; He may 
 yet spare her to us." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot strove hard for composure.
 
 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 27 
 
 She drank some water which the old butler 
 brought her, and in a minute or two she 
 rose from her seat and begged to be taken 
 to her daughter's room. 
 
 Lady de Burgh knew she had come, and 
 was asking for her. Weak as she was, 
 scarcely able to speak above a whisper, she 
 yet heard very distinctly, and the noise of 
 the carriage had fallen on her expectant 
 ears. She was aware that her mother had 
 been sent for, but had not yet been told 
 of the doctor's request for further advice. 
 
 After an interval of great agony she now 
 lay in a condition of almost total prostra- 
 tion, and the expression of her pallid fea- 
 tures filled her mother's heart with the 
 bitterest grief, for she read there how great 
 was the danger they had to apprehend. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot stifled her feelings as well as 
 she could, and bending over the bed she 
 pressed a trembling kiss on the colourless 
 lips from which scarcely a breath seemed 
 to issue. Marian smiled a faint smile as of 
 welcome; and when her mother took her
 
 28 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 
 
 hand in hers she softly returned the fond 
 pressure. But even this slight exertion ex- 
 hausted her little remaining strength, and, 
 sighing deeply, she closed her eyes and 
 sank into a kind of faint, from which it 
 was long ere she rallied. The day went 
 sadly on ; the house was still as the grave, 
 for all knew how momentous a crisis was 
 at hand. 
 
 In the afternoon Dr. A arrived. 
 
 Sir John received him in the library, and 
 sent upstairs to tell Dr. Hood that he was 
 come. 
 
 " I received the message directly on its 
 arrival," said Dr. A , " and, fortu- 
 nately, I was able to set oiF at once. Is 
 there any improvement in the case? Does 
 her ladyship suiFer less than she did ?" 
 
 " I have dreaded making particular in- 
 quiries," replied Sir John, in a dejected 
 tone; "but I fear there is no improvement. 
 She has so little strength : God only knows 
 how she will endure the struggle. Do your 
 best for her. Dr. A , and earn my
 
 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 29 
 
 eternal gratitude. She is very dear to me 
 — I cannot bear tlie thought of losing her." 
 
 " You may rely on my using every 
 
 means in my power," replied Dr. A , 
 
 kindly. " Lady de Burgh has youth on 
 her side, and every attention that care and 
 skill can bestow. I mil certainly do my 
 best: the result is in the hands of Pro- 
 vidence." 
 
 Dr. Hood now entered the room, and 
 after a few^ brief words of explanation the 
 two doctors went upstairs together. 
 
 How slowdy the time passed to the weary 
 watchers in the library, Sir John de Burgh 
 and Mr. Talbot. They seldom spoke, for 
 both were disinclined for conversation. Sir 
 John walked up and do^vn with measured 
 steps, pausing every now and then to listen 
 if any sound might tell them the progress 
 of events in the sick chamber ; but none 
 came, everything was silent as death. Mr. 
 Talbot held a newspaper in his trembling 
 hands, but he never read a line; his eyes 
 fell unheeding on the page before him; his
 
 30 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 
 
 attention, his thoughts, were with his suf- 
 fering child. 
 
 At length the door was opened softly 
 and Mrs. Talbot appeared, her eyes red 
 with weeping, her lips quivering with 
 agitation. 
 
 Both gentlemen went instantly to meet 
 her ; each looking the question they feared 
 to ask. 
 
 "Marian is not worse," she observed; 
 " the doctors hope the chief danger is past. 
 But you will be disappointed, Sir John — 
 she has another little girl." 
 
 A heavy frown crossed his brow for an 
 instant : this was indeed a disappointment. 
 Next moment his thoughts returned to his 
 wife. 
 
 '' What does Dr. A think, Mrs. 
 
 Talbot? Is she at all better? Is there 
 hope?'' 
 
 "I trust so," replied Mrs. Talbot; "but 
 she is very weak, scarcely more than alive. 
 I must return to her now. I only came to 
 bring you the doctors' report, and to tell
 
 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 31 
 
 you of the child's birth. You will try not 
 to show Marian that you are disappointed, 
 John. She does not know yet, she was in 
 no state to be told ; but it will be her first 
 question, and I dread the effect it may 
 have on her." 
 
 Poor mother ! she need not have dreaded 
 it. Lady de Burgh never again awoke to 
 the realities of life, never heard of the dis- 
 appointment to her cherished hopes, never 
 even saw the little being whose existence 
 had cost its young mother her life. 
 
 "When Mrs. Talbot regained her daugh- 
 ter s room she found that a change for the 
 worse had taken place, and the doctors and 
 nurse were busy administering restoratives 
 to their patient, who had again been seized 
 with a fainting-fit. 
 
 " She is very ill — dying, I fear,'^ said Dr. 
 
 A , anxiously. " Sir John had better be 
 
 told to come at once. There is no time to 
 lose." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot took the nurse's place, and 
 desired her to go instantly and tell Sir John
 
 32 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 
 
 and Mr. Talbot that Lady de Burgh was 
 worse, begging them to come upstairs im- 
 mediately. And soon they were all gathered 
 round that dying bed, each longing for 
 some faint word or sign that she, so dear to 
 them all, was aware of their presence, and 
 was comforted by the knowledge that loving 
 faces and loving hearts surrounded her, 
 thirsting wildly for some slight token of 
 farewell. 
 
 Dr. A put back the curtain that he 
 
 might have more light, and the warm rays 
 of the setting sun streamed brilliantly into 
 the room, and fell on the pale recumbent 
 figure on the bed. It was the hour of their 
 walk on the terrace yesterday, and the con- 
 trast of then and now was more than Sir 
 John could bear. A deep groan escaped him, 
 and he bent his face on his clasped hands. 
 
 " Can nothing be done to save her ? — 
 nothing ? Is it quite hopeless, doctor?" 
 
 " I fear so," said Dr. A , gently, 
 
 glancing at him with deep commiseration. 
 "We have done all that is possible, God
 
 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 33 
 
 knows that we have. Her life is now in 
 His hands alone: human skill is of no 
 avail." 
 
 " Will she never rally sufficiently to speak 
 again — to know us ?" asked Mr. Talbot, as 
 he gazed sadly on the loved features of his 
 dying child. 
 
 '^ I fear not," replied Dr A , gently; 
 
 " she will sink quietly as her strength de- 
 creases ; she is unconscious now, and wdll 
 in all probability remain so." 
 
 No sound broke the silence of the death 
 chamber, save the occasional faint moaning 
 of Lady de Burgh and the stifled grief of 
 her mother. The dread fiat had gone forth, 
 and they all knew there was now no hope in 
 this world for the idol of all their hearts — 
 that in a few hours, at most, this gentle 
 creature, even now so beautiful, would lie 
 for ever hushed in the cold sleep of death. 
 
 Dr. A waited for a short time longer, 
 
 and then, seeing that he could be of no 
 further use, he bade them a sad farewell 
 and took his departure for town. All the 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 
 
 others remained to the last, watching with 
 silent anguish the gradual fading away of 
 the sweet young life before them. 
 
 At intervals the wailing cry of the little 
 babe, so soon to be motherless, struck mourn- 
 fully on their ears ; and once, when it was 
 rather louder than usual, they thought 
 Marian heard it too, for a faint tinge of 
 colour came into her pale cheek, and there 
 was a momentary trembling of the eyelid, 
 as though she would fain have seen from 
 whence the sound proceeded; but beyond 
 this she took no further notice. 
 
 Sir John de Burgh frowned more than 
 once when the little voice broke the silence 
 of the sick room, and on this occasion he 
 looked up with strong annoyance written in 
 face. 
 
 " That child," he said, in a low tone of 
 displeasure, ''can it not be removed to 
 another room ? Its crying may disturb its 
 mother.'- 
 
 " I do not think it will," replied Dr. 
 Hood, with a melancholy shake of the head;
 
 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 35 
 
 *^ nothing can disturb Lady de Burgh now, 
 she is unconscious of everything." 
 
 The kind doctor sighed deeply as he spoke. 
 He had attended Lady de Burgh ever since 
 her marriage ; and though he had often felt 
 grave misgivings as to the final result of her 
 illness, now that the blow had indeed fallen 
 he truly mourned the idolized wife and 
 mother so early called away. 
 
 Before midnight she died. Gently she 
 passed from among them: so gently, that 
 none knew the precise moment of her de- 
 parture. There were a few faint sighs, and 
 then stillness; and when, soon afterwards, 
 Dr. Hood held a mirror to her lips, no mist 
 dimmed its bright surface. She was gone. 
 
 There was sadness in the household when 
 the news went forth. There were old ser- 
 vants there who had known Sir John as a 
 boy, who had seen him bring home his 
 lovely bride, and had little dreamt that 
 their grey hairs would be left when her 
 bright tresses were laid low. All felt much 
 for their master, for they could guess
 
 36 A NIGHT or WEEPING. 
 
 liow terrible a bereavement his wife's death 
 would be to him; they had been so happy 
 too;ether ; never the slio-htest cloud of dis« 
 agreement to mar the harmony of their 
 union ; and none knew this better than the 
 servants who waited on them and saw their 
 daily life. He had been so fond — so proud 
 of her ; and she had made his lightest wish 
 her law — his smile her highest reward and 
 happiness. And all this was ended now — 
 he was alone. 
 
 Some there were who mourned for the 
 two motherless children ; the little girl who 
 had been poor Marian's pet and plaything, 
 the unconscious babe who had never known 
 a mother's smile and would never feel her 
 loving kiss. A heavy trial had indeed be- 
 fallen those little ones; they had lost the 
 tender parent who w^ould have watched and 
 guided the opening of their young minds, 
 and guarded them from many dangers that 
 must assail them unheeded now; for who 
 could fill the place of a mother, and such a 
 mother as Marian ?
 
 A NIGHT OF WEEPING. 37 
 
 All this passed through Mrs. Talbot's 
 mmd as she gazed sadly on the sleeping 
 children, warmly nestled in their little beds, 
 while their mother lay so cold and still in 
 that deep slumber from which no earthly 
 touch would ever rouse her. 
 
 Sir John had quitted the apartment as 
 soon as he knew that all was over. He bade 
 good night to the parents of his dead wife ; 
 and when Mrs. Talbot clasped his hand con- 
 vulsively in her grief, he raised hers ten- 
 derly to his lips and held it there for a few 
 moments, and they could see that his sor- 
 row had almost overmastered him. But he 
 was calm again immediately ; and with an- 
 other long look at the motionless form, 
 another lingering kiss on the pale cold 
 brow, he turned steadily away and left the 
 room. 
 
 There was now nothing more to hope — 
 nothing more to fear; and soon all was 
 hushed in the vast mansion, save in the one 
 chamber where the attendants kept mourn- 
 ful watch by the dead. And the passing
 
 38 A NIGHT or WEEPING. 
 
 bell tolled out slowly and solemnly, and 
 those who heard it knew that the bright 
 young spirit had fled : and many a tear was 
 shed by those who had loved her while 
 living, and fondly prized her memory now 
 that her memory alone was left for them to 
 prize. Bequiescat injjace.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LADY DE BURGH^S PUNERAL. 
 
 " Sir John lias never seen the baby, ma'am," 
 observed tbe nurse to Mrs. Talbot on the 
 followino- morning. " He has never men- 
 tioned it in any way that I have heard, 
 ma'am; perhaps I had better wait till he 
 asks for it." 
 
 " I think so," replied Mrs. Talbot, who 
 had also marked the omission of all notice 
 of the child on the part of its father. " Sir 
 John is very much distressed at present, 
 and the sight of the infant may only in- 
 crease it." 
 
 " He sent for Miss Augusta early this 
 morning, maam. She was always accus- 
 tomed to go to her mamma's room for a
 
 40 LADY DE burgh's FUNERAL. 
 
 little while to say her prayers and a hymn ; 
 and to-day, at the same time, a message 
 came that she was to go to Sir John, and 
 she has not come back yet." 
 
 *' I am very glad to hear it, nurse," re- 
 plied Mrs. Talbot; '^ the society of the child 
 will do him good, and by-and-by he will, 
 perhaps, wish to see the baby. But at pre- 
 sent the sight of it would only recal painful 
 ideas." 
 
 " That is very true, ma'am, for the inno- 
 cent infant has cost you all a dear price. I 
 wish Sir John may ever take kindly to it, 
 when he thinks of that sweet young lady 
 that is gone." 
 
 " Hush ! nurse," said Mrs. Talbot, gravely, 
 ** that is a light in which, I trust, no one 
 will ever regard it. My daughter was very 
 dear to me, and this world can never be the 
 same to me now she is dead; but this little 
 helpless one will only be the dearer to me 
 that her own mother is not here to love 
 her. Poor little thing! she shall have my 
 own child's place in my heart;" and her
 
 LAUY DE burgh's FUNERAL. 41 
 
 warm tears fell on the little sleeping face, 
 sad baptism of affliction and love. 
 
 A message had been brought to Mrs. 
 Talbot from Sir John that he preferred re- 
 maining in his own apartments for the 
 present, and begged they would be kind 
 enough to leave him undisturbed. They 
 followed his wishes in this respect, though 
 they felt keenly for the solitary mourner 
 in his heavy sorrow, and would fain have 
 shared it with him had he valued their 
 sympathy. 
 
 During the period that preceded the fu- 
 neral he sat entirely in his study; his meals 
 were served to him there by his own valet, 
 and there he passed the long dreary hours, 
 often till past midnight. Once he sent for 
 Mr. Talbot, to consult with him as to the 
 arrangements for the funeral ; but he spoke 
 only of this, and his agent being present 
 also, the conversation was entirely confined 
 to matters of business. 
 
 He was very grave— very pale; and Mr. 
 Talbot thought he could distinguish a greyer
 
 42 LADY DE burgh's FUNERAL. 
 
 shade in his dark hair, hitherto only slightly 
 grizzled here and there ; but his manner in- 
 vited no spoken sympathy, and they care- 
 fully avoided intruding on him what he so 
 evidently did not wish. 
 
 "Is papa ill, grandmamma?" asked the 
 little Augusta, a day or two after her mo- 
 ther s death. " He will not talk to me as 
 he used to do, and tell me nice stories. And 
 where is mamma? Why do I never see 
 her? and why does papa turn away his 
 head when I ask him where she is gone to? 
 Nurse told me mamma had gone away to 
 be an angel in heaven. Is she gone there, 
 grandmamma?'' 
 
 " Yes, my darling, your dear mamma 
 has gone to heaven ; and if you are a good 
 little girl you will go there too by-and-by, 
 and see your mamma again." 
 
 '^ But why is papa so sad, grandmamma?" 
 continued the child. " He takes me on his 
 knee, but he does not speak to me; and 
 when I ask him about mamma, he just says,
 
 LADY DE BURGH S FUNERAL. 43 
 
 ' Hush ! my dear ;' and looks, oh ! so very, very 
 sad ! And he put me down from his knee 
 once, and went and looked out of the wm- 
 dow ; and, grandmamma," said Augusta, 
 seriously, '^ I think papa was crying," 
 
 Mrs. Talbot Aviped the tears from her 
 own eyes, as in imagination she pictured 
 the desolate widower unable to bear the 
 questioning of his unconscious little daugh- 
 ter, and yet shunning the sympathy that 
 would have shared, and perhaps softened, 
 his grief. 
 
 '' It is so dreadful to think of him sitting 
 there by himself," she said, afterwards, to 
 her husband, " all those long hours alone, 
 brooding over his sorrow. If I might only 
 go to him." 
 
 "Better not, my dear," replied Mr. 
 Talbot. " He evidently prefers being left 
 alone, and we are bound to respect his 
 wishes." 
 
 *' Augusta goes to him every morning," 
 said Mrs. Talbot; " but he has never made
 
 44 LADY DE burgh's TUNERAL. 
 
 the slightest mention of the baby. Poor 
 little thing! it will be sad, indeed, if he has 
 no affection for it." 
 
 " After Thursday he will, perhaps, ask to 
 see it," replied her husband; and then they 
 both remained silent. For Thursday was 
 the day on which the funeral was to take 
 place, and the young and beautiful Lady 
 de Burgh was then to be laid in her last 
 resting-place — a large, gloomy vault under 
 the village church. 
 
 It was now Thursday morning. 
 
 The corpse of poor Marian had been 
 placed in the coffin a day or two previousl}^, 
 but the lid had not yet been screwed down. 
 
 They knew in the household that Sir 
 John daily visited the room in which his 
 dead wife lay. He went there early in the 
 morning, before any one was stirring ; and if 
 any of the domestics were about, they care- 
 fully avoided all chance of encountering 
 him on such occasions. 
 
 On this last day he went as usual and 
 remained there a long time.
 
 LADY DE BURGH S FUNERAL. 45 
 
 How he passed the interval none could 
 tell ; he quitted the room as silently as he 
 had entered it; but a servant saw him from 
 a distance crossing the passage leading to 
 his study, and she said he walked very 
 slowly and sadly, and never once lifted his 
 eyes from the ground. He had taken his 
 last look on the sweet pale face of his wife : 
 an hour later and it was for ever shrouded 
 from mortal gaze. 
 
 Calm and stately he stood in the dark- 
 ened library, and received such of his 
 friends and neighbours as had been bidden 
 to the funeral. 
 
 Soon the light coffin was borne down the 
 broad staircase, and the youthful mistress 
 of the Abbey was carried through the hall 
 she had so often crossed in her brio:ht and 
 girlish beauty, past the throng of weeping 
 domestics, past the threshold she had en- 
 tered as a bride, and placed in the darkiy- 
 plumed hearse that was to carry her to her 
 last earthly resting-place. 
 
 The mournful cavalcade wound slowly
 
 46 LADY DE burgh's FUNERAL. 
 
 across the noble park, now lost among, 
 now appearing beyond, the trees, a dark 
 blot on the swelling English landscape 
 through which it passed. And the ser- 
 vants tearfully watched its progress from 
 the upper windows, and spoke in low, 
 subdued tones of their dead mistress, and 
 pondered over what changes were to be 
 expected in the establishment, and made 
 admiring and critical comments on their 
 new mourning. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot lay on the drawing-room sofa, 
 exhausted by her grief; and on a stool 
 beside her sat little Augusta, wondering 
 why grandmamma and the servants were 
 crying, and why they were all dressed in 
 black, and why she had a new black frock, 
 which she did not like at all, but which 
 nurse had told her she must wear for her 
 mamma who was gone away to be an angel 
 in heaven. 
 
 And in the distant nursery slumbered 
 the poor unwelcome babe, the unconscious 
 cause of so much affliction. A sweet little
 
 liADY DE BURGH S FUNERAL. 47 
 
 thing it was, fair like its mother, and 
 having, too, her bright silky hair and soft 
 blue eyes. A wistful expression could almost 
 be traced in the tiny infantine features, as 
 though it felt how sad was its fate: no 
 mother's holy kiss ever imprinted on its 
 baby brow, no father's encircling arms to 
 compensate for its heavy, heavy loss. 
 
 Again the solemn funeral bell boomed 
 sadly through the still autumn air, and the 
 procession quitted the park and advanced 
 to the iron gates at the entrance of the 
 churchyard. There all left the carriages, 
 and the coffin was removed from the 
 hearse; Sir John de Burgh and Mr. Talbot 
 following closely, as chief mourners. The 
 poor old father's grief was painful to wit- 
 ness; he leant on the supporting arm of 
 his son-in-law, and his frame shook with 
 the violence of his emotion. Sir John was 
 perfectly calm, but his lips were pale and 
 compressed, and more than once he passed 
 his handkerchief across his brow to wipe 
 away the damp that had gathered there.
 
 48 LADY DE burgh's TUNERAL. 
 
 Only when tlie coffin was slowly lowered 
 into the vault one deep groan escaped him, 
 and for a few moments he pressed his hands 
 firmly over his eyes and bent down his 
 head as though the sight Avas more than 
 he could bear. 
 
 All present felt deeply for him; there 
 "Nvere not many dry eyes among those 
 assembled; the fair young girl whom they 
 had just seen carried to her last home had 
 been loved and cherished by them all. They 
 could well appreciate the irreparable blank 
 her loss must cause to her own more im- 
 mediate relatives; and many a warm clasp 
 of the hand at parting spoke to Sir John, 
 even more strongly than words, of the deep 
 sympathy experienced for him in his sor- 
 row and bereavement. 
 
 Mr. Talbot and he returned together to 
 the Abbey; Sir John looking fixedly out 
 of the carriage window, and replying in as 
 few words as possible to one or two obser- 
 vations of his father-in-law. 
 
 Before they alighted, however, he said to 
 Mr. Talbot—
 
 LADY DE burgh's FUNERAL. 49 
 
 " I must ask you to excuse my joining 
 Mrs. Talbot and yourself to-daj^; and I 
 thank you very much for your kind con- 
 sideration hitherto. To-morrow, if conve- 
 nient, I should wish to discuss some 
 arrangements that will be necessary for 
 the future: if Mrs. Talbot and you will 
 meet me in the library at ten oVlock, you 
 will oblige me greatly." 
 
 " We shall be glad to do so," replied 
 Mr. Talbot; "after which, if you have no 
 objection, we must think of returning home. 
 But if our remaining — or Mrs. Talbot's 
 remaining a little longer would be more 
 agreeable to you, pray say so. Your 
 children and yourself are our first objects 
 in life, and ever must be." 
 
 " I thank you," said Sir John, taking his 
 hand and pressing it warmly; "I cannot 
 say all I feel, but I owe you very much. 
 We have all sustained a very heavy loss, 
 and I cannot yet think of it with resignation. 
 I shall leave the Abbey — for a time at least 
 — its associations are too painful for me." 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 LADY DE burgh's FUNERAL. 
 
 "Leave the Abbey!" exclaimed Mr. 
 Talbot; "and the children! But they 
 will come to us. We shall be too rejoiced 
 to have them ; and a change will be bene- 
 hcial to yourself." 
 
 " I could not stay here," said Sir John, 
 sadly; " everything about the place recalls 
 her too vividly. As to the children," he 
 continued, after a moment of hesitation 
 and a slight contraction of the forehead, 
 ^- we shall discuss that point to-morrow. 
 We are just at home now." 
 
 He sighed heavily, for the thought 
 crossed his mind that the bright presence 
 which had made the joy of his home was 
 gone now ; the house and all its belongings 
 were there still, the same as ever, but it 
 no longer felt to him like " Home." 
 
 The carriage drove up to the door, and 
 they alighted : Sir John retired to his own 
 apartment, Mr. Talbot sought his wife in 
 the drawing-room, where she had remained 
 ever since the funeral. 
 
 Some few words passed relative to the
 
 LADY DE burgh's FUNERAL. 51 
 
 mournful occupation in which he had been 
 engaged ; and then they spoke of Sir John. 
 
 " How is he now?" inquired Mrs. Talbot; 
 " I trust he does not mean to isolate him- 
 self from us all any longer, or his spirits 
 will become seriously affected." 
 
 " Only till to-morrow," replied her hus- 
 band. " He begged me to make his ex- 
 cuses to you, and say that he felt unable to 
 join us to-day. He feels poor Marian's 
 death very deeply, and I do not wonder at 
 it; few men had such a wife; she was 
 entirely devoted to him." 
 
 *' She was, indeed," observed Mrs. Talbot, 
 sadly; '^he may well mourn for her. And 
 those poor little children, my heart quite 
 bleeds for them, especially the baby. He is 
 fond of Augusta, but I tremble for the 
 other one; he has never once evinced the 
 slightest interest in anything concerning it." 
 
 " He spoke of quitting the Abbey for a 
 time," continued Mr. Talbot; "and per- 
 haps it is the best thing he can do, till 
 he has in some measure recovered from the 
 
 4—2 
 
 irBRARY "^ 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of TllWmS
 
 52 LADY DE burgh's FUNERAL. 
 
 shock. We might take the charge of the 
 children then; you would like it, I think, 
 my dear?" 
 
 " Above everything," replied his wife, 
 warmly; '^heymust, of course, come to us. 
 Did he mention how long he might be ab- 
 sent?" 
 
 " No, he did not say ; and he evidently 
 wished to postpone all discussion of his 
 plans till to-morrow morning, when I 
 ao-reed that we should meet him for the 
 purpose of making some arrangements for 
 the future." 
 
 " He will surely see the baby to-morrow," 
 said Mrs. Talbot, in a meditative tone ; '' I 
 must persuade him to do so if he does not 
 propose it himself. Poor little creature, she 
 is rather inclined to be delicate, I fear; I 
 have several times thought it might be ad- 
 visable to have her baptized. If Sir John 
 is likely to leave soon, it must be done 
 before he goes." 
 
 " I wish it had been a boy," remarked 
 Mr. Talbot; "Augusta was a great disap-
 
 LADY DE burgh's FUNERAL. 53 
 
 pointment to him ; and poor Marian and he 
 ardently hoped it might be a son this time. 
 Poor girl ! it mattered little to her, she 
 never knew which it was. I suppose he 
 will name it after her." 
 
 " Oh ! of course," replied his wife, " he 
 w^ill be sure to do so ; and the little thing 
 promises to be her very image. Eyes, hair, 
 complexion, all are exactly poor Marian's ; 
 every one observes it. I trust she may re- 
 semble her in disposition too ; Augusta has 
 nothing of her mother in her; she is a De 
 Burgh entirely, very proud and self-willed, 
 I fear." 
 
 " She is very like her grandmother. Lady 
 Augusta,^' said Mr. Talbot; "and she was 
 the proudest woman I ever met ; cold, 
 haughty, unbending. Whatever she de- 
 cided to do must be done ; it did not matter 
 at what sacrifice. Her grandchild has a 
 good deal of this spirit in her ah^eady; I 
 am often amazed at her determination to 
 have what she wishes." 
 
 '^ Well," continued Mrs. Talbot, "I shall
 
 54 LADY DE burgh's FUNERAL. 
 
 probably have a good deal to do Avith the 
 training of the children, and I shall try my 
 utmost to counteract this tendency to self- 
 will in Augusta. She is a clever child, and 
 very sensible for one so young; and at her 
 age no bad quality can be very firmly 
 rooted. It only requires a little judicious 
 guidance and discipline. I hope she will 
 grow up to be a comfort to us all." 
 
 '^I hope so, too," replied her husband; 
 " and if you bring her up I think she will. 
 I only wish she did not bear such a strong 
 resemblance to her disagreeable grandmo- 
 ther, who was no favourite of mine. There 
 is often much truth in old sayings; I am 
 just now recalling one of them ; ' What is 
 bred in the bone will out in the flesh.' I 
 trust that we may not find it verified in the 
 case of Augusta." 
 
 Whether it were or not remains to be 
 seen.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Talbot entered the library 
 a few minutes past ten the following morn- 
 ing, and found Sir John de Burgh already 
 awaiting their arrival. 
 
 " Thank you very much for coming," he 
 said, after greeting them kindly; "there 
 are a few matters I wish to talk over with 
 you, and I have desired w^e may not on any 
 account be disturbed." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot took the easy-chair he drew 
 forward for her, and Mr. Talbot seated 
 himself beside her : there was a small fire 
 burning in the grate, for the mornings 
 w^ere often chilly, and Sir John stood on 
 the rug with his back to the chimney-piece.
 
 56 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 " Mr. Talbot has probably told you," he 
 began, addressing Mrs. Talbot, " that I 
 propose going abroad for some time." 
 
 " He mentioned that you intended leaving 
 the Abbey for a time," she replied, '^but I 
 did not understand you were going abroad." 
 
 " You did not name the Continent,*' 
 said Mr. Talbot ; " only that you thought 
 of seekino; some chano^e." 
 
 " I shall find that best abroad," continued 
 Sir John, with a sigh ; " England is unbear- 
 able to me at present; I must go where I 
 may learn to forget the past — if I can ever 
 do so." He stooped to alter some trifling 
 derangement of the rug, then raised his 
 countenance calm and impassive as before. 
 
 "We need not forget the past," said 
 Mrs. Talbot gently, "it is not intended 
 that we should. A sore trial has come 
 upon us all, my dear John ; we must not 
 repine at what our Heavenly Father has 
 decreed, but we are permitted to weep for 
 our beloved Marian. In time our grief 
 will become less keen, and we shall be
 
 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 57 
 
 enabled to feel that she is happy, and to 
 rejoice in her happiness. At present this 
 is difficult for us all/' 
 
 She wept silently for a few minutes, and 
 no one spoke. Then she continued — 
 
 " Your loss is a very heavy one, my dear 
 John, greater even than her father's and 
 mine. We had already lost her, in a cer- 
 tain sense — she had gone from her home — 
 she had ceased to be our daily and hourly 
 companion, as she was yours; and what 
 she was in this respect we remember only 
 too well. None of us can ever forget her, 
 my dear John, it would not be right to do 
 so ; Marian's memory must dwell in all 
 our hearts, and stimulate us to follow her 
 bright example." 
 
 " She was perfect," said Sir John, in a 
 low tone ; '' if ever a woman were faultless, 
 Marian was so. The blank her absence 
 causes can never be filled ; life has no value 
 for me now." 
 
 " Do not say that, my dear John,'' said 
 Mrs. Talbot, kindly; '^ it is not the spirit in
 
 58 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 which we must receive our trials. Life 
 may at present seem to you dreary and 
 objectless; but it has its duties still, which 
 you are called on to perform ; and in time 
 it will again have its pleasures." 
 
 He shook his head sadly, but made no 
 further reply. 
 
 "You have your children, John," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Talbot, '' your two motherless 
 little girls, who, from that melancholy cir- 
 cumstance, have a double claim on your 
 love and tenderness. They will be an ever 
 increasing source of interest to you, and 
 you Yfill have your recompense in their 
 duty and affection." 
 
 '' It was on this subject that I particularly 
 wished to consult you," remarked Sir John, 
 when she finished speaking ; " at least, so 
 far as the infant is concerned. I shall take 
 Augusta with me." 
 
 " Oh ! Sir John !" exclaimed his mother- 
 in-law, " is that wise, do you think? So 
 young a child will be a great incumbrance 
 to you, especially in travelling."
 
 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 59 
 
 " I shall not travel continuously," replied 
 Sir John; "I shall in all probability reside 
 for a considerable time in one place, as it 
 may happen to suit me." 
 
 " But — but Sir John," observed Mrs. 
 Talbot, with some hesitation, " you speak 
 as if your absence were likely to be a 
 lengthened one." 
 
 " I think it will," he replied gravely, 
 "for some years at least. But this of 
 course is uncertain." 
 
 "And the baby. Sir John," said Mrs. 
 Talbot, endeavouring to speak firmly, " you 
 do not intend taking her with you?" 
 
 " Certainly not," replied her son-in-law, 
 resolutely, while a severe expression came 
 into his countenance; "the infant remains 
 behind here, with suitable attendants, and 
 subject to your control ; or with you, in 
 your own house, as you may prefer." 
 
 " Oh ! with us, at Summerton, of course," 
 said Mrs. Talbot, eagerly ; "we shall only 
 be too glad to have her." And she glanced 
 appealingly at her husband.
 
 CO FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 *' Certainly, Avith us, my dear," he ob- 
 served. *' Would not you leave Augusta 
 too, Sir Jolin? The children will be hap- 
 pier together, and my wife and I will take 
 every care of them." 
 
 "I am sure you will," replied his son-in- 
 law, " and I am under great obligations to 
 Mrs, Talbot and yourself, for undertaking 
 the charge of the infant. But I prefer 
 that Augusta accompanies me." 
 
 He spoke with visible determination, and 
 there was therefore nothing more to be said. 
 A pause of a few minutes, and then Sir 
 John continued — 
 
 " Some small business arrangements that 
 were necessary I have already made; the 
 sooner I quit the Abbey, the better. To- 
 day is Friday; I propose starting on 
 Monday morning." 
 
 " On Monday morning !" said Mrs. Talbot 
 faintly. '' That is very sudden ; and, my dear 
 John, have you considered that in this case 
 it will be needful to have the baby baptized 
 immediately r"
 
 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. Gl 
 
 "I do not see the necessity at all," 
 replied Sir John, with a slight frown; ''in 
 fact I may as well say at once that it can- 
 not be. At any time most convenient to 
 yourselves let her be baptized; my pre- 
 sence is not imperatively required. Per- 
 haps you mil be good enough to act as 
 her sponsors, and arrange anything else as 
 you please." 
 
 "Oh, John! is this right?" urged Mrs. 
 Talbot, anxiously; "not to be present at 
 the baptism of your own child, and the 
 poor little thing motherless too !" Her 
 tears fell fast as she spoke. 
 
 " It cannot be," said Sir John decidedly. 
 
 " If it is on account of the "" short 
 time left before you start, Sir John," 
 observed Mr. Talbot gravely, " I have 
 no doubt that point could easily be 
 arranged. The clergyman might come 
 over here to-morrow and perform the 
 ceremony. I hope you will consent to 
 this." 
 
 " I regret that I cannot do so," replied
 
 62 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 Sir John, in a determined voice ; " that un- 
 fortunate infant has cost me very dear: 
 the bare recollection of its existence is 
 painful to me. See it I cannot." 
 
 " Oh, John!" said Mrs. Talbot, anxiously, 
 "you will surely never leave home without 
 seeing the baby, poor Marian's child, her 
 dying gift to you. You will see it before 
 you go?" 
 
 He turned hastily round, and leant his 
 face over the fireplace. 
 
 " Mrs. Talbot," he said, in a deep, sup- 
 pressed tone, " do not urge this on me. 
 It grieves me to have to refuse any request 
 of yours; but the sight of that infant, 
 the ideas its presence would recall, would 
 be too much for my strength of mind. If 
 you would not have me hate the child, 
 press me no more to see it for the pre- 
 sent. At some future time I may view it 
 with less repugnance than I now feel." 
 
 " Poor little thing," murmured Mrs. 
 Talbot, softly, as if to herself, "you are 
 indeed to be pitied : no mother, and a
 
 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 03 
 
 father who is worse than indifferent to 
 you." 
 
 If Sir John heard her he took no notice, 
 but continued, more immediately address- 
 ing Mr. Talbot: "I leave the child en- 
 tirely in your charge and Mrs. Talbot's. 
 You will treat her exactly as you choose. 
 The expenses of her maintenance and all 
 else will be defrayed by my agent: let 
 everything be liberally done, draw on him 
 for whatever sums you may require. And 
 once more let me thank you both very sin- 
 cerely for the favour you are now conferring 
 on me. It is a great relief to my mind." 
 
 ''I am glad you feel it so," said Mr. 
 Talbot, gravely ; " you may leave your 
 child in our care with perfect confidence ; 
 no pains shall be spared to ensure her 
 welfare and happiness. But I trust that 
 your residence abroad will ^be shorter than 
 you now anticipate, and that before long 
 you will give your little girl the shelter of 
 your own home and the companionship of 
 her sister. It will be better, believe me,
 
 64 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 for both children, as well as for your- 
 self." 
 
 "My plans for the future will depend 
 entirely on circumstances," replied Sir 
 John, rather curtly; "at present they are 
 perfectly undecided; but I do not think 
 I shall return very soon to the Abbey." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear you say so," re- 
 joined his father-in-law; " but I trust time 
 and its changes may induce you to alter 
 your views. And now to mention one 
 important point that must not be neglected. 
 The infant shall be baptized at a suitable 
 time ; what should you wish it to be called ?" 
 
 " Oh, anything — call ii by what name 
 you choose," replied Sir John, with visible 
 annoyance ; "I shall be quite satisfied with 
 your choice." 
 
 " We thought you would wish it named 
 after its mother," said Mrs. Talbot, softly ; 
 " it is so like her, too. Shall we call it 
 Marian?" 
 
 " Perhaps it had better be so," replied 
 Sir John, in a changed tone. " Yes, let
 
 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 65 
 
 it be Marian. And now I think we have 
 arranged all that is necessary ; but if it 
 will be agreeable to you to remain here 
 till Monday, I shall be very glad of your 
 company." 
 
 " We shall stay until you and Augusta 
 leave," said Mr. Talbot, '' and then we shall 
 return to Summerton, and take the baby 
 with us." 
 
 And in this manner was decided the 
 future of those two little sisters. Strano^ers 
 they must be for many years if their father 
 earned out his present intentions : one 
 was to be his cherished companion and 
 favourite, the other an alien from his home, 
 and, alas ! most probably also from his 
 affection. Could the dead niother have 
 seen her little nursling thus summarily 
 discarded from the heart that should have 
 warmed and sheltered it, would she not 
 have regretted that it had not shared her 
 early fate ? — would she not have wished that 
 bud and blossom had fallen from the tree 
 toorether? had too-ether been taken from a 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 (J6 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 cold and pitiless world, and laid closely 
 united in the same calm and peaceful 
 grave? And better, perhaps, it had been 
 for the deserted infant had she indeed lain 
 pale and hushed in her dead mother's 
 arms; better for her, ay, and better for 
 that other whose future seemed now so 
 bris^ht and cloudless. 
 
 It is well for us all that we cannot raise 
 the shadowy veil that hides the unknown 
 and undreamed of future. How many of 
 us would start back in horror and aiFright 
 could we gaze into the mirror of fate and 
 behold the darkly looming visions that 
 might perchance cloud its surface, telling 
 of trial and misery we might yet be utterly 
 powerless to avoid ? 
 
 But no such prescience is ours. The 
 events of life are told out to us — ^good and 
 ill closely intermingled. Well is it for 
 those who can so bend circumstances to their 
 will as to extract good from what seems to be 
 only evil, who can see sunshine behind the 
 cloud, and light in the deepest obscurity.
 
 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. Oil 
 
 Monday morning came — Sir John's few 
 preparations were completed — he and his 
 little daughter were all ready for their 
 journey. Augusta was wild with delight at 
 the prospect of " going away with papa :" 
 and ran from one person to another, in- 
 quiring all she wished to know, and severely 
 trying her nurse's temper, not a particularly 
 placid one at the best of times. 
 
 "Are we going to see mamma, grand- 
 mamma?" she asked Mrs. Talbot, as she 
 sat on her little chair by that lady's side. 
 
 " No, my dear," said her grandmother, 
 sadly; "you will not see your mamma. 
 She has 2:one far awav, to Heaven !" 
 
 "But papa told me we were going far 
 away too, grandmamma ; and you said I 
 should see mamma again if I were good, 
 and I have been good, grandmamma," 
 added the young lady, confidently. 
 
 "Yes, dear; but you may not see your 
 mamma for a long time — perhaps not till 
 you are an old woman-r-older than I am.'' 
 
 Augusta pondered gravely for a fe^v 
 
 5—2
 
 68 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 minutes, as if she thought that scarcely 
 possible: then a new thought striking her, 
 she continued, impetuously — 
 
 " Why does not papa take baby with him 
 too? Why does she stay behind?" 
 
 " Baby is too young to be taken at 
 present," replied Mrs. Talbot; "I am 
 going to keep her with me till she is a 
 little older." 
 
 *'Will she come to us then?" inquired 
 Augusta, doubtfully. 
 
 " I hope papa and you will come back 
 to her," said Mrs. Talbot. " Baby will be 
 bigger then, and you will like to play with 
 her, shall you not ?" 
 
 " I don't know," replied the child. 'Tapa 
 may not like me to play with her. He 
 doesn't love baby, grandmamma." 
 
 " My dear Augusta, you must not say 
 that," said Mrs. Talbot, evading a more 
 direct answer. "Papa would be vexed if 
 he thought you spoke in that way." 
 
 '*0h! no, he wouldn't," replied her little 
 granddaughter, very decidedly. " Papa told
 
 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 69 
 
 me never to say anything about baby to 
 him, so he can't love her, grandmamma." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot groaned inwardly. 
 
 " Your papa is sorry to think of baby 
 just now, my dear, because when she came 
 your mamma was taken away: by-and-by 
 he will love baby all the more, because she 
 never had any mamma to love her as you 
 had." 
 
 ^' I don't want papa to love baby, grand- 
 mamma," said Augusta, frowning; "he is 
 only to love me." 
 
 " You must not talk that way, my dear," 
 said Mrs. Talbot, gravely; " your papa can 
 love you and the baby too : she is his little 
 daughter just the same as you are." 
 
 '^ But I don't want him to love her," 
 replied the child, resolutely; "he is only 
 to love me." And no amount of argument 
 could alter her views on this point. 
 
 They were gone. The carriage loaded 
 with imperials and packing-cases had driven 
 from the house ; Augusta's bright face and 
 dark glossy curls still visible at the window
 
 70 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 as she waved her handkerchief and kissed 
 her tiny hand to grand23apa and grand- 
 mamma, standing at the hall-door to watch 
 the departure of the travellers. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot had taken the little girl 
 to the cradle of her infant sister; when 
 Augusta on tiptoe kissed the slumbering 
 baby, and took its small soft fingers won- 
 deringly into her own rosy palm. 
 
 " Won't papa kiss her too before he goes 
 away?" she inquired of her grandmamma. 
 
 " Never mind, dear," replied Mrs. Talbot, 
 evasively; '' say good-by to nurse, and 
 come downstairs wdth me." 
 
 Too Avell she knew there would be no 
 parting kiss for the hapless little one, the 
 forsaken babe on whose sweet features its 
 father's eye had never rested, to whose 
 existence he had never given a thought 
 but of dislike and annoyance. And when 
 Sir John and his favoured child had 
 quitted the Abbey, she again ascended to 
 the distant nursery, and taking the lonely 
 infant in her arms, she clasped it to her
 
 FUTURE ARRANGEMENTS. 71 
 
 warmly beating heart, and vowed that the 
 affection and tenderness it was denied by 
 its nearest relative it should receive from 
 her in a rich and never-failing measure. 
 Then she and her husband dej)arted for 
 their own home, accompanied by the infant 
 and its attendants. Soon afterwards the 
 child was baptized by its mother's name, 
 '' Marian;" and now for the present we will 
 leave it. Many years must elapse before 
 we again resume the history of Augusta 
 and Marian de Burgh."
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 
 
 More than sixteen years have passed away. 
 
 In all that Ion 2^ time Sir John de Buro;h 
 has never once trodden the shores of his 
 native country; he and his eldest daughter 
 have lived entirely abroad, wandering hither 
 and thither as fancy or inclination dictated ; 
 sometimes remaining only a short time at 
 a place, often lingering for months, and on 
 one or two occasions residing for two or 
 three years in the same locality. 
 
 But amid all their journeyings he had 
 never once turned his steps towards Eng- 
 land; his native land, his ancestral home, 
 his unseen and unknown child, all appeared 
 to be entirely forgotten. But if one 
 daughter were utterly neglected and un-
 
 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 73 
 
 cared for, he had undoubtedly done his 
 duty by the other. 
 
 Augusta de Burgh, now in her twen- 
 tieth year, was, as far as the outward 
 observer could discern, a daughter whose 
 appearance and accomplishments might 
 well gladden the heart of any father. A 
 more entirely beautiful woman was not to 
 be seen; and Sir John's heart beat high 
 with pride and affection when he gazed on 
 her faultless features and magnificent form, 
 recalling to his classic imagination every- 
 thing that has been pictured of the ancient 
 goddesses, or the wildest dreams of poetic 
 fancy. 
 
 She was tall, but not ungracefully 
 so : her stateh' figure, upright and well 
 developed, looked from its exquisite pro- 
 portions shorter than it really was. 
 
 Her complexion was usually pale, but 
 became tino;ed Avith a bridit olow when 
 excited or animated, and she certainly was 
 at such times surpassingly beautiful. Her 
 hair was dark, glossy, and remarkably
 
 74 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 
 
 abundant; her large hazel eyes lustrous 
 and speaking. If her countenance had a 
 fault, it lay in the extreme rigidity of its 
 outline ; her features were almost too 
 clearly cut, giving her rather a hard ex- 
 pression, which was increased by her 
 queenly bearing and the firm setting of 
 her mouth and lips. In conversation her 
 head was slightly thrown back, and she 
 looked calmly and unflinchingly at the per- 
 son she addressed; in repose her lips were 
 almost too closely compressed, making them 
 look thinner than they were in reality; and 
 her eyes had a cold dreamy stare, not com- 
 mon in one so young, though in a moment 
 they would awake with a flash as of light- 
 ning were she in any way annoyed or dis- 
 pleased. She looked in truth a woman 
 born to command; and it was the generally 
 accepted opinion that the beautiful Miss 
 de Burgh was very proud. She had re- 
 ceived a first-class education ; Sir John had 
 allowed nothing to be neglected as regarded 
 information or accomplishments, and being
 
 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 75 
 
 a girl of great talents, Augusta had im- 
 proved her opportunities to the utmost. 
 
 She was acquainted with several foreign 
 languages, and spoke them with perfect 
 fluency; while her musical acquirements 
 Avere such as fall to the lot of few. Her 
 superb voice had been thoroughly culti- 
 vated, and she sang more like a professional 
 person than a mere amateur. The finest 
 Italian and German music she sang with 
 ease, and she also performed well on 
 several instruments. Music was with her 
 a passion, and won for her almost as much 
 admiration and pre-eminence as her great 
 attractions of face and form. Such was 
 the eldest daughter of Sir John de Burgh 
 at the commencement of the second part of 
 our story. 
 
 Nice was at its gayest and fullest. People 
 from all nations were there, the invalid and 
 the healthy; it was an unusually brilliant 
 season, for in addition to the ordinary 
 allowance of foreign noblesse^ several dis- 
 tinguished members of the English aris-
 
 76 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 
 
 tocracy had their temporary abode there; 
 and a Russian prince, an Austrian arch- 
 duchess, and a couple of Serene Highnesses 
 had either hired villas in the neighbour- 
 hood or occupied suites of apartments in 
 the Vittoria Hotel. 
 
 Amons: the more notable of the Eno'lish 
 residents were Sir John de Burgh and his 
 beautiful daughter, who rented one of the 
 largest villas facing the '' Promenade des 
 Anglais," commanding a grand and unin- 
 terrupted view of the deep blue Mediter- 
 ranean. 
 
 They were leading people in Nice, in the 
 best " set," and greatly sought after both 
 on account of their personal and mental 
 qualities, and also for the number and 
 recherche nature of their entertainments; 
 for Sir John was as hospitable as he was 
 wealthy, and his doors were frequently 
 opened to admit those whose birth, posi- 
 tion, or talents entitled them to be entered 
 on the list of his acquaintances. 
 
 On these occasions the fair Augusta
 
 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 77 
 
 received the guests and did the honours 
 of her father s house with a stately grace 
 that charmed every one. Her manners 
 were grave and unbending for a girl little 
 more than nineteen, at least this was their 
 ordinary characteristic; she could relax 
 and be extremely gracious when it so 
 pleased her, and there were times when 
 she could also be very fascinating. Young, 
 beautiful, and clever, she queened it o'er 
 every society in which she mixed, and a 
 cordon of admirers hovered round her 
 chair, and vied with each other in endea- 
 vouring to obtain a distinguished position 
 in her notice and regard. 
 
 She lived quite alone with her father 
 except when visitors came to pass a short 
 time with them; but this was not very 
 often. They went out a great deal, and 
 gave frequent parties at home; but at all 
 other times they preferred being alone. 
 Foreigners, with their strict ideas of the 
 decorum to be exacted from young un- 
 married ladies, marvelled much at the
 
 78 AUGUSTA UE BURGH. 
 
 freedom from all restriction enjoyed by 
 Miss de Eurgh, and with many shrugs of 
 the shoulders and archings of the eyebrows 
 declared it to be scarcely " convenabley 
 Some elderly governess or companion to 
 chaperone her and act as ^' dame de com- 
 pagnie' they considered necessary; and on 
 her first introduction to society one or two 
 intimate friends had hinted this to her. 
 But Ausfusta listened to their remarks with 
 
 a 
 
 such evident distaste that the subject was 
 not mooted again, and the omission of t he- 
 female guardian was attributed to English 
 eccentricity, and to special ignorance on 
 the part of Sir John de Burgh, scarcely 
 excusable in the father of a girl who, be- 
 sides being very young and attractive, was 
 also the heiress of large possessions. But 
 they might have spared themselves all 
 anxiety as regarded the isolated position of 
 the beautiful English heiress: few women 
 were more thoroughly mistress of them- 
 selves and their surroundings than she was. 
 The servants flew at her lightest word ; a
 
 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 79 
 
 glance from those calm cold eyes ensured 
 instant obedience in the most refractory; 
 and yet she was by no means a harsh 
 mistress, quite the contrary. She ruled 
 well, and was kind and considerate in her 
 dealings with her household : but she 
 brooked not the slightest opposition to her 
 will; an act of disobedience ensured the 
 immediate dismissal of the oiFender, and 
 beyond seeing that her servants were re- 
 gularly paid, and made in all respects com- 
 fortable, she took no further interest in 
 their concerns, and never held any but the 
 most distant intercourse with them. She 
 exacted most rigidly the performance of 
 their various duties: that point conceded 
 she left them to themselves. 
 
 Therefore Miss de Burgh was feared and 
 respected by her household, but scarcely 
 liked, and certainly not loved. To this, 
 however, she was perfectly indifferent ; her 
 orders were obeyed, and she looked for 
 nothing beyond. 
 
 In her reception of visitors, whether
 
 80 AUGUSTA DE BUllGH. 
 
 ladies or gentlemen, and in the arrange- 
 ment and disposition of her time she was 
 also perfectly unrestricted; and this more 
 than anything else excited amazement on 
 the part of her foreign friends, who would 
 not on any account have granted similar 
 liberty to their own daughters. Perhaps 
 with them it might not have answered, but 
 Augusta de Burgh stood the ordeal un- 
 scathed, and would have laughed to scorn 
 the idea or possibility of danger. She 
 knew her own strength of character, her 
 resolution of will; she knew well that no 
 man in his senses would dare to offer her 
 insult by look, word, or deed ; had any ever 
 ventured the most distant approach to such 
 a thing, one contemptuous crushing glance 
 from her had nipped the wild intention in 
 its birth, and sent the presumptuous in- 
 truder degraded and humiliated from her 
 presence. 
 
 In her position as a beauty and an 
 heiress, mingling in the best society, and 
 seeing men of the highest stamp, it may
 
 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 81 
 
 seem almost strange that Miss De Burgh 
 should have remained unmarried until 
 nearly twenty years of age. It was not 
 that she had been unsought, for the con- 
 trary was the case; many proposals had 
 been made for her ?iand, many from men 
 not unworthy of it. But Augusta knew, 
 what woman does not, that she had been 
 admired for her beauty, sought for her 
 wealth, perhaps even liked for her brilliant 
 conversation and society, but she had never 
 yet been loved, loved for herself alone, 
 irrespective of all adventitious circum- 
 stances. Nay, more than this, she knew 
 that no woman had ever truly loved her; 
 none had ever sought her sympathy, none 
 had ever indulged in her presence in those 
 little outpourings of a sensitive heart that 
 break down the barriers of formality, and 
 bring kindred spirits more into communion 
 with each other. Indeed, loveableness was 
 not a salient feature in her character: 
 nothing in her seemed to awaken or invite 
 the sympathy of others. Her belongings 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 bz \CGUSTA DE BURGH. 
 
 were sufficient for her, and she was suffi- 
 cient for herself: and to people with this 
 nature the heart does not seem to go out 
 or unfold itself. Young, beautiful, wealthy, 
 and fashionable — what more could she pos- 
 sibly need — why speak of sympathy to her? 
 It seemed only a misapplication of the 
 word. And yet there were seasons when 
 even the brilliant Augusta felt the want of 
 something more than she had, a need of 
 loving and being loved beyond her present 
 experience, a sense of weariness and long- 
 ing: for what should fill her heart more 
 entirely than her one strong attachment — 
 the love she bore towards her father. 
 
 Often her thoughts wandered over the 
 sea to her far-away sister — dimly remem- 
 bered in the vista of past years as a little 
 babe in the cradle, but now grown nearly 
 to woman's estate. At regular intervals 
 they heard from the old grandfather and 
 grandmother at Summerton, who were both 
 alive yet, and had taken the charge of 
 Marian ever since her father left Eno-land: 
 
 I
 
 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 83 
 
 and Augusta and Marian had written to 
 each other too; not frequently, but noAV 
 and then ; they were not utter strangers to 
 each other, in this respect at least. 
 
 But somehow or other an undefined sen- 
 sation of jealousy and dread stole over the 
 heart of Augusta when her sister's image 
 was presented to her mind. She could 
 scarcely analyse it, but it was there. The 
 fond old couple had dwelt lovingly on the 
 beauty and grace of their adopted child, on 
 her many charms and accomplishments, and 
 Augusta's heart grew cold towards her, and 
 the thought of a sister sharing her home 
 who might possibly become a rival, Avas 
 more than unpalatable to her. 
 
 Sir John rarely alluded to his younger 
 daughter, or only in the most curt and 
 distant terms ; Augusta knew the subject 
 was distasteful to him, her sister's name wa& 
 therefore seldom mentioned between them. 
 
 Her name of " Marian'' had never crossed 
 his lips; Augusta knew it was her dead 
 mother's, and from this single circumstance, 
 
 6—2
 
 84 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 
 
 she felt tliat the memory of the golden- 
 haired wife was very dear to him still. 
 She remembered her mother only as a long 
 faded dream ; sometimes in twilight musings 
 or in those 'moments when slmnber has not 
 yet steeped the senses in oblivion, a fair 
 bending form like an angel visitant would 
 float mistily before her closing eyes, and 
 she would seem to feel the soft pressure of 
 the loving lips as they laid a good-night 
 kiss on the cheek of her eldest born. 
 
 But with Sir John it was very different. 
 His love for his young and lovely wife was 
 the deepest passion he had ever experienced ; 
 and the loss of that adored wife was the 
 one bitter sorrow and trial of his life. He 
 had never forgotten her, though so many 
 long years had passed over his head since 
 then ; for her sake he had relinquished the 
 pursuits they had shared together ; for her 
 he had abandoned the home that would too 
 painfully have reminded him of her ; and 
 above all, for her he had alienated himself 
 from the child who bore her name, and
 
 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 85 
 
 whose undesired birth had deprived him 
 of what he most prized and cherished. 
 The very existence of this uncared-for 
 daughter was an annoying thought to him; 
 for he could not avoid a feehng of self- 
 reproach when he reflected on her banish- 
 ment from what should have been her home ; 
 her utter separation from her nearest rela- 
 tions ; the total want of aifection and in- 
 terest he had from the first evinced towards 
 her; his ignorance of her character and 
 disposition, nay, even of her very appear- 
 ance. As to the probable end of it all 
 he never cared to reflect ; in the course 
 of time there might, there must^ come a 
 change of some kind, at least, he supposed 
 so ; but till that change should force itself 
 upon him, he determined not to think of it, 
 and so he resolutely dismissed the subject 
 from his mind. 
 
 It was the afternoon of a soft November 
 day. Out -door exercise was over for the 
 gay promenaders of Nice, who had all 
 either sought their homes or were returning
 
 86 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 
 
 to tliein, so as to be beyond the malign in- 
 fluence of the chill air which is popularly 
 believed to sweep over the town at sunset. 
 Sir John de Burgh and his daughter had 
 just come back from a long ride, and the 
 fresh sea-breeze had brightened the tint of 
 Augusta's cheek and given a more sparkling 
 lustre to her eye. 
 
 She sat on a low seat in the marble bal- 
 cony opening from the large salon^ still 
 attired in riding costume, for the beauty 
 of the prospect had caught her eye as she 
 chanced to pass the window, and she had 
 seated herself outside, the more thoroughly 
 to enjoy it. 
 
 A very striking figure she looked in her 
 tightly -fitting habit, every graceful line and 
 contour displayed to the greatest advantage ; 
 the small linen collar scarcely whiter than 
 the fair throat it encircled. She had thrown 
 aside her Spanish hat with its long drooping 
 feather; and the beautiful head, with its 
 heavy coils of dark hair, was slightly sup- 
 ported by one hand as she gazed dreamily
 
 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 87 
 
 on the scene before her. It was an exqui- 
 site picture: had an artist seen her as she 
 thus sat and mused, he would have given 
 much to have transferred the glowing 
 reality to his canvas. 
 
 It was not strange that she should linger 
 in admiration of the view stretched before 
 her, for it was a very lovely one. 
 
 Fronting her were the deep blue waters 
 of the Mediterranean, dotted here and there 
 with small boats and one or two larger 
 vessels making for the harbour; while in 
 the distance a few white sails caught the 
 reflection of the setting sun, and one far- 
 away steamer broke the line of the fading 
 horizon with its long trail of dusky smoke. 
 All along the pleasant beach the blue of 
 the far-stretching sea broke into the white 
 fringe of surf which beats perpetually — 
 loud in storm, low and soft in calm, but 
 with a ceaseless voice and motion upon 
 those sunny shores. To the left lay the 
 white-walled town, looking whiter than 
 ever in the level sun-light: beyond rose
 
 88 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 
 
 the deep green heights clothed with olive 
 and orange, cactus and myrtle. Away to 
 the right stretched the undulating coast 
 ending in the promontory of Antibes, 
 which seemed to glow with rosy flame as 
 the sun sank nearer and nearer to the 
 French hills. At length his last ray dis- 
 appeared behind them, and the shades of 
 the rapid evening began to fall. The empty 
 look of the darkening and deserted prome- 
 nade lately so crowded, and a keener w^aft 
 of perfume from the orange trees m the 
 little enclosure before the house, told Au- 
 gusta that the day was done. 
 
 Heedless of the slight chill that now 
 began to pervade the atmosphere, she still 
 lingered on the balcony, unwilling to relin- 
 quish the enjoyment of the calm and beau- 
 tiful evening. A pleasant voice behind her 
 roused her from her reverie — the voice of 
 Madame de Mericourt, a young and lively 
 Frenchwoman, who was one of her most 
 intimate friends at Nice. 
 
 "What! braving the evening air and its
 
 AUGUSTA DE EURGH. 89 
 
 thousand and one fatal consequences! I 
 thought no one but myself was so foolish." 
 
 She cordially shook hands with Miss de 
 Burgh, and drawing forward a low chair 
 seated herself beside her. 
 
 " It is so very lovely to-night," said 
 Augusta, " that I was tempted to come 
 out here; but we can go in now — perhaps 
 it is wiser." 
 
 " Not on my account, pray," said Ma- 
 dame de Mericourt; "I have no faith in 
 the evils prophesied by the old women of 
 Nice, and I go in and stay out just as I 
 feel inclined." 
 
 " I am rather of your way of thinking," 
 replied Augusta, '^ and as yet have expe- 
 rienced no ill effects from my boldness." 
 
 " I came through the garden," continued 
 Madame de Mericourt; ''for I saw you and 
 Sir John returning from your ride, and I 
 wished to bid you adieu before our de- 
 parture for Rome." 
 
 "When do you start?" inquired Au- 
 gusta.
 
 90 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 
 
 " To-morrow. It is rather sooner than 
 we proposed, but the Negretti party are 
 leaving then, and we have arranged to 
 travel together. We mean to halt here 
 and there by the way according to our 
 inclinations." 
 
 " We shall do the same," said Augusta, 
 ''but we do not leave Nice for nearly a 
 fortnight. We have also promised to visit 
 the Duca di Savona en route to Genoa." 
 
 " Eome is to be very gay this winter," 
 continued Madame de Mericourt ; " some 
 friends of mine wrote me so. Our ambas- 
 sador is to give a series of balls, and a 
 number of distinguished people are to pass 
 the season there; so I hope we shall enjoy 
 ourselves." 
 
 " It promises well," said Augusta, smiling ; 
 '' and you are gay everywhere, Madame.' 
 
 " I like to amuse myself," replied the 
 little Frenchwoman, shrugging her pretty 
 shoulders ; " there is no harm in it. Why 
 should not everyone be happy their own 
 way?" 
 
 '* Why not, indeed ? " said Augusta ; " but
 
 AUGUSTA DE BURGH. 91 
 
 I think 3^ou are so : you have a most en- 
 viable flow of spirits. It must be pleasant 
 to be so light-hearted." 
 
 " Mais ouij" replied Madame de Mericourt 
 with a merry laugh ; " my motto is * Tou- 
 jours gai.' I like not your English tristesse : 
 I like to laugh, and to sing, and to dance. 
 I am fond of balls, and operas, and jpetits 
 soupers ; and I think one should do what 
 one likes." 
 
 '* A very agreeable doctrine indeed," said 
 Augusta with an amused look : " pity it is 
 not always practicable." 
 
 " I am sure you must find it so," said 
 Madame de Mericourt, raising her arched 
 eyebrows : *' you have youth, beauty, riches, 
 and are perfectly your own mistress; how 
 few young ladies are in your position." 
 
 " All those things do not ensure happi- 
 ness, Madame," replied Augusta almost 
 gravely, and a saddened look came into 
 her face as she spoke. . 
 
 " Perhaps not," said her friend, " but 
 they go a very long way towards ensuring 
 it. Poor people may be happy," she con-
 
 92 
 
 AUGUSTA DE BURGH, 
 
 tinued dubiously, "or at least contented; 
 but when one is no longer young — and 
 above all when one is ugly — oh ! it must 
 be terrible — too terrible ! " 
 
 She gave a reassuring glance at her grace- 
 ful figure, so faultlessly attired, at the tiny 
 feet in their kid hottines^ and the perfect little 
 hands in their tightly-fitting grey gloves: 
 all was entirely to her satisfaction, and she 
 knew that the dreaded fate of being old 
 and ugly had been spared her. Adele de 
 Mericourt was only three-and-twenty. 
 
 At this juncture Sir John de Burgh en- 
 tered the room, and his daughter and her 
 friend quitted the balcony and seated them- 
 selves in the salon beside him. Future 
 plans and arrangements for meeting were 
 discussed; and after a time Madame de 
 Mericourt rose to take her departure, Sir 
 John insisting on escorting her home : while 
 Miss de Burgh retired to her own apart- 
 ments to lay aside her riding costume and 
 repose until the hour of dinner. 
 
 I
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 SuMMERTON, the hoHie of Marian de Bursrh, 
 was an old English mansion, in which every 
 phase of the word " comfort" was exhibited 
 in the utmost perfection. 
 
 It was not a stately house nor yet a very 
 luxurious one; it was simply thoroughly 
 '' comfortable." 
 
 Visitors came with pleasure and left with 
 reluctance: none were ever invited who 
 were not entirely welcome, so there was 
 evident truth and sincerity in the cordial 
 reception that awaited all guests; in Mrs. 
 Talbot's kind greeting and beaming smile, 
 in her husband's hearty shake of the hand 
 and warm expressions of genuine hospitality. 
 The servants were for the most part old re-
 
 94 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 tainers of tlie family, and seldom quitted 
 them unless wlien they died or Avere mar- 
 ried. They knew and appreciated the 
 comfort of their position, and tliey seconded 
 tlieir master and mistress in ministering 
 to that of their friends. No better ordered 
 establishment in all broad England than 
 that over which Mrs. Talbot presided. 
 
 She has a useful adjunct now in the fair 
 young grand-daughter who has brightened 
 the old rooms of Summerton for more than 
 sixteen years, and who is the idolized pet 
 and darling of the whole household. We 
 left her in that bygone time a deserted 
 little babe in the cradle ; we meet her again 
 in the sweet bloom of early womanhood, 
 the most charming of all created beings, 
 a gently-born English girl, nurtured and 
 cherished amid the sacred and tender influ- 
 ences of a loving and happy home. 
 
 Nine o'clock is the breakfast hour at Sum- 
 merton, and it is almost that now. The fire 
 is blazing brightly in the ample grate, the 
 butler is bringing in the urn and other acces-
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 95 
 
 series of the inoriiing meal, and Mr. Talbot 
 stands on the soft Turkey rug and unfolds 
 the crackling pages of the Times^ which has 
 just been carefully ironed and brought to 
 hira. A large handsome retriever, an esta- 
 blished and much indulged favourite, lies 
 stretched at his feet in an attitude of lazy 
 enjoyment: the twinkle of his eye as he 
 watches the butler's movements evincinof a 
 perfect appreciation of their object, the 
 final result of which will be the transfer- 
 ence of some choice morsels from his mas- 
 ter's plate to his ready jaws. 
 
 And now the door is quickly opened, and 
 a young girl enters and comes gaily across 
 the room to the place where her grand- 
 father is standing. 
 
 The old gentleman brightens at her ap- 
 proach, and, enfolding her in his arms, 
 presses a fond kiss on her white forehead; 
 while "Don" cocks his long ears and slowly 
 wags his tail in pleased anticipation of the 
 accustomed pat presently bestowed upon 
 him.
 
 96 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 Can this indeed be the sister of the mag- 
 nificent " dark ladye" Ave left so lately on 
 the balcony of the villa at Nice? It were 
 impossible to imagine a greater contrast. 
 Very little above the middle height of 
 women, Marian's figure is slight and girlish; 
 she has not the stately presence of her elder 
 sister, but is rather inclined to shyness and 
 timidity when away from the home circle 
 and thrown among strangers. 
 
 A sweet fair face, not perhaps so regu- 
 larly beautiful as Augusta's, but with an 
 expression so innocent and confiding that 
 the heart warms to it at the first glance; 
 dark-blue eyes, soft and childlike, mirrors 
 of the guileless soul that shines out from 
 their depths ; a complexion like the inner 
 petals of a rose, such as only an English 
 girl ever possesses, and hair of that lovely 
 golden brown that catches every passing 
 sunbeam and seems to reflect it back again. 
 
 How bright she looked on that dull 
 November morning ; how pleasant it was 
 to see her flitting about the old oak-wain-
 
 MARIAX DE BURGH. 97 
 
 scoted room in her delicate grey cashmere 
 dress, a crimson ribbon relieving the plain 
 linen collar, a silk net of the same rich hue 
 containing her clustering tresses, all save 
 one long rebellious curl that somehow or 
 other had escaped from its thraldom and fell 
 over her graceful shoulders, now on one 
 side, now on the other, according as she 
 turned her head. 
 
 Mr. Talbot laid down his newspaper and 
 fondly regarded his blooming young grand- 
 daughter as she busied herself with the 
 little preparations of the breakfast-table; 
 and his wrinkled forehead relaxed into 
 smoothness as he ibllowed her graceful 
 movements with loving eyes. 
 
 She was the sunshine of his home this 
 fair and innocent girl, the joy and comfort 
 of his declining years; in her his own 
 lamented daughter had again been restored 
 to him, for Marian both in appearance and 
 disposition was the very counterpart of 
 what her mother had been at her age. 
 And as a daughter did she return the 
 
 VOL. I, 7
 
 D8 3IAIIIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 warm affection so liberally bestowed on 
 lier. The early loss of her gentle mother, 
 the cruel desertion of her father had been 
 fully made up to her by that kind old couple 
 who had taken her from her forsaken home 
 to theirs, and had from that hour to the 
 present moment given her the love and the 
 jDosition of their own child in their hearts. 
 
 No care, no sorrow had she ever experi- 
 ^enced; ber only anxious thoughts were 
 •concerning her unknown father and sister, 
 for whom at times a stranire lonofinsr came 
 into her mind, a wild yearning to be for 
 once clasped fondly in her father's arms, 
 ito feel if only once her cheek resting 
 lovingly on her beautiful sister's bosom. 
 
 But alas! the fulfilment of that wish 
 seemed as unlikely as ever ; there was no 
 hint of the wanderers returning to their 
 home, another winter was still to see them 
 sojourners on the Continent, 
 
 Mr. Talbot had that morning received a 
 letter from Sir John de Burgh, in which he 
 spoke of his intention of wintering at Rome :
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 99 
 
 he only awaited his wife's arrival in the 
 room to mention this circumstance to her 
 and Marian. 
 
 And now Mrs. Talbot entered, followed 
 immediately by the domestics of the esta- 
 blishment; and in a grave and reverent 
 manner Mr. Talbot conducted the devo- 
 tions of the morning — a duty he never 
 omitted at the beginning and close of each 
 day. 
 
 On its conclusion and when seated at 
 breakfast, he told them of the letter from 
 his- son -in-law. 
 
 "Another winter in Italy!" exclaimed 
 Marian, quickly. '^ Oh, dear! will they 
 never come home?" She looked sadly 
 down, and her fair face clouded over and 
 lost its brightness. 
 
 " We could hardly expect them to return 
 in winter," said Mrs. Talbot, soothingly; 
 " it would be a trying season for people so 
 Ions; accustomed to the mild weather of 
 Italy and the South of France. Perhaps 
 in spring we may venture to hope." 
 
 1—2
 
 100 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 She had little confidence in her words, 
 however; and only said this to cheer her 
 granddaughter, who had of late been more 
 than usually anxious about the future move- 
 ments of her father and sister. 
 
 The whole truth had never been told to 
 her; they could not blight that young and 
 loving nature by saying that her father took 
 not the slightest interest in her, that she 
 was alienated from his affection as from 
 his home. Such a statement as this would 
 have crushed her to the earth desolate and 
 heart-broken, and they could not inflict this 
 deep wound upon her. Indistinct and eva- 
 sive replies had led her to the conclusion 
 that her father had never recovered from 
 the blow received by the death of his wife ; 
 that his former residence, and all that re- 
 minded him of her, had become painful to 
 him in consequence; and that a morbid 
 feeling of dislike to England had grown on 
 him, and increased in strength with advan- 
 cing years. 
 
 Her sister must of course remain with
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. lOi 
 
 Ilim, his home must be hers ; and so a kind 
 of unconscious acquiescence in her fate had 
 become, as it were, a part of her being. 
 She had never known it otherwise, and was 
 only now beginning to wish and to think it 
 might some day be different. It seemed 
 so hard and strange to have a father and a 
 sister, and never even to have seen them 
 since she lay an hifant in her cradle. Now 
 she longed eagerly to see and know them, 
 to love and be loved by them ; and for some 
 little time past she had been reflecting over 
 and over in her own mind how this strong 
 desire of her heart might be brought to pass. 
 
 After a short silence she spoke. 
 
 " Do you think papa will ever return to 
 England, grandpapa?" 
 
 " I hope there is no doubt on that point, 
 my dear ; I certainly think he will." 
 
 "AVhen?" asked Marian, in a despondent 
 tone. 
 
 " That I cannot tell, my love; your papa 
 has never fixed any definite period for his 
 return, but it surely cannot be long now.
 
 102 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 Perhaps he may come in spring, as your 
 grandmamma suggests ; it is not at all im- 
 probable." 
 
 " I should have thought he would wish 
 Augusta to be presented at Court," observed 
 Mrs. Talbot ; "in her position as his eldest 
 daughter and the heh^ess presumptive of the 
 Abbey it is only fitting and proper : in a 
 year or so I should like our little girl to 
 make her curtsey there too." 
 
 She smiled pleasantly on Marian, who 
 still sat looking pensive and dissatisfied, a 
 dim idea that had for some time been float- 
 ing through her mind only now beginning 
 to assume form and substance. 
 
 " Papa does not like England," she said, 
 in a low voice ; "he may, perhaps, never 
 return here. Why does he not send for me 
 to go and see him?" 
 
 There was a pause. The husband and 
 wife glanced at each other, and then Mrs. 
 Talbot, endeavouring to evade her grand- 
 daughter's more direct question, said, in a 
 tone of slight reproach —
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 103 
 
 " Do you wish to leave us, Marian? Are 
 you tired of Summerton that you talk of 
 going to Italy?" 
 
 ''Oh! grandmamma! You know it is 
 not that," burst forth the young girl, im- 
 petuously, raising and throwing her arms 
 fondly round the old lady's neck ; " you 
 know that I love you both and Summerton 
 very, very dearly, and that I am as happy 
 here as I can possibly be. But surely it is 
 only natural that I should wish to know 
 my father and my sister. It is so strange 
 to think that I have never seen them since 
 I was a baby, and now I am a woman; 
 grown." 
 
 " Scarcely that yet," replied Mrs. Talboty 
 laying her hand caressingly on the small' 
 head as it lay on her shoulder. " We must 
 not have our little Marian talking of being 
 a woman for some time to come, or I shall 
 have to consider myself very old indeed.'' 
 
 "Ah ! but, grandmamma, you are backing 
 out of my question," said Marian, raising 
 her blue eyes seriously to the old lady's-
 
 104 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 face. " You do not think it wrong of me 
 to wish to go to Italy and sec papa?" 
 
 " Not wrong, my child, in the very least ; 
 but I fear your desire is one not easy of 
 fulfilment. You could not go there alone, 
 Marian." 
 
 " Of course not, grandmamma ; but could 
 not an escort be found for me — some one 
 who is going to Italy? Or — " she added, 
 clasping her hands eagerly, "abetter idea 
 still! why should not you and grandpapa 
 take me there? That would be delightful." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Talbot could not avoid 
 laughing at her vehemence. 
 
 "Little one," said the former, kindly, 
 " you are a long way off being the woman 
 you fancy yourself, when you speak of a 
 couple of old stay-at-homes like your grand- 
 mamma and me packing our portmanteaus 
 and starting for Italy at a moment's notice. 
 Wait till you are as old as we are, and you 
 wont be quite so ready to run about 
 either." 
 
 " You are not a bit old, grandpapa," said
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 105 
 
 Marian, coaxingly, as she pulled a stool 
 from under the table and seated herself by 
 the old gentleman's chair, clasphig her 
 white hands together on his knee. " Sixty- 
 five is nothing ; you are quite strong and 
 active stilL" 
 
 '^Oh! quite," replied Mr. Talbot, jocu- 
 larly, taking up the long curl that streamed 
 over her neck and twining it round his 
 fingers. " Shall you and I start knapsacks 
 and take a pedestrian tour all over Europe? 
 Should you like tliat?" 
 
 " Oh ! grandpapa ! you are laughing at 
 me, and I am very serious," said Marian, 
 anxiously, her bright eyes filling with tears ; 
 " this idea has been in my heart for a long, 
 long time, it is no joke at all." 
 
 " My dear child," said her grandfather, 
 tenderly, '' you know how well I love you, 
 and how strongly I desire to gratify every 
 reasonable desire that may enter into your 
 foolish little head;" and he laid his hand 
 softly on the young girl's rich golden 
 tresses.
 
 106 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 " Dear grandpapa ! you are indeed very, 
 very kind to me," replied Marian, taking his 
 hand in hers and kissing it; ''I sliould be 
 most ungrateful if I did not feel deeply all 
 the love and tenderness you and grand- 
 mamma have shown me ever since I came 
 here a poor little motherless baby. I do 
 feel it from the very bottom of my heart. 
 Summerton is my own dear home, no other 
 could ever be the same to me; I never 
 could be so happy anywhere else. But you 
 can't think how I long to see papa and 
 Augusta — just to know them, and stay 
 with them even for a little while — to have 
 them love me — for they will surely love me, 
 grandpapa?" 
 
 " It AYOuld be strange if they did not," 
 thought the old gentleman; but he only 
 murmured, " Little Marian ! my poor little 
 Marian !" 
 
 " Why do you call me poor little Marian, 
 grandpapa?" asked the girl, looking at him 
 anxiously; " papa will not refuse to let me
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 107 
 
 go and see him? You don't think he will 
 do that?" 
 
 " If your papa has any idea of coming 
 home soon, he will probably prefer that you 
 should remain here until his return," re- 
 plied Mr. Talbot, evasively. 
 
 " But he does not speak of it," said 
 Marian, earnestly; "he only said he was 
 o-oinor to Rome." 
 
 "Well, my dear, I will try to find out 
 his wishes respecting you/' replied her 
 grandfather, trying to beguile her from the 
 subject. " Your wish is a very natural 
 one, and sincerely do I trust it will ere 
 very long be gratified. And now, put on 
 your bonnet like a good child, and we will 
 go and inquire how old Thomas Croft's 
 rheumatism is to-day. I suppose I must 
 take him a little more tobacco too ; it is 
 some time since he had any." 
 
 " I shall give him the warm muffetees I 
 knitted for him, too," said Marian ; " I 
 finished them yesterday, so they are just in
 
 108 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 tjme :" and she left the room to prepare for 
 their walk. 
 
 " Poor child !" said Mr. Talbot, looking 
 sadly after her ; " it is hard on a warm- 
 hearted little thing like her to have such 
 heartless relations. I believe neither of 
 them would care if they lieard of her death 
 to-morrow." 
 
 ''As she says herself, if they only saw 
 her they would surely love her," replied his 
 wife ; " and yet, when I offered lately to 
 send out her likeness. Sir John declined it. 
 One hardly knows what to think of it. In 
 all those years his sorrow must surely have 
 worn itself away." 
 
 " His grief was selfish from the first," 
 observed Mr. Talbot ; "I knew that all 
 along. He mourned our poor girl very 
 deepl}^, no doubt; but his grief was more 
 for himself than for her. An unselfish love 
 would have shown its sorrow differently; 
 his lias gradually assumed a morbid cha- 
 racter, the feeling is no longer reason- 
 able."
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 109 
 
 " It is a hard fate for the poor little girl, 
 to know herself so entirely alienated from 
 her nearest relatives," said Mrs. Talbot; 
 " and it proves how trusting and aifec- 
 tionate is her own nature when she loves 
 them so much through those long years 
 of neglect and indifference. Her father 
 has never written to her once: Augusta's 
 few letters have been utterly cold and 
 heartless, as formal as if they were ad- 
 dressed to a mere stranger." 
 
 ''Augusta was never a favourite of mine," 
 remarked ]\Ir. Talbot : " she was a beautiful 
 child no doubt, and attractive enough in a 
 general way; but young as she was when 
 she left the Abbey her nature was clearly 
 tinged with pride and selfishness, and even 
 then she was a most jealous little creature. 
 I fear those faults have only increased with 
 her years, and have been strengthened by 
 the life she has led." , 
 
 " Poor little Marian," said Mrs. Talbot, 
 " her ideal sister is so different, so loving 
 and affectionate: she judges, dear child,
 
 110 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 from her own sweet disposition, seeing good 
 ever3r\vliere, and imagining no evil/' 
 
 Marian's return ended the discussion, as 
 she came in fully equipped for the walk. 
 Her fair face was paler than when she 
 quitted them a few minutes before, and 
 her eyes bore the traces of recent tears; 
 but the old couple wisely refrained from 
 noticing this, thinking it better that the 
 subject should not be resumed. So Mr. 
 Talbot and she set out for old Thomas 
 Croft's cottage. Thomas was a former 
 coachman at Summerton; an old man 
 now, living on a pension from his kind 
 master, who had also made over to him 
 for his life a pretty little cottage and bit 
 of garden about half a mile off. It was 
 situated close to the village or rather small 
 hamlet of Summerton ; a collection of about 
 a score of pretty cottages skirting the edge 
 of a grassy common, where a cow or two 
 and some stray sheep found grazing, a flock 
 of geese wandered about or swam on the 
 tiny pond, and the children of the neigh-
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. HI 
 
 bourhood romped and shouted all day long 
 to their hearts' content. 
 
 The small rustic church and its accom- 
 panying parsonage were close by, separated 
 from the common only by a low wall and 
 railing. The church, sheltered by several 
 fine old elms and one noble yew, was a 
 long low building with a square tower at 
 one end ; the entire edifice being covered 
 with magnificent ivy, which added greatly 
 to its beauty, and harmonized well with 
 the undulating hillocks that marked the 
 resting place of departed generations, the 
 plain tombstones that crowned them being 
 mossy and weather-stained, and the names 
 written there in many cases almost totally 
 obliterated. 
 
 In one corner, a small space was railed 
 off*, and more than one handsome grave- 
 stone erected ; and every Sunday, and many 
 a day beside, Mr. and Mrs. Talbot lingered 
 for a time by that sacred enclosure: for 
 beneath that swelling turf lay three little 
 children that had died in early infancy,
 
 112 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 whose young deaths had left them childless 
 and mourning for many a long year, till 
 another daughter came to comfort their 
 hearts, she who now slept the same cold 
 sleep, though not in the same resting place. 
 
 The low-roofed, cosy little parsonage ad- 
 joined the church and churchyard; like 
 them nestling among grand old elm trees, 
 the finest in the country round. 
 
 For many years the incumbency had 
 been held by a worthy old gentleman of 
 the name of Stephens, a college friend of 
 Mr. Talbot, who had presented him to the 
 living from motives of kindness, knowing 
 him to be poor and without influential 
 patrons. He was a sincere Christian, and 
 a simple, true-hearted gentleman of the old 
 school, much beloved and respected by his 
 parishioners, who nevertheless stood not 
 the least in awe of him, and could twist 
 him round their Angers when and how they 
 pleased, so guileless and unsuspicious was 
 his nature. 
 
 So in his day things were conducted 
 rather sleepily in the little x)arish of Sura-
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 113 
 
 raerton: the villagers went to cliurch or 
 stayed from it much as they felt inclined, 
 any inveterate absentee when mildly re- 
 monstrated with, having always some ex- 
 cellent excuse, which poor Mr. Stephens 
 was fain to accept from a feeling of inability 
 to do more than gently hint that such be- 
 haviour was wrong. The village school 
 and the Sunday one would have fared in 
 much the same way but for the constant 
 supervision of Mr. and Mrs. Talbot, and 
 latterly of their granddaughter. They in- 
 terested themselves in the welfare of the 
 children, visited them both in the school 
 and in their homes, gave them rewards for 
 diligence and good conduct, and once or 
 twice a year had a juvenile festival, which 
 was looked forward to as an event of the 
 greatest magnitude in the rustic society of 
 Sumraerton, and helped to increase the 
 friendly spirit that prevailed between the 
 kind-hearted donors and those whose en- 
 joyment and interest they so warmly la- 
 boured to promote. 
 
 VOL. T. 8
 
 114 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 But a new order of things had recently 
 been inaugurated at Summerton ; a change 
 had come over the spirit of its old ways 
 and usages. Worthy Mr. Stephens was 
 dead, and a young and active successor 
 reigned in his stead. 
 
 The Eeverend Francis Harding, the new 
 rector, had been highly recommended by 
 an old friend of Mr. Talbot's, a general 
 officer in Her Majesty's service. He was 
 presented to the living of Summerton, and 
 had now been there for several weeks ; 
 but he had not officiated many Sundays 
 before the highly orthodox patron began 
 to feel serious doubts as to the gallant 
 general's discrimination in matters eccle- 
 siastical. Though the old incumbent was 
 slow and his discourses rather drowsy, he 
 had been a sound old-fashioned churchman, 
 with a mind altogether free from the per- 
 plexities and theories of the new Oxford 
 School, of whose tendencies Mr. Talbot got 
 an uneasy and indistinct inkling now and 
 then in the pages of his " Eecord."
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 115- 
 
 But young Mr. Harding was fresh from 
 Merton; and his short energetic sermonSy. 
 nay, his very reading of the prayers seemed 
 to the excellent old squire to suggest a 
 suspicious amount of divergence from the^ 
 good old path on which he and all the 
 j)arishioners of Summerton had been long, 
 accustomed to jog. 
 
 High views about the sacraments, and! 
 the church, and apostolical succession,, 
 passed in these fervid and, to tell the 
 truth, somewhat juvenile discourses, far- 
 above the honest head of Mr. Talbot;, 
 but he had an instinctive conviction that 
 this lofty flight was of malign tendency 
 and evil omen. And when, at the approach; 
 of advent, the young parson announced, 
 daily services, and spoke of matins, vespers,, 
 and what not; and, not content with de- 
 claring that the church must be decorated 
 for Christmas, even began to contrive how 
 it could be lighted up for a choral service 
 on Christmas-eve — the^singers, not to speak 
 of the lights, to be found he alone knew 
 
 8—2
 
 116 MARIAN DE BUUGH. 
 
 how or Avliere — the squire began to feel 
 that things were becoming very serious 
 indeed : particularly as his fair grand- 
 daughter seemed to evince an unwonted 
 interest in the church and its services, and 
 appeared to be bitten by a good many of 
 the new ideas possessed by the Reverend 
 Mr. Harding. But this is a long digression, 
 and has taken us away from Mr. Talbot 
 and Marian. 
 
 They had reached the common, and were 
 passing in front of the parsonage, when its 
 door was opened, and the young parson 
 himself came rapidly down the little gravel 
 walk. 
 
 Mr. Talbot stopped to accost him, and 
 they all shook hands cordially. 
 
 Mr. Harding was dark and slender — 
 rather a clever-looking face, with deep-set 
 eyes ; he was not good-looking, but he had 
 the air of a gentleman and a man of educa- 
 tion. 
 
 " You are early abroad," he remarked, 
 with a smiling glance at Marian.
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 117 
 
 "It is not early for me," she replied; 
 "in summer I am always out before break- 
 fast." 
 
 " A capital habit," he observed, " and 
 one I must try to acquire. In Oxford I 
 had a bad trick of sitting up very late, so 
 I seldom practised early rising : but in the 
 country it is the most charming time in the 
 twenty-four hours." 
 
 " In summer certainly," said Marian ; "it 
 is so cool and fresh." 
 
 " I hope you will keep up your good 
 habits when the early services begin," con- 
 tinued Mr. Harding; "your example will 
 have a powerful influence." 
 
 " But they are not to be before breakfast, 
 are they?" she inquired. 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Harding, " but directly 
 afterwards. I trust they will be successful, 
 and that the people may be induced to 
 attend." 
 
 "I rather doubt it, "interposed Mr. Talbot, 
 thinking the conversation had proceeded far 
 enough. " It is a new thing to the people
 
 118 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 here; and though they are in the main 
 shrewd and intelligent enough, they are 
 pretty obstinately wedded to old manners 
 and customs. You will find them rather 
 hard to push in any du'ection but where 
 they choose to go." 
 
 " I do not mean to push, but to lead 
 them," replied Mr. Harding, smiling; "and 
 so far as I have yet gone, the opposition has 
 been slighter than I expected. The labour- 
 ing population are a good deal like sheep — 
 where one goes, the rest follow. If I can 
 win even a few converts to my views at 
 first, I shall hopefully look forward to 
 greater success afterwards." 
 
 The word '' convert" had, in the ears of 
 Mr. Talbot, a suspicious significance; and 
 he thought it high time this dangerous 
 discussion were ended. 
 
 " Well, well," he observed, rather shortly, 
 ^' we shall see ; but I doubt your congrega- 
 tion will be rather a sparse one. They are 
 not very strict church-goers at Summerton, 
 even on Sunday: going on a week-day will
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 119 
 
 indeed be a novelty. But we must not 
 detain you longer. You were going out." 
 
 Mr. Harding took the hint, and wished 
 them good morning ; starting oft' across the 
 common, while they continued on the foot- 
 path that led to Thomas Croft's cottage. 
 
 Old Thomas was heartily glad to see them. 
 
 "You be welcome, squire, you be wel- 
 come, miss," he said, cordially, as he tried 
 to raise himself from his arm-chair by the 
 fire; while Mr. Talbot laid his hand kindly 
 on his shoulder, saying, '' Sit down, Thomas, 
 sit down ; I see you are somewhat stiff in 
 the joints yet." 
 
 "Main bad, sir," replied old Thomas, 
 shaking his head slowly; "the rheumatiz 
 has a'most crippled me." 
 
 "Look, Thomas, I have brought you 
 these," said Marian, displaying the muffe- 
 tees. " You will find they will keep your 
 hands nice and warm." 
 
 " Bless 'ee, miss, and thank 'ee kindly, I'm 
 sure. It's always something or other you 
 be bringing to old Thomas."
 
 120 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 " This will lielp to warm you, too," re- 
 marked the squire, producing the packet of 
 tobacco. " I know you like your pipe of 
 an afternoon." 
 
 " Yes, I does," said old Thomas, gravely, 
 '' I likes my pipe. I can talk better when 
 I has it in my mouth, my head feels clearer 
 like." 
 
 '' That is a very good result, Thomas," 
 said Mr. Talbot, laughing: ''it is not 
 always the effect of tobacco, however." 
 
 "May be not, sir, may be not; you 
 knows best, sure-ly. But, as I was a saying 
 to Mr. Harding, no longer ago than yester- 
 day, I likes my pipe, I does. When a man 
 has his pipe in his mouth, he needn't go to 
 talk no more nor he's inclined to. If he 
 hasn't got nothing to say, why he doesn't 
 need for to say it. That's a great comfort 
 sure-ly." 
 
 " It is, indeed, Thomas, not the least 
 doubt of it; and I am sure Mr. Harding 
 would quite agree with you." 
 
 " Yes sir, yes; he said as much. A very
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 121 
 
 sensible and kindliearted young gentleman 
 is Mr. Harding; though, may be, some of 
 his notions are a little highflown and new- 
 fangled. But we lives in strange times, sir ; 
 nothin' stands still now-a-days, so we must 
 e'en be jogging on with the rest." 
 
 " Old folks like you and me must just 
 sit still and see them jog past us, Thomas," 
 said Mr. Talbot, shaking his head ; " we are 
 somewhat too old to change our Avays now. 
 I'm a great stickler for the good old times ; 
 they answered us very well." 
 
 ''Ay, ay, sir, they did; not a doubt 
 on't. Good old times they wos. There 
 W03 no talk then o' going to church o' week- 
 days, and galliwantin' o' the church wi' 
 flowers and fallals ; no, no, squire, we 
 knowed our duty better nor that. We did 
 our work for six days, as wos proper ; and 
 then o' Sunday we put on our best clothes, 
 as likewise wos proper, and went to church, 
 as wos right and befittin', and said our 
 prayers, and heerd a sermon, and comed 
 home again : and that has been my way for
 
 122 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 nigh on seventy years, man and boy, 
 squire, as nobody knows better nor your- 
 self." 
 
 " And a very good way, too, Thomas, to 
 my way of thinking," replied the squire, 
 kindly. 
 
 *' An' to my thinkin', too, squire; and 
 so I said to the young parson hisself. I 
 told him it nivver wos the way i' my young 
 days to go to church any day but Sunday, 
 and I didn't see no good in it.'' 
 
 " Oh ! Thomas !" said Marian, reproach- 
 fully; "no good in going to church? I 
 expected better things from you." 
 
 " Thomas is quite right," remarked her 
 grandfather; "those notions of Mr. Har- 
 ding's are quite absurd, they will never go 
 down here." 
 
 " You see, Miss Marian, you're but a 
 young thing, and can't tell," said Thomas, 
 apologetically. '^ Mr. Harding means very 
 well, no doubt he do ; but if he'd got a wife 
 and a lot o' little uns all needing to be fed 
 as many a poor man has, why he'd know 
 better nor to suppose that man could leave
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 123 
 
 his horses and his plough a standin', and go 
 and sit down in church doing nothing like, 
 as if he wos a fine gentleman, sure-ly. It 
 can't be done, miss — it can't be done." 
 
 " No, indeed, Thomas, it wont suit a 
 hard-working man who has his family's 
 bread to earn," said Mr. Talbot, rising to 
 go. " Young ladies like Miss Marian here, 
 are too apt to fancy anything that is new 
 and uncommon, without looking to see 
 whether it is sensible or not. I don't think 
 Mr. Harding will have much encouragement 
 to go on with his week-day services. His 
 congregation will be a very small one." 
 
 They bade the old coachman good-by, 
 and leaving his cottage walked on a little 
 way to the village school, which Marian 
 never passed many days without visiting. 
 
 Her bright face was gladly hailed by the 
 small scholars and their schoolmistress, for 
 Marian had a sweet smile and a kind word 
 for all, and her few words of praise and 
 encouragement were eagerly prized by their 
 recipients. 
 
 Into one or two other cottages she en-
 
 1.24 MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 tered for a few minutes ; here to inquire 
 for the little child that had been ill with 
 croup, and there to give some work to a 
 young girl laid up Avith disease of the hip- 
 joint, but who was not j)oor enough to be a 
 subject for charity. Everywhere she was 
 received with pleasure ; her soft voice was 
 as balm to the suffering, her tender sym- 
 pathy soothed and comforted the afflicted : 
 she was the guardian angel of the parish of 
 Summerton, young and old respected and 
 loved her, and felt a pride in her pretty face 
 and gentle ways, and many a blessing was 
 invoked on her fair young head as she 
 passed through the village on her rounds of 
 kindness and charity. 
 
 " Grandpapa," said Marian, when her visits 
 were paid and they were on their way home- 
 ward, " I call you and Thomas two very 
 bigoted old gentlemen." 
 
 '' As how, Miss Pert?" replied Mr. Talbot, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Why, choosing to stick to old customs 
 just because you had been brought up in
 
 MARIAN DE BURGH. 125 
 
 them, and not caring lor improvements be- 
 cause they are something to which you have 
 not been always accustomed." 
 
 ''And what are those mighty improve- 
 ments, my dear?" observed the old gentle- 
 man, rather testily; " those new crotchets of 
 this young prig of a parson, eh?'' 
 
 '' Oh ! grandpapa ! Mr. Harding is not a 
 prig," said Marian, eagerly. " He is very 
 good and very zealous, and so anxious to 
 improve the cond'tion of the people here." 
 
 "He is, is he?" replied her grandfather, 
 sarcastically. " I am sure we are all very 
 much obliged to him. Listen to me, my 
 little Marian. Did you ever chance to hear 
 the old saying, ' Young people think old 
 people are fools, but old people know that 
 young people are fools?' That is what I 
 should like to say to your friend Mr. Har- 
 ding, and his 'improvements,' as he calls 
 them. And don't you be a little goose, and 
 believe every word that lie tells you ; but 
 follow the example of your grandmamma 
 and me, who have lived in the world a good
 
 12G MARIAN DE BURGH. 
 
 deal longer than either Mr. Hardhig or you, 
 and are not so ready to run after every 
 new-fangled notion and crotchet, as old 
 Thomas judiciously calls them." 
 
 '' But, grandpapa, if nobody ever tried 
 new things, there would be no progress." 
 
 " She talks like a little Jesuit already," 
 said Mr. Talbot, shaking his head and affect- 
 ing to frown. " Come, Marian, knock all 
 these fancies about improvement and pro- 
 gress out of your silly little head. You are 
 a very good little girl in a general way ; all 
 the progress I wish to see in you is, pro- 
 gress in wisdom, and I have some hopes of 
 that yet." 
 
 He looked down affectionately on his 
 young granddaughter, and patted the small 
 hand that clung to his arm, while Marian 
 smiled fondly on him in return : and for 
 the remainder of their walk they spoke of 
 other subjects, and the disturbing topics of 
 church decorations and daily services were 
 for the time being laid at rest.
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 One more home-scene, and then we have in- 
 troduced all our principal dramatis personce. 
 Sir Charles Bellingham and his mother^ 
 Lady Agnes Bellingham, have just retired 
 from their late dinner, and are now seated 
 in the dra^ving-room ; Lady Agnes knitting, 
 as she sits in her large easy chair, her son 
 carelessly lounging in one just opposite, the 
 lamplight reflected full on his handsome 
 features, and lighting up his clear hazel 
 eyes with their honest expression of good- 
 nature and contented satisfaction in himself 
 and everybody else. Just five-and4wenty, 
 master of Bellingham Court and clear ten 
 thousand a year, blest with good health, 
 good looks, and good temper; a very plea-
 
 128 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 sant future seemed to stretch before the 
 fortunate young baronet, and life had as 
 yet worn for hmi only her brightest and 
 gayest colours. As he sits there lazily 
 stroking a favourite pointer, his manly 
 figure, easy and yet dignified bearing, and 
 the frank, straightforward look of his open 
 countenance, may well excuse the glances 
 of pride mingled with affection with which 
 his mother from time to time regards him: 
 for never was mother more entirely devoted 
 to a son than is the Lady Agnes Bellingham 
 to this sole stay and consolation of her 
 declining years. 
 
 She is a very beautiful old lady, and yet 
 not so very old either, for she was little 
 above fifty; but her hair had very early 
 become grey, and now it was almost snowy, 
 braided plainly away below the widow's 
 cap she had never laid aside since her hus- 
 band's death, and giving her the look of an 
 older woman than she really was. Those 
 soft white braids contrasted charmingly 
 With the still fresh tint of her cheek and
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 129 
 
 the unextinguished sparkle of her dark bril- 
 liant eyes, surmounted by marked eyebrows 
 and shaded by long brown lashes. Her 
 features betokened her high birth, for she 
 was the daughter of one of England's 
 proudest earls, and '^patrician" was written 
 in her every look and gesture, as well as in 
 the stately curve of the still round throat, 
 and the long taper fingers glittering Avith 
 costly rings that held the knitting-wires. 
 
 Her rich black velvet dress swept in 
 ample folds around her, and a white Indian 
 cashmere rested half on the chair, half on 
 her shoulders, having fallen back from the 
 movement of her arms. Old age wore a 
 very lovely aspect in the person of Lady 
 Agnes Bellingham, for over and above its 
 placid and mellowed beauty her counte- 
 nance bore the impress of a pure and noble 
 nature; the spirit that shone through those 
 expressive eyes was one that had been tried 
 in the furnace of affliction, and had come 
 from the hery ordeal chastened and refined. 
 They had seldom been separated, this mother 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 and son, and were knit together by the 
 bond of no common affection. 
 
 Before she was thirty years of age Lady 
 Agnes had lost three lovely children and a 
 husband who adored her. One son was 
 spared, the present baronet; and to his wel- 
 fare and the good of those more imme- 
 diately belonging to him she from that 
 moment entirely devoted herself. A rich 
 and beautiful widow, there were not want- 
 ing those who would have willingly tried 
 to induce her to bury the past in oblivion 
 and form new ties and a new home for 
 herself; but Lady Agnes held strong o^^i- 
 nions on many subjects, and she had an 
 especial objection to second marriages. This 
 opinion she maintained as a rule; in her 
 own case its propriety or impropriety never 
 occurred to her, for her heart was buried 
 in the grave of her dead husband, and an- 
 other attachment, or even the semblance of 
 such a thing, would have been simply im- 
 possible. So all through the long period 
 of her widowhood she had lived entirely
 
 MOTHER AND SON, 131 
 
 for her son and for works of charity and 
 kindness to all around her; and such deeds 
 had stamped their seal on her noble fea- 
 tures, and made her the lovely and lovable 
 old lady that she was. 
 
 Sir Charles Bellingham yawned and 
 stretched himself, and then laughed mer- 
 rily as he threw himself back in his chair. 
 
 "I declare 1 shall be asleep in half a 
 minute more if I don't rouse myself; this 
 hot fire and the clicking of your wires have 
 a most soporific efi*ect. How uncommonly 
 industrious you are, mother." 
 
 Lady Agnes smiled, and looked at him 
 affectionately. 
 
 " I am inclined to think yesterday's hard 
 run with the hounds and the late dinner at 
 Colonel Marsden's have more to answer for 
 than my wires. You were very late there, 
 were not you?" 
 
 '^ I suspect Ave were," said Sir Charles, 
 shaking his head; "he's such a fellow for 
 keeping one, that old Marsden; looks quite 
 indignant if one attempts to rise. I wanted 
 
 9—2
 
 132 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 to come away at least a couple of hours 
 
 sooner." 
 
 " And why did you not ?" asked his 
 mother. 
 
 ^'Because he would not hear of it; and 
 they all said it w^as a shame to break up 
 such a jolly party. And it was a good 
 party," continued the young man, laughing 
 as some reminiscence occurred to him; '' the 
 Colonel's claret is superb, and old Rawlhigs 
 had a pretty good lot on board, and was 
 more amusing than ever last night. What 
 a rare old fellow he is !" 
 
 " He is not a good companion for you, my 
 boy," said Lady Agnes, kindly but gravely. 
 
 " Oh ! poor old Rawlings ! there's no harm 
 in hhn, I'm sure," replied Sir Charles. 
 '' Tells a lot of queer stories, though," he 
 continued, in a musing tone : " very curious 
 experiences he seems to have had." 
 
 " I can believe it," said his mother, drily ; 
 " experiences very much better left untold. 
 I wish you did not meet him so often, my 
 boy."
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 133 
 
 *'I asked him to dine here on Friday, 
 mother; I did not know you had such a 
 strong objection to him." 
 
 '• My dear Charles, this is your house, 
 and you have a right to invite what guests 
 you please ; but I hope Mr. Rawlings will 
 not be a very frequent visitor." 
 
 ''No chance of that," replied her son; 
 "if you don't fancy him I shall not ask him 
 again. But I have dined with him twice, 
 and I can't bear to be shabby." 
 
 " Yery little danger of that, Charles," 
 said Lady Agnes, smiling; "and under 
 those circumstances you were in the right 
 to ask Mr. Rawlings. There are no young 
 ladies coming on Friday, so it is not of 
 such consequence ; I very much dislike his 
 manner to them. There is no fear of his 
 forgetting himself before me," continued 
 her ladyship, with placid confidence, "but 
 when you have a young wife here, Charles, 
 he will not be a particularly desirable 
 visitor." 
 
 "That calamity not being just at hand,
 
 134 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 Mr. Rawlings may have liis range of the 
 house a little longer," replied her son, 
 laughing. 
 
 " It would be no calamity, my dear boy," 
 said Lady Agnes, "but, on the contrary, I 
 hope, a very great blessing. You know- 
 how anxious I am to see you married.'' 
 
 " So you have often said, mother." 
 
 " And I mean it," observed Lady Agnes, 
 affectionately; "it is now the one chief de- 
 sire of my heart to See you with a wife who 
 Avill love you and make you happy." 
 
 " But I am perfectly happy now," re- 
 plied her son, "and you love me a great 
 <leal better than I deserve. A wife might 
 see faults in me, mother; you see none." 
 
 " Don't be so sure of that," said Lady 
 Agnes, archly; "though you are my own 
 dear boy, and no mother could have a better 
 son, I may see faults in you that I think 
 would soon disappear under the loving m- 
 fluence of a sensible wife." 
 
 " My dear mother ! what terrible fate 
 have you got in store for me !" replied Sir
 
 MOTPIER AND SON. 135 
 
 Charles, in affected horror. "A strong- 
 minded woman, who is to take me in hand 
 and improve me. Must she have spec- 
 tacles ? and, oh ! dreadful prospect ! will 
 she wear thick shoes?" 
 
 *' Silly boy !" said his mother, smiling and 
 shaking her head, " I hope she will be very 
 pretty and very attractive in every way ; for 
 I fear you would stand a lecture better if it 
 came from a pair of rosy lips. But se- 
 riously, my dear Charles, it will be a very 
 happ3^ day for -me when you come and tell 
 me that you have found a woman whom 
 you love sufficiently well to ask her to be 
 your wife. I have little doubt that I shall 
 approve of your choice." 
 
 " It would be but a poor account of me, 
 mother, if I have had you before me for 
 five-and-twenty years and did not know 
 what a woman should be," replied her son 
 rising and kissing her tenderly ; " the mis- 
 fortune is that you have spoilt me for all 
 others, for where shall I hud one who re- 
 sembles you ?"
 
 136 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 " Good sons make good mothers," said 
 Lady Agnes, warmly returning his em- 
 brace. "I have tried to do my duty by 
 you, my dear boy," she continued, her voice 
 rather husky and a mist floating before her 
 eyes; "and we have been very happy to- 
 gether, you and I; and, please God, we shall 
 be so for many a day yet. But I am grow- 
 ing an old woman, Charles, and am not so 
 lit a companion for you as a young wife 
 would be. She would make your home 
 more attractive to you, and keep you from 
 those convivial dinners that are not very 
 good for a man of your age." 
 
 " Oho ! mother ! the cat is out of the bag 
 at last ! and poor old Colonel Marsden has 
 to answer for the strong-minded woman, 
 spectacles, thick shoes, and all!" 
 
 "Not Colonel Marsden alone, my dear 
 Charles," replied his mother, gently, " you 
 have been at several dinners of a similar 
 kind lately; very late hours, and, I fear, 
 more wine consumed than was good for 
 any of you. They are not beneficial meet-
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 137 
 
 ings, my dear boy, they are lowering to 
 your character and general tone ; I would 
 not have my son become a mere good fel- 
 low, who can ride well to hounds, and tell a 
 good story at dinner afterwards. I hope 
 for a higher destiny for you, Charles. 
 Mucli is required of a man in your posi- 
 tion. There are many duties you are im- 
 peratively called on to perform, and you 
 will not be worthy of yourself if they are 
 left unfulfilled." 
 
 " What you say is all very true, mother," 
 observed Sir Charles, after a short pause ; 
 " I am afraid I am rather inclined to take, 
 things too easily, and to care for nothing 
 beyond the mere amusement of the passing 
 hour. These parties you speak of are very 
 pleasant, no doubt, but I own they don't 
 stimulate one to much mental exertion. 
 Still I don't exactly see how a wife would 
 mend matters," he continued, with a smile. 
 
 '^ You would scarcely go to those dinners 
 if you were a married man," replied his 
 mother, " or at any rate much less fre-
 
 138 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 quently. I should hope your wife would 
 create a home atmosphere for you that 
 would soon indispose you for the society of 
 mere boon companions." 
 
 " Poor old Marsden ! he has fallen into 
 your black books I see," said Sir Charles, 
 laughing. "But seriously, mother, do not 
 hold matrimony before me in this awful 
 light, a kind of wholesome moral chastise- 
 ment very frightful to contemplate. I shall 
 dread the sight of ringlets and white muslin 
 for six months to come, and feel quite a sense 
 of relief in your assurance that no young 
 ladies are coming on Friday. It is a great 
 matter to know when one is well off. You 
 and I have been very happy, mother, as you 
 say ; why not be contented to remain as we 
 are?" 
 
 " But I really think you would be hap- 
 pier than you are were you married," re- 
 plied Lady Agnes ; " a bright young wife 
 would be a pleasanter companion for you 
 than I can be ; more able to enter into your 
 occupations and amusements."
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 139 
 
 " One tiling you have forgotten, mother," 
 said Sir Charles, kindly. " Mothers-in-law 
 and daughters-in-law do not always live 
 quite harmoniously together. Suppose this 
 were the case, I should be wretched. I 
 could not bear to see you vexed or annoyed 
 in any way ; and who shall say this might 
 not be?" 
 
 "It is not very likely, Charles," replied 
 Lady Agnes, gravely ; " your wife would be 
 to me as a daughter, and I hope she will 
 find in me a very tender and loving mother. 
 And as we should not occupy the same 
 house, there could be little occasion of dis- 
 agreement." 
 
 "Not occupy the same house, mother! 
 What do you mean?" said Sir Charles, has- 
 tily. " Bellingham must always be your 
 home." 
 
 " Bellingham will, I hope," replied his 
 mother, " but not this house. That would 
 never answer, my dear boy, nor did I ever 
 intend it. I have long decided on retiring 
 to what used to be the old steward's house
 
 140 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 in the south avenue; it is an excellent 
 house, very little would put it in perfect 
 repair; perhaps a room or two might be 
 added if required. A pretty porch, an oriel 
 Avindow for the drawing-room, and a few 
 other alterations will make it exactly what 
 I wish; and we shall only be half a mile 
 from each other." 
 
 "My dear mother! to liear you talk one 
 would imao^irie I had a wife all cut and 
 dried, and coming home immediately. At 
 this moment I don't even know a girl I 
 should feel the slightest inclination to take 
 for better and worse. Had you any par- 
 ticular daughter-in-law in view, may I in- 
 
 quire 
 
 ?" 
 
 '^ No, Charles, the choice of your wife is 
 not in my province. I feel convinced you 
 will choose well, and that I shall gladly 
 welcome her whenever she appears. The 
 sooner that is the better pleased I shall be." 
 
 " Well, mother, I am relieved to find no 
 immediate step is expected of me, for I have 
 had it in my mind for some days to propose
 
 MOTHER AND SON. I4l 
 
 a plan which I hope will meet with your 
 approbation." 
 
 " And that is — ?" said Lady Agnes, 
 kindly. 
 
 '' To sj)end this winter and spring on the 
 continent — in Rome, for instance." 
 
 " My dear Charles, this is very sudden," 
 said his mother, doubtfull3^ ''Do you 
 mean that you will go alone?" 
 
 " Certainly not, unless you refuse to ac- 
 company me. But half my pleasure would 
 be gone if you are not with me : you will 
 go too, mother, I hope?" 
 
 " If you wish it, Charles, I will. But all 
 this takes me ver}^ much by surprise. I 
 had no idea you thought of wintering 
 abroad." 
 
 " "Well, mother, the truth of the matter is 
 that your remarks this evening have only 
 capped some very similar notions of my 
 own. The life I have lately been leading 
 does not exactly satisfy me, and has many 
 disadvantages. I feel that I am becoming 
 lazy and good for nothing, losing what
 
 142 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 little energy I may once have possessed, 
 and sinking into a mere eating and drinking, 
 sporting country squire. 1 fear I have not 
 sufficient moral courage to go to the root 
 of the whole business and break oiF various 
 idle intimacies I have gradually formed; 
 this will be easily accomplished by a short 
 absence from home. So I should like to o-q 
 abroad for a time: and now you have all 
 my reasons." 
 
 "There needs no more, my dear boy,*' 
 said Lady Agnes, kindly; " I shall be ready 
 to leave home Avhenever you wish." 
 
 " No saying what luck may befal us on 
 our travels," observed her son, with a 
 merry laugh ; " some magnificent black- 
 eyed signora may walk into my young 
 affections. What do you say to that, eh ! 
 mother?" 
 
 " I hope your wife will be an Englisli 
 woman, Charles," replied Lady Agnes, 
 gravely. " I own I have no particular pre- 
 dilection for foreigners, and were you to
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 143 
 
 marry a Roman Catholic I should be deeply 
 grieved." 
 
 '' You need have no uneasiness on that 
 score, mother," said the young baronet, 
 laughing ; " my wife will, I trust, be a good 
 church woman, as all the ladies of Belling- 
 ham have been before her ; and follow your 
 bright example in catechizing the little 
 rosy-cheeked Sunday scholars, and dispens- 
 ing tracts and flannel petticoats to their 
 grandmothers. That is a grand point in 
 orthodoxy I am firmly persuaded." 
 
 ''' Your wife and your children are sweet 
 visions in my dreams of the future, Charles," 
 said Lady Agnes, softly laying down her 
 knitting and gazhig fondly on her son; 
 "I picture myself tranquill}^ and happily 
 descending into the vale of years, sur- 
 rounded by bright faces and joyous young 
 hearts ; in them I shall seem to renew the 
 days of my own gay youth, now such an 
 old, old story." 
 
 Her voice trembled as she spoke, and she
 
 144 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 raised her handkerchief to remove the tears 
 that dimmed her eyes. 
 
 ''What! not content with a wife, but 
 you must have an inroad of small cherubs 
 too!" said Sir Charles, in a jocular tone. 
 ''Dearest mother," he continued, kneeling 
 by her chair and raising her delicate hand 
 to his lips, " please God you shall one day 
 have this strong desire of your heart ; your 
 love and blessing for a child of mine will 
 indeed be very precious to me ; so fear not 
 but that in all good time I shall claim it."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 
 
 A CRACK — a crash — the shivering of broken 
 glass — and the carriage thumped heavily on 
 the road, where it was roughly dragged some 
 little way by the horses before they could 
 be stopped. The terrified lady's-maid in 
 the rumble screamed violently, as she was 
 all but ejected from her seat; the valet who 
 was her companion in misfortune used some 
 rather decided language; while the driver 
 and courier sprang down from their posi- 
 tion in front, talking rapidly and gesticu- 
 lating in an excited manner as they sought 
 to discover the cause of the mishap. It 
 was not difficult to find out; a wheel had 
 come off and the carriage had been jerked 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 14G AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 
 
 to one side, and lay there in a disabled 
 condition. 
 
 A handsome English face was protruded 
 from the Avindow, Avhile its owner exclaimed 
 hurriedly, " Here, you fellows, open this 
 door will you? the lock has got jammed 
 somehow. What's wrong, Luigi?" 
 
 " A wheel has come off, milor," replied 
 the Italian courier, advancing to his assist- 
 ance. 
 
 With some little difficulty the lock yielded, 
 and a young man leaped lightly from the 
 carriage to the road. 
 
 " Carson," he said hastily, addressing the 
 maid, "just come here will you; my mother 
 seems a little faint from the shock. Have 
 you salts or anything of that kind at 
 hand?" 
 
 " My lady has them in her travelling-bag, 
 Sir Charles," replied the abigail, as she was 
 assisted to descend; " I will find them in a 
 moment. Perhaps I had better get in and 
 support her ladyship." 
 
 "Yes, do," replied the young man; "it
 
 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 147 
 
 will be the best plan. I wonder whether 
 we can get any water." 
 
 He looked round hmi as he spoke to take 
 in the chief points of the situation. 
 
 The accident had happened at one of the 
 sharp turns of the road near Yentimiglia, 
 where it runs high above the coast in long 
 lines and quick zig-zags on the hill-side. 
 The evening was closing in, but the full 
 moon had risen, and bathed the matchless 
 scenery of the Riviera in her mellow splen- 
 dour. High above on the left towered the 
 cliffs of the Cornice; beyond them the 
 mountain ranges soared still and solemn,, 
 with all their rugged outlines softened in 
 the magical moonlight into the clear sky 
 that seemed illimitable in its depth of air.. 
 On the right there was but one tall j)reci- 
 pice, tufted here and there with wild grasses 
 on hazardous ledges, or with a lonely ilex 
 rooted in a cleft of the rock; and then 
 below rolled out the glorious sea, even in 
 the moonlight " darkly, deeply, beautifully 
 blue," and with one broad lustrous belt 
 
 10—2
 
 148 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 
 
 of gold dividing it from the horizon to the 
 land. No sign of any human habitation 
 was to be seen, nor any spring of fresh water. 
 
 What was now to be done? 
 
 The men were clustered round the broken 
 wheel, looking at it with rueful counte- 
 nances, for the injury was beyond their 
 power to repair, and they were a long 
 Avay from assistance. 
 
 " How is my mother now?" inquired the 
 young man, going forward to the open 
 door. 
 
 " Her ladyship is still faint," replied the 
 woman anxiously: " I think if we were to 
 lift her out and lay her down on one of the 
 rugs she would revive in the fresh air." 
 
 " It may be the best way," said her 
 master, seizing a wrapper and spreading 
 it against the bank. 
 
 Then, summoning the servants to assist 
 him, he gently lifted his mother from her 
 position in the carriage and laid her softly 
 on the extended rug, watching her eagerly 
 as he did so.
 
 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 149 
 
 Lady Agnes Bellingham, for the reader 
 has already divined who it is, lay very pale 
 and still in the calm moonlight; and Sir 
 Charles felt considerable alarm as he gazed 
 on her closed eyes and motionless features. 
 
 " This is most unfortunate," he remarked 
 in an uneasy voice; "what on earth is to 
 be done? Can you suggest nothing, Carson? 
 A little brandy, put between her lips, per- 
 haps " and he felt in his pocket for his 
 
 travelling flask. 
 
 At this moment the sound of approaching 
 carriage Avheels fell on their ears; and di- 
 rectly afterwards a handsome britzska came 
 rapidly round the corner, which the driver 
 immediately brought to a stand-still on 
 perceiving what had occurred. 
 
 " What has happened ?" inquired in 
 English one of its occupants, a dignified 
 elderly gentleman with noble and aristo- 
 cratic features — while on his other side a 
 lady bent eagerly forward, showing a young 
 and beautiful face lighted up wath curiosity 
 and interest.
 
 150 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 
 
 An explanation followed ; and the elderly 
 gentleman descended from his carriage and 
 handed out his fair companion, who at once 
 went up to Lady Agnes Bellingham and 
 kindly volunteered any assistance in her 
 power. 
 
 " Thank you very much," said Sir Charles, 
 raising his hat and looking admiringly at 
 the remarkably handsome girl before him ; 
 ^' my mother is not very robust, and I fear 
 she may have received some injury when 
 the carriage was upset. Unluckily there 
 is no water at hand " 
 
 " We have plenty," said the young lady 
 interrupting him and signing to one of 
 their servants to approach, to whom she 
 said a few words in Italian. 
 
 A jar of water was instantly brought to 
 her, with which she damped Lady Agnes's 
 handkerchief, and applied it to her cheeks 
 and temples; while she also produced her 
 vinaigrette containing a very pungent es- 
 sence, and held it steadily to her nostrils. 
 In a few moments Lady Agnes moved
 
 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 151 
 
 slightly and opened her eyes, makmg at 
 the same time a faint attempt to raise 
 herself from her reclining position. 
 
 Sir Charles quickly knelt beside her and 
 supported her with his arm, while the young 
 lady rose to her feet and anxiously awaited 
 her perfect restoration. 
 
 Lady Agnes seemed stunned and confused 
 for a minute or so, and then she regained 
 possession of her senses and became aware 
 of her situation. She did not speak, how- 
 ever, but looked inquiringly, first at the 
 young lady and then at her father, who 
 stood beside her. 
 
 " I am glad to see that you are better, 
 madam," said the latter, courteously ; "I 
 trust you have received no injury beyond 
 the shock and a little natural alarm." 
 
 " I do not feel hurt at all, thank you," 
 replied Lady Agnes, "and cannot understand 
 how I came to faint. Permit me to express 
 my obligations to your daughter (I con- 
 clude) and yourself for your kindness in 
 comino: to our aid."
 
 152 AN 'accident on the via cornice. 
 
 " Indeed we are both greatly indebted to 
 you for your valuable assistance," said Sir 
 Charles, with a rapid glance at the splendid 
 dark eyes of the lady, who smiled brightly 
 in return, and in musical accents assured 
 him it had been a great pleasure to her to 
 be of the slightest service. 
 
 " Pray do not speak of obligations," said 
 her father, politely ; " I hope we shall be 
 allowed to be of some real service. I 
 perceive, sir," he continued, addressing Sir 
 Charles, '' that your carriage wheel is en- 
 tirely useless till it is repaired, and this will 
 probably occupy some time, proper work- 
 men having still to be found. You were 
 en route to Yentimigiia, I suppose?" 
 
 " We were," replied Sir Charles, looking 
 ruefully at the broken vehicle. ^' I fear it 
 is still three or four miles distant." 
 
 " That, at least," said the other, appeal- 
 ing to his courier, who confirmed his 
 opinion. *' My daughter and I are on our 
 way there also," he continued, addressing 
 himself to Lady Agnes ; "and we shall esteem
 
 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 153 
 
 ourselves highly favoured if you and your 
 son will accept seats in our carriage, and 
 leave your own to follow you afterwards. 
 The wheel must be replaced before it can 
 be moved ; and I doubt if any workmen 
 will be found nearer than Yentimiglia." 
 
 " You are exceedingly kind," said Lady 
 Agnes, " but I am afraid we shall incom- 
 mode you." 
 
 " Not in the least, madam, I assure you ; 
 we shall just fill the carriage, and a place 
 outside shall be found for your maid." 
 
 " We are deeply indebted to you," said 
 Sir Charles, again glancing at the fair 
 traveller, and rather gratified at the acci- 
 dent that had brought them into such close 
 companionship; ''but for your opportune 
 arrival and friendly aid, I suspect we should 
 have found ourselves very awkwardly 
 situated." 
 
 " You would certainly have had a very 
 annoying detention here," replied her father ; 
 " it will take some time before we can 
 reach Yentimiglia, and despatch workmen
 
 154 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 
 
 to the assistance of those who remain in 
 charge of the carriage. Therefore I advise 
 that we delay no longer, if you find your- 
 self now sufficiently recovered to proceed," 
 he continued, addressing Lady Agnes, who 
 had now risen, and looked quite herself 
 again. 
 
 "I am perfectly ready," she answered, 
 decidedly, " and agree with you that we 
 should set off at once." 
 
 Assisted by the obliging owner of the 
 carriage she took her seat in it, followed 
 by the beautiful girl he had named as his 
 daughter ; the two gentlemen occupied the 
 opposite side, where Sir Charles had an 
 opportunity of admiring the lovely face of 
 the young English lady, which he inwardly 
 pronounced to be one of the handsomest, if 
 not the handsomest he had ever seen. 
 Dark, brilliant eyes lighted up features of 
 faultless regularity; her white forehead 
 contrasted well with the heavy braids of 
 her nearly black hair, and her parted lips 
 revealed a set of pearly teeth that completed
 
 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 155 
 
 the manifold attractions of her beautiful 
 countenance. 
 
 She busied herself at first in arranging the 
 cushions comfortably for Lady Agnes, and 
 insisted on her reclining in the corner;, while 
 she also drew a shawl more closely around 
 her, dreading the influence of the chilly 
 
 evening air. 
 
 Every movement was thoroughly grace- 
 ful and unstudied; her whole appearance 
 and manner denoted the habit of mixing in 
 the best society, and Lady Agnes began to 
 feel some curiosity as to the name and 
 social position of those with whom she had 
 become so suddenly and intimately asso- 
 ciated. 
 
 She was about to frame some inquiries 
 on the subject, when the young lady's father, 
 seemingly inspired with the same idea at 
 the moment, forestalled the remark that 
 w^as on her lips. 
 
 '' I think," he observed, " that as we 
 are to have the pleasure of being fellow- 
 travellers for several miles, it will be more
 
 150 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 
 
 agreeable if we become acquainted with 
 eacli other's names. Allow me to intro- 
 duce my daughter, Miss de Burgh,'' and he 
 pointed smilingly to the young lady : ^' I 
 am Sir John de Burgh, very much at your 
 service." 
 
 He bowed, and awaited a reply. 
 
 " I second your motion most cordially," 
 said Sir Charles, immediately, ^' and beg 
 to name my mother. Lady Agnes Belling- 
 ham; my own is Sir Charles, of that ilk. 
 I saw from the first glance that we all 
 hailed from England." 
 
 " I knew a family of your name once," 
 remarked Sir John, " but they were Irish." 
 
 " Possibly relations of ours," replied Sir 
 Charles ; "I believe we have a colony of 
 Milesian cousins, but I never met any of 
 them." 
 
 " You have never been in Ireland, then, 
 I suppose?" inquired Sir John. 
 
 '' Never. I am ashamed to own that I 
 know nothing of that beautiful island, with 
 its romantic scenery and warm-hearted 
 
 I
 
 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 157 
 
 people. I have been in Scotland more 
 than once." 
 
 '' You have the advantage of me there," 
 observed Sir John. " I have never seen 
 Scotland. My daughter and I have passed 
 many years on the Continent ; in fact, we 
 almost regard it as our home." 
 
 There was a shade of sadness in his voice 
 that did not escape the notice of Lady 
 Agnes; but he almost immediately con- 
 tinued, more cheerfully, " Rome is our 
 favourite winter quarters ; we are on our 
 way there now. I have some little know- 
 ledge of painting and sculpture; my 
 daughter draws well, and is an accom- 
 plished musician, so the Eternal City has 
 much attraction for us." 
 
 " We propose spending the winter there, 
 too," said Lady Agnes, in a pleased tone ; 
 ^' I am happy to think we may meet some- 
 times. But you most probably have a 
 large circle of friends there : my son and 
 I arrive as strangers." 
 
 '' You will not long feel yourselves
 
 15S AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 
 
 such," replied Sir John, politely. " Eome 
 is a very sociable place, and the English 
 draw very much to each other. Of course 
 there are very different sets, as must always 
 be the case ; but your son and yourself will 
 at once claim the position to which you 
 are entitled. I venture to prophesy that 
 you will decidedly enjoy your residence 
 there." 
 
 ^' Have you fixed on any particular 
 hotel?" inquired Miss de Burgh. "I sup- 
 pose you will go to one on your first 
 arrival ?" 
 
 " We have secured rooms in the Hotel 
 d'Angleterre," replied Lady Agnes ; " it is 
 a good one, I believe." 
 
 "Very," said Miss de Burgh; "but I 
 should advise you to take a palazzo for the 
 season on the Corso, if you can find one 
 disengaged. It is by far the pleasanter 
 and more comfortable Avay of living." 
 
 " One objection to that is our very slight 
 knowledge of Italian," replied Lady Agnes,
 
 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 15D 
 
 smiling : " the domestic routine would be 
 carried on under difficulties." 
 
 " Not in the least/' said Miss de Burgh. 
 " Your courier will arrange everything for 
 you, and through him you will transmit 
 orders to your establishment. In a very 
 short time you will pick up sufficient of the 
 language to enable you to ask for anything 
 YOU wish." 
 
 '' I am well acquainted with French," 
 said Lady Agnes; "and I daresay if I 
 were to furbish up my memory some of 
 the old vocabulary phrases of my youth 
 might return to me. Travelling was not 
 then the every-day matter it is now; my 
 linguistic powers were very rarely tested." 
 
 " It is very humiliating to find how much 
 foreigners have the advantage of us in 
 that respect," observed Sir Charles Belling- 
 ham; "all those moustached and bearded 
 fellows one meets have half a dozen lan- 
 guages at their fingers' or rather tongues' 
 end; while an Englishman thinks he does
 
 IGO AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 
 
 very well if lie has a small smattering of 
 French in addition to his mother tongue." 
 
 " My father speaks French, German, 
 Italian, and Spanish equally well with 
 English," said Miss de Burgh, looking 
 affectionately at him; "but of course we 
 have resided in all those different countries. 
 It is impossible to acquire ease in conversa- 
 tion by any other means." 
 
 " Then I presume you speak them too," 
 said Sir Charles, glancing at her animated 
 and beautiful countenance, and beginning 
 to feel quite a strong interest in everything 
 that related to his charming fellow tra- 
 veller. 
 
 *^0h! yes," she replied, carelessly; "in- 
 deed I have often been told that I speak 
 English with a foreign accent; it would 
 scarcely be surprising if I did, having been 
 abroad nearly all my life." 
 
 " I have not remarked it," said Sir Charles, 
 thinking at the same time that he had sel- 
 dom heard a sweeter and more musical 
 voice.
 
 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 161 
 
 Lady Agnes looked earnestly at both 
 father and daughter, and wondered what 
 cause had led to this lengthened absence 
 from their native land. It could not be 
 poverty, she reflected, for all about them 
 denoted affluence; and it seemed to her 
 thoroughly English disposition strange and 
 unnatural that they appeared to have no 
 settled home, but apparently wandered 
 hither and thither as their fancy or in- 
 clination dictated. She too began to feel 
 interested in this beautiful girl, who spoke 
 of no mother or sisters, and could have 
 none of the sweet home ties and associa- 
 tions that help to form the character and 
 give such a refining charm to English 
 girls of her age. She felt her heart gra- 
 dually warming to the fair stranger who 
 had shown her such graceful kindness; 
 and with the pleasure she experienced at 
 the idea that they should meet and pro- 
 bably become intimate in the Roman 
 capital was mingled a sentiment of curio- 
 sity and anxiety, as she acknowledged her 
 VOL. I. . 11
 
 162 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 
 
 extreme beauty and attractiveness, and 
 watched tlie evident admiration of her 
 son for his lovely companion, and the 
 unmistakable gratification her society ap- 
 peared to afi'ord him. 
 
 In a short time afterwards they reached 
 Yentimiglia, and on making inquiries at 
 the hotel, they were assured that proper 
 workmen should at once be despatched to 
 repair the carriage. 
 
 They all supped together, and in the 
 pleasant familiarity induced by the cir- 
 cumstances in which they found them- 
 selves, their acquaintance progressed ra- 
 pidly. When they parted for the night 
 they were on the easiest and most intimate 
 terms : it seemed impossible to believe that 
 only a few hours previously they had been 
 utter strangers to each other. 
 
 A night's rest and refreshing slumber 
 completely restored Lady Agnes, who had 
 in reality received no injury beyond the 
 shock. 
 
 The travellers all met at breakfast; Miss 
 
 I
 
 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 163 
 
 de Burgh looking if possible handsomer 
 than on the preceding evening, when the 
 unstudied style of her travelhng attire had 
 lent no enhancing aid to her beauty, if it 
 had not detracted from it. Now, a ricli 
 black silk, tightly buttoned up to the throat, 
 fell gracefully round her, and displayed th(? 
 perfect outlines of her magnificent figure: 
 a round brooch of malachite set in gold fast- 
 ened the lace collar, and earrings of the same- 
 clasped her small shell-like ears, and con- 
 trasted well with the exquisite purity of her 
 skin. As the young baronet seated himself 
 beside her to assist her in distributing the 
 cofi*ee and various other little offices, very 
 pleasant of performance in such compan}-, 
 his admiring eyes took in every faultless 
 detail, from the abundant dark hair so skil- 
 full}^ and becomingly arranged, to the taper 
 white fingers, sparkling with rare gems, that 
 held the cofiee-pot. He heard with the 
 keenest satisfaction her father's proposal 
 that the earlier portion of the day's journey 
 should be made in company, adhering to 
 
 11 — 2
 
 164 AN ACCIDENT ON THE VIA CORNICE. 
 
 the travelling arrangements of the night 
 before, and allowing the second carriage 
 to remain unoccupied except by the ser* 
 vants. Later in the day, Sir John informed 
 them he and his daughter must reluctantly 
 bid them adieu for the present ; as an en- 
 gagement to visit friends in the neighbour- 
 hood obliged them to alter their route. 
 But for several hours they were again 
 companions; and when the time for sepa- 
 ration arrived they parted with sincere 
 mutual regret, and with strongly expressed 
 hopes on both sides of a speedy meeting 
 and much pleasant intercourse in Rome.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE RIVAL BELLES. 
 
 A KEW star had risen on the liorizon of 
 Eome. Its society was shaken and divided 
 in its allegiance to its former divinity. 
 
 For two entire seasons the beautiful Miss 
 de Burgh had taken all hearts captive, had 
 queened it over all the social gatherings of 
 the winter, had reigned without a rival; 
 such a thing had seemed indeed to be an 
 utter impossibility. But now all this was 
 altered. She came there now to find she 
 not only had a rival, but that that rival 
 was a very powerful and a very dangerous 
 one. 
 
 *' Have you seen Miss Crewe?" 
 
 " Do you know Miss Crewe ? " 
 
 " Don't you like Miss Crewe?"
 
 166 THE RIVAL BELLES. 
 
 For the first week of her arrival in 
 Rome such phrases as the above were 
 dinned into her ears morning, noon, and 
 night, till she almost began to hate the 
 sound of Miss Crewe's name; but as yet 
 she had never encountered the young lady, 
 and had therefore had no opportunity of 
 judging of her merits for herself. 
 
 Neither had she as yet met Sir Charles 
 and Lady Agnes Bellingham. She and her 
 father had called at the hotel where they 
 still resided, and the visit had been returned 
 on the day following, but on bo'th occasions 
 thev missed each other. 
 
 The next day Sir John proposed that 
 they should make another attempt to see 
 their travelling friends, and Augusta will- 
 ingly assented. The carriage was accord- 
 ingly ordered, and they set off from home ; 
 Miss De Burgh having desired to be taken 
 in the first place to Castellani's, where she 
 wished to inspect some new Etruscan set- 
 tings that had been described to her. 
 
 On alighting and entering the shop she
 
 THE RIVAL BELLES. 167 
 
 instantly perceived Sir Charles Bellingham 
 and his mother, and with them two ladies 
 and a child. Lady Agnes was seated at the 
 counter examining some articles of jewel- 
 lery: Sir Charles was conversing with the 
 ladies, one of whom held an open case in 
 her hand, the contents of Avhich seemed to 
 form the subject of discussion. Both were 
 young and striking in appearance, the one 
 holding the jewel case especially; she was 
 a tall, fine looking girl, with a very frank 
 expression of countenance, and a dazzling 
 complexion, shaded with a profusion of 
 what many people would call red hair. 
 It was not red, however, but what is 
 termed blonde cendre, a very beautiful and 
 effective tint, rarely to be seen except in 
 the paintings of the old masters. 
 
 The opening of the door caused them all 
 to look up, except Lady Agnes, who had 
 her back towards them. 
 
 On perceiving who it was Sir Charles 
 came quickly forward, his whole face light- 
 ing up with gratification at the rencontre.
 
 168 THE RIVAL BELLES. 
 
 Lady Agnes, hearing their voices, looked 
 round, and a very warm greeting took place 
 between them. The deserted ladies mean- 
 while continued their inspection of the 
 cases, and Augusta could not help turning 
 a glance of curiosity in their direction; 
 Lady Agnes and her son had spoken as 
 if they had no acquaintances in Rome, and 
 she bad felt a momentary sensation of dis- 
 appointment and annoyance on observing 
 Sir Charles Bellingham's air of easy inti- 
 macy as he addressed his fair companions, 
 more particularly the young lady with the 
 brilliant hair and complexion. 
 
 Sir Charles observed her look of interest, 
 and remarked in a low voice, " You do not 
 know Miss Crewe, I think?" 
 
 " No," replied Augusta in the same tone ; 
 " I have heard a good deal of her, but this 
 is the first time I have seen her. She is 
 very handsome." 
 
 " Very striking-looking, certainly," said 
 Sir Charles; "and then that very uncom-
 
 THE RIVAL BELLES. 169 
 
 mon shade of hair. I have often met her 
 and her sister, Mrs. Greville, in London, 
 and was very glad to encounter them here 
 the day after our arrival. They have a 
 profound ambition to make your acquaint- 
 ance," he continued, with a slight hesitation 
 in his manner, "but I did not not know 
 how far I might presume." 
 
 '' It will give me much pleasure to be 
 introduced to them," replied Augusta, 
 graciously. 
 
 It would have been rather difficult to 
 decline without causing awkwardness be- 
 tween herself and Sir Charles, which would 
 have been unpleasant; and she was aware 
 that meeting so frequently as was pro- 
 bable during the ensuing season, the intro- 
 duction must, sooner or later, take place. 
 She had already discovered that Mrs. 
 Greville and Miss Crewe were in her '' set," 
 and visited at many houses where she was 
 intimate. 
 
 Sir Charles immediately named them to
 
 170 THE RIVAL BELLES. 
 
 each other, Sir John being also included in 
 the introduction, to which he responded 
 with his usual courtly dignity. 
 
 '' We were just looking at some mala- 
 chites/' observed Miss Crewe, displaying the 
 case she held to Augusta; " it is a stone I 
 particularly admire, and those are charm- 
 ingly set. Sir Charles was mentioning you 
 had some very like them." 
 
 " Mine are very similar," replied Miss de 
 Burgh, looking at them; " they were pre- 
 sented to me by a Kussian whose property 
 was rich in malachite. I believe he had 
 chimney-pieces and tables made of it, and a 
 hall surrounded by massive pillars, if his 
 information were to be relied on." 
 
 "How beautiful it must be," said Miss 
 Crewe ; " one would be horribly tempted to 
 chip off bits here and there. I don't think 
 I could answer for my honesty if a small 
 hammer were within reach — I have a pas- 
 sion for malachites." 
 
 '' Castellani's settings are in such very 
 good taste," said Augusta ; " he copies from 
 
 I
 
 THE RIVAL BELLES. 171 
 
 the old Etruscan models, which are always 
 graceful and beautiful." 
 
 " What a wonderful people they must 
 have been !" observed Sir Charles, joining 
 in the conversation, '^ With all our boasted 
 modern taste and skill in invention we can 
 produce nothing comparable to the speci- 
 mens of their handiwork that have come 
 down to us of perfection in form and 
 design. All our most celebrated manufac- 
 tories — even Dresden and Sevres — must 
 own their vast inferiority." 
 
 "I will allow the Etruscans to have 
 thoroughly understood colouring and de- 
 sign," said Miss Crewe ; " but I hope you 
 are not one of those people who make a 
 point of admiring things just because they 
 are old. Numbers of people do. For my 
 part, I have no very strong penchant for 
 antiquity," she continued, with a merry 
 laugh ; "I greatly prefer what is modern." 
 
 "Oh! Miss Crewe! what rank heresy!" 
 exclaimed Sir Charles: "and in Rome, of 
 all places !"
 
 172 THE RIVAL BELJiES. 
 
 "Exactly," she replied. ''Kome is the 
 great hot-bed of the disease — for it is no- 
 thing else. One hears of nothing but anti- 
 quities from morning to night; and the 
 greater part of those who rave about them 
 haven't the faintest notion of what they 
 are talking about, if they would only be 
 honest and own it." 
 
 " Then I presume you don't trouble the 
 galleries much ?" said Augusta, smiling. 
 
 "Oh! yes; I go frequently, and enjoy 
 myself in my own way. Many of the 
 pictures I quite love, and never weary of 
 looking at them ; but, at the risk of sinking 
 immeasurably in your opinion, I must 
 frankly confess a good many of the old 
 masters bore me dreadfully, and strike me 
 as being immensely overrated." 
 
 " How such sentiments would appal the 
 cognoscenti^^' said Sir Charles, laughing; 
 " their beloved Guidos and cherished 
 Domenichinos to be considered bores and 
 overrated! Some day you will find a 
 monstrous gulf yawning in the Forum,
 
 THE RIVAL BELLES. 173 
 
 requiring you to make a Curtius of your- 
 self to appease the indignant shades of 
 the old masters." 
 
 " You have just named my especial 
 pets," replied Miss Crewe ; " and if all 
 were like them I should be as rabid a 
 picture worshipper as any one. When this 
 engulfing vengeance overtakes me, I shall 
 appeal to their shades, and plead as my 
 excuse that all my admiration and en- 
 thusiasm were exhausted on the ^ Cenci ' 
 and the ' Sibyl.' The hours I have passed 
 drinking in the beauty of those glorious 
 paintings !" 
 
 " You have retrieved your character," 
 said Sir Charles, smiling; ''we may have 
 hopes of you in time. A course of the 
 galleries must be prescribed; so many 
 pictures and statues to be taken at once.'' 
 
 "Ko, indeed!" exclaimed Miss Crewe; 
 " I shall select my own favourites. I see 
 nothing to admire in those ancient eccle- 
 siastical daubs — all faded saints with tar- 
 nished glories round their wretched old
 
 174 THE RIVAL BELLES. 
 
 heads — that are, 1 believe, called mediaeval. 
 How they are permitted to hang there and 
 disfisfure the walls is a marvel to me." 
 
 " Heresy again !" replied Sir Charles, 
 lauo:hino^. ^' It is well those mediasval 
 times are at a safe distance : such a speech 
 then would have made you the central 
 figure in an auto da feJ' 
 
 "Well, Emily," remarked Mrs. Greville, 
 who had been engaged in conversation with 
 Lady Agnes and Sir John de Burgh, '' I 
 think it is time we were returning home. 
 Have you forgotten your appointment with 
 SignorM ?" 
 
 " I had, indeed," said her sister, looking 
 at her watch ; " and he is so distressingly 
 punctual. I am having some singing 
 lessons," she observed to Augusta, " for I 
 have not hitherto sung much Italian music. 
 I prefer ballads for my own performance, 
 though I greatly enjoy listening to the 
 other. Which is your style?" she con- 
 tinued. " I have heard so often of your
 
 THE RIVAL BELLES. 175 
 
 singing, and long to have an opportunity 
 of hearing it." 
 
 " I sing Italian, principally," replied 
 Augusta; ''but I am very fond of Grerman 
 and Spanish. English ballads I have gene- 
 rally considered rather tame in comparison 
 with the music of the great foreign com- 
 posers." 
 
 " Oh ! do you think so?" said Miss Crewe; 
 '' I can't agree with you there. I am espe- 
 cially fond of English and Irish ballads; 
 and they should not be tame, if properly 
 sung," she added, with rather a conscious 
 smile. 
 
 Miss Emily Crewe knew well that English 
 ballads had not been usually regarded in 
 that light when she had sung them ; various 
 disconsolate youths, grilling in distant In- 
 dian jungles or keeping lonely midnight 
 watch on the trackless ocean, had carried 
 with them memories of those siren-like 
 warblings, as dangerous as they were deli- 
 cious. "Tame" was not precisely the epi-
 
 176 THE RIVAL BELLES. 
 
 thet people were in the habit of applying to 
 her singing. 
 
 " But Miss Crewe's singing of the Irish 
 melodies is not what one hears every day," 
 observed Sir Charles, eagerly. " I venture 
 to assert that Miss de Burgh will rescind 
 her opinion when she listens to ' The Last 
 Rose of Summer,' or ' Kathleen Mavour- 
 neen. 
 
 ''Irishwomen generally have sufficient 
 of the gift of song to do justice to the melo- 
 dies of their own country," replied Miss 
 Crewe, with a careless smile ; "I have 
 scarcely had any teaching, but I believe I 
 sang almost before I could speak." 
 
 " Are you Irish?" said Augusta, in a tone 
 of surprise ; " I should not have thought so." 
 
 " Ah 1 you mean that I have lost my 
 brogue?" replied Miss Crewe, laughing. *'I 
 believe I have, and I rather regret it, for I 
 am very proud of belonging to the 'ould 
 country.' But my home has been in 
 England for many years, so I suppose 
 much of my nationality has disappeared."
 
 THE RIVAL BELLES. 177 
 
 " Augusta," said lier father, who had 
 been listening to the last few sentences, 
 " perhaps we may be able to induce Lady 
 Agnes Bellingham and her son, and also 
 Mrs. Greville and Miss Crewe, to dispense 
 with a more formal invitation, and give us 
 the pleasure of their company at dinner to- 
 morrow or the day after. We shall then 
 be able more thoroughly to compare the 
 respective merits of English and Italian 
 music, as we shall hope to be favoured with 
 specimens of both." 
 
 ''I shall be very happy," said Augusta, 
 courteously, looking at Lady Agnes and 
 Mrs. Greville, who at once cordially assented 
 to the proposal; and the latter of the two 
 days Sir John had named was finally decided 
 on, after which arrangement Mrs. Greville 
 and her sister took their departure. 
 
 " We must thank you for a very agree- 
 able introduction," remarked Sir John to 
 Lady Agnes; " Mrs. Greville seems an ex- 
 tremely pleasant person, and her sister also. 
 Miss Crewe is strikingly handsome ; she 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 THE RIVAL BELLES. 
 
 appears to be creating quite a sensation in 
 Home, from all we have heard." 
 
 " She is certainly very attractive," re- 
 plied Lady Agnes ; " and so far as I know 
 her, from two or three morning visits, I 
 should think her warm-hearted and genuine. 
 My son knows her better than I do ; he has 
 often met her sister and herself in society/' 
 
 " Mrs. Greville had a house in town last 
 season and the one before," said Sir Charles. 
 '' She is a widow, with one little girl, who 
 is an heiress in a small way. Miss Crewe 
 lives with her, her parents being both dead. 
 That is all I know of them, beyond meeting 
 them where their presence was a sufficient 
 voucher for their position. But for that, 
 and the excellent reception they have met 
 with in Rome, I should not have ventured 
 to name their desire to make your ac- 
 quaintance." 
 
 ''I am very glad to have met them," 
 replied Sir John, graciously, "and I have 
 no doubt we shall find them an acquisition 
 to our English society. Noav, my dear
 
 THE RIVAL BELLES. IT^) 
 
 Augusta, if you have completed your pur- 
 chases, perhaps we had better be moving." 
 
 '' I am quite ready, papa," said Augusta, 
 shaking hands with Lady Agnes. 
 
 Sir Charles accompanied her to the car- 
 riage, and as he assisted her to enter it he 
 remarked — 
 
 " I long for Thursday to arrive, and an- 
 ticipate very great enjoyment. People here 
 rave about your singing." 
 
 "Better receive their raptures with ju- 
 dicious limitation," replied Augusta, smiling 
 and extendinor her hand to bid him "ood- 
 
 o o 
 
 bye, " or you will have your ex]Dectations 
 too highly raised, and disappointment will 
 be the result." 
 
 "I have no fears of the kind," said Sir 
 Charles, as he made way for Sir John de 
 Burgh to follow his daughter. 
 
 " 1 thought we might as well ask them 
 all on Thursday," observed Sir John when 
 they had driven oiF. " Inviting the Belling- 
 haras was a matter of course; and their 
 friends seem very agreeable people. If we 
 
 12—2
 
 180 THE RIVAL BELLES. 
 
 can secure the de Merincourts and a couple 
 of pleasant men we shall do very well. I 
 dare say I shall be able to pick up some one 
 before then." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it," replied Augusta, 
 rather absently. 
 
 She was not particularly charmed with 
 the sudden intimacy that seemed to have 
 arisen between themselves and those new 
 arrivals; and would have felt much more 
 interested in the coming dinner-party had 
 Miss Emily Crewe not been among the 
 number of the expected guests. More than 
 once she caught herself pondering over the 
 meeting at Castellani's with very varying 
 feelings. The pleasure she had experienced 
 in encountering Sir Charles Bellingham had 
 been considerably damped by seeing the 
 excellent terms he was evidently on with 
 Mrs. Greville, and more especially with her 
 sister ; and her fair brow contracted with a 
 frown, caused by emotions the nature of 
 which she could hardly have explained to 
 herself. She could not avoid owning, how-
 
 THE RIVAL BELLES. 181 
 
 ever, that Miss Crewe merited the admira- 
 tion she had universally excited; not so 
 much from her beauty, for Miss de Burgh 
 knew well that in that respect she could 
 not for a moment be compared to herself, 
 but from a certain indescribable charm of 
 look, voice, and manner that was peculiarly 
 her own, and rendered her winning and 
 fascinating in no ordinary degree. 
 
 " A thorough-paced flirt — one can see 
 that at a glance," she mentally exclaimed; 
 " probably Sir Charles, like all men, admires 
 that style of woman. It amuses them." 
 
 She smiled rather scornfully as she arrived 
 at this conclusion ; it was evident that the 
 fair Irishwoman had not succeeded in mak- 
 ing a particularly favourable impression on 
 Miss de Burgh. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Greville and her sister 
 pursued their way homeward, and naturally 
 enough their conversation turned upon their 
 recent introduction. 
 
 "How do you like them?" asked Mrs. 
 Greville; for though several years older
 
 182 THE RIVAL BELLES. 
 
 than her sister she was very much in the 
 habit of being guided by her opinions. 
 
 '' So far as half-a-dozen sentences enabled 
 me to judge of the father I liked him very 
 much," replied Miss Crewe; "he is gentle- 
 manly and pleasant, and still very hand- 
 some, with that air of polished courtesy so 
 rare now-a-days, more's the pity." 
 
 '^ And Miss de Burgh — what of her?" 
 "You always tease me about my trick of 
 jumping to sudden conclusions, or I should 
 tell you I have arrived at several respecting 
 ber." 
 
 "What! already?" said Mrs. Greville, 
 laughing. "Let me hear them." 
 
 " Well, in the first place, she is even more 
 beautiful than I expected; I never saw any 
 one so handsome. But I don't like her ex- 
 pression. I would a deal rather have her 
 for a friend than an enemy ; and I fear the 
 latter is the more likely of the two," said 
 Miss Crewe, laughing. 
 
 " Nonsense, Emily I How you do fancy 
 things," said her sister. "What has put
 
 THE RIVAL BELLES. 183 
 
 such an idea into your head? She was as 
 polite as possible." 
 
 "Too polite by half, Norah. Why, she 
 is little more than nineteen, and she was as 
 stately and ceremonious as a woman of fifty. 
 Lady Agnes' manner is quite juvenile com- 
 pared to hers." 
 
 "But you are so frank, yourself, Emily, 
 that you are apt to think people stiff when 
 they are only quiet;" said Mrs. Greville, 
 apologetically, for she had been greatly 
 struck with the beauty of Miss de Burgh. 
 " To be sure I did not speak to her so much 
 as you did, and all she said to me was very 
 pleasant." 
 
 ''And she was pleasant enough to me 
 too," replied Miss Crewe; "but for all that 
 I am sure she does not like me. One can 
 feel those things better than one can de- 
 scribe them. A glance of the eye, a curl of 
 the lij), tell more than many words. Re- 
 member Talleyrand's axiom, that words 
 were given us to conceal our thoughts. 
 Miss de Burgh knows this well."
 
 184 THE RIVAL BELLES. 
 
 " I declare, Emily, you are ratlier more 
 absurd than usual," replied her sister, smil- 
 ing; "all these fancies in a quarter of an 
 hour, and the conversation the most com- 
 mon-place possible, ending in an invitation 
 to dinner sans ceremonies 
 
 " I knew you would laugh at me, Norah. 
 You always look on the bright side of 
 things, and never see anything that is not 
 glaringly self-evident. Now, I call Miss de 
 Burgh quite a study. She is a woman of 
 tremendous force of character; had she 
 lived a few hundred years ago instead of 
 now, I believe she might have developed 
 into a Borgia or a Madame de Brinvilliers. 
 Just look at her mouth!" 
 
 " I did so most particularly," said Mrs. 
 Greville ; " it is a very pretty one, and she 
 has the loveliest teeth I ever saw. But you 
 are perfectly incorrigible, Emily, with your 
 Borgias and Brinvilliers; you should have 
 been a novel writer, you are so imagina- 
 tive." 
 
 " There are a good many of the elements
 
 THE TIIVAL BELLES. 185 
 
 of a heroine of romance about Miss de 
 Burgh," replied Miss Crewe, laughing; "a 
 beauty, an heiress, a papa who would pro- 
 bably prove very obdurate if she wished to 
 marry anyone he did not consider suitable; 
 and, as far as I can judge, the hero is not 
 wanting either. That is another of my 
 conclusions." 
 
 " Oh ! Emily ! you are really too ridicu- 
 lous. Do you mean Sir Charles Bellingham? 
 Why, they scarcely know each other — only 
 met on the Via Cornice." 
 
 "They travelled together nearly a whole 
 day and part of the one before, my dear 
 Xorah," said Miss Crewe, decidedly; "and 
 people become far more rapidly intimate in 
 such circumstances than meeting at twenty 
 parties. Besides, they met in quite a ro- 
 mantic manner: I forgot that among my 
 elements of a three volume novel." 
 
 "I advise you to begin it directly," re- 
 plied Mrs. Greville ; " nothing seems to be 
 wanting. But if I may venture on an 
 opinion, I do not think Sir Charles Belling-
 
 186 THE RIVAL BELLES. 
 
 ham the kind of person to fuscinate Miss 
 cle Burgh ; he is far too careless and insou- 
 ciant in manner for a heros de roman ; she 
 would require some one wonderfully devoted 
 and exalted." 
 
 " Now, my dear Norah, that shows how 
 little you know," observed her sister in an 
 amused tone. " Sir Charles Bellingham is 
 exactly the kind of man that Miss de 
 Burgh will fall in love with, if one may 
 use such commonplace language in con- 
 nexion with so stately a young person. 
 She has been accustomed to an immense 
 amount of admiration and incense, and 
 expects it as a matter of course. Well, 
 she won't have it from him." 
 . "Oh! Emily! there you are wrong," 
 interrupted her sister; " I am sure Sir 
 Charles quite raved about her beauty and 
 grace; and he looked enchanted when she 
 came into Castellani's." 
 
 "Who is romancing now?" said Emily, 
 laughing : " Sir Charles said she was very
 
 THE RIVAL BELLES. 1S7 
 
 handsome and liad a magnificent figure, all 
 perfectly true; but he did not rave a bit 
 about her. I know him V\^ell. He is a tho- 
 rough oiseau volage — fancies every new and 
 pretty face, but is not to be caught just 
 yet. He admires Miss de Burgh very 
 much, as any man with eyes naturally 
 would; but she is not the kind of gfirl 
 that will win him, or I am very much 
 mistaken. And I should be very sorry if 
 she were — he is much too o-ood for her." 
 
 '^ Any one hearing you speak would ima- 
 ghie you were jealous," remarked Mrs. Gre- 
 ville Avith a smile. 
 
 " But I am not, in the very least," said 
 Miss Crewe, placidly : " I like Sir Charles ; 
 he is friendly and pleasant, and has a warm 
 true English heart. Some fine day he will 
 make a pretty little English girl Lady 
 Bellingham ; and, as the story books have 
 it, they will live very happily ever after- 
 wards." 
 
 " And what is to become of poor Miss
 
 188 THE RIVAL BELLES. 
 
 de Burgh?" said her sister laughing: ''I 
 tliought she was destined for him, from 
 your observation at starting." 
 
 "Not at all," replied Miss Crewe; "I 
 said he was the style of man most likely 
 to make an impression on her and touch 
 such heart as she possesses. He will hang 
 about her for a time with his usual engoue 
 manner, which is a very nice one, I honestly 
 allow — then some new face will attract him, 
 and his attentions will relax and be uncer- 
 tain. All this will pique a girl like her, 
 accustomed to universal homage; and she 
 will prize notice from him all the more 
 because it is not so easily obtained. But 
 I should not like to be the one to cross her 
 path, or upset any scheme she had set her 
 heart on accomplishing. I believe her quite 
 capable of enacting Queen Eleanor to a fair 
 Rosamond. And now I daresay you think 
 I have talked enough nonsense for one day, 
 so I shall go and take off my bonnet. There 
 is Signor M in the distance."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGH's. 
 
 Mrs. Greville and lier sister sat awaiting 
 the arrival of the carriage that was to 
 convey them to the dinner party at Sir 
 John de Burgh's. 
 
 The elder sister stood before a mirror 
 adjusting some fold that would not arrange 
 itself exactly as she wished, and scanning 
 her general appearance with an air that 
 denoted satisfaction. She was a year or 
 two above thirty, and most people consi- 
 dered her very handsome, which no doubt 
 she was ; but Emily's youthful charms 
 eclipsed the more matured ones of her 
 sister, who in her presence was very much 
 cast into the shade. Mrs. Greville, how- 
 ever, was in no way annoyed by this ; she 
 was very fond of Emily, and admired her
 
 1 00 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGIl's. 
 
 openly and affectionately without the slight- 
 est particle of jealousy ; and being an amiable, 
 good-natured woman, who took things easily 
 and did not fret about trifles, she enjoyed 
 life very much indeed and was extremely 
 popular. A widow, with one little girl of 
 eight years old, she ^vas completely her 
 own mistress, and was very well content 
 to be so. To please her parents she had 
 married a man greatly her senior, whose 
 sole recommendation was that he had 
 ample means. He was jealous and sour- 
 tempered, and Norah's life with him was 
 far from being a happy one. His death 
 gave her freedom, which Norah was too 
 kind-hearted to rejoice at in spite of his 
 harshness to her ; but she did not pretend 
 to be inconsolable, and her spirits very soon 
 recovered their natural tone. Her husband 
 had behaved liberally to her in money 
 matters, and (whether by accident or de- 
 sign is uncertain) there was no restriction 
 placed on her marrying again ; but of this 
 liberty she did not seem the least disposed 
 
 i
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN BE BURGh's. 191 
 
 to avail herself. Perhaps her ]3revious ex- 
 jDerience had clismclined her to make a 
 second expermient. 
 
 The death of her parents had deprived 
 her younger sister of her natural home, 
 and Norah was only too delighted to have 
 Emily for an inmate and companion. The 
 sisters were warmly attached ; though Emily, 
 being the cleverer and more resolute of the 
 two, generally assumed the direction of af- 
 fairs ; Norah placidly submitting, and, in- 
 deed, feeling very thankful to her sister for 
 saving her trouble. ]\Irs. Greville, like her 
 sister, was tall and fair, with a bright colour 
 and abundant reddish-brown hair ; but her 
 complexion had not the delicate bloom of 
 Emily's, and her hair entirely lacked that 
 marvellous tint that was the crownino^ 
 beauty of Emily's chevelure doree. 
 
 Miss Crewe was carelessly lounging in 
 an easy chair, absorbed in the third volume 
 of a novel. For so handsome a girl Emily 
 had wonderfully little vanity ; she had none 
 of that self-conscious air and manner that
 
 192 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGH S. 
 
 SO greatly detract from the beauty of many 
 women; but was frank and natural, and 
 never conveyed the idea that she was oc- 
 cupied by or thinking of herself. Though 
 always well and becomingly dressed, she 
 paid less attention to trifles than was the 
 case with her sister. It was Norah who 
 told her that her shawl was crooked or her 
 gloves a size too large for her hands; she 
 seldom noticed such things, and laughed 
 when her sister gravely pointed them out ; 
 and yet few women looked better than 
 Emily Crewe; all she put on became her, 
 and she wore her things with an easy and 
 unstudied grace peculiarly her own, and 
 which it was equally impossible either to 
 describe or to imitate. 
 
 She formed a very pretty picture as she 
 sat there reading, dressed simply in white, 
 with a broad Roman sash of brilliant 
 colouring fastened round her waist, and a 
 large gold arrow passed through the heavy 
 coils of her hair. Long dark lashes shaded 
 the eyes that were bent on the page before
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGIi's. 193 
 
 lier; beneatli them were those beautiful 
 eyes seen only in Ireland — large, and soft, 
 and grey, with the pupil and the rim nearly 
 black, giving an expression at once tender 
 and bewitching, and terribly fatal to those 
 on whom their bright glances fall, especially 
 when their fair owner is just the least taste 
 in the world of a coquette, and is fond, as 
 most Irish girls are, of having '^ a little bit 
 of fun." 
 
 Her lips were red and full, and if the 
 mouth were a trifle too wide, who could 
 find fault with it when it exhibited such 
 lovely teeth? and though it must be owned 
 that her pretty nose was neither Roman 
 nor Grecian, but leaned very much to the 
 style called in polite parlance retrousse^ still 
 it was a very pretty nose, and quite in 
 keeping with the animated, saucy Irish 
 face that was turning all the youtliful and 
 many of the elderly male heads in Rome. 
 
 " There's the carriage," she exclaimed, 
 suddenly; "and I did just want to see 
 how all this ends." 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGH's. 
 
 "Why don't you look then?" said Mrs. 
 Greville, who appeared at last to have 
 settled the rebellious dress to her satisfac- 
 tion, and was leisurely fitting on her gloves ; 
 '' I alwaA's do, if 1 am at all interested in a 
 novel." 
 
 '^ I know you do, dear," replied Emily, 
 laughing, as she threw down the book on 
 the announcement of the carriage; "you 
 look at the end when you have read half 
 a dozen chapters. That would rather de- 
 stroy its interest for me : I like to be 
 gradually worked up to a climax." 
 
 **I think mine is the most comfortable 
 way," said her sister, placidly. " I never 
 mind being disturbed when I am reading." 
 
 "And I do," replied Emily; " and if it 
 Avere not that I expect to enjoy myself 
 very much to-night, I should feel quite 
 cross at having to leave without knowing 
 whether my hero and heroine are made 
 happy." 
 
 "Oh! of course they are," said Mrs. 
 Greville. " Novels alwajs end in the same
 
 DINNER-PAllTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGR's. 195 
 
 way. But you had better look and make 
 sure of it." 
 
 " Not I," replied her sister. " I shall 
 reserve the gratification of my curiosity till 
 I come home again." 
 
 So saying, she threw a white burnous 
 over her shoulders and accompanied Mrs. 
 Oreville downstairs. 
 
 Sir John de Burgh had been fortunate 
 in securing exactly the people he wished — 
 a thing not very easy of attainment, espe- 
 cially on short notice. He rather prided 
 himself on his skill in arrang^ino: dinner- 
 parties; and held it as a primary axiom 
 that the number of guests should never, by 
 any chance, exceed ten — five ladies and five 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Piquing himself, as he also did, on his 
 gastronomic knowledge and the goodness 
 of his cook, his cuisine was famous for its 
 excellence, and he was pleased that his 
 guests should acknowledge and appreciate 
 this. His long continental residence had 
 left its traces uj)on him ; and to his former
 
 190 DINNER-rARTV AT Sill JOHN DE BURGH's. 
 
 spirit of Englisli liospirality he now added 
 a keener acquaintance with and relish for 
 the pleasures of the table, though his innate 
 breeding and refinement shone through all, 
 and rendered him at the same time the 
 genial host and the man of cultivated intel- 
 ligence, who studied to assemble beneath 
 his roof all in any v/ay distinguished by 
 their talents or accomplishments, as well as 
 by the more adventitious circumstances of 
 wealth and station. 
 
 That evenino^ Auo-usta de Bursrh lin^-ered 
 rather longer than usual at her mirror. 
 Her maid — who generally found the task of 
 adorning her a very easy one, for her young 
 mistress merely issued her orders, and then 
 taking a book buried herself in its pages — 
 on this occasion discovered that the young 
 lady was more difficult to please. 
 
 She looked up once or twice while her 
 long glossy tresses were being arranged, and 
 suggested some trifling alteration ; and after 
 two or three changes of opinion finallj"
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGH 's. 197 
 
 desired a simple but costly string of Indian 
 pearls to be twined around her classically 
 braided head, while bracelets of the same 
 clasped her white and beautifully rounded 
 arms. 
 
 The clress she had chosen to wear was a 
 soft lustrous silk, of the most delicate shade 
 of feilvery grey ; it became her admirably, 
 as she knew: and when on her toilette 
 being completed she drew around her the 
 ample folds of her graceful Spanish mantilla, 
 and glanced at herself from head to foot in 
 the large cheval glass, she might well be 
 forgiven the quick throb of gratified pride, 
 the half-disdainful look of scrutinizing 
 admiration that marked her expression as 
 she saw the reflection of her own regal 
 form and perfect features. 
 
 " Pshaw ! what a fool I am !" siie sud- 
 denly exclaimed, turning quickly from the 
 contemplation; while a rapid frown con- 
 tracted her fair brow, and one small foot 
 was stamped angrily on the carpet.
 
 198 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGh's. 
 
 Descending to the salon^ she found her 
 father there before her, a^vaitrng the arrival 
 of their friends. 
 
 He looked at her with affectionate pride 
 as she entered the room, and with slow and 
 stately step approached the place where he 
 stood; and, passing his arm round her 
 o'raceful fi2:ure, he drew her towards him 
 and pressed a fond kiss on her forehead. 
 Augusta was moved; her love for her 
 father was the one soft spot of her heart : 
 and taking his hand between both her own 
 she held it warmly to her lips, while an 
 unwonted tear rose to her lustrous eyes and 
 glittered for a moment on the long dark 
 lashes. 
 
 " You are looking very handsome to- 
 night, Augusta," said Sir John, scanning 
 her admiringly from head to foot; " you 
 are a real De Burgh: the women of our 
 house were famed for their beauty, and the 
 race does not desienerate." 
 
 " Fine feathers make fine birds," replied 
 Augusta, smiling. " This is a new dress^
 
 DINNER-PArvTY AT SIR JOHN D£ BURGh's. 199 
 
 and I think it is very prett}- ; it reminds me 
 of moonlight on a lake, the shade is so pale 
 and delicate with that shimmerinor liaht 
 falling on it as I move." 
 
 "A very graceful comparison," said her 
 father, glancing at her silken robe; '' and 
 the fair wearer might be Luna herself, with 
 her pale complexion and hair of midnight 
 darkness, and those glistening pearls bound 
 round her forehead like a chaplet of stars." 
 
 '' I declare, papa, you are quite poetical," 
 exclaimed Augusta, gaily ; " there are ideas 
 enough in that speech for half a dozen 
 sonnets. Those are the pearls you gave 
 me on my nineteenth birthday — the last 
 one I shall have in my teens !" she added, 
 with an air of mock dismay. 
 
 " They were your mother's," said Sir 
 John, gently, and vfith a shade of sorrow 
 in his face. " On her nineteenth birthday 
 I gave them to her — poor Marian ! She 
 was my wife and your mother then, 
 Augusta ; she was very young — little more 
 than seventeen, when I married her. Soon
 
 200 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGIl's. 
 
 after I gave her them she was presented at 
 Court, and she wore those pearls on that 
 occasion. How lovely she looked! how 
 young! almost childlike! Every one was 
 talking about her youth and beauty; 
 nothing like her had been seen that season ! 
 Poor little Marian !" 
 
 He shook his head sadly and looked 
 down ; very dear to him still was the me- 
 mory of his dead wife: and Augusta re- 
 spected his feelings, and remained silent. 
 
 " Some day we must go back to England," 
 he added, after a pause. " This long 
 absence is a cowardly shrinking on my part. 
 I must take you to Court, Augusta, and 
 present my daughter to the circle she is so 
 well fitted to adorn. There may be some 
 who will remember your mother, and who 
 will at least acknowledge that her daughter, 
 though unlike her in appearance, is in no 
 way inferior to her in grace and beauty." 
 
 Had he, even then, no thought for his 
 little En2;lish floweret bloominoj in the sun- 
 shine of her quiet home, whose very por-
 
 DIXXER-PAllTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGu's. 201 
 
 trait ofFerecl to him by her kind guardians 
 he had declined to receive, lest the face he 
 liad been told bore so strong a resemblance 
 to her dead mother's should too vividly re- 
 call those associations he sought to bury in 
 her grave? Alas! for his own poor little 
 Marian ! she did indeed seem to be deserted 
 and forgotten. 
 
 And now the sound of carriage- wheels 
 was heard ; and presently Monsieur le Comte 
 de Merincourt and his bright pretty little 
 wife were announced as the first arrivals. 
 
 " Now Henri ! I told you so ! I knew we 
 were too soon, and you would insist we 
 were late," said Madame, merrily, as she 
 seated herself on a low tabouret. 
 
 " It is already three minutes past the 
 hour named for dinner," replied the Count, 
 smiling ; " and I think punctuality is respect- 
 ful both towards one's host and also towards 
 his cook. Sir John's cAc^ will not feel grate- 
 ful to late guests who ruin his entrees.'' 
 
 "His powers of endurance Avill not be 
 severely tried to-day," said Sir John, gra-
 
 202 DINNER-PAllTY AT Sill JOHN DE BURGlfs. 
 
 ciously, as tlie door Avas again tlirown 
 widely open, and in rapid succession Sir 
 Charles and Lady Agnes Bellingham, Mrs. 
 Grevillc and lier sister, and two stray gen- 
 tlemen entered tlie salon. The two last 
 had been carefully selected by Sir Jolin. 
 One was Mr. Otway, a pleasant well-bred 
 Englishman of about forty, a regular diner- 
 out, and much prized in that capacity for 
 his conversational powers and the readiness 
 with which he adapted himself to the so- 
 ciety in which for the time he chanced to 
 find himself. The other w^as the young 
 Count Salvi, a very good-looking scion ot 
 the old Roman noblesse^ who added to his 
 clear olive complexion and expressive black 
 eyes a tenor voice of the most delicious 
 quality, and a thorough love and know- 
 ledge of music. When dinner was an- 
 nounced, Sir John de Burgh oifered his 
 arm to Lady Agnes Bellingham, and Au- 
 gusta fell to the charge of Monsieur de 
 Mevincourt. Unable to avoid this, it had 
 nevertheless not satisfied her; and her
 
 DlNXER-PArvTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGIl's. 203 
 
 annoyance was increased by finding that 
 Count Salvi had taken the place on her 
 other hand, while Sir Charles Bellingham 
 sat at some little distance between Madame 
 de Merincourt and Miss Crewe, the latter 
 lady having been liis companion into the 
 dining-room. Why she had hoped that 
 the young baronet might at least have 
 sat beside her it were scarcely possible to 
 say; and, however much he might have 
 wished it himself, it was perfectly imprac- 
 ticable, as Count Salvi preceded him in 
 leaving the salon and at once took the 
 place next Miss de Burgh, the other side 
 beino; left vacant for Monsieur de Merin- 
 court. But it must be owned that neither 
 of those gentlemen had much cause to 
 congratulate themselves on their prefer- 
 ence ; the usually brilliant hostess was 
 quiet and distraite ; and after receiving 
 several random answers to his observa- 
 tions, Monsieur de Merincourt concluded 
 that the young lady had a headache or 
 was out of temper, symptoms with which
 
 .t204 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGIl's. 
 
 he was not utterly unacquainted in his 
 own domestic experience ; so he wisely 
 thouglit it better to leave her to herself, 
 and judiciously applied himself to the study 
 of some peculiarly excellent supreme de vo- 
 laille, an entree for which Sir John^s chef 
 was famous. Count Salvi was more per- 
 severing. " La beir Augusta" was secretly 
 an object of w^orship to the impulsive young 
 Italian; and it had several times crossed 
 his mind that he might not be an unsuc- 
 cessful suitor were he to lay his title and 
 his ancient, though now sadly impoverished, 
 lineage at her feet. She was courteous and, 
 in her way, kind to the young noble ; his 
 lovely voice was in itself a decided passport 
 to her favour; he visited constantly at the 
 house; and Auousta and he sano; to;]jether 
 those liquid Italian duets to which both did 
 such ample justice, and which were scarcely 
 surpassed by the finest performances of 
 trained professional singers. But on this 
 occasion Count Salvi, too, found he was at 
 fault ; something had occurred to ruffle the
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGH's. 205 
 
 equanimity of the fair object of his adora- 
 tion; and quick-witted and observant, as 
 Italians generally are, he soon perceived 
 in which direction to look for the cause 
 of disturbance. 
 
 "So! so!" he muttered to himself; and 
 for a moment an expression of vexation 
 crossed his features : then lie too followed 
 the examjjle of Monsieur de Merincourt, 
 and, leaving Miss de Burgh to her own 
 reflections, he turned his attention to what 
 he considered more tempting than any su- 
 preme de volaille, the glancing dark eyes 
 and fascinating coquetteries of the Count's 
 pretty little wife, avIio met his advances 
 with charming readiness, and a very lively 
 and animated discussion was presently 
 opened up between them. 
 
 This did not at all suit the taste of Miss 
 de Burgh. Accustomed as she was to being 
 the first in nearly all companies, she was 
 peculiarly sensitive to neglect ; and to be 
 slighted in her own house and at her own 
 table was more than she could bear with
 
 20G DINNER-rARTY AT Sill JOHN DE BURGIl's. 
 
 equanimity. Yery dark grew her brow — 
 very lowering the expression of her coun- 
 tenance ; her small white teeth were pressed 
 tightly on the red under lip till its tint 
 became a burning crimson, and the sub- 
 dued anger that filled her heart showed 
 ominously in the glitter of her sparkling 
 eyes. 
 
 All this the wily Italian watched for and 
 perceived; and when he judged that the 
 proper moment was come, he turned from 
 Madame de Merincourt and once more ad- 
 dressed himself assiduously to the fair mis- 
 tress of the house. He had calculated well : 
 Aui^usta roused herself from her indio:nant 
 meditations and smiled graciously in reply 
 to some observation of the Count's : during 
 the remainder of the djnner she remained 
 cordially polite to him, and Count Salvi 
 laughed in his sleeve, congratulated him- 
 self on his diplomacy, and felt that he had 
 gained an advantage. 
 
 MeanAvhile, in other directions, all had 
 been progressing satisfactorily.
 
 DINNEIl-PAllTY AT SIR JOHN DE BUilGIl's. 207 
 
 Mrs. Greville found lier neigiiLour, Mr. 
 Otway, extremely agreeable : his stories 
 were all new to lier, and entertained lier 
 highl}^ Mr. Otway was gratified by the 
 undivided attention of so 2:ood-lookino- and 
 pleasant a woman, for her other neighbour, 
 Monsieur de Merincourt, spoke very little, 
 and devoted his energies more assiduousl}^ 
 to the carte than to conversation: so the 
 fair widow bestowed her notice almost ex- 
 clusively on Mr. Otway's piquant anec- 
 dotes and amusing descriptions of places 
 and people, and thought she had rarely 
 met a more agreeable person. 
 
 Sir Charles Bellingham, seated between 
 Miss Crewe and Madame de Merincourt, 
 found it was quite as much as he could 
 manage to keep those two lively ladies in 
 talk. He had hoped, too, that his seat might 
 have been close to that of Miss de Burgh; 
 but, unlike her, he had resigned himself to 
 the disappointment — the more easily, per- 
 haps, that he was at all times bappy to find 
 himself in the neighbourhood of Miss Crewe ;
 
 208 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGH's. 
 
 while Madame de Merincourt, greatly struck 
 by his handsome face and manly bearing, 
 was making herself more than usually 
 charming, resolutely bent on the conquest 
 of " ce jeune homme adorable!" which she 
 afterwards confided to Augusta was her 
 opinion of him. 
 
 So Sir John, in the intervals of his more 
 placid conversation Avith Lady Agnes, 
 glanced round his guests with a well-pleased 
 air, and considered he had every reason 
 to be perfectly satisfied with the success ol 
 his dinner party. 
 
 He had not observed the little by-play 
 between his daughter and Count Salvi; and 
 even if he had, would have attached small 
 importance to it. Sir John was not a man 
 of very keen discernment; and the result 
 he finally arrived at was that the arrange- 
 ment of the various guests was all that 
 could be wished. Monsieur de Merincourt 
 certainly did not appear to be in a very 
 conversable humour; but the dinner was 
 unimpeachable, and Sir John knew that
 
 DlNNER-PARTl' AT SIR JOHN DE BURGh's. 209 
 
 the Count loved a good dinner, and was 
 therefore most probably highly enjoying 
 himself after iiis own fashion. 
 
 His daughter's reflections we know to have 
 been of a less agreeable nature. To her the 
 dinner seemed endless. Course after course 
 followed each other in what she thought 
 interminable succession ; and as she observed 
 how far from wearisome the progress of time 
 was to some of her guests, the perception of 
 this, so far from mitigating her annoyance, 
 tended only to increase it. The gay talk 
 and sparkling sallies that reached her from 
 the other end of the table were in strong 
 contrast to the forced interest and attention 
 she felt herself compelled to bestow on 
 Count Salvi : she was bored and ennuijeed ; 
 and longed for the arrival of that period at 
 which she could make the signal for depar- 
 ture, and leave a scene which had afforded 
 her not one moment of enjoyment. 
 
 For though in Rome, Sir John declined 
 in everything to do as did the Romans. 
 To one old English custom he rigidly ad- 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGIl's* 
 
 lierecl — that of sitting over his wine for a 
 short time after the ladies had quitted the 
 dinner-table : and whether his guests were 
 English or foreigners he never departed 
 from this established habit. 
 
 At length Augusta felt that she might 
 go ; and glancing at Lady Agnes, who smi- 
 lingly responded, she rose from her seat, 
 and followed her lady guests into the salon, 
 
 " You are an artist, I believe, Miss de 
 Burgh ?" said Lady Agnes, stopping in front 
 of a beautiful copy of Murillo's " Madonna 
 and Child." " Are any of your perform- 
 ances in this room?" 
 
 '' The one you are looking at is mine," 
 replied Augusta. " Last year I had a mania 
 for painting, and passed hours nearly every 
 day in the galleries." 
 
 '' How lovely that is!" said Lady Agnes^ 
 admiringly; "the expression is perfect, and 
 the colouring so clear and soft. You have 
 great taste : and I know you are a musician 
 as well; you are fortunate in having so 
 many resources."
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGH^S. 211 
 
 ^' My time is very much my own/' re- 
 plied Augusta. " I should have little excuse 
 for idleness, having so few interruptions." 
 
 " Still, if you had no desire to employ 
 yourself laudably, you could, no doubt,, 
 find some good plea for evading it," said 
 Lady Agnes, smiling. '' I think you must 
 be allowed some credit for your industry. 
 It is not every young lady who can pro- 
 duce such trophies of her Italian cam- 
 paigns." 
 
 She then begged to have Augusta's other 
 paintings pointed out to her; and finally 
 seated herself by Mrs. Greville to examine 
 a portfolio of drawings, most of which Miss 
 de Burgh said were done by her father and 
 herself during their various summer wan- 
 derings. 
 
 "Your father, too!" said Lady Agnes, 
 bending over the portfolio. " He told me 
 he was very fond of the art, but did not 
 mention that he was an artist also." 
 
 " In his younger days papa sketched very 
 well," replied Augusta. " Several of his 
 
 14—2
 
 212 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN BE BURGIl's. 
 
 old ones are in this collection. Here is one, 
 taken long ago, of our home in England." 
 
 It was a highly-finished pencil-drawing 
 of the Abbey, taken from a rising ground 
 some little distance from the house, and 
 exhibiting fully its stately proportions, 
 commanding situation, and the magnificent 
 old trees which surrounded it. 
 
 ^' Oh ! let me see it," said Madame de 
 Merincourt, advancing from the causeuse 
 where she and Miss Crewe were discussing 
 the gaieties of the capital; "I have never 
 seen your English home. You never speak 
 of it." 
 
 '' I can scarcely call it my home," ob- 
 served Augusta, carelessly; " it is the house 
 where I was born ; but I was only four years 
 old when / left it, and I do not remember 
 it in the least." 
 
 " What a beautiful place !" remarked Mrs. 
 Greville; "it might belong to a duke." 
 
 " What ! and you are the heiress of all 
 that!" exclaimed Madame de Merincourt. 
 "How lucky some people are!" and she
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGIl's. 213 
 
 shrugged her pretty slioulders as she again 
 examined the sketch. 
 
 '• And this?" said Lady Agnes, taking up 
 another drawing. " What a sweet, home- 
 like place." 
 
 Something in Augusta's manner gave 
 her the idea that she did not care to have 
 the former subject prolonged ; so, with the 
 courtesy that was natural to her, she 
 hastened to change it to another topic. 
 
 "Was that in the portfolio?" exclaimed 
 Augusta, quickly; "it must have been put 
 there accidentally; I never leave it there. 
 It is Summerton, my mother's former home, 
 and my grandfather and grandmother live 
 there. It would pain papa were he to see 
 it. I will take it away, if you please." 
 
 " Summerton !" said Miss Crewe, looking 
 up from the sketch she was examining; 
 " surely that was the place where that old 
 Mr. and Mrs. Talbot lived, whom we heard 
 of at the Stanleys last summer, and that 
 pretty little girl their granddaughter, to 
 whom every one had lost their hearts. Why !
 
 214 DINNEll-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE EURGh's. 
 
 — of course ! — her name was De Burgli — 
 Marian de Burgh ! She is probably a rela- 
 tion of yours, Miss de Burgh ?" 
 
 " Mr. Talbot, of Summerton, is my grand- 
 father," replied Augusta, rather coldly; 
 " the Miss de Burgh you heard of was pro- 
 bably my sister. She lives with them." • 
 
 '^ I did not know you had a sister," said 
 Miss Crewe, in a surprised tone; " and she 
 must be very unlike you — ^fair and fragile- 
 looking, with blue eyes, and lovely golden 
 hair — can it be the same?" 
 
 " My sister is fair," replied Augusta, more 
 stiffly than before ; " but as I have not seen 
 her since she has been grown up I am not 
 familiar with her appearance." 
 
 " They said she was a very pretty crea- 
 ture," remarked Mrs. Greville, " but almost 
 a child. The Talbots and she were staying 
 in the neighbourhood, and they came to a 
 juvenile dance on little Emma Stanley's 
 birthday." 
 
 " She is past sixteen," replied Augusta, 
 ^^ scarcely a child. People with fair com-
 
 DINNER-PAPvTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGIl's. 215 
 
 plexions generally look younger than tliey 
 <are." 
 
 "Why don't you have her out here?" 
 asked Madame de Merincourt, frankly. 
 '^ You must be triste sometimes with no 
 lady in the house but yourself. A pretty 
 little sister Avould be a charming companion 
 for you." 
 
 *' I don't think I am addicted to feeling 
 triste,^' said Augusta, with a faint smile, not 
 noticing the latter part of the sentence; 
 " my time does not hang very heavy on my 
 hands." 
 
 " It can scarcely do so with your varied 
 accomplishments," observed Lady Agnes; 
 " I long to hear the beautiful voice of which 
 I have heard so much. I am. glad to see 
 the gentlemen making their appearance, as I 
 hope they will add their entreaties to mine." 
 
 " It needs no entreaty," replied Augusta 
 politely; " I shall be most happy to sing." 
 
 Sir Charles Bellingham at that moment 
 joined them, and he escorted Miss de Burgh 
 to the piano and opened it for her.
 
 21 G DINNEU-PAPvTV AT Sill JOHN DE BURGh's. 
 
 '' I am so glad wo have lost nothing," he 
 observed; "my cars Avere on the qui vive 
 for the most distant eclio of a voice." 
 
 " The sister art has occupied us until 
 now," replied Augusta, smilmg. '^ Lad}' 
 Agnes was looking at some of my travel- 
 ling sketches." 
 
 " I hope 1 may be allowed to see them 
 too," said Sir Charles, as he placed a seat 
 for the fair performer; "but I am getting 
 afraid of you, Miss de Burgh, you are so 
 terribly accomplished. You make me blush 
 for my own clo-nothingness." 
 
 " It is a very invisible blush, then, for 
 I see no trace of it," replied Augusta, 
 
 " Don't be too hard on me, please," said 
 Sir Charles, "or how shall I confess that I 
 dare not even venture to turn over your 
 music for you ; I should infallibly do it at 
 the wrong time. I never felt my ignorance 
 so keenly as now." 
 
 '^ It is dreadful," said Augusta, laughing, 
 " but I believe I can manage perfectly by
 
 DINNEll-PAllTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGIl's. 217 
 
 myself. Let me see, noAv — what shall it 
 be? Oh! this, Ithmk." 
 
 She had opened her book at the opera of 
 Linda di Chamoum, and from it she se- 
 lected the brilliant and well-known " 
 Luce di quest' anima." 
 
 She sang it to admiration. Her full 
 round notes sounded to the greatest ad- 
 vantage in the large salon^ each thrilling 
 shake and sparkling cadence rang clearly 
 out amid the perfect silence of the delighted 
 listeners, and when she had finished it she 
 was overwhelmed with compliments and 
 entreaties for more. 
 
 "How perfect!" said Mr. Otway, enthu- 
 siastically; " you need not go to the opera 
 for good music, Sir John; you have a prima 
 donna in your own house. May we beg 
 for another. Miss de Burgh?" 
 
 " Certainly," replied Augusta, reseating 
 herself; and, dashing off a light and bril- 
 liant prelude, she sang a couple of Spanish 
 songs, lively and characteristic, suggestive 
 of castanets and boleros, gay cavaliers, and
 
 218 DINNER-PAKTY AT SIR JOHN DE BUllGll's. 
 
 dark-eyed senoras with roving glances 
 darted coquettishly through their fans. 
 
 " How enviable to be the possessor of 
 such a voice," said Sir Charles, eagerly ; 
 ^' you have too many gifts, Miss de Burgh ; 
 nature has been over prodigal to you. You 
 should be labelled ' dangerous,' to give poor 
 benighted mortals fair warning." 
 
 She coloured slightly at his words, and 
 then again rising, begged Miss Crewe would 
 be kind enough to supply her place. 
 
 " I will sing willingly," replied that young 
 lady, " but I shall not require to leave this 
 very comfortable seat. I sing chiefly to the 
 guitar, and mine is in the vestibule, if you 
 will be good enough to have it brought 
 here." 
 
 Sir Charles had gone for it before the 
 sentence was finished. He returned pre- 
 sently with the instrument in his hand, and 
 the ribbon that supported it thrown across 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " No wonder those troubadour fellows 
 connnitted such havoc in the affections of
 
 DINNER-rARTr AT SIR JOHN DE BURGll's. 219 
 
 the fair chatelaines of tlieir clay," he re- 
 marked, smiling; " one feels as if one might 
 be master of the situation, backed by this 
 resplendent ribbon and a fine tenor voice. 
 I fancy the bold barons of the Middle Ages, 
 who don't appear to have been very cap- 
 tivating themselves, must have felt far from 
 enchanted when they heard of the arrival 
 of the troubadour and his lute." 
 
 " Count Salvi will, I am sure, kindly 
 represent the fraternity when Miss Crewe 
 has favoured us," observed Sir Jolin, 
 blandly. " I fear his guerdon from the said 
 bold barons would have been anything but 
 a liberal one, though the bright eyes of the 
 ladies would have done their best to reward 
 him." 
 
 The guitar was now handed to Miss 
 Crewe, who threw the broad blue ribbon 
 over her white neck, and struck a few light 
 chords to test the condition of the strings. 
 
 "Somethino; Irish," suo^o-ested Sir Charles. 
 " I should like my mother to hear some of 
 those wild ballads of which she has often
 
 220 DINNER-rARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGh's. 
 
 heard iiie speak; and Miss de Burgh, too, 
 we must iiAvake in her a taste for British 
 minstrelsy, which at present, I fear, she 
 holds very cheap." 
 
 "What shall it be, then?" said Miss 
 Crewe, pausing. " Name your song." 
 
 The perfect ease and confidence with 
 which they treated each other was highly 
 irritating to Augusta, and she felt the dis- 
 like with which, as Emily had truly guessed, 
 she had from the first regarded her, in- 
 creasing with marvellous rapidity. 
 
 Had she possessed but sufficient calmness 
 to reflect clearly, this very ease and absence 
 of reserve might have reassured her; but 
 she did not see the matter in this light, and 
 felt annoyed at the intimate footing on 
 which Miss Crewe and Sir Charles Belling- 
 ham appeared to be, while, at the same 
 time, she was angry with herself for being 
 afi^ected by it. 
 
 While she thus meditated Sir Charles 
 had decided on a song. 
 
 It was ''The Irish Mother's Lament;"
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGll's. 221 
 
 and soon even Augusta felt moved to wonder 
 and admiration at the flood of wild and 
 tender melody that floated through the 
 hushed room. The anguish of the bereaved 
 mother was poured forth as if from the 
 depths of a broken heart ; her low and 
 thrilling tones held every breath suspended; 
 and when the weird-like prolonged wail 
 rose and fell in fitful notes of despairing 
 sorrow, and then sank, at last, into a long, 
 low, expiring note that died away into 
 silence, there seemed a spell over the en- 
 tranced hearers that they appeared disin- 
 clined to break, and for some moments no 
 one either moved or spoke. 
 
 Of a truth Emily Crewe's singing was by 
 no means " tame." 
 
 "Have I bewitched you all?" said the 
 young lady, smiling at the efl'ect she had 
 produced, and to w^hich she was not at all 
 unaccustomed ; " is nobody going to make 
 me a pretty speech ?" 
 
 " You have indeed bewitched us," replied 
 Lady Agnes, who was quietly w^iping her
 
 222 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGH's. 
 
 eyes : " My dear, I have had a very great 
 treat." 
 
 " A pretty speech would be out of place 
 after a song like that," said Sir Charles, 
 warmly. '' Give us credit for better taste. 
 I was very nearly following my mother's 
 example, albeit unused to the melting 
 mood." 
 
 Augusta frowned, and her small Avliite 
 hand was clenched in momentary indigna- 
 tion. He had made a pretty speech to 
 her! He had told her glibly and frankly 
 that her singing was beyond his utmost 
 expectations ; that they had been fully 
 and much more than fully realized, highly 
 though they had been raised. All this he 
 had said to her ! While to Miss Crewe he 
 had said nothing ! and had intimated that 
 compliments would have been an insult to 
 singing like hers! His mother, too, had 
 been moved to tears ; and volatile little 
 Madame de Merincourt was sobered to 
 silence, and wore an expression of marvel- 
 ling admiration; she who usually grudged
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN BE BUllCiil's. 223 
 
 every moment that was not spent in flir- 
 tation or coquettish badinage. 
 
 All this was as gall and wormwood to 
 the haughty spirit of Augusta de Burgh, 
 and very bitter grew her aversion towards 
 Miss Crewe, who had yielded to the uni- 
 versal demand and was sounding the preli- 
 minary chords of " Kathleen Mavourneen," 
 that most exquisite of love songs. 
 
 To how many enamoured listeners had 
 she sung it, this bright Irish siren. '' It 
 may be for years, and it may be for ever," 
 had sunk deep into many a throbbing heart, 
 had proved the death-knell of many an 
 ardent aspiration. No wonder she was 
 admired and popular this girl, with a voice 
 that once heard could never by any possi- 
 bility be forgotten ; that stirred every fibre 
 of the soul, and made one long to take her 
 to the heart and hold her there for ever. 
 
 '• I think Miss de Buro;h must now re- 
 scind her former opinion of ballads," said 
 Sir Charles, appealing to her; '^ even your 
 favourite Italian music cannot be more
 
 224 mNNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN BE BURGH S. 
 
 tender or expressive than those tv.o 
 
 songs." 
 
 " Snug as we have just heard them, they 
 are undeniably beautiful," replied Augusta; 
 ''but the mass of singers would treat them 
 very differently ; they would not have the 
 same effect at all." 
 
 "That is true," observed Sir John, 
 politely ; " very few singers could give 
 them the same justice as Miss Crewe; and 
 in addition to her powers of voice and 
 expression, we have the advantage of 
 distinctly hearing every word — a most im- 
 portant point in ballad singing." 
 
 " A most primary consideration indeed," 
 said Miss Crewe, laughing, '' and one cer- 
 tainly not so common as it ought to be. 
 One constantly hears songs supposed to 
 have English words, and no one by merely 
 listening could possibly have named the 
 language in which they Avere sung. I con- 
 fess to a weakness for knowing what a song 
 is about, especially in English ballads." 
 
 " Many ballads, particularly Irish and
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGh's. 2.25 
 
 Scotch ones, are quite little histories," ob- 
 served Lady Agnes, "and contain perfect 
 episodes of love and war. Half the charm 
 of those would be gone if the words were 
 inaudible ; they would be in good hands 
 with Miss Crewe. Do 3^0 u chance to knoAv 
 any Scotch songs?" she added, addressing 
 that young lady, " or are we presuming too 
 much on your goodnature?" 
 
 "Oh, not in the least," replied Emily, 
 taking up her guitar; " I am very fond of 
 Scotch ballads too, though I am not so 
 thoroughly at home in them as in those of 
 my own country. Shall I try ^ Auld Robin 
 Gray* ? That contains one of those little 
 episodes to which you alluded." 
 
 All were of course delighted ; and after a 
 few preliminary chords she sang that grand 
 old ballad. 
 
 It was not singing only, it was acting 
 — and of the highest order. To each vary- 
 ing phase of the exquisite tale she gave its 
 appropriate expression : she was by turns 
 the simple and sorely-tried rustic maiden, 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGH's. 
 
 bereft of lier lover's counsel and s}Tiipathy, 
 tlie dutiful daughter, urged through filial 
 affection to accept a fate she loathed, and 
 finally the drooping woman, suddenly 
 roused to wild despair for a brief interval^ 
 only to sink back in hopeless anguish and 
 mournful though meek endurance of the 
 doom which it was now too late to avert. 
 
 She assumed each character introduced, 
 her voice and manner perfectly represented 
 them all. " Auld Kobin Gray's" plaintive 
 entreaties, the father's " sair urging," the 
 mother's look of piteous anxiety, were all 
 forcibly realized by her wonderful power of 
 expression; and when the touching story 
 was ended, and the last soft notes had 
 faded away into silence, there were few dry 
 eyes among her listeners, so deeply had the 
 sad love talc, so pathetically told, touched 
 all hearts among them. 
 
 " Beethoven is said to have declared he 
 would rather have composed the little air 
 of ' Eobin Adair' than all his own master- 
 pieces of genius," remarked Lady Agnes^
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGh's. 227 
 
 after a pause ; " I would rather have 
 written ^Auld Robin Gray' than all the 
 triumphs of the Italian stage." 
 
 " One can credit the fable of Orpheus 
 now," said Sir Charles, drawing a long 
 breath ; " you must trace your descent from 
 a siren, Miss Crewe." 
 
 " More likely from the Lorelei of the 
 Ehine," replied Emily, laughing, as she 
 laid aside her instrument ; " she must have 
 resembled me about the hair. No, indeed; 
 I claim no such fascinating ancestry : but 
 like an orthodox Irishwoman, I pin my 
 allegiance on Brian Boroo, of blessed 
 memory. You never knew Irish man or 
 woman who was not descended from him. 
 Now another song, Miss de Burgh, please ; 
 it is my turn for enjoyment now." 
 
 Augusta complied because it was less 
 trouble to yield to them than to refuse the 
 solicitations that followed ; and requesting 
 Count Salvi to accompany her, she per- 
 formed with him an Italian duet of great 
 beauty. ' The count afterwards sang alone ; 
 
 15—2
 
 228 DINNER- "PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGh's. 
 
 his tenor was deliciously pure and sweet, 
 and under other circumstances it would 
 have excited the greatest admiration; but 
 everything seemed to fall flat after the sensa- 
 tion created by Miss Crewe, who had ex- 
 hausted the enthusiasm of the audience 
 and reduced them to mere commonplace 
 expressions of gratification. 
 
 Augusta perceived all this only too 
 plainly; she felt that her singing, nay, she 
 herself, had been thrown into the back- 
 ground more completely than she could 
 have imagined possible, more particularly 
 in her own house ; and she retired that 
 night with feelings not the most amiable 
 towards the brilliant rival who threatened 
 to assert her supremacy at every point, and 
 to rob her of the position and pre-eminence 
 v/hich had hitherto been universally con- 
 ceded to her in the English society of 
 Rome. 
 
 " I learnt this evening that Miss de 
 Burgh has a sister," said Lady Agnes to her 
 son as they drove home from the dinner-
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGh's. 229 
 
 jDarty. " The mention of her was quite 
 accidental; it seems strange that neither 
 Sir John nor his daughter ever speak of her." 
 
 " A sister — has she?" replied Sir Charles, 
 with surprise ; " I always fancied Miss de 
 Burgh an only child and an heiress. Tiiat 
 is the general opinion, I am sure." 
 
 " She is an heiress no doubt, or at least 
 a co-heiress," said his mother. " I fancy 
 she inherits the family property, from the 
 way she spoke — a most magnificent place." 
 
 " And where is this sister ?" asked Sir 
 Charles ; " why does she not live with 
 them ?" 
 
 " That I cannot tell. Miss de Burgh gave 
 no reason for her absence ; but she lives in 
 Enoiand with her maternal ojrandfather and 
 grandmother. Miss Crewe chanced to have 
 heard of them all, and that was how it 
 transpired." 
 
 "How odd!" said Sir Charles; ''not her 
 living there, for that may be easily ex- 
 plained, but their total silence respecting 
 her."
 
 230 DINNER -PAllTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGH's. 
 
 "It is indeed," observed his mother. 
 " Miss Crewe described her as very pretty 
 and attractive ; and Miss de Burgh spoke 
 as if she were scarcely acquainted with her 
 appearance. It does not say much for 
 the warmth of her sisterly affection." 
 
 " It does not indeed," replied Sir Charles. 
 " Only that Miss de Burgh is so very beauti- 
 ful herself, one might fancy jealousy the 
 cause ; but that is impossible — she need 
 fear no rival. How very handsome she 
 looked to-night !" 
 
 "I thought you seemed to admire Miss 
 Crewe quite as much, if not more," said 
 Lady Agnes, smiling. "Miss de Burgh by 
 no means monopolized your attentions." 
 
 "I like Miss Crewe immensely," replied 
 Sir Charles, " and she is a very handsome 
 girl; and then that superb voice! But 
 really it was quite embarras de richesses 
 this evening. That little Frenchwoman 
 was very bewitching ; indeed all the ladies 
 were beauties in their way — my own dear 
 mother second to none !" He raised her
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGh's. 231 
 
 hand tenderly to his lips, and his fond 
 mother blessed him in her heart, and 
 ^vondered Avhether she should ever consider 
 iiny woman worthy of that warm and 
 affectionate nature. 
 
 Miss Crewe and her sister sat in the 
 dressing-room of the latter, having dis- 
 missed their maid and inducted themselves 
 into the attire suitable to the hour and 
 place. Mrs. Greville sat with her slippered 
 feet on the fender, lazily stirring a cup of 
 chocolate, with which beverage she was in 
 the habit of regaling herself before retiring 
 for the night. 
 
 Emily occupied a low seat close by ; she 
 was combing out the magnificent waves of 
 tawny gold that streamed over her white 
 jyeignoir — that beautiful hair which her 
 enemies called red, and her admirers 
 compared to everything they could glean 
 from the most fanciful similes of poetry or 
 imagination. 
 
 "Only to think of that little English 
 rosebud, Marian de Burgh, being the sister
 
 232 DINNER-rARTV AT Sill JOHN DE BURGH's, 
 
 of Mad am e de Brinvilliers !" she suddenly 
 exclaimed. " They must have been changed 
 at nurse. From what Ave heard, two more 
 utterly opposite sisters were never seen." 
 
 "Emily, how can you call people sucb 
 names ?" replied Mrs. Greville. " You have 
 quite a spite at poor Miss de Burgh." 
 
 '' Poor Miss de Burgh !" said Emily, 
 shrugging her shoulders. " I only wish 
 she heard you; she'd prefer being called 
 Madame de Brinvilliers, I assure you. No, 
 dear, I have no spite at her; but I suspect 
 she has a pretty fair one at me. If we w^ere 
 residing in the same house I think I should 
 take to living on eggs.' 
 
 Mrs. Greville opened her eyes for a 
 moment, then saw it, and stirred the cho- 
 colate again, muttering, " You absurd 
 girl!" 
 
 ^' I believe the little rosebud is safer in 
 England," continued Emily, after a pause* 
 '' There would certainly be some mischief 
 happening were she here. If she is the little 
 darling that the Stanleys described, there
 
 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGll's. 2^3 
 
 must be an extraordinary contrast between 
 them in every way !" 
 
 '* You are prejudiced against Miss de 
 Burgh, Emily," said her sister. "You 
 know you sometimes take those strong- 
 antipathies without any reason at all." 
 
 " Never without a reason, Norah. I may 
 not always be able to explain it, but the 
 instinct of dislike is there, and that is quite 
 sufficient for me. Confess that I am gene- 
 rally right." 
 
 " You are sometimes, no doubt ; and I 
 daresay perhaps Miss de Burgh has not a 
 very good temper. She looked rather 
 annoyed- once or twice this evening, and 
 I don't think she liked your singing so 
 much, or Sir Charles Bellingham admiring 
 it so much." 
 
 " It isn't good for us always to have our 
 own way," observed Miss Crewe; "and I 
 own that Miss de Burgh's air of patronage, 
 and the way she aifected to look down on 
 ballads, piqued me just the least little bit 
 in the world. So I thoudit a small lesson
 
 234 DINNER-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGH's. 
 
 might be beneficial to lier. I don't think 
 she half liked it, though," continued the 
 young lady, laughing. " I told you one day 
 before that she would not feel very kindly 
 towards a rival, and I suspect she honours 
 me with that position. I am convinced she 
 has a slight tendresse for Sir Charles. I 
 caught her watching us once or twice 
 during diimer with a dissatisfied look." 
 
 " Well, really, Emily, anybody would 
 have thought you and he were flirting ter- 
 ribly. Most probably Miss de Burgh be- 
 lieved you were." 
 
 ^' I don't care what she thought," replied 
 Miss Crewe; '' because in the first place we 
 were not flirting, as you know very well, 
 Norah. I have not flirted ever since — you 
 know when; and I have no intention of 
 beginning again, even with Sir Charles Bel- 
 lingham, though he is very nice, and would 
 have tempted me likely enough in the old 
 days. Heigho! what a world of change 
 it is. I am a very sober woman now, 
 Norah."
 
 DINNEll-PARTY AT SIR JOHN DE BURGh's. 235 
 
 " Not very, I am afraid," said Mrs. 
 Greville, looking at lier affectionately; 
 "but you are quieter than you were. I 
 wisli I saw you happy dear — I wish I could 
 help you in any way." 
 
 " I know you do, dearest ; but you see 
 you can't, and we won't speak about it, for 
 it does no good. Now I shall just finish 
 that third volume, to set my mind at rest 
 about all the troubles there. One likes to 
 hear of some people being happy."
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 CIIRISTxMAS AT SUMMERTON. 
 
 " Well, really, I tliink everything looks 
 uncommonly nice," said the Reverend 
 Francis Harding in a gratified tone, as he 
 stepped a little way backwards into the 
 church, and surveyed the just completed 
 preparations for Christmas-day. 
 
 The old pillars had been festooned w^ith 
 evergreens, interspersed here and there wdtli 
 bright holly -berries ; and the same decora- 
 tions had been carried round the quaint 
 little carved oak pulpit, and also fastened 
 in many places on the altar railings and 
 the corners of the high-backed pews. The 
 effect Avas extremely pretty : and as the last 
 rays of the afternoon sun slanted through 
 the narrow stained-glass windows, and fell in 
 rainbow tints on the stone flooring, they
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 237 
 
 lighted up the little building till it looked 
 quite bright and cheerful, and more in har- 
 mony with the season and its glad associa- 
 tions than was usually the case with its 
 sombre carved wood galleries and thick, 
 grey wall, stained with age, and covered 
 with ancient and modern mural tablets. 
 
 " I think it is beautiful ; I never saw 
 anything of the kind before," replied a 
 sweet female voice in answer to the remarks 
 of the young rector. " How very much 
 nicer it is than to have the church quite 
 unadorned, as has always been the case 
 here before this Christmas." 
 
 " I am glad such is your opinion, Miss 
 de Burgh," said Mr. Harding ; " and I am 
 pleased that you like the effect now it is 
 finished. You have worked at it so dili- 
 gently that it is a comfort to reflect that you 
 won't consider your labour thrown away." 
 
 "Thrown away! I should think not!" 
 replied Marian, with enthusiasm. " I am 
 quite proud of my very small share in 
 achieving such a result."
 
 238 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 
 
 For indeed it had taken the labour of 
 many pairs of hands to produce the effect 
 they were noAV admiring ; and the school- 
 mistress and a small party of her most in- 
 dustrious scholars also stood at a little dis- 
 tance, contemplating with great satisfaction 
 the consummation of two days of tolerably 
 hard work: sweetened during its progress 
 by the persuasion of the wonderful sensa- 
 tion to be created in the mind of the con- 
 gregation, when they should first behold its 
 glories on Christmas morning. 
 
 While they were gazing, Mr. Talbot 
 entered the church by a small corner door^ 
 which prevented him from being perceived 
 for a few minutes. 
 
 He also paused in silent contemplation, 
 but neither admiration nor satisfaction were 
 particularly visible as the expression of his 
 countenance; nothing but disapprobation 
 and annoyance could be traced there. His 
 eye ran rapidly over the decorations of the 
 church, and then rested with grave dis- 
 approval on the figures of his grand-
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTOX. 239 
 
 daughter and the young clergyman, who 
 occupied the foreground of what was really 
 a very pretty picture. 
 
 Marian, with sparkling eyes and glowing 
 cheeks, was still descanting on the new 
 improvements; Mr. Harding stood listen- 
 ing to her with a look of interest and of 
 perfect contentment with his position that 
 opened a new vein of uneasiness in the 
 much-disturbed mind of the worthy old 
 squire. 
 
 "Bless me! bless me! This will never 
 do at all!" he inwardly exclaimed with 
 great vexation of spirit; "what a nest of 
 hornets this plaguy young fellow is bring- 
 ing about our ears !" 
 
 He then advanced into the church, and 
 on being perceived was instantly greeted 
 by Marian with ^' Oh ! grandpapa, I am so 
 glad you have come! Did you ever see 
 anything so pretty in all your life? One 
 hardly knows the old church !" 
 
 " That is very true," replied Mr. Talbot, 
 with a blight pursing up of the lips;
 
 240 CHRISTMAS AT SU.AIMERTOX. 
 
 " the old church is certainly a good deal 
 altered." 
 
 "But I hope you like it, sir?" inquired 
 ^Ir. Harding, eagerly. 
 
 "Why, as to that," replied Mr. Talbot, 
 planting his stick firmly on the pavement, 
 " my likings and dislikings are a matter of 
 very little consequence." 
 
 " Oh ! indeed not," said the young rector, 
 interrupting him ; " your opinion has the 
 greatest weight with me, I do assure you." 
 
 The squire smiled rather feebly, and 
 again his eye glanced over the festoons of 
 evergreens. 
 
 " This is all very new to me," he ob- 
 served, pointing to them with his stick; 
 "and being new is also strange. That the 
 thing is pretty in itself I don't for a moment 
 deny; but to trick out a Christian church 
 with wreaths and garlands as if it were a 
 heathen temple goes against my notions of 
 propriety. There now, you have the truth, 
 Mr. Harding." 
 
 " But dear grandpaj^a," said Marian, 
 pleadingly, for she was shocked at the
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 241 
 
 brusqueness of his manner, and feared liis 
 remarks would hurt Mr. Hardinsr's feelinsfs, 
 " the fact of those decorations being pretty- 
 does not make them wrong. The ancients 
 adorned their temples with all that was 
 grand and costly from feelings of the 
 purest veneration. Though the worship 
 was false, the motives that actuated this 
 conduct w^ere true ; in this we may at least 
 copy them with advantage : surely our re- 
 ligion should claim everything that is best 
 at our hands ; and, above all, our churches 
 should receive the adornment that is their 
 due." 
 
 Mr. Talbot remained silent from a sensa- 
 tion of profound astonishment. To hear 
 his little simple granddaughter harangue in 
 this deliberate way annoyed him so 
 thoroughly, that for a few moments he 
 scarcely believed his own ears, and even 
 forgot to be angry at her arguments. At 
 length he recovered his self-possession, and 
 along with it his temper, which had been 
 not a little ruffled by the whole affair. 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON^ 
 
 " Bless the girl !" he mentally ejaculated, 
 *'she is becoming a perfect Jesuit on our 
 hands ! Was there no other parish in all 
 broad England, that this unlucky young- 
 priest in disguise must come and quarter 
 himself here under my very nose, to turn 
 the head of this silly child with his high- 
 church nonsense?" 
 
 All this to himself. To Marian he merely 
 said, in a caustic tone, "1 must say, Miss 
 Marian, you have your lesson very pat; 
 you really do credit to your teaching. Well, 
 well, the young people have it all their own 
 way now-a-days. The sooner old people 
 find out they are fools the better for their 
 peace of mind." 
 
 Marian blushed very deeply : partly from 
 what she felt to be her grandfather's im- 
 politeness, and partly from the observa- 
 tions he had addressed to herself. 
 
 " Sir,'* said Mr. Harding, respectfully but 
 firmly, " you mistake me very much if you 
 think I would for one moment persevere in 
 a course calculated to annoy you or hurt
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 243 
 
 your feelings in even the slightest manner. 
 You are the patron of this church, and in 
 much kindness bestowed it upon me. You 
 have, therefore, a thorough right to express 
 your sentiments as to anything that goes on 
 within its walls. Nothing would grieve me 
 more than to find you disapproved of any 
 proceeding of mine ; therefore you have only 
 to say the word, and those decorations shall 
 be immediately stripped off, and the place 
 restored to its former condition." 
 
 Had Mr. Harding been the Jesuit Mr. 
 Talbot felt strongly inclined to call him, 
 he could not have taken a better course to 
 disarm the irascible but generous old man 
 with whom he had to deal. Manliness and 
 straightforward conduct always find favour 
 in the eyes of a true Briton ; and Mr. Talbot 
 was a thorough John Bull to the very back- 
 bone — hot and hasty as the humour seized 
 him, but full of contrition and liberality 
 when the moment of excitement was past. 
 
 He was completely mollified by the frank 
 bearing of the young clergyman ; and for- 
 
 16—2
 
 244 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 
 
 getting for tlie instant the peril to his 
 pretty granddaughter, he hastened to make 
 all the amends in his power for his late 
 ebullition of temper. 
 
 " Not a word more, my dear sir — not a 
 word more," he exclaimed, extending his 
 hand very cordially to Mr. Harding. '' 1 
 was a little annoyed for a moment I allow, 
 and spoke rather too sharply ; but we will 
 say no more about it. The decorations 
 shall remain as they are ; they are certainly 
 very pretty, and in time I shall perhaps get 
 used to the novelty. Indeed, we old- 
 fashioned mortals must m^ake up our minds 
 to a good many changes, or we shall soon 
 find ourselves laid entirely on the shelf." 
 
 There was perfect amity after this, though 
 the subject of the evergreen wreaths was 
 tacitly avoided ; discretion in this case being 
 decidedly the better part of valour. 
 
 They soon afterwards parted — Mr. Talbot 
 before leaving renewing a previous invitar 
 tion to Mr. Harding to partake of th^ir 
 Christmas cheer on the day following, a
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 245 
 
 proposal which the young clergyman very 
 gladly accepted. 
 
 When Marian and her grandfather had 
 j)roceeded a little way along the crisp, frosty 
 Toad, there came a reaction to the mind of 
 the old gentleman, and he once more re- 
 inembered all his fears and misgivings. 
 
 '' Xot a bad young fellow though — only 
 sadly idiotic in his ideas," he exclaimed, 
 thumping his stick energetically on the 
 ground. 
 
 '' Who ? Mr. Harding, grandpapa ?" said 
 ^larian, with a merry laugh, as she hung on 
 the old gentleman's arm. 
 
 '' You little monkey ! who spoke to you ?" 
 said Mr. Talbot, hurriedly ; for he was 
 taken aback, and hardly knew what he had 
 uttered aloud. " Yes, I mean Mr. Hard- 
 ing; who is a high-flown young goose, 
 though I don't deny that he has the feel- 
 ings of a gentleman ; and there he is 
 comins^ to dine with us to-morrow. Old 
 fool I am!" 
 
 " Well, grandpapa, T am sure you will
 
 240 CHRISTMAS AT SUxMMERTON. 
 
 get on beautifully; for a young goose and 
 an old fool must be tbe very fittest company 
 for one another!" Marian glanced saucily 
 at her grandfather as she said this, and her 
 bright blue eyes were brimful of merriment 
 at her little joke. 
 
 " What a little baggage it is !" said Mr. 
 Talbot, shaking his head at her; and then 
 pursuing the current of his musings, but 
 this time inaudibly, he ruefully reflected 
 how pretty she was, and how, having 
 nothing else to do, it would be the most 
 natural thing in the world for her to fall 
 over head and ears in love with this young 
 parson. 
 
 ^* Oh, dear! oh, dear!" he exclaimed to 
 himself; "all my troubles are beginning 
 now, and a pretty taking Sir John will be 
 in when I have to write to him about his 
 would-be son-in-law. Well, it is entirely 
 his own fault for neglecting his own proper 
 duty. If Marian had been with him this 
 would never have happened." 
 
 On their return home they found some
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 247 
 
 friends just arriving who had come to spend 
 Cliristmas at Sumraerton ; so Mr. Harding 
 and the church decorations were for the 
 time forgotten. 
 
 The party of visitors consisted of a 
 nj other, son, and two daughters, of the 
 name of Warburton. The latter were two 
 pretty girls of eighteen and twenty; the 
 son, a rather good-looking young man, of 
 twenty-four, was the possessor of a small 
 estate in a neighbouring county ; while the 
 mother was an astute, elderly matron, who 
 had an eye to the co-heiress-ship of Marian 
 de Burgh, and thought she would be a very 
 excellent investment as a wife for her son. 
 " A pretty girl, my dears," she observed to 
 her daughters, in the privacy of her own 
 dressing-room. " She seems very gentle 
 and amiable, too. You must contrive that 
 Henry is frequently left alone with her." 
 
 Henry was Mr. Warburton. 
 
 Christmas morninsr rose brio;ht and beau- 
 tiful, and after breakfast the whole party 
 set off for church. The congregation sat
 
 248 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 
 
 fixedly regarding the decorations, some 
 faint hint of which tliey had previously 
 received; but beyond a few solemn and 
 oracular shakes of the head from some of 
 the old stagers, who disliked everything 
 new, and held improvements and innova- 
 tions to mean one and the same thing, the 
 general feeling appeared to be admiration 
 and approval. 
 
 Many of them indeed were the parents of 
 the children who had helped in the work 
 of adornment, and had heard of its progress 
 and of the interest taken in it by the kind 
 young lady who w^as so good to them all ; 
 objections could scarcely be looked for from 
 them. So the debut of the evergreens was 
 highly satisfactory. Mrs. Warburton and 
 her daughters admired them greatly as 
 they walked home from church, for the day 
 was so fine that the carriage had been dis- 
 pensed with. 
 
 "Whose suggestion were they?" she 
 asked Marian, who chanced to be beside 
 her ; " I scarcely expected to find such
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 249 
 
 enlightened ideas prevailing in this primi- 
 tive spot." 
 
 '' ]\Ir. Harding proposed them," replied 
 Marian ; " he had often seen them, we 
 never had." 
 
 ^^ And I suppose you aided him in carry- 
 ing the design into effect?" observed Mrs. 
 Warburton, blandly. " Feminine taste was 
 visible in the graceful manner in which the 
 wreaths were twined." 
 
 '' I cannot take much credit to myself," 
 said Marian, smiling ; '' Mr. Harding de- 
 signed and arranged everything ; I was 
 merely a humble instrument." 
 
 '' Well, the result was admirable, who- 
 ever suggested it," continued Mrs. Warbur- 
 ton, approvingly ; " I suppose you are a 
 very active person in the parish in the way 
 of visiting the people, and taking a super- 
 vision of the school? My girls do this 
 regularly." 
 
 "I go about a little," replied Marian, 
 modestly ; " but I can hardly call myself 
 active, and I certainly take no supervision
 
 250 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 
 
 of the school. Indeed, the children are 
 becoming so learned, I should be quite 
 afraid of committing myself; I go there 
 occasionally, and listen in respectful 
 silence." 
 
 Mrs. Warburton returned to the charge 
 at luncheon, when the whole party were in 
 full conclave. After some fresh commenda- 
 tion of the decorations, she proceeded to 
 discuss the service and the clergyman. 
 
 '^He is very High Church, I can tell 
 that at once ;" she remarked, as she helped 
 herself to a second cutlet ; " he almost in- 
 toned everything, and I observed that he 
 turned his face to the east during the 
 Creed. How long has he been here, Mr. 
 Talbot ? I was surprised to find your 
 incumbent such a young man; I should 
 have fancied you would have preferred an 
 older one. Is he married?" 
 
 She half glanced at Marian as she said 
 this ; and the young girl felt her cheeks 
 burn and her ears tingle, for, simple and 
 unworldly as she was, the tendency of Mrs.
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 251 
 
 Warburton's remark Ava? not lost on her, 
 and she felt indignant at its coarseness. 
 
 Her grandfather came to her rescue, for 
 he could be acute enough sometimes, and 
 he wished both to satisfy Marian and to 
 quell the unpleasant curiosity of her in- 
 quisitor. 
 
 " Mr. Harding is not married so far as I 
 know," he observed; "but he has been 
 here a very short time, so a Mrs. Harding 
 may step in some fine day. But if he is as 
 High Church as you imagine, he probably 
 regards matrimony as an impropriety ; the 
 followers of this new school all hold it in 
 utter horror, do they not?" 
 
 Mrs. Warburton saw through him di- 
 rectly. She was a sharp woman, and 
 prided herself on her knowledge of the 
 Avorld, and she had no idea of being put 
 down in this way. 
 
 "Well, I do think a parish clergyman 
 should always be a married man," she re- 
 marked, in a decided tone ; "it is one of 
 the duties of his calling, and it is far better
 
 '^o:Z CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 
 
 in every way. I am happy to say our 
 rector is married, and is quite elderly. I 
 should never have countenanced much 
 intercourse with him unless this had been 
 the case. One never knows what may 
 happen." 
 
 "Mr. Harding dines here to-day," said 
 Mr. Talbot, " so you may be able to extract 
 from him his views regarding matrimony. 
 He has a very snug little parsonage; it 
 would be almost a pity to condemn him to 
 celibacy. There is a very nice flower 
 garden, especially designed for the gratifi- 
 cation of a lady, which will be lost if he 
 does not marry." 
 
 Mrs. Warburton said no more on the sub- 
 ject for the present, and the conversation 
 flowed into other channels. 
 
 In the afternoon, the young people went 
 into the park for a walk ; and the Miss 
 AVarburtons dutifully strove to obey their 
 mamma's commands by trying very hard 
 to leave their brother alone with Marian. 
 But this they found no easy task; Marian's
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 253 
 
 disinclination to be left with the young 
 gentleman was just as strong as their incli- 
 nation to absent themselves. They tried 
 quick walking, and said they felt cold. 
 Miss de Burgh remarked that a brisk round 
 would be the very thing on such a sharp 
 afternoon, and instantly accelerated her 
 pace, so they were utterly foiled in their 
 design. They then attempted lagging 
 behind, affecting to admire the view ; but 
 Marian met them here too, and accom- 
 modating her steps to theirs, she began to 
 describe the features of the landscape, and 
 to point out objects especially worthy of 
 note. 
 
 So the sisters had nothing for it but to 
 submit to their fate, and they finally re- 
 turned to the house with their desire as 
 thoroughly unaccomplished as when they 
 set out. 
 
 " Very likely this Mr. Harding is at the 
 bottom of it," said astute Mrs. War- 
 burton, when the young ladies had reported 
 their failure ; "if she has any fancy for
 
 254 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 
 
 him she will try to keep all eligible men 
 at a distance, for fear of the consequences 
 bringing about a crisis. I shall watch 
 them very closely this evening and form 
 my own conclusions. And you Lucy and 
 Fanny must engage Mr. Harding's attention 
 as much as you can, so as to give Henry 
 a chance of making himself agreeable. 
 She cannot avoid him so easily in a room, 
 especially when other people are present." 
 " The Miss Warburtons are nice enough 
 girls, if they would leave that brother of 
 theirs alone;" thought the fair Marian to 
 herself, as she sat weaving a chaplet of 
 holly to wear in her hair at dinner. "I 
 think him remarkably tiresome with his 
 compliments and his sentimental nonsense 
 — if he fancies I like that style of talk he 
 is very much mistaken — isn't he, Don?" 
 This to her canine favourite, who lay 
 stretched at her feet. " Aijd they are for 
 ever singing his praises to me, as if I care 
 the least bit about him. ^ Henry is so 
 good,' ^ Henry is so clever;' you and I
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 255 
 
 differ from them on that point, don't we, 
 Don ? You are a far pleasanter companion 
 for a walk, you nice old dog !" Don cocked 
 his silky ears and wagged his tail in 
 mute approval of his young mistress's 
 sentiments; and submitted with admirable 
 patience to have the holly wreath tried on 
 his shaggy head that Marian might judge 
 of its effect on her own. 
 
 " And how they tried to leave him with 
 me this afternoon," continued the young 
 lady, pursuing her reflections, and a 
 little peal of silvery laughter ran through 
 the room at the remembrance of the Miss 
 Warburtons' defeated stratagem. "I could 
 not help seeing what they were about, it 
 was so glaringly palpable : but they could 
 not manage it, Don, I was too sharp for 
 them: so I hope they wont try it again. 
 That Mrs. Warburton is a very tiresome, 
 disagreeable woman," she deliberated, after 
 a short pause : " I hate those nasty in- 
 uendoes of hers, so very unladylike; and 
 Yv^hat does it matter to her whether Mr.
 
 256 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 
 
 Harding is young or old? Good old grand- 
 papa, how nicely he helped me there; and I 
 was so frightened he would agree with her, 
 for somehow or other I have an idea that 
 he does not care very much for Mr. Hard- 
 ing." Her reflections were interrupted here 
 by the entrance of her maid to dress her for 
 dinner; and in an hour or so afterwards she 
 entered the drawing-room looking like a 
 charming Christmas fairy in white silk and 
 dark shining holly wreaths, the scarlet ber- 
 ries glancing on hair and breast, a most be- 
 coming as well as seasonable style of coiffure. 
 Mr. Warburton felt more enamoured 
 than ever : the previous evening and 
 the walk of the afternoon had cast 
 this young gentleman into a fever of 
 admiration, which all Marian's reserve and 
 avoidance liad not sufficed to diminish. 
 ''Dear Henry" was of the genus popularly 
 termed ''green," and very thoroughly un- 
 der the dominion of that practical lady, 
 his mother. He saw with her eyes, and 
 heard with her ears: she had suggested
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 257 
 
 to liirn the propriety of his falling in love 
 Avitli Miss de Burgh, and he had without 
 loss of time proceeded to obey her injunc- 
 tions ; greatly aided, we must confess, in his 
 laudable endeavour, by the extreme grace 
 and beauty of the fair object of his affec- 
 tions. If she had looked lovely in a high 
 white muslin the evening before, she per- 
 fectly dazzled him now in her glistening 
 silk attire and brilliant holly berries : she 
 did indeed look very beautiful, her thorough 
 simplicity and absence of self-consciousness 
 enhancing the effect of her loveliness, and 
 more eyes than Mr. Warburton's rested on 
 her with unbounded admiration. 
 
 An elderly neighbouring squire, his son, 
 and Mr. Harding, were the only additions 
 to the party. The two Mr. Neelds were 
 noted fox-hunters; honest, good-hearted 
 men, who enjoyed a bottle of old port and 
 a rubber afterwards, with both of which 
 desiderata they were supplied by their host, 
 who had himself a similar weakness. 
 
 After dinner the seniors all sat down to 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 
 
 whist, leaving the young people to take 
 care of themselves. Marian sang a few of 
 her sweet English ballads, and the Miss 
 Warburtons chirped through a couple 
 of very small Italian duets, and then 
 matters came rather to a standstill. Miss 
 de Burgh saw plainly enough that music 
 was not the taste of the general company ; 
 while she sang, the other young ladies 
 smoothed out their tarlatan es and ar- 
 ranged their bracelets and rings, while their 
 brother remained fixedly gazing at her in 
 a most unpleasant manner, but clearly not 
 hearing a word of her songs. 
 
 Young Mr. Neeld stood in an attitude 
 of attention, but every now and then yawn- 
 ing in a surreptitious manner, and looking 
 excessively uninterested. Mr. Harding- 
 alone evinced any appreciation of her en- 
 deavours at entertainment ; he turned the 
 pages of the Miss Warburtons duet, and 
 drank in with silent enjoyment the soft, 
 liquid tones of Marian's voice.
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTOX. 259 
 
 Another and another he still asked for, 
 <ind Marian willingly, gratified him; till 
 chancing to observe a most formidable 
 yawn on the part of Mr. John Neeld, it 
 occurred to her that while she and Mr. 
 Harding were doubtless very j)leasantly en- 
 gaged, the remaining juniors of the party 
 probably did not very well know what to 
 do with themselves. She started up in- 
 stantly, quite shocked at her inattention to 
 her other guests. 
 
 "What should you like to do?" she in- 
 nocently inquired of the eldest Miss War- 
 burton, Avho had just settled her bracelets 
 entirely to her mind, and was furtively 
 contemplating their effect on her round 
 white arm. 
 
 ^' Well, I don't know, I'm sure," replied 
 the young lady she addressed; ''anything 
 you like." 
 
 This was not a very valuable suggestion, 
 and Marian still stood in doubt as to what 
 course was most advisable, when young 
 
 17—2
 
 2fiO CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 
 
 Mr. Neeld stcppin,i>' forward with alacrity, 
 proposed a round game. Marian involun- 
 tarily glanced at ]\Ir. Harding. 
 
 " I interpret that look," he observed, 
 with a smile; "but T beg you will on no 
 account consider me. Though I do not 
 care to join your game, I shall find abun- 
 dant entertainment in the various books of 
 engravings I see scattered about.'* 
 
 Marian, however, v/ould not hear of this. 
 She produced cards, and saw the others all 
 comfortably seated at a round game ; while 
 she declined joining it herself, that the 
 young clergyman might not feel himself 
 neglected or out of place. 
 
 " Would music disturb them, do you 
 think, Miss de Burgh ?" he observed, with 
 a rueful glance at the two quartettes of en- 
 grossed players; " some people object to it 
 during whist." 
 
 *' It wont matter the least to the round 
 game,'' replied Marian, smiling; "and I 
 don't think whist, as pla3^ed in this house, 
 is of so tremendous a nature as to require
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 261 
 
 silence. Should voii like another son 2: or 
 two?" She rose and moved towards the 
 phmo as she spoke. 
 
 " I could listen to shiging like yours a 
 whole evening," said the young man as he 
 followed her to the distant instrument: 
 ^' such a treat very seldom falls in my way." 
 His eyes met those of Marian as he said 
 this, and a bright blush rose to cheek and 
 brow as she bent over the music to conceal 
 her confusion. Mrs. Warburton saw the 
 look and the blush, and though she could 
 not hear the words that gave rise to it, she 
 could pretty Avell divine their nature. 
 
 She had observed the whole manuoevre, 
 as she called it, by which her son and 
 daughters were safely settled out of the 
 way, and Miss de Burgh and the young 
 clergyman left to pursue in a comfortable 
 manner Avhat she chose to consider their 
 flirtation. 
 
 So keen had been her interest in the 
 entire proceeding, and so great her annoy- 
 ance and indignation, that she trumped her
 
 26.2 CHRISTMAS at summerton. 
 
 partner's very best diamond, and thereby 
 lost a trick, which eventually caused the 
 loss of the game. 
 
 Mr. Talbot arched his eyebrows when 
 the mistake was committed. Little recked 
 he of the contending emotions that agitated 
 the bosom of his serene-looking opposite 
 neighbour. The worthy old gentleman's 
 back was turned to the young people;, 
 besides, being of an unsuspicious nature, 
 Mrs. Warburton's wide range of ideas could 
 never by any means have entered into his 
 simpler conceptions. 
 
 Songafter songwas poured forth unheeded,, 
 save by one pair of eagerly-listening ears, un- 
 less the strained and painful attention of Mrs. 
 Warburton were to be classed as listening. 
 
 Mr. Talbot was engrossed with his game, 
 Mrs. Warburton felt helpless, and nearly 
 an hour passed by without any interruption 
 to the young couple at the piano. 
 
 Mr. Harding felt in Elysium ; Marian 
 Avas simply happy. She liked Mr. Harding, 
 was glad that her singing afforded him.
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 263 
 
 pleasure ; and the little intervals of conver- 
 sation between each song were so pleasant 
 that they grew longer and longer, till flesh 
 and blood in the person of Mrs. Warburton 
 could stand it no longer, and she at length 
 burst forth with, " Dear Mrs. Talbot, are 
 you not afraid your sweet granddaughter 
 ^vi[l over-fatigue herself ? Young men are 
 so thoughtless ; and Mr. Harding seems 
 especially so. I am sure he has detained 
 her at the piano more than an hour. She 
 will certainly injure her voice." 
 
 Thus adjured, both Mr. and Mrs. Talbot 
 looked round; when a very pretty, if not a 
 very gratifying tableau presented itself to 
 their eyes. 
 
 Mr. Harding, with admiration written 
 in every look and gesture, was bending over 
 the fair songstress, apparently reading the 
 words of the song she had just finished; 
 while Marian, her loveh^ face flushed with 
 excitement, sat droopingly beside him, her 
 eyes fixed on the keys of the instrument, 
 her fingers playing with a pendant chain.
 
 . 264 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMKRTON. 
 
 To a i^ruclent guardian the picture was 
 certainly objectionable; and Mr. Talbot felt 
 at this moment that lie was not a prudent 
 guardian, and all his old prejudices against 
 the unlucky young clergyman instantly re- 
 sumed their former strength. 
 
 He only waited till the end of a game, 
 then just at hand, when rising suddenly 
 from the table he declared he had had 
 enough of it, and desired Marian to come 
 and take his place till the conclusion of the 
 rubber. 
 
 Marian obeyed, but we must confess 
 rather reluctantly. She was not parti- 
 cularly fond of whist, though she had 
 learnt and often played it for the gratifi- 
 cation of the old couple ; and her late 
 tete-a-tete had been very pleasant, and she 
 was sorry when it was so suddenly dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 " 1 am sure, my dear, we are all very 
 much obliged to you," said Mrs. War- 
 burton, as her young partner took the seat 
 so unceremoniously assigned to her. '' You
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUM^^IERTON. 265 
 
 luive oiven us a !2:reat treat, and Mr. Hard- 
 iiig must be much flattered by the kind 
 manner in which you have devoted yourself 
 to his amusement. I fear the other gentle- 
 men will be quite jealous." 
 
 The covert sting of this little speech was 
 not lost even on the unsophisticated mind 
 of ^larian; though beyond a faint accession 
 of colour, she evinced no sign that it had 
 annoyed her, merely bowing in graceful 
 acknowledgment of the compliment in its 
 commencement. The game went on to its 
 conclusion ; but unless it were Avorthy Mr. 
 Xeeld, the players felt but little interest 
 in it. 
 
 The entrance of a tray with refreshments 
 was a welcome relief. Over the wine and 
 water and biscuits the party once more 
 assimilated ; Mrs. Warburton contrived to 
 eno;ao;e ]\[r. Hardins; in conversation, and 
 her son had the supreme felicity of assisting 
 the fair Marian to a glass of cold water and 
 a maccaroon! 
 
 Soon afterwards the visitors took their
 
 26G CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON, 
 
 leave; Mr. Harding accepting Mr. Neeld's 
 offer of a set-down at the gate of liis parson- 
 age, by which lie was saved from a cold, 
 dark walk, through snow too, which was 
 then falling heavily. The home party then 
 separated also ; Mrs. Warburton disliked 
 late hours, unless for some good and eligi- 
 ble reason. '' They were injurious,'' she 
 said, "both to the health and the coni- 
 plexion ;" and as Marian had contrived to 
 ensconce herself in a corner, and was teach- 
 ing her younger daughter a new stitch in 
 crochet, she did not regard the situation of 
 affairs as sufficiently interesting to lead to 
 a breaking through of her established 
 rules. So she wished everyone " good 
 night," and proceeded to select her chamber- 
 candlestick ; and soon the entire circle had 
 dispersed to their various apartments, some 
 to slumber, and one or two of them to very 
 uncomfortable reflections. Among the latter 
 Avas good old Mr. Talbot. 
 
 " My dear," said he, when alone with his 
 helpmate, to whom as a matter of course he
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTOX. 267 
 
 always unbosomed himself; "my dear, this 
 sort of thing wont do at all. I can't have 
 that young parson coming here and making 
 love to Marian. The girl is a soft little 
 goose, who has not seen half-a-dozen young- 
 men in her life, and probably thinks him 
 perfection. Prevention is better than cure ; 
 the thing must be stopped somehow, and 
 without loss of time." 
 
 *'Mr. Harding is a very nice gentlemanly 
 young man," replied Mrs. Talbot, musingly; 
 " but I suppose her father would never 
 give his consent ? " 
 
 " Give his consent!" exclaimed her hus- 
 band, ''• I believe he would see her dead 
 sooner. He is a very proud man, my dear, 
 that father of Marian's; and with her 
 beauty and the wealth that must come to 
 her share under any circumstances, he will 
 probably think nothing under a nobleman 
 good enough for her." 
 
 " He seems to think very little about her 
 in any way," observed Mrs. Talbot, in an 
 injured tone; "I am sure no one has less
 
 '2C)S CIIllISTMAS AT SUMMEllTON. 
 
 right than he to interfere with anything 
 that concerns her happiness. It has entered 
 very Uttle into his calculations." 
 
 " That is all very true, my dear," replied 
 ]Mr. Talbot ; "but I rather doubt his re- 
 garding it from that point of view. And 
 I must say for my oxni part, though Mr. 
 Harding is a gentleman-like young fellow, 
 and seems to have no particular harm in 
 him beyond those ridiculous High Church 
 crotchets, he is hardly a match for our little 
 rosebud, Marian. The best in the land is 
 not too good for mv little oirl; she would 
 grace any station. No, no; we must keep 
 her out of that young man's v/ay: she is 
 not for him." 
 
 " It wont be very easy to prevent their 
 meeting here," said his wife ; " what with 
 the school and her old people, Marian is 
 constantly going about the village, the very 
 place for them to encounter each other." 
 
 " Well, my dear, you must find some ex- 
 cuse to stop this visiting for the present — 
 so much of it, at least. Either you or I
 
 cjiius'nrAS at summerton. 2G9 
 
 must accoinpaBy Marian as much as pos- 
 sible. Poor cliild ! I am loath to interfere 
 with her iiinocent little pursuits ; her life is 
 ([uiet enough, with not much of variety in 
 it; but just for a little we must exercise 
 caution." 
 
 " If her father would only take her out 
 to Italy for a time/' suggested Mrs. Talbot ; 
 '' it would be the very thing under present 
 circumstances." 
 
 '' Xo doubt of that, my dear," replied her 
 husband ; " but I fear relief wont come 
 from that quarter. We must just look to 
 the poor child's welfare ourselves." 
 
 The Warburton quartette had made a 
 gathering point of their mother's dressing- 
 room, and. sat there discussing the evening 
 and its results. 
 
 " That bothering parson," observed "Hen- 
 ry," crossly; "he put all my plans out. 
 What right had he to come to dinner, and 
 then give himself those stuck-up airs of 
 being too good to join in a round game? 
 I meant to have had Miss de Burirh for
 
 270 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 
 
 my partner; in place of which, there she 
 went sitting out talking to him. It was 
 enough to provoke a saint." 
 
 " It really was," replied his mother, sooth- 
 ingly. " I saw through the whole manoeu- 
 vre; very likely they had arranged it all 
 beforehand. I don't think Miss de Burgh 
 is quite so simple as I imagined her at first; 
 she has been very ready with her answers 
 once or twice." 
 
 "And I am sure, mamma, that she con- 
 trives to avoid doing what she does not 
 fancy," remarked Fanny Warburton: ''she 
 was as determined as possible not to walk 
 alone with Henry yesterday ; we tried to 
 leave them in everyway, didn't we, Lucy?" 
 
 " Indeed we did," said her sister ; " and 
 I am sure she saw it too, for I caught her 
 smiling once when she stopped to tell us 
 something about a view, when there really 
 was no view at all. I felt convinced she 
 was laughing at us." 
 
 "Why did you not tell me that?" ex- 
 claimed Mr. Warburton, indignantly : " I
 
 CHRISTMAS xVr SUMMERTON. 271 . 
 
 wont have girls laughing at ine; and I 
 am sure if she prefers that sneaking par- 
 son, she is quite welcome to him, for all 
 I care.'^ 
 
 " Lucy, my clear, I wonder at you," re- 
 plied her mother, reprovingly: "you must 
 have been mistaken, my love : Miss de 
 Burgh would never do such an unladylike 
 thing as to laugh at guests staying in her 
 gTandfather's house. She is quite a lady, 
 I will say that for her: but probably a 
 little spoilt from living with the old couple 
 here, who evidently think her perfection." 
 
 Her son\s angry outbreak had rather 
 alarmed the scheming parent; and she 
 wished to smooth matters over in the best 
 way possible, so as to retain his allegiance 
 both to herself and to Miss de Burgh. 
 
 "' Several other people are coming here 
 to-morrow," she continued in a bland tone : 
 " Mrs. Talbot told me so, mentioning that 
 they had been disappointed in earlier arri- 
 vals. This will be better than the present 
 mere family circle, when any attentions of
 
 272 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMERTON. 
 
 yours, my clear Henry, are apt to have a 
 very marked appearance, which Miss cle 
 Burgh perhaps objects to just yet. I will 
 contrive that you sliall be a good deal thrown 
 together, in an apparently accidental man- 
 ner : and it will be yours, my dear boy, to 
 make the most of your opportunities/' 
 
 " But if that parson fellow keeps hanging 
 about her, what can I do?'' rejoined her son, 
 rather sulkily. 
 
 " I don't think you need fear him much," 
 said his mother, placidly : ''I shall do my 
 best to put a spoke in his wheel to-morrow; 
 indeed, I am inclined to think it will scarcely 
 be necessary, for Mr. Talbot did not look 
 at all satisfied with the position of matters 
 this evening." 
 
 " Well, I am not going to be made a 
 cat'spaw of by any girl," observed Henry, 
 still somewhat resentfully. " If she fancies 
 the parson, let her have him by all means; 
 I don't care." 
 
 '' We shall see," said his mother, cheer-
 
 CHRISTMAS AT SUMMEllTON. 273 
 
 fully : " and now off to bed, every one of 
 you, or we shall all be looking like ghosts 
 to-morrow morning. Nothing so bad as 
 late hours for the health or the com- 
 plexion." 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 It was the day of the Warburtons^ depar- 
 ture from Summertori, and Marian very 
 gleefully recalled this to mind as she tripped 
 downstairs to assume her usual functions at 
 the breakfast table : from which self-gratu- 
 lation of the young lady's it will pretty 
 clearly be divined how Mr. Henry had pros- 
 pered in his suit. 
 
 More than ten days had elapsed since the 
 two conversations recorded in the last 
 chapter. 
 
 Several sets of visitors had come and 
 gone, the neighbouring families had been 
 hospitably entertained, and still Mrs. War- 
 burton, her son and daughters lingered at 
 Summerton, until even the patience of their
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 275 
 
 much-enduring host and hostess was begm- 
 ning to be exhausted. 
 
 But at length an invitation reached 
 them of so important a nature as to deter- 
 mine Mrs. Warburton on acceptmg it and 
 quitting their present comfortable abode. 
 
 The fact was duly announced, and re- 
 ceived with faintly polite remonstrance on 
 the part of Mrs. Talbot ; Avhile Marian bent 
 her head over her work to conceal the satis- 
 faction that she felt must be radiating from 
 her countenance. 
 
 Not that she disliked the Miss Warbur- 
 tons at all, indeed she had rather a regard 
 for them, cemented, as young-lady friend- 
 ships chiefly are, by the mutual interchange 
 of new stitches in fancy work, new music, 
 and the discovery that several pet and 
 treasured lines of poetry are also very highly 
 prized by the friend. 
 
 Since that untoward afternoon walk, 
 Fanny and Lucy had left their mother to 
 Avork out her own arrangements for Henry's 
 matrimonial projects; in consequence of 
 
 18—2
 
 276 TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 wliicli Miss de Burgli had taken them into 
 favour, and her manner to them was quite 
 cordial and afFectionate. They were good, 
 unaffected, simple-minded girls if left to 
 themselves, and Marian really liked them ; 
 but she had very strong objections to their 
 mother and brother, and it was over their 
 departure that she especially rejoiced. 
 
 A large party had assembled round the 
 breakfast table, for the house was full of 
 visitors — old, young, and middle-aged. 
 
 Mr. Talbot was opening out the post-bag 
 when Marian entered — an office he always 
 reserved for himself; the butler standing at 
 hand with a salver to carry the various 
 epistles to their respective owners. 
 
 There was comparative silence for a short 
 time while people occupied themselves in 
 mastering the missives they had received; 
 then one by one they began to announce 
 little pieces of intelligence which had been 
 retailed to them by their correspondents. 
 
 '' Such a long letter from Rome, from my 
 cousin Lady Sarah Digby," observed Mrs.
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 277 
 
 Warburton, "and containing news that will 
 interest you, my dear Mrs. Talbot, and you 
 too, ]\Iiss de Burgli. Lady Sarah has fre- 
 quently been meeting your papa and sister, 
 my dear; and there is quite a long bit 
 about them. I had better read you what 
 she says." 
 
 Marian felt her cheeks be^rinnino' to qIow 
 and her heart to throb painfully while Mrs. 
 Warburton fumbled over the crisp foreign 
 paper, till at last she hit on the proper 
 paragraph. 
 
 " Oh ! here it is. ' Rome is so full, so 
 gay, so charming : never was so brilliant a 
 season. Balls and parties of all kinds follow 
 each other in rapid succession. There are 
 some very agreeable additions to the English 
 clique; and the beautiful Miss de Burgh 
 and her father have again taken a house 
 here, where they entertain lavishly. She 
 is still the belle par excellence, and is indeed 
 a glorious creature; but a very handsome 
 and captivating Irish girl, a Miss Crewe, 
 has almost as manv admirers. The prin-
 
 :27S TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 cipal farti of the winter, a young English 
 baronet, Sir Charles Bellingham, offers de- 
 votion pretty nearly equally at each fair 
 shrine : he is immensely rich, and of a good 
 old family, so is a prize of value. Every 
 one is on the qui vive as to the result, for 
 he must ccrtainh^ propose to one of them, 
 or be accounted an unprincipled flirt. No 
 
 difficulty is anticipated on the side ' 
 
 ah ! — oh ! — um — um — " soliloquized Mrs. 
 Warburton, rather awkwardly, having gone 
 a little further than she intended; — '*just 
 some little joking remark of Lady Sarah's 
 about the irresistible fjiscination of this Sir 
 Charles Bellingham. He must be very 
 delightful, from her account." 
 
 Mrs. Talbot made some suitable reply, 
 for poor Marian remained speechless. It 
 all seemed so hard, so cruel. 
 
 This beautiful creature, her own sister, 
 admired and worshipped by all — to her an 
 utter stranger. 
 
 It was very trjdng to have her mentioned
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 270 
 
 publicly ill this cold, careless way by 
 others ; and in her hearing, to whom every 
 thought of this lovely, unknown sister was 
 precious and sacred. Something in her 
 throat seemed to choke her, and a wavins; 
 mist rose before her eyes. 
 
 Fortunately the duties of her post served 
 as an excuse for much apparent engross- 
 ment; but poor little Marian's heart and 
 thoughts were far away from the breakfast- 
 table and its glittering appurtenances : they 
 were away in sunny Italy, with this cruel 
 father and sister who seemed so entirely to 
 have forgotten her, to whom her existence 
 or non-existence appeared to be a matter 
 of such perfect unconcern. 
 
 She spoke but little during the rest of 
 the meal ; but Marian was never a great 
 talker, and her silence on this occasion 
 excited no particular observation. 
 
 Afterwards, she was claimed by the Miss 
 Warburtons for a parting chat ; during 
 which they extorted from her promises of
 
 2 so TWO ruorosALS. 
 
 Avriting and of telling thein all she did, as 
 young ladies in such circumstances invari- 
 ably seem to do. 
 
 "I never do anything but what you have 
 seen here," murmured Marian, exceedingly 
 anxious to make her escape. " You know 
 exactly how I spend my da}^, and they are 
 all very nearly alike." 
 
 ^^ Well, dear, but we shall like to hear 
 exactly what you are doing," said Fanny, 
 persuasively. " You will always find some 
 little thing to tell us, we are so interested 
 in you." 
 
 '' Well, I shall try," replied Marian, in a 
 tone of enforced submission ; " but I am 
 sure you will think my letters dreadfully 
 stupid." 
 
 '' Oh no, we shall not," said Lucy. 
 " Tell us where you drive, and who calls; 
 and if you go out to dinner, tell us who 
 were there, and especially what you had 
 on. 
 
 Marian could Avith difficulty repress an
 
 TWO rilOPOSALS. 2S1 
 
 inclination to smile at the list of very small 
 topics that were to prove so excessively 
 interesting to her fair correspondents. 
 
 " I dare say I can manage to tell you all 
 that," she replied ; " but you know we don't 
 dine out very often, and I have not very 
 many dresses. I shall soon exhaust them. 
 To be sure, I shall be getting some new 
 ones by-and-bye; I can tell you about 
 them." 
 
 So saying, she managed to effect her 
 escape; and the Miss Warburtons retired 
 to give their maid some directions relative 
 to the packing of their multifarious articles 
 of attire. 
 
 " May I request an interview for a few 
 minutes?" said Mr. Henry AYarburton to 
 Mr. Talbot, some little time after breakfast, 
 having watched for an opportunity when 
 he could put the question unheard by any 
 visitor. 
 
 '' Assuredly,'' replied his host, at the same 
 time wonderino; verv much what the voun^-
 
 2S2 TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 man could have to say to him : " I am afraid 
 the library is not clear ; will you step into 
 my little business sanctum, my den, as T 
 call it? No one will disturb us there." 
 
 They proceeded thither accordingly ; and 
 Mr. Warburton, after a considerable amount 
 of humming and hawing, contrived to make 
 Mr. Talbot acquainted with the fact that 
 he was a suitor for the hand of his fair 
 granddaughter. 
 
 The old gentleman was a good deal 
 shocked, and utterly taken by surprise. 
 
 Marian had hitherto been little more 
 than a child in his eyes ; to his loving fancy 
 it seemed but a few short years since he 
 had brought her to Summerton, a tiny 
 babe in arms — a babe sent, so he had often 
 considered it, to bless and comfort them 
 for the loss of their own beloved daughter. 
 And now their comfort, their idol, was to 
 be taken from them ; the child was a child 
 no longer, but a woman , and here a 
 woman's portion of love and wedlock was 
 about to be offered to her.
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 283 
 
 While lie was musing, Mr. Warburton, 
 who, having broken the ice, liacl now reco- 
 vered some of his self-possession, begged to 
 know what reph^ lie might hope to receive. 
 
 " That question it is out of my power to 
 answer," said Mr. Talbot, slowly. " I shall 
 apprize my granddaughter of your proposal 
 to her, and ascertain lier feelhig on the sub- 
 ject. In the event of her favouring your 
 suit, the matter must then be submitted to 
 her father : without his sanction I am 
 powerless to act." 
 
 ''I should imao-ine Sir John de Buro;h 
 could in no way object to me as a son-in- 
 law," remarked Mr. Warburton ; " my pro- 
 perty is quite clear ; and, exclusive of my 
 mother's jointure and my sister's portions, 
 is fully four thousand a year. My family, 
 too, is an old one, and our connexions are 
 excellent." 
 
 '' As you say, there is certainly nothing 
 to be objected to," replied Mr. Talbot, a 
 good deal nonplussed. 
 
 He had never particularly cared for the
 
 284 TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 young man, and now the thought of per- 
 haps having him for a grandson filled him 
 with extreme repugnance. 
 
 *' Surely Marian can never have gone 
 and encouraged this fellow !'' he mentally 
 ejaculated. " Why ! the parson is Avortli fifty 
 of him, High Church and all ! To be sure 
 he has not got four thousand a year, as this 
 one has ; but Marian does not need to 
 marry for money, and I am very sure my 
 little girl wont do it either. Pah ! I need 
 not be terrifying myself with shadows ! she 
 is certain to send him to the right-about, or 
 she's not the girl I take her to be." 
 
 " My mother will leave my house when I 
 marry," continued Mr. Warburton, utterly 
 unconscious how inimical were Mr. Talbot's 
 wishes regarding him; " she and my sisters 
 quite understand this; and they are all 
 well provided for, so may live where they 
 please." 
 
 "No doubt of it," replied Mr. Talbot, 
 rather irrelevantly ; " but there is no need 
 to go into further details till I have spoken
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 255 
 
 to ray granddaughter, which I shall do 
 Adthout loss of time." 
 
 Mr. Warburton took this as a hint that 
 longer attendance was unnecessary; so he 
 accordingly departed and made the best of 
 his way to the library, where he buried 
 himself in the pages of a newspaper. 
 
 Marian was sitting in her own little 
 boudoir, when a tap came to the door and 
 her grandfather entered the room. 
 
 " Well, my darling," said the old gentle- 
 man, as he seated himself on the sofa beside 
 her, and putting an arm fondly round her 
 slight figure, drew her towards him and 
 kissed her with warm aiFection. 
 
 ^'Well, grandpapa ! it isn't often that 
 you come climbing up here. What im- 
 portant matter is on hand now, for there 
 must be something?'* 
 
 She rubbed her soft cheek against his 
 withered one, and stroked the thin white 
 hand that lay near her. 
 
 " Yes, my darling, there is something, 
 and I have come to ask you all about it."
 
 286 TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 He spoke gravely, almost seriously. Ma- 
 rian quitted her fondling attitude at once, 
 and sat very upright, loolcing straight at 
 her grandfather, her bright colour coming 
 and going. 
 
 "Dear grandpapa, what is it? I am 
 quite frightened," she said, piteously. " I 
 haven't done anything wrong, have I ? I 
 am sure I did not know it if I have." 
 
 Mr. Talbot smiled at her look of distress. 
 
 " It is nothing so very terrible, after all, 
 my dear ; only I hope my little girl has not 
 been encouraging young men to pay her 
 attentions merely for her amusement." 
 
 " What do you mean, grandpapa ?" said 
 Marian, opening her eyes very wide. 
 
 '' Why, my dear, I've just had an inter- 
 view with young Mr. Warburton, and the 
 long and short of it is that he has been 
 proposing to carry off my Marian and make 
 her Mrs. Henry Warburton." 
 
 " Oh ! grandpapa, '^ replied Marian, as 
 soon as her astonishment would allow her 
 to speak, " how coidd he do such a thing !
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 287 
 
 I am sure he must know very well that I 
 don't care in the very least for him ; indeed, 
 I really dislike him very much." 
 
 ^' I don't think that is his impression/' 
 said the old gentleman, drily, as he recalled 
 the self-satisfied air of his late applicant. 
 
 '' Well, then, he might have seen it plainly 
 enough, and his mother and sisters too ;" 
 replied Marian, with indignation. " I am 
 sure I never was a bit more civil to him 
 than I could help. I always thought him 
 a remarkably tiresome young man, even 
 from the very first; and I tried to avoid 
 him as much as I possil)ly could, without 
 being actually rude. When they came here 
 his sisters tried several times to leave me 
 alone with him: I could not help seeing 
 what they were about, grandpapa, for they 
 did it so very clumsily. But I never would 
 be left with him ; I always escaped some- 
 how: and I thought they had observed 
 this, for they gave up trying it." 
 
 " Well, my dear, under those circum- 
 stances, no blame can attach itself to you,"
 
 288 TWO P110P0SA3.S. 
 
 said Mr. Talbot, kindly. " If the young 
 man received no encouragement, but rather 
 the contrary, and chose to risk a refusal, 
 lie has no one to thank for the mortification 
 but himself." 
 
 " Oh, grandpapa ! he can't blame me ;" 
 exclaimed Marian, eagerly: ''I never did 
 encourage him, I do assure you. Latterly, 
 when there were more people about, and 
 I did not feel him so very tiresome, I 
 perhaps avoided him less than at first: 
 but that was not giving him encourage- 
 ment, Avas it?" 
 
 " Certainly not, my dear ; I think you 
 may keep your mind very easy. I should 
 not have liked to iind that my little girl 
 was a coquette, alloAving young men to pay 
 her attention merely to gratify her vanity." 
 
 " Oh, grandpapa ! do you think I could 
 ever do that?" said Marian, reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 " No, my darling, I do not," replied her 
 
 grandfather. ''And now that the matter 
 is all settled, I don't mind telling you, just
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 289 
 
 in confidence, that I am not sorry you have 
 refused the young man. He is not the 
 kind of husband for my little Marian. He 
 is rich, though — " he continued, looking at 
 her comically, " he has a nice estate, and a 
 great deal of money; perhaps you did not 
 know that!" 
 
 " Don't, grandpapa ! " interrupted the 
 young, lady, laying her little white hand 
 on his lips ; "as if it would make any 
 difference to me if he were as rich as an 
 emperor. I don't wdsh ever to marry, but 
 j ust to live here always with you and grand- 
 mamma. Only sometimes," she added slowly 
 and sorrowfully, "sometimes to see papa 
 and Augusta — my beautiful sister Augusta. 
 If I might only do that, grandpapa." 
 
 Mr. Talbot's reply was to fold her lovingly 
 in his arms ; and in that kindly shelter the 
 young girl forgot her troubles, and her 
 sweet face resumed its bright, happy ex- 
 pression. 
 
 And so ended Marian de Burgh's first 
 proposal. 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 The second took place not long after- 
 wards, and was in this wise. 
 
 In spite of every precaution on the part 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Talbot, it had been im- 
 possible for them utterly to annihilate all 
 intercourse between their granddaughter 
 and the young clergyman of the parish. 
 Once he had called ; and Mrs. Talbot 
 chancing to be engaged at the time, on 
 Marian had devolved the task of enter- 
 taining him till the old lady was able to 
 join them. This she had done as rapidly 
 as possible, much oppressed, poor woman, 
 by a sense of the responsibility she incurred 
 in deserting her post ; but it was not until 
 some time had passed, a golden opportunity 
 to the enamoured young divine, who drank 
 in large draughts of dangerous intoxi- 
 cation while sitting with his lovely pa- 
 rishioner, answering her many questions 
 as to the welfare of old and young people 
 in whom she w^as especially interested. 
 
 Then, in her walks with her grandfather 
 she had encountered him on several occa-
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 291 
 
 sions; and they had always exchanged a 
 few passing observations, while once he had 
 turned and proceeded some little distance 
 in their company. 
 
 To be sure this time they talked nearly 
 entirely about a new road that was being 
 opened up in the neighbourhood, regarding 
 which Mr. Talbot was excessively irate : so 
 on this occasion indignation got the better 
 of prudence, and the old gentleman's dis- 
 cretion was for the nonce permitted to 
 repose. 
 
 And twice they had met out at dinner : 
 indeed at one large party he had the 
 supreme felicity of taking her into the 
 dining-room, an arrangement most charm- 
 ing in his eyes, but highly unsatisfactory in 
 those of her ever- watchful guardians. And 
 so at last the crisis came. One rainy after- 
 noon Marian and her grandmother sat by the 
 fire in the drawing-room, Mrs. Talbot softly 
 dozing in her easy-chair, while Marian was 
 occupied with an embroidery frame, the 
 airy visions passing swiftly through her 
 
 19— z
 
 292 TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 girlish imagination far exceeding in bril* 
 liancy even the radiant flowers that glowed 
 on the silken canvas. They heard the peal 
 of the hall-door bell ; it startled Mrs. Talbot 
 from her slumbers, but nothing came of it, 
 and she soon dropped off to sleep again. 
 
 Some time passed, and the hall door was 
 heard to close, and again there was silence 
 in the house. 
 
 '' Somebody for grandpapa," thought 
 Marian to herself; and she gave no further 
 heed to the matter. 
 
 Presently Mr. Talbot entered the room, 
 looking hot and flurried; something had 
 evidently happened that had very consider- 
 ably tended to discompose him. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot looked up drowsily, and then 
 catching the expression of his countenance, 
 she said anxiously, " is anything the matter, 
 my dear? you seem annoyed; I hope 
 nothing is wrong ?" 
 
 Mr. Talbot glanced at Marian, who just 
 then raised her head to look at her grand- 
 father ; and judging that he wished to speak
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 293 
 
 to his wife alone, she rose at once, saying, 
 " I will take my w^ork into the library, grand- 
 papa; perhaps you wish to say something 
 to grandmamma." 
 
 " That's a good girl," replied Mr. Talbot, 
 evidently much relieved : "I wish to con- 
 sult grandmamma about something, my 
 dear; so if you will stay away for a little 
 while, I shall be very much obliged to 
 you." 
 
 Marian instantly gathered up the 
 materials of her work, and quitted the 
 drawing-room, leaving the husband and 
 wife together. 
 
 " My dear, here is another plaguy piece 
 of business," began Mr. Talbot, as he 
 pulled a chair forward and seated himself 
 by the fire. 
 
 Mrs. Talbot looked all attention and 
 interest. 
 
 " I believe Marian must go to Italy, after 
 all," continued the old gentleman, rather 
 dolefully : "if her father wont ask her out 
 of his o^vn accord, I must make up my
 
 294 TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 mind to take her to him whether he will 
 or no." 
 
 " What has induced you to form this 
 determination?'' said Mrs. Talbot, en- 
 quiringly. 
 
 " Why, I have just had a visit from that 
 unlucky young fellow, Mr. Harding — I am 
 sure I don't know why on earth he came 
 here to disturb us all in this manner." 
 
 '• dear," said Mrs. Talbot, in a tone 
 of sympathy; ^'I suppose he has been pro- 
 posing for Marian." 
 
 " Well, not exactly," replied her hus- 
 band ; " I must do him the justice to say 
 he has behaved in a remarkably straightfor- 
 ward, gentlemanly manner. He said he had 
 come to tell me that he feared he must re- 
 sign his living at Summerton, and find em- 
 ployment elsew^here. He owned that the 
 reason for this sudden resolve on his part 
 arose from the fact that he felt himself to 
 be utterly unworthy of aspiring to the hand 
 of my granddaughter; while the circum- 
 stances of living in the same parish, and in
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 295 
 
 all probability of meeting her frequently, 
 were certain to prove too much for his 
 peace of mind and the proper attention he 
 would wish to give to his duty. He spoke 
 very honestly and openly ; said the feeling 
 had grown into maturity almost before he 
 was aware of it : and now he saw that only 
 one course remained to him, to fly the 
 temptation and the danger, and en- 
 deavour to forget it through time and 
 absence." 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said Mrs. Talbot, warmly, 
 " how^ well he has beliaved ! I am really 
 very sorry for him." 
 
 "And so am I," repHed her husband. 
 " A young man of this kind is worth fifty 
 Henry Warburtons. They are not to be 
 named in the same breath. But it is of no 
 use talking about it. I don't think Marian 
 has any feeling for him as yet beyond 
 friendship and liking, so he will be the only 
 suiferer. I should not consider it a good 
 marriage myself, and her father would scout 
 the bare idea of it."
 
 296 TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 "And what did you say to Mr. Harding?" 
 inquired Mrs. Talbot. 
 
 " I was obliged to concur in the truth of 
 much of what he said, of course," replied 
 her husband ; " in fact, I gave him clearly to 
 understand that I could hold forth not the 
 slightest hope ; I don't think he expected 
 it to be otherwise. But at the same time, I 
 begged him to do nothing rash about re- 
 signing his living. Without entering into 
 explanations, I told him such a sacrifice 
 would probably be unnecessary; that just 
 for the present it might be as well if he 
 could find a substitute for a few weeks ; 
 and, above all, 1 requested, as a favour 
 to myself, that he Avould abstain from all 
 expression of his feelings to Marian, to 
 which he rather reluctantly assented ; and 
 there for the present the matter stands." 
 
 '^ Don't you think Marian ought to know 
 about it ?" said Mrs. Talbot, dubiously. 
 
 " I don't think she need do so just at 
 present,'' replied her husband ; '' girls are 
 silly, romantic kind of creatures, and
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 297 
 
 Marian has rather a tendency that way. 
 If she has any kind of passing fancy for 
 the young man, this might help to kindle 
 into active flame w^hat w^ould otherw^ise die 
 out and be forgotten. But eventually she 
 must know, of course; only I shall choose 
 my owai time for telling her." 
 
 " And what about this plan of going to 
 Italy?" inquired Mrs. Talbot. 
 
 " Well, my dear, I really don't see any 
 particular reason why you and I should not 
 take Marian abroad ourselves. We are not 
 so old or infirm but that we might stand 
 the fatigues of travelling. Italy is new to 
 us both ; we should enjoy seeing its beauties ; 
 and our going there might be the means of 
 bringing Marian and her father together, 
 which would in itself be sufficient recom- 
 pense for our trouble. Sir John could 
 never, in common decency, refuse to see 
 her were they together in the same place. 
 I shall -write to him first, however, so as not 
 to take him entirely by surprise, a pro- 
 ceeding he might resent."
 
 298 TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 " Shall you tell him what has taken 
 place here — those proposals?" asked his 
 wife. 
 
 " Decidedly," replied Mr. Talbot ; '' that, 
 in fact, will be the groundwork of my letter 
 to him. I will tell him that there is an 
 absolute necessity for Marian's removal 
 from this neighbourhood for a time, unless 
 he is prepared to agree to her becoming 
 the wife of the clergyman of the parish. 
 This, I think, will alarm his pride — a 
 stronger sentiment with him than any- 
 thing resembling paternal affection." 
 
 ^' He is certainly entirely devoid of that, 
 for poor Marian at least," said Mrs. Talbot, 
 indignantly. *' But surely when he sees 
 this sweet girl, the very image of his dead 
 wife, his heart must warm to her, he cannot 
 possibly refuse to love one so well worthy of 
 the highest affection a parent could bestow." 
 
 "We shall see," replied her husband. 
 "The experiment, however, shall be tried ; 
 the result we must leave in the hands of 
 a higher Power than ours."
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 299 
 
 Mr. Harding quitted Summerton for the 
 present, leaving for liis substitute a sandy- 
 haired youth with weak eyes, who w^ore 
 green spectacles, and was altogether the 
 mildest specimen of a young parson ever 
 seen. 
 
 Having satisfied himself as to this 
 youth's general unattractiveness. Mr. Tal- 
 bot gradually relaxed the precautionary 
 measures he had adopted towards his fair 
 granddaughter; and once more Marian's 
 airy figure was seen as of old tripping in 
 and out of the village school, among the 
 old women in the cottages, and wherever 
 else her presence was required, or could 
 perform any possible good. She openly 
 regretted Mr. Harding's absence, and 
 laughed a good deal at his successor; but 
 there was nothing in her manner to lead 
 her grand-parents to suspect she nourished 
 any hidden partiality for her absent pastor. 
 Mr. Talbot was in the right when he stated 
 that her regard for him was merely of a 
 friendly nature. So one day he told her
 
 300 TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 of his conversation with the young clergy- 
 man, and awaited with some anxiety her 
 comment on his communication. 
 
 Marian w^as silent for a few minutes, and 
 then she said, slowly and seriously, " I am 
 very sorry for this, grandpapa. I liked 
 poor Mr. Harding, and I am sorry for 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Talbot felt greatly relieved. " It is 
 indeed a great pity, my dear," he observed; 
 " we all liked Mr. Harding very much, and 
 I assure you I was much grieved when he 
 mentioned the subject. You are, then, 
 perfectly satisfied with the answer I gave 
 him?". 
 
 "Oh, quite, grandpapa; you could not 
 have said anything else — only I am so sorry 
 that Mr. Harding had to go away. But I 
 suppose it would have been awkward meet- 
 ing him just now," and a deep blush rose 
 to Marian's fair cheek and forehead. 
 
 "' Yes, my dear," rephed her grandfather, 
 " and painful, too, for Mr. Harding." 
 
 " I am so very sorry, grandpapa," said
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 301 
 
 Marian, blushing still more brightly. '' Mr. 
 Harding was so good and kind, and all the 
 poor people are so very fond of him. And 
 can't he come here — to this house, I mean — 
 any more, grandpapa. Oh, I am so sorry I 
 Perhaps he may have thought I liked him 
 well enough to marry him ; I never thought 
 of such a thing as this, and I often talked 
 to him a great deal : perhaps he may have 
 thought it was encouragement, grandpapa ; 
 it would be dreadful if he had done so." 
 She looked appealingly to her grandfather 
 for an answer to her interrogations. 
 
 " So ! so !" said the old gentleman to him- 
 self; " we have a little too much compas- 
 sion here. It was very well that I sent 
 Mr. Harding away when I did. There 
 were none of those blushes and regrets 
 when young Warburton received his dis- 
 missal. I believe a few more meetings with 
 the parson would have caused Miss Marian 
 to speak and think very differently." 
 
 But he only said, "' I have no fault to 
 find ^vith your behaviour to Mr. Harding,
 
 302 TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 my dear. I never observed any particular 
 attentions on his part — nor any remarkable 
 encouragement on ^^ours. Visiting at this 
 house as he did, in the character of clergyman 
 of the parish, a certain degree of intimacy 
 was naturally accorde'd to him ; and this has 
 been the unfortunate cause of what has hap- 
 pened. But we will say no more about it 
 now, the sooner it is all forgotten the 
 better. A short absence will enable Mr. 
 Harding to see his position more clearly, 
 and in time I have no doubt our friendly 
 relations with him will be established on 
 their former footing. And now I have 
 something else to tell you, a proposal of 
 quite another kind, and one I feel pretty 
 sure you will receive with great satisfac- 
 tion." 
 
 Marian listened with enchantment while 
 her grandfather unfolded his plans about 
 Italy. Her long- cherished dream to come 
 true at last! Her hopes of being folded 
 to her father's heart, and clasped in the 
 arms of her only sister, to be no more a cold
 
 TWO PROPOSALS. 303 
 
 and ever-fleeting vision, but a warm and 
 breathing reality! There w^as ecstasy in 
 the very thought ! 
 
 Mr. Harding and his proposal disappeared 
 utterly from her mind; while she poured 
 forth a flood of eager questions that almost 
 bewildered her unfortunate grandfather, 
 who was scarcely prepared with replies to 
 them, and at last fairly told her that his 
 ideas were hardly yet matured ; and above 
 all, that much would depend on Sir John 
 de Burgh's answer to the letter Mr. Talbot 
 now proposed to write to him. 
 
 Marian looked rather grave at this check 
 to her eager antici^^ations. 
 
 "Don't vex yourself, my darling," said 
 her grandfather, kindly ; " I do not expect 
 any serious objections on the part of your 
 father, the more especially that I have 
 told him I am prepared to escort you 
 to your destination myself. Now off 
 with you, for this long conversation has 
 almost worn me out; and I must begin 
 to save all my strength for this perilous
 
 304 TWO PROPOSALS. 
 
 journey that I am undertaking on your 
 account." 
 
 "You dear, dear old grandpapa!" ex- 
 claimed Marian, in ecstasy, " how shall I 
 ever thank you sufficiently for all your 
 kindness! After all those long, weary 
 years, to think that I am at last actually 
 going to see papa and Augusta!"
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 We must now return to sunny Italy, and 
 to the various personages in Rome whose 
 history we have undertaken to relate. 
 
 Several weeks have elapsed since that 
 dinner party we may remember as taking 
 place at Sir John de Burgh's, marked, how- 
 ever, by no particular outward changes in 
 any of the characters who figured in our 
 story. Rome had been, and still was, mar- 
 vellously gay ; and those joyous spirits who 
 found their pleasure in a never-ending suc- 
 cession of balls and dinner parties had this 
 season been gratified to the very top of 
 their bent. 
 
 The two rival belles queened it against 
 VOL. I. 20
 
 306 THE PROGRESS OE EVENTS. 
 
 all new-comers, their rivalry, however, 
 being merely nominal ; for they were appa- 
 rently on the best and most cordial terms, 
 often rode and drove together, and visited 
 constantly at each other's houses ; and no 
 party of any pretension was considered to 
 be complete unless graced by the presence 
 of the two reigning beauties of Eome. 
 
 But a great change had come over the 
 spirit of Augusta cle Burgh, and this change 
 had been effected by the wand of the en-, 
 chanter whom she had so long defied, whose 
 spells she had carelessly laughed to scorn, 
 whose mighty influence had never hitherto 
 fallen upon her, but which now was press- 
 ing her down with resistless power, and 
 causing her to feel that all her struggles 
 to free herself from the potent enthral- 
 ment only ended in riveting the fetters more 
 firmly around her. 
 
 Miss Crewe's half-joking prophecy re- 
 garding her had come entirely true; the 
 proud, cold Augusta madly, recklessly, 
 loved the young English baronet. The
 
 THE PHOGRESS OF EVENTS. 307 
 
 whole wealth of affection smouldering like 
 a volcano in that apparently calm and 
 haughty nature was now given, unasked 
 and unsought, to one who seemed in no 
 w^ay to reciprocate, or even particularly to 
 value it. Gradually the spell had woven 
 itself around her; stimulated, as Miss Crewe 
 had so shrewdly foretold it would be, by 
 the variable moods of Sir Charles Belling- 
 ham, who at one time paid Augusta what w^as 
 universally called " marked attention," and 
 at another almost entirely deserted her, and 
 transferred his civilities for the time beinor 
 to some other object of attraction, a very 
 favourite shrine for his volage worship, 
 being the fair and fascinating Emily her- 
 self. Of course Sir Charles did not escape 
 being called a flirt ; in fact, most jDcople 
 thought he carried his flirtations a little too 
 far, but this was really not the case — not at 
 least in so far as any malice prepense 
 or want of principle was actually concerned. 
 Sir Charles was merely amusing himself, 
 and that, too, without any particular design 
 
 20—2
 
 308 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 or speculation as to the probable conse- 
 quences. He liked Rome ; he thought the 
 society extremely pleasant ; and he con- 
 sidered that his mother and he had been 
 remarkably fortunate in meeting some ex- 
 ceedingly charming people, Avith whom they 
 had enjoyed much intercourse of a most 
 agreeable nature. 
 
 With respect to the young ladies with 
 whom his name was so frequently and 
 closely connected, it cannot be said that he 
 had ever given any very serious thought to 
 the subject. 
 
 At the beginning of their acquaintance 
 he had certainly been very much struck 
 with Miss de Burgh. 
 
 The circumstances of their first meeting, 
 her great beauty and the extreme gracious- 
 ness of her manner, had strongly disposed 
 him to like and admire her ; and for some 
 time after their arrival in Rome he had 
 decidedly been rather empresse in his atten- 
 tions to her. Indeed, there was little per- 
 ceptible difference in the outward expres-
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 309 
 
 sion of his homage even now. In public 
 he was constantly in her train, talking to 
 her, dancing with her, and paying her all 
 the thousand-and-one ^9^^2/5 soins which a 
 young man is nearly always delighted to 
 offer to a pretty woman. 
 
 But a longer and closer intimacy with 
 the beautiful Miss de Burgh had not in- 
 creased the feelings of interest and admira- 
 tion with which Sir Charles had at first 
 regarded her. She disappointed him ; he 
 could not tell how or why. It was not 
 that she was less agreeable, less gracious; 
 she was, if possible, more so. Her won- 
 drous charms of face and form he never 
 for an instant disputed, and yet he did 
 not feel for her as lie did during that 
 drive on the Yia Cornice, when she seemed 
 to him like a dazzling apparition emerging 
 from the rocky fastnesses to bewilder and 
 fascinate him. Now he saw in her only 
 the beautiful but conventional woman of 
 fashion — the leader of the English society 
 in Rome — a girl yet in her teens, young,
 
 310 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 lovely, and accomplished, and yet one 
 whom he never for a moment dreamt of 
 loving or winning to be his wife ; in short, 
 neither of those ideas at any time ever 
 seriously crossed his imagination, and yet 
 he was pleased to be in her company, and 
 a considerable intimacy existed between the 
 two families; and there were times when 
 the surpassing beauty of Augusta roused 
 him to a warmer feeling of admiration, and 
 for the greater part of an evening he would 
 linger by her side until again repelled by 
 that inexplicable something which seemed 
 as it were to overshadow all that loveliness 
 and brilliancy. It was not pride or cold- 
 ness ; for haughty as she would often be 
 to others she was always winning to him ; 
 the cloud would leave her brow and a 
 light would come into her eye when he 
 approached her : and had he cared to notice 
 it he might have seen a pale gloom over- 
 spread her countenance, and a rapid con- 
 traction of the lips when Miss Crewe, or
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 311 
 
 some other fair favourite, either accidentally 
 or by design usurped the attention she was 
 burning to obtain. 
 
 We have before observed that Miss de 
 Burgh was not of a peculiarly loveable 
 nature ; nothing in her character seemed 
 to invite or foster that warmth of tender 
 affection that to some women is as the 
 breath of life. She appeared perfectly able 
 to exist without it ; it in no way seemed 
 essential to her happiness. 
 
 Xow there is nothing more destructive 
 to the beauty and attractiveness of a charac- 
 ter than indifference to human affections, 
 and this had hitherto been a sj)ecial attri- 
 bute of Augusta de Burgh's disposition. 
 With the one exception of her father, she had 
 not really cared for any human being ; and 
 this great want in her moral organization 
 had shed its baneful influence on her whole 
 nature, and produced, the sensation of dis- 
 appointment and disenchantment that had 
 so strongly impressed itself on Sir Charles
 
 312 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 Bellingham, and also on many others when 
 brought into familiar and unrestrained inter- 
 course with her. 
 
 To do the young baronet justice, he had 
 not the remotest idea that Augusta enter- 
 tained any feeling for him beyond mere 
 friendship and the easy liking usually 
 felt for those whom we meet frequently 
 and familiarly in society. This was now 
 very much his own situation with respect 
 to her; for he had again got beyond 
 that phase in which she attracted and re- 
 pelled him, and had subsided into a con- 
 dition of permanent indifference, merely 
 viewing her as a young and beautiful 
 woman, with whom it was very pleasant to 
 be on frank and unceremonious terms. 
 
 At times he still pondered on her strange 
 want of interest in that fair younger sister of 
 whom he had heard, and on the inexplicable 
 neglect of both Sir John and his elder 
 daughter towards the poor girl whom they 
 had left behind in England, and whom they 
 never spoke of rejoining.
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 313 
 
 But he speedily reflected that this was no 
 concern of his; people knew their own 
 afiairs best : and some good and vahd 
 reasons might exist for the banishment of 
 one whose name he had never heard cross 
 either her father's or her sister's lips, and whose 
 existence he had merely learnt by accident. 
 
 With Emily Crewe his position was dif- 
 ferent. He was very intimate with her and 
 her sister, and he liked them both very 
 much. They were so frank, so genial, so 
 true-hearted and sincere, that he could not 
 choose but regard them with a very warm 
 and genuine feeling of friendship. Lady 
 Agnes liked them too ; and they met 
 very frequently and went into public a 
 great deal together; and the world, as is 
 usual in such circumstances, put its own 
 construction on their intimacy, and decided 
 that Sir Charles was in honour bound to 
 propose to Miss Crewe, except, to be sure, 
 that by his marked attentions to Miss de 
 Burgh, he was almost equally committed in 
 that quarter.
 
 314 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 Some of those observations reached the 
 ear of the young lady whom they especially 
 concerned ; but she merely laughed at 
 them, and made a saucy moue^ intended to 
 express her utter contempt for and indiffe- 
 rence to the comments with which she was 
 so liberally favoured. It was not easy 
 to disturb Emily Crewe ; she had an invin- 
 cible vein of good-nature and sangfroid 
 that threw out the calculations of those who 
 tried to annoy her ; though when a fit of 
 retahation was upon her, she had a few 
 particular weapons of her own that she 
 kept in reserve ; very useful and effectual 
 she had found them on various occa- 
 sions; and though not continually in use, 
 they never became rusty through want of 
 service. Perfectly frank and cordial as 
 was her manner to Sir Charles Bellingham, 
 it would have been utterly impossible for 
 him, had he been the vainest man in crea- 
 tion, to mistake that manner for anything 
 but the ease and unreserve of familiar 
 friendship ; she treated him as she might
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 315 
 
 have done any friend of old standing whose 
 intimacy she both valued and enjoyed ; 
 while he repaid her regard with interest, 
 and both she and her sister held a very high 
 j)osition among the friends whose acquain- 
 tance he most prized in Eome. 
 
 Such was the state of matters when we 
 resume the thread of our story. 
 
 It was the morning after a very brilliant 
 ball at the palazzo of the French ambassa- 
 dor ; Mrs. Greville and Miss Crewe had 
 breakfasted late, and at mid-day had but 
 just entered the salon, 
 
 "Oh! dear, what a waste of time those 
 balls are !" exclaimed the fair Emily, throw- 
 ing herself carelessly back into a lounging 
 chair; "I don't feel fit for a single thing 
 this morning, and there are so many letters 
 that I ought to write." 
 
 " You would stay so late, my dear Emily," 
 replied her sister, placidly ; " you know I 
 was ready to come away long before you 
 would hear of it." 
 
 " All very true, my most wise Norah,"
 
 816 THE PROGRESS OY EVENTS. 
 
 said Emily, smiling and yawning ; '^ but a 
 part of my creed is to knoAV when you are 
 well oiF, and enjoy yourself then and there. 
 And you see it was so very pleasant, 
 dear/' 
 
 "So you seemed to find it/' replied 
 Norah, with an arch look. 
 
 " I know what you mean, dear," said 
 Miss Crewe, slightly colouring ; " but you 
 need not shake your head at me in that 
 sagacious manner. I plead ^ Not guilty.' " 
 
 " Don't you think, my dear, that you 
 sometimes flirt a little too much with Sir 
 Charles Bellingham? Last night for in- 
 stance ?" 
 
 '^ How often must I tell you, Norah, that 
 I never do flirt ? Sir Charles and I were 
 merely talking, and that too on the most 
 commonplace subjects." 
 
 "Well, dear, that may be; you know 
 best. But you wont deny that people will 
 be very apt to say you were flirting with 
 him. And you would not like a report of 
 that kind spread about you."
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 317 
 
 " Certainly not, Norah ; but I really can- 
 not undertake to regulate what people will 
 say and wont say. The best plan is just to 
 do what one pleases, and not mind them." 
 
 "But, Emily, I think you carry those 
 ideas of yours too far ; you really do, dear. 
 Last night, on various occasions, I overheard 
 comments on your conduct, or rather on 
 Sir Charles Bellingham's ; and they vexed 
 me very much, knowing, as I did, how 
 little you merited them." 
 
 "What were they T inquired Miss 
 Crewe, tapping her small foot quickly on 
 the floor, a sure sign that her temper was 
 rising: while on each fair cheek a warm 
 crimson spot glowed with increasing bril- 
 liancy. 
 
 "Well, don't be angry, my dear Emily; 
 you have brought the remarks on yourself; 
 and if you dislike having such things said 
 you can very^_ easily put a stop to them." 
 
 " Now, Norah, I feel very cross this 
 morning, and the least thing will make me 
 fly into a passion ; so don't provoke me,
 
 318 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 like a darling. Let me have those horrid 
 people's ill-natured observations plain and 
 unadulterated, without any practical com- 
 ments of your own. We'll deduce the 
 moral afterwards." 
 
 Mrs. Greville had one of those excellent 
 tempers that are proof against a good deal of 
 aggravation, or she might reasonably have 
 felt a little irritated at the tone of her 
 sister's reply. 
 
 She answered her with perfect calmness, 
 "Well, dear, I have no desire to put you 
 into a passion, but I only know I was very 
 angry myself when I heard them. They 
 spoke as if Miss de Burgh and you were 
 both trying as hard as possible which should 
 catch Sir Charles Bellingham" a tremen- 
 dous tap on the floor from Emily, '* and two 
 young men Avere actually laying bets about 
 it, just as if you had been horses ! I did 
 feel so annoyed !" 
 
 Miss Crewe laughed, but it was in rather 
 a forced manner. 
 
 " That will do, my dear Norah, 1 can
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 319 
 
 easily imagine the rest. Just the ordinary 
 style of coarse comments that some low 
 natures delight in making on things they 
 know nothing about. However, as I do 
 not aspire to the honour of Sir Charles 
 Bellingham's hand, and have no wish that 
 it should be thought I do, I must, as you 
 advise, take more heed to my ways for the 
 future. And now give me a kiss you, dear, 
 good, old woman, and tell me that you 
 forgive me, for you know that I spoke to 
 you like a beast just now; a very ungrate- 
 ful return for your lecture, a thing I must 
 say you very seldom inflict on me." A 
 cordial sisterly embrace was given and re- 
 ceived ; Mrs. Greville placidly remarking, 
 '' I never am the least cross with you, Emily, 
 for I know that the half of what you say is 
 just nonsense that you don't really think. 
 You always end in coming round to my 
 opinion whenever your fit of indignation 
 is past. But I must say I don't quite un- 
 derstand Sir Charles Bellingham. I sup- 
 pose I may call him a flirt ?"
 
 320 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 " No indeed, Norah. At least he never 
 flirts with me — and I don't think he does 
 it with Miss de Burgh either — not certainly, 
 if one may judge from his manner." 
 
 " Then, what does it all mean?" persisted 
 Mrs. Greville. 
 
 '•^ A]], what mean, my dear Norah? you 
 are enigmatical this morning, or else I am 
 remarkably stupid." 
 
 " I mean the great attention he pays you 
 both. I don't call it quite right for my 
 part, and you see what other people think 
 of it." 
 
 "For the opinion of other people I don't 
 care an iota," replied Miss Crewe. " There 
 have been Mrs. Grundys since ever the 
 world was a world, and there will be, I sup- 
 pose, to the end of time. If one minded 
 all that people say, one would be in a per- 
 petual fever about something or other; 
 so the best plan is to commence at once 
 with total indifference." Mrs. Greville 
 shook her head dissentingly. 
 
 " Nay, never shake your gory locks at
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 321 
 
 me," rejoined Emily, smiling; '^ I am in 
 the right, Norah my darling, and I mean 
 to abide by my opinion. Sir Charles 
 Bellingham is a very pleasant person, and, 
 like most young men of his age, admires a 
 pretty woman when he sees her, and small 
 blame to him for that. Now, don't inter- 
 rupt me — I know what you are going to 
 say — Miss de Burgh is a very beautiful 
 girl, and he admires her very much — and 
 if he chooses to think your madcap sister 
 has her own share of good looks, why, you 
 ought to be the very last person to quarrel 
 with his taste. " 
 
 " Oh! Emily," said Mrs. Greville, smiling 
 in spite of herself; " if you would only be 
 serious for a moment.'' 
 
 "But I can't, dear; I feel flighty this 
 morning, and inclined for mischief. You 
 are such an angel of good-nature that I can 
 by no means have it out with you and wreak 
 my malice on you : if I only had those 
 young men now that you heard laying bets 
 about me, I'd give them a little bit of my 
 
 VOL. I. 21
 
 322 THE PROGRESS OY EVENTS. 
 
 mind that they'd remember for some time. 
 What poor creatures men can be when 
 they try." 
 
 '^ They'd only say the cap fitted," said 
 her sister, laughing. 
 
 ''Would they?" replied Emily, making 
 a moue; " I don't think so. Now, look here, 
 Norah darling. I am a little tired of all 
 this discussion about Sir Charles Belling- 
 ham. He is a very nice creature, but not 
 worth quarrelling about ; so we wont speak 
 about him any more in this way, you and 
 I. Just in conclusion, I am very certain 
 that he wont marry me ; and I am pretty 
 nearly equally certain that he wont marry 
 Miss de Burgh. Whom he will marry I 
 don't know, and I don't very much care ; 
 except that I hope she will make him a 
 good wife, for he really deserves to have 
 one. There now, we wave our magic wand 
 and dismiss him from the scene." 
 
 Eather unfortunately for the complete 
 success of her spell, her taper fingers were 
 still describing a semicircle in the air when
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 323 
 
 the door of the apartment was suddenly 
 opened, and the person in question himself 
 entered. 
 
 He looked rather surprised at the mock 
 heroic attitude of Miss Crewe, whose hand 
 still pointed at some imaginary object, 
 while she could not help feeling a little 
 caught, and a brighter tint than usual rose 
 to her cheek. 
 
 " What is going forward?" exclaimed 
 Sir Charles, as he pulled forward a seat. 
 " I hope I may be permitted to assist. Miss 
 Crewe looked as though she were invoking 
 spirits from the vasty deep. Have any 
 of your cruel deeds last night been disturb- 
 ing your conscience — some forgotten part- 
 ner's face of agony filled you with remorse 
 ever since ?" 
 
 '^Nothing of the kind," replied Emily, 
 who had by this time recovered her presence 
 of mind. "I feel extremely good-for- 
 nothing this morning, and Norah has been 
 scolding me." 
 
 Sir Charles laughed. "Scolding you, 
 
 21— z
 
 324 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 has she? Then I can only say it does not 
 seem to have made the desired impression. 
 When I came in I should have said you 
 were decidedly having the best^of the argu- 
 ment." 
 
 " Just at that moment, perhaps I was," 
 replied Miss Crewe, with a smile; "but 
 Norah was holding her own. When I feel 
 very cross, as I do now and then, nothing 
 does me half so much good as having a 
 quarrel with [some one. Now there is no 
 provoking Norah; she is far too amiable 
 ever to quarrel." 
 
 "Try me," said Sir Charles; "I am not 
 at all amiable, and enjoy a good row very 
 much. What shall we disagree about?" 
 
 "Nonsense," replied Miss Crewe, "my 
 fighting fit is over; I feel quite placid 
 now. But I'll tell you what you shall do ; 
 read us some of 'Childe Harold.' You 
 read poetry delightfully, and I am exactly 
 in the humour for doing nothing and enjoy- 
 ing it thoroughly." 
 
 " Charmed to be of any use, Fm sure,**
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 325 
 
 said the young baronet, going in search of 
 the volume, which was a great favourite 
 with Miss Crewe. 
 
 Mrs. Greville produced her work basket, 
 as it was no enjoyment to her, sitting doing 
 nothing, and her love of poetry was not so 
 enthusiastic as her sister's. 
 
 Emily flung herself luxuriously into the 
 deepest recesses of the softest chair in the 
 room, and exclaiming '' Now, this is what I 
 call very nice ! " settled herself comfortably 
 to listen to the reading. 
 
 "Where shall I begin?" inquired Sir 
 Charles. 
 
 "Oh, anywhere," said Emily; "choose 
 for yourself." 
 
 He opened the volume at random, and 
 read the description of the ball at the 
 Duchess of Richmond's the night before 
 Waterloo, when the alarm reached Brussels. 
 
 He read remarkably well, and quite 
 carried his listeners along with him. 
 
 " Beautiful ! beautiful ! " said Emily, 
 eagerly, when he paused; "how splendid
 
 326 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 that description is! How one seems to 
 realize the whole awfully thrilling scene! 
 In one moment such an utter change from 
 the wildest gaiety to the blackest despair — 
 such at least it must have been to many. 
 Oh ! for the poor soldiers' wives at such an 
 hour as that!" Her eyes were smmming 
 with tears as she spoke. 
 
 "What a wonderful mind Byron must 
 have had/' observed Sir Charles, as he 
 turned over the pages; *^ almost every 
 phase of the human heart was familiar to 
 him. He describes the nicest shades and 
 varieties of feeling." 
 
 " Yes/' replied Miss Crewe, " but unfor- 
 tunately he describes the bad ones best. 
 Now, I delight in Byron; I revel in his 
 magnificent and glowing descriptions — his 
 exquisite imagery and word painting ; but 
 what one may call his sentimental parts, 
 beautiful as they are, have a morbid and 
 unhealthy vein running through them that 
 detracts greatly from their charm in my 
 eyes."
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 327 
 
 " You amaze me, Miss Crewe," observed 
 Sir Charles; "I thought that was the very 
 thing ladies liked best in Byron — all those 
 highly strung, spasmodic soliloquies and 
 descriptions? — and his heroes ! Why, are 
 they not the very beau ideal of what young 
 ladies consider most fascinating in the 
 opposite sex ? — dark, saturnine -looking indi- 
 viduals, who have the air of secret mur- 
 derers, or conspirators at the least.'' 
 
 " How absurd!" exclaimed Emily, indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 '' Not at all," rejoined Sir Charles ; '' I 
 know for a fact that Lara is immensely 
 in favour with ladies. Some people 
 have a fancy for keeping books in which 
 they make their friends write down all 
 their favourite likings and dislikings in 
 every possible shape. Pet heroes must be 
 especially enumerated; and on glancing 
 through such collections I have invariably 
 observed the taste was pretty equally divided 
 between Lara, and the Chevalier Bayard. 
 He is a great card in such cases."
 
 328 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 " Oh, I know those books ; horrid things 
 they are !" said Miss Crewe. " I used to put 
 down Eobespierre for my favourite hero, 
 and boiled veal for my pet dish ; and one 
 day an old lady put on her spectacles and 
 looked at me, saying very seriously, ' My 
 dear, I think you have rather a singular 
 taste. Kobesj)ierre was a very wicked 
 man.* Now, Sir Charles, we have got to 
 speaking nonsense instead of improving our 
 minds; go on reading, please." 
 
 Sir Charles obeyed, but interruptions 
 were the order of the day. 
 
 He was in the middle of the lines on 
 the " Dying Gladiator," Mrs. Greville work- 
 ing calmly, while Emily listened with glow- 
 ing cheeks and kindling eye, when the door 
 was again widely opened, and Miss de Burgh 
 was ushered into the room. 
 
 One glance sufficed to take in the whole 
 scene, the thoroughly family-party air of 
 the dramatis personce : Miss Crewe in her 
 attitude of perfect abandonment to the 
 pleasure of listening, her beautiful head.
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 329 
 
 with its golden aureole, thrown back on the 
 yielding cushions, her white hands clasped 
 listlessly in her lap ; Sir Charles on a low 
 chair beside her, so low that he almost 
 seemed to be sitting at her feet ; while Mrs. 
 Greville sat decorously by, doing everything 
 required of her in the way of personal 
 attendance, though we feel in honesty 
 bound to confess that, like the poor gladia- 
 tor s, " her thoughts wxre far away." 
 
 No previous intimation of approaching 
 visitors had reached their ears, and Miss de 
 Burgh had so closely followed the an- 
 nouncement of her name, that none of the 
 preoccupied trio had time for the slightest 
 change of position ; when the door was 
 opened Sir Charles was still reading, and 
 the word hung suspended on his lips. 
 
 Augusta felt much annoyed, and would 
 have retreated at once had such a thing 
 been possible. 
 
 " I fear I interrupt you," she observed, 
 coldly. 
 
 " Oh, no," replied Mrs. Greville, rising
 
 330 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS, 
 
 to receive her; "Sir Charles is merely 
 reading to amuse Emily, who is lazy and 
 tired this morning. I suppose you came 
 away sooner than we did last night, as you 
 are so early to-day?" 
 
 " I never remain very late," said Augusta. 
 " Papa dislikes late hours, and of course I 
 do not remain behind him." 
 
 *^ And you are not the desperate dancer 
 that I am," remarked Emily ; " you only 
 honour a few distinguished favourites, and 
 you very seldom waltz ; now I am a regular 
 teetotum, and love dancing with all my 
 heart." 
 
 *' I am certainly by no means passionately 
 addicted to it," replied Augusta, with a 
 faint smile; " but I like it very well some- 
 times. Nothing, however, would induce 
 me to work away in the steady manner 
 some girls do — partner after partner, right 
 through an evening. That would bore me 
 terribly ; I cannot imagine its being con- 
 sidered enjoyment. I only waltz occasion-
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 331 
 
 ally; and decidedly not with any chance 
 individual who chooses to ask me.'* 
 
 " Then I must feel very much honoured," 
 said Sir Charles, with a low bow; "as in- 
 deed any one may well be who is favoured 
 with Miss de Burgh for a partner.'' 
 
 For indeed Augusta was ready to waltz 
 with him as often as he chose to ask her ; 
 he and Count Salvi being both pretty equally 
 admitted to this privilege, one which the 
 proud English beauty reserved entirely for 
 intimate and particular friends. 
 
 " But I am forgetting the main object of 
 this early visit," said Augusta, suddenly, 
 for she was impatient to be gone. " Papa 
 and I were discussing some arrangements 
 for the Carnival; and we thought that as 
 our windows command a very good view 
 all along the Corso, perhaps you would all 
 come to our house. This proposal included 
 Lady Agnes and yourself," she added, turn- 
 ing to Sir Charles; "we thought it might 
 be more agreeable to form a party than to
 
 332 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 do it separately. Your mother and you 
 have never, I believe, seen it before?" 
 
 '^ Never,'' replied Sir Charles; *^ and I am 
 sure she will be delighted to avail herself 
 of your kind offer. I shall be charmed to 
 join your party ; but I fancied people drove 
 about part of the time, and threw sugar- 
 plums at their neighbours. Is not that a 
 part of the programme?" 
 
 ''Of course it is," remarked Miss Crewe; 
 " I know all that goes on, though I have 
 never seen it ; and I mean to have every bit 
 of fun going. Shall you not drive too, Miss 
 de Burgh?" 
 
 ''Oh! certainly," said Augusta; "we 
 could never omit that. The large carriage 
 will hold us all, and we could drive round 
 and see everything that is to be seen." 
 
 " It is an admirable plan," observed Mrs. 
 Greville ; " thank you very much for your 
 kind proposal. We shall have a charming 
 view from your windows ; and it will be 
 much pleasanter to be in a party than 
 alone."
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS, 333 
 
 "Then we may consider it a settled 
 thing," said Augusta, rising and preparing 
 to depart; "shall I find Lady Agnes at 
 home just now, Sir Charles? I had better 
 mention the arrangement to her also." 
 
 " She is at home," replied Sir Charles, 
 " and will be very happy to see you ; other- 
 wise I could easily have conveyed your 
 message to her. If you are going there, 
 however, I hope I may be permitted to 
 escort you to her?" 
 
 " I am driving," replied Augusta ; " but 
 on so fine a morning I shall be glad of an 
 excuse for a short walk, and the carriage 
 can follow me." 
 
 She could scarcely help colouring as she 
 spoke, for she feared lest her pleasure at 
 Sir Charles's proposal might be perceived. 
 He could hardly avoid making it she 
 thought; and she felt a strong misgiving 
 that she was in some degree sacrificing her 
 dignity by her ready acceptance of his 
 escort. But the words had passed her lips, 
 and she had no resource but to abide by
 
 334 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 them. Adieux were exchanged, and Miss 
 de Burgh and Sir Charles descended the 
 staircase together. The necessary order 
 was given to the coachman, and the young 
 couple traversed on foot the short distance 
 to the house in which Lady Agnes Belling- 
 ham's apartments were situated. 
 
 The old lady was reading an English 
 newspaper, which she laid down as they 
 entered. 
 
 Some slight surprise she felt when she 
 perceived by whom her son was accom- 
 panied, but she was much too well-bred to 
 allow it to be visible for a moment ; and on 
 hearing the state of the case, she begged 
 Miss de Burgh to send her carriage away 
 altogether and remain to luncheon, then 
 just about to be served, undertaking to 
 drive her home afterwards. 
 
 Augusta consented to do so, sending a 
 message of explanation by the servants to 
 her father. She scarcely knew how she 
 had allowed herself to be persuaded into 
 acting in this manner, for she was a proud
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 335 
 
 girl, not addicted to yielding to her im- 
 pulses; and only half an hour previously 
 her mind had been filled with bitter and 
 angry feelings, and in her sensation of 
 annoyance she had spared neither Sir 
 Charles nor herself. 
 
 The reading tableau formed by the young 
 baronet and the two sisters had raised a 
 whirlwind of passionate emotions in her 
 undisciplined heart; and the knowledge 
 and perception of this had been not the 
 least bitter and intolerable part of the 
 burden laid on her haughty spirit. 
 
 " Why did she love one who cared not 
 for her — or only as a friend?" 
 
 For she was too clear-sighted not to per- 
 ceive that Sir Charleses regard for her par- 
 took more of the nature of friendship than 
 of any stronger and more passionate emo- 
 tion. Still there were times when she 
 doubted, when she clung to the fond idea 
 that a warmer sentiment was there, and 
 that circumstances might develop it into a 
 deeper feeling, perhaps into love, such as
 
 33G THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 she felt for him ; and then for a moment 
 her pulses would throb wildly at the pic- 
 ture hope presented to her mind, only to be 
 succeeded by a still darker sensation of 
 despair, a still more bitter sense of humilia- 
 tion and self-abasement. 
 
 Her hete noire was Emily Crewe. 
 
 But for the presence and counteracting 
 influence of this dangerous Irish girl, she 
 had viewed the future more hopefully ; for 
 in this respect, as in many others, she en- 
 tirely misjudged one whom she considered 
 as a rival and an enemy. She felt com- 
 pelled to acknowledge her rare gifts of 
 person and manner, and she well knew the 
 effect produced by her very uncommon 
 style of singing ; but Emily's still higher 
 qualities of heart and character were un- 
 recognised by Augusta. Clever as she was, 
 she could not read or comprehend a dispo- 
 sition so different from her own. 
 
 And Emily was no rival in the Hght in 
 which Augusta regarded her ; no thought 
 of Sir Charles Bellingham as a lover or a
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 337 
 
 husband had crossed her imagination ; but 
 Augusta's misconception on this point was 
 plainly visible to her, and we cannot deny 
 that the young lady rather enjoyed the 
 error, and took no particular pains to en- 
 lighten Miss de Burgh as to the unreality 
 of her delusion. 
 
 Lady Agnes did the honours of the lun- 
 cheon table to her fair guest with a good 
 deal of mental disquietude. SmiUng as 
 Augusta sat there, graceful and hand- 
 some as she looked in her tasteful morn- 
 ing attire, the kind old lady would much 
 rather have shared the meal with her son 
 alone, though her feelings of hospitality 
 had impelled her to invite Miss de Burgh 
 to remaiQ and join them. She, too, had 
 altered her estimate of the girl whom she 
 had once thought a most desirable and 
 fitting bride for her only son. Now the 
 idea of such a result to their acquaintance 
 would have filled her with regret and 
 anxiety. She could not understand 
 Augusta; there was no chord in unison 
 
 VOL. I. 22
 
 338 THE PROGKESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 between her own warm motherly nature 
 and the cold worldly heart that had so 
 little feeling to spare for others, and in 
 which even the ordinary love and interest 
 of the sisterly link seemed wanting. 
 
 Lady Agnes had never forgotten 
 Augusta's utter and clearly unassumed 
 indifference when speaking of that absent 
 sister. To her warm imagination it argued 
 ill for a disposition so constituted ; and she 
 felt that a heart so devoid of graceful and 
 natural affection was not the one she hoped 
 to see her son win for himself, and cherish 
 as the light and lode-star of a loving 
 home. 
 
 Still she felt much regard and even liking 
 for Augusta, and her manner to her was 
 cordial and affectionate. Sir John de 
 Burgh and his daughter had been on very 
 friendly terms with them, and had shown 
 them much kindness and attention. Lady 
 Agnes was not one to forget this ; and the 
 intimacy had been cemented by much 
 pleasant intercourse on both sides. But
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 339 
 
 she was just as well pleased tliat it should 
 be limited to an exchange of the ordinary 
 courtesies of society, and to meeting chiefly 
 on festive occasions. She had contrived 
 to avoid much familiar intercourse, judging 
 that to be more inimical to her views than 
 the mere easy acquaintance of general 
 gaiety. 
 
 Miss Crewe stood much higher in her 
 good graces ; and though in some respects 
 she was not quite her ideal of a daughter- 
 in-law, still, had Sir Charles brought 
 the handsome Irish girl to his mother, 
 and asked her to receive and love his 
 future wife, she would have taken her 
 unhesitatingly to her heart, and given 
 her the welcome and the blessing of a 
 parent. 
 
 But she saw there was no chance of 
 this. She perceived much more clearly 
 than Augusta had done, than Emily had no 
 design or idea of attracting her son. She 
 liked him — ^liked him very much — but as 
 a friend, nothing further; therefore Lady 
 
 22—3
 
 340 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 Agnes had no dread or anxiety with re- 
 spect to Miss Crewe, and that young lady 
 and her sister were very frequent and 
 familiar visitors, and much intimacy pre- 
 vailed between the two families. 
 
 But again her eye rested uneasily on the 
 form of her beautiful guest, who, mth a 
 bright smile and a heightened tint in her 
 soft cheek, sat listening and repl3dng to the 
 lively remarks of her handsome young 
 host. 
 
 Augusta, in a lustrous dark blue silk, 
 fitting, as her dresses always did, to per- 
 fection, was on this particular morning 
 looking her very best. She had laid aside 
 her bonnet, and her luxuriant hair was re- 
 vealed in all its glossy beauty; while the 
 costly Indian shawl that had fallen from 
 her shoulders displayed a form moulded 
 after the rarest models of grace and dignity. 
 With a slight misgiving Lady Agnes ac- 
 knowledged her wondrous loveliness, and 
 almost marvelled that her son had not 
 already succumbed to beauty so matchless
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 341 
 
 and dazzling, and in her secret heart she 
 owned that a fairer Lady Bellingham could 
 never be found to wear that honoured and 
 long-descended name. 
 
 Still she trusted the title might never be 
 so represented; and anxiously, though un- 
 observedly, she watched the young couple, 
 dreading to discover what might increase 
 her uneasiness, and lead her to fear that 
 all her pains and precautions to avert this 
 undesired consummation had been utterly 
 futile and unavailing. 
 
 Sir Charles was certainly very attentive 
 to Miss de Burgh, but in his own house he 
 could be nothing else. He, too, thought 
 she looked particularly well, and perhaps 
 this perception may have lent greater 
 empressement to his manner; for a lovely 
 colour glowed in Augusta's cheek, and a 
 softer light came into her brilliant eyes, 
 that rendered her more than usually attrac- 
 tive. 
 
 This was one of her few happy hours, 
 and such fleeting moments were too often
 
 342 THj; PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 paid for by a reaction of bitterness and 
 humiliation^ when the veil seemed again 
 rudely torn from her eyes, and the cold 
 stern reality forced itself hard and cruel on 
 her aching heart. And a few swiftly-pass- 
 ing, but never-to-be-forgotten weeks, had 
 effected this mighty change. 
 
 They discussed the coming Carnival, and 
 their preparations for it; and Lady Agnes 
 shook her head smilingly when told of the 
 mad confusion and boisterous merriment 
 peculiar to the season. 
 
 " I shall be very glad to take a comfort- 
 able peep at it all from your windows," she 
 observed ; " but driving about through such 
 exciting scenes would be far too much for 
 a sober old woman like me. I shall keep 
 house while you are absent, and hear all 
 about it when you return." 
 
 "We shall see when the time comes," 
 said Augusta, gaily. " You talk of your 
 age. Lady Agnes; you are quite a young 
 woman compared to many ladies whom I 
 have seen enjoying it as thoroughly as the 
 youngest child. The Carnival is an excep-
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 343 
 
 tion to everything ; people are all mad 
 then." 
 
 " So it seems," replied Lady Agnes, laugh- 
 ing ; " and we all know the proverb, ' No 
 fools like old fools/ I must try and uphold 
 the character of British old ladies for sense 
 and propriety. I feel to have almost for- 
 feited it already; in England I was quite 
 an old stay-at-home, sitting in the chimney- 
 corner knitting, and since coming here I 
 have fallen into very bad practices, and 
 have been at two or three parties every 
 week." 
 
 " And very proper too," said her son, 
 looking at her affectionately. '' I am very 
 proud of my mother. Miss de Burgh, old 
 woman as she chooses to call herself; and I 
 like to show her everywhere, as a remark- 
 ably fine specimen." 
 
 Had the mother and son been alone. Sir 
 Charles would have embraced her tenderly, 
 as was his usual practice on such occasions ; 
 but a third party being present, they con- 
 tented themselves with exchanging glances 
 of warm affection.
 
 344 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 "I hope I may be permitted to agree 
 with you," remarked Augusta, with a 
 bright smile. " It is my own feeling about 
 my father. I feel proud of him wherever I 
 go; I never think I see his equal any- 
 where." 
 
 Her love for her father was the one green 
 spot in her heart ; as she spoke thus her 
 eye softened, a rich glow mantled in her 
 cheek, all hardness seemed gone from her 
 features and expression, she looked per- 
 fectly beautiful. 
 
 Even Sir Charles was struck by it, and 
 gazed at her with increased admiration; 
 Lady Agnes watched her narrowly and 
 keenly. 
 
 " Have I wronged this girl ? Can I have 
 been mistaken in her character?" were her 
 inward exclamations. " She is warmly 
 attached to her father; her whole coun- 
 tenance changes when speaking of him. 
 She has then a heart, and I have doubted 
 it. God forgive me if I have been cruelly 
 misjudging her. There may be a reason, 
 and a good one, for her coldness to her
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 345 
 
 absent "sister; some family mystery into 
 which none may inquire." 
 
 Augusta's slight ebullition of feeling 
 seemed to have penetrated to the hearts of 
 both mother and son; truth to say, nearly 
 the same sentiments had crossed both their 
 minds. 
 
 They were kinder, and, if it were possible, 
 even more cordial in their manner than 
 before ; Augusta felt the change, and it 
 again raised her hopes. 
 
 But she was wrong in her ideas so far as 
 Sir Charles was concerned. He did not love 
 her ; he merely thought within himself, 
 " How beautiful she is ! how charming when 
 she chooses ! Why is she not always so ? 
 why does not she more frequently yield to 
 what must surely be her own natural im- 
 pulses?" and then he turned his reflections 
 from her, and talked lightly of some other 
 subject. But his manner remained kind 
 and friendly as before; Augusta felt happy, 
 Lady Agnes had a mind clouded with 
 doubts and misgivings. 
 
 "She is young, lovely, accomplished,
 
 346 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 everything that a mother apparently could 
 desh'e in a bride for her son — and it may 
 be that she will soon fill that position. I 
 must try to like her for his sake, I must 
 try — it should not be so difficult ;" and she 
 looked anxiously at the fair young face only 
 a few feet distant from her, and yet felt that 
 the heart whose workings shone in that 
 face was sundered as by thousands of 
 leagues from the true and tender one that 
 beat in her maternal bosom. 
 
 Why it should be so she knew not, she 
 only felt it was. 
 
 Still, hoping for the best, she was bent 
 on being kind and courteous to her young 
 guest; and when luncheon was over, and 
 the carriage announced, she proposed that 
 instead of conveying Miss de Burgh at once 
 to her father's house, they should take a 
 drive first, and Augusta be set down after- 
 wards. Augusta agreed to this willingly, 
 and all three accordingly set out. 
 
 Some trifling shopping occupied part of 
 the time, and a pleasant drive followed. 
 Then Augusta requested to be taken home,
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 347 
 
 in case Sir John might be waiting for her. 
 Their hours were later than those of the 
 Bellinghams, and it was even then not 
 very much beyond their usual time for 
 going out. Sir Charles leaped from the 
 carriage and helped her to alight, ex- 
 pressing as he did so the pleasure her 
 society had afforded them. 
 
 They were mere commonplace, conven- 
 tional words of civility, such as pretty girls 
 receive as a matter of course every day of 
 their lives; but they made the heart of 
 Augusta beat high, and brought an answer- 
 ing colour to her cheek. She was always 
 doubly charming when she blushed; and 
 again the young baronet thought how 
 beautiful she was, and the thought was 
 visibly written in his expressive and in- 
 genuous countenance. 
 
 Lady Agnes watched them both keenly, 
 and felt her convictions deepen. She had 
 always seen that Augusta showed much 
 partiality for her son, and with maternal 
 affection she had thought it no more than 
 was natural.
 
 348 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 But as she sat in the carriage and watched 
 the parting of the young pair before her, a 
 new and strange light darted into her mind 
 and illumined much that had hitherto been 
 unnoticed. 
 
 She read Augusta's secret in the moment 
 when she raised her eyes to meet those of 
 Sir Charles, and a dim foreboding and deep 
 anxiety was now added to the lingering 
 doubt that had before oppressed her. A 
 new and fatal danger seemed to threaten 
 them now. Had her son too acquired 
 the unhappy knowledge that had just 
 flashed upon her? If so, she might in- 
 deed give up all hope of saving him, of 
 averting from him a fate that it filled her 
 with anguish to think of. For she knew 
 her son, she knew his noble and generous 
 nature ; and she felt well assured that did 
 he but suspect the existence of such a sen- 
 timent on the part of Miss de Burgh, more 
 especially if he recognised that it had been 
 caused by any words or actions of his, no 
 power on earth could prevent him from the 
 sacrifice he would feel that honour impera-
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 349 
 
 tively demanded from him; name, fortune, 
 the freedom and happiness of a lifetime 
 would be unhesitatingly offered for her 
 acceptance. 
 
 Better, a thousand times better than this a 
 wife, however humble or lowly, who should 
 be sought for herself and from motives of 
 sincere affection. Now she felt that she 
 could welcome and even love Augusta her- 
 self, if she came to her as the chosen bride 
 of her son, chosen by him and loved, not 
 merely reluctantly forced on him by adverse 
 circumstances ; to receive a daughter-in-law 
 wedded solely from motives of honour and 
 compassion, would indeed be a trial to which 
 she could not easily bring herself to yield. 
 
 All this rushed through the mind of 
 Lady Agnes as she listened to the farewell 
 observations of her son and Miss de Burgh, 
 and watched their every look and gesture 
 with an eager wistfulness very far removed 
 from the usually dignified composure of her 
 manner. 
 
 But she saw nothing more. The last 
 words were said; the fleeting blush had
 
 350 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 faded from Augusta's clieek. She turned 
 away and entered the house; and Sir 
 Charles, raising his hat as she left him, 
 came towards the carriage with a careless 
 smile, and taking a seat opposite his mother, 
 issued directions to the servant regarding the 
 next point to which he wished to be driven. 
 
 "What a splendid girl that is!" said 
 Sir Charles, with enthusiasm, as the car- 
 riage rolled slowly along the Corso ; '* I 
 never saw her look so handsome as she did 
 to-day. She is fit to be an empress !" 
 
 "She is very handsome," replied Lady 
 Agnes, with a beating heart ; " but I did 
 not know you were so warm an admirer. 
 I thought your little penchant had some- 
 what abated." 
 
 " So it has, I confess ; but there are times 
 when it returns in full force, and one of 
 them was to-day. She looked so beautiful 
 at luncheon that I sat transfixed in silent 
 rapture.*' 
 
 " Not very silent," said his mother, trying 
 to smile. 
 
 " Silent as regarded my feelings of admi-
 
 THE PROGUESS OF EVENTS. 351 
 
 ration/' replied Sir Charles, meditatively. 
 '^ I was thinking how strange it is that I 
 have managed to escape falling in love 
 with her, though I believe I was very near 
 doing so once — at the commencement of our 
 acquaintance." 
 
 Lady Agnes felt her heart give a great 
 leap of gladness. 
 
 " I rather anticipated some such conclu- 
 sion to our romantic encounter in the 
 mountains," she remarked, cheerfully; "and 
 was beginning to retrace all my old visions 
 of the cottage in the park, and little mis- 
 chievous fingers pulling my roses and 
 honeysuckle." 
 
 "No chance of that yet awhile," said 
 her son, with a smile ; "I am afraid my 
 matrimonial star is not in the ascendant; 
 I seem doomed to bachelorhood. The cot- 
 tage with the honeysuckles wont have its 
 tenant yet, you must be content to remain 
 at the hall." 
 
 " This beautiful Miss de Burgh, has she 
 no attraction for you? I have sometimes 
 thought otherwise, my dear Charles."
 
 352 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 "I admire her immensely, of course, mother ; 
 any man with eyes in his head must do 
 that; and I like her too — very well. But 
 my wife — the wonderful wife you and I 
 have so often discussed, mother — Miss 
 de Burgh is scarcely like her, is she? 
 The daughter who is to love you as I 
 do, and to cheer and brighten your old 
 age — when that time comes — that cold, 
 stately beauty hardly looks fit to do that, 
 does she ?" 
 
 "Let us do her justice, Charles; she 
 spoke with much affection of her father. 
 She is very fond of him." 
 
 " I believe that, my dear mother; and I 
 have no bad opinion of Miss de Burgh. 
 But my feelings for her have changed since 
 our first acquaintance. I will not deny 
 that I admired her very much then ; nay, 
 at one time it is possible that thoughts of 
 her as the future Lady Bellingham may 
 have faintly dawned on my dazzled imagi- 
 nation, for she is wonderfully beautiful, and 
 when she chooses she can be very fascina-
 
 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 353 
 
 tins:. But I have lived too long with you, 
 mother, not to be fastidious and discrimi- 
 nating ; you have spoilt me for all women 
 who do not resemble yourself. Till I can 
 find one a little like you, I must just be 
 content to remain as 1 am ; and very well 
 off I may consider myself too." 
 
 " Your affection for me makes you par- 
 tial," said Lady Agnes, as tears of emotion 
 rose to her eyes ; " but I own that no ordi- 
 nary woman will content me for your wife, 
 my dear boy. Miss de Burgh did not quite 
 realize my anticipations in this respect. 
 Still, my dear Charles, she is a lovely girl, 
 and you are much thrown into her society. 
 You must be careful both for your own sake 
 and hers." 
 
 "Oh! I am quite safe," replied Sir 
 Charles, laughing ; " I have had the disease 
 and have recovered from it, no fear of me. 
 And as to her ! my dear mother, how little 
 you know her! I believe nothing under 
 a grand duke would satisfy the ambition 
 of Miss de Burgh. A poor baronet is a 
 
 VOL. I. 23
 
 354 THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS. 
 
 mere nobody in her eyes. I think she 
 would probably send me to the rightabout 
 at once for my presumption in daring to 
 aspire to such a position as that of her 
 husband. No, no, she is safe, if anybody 
 is." 
 
 "Bhnd! blind r thought the old lady 
 to herself, but without any intention of 
 enlightening him. 
 
 It might be that all was safe after all. 
 
 And yet her heart bled for the poor 
 motherless girl in her sad isolation, bur- 
 dened with a secret so trying to bear with 
 fortitude. 
 
 "Poor thing! poor thing!'' she mur- 
 mured to herself, "I feel truly sorry for 
 her, and I can never help her, never. In 
 silence she must bear her heavy burden; 
 I can only pray that time may lighten it to 
 her." 
 
 END or VOL. I.