L I B RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLRSITY 
 
 or ILLI NOIS 
 
 From the collection 
 of Julius Doerner 
 
 Chicago 
 Purchased, 1918 
 
 ^c 
 
 N 
 
 t/ 
 
 M
 
 / / - — - 
 
 sj^^jj. 
 
 ~'/^
 
 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDO^^: 
 
 (Published for the Author.) 
 
 JOHN" CAMDE:^r HOTTEN", PICCADILLY. 
 
 1867.
 
 LONDON : 
 BECKETT AKD SONS, 111 AXD 113, KINGSLAKD ROAD.
 
 T5 33 
 
 INDEX 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE UNPROMISING ONE OP THE FAMILY ... 1 
 
 II. WOOED AND WON 12 
 
 III. THE baronet's LETTER 22 
 
 IV. DEAREST PRIENDS MUST PART 31 
 
 V. THE REMOVE 38 
 
 VL NEW ACQUAINTANCES 42 
 
 Vn. ASPIRING NATURES 54 
 
 VIII. UNEXPECTED NEWS, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES . . 58 
 
 IX. VILLAGE ENTERTAINMENTS, AND HOW THEY ENDED (j2 
 
 X. THE CHERRY TREE 83 
 
 XI. SINKING TO REST . . 88 
 
 XII. nancy's DIFPICULTIES, which THE QUAKER SOLVES 90 
 
 Xin. POOR IS THE TRIUMPH o'eR THE TIMID HARE . . 99 
 
 XIV. MISFORTUNES 106 
 
 XV. MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY 112 
 
 XVI. BETTER POSPECTS 127 
 
 XVII. A PROPOSAL 133 
 
 XVIIL SEPARATION 149 
 
 XIX. CHANGES 165 
 
 XX. THE REPUTED MISANTHROPIST 178 
 
 XXI. THE MARCHMONTS OF GRANBY HALL . . . .183 
 
 XXIL SUSPICIONS AND JEALOUSIES 195 
 
 XXIII. THE CHALLENGE 205 
 
 XXIV. A CATASTROPHE 228 
 
 XXV. TOM's VISIT TO AUBREY 242 
 
 xxvL SIR James's visit to granby hall .... 255 
 
 XXVII. LADY MARCIIMONT's EFFORTS AT A RENEWED INTI- 
 MACY REPULSED 261 
 
 XXVIII. THE TYRANNY OF A FOOLISH WIFE 268 
 
 XXIX. Samson's first entrance into good society . 273 
 
 XXX. vaulting ambition 287
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/tommarchniont01lond
 
 TOM MARCHMONT 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE UXPROMISING ONE OP THE FAMILY. 
 
 Situated in tlie centre of Great Huntingdonsliire, and 
 about six miles away from the old-fashioned town of Barking, 
 there stands a noble residence, called Granby Hall. For 
 centuries this place had been owned by a family of the name 
 of Marchmont. The house had been erected at a jDcriod wlien 
 the estate produced an income which enabled its owners to 
 defray the numerous expenses attendant on keeping up so 
 fine a place without embarrassment, but times liad changed 
 since then. The Marclimonts had always been famous for 
 their pack of hounds — the finest to be met Avith in tliis very 
 sporting county. The hounds brought horses, and the horses 
 riders, with all the endless expenses which these adjuncts 
 involve. There was an ambition in each successive repre- 
 sentative of the house to maintain the family honour, wliicli.
 
 2 TOM MAnCIDIONT, 
 
 it soemcd, could only l30 done through the instrumentality of 
 these hounds and horses. In consequence, the family income 
 began gradually to diminish, while the pack of hounds re- 
 tained its original proportions, and with them its clainas to 
 general f^ime. 
 
 Some sixty years ago, Sir Charles Marchmont was o-^nier 
 of the place and title — a title which had belonged to the 
 family ever since Baronets w^ere first created. Like his pre- 
 decessors. Sir Charles was proud of his pedigree,- proud 
 of his place, and proud of his pack of hounds. Of purse- 
 pride he could have none, for on his father's death he 
 found himself with all the fancied duties required of him 
 by his position, to bo one of the poorest of men. Lady 
 Marchmont loved the gay world almost as well as her 
 husband loved the pleasures of the chase. The education 
 of their two cliildren, a son and a daughter, served much 
 to increase the annual expenditure, and so when Cliristmas 
 time had passed and the yearly bills had all been paid, 
 Sir Charles* purse was generally a good deal lighter than 
 that of the steward who managed his extensive estates. 
 
 A younger brother of the Earonet's had been put into the 
 church on account of the family living, though having 
 little taste for his profession. He had maiTied a woman 
 of birth but without money, and they too found themselves 
 poor for the position they thought themselves entitled to 
 hold. The struggle they made to maintain it was worthy t)f
 
 THE UNPROJriSIXG ONE OF THE FAMILY. 3 
 
 a nobler cause, and it alisorbed them quite, to the exckision 
 of every higlier aim. When, therefore, five years after the 
 birth of their second son, a third came into the worhl, the 
 new arrival was merely looked ujion as a fresh source of 
 expense, and as an encumbrance which they would have ftiadly 
 done without. However, they felt as regarded all three, that 
 being the sons of ^Ir. and Lady Julia Marchmont, a fitting 
 education must be given them in order that they might 
 never shame the position to which they were born. 
 
 The atmosphere of their home being intensely worldly, 
 it had on the elder ones the effect which might have been 
 anticipated. They possessed the manners and the address 
 of gentlemen — they could ride and they could shoot. Tliey 
 had also acquired that kind of knowledge when at school, 
 which would always save them from the dire disgrace 
 of being looked upon as unconversant witli the ways 
 of society when in it. Eut witli all tlicse outward ad- 
 vantages their hearts within seemed to be withering 
 away ; indeed, it is probable they would have been inclined 
 to laugh at the person who could have been simple enough 
 to accuse them of having any. 
 
 AVhen advanced towards manhood their father had suc- 
 ceeded in getting his two eldest sons conmiissions in the 
 army, and now he had only Charles to dispose of. Cliarlos 
 possessed by nature a warm heart and generous impulses. lie 
 had felt from his earliest years a want which nothing at 
 
 B 1
 
 4 TOM MAT^CITMOVT. 
 
 home had ever yet supplied liim with— the want of human 
 sympathy and affection. He had been an unwelcome arrival, 
 and his warmer feelings and stronger impulses made him 
 more difficult to manage than his elder brothers. He was 
 deemed the unpromising one of the family, and in spite of 
 this he was destined for the church. Charles cordially dis- 
 liked the idea. His home observations led him to consider 
 religion as all humbug, and he hated humbug. He was fond 
 too of an out-of-doors life, and the idea of having to write 
 two sermons a week, and of undergoing previously the hard 
 work Avliich was to lead to such a consummation, terrified 
 him. 
 
 When Charles was sixteen his mother died, and it hardly 
 coidd have been said that he felt her loss. A year after- 
 wards he followed his father to the grave. This last event 
 did really prove a misfortune, for it deprived Charles of a 
 home. It was found that Mr. Marchmont had not put by a 
 penny, and so the poor fellow became entirely dependent on 
 an uncle, who took care to make him feel that he would be 
 glad in any way to get rid of him. Tlie frigid state kept up 
 by the Baronet and his lady wearied Charles, while he felt 
 most keenly alive to the fact that he was an unwelcome guest. 
 About a month therefore after his father's death, and while 
 his uncle was making arrangements for sending him to 
 college in some menial capacity, Charles took the direction 
 of his affairs into his own hand.'=;, ran aAvny and enlisted as a
 
 THE UNPROMISING ONE OE THE FAMILY. 5 
 
 common sailor. His uncle and his brothers made a few famt 
 efforts at discovering where he was gone, and they were not 
 very sorry at failing in their endeavours. 
 
 The ship Charley had joined was going to China, and so 
 he took leave of his native land for some years. His new 
 way of life disappointed him terribly. He had rushed into 
 it with that thoughtless impatience wliich marked his 
 character, and without having any ideas as to an Ocean life, 
 save what his own active and glowing imagination had in- 
 spired him with. He had sought for freedom but he had 
 found bondage, and his spirit chafed under it. He had the 
 instincts of a gentleman, and these instincts were continually 
 outraged. He was one who could not patiently bear to be 
 miserable, and so he grew reckless of life. If there Avere any 
 particular deed of daring to be done, Charley was the one to 
 do it, and it became a very small matter to him whether the 
 action brought death -with it or not. He outlived, however, 
 all the hazards which a bold and suffering spirit led him to 
 encounter, and at the end of four years he again found 
 himself on his native shore. 
 
 Charley was a fine, handsome fellow, and looked in every 
 way superior to the dress he wore. The ship had come 
 into harbour at Plymouth, and soon after his arrival Charley 
 was saunteruig along High-street, not very well knowing 
 what to do with his time. Passing a bookseller's shop he 
 turned into it, to try if he could find a readable book with
 
 (3 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 wliick to wliilc away an hour or two. 
 woman of tlie sliop looked hard at him. 
 
 " Have I," she at last exclaimed, " the pleasure of speaking 
 to Sir Charles Marchmont's nephew ? " 
 Charles coloured and then laughed. 
 
 "To no less a person," -was his answer, making a sailor's 
 bow as he spoke. " And hoAV long have you left my aunt's 
 service, " he continued, for he had by this time recognized 
 his interlocutor as bemg Lady Marchmont's late housekeeper. 
 " About two years ago," was Mrs. Morgan's reply. " Have 
 you heard of her Ladyship recently?" she contmued, 
 " I'm told as the family is gone abroad." 
 
 " Are they ! " said Charles, " I have not had the honour of 
 hearing from my worthy relatives smce I left them some four 
 years ago, and believing as I do that they care about as much 
 for mo as I do for them, I don't suppose we are ever likely 
 to give ourselves much trouble concerning one another ! " 
 " Well," said Mrs. Morgan, " I don't think as they've a 
 
 right to expect much gratitude from you." " iVnd what's 
 
 more, they won't want it if I'll only let them alone," 
 observed Charles interrupting her. 
 
 " It seems a pity though," resinned Mrs. !Morgnn in a tone 
 of regi'ct, and casting a significant glance at his dress, 
 *' for a fine young man like you to have lowered himself 
 as you have done — and such a good chance as you had of 
 gettiug the laniily living, if you'd only bided your time."
 
 THE UNPROMISIXG ONE OF THE FAMILV. 7 
 
 "Much cliaiice I liad of that !" said Charles " As if the 
 fellow they put in was going to die off as soon as I wanted 
 hmi to." 
 
 "Eut I'm sure, Master Charles," said Mrs. Morgan, 
 looking in his face, " you can't be happy as you are." 
 
 " Happy ! " 'said Charles bitterly, " who is ? ]^ot I, for a 
 certainty, and its what I don't expect to be. However, 
 I would bear being in a worse position sooner than I would 
 apply for help to that affectionate uncle of mine ! " 
 
 "Well, Mr, Charles," said Mrs. Morgan in a voice of 
 regretful sympathy, " you always was a little bit too pruud 
 and independent with them as was above ye, and that ain't 
 the Way to get on in this world. I always said though, as you 
 had the best heart of any of them, and I shall be proud to 
 show you any civility as is in my power. May I ask how 
 long you've been at Plymouth ? — La ! Morgan will be so glad 
 to see ye ! — You remember Morgan at the Hall 1 "Well, his 
 brother fell into bad health, so he offered him the business 
 for a consideration. He and I had put by a little money, and 
 as we Was both thed of service wo made an arrangement as 
 AV^e'd marry and set up together. He'll be pleased to ace }'ou 
 Master Charles, for you always was a favoaritc of his," 
 
 The good woman had rambled on Avithout waiting for a 
 reply to her question, Hhe now put it to Cliarlf^ again, and 
 on being told that he lm<l so recently arrived, — 
 
 " Unly la'st Thursday I " die exclaimed. " Then m«y-bc
 
 8 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 you've not made many friends here as yet. We shall 
 always be pleased to see you, Mr. Charles, whenever you've 
 a mind to come. My husband and I have made some 
 money out of your family, and we'd feel bound to show 
 you any kindness as we could. Morgan is out now, 
 but he'll be in at one o'clock. If you don*t object to a 
 plain dinner we shall be very pleased to see you at that 
 hour. "We've no one with us except Nancy Cox. You'U 
 remember her mother. Master Charles; she was laundress 
 at the Court." 
 
 "What old Thomas's wife ?" enquired Charles. " Is the 
 old man still alive ?" 
 
 " He died soon after you left. Master Charles. He took it 
 greatly to heart, your leaving them all as you did. He 
 talked about you when he was a dying, and of your once 
 bringing him a bottle of wine when he was ill. He 
 knew, he said, as 'twas got with your own money, and 
 lie ilwelt upon it more than you'd 'a' thought. IS'ancy's a 
 l)oor tiling, and wu'vc got her liero fur a bit 0:1 account 
 of her health. If you'll excuye the company Master 
 Charles -^ " 
 
 " Excuse the company ! " Charley exclaimed, " I hope I 
 may never get into worse ! I shall be delighted to come. 
 Morgan was always fond of a story, and I've got a lot to 
 tell liim. I'll bring him some strange birds too another 
 day, to add to his collection. Cood-bye till one," — and 
 Charles was off.
 
 THE UNPROMISING ONE OF THE FAMILY. 9 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " thought Mrs. Morgan to herself, while 
 watching the young sailor's light and sjDringy stejD as he 
 walked down the street, " he looks as if he were made for 
 better fortune than he've got." 
 
 The bookseller was overwhelmed with astonishment on 
 his return home at his wife's intelligence. "Well to be 
 sure," he exclaimed, "I've never heard anything stranger 
 than that in all my life." He was glad, and he was sorry too. 
 Master Charles was too much of a gentleman to be fit for 
 the calling he had adopted. He wished he coidd do some- 
 thing for him. He -wished Sir Charles were in England. 
 He would -write to him if he were. For very shame he'd 
 never let his nephew be on board ship as a common sailor if 
 he knew it. 
 
 " Sir Charles is a man," said his wife, " who would never 
 care much where his nephew might be, as long as he was out 
 of his sight and hearing. Mr. Charles don't look for any 
 help from liim. He told me as much, and believe it, 
 he couldn't have looked more pleased when I asked hun 
 to come and dine here, if you'd been Admiral of the Port ! " 
 
 " Ohj I always thought well of Master Charles," observed 
 John Morgan, whose pride had been evidently a little flattered 
 by his wife's last words. "His was a fine nature sjDoilt," he con- 
 tinued, " and I'd do more for him than I'd do for most of them 
 as I knows." 
 
 The expected guest was five minutes before his time, and
 
 10 TOM MARCIIMONT. 
 
 on meeting ]iis old acquaintance lie forgot his iJiesent calling, 
 and greeted the ex-butler much as he would have done 
 had he still been looked uj^on generally as Sir Charles 
 Marchmont's nephew. The manner was reciprocal, Mr. 
 j\Iorgan's politeness not allowing him to sit down till begged 
 to do so by his visitor. 
 
 Charles had always been remarkably good company when 
 he thought fit, and the familiar faces, and the hearty welcome 
 accorded him, had put hmi into unusually good spuits. His 
 stories seemed gTadually to have the effect of widening his 
 host's face, which the cares of business had, during the last 
 two years, considerably lengthened. 
 
 Kancy Cox was quite ovei'whelmed l3y the honour of 
 sitting at dinner facing Su' Charles's nephew, and she had 
 not a word to say. She was a timid, gentle ghi of seven- 
 teen, the only daughter of a widowed mother who, since she 
 had left Granby Hall, had been earning a maintenance as 
 washerwoman in the village of Waltham, some tweh'c or 
 thirteen miles from thence. Thomas and Mary Cox had 
 Ibeen prudent people, and, though engaged when young, they 
 had not married until late in life, from a fear that they might 
 hot be able to support a family sooner. Xancy had been, as 
 it were, the daughter of their bid age, and when her husltand 
 died the widow clung to her one child with no ordinary 
 affection. 
 
 Cliarle^>, as he gave an occasional glance at her acrosfc the
 
 THE UNPROMISING ONE OF THE FAMILY. 11 
 
 tciLle, felt a growing adiniratioii for her soft, liazel eyes, and 
 lier modest, gentle look, while he was struck with that air of 
 refinement which delicate health, united to a reflective cast 
 of mind, had imparted to her countenance. His words were, 
 however, all addressed to his host and hostess, who never for 
 a moment supposed — as on leaving he readily accepted an 
 invitation for the next day — that there was anyone among the 
 company assembled besides themselves whom he would be 
 glad again to see.
 
 12 TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WOOED AND WON. 
 
 Charles's temperament made Mm rajDid in all his decisions, 
 and after two or three more visits to the booksellers, he had 
 quite made up his mind that JSTancy -was the girl for him, and 
 that he could never care for any other. This decision being 
 come to, he did not keep it to hmiself very long. Ey 'svay 
 of commencement to his love-making he purchased in the 
 slioj) a s]5lendidly-bound volume of Byron's Poems, not with- 
 out considerable remonstrance on the part of Mrs. Morgan at 
 this piece of extravagance, though the good woman had not 
 tt notion wherefore the purchase was made* 
 
 " I left my stick in yoiu- little parlom- last night," he ob- 
 served, as Mrs. Morgan handed to him the parcel, " I'll just 
 go in and get it." 
 
 Still Mrs. Morgan did not see through Charles's very open- 
 handed manoeuvres. 
 
 ISTancy was most conveniently sitting in the parlour, where 
 she was bestowing nuicli attention on the repah of her hos- 
 tess's best collar. Charles sat down beside her with deter- 
 mination ill his manner, undid the parcel, and gave her the
 
 WOOED AND AYGX. 13 
 
 book, fancy's blush always came readily, and now it quite 
 suffused her face. 
 
 *' Oh ! Mr. Marchmont," she exclaimed, " you can't really 
 mean this handsome book for me." 
 
 " Ujoon my soul I do," said Charles, " but I want some- 
 thing from you in return. I love you, Kancy, and if you'll 
 consent to be my wife I'll try and become a steadier and a 
 better man." 
 
 For the honour of the family, Mrs. Morgan liked to have 
 it supposed that it was Charles's wildness that had brought 
 him to his jDresent condition, and he guessed rightly that 
 I^ancy had been well primed with this idea. 
 
 She was not so ready with her reply as he had been with 
 his question. She said nothing, but burst into tears. ^N^ever- 
 theless the feeling came over her all at once that she coiild 
 love the careless stranger as dearly as he had just told her 
 that he loved her. 
 
 " Silence implies consent," said Charles, and without further 
 demur he kissed iSTancy by way of giving assurance to liis 
 words. 
 
 " Ko," said N'ancy, a little recovered from her first .^.urprise, 
 "I could not marry you — you are a gentleman born and 
 bred, and I am nothing but a poor girl." 
 
 " Not much poorer than myself," said Charley, " and as for 
 gentility, it never yet did me any good, aud never will, and 
 I don't care a " lie was going to utter an oath, but lie
 
 14 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 restrained himself. " ^ancy," he continued, as he threw his 
 arm round lier waist, " I've lost my position, and I shall 
 never recover it again. If you'll have me I'll do my best to 
 hecomo a good man — if not — I'll blow my brains out — for 
 there's nothing in life besides yourself that I care to live for." 
 
 " Hush ! ;Mr. Marchmont," said Kancy, shocked at his 
 daring words, while she was still held in the firm grasp from 
 which she had been trying to extricate herself. " I can't 
 bear," she murmured, " to hear you talk so. I'd marry you, 
 and gladly, if it were right, and if I thought I could make 
 you happier." 
 
 " You can, you can," cried Charles. " It's all settled, and 
 I'll go at once and tell Mrs. Morgan." 
 
 "Stop, stop," said Kancy, frightened at his impetuosity, 
 and at the idea of what her hostess might say, " please wait 
 a little, Mr. Marchmont." 
 
 " I^ot an instant," was the reply, and Mrs. Morgan was 
 called in to be a witness to what Charles chose to consider 
 an engagement. 
 
 The good woman was as astonished as she was displeased. 
 She liked ^N'ancy, but not nearly well enough to approve of 
 her marrying the nephew of the Baronet, her former master. 
 She had, indeed, far higher views for Mr. Charles, and had 
 been indulging in rouiantic visions with regard to his res- 
 toration to his former position through some agency as yet 
 unknown.
 
 WOOED AXP WON. 15 
 
 Xancy looked timidly into Mrs. Morgan's face to see liow 
 she would take the announcement, while Charles was satisfied 
 with decisivel}'' informing her of the fact. 
 
 " Well, I never saw such a 3'oung gentleman as you," she 
 exclaimed, as she gave him a tender look of reproach, " and 
 as for you, I^ancy," she added with less forbearance, and with 
 a much sterner look, " I could' nt have believed as you'd have 
 given your consent to so unsuitable a proposal !" 
 
 " I said no, " stammered Nancy; and Charles allowed lier 
 no time to explain things further. 
 
 " !N^ancy refused me at first," he said, " but I swore I'd 
 blow my brains out, and now I've got her consent, and I 
 won't let her retract it." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Morgan, in a tone of intense vexation, 
 " I hope it won't be thought as I and Morgan have had any- 
 thing to do with it. I'd have been long enough before I'd 
 have asked [N'ancy here if I could have known what was a 
 going to come of it. It's beneath you, Mr. Charles, to marry 
 the daughter of your aunt's laundress, and I don't mind wlio 
 I say it to." 
 
 " Perhaps Nancy's mother would think it indifferent luck," 
 retorted Charles, " that would lead her daughter into marry- 
 ing a poor sailor like me." 
 
 "Oh, fie I" exclaimed Mrs. Morgan, "how you do talk !" 
 
 "Well, Kancy," said Charles, with tlie air and mannoi- of 
 an accepted lover, "you must write to your motlier, and ask
 
 16 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 for her consent to spare you to me, and the sooner she can 
 give you up the better." 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Charles," said Mrs. Morgan in a tone of pitying 
 reproach, " you was one as would always have your ovm way, 
 and I can't, of course, presume to dictate to you. However, 
 I think it will best, and Kancy will, I am sure, think the 
 same, that you don't come here again till she gets her 
 mother's reply." 
 
 " Then that will not be till the day after to-morrow," said 
 Charles. " !N'ow you won't be putting in a word against it," 
 he added, placing his hand coaxingly on Mrs. Morgan's 
 shoulder; "I'll make IN'ancy a good husband, and there's 
 no one who can reasonably object to my marrying whom I 
 please." 
 
 With a j^arting smile to I^Tancy, and a warm shake of his 
 older friend's hand, Charley walked away wishing, as he 
 did so, that he could anniliilate the next forty-eight hours, 
 and know at once whether he was to have the treasure that 
 he sought. On his departure, Mrs. Morgan, assuming great 
 dignity and severity of manner, thus addressed Nancy : — 
 
 " I'm sorry, very sony as all this has happened. I'll not 
 believe it of you, Nancy, as you could have given Mr. 
 Marchmont any actual encouragement to act as he have done, 
 but I blame you much for allowing him for a moment to 
 suppose as you could sanction his folly. Your mother lias, 
 I am sure, a great deal too much respect for her betters not
 
 WOOED AXD WON. 17 
 
 to tliiiik just as I do, and I feel as 'tis my duty to send you 
 back to lier at once. I'll write to her so as she may not be 
 taken by surprise, and you must be ready to start by the 
 coach at ten to-morrow morning." 
 
 !N"ancy had a sort of feeling that Mrs. Morgan was in the 
 right, and unhesitatingly assented to the proposal. 
 
 " I will go, then, and pack up my clothes at once," she 
 said, making a tremendous effort to speak cheerfully, and 
 then, when she had fairly shut herself into her room, she sat 
 upon the box she had gone up to fill, and indulged herself in 
 a hearty cry. She had been happy and contented an hour 
 ago, and now her peace of mind seemed to have departed. 
 After a time she commenced packing uj) her things, applied 
 some cold water to her eyes, and then went down to the 
 family dinner. Mrs. Morgan thought it best to make no 
 further allusion to the subject, while her manner towards 
 Nancy had become unusually kind and gentle. Morgan had 
 been so w^ell drilled by his wife that his observations were 
 confined to the poorness of Nancy's appetite. He hoped, he 
 said, that it woidd return when she got home, or her mother 
 would thiiJi the sea air had been of no good to her after all. 
 Poor Nancy's eyes swam with tears as her host was speaking, 
 but she managed to conceal her emotion. 
 
 " Mother," she said, " is so accustomed to see me eat but 
 little dinner, that she won't think much about my appetite 
 failinjx me once in a wav," and she (mvo the bookseller a
 
 18 TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 pleasant smile as she spoke. Though pleasant, it looked 
 to him as if it were just going to change into tears, and he 
 felt soiTy for Nancy. He knew it "would be treason to say 
 such a thing, hut he thought as he looked at her that worse 
 luck might befal Mr. Charles than he would get by marrying 
 Molly Cox's pretty daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan was so far pleased with ISTancy's behaviour as 
 to be induced to speak very kindly of her in her letter to 
 her mother. Nancy had slept over her disappointment, and 
 though she woke up in a frame of mind less happy than she 
 had done on the previous morning, yet she had a feeling that 
 it was her duty to banish Mi\ Marchmont for ever from her 
 thoughts, a feeling which she resolved to act upon. A bright 
 sun and a pleasant, balmy atmosphere helped her to chase 
 away melancholy ; and when the coach stopped at Mrs. Cox's 
 garden gate, and she caught sight of the motherly face, with 
 a welcome beaming from every feature, the little sore in 
 Nancy's heart seemed entirely to be healed, and she bid fair 
 to be again what she had been hitherto— the cheerfid com- 
 panion of a widowed mother. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan liad requested Molly Cox to let her hear of 
 her daughter's safe return, and not long after the arrival of 
 the expected letter, Charley walked into the bookseller's 
 house. 
 
 "Where is Nancy?" was his first question. 
 
 " At home," was the reply, and Mrs. Morgan put tlie letter
 
 WOOED AND WON. 19 
 
 she had just received into Charles's hand. It contained Mrs. 
 Cox's grateful thanks, and many expressions of pleasure at 
 having her dear gui home again. Charles's countenance fell. 
 
 " Then you sent Nancy home ! " was his first exclamation. 
 
 " I did," w^as the reply, " for I thought it hest for all par- 
 ties that she should go." 
 
 " Well, there is nothing to hinder me from following her," 
 said Charles promptly. " I hope when I see you next I 
 shall be a married man"— and he w^alked away "without 
 giving Mrs. Morgan time for expostulation. 
 
 I^ancy and her mother were at their frugal five o'clock tea, 
 when a second time the coach stopped at the garden-gate, and 
 in an instant an mipetuous knock was heard at the cottage- 
 door. Xancy turned pale, and then red, and her heart beat 
 so hard that she fancied her mother must have heard it. 
 In a moment Charley was by Nancy's side. 
 
 " I am come here," he said, addressing himself to Mrs. 
 Cox, "to ask you for your daughter. I love her with all 
 my heart and soul, and I have reason to think I might 
 persuade her to care for me. You'll not refuse my re- 
 quest, I feel assured" — and Charley waited anxiously for 
 an answer. 
 
 ^lolly was, like her daughter, not very ready of speech, 
 and her astonishment at this entirety unexpected visit seemed 
 quite to take her breath aAvay. Silence was again construed 
 by Charley into assent, and pulling his arm round Nancy's 
 
 c 2
 
 20 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 waist, ho protested that she was his', and that nothing now 
 shoidd separate them. Molly's respect for her betters seemed 
 to incapacitate her from contradicting the assertion ; though, 
 when she had recovered from her first surpise, she made some 
 feeble efforts towards hindering Charley's suit. However, 
 his earnestness proved in the end more than a match for her 
 weak powers of resistance. He won her heart mth liis 
 pleasant manner, convinced her understanding by his logic, 
 and succeeding in persuading her that there was nothing for 
 it now but to give her consent. 
 
 It was on a January day, in the year 1813, that the mar- 
 riage was solemnized. ISTot till later in that same year was 
 the Act passed for the proper registry of marriages, and 
 iN'ancy's union mth her impetuous lover was in every respect 
 hastily got through. Molly Cox was very anxious that 
 Charley's parentage should not be generally kno^^ai, and so it 
 was a relief to her mind when, on his merely giving his 
 name and former occupation, Mr. Gale seemed satisfied 
 therewith, and asked no further questions. 
 
 From the ardent lover, Charles now changed into the 
 devoted husband. His wife's feeling for liim amounted 
 almost to idolatry, and for a time there was not in the whole 
 world a happier woman than ^ancy. Charley, too, was 
 feeling happy for the first time in his life. He had A\'on the 
 earnest and unselfish love of a woman, and his late hardships 
 and rough companionship made ]\Iolly's cottage appeal* to him
 
 WOOED AND WON. 2l 
 
 a kind of earthly Paradise. Mrs. Cox was a hiimble-miuded, 
 cheerful, and in most respects a sensible woman, though 
 perhaps some of our readers will be disposed to think that 
 she failed a little in wisdom when she allowed the Baronet's 
 wild and reckless nephew to marry her daughter.
 
 22 TOM MARCHMONT, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE baronet's LETTER, 
 
 Unequal marriages often prove unfortunate ones. How- 
 ever, it did not seem as if the general rule was going to hold 
 good in this particular instance. Charles and IS'ancy were, 
 as we have said, positively happy, far happier perhaps than 
 some, the outward circumstances of whose union might ap- 
 pear a good deal more propitious. In spite of the difference 
 in birth and education, there was a certain similarity in the 
 two minds which kept them united, while Nancy's gentle 
 and reflective disposition was well adapted to sooth and tame 
 her husband's more fiery and impulsive temperament. They 
 had each a natural refinement, they both needed affection, 
 while they would each have equally shunned a mean or an 
 ungenerous act. The little cottage bore testimony to the 
 power which taste possesses of producing beauty without the 
 assistance of wealth, and no one could have detected any 
 evidence of vulgarity in MoUy's humble abode. 
 
 Mrs. Cox and her daughter knew their station and they 
 quietly kept in it, while Charley made himself entirely one 
 with them. lie had on landing received about four liundrcd
 
 THE BAROXET's LETTER. 23 
 
 pounds, and now he was anxious to find some employment 
 
 which might provide him and his wife with a respectable 
 
 maintenance, independently of what he had earned by his 
 
 former services. He had written to his friend the bookseller 
 
 to announce his marriage, and he had at the same time 
 
 asked if he could help him to some occupation more suitable 
 
 to his taste and bringing up than the one he had just quitted. 
 
 Mr. Morgan had sent him a kind letter in reply, wishing both 
 
 him and Kancy happiness, and promising to do what he 
 
 could for him. " He came in the way of a good many people," 
 
 he said, " and he thought it not imlilcely that in time he 
 
 might hear of something desirable." Charley showed an amount 
 
 of patience which his best friends would hardly have given 
 
 him credit for, while waiting for employment, though now 
 
 and then his heart yearned for something like his former 
 
 position in life. In the mean time he occupied himself a 
 
 good deal in the garden, and as the year advanced he got 
 
 plenty of employment elsewhere. 
 
 There was a river running near the town, celebrated for its 
 beauty, and during the summer months it was thronged with 
 parties of pleasure. It was soon found out that Cliarloy 
 knew how to use an oar. His services were consequently in 
 great request, while he received for them the most liberal 
 payment. His good address and manner, as well as his good 
 looks, were all in his fixvour, and the young ladies became 
 ecstatic in their praises of our hero. His wife wns in tliis
 
 24 TOM 3IAKCHM0M. 
 
 way brought into notice, and Charles woiilcl sometimes get a 
 little th-ed of the patronising visits they received. Xo one 
 however had any idea who he really vras. jMrs. Cox was 
 a tmiid woman, and though thirteen miles removed from 
 Granby Hall, yet the pride of its inmates still seemed to 
 overawe her. Oiu* hero would have scorned to boast of a 
 relationship with those from whom he had received nothing 
 but coldness and indifference, and so it was never breathed 
 to a living soul Avho were Charley's belongings. 
 
 Oiu* hero had another accomplishment which enabled him, 
 as the year wore on, to earn an honest penny. He had a 
 natural talent for drawing, and this talent had been cultivated 
 at school. He had made many sketches when abroad, and 
 now that he had leisure he took to the pursuit again. Having 
 made himself so general a favourite his sketches began to 
 be in request, and it is probable that he got better paid for 
 his work tlian many a more laborious artist. 
 
 As the winter advanced two Miss Bridgets, middle-aged 
 ladies, were on a visit to Mi's. Hodges, the doctor's wife. 
 Their own residence was close to Granby Hall, to which 
 place the Baronet and liis lady had recently returned. Lady 
 Marchmont was anxious to get up a Bazaar, the proceeds of 
 which were to help towards the repair of the church, and 
 the Miss Bridgets were very energetic in the cause. They 
 had been working very hard themselves in the way of making 
 pin-cushions, needle-books and mats— articles of such general
 
 THE baronet's LETTER. 25 
 
 manufacture that their production generally far out-strips 
 their sale. Mr. Grey, the clergyman, knew ISTancy well, and 
 he felt an interest in Charles. One day, therefore, when 
 he was calling on these ladies he asked them whether a 
 few rough sketches would be acceptable, as he would be 
 very glad to get some employment for a young man he 
 knew, who seemed to have considerable talent as an artist. 
 The two ladies were delighted at the idea, and they lost no 
 time in calling at the cottage for the purpose of looking at 
 Charles's sketches, and deciding which of them they would 
 like to get copies of. This point being settled they entered 
 into conversation with our hero. They were women of 
 inquiring minds, and liked to know all about everybody. 
 "When had he returned home — how long had he been at 
 Waltham — was he a native of the place — these were questions 
 that followed one another thick and fast. Charles's answers 
 were civil but concise, and after a time the two ladies took 
 their leave. They called at Mr. Grey's on their way back, 
 where they expressed much astonishment at Charles's appear- 
 ance and manner, so unlike that of a low-born man* 
 Mr. Grey had been struck with the same thing, but he had 
 never been at the trouble of drawing inferences therefrom. 
 There had been a sudden disappearance in the Baronet's 
 family four or live years previously, and though the ^liss 
 Bridgets had not at that time been personally acquainted 
 with Sir Charles and her Ladyship, yet the circumstances
 
 Zb TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 had come to their ears. Could this young Marchmont be 
 the missing member? Mrs. Cox was knoAvn to have been 
 formerly laundress at Granby Hall, and these two facts 
 enabled the Miss Bridgets to arrive nearer at the truth than 
 ladies always do when they jump at conclusions. They paid 
 the cottage a second visit, and began talking to Mrs. Cox 
 about her former master " whom," said they, " we rejoice in 
 having among us once more." 
 
 This announcement made the heart of their auditress take 
 as great a leap as it probably would have done had she 
 perceived Sir Charles's carriage standing at her door, and he 
 himself in the act of alighting for the purpose of demanding 
 of her his nephew. The Miss Bridgets took notice of the 
 involuntary start which their announcement had occasioned ; 
 then fixing their keen eyes on Charles they observed that liis 
 colour was heightened, and they were struck at the moment 
 with a sort of resemblance which did really exist between 
 him and his uncle. They at once settled that Charles must 
 be the missing member of the family, and on leaving the 
 cottage they, with the same breath, communicated to each 
 other their thoughts. They were ambitious of increasing 
 their acquaintance with the family at the HaU ; and, being 
 prudent women, they decided on keeping the discovery for 
 the present strictly to themselves. On their return home 
 they lost no time in making the " proper person " aware 
 of the fact, and of their own previous reticence. They
 
 THE baronet's LETTER. 27 
 
 received nmcli commendation from Sir Charles for their 
 kind and considerate way of acting, and they were at the 
 same time given to understand it woidd "be thought a 
 great additional kindness if they never again in any 
 way alluded to the subject. They faithfully promised a 
 com-pliance with these wishes. The Baronet and his lady 
 thought it incumbent on them for the future to treat the 
 Miss Bridgets with more than ordinary civility; and the 
 latter had little idea of the joy it occasioned their much 
 valued acquaintances at the Hall when, in the course of a 
 twelvemonth, circumstances obliged those sharp-sighted ladies 
 to remove to a more distant locality. 
 
 After receiving the news which the Miss Bridget's had 
 been so eager to communicate to him, the Baronet's feelings 
 towards his nephew were none of the most amiable, and he 
 talked the matter over with his wife very seriously. 
 
 *' I feel it to be a duty I owe myself," he said, " that I 
 shoidd take some steps towards getting rid of this annoyance." 
 
 " I quite think as you do," said her Ladyship with equal 
 seriousness. 
 
 "One does not like the idea of paying people for such 
 gross ingratitude," rejoined Sir Charles, "but I see no way 
 of getting out of tlie difficulty unless it is with a bribe." 
 
 " I think," said her Ladyship, who was sensitive on the 
 subject of any unusual outlay of Bank notes, " I thinlv if 
 you were to write a note of remonstrance to Molly Cox,
 
 28 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 and let her see clearly what you think of her conduct, it 
 might be a sufficient inducement to her to move further off. 
 She used to have a proper respect for her iDctters, and she 
 probably has it still unless Charles has succeeded in quite 
 demoralising her." 
 
 " I tliink," said the Baronet, as he stood in a pondering 
 attitude, with liis arms behind him and his back to the fire. 
 " I think it will be as well to send a ten-pound-note -with the 
 remonstrance, to make sure of its effect." 
 
 " But how if she does not consent ? " said her Ladyship. 
 
 " She would hardly dare to refuse," was Sir Charles's reply, 
 
 his colour mounting at the thought, " I shall write her a 
 
 strong letter, and I will go and set about it at once." The 
 
 Baronet's letter was written and sent, and considerable 
 
 trepidation was betrayed by Mrs. Cox when she received 
 
 and read it on the following morning. The letter was as 
 
 follows : — 
 
 Mary Cox, her Ladyship and myself have been not a little 
 astonished at hearing of your most extraordinary proceedings. 
 That you slioidd ever have permitted a daughter of yoiu's to 
 maiTy so near a connection of mine was bad enough ; but to 
 harbour him and his wife so close to my own residence, 
 betrays an amount of ingratitude on your part wliich I coidd 
 hardly have given you credit for, I should consider it useless 
 the attempt to appeal to Charles's better feelings, for I have 
 always knoAvn that he possesses none. But I caimot doubt 
 that this remonstrance, coming as it does from one to whom 
 you liave during so many years of your life been indebted for 
 a respectable maintenance, will have the desired effect ; and 
 that you will feel it to be far better for you and yours, as 
 well as for oiu'selves, that you should remove to some more
 
 THE baronet's LETTER. 29 
 
 distant iDlace. I send you a ten-pound note in order tliat 
 you may be amply provided with means for defraying the 
 expenses attendant on a change of residence, and in the full 
 assiu'ance of an immediate compliance with my wishes. ■ 
 
 I am yoiu's, 
 
 Charles Marchmont. 
 Granhy Hall^ Jan. 1814. 
 
 Molly's first idea was to go aivay at once. 
 
 " You must do nothing of the sort," said her son-in-law, 
 decisively. " You must stay where you are." 
 
 " But it will never do for me to offend his honour by going 
 contrary to his wishes," said Mrs. Cox. " I should be in 
 continual fear of seeing him if I were to remain here now." 
 
 "The law will protect you from harm even if he does 
 come," replied Charles. " He has no more power to injure 
 you than you have to injure him." 
 
 " But Mr. Marchmont, I should never have the spirit to 
 get into a quarrel with Sir Charles." 
 
 " Leave it to me, Mrs. Cox," was Charles's reply. 
 
 With his usual promptness he sate down and wrote as 
 
 follows : — 
 
 Sir, I regret that I am unavoidably brought into corres- 
 pondence with yourself, because it seems altogether impossible 
 under existing circumstances that letters on either side could 
 be otherwise than unpleasant. I find you have been made 
 aware of the fact of my marriage, a marriage I could never 
 repent of I cannot think that by it I have in any way 
 bettered the position of my wife or mother in-law, and I 
 could not allow the latter to have either her comfort or her 
 chance of a living m any way injured through nie. I found
 
 30 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 her settled in this village when I sought her daughter as my 
 wife — her friends and her employment are here, and I should 
 think my own conduct reprehensible were I to suffer her close 
 connection -with myself to he the cause of her making any 
 sacrifice. Be assured that we none of us wish to trouble you 
 in any way, nor should I ever think of mentioning myself 
 the relationship that exists between us. I return you the 
 ten-pound note, and am youi's, 
 
 Charles Marchmont. 
 WaWiam, Jan. 15th, 1814. 
 
 This letter remained unanswered, and there was no fiu-ther 
 intercourse between the Hall and the cottage.
 
 DEAREST FRIENDS MUST PART. 31 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DEAREST FRIENDS MUST PART. 
 
 For some few days after the Baronet's remonstrance, Mrs. 
 Cox felt afraid to leave her cottage, and conjured up all kinds 
 of chances that might bring the Granhy people past her door. 
 However, she in time got over her alarm, and indeed she was 
 soon too much occupied by a very different and a more inter- 
 esting affair to give to the Baronet's displeasure much further 
 consideration. Her daughter had been married more than 
 a twelvemonth when she gave birth to a boy, and the first 
 grand-child was to Molly so absorbing an interest that all 
 other hopes, and doubts, and fears were for the present put 
 aside. 
 
 Nancy's joy over her first-born was heightened by her hus- 
 band's evident gratification. The happmess of the latter was 
 not, however, entirely without alloy. When Charles became 
 a father he felt an increased desire to be again recognized as a 
 gentleman, and to give that birthright to his son, but he kept 
 this wish of his heart entirely to himself, and Nancy believed 
 his contentment to be, like hers, complete. She would have 
 had her child named after her husband, but Cliarlcs himself 
 objected.
 
 32 TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 "Your father, Nancy," lie observed, "was one of the 
 warmest friends I ever had. My son shall bear his name." 
 
 Nancy was pleased with this mark of respect to the old 
 man's memory, and so she assented to Charles's decision 
 without a remonstrance. 
 
 About a month after the birth came the christening, always 
 an important day with a mother. Nancy had been at some 
 pains in preparing garments befitting the beautiful ceremony ; 
 and as, decked in their best attire, they walked through the 
 pretty country churchyard up to the church, Nancy leaning 
 on her husband's arm, many an admiring glance rested on 
 the two. Nature had been outwardly very bountiful to each, 
 and it was a fact that all could recognize. 
 
 " I fancied I saw among your congregation one of the men 
 I had with me on board the Warrior. The father, I mean, 
 of the child who was christened." 
 
 This observation was made by Admiral Best to his cousin, 
 Mr. Grey, as they were walking home from the church to the 
 Parsonage. The Admiral had come on a visit the previous 
 evening. 
 
 " You mean Charles Marchmont," was the reply. " He 
 told me he was on board your shij), and I was intending to 
 have a talk with you about him. He was, I believe, born in 
 a better position than he now occupies." 
 
 " Do you happen to know who his father was ? " inquired 
 the Admiral.
 
 DEAREST FRIENDS MUST PART. 33 
 
 " I do not — at least not for a certainty. I came liere a 
 week or two after the marriage took place. Had I i^erformed 
 the ceremony, I should have been inclined to ask more 
 questions than my predecessor appears to have thought 
 necessary. It is merely his way of talking, and a certain 
 rumour which has recently been afloat, that has led me to 
 suppose what I do." 
 
 *^ Well, I always myself believed him to be a gentleman's 
 son when he served under me," said the Admiral. " He is a 
 fine, noble-hearted fellow, I am quite sure of that, and a 
 braver never walked the deck of a British man-of-war." 
 
 " I am glad to find your opinion of him is so good a one, 
 for it disposes me to venture on making you a request in his 
 favour. You have, I believe, a good deal of Government 
 interest just now. If you could use it by getting poor Charles 
 some suitable appointment, I don't think, from what I have 
 seen of him, that he would ever give you cause to repent of 
 your kindness." 
 
 " I'll see about it," said the Admiral, and here the matter 
 ended. 
 
 Charles's memory had been as good as the Admiral's. 
 
 " Did you see that fine-looking old man who was sitting in 
 Mr. Grey's pew ? " he said to liis wife, as they were walking 
 home from church through the fields'? "He was our Admiral 
 when I was on board tlie Warrior. I should like to liave 
 spoken to him, but I was afraid of being tliought intrusive."
 
 34 TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 Xaney liad been too nmcli occupied witli the baby to give 
 one single glance at the stranger, and she felt a little ashamed 
 of not having instinctively spied him out when Charles 
 informed her who he was. 
 
 A day or two afterwards the Admiral called at the cottage, 
 and entirely won ISTancy's heart by his kind and courteous 
 manner. He asked Charles what his plans were for the 
 future. Charles looked embarrassed, and could only say 
 that he had a friend in Plpnouth who was hoping soon to 
 find him something to do. 
 
 " Then you would be glad to get some employment," said 
 the Admiral. 
 
 " I should, indeed," said Charles in a tone that expressed 
 how deeply he was feeling the want of it. 
 
 "I wish I could do something for you," observed the 
 Admiral. " I can vouch for your bravery and general good 
 conduct when under me, and I should like to see you in 
 a better position." 
 
 Charles bowed his thanks, and then there was a general 
 leave-taking. Not many days afterwards came a large official 
 letter, with a Eoyal commission, appointmg Charles to the 
 post of midshipman on board Her Majesty's ship the Warrio?\ 
 The same post brought a letter from the Admu-al himself, 
 expressing the pleasure it would afford liim to have one of 
 his former crew serving witli him again under different 
 auspices, and hoping it would not be inconvenient to
 
 DEAREST FRIENDS MUST PART. 35 
 
 Charles to join him at Pljmiouth in a month's time from 
 thence. 
 
 It was with a flush of pleasure tliat Charles read these 
 two letters, first to liimself and then aloud to his wife. He 
 looked to her for sympathy in his joy, hut had tliese letters 
 brought with them a warrant for his execution, Nancy could 
 hardly have looked more miserable. Charles's keen glance 
 pierced from her countenance down into her heart. 
 
 " I'll give it up, !N'ancy," he said, " if it will make you 
 the happier." 
 
 " JSTo, Charley," she replied mtli a sob, " I cannot allow 
 you to throw away such good fortune on my account." 
 
 " It's not for myself, !N'ancy, so much as for you and for 
 the boy that I am unwilling to give it up ; and yet for my 
 oAvn credit I should be glad of employment, and I am not 
 likely to get such another chance." 
 
 "I know it would not be right," said ISTancy, making a 
 desperate effort to look as if she were glad. She failed 
 however in the attempt, and burst into tears. 
 
 " I won't leave you though if it's to make you miserable — 
 by God, I won't. Nancy, don't talce on in tliis way, but tell 
 me what you wish." 
 
 " I wish you to go, Charles, I feel that you ought to," 
 Nancy miu-mured. " Don't fret about me — I was taken by 
 surprise" — but poor Nancy looked miserable. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 TOM MAPtCHMONT. 
 
 Charles's assiduity and her OAvn strength of will soon, 
 however, brought her round, and she mentally resolved that 
 her husband's happiness at this unlooked-for piece of good 
 fortune should not be marred. She found it a hard task to 
 conceal her feelings, though the constant occupation of pre- 
 paring her husband for his departure was a great help to her 
 in this respect. Poor I^ancy had but little confidence in 
 herself, and she had always been puzzled to make out what 
 it was in her that Charles could ever have found to admire, 
 and so her heart misgave her at the thought of his long 
 absence, and she wondered sometimes if he would love her 
 less when he came back. 
 
 The last day arrived — the last hour — ^the last minute 
 almost, for Nancy's quick ears had caught the sound of the 
 coach that was to bear away what was most precious to her 
 in life. She put their child into her husband's arms, and 
 clung to him herself. He said, looking tenderly and tnis^t- 
 ingly at her as he spoke, — 
 
 " You'll not forget me, Nancy." 
 
 He had little fear that she would, and his look and manner 
 proved as much. 
 
 " And you'll not forget me, Charley," Avas Nancy's im- 
 ploring answer, and the doubts and fears Avhich had so long 
 been at work within now Ijetrayed themselves for the first time. 
 
 "And do you mistrust me, Nancy," he asked witli a 
 slight tone of reproach.
 
 DEAREST FRIENDS MUST TART. 37 
 
 " I have sometimes been afraid" she said, and biu'st into 
 tears. 
 
 " And have I ever given you any cause 1 " 
 " None whatever," was the emphatic ans^^'e^. 
 " Then trust on until I do, and you will never fear again." 
 He gave her one of his brightest smiles, though Avith a tear 
 glittering in his eye — then a long, last embrace. The coach 
 had stopped at the garden-gate, and in a moment Charles 
 had taken his seat. Poor l!^ancy watched him from the 
 gate as he waved his handkerchief to her, till with a turn he 
 vanished out of sight. She felt her heart sink within her as 
 she retraced her steps. There seemed a strange dullness 
 within. She went to her room and relieved herself with a 
 flood of tears. Little Tom began crying too, and for his 
 sake she felt she must control her grief. 
 
 " Oh, she's wonderfully well," was IMrs. Cox's reply next 
 morning to an inquiring neighbour, " but there, slie's quite 
 rapt up in the little one, and its fortunate as it came when it 
 did, for I think as Xancy would have broken her heart if 
 her husband had gone away without leaving anything of 
 his behind. She has a warm heart, has Kancy, and parting 
 conies all the harder to them kmd of natures."
 
 38 TOM MAKCFIMONT. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 THE RE3I0VE. 
 
 The cottage was beginning to recover, even in Nancy's 
 eyes, something of its former clieerfiil appearance. Mr. Grey 
 often called, and he had a great faculty for impartmg con- 
 solation. Charles wrote as often as he could, and his 
 letters were invariably tender and affectionate. Little Tom 
 was an object of unceasmg interest to his mother, and 
 though there were in him the germs of his father's proud 
 spirit and strong will, yet by means of constant gentleness 
 and affection Nancy was gradually winning OA^er him an 
 ascenda]icy which the proud and high-born lady Jidia had 
 never gained over any son of hers. 
 
 Five years had elapsed since Charles's departure, and 
 Nancy's heart Avas gladdening at the prospects of her husband's 
 not distant return. They had sustained one loss in their 
 excellent clergyman, who had died suddenly, and whose loss 
 had been but ill-supplied by his successor. Mr. Porter was 
 one of the sporting clergymen of those days. To be fore- 
 most in the iirld had always been his highest aim in life, 
 wliiic to follow in the footsteps of that Saviour whose 
 doot lines lie professed to inculcate was — we can hardly
 
 THE REMOVE. 39 
 
 say a secondary one, for to this eager votary of the chase it 
 had never as yet been any aim at all. The sick, the poor 
 and the solitary felt wofiilly the change, and to jSancy and 
 her mother the pretty village lost one of its principal 
 attractions when Mr. Grey was gone. 
 
 In consequence of this change it was with less regret than 
 they would otherwise have experienced that Nancy and her 
 mother received, about two months after their worthy 
 minister's departure, notice to give up their cottage on the 
 following quarter-day. Mr. Walker, the owner of it, was it 
 seemed going to retire from business, and so he wished to 
 occupy it himself. However, to find another dwelling equally 
 suitable proved a more difficult task than they had expected. 
 They tried in vain to get one near at hand, and so when 
 Mr. Walker came over one day to make various arrangements, 
 they asked liim if he knew of any cottage to let that was 
 likely to suit them. 
 
 " Yes," was his immediate reply, " there is one at Aubrey 
 that I think would suit ye exactly. It belongs to two very 
 respectable females as have dealt Avith me for years, and who 
 wouldn't take advantage of ye in any way. If so be, JMrs. 
 Cox, as you'd like to look at the place, I'd drive ye back 
 with me. I'm sure as my wife would take ye in for the 
 night, and as I shall have to be here again in the morning, 
 I can easily give ye the lift home." 
 
 Mrs. Cox felt some hesitation in accepting the kind oiler,
 
 40 TOM MAIICIIMOXT. 
 
 but mounted her landlord's tiny vehicle, and found the 
 cottage was, as INIr. AYalker had said, exactly the thing 
 they wanted. The Miss Bushes were called upon, and the 
 elder sister, who transacted all business matters, had an in- 
 terview witli Molly in her little back parlour. Her own name 
 was asked for, and then her daughter's, and when the latter 
 was given Miss Birch fancied she remembered it. Charles 
 had, as we hav(j before said, caused a sensation among the 
 young ladies in the neighbourhood, who had expended a 
 good many raptures on him as well as on their own good 
 fortune in having such a nice sailor close at hand to row 
 them on the river. Miss Birch had been visiting some friends 
 at "Waltham just as this Marchmont fever was at its highest, 
 and she particularly remembered the name on account of the 
 excellent discourse she had preached thereupon, when -warn- 
 ing some of these ecstatic creatures against wasting their ad- 
 miration on so low-born a man. 
 
 " Was your son-in-law a sailor 1 " she inquired. 
 
 " He was. Ma'am," was the reply, " and he is so still. 
 He has been at sea for five years, and we expect him home 
 very shortly." 
 
 " Then I quite remember seeing him when I was visiting 
 at ]\rrs. Grimes's. You used, I believe, to wash for the 
 family. AYe had your son-in-law with us one day when we 
 went to Moreton, and I remember Mr. Grimes telling me that 
 ho was used to the sea."
 
 THE REMOVE. 41 
 
 Poor Molly, thougli by nature so limnble-niinded, coloured 
 up a little. She -would rather that Miss Birch had not re- 
 membered Charles in this particular way. Molly had never 
 herself assimied to be a lady, but she would have wished 
 Charles to have been looked upon as what he was, a gentle- 
 man by birth, a gentleman by education, and at present one 
 by profession too. However, she ventm-ed on saying nothmg 
 in defence of his dignity, and Miss Bii'cli having received an 
 assurance from Mr. Walker that Mrs. Cox was a quiet, re- 
 spectable woman who was sure to pay her rent, the bargain 
 was concluded, and soon afterwards the change of residence 
 was made. 
 
 Mr. Walker had been much pleased mth the care which 
 the inmates of his cottage had bestowed upon it, and so he 
 gave Kancy a carte hlancJie to take from the garden what 
 flowers she pleased. The latter availed lierseK to a moderate 
 extent, of this permission. A beautiful rose which Charles 
 had planted, and which had grown and flourished during the 
 live years of his absence, was removed by her with especial 
 care. Little Tom was delighted at the prospect of a seven 
 miles drive, and it was by no means a tearful party that 
 quitted Waltham one bright October day. Their now abode, 
 Oak Cottage by name, was qiiite as pretty and countrylied, 
 as the one they had lefc, save that it luid a Baker's shop 
 in iVoiit of it, and though their new garden was not as yet 
 ill })crfccl urdor, still Xaiicy lioiiCd c-'er long to render it bO.
 
 42 TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 CHAPTEIl VI. 
 
 NEW ACQUAINTAXCES. 
 
 Eight montlis had elapsed since ISTancy and licr mother 
 had settled themselves in then* new home. Tom was quite 
 grown out of his babyhood, he was past six, and he was 
 learning to do little errands for liis mother. One day he 
 went across to the baker's shop to get a loaf of bread. There 
 was a benevolent-looking old gentleman inside, and the little 
 fellow's handsome face and independent manner attracted his 
 attention. 
 
 " Art thou !N"ancy Marchmont's son ? " he inquired. 
 
 "Yes," replied Tom. 
 
 " Then I want to ask a favour of thy mother, so wdieu 
 thou hast made thy purchases I will walk across with thee." 
 
 " I beg thy pardon for intruding, Xancy," said the Quaker 
 upon approaching her, "but there is a rose in thy garden 
 v.'hich I always admii-e in passing, and I was going to ask 
 thee for a cutting. However, thy little boy tells me it is a 
 favourite tree." 
 
 "You are w'elcome to a cutting," said Xancy smiling. 
 *-Tom and I notice it because his father raised it. I hope
 
 NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 43 
 
 lie will be here liiniself soon, and then we shan't thiiik so 
 niiich about his tree." 
 
 JN'ancy took off two or three cuttings, and had she been 
 born and bred a lady, she could not have presented them 
 Avith more grace. 
 
 " Many thanks," said John Brown, bowing politely as he 
 spoke, " I have a pretty garden of my own, and if thy little 
 boy would lilve to come and see it, T will send my grand- 
 children to-morrow to fetch him. AVilt thou be ready, Tom, 
 at four o'clock r' 
 
 Tom looked up at his mother, and reading an affirmative 
 in her face, "Yes Su'," he replied, and the old man departed 
 leaving a pleasing impression on the mind of each of his new 
 acquaintances. 
 
 Before proceeding further in our narrative we must ex2)laiii 
 how it was that Jane and Lizzie, the Quaker's grand-cliildren, 
 happened to have their home with him. Mr. Lindsay, their 
 father, had been in John Brown's office, and while there he 
 had proposed to the only daughter of his employer ; and in 
 spite of a difference in their creed he had been accepted by 
 her. Soon aftei his marriage some West Indian property was 
 left him by an Uncle wliicli he would gladly have disposed of 
 at once, but the terms of the will rendered this impossible, as 
 in case of Jdr. Lindsay's death it was to go to a cousin. He 
 felt himself therefore constrained to leave England at cnce 
 for the purjjose of looking after it ; and, as his home Avould
 
 44 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 j)robably be for tlie future iii Jamaica, liis wife accompanied 
 him. Three children had been born to them there, one of 
 whom, a boy of two years younger than Jane, had been 
 carried to an early grave. The doctors blamed the climate, 
 and so Jane and Lizzie, the two remaining children, had been 
 brought to England. The kind Quaker had given them a 
 home, and he was carefully bringing them up in the 
 principles of true, because practical, Christianity. 
 
 There was a difference of five years in the ages of the two 
 sisters, Jane being just eight, while Lizzie was oidy three. 
 
 Jane was a motherly sort of ghl, somewhat prun for her 
 age, and continually bearing in mind her mother's last in- 
 junction, that she was to take care of her little sister. Lizzie 
 was a child who seemed as if she Avould always need to be 
 taken care of. Though she had laughing blue eyes, 3'et they 
 were easily moved to tears — her smiling lips coidd sometimes 
 pout if she thought herself or others were aggrieved, while 
 her golden curls and bright complexion betokened a certain 
 delicacy, though they helped to render her what all would 
 have pronounced a very pretty child. Her tender years and 
 the timidity attendant on them endeared her all the more to 
 the benevolent Quaker and Quakeress, while they kept alive 
 in Janc\s remembrance her mother's last wishes. 
 
 The Quaker's invitation was the pleasantest thing that had 
 occurred to Xancy since her arrival at Aubrey. She liked 
 tho old man at once, and .^hc was anxious that he should like
 
 NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 45 
 
 her son. She, therefore, took unusual pains in adorning 
 Tom on the following day, or rather in making tlie most of 
 tliosG ornaments that were his by nature. The Quaker was 
 as good as his word, and punctually at the hour named, Jane 
 and Lizzie, with their quiet looking nurse, knocked at the 
 cottage door. — '' If you please grandmamma sent us for youv 
 little hoy," said Jane, as Nancy herself opened it. " She 
 will let James come back mth him at eight o'clock." 
 
 [N'ancy expressed her thanks. She would gladly have 
 taken the trouble of sending back her son off the Quaker's 
 hands, but she was fearful of intruding. Tom had been 
 doing his best previously to get his mother to accompany 
 him. He had, however, found all his efforts unavailing, so 
 lie had made up his mind to enjoy his visit by himself, and 
 taking Jane's proffered hand, he started merrily enough. He 
 soon, however, discovered that the process of dragging Lizzie 
 along the hot road in her chair was a pleasanter way of 
 getting over the ground than was that of walking by the side 
 of the demure Jane, while Lizzie was wondrously content to 
 submit to the strange boy's attentions. Bringing his whole 
 activity and energy into play lie somewhat scandalized 
 Rachel and Jane by his rapid movements as a slight descent 
 brought them to the Quaker's door. 
 
 *' Wliy Lizzie, thou hast a braver heart than I tliought thou 
 had'st," said Mrs. Bro^vii, as the tiny carriage which lield tlio 
 child was with difficulty stopped by Tom, and Lizzie herself
 
 46 TO^I MARCHMONT. 
 
 with her laughing eyes and lips, anrl nnnsually rosy cheeks 
 was lifted out by her grandmother. " I am glad to see thee," 
 she said, shaking hands with her guest, "though when 
 thou next hast a fancy for drawing Lizzie, I woidd rather 
 that thou wentest at a quieter pace." " Why Jane," she con- 
 tinued, turning to her elder grand-daughter, " thou wilt have 
 enough to do to entertain thy friends. Eosa Birch has been 
 here for the last half-hour, and I have asked her to stop to 
 tea. James can take her and Tom home together." 
 
 Eosa soon made her appearance. She had been walked 
 round the garden -with the Quaker, who loved to display to 
 all whether great or small, his beautiful flower-beds. He had 
 invariably found the aunts very sparing of their praise, and 
 he had now been trying, though not very successfully, to 
 elicit warmer raptures from the niece. Eosa was a child of 
 eight, very forward for her age, and in all her intercourse 
 with Jane Lindsay she considered it befitting that she 
 should take the lead. It was more than an hour to tea-time, 
 and the children were left to amuse themselves as tliey could. 
 Eosa settled that she would go to the swing, and she and 
 Jane walked on in front, while Tom took Lizzie by the liand 
 and followed close behind. As they passed the verandali, 
 
 " Oh ! what a pretty rose," Tom exclaimed. " It's just like 
 one we have got growing on our cottage." 
 
 " It's not your cottage," said Eosa, looking round at Tom, 
 and throwincr at him a cflance of disdain out of her small
 
 NEW ACQUAINTANCES, 47 
 
 grey eyes, " It's my aunt's cottage, and she only lots you 
 live in it," 
 
 " It's mother's," said Tom, getting very red, and looking 
 very angry. 
 
 *' Oh, you naughty boy ! how dare you toll such a fib?" 
 retorted Miss Eosa, who was evidently gratified at having 
 such a charge to prefer against Tom. 
 
 "It's you who are naughty and tell fibs," roared the 
 latter. " Hush, hush," interposed Jane. " Grandmama 
 would be so angry if she knew how you are quarrelling ! " 
 
 A turn in the walk now brought them close in sight of 
 some water. 
 
 " Oh, there's a boat !" shouted Tom, leaving both his 
 companions and running towards it. 
 
 "Tom, Tom!" cried Jane, "you must not get into it. 
 Grandpapa never lets us get in unless he is with us." 
 
 "Oh, that's because you are guis," said Tom. "Eoats 
 are meant only for men and boys, and my j^apa has lived in a 
 ship for a great many years." 
 
 Tom soon discovered on stepping in that the boat was 
 fastened by a rope to a stake, and thinking he could get con- 
 siderably more amusement out of his new play-thing were it 
 free and unconfined, he applied himself to tlie task of un- 
 loosing it. He was much too intent on carrying out his own 
 views for Jane's remonstrances to be of the smallest avail, 
 but fortunately at this moment the Quakeress appeared.
 
 48 TOM >fARCHMO.N'T, 
 
 <^ Jane," she said, with a tone of reproach, ^' I told thoo 
 thou were never to let thy young companions play with the 
 boat." 
 
 " She did try to stop me," said Tom, looking up at the 
 now comer, while the colour mounted to his cheeks, " but I 
 wanted to make it swim." 
 
 " Then thou wert very wrong in taking so little heed to 
 Jane's words," was the reply. " I hope thou art not brought 
 up at home to be disobedient." 
 
 " Mother never told me not to swim a boat," said Tom, 
 his whole face expressing excitement ; for he was uncertain 
 whether Mrs. Brown's words were meant to convey a reproach 
 to his parent. 
 
 " "Well, then, / tell thee thou art not to do it here," said 
 Mrs. Brown, smiling benevolently, but with decision in her 
 tone. Tlie open, fearless countenance of the child pleased 
 her. " Eemember," she added, " when thou art in my house 
 or garden thou must obey me." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said Tom, and he again took the hand of 
 Lizzie, who had been preparing herself for a cry when she 
 heard her new friend's disobedience commented on. 
 
 " Go to the summer-house," said Mrs. Brown to Jane, " thy 
 grandfather is picking thee a basket of strawberries, and he'll 
 be looking for thee there." 
 
 Jane led her companions in that direction. When they 
 reached the summer-house the elder crirls seated themselves
 
 NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 49 
 
 side by side, and Rosa whiled away the time by showing Jane 
 her birthday present of a new purse, which her aunt had 
 just given her. In drawing it from her pocket she dropped 
 her pocket-handkerchief, which Lizzie immediately appro- 
 priated, and amused herself by making it into a sort of 
 nightcap for Eover, her grandpapa's magnificent ISre"\vfound- 
 land dog. He was bearing the operation of having it tied 
 under his jaw with patronising dignity, when Eosa's attention 
 was suddenly attracted to the proceeding. 
 
 " Oh, you naughty child ! " she exclaimed, " to use my 
 best laced pocket-handkerchief in that way ! Give it up this 
 minute," and she snatched at it angrily. 
 
 Lizzie seemed to think that possession was more than nine 
 points of the law, and she began to cry piteously when Eosa's 
 superior strength won from her the prize. 
 
 " Let her have it," said Tom, who had been amusing him- 
 self by rolling down the steep slope on which the summer- 
 house was placed. " There, I'll give you mine instead ; she's 
 a nasty, cross girl, and I don't like her." 
 
 " How dare you !" said Eosa vehemently, as she flew 
 towards Tom for the pui'pose of giving him a blow. Again 
 Jane interposed^ and the appearance of the Quaker witli the 
 strawberries hindered further strife. He announced his in- 
 tention of giving them a row in the boat, and tliis proposition 
 so gratified Tom tliat lie threw his arms round tlic (>Ll man's 
 neck, saying as he did so —
 
 50 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 " I wish you were my grandpapa as well as Jane's and 
 Lizzie's f 
 
 Eight o'clock came at last, although Tom seemed un- 
 willing to credit the fact. 
 
 *' We shall be glad to see thee here another time, my little 
 fellow," said the Quaker as he took leave of him, " and when 
 next Eosa comes she can bring thee with her." 
 
 " But I don't like Eosa, and I'd rather come with mama," 
 was Tom's reply. 
 
 "Thou should'st not dislike anyone," said Mrs. Brown, 
 correcting him ; " neither should little boys take a delight 
 in saying rude things. Tell thy mother I will call on 
 her to-morrow — I would have come to-day, only I was 
 engaged." 
 
 From Eosebank, the Quaker's pretty little domain, to Oak 
 Cottage, there Avas about a mile of straight road. Eichmond 
 Villa, the retreat of the Misses Birch, was situated on the 
 same road, and between Eosebank and the cottage, though of 
 the two ISTancy was their nearest neighbour. As soon as 
 James with the two children got into the road, Tom took 
 hold of his attendant's hand, while Eosa kept a-liead of 
 tliem, and as soon as she arrived at her aunt's garden gate 
 she turned in without vouchsafing either James or Tom a 
 parting word or look of recognition. 
 
 " I don't like that girl," said Tom, as soon as lie was free 
 of Eosa's presence.
 
 NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 51 
 
 " All, she's a proud lot," was James's rej^ly ; " but like 
 always breeds like." 
 
 Eosa Bircli was passing her summer holidays with her 
 aunts, the elder of whom was anxious to do her duty by her. 
 To preserve her niece's mind in its original purity w^as, as she 
 thought, an essential part of this duty, and the most effectual 
 means of doing so lay, as she conceived, in guardmg her 
 from all contact with vulgar associates. 
 
 " Well, my dear," she said to her niece, as Eosa entered, 
 " have you had a pleasant evening ? " 
 
 " I should have liked it aunt," was the reply, " if it had 
 not been for that vulgar, rude boy who Avas there all the 
 time." 
 
 "What vulgar boy'?" inquired Miss Eirch, who had 
 caught at the first adjective at once. 
 
 " Why, Tom Marchmont, and what do you think he said. 
 Aunt? lie declared that Oak Cottage belonged to his 
 mother, and contradicted me in the rudest manner when I 
 said it was yours ! " 
 
 " Well ! " said Miss Birch, as soon as she liad sufleied her 
 countenance to relax from the look of motionless astonish- 
 ment, which her niece's information had caused it to assume. 
 " Well ! if ever there was a simpleton in the Avorld, John 
 Erown is he. To think of his taking a common Ijoy like 
 that so entirely out of his position ! T could have told 
 him what the consequences would be— but there — John 
 
 E 2
 
 52 TOM MARGHMONT. 
 
 thinks no one so wise as himself — I must go and have a talk 
 with Martha to-morrow, and see if I can beat a little sense 
 into her. But Eosa — he was not surely allowed to sit in the 
 drawing-room ? " 
 
 ** Xo, Aunt, they did not put him in the dramng-room. 
 We all had tea together in the parlour." 
 
 " Mercy on us ! what will the Quaker do next?" exclaimed 
 the irate spinster, and throwing her knitting entirely on one 
 side, she took a hasty turn up and down the room. " iSlis. 
 Brown did scold Tom for being so disobedient about the 
 boat," contiimed Eosa, pleased with the sensation her words 
 were evidently exciting, " but he didn't seem to care — and 
 then ^Ir. Brown took us all for a sail, and Tom told liim he 
 would like him for his grandfather." 
 
 Here Mrs. Bbeh stopped abruptly in her hasty walk round 
 the apartment. 
 
 *' And did Mr. Brown put no check on such familiarity ? " 
 she said, after she had recovered her breath at the announce- 
 ment. 
 
 " Oh Aunt ! he looked quite pleased — I thought he would 
 have kissed Tom ; but he didn't." 
 
 *' Well my dear," said her aunt, " I am sorry that I should 
 have been unintentionally the cause of your being thrown 
 into such low society, however I will at once see that nothing 
 of the kind occurs again. And now go to bed." 
 
 "Wliat a strange thing it was," observed Mi.^s Bu'ch
 
 NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 53 
 
 mysteriously to lier sister, as soon as Eosa had left the room, 
 " that that vulgar boy should ever have dared to express such 
 a wish to the Quaker ! Such thoughts don't come into 
 children's heads of themselves. I wonder if Joseph Brown 
 has ever been foolish enough to let JN'ancy Marchmont see 
 that he admires her." 
 
 Joseph was the Quaker's son wlio had lately been spending 
 a week or two at Eosebank, and who had ventured on ex- 
 pressing to Miss Birch herself his admiration for her pretty- 
 looking tenant. 
 
 ** Quite impossible ! " said Eebecca angrily. She had been 
 cherishing a firm, though a most unreasonable conviction that 
 she was herself the sole object of Joseph's admiration. 
 
 " Well," said Miss Birch, *• it seems very strange. We 
 must take care that the boy never gets into our garden, and 
 I'll do my duty towards the Bro-WTis as far as warning them 
 goes." 
 
 Miss Birch did do what she considered to be her duty 
 promptly and manfully, and like so many others who take 
 such strenuous measures for the incidcation of tlieii* own 
 selfish views, under the fair pretext of duty, she found that 
 her efforts had an entirely contrary effect to what she had in- 
 tended. IVIrs. Bro-svn called on I^ancy immediately after 
 Miss Birch's duty visit was ended, and being favourably im- 
 pressed by the visit, the inmates of Eosebank and Oak 
 Cottage became for the futui-e the warmest of friends,
 
 64: TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER YIT. 
 
 ASPIRING NATURES. 
 
 It may be desirable to say something concerning the 
 previous history of the two ladies whose tenants IS'ancy had 
 become. They were the daughters of a surgeon who had for 
 some years followed his profession in the neighbouring town of 
 Granton, and who had been enabled during that time, to put 
 by a little money. He had bought the villa which the Misses 
 Birch now occupied, and had bequeathed it to them with a 
 very fair income besides. 
 
 Mrs. Birch had been born a step or two lower in the social 
 scale than her husband, and in consequence she had always 
 entertained an extreme anxiety to make her own circle of 
 acquaintance very select. It never had struck her that there 
 might be a similar ambition on the part of those who were 
 above her, and whose acquaintance she so sedulously sought, 
 nor did she take into accoimt, in her eager ambition to 
 ascend, that in doing so she might be acting in contradiction 
 to those principles which she so strenuously upheld. 
 
 Ambitious mothers are always eager to get their daughters 
 well married, and Mrs. Birch had been no exception to this
 
 ASPIRING NATURES. 55 
 
 rule. At one time too Matilda, the elder, was supposed 
 by her family to he in a fan- way of hecoming the curate's 
 wife. He was a man of " good family," and had come to 
 Aubrey fresh from his ordination. Being in the first dawn 
 of youthful enthusiasm, he had thrown himself, heart and 
 sold, into his work. Miss Birch was the active member of 
 the family, and as she had some taste for parish work and 
 still more for the position of a clergyman's wife, she laboured 
 under his auspices, and with an equal amount of energy. 
 Mr. Stone was often asked to tea, and as he always accepted 
 the invitation if he could, Mrs. Birch was begmning to con- 
 sider that it was already an engagement all but in name. 
 Perhaps an unprejudiced looker-on, might have guessed 
 that his interest was more absorbed in his work, than 
 in her who had constituted herself his helper. Tor two 
 years Miss Birch went on toiling in his service, and wonder- 
 ing when the time would arrive for her laboiu's to be requited, 
 when one morning Mr. Stone entered Mrs. Birch's di'awing- 
 room at an unusually early hour, and with a singularly 
 beaming countenance. 
 
 On seeing him Miss Birch's first idea was that some family 
 difficulty had been overcome, and that the long expected pro- 
 posal was about to be made. His visit was in fact to 
 announce his intended departui'c. He had been promoted 
 to a good living close to the family mansion, and it was this 
 circumstance that had lighted up his naturally grave features.
 
 TOII ^[ARCHMONT. 
 
 In spite of the disappointment Matilda Bircli hoped on, and 
 framed various reasons for his silence in a matter that so 
 nearly touched her ambition, if not her heart. However, on 
 the day previous to his departure Mr. Stone called to take 
 leave, and hetrayed during his visit no emotion whatever. 
 He talked of Matilda's exertions as if she had been privileged 
 in making them, and expressed a hope that his successor 
 might be as ready to accept of them as he had been himself. 
 The most sanguine person could have hoped no longer. Miss 
 Birch for a time indulged in an interesting melancholy, and 
 afterwards she became soured. She talked much of the cold- 
 ness and ingratitude of the world ] took to very low-church 
 principles, and expressed at all times the strongest aversion 
 to everjrthing popish, while Mrs. Birch was continually 
 hinting to her friends that if Stone had not had such 
 Komish tendencies there might have been a chance of 
 his marrying Matilda. 
 
 The Misses Birch had recently lost their one remaining 
 parent, and as Matilda, the elder, was considerably nearer 
 forty than thirty, she felt equal to the necessity which in 
 consequence devolved on her of joining the numerous band 
 of unprotected females. Kebecea had considerably the ad- 
 vantage of Matilda in the way of looks, and her naturally 
 quiet yielding nature rendered her more generally popular 
 than was her active and strong-minded sister, who was her 
 senior by ten years. On their mother's death Matilda ruled
 
 ASPIRING NATURES. 57 
 
 supreme — she arranged the "particular work that was to 
 devolve on each, visitmg the poor herself, and giving them 
 many an useful lesson against pride. She thought it de- 
 sirable that Eebecca, being so much younger, should keep up 
 something of her school-education, so the casting up of 
 accounts was the portion allotted to her of the daily work, 
 together with the care of the linen. Matilda carefully 
 treasured up her mother's principles mth regard to their 
 circle of acquaintance, and as Eebecca had an implicit 
 faith ill her sister's sagacity, she peacefully assented to her 
 views,
 
 58 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 UNEXPECTED NEWS, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 One week wore on and then another, and still no tidings 
 came to i^ancy of her husband's ex^^ected return. On Mrs. 
 Brown's first visit, Mrs. Marchmont had revealed to her how 
 eager she was for news, and so it had been arrranged that as 
 Jolin Brown took in a daily joaper he was to stop every 
 morning at !N"ancy's gate, on his way to his office, to report if 
 there were any intelligence. One bright morning in July 
 iKTancy was as usual on the look-out for him. As he ap- 
 proached her heart began to beat ; his walk and his 
 countenance foreboded bad news. !N"ancy felt her head 
 swimming as he stood opposite to her at the garden-gate, 
 which she held with both her hands to keep herself from 
 falling. Tom was by his mother's side and, perceiving there 
 was something the matter, ho began to cry. The Quaker 
 wept, too. 
 
 " Oh ! tell me what it is 1 " gasped ^N'ancy. 
 
 "There has been a shipwreck," — John Brown had said 
 enough — iNTancy turned deadly pale, her knees sunk under 
 her, and in a moment she was on the ground. The little
 
 UNEXPECTED NEWS AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 59 
 
 boy was terrified at seeing his mother in this state, and he 
 began screaming his heart out. ^Irs. Cox was within, and 
 startled at hearing her grand-son's cries, she ran out to see 
 what was the matter. The Quaker put the paper into her 
 hand, asked if he could be of any use, and being answered in 
 the negative, he thought it best to leave ITancy to her sorrow. 
 The scene of distress which the kind man's intelligence 
 occasioned had, however, touched him to the heart, and it 
 gave him for the futm^e a very warm feeling towards the 
 widowed mother and her orphan child. The shock which 
 Nancy had received had been too much for her, and for 
 weeks she was laid up. Tom's love for his remainuig 
 parent showed itself strongly in her sorrow, and at first 
 he would not be induced to leave her room, neither had 
 Kancy the strength nor the inclination to drive Imn from 
 it. However, a child's tears are quickly dried, and soon 
 Tom found himself again at Eosebank, passing a happy 
 day with his new companions, while his mother pined at 
 home. 
 
 Nine months had passed away since Nancy had first been 
 made aware of her misfortune, and though the intensity of 
 her grief was diminishing, yet it had left behind a sadness 
 and a depression which Mrs. Cox would have gladly seen 
 removed. She had shunned all companionship save that of 
 her mother and her son, and she had been leading a sedentary 
 life, workmg with her needle to help on her funds and to
 
 60 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 enable lier by-and-bye to give Tom some kind of schooling. 
 She looked pale and thin, and it was evident that though her 
 assiduity might be beneficial to her purse, yet that it was 
 telling wofully on her health. 
 
 It was on a fine morning in April that Mrs. Brown, who 
 had seldom hitherto ventured to intrude on the "widow's 
 solitude, left her home mth the determination of bringing 
 the mourner back with her if she could. She succeeded, 
 and the little change of scene seemed to do Ifancy good. 
 The ice being thus broken, the latter was prevailed on 
 frequently to accompany her son to the friendly, hos- 
 pitable house, and Mrs. Brown believed that this little 
 recreation just saved the mourner from sinking into an 
 early tomb. 
 
 This increasing intimacy between her friends and her 
 tenants was most offensive to Miss Birch. I^ancy's demea- 
 nour was however so subdued, so quiet and rething, that 
 Matilda could not find a stone to throw at her. She there- 
 fore confined her remarks in that quarter to expressions of 
 surprise that such undesirable familiarity should not have 
 had a more deleterious effect on the recipient of it. It was 
 on John and Martha Brown that the chief brunt of her dis- 
 pleasure fell, and the strong feelings she entertained on 
 this particular subject lent such a fluency to her tongue when 
 discussing it in their presence, that the Quaker's patience 
 soon became exhausted. Indeed, what with her warnings
 
 UNEXPECTED NEWS AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 61 
 
 and prognostications as regarded liis favourites, and lier 
 derogatory views respecting liis flower-beds, the spinster suc- 
 ceeded at last in making herself thoroughly obnoxious to 
 John Bro^ra, and if the kind old man nurtured a feeling of 
 spite against any one, Miss Birch was the object of it.
 
 62 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 VILLAGE ENTERTAINMENTS, AND HOW THEY ENDED. 
 
 Spring had again come round, and with it the liowers 
 attendant on the season. The Misses Bhch gave occasional 
 tea-parties, which were rather popular among some of their 
 acquaintances, who were always sure to be entertained with 
 excellent tea, quantities of muffins, and an equally large 
 supply of gossip. They had a very fine bed of anemones 
 just coming into bloom, and as their drawing-room looked 
 out on the garden they arranged one of these parties for the 
 time when their anemone-bed was likely to be in perfection. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Date, theh clergjanan and his wife, wore to 
 be their principal guests on this occasion. Then there were 
 "Mis. and the Miss Tripps, the widow and daughters of a 
 defunct attorney. Captain Bamford was always sure of an 
 invitation to these tea-gatherings. Ho held a commission in 
 liis Majesty's service which gave hmi a certain rank. He was, 
 besides, the principal promoter of mirth and hilarity among 
 the guests. His four o'clock dinner, and his customary glass 
 preceding so closely the Misses Birch's six o'clock tea, hacl to 
 be sure a somewhat soporific eflect on the blulf sailor during
 
 VILLAGE ENTERTAINMENTS, AND HOW THEY ENDED. 63 
 
 the early part of these entertainments, though even then he 
 did his best to make himself agreeable. It was, however, 
 heavy labour before his nap overtook him. Wlien he woke 
 up out of it refreshed, about an hour before the time fixed 
 on for leave-taking, nine o'clock, his rough and ready jokes 
 came in conveniently, for the other guests were by that time 
 having their turn of drowsiness, and though the Captain had 
 by no means the same rage for gentility possessed by his two 
 female friends, yet his occasional want of refinement was 
 pardoned him, it being generally whispered that a certain 
 Eoyal sailor also liked a joke, and it was supposed besides 
 that the wit originating on board a man-of-war never did 
 possess the delicate flavour of that which the drawing-room 
 might be expected to produce. 
 
 There was another way of accounting for the Captain's 
 constant appearance at these teatotal festivities. He enter- 
 tained a feeble idea of some day making Eebecca his wife, 
 though he considered that there was time enough yet for 
 taking active measures towards the fiu'therance of this scheinc, 
 and in the mcanwliile he directed his attentions chiefly to 
 Miss Ijirch. That lady, considering herself, as she did, to be 
 of a more suitable age for him than her sister (the Captain 
 was some two or three years Matilda's senior), she being 
 besides the object to which his attentions were e.'^pccially 
 directed, Avas not perhaps altogether unreasonable in imngin- 
 ing that it was to her hand the sailor aspired, and she
 
 64 - TOM MAROHMONT. 
 
 was already entertaining visions of the reformation slie 
 would work in liini as soon as their married life had 
 commenced. 
 
 John Brown liimself could not have denied that on tliis 
 particular evening the general effect of his rival's drawing- 
 room to anyone entering it was good. Among other things 
 the ]\Iisses Bh'cli took a pride in their tea-service, and a 
 jiortion of theii' savings from year to year was spent in im- 
 proving it. Then they had a very nice vase of flowers in 
 the centre of the table, while the view of the anemone bed 
 from the window was really gorgeous. They arrayed in their 
 "best green silk dresses, with white scarfs thrown over their 
 shoulders, presided over the repast, while the visitors sate 
 around. Mr. Date supported !Miss Birch on the right, while 
 the Captain had lier left ear, and just now he was full of 
 rather heavy raptures over the anemone bed. " Well," he 
 said, " that bed of flowers really beats anything I ever saw. 
 It's only a pity you can't send it off to the Pavilion at 
 Brighton just as it is, for I'll lay any wager it would be 
 the finest sight there." 
 
 Miss Birch's smile in acknowledgement of the compliment 
 was particularly gracious. 
 
 "Mr. Brown has a beautiful bed of anemones, too," observed 
 the youngest Miss Tripp, who in making the remark proved 
 herself to be a less skilful tactician than was the drowsy 
 Captain. The observation Avas passed by unnoticed, but the
 
 VILLAGE ENTERTAINMENTS, AND HOW THEY ENDED. 65 
 
 mention of the name brought under review the ill-judged 
 proceedings of the owner of it. 
 
 " What can John Brown be thinking of," observed Miss 
 Birch, " in getting up such an intimacy between himself and 
 Molly Cox's daughter. If he chooses people of that class 
 for his associates it's my opinion he will shortly lose all his 
 friends worth having ! " 
 
 "Is it Mrs. Marchmont you are speaking of?" inquired 
 Mr. Date who, like Miss Fanny Tripp, did not show 
 himself to have the acuteness of his nautical friend. " She 
 is a remarkably pretty woman, and as far as I can see, a 
 quietly-disposed one too." 
 
 " Those quietly-disposed women ain't always to be trusted," 
 observed Miss Birch with a look of sagacity. " If I were 
 Mrs. Brown I should hardly approve of such a friendship. 
 Old men are very foolish sometimes, and if John Brown 
 were to become a widower I would not answer for the 
 consequences." 
 
 There was a general laugh at this remark, which seemed to 
 entertain the Captain even more than it did the rest of the 
 party. 
 
 " I wonder if there is any truth in the report," observed 
 Mrs. Date mysteriously, " about Mi's. Marclimont's husband 
 having been well-connected." 
 
 " Truth in it ! " exclaimed Miss Birch contemptuously, 
 " most decidedly not. If there were a shade of truth in it
 
 ()() TOM MARCnMONT. 
 
 tliey would talk about it themselves — but so many idle 
 reports get about that I always say they are wisest who 
 believe none of them." 
 
 "We have got a wonderful man come in the place of 
 Mr. Gregg," observed Mr. Date, who thought it would be as 
 well to change the conversation. " I took him for a Eomish 
 priest when I first saw him. I only hope he is not 
 clever enough to do much harm." 
 
 "He'll do it if he can," said Miss Birch with asperity. 
 He carries about with him the Jesuits' book of prayer, and 
 such underhand practices look suspicious." 
 
 " Oh, Matilda !" said her sister, "you know it was only 
 Sally Yapp who told us that, and it was positively con- 
 tradicted by Mr. White, the Churchwarden." 
 
 " He may contradict it as much as he pleases," said Miss 
 Birch testily. " I most fully believe Sally's statement, and 
 T say a man like that is a disgrace to the church." 
 
 " Hear, hear ! " cried Mr. Date, " When you and I, Miss 
 Birch, have the making of bishops and priests we shall 
 choose none but the right sort of men." 
 
 This exclamation on the part of Mr. Date had the effect 
 of arousing the Captain from a heavy slumber into which 
 bo had just fallen. Hearing of the right sort of men 
 he associated them with the naval part of his Majesty's 
 service. 
 
 " Ah ! " he said, " true enough. There's many a Captain
 
 VILLAGE ENTEETAINMENTS, AND HOW THEY ENDED. G7 
 
 like nie starving on half-pay, wlio is worth a dozen of those 
 
 d d aristocracy fellows who get all the good things !" 
 
 At this apropos remark Fanny Tripp set off into a titter, 
 for which she got her toe pinched by her mother under the 
 table, and then to take off the attention of the company from 
 this error in good breeding on the part of her daughter, 
 Mrs. Tripp proposed to Miss Bhch that they should go into 
 the garden for a nearer inspection of the anemone bed. 
 
 The Misses Birch's party like all other pleasant things came 
 to an end, and as, on the departure of the guests, the two 
 ladies were carefully putting away theh silver, they con- 
 gratulated themselves on the success of their entertainment. 
 
 On the following afternoon Mrs. Marchmont and Tom 
 were paying one of their frequent visits at Eosebank. ]\Irs. 
 Brown was not at home, and the Quaker had taken them 
 into tlie garden for the piurpose of showing them his own bed 
 of anemones which, like the Misses Birch's, was just then in 
 all its glory. 
 
 " Oh ! look Tom,'^ exclaimed Nancy, " did you ever see 
 anything so beautiful !" 
 
 " It's quite a pleasure sliowing thee anything," said the 
 Quaker, delighted at her evident admiration. " Ihou can'st 
 afford to approve of thy neighbour's goods as well as of thine 
 own. ISTow with Tilda and Becky Birch it is so different. 
 They were here tliis morning, and if thou wilt believe me, 
 
 they passed that bed without so much as lookmg at it. 
 
 F 2
 
 68 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 < Turn thy head the other way,' I said to Becky, who was 
 walking by my side, *I don't think as thou hast in thy 
 garden anything better than that ! * Tilda was behind, and 
 she would not give Becky time to answer. ' Come to us to- 
 morrow,' she screamed out, ' and I'll show you a finer bed of 
 anemones than you'll meet with anywhere far or near.* She's 
 a proud woman, is Tilda Birch, and if her pride were only in 
 
 her flowers, one would not so much mind. But there 
 
 we've all got our faults, and perhaps it's as well to try and 
 not see our neighbour's." 
 
 Mrs. Brown was later than usual in returning home, and 
 iNancy was just going to take her leave when the Quaker 
 said, '• Do stop and take a cup of tea with us — Martha will 
 be home soon, and, she'll be sorry not to see thee." 
 
 JSTancy consented ; no sooner however had the invitation 
 passed the Quaker's lips than he wished he could recall it, 
 for he just remembered that his wife had that morning 
 invited the Misses Birch to tea, in order that they might meet 
 James Maxwell, a nephew of the Quakers, who had lately 
 seen the Misses Birch's brother. He was going to murmur 
 something about other visitors when his wife appeared with 
 Mr. Maxwell by her side. jMi-s. Brown's welcome to ^ancy 
 was always as cordial as her husband's. Having introduced 
 his nephew to the latter the Quaker informed his wife that 
 he had invited Nancy to tea. He looked when he gave her 
 the information as if he were doubtful how she would take
 
 VILLAGE ENTERTAINMENTS, AND HOW THEY ENDED. 
 
 C9 
 
 it. Islis. Brown had a feeling of indifference for tlie Misses 
 Birch's notions and opinions which her husband did not 
 altogether entertain. 8he could therefore afford to laugh, 
 instead of getting mitated at their professed contempt for 
 the Quaker's flower-beds, and she minded as little whether 
 they approved or not of theu' friends and favourites. 
 
 " And I hope thou hast got her consent," she said, givmg 
 Nancy a benevolent smile as she spoke. " Well, Tom," she 
 added, turning to the boy, " what dost thou think of John 
 Brown's anemones. Would'st thou not like to have such a 
 bed in thy garden ? " 
 
 " I should very much," said Tom. 
 
 " Then I'll give thee some seed, and thou shalt try what 
 thou canst do next year. Come in, Nancy, and take off thy 
 bonnet ; its later than I thought," and Nancy followed her 
 hostess into the house. 
 
 They had just descended, and were sitting in the dra-v^dng- 
 room with the tea-things all laid out. Nancy noticed two 
 additional cups and plates, and she was wondering who the 
 expected visitors could be, when the door opened, and the 
 Misses Birch were announced. Miss Birch had entered first, 
 and she gave a start on seeing Xancy seated -with Mr. 
 INfaxwell at her side, evidently trying his best to make him- 
 self agreeable. The jNIisscs Bircli liad on tlicir best dresses, 
 which liad always the effect on ]\ratilda of giving her an 
 additional air of importance. First giving a look of under-
 
 70 TOM 5IARCHM0NT. 
 
 standing to Eebecca, Miss Birch sailed up to ^Mrs. Bro-^vn, 
 and thus addressed her : — 
 
 " I regret that I and my sister can pay you but a short 
 visit on this occasion, hut we follow the teaching of our 
 parents by keeping strictly to our OAvn sphere of society, and 
 we must decline breaking through our ride, even for the sake 
 of such old friends as yourselves." 
 
 Nancy's first impidse was to rise, and she was on the point 
 of offering to leave the room, when Mrs. Brown, observing 
 her intention, interposed — 
 
 " Thou hast a right, Matilda," she said, " to do as it pleaseth 
 thee. John and I think Kancy Marchmont as good company 
 as thyself." 
 
 "I am sorry—" murmiu^ed the Quaker, terrified at his 
 wife's audacity. He recollected that ^N'ancy was Miss Birch's 
 tenant, and feared there might be a chance of a summary 
 ejection. 
 
 Mrs. Brown judged rightly in supposing that ]\Iiss Bhch 
 would never give up so desirable a tenant merely because the 
 Quaker had made a blunder, and she was resolved on facincj 
 it out by not admitting that it was one. 
 
 " There's no harm done," she said promptly, " or at least 
 it's done to Nancy if it's done at all," and Iklrs. Bro^\'n looked 
 kindly at her as she spoke, for the poor woman seemed as if 
 she were going to faint. 
 
 "W^-U," said Miss Birch, as she sailed out of the room,
 
 VILLAGE ENTERTAINMENTS, AND HOW TIIEY ENDED. 71 
 
 her sister following her, " perhaps "when you next give us an 
 invitation you will tell us what company we are to expect," 
 and the door closed mth a slam behind the indignant 
 spinster. 
 
 Tom had heen giving his whole attention to the scene, and 
 he at once took in the fact that the Misses Birch were too 
 proud to sit in the same room with his mother. He stood 
 by her chair, leaning against her, his blue eyes filled with 
 tears of pride, while his arm was thrown over her shoulder. 
 James Maxwell thought as he looked at the two that he had 
 never seen anythmg which to his mind would have made so 
 pretty a picture. "I'm sorry," was the Quaker's first 
 stammering exclamation, " that all this should have occurred. 
 — I'd sooner" — he added, and he paused for a strong expres- 
 sion, " I'd sooner Tilda had gone and trampled on my 
 anemones there," and he pointed towards the window, " than 
 that she shoidd have behaved herself as she has done." 
 
 " Xever mind, John," said his wife cheeringly — " There's 
 no harm done^ — Matilda has lowered herself and not us or 
 Kancy either — and now let's come to tea." 
 
 James Maxwell did Jiis uttermost to make up to Mrs. 
 Marchmont for the incivility of his Aunt's invited guest?, 
 nor had he time to weary of his eflbrts for IS'ancy always 
 left early. He insisted on escorting her home, and as he 
 took leave of her at the garden gate he ventured on express- 
 ing the ]ioi)e he had cnlcrtainf.d iJiat tli'' walk would have
 
 72 TOM MARCHMONT, 
 
 been a longer one. There was a bright moon shining on 
 jN'aucy's sweet pale features as she looked up to thank him 
 for his escort. 
 
 "What a heavenly countenance!" thought James to 
 Inmself, " it is one I should like to dwell upon for ever ! " 
 
 He dwelt upon it in imagination as he walked back, and 
 in words as he re-entered the drawing-room — 
 
 "AVhat a charming woman that is, Aunt !" was his first 
 exclamation. 
 
 "Ay, and she's as good as she's charming," put in the 
 Quaker, who admired Nancy every bit as much as he did his 
 bed of anemones. 
 
 The events of the evening had kindled into vehemence in 
 Tom's breast the passion of pride — of pride that had been 
 wounded, and which longed for redress. His mother had 
 been insulted. The Quaker had often told him he was to 
 take care of his mother, and yet he had done nothing 
 in her defence. On their return liom€ he heard her narrate 
 to his Grandmother how vexed she had been. It was such 
 a pity, she said, that Mr. Brown had not told her who was 
 coming ! If he had done so she would have left at once. 
 The old woman was very much vexed also, and Tom felt 
 more and more angry. 
 
 Miss Birch walked liomc that evening in a state of great 
 contentment — a contentment occasioned by the intense 
 satisfaction she felt in her own presence of mind — indeed
 
 VILLAGE ENTERTAINMENTSj AND HOW THEY ENDED. 73 
 
 her promptness and decision called forth all her powers of 
 self- congratulation. When she found herself once more 
 seated in her own parlour she informed her sister of the 
 means she meant to adopt for showing I^ancy that she con- 
 sidered her conduct, as well as the Bro"\vns', deserving of 
 reprobation. 
 
 The sisters had collected together a good many books of 
 which they had made a kind of lending library — a worthy 
 intention on their part which they had very worthily carried 
 out. It was but few among the poorer classes in those days 
 who were able to read. Miss Birch had therefore been very 
 glad to find that Mrs. Cox and her daughter were both suffi- 
 ciently well educated to be capable of imbibing through the 
 aid of these books, the very low Church principles which she 
 was so fond of promulgating. They were in consequence 
 among the number of those to whom these books had 
 hitherto been lent. Miss Birch decided on giving Nancy to 
 understand that, as she was going so far out of the position 
 it was intended she should occupy, it was thought no longer 
 desirable that she should benefit by tlie loan of the books. 
 The next morning therefore, between eight and nine, there 
 was a sharp knock at tlie cottage door. Kancy went out to 
 see what this loud knock betokened. It was the ^Misses 
 l3irch's very pert maid who liad bocMi sent over by her 
 inistress to say she wanted the; book that was in ^Irs. 
 Marchmont's possession, and that Mibs Bii-ch would expect
 
 fi TOM MARCHMONt. 
 
 her to bring it herself, as she \vished to have a talk with 
 her. 
 
 Tom was at Nancy's side while this message was being 
 delivered. He was an observer of countenance and he saw 
 terror depicted on his mother's, while Betty's wore the 
 nnmistakeable impress of vulgar insolence. Though a child 
 in years, he was but eight, he seemed to feel a man at once. 
 
 " You shan't go there," he said — " I ^vill take the book 
 for you," and he went at once to the table where it was 
 lying. 
 
 " Let me put it in paper," said his mother, " you can say 
 that I will call in tlie course of the day." 
 
 " I shan't," was the reply, and he ran off fortified with 
 the idea that he was for once obeying the Quaker's injunc- 
 tions by defending his mother from further provocation. On 
 Tom's arrival the two ladies were in their parlour, which 
 looked out upon the road, finishing their breakfast. There 
 was a little side-gate leading round to the entrance. Tom 
 went manfully up the garden-walk, without turning to the 
 right hand or to the left, until he came within sight of 
 the bed of anemones. This bed was closely associated 
 in Tom's mind with Miss Birch's recent misdemeanours. 
 He could not resist the inclination he had to give the flowers 
 a kick — one kick led to anotlier. The love of mischief 
 seemed to have developed itself in Tom's nature as rapidly 
 as the feeling of pride. He had fairly plunged into it, and
 
 VlLLx^GE ENTERTAINMENTS, AND HOW THEY ENDED. 75 
 
 he began to enjoy the fun. He no longer restricted his 
 exertions to the sides of the bed but, reckless of consequences, 
 his nimble feet had soon trampled over every part of it. He 
 kicked and scuffed and made such a dust among the flowers 
 that their glory quickly vanished. 
 
 The Misses Birch were in the habit of descending in their 
 dressing go^vns and curl papers, and breakfast over, they 
 went upstairs to dress themselves for the day. Eebecca's 
 room was over the drawing-room, while Matilda herself 
 preferred overlooking the road. Eebecca went to the window 
 as was her wont, intending to take a look at the anemones 
 before doing her hair at the glass which was in front 
 of it. 
 
 " Matilda, Matilda," screamed the agitated lady. 
 
 Tom was just ending his iDcrformance with a tremendous 
 kick-up of his legs, by way of a vigorous finale, while the 
 book was at the same time tossed into the air. Matilda was 
 in an instant at her sister's side. " Good Heavens ! " she 
 exclaimed, and in a moment the window was thrown open, 
 and " how dare you, you bad boy ! " shouted from it in a tone 
 which compelled the offender's attention. 
 
 'I'om looked up fearlessly ; then, dreading a colloquy with 
 the injured ladies, he put the book on the lawn and went off 
 homewards at a rapid pace. On re-entering the cottage, he 
 ran up to his mother in an cctasy of delight at his morning's 
 licrfurmunce*
 
 76 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 " Mother," he said, " Miss Birch can't teaze Mr. Brown 
 any more about her anemones, for they are all gone now ! " 
 
 " All gone ! what do you mean 1 " 
 
 Tom read anything but gladness in his mother's coun- 
 tenance, and his own delight was at an end. A sudden fear 
 came over him and, colouring up, he went on in an altered 
 tone, "Mother, I did it." 
 
 " You did it !" moaned l!Tancy, and the tone and the look 
 brought tears into the boy's eyes. 
 
 He put his arms round her neck. 
 
 "Yes, mother," he said, "I did it," and the sobs came 
 thick and fast. 
 
 " And have I been such a bad mother to you, Tom, that 
 you should have learnt to take a pleasure in so unjust and 
 unkind an act ? " 
 
 Tom said nothing, but he went on sobbing on his mother's 
 breast till her tender heart melted towards hmi. 
 
 " We will say nothing more about it, Tom," she said, " I 
 will go to the Misses Birch and ask theh forgiveness." 
 
 "Ko, no!" said the child, his pride taking alarm at the 
 mere thought. 
 
 Mrs. Cox had been a silent witness of the sccnCj and now 
 her o-vvn more worldly fears broke forth into words. 
 
 " Wliy Tom," she said, " you'd never be So selfish as to 
 let your mother and nle be turned adrift just because yoit 
 have behaved very ill, and now don't choose to beg pardon."
 
 VILLAGE ENTERTAINMENTS, AND HOW THEY ENDED. 77 
 
 Tom's sobs and tears broke forth afresh, and between 
 ISTancy's compassion for her son, her sorrow for his fault, and 
 her fears for the consequences, she was altogether in a very 
 unenviable state of mind. 
 
 As soon as Tom had disappeared, Miss Birch hastily 
 arranged her curls, put on her bonnet, and then a large 
 shawl to hide the deficiencies in her attire. Thus equipped 
 she followed Tom with slower, though for her unusually 
 hasty steps to his mother's house. She came in unannounced 
 and in the midst of Tom's last violent fit of sobbing. Though 
 with sundry grievous defects of character, Miss Bhch had 
 something of a woman's heart — Tom's sobs and his mother's 
 troubled countenance, as she rose to receive her unexpected 
 visitor, succeeded in toucliing it. 
 
 " I am glad to see," she said, " that you have had the 
 sense to correct yom' son — ^with such a disposition as he has 
 shown, I am sure correction is needful. I was intending 
 to give you notice to quit my cottage, but I feel it woidd be 
 hardly fau' to do so now since you are taking apparently the 
 right steps towards preventing the recurrence of such gross 
 misbehaviour. I shall not object either to your continuing 
 the use of our books, especially as I have one addressed in 
 particular to naughty boys. I will send it you on my return 
 home, and you will do well to read it at once to your son." 
 
 " Tom has behaved very badly," said his mother, ** and I 
 am sure if I tell him so, it will be a security against his
 
 78 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 ever acting in such a way again. Ho is very sorry, and 
 so am I." 
 
 " I see you are," said "Miss Birch, " and I "blame ^Ir. Brown 
 far more than I do you. It is he that has been the spoiling 
 of that boy," and without waiting for the defence of her 
 friend which rose to fancy's lips, ^Miss Birch hunied out of 
 the room, burning with impatience to expend her wrath upon 
 the Quaker. On arriving at Rosebank, she gave a more 
 impetuous knock and ring than it was her wont to give. 
 
 " Who's coming in such a bustle ?" said John Brown to his 
 
 wife, as he was leisurely preparing himself for his morning's 
 
 walk to his office. 
 
 Miss Birch entered to answer the question in person. 
 
 "WeU, Tilda," said the Quaker, "what's the matter? 
 Thou look'st heated this fine, cool morning ! " 
 
 "And with good cause," said ^liss Birch imperiously. 
 " It's reaUy shameful, — but I blame you both far more than 
 I do the boy himself." 
 
 " Why, Matilda, whatever is the matter ? " inquired the 
 Quakeress. 
 
 " Matter ! why matter enough — My beautiful anemone-bed 
 kicked and trampled all to pieces by Molly Cox's grandson ! " 
 
 " What ! " said ISIrs. Brown, looking aghast at the news. 
 
 " You may well look astonished, but it's a fact neverthe- 
 less, and it all comes of your making too much of those 
 people, and taking them out of their proper position."
 
 VILLAGE ENTERTAINMENTS, AND HOW THEY ENDED. 79 
 
 This was a hard hit at Mrs. Brown, and she began to feel 
 Bensitively how unfortunate had been the reneontr^ of the 
 preceeding evening. She was seriously vexed, while with the 
 Quaker, to speak the plain truth, it was the reverse. Hig 
 wife, in whose judgment he had implicit faith, had assured 
 him that there was no fear of an ejection, and now he in- 
 wardly chuckled over Miss Birch's misfortune. They had 
 been rivals, and she had taken a pleasure in blazoning her 
 fancied superiority. He was too just now cherishing an un- 
 usually angry feeling towards her on account of her behaviour 
 to the gTiest of his own inviting. 
 
 Mrs. Brown had so poor an opinion of Miss Birch's under- 
 standing that she did not consider her airs and pretensions 
 worth getting angry about, but that Tom should have mis- 
 behaved himself was to her a serious mortification. However 
 she was determined on defending the boy, her husband, and 
 herself, and on parrying Miss Birch's thrust in the beet Avay 
 she could. 
 
 "Thou should'st not say, Matilda, that it all comes 
 through John and me. Blame thyself first, for if thou 
 hadst behaved more like a Christian, and not turned thy 
 back upon a wortliy woman, none of tliis would have 
 occurred. Tom has committed a great fault, and thou 
 hast been the cause." 
 
 " Oh ! we all know you never can be in the wrong," re- 
 torted Miss Birch, her ancjcr waxinq hotter. " I thought at
 
 80 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 least that I should have had an apology, but as you don't 
 geem inclined to make one, I'll stop no longer," and she 
 flounced out of the room with her back as straiglit as a pokei', 
 as the Quaker afterwards described it. 
 
 " It is an unfortimate affair ! " observed Mrs. Brown to her 
 liusband, when Miss Birch had taken her departiU'G. 
 
 "Well, it's my fault from beginning to end," said the 
 Quaker good-naturedly, " but I'll make it up to Tilda, and I 
 dare say the storm will soon blow over. She was saying she 
 wanted a few roses. I'll send her some real good ones, and 
 she won't vex much about the anemones, thou may'st 
 depend." 
 
 "Well John, thou wert always a peace-maker," said 
 Mrs. Brown with a smile that indicated peace and good' 
 will in that household, whatever there might be else 
 where, "I must though," she added, "go and reprove 
 the boy, not but what I expect ISTancy has done that 
 already." 
 
 " Thou may'st be sure she has," said the Quaker, " and I 
 think one scolding is enough for a bit of mischief like that." 
 The Quaker's inward feelings all tended towards the whiten- 
 ing of the offence. 
 
 " It was a great fault though," said Mrs. Brown seriously, 
 " and I should think myself no friend to Tom if I did not 
 let him see that I consider it one." 
 
 Mrs. Brown went at once to the cottage with all that
 
 VILLAGE ENTERTAINMENTS, AND HOW THEY ENDED. 81 
 
 nervousness of feeling which, a kind-hearted person must ex- 
 perience, when the visit to a friend is for the purpose of 
 finding fault. Nancy did not try to screen her son, while if 
 Tom had committed a murder, he could not have looked a 
 greater culprit. He had paid most dearly for his amusement, 
 so dearly that it was likely to prove the last piece of mischief 
 he would ever he implicated in. 
 
 Mrs. Brown always liked to perform any duty she had set 
 hei'self, so Tom received his lecture, and having got through 
 her disagreeahle task the kind old lady thought herself justi- 
 fied in giving the penitent's handsome face a kiss, which was 
 received with a flush of pleasure by the boy, with a bright 
 look of gratitude from the mother, and with a low curtsey 
 from Molly Cox. 
 
 James Maxwell entered the parlour at Eosebank just as 
 his aunt had left it for the purpose of going and admonishing 
 the offender. He had been preparing himself for a visit to 
 Oak Cottage, ostensibty to make Tom a present of a nuw top 
 which he had just been buying, but in reality to have an 
 interview with the widow before he started by the twelve 
 o'clock coach. When told by his uncle of the turmoil, he 
 felt he could not with any propriety make the top an excuse 
 for his visit; he thought besides that there woidd be no 
 chance of his finding Xancy alone, so he desisted from his 
 piu'pose, and it is probable that Tom's behaviour had not 
 only procured for himself a reprimand from the aunt, but
 
 82 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 that it had likewise lost his mother the chance of accepting 
 or rejecting the nephew. "Whether Nancy would have 
 availed herself of so substantial an offer, had it been made 
 her, remains a question much open to doubt.
 
 THE CHERRY TREE. 83 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 THE CHERRY TREE. 
 
 To every admirer of cultivated nature John Brown's 
 garden and pleasure grounds aftbrded singular attractions. 
 Well-kept flower beds surrounded tlie mansion, and their 
 tasteful form, and the good combination of colours which 
 they presented to the eye, were two of the things in which 
 the himible minded Quaker took an innocent pride. Eeyond 
 and to the right evergreens and flowering shrubs concealed 
 from view a very pretty piece of w^ater, causing the stranger's 
 surprise to be the greater when he suddenly came upon it. 
 To the left the smooth lawn sloped upwards to the summer- 
 house, from whence were to be caught the last rays of the 
 setting sun as they gilded the old church spire, which was a 
 prominent object in the foreground. 
 
 On a summer evening this was to the Quaker a very 
 
 favourite place of resort. The underwood in the grove 
 
 beyond afforded shelter to the nightingale and the linnet, 
 
 and their song was one among tlie many voices of creation 
 
 that the old man most dearly loved to hear. The frequent 
 
 inroads made by feathered songsters into the garden were 
 
 G 2
 
 84 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 unattended "with danger to themselves. Jolin Brown never 
 forgot that the same God who had formed him had like"s\dsc 
 made the bhds, and that in His own wisdom he had given 
 them sensations of enjoyment and instincts for choosing that 
 food which was most fitted for them. The fine cherry tree 
 wliich stood beside the siunmer house afforded many a feast 
 to the blackbird and the thrush, and the Quaker loved to 
 watch them. They ho23ped among its branches and selected 
 for their own use some of the choicest of its fruit. 
 
 Eeyond the cherry tree an old elm spread out its stately 
 limbs, and in it beauty and usefulness were combined. It 
 shut out the lane at the back, and likewise concealed from 
 view the Quaker's stables. On one of its strongest branches 
 John Bro^vn had suspended a swing, which was ,to the chil- 
 dren a source of endless delight. 
 
 Spring had passsed away and had given place to the first 
 summer month. It was a fine evenmg in June, and Tom 
 was spending it at Eosebank. After tea the Quaker told 
 him he might go into the garden with Li^izie and pick her a 
 dozen cherries, taking an equal quantity for himself. Jane 
 was kept in with a sore throat, and Lizzie, though a dainty 
 little lady in the choice of her companions, was always 
 satisfied to go an}^vhere with Tom alone. He had led her 
 to the tree and was absorbed in looking after the best and 
 ripest cherries, while the child was holding out her pinafore 
 to i-eceive them. Suddenly the little gate leading into the
 
 THE CHERRY TREE. -85 
 
 lane opened, and Jacob Birch appeared. This boy went to 
 rather a celebrated school at Granton, the neighbouring town, 
 and he was in the habit of spending his Sundays and holidays 
 at Eichmond Villa. He had often in consequence heard his 
 aunt's tenants brought under review, and he was a ready 
 recipient of any opinions that were derogatory to Tom, for 
 whom he entertained what Miss Birch might have termed a 
 most proper contempt. Here seemed to be a fine opportunity 
 afforded him of giving vent to this amiable feeling. " I say, 
 young fellow, have you had leave to pick those cherries 1 " 
 he inquired in a domineering tone. To this question Tom 
 did not condescend to give an answer. Lizzie was surprised 
 at this indisposition on the part of her friend to defend his 
 character, and she seemed to think in consequence that the 
 duty devolved on herself of defending it for him. 
 
 '' Grandpapa told Tom he 2vas to pick cherries for himself 
 and for me," she said, laying a strong emphasis on the verb — 
 " I've had one already." 
 
 " Well, Lizzie, I'll get you as many cherries as you want, 
 and Tom Marchmont can eat all he picks liimself," and, 
 suiting the action to the word, Jacob pulled a cherry and put 
 it to Lizzie's lips. They began to pout at once. 
 
 " Grandpapa said Tom was to pick me some cherries. I 
 won't have none of your's." These were all the thanks that 
 Jacob got. 
 
 " You are a naughty, spoiled child," he said angrily, as ho
 
 86 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 took hold of Lizzie and gave her a little shake. Lizzie "began 
 to cry. Tom ran up to her with some more cherries, but now 
 Jacob's evil passions were thoroughly aroused, and he was 
 resolved that Lizzie should not have them. He held her 
 tight, regardless of her screams. 
 
 " Let her go," said Tom angrily, and he tried to push Jacob 
 away. 
 
 " How dare you presume to interfere with me?" said Jacob, 
 and he held Lizzie the tighter. 
 
 Lizzie's sense of oppression attained a height to which it 
 had never risen hitherto, but vainly she cried and struggled 
 as Jacob held her in his stronger grasp. 
 
 " Come, Lizzie," he said^ kissing her, " I'll give you a nice 
 swing, and I've got a pretty book for you at home if you'll 
 leave off playing with that naughty boy." 
 
 " I don't want no book — I shan't let you swing me— I 
 don't love you — let me go," and Lizzie's shrieks mounted up 
 to something truly piteous. 
 
 "What right have you to hold Lizzie against her will," 
 said Tom, as he made a second attempt to push Jacob away. 
 
 At this moment the Quaker's form appeared. 
 
 " Lizzie, Lizzie, whatever is the matter 1 " he called out as 
 ho hurried up to her. 
 
 " She was angry with me, sir," said Jacob, " for wanting 
 to swing her." 
 
 " Oh, Lizzie ! " said her grandpapa reprovingly, " I shall
 
 THE CHERRY TREE, 87 
 
 think yon are getting spoiled if you show such wilfulness as 
 this. Don't you know that little girls ought to be very much 
 ohliged to those who are willing to be kind to them. Don't 
 ever let me see this angry temper again." 
 
 Tom was boiling with indignation at hearing Lizzie thus 
 reprimanded, and yet he knew not how to take her part. 
 Jacob's assertion had been in some measure true, and if he 
 had lodged a complaint against him at all, he felt it must 
 have been more on his own account than on Lizzie's. He 
 therefore kept a most unmlling silence as the Quaker took 
 his grand-child's hand and walked her back to the house, 
 telling her it was time for her to go to bed, and expressing a 
 hope that she would wake up a better girl on the follo"\ving 
 morning.
 
 88 TOM MAKCHMONT. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 SINKING TO KEST. 
 
 Two more summers had succeeded one another, and now 
 T^Irs. Cox was feeling sensibly the hurthen of seventy years. 
 She had hitherto been singularly free from malady, and had 
 always done her part towards helping on the yearly income. 
 The first warning had been failing sight, and now a general 
 feebleness came over her which proved to be the forerunner 
 of death. The old woman had led a very blameless life, and 
 it seemed as if it might truly be said of her that she had injured 
 no one. As she lay calmly and peacefidly waiting her change 
 the words that fell from her lips betokened truer wisdom than 
 is possessed by many who, in the pride of their superior intel- 
 lect might have been led to scorn the unconscious teaching 
 of this humble Christian. 
 
 The last scene came, though N'ancy had striven her utter- 
 most to put it off. 
 
 " Don't msh me to stay longer," the old woman said, as 
 her daughter stood sobbing over her on the departure of the 
 doctor, who had just warned her that her time was short. 
 " My life would now be a weariness to myself and a hinder-
 
 SINKING TO REST. 89 
 
 ance to yon. I may hope, may I not," she added with the 
 somewhat doubting accent of true humility, " that I am going 
 to my Saviour. I am a poor ainner, I know, hut God is 
 merciful." 
 
 " If there is no mercy for you, I think none of us can hope 
 for any," said ISTancy. " But one looks for mercy from him 
 who suffered that he might save us." 
 
 " That is my only hope ! " said the old woman, with the 
 smile of expectant immortality lighting up her soft features. 
 " Tom, be a good son to your mother, she has been like many 
 daughters to me." 
 
 " I will," said Tom, sobbing as he spoke, and he pressed 
 his grandmother's cold hands, and stooped down to give her 
 a last kiss. 
 
 The old woman's death created no sensation, and the world 
 was hardly conscious of her departure from it. There was, 
 though, one household in which her memory was cherished, 
 and where honest tears were shed for her loss ; and if Molly 
 could in death have spoken her wishes, she would have 
 claimed from the living no more than what she got.
 
 90 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 nancy's difficulties, which the QUAKER SOLVES. 
 
 Tom had just attained his eleventh year. There was a 
 retired schoolmaster living in the village, Dohson by name, 
 who for a small annual salary had been giving him an hour 
 of good teaching every day. However, the old man had been 
 persuaded to remove into a town some miles away, to live 
 with a married daughter, who thought her father too feeble 
 now to live alone. This change gave IN'ancy considerable 
 anxiety, for her means would not allow of her paying much 
 out of it for her son's education, and she knew she was totally 
 incompetent to help him herself in the way of scholarship. 
 All she could do was to exert her influence with her son to 
 induce him to work industriously alone. However, Tom in 
 a very short time acquii'ed a thorough dislike for those studies 
 which, under Mr. Dobson's intelligent guidance, he had found 
 rather pleasant than not. He could never bear to vex his 
 mother, so for a couple of hours each day he consented to 
 work in a way with his books, while ISTancy sat by his side 
 and employed herself with her needle. It must be admitted 
 that of the two Nancy's labours told the most, and that
 
 XANCy's difficulties, which the QUAKER SOLVES. 91 
 
 for tliree whole months Tom's stock of learning did not 
 increase. 
 
 The Quaker had only two children living, a son and a 
 daughter. His son was growing rich in America, while his 
 daughter, Mrs. Lindsay, was in the West Indies with her 
 husband. They, too, enjoyed a competency, though they 
 were not actually rich. John Brown felt, however, strongly 
 that his first duty was towards his daughter and her children, 
 and on this account he w\as slow to propose any scheme for 
 helping his protege which might tax his income too much. 
 His wife was sure to go mth him in his kind and benevolent 
 plans if she felt they were just ; and so when John Brown 
 was a little undecided himself he never had any hesitation 
 in applying to Martha for counsel. 
 
 " That is a promising boy of ISTancy's," he said to her on 
 Tom's eleventh bu'thday, as he was tying up a book which 
 he was just gomg to take to him. " I'm thinking it's a great 
 pity he doesn't go to school." 
 
 He made a pause and then went on. 
 
 " I should be sorry to act unfairly towards any of those 
 who stand nearer to thee and me than he does, but I have 
 been considering whether I could, without WTonging them, 
 give Tom the advantages of a good education." 
 
 " Well, John," said Martha, " thou must know thine own 
 affairs best, but anything thou Avishest to propose in that way I 
 am willing to second. ]N"ancy has behaved admirably to my
 
 92 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 mind ever since I have kno^vn her, and she is just the sort of 
 person one would be glad to help if one could." 
 
 " Then the thing's settled," said John : his benevolent 
 countenance lighted up \vith the pleasure his wife's words 
 afforded him. " I'll have a talk about it at once with Nancy." 
 The Quaker took up his hat and stick, and his well-known 
 knock was heard by the inmates of the cottage at an un- 
 usually early hour. Nancy and Tom were in the parloiu', 
 Tom at his books, and Nancy at her work. 
 
 " Good morning, Nancy," said the Quaker on entering. 
 " What, thou hast not quite given up thy studies," he said, 
 addi-essing Tom. " I know thou lovest a bit of play, and I'm 
 glad to find thou art fond of thy book as well. I have 
 brought thee one for thy play-hours, and I have an invitation 
 for thee both from my wife besides. I am come, too, to ask 
 thee, Tom, whether thou would'st like to go to school." 
 " I should very much," was the reply. 
 " Thy mother would miss thee no doubt, but I am sure 
 she would spare thee if she knew it was for thy good," and 
 . the Quaker turned to Nancy for confirmation of his words. 
 
 "I should be very willing to spare Tom," said Nancy, 
 slightly colouring, " but I am afraid it would be too expensive 
 a thing to send him to a school that his father woidd have 
 liked." 
 
 " Of course the expense has to be taken into account," said 
 the Quaker, "but Martha and I have been talking about
 
 nancy's difficulties, which the QUAKER SOLVES. 93 
 
 that, and I think I coukl afford to give Tom some schooling 
 for two or three years." 
 
 The Quaker was most warmly thanked by ]N'ancy and her 
 son, and it was arranged before the former took his leave, that 
 after the holidays Tom was to become a day-boarder at the 
 same school where Jacob Birch had already been in training 
 for some years. This school had a great reputation, and 
 was kept by a clever and a worthy man of the name of 
 Saunders. 
 
 After the Quaker had made such handsome reparation to 
 Miss Bhch for Tom's misdemeanour, that lady had had the 
 magnanimity never again to allude to the subject in his 
 presence. ^^Tevertheless she had felt more and more strongly 
 the necessity of keeping her tenants at a suitable distance, 
 and she had acted most consistently with these convictions. 
 She had induced the Dates so far to adopt her views as to 
 promise that they would never think of visiting Xancy on 
 anything like terms of equality. ]\Iiss Birch's religious sen- 
 timents exactly coincided with the Bector's, whereas the 
 Quaker was not considered by him to be as yet among the 
 number of the elect. Miss Birch had therefore the argument 
 all to herself in ,that quarter. 
 
 Though Captain Bamford had been vainly endeavouring for 
 some time to increase his intimacy with the widow, yet as 
 Miss Birch was in total ignorance of tliese aspirations on the 
 part of her own supposed admii-er, she had deemed it un-
 
 94 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 necessary to caution him at all. She had come to an under- 
 standing with Mrs. Lrown that when she and her sister called 
 at Rosebank, they were to be at once informed if Xancy and 
 her son were there, and John Bro^vn received such hints from 
 his wife as kept him from ever descanting on the merits of 
 the two in the presence of Matilda. 
 
 The strife therefore which the widow had been so in- 
 nocently the cause of seemed to have quieted do^\Ti when tliis 
 new freak of the Quaker's, as Miss Bii'ch termed it, caused a 
 renewal of angry feeling on her part. She felt, however, -that 
 it would be useless to expostulate, but she did the best she 
 could under the circmnstances. She invited her nephew to 
 her house the day before the school re-opened, in order that 
 she might warn him thoroughly against the danger to which 
 he would now be exposed of getting into low company. 
 Her du'ections to hun were ample and exjDlicit. He was on 
 no account to have anything to do Avith Tom Marchmont. 
 Jacob gave his aunt a ready promise that he would attend to 
 her caution, though with the full intention of breaking it 
 on the first convenient opportunity. Tom had not been 
 at school many hours before it was made known to all the 
 boys, through the instrumentality of Birch, that the new 
 arrival lived in a cottage of his aunt's at Aubrey, and that 
 his grandmother had been a washerwoman. ]S"umberless 
 hints were in consequence thro^vn out by Jacob's friends and 
 associates to the effect that they knew all about Tom's
 
 nancy's difficulties, which the QUAKER SOLVES. 95 
 
 relations, and that tliey looked upon him as a fellow alto- 
 gether beneath them. 
 
 The Quaker had given his young friend a very solemn 
 exhortation the day previous to that which was to commence 
 his school career. 
 
 " Thou wilt not find things at school so smooth as thou 
 hast found them at home," he said. " Thou wilt come in 
 the way of many a had boy who loves the evil rather than 
 the good. Perhaps thou wilt have to bear many taunts. 
 Thou art a brave boy, I believe, and I think thy nature 
 would lead thee to return an insult with a blow. Thou wilt 
 be a braver one still if thou meetest it with the pity it 
 deserves, for it is only the pitiable and the low nature that 
 delights in the infliction of pain. Whenever thy spirit is 
 put up and thy blood gets hot, control thyself if thou can*st 
 * He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he 
 that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.' Evil 
 natures delight most in tormenting those on whom their 
 efforts meet with most success. Be indiifcrent to then- 
 attacks and they will cease before long." 
 
 Tom promised obedience to his old friend's injunctions, and 
 his promise was most sincerely given. In conformity with 
 it he bore the insults he received the first day with all the 
 aelf-possession of a hero, and all the patience of a martyr. 
 The Quaker's exordium was still fi-esh in his mind. However 
 he felt out of heart as he walked homewards, and thought
 
 96 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 that if tilings went on as they had begun, he would gladly 
 give up a school life altogether. 
 
 Tom's quiet way of bearing the taunts that were put upon 
 him led his j)ersecutors to suppose that he was a fellow of a 
 poor spirit, on whom they might heap with impunity as many 
 indignities as they pleased. In Master Birch's opinion too, 
 whatever his aunt ]\Iatilda might think, it was a piece of rare 
 good luck to have such a butt whereon to expend his own 
 bad feelings. 
 
 On the following day, as the boys all went into the play- 
 ground, where Tom was intending to amuse himself as well 
 as he could alone, Bhcli insolently came up to him. " Wliat 
 business have you here 1 " he said, and spat in Tom's face. 
 
 " As much business as you," was the immediate retort, 
 and a tremendous blow on the chest of his persecutor followed 
 the words. 
 
 The blow was of course returned. Birch was three 
 years older than Tom, and so he had the advantage of the 
 latter in size ; and feeling confident of victory in the contest 
 that was going to ensue, he already thirsted for some of his 
 adversary's blood. Tom had on his side great personal 
 strength for his age, and this was backed by a proud and 
 resolute spirit which had been bitterly wounded, and which 
 was now determined on revenge. He forgot the Quaker, 
 he forgot his mother, he forgot everything in the fury 
 of the contest except that he woidd conquer or die. The
 
 nancy's difficulties, which the QUAKER SOLVES. 97 
 
 l3oys crowded round, those who expressed any opinion 
 siding at first with Eirch. As the fight progressed there 
 were shouts of " Well done, Marchmont — you are a brave 
 fellow — keep at it ! " 
 
 " No need to tell him that ! " was shouted by another and 
 a more commanding voice — it was that of the head boy. 
 *' Come, there has been enough of this." 
 
 Tom kept on all the more resolutely. He Avas set upon 
 conquering his adversary and nothing should, if he coidd 
 help it, interfere with this determination. There was a 
 tremendous shouting heard at last. Tom had fairly brought 
 Jacob to the ground. The conqueror was borne home in 
 triumph so bruised and bleeding that it was hard to recog- 
 nize him. JS'ancy was terribly frightened when she saw him. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, mother, I'm not much hurt," were 
 Tom's first words, expressed in the hope of pacifying her 
 fears, however his appearance so utterly belied them that 
 they failed of the desired effect. 
 
 " He got into a fight," said Howe, one of the boys, " but 
 it was the other fellow's fault — come back among us, March- 
 mont, as soon as you can," and he and the rest hurried back 
 to their studies^ 
 
 Xancy felt constrained to express some amount of dis- 
 pleasure, out 01 deference to the (Quaker's i)revious advice — 
 however, no woman feels really angry with her son for showing 
 spirit, and so her reproofs were hardly sincere. 
 
 H
 
 98 TOM MARCHHONT. 
 
 As soon as the Quaker heard of the catastrophe he was 
 determined to investigate the matter. 
 
 *' How is it Tom," he said, " that I see thee in such a 
 plight? Did I send thee to school merely to fight?" 
 
 " No sir," said Tom, " but I don't see how I could lielp 
 it." He then exactly narrated to the Quaker how it had all 
 occurred. 
 
 "Well, Tom," he said, " thou knowest I am a man of 
 peace, and in this respect I would wish to see thee such as 
 I am. I cannot l)lame thee though in tliis affair — for I 
 believe at thy age I should have done the same myself" 
 
 " I hope, su'," said Tom, " I shall never be diiven into 
 doing anything of the kind again." 
 
 " It is not likely," the Quaker replied, " thou has made 
 too good a fight to be quickly forced into another, and I 
 depend upon it, Tom, that thou wilt never thyself be the 
 provoker of a contest." 
 
 Tom gave the -syished for assurance with much sincerity, 
 and the Quaker's regard for him remained undiminished. 
 
 AVhen Tom was sufficiently recovered from his wounds and 
 his bruises to allow of his returning to school he was struck 
 with the altered demeanour of his comi'ades. Wood, the 
 head boy, took him under his especial patronage. Instead of 
 liis being looked u]ion as the grandson of a washerwoman, 
 report now spoke of him as being well connected, and the 
 popularity which he had so suddenly and unexpectedly won 
 continued his throughout his school career.
 
 POOR IS THE TRIUMrH OVER THE TIMID HARE. 99 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 POOR IS THE TRIUMPH OVER THE TIMID HARE. 
 
 Four years and a-lialf had elapsed since Tom first went to 
 school, and tlie Christmas holidays were just commencing. 
 The Quaker had decided on keeping him tliere for two years 
 longer^ and then he thought Tom might enter his office, and 
 in time take a share in the business. 
 
 There was nothing that Tom enjoyed more in the holidays 
 than a ride on Jeannie Deans, the Quaker's high-bred mare. 
 The Quaker had until latterly been himself fond of riding, 
 but during the last year or two he had been getting indolent 
 in this respect, and so he was often glad now to have 
 Jeannie exercised by Tom. There was a boarder at the 
 school with whom Tom had got very intimate. Mr. Howard 
 was a man of landed property, who lived in the neighbour- 
 hood, and who with a pack of harriers and ten sons, 
 had found it necessary to study cheapness as well as 
 efficiency in tlie education of the latter; for though the 
 liounds were thought to need no other training save blows 
 and hard usuage, yet these came expensive, considering that 
 
 servants had to be paid for administermg tliem. Harry was 
 
 H 2
 
 100 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 niiitli on the list of sons. His one idea of enjoyment during 
 the holidays consisted in hunting and shooting, and though 
 not much older than Tom, he had already been well initiated 
 in these sports. Tom knew himself the delight of having 
 a scamper across the turf on a well-conditioned steed, hut 
 Harry assured him that such enjojTnent was tame compared 
 with that of hunting. 
 
 Young people's minds are (ha23pily in many respects) not 
 much given to analysing, and Tom was just now dwelling on 
 the ecstatic pleasure which, as it seemed, was to be derived 
 from clearing hedges and ditches and five-barred gates, 
 while gallantly follo^nng the hounds. The mental picture 
 went with him no further. Harry had been very anxious to 
 get a promise from Tom that he would meet him some day 
 on the hunting-field, and the latter had arranged to do so 
 if he could get the loan of the Quaker's mare. 
 
 On the day that the school broke ujj, Tom went with liis 
 mother to Eosebank. 
 
 " Well, Tom," said the Quaker, " I suppose thou wilt be 
 looking out for some rides on Jeannie Deans now thou art at 
 homo. She's wanting exercise, and thou wilt find her a little 
 hard to manage just at first." 
 
 Tom's colour rose, as it always did when he was going to 
 ask a favour. 
 
 " I shall be very glad to get a ride on Jeannie Deans," he 
 said, " may I ride her to the hunt to-morrow ? "
 
 POOR IS THE TRIUMPH OVER THE TIMID HARE. 101 
 
 The Quaker looked serious. ^ 
 
 " Thou wantest Jeannie Deans to hunt with, dost thou ! " 
 he said. 
 
 " It was my wish," said Tom, blushing higher and higher, 
 " hut it is mine no longer if you object." 
 
 " Didst thou ever see a hare 1 " inquu'ed the Quaker. 
 
 " Yes," replied Tom, a little surprised at the question. 
 
 "And what didst thou think of poor puss when thou 
 sawest her 1 " 
 
 Tom was fairly puzzled what to say. 
 
 "And what didst thou tliink of her when thou sawest 
 her ? " pertinaciously inquKed the Quaker. 
 
 " I have often liked watching the hares in the field leading 
 out of the wood," replied Tom, who was feeling obliged to 
 say something. 
 
 " Did they ever frighten thee, or worry thee in any way V 
 
 "No, sh." 
 
 " Then why should' st thou wish to make sport out of then' 
 fears and dying agonies. Fancy thyself mth some forty or 
 fifty cannibals all eagerly pursuing thee for the sake of tearing 
 thee in pieces after enjoying the sport of hunting thee down. 
 Though it might be sport to them thou wouldst find it none 
 to thyself, and I suspect if the poor dumb hare or the fox 
 could speak, they would each say the same. I could never 
 find it in my conscience, Tom, to help thee to a taste for 
 sports that inflict unnecessarily the agony of fear and pain
 
 102 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 on anything. "VVe have been told by inspired men of old 
 that the earth is under a curse, and we see the effects of it 
 on all around us. We cannot fathom the divine decrees, but 
 we may be sure that this curse and the consequences of it 
 are through the devil's agency and not of God, and that we 
 shall be doing far better in lightening the load of misery it 
 has engendered than in adding to it. The laws of natiu-e 
 oblige us to take life, but though this painfid necessity exists 
 we may still do it mercifully. Eemember wliat God requnes 
 of us all — to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly 
 with Him. Ths sports of the field and of the tiuf and thy 
 associates there woidd help thee ill to follow these commands, 
 and my advice to thee is to keep away from them altogether, 
 for I believe that by so doing thou wilt become a better 
 Christian and a better man." 
 
 Tom uttered not a word himself, but he took to heart 
 every one of those which the Quaker had spoken. As they 
 were walking homewards in the clear moonlight, Xancy said 
 to her son, her pale sweet face wearing a look of unusual 
 earnestness as she spoke — 
 
 "I hope, Tom, you will never forget Mr. Brown's ad- 
 vice to you. I have often had the same thoughts, but I 
 should hardly have ventured to denounce myself what so 
 many worthy gentlemen take pleasure in. I am glad though 
 that our good friend has spoken so plainly, for I am sure you 
 will never be the one to gainsay his words."
 
 POOR IS THE TRIUMPH OVER THE TIMID HARE. 103 
 
 " ISTever," said Tom, with all the emphatic earnestness of 
 a generous-hearted boy. It was but a short answer, but 
 !N"ancy felt it to be sufficient. 
 
 Tom's holidays passed quickly and pleasantly enough, 
 though none of them were spent in the hunting held. The 
 Quaker showed his anxiety to make up for this disappoint- 
 ment by giving his young friend more entii'ely the use of 
 Jeannie than he had ever doiic formerly, occasioning thereby 
 many remarks on the utter absurdity and folly of such pro- 
 ceedings, together with sundry dismal prophecies as to the 
 effect such ill-judged indidgence woidd have on Tom's nature 
 morally. 
 
 Before the holidays had ended, the Captain's long ex- 
 perienced desire of getting some kind of footuig in fancy's 
 liumble abode was accomplished. 
 
 One day Tom had gone to visit a schoolfellow, and, in his 
 aljsence, Nancy Avalked over to Eulham Farm for the double 
 purpose of paying jMrs. Jones a visit, and of procm^mg some 
 of her fresh eggs. It was decidedly not from his mother 
 that Tom had inherited the gift of personal courage, nor had 
 all his efforts been successfid in infusing into her one particle 
 of his own. In passing through a held on her way home, a 
 bull unexpectedly made his appearance, and tliough lie did 
 not show any symptoms of hostility, yet he frightened poor 
 Xancy dreadfully. She was tlierefore intending to retrace
 
 104: TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 her steps, and to perform a great circuit for the purpose of 
 avoiding hiin. 
 
 It chanced that the Captain was at much the same time 
 returning from his walk, and was mounting the gate leading 
 into the field at the moment when Kancy was turning her 
 back upon her fancied adversary. Here was a fine oppor- 
 tunity for the Captain to act the part of a modern Don 
 Quixote, by defending a fair and helpless lady from an im- 
 aginary foe. He availed himself of it instanter, and by dint 
 of promises and assurances that the bull should do her no 
 harm, he induced the widow to walk by his side thi'ough the 
 enemy's ground. 
 
 The Captain was so gallant that having once constituted 
 himself I^ancy's protector, he would not desert his post until 
 he had fahly seen her into her own little domain. On quit- 
 ting her he made her a low bow, saying as he did so that 
 he • hoped to call on Tom on the following day, and she felt 
 that she could not do otherwise than thank him for his kind 
 attention. 
 
 Tom, who had always thought his mother's behaviour' to 
 the Captain most unfriendly, was delighted to welcome under 
 her roof one who had been kind to hiin from his childhood, 
 and whose songs and stories he had so often listened to with 
 rapture, and this hearty welcome accorded to him by the son 
 emboldened the Captain in his efforts at an intimacy with
 
 POOR IS THE TRIUMPH OVER THE TIMID HARE. 105 
 
 the mother. Women, unless single, are seldom altogether 
 free agents, and though Xancy would have herself preferred 
 being spared the visits of her nautical acquaintance, yet the 
 evident pleasure which these visits afforded Tom, induced 
 her cheerfully to hear with them.
 
 106 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER XIY 
 
 MISFORTUNES. 
 
 Another year liad rolled silently on, and }-et another, and 
 the Christmas holidays had just commenced. It Avas to be 
 Tom's last quarter at school. In a few months he would be 
 eighteen, and the Quaker, who was feeling less able for his 
 work than he had been formerly, was looking forward to the 
 l^leasure of having his young friend fairly established ^nth 
 him in his office. 
 
 John Brown had enjoyed good health throughout his life, 
 and now that he was getting more infirm, the one bone of 
 contention between him and his ■wife consisted in liis not, to 
 her mind, taking sufficient care of himself. He would laugh 
 at her lectures, and as regarded his health she could never 
 drill him into habits of obedience, though 2)erhaps it was the 
 one point on which the good woman exacted any. John had an 
 inveterate dislike to changing his boots when he came in, if 
 tliey happened to be wet, and it ^vas only by dint of herself 
 bringing his slippers, aiul standhig with them in her hand 
 till they were put on, that his wife so far succeeded in having 
 her wishes complied with.
 
 MISFORTUNES. 107 
 
 Mrs. Brown was gone one afternoon to see a friend avIio 
 lived at a distance. There came on a tremendous storm just 
 as her husband was leaving his office, and he had to walk 
 through something approaching to a river on his way home. 
 His feet were thorougldy soaked. The servant brought his 
 slippers and laid them by his side. He had carried a weekly 
 paper with him, and there was an article in it Avhicli lie was 
 much interested in reading. From one article he went on to 
 another, and he had been at his employment for about an 
 hour when his wife came in. 
 
 The first thing she did on entering was to go up to him 
 and put her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 As he looked up, " Why John," she exclaimed, " you look 
 flushed. Good gracious ! to thmk of yoiu: sitting here aU 
 this tune in your wet shoes ! " 
 
 She was on her knees at once, pulling them off, though 
 she found it a difficult task, as they had shrunk from the 
 thorough wetting they had received. John's feet were like 
 marble. He confessed to not feeling very well now that he 
 came to think about it, but he was certain his wet feet had 
 nothing io do with his uncomfortable symptoms. He laugheil 
 at the idea of gouig to bed, and sate up till liis usual lioui'. 
 All the night long he was tossing about and unable to get 
 any rest. The doctor was sent for, but his remedies had not 
 the desired effect. The (Quaker had never been really ill 
 before, and the fever seemed to take tlie stronger liold on him
 
 108 TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 in consequence. In tlu-ee days that gentle, loving spirit had 
 left a world of selfishness and strife, and was wafted, we will 
 hope, to clunes more congenial to it. 
 
 Mrs. Brown never held up her head again. The two had 
 been united for well nigh half-a-century, and the troubles 
 they had struggled through in the loss of children and other 
 adversities seemed to have knit their hearts the closer. Their 
 only living son had recently come to England on a "^dsit, 
 and he had been just in time to see his father breathe his 
 last. 
 
 Eosebank was to be the widow's for her lifetime, and after 
 her death it was to go to Joseph. When spoken to by him 
 on the subject, ^Irs. Brown expressed a wish to end her days 
 there, adding that she did not think she had many left. Her 
 words proved true. 
 
 On Xancy and her son this double calamity fell most 
 heavily, and they both experinced in all its vehemence that 
 sorrow which is felt by loving hearts when dearly valued 
 friends are taken from them. To the widow, indeed, 
 the loss might have been overwhelming, were it not that 
 she had still a son who was now fast growing into man- 
 hood, and whom she could for the future depend upon for 
 support. 
 
 Mrs. Brown had left directions that her son was to have 
 the charge of her two grandchildren, till he was able to 
 deposit them with then- only remaining parent. Mrs. Lindsay
 
 MISFORTUNES. 109 
 
 had been carried off some years "back by yellow fever, and 
 the widower had in consequence entertained all the greater 
 dread of liaving his daughters exposed to the dangers of the 
 climate. He was Imnself busily engaged in the management, 
 of his affairs, and though he had often sighed for a reunion 
 with his two remaining treasures, yet he had conceived 
 hitherto that a stern necessity prevented it. 
 
 Jane bore her two bereavements quietly and patiently, 
 though she felt them deeply nevertheless. Lizzie's sorrow 
 Avas a good deal more demonstrative, and she showed less 
 willingness than did her sister to accept her allotted portion. 
 She thought it a hard case that she should have to go and 
 live with an aunt whom slie had never seen, and she entreated 
 jSTancy to let them be with her as long as they remained in 
 England. Lizzie had no idea of happiness out of the village 
 of Aubrey, and there she wished to stay. Xancy was the 
 wcman she had always loved most after her grandmother, 
 and Tom had been the same to her as a brother. Her 
 request, pleaded with tears, had of course to be refused, and 
 Joseph Erown, after arranging some business matters and 
 effecting a speedy and satisfactory sale of his father's 
 beautiful abode, left Aubrey with his two nieces. 
 
 The Quaker's personal property was most of it in the 
 Barking Bank where fancy's little all had, by his advice, 
 been likewise deposited. On the death of his widow Jane 
 and Lizzie succeeded to th« greater part of what John Brown
 
 no TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 liad left. Fifty pounds had been bequeathed to Tom which 
 was paid by Mr. Joseph Bro^vn into Nancy's hands before 
 his departure. 
 
 The very day after the arrival of the two girls at their 
 uncle's temporary residence in town Lizzie penned a long letter 
 to ^N'ancy. It was not written in a philosophical spirit but 
 at fifteen few have learnt to take patiently their allotted 
 portion when they find it an unpleasant one. She could 
 never, she was sure, she said, love her aunt, and she did not 
 think Jane could either, though the latter had not actually 
 said as much. She hoped Xancy would soon let them come 
 and stay with her. The little room above hers would be 
 just large enough for them both. She could not bear the 
 town, and she was sighing already for the green fields. If 
 Tom would go and pick some of the sweet blue violets out of 
 th3 garden at Eosebank she and Jane would be so glad to 
 have them, for it would be a recollection of home. 
 
 Lizzie's request as regarded the violets was eagerly complied 
 with, and they were enclosed in as comforting an epistle as 
 Xancy's warm and affectionate heart could indite. Mrs. Brown 
 thought fit to read ^N'ancy's letter, and slie was offended at 
 the desire on Lizzie's part whicli it unfolded of getting away 
 from her new protectress. Mrs. Bro-v^'n had never had children 
 of her own — she was a woman devoid of imagination, and it 
 was not in her to tlirow herself into the heart of the young 
 girl and to participate in her feelings. She had no fear
 
 MISFORTUNES. Ill 
 
 about Jane, but she expected niiicli trouble from Lizzie. The 
 old nature had evidently not been subdued in her, and she 
 must set herself to the task of conquering it. She was 
 rather pleased at the thought, for she was a woman who 
 wished to carry out to the uttermost that high aim of doing 
 good in her generation. It Avas only to be regretted that in 
 this instance as in so many others the plan adopted should 
 have been a mistaken one. 
 
 " I am afraid," she said to Lizzie severely, as she handed 
 her back her letter, " that you have never yet been properly 
 trained in tlie principles of your duty. Had you been so 
 your expressions to your friend would have been full of 
 thankfulness rather than of discontent. You are fortunate 
 in being with one who will do her best to give you profitable 
 instruction, and I hope that you may soon so far improve as 
 to feel grateful for receiving it. I have no objection to 
 your wiiting occasionally to your friend, but I must stipulate 
 that you never do so except under my supervision, and that 
 you endeavour, before going to your task, to enter upon it in 
 a proper frame of mind." 
 
 These words were gall and wormwood to Lizzie, and in no 
 way helped on that moral and religious improvements which 
 Mrs. Brown was anticipating.
 
 112 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLE. 
 
 ^^ANCY tliouglit it desirable that Tom sliouki remain at 
 scliool until he heard of something in the way of enij^loy- 
 inent. She had an idea that his iirst start in life, now that 
 he had lost his generous friend, might be attended with con- 
 siderable expense, and so she was more than usually in- 
 dustrious, for she wished to be prepared for any unusual drag 
 upon her purse. Nancy had never been strong, and her 
 constant application to work as she sate in her cottage alone 
 was telling on her. Tom often noticed his mother's wearied 
 look when he returned from school in the evening, though 
 she was never too tii-ed to give him a bright smile when he 
 appeared. 
 
 It chanced to be a holiday at school. Tom and his mother 
 had just finished their morning's repast, Avhen j\Ir. DaUi's 
 knock was heard at the door. His countenance on entering 
 betokened calamity. 
 
 " Have you heard any news 1 " he inquired. 
 
 " Il^one," said Kancy anxiously, for she Was startled by the 
 question and the tone in which it was asked " I believe
 
 MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLE. 113 
 
 you had your money in the Coimty Eaiik," continued 
 Mr. Date nervously. 
 
 "Yes," said l^ancy vrith. a gasp. 
 
 " Then I am sorry to tell you you have lost it all. The 
 bank has failed, and I am afraid they have nothing for their 
 creditors, not even a shilling in the pound." 
 
 Poor Nancy looked thunder-struck, and for a few minutes 
 not a word was spoken. 
 
 " We must make the best of it, mother," Tom said at last 
 as he rose, and seating himself close to her took her hand 
 in his. " I have had a good education, and that with per- 
 severance will, I am siu-e, enable me to push my way, and I 
 hope in time to make you more comfortable than ever you 
 were." 
 
 iJs'ancy tried, but in vain, to look at her misfortune as 
 cheerfully as her son wished her to. AVith him youth and 
 health and hope served to keep all fear and despondency 
 away, wdiile his mother's more timid and delicate nature was 
 in no ways suited for the rough contest mtli the world 
 which it seemed as if it would be now their destiny to 
 undergo. 
 
 Mr. Date after kindly begging his parishioner to let Imn 
 know if she wanted any immediate help, took his leave, and 
 as soon as they were left alone Tom turned his attention to 
 tilt! best means of meeting the disaster. 
 
 " I must give up school at once," he said, "and look about
 
 1]4 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 for something to do. It is very fortunate that wc did not 
 pay my fifty pounds into the bank." 
 
 " It is," replied I^ancy getting up something of a smile. 
 " But you know twenty pounds of that is already gone in 
 paying for our mourning and the Cliristmas bills besides." 
 
 And with the thirty pounds that are left it will be hard 
 indeed if we cannot manage to live comfortably until I get 
 some fixed salary." 
 
 " I have the rent to pay in a day or two," observed his 
 mother in a desponding tone, " and then there is your 
 schooling besides." 
 
 " Only a month of it, dear mother. My o^vn five pounds 
 will do more than pay for that." The Quaker had given 
 Tom a five pound note on Christmas day, and the latter had 
 been reckoning on making a few presents with its help before 
 he left school. " I think," he went on, " it would not be 
 a bad plan to put an advertisement into the Barldnrj Gazette. 
 A fellow at our school got a capital situation by this means. 
 I'll write one at once," and Tom sate down to his task. 
 
 " There," he said, rising when he had done liis Avork, " I 
 think that will do," and he read the few words to his mother. 
 Then kissing her, he added — " I will take it at once to the 
 post, and you must come with me. A little fresh ah' will do 
 you good." 
 
 " I don't think I ought to waste any time, Tom," she pen- 
 sively said, " with work in the house for which, Avlien com- 
 pleted, money can be obtained."
 
 MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLE. 115 
 
 " Mother, I won't let you work your eyes out," said Tom, 
 authoritatively. " I suspect you have been doing that too 
 long." 
 
 " But Tom," pleaded Nancy, " I must work. It will never 
 do for me to depend on the small sum that is left us," and 
 her words were ended with a sob. 
 
 " But you must and shall depend upon it till I am lucky 
 enough to get employment. I will go and fetch you yoiu* 
 bonnet. It will save you the walk up-stairs." 
 
 Nancy would not agree to the latter proposal, but she em- 
 braced her son, telling hun as she did so that he was worth 
 more to her than any amount of money. 
 
 "I slioidd like to put my letter into the Granton Post- 
 office," said Tom, when his mother re-appeared. It is safer, 
 and it wndl be a nice walk besides. I dare say we can both 
 do without dinner till we come back." 
 
 Nancy assented to her son's arrangement, saying there was 
 nothmg in the house but a bit of cold meat. They went 
 straight to the Post-office, where Tom deposited his letter. 
 Then, with his mother leaning on his arm, he deviated a little 
 from the dhect road homewards. He had got his five-pound- 
 note in his pocket, and now an unusual fit of extravagance 
 seemed to come over him. 
 
 " Mother," he said, as he passed the poulterer's shop, " we 
 have had rather a weary morning of it, and I've a fancy that 
 a good dinner will do us both good." 
 
 I 2
 
 Il6 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 He went into the shop and changed his live-pound-note 
 without, however, having greatly diminished its amount. 
 
 Tom put his purchase into his wallet, which he carried on 
 his back, and which had hitherto been made the recipient of 
 stones rather than of food. This affair arranged, "You 
 must come with me," he said, " to Wood's for a bottle of 
 port — a glass will do us both good, and I am sure you have 
 been living too low and working too hard of late." 
 
 Nancy would not say nay, though she was positively 
 terrihed at the price demanded and given for the wine. A 
 spirit of recklessness had, it seemed, come over Tom, and he 
 resolutely resolved on def}dng care. Good spirits are infec- 
 tious, and JN'ancy had caught a little of her son's. 
 
 They were not back till long after their accustomed dinner- 
 hour, for Tom had purposely lengthened their Avalk. On 
 their return his purchases had to be cooked, and he had con- 
 trived to gather together so many items, that it was a lengthy 
 process. ^N'ancy had to give her mind to it entirely, and Tom 
 protested when the meal was prepared that it would be a sort 
 of reflection on him should his mother eat of it but sparingly. 
 She satisfied his requirements, and, fortilied with a glass of 
 wine, she felt strong enough to do any amount of work. She 
 took it from the drawer, but Tom snatched it out of her 
 hands. 
 
 " N"o, mother," he said, " I will have my ovrn v/ay about 
 that work of yours. Your eyes Avant rest, I'm sure of that,
 
 MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLE. 117 
 
 and it shall not be touched till you have got them all light 
 again. Let us have a game of back-gammon, if you can't 
 manage to get on without doing anything till ten o'clock." 
 
 They were in the midst of their game when a messenger 
 called with a letter. It was from Mr. Date, and w^as couched 
 in the following words : — 
 
 Dear Tom, 
 
 Our cousin, Miss Jenkins, has just arrived. She tells 
 me she knows for a certainty that her brother was this morn- 
 ing in want of a clerk. It strikes us it would be a capital 
 opening for yourself, and we recommend you to lose no time 
 in applying for the situation. You might start by the seven 
 o'clock coach from Granton to Barking, Camm is ten miles 
 beyond, and you might come back direct by the coach that 
 passes your door at eight o'clock. I enclose you a letter of 
 recommendation, in case you should like to avail yourself of 
 it, and am, 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 E. Date. 
 
 Tom's delight w^as excessive at the receipt of this note. 
 Nancy also began to be really hopeful. " I must bo off by a 
 little after six," he observed, before retiring for the night, 
 '' but I ne-ed not disturb you. I may not find Mr. Jenkins 
 at home, and in that case it might be worth while waiting 
 till he returns. There is the London mail which must pass 
 somewhere near Camm, I must avail myself of it if I am too 
 late for the Camm coach, so you must not be alarmed if 
 I am not here much before twelve. Don't stay up for me,
 
 118 TOM MARCHMONr. 
 
 and you had "better keep Lucy to sleep here, for you may he 
 getting nervous if you are left all alone." Lucy was a girl 
 who came in every day to do the rough work. "And mother," 
 he added before he bade her good night, " do take a walk to 
 Fulham Farm to-morrow wliile I am away. It is a long 
 time now since you have been there." 
 
 ^N'ancy could not resist the desu'e she had to preside over 
 Tom's early repast, though she knew she would get cliided for 
 doing so. It was a cheerful morning in the beginning of 
 March ; the sun was just rising, the birds were singing, and 
 all went in unison with his o^vn feelings, as our hero started 
 on liis somewhat long expedition, armed with the Quaker's 
 large stick. (This stick had been the old man's constant 
 companion in his walks, and had at his death been given by 
 his widow to Tom). His father liad not felt more hope in 
 the idea of emancipating himself from thraldom hj adopting 
 the roving life of a sailor than Tom experienced just now in 
 the prospect of spending his days and years in an attorney's 
 office. There was none of that romance in the idea which 
 had tinged the shapings of his father's destiny, but then 
 there was the solid reality of his thus becoming independent, 
 and of providing something of a maintenance for himself and 
 his mother. 
 
 It was about one o'clock when Tom arrived at the la^Ayer's 
 offices. His courage had always failed him wlien about to 
 ask a favour, even though the Quaker himself were the person
 
 MISFOKTUNES NEVER COME SINGLE. 119 
 
 from whom it was solicited. He gave therefore a nervous 
 rap, very unlike the thundering peals with which the solicitor's 
 door was occasionally assaulted by the footman of his clients. 
 He asked for Mr. Jenkins and was informed by one of the 
 clerks that that gentleman was very much engaged receiving 
 the rents of an old client, that he was not expected back 
 before six, and that most probably he would be later. " If 
 it is on any legal business you have called," Mr. Frump 
 added, " I might perhaps give you some assistance." 
 
 " It is on no legal business," replied Tom. He longed to 
 ask whether the object of his walk Avere likely to prove a 
 successful one, but his informant did not look like one to 
 whom he would wish to be confidential, so taking up his hat 
 and stick he said he would return at the time the smart 
 ofiicial had named. 
 
 There was an inn on the opposite side of the street, which 
 Tom went into to procure something to eat, and to inquire about 
 the mail which would now l)e his one means of getting back 
 that night. He was told that the nearest point for meeting 
 it would be at the inn at ^N'orman's Bridge, a place six miles 
 off, and that the Coach always stopped there to change 
 horses at half-past eight. 
 
 " There is a way by tlie fields and lanes, sir," his infor- 
 mant added, "which would shorten the distance by a mile, 
 but as the country is strange to you there might be a chance 
 of your missing it."
 
 120 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 In spite of Tom's buoyant, hopeful natm-e he could not 
 help entertaining sundry misgivings as he sauntered about 
 the streets. He had no friend's house to go to, no money to 
 spend in the shops, and he found a difficulty in disposing of 
 his time. He determined therefore on whiling away the 
 tedious hours by finding this shorter cut, and by means of 
 making one or two enquiries on the road he succeeded. On 
 his return he sat in a field about half-a-mile from the town 
 and waited there till the slow motion of the hands of his 
 watch brought them to six. He rose and soon he again 
 made his appearance at the office. 
 
 " Has Mr. Jenkins returned 1 " he inquired, trying to 
 assume an air of indifference as he again addressed the would- 
 be fine gentleman. 
 
 Mr. Frump took a survey of the stranger from head to foot, 
 and the survey told unfavourably. Tom's clothes were not 
 of the newest cut, and Mr. Frump's manner became super- 
 cilious. 
 
 " Mr. Jenkins is not returned," was the reply given in a 
 curt and off-hand manner. 
 
 Mr. Frump's insolent demeanour roused Tom's spirit, and 
 without waiting to be asked he seated himself on a chair, 
 and placing his hat on another, and his stick between his knees, 
 he made a very successful effort at looking as if there were 
 no one in the office but himself. 
 
 In the course of half an hour Mr. Jenkins arrived.
 
 MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLE. 121 
 
 Tom rose at once respectfully, and entered straight into 
 the business on which he had come. 
 
 " I am very sorry," said Mr. Jenkins, who seemed to he a 
 kind-hearted man, " hut I have, I helieve, tliis morning 
 suited myself. There are so many applicants for any vacant 
 situation, and the first comer has of course the y^rior claim. 
 " How do you return 1 " Mr. Jenkins added in a tone that 
 evinced a kindly feeling for the evidently disappointed hoy. 
 
 Tom explained to him his intentions. 
 
 " Then I am afraid you have not much time to spare/' 
 said Mr. Jenkins, taking out his watch. " I should have 
 otherwise offered you some refreshment." 
 
 Tom thanked him for the kind intention, and then hurried 
 away to relieve himself by a soh or two. He had been 
 feeling their losses more than his mother had supposed. Mr. 
 Jenkins's observation with regard to tlie numerous applicants 
 for employment seemed wofully to have diminished his own 
 hope of success in seeking for it, and his heart sank within 
 him. As he wended his way towards the Bridge he thought 
 he had never in his life before felt so tired. His weariness 
 seemed, however, to lend rapidity to his steps, and it was 
 likely he would have some little time to wait befDvci the 
 coach arrived. 
 
 He was just passing from a field into tlie lane which led 
 into the high road wlien his ear was startled by a noise like 
 that of a pistol, and he just descried in the darkness two men
 
 122 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 attcacking a third, who was crying for help. The thought of 
 liighwaymen came across Tom's mind with all the force of 
 certainty. With a sudden spring and a tremendous blow 
 following it, he brought one of the assailants to the ground. 
 The other turned upon him, and there seemed for a time to 
 be a life and death contest between the two. Our hero 
 was nearly being overpowered, for tlie ruffian whom his first 
 blow had stunned had just risen, while he could look for no 
 help from the man he was defending. 
 
 At this moment, liis ear caught the welcome sound of 
 wheels. It was heard by the highwaymen also, and as they 
 found they had got a stiffish kind of antagonist to deal with, 
 and were hardly aware of Tom's failing strength, or of the 
 amount of injury they had done the gentleman whom it had 
 bee.n their intention to rob, they decided that a rapid retreat 
 would now be their best line of tactics, and in a moment 
 they had disappeared 
 
 The conveyance turned out to be a spring cart containing 
 a farmer and his son, wlio had driven out of the main road 
 in order to give an order to a labouring man who lived 
 at the end of the lane. The stranger was ■^va^mly tliank- 
 ing Tom for the service he had done him when the far- 
 mer having arrived at the spot, pulled up his horse and 
 alighted. 
 
 " Why Sir, that ain't never you," was his exclamation. 
 " Yes it is," was the reply, " and if it were not for this
 
 MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLE. 123 
 
 fine fellow here I should not, I believe, have a "breath now 
 left to answer yon." 
 
 The farmer made Tom a low bow, which was returned. 
 
 " You carry a good stick," he observed, " and it seems to 
 have done you good service too. I am afraid as you are both 
 badly hurt. I'm sorry as my vehicle will only hold one of 
 
 ye." 
 
 " Then let it be of service to my preserver," said the 
 elderly gentleman. " "We are not far from jMaplewood. I 
 think you had better drive him there, unless liis own home 
 is hereabouts." 
 
 " Oh never mind me," exchiimed Tom. " I have only 
 got to go as far as Norman's Bridge, and I can walk verv 
 well. I am expecting to meet the coach there, and I am 
 afraid I have not many minutes to spare ;" and Tom made as 
 if he were going off at once. 
 
 " Stop, stop ! " shouted the wounded man resolutely, " I 
 cannot allow you to go without at all events learning your 
 name." 
 
 " My name is Marchmont," replied Tom. 
 
 "Marchmont!" exclaimed the old gentleman, "that is a 
 name familiar to me. May I ask you for your card ? " 
 
 " I have no card," replied Tom. " I live at Aubrey, somo 
 thirty miles off," and Tom again made his interlocutor a 
 parting bow. 
 
 " Here, stay," said the other eagerly. " If you decline my
 
 124 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 liospitality, T must insist on your allowing my tenant or his 
 son to drive you to the inn. Here Jim, help this young gen- 
 tleman up, and then you can order some conveyance there 
 for myself." 
 
 " Certainly, sir," said the young farmer, wliile Tom whose 
 only hope of catcliing tlie coach lay in this opportunity of 
 being driven to the place of rendezvous, was moimted in an 
 instant, and then driven rapidly away. ^Ir. Dawson liimself 
 remained witli his landlord, wlio, while waiting the arrival of 
 the expected conveyance, had a conference with his tenant 
 as to the best means of tracking the tliieves, interlarded with 
 regrets that he had not compelled his deliverer to accept of 
 a night's hospitality from him. Mr. Dawson seemed per- 
 suaded that the young man would liave still declined, and that 
 liis injuries were not sufficient to make a journey by coach in 
 any way painful. 
 
 Tom was however more hurt than he liad at first supposed, 
 and it occasioned him considerable satisfaction when he found 
 that the inside of the coach was empty. He at once got in 
 and just had time to tliank the young farmer for saving him 
 from the inconvenience of being too kite, when Avith a 
 fiourish of tlio wlup the coacli and its jiassengers were gone 
 "^rhe inn where the coacli stopped was about lialf a mile fron. 
 the village, and Tom walked homo as rapidly as his bruises 
 would allow of his doing. He had jiroposed taking the key 
 of the house with him and of letting himself in, but iN'ancy
 
 MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLE. 125 
 
 liad declined giving her assent to this proposal, saying that not 
 under any circmnstances would she go to bed till he returned. 
 It was with considerable trepidation that he knocked at the 
 dour. 
 
 " I'm late, mother," he said cheerfidl}^, keeping a little in 
 the back ground as Xancy at once opened it. " I've had an 
 adventure, and a lucky one too," he went on as he came into 
 view. 
 
 " Oh Tom ; " exclaimed Xancy in an accent of terror, for 
 his face was covered with blood. 
 
 " I'm not badly hurt, mother," said Tom, " I've just liad a 
 cut or two in saving, I believe, a man's life." 
 
 Kancy forgot all about the object of her son's walk in her 
 anxiety to listen to Iiis adventures, and to discover tlie extent 
 of his injuries. It was in vain Tom assured her that a 
 surgeon's help was unnecessary. 8he slipped out, and 
 Avas at the baker's shop before Tom was aware of lier inten- 
 tions. 
 
 Mr. Braid had been up late at his work, and was (.ndy just 
 shutting up as Nancy arrived. At her request lie went off at 
 once for Mr. CJriffin, Avho put Tom into a state of comparative 
 comfort, though he warned him that he would have to lie 
 T)y for a time. On the following day a respectable looking 
 man appeared at Xancy's door with a message from his master, 
 who had sent him purposely to inquire after Tom, and to 
 express Lis i egret that he should be incapacitated from call-
 
 126 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 iiig in person to thank hini for the service he had rendered 
 him the night before. 
 
 "Master's hurt uncommon bad," he observed to Xancy, 
 " and I expect as it will be long afore he's set up again, if so 
 be as he ever comes round at all. He'll be sorry to licar as 
 your young gen'l'man is laid up likewise." 
 
 " You may tell him," shouted Tom from his own room 
 where he had been listening to the conversation, the door 
 being open, " that I have only got a few cuts and bruises, 
 and that I am very sorry to hear that he has come off so much 
 worse than myself." 
 
 " I ■s^dll, and thank ye," said the man as bowing to Nancy 
 he departed.
 
 BETTER PKOSPECTS. 127 
 
 CHAPTER m^, /T^ 
 
 BETTER PROSPECTS. 
 
 Vov some time Tom had to submit to looking very dis- 
 reputable, tliougli liis cuts and bruises were not sucli as to 
 give any occasion for alarm. They, however, brought about 
 an increase of intimacy between the captain and the widow, 
 for day after day did the former call to inquire after Tom 
 and to have a chat with him, and as the old sailor's attentions 
 to her son were evidently pleasing to I^ancy it was with a 
 bolder and yet a bolder step that he strided up the garden 
 walk to pay his accustomed visit. 
 
 At the exphation of a week Tom found himself able to be 
 about again, and now he lost no time in seeking afresh for 
 employment. He accordingly put an advertisement into the 
 Times, to which he got an immediate reply. ^Mr. Parsons 
 his correspondent, offered him a situation in the Plymouth 
 dockyard at eighty pounds a year, should he find on further 
 inquiry that the applicant Avas likely to fill the office 
 satisfactorily. At Tom's request Mr. Date undertook to write 
 a letter of recommendation Avhich was deemed sufficient^ and
 
 128 TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 it was arranged tliat in a fortniglit's time Tom was to enter 
 upon the duties of liis new position. 
 
 It was witli a decided feeling of satisfaction that Miss 
 Birch received from Xancy the notice of lier intended de- 
 parture. Though she believed there would be no difficulty 
 on the death of Mr. and Mrs. Brown in keeping her tenants 
 in their proper places, yet she entertained a notice that it 
 would be an advantage to the village when Tom was fairly 
 out of it. Her nephew had thoroughly imbued her with the 
 idea that liis former schocl-fellow Avas likely to turn out ill. 
 This opinion had been accepted mtli all the greater avidity 
 by the aunt as she gained by it in her own estimation the 
 credit of being a true prophetess. She had warned the 
 Quaker over and over again that his mistaken kindness would 
 be the ruin of the boy, and Jacob's assertions were merely 
 confirmatory of her own words. She thought it would be 
 only right to call on Xancy, ostensibly to take leave of her, 
 but in fact to give her a few words of caution about her son, 
 with an admonition or two to himself should slie be fortunate 
 enough to find liim at home. A visit from Miss Bii'ch was a 
 most unusual honom*, and she was placed by Xancy in the 
 chan- of state which stood against the window. After a few 
 preliminary remarks Miss Bii'ch observed, 
 
 " I am glad that Tom has yet the chance of so fiiir a start 
 in life. He will I hope prove himself not unworthy of 
 such ''ood fortune."
 
 jBETTEii rnosrECTS. 129 
 
 "T have no anxiety about Tom," i^aid Kanc}', a mother's 
 pride and confidence in her son giving a sort of nohility 
 to her features as she spoke. 
 
 ' " Mothers seldom do have any anxiety about their sons,' ^ 
 observed Miss Birch in a tone that seemed to betoken some 
 danger at hand. "This is a great mistake, and often 
 renders them incautious. You will, I hope, look carefully 
 after Tom. It will be very necessary I can assure you, when 
 you have got him located in a large sea-port town wlieie you 
 may be sure there is plenty of temptation for a young man to 
 fall into if he thinks fit, and I don't see that there is any 
 reason for supposing Tom to be more proof against it than 
 others have been." 
 
 To these alarming hints and inuendoes Kancy thought 
 it best to make no reply, though they caused her to wish 
 lieartily that her landlady's visit were at an end. Miss Eirch 
 Was sitting with her back at the window, and was using 
 much action with her hands and her head while giving ]^ancy 
 iier sentiments. It chanced at this moment that the object 
 of her discourse was nearer than she supposed. Tom had 
 just entered the garden on liis I'oturn from his walk, and on 
 Catching sigiit oi" tlic visitor's shawl and bonnet he resolved 
 that he would, if possible, aVoid an interview with tlie o^vner 
 of them. He, therefore, took off his shoes on entering with 
 the intention of stealthily creeping up stairs, and awaiting 
 ill hi.i own room tlie departure of their landlady. His
 
 130 
 
 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 purpose was, liowever, frustrated ; for Miss Birch, finding it 
 was impossible to get into any further argument with Nancy, 
 and feeling that she had carried out as much as she was able 
 of the purport of her visit, had just noAV risen to depart. 
 Tom, therefore had only time to put a shoeless foot on the 
 first step of the stairs when he was startled by Miss Birch's 
 appearance. His first idea was to take five steps at a time, 
 and to disappear at once ; however such a proceeding might 
 have looked like a shame-faced and cowardly retreat, so he 
 changed his mind and manfully resolved on confronting one 
 who from liis childhood upwards he had been in the habit of 
 regarding in the light of a foe. Tom's peculiar position Avas 
 construed by Miss Birch into a mark of deference for herself— 
 and it worked a wonderful change in her feelings towards 
 liun. Instead of admonition she was willing now to accord 
 him praise. " I am glad," she said, " to see that you have 
 learnt such good manners. I am so often annoyed at the 
 young men where I visit, for coming into the presence of 
 ladies without paying due attention to their dress. I always 
 say, though, that the fault is in tlieir mothers for not teacliing 
 them a proper respect for then- betters." 
 
 A compliment was the last thing Tom was looking for, and 
 it came so unexpectedly and was so unwelcome that. he was 
 at a loss for a reply. He was trying to come to a decision 
 as to whether he had better proceed in his intended ascent 
 or remain quietly where he was when Miss Birch, warmed
 
 BETTER PROSPECTS. 131 
 
 into a fit of generosity by the good intentions she had been 
 giving hiin credit for, thus proceeded. 
 
 " I have a very pretty little carpet bag at home whicli once 
 belonged to my father. As I perceive your habits are so 
 neat I shall have much pleasure in giving it to you. I think 
 it will do nicely for tlic conveyance of your slippers and 
 papers to and from your office.'' 
 
 Nancy had to tender to Miss Birch her son's thanks for 
 the promised gift, while that lady was just now feeling so 
 charitably disposed towards Tom that she was willing to 
 excuse his silence on the plea of bashfulness. On her return 
 home she informed her sister that misfortune had much 
 improved Tom Marchmont, and that she began to entertain 
 hopes of his turning out eventually an orderly and well- 
 conducted young man. To the widow likewise was conceded 
 a fair amount of praise, though the dawning popidarity of 
 the latter proved eventually to be but short-lived. The 
 carpet-bag anived at the cottage shortly after Miss Birch left 
 it — neither did it arrive empty. Inside was a brown-paper 
 parcel containing " The Avliole duty of Man," with a few 
 words of kindly admonishment from the giver. Tom's first 
 idea was to send back at once botli bag and book ; ho'wcver, 
 his intentions were over-ruled. 
 
 " They were sent you out of kindness," was his mother's 
 gentle remark, " and what is kindly meant should be kindly 
 
 taken." 
 
 K 2
 
 1^2 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 Both gifts were in consequence retained, though Tom 
 acquired at once the habit of looking upon them as his 
 mother's property and not his own. 
 
 Fortuately for the widow's finances Miss Bhch found an 
 immediate tenant for her house, and fortune seemed agaui to 
 smile both on herself and Tom.
 
 A TROrOSAL. 131 
 
 CTIArTI'E XYTT; 
 
 A PROPOSAL. 
 
 Among the inhabitants of Aubrey there were none wlio 
 took so deep an interest in the intended departure of the 
 Marchnionts as did Captain Baniford. He was one into 
 whom Miss Birch had never been able to infuse her o^vn 
 notions as regarded differences of rank, though from a dis- 
 inclination which he at one time entertained for getting into 
 active argument with tliat lady, she conceived that she had 
 made a proselyte of him. A cliange, however, had come over 
 the Captain's feelings, and Miss Birch's jurisdiction had for 
 some time been growing intolerable to him. At the time of 
 his first acquaintance with her she had appointed him Secre- 
 tary to her Book Society, Mr. Date having positively 
 declared that he liad not time for the work. When the pro- 
 posal was made the Captain had not found the courage to 
 refuse, though he did find the duties which the office 
 inflicted on him greater than he could well bear. There had 
 of late been so great a falling ofl" in allegiance on his part that 
 ]\li>ss Birch had felt constrained to give up the hope of 
 enticing him into the chains of matrimony. Instead, how-
 
 134 TOM MAHCHMONT. 
 
 ever, of Ijending under her disappointment, as she might have 
 done in former years, it seemed to give her strength to hold 
 herself yet more erect. She assumed a domineering tone 
 towards her former supposed admirer, spoke to him seriously 
 of the useless life he was leading, and tried to insist on his 
 going round the parish to procure subscriptions for her African 
 and other missions. The Captain upon this flew into open 
 mutiny, gave up the Secretaryship, and declined all invi- 
 tations tv) future tea-parties on the plea that they interfered 
 with his dinner. ]\Iiss Birch hinted at ingratitude. The Cap- 
 tain at once assumed a look of astonished inquiry, and asked 
 what he had to be grateful for. Miss Birch was taken at a 
 disadvantage, and had nothing to say in reply ; and as the 
 Captain took up his hat and marched out of the room, after 
 wishing her a good morning, the ill-^vill she felt towards her 
 antagonist was in no way mollified by the fact of his having 
 had the last word. 
 
 There was a reason for this remarkable change on the Cap- 
 tain's part from docility to utter rebellion, of which Miss 
 Birch was not in the slightest degree aware. He had been 
 nurturing a growing, though as yet a silent admii-ation for 
 Nancy. From the day on which he had first succeeded in 
 effecting an entrance into the widow's cottage, all desire on 
 his part to keep up his footing as an intimate at the villa had 
 vanished. Finding that the hope of winning Xancy was 
 fast driving from his bosom all lingering partialitv for
 
 A PROPOSAL. 135 
 
 Eebecca, the Captain decided, like an honest man as he 
 was, on letting the altered state of his feelings he seen in 
 his acts. 
 
 This new launch of Tom's, as the Captain termed it, was to 
 him a suhject of the deepest importance. He woidd be off 
 his mother's hands, and the old sailor might have wavered 
 about giving shelter to the son, much as he liked him, though 
 he had no hesitation in decidiiig that Nancy's presence 
 in his small household would be to him a most valuable ac- 
 quisition. He determined at all events on trying his luck, 
 and he laid his plans accordingly. The Jones family were 
 acquaintances of the Captain as well as of Nancy, and as 
 both the farmer and his wife made it an invariable rule to 
 press upon their visitors a portion of that abundance which 
 they possessed, each had before now benefitted by their hos- 
 pitality. It was a pleasant walk to Fulham Farm, and the 
 Captain planned taking it in Nancy's company. To effect 
 his purpose, he determined on getting an invitation from 
 Mrs. Jones both for himself and her. He had a nephew 
 staying with him, and on this nephew he rested his hope of 
 finding an opportunity of declaring himself. There was to be 
 a formal introduction between the two young men who were 
 to be companions on the road, and by this means the Captain 
 depended on having entire possession of Nancy's ear for the 
 time being. This plan took a whole evening in concocting, 
 and on the following morning the Captain informed his
 
 l:M) TOM AfAUCH-MONT. 
 
 nephew that Jie was going out on business, but that he should 
 not he very long away. 
 
 His Avalk lay in the direction of the Farm. 
 
 " Good morning, Mrs. Jones," he said on entering. " I 
 want a few of your eggs and some of your butter and cream 
 if you can find a messenger to send it by. I have a nephew 
 with me, a young fellow who is not much used to country 
 life, and such cream as yours I should suspect he has never 
 tasted." 
 
 " Then he shall have some of the best as I've got," said 
 !Mrs. Jones very graciously, ^' and I'll send it before you have 
 your tea." 
 
 " Thank you, Mrs. Jones," was the Captain's rejoinder. 
 " Porliaps you won't object to my bringing Harry hero some 
 afternoon. He enjoys a walk in the fields and the sight of 
 c )ws, and I should like him for once in liis life to go inside 
 a really comfortable well-kept farmhouse." 
 
 Mrs. Jones made a low curtsey, and seemed much gratified 
 by the compliment. 
 
 " Harry has brought me some of the real Mocha coffee, 
 continued the Captain, who now felt assured he was making 
 his way rapidly in the worthy woman's good graces. " I must 
 get him to give you a little of it. You can tell, I know, what 
 good coftee is ; and there's no one I'll be bound, thirty miles 
 round, wlio could produce sucli berries as those Harry has 
 brought."
 
 A PROPOSAI,. 
 
 137 
 
 Mrs. Jones opened lier ears at tlic announcement of such 
 a present. She had the art of making coffee, and she was 
 proud of it, and here was a chance of sliowing her skill 
 under the most favourable of circmnstances, while she could 
 tell her various afternoon visitors exactly how she came hy 
 so rare a gift. 
 
 " I am much obliged to you. Captain," was her reply. " I 
 ehall be proud of some of your nephew's coffee, and if you and 
 he ^vill come and try what justice I can do to his present, 
 I shall have all the more pleasure in accepting it." 
 
 ^' I shall be most happy to bring him," was the Captain's 
 immediate reply. " By the bye," he added, " what a loss 
 'w^e shall have in Mrs. Marchmont and her son. Has she 
 boon calling here lately ? " 
 
 " She was here the day her son was at Camm," was the 
 reply, "and I went t'other day to inquire after him. I was 
 glad to find him so well recovered." 
 
 " He's a fine fellow, is Tom," observed the Captain. " I'm 
 sorry to think he'll so soon be leaving us." 
 
 " Tom was always a favourite with me," was Mrs. Jones's 
 reply. " I hope as he'll come here some day afore he leaves." 
 
 " I shall be most happy to be the bearer of any message to 
 him," said the Captain. " I shall be taking my nephew to 
 call there on my return home." 
 
 "Then why not ask them both to como out with you 
 to-morrow evening ? " said Mrs. Jones.
 
 13S 
 
 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 " That I will and gladly," said the Captain, and having 
 gained his end he took np his hat and departed, forgetting 
 entirely that butter and cream had been the professed object 
 of his visit. 
 
 On his return home having brushed his hair and hat afresh, 
 he halloed to his nephew, who was measuring by paces the 
 extent of his uncle's domain, for lack of better occupation. 
 
 They set off together for l^ancy's cottage, the Captain 
 looking considerably the most got up of the two. She and her 
 son were at home, making preparations for their intended 
 move which was to take place in a couple of days. The 
 Captain very gallantly delivered his message, and the invi- 
 tation it contained was readily accepted. Xancy was so 
 entirely innocent of his intentions that she did not notice 
 how much of admiring gallantry there was in his manner 
 as he addressed her, and when he expressed his warm wish 
 that Harry and Tom should be friends, her face brightened 
 up ■with pleasure. She had already heard all particulars 
 about the Captain's nephew, and she thought it a compliment 
 to her son that his friendship should be desii^ed by a yoimg 
 man holding a royal commission. 
 
 The Captain took his dejDarture in high good humoui\ 
 He decided in his own mind that Nancy's happy look was 
 occasioned by the lover-like attitude he had begun to assume, 
 and this decision made him all the more eager and anxious 
 that his apparently so far successful endeavours should be
 
 A PROPOSAL. 139 
 
 crowned with victory. He was anxious likewise to infuse 
 into the mind of his nephew a portion of that admhation for 
 Nancy which he was experiencing himself. 
 
 " A worthy woman that," he said with an air of paternal 
 solemnity, as the two were walking homewards. 
 
 "Very," said Harry, who cared but little about ISTancy's 
 worth, and who was as ignorant of his uncle's intentions as 
 was the object of them. 
 
 " I want you to have a little talk with poor Tom," piu'- 
 sued the Captain. " He has never left this village, and is 
 very ignorant of life. I expect he will find it a wonderful 
 change when he gets to Plymouth." 
 
 " And what is he going there as 1 " inquired Harry. 
 
 " Why the poor fellow has not much interest," replied the 
 Captain, colouring a little, " and so he's obliged to take what 
 he can get. He's a thorough gentlemanly fellow, and I wish 
 they could find something better for him than the position of 
 a clerk in the Dockyard." 
 
 " A clerk in the Dockyard ! " exclaimed Harry, and his 
 opinion of his new accpiaintance fell at once at the news. He 
 could have borne with the cottage — his mother lived in as 
 small a one — but to go into a profession that was voted 
 ungentlemanlilve by every fellow who knows anything, was 
 an offence, in Harry's eyes, hard to be got over. He was a 
 good-natured fellow enougli, but lie liad sufficient ^.s-^v/vY de 
 corps to feel that liolding as he did a commission from his
 
 HO TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 Majesty it would be slightly lowering to his dignity if lio 
 were to associate freely with a clerk belonging to tho 
 Plymouth Dockyard. 
 
 The Captain, anxions to remove the nnfavoiirablo im- 
 pression which the knowledge of Tom's future position had 
 so evidently produced, began to narrate, somewhat copiously, 
 to his nephew the details of his young friend's recent gallant 
 action. Tlie history did not, however, weigli very heavily 
 in tlie balance in Tom's favour, for Harry felt that under 
 similar circumstances he would have done much the same 
 thing himself. He was in flict beginning to find himself 
 considerably bored with Tom and his heroism, though lie 
 avoided giving a hint to this effect to his imcle. 
 
 Harry was the Captain's only nephew. Mr. George 
 Bamford had died early in life, and had left his widow and 
 child in poor circumstances. The Captain had shoAvn them 
 both kindness at the time of his brother's death, and his 
 house had been their home until ]\Irs. Lamford's o^ni 
 relations in Ireland found one for them nearer to them. The 
 Captain had seen nothing either of her or of Harry from 
 that time till, when finding recently that his nephew was 
 at Plymouth, he wrote to ask him to come and see him, 
 Mrs. Bamford had expressed a wish that he shoidd go and 
 do what he could to please the kind friend and relative 
 who had housed them both when in their trouble, and 
 Harry was doing his best to carry out his mother's views
 
 A PilOrOSAL. 141 
 
 ill this res2:)ect. Seeing tlierefure that it Avas his uncle's 
 desire that he should be civil to Tom, he thought it as well 
 for once to pocket his pride. He was besides glad of any 
 thing that would help to while away the time, so he 
 proposed offering himself as a companion to the future 
 clerk in a walk that very afternoon. Tor this accom- 
 modating proceeding he got a hearty slap on his shoulder, 
 and the proposal being made to Tom^ it was readily, accepted. 
 Harry too had come to the conclusion, before taking leave 
 of his new acquaintance, that Tom was not a bad fellow 
 after all, and he heartily wished that he had himself interest 
 enough to get him into a more creditable position. 
 
 Five o'clock was l\rrs. Jones's tea hour, and the Captain 
 cheerfully made up his mind, on this occasion, to suit his 
 own arrangements to hers. He put liis dinner forward a whole 
 hour, and hoped to have a glass of grog on his return home, 
 and to drink ISTancy's health in it as his betrothed. 
 
 There was a sound of continuous brushing in the Captain's 
 sleeping apartment for fully half an hour before the three 
 o'clock dinner. His dress apparel, which had been put aside 
 ever since the time when the Riclimond Villa tea parties had 
 been first found objectionable, was again brought out by the 
 Captain for the farm entertainment. Two beautiful lillics of 
 tlie valley, the products of his little conservatory, graced the 
 old gentleman'H button hole as, punctual to the hour named, 
 hi' hjidckod ul Clancy's door. He was bent on not passing
 
 142 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 the Miss Bii-cli's residence, which they must have done had 
 they gone the most direct way. Complaining therefore of 
 the dust and of tlie delight of being in the fields at that 
 season, he in-evailed on ^""ancy to lengthen her walk by well 
 nigh a mile, ostensibly to avoid the road. The garden at the 
 back led at once into the fields, and the Captam, as he 
 opened the little gate, gallantly placed himself by the side of 
 the widow, saying as he did so, " I always like leaving the 
 youngsters to themselves." Then waving to the two young 
 gentlemen to pass on he found hunself, for the second time 
 in his life, in solitary companionship with Xancy. The task 
 he had given himself proved a more difficult one than he had 
 expected. He was a man totally unused to sentimental talk, 
 and he conceived it to be an essential ingredient in the art of 
 love-makmg. Indeed he was convinced that his first and 
 last attempt at making a proposal had proved a failure from 
 its bare matter-of-factness. With Eebecca Birch this kind of 
 thing might have done, but it was different with ITancy. 
 The captam had a notion that to her an offer should be made, 
 if not in poetry itself, at all events in poetical prose. He 
 had been all the morning studying Sterne's sentimental 
 journey, but he had got nothing from it save a confusion of 
 ideas. He would have wished for sentiment to flow from liis 
 lips like a stream, but the source from whence it should 
 spring appeared just now to be dried up altogether. He 
 hummed and hawed and played with his watch-cham.
 
 A PROPOSAL. 1^^ 
 
 I^ancy saw his embarassnient, and supposing it proceeded 
 from a want of sufficient ideas to ventilate she did her best 
 to help him to a few. 
 
 The captain, by degrees, got a little bolder, and ventured 
 on expressing his extreme regret at the thought of losing her 
 and her son. While giving utterance to this feeling he and 
 his companion passed the lane leading into the road in front 
 of Richmond Villa. 
 
 ^N'ancy, in the simplicity of her heart, assured the old gen- 
 tleman in reply, that loth she and Tom would be very sorry 
 to leave tlieir various kind friends, 
 
 " You'll miss your garden a good deal," said the Captain ; 
 " I'm afraid it's not much in the way of flowers that you'll 
 see at Plymouth." 
 
 " I am afraid not," said T^ancy. Then turning her honest 
 eyes towards the Captain's button-hole, " I have been ad- 
 miring," she said, " those two beautiful lillies." 
 
 This unlucky remark roused at once all the Captain's 
 dormant eloquence. 
 
 *' If you will accept them and wear them near your heart 
 — where I should myself wish to bo," he said, his voice 
 rising to the solemnity of the occasion, as he handed Kancy 
 the flowers 
 
 There was a slight rustle and a little shriek of horror. 
 The Captain turned round, and close hehind him who shoidd 
 he behold but the two ^Misses Eu'ch, lookmg as if they had
 
 144 TOM MARCIIMONT. 
 
 found liiin in the coimnision of tluj most lieinoiis oilence. 
 All tlic Captain's high-flown eloquence departed. 
 
 " God bless mo ! " he exclaimed, in a tone of irritation he 
 had never ventured on before in the presence Of his imperious 
 neighboiu' ; " I didn't expect to see you here." 
 
 " As little did I expect to come upon the strange scene I 
 have just Avitnessed," replied Miss Birch in a tone of solemn 
 objurgation ; " and I regret much having intruded upon it ;" 
 and the outraged spinster made as though she were going to 
 perform a considerable circuit in order to avoid further 
 proximity with the two thus taken by surprise. 
 
 " I should be very sorry to hinder Captain Bamford from 
 joining such old friends," said JJ^ancy, who was just now 
 feeling as much annoyed by her landlady's impertinence as 
 she had been startled previously by the Captain's declaration. 
 " There is my boy in front waiting for me," she added ; 
 "I hardly know how we came to get so far separated;" 
 and JS'ancy swept past the IMisscs Birch with a more dig- 
 nified air and manner than she liad been in the habit of 
 asserting, though there was a feeling of intense vexation in 
 her heart. 
 
 Deserted by the one to whom he had trusted for support 
 the captain's plight was truly pitiable. He looked exceedingly 
 foolish, again betook himself to his watch chain, and then 
 made an ineffectual attempt at conciliating Snap who, like his 
 mistress, was fond of having a snarl at him. i^lies Bheli did
 
 A PROPOSAL. 145 
 
 not help liim to recover his self possession, but seemed rather 
 to do her utmost to add to the poor man's confusion. 
 
 "Well, Captain," she remarked, after a silence of a minute, 
 as they strolled along, the old gentleman feelmg like an un- 
 Avilling captive, "you have kept your intentions very close, 
 and I only hope you may not hnd you have been made a 
 fool of." 
 
 "Madam," said the Captain, now fairly driven to 
 extremities, " no woman shall presume to interfere with my 
 private affairs. T beg to wish you a very good morning ; " 
 and he stalked on in pursuit of the companion with whom he 
 had started. 
 
 On rejoining Nancy he tried in vain to catch her eye, and 
 to read in it one responsive feeling. She seemed suddenly to 
 have changed into an icicle, and the Captain felt, Avithout a 
 word being uttered, that his hopes had vanished. The 
 alteration in his dinner hour and the want of his customary 
 glass of grog made him uncomfortal)le, and he was not an 
 amiable addition to Mrs. Jones's tea i)arty. The coffee Avas 
 acknowledged to be excellent, and yet it shed no exhilarating 
 influence over his nerves, and after the clatter of 2)utting 
 away the tea things was concluded, he felt his position to be so 
 uneasy that he re(j[uested the farmer to take a stroll with him, 
 nominally for the sake of smoking a pipe. The two young 
 men followed the elder ones out of doors, and Mrs. Jones 
 with her sister and Nancy Avere left to represent tln^ tea party. 
 
 L
 
 liQ TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 "The Captaiu seems dull this evening," observed Mrs. 
 Jones. 
 
 "I dare say his early dinner has put him out," said 
 Nancy, hoping she did not colour as she spoke. 
 
 "Perhaps so," said Mrs. Jones, "but I think it more 
 likely as he's going to have a fit of the gout. I always 
 knows when its coming on with the master, he gets so 
 cross." 
 
 Nancy readily adopted Mi-s-. Jones's view of the subject, 
 and tliey turned their attention to other things. The 
 Captain walked straight home, requesting the former to 
 excuse him to his wife ; and to his enemy the gout was 
 imputed by all, save Nancy, the Captain's shortcomings on 
 that eventful evening. 
 
 The Captain's rejected addresses brought the object of them 
 into considerable disrepute. On the follomng morning 
 Miss Birch called on the Dates, and while there she hinted 
 mysteriously at certain improprieties whicli she had been 
 witness to, and then, sagaciously nodding and Avinking, she 
 sincerely hoped that for the Captain's sake In-r tenant-might 
 never again be induced to return to the village. Mrs. Date, 
 who was a lady of weak nerves, took alarm at once, and as 
 she neglected to inquire of ]\Iiss Birch for more exact 
 particulars, her imagination, Avhich was a vigorous one, 
 supplied the ])lace of facts, and it pictured Nancy as one 
 among tliat dangerous class nf women wlio hy their artillces
 
 A rROPOfSAL, 147 
 
 make dupes of men, aud win there])y the deserved hatred 
 of their own sex. 
 
 The Captain too was thoroughly out of Inimour with 
 iNTancy. His pride liad been touched to the quick, and lie 
 had not time to recover his wonted equanimity when Tom 
 appeared to take his final leave. His manner was in con- 
 sequence yet more freezing to the son than the mother's had 
 been to him. The uncle's altered demeanour brought more 
 prominently before the nephew the fact that a clerk in the 
 Plymouth Dockyard could never claim, by right, the position 
 of a gentleman. It suddenly struck him, therefore, that he 
 had allowed Tom to be too familiar, and his manner became 
 just a little supercilious. It was, in consequence, but a short 
 visit that Tom paid, and his own pride felt wounded as he 
 walked homewards. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Date called while he was away to bid adieu 
 to IsTancy, and though they were both too good-hearted to 
 do or say anything that was positively unkind, yet they 
 contrived to make iS'ancy understand that she was hardly 
 to presume for the future to look upon them as friends, 
 except in the most general acceptation of the term. 
 
 "You will write us a line," ^Irs. Date said, somewhat 
 stiffly on taking leave, " and I hope you will be able to tell 
 us that you are comfortably settled, and that Tom is getting 
 on well." 
 
 Nancy promised that she would. She acconipani<Ml tJu^m
 
 148 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 to tlie garden gate, as if anxious to put off the final separa- 
 tion. There was a tear in her eye as she re-entered the little 
 home that was so soon to be no longer hers. She would 
 gladly have won, if she could, some expression of regard 
 from the worthy Rector and his wife, but nothing of the 
 kind had they bestowed upon her, and a sense of solitariness 
 had come over her in consequence. However Tom came in, 
 and in soothing down his feelings of vexation she forgot her 
 own.
 
 SEPARATION. 149 
 
 CHAPTEE XYIII. 
 
 SEPARATION. 
 
 With her son's strong arm to lean upon, ISi'ancy bore up 
 hravely against the struggle, which it must always cost the 
 heart of an affectionate woman, when she leaves her home of 
 many years. She remembered but little of Pl}nnouth, and 
 to find lodgings would, she expected, prove a tiresome under- 
 taking. The Morgans had left the place long ago, and 
 she had no friend there now to help her. However 
 Tom took the responsibility of finding suitable apartments 
 on his own shoulders. 
 
 "Mother," he said as they passed a pastrycook's, after 
 having just deposited their luggage at the inn where the 
 coach stopped. " Mother, you look tired — come into tliis 
 shop and get some dinner and take some rest, and I'll find 
 lodgings before I come back to you." 
 
 " Is it lodgings you are wanting 1 " said the woman in the 
 shop, " I think as I could recommend you to some, if so be 
 as you don't ref[uire a great deal of accommodation. An 
 honester, tidier woman than Mary Goodman never breathed, 
 and I'll warrant you'll find none cheaper in PljTnouth for the 
 comfort of them than the rooms as she have got to let."
 
 150 TOM MAnciIMOM. 
 
 Upon further inquiries it sounded as if Mrs. Goodman's 
 ajDartments miglit just suit, and having obtained the address, 
 Tom hurried off to get a sight of them. He found them 
 what they required, and he took them on the spot. There 
 was a fine ocean view -without — a kindly pleasant face 
 within, and cleanliness in every corner. 
 
 " We have left our boxes at the inn," said Tom when he 
 had settled about the terms, " I will go for them at once. 
 Will you kindly get the rooms ready as quickly as possible. 
 My mother is very tu^ed, and she will, I am sure, be glad to 
 feel settled." 
 
 Mrs. Goodman promised to do her best. Tom called at 
 the pastrycook's on his way to the inn, and with something 
 of boyish glee he told his mother of his success. " You look 
 very tired," he said as he stooped to kiss her. " The rooms 
 won't be ready just yet, and you must not stir till I come 
 back to you." 
 
 Tom was some time awa}-, for he determined on having 
 things put a little straight before ho alloAved his mother to 
 enter their new abode. 
 
 " ;N"ow mother," he said as he at last re-appeared, " Come 
 along, I've got a cab outside, and the sooner we start the 
 better." 
 
 :N'ancy smiled languidly, as her son helped her into tlic 
 vehicle. • 
 
 " But where are oiU' boxes?" she said.
 
 SEPABATION. 151 
 
 " Oil, they are already there, and now we have only got to 
 follow them." 
 
 " I tliink I could have walked," said Xancy, while she felt 
 how pleasant it was to be saved further fatigue. The labour 
 of packing, and then the journey had been a little too much 
 for Nancy, and she really needed rest. 
 
 The little sitting-room looked <|uitc cheerful as they 
 entered it, while the smell of the tea as it was brewing in 
 a brightly polished teapot was most refreshing. 
 
 " Xow," said Tom as lie placed a chair for his mother, and 
 then seated himself by her side in front of the tea-tra}', at 
 which he intended to officiate, " the only tiling you have got 
 to do is to make yourself as comfortable as you can." 
 
 ISTancy smiled her assent, and a cup of tea and the fresh 
 smell of the ocean soon revived her, though a tear fell from 
 her eye as she looked on its wide expanse and thought of that 
 one loved form that lay buried underneath. 
 
 Tom. entered on his new duties with great zeal and energy, 
 and things wore a prosperous aspect. The sea air seemed to 
 have a renovating efiect on his mother. JSlie was no longer 
 anxious about their affairs, for Tom, if he did well, was sm-e 
 to rise and get an increase of salary from year to year. She 
 could not feel solitary during tlie day with so kind a person 
 as her landlady in an adjoining ajjartment. ^Siie had always 
 the enjoyment at six o'clock of welcoming her son on his 
 return from his work, and he wa* generally her companion
 
 1^2 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 for tlie rest of the evening. Tom did not find his employ- 
 ment either interesting or exhilarating, but then it enabled 
 him to render his mother comfortable, and this thought gave 
 a zest to his sedentary labours. 
 
 It was with infinite satisfaction that on one sultry evening 
 in July he brought her home his first quarter's salary. It 
 was hot, sultry weather, and he had arranged that a trifle out 
 of his twenty pounds should be spent on a boating excursion, 
 which he had invited their landlady and her husband to join. 
 It was a beautifully calm evening and they all found it so 
 pleasant a change from the hot parched land to the cool water, 
 that they were tempted to go a good way out. A tremendous 
 storm came on, and it was with difficulty they could get the 
 boat again on shore. On landing they Avere all wet through. 
 Nancy had during the last winter been suffering from a 
 cough, and this wetting brought it back. As the autumn 
 advanced it got worse, and at last Tom and Mr Goodman 
 together prevailed on her to see a doctor. AVhen Mr. Johnson 
 came he ordered wine and other expensive luxuries which 
 ^N'ancy woidd have gladly done without, but Tom's resources 
 seemed inexhaustible, for each thing was procured at once. 
 Mrs. Goodman did all she could for the invalid in the way 
 of kindness and attention. However her doctor's skill, her 
 son's wishes and prayers, her landlady's kindness, all were 
 of no avail, and Xancy felt herself that she was not long 
 for this world. One day when j\Ir. Johns(ni called she
 
 SEPARATION. 153 
 
 asked him to tell her candidly -what lie tlioiiglit of her 
 condition. 
 
 " I believe," he said, " I have been buoying up your son 
 with hope too long, but I have not had the heart to refuse 
 him what he so earnestly asked for. I am afraid your end 
 is fast approaching. Still, while there is life there is hope." 
 
 " I feel that for myself there is none," said ^ancy ; " I 
 would willingly go if it were not for Tom." 
 
 She stopped, a large tear and then another rolled silently 
 down her cheek. 
 
 " However," she added, " he is young — he will get over 
 it — but I cannot break it to him myself." 
 
 "I shall less like breaking it to him than to you," said 
 ;Mr. Johnson. " However, I feel it is a duty from which I 
 must not shrink." 
 
 " Tell him," said Xancy, " I am happy in the thought of 
 a re-union with one from whom I have been so long separated. 
 Poor Tom ! He has too tender a heart for a man." 
 
 " I wish that were a more general fault," said the Doctor. 
 "The tender and unselfish love of a son may well awaken an 
 honest pride in the heart of a mother, and prove, on lier 
 death-bed, the greatest of earthly consolations." 
 
 There was a greater brilliancy in Xancy's eye, and a 
 warmer flush on her cheek, as these words were being 
 uttered. 
 
 " I think," slie said, " Tom was never l)y nature selfisli.
 
 154 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 and I do feel that iii early life I did my best to hinder him 
 from becoming so. I sometimes fancy now that it is I that 
 am selfish at his expense. But hark ! I hear liis knock. 
 Will you go and speak to him 1 " 
 
 Mr. Johnson met Tom in the passage, and asked of him an 
 interview in the little sitting-room. Tom turned very pale 
 as he followed the doctor in and then shut the door. He 
 did not venture to ask any question, so Mr. Johnson had to 
 speak first. 
 
 "Your mother Avislies me to tell you my opinion of her 
 state," he said in a hesitating voice. " She has given nic a 
 hard task to perform, but I feel I must fulfil it. As far as I 
 can see there is no hope left." 
 
 *' Why not ? " said Tom, in the accent of one who would 
 hope on still if he could. " She looks better than she did 
 
 a week ago. She has more colour " 
 
 *' Yes ; but it is a colour that betokens death. I have 
 told her the truth and she has borne it bravely; take a 
 lesson from her and do the same." 
 
 To this exhortation there came no reply. Tom walked to 
 the mantel-piece, put his elbows on it, and with his face 
 hidden by his hands no one could discern what emotions 
 were at work within. For a few inomcnts there was a 
 silence in the room which the doctor felt to be painful. 
 Tom raised his head at last, and as he turned his head 
 towards the Doctor his fi\cc was of an ashy paleness.
 
 SEPARATION. 155 
 
 "Then there is no hope," he said, and his lips quivered 
 as he spoke. 
 
 " I^one," said Mr. Johnson. 
 
 "But you will come again ^" Here Tom broke down 
 quite. 
 
 " I w411 come constantly till all is over. God bless you ! " 
 and the Doctor took a hasty leave. 
 
 Tom went into his own room, washed his face, and then 
 appeared at his mother's bedside. 
 
 "Mother !" he said, taking her hand, and with a look that 
 seemed to implore her to offer him the consolation which j\Ir. 
 Johnson had denied him — tlie consolation of hope. 
 
 " My own dear son," sobbed Xaney. Her arms were 
 clasped round his neck and their tears were mingled. 
 
 " I am unwilling to leave you," she said, when she had a 
 little recovered her composure ; " but it must be as God 
 Avills. You will, I hope, have other interests by-and-byc. 
 You will lind some dearer companion to supply my place. 
 May she love you as your father was loved by me." 
 
 " I Won't hear of that," said Tom impetuously. " If I 
 can keep you I want nothing besides. Doctors always take 
 the worst view of things. I believe, myself, that you will 
 recover if you will only do what you can for yourself." 
 
 " I would do anything I coidd for yoUr sake," said Nancy. 
 " "What is it you would have me do ?" 
 
 " You must keep up your spirits," was the reply, *' for
 
 150 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 that's the chief thing. I shall get Dr. Hunter to come and 
 see you. Two opinions are ahvays better than one." 
 
 " Stay," said I^ancy, who, even as the last great change 
 approached, was still careful for her son's purse, " I cannot 
 allow you to involve yourself in so unnecessary an exj)ense. 
 If there were any hope of recovery I would let all be done 
 that could to bring it about ; but I feel — I know there is 
 none. We must part, Tom, and it would be a great relief to 
 my mind if you would promise me that you would bear the 
 trial with resignation." 
 
 " I will do all that you wish as far as I can," said Tom, in 
 a tone that did not betoken resignation as yet. 
 
 I^ancy longed to give her son a drop of comfort ; for, as she 
 looked in his face, she pitied him. 
 
 " I may recover," she said, " ' for while there's life there's 
 hope.' If I die you will have the consolation of remembering 
 that for many years my chief happiness has been in you." 
 
 It Avas the first portion of his mother's speech that Tom 
 caught at. 
 
 " While there's life there's hope," he mimnured. " I will 
 not lose you if I can keep you here." 
 
 He gave her a long embrace, and then disappeared. He 
 looked in on Mrs. Goodman on his way down, and asked 
 her to remain with his mother while he was away. 
 
 Dr. Hunter lived close at hand. Tom knocked im- 
 patiently at the door.
 
 SEPARATION. 
 
 157 
 
 " Is Dr. Hunter at home 1 " lie inquired anxiously of the 
 servant. 
 
 " IS'o sir," was the reply. 
 
 "When will he be at home?" Tom asked yet more 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I cannot say." 
 
 " Will you tell him as soon as he comes in that there is a 
 
 case requiring his immediate attention, at 'No. 10, 
 
 Terrace." 
 
 As Tom turned his steps homewards the unjust impression 
 was on his mind that doctors were never at home when they 
 should be. He found Mrs. Goodman sitting with his 
 mother on his return. ^N'ancy looked inquiringly into his 
 face. 
 
 " Dr. Hunter was not at home," he said, " but I have left 
 a message to say he is to come as soon as he can." 
 
 Tom's face looked flushed with anxiety and excitement, 
 and it pained ^N'ancy to look on it and think what bitter 
 sorrow was preparing for her son through her. 8he took his 
 hand and pressed it tenderly. Tom was resolved that his 
 mother should live, and so, returning tlie pressure as ten- 
 derly as it was given, he appealed to Mrs. Goodman for 
 confirmation of his hopes. 
 
 " I have been fancying that my motlicr has been looking a 
 little better during the last two or three days," he said, in a 
 tone that begged for assent to his observation.
 
 158 TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 " All, Mr. Marcliniont," was the answer, " we must all 
 die ; and it's a blessed thing when we can, like your mother, 
 leave theworld contentedly and in the full assurance of the 
 faith." 
 
 " I wish you would not talk like that ! " said Tom reproach- 
 fully. " It's just the way to make mother think she has no- 
 thing to do hut to die. I shall not give up hope myself until 
 I hear Dr. Hunter's opinion." 
 
 " And I am sure no one can hope more than I do that it 
 may be a favourable one," replied Mi's. Goodman. "I've 
 always said to John as your mother's too young to die yet ; 
 but there's many as dies younger, and we must all be ready 
 when we're called. 'lis no use fighting against death, Mr, 
 Marchmont." 
 
 " And no use helping it on by talking so much about it," 
 said Tom. "We'll change the subject," and he made a 
 languid effort at starting something fresh. It was all in vain. 
 There was a silence which Mrs. Goodman would gladly have 
 interrupted hy a few more evident truths, but she felt just 
 now as if she could say nothing. 
 
 Tom had been gradually edging his chair back. He was 
 feeling miserable and he did not wish his mother to know it. 
 Nancy was straining her neck in order to get a sight of him 
 from her couch. Since her illness had become serious siie 
 had acquired a habit of resting her eyes continually upon her 
 son when he was with her.
 
 SEPARATION. 159 
 
 " Tom," she said faintly, " it won't be long I shall be with 
 you ; let me see you while I am here." 
 
 In a moment he was at her side. The sobs would rise 
 though he did his best to keep them down. 
 
 " It troubles me — the thought of parting from you," she 
 Avent on. " We shall meet again thougli, I hope. You will 
 never, I know, forget what have been my wishes all through 
 your life. Try to be a Christian in every tliought and act, 
 1 feel — I am sure it is the one way of insuring a happy 
 death." 
 
 Xancy fell back on the coucli, exhausted with the exertion. 
 Her eyes closed for a time. Her son and Mrs. Goodman 
 were watching her anxiously. At last slie opened them again. 
 
 "How are you now ?" inquired Mrs. Goodman. 
 
 " Oh ! I am quite Avell now," said Xancy in the cheerful 
 accent of former times. There was a slight gasping for breath 
 — and she was no more. 
 
 It was too hard a task to I'om to convince liimself at once 
 that his mother was gone. He clung to lici", vainly waiting 
 for some indication of returning consciousness, and the appear- 
 ance of a smile ^vliich passed over her countenance seemed to 
 give a reason for liis hopes. TJiey were struck down on the 
 appearance at this moment of Dr. Hunter, who walked 
 straight to the couch where she lay. 
 
 " She has breathed her last," he aaid, "1 can do nothing 
 for her now,"
 
 160 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 The tears rolled silently doAvn Tom's cheek, but he said 
 nothing, and the Doctor withdrew. By dint of entreaty 
 Mrs. Goodman succeeded in getting him out of the room, in 
 order that some of the last offices for the dead might he per- 
 formed, hut he soon returned to shed tears of heartfelt 
 sorrow over one whose placid, smiling countenance, showed 
 her unconsciousness of his grief. There was a stillness in the 
 house, a stillness which was, however, too quickly broken by 
 the arrival of his mother's last receptacle, and then again by 
 the sound of the hammer — and who among us knows not 
 the repulsiveness of that sound as, with a monotonous and 
 a hollow stroke, it proclaims the total disappearance from 
 among the living of the being we may most have loved? 
 
 There was but little preparation needed for the funeral. 
 Tom with his landlord were the only moiuiiers and, as the 
 former walked by the side of his new, but sympathising 
 friend, with his features firmly set, it seemed as if Mr. 
 Johnson's advice had not been thrown away. As the coffin 
 was being lowered nature would, however, assert her sway ; 
 but with an effort known only to himself the mourner 
 quickly resumed his self-control, and walked back to his 
 desolate home with as composed a demeanour as when he had 
 left it. The door was at once opened by ^Ii-s. Goodman, 
 who irresolutely followed Tom to his little sittmg room, and 
 looked as if she wished to ask if slie might enter. He 
 warmly grasped the friendly hand — broke down in the cflbrt
 
 SErARATlON. 1 6 1 
 
 — and ill a moment the door closed on him, and left him in 
 the enjoyment of his solitary grief. 
 
 "I only hope as the young man won't go and commit 
 suicide," said Mrs. Goodman to her husband as she entered 
 her own apartment. 
 
 " He has too brave a heart to do that," was the reply ; 
 " though I don't doubt as he feels it dreadful :" and the good 
 man sat down and fairly sobbed. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said Mrs. Goodman. " I'll go in by 
 and-bye, and talk to him a bit. It'll never do to let him 
 mope there all by himself." 
 
 "You'd better let him alone," said her husband. "I 
 should say as he couldn't abear the sight of anyone just now." 
 ' Mrs. Goodman wisely adopted her husband's advice, and 
 left as he was to himself and his own reflections Tom did his 
 best to learn the hard lesson of resignation. His own good 
 sense and the religious constitution of his mind helped him 
 on in his endeavour, and he felt he would be honouring his 
 mother's memory far more by obeying her precepts and by 
 cherishing the remembrance of her worth, than in shedding 
 vain tears, which could bring no comfort either to himself 
 or to her. 
 
 Lizzie Lindsay had kept up her correspondence with 
 N^ancy, but, as her letters had ceased to be of a confidential 
 kind, they had but little expressed the feelings of her heart. 
 Tom would often complain of these letters and declare that 
 
 M
 
 162 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 Lizzie must be changed. His mother had invariably taken 
 poor Lizzie's part, and had said how kind it was in her to 
 write at all. On her death our hero took upon hmiself the 
 task of writing to inform his old playfellow of the event and 
 by return of post he received the following reply : — 
 
 Dear Mr. Marchmont, 
 
 I cannot tell you what sorrow your letter has 
 occasioned me. I wish I could in any way comfort you, but 
 I know that would be quite beyond my power. Aunt wished 
 to write for me, but I would not let her do that. We are all 
 going away from England. Uncle and aunt to ximerica, and 
 Jane and I to join pai)a. I shall ask him to write to you when 
 I arrive, and I daresay you will let him hear from you in 
 reply. 
 
 I am ever, yours sincerely, 
 
 E. LIKDSAY. 
 
 Tom gave the letter a fervent kiss ; he then put it into the 
 little writing case that had been his mother's, and wondered 
 as lie did so whether fortune would ever again bring him 
 across Lizzie's jDath. Had he known the trouble it had cost 
 that constant friend to gain permission to Avi^ite at all, her 
 letter would have been yet more precious to him than it was, 
 while the affection that had prompted her to claim that per- 
 mission would have been one of his dearest remembrances. 
 
 Mrs. Date was the one other acquaintance to whom Tom 
 imparted the sad intelligence of his loss. As she and her 
 husband were away from home at the time he wrote, liis letter 
 did not receive an immediate answer. The good woman's ' 
 feelings had been grievously warped Ijy her neighbour's
 
 SEPARATION. 163 
 
 inuendoes, and so, wlien it came, it appeared to have been 
 written more for the purpose of admonishing Tom than of 
 sympathising with liim. The only sensation, therefore, which 
 it aronsed in the mind of the latter was regret that he should 
 ever have brought upon himself the aunoyance of such irri- 
 tating counsels, and now it seemed as if all future connec- 
 tion between himself and the villagers of Aub'ey was to be 
 at an end. 
 
 The morning after the funeral Tom, after having eaten his 
 solitary repast, knocked at Mrs. Goodman's door. 
 
 " I am going to the office," he said, "I shall be back at one." 
 " La," was the reply — " you ain't never a going to work 
 again so soon ! I think as you should give yourseK a day or 
 two to reflect seriously on what has happened, and to compose 
 yourself. I have been a borrowing one or two nice books as 
 I was going to lend you."- 
 
 " It will be better for me to go to my work at once," said 
 Tom, " though I thank you all the same for your kind thought. 
 
 It's of no use giving way it won't bring mother back 
 
 again ," liere liis voice failed him for a time. "I'd vex 
 
 long enough," he went on, " if it would." 
 
 " Will you come in in the evening 1 " said Mrs. Goodman in 
 a tone which testifled to her anxiety that her invitation 
 should be accepted. " It must be lonesome for you to be by 
 yourself." 
 
 M 2
 
 164 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 " Xot this evening," said Tom with averted face, " I shall 
 have a good deal to do in settling accounts. Some other 
 evening I shall be very glad," and he walked away.
 
 CHANGES. 165 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 CHANGES. 
 
 Tom resumed his occupation as usual, but the spirit which 
 had at first animated him was gone. He had worked for his 
 mother — to earn the means of adding to her comfort, and this 
 object had given a certain zest to his employment. It was 
 all so different now. The sedentary life had become sud- 
 denly distasteful to him, and he felt he must change it for 
 something else. 
 
 He had no one on his return home, after his long day's 
 work, to whom to communicate his thoughts, but he dwelt on 
 them in consequence with a still greater earnestness. He 
 drank his solitary cup of tea and then paced the room. It 
 was too confined for his long and rapid strides, so he took up 
 his hat and walked out. It was a clear, frosty night, and as 
 he gazed on the bright distant stars his thoughts were 
 released from that bondage in which tlie four walls of his 
 tiny apartment seemed to have kept them, and he found he 
 could soar in spirit to those loftier regions to which he hoped 
 his mother was already gone. He watched the vessels on the 
 calm ocean, and there was a solemnity in the scene which
 
 166 TOM MARCHMONT. ^ 
 
 harmonized with, his own state of mind. There was, he knew, 
 a ship just starting for America. If he could go in it and 
 seek his fortune in another land life would, he thought, 
 appear less irksome to him than it did at present. 
 
 But the doctor's bill and the funeral expenses had to bo 
 paid. The recollection brought sorrowful remembrances and 
 disturbed the loftier current of his thoughts. He turned his 
 steps homewards. He could no longer endure the little 
 sitting-room, so he soon left and went to bed — but not to 
 sleep. That dreary sense of the weariness of life had come 
 painfully over Tom since his mother had died, and he found' 
 it a more difficult thing to dispel than had been his first 
 sensation of overwhelming grief. He rose in the morning 
 unrefreshed. "\¥hile his breakfast was preparing he wrote 
 letters to Mr. Johnson and to the undertaker, requesting them 
 to send in their bills at once. The doctor's was more 
 moderate, and the undertaker's less so than he had expected. 
 Tom felt thankful however when, on comparing the state of 
 his own finances with the demands he would have to meet, 
 he found that after everything was settled he would still have 
 two or three pounds in his pocket. 
 
 To feel sure of not being in debt was to Tom a great 
 matter, and now he decided on speaking at once to his 
 master and asking him how soon he could be emancipated 
 from the thraldom in which he felt himself to be placed. On 
 his return, therefore, to his office he begged for an interview
 
 CHANGES. 167 
 
 with Mr. Parsons, told liim how distasteful his work had 
 become to him, and expressed his determination of going to 
 America. Mr. "Parsons readily acquiesced in Tom's views. 
 He had an especial objection to clerks who only half liked 
 their work, and he Imd no doubt about getting plenty of 
 applications for the vacant situation. Tom had, therefore, 
 his full permission to go when he pleased. It was with less 
 feeling of weariness that he returned home tliat evening. He 
 had had an interview with the Captain of the Bermuda, and 
 it had been arranged that he was to work his passage out to 
 America. Wlien once there our sanguine friend imagined 
 that success would follow all his undertakings. Men of 
 energy had always made their way in that land of freedom 
 and why should not he 1 
 
 Mrs. Goodman's countenance looked full of important in- 
 telligence as she opened the door herself to Tom on liis return. 
 
 " There has been a gentleman here to-day," she said, " of 
 the name of Maxwell, a-making inquiries after you. He 
 gave me his card, and you'll find it on the table. He was for 
 calling to-morrow, but I told him as you only came home 
 just for your dinner; and then he says, 'Well, if that's the 
 case will you tell Mr, Marchmont that if he'll come and 
 lunch with me to-morrow instead of at home, I shall feel 
 honoured ' — yes, that was the word — ' I shall feel honoured 
 by his company',"
 
 168 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 The name of Maxwell was familiar to Tom by report, 
 though he had but little recollection of the tall, prim looking 
 gentleman, who had, once upon a time, condescended to play 
 at ball with him in the Quaker's garden, and he wondered 
 much how he ever came to find out where he lived. 
 
 Before starting for his work on the following morning Tom 
 announced to his landlady his intention of going to sea. 
 
 " I'm truly sorry to hear you say that," she observed. " It 
 isn't many as makes their fortunes by a sea life, and John 
 and I both hoped as you'd have got over your loss in time 
 and stayed here for a permanence. I'd have tried to make 
 you comfortable if you'd been contented to stop, and I wish 
 you would have taken a little more time to consider." 
 
 Tom felt, and expressed himself as very grateful for the 
 kind interest the worthy woman took in him ; though, he at 
 at the same time assured her that his plans were now too 
 entirely fixed to allow of his altering them. 
 
 On his way from the office our hero turned his steps in 
 the direction indicated by his card, and knocked gently at 
 the door of Xo. 5, Parade. A mild and venera- 
 ble-looking man-servant opened it, and on Tom's giving his 
 name that individual seemed unusually anxious to be civil, 
 for with a smile of welcome and a very low bow he ushered 
 the visitor into a handsomely furnished apartment. Tom had 
 a certain general impression of Mr. Maxwell, and the stranger 
 did not at all fulfil it. He was older and not so taU ; but
 
 CHANGES. 169 
 
 when he came forward to welcome Tom and shake him by 
 the hand, the latter fancied he had heard his voice before. 
 He felt puzzled and he looked so. 
 
 " Perhaps," said the stranger, " that memorable occasion on 
 which you and I first met is less vividly impressed on your 
 memory than it is upon mine. I was in considerable danger 
 at that time, and I have only recently recovered from the 
 effects of the rough usage I then received. I was sorry to 
 find how much you had suffered, too, in coming to the rescue." 
 
 " My injuries were nothing very serious," said Tom, who 
 now recognised in Mr. Maxwell, the man whose life he had 
 once probably saved. " I could have wished that yours had 
 been no worse than mine, and that they had left behind as 
 little to remind you of them." 
 
 " They were serious enough to keep me from doing till now 
 what I wished to have done at once — that is to say — from 
 expressing to you in person my thanks for youi' timely help.'' 
 
 The old servant came in at this moment to announce that 
 luncheon was ready. Tom, in the hurry and confusion in 
 which he had been thrown, forgot that he had been invited 
 to partake of it. 
 
 " You quite over-rate my services," ho said, " I was only 
 thankful that chance enabled me to render you any. But I 
 am detaining you too long. Good morning; " and he made 
 rather an awkward attempt at retiring.
 
 170 TOM MAECHMONT. 
 
 " This is but a hasty visit," said Mr. Maxwell. " I hoped 
 you would have accepted some hospitality from me when you 
 came." 
 
 " I am very much obliged," said Tom, suddenly recollect- 
 ing liimself. " I shliU be very pleased to remain if it is not 
 inconveniencing you." 
 
 The two were soon seated at a more luxurious repast than 
 it had ever hitherto been Tom's good fortune to partake of. 
 Mr. Maxwell testified considerable anxiety that it should not 
 be tliro^vn away upon his new friend ; while old Eogers fairly 
 exceeded his master in the profuseness of his hospitality, and 
 wa^ for filling the glass of the favoured guest mth more wine 
 than Tom, with h'is very temperate habits, knew well how to 
 get through. 
 
 " I have been a long time in making your acquaintance," 
 Mr. Maxwell observed, as he gave our hero a liberal helping 
 from the dish that was set before him. " I hope now that 
 it is once made it may not soon be dropped. I was at 
 Aubrey a few days ago on my way here. As I found you 
 were gone I called on your clergyman, but he was away too. 
 However, his servant gave me his address and I -wi'ote to ask 
 him for yours. I received his reply only yesterday. He 
 mentioned to me the loss you had so recently sustamed, 
 and j^erhaps I should apologise for breaking in on your soli- 
 tude at such a tune. I hoped though that I might be in
 
 CHANGES. 171 
 
 some way of use to you. You seem young to be left so 
 entirely without relatives." 
 
 A tear started into Tom's eye, but was hastily brushed 
 away. 
 
 " I am told you have a situation in the dock-yard," pur- 
 sued Mr. Maxwell. 
 
 " I had, sii'," said Tom, " but I have just given it up." 
 " Have you ! " said Mr. Maxwell, in a tone of siu-prise. 
 " Then I conclude you have something more lucrative in its 
 place." 
 
 "^N'o, indeed, sh, I have not. I think, though, that a 
 more active life would suit me better, and so I am going next 
 week to work my way out to America." 
 
 " And how long is it since you have arranged all this V 
 " Only smce last night. It was a momentary thought and 
 I carried it out at once." 
 
 *' It is one, I presume, that would never have entered your 
 head had your mother been spared you." Mr. Maxwell's 
 manner became much more serious and fatherly than it had 
 been at first. 
 
 " ^ever ! " said Tom with emotion. " It was through 
 losing her I ever thought of it all." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " exclaimed Mr. INIaxwell, speaking more 
 to himself than to Tom. " It seems to me," he added, airain 
 addressing him, " that you want some other friend now to 
 supply her place."
 
 172 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 " I can never find that," said Tom "v\'ith a repressed sob. 
 
 There was a pause, which was at last broken by Mr. 
 Maxwell. 
 
 *' May I ask you," he inquired, " if you are related to the 
 baronet's family bearing your name V 
 
 " I am, sir," said Tom unhesitatingly, " though the 
 relationship between us must now be getting distant." 
 
 " And how are you related to them ? " 
 
 " My great grandfather was a Sir Charles Marchmont — so 
 my mother lias told me. My father lost both his parents at 
 an early age. I believe it was in consequence of this that he 
 ran away and enlisted as a common sailor. He was after- 
 wards," added Tom, his manner expressing a feeling of pride 
 as he spoke, " given in acknowledgement of his bravery, and 
 good conduct, a commission as midshipman. He served in 
 that capacity on board the Warrior with his former Admii^al. 
 Mj mother never saw him again. The ship was lost with all 
 on board." 
 
 " I have been thinking," said Mr. Maxwell, " that the name 
 of your father must have been Charles." 
 
 " It was," said Tom. 
 
 " Then I can remember the circumstance of his going off — 
 no one knew where, though the affaii- was so soon hushed up 
 that I had well-nigh forgotten it. You are not, I suppose, 
 personally acquaijited with your relations." 
 
 " Neither 1 nor my mother ever saw them."
 
 CHANGES. 173 
 
 " I consider that that has been no great loss to yon," was 
 the reply. " Mr. Marchniont," he went on, " I look npon 
 yon, nnder Providence, as the preserver of my life, and I 
 wonld wish to testify my gratitude in some more substantial 
 way than in jnere words. You are young enough yet to 
 commence a more desirable path in life than the one you 
 have renounced, or than that on which you have rashly, as it 
 seems to me, entered. There cannot, I think, be much diffi- 
 culty in your giving up the engagement you have just entered 
 upon, and if you will consent to my doing so I will gladly 
 give you the means of adopting some profession better suited 
 to yoiu' birth." 
 
 A look of heartfelt gratitude passed across Tom's 
 countenance as the old gentleman was speaking. 
 
 " You make my service to you seem very small, sir," he 
 said, "your liberality going so far beyond it. I cannot 
 reject your kind offer, but you must allow me to look upon it 
 more as a free gift than as any return for the help which a 
 fortunate accident enabled me to render you. As to my birtli 
 it was, on my mother's side, humble enough, thougli she was 
 the best of women, nevertheless." 
 
 " Give me your hand," said Mr. Maxwell, evidently pleased 
 with his young acquaintance. " You arc an honest fellow, 
 I believe, and I am old enough now to prize honesty beyond 
 most other gifts. I consider it a settled thing that for the 
 future you are to look to mc for helji and counsel. Wc old
 
 174: TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 men buy our experience very dear, and it is mortifying when 
 the younger ones refuse to profit by it. The sooner you get 
 out of your fresh engagement the better. Come to me to- 
 morrow at this time, and let me know how all has been 
 arranged. We will then talk over some plan for the future, 
 and remember this, that when once formed, it must not be 
 rashly given up. T am not blaming you for what you have 
 already done," continued Mr. Maxwell, as he observed the 
 colour mounting into Tom's cheek ; "I can sympathise with 
 the feeling which prompted the act. I only "wish you to see 
 that it would not do for you to repeat it." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Tom, as, on looking at his watch, he 
 found the hands pointing to the hour for his work to com- 
 mence again. " I nmst be off," he said. " You would like 
 to see me to-moiTOW between one and two 1 " 
 
 " At one," said Mr. Maxwell, " and bring a better appetite 
 than you did to-day." 
 
 Tom felt overwhelmed with all this kindness, so much so 
 that his own services, compared with what he was going to 
 receive for them, appeared to him ludicrously small. That 
 evening he accepted the Goodman's invitation to tea. 
 They were both delighted at his improved prospects, though, 
 in her lieart, the worthy woman would still have pre- 
 ferred his remaining as he Avae. Captain Suns had, after 
 swearing a little at Tom's changeableness of purpose, agreed 
 to let llini off, and when he next made his appearance at Mr.
 
 CHANGES. 175 
 
 Maxwell's temporary abode, the reception given him by the 
 latter was more like that of a parent than of an acquaintance 
 of a day. After inquiring how the announcement of his 
 change of purpose had been received by the Captain, 
 
 " Well, Tom," he said, " have you tliought of a profession ?" 
 
 " I should wish, sir," said the former, " to be in some way 
 guided by yourself. My father was a sailor " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Maxwell, '* I see you have still a fancy 
 for the sea. I am afraid though you are too old now to take 
 to it in earnest and it would, besides, be something approach- 
 ing to an impossibility for me to procure you a commission. 
 I would, on no account, 'force your inclinations though, if I 
 were sure of your not tiring of it, I would recommend a college 
 life, Avhich would prepare you either for the Church or for 
 the Bar. I conclude you have had a good education hitherto f 
 
 " Through the kindness of a friend, who is now dead, I 
 think I have had great advantages in that respect," said Tom, 
 " T should be unwilling, though," he added, " to be a continual 
 expense to you. I have nothing of my own, and I thought a 
 commission on board a man-of war would make me indepedent 
 at once." 
 
 " I see it is a sea-life you are longing for," said 'Mv. ]Mnx- 
 Well somewhat testily ; " but I have already tokl you 1 have 
 no chance of getting you a commission. 1 never cautioned 
 you against expense, and therefore it is unnecessary your
 
 17(> TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 making that an excuse for not undergoing a few more years 
 of study." 
 
 *' But I must feel, myself, that I should be cautious about 
 profiting too much by the liberality of a stranger who rates a 
 former service at far too high price. This would, I assure 
 you, be my chief objection to availing myself of your 
 generous offer." 
 
 " Then let that be no objection at all," said ]Mr. Maxwell 
 with restored good humour. " Remember, though, that if 
 you go to College it must be to work." 
 
 " I shall never object to doing that/' said Tom ; " I will 
 work hard enough to earn an independence." 
 
 " I am glad to see," said Mr. Maxwell, *' that that feeling 
 is so strongly implanted in your nature, and by working well 
 at College for a few years you may, I think, put yourself in 
 the way of soon attaining what you seem so much to desire. 
 There is one thing I must beg of you. It is — that in 
 associating with those who live in a higher sphere than that 
 to which you have been accustomed, but -which your father's 
 birth may now entitle you to occupy, you don't think yourself 
 compelled to adopt all the frivolous and foolish notions 
 which fashion dictates to its followers. For those wlio have 
 been brought up in its atmosphere there may be some excuse 
 for this absurdity. For yourself I shall consider there is 
 none. You, hitherto, have been under no subjection to its
 
 CHANGES. 177 
 
 laws, and I hope yoiir nature is too free and independent to 
 become enslaved to them now." 
 
 Tom readily acceded to Mr. Maxwell's views on this sub- 
 ject, though it was one on which his thoughts had never 
 hitherto dwelt. It was arranged that from the following day 
 he was to look uj)on his new friend's house as his home, and 
 Mr. Maxwell lost no time in having his name put down on 
 the list of candidates for education at one of the colleges at 
 Oxford. 
 
 During the intervening months he was to be placed with 
 some private tutor, in order that he might prepare himself for 
 an University career. There was a friendly leave taking 
 between him and the Goodmans. Tom promised to ^vrite to 
 his landlady to give her his address when he knew it himself, 
 and if she received any letters directed to him, he particu- 
 larly requested that she would forward them.
 
 178 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE REPUTED MISANTHROPIST. 
 
 We must now give a slight sketch of 'Mv. Maxwell's previous 
 life, and explain how it was that he came to take so \\n- 
 usual an interest in Tom — an interest so far beyond what 
 gratitude required for a service which accident had rendered 
 it imperative on our hero's part to render him. 
 
 Mr. Maxwell had commenced life as a banker, and on the 
 death of an elder brother he had inherited the family estate. 
 At an early age he had been struck with the face and form 
 of a young scion of the aristocracy whose beauty was her only 
 portion, and whose chief idea, when establishing herself as 
 Mistress of Arthur Maxwell's house, was still to live among 
 the great, a constant intercourse with them being the one 
 thing on earth that she coveted. Mr. Maxwell's married life 
 with this young servitor to fashion was, in consequence, an 
 unhappy one. He was possessed by nature of warm feelings, 
 keen perceptions, and much justness of observation, and in 
 consequence the selfishness so perceptible in worldly society 
 grated on his nerves. He became misantliropical, devoted 
 himself to business, and while enlarging his fortune he was 
 at the same time narrowing his sympathies.
 
 THE REPUTED MISANTHROPIST. 179 
 
 After fifteen years of married life a son was born, and the 
 unexiDected event seemed to put into him a new heart. He 
 had left his wife to go her own way, but he sternly resolved 
 it should not be so with his son. It seemed likely there would 
 have been a good many contests on this point, but death came 
 and silenced all disputes. Lady Clarice's health had been 
 weakened by this unexpected arrival, but not so her taste for 
 pleasure and dissipation. A doctor was called in who told 
 her she must give up gaiety, but this advice so ill-accorded 
 with her tastes that she rebelled against it. The seeds of con- 
 sumption had been already sown and, encouraged as they 
 were in their growth, they soon carried their victim to her 
 grave. All the widower's affections were now centered on his 
 son, a child of three when his mother died. He had 
 already amassed a large fortune by his close application to 
 business ; he was satisfied with what he had got, and so he 
 retired to his quiet country house, where he occupied himself 
 Avith magisterial duties, literatm^e, and the care of his son. 
 He was an excellent landlord and was recognised by his 
 tenants, as well as by those of his own rank whom he still 
 acknowledged as friends, to be both a just and a kind man. 
 By those, on the contrary, vdiose heartlessness and insin- 
 cerity were antagonistic to his own more truthful and far 
 nobler nature, he was looked upon in anything but a 
 favourable light. 
 
 N li
 
 180 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 EoLert was sent to school at a fitting age, and was in every- 
 way giving liis father satisfaction, when consumption seized on 
 him as it had done on his mother, and at the age of eighteen 
 he was hnrried to an untunely grave. The death of the 
 son occurred a year pre\dously to orn* hero's first unexpected 
 meeting with the father. Mr. Maxwell had been in the town 
 of Camm collecting his rents, which he was in the habit of 
 doing himself. Maplewood was about six miles from 
 Camm and J\lr. ]\Iaxwell habitually walked there and 
 back. He had often been cautioned against returning 
 home alone with his pockets fidl of money ; but he laughed 
 at sucli fears, and with a stout stick in his hand, and a brave 
 heart within, he conceived that there was no occasion for 
 alarm. Mr. Maxwell's most direct way home was along the 
 path that Tom had taken, and it proved most fortunate, in 
 the end, that our hero's troubled frame of mind on that par- 
 ticular evening should have lent such rapidity to his steps. 
 
 The ill-usage of the rufiians had, as our readers already 
 know, a most serious eftect on i\Ir. Maxwell, and for months 
 he was laid up. ^Ylien he went to Aubrey for the purpose 
 of finding out his deliverer, Mr. Date happened, as we have 
 before mentioned, to be away. On inquiring of the servant 
 who else in the village was likely to know anything about 
 Mr. Marchmont, she had directed him to Captain Bamford. 
 The old sailor had by this time forgiven Tom his mother's 
 ofi'ences, and so he was quite ready to speak of him in the
 
 THE REPUTED MISANTHROPIST. 181 
 
 higliGst terms, and to assort (wliicli lie did more positively 
 than liis own information on tlie snbject qnite autliorized liis 
 doing) that our hero was a gentleman by birth as Avell as 
 in feeling. He could not, however, give his visitor the young 
 man's address, for the Captain was no friend to letter- writing, 
 and he had, in consequence, never needed or asked for it 
 himself. Mr. Maxwell Avas therefore obliged to write to Mr. 
 Date for information on this point. His first interview with 
 Tom had prepossessed him in his favour. Captain Baniford's 
 assertion, and a certain resemblance that existed between our 
 hero and the ^larchmont family, had enabled him to guess at 
 his parentage ; he felt for liis singularly friendless position, 
 and now he had all the disposition to act towards him as a 
 father. 
 
 Had Mr. Maxwell followed the promptings of his oavii 
 heart he would have been most libei'al in his allowance to 
 Tom, whose capacity for spending might, it is probable, have 
 largely developed itself under circumstances favourable to its 
 growth. However, the old man's judgment had long got the 
 mastery over his feelings, bitter experience having taught 
 hiiii to control the latter. He arranged, therefore, to give 
 Tom just what he thought would be sufficient for a gentleman 
 and no more. 
 
 " My house," he said, " will be your home as long as your 
 education is going on ; when it is iinished and you have the 
 means of supporting yourself, vre may enter into bomc fresh
 
 182 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 arrangement." Tom commenced his College life witli a 
 strong conviction that he ought not in any way to presume 
 on the advantages which ]Mi\ Maxwell's generosity had 
 procured him. He went to College to work, and he did so 
 with diligence, and having superior abilities to help on his 
 industry, he was soon given to understand that he might 
 make himself remarkable if he thought fit.
 
 THE MARCHMONTS OF GRANBY HALL. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE MARCHMONTS OF GRANBY HALL. 
 
 Granby Hall was situated some twelve miles from Maple- 
 wood, and the town of Camni lay between the two places. 
 Beyond this town Mr. Maxwell seldom went in search of 
 associates. In Lady Clarice's life-time the Granby Hall and 
 the Maplewood carriages were contmiially passing to and fro, 
 and dear Lady Marchmont and sweet Lady Clarice considered 
 themelves to be the most devoted of friends. On the death 
 of the latter lier loss was spoken of by her numerous circle of 
 acquaintances as something quite irreparable. However, it 
 had been got over more quickly than could have been an- 
 ticipated by any simple, honest soul who, imagining words 
 to be invariably the expression of feeling, had chanced to 
 come within liearing of the general lamentation. Society 
 dressed and flirted, and amused itself as usual, even though 
 she whom it had pronounced to be one of its chief ornaments 
 was no more. However, up to the present time there was 
 often heard an expression of regret that one of the best 
 houses in the neighbourhood should have become to all good 
 purposes useless since the death, some sixteen years previously, 
 uf its charmii]g mistress* Lady Marchmont still lived for
 
 184 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 tlie world from which her friend and neighbour, Lady Clarice 
 had so long passed away. She had, three years previously ; 
 become a widow, and it had at that time been aiTanged that 
 she and her daughters should, for a time at all events, still 
 make Granby Hall their home. 
 
 Her Ladyship was the daughter of a rich banker, and her 
 fortune had been the means of i)reventing the dismemberment 
 of the family estate. With its assistance that state was still 
 kept up at Granby Hall for which the place had been 
 hitherto remarkable. However, Lady Marchmont loved show 
 and, even with a good fortune, this is often found to be an 
 expensive thing to maintain, so that there was still occa- 
 sionally a dearth of ready money at the Hall. Sir Charles's 
 own income was, for his position, a limited one, while his 
 notions were, like his mother's, grand in the paltry sense of 
 the word. Good horses he deemed one of the necessities of 
 life, and to procure them he condescended to certain ques- 
 tionable transactions in the way of horse-dealing, transactions 
 which to the impartial understanding, might well seem as 
 dishonest as pocket-picking or housebreaking, and even 
 yet more contemptible, seeing they involved a greater amount of 
 lying and were attended with considerably less danger. But 
 then much was, of course, to be tolerated in one to whom 
 society was so greatly indebted ; for was not Sir Charles the 
 generous patron of sport, that one aim in life of the Hunting* 
 denshire Squirearchy ?
 
 THE MARCHMOXTS OF GRANBY HALL 185 
 
 Lady ^Marclimont liad three daughters, named Juliana, 
 CTeorgiana, and Emily. The two elder ones, es^^ecially 
 Georgiana, were handsome, showy girls, bearing a strong 
 resemblance to their mother. Emily, the youngest, was 
 really beautiful, while her extreme gracefuhiess, and a cer- 
 tain charm of manner, promised to render her in time pre- 
 eminently attractive besides. Sir Charles was a handsome 
 man with a good address, but a very poor understanding. 
 His college life had ended some two years previously, and he 
 was now prepared to get as much as he could in the way of 
 enjoyment out of those means which fortune had assigned 
 him, and to revive, if possible, the old records concerning 
 the splendid hounds kept by the Marchmont family. AVlien, 
 at nineteen, Tom was about to commence his Oxford career, 
 his cousin, Sir Charles, was twenty-four, while the ages of 
 his three sisters were twenty-one, eighteen, and hfteen. 
 
 It was no longer even a tradition in the Marchmont 
 family that some tAventy-live years previously a younger 
 son of a younger son had run away from the family 6eat, and 
 that he had afterwards so far demeaned himself as to form a 
 low connectioiL The present generation were, indeed, in 
 utter ignorance of the two events which had so entirely 
 alienated Tom's father from his haughty relatives. 
 
 The month of March had arrived, the hunting season was 
 over, and the last of their sporting friends had (piitted 
 Graiiby Hall to seek amusement elscAvheie. Sii Chaiies was
 
 186 TOM MARGHMONT. 
 
 finding it dull, and so were his two elder sisters, thougli the 
 latter were antici^xiting the pleasures of a month or two in 
 town. 
 
 The deep-toned gong had warned the occupants of the 
 Hall that dinner was on the table. It was usually a very- 
 silent affair when partaken of by the family alone, and any- 
 thing in the shape of a bit of news was canght at by the 
 home-circle Avith wonderful avidity. The tlu'ee ladies 
 (Emily Avas still in the school-room) felt their curiosity to be 
 considerably awakened when, just as they were seating them- 
 selves, Sii' Charles, who had been the last to make his 
 appearance, observed : 
 
 " I have heard a very odd piece of news to-day." 
 
 It seemed the intention of the baronet to give his mother 
 and sisters a lesson in patience, for, having proceeded so far, 
 he checked all inquiries by adding, 
 
 " But we'll talk about it by and-bye." 
 
 The three ladies became all curiosity. There was evidently 
 something of mystery — something requiring secresy in the 
 news, and so it was no wonder that Sir Charles's female 
 relatives were impatient to have it out. This natural im- 
 patience rendered her Ladyship unusually sharp with the 
 footman, while it caused Juliana and Georgie to think their 
 brother unpardonably deliberate in his way of eating his 
 dinner. At length the repast was ended, the dessert was 
 placed on the table, and the room cleared of all inconvenient
 
 THE MARCHMOXTS OF GRANBY HALL. 187 
 
 listeners, and now lier Ladyship lost no time in asking her son 
 for some particulars concerning this mysterious piece of news. 
 
 " You know Maxwell," was the reply, " the old fellow who 
 has been vegetating at Maplewood for so many years." 
 
 " Oh ! yes," said Lady Marclimont, " the ill-tempered 
 banker who married that sweet girl, Lady Clarice Mountjoy. 
 I could believe anything strange of him. He isn't going to 
 take a second wife, is he, and then kill her with neglect '?" 
 
 " J^To, no, nothing of the sort ; there's no chance for any of 
 you unmarried girls in that quarter," and Sir Charles gave a 
 look at his sisters as he spoke. " They say he's a regular woman- 
 hater. He's not going, I believe, to take another wife, but 
 he has adopted a son ; at least so I'm told. A young man 
 of low birth and without a penny ; but the strange part of it 
 is that the fellow should claim a relationship Avith us." 
 
 " What 1 " said Lady ^larchmont, startled out of all self- 
 possession ; " does any loAV-born pauper presume to claim a 
 near relationship with us ! " 
 
 It had suddenly flashed across Lady Marchmont's mind 
 that some of her own connections were in a considerably 
 lower sphere than herself, and that it might be inconvenient 
 were the relationship forced upon her notice. 
 
 " Oh, don't take alarm, mother," said Sii' Charles with 
 much saiuj-froid. " He won't get into this house without 
 our permission, even though he should swear to being your 
 own son. I heard of him to-day from Dod. Dod hai)pens to
 
 188 TOM MARCHMOKT. 
 
 liavG in his oflicc a clerk whose relations live in tlie same 
 village in which this jn-otegn of j\Iaxweirs was brouglit up, 
 and to whom it seeins the young man made hmiself very 
 disagreeable. There is no douLt about it, so Dod says, that 
 his mother "\\ as a woman of very low condition, and on what 
 ground this adventurer now presumes to build a relationship 
 with us he does not at all know." 
 
 " On no good one," said Lady Marchmont. " Depend upon 
 it he's some impostor who has fairly taken in that foolish old 
 man. It would be a dreadful thing if Harry Harewood's 
 interests were to be injured through the manoiuvres of a rogue." 
 ■ Harry Harewood was Mr. Maxwell's nearest relation. 
 His mother was a widow, living on a handsome pension, her 
 husband having occupied a good position under Government 
 This pension would die with her, and Harry's own worldly 
 possessions were but small. He got the pay of a lieutenant 
 in the Grenadiers, and little besides. However, on the death 
 of Mr. Maxwell's son, society decided that the fortune of the 
 former must go to Harry, and the younger generation looked 
 forward with delight to the time when he Avoidd step into the 
 shoes of his eccentric old cousin, and, if he pleased, run through 
 the famdy estate. 
 
 Georgiana had been looking as excited as her mother during 
 the jDrevious conversation. Sir Charles, who was always for 
 taking everything easy except a mistake in the hunting held, 
 laughed, however, at their leard.
 
 THE MARCUMONTS OF GRANBY HALL 189 
 
 *' If," lie said, " Maxwell is snch an old fool as to be taken 
 in by an impostor, lie won't hurt us that I can see. I shall, 
 though, take the opportunity of most positively denying the 
 connection when I next come in his way." 
 
 " Can you tell me the name of this new friend of ]\Ir. 
 Maxwell's ? " said Lady Marchmont somewhat nervously. 
 
 " Oh, he calls himself by our name. I suppose it is on 
 this circumstance he rests the merits of his case." 
 
 Lady Marchmont's courage, which had been failing, re- 
 turned to her instanter. 
 
 " It is utterly false," she exclaimed, " utterly false. It is 
 impossible that he can be a relation of 3' ours. He is clearly 
 an impostor," and her Ladyship's wi-atli waxed hotter as she 
 grew more positive in her assertions. 
 
 In speaking as she did she supposed that she was asserting 
 the truth. She had met the heir of the Marchmonts during 
 a London season, and just at the time of the escapade of the 
 old Sir Charles's nephew. The circumstance had never been 
 alluded to in her presence. In her early married life she 
 had lived much abroad and she had not the most distant 
 suspicion that there were any other Marchmonts save those 
 she knew. Harry Harewood's prospects were very dear to 
 her, inasmuch as he had at a recent hunt ball paid par- 
 ticular attention to her second daughter, and the idea of 
 his being ousted out of his expectations by a low-bred im- 
 postor was one she could no^ tolerate for a moment. Xo
 
 190 TOM MARCHMONT 
 
 kiiicl of imposition was ever borne with by her Ladyship, 
 unless it were one allowed of by fashion. 
 
 " It is sad," she observed, while peeling her walnuts and 
 sipping her port, " to think what injustice is done to society 
 tlu'ough the instrumentality of eccentric, self-opinionated old 
 men like Mr. Maxwell. They consider themselves too good 
 for the world, and wliile thinking so they will, in their fan- 
 cied wisdom, get hold of some rascal whom they will allow to 
 pillage and take them in to any extent. It would not so 
 much matter if the old fools themselves were the only 
 sufferers, but one is sorry for younger and better men who 
 are injured by their folly." 
 
 " It is a deuced shame ! " said Sir Charles. It had just 
 struck him that it would be rather a bore if the Maplewood 
 property were to be left away from his friend Harry, who was 
 recognised by the whole neighbourhood as a thorough sports- 
 man and a thorough gentleman. 
 
 " I am glad you think as I do," said his mother, evidently 
 soothed by her sons strong exclauiation ; " and it would," 
 she Avent on, " be a real kindness to poor Harry if you were 
 to put the stupid old man a little on his guard." 
 
 "That's easier said than done though," observed Sir Charles. 
 " The old fellow, you know, never comes here, and I have 
 not been at Maplewood since Bob died." 
 
 " It really makes one wish poor Eobert were alive again," 
 said her Ladyship petulantly, " when one hears of his father
 
 THE MARCHMONTS OF GRANBY HALL. 191 
 
 taking up with an unknown stranger in this way. I always 
 thought we might have made something of Eohert if the old 
 man would have let us. He had latterly a great look of his 
 mother, and she was an angel if there ever was one ! " 
 
 Sundry feuds between Mr. Maxwell and his wife m which 
 her Ladyship was involved, had made the latter feel ever 
 since that her own reputation requhed that she should on 
 every possible occasion exalt the virtues of her deceased 
 friend. Sir Charles had long ago grown weary of this per- 
 petual eulogy, 
 
 " Well, mother," he exclaimed, " we don't want a funeral 
 oration just as we are at dessert. Bob was well enough in 
 his way, but not to be compared with Harry. I certainly 
 should not like to see the poor fellow cut out by a rogue." 
 
 Chance seemed to favour Sir Charles's intention of 
 opening Mr. Maxwell's eyes, if such a thing were possible. 
 On the following day happening to be with Wilson, one of his 
 tenants, 
 
 " Have you sold the horse you were wanting to get rid 
 of 1 " inquired Sir Charles. 
 
 " Yes sir," said the latter. " I parted with him to young 
 squire Thornton, and I'm a'most sorry now as I did so, for 
 I'm tould as the ould squire at Maplewood is wanting a 
 horse, and he'd a been sure to have given a long price for an 
 animal lilvc that there." 
 
 This observation of Wilson's afforded Sh Charles con-
 
 192 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 siderable satisfaction. He was just now wanting to get rid 
 of a worn out hunter of his oa^ti, and there was just a 
 chance of his being able to inveigle Mr. Maxwell into 
 putting into his own pocket the long sum that had been 
 coveted by his tenant. It would, at all events afford an 
 excuse for a visit, even though he should fail in his en- 
 deavour, and would give Sir Charles an opportunity besides 
 of denying the pretended relationship between himself and 
 the old man's iwotego. 
 
 Peerless, had in his youth been worthy of his name, and 
 when at eighteen, Sir Charles had possessed himself 
 of this noble steed, his pride in him was excessive. iNTow, 
 however, for the misdemeanour of growing old, poor Peerless 
 was about to be subjected to any kind of usage which a 
 chance customer might impose upon him, and as long as Sir 
 Charles touched the gold, which the sale of him might fetch, 
 he cared not what this once pampered animal might in future 
 have to undergo. Bent on disposing of him, if possible, to a 
 wealthy purchaser. Sir Charles contrived some business in 
 the neighbourhood which should afford him an additional 
 reason for calling at Maplewood. 
 
 In compliance with his Avife's last wishes, Mr. IMaxwell 
 had tolerated that occasional intercourse, which Lady March- 
 mont had been so resolved on maintaining with the son of her 
 dear friend. Lady Clarice. Since Eobert's death, all civilities 
 on either side had ceased j no kind inquiries had been made
 
 THE MARCHMONTS OF GRANBY HALL. 193 
 
 after the bereaved father, and Mr. Maxwell had since the time 
 of this, his heaviest loss, looked upon the Marchmonts alto- 
 gether in the light of strangers. He was just preparing, gloves 
 in hand, for liis afternoon's walk when Sir Charles was an- 
 nounced. Mr. Maxwell's face could be singularly forbidding 
 on especial occasions, and this seemed to be one of them. 
 Sir Charles had an extremely good opinion of himself, and 
 in consequence he was not easily put out. He had been 
 always taught to look on Mr. Maxwell as in every way 
 inferior to himself, and though the real purposes of Ms visit 
 was to prove this [protege, of the old man's to be a liar, and 
 to get for his horse twice as much as it was worth, yet he 
 hoped, in spite of these unfriendly intentions on liis part, 
 that the ex-banker would not be otherwise than gratified at 
 seeing him. 
 
 "I am told," he said, after having in a free-and-easy 
 manner wished Mr. Maxwell good morning, and made 
 preparations for seating himself — " I am told you are in want 
 of a horse, and as I chanced to be riding in your direction 
 I thought I would just look in and tell you that I have a 
 first-rate animal for sale." 
 
 Sir Charles's intention of taking a seat had of necessity 
 been resigned. Mr. Maxwell made him feel that the visit 
 must be a standing one. 
 
 " I am wanting a horse," was his reply, " but I think it 
 unlikely that you could suit me with one. I have been 
 
 o
 
 194 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 thinking, tliongli, of buying a horse that once belonged to 
 you. That "wi-etched animal now driven by Smith the 
 carrier, always excites my compassion, remembering liim as 
 I do, when yom- father hunted him. It is a pity that sport- 
 ing men shoidd find themselves obliged to help on their 
 finances out of the sufferings of theii once favoured steeds." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell's reception of his unexpected visitor was, we 
 will admit, a little uncourteous ; but, then, we must remember 
 that he was, in a particular way, a man of strong — shall we 
 say — prejudices ? that he was every inch as proud as Sir 
 Charles or as her Ladyship herself, though Ms pride was of 
 a finer texture than theirs, that he had a keen insight into 
 character, and that he guessed at once at the money-making 
 purport of this visit. If these excuses are not sufticient for 
 our friend's somewhat churlish behaviour we can only say 
 we are sorry. Sir Charles felt at once that jMr. Maxwell was 
 not a person to be familiar with save when it j^leased himself, 
 and for once in his life his self-possession forsook him. 
 
 " I beg your pardon for intruding," he said, " I see I am 
 an unwelcome visitor," and he bowed liimself out Avith a 
 certain uncomfortable feeling on his mind that he was not 
 altogether so great a man as he had supposed himself to be. 
 
 " A young coxcomb," said ^Ir. Maxwell, when his visitor 
 had disappeared ; " does he think to palm off his worn-out 
 hunters upon me ! "
 
 SUSPICIONS AND JEALOUSIES, 195 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 SUSPICIONS AND JEALOUSIES. 
 
 For two years and upwards Tom had looked upon Mr. 
 Maxwell's liouse as his home, and yet during all that time 
 not one person in the neighbourhood had honoured him Avitli 
 his card. Morning visitors were at aU seasons scarce at 
 Maplewood, but during the Oxford vacation they were more 
 scarce than at any other time. Tliough the widower had 
 been living from choice for many years in retirement he had 
 still kept up a sort of acquaintance with most of the sur- 
 rounding families, and he thought it was desirable that those 
 whom he was acquainted with should be known to his 
 protegr. also. He was therefore beginning to feel hurt at this 
 neglect, which he had excused at first on the supposition 
 that his young friend might be looked upon merely as a tem- 
 porary guest, and, therefore, as one towards whom no civility 
 was called for. Mr. Maxwell had, in consequence, been at 
 some little pains to let it be known in what light he regarded 
 Tom, but his labor was in vain, bringing with it no re- 
 cognition of the young man's claims to attention. The old 
 man felt sure there was a reason for this marked neglect, and 
 lic resolved on solving the mystery if he coidd.
 
 196 TOM MAKCHMONT. 
 
 It was the month of December, and Mr. Maxwell was, in 
 a few days, expecting Tom home from College. He there- 
 fore invited an old friend of his to come and take a tete-a4ete 
 dinner with him the day before Tom's return. 
 
 Mr. Martin was an habitual diner-out, and he was always 
 sure to know the general state of feeling among the higher 
 circles in the neighbourhood as well as all the gossip that was 
 circulated therein. The invitation was accepted and, dinner 
 being over, and the two old gentlemen left to themselves, 
 Mr. Maxwell went straight to the business he had in hand. 
 
 " I am expecting Tom Marchmont home to-morrow," he 
 observed. "I suppose I shall have him with me for the 
 next month." 
 
 Mr Martin cleared his throat but said nothing. 
 
 This silence on the part of one who was ordinarily so 
 fluent rendered Mr. Maxwell all the more determined on 
 enunciating his own opinions. 
 
 " He is a very fine fellow, is Tom," he went on ; " and 
 ever since I have known him I have looked upon it as a 
 lucky adventure that brought him first under my notice." 
 
 Mr. Martin was too well acquainted with his friend's 
 pertinacious adherence to his own views, he was besides too 
 much a man of the world, to think it desirable that he should 
 flatly contradict Mr. Maxwell, so he maintained the same 
 imperturbable silence — a silence that was getting intolerable 
 to the warm-hearted, though occasionally imperious, old man.
 
 SUSPICIONS AND JEALOUSIES. 197 
 
 " I need hardly tell you," continued tlie latter, -vvitli sonie- 
 tliing of asperity in liis tone, " liow very strange I think it 
 that not one of my friends, not even those with whom I have 
 been acquainted throughout my life, should have thought it 
 needful to show any kind of attention to a yoimg man who is 
 to me as a son, and who is in every way deserving of notice." 
 
 As he spoke Mr. Maxwell directed a reproachful glance 
 towards his guest, and Mr. Martin felt it to be at last 
 necessary that he should reveal something of his long pent- 
 up opinion. 
 
 " To be candid with you," he said, " there is a feeling in 
 the neighbourhood against this Mr. Marchmont ; whether 
 just or not it is not for me to determine." 
 
 " And what feeling can the neighbourhood possibly enter- 
 tain against one who could not, I am certain, be convicted of 
 one ungentlemanly or unworthy act from the time he first 
 entered it until now ? " 
 
 Mr. Martin considered for a minute and then commenced a 
 reply. 
 
 " His peculiar position " he began, but he was at 
 
 once interrupted. Mr. Maxwell was evidently preparing to 
 get angry. 
 
 " His position is, in every way an honourable one," he said 
 with decision. " He is the son of a gentleman, and he first 
 won my notice by an act of gallantry which "vvas the 
 savmg of my life. I have since then studied his ciia-
 
 198 TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 racter, and I find liim to be in every way deserving of 
 respect." 
 
 There was a pause, and a threatening look levelled by Mr. 
 Maxwell at his gnest. 
 
 " Is it," ]Mr. Martin at last drily observed, " merely on his 
 own statement that you believe your young friend to be 
 related to the Marchmont family *? " 
 
 " Decidedly not, sir ! " said ^Ir. Maxwell, now getting red 
 with anger ; " but if it had been on his own statement alone 
 I should have been as well assured of it as I am of any fact 
 that is beyond the reach of contradiction." 
 
 ]\Ir. Martin again cleared his throat, while IMr. Maxwell 
 waxed hotter in his wrath, 
 
 " What, sir, do you mean to insinuate 1 " he said haughtily. 
 " Do you suppose I wish to introduce to my neighbours a 
 man who is a liar, or that I have been fooled into thinking a 
 rogue an honest man 1 " 
 
 " I cannot form any opinion of the merits of your friend," 
 said Mr. Martin mildly, " and we all know that INIi'. Max- 
 well would not intentionally sanction roguery in any form. 
 Eeport does not speak favourably of your protege, and I can- 
 not make myself answerable for what it says." 
 
 " Can you tell me who is the originator of these reports?" 
 inquired Mr. Maxwell eagerly. 
 
 " I cannot ;" was the reply, " but be assured of this, that I 
 have been myself in ro way the means of circulating them."
 
 SUSPICIONS AND JEALOUSIES. 199 
 
 Mr. Maxwell felt he had nothing more to say and so, 
 getting over his fit of anger in the' best way he could, the 
 rest of the evening was spent amicably enough by the two 
 old gentlemen in discussing local matters and the topics of 
 the day. 
 
 Mr. Maxwell's warmth in the defence of his young friend 
 had, it must be owmed, a little carried him away. It was 
 simply on his o^vn statement that the old man entertained so 
 firm a belief in Tom's relationship with the family at Granby 
 Hall. He had got, though, in the heat of argument, a con- 
 fused recollection of what Captain Bamford had asserted with 
 regard to his protegees birth, and for the moment he had been 
 under the impression that he had that gentleman's authority 
 as well as Tom's, for himself asserting what he did. "When, 
 therefore, on the departure of his guest,- he thought over all 
 that had been said, he felt he had a little over stated his case ; 
 and, being sensitively honourable, this reflection, as he went 
 to rest, caused his head to lie less easily than usual on his 
 pillow. He thought of asking Tom for more positive proofs 
 of his birth, Tjut his sensitiveness again interfered. It Avould, 
 he feared, look as if he were himself entertaining suspicions 
 of one whom he knew to be all rectitude and honour-, and so 
 he made up his mind to let things be. His own belief in 
 Tom's parentage remained unshaken and, as he was too proud 
 a man to care fur or to accept any kind of notice that was 
 given gnulgingly, he decided that the society of a number of
 
 200 TOM MARCHMONT- 
 
 fox-limiting squires was not a thing likely to do a man much 
 solid good after all. vStill, if Tom should have any fancy for 
 a sport which he had himself occasionally indulged in in his 
 early years, he was quite resolved that the frowns of these 
 country magnates should be powerless as regarded keeping 
 his young friend off the hunting field. On the arrival of the 
 latter on the following day he was received "udth, j)erhaps, a 
 more than usually cordial welcome. 
 
 As the two were sitting at dinner Mr. Maxwell observed : 
 " I have been this mornmg with Grant who has a capital 
 horse for sale, and I have given him a sort of promise that I 
 will purchase the animal for you. He bids fair, so he tells me, 
 to make a first-rate hunter, and I suppose you would, like 
 most other young men, have no objection to an occasional 
 scamper after the hoimds." 
 
 "I feel your kindness very much," said Tom, "but I 
 never have hunted, and I feel no inclination for the sport." 
 
 "How is that?" said Mr. Maxwell, lookmg evidently 
 surprised at this expression of his young friend's sentiments. 
 
 " I suppose," said Tom, " it is a good deal the effect of 
 early bringing up. Had I lived among sportsmen I might 
 probably have been a keen one." 
 
 " It is true enough ! " observed Mr. ]\Iaxwell. " OiU' early 
 life influences our future actions more than many of us would 
 be disposed to admit. If you have no sportmg tastes I am 
 not one for wishing you to acquire them, though it is not my
 
 SUSPICION AND JEALOUSIES. 201 
 
 desire to force upon yon my own quiet habits. Anyliow I 
 should like you to have the horse in question. You can go 
 and look at hini to-mon-ow, and if the animal pleases you, 
 you must consider him as a present from me." 
 
 The purchase was made, and on the very next day "Wel- 
 lington found himself comfortably housed in the Maplewood 
 stables. 
 
 Harry Harewood was at home for a month on leave, and 
 he too had cast longing eyes on the splendid animal which 
 now belonged to his fancied rival. It was hardly half-an 
 hour since Tom had left Plumptree Farm, when Harry made 
 his appearance there. He came with the offer of piu'chasing 
 Wellington at the price named by Mr. Grant, having per- 
 suaded his mother into advancing him a little money, and 
 now he made sure that the prize was to be his. Wlien he 
 found that our hero had been beforehand with him his anger 
 was unbounded, while the expressions of his wrath Averc both 
 loud and vociferous. He quicklymade it knoA^ai throughout the 
 neighbourhood that what was expected to turn out the best 
 horse in all the country round, had come into the possession 
 of that young scoundrel whom his cousin at Maplewood 
 thought fit to patronise. Sir Charles felt almost as indignant 
 as his friend, and it was voted by themselves and others that 
 if Tom appeared on the hunting-field they woidd at once 
 make him feel that he would be better away. Harry was 
 fairly alarmed as well as indignant, for be began more and
 
 202 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 more to fear that what he had got into a habit of looking 
 upon as his birthright might be nefariously snatched from 
 liim. 
 
 At the next meet there were many eyes eagerly scanning 
 both horses and riders, but neither Wellington nor his master 
 discovered. 
 
 " Ah ! he plays his cards well," said Harry to Sir Charles, 
 " he knows the old boy is no great favourer of sport, and he's 
 sure to follow his patron's lead. It's a cursed shame, 
 
 I say " here Harry stopped, he found he had no 
 
 longer a listener to his wrongs. One of the hounds had com- 
 mitted a blunder — Sir Charles would probably have called 
 it an act of flagrant disobedience — and his wrath at poor 
 Whymper's short-comings quite precluded the possibility of his 
 sympathising with his friend. Harry poured, therefore, the 
 remainder of his complaint into the ears of the baronet's 
 second sister, to whom he considered himself as partially 
 engaged. 
 
 To Georgiana the troubles of Harry Harewood were a 
 subject of the deepest concern, and most joyfully would 
 she have hit upon some plan of ousting his adversary, and 
 of enabling Harry thereby to resume what in fact he had 
 never had to lose — a place in his eccentric cousin's affections. 
 She entered most heartily into his dislike for Tom, perhaps 
 all the more so from its having been asserted that this inter- 
 loper claimed some relationship Avith herself.
 
 SUSPICIONS AND JEALOUSIES. 203 
 
 " The worst of it is," said Harry, with the air of a seriously 
 injured man, " I can't call on old Maxwell while that fellow 
 is about, for he'll be making it a sort of introduction to ^ 
 himself." 
 
 " I wish your old cousin would die suddenly, and without 
 making a 'will," exclaimed Georgie, " for you can never feel 
 safe from injustice as it is ! " 
 
 " Ah ! people never die when they are wanted to, that's 
 the worst of it," said Harry ; *' but the real shame is that a 
 low, designing fellow like that should be able to take advan- 
 tage of an old man's weakness. I should like, if it were 
 possible, to tell the young rascal a piece of my mind, though 
 I hardly know how to set about it. To call at Maplewood 
 woidd, of course, be quite out of the question." 
 
 " I should send an anonymous letter to Mr. Maxwell if I 
 were you, warning him against this chosen friend of his." 
 
 " 'No, no," said Harry, startled at the idea of anything that 
 was under-hand, " that won't do at all. If I bring an accu- 
 sation against a fellow it must be in my own name and on 
 my o^vn responsibility. I woidd willingly write to old ]\Iax- 
 well myself, only that I know it would be utterly useless 
 trying to undeceive him, for he's as obstinate as a mule when 
 he chooses to take a thing into his head. However, I'll not 
 let that swindler leave the county again without letting him 
 know what I and others think of him." 
 
 " It is not of much use letting him know what is thought
 
 204 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 of liim. If you could only convince the old man that he is 
 being deceived it might be doing some good." 
 
 " It is of no use — no use at all ! " said Hany emphatically. 
 He was well aware that he had never yet convinced his 
 cousin of any one thing, save that he was himself a 
 blockhead. 
 
 Having received from his friend and counsellor only 
 such advice as was unpalateable, Harry resolved on acting 
 on his own impidses. He would, if possible, confront his 
 foe, and tell him plainly his mind, and he quite enjoyed the 
 prospect of seeing our hero shrink into almost nothing on 
 hearing the cutting truths which he intended to announce.
 
 THE CHALLENGE. 205 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 THE CHALLENGE. 
 
 Chance favoured Harry more than it often does those who 
 are on the look-out for an accidental meeting with either 
 friend or foe. Mr. Black, the rector of Maplewood, had, on 
 account of his health, been obliged to leave his parish for a 
 time, and a young man of the name of Seymour was doing 
 duty for him during his absence. Being unmarried, fortune- 
 less, and agreeable, he was looked upon as somewhat 
 dangerous, had hitherto had little or no society beyond what 
 Maplewood afforded, and as Tom was in a similar pre- 
 dicament the two young men were much together. Mr. 
 Seymour was a distant relation of the Harewood's, and 
 now Harry was seized with a sudden determination that he 
 would make his acquaintance. 
 
 Maplewood was about ten miles from Trappit Lodge, Mrs. 
 Harewood's residence, and Harry commenced his journey on 
 horseback. However, his horse happened to cast a shoe, and 
 so he had to leave it with the village blacksmith. Instead, 
 therefore, of riding, he had to walk up the narrow winding 
 lane which led to the rectory. Mr. Seymour was not at
 
 206 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 home, and as Harry was returning whom should he meet in 
 the narrowest part of the lane but the very person he was so 
 anxious to confront. 
 
 Harry never lacked presence of mind, whatever else he 
 might he wanting in. Drawing himself up to an astounding 
 height, and assuming as fierce a look as his naturally easy, 
 good-humoured countenance allowed of his doing. 
 
 " Sir," he said, in a stentorian voice, " permit me to tell 
 you that you are a scoundrel and a liar ! " 
 
 Toin's first impression was that there must be some 
 mistake. 
 
 " A scoundrel and a liar," Harry reiterated, " and unless 
 you promise me that you will discontinue your shameful 
 practices on my cousin's credulity, I will take care that he 
 shall hear the whole truth from some other quarter." 
 
 " You call me a scoundrel and a liar. I give you the lie 
 back again," retorted Tom ; " and I will add that you can 
 be no gentleman yourself to speak to a gentleman in the way 
 you have spoken to me ! " 
 
 Harry had a slight cane in his hand, and with it he 
 gave Tom a smart blow across the shoulder. The spirit of 
 the lion was now fairly aroused in Tom, and he looked as if 
 he might prove a formidable foe. 
 
 He carried, as was his wont, the Quaker's stick, and Harry's 
 Avas a miserable weapon compared with it. Throwing it on 
 the ground he gave his advci'sary a soimding blow on the
 
 THE CHALLENGE. 207 
 
 chest with his fist. It was at once returned, and the contest 
 might have been a damaging one for both parties, were it 
 not for a timely interposition. 
 
 The curate was in the same lane, retimiing home from his 
 parish work. A turn in it brought him suddenly upon the 
 combatants, and he rushed immediately between them. Both 
 felt ashamed of the position in which they had been caught, 
 and each was at a loss what to say or how to act. Mr. 
 Seymour broke the embarrassing silence. 
 
 " Wliy, Marchmont ! " he exclaimed, " you are the last 
 man I should have expected to find engaged in a fight. Come 
 home with me," and he took hun by the arm as he spoke. 
 
 " Stay," said Tom imperatively ; " I have been insulted, 
 and I cannot leave this spot without receiving an apology, or 
 else coming to some other understanding." 
 
 Harry's heat at the first encounter had sufficiently 
 passed away to allow of his admitting to hunself that Tom 
 had done a generous thing in not availing himself of his 
 powerful weapon. 
 
 " I believe," he said, " that I have been too hasty, and 
 that I spoke more plainly than I ought to have done." 
 
 " That will not do, sir," said Tom haughtily. " You called 
 me a scoundrel and a liar. You must retract those words or 
 else take the consequences." 
 
 Harry was somewhat astonished. "Wliatever might be this 
 young adventurer's faults, cowardice could not be reckoned as
 
 208 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 one of them. In thus confronting, face to face, his imaginary 
 foe, Harry had a feeling that, personally, he rather liked the 
 fellow, and he was equally willing to shake hands or to fight 
 with him, as the case might be. 
 
 " I cannot retract," he said, " what I believe to be true. 
 When I have reason to suppose my words are false I shall be 
 ready to make you all the amends in my power." 
 
 *^ You must make the amends at once, or take the conse- 
 quences of having insulted a gentleman," and Tom prepared 
 himself for a renewal of the conflict. 
 
 "This affair had better be settled by ^viiting," said the 
 curate again interposing, and almost forcing Tom away from 
 his antagonist. 
 
 " Very well. You shall hear from me, sh," said Tom. 
 
 " That is as you please," replied Harry, as he presented 
 Tom with his card and then passed on, whistling a tune from 
 the last new opera to show his indifference as to what might 
 happen next. 
 
 The curate took Tom by the arm, and as they walked to- 
 gether towards the rectory the whole affair was explained to 
 him. Mr. Seymour could only account for this extraordinary 
 behaviour on the part of Mr. Hare wood by supposmg him 
 to be a madman. 
 
 Tom would have felt disposed to come to the same con- 
 clusion, only nothing he had ever previously heard of Mr. 
 Maxwell's cousin could aive the smallest foundation to the
 
 THE CHALLENGE. 209 
 
 supposition. He thought it would be an invidious task men- 
 tioning what had happened to Mr. Maxwell. Harry was, he 
 knew, the old man's nearest relative, and he felt he was him- 
 self the last person who should say anything to prejudice the 
 childless widower against one who might be supposed to stand 
 towards him in the position of an heir. The curate was so 
 convinced that Harry was mad that he di'l his best to per- 
 suade Tom to look upon the offence as coming from one not 
 accountable for his actions, and to think no more about it. 
 
 So peaceful a line of conduct did not satisfy Tom. His 
 natural disposition strongly disposed him to fight any man 
 who might presume to insult him — a disposition which, even 
 with the most Christianly principles, it is perhaps difficult to 
 subdue. Not being restrained, therefore, by the counsel of the 
 one manwho might have influenced him, he borrowed of 
 the curate pens, ink, and paper, and quickly wrote as 
 follows : — 
 
 Sir, 
 
 You have insalted me in such a manner that I feel my 
 honour compels me to demand of you satisfaction. You have 
 refused to retract your base imputations. I expect, therefore, 
 to meet you when and where you please. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 T. Marchmont. 
 
 Mr. Seymour offered himself as the bearer of this note. 
 " I am an early riser," he observed, " and I can easily 
 
 p
 
 210 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 manage to be at Trappit Lodge before Mr. Harewood has 
 finished his breakfast. Tt will be desirable that I should have 
 a j)ersonal interview with him, for I really think he must be 
 aheady sufficiently restored to his senses to wish, himseK, for 
 an opportunity of apologising." 
 
 Tom gave a sort of assent to the curate's observation, and 
 it was arranged that he should lend Mr. Seymour his horse 
 to help liim in the performance of the business he had 
 undertaken. 
 
 [N'ow the cmate felt that if he could succeed in making 
 peace where there was, at present, -such a disposition for war, 
 he should be doing one of the best day's work that he had 
 accomplished since he had been in the parish, and tliis 
 achievement he was intent on performing. So resolved was 
 he on finding Harry at home that he started long before it 
 was light. The consequence was that neither Harry nor his 
 mother had yet left their own rooms. It was a hard frost, 
 so Harry was glad to make the day as short as possible, while 
 Mrs. Harewood generally took a cup of tea in her o^vn 
 apartment. The page stared at Mr. Sejmiour as the latter 
 inquired if his master were at home, and he evidently thought 
 his visit very inopportune. 
 
 " Mr. Harewood won't be dressed for a good half-hour," 
 was his reply. 
 
 "I am come on particular business," said the curate, "and I 
 shall be happy to wait till your master is prepared to see me."
 
 THE CHALLENGE 211 
 
 The liall was still in confusion, and the page stammered 
 out some apologies. 
 
 " I see I am too early a visitor," said Mr. Seymour. 
 " Give your master this card, and say I will be back again in 
 the course of an hour." 
 
 Mr. Seymour walked "Wellington quietly along the road, 
 looking occasionally at his watch as he did so to see how the 
 minutes flew. At last hethougL: he might venture on a 
 second effort at getting in, and this time he was successful. 
 He was slio^vn into a small room, and Hany soon made his 
 appearance. 
 
 After the first greeting was over Mr. Seymour thus an- 
 nounced the object of his visit. 
 
 " I am come on a most disagreeable errand — one T would 
 gladly have had nothing to do with, but I felt that by under- 
 taking to become the bearer of a challenge I might be adopt- 
 ing the best method for putting a stop to further proceedings." 
 
 Harry read Tom's note hurriedly, 
 
 " I really don't know what I've got to do but accept it," 
 he said carelessly. 
 
 " There is obviously another thing which you should do," 
 said Mr. Seymour with earnestness, " and that is to retract 
 and apologise for all you have said." 
 
 " How can I retract what I know to be a fact 1 " said 
 Harry impetuously. 
 
 "You cannot, sir, know to be a fact," said Mr. Seymour 
 
 p 2
 
 212 TOM MAROHMONT. 
 
 sternly, "assertions that are positively false. Mr. Marcli- 
 mont is recognised as a man of honour by all who know him. 
 How then can you, a perfect stranger to him, dare to assert 
 that he is a liar and a scoundrel ? " 
 
 Harry looked a little puzzled ; at last he thought he had 
 hit upon what he was never remarkable for finding — a good 
 reason for his assertions. 
 
 " I must tell you, sir," he said, " in self-justification, that 
 the person you are so much interested in is known in all this 
 neighbourhood to be an impostor, claiming for certain ends 
 of liis own, a relationship that does not exist. I have good 
 authority for saying that he bore a bad character before he 
 came here, and it is guite evident that he is now acting a 
 part, and practising on the credulity of a very weak old man 
 in order that he may get from him what he has no right to." 
 
 " It is false, utterly false ! " exclaimed the curate, giving 
 way, perhaps, a little more to anger than some would have 
 thought becoming in a man of peace. " Mr. Marchmont is 
 straightforwardness itself. He would be above seeking for 
 additional dignity through any fancied relationship with the 
 great ; and, let me tell you, his own high qualities would be 
 sufficient to ensure him the respect of every good man." 
 
 " You are very positive sir," said Harry haughtily, '' but 
 I am at a loss to know why you shoidd be better acquainted 
 with Mr. Marchmont's antecedents than myself. My only 
 hesitation in accepting this challenge arises from a feeling
 
 THE CHALLENGE. 213 
 
 that I may demean m3^self by fighting on efjual terms with 
 one whose birth should have placed him in so far lower a 
 sj^here." 
 
 " I see, sir," said Mr. Seymour in a tone of annoyance, " it 
 is useless, just now, endeavouring to persuade you of what 
 you will, I hope, some day yourself discover to be the truth. 
 I must, though, tell you that, if there is no other means of 
 preventing further strife, I shall give information of the 
 whole proceedings to Mr. Maxwell, and try how far his in- 
 fluence will go towards making matters smooth." 
 
 " Your friend has not then spoken on the subject to my 
 cousin ] " 
 
 " No, sir, he has not," replied Mr. Seymoiu\ " You may 
 be sure that if he had done so the note I have just given you 
 would never have been sent. Should you accept the chal- 
 lenge it contains, nothing shall hinder mc from making ~Mi\ 
 Maxwell acquainted with yom* intentions." 
 
 Harry never likctl to be proved in the wrong, so he was 
 ■svilling to attribute his challenger's silence to a dread of fur- 
 ther discovery, and this idea fixed him all the more in the 
 notion he had been cherishing, that Tom was in truth an un- 
 principled adventurer. 
 
 "May I be permitted to liavc an interview with your 
 mother," the curate proceeded, finding he could get nothing 
 satisfactory out of Harry. 
 
 " With my mother ! AVhy so ? If it is that you Avant to
 
 214 TOM MAKCHMONT. 
 
 intrude this disagreeable subject on her, I must decline 
 giving you the opportimity of doing so." 
 
 " Then I must ado^ot the method I at fu'st proposed of 
 hindering further strife. I regret that I cannot bring you 
 to see hoTV much you hare been in the wrong," and the 
 curate made a rapid exit. 
 
 His horse was standing at the door, and Mr. Seymour was 
 just passsing out and preparing himself to mount wlien he 
 heard behind him a sound like the rustling of silk. On 
 looking back he saw close behuid hmi a lady whom he 
 guessed at once must be the mistress of the house. She 
 made a curtsey, and Mr. Seymom^ said, as he bowed in retiu^n : 
 
 " Have I the honour of addressing Mrs. Harewood? " 
 
 " You have," was the reply. 
 
 " Then you are just the person I wished to speak to. I\Iay 
 I be allowed a few words with you in private 1 " 
 
 " By all means," said Mrs. Harewood, who was full of dole- 
 ful anticipations, as she knew well her son's faculty for getting 
 into scrapes. 
 
 Mr. Seymour followed j\Irs. Harewood into the room 
 which she had just quitted, and then, after closing the door, 
 he briefly narrated the object of his visit. 
 
 Though Mrs. Harewood was not one bit more disposed 
 than her son to think favourably of Tom, yet the idea of a 
 duel quite terrified her, and she was for making any con- 
 cessions to avoid such a calamity.
 
 THE CHALLENGE. 215 
 
 " I will write to tlie young man myself," she said ; 
 " Harry is so wilful you will never get an apology out of liini. 
 Say nothing about it to the old gentleman. Your friend shall 
 have a satisfactory note in the mornmg. Pray assure him of 
 that. Shall I send it to you? I think that will be the 
 best plan, and you can give it him quietly. For hea- 
 ven's sake don't let them fight. Eemember that; and 
 keep Mr. Maxwell, if you can, in ignorance of what has 
 happened." 
 
 As soon as the curate was allowed the opportunity he gave 
 the promises required, and left with an idea that his early 
 visit had not been altogether fruitless. 
 
 When within a mile of Maplewood he met Tom in the 
 road. The first thing he did was to inform his friend that 
 he had had an interview with Mrs. Harewood, and he painted 
 in glowing colours the state of terror she was in at the 
 thought of having her son engaged in a duel. 
 
 " That young Harry," he went on, " is not a bad-hearted 
 fellow, I believe, but he has a very limited allowance of 
 sense, and he has taken up a notion Avdiich, I believe, has 
 been set on foot by some one who wishes to mjure you." 
 
 " I know no one," said Tom, " who would be likely to wish 
 me harm." 
 
 "Nor do I," said Mr. Seymour, "though I believe, never- 
 theless, that such an one exists. There will be a note aA\'ait- 
 ing you to-morrow at tlio licctory. You had better come
 
 "216 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 over for it ; and now T must wish you good-bye, for I am 
 considerably behind my time." 
 
 On the departure of the curate Mrs. Harewood walked two 
 or three times hurriedly uj) and down the room. She then 
 went into what was called Harry's study, where she found 
 her son, cap in hand, preparing himself for the demolition of 
 his morning's cigar. 
 
 " You have had an early visitor," she observed. 
 
 " Yes," replied Harry indifferently, for he was not aM^are 
 of the interview which the curate had had with his mother. 
 
 Mrs. Harewood at once perceived this, and she determined 
 on profiting by his ignorance. She knew that she might as 
 well command the east winds not to blow on a thorough 
 March day, as attempt to persuade her son not to do what he 
 had set his mind on doing, so she relinquished the thought 
 of arguing with him, and at once resolved on tmmng her 
 tactics in another dhection. Making, therefore, some trifling 
 observation with regard to Adsitors she was expecting, Mrs. 
 Harewood retraced her steps and again retked into the 
 seclusion of her own apartment. His mother's words merely 
 conveyed to Hany's mind the suspicion that she wished him 
 to be present to entertain the coming guests, and produced in 
 liim a fixed determination that he would do nothing of the 
 sort. 
 
 Though she had been so urgent in requesting j\Ir. Seymour 
 to say nothing to Mr. jMaxwell on the subject of her son's
 
 THE CHALLENGE. 217 
 
 rencontre with his lyroUge^ yet IVIrs. Harewood thought if he 
 were informed of it by her slie might put the affair in what 
 she conceived woukl be a deshable point of view, and make 
 her letter the righteous means of commimicating to her son's 
 relative the feeling of the neighbourhood respecting Tom. 
 She fancied she saw the finger of Providence directing things 
 aright, and now aiding her in her long-indulged wish to un- 
 deceive a credulous old man, and to have justice done to her 
 own darling. Mr, IMaxwell's male acquaintances could never, 
 she knew, venture on broaching the subject to liim, and as it 
 had been long since any lady of the neighbourhood had 
 entered his abode, there had hitherto been no opportunity 
 afforded the fair sex of revealing theii- generally more openly 
 expressed opmions. She thought she would be cidpable in not 
 availing herself of sucli unexpected but manifest help, and 
 never had she given herself a task which she had entered 
 upon with more earnest zeal. 
 
 Though lier letter was meant to be private we will, never- 
 theless, publish it for the beneht of our readers. It was as 
 follows : — 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 In taking up my pen I regret that the subject on 
 which I am about to write should not be an agreeable one. 
 It was quite accidentally that I heard this morning of the 
 unfortunate dispute which my son has got into with one
 
 218 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 in whom you have, during the last two years, taken so warm 
 an interest, and who enjoys so high a j^lace in your esteem. 
 I know it is an invidious task to caution people against those 
 to whom they are attached, and that there is nothing more 
 mortifying than to find one has been deceived. I could -svish, 
 therefore, that the rejiorts so ciuTent in the neighbourhood 
 were not so well founded as I have reason to suppose they 
 are, and perhaps a close investigation of them on your part 
 might be the best means you coidd adopt for ascertaining 
 their truth. My son is hot headed, and being all straight- 
 forwardness himself, there is nothing that rouses his temj^er 
 like deceit. Feeling so strongly as he does that it is at 
 present being practised on you by the young man to whom 
 you have so kindly afforded a home, he did not, I fear, re- 
 frain, as he slioidd have done, from giving expression to those 
 feelings when, yesterday, he met your jproUge as he was re- 
 turning from a call he had been making on our cousin, ]\Ir. 
 Seymoui\ The latter has, it seems, been the bearer of a 
 challenge from the young man to my son, though I must add 
 that he undertook the disagreeable office rather to avert the 
 contest than to forward it. I fear my son would think it in- 
 consistent with his honour to reject a challenge so per- 
 sisteutly offered, and I must trust to your good offices to 
 make things smooth, I am sure that Harry regrets that his 
 dislike in the fii'st instance to the idea of meeting the young 
 man in question, and afterwards his stormy interview with 
 him, should have deprived him of the pleasure which a visit 
 to yourself would otherwise have afforded him. If he knew 
 I was writing he would, I am siu*e, beg to be most kindly re- 
 membered, and 
 
 I am. 
 
 Most sincerely yours, 
 
 Caroline Haiiewood.
 
 THE CHALLENGE. 219 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Harewood liaci written the letter slie 
 despatclied her coachman with it to Maple wood. Mr. Max- 
 well and Tom were at their luncheon when the note wa-"^ 
 brought in. j\Ir. Maxwell turned pale as he read it, and having 
 done so he handed it across the table to Tom, who glanced 
 his eyes rapidly over the paper and then read it a second 
 time more deliberately. He gave it back to Mr. Maxwell 
 without making any remark, and the silence was iirst broken 
 by the latter. 
 
 " What dispute is this you have been getting into with 
 my hot-headed cousin ? " he asked very seriously. 
 
 There was nothmg for it but to give a plain, unvarnished 
 tale of the previous day's adventure. 
 
 "I am glad," said Mr. Maxwell, "that there is nothing in 
 the whole afiah that can be thought in the least discreditable 
 to yourself. I am sorry Harry has been guilty of so very 
 foolish an act, though I must think that you too would liave 
 shown more wisdom had you let the challenge alone. Eut 
 you are not to fight with him — remember that." 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 "Do you hear, sir," said Mr. Maxwell imperatively. 
 " There is to be no more fighting." 
 
 " That being your desire," said Tom, " I have notliing 
 more to say. I hope though you will make your wishes 
 known to Mr. Harewood as well as to me, as I should find a 
 difficulty myself in informing him of them."
 
 220 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 " That can be very easily arranged," replied Mr. Maxwell, 
 and there was another long pause. 
 
 " May I look at Mrs. Harewood's note again '? " said Tom, 
 at last breaking the silence. "It seems to contain some 
 strange reflections upon me ; so strange that I think I can 
 hardly let them pass unnoticed." 
 
 " They shall not pass unnoticed, trust mc for that," re- 
 plied Mr. Maxwell : "and now I am going to ride over to 
 Camm, and I want you to come with me." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell was entertaining an idea that it was liardly 
 safe just now to trust Tom out of his sight. He wanted to 
 have a talk with Mr. Jenkins on the subject of the lying 
 rumours which were evidently afloat with regard to oui' hero, 
 and while he was closeted with his lawyer he sent his young 
 friend to execute certain commissions for him in the town. 
 Mr. Jenkins did not move in the society in which it seemed 
 these reports were circulated, and lie could throw no light on 
 their origin, and now Mr. Maxwell resolved on having a per- 
 sonal interview with his unwonted correspondent, and of 
 getting from her some clue, if possible, to its discovery. 
 
 While Mr. Maxwell and Tom were on their way to Camm, 
 Harry was riding along the road leading to Granby Hall. 
 He was anxious to give his friends there a report of his ad- 
 venture of the previous day, and to ask the Baronet for his 
 help. He told his story in a brief and spirited manner, and 
 wound up his narrative with a frank admission that he found
 
 THE CHALLENGE. 221 
 
 young Marchmont a "better sort of fellow than lie had given 
 him credit for being. 
 
 " You must have a capacious vision," said Sir Charles, " if 
 you can discover anything good in so thorough-going an 
 impostor." 
 
 " Mr. Harewood has, no doubt, a very limited vision as 
 regards the discovery of hypocrisy," said Georgie, " his own 
 faults lying in so very opposite a direction." 
 
 " Well," said Harry, " he don't look as if he had much 
 hypocrisy in him, though, of course, he must be an arrant 
 hypocrite to act as he does. Anyhow," he added, address- 
 ing Sir Charles, " I must accept the fellow's challenge, and I 
 thought of doing so through you." 
 
 " I must decline," said Sir Charles promptly, " being the 
 bearer of any message that can reduce you to the level of a 
 man like that." 
 
 Harry began to feel that he had got himself into a mess, and 
 to "vvish heartily that he had never meddled with Tom at all. 
 
 " But I must do something," he said, scratching his head 
 from utter bewilderment. 
 
 " If you'll leave me to settle matters," said Su- Charles, " I 
 will ma'<e very short work of it. I will go to-morrow and 
 demand an interview with this pet lamb of your cousin's. I 
 will then tell him plainly how much he mistakes his position 
 in supposing that any gentleman would condescend to place 
 himself so nmch on his level as to accept a challenge from him."
 
 222 TOM MAECHMONT. 
 
 " "Now do take Charley's advice," said Georgie, assuming 
 her most winning tone and manner as she spoke. "You 
 may be quite sure it is the right thing to do." 
 
 Though Mrs. Hare wood's endeavours at guiding her son 
 had invariably proved fruitless, yet Georgiana Marchmont 
 had a certain way with her which generally led Harry into 
 adopting her views, and he did so on the present occasion, 
 though witli a little modification. 
 
 " It will never do," he said to ISir Charles, " to take that 
 message to young ]\Iarchmont himself. He is too ready "with 
 his fists, and it will only be getting you into hot water as 
 well as myself. I told Seymour I would send the fellow an 
 answer through him, and your best plan will be to go there." 
 
 The frosty state of the weather rendered it easy to Sir 
 Charles to oblige his friend without makmg any self-sacrifice, 
 and it afforded him an object for a ride on the following 
 morning. 
 
 Though the message to be delivered to Mr. Se^miour was 
 supposed to be Harry's, yet it expressed altogether the 
 Granby Hall state of feeling, and the arrogant tone in which 
 it was given led the curate to the conclusion that of the two 
 cousins, Tom had a good deal the best claim to gentle breed- 
 ing. He made up his mind that his friend should liear 
 nothing of this interview, and he hoped that the recollection 
 of tlie whole affair would die away. 
 
 It is probable that Sir Charles would liave had an
 
 THE CHALLENGE. 223 
 
 encounter \vitli liis cousin at Maplewood Eectory, were it 
 not tliat Mr. Maxwell again found that he required Tom's 
 services.. 
 
 " I shall be riding over to Traj^pit Lodge in an hour or so," 
 he observed, breakfast being over. " I want you to go to 
 Simpson's about those fences, and as our road will lie for 
 some distance in the same dhection, we may as well start 
 together." 
 
 ]Mi\ Maxwell's wishes were sure to be Tom's whenever it 
 was a question of any service wliich the latter could do the 
 former. There were two roads from Granby Hall and 
 Trappit Lodge to Maplewood, and by taking the lower one 
 IMr. Maxwell and Tom chanced to avoid a meeting with 
 the Baronet. Arrived at the latter place Mr. Maxwell 
 inquired anxiously if Mrs. Harewood and Harry were at 
 home. They were, and in about five minutes after Mr. 
 Maxwell was ushered into the drawing-room, the former 
 made her appearance. She felt rather nervous as she wel- 
 comed her long-lost-sight-of acquaintance with her accus- 
 tomed courtesy, while even the sans soiiciant Harry coloured 
 a little as he gave the old gentleman a cordial shake of the 
 hand. 
 
 *' My visit is on business," said Mr. Maxwell, as he seated 
 himself in the chair that Harry had placed for him, " and we 
 had better come to it at once. I have told Tom there must 
 be no fighting, and now I say the same tiling to you. I am
 
 224 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 likewise going to demand of you what I have no hesitation 
 in saying yonr own good feeling ought to induce you to give 
 at once — an ample apology for a most uncalled-for insult. 
 And now, madam," he said, turning to Mrs. Harewood as he 
 spoke, "a word with you. You have informed me in 
 ■writing of the strong suspicions that you say are afloat con- 
 cerning a young man of whom you can know nothing, and 
 with whose antecedents and personal character I have made 
 myself perfectly acquainted. I cannot imagine that the 
 injurious hints which you tlirow out can be merely the con- 
 coction of your own brain, or that you are not yourself 
 thoroughly convinced of the reasonableness of your suspicions. 
 You have, no doubt, heard enough from others to satisfy you 
 of their truth, and now I demand of you your authority for 
 these suspicions." 
 
 i^Irs. Harewood looked ready to faint. She had taken a 
 bolder step than she was ready to stand to. The ]\Iarch- 
 monts had been her authority, Inifc how the information im- 
 parted to her had ever been originally got hold of by them 
 she had never been at the trouble to inquire, she was 
 fearful of incurring their anger, if by giving up their names 
 any unpleasant scenes should arise between them and a man 
 so very determined in his wrath as was ]\Ir. Maxwell. Mrs 
 Harewood, tliough wearing generally so bold a front, now 
 seemed to be struck dumb. She stammered and hesitated, 
 and at last said, in reply to Mr. jSIaxwell's inquiry,
 
 THE CHALLENGE. 225 
 
 " It is the on dit of the whole neighbourhood, but whence 
 it originated I cannot say. I mentioned it principally to put 
 you on your guard. If I have offended you by speaking so 
 frankly I am sorry." 
 
 " Pshaw ! call it malice, ill-nature, or by any bad name 
 you please, but don't offend my ears 1)y styling it frankness — 
 the attempt to injure another by suca ill-substantiated asser- 
 tions. You must remember that tliere is such a thing as 
 a law of libel, and that you have been rendering youi'self 
 subject to it." 
 
 These words took Mrs. Harewood's breath away, while they 
 a little staggered her son who had, till now, been ignorant of 
 the correspondence which his mother had commenced mth 
 his cousin. 
 
 " I am not going to prosecute you madam," Mr. Maxwell 
 went on, encouraging her while he spoke with somewhat of a 
 grim smile as he noticed the alarm into which his words had 
 thrown her. " Take warning though, from what I have said, 
 and be a little more cautious how you write and speak of 
 others for the future." 
 
 " Have you no message for me to take to Mr. Marchmont ? " 
 he went on, turning to Harry after having bowed an adieu to 
 his mother. 
 
 "None, sir," said Harry stiffly. The tone of authority 
 which his cousin had assumed towards them both did not tally 
 with his notions concerning the dignity of the Harewoods.
 
 220 ' TOM MAHCHMONT. 
 
 " Well, bear in mind," said Mr. Maxwell sternly, " that it 
 is my desire and not my young friend's, that the insult you 
 have put upon him should remain unavenged. Eemember, 
 too, that there is for the future no admission at Maplewood 
 for one who, having presumed to affront a better man than 
 himself, now refuses to make that reparation which the com- 
 monest courtesy demands." 
 
 Saying this Mr. Maxwell stalked out of the room, and 
 shut the door behind him with a slam. 
 
 As he disappeared Mrs. Harewood sunk into an easy chair 
 quite overpowered. The finger of Providence now seemed 
 to be declaring itself in favour of Tom, and so, in the proud 
 woman's estmiation, it was Providence no longer, but some 
 unlucky chance, probably some contrivance of the Evil One 
 that was at work to the detriment of her son's prospects. 
 
 " Oh, Harry ! " she at last exclaimed, " if you had but a 
 little of the wisdom of the serpent to defeat with it the prac- 
 tices of a hypocrite, instead of helping them on with your 
 rashness " 
 
 " And if you, mother," retorted Harry, " had but a little of 
 the harmlessness of the dove, to hinder you from bringing us 
 
 all into hot water by your interference " and Plarry 
 
 swung himself out of the room, and betook himself to his 
 own apartment and to his cigar. 
 
 " I have had a most unsatisfactory visit to Trappit Lodge," 
 said Mr. Maxwell to Tom, on his return home. It is quite
 
 THE CHALLENGE. 227 
 
 clear to me that Mrs. Hare wood is making the most of some 
 gossiping reports, probably from an idea that you may be 
 standing in the light of her son. As to Harry, he is so great 
 a fool that I consider his words not worth being regarded by 
 a man of sense, and therefore I must beg you to look on them 
 in tJie same light as if they were the effusions of a madman." 
 
 Tom felt less -willing than usual to adopt the advice of his 
 old friend; however, he would not fight against them, so he 
 said nothing. 
 
 Harry ordered his horse on Mr. ^laxwell's departure and 
 was again off to Granby Hall to give his friends there the 
 details of the visit. While on the way he observed symptoms 
 of a thaw — symptoms which restored him to liis accustomed 
 good humom*, and gave him spirits to talk of the stormy in- 
 terview he had witli his cousin as if it were merely a pleasant 
 joke.
 
 228 TO.M MARCHMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 
 
 The joy occasioned hj tliis appearance of a thaSv was very 
 general. For three days the hunting gentlemen had had no- 
 thing to do, and they were all eager, mthout further loss of 
 time, for a good chase after poor Eeynard, who had been 
 allowed during the summer moAths to do any amount of 
 destruction in the neighboiuing poultry yards, in order that 
 the rich and the idle might have the pleasure of hunting 
 him now. Much ill-will had the unlucky annual gained in 
 consequence, though if the blame had been rightly awarded 
 it would have been put on other shoulders than on his. 
 
 Sir Charles had, like his cousin, recently come into the 
 possession of a fine horse. Highflyer had belonged to an 
 acquaintance of his who had been obliged to fly the land, 
 and Sir Charles had got him a bargain. The animal had come 
 from a distance and his new master was all eagerness to show 
 him off to his sportmg ac(i[uaintances. 
 
 It was a beautiful hunting morning. There was a perfect
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 229 
 
 chorus of voicss both from men and hounds. Boisterous 
 was the recognition between friends and acquanitances, and 
 all were in the highest good humour at the prospect of a 
 capital day's sport. The fox Avas soon found, and Eeynard, 
 with his brilliantly brown coat and bushy tail, was seen 
 boundmg along over hill and dale, appearing as he went to 
 none but amateurs as if he enjoyed the sport. The horses 
 did no doubt — those among them at least which were owned 
 by the rich, but alas ! for the sufferings entailed by a hard 
 day's sport on the poor, over-worked, hired hack ; entailed 
 on hun too by that worst kind of " snob " — the man whose 
 contemptible ambition to imitate his "betters" makes 
 callous to the misery he may occasion while indulging in so 
 paltry, so pitiful an ami. 
 
 8ir Charles, mounted on his s]3lendid black horse, was 
 foremost in the chase. Higliflyer had latterly had a scarcity 
 of Avork and a superfluity of food, and he soon got so excited 
 that there was no restraining hnn. With an inflated nostril 
 and a fiery eye he looked as if he scorned all fiu-ther con- 
 trol from a creature so far less powerful than himself. On- 
 ward and onward he rushed, regardless of both bit and curb, 
 until at last he brought himself and his master in front of a 
 rough wall. The efforts of the latter to keep him back were 
 all in vahi. Sir Charles had, in fact, lost all power over his 
 high-blooded steed. The Avail itself might have been cleared 
 Avithout (lifliculty, and Ilightiycr, not kuoAving tlie country so
 
 230 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 intimately as did Sir Charles, resolved on trying the experi- 
 ment. On the other side of this rough wall there was a deep 
 quarry, and into it horse and rider were precipitated. They 
 were both killed on the spot and the suddenness and the 
 awfulness of the catastrophe were sufficient to blanch the rud- 
 diest cheek. There was no more hunting for that day. Eey- 
 nard was allowed to creep slowly and cautiously back to his 
 o^vn quiet retreat and to live there for a time in hapj^y 
 ignorance of his impending doom. All unconscious of the 
 agonising fate that was yet in store for him, the poor fellow 
 brushed and cleaned himself up, preparatoi7 to recruiting his 
 exhausted nature with some peaceful repose. 
 
 As the hunters rode homeward there was much regret 
 expressed at the abrupt termination of so capital a run, while 
 the unlucky chance which had deprived the neighboui'hood 
 of one of its most valuable members, was strongly animad- 
 verted on. 
 
 On the following morning there was a long paragraph in 
 the Barliing Gazette in reference to the event, which we -will 
 transcribe. 
 
 " "We have the melancholy duty of recording the saddest 
 " catastrophe that has occui'red since the hunting season com- 
 " menced. Sir Charles Marchmont, well known in the 
 " neighbourhood for his high social position and genial quali- 
 *' ties, was yesterday precipitated into the Stonewall Quarry, 
 " his horse, a very spuited animal, having become unman- 
 " agcablc. Instantaneous death was the consequence. It
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 231 
 
 " is hardly necessary to state that Sir Charles was the 
 " patriotic supporter of that truly British sport to which 
 " it is admitted that the nation is indebted for its man- 
 " liness of character." [An assertion hy the way, which 
 if it held good, would deprive nine-tenths of the nation of 
 any manliness at all.] " Sir Charles has left a mother and 
 " three sisters to mourn over his untimely fate. The pro- 
 " perty is strictly entailed on heirs male, and a cousin of the 
 " late Baronet's, now a London merchant, will, it is supposed, 
 " come into immediate possession." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell was always interested in local matters, and his 
 habit on a Saturday morning was to read liis paper, sip his 
 tea and eat his toast by turns. He was thus engaged when 
 this paragraph caught his attention. 
 
 " God bless me ! " was his first exclamation. 
 
 " What is it ? " inquired Tom in a tone of alarm. 
 
 " Sometliing that very nearly concerns yourself," said ^Ir. 
 Maxwell, recovering from his first shock, and handing the 
 paper to his young friend wliile he pointed with his linger 
 to the paragraph. Tom read it in silence. There was 
 a flush on his cheek as he handed the paper back to the 
 widower. 
 
 " It was a sudden launch into eternity that ! " ho observed 
 feelingly. 
 
 " It was," said Mr. Maxwell, " and it is to be hoped they 
 broke the news quietly to the mother and sisters. I shall be 
 sending John to-duy in the direction of Granljy H all, and I 
 must get him to find out more about it."
 
 232 TOM MARCHMOM. 
 
 Mr. Maxwell read the paragraph again, and noted the 
 positive assertion it contained with regard to the London 
 merchant. 
 
 " These newspapers are very apt to assert things they know 
 nothing about," he observed. " Jem Marchmont has no 
 more right to that property than I have as long as you arc 
 living." 
 
 A strange expression passed over Tom's countenance. 
 
 "Your grandfather, Eeginald," Mr. Maxwell went on, 
 "was the elder brother. Jem was the son of Arthur. I 
 knew them all well in former times. You are the rightful 
 heir, and your claims I am prepared to maintain." 
 
 " But my mother has told me that my father had two elder 
 brothers." 
 
 " True ; he had, but they both died — one of yellow fever 
 in the West Indies, and one of consumption at home." 
 
 " Then it seems clear enough that I am the heir, if I can 
 only substantiate my claims." 
 
 " Yes, undoubtedly," said Mr. Maxwell, " and we must 
 set about proving them. Have you, do you suppose, any 
 document, showing who your father was ? " 
 
 *' I am afraid not," said Tom. " I cannot remember 
 having ever seen any, but I will look over all the papers that 
 I have." 
 
 " Bring them down here," said Mr. MaxAvcU. " It will 
 Bave time if we look over them together."
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 333 
 
 Tom went to liis room, and quickly returned with a small 
 desk of simple workmanship. It had been his mother's. The 
 two anxiously looked over the letters it contained. They 
 were chiefly from his father, abounding in expressions of 
 affection, but not one of them making the slightest allusion 
 to the relationship in question. There were two or three 
 kind letters from Mrs. Brown, and another from Miss Birch 
 with stringent stipulations in the event of ISTancy's becoming 
 her tenant. There was one also from Mrs. Morgan, written 
 after the news of that fatal shipwreck had reached England. 
 Her letter was kindly worded, and it expressed regret at her 
 own and her husband's inability to help I^ancy. She meji- 
 tioned that they had found the book-selling business a very 
 losing concern, and that they were just on the point of giving 
 it up and of retmiiing again to seiTice. She hoped that little 
 Tom was growing into a nice boy, and that she coidd have no 
 better wish for him than that he should resemble Jiis 
 father." 
 
 "Who is this Mrs. Morgan?" inquired Mr. Maxwell. 
 *' She evidently knew your father." 
 
 " I know nothing about her," said Tom. 
 
 ** Well, I recommended you to keep that letter, not that 1 
 imagine you will require it. You know, I sui)pose, where 
 your mother was married ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Tom, " she was married at Waltham, where I 
 was born."
 
 234 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 " We will go over there on Monday or Tuesday," observed 
 Mr. Maxwell, " and I have no doubt that a search into the 
 Parish Eeeister will give us all the information we shall 
 require." [It would certainly have done so had the marriage 
 taken place a few months later J " I think," Mr. Maxwell 
 went on, " it will be only fair to let James Marchniont know 
 what we are about. I will write and tell him who you are, 
 and how it is that you are by rights the late Sb Charles's 
 heir. James Marchmont was always looked upon as an 
 honest man, and I feel convinced that he will recognise your 
 claims if he sees there is justice in them." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell wrote a letter to the London merchant to be 
 ready for the Monday s post, and on that same day he and 
 Tom started for Walthani. The first thing tliey did was to 
 call on IMr. Dean, the clergyman, who did his best to assist 
 them. ■ We already know that the Parish Register could tell 
 them nothing, and the mortification of Tom and his friend at 
 so utter a failure in this trusted quarter was excessive. Mr. 
 Dean conducted them from the church to the houses of some 
 of the oldest inhabitants. Ly this means they discovered 
 where Molly Cox and her daughter had once lived. Mrs. 
 Jay still occupied the next cottage, and she lemembercd her 
 former neighbours perfectly. She expended a good many 
 raptures on Tom's wonderful growth durmg the years that 
 had passed since she had last seen him. She was, too, quite 
 equal to recording anecdotes of his childhood, and she could
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 235 
 
 descant eloquently on the virtues of his mother and grand- 
 mother ; but when it came to giving information on the sub- 
 ject whereon it was so much needed, the good woman found 
 she had not much to say. She was, however, able to tell 
 them that ]Mr. Morgan was butler, and Mrs. Morgan house- 
 keeper in the same family where Tom's grandmother had 
 served for so many years. 
 
 " I can remember well," she said, " your mother going to 
 visit Mrs. Morgan for the benelit of the sea-au', and your 
 father, a sailor and a well-looking man — very like yourself, 
 sir — following her back here." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell thought he had some recollection of a butler 
 at Granby Hall bearing the name of Morgan. 
 
 " Once get hold of those people," he observed to Tom as 
 he left the cottage, " and we may find strong evidence in 
 favom* of your claims" 
 
 It was not till very late that night that they got back to 
 Majilewood. On the following morning Tom Avrote a letter 
 addressed to the present occupants of Ko , High- 
 street, Plymouth. His letter contained a request for in- 
 formation respecting a bookseller and his wife who had occu- 
 pied that house some fifteen or sixteen years previously. He 
 added, by Mr. Maxwell's desire, that any one giving the in- 
 formation required should be handsomely rewarded. Xot 
 satisfied with this ^Ir. Maxwell, who Mi that liis u^yn 
 honour as well as Tom's was concerned in proving the re-
 
 236 ^ TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 lationsliip of the latter with the Granby family, sent adver- 
 tisements to two or three of the London papers, and to the 
 country papers besides, offering a handsome reward to any 
 one who could give him information as to where the couple 
 he was in search of were to be found. 
 
 Thursday's post arrived, but with it no letter to either of 
 the occupants of Maplewood. 
 
 "I almost wonder," observed ^Mr. Maxwell, witli an 
 ill-assumed tone of indifference, " that I have received no 
 acknowledgment of my letter to James Marchmont." 
 
 The old man saw that anxiety was already telling upon 
 Tom, and so he would have had his young friend suppose that 
 he considered it himself a matter of no very great importance 
 whether the claims he had so eagerly put forward were 
 recognised or not. 
 
 At the time Mr. iSIaxwell was making the observation 
 mentioned above, the object of it was, with liis son, in a 
 chaise and pair, hastening towards the l^ouse of mourning. 
 James ^larchmont had been, hitherto, unacquainted with liis 
 cousins, but he felt that his presence at the funeral was a 
 necessary mark of respect for the memory of the young man 
 to whose place and title he liad so unexpectedly succeeded. 
 Having been unwilling to make his absence from London longer 
 than for one day, he had started at a very early hour that same 
 morning, and, as he and his son drove up to the house, they 
 ibund the funeral procession already waiting. They were at once
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 237 
 
 placed in the carriage allotted to them, that which was to be 
 occupied by the chief mourners, and the funeral procession 
 moved on. Slowly it passed onwards tlirough the stately 
 avenue whose venerable oaks had looked down on many such a 
 scene as this, as the representatives of the Marchmonts silently, 
 one by one, had been borne from their eartlily possessions to 
 the grave. The dismal looking hearse with its tall plumes 
 Avaving in the ^vinter's wind ; the four majestic black horses, 
 whose fiery natures were now though with difficulty subdued 
 into harmony with the scene ; the numerous band of hired 
 mourners ; the long line of carriages and horsemen which fell 
 in with the procession as it jDassed on into the road — alto- 
 gether the scene was a striking one. But what mattered it — 
 the solemn splendour of the funeral pageant to those mangled 
 remains wliich Avere thus unconsciously being honoured'? 
 A moment more of life, a little time to breathe one high and 
 holy thought, to do one generous unselfish act, to catch on(^ 
 spark from the divine essence, one feeling that might brinf>- it 
 into fellowship with God — this to the departed spirit was the 
 one thing wanting — a want which no amount of homage 
 (lone to its earthly and now decaying tabernacle could in any- 
 way supply. 
 
 The mother and sisters of the late baronet remained at 
 home during the performance of the last offices for the dead. 
 The intelligence of that fearful catastrophe which hud so 
 suddenly deprived her of her son had, at the time, been a
 
 238 TOM MARCHMONT, 
 
 considerable shock to Lady Marchmont's nerves. However, 
 the tenderer feelings had with her never been cultivated, and 
 30, when the first burst of grief was over, it was the fact that 
 the place and title had gone to a stranger which gave a 
 poignancy to her sorrow. She had arranged that the funeral 
 should be on such a scale of magnificence, as should mark 
 the position of the deceased, and she had been enabled 
 to take a certain amount of interest in the invitations 
 Avhicli this arrangement had involved. As her son's suc- 
 cessor had been hitherto unknown to her she naturally 
 wished that a personal interview with him should be post- 
 poned for a little. Sir James readily fell in with her views, 
 and, the last ceremony being over, instead of returning to the 
 Hall amongst a large company of strangers, he had decided 
 that his hired conveyance should again meet him at the 
 (^•hurch, and in it he and his son drove at once to Mr. 
 Dod's office in Barking. He had a long interview with that 
 gentleman, and l:>efore he left the office he indited a letter to 
 his old acquaintance, Mr, Maxwell, which was as mucli tlie 
 expression of the lawyer's sentiments as of his own. 
 
 Friday's post brought this letter to Maple wood, and one like- 
 wise, for Tom. The latter showed an unusual eagerness to 
 become a cquainted -vvitli the contents of his, for it bore the 
 Plymouth post-mark, l.'hey were unsatisfactory. Mr. Owen, 
 
 the present occupier of No. , High-street, had only been 
 
 residing there dining the last three years, and he had been a
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 239 
 
 stranger to the place previously. He excused himself for not 
 having replied at once to Mr. Marchmont's note, but the 
 delay had been occasioned by his anxiety to procure the in- 
 formation needed. However, no one he had inquii'ed of had 
 been able to give him any assistance, though some few of the 
 neighbours remembered the Morgans perfectly. They recol- 
 lected, too, having been told by them that they Avere going 
 again into service, but if they had ever heard who with, the 
 name had quite slipped their memory. There was bitter dis- 
 appointment in the young man's heart, a disappointment tliat 
 strongly betrayed itself in his features as, folding tlie letter, 
 he placed it in silence on the table, and then watched the 
 countenance of his friend. The large black seal and the 
 mourning paper left no doubt in Tom's mind as to who was 
 Mr. Maxwell's correspondent. The contents of the letter 
 were evidently painful to the old man. We will give them 
 for the benefit of our readers. They were as follows : — 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 I was, 1 confess, not a little surprised at tlie con- 
 tents of your letter. I felt, however, that it would not ho 
 desirable to reply to it until I had made fui'tlior int[uiries 
 respecting the very singular statement it contained. I liavo, 
 sir, now reason to believe there is not a shadow of truth in tliat 
 statement. Don't imagine that I wish to imj)licate you in what, 
 to all appearance, is so barefaced a falsehood. That this young 
 fellow has com})letely deceived you 1 have not a doubt, 
 though 1 must, at the same time, cx]iress my regn^t that a 
 man of your sense and discernment should have listened so 
 readily to a tale for the truth of which there is not, as I am
 
 340 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 credibly informed, the smallest evidence, 1 beg, therefore, 
 that you will accept the assurance of my continued esteem, 
 and that you will believe me to be faithfully yours, 
 
 James Marchmont 
 
 Mr. Maxwell did his best to command his features as Tom 
 inquired of him whether the mourning letter was the one 
 they had been expecting. 
 
 " It is," said the former, as he hastily put it into his 
 waistcoat pocket. " Of course, James Marchmont is not dis- 
 posed to admit your claims." 
 
 " Have you any objection to my seeing this letter 1 " 
 
 " Merely this," was the reply. " If you read it, it may 
 cause you some annoyance, without doing you the slightest 
 good." 
 
 " I should wish to see it then," said Tom, " as it is on a 
 subject that so nearly concerns me. " 
 
 It was unwillingly that Mr. Maxwell drew the offending 
 epistle from its place of custody, and put it into the hand 
 that was extended to receive it. 
 
 Tom rapidly made himself acquainted with its contents ; 
 then with a flushed face he observed : — 
 
 " I am inclined to start at once for Aubr?y. I might hear 
 something there, and I have it much at heart that I should 
 be able to find some proof of what I assert.'* 
 
 "And so liave I, Tom; and so I would have you go by 
 all means, and I wish you a successful journey. It is a
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 241 
 
 longisb. ride for one day tliougli. Aubrey must be at least 
 thirty miles from this, so I think you had better put up your 
 horse at Brockton, and hire something there to take you on. 
 You will then have got over the longest half of your journey, 
 and your horse will be fresh to bring you back.
 
 342 TOM MAKCUMONT. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 TOM S VISIT TO AUBREY. 
 
 Our hero was soon off, and as he approached the village 
 that had witnessed his growth from childhood to manhood 
 recollections of the j^ast floated vividly across his mind. As 
 he passed Eosebank on his way to the Rectory, he became 
 indeed so buried in old recollections that he had well-nigh 
 forgotten the purport of his journey. They were all gone — 
 those who throughout his boyish days had formed so large a 
 portion of his little world. Some among them were dead ; 
 others he knew not where. Why had Lizzie cast him off ? 
 He had written to the Goodmans not many weeks after he 
 had left Plymouth and had begged them to remember their 
 promise of forwarding any letters that might be sent there to 
 his address. He had received no reply, and again he had 
 written; but still no answer came. Had Lizzie forgotten 
 him ? He could hardly think it, but he did imagine that 
 Lizzie's friends might have decided that all further intercourse 
 between tliem shoidd be broken off. Lizzie might now be 
 happily married. He should, he thought, take less interest 
 in her if ho knew this for a certainty. He wondered if Mr.
 
 TOM's visit to AUBREY. 243 
 
 Date or tlic Captain would be able to tell him anytliing 
 about her. The thought of the Eector reminded him of the 
 Rectory, and now he suddenly discovered he was opposite 
 the garden gate. It was with some little nervousness that he 
 inquired if Mr. and Mrs. Date were at home. Neither he 
 nor his mother had been especially favoured by the worthy 
 couple in former years, and now that he was come especially 
 to try and prove what they had always tacitly denied to him 
 — his claims to gentle birth —he felt that the purport of his 
 visit might very much hinder it from being a pleasant one. 
 
 Mr. Date was at home, and the natural kindness of his 
 nature induced him to give a friendly welcome to one wdiom 
 he had known from infancy. Mrs. Date had just gone out, 
 so our hero's first interview with the Rector was alone. He was 
 fidly occupied at first in answering the many questions put 
 to hhn respecting his present way of life. Having thoroughly 
 satisfied himself that Tom was living respectably, Mr. Date 
 began a little to complain of his former i)ari3hioner's neg- 
 ligence in never before having made an efibrt to come among 
 them, or even to in(pnre by writing after any of his old friends. 
 
 " T have once or twice iieard from Saunders," replied Tom, 
 " and he has been very particular in mentioning you all when 
 he has written." 
 
 "Has he!" said Mr. Date stiftly. "I have not much 
 acquaintance witli that gentleman." 
 
 Tom was a little startled at the abru[)tncss of ]\Ir. Date\s 
 
 R 2
 
 244: Toil MARCHMONT. 
 
 manner when the name of Saunders was mentioned ; for, not 
 "being well up in Aubrey politics, he was ignorant of the 
 newspaper warfare that had recently been going on between 
 the two M.A.s concerning the use of the surplice. ^Ii*. 
 Saunders had appeared in the pulpit on one occasion in that 
 vestment, when asked to preach by Mr. Date's great an- 
 tagonist, Mr. Canonby. Mr. Date had thereupon written a 
 letter to the Barldnfj Express, entitled "Popish Eags," to 
 which Mr. Saunders had sent a copious reply, headed, " ISo 
 Keligion without authority." The schoolmaster had brought 
 his learning into the strife, and shown how essential were the 
 writings of the fathers to the preservation of the true faith, 
 and how plainly it could be proved by them that for the 
 order of priesthood no garment was so correct as the surplice. 
 Mr. Date and Mr. Saunders were both <|uiet, kindly disposed 
 men in the ordinary affairs of life, but in matters of creed all 
 meekness and forbearance were at once thrown aside. They 
 now therefore gave one another a stiff bow of semi-recognition 
 if ever they chanced to meet, and seldom was the one alluded 
 to by the other except in terms of disparagement. 
 
 Tom was, as we have said, quite ignorant of all tliis ; but 
 perceiving that the name of Saunders did not sound agreeably 
 in the ears of the Eector, and being impatient to get the 
 information he desired, he resolved on at once trying whether 
 some allusion to that name which he owned himself would 
 prove more palatable. Therefore, without fiu'ther preamble —
 
 TOMS VISIT TO AUBREY. 245 
 
 " I am very anxious," he said, " to make out clearly the 
 
 relati<)nship which exists between myself and the Baronet's 
 
 family whose name I hear. Can you in any way help me 1 " 
 
 " ]S"ot in the leasst ! " was the reply, given very drily and 
 
 most decisively. 
 
 " Is there no one here, do you suppose, who could give me 
 any certain information on the subject ? " 
 
 " I feel certain there is not. If such a relationship did 
 exist you would most probably find somer.dng in the 
 registry of your mother's marriage to help you to prove it." 
 "That tells me nothing," said Tom in a tone of utter 
 despondency. 
 
 *' Then the only advice I can give you is to think no more 
 on the subject," was Mv. Date's curt reply ; " and now come 
 and have some luncheon, for you will be wanting something 
 after your long ride." 
 
 Tom quietly followed Ins liost into the little dining-room, 
 but he could not get up much appetite for the food that was 
 pressed upon him. He asked however witli some interest 
 whether anything had been heard of the Quaker's grand- 
 children, and being answered in the negative, he next inquired 
 after his old friend the Captain. 
 
 " He is well, I hope," said ^Ir. Date, " though I have not 
 seen him since last Thursday week, when I liad tlie pleasure 
 of uniting him in the bonds of matrimony with Miss 
 Kcbecca Birch, whom you, of course, remember."
 
 246 TOM MAHCHMONT. 
 
 A look of astonishment and then a broad smile were given 
 by Tom in reply to this intelligence. The Captain had 
 (shame be upon him for the act) found the Misses Birch fertile 
 subjects for a joke when latterly he had become a visitor at 
 Oak Cottage. 
 
 " You are, I see, surprised," remarked Mr. Date, " and so 
 we all were. Miss Birch was well known to be the first 
 object of the Captain's affection. However, she had, perhaps 
 prudently, foresworn matrimony ; and so, finding that his suit 
 was hopeless in that quarter, he turned his attentions to the 
 younger sister, and, as the event proves, with great success." 
 
 This further intelligence rather added to, instead of 
 diminishing Tom's feeling of astonishment. However, he 
 thought it wise to make no remark beyond an expression of 
 regret that he should be deprived of the opportunity of seeing 
 one who had been so good a friend to him in former years. 
 
 Having got as well as he could through liis plate of meat 
 Tom declared his intention of taking a stroll through the 
 village, whereupon the Kector immediately proposed accom- 
 l^anying him. The young man's steps first led him to the 
 cottage that had for so many years been occupied by himself 
 and his mother. He had been feeling sad before, and tlie 
 sight of it rendered him yet more so. He had embarked in 
 an undertaking which was likely to bring him notliing but 
 discredit. Had his mother been spared liim he might still 
 have been living in humble, but contented circumstances
 
 TOM's visit to AUBREY. 247 
 
 at Plymouth, and have been saved that harrowing of the 
 heart which the proud man must naturally feel when he 
 asserts claims on his own behalf that he can in no way 
 prove, and which in Tom's case seemed to give some founda- 
 tion for the imjDutations that had been cast upon him. 
 
 When his wish to get a sight of his former home had been 
 gratified, and he had walked from thence to the Church 
 — a walk he had so often taken in his mother's company — 
 Mr. Date proposed returning home. It had turned off into a 
 drizzly, uncomfortable afternoon, and the Eector had gro-wn 
 very sensitive to weather. 
 
 " I am afraid you will have an uncomfortable ride back," 
 he observed to his young companion. " I -wish I could offer 
 
 you a bed, but we are this evening expecting friends who will 
 
 be occupying our two spare rooms." 
 
 Tom thanked the good man for his kind wishes, observing at 
 
 the same time that he Avould, anyhow, have felt compelled to 
 
 return home ; and as he passed the inn where he had put up 
 
 his horse, and which nearly faced the Rectory, he ordered the 
 
 ostler to bring the animal round in the course of half-an-hour. 
 " Say an hour," interposed Mr. Date. " My wife may not 
 
 yet be returned, and she would be much disappointed at not 
 
 seeing you." 
 
 Tom doubted whether Mrs. Date's disappointment would 
 
 be very genuine ; liowever, he did not like refusing his assent 
 
 to the Hector's proposal.
 
 248 TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 As it happened Mrs. Date had returned from her walk 
 shortly after her husband and his guest liad started on theirs. 
 Betsy was on the look-out for her mistress, for whom she felt 
 she had important news. 
 
 *•' There's been a young gentleman on horseback a calling 
 here," was her immediate announcement as she opened the 
 door to Mrs. Date. 
 
 " A young gentleman on horseback ! and where is lie 1 " 
 exclaimed the latter. 
 
 " He's jast gone out with master," said the maid. 
 
 " Whatever could Eobert be thinking of to go out in such 
 a drizzle ]" exclaimed Mrs. Date petulantly and speaking appa- 
 rently to herself, though she enjoyed at the same time the satis- 
 faction in feeling that she had a listener to her complaint. " But 
 it's just like him," she went on ; " and now I shall have him 
 laid up with a cold all day to-morrow, and then he's sure not 
 to be fit for anything on Sunday, and we can never look for 
 any help from Saunders now ! " — and Mrs. Date gave a deep 
 sigh at the thought of the heavy troubles that were coming 
 upon her. 
 
 Mrs. Date was a fidget, and it was not in her power to sit 
 down quietly and await her husband's return. Following 
 the maid into the kitchen she made particular inquiries 
 of her concerning the appearance of this unaccountable 
 guest. Betsy could only asseverate that he looked lilvc a 
 gentleman, that he had blue eyes and lightish hair, and
 
 TOM S VISIT TO AUBREY. 249 
 
 that he was * a'most a head and shoulders taller nor master." 
 The rector's wife, having got what she could out of her 
 attendant, now wandered like a perturhed spirit from the 
 kitchen to the parlour, where she occupied herself usefully 
 for a minute or two in stirring up the fire. 8he then stood 
 at the wiudow, which she opened occasionally, enabling her- 
 self by this manoeuvre to see a yard or two further down the 
 road than she could when it was closed. Tom was not 
 sufficiently altered to hinder Mrs. Date from recognising him 
 at once, as he at last appeared walking up the garden, by the 
 side of her husband, and her feeling was one bordering on 
 anger when she found who it was that had betrayed the latter 
 into so grievous a transgression of the rules of prudence. 
 
 Through the instrumentality of Miss Birch, Mrs. Date had, as 
 we know in former times, learnt to look upon the Marchmonts 
 as pushing, striving people, Avhose ambition it was to occupy 
 a position superior to that wliicli circumstances had assigned 
 them. This unexpected sight of Tom would liardly have 
 recalled, so vividly as it did, this unpleasing impression, 
 had not that the Rector's imprudence put his wife tho- 
 roughly out of humour. With faulty logic, she Avas now 
 feeling disposed to cast a good deal of the blame upon his 
 companion for the time being. It was therefore with a 
 coldness somewliat repelling that she accosted our hero, a 
 coldness which contrasted forcibly with the warmth slie dis- 
 played while administering to her lord and master the sound
 
 250 TOM MARCHMONT ' 
 
 reproof which she had in store for hini. The lecture, though 
 "well meant, was received very testily. The two things of 
 which the minister was most intolerant were Popery and his 
 wife's admonitions. Having given this vent to her feelings 
 Mrs. Date's curiosity now led her into asking various ques- 
 sions of Tom, which he answered much to her satisfaction. 
 In dress and appearance he was, she perceived, far superior 
 to those she ordinarily mixed with, and Mrs. Date began to 
 feel rather proud of her visitor. Her expressions of regret 
 at not being able to accommodate him for the night were, 
 in consequence, extreme. However she resolved, at all 
 events, on making him comfortable as long as he re- 
 mained her guest. She had already ascertained from Betsy 
 that on the young gentleman's first arrival her master had 
 helped him to a plate of cold beef, which he had not been 
 able to get through. Eearing tliis circumstance in mind Mrs. 
 Date decided that Tom, as well as her husband, might be a 
 fit subject for medical treatment. A scalding glass of home- 
 made elder wine and water was her grand specific against cold 
 and most other ailments, and now she hurried out of the room 
 for the purpose of preparing this health-preserving mixture. 
 She soon returned with two tumblers, full to the brim, of her 
 favourite cordial. This comforting kind of dose was always 
 received by the Eector with a good deal more of equanimity 
 than was accorded to him by his wife's reprimands, and it 
 was with an appearance of great resignation that he accepted
 
 TOM's visit to AUBREY. 251 
 
 from her one of the well-filled glasses. Tom was not con- 
 sulted as to whether he would like the other, but it was 
 unceremoniously put into his hand, after he had been placed 
 previously in a seat by the fire opposite to Mrs. Date's better 
 half. As the two sipped in unison the smoking beverage, 
 Mr. Date had a fine opportunity of protesting against the 
 prevailing heresies. Our hero proved a good listener, and 
 not one of the Kector's views or assertions did he aim at 
 disputing. 
 
 His guest's quiet demeanour and the tumbler of liot liquid 
 combined, had put Mr. Date into a very happy frame of 
 mind, from which he was unpleasantly aroused by the an- 
 nouncement that Tom's horse was at the door. Mrs. Date 
 had slipped out of the room as soon as the lecture on Popery 
 had commenced, for she knew it already by heart. She 
 re-appeared as Tom was rising to depart, and pressed upon 
 him comforters and other wraps, Avliich he resolutely declined, 
 and by so doing he materially helped to fortify his con- 
 siderate hostess in her preconceived notion of the general 
 pig-headedness of mankind. 
 
 "Well, Tom," said Mr. Date, as he bade hiui a cordial 
 adieu, " this is but a shabby visit you have paid us. You 
 must come again another time, and give us a little notice 
 previously, in order that we may bo able to receive you for a 
 night or two." 
 
 Mrs. Date cordially seconded her husband in this wish.
 
 252 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 The encoiiragement of an intimacy between herself and Molly 
 Cox's grandson had ceased to be looked upon by her as an 
 imprudence. 
 
 " That is a very intelligent young man ! " said Mr. Date to 
 his spouse, as Tom trotted away. 
 
 " Well, he may be so," replied the latter ; " though, as I 
 heard him speak so little, I am not qualified to give an 
 opinion. However, he knows how to behave himself, and he 
 looks a gentleman ; but whatever was it that brought him 
 here ? " 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Date apologetically, " it was a foolish 
 affair enough that he came on. He's wanting to prove a re- 
 lationship between himself and the Baronet's family. I 
 believe the fact is that he has got amongst gentlefolks, and 
 he wishes to make himself appear as well born as they." 
 
 "And was that all he came over here for?" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Date. 
 
 " All that I could make out," was the Eector's reply. 
 " However, I am not sorry he came, as I was glad to renew 
 my acquaintance with him. He seems to me to be a young 
 man of considerable judgment, and I should be very pleased 
 if he would take holy orders. He must come and pay us a 
 longer A'^isit, and then I will have a serious talk with him on 
 the subject." 
 
 Tom's reflections as he rode home that cold and rainy 
 January evening were of the saddest. He felt like a dis-
 
 TOM's visit to AUBREY. ' 253 
 
 graced man. It seemed to him not improbable that these 
 repeated failures might tempt Mr. Maxwell to doubt his 
 assertions : indeed, he began to wonder whether after all 
 his mother might not herself have been deceived. 
 
 The old man was glad when he heard his iyroi('(j<7 6 ring at 
 the outer door at about eight o'clock. 
 
 " Well, Tom, what's the news ? " he said cheerfully as the 
 young man entered. 
 
 " ^N^oiie," said Tom, as he approached the fire beside which 
 his old friend was seated. 
 
 There was a look of misery on the poor fellow's coun- 
 tenance and it went to the old man's heart. 
 
 " Give me your hand," said the latter ; "I am sorry you 
 have had so little success." 
 
 These words, and the tone of voice and the action 
 which accompanied them Avere too much for Tom. lie 
 burst into tears. It ^vas a momentary weakness — one liy 
 which the strongest among us may at times be overtaken. 
 
 " I believe," Mr. Maxwell went on, as he grasped warmly 
 the hand that had been given him, " I believe I have done 
 you an injustice in putting forward }'our claiuis too soon. 
 You must forgive me this want of caution ; it can after all rc- 
 llect no real discredit on either of us. Should our advertise- 
 ments prove a failure you must, I I'ear, renounce all hoj)e of 
 gammgwhat is rightly yours. Your position, though, will still 
 be the same as it way before this catastrophe, and though it
 
 254 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 would be selfish in me not to wish it were otherwise, yet I 
 must feel that you are more like a son to me as plain Tom 
 Marchmont than you could have been had you, at the death 
 of your cousin, become possessed of his title and estates." 
 
 " And I," replied Tom, " would renounce both title and 
 estates even had I been successful in winning them, sooner 
 than I would forfeit your regard. I cannot, though, but feel 
 mortified at having failed so completely in making good my 
 claims. Those slanderous reports which have been cu-culated 
 to my prejudice I shall never, I fear, have the means of re- 
 futing." 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! a fiddlestick for reports," observed Mr. Max- 
 well, with contemj^t in his tone. " I can afford to laugh at 
 such things myself. You will never be good for much, Tom, 
 in this world if, with a good conscience, you cannot feel 
 proudly indifferent to the gossipping rumoui's of idle and 
 superficial people. Believe me you won't lose by them one 
 friend that is worth having." 
 
 These sharp words from Mr. Maxwell acted like a sort of 
 tonic on Tom's depressed temperament, and the old butler 
 having at this moment brought in a liot and savoury dish, 
 our hero prepared himself for its demolition with somethmg 
 almost amounting to enjoyment.
 
 Sm JAMESS ViyiT TO GRANBY HALL. ^iob 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 SIR James's visit to granby hall. 
 
 In a week's time after the funeral Lady Marcliniont found 
 herself well enough to receive Sir James. She had been 
 anxious to come to some arrangement Avith him, and on the 
 occasion of this, her first interview with her son's successor, 
 she contrived to have everything settled much to her own 
 satisfaction. She and her daughters were to have the liberty 
 of remaining at Granby Hall for a twelvemonth, which 
 would be allowing them ample time to suit themselves 
 Avith another residence. There was a house in the neigh- 
 bourliood which was to be vacant towards the end of the 
 year, and Lady Marchniont looked forward to becoming its 
 future occupant. 
 
 Finding Sir James so disposed in every way to be kind and 
 considerate, her Ladyship felt inclined to look upon liim in 
 return with a large amount of favour. It was therefore with 
 a most gracious smile that she invited him to take a seat 
 beside her at the tea-table on liis making lii.s ap})earaiice in 
 the drawing-room after lie liail been previously occupying 
 liimsolf alone in the library with family papers.
 
 256 
 
 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 On placing himself in the chair appointed for him, " Do 
 you," he inquired, " happen to know anything of that young 
 fellow who has been laying claim to the title and property "J" 
 
 If Lady Marchmont had been told that the house was on 
 fire she could not have looked more startled. 
 
 " You don't really mean to say he has done that ! " she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " He has, indeed," said Sir James sarcastically. " I 
 should mention, though," he added, " that it was Maxwell 
 who communicated with me on the subject, and as I know 
 him to be an honourable man, I thought that this claim on 
 the part of his young friend might be worth looking into. I 
 had, therefore, an interview with Dod on the subject, and I 
 am not surprised at finding that his opinion of tliis unknown 
 pretender is anything but favom-able." 
 
 It was some time before Lady Marchmont coidd sufficiently 
 swallow the indignation that was choking her, to allow of her 
 giving utterance to her feelings. 
 
 " Upon my word," she at last exclaimed, " I think a 
 lunatic asylum would be the fitting place for old Maxwell, 
 and I am quite sure no one more richly deserves a seven 
 years' transportation to Botany Bay than does that young 
 friend and ally of his. The young man seems really in- 
 satiable in his ambition. He has, I fear, quite succeeded in 
 cutting out Mr. jMaxwell's nearest relation, but really to push 
 his pretensions here shows an amoimt of audacity which
 
 SJR JAMEblS VISIT TO GilANBV HALL. '2-J i 
 
 I .slioukl say was uiiiiatiirai -were I to read of it in a 
 
 llUYcl." 
 
 " All ! my dear madam," said Sir James, " truth is, you 
 know, often stranger than fiction. 1 couhl m^-self tell you 
 many wonderful stories concerning the credulousness of old 
 men — of men, too, like JMaxwell, who pass in the world for 
 "being sensible and clear-sighted." 
 
 " Well," said Lady Marchmont, " it may he as you say 
 though I Avill own I could never, m^'self, discover sense or 
 clear-sightedness either in that old cynic. His discernment 
 did not help him to appreciate his wife, dear Lady Clarice, 
 who was one of the sweetest of creatures ! It vras a sad 
 thing, her early death, such a loss as she was to the neigh- 
 bourhood j and I shall always think her days were shortened 
 through the unkindiicss, I may say the cruelty, of her 
 husband." 
 
 " IS^ay, nay, madam," said Sir James, whose turn it now 
 was to be startled, though not to the same extent as had 
 been her Ladyship, " I cannot allow you to say such hard 
 things of an old ac(piaintance of mine without defending him. 
 I Avill not believe that JNIaxwcll could ever have acted v/ith 
 cruelty towards any one, though I will admit that he may be 
 an impracticable man — one who is never content to go quietly 
 with the stream." 
 
 " "Well," said Lady ^larchmont, " if you can point out to mc 
 any act of real kiiuluc-rs that he has shown himself cajiable of 
 
 s
 
 258 Tom mauchmo>'T. 
 
 I shall be more willing tlian I am at present to adopt }'oiir 
 views. If you call the harbouring of a thorough-going 
 impostor — one, too, who has made no end of mischief between 
 the old man and his nearest relation — if you call that an 
 act of kindness — why, then, our notions of what kindness 
 means are so very opposite that it would be useless for us to 
 try and come to any agreement on the subject." 
 
 " Far be it from me," said Sir James, " to assert an^iihing 
 of the sort. N'o one can regret more than I do the singular 
 delusion that my old friend seems to be labouring under with 
 regard to that young man. I shall, I fear, myself be a sufferer 
 from it, for I hoped to have renewed my acquaintance with 
 Maxwell. The presence of this protege of his, and the fact of 
 his having persuaded his patron into thinking him the rightful 
 owner of what is now mine would, of course, preclude the 
 possibility of any intimacy." 
 
 " Do you think," said Georgie earnestly, " that there is the 
 smallest chance of the old man's eyes being opened ? I 
 should fancy he could hardly help, even now, suspecting that 
 he has been made a dupe of." 
 
 "Don't you think," said Sir James with old-fashioned 
 politeness, as his eyes rested on each fair face in turn, " don't 
 you think that if you ladies had exercised that influence 
 which is so well knoAvn to be yours, you might have kept my 
 estimable friend from shutting himself up in a kind of hermit- 
 age, where, no doubt, he has been pining for something like
 
 SIR James's visit to geanby uall. 259 
 
 human aifection, till at last lie lias got himself into a fit state 
 to be taken in by any one sufficiently dexterous to impose 
 ujion him ? " 
 
 These last words made a considerable impressioti on the 
 mind of her Ladyship. She thought with Georgie that Mr. 
 Maxwell's faith in his protege must now bo, at all events, 
 weakened, and that in that case he would again be yearning 
 for affection. Might it not come to him like a ministering 
 spirit in the form of her handsome and clever daughter, 
 Georgie? The Oxford term would commence in a few 
 days, and then she woidd have the field all to herself 
 She had won a sort of mastery over the headstrong Harry — 
 might she not as easily, if she once set herself to work, gain 
 a similar ascendancy over his probably not more headstrong 
 cousin ? 
 
 While Mr. Maxwell and Tom were being thus discussed, 
 both one and the other were feeling a good deal depressed. 
 In spite of the high tone of philosophy assumed by the 
 former and the ready assent given by the latter to the 
 elevated sentiments of his friend, they neither of them coidd 
 get rid of a certain imjn'cssion that the high sense of 
 honour wliicli each possessed had been called into (question. 
 We are all human, and must, in some measure, be alive 
 to the pricks and stings so often attendant on imtoward 
 circumstances, even though our consciences should be as 
 clear as crystal. Tom had an uncomibrtablu dislike to the 
 
 B 2
 
 260 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 idea of being met, a feeling wliieli was not diminislied Ly the 
 very particular notice taken of liini by lier ladyship when 
 on a certain day, our luckless hero accidently came across 
 lier path. It was unfortunate for Tom that this meeting 
 should have occurred in a lane, the narrowness of which 
 obliged him to pass close beside Lady IMarchmont's grand 
 lookmg equipage. It was an open carriage in which she 
 was seated, and her second daughter was by her side. 
 The proud woman's naturally stern, though handsome, 
 features became sterner, and her carriage more haughty, as 
 she raised herself in her seat for the purpose of giving 
 Tom an insultmg stare — one that the young man could 
 not fail of noticing. It had the desired eii'ect, for it 
 wounded him to the quick, and it was with an unusual 
 sensation of pleasure that he took leave of Maplewood and 
 of its kind and generous occupant, to retiuii to the routine 
 of college life.
 
 A RENEWED INTIMACY REPULSED. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 LADY MARCHMONT's EFFORTS AT A RENEWED INTIMACY ARE 
 REPULbED. 
 
 Our liero's rediculous claims to tlie ]\Iarclimont Bar nietcy 
 and estates furnished for some days a fertile subject of con- 
 versation, and set the Avliole neighbourhood talking and 
 speculating. It was not long ere Lady Marchniont was made 
 acquainted with this all-prevailing to2^ic, and it was one in 
 which she considered herself to be most justly interested. It 
 was, though, in fact, a good deal more for her daughter's 
 sake than for Harry's that she felt so anxious to shield the 
 latter from all fancied injustice, and to have him openly pro- 
 claimed as his cousin's heir. It was on Georgiana's account 
 that her active mind was now at work planning some means 
 of winning for her future son-in-law what society chose to look 
 upon as his due. 
 
 Xot many weeks had elapsed since the death of Sir 
 Charles e'er her Ladyship again felt herself equal to receiving 
 morning visits, and as Mr. IMartin was always scrupulously 
 jiarticular in fulfilling his duty as regarded visits of ceremony 
 ho was one of the first to call and inquire after the bereaved 
 mother. He merely sent up his card, not expecting that he
 
 262 TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 would be admitted ; however, lie received in return an in- 
 vitation to come in. After all proper forms of sorrow had 
 been gone through on either side, her Ladyship asked if 
 there were anything going on in the neighbourhood. 
 
 " Yes," was the reply, " there was a large dinner part}-- 
 yesterday at the Youngfellow's. Wq had the Finchs, and 
 the Spaldings, and the Burfords there, and your neighbours 
 also, the Harewoods. Harry is a fine, open-hearted, generous 
 fellow, and every one mslies him better fortune than he has 
 got. People are indeed very much wondering whether my 
 good friend, Maxwell, will at last do the right thing by 
 avowedly giving Harry that position with regard to himself to 
 which he seems entitled." 
 
 " And what is your opinion on the subject?" said Lady 
 Marchmont eagerly. 
 
 " Well, upon my word," was the reply, " I don't know 
 what opinion to give. I don't iniaghie that that young 
 protege of Maxwell's will any longer stand in Harry's way. 
 My old friend must suspect by this time that he has been 
 taken in. We shall not see the young fellow much in this 
 neighbourhood after what has occurred — take my word for 
 that — though Mr. IMaxwell is so punctiliously honourable 
 that he would, no doubt, carry out any actual promise he 
 had made to the young man." 
 
 "And what promise, do you suppose, he has made him ?" 
 said her Ladyship anxiously.
 
 A RFA'EWED IXTIMAOV REPrLSF.D. 203 
 
 " JSTone, I should imagine, of any great importance. 
 ProbaLly lie has undertaken to educate him and give him a 
 start in life. I should fancy this iiroUxje of his may be pre- 
 paring himself for the Church, and in that ca?e he can easily 
 be settled in a curacy, and Maxwell may consider his duty 
 towards him done." 
 
 " I hope your supposition may prove a correct one," said 
 Lady Marchmont. " I do so wish though you could use your 
 influence with my former friend, and get him to mix with us 
 all a little more than he does. I am sure solitude has had a 
 bad effect upon liim, otherwise a man of his sense would 
 hardly have opened his house to an entire stranger, to a 
 young man, too, whose character he would have found out to 
 be a bad one, had he been at the slightest pains to incpiire." 
 
 " YoTir A'iews on that subject are precisely my own. I 
 liave often lamented that a man of his powerful intellect and 
 so mucli real worth should have so long and so ])evsistently 
 declined to h^t society at large benefit by his vai'ious en- 
 dowments." 
 
 " It would seem," said her Ladysliip, assuming a tone of 
 sadness, "as if Mr. Maxwell and I ought just now to have 
 very much of a fellow-feeling towards one anotlier. \\^e have 
 T)oth met with a similar calamity." Here she paused for a 
 minute — it might be that a pang of true motherly sorrow had 
 checked for a time her flow of words. " I often tliink now," 
 she went on, " of the tim<' wlien denr Lady Clarice and 1
 
 264 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 'dsed to talk together over oiir two beys. I had hoped that 
 as they had each grown into manhood they woukl have been 
 as near and dear friends as were their mothers." 
 
 ]\fr. Martin's feelings were evidently touched. He took 
 out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. Though an old 
 bachelor himself he recognised the claim which a mother's 
 grief has on general sympathy. 
 
 " I feel sure," he said, " that our friend, Maxwell, is quite 
 one to enter into your trouble." 
 
 " Are you likely to see him soon ? " inquired her Ladyship. 
 
 " I called at Maplewood a couple of days ago, but he was 
 out. However, I am quite intimate enough to call again 
 without waiting for a visit in return, and if you shoidd wish 
 to have any message delivered to him, it Avould afford me 
 much pleasure to be the bearer of it." 
 
 " The fact is," said her Ladyship, " that Sir James was 
 talking a good deal about Mr. Maxwell who, it seems, was 
 formerly a friend of his as well as of ours. He is anxious, 
 I know, to renew his acquaintance with him, and I could 
 not help regretting, when he spoke about it, that all inter- 
 course between ourselves and jNIr. ]\Lixwell sliould have so 
 entirely ceased." 
 
 " Am I to understand from what you say tliat you woidd 
 be glad of a visit from my friend ? " 
 
 " I should indeed feel much gratified wore 1\h\ ^Max^^'cU 
 to give me an opportunity of welcoming him liere. It miglit
 
 A RENEWED INTIMACY REPULSED. 265 
 
 be an incliicenient to Sir James to pay us another and a 
 longer visit were I to hold out to hini the prospect of meeting 
 one for whom he entertains so sincere an esteem." 
 
 " I shall be delighted to be the bearer of your message," 
 said Mr. Martin, " and if you should be the means of 
 bringing him out of his chrysalis, I shall be one among the 
 many who will feel that you have done a service to 
 society." 
 
 Mr. Martin was a man ^A^thout any particular occupation 
 and he was always glad to have some business on hand, so 
 the very day after his interview with Lady Marclimont he 
 made another call at Maplewood, and this time he found his 
 friend at home. 
 
 Though ]Mr. Martin had used such polite expressions to 
 her Ladyship when the renewal of a broken-down intimacy 
 was canvassed by her, and though, perhaps, at tlie time, lie 
 had really meant what lie said ; still, when thinking the 
 matter over afterwards he had begun to entertain serious 
 doubts as to whether Mr. Maxwell would as heartily coincide 
 in her views as lie, j\Ir. T>Lu'tin, had led her to suppose that 
 he would. He felt, at all events, that it would be necessary 
 to enter on the subject very warily. He first got into a long 
 discussion with his friend about politics, a subject on which 
 they were both of one mind. Then the weather came under 
 review. TJie scarcity of hay was next commented on, and 
 this led to some commendatory remarks on tlie good farming
 
 2C)C} TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 of one of Mr. Maxwell's favourite tenants. Tlie compliment 
 told ; and now onr diplomatist ventm^ed on making the 
 promised overtures. 
 
 " I was at GranT3y Hall yesterday," he observed. 
 
 " Ha ! " said Mr. Maxwell, " how was Lady [Marchmont ? 
 Of course you did not see her." 
 
 "I did not expect to see her," observed Mr. Martin. 
 "However, on the strength of a long acquaintance she 
 granted me an interview." 
 
 " Then I conclude she is as well as — I may say better than 
 might be expected." 
 
 " Lady Marchmont," observed Mr. Martin with as much 
 loftiness of manner as if he were descanting on the heroism 
 of a I^elson, " Lady Marchmont is one of those high-soul'd 
 women whose fortitude is never found Avanting, let the 
 emergency be what it may. I have, nevertheless, every reason 
 for thinking that she feels her son's death most acutely." 
 
 " Why, she would be a monster if she did not," said ]\Ir. 
 ]\[axwell somewhat gruffly. 
 
 *' She would, indeed ; " said Mr. Martin, " for so sudden, so 
 terrible a shock few mothers have liad to sustain." 
 
 " I have had your olil servant, Lloyd, here this morning," 
 said Mr. ]\Laxwell, by way of making a change in the conver- 
 sation. " He came to speak about my letting him the Hop- 
 wood Farm. With the good recommendation I got from 
 vourself, T agreed to liis proposal."
 
 A RENEWED INTIMACY REPULSED. 267 
 
 " I have every reason," was the reply, " to thmk you will 
 find him a good tenant. You did not, I believe, see Sir 
 James when he was in the country ? " Mr. Martin then 
 inquired, with resolute perseverance — 
 
 "The devil take Sir James," exclaimed Mr= Maxwell 
 impatiently. " Let's hear, no more of him nor of Lady 
 Marchmont either." 
 
 Knowing the man, Mr- Martin was not so startled as he 
 might otherwise have been at his friend's choleric reply to a 
 coiu'teously put question, and it decided him on immediate 
 acquiescence in the wish therein contamed. To smooth down 
 the old gentleman's wrath he jDroposed a walk round his farm, 
 and the two friends parted on as good terms as if her Lady- 
 ship's sorrows, and Su' James's visit, had formed no part of 
 the conversation. 
 
 As Mr. Martin had nothing pleasant to communicate con- 
 cerning Mr. Maxwell's feelings towards Lady Marchmont, he 
 thought it best to say nothing, and so tlie latter was left in 
 doubt as to whether lier Avislies were looked favourably upon 
 or not.
 
 268 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYIII. 
 
 THE TYRANNY OF A FOOLISH WIFE. 
 
 Jajies Marchmont liad, like liis old acquaintance Mr. 
 Maxwell, shown hut little wisdom in his choice of a wdfe, 
 though he hail not chosen her out of the higher classes of 
 societ}'. The father of the present Lady Marchmont had 
 l:»een merely the heatl clerk in a mercantile house of which 
 the new Baronet was partner. There had, however, always 
 heen an intimacy between the two. Mr. Davvdvins w\as a man 
 in every way superior to his position. He was an agreeal:)le 
 companion, and James Marchmont was no lover ot solitude. 
 He had, in consequence, accepted many an invitation to the 
 clerk's unpretending mansion, and had, in this manner, formed 
 an intimacy with Mr. Dawkins's belongings. These consisted 
 of a wife and a large family of sons and daugliters, of whom 
 the older ones were fast growing into men and wonu\], and 
 just at tlie time when he Avas most needing a good income, 
 for the purpose of giving them a start in life, his sight had 
 failed liim altogether. He had been compelled in con- 
 sequence to give up his office, and, with reduced means, the 
 poor clerk's embarrassments were considerably augmented
 
 THE TYRANNY OF A FOOLISH WIFE. 26l) 
 
 The kind-hearted niercliant felt for the afHicted nuiii in his 
 distress, and he decided on relieving him of one of his 
 daughters. Jessie was at this time a good-loohing girl of 
 eighteen, while James Marchmont was a man of thirty -five 
 It was her father's difficulties and the probable discomforts 
 they would entail on herself which led Jessie far more than 
 any affection that she entertained for her future husband, to 
 accept him as such. The generous mercliant soon found out 
 that it was a mistake on his part, Avhen he let pity get the 
 mastery over his better judgment, in so serious an affair as 
 matrimony. 
 
 Jessie's own education had been very deficient, and siie 
 was in no way calculated to make a good guide and coun- 
 sellor to her children. Her idea of doing her duty by tliem 
 was in truth but a limited one. 8he was anxious to keep 
 them in health, to give them what she considered to Ijc good 
 company manners, and to dress tliein as smartly as she could. 
 Her ambition in the latter respect went far beyond her means, 
 James Marchmont having till recently been but a poor man. 
 But when was a woman ever known to be daunted in any 
 undertaking she had once set her mind on ? Tliough money 
 was scarce, Jessie had pliant fingers and a surjoassing amount 
 of industry in the furtherance of any object of Iier own. 
 Morning, noon, and night was she engaged in j) lifting 
 trimmings on her children's garments, which, for all essential 
 purposes, would have been as well without them ; indeed, to
 
 270 TOM MAKCHMONT. 
 
 the severe but correct eye of taste these laboriously contrived 
 decorations might probably have appeared nothing better than 
 unsightly appendages. By Jessie, however, they were deemed 
 of the utmost importance, and so absorbed was she in their 
 construction that slie could give her mind to li'utle besides. 
 Had her children, therefore, grown up with one right thought 
 or one right feeling they would hardly have had to thank 
 their mother for it. But what cared Jessie for their thoughts 
 or their feelings as long as their frocks and their drawers 
 were extensively trimmed. Jessie's unwearied industry with 
 her thimble had led her into looking upon herself as a kind 
 of mart}T. If, tlierefore, her husband ever ventured to 
 complain of neglect in other matters which he might consider 
 more essential, she would narrate to him in a tone of 
 grievance how constant were her labours, and then wind uj) 
 by asserting that if he wanted more done he must do it him- 
 self. Poor James had at last found out how useless is 
 the attempt to reason with a woman who is altogether 
 unreasonable. Having, too, once begun to despair of mending 
 matters by means of remonstrance, he had giv^en uj) finding 
 fault and left the industrious mother to sew on in peace, 
 and to her heart's content. 
 
 Sir James had, as we have before said, been a poor man 
 until recently, when a fortunate speculation had suddenly 
 rendered him rich. He had himself borne his successes Avith 
 much composure, but they had completely turned the head of
 
 THE TYRANNY OF A I'OOLlSll WIFE. 27l 
 
 his vdh, and now tliat he had so imexpectedly come into a. 
 title the new Lad}^ IMarchniont considered herself a very 
 grand lady indeed. Her thoiiglits at once soared above em- 
 broidery, and her industry was for the future to be employed 
 chiefly in working for herself and her offspring a position in 
 society. This intention was warmly particii)ated in by her 
 son and two daughters, Avith whose elevation, to do Jessie 
 justice, it must be owned she was more occupied than with 
 her own. Samson had just attained the age of twenty-three, 
 and he, especially, was with his mother all on fire to make 
 the most of their worldly advantages and to obtam, through 
 their instrumentality, an entrance into fashionable life. 8ir 
 James would have mshed to have lived quietly and unostenta- 
 tiously still, but his family rebelled against such very con- 
 fined views, and as an mireasonable v,iIo and three self-willed 
 children are more than a match for most men ; Sir James 
 was beginning to find his OAvn strength fail him under the 
 force of the current that had set in against him. 
 
 Lady Marchmont had always been dull in discerning her 
 husband's merits, but it Avas far otherwise Avith regard to her 
 son. In him she contrived to find perfections where others 
 •would simply have discovered faults. Most serious wrong 
 had she done her first-born by fostering liijn in his self-esteem. 
 He was, in her estimation, a heaven-born genius, avIio could 
 do all things well that he attempted. It was this chiefly 
 among Jessie's very limited stock of ideas that she had most
 
 li/li TOM MARCIIMONT. 
 
 tliorouglily instilled into Samson, an-l he was one whose 
 nature never betrayed liini into hiding his fancietl lights under 
 a busliel. So inveterate, indeed, was his practice of display- 
 ing that superiority wliich he couhl make clear to no one 
 save to his mother and himself, that both friends and ac- 
 quaintances were apt, when out of the doting woman's sight 
 and hearing, to vote this youthful Solomon, a bore. 
 
 With such high notions as regarded her son's capabilities 
 it was not strange that Lady ]\Iarchmont sliould now cherish 
 brilliant hopes respecting him. Strong indeed, was the 
 belief within her that, when once the o-)portunity was afforded 
 him of getting among the higher classes, he would be received 
 by the whole band of the rlltc with open arms.
 
 Samson's first entrance into good society. 273 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Samson's first entrance into good society. 
 
 N'early two montlis had elapsed since the death of Sir 
 Cliarles, and Lady Marchmont was thinking it tJne she 
 shoukl adopt the advice given her by her dangliters and her 
 intimate friends, and again enter a little more into society. 
 They were one and all anxious to see the future inheritor of 
 the Baronetcy, and Juliana had at length prevailed on her 
 mother to fix some definite time for the proposed invitation 
 to their cousin. Great were the rejoicings in Montague- 
 square when it arrived, for now were going to he fulfilled, as 
 Jessie believed, some of her most cherished wishes. 
 
 While the new Lady Marchmont was indulging in these 
 hopeful visions concerning her son, there was one among the 
 party'still resident at the Hall, who already felt disposed to lend 
 her influence towards realising them. Juliana was getting 
 heartily tired of the subjection she was under in her mother's 
 house, where she never had been a favourite ; and she longed 
 to emancipate herself. She was, in consequence, quite pre- 
 pared to make the best of her cousin, and if she could succeed 
 in getting him under tutelage, and in giving him some of 
 
 T
 
 274 TOM MARCHMOXT. 
 
 those views and notions which the world of fashion deems to 
 he correct, she considered that rather a brilliant destiny might 
 await her. Emily, the mother's best beloved, and the most 
 attractive of her three daughters, was just now at a fashion- 
 able finishing school in town, while Georgie was already 
 occupied with a lover. 
 
 The first sight of Samson Avas prepossessing to none of 
 them. H is countenance was expressive of little beyond self- 
 complacency, and though this would have been a very par- 
 donable fault in Juliana's eyes, yet his outward appearance 
 carried with it other and more serious defects. He had 
 neither the air of a man of fashion nor the cut of a countr}^ 
 gentleman, and this in spite of the long bill he had run up at 
 a "West-end tailor's by way of preparing himself for his visit. 
 His demeanour showed a good deal of assurance, but it was of 
 a fussy kind, and the efforts he made at displaying his fancied 
 acquirements, and at informing and enlightening his cousins, 
 were looked upon by the whole party as mere blunders. 
 Juliana was indeed beginning to wonder whether the few 
 friends they had invited to meet Samson on the following day 
 might not pronounce him to be either a coxcomb or an idiot, 
 
 and she got more and more to fear that both characters 
 
 might be awarded him. 
 
 " Do you hunt 1 " was one of the first questions she had 
 
 put to him by way of sounding his capabilities. 
 
 Samson was never one to confess an incapacity for any-
 
 Samson's first entrance into good society. 275 
 
 thing except the adoption of his father's old-fashioned 
 notions, and certainly that nohlest and most aristocratic of all 
 British sports was the last thing to which he would have 
 pleaded ignorance. He had, thongh, been feeling bitterly his 
 defective education in this respect, but he believed, never- 
 theless, that with resolution on his part he had ability enough 
 to make a good appearance in the hunting-field as well as in 
 her Ladyshiji's drawing-room, where the ignorance he so fre- 
 quently displayed was, of course, unobserved by himself, 
 though by no one besides. Putting, therefore, a bold face on 
 the matter he assured his cousin that there was nothing he 
 liked so much as a good chase after Reynard, and Juliana 
 derived comfort from the assurance. 
 
 The few expected friends were assembled, and Miss 
 Marchmont made a point of very j)articularly introducing her 
 cousin to their friend and neighbour, Harry Harewood. The 
 latter was well up in sporting jihrases, as well as in other 
 expressions prevalent in fesliionable society, and so he might 
 she hoped, be of some use to the future Baronet. There was 
 nothing Harry liked better than chumming with some one 
 who would let him liavc tlie talk all to himself, and for once 
 Samson proved himself a good listener. There was a reason 
 for his assuming this unwonted character. 
 
 Sporting language was at present as unintelligible to him 
 as was that of the Persians or of the Patagonians, and he felt 
 how essential it was that he should seize any opportunity of 
 
 T 2
 
 276 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 acquiring it. It was, besides, in the hunting season the only 
 language in which Harry could manage to converse. 
 Occasionally a question was put by his auditor which to his 
 sporting ears must have sounded strange, but then these 
 queries were indicative of the value attached by his new 
 acquaintance to his superior knowledge, and it was seldom 
 that Harry's observations received such flattering attention as 
 was paid them on the present occasion. His tickled vanity 
 and his good nature together induced him to look so far 
 leniently on Samson's ignorance as to offer him the loan of 
 his own horse when the latter in the course of conversation 
 expressed the earnest desire he entertained to see some sport 
 in the neighbourhood. 
 
 " I have got a mare on trial," he observed, " which I am 
 going to ride myself." 
 
 This offer was at once accepted and after a little conversa- 
 tion with mamma it was decided that Juliana and Georgie 
 might, without impropriety, join in this last hunt of the 
 season. 
 
 Scarcely had Samson mounted the steed that had been 
 allotted him ere the mind of his elder cousin was over- 
 whelmed mth doubts and misgivings as to the way in which 
 he would acquit himself in the hunting-field. On theu' way, 
 however, to the meet they woidd have to pass Trappit Lodge, 
 where it was expected that Harry would jom them, and in a 
 fit of desperation Juliana decided on asking that good-natured
 
 Samson's first entrance into good society, 277 
 
 friend if lie -would give her cousin a hint as to the right 
 management of the fine animal which he was at present so 
 woefully mis-managing. Harry's quick eye and ready tongue 
 saved her the annoyance of making so mortifying a request, 
 
 " I say, Marchmont," he said, " that horse of mine has got 
 rather a tender mouth. Don't pull at him quite so hard ^vith 
 the bridle." 
 
 Samson's instantaneous compliance Avith this request 
 spurred Harry on to offer hun some further counsel. " Spit- 
 fire," he observed, "is a little fresh this morning, and I 
 expect you mil find him rather hard to manage. I should 
 advise you therefore not to attempt any leaps but just to go 
 quietly round through the gates. You are sure to find some who 
 will keep you company. By the bye I'll introduce you to 
 Martin if he is out to-day. He's a quiet sort of fellow, but he 
 7nust know sometliing of sport, as he has been at it in a way 
 for the last fifty years, and so you are sure to get lots of 
 information out of him." 
 
 Harry's well-intentioned advice had the effect of bitterly 
 mortifying this young aspirant after hunting celebrity, for it 
 compelled him to see, blinded though he was by self-conceit 
 that his genius for sport was not intuitive. He was not, 
 however, one to be easily abashed, and finding there was no 
 possibility of concealing his ignorance, he thought it ad- 
 visable that lie should get his couipanioii to hclj) him out of 
 it by giving him a few further lunts. As to following the
 
 278 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 old gentleman round by the roads and tlirongli the gates, his 
 pride revolted at the idea of such a degi-adation. Sooner 
 would he have broken his own neck and with it his mother's 
 heart, though to hinder the former catastrophe he did not 
 feel above seeking for information where it was so readily to 
 be found. 
 
 " Can you give me an idea," he said, " how to manage your 
 horse so as to get him to take a leap 1 " 
 
 " Oh, there's no fear of his refusing anything," said Harry 
 warmly. He was at once for defending Spitfire's character, 
 which he fancied had been attacked. Then prompted by an 
 unwonted feeling of prudence he added, " it would be an 
 awkward thing though if you should get unseated, or if Spit- 
 fire should choose to take you where he had no business 
 to go." 
 
 Samson was beginning to feel just a little nervous. He 
 saw clearly for the first time in his life that he had been too 
 confident in his own powers. It was true he had recently 
 become himself possessed of a horse which his father had 
 given him at the request of his mother, tliough with stringent 
 cautions from her that he was to study steadiness as well as 
 showiness in the pm'chase. Samson found, however, that 
 riding round the Park on a quiet animal in the dead season 
 of the year, was a very different thing from bounding 
 along the turf on a high mettled steed which had already 
 discovered I he incapacity of its rider, and which was
 
 SAMSON^S FIRST ENTRANCE INTO GOOD SOCIETY. 279 
 
 quite ready to run away with him on any fitting oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 They had just arrived at Yatton and the sight of the 
 hounds and horses put Spitfire into such bounding spiiits 
 that it was hard work to Samson to keep his seat. 
 
 "Hullo, old fellow! how is it you are here on foot?" 
 shouted Harry to a boy of sixteen who was standing a little 
 way apart from the crowd of horsemen, apparently on the 
 look out for him. 
 
 " Wliy that stupid groom of ours let Derby fall yesterday," 
 was the reply, " and so I've got no horse to ride ! I'm going 
 back to school to-morrow, and I thought I'd just walk across to 
 wish you good-bye. I've got a note too for you from mamma." 
 " Is your friend in want of a horse to ride ? " said Samson 
 now eagerly addressing Harry, " because if he is I shall bo 
 most happy to dismount and let him have yours." 
 
 " A capital plan ! " exclaimed the other, who, if the truth 
 were known, was a good deal more anxious for the safety of 
 Spitfire's knees than for that of his rider's neck, both being 
 in his estimation in considerable jeopardy. 
 
 Samson was not altogether a hero ui his own eyes while in 
 the act of dismounting, and in his lieart he cursed his destiny 
 which had given him so homely a bringing up. 
 
 To Harry his new accpiaintance's rapid descent brought 
 Wonderful relief, and hardly was Samson out of sight and hear- 
 ing before he exclaimed to his Iriend and confidante, Georgie.
 
 280 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 " What a queer fellow that cousin of yours is ! Thank 
 Heaven, however, Spitfire is released at last from carrying such 
 a jackass. It would have gone hard with them both, I expect, 
 if Marchmont had not alighted on terra firma in good time." 
 " Oh !" said Juliana in a tone of pique. " Samson ^vill do 
 very well by-and-bye. I expect you would yourself have 
 cut as bad a figure on horseback as he does if you had had 
 as little experience. My cousin only wants a little brushing 
 up." 
 
 " Well," said Harry, " no amount of brushing up will ever 
 
 induce me to lend him my horse to hunt with another time." 
 
 " And you may be quite sm^e he Avon't ask you for it," said 
 
 Juliana haughtily. " I shall tell him to bring his own horse 
 
 when he visits us again ! " 
 
 " AVhat, is he coming again '] " exclaimed Harry. " Well^ 
 Miss Marchmont, you have more patience than I gave you 
 credit for having. If that feUow were to be put upon me for 
 half a day I should have to take a dose of laudanum by 
 way of a soporific." 
 
 *' A book would answer the purpose equally well," said 
 Juliana ironically ; so if chance should ever again throw you 
 in the way of my cousin you have only to take up Gibbon's 
 < Decline and Fall,' or the 'Anatomy of ^lelancholy,' and 
 you are safe to go to sleep without the help of laudanum." 
 
 We must now return to Samson who was not feeling in a 
 particularly happy frame of mind as ho turned his steps
 
 Samson's first entrance into good society. 281 
 
 towards the Hall. However, he had not gone very far before 
 an unlucky cat chanced to cross his path. By way probably 
 of convincing himself that he was still a man of spirit, in 
 spite of sundry untoward circumstances, he at once put a 
 considerable amount of energy into the pelting of the un- 
 fortunate creature, and the momentary excitement had on 
 hhn an exhilarating effect. It happened, though, that no 
 other animal was considerate enougii to present itself for the 
 purpose of being hunted by a man of spuit, and Samson soon 
 began to find the walk along the high-road insufferably tiring 
 and monotonous. But fortune favours the brave and so, just in 
 the nick of time, our hero fell in vntli a bagman who was 
 driving himself in a light spring cart, and who was at once 
 hailed by our tired pedestrian. With the bribe, too, of a 
 five-shilling piece the traveller was easily persuaded to give 
 Sir James's discomfited heir a lift as far as the gates of the 
 avenue, up which he walked with the air of a man who was 
 feeling happy in the recent performance of a disinterested act. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " exclaimed Lady Marchmont as he en- 
 tered the drawing-room; "whatever is the matter?" 
 
 " Oil nothing," replied Samson witli assumed non- 
 chalance; " but there was a young fellow we met, a friend of 
 ^Ir. Harewood's, who Avas so disappointed at not being of the 
 hunting-party that I thought it would be only kind to let 
 him have the horse wliich liad been lent to me. Ijcsides it 
 seemed hardly fair that we should all desert you this morn-
 
 282 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 iiig ; and now I shall be very liappy to be at your service for 
 the rest of the day." 
 
 Lady ^Marchmont gave her guest a well-bred smile, while 
 she inwardly wished he had not been quite so accommodat- 
 ing. How to dispose of this considerate friend, who had re- 
 tii-ed from the chase for her especial benefit, was indeed a 
 thought that occasioned her some perplexity. There was no 
 horse in the stable excejot a lame one. Lady Marchmont had 
 had her morning's walk, and Samson politely declined her 
 proposal that he should take a constitutional on his o^vn 
 accoimt. There was nothing for it but to resign herself to 
 her fate. Our hero proved himself a faithful squire, and 
 most assiduously did he apply himself to the task of amusing 
 and instructing her. However, conversation in spite of his 
 efforts soon begun to flag, and Samson who was always fertile 
 in expedients, now hit upon what he considered to be a very 
 happy one for the further entertainment of his hostess. 
 
 In his school days it had been a custom that at the end of 
 each half the parents of the boys should assemble for the 
 purpose of hearing their sons recite jooetry. Mrs. Marchmont 
 had on these occasions always persistently declared that 
 Samson's performance out-topjoed that of any of his school, 
 fellows ; indeed so highly was it esteemed by her that at their 
 annual Christmas party a rehearsal of it formed a very promi- 
 nent part of the evening's amusement, and though James 
 Marchmont's private opinion always had been that these little
 
 Samson's first entrance into good society. 283 
 
 entertaninients would have gone off better without such promi- 
 nent help from his son, yet he had never ventured on saying as 
 much. He had, though, on one occasion hinted that the boy 
 would do better if he would refrain from wasting his energies on 
 such immeanmg action, and that his recitations would appeal 
 more to the feelings of his auditors if he could throw himself a 
 little into the spirit of the author, and put aside the wish to 
 be liimself the sole hero of the piece. This hint, however, 
 had no other effect than that of bringing down on the worthy 
 man the vehement indignation of his wife, who angrily 
 asserted that all the dear child's dawning genius woidd too 
 sui'ely be crippled by such unjust and cruel criticism. "With 
 her son's acting therefore, as well as with other things, 
 it was the unreasonable woman who gained the day; 
 and James Marchmont, feeling himself vanquished, again 
 yielded quiedy to the powerfid force which under the 
 garb of folly had set in against him. 
 
 Fortified with the recollection of his mother's unlindtcd 
 commendations, and spurred on by his keen desire to mix in 
 the fashionable amusements of the day, Samson was at 
 present occupied with the idea of offei-uig his services in some 
 private theatricals, and he was glad of an opportunity of 
 testing his powers. He had been at some pains in getting 
 up Othello, and lie now proposed giving her Ladyship the 
 benefit of liis labours. Tlie offer was somewliat listlessly 
 accepted, and Othello was read. Samson was politely
 
 284 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 thanked, too, when the performance was ended, and no ex- 
 pression of discontent was heard. However, as his auditress 
 had always been a frequenter of the theatres, it is more than 
 probable that her Ladyship did not hold his way of reading 
 in the same estimation as did his mother. 
 
 Samson had commenced a criticism on the play which he 
 had borrowed from Johnson, when the sound of horse's 
 hoofs betokened the return of the hunting party. Lady 
 Marchmont had been expecting her daughters for the last 
 hour or two, and she was thoroughly out of temper when 
 they arrived. Samson had at once left the ibawing-room for 
 tlie purpose of helping his cousins to dismount, and of then 
 having a talk with the groom respecting the merits of the two 
 horses. Her Ladyship was thus afforded a favourable oppor- 
 tunity of venting her ill-humour on her eldest daughter. 
 
 " Well, Juliana," she exclaimed sharply as that young lady 
 entered the room, " I daresay it has been very amusing to 
 you scampering over the country during the last eight hours, 
 but mind another time when guests are invited here at your 
 request, I shall expect you to entertain them yourself." 
 
 " Why, mamma," was the reply, " it was you know with 
 your own full consent that Georgie and I left you to day, 
 and so I cannot see that you are now justihed in blaming 
 me as you do." 
 
 This was said in anything but a pacificatory tone, and 
 it had not in consequence a pacifying effect.
 
 SAMSONS FIRST ENTRANCE INTO GOOD SOCIETY. 285 
 
 " I always mean to be mistress in my own house," said 
 her ladyship authoritatively, " and when I think fit to find 
 fault I don't expect to be answered by you. !N'ow silence — " 
 
 Lady Marchniont perceived an inclination on the part of 
 her daughter to have the last word if she could. Then taking 
 out her watch, " How late you are ?" she went on peevislily. 
 " Go up stairs at once, and get ready for dinner." 
 
 As she spoke she gave her daughter a look implying that 
 she meant to be obeyed, and Juliana retired. 
 
 The latter thought, as she ascended the stair, that 
 any change would be preferable to such slavery as this, even 
 though it were to involve an indissoluble union mth her 
 stupid, under-bred cousin. He might after all, with the help 
 of a little instruction, soon be rendered passable, and she deter- 
 mined on devoting herself to the task of educating him. 
 She felt too that as his visit was only to be of a week's 
 duration, no time should be lost in the attempt. 
 
 " You should take some lessons in riding," she said, good 
 humouredly that same evening, as soon as she had an oppor- 
 tunity of speaking to him unheard by lier mother. 
 
 " I fully intend doing so," was the reply. " I can manage 
 very well in toAvn, but I find riding in the country such a 
 totally diiferent thing that I hardly know wliat T am 
 about." 
 
 "What a pity you did not bring your own liorse with you," 
 said Juliana pleasantly. " Xow, supposing you Avere to
 
 286 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 hire one of Hardmann's at Barking for the rest of the time 
 yon are here 1 He has, I know, a beautiful chesnut, and if it 
 is at home we might have some capital rides together, and it 
 would accustom you to a scamper over the turf." 
 
 Samson eagerly fell in with the notion, and before re- 
 tii'ing to rest Juliana ^vrote to this same Hardmann, she then 
 gave the note to her maid with an injunction that it was to 
 be sent off by one of the school-children the first thing in the 
 morning. On the afternoon of the same day the chesnut 
 made its appearance, and Samson received from his cousin his 
 lesson in horsemanship. He proved, at all events, an atten- 
 tive pupil, and so far satisfied his teacher that she now gave 
 herself up, heart and soul, to the task of initiating him in 
 the ways of society. By means too of badinage and clever 
 little hints she got him on so far that when his visit was 
 ended Lady Marchmont herself admitted that he was vastly 
 improved by it.
 
 VAULTING AMBITION. 287 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 VAULTING AMBITION. 
 
 Lady Marchmont had a sister living in the fashionable 
 world of London, and it had been found a convenient ar- 
 rangement that the family from Granby Hall should visit 
 her for a couple of months during the season. In return 
 for this hospitality Mrs. Gaystone and her daughters liad 
 always spent a portion of the autumn or of the winter 
 months at the Hall, for the purpose of recruiting their 
 health, and of joining in the sports and amusements of the 
 neighbourhood. Lady Marchmont had felt some scruples 
 with regard to paying her accustomed visit this season to 
 so professedly gay a house ; however, her objections had been 
 overruled. She was assured that a change was essential to 
 her health, and she was not unwilling to believe the asser- 
 tion : so, early in the month of May, the j^arty from Granby 
 Hall found themselves established in Mrs. Gaystone's fine 
 house in Grosvenor Square. 
 
 Tliis visit afforded Juliana a grand opportunity of bringing 
 her cousin into good society. Mrs. Gaystone liad married all 
 her own daughters, and now she would have been very
 
 288 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 happy to have helped her sister off with hers. She was 
 therefore delighted to get any young man of expectations 
 as a visitor, and Samson was given a general invitation to 
 come when he pleased. His gratitude to his cousin seemed, 
 in consequence, to be unbounded, and he was entirely at her 
 service for rides or walks or what she pleased. It began 
 therefore to be looked upon as a settled thing that Lady 
 Marchmont's eldest daughter Avas eventually to occupy the 
 position she had herself hitherto held at the Hall, and no 
 one entertained a doubt but that the young people would 
 come to an understanding before the London visit had ter- 
 minated. Samson had, as we have said before, rapidly 
 profited by his cousin's instructions, and having attained a 
 certain amount of the superficial manners of the world, 
 Lady Marchmont had decided that the marriage was one of 
 which her daughter would not have positively to feel 
 ashamed. 
 
 Towards the end of the Marchmont's visit their hostess 
 gave a grand ball, and Samson of course was there. Amongst 
 Mrs. Gaystone's guests were the Earl of Gosset and his tliree 
 daughters, the Ladies Angelina, Caroline, and Matilda Peck- 
 ham. The two elder ones had been to a good many balls 
 and parties already, but their father, who had little to endow 
 them with, had not yet succeeded in getting them off his 
 hands. They knew all about Samson ^Nfarchmont and of his 
 father's successful speculation, which report said was likelj"
 
 VAULTING AMBITION. 289 
 
 to bring him in a mine of weallh. They decided therefore 
 that Samson himself would he a sufficiently good speculation 
 for themselves. It was the Lady Angelina who showed most 
 especial willingness to dance with him, and on his handing 
 her to her carriage she got her father to invite l.dm to a 
 dinner-party at their own house on the following day. 
 Samson fancied himself grown some inches taller while 
 receiving and accepting the invitation. The next morning 
 lie was in Grosvenor Square at an unusually early hour. 
 It had been arranged that he was to lunch there at one, 
 and afterwards to accompany his cousins to a flower-show. 
 
 It was now barely twelve, and Mrs. Gaystone who was in 
 the drawing-room when he entered, at once prognosticated 
 favourably from his early appearance, and gave him in con- 
 sequence a particularly friendly reception. He must, she 
 thought, have some special object in coming a full hour 
 before he was expected, i^o doubt the proposal was just 
 now on his lips. 
 
 " I have some letters to write," she said in a tone of 
 familiarity, as she rose to leave the room, " and I may not 
 therefore see you again before the evening. You will of course 
 come and dine with us. The girls are going to the Opera 
 this last evening, and they will be glad of your escort. I am 
 tired myself, and .shall prefer spending a (^uict evening with 
 Lady Marchmont." 
 
 "I have ail engagement for iliis evening at ihe I'ar] of
 
 '290 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 Gosset's," was Samson's reply, his voice and manner be- 
 traying the pride he felt in making the announcement. " I 
 am afraid too," he added, " T must pay you rather a hurried 
 visit this morning," and he advanced for the purpose of 
 taking leave. 
 
 "But you are going with them to the flower-shoAV, arc 
 you not?" said Mrs. Gaystone, her tone and manner ex- 
 pressing great surprise. 
 
 " I — I am afraid I must give that up," said Samson, get- 
 ting a little flurried. " I have an important engagement." 
 
 "What important engagement can j'ou have got]" in- 
 quired Juliana somcAvhat haughtily. 
 
 She had taken her cousin so entirely under her pupilage, 
 that she thought it only her due that he should inform her 
 of all his arrangements. 
 
 Samson got fairly annoyed. He considered that Juliana 
 was taking a great deal too much upon herself in thus 
 bringing him to book. He must let her see that he would 
 keep his own counsel whenever he thought fit. Such being 
 his determination, we must ourselves enlighten our readers as 
 to the intentions of this young eligible. Lady Angelina had 
 told him the previous night that she and her party intended 
 on the folloAving day to be at the grand review in Hyde Park, 
 at which her father would be the officer in command. 
 She had also hinted that she would like to meet him there. 
 Such a hint, coming from an Earl's daughter, was, in Samson's
 
 VAULTING AMBITION. 291 
 
 Opinion, equal to a command, and so to tlie review he was 
 bent on going. He did not think he had made any positive 
 promise to his cousins with regard to the flower-show. At 
 all events he would, as he supposed, easily get out of the 
 difficulty by bewailing his disappointment at being so un- 
 avoidably hindered from accompanying them. This close 
 questioning he had not in the least anticipated, and he re- 
 solved on meeting it v/ith silent contempt. Turning his 
 back therefore on Ids former ally he addressed himself solely 
 to the lady of the house. 
 
 " I should, I assure 3''ou," he said, " have been most happy 
 to join your party but — " 
 
 " But you don't want to ! Is that it, Mr. Marchmont V 
 " Certainly not," replied Samson, who had no intention of 
 discontinuing his visits at so good a house as Mrs. Gaystone's. 
 " I had made an engagement," he went on, " but I feel sorely 
 tempted to prove false to it for once." 
 
 ''I should have thought your engagement to us had been 
 |»rior to any other," said Mrs. Gaystone haughtily. 
 
 " Then I shall be delighted to keep to it," said Samson, 
 now getting faii'ly terrified at the sparks of anger that shot 
 from the eyes of his usually courteous and agreeable hostess. 
 " I think," he went on, " you start at two? I must go and 
 make my excuses to my friend. The fiict is I had entirely 
 forgotten, when we were talking" about the flower-show yes- 
 terday, a previous engagement that I had made with him." 
 
 u 2
 
 292 TOM MARCHMONT. 
 
 " And pray who is this friend of yours 1 " inquii'ed 
 Juliana. 
 
 "Who is hoi Why — why — Thomas Bohb:^." 
 ]Srow Thomas Dobbs was a man who by industry and good 
 conduct had risen quite from the lower classes, and of all his 
 father's fiimiliars he was the one whom Samson most cor- 
 dially despised. The mere name of Dobbs would hardly 
 have been mentioned by our hero in the presence of ears 
 polite, were it not that his self-possession had for the moment 
 forsaken hiin. Mr. Dobbs had that very morning been 
 breakfasting in Montague Square by invitation from Sir 
 James, who wished to have a talk with him about some 
 charitable work in which they were both interested. The 
 worthy man had, before leaving, expressed a wish that he 
 might see some of the party at the meeting which was to be 
 held that day in furtherance of the charitable object — a wish 
 which our hero had never had a thought of gratifying. Just 
 now, however, Samson felt like a culprit, anxious to repel 
 any insinuation that might be flung at him respecting his 
 own very vaulting ambition. Dobbs therefore was the 
 only name which by way of exculpation, and in the hurry 
 of the moment, the future Baronet could manage to get 
 hold of. 
 
 " And pray who is this Mr, Dobbs ? " inquired Juliana in 
 a slightly supercilious tone. 
 
 " Oh, he's one of those awfully good people who are
 
 VAULTING AMBITIOX. 293 
 
 always dunniug you for money in some way or other. It 
 was I fancy some missionary meeting that he wanted us all 
 to attend. But I must be off at once. I shall he here 
 again before two." 
 
 Suiting the action to the word Samson at once disap- 
 peared, leaving behind him an impression that his story 
 about a previous engagement was false from beginning to 
 end. Had Mrs, Gaystone set a spy upon his movements ho 
 would have been discovered wending his steps towards the 
 hair-dresser's shop tlien most in vogue. Our hero deemed it 
 essential that he should have his hair cut and put into order 
 before dining with an Earl, and, as he did not know how 
 long the fete was likely to last, he thought he had better 
 make sure of getting through such an important operation 
 beforehand. He had not taken into account the certainty that 
 Juliana's Ijnx eyes would at once discover the metamorphosis 
 which a visit of this kind so generall}^ produces on mankind. 
 She was, in fact, little disposed to spare liim, finding, as she 
 now did, tliat all her trouble had l)een fruitless as fir as she 
 was concerned, and that she had probably been merely helping 
 her cousin to grow more vaultmg in his ambition as regarded 
 the choice of a wife. Indeed the whole party were out of 
 humour with our hero, who neither enjoyed their company 
 nor the fete to which he had found himself compelled to 
 escort them. 
 
 The Earl's dinner was on the contrary the most delightful
 
 294 T(n\ MARCHMONT. 
 
 thiug lie had ever been at. He had the honour of taking in 
 the Lady Angelina, and he received besides a promise from 
 the Countess that she would get him an invitation to the 
 Duke of Magnum's ball. What young man, fresh from a 
 merchant's office, and blessed with a silly and ambitious 
 mother, could escape having his head turned by such con- 
 descension 1 Decidedly it was too much for our hero. It 
 was late when he returned home, nevertheless his mother 
 was up to receive him, and was all eagerness to get from him 
 an exact account of everything. She was intending to give 
 a dinner-party herself, and her ambition was that her's should 
 be the exact counterpart of the Earl's. On his entering 
 the room, 
 
 " Well, Samson," she exclaimed as she put down her em- 
 broidery, and, looking proudly at her son, rose to. give him 
 a maternal kiss, " how have you enjoyed yourself f 
 
 " Oh, gloriously," was the reply. " We had such a splendid 
 dinner, and — " 
 
 " What did you have V was the eager rejoinder. 
 
 Samson did his best to explain, but he made rather a 
 jumble of the dishes. However he was able to inform his 
 mother of a few leading facts by which she considered herself 
 to be materially benefited. The company, the dresses, and 
 the conversation were next brought under review. Samson 
 declared that he had never known what real high-breeding 
 meant till now. He was enchanted with the easy affability
 
 Vaulting ambition. 295 
 
 of the Earl and Countess, and with that of the daughters 
 besides. Their behaviour towards him liad indeed con- 
 trasted strikingly with that which he had experienced in 
 tlie morning from Mrs. Gaystone and his cousins the 
 ]\farclimonts. But then ^Irs. Gaystone, though she did 
 entertain lords and ladies at her house, was not herself a 
 member of tlie aristocracy, and in this way her want of 
 politeness might be accounted for. As to his cousins he 
 considered them to be merely country-bred lasses, and indeed 
 he feared he might be tem];)ted to feel a little ashamed of 
 them were he at any future period to meet them among the 
 really higher circles. 
 
 " What a pity it is," he exclaimed as a wind up to his 
 oration, " that father wall insist on keeping on with those 
 vulgar people, the Cooks and the Smiths, and with Thomas 
 Dobbs too, who is in my opinion the worst of the whole 
 lamp. These great folks don't like coming in the way of 
 the common herd, and I am afraid they inay get a little 
 sliy of us if they lind out that we have such plebeian blood 
 continually about us." 
 
 " Oh !" said Lady Marchmont Avith a deep sigh, " it is, 
 you know, of no use reasoning with your father. \ have 
 taken trouble enougli with him before now ; but a man of 
 his age and with such confined views is not likely to im- 
 prove as he grows older." 
 
 "Well," said .Samson by way of parting words as h« took
 
 296 TOM MAKCIIMOXt. 
 
 up Ills bed candlestick, " it will be as well to explain to 
 people how eccentric father is, and to let it "be fully under- 
 stood that we none of us appreciate liis taste in the choice 
 of his friends." 
 
 We cannot say for a certainty whether Lady Marchmont 
 acted by her son's advice. Perhaps she did — at least it is 
 very certam that in spite of the Cooks, and the Smiths, and of 
 Thomas Dobbs to boot, there soon was a free interchange 
 of visits between the Earl's family and that of the Baronet. 
 Indeed so rapidly did this intimacy progress that in the coiu'se 
 of the autumn tliere was a grand announcement in the Times of 
 a marriage in high life. ^^Ir. Marchmont, the eldest son of Sir 
 James, had led to the Hymenean altar Lady Angelina, the 
 eldest daughter of the Earl of Gosset. The happy pair had 
 gone at once to liis Lordship's beautiful seat, Peckham Park, 
 in Leicestershire, vrhere they would probably remain dimug 
 the hunting season. 
 
 There was a hearty laugh at Ciranby Hall over this an- 
 nouncement, Juliana hoping that her riding lessons might 
 prove of some use to lier cousin, and that they would save 
 him from getting his neck broken the first time he attempted 
 a leap over a five-barr'tl gate. 
 
 END OF VOLUME ONi:.
 
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