6ihiwtbrni Ctudre-uum. 

 
 a I E) R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 U N IVLR5ITY 
 or ILLI NOIS 
 
 V.I
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES 
 
 A STORY OF REAL LIFE 
 
 A>>v . ^5 J)cJ>i^^*<JJx 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 COLBUEN A^'D CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 GEEAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1S51.
 
 LONDON 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
 
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 . CHAPTER I. 
 
 ** As of the green leaves on a thick tree, some fall 
 and some grow, so is the generation of flesh and 
 
 ;^ blood." ECCLESIASTICUS. 
 
 *' Doth each day upon its wing 
 Its allotted burthen bring ? 
 ^^ Load it not beside with sorrow, 
 
 ^.,;' Which belongeth to the morrow. 
 
 Strength is promised — strength is given 
 When the heart by God is riven ; 
 But foredate the day of woe. 
 And alone thou bear'st the blow." 
 
 There are few sights more deeply mo\ing 
 N; than a soldier's funeral. I think all who 
 
 VOL, I. B
 
 2 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 have witnessed one must have felt this ; 
 and although this may be in part owing to 
 the (Comparative infrequency of the spectacle, 
 yet I think much of the effect on our feelings 
 is due to the force of contrast between all 
 the bravery of the outward show, and the 
 occasion that calls it forth. The ordinary 
 trappings of woe — the hearse and mourning- 
 coach, the plumes and hired niourners — 
 convey only the idea of gloom ; but there is 
 something in the spectacle of soldiers bearing 
 a comrade to the grave — the arms reversed — 
 touching yet subdued token of manly sorrow, 
 or the charger riderless, the useless sword 
 and helmet, the muffled drum, the measured 
 tread of many hundred feet, and, above all, 
 the wail of that solemn music which sounds 
 only for the dead — there is something in 
 this which stirs the spirit to its depths. 
 I may be told — and I know it — there is
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 3 
 
 oftentimes far more of real giief in the slen- 
 der train that follows a little child's coffin, or 
 among the mourners in the hired coach, than 
 in all this pageantry. I speak only of its 
 eflPect on a stranger. I, who have wit- 
 nessed many, can never behold one unmoved. 
 
 These reflections are prompted by the 
 remembrance of a young soldier's funeral 
 which I witnessed some years ago. There 
 was an unusually large attendance of offi- 
 cers, and I thought the faces of some of them 
 betokened real grief. Meeting one of them 
 the same evening, I asked him whose fune- 
 ral had taken place that day. 
 
 " Do you not know?" said he; " it was poor 
 Livingstone's, who was killed last week." 
 
 '* Livingstone l" exclaimed I, "not John 
 Livingstone? Impossible! — ^he is in Scot- 
 land." 
 
 '' No, no," said my informant, " not one 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 of your Livingstones. Walter Livingstone, 
 Lord Glenruth's son: no relation, I be- 
 lieve, but a very fine young fellow — an only 
 son." 
 
 ''An only son. Are his parents in 
 London ?" 
 
 " No ; he begged Ned Armytage to go 
 and break the news to his father and sister 
 — his mother is dead — and to bring them 
 up, but they were too late. It was all 
 over sooner than even the doctors ex- 
 pected." 
 
 "How was he killed?" 
 
 " His horse put his foot on a loose 
 stone, and rolled over him. He was hardly 
 scratched, but his spine was broken. Poor 
 fellow !" continued Captain Clavering, " I 
 had spoken to him at the club not ten 
 minutes before he fell, and he was brought 
 back dying — that night he was dead. I
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 5 
 
 shall never forget it. We were all watching 
 the doctor's face, and saw at once there 
 was no hope. Poor Walter ! what a favou- 
 rite he was." 
 
 " What a terrible blow for his father and 
 sister." 
 
 "Yes; Armytage says Lord Glenruth 
 is quite heart-broken. Ned is terribly cut up 
 about it himself He was his greatest friend. 
 He has gone to Scotland with the body." 
 
 I went home moralizing on the uncer- 
 tainty of life, as we all do when we hear of 
 such a case as this ; and think, as Captain 
 Clavering said, we shall never forget it; 
 neither do we forget it perhaps ; but we cease 
 to think of it as likely to affect us. Each 
 one returns to his business and his pleasure, 
 as if he were exempt from the changes and 
 chances of mortality. 
 
 Walter Livingstone's death was remem-
 
 6 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 bered longer than such things often are by 
 the crowd. He was, as Captain Clavering 
 had said, a general favourite ; and to see him 
 dying, cut down in the glory of his youth, 
 was a sight to awe and sadden the most 
 unthinking spirit. That little stone in his 
 horse's path was enough to check the cun-ent 
 of life which flowed so seeming strong. 
 
 I thought much of the bereaved father 
 and sister, and felt a great desire to hear 
 more of them, which was afterwards gratified, 
 as the following pages will inform you, cour- 
 teous reader. 
 
 They left London the day of the funeral. 
 Edward Armytage accompanied the remains 
 of his friend on their last journey, and saw 
 them laid to rest among the graves of his 
 race; and when that was done he still 
 lingered at Glenruth. He felt an intense 
 desire to comfort the broken-hearted old
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 7 
 
 man and gentle girl, who had lost what was 
 dearest to them on earth, and who evidently 
 did find comfort in his deep and quiet sym- 
 pathy. He was no stranger. Young 
 Livingstone and he had been schoolfellows 
 and chosen companions in boyhood and 
 youth, and in happier days Edward had 
 visited Glenruth with his friend, and knew 
 all its wild beauties as well as Walter him- 
 self — perhaps appreciated them even more 
 vividly. 
 
 So he Hngered on, each day saying to 
 himself that when he saw Lord Glenruth a 
 little better he would go ; but the poor old 
 man, akeady an invalid, had received his 
 death-blow, and although he exerted himself 
 for his child's sake, to struggle with his 
 sorrow and subdue its out\v^ard manifesta- 
 tions, it did its work all the more surely 
 on his wasted frame. Grace was not blinded,
 
 8 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 she knew her father was dying, but she did 
 not speak of it to any one ; she had need 
 of all the self-control — which she possessed 
 in an eminent degree — no human being 
 could help her to bear her grief; but she 
 knew that He could who had lain it on her, 
 and from Him alone she sought strength. 
 
 Grace Livingstone w^as no common charac- 
 ter, and her training, very different from 
 that of most girls, had developed all her 
 good and noble qualities, so that at seventeen 
 she had the wisdom and self-reliance of a 
 thoughtful woman, with the simplicity of a 
 child. To know herself, to find her happi- 
 ness in seeking that of others, to live for the 
 day, and let the morrow bear its own burthen, 
 to enjoy thankfully every blessing given, but 
 ^' to reckon blindly neither on happiness or rest 
 on earth ; such were the lessons of a tender 
 mother, whose death, when Grace was barely
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 9 
 
 twelve 3'ears old, grievous loss as it was,' 
 would have been more grievous still had she 
 been, like most children of her age, incapable 
 of remembering or acting upon them. But 
 she bore them in her heart, and made them 
 the rule of her life, the more implicitly, 
 perhaps, that the voice which had so often 
 and so earnestly enjoined them, w^as silenced 
 for ever. 
 
 From her mother Grace inherited much 
 strength of character, especially the power of 
 endurance ; but it might have been a passive 
 endurance had not Lady Glenruth so well 
 understood her temperament — rather grave 
 than gay, excitable yet indolent — and applied 
 the needful remedy to its defects. 
 
 " Remember," she woiild often say, " that 
 Hope is the sister virtue of Faith and Love. 
 Hope to the end, my child ; cultivate a 
 cheerful spirit ; look trouble fairly in the face
 
 10 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 "when it is plain before you, but do not go to 
 meet it. Trust in God." 
 
 After her mother's death Grace became 
 the comfort and the idol of her father, who, 
 with the tenderest heart, the most honourable 
 and upright mind, and an intellect of the 
 highest order, chastened by a devout faith, 
 was yet not capable of having laid such a 
 foundation. 
 
 His was the superfine organisation which 
 so often accompanies genius ; his health had 
 suffered from severe wounds yet unhealed, 
 and these combined to produce a degree of 
 nervous excitability which made his spirits 
 very unequal. But to raise on the founda- 
 tion already laid a fair superstructure, he was 
 eminently qualified. 
 
 His little daughter's education became his 
 task and delight, and as she inherited his 
 genius and love of learning, she soon became
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 11 
 
 a child of rare attainments ; and ignorant 
 though she might be of the world and its 
 ways, her mind was stored with the wisdom 
 of the past, and she looked on nature with 
 a poet's and a painter's eye. From both 
 parents she inherited humility and gentleness, 
 and a loving, unselfish heart. Faults too she 
 had inherited of course, but they had been 
 so early pointed out to her, and she so 
 humbly desired to know and combat them, 
 that seldom indeed were they apparent to 
 any one but herself and the Searcher of 
 hearts. 
 
 Such a nature would have redeemed a 
 plain face, but Grace was beautiful. Can it 
 be wondered, then, that Edward Armytage 
 loved her with all the passionate devotion of 
 first love. 
 
 Did she love him ? As the dearest friend 
 of the beloved brother who was gone, almost
 
 12 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 as her own brother now, he knew she did, 
 not otherwise he thought, else would he not 
 have lingered near her ; for Edward Ai'my- 
 tage was too poor to marry, and too honour- 
 able, under such circumstances, to seek a 
 woman's love. Perhaps he had dreams, as 
 all lovers have, of winning fame and fortune, 
 to lay at her feet some day ; but meanwhile 
 he kept a strict watch over himself, and 
 neither word nor look betrayed the secret 
 that was hoarded in his heart. Besides, he 
 thought humbly of himself, as the noblest 
 natures always do, and deemed himself un- 
 worthy of one so good, so gifted, so beauti- 
 ful. 
 
 And Grace, her heart preoccupied with 
 care for her dying father, and the memory of 
 her dead brother, thought not of Edward 
 Armytage, save as the kindest of human 
 beings, to whom her grateful affection was
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 13 
 
 frankly given. If she had given more she 
 knew it not, for her calm, steadfast eyes 
 sought his, as she thanked him again and 
 again for aU his goodness, and he felt that 
 her heart was free, and he rejoiced. I caU 
 that unselfish love. 
 
 One evening he received a letter, which 
 determined his fate. It was an offer from 
 the newly - appointed Governor-General of 
 India, to take him as one of his aides-de- 
 camp. An immediate answer was required ; 
 and in case of acceptance, he was to join 
 without delay. The decision was easily 
 made, for to refuse such an offer would have 
 been to throw away prospects, which might 
 never open to him again. Yet he felt how 
 gladly, if he might, he would have given up 
 everything then to be near her in her hour 
 of deepening sorrow, for he saw that Lord 
 Glenruth's days were numbered. His heart
 
 14 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 filled, too, at the thought of leaving the kind 
 old man, who seemed to have learned to look 
 upon him with a father's aifection, and 
 never could bear to hear of his leaving 
 Glenruth. 
 
 How should he prepare him for so 
 sudden a departure ; Grace must be 
 told first, so he went in search of 
 her. 
 
 She was sitting by her father, who had 
 fallen asleep as she read to him ; the lines 
 which son'ow had channelled in his pale 
 fine face seemed deeper, and even in sleep he 
 sighed heavily. Grace's eyes were full of 
 tears, but they did not overflow then. Poor 
 Edward! this did not help him, but there 
 was no escape. 
 
 " Will you speak with me on the terrace 
 for a few minutes ?" whispered he. 
 
 She rose quietly and followed him, but
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 15 
 
 with a face so sad — so sad and meek — he 
 could hardly bear it. 
 
 " Come to the other end and sit on 
 the bench ; you look too tired to walk." 
 
 " I must not stay long," she said ; " he is 
 not well to-night." 
 
 " Do you think him worse ? Shall we 
 send for Dr. Baillie ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ; Dr. Baillie can do nothing now, 
 he has told me so ;" and she covered her 
 face with her hands, and burst into tears. 
 
 How he longed — oh ! how he longed — to 
 take her in his arms, and kiss those dear 
 weeping eyes; but he refrained, he dared 
 not give way to his tenderness, he did not 
 even take her hand ; but he waited tiU 
 she was calm again, and then he said 
 quietly : 
 
 " You know I would do anything in
 
 16 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 my power to be of use to you, yet I fear 
 I shall have to leave you just when — " 
 
 He paused, for Grace started as if a 
 spasm had gone through her. It was 
 momentary ; and then she looked inquiringly 
 at him — it must be told at once. 
 
 " I have the offer of a staff appointment 
 in India, and the letter must be answered 
 by return of post. Here it is ; wdll you 
 read it f ' 
 
 As her hand touched his in taking the 
 letter, he felt that it was as cold as marble ; 
 it had not been so a few minutes before. 
 Her colour went and came as she read the 
 letter; but when she returned it to him, 
 she said ver}^ quietly : 
 
 " Of course you will accept it, and we 
 must teU him in the morning, you must go 
 to-morrow."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 17 
 
 " To-morrow, or the next day at latest, I 
 fear ; but if your father is startled by it, 
 I will wait at any cost till I see him better." 
 
 Grace sighed. 
 
 " No, no, you must not risk your appoint- 
 ment, that would do him more harm than 
 even your going ; and indeed the worst that 
 any shock can do him is to send him sooner 
 to his rest — I ought to wish that, only I 
 would like him to sleep quietly to-night. 1 
 must go back to him now, and you must 
 go and answer the letter." She rose and 
 held out her hand to him, " God bless you 
 for all your kindness to us ! we shall miss 
 you sadly now." 
 
 He bent his head, and kissed the slender 
 white hand : it was still icy cold, but she felt 
 a hot tear fall on it. She went back to her 
 father, he was still sleeping; and then she 
 went to her own room, and locked the door. 
 
 As by a lightning flash she had been 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 shown her secret love, hidden till now from 
 herself. How dear — how inexpressibly dear 
 he was ! and now they must part — oh ! why 
 must they part ? Why must she have this 
 new trial — must she lose him too? This 
 was her first rebellious thought; but hum- 
 bler, better feelings soon arose. She felt she 
 was ungj-ateful, unthankful, selfish. Ought 
 she not rather to rejoice at his good fortune 
 instead of dwelling upon her own disappoint- 
 ment ? ought she not to spare him the pain 
 of seeing her sorrow ? 
 
 It was with no chain of flowers that love 
 bound that young innocent heart ; yet even 
 then would it have taken its freedom ? No ! 
 
 It never occurred to her then that she 
 could possibly be as dear to Edward as he 
 was to her, and thus the effort of each was 
 to wear a mask before the other ; not from 
 pride, not fi'om distrust, not even from 
 maidenly reserve on her part, not from any
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 19 
 
 of the usual motives which prompt conceal- 
 ment, but because each would rather suffer 
 silently than bring upon the other a shadow 
 of pain; — yes, I call that unselfish love. 
 Perhaps you will say a grain or two of 
 selfishness would have served their purpose 
 a great deal better. 
 
 Edward had watched her, with his soul in 
 his eyes, while she read the letter, and as 
 that spasm appeared to pass through her, a 
 sympathetic thrill — was it w^hoUy pain, or 
 tinged with joy ? — shot through his heart ; 
 but she spoke and looked so calmly, and her 
 thoughts were evidently so full of her father, 
 that he controlled the strong yearning which 
 prompted him to speak, and speak the tiiith. 
 " Why should I startle her with a confession 
 of my love just now," thought he, "when 
 she needs aU her strength, and when I must 
 leave her ?" 
 
 And Grace said : "I must not let him see 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 how bitterly I feel this parting. It would 
 grieve his kind heart." 
 
 So after a while, she went down stairs and 
 made tea for him, and they talked of his 
 prospects in India — of everything excepting 
 that which filled both their hearts to over- 
 flowing. 
 
 It was a sleepless night with both, and 
 Grace shrank from the task which was before 
 her, of breaking the news to her father, whose 
 extreme debility made it but too probable 
 that any agitation might be fatal. She found 
 him as he had been the night before, very 
 low — the tears streaming down his face. 
 When she came in, he tried to smile — but it 
 was such a faint, heart-broken smile, more 
 sad to see than tears. She sat down in her 
 place at his feet, and began to read the Bible 
 to him, as had been her daily custom for 
 years. She read the breathings of the 
 afflicted yet believing soul in the sublime
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 21 
 
 strains of the Psalmist; the compassionate 
 call of the blessed Saviour to the weary and 
 heavy laden. The divine words fell like balm 
 on that bruised heart. They strengthened 
 her own too, and after a few minutes passed 
 in silent prayer, she began : — 
 
 " Dear father, you must come out on the 
 terrace to-day. Edward Armytage would 
 like to see you there again once more before 
 he goes, and you know the fresh air always 
 does you good." 
 
 " Before Edward Armytage goes ? He is 
 not thinking of leaving us yet, I hope." 
 
 "You know, dear father, he has been 
 a long time with us; I am sure he would 
 stay longer if he could ; but he must go 
 soon, it seems." 
 
 " He told me he had leave till October, 
 and I thought by that time: — but when 
 must he go ? — how soon ?" 
 
 " He got a letter yesterday requiring
 
 22 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 him to go up to town immediately ; he 
 has the offer of some staff appointment, 
 which you will be glad to hear; but he 
 will tell you about it himself. Will you 
 see him now or by-and-bye?" 
 
 " I will see him now ; — stay, my dar- 
 ling ; he looked very earnestly in his 
 child's face, for he thought it was changed 
 since yesterday? "Are you grieved at his 
 going ?" 
 
 "I am very sorry he must go, but that 
 is selfishness, you know; and I was afraid 
 it might distress you, dear father, to hear 
 of it so suddenly, just at this time ; but I 
 knew you would be glad at his getting a 
 good appointment; it makes amends for 
 his having to go a little sooner. You know 
 he must have gone before long." 
 
 Her voice and eye were so steady, even 
 cheerful, that her father was quite deceived." 
 
 " 1 will go and send him to you now,"
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 23 
 
 she said; but before she ventured to meet 
 Edward, she spent some minutes alone. 
 
 Meanwhile Lord Glenruth pondered what 
 he had just heard, and his daughter's man- 
 ner of communicating it; it gave rise to 
 mingled feelings ; and he was still in deep 
 thought when Edward entered his room. 
 
 "This is sudden news for me, my dear 
 boy : so you must leave us." 
 
 " I must, Lord Glenruth — I need hardly 
 say how unwillingly ; you know of the offer 
 I have accepted." 
 
 "A staff appointment, Grace said; but 
 gave me no particulars." 
 
 "It is to accompany Lord to India, 
 
 as aide-de-camp. I could not feel justified 
 in refusing such an offer. You know I 
 have nothing to look to but my pro- 
 fession." 
 
 " India !" exclaimed Lord Glenruth. " I 
 was not prepared for this : this is parting
 
 24 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 indeed !" The poor old man was quite 
 overcome, and for some minutes could not 
 speak, and Edward knew not what to say 
 next. At last. Lord Glenruth made a 
 strong effort, and laying his hand on Ed- 
 ward's arm: 
 
 " My dear boy," said he, " I have been 
 much to blame. I have been weak and 
 self-indulgent. God forgive me ! for the 
 consolation — the great consolation of keep- 
 ing you near me. I have overlooked the 
 risk of your peace, and that of my pre- 
 cious child. Hers is safe. Mercifully I 
 have ascertained that. Now, answer me 
 faithfully : how is it with you ?" 
 
 The young man's face spoke for him. 
 He could not reply in words. 
 
 " I am answered," said Lord Glenruth, 
 with a bitter sigh. " I have ill repaid the 
 debt of kindness I owe you ; but I am 
 punished now for my selfish blindness.'*
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 25 
 
 " Lord Glenruth, do not say so ; the 
 blame, if there be any, rests with myself. 
 It is true, she is dearer to me than all 
 on earth besides; but I have loved her 
 long — for years, and I have kept my 
 secret." 
 
 " My poor boy !" 
 
 *' Do not pity me. I would not have 
 it otherwise, if I might. I am not 
 unhappy — except that I can do nothing 
 to serve her. I would give this up now if 
 I could be of any real use to her ; but you 
 know how powerless one like me would 
 be, with no title of relationship to protect 
 her." 
 
 " Edward Armytage, if my child had 
 been my heir, you should have had the 
 best title to be her protector. If even I 
 could have provided for her enough to 
 keep you both from poverty, I sho\ild have 
 died happy in leaving her with you; and
 
 26 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 you might have won her love if you had 
 allowed yourself to try. But I cannot bid 
 you try now. You must keep your secret 
 still, and leave her free as she is now. 
 She will soon have enough to struggle 
 with. My poor child !" He paused and 
 then continued : "But if fortune ever 
 favours you even with a little, remember 
 what I have said this day, and that you 
 have a father's blessing, — for like a son you 
 have been to me. I have no words to 
 say what I think of your noble conduct. 
 God Almighty bless you !" 
 
 He sank back exhausted; and Edward 
 too deeply moved to speak, could only 
 kiss the feeble hand that pressed his; 
 and hearing Grace's step in the passage, 
 he rose hastily and left the room. He 
 could not have met her there and kept his 
 counsel. 
 
 She found her father less overpowered
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 27 
 
 by agitation than she could have ventured 
 to expect; and thankfulness for this ab- 
 sorbed for the time every other feeling. 
 On the whole, the interview with Edward, 
 trying as it was, had relieved Lord Glen- 
 ruth's mind of much that had weighed 
 on it, since the idea of an attachment be- 
 tween him and Grace had first flashed upon 
 him. To find that her heart was, as he 
 believed, free, and that Edward's had been 
 given so long ago, gave him much comfort ; 
 and he could now even rejoice in the idea of 
 his going to India, as giving the opening 
 which w^as, he felt, all that Edward needed 
 to win his way to distinction, and then, 
 at some future day perhaps, the father's 
 dearest wish for his child might be realised. 
 It was not so utterly miserable a day after 
 ail. 
 
 Sometimes sorrow, no less than joy, falls 
 short of our expectations. We can never
 
 28 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 tejl, till we have drained it, how sweet or 
 bitter the cup may be. 
 
 Grace and Edward were even now reap- 
 ing the reward of their self-command. He 
 in the approval of his own conscience, the 
 affectionate feelings, the hope and courage 
 which Lord Glenruth's words had awakened. 
 She, more unconsciously, but not less really, 
 by having spared her father's feelings, and, 
 through his — her own. Sui'ely they both 
 deserved this mitigation — there was sorrow 
 enough in store for them still. 
 
 The parting hour came on so quickly ; 
 and in spite of the self-compelled restraint 
 which made their words and tones seem 
 almost cold, each felt the other's presence 
 as lingering sunshine, soon to be withdrawn. 
 At last, it wants but half an hour of the 
 time when the coach would pass the lodge ; 
 the farewell must be spoken. 
 
 He went into Lord Glenruth's room, and
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 29 
 
 when he came out his eyes were full of 
 tears. 
 
 " Good by, dear Grace, God bless you 1" 
 
 " God bless you, Edward !" 
 
 That was all they said. 
 
 A fervent grasp of the hands, and thus 
 they parted — w^ho loved each other better 
 than life. 
 
 But he looked back when he reached the 
 foot of the stair, and their eyes met. 
 
 Those traitorous eyes ! — that look told all. 
 
 And thus were Faith and Hope joined 
 to Love.
 
 30 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 '* Why, bastard? Wherefore base f" 
 
 " He was not born to shame. 
 Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit." 
 
 " His years but young, but his experience old. 
 His head unmellowed — but his judgment ripe ; 
 And, in a word, (for far behind his worth 
 Come all the praises that I now bestow,) 
 He is complete in feature and in mind, 
 With all good grace to grace a gentleman." 
 
 A FEW words touching Edward Armytage 
 before we lose sight of him in India. 
 
 His history was a strange and sad one.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 31 
 
 The only son and heir of a rich Baronet 
 he was just entering manhood, when by the 
 discover}^ of his father's prior mamage— a 
 Scotch marriage — not only w^ere his pros- 
 pects in life destroyed, but a stigma was 
 cast upon his birth, which nothing could 
 efface. His mother, a high-bom and sensi- 
 tive woman, sunk under her grief and shame; 
 and his father, even more w^eak than vicious, 
 died by his own hand, without making any 
 provision for the son on whose head his sin 
 had entailed such miserable consequences. 
 Edward was left absolutely dependent on the 
 bitter bounty of the unknown and biiital 
 half-brother who had thinist him from his 
 place. 
 
 But the very magnitude of his misfor- 
 tune raised him up fiiends, which his sin- 
 gularly engaging character secured for ever. 
 He had shown a noble constancy, courage, 
 and moderation under very tiying circum-
 
 32 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 stances, his story awakened an interest in high 
 quarters, and a commission in the Guards 
 was offered him, which opened an honour- 
 able path to independence — perhaps to dis- 
 tinction — not such a career as seemed 
 once his destiny, but such as he felt now 
 exceeded his hopes. From his brother he 
 would not accept the pittance grudgingly 
 offered, and thus his commission and the 
 few thousands which had been his mother's 
 portion, was all he possessed. 
 
 But he had courage, constancy, ambition, 
 energy, and talents of no common order. 
 He is not one who will sink when he may 
 swim. And he had a countenance which 
 was sure to plead for him : his head was a 
 study for the sculptor, and a triumph for the 
 phrenologist ; his form was a model of manly 
 beauty — and beauty is such a good letter of 
 introduction ! 
 
 I have told in a few words a storv which
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 33 
 
 might have furnished materials for a ro- 
 mance ; but the circumstances were all ante- 
 cedent to the period at which this tale 
 commences, and I do not feel justified in 
 retracing a quarter of a century. 
 
 This little chapter, however, will further 
 explain why Edward Armytage kept his love 
 a secret — why Lord Glenruth's kindness so 
 powerfully affected him. It was not his 
 poverty alone that sealed his lips. The 
 har sinister was to his high spirit a heavier 
 burthen. The disgrace of a father, affec- 
 tionate and beloved, was a more bitter 
 grief. 
 
 But it could not crush so noble a natiu-e, 
 any more than the wealth and honours 
 which he had lost could dignify the crafty 
 and pitiful wretch who had inherited them, 
 Which was really the base-born ? 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 34 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "Towering o'er those beauteous woods, 
 Gigantic rocks were ever dimly seen. 
 Breaking with solemn grey the tremulous green, 
 And frowning far in castellated pride ; 
 While hastening to the ocean, hoary floods 
 Sent up a thin and radiant mist between, 
 Softening the beauty that it could not hide." 
 
 WILSON. 
 
 Certainly there is a peculiar bitterness 
 in the cup of sorrow, when the loss of the 
 dearest of earthly friends involves the loss of 
 the home sanctified by the memory of the 
 dead — when we must part, not only from
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 35 
 
 them, but from every object with which they 
 are associated, and go forth with an aching 
 heart from the Eden of our youth into the 
 wilderness of the busy world, to struggle 
 through its briars and thorns when the spirit 
 is yearning for rest. Perchance — 
 
 " To wear the smile of gladness, 
 When all within is cheerless, dark and cold : 
 When all earth's joys seem mockery and madness, 
 And life more tedious than a tale twice told." 
 
 What can bear the sufferer through the 
 dark passage unless he can lean upon the 
 unseen hand which is leading him lovingly, 
 though it must needs be by a rough and 
 stony path, onwards towards heaven's light. 
 
 Such was the trial which, a few weeks 
 after the events already related, was pressing 
 heavily on young Grace Livingstone. A 
 week had not elapsed since her father's body 
 was borne from the home which she — the 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 last of her race — was to quit on the morrow 
 for ever. And she sat alone in the room 
 where she had watched his precious life 
 fading away, as now she watched the sun 
 sinking behind the everlasting hills, and bade 
 a silent, sorrowful farewell to the woods and 
 waters of that happy valley where she had 
 passed from infancy to womanhood. 
 
 The last sun-beams shone red through the 
 boles of the old Scotch fir-trees which stood 
 on a rising ground, lighted the broad river 
 which swept down the valley, gilded the grey 
 walls of the old Abbey of Ruth, and the yel- 
 low sands of the distant shore, and made 
 every cottage window in the plain gleam like 
 a tiny fire. Grace watched the ruddy glow 
 expire, and the roseate after-light tinge earth 
 and sky with its own tender hue ; that, too, 
 faded into pale clear twilight, and the outline 
 of hill and forest rose dark against the sky. 
 For a little space the blackness of night pre-
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 37 
 
 vailed; but presently the moon arose, and 
 flooded the valley with silver light. Each 
 change seemed lovelier than the last ; but for 
 Grace they chased each other all too swiftly. 
 Fain would she have chained the flying 
 moments of this last evening, — 
 
 •'The last. 
 Oh ! by that little word 
 How many thoughts are stirred. 
 That sister of the past." 
 
 As she gazed on the fair scene before her, 
 it seemed to her as though her past and 
 future life were shadowed forth in the 
 changeful hues which had overspread the 
 landscape. 
 
 She could hardly have given a reason for 
 the fancy, save that, as the first light of her 
 life, the joyous sunshine of youth, had set ; 
 so might the pale but lovely rose-tint of hope, 
 which was even now stealing over her sub- 
 dued spirit, depart also ; and then how dark
 
 38 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 and stern would life become under the 
 deepening twilight and gathering night, how 
 cold and joyless under the pale moon. 
 
 But she chid her faithless heart, for trem- 
 bling at a dream and shrinking from its fate. 
 
 " Even be it so," she murmured half aloud, 
 " the fountain of light is ever in the heavens, 
 though there be darkness over the earth. It 
 may be deep night w^hen we lie down to sleep, 
 but there is a brighter morning." 
 
 Then the thoughts of to-morrow's dawn 
 rushed back upon her mind ; she bowed her 
 young head, and wept long and bitterly ; but 
 the tears relieved her full heart, and her grief 
 found voice in prayer. She asked for patience 
 and strength, and both were granted. 
 
 It is seldom that a young girl is left so 
 utterly alone as Grace Livingstone was : she 
 had no near relations. By the death of her 
 brother, the inheritance of Glenruth passed 
 to a very distant branch of the family.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 39 
 
 Nor was he who was to take her father's 
 place merely a stranger. He had shown 
 himself to be a man of grasping and mer- 
 cenary spirit, who, from the moment the 
 succession opened to him, had betrayed a 
 most unseemly and indelicate eagerness to 
 assert his rights, and had rejected every 
 proposal by which Lord Glenruth sought — 
 without injuring him, already a wealthy 
 man — to soften to his daughter the trpng 
 change of circumstances which he knew 
 awaited her. 
 
 Walter's death appeared to have hastened 
 his, but his health, as I have said, had been 
 broken for years. Before that bereavement 
 he had looked forward calmly to his depar- 
 ture ; for he knew that the tenderest affection 
 bound his children to each other, and that his 
 inability to make a large provision for Grace 
 mattered little, since Walter wo\ild more than 
 fulfil his wishes in this respect. But all
 
 40 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 these hopes were buried in his son's untimely 
 grave. 
 
 Grace was too much absorbed in sorrow 
 for the dead, and care for the dying, to 
 bestow much heed on her own altered pro- 
 spects. In fact, she was but imperfectly 
 acquainted with the state of the case, and 
 her poor father shrank from conversing with 
 her upon so painful a theme. Shortly before 
 his death he had made a will bequeathing to 
 her everything in his power, and this, with 
 the settlement already made upon her, he 
 hoped would be sufficient to secure her inde- 
 pendence. But to make up to her for the 
 home which she soon must lose, was a more 
 difficult matter. Death had removed almost 
 every one on whom by near relationship he 
 had a claim, those who remained were not 
 altogether such as he would have chosen as 
 her guardians; and he now regretted the 
 spirit of self-indulgence which had led him,
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 41 
 
 since he lost his wife, so completely to re- 
 nounce the society of those early friends, to 
 whom he might now have confidently appealed 
 in behalf of his child. 
 
 Her nearest relative — connexion rather — 
 was the widow of her uncle, married to an 
 English Baronet ; to her Lord Glenruth wrote 
 commending his daughter to her care, and 
 having thus set his house in order, he died in 
 peace. 
 
 So calmly — so quietly — that Grace, who 
 was watching by his side as usual, knew not 
 the moment when he passed from sleep to 
 death. 
 
 When she marked the beautiful serenity of 
 the face so sorrow-worn erewhile, she could 
 but thank God who had called him to his 
 rest. 
 
 The next week was one of severe trial to 
 Grace, for many painful duties devolved upon 
 her; not the least of these was that of
 
 42 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 receiving the new Lord Glenruth, who lost no 
 time in gratifying his vain and greedy spirit, 
 by a survey of his long-coveted inheritance ; 
 and was at little pains to conceal the intense 
 satisfaction he felt, although he excused his 
 coming on the plea of wishing to show 
 respect to the memory of the late Lord, by 
 attending his funeral. Meanwhile, he gave 
 orders to the servants in the tone of a master ; 
 spent the mornings in riding over the pro- 
 perty, and the evenings in wandering from 
 room to room, discussing with Mr. Oliphant, 
 the factor, as to what was to be considered 
 personal property; and finally intimated 
 plainly to him, w^hat he had more than 
 once hinted to herself, that the sooner Miss 
 Livingstone could make it convenient to quit 
 Glenruth the better he should be pleased, as 
 he had invited a party to spend Christmas 
 with him, and wished to have the house to 
 himself for some time beforehand, " to get
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 43 
 
 things into proper style," as he expressed it. 
 It would be difficult to imagine anything 
 more offensively vulgar and unfeeling than 
 this man's behaviour ; and as Grace watched 
 the funeral slowly wending down the valley, 
 she could not help feeling bitterly how ill the 
 place of chief mourner befitted him, whose 
 whole sordid soul was filled with pride and 
 pleasure in his recent exaltation. There was 
 not one of that sad company who did not 
 carry a more real sorrow in his heart — for the 
 late Lord Glenruth had the love and reverence 
 of all who knew him. 
 
 The following day Grace was relieved of 
 her kinsman's presence. He departed, reiter- 
 ating his intention of returning within a 
 fortnight ; and she felt that, in truth, it were 
 best the trial before her should be encountered 
 as speedily as possible. She nerved herself, 
 therefore, to the task of putting in order and 
 disposing of the articles of personal property
 
 44 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 which had now become hers. Some things, 
 rather than remove them from their accus- 
 tomed place, she relinquished to their present 
 owner, though aware that her motive would 
 neither be understood, nor appreciated; but 
 there were others too precious to' be thus 
 abandoned — the pictures of her parents and 
 brother, her father's favoiu-ite books, and, 
 most sacred of all, the arm-chair in which he 
 died, she left in ti-ust with Dr. Graham, 
 the clergyman of St. Ruth's, to be redeemed 
 at some happier day, when perhaps she 
 might have another home. 
 
 Then came the farewell ^dsits to all the 
 cottages around, among which, from her very 
 childhood, she had ever gone about doing 
 good ; to her schools ; to good Dr. Graham, 
 her father's friend and her own ; and to poor 
 old Mrs. Hay, the invalid widow, whose 
 greatest earthly happiness had been the sight 
 of Grace's sweet face, and the sound of her
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 45 
 
 gentle voice, for she had outlived all that 
 makes this v^orld a lovely and pleasant place ; 
 and when Grace turned to leave her, she was 
 tempted to pray, as she had done when she 
 was made childless, that she might be taken 
 where there was no more sorrow or parting. 
 
 It w^as after a day spent in bidding farewell 
 to these poor friends — the only fiiends she 
 had — that she sat watching the flush and 
 fading of the evening light. When tears had 
 eased her bursting heart, and she had poured 
 forth her sorrow and her weakness to her 
 God, she w^as comforted ; and when she laid 
 her head for ^'the last time on the pillow 
 where it had rested in her happy childhood, 
 her slumbers were calm as then. 
 
 It was veiy early when she passed, for the 
 last time, under the old gateway of Glenruth — 
 ver\^ early, yet the coui't was filled with those 
 who had gathered there to bid " God speed "
 
 46 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 to their beloved young mistress, with tears 
 and murmured blessings. She tried to thank 
 them, but her voice was choked. Hastening 
 through the court, she was soon in the car- 
 riage, and had lost sight of the castle. She 
 did not stop or look back till she had passed 
 through the lodge-gates, but as the carriage 
 slowiy ascended a rising ground whose crest 
 commanded the valley, she alighted to look 
 her last upon that lovely landscape. 
 
 Most lovely indeed ! Midway up the 
 valley rose the grey towers of Glenruth, 
 mantled with i\^ and the crimson foliage of 
 the Canadian vine. It was a well-preserved 
 specimen of feudal architecture which had 
 been added to at various periods, and although 
 convenience rather than unity of plan had 
 been consulted, the general effect of the irre- 
 gular pile was strikingly picturesque. 
 
 The situation was commanding. The 
 western turret overhung the river so com-
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 47 
 
 pletely, that from it one might drop a stone 
 into the dark waters which rolled beneath; 
 but from the south and east, the ascent was 
 more gradual. Behind rose masses of w^ood, 
 broken by rock and moorland, and in the 
 distance an encircling chain of bold crested 
 hills shut in the beautiful valley. South- 
 wards, lay the sea, with several miles of flat 
 counti-y intervening — which greatly enhanced, 
 as it always does, the beauty of such a land- 
 scape — through w^hich the river held its east- 
 ward course until it lost itself in the waters 
 of the bay. 
 
 Grace's wistful, lingering gaze rested 
 lovingly — oh ! how lovingly ! — on castle, 
 stream, and tree ; but now the carriage was 
 rapidly descending into a hollow, and soon 
 all was hid from her eyes save the purple 
 hills, which, to her childhood's vision, had 
 seemed the boundar}^ of the world. That 
 boundary she was now to pass.
 
 48 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Beware of the smiling enemy that openly sheatheth 
 
 his weapon, 
 But mingleth poison in secret with the sacred salt of 
 
 hospitality." 
 
 PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 AsHBY Hall, in Warwickshire, was 
 Grace's destination. 
 
 Lady Markham had been the widow of 
 Lord Glenruth's younger brother, the Hon. 
 Lewis Lindsay. Since her second marriage 
 there had been little intercourse between the 
 families — not from any coolness consequent 
 upon that event, for Lady Glenruth had 
 written to her sister-in-law most kindly on 
 the occasion, and Sir Ralph and Lady Mark- 
 ham had once or twice visited Glenruth, but
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 49 
 
 there was little congeniality between the fox- 
 hunting baronet and the accomplished man 
 of letters, as there was between the high- 
 minded Lady Glenruth and the mancEu\Ting 
 woman of the world — so they went their 
 several ways, and seldom met. 
 
 Still, as Lady Markham's letters always 
 contained expressions of affection, and as 
 she had claimed the interest of an aunt in 
 Walter Livingstone, and lavished much atten- 
 tion on him, and had written most tender 
 condolences on his death to his father. Lord 
 Glenruth, on the strength of aU this, and 
 feeUng also that he had a claim of kindness 
 on one who had found in his house a home 
 in the days of her widowhood, considered 
 that Lady Markham was the most natural 
 guardian for his daughter, and to her and Sir 
 Ralph, therefore, he had consigned her. 
 
 For the mother of two marriageable 
 daughters to be the aunt of a young man 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 of large expectations, heir to a peerage, 
 was another and a different thing from 
 holding the same relationship towards a 
 beautiful young girl of no fortvine. But 
 there was no backing out, and even if 
 there had been, the hearty and hospitable 
 Sir Ralph would not have suffered it. He 
 had not forgotten kindness received in 
 former days, and he swore the httle girl 
 should never want a home while he had one. 
 
 " So write, my Lady, and tell him so ; 
 you can say pretty things better than I 
 can." 
 
 Sir Ralph was a kind-hearted man in the 
 main. It was a pity he did not rule his own 
 house a little more consistently. 
 
 At the close of a dark November day, 
 Grace entered the gates of Ashby Park. It 
 was w^hat is called a line place, of con- 
 siderable extent, adorned with noble trees 
 and a piece of water.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 51 
 
 The house had been built at that era, 
 when it seemed good to our ancestors to 
 dwell in Grecian temples, and teU their tales 
 of love in Arcadian strains. It had a Doric 
 front, adorned with an Ionic pediment, 
 and a portico, supported by Corinthian 
 pillars. It seemed as if the architect had 
 been so enamoured of his art, that he must 
 please himself with a specimen of every order. 
 But it was a massive and imposing edifice, 
 well kept without, and containing within all 
 the means and appliances of comfort, which 
 are nowhere understood so perfectly as in an 
 English country-house. 
 
 Bright fires were blazing in the lofty hall 
 and spacious drawing-room, and a bright fire 
 seems to me always emblematic of a cordial 
 welcome. In this instance it seemed to be 
 the only welcome the house had to offer. 
 Solitary was that spacious drawing-room — 
 solitary the lofty hall.
 
 52 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 When Grace, whose heart was fluttering 
 at the idea of meeting her aunt and cousins, 
 was ushered into the room, where she 
 expected to see them, she found herself 
 alone ; nor was it until she had sat there 
 nearly half an hoiu* that any one appeared. 
 There is something very depressing in such a 
 half-hour, especially after a long journey, 
 more especially when the heart is heavy, and 
 yearns for kindness. 
 
 The first person who broke in upon 
 Grace's solitude was the housemaid ; a few 
 minutes after whose retreat entered a young 
 girl of twelve or fourteen, whose deportment 
 was so unlike Grace's ideas of what a gentle- 
 man's child should be, that she hesitated to 
 address her as a cousin. But her doubts 
 were solved by the young lady accosting her. 
 
 " Oh 1 ma sent me to say she would be 
 down very soon ; she is dressing. 1 was to 
 take you to your room if you liked ; but I
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 53 
 
 looked in as I came down, and the fire had 
 gone out, so I sent Jane to light it, and I 
 think you had better stay here till it 
 burns." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Grace, " I had better go 
 up stairs, as you say my aunt is dressing. 
 Which of my cousins is this ?" added 
 she. 
 
 "I am Fanny ; but do you call us 
 cousins — how droll ! Mamma says you 
 are no relation to us, nor even to her." 
 
 " I believe I am not actually a cousin, 
 but I have always thought of you as cousins, 
 and I hope you will let me call you so." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure I shall be very glad. I 
 dare say we shall all like you very much," 
 said Miss Fanny, surveying Grace with 
 something of a gracious, patronizing air. 
 
 " Will you take me to my room now, 
 Fanny ? I fear I shall not be ready in time 
 for dinner, unless I go to dress at once."
 
 54 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " Oh, you need not be in any hurry, there 
 is to be no dinner to-day. Mamma and 
 sisters are going out, and I heard ma say 
 that you would hke better to have tea, and 
 go to bed early," 
 
 " So I shall," said Grace, " for I am 
 rather tired." 
 
 It was true, yet she felt somewhat pained 
 rather than gratified, by the manner in which 
 her wishes had been taken for granted. 
 
 It is not always what is said, but how it is 
 said, that gives pleasure or pain. 
 
 Miss Fanny had, probably, exceeded her 
 commission, in repeating what she had 
 heard, and seemed to be aware of this, 
 for as she caught the sound of a rustling 
 silk, she whispered : 
 
 " Don't teU mamma I said she was going 
 out to dinner," and speedily vanished ; and 
 Lady Markham entered. A stately dame 
 was she.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 55 
 
 So many years had elapsed since Grace 
 had seen her aunt, that they met as strangers. 
 Nor was Lady Markham's appearance calcu- 
 lated to realise the conception Grace had 
 formed — partly a dreamy recollection of a 
 fair, slender, graceful form ; partly from the 
 promptings of her oami affectionate heart. 
 
 A well-preserved woman, on the borders of 
 fifty, advanced with measured pace ; and as 
 Grace started fonvard to embrace her, she 
 extended her hands, not her arms, imprinted 
 a kiss on either cheek, and said : 
 
 " My dearest girl, I am charmed to see 
 you 1 how well you look, in spite of all — 
 ah !" — her perfumed pocket-handkerchief for 
 a moment veiled her eyes. Then turning to 
 two young ladies who followed in her wake, 
 " This is my Charlotte and this my Au- 
 gusta ; kiss each other, my loves — ah !" 
 
 There was some warmth in Charlotte's em- 
 brace ; but Augusta's salute was below zero.
 
 56 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 How cold a kiss can be. 
 
 " I am sure, my dear, that you must be 
 quite worn out with your long journey, and 
 will prefer to go to bed early, so I thought 
 it kindest to you to adhere to an engage- 
 ment which was made before w^e knew^ on 
 what day you would arrive. You can have 
 dinner of course; but perhaps you have 
 already dined. Should you like to have tea 
 in your own room, or in the school-room with 
 my little girls? I think you have already 
 made acquaintance with Fanny." 
 
 Grace preferred having tea in her own 
 room. 
 
 " Then let me show you the way up 
 stairs, my love. I am afraid we must be 
 going immediately." 
 
 " Mamma," said Charlotte, " let me stay 
 with my cousin : I would rather." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear, you would only be 
 in the way, and you know you are engaged
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 57 
 
 to sing with Mr. Folijambe and Lady Sophia. 
 I cannot hear of it." 
 
 " Oh ! do not think of such a thing," 
 said Grace ; " indeed I would rather go to 
 bed, I should be very bad company." But 
 she felt cheered by Charlotte's offer, evi- 
 dently dictated by a kindly impulse. 
 
 Arrived up stairs, Lady Markham led the 
 way through corridors and passages into a 
 prettily-furnished room, which would have 
 been a picture of comfort if the chimney had 
 not been seized with one of those fits of 
 perversity to which the best-regulated 
 chimneys are occasionally subject ; for no 
 assignable reason it refused to do its office. 
 The fire would not burn, and the room was 
 filled with smoke. 
 
 " Bless me 1" said Lady Markham, " this 
 is very strange. I never knew the ivy-room 
 smoke before. What is the reason of this, 
 Jane?"
 
 58 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know, my Lady," 
 replied the kneeling housemaid, who was 
 expending much brown paper, breath, and 
 tears — the last compelled by the smoke — 
 upon the impracticable grate. "When I 
 looked in before, I saw it burning like any- 
 think, and next time it do be smoking like 
 a pit." 
 
 " This will never do, my dear, you must 
 let me take you to the school-room until 
 your room can be made habitable. How very 
 provoking !" 
 
 " Had not the pink-room better be got 
 ready, mamma?" said Charlotte, who had 
 followed them up stairs : *' there has been a fire 
 in it constantly of late, and it never smokes." 
 
 " I will see about it ; but do you go down 
 stairs, my love, and see that your music is 
 put into the carriage, we shall be very late. 
 This way, my dear," turning to Grace. 
 
 " Miss Hyndford, I have brought you a
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 59 
 
 guest, to whom Fanny and Julia must do the 
 honours in my absence. Miss Livingstone's 
 room is full of smoke, so she will take tea 
 with you. Now I must bid you good -night, 
 my love. I trust you will sleep well, and be 
 quite fresh to-morrow. We shall meet at 
 breakfast : Fanny wiQ tell you the hours." 
 
 Another frigid kiss, and Lady Markham 
 swept out of the room. 
 
 Miss Hyndford had risen and courtesied 
 when introduced in Lady Markham's indif- 
 ferent manner. She now came forward to 
 assist Grace in taking off her cloak and 
 bonnet, with which all this time she had 
 been encumbered ; and as she did so Grace 
 was struck with the sweet tones of her voice, 
 and the dove-hke expression of her hazel 
 eyes. She appeared to be about eight-and- 
 twenty, and had the quiet self-possessed 
 manners of a lady who knew her position — 
 and respected it.
 
 60 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Miss Hyndford had known affliction. 
 Grace's pale, sorrowful face and deep mourn- 
 ing dress appealed strongly to her heart ; 
 and by a nameless art, which is to be felt 
 rather than described, she showed her sym- 
 pathy. The answering chord was touched, 
 and Grace was glad she had been driven for 
 refiige into the school-room. 
 
 There was something so soothing in the 
 gentle, unobti-usive attentions which left no- 
 thing undone to promote the comfort of their 
 object, and yet were performed so quietly 
 that they were rather felt than observed. 
 
 By the time tea was over, Grace felt so 
 much refreshed, that she was not so thank- 
 ful as she expected to have been, when her 
 maid came to tell her that the refractory 
 chimney had been brought to a sense of 
 its duty, and her room was ready ; and yet 
 she had exchanged very few words with 
 Miss Hyndford.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 61 
 
 Miss Fanny had monopolized the con- 
 versation, or would have done so, but for 
 her governess's admonition to silence ; and 
 when tea was over, Miss Hyndford said : 
 
 " WiU you go, my dear, and read this 
 new story-book to EUen ? she is awake 
 now, and I promised she should hear it if 
 she took a good sleep." 
 
 " Won't it do if I go by-and-bye, Miss 
 Hyndford ?" said Miss Fanny, who was 
 engaged very much to her taste in scruti- 
 nizing and questioning her new acquaintance^ 
 
 " Not so well, my dear ; to oblige quickly 
 is to oblige twice; and I am sure you 
 would be sorry to disappoint dear little 
 EUen." 
 
 " Shall Julia come too ?" 
 
 " Julia is learning her lessons. I will 
 send her presently." 
 
 "Who is Ellen?" asked Grace. 
 
 " My little invalid pupil," replied Miss
 
 62 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Hyndford ; " a great sufferer at times, but 
 a very patient one. She has been very ill 
 lately, and is still confined to bed; but I 
 hope we shall soon have her on her sofa 
 again." 
 
 " Is she, then, a prisoner to the sofa ?" 
 asked Grace, observing that Miss Hynd- 
 ford glanced towards a couch of peculiar 
 construction, such as is used for persons 
 with spine complaints. 
 
 " For nearly two years she has been laid 
 on her back, and it seems doubtful whether 
 she ever will regain the use of her limbs; 
 but she is still very young — not ten years 
 old, and the doctors say she may recover." 
 
 " Poor little girl !" said Grace, and she 
 thought of her own happy, healthful child- 
 hood, with a sensation of thankfulness. 
 
 She fell asleep thinking of little Ellen. 
 
 " So, this is the Httle girl I remember
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 63 
 
 scampering about on a sheltie and climb- 
 ing cherry-trees. Welcome to Ashby, my 
 dear !" 
 
 It was something like a welcome, frank 
 and kindly, if like the kiss which accom- 
 panied it, a trifle noisy and not superfine; 
 but Grace was so grateful for the kindli- 
 ness, that she took no exceptions at honest 
 Sir Ralph's bluff manner, though his loud 
 voice did ring through her head, and his 
 sonorous salute, which sounded like the 
 cracking of his hunting-whip, made her 
 cheeks tingle. 
 
 She felt more at home after it than she 
 had yet done at Ashby. 
 
 He was a tall, portly man, who had now 
 to give a high figure for his hunters, but 
 who showed no sign of age in his clear, 
 unwrinkled brow and ckeek, and firm elastic 
 tread ; partially bald he was, but goodly 
 clusters of fair hair, scarcely tinged with
 
 64 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 grey, adorned the back and sides of his 
 round head ; a merry blue eye, a handsome 
 nose, and a mouth and chin indicative of 
 good temper, if not of refinement, com- 
 pleted his pleasant physiognomy. He was 
 reckoned a very fine specimen of his order, 
 the English country gentleman, and I don't 
 deny it. I had rather a weakness for Sir 
 Ralph. 
 
 Lady Markham, in feature and complexion, 
 was not very unlike her husband ; here the 
 resemblance ended. 
 
 Her blue eye was cold and clear, and hard 
 as steel, hard as a blue eye only can be; 
 her nose Vv^as finely cut, but rather thin, 
 as were also her lips ; nor could all the 
 wreathed smiles with which she decked 
 them, confer an expression of warmth to 
 her countenance. The eye never smiled, 
 but it was a very handsome face ; its chief, 
 almost only real defect, was that so com-
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 65 
 
 mon to her country (have I not said she 
 was by bu'th a Scotchwoman?) the promi- 
 nent cheek-bone, which generally gives a 
 faulty setting to the eye, and often spoils 
 the expression of milder orbs than those 
 which illuminated Lady Markham's coun- 
 tenance. She had a tall, commanding 
 person, but her movements were rather stiff 
 and studied. She was what is often called 
 an elegant woman, which does not always 
 mean a graceful one. 
 
 Charlotte Markham's face w^as decidedly 
 plain, and hardly seemed to belong either 
 to father or mother. There w^as temper as 
 well as passion in her dark, heavy-lidded 
 eye and large mouth ; but the latter was 
 half-redeemed by the redness of the lips, 
 and even whiteness of the teeth. She was 
 sallow and dark-haired. 
 
 Augusta was a youthful repetition of her 
 mother, with a brilliant complexion, and 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE LIVINGSTONES 
 
 hair considerably inclining to red, but which 
 had saved its character by its quality and 
 luxuriance. This, together with large, bony, 
 red hands and flat arms, betrayed her Cale- 
 donian blood. Those hands w^ere a heavy 
 tiial to her mother, w^ho knew by experience 
 that cosmetics were vain, and that age alone 
 could tame them dow^n to whiteness. Her 
 own had cost her much fruitless pains, and 
 even now^ required humouring. She never 
 suffered them to hang down ; but when 
 advantageously disposed, and decked with 
 handsome rings and bracelets, they had a 
 very good effect. Poor Augusta's were 
 never presentable. 
 
 Nevertheless, she w^as an extremely hand- 
 some girl, an acknowledged beauty, of whom 
 her mother hoped to make at least a Mar- 
 chioness, if better might not be. 
 
 Such was the party assembled round 
 the breakfast- table the morning after Grace's 
 arrival at Ashby.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 67 
 
 In spite of all her prepossession in their 
 favour, Grace could not help being dis- 
 appointed in her first impressions of her 
 cousins ; and it would seem as if they also 
 could have wished her personal appearance 
 otherwise than it was, a feeling which I 
 have reason to believe their mother shared ; 
 though she w^as too much mistress of her- 
 self—her outward self, that is to say — to 
 betray it, she made much of her " sweet 
 niece;" and Grace, ever alive to kindness, 
 and too guileless to doubt its being genuine, 
 returned her aunt's caresses with gratitude 
 and affection — with affection, yet not with 
 confidence. Why was this? Children are 
 unconscious physiognomists; it is perhaps 
 the safeguard of those to whom experience 
 has not yet taught the wisdom of the serpent 
 that they also are frequently thus gifted ; 
 but it w^as to Grace for long a matter of 
 self-reproach, that she could not freely con- 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 fide in one who treated her with so great 
 a show of tenderness. Afterwards, she had 
 reason to be thankful for this ; — but I am 
 anticipating. 
 
 Augusta's chilly manner was anything but 
 encouraging, so Grace turned to Charlotte 
 as the most accessible of the sisters ; but she 
 was positively ungracious. Something had 
 gone wrong at Mr. Folijambe's, and it took 
 more than one night to sleep oif Miss Char- 
 lotte's ill-humour. 
 
 After breakfast. Lady Markham departed, 
 on household cares intent, and Grace w^as 
 left to the young ladies, neither of whom 
 seemed inclined to exert themselves much 
 for her entertainment. 
 
 A few very commonplace remarks from 
 Augusta, and monosyllables from Charlotte, 
 in reply to one or two questions which Grace 
 hazarded, and then they relapsed into silence ; 
 thus Lady Markham found them.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 69 
 
 "I am afi'aid you will not get out to- 
 day," said she, glancing at the window, 
 against which the rain was beating vehe- 
 mently; " you must take your exercise 
 within dooi*s. My girls must show you the 
 house, Grace — that will be something 
 to do." 
 
 There was a deadly want of something 
 to do indeed. 
 
 After Grace had been introduced to the 
 glories of green-rooms and red-rooms, dis- 
 tinguished from each other chiefly by the 
 colours of their furniture, she thankfully 
 retired for some hours to her own. 
 
 After dinner Sir Ralph slumbered in his 
 arm-chair, whilst Charlotte practised some 
 new songs, and Augusta skimmed through 
 the last novel. The sound of Charlotte's 
 really beautiful voice powerfully affected 
 Grace, and it was only by a strong effort 
 she controlled herself; but she did; and
 
 70 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 it never seemed to occur to any one that 
 it might be trying to her to listen to music. 
 
 The next morning opened more auspi- 
 ciously. The sky and Miss Charlotte's brow 
 had cleared ; she proposed a walk to Grace, 
 and made herself agreeable — that is to say, 
 she talked; and Grace listened, and tried 
 to feel interested in an enumeration of the 
 neighbours, their fortunes and their faults, 
 by which it appeared that envy and jealousy 
 of the Markham family pervaded the female 
 mind of Warwickshire. 
 
 " But what makes you think everybody 
 dislikes you ?" inquired Grace. " Why 
 should Miss Folijambe dislike you when 
 you have been friends all your life?" 
 
 " Oh ! I know a reason ; jealousy, my 
 dear, which generally exists between those 
 who have known each other all their lives . 
 She has never forgiven me for carrying 
 off one of her admirers — a certain Captain
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 71 
 
 Armytage. By-the-bye, you know him, 
 don't you? He was a great friend of 
 your poor brother's." 
 
 " Yes," said Grace, I know." 
 "Isn't he handsome?" continued Char- 
 lotte. " Well, he was down at Woodsleigh 
 last winter, and Lucy gloried exceedingly 
 in having him in her train. How she did 
 flirt, to be sure ; in fact, she was despe- 
 rately in love; so I was determined to 
 make a capture of him ; and didn't I 
 I enrage Lucy !" 
 
 " But I don't think," said Grace, " that 
 you did right. Why should you wish to 
 make her unhappy ? How would you have 
 liked any one to act so towards you?" 
 
 "Oh, my dear, I see you are one of 
 the virtuous do-as-you-would-be-done-by 
 young ladies. Depend upon it, that rule 
 is obsolete. Do as you are done by, is 
 the reading now-a-days."
 
 7*2 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " But did Miss Folijambe ever do so 
 by youf 
 
 " No, but she would if she had a chance ; 
 besides, it is quite fair. She has a prettier 
 face than I have, which I don't dispute. 
 I never set up for a beauty ; but she would 
 fain persuade people she can sing as well 
 or better, and that she has no business to 
 pretend to. Let her keep to her own 
 weapons, and not meddle with mine." 
 
 " And was that the weapon you em- 
 ployed in this instance ?" asked Grace, with 
 a secret anxiety to hear more of Edward 
 Armytage. 
 
 " Yes, Captain Armytage is very fond of 
 music, and has a magnificent voice ; so I 
 persuaded mamma to ask him here, on the 
 plea of meeting Walter Livingstone, who 
 was coming; and he accepted with the 
 utmost alacrity. I suspect he was beginning 
 to get rather afraid of committing himself
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 73 
 
 with Miss Lucy, not being a marrying man. 
 Mamma didn't quite like having him here ; 
 but I convinced her I was over head and 
 ears in love with Walter Livingstone, and 
 that I only wanted Captain Armytage to 
 sing with ; so she consented ; but I think 
 she was rather glad when his leave expired, 
 and rejoiced in common with the mothers 
 of England when he went to India ; for 
 though he doesn't flirt, sentimental young 
 ladies, like Miss Lucy Folijambe, lose their 
 hearts to his handsome face, and neglect more 
 eligible partis. I am sure Mrs. Folijambe 
 owes me a debt of gratitude instead of a 
 ginidge." 
 
 A silence ensued. 
 
 " I suppose you think all this very wicked 
 Miss Livingstone !" said Charlotte, in rather 
 a huffy tone. She was beginning to take 
 offence at the censure implied, as she ima- 
 gined, in Grace's silence.
 
 74 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " 1 was thinking," said Grace — and her 
 voice trembled — " I was thinking of dear 
 Walter ; he was here this time last year. 
 Oh ! did you really love him, Charlotte ? — 
 did he — " she could not go on. 
 
 " I — I — was very fond of him," said 
 Charlotte ; "we were great friends, that is to 
 say — but I don't think he was in love with 
 anybody, if you mean that, though mamma 
 persuaded herself she was sure of him for 
 one of us. But then you know she fancies 
 everybody that has eyes must be in love 
 with Augusta, and everybody that has ears 
 with me. Poor Walter ! I was shocked 
 when I heard of his death ; he had been 
 with us that very morning. Grace ! Grace ! 
 don't cry. Oh, what a fool I have been to 
 speak about him. Here, sit down and compose 
 yourself, and we will talk of something else," 
 
 But it was some time before poor Grace 
 could compose herself, nor was she inclined
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 75 
 
 to talk of something else ; so they walked 
 
 home in silence ; Charlotte out of humour 
 
 with herself, consequently with her com- 
 panion, till when they had reached the house, 
 
 Grace said to her : 
 
 " You must forgive me, dear Charlotte, 
 and do not be vexed with yourself ; it would 
 be a comfort to me to speak of him ; but I 
 cannot help giving way sometimes. I hope 
 you may never know what a sorrow it is to 
 lose such a brother." 
 
 Charlotte was appeased ; w^ho could have 
 resisted such sweet gentleness? She kissed 
 Grace, and said : 
 
 " It was very thoughtless of me ; but I 
 will be more careful in future." 
 
 " But do not shrink from speaking of him 
 when we are alone ; I like to hear his name." 
 
 However Charlotte resolved to avoid the 
 subject. She was not altogether without 
 feeling; but she had a mortal aversion to
 
 76 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 sentiment, under which head she reckoned 
 every species of mental suffering. 
 
 Her mind, undisciplined by sorrow, could 
 scarcely tolerate, far less sympathize with, 
 the sorrow of others. She had enough of 
 feeling to make it painful to her to witness 
 grief; and being painful to her, she avoided 
 the sufferer. She passed by on the other 
 side. 
 
 There are few who can witness suffering 
 quite unmoved ; but there are not many who 
 stop to pour in the oil and wine, and of 
 those how few, how very few are they, who 
 have never themselves known by experience 
 the anguish of the wound ! It is a blessed 
 spirit, which from its own bright sphere of 
 unclouded joy can stoop to minister to those 
 who are dwelling in darkness and the sha- 
 dow of death. Like the offering of a free 
 and happy heart to God, most precious, but 
 how rare, is that untaught sympathy which
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. /7 
 
 measures grief by contrast with its own 
 gladness, and can weep with others ere ever 
 it has wept alone. 
 
 There was good in Charlotte ; under dif- 
 ferent training much good might have been 
 developed ; but she had not only been 
 untaught the right, she had been taught the 
 wrong. 
 
 Self-interest the aim proposed in every- 
 thing pride and vanity fostered, every gene- 
 rous impulse repressed; such motives as 
 were supplied to her she attributed to others ; 
 and though when the right chord was 
 touched, she might be roused to a momen- 
 tary forgetfulness of self, it was but as a 
 flash in the dark night. She had neither 
 the patience nor the courage requisite to keep 
 her in the better way, and in general she 
 despised others too much to think them 
 worth an effort.
 
 78 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " A letter from Ralph, my Lady," said Sir 
 Ralph, one morning, when he had distributed 
 the contents of the post-bag. '' He is to be 
 home for Christmas, and brings Beaumaris 
 and Harry Clavering, so you will have part- 
 ners a-piece, young ladies. By-the-bye, my 
 dear, how have you settled it with Mordaunt 
 and Sophy ? Are they coming to us .?'' 
 
 " I must consult you about it first, Sir 
 Ralph. I have not answered your sister's 
 last letter yet. I think we must yield the 
 point, and go to Bittering, as they wish it so 
 much." 
 
 " Whioo ! what has happened to change 
 your Ladyship's mind ? you told me last week 
 it was out of the question. However, so be 
 it, with all my heart. Bittering is very 
 convenient for the Pytchley and Drakes, and 
 its a long while since I've kept Christmas 
 with Sophy. But what are we to do with 
 these young fellows? We must put them 
 off; that's a pity."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 79 
 
 " I am sure Ralph's friends would be wel- 
 come at Bittering. Sophia knows them 
 both. However, we will talk it over pre- 
 sently. Augusta, my love, you can oblige 
 me by answering a letter for me. Come to 
 my sitting-room." 
 
 There was no letter to be written ; but 
 there was a consultation to be held, as to 
 how this rival beauty might most effectually 
 be suppressed. 
 
 For they were forced to admit that she 
 was beautiful — much too beautiful to be 
 shown alongside of the fair Augusta. 
 
 "Just the sort of face some men would 
 rave about; but she has not your style or 
 usage du monde, my love ; so I do not think 
 you need be afraid of her." 
 
 "Afraid of her!" echoed Augusta, in a 
 tone of supreme contempt. " Why, she is a 
 perfect automaton — pretty if you like— but 
 without two ideas in her head."
 
 80 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Ah ! Miss Augusta, if you had but known 
 it, that was exactly what Lord Beaumaris 
 said to Captain Clavering, in confidence, of 
 you, and yet you thought to be Lady Beau- 
 maris before the next drawing-room ! 
 
 "Well, but mamma," continued the young 
 lady, " what about Bittering — why have you 
 changed your mind ?" 
 
 " My dear, do not you see ? We should 
 get rid of Grace by going there. Georgy 
 and Emma would not be much in your way." 
 
 " How get rid of Grace ? I am sure papa 
 will insist on her accompanying us, and 
 Aunt Sophy's hospitality is boundless. She 
 is certain to send her an invitation." 
 
 " I intend to request one for her, but I 
 shall take care she declines it. She could 
 not go to a Christmas party at a strange 
 house so soon after her father's death ; but if 
 we had our own house full, it would not be 
 so easy to keep her entirely out of the way.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 81 
 
 But, my sweet love, I must beg of you to 
 pay her more attention in tlie mean time. 
 Do not let there be any apparent want of 
 affection. Nothing is more remarked than 
 that sort of thing." 
 
 " Oh ! Charlotte has taken her up in the 
 meanwhile.' It will be time enough for me 
 to make advances when she lets her down ; 
 but I am sui'e Fanny and Julia would be fitter 
 companions for her than either of us. What 
 ideas can we have in common ?" 
 
 (Not many, indeed, Miss Augusta.) 
 
 " That is just what I am at," said Lady 
 Markham. " If she could be made to consider 
 the school-room her proper place, we should 
 have very little difficulty. I must speak 
 to her on the subject of her neglected edu- 
 cation, for I know she has had no gover- 
 ness since she was fifteen." 
 
 '* The worst of it is, Fanny is such a 
 chatterbox, she lets out aU sorts of things. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 I wish you would send that child to school, 
 
 mamma." 
 
 " I cannot do that, my dear, and keep a 
 hundred guinea governess like Miss Hynd- 
 ford — your father would never hear of it." 
 
 " Why not part with Miss Hyndford, 
 ^ and get a less expensive governess?" 
 
 " But then Miss Hyndford takes such 
 a charge of Ellen." 
 
 " Any nursery-maid would do as well for 
 that." 
 
 " I do not think your father would hear 
 of parting with Miss Hyndford. You 
 know it was he who engaged her, and he 
 has always piqued himself very much upon 
 it, as she has remained longer here than 
 any of her predecessors. Besides, my dear 
 she is a much more likely person to attract 
 Grace to the school-room, than another 
 might be. They appear to have struck 
 up a great friendship already."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 83 
 
 " There is something in that," said Au- 
 gusta. 
 
 I scarcely think, my patient reader, that 
 you would be rewarded for your long suffer- 
 ing, by wading through a chronicle of many 
 days at Ashby ; so you shall be spared the 
 trial. 
 
 Having given you a sketch of the line of 
 country her Ladyship intended to take, suffice 
 it to say, she was not diverted from her course. 
 The family repaired to Bittering to spend 
 Christmas, with Sir Ralph's sister and 
 brother-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Mordaunt; 
 and Grace willingly remained at Ashby 
 with Miss Hyndford and httle Ellen, in 
 whose society alone she found anything like 
 pleasure. 
 
 It was not until she had been a week 
 or two at Ashby, that she first saw the little 
 invalid, whose recent illness for long confined 
 her to her bed ; but one evening, going 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 into the school-room, as had become a 
 custom mth her, she found the couch occu- 
 pied. Little Ellen bore slight resemblance 
 to her brother and sisters, all of whom 
 had inherited robust health. No one could 
 tell how it was that, when the other children 
 recovered so easily from measles, Ellen 
 should sink into state of helpless weakness, 
 which ended in paralysis of the lower hmbs. 
 It may be imagined, that the one httle suf- 
 ferer, attracted a double portion of lo^'e from 
 aE, especially from the mother's heart ; such 
 is almost invariably the case, but it was not 
 so here. Lady Markham, exempt from per- 
 sonal experience of sickness, had that intoler- 
 ance of ill-health in others, which I have 
 known to exist in the male mind, not very 
 unfrequently, but hardly ever in the tenderer 
 bosom of woman. How it might have 
 been with her, had she been called upon 
 to undergo anxiety for her favourite children
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 8o 
 
 — for favourites she had — it is impossible 
 to say ; but in Ellen's case, she was inclined 
 first to ignore, then to resent the unusual 
 fact of unhealthiness in her nursery, and 
 the first consequence of this was a neglect 
 of means, which might have tended to her 
 recoveiT. 
 
 Ellen had neither beauty nor remarkable 
 musical talent, to recommend her to her 
 mother's pride — I cannot call it affection — 
 and when she became an invalid, she became 
 also an object of dislike, rather than of tender- 
 ness, or even of pity ; and happy was it for 
 her that, when she was considered too old to 
 be " spoiled and coddled " in the nursery, 
 she experienced from Miss Hyndford an 
 affection more tender than her mother's 
 more judicious than that of her nurse. 
 
 " Is this httle Ellen ?" said Grace, kindly 
 sittting down by the sofa, and taking the 
 tinv hand in hers — a beautiful Httle hand — it
 
 86 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 was SO fair, so taper, yet not what one likes 
 to see in childhood. 
 
 "I am so glad to see you here at last, 
 dear: we shall make acquaintance now — 
 you know who I am ?" 
 
 " I think you must he cousin Grace," 
 said the little girl, " because Miss Hyndford 
 told me you had hair like gold." 
 
 Grace smiled. " Where is Miss Hynd- 
 ford ?" asked she ; " I generally find her 
 here at this hour." 
 
 '* Mamma sent for her a little while ago ; 
 but I hope she will be back very soon." 
 
 *' You love Miss Hyndford very much, 
 EUen ?" 
 
 " Oh that I do ;" and the little pale face 
 brightened with emotion : " she is so good 
 and kind to me." 
 
 I said Ellen had no beauty to commend 
 her to her mother's eye ; but she was not 
 without loveliness in the eyes of those who
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 87 
 
 could see beyond mere form and colour. 
 Her clear pale-blue eye was full of sweet 
 expression, and the form of her face, though 
 it wanted the bloom and roundness of health- 
 ful youth, was refined and delicate. Her 
 light-brown hair was cut short like a boy's, 
 and fell in wavy masses around the trans- 
 parent blue-veined temples ; her features 
 were small and child-like — there was some- 
 thing very attractive about her. 
 
 " Is Miss Hyndford reading this to you "?" 
 said Grace, taking up a volume of Sir Walter 
 Scott's poetry : "are you fond of poetry, 
 EUen." 
 
 " Oh, so fond of it ; especially when Miss 
 Hyndford reads to me." 
 
 " Shall I read till she comes back ?" 
 
 " I should like it very much, if it would 
 not trouble you." 
 
 And the blue eyes glistened, as Grace 
 read, with the taste and feeling of a poetic
 
 88 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 mind, some of the most beautiful passages 
 in the " Lady of the Lake. 
 
 " Thank you cousin Grace," said little Ellen; 
 and just then Miss Hyndford came in. 
 
 " Ellen and I have been making acquaint- 
 ance in your absence. Miss Hyndford," said 
 Grace. " I was so glad to find her here 
 when I came in." 
 
 " And you have found the way to Ellen's 
 heart. I see, Miss Livingstone, you have 
 been reading to her." 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Hyndford, it was cousin 
 Grace who was so kind as to offer. I did 
 not ask her." 
 
 Miss Hyndford smiled — it was such a 
 tender smile. " I am sure you did not, 
 my darling. Are you lying easily ?" she 
 asked as she arranged the pillows. 
 
 " Quite easily ; and I am so happy to be 
 in this room again ;" and the little mouth was 
 held up to kiss her kind friend.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 89 
 
 Grace did not envy Miss Hyndford — envy 
 in any form could scarcely find a place in 
 her breast; but she felt how much she 
 needed some one to love. 
 
 To love, rather than to be loved, is the 
 great craving of such natm-es. With over- 
 flowing affections, it is so hard for them to 
 keep pent up within their bosoms, the full 
 stream, whose tendency is to pour itself forth 
 on aU around. 
 
 But when the lot of such a one is cast 
 among uncongenial spirits — people who will 
 not be loved, who don't understand it, or 
 who, incapable themselves of a genuine feel- 
 ing, suspect all others of insincerity — then is 
 that lot a very hard one. And thus it was 
 with Grace. To her aunt she could not 
 attach herself. The insensibility of Augusta, 
 and the captious temper of Charlotte, whose 
 fitful liking gave way to jealousy when she 
 found, as she considered, a rival in musical
 
 90 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 talent, alike repelled her. And had it not 
 been for Miss Hyndford the spacious halls of 
 Ashby would not have contained for her one 
 friend. 
 
 Lady Markham's point was gained — 
 Grace's time was chiefly spent in the 
 school-room ; and by degrees it came to be 
 an understood thing, that whenever there 
 was a dinner party, including any one more 
 attractive than the ancient rector or the 
 family apothecary, Miss Livingstone would 
 prefer taking tea in the school-room — and 
 she did prefer it — neither did she perceive 
 the motive for the arrangement, which cer- 
 tainly was not a disinterested regard to her 
 inclinations. 
 
 To Miss Hyndford the companionship of 
 such a creature as Grace was inexpressibly 
 delightful, and drew forth all her powers, 
 which were great. She was an accom- 
 plished, as well as an intellectual woman ;
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 91 
 
 and none could be more charming in con- 
 versation, when with those who could appre- 
 ciate her. 
 
 At Ashby Miss Hyndford was considered 
 simply as " the governess," an office which 
 neither by seniors or juniors was held in 
 much esteem. Fortunately she had none of 
 that morbid feeling so common — often, it 
 must be allowed — excusable in her order. 
 She had been in happier situations, but she 
 knew that vicissitudes of this kind were to 
 be looked for ; and the affection of so inte- 
 resting a child as Ellen made up to her in a 
 great measui'e for the shortcomings of her 
 other pupils, who certainly were not inte- 
 resting. Fanny was essentially vulgar- 
 minded, without talent for anything but 
 gossip, for which she showed an uncommon 
 aptitude ; but she promised to be handsome, 
 as did also Julia, who, moreover, had a fine 
 voice, to the cultivation of which Miss Hynd-
 
 92 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 ford was enjoined by Lady Markham to give 
 her utmost attention. Accomplishments 
 were all she desired. She rather counter- 
 acted than encouraged the attempts Miss 
 Hyndford made to influence her pupils' 
 minds. Lady Markham had, above all 
 things, a dread of her children being made 
 " serious ;" and conceiving that the course of 
 religious instruction pursued by Miss Hynd- 
 ford might possibly have that result, she 
 signified her intention of taking that in hand 
 herself, a prudent precaution, it must be 
 admitted. The wise adaptation of means to 
 the end proposed is, I believe, the definition 
 of prudence. 
 
 " This is surely a view of some place in 
 Scotland," said Grace one day as she was 
 searching in Miss Hyndford's portfolio of 
 water-colours for something to copy. "At 
 least, I have seen nothing like it since I
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 93 
 
 crossed the Solway. Oh, how one does 
 long for the sight of a purple hill and brown 
 water. What is the name of this place, 
 Miss Hyndford ?" 
 
 " That is Invercarron, where I lived before 
 I came here. It belongs to a namesake of 
 yours, Miss Li\ingstone — but no relation, I 
 believe — Sir Thomas Livingstone of Lee." 
 
 " The Livingstones of Lee — were you in 
 that family. Miss Hyndford ? Oh, do tell me 
 about them. We are related, though very 
 distantly, and I have always ^vished to know 
 them." 
 
 " I understood from Miss Markham that 
 you were of a different family — for I asked 
 her when I heard you named." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say the relationship would be 
 reckoned as nothing in England, but you 
 know we count cousins in Scotland to the 
 hundredth; and 1 have so few relations, 
 that I cannot affurd to overlook any."
 
 94 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " These are relations few would be dis- 
 posed to overlook, who once had the good 
 fortune to make their acquaintance. I wish 
 you knew them, dear Miss Livingstone; 
 you must claim the privilege of cousinship 
 and introduce yourself" 
 
 " Indeed I shall like much to do so. I 
 have often wished I knew them, for I have 
 heard of them before as a very charming 
 family. How long is it since you left 
 them, Miss Hyndford?" 
 
 " About two years ; but I have seen some 
 of the family since then, and my dear pupil 
 writes to me very frequently." 
 
 " Is there only one daughter ?" 
 
 " Only one unmarried — the youngest of 
 thirteen." 
 
 " What is her name ?" 
 
 " Katherine." 
 
 " I like that name, especially if it is spelt 
 with a K. I am sure I should like her."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 95 
 
 " I am sure you would, irrespective of her 
 name, or the spelling of it. Have you a 
 theory about names, Miss Livingstone ?" 
 
 " Not exactly a theory ; but one has asso- 
 ciations with names, either from books or 
 people. I have loved Katherine ever since I 
 read Henry VHI." 
 
 " I am not sure that Miss Livingstone 
 would quite realise your conception of the 
 injured Queen," said Miss Hyndford, smil- 
 ing; "but I think she would create asso- 
 ciations for herself quite as pleasing." 
 
 '* I wish I knew her," said Grace. 
 
 " And I wish very much she knew you, 
 dear Miss Livingstone." 
 
 From this time forth the Invercarron 
 family formed a frequent theme of conver- 
 sation . between Grace and Miss Hyndford, 
 which conversations, however, it is not my 
 present purpose to record — chiefly because I 
 am unable to do so. It is sufficient to say
 
 96 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 that Grace often caught herself wishing Lady 
 Livingstone had been the widow of her uncle 
 rather than of her twenty-second cousin. 
 
 Lady Markham prolonged her stay at 
 Bittering beyond the most extended limits of 
 a Christmas visit ; but when it came to an 
 inevitable close, Miss Augusta was no nearer 
 being Marchioness of Beaumaris than she 
 had been six months ago, and her Ladyship 
 had to strike the balance of advantages 
 between bringing the young peer to Ashby, 
 at the risk of an encounter with Grace's 
 dangerous beauty, or letting the affair stand 
 over till the next London season. 
 
 It was a ciTiel predicament, as I am sure 
 you, dearest dowager, who have been in 
 similar straits, will feelingly acknowledge. 
 
 Lord Beaumaris put her out of pain, by 
 declining Sir Ralph's invitation, on the plea 
 of having engagements at home, which he 
 had neglected too long already.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 97 
 
 This at least was consolatory, a tribute to 
 Miss Augusta's beaux yeux, which, how- 
 ever, to say truth, never occurred to Lord 
 Beaumaris. 
 
 So the family returned to Ashby Park, 
 and kept Lent in a religious and economical 
 manner; seeing no company and going to 
 bed early, in order to be prepared with 
 recruited means and complexions for the 
 camxpaign which was to open after Easter. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " 2Ba§ mix fc^t ? Mx feT^It ja %m 
 33m fo ganj i?ertafen ^ier." 
 
 " She must go with us, your father insists 
 upon it, and you know how immoveable he 
 can be. And after all, I think it will be best 
 — of course she will not go out, and I do 
 not intend to give many- parties. Besides, I 
 have something else in view, trust me : I 
 shall not allow her to stand in your way. 
 So do not vex yourself about it, my Au- 
 gusta." 
 
 " But it is such a bore, mamma, having 
 always to consider her; and we must take
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 99 
 
 her out in the carriage sometimes. Why 
 couldn't she stay here with Miss Hyndford 
 and the children ?" 
 
 " I tell you, my dear, your father will not 
 hear of it ; and it will suit us much better if 
 we can get her off our hands altogether 
 before autumn. She cannot always be kept 
 in the school-room." 
 
 So Grace accompanied the party to Lon- 
 don. When first proposed to her, she would 
 fain have declined it ; but Miss Hyndford's 
 suggestion that she would probably have an 
 opportunity in London of making acquaint- 
 ance with some of the Invercarron family, 
 gave quite a new colour to the idea, and 
 with this hope she took her way less reluct- 
 antly to the great metropolis. 
 
 When, however, she found herself once 
 more in the scene which memory made so 
 terrible, the poor girl's heart sank within her, 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 and more utterly alone than ever she felt, in 
 the small dull room which was her sole 
 retreat from uncongenial society. Alone, 
 indeed ! In all that mighty multitude, whose 
 ceaseless sound reached her solitary chamber, 
 not one friend had she — not one human 
 being, to whom she could open the flood- 
 gates of her grief. To have named her 
 dead, in careless ears, would have been pro- 
 fanation; and excepting those under whose 
 roof she dwelt, all in that great city were 
 utter strangers to her. 
 
 And yet how many kind hearts were 
 among them^hundreds — thousands, who, if 
 they had known that young creature's sor- 
 row, would have shown her true and tender 
 sympathy — would have said to her, " Weep, 
 poor heart ! weep, and be comforted : we too 
 have wept." 
 
 In distress of any kind, to have help within 
 reach, yet unavailable, has always seemed to
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 101 
 
 me one of the saddest conditions of huma- 
 nity; the ship going down within reach of 
 shore, awakens even a deeper pity than one 
 storm- wrecked on the wide waters ; a Lazarus 
 perishing at the door of a Dives, appears 
 more forlorn for that neighbourhood. 
 
 Almost daily by the house where she sat, 
 pining in her lonely grief, there passed one 
 to whom in after years Grace was as a 
 daughter, more than one who learned to hold 
 her among their dearest ; but they could do 
 nothing for her now. And they who alone 
 had the power had not the will, to bind up 
 the wounded heart. 
 
 It would have been difficult — I hope it 
 would have been difficult, to find another 
 family with hearts so hard and cold, as to 
 refuse sympathy to one so young, so gentle, 
 so sorrow-laden. I am glad to believe there 
 are few Lady Markhams ; I never knew but 
 one. It seemed very hard that poor Grace
 
 102 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 should so miss the shelter of all the tender, 
 motherly bosoms in England, and be driven 
 by the tempest on that rocky breast. What 
 wonder if her spirit yearned for him who was 
 now almost her only link with happy days 
 departed — whose tears had been shed with 
 her and for her, who had been to her as a 
 brother. What wonder if she longed to lay 
 her weary head on that kind heart and weep 
 away her woe. 
 
 Yet, let it not be thought that she w^as 
 comfortless. Her faith was strong — her 
 trust in God unshaken, and she had many 
 an hour of that peace which the trusting 
 heart alone can know^ But she was young ; 
 she had been sorely tried; she owned a 
 human love, and she yearned for human 
 sympathy. 
 
 Wearily the days dragged on. Grace 
 went out nowhere, and seldom appeared at 
 the home parties, w^hich, indeed, were not
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 103 
 
 frequent. It was impossible, however, to 
 keep her entirely out of sight, and she was 
 sitting alone in the drawing-room one day 
 when Lady Beaumaris was announced, accom- 
 panied by her son. 
 
 While awaiting the appearance of her aunt 
 and cousins, Grace entered into conversation 
 with the visitors, with the ease and composure 
 natural to those who are httle occupied with 
 thoughts of self Lady Markham's worst fears 
 were realised. The young Marquis, whose 
 heart, despite Miss Augusta's charms, was, 
 up to that moment, his own peculiar property, 
 surrendered it then and there, unconditionally. 
 It was a case of love at first sight ; and when 
 Grace knew that he had been a friend of 
 Walter's, and as she more than guessed of 
 Edward's also, she, without any thought of 
 encouraging attentions, of which, in fact, she 
 was quite unsuspicious, showed very naturally 
 the pleasure she took in conversing with one,
 
 104 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 who, besides these recommendations, had 
 divers of his own, which might have stood 
 him in good stead with * ladye fair,' even 
 had he not been Marquis of Beaumaris, and 
 owner of £50,000 a-year ; for he was amiable, 
 handsome, accomplished, and most wonder- 
 fully unspoiled by flattery. 
 
 " What a lovely creature l" exclaimed Lady 
 Beaumaris, as Grace, sent on some errand by 
 her aunt, left the room. " Your niece. 
 Lady Markham? Pray, may I ask whose 
 daughter?" 
 
 " My adopted niece," replied Lady Mark- 
 ham. " Grace Livingstone is an orphan," 
 and she sighed — a very genuine sigh. 
 
 " What ? a sister of poor Walter Living- 
 stone's, who was killed last year ? of course ! 
 I was struck with the likeness immediately," 
 said Lord Beaumaris, decisively. "Lord 
 Glenruth's daughter then — you knew him, 
 mother?"
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 105 
 
 " Lord Glenruth ! is that Lord Glenruth's 
 daughter? Yes, I knew him many years 
 ago. She is in mourning for her father 
 then ; and lives with you, Lady Markham ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear child ! we have offered her a 
 home," replied Lady Markham, " as no other 
 relation appeared willing to do so, and I cannot 
 regret it, though — " 
 
 " Surely, she was not in the room on 
 Friday evening ? I could not have overlooked 
 that face." 
 
 "We could not persuade her to come 
 down stairs. My girls tried very hard to 
 coax her, but she naturally shrinks from 
 society just now ; of course, I do not expect 
 her to go out, but I wish she could be pre- 
 vailed on to appear at our own parties, it might 
 do her good." 
 
 " Of course — you should insist upon it, 
 Lady Markham ! You must bring her with 
 you on Wednesday — quite a small party — 
 pray do — she quite captivates me."
 
 106 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " I will do my best, but I doubt her con- 
 senting. By-the-bye, my dear Lady Beau- 
 maris, are you going to the drawing-room on 
 the 16th?" 
 
 *' I believe I am. Can I be of any use to 
 you?" 
 
 " I am very anxious that Augusta should 
 be presented. She was to have gone last 
 year, but unluckily took chicken-pox, and 
 this year J am obliged to go out of town on 
 the 15th for a week. If I might presume on 
 your kindness so far, I would ask you to 
 introduce her." 
 
 *' Surely ; I shall have much pleasure." 
 
 " My dear, I wish to have some conversa- 
 tion with you," said Lady Markham to Grace 
 one morning after breakfast ; " and I must 
 entreat you to be candid with me, and not to 
 attempt concealment." 
 
 This was rather an alarming preamble, and 
 Grace would gladly have escaped the sequel,
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 107 
 
 she knew by experience that " a conversa- 
 tion" with her aunt, whose tenderness was 
 now kept for company only, had a very de- 
 pressing influence. 
 
 " You must have observed Augusta's 
 altered looks of late, in spite of her efforts to 
 appear gay — dear, generous angel — and I 
 think you must have guessed the reason, 
 though, of course, you would be the last 
 person to whom she would betray her fesl- 
 ings." 
 
 Grace could only look, as she felt, very 
 much puzzled. 
 
 '* My dear girl, do not affect unconscious- 
 ness with me ; pray let us understand each 
 other." 
 
 Tliat was just what Grace was vainly 
 endeavouring. 
 
 " Indeed, aunt — " she began. 
 
 " Do you mean that you have not observed 
 that Augusta is looking ill ?"
 
 108 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " Charlotte told me she had caught cold." 
 
 " Caught cold ! Some people are very 
 easily satisfied, hut a mother's anxiety is not 
 quite so soon allayed. Would you hke to 
 know the real cause of your cousin's ill- 
 ness ?" 
 
 " Certainly, aunt ; if I can do anything 
 to relieve it, as your words seem to imply ; 
 but indeed I am quite at a loss as to your 
 meaning." 
 
 ^' Perhaps you will tell me also that you 
 have not observed Lord Beaumaris's atten- 
 tions, that his tender looks have passed quite 
 unheeded ?" 
 
 Grace felt the colour mount to her cheeks. 
 Lord Beaumaris's attentions, the last time 
 they had met, had been unequivocal — dis- 
 tressing to her, for she liked him, and was 
 grateful to his mother for her marked kind- 
 ness ; still she could not see what this had to 
 do with Augusta.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 109 
 
 " You need not take the trouble to answer 
 me, my dear. I see your encouragement to 
 his Lordship, and devotion to his mother, are 
 likely to be rewarded ; and it cannot signify 
 much to you what my poor child may endure 
 from the fickleness of one to whom she has 
 given a heart not lightly won. It took more 
 than a montKs acquaintance to convince her 
 of his affection; but once convinced, she 
 never doubted it, till doubt became too cruel 
 certainty." 
 
 "My dear aunt, I knew nothing of all 
 this," said Grace, much distressed, and not 
 knowing how much to believe. " You 
 surely cannot suppose I would encourage 
 attentions which were due to another." 
 
 " I can only judge, my dear, by what I 
 see, and unfortunately I cannot help seeing 
 what passes before my eyes. I have not the 
 faculty of convenient blindness." 
 
 Grace felt too much wounded to reply to this.
 
 110 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " All I have to beg," continued Lady 
 Markham "is, that your engagement may 
 not be made public while in town, it would 
 scarcely be decent in your circumstances ; 
 and if I might suggest anything, it would be 
 that you should go down to Ashby as soon 
 as convenient. Of course, all I have said is 
 strictly between ourselves — you understand 
 that." 
 
 " Perfectly. I shall be only too glad to 
 go down to Ashby to-morrow ; and as to 
 any engagement between Lord Beaumaris and 
 myself, I can assure you there is none." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " What I say ; that I am not engaged to 
 Lord Beaumaris." 
 
 " You have refused him ?" 
 
 " Lord Beaumaris has not put it in my 
 power to do so." 
 
 " Why did you blush, then, when I taxed 
 you with it ?"
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. Ill 
 
 Grace blushed again, but rather with in- 
 dignation than consciousness. 
 
 " I think, aunt, I have answered as many 
 questions as you have any right to ask 
 me." 
 
 " Any right to ask you ? and pray. Miss 
 Livingstone, who has a right to your confi- 
 dence if I have not ?" 
 
 " No one has a right to ask such a 
 question as you put to me just now." 
 
 '* Oh, it has come to this, has it ? I am 
 not to be honoured with Miss Livingstone's 
 confidence; it is enough that she con- 
 descends to accept the shelter of my roof, and 
 a seat at my table. I must not aspire to 
 more ; or, perhaps — " 
 
 Grace rose, and left the room ; she could 
 not stand this any longer. 
 
 Lady Markham had overshot her mark ; 
 she saw it, and lost her temper, a thing 
 unusual with her. She was at fault too.
 
 112 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Grace's ready acquiescence to the proposal of 
 going to Ashby staggered her. 
 
 Straightforwardness is that thing which 
 those who love to wander in crooked ways 
 can, by no means, understand, and in which, 
 for most part, they do not believe. She was 
 sure there was something behind ; she could 
 not take in the idea of Grace refusing a 
 coronet, and fifty thousand a-year, conscious 
 as she was that Ashby was not a home of 
 happiness to the orphan girl. 
 
 " I will take her at her word, at all 
 events," said her Ladyship to her only confi- 
 dante (herself to wit) ; " for I see Lord 
 Beaumaris is hovering on the brink of a 
 proposal, and the Dowager is immensely 
 taken with her. I know a way to put the 
 old lady off it, however."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 113 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Insanity ! Oh ! Lady Markham, it 
 cannot be true !" 
 
 " Too true, I grieve to say, my dear Lady 
 Beaumaris. Poor Lord Glenruth was quite 
 out of his mind for some months before his 
 death. It is not generally known, and I am 
 sure it will not become more public through 
 you. Judge how painftd it is to me to com- 
 municate such a fact, but I could not suffer 
 you to continue in ignorance of it, when I 
 saw you so well-disposed to encourage Lord 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Beaumaris's evident attachment to my niece, 
 who, sweet engaging girl as she is, and in 
 all other respects everything that could 
 be wished, has yet that fatal taint in her 
 blood." 
 
 "My dear Lady Markham, I must be 
 grateful to you ; but I cannot express to you 
 my disappointment, my distress. That lovely 
 girl ! — I thought I had at last found a wife 
 worthy of my dear son ; and now — Are you 
 quite sure it was hereditary with Lord 
 Glenruth? I have heard he was severely 
 pounded at Waterloo." 
 
 " He was ; but I fear — indeed I have too 
 good reason to know — it had manifested 
 itself in others of the family. And to tell 
 the whole sad truth : my sweet Grace her- 
 self has fits of abstraction and moodiness, 
 
 from w^hich Dr. S augurs the worst 
 
 results, should anything occur to develop 
 the disease. Lady Beaumaris, you Httle
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 115 
 
 know what it costs me to acknowledge this." 
 Here her Ladyship's voice became tremulous, 
 and her handkerchief was put in requisition. 
 " I know," continued she, " it has heeh 
 remarked how seldom she appeared in pubKc ; 
 even at our own house, I made the excuse 
 of her being still in deep mourning; but 
 the real reason was, that she was either 
 in a state of hopeless depression or unna- 
 tural excitement, even more distressing to 
 witness, and which would have occasioned 
 most painful comments. By care and watch- 
 fulness, I trust we shall be able to keep her 
 with us ; for it would cost me a bitter 
 struggle to give her up to the care of 
 strangers, and none of her own relations 
 are disposed to undertake so anxious a 
 
 charge. Dr. S has more than once 
 
 suggested that a quiet clergyman's house 
 would be a better home for her than our 
 large stirring family, but I cannot make 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 up my mind to it. I look upon her as a 
 sacred trust; and so long as we have so 
 invaluable a person as Miss Hyndford, my 
 younger daughter's governess, who has 
 great influence with dear Grace, I feel jus- 
 tified in keeping her with us. But T see 
 it will not do for her to remain in town. 
 
 In fact, Dr. S has insisted on her 
 
 being sent to the country immediately, so 
 we have decided that she goes to-morrow." 
 " To-morrow ! then I shall not see her 
 again!" said kind Lady Beaumaris, in an 
 accent of real sorrow. 
 
 " Better not, my dear Lady Beaumaris ; 
 and even had she remained, I durst not 
 have trusted her to accept your kind invi- 
 tation. Music, for which she has a won- 
 derful talent, excites her beyond aU belief. 
 I dare not let her sing with my Charlotte, 
 though it costs me no small self-denial to 
 forbid it) her voice is magnificent. Sweet
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. I i 7 
 
 girl ! she is dear to me almost as a daughter 
 of my own, and her infirmity only makes 
 her more precious." 
 
 " Strange that I should never have de- 
 tected the slightest symptom of this," said 
 Lady Beaumaris musingly ; '* a subject in 
 which I am so painfully interested. There 
 is nothing I dread so much as Ernest mar- 
 rying into a family where that terrible ma- 
 lady lurks; but she seemed so calm, so 
 composed — it is marvellous !" 
 
 " She has been wonderfully equal during 
 the last four or five weeks ; but as you know, 
 my dear Lady Beaumaris, I have often made 
 excuses when you kindly asked her to go 
 out with you, and now you know my reason." 
 
 " You are indeed a true friend." 
 
 " How completely one may be misled by 
 appearances," thought good Lady Beaumaris, 
 mournfully shaking her head after this inter-
 
 118 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 view. "Who would have imagined that 
 sweet, serene-looking girl was the victim of 
 insanity? or that worldly woman, Lady 
 Markham, could have been so moved? I 
 have done her great injustice; she cannot 
 be so worldly as people say, and she has 
 certainly laid me under the greatest obli- 
 gation. But how shall I break it to my 
 poor Ernest ? for he is already deeply at- 
 tached. How shall I convince him of the 
 terrible truth?" 
 
 Lord Beaumaris was not to be convinced, 
 but he yielded so far to his mother's en- 
 treaties as to promise that he would not 
 actually propose to Grace until he had taken 
 means of ascertaining the truth or falsehood 
 of Lady Markham's statement. He loved 
 his mother dearly; and he saw that she 
 would gladly have welcomed Grace as a 
 daughter, but for this painful suspicion.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 119 
 
 " I know how to find out, mother ; you 
 will see it is all an invention ;" and his 
 Lordship indulged in some remarks on 
 Lady Markham, which need not be recorded ; 
 at which, as well as at his unqualified dis- 
 belief of that lady's story, his good mother 
 was somewhat scandalized. 
 
 " My dear Ernest, if you had seen poor 
 Lady Markham's emotion, you could not 
 suspect her of such dreadful wickedness ; 
 she may be mistaken ; I devoutly hope she 
 is; but no one could be so wicked as to 
 invent such a tale. Pray do not allow 
 yourself to be so uncharitable." 
 
 " My dear, good mother, you don't know 
 Lady Markham as well as I do."
 
 120 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " I look to recognise again, through the heautiful 
 mask of their perfection, the dear familiar faces I 
 have somewhile loved on earth." — tupper, pro- 
 verbial PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 AsHBY Park, with its fine oaks decked in 
 their summer's green, was a very different 
 place from what it had been during a wet 
 winter and cold backward spring. In its 
 peace and quiet, and the society of Miss 
 Hyndford, Grace soon regained her serenity, 
 which had been somewhat shaken by her 
 aunt's attack. She could not easily forget 
 the cruel insult to which she had been sub- 
 jected, which made her feel that at Ashby she 
 was considered as an intruder, and that it
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 121 
 
 never could be, in the true sense, her home. 
 No other home, however, appeared as yet open 
 to her — there was nothing for it but to wait. 
 
 " You did not meet any of the Invercarron 
 family, I fear. Miss Livingstone," said Miss 
 Hyndford. " I find that instead of going to 
 town this year. Lady Li\dngstone and Miss 
 Katherine have gone abroad, and are to 
 winter at Florence, where they meet Colonel 
 and Mrs. Livingstone, who are coming home 
 frem India." 
 
 " It was a great disappointment to me to 
 hear or see nothing of them ; and the more 
 so, as I saw Captain Livingstone's card several 
 times on my aunt's table, but I always missed 
 him. I believe he was asked to come down 
 here in September, but that he is going 
 abroad, too." 
 
 " Yes; Miss Katherine writes me he is to 
 join them in Italy, which is very delightful for
 
 122 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 her. She is so very fond of her brother — 
 indeed, they are the most united family I 
 ever saw — all so affectionate, and so proud of 
 each other." 
 
 Poor Grace sighed as she pictured to her- 
 self such a home, and contrasted it with 
 Ashby. The family there had not the merit 
 of being a united one, and certainly had 
 no overflowings of affection to spare for an 
 alien. 
 
 " How I wish I knew them !" 
 
 "Miss Katherine is as anxious to make 
 your acquaintance as you can be to make 
 hers. She charges me to tell you so. I 
 think I must let you read her letter, it is so 
 characteristic." 
 
 " What a sweet, kind, clever letter," said 
 Grace, as she returned it to Miss Hyndford. 
 " How you must love her. Miss Hyndford. 
 I do envy you. Let me look at it again. 
 What a beautiful hand ! — so fi'ee and flowing.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 123 
 
 There is a great deal in handwriting, T think. 
 But now tell me — how has dear Httle EUen 
 been since we parted ? I think your letters 
 about her seemed anxious. How often I 
 have wished myself back with you and her!" 
 
 " I fear you will see a change for the worse 
 in little Ellen. I sometimes think my dar- 
 ling is not to be left with us much longer. 
 She has suffered much lately, and is more 
 patient and gentle than ever, if possible ; but 
 she has been rather easier within the last 
 week, and enjoys being out in the lime 
 avenue, where we spend most of our time on 
 fine days." 
 
 " And how are Fanny and JuHa ?" 
 
 " Quite well as to health — much the same 
 as you left them in other respects. We 
 have been going on very quietly, having fewer 
 distractions." 
 
 " They do not improve ?" 
 
 " I cannot flatter myself they do ; but I
 
 124 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 should like to have your opinion after absence, 
 Miss Livingstone/' 
 
 Quoth Miss Fanny at breakfast next 
 morning — " WeU, cousin Grace, have you 
 made many conquests in London ? I suppose 
 you will be having some beaux coming after 
 you soon." 
 
 '' Fanny !" said Miss Hyndford admonish- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Hyndford, I am sure I have 
 guessed right. Look how cousin Grace is 
 blushing ! Besides, I know what Parker 
 wrote to Amelia, about somebody whose name 
 begins with a B. There, you are blushing 
 again, Grace ;" and Fanny giggled with delight 
 at her successful pleasantry. 
 
 "If T am blushing, it is at your want of 
 good breeding, Fanny. Do you know that 
 you have made a very vulgar and impertinent 
 speech ?"
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 125 
 
 " Vulgar and impertinent," muttered Julia. 
 " I wish mamma heard you say that ?" 
 
 *' Your mamma, I hope, would have 
 spared me the pain of saying so, had she 
 been here." 
 
 " Fanny and Julia, I am indeed ashamed 
 of you both. Miss Livingstone, I must 
 apologise for the extreme rudeness of my 
 pupils. I hope they will see the propriety of 
 asking your pardon themselves." 
 
 " I am very sorry if I have been rude to 
 cousin Grace; but, indeed, I only meant it 
 in fan," said Fanny, somewhat abashed at 
 the turn matters had taken. 
 
 Julia maintained a sullen silence. She 
 w^as a particularly unamiable girl, both proud 
 and vain in an inordinate degree, and case- 
 hardened against reproof. 
 
 " Do not say more about it," said Grace 
 kindly ; " but, dear Fanny, never be guilty of 
 such a speech again. Now, I am sure Miss
 
 126 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Hyndford will give us all a holiday, and we 
 will spend it out of doors. I do so long for 
 a ramble in the woods." 
 
 " With all my heart, Miss Livingstone, 
 since you are so kind as to ask it." 
 
 So they went out, and Fanny soon reco- 
 vered her spirits. 
 
 " But did you not hke London, cousin 
 Grace ? I am so fond of a town. I wish I 
 were come out, that I might go there every 
 year." 
 
 " I hke the country better, Fanny ; but I 
 saw some things in London which interested 
 me much; and I heard some beautiful 
 music ?" 
 
 " Did you go to the opera ?" 
 
 " No ; but I went to some of the Ancient 
 Music Concerts." 
 
 " I don't care much for that sort of thing, 
 but 1 should like to go to the opera or a 
 theatre every night."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 127 
 
 "Every night, Fanny?" 
 
 " Every night that I didn't go to a ball. 
 Don't you like balls, cousin Grace ?" 
 
 " I cannot say, having no experience." 
 
 " Do you mean you were never at a ball ?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Dear me ! how odd. Why you are only a 
 year younger than Augusta, and she has been 
 at dozens and dozens of balls." 
 
 " They were not of such frequent occur- 
 rence where I lived, Fanny." 
 
 " What a dull life you must have had at 
 Glenruth. Mamma says there was not a 
 neighbour within ten miles, and that she 
 used to hate going there." 
 
 Grace did not reply. She fell a-thinking 
 what different ideas various minds will attach 
 to the same word. 
 
 " Confess now, cousin Grace, you did 
 think it dull — I am sure you must." 
 
 "No, Fanny; I w^as never dull there."
 
 128 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Her eyes were full of tears, and even the 
 heedless Fanny thought weU to change the 
 subject. 
 
 " I grieve to say I do see a change for the 
 worse in sweet little EUen," said Grace to 
 Miss Hyndford, as they sat together that 
 night, after the children had gone to bed. 
 " She is more wasted than ever, but how 
 lovely she looks now. What does the doctor 
 safyf 
 
 " Always the same thing. She is young. 
 She may recover." 
 
 "And what does he prescribe?" 
 
 " Nothing new. In fact, I wish he would 
 not prescribe at aU, for I think his medi- 
 cines do positive harm instead of good. 
 Oh, Miss Livingstone, if I might but take 
 her elsewhere for better advice and change 
 of air. It is so hard to feel there may be 
 remedies untried. If I knew that all had
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 129 
 
 been done which skill can do, I should be 
 satisfied ; but I have no confidence in poor 
 old Mr. Richards, and as little in Dr. 
 Frewen." 
 
 " Have any of the London physicians or 
 surgeons been consulted?" 
 
 " Lady Markham intended when she left 
 
 this to submit her case to Sir and 
 
 Dr. S -" 
 
 " And have they not given their opinion 
 yet?" 
 
 " Lady Markham writes me that she has 
 been much occupied lately, but that she will 
 have a consultation before leaving town." 
 
 " It has always surprised me, that my 
 aunt is not more alarmed about Ellen." 
 
 " Lady Markham has had so little expe- 
 rience of illness, either in herself or her 
 family, that she can hardly understand it. 
 She thinks Ellen's delicacy arises solely 
 from weakness, and that she will outgrow it." 
 
 VOL. 1. K
 
 130 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " It seems to me that she will outgrow her 
 strength first, or rather that she has already." 
 
 " Look what cousin Grace has brought 
 me, Miss Hyndford. All those poets for 
 my very own — Cowper and Gray, and the 
 beauties of Shakspeare, and Scott, and 
 Byron, all so beautifully bound, and in a 
 case. Is it not kind of her ?" said the 
 delighted little girl. 
 
 " Indeed, Ellen, that is a treasury ! and 
 look what I have got — a poetess, to keep 
 you company," said Miss Hyndford, show- 
 ing Grace's gift to her ; "a volume of 
 Miss Barnett's poems ; and look at the first 
 poem, I find something about Little EUie." 
 
 " Oh, do let me see ! Oh, what lovely 
 poetry ! Do let me read it to you." The 
 child had a wondrous perception of beauty. 
 She was truly what Miss Hyndford had 
 playfuUy called her — a poetess.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 131 
 
 " And here is something for the hands 
 as well as the head," said Grace, pro- 
 ducing a little box containing all the means 
 and appliances for making wax flowers. 
 " Look, EUie, at those beautiful roses and 
 carnations. I learned how to make them, 
 and now I can teach you." 
 
 " Oh, cousin Grace, how beautiful ! did 
 you really make these yourself?" 
 
 " Yes, I really did ; EUie, and it is not 
 very difficult ; it requires only patience and 
 delicate fingers. I am sure these wee hands 
 will soon work wonders of skill," said Grace, 
 as she took Ellen's little transparent hand, 
 and kissed it. 
 
 " And — what — I mean, did you bring 
 anything for Fanny and Julia? because I 
 don't like to have all the things ; and 1 
 think they would like to make wax flowers 
 too." 
 
 " So they shall if they like ; but I brought 
 
 K 2
 
 132 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 a box of colours for Fanny, and a music- 
 book for Julia." 
 
 " Oh, that is so nice — -just what they 
 would like. Do you know, Fanny has im- 
 proved so much in her drawing — Miss Hynd- 
 ford says so — she did some such pretty 
 things in my book ; and Julia has learned 
 my favourite song to sing to me at night. 
 They are so kind to me ; and, oh ! cousin 
 Grace, do you know the Harrow^ holidays 
 begin to-morrow ? and Ralph and Charlie 
 will be home on Friday. Dear CharUe 1 
 how happy I shall be then." 
 
 " That little tongue is going too fast," 
 nterposed Miss Hyndford. " You must be 
 quiet, my child, or you will bring on your 
 headache." 
 
 " Oh, but it is so long since I have seen 
 cousin Grace, and I am so happy to have 
 her sitting here again ; but I will not talk 
 any more, if you think I had better not."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 133 
 
 *' Try to take a little nap, my darling." 
 " I will try, but I am not sleepy." 
 " Do you think you could go ":o sleep if 
 I were to sing the ' Schlummer Lied,' or 
 ' L'Oiseau Bleu' to you ?" said Grace 
 
 " Oh, do sing, cousin Grace, I will be 
 quite quiet at least." 
 
 ^* What a lovely picture they would make," 
 thought Miss Hyndford, as she looked at them. 
 Charlie Markham deserves to be singled 
 out from his family, for he had a noble, 
 frank, affectionate spirit ; and wild and 
 rough as he might be with others, to little 
 Ellen he was ever gentle and loving. He 
 never came home without bringing: her 
 some little keepsake ; and, what was a much 
 stronger proof of the hold she had upon 
 his heart, he would often forego his favourite 
 amusements to sit by her sofa, or help to 
 draw her little carriage up ana down the 
 lime avenue. He was not slow to observe
 
 134 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 the tenderness of Grace towards his favourite 
 sister, and had in consequence conceived a 
 strong affection for her, which manifested 
 itself sometimes to her annoyance, in draw- 
 ing comparisons between her and his sisters, 
 Charlotte and Augusta, not much to the 
 advantage of those young ladies ; by which 
 he not only got himself into hot water, 
 which would not have signified, since it 
 seemed to be rather his element, but Grace 
 came in for a share of the scalding. 
 
 There was no danger of this, however, at 
 the present time. And never had Grace 
 been so happy at Ashby as during those 
 midsummer holidays. She had a weakness 
 for schoolboys (I cannot say I have. They 
 are apt to be peculiarly obnoxious to middle- 
 aged gentlemen.) She looked upon them 
 with indulgent eyes; 
 
 " Was to their virtues very kind, 
 And to their faults a little blind.*'
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 135 
 
 and she had a genius for them ; probably the 
 sole companionship of her brother had taught 
 her the art of interesting them. All the 
 Markham boys, the hobble-de-hoy Philip, 
 and the sulky Tom, as well as Charlie, who 
 was in my opinion the only endurable one, 
 owned her gentle influence; and the young 
 cubs crouched at her feet as the lion at 
 Una's. 
 
 Even Fanny and Julia shone with reflected 
 light — their faults appeared to be in abey- 
 ance, and Charlie confided to Miss Hyndford 
 that he should have some hopes of them, 
 especially of Fanny, " if mother would only 
 stay in London, and leave them to you and 
 Grace Livingstone." 
 
 They were sitting one beautiful evening in 
 the lime-tree avenue, a green drive which 
 led out of the flower-garden, and was Ellen's 
 favourite resting-place, where they often had
 
 136 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 tea ; all were in gay good humour, Grace 
 teaching Julia and the boys to sing rounds 
 and catches ; EUen and Fanny busily engaged 
 in making a waxen copy of a water-lily. Miss 
 Hyndford had just left them to write a letter. 
 " Halloa !" cried Charlie, breaking off in 
 the middle of ' Christ-church Bells,' *' what's 
 that row at the stables ? There's somebody 
 screeching like mad. Don't you hear it, 
 Phil?" and off he started, followed by his 
 brothers, in the direction whence the noise 
 proceeded. A few minutes afterwards he 
 reappeared, pale and breathless. 
 
 " Run ! — run for your lives ! — a mad dog, 
 a mad dog I" and catching the handle of 
 Ellen's carriage, he dashed on towards the 
 house. The rabid animal was already upon 
 them, pursued by a host of men and boys, 
 who only goaded it to wilder fury, while they 
 were too far off to be of any service to those 
 on whom its rage was directed.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 137 
 
 Fanny, quick and agile, sprang on a chair, 
 and swung herself up into the overhanging 
 tree. Julia, paralyzed with terror, stood 
 motionless. Grace might have easily saved 
 herself as Fanny had done; but she could 
 not leave that helpless victim. Her only 
 weapon of defence was a parasol which lay on 
 the bench, and beside it a shawl which had 
 been brought out to lay over Ellen's feet ; 
 with these she confronted the dog, as it 
 sprang at the terrified child, and blindly 
 thrusting the parasol at its open jaws, by a 
 happy chance she aimed aright. Those 
 fearful fangs closed on Grace's w^eapon, and 
 at the same time she flung the shawl over 
 the brute's head, effectually muzzling it for 
 the moment. Philip sprang forward ^nd 
 caught up his sister, and in another second 
 the poor dog was pinned to the earth with 
 pitchforks, but not before he had disengaged 
 himself, and caught Grace just above the
 
 138 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 ankle. She felt the sharp gripe of his teeth, 
 and a sickening shudder passed through her 
 at the idea of the horrible fate which too 
 probably awaited her. She did not, however, 
 lose her presence of mind ; turning to one of 
 the men who stood by, she begged him to 
 ride instantly for the doctor, and tell him 
 what had happened ; and was then moving 
 towards the house, when she was pushed into 
 a seat, felt her foot forcibly seized, and 
 looking down, beheld Fanny kneeling on the 
 grass, with her lips applied to the wound. 
 
 " My dear child," cried Grace, trying to 
 draw away her foot, but Fanny held on tight. 
 
 " Oh ! — let me — oh — it won't — oh — hurt 
 me — oh, you know — Queen Eleanor — oh — 
 cousin Grace — oh, you'll go mad — oh — " 
 
 And with this consolatory assiu*ance, Fanny 
 continued her suction. 
 
 By this time all the servants in the house 
 had gathered round her, the maids weeping
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 139 
 
 and lamenting, suggesting all manner of 
 impracticable remedies, and prognosticating 
 inevitably fatal results ; when Sir Ralph's old 
 stud groom appeared, forcing his way through 
 the crowd, and bearing aloft a red-hot firing 
 iron. 
 
 " If Miss w^ould let me, 1 knows this 
 would make aU safe. I seen it done by 
 doctor — it won't hurt — not much. Do like 
 a dear Miss. Hold up. Miss Fanny," and 
 Grace making no resistance, for she believed 
 the old man's advice was good, Joseph 
 cauterized the wound with as much skill and 
 care as if he had been operating on Sir 
 Ralph's best hunter. He could not have 
 done more. 
 
 " It's but a lile nip ; keep up t' heart, like 
 a brave lady as thou is. Lord love her ! to 
 see her facing t' mad tyke as steady as ould 
 Ladybird takes her fences. It war a sight, 
 surely !"
 
 140 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 What with the fright, the excitement, and 
 the pain, which — Joe's assurances to the 
 contrary notwithstanding — was pretty severe, 
 Grace felt rather sick ; and she was making 
 the best of her way towards the house, when 
 she was arrested by the sight of Ellen's 
 carriage overturned on the lawn, and Charlie 
 supporting her lifeless body in his arms, and 
 calling for help. In his agonised haste to 
 drag her out of danger, he had brought up 
 the wheel of her little carriage against a bank 
 of turf, by which it had been upset, and poor 
 Ellen thrown out. Fortunately she had 
 rather rolled than fallen on a heap of mown 
 grass ; but the shock was too much for her 
 fragile frame, and she had fainted. Charhe 
 thought she was dead. 
 
 " Oh, Grace ! Grace ! come, come quick ; 
 I have killed her ; Oh, come and help me 
 to carry her in." 
 
 What a sight for poor Miss Hyndford,
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 141 
 
 who had left them not a quarter of an hour 
 before, singing in the gaiety of their hearts, 
 to return and find her beloved nurseling 
 lying motionless on the ground, disorder and 
 dismay depicted in every face of the group 
 which surrounded her, and the ominous 
 words, "Mad dog," repeated in answer to 
 her looks of anxious inquiry. Her first 
 thought and care w^as for Ellen. Passing a 
 sheet under her, she laid her on the mattress 
 of her carriage, and had her borne into the 
 house, and put to bed. It was no unusual 
 thing for the little invalid to faint, and 
 remedies were at hand. In a little while the 
 death-like pallor passed away, the blue eyes 
 unclosed ; she looked around and smiled. 
 
 " I have been asleep and dreaming surely. 
 I thought we were all in the lime avenue. 
 What was that noise ? Oh, I remember it 
 all now — the mad dog ! Charlie — oh, where 
 is Charlie?" she uttered the last words in 
 terrified accents.
 
 142 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " Here I am, my pet ; dont be frightened, 
 it's all right ; the dog is killed, and nobody 
 is hurt/' 
 
 " Why are you crying, Charlie ? Where 
 is cousin Grace ? where are Fanny and 
 Julia, and brothers ?" 
 
 "Everybody is safe, my darling," said 
 Miss Hyndford. " Now you must be still ; 
 but tell me first, have you any pain any- 
 where, more than usual ?" 
 
 '* No, not any. But why does Charlie cry?" 
 
 " He thought you were hurt. He will not 
 cry any more now, unless for joy. Now you 
 must try to sleep. Charlie, kiss her, and say 
 good night." 
 
 How fondly the little wasted arms were 
 twined around that dear brother's neck, as 
 he stooped to kiss her again and again. 
 
 " Dear Charlie ! you saved us. I am 
 quite well now. Good night." 
 
 The doctor declared that Joe Thorpe had
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 143 
 
 forestalled him ; no more effectual remedy 
 could have been resorted to. He contented 
 himself with prescribing a sedative and a 
 few days' quiet. Miss Hyndford sent for 
 Dr. Frewen, who reassured her regarding 
 little Ellen ; no injury was apparent, and he 
 did not think it likely that any had been 
 received. But whether he was mistaken, or 
 whether the shock only hastened what was 
 more slowly but surely approaching, from 
 that day she drooped. Restless, feverish 
 nights, and weary days, brought down her 
 strength rapidly ; and before the holidays 
 ended, it became very evident that Charlie 
 and Ellen would never meet again. 
 
 The poor boy, though he could not bear 
 to admit the truth, yet seemed to have a 
 misgiving. He hardly ever left her bedside, 
 and his grief at parting \^dth her, to return 
 to school, was most affecting. She was 
 either unconscious of her state, or feared to
 
 144 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 pain him by alluding to it. Most likely the 
 latter motive kept her silent, for Ellen could 
 not bear to give pain to any living being, 
 least of all to Charlie. And to Grace she 
 spoke frequently of deat^h, as the probable 
 result of her illness, though she did not say 
 she felt it was at hand. 
 
 "You know, cousin Grace, I never can 
 be like other people — I never can do any 
 good in the world, so it is far better that I 
 should die." 
 
 " Do not say that you can do no good, my 
 little Ellen; you can show an example of 
 patience and submission to God's will. Re- 
 member : 
 
 " They also serve 
 Who stand and wait." 
 
 *' If it should please God to keep you 
 here, you may be sure He has a work for voti 
 to do."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 145 
 
 " I know that ; but I mean it seems to 
 me best that I should die while I am little. 
 I give trouble enough now, being so helpless ; 
 but if I were a big woman I should be more 
 troublesome." 
 
 " We do not count it trouble to wait on 
 those we love ; and those who love you now 
 will not cease to love you when you cease to 
 be little." 
 
 " But, cousin Grace, I have a better reason 
 for being glad to die : I love you very much, 
 and Miss Hyndford, and dear, dear Charlie, 
 and the others too — I love them all ; but I 
 hope now that I love God more than all; 
 and though I am sorry to leave you for a 
 little while, it is joyful to think of going to 
 Him and Jesus." 
 
 " Are you content to live or die ?" 
 
 " Yes, I think I am ; but I would like best 
 to die before I am old. It is leaving Charlie 
 that is the worst, for Miss Hyndford and 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 you know it is best for me to die ; and Miss 
 Hyndford told me she would not ask to keep 
 me here — but Charlie loves me so, and he 
 will miss me, and he has not learned all that 
 you have learned; and then, he is a boy 
 now, but when I see him in heaven, per- 
 haps he will be an old man and I shall still 
 be a chHd." 
 
 It was a childlike thought. 
 
 " There will be perfect happiness in 
 heaven, darling," said Grace ; "we need 
 not trouble ourselves with difficulties about 
 how it is to be." 
 
 " But do not you think, cousin Grace, 
 that we shall know each other in heaven ? 
 Oh ! 1 hope we shall. Please repeat that 
 sonnet of Bishop Mant's, that you wrote for 
 me in my little book." , 
 
 Grace repeated : 
 
 *^ There is a void in torn affection's heart. 
 That yearns to be supplied, on God's high will
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 147 
 
 Though it repose submissively. Yet still 
 Of those who bore in its regards a part. 
 The cherished forms it holds as in a chart 
 Depicted — hoping He will yet fulfil 
 Their restitution. Pardon it, if ill 
 Lurk in this hope. Great Father ! true Thou art, 
 Thou sayest the just shall bliss in fulness prove ; 
 And what Thou sayest, Thy goodness will provide. 
 But yet, me seems, the bhssful souls above. 
 The sense of earth's sweet charities denied, 
 Would feel a yearning in those realms of love, 
 By patriarch host and angels unsupplied." 
 
 " Oh ! that is so beautiful, and I feel it is 
 true, cousin Grace." 
 
 " I hope it is, darling ; but ' the secret 
 things belong unto the Lord,' we must not 
 ask to know what He has hidden, or set our 
 hearts on anything He has not plainly pro- 
 mised." 
 
 " You love Charlie, cousin Grace?" 
 
 " Indeed I do, Ellen." 
 
 " Will you always love him, and be kind 
 
 L 2
 
 148 - THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 to him, and tell him when he does wrong ? 
 Oh ! I pray that God may bless him and 
 give him a new heart, and make him good 
 and happy." 
 
 Little Ellen's prayer was heard, and the 
 strong desire of her heart was granted. She 
 died before that summer's flowers had faded, 
 and the memory of her suffering life and 
 early death was made a blessing to the 
 brother she loved so dearly. 
 
 God gave him a new heart. 
 
 Miss Hyndford and Grace were with her 
 when her spirit passed away so peacefully — 
 so painlessly, it was indeed but falling asleep. 
 
 They both missed her sorely. To one she 
 had been as her own child, to the other the 
 object of tender affection ; but they knew it 
 was best for her to die young. 
 
 Grace was aware that Miss Hyndford 
 would not remain at Ashby now that little
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. ^ 149 
 
 Ellen needed her care no longer. They had 
 talked of this before ; and much as, for her 
 own sake, Grace regretted it, she thought 
 Miss Hyndford judged rightly. 
 
 " If I thought I could be of use to my 
 pupils," said she, "I hope the fact of my 
 task being a difficult one would not deter me 
 from pursuing it ; but I foresee such obsta- 
 cles as appear to me insuperable, and I have 
 already tried every method with Fanny in 
 vain. JuHa is, if possible, more impracti- 
 cable ; there is a dogged hardness about her, 
 more hopeless than Fanny's levity. Fanny 
 has affections, which may be touched if not 
 secured; Julia's, if she have any, I have 
 failed to reach. Yet, when I think they are 
 my little Ellen's sisters, I can hardly make 
 up my mind to leave them — Ellen's sisters !" 
 repeated Miss Hyndford, as attracted by the 
 sound of loud voices in the young ladies' 
 room ; they stopped and beheld Fanny with
 
 150 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 a muslin frill round her face, appealing to 
 the maid who was trying on her black frock, 
 to observe how well she would look as a 
 widow, while Julia peevishly exclaimed : 
 
 " How can you be so foolish, Fanny ? I 
 am sure these frocks are hideous enough; 
 you need not try to disfigure yourself more. 
 How long are we to wear this frightful 
 mourning, I wonder?" 
 
 " Oh, a month or six weeks, I suppose ; 
 poor little Ellen was such a child, and nobody 
 knew much about her except ourselves ; 
 besides, mamma and sisters hate to wear 
 mourning." 
 
 Ellen's sisters ! 
 
 " My difficulties are at an end. Miss 
 Livingstone " said Miss Hyndford two days 
 afterwards, " I have a letter from Lady 
 Markham, informing me that she has de- 
 cided on sending Fanny and Julia to a school
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 151 
 
 in London, and has, therefore, no longer any 
 occasion for my semces. I am very thankful 
 for this ; it relieves me of what I felt to be a 
 painful necessity." 
 
 "Then I am glad of it too, dear Miss 
 Hyndford. I hope," added Grace, " my aunt 
 writes you a kind letter." 
 
 " Lady Markham is not a person of many 
 words. I know she is satisfied that I have 
 endeavoured to do my duty, not only to my 
 darling Ellen, but to her other children ; 
 that she does not consider me well suited 
 to them, is only a confirmation of my own 
 opinion." 
 
 " I wonder who will be found to suit them 
 then," said Grace. 
 
 " A good school may be of use to Fanny, 
 at least, it will oblige her to be diligent and 
 orderly." 
 
 *' But her love of gossip and tittle-tattle?" 
 
 " That will require strict surveillance ; there
 
 152 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 are schools where gossiping is not only pro- 
 hibited, but effectually prevented." 
 
 " Does my aunt mention what school she 
 has fixed upon ?" 
 
 " She does not." 
 
 " And your own plans, dear Miss Hyndford, 
 what are they ?" 
 
 " I shall go home for a little while. I do 
 not feel as though I could enter upon a new 
 scene just yet." 
 
 " I always think," said Grace, after a pause, 
 " I always think the most trying condition of 
 your lot must be the inevitable change of 
 home. Under the happiest circumstances, 
 more especially, indeed, when you have been 
 very happy, to leave those who have grown up 
 under your care and begin again at the 
 bottom of the ladder, must be very disheart- 
 ening." 
 
 "You judge rightly. Miss Livingstone, it 
 is the hardest condition of our calling, at least
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 153 
 
 it is the one which we cannot escape ; in other 
 respects we can do much to make or mar our 
 own happiness." 
 
 " Not always^ surely ?" 
 
 " More frequently than people imagine, or 
 than governesses generally will allow. There 
 are some extreme cases, in which the lot of a 
 governess is hard indeed, but on the average 
 I think we have much to be thankful for. I 
 beheve I have said this to you before, Miss 
 Livingstone? " 
 
 "Yes; but I should like to hear your 
 views more fuUy ; in what particulars do you 
 think you are the rulers of your own hap- 
 piness ?" 
 
 " In the first place, by respecting the office. 
 So many of my sisterhood are ashamed of 
 their vocation, which, surely, is as high and 
 honourable a one as a woman, not having 
 children of her own, need desire. We can 
 never perform cheeifully that which we feel
 
 154 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 to be a degradation ; and I think the woman 
 who is ashamed of being a governess had 
 better seek any other lawful means of gaining 
 her bread. She may be ashamed of sewing 
 for her livelihood, yet handle her needle with 
 skill ; but if she is ashamed of teaching, she 
 will do more harm than good. Another error 
 into which a governess is apt to fall, is to 
 expect too much attention, and to feel 
 aggrieved when it is withheld. Doubtless 
 the kind consideration which in some 
 families is shown to the governess is very 
 gratifying, and puts a heart into one's duty 
 most beneficial to teacher and taught ; but one 
 must take care not to be spoiled by it, not to 
 be disheartened if it is not always met with. 
 Considerate people will always be exceptions ; 
 much real kindness of heart may exist in 
 people of cold, undemonstrative manner, or 
 heedless natures; and even if it does not, 
 positive unkindness is rare — more rare than its
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 155 
 
 opposite. And there is always some com- 
 pensation in this our lot is the lot of 
 humanity. I must say, however, that I 
 believe I have been favoured above my fellows. 
 I have never had an uncomfortable situation. 
 I have always met with kindness." 
 
 "Always?" said Grace enquiringly, who 
 had been witness to no small discourtesy, as 
 she considered it, on the part of Lady Mark- 
 ham, and her elder daughters, towards Miss 
 Hyndford. 
 
 " I understand your inquiry. Miss Living- 
 stone, and I admit, that on first coming here 
 from Invercarron, I felt the change; but 
 I have had nothing, excepting coldness, to 
 complain of, and that I have already said, I 
 do not admit as legitimate cause of com- 
 plaint ; and here I have known some of the 
 happiest hours of life, by the bed-side of the 
 blessed little one, whose sweet patience might 
 well teach a lesson to many an elder heart.
 
 156 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 I had her love, warm, and pure, and perfect. 
 I had the comfort of knowing J made her 
 happy. What more could I ask ? yet more 
 was given. You will not think me obtrusive 
 in saying to you now, dear Miss Livingstone, 
 when we are so soon to part, how great 
 a happiness your society — may I not say 
 your friendship? — has afforded me ; and more 
 than happiness — it has taught me how much 
 sorrow may be borne patiently, cheerfully, 
 by a trusting heart. You have been more 
 heavily tried than I have been. You have 
 not, like me, a distinct work plainly pointed 
 out ; yet are you content to follow, step by 
 step, where your Father leads. Oh my dear 
 Miss Livingston, may He be pleased soon 
 to lead you through green pastures of glad- 
 ness, and beside the still waters of peace, and 
 give you happiness here and hereafter ! I 
 can never forget you, or cease to think of 
 you with deep and grateful affection."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 157 
 
 " Do not speak of gratitude to me, Miss 
 Hyndford; I owe you much. To you and 
 my darling Ellen, I owe almost all the 
 happiness I have knowm since I was left 
 alone in the wwld : and I thankfully ac- 
 knowledge I have had many sweet and 
 peaceful hours in this room, especially of 
 late. How much I shall miss you."
 
 158 THE LIVIN STONES. 
 
 CHAPTER VTII. 
 
 Refusing to the last, to believe that her 
 neglected child was in any peril of life, Lady 
 Markham had not thought it necessary to 
 hasten her departure from London. Even 
 upon Miss Hyndford's reports of Ellen's in- 
 creasing illness, and when the fact of her death 
 admitted of no denial, I do not believe that 
 one touch of remorse or tenderness visited the 
 unnatural mother's heart. At another time it 
 would have been hailed as a relief; but just 
 now it happened most inopportunely. There
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 159 
 
 were other peers besides Lord Beaumaris, 
 who had gone off, nobody knew where. The 
 Earl of Biggleswade was not so young or so 
 handsome as the Marquis ; but his rent-roU 
 w^as larger, and the family diamonds of were 
 of fabulous value ; he was evidently much 
 smitten, and had accepted an invitation to Ash- 
 by, where his visit could not now be received. 
 
 What a chance to lose ! 
 
 It seemed as if poor little Ellen's death 
 gave as little satisfaction as her life had done, 
 — to her mother. 
 
 Can there be a more humiliating proof of 
 what humanity may descend into, than an 
 unnatural mother ; harder of heart than the 
 beasts than perish ; devoid of the instinct of 
 maternity. 
 
 And as sweetest wine makes the strongest 
 vinegar, so a mother's hate is as intense as 
 mother's love can be. Happily, such cases 
 are of the rarest, but there are such.
 
 160 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 It may be said, that this does not apply to 
 Lady Markham, who seemed to have a blind 
 adoration for her elder daughters, especially 
 for Augusta, and would see no fault in 
 Fanny or Julia ; but I doubt whether this 
 were love. She took pride in the beauty 
 and accomplishments of these children ; they 
 were admired and courted in that world 
 where it was her ambition to shine, and 
 through their means, she hoped to connect 
 herself with nobility. For her sons, she 
 cared very little; and it is hardly too much 
 to say, that she arrived at hating poor little 
 Ellen — and more now that she was dead 
 than while she lived — partly because this 
 interfered, as we have seen, with her favourite 
 scheme ; partly because it was a tacit reproof 
 of her neglect; partly that it called for a 
 semblance, at least, of decent sorrow; her 
 hard, proud, unyielding heart, chafed under 
 the dispensation which might have carried a
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 161 
 
 message of mercy to a less impenetrable 
 spirit. 
 
 In no gentle mood did she return to 
 Ashby, and there the sight of those who had 
 fulfilled her duty to the little outcast from a 
 mother's love only aggravated the bitterness 
 of her anger. With Miss Hyndford she 
 controlled herself, thanked her coldly for 
 her attention to the poor little girl, but 
 begged that Ellen's name might not be 
 mentioned to her, as she felt quite unequal 
 to talk of her, and told Miss Hyndford that 
 she was at liberty to go home as soon as 
 she pleased, since she had arranged to send 
 Fanny and Julia to school immediately. 
 But to Grace, whom she felt was in her 
 power, she had already committed herself, 
 by a display of her real feelings. 
 
 One part of her persecution was an at- 
 tempt to force Grace into a marriage with 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 a Mr. Ramsden, a man every way her in- 
 ferior — the dissipated, would-be fine gen- 
 tleman, son of a Lichfield attorney, who bid 
 fair to squander the fortune his father had 
 amassed honestly or otherwise. When Grace 
 declined positively, and at length, with some 
 indignation, the pertinacious addresses of 
 her unabashed suitor: she had to undergo 
 the most stinging taunts from Lady Mark- 
 ham, as one who was content to live on 
 the charity of those on whom she had no 
 claim by blood. 
 
 But a day of reckoning was at hand. 
 
 Sir Ralph's fortune had been large ; but 
 when a man whose rent-roll numbers eleven 
 thousand a year lives at the rate of twelve, 
 the consequences, sooner or later, must be 
 a crash. 
 
 Sir Ralph was not a man of business ; 
 he believed himself to be possessed of ready
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 163 
 
 money sufficient to cover any little extra 
 expense in which he might indulge ; and 
 what his expenses were he had no very 
 accurate idea. The failm-e of a country 
 hank necessitated an inquiry into the state 
 of his affairs, and then it w^as found that 
 only by the sale of his unentailed property, 
 by abandoning Ashby, and economising 
 rigidly for several years, could he hope to 
 make- any provision for the children of his 
 second marriage. Ralph, who did not love 
 his step-mother, as he had little reason, 
 was not hkely to make any sacrifices for 
 her behoof; so there was no alternative. 
 
 Sir Ralph was an honest man ; this 
 sacrifice he was called upon to make, was to 
 one of his habits, very great — but he did 
 not hesitate. 
 
 To Lady Markham and her daughters, 
 the blow was tremendous; and poor Sir 
 Ralph gained little comfort from his wife. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 That so worldly wise a woman as Lady 
 Markham should have suffered her in- 
 terests to be entirely overlooked, may ap- 
 pear extraordinary ; but the truth is, she 
 had reckoned on the possession of the 
 £30,000, which had gone with the bank 
 and on the place in Northamptonshire, as 
 her dower-house. This she believed to be 
 secured to her, but she had been mistaken. 
 It was a desperate downfall. And what w^as 
 to become of Grace? 
 
 This w^as a question which Sir Ralph 
 propounded to his lady with more thought- 
 fulness, than might have been expected from 
 a man like him, oppressed by sudden 
 calamity. 
 
 " What's to become of the poor girl. 
 Lady Markham ? I would like to do some- 
 thing better for her than to let her follow 
 our fortunes ; but I hardly know what else 
 to propose."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 165 
 
 " If you mean that she should go abroad 
 with us, Sh' Ralph, I tell you at once 
 that I will not consent to it ; she has been 
 too long with us already ; I wish to good- 
 ness she had never come," said Lady Mark- 
 ham, careless then of betraying her feelings. 
 
 " What do you mean, Charlotte ?" said 
 Sir Ralph, in angry surprise. 
 
 " I mean that she has been a thorn in 
 my side ever since she entered the house, 
 an incubus to which I will submit no longer. 
 But for her, Augusta might have been mar- 
 ried to Lord Beaumaris ; and if I am not 
 much mistaken, she came between Charlotte 
 and Mr. Dalton." 
 
 '* And so, because the girl is a pretty 
 girl, and as good as she is pretty ; and 
 young men have the sense to find it out, 
 you would visit it upon her as a crime ! 
 Upon my soul ! — the envy and jealousy of 
 women is beyond all belief. I wish Char-
 
 166 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 lotte and Augusta were more like Grace 
 Livingstone, and I shouldn't care whether 
 they were married or not." 
 
 " If you are so anxious to have her for 
 a daughter, I dare say you will soon be 
 gratified. Lord Beaumaris does not seem 
 inclined to renew his addresses ; so I have 
 little doubt Miss Livingstone may be in- 
 duced to bestow her pretty face and empty 
 purse on your son and heir ; and then you 
 will have no farther anxiety about her 
 welfare, which appears to be of much more 
 importance to you than that of your own 
 family." 
 
 " Ralph will be a lucky fellow if he gets 
 her, and he shall have my blessing ; but 
 I believe your news is too good to be true." 
 
 So that shaft fell harmless. 
 
 Now if there was one prospect more hate- 
 ful to her ladyship than another, it was 
 to have Grace; to whom she had shewn
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 16? 
 
 SO much unkindness, and consequently 
 whom she so intensely disliked, as her 
 daughter-in-law, who would at once be in- 
 dependent of her, and hereafter would rule 
 in her stead. Ralph Markham had for 
 some time shewn symptoms of admiration 
 for Grace. There was evidently a powerful 
 attraction which kept him at Ashby, where 
 there was neither hunting nor shooting, 
 and Sir Ralph was ready to encourage this ; 
 it was intolerable. 
 
 She was too angry to speak. 
 
 " I'll tell you what. Lady Markham, you 
 know who her nearest relations are. There 
 is old Lady Livingstone, surely she would take 
 her, if you were to write, and tell her how 
 things stand with us." 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the kind. I am 
 not going to publish our ruin, or to put 
 myself under obligation to any one, on 
 account of a girl who is no relation of 
 mine."
 
 168 THE LTVINGSrONES. 
 
 " What obligations are you talking of ?" 
 
 " Why, asking Lady Livingstone to re- 
 ceive Grace." 
 
 " Then what, in Heaven's name, do you 
 propose to do ? Leave the girl on the high 
 road r 
 
 " I shall make arrangements to board her 
 with the Miss Wingroves, until she comes of 
 age, and then my responsibility ceases." 
 
 "Board her with the d — 1," said Sir 
 Ralph, kicking down the fire-irons, and 
 otherwise evincing signs of the most violent 
 displeasure. " Condemn the poor girl to the 
 society of those sour old maids, who would 
 worry the life out of an angel. How would 
 you like such a thing to be proposed for your 
 own daughter, Lady Markham ? No, I have 
 a responsibility in this, as well as you, and if 
 you won't write to Lady Livingstone, I'll 
 write myself. I'll not see poor Glenruth's 
 daughter tiuTied over in that way, while I can 
 help it."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 169 
 
 It might at first sight seem difficult to say 
 why Lady Markham made any difficulty 
 about recommending Grace to the care of 
 her Scotch relations, unless from pure 
 grudging, at the idea of her finding a happy 
 home ; and doubtless this motive would have 
 been sufficient — to such a height will hatred 
 grow, if nursed and cherished. But she had 
 another reason. 
 
 After spreading reports of Grace's tendency 
 to insanity (for Lady Beaumaris was not the 
 only person to whom the secret had been 
 confided), she would have compromised 
 herself, by proposing to Lady Livingstone 
 to receive Grace and her family. While, by 
 placing her with the Miss Wingroves in a 
 conveniently obscure country town, and duly 
 instructing these ladies, not only would her 
 machinations escape detection, but their 
 success would be ensured. 
 
 She was rather disquieted by Sir Ralph's
 
 170 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 declaration, that he would write to Lady 
 Livingstone; but she remembered that the 
 Invercarron family had gone to Italy for the 
 winter, and took comfort. 
 
 Meanwhile, another idea had suggested 
 itself to Grace. She was truly sorry for her 
 aunt and cousins, and especially so for Sir 
 Ralph. To Augusta she did not venture to 
 express her feelings ; but one day, when 
 Charlotte was in a mild mood, Grace put 
 her arms round her neck, and told her, with 
 tears, how deeply she felt for them, how 
 much she wished to be of use to them, if 
 possible. 
 
 " What is to become of Fanny and Julia ? 
 Can they remain at Mrs. Everett's?" 
 
 " No ; papa says it is impossible, and 
 equally so to have an expensive governess for 
 them ; and how we are to manage them 
 without a governess, Heaven only knows." 
 
 " Do you think my aunt would let me
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 171 
 
 undertake the management of them for the 
 next two years '^ In some things, I think, 
 with your help I could carry them on, and 
 they will have advantages abroad as to 
 languages. Dear Charlotte ! if you knew 
 how willingly I would do anything to be 
 useful ; and your sisters know me — we were 
 such good friends in summer." 
 
 " Grace, do you mean to say you would 
 undertake such a drudgery! and after all 
 mamma's — well I do think you are the most 
 forgiving of human beings. No, no, Grace 
 don't come with us, go to those who will 
 find out your value. Perhaps you have not 
 heard papa's proposal to send you to your 
 namesakes in Scotland." 
 
 " I know he kindly proposes writing to 
 Lady Livingstone on the subject. But, 
 Charlotte, your father's house has been my 
 home since I ceased to have one of my own. 
 If I can in any degree repay his hospitality,
 
 172 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 it will be my pleasure, no less than my duty 
 to do so." 
 
 She was too honest to speak of her aunt's 
 hospitality, but she was truly grateful to Sir 
 Ralph, whose moistened eye, as he thanked 
 her for her tenderness shown to his little 
 Elllen, had given evidence of his kind heart. 
 His impulses were good, but they were too 
 often overpowered by an indolent love of 
 ease, which made him shrink from battling a 
 point with his wife. She seldom, if ever, 
 interfered with his pursuits and amusements, 
 and he was content to let her bear rule, 
 mthout inquiring too narrowly how that rule 
 was administered. 
 
 When he was roused he could hold his 
 own, and he determined to write to Lady 
 Livingstone. 
 
 He was beginning to see many things 
 more clearly. 
 
 When Charlotte, deeply touched by the
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES 173 
 
 proof Grace had given of generous disregard 
 of self, told her parents of it. Sir Ralph 
 heard it with emotion, Lady Markham with a 
 sneer. She was invulnerable ; yet, on second 
 thoughts, seeing the manifest advantage to 
 Fanny and Julia, of such an arrangement, 
 she was half inclined to close with Grace's 
 offer, but Sir Ralph put a veto on that at 
 once. 
 
 " No, no ! God bless her for the thought ! 
 But Lord Glenruth's daughter would be out 
 of place as governess to mine. If I can no 
 longer give her a home, I hope I can at least 
 find one for her." 
 
 Poor Sir Ralph, however, was not per- 
 mitted to carry out his kind attention. 
 
 Riding home fi'om L- one night, after a 
 
 day spent in painful and harassing business, 
 he got wet to the skin, as he had done with 
 impunity a hundred times ; but now there 
 was enemy within. Anxious and dispirited.
 
 174 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 illness found him an easier prey; but its 
 first symptoms were neglected, and when at 
 last medical advice was sought it, was of no 
 avail. Within ten days, he who had scarcely 
 known a day's illness in his life, died of 
 pleurisy. 
 
 Grace tended him with all the aifection, 
 and more than the skill and patience of his 
 own daughters. She was apprehensive from 
 the first. Lady Markham would not believe 
 in danger till all w^as over; and then her's 
 was an angry grief — for grieve she did. In 
 her way she had been attached to Sir Ralph, 
 but there was a great deal of selfishness 
 mingled with her sorrow. That it did not 
 soften her heart towards Grace, will be seen 
 from the fact, that instead of carrying out 
 her husband's intention of writing to Lady 
 Livingstone, she took steps towards placing 
 her W'ith the Miss Wingroves ; and when, in a 
 letter of condolence, Lady Beaumaris inquired
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 175 
 
 whether under these sadly-altered circum- 
 stances, Miss Livingstone would continue to 
 live with her aunt. She replied that she 
 had found it quite necessary to provide her 
 with another asylum, as she dreaded for her 
 the excitement of travelling ; and " in case 
 of any more violent outbreak, how helpless 
 should I feel with so precious a charge, at a 
 distance from home, a desolate and heart- 
 stricken widow r 
 
 (In the depth of her grief Lady Markham 
 never forgot her notes of admiration.) 
 
 " She is to be under the surveillance of a 
 physician, eminent for his skilful treatment 
 of mental maladies, and the Miss Wingroves 
 house is so quiet, that it is just the home for 
 my beloved niece ; and the consciousness 
 that I have done the best that could be done 
 for her, dear child ! repays me for the 
 anxiety she has cost me, and the painful 
 exertions I have been called upon to
 
 176 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 make for her sake, at such a time as 
 
 this r 
 
 Lady Markham, however, was checkmated. 
 Charlotte, who knew what her poor father's 
 intentions had been, was resolved that they 
 should not be frustrated ; so she wrote to 
 Lady Livingstone, explaining the circum- 
 stances of her family, as a sufficient apology 
 for her mother's silence. 
 
 I think Grace might probably have been 
 stirred up to appeal to Lady Livingstone, 
 herself, but she believed her to be on the 
 continent. Not having heard of the Inver- 
 carron family since Miss Hyndford's depar- 
 ture, who had herself accompanied a family 
 abroad, she did not know that the project 
 of wintering in Italy had been abandoned 
 in consequence of Colonel and Mrs. Living- 
 stone's arrival in England sooner than they 
 were expected; so that Charlotte's letter, 
 which, in ignorance of their foreign address
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 177 
 
 she had directed to Invercarron to be for- 
 warded, was received by Lady Livingstone 
 there, and answered immediately. The letter 
 to Charlotte enclosed one for Grace; so 
 kindly, yet so simply worded, that its sin- 
 cerity could not be doubted. She was wel- 
 come at Invercarron, and the sooner the 
 better. 
 
 Grace's surprise and gratitude may be 
 imagined. 
 
 She remained, however, at Ash by as long 
 as she thought she could be of the slightest 
 use ; and she was of more use in her quiet, 
 unobtrusive way than any of them excepting 
 Charlotte, knew, until they found out on her 
 departure how much they missed her; but 
 when one day young Sir Ralph was very 
 urgent with her to remain altogether, she 
 thought it was time to go. 
 
 It was with a strange mixture of feeling 
 that she quitted the place which had been 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 called her home for the last twelvemonth, 
 knowing that probably she should never see 
 it again. Regret may seem hardly natural, 
 considering the treatment she had expe- 
 rienced, yet regret there was. Had she 
 been leaving its inmates prosperous as she 
 found them, probably she would have been 
 conscious only of joy at her emancipation 
 from thraldom, but misfortune had lowered 
 upon Ashby : death had visited it ; and 
 Grace's generous, tender heart, almost re- 
 proached itself for the joy it could not help 
 feeling. She was leaving a falling house. 
 
 Oh, Lady Markham ! you had been enter- 
 taining an angel unaware — sorry entertain- 
 ment you gave ; but had you even abstained 
 from insult, w^hat a tenfold reward you might 
 have reaped now. Even at the eleventh 
 hour one word of contrition — one sign of 
 relenting, and she would have devoted her- 
 self to the work of comforting you, and
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 179 
 
 found her happiness therein. It was her 
 nature so to do. Every wrong would have 
 been forgotten, and in serving you she would 
 have learned to love ; but you cast her out. 
 
 I can't help being very glad it was so. 
 Had Grace Livingstone gone with the Mark- 
 hams to Brussels, I probably should never 
 have seen her ; and possibly this book might 
 not have been written. Let us be thankful ! 
 Then she was going to Invercarron, which 
 for so many months had been the scene of 
 some of her pleasantest day-dreams; the 
 happy home which Miss Hyndford had so 
 often described, and she had pictured to 
 herself with a vain longing to be one of its 
 inmates ; and now the vision was taking 
 form and reality. She was going among 
 her kindred, who would welcome her as 
 such. She would no longer be regarded 
 as an alien. It is indescribable the pleasure 
 she took in reflecting on that slender tie of 
 relationship, which in England would hardly
 
 180 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 have been recognised as such ; but Grace 
 had none more strong, and valued her rela- 
 tives as rari aves. She did not trouble 
 herself with speculation as to whether or not 
 they would love her; she knew they were 
 kind, and that she should love them, and 
 that was sufficient for her present happiness. 
 Of affection, as of less precious treasures, 
 how truly it may be said that it is more 
 blessed to give than to receive. 
 
 Going back to Scotland — that in itself 
 was happiness inexpressible. 
 
 For her eye, accustomed to the mountain 
 scenery of Glenruth, had grown weary of the 
 tame beauties of j-shire. Its flat mea- 
 dows and sluggish streams, with their ever- 
 lasting willows and poplars, even it must 
 be owned, of its fine oaks. 
 
 She had often pined for a glimpse of rock 
 or heather, a bare hill-side or a brown moor ; 
 the red rugged bole of a fir tree, or the silver 
 sheen of the lady of the woods, or for the
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 181 
 
 sweet sound of rushing waters, which w^as as 
 music to her e-ar. 
 
 She thought of Edward — when did she 
 not think of him — how his kind heart would 
 rejoice to hear of her having found such a 
 home ; for although she had never told him 
 of her unhappiness at Ashby, she meant to 
 write him. a description of Invercarron ; she 
 hoped, too — and there was a little tremour 
 mingled with the hope — that she would 
 sometimes hear him named there, to some of 
 the family at least he was well known ; and 
 probably Colonel Livingstone, lately from 
 India, had met him. (It is a generally 
 received opinion that in India people cannot 
 fail to meet.) And Katherine — that dear 
 warm-hearted clever Katherine — w^ould be as 
 a sister to her. 
 
 If her reflections were somewhat grave and 
 moui'nful, her anticipations were for the pre- 
 sent steeped in sunshine — let us hope they 
 were not delusive.
 
 182 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 There was high feasting at Glenruth on 
 the anniversary of that day which had seen 
 its last lord carried to the grave, for after 
 an interval of several years another heir to 
 its honours was born. This w^as a blessing 
 much coveted by the present peer, for his 
 only son was but a sickly plant; and the 
 birth of a second, besides strengthening the 
 house, might enable him to break the entail 
 in favour of his daughters, and thus keep the 
 property at least in his branch of the family, 
 even should their brothers die childless.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 183 
 
 But although he determined to make this 
 sure, if possible, he was far from anticipating 
 any such contingency, as he looked with 
 paternal pride and satisfaction on the strong 
 healthy infant with which her ladyship had 
 so kindly presented him, and who seemed as 
 likely as any one to live and thrive, and per- 
 petuate the race of Livingstone. 
 
 His Lordship was highly elated, and on 
 the occasion of the Honourable Algernon 
 Reginald's christening, great were the re- 
 joicings at Glenruth, worthy indeed of the 
 birth of an heir apparent, instead of a 
 younger brother. But the truth was, that as 
 heir apparent the new-born one was regarded ; 
 and except when his signature was required 
 for some deed or bond, Lord Glenruth 
 seldom thought of his eldest son, who, 
 neglected from his earliest years as long as 
 there seemed hope of more promising chil- 
 dren, and brought into notice only since he
 
 184 THE LIVINGSTONES„ 
 
 had become Master of Glenruth, and — 
 faate de mieux — the future Baron was des- 
 tined henceforth to sink back into obscurity. 
 Such treatment would have been galling to a 
 proud spirit ; but Basil Livingstone, though 
 sensitive, and keenly alive to kindness, was 
 not proud. Aware of his peculiar appear- 
 ance, and of the disadvantage at which he 
 was placed by a very defective education, he 
 seemed to take it for granted that all others 
 should be preferred to him ; and it was very 
 touching to see the affectionate gentleness 
 with which he caressed the baby brother who 
 seemed destined to supplant him. Poor 
 Basil ! that frail slight frame held as pure 
 and noble and tender a heart as ever beat in 
 the manliest breast. Well would it have 
 been if some of earth's more favoured ones 
 had possessed one-half his worth. 
 
 It was difficult to say what it vv:;s in his 
 appearance that impressed one so painfully at
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 185 
 
 first. He was neither deformed nor dwarfish, 
 nor was there any distortion of feature in his 
 pale mild face; but altogether there was 
 something unearthly in his look. So spare 
 w^as the slender frame, and so colourless the 
 hollow cheek and sunken eye, and soft in- 
 fant-like hair which covered the small head. 
 There was about him an indescribable look 
 of youth and age. You thought at first a 
 delicate stripling was before you. You 
 looked again, and seemed to see a man 
 stricken in years; and from his boyhood 
 till his death no change was observable in his 
 * appearance. 
 
 It was impossible but that he should be 
 loved by those who knew and could appre- 
 ciate his character — in his youth these were 
 but a few, for few did know what he was. 
 As years elapsed, and he was called upon 
 to take a more prominent position in life, 
 he made many warm and constant friends,
 
 186 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 and won the respect and admiration of all. 
 At this time his eldest sister, the only child 
 besides himself, of his father's first marriage, 
 was perhaps the only human being who 
 knew him thoroughly ; but her affection 
 was worth many friendships — the strong tie 
 w^hich so often unites an only brother and 
 sister was drawn very close between these 
 two. 
 
 Had their own mother lived, these loving 
 hearts might have known a happier child- 
 hood ; but the second Mrs. Livingstone, 
 though not intentionally or positively unkind, 
 was ill-fitted to supply her place. She was a 
 person of extremely narrow mind and limited 
 capacities, who considered it a sacred duty to 
 love her own children immeasurably above 
 those w^ho had not the privilege of calling 
 her their mother ; and she had so little deli- 
 cacy of feeling as to lament openly and fre- 
 quently, especially since she had become
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 187 
 
 Lady Glenruth, that she had no son, as it 
 was so very desirable that there should be an 
 heir to the title, thus tacitly ignoring the 
 existence of Basil. I believe she viewed the 
 birth of this much-desired son in the lio;ht of 
 a national blessing ; so she called her friends 
 and neighbours and the public generally, to 
 rejoice with her. 
 
 So there was a grand dinner at Glenruth 
 to high and low, and much speaking and 
 drinking of healths; and when at last the 
 company rose to disperse, Basil, who thought 
 old Dr. Grahame might naturally feel slighted 
 by the selection of another clergyman to 
 administer the baptismal right, without so 
 much as paying him the compliment of 
 naming such an intention, Basil, with the 
 tact natural to his kind heart, proposed to 
 walk home with him. 
 
 " I am afraid," began he, when they had 
 left the house, " I am afraid this must have
 
 188 EHE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 been a trying day to you, my dear Sir. I 
 was glad," he added with some hesitation, 
 "when my father determined to ask Mr. 
 Williamson to take your place, it would have 
 been too much to expect of you." 
 
 Dr. Grahame saw through the kind dis- 
 guise, and quickly replied : 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Livingstone, I felt it would 
 have been so, and I am not afraid of owning 
 it to you. Most sincerely I pray for God's 
 blessing on the little one who has this day 
 been dedicated to Him ; but when I think of 
 those on whose heads I poured the waters of 
 baptism, and saw grow up in goodness and 
 beauty under that roof tree — the one laid low 
 in death, the other bowed down under sorrow 
 — I cannot always command my feelings. It 
 is just twelve months this day, since I fol- 
 lowed to the grave the honoured friend of 
 many years." 
 
 " I remember it," said Basil ; " but I
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 189 
 
 think it had escaped my father's memory, 
 and I did not like to remind him of it when 
 all his arrangements were made." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Livingstone," said Dr. 
 Grahame, "it is as natural for your father to 
 rejoice to-day as it was for me on that day to 
 mourn. Joy and sorrow come alike from 
 Him who knows what all his servants need : 
 that brought a blessing to her on whom it 
 fell, and so I trust will this." 
 
 " Have you heard lately from Miss Living- 
 stone ?" said Basil after a pause. " I hope 
 she is well ?" 
 
 " A month never passes without bringing 
 me a letter from her," answered the Doctor 
 in a pleased tone. " She knows I like well 
 to hear from her, and she is not one to 
 forget old friends; she is in good health, 
 and writes cheerfully for most part ; but I 
 sometimes doubt it's not a very kindly home 
 she's got to. I wish she could have gone to 
 Mrs. Onslow."
 
 190 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " Who is Mrs. Onslow ? Is she a re- 
 lation?" 
 
 '* No, not any kin ; but she is a kind lady 
 that I mind of being at Glenruth different 
 times with her husband, the Dean, an ex- 
 cellent w^orthy man, but a terrible strong 
 prelate." 
 
 " Would not you be afraid, Doctor, that 
 he might be converting Miss Grace if she 
 went to live there ?" 
 
 " He's gone, Sir, where he'll not find any 
 needing conversion," said the Doctor reve- 
 rently. " His w^ork was built on a sure, 
 foundation, and whatever be the work the 
 :oundation wiU stand. He was a good man 
 and a Christian, and died rejoicing. May 
 my end be like his. No, I don't think Miss 
 Grace will fall into prelacy ; she has a won- 
 derful clear sight of the truth, for as young 
 as she is she can give a reason for the faith 
 that is within her ; and Mrs. Onslow, worthy
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 191 
 
 woman, is no great polemic, but the Dean 
 loved an argument well." 
 
 They had reached the Manse by this time. 
 
 " You'U step in, Mr. Livingstone, and rest 
 you a bit, you'll have the moon this two 
 hours yet. Aye, that's her picture," said he, 
 seeing Basil's eye attracted by the portrait of 
 Grace which hung in the Manse parlour; 
 " but her's is a bonnier face than any painter 
 could set down ; then the gowden hair and 
 the dark een, and the black lashes, but 
 there's not the smile that was like sunshine 
 to an auld man's heart ; she was a bonnie 
 lamb ! a bonnie lamb !" 
 
 The old man's eyes were full of tears, as 
 they often were when he talked of his 
 favourite Miss Grace — and in Basil he always 
 found a ready listener, not only from his kind 
 desire to give pleasure to Dr. Grahame, but 
 from the interest he himself took in the 
 subject. His feeling for Walter and Grace
 
 192 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 was more like that of a sorrowing brother, 
 than of the heir of their house ; and joyfully, 
 I am sure, he would have resigned his present 
 prospects, could that have recalled to life him 
 whose place he held. Once, for a moment, 
 he had seen Grace, and she had made a great 
 impression on him — not by her beauty so 
 much as by her sorrow ; but he did think 
 her's the loveliest face he had ever beheld, 
 and he was not singular in this. To know 
 her, to win her friendship — her affection — 
 for Annie, if not for himself — was a favourite 
 vision which he had cherished ever since the 
 day when his pity was so profoundly stirred ; 
 and the more he heard of her from Dr. Gra- 
 hame, and from the people about Glenruth, 
 the more earnest became this desire, until it 
 grew almost into a passion. Poor Basil !
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 193 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ** She had something of sublime 
 In eyes that sadly shone — as seraph's shine. 
 All youth — but with an aspect beyond time ; 
 Radiant and grave, as pitying man's decline ; 
 Mournful- — but mournful for another's crime ; 
 She looked like one who sat by Eden's door, 
 And grieve for those who might return no more." 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 " Oh ! Katherine, Katherine ! what pains I 
 have bestowed upon you to no purpose. To 
 think at your age, you have not learned to 
 value people for their good qualities." 
 
 " Good qualities ! I don't care for what 
 you call good qualities," said Katherine, " I 
 like people that amuse me." 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 "You can scarcely look for much amuse- 
 ment from poor Grace just now, considering 
 all things," ohserved a quiet voice, apologeti- 
 cally, from the other side of the fire-place. 
 
 "That's just what I complain of. She 
 will be dull, dull, and you and mamma will 
 look solemn for sympathy, and I shall be 
 afraid of her. I always am afraid of crape 
 and weepers." 
 
 "Now, Katherine, I desire you will not 
 speak in that way — it's perfectly dreadful ; 
 and I just beg you will lay yourself out to pay 
 proper attention to Grace, and not be always 
 thinking of your own amusement. It's your 
 duty to amuse her." 
 
 " But some people won't be amused. I 
 wonder if she's clever. Is she mamma !" 
 
 " Does anybody know if she's handsome ?" 
 inquired the tall young man who monopolised 
 the rug in virtue of his sex and country. 
 " I've heard some one say she's stunning, but 
 one never knows." 
 
 " I can't tell you whether she is the one or 
 the other, but she is an excellent good girl, I 
 believe ; and her mother was very good-
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 195 
 
 looking as a young woman. Katherine, I 
 hope you have got a piece of work to do in 
 the evenings." 
 
 This conversation was carried on at the 
 tireside of an old country-house in Scotland. 
 It aptly introduces some of my friends, the 
 Livingstones, with whom I have spent many 
 a happy summer's day, and winter's evening, 
 they little dreaming, poor innocents— as how 
 should they? — that they were cherishing a 
 viper in the family bosom ; in other words, 
 that the obscure individual who sat in their 
 chimney-corner would basely betray them 
 into a book. And yet my intentions are 
 honourable. 
 
 Lady Livingstone, at the time I speak of, 
 had been for several years a widow. Married 
 early, she had passed from a secluded girl- 
 hood into the cares and anxieties of wedded 
 life, in her case neither few nor hght. To 
 maintain the dignity of an ancient name, and 
 
 o 2
 
 196 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 to bring up a large family on an income 
 barely sufficient to such requirements, was a 
 task which few would have performed with 
 like success. She was a woman of a mind 
 rather strong than large ; of warm and stead- 
 fast, but not passionate feelings, of strict reli- 
 gious principle, and strong sense of duty. 
 
 Undisturbed by doubts, and little apt to be 
 swayed by impulse, she could not easily 
 understand or make allowance for the diffi- 
 culties and errors of minds less stable than 
 her own. When I add, that her maternal 
 affections were strong, and discernment of 
 character very small, it may be conceived that 
 her daughter Katherine, whom I shall pre- 
 sently describe, was a painful puzzle to her. 
 
 The youngest of thirteen, Katherine's 
 childhood had not received the same amount 
 of maternal superintendence which fell to the 
 lot of her elders ; and being a child of very 
 uncommon character, the untrained workings
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 197 
 
 of her mind had resulted in some very hete- 
 rodox opinions, the bare suspicion of which 
 would have startled Lady Livingstone's vir- 
 tuous imagination from its propriety. But 
 Katherine's mind was a sealed book to her 
 mother — a book which, to those who had 
 skill to read its pages, was full of deep and 
 varied interest. Gifted, affectionate, generous 
 and tiTie — singularly free from feminine 
 faults — she w^as the most loveable of beings, 
 yet lacked she one thing, and this it was 
 which made her an object of sorrowful affec- 
 tion to some who knew and loved her well. 
 Wanting that anchor of the soul which is 
 sure and steadfast, her spirit was tempest-tost 
 on the dark waters of doubt ; and afraid, or 
 unable, to steer her course to the only haven 
 of safety, there seemed but too much reason 
 to fear that the frail bark might founder 
 among the shoals and breakers of worldly 
 pleasure and excitement. She lived but for
 
 198 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 the present, and continually desired to be 
 amused. 
 
 The gentleman whose interest in the 
 expected stranger seemed to be centered 
 on the subject of her personal charms, 
 was John Livingstone, a handsome young 
 Guardsman, with a taU figure of nearly fault- 
 less proportions, and a face which, if not 
 strictly classical, was more pleasant to look 
 upon than that of any Grecian statue T am 
 acquainted with, so kindly was the beam of 
 the clear eye, so sweet and sunny the smile. 
 Manly and gentle, accomplished and most 
 engaging in manners, it was no wonder that 
 he was a favourite both with men and women, 
 even with those who knew him slightly. 
 His reserved and sensitive nature, not untinc- 
 tured with pride, made it difficult to know 
 him thoroughly ; but by those who did, he 
 was beloved, and by his sister, Katherine, 
 almost worshipped. No one had so much
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 199 
 
 influence with her ; and had his character 
 possessed all that hers wanted, he would 
 have been her best as he w^as her most affec- 
 tionate and trusted, friend and counsellor. 
 
 The quiet voice in the corner was that of 
 Mrs. Francis Livingstone, the wife of Lady 
 Livingstone's fourth and favourite son. Colonel 
 of Dragoons, and C.B., whom I shall pre- 
 sently have occasion to introduce to you, 
 dear reader ; but as he took no part in the 
 foregoing conversation, my business is first 
 with his wife. 
 
 Some people are most easily described 
 by negatives. Magdalen Livingstone was 
 neither handsome nor plain. She was not 
 clever, she was not accomplished. She was 
 neither tall nor short, nor dark nor fair. 
 There was nothing remarkable about her, 
 unless the quietness of her manners and 
 movements might be called remarkable. She 
 seldom made any impression on strangers,
 
 200 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 yet few have possessed, in larger measure, 
 the confidence of those to whom she was 
 intimately known, however different their 
 dispositions. I suppose it was that the neu- 
 tral tints of her character harmonised alike 
 with light and shadow ; and that some who 
 would have shrunk from the brightness of 
 noon, or the gloom of night, found repose in 
 the calm twilight. 
 
 Besides those already named, there were 
 three sons and a married daughter. Sir 
 Thomas commanded a frigate in the Medi- 
 terranean ; Gilbert was settled in Australia ; 
 and Lady Dalrymple was with her husband, 
 the British Minister at Florence. With 
 them we shall have no opportunity of im- 
 proving our acquaintance in the course of 
 these reminiscences. George was in the 
 Foreign Office : you will meet him at Inver- 
 carron next year. 
 
 The graves of Margaret and Eleanor were
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 201 
 
 in the old churchyard of Ardoch, and the 
 names of Lewis and Hugh, James and 
 Robert, might also be read there ; but though 
 these four sons had grown up to manhood, 
 under the roof-tree of Invercarron, 
 
 " Their graves were severed far and wide, 
 By mount, and stream, and sea." 
 
 Well might Lady Livingstone's habitual 
 expression be grave, even to melancholy ; yet 
 although the eye told of sorrow, and was 
 often dim with tears, you might read in the 
 calm brow and firmly closed mouth, that 
 sorrow had been bravely met and patiently 
 borne. Her cheek was very pale, but it was 
 fair and smooth ; nor did many threads of 
 silver mingle with the dark hair braided 
 beneath the widow's cap. Tail and erect, 
 with the long neck, and small, well-placed 
 head, which gives so much dignity to the 
 figure, you would not have guessed her years
 
 202 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 to have numbered nearly three score and ten. 
 Yet she had ah'eady seen her sixty- seventh 
 birthday. 
 
 " They ought to be here by this time," 
 resumed John, after a pause. " Mother, do 
 you mean to wait dinner for them ?" 
 
 " Nonsense ! who waits dinner for any- 
 body now-a-days? they would much rather 
 we didn't." This was Katherine, of course. 
 
 " Now just be quiet, Katherine ; of course 
 we must wait dinner. Poor Francis will 
 be starving. I hope to goodness he has not 
 been travelling on the box, and putting the 
 maid inside." 
 
 " I should just think he has ! Imagine 
 Francis allowing any womankind to travel 
 outside on a night like this ! What do you 
 say about waiting for them, Maudlin ?" 
 
 " As your mother pleases, Kathie. Judg- 
 ing by myself, I should think Grace would 
 willingly escape the ceremony to-night,
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 203 
 
 and Francis can have something after- 
 wards." 
 
 " Well, what do you say, mother ?" asked 
 John. " Magdalen thinks we had better not 
 wait. They'll have a far better dinner, you 
 know, if they get a beefsteak done for them- 
 selves, instead of coming in for ours reduced 
 to cinders." 
 
 The knotty point was settled by the arrival 
 of the travellers. There was the usual bustle. 
 All the doors in the house seemed to open 
 and shut, and all the bells to ring sympa- 
 thetically. There was a moment's lull, and 
 Colonel Livingstone entered the room, leading 
 his young cousin. 
 
 It was my first sight of that face which 
 lives in my memory, as the most beautifu] 
 I ever looked upon. Yet it was not at once? 
 that one was aware of its perfection of form 
 and feature. It was the expression — gentle 
 without weakness — noble without pride —
 
 204 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 serious and serene — savouring less of earth 
 than heaven, realising one's idea of a minis- 
 tering angel — this was what filled the eye at 
 first. After looking again and again, one 
 perceived the classic purity of the features. 
 
 The brow was of that form which leaves 
 the eye in depth of shadow ; but the eyes — 
 deep violet eyes — were full and large, shining 
 from under the calm brow with a pure living 
 light. 
 
 The arch of the pencilled eyebrows — the 
 delicate curves of the nostril and lip — the 
 beautifully moulded cheek and chin — were all 
 in perfect harmony — all betokened feeling, 
 intellect, refinement. She was " fair, not 
 pale," but her colour was soft and clear, 
 rather than brilliant; there was nothing 
 dazzling about her, but the gleam of her 
 golden hair, the true rare golden, which shone 
 in the sunlight as with a glory. 
 
 The form was worthy of the face, tall and
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 205 
 
 slight, but fully developed; the hands and 
 arms especially beautiful. 
 
 Seldom indeed is seen such a being " made 
 up of every creature's best." 
 
 It was just like Francis Livingstone to 
 volunteer, as a matter of course, a journey of 
 two hundred miles in order to escort " an 
 unprotected female." He had made his 
 mother write to say he would meet her at 
 
 C , where she must necessarily stop the 
 
 first night. Grace felt the kindness — it was 
 a pleasant foretaste of the welcome she was to 
 meet ; — and when at the station a tall gentle- 
 man-like stranger stepped up to the carriage- 
 window, and begged to introduce himself as 
 Colonel Livingstone, she knew instinctively 
 that she had gained a friend for life. 
 
 I have said that Francis was Lady Living- 
 stone's favourite son — judge whether she had 
 not some reason for her preference. Though
 
 206 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 he had not Katherine's versatility of talent, 
 nor the accomplishments of John or George, 
 his character was of the highest order. 
 
 Noble-hearted, unselfish, " tender and 
 true," he always reminded me of the brave 
 and gentle Bayard ; and it seemed as if he 
 belonged of right to a more chivalrous age 
 than ours. His manners were marked with 
 that respectful courtesy to women, which is 
 not of the present day. I do not mean to 
 exalt the past above the present, but in this 
 respect I think it must be allowed that we 
 have deteriorated. We have not time for the 
 politeness of our ancestors. A gallant sol- 
 dier — a faithful fiiend — gentle and generous — 
 joyal and brave — Francis Livingstone was a 
 man of whom wife and mother might well be 
 proud, and proud of him they were. But he 
 was too shy and undemonstrative to shine in 
 society beside the brilliant Guardsman, who, 
 though not so tall, or of so lofty a bearing.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 207 
 
 had the charm of youth, and the ease of a 
 man of the world. But I always thought 
 Francis the handsom^est of the Livingstones. 
 Kind reader, may I venture to hope you 
 are favourably impressed ? 
 
 Invercarron was one of those houses where 
 people came on visits of months. A family 
 friend, therefore, had many opportunities of 
 taking notes ; and as I had the good fortune to 
 stand well in the favour both of her Ladyship 
 and the younger branches, and have, moreover, 
 a good deal of time at my own disposal, I 
 enjoyed many advantages ; for I was looked 
 upon as a person who might be trusted, and 
 they all reposed confidence in me, more or 
 less — a confidence which, excepting to the 
 public, I have never betrayed. 
 
 It was one of the choicest houses to visit. 
 One felt so entirely at home, and there was 
 so much kindness, and gaiety, and originality 
 among them. They were so pleasant.
 
 208 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 I think I see them now, as I have often 
 seen them, seated round the tea-table, in the 
 large bay-window of the drawing-room, which 
 looked upon the river and the hill, and where 
 we used to linger of a summer or autumn 
 evening, watching the changing colours of 
 Ben-Ard,as the sun went down behind its crest. 
 
 Invercarron had not all the beauty of 
 Glenruth, but it had much of its own, and it 
 was a most enjoyable place. The inmates, 
 however, constituted its great charm. 
 
 To say that Grace did not immediately find 
 herself at home amongst them would, perhaps, 
 be to convey a wrong impression, for the frank 
 kindness and affection which was shown her 
 by one and all plainly showed that they re- 
 ceived her as one of themselves. But it 
 was a home so very different in all its cir- 
 cumstances from the one in which her child- 
 hood had been passed (Ashby could not be 
 called ^home), that it seemed to her like ano- 
 ther existence — this complete change of scene
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 209 
 
 and habit of life was not however mthout its 
 beneficial effect on her health, both of mind 
 and body, which otherwise might, most pro- 
 bably would, have suffered from the effect of 
 all she had gone through so recently. She 
 was sensible of this, and thankful for it ; and 
 although there were times when the fountains 
 of her heart were unsealed, and overflow^ed in 
 sad, sweet memories, yet her general tone of 
 mind was calm, and soon became even 
 cheerful. 
 
 To Lady Livingstone she looked up with 
 grateful affection, and towards Katherine she 
 was attracted at once by that species of sym- 
 pathy which we cannot account for, but w^hich 
 most people have experienced at one time or 
 other. The odd force, perhaps, when better 
 understood, may explain it, at present we are 
 only in possession of the fact. 
 
 No two creatures, being both so gifted 
 and so loveable, could be more unlike than 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Grace and Katherine. No two friends could 
 be more warmly and tenderly attached. Ka- 
 therine had the advantage in talent, in 
 cleverness, in knowledge of the world. 
 Grace had more genius, more stabiUty, 
 more though tfulness. In art, Katherine 
 might have done anything, and did nothing. 
 With less manual aptitude, and perceptive 
 faculties naturally less acute, Grace accom- 
 plished far more. Both loved books, but 
 Grace's reading had been well ordered, and 
 her taste sedulously cultivated. Katherine 
 had been left entirely to herself; and along 
 with much that was valuable, she had read 
 a good deal, which it would have been weU 
 if she could have forgotten ; but her power- 
 ful memory retained it all. Grace was never 
 idle ; she had learned the value of hand- 
 work as a sedative, when the heart is trou- 
 bled. Katherine could scarcely ever be said 
 to be employed; and restless as she was
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 211 
 
 by nature, would rather sit doing absolutely 
 nothing than touch a needle. She could 
 not endure the sight of those female im- 
 plements. In her tastes and habits of 
 thought, Katherine was very like a man ; 
 and yet she was not masculine in her manners 
 or appearance — quite the reverse. 
 
 Magdalen watched the quick-growing in- 
 timacy between these two with much interest. 
 She loved Katherine dearly — who could 
 help loving Katherine ? — and before long 
 Grace was equally dear to her. She hoped 
 the companionship of one so good, and 
 gentle, and beautiful, would have a good 
 effect on Katherine, who was strongly in- 
 fluenced by beauty. 
 
 " Well, Kathie," said Magdalen, one even- 
 ing, about a week after Grace's arrival, " do 
 you find the society of the crape and 
 weepers so very insupportable?" 
 
 " I wish the crape and weepers could 
 
 p 2
 
 212 " THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 be got rid of, because I hate them, as you 
 know, Maudlin ; but as they are inseparable 
 from Grace at present, why they must just 
 be put up with. I should wish to look at 
 her continually; even if she were attired 
 in sackcloth trimmed with ashes." 
 
 "Slave of beauty!" 
 
 " Well, slave of beauty, if you will. I 
 wonder who would not be the slave of such 
 a beauty as that? Other people are as 
 well as me. Lieutenant-Colonel Francis 
 Livingstone for one. What do you say to 
 that. Maudlin?" 
 
 "That he shows his taste, as you do, 
 dear Kathie ; I think she is most beautiful, 
 and yet it did not strike me so immediately 
 as one would think such perfect features 
 would at first; I only saw the sweet, sweet 
 expression." 
 
 "Well, it was just the same with me, 
 Magdalen," said John; "I could not have
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 213 
 
 told you the first day what any of her 
 features were like ; and I don't know the 
 colour of her eyes now." 
 
 " They are several colours," said Kathe- 
 rine; "they were exactly the colour of 
 Ben-Ard last night, and this morning they 
 were blue." 
 
 " Did you ever see such hair ?" said John ; 
 " it must be about three yards long ; and 
 it is so uncommon to see black eyelashes 
 with that sort of hair." 
 
 " And such a head and throat !" said 
 Katherine. 
 
 " And such a figure, and such hands and 
 arms !" said Francis. 
 
 " Ah ! but you haven't seen her feet 
 and ankles, which are just as good ; a very 
 rare thing, let me tell you ; for you hardly 
 ever see them go with good hands." 
 
 " Katherine, my dear, you think far too 
 much of people's appearance," interposed
 
 214 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Lady Livingstone. "What does it signify 
 whether your friends are handsome or not ? 
 After all, beauty is only skin deep." 
 
 " As long as it is skin deep, I don't 
 ask for more," said Katherine ; " and as 
 to its not signifying, I beg to say it sig- 
 nifies a great deal to me. I much prefer 
 handsome people to plain ones." 
 
 "Katherine, you really are quite ridiculous.'* 
 
 " Well, mamma, we ail have our little 
 preferences; your's is for excellent frights, 
 as witness Mrs. Ramsay and Miss Dempster. 
 / prefer beauty, with or without goodness. 
 Don't you think it is a pity Jack is so 
 good-looking, mamma ?" continued Kathie ; 
 " and how much more comfort you would 
 have in Francis if he were knock-kneed 
 and squinted ! My nose must be a strong 
 consolation to you." 
 
 This sally produced a laugh, in which 
 her Ladyship could not help joining. " Hold
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 215 
 
 your tongue, you impudent monkey/' said 
 she. " Go and make tea." 
 
 The truth was, Lady Livinsgtone took no 
 small pride in her handsome sons ; and 
 her theoretical contempt for beauty did not 
 go for much with Katherine, who, as we 
 have seen, held very independent opinions, 
 untrammelled by veneration for those of her 
 parent. 
 
 '' Who was the belle of the season. Jack ?" 
 said she, returning to the subject when 
 they were aU assembled at the tea-table. 
 "Wasn't Lady Daventry?" 
 
 " She was one, and Lady Barbara Vane, 
 was another, and half a dozen more. There 
 are no two people think alike about beauty." 
 
 " Well, but there must be a standard, for 
 instance, I suppose there are not two 
 opinions about Lady W d's beauty." 
 
 " There is a standard of form, of course ; 
 but there can be no rule for expression," said
 
 216 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Magdalen, " and that is what tells with most 
 people — though I must own perfection of 
 form has great charms for me." 
 
 " Perfect form, must result in beauty of 
 expression," said Katherine. 
 
 " Perfect form — yes — but how very, very 
 seldom we see that. And even then, unless 
 the soul corresponds, you will not have per- 
 fect beauty." 
 
 '* Fm not so sure of that, Magdalen," said 
 John. " The soul may be a very ugly soul, 
 and yet look very well through a handsome 
 face." 
 
 " I can hardly beheve that John." 
 
 " But I know it. I could give you an 
 instance — the handsomest face I know, hides 
 about the wickedest heart." 
 
 " Who's your friend. Jack — man or 
 woman ?" 
 
 " It's a man ; but I am not going to give 
 any names."
 
 THE LlVINGSTOxNES. 217 ' 
 
 " It's not Captain Armytage — I know he 
 is the beauty of the brigade." 
 
 " Ned Armytage ! — no, I should think 
 not." 
 
 '' Oh ! then I know — it's handsome Hene- 
 age. I have heard he is a beautiful demon." 
 
 " To change the subject, what place of 
 worship \Yill Miss Li\dngstone choose to 
 attend," whispered John to his sister across 
 the table ; " have you ascertained what per- 
 suasion she is of?" 
 
 " Miss Livingstone, here is a virtuous 
 young man expressing his solicitude to know 
 your religious preferences. We have conve- 
 nience for all creeds. Episcopalian, Presbyte- 
 rian, Relief, Secession, Burgher, Cameronian, 
 and if you can wait a month or two, you wiU 
 have the advantage of a Catholic chapel ; 
 where, as Mr. Thompson tells us, we shall 
 witness all the poamps of Poppery.'' 
 
 " Katherine be quiet," said her mother.
 
 218 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " Grace will think you a perfect heathen to 
 hear you speak that way. It is quite true, 
 however, Grace, we have a great variety of 
 denominations in this part of the country — 
 but the gentry all attend the Episcopalian 
 Chapel." 
 
 " Mamma, I wonder how you can insult 
 Magdalen by such a speech, when you know 
 that she persists in worshipping after her 
 own uncomfortable fashion in the Kirk of 
 her country. And I dare say Grace does the 
 same. All Lowlanders are Whigs and Cove- 
 nanters. Are you not a Presbyterian, now, 
 Grace ? Confess." 
 
 " I am not ashamed to confess it," said 
 Grace, smiling ; " but I will go to your 
 chapel to-morrow, if you will let me." 
 
 " Magdalen, what do you say to such 
 apostasy? Can you see this victim trem- 
 bling on the brink of Prelacy, without putting 
 forth a hand to arrest her downfall ?"
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 219 
 
 " I do not think Grace is in such imminent 
 danger from one sermon of Mr. Marshall's ; 
 but if you think so, I will ask her to walk 
 with me to Ardoch to-morrow." 
 
 " What a shame to entice her, when she 
 said, of her own free will, that she would go 
 with us. Grace, don't be led by Maudlin — 
 she is an intolerant bigot." 
 
 '' I make a rule of going to all in turn," 
 said John; "it's the only way to keep the 
 mind free and unbiassed. I mean to go with 
 Magdalen to-morrow." 
 
 " I wish, John, you would just go to Bal- 
 vanie," said Lady Livingstone. " People 
 should keep to their own Church." 
 
 " But I have not made up my mind which 
 Church to belong to, mother, and I must 
 weigh all that is to be said on each side. I 
 heard Mr. Marshall last Sunday — so I shall 
 go and listen to Mr. Forbes to-morrow." 
 
 " I can't see the use of unsettling your
 
 220 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 mind that way," returned her Ladyship ; 
 *' however, go and give us some music 
 now." 
 
 " I suppose then, Grace, you will flee as a 
 partridge to the mountains with Magdalen," 
 said Katherine, next morning at breakfast, 
 " though you did promise to go with us. I 
 observe good people think there is no harm 
 in breaking their engagements for conscience 
 sake." 
 
 " I should prefer going to the parish 
 church," said Grace, smiling, " and I heard 
 Lady Livingstone say she thought people 
 ought to keep to their own." 
 
 " Oh, mamma only meant that to apply to 
 Episcopalians, which she thinks ought to be 
 everybody's church; not to poor benighted 
 individuals like you and Magdalen, who belong- 
 to no church at all." 
 
 " Now, Katherine, don't put words into my
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 221 
 
 mouth that I never made use of; you must 
 not believe half of what this monkey says, 
 my dear ; just go with Magdalen, and another 
 time perhaps you will come with us to chapel, 
 and judge for yourself." 
 
 '* I wonder at you, mamma, proposing to 
 unsettle Grace's mind in that way. I never 
 heard anything so inconsistent." 
 
 " Go and put on your things, Katherine," 
 said her mother, " the carriage will be at the 
 door immediatelv." 
 
 So Grace went with Magdalen to the parish 
 church of Ardoch, and as they were coming 
 home their conversation turned on the differ- 
 ence between the Episcopalian and Presbyte- 
 rian chiu"ches. 
 
 " I suppose you are a Presbyterian by edu- 
 cation, like myself," said Magdalen, " but I 
 hope from conviction also. I mean I hope 
 you do not take it altogether upon trust.
 
 222 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 In these days, as indeed always, I think one 
 ought to be able to render a reason for one's 
 faith." 
 
 " I have examined the subject, especially 
 since I have lived in England, and I am 
 satisfied that the Church of Scotland 
 holds the most scriptural views of doctrine." 
 
 " So it seems to me," said Magdalen. 
 *' At the same time, we must remember how 
 many good and wise men have adorned the 
 Church of England : yes, and the Church of 
 Rome too, grievously in error as we must 
 believe her to be." 
 
 " You do not speak like a bigot, Mrs. 
 Livingstone," said Grace, smiling. 
 
 " I hope I am not a bigot," said Mag- 
 dalen, " and when you have been with us a 
 little longer you will find we do not always 
 
 mean all that we say. They know I am not 
 
 » 
 a bigot, because they have often heard me 
 
 say that, in some respects, I wish there
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 223 
 
 could be an assimilation between the two 
 churches." 
 
 " Do you mean in regard of form ?" asked 
 Grace, "for I have often wished our ministers 
 might use the beautiful prayers of the English 
 service." 
 
 " They may, you know, only that very few 
 of them do. I would not have extempore 
 prayer done away with, because I think occa- 
 sions constantly occur to which it may be 
 more appropriate than any form of words can 
 be ; but I think they might be conjoined. 
 Also, I like the regular reading of Scripture in 
 the English Church, and, I must say, I like 
 to see some respect paid to the House of 
 Prayer. I think our forefathers erred greatly 
 in trying to divorce the formes and symbols 
 of worship and reverence from the spirit; 
 but I think there is an improvement among 
 us in this respect, though not to the extent 
 that could be wished."
 
 224 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " I never could bring myself to rejoice, as 
 I have heard many do," said Grace, "in the 
 levelling measures of our great Reformer; 
 but still I think a more effectual work was 
 done in Scotland than in England." 
 
 " I think so, too," said Magdalen, " and 
 that we see this more clearly now than ever. 
 How difficult it is for the Church of England 
 to guard against the interpretation of her 
 articles by Romanising teachers. They were 
 originally framed with a view to include many 
 shades of opinion, and this, like most things, 
 has had its evil as well as its good tendency. 
 Her articles, in their plain sense, appear to 
 me decidedly Protestant. Her Liturgy favours 
 the Oxford views. The Nicene Creed and 
 the baptismal service does so decidedly ; and 
 the meaning of the article on the Lord's 
 Supper is, I think, very obscure. It is in 
 the exposition of the Sacraments and the 
 Catechism, that I think the doctrine of the
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 225 
 
 Presbyterian Church so much clearer and 
 more scriptural, and that is what determined 
 my choice; for at one time I had a great 
 leaning to the Church of England, having 
 been several years in her communion." 
 
 *' But would you not attend an Episco- 
 palian Church now ?" asked Grace. 
 
 " Certainly I would, in England," replied 
 Magdalen ; " and have even done so here, 
 although I cannot agree with Mr. Marshall. 
 The Scotch Episcopalians, you know, are 
 much nearer Rome than England. Mr. Mar- 
 shall would not admit you or me to commu- 
 nion, supposing we were willing to go." 
 
 " Indeed," said Grace, " I have heard of 
 such things, but hardly believed it." 
 
 " It is even so. Scotch Episcopalianism is 
 more exclusive than Roman Catholicism, for 
 she admits all to Baptism or the Eucharist 
 without question. Mr. Marshall himself is a 
 very good man, humble-minded and sincere, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 and his sermons are not likely to make many 
 proselytes. You know that party holds 
 preaching very cheap. But here we are at 
 home. I should apologise for delivering 
 such a discourse to you, dear. After all, it 
 is not whether this or that Church be right 
 that is the question ; it is whether we, each 
 one for himself, have entered in at the straight 
 gate, and are keeping the narrow way."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 227 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "For several virtues *she' has loved several 
 *men.' " — shakspere — a variorum. 
 
 " You have not taken me into any of the 
 cottages yet, Kathie," said Grace one day, 
 after she had been about a fortnight at Inver- 
 carron. " I should like to go with you, and 
 make acquaintance with your people." 
 
 " I don't know any of them," was Kathe- 
 rine's reply ; "I never go into any of their 
 houses. It's not the custom here, and they 
 don't like it." 
 
 " How strange !" said Grace. " How do 
 you account for that ?" 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " They are a very bad lot in this part of 
 the country — almost all Chartists. Did you 
 observe the shape of the heads in church ? 
 You won't find an ounce of veneration or 
 benevolence in the whole congregation. They 
 are perfect animals. Now, here are two men 
 coming along : I'll ask them a question, just 
 to give you a specimen of their manners." 
 
 She did so, and the answer was boorish 
 enough certainly. Grace had been struck 
 with this before. At Glenruth, knowing all 
 the cottagers, and beloved by all, they never 
 passed her on the road without a respectful 
 salutation, and often she stopped and spoke 
 to them. Here such civilities appeared to be 
 unknown. 
 
 " I am very sorry to hear this," she said, 
 after a while ; " it was one of my greatest 
 pleasures at home to visit the poor bodies ; 
 it is such a constant source of interest." 
 
 "That is what I cannot comprehend," said
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 229 
 
 Katherine, "though Maudlin says so, and 
 there is generally truth in what she says. 
 What ideas or feelings can you have in com- 
 mon with that class, and consequently what 
 sympathy ? It gives me unmitigated disgust 
 to go among them. I tried it for a while to 
 please Magdalen, but now^ I have given it 
 up." 
 
 " Does Magdalen visit them, then ?" 
 " Oh yes, and she will be enchanted if you 
 will offer to go with her. I wonder she has 
 not proposed it to you before now ?" 
 
 " Does she find them all so very uncouth ?" 
 " She says not, but then you know Mag- 
 dalen has a most extraordinary faculty of get- 
 ting at everybody, and they would be super- 
 human if they could resist her. They all 
 send for her when they are ill. If Magdalen 
 had been a Catholic, she would have been a 
 Sceur de la Chanted 
 
 '' But do you not think," said Grace, " that
 
 230 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 one ought to go among them, and attend to 
 their wants, even though they are uncouth ?" 
 
 " Certainly, one ought to attend to their 
 wants ; but so we do. I don't believe there 
 are any people better cared for than the poor 
 about here. Mamma is for ever sending 
 Blaikie and Mrs. Duff to see that they want 
 for nothing, and that is much better, I think, 
 than going one's self. I am sure they like it 
 better." 
 
 " Perhaps you know best, but I should be 
 inclined to doubt that." 
 
 " Well, I see you will be joining yourself to 
 Maudlin, and then I must either go on these 
 pious pilgrimages too, or walk by myself. 
 Now look at Ben-Ard from here ; is not that 
 better worth looking at than all the old women 
 in six parishes ?" 
 
 You could not have a more delightful 
 companion than Katherine in a country walk, 
 she had such a quick eye — the eye of an artist
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 231 
 
 for the beautiful — she knew exactly where to 
 place you so that the Hues of the landscape 
 should fall most harmoniously, and no effect 
 of light or shadow, however evanescent, 
 escaped her rapid perception. Then she had 
 that susceptibility to association which is so 
 characteristic of a vivid imagination. There 
 was not a hundred yards of walk in any 
 direction which did not recall some friend, 
 some scene, some book she had read ; and her 
 companion had only to listen while she poured 
 forth her recollections, seasoned with obser- 
 vations as original as they were often forcible 
 and true. 
 
 Grace took extreme pleasure in these 
 tete-a-tete rambles, and if she could not 
 always agree with Katherine, their minds 
 being of a totally different cast, she found 
 therein much food for reflection, and much 
 improvement. 
 
 Their rambles were not always tete'O-tefe*
 
 232 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Sometimes Magdalen, sometimes Francis and 
 John, sometimes all three joined them ; and 
 Kathie had besides a train of satellites among 
 the neighbouring youth who were constantly 
 revolving round their planet, and basking in 
 her rays. 
 
 Kathie was an universal favourite, and had 
 as many lovers as a London beauty. No one 
 would have called her handsome, far less 
 would you have said she was pretty, but there 
 was a play of expression in her changeful face 
 that oftentimes made her lovely. No feature 
 would bear criticism except her eyes, those 
 dear, kind, truthful blue eyes, which looked 
 so honestly and so lovingly into yours. They 
 had the shape and setting which gives that 
 candid, fearless expression so engaging. There 
 was also much character in her full mobile 
 lips, and the contour of her face and chin ; 
 and her head, though not faultless in shape, 
 was particularly well set on a beautiful throat
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 233 
 
 and shoulders ; she was tall and weU-made, 
 and had particularly small hands. 
 
 Yes, she had many lovers devoted and 
 constant, and she had the art — or rather the 
 faculty, for she used no arts — of making them 
 friends as well as lovers, and of retaining 
 them in both capacities for years. She was 
 no flirt ; I doubt if she ever was thoroughly 
 in love, or could quite have made up her 
 mind to marry any one of her adorers ; or 
 rather, whether she could have made up her 
 mind to dimiss several by promoting one. 
 
 She loved power, it must be owned, but 
 she had much benevolence for her slaves 
 They had almost all worn their chains from 
 boyhood. Frederick Hamilton was the con- 
 temporary of her brother John, and Ludovick 
 Fraser and Andrew Campbell were about her 
 own age. These were the front rank men, 
 but there w^as a troop behind too numerous to 
 mention.
 
 234 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 It never seemed to occur to Lad}^ Living- 
 stone that either Katherine or her knights 
 had hearts to lose. I have not unfrequently 
 observed this loss of apprehension on the 
 part of mothers with regard to the children 
 of their old age. They seem to forget that 
 their Benjamins must some day attain unto 
 ripe years as well as the Reubens and 
 Simeons. It was Lady Livingstone's chief 
 fault in the management of Katherine that 
 she treated her too much as a child — a 
 spoiled clever child. In many respects she 
 was allowed a freedom of action which is 
 seldom granted to unmarried women — in 
 trifles she was checked and thwarted almost 
 unreasonably. 
 
 It was exactly the reverse of Lady Glen- 
 ruth's system with Grace, which, short as 
 had been its time of trial, had yet resulted so 
 admirably. As a young child, Grace learned 
 the great lesson of unquestioning obedience ;
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 235 
 
 but as soon as she could understand the 
 reason why this or that thing should be 
 done, or abstained from, a reason was given ; 
 and she was taught, not left, to think and 
 judge for herself, and to consider the end. 
 She had much liberty but no licence, and 
 she was the companion rather than the play- 
 thing of her parents. Lady Glenruth knew 
 her child's character, and pointed out to her 
 its strength and its weakness. Katherine 
 was left to discover hers as she might, and 
 the result of such discoveries as she made 
 were not communicated to her mother. 
 Katherine, naturally open as the day, was 
 driven to evade rules to which she would not 
 submit, and cared not to dispute, and which 
 certainly were more adapted for the regula- 
 tion of ten than twenty years. 
 
 A slight sketch of Kathie's knights — some 
 of them at least — may not be out of place here.
 
 236 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Frederick Hamilton was the great 
 friend of her brother John. He was not 
 strikingly handsome, but he was singularly 
 gentlemanlike and high-bred in manners 
 and appearance. He was reserved and some- 
 what shy, excepting amongst those whom, 
 like the Livingstones, he had known inti- 
 mately and long. Of all Kathie's knights, 
 he was the one whom Magdalen preferred — 
 perhaps from a certain resemblance which 
 his character bore to that of Francis, with 
 whom he was a great favourite, but still 
 more because she thought he was more likely 
 to influence Katherine for good, than any 
 of her other adorers. She beheved him, more- 
 over, to be the one whom Kathie herself pre- 
 ferred ; but that dear creature's own ideas on 
 the state of her affections were somewhat 
 vague and confused. Frederick was not 
 demonstrative of his passion, but Magdalen, 
 who was very clear-sighted in these matters,
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 237 
 
 was convinced that he loved deeply, and had 
 loved long. 
 
 Ludovick Fraser was a very handsome 
 boy, a year or two younger than Katherine, 
 and devoted to her with that blind worship 
 which is characteristic of youthful passion. 
 Wliatever she did, whatever she said, was : 
 
 " Wisest, virtuosest, discreetest^ — best :" 
 
 as she was, in his enamoured eyes, 
 
 " Fairest 'mid a thousand fair." 
 
 I like to see an honest-hearted, ingenuous 
 boy absorbed in an unreasoning love — a love 
 so stout and healthy that it lives and thrives 
 on the most meagre fare. It seemed quite 
 sufficient for Ludovick's happiness to be in 
 Katherine's presence. His handsome brown 
 eyes used to fix themselves upon her, and 
 follow her every motion ; and to be her part-
 
 238 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 ner for a waltz or polka was to him the acme 
 of human felicity. 
 
 Andrew Campbell was a clever, accom- 
 plished, vain, witty, handsome, affectionate 
 rattle. He w^as very much in love with 
 Katherine ; but he had loved others before — 
 he might love others yet. I had more con- 
 fidence in the tried constancy of Frederick, 
 or the untried faith of Ludovick ; yet 
 Andrew Campbell's loves were quite sincere 
 while they lasted, and I doubt not he had 
 within him the elements of a kind and affec- 
 tionate husband. Absence seemed to be the 
 test that tried his affection most severely 
 Propinquity kindled the spark of love, and 
 parting blew it into a flame which in 
 absence was extinguished, he always leaving 
 his heart behind him ; but he alwaps reco- 
 vered it, and as often as he returned to the 
 neighbourhood it was again laid at Kathie's
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 239 
 
 feet — not perhaps in so many words ; but it 
 was easy to see that she had only to pick it 
 up. How Kathie managed to impose silence 
 on her slaves, I don't know ; but even Ludo- 
 vick, whom she treated with as much un- 
 reserve as her own brothers, had never 
 ventured to speak of love. 
 
 Then there was Captain Clavering, but he 
 was a regular flirt, a handsome, agreeable, 
 good-natiu-ed London man. He used to 
 captivate Kathie's fancy each time he came 
 down to Invercarron, and I am by no means 
 sure that she did not captivate more than his 
 fancy in the long run ; but nobody gave him 
 credit for the capability of being in love, 
 and if he was he never said so. Besides, 
 his was a divided allegiance, for in London 
 he wore the chains of the belle of the season ; 
 but he never left his heart behind him. It 
 always accompanied him wherever he went, 
 and was ready for immediate use.
 
 240 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 And as for Kathie, she liked them all so 
 much, that I am sure it would have gone to 
 her heart to make any invidious distinctions ; 
 so she rode and walked with them all, talked 
 to Frederick of books and arts, to Andrew of 
 men and manners, to Ludovick of deer- 
 stalking and deep-sea fishing, and to Captain 
 Clavering of London life. She had the ad- 
 mirable art of suiting her conversation to her 
 company ; and they all thought her charming 
 — as well they might.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 241 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " But what awak'st thou in the heart, O Spring, 
 The human heart, with all its joys and sighs," &c. 
 
 Magdalen repeated these lines to Grace 
 as they walked together up the Ard one 
 lovely day in early spring, one of those soft, 
 still days with which March sometimes makes 
 amends for the roughness of his wont, and 
 which often come between a hurricane and a 
 snow-storm. 
 
 " Why is it," said she, " that a beautiful day 
 at this season impresses one so much more 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 with sadness than mu'th ? In summer one 
 can be glad in the sunshine, in winter the 
 bright keen air cheers and invigorates, and a 
 fine harvest is the most joyous season of all ; 
 but one's enjoyment of early spring is always 
 deeply tinged with melancholy. 
 
 " I cannot think this peculiar to myself," 
 continued Magdalen, " or else I might account 
 for it, but it appears to be a very general feel- 
 ing, and Mrs. Hemans suggests a beautiful 
 solution." 
 
 " I feel the same," said Grace, " especially 
 to-day; but then — " her eyes filled with 
 tears. 
 
 Magdalen had observed Grace's spirits to 
 be unusually depressed lately ; she thought 
 by leading her to speak of her sorrows, her 
 heart might be relieved. 
 
 "It is very natural that you should feel 
 sad at each returning season, dear Grace, 
 the past year or two have been so full of
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 243 
 
 trial for you; then I think spring always 
 carries one back to one's own spring — to 
 childhood — often, though not always, the 
 happiest time of one's life." 
 
 " Was it not so with you ?" asked Grace. 
 
 " I had much happiness as a child, but 
 also much sorrow. I had seen death before 
 I was six years old, and all I loved and lost 
 died in spring. People are apt to say chil- 
 dren do not feel these things, because they 
 cannot understand them ; but I am sure, 
 from my own experience, that they often do 
 feel deeply, and long remember the loss of 
 those they love, especially brothers and 
 sisters. I have always felt so thankful for 
 the exemption my children have hitherto 
 enjoyed from such a sorrow." 
 
 " My childhood was very happy," said 
 Grace. " I did not know what grief was 
 until my dear mother died, and then child- 
 hood seemed to cease at once and for ever." 
 
 R 2
 
 244 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " How old were you, Grace ?" 
 " Between twelve and thirteen." 
 " Your mother died very suddenly." 
 " In a moment; it was a disease of the 
 heart, which no one had ever suspected unless 
 she had done so herself, which I often think 
 may have been the case, when I remember 
 things she used to say to me." 
 
 " It must have been a fearful blow to you." 
 " Yes, indeed ; but for her I have often 
 thought it was the happiest death that could 
 have been vouchsafed. She was never un- 
 prepared, and she was spared all the grief of 
 parting and the anxiety which even she 
 might have felt, at leaving my dear father 
 with no other companion than his children — 
 she was spared aU that." 
 
 " Yes, for such an one a sudden death 
 must surely be the happiest ; but few minds 
 can contemplate the possibility of such a 
 thing without awe, that petition of the Litany
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 245 
 
 is the natural prayer of the human heart. 
 Most of us have need to be quiet for a little 
 while before we fall asleep." 
 
 ^' Have you lost many brothers and sis- 
 ters?" asked Grace. 
 
 " Several, before I can remember ; the two 
 brothers, whose deaths I spoke of just now, 
 were my own companions and playfellows. 
 My sisters died before I can remember." 
 
 " I never knew what it was to have a 
 sister," said Grace. " Since I have known 
 dear Kathie, I can imagine what a dear rela- 
 tionship it must be." 
 
 " It makes me very happy to see you and 
 Kathie so much attached — not that I doubted 
 how it would be, for she is the most loveable 
 of beings — but you are very different. I 
 wish you could give Kathie a little of your 
 steadiness and sobriety, Grace." 
 
 " Very quick, clever people are seldom what 
 you call steady, 1 suppose. Kathie is always
 
 246 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 on the qui vive, always observing, always full 
 of something." 
 
 "But not always doing something — not 
 always interested in that which is best worth 
 her interest." 
 
 *' We had a conversation the other day on 
 the subject of visiting the poor. I cannot 
 help thinking she is mistaken in her opinions 
 about that. Do you find them so very im- 
 practicable as she says they are ?" 
 
 " By no means : they are not a particularly 
 gracious-mannered set, but I have always 
 found them kindly and frank on acquaintance. 
 When you first go among them, of course 
 they are shy and awkward ; and Kathie sets 
 this down for dislike of your intrusion, which 
 I believe to be quite a mistake." 
 
 " And can you not persuade her to try the 
 experiment ?" 
 
 " She has done so several times to oblige 
 me ; but I have ceased to recommend it.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 247 
 
 Unless that sort of thing is done from inch- 
 nation, or one's own conviction of its beins: 
 right, it had better not be done." 
 
 " That argument might lead one a long 
 way, don't you think ?" 
 
 " I beheve it to be sound, nevertheless. 
 People are very apt to declaim on what 
 should and should not be done : as for in- 
 stance, that it is right to visit the poor, 
 wrong to go to balls and theatres, and the 
 like : I think this is beginning at the wrong 
 end." 
 
 "Do you think it a matter indifferent, 
 then, which one does, if from a right mo- 
 tive?" 
 
 " As regards one's self, doubtless, the mo- 
 tive is what we must be sure of. We have, 
 no right to judge the motives of others, and 
 some may innocently do that which would be 
 wrong in another." 
 
 ••' So many good people, to judge from
 
 248 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 their writings, think it positively wrong to 
 indulge in worldly amusements at all — wrong 
 for any one." 
 
 " Therein I think they are apt to go too 
 far, and to forget the distinction between use 
 and abuse. Dangerous to many dispositions 
 such amusements may be — most pernicious 
 when they become a habit or necessity ; but 
 there is a danger in bringing up young people 
 to think such things wicked ; and thus lead- 
 ing them to judge all those who join in them, 
 not to mention that this system often fails of 
 its end. Not unfrequently you see the chil- 
 dren of very strict parents rush far more 
 violently into dissipation when they escape 
 from control, than those who have been 
 allowed to mix in the world freely." 
 
 " But then if a parent thinks such things 
 wrong, or even dangerous, surely it must be 
 their duty to guard their children from the 
 sin or danger, as long as they have control 
 over them."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 249 
 
 " Unquestionably ; but I was considering 
 what was the best means of doing so." 
 
 "And what do you consider the best means?" 
 
 " Make religion a lovely and a pleasant 
 thing to children ; associate it with all inno- 
 cent enjoyments, but do not let pleasure be 
 their chief good. Point out to them the 
 danger which does exist in amusements as 
 we have been considering ; and try to make 
 them place their happiness on higher objects. 
 I think a mind thus trained is not likely to 
 be led away by the love of amusement — far 
 less likely than those who are taught to con- 
 sider such things sinfid in the abstract." 
 
 *' Then you do not think balls, for instance, 
 sinful in the abstract ?" 
 
 " No, I cannot. To some they are quite 
 harmless ; to others, full of dangerous excite- 
 ment — so much depends on the circum- 
 stances. A course of balls must be bad for 
 any one, and I cannot imagine any thoughtful
 
 250 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 person engaging in such a course. Those 
 who can find pleasure in so doing, would not 
 be better employed in solitude. We just 
 come back to where we began. You must first 
 endeavour to give the spirit a higher aim, and 
 then it ^^iQ not be content with the best that 
 this world can offer ; but we can only en- 
 deavour, God alone can give. I should not 
 be afraid of letting you go to balls, Grace. I 
 do not think they would have any dangerous 
 charm for you." 
 
 " I do not know. I have never thought 
 much about them ; but I am sure that other 
 things may be as dangerous to me as balls 
 can be to any one." 
 
 " If you feel that, and know w^here the 
 danger lies, it will not have power to harm 
 you — forewarned is forearmed."
 
 THE Ln'TNGSTONES. 251 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. ♦ 
 
 *' Men 
 Can counsel and speak comfort to that srrief 
 
 T\Tiich they themselves not feel : 
 
 A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, 
 
 TVe bid be quiet when we hear it cry ; 
 
 But were we burdened with a weight of pain 
 
 As much, or more, we should ourselves complain." 
 
 " Oh, il' you are g-'jincr with M-'^d-len I 
 shall eschew youi' - jjitry." -::id K .-:.!-. .frer 
 breakfast one morning, hearing Grace pro- 
 pose to accompany Mrs. Li\ingstone on an 
 early walk. " I know bv the serious expres- 
 sion of her bonnet, that she is goirj : read 
 to old women, and catechise young cx.^.Jcn. 
 Poor little wretches I how they must ti'emble 
 at the approach of that gi-ey gowu. Xow, 
 Maudlin, do vou flatter vourself thev like as
 
 252 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 well to see you as Blaikie, whom they can 
 talk with at their ease ?" 
 
 " Good-bye, Kathie, I have no time to 
 argue the point this morning," was Mag- 
 dalen's reply, as she left the room. " One 
 thing," continued she to Grace, " Kathie 
 forgets — ^and there are others besides her 
 that lose sight of it — that there are other 
 duties to our neighbours among the poor 
 besides almsgiving, which is indeed, T think, 
 a duty to be exercised with much caution and 
 discretion ; yet how often is it the only one 
 to which we give heed, keeping all the 
 kindly sympathies of life for the class to 
 which we belong. I think, too, we lose so 
 many lessons by keeping aloof from them. 
 Faults they have, doubtless — faults peculiar 
 to their condition, and which are especially 
 offensive to us — want of refinement, want of 
 tact, low ideas of enjoyment ; but avoiding 
 them is not the way to counteract these, and 
 I have often been struck with instances of 
 true refinement and delicacy of feeling one 
 meets with where one would least expect it, 
 and where certainly it must be a plant of
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 253 
 
 native growth, flourishing in a most ungenial 
 clime. On the other hand, how many ex- 
 amples do we find of patience and content- 
 ment under what seems to us a very hard 
 lot." 
 
 '* Yes," said Grace, " and of charity, I 
 think the charity of the poor to the poor is 
 a very beautiful thing. I have known a 
 man walk ten miles after his day's labour to 
 fetch the doctor for a neighbour's child, and 
 a woman who had to toil among her own all 
 day, sit up at night to nurse it." 
 
 " The ungrudging spirit in which they 
 rejoice at the prosperity of those above them, 
 and the kindly interest they take in our 
 welfare, is, I think, another of the virtues of 
 the poor ; not that I am one of those who 
 fancy there are virtues peculiar to a mud 
 floor, as a certain writer says there are those 
 which are born only on the steps of a throne. 
 We shall find in all ranks of human nature
 
 254 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 the same evil tendencies, in most the same 
 possibilities of good ; but circumstances seem 
 fearfully against some." 
 
 " Yes," said Grace, "I am sure their 
 advantages are few and their temptations 
 many, as compared with ours." 
 
 " To some forms of vice undoubtedly their 
 temptations are far greater than ours, as 
 drunkenness, for instance, the parent of so 
 many other crimes." 
 
 *' It is very terrible to think how^ that 
 vice seems to increase instead of diminish, in 
 spite of temperance societies and all that has 
 been preached and spoken against it," said 
 Grace. 
 
 " Preaching and speaking, and even tem- 
 perance societies, will do little good I fear," 
 said Magdalen, " till we make their homes 
 more attractive than the public-house — of 
 course their sin increases their misery, per- 
 petuates the wretchedness they fly from ; but
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 255 
 
 only look at their dwellings, how can there be 
 any comfort, any decency, any refinement, 
 where human beings are crowded together as 
 we see them, even in country cottages, which 
 are as palaces to the dwellings of the poor in 
 large towns ?" 
 
 " The condition of the poor in large towns 
 is a fearful subject to contemplate," said 
 Grace : " but happily it has come to be con- 
 sidered, and one may hope that in time some 
 remedy may be found. I observe it occu- 
 pies the attention of so many people now — ■ 
 as well it may." 
 
 "It is a terrible subject, and one which 
 almost tempts one to despair. Even Govern- 
 ment, it would seem, can do so little ; but 
 there is work for all of us, public and 
 private ; and in the country much might be 
 done, I think, by proprietors if they would 
 only set to work. How often I have grieved 
 over the great houses built, generally far too
 
 256 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 large for the owner's fortune, standing empty 
 perhaps, while the cottages around were 
 crowded to suffocation — a disgrace to the 
 property. I have sometimes wished to put 
 the great empty rooms to some account, at 
 least, by furnishing and filling them out of the 
 hovels. This is especially the case in Scotland." 
 
 " Yes," said Grace, " in England, as far 
 as I have seen, they certainly have a better 
 idea of comfort and cleanliness, and a much 
 greater sense of beauty." 
 
 " In some parts of England," said Mag- 
 dalen, '^ the cottages are models of comfort, 
 in others, again, very sordid; but in Scot- 
 land comfort is the exception, and, as you 
 say, we are very deficient in a sense of 
 beauty. One sees cottages perfectly clean 
 and tidy inside, with a midden at the door, 
 and hardly ever an attempt at a garden, 
 w^hich in the part of England I am best 
 acquainted with, is universal."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 257 
 
 " Is that in Sussex ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but then to be sure Lady Carys- 
 ford is a person who takes great pains and 
 interest in her neighbours, and goes among 
 them continually." 
 
 Thus discoursing they reached their desti- 
 nation, and entering the first of a group of scat- 
 tered cottages, they found an ancient woman, 
 bed-ridden and blind, whose wrinkled face yet 
 wore an expression of cheerful serenity, which 
 you might have looked for in vain on many 
 a younger and smoother brow. It lighted 
 up at the sound of Magdalen's voice as 
 she inquired kindly how her old friend felt. 
 
 " Oh, Mistress Livingstone, but I hae 
 been thinking lang for ye." 
 
 *' Why, Eppy, I was here on Monday— 
 have you been iU ?" 
 
 " It's no for mysel — I canna compleen me 
 that has sufferable ease — but oh ! mem, 
 there's sore trouble at Peter Diack's doon- 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 bye. Jamie Diack — that's Peter's auld son — 
 that wrought at the Black Craig quarries, 
 was brought hame a corp yestreen, and his 
 wife at the doon-lying ; and they say she's 
 clean dimentit — puir thing !" 
 
 " Jamie Diack 1" exclaimed Magdalen, 
 " the young man who was married last year." 
 
 " Ay ; it ill be a twalmonth come hairst, 
 he was marrit on upon a dochter o' John 
 Finlater's, and they cam' at Martinmas to 
 leeve wi' the auld fowk ; for Peter, ye see, he's 
 no fit to work, and Betty, she's but a frail 
 body, and puir Da\dd, the cratur, canna do a 
 turn, sae Jamie he keepit them a', and a guid 
 lad he was, puir fallow. And I was just 
 wussin for ye, mem, for I thocht ye could, 
 may be, speak a word o' comfort to that puir 
 distrackit lassie ; trouble's sore to bide that 
 comes sae sune — wae's me !" 
 
 " I will go at once, Eppy ; but it is little 
 comfort any one can give in such a case."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 259 
 
 " Ye dinna ken how muckle, mem ; no at 
 the first stound, may be ; but the kind word 
 in season is pleasant to the sore heart ; and 
 ony way ye'll see if the puir lassie has a' thing 
 needfu' for the wee bairn that's comin' into a 
 weary warld." 
 
 Magdalen rose to go ; Grace followed her 
 to the door. 
 
 " Can I be of any use ?'* said she ; " if not, 
 I should only be in the way." 
 
 " Perhaps, dear, you will stay here and read 
 a chapter to old Eppy, that would be a great 
 kindness to her, and I will send you word if I 
 want anything from the house." 
 
 Grace returned to Eppy's bedside, and 
 Magdalen pursued her way to Peter Diack's, 
 which was a few hundred yards from Eppy 
 Lorimer's. What a scene opened to her ! 
 
 On one bed lay the crushed and lifeless 
 form of the young man, who had been killed 
 by the falling in of a part of the quarry 
 
 s 2
 
 260 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 where he was working. There had not been 
 time to dress the corpse, as the care of all 
 was needed for the living, the poor young 
 widow, who, in sore agony, was passing 
 through her hour of peril, in what could 
 scarcely be called a separate room, for only a 
 wooden partition divided her bed from that 
 on which the body of her husband was laid. 
 The old father sat by the fireless hearth, 
 tears coursing each other down his furrowed 
 cheeks, and beside him was his wife, a bent 
 and feeble woman, rocking herself to and fro, 
 and moaning, " My bairn ! my bairn !" 
 
 But perhaps the most painfully touching 
 sight of all was to see poor David, who was 
 what is called in Scotland a natural — but a 
 little removed from idiotcy : — he kept wander- 
 mg between the fire-place and bed, now 
 hfting the sheet which had been thrown over 
 the face of the dead, then dropping it hastily, 
 shuddering at the sight of the blood which
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 261 
 
 disfigured it — then he would stoop over his 
 father and try to wipe away his tears — ever 
 and anon returning to gaze at the object 
 which at once fascinated and terrified him. 
 
 Poor Davie ! his affection for his brother 
 had been remarkable, and perhaps if one 
 could have penetrated into the prison-house of 
 that darkened mind, one might have seen 
 that his was not the least sorrowful heart in 
 that poor family. To add to the tragic effect 
 of the scene, the old collie had slunk under 
 the bed, and resisting alike threats and entice- 
 ments, lay there howling in sorrow almost 
 human-like. 
 
 Magdalen made her way to the poor girl's 
 bed-side — she was but a girl, as Eppy had 
 said — not more than nineteen. Half a dozen 
 women were gathered round her bewailing 
 and lamenting, but scarcely one of them 
 seemed to have much idea of being really 
 useful.
 
 262 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " Has the doctor been sent for ?" asked 
 she, turning to the quietest of the group. 
 
 " Tarn Brodie rade for Dr. Macintosh twa 
 hours syne, and my gudeman's ower the hill 
 for auld Kirstin Bain." 
 
 *' Have you got everything ready that may 
 be wanted?" 
 
 *' Deed, mem, I'll no say that. I sought 
 out a wheen bit duds o' my ain bairns, but 
 the puir lassie^ has got naething forrit. She 
 was na expeckin' her down-lyin' this month 
 or mair." 
 
 " Then will one of you go a message for 
 me to the house. Ask for my maid, and tell 
 her to give you the bundle that came home 
 from Tibbie Moir last week." 
 
 "Surely, mem," said several. 
 
 "And, Mrs. Innes, could not some of your 
 laddies wile poor David out ?" 
 
 " Oh, mem, the puir natural winna steer 
 frae the house, but just gang back and forrit
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 263 
 
 till the corp ; and he was mintin' e'enow to 
 gar Jamie rise till his meat. See till him, 
 mem ! Oh, but it's a pity o'them this day !" 
 
 Magdalen looked round and saw poor 
 David with a bowl of porridge — the supper 
 that had been made ready for him who was 
 brought home dead — timidly touching his 
 poor brother's arm, then shrinking back as 
 he felt the death cold hand. Presently they 
 saw him spreading a plaid over the corpse, 
 muttering to himself, " Jamie's cauld ! Jamie's 
 cauld!" 
 
 " Oh, Jamie ! Jamie !" burst from the lips 
 of the poor young widow. 
 
 Magdalen knelt down beside her, and took 
 hold of her hands. She could say nothing, 
 for her owm heart was too full ; but the gentle 
 touch and compassionate face seemed to soothe 
 the poor girl for a moment. Soon, however, 
 burst forth again that sorrowful heart-broken 
 crv : " Oh, Jamie ! Jamie !"
 
 264 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 The doctor arrived, and Magdalen remained 
 until the little babe was born, and saw the 
 cottage made as comfortable as the nature 
 of the circumstances would permit ; but it 
 was a painful spectacle to see one neigh- 
 bour dressing the new born infant, while 
 others were arraying its father in his grave 
 clothes. 
 
 The dog was forcibly removed by Tarn 
 Brodie, and tied up in his byre, and Mag- 
 dalen succeeded in luring poor David away. 
 She gave him some money to go and buy 
 tea for his mother, which had always been 
 the use to which the affectionate creature put 
 any alms that might be offered to him ; and 
 she begged the neighbour who accompanied 
 him to the shop, to keep him from home, if 
 possible, for a night or two. 
 
 When Magdalen called at Eppy Lorimer's, 
 she found Grace had gone home — leaving a 
 message to say she had thought it best to do
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 265 
 
 SO, in case Lady Livingstone should be made 
 uneasy by their prolonged absence. 
 
 " Arid how's the puir lassie, mem. Is she 
 onything mair settled like? Peggy Simson 
 ca'd, and telt me the bairn is born. Will it 
 live, think ye ?" 
 
 " It seems healthy enough, Eppy ; and 
 poor Phemie was a httle quieter when I left. 
 Miss Livingstone is gone home, you say ?" 
 
 " Yes, mem ; is that the young leddy — 
 her that they ca' Miss Katerine ?" 
 
 " No, Eppy ; she is another Miss Living- 
 stone — a cousin. She is from the south 
 country, like us." 
 
 " Levey me ! wull she be frae Carden- 
 holm? weel I ken't some of thae Living- 
 stones — clever men they were." 
 
 *'This is Miss Livingstone of Glenruth." 
 
 " I hae heard till o' Glenruth, but I never 
 saw it ; but I ken't the bonny braes o' Car- 
 denholmweel, when I was a slip o' a lassie —
 
 266 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 but that's no yestreen. I'm thinking she 
 maun be a bonnie crater. Her voice is hke 
 the wimplin' o' a burn, but there's sorrow in 
 the sound o't." 
 
 " She has come through a great deal of 
 sorrow." 
 
 "The Lord send she come na through 
 mair, the bonnie lamb." 
 
 They returned the next day to Broomy- 
 knowe. Some sort of order and decency had 
 been restored, but the old people did not 
 appear to have stirred from their places since 
 yesterday; and Davie was sitting by his 
 brother's body, over which he had spread a 
 new blanket, every now and then feeling the 
 hand, then shrinking back as before. Grief 
 and pain had nearly exhausted the poor 
 young mother ; she was lying still, and when 
 urged to take anything : 
 
 " Oh ! let me dee, let me dee !" was her
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 267 
 
 pitiful cry. " What for sud I lieve, and 
 Jamie gane !" 
 
 " You must not say that ; it is very 
 wicked," said a grave, dry voice by the bed- 
 side, which Magdalen recognised as that of 
 Miss Mitchell, the sister of a neighbouring 
 laird — a good, well-meaning, but injudicious 
 person — who could pity, but could not sym- 
 pathise. 
 
 " You must not say that ; you are tempt- 
 ing the Lord to punish you more severely." 
 
 " Ochone ! ochone ! and what mair can 
 He do that has ta'en Jamie from me." 
 
 An exclamation of horror escaped Miss 
 Mitchell's lips. 
 
 " You ought to rejoice, poor, blinded crea- 
 ture, that your husband is taken from a 
 world of sin and sorrow, at least, if he was 
 prepared to go ; if not, it is awful indeed ; but 
 you cannot help him by these rebellious cries 
 and lamentations. You know quite well that 
 we deserve all the correction God sends us."
 
 268 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Miss Mitchell's life had been singularly 
 exempt from trial ; that might be partly the 
 reason why she was such a sorry comforter. 
 
 " Waes me !" said Mrs. Innes ; " waes me, 
 mem ! when the waal is full, it maun rin 
 ower. Mistress Livingstone, mem," whis- 
 pered she to Magdalen, " will you speak to 
 the puir lassie." 
 
 Miss Mitchell rose as Magdalen approached 
 the bed. 
 
 " Perhaps, Mrs. Livingstone," said she, 
 " you will be better able to bring this poor 
 creature to a better state of mind, and per- 
 suade her to listen to reason. I have been 
 here for more than an hour, and fear I must 
 go now ; but I did not like to leave her 
 among her poor, ignorant neighbours, who 
 only encourage her to give way. It is 
 dreadful to see any one rebel against God's 
 judgment in this way, and shows how much 
 it was needed." 
 
 Magdalen was not sorry that Miss Mit-
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 269 
 
 chell's business called her elsewhere ; had she 
 remained, I fear she would have classed 
 Magdalen among the " ignorant neighbours," 
 for certainly she made no attempt to get 
 poor Phemie to listen to reason ; she merely 
 took hold of her hands as before, stroked 
 thera gently, now and then repeating a verse 
 of a psalm, or uttering a word of compassion. 
 
 By degrees the anguished spirit grew more 
 calm, and Magdalen at last had the comfort 
 of seeing her after a passionate flood of tears 
 fall asleep, with her baby in her bosom. She 
 had hitherto turned away her head when her 
 child was brought to her; but Magdalen 
 said : " Phemie, will you not be good to 
 Jamie's bairn ?" 
 
 Grace stood by, a pitying spectator. How 
 vividly, in after years, her memory recalled 
 that scene. 
 
 As they passed the bed of death, poor 
 Davie touched Magdalen's gown, and called
 
 270 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 her attention to a new blanket which was 
 spread over the corpse. 
 
 " Jamie '11 get warm e'enow a wyte," said 
 he, half inquiringly, as if his hopes were 
 beginning to fail, and needed strength- 
 ening. 
 
 " To think o' the puir natural," said Mrs. 
 Innes, who followed them to the door, 
 " naething wad serve him, Tarn telt me, but 
 he heed to buy a blanket wi' the siller ye 
 gied him, mem ; and when the merchant 
 heard o' the trouble that's here, he let him 
 hae it ; and when he gat it, he came hame 
 het fit, and laid it on upon Jamie, and he's 
 sat there and never steered sin syne." 
 
 O, Grace, is not that a sad commentary 
 on our conversation of yesterday. What an 
 accumulation of misery in that one room — 
 death and sorrow, and anguish. It is too 
 dreadful."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 27 1 
 
 " It was, indeed, a sight to make one's 
 heart ache," said Grace ; but we saw a good 
 deal of the kindliness we were speaking of." 
 
 " Yes, I think that never fails, when called 
 for. I am afraid we shall see nothing here 
 to impress you favourably," continued she, 
 as they stopped at the door of another 
 cottage; but I must go in to ask after a 
 poor, little sick boy. 
 
 " How is Alick, to-day, Mrs. Simson ?" 
 
 " Ou ! mem, he's ay compleenin' on ; he'll 
 never be nae better, a wyte." 
 
 " I thought he was better the last time I 
 saw him. Has he been taking the medi- 
 cine ?" 
 
 " He took it close, mem, till it was a' 
 dune, and I had na the siller to get mair." 
 
 " But you know I told you to go to Dr. 
 Macintosh, and ask for more when it was 
 done." 
 
 " I did na like, mem, to pit you till the
 
 272 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 expense, and it's no use, a wyte. He's a peer 
 crater, mem ; an' it wad please the Lord to 
 tak him to His sel', it wad be a blessing." 
 
 " Mrs. Simson, you ought not to say 
 that ; it is not for us to judge what would 
 be blessings." 
 
 " It's true, mem ; but he's a sair burthen 
 on puir folk that has to win their bread, and 
 he's sae cankered whiles, I kenna whilk would 
 to turn." 
 
 Magdalen stopped her by going to the 
 poor boy, who was afflicted with hip com- 
 plaint, and was altogether very unhealthy. 
 The large tears were stealing down his cheeks, 
 but there was an expression of resentment 
 mingled with the sorrow of his face." 
 
 " Do you think the medicine did you 
 good, Alick ; would you like to take some 
 more?" 
 
 " I hae taken nane o't, mem," 
 
 " Not taken it— and why ?"
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 273 
 
 " Wee Geordie brak the bottle, and mither 
 said she could na seek mair." 
 
 " Mrs. Simson, you told me he had taken 
 it constantly." 
 
 " Fm sure I thought sae, mem. Alick, 
 ye're telling a lee." 
 
 " It's no me that's tellin' a lee." 
 
 *' And I wad hae sought some mair from 
 the doctor yestreen, when I was at the toun, 
 but he was aff to Peter Diack, a' folk's 
 there a wyte. Ye'll hae been there yerseF, 
 mem ?" 
 
 "Yes. I think you should not murmur 
 at yoiu- trial, Mrs. Simson, when you con- 
 sider theirs." 
 
 " Ay, it's a pity o' them ; but they'll find 
 plenty o' help. There was meat and claes 
 frae Invercarron, and siller frae Miss Mitchell ; 
 and Davie, the natural, gaed by wi' a braw 
 new blanket. It's lang or sic things 'ill 
 come ither fowks' gate." 
 
 VOL. I, T
 
 274 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 '^ I know of none in such sore need of help 
 at present, Mrs. Simson." 
 
 " They're in trouble, nae doot; but a drucken 
 guid man's waur nor a dead ane a wyte." 
 
 Magdalen took no direct notice of this 
 remark, but said : 
 
 " I think, Mrs. Simson, you might make 
 your house look more comfortable. It's a 
 better one than Peter Diack's, or Eppy Lori- 
 mer's." 
 
 " Eppy Lorimer has na a sma' family to 
 keep rampagin' but and ben. I hae envyed 
 her mony's the time." 
 
 " But you might make your children help 
 you, instead of letting them rampage. Here's 
 Peggy, quite old enough to clean the house." 
 
 " Weel, sae I tell her whiles, but she disna 
 
 mind." 
 
 * 
 " And why does not Janet go out to ser- 
 vice? I am sure she might have got a 
 place at Martinmas."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 275 
 
 " 'Deed, mem, I tried a' the kintra side, 
 and coiild na get her hired." 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Grant, the gardener's wife at 
 Invercarron, told me she was wilhng to hire 
 her, hut you w^ould not consent." 
 
 " I could na think to let my bairn gang to 
 sic a tairmigan o' a woman as yon ; she 
 wad hae wrought the heart out o' her." 
 
 '^ If that was your only reason, I think it 
 was a bad one. Mrs. Grant is strict, but 
 not severe ; and she would have taught Janet 
 the value of order and tidiness, which she is 
 not likely to learn at home." 
 
 "Oh, mem, but if ye ken't what it is to 
 be without a bawbee in the house frae week's 
 end to week's end, as I hae been and am e'enow, 
 ye wadna expeck a body to be ay redd up, 
 like them that has their year's wage, and house 
 and yard, and coal and candle for naething." 
 
 " Do you mean that you have no money 
 in the house just now, Mrs. Simson ?" 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " Not a bawbee, mem, as I'm a leeving 
 woman." 
 
 " Then what have you done with the five 
 shillings Miss Mitchell gave you yesterday ? 
 has some of it gone for this ?" said she, tak- 
 ing up a suspicious looking black bottle 
 which stood on the dresser. " Mrs. Simson, 
 your husband is not likely to give up the 
 whisky while you supply him with it at 
 home." 
 
 Mrs. Simson had not a word to say in 
 reply, but just as Magdalen was going to 
 leave the house, she rushed past her, to inter- 
 cept some one who was coming in. It was 
 her eldest daughter — a girl of seventeen — 
 carrying an infant. 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Simson !" exclaimed Mag- 
 dalen, then, as she saw the girl's shame-burnt 
 face ; " So this is the reason Janet could not 
 go to service. Oh, for shame ! for shame ! 
 to add sin to sin by such falsehoods."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 277 
 
 " A wyte I was na gaun to tell o' the puir 
 lassie's misfortin, and her my ain bairn," was 
 the somewhat sullen reply. " There's waur 
 nor her that gets nae blame. Ye'll no be 
 for giein' me the siller for Alick's draps, 
 mem," continued she, her voice changed to a 
 whine. 
 
 " I will send the medicine, Mrs. Simson," 
 said Magdalen, and left the house. 
 
 " That is a very unsatisfactory family," 
 said she, as they walked homewards. " I 
 never can trust a word that woman says. 
 Duplicity is not unfrequent in her class, and 
 disheartens one more than anything else ; 
 but I never have found one who told such 
 barefaced and systematic falsehoods as Mrs. 
 Simson, or whom it was so impossible to 
 touch in any way. I had some hopes of the 
 eldest girl, who is one of those common 
 characters which take their tone from those
 
 278 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 around. Had she been in good Mrs. Grant's 
 service, she might have been saved. Oh, 
 dear ! oh, dear ! how sad it is ! Sin and 
 sorrow on every side! I have given you a 
 melancholy introduction to our poor neigh- 
 bours, Grace." 
 
 " Old Eppy is an exception," said Grace. 
 " What a very beautiful countenance that old 
 woman has ; and I was struck with the 
 cheerful tone in which she spoke of herself, 
 and the intense pity which she appeared to 
 feel for her neighbours." 
 
 " Yes ; Eppy is a remarkable character. 
 She has gone through almost every species 
 of trial and suffering, yet her cheerfulness 
 never fails — her trust in God never falters ; 
 and she has, what is much more uncommon 
 in her class than kindliness and sympathy — 
 she has judgment and discretion. Before 
 she was bed-ridden, she was the nurse and 
 consoler of the whole country side."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 279 
 
 " She is not a shire woman, surely ? 
 
 Her dialect is quite different." 
 
 " No ; she is a Lowlander ; our first 
 acquaintanceship grew out of that. I found 
 she knew my forbears, and could teU me 
 long histories of the ' Auld Douglases.' She 
 knows Cardenholm, too; but I think you 
 never were there, Grace ?" 
 
 " No," said Grace. " 1 had been very 
 little away from Glenruth until I went to 
 Ashby. But you must know Cardenholm — 
 it is a fine place, is it not ?" 
 
 " Yes ; it has fine timber and a beautiful 
 glen ; but it is a long time since I was 
 there." 
 
 " Did you know the family ?" 
 
 " I used to know them well — the elder 
 ones that is — Basil and his sister. He and I 
 used to be playfellows. She is a good deal 
 younger. Poor Basil ! he is a very amiable 
 creature, and has a great deal of character,
 
 280 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 though his appearance is so little in his 
 favour." 
 
 " Do you know," said Grace, " I liked his 
 appearance better than his father's, though he 
 is what would be called a handsome man. 
 There was something so courteous about 
 Mr. Livingstone — so unmistakeably gentle- 
 manlike — I did not think of it at the time, 
 but have often recalled since the impression 
 he left with me, though our intercourse 
 was so very brief." 
 
 " He is a thorough gentleman," said Mag- 
 dalen, " and his courtesy is of the highest 
 order, springing from the heart — in honour 
 preferring others. Basil Livingstone is a 
 true Christian, and has more real humility 
 than almost anv one I ever knew."
 
 THE LIVINSGTONES. 281 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Two years later, I again found myself 
 at Invercarron (I generally paid an annual 
 visit), and this time the house was full of 
 company. Lord and Lady Daventry, Cap- 
 tain Clavering, Miss Ferrars, and divers 
 others who came and went. George Living- 
 stone also, was at home, as well as those 
 already known to you, the elements of a 
 very agreeable party ; yet, somehow things 
 appeared to be out of joint, and it was 
 sometime before I discovered what was 
 wrong. The result, however, of much ob-
 
 282 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 servation from the chimney-corner was this : 
 No, dearest reader, on second thoughts, I 
 will not tell you in so many words, that 
 were an insult to your understanding, as if 
 you could not form your own conclusions 
 upon w^hat I heard and saw; so let that 
 suffice. 
 
 John Livingstone was pale and wan, and 
 ill at ease — of course he was over head and 
 ears in love with Grace — they had been 
 snowed up together at Invercarron all the 
 winter, and how could he escape ; and she, 
 there was at times a troubled expression 
 in her usually calm eye, that I had not 
 observed formerly, though it often was sad 
 and tearful. Doubtless, I said to myself, 
 these two are in love. I saw how it would 
 be ; but how are they to marry, poor dears, 
 it is out of the question, and I shook my 
 head despondingly. Katherine was, appa- 
 rently, in very high spirits ; but it was not
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 283 
 
 all gold that glittered there, I could see 
 that. Magdalen's pale face looked graver 
 than usual ; but then she had a voyage to 
 India in prospect, that involved parting with 
 her children. This explained also, the deeper 
 shadow on Lady Livingstone's face, for to 
 lose sight of Francis was nearly as severe a 
 trial as she could know. At her age such 
 separations are hard to bear; it is only 
 youth who can think of meeting again. 
 Poor Francis, too, felt probably that he might 
 not return, or returning, might miss her 
 ft'om her accustomed place. I thought I 
 could read some such thoughts as these, as 
 I watched his look of earnest affection 
 fixed on her face. But this did not ac- 
 count for the depth of George Living- 
 stone's despondency, still less for the un- 
 comfortable restlessness of Lady Daventry, 
 kind-hearted, sympathising little soul, as I 
 knew^ her to be. Meanwhile w^e all tried
 
 284 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 very hard to persuade ourselves that we 
 were enjoying extremely this lovely autumn. 
 It was glorious weather, and Invercarron in 
 its greatest beauty, as Northern Scottish 
 scenery is in August and September. We 
 shot, and fished, and rode, and walked, and 
 had pic-nics on the tops of all the hills, 
 and in the bottom of all the glens within a 
 dozen miles round. I never saw so much 
 gaiety, or so little cheerfulness at Inver- 
 carron. 
 
 Could Miss Ferrars be aware that Lady 
 Livingstone and I were sitting in the little 
 drawing-room, with the doors open, and con- 
 sequently within ear-shot, when she held this 
 apparently confidential conversation with 
 Lady Daventry ? She must have forgotten 
 that she had seen us there half-an-hour 
 before, and that we had no means of egress, 
 except through the drawing-room.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 285 
 
 " Do you not think Miss Livingstone very 
 beautiful, dear Lady Daventry ? — the cousin, 
 I mean — some people say, she has only one 
 expression, but really, I think she is quite 
 lovely ; I should like so much to know her." 
 
 Lady Daventry opened her large, blue 
 eyes a httle wider, wondering perhaps, as I 
 did also, what further opportunities of know- 
 ing a person Miss Ferrars could desire, after 
 living five weeks under the same roof, and 
 thus made reply, 
 
 " Oh, I think her the most beautiful crea- 
 ture I ever beheld ; I long so to get her 
 up to London — how she will turn the men's 
 heads ; but I thought you must know her 
 very well by this time. I am sure I feel 
 as if I did, who have only been here ten 
 days." 
 
 " Ah ! but then you know there is a great 
 difference between us, dearest Lady Daven- 
 try; and then I think she is rather an
 
 286 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 uncertain, perhaps, I should say, a reserv^ed 
 person. Sometimes I have thought she was 
 very fond of me, and then I seem to have 
 said or done something displeasing to her. 
 But of course, she is in an embarrassing- 
 position here." 
 
 Again Lady Daventry's eyes opened wider. 
 
 " I don't think," said she, " that I quite 
 understand what you mean. Miss Living- 
 stone appears to me so completely Venfant 
 de maison here, they are all so fond of her, 
 and I don't wonder at it, and then they are 
 such dear kind people. How I do delight 
 in Katherine." 
 
 " Oh, Katherine is what I call charming. 
 I dote upon her !" exclaimed Miss Ferrars, 
 ecstatically; "plain as she is, do you know 
 I sometimes admire her face more than Miss 
 Livingstone's." 
 
 " Plain ! can you call Katherine plain, with 
 such eyes, and such' a mouth and chin, and
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 287 
 
 that ever- varying expression ? I love Kathe- 
 rine's face. But do tell me what you mean 
 by Grace Livingstone's embarrassing position 
 — surely, they are all very fond of her ?" 
 
 " Exactly, dear Lady Daventry, it is just 
 that they are so fond of her. It is easy to 
 see that both Captain Livingstone and his 
 brother are desperately in love with her ; and 
 my opinion is, that she does not know which 
 of them to choose, or whether it will not be 
 better to wait till she goes to London, and 
 fly at higher game. But you know, ' a bird 
 in the hand,' and here she has two birds 
 ready Hmed. I rather suspect she likes the 
 gay guardsman best ; but then, you know^, of 
 the two, Mr. Livingstone, is the better parti ; 
 and what will poor Lady Livingstone say, 
 when she finds it all out, for she can't endure 
 her sons to be made unhappy, and either way, 
 one or both of them must be miserable ; be- 
 sides that, it would be a wretched marriage
 
 288 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 for either of them. Miss Livingstone has 
 nothing but her beauty, and that won't 
 clothe and feed a family, even if she an 
 settle it upon her children." 
 
 Lady Daventry's eyes did not open at the 
 end of this speech. She appeared to be 
 looking for something on the carpet — her 
 worsted needle, probably. 
 
 " But are you sure — I mean, have you 
 seen anything — that is to say, do you think 
 it is quite certain ? because, you know, one 
 fancies these sort of things sometimes ; but, 
 certainly, it is probable enough. Does Mrs. 
 Livingstone think there is anything in it ?" 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Livingstone is a great deal too 
 cautious to say what she thinks on such a 
 delicate subject. She would not like to mix 
 herself up in the matter; but I can see her 
 watching them. It would be very difficult 
 to blind her. Now, / am so unsuspicious, 
 that unless a thing is unmistakeable, I never
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 289 
 
 find it out, but Katherine as much as told 
 me, that both her brothers' hearts were gone 
 — only, by the bye, she begged me to say 
 nothing about it; but I am sure it is safe 
 with you, dearest Lady Daventry, you won't 
 make any allusion to it. We must see 
 the result soon. You leave this on Thurs- 
 day, don't you ? I am 50 sorry, but I shall 
 soon be going myself. I hope you will let 
 me come and see you in town. I shall be 
 there next spring with my cousin, Julia Stan- 
 hope. You know her, don't you? Is she 
 not a darling?" 
 
 Grace and Katherine had entered the 
 room as Miss Ferrers had prophesied the 
 speedy elucidation of the mystery she had 
 disclosed. Her concluding sentences, as 
 may be obser\^ed, gave no clue to what had 
 gone before, and enabled her in an uncon- 
 strained voice (at which I really marvelled 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 and admired) thus to address the fair subject 
 of discussion. 
 
 " Dearest Miss Livingstone, I hope you are 
 going with us to the ball to-night ? Kathe- 
 rine dear, have your persuasions been suc- 
 cessful?" 
 
 " Oh, yes !" was the ready reply ; " she 
 is going. I've settled it all. Now, Grace, 
 you needn't say any more about it, you 
 promised you would go with me to one ball, 
 and I won't be thrown over; besides, it's 
 very bad for her to sit moping here with the 
 elderly parties, instead of associating with her 
 species — isn't it. Lady Daventry ?" 
 
 Lady Daventry, thus appealed to, looked 
 up at Grace with a peculiar inquiring dis- 
 trustful expression, but it passed away almost 
 immediately ; it could not live under the pure 
 light of that calm, truthful eye ; and with 
 
 the eager kindness natural to her, she seconded 
 
 ■t 
 
 Katherine's wishes, or rather commands.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 291 
 
 Grace evidently would rather have stayed 
 at home. It was not in her nature soon to 
 forget a great sorrow ; and although at Inver- 
 carron, soothed by the affection with whicli 
 she had been received, she was cheerful, and 
 even happy, especially in the family circle, her 
 spirits were not equal to the enjoyment of 
 gaiety, and instead of being excited, she was 
 depressed. 
 
 *' She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew, 
 As seeking not to know it." 
 
 Katherine, who always sought for com- 
 panionship in everything, was very urgent 
 with her to go to various parties in the 
 neighbourhood, but she had hitherto evaded 
 compliance, with a half-promise to go for 
 once, and this was likely to be the last ; and 
 she did not like to stand out longer, as 
 Katherine's affectionate heart appeared really 
 set upon her going. Katherine was very 
 
 u 2
 
 2"92 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 proud of Grace's beauty, and delighted in look- 
 ing, and making others look at her ; also she 
 loved her dearly, and whomsoever she loved, 
 Katherine desired to have continually at her side. 
 
 So it was settled Grace was to go to the 
 ball. As it was at no great distance, and as 
 John protested against being early, the young 
 people did not dress until after dinner ; and 
 while they were engaged in the duties of the 
 toilette. Lady Livingstone, being en petit 
 com^e with Magdalen and myself, thus begun: 
 
 "Magdalen, have you observed anything 
 between Grace and George or John? Mr., 
 
 D -, you heard what Miss Ferrers was 
 
 saying to Lady Daventry this morning? I can 
 hardly believe it — and yet I think there must 
 be something in it, too, for certainly I have 
 not thought either of them looking well 
 lately. Oh, dear, why was I not told of it ?" 
 
 " But I do not see, dear Lady Livingstone, 
 what you could have done, even if it is as 
 Miss Ferrers supposes ; but she may be mis-
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 293 
 
 taken, although it certainly need not surprise 
 
 one." 
 
 " Surprise one, dear me, no, one need 
 
 not be surprised at any girl falling in love 
 
 with engaging young men like George and 
 
 John ; but just somehow I never thought of 
 
 it. It is no mistake of Adela's, however, 
 
 for I heard her say that Katherine told her. 
 
 I must question Katherine about it. It's very 
 
 odd that monkey never teUs me anything." 
 
 " Are you quite sure that she said Kathe- 
 rine had told her?" asked Magdalen. 
 
 " Oh, perfectly sure; you heard her, Mr. 
 
 D , as well as I did. But now, what is 
 
 to be done ? because you know John vvill be 
 here till after Christmas, and George aU the 
 winter : it will never do for Grace to remain. 
 Do you know if she has answered that Mrs. 
 Onslow's letter?" 
 
 " I know she has not, it did not require 
 an immediate answer ; she was talking to me 
 on the subject this very day."
 
 294 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 *' Well, and did you make out whether it 
 was George or John she liked best ?" 
 
 I saw the faintest perceptible smile lurking 
 about the corners of Magdalen's mouth, as 
 she replied to this : 
 
 " I meant that Grace was speaking to me on 
 the subject of Mrs. Onslow's letter. You know 
 it contained an invitation to pay a long visit." 
 
 " Well, I hope you advised her to ac- 
 cept it ?" 
 
 " Why, I was inclined to do so, for I 
 think Grace ought to keep up these old 
 friendships of her family. Mrs. Onslow is 
 a most kind person, and in really good 
 society ; and she would also have the advan- 
 tage of masters, which I know she would 
 like, — which I set before her ; but — " 
 
 " Oh, dear, I suppose she won't go from 
 this now ?" 
 
 Again I marked the furtive smile. 
 
 " I was going to say, she gave as her 
 reasons against accepting the invitation, that
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 295 
 
 when she spoke to you on the subject you 
 seemed unwiUing that she should leave this ; 
 and I am sure your wishes would be decisive 
 with her, she feels so very much your kind- 
 ness and aiFection." 
 
 " She is really a very sweet girl ; and I am 
 sure if there was but the wherewithal, I could 
 not wish anything better than that she should 
 marry one of my sons ; but as things are, it 
 would never do. I remember now her speak- 
 ing to me the other day, and I thought it a 
 pity that she should go away for the winter 
 — she is such a good companion for Kathe- 
 rine, and Katherine would miss her so much; 
 indeed, we all should, for she is a most 
 amiable creature; but then I knew nothing 
 of all this, she never hinted it to me." 
 
 " Dear lady ! I don't think she has the 
 most distant conception of what you allude 
 to, in fact I am certain she has not." 
 
 " Magdalen ! she must know if she is in 
 love, and who she is in love with."
 
 296 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " But I don't believe she is in love at all, 
 ft 
 —certainly not with either George or John." 
 
 " You don't think she is in love ; then 
 why didn't you say so at first ? you think it is 
 all an imagination of Adela Ferrers' ?" 
 
 " I thought you were speaking rather of 
 their being in love with Grace : — there may be 
 truth in that, at least as regards George. 
 John's affection for her is at present quite 
 brotherly, if I am a judge of these things." 
 
 " Well, there's some comfort in that, but 
 still I think it would be better she did not 
 stay here this winter. I don't believe she 
 would be able to resist George much longer." 
 
 The corners of Magdalen's mouth threat- 
 ened to become quite unmanageable ; however, 
 she reduced them to order, and resumed : 
 
 " Then, shall I ad\ase Grace to speak to 
 you again before declining Mrs. Onslow ?" 
 
 " Yes, do so, my dear ; or you can say you 
 have been speaking to me about it. I am
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 297 
 
 quite clear that she had better go, for her own 
 sake as well as for George's." 
 
 Further discussion of the subject was 
 stopped by the entrance of the ball-goers, one 
 by one. As they stood together waiting for 
 the carriages, I thought that seldom, even in 
 London — that garden of the fairest flowers of 
 loveliness — had I seen so handsome a group. 
 I have already described my beautiful Grace ; 
 — to-night, dressed in pure w^hite, of some 
 diaphonous material, and with the light of a 
 lamp falling on her pale golden hair, she did 
 look so like an angel — I know the comparison 
 is a hackneyed one, but, for my own part, I 
 never felt inclined to apply it to the outward 
 appearance of any one but her. 
 
 Then Lady Daventry was one of Eve's 
 loveliest daughters — with large loving blue 
 eyes, and the sweetest mouth, an under lip 
 which looked " as though a bee had newly 
 stung it" — and, truly, if a bee had gone 
 there in search of honey, I think he deserved
 
 298 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 blame only on the score of ingratitude — such 
 a complexion, and such showers of nut-brown 
 ringlets, and such a winning ingenuous ex- 
 pression in her fair face. It was a sweet 
 nature — but alas ! 
 
 Miss Ferrers was a clear brunette, with 
 quantities of silky black hair wound round a 
 small but rather peculiarly shaped head, a 
 delicate aquiline nose, handsome dark eyes, 
 which were spoilt by being set in the Mephisto- 
 phelian angle, and their expression was not 
 redeemed by that of her mouth ; but she had 
 beautiful teeth, and was altogether a person 
 to be remarked in a room — always so per- 
 fectly well-dressed, whatever the occasion. 
 
 The cavalieri, with one exception, were not 
 unworthy of such fair dames. Lord Daventry 
 was a distinguished-looking man, and Captain 
 Clavering was very handsome, so was George 
 Livingstone ; but the friend of the family, 
 dear reader, is, he ventures to flatter himself, 
 more useful than ornamental.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 299 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Well, young ladies, did you enjoy 
 yourselves last night?" said Lady Living- 
 stone at a late breakfast next morning. " I 
 suppose you all had plenty of partners ?" 
 
 " Oh, it was such a capital ball," answered 
 Kathie's ready voice ; " but, mamma, Grace 
 was so stupid; there were men by scores 
 dying to dance with her, and she would 
 neither polk nor w^altz ; she crawled through 
 about three quadrilles. 1 believe she has 
 conscientious scruples — stuff !" 
 
 " All the quadrilles that were danced, 
 Kathie," said Grace, with a smile, " besides
 
 300 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 country-dance and reels, and then I was 
 so tired I could not have done more ; besides, 
 as I never learned either polka or waltz, my 
 scruples, as you call them, were not alto- 
 gether out of place." 
 
 ^' Never learned ! Then why haven't you 
 made the boys teach you, all the time you 
 have been here; what else are they made 
 for?" 
 
 " I wish other young ladies were restrained 
 by similar considerations," observed George. 
 " I had a very heavy handful in one who 
 shall be nameless, and she coolly observed 
 to me, after our exhibition was over, that it 
 was the first time she ever tried the valse a 
 deux temps" 
 
 " I thought that young lady appeared to 
 have formed a very vague conception of time, 
 Kathie; but you were not so badly off as 
 I was, George, when my partner, who shall 
 also be nameless, insisted on polking to the 
 deux temps waltz, and brought me into colli-
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 301 
 
 sion with every other couple. I expected 
 every minute to be rolling on the floor." 
 
 " Somebody did get a fall. Who was it ?" 
 
 " I could not find out," said Miss Ferrers : 
 " I asked several people, but no one knew." 
 
 " How ghastly you all look !" exclaimed 
 Katherine ; " do let us have the horses, and ride 
 up the hill. It's the only thing after a ball." 
 
 " Now, KatherinCj do not be so domineer- 
 ing. Just let people please themselves. 1 
 am sure Lady Daventry does not look fit 
 to ride up Ben-Ard." 
 
 " Oh ! I should like it of all things," said 
 Lady Daventry. 
 
 But she did look very weary and woebe- 
 gone, this morning. What was the matter 
 with Lady Daventry 1 
 
 " Then let us all go," resumed Kathie. 
 
 *' Just be quiet, Katherine ; you are always 
 for settling everj^thing. I want Grace to go 
 with me in the carriage to Pitrossie. I am 
 sure she is too tired to take such a ride."
 
 302 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 No doubt Lady Livingstone thought so ; 
 perhaps her new-born solicitude also sug- 
 gested that it were w^ell to detach Grace as 
 much as possible from the society of her too- 
 engaging sons. But her diplomacy was 
 doomed to be frustrated, and that by her 
 son Francis. 
 
 " Won't any other day do as well to call 
 at Pitrossie, mother ? We shall hardly have 
 such another chance for Ben-Ard; and I 
 think a ride would do Grace more good 
 than a drive." 
 
 He carried his point. Francis generally 
 carried his point with his mother. 
 
 So the horses were ordered, and the ladies 
 went to put on their riding-habits. It was 
 a lovely autumn day, and our road led us 
 along the valley, down which the waters of 
 Ard came dancing to its own music. Not a 
 breath stirred the trees in the haugh, but as 
 we ascended, a fresh pure breeze met us on 
 mountain side, and by the time we had
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 303 
 
 reached the top, the fatigues of the preceding 
 night were forgotten, and care left far be- 
 low us. 
 
 After an hour or more spent among the 
 highest crags of Ben-Ard, whence the eye 
 swept from the Northern Sea far into the 
 
 magnificent mountains of shire, we 
 
 mounted to i-eturn homeward. Lord Daven- 
 try, having letters to write by that day's post, 
 rode on, the rest of the party followed more 
 leisurely. 
 
 John Li^dngstone reined up to join Mag- 
 dalen and Lady Daventry, who had fallen 
 behind. A few minutes afterwards those in 
 advance were startled and temfied by the 
 sight of two riderless horses galloping down 
 the hill ; and retracing their steps a few hun- 
 dred yards they found Lady Daventry 
 stretched on the ground, and her companions 
 bending over her with faces as pale as her 
 own. John's wore an expression of agony 
 not to be described.
 
 304 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " For her sake, control yourself," I heard 
 Magdalen murmur. Then she added aloud : 
 " Do not raise her head, it may be but a faint 
 — here, wet this handkerchief." 
 
 " Magdalen, what has happened ?" ex- 
 claimed Colonel Livingstone : " how was 
 
 this r 
 
 " Her horse fell, and I fear her head has 
 been struck ; but perhaps she is only stunned. 
 Francis, send James for Dr. Maclean, and go 
 yourself for the carriage ; you will best break 
 it to your mother and poor Lord Daventry — 
 We musf get her home at once. Some more 
 w^ater — quick! dear John, she is opening 
 her eyes — she is not dead ! Oh ! God be 
 thanked !" 
 
 Every one echoed Magdalen's thanksgiving 
 — and as for poor John, his tears w^ere 
 streaming fast, which surprised me, when I 
 had time to think of it, for I had always 
 thought John was remarkably cool and com- 
 posed on all emergencies.
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 305 
 
 Magdalen sent us all to the nearest cot- 
 tage to procure some means of carrying Lady 
 Daventry homewards. John staid to supply 
 her with water; a faint flush mantled the 
 lady's deathlike cheek as she opened her 
 eyes ; but when we returned she lay still and 
 pale as before. 
 
 It was only a swoon, however, her shoulder 
 was dislocated and she was severely bruised ; 
 but no more serious mischief had been done 
 — enough, however, to shake her delicate 
 frame, and retain her at Invercarron for 
 several weeks. Her lord meanwhile, finding 
 no danger w^as to be apprehended, and having 
 important business at home, left her with 
 those kind friends in whom, as he told Lady 
 Livingstone, he had every confidence. 
 
 This catastrophe and a change in the 
 weather, put an end to out-of-door amuse- 
 ments, and indeed to our gaieties generally, 
 
 VOL. L X
 
 306 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 at which Kathie grieved a good deal ; for as 
 I have already hinted she was not much 
 given to domestic avocations, and excepting 
 reading, had scarcely any in-door employment. 
 As long as she had any one to talk to, how- 
 ever, she could get through the day, and 
 Adela Ferrers was always ready to amuse 
 her with piquante anecdotes of London life, 
 in which she began to take more interest 
 than Magdalen thought good for her; but 
 Magdalen was much occupied at this time, 
 and spent a good deal of her spare time with 
 Lady Daventry in whom she was much 
 interested. One day, however, she found an 
 opportunity to admonish both the young 
 ladies on the subject, though her speech was 
 addressed only to Kathie. They had been 
 discussing pretty freely the character of a 
 celebrated beauty, whose conduct by some 
 was suspected of more than levity. 
 
 " Dear Kathie," said Magdalen, " I wish
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 307 
 
 you would not repeat such things, even to 
 me ; it is such a pernicious habit, and it 
 grows upon one insensibly. I wish you 
 would not listen to those wicked stories." 
 
 " But, Maudlin, I knew them all before, 
 and I don't believe them; besides, Mrs. 
 Macallister was only telling me what was 
 said of Lady Barbara by the Duchess of 
 Sheffield, who is known to be the greatest 
 scandal-monger in Christendom. Mrs. Ma- 
 callister does not believe them herself." 
 
 " Then why repeat them ? it is only giving 
 the scandal a mder circulation." 
 
 " Why, she wanted me to know on whose 
 authority they rested, and to contradict them." 
 
 " She might have done that without enter- 
 ing into detail ; it would have been sufficient 
 to say, ' I do not believe the stories against 
 Lady Barbara, they rest on no better autho- 
 rity than that of the Duchess of Sheffield.' " 
 
 " But I am afraid," interposed Adela, 
 
 X 2
 
 308 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " that they rest on too broad a foundation of 
 truth to be generally disbelieved. I am sure 
 I liked Lady Barbara very much ; but such 
 shocking things were said of her, really one 
 did not like to be acquainted with her — 
 though I don't believe half of them were true, 
 and they might be altogether false." 
 
 " Then I think one might give her the 
 benefit of the doubt, poor thing; so young 
 and beautiful, and I fear not very happily 
 married. I thought you were very intimate 
 with her, Miss Ferrers ?" 
 
 " Oh, you know, after the first esclandre 
 had died away a little, and when she was 
 received at Court, it was nobody's business 
 to turn their backs upon her ; but everybody 
 believes the story about the chatelaine, and 
 that could never be explained. In fact, I 
 have no doubt she was terribly indiscreet, 
 poor dear." 
 
 " Indiscreet perhaps, there is however a
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 309 
 
 difference, which it seems to me is often 
 overlooked, between indiscretion and guilt. 
 But what I want to impress upon you, dear 
 Kathie, is the evil of giving any countenance 
 to scandal, be it true or false ; it cannot pos- 
 sibly do good, it may do incalculable mischief, 
 and the effect of such conversation on one's 
 ow^n mind is always hurtful. I often think, 
 with a shudder, how completely the reputa- 
 tion of the most innocent woman is at the 
 mercy of an unscrupulous tongue. What, 
 for instance, do you or I know of Lady 
 Barbara Vane, except what we have heard 
 from Mrs. Macallister and others ? She may 
 be innocent ; but we have learned to look 
 upon her as suspected, for it is impossible 
 altogether to resist the impression which sue h 
 stories make upon the mind." 
 
 "I believe it is generally granted," said 
 Adela, " that no one is suspected without 
 having given some cause, and I am sure poor
 
 310 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 dear Lady Barbara's best friend would scarcely 
 maintain that she had given no cause." 
 
 " That may be, and I dare say, as a general 
 rule, there is truth in it ; but when you re- 
 flect how quickly an ill-natured story is taken 
 up — how little careful we are to ascertain the 
 truth of that which we hear or repeat — how 
 thoughtlessly we often speak, and how ready 
 we are to believe the worst of each other — 
 I think you must grant that it is a rule liable 
 to many exceptions ; unless we know the cha- 
 racter of the slandered person to be above 
 suspicion — we are too ready to take it for 
 granted that there must be some foundation 
 for the story ; and though a woman may 
 live down scandal, it may not the less have 
 cost her many bitter moments, and lost her 
 the friendship of those who shun the society 
 of a suspected woman." 
 
 " And no great loss that, I am sure," ex- 
 claimed Katherine. "The friendship that
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 311 
 
 can't stand through good report and bad 
 report, is not worth having. I am sure, 
 Maudlin, you would not cast off a friend on 
 account of any little peccadillos she might 
 fall into — far less the bare suspicion of them." 
 
 " Perhaps not, dear — but I do not say 
 that I would choose for my friend a woman 
 I had heard lightly spoken of, unless I had 
 strong reason to believe her innocent, and 
 wished to prove my belief; and in that case 
 especially, I would not listen to any stories 
 against her." 
 
 "That is a hit at me," said Katherine, 
 '' because you know I am determined to make 
 Lady Barbara's acquaintance — and so I am, 
 as soon as I have a chance. I saw her at 
 
 the ■ meeting, and she is so handsome 
 
 — such eyes and such a profile. I don't 
 wonder at all the men raving about her as 
 they do." 
 
 " She is quite a man's beauty," observed
 
 312 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 Adela ; " and she certainly is very handsome, 
 and has that beautiful complexion which I 
 admire so much. People do say she rouges, 
 but I don't believe it ; though one hardly 
 ever does see that very soft and brilliant 
 colour in nature." 
 
 " Fm sure she doesn't rouge," said Kathe- 
 rine, " for I saw her get as white as a sheet, 
 when the Duchess of Sheffield came into the 
 room, and the next moment she flushed 
 crimson, and her eyes actually blazed — how 
 magnificent she did look then ! I am sure 
 she knows what the Duchess has said of her. 
 She looked as if she could have torn her into 
 small pieces, then and there, with pleasure — 
 and small blame to her." 
 
 " That does not look as if there were 
 nothing in the stories," observed Adela. 
 
 *' I do not see that it corroborates them at 
 all," said Magdalen. " Knowing herself inno- 
 cent, she might naturally feel the utmost
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 313 
 
 indignation against one who had so cruelly 
 injured her. But, dear Kathie, I would have 
 you weigh the matter well, before you rush 
 into an intimacy with Lady Barbara. Grant- 
 ing her innocence of anything beyond indis- 
 cretion, I hardly think she would be the best 
 of companions for you, and you are not called 
 upon to take up her defence — nor are you in 
 a position to do so wdth any effect — you 
 would probably do harm when you meant 
 good." 
 
 " Well, well, Maudlin,, don't alarm your- 
 self. I dare say I shall not be exposed to the 
 risk of Lady Barbara's acquaintance, till my 
 principles have had time to be settled ; but 
 the best of it all is, that Mrs. Macallister 
 says the Duchess is by no means a bad- 
 hearted woman, only she cannot help re- 
 peating every story she hears, without con- 
 sidering consequences." 
 
 " And with additions, I dare say ; I think
 
 314 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 it very possible that she may not be what 
 one would call a bad-hearted woman; but 
 you know Kathie, 
 
 " Evil is wrought by want of thought, 
 As well as by want of heart," 
 
 and by her inconsiderate, unscrupulous habit 
 of retailing every story she hears, or ima- 
 gines, she may work more complete ruin 
 than a more bad-hearted person, who has 
 not that evil propensity. It only strengthens 
 my conviction of the sin and danger of 
 listening to scandal. What the ear willingly 
 gathers, the tongue, it is to be feared, will 
 ere long, readily spread abroad." 
 
 " I know you are right, Maudlin — you 
 always are — though you are a Httle stern 
 sometimes ; but it is quite true, I have got 
 into the habit of gossiping, lately; I used 
 not to be given to it." 
 
 *' I know that, dear, therefore I am the more
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 315 
 
 anxious to put you on your guard against 
 it. It is yet within your own control I 
 do believe, for you have no innate love of it. 
 But it rests with yourself to check the grow- 
 ing habit." 
 
 " If it rests with myself, you know I shall 
 not get the better of it. You know I never 
 did cure myself of any single fault in my 
 life, and it is not likely that I shall begin 
 now, when you are going away too. Oh, 
 Maudlin, why do you go and leave me to 
 the evil of my w^ays ? Is it kind of you ?" 
 
 Magdalen, thus appealed to, smiled sadly. 
 
 " Dearest Kathie," said she, " you know 
 it is a grief to me to leave you ; but," added 
 she (Miss Ferrars having left the room), " it 
 is yet a greater grief to hear you speak thus. 
 Why say you cannot overcome a fault ? Do 
 you really think that any one ever earnestly 
 and perseveringly endeavoured to do so, seek- 
 ing God's help, and failed ?"
 
 316 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but I cannot be earnest 
 and persevering about anything, and" — she 
 paused. 
 
 '' But, dearest," resumed Magdalen, " can- 
 not we ask for strength to become so. 
 Every good and perfect gift cometh from above, 
 and if we use the measure of strength we 
 have, more will be given; it is by exercise 
 our bodies are strengthened ; a limb unused, 
 would, in time, become powerless, and so 
 will the strength of the soul decay and perish 
 if it is never put forth ; and then when we 
 remember who is our Righteousness and our 
 Strength, surely none need despair of victory. 
 Dear child, is there not comfort and en- 
 couragement in this ?" 
 
 *' Oh, Magdalen, if I were like you ; it 
 seems all plain and clear to you, but you 
 cannot know the difficulties that others meet 
 with ; there is such a thing as not being 
 able to believe these promises."
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 317 
 
 "I know there is, that is, they are not 
 believed fully, or even in such a degree as to 
 bring any comfort ; but then you know there 
 is frequent encouragement given to them who 
 are of Httle faith. If we can but say, * Help 
 Thou mine unbelief,' we may be sure that 
 prayer is heard. Faith, too, must be exercised; 
 it will not grow else." 
 
 " But if there is none to begin with ?" 
 " I do not believe any human creature is 
 absolutely devoid of faith, unless he have 
 hardened himself in sin. Instinctively we 
 have faith in an unseen Power ; and we, born 
 in a Christian land, have been put in the 
 right way, and furnished with a guide. Do 
 you think that any ever studied the Scriptures 
 with patience and prayer, making Christ's 
 commandments the rule of his life, and 
 failed to find peace at last ? Sooner it may 
 come to some than to others, from diversity 
 of circumstances or constitution of mind, but
 
 318 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 sooner or later, thus sought, it must come 
 to all. He who invites all to come to 
 Him, has also said, He will in no wise 
 cast out one who comes. Dearest Kathie, 
 can you not believe, can you not try to believe 
 this?" 
 
 Katherine did not answer, and her face was 
 hidden ; Magdalen went on : 
 
 " Oh, if I could but prevail on you to try 
 — to believe that faith may come, though 
 now you do not feel its movings, I should 
 leave you with a lighter heart. I know you 
 are not happy, Kathie, for all your light words 
 and merry laughter ; I know your spirit is 
 often in darkness, and that only in forgetting 
 yourself do you find a false and hollow peace ; 
 and it grieves me — oh ! it grieves me so, 
 my own dear Kathie. Will you think of what 
 I have said when I am away ? Will you try 
 for my sake ?" 
 
 Katherine looked up with eyes full of tears,
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 319 
 
 and then, throwing her arms round Magda- 
 len's neck, said : 
 
 " If I did not know it was of no use for me 
 to promise anything, I would promise to do 
 what you ask me, but I know I should fail : 
 you must pray for me, Magdalen." 
 
 " 1 will — I do — dearest ; but no man can 
 be surety for his brother, and unless you are 
 taught to pray for yourself, no other prayer 
 will avail. But 1 w^ill not say more just now 
 — forgive me if I have wearied you. We 
 must part soon, and as it may be long before we 
 meet again, I would fain let my last words be 
 worthy of your remembrance, and of my 
 true affection, Kathie, — for I love you very 
 dearly." 
 
 This conversation took place a very few 
 days before Magdalen left Invercarron. It 
 was the last, though not by any means the 
 first, she held with Katherine on the subject 
 into which it merged when Adela Ferrers left
 
 320 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 the room. To Magdalen, Katharine opened 
 her mind more fully than to most people, and 
 deeply did Magdalen grieve over the unsettled 
 restless spirit thus disclosed. She tried to 
 convince her by such arguments as the fore- 
 going, that rest and peace were to be found ; 
 but although Katherine listened quietly, and 
 even seemed to take a pleasure in hearing 
 her, it was evident her words carried no 
 weight, and I doubt whether these discussions, 
 since they did no good, were not worse than 
 useless, for the listener's ear became accus- 
 tomed to the sound, and the oft-repeated 
 words lost something of their force. 
 
 Good, sensible and sincere, Magdalen's 
 intellect was not of an order to cope with her 
 pupils, which was singularly subtle and pene- 
 trating — in an instant seizing upon the weak 
 points of an argument, and overturning the 
 whole ; added to which, it was a mind 
 which refused to yield belief to anything
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 321 
 
 which was not capable of mathematical 
 demonstration. 
 
 And yet Katherine's religious tendencies 
 were towards Romanism ; such are the con- 
 tradictions of human nature. 
 
 The solution, whereof I take to be, this :' 
 
 First, Weary of her doubts, she vainly 
 thought to find rest in that Church w^hich 
 lays claim to infallibility, and requires the 
 unquestioning faith of its disciples, thus 
 relieving them of much individual respon- 
 sibility. 
 
 Secondly, Her intense love of the beau- 
 tiful was attracted by the gorgeous pageantry 
 of worship which appeals so directly to the 
 senses, the undimned glory of ages only 
 adding to its power over the enthusiast's 
 mind. 
 
 Yes, I can well understand the power to 
 seduce the heart, unfortified by a conviction 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 of simple truth, or led astray by the sophisms 
 of her Anglican daughter, which is wielded 
 by that time-honoured Church, so well, that 
 I almost think every mind of highly poetic 
 temperament, has at one time or other, 
 especiaPy if brought under her influence, felt 
 a sympathetic admiration for her ancient 
 ritual, which gathers the costliest treasures 
 of earth and sea, the fairest works of the 
 sculptor and the painter ; and music's holiest 
 harmonies to offer up in the stately and 
 beautiful temples which her children have 
 raised to God. 
 
 But the picture has a darker side, and 
 there is a more acceptable service. Even 
 Magdalen- — Magdalen who among the Li- 
 vingstones was reckoned for the sternest of 
 Puritans and Calvinists — had felt what I 
 have described ; but she clung all the more 
 fervently to her own simple faith, though she
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 3*23 
 
 had sympathy for all true believers. But 
 she very much dreaded for Katherine the 
 Romanising influences of the day, feeling 
 sure, that for her, there would be no 
 peace in that Church which she might 
 not find in her own ; but that, on the 
 contrary, being disappointed in her repu- 
 tation, she would sink into utter hopeless- 
 ness and misery. 
 
 For happiness, without a sense of God's 
 love, Magdalen conceived to be impossible to 
 one of Katherine's nature ; as indeed true 
 happiness is, under such circumstances, im- 
 possible to any ; but Katherine was one to 
 whom it was peculiarly essential. She sun- 
 ned herself in the affection of others; and 
 what human affection is all-sufficient to the 
 cravings of the human heart. She had the 
 love of many, yet she was not happy — never 
 could be in her present state. So Magdalen 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 thought, and she was right, though Kathe- 
 rine knew it not, but only felt that she was 
 of the miserable, too miserable, to make an 
 effort for her own rescue. 
 
 END OF VOL. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.