-X I B RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 UNIVLR.SITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 v.l
 
 '■f/, 
 
 -2 
 
 fr-^
 
 CHARLES STANLY, 
 
 a iftobel. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "NINFA." 
 
 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 
 MDCCCLIV.
 
 
 ?%1 
 
 TO 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF MULGRAVE 
 
 THIS BOOK 
 
 IS INSCRIBED BY HER AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 CHARLES STAXLY. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 Charles Stanly was the only child of 
 Mr. and Mrs. James Stanly, and their idol. 
 These fond parents, though not more apt to 
 be of the same opinion than other married 
 people, agreed, however, upon one point — 
 they thought their hoy the most wonderful 
 the world had yet produced. Accordingly, 
 they improved his natural gifts ; and thus, 
 in due course of time, Charles became as self- 
 willed and as intractable a little vagabond as 
 ever deserved flogging. 
 
 An affectionate disposition and good abili- 
 ties were magnified into extraordinary en- 
 dowments. Activity of mind, and quickness 
 of apprehension, were extolled as proofs of 
 genius. At three years old, when little 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Charles wept over the Babes in the Wood, 
 his mother trembled at his sensibility. At 
 six, when he devoured fairy tales, his father 
 marvelled at his imagination. And at six- 
 teen, when he raved about Lord Byron, and 
 wrote verses upon gilt-edged paper, his effu- 
 sions were considered not inferior to those of 
 the great poet — his model ; at least, by the 
 ladies whose charms he sang. 
 
 Charles went early to school, and became 
 a favourite both with teachers and pupils. 
 He was bold as a lion; enterprising, gene- 
 rous, and though occasionally passionate, in 
 general good-tempered. He was a capital 
 cricketer, and a first-rate boxer. In poach- 
 ing and robbing orchards he stood unrivalled. 
 He was, in short, foremost at all those sports 
 congenial to what is called the innocence of 
 childhood. 
 
 He got on well at his tasks, though it can- 
 not be said that he preferred study to play. He 
 was often idle, sometimes perverse; always 
 eager for a frolic, especially when flavoured 
 by prohibition. Yet, withal, he was so hand- 
 some, his ways were so winning, he was so 
 high spirited, and at the same time so gentle,
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 3 
 
 he was so anxious to please, and so ready to 
 oblige, that it was impossible not to like, and 
 difficult not to spoil him. Thus, he generally 
 managed to get his own way, either with 
 leave or without it. Indeed, it was of little 
 use to punish him. Chastisement seemed to 
 do him more harm than good. It confirmed 
 his faults, instead of correcting them. He 
 cared not a rap for flogging, and snapped his 
 fingers at bread and water. Solitary confine- 
 ment appeared to raise his spirits. Shut him 
 up in a dark room, and he only sang the 
 louder. Then, next day, the whole school 
 was kept in idleness and laughter by his 
 capital imitations of cats, dogs, and other 
 animals, in whose various idioms he had im- 
 proved himself during his seclusion. 
 
 Charles Was yet a mere child when his 
 parents died. They left him their blessing, 
 and little more. As this legacy was insuffi- 
 cient to provide him with food and education, 
 application was made on his behalf to Lord 
 Overdale, his father's elder brother, as his 
 only surviving relation. The letter was re- 
 turned unanswered, and, to all appearance, 
 unread. 
 
 b2
 
 4 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 It seemed difficult to account for conduct 
 so unfeeling. True, Lord Overdale and his 
 brother had not spoken for years. Friends 
 they never could be, for their tempers and 
 dispositions were wholly uncongenial — the 
 peer was stern and honourable, James good- 
 natured and unprincipled — yet why they 
 should be enemies, baffled conjecture. Indeed, 
 the honourable James was one of those, who 
 are styled no man's enemy but his own. With 
 a sanguine temper, but an unsound judgment, 
 he was always in high spirits, and low cir- 
 cumstances. " What is the use of my 
 looking after money ?" was his favourite 
 saying. " The wretched pittance of a younger 
 brother is not worth looking after. A man 
 of rank should live like a gentleman, and 
 spend his money like a gentleman." Un- 
 luckily, he spent money which was not his, 
 lived in discredit, and died in the King's 
 Bench. 
 
 Yet, bad as was the father's conduct, it 
 could not excuse Lord Overdale' s cruel neg- 
 lect of the child. This was the more extra- 
 ordinary, for the peer, in all other respects, 
 though an odd, was an upright man. Both
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 5 
 
 his public and private character were unim- 
 peachable. During the short period that he 
 had chosen to shine in the political world, he 
 gained a brilliant reputation for talents, and 
 for integrity. Even his enemies were forced 
 to do justice to the steady rectitude of his 
 principles. Whence came it that in this 
 single instance he showed himself cruel and 
 unjust ? "What could his brother have done 
 to excite such deadly enmity? Many were 
 the surmises on this mvsterious affair, but 
 the truth was never ascertained. 
 
 The orphan would have been entirely neg- 
 lected, but for the kindness of Lady Ramsay, 
 a friend of poor James Stanly's. This lady 
 had promised the latter, upon his death-bed, 
 that she would be a mother to his child. 
 She kept her word ; never was mother kinder. 
 If her training was injudicious, her gene- 
 rosity was unbounded. If she spoilt him at 
 home, she spared no money upon him at 
 school. During the holidays he had dogs 
 and horses ad libitum. At Eton, he had no 
 end of pocket-money ; and when, in accord- 
 ance to a promise made to his father, Lady 
 Eamsav sent him abroad, to finish his edu-
 
 6 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 cation, she provided him with an allowance 
 far superior to that which most people would 
 have thought suitable to a young gentleman 
 under his circumstances. But Lady Ramsay 
 owned to " un grand faible pour les jolis 
 gar^ons," and, as she often told him, she 
 was not afraid of spoiling either his temper 
 or his heart. Her boy was always generous, 
 and ready to give. True, his generosity was 
 at her expense, and his gifts were not always 
 well bestowed ; but, as she observed, and 
 generally in his hearing, intention is every- 
 thing, and too much prudence is disgusting 
 in the young. In short, she had a ready 
 excuse for all his faults. She doted upon 
 "her own boy," and he, in return, was sin- 
 cerely attached to " his old mother." 
 
 In youth, Lady Ramsay had been very 
 handsome, and at five-and-thirty, after ten 
 years' marriage, she was still attractive. Her 
 eyes, especially, were as beautiful as ever. 
 And, indeed, the large hazel orbs did lan- 
 guish and sparkle most bewitchingly. Men 
 called them expressive, women something 
 more. Perhaps both were right. Possibly 
 " to touch the brink of all we hate," may
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 7 
 
 attract the former, and to attract the former 
 does certainly repel the latter. 
 
 Both sexes agreed in blaming her mar- 
 riage. It was, no doubt, an uncongenial 
 one. In society, Sir James Hamsay seemed 
 little better than an idiot. Prom infancy 
 he had been subject to epileptic fits ; these 
 had weakened him, both in mind and body. 
 It was pronounced indelicate — revolting, to 
 marry such a man. The baronet's poor rela- 
 tions, and Lady Ramsay's unmarried female 
 friends, were especially loud in their virtuous 
 indignation. 
 
 That there might be extenuating circum- 
 stances, they scorned to admit. No circum- 
 stances, they stoutly maintained, should have 
 compelled them to such degradation. Hather 
 than submit to it, they would have worked 
 for their bread. It may be doubted whether 
 the alternative was ever offered them. 
 
 At the time Lady Hamsay married, her 
 situation was one of the most distressing, that 
 can be imagined. Mr. Tyrrell, her father, 
 an opulent merchant, had, by some sudden 
 reverse of fortune, been reduced to beggary. 
 He blew out his brains, by way of mending
 
 8 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 matters, and left a widow and three children 
 unprovided for. Had Lady Ramsay not mar- 
 ried, they must all have starved. Was her 
 decision so very blameable ? 
 
 Blamed, however, it was, and wondered 
 at also. How could the offer have been 
 made? The baronet could not write. He 
 could not speak three consecutive words. 
 Was ever proposal couched in less ? It was 
 clear that the lady had made the advances, 
 and that the affair was a shameful take in. 
 
 However dubious the proposal, the mar- 
 riage was a certainty. The female friends 
 stared, and the poor relations stormed. They 
 shook their heads ominously, feared that Miss 
 Tyrrell had been a sad flirt, and hoped that 
 Lady Ramsay might not prove something 
 worse. Lady Ramsay cared little for their 
 fears, or their hopes either. She was now 
 mistress of Sir James's fortune. It was a 
 splendid fortune, and the world smiled upon 
 its fair dispenser ; the fair dispenser smiled 
 in return, and no house was so agreeable as 
 hers — excepting, indeed, to the poor relations 
 and female friends. But they were allowed, 
 at their leisure, to admire the outside of it.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 9 
 
 They comforted themselves by predicting 
 neglect and ill usage to poor Sir James. These 
 charitable prognostications were, however, 
 disappointed. Poor Sir James was perfectly 
 happy ; nothing could exceed his wife's kind- 
 ness and attention. She nursed him in ill- 
 ness, seldom left him, even when in health, 
 and forestalled all his wishes. 
 
 Each summer, Sir James and Lady Ram- 
 say visited some watering-place, in hopes of 
 restoring, or improving his health. They 
 spent one season at Baden-Baden. Lady 
 Bamsay liked the place, and Sir James liked 
 to see his pretty Eanny dance at the Kursal, 
 as he sat in a corner, supported by cushions. 
 
 That the said pretty Fanny may have 
 flirted more than she — in very strict, strait- 
 laced prudence, and under her peculiar cir- 
 cumstances — ought to have done, is possibly 
 true ; but that she deserved the jests and 
 sneers, levelled at her and her invalid hus- 
 band, is certainly false. An Austrian of small 
 waist, and large moustache, chose, one even- 
 ing, to be particularly facetious upon the 
 occasion. He even went so far as to hint, 
 that he himself possessed no small portion of
 
 10 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 the affection, which the lady did not bestow 
 upon her husband. Ill-nature passes current 
 for wit ; few can discriminate between epigram 
 and slander. A large knot of listeners ap- 
 plauded these sallies. But they were brought 
 to an untimely end. A box on the ear, dex- 
 terously applied, felled him to the ground. 
 
 Charles Stanly's hand had dealt the blow. 
 He had come over from Heidelberg, where 
 he was then studying, to see Lady Hamsay. 
 He entered the room just as the insulting con- 
 versation was at its height, and avenged her 
 in the summary manner we have described. 
 
 Austrians were, at that time, generally 
 unpopular, and this particular Austrian es- 
 pecially so. Charles was young, handsome, 
 and the ideal of a student. The tide ran in 
 his favour. Men applauded, women sobbed. 
 The choice was fainting, or hysterics. Lady 
 Ramsay overwhelmed him with thanks ; he 
 gaily offered his arm, and handed her to the 
 carriage. Sir James followed. As soon as 
 he had seen them safely off, Charles returned 
 to the scene of action, in expectation of a 
 challenge from the bully. Nor was he dis- 
 appointed.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 11 
 
 This little affair terminated brilliantly for 
 our hero. The vanquished Austrian had been 
 hitherto considered invincible. The story 
 flew .from mouth to mouth. No story loses 
 from being repeated. Exaggerated reports 
 were circulated, and Charles was foolish 
 enough not to contradict them as flatly as 
 he might. But few young men of nineteen 
 can distinguish note from notoriety. 
 
 When Charles next went to see Lady 
 Eamsay, he looked very pale, and wore his 
 arm in a sling. It might be that she was 
 not as much displeased by the eclat of the 
 adventure as she thought fit to appear; at 
 ail events, she took no pains to conceal her 
 admiration of the scornful smile, that curled 
 his lip, as she reproached him for thus wan- 
 tonly exposing his life, and forthwith she 
 insisted upon having his picture. He con- 
 sented to sit for her, provided she would 
 sing to him all the time. She sung delight- 
 
 fully. 
 
 The student's dress was picturesque and 
 becoming. The open shirt collar, the flowing 
 hair, and especially the black ribbon sup- 
 porting the wounded arm, enhanced his manly
 
 12 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 beauty. The miniature was pronounced very 
 handsome, and very like. Lady Ramsay had 
 it splendidly set, and laughingly declared 
 that she would keep it, in trust, for the fu- 
 ture mistress of his heart. He, with play- 
 ful gallantry, protested that none could ever 
 rival her in his affections. She blushed, 
 frowned, and scolded Charles as an abomi- 
 nable flatterer. But the expression of her 
 lustrous eyes did not testify any very serious 
 displeasure. 
 
 Sir James and Lady Ramsay returned to 
 England soon after this affair; but no lack 
 of fair admirers were left behind. The duel 
 had made a deep impression on their sus- 
 ceptible Saxon hearts, and all the Heidelberg 
 ladies raved about Charles. He studied cre- 
 ditably, but he waltzed divinely. He was 
 liked both by professors and students. He 
 flirted with the daughters of the former, 
 and fought himself into good fellowship with 
 the latter. In short, his light heart, his high 
 sjoirits, and a lavish expenditure of money, 
 made his society universally and deservedly 
 sought. 
 
 Charles was just at the age, when the real,
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 13 
 
 and ideal, struggle for mastery over the 
 mind, and sway it alternately. He was at 
 the age, when the imagination is purest, 
 though the passions are strongest, for feel- 
 ing has not yet matured into reflection, and 
 the touch of fancy has still power to con- 
 vert into poetry, the most ordinary prose. 
 Visions of brightness and beauty haunted 
 him by night, and by day ; recollections and 
 anticipations blended themselves into an ideal, 
 glorious, but transient. One image only as- 
 sumed a tangible form, and recalled the hap- 
 piest days of boyhood. It was that of a lady 
 of extraordinary beauty and endowments, to 
 whom he had secretly addressed many a 
 poetical effusion. But he admired her too 
 deeply to praise her lightly, and the verses 
 she had inspired had always been carefully 
 concealed from her. Years had elapsed since 
 he saw her, and in this interval, divers other 
 fair images had fired his imagination; but 
 hers always returned brighter than all — one 
 thought of her obscured the rest. There was 
 something about this lady which had taken 
 a strong hold of his youthful fancy — some- 
 thing which at once attracted and awed him.
 
 14 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 He had no distinct recollection of her person ; 
 yet he was influenced, though unconsciously, 
 by her opinions. 
 
 She was still the heroine of many a de- 
 licious reverie. These did not, however, in- 
 terfere with his amusements. Charles was 
 foremost at every party of pleasure ; his mad 
 pranks seemed fabulous. He out-studented 
 all the students of his day, not one could vie 
 with him, in wildness. His song was the 
 j oiliest, his laugh the merriest, his valse a 
 deux temps the most irreproachable. With so 
 many various and valuable qualities, it was 
 no wonder, that the men respected, and that 
 the women idolised him. 
 
 One young lady, the fattest, if not the 
 fairest of his admirers, soon began to distin- 
 guish herself by her just appreciation of his 
 merits. He, as in duty bound, rewarded 
 her discernment by dancing with her oftener 
 than with any of her rivals. 
 
 This lady's name was Molly Fischer, and 
 her father was professor of philosophy. He 
 was writing an erudite work to expound a 
 new system, which he had just invented, and 
 which was to overthrow all previous ones.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 15 
 
 It had the merit of being less intelligible and 
 more diffuse than any of its predecessors. 
 His lectures were prodigies of mysticism, and, 
 of course, well attended. 
 
 Charles never missed one of these, nor did 
 Molly either. He generally walked home 
 with her to philosophise, or to flirt, as 
 the case might be. Molly was as fond of 
 mysticism as her father, but with her, in- 
 stead of a philosophic, it took a romantic 
 turn. 
 
 Thus passed one winter, and part of the 
 ensuing summer. The balls had long ceased, 
 and the vacations were about to begin. 
 Charles was soon to leave Heidelberg for 
 ever. He had finished his studies — that is, 
 he had spent the usual number of years in 
 acquiring knowledge, which he was immedi- 
 ately to forget. 
 
 Charles, though delighted to return to 
 England, could not but be sorry to part from 
 Molly. Poor Molly had, of late, become 
 very low-spirited. She would sit for hours 
 at the window, her head resting upon her 
 hand. This window looked upon the street, 
 through which he passed daily, and daily he
 
 16 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 saw her look more and more disconsolate as 
 he walked to, and from college. 
 
 Our hero was, naturally, much moved by 
 this behaviour; therefore, by way of con- 
 solation, he took an early opportunity of 
 telling the fair Molly, that he was soon to 
 leave Heidelberg never to return. 
 
 This dreadful confirmation of her fears 
 was too much for her ; she burst out crying. 
 Charles anxiously inquired the cause of her 
 grief. She replied by asking his opinion of 
 suicide. 
 
 Before he had determined how he should 
 answer so delicate a question, Molly was 
 deep in lamentations and explanations con- 
 cerning the difficulties of the situation in 
 which she was placed. 
 
 Hers was, she said, an extraordinary case. 
 Her father wished her to marry a rich man, 
 whom she hated, while her affections were 
 bestowed upon another object. Her heart 
 was torn between duty and love. Her only 
 hope was suicide. 
 
 And forthwith she plunged into an elo- 
 quent argument in its favour. Charles en- 
 deavoured to combat so dreadful an opinion,
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 17 
 
 but she had the best of it in intricacy, as well 
 as in lengthiness. 
 
 She concluded, as she began, by protesting 
 that she had determined to put an end to 
 herself, rather than lire without the man she 
 loved. His name she would never disclose ; 
 it was a secret which should die with her. 
 
 Charles had, indeed, never inquired it. The 
 question was unnecessary. Without any in- 
 ordinate vanity on his part, he could not help 
 seeing that he was himself the absorbing ob- 
 ject of her young heart's affections. 
 
 The preference of so charming a creature, 
 could not be otherwise than flattering. Molly 
 was not exactly a beauty ; but there was, just 
 then, a scarcity of good looks at Heidelberg. 
 To be sure, her eyes were small, but they ex- 
 pressed enormous admiration of him. Her 
 voice could not be called sweet, but honey 
 itself was nothing to her words. And then 
 her conversation ! her mind ! her soul ! Be- 
 sides, who will deny that mental are superior 
 to personal attractions ! that wit is better 
 than beauty — especially when no beauty is at 
 hand ! 
 
 Time passed by, and the day of his departure 
 
 vol. i. c
 
 18 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 approached. His fellow-students were loath 
 to part with their favourite companion. 
 
 They gave a supper in his honour. It was a 
 joyous one, although given on so melancholy 
 an occasion. The wine circulated freely, and 
 song succeeded song. The party did not break 
 up till a late hour. Charles, flushed and ex- 
 cited, felt no inclination for rest. Therefore, 
 instead of going to bed, he strolled along the 
 banks of the Neckar. 
 
 Presently he heard footsteps behind him, but 
 supposing that some of his companions were 
 following, he walked carelessly forward. Pre- 
 sently, to his horror, a female figure, with 
 dishevelled hair, rushed frantically past him 
 towards the water's edge. Charles flew after 
 it, and arrived just in time to prevent the 
 fatal plunge. 
 
 " Let me die !" said Molly, for it was she. 
 " Let me die ! I have lived and loved !" 
 
 " Thekla !" exclaimed Charles, naturally 
 struck by the aptness of the quotation. 
 " Thekla ! live ! I adore you !" 
 
 The lady replied by throwing herself into 
 his arms. At that critical moment, her father 
 suddenly appeared.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 19 
 
 The venerable sage rebuked Charles more 
 in sorrow than in anger. Although above the 
 petty cares and concerns of this contemptible 
 world, he must, he said, confess to one weak- 
 ness ; he must own himself vulnerable upon 
 one point — his daughter — and the old man's 
 tears besran to flow. 
 
 She was his only child — the support of his 
 declining years; her heart was broken, her 
 happiness was at stake ; he would not reproach 
 Charles, but he would trust to the dictates of 
 that noble heart. 
 
 That noble heart was beating very fast in- 
 deed. There could be only one cause for such 
 emotion. So Charles fell at Molly's feet, 
 declaring that he was ready to make any 
 reparation in his power, if she would but 
 generously forgive him. 
 
 Her generosity on the occasion exceeded his 
 expectations. Not only did she grant his 
 pardon, but she granted her hand along with 
 it ; of her heart, as she said, casting down her 
 eyes, he had long been possessed. 
 
 The expression of Charles's gratitude was 
 stifled by an embrace from the tender father. 
 He kissed him on both ears, called him his 
 
 c2
 
 20 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 dear son-in-law, and walked home with him, 
 pouring forth affectionate epithets all the way. 
 
 But, strange to say, things appeared, next 
 morning, in a somewhat different light, and 
 the divine Thekla was again the fat Molly, 
 with whom Charles had flirted, but never 
 dreamt of marrying. 
 
 He went to see her, however, at the usual 
 hour. She perceived, in a moment, what was 
 passing in his mind, and acted her part ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 She saw that her prize must be secured 
 now, or never. She was too wise to trust to 
 promises of returning ; the departure must be 
 prevented. For that purpose, she burst into 
 tears, and declared that she was determined to 
 die the moment he left Heidelberg. 
 
 Charles did not very well know how to 
 answer, but he talked a great deal about faith, 
 and hope, and unalterable affection. 
 
 The lady evinced no doubt of his sincerity 
 — still she had presentiments, and forebodings, 
 and misgivings. Her rich lover was soon to 
 arrive. Her father would insist upon her 
 marrying him; she doted upon her father; 
 could she refuse his request, and bring down
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 21 
 
 his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave? 
 No ! she would rather — ten times rather — 
 die. 
 
 She gave Charles no time to consider of the 
 slight contradictions in her statement. Why 
 her death was less likely to distress her father 
 than her celibacy, she did not attempt to 
 explain. It is easier to rant than to reason 
 — it is sometimes wiser. 
 
 Accordingly, Molly ranted and raved to an 
 incredible degree. She was mad, she was in 
 despair, she was heart-broken; she had bnt 
 one hope left — the Neckar ; that river still 
 flowed through the valley, and as she 
 seemed to believe, entirely on her account. 
 Again, suicide — that dreadful word, sounded 
 high above sighs, and tears, and sobs. It 
 was a harrowing scene. 
 
 Charles was melted. "What he might have 
 said or done, or to what follies he might have 
 pledged himself, it would be difficult to sur- 
 mise, had not the mild philosopher entered 
 the room. 
 
 This apparition brought Charles to his 
 senses. The old gentleman, instead of being, 
 as usual, mazy and metaphysical, spoke with
 
 22 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 remarkable distinctness, and exceedingly to 
 the point. His meaning was clearly this : 
 Charles must marry his daughter before 
 leaving Heidelberg. 
 
 Moreover, it struck Charles as odd, that 
 this venerable sage should always be at hand, 
 in moments of emergency. Why, if a rich 
 suitor was to be had, the said old gentleman 
 should be so vehement in his preference of him- 
 self, was also difficult to conjecture. But the 
 oddest thing of all was, how he could have be- 
 come so well-informed respecting our hero's 
 position and prospects, as he, in the ardour of 
 conversation, unwittingly proved himself to 
 be. This last fact was not only odd, but sus- 
 picious. 
 
 Not knowing very well what to say, Charles 
 made a low bow, and was about to leave the 
 room, when Molly, having exhausted all her 
 arguments, was reduced to scream. She fell 
 back fainting into her father's arms. Charles 
 paused for a moment, gave one sigh to this 
 interesting victim of his irresistible fascina- 
 tions, and left her to the care of her affection- 
 ate parent. 
 
 All the way home he was haunted by her
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 23 
 
 image, that scream of despair sounded in his 
 ears. In this frame of mind, he sat down and 
 wrote her a long letter. He must, he said, go 
 imme diately to England upon urgent "business 
 — in fact, he had no money, and some debts — 
 but he hoped soon to arrange matters, and to 
 return, and claim her as his own. 
 
 He then wrote a hasty line to Lady Ram- 
 say, announcing his immediate arrival at , 
 Eastrow Castle, her country seat, packed up 
 his clothes with all possible despatch, and set 
 off instantly for England.
 
 24 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Our hero's journey was prosperous. He 
 reached England, and Eastrow, without impe- 
 diment or adventure. 
 
 The first sight of the noble castle among 
 the trees, overwhelmed him with recollections 
 of the past. There had been spent the happy 
 days of childhood. There he had been in- 
 dulged, and loved with more than parental 
 affection. He thought of Lady Ramsay's 
 kindness, and of his abuse of it. He remem- 
 bered, and fancied he still tasted, the bon- 
 bons with which she used to coax him out of 
 his perverse fits, and win him back to his 
 wonted good humour. Every turn in the 
 road told its tale, every tree recorded its anec- 
 dote. Here, he had mounted the unruly 
 pony, there, he had sported with the forbid-
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 25 
 
 den dog. Every step he took recalled, on his 
 part, some act of rashness, and on Lady Ham- 
 say's, some trait of kindness. 
 
 How she loved to praise ! how she shrank 
 from blaming him ! And when his misde- 
 meanours could no longer be concealed, how 
 ingeniously she excused them ! How skil- 
 fully she knew how to convert his faults into 
 virtues ! His disobedience was independence 
 of spirit, his relish for forbidden fruit, ambi- 
 tion and love of enterprise ! How eloquent 
 she was against tame submission, and mean- 
 ness of soul. Of these failings she knew 
 that none could accuse her favourite. How 
 she extolled bold spirit and firmness of will, 
 qualities which she ascribed to him. When 
 Charles recollected her ingenious arguments 
 in his favour, he longed to throw his arms 
 about her neck, and give her — a good hug — 
 as he was wont to do in old times, whenever 
 he had been unwarrantably rebellious, and 
 she, injudiciously kind. 
 
 For he could not but feel that he had much 
 need of her indulgences ; kind as she was, his 
 heart misgave him when he thought of the 
 confession which he had to make. During
 
 26 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 the journey, his spirits had been constantly 
 on the decline, and now his courage well-nigh 
 failed him altogether. How should he ever 
 find words to tell Lady Ramsay of his affair 
 with Molly ? How should he introduce the 
 subject to her ? In the letter announcing his 
 arrival, he had thrown out sundry mysterious 
 hints relative to a singular adventure, in 
 which he had become, as he expressed him- 
 self, inextricably involved. He had descanted 
 loftily and vaguely about the dictates of fate, 
 and talked much of unalterable attachment ; 
 but, truth to tell, his attachment had already 
 undergone considerable alteration. He sorely 
 repented him of the tone he had assumed in 
 his last letter to Lady Ramsay, and he had 
 little inclination to keep up the character he 
 had given himself. Every mile which separated 
 him from Heidelberg, diminished his illusion 
 with regard to Molly ; in plain English, he was 
 heartily ashamed of the whole business. 
 
 The carriage stopped at the lodge, and a 
 well-known old face appeared at the gate. 
 The good woman looked exactly the same as 
 when he had last seen her. There was the 
 same contented smile, the same low curtsey,
 
 CHAELES STAXLY. 27 
 
 the same snow-white cap, tlie same smooth, 
 clean apron. Her broad, north country 
 accent was familiar music to his ears ; but 
 the strain which was once gay now appeared 
 sacL In fact, Charles's spirits had, by this 
 time, sunk very low indeed. The recollection 
 of Eastrow and its comforts, made him 
 shudder at the thoughts of Heidelberg, and 
 of his promise to return there. Kor did 
 Molly's image, large as life in the foreground, 
 enhance the beauty of the picture. He was 
 provoked with himself for having been such a 
 fool, and still more provoked with her for 
 having made him one. He held out his hand 
 to the old woman, who stood smiling and 
 curtseying, and smoothing down her apron ; 
 but he had no voice to speak to her; and 
 when she greeted him, as of yore, by the 
 appellation of " bonnie Master Charlie " — 
 though he could not help smiling a little — 
 he could have cried with vexation and an- 
 noyance. 
 
 Charles got out of the carriage, and pro- 
 ceeded on foot towards the house, that he 
 might gradually become accustomed to the 
 strange familiarity of the well-known objects
 
 28 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 which met him at every turn. He thought of 
 all his old friends, wondered if he should find 
 them altered, and wondered whether they 
 would think him so. "Who were likely to he 
 staying at the castle? It was some time 
 since he had heard of the proceedings there, 
 for he had been of late so much occupied with 
 Molly, that his correspondence with Lady 
 Ramsay had, in consequence, considerably 
 flagged. 
 
 While he was speculating upon these and 
 other things, he heard a light step behind 
 him, and he felt a soft, round arm draw itself 
 within his. 
 
 " My own boy 1" said the sweetest voice 
 imaginable. 
 
 " Dear Lady Ramsay — is it you ?" was his 
 exclamation. 
 
 " My dear boy ! I can hardly believe that 
 I have really got you again I" She went on, 
 in broken sentences : " How anxiously I 
 have expected you ! How eagerly I have 
 watched for you ! But you are come at last, 
 and all is well I" 
 
 There was a moment's pause — then she 
 proceeded with increasing emotion : " What
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 29 
 
 an extraordinary change in so short a time ! 
 How manly you look ! and how — handsome," 
 she whispered, as she smiled softly. " I 
 should hardly have known you — and yet, 
 after all, it is the same dear old face still!" 
 She gazed at him with more than a mother's 
 pride and fondness, as she said these last 
 words. 
 
 To be looked at by eyes handsome and 
 approving, cannot be supposed to be dis- 
 pleasing to any young man. By the time 
 they had reached the lawn, Charles felt his 
 spirits considerably improved. 
 
 "Oh, Lady Ramsay!" he exclaimed, look- 
 ing up at the stately pile of buildings in front 
 of them. u How happy I am to find myself 
 here once again !" 
 
 " And I am no less happy to have you with 
 me," she replied, kindly. "Though I can 
 hardly believe the tall man I now see is, in 
 fact, the naughty boy who used to terrify me 
 with his mad pranks. Do you remember," 
 she continued, turning towards the sea, which 
 fronted the castle at the distance of about 
 half a mile — "do you remember the day 
 when you insisted upon going out in a boat,
 
 30 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 when the waves were mountains high; and 
 afterwards, though you had been dread- 
 fully sick, declared that you had never in 
 your life spent so delightful a day ? And do 
 you remember being lost in the woods, and 
 being found at three in the morning up to the 
 chin in mud, at the bottom of one of the 
 ravines? Oh, what a sad, wild boy you 
 were ! And as wild as ever still, I've a 
 notion," she added, smiling archly. " I long 
 for the last episode." 
 
 " At all events, I promise you that I shall 
 never again be found up to the chin in mud 
 at three in the morning," Charles said, 
 forcing a laugh. 
 
 " Oh, you evade my question, do you, young 
 gentleman. But we will bring you to your 
 confessions in due course of time." 
 
 "Time enough for that. Meanwhile, let 
 me compliment you upon your good looks. 
 Time seems to have gone the wrong way with 
 you. Really, Lady Bamsay, you look much 
 younger than when I saw you a year ago, 
 and infinitely handsomer." 
 
 " Still at your old tricks, I see ! But I'm 
 proof against flattery now — I am grown quite
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 31 
 
 steady, and old, and serious ;" and she laughed 
 merrily. 
 
 u I protest against all three," said Charles. 
 " I douht both your seriousness and your 
 steadiness, and as for your being old " 
 
 " Oh, but I choose to be old," she replied, 
 with meek gravity. " I am determined to 
 consider myself an old woman, in order de- 
 corously, to preach and praise to my heart's 
 content. As an old woman, I may, sans con- 
 sequence, admire your talents and your good 
 looks, and I may be as proud of you as I 
 please, without endangering your modesty." 
 
 " And I choose to consider you a young 
 woman, which enhances your compliments, 
 and gratifies my vanity. And I defy you to 
 prevent me thinking what I choose — you can- 
 not tyrannise over my thoughts — in one sense 
 of the word, at least — though no lady, young 
 or old, is more likely to do so, in another." 
 He bowed with playful gallantry. 
 
 Lady Ramsay's colour rose. " Time was," 
 she said, very softly, " when I liked compli- 
 ments as well as most people — and got as 
 many, perhaps — but all that is over now." 
 Then bursting into the old merry strain, she
 
 32 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 went on. "So yon are as bad as ever, yon 
 wicked boy, and yon think to come over me 
 by coaxing, do yon? bnt yon'll soon find 
 yonr mistake — yon'll soon find that I'm 
 grown wise, which is synonymous for cross, 
 and that I'm not to be hnmbngged now. Make 
 np yonr mind to be kept in order, my fine 
 yonng hero — ah, in terrible trim order." And 
 she held np her finger in a menacing attitude, 
 and looked at him with the most fascinating 
 frown imaginable. 
 
 He bowed in meek humility, and placed 
 one knee theatrically upon the ground. Lady 
 Pv^amsay laughed, blushed, and lightly touched 
 with her lips his high and handsome fore- 
 head. 
 
 " "Well, I accept your fealty, so let us be 
 friends for the present. To-morrow I expect 
 I shall have to read yon a very serious lec- 
 ture, though upon what text, I am as yet in 
 blissful ignorance." 
 
 Lady Ramsay now took Charles's arm, and 
 they walked up and down the lawn, talking 
 and laughing. She related many anecdotes 
 of persons whom he had formerly known, 
 and which, told as she knew how to tell them, 
 were exceedingly diverting. What Charles
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 33 
 
 had said about her looks was strictly true; 
 he was really surprised at her beauty and 
 juvenile appearance. Having regarded her 
 formerly in the light of a parent, he had not 
 thought about her personal attractions; but 
 now, the case was different, and her evident 
 admiration of his good looks did not diminish 
 his favourable opinion of hers. 
 
 In the middle of one of her most pointed 
 anecdotes, she suddenly exclaimed, glancing 
 at the clock in the turret, " Good Heavens ! 
 how late it is. I must leave you now." 
 
 " jSTo, no," said Charles, in his old manner, 
 half playful, half wilful, "you must not go 
 yet. Indeed, you shall not go. I cannot 
 spare you." 
 
 " Nonsense, Charles !" she replied, pulling 
 away the hand by which he sought to detain 
 her. " I was right when I said you were as 
 wild as ever. Behave yourself better, or I 
 shall be obliged to put into execution some 
 of my terrible threats." And she tried to 
 look very grave indeed. But it would not do ; 
 she burst out laughing. " Seriously," she 
 said, " I must go to Sir James. He expects 
 me at this hour. Poor Sir James ! You will 
 
 VOL. I. d
 
 34 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 see a sad change in him, Charles. He has 
 been very unwell of late." 
 
 She looked sorrowful as she spoke these 
 last words, hut the shade soon passed away, 
 and she resumed gaily : " Oh, that is fortu- 
 nate ! Here conies my brother, just in time 
 to take my place. I'm so glad he is going 
 to allow himself a little air, poor fellow ! He 
 does pore so intently over those nasty, fusty 
 law books. Come, Prank ! Here is a gentle- 
 man you may perhaps remember. Should 
 you have known him again ? He is half a 
 head taller than when you last saw him." 
 
 And away she tripped, sportively kissing 
 her hand to her brother as she passed by him. 
 Charles watched her spring lightly up the 
 steps into the house. In spite of her six-and- 
 thirty years, and a little, a very little, too 
 much embonpoint, her figure might still be 
 called beautiful. At twenty, her step could 
 not have been more elastic, her voice clearer ; 
 and her laugh was mirthful and silvery as a 
 child's. 
 
 The brother and sister were alike, both 
 in person and mind. Like Lady Hamsay, 
 Prank Tyrrell was cheerful and good tern-
 
 CHARLES STAXLY. 35 
 
 pered. He had more talent than she, but 
 less tact. Both "viewed things on their sunny 
 side, but she overlooked the shadow, while 
 he saw through and beyond it. Her percep- 
 tions were quick, his intelligence was clear, 
 and what, in her, was simple good-nature, 
 was, in him, active, self-denying benevolence. 
 
 At an early age, the noble qualities of his 
 mind had been called into action. Those 
 disastrous circumstances, before alluded to 
 as having occurred in his family, threw him 
 upon his own resources. Frank's vocation 
 was for law. At first he had to struggle 
 against innumerable difficulties ; but when 
 Lady Eamsav married, she was able to assist 
 him. She spared neither money nor interest 
 on his behalf. Her generosity was well re- 
 quited; he studied hard, and at the end of 
 ten years he had worked Ms wav well, and 
 acquired a respectable practice. 
 
 There was a strong family likeness between 
 the brother and sister. But if Frank was the 
 superior in mind, in personal appearance, the 
 advantage was all on Lady Ramsay's side. 
 In fact, she was very handsome, and he was 
 not. Her eyes, large and dark, were at once 
 
 d 2
 
 36 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 sparkling and soft; his were smaller, and 
 light in colour, but the kindliness of their 
 expression atoned for other deficiencies. Both 
 liked society ; both had a keen appreciation 
 of the ludicrous ; but her manners were 
 suave and caressing, his, simply cordial and 
 honest. 
 
 It was a pleasure to behold Prank's happy 
 smile, as he welcomed his young friend. 
 Charles had always been fond of him ; it was 
 impossible to live with Prank and not to love 
 him. Still, there was a certain awe mingled 
 with Charles's affection — he felt Prank's 
 superiority somewhat painfully. He was 
 not as much at ease with him, as with his 
 sister. 
 
 This feeling, however, seemed in a great 
 measure to have worn off, to judge, at least, 
 by the confidential way in which the pair 
 talked over old times. Charles plied Prank 
 with questions respecting Eastrow, and every- 
 thing in, near, or belonging to it. Before 
 half of these were answered, the dressing-bell 
 rang, and they went in to prepare for dinner. 
 
 When Charles had completed his toilette, 
 he descended to the dining-room. There he 
 found Prank, with his mother and sister.
 
 CHARLES STAXLY. 37 
 
 Mrs. Tyrrell, the mother, had been a beauty, 
 and could not forget it. Her monomania was 
 a horror of anything vulvar. Herself she 
 considered the perfection of all that was re- 
 fined and lady-like. In illustration of this 
 idea, she sat, all day long, upon a sofa, with 
 carpet -work in her lap, speaking little, and 
 thinking less. 
 
 Arethusa, her unmarried daughter, was 
 decidedly a fine girl. Nor was she at all un- 
 conscious of the fact. Her special pride lay 
 in her bust and her long, fair ringlets, and 
 these were certainly her best points. A series 
 of successiye, though not successful attach- 
 ments, had occupied her time. It had indeed 
 been fully employed. From fifteen upwards 
 she had always at least one flirtation on hand. 
 Fortunately for her peace of mind, she 
 changed her loyers as easily as the fashion of 
 her dress, and always managed to be on with 
 a new loye before she was quite off with the 
 old one. 
 
 Charles had neyer particularly cared either 
 for Mrs. Tyrrell or for Arethusa ; still, after 
 so long an absence, he was glad to meet such 
 old friends again, and he advanced towards 
 the former with a cordial greeting.
 
 38 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Mrs. Tyrrell lield out two fingers to him, 
 and smiling languidly, said that she was 
 happy to have the pleasure of seeing him. 
 She then smoothed the braids of her hair with 
 the palm of her hand, and having arranged 
 her sleeves in graceful folds, sank back upon 
 the sofa, as if overpowered by so great an 
 exertion. 
 
 Arethusa protested that she was not only 
 delighted, but overjoyed ; and declared that 
 to encounter so unexpectedly so old an ac- 
 quaintance was dreadfully exciting. 
 
 While Charles was considering what answer 
 he should make to so neat and appropriate a 
 speech, he was startled by hearing a loud crash 
 behind him. Turning round to ascertain its 
 cause, he perceived a fire-screen upon the 
 ground, and a young lady lamenting over the 
 mischief she had done. 
 
 "Dear!" she exclaimed, very nervously, 
 " how awkward I am ! I'm so sorry. — Thank 
 you," she added, addressing Charles, who had 
 assisted her in repairing the disaster. 
 
 Arethusa introduced this young lady as her 
 dearest friend, Miss Eoster — " sweet Aurora 
 Poster." The romantic name of Aurora had
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 39 
 
 something in it very absurd when applied to 
 the little, squat, ugly girl who stood hesitating 
 and flushing, evidently quite overpowered by 
 the compliment. 
 
 At last, having stumbled over a footstool, 
 and torn three tucks out of her dress, she 
 acquired sufficient courage to say, in a queer, 
 jerking sort of manner, that " Poor Sir James 
 was so ill, and poor Lady Ramsay so dis- 
 tressed! — in fact," lowering her voice to a 
 confidential tone, "the truth is, that he is 
 going to have a fit — at least, I'm afraid of it ; 
 and Lady Ramsay says it would be a great 
 comfort your going to dinner, and not waiting 
 for her." 
 
 " I wonder how Sir James can reconcile it 
 to himself always to have fits just at dinner- 
 time," said ]\Irs. Tyrrell ; " and what can 
 make Panny keep us waiting in this way I 
 cannot think." 
 
 "He is ill, Mrs. Tyrrell, and she can't 
 leave him," said Aurora, impressively. 
 
 " That does not make it the less ill-bred to 
 keep people waiting." 
 
 " Come, mother, let us go to dinner," said 
 Prank.
 
 40 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 " As you please, Prank," replied Mrs. Tyr- 
 rell, rising with more alacrity than, from the 
 languid manner in which she had been buried 
 among the sofa cushions, she seemed capable 
 of exhibiting ; " but not on my account. I 
 don't care whether I dine or not. I only 
 wish eating could altogether be dispensed 
 with." 
 
 Just as Prank and his mother were about 
 to leave the room, Lady Ramsay entered it, 
 followed by Sir James. "I am very sorry 
 that we have kept you waiting," began 
 Lady Ramsay, in her sweetest voice. " Sir 
 James was a little faint, but he is all right 
 again now. Take my mother in to dinner, 
 dear Sir James," she proceeded, addressing 
 the latter, who stood staring about him, un- 
 certain what to say or do, " and you, Charles, 
 shall have the honour of taking me," she 
 added, smiling. 
 
 Charles was more than ever surprised at 
 Lady Ramsay's appearance. She certainly 
 looked very handsome in her well-chosen 
 demi-toilette. The freshness of her mind 
 threw a youthful colouring over her person.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 41 
 
 It was difficult to believe her as old as she 
 reallv was. But the charm of her manner 
 astonished Charles even more than her 
 personal attractions. There was a striking 
 contrast between the lustrous fire of her eves 
 and the extreme softness of her voice, which 
 gave her a piquancy singularly fascinating. 
 If she laughed a little too often, her laugh 
 was so musical that the most fastidious critic 
 could not have wished her more serious. Her 
 conversation, it is true, never rose above the 
 ordinary chit-chat of the day : her narratives 
 were often trifling, but her mode of narrating 
 was always exquisite. Her anecdotes, though 
 pointed and clever, were never ill-natured, 
 and stopped just short of indecorum. She 
 had a slight Irish accent, and a vast fund of 
 Irish humour. Xone knew better than she 
 when to talk, and when to listen ; and, above 
 all, she knew that the grand art of pleasing is 
 to be or seem pleased. 
 
 And Charles was really pleased. It was 
 long since he had passed so agreeable an hour 
 as that during which he sat by Lady Eamsay 
 at dinner. He thought of the difference be-
 
 42 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 tween her conversation and Molly's ; and his 
 illusion, with regard to the latter, seemed to 
 him more unaccountable than ever. 
 
 Sir James Ramsay sat at the bottom of the 
 table, opposite to his wife, apparently quite 
 unconscious of what was going on around 
 him. Charles was shocked at the change one 
 year had wrought in his appearance. But his 
 tall gaunt figure still preserved that inde- 
 scribable something, which characterises a 
 gentleman. During the first part of the 
 dinner he never uttered a syllable. How- 
 ever, when revived by a glass or two of 
 wine, his heavy eye now and then wandered 
 across the table, and a gleam of intelligence 
 lit up his features as he looked at Lady Earn- 
 say. There was something touching in the 
 half-childish, half-tender, " Eh, Fanny ! dear 
 Fanny ! pretty Fanny !" with which he apos- 
 trophised her, and which she never failed to 
 acknowledge with a kind look or an affec- 
 tionate smile. 
 
 When, after dinner, Charles entered the 
 drawing-room, his first words were a petition 
 for Lady Ramsay to sing. Up jumped Miss 
 Foster from the piano, upon which she had
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 43 
 
 been strumming some old-fashioned tunes, 
 and bounced towards the harp. She was so 
 eager in her endeavours to get the instrument 
 ready, that she cracked two strings at first 
 starting, and then upset the desk with all the 
 music upon it. These little disasters, however, 
 being satisfactorily remedied, Lady Hainsay 
 took her seat at the instrument. 
 
 Lady Ramsay looked to great advantage at 
 the harp. Her attitude was graceful, and 
 her rounded arms of remarkable beauty. Her 
 performance was exquisite. Not that it could 
 be called first-rate, but it possessed a charm 
 which in first-rate performances is often de- 
 ficient. Under her fingers the harp was not 
 a mere instrument of wood and wire — it was 
 a voice of pathos and poetry. The simple 
 melody went straight to Charles's heart. He 
 had heard the old tune a hirndred times be- 
 fore, but never felt it till now. 
 
 Lady Ramsay saw the effect she was pro- 
 ducing upon him, and was delighted to per- 
 ceive it. The excitable Irish blood mantled 
 m her cheeks, and every word she sang in- 
 creased in expression. 
 
 When she had finished her sons?, little Miss
 
 44 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Poster jumped up from the exciting occupa- 
 tion afforded by tangled silk and balls of 
 worsted, which tumbled out of her lap as she 
 rose, and rolled about the room in every 
 imaginable direction. Having chased and 
 captured most of them, she bounced close up 
 to Charles, and whispered hoarsely : 
 
 " Isn't it nice, her singing ? Don't you like 
 it ?" 
 
 "Like it?" replied Charles. "No, I do 
 not like it, but I'm entranced by it." 
 
 " Dear ! I'm so glad." And the good-hu- 
 moured little grey eyes sparkled with glee. 
 " But I'm sure you sing yourself. Now, 
 don't you ?" 
 
 Charles looked awkward. This was a sore 
 subject. He had been always very ambitious 
 of excellence in singing, but all Lady Ram- 
 say's teaching had proved vain. He was 
 really fond of music, and his ear was very 
 fastidious as regarded the performances of 
 others, but towards his own, it was painfully 
 indulgent. He glanced towards Lady Ram- 
 say, but not receiving any encouragement 
 from her, he made an evasive answer to 
 Aurora, muttering something about being
 
 CHAKLES STANLY. 45 
 
 fatigued with his journey, and said that he 
 would sing another evening. 
 
 Charles had no occasion to tell Lady Earn- 
 say how much he was enchanted with her 
 performance. He saw in her eyes that she 
 plainly read his thoughts. 
 
 In these beautiful eyes was an expression 
 very peculiar, and all her own. It produced 
 upon Charles a strange, inexplicable sensa- 
 tion. He turned away his head. There was 
 something in that dark, lustrous gaze which 
 he dreaded to meet. 
 
 Sir James had been dozing in an arm-chair 
 the whole evening. It was with difficulty 
 that Ladv Eamsav succeeded in rousing him. 
 At last, however, she made him understand 
 that it was late, and time to go to bed. She 
 assisted him to rise, followed hini up-stairs, 
 and the party separated for the night.
 
 46 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 CHAPTER, III. 
 
 Chakles went to bed in good spirits, but 
 he rose, next morning, somewhat crestfallen. 
 His impending conversation with Lady Ram- 
 say suggested no pleasing ideas. He had a 
 great dread of ridicule; he knew that she 
 would laugh at him ; and what was worse, he 
 felt that he deserved it. There was, however, 
 no escape, so he determined to put a good 
 face upon the business, went down to break- 
 fast with well- assumed cheerfulness, and 
 talked away very volubly, if not very cohe- 
 rently. 
 
 When the meal was over, Charles made a 
 virtue of necessity, and asked Lady Ramsay 
 if he might be admitted into her boudoir. 
 She nodded acquiescence, with a meaning 
 smile, and a provoking look of drollery in 
 her eye.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 47 
 
 " Come along," she said ; " I am all impa- 
 tience for the grand disclosure." 
 
 " AVhat a pretty room your boudoir is !" 
 observed Charles, by way of opening the con- 
 versation. 
 
 " Thank you for the information. It was, 
 no doubt, on purpose to enlighten me on this 
 point that you sought this confidential tete-a- 
 tete!" 
 
 "No, no," he replied, with impatience. 
 " But the fact is, that what I have to tell is 
 not agreeable, and I really don't well know 
 how to begin." 
 
 " Supposing I were first to relate a little 
 anecdote I learnt this very morning, about a 
 young gentleman of my acquaintance who 
 got into an amorous adventure with a young 
 lady, and then did not know how to get out 
 of it again." 
 
 She burst out laughing at the strange per- 
 plexity exhibited in Charles's countenance. 
 
 " Pray, Lady Ramsay, be serious. It is 
 anything but a laughing matter, I assure 
 you." He reddened to the temples as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " How is it possible to be serious, with that
 
 48 CHAItLES STANLY. 
 
 very, very comical face of yours before me ? 
 But, to please you, I will try." And drawing 
 down her features to a solemn length, she 
 said, with well-feigned surprise, " Is it pos- 
 sible that you are acquainted with the affair 
 I allude to ? It was confided to me as a pro- 
 found secret l" 
 
 " Oh, Lady Ramsay, this is unkind ! If 
 you have heard the story, spare me the mor- 
 tification of repeating it." 
 
 " Surely, Charles, you are not so innocent 
 as to take the business seriously ?" 
 
 " Indeed it is serious — very serious 1" 
 
 " Oh, if you are seriously in love, and 
 serious in your intentions, ' c'est autre 
 chose !' " 
 
 " Lady Ramsay, do you know this story, or 
 do you not ?" 
 
 " I will tell you what I know," she replied, 
 leaving off her tone of banter. "The day 
 after I got your letter, announcing your 
 arrival here, I received another from a gen- 
 tleman signing himself Hans Fischer." 
 
 " Oh, the scoundrel !" interrupted Charles. 
 
 " Is he, indeed ? Well, I thought as much. 
 But wait till you have heard all. I could
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 49 
 
 make nothing of the letter; so hyperbolical 
 and so poetical was its style, that it was quite 
 unintelligible to my poor capacity. Accord- 
 ingly, I wrote forthwith to some people I 
 know at Heidelberg, and asked them for the 
 solution of the riddle. This morning's post 
 brought the answer, and a very circumstantial 
 one, too. The whole thing is a great bore, 
 and if you had remained longer at Heidel- 
 berg, you might have got into an unpleasant 
 scrape ; but as it is, I confess I do not quite 
 understand your terrible perplexity. Do what 
 he will, the old brute cannot make you marry 
 his daughter by force." 
 
 " But I am sorry for the poor girl," said 
 Charles, glancing at his own image in the 
 mirror. 
 
 " Do you think she will die of love, poor 
 thing ? You are very fascinating, of course ; 
 still, I do not quite fear such a catastrophe." 
 
 " Nonsense !" he exclaimed, impatiently ; 
 " you know I don't mean that, but " 
 
 "My belief is, that you do not exactly 
 know what you mean. Depend upon it, 
 Charles, the young lady is not one bit better 
 than her dear papa. My friend wrote me all 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 about her. The fair Molly is a designing 
 girl, beyond la premiere jeunesse, and in 
 consequence desperately afraid of being an 
 old maid, so she played a bold stroke to se- 
 cure an advantageous marriage." 
 
 u Your information is incorrect, there. On 
 the contrary, her father has vainly endea- 
 voured to make her marry a rich man, whom 
 she does not love. No, her motives, at least, 
 are pure and disinterested." 
 
 • My correspondents enlightened me on 
 that point also. It appears that the rich 
 lover backed out just before you arrived at 
 Heidelberg." 
 
 " He was daily expected there when I left 
 it," said Charles, in a tone of pique. 
 
 " Is it upon the young lady's statement 
 that you place such implicit faith?" Lady 
 Ramsay smiled, with an air of provoking in- 
 nocence. 
 
 " Pweally, Lady Ramsay, this is a point 
 upon which you must allow me to judge for 
 myself. You do not know the girl. I do, 
 and I can answer for her being utterly un- 
 sophisticated, and anything but designing." 
 
 " "Well, we will not dispute. I dare say you
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 51 
 
 are as clear-sighted as young gentlemen in 
 love usually are. But if she is such a paragon, 
 why, in Cupid's name, did you leave Heidel- 
 berg ?" 
 
 " Because I disliked the father, and saw 
 through his conduct. So, you see, I am not 
 quite so blind as you imagine. In short, to 
 tell you the truth, I got further entangled in 
 the business than I intended, and thought it 
 wisest to cut the matter short at once." 
 
 u Bravely done. But why did you write 
 that tender epistle at parting, my wise young 
 gentleman?" 
 
 Charles started with surprise. He had 
 almost forgotten the letter. It had been 
 written on the spur of the moment, and while 
 his feelings were in a state of great excite- 
 ment, and he did not now recollect what 
 expressions he had used, or how much he 
 might have committed himself by them. 
 
 " My dear Lady Bamsay, how did you 
 hear? Who could have told you?" he ex- 
 claimed, in tones of alarm. 
 
 " Oh, vou are amazed to find me au courant 
 de vos affaires, are you ? The fair Molly may 
 be very charming, but she is not very discreet. 
 
 e 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 CHAKLES STANLY. 
 
 She showed the letter to her father, and he, 
 as I am informed, intends to use it as an 
 instrument against you. But never fear ; 
 Heidelberg is, fortunately, a long way off, and 
 if you will let me manage the business for 
 you, I will, somehow or other, get you out of 
 the scrape. The fact of the girl's giving up 
 the letter, is sufficient to silence all your con- 
 scientious scruples on her account. But, my 
 dear Charles, the next time you fall in love, 
 say as many pretty and tender things as you 
 please ; but never write them. Spoken words 
 go for nothing, but black and white is quite 
 another matter. However," she added, cheer- 
 fully, " k quelque chose malheur est bon ; you 
 will know better in future. Meanwhile, I 
 think I can manage this business for you, and 
 I hope that I shall be able to make both 
 worthies answering to the aristocratic name 
 of Eischer, as anxious to be off with you, as 
 you are to get rid of them. You shake your 
 head incredulously. We shall see who is 
 right ! But you must give me carte blanche, 
 and let me fabricate a few fables respecting 
 your uncle's having disinherited you, &c, &c." 
 " And I believe that you will only tell the
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 53 
 
 truth. Lord Overdale has never answered my 
 two last letters." 
 
 " I never heard that he was celehrated for 
 punctuality as a correspondent." 
 
 " Xo, of course not. But he used to write 
 to me once a year, in Iris statelv, sarcastic 
 style, and now it is nearly two since I have 
 seen a line of his handwriting." 
 
 " Indeed ! I hope he will not hear any- 
 thing about this delectable business. It must 
 be brought to a conclusion as soon as possible. 
 Let me manage it for you." 
 
 Lady Ranisay was fond of managing. Like 
 most schemers, she preferred the tortuous to 
 the straight path, even when the latter was 
 shortest and easiest. The more intricate the 
 by-ways, the more pleasure she took in thread- 
 ing their mazes. Xo difficulties could exhaust 
 her energy, or weary her patience ; and whether 
 the enterprise was trifling or important, she 
 was equally persevering, and in general equally 
 successful. 
 
 It may be supposed that, in this instance, 
 when the interest of her dear boy was at 
 stake, she undertook her task with more than 
 ordinary eagerness. She wrote to all sorts of
 
 54 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 people and places, on the business she had at 
 heart. Indeed, the number of letters de- 
 spatched by her, in the course of that week, 
 was absolutely marvellous. 
 
 Most agreeable was the mode of life at 
 Eastrow. Lady Ramsay seemed born to be 
 mistress of a country house. This had once 
 been the perfection of social enjoyment. When 
 she first married, Sir James was able to ap- 
 pear in society, if not to take much part in 
 it. Eastrow Castle was then constantly full 
 of visitors. Lady Eamsay possessed the art 
 of bringing suitable people together, and of 
 entertaining them suitably to their tastes. 
 Above all, she did not entertain them too 
 much. She knew well, that pas trop amuser, 
 holds good in society, as pas trop gouverner 
 does, in politics. 
 
 Of late, poor Sir James's health had become 
 much more precarious. Lady Ramsay, there- 
 fore, was obliged to limit the number of her 
 guests. Indeed, for the last few months, Miss 
 Eoster, the rector's daughter, was the only 
 stranger admitted. 
 
 Mrs. and Miss Tyrrell were settled at 
 Eastrow for the summer. Erank went and
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 55 
 
 came according to pleasure, or rather, accord- 
 ing to business. He had a small house in 
 London, which was also the home of his 
 mother and Arethusa. 
 
 Charles's arrival was a great boon to the 
 quiet party now assembled at Eastrow. Ex- 
 cepting with Miss Tyrrell, he was a general 
 favourite. An old feud existed between these 
 two. As a child, Charles disliked Arethusa 
 for her grand airs and long words, and she 
 hated the spoilt boy, who irritated her nerves, 
 and rumpled her dresses. Now, indeed, the 
 case was different. Charles was no longer a 
 spoilt boy, but a pleasant, good-looking young 
 man. On the strength of these merits, the 
 fair lady tried to get up a flirtation with him. 
 But, however remarkable her ingenuity in 
 construing to her advantage any demonstra- 
 tion from the other sex, she could not but 
 perceive that her advances were received 
 coldly; and at the end of a week she was 
 obliged to discover that Charles was not nearly 
 so handsome as she had at first imagined him 
 to be. 
 
 But Lady Bamsay's partiality to Charles 
 had undergone no change. In her sight he
 
 56 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 was the dear, wild boy still. She spoilt him 
 now, as she had spoilt him formerly. She 
 humoured his whims, she guessed his wishes, 
 even before they were known to himself. She 
 would set for hours listening to his plans, 
 practicable, or otherwise. It was presently 
 settled between them, that Charles was soon 
 to become a very celebrated character indeed. 
 Though by what means this end was to be 
 accomplished, it would have puzzled either of 
 them to explain. 
 
 No answer had been returned from Ger- 
 many to Lady Ramsay's letters. Charles 
 was much annoyed at this prolonged uncer- 
 tainty. Lady Ramsay, however, was, as usual, 
 sanguine. She w^as sure everything would 
 turn out well. Her confidence imparted itself 
 to Charles; at least, it prevented him from 
 giving way to any great dejection. 
 
 But what was Lady Ramsay's surprise 
 when, instead of a reply from Hans Fischer, she, 
 one morning, received a large packet of letters 
 from Lord Overdale. She had written to the 
 latter, to announce his nephew's arrival in 
 England, and the following was the answer 
 he returned :
 
 charles stanly. 57 
 
 " Dear Lady Ramsay, — 
 
 " As you are so kind as to express an 
 interest in my nephew's welfare, you will 
 doubtless be gratified by the perusal of the 
 enclosed documents. They afford curious 
 specimens of epistolary style. It has been 
 well said, that le style c'est l'homme. The 
 letters I now send, may therefore be instruc- 
 tive, as illustrating the characters of then 
 respective writers. That the world is com- 
 posed of two grand classes, I have been long 
 aware, nor did I require the accompanying 
 testimonials to convince me to which of these, 
 my nephew belongs. 
 
 " It remains for me to apprise you of a fact, 
 of which it appears, that both he and you, 
 have hitherto remained ignorant. My ne- 
 phew has nothing to expect from me, either 
 during my life, or after my death. He is not 
 my heir. His strange presumption, in con- 
 sidering himself such, is highly unbecoming. 
 He had better, therefore, exert the superior 
 talents with which you so generously endow 
 him. Of course, these will be all-sufficient to 
 render him hereafter as prosperous, as he has 
 hitherto shown himself prudent. With such
 
 58 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 abilities, the poor assistance I should be able, 
 if I were willing, to afford him, would doubt- 
 less be superfluous. 
 
 " I cannot conclude, without assuring you 
 of my sincere admiration and esteem. 
 
 " OVEKDALE." 
 
 In the envelope containing this character- 
 istic epistle, were two other letters. One 
 from Hans Fischer, to Lord Overdale, the 
 other from Charles Stanly, to the fair Molly, 
 his daughter. 
 
 The first began with sentiment, and ended 
 with threats. Molly's desertion was dwelt 
 upon with that pathos, which so unheard-of a 
 circumstance naturally demanded. Then fol- 
 lowed much good logic about broken vows, 
 and broken hearts ; and the whole wound up 
 with legal hints and legal phrases, in unin- 
 telligible German, and still more unintel- 
 ligible English. 
 
 Charles's letter was annexed; by way of 
 proving the statements contained in the 
 former epistle. And, if promises were equi- 
 valent to performances, Charles would indeed 
 have been in an awkward situation.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 59 
 
 . His sentimental language, so different to 
 his usual good-humoured fun, tickled Lady 
 Ramsay's fancy, and by putting the whole 
 affair in a ludicrous point of view, somewhat 
 reconciled her to the disappointment at the 
 failure of her diplomacy. 
 
 Charles was not so easily satisfied. Not- 
 withstanding all he had said about not ex- 
 pecting anything from his uncle, the fact was, 
 that he did expect a great deal at Lord Over- 
 dale's death ; he had always believed that the 
 estate must revert to him. He knew that it 
 was strictly entailed. 
 
 Lady Ramsay wished to consult her brother 
 on the subject, and put the whole affair 
 into his hands, but Charles's pride revolted at 
 the idea of letting Frank into the secret. 
 Lord Overdale's letter, especially, mortified 
 him much. He had not even courage to read 
 it a second time over. 
 
 The more highly he thought of Prank's 
 judgment, the more loath he was to expose 
 his own follies before him. At last, however, 
 he yielded to Lady Ramsay's entreaties, and 
 the case was submitted to Prank. Prank em- 
 braced the subject with his usual clearness of
 
 60 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 perception. He spoke plainly to Charles, but 
 at the same time kindly, and satisfied him in 
 the legal point of view. 
 
 It rested, he said, between Charles, and 
 his own conscience, to fulfil his promises or 
 not. Each man could best judge for himself, 
 as to their value. In law, the letter did not 
 oblige him to anything ; it would be awkward, 
 indeed, for young gentlemen under age, if 
 such letters were considered legally binding. 
 
 If Charles pleased, he would write to the 
 Fischers, and put an end to the matter. 
 To this proposal Charles willingly con- 
 sented. 
 
 Frank did not like the way in which Lord 
 Overdale had taken the business. There was, 
 he feared, something in the tone of his letter 
 which boded Charles no good. This love 
 affair was unfortunate, and the most unfor- 
 tunate part of it was, its having come to the 
 testy old gentleman's ears. It was just the 
 sort of thing to exasperate him. Charles had 
 now nothing left for it but to write him a 
 penitent letter. But it must be carefully 
 worded. Lord Overdale' s temper was sus-
 
 CHARLES STAXLY. 61 
 
 picious, and lie had a happy knack of putting 
 a false construction upon the simplest words 
 and actions. 
 
 Charles wrote forthwith. Lady Ramsay 
 assisted him in the composition. To both of 
 them, it seemed a masterpiece of tact and 
 diplomacy. But it was too much so. It 
 contained too many assurances of repentance, 
 too many tenders of affection. It was essen- 
 tially a woman's letter : there was nothing 
 open or honest about it. 
 
 The answer arrived in due course of post. 
 It contained only the following words, written 
 in Lord Overdaie's large, bold, and irregular 
 hand : 
 
 " I feel duly indebted for the extraordinary 
 proffers of affection, it has been your pleasure 
 to make me. These are, I assure you, super- 
 fluous. But, as you express so deep an inte- 
 rest in my welfare, I have great satisfaction 
 in apprising you of an event, at which you 
 will doubtless, greatly rejoice. I was married 
 some days ago. Your congratulations on the 
 occasion will, I am quite convinced, be no
 
 62 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 less sincere than the affectionate expressions 
 contained in your last letter. 
 
 " OVEKDALE." 
 
 Here was a death-blow to our hero's hopes ! 
 His uncle married ! and, if he should have a son, 
 all Charles's prospects were for ever blighted ! 
 And the whole business conducted in a man- 
 ner so painfully mortifying ! Insult added 
 to injury ! 
 
 For some days, Charles luxuriated in the 
 belief that all earthly happiness was at an end 
 for him. He was the sport of fate. Misfor- 
 tune had chosen him for her own. His onlv 
 consolation was blank despair. 
 
 Lady Ramsay was indefatigable in endea- 
 vours to dispel this gloom. Her patience was 
 inexhaustible. She never seemed weary of 
 listening to his wanderings — " Why had his 
 uncle married ? — whom had he married ? 
 At sixty, was he, or was he not likely to have 
 a son?" — subjects upon which Lady Ramsay 
 knew no more than he did himself Still she 
 wondered, and speculated with him; endea- 
 vouring to throw iu all the consolation in her 
 power, and doing her utmost to distract his
 
 CHARLES STAXLY. 63 
 
 thoughts from so unpleasant a theme. Every 
 day, she devised some new plan for his enter- 
 tainment. She would not trust solely to the 
 charms of her own conversation ; and as, on 
 Sir James's account, she could not have more 
 visitors staying in the house, she took advan- 
 tage of the fine season, and invited the neigh- 
 bours to out-door amusements. 
 
 At first, Charles took little interest in these. 
 He was utterly absorbed by his own misfor- 
 tunes. He thought of nothing but his desti- 
 tute situation. What had he to do with fri- 
 volous pursuits ? he would say. These were 
 all very well, formerly, when he was Lord 
 Over dale's hen ; but now he was a pauper, 
 and must work for his bread. He wearied 
 Erank with his endless speculations as to 
 what profession it would be best for him to 
 follow. Erank declined giving any positive 
 advice on the subject. It was one, he 
 thought, upon which every man must judge 
 and decide for himself ; and he generally con- 
 cluded these exhortations in Swift's words — 
 "No man ever cut an ill figure who under- 
 stood his own parts, or a good one who mis- 
 took them."
 
 64 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Por some time even Lady Ramsay's coaxing 
 and flattery were of little avail ; even a boat- 
 race, which she took great pains to get up, 
 did little towards raising the spirits of her 
 favourite. He had been fond of the water, 
 and famous for his skill at rowing ; but he 
 was out of practice, and would not try to re- 
 gain the dexterity he had lost. In short, the 
 whole thing was a failure. 
 
 At last Lady Ramsay bethought herself of 
 a steeple-chase. When she proposed it to 
 Charles, his eyes sparkled a little. He had 
 always been a first-rate horseman ; and he 
 loved the exhilarating exercise of riding. 
 Moreover, there was danger in a steeple- 
 chase — consequently excitement. There was 
 even some hope of getting his neck broken ; 
 and thus happily ending his sorrows and his 
 life. Animated by this cheerful idea, he went 
 with Lady Ramsay to mark out the course. 
 He insisted upon following one which was 
 beset with difficulties. One leap the grooms 
 unanimously pronounced to be impracticable ; 
 Lady Ramsay entreated him not to attempt 
 it, but Charles was obstinate. His courage 
 rose with the sight of danger ; and Lady Ram-
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 65 
 
 say yielded with the less regret, that she 
 hoped his present excitement would effectu- 
 ally cure the despondency to which he had 
 lately given way. 
 
 And, as usual, her woman's penetration 
 was not at fault. Charles won the race bril- 
 liantly, and his triumph gave a salutary re- 
 action to his spirits. Charles was himself 
 again. That evening he volunteered to sing 
 some of his German songs. They were slightly 
 out of tune, and not particularly in time, but 
 Lady Ramsay found no fault with them. In- 
 stead of laughing, as of old, at Charles's un- 
 fortunate musical efforts, she gravely praised 
 the very moderate performance. 
 
 Nor were the other ladies less inclined to 
 be indulgent. Arethusa protested that his 
 singing was not only delightful, but charm- 
 ing — one students' song especially she never 
 could get feed of hearing. Even Mrs. Tyr- 
 rell was roused to something like anima- 
 tion, as she joined in the universal praise 
 bestowed upon him. She was distinctly 
 heard to say that he was an elegant young 
 man, and on two several occasions she exerted 
 herself so far as to ask him to sit beside her 
 
 VOL. i. F
 
 66 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 upon the sofa. As for Aurora, she became so 
 husky and nervous whenever she attempted 
 to mention his name, that she had not yet 
 been able to get to the end of it; and al- 
 though she was continually making efforts to 
 
 that effect, Mr. St was all that had ever 
 
 been audible from her lips. But, that she ad- 
 mired him prodigiously, was evident from the 
 unusual straining of her little grey eyes, and 
 the unaccountable contortions, and grotesque 
 twitchings of her mouth. 
 
 It must be confessed, that Charles well de- 
 served these golden opinions. Nothing is so 
 fascinating as manner, and no manner was 
 ever more fascinating than his. Its greatest 
 charm was, that it was impossible precisely to 
 determine wherein the charm lay. It consisted, 
 perhaps, chiefly in that happy insouciance, that 
 unsuspecting egotism, so pleasing in youth, but 
 in youth only. When older people talk about 
 themselves, we are disgusted by their vanity, 
 or their selfishness. In the very young, on 
 the contrary, we delight in these outpourings 
 of the heart, — in that overflowing confidence 
 which expects others to be interested in what 
 interests them, and believes in universal sym-
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 67 
 
 pathy. Charles was, no doubt, on excellent 
 terms with himself; but, though his vanity 
 was manifest, there was nothing offensive in 
 it. So far from being obtrusive, it seemed 
 to reveal itself from pure unsophisticated 
 naivete, and simply because he expected the 
 sympathy he was ready to give. 
 
 Charles was not slow in discerning that he 
 had made a favourable impression at Eastrow, 
 and took every opportunity of improving it ; 
 but his real enjoyment was in Lady Ramsay's 
 society. Every day he took more pleasure in 
 being with her. She did her best to make 
 herself agreeable to him. Though she never 
 neglected Sir James, and spent an hour or two 
 in the morning reading the newspaper to him, 
 and amusing him in various ways, still she 
 always contrived to have plenty of time to 
 devote to Charles. They had long daily rides 
 together. On their return home, they would 
 sit in her boudoir. Sometimes he read to her 
 — Charles excelled in the talent of reading 
 aloud — but oftener they would chat together 
 by firelight. She never wearied of hearing him 
 talk of his past frolics, or of his future plans. 
 She never reminded him of any disagreeable 
 
 f2
 
 68 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 subject. The names of Molly and of Lord 
 Overdale were never mentioned. It was as if 
 these excellent individuals had never existed. 
 
 Prank rejoiced to observe this improvement 
 in his young friend's spirits ; but he could not 
 help thinking that he was getting too fond of 
 the busy idleness of Eastrow life. He was 
 wasting his youth in profitless pursuits. It 
 was high time that he should have some better 
 occupation than reading poetry or gossiping 
 with Lady Hamsay. Prank loved his sister, 
 but he was quite alive to her faults. He was 
 aware that she was a dangerous guide for 
 Charles. Her influence was likely to lull him 
 to indolence, not to excite him to industry ; 
 and his industry, as Prank knew full well, was 
 very apt to relax. 
 
 To volunteer advice is generally a thank- 
 less, as well as a profitless, office. It was one 
 to which Prank was especially averse ; but he 
 hoped that his own good example might rouse 
 Charles to emulation. The success he had 
 achieved in his profession, did not prevent him 
 from allotting to study a certain portion of each 
 day ; and which neither boat-race, nor steeple- 
 chase was ever suffered to interrupt. When
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 69 
 
 his work was over, he enjoyed, with the hest of 
 them, whatever fun might be going on. To 
 all Lady Eamsav's urgent entreaties to throw 
 aside his musty, fusty old law-books, as she 
 called them, he remained quite inexorable. 
 He only replied, that those who have to make 
 their wav in the world must work hard, and 
 lose no time about it. Although, in general, 
 he made no parade of his perseverance, once, 
 in Charles's presence, he repeated this sentence 
 twice over, and the second time, it must be 
 confessed, a little pointedly. But Charles 
 either did not, or would not, understand these 
 hints. 
 
 The shooting season now commenced. 
 Charles was a capital shot, and shooting be- 
 came all in all. It would seem as if he lived 
 for no other purpose. 
 
 Frank lost patience. One morning, when 
 he saw Charles equipped in the dandy sport- 
 ing costume which Lady Ramsay had pro- 
 cured for him from London, he could not help 
 exclaiming, with a little sarcasm : 
 
 "Is it your intention, Charles, to make 
 shooting the business of your life ?" 
 
 " My dear fellow ! what can you mean ? I
 
 70 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 am fond of the sport, and so are you, if I am 
 not mistaken." 
 
 " True, but I do not allow it to interfere 
 with more important occupations." 
 
 " But, at the present moment, I have none 
 more important . ' ' 
 
 " Why have you not ? It is high time you 
 had." 
 
 " Time enough when the shooting season is 
 
 over." 
 
 " You forget that it has but just begun." 
 
 " So much the better. I shall have more 
 time to enjoy it." 
 
 " Do you expect of a sudden to become 
 sedentary and studious ?" 
 
 " I expect to surprise you with proofs of 
 my industry. When the shooting season is 
 over, I intend to work as hard as you, my 
 sedate friend, can possibly wish." 
 
 " But you cannot fly all at once. You must 
 first try your wings." 
 
 " Oh, Erank, my dear fellow, pray spare 
 your metaphors, or, at least, keep them for a 
 wet day. See how bright the sun is shining, 
 and how high it is already. I must be off 
 without loss of time. I have before me a very
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 71 
 
 hard day's work. The stubbles by the south 
 lodge are by no means easy to walk through, 
 let nie tell you ; so, with your permission, I 
 will now wish you good morning." 
 
 And Charles walked away, whistling a tune, 
 in order to avoid any further remonstrance. 
 
 With his sister, Frank had no better suc- 
 cess. He spoke to her jestingly, and he spoke 
 to her seriously; but he could not get her 
 to attend to his remonstrances. "Whenever 
 Charles's name was mentioned, she either 
 went off at score about his shooting, or his 
 riding, or his boating, or anything but what 
 Prank wanted, or else changed the subject 
 altogether. She would not hear a word of 
 future plans. Xo one was ever more dexterous 
 than Lady Eamsay in avoiding an unpleasant 
 topic. 
 
 But it was not easy to deter Prank from 
 any purpose on which his mind was set. He 
 always persevered in whatever he considered 
 a duty; and he thought it a duty to open 
 Charles's eyes to the folly of his present mode 
 of life. He allowed some days to elapse, 
 quietly; and then he made another attempt 
 to bring his young friend to reason.
 
 72 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 One evening, when they were sitting, after 
 dinner, alone, it may be said — for Sir James 
 scarcely heeded what was going on — Prank 
 thus introduced the subject : 
 
 " I must soon leave you, Charles. Im- 
 portant business calls me to London, and will 
 probably detain me there for some time. Be- 
 fore I go, I should like to be more satisfied 
 about you. I want you to come to some de- 
 cision with regard to your future prospects. 
 I may, in some way or other, be able to assist 
 you ; and I need not tell you with what plea- 
 sure I should do so." 
 
 " Thank you, Erank. I doubt neither 
 your kindness nor your ability. Eut I am 
 sorry you are going to leave us," he added, 
 evasively. 
 
 " And I am sorry to go. Yet I should not 
 so much regret the necessity if I were less 
 anxious respecting you. I have known you 
 from a child, and always regarded you as a 
 brother. It is, therefore, but natural that 
 I should take a brother's interest in your 
 welfare. You will not, I hope, think me im- 
 pertinent in speaking as openly as I do." 
 
 It was impossible to withstand Prank's
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 73 
 
 kind manner. Charles answered with hearti- 
 ness : 
 
 " To tell you the truth, I have thought a 
 good deal upon the subject ; but cannot come 
 to any definite conclusion as to my best line 
 of conduct. Your sister says " 
 
 " Oh j never mind what my sister says. A 
 man should think for himself, and decide for 
 himself.' 5 
 
 " True. But that is no reason why good 
 advice need be neglected ; and, so far, her 
 advice is good. She thinks that I am best 
 calculated for an active life, and, therefore, 
 that the army " 
 
 "The army ! But you are beyond the age 
 for obtaining a commission." 
 
 " Oh ! that might easily be got over. Lady 
 Ramsay is all-powerful with Lord Derwent ; 
 and Lord Derwent is all-powerful with the 
 commander-in-chief. ' ' 
 
 " Yes, but admitting all these things, how 
 are you to live ? The army is an expensive 
 profession, and your means are not adequate 
 to keep you in it like a gentleman." 
 
 " I acknowledge the melancholy truth. 
 But my uncle surely would not let me starve.
 
 74 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 He ought to come down handsomely, and 
 there is no knowing but he may. Indeed, I 
 begin to think that his marriage, about which 
 I was foolish enough to annoy myself, may, 
 after all, not turn out so badly for me. He 
 may have a son to be sure ; but at sixty, that 
 is not likely. His wife will probably huma- 
 nise him. Lady Ramsay means to try to get 
 acquainted with her somehow, and endeavour 
 to gain her in my favour. The estate is 
 strictly entailed. It must come to me sooner 
 or later." 
 
 " And, meanwhile, do you propose living 
 upon air?" 
 
 " Oh, Lady Ramsay will manage that. 
 Her generosity, too, may perhaps shame my 
 uncle into making me some allowance. 53 
 
 " Ho not believe it — I know his character 
 well ; he will do no such thing. Take my 
 advice, Charles. Make yourself independent 
 of him. Exert your abilities, and show him 
 that you do not want either his patronage, or 
 his purse. It depends upon you only, to be- 
 come a much greater man than my Lord 
 Over dale, and no thanks to him."
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 75 
 
 " It is easy talking, but what would you 
 have me do ?" 
 
 " Choose your profession at once. Follow 
 it steadily, and fortune will follow you. Above 
 all things, keep free and independent. My 
 sister has, doubtless, plenty of money, and 
 plenty of will at your service ; but if I were 
 you, I should not be beholden to her, or to 
 anv other human beinsr. Xotliinsr is so de- 
 moralising as the consciousness of dependence 
 — in plain English, subservience. It lowers 
 both our moral and intellectual faculties. 
 Think over what I have been saying," he 
 added, observing Charles wince and redden at 
 the word subservience. " Remember, I do not 
 presume to dictate, but only to suggest. I 
 give you the benefit of my experience, such 
 as it is ; and am ready to use, on your behalf, 
 all the interest I possess. Xow, let us join 
 the ladies. I see Sir James is getting im- 
 patient. " 
 
 The evening passed heavily. Charles did 
 not ask Lady Eamsay to sing; nor did he 
 volunteer any of Iris ditties. Miss Tyrrell, 
 however, kindly undertook to entertain the
 
 76 CHAItLES STANLY. 
 
 company with her last new song of " The 
 Maniac." This startling performance was 
 worthy of its name. It displayed the rav- 
 ings and howlings of insanity with marvellous 
 force and truth. The more so, indeed, as by 
 beginning about half a tone too sharp, and 
 ending at least a tone and a half too flat, 
 the fair vocalist thus unconsciously contrived 
 to enhance the appalling reality of the whole. 
 Unfortunately, poor Arethusa received little 
 praise for her extraordinary exertions. Her 
 mother exclaimed, " How sweet !" every time 
 her daughter gave what the performer called 
 un eclat de voix, and the audience a squall. 
 Aurora waited for the end, and then burst 
 into applause, with a rapturous explosion 
 sufficient to cover the silence of the rest of 
 the company.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 77 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Frank's speech rankled in his young 
 friend's mind. Charles had long striven to 
 shut out the unpleasant reality ; but the words 
 had been spoken, and he could no longer help 
 acknowledging then truth. To enter the arniv 
 without an adequate income, was madness. 
 He had not an adequate income ; and yet he 
 wished to enter the army. 
 
 After what Frank had said, the idea of 
 borrowing from Lady Ramsay, what he pro- 
 bably should never be able to repay, was not 
 to be thought of. He owed her already too 
 many pecuniary obligations. The term sub- 
 servient, had raised all his pride. No, he 
 would never be subservient. But what would 
 he be ? It was a difficult question. He could 
 not answer it. So he looked at his watch,
 
 78 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 found it was time to go out shooting, took 
 his gun, and went out accordingly. 
 
 During his ahsence, Prank had a long con- 
 versation with his sister respecting Charles. 
 He told her his mind plainly; and told her 
 that by encouraging Charles in idle habits, she 
 was making a bad use of the influence she 
 possessed over him ; that the happiness of his 
 future life depended upon his not losing 
 time ; in short, he laid before her all the nu- 
 merous reasons why the army was the last 
 profession he should choose. Lady Ramsay 
 coaxed and caressed, persuaded and prevari- 
 cated, but in vain. Frank was not to be put 
 off from his purpose. He spoke still more 
 strongly; Lady Ramsay made an angry re- 
 tort ; and the brother and sister stopped just 
 short of a quarrel. 
 
 Charles returned from his shooting in no 
 amiable temper. On that particular morning 
 everything had gone wrong. The game was 
 shy ; the scent bad ; the dogs stupid ; the 
 beaters lazy. He missed more game than he 
 shot. Such a thing had never happened to 
 him before. It was unaccountable. 
 
 Charles went as usual, when out of sorts,
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 79 
 
 straight to Lady Ramsay's boudoir. She re- 
 ceived hini with the usual sweet smile of 
 welcome. If her brother had made her angry, 
 no traces of irritation remained visible. Lady 
 Ramsay, at all times attractive, was most so 
 in her boudoir. The boudoir was the perfec- 
 tion of elegance and of comfort; the tea-service 
 the perfection of Sevres porcelain ; her desha- 
 bille the perfection of good taste ; and her re- 
 ception of Charles the perfection of kindness. 
 
 She found no fault with his muddy boots, 
 nor with his blackened hands. She placed his 
 favourite chair in his favourite nook, and set 
 before him a pretty footstool of her own 
 work, regardless of his thick and dirty boots. 
 
 Charles's brow soon cleared. Long before 
 dinner-time, Lady Ramsay had talked him 
 into good humour and good spirits. 
 
 When they were seated, round the table, 
 after dinner, Lady Ramsay, with a smile of 
 reconciliation, addressed her brother. 
 
 " Prank ! who do you think is coming here 
 to-morrow r" 
 
 He named several neighbours. At the 
 mention of each she laughed, and shook her 
 head.
 
 80 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 " What should you say to your first love — 
 the peerless Isabella, as you used to call her — 
 aud Sir James's especial favourite ?" 
 
 "Isabella! Miss Romayne !" exclaimed 
 Prank, surprised. 
 
 " Isabella ! Isabella ! pretty Isabella I" 
 muttered Sir James. 
 
 "Isabella Romayne," replied Lady Earn- 
 say — " she, and no other." 
 
 " Isabella Romayne ! It is a pretty name. 
 How long it is since I have heard it !" said 
 Charles, musingly. 
 
 " Can you really remember her ?" inquired 
 Lady Ramsay. " I should hardly have thought 
 it possible. It is so very long since you have 
 seen her." 
 
 " Yes, no doubt it is a long time," replied 
 Charles, "but I remember her well." 
 
 " Describe her, then," said Lady Ramsay, 
 jestingly. 
 
 "I do not know that I could do that ; 
 indeed, I have no distinct recollection of her 
 person, further than a vague impression of its 
 extraordinary beauty. And yet, I somehow 
 think I should recognise her anywhere." 
 
 " That point will soon be settled. She has
 
 CHAKLES STANLY. 81 
 
 lately arrived in England with her mother 
 and sister. I have invited them to Eastrow — 
 for she was always a pet of Sir James's — and 
 they will be here, I hope, to-morrow." 
 
 " Good Eanny ! kind Fanny !" was faintly 
 audible from behind a superb pyramid of 
 peaches. 
 
 " Her sister ! Has she a sister, then ?" in- 
 quired Charles. 
 
 " A half-sister. Her mother married again. 
 Did you not know it ?" said Lady Ramsay. 
 
 " I may have heard it, but had quite for- 
 gotten the circumstance," said Charles. 
 
 "When I have a country house," observed 
 Arethusa, in an under tone to her friend 
 Aurora, " I shall never invite anybody to 
 come to it who is younger, or handsomer, or 
 cleverer than myself." 
 
 " There is nothing like good sense," sim- 
 pered Mrs. Tyrrell, smoothing her braids, and 
 looking approvingly at her daughter. 
 
 " I declare that's very true !" said Aurora, 
 as if she had just made the discovery. 
 
 "But you shall come, of course, dearest," 
 added Arethusa. " You may come and stay 
 with me as often as you please." 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 "It is very odd that I cannot, at this 
 moment, recollect who was Mrs. Romayne's 
 second husband," inquired Charles. 
 
 " Oh, a horrid, worthless Greek, who used 
 her abominably," replied Lady Ramsay. 
 
 " To my mind, it is shocking to marry a 
 second time. I cannot think how any woman 
 can reconcile it to herself. I am sure I never 
 could," lisped Mrs. Tyrrell. 
 
 " But he was so handsome !" said Arethusa. 
 
 " Handsome enough ; but very good for 
 nothing," said Lady Ramsay. 
 
 6 ' Alas ! who can help falling in love ? It 
 is said that marriages are made in heaven; 
 and I am quite sure that there is a fate in 
 every thing," said the sentimental Arethusa. 
 
 " He was an infamous scoundrel," muttered 
 Prank, between his teeth. 
 
 "I'm sure I should have been quite crazy 
 about hirn," exclaimed Arethusa. 
 
 " But it is very shocking to be wicked," 
 said Aurora, thoughtfully. " I believe, after 
 all, it is better to be good even though one is 
 ugly." 
 
 " What he made Isabella endure is hardly 
 to be believed," proceeded Prank. 
 
 " At all events, she did not endure it long, 
 
 a
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 83 
 
 said Lady Ramsay. " She run away from 
 home." 
 
 " Dear!" exclaimed Aurora, "how very odd ! 
 It really is so romantic ! Why did she run 
 away?" 
 
 " Because it was impossible for her to re- 
 main," continued Frank,. 
 
 " T\ nat made it impossible ?" inquired 
 Charles, thoughtfully. " It is very strange 
 that I should have forgotten all these circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " You probably never heard them," replied 
 Ladv Ramsay. " You were a mere child at 
 that time, and these were queer stories, such 
 as would not have been good for your morals. 
 Some sav her father-in-law wanted to force 
 Isabella into an uncongenial marriage ; others, 
 that he made love to her himself. In short, 
 there was no end to the strange reports that 
 were circulated, but I knew nothing for a 
 certainty ; Isabella is reserved, and never con- 
 fided any of her secrets to me." 
 
 " There may be things which a woman of 
 delicacy cannot disclose," said Frank. 
 
 "It is quite a romance," said Charles. 
 " Do tell me more of her history." 
 
 g 2
 
 84 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 " Frank knows more than I do," replied 
 Lady Rarasay. " He is her friend and coun- 
 sellor." 
 
 " All I can tell you," said Frank, " is, that 
 this man (Rodostomus was his name) was a 
 profligate rascal, and that he behaved towards 
 Isabella in such a manner, as to render it im- 
 possible for her to remain under the same roof 
 with him. She escaped from Paris, where her 
 mother and father-in-law were then living, 
 and came to England. For some time she 
 stayed here with Fanny." 
 
 " And it is her own fault that she did not 
 stay much longer. If she had chosen, she 
 might always have found a home with me. 
 But she has certain high-flown notions of in- 
 dependence, and so forth, which Frank ad- 
 mires, and I do not understand." 
 
 " Yes," said Frank, " I confess that I ad- 
 mired and fostered the noble spirit which 
 prompted her to earn a livelihood for her- 
 self." 
 
 " But to be a governess is so vulgar," ob- 
 served Mrs. Tyrrell. "What would people 
 think of a lady being a governess ?" 
 
 "And dangerous, too!" added Arethusa.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 85 
 
 " I dare say there were sons in the family 
 where she went to live, and that one of them 
 fell in love with her, or she with him, or 
 something of that sort ; and, in short, there 
 is no telling what might have happened." 
 
 "But nothing did happen, Arethusa," pro- 
 ceeded Frank. " On the contrary, she be- 
 came a great fa vomit e both with her pupils 
 and with their mother. "When the latter died, 
 she left Isabella a small legacy, with a wish 
 that she should continue to live with her 
 daughters. This arrangement held good till 
 the Greek died. Then Isabella, hearing that 
 her mother was almost in want, flew to her 
 assistance ; and her own little pittance is all 
 that the family now have to live upon. I 
 heard, some time ago, that they talked of 
 coming to England, but I did not know that 
 they were actually arrived. How long will 
 they stay r" 
 
 " Oh, that depends upon circumstances," re- 
 plied Lady Ptamsay. " The fact is, as Isabella 
 writes me, they want to try whether they 
 can afford to live in England or not ; and 
 whether the climate will agree with the old 
 lady, who is mighty fidgety about her health
 
 86 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 and everything else. I fancy they will spend 
 the winter in this country. They are coming 
 to Die till their plans are settled." 
 
 Charles had listened eagerly to all that had 
 been said about Isabella. The romance of her 
 story struck his imagination, and the men- 
 tion of her name revived many vague asso- 
 ciations, which had haunted him ever since his 
 childhood, and which he was anxious to verify. 
 In the course of the evening, he called Frank 
 into a corner, and overwhelmed him with 
 questions. He wanted to know every par- 
 ticular of Isabella's thoughts, words, and 
 actions, from the time of her birth up to the 
 present hour ; and much as Frank had 
 studied her character, he was not quite equal 
 to that task. 
 
 " I remember," Charles went on, " that 
 she helped Lady Hamsay to nurse me when 
 I had the measles, and that she used to read 
 to me for hours together ; and I remember, 
 too, that she never spoilt me." 
 
 " I almost wonder you liked her, accus- 
 tomed as you were to my sister's petting," 
 observed Prank. 
 
 " I liked her all the better for not spoiling
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 87 
 
 me. Besides, she always seemed more sorry 
 to chide me than I was to be chidden. And 
 then, she always talked sensibly to me, and 
 treated me, not as if I were a child, but as a 
 reasonable being. At ten years old she made 
 me feel as if I were a man. How odd I 
 should have forgotten these things, which 
 now, of a sudden, return fresh and distinct to 
 my memory." 
 
 " It is but now you have been reminded of 
 them." 
 
 ■ True. But you, Frank, how did you 
 come to know so much about Miss Bomayne ? 
 You never met her at the time I speak of — 
 at least, I do not remember you in connexion 
 with her." 
 
 " I was then, probably, hard at work at my 
 chambers. My acquaintance with her dates 
 from an earlier period. Her father was the 
 greatest friend mine had. Isabella and I 
 were companions in childhood. We were 
 first playfellows, and then she became my 
 pupil. My father gave me the best education 
 money could procure ; hers being very poor, 
 could afford her little instruction. I was 
 proud to teach her all I knew, and gloried in
 
 88 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 the progress she made under my tuition. In 
 fact, though two years younger than myself, 
 she soon got hefore me in everything, for her 
 aptitude was very remarkable. Yet so gentle 
 and amiable was her disposition, that she 
 never would acknowledge her superiority, and 
 our only quarrels rose from our mutual at- 
 tempts to show each other off to advantage. 
 I was then her only friend, and her greatest 
 pleasure was to deserve my approbation. 
 6 My peerless Isabella,' was what I used to call 
 her ; and indeed she deserved the title. Thus 
 we continued intimate till her father's death, 
 and then her mother took her to Paris. Soon 
 afterwards, the misfortunes you know of, oc- 
 curred in our family, and her sympathy was 
 the greatest consolation I had. She was, at 
 that time, very young, but her letters had all 
 the sense and judgment of maturer years. 
 They contributed, in a great measure, to wean 
 me from the dejection into which I at first, 
 sunk. But for her, I doubt if I should have 
 had energy sufficient to contend with my mis- 
 fortunes, or even to bear them as a man. All 
 the good I have achieved is owing to her ad-
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 89 
 
 vice. She possesses not mere practical good 
 sense, but there is about her, a lofty enthu- 
 siasm, and at the same time, a meek, Christian 
 spirit, which makes her superior to any wo- 
 man I ever knew." 
 
 " Poor Isabella ! It is wonderful, that with 
 such beauty and such accomplishments, she 
 never married !" 
 
 " No," replied Prank, gravely, " I think 
 not. That she might have married, there can 
 be no doubt, nor that she would have mar- 
 ried, if she had met with a suitable match. 
 By a suitable match, I mean a man who can 
 understand and appreciate her. But that is 
 no easy matter. As I have already told you, 
 her character is a very remarkable one. 
 Depth, and simplicity ; firmness, and gentle- 
 ness, towards herself, and indulgence towards 
 others, are, in her, harmonised into perfect 
 equilibrium. Her feelings are intense, yet 
 she has little passion; her imagination is 
 highly poetic, yet her judgment is sound and 
 clear. Who can rise to her level ? Perhaps, 
 after all, it would be best for Isabella never 
 to marry,' ' he added, with a sigh.
 
 90 CIIAHLES STANLY. 
 
 " I do not agree with you," replied Charles. 
 "I don't see why, because she is superior, she 
 is to remain single. 5 ' 
 
 This conversation revived in Charles's mind 
 innumerable thoughts, which had long lain 
 dormant. He dreamt of Isabella all night, 
 and her image — at least, an image, exactly 
 corresponding to his ideal of perfect female 
 beauty, and which he concluded was hers — 
 appeared before him on first waking. He did 
 not shoot that morning, and his perpetual 
 fidgeting in and out of the drawing-room, 
 where, in honour of the expected guests, the 
 ladies sat all the morning, considerably an- 
 noyed Lady Ramsay, who was deeply engaged 
 with her correspondence. She reproved him 
 for his restlessness, and begged him to have 
 mercy upon her ears, and not hum that 
 dreadful tune. It certainly was anything 
 but harmonious. He laughed, left the room, 
 and returned, in five minutes, whistling the 
 same tune, with more noise, and less melody. 
 
 Mrs. Tyrrell, sunk among the sofa cushions, 
 wondered when they would come ; and in- 
 quired of little Aurora, who was sitting, bolt 
 upright, beside her, whether she thought, she
 
 CHAELES STAXLY. 91 
 
 would think lier old friend Mrs. Rodostonius 
 altered or not. 
 
 Aurora gave it as her decided opinion, that 
 people generally do alter as they grow older ; 
 and hazarded a confidential remark, to the 
 effect that few look as well in age as in youth. 
 
 Arethusa's mind was engrossed with the 
 problem of Isabella Itomayne's age and 
 height, as compared with her own. She in- 
 formed the company in general, and Aurora 
 in particular, that her age, being twenty-four, 
 and her height, five feet five, and Miss Ro- 
 mavne being two vears older, and an inch 
 taller, the age and dimensions of the latter 
 were, consequently, open to considerable cen- 
 sure. 
 
 Aurora agreed to this proposition as self- 
 evident, and she contemplated her handsome 
 friend's person in the mirror, as she arranged 
 her ringlets, with as much satisfaction as the 
 said handsome friend contemplated herself. 
 
 Lady Ramsay got very impatient. Luncheon 
 was announced, and disposed of, and no 
 guests arrived. 
 
 "I hate to be kept waiting," said Lady 
 Ramsav, when she returned to the drawing-
 
 92 CHARLES STANXY. 
 
 room. It is too bad, to be kept in-doors all 
 day." 
 
 "So it is, dear Lady Ramsay," put in 
 Aurora, in her little croaking, consolatory 
 way. " But it is so lucky it rains, for it sig- 
 nifies much less staying at home in a bad day, 
 you know." 
 
 There was no denying this fact, and Lady 
 Ramsay returned to her correspondence. 
 
 " I wonder," began Mrs. Tyrrell, compla- 
 cently regarding the folds of her sleeves, 
 "what Madame — (the long- sounding name of 
 Rodostomus was quite beyond her) — will 
 think of my work. Everybody says it is ugly, 
 but I don't call it so very much so, myself." 
 
 "Dear!" exclaimed Aurora. "I'm sure, 
 I dare say she'll think it very pretty indeed." 
 
 " Oh, no !" simpered Mrs. Tyrrell, gazing 
 fondly at the harlequin-like canvas, as she 
 held it up to the light, " I only did it to use 
 up Fanny's ends of worsted. I invented the 
 pattern myself; it really might be uglier ; and 
 I dare say it will come in for some use or 
 other, though I do not at all know what, 
 but I like to be employed, and to do useful 
 work."
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 93 
 
 "It is a great comfort to be usefully em- 
 ployed, " said Aurora ; " and I'm sure it's very 
 kind using up all Lady Ramsay's ends of 
 worsted." 
 
 " My patience is at an end,' 3 said Lady 
 Ramsay, rising from her writing-table. " I'll 
 have Brown Bess saddled, and take a ride, not- 
 withstanding the rain." 
 
 " But if it rains you may get wet," remon- 
 strated Aurora, " and then you might catch 
 cold," she added, confidentially. 
 
 " Prav do not catch cold, dearest Fannv. 
 It makes me quite unhappy to think of it,' : 
 sighed Mrs. Tyrrell, and she blew her nose by 
 way of admonition. 
 
 " People don't always catch cold when they 
 get wet, you know," comforted Aurora ; and 
 by way of tranquillising Mrs. Tyrrell, she 
 be^an sorting her worsteds. 
 
 Lady Ramsay rung the bell impatiently, and 
 desired that Brown Bess might be saddled. 
 
 Just then, Charles came into the room for 
 about the twentieth time. He was quite out 
 of breath, and his coat bore evident tokens of 
 having been rained upon. "They will be 
 here in a few moments," he said, in flurried
 
 94 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 accents. " I have just been to the end of the 
 avenue, and I distinctly heard the sound of 
 carriage wheels." 
 
 " Dear I" exclaimed Aurora, astounded by- 
 such extraordinary news. 
 
 Charles's prediction proved true ; at last, the 
 welcome sound of carriage wheels were heard. 
 Lady Ramsay rushed to receive her guests at 
 the hall-door. Long before Madame Rodos- 
 tomus was visible, she was distinctly audible. 
 Lamentations proceeded from the off corner 
 of the carriage, became louder upon the steps, 
 and reached their climax in the vestibule. 
 " What could I do ? things happen to me 
 that happen to nobody else. Isn't it extra- 
 ordinary, Lady Ramsay, all my bad luck ? 
 I wanted to be particularly early, and what 
 was the consequence ? I was too late — forgot 
 my fur cuffs — found it out at the station, and 
 had to go back for them ; couldn't find them 
 anywhere, and where do you think they 
 were ? on my own wrists all the time — wasn't 
 it remarkable, Miss Tyrrell. When we got 
 back to the station the train was off — who 
 would have thought it ? — and the next did not
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 95 
 
 start for two hours, and turned out a slow 
 one — why, I can't imagine, and could get no- 
 body to tell me, though I asked all the people 
 I met with. Certainly, Mrs. Tyrrell," she 
 added, as if she had quite made up her mind 
 upon the subject, and would not upon any 
 account be induced to alter it, " the ways of 
 Providence are very unaccountable — I must 
 
 sav, very 
 
 Mrs. Tyrrell greeted her old friend with a 
 bewildered simper, inquired her opinion of 
 her work, but receiving no answer to her 
 question, smoothed her braids by way of con- 
 solation, and painfully strove to comprehend 
 a long storv, about an unaccountable illness 
 which Madame Podostomus once had, as a 
 girl, and which, as she endeavoured to im- 
 press upon her auditors, was solely, and en- 
 tirely, caused, by neglecting to wear fur cuffs 
 during a journey. 
 
 Madame Eodostomus was a smart, little old 
 lady, lizard-like in her alertness, very voluble 
 of speech, with a chirping voice, and a cheer- 
 ful countenance. 
 
 Her daughters followed her into the room.
 
 96 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Isabella was tall, her carriage stately, her 
 movements slow, and strikingly majestic. Her 
 manner was so extremely calm, as to make 
 her, at first, appear cold. But her smile was 
 singularly sweet, and her voice exquisitely 
 modulated. After the usual civilities had 
 passed between herself and the ladies of the 
 house, she went up to Charles, and holding 
 out her hand : " This is an unexpected plea- 
 sure, Mr. Stanly," she said. " How long it 
 is since Ave met ! however, I have frequently 
 heard of you from Mr. Tyrrell. But have 
 you really forgotten me ?" she added. 
 
 It is not surprising that she asked this 
 question, for Charles stood gazing at her in 
 mute amazement. Some moments elapsed 
 before he could stammer out a very unintel- 
 ligible, and very inefficient answer. 
 
 Meanwhile, Chloe, the little Greek girl, 
 wandered about the room in search of re- 
 creation. Her efforts were eminently suc- 
 cessful. She contrived, unperceived, to put 
 Aurora's knitting into inextricable confusion ; 
 to substitute greens for blues, in Mrs. Tyrrell's 
 papers of worsteds, neatly arranged by the 
 said Aurora; to secrete the stopper of Are-
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 97 
 
 thusa's smelling-bottle, and to insert her 
 thimble in its place ; and, finally, to transfer 
 the letters which Lady Ramsay had been 
 writing, to the covers not intended for them. 
 This last exploit remained undiscovered. 
 Lady Ramsay wrote with that beautiful in- 
 definiteness of style, and illegibility of pen- 
 manship, which renders lady's epistolary com- 
 positions conveniently applicable at all seasons, 
 and to all persons. 
 
 Meritorious were the hostess's efforts to fill 
 up, agreeably, the time yet intervening be- 
 fore dinner. Her well-turned speeches were 
 uttered in a soft tone, and enforced by the 
 sweetest smiles; yet even Lady Ramsay's social 
 talents were not competent to dispel the chilly 
 awkwardness indispensable to the opening 
 scenes of English hospitality. Nobody dared 
 mention it, but everybody thought the clock 
 upon the chimney-piece must have gone 
 wrong. Nobody ventured to suggest it, but 
 everybody apprehended, that the servants had 
 forgotten to ring the dressing-bell. At length, 
 however, its welcome chimes were heard. 
 Lady Ramsay started with relief, then com- 
 menting sweetly upon the rapidity with which 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 time passes with kind friends, and in con- 
 genial society, she piloted the ladies to their 
 rooms. 
 
 Charles lingered behind. He could not 
 recover the impression which Isabella had 
 made upon him. He was still dazzled, so to 
 speak, by her beauty. There was before him 
 much more than the ideal of his dreams, 
 a form much more lovely than the bright 
 vision which had haunted him since boyhood. 
 The tall, plastic figure, Juno-like, yet femi- 
 nine, the pale, clear complexion, the full red 
 lips, the small cameo-like head, and, above 
 all, the classical outline of the throat and 
 shoulders, were beauties such as outshone 
 the most highly wrought creations of fancy. 
 
 And then the voice ! low, yet clear, sweet, 
 yet impressive, that voice which had often 
 been recalled, he knew not how, in moments 
 of enthusiasm. What happiness to hear it 
 greet him as an old friend, and express plea- 
 sure at again meeting him. He construed 
 her words into a meaning flattering to him- 
 self. She said she had often heard of him ; 
 and she smiled approvingly when she said so. 
 
 He felt as if he had known Isabella in some
 
 CHABXES STANLY. 99 
 
 higher and more perfect state of existence. 
 It seemed to him, as if her appearance had 
 already breathed calm into his soul, and har- 
 monised his feelings. The only drawback to 
 his felicity was the recollection of his own 
 awkward behaviour. He must have betrayed 
 his agitation ; how could she guess its cause ? 
 She must think him ill-bred and ungracious. 
 He tried to remember what answer he had 
 made to Isabella's kind words, and he turned 
 scarlet at the mortifying consciousness of not 
 having made any at all. 
 
 Charles determined to take the first op- 
 portunity of atoning for this omission. He 
 dressed himself with exceeding care, and, early 
 in the evening, he took a seat beside Isabella. 
 She seemed pleased with this mark of his 
 attention, and began conversing with him, as 
 with an old friend. Her long deep eyes spoke 
 interest and approval ; this was no doubt en- 
 couraging, yet, somehow or other, it was impos- 
 sible for Charles to keep up the conversation. 
 
 Isabella was not what is called a good 
 talker. She did not possess the art of speaking 
 nonsense amusingly. What she said, though 
 far from dogmatical, or pedantic, was sensible, 
 
 h2
 
 100 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 and to the purpose. She never talked but 
 when she had something to say. It is need- 
 less to add that she was often silent. 
 
 But this evening, the fault was on Charles's 
 part.. He was the most silent of the two. 
 His usual flow of small-talk, his lively anec- 
 dotes, failed him. His part of the conversa- 
 tion always flagged. It seemed as if, for 
 thinking of her, he could not speak to her ; as 
 if he was so much engrossed by herself, that 
 he was incapable of attending to her words. 
 The repose of Isabella's manner agitated 
 Charles. He became, for the first time in 
 his life, nervous and shy. Generally, he 
 was not apt to underrate his conversational 
 powers; now he fancied their defects mag- 
 nified. Whatever he said, appeared to him- 
 self trite and common-place. Even the sound 
 of his voice jarred discordantly upon his ear. 
 He felt every gesture to be abrupt and awk- 
 ward. This exaggerated diffidence really pro- 
 duced the effect he dreaded. He began by 
 answering at cross purposes; and ended by 
 talking absolute nonsense. The conviction 
 that Isabella must think him a fool, did not 
 raise his spirits, or improve his powers. At
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 101 
 
 last, his misery was brought to a climax by 
 Aurora, who, having talked Sir James to 
 sleep, bustled up to Charles, and whispered 
 audibly in his ear : 
 
 "Isn't she lovely? I'm sure you must 
 think so." 
 
 Charles coloured up to the roots of his hair, 
 and felt strongly inclined to bolt out of the 
 room. However, he was presently relieved 
 by Lady Ramsay's taking a chair on the other 
 side of Isabella, and entering into conversa- 
 tion with her. 
 
 But these ladies had not much to say to 
 each other. Lady Ramsay made the most of 
 polite nothings; these, however, produced 
 little effect upon Isabella. They seemed, in 
 short, to have few ideas in common. 
 
 Lady Ramsay soon got tired of this mode 
 of discourse. She now began to speak to 
 Charles across Isabella, and every now and 
 then appealed to the latter for approval. 
 Lady Rainsay was apparently in a sportive 
 mood, for she seemed to take great pleasure 
 in rallying Charles on his preoccupation and 
 taciturnity. What fair lady engrossed his 
 thoughts ? she inquired, looking archly in his
 
 102 CHAKLES STANLY. 
 
 face. With what letter did her name begin ? 
 Should she guess — or perhaps Miss Romayne 
 would assist her in the search. Isabella did 
 not appear to relish these jests. She answered 
 with a forced smile, and a dignified motion of 
 the head. 
 
 Charles was terribly annoyed. The more 
 so, as but a day or two before, he had allowed 
 Lady Ramsay to joke with him about his 
 former loves; and he could not well, of a 
 sudden, show his displeasure at what he had 
 so lately encouraged. This, he felt, would be 
 ridiculous, and he dreaded ridicule. He strove 
 to give another turn to the conversation ; but 
 Lady Ramsay persevered most teazingly, until 
 Mrs. Tyrrell's childish tones attracted her 
 daughter's attention. 
 
 " Dearest Panny, give us some music. 
 Madame Rodostonms wishes for a song ; she 
 says your singing is celestial." 
 
 " Indeed, I said no such thing," inter- 
 rupted the latter. " "What I said was, that 
 my Chloe is a heaven-born musician." 
 
 " Both my daughters are heaven-born mu- 
 sicians," said Mrs. Tyrrell, triumphantly. 
 " Dearest Panny, do sing something."
 
 charles sta:nxy. 103 
 
 TTTiile Lady Kamsay was waiting for press- 
 ing from another quarter, Aurora bounced up 
 to Charles and blew into his ear, so as to make 
 him shiver and start : " Ask her ; I'm sure she 
 can." 
 
 " TYill Miss Eomavne give us some music ?" 
 he said, very timidly. 
 
 " I fear I cannot. Though fond of the art. 
 I am no performer." 
 
 " But, without being what is called a per- 
 former, it is surely possible to give pleasure," 
 persisted Charles. " The simplest melodies 
 are often the most pleasing." 
 
 " Any style may give pleasure, but it must 
 be good of its kind ; and in music especially, 
 mediocrity is intolerable." 
 
 "TTill Lady Ramsay be so kind?" said 
 Charles, abruptly. 
 
 " Lady Eamsay will not be so kind," she 
 replied, turning away from him. Then, with 
 her softest glance and her softest accents, 
 she added : " I could not sing this evening, 
 Charles. Do not ask me." 
 
 Aurora had serious thoughts of playing her 
 tunes ; and, neglectful of her perambulatory 
 balls of worsted, she was half-way to the
 
 104 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 piano, when Isabella's denunciation against 
 indifferent music stopped her; so, to cover 
 her disappointment, she gave a short grunt, 
 and ran after her balls as if she had just dis- 
 covered their vagrancy. 
 
 Arethusa was less easily daunted. She had 
 fidgeted about, all the evening, opening and 
 shutting albums, striking stray notes upon 
 the piano, and making random observations 
 to the company in general — and Charles in 
 particular — and of which, it must be con- 
 fessed, he took little notice. But now the 
 opportunity was too good to be lost; music 
 was asked for, and nobody was willing to 
 play ; she, therefore, walked intrepidly to the 
 piano, placed her " Maniac" upon the desk, 
 and began singing with all her might. 
 
 She had not proceeded far, when she was 
 startled by the sudden opening of the door. 
 She turned round, and stopped in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 Little Chloe, dressed in a picturesque Greek 
 costume, bounded into the room, flew up to 
 her sister, threw her arms about her neck, 
 and said, in the prettiest broken English 
 imaginable :
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 105 
 
 11 Chloe did go out — but Isabella must not 
 be angry — Chloe couldn't help it ; tlie night 
 was so lovely — the stars so bright ; they called 
 me out — they invited me to them. Oh, please, 
 don't be angry." And she kissed her sister 
 again and again, by way of stopping her re- 
 monstrances. 
 
 " You've caught your death of cold, of 
 course," screamed her mother. "Didn't I 
 tell you not to go out ?" 
 
 " Yes, I know you did," said the child, 
 unflinchingly. 
 
 " Then why did you go ?" 
 
 " Because I liked it." 
 
 "You naughty, self-willed, spoilt child I" 
 
 " And pray who spoilt me ?" she retorted, 
 archly. 
 
 "You perverse, impertinent, troublesome 
 little creature ! You'll be the death of me," 
 said the mother, " you will. You do nothing 
 but what you like. You care for nobody but 
 yourself!" 
 
 "Yes I do," replied the child, petulantly. 
 " Chloe cares for Isabella — Chloe loves Isa- 
 bella. Oh, she does love Isabella." And she 
 embraced her sister over and over again.
 
 106 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 " You darling !" said Aurora, bustling close 
 to the child, with her eye-glass in her eye, and 
 her head stretched forward, so as to bring her 
 clumsy face almost in contact with the little 
 Greek's chiselled features. " You are a pretty 
 little darling. How old are you ? And what's 
 your name ?" 
 
 "What's that to you ?" replied the pretty 
 little darling, contemptuously drawing back. 
 " I wish you would keep off. You've pulled 
 half the hair out of my head." And she 
 pettishly extricated one of her long black 
 tresses from the entanglements of a ponderous 
 gold chain, which dangled about Aurora's 
 neck. Then the child, pirouetting round and 
 round like an opera-dancer, whisked the ends 
 of her plaits, at alternate angles, into Aurora's 
 face, who stood staring at her in amazement. 
 
 " Oh, you naughty thing !" exclaimed Ma- 
 dame Rodostomus, in tones expressive of any- 
 thing but anger. 
 
 Lady Ramsay, highly amused at the scene, 
 called the child to her. 
 
 * 
 
 " Oh, I like yoti /" said little Chloe, spring- 
 ing round like a bright fairy. " I like you 
 very much — you're so pretty and nice — and
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 107 
 
 Chloe will dance her phyrric dance for you," 
 she added, as she skipped and frisked about 
 the room, with the grace and agility of a 
 kitten. 
 
 " What a sweet angel it is !" exclaimed the 
 delighted mother. 
 
 " I thought you said just now that I was 
 naughty, and spoilt!" She spoke with a strange 
 sort of arch daring. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, and go to bed this 
 instant !" 
 
 "No, I won't. I'm not sleepy." Then, 
 with a sudden change of expression and 
 manner, she struck up a recitatiye in a high 
 soprano, strange, wild, almost unearthly. 
 TVhen the first stanza was ended, she be^an 
 a dance, or rather a series of attitudes, re- 
 Cjiuring extraordinary pliancy and grace. A 
 stanza and a dance alternately succeeded 
 each other. At first, both were graye and 
 measured, but gradually they became more 
 and more animated, until at length, the atti- 
 tudes were wildly rapid, and extravagantly 
 fantastic. 
 
 Suddenly she stopped short. In a moment 
 she was all softness and grace, then, with a
 
 108 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 very low obeisance, she flew like a sylph out 
 of the room. 
 
 " Didn't I say she was a prodigy?" screamed 
 the old lady, in ecstasies, "a real prodigy, 
 though she is not a boy. I was quite in despair 
 when she was born, and I asked for hint, and 
 was told it was her. There certainly never was 
 anything so provoking. Other people have 
 boys ; and why mine are both girls, is what I 
 never could at all account for." 
 
 " Everything is for the best," drawled Mrs. 
 Tyrrell. 
 
 " It's all very well for you, who have a son, 
 to say so ; but indeed it is a sad thing to be a 
 woman, and a widow, and to be unfortunate 
 from the day of one's birth, as I have been." 
 
 Erank now came into the room. He had 
 vanished immediately after dinner, in order 
 to study, and make up for lost time. In 
 the morning, he walked over to the station 
 to meet his friends, and his day had been 
 wasted in waiting for them. He sat down 
 by Isabella, and they soon got into conversa- 
 tion, apparently interesting and animated. 
 
 Charles felt uncomfortable. He could not 
 imagine how it happened, that Prank and
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 109 
 
 Isabella should have much to say to each 
 other, while he had himself got on so badly 
 with her. He was jealous of Prank, almost 
 angry with him. Though aware of their old 
 friendship, he could not help watching them 
 with an anxious eye. His answers to Lady 
 Ramsay's questions were so utterly absurd, 
 that it was clear he was not attending to one 
 word she had said. At length, provoked by 
 his absence of mind, she gave, though con- 
 siderably- earlier than usual, the signal to 
 retire. 
 
 The ladies left the room. Erank went to 
 resume his business ; and Charles, not feeling 
 sleepy, took an easy-chair, and a book. 
 
 He had not long occupied his comfortable 
 position, when he was startled by the sound 
 of Lady Ramsay's gay laugh. 
 
 " Sorry to interrupt your studies," said she, 
 playfully. " I suppose you were trying to 
 acquire the art of reading upside down ;" and 
 taking the book out of his hands, she held 
 it up triumphantly, in its inverted position. 
 " Oh, you naughty boy ! Come, tell your old 
 mother, which, of all the fair objects of your 
 eternal affections, was, at that moment, para-
 
 110 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 mount in your mind. When you make your 
 will, you intend, I presume, like Voiture, to 
 have your heart equally divided among each. 
 He had seven, one for every day in the week, 
 how many have you ?" 
 
 " Oh, Lady Ramsay !" said Charles, with 
 a gesture of impatience. 
 
 " My dear boy," she continued, in the 
 same jocular manner, " you know I am dis- 
 creet, and silent as the grave." 
 
 " I really wish you would choose some 
 other subject for your mirth. Don't you see 
 this annoys me ?" 
 
 " How very absurd ! And it was only the 
 day before yesterday that you said your- 
 self But I won't teaze you, poor child. 
 
 Let us talk of something else." She sat 
 down beside him ; with a soft glance, and a 
 softer voice, she proceeded : "I came to ask 
 you what I shall say, de votre part, to Lord 
 Derwent. I had a letter from him to-day, 
 and I must answer it soon. He writes to 
 know if he shall use, on your behalf, his 
 interest with the commander-in-chief. He 
 rarely exerts himself for anybody ; therefore, 
 what he does say, is effective. There is no
 
 CHARLES STANLY. Ill 
 
 immediate hurry as to your decision; to- 
 morrow, or next day, or even later would do. 
 But the opportunity is too good to be lost. 
 Lord Derwent is not easily moved, and we 
 must take him wiiile he is in the vein. How 
 I should like to see you in uniform, my hand- 
 some boy" — Charles involuntarily smiled — 
 " and what tun it will be to witness the rage 
 of that horrid old brute, your noble uncle, 
 when he hears his nephew cited as one of the 
 smartest Lifeguardsmen about town." Here 
 Charles joined heartily in the laugh. " And 
 money, you know, need be no consideration. 
 I have more than I want ; and no one to give 
 it to I love half so well. I have no chil- 
 dren but you, Charles; and no mother was 
 ever fonder of her son." 
 
 There was a tenderness in her manner, and 
 expression, a real maternal tenderness, which 
 was verv touching. And her looking exceed- 
 ingly handsome did not lessen Charles's gra- 
 titude. 
 
 He expressed his feelings with effusion, but 
 not profusion of thanks. He said little ; but 
 it was well said, and Lady Ramsay's voice 
 faltered with emotion, as she replied :
 
 112 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 " No more, Charles — no more of that. Why 
 should you thank me for conferring upon my- 
 self the greatest pleasure this world has in 
 store for me." 
 
 She then went on, in her usual gay manner, 
 to enumerate all the advantages of a military 
 profession. Lady Hamsay was a skilful ad- 
 vocate when she had a cause at heart. 
 
 Charles listened to her arguments, with 
 more pleasure than he had ever done before. 
 Prank's contrary objections suddenly ap- 
 peared to him trite and frivolous. 
 
 His own determination, too, of not accept- 
 ing money from Lady Hamsay was forgotten, 
 or outweighed, by an overpowering disinclina- 
 tion to follow Prank's advice, because it was 
 Prank's. The man, who had monopolised 
 Isabella all the evening, was clearly incapable 
 of a correct judgment. 
 
 Lady Hamsay saw her success, and pur- 
 sued her advantage. The interest she took in 
 Charles, and all that concerned him, was no 
 doubt very flattering. Indeed, so highly was 
 he gratified, that when she rose, saying it was 
 late, he protested that it was early, and strove 
 to detain her.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 113 
 
 " Nonsense, Charles !" said she, laughing, 
 and pulling out his watch. " "Will not you 
 believe your own eyes and your own watch ?" 
 And she held it up before him. " I shall lose 
 my character if I sit flirting with handsome 
 young Guardsmen, till one in the morning. 
 Come, you must really let me go." 
 
 "Eirst answer me one question/ * said 
 Charles, losing all his easiness of manner. 
 " Is your brother — I mean Prank Tyrrell — 
 in love — I mean engaged, to Isabella — I mean 
 the young lady who arrived here to-day ?" 
 
 With every word he spoke, Charles became 
 more and more embarrassed ; and his colour 
 rose higher and higher. Then finishing his 
 speech, with a rapidity which contrasted very 
 comically with the slow hesitation of its com- 
 mencement : " Not that I have any particular 
 reason for inquiring, of course — mere matter 
 of curiosity, you know." 
 
 However absurd was the sudden change in 
 Charles's manner — and although Lady Earn- 
 say had generally a very quick perception of 
 the ludicrous — she did not, on this occasion, 
 evince the least symptom of mirth. On the 
 contrary, she replied with great seriousness : 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 "That young lady, whose name you had 
 such difficulty in remembering, is certainly 
 not engaged to my brother. I should be very- 
 sorry if it were so. He likes her, no doubt ; but 
 only as a friend. The fact is, that to be really 
 in love with her appears to me very difficult — ■ 
 not to say impossible. Isabella Homayne is, 
 of all women I ever met with, the least likely 
 to inspire une grande passion," she added, 
 attempting to jest. 
 
 " And why, pray ?" exclaimed Charles, ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 " She who cannot feel, seldom inspires. 
 Isabella is one of those women — so very 
 reasonable, so unmoved, as never yet to love, 
 or to be loved." 
 
 Charles's surprised, perplexed face at length 
 quite upset her gravity. She hurried out of 
 the room, wishing him a " felicissima notte," 
 and not " une passion malheureuse."
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 115 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Xext morning, Charles was late at break- 
 fast, and very taciturn. In general, his bright, 
 handsome face, his merry laus^h, and »ood- 
 humoured fun, made an agreeable meal of 
 what is commonly the dullest and most 
 tedious one. In the morning, he usually 
 overflowed with spirits; but this morning, 
 he was entirely changed. 
 
 Lady Ramsay saw his perturbation; and 
 saw through it. But she abstained from 
 raillery. She was gentle and cordial. In a 
 moment his tea was beside him, and his plate 
 was filled precisely with those things he 
 wanted. Charles ate in silence, wondering 
 whether Lady Ramsay recollected how for- 
 merly she and Miss Romayne used to disagree 
 on the subject of field-sports. The former en- 
 
 i2
 
 116 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 couraged, while the latter disapproved of his 
 excessive passion for them. Every moment 
 he expected Lady Hamsay to comment upon 
 the absence of his shooting costume, but she 
 did not even seem to notice it. The only ob- 
 servation made on the subject was by Are- 
 thusa, who, not having received any answer 
 from Charles, to various questions she had ad- 
 dressed to him, informed Aurora, in one of 
 her audible whispers, " that she supposed Mr. 
 Stanly was studying the becomings and the 
 harmonies. But though he might be right in 
 thinking that a dark blue cravat did not suit a 
 green shooting-jacket, he was certainly wrong if 
 he imagined it suited his complexion. For her 
 part, she had never seen him look half so ill." 
 
 Aurora's white eyebrows were raised in 
 amazement, and she opened her mouth to 
 speak ; but thought better of it, and stopped 
 short after a very guttural " Dear I" 
 
 The shooting costume was entirely laid 
 aside. Charles seemed to have lost all taste 
 for sport. Yet he was not engrossed by any 
 other project. He, always eager in pursuit 
 of one thing or another, now wandered about 
 the house listless and idle. His careless good
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 117 
 
 humour gradually fled. In less than a week, 
 after Isabella's arrival, he was an altered 
 being. 
 
 This change was most apparent when in 
 Isabella's society. Before her, especially, he 
 was silent and thoughtful. His faculties were 
 as if paralysed. "Words, ideas, failed him. 
 This nervousness increased ; until at length it 
 became so painful, that he would sometimes 
 leave the room as soon as she entered it. But 
 if, in Isabella's presence, he was reserved and 
 bewildered, in absence she alone absorbed all 
 his thoughts. If, when she was before him, 
 he could hardly see her distinctly, the mo- 
 ment she left him, her image rose up in his 
 mind, clear, and beautiful, and bright. Then 
 her voice saluted his ear, like the soft tones 
 of a distant echo, or like music wafted by the 
 wind. And then he understood her words, 
 and answered them successfully. Indeed, he 
 often marvelled at his own eloquence, and 
 could at times hardly persuade himself that 
 these delightful conversations were the mere 
 creations of fancy. 
 
 Lady Ramsay was not slow in perceiving 
 the state of her young friend's mind, but she
 
 118 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 dropped no hint of her discovery, and least of 
 all to himself. In conversation with Charles, 
 she carefully avoided any mention of Isa- 
 bella's name ; and strove to amuse and distract 
 him by the variety and piquancy of her anec- 
 dotes. She knew exactly what sort of stories 
 were most diverting to Charles. If her fun 
 sometimes bordered upon indecorum, the 
 hearer was not obliged to understand more 
 than he pleased ; and whether she knew the 
 full meaning of her words or not, it was im- 
 possible, from her manner, to divine. Charles 
 was himself again, when alone with Lady 
 Ramsay; he then chatted away in his old 
 easy strain. And it must be confessed, that 
 Lady Hamsay was very skilful in drawing 
 him out, and thus putting him in conceit 
 with himself; thereby producing a sort of 
 excitement bordering upon fascination. But 
 no sooner was her back turned, than the tem- 
 porary intoxication vanished, and he almost 
 forgot her existence. 
 
 It was impossible to appear more satisfied 
 or suave than Lady Hamsay did at the pre- 
 sent moment; but she was far from feeling 
 so. A hundred circumstances occurred daily
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 119 
 
 which could not but be annoying to her; 
 most so of all, was Charles's pertinacious 
 disinclination to out-door amusements. He 
 had almost given up his favourite exercise of 
 riding. AYhen Lady Ramsay asked him to 
 accompany her, there was always some good 
 reason why he must stay at home. On one 
 occasion, he had letters to write ; on another, 
 his horse had cast a shoe, or required mashes. 
 Then Solinian's shoulder w r as rubbed — it was 
 impossible to ride him in that state. Lady 
 Ramsay looked, and could see no traces of 
 rubbing ; but her visual organs were suddenly 
 cleared by an angry ejaculation from Charles, 
 and she immediately evinced extraordinary 
 compassion for poor Solhnan's injury. 
 
 But if Lady Ramsay saw at pleasure, she 
 could also be conveniently blind. She was 
 blind to many an appealing look, which 
 Charles directed towards her, whenever riding 
 became the subject of conversation. She was 
 also deaf to Charles's observations, that, as 
 Miss Romayne was fond of riding, but afraid 
 of a spirited horse, Lady Ramsay's Brown 
 Bess would be exactly the thing for her. 
 
 Hitherto the only horse which Charles had
 
 120 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 condescended to mount, was Solinian, a per- 
 fect goer, but often very unmanageable. A 
 little training would soon have rendered this 
 spirited thorough-bred more docile; but 
 Charles resisted all Lady Ramsay's entreaties 
 to that effect. He declared that he hated 
 nothing so much as a tame brute ; and that 
 he had no pleasure in riding, unless the horse 
 gave him something to do. Accordingly, the 
 animal was appropriated to his use ; and 
 Charles daily enjoyed the satisfaction of 
 showing off his masterly horsemanship. 
 
 Such had been Charles's sentiments up to 
 the period of Miss Roniayne's arrival ; but not 
 very long afterwards, he discovered that Soli- 
 man was getting quite too troublesome, abso- 
 lutely vicious — in fact, that he was dangerous 
 to ride, and had never been properly broken 
 in. 
 
 This task Charles forthwith undertook. 
 Every morning he spent several hours in the 
 riding-school. The ladies frequently assem- 
 bled there to witness his feats of horseman- 
 ship, which were truly admirable. 
 
 Soliman was soon pronounced to be per- 
 fectly tractable and gentle. Miss Romayne
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 121 
 
 was requested to try him. She did so, ap- 
 proved of his docility, and was not deficient 
 in praise of Charles's skill, and still more of 
 his kindness. 
 
 Eor he gave up Solinian to her, and rode 
 by her side upon a little scrubby pony, which 
 he had previously despised. Long rides were 
 taken every afternoon. By means of this 
 exhilarating exercise, Charles managed occa- 
 sionally to get over his shyness. Once or 
 twice he was able to make himself really 
 agreeable ; and he began to fancy that Isabella 
 thought so. 
 
 Frank could not be blind to what was 
 going on before his eyes. He saw the im- 
 pression produced upon Charles by Isabella ; 
 but he hardly knew whether to regret or re- 
 joice at it. He felt that Isabella's guidance 
 might be of the utmost importance to Charles, 
 as counteracting his sister's dangerous influ- 
 ence. He knew that Isabella's clear good 
 sense would at once perceive and prescribe 
 the line of conduct most advantageous to 
 Charles. And he also knew that she was 
 sincere enough to tell him her mind on the 
 subject. Yet, somehow, he did not feel satis-
 
 122 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 fied. Erank, generally so clear in his views, 
 did not in this instance, and almost for the 
 first time in his life, see his way distinctly. 
 
 He misdoubted his judgment ; because he 
 was aware that in this case, it was impossible 
 for him to be an impartial judge. He knew 
 that his feelings towards Isabella must, more 
 or less, bias him. She had been his idol from 
 infancy ; for him, the world did not contain 
 her like. The worship had grown with his 
 growth, and strengthened with his strength. 
 The blind faith of childhood had matured into 
 deliberate conviction. The boy felt, and the 
 man knew, that to win her, would be to win 
 the sum of all human felicity. 
 
 Isabella had a sincere friendship for Erank, 
 consulted him on all important occasions, and 
 generally followed his advice. Her trust was 
 entire; but there were moments when he 
 wished this trust less entire, for he knew that 
 it was the easy confidence of a sister. He felt 
 that if she had loved him more, she would 
 have trusted him less, friendship confides of 
 its own free will, but love has no power to 
 withhold : " Ou confie son secret k l'amitie, 
 mais il echappe k 1' amour."
 
 CHABLES STANLY. 123 
 
 Prank gave up all idea of going to London 
 for the present. He determined to wait, and 
 watch ; he could not tear himself so soon 
 from Miss Romayne' s society. Moreover, he 
 felt, proudly, that the more she saw of him 
 the more he must rise in her esteem. Prank's 
 consciousness of his own self-won independ- 
 ence naturally gave him hopes of converting 
 Isabella's friendship into a higher, and a holier 
 feeling. 
 
 One rainy afternoon, Lady Ramsay sud- 
 denly entered the drawing-room. She started 
 with siu'prise at seeing Miss Roinayne seated 
 at the piano, and Charles standing beside her, 
 singing to her accompaniment. 
 
 " Wonders will never cease," said Lady 
 Ramsay, with a short laugh. " I thought 
 Miss Romayne disapproved of indifferent 
 music. Now, though I am, of course, 
 anxious to be civil to Charles, I really can- 
 not compliment him upon his musical 
 genius.' ' 
 
 Charles turned very red, and answered, 
 with much confusion, " Miss Romayne was 
 only trying to teach me a little song, which is 
 quite simple and easy."
 
 124 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 " Miss Romayne's ears are, fortunately, less 
 fastidious than mine. — Poor Charles !" she 
 added, good-naturedly ; " it is a horrid shame 
 to laugh at you, for you really are fond of 
 music, in your way ; but nature has given you 
 a tolerable ear, with an intolerable voice." 
 
 " Come, Lady Ranisay," said Charles, 
 gaining courage from her smile, " I declare 
 that is too bad. I assure you, that before 
 you came in, I sung this air very nearly right ; 
 and I shall soon get it up in a way that will 
 surprise you." 
 
 " I'm sure you practise it enough," cried 
 little Chloe, who, unperceived, had danced 
 into the room after Lady Ramsay. " Isabella 
 does nothing, all day long, but play the accom- 
 paniment with one hand and the melody with 
 the other. I'm quite tired of hearing it." 
 
 " I admire her patience," said Lady Ram- 
 say. 
 
 " I only wish I were a better pupil," said 
 Charles. " But, Miss Chloe," he added, 
 turning towards the child, "what business 
 have you to betray my secrets ? I don't want 
 anybody to know how often I repeat my 
 songs."
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 125 
 
 " And what business have you to keep Isa- 
 bella away from Chloe ? I don't want any- 
 body to do it, and I don't like you for it." 
 Her large, dark eyes seemed to change colour, 
 as she looked at him with a strange, inde- 
 finable expression. 
 
 " Come here to me, Chloe," said Isabella. 
 
 "No, I won't!" screamed the child. " I 
 won't come to you, and I w T on't kiss you, and 
 I won't love you any more, for you don't love 
 Chloe now — you only love him." As she 
 spoke, she pointed contemptuously at Charles 
 with her fore-finger, and going up to Lady 
 Ramsay, she began petting and coaxing her. 
 
 Isabella strove to hide her confusion, by 
 turning over the pages of the music before 
 her. 
 
 Charles walked towards the window, per- 
 severingly whistling his tune. " There is 
 something particularly light and exhilarating 
 in the air to-day," he said. 
 
 "There is no accounting for tastes," re- 
 torted Lady Eamsay, sarcastically. " I can- 
 not say that I have any particular predilec- 
 tion for wet weather." 
 
 " "Wet weather ! By Jove, so it is ! How
 
 126 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 very odd that I should not have been aware 
 of it!" 
 
 " It has been pouring all day, and blowing 
 a hurricane into the bargain; but it seems 
 you were too well employed either to see or 
 to hear ; so I suppose I may take myself off — 
 I hate being de trop. I did come with the 
 intention of asking you to read to us, as we 
 can't go out ; but it would be a sin to inter- 
 rupt your harmonious employment." 
 
 " My dear Lady Ramsay," exclaimed 
 Charles, heedless of her taunts, for his spirits 
 were at that moment too high to be annoyed 
 by anything, " I shall be delighted to read, 
 or to do whatever else you please." 
 
 " But perhaps Miss Romayne does not like 
 to be read to," said Lady Ramsay, turning 
 from him, and stiffly addressing Isabella. 
 
 "There is nothing I like better," replied 
 Isabella. 
 
 " Then, if you please, we will adjourn to 
 the boudoir. The rest of the party are al- 
 ready there." 
 
 The book which Lady Ramsay had chosen 
 for their morning's entertainment, was a 
 French novel, just come out. She knew that
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 127 
 
 Charles liked reading Erench, and that he did 
 it remarkably well. 
 
 It was a love tale, whose chief merit lay 
 in the exquisite beauty and harmony of the 
 language. Of its merits, as a story, the 
 reader may judge. 
 
 The heroine is a lady, or rather an angel, 
 of beauty, purity, and genius. Her husband 
 is very old, but she adores him, although she 
 is all the time sighing for a young lover. The 
 old husband, good man, concurs in so natural 
 a desire, but, unhappily, their joint efforts to 
 find a suitable person prove ineffectual, and 
 the lady, afflicted with vapours, is, by her 
 physician, advised to travel. She sets out 
 alone, upon a voyage of discovery, and has the 
 good fortune to stumble upon a young man, 
 whom she instantly recognises as the beloved 
 unknown. She forthwith initiates him into 
 the peculiarities of her situation ; and ends by 
 telling him, with touching naivete, that he is 
 the identical being for whom she has long 
 pined, and with whom it is her purpose to fall 
 in love. The gentleman, as in duty bound, 
 responds to her affection. His rapture is 
 intense, and its effects peculiar, for he im-
 
 128 CHAKLES STANLY. 
 
 mediately " ceases to be a man, and becomes a 
 living hymn." Then he requests permission 
 to bathe in the lady's tears, and she gratifies 
 him by singing Old Robin Grey. 
 
 The hero is universally gifted. We are in- 
 formed, that if he had any talent he would 
 have had it to perfection. Unfortunately, he 
 does not seem to have been favoured by 
 nature. Why, the author does not think fit 
 to tell us. The lady, at all events, is satisfied 
 that she has found her ideal. Accordingly, 
 she wanders with him in the woods all day, 
 and converses with him all night ; but always 
 through the chink of a door. This mode of 
 love-making is novel — some people might 
 think it inconvenient — but there is no ac- . 
 counting for tastes. Of course, natures so 
 sublime are not affected by vulgar prejudices 
 about right or wrong ; but it appears that 
 the lady has a complaint in her heart, and 
 that she has been warned by her physician to 
 avoid any extraordinary excitement. There- 
 fore, and only therefore, the door is never 
 opened. 
 
 Virtue so stupendous deserves reward. One 
 day, the lady informs her lover that she wishes
 
 CHAELES STANLY. 129 
 
 to die, and generously permits him to expire 
 with her. He expresses himself duly grateful, 
 and as it fortunately happens that a lake is 
 close by, they instantly prepare to plunge into 
 it. For this purpose they take a coil of rope, 
 which lies handy, and twist it exactly nine 
 times round their bodies. Thus bound to- 
 gether, they anticipate the beatitude of drown- 
 ing; when, from excess of rapture, the lady 
 faints, and the lover, considerately, postpones 
 the ceremony. She recovers, thinks no more 
 about dying, and the pair go comfortably 
 home together, and resume their innocent 
 pastimes. These seem chiefly to consist in 
 combing one another's hair with their fingers, 
 and staring each other out of countenance. 
 On one occasion, he improves her mind by 
 reading choice bits of Rousseau's confessions. 
 Such delicacy and refinement are delightful. 
 
 Winter arrives, and the lady must return 
 to Paris, and her old husband. She is soon fol- 
 lowed by her lover. The husband is naturally 
 delighted by his wife's choice, and finding 
 that the young gentleman's education has 
 been much neglected, he kindly undertakes 
 to improve his understanding. The teacher is 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 zealous, and the pupil industrious ; in the 
 short space of six months, he has learnt every- 
 thing. Philosophy, history, poetry — nothing 
 conies amiss. It is edifying to behold the 
 beautiful harmony in which these three de- 
 lectable beings pass their life. Indeed, the 
 only cause for interruption is the necessity for 
 concluding the story. It must end somehow ; 
 so the heroine dies, and both husband and 
 lover are reduced to despair. For their mutual 
 comfort and consolation, the elder gentleman 
 proposes to adopt the younger. Why this 
 kind offer is declined, the author does not 
 condescend to explain. Indeed, throughout 
 the whole work, he maintains a lofty inde- 
 pendence of probability. Causes and effects, 
 motives and actions are quite free of each 
 other, and, disdaining precedency, fraternise 
 in beautiful equality. A wholesome spirit of 
 freedom pervades the book — that is, freedom 
 from common decency and common sense. 
 
 There was a general silence when Charles 
 had finished reading. Everybody felt that 
 sort of unsatisfactory feeling which immoral 
 books always produce upon the reader ; though
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 131 
 
 they are often puzzled to explain the cause of 
 their discomfort. 
 
 Charles had observed Lady Ramsay's eyes 
 rest several times approvingly upon him while 
 he had been reading. Her tact prompted her 
 rightly, and she always praised at the proper 
 place. Nothing is so gratifying as well-di- 
 rected approbation. 
 
 "Thank you, Charles, 5 ■ said Lady Ramsay. 
 " You have given us a very agreeable after- 
 noon." 
 
 "You are very good to say so," he replied, 
 addressing himself to Lady Ramsay, but look- 
 ing towards Miss Romayne. 
 
 " I am very fond of being read to while I 
 work," lisped Mrs. Tyrrell, yawning, and ar- 
 ranging her dress. " It forms quite a pleasing 
 accompaniment, and I always think my work 
 looks better afterwards." 
 
 " I'm so sorry it is done !" exclaimed 
 Aurora. " I should like to hear it all over 
 again." 
 
 "So exciting!" sobbed Arethusa. "I'm 
 not only overcome, but overwhelmed." And 
 she put her handkerchief to her eyes, and 
 tried to be hysterical. 
 
 k2
 
 132 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 "It is interesting, certainly," said Lady 
 Ramsay. " But very strange, and not par- 
 ticularly fit for young ladies." She gave her 
 peculiar look and laugh. 
 
 " If you think so, why did you have it 
 read ?" inquired Frank, abruptly. 
 
 "Dear!" said Aurora, alarmed, "I never 
 should have found that out. The people are 
 all so good, and so happy together. I see no 
 harm in it." 
 
 " It may be absurd, but I really don't 
 know what it all means," chirped Madame Ho- 
 dostomus. 
 
 "What's the use of understanding?" said 
 Mrs. Tyrrell. " I never try to understand 
 needlessly." 
 
 " Oh !" sighed Arethusa, " that part where 
 they're going to drown themselves, because 
 they're so happy, is dreadfully delicious !" 
 
 " Do French people drown themselves when 
 they're happy, I want to know ?" asked little 
 Chloe, sharply. The child had been sitting 
 close to her sister, busily drawing, while the 
 reading was going on. 
 
 "Not in general, I believe," said Prank, 
 smiling.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 133 
 
 " Then why are they made to want to do it 
 in the book ?" 
 
 " You are quite right, my little woman, " 
 replied Frank. "The story is a tissue of 
 nonsense from beginning to end. A good 
 specimen of that class of books, shockingly 
 immoral, because utterly unnatural." 
 
 " Good Heavens, Frank!" exclaimed Lady 
 Ramsay. " There's not an improper word 
 from beginning to end 1" 
 
 " So much the worse. For the ideas are all 
 improper. The sentiments are false, and so 
 are the situations. Untruth is the worst kind 
 of immorality. I should like to burn all such 
 books, and break the types from which they 
 were printed." 
 
 "What does Miss Eomayne think of the 
 story?" inquired Charles, timidly glancing 
 towards her. 
 
 11 I am hardly a fair judge," she replied, 
 very gently. " The language is polished and 
 harmonious ; but I am afraid I did not attend 
 very much to the story." 
 
 "You seemed all attention," said Arethusa, 
 pointedly. " All the time Mr. Stanly was 
 reading, you never took your eyes off him."
 
 134 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Isabella coloured slightly. But her words 
 were calm. 
 
 " Stories of that kind seldom interest me." 
 
 " Love stories, you mean. Well, I believe 
 you. You do not care for them et pour 
 cause" said Lady Ramsay, again giving her 
 peculiar laugh. 
 
 " Isabella is superior to such trash," ob- 
 served Prank. 
 
 " Oh, no — not superior. I simply do not 
 like that kind of book." 
 
 " But you like some works of fiction," 
 pleaded Charles. "You used, I remember 
 well, to delight in the Arabian Nights. You 
 told me yesterday that you thought no book 
 equal to Don Quixote. Shakspeare you knew 
 by heart ; and this morning, I saw you reading 
 Ariosto." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; but that is quite another 
 thing. Fiction may contain deep truth. Don 
 Quixote is a touching satire, applicable in 
 every age, and in every time; an exquisite 
 combination of pathos and humour, inferior 
 in that style only to the divine comedy 
 of Dante. Of Shakspeare, the world has 
 judged. Not to feel his poetry, is to be de-
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 135 
 
 prived of the sense of beauty in nature and 
 in art. And as to the Arabian Nights, and 
 Ariosto; they are supernatural indeed, but 
 not unnatural. Ariosto' s fictions are so con- 
 trived, as to persuade the reader of their 
 reality. Fiction is not falsehood. To the ideal 
 world he has created, Ariosto always remains 
 true. But the French novelist gives us false- 
 hood without fiction. He professes to paint the 
 scenes of real life ; but what he presumes to 
 call nature is but a vile and worthless counter- 
 feit. He presents to our view only the dis- 
 torted phantasies of an over-heated imagina- 
 tion, of a perverted intellect, and of a de- 
 praved heart. The scenery is extravagant, the 
 figures monstrous. And the glowing colours 
 with which he paints, the high varnish he 
 uses, only serve, I think, to throw out his 
 false drawing in stronger relief." 
 
 Isabella spoke with a fervid, yet gentle 
 enthusiasm, peculiar to herself. But the faint 
 glow which it called into her cheeks soon 
 passed away, and she stood leaning against 
 the mantelpiece lost in thought. A pale 
 sunbeam, studded with prismatic rain-drops, 
 played as a halo round her brow, enhancing
 
 136 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 the spiritual character of her statue-like 
 beauty. 
 
 Charles's eyes fixed themselves upon her, 
 with an expression not to be mistaken. Lady 
 Ramsay read its meaning. 
 
 " Such fine-drawn definitions are quite be- 
 yond my poor capacity," she said, with ill- 
 suppressed irritation. " I cannot split hairs. 
 Miss Romayne will be shocked at my vul- 
 garity, when I quote the proverb about a dis- 
 tinction without a difference." 
 
 "Oh, Fanny !" exclaimed Prank. 
 
 " But really, Lady Ramsay," put in Charles, 
 " I must confess that, as it seems to me, 
 Miss Eomayne has clearly — to my mind at 
 least " 
 
 "Oh, I never doubted your championship 
 in that cause ; and I admire it as it deserves. 
 I applaud the preux chevalier, who stands by 
 his lady, right or wrong. For my part, I am 
 not ashamed to confess my gross ignorance 
 of literary anatomy. I like to enjoy, not to 
 dissect. Others may reason — let me feel." 
 
 " Reason and feeling foei&g, of course, in- 
 compatible," said Frank, drily. 
 
 Lady Ramsay made an effort to laugh, but
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 137 
 
 it was evidently against the grain. After a 
 few moments, however, she succeeded in con- 
 quering some unpleasant feelings, with which 
 she appeared to have been struggling, and 
 said, nearly in her usual manner : 
 
 " We have been very dull ever since Miss 
 Romayne's arrival. It is not using her well. 
 As soon as this bad weather ceases, we must 
 get up some party. What shall it be, Charles ? 
 You shall decide." 
 
 Charles looked wistfully at Isabella. " Did 
 you ever see a steeple-chase ?" he inquired. 
 
 "No, I never did," she replied. "But I 
 am hardly, I fear, worthy of it. It is a dan- 
 gerous amusement, and I see no merit in 
 useless danger." 
 
 Charles looked disappointed. "Or a re- 
 gatta?" he said, timidly. 
 
 " I never saw a regatta," Isabella replied. 
 " It must be a pretty sight." 
 
 "After all," said Charles, "it would not do 
 to have another steeple-chase so soon after the 
 last one. A boat-race would be much better." 
 
 " I hope you will be more successful than 
 you were last time," said Arethusa, taunt- 
 ingly.
 
 138 CHABXES STANLY. 
 
 "We shall see, Miss Arethusa," replied 
 Charles. 
 
 "I dare say he will do very well indeed,' * 
 said Aurora. " Last time, he was out of prac- 
 tice ; but he will practice now, I make no 
 doubt ; and there is nothing so good for im- 
 provement as practice, you know." 
 
 " I thought Mr. Stanly did not care for 
 frivolous amusements; but he has changed 
 his mind within the last fortnight, it seems," 
 said Arethusa. 
 
 " People do sometimes change their minds. 
 I don't see why they shouldn't " 
 
 "And their complexions too," said Are- 
 thusa, in her audible under tone. u Mr. 
 Stanly was pale a minute ago, and now he is 
 quite blooming." 
 
 " Well, I'm sure it's not unbecoming," 
 said Aurora, putting up her eye-glass. 
 
 " Miss Homayne is of your opinion. She 
 has adopted Mr. Stanly's colour," said Are- 
 thusa. 
 
 " I wish," said Charles, turning upon Are-- 
 thusa, " that some people would adopt better 
 manners."
 
 CHAELES STANLY. 139 
 
 " And I wish, others would set them the 
 example." 
 
 " Now, pray don't quarrel," lauglied Lady 
 Ramsay. " It has been one of my most dif- 
 ficult tasks through life, to keep the peace 
 between you two." 
 
 " Well, then, Lady Ramsay," said Charles, 
 "it ia settled that we are to have a boat- 
 
 race." 
 
 " Va pour la course aux bateaux" replied 
 Lady Ramsay, as she left the room. 
 
 The rest of the party followed her. Isabella 
 remained a moment behind ; to help Chloe to 
 gather up the scraps of paper upon which she 
 had been drawing. 
 
 When he had reached the door, Charles 
 looked round, and seeing her still sitting upon 
 the sofa, came quickly back, and said, in a low 
 voice, " You really like boat-races, Miss Ro- 
 mayne ?" 
 
 There was not much in the words, but a 
 great deal of meaning was conveyed in the 
 manner in which they were uttered. Isa- 
 bella's face and throat were one deep crimson. 
 It was a simple question, but somehow Miss
 
 140 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Romayne was at a loss to find an answer to 
 it. While she was hesitating, little Chloe 
 pushed herself between Charles and Isabella. 
 " Go away," she said, to the former. " This 
 is Chloe's place. What business have you to 
 come so near my sister ? Go away, will 
 you ?" And she threw her arms passionately 
 round Isabella, who was not sorry to be thus 
 relieved from her confusion.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 141 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Now j Lady Ramsay," said Charles, when 
 he joined the ladies, after dinner, "you shall 
 hear what I can do. Prepare yourself to he 
 amazed hy my proficiency in singing. Will 
 you accompany me, Miss Romayne?" he 
 added, turning towards the latter. 
 
 Charles was radiant with spirits. Since his 
 arrival at Eastrow he had never appeared so 
 gay. His manner that evening was very dif- 
 ferent from what it had been on the preceding 
 one. 
 
 Miss Romayne went to the piano. Charles 
 followed her. Their beginning, it must be 
 confessed, was not successful. Isabella played 
 a wrong chord — Charles struck a false note. 
 Lady Ramsay* s tragi-comic exclamation of 
 horror was anything but likely to inspire 
 courage.
 
 142 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 However, they tried again. This time 
 things went better, or rather, they went well. 
 "When Charles was inclined to sing out of 
 tune, Isabella's right hand touched the note 
 which she felt he was going to strike. When 
 he slackened or quickened his time, the ac- 
 companiment followed in perfect accord. 
 
 "Did you ever think I should sing so 
 well ?" exclaimed Charles to Lady Ramsay, 
 with undisguised triumph. 
 
 Lady Ramsay laughed ; but it was a forced 
 laugh. 
 
 " You owe something to Isabella's accom- 
 paniment, I've a notion/' said Erank. " I 
 don't understand much about music, but she 
 appeared to wander about after your singing 
 very dexterously. Did she not, Panny ?" 
 
 " I had no idea," said Lady Ramsay, turn- 
 ing towards Isabella, " that you were so used 
 to accompany singing." 
 
 " I am not much used to it," she replied. 
 
 " She owes her talent solely and entirely to 
 me," said Charles. " I am the first person 
 she ever accompanied." 
 
 "When all other trades fail," said Are-
 
 CHAELES STANLY. 143 
 
 thusa, tossing ner ringlets, " yon may turn 
 singing-master/ ' 
 
 " I should like none better," retorted 
 Charles, " provided Miss Romayne accom- 
 panied me. 55 
 
 "She shan't!" screamed Chloe — "she 
 shall accompany none bnt Chloe 1" 
 
 Xext day nothing was thought of, or talked 
 about but the boat-race, or the regatta, as 
 Lady Eamsay thought proper to call it. 
 Charles was mad upon the subject. As the 
 time drew near, he even neglected his sing- 
 ing, in order to practice rowing. He was on 
 the wateT from morning till night. 
 
 He rallied Frank unmercifully upon his 
 laziness. " You have no chance of winning, 
 my dear fellow," he continually said to him, 
 * if you do not get yourself a little in wind. 
 My failure last time was all owing to want of 
 practice. It is quite astonishing how one 
 improves with a few days' hard work." 
 
 " Since you are such a proficient, I should 
 have no chance against you. I had better not 
 try." 
 
 " Oh, that icoidd be shabby. Ko, no ; we
 
 144 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 cannot allow of any such backing out. You 
 must try your luck with the rest. And if 
 you do not give yourself a fair chance, it is 
 your own fault, and more shame to you." 
 
 " Well, we shall see, when the day comes,'* 
 said Prank, carelessly. 
 
 The intervening time was spent in active 
 preparations. Aurora was the happiest of the 
 happy. She had the pleasure of writing all 
 the invitations, and numerous were those 
 issued. Lady Ramsay, who loved a bustle 
 almost as well as her little friend, was de- 
 lighted with her own arrangements, and 
 therefore, in remarkable good humour. As a 
 signal proof of her extreme suavity, may be 
 noted the fact, that she actually allowed 
 Aurora to send invitations to a certain family 
 named Smith, whom Lady Ramsay jocosely 
 called Aurora's vulgar villa friends. Never 
 before had they been admitted within the aris- 
 tocratic precincts of the Eastrow domains. 
 
 Everything was propitious. The weather 
 was splendid. The lawn was covered with 
 tents and marquees. The collation was 
 elegant and profuse. Lady Ramsay was 
 charmed with the success of her arrange-
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 145 
 
 ments. In fact, nothing could be better 
 done. She was quite in her element, as she 
 graciously received her guests, with a flatter- 
 ing word, or a caressing smile to each. 
 
 The lawn presented an animated spectacle. 
 It was crowded with gaily-dressed ladies. The 
 gentlemen, too, had done their best to appear 
 advantageously. The rowers, especially, vied 
 with each other in the taste and appropriate- 
 ness of their costume. Some of these were 
 expensive and elaborate. There were Greek 
 sailors, and Turkish sailors; there were Prench 
 and English, Russian and Neapolitan sea- 
 men. Charles's dress was, at once, the 
 most simple and most picturesque. His tall, 
 slight, but very athletic figure, was well set off 
 by a loose jacket and trousers, and a red sash 
 tied tight round his waist. A red worsted cap, 
 placed on one side of his head, was, by all the 
 ladies, declared to be particularly becoming. 
 
 When all the party had arrived, the rowers 
 mustered, and descended, in a body, to the 
 beach. The ladies crowded upon the terrace, 
 which commanded it. The terrace was at 
 the extremity of the lawn, opposite the house. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 It was terminated by a precipitous cliff. The 
 sea washed its base. 
 
 " "Where's that lazy Frank ?" exclaimed 
 Charles, running back to the terrace. "By 
 Jove ! it is too bad to throw us over at the 
 last moment. Has anybody seen Frank ?" 
 
 Nobody had seen him. He had not yet 
 appeared upon the lawn. Charles was hurry, 
 ing to the castle in search of him, when he 
 came, walking leisurely from the house. 
 
 " My dear fellow, how can you keep us all 
 waiting in this manner ?" 
 
 cc I am sorry you waited. I had a letter of 
 importance to write ; and business, you know, 
 comes before pleasure. " 
 
 " But you will have no choice of boats, or 
 oars, or anything. Could not you write your 
 letter afterwards ?" 
 
 " If I have lost my chance, I cannot help 
 it. I really do not care about the match. I 
 had just as soon be a spectator, as a per- 
 former." 
 
 " No, that won't do ; that is not fair. To 
 back out, because you can't get the best boat, 
 is shabby.' ' 
 
 "That, I am sure, was not his reason,"
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 147 
 
 said Isabella, who had overheard the con- 
 versation. 
 
 " Thank you, Isabella, for taking my part. 
 But I believe I am getting too old for such 
 foolery." 
 
 " Nonsense, Frank ; we want you ; we can't 
 do without you. Our number is not complete 
 — your refusal spoils the whole thing." 
 
 u Oh ! if that is the case, here I am, quite 
 willing and ready." 
 
 The Mends descended together to the scene 
 of action. There, all was noise and bustle. 
 The sea was alive with boats. Gay streamers 
 floated in the air. White sails glistened, like 
 burnished silver, in the sun. In a few mi- 
 nutes, all was in readiness. 
 
 " I want to get into one of the boats — I 
 mil get into one of the boats," screamed 
 little Chloe, who had run down the bank 
 after Charles and Frank. 
 
 " I am afraid that cannot be allowed," said 
 Frank, good humour edly, " so go back again 
 to the terrace, like a good little girl." He 
 got into his boat, and pushed off from the 
 shore. 
 
 " But you will take me. Won't you take 
 
 l2
 
 148 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 me ? Yon shall take me ; I will go," persisted 
 the child, clinging to Charles. 
 
 " Now, pray Chloe, don't be tiresome — 
 leave me alone, or I'll tell your sister of you," 
 he added, pushing her away. She had seized 
 hold of the end of his scarf, and, to his no 
 small annoyance, somewhat discomposed the 
 artistic style of its arrangement. 
 
 The boats were now drawn up, side by side, 
 in front of the lawn. There was one man in 
 each boat, and each man had a pair of oars. 
 Before starting, they all waved their hats to 
 the ladies above. Great was the universal 
 excitement among the fair spectators. 
 
 The race begun. Handkerchiefs waved. 
 Cries rent the air. All the gentlemen showed 
 great skill and dexterity. It was a difficult 
 race. Charles had insisted that it should be 
 so. There was a very awkward turn, which 
 he could not be induced to give up, and in 
 consequence of which, several gentlemen had 
 declined rowing. But Charles had set his 
 heart upon accomplishing the feat in Isa- 
 bella's presence. 
 
 His boat was soon far ahead of the others. 
 His competitors struggled hard to come up
 
 CHARLES STAXLY. 149 
 
 with him. But during the first half of the 
 race, not one neared him. 
 
 He caught a distant glimpse of Isabella's 
 bonnet, and he pictured to himself the mild 
 face underneath it, animated with excitement 
 at his success. " If I could hut distance them 
 altogether !" thought he. He put forth all 
 his strength, and his boat shot forward like 
 an arrow. 
 
 A shout of applause from above renewed 
 his vigour. The gentlemen gave up their bets. 
 They were all convinced that he must win. 
 The ladies protested that he had won already. 
 Then wishes were unanimously favourable to 
 Charles. 
 
 Lady Ramsay was in ecstasies. Aurora 
 jumped for joy. Arethusa tried to be hys- 
 terical. Isabella alone said nothing. She 
 was standing a little apart from the rest, 
 leaning upon the parapet, which overlooked 
 the sea. 
 
 Charles redoubled his exertions. But he 
 had overrated his strength. He felt that it 
 was getting exhausted; and now came the 
 difficult turn. He had set his heart upon 
 accomplishing it brilliantly.
 
 150 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 But he turned too sharp. To keep his 
 boat steady, he was obliged somewhat to de- 
 viate from the prescribed tract. A rock was 
 between him and it, which it was necessary 
 to avoid. He righted himself skilfully, but 
 he lost time. Several of his competitors were 
 even with him. 
 
 To distance, was now out of the question ; 
 but he might yet win the single stakes. He 
 rowed hard, but he had become flurried ; he 
 lost his self-command. A boat had passed 
 him. 
 
 There was a possibility of losing. His 
 anxiety to win robbed him of his strength. 
 It was especially provoking. The boat which 
 had passed his, was Prank's, and a slow one. 
 But it kept steady, and straight as a line, to 
 its right course. 
 
 Another fruitless effort, and Charles's 
 strength was quite spent. He threw down 
 his oars, let his boat float at random, and 
 gave up the contest in despair. The slow, 
 steady boat had won the prize. Loud cheers 
 hailed the winner. 
 
 As usual, the popular tide turned with 
 victory. The men declared that they had all 
 along, foreseen the result. The ladies dis-
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 151 
 
 covered that they had from the beginning, 
 wished success to Mr. Tyrrell. 
 
 Frank was overwhelmed with compliments. 
 Everybody crowded round him, when he ap- 
 peared upon the lawn. Everybody but Isabella. 
 As soon as she perceived that all were oc- 
 cupied with Erank, she strolled alone, to the 
 further extremity of the terrace. 
 
 She arrived there, just in time to meet 
 Charles, who was the last to ascend the cliff. 
 He looked hot, and jaded, and terribly out of 
 
 * 
 
 sorts. 
 
 Isabella's calm smile increased his irrita- 
 tion, and he was hurrying impatiently past 
 her. 
 
 " How can you let such a trifle annoy you, 
 Mr. Stanly ?" she said, gently. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Eomayne ! I don't care for 
 losing the race, but it provokes one to have 
 lost it before you." 
 
 " Do you think yourself less estimable, be- 
 cause you happened to turn a corner a little 
 too sharply ?" 
 
 " Yes, that was it," said Charles, recover- 
 ing himself a little. " That one moment lost 
 me. Just come here, Miss Eomayne, and I 
 will show you exactly how it was."
 
 152 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 And he began explaining the various causes 
 of his failure, with an interest which she 
 seemed thoroughly to partake. 
 
 " Come, Isabella," said Prank, joining 
 them. " Will you not have some refresh- 
 ment ? All the ladies are at luncheon. My 
 sister sent me to fetch you." 
 
 " I must congratulate you upon your 
 prowess," said Charles, in a constrained 
 manner. " I had no idea you were such an 
 expert rower." 
 
 " I was myself hardly aware of my own 
 proficiency in that noble calling," Prank re- 
 plied, laughing carelessly. 
 
 " How nicely you must have calculated your 
 distance, and how accurately you must have 
 measured your strength," harped Charles. 
 
 " I assure you I did neither one nor the 
 other. It was a matter of indifference to me 
 whether I came in first or not." 
 
 " Considering your apathy, you seemed to 
 me to take extreme pains." 
 
 " As I was about it, I thought I might as 
 well do my best ; but if I had had any notion 
 that you would take the thing so much to 
 heart, I " 
 
 "Take it to heart," Charles interrupted.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 153 
 
 " No, I'm not quite such a fool as that 
 either," he added, with ill-suppressed irrita- 
 tion. " You might really do me a little more 
 justice ; and the importance you attach to the 
 
 whole thing is " But he did not finish his 
 
 sentence. A peculiar expression he observed 
 in Isabella's eye, checked whatever words he 
 was going to add. He reddened to the roots 
 of his hair, and turned away, looking very 
 foolish. 
 
 Erank felt greatly inclined to laugh. He 
 restrained himself, however, not to increase 
 Charles's annoyance, and repeated his invita- 
 tion for Isabella to come to luncheon. 
 
 She told him to go on first, and that she 
 would follow. Prank understood that her in- 
 tention was to say a consolatory or an ad- 
 monitory word to Charles, and did as she told 
 him. Isabella turned towards Charles, and 
 was about to speak, when a piercing shriek 
 escaped her. 
 
 Charles looked round in amazement. 
 
 "Oh, God ! my sister," Isabella repeated 
 in tones of agony. " Oh, Chloe ! my poor 
 Chloe I" 
 
 For an instant, Charles was lost in her deep 
 gaze of anguish and appeal. The next, his
 
 154 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 eye glanced in the direction to which she 
 pointed. On the surface of the water lay the 
 broad Tuscan hat, with its gay ribbons, which 
 Chloe had worn that day. It was a piteous 
 sight to behold it, tossed recklessly from 
 billow to billow. A small fair hand glistened 
 in the sunshine, and then the waves closed 
 over it. A faint ripple marked the spot when 
 it had disappeared. 
 
 No help was at hand. When the race was 
 over, both gentlemen and sailors had left their 
 boats, and were now dispersed in groups, out- 
 side the tents. The paths which led down to 
 the beach were steep and circuitous. To 
 descend by these, was clearly useless. Assist- 
 ance would arrive too late. The high tide 
 laved the basement of the cliff; the water 
 was fifteen feet below the parapet. It was a 
 dangerous leap. 
 
 Charles measured the distance with his eye, 
 sprang upon the wall, and plunged into the 
 deep. 
 
 His decision had been prompt, and its 
 execution immediate ; but Isabella guessed 
 his purpose. She had read it in his looks, 
 and her hand was upon his arm to stay him. 
 But the soft touch infused unwonted daring.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 155 
 
 Wild-fire ran through his veins. All sense of 
 danger was annihilated. He could have braved 
 a thousand deaths. 
 
 The ladies, attracted to the terrace by 
 Isabella's cry, screamed and roared, and 
 rushed towards the parapet. The men ran 
 headlong down the cliff. Long before any of 
 them reached the beach, Charles was on shore ; 
 and Chloe in his arms. 
 
 Isabella had seen him plunge into the 
 water, and her eye was steady. Her cheek 
 remained unblanched as he rose, and sunk, and 
 rose again. She was heedless of the frantic 
 exclamations which echoed round her. She 
 was deaf to sound ; but her sight was clear. 
 All her senses were fused into one. In the 
 distance she plainly marked the expression of 
 his eyes, as from the water, he glanced upwards 
 towards her. Once more she saw him dive, 
 and rise. But this time a bundle was in one 
 arm. "With the other, he swam gallantly 
 ashore. Cries of exultation rent the air. 
 Isabella heard them not ; she grew sick and 
 giddy, and the blood crept coldly along her 
 veins. But through the mist, which dimmed 
 her sight, she saw one bright speck. First 
 denned, and vivid, like an illumined picture
 
 156 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 upon the wall, it rose upwards, and spread 
 larger and misty. And now she saw no more. 
 Her heart was of ice. She seemed turned to 
 stone. 
 
 Charles scaled the cliff by a steep, short 
 cut ; avoided the crowd of men, whose assist- 
 ance he had rendered vain ; threaded his way 
 through the wondering women, who obstructed 
 his path ; and rushed forwards to Isabella. He 
 fell upon his knees, as before an idol ; and held 
 up, like an offering, the fainting child. 
 
 A stifled sob escaped Isabella. The marble 
 was melted now. She looked towards heaven, 
 and pressed her hands upon her bosom. Then, 
 covering her face with them, she burst into 
 tears. 
 
 " My own Chloe ! and only to think of it 1" 
 screamed Madame Hodostomus, forcing her 
 way through the crowd. " Why on earth did 
 you do it ? I can't think what put it into 
 your head. My luck, of course — all my bad 
 luck." 
 
 As it may be supposed, Chloe, being still 
 insensible, made no immediate reply to her 
 mother's reiterated queries. 
 
 Meanwhile, Prank had not been idle. As 
 soon as he saw Charles plunge into the sea,
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 157 
 
 he knew that he could be of no use, either to 
 him, or to Chloe. He therefore occupied him- 
 self with those near him. He dashed water 
 into Lady Ramsay's face — she was in real 
 hysterics — poured some down Arethusa's 
 throat, who was trying hard to get up a 
 second-hand imitation ; peremptorily begged 
 the ladies to restrain their very feminine and 
 very useless ejaculations ; and reached the 
 terrace just as Isabella had dried her tears. 
 Then, lifting Chloe out of Charles's arms, he 
 carried her into the house. 
 
 Isabella hurried after him. Aurora was in 
 the hall, surrounded by the servants, and 
 spouting receipts and nostrums, but preparing 
 none, and giving so many simultaneous and 
 contradictory orders, that it was utterly im- 
 possible to execute any. She looked, how- 
 ever, so eager and so earnest, that neither 
 Isabella nor Prank could find it in their 
 hearts, to chide her for the very impedimen- 
 tary nature of her services. 
 
 Hot water was procured, and other restora- 
 tives applied. Fortunately, Madame Eodosto- 
 mus had been long detained on her passage 
 from the terrace to the house, had so many 
 extraordinary adventures to relate, and got so
 
 158 CHAKLES STANLY. 
 
 inextricably perplexed between the ways of 
 Providence and her own disastrous ill-luck, 
 that she could not manage to reach the room 
 where Chloe was deposited, till the child had 
 nearly recovered. 
 
 Just as Madame Eodostomus entered, Chloe 
 opened her large, wondering eyes. " Madre 
 mia!" she murmured, in soft Italian, and 
 held out her little arms. 
 
 " Now don't, my dear — pray don't. I won't 
 have it," screamed the old lady ; " I can't 
 bear it — it's too much for me. I have not 
 heard you say those words since you, as a 
 baby, lay dead of the croup ; and it made me 
 cry so dreadfully, that I was quite ill ; indeed, 
 
 I never altogether recovered it, and Bless 
 
 me, Chloe, how perverse you are ! Can't you 
 be cross ? — can't you scold a little, just to 
 please me ?" Sobs impeded the old lady's 
 utterance. 
 
 Chloe was now able to recollect, and relate 
 what had taken place. It seemed that she, 
 in a rage at Charles's refusal to take her with 
 him, had run a long way along the coast. 
 She came, by chance, upon an old boat, just 
 afloat, and tied loosely to a rotten post. 
 Chloe, strong and hardy, soon disengaged it,
 
 CHAELES STANLY. 159 
 
 and fearlessly trusted herself to the waters. 
 Her plan was, suddenly to appear among the 
 racers, and by surprising, disconcert them. 
 In order not to be seen till the right moment, 
 she kept close to the shore, that she might be 
 shielded from view, by the shadows projected 
 by the rocky cliff. But when she arrived, the 
 races were over, and everybody gone. She 
 flew into a passion, gave her crazy boat an 
 impetuous shove with the oar, upset it, and 
 fell into the water. 
 
 Charles was the hero of the evening. Ma- 
 dame Rodostomus's gratitude was tremendous. 
 There was only one drawback to her happi- 
 ness, she declared; neither of her children 
 had done it ; and if they had been boys, she 
 was sure they would ; but — -just like her luck 
 — they were not boys, and never could be. 
 
 Mrs. Tyrrell struggled to comprehend this 
 position ; and forgot her braids and her sleeves 
 in her admiration for Charles. Arethusa 
 strung superlatives together in his honour; 
 and Aurora was nervous and guttural to an 
 extraordinary degree. 
 
 Lady Ramsay looked pale, and out of 
 spirits. Her hysterical attack had been vio- 
 lent; she seemed hardly recovered from it.
 
 160 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 But 'she smiled fondly and proudly upon " her 
 dear boy." 
 
 Isabella had remained up-stairs with her 
 sister. It was not till late in the evening 
 that she appeared, holding the little girl by 
 the hand. Charles rose, and went towards 
 her. Their eyes met. In silence, he led her 
 to a seat. 
 
 Chloe was pale, and languid. She went 
 kindly up to Lady Bamsay. "Are you 
 better ?" she said, in soft, broken English. " I 
 heard you were ill — I hope you are better." 
 
 Lady Bamsay fondly caressed her little pet. 
 " And you, my pretty creature, how are you ? 
 Have you recovered your fright ?" 
 
 " Chloe was not frightened — Chloe is never 
 frightened." Her eyes flashed scornfully. 
 
 "You little heroine! But do you know, 
 that a moment more, and it would have been 
 too late to save you? When Charles first 
 took you out of the water, he thought you 
 were really dead. He never in his life was so 
 happy as when he saw you open your eyes, as 
 you lay upon the grass, and unconsciously 
 murmur some pretty Italian words. He 
 risked his life nobly to save yours. Go and 
 thank him, my pretty darling."
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 161 
 
 A strange expression passed across the 
 child's face as she listened to Lady Ramsay. 
 M Xo, no, no !" she said, passionately. Her 
 eyes opened wide, and a dark glance shot from 
 them. Then the lids dropped heavily — she 
 seized Lady Ramsay' s hand, and kissing it 
 after the Italian fashion, murmured gently, 
 " But I'll thank you — I will thank you in- 
 stead." She turned abruptly away, and took 
 refuse by her sister. 
 
 Isabella stooped down, and whispered some- 
 thing in Chloe's ear. 
 
 " Oh no, no, don't ask her — please don't. 
 Chloe can't — she won't. "Well, if you icill 
 have it," she added, petulantly. 
 
 She then ran up to Charles, who, lost in 
 thought, was standing on the other side of 
 Isabella, and drawing up her little person, 
 said, with an odd sort of spiteful reluctance, 
 " They say you've saved my life. Thank you 
 — I'm very much obliged to you ;" and she 
 made him a little short curtsey — "but — I 
 don't like you, for all that." 
 
 Having pronounced these last words with 
 especial glee, the child sprang, with one 
 bound, back to her sister, and crouched up 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 CHAEXES STANLY. 
 
 close to her. Charles laughed good humour- 
 edly ; and presently went to the piano. He 
 did not ask Isahella to accompany hhn, but, 
 sitting down, struck a few chords, and then 
 began singing a German air. 
 
 It was a students' song, of a very peculiar 
 character ; at once stirring and impassioned. 
 It was decidedly Charles's best song : he really 
 gave it with great spirit. " Will nobody join 
 the chorus?" he inquired, when he had finished 
 the solo stanzas. Lady Ramsay was tired, 
 and her voice weak. Arethusa, after some 
 unhappy squalls, gave up the attempt. Sud- 
 denly, Chloe's voice was raised ; thrilling, 
 clear, and true. She could not, of course, 
 sing the German words, but she improvised 
 an Italian stanza, which suited admirably 
 with the spirited, yet pathetic, character of 
 the music. Every one applauded. Lady 
 Hamsay was especially delighted, and asked 
 for an encore. But Chloe would not sing 
 again. She obstinately persisted in maintain- 
 ing that she had forgotten the words. They 
 had come into her head of themselves, she said, 
 and she could think of no others that suited 
 the melody.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 163 
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 In a few days, Miss Foster was to leave the 
 castle, where she had been domesticated for 
 some months, and reside with her father at 
 the rectorv. Dr. Poster had been absent, and 
 was shortly to return home. His daughter 
 wished to give a fete upon the occasion. 
 
 The fete was to celebrate, not onlv the 
 worthy Doctor's return, but also the opening 
 of his new house. His hobby was archi- 
 tecture, and the moment he was presented to 
 the living of Eastrow, he pulled down the old 
 rectory to build up a new one. 
 
 Dr. Eoster was what is called a good man 
 and a good clergyman. He gave alms in- 
 oUscriminately — therefore he was charitable. 
 His texts were obscure — therefore he was 
 learned. His sermons were lensrthv — there- 
 
 M 2
 
 164 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 fore he was pious. In virtue of these merits, 
 five hundred souls were committed to his 
 care. 
 
 For the last fortnight, little Aurora had 
 been in a state of restless excitement, difficult 
 to describe. What between the extraordinary 
 honour of receiving her father's guests, 
 among them Mr. Stanly, and a certain con- 
 sciousness of inferiority in manners and ap- 
 pearances, she had worked herself up into 
 an absolute fever of humble self-importance. 
 Soups, jellies, and the said Mr. Stanly, had 
 engrossed her waking and sleeping dreams, 
 and she was half dead with fatigue from 
 trotting back and forwards from the castle to 
 the rectory. 
 
 The important day arrived. Aurora was up 
 with the lark, and at the rectory long before 
 breakfast. She helped the cook to spoil two 
 jellies and a blanc-manger ; she helped the foot- 
 man to break twelve of the best china plates ; 
 so having put everybody out of temper, and 
 everything out of order, she trudged com- 
 placently back to the castle, highly satisfied 
 with her morning's work. 
 
 She made a hurried toilet, and surveyed
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 165 
 
 her little squat person, adorned in the varie- 
 gated glories of a washed white muslin, a 
 yellow bonnet, a lilac scarf, and a blue sash 
 to match ; then nodding to herself in the glass, 
 she muttered half aloud, " Dear ! there's no 
 knowing — I certainly look very well — for me 
 — and strange things do happen sometimes. " 
 
 Arethusa, in a charming toilet, fresh 
 from London, interrupted these cogitations. 
 " Dearest Aurora !" began the beauty, eagerly, 
 " did you observe how very particular Mr. 
 Stanly's manner was to me last night ?" 
 
 " Dear ! no, I observed nothing," replied 
 poor little Aurora, flushing violently. Some- 
 how, she felt very guilty at the recollection 
 of her own past thoughts. 
 
 " "Well ! I wonder you did not. It was not 
 only particular, but remarkable. He never 
 once spoke to me the whole evening — and 
 when I sang, he never listened to me — now 
 that must mean something, you know." 
 
 While the young ladies were wondering and 
 commenting upon the probable and possible 
 causes of this very extraordinary behaviour, 
 they were told that the carriages were ready. 
 Down stairs they went, accordingly. They
 
 166 CHAKLES STANLY. 
 
 found the party assembled upon the door- 
 steps, and Madame Rodostomus holding forth 
 with herself, as to which carriage she should 
 give the preference, an open one, or a close 
 one. 
 
 The open carriage was delightful, only she 
 was sure to catch cold. The close carriage was 
 charming, only she was certain to he sick. 
 Once, as a girl, she had been dreadfully sick 
 in a close carriage, and there was no reason 
 why she might not be sick again ; — other 
 people might like being sick, she didn't. 
 
 " Pray try to make up your mind I" said 
 Mrs. Tyrrell. " Do you not see that you are 
 keeping us all waiting. I make a point of 
 never doing anything so ill-bred." 
 
 " It may be absurd, but I really can't help 
 it," persisted the widow ; " I do not like being 
 sick, nor catching cold neither." 
 
 " It is hardly possible to catch cold on such 
 a day as this," said Lady Ramsay, good na- 
 turedly. " One could hardly catch cold to- 
 day, if one were to try." 
 
 " But why should one try ?" observed the 
 literal Aurora. " I think it much better not 
 trying to catch cold."
 
 CHAKLES STANLY. 167 
 
 " I think we had much better not stand 
 waiting here all day," said Mrs. Tyrrell, pet- 
 tishly smoothing her sleeves. "If it were 
 not too ill-bred, I should get into the carriage 
 at once." 
 
 " I think you had better, mamma," said 
 Lady Ramsay, losing patience. " If Ma- 
 dame Hodostonms is afraid of both carriages, 
 there is but one alternative — she must stay at 
 home." 
 
 Meanwhile, Isabella had been talking in 
 a low voice, to her mother, and at last the 
 widow, half laughing, half scolding, let her 
 daughter wrap her up in a large cloak, which 
 the latter had provided, and help her into 
 the open carriage, after Mrs. Tyrrell. Are- 
 thusa and Aurora followed them, and they 
 drove off. 
 
 The next difficulty was with Sir James. 
 He wanted to say or do something, and could 
 not express what he meant ; indeed, he did 
 not himself seem to have any clear idea on the 
 subject. " Fanny — you know what I mean — 
 eh ? Don't you think it would be right — but 
 I've no money — give me some — how much 
 should it be, eh ?"
 
 168 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Lady Ramsay was utterly at fault. She 
 did not like to let him see it, for she perceived 
 that he was getting very nervous, and very 
 much excited, and she was afraid of con- 
 tradiction bringing on a fit. Yet she could 
 not comprehend what he wanted, and he was 
 unable to explain. She stood hesitating, and 
 trying from his looks, to make out his mean- 
 ing. In this perplexity, Charles whispered in 
 her ear, 
 
 " Can't you persuade him to stay at 
 home ?" 
 
 " Oh no, he has been looking forward to 
 this party for some time. It was only this 
 morning that he told me he wished to go. 
 Oh no, I can't leave him at home." 
 
 " You know," persisted Charles, " that he 
 is not able to enjoy the party ; if he could, I 
 should be the first to wish him to join it ; but 
 he will take no pleasure in it himself, and he 
 will spoil ours. He will be always wanting 
 something, and somebody must be in con- 
 tinual attendance upon him. You had much 
 better persuade him to remain where he is. 
 Sir James," he added, turning towards the 
 latter, " don't you think you would be more
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 169 
 
 comfortable at home? The weather might 
 
 55 
 
 change — or — 
 
 " Xo, no, I'm going — I will go," replied 
 Sir James, eagerly ; " Fanny, am I not going 
 — I must go, must I not, Miss Romayne? 
 Tell Eanny what I mean — you know I" 
 
 " I think," said Isabella, who had been 
 talking aside to Sir James during the aparte 
 between Charles and Lady Ramsay — " I think 
 that Sir James wishes to make a present to 
 Miss Poster, on the occasion of to-day's fete — 
 a little present of money to buy something for 
 herself — or her school," she added, follow- 
 ing the expression of his countenance, as she 
 spoke. 
 
 " Yes, yes, that is it — that is just what I 
 mean," exclaimed poor Sir James, delighted 
 at having his own idea explained to him. " I 
 wanted to give something — I didn't know 
 what — she always knows what I mean," he 
 added, looking with gratitude at Isabella. 
 
 " A capital thought," exclaimed Lady 
 Eamsay. " I'll go and get the money — ten 
 pounds will do, I suppose?" Sir James 
 nodded assent. " How stupid I must be, 
 not to have thought of it before."
 
 170 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 " How on earth did you find out what he 
 meant," whispered Charles to Isabella, while 
 Lady Ramsay was absent. 
 
 " I know he is always wanting to do some- 
 thing kind, so I made two or three trials at 
 random, till I found out his idea," she re- 
 plied, simply. 
 
 " Do you read everybody's ideas as easily ?" 
 Charles began. At that moment Lady Eam- 
 say reappeared, and he turned suddenly, and 
 advanced to meet her. 
 
 " Here, Sir James — here is the money I s ' 
 she said, gaily. " Now let us be off, for it is 
 getting late. You, Charles, may either have 
 the pony-carriage, or walk with Prank. But 
 where is Chloe ? "Where is my pet ?" 
 
 "Here!" exclaimed Chloe, springing from 
 the top to the bottom of the high flight of 
 steps ; " here I am. But Chloe is not going 
 in the carriage — Chloe will walk." And she 
 was off like a shot. 
 
 "What a wild thing it is 1" said Lady 
 Bamsay, laughing. 
 
 "Too much so," replied Isabella. " She is 
 difficult to manage, but she has a kind heart. 
 Prank, will you take care of her ?" she added, 
 addressing the latter.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 171 
 
 Prank nodded acquiescence, and the car- 
 riage drove off. 
 
 Very comical was the mixture of exultation 
 and trepidation exhibited by Aurora, as she, 
 for the first time in her life, received com- 
 pany in her own house. She floundered and 
 stumbled about in a most disastrous manner. 
 She was always coming in contact with some- 
 thing, or somebody ; and her gold chain was 
 always exactly where it should not be. It 
 would catch in everybody's dress ; it icould go 
 flop against everybody's face, as its wearer 
 bounced along ; and the damage done by it 
 among lace shawls, veils, and scarfs, was 
 lamentable. 
 
 Lady Ramsay arrived, all smiles and gra- 
 ciousness. She did the honours, to please her 
 little friend, and to please herself. She 
 wished the party to go off well. Aurora had 
 no idea of receiving, and Lady Ramsay ex- 
 celled in the art. She therefore said and 
 looked civil things innumerable ; and had 
 even an amiably patronising word for Au- 
 rora's villa friends, who were, of course, all 
 invited. 
 
 Charles and Prank arrived last. Little Au- 
 rora was much too nervous to inquire the
 
 172 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 cause of Mr. Stanly's non-appearance with 
 the rest of the party from the castle; and 
 much too near-sighted to perceive him when 
 he did arrive, until he was close to her. Then 
 she gave a tremendous start, and almost 
 knocked down a fat old gentleman, whose 
 watch-key got inextricably entangled with her 
 chain. She pulled one way, he the other, but 
 in vain; all their joint efforts were ineffec- 
 tual, and the well-meant assistance of their 
 friends served only to increase the difficulty 
 which they endeavoured to remedy. 
 
 In the midst of this dilemma, little Aurora 
 caught distant sounds of the paternal voice. 
 Off she flew, with a violent jerk, and down 
 she fell upon her hands and knees, in an atti- 
 tude not exactly graceful, with the fat old 
 gentleman on the top of her. 
 
 It was impossible to resist laughter. 
 Charles roared, but good-humouredly came 
 forward to assist her, by getting the fat old 
 gentleman upon his legs again. The latter 
 took the matter very seriously, and muttered 
 sundry very British imprecations, to which 
 Aurora replied by scolding herself vehemently 
 for being so awkward.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 173 
 
 A sad misshaping of the yellow bonnet, and 
 two green patches on the spots where her 
 knees had come in contact with the grass, 
 were soon forgotten in the delight of seeing 
 her beloved father, after several months' ab- 
 sence. Proud and happy indeed was she, as 
 she piloted him, together with the rest of the 
 party, Charles Stanly included, through all 
 the mazes and intricacies of their new abode. 
 
 It was an Elizabethan structure, in the full 
 discomfort of the term. Long windows, which 
 admitted little light, and broad chimneys, 
 which afforded no heat, vied with each other 
 in bold defiance of their ostensible purposes. 
 There were staircases communicating with 
 each other, and with nothing else ; there were 
 passages, leading only to fellow - passages. 
 There were odd little rooms, in strange little 
 corners ; queer little flights of steps, upwards 
 and downwards, but answering no possible 
 end or purpose, and completing a whole, most 
 ingeniously uncomfortable. But it was in 
 correct keeping with the age which it repre- 
 sented, and both father and daughter were 
 delighted. Their friends complimented, and 
 they believed.
 
 174 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Aurora's school-children were on the lawn, 
 working away at beef, pudding, and potatoes. 
 The married ladies felt maternal, and the 
 single ladies matrimonial, at the sight of 
 these little innocents ; and their expletives on 
 the occasion were equally vivacious and ap- 
 propriate. 
 
 Luncheon was presently to be served in a 
 tent ; and thither, at the appointed hour, the 
 little hostess led her guests. 
 
 But luncheon, alas ! there was none. 
 Smashed jellies, bearing unmistakable finger 
 prints, fragments of pie-crust, innocent of the 
 knife, and crumbling ruins of every sort, kind, 
 and colour, were the only remains of the deli- 
 cate collation, which, not two hours before, 
 Aurora had contemplated with self-approving 
 satisfaction. Her consternation and dismay 
 can hardly be imagined. 
 
 Before she was sufficiently recovered for 
 speech, shrieks of laughter were heard. None 
 but Chloe could laugh so wildly ; and there 
 indeed she was, in a neighbouring field, skip- 
 ping and flitting about like a will-o'-the-wisp. 
 She was surrounded by Aurora's school-chil- 
 dren, gaping, half in mischievous delight,
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 175 
 
 half in shanie, at the exploit into which Chloe 
 had led them. Soon, however, thev resumed 
 the occupation, which detection had, for some 
 moments, suspended ; and they again fell to 
 devouring various amalgamations of cream, 
 tongue, and salad, with which they had 
 amply provided themselves. 
 
 " Oh, Chloe ! Chloe IV involuntarily escaped 
 Isabella, and she advanced some steps towards 
 her ; but seeing her mother's face in a broad 
 grin, she presently stopped, sighed, and turned 
 back again. Isabella saw that interference 
 would do more harm than good. In her 
 mother's presence, nothing could quell the 
 child's wilful recklessness. She took pleasure 
 in disobedience, for disobedience' sake. In- 
 deed, so injudicious was the old lady's ma- 
 nagement, that this result was harcllv to be 
 wondered at. The education poor little Chloe 
 had received was exactlv calculated to increase 
 the faults and extinguish the good qualities 
 natural to her. Isabella's remedies came too 
 late to be effectual. She deeply lamented her 
 sister's sad training, and her own inability to 
 counteract it. "When her mother was out of 
 the way, she had some influence with the
 
 176 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 child, who loved her sister dearly, and de- 
 lighted in pleasing her ; but the old lady's 
 appearance invariably reawakened the spirit 
 of rebellion ; and Isabella then wisely ab- 
 stained from interference, lest she should lose 
 what little authority she possessed. 
 
 She made the best apology she could to 
 Aurora, who, good little soul, was soon paci- 
 fied ; and by way of consolation, began apolo- 
 gising right and left. 
 
 " What can induce people to spoil their 
 children?" whimpered Mrs. Tyrrell; "and I 
 wonder what business children have at parties 
 of this kind." 
 
 " If I had only known what was going to 
 happen, I should not have invited pretty Chloe, 
 or, rather, naughty Chloe ; but I really did 
 not know that she was going to be so naughty,' 3 
 said Aurora. 
 
 " Not that I care about my luncheon. Do 
 not imagine such a thing," resumed Mrs. 
 Tyrrell, wiping her mouth with an elegant 
 pocket-handkerchief. " I should not have 
 eaten it if it had been there, eating is such a 
 plebeian pastime." 
 
 " Plebeian or not, I wanted my luncheon,"
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 177 
 
 chirped Madame Bodostomus. " Fin half 
 starred. It may he absurd, but I really can't 
 help it ; I do like to eat when I'm hungry." 
 
 " So do I," said Aurora, nudging her elbow, 
 as if half ashamed of the disclosure. " But I'll 
 tell you what we'll do ; we'll just go into the 
 house, and have tea and bread and butter, 
 which will be better than nothing, you know.' , 
 
 " Bless me, if it is not raining cats and 
 dogs 1" screamed Madame Bodostomus; " who 
 would have thought it ? Things happen to me 
 that happen to nobody else ; we shall have to 
 stay here, soaking in the tent, all day — -just 
 my luck!" 
 
 " Dear, I'm so sorry," croaked the discom- 
 fited Aurora ; " and I've got so many things 
 to show you — the dairy, and the poultry-yard, 
 and the flower-garden, and such sweet little 
 pigs ! oh dear ; but I really do think it will 
 clear up ; I almost think it looks lighter 
 already." 
 
 " I think nothing of the sort ; and I only 
 wonder how people can reconcile it to them- 
 selves to give fetes in bad weather," whined 
 Mrs. Tyrrell. 
 
 " I really am so sorry : out-door amusements 
 
 vol. i< n
 
 178 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 do depend very much upon weather, certainly; 
 and if I had only known that it was going to 
 rain, I should have chosen another day, I'm 
 sure ; but we can't know everything," Aurora 
 added, with a sigh. 
 
 " And my children, they'll both catch cold, 
 of course."- Madame Rodostomus was getting 
 more and more excited. " My darlings will 
 be laid up, or something. Miss Poster, you 
 are not a mother !" 
 
 "1.1" screamed Aurora, alarmed at the idea 
 of such a possibility. 
 
 " If you were, you would better understand 
 a mother's feelings. Why it should have 
 rained just to-day ! The ways of Providence 
 are unaccountable !" 
 
 " And my best bonnet, too ; I wish I had 
 not put on my best bonnet !" sighed Mrs. 
 Tyrrell. 
 
 " And my hair all out of curl !" groaned 
 Arethusa ; " there never was anything so un- 
 fortunate." 
 
 Poor little Aurora was in despair. She 
 apologised for the mishap of the luncheon, as 
 if she herself had eaten it up. She deplored 
 the inclemency of the weather, as if she had 
 caused it. She hoped that dear Miss Eomayne
 
 CHAELES STANLY. 179 
 
 and pretty Chloe would not catch cold — 
 people did not alicays catch cold when they 
 might. She pitied Mrs. Tyrrell's bonnet, and 
 suggested the possibility of its protection by 
 an umbrella. She consoled Arethusa with the 
 assurance that her hair, even out of curl, was 
 still beautiful hair ; and further comforted her 
 with the assurance that it would curl again, 
 as nicely as ever, to-morrow ; but all in vain, 
 the ladies' tempers were soured, and Aurora's 
 consolations could not sweeten them. 
 
 Lady Ramsay saw her little friend's distress, 
 and came to her assistance. She pacified the 
 old ladies by some well-timed nothings ; whis- 
 pered in Arethusa' s ear a compliment which 
 some gentleman had not paid her ; and having 
 sent for umbrellas, the ladies were enabled to 
 get across the lawn to the house. 
 
 Aurora, hoarse with laughter, at the very 
 comical circumstance of having left one of her 
 shoes sticking in a hole, out of which Mr. 
 Smith (one of her villa friends) rescued it, to 
 the everlasting distinction of a new pair of 
 saffron gloves, began bustling about the room, 
 and making a tremendous clatter with cups 
 and saucers. 
 
 n 2
 
 180 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 The comforting ideas suggested by these 
 sounds, improved the general good humour. 
 Each lady imbibed at least three cups of tea, 
 while Dr. Poster pronounced an eulogium 
 upon the merits of that beverage, which he 
 described as highly conducive to the develop- 
 ing of the intellectual powers. This precept 
 he enforced by the example of Dr. Johnson, 
 about whom he related various, not particu- 
 larly new anecdotes ; but which answered his 
 purpose of modestly insinuating that there 
 was a very strong, and a very undeniable resem- 
 blance between himself and that great man. 
 
 Aurora nodded her head in time to her 
 father's long-winded periods ; which were un- 
 doubtedly as sententious, if not as sagacious, 
 as those written by his literary model. 
 
 But, lo ! in the middle of one of his best 
 rounded phrases, little Aurora's face of ec- 
 static admiration, changed into one of blank 
 despair, and she exclaimed — "Oh, Chloe! 
 Chloe ! that is very naughty ; it is very wrong 
 to be so naughty!" 
 
 The eyes of all the company were directed 
 from the worthy Doctor, to a chair just behind 
 him, upon which Chloe was mounted. She had
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 181 
 
 been rummaging about the house, and routed 
 out a surplice of the Doctor's, in which she 
 had attired herself. On her head was one of 
 the unconscious divine's best powdered wigs ; 
 and there she stood, mimicking his gestures 
 and the tone of his voice so exactly, that it 
 was impossible to resist laughter. 
 
 Isabella could not let this pass. Such a 
 piece of impertinence, in the Doctor's own 
 house, must be put a stop to, and she made 
 way towards Chloe ; but Chloe was too quick 
 for her. She dived down from her chair, 
 vanished through a door that stood ajar 
 behind her, and shut it just as her sister had 
 reached it. 
 
 Isabella turned the handle. The door flew 
 open ; it opened outside. " Take care, take 
 care !" burst simultaneously from the Doctor 
 and from his daughter ; but the warning came 
 too late. She had slipped down one of those 
 aimless nights of steps, with which this de- 
 lightful mansion was so ingeniously provided. 
 
 A faint scream escaped her. She was nearly 
 insensible with pain. Everybody flew to her 
 assistance ; but she was unable to move. She 
 had given her foot a violent strain.
 
 182 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Chloe threw herself upon the ground in de- 
 spair. " Chloe did not mean it — she didn't ; 
 indeed she didn't mean it." The child's 
 distress was so excessive, that Isabella, not- 
 withstanding the pain she was suffering, en- 
 deavoured to pacify her ; but she would not 
 be comforted, and continued sobbing as if her 
 heart would break. 
 
 " I'll give you something to cry for, you 
 naughty, wilful, perverse creature," screamed 
 the widow, as she rushed forward with up- 
 lifted hands. But Lady Ramsay interposed. 
 
 " Porgive her this time, dear Madame 
 Rodostomus," she said. " Chloe is really not 
 so much to blame as I am. I must confess 
 that it was I put her up to this frolic. I 
 thought we should have a dull afternoon ; so 
 I gave her a hint where to find the wig and the 
 surplice, and showed her how she might slip 
 quietly into the room by the side door. I 
 wanted some fun, and could not anticipate so 
 disastrous a denouement." 
 
 " Really, Lady Ramsay," said Charles, in a 
 very angry voice, " I think you might have 
 known better. How could you be so thought- 
 less ? Miss Romayne is seriously injured ;
 
 CHAELES STANLY. 183 
 
 she is suffering agony. Oh, Lady Ramsay, 
 how could you be so inconsiderate I" 
 
 Charles spoke these last words in a very 
 angry under tone, as he pushed past Lady 
 E/anisay, in order to offer his assistance to 
 Isabella. 
 
 When the latter saw him approach, her 
 cheek, pale as death a moment before, became 
 suffused with the richest crimson ; and though 
 but now, incapable of moving, she rose with- 
 out much apparent difficulty, when supported 
 by his arm. 
 
 " Fanny ! Fanny ! what is the matter ? 
 What has happened to pretty Isabella? I 
 can't bear that anything should harm her — I 
 cannot" said poor Sir James, speaking with 
 unusual coherence. In the general confu- 
 sion, he could not make out what had taken 
 place. 
 
 But Lady Ramsay was unable to reply. 
 Tears stood in her eyes. Charles's words had 
 given her more pain than she chose to confess 
 even to herself. She knew that his temper 
 was hasty, and that with her he had never 
 been accustomed to put much restraint upon 
 himself. At other times she laughed at his
 
 184 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 petulance. Why did it grieve her so deeply 
 to-day ? 
 
 Charles had placed Isabella upon the sofa, 
 and stood beside her, pouring out lamenta- 
 tions, which she vainly strove to silence. Lady 
 Ramsay's eyes wandered from one to the 
 other, with a look of dissatisfaction such as 
 they seldom expressed. By way of concealing 
 it, she beckoned to Chloe, who rushed im- 
 petuously to her, and hid her face in her lap, 
 sobbing out, " Chloe is so sorry ; she didn't 
 mean it — she didn't, indeed." Her grief was 
 excessive. Lady Ramsay could not soothe 
 her. 
 
 All the ladies were talking and lamenting 
 at once. Poor little Aurora bounced from one 
 to the other, consoling and condoling with all 
 her might. 
 
 She consoled one widow with the assur- 
 ance, that though she was so sorry it all 
 happened in her house, still Miss Romayne 
 might have sprained her foot anywhere else, 
 and would have suffered just as much pain. 
 She condoled with the other widow upon the 
 damage done by the rain to Arethusa's ringlets, 
 as if that was the greatest calamity that could
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 185 
 
 befal a human being. " But they'll curl 
 again," she added, confidentially. 
 
 Aurora, just then, caught a glimpse of her 
 own face in the glass, and gulped down a 
 sigh, as she observed the difference between 
 her own looks and those of her handsome 
 friend. Arethusa's hair was out of curl 
 certainly, but still it was beautiful hair, while 
 her own hung about her ears like matted tow. 
 
 She had not, however, much time to make 
 invidious comparisons ; for Prank, who had 
 gone to order the carriages, now came to say 
 that they were ready. He and Charles helped 
 Isabella into one of them. 
 
 Lady Ramsay followed. A cloud was on 
 her brow, and her words were civil, but cold. 
 She asked Isabella how she felt, and then 
 leant back in the carriage, and remained 
 silent. Gradually, however, her countenance 
 relaxed ; for as she watched Isabella, she saw 
 how much and how patiently she was suffer- 
 ing. Pity superseded every other feeling, and 
 her words became kind and even affectionate. 
 Isabella responded gratefully, and the unusual 
 warmth of her manner excited in Lady Ram- 
 say additional solicitude. Before they reached
 
 186 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 the castle, all her feelings of displeasure 
 seemed entirely to have vanished. 
 
 Every moment she became more solicitous 
 about Isabella. She herself assisted her out 
 of the carriage with the utmost care. Her 
 orders were prompt and judicious. Her own 
 boudoir was to be appropriated to Miss Ro- 
 mayne's use. Its situation, communicating 
 with the drawing-room, was most convenient, 
 and its sofa the most commodious in the 
 house. "With her own hands Lady Hamsay 
 assisted in making the necessary preparations. 
 All Isabella's remonstrances were vain. Lady 
 Hamsay' s was a peremptory kindness which 
 would take no denial. 
 
 Isabella was touched ; but, as usual to her, 
 she said little. Her thankfulness was, like a 
 veiled sunbeam, rather felt than seen. But 
 Lady Ramsay perceived it; and her colour 
 heightened, and her bright eye beamed brighter 
 with pleasure. Yet a mist rose and dimmed 
 its lustre, and a hot tear fell upon the hand 
 she held in her own. It was a strange com- 
 pound, that little tear ! A world of emotions, 
 all condensed into one light, limpid drop ! 
 
 Presently the doctor was announced. Lady
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 187 
 
 Bainsay told what had happened, and what 
 measures she had taken for her friend's relief. 
 The doctor listened, approved, and proceeded 
 to examine the foot. The foot, he sagely pro- 
 nounced, was swollen ; the swelling was in 
 consequence of the strain. He further in- 
 formed Miss Bomayne that she was in pain, 
 and that he would do his best to assuage it. 
 Meanwhile, she must keep quiet. 
 
 But quiet — and Madame Bodostomus ! 
 The idea was preposterous. Before the doctor 
 had been gone five minutes, she had disturbed 
 her daughter at least a dozen times. By way 
 of ministering to her comfort, she gave her 
 excessive annoyance. It was every moment, 
 " Isabella take this," and " Isabella try that." 
 " My dear, I hope you will not be lame for 
 life, though of course you will — with my luck ; 
 things happen to me that never happen to 
 anybody else, and I never could account for 
 it ; and why I only should never be able to 
 go outside the door without sprained ankles, 
 and floods of rain, and clergymen's wigs, and 
 no luncheons, does, I must say, quite pass my 
 comprehension. Certainly the ways of Provi- 
 dence are most inscrutable."
 
 188 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Isabella let her mother run on. The old 
 lady soon got tired of having all the conver- 
 sation to herself. She found non-contradic- 
 tion insufferably wearisome, and she presently 
 went off in search of a less patient listener. 
 
 Chloe contradicted to her heart's content. 
 The child was not well, and very angry with 
 herself — consequently, feverish and fractious. 
 She knew that the easiest way of getting rid 
 of her mother was to put her in a rage ; and 
 she employed this method with signal success. 
 
 Isabella's dinner was served in the boudoir. 
 In the evening, the door was thrown open be- 
 tween it and the drawing-room. Lady Ram- 
 say sat beside Miss Romayne's sofa. But, as 
 usual, their conversation was not animated. 
 They had few ideas in common, and found 
 little to say to one another. 
 
 Aurora had remained with her father at 
 the rectory. Everybody felt her loss. On 
 that particular evening especially, her little 
 cheerful common-places would have been 
 universally acceptable. Madame Hodostomus 
 had no one to listen to her chirupy lamenta- 
 tions ; Mrs. Tyrrell, no one to arrange or dis- 
 arrange her worsteds ; Arethusa, no one with
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 189 
 
 whom to talk sentiment ; Lady Ramsay, no 
 one to get her harp ready ; Chloe, no one to 
 quiz. Isabella, Charles, and Frank, were oc- 
 cupied with their own thoughts, and wished 
 for somebody to divert the general attention 
 from themselves. There are cases in which 
 an ordinary person is preferable to a superior 
 one. 
 
 During the whole of the evening, Charles 
 could not take his eyes off Isabella. Yet he 
 spoke little to her. There was something in 
 the self-possessed equanimity of her manner 
 which, by repelling familiarity, produced a 
 sort of restraint. But if her features were 
 still, they had deep expression ; if her manner 
 was calm, it was unspeakably earnest. She 
 threw around her, as it were, an atmosphere 
 of peace, which subdued and chastened what- 
 ever was harsh and glaring. It was like moon- 
 light upon a landscape. 
 
 Charles gazed on her as she lay suffering 
 and uncomplaining, and he thought of her as 
 a "beauty and a mystery ;" he felt as if his 
 fate were linked to hers as to some fair 
 nebulous star, distant, inscrutable, and divine. 
 
 Next morning, at breakfast, Lady Ramsay
 
 190 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 tossed a letter across the table to Charles. 
 " Head it," she said. " It concerns you more 
 than me." 
 
 In its progress across the table, it so 
 happened that the letter bounded into Prank's 
 plate. He saw that the direction was in Lord 
 Derwent's hand. Lady Ramsay's triumphant 
 expression, Charles's flurried look, aroused 
 in Prank certain suspicions, which he deter- 
 mined to take the earliest opportunity of 
 clearing up. 
 
 Accordingly, as soon as breakfast was over, 
 he approached his sister. "Panny," he said, 
 " a letter I received this morning calls me 
 immediately to London, Before I go, I wish 
 to speak to you for a few minutes." 
 
 " What can be the cause of all this hurry ? 
 And I am so busy ! Besides, I must read the 
 newspaper to Sir James, poor dear ; he does 
 not follow half I read, but it amuses him 
 somehow, to hear me. So I had better 
 speak to you after luncheon." She tried to 
 escape. 
 
 " No, I must speak now. My business in 
 town is important. No time must be lost
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 191 
 
 about it — and I shall not detain you a mo- 
 ment." 
 
 " "Well, then, speak as we go up-stairs. 
 But pray don't look so solemn. You quite 
 foght en me." 
 
 " Nonsense, Fanny ! Don't be childish, 
 but answer me one plain question. Have 
 you been negotiating with Lord Derwent re- 
 specting Charles Stanly ?" 
 
 " Perhaps I have — and what then ?" 
 
 " Lord Derwent is influential in many 
 quarters. In what way do you intend that 
 he shall serve Charles ?" 
 
 " Don't you think a uniform would be very 
 becoming to him ?" 
 
 " Oh, Eanny ! so you really have done 
 what I so earnestly begged you not to do." 
 
 ■ Done ! Why, I have done nothing at 
 all." 
 
 " Pray do not prevaricate. Charles is 
 easily swayed. You have great influence 
 with him, and if you persuade him to enter 
 the army, you make him an idle man about 
 town, and ruin his prospects for life." 
 
 " So far from wishing to ruin his prospects
 
 192 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 for life, it is my especial desire to improve 
 them." 
 
 " Then, what is the object of your negotia- 
 tion with Lord Derwent ?" 
 
 " Lord Derwent is kind and obliging, well- 
 disposed towards Charles ; he is indeed a most 
 amiable man is Lord Derwent, and it pro- 
 vokes me beyond measure to hear him called 
 cold, and worldly, and rapacious." 
 
 " Never mind Lord Derwent' s merits or de- 
 merits. To the point, Panny." 
 
 " Oh, you thorough going lawyer — won't 
 you believe me when I tell you that there's 
 no point at all. "When a gentleman writes to 
 a lady, there seldom is much point in what 
 he says — amiability, and civility, and denoue- 
 ment et tout ce qui s'ensuit. You don't 
 understand women's ways and wiles." She 
 laughed, shook her head at him, and tried to 
 escape, but he detained her. 
 
 " This is intolerable," he said, with a tinge 
 of sternness, the only indication of anger he 
 ever showed. " I have put off my journey 
 on purpose to ask you one question, and you 
 will not answer it."
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 193 
 
 " Poor old Prank !" she teasingly per- 
 severed. 
 
 " Oh, Panny !" said he, waving her aside, 
 " tell me once for all. Have you been nego- 
 tiating with Lord Derwent about getting 
 Charles into the army ?" 
 
 " Well ! yes, and no. Lord Derwent offers a 
 commission ; but Charles has not yet accepted. 
 Will that satisfy you, most precise brother ? 
 Now you know all that I do." By this time 
 they had reached the landing before Sir 
 James's door. 
 
 " But," persisted Prank, " you surely know, 
 pretty well, what his intention is. "Will he 
 accept, or no ?" 
 
 " I can answer for no man's intentions, 
 in military, any more than in matrimonial 
 affairs." She laughed, and her hand was 
 upon the lock. 
 
 " He will ask for your advice," said Frank, 
 holding her back by the arm. " As you value 
 his happiness, do not hurry Mm into the 
 army." 
 
 " I never hurry any one into anything. I 
 never advise until I am asked. And now I 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 194 CHAELES STANLY. 
 
 wish you a pleasant journey, and better 
 success, on your next cross-questioning." She 
 blew him a kiss, disengaged her arm, turned 
 the handle of the door, and vanished. 
 
 Prank was about to follow her. " No," he 
 said, as if a sudden thought had struck him, 
 " better act for myself. I will see Lord Der- 
 went while I am in London." 
 
 He then went to take leave of Isabella. 
 She seemed surprised, and sorry at his sudden 
 departure ; but when he told her, that he was 
 called to London, to plead a cause of great 
 importance ; and in which, if he succeeded, he 
 was likely to gain much credit, she smiled 
 with pleasure. " I was afraid something dis- 
 agreeable was the cause of your departure. 
 I perceived, when you came in, that you 
 looked vexed." 
 
 " And you read my looks right. Fanny 
 
 has been annoying me by her 1 will not 
 
 say duplicity ; but you know her provoking 
 way of beating about the bush. She can't 
 give a straightforward answer. And when 
 she once takes a thing into her head, no 
 human power can make her change. She 
 has set her heart upon that boy Charles
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 195 
 
 entering the army, and it would be his ruin. 
 He has good in him, and.it would be a pity to 
 see it thrown away. He is lost, if he becomes 
 an idle man about town. But Eanny will 
 not hear reason upon the subject ; she is like 
 one of those foolish mothers, who indulge their 
 children till they become absolutely good for 
 nothing. I am sorry for Charles, though he 
 is foolish enough to listen to her." 
 
 " Don't be too hard upon him," Isabella 
 replied, gently. " You must not judge others 
 by your own standard. But I quite agree 
 with what you say against the army. Why 
 not speak to Charles himself upon the sub- 
 ject ?" 
 
 "So I have, till I am tired of speaking, 
 and he of listening. I'll tell you what, Isa- 
 bella," he suddenly exclaimed ; " I wish you 
 would speak to him." 
 
 " I !" exclaimed Isabella, surprised. "Well ! 
 if you think so — but I fear my influence is 
 very small indeed." 
 
 " No, I think not," said Erank, with a 
 peculiar smile. " At all events, use what 
 you have. It might be the saving of him. 
 Tell him what folly it would be to let himself 
 
 o2
 
 196 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 be hurried into a step, of which he will, 
 probably, all his life, repent. He has little 
 money of his own ; he will get none from his 
 uncle ; and to be a hanger-on upon my sister's 
 bounty would be a degradation, to which he 
 must not submit." 
 
 " No, that indeed he must not," said Isa- 
 bella, with decision. 
 
 " What Charles should do, is to choose an 
 honourable profession, and stick to it honour- 
 ably. Help him, if you can, in his decision ; 
 he never was famous for a precise knowledge 
 of his own mind." 
 
 " He is still very young," pleaded Isabella. 
 " Besides, to weigh, is not to waver." 
 
 " But if we weigh too nicely, the scales 
 become inert. In most cases, advantages and 
 disadvantages are pretty equally balanced ; 
 still a decision is necessary. However, in the 
 present instance, the business is not doubtful. 
 Tell him so. Charles has lost too much time 
 already. He must make up for it. I have 
 repeated this advice over and over again, 
 until, at last, it makes no impression upon 
 him. Now you will say the old things, in a 
 new manner ; and the novelty, if nothing else,
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 197 
 
 may perhaps rouse his attention. At all 
 events, the experiment is worth trying. And 
 now, farewell," he added, pulling out his 
 watch. " My time is up." He shook hands 
 with Isabella, looked at her affectionately, 
 and moved towards the door. Then turning 
 back, he said, half jestingly : " Whatever you 
 do, you must not let poor Charles fall too 
 much in love with you." 
 
 " Prank !" exclaimed Isabella, in a tone so 
 thrilling as to make him start. He looked 
 at her in amazement. " Really, Prank," she 
 added, forcing a smile, but her voice trembled 
 strangely, " you talk sad nonsense ; I wonder 
 you can be so absurd."
 
 198 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Charles had been out all day. Since Miss 
 Komayne's arrival, this was an uncommon 
 occurrence ; but the fact was, that Lord Der- 
 went's letter had puzzled him extremely ; so 
 he went into the woods to consider of it. 
 
 He returned in greater uncertainty than 
 ever ; and, consequently, in worse temper. He 
 tossed down his hat and great-coat, and was 
 sauntering off, with his hands in his pockets, 
 to his own room, when the sound of Lady 
 Hamsay's voice caused him to look up. 
 
 She was high above him, in a gallery which 
 overlooked the lofty vestibule. " "Where ha' 
 ye been a 5 day ?" she warbled sweetly, in the 
 words of the Scotch song. 
 
 It was impossible to withstand the har- 
 monising influence of her voice. " Those
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 199 
 
 sounds are enough to put any man's humour 
 in tune," he said, half pleased, half crossly. 
 
 " And pray what may have put yours out ?" 
 she inquired, laughing. 
 
 " How can a man be in good humour when 
 he is bothered and worried to death ?" 
 
 " Come into the library, and we will talk 
 it over." She hurried down stairs, and met 
 him at the door. 
 
 Lady Ramsay placed a chair for him, and 
 one for herself. Then looking at him with 
 her soft, brilliant glance — " Come, sit down, 
 and tell your old mother all about it." 
 
 This coaxing, soothing manner made him 
 smile in spite of himself. " I believe, after 
 all, that I am a great idiot," he said, stretch- 
 ing himself out comfortably in his chair. 
 
 " What crotchets have you got into your 
 foolish head now, I should like to know ?" 
 
 " I can't tell what you call crotchets, but 
 that letter of Lord Derwent's " 
 
 " A most satisfactory one, to my mind." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! Lady Hamsay, how can 
 you say so ? Was ever a man placed in 
 such awkward circumstances as mine ? If I 
 thought my uncle would continue to treat
 
 200 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 me as he lias hitherto done, I would, as your 
 brother says, at ouce adopt a profession, and 
 make myself independent. But if afterwards 
 he should relent, it would be provoking, un- 
 necessarily, to have toiled and drudged away 
 the best years of my life." 
 
 " Toil and drudge !" exclaimed Lady Ram- 
 say, with a look of horror ; " oh never, with 
 my consent. My handsome boy toil and 
 drudge ! I could not bear to see it. My young 
 hero must not drudge. Prank is the best 
 fellow in the world, but he has no soul for 
 military glory. He does not understand its 
 beauty, its grandeur, its poetry. The feeling 
 is not in him. You are formed for a soldier ; 
 you were not made for a high stool and a 
 ledger. Fancy that noble forehead furrowed 
 by the multiplication table ! Fancy you 
 wiping your pen, with these silken waves ! 
 I could not stand it, Charles, — it would drive 
 me mad. No, you are the very ideal of a 
 soldier — face and figure are made for an 
 uniform. All your pursuits are active. At 
 school, you were the boldest boxer, the 
 most dexterous cricketer, the most dauntless 
 swimmer ; then you became the most intrepid
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 201 
 
 rider, the keenest sportsman. Again, at 
 Heidelberg, did you not out-student the stu- 
 dents, not in wisdom, perhaps, but in wild- 
 ness ? Why, your Heidelberg exploits are 
 famous and fabulous. You to talk of a 
 counting-house, and a desk and an ink-horn ! 
 Oh fie ! fie ! I will not have it, I will not hear 
 of it." 
 
 " That is all very well ; but what am I to 
 do ?" said Charles, with irritable dejection. 
 
 "Do! Take the good the gods provide. 
 Accept Lord Derwent's offer. I have already 
 written to beg that the commission may not 
 be filled up by another name. You must, 
 however, write in confirmation of what I have 
 said. JEt &est tine affaire finieT 
 
 " Oh, if the thing is done," he began, 
 wilfully misunderstanding her words. 
 
 " Consider it so, Charles. And believe me, 
 if anything is likely to make an impression 
 upon your uncle, it is your entering the army, 
 especially through Lord Derwent's interest. 
 There has, you know, always existed a rivalry 
 between them. They have opposed each other 
 in political affairs, in amorous affairs, in every- 
 thing. My making friends with your new
 
 202 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 aunt, and through her, influencing your uncle 
 in your favour, is problematic ; but Lord Der- 
 went's proposal is certain. Accept it, and 
 your uncle may be shamed into better be- 
 haviour. If anything will do it, that will. 
 Success ensures favour. Depend upon it, your 
 renown will gain Lord Overdale's good-will." 
 
 In what way this renown was to be achieved, 
 Lady Ramsay did not explain, or Charles in- 
 quire ; but the word sounded agreeably in his 
 ears ; and in her eyes the smile which it called 
 forth, was very becoming. She was going to 
 follow up her victory, when a servant came to 
 say that Sir James did not feel well, and had 
 asked for her several times. 
 
 " I don't think he ever had to ask for me 
 twice before," she said to herself, as she hurried 
 up-stairs ; " but this was a matter of im- 
 portance, and I think I have carried my point. 
 So sorry to have kept you waiting, dear Sir 
 James," she began, in the clear, cheerful voice, 
 most soothing to children and invalids, " but 
 I had some pressing business with Charles 
 Stanly." 
 
 " Charles Stanly, Charles Stanly, always
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 203 
 
 Charles Stanly," muttered the sick man, que- 
 rulously. 
 
 " Sir James !" she exclaimed, with astonish- 
 ment. But she stopped, for she recollected 
 that he was suffering, and with her usual 
 tenderness, she administered the remedies 
 most likely to relieve him. 
 
 Lady Ramsay's words had given a mar- 
 vellous rebound to Charles's spirits. He 
 longed to communicate his pleasure. He had 
 not seen Isabella all day, and he could not 
 but feel, that it would be only civil to make 
 inquiries respecting her foot. So he went 
 forthwith to the boudoir. 
 
 After replying to numerous questions not 
 particularly to the purpose, Isabella said, 
 gently, " Sit down by me, Mr. Stanly ; I want 
 to have a little talk with you." Charles 
 willingly obeyed. 
 
 " Do you remember how, as a boy, you 
 used to consult me respecting your Latin 
 themes, and your constructions ?" 
 
 " Can I ever forget it, oh, Miss Romayne !" 
 
 " "Well ! now I am half inclined to be 
 offended with you for not consulting me
 
 204 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 about your future prospects in life, which 
 are, I am told, at this moment pending." 
 
 " If I only thought you could take any 
 interest in them — if I dared hope that the 
 details would not bore you." 
 
 " No, no; they will not bore me." She 
 spoke calmly, and with little emphasis ; but a 
 spirit of sincerity pervaded her looks and 
 words. 
 
 " The fact is," said Charles, speaking very 
 hurriedly, " that hitherto my prospects have 
 been so very vague, that I hated to talk or even 
 to think about them. But this morning a pro- 
 posal has been made me, which almost deter- 
 mines my future career ; — a line from my 
 hand, and I am an officer in her Majesty's 
 service." His eyes beamed with pleasure; 
 Isabella was very loath to speak the word 
 which should damp it. 
 
 " But why choose the army ? Why must 
 your profession be military ?" 
 
 " Have you any dislike to the profession ?" 
 he asked, anxiously. 
 
 " Par from it ; but I do not think it suited 
 to you. What I mean is simply this. Your
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 205 
 
 fortune is not adequate to support you in it as 
 a gentleman." 
 
 "But I must ultimately succeed to my 
 uncle's property. I am his only heir." 
 
 " There are possibilities which might cut 
 you out. Besides, what do you intend to do 
 meanwhile ?" Charles reddened, and remained 
 silent. Isabella proceeded : " I know that Lady 
 Ramsay is kind, and generous, and would 
 willingly assist you. But your independent 
 spirit would not, I am sure, choose to incur 
 obligations which you may never be able to 
 requite. To do so would be undignified, and 
 — pardon me — degrading." 
 
 Charles's countenance fell. He was at a 
 loss what to answer. 
 
 " Your first step in life must not be a false 
 one," Isabella proceeded, after a brief pause. 
 " No, you must make yourself independent, 
 and trust to your own talents. Charles Stanly 
 must be subservient to none. He must exert 
 his own abilities. By these, he must rise to 
 fame far higher than can be reaped by the 
 most brilliant military exploits. Oh, do not 
 cast away God's most glorious gifts. I mean 
 superior mental and intellectual powers."
 
 206 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 There was in her words an earnest in- 
 tensity which brought conviction with them. 
 Isabella's gentle enthusiasm had in it some- 
 thing holy. Her manner was the very reverse 
 of Lady Ramsay's. One was excitable, the 
 other enthusiastic; perhaps no qualities are 
 more opposite. Even an indifferent person 
 must have been swayed by the mild, yet im- 
 pressive voice, the long soft eye, with its deep 
 fervour of expression ; an expression, harmo- 
 nious in its contrasts, and peculiar to herself; 
 an expression of dignity without pride, of 
 feeling without passion, of firmness tempered 
 with softness. And Charles was no indifferent 
 person. A sigh escaped him, which told 
 volumes. There was rapture in that sigh. 
 Its import could not be doubtful. 
 
 Voices were heard outside the door. Charles 
 started from Ms dream of bliss, seized Isabella's 
 hand, kissed it fervently, and hurried out of 
 the room. 
 
 Isabella sought another opportunity of re- 
 newing the conversation with Charles, respect- 
 ing his future plans ; but many days elapsed, 
 and it was impossible for her to see him alone. 
 She was still confined to the sofa, and Lady
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 207 
 
 Ramsay was continually in the boudoir. The 
 solicitude of the latter for her suffering friend, 
 seemed daily to increase. "When herself obliged 
 to leave Isabella, she invariably made Aurora 
 her substitute. No task could be more grate- 
 ful to good little Aurora. 
 
 Good little Aurora had a profound admira- 
 tion for Isabella, and an immense share of 
 female curiosity. This had been strongly 
 excited by Isabella's romantic history, and 
 she longed to be made acquainted with some 
 of its particulars. Little Aurora never having 
 had any love affairs of her own, was fain to 
 take interest in those of other people. She 
 was convinced that Isabella must have a great 
 deal to tell, if she would but tell it ; and she 
 determined to set her wits to work, in order to 
 find it out. Her little attempts were, how- 
 ever, made in so comical a manner, that 
 Isabella had not the most remote idea of 
 their drift. Little Aurora's homely prosing 
 did not interest Isabella as much as it ought 
 to have done ; and her narratives respecting 
 poultry-yard, school- children, and village old 
 women, however exciting of themselves, failed 
 to elicit the hoped-for reciprocity of confidence.
 
 208 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 But much more annoying to Isabella, was 
 Lady Ramsay's exaggerated attention towards 
 herself. She could not but perceive that part 
 was assumed; however, as she also believed 
 that some was genuine, she endeavoured to 
 forgive the former in favour of the latter. 
 Such indulgence would have been easy to her, 
 had it not been for Charles's most provoking 
 unsuspiciousness. It was provoking to ob- 
 serve his grateful glances when Lady Ramsay 
 rearranged Isabella's undisturbed cushions, 
 or fussily shifted the injured foot from a com- 
 fortable position to one less easy. It was very 
 provoking to hear him take every opportunity, 
 favourable or otherwise, of dilating upon Lady 
 Ramsay's touching self-forgetfulness. It was 
 quite too provoking to hear his panegyrics 
 upon the disinterested nature of female friend- 
 ship, as illustrated by the beautiful and strik- 
 ing example she continually exhibited. 
 
 One very unexpected source of comfort 
 made some atonement to Isabella, for these 
 and various other annoyances, to which she 
 was just then exposed. Chloe's touching 
 kindness would often bring tears of gratitude 
 into her eyes. It seemed as if the child could
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 209 
 
 not do enough to assist, or please her sister. 
 She actually went every day into the village, 
 to see the poor people whom Isabella was in 
 the habit of visiting. Instead of upsetting 
 their teapots, or frightening away their cats, 
 according to her former practice, she listened 
 patiently to their stories, though their patois 
 was almost unintelligible to her; and when 
 she got home, she did not even attempt to 
 mimic their peculiarities. While Isabella was 
 suffering, all her petulance and wilfulness 
 vanished. She moved noiselessly about the 
 room, and evinced a thoughtfulness and con- 
 siderateness, quite beyond her years. During 
 the night, she would get up frequently, to 
 see whether her sister wanted anything. If 
 Isabella moved, Chloe was by her side. Never 
 was there a kinder, or more attentive little 
 nurse. 
 
 The child was also far from well, having 
 caught cold at the luckless rectory fete ; but 
 she would not, for a long time, own that she 
 was ill. However, when her sister got better, 
 she allowed the doctor to be consulted about 
 herself. 
 
 Madame Hodostomus's fidgety restlessness 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 can hardly be imagined. Both her daughters 
 being ill, and her luck disastrous, they were, 
 of course, sure to die. It was only natural, 
 that she should herself be miserable, and make 
 everybody else so. For some time she did 
 nothing but wander about the house, worry- 
 ing, and wondering, and lamenting. 
 
 One day, while sitting by Isabella's couch, 
 she suddenly exclaimed, after an unusually 
 long silence : 
 
 " My dear, I have found it out." 
 
 " Found what out, mamma ?" inquired 
 Isabella. 
 
 " I've been thinking a great deal about it, 
 and could not at all account for it. I see it 
 plainly now. It is all the climate of England ; 
 I wonder it never struck me before.' 3 
 
 " What can you mean, mamma ?" 
 
 " My dear, don't you see, that it is im- 
 possible to be well in such a place. If we 
 had remained in Italy, all this would not have 
 happened. You would not have sprained your 
 foot, and Chloe would not have caught cold, 
 and everything would not have gone wrong. 
 Oh, what an abominable place England is." 
 
 Eor some little time, this discovery afforded
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 211 
 
 the old lady great consolation. She had the 
 satisfaction of repeating it at least twenty- 
 times a day. There was not a servant in the 
 house, to whom she did not confide her views 
 upon the subject. But, unfortunately, a new 
 idea struck her. 
 
 If the climate was so pernicious, how came 
 it that she herself was not ill ? Immediately 
 she begun to have conscientious scruples re- 
 specting her own impertinent good health. 
 She felt, that it was wrong to be well. It was 
 a sort of fraud against the English climate. 
 Accordingly, she one day announced the im- 
 mediate likelihood of her being taken ill upon 
 the first inconvenient opportunity. Great 
 was the universal alarm, for Madame Rodos- 
 tomus, troublesome in health, was infinitely 
 more so in sickness, real or imaginary. 
 
 Everybody had something to propose, in 
 hopes of averting so painful a calamity ; but 
 every proposal was indignantly repelled. At 
 last, Aurora, who had come to spend what she 
 called " a nice long day " at the castle, ori- 
 ginated a brilliant idea. " Might not change 
 of air be of service to Madame Eodosto- 
 mus ? Change of air did do good sometimes. 
 
 p2
 
 212 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Would Madame Hodostomus like to try 
 change of air ?" 
 
 Of course she would. Change of air was 
 exactly what she wanted. 
 
 " But how am I to get it ? Did I ever in 
 all my life get a thing I wanted ? Tell me 
 that, Miss Foster. 
 
 " Well," said Aurora, reflectively, " I can't 
 exactly tell you, because I really don't know ; 
 but I know, that you might have change of 
 air, if you liked it." 
 
 " If I did not like it, you mean. My dear 
 Miss Foster, let me tell you one thing ; I am 
 a remarkable person, and things always go 
 contrary with me. The more I try to make 
 them go straight, the more crooked they will 
 go." 
 
 " Then do you know, if I were you, I would 
 not try." 
 
 " Not try ! Why, who can do anything 
 without trying ? It is one's duty to try, and 
 nobody shall ever accuse me of not doing my 
 duty." 
 
 "Well, then," said Aurora, getting very 
 impatient, " try, or don't try, just as you
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 213 
 
 please ; but only let me advise you to change 
 the air, if you think it good for you.' 5 
 
 " Good for me ! The very thing for me ; 
 but how am I to get it ? Isn't there Isabella 
 lying upon the sofa, lamed for life ? Isn't 
 there Chloe, with a cold, which will turn to a 
 consumption, and she will die by inches ; just 
 like her poor dear departed father, who was 
 killed stone dead by a fall from his horse, and 
 I'm sure the shock nearly killed me, "What, 
 I abandon my poor children ! I ! a widow, 
 and a mother, and a Christian ! No, Miss 
 Poster ; say no more upon the subject ; I'd 
 not do it, even to save my life." 
 
 " Yes, but," persisted Aurora, " change of 
 air would also be good for Chloe, and " 
 
 " And leave my Isabella to pine and die all 
 alone ! Miss Poster ! I am surprised to hear 
 you propose such a thing. Thank God, I am 
 not a monster. I never swerved from my 
 duty, either towards my children or my hus- 
 bands, and never shall ; yet everything through 
 life has gone contrary with me. "Whatever 
 I wanted, I couldn't get ; whatever I got, I 
 didn't want. Is there a Providence? Of
 
 214 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 course there is, and I don't in the least doubt 
 it ; yet, I must say, that, as far as I am con- 
 cerned, I never should have found it out." 
 
 The widow looked curiously about the 
 room, as if to discover in what part of it, Pro- 
 vidence might, at that moment, happen to be 
 concealed. Taking advantage of this pause, 
 Aurora proceeded to explain, that Madame 
 Hodostomus might get change of air, quite in 
 an innocent way, and without abandoning 
 anybody. The rectory was only two miles 
 from the castle, and she might see Miss Ro- 
 mayne every day ; and she herself would be so 
 charmed, and her father would be so delighted 
 to see Madame Hodostomus and Chloe, for a 
 few days, at the rectory. 
 
 But at the bare mention of the word rec- 
 tory, the widow nearly went into hysterics. 
 She, set her foot within that fatal house ! She, 
 so much as approach its garden wall ! Por 
 her part, she thought it wicked to tempt Pro- 
 vidence. "If other people like colds, and 
 sprained ankles, and deluges of rain, and 
 powdered wigs, and no luncheons, it's all well 
 and good ; I have nothing to say against it. 
 Por my part, I have had ill-luck enough of
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 215 
 
 my own, and don't want other people's. My 
 ideas of dnty may be too strict. I don't say 
 they are not ; still, I maintain, that a mother 
 ought to make any sacrifice for her children. 
 That is my notion of duty, Miss Poster, and 
 adhere to it I will, with God's assistance, 
 though the whole world be against me." 
 
 Poor little Aurora turned scarlet with mor- 
 tification. Here was a death-blow to an in- 
 finitude of castles in the air, which she had 
 been building within the last five minutes. 
 Her father's spiritual instruction was to con- 
 vert Chloe to the Protestant faith. Her own 
 genius for housewifery was to get up a first- 
 rate dinner for Lady Ramsay. Her father's 
 erudite conversation, and her own sensible 
 observations, were to be exerted for the enter- 
 tainment of Charles Stanly, and there was 
 no knowing what might be the result ; — 
 and these delightful plans were all spoilt by 
 the absurd crotchets of a superstitious old wo- 
 man. It was enough to provoke a saint. 
 
 " After all," she said, fidgeting most un- 
 gracefully backwards and forwards in her 
 chair, "I believe it is very lucky that you 
 can't come. We are so busy just now. Papa
 
 216 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 is making designs — beautiful things, I can 
 tell you — for a conservatory, and a cow-house, 
 and an observatory, and a pigsty, and a 
 dairy, and an ice-house ; and I have got all 
 the parish business on my hands." And she 
 enumerated a most formidable list of impor- 
 tant trifles. " I'm sure I don't know how I 
 shall get through it all. It really is so much 
 better that you cannot come." 
 
 " Then why did you ask us ?" said little 
 Chloe, sharply. 
 
 There was something wonderfully capti- 
 vating about the child's manner ; an unac- 
 countable fascination, which rendered her 
 most attractive, when saying or doing what, 
 in any other creature, would have been most 
 the reverse. 
 
 Aurora, skilful in interpretations favourable 
 to herself, fancied that she saw in Chloe's 
 pert speech, symptoms of disappointment at 
 the rejection of what, to her, seemed so 
 tempting an invitation. Besides, the good 
 little soul could not forgive herself, either for 
 the hard words she had spoken, or for others, 
 still more so, which had risen unuttered to 
 her lips. She longed to make it up again
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 217 
 
 with the old lady ; and sagaciously judging, 
 that the surest way of pleasing the mother, 
 was to coax her child, she sidled up to Chloe. 
 " You're a funny little pet," she began, in her 
 comforting way, " and I should like to show 
 you some of my pretty things. I've got such 
 a beautiful collection of spiders, and a variety 
 of stuffed animals, and I'm going to paper a 
 room with queen's heads— it will be quite 
 lovely — and if you could only see my little 
 pigs — the sweetest little darlings — and I'm 
 
 sure papa " 
 
 " I don't want your papa, or your pigs 
 either. By-the-by," she added, in an audible 
 whisper to her mother, " she is something 
 like a little pig herself." 
 
 "Eor shame, Chloe!" exclaimed Madame 
 Hodostomus. Then bursting into a violent 
 fit of laughter — "It is the wittiest thing I 
 ever heard," she said, between her paroxysms, 
 "the very cleverest thing! — a little pig! — 
 he, he, he ! — wonderful likeness, to be sure ! 
 — he, he, he ! It will be the death of me. I 
 can't t hink how these things come into her 
 head. But you needn't mind it, my dear Miss 
 Poster ; I dare say nobody else will find it
 
 218 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 out. I declare, I don't believe it ever would 
 have struck me, if she hadn't put it into my 
 head. But to be sure, the way in which she 
 sees likenesses, is certainly something quite 
 wonderful ; and though I say it, who should 
 not say it, there never was such a genius 
 before !" 
 
 " Some people's geese are all swans," said 
 Mrs. Tyrrell, smoothing her braids with an air 
 of ineffable contempt. " I wonder how they 
 can reconcile it to themselves to have so high 
 an opinion of their own. I am sure I can't 
 be too thankful that I am not puffed up with 
 any pride of that sort. I think humbly of 
 myself, and of my children." 
 
 " Bravo 1" exclaimed Chloe, "there is no- 
 thing like giving oneself a good character. I 
 should like to hear what your humility thinks 
 of your tall daughter, with ringlets — nothing 
 else." 
 
 " Will you hold your tongue, you pert little 
 minx ?" said Arethusa, who had laughed at 
 the witticisms addressed to her friend, but 
 did not relish the notion of any such being 
 applied to herself.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 219 
 
 " You dare me a little more, and I'll tell 
 you what you are like." 
 
 " See here, Chloe," said Isabella, inter- 
 posing. " Look at this drawing; does it not 
 remind you of something you have seen in 
 Italy ?" 
 
 In a moment, the child's attention was en- 
 grossed by a drawing of some Italian scenery, 
 which Isabella had found in one of the albums 
 lying upon the table. Isabella knew her 
 sister's artistic taste, and often turned it to 
 account. "When her mother was in the room, 
 the only way of keeping the child within 
 bounds was to divert her attention by excit- 
 ing her imagination. 
 
 Then Isabella endeavoured to pacify Mrs. 
 Tyrrell and Arethusa, but with little success. 
 The former kept on fidgeting with her dress, 
 and muttering something about pride, and the 
 shocking vulgarity of praising one's own. The 
 latter tossed her head, and surveyed herself in 
 the glass with an air of approbation to her 
 own ringlets, and of defiance to every other 
 person's. 
 
 Aurora was easily mollified. In order to
 
 220 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 atone for Chloe's rudeness, Isabella had made 
 some good - humoured inquiries respecting 
 Miss Poster's poultry-yard. This well-timed 
 diversion set everything to rights ; and by the 
 time the latter had finished a detailed descrip- 
 tion of all her feathered favourites, her spirits 
 were so completely restored, that she ventured 
 a few more hints, to the effect that perhaps, 
 at some future period, Madame Hodostomus 
 might be inclined to visit her and her father. 
 
 Vain, however, were all her endeavours. 
 The conscientious old lady adhered stoutly to 
 her duty. One point only, she thought, 
 might safely be conceded. Civility required 
 it, and she always liked to be civil, where 
 civility did not interfere with duty. She sent 
 her card to the rectory, as in politeness bound, 
 after a party; but she positively declined 
 leaving it herself. Nothing could tempt her 
 to walk, or drive, in that fatal direction ; and 
 she once had a serious quarrel with Charles, 
 because he facetiously pointed out the ill- 
 starred edifice, as forming a pleasing feature, 
 in the distant landscape. 
 
 Chloe threw draughts and potions out 
 of the window, and recovered accordingly.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 221 
 
 Isabella, too, got better, notwithstanding her 
 compliance with the doctor's prescriptions; 
 but her strength returned slowly, and she 
 was still obliged to lie upon the sofa the 
 greater part of the day. Lady Ramsay's 
 resources, in plans for her entertainment, 
 were inexhaustible. However, Charles ge- 
 nerally contrived to set them aside, and to 
 read aloud for several hours of each day. 
 Isabella found, in these readings, ample com- 
 pensation for all other annoyances ; but Lady 
 Ramsay was of a less intellectual turn. Be- 
 sides, she clearly perceived that, in all lite- 
 rary discussions, Isabella's superiority was un- 
 doubted. Lady Ramsay knew herself better 
 than most women, but she had no particular 
 desire to impart that knowledge to others. 
 She therefore conceived a plan which should 
 put a stop to the readings, or, at least, render 
 them less frequent. This was, to invite to 
 Eastrow a young painter, and a protege of 
 hers, Mr. Preston by name. Lady Ramsay 
 was fond of patronising, and she had a pro- 
 found admiration for genius, especially when 
 accompanied by good looks, and Mr. Preston 
 was decidedly good looking. He would soon
 
 222 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 arrive, and then, as she shrewdly calculated, 
 art would supersede literature. Lady Earn- 
 say, be it observed, drew very cleverly, and 
 Isabella, not at all. 
 
 Mr. Preston arrived, and drawing became 
 the order of the day. Prodigious was the dif- 
 fusion of artistic inspirations. All the ladies 
 had something to show, and Mr. Preston ad- 
 mired all they showed. Arethusa's white 
 velvet, stained with gaudy patches, not re- 
 sembling flowers ; Aurora's tidy netting- 
 boxes, crawling with horribly natural animal- 
 culse ; Mrs. Tyrrell's parti-coloured diagrams, 
 which she complacently lisped were not so 
 very ugly, — he all separately and severally ex- 
 amined and extolled. Madame Eodostomus, 
 also, had her share of praise. Although, in- 
 deed, she had nothing to show, she had the 
 more to tell, of her remarkable talent for the 
 art. To be sure, she had never been able to 
 make anything look at all like what she in- 
 tended to represent ; but that, of course, was 
 only her usual ill luck. 
 
 Mr. Preston was good looking and conceited. 
 He wore his hair a la Raphael, and aped what 
 he fancied were the most approved artistic
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 223 
 
 manners. He spoke in flowing periods, and 
 used technical terms with evident pleasure. 
 These various qualifications delighted Are- 
 thusa so much, that she whispered audibly to 
 Aurora, that he was a dear darling genius, 
 and that she doted upon genius. 
 
 When her friends had done prating and 
 parading the talents they did not possess, 
 Lady Ramsay, with her most winning smile, 
 begged for a sight of Mr. Preston's charming 
 portfolio. His reply was a request to see her 
 own ; to this, after a fair show of reluctance, 
 Lady E-amsay consented. If Mr. Preston 
 would gratify the party with his, in the morn- 
 ing, Lady Eamsay would bring hers, in the 
 evening. 
 
 Frank had run unexpectedly down to East- 
 row. He was rather annoyed to find Mr. 
 Preston domesticated there. He did not like 
 Mr. Preston, No talent could, in his eyes, atone 
 for so much coxcombry and conceit, and, after 
 all, Mr. Preston, though a clever artist, was 
 by no means a first-rate one. However, 
 Prank having good reason to be pleased with 
 the way in which he had spent his time in 
 London, being satisfied with the past, and
 
 224 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 hopeful with respect to the future, was too 
 happy, at that moment, to he inconveniently 
 fastidious. 
 
 In the evening, the party assembled round 
 Miss Romayne's sofa, in the boudoir. Mr. 
 Preston, with well got up eagerness, reminded 
 Lady Ramsay of her promise ; and she was 
 at length prevailed upon, to allow Charles to 
 go to her painting-room, in quest of her port- 
 folio. 
 
 Before shutting the door, he made a pro- 
 found bow, half in fun, half in earnest, which 
 caused Lady Ramsay to burst out laughing. 
 
 " How wonderfully little he is altered !" 
 she exclaimed ; " there is the same wicked 
 look he had when he was a boy. How like 
 he is to that picture, which was done of him 
 at Baden !" 
 
 " May I be permitted to see the picture ?" in- 
 quired Mr. Preston, with an insinuating look. 
 " Oh ! here it is," said Lady Ramsay, 
 taking a miniature out of a drawer. 
 
 She put it into Mr. Preston's hands, and he 
 begun an artistic anatomy of the picture. It 
 was full of faults, of course. It was not his 
 doing.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 225 
 
 He favoured the company with a learned 
 critique upon the art of painting in general, 
 and his own style in particular, but his dis- 
 sertation was brought to an untimely close, 
 by a heavy weight falling upon his shoulder. 
 He turned round quickly, and his head came 
 into audible collision with Miss Foster's. Poor 
 little Aurora, eager to see Charles's picture, 
 had scrambled upon a chair behind Mr. 
 Preston, and endeavouring to stretch her 
 throat beyond the short limits assigned to it 
 by nature, lost her balance, and but, for his 
 catching her in his arms, she would have 
 fallen upon the floor. 
 
 " What on earth is the matter ?" exclaimed 
 Charles, returning with the portfolio, in the 
 midst of this bustle. 
 
 " Oh, nothing," said Lady Ramsay, quickly. 
 " Don't tell him, don't let him see the mi- 
 niature," she added, in a half- whisper. " I 
 always, upon principle, abstain from inflating 
 young gentlemen's vanity." 
 
 " I have it safe," said Aurora, who had got 
 possession of it in the scuffle. 
 
 " What is it ? I must, and will know ?" said 
 Charles ; and in his good-humoured, bantering 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 way, he tried to wrest the secret from Lady 
 Ramsay. But it was her pleasure to be quite 
 impenetrable on the occasion. 
 
 An exclamation from Prank, interrupted 
 their playful dispute. He had carried off his 
 sisters portfolio into the drawing-room, and 
 with Mr. Preston, was examining its con- 
 tents. 
 
 " What's the matter, Prank ?" said Lady 
 E/amsay, joining them. 
 
 " How very beautiful !" said Prank, mu- 
 singly, and holding a drawing in his hand. 
 
 " Beautiful, do you think it ? Well, I did 
 take some pains with it. But the head is 
 unfinished. It is a copy of Carlo Dolce's 
 Poetry, which I saw at the Corsini Palace at 
 Plorence. It certainly is a lovely head." 
 
 Prank continued earnestly gazing at the 
 drawing, and then said, slowly : " Very lovely, 
 and very like." 
 
 " Like !" exclaimed Lady Ramsay, slightly 
 colouring. " What do you mean ? It is the 
 copy of a picture you never saw, and taken 
 chiefly from memory." 
 
 " Yes, but it is the memory of a person, 
 not of a picture."
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 227 
 
 " Of a person !" and her colour rose higher. 
 
 " A person whom yon know very well, 
 and whose image was probably in your mind 
 when you drew that exquisite head." 
 
 " Let me see it, v said Lady Eamsay, with 
 impatience. 
 
 " I have discovered the likeness," exclaimed 
 Charles, triumphantly. He had joined the 
 party unperceived, and was looking at the 
 picture over Frank's shoulder. " It certainly 
 is like, hut, without disparaging your talent, 
 Lady Hamsay, I must say that Miss Eo- 
 mayne's features and expression are both so 
 infinitely superior." 
 
 " Give it me, give it me !" and Lady Eamsay 
 was about to take the drawing out of Prank's 
 hands, when Charles forestalled her, and held 
 it, laughingly, high above her head. 
 
 Lady Eamsay' s face became crimson. She, 
 however, commanded her voice sufficiently to 
 say, with tolerable calmness : " Do give it me, 
 Charles. It is really not worth making: a fuss 
 about. It is a nasty thing, a mere daub/' 
 
 " Since you set so little value upon it, 
 perhaps you will give it to me. I have a 
 taste for nasty daubs." 
 
 Q2
 
 228 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 " Nonsense, Charles. I will give you 
 something much better." 
 
 " But if I happen to like bad best ! Long 
 ago you promised me one of your drawings." 
 
 " Any other you please. -That does me too 
 little credit. It is really not worth looking 
 at. I am positively ashamed of it." 
 
 " RaisoM cle plus for letting me keep it. 
 You don't like the sketch, I do." 
 
 " Come, Charles, don't be foolish. Give me 
 the picture. I will have it, indeed I must? 
 Her voice was getting beyond control. 
 
 " No, no, you must not," he replied, in his 
 wayward manner. " Possession is nine-tenths 
 of the law." He looked at Isabella in the 
 distance, then at the drawing, and then again 
 at Isabella. 
 
 Lady Hamsay's self-command was fast 
 giving way. Her hands clenched involun- 
 tarily. How she longed to feel the luckless 
 sketch, crushed to a ball, within them ! " Oh, 
 the picture !" she began; but she could trust 
 her voice no further. 
 
 " I've got it, and I'll keep it, with your 
 leave, or without." And Charles made a
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 229 
 
 jocose obeisance ; but she turned away, pre- 
 tending not to notice it. 
 
 " What's that about my child's likeness?" 
 squeaked Madame Eodostomus, darting into 
 the room. " "Won't some one show it me ? 
 I am proud of her beauty ; it may be absurd, 
 but I really can't help it." 
 
 "I wonder how people can be always praising 
 their own," lisped Mrs. Tyrrell; "J never do 
 it, though I might, for certainly my child is 
 as handsome as any girl in England." 
 
 " And so she is," said Aurora; "and so is 
 Miss Romayne ; and I dare say the picture's 
 very like, though I'm sure it is not so hand- 
 some, because what could be ?" 
 
 " You're right there, Miss Foster," chimed 
 in the widow ; ' ' and I shall always say that 
 you're a sensible girl — very. No picture can 
 be so handsome as my Isabella, of course, for 
 she is a beauty; and certainly no girl ever 
 was so much admired before," — here she gave 
 a crushing glance at Mrs. Tyrrell — " especially 
 by gentlemen. They're all in love with her ; 
 and she might marry anybody, any day — only 
 when one is once married, one can't unmarry,
 
 230 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 let one wish it ever so much, which is very 
 inconvenient ; as I'm sure I've had reason to 
 know. Still," — she leant, confidentially, to- 
 wards Aurora — " I do wish I could understand 
 one thing ; all I want to know is, what can be 
 the use of all her beauty ; only see what it has 
 come to ! It's all luck does it, not beauty, 
 you may take my word for it. Now, I only 
 ask, isn't she lying there in that boudoir, 
 upon that sofa, with a sprained ankle, just as 
 if she were as ugly as — as anybody; and, 
 indeed, Miss Foster, you may console your- 
 self with the idea, that all the beauty in 
 the world is no good whatever ; for depend 
 upon it, my dear, beauty don't make us 
 greater, or richer, or happier, or luckier, — or 
 anything." 
 
 Aurora did her best to profit by these in- 
 structive observations. She squeezed the mi- 
 niature tight in her little fat hands ; and tried 
 hard to lay the valuable unction to her soul. 
 But it would not do. A rebellious longing 
 for good looks would predominate over her 
 better reason. Yanity was a great sin ; she 
 felt it keenly ; still she did wish to be pretty.
 
 CHARLES STAXLY. 231 
 
 It was very wrong, to be sure, but she could 
 not help it. 
 
 Meanwhile, Isabella had been looking through 
 Mr. Preston's album, which he, as if by chance, 
 had left upon the table ; beside her Chloe 
 was sitting, perched on the back of her sister's 
 sofa, with her little feet in Isabella's lap, and 
 deeply engrossed by the drawings. 
 
 " "\Yhat a charming group the sisters would 
 make, just as they are at this moment," said 
 Frank, looking at them through a vista formed 
 by the frame of the door. 
 
 "Oh! try it, Mr. Preston," exclaimed Charles, 
 with great eagerness. " This head, lovely as 
 it is, cannot be called a portrait. The eyes, 
 especially, are quite different from Miss Ro- 
 mayne's ; hers are so hazy, so soft." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Homayne's eyes are, indeed, 
 unique," said Mr. Preston, as he advanced 
 slowly towards the sofa, affectedly throwing 
 his head into the most approved artistic atti- 
 tudes, expressive of admiration. u And if 
 she would do me the honour to permit me to 
 make the attempt, I should be both proud 
 and happy, however difficult the endeavour,
 
 232 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 or dubious the success; for those eyes are 
 really so very — how shall I express my con- 
 ception " 
 
 " Unique" exclaimed little Chloe, who, 
 springing with one bound from her exalted 
 seat to the floor, lighted within half a quarter 
 of an inch of the astonished artist, and thus 
 brought his eloquence to an untimely con- 
 clusion. " And my eyes pray, how shall you 
 express your conception of them ? Are they 
 also unique ? n she added, mocking his conceited 
 mispronunciation. " What colour do you call 
 them ?" She opened her large eyes very wide, 
 and fixed them full upon him. 
 
 « Why grey — grey, of course ; yet, stay : I 
 should rather say hazel ; but no, they are not 
 quite hazel, either : they are more blue, dark 
 blue, black ; and yet I think it would be better 
 to call them — by Heavens ! they change co- 
 lour every instant." 
 
 Chloe burst out laughing. She skipped like 
 a kitten about the room, clapping her hands 
 with glee. " My eyes are Greek, I beg here 
 to say, not English ; and you shall see me to- 
 morrow in my Greek dress ; and you shall take 
 my picture ; and how you loill puzzle over my
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 233 
 
 eyes. "What fun it will be to see you ; you'll 
 never hit the right colour ! What fun ! what 
 fun ! what fun !" She pirouetted, and danced 
 towards the door. Then she paused for a 
 moment, to sing Rossini's " Buona sera ;" after 
 which, with a curtsey down to the very ground, 
 and a glance round the room, in which fun, 
 coquetry, fire, and languor were marvellously 
 blended, she vanished from the room. 
 
 " Was ever such a creature as that ?" ex- 
 claimed the delighted mother. " She lias eyes, 
 has my Chloe, just like her .poor, dear, departed 
 father's. He always used to say that English 
 women have no eyes at all to speak of; he 
 never saw one but me who had anything that 
 could be called eyes ; and my Chloe takes after 
 me ; and whatever people may say, they will 
 never say that she is not a real beauty ; and 
 I'm proud of it : it may be absurd ; I don't say 
 it isn't ; but I really can't help it." 
 
 " She is, indeed, a beautiful child ! " said 
 Mr. Preston. " I should like, exceedingly, to 
 take her picture, and if Miss Romayne would 
 
 onlv sit " he added, turning towards the 
 
 latter, with what he considered an irresistibly 
 insinuating air.
 
 234 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 " She won't," interrupted the old lady, " not 
 she ; nothing will make her. There have been 
 all sorts of painters, and sculptors, and ama- 
 teurs, and architects, all dying to paint her ; 
 and the more I begged her, the less she would. 
 She's a good girl is my Isabella ; but for all her 
 gentleness, she is sometimes very obstinate." 
 
 "Firm, you mean," interposed Prank. Then, 
 turning to Isabella, he said : " I should like 
 to see a good picture of you. Why will you 
 not let Mr. Preston try it ?" 
 
 "Simply," she replied, "because I trust 
 that my real friends will never forget me, and 
 I do not care to be remembered by any others.' ' 
 
 "No, your real friends will never forget 
 you," said Prank; " still, a portrait of those 
 we love is always gratifying." 
 
 " Hardly, I think," replied Isabella; " for 
 we are never satisfied with it. It may re- 
 present the features, but it can never render 
 the expression — at least, not the expression 
 we love best — I mean, that appropriated to 
 us only, and which we may, therefore, claim 
 as our own." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Uomayne, if you only would " 
 
 said Charles, approaching the sofa. Then,
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 235 
 
 addressing Frank, he added, in a low voice, "I 
 wish you would go and smooth down your 
 sister, she is in a rage with me about the head, 
 which I have got, and won't give up." 
 
 " TThat's that. about the head ?" screamed 
 Madame Eodostomus, running into the draw- 
 ing-room after Frank and Mr. Preston. 
 
 Charles leant over Isabella's sofa, and pro- 
 ceeded, at the end of a moment's pause, " Miss 
 Roniayne, I have done all — niore than all you 
 required of me — the commission is given up — 
 and, will you not grant me this one little 
 favour — your picture ? Oh, Isabella !" 
 
 He bent low over her, as he spoke the last 
 whispered words. One person, nevertheless, 
 had heard them. Little Aurora, attracted by 
 some irresistible power, had crouched down 
 upon a stool behind the sofa, with the minia- 
 ture in her hand, and her worsteds in her lap ; 
 and there she remained as if fascinated, and 
 unable to move. Neither Charles nor Isabella 
 were aware of her ^cinity. 
 
 " Isabella !" he proceeded, with renewed 
 fervour — but he was interrupted by a strange 
 sound — good little Aurora had involuntarily 
 started. There was something in the intona- 
 tion of that second Isabella, which made her
 
 236 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 feel that she ought not to hear any more ; and 
 she strove to rise. But her stool being low, 
 and herself fat, it was no easy matter to do 
 so noiselessly. She got half-way, but lumped 
 down again, unfortunately not upon the stool, 
 but upon the ground. Away flew the balls of 
 worsted — and, before she could reach the door 
 — down tumbled the miniature. The door 
 banged violently, and the miniature rolled to 
 Charles's feet. To perceive it, to seize it, and 
 to press it into Isabella's hand, was the work 
 of a moment ! " That this should happen at 
 this moment — how wonderful ! "Who shall 
 withstand the dictates of fate ? This picture 
 — if you did but know its destination ! Oh, 
 there is a meaning in the gift — a deep mean- 
 ing. I dare not tell — but you can guess it. 
 You do, you do — I see it in that look — I see it 
 in those eyes. Oh, you understand me, and 
 you will not refuse me your picture. If it had 
 but the expression you wear now — may I not 
 
 say — my expression? " 
 
 His eagerness carried him away. It de- 
 prived him of all control over his voice. The 
 last words, intended only for her ear, were 
 spoken aloud.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 237 
 
 But Charles was unconscious of his mistake. 
 He was lost in contemplation of Isabella. She 
 remained silent !md still ; but there was an 
 expression in her stillness, an eloquence in 
 her silence, which spoke volumes. Her cheek 
 was veiled, but a rich crimson glow, like a 
 sunbeam imprisoned in alabaster, suffused her 
 face and throat. She made no attempt to 
 speak; she made no attempt to return the 
 picture. Indeed, she could not do so un- 
 perceived — for now all eyes were upon her 
 — she was aware that Charles had already 
 
 betraved too much. She concealed the minia- 
 
 t/ 
 
 ture in the folds of her dress, as she cast upon 
 Charles a look of warning. The glance was 
 momentarv, and full of sadness : but he saw 
 only the tenderness with which it was blended. 
 Charles was intoxicated with joy, and turning 
 away to conceal his emotion, he saw Lady 
 Ramsay standing in the doorway. One look 
 told him that she had guessed all. 
 
 Their eyes met : instantly Charles was so- 
 bered. Unbidden, he fetched her candle, 
 lighted it, and put it into her hands. She did 
 not thank him, she did not even look at him ; 
 as she took the candle, she held her head
 
 238 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 averted ; he could not see the expression of her 
 countenance ; but he knew that she trembled, 
 for the snuffers and extinguisher rattled in 
 their sockets. 
 
 Yet, it was with a soft, caressing voice, that 
 she reminded her friends that it was time to 
 withdraw. She looked at each, in turn, to 
 gather their assent ; but she carefully avoided 
 Charles's eye. Then she went towards Isa- 
 bella, to offer her assistance in rising from the 
 sofa; but, suddenly stopping, she said to her 
 brother, 
 
 " Be my substitute, Erank ; or, rather, re- 
 sume your post. I was the usurper during 
 your absence ; but I would not, on any ac- 
 count, deprive you of the pleasure of assisting 
 Miss Homayne." 
 
 She helped Sir James up-stairs, and with 
 her usual kindness, assisted him to bed, and 
 watched by him till he went to sleep. It was 
 not till she was assured that he was resting 
 quietly, that she sought her own couch, which 
 was always within call of the invalid. 
 
 But she could not sleep. Charles's words 
 sounded in her ears like a knell — " My ex- 
 pression," she kept repeating to herself.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 239 
 
 " What could lie mean ? Yet, he cannot be 
 in love with that cold, unfeeling woman. 
 Poor Charles!" 
 
 With these words, she fell asleep ; hut she 
 soon started up in terror. Some fearful noise 
 had roused her from a delicious dream. She 
 listened ; all was still. But then came a feeble 
 moan from the invalid; and she somehow 
 knew that he had called her before ; and that 
 his faint cry had dispelled visions which even 
 now seemed reality. In another moment, she 
 was by her husband's side, and her firm round 
 arm supported his emaciated frame, and his 
 aching head was pillowed upon her bosom. 
 " Dear Sir James, are you ill ?" she inquired 
 tenderly, as she saw his leaden features light 
 up with unutterable affection. 
 
 " Oh, Eanny, Eanny!" he murmured, " how 
 pretty you look ; why do you look so pretty ? 
 You look wonderfully pretty !" 
 
 She replied, by pressing her lips upon his 
 forehead. She busied herself in endeavours 
 to relieve her husband's suffering; she pre- 
 sently succeeded, and smiled with pleasure, as 
 she saw him sink into a calm sleep.
 
 240 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Next morning, everything wore a brighter 
 aspect in Charles's eyes. It seemed to him as 
 if the world and everything in it had suddenly 
 become beautiful. Lady Ramsay never presided 
 at the breakfast-table with so much grace, or 
 so much affability. Prank, Arethusa, Mrs. 
 Tyrrell, and Mr. Preston, had each, and all, 
 improved marvellously during the night. As 
 for Madame Rodostomus, she seemed, on this 
 particular morning, exceedingly agreeable. 
 Charles wondered why he had never made this 
 discovery before. Of course, the fact of her 
 being Isabella's mother, had nothing what- 
 ever to do with it. 
 
 Not that Charles attended much to her con- 
 versation, or to that of any of the others ; in fact, 
 he had no idea what they were talking about ;
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 241 
 
 but their voices proved an agreeable accom- 
 paniment to an ecstatic reverie, in which he 
 was luxuriously indulging. This abstracted 
 him so entirely, that, although always very 
 anxious for letters (he still hoped that some- 
 thing would turn up from his uncle), he was 
 not, in the least, aware that the groom of the 
 chambers walked past him empty-handed. 
 
 u Good Heavens !" exclaimed Lady Eamsay, 
 in her surprise, forgetting to modulate her 
 voice, " what is this ? Charles ! what does 
 this mean?" 
 
 Startled by the angry tone in which she 
 spoke, Charles made a rapid descent from the 
 heaven, where he had been wandering with 
 Isabella, and begged Lady Eamsay to explain 
 further. 
 
 " Explain ! It is you must explain. There 
 is a letter from Lord Derwent, referring to one 
 which he has received, as he says, some time 
 ago, from you ; in which, it seems, you refuse 
 the commission that I solicited so anxiously, 
 and obtained with so much trouble. " 
 
 " "What Lord Derwent says is quite true. I 
 did refuse the commission. All I can say is, 
 
 vol. I. R
 
 242 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 that I regret your trouble, and am very grate- 
 ful for your kindness." 
 
 "I* think you might have informed me of 
 your decision, and consulted me, before you 
 wrote." 
 
 " In truth, Lady Bamsay, I forgot to do so. 
 But the affair was so entirely personal, that I 
 thought Besides, I have been much pre- 
 occupied of late." To his extreme annoyance, 
 he felt himself getting redder and redder every 
 moment — " And the fact is, that, somehow, 
 lately, I have hardly had an opportunity of 
 speaking to you. I seldom see you alone 
 now, and " 
 
 " That will do, Charles ; that will do. But 
 let me tell you, that another time, you must 
 get somebody else to take trouble about your 
 affairs. I will do so no more." 
 
 He saw that Lady Bamsay was angry, and 
 he felt that she had every reason to be so. 
 He was sorry for it, but he was, at that mo- 
 ment, too happy, to be much affected by any- 
 thing. It was all he could do to restrain his 
 joy, as he said, in a tone which he intended 
 to be persuasive, but which, despite himself, 
 betrayed his exulting feelings, " Come, 'come,
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 243 
 
 * 
 
 Lady Ramsay, we must not quarrel in public, 
 and you must not condemn me unheard. I 
 
 w 
 
 haYe a great deal to say " 
 
 "Which I have no inclination to hear," 
 she said, in a still more angry Yoice. 
 
 " But you mast hear ; and when you have 
 heard, I flatter myself, that you will not 
 only excuse, but approve the motives which 
 prompted my conduct.' ' 
 
 Lady Ramsay made no answer. She could 
 not trust herself to speak then. It was with 
 great difficulty that she composed her fea- 
 tures, and resumed her natural manner. 
 
 Charles took the first opportunity of escap- 
 ing from the room. He was in no mood to 
 encounter either Lady Ramsay's bantering, 
 or her coaxing. He was too happy to be 
 angry, or even to appear so ; and he felt that, 
 under the present circumstances, the only way 
 of managing Lady Ramsay would be to take 
 the aggressive, and loudly proclaim himself 
 ill-used. He felt that he was decidedly in the 
 wrong, as regarded his behaviour to her ; and 
 though he had an excellent excuse for it, as 
 far as was himself concerned, he could not but 
 acknowledge that she was not likely to con- 
 
 r2
 
 244 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 sider it such. He dreaded his next tete-a-tete 
 with her ; and sought, if he could not escape, 
 at least to postpone the evil hour. He was 
 in that state of excitement, which renders it 
 impossible to think of any hut the one all- 
 engrossing subject. He could hardly believe 
 in his own happiness, and yet he knew it was 
 true. That look of Isabella's dispelled all 
 doubt. She, the idol of his childhood, the 
 ideal of his youth — she, the sum of all human 
 perfection, Isabella Eomayne — loved him. 
 
 Since her accident, Isabella came down late ; 
 it would, therefore, be some time before he 
 could see and speak to her. He could not 
 remain quiet in any place. An irresistible 
 impulse sent him abroad. He must have air, 
 space, freedom. It was as if the room, the 
 house, the world, were all too small to contain 
 the immensity of his happiness. 
 
 He slipped out of the house, unperceived by 
 Lady Ramsay, and plunged, at once, into the 
 nearest thicket. 
 
 Prank, too, had gone out early. The fresh 
 morning air was in accordance with the tone 
 of his mind. He felt hopeful, and happy, and 
 he felt that he deserved to be so. He had
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 245 
 
 gone to London in hopes of winning a cause, 
 and lie had won triumphantly. It was an in- 
 tricate one ; yet his clear exposition of it, the 
 soundness of his arguments, and his concise, 
 masterly style of summing up, carried the 
 whole court with him. The complimentary 
 letters, which he received from the highest 
 quarters, were enough to turn any man's head. 
 But Frank's head was not easily turned. All 
 his life, he had had hut one object in view. 
 Each success he achieved was only valuable 
 as bringing him nearer to the wished-for goal; 
 and now he believed it to be within his reach. 
 
 He had gone to London with a fixed purpose. 
 If he won his cause, he would immediately 
 return, and lav his laurels at Isabella's feet. 
 He knew that she liked him better than any 
 other man ; and he had always hoped, and be- 
 lieved, that, in time, her friendship would ripen 
 into a warmer feeling. She was, in many 
 respects, as he thought, superior to himself; 
 his talents did not equal hers, but he felt the 
 proud consciousness, that his heart, at least, 
 was worthy of Isabella. 
 
 In the course of his long walk over the 
 hills, Erank had settled his plan of conduct.
 
 246 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 He would speak to Isabella at once, and lay- 
 before her, openly, the state of his mind. He 
 would hurry her into no engagement, but let 
 time do its work. The more he considered 
 the circumstances in which she were placed, 
 the more he believed that they would termi- 
 nate advantageously for himself. 
 
 " Halloo, Charles!" he exclaimed, as he 
 saw the latter coming towards him at a rapid 
 pace, and so absorbed in his own thoughts, 
 that he was close upon Prank before he per- 
 ceived that he was near — " whither are you 
 bound, in so tremendous a hurry ?" 
 
 Charles looked up, surprised. " Well met, 
 old fellow, " he said. " "Which way are you 
 going ? I will turn with you." 
 
 They walked for some moments, without 
 speaking. Charles wished Prank to begin 
 the conversation, but he could contain himself 
 no longer, and exclaimed, in tones of joyful 
 excitement, " Well, Prank ! it is all settled ; 
 I have given up the army." 
 
 " I am glad of it," said Prank, heartily. 
 " I always thought, that, upon reflection, you 
 would find that I was right."
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 247 
 
 " Don't take too much credit to yourself, 
 Mr. Frank. I am by no means sure that your 
 advice would have carried the day, without the 
 assistance of a fair auxiliary, whose inter- 
 ference you little suspected." 
 
 " I beg your pardon. Miss Eomayne and 
 I had a long talk about you, just before my 
 departure." 
 
 "Oh, Frank !" exclaimed Charles, who, in 
 the intoxication of his delight, neither heard 
 nor understood what his friend was saying — 
 " oh, Frank ! what have I done that she — 
 such an angel as she — should take so deep an 
 interest in my prospects ?" 
 
 "It is but natural that Miss Eomayne 
 should take interest in the boy she has known 
 so long." 
 
 "Boy!" exclaimed Charles, bridling up. 
 " She does not look upon me as a boy, I can 
 tell you. Far from it," he added, in his first 
 tone of enthusiasm. "Frank! she spoke of 
 me in such terms, I am afraid I do not deserve 
 half the praise she bestowed upon me, though 
 I own, I am not particularly sorry to receive 
 it from her."
 
 248 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 " I believe you, there. Her praise is indeed 
 worth having." 
 
 Charles went on, without listening to Prank: 
 " She told me I had superior talents — superior 
 powers were her words — superior mental and 
 intellectual powers. Was that not encourage- 
 ment, Prank ? Since she spoke thus, I feel 
 quite another man — capable of really great 
 things. I shall instantly embrace a profession ; 
 and I want to consult you with respect to 
 which I am best suited for. I see that the 
 army will not do. I must make myself inde- 
 pendent. Miss Homayne — Isabella, said so. I 
 must choose a line, in which I can raise myself 
 by my own exertions. I shall work hard, toil 
 night and day, exert myself to the utmost. 
 My uncle may have a dozen sons, if he pleases ; 
 it is all one to me. I will show him, that I 
 neither want his money nor his interest." 
 
 "That is right," said Prank ; "that is the 
 way to see things. It is only what I expected 
 of you." 
 
 " Diplomacy is what I should like, but I 
 must be guided by circumstances. At all 
 events, I will choose something which shall 
 soon — I mean, before very long — enable me to
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 249 
 
 become independent ; so that I may, without 
 imprudence, be able to settle in life." 
 
 " Settle in life ! At twentv, to think of 
 settling in life! Was ever such madness 
 heard of?" 
 
 " Call it madness, if you will," said Charles, 
 good-humouredly ; " I don't pretend to be 
 very sane just at present; and perhaps, old 
 fellow, under similar circumstances, you might 
 be just as mad yourself." 
 
 " What can vou mean ? "What circum- 
 stances ?" 
 
 " You are marvellously obtuse this morning, 
 Frank. Is it not enough to drive anv man 
 mad, with joy, to see an accomplished and 
 beautiful woman interest herself in him. 
 When your turn comes, Frank, by Jove ! 
 how I'll bully you." 
 
 " This is no subject for jesting." 
 
 " I never was more serious in my life." 
 
 " Because Miss Eomayne spoke civilly to 
 you, you are surely not so mad as to infer " 
 
 " I infer nothing ; I know" Charles coloured 
 violently, as he spoke. "There are words, 
 and looks, in which a man cannot be mistaken. 
 Miss Eomayne is no coquette, or it might be
 
 250 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 otherwise ; but what she says, she feels ; what 
 she seems, she is. I know that she is superior, 
 far superior to me, in mind, in intellect, in 
 everything. I can, indeed, hardly account for 
 her preference of me. Yet the very fact, that 
 such is the case, raises my self-esteem, and 
 makes me hope that I may — in time, at least — 
 become not wholly unworthy of her." The 
 last sentences were spoken with feeling and 
 earnestness. 
 
 He might have gone on for ever, earnestly 
 or not ; Prank was incapable of interrupting 
 him. He was transfixed with astonishment. 
 That the boy Charles, even in his wildest 
 dreams, should conceive the possibility of 
 being worthy of Isabella Romayne, seemed 
 presumption, almost beyond his powers of 
 comprehension. Amazement, for some mo- 
 ments, kept him silent. Then in a voice, 
 which he vainly endeavoured to render calm, 
 he said : 
 
 " Some day, you will find out your mistake. 
 But as my words are not likely to weigh much 
 with you, in your present state of delirium, 
 I think we had better resume the subject at 
 some future opportunity."
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 251 
 
 Frank turned abruptly down a path, which 
 led straight to the house. Charles stood, for 
 a few moments, looking after him. " What 
 an odd fellow he is !" he said to himself. 
 " What would he be at now ? Madness ! de- 
 lirium ! to admire what is beautiful ! Or is he 
 in love with her himself, and jealous of her 
 preference of me ? Poor Prank ! he is the 
 best fellow in the world, but not suited to 
 Isabella. He has a warm heart, and a good 
 understanding; but she requires more than 
 that. How deeply she appreciates whatever 
 is grand, and exalted, and chivalrous !' : 
 Charles drew himself up, and stepped out 
 proudly. " Oh, she is a noble creature ; so 
 gentle, yet so enthusiastic! Lady Ramsay 
 calls her cold and insensible ; so she is — to 
 the generality." 
 
 Charles walked on, hardly able to control 
 his rapture. He longed to give it vent by 
 some act of extravagance. He longed to 
 publish his happiness to the whole world. 
 He could not move, like any other ordinary 
 mortal. He flew along. He trod upon air. 
 He plunged deeper into the woods, with a 
 vague idea that the thickly-spreading branches
 
 252 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 of the trees would hold him down upon earth. 
 He felt as if, without some such restraint, he 
 must fly off to some higher region, which, 
 however delightful, he had no fancy to visit 
 just then, Isabella's abode being, for the pre- 
 sent, established within the limits of this lower 
 world. 
 
 Meanwhile, Prank walked home, at a brisk 
 pace. Charles's disclosure made him feel un- 
 comfortable. He pitied Charles for indulging 
 in a dream, from which the waking must be 
 painful. " But, after all," he thought, within 
 h i mself, " her advice will be of infinite service 
 to him, and he will soon recover his disappoint- 
 ment. I may wrong Charles, but I cannot 
 help suspecting that vanity has no small share 
 in his love, else he could not be so ready to talk 
 about it. Deep affections are always silent. 
 His security is preposterous — revolting." 
 
 Prank reached home, went straight to his 
 room, and began writing. But, somehow, he 
 could not shake off his preoccupation. The 
 right words either would not come at all, or 
 came at the wrong place. His constructions 
 were involved, his sentences inverted, and his
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 253 
 
 style altogether unlike his usual clear, concise 
 mode of diction. 
 
 Just as he had spoilt his third sheet of 
 lawyer's foolscap, he received a message from 
 Isabella, to beg that he would drive her in the 
 pony chaise to a favourite spot of hers, called 
 the Grotto. Since her accident, Lady Ramsay 
 had appropriated the little carriage solely to 
 Isabella's use. 
 
 The weather was lovely; sunny, but not 
 cloudless. It was just such as to enhance the 
 beauty of the prospect. 
 
 What an opportunity for Prank ! He left 
 his room, determined to profit by it ; and, in 
 the course of their drive, to unfold to Isabella 
 the deepest secret of his heart. 
 
 However, they reached a spot, at which they 
 were to leave the carriage, without exchanging 
 a word. There was an unusual restraint in 
 Isabella's manner, which Erank was at a loss 
 to interpret. 
 
 He helped her out of the carriage. " You 
 will never be able to walk so far as the 
 grotto," he said. 
 
 " I will try," she replied, tremulously.
 
 254 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 "You seem fatigued already. You look pale." 
 
 " No, I am not fatigued, only a little 
 nervous. I have something to say to you, 
 Prank, which requires courage to introduce.' 3 
 
 " The sooner a disagreeable thing is said, 
 the better," he replied, endeavouring to speak 
 calmly. 
 
 " I am very foolish, Prank, to let my nerv- 
 ousness get the better of me — but — I cannot 
 speak just yet. I will tell you all, when we 
 reach the grotto." 
 
 " This is not like yourself, Isabella. You, 
 generally so self-possessed, to hesitate thus — 
 and with me !" 
 
 There was something in his tone which 
 seemed to make Isabella still more nervous. 
 She withdrew the arm he had drawn within 
 his ; and began walking very fast, in advance 
 of him. 
 
 He followed her, musing. Why should he 
 not, now, make the intended disclosure ? When 
 she found how dear she was to him, she might 
 confide in him more entirely. Once assured 
 of his affection, she would feel, that to serve 
 her, was the greatest pleasure this life could 
 afford him.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 255 
 
 Erank repeated tliis reasoning over and over 
 to himself; still he walked on without speak- 
 ing. He felt instinctively that the moment 
 was unpropitious. Indeed, he kept at a suffi- 
 cient distance from Isabella to make con- 
 versation inconvenient. An uncontrollable 
 restraint kept him silent ; and he felt greatly 
 relieved when their path became too narrow 
 to admit of their walking side by side. 
 
 They now turned into a road. The road lay 
 along the edge of a deep ravine. A mountain 
 stream foamed and frolicked in the chasm 
 beneath. Both sides of this ravine were clad 
 with trees, whose knotted roots twisted them- 
 selves into shapes as grotesque as they were 
 beautiful. They formed airy bridges, light 
 festoons, ponderous arches, and all manner of 
 wild and fantastic figures. A steep bank 
 rose on the other side of the path. The trees, 
 which covered it, glowed in the magnificent 
 colouring of autumn. The ground was car- 
 peted with bright green moss, and the high 
 ferns spread their feathery leaves, as if to pro- 
 tect the gay flowerets, wantoning in the long 
 sunbeams, which rippled through the dense 
 foliage. Here and there were seats; and
 
 256 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 opposite to these, vistas. The miniature sea- 
 views looked beautiful through their leafy 
 framework. Vessels dotted the distant pic- 
 ture, and their sails shone like burnished gold 
 in the dazzling sunlight. 
 
 Presently, the path became steeper and nar- 
 rower. Prank had enough to do, in holding 
 back the projecting branches, and in rolling 
 away the stones, which impeded their progress. 
 They stood watching these, as they bounded 
 and rebounded down the bank, till theyplashed 
 frantically into the water below. 
 
 At length, Prank and Isabella emerged from 
 the thick glade. They stood for a moment, 
 gazing upon the beautiful stretch of coast at 
 their feet, undulating alternately in light and 
 in shadow; here, gracefully waving into a 
 smiling bay ; there, stretching out into a 
 stern promontory. A few steps further up the 
 cliff brought them to the grotto. Thence 
 was indeed a glorious prospect. In front, 
 lay the broad blue ocean, like a vast azure 
 desert, spangled with gold. The waves 
 broke majestically upon the shingled beach. 
 Mountain after mountain of light foam rose, 
 and rolled over into sheets of pure snow,
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 257 
 
 deeply fringed with gold. Behind them spread 
 an ocean of forest ; beantiful also and bound- 
 less, but calm and still. The grotto was 
 situated upon a high cliff, from whence they 
 commanded many miles of view. "Waves of 
 green, and purple, and gold, were heaped one 
 above another, like a stormy sea suddenly 
 arrested in its course. Isabella sunk upon a 
 bush, overpowered by her feelings. 
 
 " What a glorious prospect ! and shall I 
 never see it more !" burst from her, involun- 
 tarily. 
 
 " Xever see it more ! why should you talk 
 of never seeing it more ?" 
 
 " Because there is little probability of it. 
 I must leave Eastrow — England. Yes, I 
 must go — and go soon." 
 
 "Go— Isabella? Why? What can have 
 prompted this sudden determination ? 
 
 " Why ? — Oh, a great many reasons. My 
 mother dislikes the climate. We are poor, 
 and cannot well afford the expense of living 
 in England. Besides " 
 
 " But you knew all these things before. 
 You told me you intended to try our winter 
 
 vol. i. s
 
 258 CHAKLES STANLY. 
 
 here, and see how it would suit with your 
 mother's health, and your finances ?" 
 
 " Yes, I know I did. I thought so then — 
 
 but now " 
 
 " You amaze me, Isabella. I never before 
 saw you thus. You are not like yourself." 
 
 " Yes, I know 1 am not like myself. I am 
 very weak, and very foolish." 
 
 Prank looked at her intently for some mo- 
 ments. Her colour went and came inces- 
 santly. What could move her thus ? He 
 feels a chill at his heart, but he would not 
 listen to its forebodings. 
 
 " Something strange must have occurred 
 to make you waver in a manner so unusual 
 to you." 
 
 "Yes, something strange has occurred," 
 she said, slowly repeating his words, and 
 speaking as in a dream. "It is strange, 
 indeed. Oh, God ! how strange !" 
 
 " Isabella !" he exclaimed, with amazement. 
 
 " Prank, your warning came too late — too 
 late." A deep blush told the rest. 
 
 But Prank did not, or would not, under- 
 stand her. He chose to see neither the blush, 
 nor the imploring look which accompanied it.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 259 
 
 He went on reasoning according to his own 
 wishes. 
 
 " And if it is so, you cannot mean to ex- 
 patriate yourself on account of that foolish 
 boy's presumptuous aspiration. You must 
 know, as well as I do, what is likely to be the 
 duration of his attachment. Leave hi™ to 
 rue his folly ; and let us calmly consider what 
 is best for yourself. I am aware that your 
 circumstances may preclude your fixing alto- 
 gether in England— -you think so, at least — 
 and I will not, at present, contest the point. 
 But try one winter here. See whether the 
 climate would suit your mother; make in- 
 quiries about the expense of living in England, 
 and consider whether you could afford it or 
 not. This will require time. Meanwhile, I 
 am sure my sister will be happy to have you 
 with her. You know that my mother and 
 Arethusa spend the winters in London with 
 me. As for Charles Stanly, he cannot remain 
 much longer a guest at Eastrow. He has 
 already wasted too much time. I propose 
 taking him with me to town, and adopting 
 active measures for establishing him in some 
 useful profession. His comfort, therefore, need 
 
 s2
 
 260 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 not interfere with your plans. Leave that to 
 my care." 
 
 Isabella shook her head mournfully. 
 
 " No, no, Prank, it cannot be. I must go ; 
 I must go soon. As you say yourself, Charles 
 has wasted too much time already. Nor must 
 his attention be directed from the course 
 of study he will have to pursue. He must 
 work hard and unfettered. His talents must 
 have their full, free scope. He must neither 
 see, nor think of me. The parting must be 
 immediate and complete." 
 
 Prank changed colour, but was too much 
 agitated to speak. She proceeded calmly — the 
 effort it cost her to appear calm was greater 
 than even Prank, well as he knew her, could 
 have imagined — " I am going to beg you will 
 do me a service. It is an important service ; 
 I know you will not refuse me." She paused, 
 as if waiting for Prank's answer ; but he made 
 none, and she went on. " The task I require 
 of you is not an agreeable one. It is sad to 
 inflict pain, even to ensure future relief ; yet 
 this is what you must do, Prank. Prepare 
 Charles gradually for our departure. I want
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 261 
 
 him to get accustomed to the idea before it is 
 talked of openly ; and then I will tell my 
 mother that I am able to travel. " 
 
 There was another pause. It was a long 
 one. Isabella, contending with her own feel- 
 ings, did not mark the struggle, which all 
 Prank's self-possession could not enable him 
 to conceal. At last, he spoke in hard, forced 
 tones : 
 
 " You are wrong in supposing it necessary 
 to leave England on Charles Stanly's account. 
 You take the case too seriously. Time allays 
 all sorrows ; and, believe me, Charles is not a 
 man to sorrow long. I know him better than 
 you do. He is incapable of receiving a deep 
 and lasting impression. He is young in years, 
 younger in disposition — in fact, a mere boy 
 still, not worth thinking so much about. I 
 do not understand your scruples. I cannot 
 imagine why you are in such haste to go." 
 
 " Why I go ?" A deep colour rose to her 
 cheek, indignant tears were in her eyes, and 
 her voice vibrated strangely. " Why I go ? 
 I am surprised to hear you condemn a friend 
 so harshly, so unjustly. Why I go ? Because
 
 262 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 I will not mar his prospects, or retard his 
 fortune. Because his happiness requires it of 
 me, — and mine." Her face was buried in her 
 hands. 
 
 There was a short pause. To Erank it seemed 
 of endless duration. Presently Isabella looked 
 up. Prank was shocked at the change which 
 a few moments had wrought in her counte- 
 nance. Her cheek was pale, her eyes swollen, 
 her lips quivered with suppressed emotion. 
 
 " Are you ill ?" he inquired, uneasily. 
 
 " No; but I would be alone. I must be alone. 
 Leave me for a while. We will talk more 
 presently." 
 
 Erank obeyed her. He also required to be 
 alone. He felt bewildered, stunned, as by a 
 violent blow. Did Isabella really love Charles 
 Stanly ? Could it, indeed, be true ? Slowly 
 he followed the path along the cliff, which led 
 in a different direction to that by which he 
 and Isabella had come.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 263 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Isabella remained for some time, in the 
 same mournful attitude. In vain she strove to 
 collect her thoughts. She heard Frank's step 
 grow fainter and fainter, and then cease in the 
 distance ; but her mind was so confused, that 
 she hardly understood why he went, or why 
 she had sent him. The immense effort she 
 had made to speak so calmly seemed to have 
 paralysed her faculties. She was stunned, phy- 
 sical! v and mentally. 
 t, t/ 
 
 At last, she raised her head, and gazed 
 vacantly at the glorious prospect before her. 
 There was stretched the broad blue ocean, 
 dazzling in light. It lay like a polished 
 mirror, smooth and brilliant — save where its 
 surface was lightly dimpled by the soft west 
 breeze — or kissed bv the sunbeam into smiles.
 
 264 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 But the external gladness increased Isa- 
 bella's depression. The outward harmony was 
 like a mockery of the discord within. It was 
 as if nature held festivity over the dreary 
 gloom of her heart. She felt as if, in the 
 whole creation, there was not one being who 
 would sympathise with her sorrow ; not one 
 who could feel either for her, or with her. 
 
 "Yet, what am I?" she said to herself. 
 " What am I, to sadden at the sight of this 
 glorious joy and beauty ? I am a dissonance 
 in the universal harmony, a blot on the fair 
 face of nature. Why am I rebellious and dis- 
 contented, when all around me is peace and 
 gladness ? Why can I not submit, and be 
 happy ? Happy ! — yes, I might have been 
 happy ; for I might have made his happiness. 
 
 God, to think what might have been, and 
 feel what is ! 
 
 " But it is done — done — my fate is sealed. 
 
 1 spoke the word, and it cannot, must not, be 
 recalled. It is best — it shall be best thus." 
 
 And she tried to recapitulate the motives 
 which had prompted her decision. She had 
 weighed them well ; and but a short time ago, 
 they seemed unanswerable. It was, in every
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 265 
 
 respect, necessary to return to Italy; reason, 
 common sense, told her so. But it was in vain 
 that she recalled these arguments ; they had 
 lost their meaning now. Reasons had "become 
 dull formula ; words were as empty sounds. 
 One idea prevailed in her mind — "I might 
 have made him happy ; for he loves me !" 
 
 Her thoughts wandered more and more. 
 Her brain was hot and confused. She pushed 
 back her bonnet, and let the cool breeze fan 
 her temples. She threw off her shawl, for its 
 weight oppressed her. In detaching it, she 
 felt something hard against her bosom. A 
 sudden recollection flashed across her mind, 
 and she turned faint and dizzy. 
 
 His picture — and he had given it — must 
 she restore it ? She took it from its hiding- 
 place, and gazed upon those fine features, till 
 she fancied them change in expression, and 
 glow with that deep feeling which had fired 
 them, as he bent over her last night. " How 
 handsome!" she involuntarily exclaimed, as 
 she pressed the image to her lips; "but the 
 original is far handsomer ! — dear, dearest 
 Charles !" 
 
 She started up. Did her senses deceive her ?
 
 266 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Had her words wrought a miracle ? Was he 
 really there — Charles Stanly — he who loved 
 her ? Did his arms encircle her ? Was it his 
 heart that beat so wildly against her own? 
 Could it really be ? and that long, long rap- 
 turous kiss — or was the whole an illusion ? 
 
 Isabella drew herself up to her full, queen- 
 like height. She wished to check his impe- 
 tuosity, to rebuke his presumption. But the 
 words died upon her lips, as her eye fell upon 
 the picture she still held in her hand, and 
 she remembered the expressions she had but 
 now uttered. Did she fear, did she hope that 
 he had heard them ? Weak and speechless, 
 she fell back upon the seat, from which she 
 had risen. 
 
 There was a long silence — but it spoke 
 volumes. In silence, vows were exchanged. 
 In silence, Charles told his love, and with 
 a fervour such as language cannot render. 
 There is poetry too sublime for words ; there 
 is religion too deep for prayer ; there are times 
 when silence is the highest eloquence. 
 
 At last he spoke in his soft musical whisper : 
 "Again, and again; oh, say them again; 
 those blissful words, that breathe rapture into
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 267 
 
 my soul. Oh, say them once again; dear, 
 dearest Isabella!" 
 
 He sunk upon his knees at her feet, half in 
 rapture at her gentleness, half in contrition 
 at his own presumption. She laid her hand 
 lightly upon his forehead, and looked tenderly, 
 vet earnestly, into his face. That soft touch 
 sent the blood rushing to his temples ; but her 
 deep, trustful gaze checked its wild impetuo- 
 sity; then, in tones sweet as the music of the 
 forest, but sad as the last breath of autumn 
 through its withered foliage, she slowly spoke: 
 
 "You love rne, then, Charles Stanly?" 
 
 " Do I love light, or air, or life ? Can you 
 doubt it, Isabella ? What ! tears ? "Why do 
 you weep, my soul's own dearest ? Why do 
 you weep, my best beloved ?" 
 
 He spoke soothingly, but not sorrowfully ; 
 for he saw that her tears were tears of joy. 
 
 u I am very foolish," she said, smiling 
 through them. " Eorgive me ; but, in extreme 
 happiness, there is always sadness." 
 
 " Sadness, Isabella ? In happiness, sadness ?'» 
 
 " Yes; but a sadness which heightens and 
 hallows it." 
 
 "Wonderful;" he proceeded, in a voice at
 
 268 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 first tremulous with emotion, but which soon 
 became enthusiastic and exulting — " wonder- 
 ful; that I should have come just in time 
 to hear these joyful words ; passing won- 
 derful. But there are moments when the 
 powers above impel us towards happiness ; 
 when voices unheard, guide and direct us. 
 For hours I have been wandering among the 
 thickest woods. I felt that a fate was upon 
 me. I climbed the mountain top ; I plunged 
 into the deep ravine. I stood beneath the 
 waterfall, and the spray fell around me like 
 bright sparks, forming rainbow upon rainbow 
 of hope and promise. I yielded to the power 
 which urged me onwards; I followed the 
 torrent's track, till 1 reached the shore ; high 
 above me was the steep white cliff ; I scaled 
 it, and beheld joy, love, heaven — you I" 
 
 He was still upon his knees before her : he 
 poured out words of rapture, eloquent when 
 spoken, but which, if written, would appear 
 trivial. There is a language which the heart 
 only can interpret. His accents fell strange 
 and new upon Isabella's ear; strange, yet 
 familiar ; new, yet long known. As in music, 
 one cadence anticipates the next, and still
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 269 
 
 delights our expectation ; so she foretold the 
 expressions which yet surprised her. She did 
 not attempt to speak, for she saw that he 
 understood her silence. 
 
 She let him rave on of happiness and of 
 love. She listened to his protestations of af- 
 fection. She loved his incoherent words. She 
 smiled at his determination to toil nisrht and 
 day to deserve her, to work miracles in her 
 name, to achieve impossibilities. He would 
 show her, he said, of what he was capable ; 
 he would surprise the world by his exertions, 
 his perseverance, his success. Soon, very soon, 
 he should be able to claim her as his own, and 
 if a short space must first elapse, it would 
 serve but to enhance their happiness. 
 
 Much more he said ; much more unsaid 
 she well understood. She cared little for the 
 words themselves, but his manner brought 
 conviction with it. 
 
 He kissed her dress, her scarf, her glove, 
 the stone on which her feet rested. His heart 
 overflowed with love and sympathy. He would 
 fain have shared his happiness with the whole 
 world ; even his stern uncle he could have par- 
 doned then.
 
 270 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 They were as little children, happy, without 
 a thought beyond. Charles rioted in the bright 
 dreams of fancy, and Isahella shared his joy. 
 
 Where was now the strong will, the reason, 
 of which she was wont to he so proud ? A 
 woman's love knows little of reason, or of will. 
 When she loves ; her individuality merges 
 into that of another. Isabella was a true 
 woman. Her happiness was in another's, her 
 love in another's. She had a woman's heart, 
 whose strength was its weakness, and she 
 saw how well he loved her. She did not seek 
 to curb his vehemence, she felt that even in 
 his exaggeration there was reality. But had 
 it been otherwise, perhaps, at that moment, 
 she would have believed him. 
 
 He turned a wreath of wild ivy, and placed 
 it upon her brow. " Oh !" he went on, with 
 increasing excitement, " how beautiful you 
 look ! how noble, yet how yielding ! How I 
 wish you could see yourself as you are now. 
 Oh, I could worship that glorious beauty, so 
 gentle in its pride. Are you a being from 
 another sphere, come to convert my world 
 into a paradise ? But none are so beautiful as 
 you — so glorious ! so majestic ! Juno, Mi-
 
 CHARLES STAXLY. 271 
 
 nerva. Diana ! oh no, for vou outshine them 
 all ; you are more beautiful, more dear, are 
 you not Isabella ? — my Isabella ; the woman 
 I loYe, the woman who loves me 7" he added, 
 in his peculiar tone of unutterable tender- 
 ness. 
 
 Just then, a loud shriek was heard out- 
 side the arbour. Charles and Isabella rushed 
 out, and perceived Lady Ramsay hanging 1 , as 
 it were, in mid-air, half-way down the pre- 
 cipitous cliff. The railing on its edge had 
 been broken, part of it had fallen over, and 
 was stopped from rolling to the bottom by a 
 bush, into which it had got entangled. To 
 this frail support Lady Ramsay was clinging, 
 and screaming for help. It was evident that 
 she must, somehow, have broken the railing 
 and slipped down with it . Charles, n ot without 
 considerable difficulty, contrived to scramble 
 to her assistance, and brought her safely to 
 the bottom. 
 
 Dming her danger, Lady Ramsay had be- 
 haved with tolerable presence of mind, but 
 now it quite forsook her. She seized Charles's 
 hands, thanked him for saving her life, and 
 then, in the same breath, called him cruel and
 
 272 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 barbarous. "Why did he preserve a worthless 
 existence ? she was miserable, and longed to 
 die. She told him to go and leave her to her 
 fate; then implored him, for God's sake, to 
 stay, and not abandon her. In short, she con- 
 tradicted herself every moment, and clearly 
 did not know what she was saying. Presently 
 she begun to cry violently, and, at last, went 
 into hysterics. 
 
 Charles was frightened at her vehemence, 
 and at a loss what to do. To his great relief, 
 however, he perceived Prank, at no great 
 distance, coming along the cliff. 
 
 " Quick, Prank, quick," he called out to 
 him ; " your sister is ill — dying. Por God's 
 sake, hasten to her assistance. What is to 
 be done ? She faints again." 
 
 But to Charles's great surprise, Prank 
 showed no particular symptoms of alarm. He 
 slowly descended the precipitous steps which 
 led from the cliff to the beach, then walked 
 leisurely to the sea, dipped his handkerchief 
 in the water, and applied it to Lady Ramsay's 
 temples. 
 
 " Leave Panny to me," he said, quietly. 
 " She will soon be better. Come, Panny,
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 273 
 
 check this nonsense. You can do so if you 
 try," he said, rather sternly. 
 
 " How can you be so unkind," she exclaimed, 
 in a voice louder than might have been ex- 
 pected from the state in which she appeared 
 to be. " "What do you mean ? How can 
 
 you suppose ?" She looked up, perceived 
 
 Charles, and went off into another fit. 
 
 " Shall I run and fetch a doctor ?" said 
 Charles, getting more and more alarmed. 
 
 " Xo, no, we want no doctors. She will 
 come round presently. Go and get the pony 
 carriage down by the road to the beach ; 
 Fannv and Isabella can drive home in it, and 
 you and I will walk." 
 
 Lady Ramsay objected to this plan. Be- 
 tween her sobs, which subsided with wonder- 
 ful suddenness, she said, that she was too 
 weak to drive herself, and too nervous to let 
 herself be driven by Miss Homayne. She 
 would rather walk. In a little while, with 
 assistance, she would be quite able to do so. 
 As she spoke, she looked at Charles, but, in- 
 stead of taking the hint, and offering her his 
 arm, he began running up the steep rocky 
 steps with remarkable agility. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 Lady Ranisay rose, and attempted to follow, 
 but her flurry retarded her progress. Before 
 she had ascended three steps, her feet slipped, 
 she complained of giddiness, and was obliged 
 to return to the beach, and rest a little 
 longer. 
 
 She tried again ; and this time, with 
 Frank's help, she reached the top. The 
 grotto was empty. 
 
 " How odd not to wait for me !" she ex- 
 claimed, impatiently. She wanted to walk 
 on directly, but Prank interposed : 
 
 " Rest a little here, while I go and fetch 
 the carriage." 
 
 By way of answer, Lady Ramsay set off 
 walking, very fast, through the wood. 
 
 She looked anxiously about her, as she 
 walked along; but not at vista or prospect. 
 The pony carriage was no longer at the 
 farmer's, where it had been left — Charles 
 must, therefore, have driven Isabella home. 
 
 " How odd of him to go without me !" she 
 kept repeating, in an under tone. 
 
 " As Isabella is lame, and cannot walk, and 
 you said you would neither drive nor be driven,
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 275 
 
 I do not see what yon have to complain of," 
 said Frank, coolly. 
 
 Lady Ramsay did not answer ; bnt, putting 
 her arm impatiently through her brother's, 
 made the best of her way home. 
 
 They parted at the door. Frank extended 
 his walk. He sought, by bodily fatigue, to 
 allay the disturbance of his mind. Those 
 words of Isabella's haunted him, and yet he 
 would not let himself dwell upon their true 
 meaning. That Charles was in loye with her 
 was clear ; but did she return his affection ? 
 no ; he would not believe it. The idea was 
 preposterous — the thing was impossible. But 
 then her words ! and, still more, her manner ! 
 Perhaps he had not heard the words rightly 
 — or perhaps his extreme anxiety had lent 
 them the intonation which gave them that 
 fearful meaning. It was so unlike Isabella 
 to act with such headlong precipitancy ! 
 He had known her all his life, and never 
 seen her do a thoughtless or a wilful act. 
 Her character, naturally decided, had been 
 rendered more so bv circumstances. From 
 childhood, she had been compelled to judge 
 
 t 2
 
 276 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 and decide for herself — she had always acted 
 wisely, and she had thns learnt to rely, per- 
 haps a little too proudly, upon her own judg- 
 ment. Now this was all in Prank's favour. 
 Truth and reason were on his side — if she 
 listened to these, he must he the gainer. It 
 was not likely that Isahella, so clear in her 
 views, so just in her reasoning, so firm of pur- 
 pose, should have suddenly become incautious 
 and undecided. It was more than unlikely — 
 it was impossible. 
 
 Yet the peculiar expression of Isabella's 
 countenance was still present in Prank's 
 mind. She was always before his eyes, with 
 that look of agony — but might it not pro- 
 ceed from pity for Charles ? Isabella was of 
 a nature so tender, so sympathising, that she 
 would naturally pity sufferings of which she 
 had, however innocently, been the cause. It 
 might be compassion, and nothing more. It 
 must be so. Isabella was not the woman to 
 care for a man so inferior to herself. Prank 
 started, and stood still — a thousand instances 
 occurred to his mind of superior women, who 
 had loved unworthily. He could, indeed, at 
 that moment, remember few instances of the
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 277 
 
 contrary. But he evaded the question, which 
 he could not answer. He argued, that Isa- 
 bella was not to he measured by the ordinary 
 standard. Isabella was an exception to the ge- 
 neral rule. Isabella was like no other woman. 
 In fact, Prank was determined not to let his 
 spirits be damped by anything short of absolute 
 certainty. What was the use of dwelling upon 
 painful doubts ? He would take the first op- 
 portunity of speaking again to Isabella. At 
 all events, he would not be precipitate. 
 
 We return to Lady Ramsay. It will be 
 necessary to retrace our steps a little, in order 
 to explain her sudden appearance, and strange 
 conduct at the grotto. 
 
 If the preceding evening ended badly, the 
 morning began worse. Lord Derwent's letter, 
 and Charles's evasive answers to her questions 
 respecting it, were ill- calculated to allay the 
 storm which had, for some time, been gather- 
 ing in her mind. She went to Sir James, as 
 usual, after breakfast ; but she did not remain 
 with him long. She could not rest till she 
 had " had it out, and made it up," with her 
 boy. 
 
 Accordingly, she returned to the breakfast-
 
 278 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 room; but Charles had already left it. He 
 was not to be found, either in the drawing- 
 room, or in the library, nor yet in the boudoir. 
 Disappointment increased her impatience, and 
 she went to his room. No answer was re- 
 turned to her knock, first gentle, then louder. 
 At last, she opened the door. The room was 
 empty. On the table lay the fatal sketch, of 
 which Charles had, the evening before, pos- 
 sessed himself. Lady Hanisay perceiving it, 
 cautiously shut the door, darted upon the 
 hapless pasteboard, and crushed it to atoms 
 between her hands. Then she unrolled it, and 
 smiling at its disfigurement with a sort of 
 malicious pleasure, tore it into shreds, and 
 threw it into the fire. 
 
 But where could Charles Stanly be? A 
 suspicion darted across her mind, and she ran 
 hastily to Isabella's room. That room was 
 also empty. She learnt that Isabella had 
 gone out — with Charles, was her immediate 
 conclusion. 
 
 Seizing the first bonnet and shawl she could 
 find, Lady Ramsay set out, walking very fast, 
 in the direction of the grotto, which was, as 
 she knew, Isabella's favourite haunt. Prom
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 279 
 
 a distance, she recognised Charles's voice. 
 She did not stay to hear his words ; then tone 
 of enthusiasm was, in her present ferment of 
 mind, more than enough to impel her to 
 almost any act of madness. Unconscious of 
 her own purpose, she rushed impetuously 
 forwards. The rail on the edge of the precipice 
 was rotten, the ground slipped, and gave way. 
 The rest has heen told already. 
 
 It has also been seen, how Charles hastened 
 back to Isabella. He hurried her away, that 
 he might avoid Lady Ramsay's claims upon 
 his attendance. He silenced Isabella's scruples, 
 by a droll account of the hysterics, which 
 seemed to come and go at pleasure ; and 
 Isabella having before witnessed in her, in- 
 stances of the kind, she was easily persuaded 
 — the more so as she wished to secure a quiet 
 talk with Charles. During their drive home, 
 they conversed, but it cannot be said that they 
 did so quietly ; he was too much excited ; she 
 too much moved. They begun a hundred 
 subjects, and finished none. On one point, 
 however, Isabella was explicit, and deter- 
 mined. She would not consent to their en- 
 gagement being immediately made known ;
 
 280 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 she insisted upon waiting, till Charles had 
 finally decided with regard to his future career. 
 She foresaw, that Lady Ramsay's interference 
 would be vexatious, and troublesome. 
 
 Charles felt that she was right; yet he 
 yielded very reluctantly to argument, which 
 he could not refute. He was so proud of her 
 preference, that he would fain have proclaimed 
 it to the whole world. He did not know how 
 he should be able to keep so delightful a 
 secret. He promised, however, that he would 
 be discreet as regarded Lady Ramsay; but 
 might no one be told ? 
 
 Isabella replied, that Prank was the only 
 person she wished, for the present, to admit 
 into their confidence. His friendship deserved 
 it ; besides, as he was to assist Charles in his 
 choice of a profession, it was necessary to 
 apprise him of all the circumstances in which 
 he was placed. Charles inwardly rejoiced at 
 the idea of proving to Prank, that he was 
 right in what he had said of Isabella's prefer- 
 ence of him. 
 
 As soon as she reached home, Isabella sent 
 for Prank, and told him, with great modesty, 
 and considerable embarrassment, as much of
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 281 
 
 what had passed between herself and Charles, 
 as was necessary to enable him to nnderstand 
 how matters stood. 
 
 Prank heard her in rigid silence. He was 
 pale as death ; even his lips blanched. 
 
 He then said, after a few moments' panse, 
 " You are not yourself, Isabella Eomayne I" 
 The harsh hoarse tones, in which he spoke, 
 made her start, and shudder. 
 
 " Prank!" she exclaimed, "what can you 
 mean ? Do not speak thus. I cannot bear 
 to hear you speak thus. If I have acted 
 foolishly, tell me so kindly, and pity me ; but 
 do not blame me for what is inevitable. 51 
 
 " Inevitable ! no, death only is inevitable." 
 
 " Pardon me, what I say is true. I cannot 
 retreat now — I do not wish it." 
 
 " Then, indeed, the case is different, and I 
 am of no further use here." He moved, as if 
 to go. 
 
 " Oh, Prank !" she exclaimed, sadly, and 
 softly. 
 
 " Why should I stay to give advice, which 
 must be unwelcome. I cannot speak what I 
 do not think, and my thoughts are not such 
 as would please you."
 
 282 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 " Do not talk so harshly. You must know, 
 that you are my best friend, and that your 
 advice can never be displeasing, even though 
 it come too late." 
 
 " Never too late till a thing is done." 
 
 " No, Prank, there are cases, when said, 
 means more than clone. There are words, 
 which, once spoken, may never be recalled — 
 believe me, unplighted vows are the most 
 sacred. I have pronounced no oath, but I 
 am bound by ties holier than law, or language 
 can invent. The world will call my engage- 
 ment imprudent. Ee it so ; upon myself, shall 
 the responsibility fall. It may be my lot to 
 drag through years and years of anxious 
 waiting. I am prepared for it ; but Charles, 
 I am sure, will never give me cause to rue 
 them." 
 
 Prank shook his head. "I wish I could 
 agree with you — God knows I wish it. But 
 the truth is too plain ; I ought not to disguise 
 it from you, and I will not. I have known 
 Charles Stanly from a boy, I know all his 
 good qualities, and he has many, both of 
 head, and of heart ; but his character wants
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 283 
 
 stability. You must be aware that, without 
 fixed principles, all the good impulses in the 
 world are of little value. Charles has no 
 fixed principles ; he has always shown himself 
 weak and vacillating. Do you expect him, of 
 a sudden, to become metamorphosed ? Do 
 you imagine you can work this miracle ? 
 Highly as I appreciate your abilities, I doubt 
 their power here. He cannot think of marry- 
 ing at present, you know how slowly money 
 is made, and do you really suppose, that he 
 will remain constant — perhaps for many 
 years ? Remember how young he is, and 
 in disposition he is even younger than his 
 age — and you are older than he, Isabella." 
 
 " I know it well, I know it too well." She 
 spoke in an absent manner, as if her mind 
 were following out some other train of ideas. 
 
 " The anxieties of a long engagement will 
 wear you out, Isabella ; you have not a 
 temperament to bear the torture of hope de- 
 ferred. And, indeed, it would be very detri- 
 mental also to his prospects. To make his 
 way well, a man should have but one aim in 
 view — advancement. Complicated interests,
 
 284 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 a double responsibility, would be fatal to 
 Charles. This is only repeating the very 
 arguments you used to me, but two hours 
 ago." 
 
 Isabella made no immediate answer. Her 
 head rested thoughtfully upon her hand, and 
 a deep shade of sorrow clouded her brow. 
 
 Presently she looked up. Tears stood in 
 her eyes ; but a soft radiance beamed through 
 them. 
 
 " You may be right, Prank. I will believe 
 you are. I will act accordingly. My security 
 may be folly, weakness. Our engagement 
 shall bring no evil upon him. It shall be 
 binding on one side only. He shall never 
 repent the day when he loved Isabella. I 
 would not, if I could, be free ; but he shall 
 remain unshackled. I will do more, I will 
 leave him for a time. Absence shall test his 
 affection. I will go, as I before proposed, to 
 Italy, and remain there until his career in life 
 is fixed. This plan is best for him, for both. 
 Thus, our engagement will be no drag upon 
 his prosperity, no bar to his happiness. Thank 
 you, Prank, for acting as a friend, for speaking 
 truth. I see you are right so far; and you
 
 CHAKLES STANLY. 285 
 
 will, I trust, find me right in the end. Charles 
 Stanly, unfettered, will be most firmly bound." 
 
 " Do not think it. Do not delude yourself. 
 Try to reason dispassionately. Indeed — in- 
 deed, the case is clear. Isabella, it grieves 
 me to say it, but Charles Stanly is not worth 
 so noble a sacrifice. He is unable to appre- 
 ciate its value. Let me beseech you not to 
 throw away your happiness upon a man un- 
 worthy — in every way unworthy of you. Call 
 forth your strength; give him up at once. 
 Believe me, your rejection will not grieve him 
 much — at least, not long." 
 
 "N03 you wrong him there. Whatever 
 may be his defects, want of feeling is not 
 amoncp them. His faults are those of extreme 
 youth. You are hard upon him. You are 
 unjust. At his age, a man's character cannot 
 be formed ; indeed, it should not be formed 
 so early. At that age, too much firmness 
 would be unamiable." 
 
 Now, Prank's character had been formed 
 before he was twenty. At twenty he had laid 
 down a plan for his future life, from which 
 he never deviated. He had to struggle with 
 the world, but he conquered nobly. Even at
 
 286 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 twenty he was independent ; and soon after, 
 his name became honourably known. Prank 
 had little vanity, but he could not help draw- 
 ing a comparison between himself and Charles. 
 It stung him to the quick, that Isabella did 
 not do so. She seemed to have forgotten the 
 early achievements she once praised so warmly. 
 She did not do him common justice ; and he 
 had expected so much more. Were the hopes 
 which he had entertained so long, which, es- 
 pecially within the last few days, had been 
 wrought to their highest pitch, to be at once 
 crushed? He did not pause to consider these 
 questions, but all his feelings were wounded ; 
 and he said, with bitterness : 
 
 " The man who, at twenty, does not know 
 his own mind, will be no wiser at thirty. It 
 is madness to expect it." 
 
 " Perhaps so, Prank," she replied, gently, 
 but very firmly. "My opinion of Charles 
 may be too favourable, but, till I know the 
 contrary, I will not change it. At all events, 
 the risk is only mine, and I will undertake it. 
 I care little for myself, so long as I bring no 
 evil upon him." 
 
 Prank was beside himself. His voice trem-
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 287 
 
 bled with conflicting emotions, and his manner 
 was altogether unlike his own, as he exclaimed: 
 " Isabella, is it you I hear speak so madly ? 
 Isabella Romayne ! I could never have be- 
 lieved it. I cannot believe it now. Yes, you 
 are careful of his feelings, and you triumph 
 wantonly upon mine. You sacrifice your 
 friend, the friend of a whole lifetime, and for 
 what — for a weak, vain fool, incapable of real 
 affection. God knows what you see in that 
 boy, to make you spurn the heart which has 
 been yours since — I do not remember the time 
 when I did not love you ; you knew it, you 
 must have known it, and to treat me thus I" 
 She waved her hand to silence him, but he 
 would not be stopped. He went on in broken 
 sentences : " Let me speak out now. I must 
 speak, I have been silent so long. The silence 
 of a whole life may be broken once. The de- 
 votion of a whole life may be, at least, for- 
 given. Isabella, I have loved you as man 
 never loved before. I have loved you — oh, 
 God! how I have loved vou !" 
 
 He covered his face with his hands. There 
 was a deep silence. When he looked up, he 
 started at the expression of Isabella's face.
 
 288 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 She stood before him still, stately, cold, as a 
 marble statue. Then she spoke with slow 
 sternness : 
 
 " This, then, is the reason of your strange 
 conduct. I understand you now. Go ; you 
 have acted unworthily. I was deceived in 
 you!" 
 
 He uttered an inarticulate groan, and moved 
 towards the door. Then he paused, and looked 
 at her for a moment ; then, striking his fore- 
 head with his clenched fist, he left the room. 
 
 Isabella advanced a few hasty steps to detain 
 him; but, forgetful of her purpose, she stopped, 
 musing. She stood rooted to the spot, her 
 head bent forward, her eye fixed, as if gazing 
 far into futurity. Presently she shivered, and 
 looked round surprised, like one waking from 
 a dream. She passed her hand across her 
 forehead, to collect her thoughts. A sad smile 
 like a pale sunbeam in a watery sky, gleamed 
 through her tearful eyes, and a sigh, deep and 
 low, as the last long vibration of a broken 
 chord, burst from her. Then, casting up her 
 eyes towards heaven, she faintly murmured 
 the one word, " Cassandra I"
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 289 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Frank, for the first time in his life, had 
 lost his self-command. He had shown him- 
 self weak, and worse than weak, and in Isa- 
 bella's presence. He had betrayed a secret, 
 which, under the circumstances, no human 
 power should have wrested from him. He was 
 ashamed of his conduct ; he despised himself. 
 
 Yet, was ever man so gallingly provoked ? 
 His feelings were wounded in the tenderest 
 point ; he had been stung to the quick — that 
 she should accuse him so harshly — she, whose 
 esteem he valued more than life ! — she, for 
 whom he had won the independence of which 
 he was so justly proud, and which she had 
 once appreciated even beyond its desert — and 
 now, to treat him so unjustly, so unkindly — 
 it was torture past endurance ! 
 
 vol. i. u
 
 290 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 He felt that he must not trust himself 
 again in Isabella's presence. He could not 
 answer for what he might be induced to say, 
 or do. Therefore, leaving a few hurried lines 
 for his sister, stating that he was unexpectedly 
 called to London, he took his hat, walked 
 straight to the station, and set off by the first 
 train. 
 
 Prank's sudden departure formed the sub- 
 ject of the conversation at dinner. There was 
 nothing extraordinary in it; he was often 
 called away at a moment's notice ; yet it was 
 discussed and commented upon, as if such a 
 thing had never occurred before. 
 
 The fact was, that Lady Ramsay, for some 
 reason or other, felt unequal to get up, and 
 deal out the amusing anecdotes and the pretty 
 nothings, in which she usually so much ex- 
 celled. Yet, she dreaded lest the conversa- 
 tion should flag. Therefore, she talked about 
 her brother, she praised his perseverance, she 
 applauded his success. She felt on safe ground 
 there ; nobody would contradict her, nobody 
 would speak ill of Erank. He was a general 
 favourite. 
 
 She wore her sweetest smile, and spoke in
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 291 
 
 her softest voice ; but there was a look in her 
 eye, an expression about her mouth, which, 
 to an accurate observer, would have betrayed 
 the angry feelings that were fermenting 
 within. 
 
 But these ominous symptoms passed un- 
 noticed. The others had enough to do, in 
 endeavouring to conceal the state of their 
 own minds. All were intently studying the 
 parts they had to perform. 
 
 It must be confessed, that they all over- 
 acted most glaringly, and Lady Ramsay most 
 of all. 
 
 Charles was studiously inattentive to Isa- 
 bella ; and fancied that no one would discover 
 the cause of his extraordinary high spirits. 
 
 Arethusa acted the part of a beauty, for 
 Mr. Preston's benefit. So overpowering were 
 her airs and graces, that he at last began to 
 think she must have some claim to what she 
 assumed as so undoubted a right. 
 
 Mr. Preston did, and overdid, the artist. 
 Arethusa accepted him as a genius. People 
 are often taken at their own valuation ! 
 
 The two old ladies, also, acted after their 
 kind. Madame Hodostomus was all anima- 
 
 u2
 
 292 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 tion, Mrs. Tyrrell all languor. Larochefau- 
 cauld is right when he says, that we are more 
 ridiculous hy the follies we affect, than by 
 those we possess. 
 
 Isabella assumed a calmness which she did 
 not feel ; even the truthful Isabella, for once, 
 acted. And who does not-? Who can tell 
 how much of him is real, how much counter- 
 feit ? The child coaxes for its comfit, the 
 man cringes for his inheritance. We perform 
 for our own benefit, we act up or down to 
 the audience; that is, the moral standard 
 within us. 
 
 Chloe was born an actress. She was, so to 
 speak, naturally affected. In her, coquetry 
 was innate ; and yet, notwithstanding all her 
 art, she was not false. On the contrary, she 
 often spoke her mind with bold daring. There 
 never was so strange an anomaly as this child. 
 
 Mr. Preston had been busy all the morning 
 taking a sketch of her. It had cost him no 
 small time and trouble. During what was 
 called her sitting, she had chattered, and 
 laughed, and danced, as if she took a ma- 
 licious pleasure in increasing the difficulty of 
 the task. Yet, much as Mr. Preston was
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 293 
 
 provoked at her petulance, he could not be 
 angry with her. There was something about 
 her so captivating, it was absolutely magical. 
 
 Arethusa complacently handed about the 
 sketch. Unfortunately for her, Aurora did 
 not come that evening, so that she had 
 nobody to whom she could confide her loud 
 whispers for Mr. Preston's benefit. Thus 
 she was fain to cast significant looks at Ma- 
 dame Eodostomus, telling her, in her audible 
 under tone, that perhaps she might herself, 
 in time, be prevailed upon to sit to Mr. 
 Preston. 
 
 The sketch was really a pretty one. It 
 represented little Chloe holding by the wing a 
 canary bird, who was vainly struggling to be 
 free. The child's expression was admirably 
 rendered ; it was full of fun and malice, but 
 not cruel or malignant. 
 
 She was delighted with her picture, and in 
 the wildest of spirits. She skipped about the 
 room after Arethusa, imitating her attitudes 
 and mimicking her words, to the no small 
 displeasure of that young lady. 
 
 But Arethusa, wishing to appear amiable 
 in Mr. Preston's sight, and having been really
 
 294 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 put in very good humour by some compliments 
 which he had addressed her, made a show 
 of joining in the laugh ; and, by way of a 
 diversion, told Chloe to dance, or to sing 
 something. 
 
 Chloe, nothing loath, struck up her Greek 
 chant, and what she called her phyrric dance. 
 Arethusa thought this would be a good oppor- 
 tunity of engaging Mr. Preston in conversa- 
 tion, and showing off her learning. Accord- 
 ingly, she begun talking a great deal of non- 
 sense, and exhibiting a marvellous confusion 
 of ideas about Greeks and Carthaginians, 
 Romans and Trojans, who she evidently be- 
 lieved had lived and flourished at the same 
 time, like the happy family, all in amity, and 
 brotherly love. 
 
 Mr. Preston endeavoured, though with the 
 utmost politeness, to prove, that her know- 
 ledge of history was not quite accurate, and 
 that her notions of chronology were some- 
 what erroneous. 
 
 In the heat of discussion, it so happened, 
 that he turned his back upon little Chloe, 
 who, at that moment, was performing a dif- 
 ficult step, upon the execution of which she
 
 CHAELES STANLY. 295 
 
 especially prided herself. Provoked at his 
 neglect, she stopped dancing, flew towards 
 him, and by a sharp pinch in the arm, 
 effectually cured his inattention. 
 
 " Serves you right," she cried, with her 
 ringing laugh. " I was doing my best step. 
 Why don't you look at it ?" 
 
 "Oh, you abominable little tyrant!" ex- 
 claimed her mother. " What a darling it is !" 
 
 " An abominable darling," echoed the child, 
 mocking her. " That's what mamma says I 
 am." 
 
 " Never was such a clever creature, to be 
 sure ! Such wit ! such imagination !" 
 
 " I can't think how people can reconcile it 
 to themselves, to praise their own children ! 
 What an appearance it has to strangers ! I 
 never do such a thing !" rang Mrs. Tyrrell's 
 eternal chime. 
 
 " Don't you really ?" said Chloe, pertly. 
 
 "And even if she is clever now," put in 
 Arethusa, sharply, " that is no proof that she 
 will be clever when she grows up. Clever 
 children always turn out fools." 
 
 " At that rate, what a wonderfully clever 
 child you must have been !"
 
 296 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 "It is too clever to live!" shrieked the 
 widow, convulsed with laughter. 
 
 " Oh, what a great age you'll live to," said 
 Chloe, with a portentous sigh. 
 
 Isabella thought it time to check this 
 insolence. " Come here, Chloe I" she said. 
 " I want to speak to you." 
 
 "But I don't want to he spoken to." 
 
 " Come, just for one moment." 
 
 " Say it out." 
 
 " No, dear. I want to whisper something 
 in your ear." 
 
 " And I don't want to he whispered to. It 
 may he absurd, but I really can't help it ; 
 it's my way; other people may do as they 
 please; I don't object." 
 
 The child had mimicked her mother's voice 
 and manner, so exactly, that it was almost 
 impossible to resist laughter. 
 
 But Isabella became graver. " Do you 
 hear me, Chloe ?" she said, raising her voice. 
 
 " To hear is not to obey. I won't be 
 scolded." 
 
 " I am not going to scold, but to reason 
 with you." 
 
 " And I won't be reasoned with. I know
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 297 
 
 exactly what you are going to say. But if 
 she don't mind my fun, why need you ?" As 
 she spoke, Chloe pointed contemptuously over 
 her shoulder at her mother. 
 
 This was too much. Isahella rose, seized 
 the child's hand, and said, very gravely : 
 " Chloe, you must come up-stairs directly." 
 
 Chloe flew into a violent passion. " I 
 won't, I won't !" she screamed. " I won't 
 be treated like a baby. I shall be thirteen 
 next birthday. I won't be sent to bed — I 
 won't." 
 
 " Charles !" said Isabella, beckoning to 
 him. "This must be put a stop to. Take 
 her out of the room. I am not strong 
 enough." 
 
 Charles was going to lead her forcibly 
 away, but the child was too quick. She dived 
 down, and sprang from him. 
 
 " Don't Isabella ! pray don't !" she began, 
 half-beseechingly, half-imperiously ; but see- 
 ing that her sister remained firm, she went 
 on, her manner getting more and more 
 threatening. " You'd better not — mind, I 
 warn you, you'd better not ;" her pupils ex- 
 panded like a tiger's, and looked green in
 
 298 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 her rage. " Tell him not to touch me- 
 
 You'd better — — Tell him not to touch me, 
 
 or I'll I've found out your secrets, I 
 
 have Don't dare me, Isabella — you'd 
 
 better not !" 
 
 Eut Isabella's eyes told Charles to pro- 
 ceed, and he was preparing to obey, when 
 Chloe, beside herself, sprang like a panther 
 at her sister, and before Isabella could pre- 
 vent her, thrust her hand into her bosom, 
 pulled out the miniature, hurled it at Lady 
 Ramsay's feet, screaming, " They've deceived 
 you — they've made a fool of you — he has 
 given it her — it's a pledge. There, Isabella !' : 
 she added, turning upon the latter — " there ! 
 Now you'll dare me again — you will, won't 
 you ?" and she darted out of the room. 
 
 A short pause ensued. All were thunder- 
 struck. They had been taken so completely 
 by surprise, the scene had passed with such 
 rapidity, that they stood staring at one 
 another in bewildered wonder. What has 
 taken some time to relate, was over in a few 
 moments. 
 
 The passion to which Lady Ramsay had 
 yielded in the morning, now returned with
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 299 
 
 renewed force. All was clear now. To be 
 deceived, to be made a fool of, and by him ! 
 The thought was madness ! Eor a moment, 
 she found in the very force of her rage, the 
 power to control it. She felt that to yield to 
 it, must kill her. During the short calm, thus 
 forcibly induced, her inmost feelings were re- 
 vealed to her, and she read her own mind 
 by a vivid light ; but it was the fitful flash of 
 a tropical storm. It passed, and all seemed 
 darker than before. 
 
 Charles's excessive agitation, Isabella's 
 calm self-command, increased Lady Hamsay's 
 frenzy. The steady expression of Isabella's 
 eye kept her, as it were, for some moments, 
 at bay ; then her rage broke loose. 
 
 It is needless to repeat the violent expres- 
 sion she poured forth; her state of passion 
 made her hardly responsible for them. It 
 was painful to see the distortion of her hand- 
 some features, to hear the unrestrained vibra- 
 tions of her voice, as her passion grew more 
 and more ungovernable. 
 
 In the midst of one of her most violent 
 bursts, her arm suddenly dropped ; her words 
 died upon her lips. In another moment, she
 
 300 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 was upon her knees beside Sir James, who 
 had been seized with a fit. 
 
 His feeble moans had been inaudible to all 
 but her. Even in the height of her fury, her 
 practised ear had caught the sound, which 
 recalled her to herself. 
 
 She gave orders that Sir James should be 
 carried to bed, and that medical advice should 
 instantly be summoned. 
 
 The seizure was of a more violent nature 
 than any Lady Ramsay had yet witnessed. 
 The village doctor, who was in the habit of 
 attending Sir James, was greatly alarmed, 
 and wished for more advice. Accordingly, 
 telegraphic despatches were forthwith sent 
 to London. 
 
 Sir James lay, for many hours, apparently 
 insensible, except at intervals, when he uttered 
 piteous lamentations ; then the convulsions 
 returned more violently than before. 
 
 It seemed as if Lady Ramsay's hand alone 
 possessed the power of soothing him. He re- 
 pelled the assistance of the doctor or the ser- 
 vants. Even in his most violent paroxysms, 
 he distinguished her touch from that of any 
 other. Occasionally, he would fix his eyes
 
 CHARLES STAXLY. 301 
 
 upon her, with a strange, uneasy sort of 
 meaning. 
 
 Lady Eamsay bent over him in intense 
 anxiety. Not a change in his condition es- 
 caped her. Her colour went and came as he 
 appeared to suffer more or less ! With her 
 own hands, she performed those offices neces- 
 sary for his relief. She had never, perhaps, 
 felt so much pleasure in assisting him : but 
 she avoided his eye ; there was something in 
 its expression which she dared not meet. 
 
 The doctor had prescribed various remedies, 
 which had all been tried without effect. It 
 was clear that he could suggest nothing more. 
 The night was already far advanced — the 
 physicians who had been summoned from 
 London would probably arrive early in the 
 morning. Lady Ramsay saw that nothing 
 more could be done till then ; she, therefore, 
 sent the servants to bed, and persuaded the 
 doctor to lie down in an adjoining room ; she 
 insisted upon watching by her husband's side. 
 
 The convulsions seemed over, and Sir James 
 fell into a state of stupor ; still as a corpse, but 
 without the soft repose of death. 
 
 It was a weary watch. Hour after hour
 
 302 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 dragged miserably on, as Lady Eamsay sat 
 listening to her husband's heavy breathings. 
 If she moved, his frame quivered, and his 
 eyes opened with their meaning stare. He 
 evinced no other sign of consciousness. 
 
 A superstitious dread stole over her. Fright- 
 ful phantoms crowded into her mind. She 
 heard unearthly sounds — strange footfalls, 
 pacing to and fro. The intervals between 
 the half-hour chimes of the clock seemed 
 interminable. Would the morning never 
 come ? 
 
 At last, a chilly shiver, and a faint ray, 
 struggling through the closed shutters, an- 
 nounced the approach of dawn. Just then, 
 the sound of carriage-wheels became audible. 
 Was it the physicians from London? But 
 no, they could not arrive so soon. What 
 could bring a carriage to the castle, at so 
 early an hour ? 
 
 With a vague presentiment of evil, she 
 stole to the window, opened it, and looked 
 out into the cold, raw morning. The air was 
 misty — leaden clouds hung, like a pall, over 
 the world. The aspect of nature was sad and 
 dreary, and a faint, pink streak, just visible
 
 CHAHLES STANLY. 303 
 
 in the horizon, served, by contrast, to increase 
 the surrounding gloom. 
 
 The sounds approached. A carriage drew 
 leisurely into the back court. Of this, the 
 window, at which Ladv Ramsay was sta- 
 tioned, commanded a full view. The coach- 
 man slowly got off his box, patted and coaxed 
 his horses, blew upon his hands to warm 
 them, and then swung his arms back and 
 forwards. It was evident, that there was no- 
 body in the carriage ; it must, therefore, have 
 been sent for to convey some one from the 
 castle. But whom, then, was the point. 
 
 She continued gazing at the empty carriage, 
 as if, by so doing, she could unravel the mys- 
 tery of its appearance. Heedless of the chilly 
 morning air, she remained at the open window. 
 Her hair, saturated with moisture, hung in 
 clam m y coils about her face ; she let it fall 
 as it list, over her forehead and cheeks. 
 
 The house -door opened softly, and she 
 quickly withdrew behind the window-curtain. 
 " How foolish to expose myself to the raw 
 damp air !" she muttered, half aloud, as she 
 wrapped the curtain tight round her. 
 
 She stood so, that herself unseen, she could
 
 304 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 distinguish all that was going on below. A 
 figure had issued from the house, and she 
 watched its movements anxiously. It got 
 into the carriage, rearranged its cushions, and 
 spread in one corner a cloak, in readiness for 
 its future occupant. Then, having exchanged 
 a few whispered words with the coachman, 
 the figure returned to the house. 
 
 As if fascinated, Lady Ramsay' s eyes were 
 riveted upon the cloak. It was Isabella's 
 cloak, and Charles Stanly it was who had 
 taken such pains to place it conveniently. 
 
 Presently, boxes and parcels were brought 
 down, and every now and then, Charles came 
 to superintend the packing of the carriage. 
 He was never satisfied with the arrangements 
 inside. He altered and altered again. Nothing 
 was to encumber the corner where the cloak 
 was spread, the corner where she was to sit. 
 
 It was evident that Madame Rodostomus 
 and her daughter, offended by Lady Ramsay's 
 conduct, were going away. On the whole, 
 she thought it best they should go, without 
 another meeting. An explanation would be 
 painful. It was much better avoided.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 305 
 
 But whose was that trunk, just brought 
 clown ? Could it be Charles Stanly's ? Oh 
 no ; impossible. It was like one of his trunks, 
 but two trunks nii^ht surely be alike. 
 
 A noise at the front door disturbed Lady 
 Ramsay in her conjectures. She closed the 
 window, and returned to her seat by the bed. 
 Presently the physicians, just arrived from 
 London, entered the room. 
 
 Long and learned was the medical consulta- 
 tion. The patient was in a state of great 
 exhaustion. The exhaustion resulted from the 
 previous convulsions. The exhaustion must 
 be conquered, or the patient could not rally. 
 So far both parties were agreed. 
 
 But how to effect this purpose ? "By sti- 
 mulants," opined the elder gentleman. " By 
 palliatives," insisted the younger. " Brandy," 
 said the first; "pour in brandy, or he will 
 die." "Lemonade," contended the second; 
 " nothing but lemonade, or you will kill 
 him." The country practitioner assented to 
 each, in turn. The London authorities could 
 not decorously draw lots, so they determined 
 to suspend the conference until the arrival of 
 
 vol. i. x
 
 306 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 a third physician, who was to come by the 
 next train ; meanwhile, they prescribed quiet 
 for the patient, and breakfast for themselves. 
 
 To breakfast accordingly they went, and 
 Lady Ramsay returned to the window. The 
 carriage was now entirely packed; and a man's 
 hat-box among the baggage, told a painful 
 truth : Charles must be going, and going with 
 her. How bitterly Lady Ramsay repented her 
 past conduct ! What a fool she had been ! 
 What a sad, sad fool ! 
 
 The medical umpire now arrived, and Lady 
 Ramsay's self-upbraidings were suspended. 
 The three London physicians, and the country 
 practitioner, nodded sapiently round the bed. 
 All eyes were fixed upon the great man last 
 arrived. " JSature," spoke the oracle, " must 
 have her course. Follow this treatment, and 
 Sir James will recover — or he will not.' 5 The 
 two other gentlemen looked perplexed, but 
 impressed, by so new and startling a view of 
 the case. The sage oracle stayed just ten 
 minutes in the castle, and received an enor- 
 mous fee. 
 
 During the consultation, the mysterious car-
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 307 
 
 riage had driven away, and Lady Ramsay re- 
 sumed her post of watching by her husband's 
 pillow. She tried to think only of him ; but 
 the carriage floated in her mind, like the 
 spectral ship in the story. She wondered 
 who were its occupants, tried not to wonder, 
 and wondered why she tried. " How can I 
 think of anything but poor Sir James!" she 
 said to herself. " How ill he looks ; sinking — 
 oh, sinking fast. Yes, lie loved me — he really 
 loved me ; he was not ungrateful ; he would 
 not have wantonly thwarted my wishes. Poor 
 Sir James ! how kindly he used to say, 
 5 Fanny !' Shall I never again hear hhn call 
 me Tanny !' " 
 
 " Dear ! how is he ? how is he ?" spoke a 
 hoarse whisper; and, turning round, Lady 
 Ramsay recognised Aurora's broad face peer- 
 ing in at the door. " I only just heard of it, 
 on my way to church, so I came off directly 
 to see if I could be of any use. It will be so 
 kind your making me of any use, Lady 
 Ramsay." 
 
 Good little Aurora was so anxious not to 
 disturb the invalid, that she did not stumble 
 
 x2
 
 308 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 over one footstool, and knocked her bonnet 
 out of shape only twice, on her progress from 
 the door to the bed. 
 
 " He is better now ; I'm sure he is better, 
 dear Lady Ramsay," croaked little Aurora, 
 in her consolatory way. 
 
 Lady Uainsay shook her head, mournfully. 
 "Oh no, no," she replied; "he is getting 
 weaker — gradually sinking." 
 
 " Dear, dear ! But no, I think really, that 
 he'll soon be better." 
 
 " I fear not, Aurora. He does not even 
 know me now." 
 
 Just then the sick man's eyes opened wide. 
 There was an anxious tenderness in their ex- 
 pression, inexpressibly touching. The pale lips 
 moved, but without sound. It was plain that 
 he wished to say something kind to Ms wife, 
 but had not strength to do it. Lady Ramsay, 
 overcome, burst into tears. 
 
 "Don't I" said Aurora, "oh, dear Lady 
 Ramsay, don't cry, pray don't. — She is crying 
 for joy, Sir James, I am sure she is, because 
 you are better." But he moved his head back 
 and forward upon the pillow, as if in denial 
 of this assurance. "But you are better,"
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 309 
 
 she persisted ; " the doctors say so, and the 
 doctors ought to be right ; and people do get 
 better sometimes, you know." 
 
 These ingenious arguments, however, had 
 not the desired effect. Sir James still moved 
 his head incredulously, and Lady Ramsay, 
 unable to suppress her increasing emotion, 
 rushed, sobbing, out of the room.
 
 310 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Prank Tyrrell arrived in London with a 
 heavy heart. But two days "before, he had 
 left it, full of joy and hope. And these hopes 
 were not vague or unfounded ; he felt proudly 
 and justly, that he had every right to expect 
 their realisation. When he set out for Eastrow, 
 he had looked forward to a joyful return home. 
 He had pictured to himself what would he 
 his feelings when he should next enter his 
 house. It was with a sort of holy awe that 
 he had visited every room, and recalled the 
 dreams of which each were suggestive. Eor 
 there was not a spot where he had not thought 
 of her, and he almost tremhled at the idea, 
 that the temple even now hallowed hy an 
 image of the imagination, might, ere long, he 
 consecrated hy the reality of her presence. 
 
 Different, indeed, were his feelings to what
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 311 
 
 they had been that day ; still more different to 
 those he had so fondly anticipated. As he 
 drove along the streets, he was reminded of 
 the thoughts which had occupied his mind 
 when he last passed through them. The 
 objects which were then familiar, now ap- 
 peared strange. It was as if a change had 
 come over the town, and all within it. And 
 he sighed, when he reflected, that the change 
 was in the colouring of his own mind. 
 
 He dreaded to enter his study. He dreaded 
 to view the neatness and order which would 
 meet him there. His heart sickened at the 
 thought of his books, his papers, his memo- 
 randa, all ranged in their respective places, 
 ready for immediate use. He loathed the 
 outward symmetry, contrasting so painfully 
 with the confusion within; and he lingered 
 some moments in the street before he had 
 courage to knock at his own door. 
 
 He entered hastily, and, hardly speaking 
 to the servant, hurried up-stairs. He threw 
 himself into a chair, and tried to reflect, but, 
 as yet, reflection was impossible. One thought 
 filled his brain — he had lost her for ever. 
 
 Recollections of the past crowded thick
 
 312 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 into his mind — recollections once sweet, now 
 bitter, oh how bitter ! Isabella's image per- 
 vaded each, bnt under very different aspects. 
 He saw her kind and confiding, prominent in 
 every scene of his childhood and of his youth ; 
 as she had charmed his boyish exertions, as 
 she had cheered his manly labours. He saw 
 her as the bright star, whose steady light had 
 guided him through sorrow and disappoint- 
 ment — he saw her a rainbow of peace and of 
 promise. 
 
 And then the reverse ! — that look of cold 
 disdain — that tone which chilled him to the 
 heart. " You have acted unworthily — I was 
 deceived in you I" rang in his ears again and 
 again. Yet, even now, he could hardly believe 
 that it was she, even she, who had spoken 
 such words. 
 
 But it was too true. He had lost her 
 for ever — how could he bear to live ? He 
 shuddered when this question presented itself 
 to his mind. Was he, then, so weak, so con- 
 temptible, as to shrink from the lot which was 
 cast for him ? It must be borne, why not 
 bear it manfully ? 
 
 " After all," he reflected, " are we not the
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 313 
 
 authors of our own misfortunes ? Does not 
 the fault induce its fitting punishment ? and, 
 in his own case, had not his folly caused his 
 anguish ? Why had he not told his love be- 
 fore ? "Why had he told it then ? He might 
 have known that that was no time to speak. 
 He had let passion outweigh his reason, and, 
 by a sort of mad bravado, wrest his secret from 
 him. Yes, he had acted weakly, and worse 
 than weakly, and he deserved his fate." He 
 walked rapidly up and down the room, in in- 
 tense agony of mind. Years afterwards, the 
 recollection of that half hour would send the 
 colour from his cheek. 
 
 A^ain and as;ain he asked himself these 
 questions : " Did he really deserve his fate ? 
 Had he really lost her esteem? And yet" 
 — he stopped, as a new thought struck 
 him — " is it, indeed, as I once imagined, of 
 such priceless value? Is she the superior 
 bein<? I was wont to think her ? Has Isabella 
 not by an unworthy love, proved herself un- 
 worthy ?" He resumed his walk, but more 
 slowly than before. " Has she not, like a 
 green school-girl, fallen in love at first sight, 
 attracted by what ? — a handsome person and
 
 314 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 pleasing manners, but no more. She must 
 know it, she must feel that Charles Stanly is 
 weak and vain, that he possesses no superiority 
 either of head or of heart. That she should 
 have selected him ! — that she, Isabella Ro- 
 mayne, should sink so low ! who could believe 
 it?" Prank's pace increased with the agi- 
 tating feelings these thoughts produced. 
 
 In these, however, he found, for a time, 
 a sort of desperate consolation. He could 
 surely never be so mad as to regret a woman 
 who had shown herself so ill- deserving of his 
 affection, who had used him so unjustly, so 
 unkindly ! Her conduct was altogether un- 
 worthy ; he would despise her for it. 
 
 But these ideas soon faded away ; their 
 fallacy was too apparent. Prank knew full 
 well that love, first love especially, is the off- 
 spring of imagination, the dawn which may 
 be mistaken for day, the deceptive glow of 
 Aurora, which soon vanishes before the full, 
 fervid blaze of sunshine. He knew that na- 
 tures the most gifted are, perhaps, most liable 
 to such delusions, for in them imagination is 
 most brilliant and most powerful. They are 
 too apt to love, not the object they see, but
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 315 
 
 its image reflected upon their mind, which 
 they adorn with the deceptive splendour of a 
 prism-like fancy. They create the idol, and 
 then worship it ; they confound the real with 
 the ideal, the dream with reality. 
 
 A new train of thought was roused. Frank 
 sat down, and endeavoured to carry it out 
 calmly. He put these questions to himself: 
 " Can I, loving Isahella as I do, judge her 
 conduct impartially ? Can I be just towards 
 Charles ? Does not jealousy blind me ? Had 
 the choice fallen upon a worthier object, what 
 would mv feelings have been then ?" 
 
 He remained for some time lost in thought. 
 Presently, a sigh of relief escaped him, and 
 his brow cleared. " Thank God," he said, 
 within himself. " I may have been hasty, 
 but I am not mean, or selfish. If Charles had 
 been deserving of her, I should have regretted 
 her as deeply, no doubt, but less sorrowfully. 
 To secure her happiness, I could have given 
 her up ; I could do anything for her good. 
 It is not as a rival only, that I object to 
 Stanly, but as a man, who is incapable of 
 appreciating the treasure he has won. That 
 Isabella should have thrown herself away so
 
 316 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 completely! that she should have blighted 
 all her prospects of happiness ! Oh, it is a 
 dreadful — a maddening thought !" 
 
 But now that Prank was more satisfied 
 with himself, he became more lenient towards 
 Isabella. He excused her misplaced affection, 
 and forgave it. He never thought of forgiving 
 her unkind treatment of himself; that was 
 already forgotten. 
 
 " It is a sad pity," thus he reflected, " that 
 she has made this choice ; but regrets are 
 vain. What is done, cannot be undone ; but 
 though there is no remedy, there may be a 
 palliative. Come what may, Isabella shall 
 not lose her friend. I will stand by her, in 
 good, and in ill fortune. I will avert what 
 evils I can. If I may not protect, I may, at 
 least, console her. And consolation, I fear, 
 she will need, sooner or later. God forgive 
 me, if I wrong Stanly ; but I cannot help 
 
 thinking no matter. It is folly to speculate 
 
 as to what may happen ; let hereafter take 
 care of itself; my business is with present. 
 I must cultivate Stanly's friendship. I must 
 try to improve his amiable qualities ; and let 
 me do him justice, he has amiable qualities.
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 317 
 
 He has good impulses — they must be con- 
 firmed ; he is not wanting in abilities — they 
 must be brought out. What I can, I will do, 
 and I hope I may do something. All may yet 
 be well. God grant it. No doubt, his attach- 
 ment to Isabella proves, that he is capable of 
 admiring excellence, and appreciating it — to 
 a certain extent, at least. What should be 
 done first, is to get him some employment. 
 His fancy is for diplomacy ; well, he may be 
 right ; a man is the best judge of his own 
 capabilities, and instinct^ sometimes directs 
 well, where reason fails.' ' 
 
 Frank mused for some time, and then put 
 paper before him. He wrote a note, with 
 which he evidently took much pains. It was 
 to Lord Derwent, and its purport was to 
 request an interview of the all-powerful 
 minister. 
 
 We return to Isabella. On the whole, her 
 journey was prosperous. Por a wonder, the 
 old lady had been exceedingly easy to manage. 
 She had been so frightened by Sir James's fit 
 and Lady Ramsay's passion, that for once, she 
 made no objection to what she was told was 
 necessary. The moment Isabella mentioned
 
 318 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 it, she agreed to leave Eastrow ; and so anxious 
 was she to he off, that she hegun preparing 
 for departure, not very long after the time at 
 which it had "been proposed to start. What 
 was still more remarkable, she had not many 
 visions of forgotten articles; and the party 
 had only to stop twice between the castle and 
 the station. The first time was at the lodge- 
 gate, in order to send hack for a prayer-hook 
 — the very last present of poor dear Honiayne 
 — which, she at length recollected, she had 
 herself carefully packed in her carpet-hag; 
 the second time was to search for a ring — 
 the very first present of poor dear Hodos- 
 tomus — and which was happily discovered 
 snug on the third finger of her own left 
 hand. It may be supposed, that circumstances 
 so extraordinary, were suggestive of others, 
 even more marvellous, which had occurred at 
 different periods of her eventful life, for which 
 she had never been able to account, and upon 
 which she commented and speculated with 
 her usual dolorous cheerfulness. At last they 
 reached the station, just in time to catch 
 distant sounds of the engine, which should 
 have taken them to London; so that they
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 319 
 
 had only two hours to wait for the next train ; 
 — a curious circumstance, as the widow mys- 
 teriously observed, but, after all, only just 
 like her luck. 
 
 However, if Madame Rodostomus had been 
 unusually easy to deal with, little Chloe had 
 been very much the reverse. The violence of 
 her despair, when she discovered the conse- 
 quences attendant upon her betrayal of her 
 sister's secret, was terrible. Her penitence 
 was far more troublesome than her petulance. 
 She threw herself at Isabella feet, sobbing as 
 if her heart would break, upbraiding herself 
 in the most vehement manner, and refusing 
 every sort of consolation. Even her mother's 
 scolding failed to rouse her spirit. She let 
 the old lady talk on, without once contradict- 
 ing her. She shook Charles off, when he at- 
 tempted to caress and soothe her. She clung 
 passionately to her sister, imploring pardon, 
 which Isabella granted over and over again ; 
 but even this, for many hours, was insufficient 
 to pacify her. 
 
 Isabella was nearly worn out with fatigue 
 and annoyance. But for Charles's kindness 
 and consideration, her spirits must have en-
 
 320 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 tirely failed her. He, good humouredly, took 
 Madame Hodostomus off her hands, patiently 
 listened to her endless remarkable anecdotes 
 during the drive, and established her com- 
 fortably with cloaks and cushions on the sofa 
 of the station-house. 
 
 While she was chattering and chiruping 
 away on the eternal subject of her remark- 
 able fate and stupendous misfortunes, Isabella 
 stood musing at the window. The bells were 
 ringing for early service, and the country 
 people, in their Sunday dresses, were gather- 
 ing for their simple devotions. 
 
 The window, at which Isabella stood, com- 
 manded an extensive prospect. A vast plain, 
 still wrapped in morning mist, lay spread be- 
 fore her. To the right, upon an eminence, 
 stood the rustic church, green with venerable 
 ivy. Presently, the merry chime ceased, and 
 the heavy toll began. Somehow, it associated 
 itself in Isabella's mind, with Prank Tyrrell's 
 last words. They rang in her ear like an 
 ominous knell. 
 
 Had he spoken sooth ? "Was he right in 
 his opinion of Charles Stanly ? Was Charles 
 really weak, and vain, and fickle ? Was her
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 321 
 
 affection indeed misplaced ? Had she made a 
 foolish, thankless sacrifice ? 
 
 While she was thinking over these things, 
 Charles approached her, and took her hand. 
 Her head was averted — she could not see the 
 expression of his face — but she heard his sigh 
 of rapture, as he said, in his low melodious 
 whisper : 
 
 "Thank you, dearest — ten thousand thanks 
 — you have made me the happiest of men." 
 
 At that moment the bell ceased. The deep 
 bass of the organ swelled the air. The mist 
 rose, and rolled backwards like a vast sea, and 
 the sun broke through his shroud of vapour. 
 Darkness was upon the valley, but the church- 
 spire shone, like burnished gold, against the 
 lowering sky. 
 
 Isabella's heart was too full for words, but 
 she fixed her earnest look upon Charles, and 
 returned the pressure of his hand. 
 
 Her doubts were all forgotten. His very 
 faults were dear to her, for they were Ms 
 faults. 
 
 Yet all this affection did not blind her to 
 the probable evils of the fate which awaited 
 her. Hers was that rare attachment, deep, 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 322 CHABXES STANLY. 
 
 true, yet clear-sighted. They stood together 
 watching the valley, beautifully undulating 
 in shadow and in light. Some spots were 
 brightest, then darkest, then these again 
 trembled into fitful brilliancy. At one mo- 
 ment, all was light — at another, the whole 
 extent of the valley was wrapped in gloomy 
 shadow. 
 
 " See," said Isabella, " does not that pros- 
 pect remind you of life, with its changes, and 
 its chances ? Brightness succeeds gloom, and 
 gloom, brightness. How little we know what 
 the next moment may bring forth." 
 
 " I can see nothing but you, Isabella — I 
 can think of you only when you are by." 
 
 Nothing could exceed the kindness and at- 
 tention shown by Charles, during the journey. 
 His patience with Madame Hodostomus was 
 little short of marvellous. He seemed intui- 
 tively to know the exact amount of contradic- 
 tion she required, to keep her in good humour. 
 She chattered almost incessantly all the way, 
 while he seemed to listen; and she arrived 
 in London, enchanted with the variety and 
 extent of Mr. Stanly's conversational powers. 
 
 Yet he also found time to attend to Isa- 
 bella. He saw that she was languid and
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 323 
 
 weary, and he exerted himself, to the utmost, 
 to cheer and amuse her. She did her best to 
 conceal the depression which she could not 
 entirely conquer. Charles ascribed it, chiefly, 
 to bodily fatigue. He had no doubts as to 
 her sentiments towards him, and this convic- 
 tion elated hi m so much, that he could hardly 
 think of anything else. 
 
 Soon after then arrival in London, Charles 
 received a note from Frank, desiring to speak 
 with liim upon business. About an hour 
 afterwards he returned, with a countenance 
 full of joyful importance. 
 
 " I will not decide upon anything, till I 
 have consulted you, dear Isabella," he began; 
 " but I am greatly inclined to accept an offer 
 I have just received from Lord Derwent." 
 
 " From Lord Derwent !" exclaimed Isa- 
 bella, surprised and alarmed, for she dreaded 
 a return of his old partiality for the army. 
 
 " Yes, I have just been to Lord Derwent' s ; 
 I am delighted with him, and I flatter myself 
 that the partiality is mutual." 
 
 " But I did not know that you were ac- 
 quainted with Lord Derwent." 
 
 " Nor was I till this morning ; Tyrrell took 
 me there, and introduced me."
 
 324 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 "Frank Tyrrell !" she exclaimed, in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " He is the best-hearted fellow in the 
 world, is Prank. You would say so, if you 
 heard the handsome way in which he spoke 
 of me just now. By Jove ! I felt myself 
 blushing, like a young lady, at the grand 
 character he gave me." 
 
 And Charles proceeded to relate what had 
 taken place, first between himself and Prank, 
 then between these two, and Lord Derwent. 
 The latter had offered to get him appointed 
 attache to the embassy at St. Petersburg. 
 The only drawback to this plan was, the 
 separation from Isabella; but there was no 
 alternative. All the other embassies were 
 filled up. 
 
 Tears stood in Isabella's eyes, as she listened 
 to Charles's recital. They were tears partly 
 of gratitude for Prank's touching kindness, 
 partly of contrition for her own unjust beha- 
 viour towards him. Charles ascribed them 
 solely to the impending separation from him- 
 self, and offered to throw up the situation, if 
 she so wished it. 
 
 " Porgive me, dear Charles," said Isabella, 
 wiping the tears which she could no longer
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 325 
 
 restrain. " Forgive my weakness. But with 
 me, you know all deep feelings, whether of joy 
 or of pain, move me to tears.' ' Then, forcing 
 a smile, she added : " I feel happiness sorrow- 
 fully ; but I am indeed happy to hear of this 
 appointment. It is exactly what I should 
 have wished." 
 
 She then told him what she had not had 
 courage to tell before, that she had herself de- 
 termined upon going to Italy for the ensuing 
 winter. Under any circumstances, it would 
 be necessary to return there ; if only to make 
 arrangements for finally leaving it. " This 
 separation will be a test to our affection," she 
 said, and tried to smile, but her lip quivered, 
 and her voice faltered so, that she could not 
 add, as she intended — "and the test will 
 prove its strength and durability." 
 
 Charles, though grieved to part from Isa- 
 bella, was, however, too much elated by his 
 new prospects for anything to damp his spirits. 
 He went on building up castles for the future ; 
 and, at last, his hopes imparted themselves, 
 in some measure, to her. Still she would not 
 encourage too visionary aspirations. She told 
 him simple truth. She strove to fire his enthu- 
 siasm, without exciting his vanity. Isabella
 
 326 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 possessed over Charles that resistless sway, 
 which powerful minds hold over those which 
 are weaker. While with her, her strength 
 infused itself to him, he felt imhued with a 
 firmness of purpose, a clearness of perception, 
 at other times foreign to his nature. He 
 shared her enthusiasm, her lofty views ; she did 
 not persuade, hut convince. Till he saw her, 
 he had made love; but never loved in the 
 high and true sense of the word. Isabella 
 first revealed to him the sanctity of a feeling, 
 either the noblest or the vilest, of which our 
 nature is capable. Isabella exalted love into 
 religion. Her love, like incense, wreathed 
 upwards toward heaven. With her, it was 
 not a passion, but a revelation. 
 
 She wrote to Prank in terms of the most 
 heartfelt gratitude. She did not allude to 
 their past misunderstanding ; she only spoke 
 of her present thankfulness. She told him 
 that she considered his friendship as the 
 greatest blessing which Providence had be- 
 stowed upon her; as the only one human 
 affection which could never change. 
 
 Prank's answer was, like himself; just what 
 Isabella expected of him — simple, honest, 
 manly. He said little, but she saw that he
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 327 
 
 meant much ; he promised nothing, but she 
 knew that he would perform to the utmost of 
 his power. 
 
 As Isabella's departure was so soon to tak e 
 place, Prank thought it best to avoid a per- 
 sonal leave-taking, which would only give un- 
 necessary pain to both. He would, there- 
 fore, he said in his letter, not see Isabella 
 before she left England, unless, indeed, she 
 had anything to communicate which might 
 not be committed to paper. Isabella under- 
 stood and appreciated the delicacy of his 
 motives. 
 
 It was a long time before Madame Hodos- 
 tomus could be brought clearly to comprehend 
 that Isabella was engaged to be married, and 
 that she herself was going to Italy. The old 
 lady was glad, and sorry, and enchanted, and 
 in despair, all at the same time. It was 
 wonderful, marvellous, quite unaccountable, 
 as, indeed, she had always observed, most 
 things in this world certainly were. " But, 
 bless me !" she exclaimed, " doesn't Pomayne 
 begin with an c U,' and doesn't P^odostomus 
 begin with an ' P,' and doesn't Stanly begin 
 with an ' S,' and isn't that the very next 
 letter in the alphabet ? "Well, to be sure, was
 
 328 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 ever anything half so extraordinary ? The 
 more I think of it, the more I see how in- 
 scrutable are the ways of Providence ; and, 
 though it may be absurd, I really can't help 
 it, I cannot help crying for joy ; for certainly, 
 if Mr. Stanly were only richer, or greater, or 
 older, or something, in short, different to what 
 he is, he would have been just the very iden- 
 tical man whom I should have picked out of 
 the whole world for my Isabella, who is cer- 
 tainly handsome enough to grace any throne, 
 which I'm afraid Mr. Stanly will never sit 
 upon ; but, after all, it's only my luck." 
 
 Having delivered herself of these clear and 
 consolatory observations, the widow threw 
 herself into Charles's arms, and sobbed for 
 full ten minutes upon his shoulder. Pre- 
 sently she wiped her eyes, put on her 
 spectacles, and then, as if the idea had just 
 occurred to her, declared that she had never 
 seen any one so handsome before, and that 
 she loved him better than any living soul, 
 excepting, of course, her children and her 
 poor, dear, departed husbands. 
 
 The last sad day arrived. Isabella and 
 Charles exchanged rings. As he drew his 
 upon her finger, he felt her hand cold, and
 
 CHARLES STANLY. 329 
 
 passive. He sought in vain to soothe and 
 cheer her ; but he was almost frightened at 
 the preternatural and strained composure of 
 her expression. 
 
 "Dearest Isabella!" he said, "remember 
 that this sad present points to a happy future. 
 Look forward to our next meeting, love I" 
 
 "Oh, Charles," she replied, with a tone 
 which she vainly endeavoiu'ed to render calm, 
 " do you think we shall ever really meet 
 again ?" 
 
 " Isabella !" he exclaimed, in alarm. " My 
 own Isabella !" 
 
 " And if we meet — will it be as now ?" 
 
 " Can you doubt it ? Can you think so ill 
 of me?" 
 
 " Oh, no, no ; not that, but God knows ! 
 time — absence !" 
 
 " Do not think it for a moment. I will not 
 — cannot change. I love you, and you alone. 
 If you think me unworthy of your love " 
 
 "Charles!" she said, with a sad kind of 
 exaltation — " Charles, do you know what love 
 is? It is that which increases day by day 
 and hour by hour. It is the reflection of 
 heaven within us." 
 
 vol. i. z
 
 330 CHARLES STANLY. 
 
 She spoke with that lofty enthusiasm which 
 had always a powerful effect upon Charles, 
 and it was with fervour equal to her own that 
 he exclaimed : 
 
 "Hear me swear, Isahella !" 
 
 "Hush!" she interrupted, softly; "oh, 
 hush ! do not swear. Yows may he "broken, 
 promises recalled. Oh, do not swear. Un- 
 plighted troth is the most holy, silent oaths 
 are the most binding." 
 
 The carriage was announced, and Isabella 
 rose to go. Charles seized her in a last em- 
 brace. 
 
 " How strong you are ! You do not tremble; 
 but how cold you feel — how pale you look I" 
 he added, anxiously. 
 
 " God bless you," she faltered, " and God 
 help me !" 
 
 She tore herself from his arms, hurried into 
 the carriage, and was gone. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 C. WHITING, BEAUEOET HOUSE, STEAND.
 
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 I BOUND BY 
 BONE A SON 
 
 76. FLEET STREET. 
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