L I B R.AFLY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 P775t
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/twobrothers01pons
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE DIGCIPLINE OF LIFE," "CLARE ABBEY,' 
 
 "THE YOUNG LORD," 
 
 kc, &c. 
 
 Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay."— Drydeh. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 185S. 
 
 The Right oj Translation is reserved.
 
 PllSt 
 
 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 Two persons stood on the brow of a hill 
 overlooking an extensive and fertile valley. 
 In this valley lay the properties of two 
 gentlemen, side by side. The houses which 
 were on the outskirts of each domain stood 
 within a mile and a half of each other ; but 
 the lands surrounding each habitation 
 spread for miles into the distance on the 
 opposite sides. 
 
 The houses were very different in form 
 and feature. One was, or had been, an 
 old feudal castle. Modern additions had 
 
 A 2
 
 IV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 at various times been made to the building, 
 but it preserved untouched two massy ivy- 
 crowned towers, which rose up dark and 
 gloomy against the sky. The other house 
 was such a dwelling place as pocket-books 
 exhibit in their portraitures of "country 
 seats." It was a country seat on a very 
 large scale ; nothing more. 
 
 Of the two persons mentioned above, the 
 one was a stranger, the other an inhabitant 
 of the district ; the latter had been showing 
 off with pride and pleasure the ex- 
 tensive and luxuriant vale in which he 
 lived. 
 
 " I could invent a tale about those 
 houses," the stranger observed, after in- 
 tently contemplating them. " Nay, I have 
 already invented it. My tale is done." 
 
 "What is your tale?" asked his com- 
 panion, smiling. 
 
 " After all I believe it is such an obvious
 
 INTRODUCTION. V 
 
 one that I need not have boasted of my 
 invention. One has but to look at those 
 two buildings, and the tale is composed. 
 In that one I see a proud, high-minded, but 
 somewhat forbidding family. In this one 
 exactly the reverse — charm without cha- 
 racter. Hate of course springs up between 
 them. Then after hate comes love. A 
 proud, high-minded son falls in love with a 
 charming modern maiden. Then come 
 strifes, and disinheritings, and broken 
 hearts, and then .... either tragedy or 
 comedy. I cannot quite decide on the 
 conclusion of my tale." 
 
 " There is a tale, and not of a very old 
 date, belonging to those houses. It has 
 ^me features of yours, and yet is not like 
 it. A very simple domestic tale, but one not 
 devoid of interest ; that is to say, it will have 
 interest for those who take pleasure in seeing 
 how human beings act under peculiar cir-
 
 VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 cumstances; not, perhaps, otherwise, since 
 it is devoid of " moving accidents by flood 
 and field," hair-breadth escapes, or indeed 
 exciting events of any kind.. If you care to 
 hear them, these are the few facts of the 
 story." 
 
 He entered into a short detail of certain 
 events that had taken place in the two 
 families. 
 
 His companion listened with interest, 
 then observed, " I like your story better 
 than mine." He looked again intently at 
 the older building, and after a short silence 
 made some inquiries. " You must enlarge 
 a little upon the facts you told me. For 
 instance, how was it that being as you say 
 so proud a family, so jealous of its honour,' 
 so steady and irreproachable in character, 
 the possessions of the Vavasours were so 
 loaded with debt ? If all were good, who 
 was the culprit ?"
 
 INTRODUCTION. Vll 
 
 " There was none, properly speaking. 
 Loyalty (perhaps misdirected) was the 
 cause. The old traditions of the family 
 speak of a time of almost princely splendour 
 till the days of the great rebellion. From 
 that time the fortunes have fallen. For 
 Charles I., his son, grandson, and great 
 grandson, heavy mortgages were placed 
 upon the land, and there never was breath- 
 ing time enough for the property to right 
 itself. Yet no Vavasour ever sold a rood 
 of land, and no son ever complained of the 
 debts his father left him. There was a 
 family fire of enthusiasm and romance 
 in the which supported it in all trou- 
 bles." 
 
 " And Mr. Vavasour, the father of your 
 story," inquired the stranger, "he was a 
 regular old Vavasour you say ?" 
 
 " Yes, a fine character, but quite idol- 
 izing in the love and pride he bore to, and
 
 Vm INTRODUCTION. 
 
 had in, his place and family. When he suc- 
 ceeded to his father, he found the property 
 so swallowed up with debt as barely to leave 
 an income necessary for the common expenses 
 of life. He was only just of age, and it was 
 a melancholy prospect. He was advised to 
 sell. The property was not entailed, never 
 had been so ; he could do as he pleased ; but 
 no Vavasour ever had sold, and he would not. 
 He determined by care and energy to clear off 
 a part at least of the debt, and to raise his 
 house again. For thirty years he lived in 
 that old castle alone, bent on this object. 
 Yet while saving and sparing, he was pre- 
 served by that same jealous honour, and 
 lofty character, and strong sense, I suppose, 
 of the responsibilities of his position, from 
 the least taint of parsimony. It was a 
 miraculous escape, but he did escape un- 
 touched." 
 "And after thirty years. What?"
 
 INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 " He married. He was then fifty. His 
 love story shows the same characteristics as 
 all the rest of the Vavasour history — 
 Romance and strength. At eight and 
 thirty he emerged in some degree from his 
 seclusion, and in society he met a young lady 
 of this county, then seventeen, and in the 
 bloom of a beauty that made her name famous. 
 She was Its amiable as she was lovely. He saw 
 her and loved her with the strong tenacious 
 love of the Vavasours, but he gave no sign 
 of what he felt. Fifty was the age, the 
 earliest age he could appoint for a relaxation 
 of his severe life, and he thought he had no 
 right to impose a long delay upon her. He 
 saw her for twelve years beset with suitors, 
 and vehement ones ; for while from natural 
 manner she was gracious to all, it seemed 
 as if her heart had still to be won ; but he 
 bore it in silence. At fifty he spoke, and 
 found that through those long years she had 
 
 A 3
 
 X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 waited, thougli almost without hope, for 
 him. He was then grey and careworn, yet 
 no one, I believe, ever thought the marriage 
 unsuitable, and no young marriage was ever 
 such a love marriage as that." 
 
 " I hope she had money." 
 
 " No ; that is, nothing beyond a young 
 lady's portion. It was a part of the Vava- 
 sour pride that no member of the family had 
 ever married an heiress." 
 
 " You speak," said the stranger smilingly, 
 " of the Vavasour pride, and the Vavasour 
 character, as if it was a man — whereas, 
 you mean, I suppose, some generations 
 of men Were all the Vavasours always 
 alike ?" 
 
 " A family character is, I believe, no un- 
 common thing. We see moral, and some- 
 times immoral qualities running through a 
 whole race. Historians speak of the strong 
 will of the Tudors, and the insincerity and
 
 INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 despotic tendencies of the Stuarts . So it seems 
 to have been with the Vavasours. In many 
 lighter qualities no doubt they differed ; but 
 with that single exception I mentioned to 
 you, I never heard of one who deviated from 
 the family character. That character I 
 have always thought might be best described 
 by the few words in which Milton describes 
 himself — " a certain niceness of nature, an 
 honest haughtiness which let envy call 
 pride." 
 
 " You admire the family character I see, 
 and even the family pride." 
 
 "I do in a great degree. Of all kinds of 
 pride, none seems to me more nearly blame- 
 less than that which makes its foundation 
 on the noble qualities, not on the rank and 
 wealth of its ancestors. I only say, however, 
 more nearly blameless, for I believe all pride 
 to be wrong. It is idolatry, and it will in-
 
 Xll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 evitably, at some time or other, be found to 
 have a root of bitterness. 
 
 "* That which man makes his god, shall 
 inevitably, at some time, be his tormentor.' 
 So says Bishop Hall." 
 
 " Yes, and with truth." 
 
 N.B. — The incident which suggested this tale may 
 be found mentioned ia " Burnet's Life of Sir Matthew 
 Hale."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 For foresight is a melancholy gift 
 Which bares the bald, and speeds the all too swift. 
 
 Henry Taylor. 
 
 The description of a youthful scene shall 
 introduce the principal persons of the fol- 
 lowing tale. 
 
 Imagine a long, old library — gloomy, but 
 interesting in its gloom. The rays of a 
 brilliant sunset streaming in from the western 
 window, enliven and yet shadow it. Here 
 and there the rays of light fall on heavy 
 
 VOL. I, B
 
 Z THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 oak carvings ; here and there on rows of 
 morose-looking books ; but the masses of 
 light serve chiefly to reveal, with the force 
 of contrast, the deep recesses of the room. 
 It is easy to see that the abode is the home 
 of an ancient family, and that the possessor 
 of the abode cherishes, with fondness and 
 pride, every mark of age. 
 
 The occupants of this library are not un- 
 suited to their abode, yet there is little of 
 the solemnity of the room in their air. They 
 are three in number : two boys of thirteen 
 and fourteen, and a little girl about four 
 years younger. 
 
 The boys'are seated at a long library- table, 
 a little too high for comfort ; and around and 
 about them are the usual accompaniments 
 of schoolboys' tasks ; coverless books, torn 
 leaves, split pens, and shreds of blotting 
 paper that can blot no more. The boys are 
 boys in the full sense of the word : active, 
 vigorous, and full of life ; both are so ; but 
 with the likeness in this respect the likeness
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 6 
 
 between them ends ; for brothers, they are 
 singularly unlike. 
 
 The elder boy is very handsome ; and to 
 the charm of beauty, of features, and figure, 
 adds all the charm of expression. It is such 
 a face as a mother can hardly fail to worship 
 even too much. Open and animated, full 
 of sweetness, and spirit, and intelligence. 
 One thing only is lacking ; and this want 
 is best expressed by the word principle. 
 Acute physiognomists, and even common ob- 
 servers can discover the traces of an unsteady 
 and over facile disposition. It is difficult to 
 watch him, and not to suffer a sigh to escape, 
 as the eyes look onward into life and its 
 temptations. 
 
 The other boy is not handsome — he is, 
 perhaps, ugly — his limbs, though well formed, 
 are stragling and ungainly ; his features are 
 so strongly marked as to be hard and stern : 
 but though he lacks beauty, and lacks, also, 
 what is commonly understood by the v/ord 
 charm, there is much to interest in his 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 appearance. He has, in a remarkable degree^ 
 the one thing wanting in the other. Truth 
 and steadfastness shine in his face, producing 
 a kind of day-light over it. There are, 
 besides, in his countenance, marked and 
 strongly-opposing characteristics Inflexible 
 determination, bordering on obstinacy, and 
 endurance, stoical and stern ; yet, in contrast 
 to these qualities, signs betokening strong 
 passions and a fiery temper ; and about the 
 mouth, nervous and tremulous lines bespeak- 
 ing something of feminine softness. 
 
 Over these brothers the little o^irl sits 
 watching, like a spirit. Her place is in 
 the western window^ ; and the streaming 
 sim-beams fall on her white neck and gold 
 threads of hair, but her face is towards 
 the occupants of the room; on one of 
 these she rests her soft, brown eyes with a 
 gaze at once serious, and tender, and full of 
 pity. 
 
 The stillness of the tableau is suddenly 
 broken. The little girl glides from her scat.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. O 
 
 approaches the elder brother's chair, and 
 lays her tiny hand upon the page his eyes 
 devour. It is a page different in kind and 
 type to the pages of closely-printed Greek 
 that lie beside him. 
 
 He starts, looks up, and colours : then 
 laughs, and says, 
 
 " Why, you little fairy, I did not see you ; 
 what do you want here ? " 
 
 " Dear Robert," she says, in a voice of 
 singular softness, " you will never have done ; 
 do let me take it away." 
 
 He yields at once to the imploring tone ; 
 delivers to her hands the small volume of 
 fiction ; smiles with one of his enchanting 
 smiles at his little monitress ; then with a 
 groan, and a glance at his industrious brother, 
 exclaims, '* Now to my weary work again," 
 and betakes himself to his task. 
 
 The little girl retreats with a soft smile on 
 her countenance, and resumes her place and 
 her watching. The other boy pauses for a 
 moment in his labours— looks at his two
 
 b THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 companions, for a moment contracts his 
 brow, then with a sigh resumes his work. 
 
 The circumstances of the task were 
 these : — there had been a boat-race in the 
 neighbourhood of Audley Court, the old 
 family place of the Vavasours. The two boys, 
 sons of Mr. Vavasour, fond of all active sports 
 and pastimes, had asked leave to attend it : 
 voluntarily offering to accomplish their usual 
 morning's studies when they returned in the 
 afternoon. Such requests were not unseldom 
 made ; and though all work and no play is 
 good for no man, Mr. Vavasour was equally 
 convinced of the truth of the opposite state- 
 ment. He accepted the voluntary offer, yet 
 considering the exciting nature of the day's 
 amusement, only partially accepted it ; for 
 the usual more lenothv studies substitutino- 
 a careful translation of a few lines of a Greek 
 ode. The boys were gi'ateful, and a promise 
 was readily given that the appointed task 
 should be done. 
 
 'ilio liioruiiig and afteniooii were Iwjth
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 7 
 
 alike consumed in amusement. The boys 
 returned late, flushed with excitement, 
 heated with exercise, in no mood for study. 
 They joined their father and mother, and 
 in glowing terms recounted the adventures 
 of the day. Both parents listened with 
 willing interest ; no reproach regarding the 
 many hours of absence was made ; only when 
 the full flow of narrative came to a pause, 
 the father simply said, " And nov/ I depend 
 on your promise, my boys." 
 
 The promise had been forgotten, and a 
 shade overspread both faces. If observed, 
 however, no comment was made. Mr. Va- 
 vasour returned to the occupation his sons' 
 entrance had disturbed, and glancing at the 
 clock, merely added, " Go into the library. 
 I shall come to you in an hour." It was 
 then half-past five. 
 
 The boys retreated. No word of their 
 father's was ever controverted, and they fully 
 understood that he depended upon their ad • 
 heivuee to their word,
 
 8 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 The task had difficulties ; but none which 
 attention could not master. Mr. Yavasour 
 was firm and strict with his sons ; but never 
 imjust or severe. He required self-conquest ; 
 but never asked for conquests beyond their 
 power to perform. On entering the libran', 
 the boys found all prepared, and went at once 
 to their work. 
 
 Everard, the younger boy, prepared to do 
 it with all his might. One passion at this 
 time ruled and governed his life — love for 
 his father ; a love made up of fear and rever- 
 ence, and strong natural affection. To please 
 him, made his happiness— the dread of disap- 
 pointing him haunted him like a spectre. A 
 gay scene was dancing before his eyes ; a plea- 
 sant noise of dashing oars and shouts of 
 triumph were ringing in his ears : but his 
 father's voice, " I depend on your promise," 
 rose above these and drowned them. Ho 
 leant his head on his hands, and with a 
 vigorous eifort, conquering the lassitude and 
 dissipation of his mind, set to work.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. y 
 
 Eobert also set to work, but less resolutely. 
 The same sounds were in his ears, and want- 
 ing the determined will, he could not banish 
 them. He tried, but it was a feeble trial. 
 He too loved his father, and feared to dis- 
 please him ; but his was not the love that 
 conquers all things. His gaze wandered 
 over his book, but his mind received no idea. 
 He wrote a few^ vv^ords, then scratched them 
 out ; then scribbled some figures of boats and 
 boatmen on the blotting paper ; then spoiled 
 some pens, then mended them ; then, w^ith 
 an expression of weariness, he pulled his 
 pocket-handkerchief from his pocket and 
 wiped his forehead. In returning it whence 
 it came, his hands encountered the small 
 volume of fiction mentioned above, and draw- 
 ing it out he glanced over the pages. It was 
 the Mysteries of Udolplio ; he had been en- 
 gaged in its study the day before. The pages 
 were refreshing after the hard lines of dis- 
 tasteful Greek, and he reposed himself as he 
 read.
 
 10 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Deprived of this temptation by the watch- 
 ful care of his little guardian, he returned to 
 his task, but the resolute will was still want- 
 ing. In vain he endeavoured to master the 
 sense of what he read. When one line was 
 clear, the next appeared to contradict it; 
 when the sense was foimd and the ideas 
 formed, no words in the English language 
 appeared to be capable of expressing them. 
 His head became dizzy and perplexed ; and 
 suddenly starting up he approached the 
 western window. 
 
 " What a shame to be shut up here ! " he 
 exclaimed, his eye wandering longingly over 
 the sunny woods and fields. " I would give 
 twenty pounds at this moment to be that cow. 
 Better be a cow at liberty, than a man a 
 slave." 
 
 " It is a pity," responded the sympathizing 
 voice of the little girl, " but, dear Robert, 
 you know you promised." 
 
 " I promised to try, and I have tried, and 
 I can't do it. 1 tell you what, 11 op^.', I liate
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 11 
 
 Greek, and I hate translating, and I hate 
 being shut up here. Now, really," and his 
 voice became quite pathetic, " would not any 
 one say it was a shame to be boxed up in a 
 dingy old prison, on such a night as this. I 
 am sure it grieves my soul." 
 
 " But all this grieves only you, dear 
 Robert," the child argued, looking up at 
 him with a pleading look, " but if you don't 
 do it, it grieves your father." 
 
 Robert was affected by her words. He 
 smiled, and put his hand caressingly on her 
 head. " You have not expressed yourself 
 very clearly, little logician, but I see what 
 you mean, and you are right ; so come, my 
 good angel, and take me back to my work." 
 He held out his hand, and with a sweet, proud 
 smile of joy, she led him to his place. He 
 began again to work, and she stood by his 
 side patient and immoveable ; her eyes fixed 
 upon him, and him alone. 
 
 The other boy looked up. He had watched 
 her passing ; and novv witli a contraction of
 
 32 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 his brow, he contemplated her absorbed de- 
 votion to his brother. " You give me no 
 help nor encouragement, little Hope," at last 
 he saidj and there w^as pain in the tone in 
 which he spoke. 
 
 " You don't want it," she replied, gently 
 and simply ; and not even then did a glance 
 of her eye wander towards him. 
 
 Everard threw down his pen, and lay back 
 in his chair. Sadness, hurt-feeling, and 
 something of impatience clouded his coun- 
 tenance. He seemed + ^^e disgusted with 
 his own industrv. 
 
 The movement attracted Kobert's atten- 
 tion. He turned his head and glanced at his 
 brother's well-filled page. " Why, Everard, 
 you have almost done !" he exclaimed ; " what 
 a shame !" 
 
 " Yes, it is a shame !" Everard cried, with 
 flashing eyes, "that you, who are as far beyond 
 me in cleverness as I am to little Hope, 
 should allow me to outstrip you so." 
 
 " Well, it is a shame," Kobert replied ; a
 
 THK TWO BROTHERS. 13 
 
 glow, half of shame, and half of gratified 
 vanity, overspreading his handsome face. 
 
 " It is not too late, dear Robert," prompted 
 the sweet voice of his little guardian, *' if 
 only you will work and make haste." 
 
 Robert looked at his watch, shook his 
 head, and sighed. " Twenty minutes after six, 
 Hope ; it's no use now ; but at any rate," he 
 added, after a moment, " I'll have a try for 
 it ; " and he set to work with an earnestness 
 which half an hour before would have suc- 
 cessfully completed his task. 
 
 Everard remained thoughtful. He leant 
 back in his chair, and his eye wandered 
 gloomily and uneasily from his own un- 
 finished task to his brother. Emulation with 
 an equal, with one we have a right to sur- 
 pass, and who to-morrow may outstrip us, 
 is a painless and animating feeling. But 
 generous natures feel pain, and not pleasure, 
 in a victory that by right should not be won 
 So far as his own feeling was concerned, 
 Everard would have preferred to share in his
 
 14 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 brother's disgrace. To fail with him, would 
 bring him more and greater love than suc- 
 cess. Not Hope alone, but his mother, 
 would, he well knew, look with kindlier eyes 
 on failure with Robert, than success without 
 him. For three or four minutes of the now 
 precious time, Everard remained agitated 
 and undecided ; and then, again, he saw his 
 father s face, and heard his father's voice, 
 and again the ruling passion conquered. 
 He returned with energy to his work, and 
 when the old Manor House clock chimed 
 the half-hour, the last word was written by 
 his pen. 
 
 The clock struck, and Mr. Vavasour, the 
 soul of punctuality, rose and called his wife. 
 
 " Come, Joan," he said, " let us see how 
 these boys have obeyed us." 
 
 They entered the library together ; and 
 anxious looks from one parent, and pene- 
 trating ones from the other, fell on the two 
 brothers. 
 
 Mr. Vavasour was like Everard ; but age
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 15 
 
 had softened and harmonized his proportions, 
 and he was a handsome old man. A merely 
 superficial observer was always struck by his 
 benevolent and venerable air : his tall figure 
 slightly bent, his silver hairs, his firm but 
 lingering tread; he seemed a picture of 
 graceful old age, from which gentleness 
 and s}Tiipathy might be expected ; but a 
 very little study discovered that the coun- 
 tenance was stern. Age had softened the hard 
 features ; but the mental expression was far 
 more really stern than that of his son. 
 There were, however, the same marks of 
 opposing qualities that have been mentioned 
 as apparent in the countenance of Everard. 
 Strong passions, and deep feeling, and the 
 same soft and tremulous lines about the 
 mouth. It was a face which some would 
 have feared too much to love ; but which 
 those who did love, loved passionately. 
 
 The elder son was a reflection of his 
 mother — though time, experience, a woman's 
 nature, and obedience to her husband, had
 
 16 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 banished from her countenance the unsteadi- 
 ness apparent in his. She was many years 
 younger than her husband, and was still re- 
 markable for a beauty, once the theme of 
 wonder and praise ; but even this beauty 
 was less attractive than the softness and 
 gentleness of her air and voice. Her cha- 
 racter had singular charms, and much virtue, 
 and if a few faults mingled with her virtues, 
 it was but the common lot of humanity. Of 
 these faults the most serious was the idolatry 
 of her eldest son. To love too much is im- 
 possible, but to idolize is selfish. It harms 
 the idol, and tends to injustice regarding 
 others. 
 
 Mr. Vavasour approached, and both his 
 sons arose ; but there was no eagerness in 
 either. Theii' eyes were cast down, while 
 little Hope fastened hers on his face with a 
 look that deprecated displeasure. 
 
 Mr. Vavasour looked from one to the 
 other, and his brows knit into an expression 
 of mingled sternness and pain. With him no
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 17 
 
 dereliction of duty was small or great. 
 Obedience was obedience, and a promise a 
 promise ; and no consideration of more or 
 less could make a duty not a duty. 
 
 *' Well, Eobert," he said, " how have you 
 obeyed me ?" 
 
 Eobert made no answer. Though daring 
 enough in his father's al)sence, his present 
 displeasure always unmanned him. 
 
 ** I see you have failed ; I did not expect 
 this." And without another word he passed 
 on. 
 
 " And you, Everard," he said, turning to 
 his second son — and anxiety made his voice 
 harsh. 
 
 Everard gave his completed task ; but his 
 heart swelled with sorrow, not wdth joy, for 
 no glance from his mother s eye spoke of 
 anxiety for him. Her eyes and Hope's were 
 with Robert in his disgrace. 
 
 Mr. Vavasour read the translation care- 
 fully through, then laid it dowTi. " There 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18' THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 are many faults here, Everard," he said, look- 
 ing at his son^ " but they are faults of igno- 
 rance, not of negligence. I do not need to 
 he told that you have tried with all your 
 heart to please me. God bless you, my 
 boy," and he laid his hand softly and kindly 
 on Everard's shoulder. 
 
 For a moment Everard's heart bounded 
 beneath that approving touch, but it sunk 
 and died as he saw his mother's averted face. 
 His praise was agony to her ; he knew it, 
 saw it, felt it. 
 
 Mr. Vavasour stayed for no more words, 
 but retraced his steps down the long library. 
 When he reached the door, he looked back. 
 Everard was standing alone. Eobert's head 
 was laid on the table ; and beside him and 
 over him bent his mother and Hope. 
 
 " Joan," he called ; and leaving the door 
 open returned to the study. 
 
 Mrs. Vavasour stayed but to whisper one 
 gentle word; and, still without a glance to 
 Everard, rejoined her husband. Not that
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 19 
 
 Everard was not loved. He w^as only for- 
 gotten, because Eobert was unhappy. 
 
 Mr. Vavasour did not speak till his wife 
 was seated. He then said, not with stern- 
 ness — for to her he was never stern — but 
 sadly, *^ Joan, you will spoil that boy." 
 
 "Love cannot spoil," she replied, with 
 some agitation, " though harshness some- 
 times may." 
 
 *' Do you call me harsh ? " asked her hus- 
 band ; and round his lips quivered that 
 tremulous movement which in him, as in 
 Everard, betokened strong or wounded 
 feelings. 
 
 *' To none but Eobert," she eagerly re- 
 joined ; ^' sometimes to him." 
 
 " No, Joan," he said, regarding her fixedly, 
 ** not harsh ; but wise in time. You look 
 at Eobert's single faults — you see now a little 
 indolence, now carelessness, now self-indul- 
 gence, and you think that, with his youth 
 and high spirits, these may be excused ; but 
 
 I look on : and as, day after day, I see the 
 
 *c 2
 
 20 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 signs of unsteadiness, and cowardice, and 
 want of truth, I ask myself, what will be the 
 end when these faults have strengthened 
 themselves and bear fruit ? If Kobert is to 
 be saved from becoming a dishonour to our 
 house, it must be through the discipline of 
 awe and fear, as well as love. Let him see 
 that his faults grieve and pain us — as they 
 do in my heart ! " he broke out passionately ; 
 then resumed again ; " and that he may see 
 it, let us not lightly own, nor lightly forgive 
 them." 
 
 " I believe you are right," she replied, 
 humbly, " and yet when Eobert is miserable. 
 .<.... You do not know how he loves 
 you — how ardent his feelings are — how he 
 suffers under your displeasure !" 
 
 " Yes, Joan, but I do know, and it is 
 these very ardent feelings that make me 
 tremble. If now, in their freshness, while 
 yet in his father's house, they fail in every 
 moment of temptation, how will they stand 
 in the fiery trial of the world ? Believe me,
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 21 
 
 unless a great change takes place, the good 
 seed in Robert's heart will too soon be choked 
 with thorns." 
 
 The twilight was deepening ; the clock 
 chimed the quarter after seven ; there came 
 a low tap at the study door. 
 
 It opened ; and Robert entered, holding in 
 one hand his completed task, while the other 
 yielded to the guidance of Hope. There was 
 no shame on his fine countenance, but an 
 expression of open and truthful humility. 
 
 " I am very sorry to have displeased you, 
 father," he said, simply, " and I have done 
 the best I can to atone for it. Hope per- 
 suaded me, and Everard gave me help, and 
 here is my task. I know it is too late to 
 give you pleasure ; but I hope not too late to 
 show that .... that I am Very sorry 
 father ! " 
 
 Mr. Vavasour received it from his hands, 
 with a faint glow on his countenance ; and 
 the " God bless you, my boy," which was 
 his usual simple and forcible expression of
 
 22 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 extreme approval, made more than one heart 
 supremely happy. 
 
 This childish scene has been thus minutely 
 detailed, in order more rapidly and vividly 
 to pourtray the actors in the following tale, 
 than description can easily do. 
 
 A few more words are required to set 
 in its proper light the position of one of these. 
 
 Hope Linton was the orphan child of a 
 sister of Mrs. Vavasour. In her aunt*s 
 house, and adopted by her husband, the worst 
 evils of an orphan's lot were unknown. They 
 treated her as their child — the boys as 
 their sister — and few ever thought of her in 
 any other light. 
 
 She was a child of peculiar character, 
 appearing to be made of two qualities only^- 
 love and pity. Her love, not the love that 
 clings, but more angel-like, desires to spread 
 its wings and shield ; her pity, an intense 
 compassion, which made her appear, in spite 
 of the guileless goodness of her own nature, 
 sent into the world on a special mission to
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 23 
 
 the errino'. She was not clever, vet had her 
 own silent, serious thoughts ; and though 
 neither energetic, nor active-spirited, seemed, 
 by the intensity of her feeling, to accomplish 
 what she had to do. 
 
 The somewhat unnatural seriousness of 
 her nature was partly the effect of circum- 
 stances. Her father had been a thoughtless, 
 unprincipled man ; her mother had borne, 
 not the ills alone that extravagance brings in 
 its train, but the deeper pain of her hus- 
 band's neglect. After a desolate life of many 
 years, a child was born to her. It came like 
 light into a dark place ; and partly in thankful 
 acknowledgment of the blessing given, and 
 partly as a warning to her own failing spirits 
 against despair, she called it " Hope." Four 
 years after its birth her husband died. The 
 hope for which she had waited all her life- 
 long was then fulfilled. The hours of sick- 
 ness and death brought his repentance and 
 returning love. She saw him die : and as if 
 her task was then accomplished, quickly fol-
 
 24 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 lowed him— leaving her child to her sister's 
 protection. The house in which the little 
 orphan was bom, was a house of sorrow. 
 Early clouds hung over her infancy ; and a 
 sobering hue was left for ever on her soft 
 cheek and thoughtful disposition. There 
 was, however, something of her name in her 
 nature. She was serious, but rarely sad.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS, 25 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 It was tlie jealous pride that shuns disgrace ; 
 A pride in honest fame by virtue gained, 
 In sturdy boys to virtue's labours trained : 
 Pride in a life that slander's tongue defied, 
 In fact a noble passion, misnamed Pride. 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 The strongly-marked character of the 
 Vavasour family has been noticed in the in- 
 troduction of this tale. The exception to 
 the hitherto unbroken line of true Vavasours 
 was in Robert. He was no Vavasour. The 
 family pride did not influence him. The 
 " niceness of nature " and " honest haughti- 
 ness " were not to be found in him. He was 
 inclined to laugh at his grim old ancestors, 
 and had been heard to wish away some relics
 
 26 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 of their grandeur. His character was full 
 of good and full of beauty, but it was not 
 the good or the beauty of his own family. In 
 place of their nobility of soul — truly noble, 
 yet somewhat narrow — he had a generous 
 spirit, open and world-wide. In place of 
 their slumbering and self-restrained romance, 
 he had warm affections, ardent but volatile ; 
 In place of their unconquerable resolution, 
 he had an altogether different form of reso- 
 lution — self-will ; and in place of their self- 
 control he had no counterpart to offer — for 
 impatient of authority, and fond of pleasure, 
 he was not disposed to be a severe Mentor to 
 himself. 
 
 In any family, Kobert's character would 
 have excited care and anxiety; a care as 
 strong as the love he inspired ; but in this 
 family it excited a fear amounting to torture. 
 Mr. Vavasour loved his son passionately (in 
 his mind every feeling was a passion) ; this 
 very love made his eyes sharp and keen to 
 detect Robert's failures. Every childish
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 27 
 
 fault was seen — not only in its own propor- 
 tions, but in the dimensions of future years ; 
 not as the small shadow of the noonday, but 
 as the long shadow of the evening. 
 
 Yet it would have been hard to say wherein 
 lav the fault in Robert's education. If there 
 was strictness, it was without severity. If 
 there were restraints, there were also un- 
 bounded induWnces. Thourfi obedient to 
 the idolizing mother's wish — the boys were 
 brought up at home — they were not home 
 boys ; both were famous in the country for 
 their bold riding and skill in every sport. 
 
 The fault was probably in the bounded 
 limits of Mr. Vavasour's mind and sympa- 
 thies. He had his standard, his own 
 standard, therefore a narrow one. He en- 
 deavoured too much to assimilate Robert to 
 his owTi idea. He did not go forward to 
 meet the hopes, the thoughts, the qualities, 
 springing up in his diiferently-moulded son. 
 
 Robert may have felt the standard to be 
 too sternly high. It may have strained his
 
 28 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 eyes to look upon it. Conceiving such a lofty 
 form of virtue to be required, he may have 
 felt an improbability set before him ; and the 
 very excellence of the standard may have 
 caused a laxity in his mind. It is possible ! 
 
 Such criticisms on education are easily 
 made. Such inferences are easily drawn, 
 when a plan has failed to work. It is 
 not so easy for those whose hearts are in 
 their children's welfare, and who feel their 
 responsibility to God who gave the child, for 
 every thought implanted in its mind, to trace 
 the exact limits of duty, and to discover the 
 point at which an excess of good instruction 
 begins. 
 
 Mr. Vavasour was a religious man, and all 
 he did was religiously done. If he failed it 
 was human infirmity that failed ; the human- 
 infirmity of overmuch pride in his family's 
 good deeds ; the over idolizing cherishing of 
 an honoui* hitherto without a stain.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 29 
 
 It was three years later than the date of 
 the last chapter. Mr, Vavasour's two sons 
 were on the eve of going to college. Words 
 are not needed to picture the hopes and fears 
 of that time ; the hopes of the young ; the 
 hopes and far stronger fears of those who 
 send their treasures for the first time into 
 the world's fiery trials. 
 
 The evening passed silently. Mr. Vavasour 
 sat by the fire in profound thought : even his 
 newspapers untouched beside him. On the 
 opposite side of the fire sat Mrs. Vavasour, 
 working with unremitting industry. Tears, 
 very natural ones, were in her eyes, and thus 
 she concealed them. 
 
 At a little distance from her sat Robert ; 
 and Hope on a low^er chair beside him. 
 Hope was unchanged still ; like a child and a 
 spirit ; and unchanged, too, was the intensity 
 of the gaze with which she watched him. 
 Occasionally he laid his hand caressingly on 
 her head ; occasionally smiled, and addressed 
 to her a few laughing words ; but for the
 
 30 THE TWO BROTHERS, 
 
 most part he, too, was silent, and his coun- 
 tenance was sad. Up to this moment he had 
 been looking forward joyfully ; but now his 
 happy youth, his home, his mother's love, 
 rose up like a sweet and soothing picture, 
 and touched him. Robert's feelings were 
 strong and excitable. If volatile, yet, while 
 they lasted, intense. He saw his mother's 
 tear-stained and trembling lashes. He saw 
 his father's thoughtfulness ; he knew that 
 fears and hopes filled their hearts for him ; 
 hopes great as their love ; fears, which his 
 conscience told him were not idle. Agitated 
 with these and other thoughts, he found it 
 hard to restrain his own tears. They came 
 and went — ^brushed away with a dash of his 
 hand, and a] half-ashamed smile ; and every 
 smile and every tear gave a new charm to 
 his countenance. In her stealthy glances his 
 mother saw them, and his softness bound a 
 fresh link of love round her already too 
 idolizing heart. 
 
 But there was one who was more sad than
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 31 
 
 all. This night had brought to Everard the 
 knowledge, never hitherto so fully understood, 
 that he was nothing. 
 
 He saw his mother's rapid glances into 
 Robert's face ; he saw Hope's unchanging 
 gaze ; he saw his father's meditations ; and 
 felt that anxiety for Eobert was the cause. 
 He, too, was going into the world, and the 
 world's temptations, and no love, no prayers 
 of love would watch over his unguarded 
 youth. 
 
 The consciousness brouoht exceedinof bit- 
 terness. He said in his heart, that he was 
 selfish thus to have his thoughts fastened in 
 himself. He struggled with them, but in 
 vain. The effect of the struggle was, to make 
 his countenance stern, and his voice hard. 
 Once when he spoke his mother looked up 
 with a startled look — so harsh and dry was 
 the tone. Her eye wandered on to Robert's 
 softened countenance, and almost uncon- 
 sciously the contrast was remarked upon 
 and felt. Everard felt it himself ;
 
 32 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 hated himself; owned that he was selfish 
 and deserved no love, and knitted his 
 brows into yet sterner meditations. Thus 
 we misjudge others, nay, thus misjudge om' 
 ownselves. 
 
 At length the clock struck half-past ten. 
 It was the usual hour of separation : and 
 accustomed to please the husband and father 
 in his love of order and punctuality, all had 
 been in the habit of obeyirfg the signal ; but 
 this evening there was no movement. The 
 next word was to be — farewell. The boys 
 were to start before day the following morn- 
 ing, and Mr. Vavasour had desired that no 
 further leave-takings should take place. 
 Robert's eyes were on his mother. He 
 waited for her to speak. She sat with cast- 
 down eyes awaiting some other signal. 
 
 The silence was broken by Mr. Vavasour, 
 He raised his head from his thoughtful pos- 
 ture, and simply said, " I Tvdsh to speak to 
 you, my boys." 
 
 " Yes father," they replied with tremu-
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 33 
 
 lous eagerness ; Robert was in the mood 
 for admonition ; to Everard his father's 
 words were always pearls of great price. 
 
 Concisely, but forcibly, as was his wont, 
 Mr. Vavasour gave his words of parting 
 advice. His first charge was to both his 
 sons together, and consisted of an admonition 
 to fear God, and to honour their name. 
 The first was dwelt on at o^reater lencfth : 
 but there was a pathos in his voice as he 
 spoke of the second, which betrayed how 
 near an idol it was to his heart. 
 
 When he addressed them separately, it 
 was with a special regard to the probable 
 temptations of each. Both must have felt, 
 both did feel, that the minutest circum- 
 stances of their past life, and future pros- 
 pects, had been revolved in their father's 
 mind. He spoke to Eobcrt as his heir. 
 He pointed to the duties and responsibilities 
 for which he must prepare himself, and 
 dwelt on the temptations of those who are 
 exempted from the original curse, " In the 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 84 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 sweat of thy brow, thou shalt cat bread." 
 " Make yourself worthy, my boy," were his 
 concluding words, " of the position to which, 
 before many years, God will call you. Bind 
 upon yourself the yoke He has laid lightly 
 on your shoulders, and remember, Robert," 
 he added in a solemn and tremulous voice, 
 " the words of the wise man, ^ My son, keep 
 tliy father s commandment, and forsake not 
 the love of thy mother ; for a wise son makes 
 a glad father, but a foolish son puts his 
 mother to shame''' 
 
 There were strong resolves in Robert's 
 breast, and the " I will remember, father," 
 was spoken with vehement earnestness. He 
 drew nearer to his mother, and placed his 
 hand in hers — the movement of the body ex- 
 pressing that the guide of his life was chosen. 
 
 His fathers eyes followed him with a 
 softened smile, and a look of glad confidence. 
 They rested on him for a moment ; then he 
 roused himself to address his younger son. 
 There was more to be said to Everard.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 35 
 
 There were explanations to be made ; and his 
 voice, as he resumed, had a drier and more 
 husiness-like tone, which grated on his son's ear. 
 
 The explanations to Everard were re- 
 garding " the portion of goods " that would 
 fall to him. Having hut two sons, Mr. 
 Vavasour said, and being well known to 
 possess large estates, and full power over 
 what he had, '* it might be Everard's ex- 
 pectation, it would certainly be the expecta- 
 tion of others, that for him an ample provision 
 would be made." This he warned him would 
 not be the case. He spoke minutely of the 
 state of his affairs, and pointed out the strong 
 necessity that no divisions, no deductions 
 should be made. 
 
 " What is just, Everard," he gi^avely said, 
 " you will have, but let your dependence be 
 on yourself." 
 
 Then leaving his drier tone, he spoke with 
 a kindling eye of his hopes from the industry 
 of his son. 
 
 " I am ambitious for you ; yes, my boy, I 
 
 d2
 
 36 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 own it. I would have you bring fresh honour 
 to our name. I put that name, I put that 
 honour in your hands, and confess to you that 
 it is your father's dearest treasure. And 
 yet," he added, in a lower tone, " there is 
 something beyond ambition. It is in God's 
 hands whether or not you can be great ; it 
 is in yours with His help that you can be 
 good. My prayer for you both is that you 
 may guard our name from taint of vice, and 
 bring it honour by your virtuous deeds. Let 
 this be done, and I am content. And now, 
 my boys," he said, " God bless you." 
 
 He rose hastily from his seat, and extended 
 a hand to each ; then drawing them nearer, 
 with something of solemnity, kissed their 
 brows. " And now Joan," he continued, 
 " bid them srood-bve." 
 
 Violent exhibitions of feeling were dis- 
 tasteful to Mr. Vavasour. All knew it. 
 Swiftly therefore and silently the farewell 
 was taken. Eobert, softened and overcome, 
 flew to his own room. Mrs. Vavasour, fearful 
 of gTieving her husband by her overmuch
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. o7 
 
 sorrow, followed his example. The drawinof- 
 room door closed, and Everard and Hope 
 went up the stairs together. 
 
 Hope rarely cried, and w^as not crying 
 now ; but her thoughts were not with her 
 companion, as she walked silently by his side ; 
 and when they reached the landing-place 
 where their ways separated, she passed on 
 without percei\dng him. 
 
 He stopped her with an expression almost 
 of anguish on his countenance. " I wish you 
 would say good-bye to me Hope. 
 
 *' I did," she replied, in some surprise ; but 
 immediately and kindly held out her little 
 hand 
 
 *' You did not say it as if you cared. I 
 wish you w^ould sometimes think of me, 
 Hope. I know you pray for Eobert ; I wish 
 you would sometimes say a prayer for me, 
 that I may never disappoint my father." 
 
 " I will, Everard," she replied ; '' but you 
 don't want it ;" and she shook her head with
 
 38 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 a melancholy shake, as if thinking of one 
 who did. 
 
 " I do," he cried, passionately. ^' Why do 
 you say that, Hope ? It is unkind of you." 
 
 She looked at him, as if startled and 
 puzzled hy his vehemence ; but, after a 
 moment's thought, in her sweet, kind voice, 
 she replied to him — " I am sure, dear Ever- 
 ard, I will think of you, and pray for you, 
 if it will make you happy ; but you know 
 you are not like poor Eobert ; and you must 
 not be angiy if I think most of him. Oh ! 
 Everard," she continued, clasping her hands 
 together, and for once speaking out all the 
 fears and troubles of her heart, " I am some- 
 times so frightened when I think — if Robert 
 should forget all that my uncle says, what 
 will become of him ? He is so good — so 
 good," she repeated fondly ; " but he does 
 forget. Will you think of him, dear Everard, 
 and remind him when he is far away ? " 
 
 " I will, if I can. But don't be afraid,
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 39 
 
 Hope. How can Robert forget, when he 
 thinks of you'^ Good-bye," and the hard- 
 featured boy stooped and kissed his young 
 cousin, with a mother's tenderness. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said softly, and held out 
 her hand again, before she glided away. 
 
 He stood looking after her, till the last 
 glimpse of her white dress disappeared from 
 the long corridor ; and when he returned to 
 his own room, a tear was on his lashes, and 
 an aching longing in his heart.
 
 40 THE TWO BROTHEKS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Her younger sister, that Speranza hight, 
 AVas clad in blue, that her beseemed well ; 
 Not all so cheerful seemed she of sight 
 As was her sister ; whether di'ead did dwell 
 Or auguish in her heart, is hard to tell. 
 Upon her arm a silver anchor lay, 
 Whereon she leaned ever, as befell, 
 And ever up to Heaven as she did pray, 
 Her steadfast eyes were bent, nor swerved other way. 
 * Spenser's Faery Queen. 
 
 Nearly four years more have come and 
 gone. Robert Vavasour is twenty-one. The 
 tale of these four years is an oft-told 
 tale. 
 
 During the first year of college life he 
 had been tolerably steady. The lingering 
 influences of his home, the companionship 
 of his brother, and the sincere wish to do
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 41 
 
 well, kept him, for the most part, in the right 
 track. In the second year he began to be 
 less anxious. Evil began to be familiar to 
 him. He fell into a gay and thoughtless set, 
 and found its charms seductive. His high 
 spirits, his ready wit, his unfailing good- 
 humour, and lavish generosity, made him a 
 desirable companion, and he was courted 
 with an assiduity that might have turned a 
 stronger head. For a time, days of remorse 
 succeeded his wrecks of thoughtless dissipa- 
 tion ; but remorse was distasteful, and he 
 endeavoured to escape from it. He began 
 to shun Everard, on whose example he 
 could not look without remorse. Tempta- 
 tions assailed him on all sides, and he 
 ceased to desire not to be led into temptation. 
 He w^as hurrpng along his dangerous way, 
 when, early in the third year, Mr. Vavasour 
 received a kind recommendation from an 
 old friend at Oxford, that he should be 
 withdrawn at once. There Avas no hope for 
 him, he said, where he was, and he might
 
 42 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 thus be saved from public disgrace. It was 
 done. His numerous debts were paid, and 
 he returned home. 
 
 It was a painful return. Robert was 
 smarting under a sense of unjust usage, and 
 was more rebellious than penitent. He had 
 done no more than others, so at least he felt, 
 and why w^as he to be disgraced. His state 
 of mind required judicious treatment, and 
 in this Mr. Vavasour failed. To deal judi- 
 ciously with the erring, justice is almost 
 more necessary than kindness. One degree 
 too much of condemnation and the good 
 influence is lost. To be perfectly just, it is 
 necessary to look on the fault, not through 
 the calm eyes of a mere observer, but with 
 the eyes of the erring and tempted them- 
 selves. Nothing, indeed, can to a sane and 
 right mind disguise the blackness of moral 
 ill ; yet perfect justice considers the circum- 
 stances of the offender, and allows a question 
 of more or less in guilt. 
 
 It was in this perfection of justice that
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 43 
 
 Mr. Vavasoui' failed. The word disgrace 
 was rankling in his heart ; the idol passion 
 blinded his eyes. He was not unkind to his 
 son. He loved him too deeply, his desire 
 for his welfare was far too intense for un- 
 kindness ; but he was severe. He did not, 
 like the father in the prodigal, go forth to 
 meet him ; but, while receiving him with 
 forgiveness, suffered him to feel the weight 
 of his displeasure. While pardoning the 
 offender, he looked with something of bitter 
 contempt on the offence, and Robert's quick 
 mind felt it, and it stung him. 
 
 The retnm home was painful, so painful, 
 that a long sojourn was not to be thought of. 
 In his father's presence, Robert's haughty 
 and rebellious spirit was, even against his 
 will, awed ; and the restraint was irksome. 
 With his mother and Hope he was full of 
 remorse, but what is so unendm^able as the 
 remorse that leads to no repentance. He 
 longed to make his escape ! While much 
 perplexed in mind regarding the destination
 
 44 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 of his son, Mr. Vavasour was applied to by 
 Bobert for permission to travel. He had 
 received an invitation from a young man of 
 his acquaintance a year or two younger than 
 himself, to accompany him and his tutor on 
 a tour of some length. Mr. Vavasour knew 
 nothing of the young man's family, but the 
 invitation was opportune, the tutor sounded 
 well, and in the few enquiries he had time 
 to make, he heard nothing to lead him to 
 refuse a permission earnestly sought. It was 
 given, and with it advice so touching in its 
 anxiety, and means so ample to secure his 
 improvement and enjoyment in the life before 
 him, that Eobert again left home, his heart 
 swelling with sorrow, love, and penitence. 
 But man's nature is not formed to bear a 
 repetition of the same excitements. Ex- 
 haustion is the necessary end of violent and 
 shortlived emotions. 
 
 Of Everard's college life there is little to 
 be said. Whatever the inner life might be, 
 the outer life, sober and industrious, fur-
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 45 
 
 nished no materials to tell a tale. Not to 
 disappoint his father. This had been the 
 influencing principle of his early days ; this 
 was the principle that carried him safely 
 through the snares of his opening youth. 
 He left college with a moral character on 
 which there rested no spot, and w^th a re- 
 putation, if not for genius, yet for sound 
 intellect and unconquerable energy. " You 
 may be proud of your son," were the words of 
 healing balm, which soothed Mr. Vavasour's 
 wounded spirit. On leaving college, Everard 
 went to London to study for the bar, and 
 read in the chambers of an eminent solicitor. 
 
 " No, Joan," said Mr. Vavasour, resolutely 
 though sadly, '' when my mind is made up 
 as to a duty, not even your wish can alter 
 iny determination." 
 
 It was a few days before Eobert's birthday 
 of twenty-one. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Vavasour were seated in the 
 study formerly mentioned. Mrs. Vavasour
 
 46 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 was sitting near her husband, her hands on 
 a small table placed between them, and a 
 look of imploring earnestness on her coun- 
 tenance. She was but little changed in the 
 three years that had passed ; there are some 
 hearts so hopeful that in them anxiety takes 
 the form of hope ; but her husband was much 
 changed. His complexion was paler, his 
 features sharper, his head more bowed. It 
 was easy to see that secret suffering was 
 undermining his strength, and slowly, but 
 surely bringing his grey hairs with sorrow 
 to the grave 
 
 " Then do not make it up too hastily," 
 was Mrs. Vavasour's reply, in a tone of 
 strong agitation ; " consider ^ 
 
 " I have considered. Ah ! Joan, have I 
 not had time to do it. If I saw in Eobert 
 one gi'ain of true repentance, I would be 
 the first to hail it, and honom' him with 
 the best honour I could shew ; but I know, 
 and you know, that there is no repentance 
 in him."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 47 
 
 There was no reply. After a short silence 
 Mr. Vavasour said more gently, " What have 
 you to urge that I have not already con- 
 sidered." 
 
 " Much," she said eagerly and tremulously. 
 " Let that honour he shown to Eohertin the 
 sight of your people, which he has not done 
 himself. From his earliest years you have 
 spoken of this day — your people have looked 
 to it as one of rejoicing — if you pass it now 
 in silence, you shame him ^vhom you wish 
 them to honour. If Eobert felt more fully 
 that their eyes were upon him, that after 
 you they look to him as their protector and 
 friend ; the weight of responsibility would 
 press upon him, and the shame of coming 
 short from the example of his father, would 
 make him strong. 
 
 She paused — the tremulous movements of 
 her husband's lips encouraging her to hope ; 
 but though agitated, there was no relenting ; 
 his voice, when it came, was low and stern. 
 
 " No Joan, it is not the vain honour of
 
 48 THE TWO BROTHERS* 
 
 false outward show that will brino- a shame- 
 less and degenerate son to reason." 
 
 " You speak too harshly of him," his 
 mother cried with earnest passion. 
 
 " Do I speak too harshly?" he said, and 
 the anguish of a wounded spirit was in his 
 tone, *' then listen Joan to these," and he 
 drew some letters from his pocket. " I would 
 have spared you the pain of hearing them." 
 
 *' Hope, my child," said Mrs. Vavasour 
 softly, putting out her hand to arrest her 
 husband, '' it will be best for you to leave 
 
 n 
 US. 
 
 Hope rose from her seat in one of the deep 
 recesses of the windows, but not to obey her 
 aunt. She came forward and laid her hands 
 on Mr. Vavasour's chair, " Are they about 
 Robert?" she asked ; " then let me stay." 
 
 Mrs. Vavasour hesitated and looked re- 
 luctant. 
 
 ** Better to know all," she pleaded, ear- 
 nestly, " than to dread too much." 
 
 ** Let her stay, Joan," Mr. Vavasour said
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 49 
 
 decidedly, and she stood leaning on his chair 
 while he read. 
 
 The first letter was from the family 
 solicitor, enclosing bills from some of 
 Robert's alarmed creditors, and requesting 
 in a formal style to know Mr. Vavasour's 
 pleasure on the subject. There was a second 
 letter from the same person. This was 
 written as a friend's, it informed him of some 
 facts which he had ascertained regarding 
 Robert's money transactions, and ofiered his 
 advice on the best manner of dealing with 
 them. A third letter was from a Mr. Perci- 
 val, an old friend of Mr. Vavasour's, resident 
 in London. It was written in the suppo- 
 sition that Mr. Vavasour was ignorant of 
 Robert's mode of life. He could not, he said, 
 neglect to give him the information ^lie 
 thought necessary, however painful it might 
 be. 
 
 Parts only of this letter were read aloud. 
 Mr. Vavasour hurried to the conclusion, 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 It was an earnest recommendation that 
 Eobert should be ordered to return home. 
 From some circumstances, the wTiter said, 
 which, owing to the intimacy of Eobert with 
 a nephew of his own, had come to his know- 
 ledge, he was convinced that he was suffer- 
 ing severely from the want of money ; and he 
 felt certain that this Avould be the moment 
 to induce him to make a full confession of 
 his difficulties, and to release him from the 
 snares in which he was entangled. 
 
 The letter was read with an unfaltering 
 voice ; but when he paused there was the 
 sadness of a breaking heart in the question, 
 '' Is this, Joan, a son to honour ?" 
 
 Mrs. Vavasour remained silent. Tears 
 of bitter sorrow were in her heart ; but not 
 one v/as permitted to start into her eyes, lest 
 the sioht of his mother's Pi'ief should add a 
 drop to the full cup of Eobert's condemna- 
 tion. 
 
 " You do not speak, Joan," her husband 
 said, regarding her steadfastly. *' Hope, my
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 51 
 
 child," and he passed his arm round her 
 waist, "am I not right ?" 
 
 " Perhaps," she said, softly, *' but dear 
 uncle Richard, you must not despair. Let 
 Robert come home ; he will yet be all you 
 wish." 
 
 " I will not despair," he replied, " if I 
 have strength. — God give me liope ! " 
 
 The passionate sorrow of this prayer broke 
 from him as if against his will. He drew 
 himself up sternly after it — whilst his wife, 
 imable any longer to battle with her tears, 
 withdrew to a distant part of the room. 
 
 Hope stooped and kissed his brow ; then 
 followed her aunt, to put her arms round her 
 neck, and whisper, " There is hope, indeed, 
 dear aunt Joan," and left the room. 
 
 For a time the husband and wife re- 
 mained in silence, and apart. At length 
 Mr. Vavasour rose and walked to the win- 
 dow, where the mother stood shedding, yet 
 concealing most bitter tears. 
 
 He looked at her for some moments, then 
 
 e2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUIiOi^
 
 52 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 he held out his hand to her and said, '' Joan, 
 forgive me now and henceforward, the pain 
 I may cause you for Robert's sake. You 
 think me harsh ; believe me, the pain you 
 feel lies deeper here !" and he laid his other 
 hand on his own breast. 
 
 With trembling lips and reverencing love 
 Mrs. Vavasom* kissed the hand extended to 
 her. No harshness on his part could for one 
 moment change her feelings towards him; 
 the bitterness of her grief was in the strife 
 of two loves equally idolizing, and the en- 
 deavour to think with blind partiality of the 
 actions of each. 
 
 Four days after this conversation, on the 
 eve of Robert's birthday, the 25th of August, 
 a post-chaise stopped at the lodge gate of 
 Audley Court* 
 
 The lodge on the London side was a mile 
 from the house. So soon as the chaise had 
 passed through the gate, a voice, loud and 
 impatient, called to the post-boy to stop
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 53 
 
 " Let us get out and walk," Eobert said, 
 restlessly addressing his brother. '^ I have 
 got to prepare myself for awful company, 
 and I can't do it, boxed up here." 
 
 The chaise was left ; and striking out of 
 the road, the brothers took their way across 
 the park. 
 
 Both were much changed in appearance": 
 and in Everard the change was all on the 
 right side. He was not handsome, but he 
 was no longer ugly. His figure, once strag- 
 gling and ungainly, had attained its due 
 proportions : and there was a certain grace of 
 strength about him which gave ease and 
 power to his movements. His features were 
 still too large and too strongly marked ; his 
 countenance, when in repose, still grave and 
 stem ; but his air was frank and simple, his 
 smile sweet, and the light of his dark-gi-ey 
 eyes so soft, that no harsh or repelling im- 
 pression was left on the mind. 
 
 As a boy, his appearance had been interest- 
 ing : in its improved state it wa.s more
 
 54 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 interesting. He was young — barely twenty — 
 and his body had all the activity and elasti- 
 city of youth ; but the expression of his 
 countenance was that of mature and ad- 
 vanced manhood. None could have heard 
 with surprise that he was thirty. This was 
 caused in a degree by his marked features ; 
 but it Avas far more the shining-out of the 
 mind within. The freshness of youth his 
 mind had in its tastes and fancies ; but the 
 tone of his feelings was that of comparative 
 age. None heard him speak, none looked 
 in his face without discovering that life had 
 been to him no flowerv wav, the fire of 
 temptation " no moist and whistling wind ;'' 
 that in his efforts not to disappoint his father, 
 he had learned by experience man s frailty ; 
 and that if he had been victorious in the end 
 the conflicts of the way had left no faint 
 traces on his character. 
 
 With Robert it was different; he, too, 
 was outwardly improved. From the crown 
 of his head to the sole of his foot there was
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 55 
 
 no blemish in him. His blue eye was darker 
 and brighter ; his raven hair more glossy and 
 cm'ling ; while the deeper hue of his com- 
 plexion, and the vigour and activity of his 
 limbs preserved him from that appearance of 
 effeminacy which too perfect beauty in a man 
 is apt to give. But with all these improvements 
 there was a painful change. It is sad to see 
 the freshness of youth obscured with worldly 
 cares ; it is sad to see its frank ingenuousness 
 troubled with w^orldly forethought ; but more 
 or less these things must happen ; and the 
 necessity causes sorrow rather than pain. In 
 Robert the change was a sadder and deeper 
 one. There was a reckless, restless light in 
 his eye which told a tale of dissipation ; of in- 
 nocence passing away ; of familiarity with vice ; 
 while a daring something in his manner, spoke 
 of conscience hardly dealt with — its efforts 
 resisted — its pleadings repelled and subdued. 
 He walked silently by Everard's side ; 
 but there was agitation in his deeds. His 
 foot trampled on every wild flower, and his
 
 56 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 cane switched oflP the head of many a young 
 springing plant. 
 
 At last he spoke, in a tone whose lightness 
 endeavoured to conceal a troubled mind. 
 " I wonder what reception I am likely to 
 meet. The ceremony will be an unpleasant 
 one, and I, for my part, would eschew it if I 
 could." 
 
 Everard was silent ; but not from indiffer- 
 ence. He was troubled with the same painful 
 feelings he had felt in his youth — almost a 
 disgust at his owti superior steadiness — 
 almost a longing to be as Robert was. 
 
 "Why don't you speak out, Everard?" 
 Eobert exclaimed, in an irritated manner ; 
 '' and why do you look so solemn? If you 
 know anything of the matter, say it at once ; 
 what am I to expect ?" 
 
 "I know nothing," he replied, with warmth, 
 " except that I am sorry you have any doubts. 
 My father and mother, you must know better 
 than I do, are longing for your return." 
 
 " Doubts ! I have some little reason to
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 57 
 
 have doubts. First, a bad conscience ; se- 
 condly, this letter received this morning. 
 Take it, and now tell me what I am to 
 expect. " 
 
 The letter contained a few lines from Mr. 
 Vavasom', apprising his son of his deter- 
 mination not to celebrate his coming of age. 
 It was wTitten with kindness and feeling, 
 but there was no attempt at disguising his 
 view of his conduct. Through every line, in 
 every expression, the broken heart revealed 
 itself. 
 
 Everard's blood mounted to his cheek as 
 he read ; and returning it to Robert, he said, 
 in strong emotion, " Oh ! Robert, how can 
 you bear thus to grieve my father ? I would 
 rather die than do it." 
 
 " So would I at this moment," Robert 
 said, agitatedly, " I wish I was dead this 
 moment, and buried in that ditch. And 
 yet," after an instant, he lightly added, as if 
 ashamed of the feeling he had shewn, * though
 
 58 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 it is as good as I deserve, I would, if I 
 might, bespeak a wholesomer grave." 
 
 '^ You can give more pleasure than ever 
 you have caused pain," burst from Everard's 
 lips. " Oh ! Eobert, be yourself! Do you 
 remember the night before we went to 
 college ? " 
 
 There was a visible struggle in Eobert's 
 countenance. It was evident that an eifort 
 was made to repress his better feelings ; but 
 partly shame, partly the very dread of his 
 rising penitence, fought with, and mastered 
 them. " I have a better memory than I 
 wish to have," he said, carelessly. " A good 
 memory is a good thing in some cases, but it 
 does not do for those who have a ghostlike 
 past to bring up at a moment's notice. Come, 
 Everard, let us leave this solemn talk ; you 
 were a good hand at vaulting once — let us 
 see if study has paralyzed your limbs." 
 
 He sprang lightly over a high fence, 
 calling to his brother to follow him. Everard
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 59 
 
 complied with equal success. " That's a 
 good fellow," Robert said, nodding his head 
 approvingly ; "I would as soon see a man a 
 woman, as a bookw^orm." 
 
 " There is Hope," Everard observed, after 
 a short silence. 
 
 '' AVhere ?" cried Robert, excitedly. " Ah ! 
 so she is, my good angel. Poor little Hope !" 
 he added, in a low voice and a tone of deep 
 feeling. " I shall never weary her out." But 
 the words were hardly said, before he resumed 
 his wild spirits ; and talking and laughing, 
 he went on to the spot where she stood. 
 
 She had seen them from her window, and 
 had hurried without her bonnet to a gate 
 which led from the pleasure grounds into the 
 park. There she paused ; the evening breeze 
 blowing about her golden curls, and a faint 
 colour of expectation on her cheek. 
 
 Hope w^as scarcely altered, except in 
 height, since her childhood. For this reason 
 she was more striking as a woman than she had 
 ])een as a child. Few preserve, even in early
 
 60 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 youth that soft and rounded grace which is the 
 charm of children's beauty ; fewer still carry 
 on to maturer years the ethereal, innocent 
 look which so many childi-en possess. In 
 both these respects Hope was unchanged. 
 She was now, at seventeen, singularly lovely ; 
 but it was a strange loveliness. Clothed, 
 indeed, in earthly form, but giving the idea 
 of pure spirit. 
 
 A peculiarity in the gi'owth of her hair 
 added to her uncommon and spiritual look. 
 Never since childhood had it increased in 
 leiiii'th or thickness, but was still like the 
 hair of a little girl — thin, fair, soft, and silky. 
 A few wavy curls hung about her face ; the 
 rest, without form or fashion, were gathered 
 up behind. This would rarely be a beauty, 
 yet it was a beauty in her. 
 
 Eobert approached ; Hope gazed at him 
 intently ; but before she spoke, he put his 
 arms round her and embraced her. He had 
 done so from earliest years ; and it was not 
 this that made her colour rise, and prompted
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 61 
 
 her, with a scarcely perceptible movement, to 
 shrink from him 
 
 The time was come when she must under- 
 stand what Robert was — when she must 
 understand and feel the tainted mind. Till 
 now evil had been to her but a name ; Robert's 
 misdoings but a multiplication of old youthful 
 offences ; a child herself, and Robert only 
 thoughtless in ill, she had never ^^^tfelt the 
 change. The knowledge came upon her, as 
 she met the first bright, daring glance of 
 his eye, and instinctively her spirit shrank 
 before it. 
 
 Robert had a quick and keen perception, 
 especially as regarded Hope's feelings towards 
 himself. He needed no words to tell him 
 what meant that gentle movement backwards ; 
 but he chose to interpret it otherwise, and 
 addressed her in a bantering tone, little cal- 
 culated to allay her fears. 
 
 *' What, Hope, are you growing shy of me ? 
 I don't mean to stand that, I can tell you —
 
 62 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 why, you are lovely ; " and he fixed his 
 admiring eye upon her : " prettier than 
 ever — I have seen nothing so pretty for 
 two long years. Come, Hope," and he 
 held out his hand again, "don't blush so. 
 You must learn to hear that you are pretty ; 
 you will hear it often, if you look as you do 
 to-day !" 
 
 And she did look strangely lovely, as she 
 stood — startled, _ grieved, perplexed ; her 
 colour rising higher and higher — something, 
 even of terror, at Eobert's bold, careless 
 tone, in her air. 
 
 And Kobert read every thought of her 
 heart — loved her for her shrinking — and yet 
 persisted in grieving her. 
 
 Hope's uneasiness was so visible, that 
 Everard approached to relieve her. He had 
 paused at a distance till now, contemplating 
 their meeting, with the intense longings 
 Hope's love for Eobert always excited in his 
 mind.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 63 
 
 *' You have not thought of me, Hope," he 
 said, with a smile. 
 
 At his words she withdrew from Eobert, 
 and turned to him ; and, as she received his 
 quiet, kind embrace, she raised her eyes to 
 his face. The clear, steadfast expression of 
 his countenance attracted her attention, as 
 it had never done before, and she stood 
 reofardino^ him in silence. 
 
 " Now, Hope, I am not going to allow 
 this !" Robert cried, as he again placed 
 himself at her side. " I am jealous ; and 
 have good right to be so. You never used 
 to make up to Everard in this way ; — come, 
 don t turn your head away," and he laid his 
 hand upon her arm ; '' don't you know that 
 it is a pleasure to me to look at you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Robert," she said, in a tone of 
 inexpressible pain. 
 
 " And why, oh! Robert; is it wrong to 
 be pretty ? and is it right to be blind ? Let 
 me tell you, Hope " 
 
 Some idle words were yet unspoken on his
 
 64 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 lips, when Mr. and Mrs. Vavasour appeared, 
 from the glass door of the study. Mr. 
 Vavasour was leaning on his wife's arm ; and 
 even in the distance his hngering, unsteady 
 steps were visible. It was nearly two years 
 since Eobert had seen him. The change 
 was, to his eyes, but too apparent. 
 
 His cheek grew suddenly as white as ashes ; 
 and the hand that lay on Hope's arm seized 
 her with a grasp of iron. 
 
 " Go to him at once, dear Eobert," she said, 
 softly and pit\ingly, " it will be far better." 
 
 But he put his finger on his lips to silence 
 her, and drew her back behind an evergreen. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Vavasom* passed on. They 
 had not perceived their sons' approach, and 
 were now taking their way along the broad 
 gravel walk that led to the avenue, to watch 
 for them. 
 
 Eobert waited till they were out of sight. 
 He then drew a deep breath, and in an 
 altered manner said, *' No, Hope, not yet ; 
 I am not fit to meet my father yet. Vile
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 65 
 
 wretch ! " he muttered, with a contracted 
 brow ; then added, aloud, " Wait for me 
 here — and w^hen I am fit to bear it, you 
 shall take me to him." With rapid steps he 
 hurried away in an opposite direction. 
 
 Hope stood looking after him — unutter- 
 able thoughts clouding her brow. 
 
 Everard approached her compassionately. 
 ** Dear Hope," he said, " do not look so sad, 
 it makes me miserable. Robert is not him- 
 self to day. Do not think he feels little — he 
 feels too much ; only he will not let us see 
 it." 
 
 " Oh ! Everard," she asked, laying her 
 hand on his arm, and looking up in his face, 
 " is all they say of Eobert true f ' 
 
 " Not all, but some," he replied, mth se- 
 rious truth. '* Robert has bad companions 
 and is easily led away. But there is no cause 
 for despair ; as surely as we stand here, 
 Eobert will be won back again." 
 
 " He speaks he never used to 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 (jQ THE TWO EHOTHERS. 
 
 speak as he does. What is it Everard; 
 what does he mean ?" 
 
 " You must not be too severe, Hope," 
 Everard said, with a smile. " Beauty is a 
 good thing, and it pleases Robert to see you 
 have it. Do not be angiy with him for 
 that." 
 
 " Not angry," she said, sadly. 
 
 " Nor grieved," he added with tenderness. 
 " Eobert loves you, and looks to you as his 
 guardian angel. He must not see you 
 afraid." 
 
 She looked in his face for a moment, as if 
 to receive some nevf idea from his words. 
 In that moment the impulsive desire of early 
 years changed to a living principle. She 
 would be his guardian angel — undaunted, un- 
 dismayed. She stood by Everard's side in 
 silence till Eobert returned. As soon as his 
 steps wTre heard, she went forward to meet 
 him. 
 
 Everard left them together, and went 
 towards the house. He shortlv saw his
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 67 
 
 father and motlier retui-ning, and went back 
 to give notice. One glance shewed Robert 
 changed ; it was as if something had fallen 
 from him — so utterly had the bold and daring 
 air vanished. The old Robert was there, 
 with all his excellent nature shining in his 
 face. 
 
 " Go on, Everard, there's a good fellow, 
 and lead the way. Hope and I will come 
 after you." He spoke without agitation. A 
 softened humility had taken the place of fear. 
 
 Everard obeyed, and hastened onwards. 
 His father met him as he was ever wont to 
 do. A greeting, cordial though quiet; a 
 smile, faint but expressive ; an eye of full 
 trust, gi'atitude, and hope ; and the greeting 
 ever repaid Everard for every effort and 
 every struggle. With his mother it was 
 otherwise ; even while her arm was round 
 his neck, and her lips touched his cheek, he 
 could see and feel the eye straining onwards 
 in search of another ; it was but natural, for 
 Robert's had been a long absence ; but with 
 
 f2
 
 68 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 a throb of jealous pain he almost longed 
 again to have returned as a penitent. 
 
 They walked on a few steps : till, suddenly, 
 from a narrov/ path, Eohert appeared. 
 
 He paused, to await his father's will. 
 That will was to receive him with more 
 than kindness. The violence he had done 
 to his own and to his wife's feelings, in his 
 resolution respecting Robert's birthday, had 
 changed and softened Mr. Vavasour, pro- 
 ducing an earnest desire to atone for his 
 determination : but even if unprepared for 
 kindness, no heart could have resisted the 
 charm of Robert's penitence. No pride or 
 false shame stood in the way ; no reserve or 
 affectation marred the truth of his humility. 
 
 Mr. Vavasour hesitated not a moment ; 
 but with a smile, sweet in its invitingness, 
 stretched out his hand. 
 
 Robert's agitation became violent, but he 
 struggled to speak. "Father," he said, 
 tremulously, "you have forgiven me many 
 times, but I am come for forgiveness again.'
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 69 
 
 " And you have it fully and freely," his 
 father said, in his feeling voice. " God bless 
 you my boy, and make you strong. Here, 
 Joan," he added, turning to his wife, and 
 placing Robert's hand in hers, " I will not 
 keep him from you ; though he knows 
 already," and ho faintly smiled, " that he 
 has your blessing." 
 
 He then put his hand in Everard's arm, 
 and walked on. He felt that pain in ex- 
 cited feeling which strong natures often do. 
 He passed his hand over his eyes, as if to 
 still himself. When he withdrew it he 
 perceived Hope also at his side. 
 
 " You were right to hope, my child," he 
 said, gently touching her shoulder, " Kobert 
 may do us honour yet." 
 
 She smiled as she looked in his face. 
 The smile was such as we may fancy on an 
 angel's countenance, when there is joy in 
 Heaven over the lost and found.
 
 70 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 See wliere lie sits, contemplative and fixed ! 
 Pleasure and wonder in liis features mixed ; 
 His passions tamed, and all at liis control, 
 How perfect the composure of his soul ! 
 Complacency Las breathed a gentle gale 
 O'er all his thoughts, and swell'd his easy sail. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 We must now go backwards for a few 
 years, to make acquaintance with, and fol- 
 low, some new characters ; until their his- 
 tory (within two months of Eohert's coming 
 of age) becomes linked with those to whom 
 we are already known. 
 
 Before a blazing fire, in a large drawdng 
 room in Portland Place, a gentleman stood 
 alone. 
 
 It was seven o'clock ; and he was awaiting
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 71 
 
 the arrival of a number of guests invited to 
 a dinner-party. The room was splendidly 
 furnished. The massy frames of the mirrors 
 seemed drooping under the weight of their 
 magnificence ; the stiff, rich damask of the 
 furniture seemed to repel ^Aith scorn the 
 idea of repose. One glance around the room 
 proclaimed that the owner was rich, and 
 that his riches were by no means distasteful 
 to him. 
 
 It was the o\\Tier who stood warming 
 himself on the hearth. He was a hand- 
 some man, and there was none of the vul- 
 garity of his mansion in his air. His figure 
 was tall; his features good, and though 
 their natural expression was inanimate and 
 pompous, the light of an intense self-com- 
 placency shone upon them from within, 
 and gave them intelligence. In this self-com- 
 placency there was, however, no appearance 
 of vanity or conceit ; it was something so 
 simple and truthful as to give almost an air 
 of bonhommie to his demeanour.
 
 72 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 As was the outward, so was the inward 
 man. Mr. Gresham was a banker, pos- 
 sessed of large and increasing riches ; and 
 to these riches his heart was given. But, in 
 him, wealth was not a sordid passion. He 
 could be generous and lavish ; he could 
 give in charity, or assist struggling merit. 
 If he was without warmth, he had kindli- 
 ness. But all he did proceeded from one 
 somxe. He lived in the eyes of the world. 
 To show was his delight. As things 
 shoioed, according to their degree of merit 
 in that respect, so were they valued. This, 
 perhaps, is no very uncommon quality; but 
 there was something uncommon in the open 
 simplicity with which his views were 
 avowed. He had no concealments about 
 it. His opinions were, in his eyes, as wise 
 as they were cherished ; and with perfect 
 truth he expressed them. Like Mr. Bye- 
 Ends, in the " Pilgrim's Progress," he would 
 have said, with unhesitating satisfaction, 
 *' I am always most zealous for religion
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 73 
 
 when he goes in silver slippers ; and love 
 much to walk with him in the street, when 
 the sun shines, and the people applaud 
 him." This truthfulness redeemed his cha- 
 racter from common-place worldliness ; for 
 where an amused smile is caused scorn is 
 disarmed. 
 
 He now stood and gazed around him with 
 a satisfied air. The room was over-lighted, 
 if that is possible ; the masses of gilding 
 shone like pure gold ; every article of furni- 
 ture was profusely ornamented; and every 
 article, and every ornament, had a double 
 beinof in the lioht of the numerous mirrors. 
 He was satisfied : not a fault was to be 
 found. The eyes of the world would own, 
 not only his wealth, but, what was more 
 precious, how lavishly he spent it. 
 
 The door opened, and a lady entered ; a 
 pretty yoimg woman, of about six-and- 
 twenty; but, though pretty, very unlike 
 Mr, Grcsham or his room. She was ill-
 
 74 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 dressed ; walked ill ; and seemed altogether 
 ill at ease. This was Mrs. Gresham. 
 
 A slight frown contracted Mr, Gresham's 
 brow, as she made her approach. His wife 
 was the one thing that disturbed his com- 
 fort. Not that he was an unkind husband 
 — in his way he had a real affection for her— 
 but she offended his taste. There was no 
 show about her. Even her prettiness had 
 no show. She made no use of it. 
 
 There had been a time when his riches 
 had not seemed so secure a possession as of 
 late they had been ; a time when, without 
 any worldly desires, so, at least, it seemed 
 to him, it was his duty to secure cer- 
 tain sums, over which the chances of life 
 would have no power. At that time he 
 married the pretty daughter of a millionaire, 
 who had but lately struggled up into the 
 eyes of the world ; and who was, therefore, 
 not aware of all that those eyes would de- 
 mand from his children. Mr. Gresham
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 75 
 
 knew all the disadvantages under which his 
 chosen one laboured, fie knew she was 
 uneducated ; he saw that she had no grace 
 or accomplishment. But she w^as young 
 and pretty, simple and docile ; whatever 
 fancy he had was taken by her fresh beauty, 
 and her grateful admiration of himself ; and 
 the rest he thought might be given. She 
 only wanted an air, and a becoming sense 
 of dignity to make her all he desired, and 
 when once his wife, that would be an easy 
 acquisition. 
 
 Unfortunateiv, or fortunatelv, as the case 
 may be, there are some natures on which even 
 the best instructions will not tell. After nine 
 years of married life, after instruction and 
 example, notwithstanding a blind admira- 
 tion of her husband's superiority, and an in- 
 tense desire to please him, Mrs. Gresham 
 remained unchanged. Simple and docile, 
 still, imgraceful and ill-dressed. Advancing 
 years cultivated unconsciously the inner and 
 moral being. She became more gentle,
 
 76 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 loving, truthful, and refined ; but she could 
 not, with her best endeavour, learn worldli- 
 ncss ; she could not be a fine lady ; she could 
 not understand her own dignity, or learn to 
 have one thought of herself; it w^as a bad 
 job, and Mr. Gresham owned it. On that 
 one point his complacency was vulnerable. 
 Untired, however, and undismayed, he per- 
 sisted in his instructions, and Mrs. Gresham 
 in her endeavour to learn. 
 
 With a scrutinizing air he inspected her 
 this day, as she advanced towards him. It 
 was a first dinner party in a new house 
 All things shewed well. He expected his 
 wife to do the same. 
 
 ** My dear Marianne," he exclaimed, in 
 grave displeasure, " your gown is shabby ! 
 What is the cause ?" 
 
 *^ Is it shabby ? " she said, colouring with 
 penitence and regi^et, '' I thought it was 
 pretty. I thought it w^ould do." 
 
 '* Would do," he repeated, in calm con- 
 tempt. " Once more, Marianne, let me
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 77 
 
 remind you that I choose to see you dressed 
 as becomes your station. Look here," and 
 he drew her towards one of the long mir- 
 rors, " ask yourself — is such a dress as this 
 becoming the mistress of these apartments ? 
 You might be my housekeeper — scarcely my 
 governess — never my wife." 
 
 He was quite right. Her dress was not 
 becoming her station. Though composed of 
 silk — and perhaps good silk — it was faded, 
 tumbled, tastelessly trimmed, and badly put 
 on. The poor thing coloured crimson 
 again. She did feel out of place — she 
 owned it. 
 
 '' I am very sorry," she said gently, '^ I 
 will order a new gown to-morrow." 
 
 " Not one new gown : order many. It 
 is a remarkable thing that while most men 
 complain of the extravagance of their wives, 
 I cannot get mine to dress with decency. 
 If, as some husbands do, I ordered you to 
 dress, and gave you no means of doing so, 
 it might be a different question ; but how
 
 78 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 is it with me ? I say, go where you please, 
 spend what you please, and command me. 
 It is my pride and delight to put myself at 
 your orders." ' His coimtenance glowed with 
 satisfaction at his boundless liberality. 
 
 " You are very kind," his wife said, hum- 
 bly and gratefully. " I wish I deserved it 
 better." 
 
 There w^as a knock at the door ; a " Come 
 in," from Mr. Gresham ; and a little girl, 
 freeing herself from the hands of her nurse, 
 bounded into the room. 
 
 *' Come here, Angela," said her father. 
 But the child did not notice him. ' ' Mamma, 
 mamma, dear mamma !" she cried, and spring- 
 ing to her mother's neck, clasped her arms 
 about her, to the further detriment of the 
 toilette. 
 
 " Come to me, Angela — come when I call 
 you," Mr. Gresham repeated. 
 
 ** I choose to stay with mamma," she 
 replied wilfully, and retained her place. 
 
 " You must not, my darling," her mother
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS." 79 
 
 murmured in her ear. *' Papa calls — to 
 please me, go." 
 
 After a little consideration, Angela obeyed. 
 She approached her father, and stood coldly 
 and quietly by his side. 
 
 ** I want to look at you," he said, twdsting 
 her round, and examining her dress. After 
 a moment he added, with dissatisfaction, 
 ^* You look after her dress no better than 
 your own, Marianne. Let her have silk 
 frocks, I am tired of this muslin. Every 
 pauper can wear muslin." 
 
 *' Angela does not like silk," observed his 
 wife. 
 
 " Folly and nonsense, to talk of a child's 
 taste. What can she know of the matter ? 
 I beg I may be obeyed." 
 
 " I won't have silk. I don't like it," the 
 little girl said, vehemently ; " it rustles so, 
 and it makes Margaret tiresome. She tells 
 me to be still and to mind my frock, and I 
 don't like it. I don't like to take care — " 
 
 " Quite right, my little girl," cried her
 
 80 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 father, delighted, '' why should you take 
 care ? Tell Margaret not to talk nonsense. 
 Tell her you may spoil as many frocks as you 
 please, and that I don't want you to take 
 care." 
 
 " But may I, really ? " and Angela looked 
 for an answer to her mother. 
 
 ''You may, indeed ; you have my leave 
 for it. You shall have new silk frocks, and 
 you may spoil them all as fast as you please." 
 
 ",And you must give the old ones to Mar- 
 garet's poor little nieces," suggested the 
 kind mother — unconsciously dropping her 
 halm into the poison of his words. 
 
 " Oh ! mamma, may I indeed spoil my 
 things as fast as I can ? May I hlow bub- 
 bles with my best fi'ocks on ; and may I dig 
 a hole, and fill it with water ; and may 
 Margaret never tell me not to make a mess 
 again ? Oh ! what fun it will be ! " and 
 she clapped her hands in rapture. 
 
 The trio were interrupted by the entrance 
 of the first guest. It was a lady — and a fine
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 81 
 
 one, with a languid voice. After paying 
 due attention to her host and hostess, she 
 called Angela to her side. 
 
 " Come here, my sweet child, and tell me 
 what will be good fun." 
 
 But Angela stood immoveable. She had 
 strong tastes ; and, at first sight, this lady 
 displeased her. 
 
 " She is to have as many silk frocks as 
 she pleases," her father observed, taking her 
 reluctant hand, and leading her, mute and 
 rigid, to his guest. 
 
 '' Dear, how^ nice," said the lady, caress- 
 ingly, " and what a lucky little mortal you 
 are. My chicks will be so jealous ; for they 
 have but one or two silk frocks in a year." 
 
 '* But I hate silk frocks !" Angela burst 
 out vehemently ; '' and I didn't say it would 
 be good fun to have them ; and papa 
 shouldn't have said I did, because it was a 
 story." 
 
 Mr. Gresham laughed. His little girl's 
 ways did not displease him. She was not, 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 indeed, what he intended her to be; but, 
 at present, she fulfilled the object of life 
 tolerably well ; she attracted that is, her 
 due degree of attention. 
 
 " Hush, my love," said her gentle mother, 
 drawing her back, and seating her beside 
 her, " that is not the right way to speak ;" 
 but the soft stroke of her curls, and the 
 gentle touch on her fair, fat shoulders, spoke 
 no lesson of displeasure. 
 
 She sat quietly while the party assembled. 
 She was a lovely and a taking child, with a 
 Hebe countenance of health and animation ; 
 and many were the attentions and compli- 
 ments she received. But she was as capri- 
 cious as a spoiled beauty in her choice. 
 This night the party was not to her taste, 
 and she made no concealment of her feelings. 
 
 An old gentleman wT.tched her with 
 amusement, and ha\ing seen her repulse 
 with disdain the caresses of three good- 
 looking young gentlemen and as many 
 young ladies, who concealed their inward
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 83 
 
 merits under overmuch outward airs and 
 graces, approached her to try his chance. 
 
 " May I kiss you ?" he said, stooping to- 
 wards her, '* I should rather like it." 
 
 " Margaret does not like everybody to 
 kiss me," she said, loftily, '' but you may ;" 
 and she put up her blooming cheek to re- 
 ceive his caress. 
 
 " You are very kind to me," he said, 
 seating himself by her side, with a smile, 
 " and now will you tell me why you are 
 kinder to me than to those young gentle- 
 men yonder ?" 
 
 ** Because I like you best," she said 
 readily. 
 
 " That is being very good-natured ; par- 
 ticularly, as you don't know anything about 
 me. Do you know it makes me such a vain 
 old man, that I must ask you the reason 
 why?" 
 
 *' I like mamma twenty times better than 
 papa," was Angela's not very pertinent 
 answer. 
 
 g2
 
 84 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 " Oh !" he observed, not quite certain 
 how this confidence should be received. 
 *' But I was not talking about your papa 
 and mamma. I was talking about number 
 one. Why do you like me ? Is it because 
 I have got a bald head, and an old coat, and 
 no gloves, and a face all smothered in 
 wrinkles," and he screwed up his features 
 into a ridiculous caricature of aofe. 
 
 ** Yes, yes !" Angela cried ^Yith delight, 
 '' that is why I like you best." 
 
 *' Then I need not do so any more, to 
 please young ladies ;"' and he drew down his 
 nose and forehead till the wrinkled skin 
 looked like a pavement. 
 
 Angela screamed, and clapped her hands ; 
 but seeing that she was noticed, and that 
 one of the good-looking young gentlemen 
 was moving towards her, she drew herself 
 up, and became as cold and demure as a mo- 
 ment before she had been animated and gay. 
 
 The old man smiled at her youthful airs, 
 and fell into a reverie.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 85 
 
 In tlie dining-room he managed to place 
 himself by Mrs. Gresham's side. He had 
 an interest in the family, and some sleeping 
 interest in the banking-house to which Mr. 
 Gresham belonged ; but ill health kept him 
 generally abroad. 
 
 " I have been talking to that little lady of 
 yours," he observed ; when she relaxed her 
 painful endeavours to play the lady of the 
 house to a stranger at her side. 
 
 With cordiality and gratitude she turned 
 to him at once. " I saw you and Angela 
 making acquaintance ; it was very kind of 
 you. I am afraid she was not very good to 
 night ; but we must not expect too much. 
 She is so young." 
 
 " She was quite good enough for me," he 
 said, emphatically. "I am not fond of 
 over sweet sugar-plums. She is the kind of 
 animal — I beg her pardon — that I like to 
 have to do with ; full of life and character. 
 What is her name ?" 
 
 •' An^^ela. She was called so after Mr.
 
 86 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Gresham's grandmother, who was, I believe, 
 a very beautiful woman." 
 
 " She is badly named. There is nothing 
 of the angel about her." 
 
 " You must not judge of her by to-night," 
 Mrs. Gresham said, with anxiety, " indeed 
 you must not. She was a little annoyed 
 before you came, and she did not quite re- 
 cover herself; but she is a good child in 
 general ; indeed she is !" 
 
 " My dear Madam," he said, with an im- 
 patient smile, " I can see that ; a good child 
 in her way, but no angel, nor w^ould I wish 
 to have her so. I hope some time to find 
 the angels good company ; but while I am a 
 human being, human beings suit best with 
 my infirmities. Miss Angela is a human 
 being, and one which I fancy may some day 
 give you a good deal of trouble." 
 
 The fond and simple mother again began 
 her protestations and apologies; but they 
 were received as if they were not heard, 
 " I don't know if you find it so," he con-
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 87 
 
 tinued, in a thoughtful tone, ** but some 
 people set me thinking. I cannot help 
 picturing what their life and trials may be ; 
 that little lady of yours, for instance. As I 
 watched her, my fancy went on into future 
 days, days when questions of marrying and 
 giving in marriage may arise. There will 
 be trouble, I guess. She has a will of her 
 own, and a rarer acquisition, opinions of her 
 o^n : and in some cases this is not verv 
 convenient." 
 
 " Angela may be a little wilful, perhaps," 
 said her mother, " but she is so affectionate 
 and so generous, that it is always a pleasure 
 to her to give up her will for those she loves." 
 
 *' That's something — cultivate that ; your 
 little girl's safeguard will be in teaching her 
 to love wisely and well. She needs education, 
 let me tell you ; not book-learning, but some- 
 thing to guide her good, wild heart. You 
 must give her an anchor to rest upon ; that 
 life's trials may soften, not break her spirit." 
 
 " We all have our trials," observed Mrs,
 
 88 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Gresham, quietly, '' please God, Angela may 
 not have a large share." 
 
 *' Amen, with all my heart. She is a taking 
 little thing, and though I shall not probably 
 live to see it, will be a lovely and interesting 
 woman. If I held the thread of her destiny, 
 I would spin her a full yarn without a knot 
 or tangle in it. But after all this might not 
 be for her good ; and so w^e must be content 
 to leave her in wiser hands than ours, for her 
 pilgrimage through this sweet yet weary 
 world." Perceiving that his conversation was 
 little better than Greek to his simple hostess, 
 the old man here paused, and the subject 
 was changed. 
 
 Angela Gresham grew up. 
 
 Mr. Gresham was certainly unfortunate 
 in the soil committed to his care and hus- 
 bandry. He scattered his good seed as 
 laboriously and unceasingly on the heart of 
 his daughter as he had done on that of his 
 wife, but with even less success. Mrs. 
 Gresham received, and cherished the seed,
 
 THE TWO BKOTHERS, 89 
 
 and it was no fault of hers that it withered 
 and died. Angela, like the hard and 
 beaten wayside, stubbornly rejected it. 
 
 Mr. Gresham had an ideal in his head : 
 and to this ideal his daughter w^as to be 
 formed. She was to be polished in manner, 
 easy in conversation — a well-bred, well- 
 dressed, sho\^T and accomplished woman. 
 To attain this object, no expense was spared. 
 The • all-importance of the world's opinion 
 w^as held up unceasingly to her view ; and 
 father, mother, and teachers, all united in their 
 endeavours, to season her impressible mind 
 with vain-glory and self-conceit. 
 
 But all in vain. To learn, indeed, Angela 
 submitted with a good grace, for she had an 
 inquiring and intelligent mind ; but she 
 learned for the pleasure of learning, and 
 rebelliously refused to exhibit, or even to 
 make the best of her attainments. With 
 quick intuition, she perceived her father's 
 love for the world's estimation : and she early 
 took the world to her utter scorn. Her
 
 90 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 father cared for the world's words— she held 
 all opinions in contempt. 
 
 There is always something noble in the 
 eyes that look right through the shows of 
 things, and are unsatisfied till the reality is 
 found ; but scorn of the world's ways, when 
 held as a principle, is unsafe. A very host 
 of rebellious and bitter thoughts Angela 
 cherished in her breast, and in her scorn of 
 show, many a wise restraint was cast away. 
 
 If left to herself, and to her father's in- 
 fluence, she might possibly have grown up, 
 in spite of a truthful and virtuous nature, 
 an unpleasing woman ; but there was a 
 counter influence at work, not the less power- 
 ful that it was unconscious. 
 
 Mrs. Gresham did her best, employed the 
 full purpose of her mind to act with her 
 husband, and ruin her daughter. Conscious 
 of her own deficiencies, she contemplated 
 with admiration those outward gTaces her 
 husband approved, and assisted in all his 
 attempts to turn a natural character into an
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 91 
 
 artificial one. This was what she endea- 
 voured to do ; but the unconscious influence, 
 be it good or bad, is the active one. Soft 
 as the falling of the dew on a tender herb, 
 fell the influence of the mother's unworldly 
 nature on the daughter's impressible mind. 
 Too simple for systems, too unreflective for 
 principles, Mrs. Gresham could not teach 
 didactically, even the first elements of reli- 
 gious knowledge ; but there is a natural 
 religion of the heart which nothing can 
 conceal ; and humility, charity, and reverence 
 flowed with never-ceasing flow from her 
 thoughts, words, and actions. 
 
 In early days this influence was apparently 
 without effect. Angela was a rebellious 
 child ; and her self-willed spirit startled her 
 father and grieved her mother. To the 
 latter, indeed, she was gentle, and though 
 not submissive, loving ; but her father 
 she did not love ; his ways she thwarted 
 and opposed ; and many a tear Mrs. 
 Gresham shed in secret, as the clash of
 
 92 THE TWO BROTHERS, " 
 
 opposing characters brought discord into her 
 home. But then came a time of bitter 
 trial ; and with tibial, reflection and remem- 
 brance. Mrs. Gresham died — the only being 
 Angela loved. It seemed a hard deprivation ; 
 it seemed a loss as severe to her well- 
 being, as to her happiness. Influenced only 
 by love, stubborn to restraint, the loss of 
 love seemed a loss irreparable. So man 
 argues. So it seemed wise to argue ; but 
 this was not the only case in which man's 
 arguments prove fallacious. Some influence 
 more in death or absence than in presence ; 
 it was so with Mrs. Gresham. The dead 
 mother guided where the living could not. 
 Alive, Angela with her superior cleverness 
 was the victor in every argument ; dead, her 
 mother's least remembered word vanquished 
 her. Alive, example failed ; the gentle 
 submission of the wife to the husband 
 irritated the daughter's soul ; dead, Angela 
 recalled, only to love that gentleness ; and 
 perforce was di*awn to imitate. Alive, Mrs.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 93 
 
 Gresham was no bond between the father 
 and daughter ; dead, she became so : for each 
 in their measure mourned her, and in that 
 sympathy found a kindred nature. Mr. 
 Gresham loved his wife as much as he loved 
 anybody, and grieved for her as much as he 
 could grieve. It was not great, but in its 
 measure it was sincere grief. He com- 
 forted himself by the splendour of her 
 funeral ; but the gaudy trappings of woe 
 were not all show. A sad heart beat 
 beneath. Angela's grief was wild, ardent, 
 undisciplined ; it was the loss of all to her ; 
 she was disposed to think that none grieved, 
 iione could mourn but her; but when, with 
 a real tear in his eye, and a real tremble in 
 his voice, her father told her to take her 
 mother's place, she owned the reality of his 
 sorrow, and a link, slight indeed, yet still a 
 link, was knit between them. 
 
 Angela was fifteen when her mother died. 
 From that time her character grew in 
 various directions. Like a tree that has
 
 94 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 lost its leader, her branches fell luxuriantly, 
 but irregularly — producing a kind of pic- 
 turesqueness on the whole, yet being not the 
 less irregular. Something she lost in strength, 
 much she gained in amiableness ; self-will 
 was still dominant, but it was no longer sole 
 lord. She wished to please herself, and 
 scorned most opinions but her own ; but she 
 also wished to be like her mother ; she 
 wished to be, for her sake, a tolerable 
 daughter to her father ; she wished also 
 passionately, yet vaguely, to be good, and to 
 follow her mother on the path to heaven. 
 These opposing wishes, this strife of good 
 principles, with faults and caprices, mad^ 
 her a mass of inconsistencies — and incon- 
 sistency is childish. She was sometimes like 
 a woman, and sometimes a fooKsh child. 
 More childish at sixteen than at ten, 
 because more inconsistent.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 95 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 ... As a child 
 She still was simple, rather shall I say 
 More simple than a cliild, as being lost 
 In deeper admirations and desires. 
 The roseate richness of her childish bloom 
 Remain'd, but by inconstancies and change 
 Referr'd itself to sources passion-swept. 
 
 Eve oe the CoFQrEST. 
 
 On the sofa of the small drawing-room of 
 a small house, on the road to Hampstead, 
 lay a lady, of some age between fifty and 
 sixty. Her appearance was sickly and 
 shabby — such, also, was the appearance of 
 the room ; but it was a shabbiness of taste 
 more than of necessity. There is a hue in 
 every colour, too full to be delicate, and too 
 pale to be decided, which good taste avoids ; 
 but it was this tone of colom* which nature
 
 96 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 had bestowed on Miss Price ; and which she, 
 following nature, chose for the adornment of 
 her room and person. Her hair was a dull, 
 dark flaxen ; her complexion a sallow grey ; 
 her gown a muddy brown ; her furniture a 
 sickly blue. Her countenance was as insipid 
 as her taste, devoid of character, and devoid 
 of intellect ; nevertheless, when closely scru- 
 tinized, it was not devoid of a certain charm, 
 — it was gentle and patient ; and her smile, 
 the smile of a grateful and affectionate heart, 
 had the power to light up and dignify her 
 face. She was now lying on the sofa, with a 
 shawl of salmon-colour over her feet, and a 
 piece of sickly worsted- work in her hands. 
 
 At a little distance from her, her two 
 arms leaning on a table, was a figure of a 
 very different appearance. She was a young 
 lady, healthful and lovely, and with no 
 lack of taste or decision about her. The 
 smoothness and roundness of her dazzling 
 complexion, and the freshness of her air, be- 
 tokened very early youth, sixteen or seventeen
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 97 
 
 at the utmost ; but in other respects her 
 appearance was womanly. The silk of her 
 dress and the costly lace on her cloak were 
 in a style uncommon to young ladies in 
 general ; and the ease and decision of her 
 graceful figure seemed the acquirement of 
 maturer years. 
 
 She was lovely rather than beautiful* 
 Her hazel eyes bright and piercing; her 
 auburn hair soft and silky ; her colouring 
 full and fresh. It was the beauty of anima- 
 tion and colour more than of feature : though 
 it would have been hard to fancy a time 
 when her countenance would cease to 
 please. 
 
 At this moment there was discontent and 
 dissatisfaction upon it ; but it sat upon her 
 with an air of piquancy. Her bonnet was 
 thrown oif ; and as she pushed back her long- 
 thick curls from her face, she said, " My dear 
 aunt Jane, the fact is, this life is a very 
 weary life." 
 
 " I don't find it so, my dear," replied her 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 aunt, while with a look of interest she pulled 
 out a needleful of olive-green worsted. 
 
 '' And what makes you not find it so ? 
 Tell me, for it is what I cannot understand." 
 
 " The many things I have to be thankful 
 for," and she put down her work, in grateful 
 reverence to the words she said. 
 
 " You; — poor aunt Jane, and what have 
 you to be thankful for ?" 
 
 " My sight, my hearing, my tolerable 
 health, my food and clothing, and your love 
 my dear, besides many other things, which 
 it would take me a long time to tell." 
 
 '' In that view, I suppose I have things to 
 be thankful for too — but I can't say I feel it.'* 
 
 '' You have of course, my love, and many 
 more than I have ; you have youth and beauty, 
 and riches " 
 
 '' Ah ! now^," said the young lady, de- 
 cidedly, '^ stop there — don't say riches ; the 
 Bible says that money is the root of all evil, 
 and I think so too." One day I heard a little 
 boy in the street say, * hang larning ;' I don't 
 exactlv know what he meant ; but since then
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 99 
 
 I sometimes say ' hang riches/ and it gives 
 me pleasm'e." 
 
 " My love," said her amit, with a look of 
 sincere consternation, " do you know that is 
 a very improper way of speaking !" 
 
 '' Don't look so shocked, my dear aunt 
 Jane, I mean no harm. I only mean that I 
 wish all bags of gold w^ere wound round with 
 a rope, and chucked into the sea." 
 
 ^' Money is a very useful thing. I don't 
 mean to say, my love," Miss Price added, 
 with some perplexity, *'that money is 7ioi 
 the root of evil — of course not ; but it is a 
 useful thing, and we ought to try to do good 
 with it." 
 
 '' Do you know what makes me out of 
 temper to-day?" the young lady said, with 
 out attending to her aunt's musings, " I mean 
 especially out of temper — more than usual.'' 
 *' You look very nice, my love," she replied 
 fondly, putting down her worsted to examine 
 her niece's countenance. 
 
 " But cross. Look acfain.'' 
 
 n 2
 
 100 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 " You do frowai, my love, certainly, but 
 you don't mean it, I know." 
 
 '' But I do mean it, and I must tell you 
 why. Aunt Jane, did you ever wish to 
 many ?" 
 
 " My love, my love," she said, fluttered 
 and bemldered at the sudden question. 
 
 " Don't answer me, if you don't like it," 
 said her niece, kindly, " all I want to be sure 
 of is, that you can imderstand me when I ask 
 vou, \i you could submit to marry anybody 
 that was picked out for you, however little 
 you cared for him." 
 
 " My love," replied her aunt, humbly, " I 
 think I would rather not give an opinion on 
 such subjects. My head is not particularly 
 strong." 
 
 "To be bought and sold like a piece of 
 land. I never, never will submit to it ; and 
 yet I don't well know how it is to be avoided." 
 
 " God will provide, dearest — we need not 
 fret ourselves about our future lives." 
 
 "I see people bought and sold with my
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 101 
 
 own eves,"' said the younf]^ lady with ve- 
 hemence. *' This is a vile world I live in. 
 There is not one person in all the world that 
 I look up to and respect ; and yet, unless I 
 respect, I never, never will marry : that is, so 
 long as I can struggle against it." 
 
 ^' Certainly, my love ; to esteem is the 
 safest way ; for we cannot esteem bad people, 
 you know." 
 
 ^* Very true. Aunt Jane," said her niece, 
 smiling ; " but now let me tell you what has 
 put me out of temper. Papa sent for me, 
 yesterday morning, to speak to me. I went 
 down to his room, and he told me two 
 things. First, he told me a thing that 
 made me veiy happy. He told me that he 
 had bought a large property, and that 
 henceforward w^e should live a great part of 
 the year in the country." 
 
 " That will be nice, indeed, my love ! 
 You will see all the flowers, and hear the 
 birds sing." 
 
 '' Yes, and be free, Aunt Jane. If v 
 
 ou
 
 102 THE TWO BROTHEllS. 
 
 knew liow I sometimes long to be free ! I 
 was so pleased that I said so, and thanked 
 papa, and behaved like a very good, amiable 
 daughter. And when he said he hoped as 
 he had pleased me in this that I should be 
 more obedient in future, and conform my- 
 self to his wishes, I said — Oh, yes, I would, 
 indeed ; — and I really meant and felt what I 
 said : and then what do you think he said 
 next ?" 
 
 '' Now you frown again, my love, and I 
 am sorry to see it." 
 
 " He said the time would soon be 
 approaching when he should wish me to 
 marry ; and that he hoped when the proper 
 person appeared that I should behave my- 
 self as a dutiful daughter ought. My dear 
 Aunt Jane, he said it as quietly as if he 
 spoke of a new gown." 
 
 "• Well, my love, I have heard that 
 parents sometimes choose a very proper 
 person ; and I would not set myself against 
 him on that account."
 
 THE TWO BKOTHEHS'. 103 
 
 '^ I don't. Do vou know that I am so 
 sensible and unromantic that if the Bishop 
 of London, who I suppose is a good man, 
 was to bring me a person, and say, * Here 
 is a good man, wdse and good, whom I am 
 certain you can admire and respect,' I am 
 so w^eary of scoffing and scorning that I 
 would consent as dutifully as if I were four 
 years old ; but I cannot trust papa. Don't 
 look shocked. Aunt Jane ! sometimes we 
 must speak the truth ; and I know if you 
 would speak the truth you w^ould allow that 
 you don't trust him either. Now look at 
 me, and answer !" 
 
 "A father, my love, is a father; and I 
 don't give opinions on such subjects. It is 
 better not." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right. I do try my- 
 self not to express all I feel. If you could 
 tell -what a boiling indignation I sometimes 
 have pent up here," and she pressed her 
 hands on her heart ; " but I must speak 
 for once. I cannot trust papa's choice ;
 
 104 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 he would marry me to a post, if it were 
 rich enough." 
 
 "Perhaps not, dearest. It is better not 
 to distrust. Wait till the time comes, and 
 don't fret till then. Did he say more? 
 Did he speak of any person in particular ?" 
 
 "No, he did not say; but I have a 
 guess." 
 
 " And would it be a very unwelcome 
 choice, my love, if you guessed right?" 
 
 " I don't know anything about it. I 
 have a guess at the name ; but I know no 
 more who it is, nor what he is, than you do. 
 And I was such a fool, aunt Jane — so as- 
 tounded at what he said, that I did not say 
 half what I thought and felt ; and, besides, 
 I don't know how it is, but I cannot argue 
 wdth papa. He seems to think he must be 
 right, and has such a contempt for every- 
 bodv that does not think as he does. I am 
 not afraid of him ; I don't mind being in a 
 passion, but somehow or other I feel like a 
 slave. It seems no use. He treats every-
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 105 
 
 thing one says, however wise it is, as if a 
 baby spoke it. Sometimes I think I shall 
 go mad.*' She started up as she spoke, and 
 walked impetuously to the mndow. When 
 she came back, she said, " And so, Aunt 
 Jane, you really are thankful for your life ; 
 and to me it seems so dreary. I wdsh I 
 could feel as you do. No I don't. I would 
 not feel contented with anything but perfect 
 happiness for all the world. Do you never 
 think life dreary." 
 
 " Days come and go, my love, and every 
 day brings its great blessings. I have no 
 right to be dreary. Just now I feel parti- 
 cularly thankful." 
 
 " For what ? " asked her niece, quickly — 
 *' For my fall, my love. Its — " 
 " For your fall ! I call that truly wicked ; 
 one must bear pain, but I don't think we 
 ever were intended to like it." 
 
 " I was going to say, my love," continued 
 her Aunt, in the same placid manner, " that 
 uiy fall has brought me a great good ; and
 
 106 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 60 I am thankful, very thankful, even for 
 the fall — " 
 
 ^^ What can you mean ? what great 
 good?" 
 
 ** A new friend, my love, and a kind one. 
 I will tell you how it happened. — You 
 know I slipped down in the mud, about 
 twenty yards from my door ; I was half 
 stunned w^hen I fell, and I could not get up. 
 I heard little boys laughing ; and I wondered 
 how lonsf I should lie there. It was not 
 very pleasant. Then I heard a nice voice 
 say, 'Don't crowd so — be off!' and then 
 I felt strong arms lift me up ; and then the 
 kind voice said, ' Where shall I carry you? ' 
 so I just forced out ' Number 7,' for I was 
 very faint ; and then I don't know^ any more, 
 till I found myself on this sofa, and a young 
 man standing by me. Kitty was there too ; 
 but girls are so easily frightened, and he 
 seemed sorry to see me wdth nobody but a 
 frightened girl ; and he was very kind, and 
 told her to get some water ; and then he
 
 THK TWO BROTHERS. 107 
 
 went himself for the doctor, and came hack, 
 and was very kind ; and since then, I sup- 
 pose, being sorry to see me all alone, he has 
 called two or three times ; and yesterday he 
 sat down for a long time, and read me out 
 of the papers about those dreadful riots. 
 Altogether, he is particularly kind." 
 
 '' He does seem kind, indeed," said the 
 young lady ; and the gaze with w^hich she 
 contemplated her aunt, though full of aiFec- 
 tion, seemed to own that she was no attrac- 
 tive object of a young man's benevolence. 
 '' That is the kind of thing I like to hear 
 of; most people are kind, only for show, or 
 for some selfish thing." 
 
 ^' Oh ! my love, how you speak — '' 
 
 " I speak what I think ; it is a vile world 
 I live in : but as to this young man, w^hat 
 sort' of a young man is he ? Is he young ? 
 and is he good-looking ? " 
 
 '' Not very good-looking, my dear. That 
 is not what / call handsome," and she 
 glanced about her room with a satisfied air,
 
 108 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 as if her pride (poor humble thing) was in 
 her taste. " His nose is too large, and his 
 eyebrows are rather fierce ; but, then, his 
 countenance is very pleasant, and I thought 
 his smile particularly sweet.*' 
 
 '' I like a large nose, and fierce eyebrows," 
 said her niece laughing : " there are sense 
 and meaning in them. I should like to see 
 your young man. Do you know what his 
 name is ? " 
 
 " He did send up a card one day, but I 
 forget ; it was Travers, I think ; no, not 
 Travers, but Vavers. I know I thought of 
 two Vs. Vavers, or Vassour ; no, that's 
 not it, because of the two Vs. I forget, I 
 am sorry to say." 
 
 " Not Vavasour?" asked the young lady, 
 with a slight blush, and a look of curiosity. 
 
 '' Yes, my love, that was it indeed. Do 
 you know him?" 
 
 '' Oh, no ; only the name." She fell 
 into a meditation ; and as she mused, there 
 passed over her comitenance a furtive smile,
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 109 
 
 arch and mischievous. The fruit of her 
 meditations appeared at last. " I should 
 like to see your young man, Aunt Jane. 
 When will he come as^ain ?" 
 
 " On Friday next, my love, he said he 
 would call again, if he possibly could ; and 
 he was kind enough to say, that if there was 
 anything interesting in the papers, he would 
 bring one with him." 
 
 " I shall come to see him — that is, if I 
 can. Now you are ill, I think papa will 
 not refuse to let me come. I felt quite 
 ashamed, when you said your friend seemed 
 sorry to see you alone. And it is a shame, 
 when you have a niece who could take care 
 of you. I shall tell papa what I think.'* 
 
 " If he lets you come, my love, I shall be 
 very grateful, but I shall not expect it." 
 
 " You may expect it, for I mean to come; 
 but you must not be grateful, because this 
 once I am not coming to see i/ou, but out 
 of mere curiosity. And now, good-bye. —
 
 110 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 My dear Aunt Jane, what a hateful cat! 
 Is that piece of work for your new friend?" 
 
 " My love, I would not take such a liberty 
 for all the world. It is for the grocer's wife 
 who has been very kind to me. She thought 
 it a pretty thing, and so did I." 
 
 " I suppose it is well tastes differ in this 
 world," said her niece with a smile, as she 
 affectionately kissed her. '' But how tastes 
 come to be what they are, is past my under- 
 standing."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 What will your kindred think ? 
 Eliz. AVhat they will think ? 
 What pleases them. 
 
 Tlie Sainfs Tragedy. 
 
 Angela Gresham arrived on the appointed 
 day, but not quite in her own person. When 
 she had thrown off a cloak and bonnet, she 
 came and stood, with mirth dancing in her 
 eye, by the side of her aunt's couch. 
 
 The placid aunt looked at her with a 
 gaze of fear and wonder, and gasped out 
 '' My love ! " 
 
 " How do you like me?" enquired Angela;
 
 112 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 kneeling down by her sofa, and laughing at 
 the amazed countenance. 
 
 " My dear child, what have you done to 
 yourself?" 
 
 " This gown I am to give to a kitchen- 
 maid, who is going to be married ; and my 
 cap is for somebody else. I brought them 
 to shew you." Her gown was of some dark 
 material, very plainly made ; and her lux- 
 uriant curls were braided back beneath a 
 neat cap of plain net, tied under her chin. 
 The disguise of her dress was complete, yet 
 it was by no means a disfigurement. The 
 bright intelligence, and lovely colouring, 
 were perhaps the more striking under the 
 simple attire. 
 
 '' Oh ! my love, but why is this ? " with a 
 groan. 
 
 " I will tell you. Aunt Jane, if you can 
 listen to a story. There is a poor young 
 lady in London, who is very, rich ; twenty 
 times a day, she is told how rich she is. 
 Everybody who comes near her knows she
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 113 
 
 is rich, and this poor young lady never 
 can tell whether she is liked for herself, 
 or for her riches. Is not that a hard 
 fate?" 
 
 '' It is, my love," replied Miss Price, 
 with a gleam of intelligence, '^biit she may 
 be sure — " 
 
 " No, she cannot be sure; she is, on the 
 contrary, very much afraid that all the flat- 
 tery she receives is given to her riches ; 
 and for once she wishes to know what 
 would be her fate, if she were poor. So I 
 am come to see your stranger in this dress. 
 Do you mind?" 
 
 " I am almost afraid, my love, I do." 
 
 '' Then I am almost afraid I must do it 
 whether you mind or not. So, dear Aunt 
 Jane" — and she kissed her, " it will be no use 
 for you to say any more." 
 
 "If it w^ere not a disguise, my love, I 
 should not mind, but disguises are dangerous 
 things. I have often read of them: they are 
 dangerous things." 
 
 VOL I. I
 
 114 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 " But this is no disguise. I am your niece, 
 and if I lived with you, this is the way in 
 which I should dress ; and, indeed, if I had 
 my will, I should dress in this way at all 
 times. I am sick of ornaments. You see 
 there is no harm." 
 
 " Your father, my love ! I am afraid. . . ." 
 
 " Oh ! never mind that. What I am 
 
 doing, I guess, will please Papa very well. — 
 
 He but there is a knock — now 
 
 dear Aunt Jane, only remember that you 
 must not say who I am, nor call me by any 
 name." 
 
 " I never do, my love. There is no fear." 
 Angela seized the hateful cat out of her 
 aunt's reluctant fingers, and seated herself at 
 a distance to work ; but was scarcely seated 
 before disgust at the monstrosity of the 
 sandy cat on an olive-green ground made her 
 jump up and restore it. A letter was then 
 seized, which she tore up into strips for 
 matches, as a means of employing her 
 fingers.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 115 
 
 The small maid of the house opened the 
 door, and announced " the gentleman." It 
 seemed to be the fashion of the establishment 
 to suppress names in general. 
 
 Everard Vavasour entered the room, but 
 paused at the door in some annoyance. His 
 kindness to Miss Price had been in simple 
 obedience to a kindly nature. Her appa- 
 rently desolate position, though common 
 enough, had touched one unaccustomed to 
 such phases of life. For Everard was by 
 no means adventurous in charity. Perhaps, 
 to say the truth, his mind over-engrossed 
 with one sphere of duty — the withstanding 
 the baits of idleness and pleasure — was in 
 some danger of becoming narrowed and self- 
 contracted. Be this as it may, he had no 
 taste for adventures, and felt annoyed and 
 embarrassed at the sight of a visitor in the 
 room. 
 
 After a second's pause, however, he came 
 forward without looking to the right or the 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE T^VO BROTHERS. 
 
 left, sat down in the chair Miss Price had 
 ordered to be placed for him, and enquired 
 after her health. 
 
 She gave a favourable account, and then 
 with gentleness and gratitude, thanked him 
 for his kindness past and present. 
 
 He cut her short with a quick " I assure 
 you I am glad to come," and then, like one 
 not quite at ease, began to descant upon the 
 weather. 
 
 When this came to an end, Lliss Price 
 said, " My niece ; — will you allow me to in- 
 troduce my niece ? " 
 
 Angela blushed and bowed ; and unable to 
 restrain her smiles, cast dowTi her eyes, and 
 tore up her paper into fragments. 
 
 Everard looked at her for the first time ; 
 and with a gaze of surprise mingled with 
 admiration. " Miss Price's niece ! " In that 
 insipid faded room, her freshness and 
 brightness were singularly striking. 
 
 Still more embarrassed, however, at the
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 117 
 
 introduction, and uncertain whether it 
 would be proper to addi-ess her or not, his 
 conversation came to a pause. Eetired and 
 studious habits prevent the acquisition of an 
 easy flow of discourse, and when there was 
 nothing tangible to be said, Everard w^as 
 often in the awkward predicament of having 
 nothing he could say. On such occasions 
 to pause and consider is fatal. 
 
 Miss Price relieved his embaiTassment. 
 " Those dreadful riots," she said, with placid 
 interest, " I have thought of them so much ; 
 are they quite at an end ?" 
 
 " Yes, quite. When soldiers appear, a 
 mob is soon brought to its senses, or at 
 least," he added smiling, "to good be- 
 haviour." 
 
 " You have nothing more I fear to tell." 
 
 " I think," he replied, colouring slightly, 
 " you do not want my services." 
 
 " My niece, I am sure, will be happy to 
 hear you. I beg your pardon ; I fear I am 
 too troublesome, but it was a great treat."
 
 118 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Everard hesitated, and while he hesitated, 
 Angela raised her eyes, and said, " Your 
 reading was a gi'eat pleasure to my aunt. 
 I hope you will n9t deprive her of it, be- 
 cause I am here." She spoke with an ease 
 and gTace that astonished him beyond 
 measure." 
 
 He acquiesced in the request ; and though 
 much inclined to laugh at the novelty of 
 his position, pulled a newspaper from his 
 pocket. It had been placed there for Miss 
 Price's special entertainment. 
 
 The account he read was of a fire in 
 some country town, and several acts of ex- 
 traordinary heroism were related. He read 
 ■^vith considerable spirit ; a kind of reading 
 likelv to strike the inert senses of one like 
 Miss Price. She listened with body and 
 mind; and though her needle fell to the 
 ground, forebore to mention the fact." 
 
 Angela listened, too, until she forgot her- 
 self; fixing her sparkling, speaking eyes on 
 the reader. So fixed, Everard once sur-
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 119 
 
 prised them; and colouring, he knew not 
 why, continued to read with a strange sen- 
 sation. 
 
 When he had finished she burst out, " It 
 does me good to hear of such things ; it 
 proves that all the world are not given up 
 to selfishness." 
 
 " Were you afraid that such was the 
 case ? " Everard asked, smiling and amused. 
 
 " Sometimes I am." 
 
 " I should be sorry to think so," he said, 
 and paused, hoping she w^ould speak again 
 
 But Angela was now alarmed at her bold- 
 ness, and twisting and untwisting her 
 matches, occupied herself in silence. 
 
 Everard withdrew his eyes, and listened 
 for a few minutes to Miss Price's insipid 
 remarks ; but meanwhile his countenance 
 gathered into thought. He was thinking 
 deeply. Something within him was warning 
 him, that this acquaintance had better be 
 prosecuted no farther; the curiosity, the 
 pleasure he felt, were in themselves warn-
 
 120 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 ings ; it required little forethought to point 
 out difficulties and dangers that might 
 ensue. Yet, on the other hand, there was 
 the tempting plea of kindness and charity to 
 in\ite him on. 
 
 The strong integrity of his character 
 brought him to a rapid decision, and as soon 
 as it was made, he put himself out of 
 temptation by acting upon it. 
 
 " I am very glad," he said, suddenly rising 
 and holding out his hand to Miss Price, 
 " to see you so much recovered ; and I hope," 
 he added smiling, " you will never need such 
 service as mine again." 
 
 " You are very kind, but," and she held 
 fast the hand he had given — " I fear by the 
 way you speak, this is your last visit — I 
 know I should not expect .... I beg your 
 pardon I hardly know what I meant to say." 
 
 ** I shall not be able to call again at 
 present, but I shall do so some day ; and 
 when I do I hope I shall find you quite well. 
 Good-bve."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 121 
 
 He stood for a moment doubtful, then 
 went a few steps towards Angela, and held 
 out his hand. In his moment's doubting 
 he had decided that the civility was uncalled 
 for ; but he instantly acted in opposition to 
 his decision. 
 
 If uncalled for, it was unexpected, and 
 Angela blushed deeply as she gave her hand* 
 Everard could not but observe that she did, 
 and again with a strange sensation owned 
 the impression that her beauty made. 
 
 " I think I am well out of this," was his 
 thought as he left the house, but the " well 
 out," was most reluctantly accomplished. 
 
 A silence follow^ed his departure. Angela 
 sat grave and thoughtful, and yet satisfied. 
 Occupied with certain reflections of her own 
 she did not for a few minutes observe her 
 aunt. When she did so she saw her wiping 
 away a few tears from her cheeks. 
 
 " My dearest Aunt Jane," she said, 
 going hastily towards her, "what is the 
 matter ?"
 
 122 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 " Nothing, my love, nothing of conse- 
 quence. I felt a little disappointed for a 
 moment, but it is over now. I know I 
 expected too much. I thought I had got 
 a new friend. Of course I was wrong. We 
 ought not to presume." 
 
 " Oh ! Aunt Jane, Aunt Jane, what a brute 
 I am. All this comes of my selfishness. He 
 will not come again because I am here. I 
 am the cause of your loss !" 
 
 " And if you are, my love, is it not my 
 great happiness that it should be so. Is a 
 stranger like my own niece ?" 
 
 " I almost wish that this visit had never 
 been paid, and yet. . . ." and she blushed 
 and smiled. 
 
 " Don't wish it, my love, on my account. 
 It is over now, and I am quite thankful for 
 the pleasure I have had, and some day may, 
 perhaps, have again." 
 
 " I hope you will. Oh ! Aunt Jane," she 
 said, suddenly, " don't you sometimes wish 
 you could pull down with your own fingers
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 123 
 
 the great curtain that hangs before time and 
 see what is behind it ?" 
 
 " No, my love," replied her Aunt, with 
 simple philosophy, " trials come soon enough, 
 and blessings are better when they come and 
 surprise us." 
 
 " I am not sure, but no matter. Now 
 good-bye. Did I tell you that Papa has 
 given me leave to come once or twice a week 
 while you are ill. Will that do as well as 
 your stranger friend ? " 
 
 " Oh ! my love, every body is too kind to 
 me, and I don't know how to be thankful 
 enough." 
 
 "Poor thins^!" was the reflection of the 
 niece full of life and hope, clothed with 
 health and wealth, and beauty, as she drove 
 to her luxurious home. " What a life to 
 have to be thankful for ; and yet I cannot 
 be thankful for mine !"
 
 124 THE TWO BROTIIRES. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 There stood a maiden near 
 Waiting to pass. In much amaze he stared 
 On eyes a bashful azure, and on hair 
 In gloss and hue the chestnut. . . . 
 Then, wondering, asked her, "Are you from the Farm?" 
 
 Texjs'YSON — The JBrool:. 
 
 In the garden of Audley Court, Eobert 
 Vavasour and Mr. Addison, (the clergyman 
 of the parish) awaited the coming of Hope 
 and Everard. It was an afternoon early in 
 September. 
 
 Mr. Addison was about fifty, a gi'ave and 
 quiet man. Like his namesake, the Spec- 
 tator, he had been distinguished all his life 
 hy a '^ profound silence;" but his silence
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 125 
 
 had nothing repelling ; it was, on the con- 
 trary, an inviting silence, giving him ad- 
 mirable qualities as a listener and adviser* 
 Observant, kindly, serious, and thoughtful, 
 he made his way along his path of life — 
 dropping as he could, and w^here he could, 
 his words of sympathy, warning, or wisdom. 
 " That man has a history," many said who 
 watched his serious eyes, and slight, grave 
 smile ; but it was not so; that is, not accord- 
 ing to the meaning of the phrase. His 
 history was but the history of man in general. 
 Some early hopes ; some early wanderings ; 
 some disappointments ; some pleasures ; some 
 deeper joys and sorrows scattered here and 
 there ; through these he had worked out ex- 
 perience in man's nature ; wisdom to warn 
 and soothe ; patience with this world ; and 
 hope for a better. 
 
 He was seated now on a bit of terrace 
 wall ; observant as usual. His eyes were on 
 Robert, and there was interest in their gaze. 
 He watched his movements as he restlessly
 
 126 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 wandered to and fro. He was going from 
 bed to bed, from bush to bush, gathering 
 flowers, at random, as it seemed, yet evi- 
 dently guided by some taste or fancy. He 
 picked a bunch of the prettiest the garden 
 afforded ; then paused ; and after some ex- 
 amination of the bunch, selected two. These 
 he placed with care in his button-hole ; the 
 rest in all their freshness and beauty were 
 cast away, some trampled under his foot. 
 
 " So will the good dispositions of his heart 
 be thoughtlessly thrown away." Thus Mr. 
 Addison silently mused, and there was a 
 sigh in his heart, though it made no sound. 
 For he only, undazzled by the force and 
 charm of his penitence, saw the old nature, 
 the old lack of principle, apparent as ever 
 within. 
 
 Eobert now came towards him, swinging 
 his cane and switching the bushes as he 
 walked along. His air was more thoughtful 
 than usual ; and once or twice he looked at 
 his chosen flowers with a kind of softness in
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 127 
 
 his gaze. Mr. Addison's eyes fell on them 
 also, and a thought, no new one, passed 
 through his mind. Why had his choice been 
 made ? The flowers were a white carnation, 
 without spot or stain, and a white rose with 
 the faintest and softest blush in the centre. 
 Was there something in his nature to which 
 the purity of those flowers appealed ? Were 
 they emblems of another love struggling 
 with his worser qualities ? 
 
 " Are you tired of waiting, Mr. Addison ?" 
 Robert said. 
 
 " No, where are the others ?" 
 
 " My father called Hope to write a letter, 
 and Everard is at his toilette. He fell 
 into a ditch when he was shooting, and 
 did not think himself smart enough for our 
 company." 
 
 " Were you not shooting, Robert ?" 
 
 " Not to day. What do you think I have 
 been doing to day ? " 
 
 " I cannot guess." 
 
 " Drawing a saint," he said, with a slight
 
 128 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 flush on his cheek, '' that is, taking Hope's 
 picture." 
 
 ^' And have you succeeded ? " 
 
 *' No ! how should I ? " he replied, in a 
 peculiar tone, " I have not the key." 
 
 A silence succeeded ; both remained 
 thoughtful. Robert disturbed the stones in 
 the gravel-walk, dug them up, and trampled 
 them in again. At length he said, " I liked 
 your sermon yesterday, Mr. Addison." 
 
 "Did you listen to it, Eobert?" Mr. 
 Addison said, seriously ; " that is not usual, 
 is it?" 
 
 " No, it is not ; that I confess. I listened 
 for a reason. That bit at the beginning 
 took my fancy ; that picture of charity. It 
 was a quaint bit, and I thought like Hope. 
 Did you think of her when you wrote it ? " 
 
 " It was not mine — it was from Jeremy 
 Taylor." 
 
 " Did you think of her ?" he repeated. 
 
 " No, but it is like her, as all pictures of 
 heavenly charity must be."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 129 
 
 " People talk of the impossibility of per- 
 fection," Eobert began with some vehemence, 
 " but they talk stuff, or they have not seen 
 Hope. Whoever of us is so happy as to reach 
 the kingdom of Heaven will find nothing 
 there in body or spirit more perfect than 
 her." 
 
 " I almost feel as you do, Eobert. Do 
 you like the picture of what we may find 
 there ? " 
 
 Robert coloured a little, then with unwon- 
 ted seriousness, though with excitement, re- 
 plied, " Is it not strange Mr. Addison, that 
 those who see virtue in a form so lovely, that 
 they are compelled to worship and adore ; yet 
 cannot yield to its influence, nor follow it." 
 
 " It shows at least, dear Robert," said his 
 companion, with a grave tenderness in his 
 voice, " that the mind is heaven, though the 
 flesh may yet be earth. The day will come 
 when both together will worship." 
 
 " You think better of me than I deserve," 
 Robert said, with some passion. " I admire, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 but I do not know that I even wish to 
 imitate." 
 
 " Cherish, then, the admiration as the best 
 gift of God. To admire good is to be good, 
 at least in a degree." 
 
 A silence again followed. Eobert still 
 pursued his occupation of disordering and 
 re-adjusting the stones in the walk. 
 
 Thoucfht — some internal conflict, was evi- 
 dentlv at work within. i\Ir. Addison 
 guessed its nature — guessed it still more 
 nearly, when he saw the light on his coun- 
 tenance when Hope appeared from the 
 house. But he made no attempt to draw 
 his feelino's from him. There was that in his 
 serious kindness which invited confidence, 
 but he himself had a dread of confidences 
 reposed before the time. 
 
 Hope was followed by Everard. Eobert 
 and Mr. Addison went forward to meet them. 
 
 A long walk was in prospect. Its object 
 was to visit Underwood, the house and pro 
 perty latply purchased by Mi\ Gresham.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 131 
 
 By the road it was three or four miles 
 from Audley Court, but across the two 
 parks, which were united and separated by 
 a little wood, a litt'le stream, and a little 
 bridge, not two. A maid of the house had 
 been dangerously ill in the preceding week, 
 and Mr. Addison had attended her. He 
 wished to visit her on her recovery, and 
 many ludicrous reports of the magnificence 
 of the house and furniture having reached 
 Audley Court, Robert, a being of universal 
 curiosity, had expressed his intention of 
 accompanying him. 
 
 " Now let us be off," he said, shaking off 
 his thoughtful mood without effort; " if Mr. 
 Gresham should chance to be arrived, and 
 we are caught prowling about, our guilt lies 
 on Mr. Addison's head. Mr Addison, are 
 you prepared to bear it ?" 
 
 " The housekeeper assured me he was not 
 expected till Wednesday; I think there is 
 no fear." 
 
 "After all, if we are caught, what does ; it 
 
 K 2
 
 132 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 matter, we can but say ' I hope I don't 
 intrude.' " 
 
 " We are the only people who have not 
 seen Underwood," Everard remarked, " so 
 at least Stephens says. He went there yes- 
 terday, and is in such a frenzy of admira- 
 tion, that I confess I am curious. I am 
 sure he expects Mr. Gresham to arrive in a 
 coach and six." 
 
 " And so he will, I dare say," said Robert, 
 lauo'hinsf, " or the Lord Mavor's coach if he 
 can get it. He is such a fool." 
 
 " You have never seen his daughter, have 
 you Eobert ?" enquired Hope. 
 
 " No, never. I have onlv seen Mr. 
 Gresham twice. He invited me to dine 
 with him, but I thought it would be a bore, 
 and declined. She is very pretty I hear, 
 and immensely rich I know. It is a fine 
 opportunity for Everard. I thought of that 
 as soon as ever I heard of her." 
 
 " No thank you ; no heiresses for me, I 
 hate them."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 133 
 
 " That's all nonsense, a bit of Vavasour 
 pride. I have always had a conviction that 
 you would marry an heiress ; I bet you 
 twenty pounds you do." 
 
 " And I bet you twenty thousand I don't," 
 with some unnecessary vehemence. 
 
 " I am too honourable to take it," Robert 
 replied, amused. '* I foresee .... However, 
 upon the whole, I agree with you in hating 
 heiresses. Not because of what my father 
 tells us about our forefathers, but from a 
 feeling of my own, which is a better guide 
 than the feelings of my ancestors. I don't 
 like a woman with money any better than I 
 like a clever woman. Talents and money 
 both put them too forward." 
 
 " That is making yourself a lord of the 
 creation indeed," Everard said, laughing- 
 
 " Lords are better than ladies, are they 
 not, Hope ? Women were made for better 
 things than to be clever." 
 
 Before they reached Underwood, Robert 
 endeavoured to shake the nerves of his com-
 
 134 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 panions, by picturing the awkwardness of 
 their situation, should the new possessors 
 have already taken possession of their abode. 
 
 Mr. Addison again assured him there was 
 no fear ; but as it happened, Robert's antici- 
 pations were realized. 
 
 The shady paths of the w^ood emerged at 
 once into the pleasure-grounds that skirted 
 the inner garden ; and before any precautions 
 could be taken, Mr. Gresham and his 
 curious visitors came face to face. He was 
 walking down a broad gravel walk, about a 
 quarter of a mile from the house, in appa- 
 rent meditation or contemplation. His 
 hands were joined under his coat-tails, his 
 nose was uplifted, and an air of serene rap- 
 ture sat upon his countenance. 
 
 The direction in which his eyes were 
 turned, might have given his guests an op- 
 portunity to draw back unseen ; but to 
 escape, llobert had no desire. He made, 
 indeed, movements and grimaces of conster- 
 nation, which almost overset the gravity
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 135 
 
 even of the grave people who accompanied 
 him ; but he stood his ground, and when the 
 eyes came down from their upward flight, 
 and Mr. Gresham became aware of the pre- 
 sence of strangers, he went forward with 
 outward courteousness, though inward mirth, 
 to explain the circumstances of the intrusion. 
 
 His reception was overwhelming in its 
 politeness. Mr. Gresham would not hear 
 of apology. He was happy in, he was grate- 
 ful for, their coming. The advantage of 
 associatino' with individuals bearino* the 
 name of Vavasour, had been his chief in- 
 ducement in the purchase he had lately made. 
 Anything that hastened that end was wel- 
 come to him. Intrusion was a word he 
 could not permit ; then, and always, he hoped 
 Mr. Vavasour would make himself at home 
 at Underwood. 
 
 With demure gravity Robert thanked him, 
 and then begged to be allowed to introduce 
 his companions. " This is Mr. Addison," 
 he said, " the clergyman of this parish ; and
 
 136 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 thouoli as a clerofyman he ouo'ht to have 
 kno\\Ti better, I feel it my duty to say that 
 he was the guilty cause of our indiscretion 
 to-day." 
 
 " I hope," said Mr. Gresham, blandly and 
 bowing low, " that I shall profit by your 
 future instructions as much as I have- pro- 
 fited by those given to my young friend 
 to-day." 
 
 Mr. Addison only bowed. He had nothing 
 to say. 
 
 " This," continued Robert, " is my cousin 
 Hope Linton, and this is my brother Everard.'' 
 
 " I look forward. Miss Linton, with satis- 
 faction to the advantao^e my dauofhter wiYL 
 inevitably derive from your society." This 
 was the speech that accompanied the bow to 
 Hope — to Everard it was : — " I anticipate 
 nothing but pleasure from the hope of adding 
 another of the name of Vavasour to my list 
 of friends." 
 
 . Having made his guests duly welcome, he 
 invited them to return with him to the house.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 137 
 
 His address was to Eobcrt. Eobert was 
 evidently the object of his idolatry. Eobert, 
 however, referred it to Hope; and Mr. 
 Gresham was then profuse in his apologies 
 for the omission of which he had been guilty. 
 
 Hope's consent was given in few words. — 
 She had no feeling of her own on the subject ; 
 no sh}Tiess, no fear of intrusion. She looked 
 into Eobert's face, and saw he was desirous 
 to go on, and was content. 
 
 Mr. Gresham led the way, attended by 
 Eobert and Mr. Addison. Everard and Hope 
 followed. Mr* Gresham explained, as they 
 walked along, the cause of his unexpected 
 arrival. 
 
 " I was threatened on Saturday with a 
 cold in my head ; I have a particular ob- 
 jection to a cold in my head. My medical 
 adviser recommended change of air. I left 
 London, therefore, with my daughter, and 
 slept at a remarkably excellent inn about 
 forty miles from here. And there," bowing 
 to Mr. Addison, " I 'made a point of
 
 1S8 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 passing Sunday, and attending Divine ser- 
 vice." 
 
 " I hope your cold is better, Mr. Gresham," 
 Robert asked. 
 
 " A complete cure. There is something 
 very refreshing in the air of the country. 
 We arrived here this afternoon ; and I 
 confess I already feel satisfaction in my late 
 purchase, and promise myself much pleasure 
 from my abode here, not the least part of 
 which will be derived from my acquaintance 
 with you, Mr. Vavasour, and your family." 
 
 Underwood was, as has been already said, 
 the picture of a " country seat." It was a 
 square, white, stone house, with two long- 
 lower wings. There was no especial charm 
 about the place, but it was bright and fresh ; 
 and as the garden was full of flowers, and the 
 park was prettily w^ooded, it had a certain 
 degree of attraction. 
 
 Mr. Gresham evidently admired it ex- 
 ceedingly, and as they entered the house, 
 observed, en passant, that there were four-
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 139 
 
 and-twenty windows from wing to wing, 
 which he believed was a large number. 
 *' How many window^s were there at Aiidlev 
 Court?" 
 
 " I never counted," Robert said, with 
 assumed interest, " but I will as soon as ever 
 I go home. I am sure, however, there are 
 not four-and-twenty." 
 
 " No," observed Mr. Addison, wdth a 
 desire to make himself agi^eeable also. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Gresham, " I was told 
 it was a large number." 
 
 He led his guests into the drawing-room, 
 and for a moment, put his hands under his 
 coat-tails, and elevated his nose, while he 
 observed the effects of the couj) d'oeil. 
 
 It was a long and very handsome room, 
 magnificently, though tastelessly furnished ; 
 every slab and table glittering with ormolu, 
 like Howell and James'. 
 
 " What a very fine room ! " Eobert said, 
 never at a loss to express what was expected
 
 140 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 of him, but giving a side glance to Hope 
 and Everard. 
 
 " It usurps to itself, you see, a large por- 
 tion of those said windows," Mr. Gresham 
 observed, jestingly. 
 
 " You must have bought up all the silk 
 and satin in England to make the curtains," 
 Robert replied. 
 
 Mr. Gresham smiled, and then said he 
 would call his daughter. " Pray, Miss 
 Linton, be seated. Gentlemen all, I hope 
 you will make yourselves at home." 
 
 " Say something witty, Everard, that I 
 may relieve myself by a good laugh," was 
 Robert's request. 
 
 " You are too bad," w^as Everard's reply. 
 '* He cannot be such a fool as not to see 
 you are laughing." 
 
 " I never made an acquaintance which 
 gave me half as much pleasure as I anti- 
 cipate from this one ; what do you expect 
 the daughter to be ? "
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 141 
 
 " Something very fine," said Everard, 
 " there is no doubt about that ! Here they 
 come." 
 
 There certainly was no doubt about the 
 fineness. Angela's silk flounces rustled, and 
 her chains and bracelets rattled as she came 
 in ; but it was not her fineness, it was her 
 beauty that struck every eye. She held her 
 bonnet in her hand, and her luxuriant 
 auburn curls fell about her face and 
 shoulders. An air of shyness and diffidence, 
 curiouslv mixed with mirth and expectation, 
 irave a charm even ofreater than usual to her 
 appearance, and a brighter colouring to her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " My daughter. Miss Linton, Mr. Vava- 
 sour ;" and then waving his hand around, he 
 carelessly named Everard and Mr. Addison. 
 
 Angela blushed more deeply. She hardly 
 raised her eyes as she returned the bows of 
 each, and as if to make her escape, hurried 
 to Hope, and smiling held out her hand. 
 
 There was nothing conventional in Hope's
 
 142 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 manners. It would not have occurred to 
 her to say she feared they had taken Miss 
 Gresham by surprise, or any other polite 
 phrase, but pleased with the frank cordiality 
 of Angela's manner, she said simply, " I am 
 glad to make acquaintance with you." 
 
 Angela sat down beside her, and began 
 hurriedly to talk. She did not dare look up. 
 What she had so lightly done, alarmed her 
 now bv the thousfht of its boldness. 
 
 Everard, meanwhile, had seen her with a 
 sudden throb of pleasure. Her face had 
 been the first which had much impressed 
 his youthful 'fancy ; and being the first, the 
 impression was not even after two months 
 entirely efi*aced. Yet, after the first instant 
 of recognition, her air and general appear- 
 ance was so totallv difierent to the \dsion 
 of his memory, that he laughed at himself 
 for the moment's folly. The process of 
 remembering and laughing was, however, 
 repeated a second time. Again, a third 
 time, he examined her with puzzled cu-
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 143 
 
 riosity ; and again the half recognition 
 was on the point of changing to derision, 
 when Angela looked up and met his scruti- 
 nizing gaze. She blushed deeply, and im- 
 mediately cast down her eyes ; and this time 
 the likeness to a former recollected move- 
 ment was so exact, that he suddenly movod 
 towards her and exclaimed — " Surely I have 
 seen you before ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said, instantly rcsrainino; her 
 self-possession. *' I Avas not certain that you 
 remembered me." 
 
 " I did," he said, doubtingiy, " and yet I 
 did not. Even now I am puzzled. How is 
 it ? " And he looked at her with perplexity. 
 
 It is conscience that makes a coward. An 
 answer to his perplexity w^as not difficult ; 
 but Angela's conscience gave her a panic, 
 and instead of replying, she blushed, looked 
 annoyed, and made Everard, ever backward 
 and sensitive, fearful that he had been pre- 
 suming. 
 
 He stood by her in silence for a moment,
 
 144 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 then said, with constraint, and because he 
 thought he ought to speak, " I hope Miss 
 Price is better." 
 
 Mr. Gresham was engaged with Robert, 
 but at this name he turned round. " Are 
 you acquainted with Miss Price ?" he asked 
 of Everard, with cold surprise. 
 
 " Yes, papa," Angela said, with a quick- 
 ness that relieved Everard from the fear of 
 having given oiFence. ^'' Mr. Vavasour was 
 very kind to my aunt. I met him one day 
 at her house." 
 
 " Indeed," he said, with uneasy politeness, 
 " I am happy to hear Miss Price keeps such 
 good company." 
 
 Miss Price was his wife's half sister, the 
 daughter of her mother, not of her father, 
 born many years before Mrs. Gresham. She 
 was poor, and without grace or charm to 
 attract the eyes of the world. Mr. Gresham 
 had thought it right, and his bounden duty, 
 therefore, to ignore as far as possible the 
 relationship ; and it was only since his wife's
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 145 
 
 death that his softened feelings had permitted 
 Angela to keep up a slight acquaintanco 
 with her. 
 
 Now that he had been discovered, however, 
 with a poor relation, he thought it best to 
 put a good face on the matter, and Miss 
 Price was the cause of his bestowing some 
 attention on Everard. 
 
 *' Miss Price," he said, in a jesting tone, 
 and in a slight degree elevating his nose, 
 *' does not trouble herself to keep exactly 
 the society most suited to her station. In 
 consequence, we meet but seldom. She is, 
 however, an estimable person, and charitable, 
 I understand, beyond due bounds." 
 
 " I did not know Miss Price was connected 
 with you till this moment," Everard replied. 
 " She seems very good, and I was glad to be 
 of service to her." 
 
 " I am sure she must have been duly 
 sensible of the honour of your attentions ; 
 and I wonder she did not think it worth 
 while to communicate the matter to me. I 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 think also my daughter might have spoken 
 on the subject ; but better late than never, 
 and I am happy in having this opportunity 
 of offering you my thanks in person." 
 
 His chest heaved with the pride of virtue 
 in thus taking the obligation to Miss Price 
 upon himself ; and having done his duty, he 
 returned to Eobert. 
 
 Angela had listened tranquilly to the con- 
 versation until her father s last observation. 
 When he named lier^ she blushed, and turn- 
 ing quickly to Hope, began to talk to her. 
 Everard saw the change, and could not help 
 wondering what the cause might be. 
 
 The next movement of Mr. Gresham was 
 to offer to show his guests the house ; and 
 having performed this office with a truthful 
 and genuine delight in the newness and 
 magnificence of all he exhibited, he then 
 gave them his company into the garden and 
 a part of the way homewards. 
 
 In the garden, Mr. Addison, who had 
 been to pay his purposed visit, rejoined them.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 147 
 
 During his absence, Eobert having been 
 Mr. Gresham's special property, Everard 
 and Hope had, through their peregrinations, 
 been accompanied by Angela ; but though 
 Everard and Angela were already on easy 
 terms, no recurrence had been made to their 
 former meeting. Everard wondered at her 
 silence on the subject, but could not a 
 second time obtrude remarks which evidently 
 were not desired. 
 
 When the wood w^as reached, at the en- 
 trance of which Mr. Gresham had first met 
 his guests, he suffered them to take leave of 
 him. His parting speeches were as polite 
 and almost as elaborate as his greetings had 
 been. Yet with some persons to be elaborate 
 is no proof of insincerity ; it is the habitual 
 tone and form of their feelings, and so it was 
 with Mr. Gresham. 
 
 As he proceeded home with his daughter, 
 he enlarged on the gratification he had ex- 
 perienced during the visit. " Those are 
 charming young people, Angela ; I hope you 
 
 X. 2
 
 148 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 are as much prepossessed in their favour as 
 am i! 
 
 '' Yes, I like them all," she replied, with 
 warmth. 
 
 "I am glad to hear it. It is my wish 
 that you should cultivate their society in 
 every v/ay they will permit. I understand 
 from Mr. Yavasour, that he and his brother 
 remain in this neighbourhood for three weeks. 
 It is a fortunate circumstance, and I wish 
 you to avail yourself of this opportunity for 
 forming an acquaintance with them. The 
 Yavasours are a remarkably old family — 
 highly connected, and much esteemed by the 
 world. I feel pride and pleasure in my 
 neighbourhood to Audley Court, and I shall 
 do so in any connexion I may hereafter make 
 with the family. But of this enough. I 
 shall show my respect to the elder Mr. Ya- 
 vasour by calling on him to-morrow : though 
 in point of etiquette I believe he ought to be 
 the first to wait on me." 
 
 If, with something of di*ead, Angela had
 
 THE TWO BROTHEUS. 149 
 
 awaited the expression of her lather's senti- 
 ments, she now with hopeful heedlessness 
 cast all fear aside. The appearance of two 
 Mr. Vavasours had indeed deranged many 
 a pre-conceived idea ; and a very decided 
 leaning towards one, not diminished by her 
 father's apparent leaning to the other, had 
 made her expect and fear a more clearly 
 expressed admonition regarding a future 
 connection. Since it was not given, she 
 was herself willing to leave the future in 
 uncertainty. 
 
 The remainder of the party walked home 
 together, until Mr. Addison's way diverged 
 from the path to Audley Court. When 
 they separated, and he wished his young 
 companions good-bye, Everard said he would 
 walk with him homewards. 
 
 " I am glad of this new acquaintance," 
 was Mr. Addison's remark as they went on 
 together, " and chiefly on Robert's account. 
 I have sometimes feared the uniformity of
 
 150 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 life at Audley Court might be too monoto- 
 nous for one of his Hvely disposition." 
 
 " I suppose a lively disposition makes its 
 own life," Everard said, "for certainly 
 Robert does not appear to feel it dull. There 
 are, however, other causes for that. Loved 
 and appreciated as Robert is, it would be 
 strange if he were not happy." 
 
 " He seems to be well aware of the 
 beauty of Miss Linton, both in person and 
 character." 
 
 " Yes," Everard said, with a smile. 
 
 " Do you not feel, as I do, that her influ- 
 ence will prevail. She will give him her 
 soul, and her good spirit will bring all the 
 chaos of his nature into order." 
 
 " I have not, I never had a doubt of it. 
 It is not within the bounds of possibility 
 that any one who loves what Hope is, can 
 have anvthinor but the best of natures 
 within him." 
 
 " I am glad of this acquaintance also on
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 151 
 
 your account, Evcrard;" Mr. Addison con- 
 tinued, pursuing the train of his own 
 thoughts. " It pleased me to see you to- 
 day. You were not quite yourself." 
 
 " How you watch, Mr. Addison !" Everard 
 said, colouring. " What have I done to-day 
 unlike myself?" 
 
 " You were less grave than is common to 
 you in society, and I was glad to observe it. 
 You study too hard, Everard, to be able to 
 do without recreation. The mind becomes 
 hard and touo^h ; it needs unbendino^." 
 
 " What do you think of Miss Gresham ? " 
 Everard enquired, after a moment's thought. 
 
 " She has a very sweet countenance ; one 
 that promises truth, and ingenuousness, and 
 many virtues. She is somewhat undisci- 
 plined, I should suppose, in mind, as in man- 
 ner, but life soon softens and tames. She 
 seems disposed to be friendly with you, 
 Everard. I am glad of it. I know no re- 
 creation so likely to be useful to you as the 
 society of an amiable young woman. It is
 
 152 THE TVrO BROTHERS. 
 
 refining both outwardly and within. Your 
 habit is to keep yourself too much aloof." 
 
 Everard coloured again. He had an in- 
 ward warnino- that the society of a vounor 
 woman would not be useful to him in the 
 present case ; and as he walked home alone, 
 he questioned himself with some seriousness. 
 Self-examination, though honest, is not how- 
 ever always useful. It can deal well with 
 an acknowledged feeling, or a strong one, 
 but there are in the mind, fancies, shoots, and 
 bubbles of feeling, which examination dis- 
 perses like the sun the mist. When Everard 
 came to question the pleasure he had felt 
 and was anticipating from Angela's society, 
 the vaoue danofers seemed to fade awav. 
 There was nothing which on examination 
 portended more than pleasure ; and having 
 verv honestly examined himself and been 
 satisfied, he cast away the burthen of thought, 
 and went resolvedly into the chances of the 
 future .
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 153 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A figure like Aurora, flushed with joy. 
 
 Henet Tatlok. 
 
 A silent and a loving woman is a gift of the Lord, 
 and there is nothing so much worth as a well 
 instructed mind. 
 
 Book of Ecclesiasticiis. 
 
 Mr. Gresham paid his visit to Audley 
 Court on the following day. He looked 
 about him with eager curiosity, as he drew 
 near. It was the scene and sphere of the 
 day-dreams he had been lately building, and 
 had it come short of his expectations, great 
 disappointment must have ensued.
 
 154 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 But disappointment was not in store. It 
 is true that the narrow income of the Vava- 
 sours was apparent both in the keeping and 
 the furnishing of their abode ; there was a 
 large sphere for improvement, but this was 
 no objection to Mr. Gresham. He, in com- 
 mon with most people, loved to create ; and 
 certainly did not think with dissatisfaction 
 of the show which his future labours would 
 make in the eyes of the world. With some- 
 thing of joy and pride, therefore, he marked 
 the inferiority in general style and polish to 
 his own Underwood ; while, at the same 
 time, his senses were excited and impressed 
 by the antique gi'andeur of the building and 
 the magnificent trees that formed the avenue 
 to the house. The old towers especially 
 caught his fancy, and as he pictured the hour 
 when he should stand in a paternal relation 
 to their majesty, his soul became almost too 
 big for the feeble confines of his body. 
 
 He was received by Mr. Vavasour with 
 the grave and courteous grace that belonged
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 155 
 
 to him ; he too was calculated to impress 
 the imagination, and though a speculation 
 as to the probable short term of his life, 
 had occupied Mr. Gresham while he drove 
 along, it vanished in the presence of his 
 stately and venerable age. 
 
 Somewhat awed, however, by the same 
 stateliness, he dexterously presented his 
 daughter to Mr, Vavasour, and devoted 
 himself to his less awful wife. The arrange- 
 ment answered well. Mrs. Vavasour was 
 gracious in manner and easy to entertain ; 
 and Mr. Vavasour had an old man's love 
 for youth and beauty, and a grave nature's 
 pleasure in gaiety of spirit. 
 
 When the visit came to a conclusion Mr. 
 Vavasour made a request that Angela might 
 remain, promising that his niece and his sons 
 should escort her home. Angela's eyes 
 sparkled with delight. Mr. Gresham equally 
 gratified gave his ready acquiescence. The 
 request seemed to bring certainty to his 
 desires, and as he looked back from the
 
 156 THE TWO rilOTIIERS. 
 
 carriage on the old, dark towers, no doubt of 
 his future relationship troubled the sweet- 
 ness of his dreams. 
 
 Angela was quite as much impressed by the 
 appearance of Audley Court as her father was. 
 Her peculiar taste was gratified as much as 
 his ; for the glitter of gold was absent ; the 
 fashionable ornaments of the day had failed 
 to penetrate the old abode ; and the hand- 
 some frames of the pictures and mirrors were 
 sober with age. The house being as it was, 
 these things were not unsuitable ; though 
 there was simplicity, there was freshness, and 
 though a lack of ornament, no lack of com- 
 fort ; yet, undoubtedly, a luxurious taste 
 would have found much to criticise. 
 
 When Hope, at Angela's request, had 
 conducted her to every part of the rambling 
 building, they entered the garden together, 
 and w^alking quietly, began to converse. The 
 dissimilarity of the young companions was 
 very striking. 
 
 *'I am quite sorry to have been here,"
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 157 
 
 Angela said, looking about her. " I was so 
 pleased with Underwood yesterday, and now 
 I think nothing of it. How^ much prettier 
 this is." 
 
 ** One is old, the other is new. Both are 
 pretty in their w^ay," Hope replied. ^^ Why 
 compare ?" 
 
 " I always compare. I cannot help it ; 
 and what falls short of what it should be, I 
 utterly condemn." 
 
 " But so many things are pretty in them- 
 selves. It seems a pity not to like them for 
 their own sakes." 
 
 " But I only wash to like what is best," 
 Angela said, with decision. " If one likes 
 everything that is a little pretty, one's taste 
 becomes poor and false. I only wish to like 
 what is ve?^ good." 
 
 Hope was silent. She was not fond of 
 argument ; and unless some point on which 
 she felt strongly was touched, unable to cope 
 with others in arguing. Not so Angela. Her 
 mind was full of thought, and where she
 
 158 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 could hope to meet with novelty of opinion, 
 her unexpressed sentiment was " Let me not 
 burst in ignorance." 
 
 " I like to do the same with characters^'' 
 she began again. " I know what I think 
 good, and I know what I like. By compar- 
 ing and comparing, I hope at last I shall find 
 something perfect, or almost perfect, and 
 then I shall be happy." 
 
 " I would so much rather not compare," 
 Hope now said, with more interest in her 
 voice. " There is so much that is good in 
 every character, that I think we should ap- 
 preciate it when we find it, — not without 
 wishing for, more certainly, but still liking 
 what there is." 
 
 " Do you think there is much good to be 
 found?" Angela asked doubtingly. '' I find 
 very little." 
 
 " I am sure there is." 
 
 " Where ? I look and look, but I cannot 
 find it. I think you arc good, and Mr. Ad- 
 dison and I should think Mr, Everard
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 159 
 
 Vavasour was good ; but I cannot say I 
 think goodness is a common thing." 
 
 There was a slight flush on Hope's cheek, 
 perhaps of pain, in the selection or the omis- 
 sion of a name. It was perceived but not 
 understood by her companion. 
 
 " Do you think me wrong for speaking as 
 I do ?" Angela asked, anxiously. " I don't 
 mean anything very wrong. I only mean 
 that I think people's motives very mean, low, 
 and mercenary, and I scorn them, and I can't 
 help it. Do you never scorn ?" 
 
 " I don't think I do. I am too sorry for 
 people, to scorn them." 
 
 " But are you sorry for bad people ? I 
 am sorry for good people in distress, but I 
 cannot care for bad ones. I am not cood 
 myself, that I know very well ; but I must 
 say that vice, and wickedness, and meanness, 
 I utterly abhor." 
 
 " What is really bad I do not speak of, 
 of course," Hope said, after a little thought, 
 ^' but most, I think, have good souls, tried
 
 160 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 and tempted with many temptations ; and," 
 she continued with an earnestness that was 
 almost passionate, " to save a good soul from 
 its temptations, I would die if I might." 
 
 Angela looked at her young companion 
 with reverence and surprise. " I like what 
 you say," she said, " though I cannot feel it. 
 How is it that you, who are so good, are so 
 kind, while I, who am bad, am bitter and 
 harsh ?" 
 
 " People are different," Hope said, smiling. 
 " I could not be harsh if I tried. I am not 
 good, because of that." 
 
 On their return to the garden, they met 
 Mr. and Mrs. Vavasour coming to meet 
 them. Mr. Vavasour was anxious about 
 Anofela's return home, and said his sons 
 w^ere later than he expected. They all 
 strolled together towards the gate that opened 
 into the park ; and sons, keepers, dogs, and 
 game shortly appeared. 
 
 Not perceiving the group in the garden, 
 Robert and Evcrard walked slowly. " They
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS, 161 
 
 are tired," Angela said. " What will they 
 say to the engagement you have made for 
 them ?" 
 
 " My sons are never tired," Mr. Vavasour 
 said, with something of pride in the hardy 
 spirits he had nurtured. 
 
 ^' Or if they are," Mrs. Vavasour added, 
 " I hope they have enough of an old-fashioned 
 thing called chivalry, to forget it in this 
 service." 
 
 She looked with a kind glance of admiration 
 at Angela. The half implied compliment, 
 expectation, curiosity, the novelty of all she 
 saw, lit up Angela's countenance, and it w^as 
 bright and sparkling as it met the first 
 glances of the two young men. 
 
 " She is uncommonly pretty, I must say, 
 Everard," was Eohert's remark, as he hurried 
 on. 
 
 He approached her with the fearless 
 manner of one accustomed to please. Everard 
 with something more like the chivalry of 
 which his mother spoke, 
 
 VOL, I, M
 
 162 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 " I have made an engagement for you, my 
 boys," said Mr. Vavasour. " Miss Gresham 
 remained here this afternoon under a pro- 
 mise on my part, that you would conduct 
 her safely home." 
 
 " Miss Gresham has only to command us, 
 and we will obey," said Eobert. '' I speak 
 in Sir Charles Grandison's style for both 
 Everard and myself." 
 
 " Then, if Miss Gresham has no objection 
 to your present' style of dress, it is growing- 
 late, and you had better be gone." 
 
 From Angela's answer, it appeared that 
 thouoh she had often read of a shooting 
 dress, she had never seen it, or any other 
 accompaniments of shooting before ; for in 
 those days, a shooting dress w^as not the 
 common dress of man. 
 
 The specimen this confession of ignorance 
 aiforded of her London education, gave 
 Eobert much amusement. Though ac- 
 quainted with almost all kinds of good and 
 bad society, and possessed of what is called
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 163 
 
 knowledge of the world, there was yet alive 
 in him something of a school-boy's nature ; 
 ready to spring up whenever freedom from 
 dangerous excitements left him at leisure to 
 be himself. He found, therefore, a boy's 
 gratification in playing upon Angela's sim- 
 plicity, in astonishing, her with marvellous 
 tales, and drawing from her, her general 
 notions of life ; notions chiefly formed from 
 books, and not the best ; for London and 
 Brighton had been almost the sole spheres 
 for her observation. 
 
 Anofela was little accustomed to be 
 amused. She was too lately grown up to 
 have been able to effect a change at home ; 
 and as like clings to like, the society at Mr. 
 Gresham's house was in average liveliness 
 not much above himself. Robert's conver- 
 sation was to her " like a play ;" and the 
 more her merriment acknowledged his 
 powers, the more animated did he become. 
 
 In the course of his anecdotes, he gave 
 her a graphic and ludicrous account of the 
 
 m2
 
 164 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 adventures of a friend of his who had one 
 night assumed the disguise of a ballad singer 
 in the streets of London. Excited by her 
 amusement at what he related, he was pro- 
 ceeding to narrate the history of a disguise, 
 planned and to be executed by himself, of a 
 more serious description than the first. 
 
 " But this," he interrupted himself, *' did 
 not come off, to my great and everlasting 
 regret. I was dissuaded by the grave judge, 
 Mr. Everard Vavasour, and gave up my 
 own opinion in humble submission to his." 
 
 ^' I hate plots and disguises," Everard said, 
 quickly. 
 
 Angela suddenly withdrew her eager eyes 
 and blushed rosy red. Not that she owned 
 to a disguise. She denied it; but con- 
 science, quick and true, made its confession 
 upon her cheek. 
 
 All her companions saw her change of 
 countenance. Everard, with some surprise, 
 but without notice. Robert was less discreet. 
 
 " Miss Gresham," he said playfully, "what
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 165 
 
 a guilty face ! AVhile I have been entertain- 
 ing you to the best of my powers, I believe 
 you might have been entertaining me, with 
 the history of one of those very plots and 
 diso^uises Everard condemns." 
 
 " Indeed I could not," she said, hastily ; 
 but blushed more deeply as she spoke. 
 
 She was very uncomfortable. What must 
 Everard think ? After a moment's reflection, 
 however, she remembered that appearances 
 were nothing, if a person was really innocent; 
 and shaking ofi* her embarrassment, she ob- 
 served, boldly, " I think such things must be 
 \ery amusing." 
 
 "If done well, and with spirit they are," 
 Robert said. " My friend, the ballad singer, 
 says, he never had better fun in his life. 
 The danger is when they are undertaken 
 by people who are not up to it ; and then 
 nothing can be more flat and unprofitable." 
 
 They walked on a few steps ; then Angela's 
 uneasy mind asked this question. "Why do 
 you condemn all disguises, Mr. Vavasour?'*
 
 16G THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Everard coloured at this expression of 
 interest in his opinions, but answered, reso- 
 lutely, " Condemn is a severe w^ord. I 
 only spoke of my own feelings. I hate all 
 tricks and disguises. If they are complicated 
 it is difficult to keep to the truth, and I 
 hate falsehood. Besides, they are generally 
 mischievous and sometimes dangerous." 
 
 " There, Miss Gresham," Eobert said, 
 laughing. " Now if your conscience confesses 
 that you have been guilty of putting on a 
 disguise, Everard has pronounced your doom 
 without mercy." 
 
 " I have not," she said, with decision and 
 displeasure. " I don't confess it." 
 
 Robert had too much tact to press the 
 matter farther, but Angela was uncom- 
 fortable ; in her discomfort became gi'ave, 
 and conversation flagged. 
 
 When they reached the borders of the 
 wood, she stopped and insisted on her com- 
 panions hurrying homewards, as the sun was 
 sinkino- fast.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 1G7 
 
 All demurred, for the engagement had 
 been to see her home. " You must," she 
 said, playfully and peremptorily, "or I shall 
 think you cannot trust me." 
 
 " I am afraid I cannot," Kobert said, with 
 a mischievous look which he could not resist. 
 
 " Let us go, Eobert," Hope said, struck 
 by the appearance of annroyance on Angela's 
 countenance. 
 
 Everard saw it too and with perplexity. 
 In vain he told himself he had no business 
 with the matter. He felt a sins^ular desire 
 to penetrate the mystery. 
 
 The progi'ess to Underwood had been 
 slow. It was now really growing late ; and 
 after parting with Angela, Everard, who was 
 famous for his quick walking, hurried home. 
 The hours at Audley Court were early, and 
 Mr. Vavasour encouraged punctuality, not 
 so much for its own sake, as for the exercise 
 it gave to an unselfish and respectful tone of 
 feeling. His sons, Robert as well as Everard, 
 in this respect endeavoured to please him ; and
 
 168 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 it was Eobert who now despatched Everard 
 to give notice they should be in time. 
 
 " I have been wondering, Hope," Eobert 
 said, as they walked on alone, " how it is 
 that Miss Gresham finds me so witty and 
 wise, and all my wit and wisdom is lost 
 on you." 
 
 " Oh, Robert," she cried, eagerly, " don't 
 say so. I like to listen to you." 
 
 " But vou never lausrh." 
 
 " I can't laugh," she replied. " Something 
 prevents it." 
 
 " Who or what prevents it ? I want to 
 know." 
 
 " I can't tell," she replied, after a moment's 
 thouo'ht. " I onlv know what I feel." 
 
 " I wish I could see into that mysterious 
 mind of yours, Hope," Robert said, smiling, 
 " I believe I should find curious things 
 there." 
 
 " Do you wish me to laugh more ?" Hope 
 asked, suddenly fixing her anxious eyes upon 
 him.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 169 
 
 " I ; what, wish you to be anything but 
 what you are. No, indeed, my dearest." He 
 spoke with warmth, then quickly smihng 
 again. " But I should like to dive deep 
 down into your mind and search out all your 
 most secret thoughts and feelings. I wish 
 I had the power. Should you mind, Hope, 
 if I had." He fixed a smiling but yet a 
 keen and anxious gaze upon her face. 
 
 "No, Kobert, I don't think I should," 
 she replied, meeting his gaze with a look of 
 confiding innocence. 
 
 A shade of disappointment crossed his 
 brow, but it was driven away, and with 
 something of thought and seriousness he 
 said, " That is a strange and happy thing to 
 say. I wish I could say it. I wish I could 
 ofibr you to let your eyes dive into my mind, 
 but I can't, I am afraid. And yet," he added, 
 " I would rather have yours than any others. 
 I should grieve for what you might find 
 there, but I should not fear."
 
 170 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The gifts of genius were not tliine, 
 Proudly before the world to shine ; 
 And none Piememher Tliee 
 Save me. 
 
 Mrs. Nobton. 
 
 About a fortnight after Mr. Gresham's 
 arrival in the country, a formal invitation 
 was sent to Audley Court, requesting that 
 the whole, or any part of the Vavasour 
 family would pay a week's visit at Under- 
 wood. 
 
 This fortnight, although there has been 
 nothing of event to record, had been a
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 171 
 
 fortnig-ht full of lite and full of excitement. 
 To Angela and Everard, it had been like 
 waking up in a new existence. 
 
 Her enjoyment had many sources. The 
 free country life, the novelty of all she 
 saw, the amusement she derived from the 
 society of companions suited to her taste — 
 all these things conspired to excite and 
 delight ; all conspired to make her days pass 
 as in^a dream of enchantment; and when, 
 added to this, the dawning light of romance 
 threw its golden hue over her days, no 
 wonder that she felt like a bird loosened 
 from a chain and cage, and set free in 
 Paradise. 
 
 To Everard, the novelty in some respects 
 was not so great, but there icas a dangerous 
 novelty in Angela's society against which he 
 was not proof. She liked him. The mere 
 fact that he was liked by one so winning 
 and so lovely, was a novelty w^hich be- 
 wildered and excited him. She liked him, 
 and showed that she did so ; in no strange
 
 172 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 ways ; in ways common enough for most men 
 to see, but new to him. She sympathised 
 in his tastes, agreed with his opinions, eared 
 to hear his feeUngs and thoughts expressed ; 
 would not suffer him to be unnoticed, talked 
 to him with the same apparent pleasure, 
 that she did to Kobert — not so much 
 perhaps, nor so freely, but with a something 
 in her manner, that she had not to him ; a 
 kind of deference to which he was little 
 accustomed. He had not yet begun to 
 think about it, but he knew how quick the 
 days passed, how bright was the autumn, 
 how he dreaded the thoughts of his return 
 to London, and escaped from it, as from a 
 bad dream; how he could hardly sleep at 
 night, for longing that the morning would 
 come. These were dangerous symptoms in 
 one of Everard's controlled and restrained 
 nature ; and vaguely he knew it ; though 
 too vaguely to acknowledge it in words. 
 
 Hope brought Mr. Gresham's invitation 
 to her cousins, as they sat one morning
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 173 
 
 reading the newspapers in the library. 
 " My uncle desired me to bring it," she 
 said. " He cannot go, of course, but he begs 
 you will do as you please. I think he 
 wishes you to go." 
 
 Robert took the note. It was couched 
 in pompous language, but was almost 
 servile in its anticipations of pleasure, 
 should the honour of acceptance be con- 
 ferred. "Formal old prig," he said laughing, 
 " I would not disappoint him for the world. 
 I am sure my anticipations of pleasure are 
 quite equal to his. Yes, I will go. What 
 do you say, Everard?" 
 
 " Not for a week. I will go for a day or 
 two." 
 
 " No, a week would be too much, even of 
 his sweet society. Well, Hope, tell my 
 father we accept for a day or two ; and you, 
 do you mean to go with us?" 
 
 " I ? oh ! no, Robert." 
 
 ** And why, oh ! no, in that decisive tone ?
 
 174 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Would there be anything strange if you 
 went ? " 
 
 *' I think there would," she said, with a 
 slio'ht smile. 
 
 " But why ? Are you never to come out 
 of the shade ? Are you to be for ever a 
 flower wasting your sweetness on the desert 
 air?" 
 
 ^' I don't wish to go," she replied quickly. 
 " I am not made for such things. I would go 
 if my uncle wished it, but he says I may do 
 as I please." 
 
 *' So you shall, and it is best as it is. I 
 am glad you are satisfied to stay at home, 
 
 for that is where I like you to be. I don't 
 covet to see you in the thick of festivities, 
 though, perhaps, I am a selfish brute to say 
 so. Well, Hope, give our messages to my 
 father ; tell him I accept mth pleasure, and 
 Everard with rapture." He gave a mis- 
 chievous wink at his brother, but Everard 
 either did not, or did not choose to see.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 175 
 
 Hope left the room. 
 
 " Philosophers tell us as a remarkable 
 fact," Robert observed, after a moment, " that 
 no two people are exactly alike. Now that 
 fact does not seem to me remarkable in the 
 least ; but a thing that does surprise me is, 
 how two people of the same species, same 
 rank, same education, same age, can be so 
 absolutely and entirely different as Hope and 
 Miss Gresham. As far as I can see, they 
 have no property in common, except that 
 both are human." 
 
 " Do you dislike Miss Gresham ? " Ever- 
 ard asked. 
 
 ** Dislike ! I never said anything about 
 liking. I like her. She is not my favourite 
 style of woman, but she is a kind I tolerate 
 very well. But what makes you so hot and 
 peppery to-day ? Why take up her cudgels 
 so fast ? " 
 
 " I am quite cool," Everard said, smiling, 
 " though if you choose to make me hot, I 
 know it is no use for me to sav so."
 
 176 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 "If you had not been so warm, I was 
 going to ask you which of the two species of 
 woman I mentioned, you would choose, if 
 you must choose, for your wife ?" 
 
 " As both are out of my reach, why 
 should I think?" Everard said, colouring 
 unconsciously. 
 
 " Why are both out of your reach ? " 
 
 " You had better not ask that, Robert," 
 he said, good-humouredl}', " if you do I shall 
 tell you. Miss Gresham is an heiress, and 
 heiresses are not for me, nor I for heiresses ; 
 the other you may guess." 
 
 " Well, but now supposing Miss Gresham 
 was not an heiress," persisted Robert, " and 
 that you . . . ." 
 
 " We may suppose anything, and I don't 
 care for suppositions," Everard said, with 
 some impatience, and then added, laughing, 
 "It is very bad manners, Robert, to ask 
 questions. Dr. Johnson says so." 
 
 " In some people, perhaps, not in others. 
 I consider it my bounden duty to make these
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 177 
 
 and other inquiries, and when it is my duty 
 of course I do not shrink. Duty first, man- 
 ners second. However, for the present my 
 duty is done, so you may go back to your 
 law reports if you please." 
 
 Angela drove to Audley Court to en- 
 deavour to alter Hope's resolution, but was 
 unsuccessful ; neither did she find the co- 
 operation she had expected on the part of 
 any of its inhabitants. 
 
 As she returned to the carriage after her 
 vain efforts, Kobert appeared in the court- 
 yard. 
 
 He came to the carriage-door, and she 
 told him her errand and its ill success. 
 
 " I am glad," he said. 
 
 "Are you?" she exclaimed in surprise. 
 "Why?" 
 
 "It is very well for us to care for the 
 pomps and vanities of the world," he replied, 
 gravely enough, " because it is our nature — 
 but it is a pleasure to see a head into which 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 they have never entered, and I should be 
 sorry to have it troubled with them." 
 
 " You are not very complimentary, Mr. 
 Vavasour," Angela said, laughing. 
 
 " Well, I will be complimentary now then," 
 he replied : "I should not have said what I 
 did, if I had not a very good opinion of 
 you. 
 
 '' That is really a good compliment," she 
 said, smiling, *' and now I go away quite 
 satisfied. Good-bye !" 
 
 '* That is a good girl," Eobert said to 
 himself, as he returned to the house ; '' con- 
 sidering the weight of gold she bears, a very 
 good girl. A man might have many less 
 daintv dishes set before him. It is rather 
 a sino'ular thinof, and shows the moderation 
 of my nature, that I feel no desire to avail 
 myself of what I might have if I pleased. 
 Units, tens, hundreds, thousands, laid at my 
 feet, and as calm as an old philosopher, I 
 avert my eyes and allow them to be picked up
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 179 
 
 by whosoever pleases. For once, my respected 
 forefathers, I think I am a credit to you. 
 Hope, where are you ? " 
 
 She came flying towards him at the sound 
 of his voice. 
 
 " I want a button, Hope, and a needle, 
 and a thread, and then I want your assis- 
 tance to put the button on my sleeve. For 
 the loss of a button I am come home in a 
 very depressed state of mind. Such is 
 man ! 
 
 He watched her with a fond, sweet expres- 
 sion of countenance, as her quick fingers 
 accomplished the task he set her. To judge 
 by his countenance, it seemed as if he had 
 feelings within that would not be restrained ; 
 but when she had done he only said, quietly 
 and gaily, " Thanks, my fair angel, I like 
 to have you waiting upon me. Get your 
 bonnet, and let us have a walk." 
 
 The two brothers arrived late at Un- 
 derwood, and Mr. Gresham, who was as 
 
 N 2
 
 180 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 elaborate in his toilette as in his speeches, was 
 obliged to relinquish his purpose of re- 
 cei^dng them on their first arrival, in the 
 hall. 
 
 He stood, however, at the door of the 
 drawing-room to await their entrance there, 
 and give his welcome in due form. A large 
 party were assembled. One gentleman, Mr. 
 Merivale (the old friend of Angela's child- 
 hood), from London ; the rest gathered 
 from different parts of the country. Almost 
 all were unknown to the brothers, for Mr. 
 Vavasour's secluded life, and the long 
 absences of his sons, had in a great degree 
 prevented them from mixing in the society 
 of a very populous district. Mr. Gresham 
 wished to be a good neighbour ; he liked 
 society, for society brought upon him the 
 eyes of the world, but it was on the score of 
 duty that he framed his plan of life. " The 
 riches that Providence bestows," he ob- 
 served, on this evening, to Mr. Merivale, 
 " are not to be hid imder a bushel. If I
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 181 
 
 have been blessed with a more than common 
 share of good things, it is but just and right 
 that I should display them. I feel that many 
 eyes are upon me, and I must make it my 
 endeavour to act according to the station 
 in which I have been placed." A slight 
 elevation of the head betrayed how lofty that 
 station was in his own estimation. 
 
 " Very good," was Mr. Merivale's calm 
 answer to the oration which has here been 
 considerably abridged in its proportions. 
 
 As soon as Eobert appeared, Mr. Gresham 
 welcomed him with flattering attention, and 
 then with Everard in his suite conducted 
 him in a kind of royal progress round the 
 room. " Mr. Vavasour and his brother," 
 this was his mode of introduction. Nor did 
 his attention end here. Desiring him to 
 take Angela to dinner, and to place her at 
 his left side, he continued his favours without 
 intermission. Thoughts, lips, and eyes w^ere 
 all alike devoted to Robert. He could 
 scarcely attend with common politeness to a
 
 182 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 dull lady on his right side, and in his desire 
 that Robert should eat of the best, could 
 scarcely spare time to satisfy the cravings of 
 his own nature. To make a lion is not a 
 work of difficulty. Had Robert been pos- 
 sessed of few personal claims to distinction, 
 the notice of his host would have won for 
 him the notice of the guests ; but in truth 
 Robert's pretensions were so incontrovertible 
 that no attention appeared to surpass his 
 claims, and very willingly Mr. Gresham's 
 guests did homage to the idol he set up. 
 
 Robert was no coxcomb and no fool. He 
 laughed in his heart, but to only a few 
 people notice is distasteful, and it certainly 
 was not distasteful to him. He was excited 
 by it, exerted himself to please, and won 
 by his own powers, the regard which at first 
 had been won for him. 
 
 Everard's fate was naturally very different. 
 He sat at the other end of the table, between 
 two dull gentlemen, silent and unnoticed. 
 Except as Robert's brother, Mr. Gresham
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 183 
 
 had bestowed no attention upon him ; and 
 Mr. Gresham's guests for the most part 
 followed his lead. Even the dull men that 
 sat by his side stretched forward to catch 
 Robert's gay words, and wished themselves 
 nearer to the sphere in which he moved. 
 
 In the evening the distinction between the 
 two brothers was made yet more apparent. 
 With something of the same royal honour 
 as before described, Mr. Gresham conducted 
 Robert from the dining to the drawing-room, 
 and then to Angela's side. Angela was 
 good-naturedly endeavouring to entertain the 
 good but dull lady who was her companion, 
 but not being supremely gifted with patience, 
 felt and looked, exhausted with her efforts. 
 
 " Will you help ?" she whispered to Robert 
 as he stood beside her. He laughed, but 
 with ready good humour agreed, and draw- 
 ing a chair close to Angela and her guest, 
 sat himself down to the task of entertainment. 
 To be entertaining was rarely an effort to 
 him : his observation was so quick, his sense 
 of humour so keen, his forms of expression
 
 184 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 SO original ; but this evening, excited and 
 pleased by the pleasure he so evidently gave, 
 he surpassed himself. The other guests 
 were drawn to the centre of attraction. 
 
 Some joined in the conversation; some 
 assisted it by their unfailing laugh. Some 
 stood with open eyes and ears. Grateful 
 to Robert, excited and amused, Angela 
 listened, talked, and laughed, with all her 
 powers. 
 
 On the outskirts of the crowd Everard 
 stood in a reverie. Almost all were strange 
 to him ; none thought of, none heeded him. 
 He was unaccustomed to notice, and certainly 
 had not expected it ; but suddenly his mind 
 became aware, as it never had been before, 
 of the extraordinary difference between 
 Robert and himself ; the difference in charm, 
 in position, in hopes and promises of fortune. 
 Till now, except perhaps as regarded his 
 mother, he had never felt jealous ; he had 
 always acknowledged Robert's superiority as 
 a thing of course, a fact co plain and estab- 
 lished that it was not worth a thought, but
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 185 
 
 this night the conviction of that superiority 
 brought a pang so sharp, a stir of envy so 
 bitter and tumultuous, that he himself, was 
 startled by it. 
 
 " What is the matter with me ?" he asked 
 himself, with a feeling of hate and abhorrence. 
 His eyes looked inwards, keenly and reso- 
 lutely, and the answer was given. 
 
 It was the answer to this question that had 
 plunged Everard into his reverie. No 
 sooner was he aware of the state of his feel- 
 ings, than he began to fight and argue 
 with them, to say to himself that vain 
 word in such cases — " Folly." The fight, the 
 struggle* was depicted on his countenance; 
 it was always grave when in repose, but this 
 night it was stern. 
 
 Mr. Merivale was the only person who 
 had not gathered about Eobert's charmed 
 circle. He was an old friend, a privileged 
 guest; one who did as he pleased, with- 
 out fear of questionings. He liked to read 
 the newspapers of an evening — and come 
 what might he did read them.
 
 186 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 While he read, he watched. An acute 
 observer, a student of human nature, and 
 one especially interested in the fate of An- 
 gela, he watched the two brothers with 
 interest and attention. The countenance 
 of Everard attracted him. He had once or 
 twice across the table, addressed him during 
 dinner; and his unpretendingness of manner 
 and intelligent answers had pleased him. 
 The feelings now depicted on his face in- 
 terested him still more. Suddenly laying- 
 down the newspaper, he rose and approached 
 him. 
 
 *' After all, Mr. Vavasour," he said, rather 
 abruptly entering on the conversation, " it is 
 manners make the man." 
 
 '^ I believe it is, indeed," Everard said, 
 smiling, " but what has brought you to this 
 sudden decision ?" 
 
 '' I will tell you why T say it just now ;— 
 I was prepared this evening to hate your 
 brother. I always am, when I hear a name 
 more often than I think a name should be 
 pronounced. That was before I saw him.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 187 
 
 When you came in to-night, I was prepared 
 to hate him more. I always am, when 
 attention, which I consider superabundant, 
 is paid to a person. But after all this pre- 
 paration, he has disarmed me. There is a 
 charm about him which I cannot resist." 
 
 " All who know Robert feel the same," 
 Everard said, with warmth. 
 
 ^' That is a brotherly speech ; but from 
 my own sensations, I have no doubt it is 
 true. Now the fact is, I have a good right 
 to hate him ; and when I tell you the cir- 
 cumstances, I think you will allow it. I 
 have not been in England for five years. I 
 arrive, and being an old friend of Mr. Gres- 
 ham and his daughter, I pursue them down 
 here. I come, expecting to be made much 
 of. I arrive, and the very first day my nose 
 is put out of joint by a young new friend ; I 
 am thought no more of than an old shoe. 
 You will own this is enough to fill mc with 
 hafred and all uncharitableness." 
 
 " Most certainly," Everard said, laughing. 
 
 " So conscious was I that such ought to be
 
 188 THE TWO BROTHERS, 
 
 the proper state of my feelings, that it was 
 with surprise I found myself totally untouched 
 by bad passions. ' How is this ?' I asked 
 myself; and the answer I received was the 
 observation with which I addressed you. 
 Manners make the man. There is no feel- 
 ing indignation where honours are borne as 
 your brother bears them. He deserves them 
 well." 
 
 '' I believe I was making much the same 
 reflection," Everard replied; "and to say 
 the truth, I am afraid I was indulging in 
 some envy of the qualities you speak of," 
 
 " That is a thing of course," said his com- 
 panion. '* So was I. We would not de- 
 prive him of what sits so well upon him, but 
 if we could, we would all, have those, or any 
 qualities, which command attention, still 
 more admiration, still more love," 
 
 " I suppose so," Everard said, gravely. 
 
 " These are new acquaintances of yours, 
 Mr. Vavasour, I believe ? " 
 
 He acquiesced. 
 
 " I have not seen Miss Gresham for five
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 189 
 
 years. My chief purpose in coming to 
 England was to see her again. I left her a 
 child. I wished to see what she was as a 
 woman." 
 
 " You must be satisfied I think," Everard 
 said, smiling. 
 
 ** Why, yes, upon the whole. She is not 
 so pretty as I thought she promised to be ; 
 but in other ways she is improved. 
 
 " You must have expected a good deal if 
 you are disappointed," Everard said, with 
 more warmth than he was conscious of. 
 
 " She was a beautiful child. I suppose 
 the child haunts my dreams and makes me 
 less satisfied with the woman. The eyes 
 and complexion are perfect, but I could 
 have wished the nose and mouth were more 
 classical." 
 
 " That is being very critical," Everard 
 said, amused. 
 
 " Yes ; but like lago, I am nothing if not 
 critical. I am, however, satisfied on the 
 whole, and the mental improvement is more 
 than I looked for."
 
 190 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Everard was not aware that the critical 
 eyes had been watching him during this 
 conversation. Mr. Merivale was a dangerous 
 person. When bent on observation, it was 
 hard to elude him. 
 
 At this moment the party broke up» The 
 lady who came from a distance was taking 
 her departure, and Mr. Gresham, too much 
 absorbed in Kobert, to have hitherto attended 
 to his own pleasures, was making up a whist 
 table. Mr. Merivale was in request for 
 this purpose. 
 
 Everard stood where he left him, and 
 took up for a moment the newspaper that 
 Mr. Merivale had laid down. He was 
 glancing over it, when he was startled by 
 Angelas voice. She had left her place, 
 and had taken a seat on the sofa, near the 
 table at which he stood. 
 
 "I am afraid I interrupt you, Mr. Vava- 
 sour," she said, in a voice peculiarly sweet 
 and winning. " Is there anything very 
 interesting in that newspaper ?"
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 191 
 
 " Not much," he said, smiling, and laying 
 it down. 
 
 " I am come to ask you," she continued, 
 " a strange thing, but you must remember 
 that I am in two characters in this house. 
 I am a young lady, and, therefore, bound to 
 be very discreet ; l)ut I am also the lady of 
 the house, and bound to see that all my 
 guests are amused and happy. I want to 
 know if there is anything the matter with 
 you to-night, and why you are so grave." 
 Her manner was peculiar. It was more 
 than kind, and yet at the same time had a 
 grace and dignity which became the cha- 
 racter she wished to assume. 
 
 " Am I grave ? " he said, unconscious that 
 his outward man had so betrayed his inward 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Yes, grave all the evening, but lately 
 more than grave." 
 
 " I believe I always am grim-looking," he 
 said, smiling, " but I am not really so grim 
 as I look."
 
 192 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 " I see YOU do not like my questions," she 
 said, " and I dare say I am impertinent ; 
 but what I wished to say was this, I feared 
 you might think that you were neglected 
 while others were made much of; and I 
 wished to tell you it was not so, though it 
 might seem so. You must remember," she 
 added, quickly, as if in explanation of her 
 rising colour, " that it is my duty as mistress 
 of this house to see that all are happy, that 
 is as far as may be ; and so you must excuse 
 my impertinence." 
 
 Lord Byron says — 
 
 " It is in vaiii that we would coldly gaze 
 On those that smile on us. The heart must 
 Leap kindly hack to kindness." 
 
 If not always true, it certainly is so in a 
 case like Everard's, where such kindness was 
 rarely expressed towards him, and where 
 already he was far from coldly gazing. He 
 was deeply touched. But he was now on 
 his guard, awakened to his danger, and de- 
 termined to resist it. His answer was little 
 expressive of what he really felt.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 193 
 
 " You have imposed very severe duties on 
 your position," he said, smiling, " and I 
 think a short practise will tell you, you 
 must give them up. For myself, thank you 
 a thousand times. I assure you, I was not 
 so vain as to suppose myself neglected." 
 
 He fancied, but he thought it must be 
 fancy, that she looked hurt at his answer. 
 She was silent for a moment ; then suddenly 
 said, laughing, and in another tone, " That 
 is a new phase of vanity, is it not, to 
 suppose itself neglected ? I thought vanity 
 supposed itself to be observed." 
 
 "I think vanity is to suppose itself of 
 importance at all," he replied, " and quite as 
 often complains of neglect, as it takes to 
 itself praise." 
 
 " Well, perhaps. And now good night. 
 Do you think, as mistress of the house, I 
 need sit up till that whist party breaks up. 
 I am rather tired of laughing, and I should 
 be glad to go. What do you say, Mr. Va- 
 
 VOL. I. o.
 
 194 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 vasour ? " turning to Robert, who passed at 
 the moment. 
 
 " Put the question," he said, " and I will 
 give an answer in a moment, be the point 
 what it may ; but I am like Nebuchad- 
 nezzar's poor ill-used sages. I cannot give 
 an answer, without knowing what the ques- 
 tion is." 
 
 Angela laughed and explained. 
 
 " Go to bed by all means," he replied, 
 "though it is extremely uncivil of me to 
 say so. I hate rules and laws ; and espe- 
 cially on this point. Let all men go to bed 
 when they are inclined, and we shall have 
 an end of that worst of evils, a face con- 
 vulsed with yawns. Good night. Pray go 
 to bed." 
 
 " It is a pity she is an heiress, is it not, 
 Everard ? " he said archly, as she left them ; 
 but without waiting for observation or 
 answer, went on to the whist table. Everard 
 again took up the newspaper, but not to 
 read. His mind was severely struggling
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. &f 195 
 
 with new and strange feelings. Folly, idle 
 dreams, he again called them, and was deter- 
 mined to crush them at once, and for ever. 
 The arguments with which he animated his 
 rebellious will, were di'awn from the source, 
 which animated all his endeavours to do 
 his dut}'. What would his father say, if he 
 yielded to his first temptation ? A tempta- 
 tion to dream his life away, to set before 
 himself an illusive hope, to escape from the 
 more toilsome life laid out for him. He 
 imagined his father's face of pain, if he 
 should hear that he, Everard, was courting 
 the favour of the heiress, and the imagination 
 was for the moment at least all powerful. 
 With a sigh, he blew away the vain fancies 
 that were bewildering him, and returned to 
 himself. 
 
 o 2
 
 196 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 jCHAPTER X. 
 
 From time to time 
 Henceforth I felt, although I met them not, 
 The visitation of those serious eyes. 
 
 Eve of the Conquest. 
 
 EvERARD came down early the following 
 morning, earlier, that is, than the breakfast 
 hour of the house. Finding the breakfast 
 room empty, and being told by the servants 
 that he was half an hour too soon, he went 
 out for a walk. When he returned, he was 
 observed by Angela from the breakfast 
 room window, and she opened the window 
 to invite him to come in. She and Mr. 
 Merivale were there alone. Mr. Merivale 
 was readino' his letters.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 197 
 
 " You have been out to shame us, I 
 suppose," she said laughing, " but it is only 
 just ten o'clock." 
 
 " I went out because I came down too 
 soon," he said, smiling ; " like the man in 
 the moon. I had no other reason." 
 
 " But you do think our hours very late ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do not. Mine are earlier, but 
 that does not make yours late." 
 
 " I won't ask you at what o'clock you get 
 up, for I feel sure that it is at some un- 
 earthly hour; but at what o'clock do you 
 come down at Audley Court ?" 
 
 '' At half-past eight." 
 
 " And do you all breakfast then ? Does 
 poor Mr. Vavasour ? I don't think he can 
 like it much ; your brother I mean." 
 
 " No ; we don't breakfast till nine. 
 Robert is very good. He does not much 
 like it, but he is not often late." 
 
 '' Then what takes place at half-past 
 eight ?" 
 
 ** My father reads prayers."
 
 198 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 **0h!'* Angela said, gravely; then, 
 smiling, " Why did you not say that bc" 
 fore ?" 
 
 " I had no need, had I ?" 
 
 " Now, Mr. Vavasour, for once you don't 
 speak quite the truth. You did not choose 
 to say it, because you thought it would be a 
 reproach to a house where there were no 
 prayers." 
 
 " I will not be positive. It may have 
 been so ; but I really do not- think it was." 
 
 "Is it common to have family prayers? 
 I beg your pardon," she said, suddenly, "for 
 asking so many questions. I believe I never 
 speak without a question ; but my igno- 
 rance of the ways of the w^orld is such that 
 I am forced to do it. I hope to improve. Is 
 it common ?" 
 
 " I fancy it is," Everard said, after a 
 moment's thought. " I should suppose it 
 is ; but I know very little of the interior 
 arrangements of houses in general." 
 
 " Do you think it a right custom ?"
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS, 199 
 
 '' It seems, I think, a good and natural 
 
 one. 
 
 " I will release you now," she said, laugh- 
 ing. " I know I must be a bore ; but my 
 ignorance is my excuse." 
 
 " I shall be most happy to answer any 
 questions," Everard said, smiling also; " but 
 if they are about the ways of the world, per- 
 haps I am not much wiser than you are." 
 
 " Did you hear me, Mr. Merivale ? " 
 Angela said, approaching him. '' Did you 
 think me a bore ?" 
 
 " Rather, my dear child," he said, looking 
 up from his letter ; "I could not under- 
 stand a w^ord I read." 
 
 Nevertheless, with a glance, half amused, 
 half anxious, he had been watching her 
 from behind his letter. 
 
 The rest of the party (with the exception 
 of Robert), consisting of Mr. Gresham and 
 two or three gentlemen, now entered the 
 room, and all proceeded to breakfast. 
 
 Nothing could be more pompously urbane
 
 200 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 than Mr. Gresliam was to all ; but his eyes 
 were on the door, and he was evidently ill 
 at ease in daring to eat before Robert 
 appeared. Once or twice he apologised to 
 himself for doing so ; and the only special 
 notice he took of Everard was to make the 
 same apolog}^ to him. He had some good 
 shooting, which was the avowed purpose for 
 which the party had been formed ; but no- 
 thing was allowed to be settled on the sub- 
 ject, or even debated, until Robert came. 
 " It was all in Mr. Vavasour's hands." This 
 reduced every inquirer to silence. 
 
 When Robert did appear, at the very end 
 of breakfast, the superabundant attentions 
 of the preceding evening were resumed. He 
 went forward to meet him, overpowered his 
 apologies for his lateness, by his (Mr. 
 Gresham's) apologies for his rudeness, and 
 made amends for the latter by supphing 
 Robert's wants, with a hospitality and osten- 
 tation five times as great as that he had 
 $hown to his other guests.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 201 
 
 Robert accepted it all with careless ease 
 and good humour ; neither rejecting the 
 attentions of his host nor glorying in them. 
 It was impossible to be angry wdth him^ and 
 yet though he escaped, there was a rising 
 wrath and rebellion in Angela's mind, which 
 boded future strife in the house. 
 
 As she left the breakfast room she over- 
 heard a young man say to Everard, " I am 
 sure I wish I was an elder son, don't you ?" 
 
 She slackened her steps to catch Everard's 
 reply. It was given with more truth than 
 politeness, so far, at least, as the young gen- 
 tleman was concerned. " Unless w^e wish 
 for other qualities at the same time, perhaps 
 the matter of birth would be no great 
 advantage to us." 
 
 Angela smiled to herself as she walked 
 on, but the observation of the young man, 
 though she owned it was ill bred, added to 
 the irritation of her mind. 
 
 In the course of the morning Mr.Merivale 
 entered the drawino^-room. He found
 
 202 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Angela seated at a table, with a large 
 Prayer-book before her. His quick observa- 
 tion immediately guessed the nature of her 
 occupation, but without discovering this, he 
 approached her and asked, *' What are you 
 about now, Angela ?" 
 
 " I wash to have family prayers in the 
 house," she replied with dignity, *' and I am 
 making out a proper selection. I wish to 
 have them to-morrow mornino- or I would 
 wait till I could see Mr. Addison, and ask 
 him to choose for me." 
 
 " And who is to read, my love ?" 
 
 " I mean to read myself ; that is, if papa 
 refuses, which I know he will." 
 
 " Your 
 
 ^'Yes. You seem surprised. Is there 
 anything extraordinary in my doing it ?" 
 
 ^' A little, I think. Don't do it, my dear 
 child, if you will take my advice. It is an 
 office not very consistent with your age, and 
 giddiness, and other things." 
 
 " I don't see that," she said. " I know I
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 203 
 
 am not very good, but if we wait till we are 
 perfect before we do anything that is right, 
 I don't see that we ever can improve. I 
 think it right to have prayers in a house, 
 and if I can I will have them. I dare say I 
 shall be frightened, at first, but I don't care 
 for that." 
 
 " Now, my dear child, listen to me," said 
 Mr. Merivale, with difficultv restraining' a 
 smile. *' I am the very last person to say a 
 word against your zeal ; but do not be in 
 such haste. Let all things be done decently 
 and in order. Do not while all your servants 
 are busv and hurried beofin such a thinof. 
 Let them know you are thinking about it ; 
 give them time to consider it, and consider 
 it yourself, and then take some quiet time to 
 begin. Trust me, I am giving you good 
 advice." 
 
 " I don't think you are," she said easferlv ; 
 " one should act rightly while one feels the 
 spirit to do it. I never do a thing if I let 
 the right time go by."
 
 204 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 " It requires principle, certainly ; but, 
 believe me, hasty things are dangerous 
 things. Besides, there is another reason : 
 if you do this thing suddenly, what will Mr. 
 Everard Vavasour think ? It strikes me he 
 will think you pay a very undue regard to 
 his opinion." 
 
 " I don't care," she said, though her blood 
 mounting to her temples, somewhat contra- 
 dicted her words, *' I am glad he should see 
 on the contrary that some regard is paid to 
 his opinion in this house. I like what he 
 said, and I am not ashamed to shew it." 
 
 " Poor little thing," he said, suddenly pat- 
 ting her shoulders, " you had better take care 
 of yourself." 
 
 She did not notice his observation, but 
 resumed her inspection of the Prayer-book. 
 
 A moment afterwards Mr. Gresham 
 entered the room, and as if to shew herself 
 entirely unmoved by Mr, Meri vale's argu- 
 ments, she immediately made her request to 
 her father.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 205 
 
 He placed himself before the fire, and 
 after a moment's reflection observed, " This 
 requires consideration. If it is a proper 
 thing it shall be done, though at some incon- 
 venience. Is it a common appendage of a 
 country house ?" 
 
 " I don't know," Angela said, *' but I 
 know that in some houses it is done. Mr. 
 Vavasour reads prayers at Audley Court." 
 
 "Indeed!" Mr. Gresham asked eagerly. 
 " Has Mr. Vavasour been speaking on the 
 subject ? His opinion is of importance." 
 
 " Mr. Everard Vavasour told me so," 
 Angela said with emphasis. 
 
 " Oh !" was Mr. Gresham's reply. " Mr.' 
 Everard Vavasour's opinion is another thing ; 
 deserving of consideration certainly, but, 
 comparatively speaking, of less moment." 
 
 " I don't see that," Angela said warmly 
 and with a deep blush. 
 
 *' Nor I," said Mr. Merivale. 
 
 " Mr. Gresham looked from one to the 
 other with too much surprise in his coun-
 
 206 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 tenance to leave room for an expression of 
 displeasure. He was one of those who with 
 difficulty are brought to see that which they 
 do not wish to see ; and though there was 
 something in Angela's look which might 
 have made him uneasy for his cherished 
 plans, he did not appear to be conscious of it. 
 
 Without resuming the subject, he in a 
 moment observed to Mr. Merivale, " That 
 Mr. Vavasour is a very pleasing young 
 man ; a very fine young man." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Merivale, " they both are." 
 
 " I spoke of the eldest. He is, I should 
 say, the first }'oung man of his day. Ac- 
 complished, amiable in manner, striking in 
 appearance, and, if I mistake not, formed to 
 have the eyes of the world upon him." 
 
 "I like both," persisted Mr Merivale, 
 " but I am not certain that I do not like the 
 youngest best." 
 
 " It would be rather singular," Mr Gres- 
 ham said, contemptuously elevating his nose, 
 " to prefer the younger to the elder."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 207 
 
 Angela's heart was bursting to speak, but 
 she refrained. Her cheek, however, was 
 again crimson. 
 
 Mr. Gresham looked at her with a stare 
 of observation, through a countenance 
 totally unmoved. After a short silence he 
 left his place, and, approaching the table, 
 asked what she was doing. 
 
 She told him. 
 
 " You need not trouble yourself," he said 
 coldly. '' I will attend to the subject myself. 
 If I find that family prayers are a common 
 appendage of country houses, I will under- 
 take the duty in proper time. Meanwhile, 
 I beg that my affairs may not be canvassed 
 with those who can have no concern with 
 them. Merivale, do you choose to walk with 
 me?" 
 
 "With all my heart," he said, and 
 followed him from the room, leaving Angela 
 with a mind in which rebellion was begin- 
 ing to be harboured. The feelings that 
 animated her were partly generous, partly ro-
 
 208 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 mantic, and partly wilful ; but the generous 
 motives were so predominant, they were in 
 their nature so right and true, that she 
 scarcely acknowledged the second, and en- 
 tirely disregarded the third. Her taste and 
 heart alike revolted from this courting of 
 Eobert, and she proudly determined that 
 she would show a spirit animated by other 
 feelings. 
 
 In this temper of mind she awaited the 
 evening. 
 
 Another party had been invited, and the 
 second evening was in many respects a re- 
 petition of the first. During dinner Angela 
 sat ao'ain between her father and Robert, 
 and as Mr. Gresham listened to and joined 
 in their animated conversation, he banished 
 every dawning uneasiness regarding the suc- 
 cess of his scheme. Angela and Robert did 
 indeed get on exceedingly well together. 
 Both, of course, perceived, one with internal 
 chafing, the other with internal merriment, 
 Mr. Gresham's designs, but both were very
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS, 209 
 
 willing to be pleased and amused, when- 
 soever and howsoever they could. When 
 therefore Robert, in the beginning of the 
 evening, was again pompously conducted to 
 Angela's side, she received him without any 
 show of annoyance, and he accepted his posi- 
 tion without reluctance. 
 
 Waiting until they were engaged in a full 
 flow of discourse, Mr. Gresham, having per- 
 formed his duty as a father, proceeded to 
 amuse himself. Whist was the supreme and 
 solemn diversion of his life. Even at whist 
 he still was Mr. Gresham ; even his play was 
 in the eyes of the world, but certainly he 
 was less guarded, less conscious of his enor- 
 mous responsibilities when engaged in that 
 employment, than on any other occasions of 
 his life. This evening the whist table was 
 formed early, and he sat down to play in se- 
 rene majesty, at peace with himself, his 
 daughter, and all the world. 
 
 " Are you really going back to Audiey 
 
 VOL. I. f
 
 210 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Court to-morrow?" Angela said to Kobert 
 shortly after they had been left to themselves. 
 
 " Yes, we must go. We shall only be a 
 week or ten days more at home, and we don't 
 like to leave my father for a longer time. 
 That is Everard does not, and I think he is 
 right." 
 
 " And you go after breakfast to-morrow — 
 that is you go out shooting, and don't come 
 back any more ? " 
 
 " I believe that is the plan." 
 
 " Then I must go and speak to your 
 brother now. I have got something to ask 
 him." 
 
 "Have you," Eobert said, laughing, "what 
 is it ? May I be a partaker of the secret ?" 
 
 " It is not a secret, it is something about 
 my aunt, to whom your brother was very 
 good-natured in London. I will tell you 
 another time what it is, if you care to 
 know, but I must seize my opportunity, or 
 perhaps I shall not have one again. Will 
 you let me go by."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 211 
 
 He moved his chair, and watched her for 
 a minute as she crossed over to Everard, 
 amused alike by her ways and by Everard's 
 face when he was summoned. He was much 
 too quick not to see that they were what he 
 called " a little taken," and the idea afforded 
 him infinite entertainment. 
 
 " Mr. Vavasour ! " Angela said, slightly 
 raising her voice to attract Everard's at- 
 tention, as she seated herself on a sofa near 
 him. 
 
 He was talking to, or rather listening to 
 a prosy gentleman ; but thus called upon, he 
 could not but leave him in the midst of his 
 prose. 
 
 He came to her. " I wish you would sit 
 down for a minute," she said, assuming in 
 her manner something of the same ease and 
 dignity she had assumed on the previous 
 evening. " I have got something I wish to 
 say? 
 
 He looked startled, as Eobert had ob- 
 served. These conversations tried his self 
 
 92
 
 212 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 command too severely to be agreeable to 
 him. He could do nothing, however, but 
 obey. 
 
 " What I want to say is this," she began. 
 " I have an impression on my mind that 
 you must think I do not tell quite the truth, 
 and I do not like you to think it." 
 
 " I think I know what you mean," Everard 
 said, smiling. 
 
 *' When we spoke of plots and disguises 
 the other day, I know by my looks I ac- 
 knowledged I had done something of the 
 kind, and yet I denied it. I know you must 
 think I did not speak the truth, but I had 
 not courage to explain myself. The fact is, 
 I do not call it a disguise. I will tell you 
 how it was. My aunt told me of a Mr. 
 Vavasour's kindness to her. I knew that a 
 Mr. Vavasour lived near the place which my 
 father had lately bought. I dare say it was 
 a foolish fancy, but I thought I should like 
 to see him before we came here, and yet not 
 exactly in my own person. I dressed myself,
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 216 
 
 therefore, as my aunt's niece ought to dress. 
 There is the history." 
 
 "I am very much obliged to you for 
 explaining it," Everard said. " It is quite 
 plain and very natural." 
 
 " And what do you say now?" she asked, 
 playfully. " Do you condemn all plots and 
 disguises, even such a very little thing as 
 that?" 
 
 " If you ask me," he replied, " I must say 
 what I think. I do not like them." 
 
 " You think I was very wrong then ?" 
 
 "Very wrong, oh no, that is a strong 
 expression. But why, Miss Gresham, ask 
 my opinion ? It cannot matter. I have an 
 objection to such things. I think them 
 mischievous, dangerous things, but I do not 
 wish to be forced to say so." 
 
 " There could be no great mischief or 
 danger there." 
 
 *' There might," he said, quickly. 
 
 " I cannot see it ; and though I too like
 
 214 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 truth, I think you are severe. What harm 
 have I done or could I do ?" 
 
 " I cannot very well explain myself," he 
 said, hastily. " I ought, I believe, to beg 
 your pardon for giving my opinion so freely, 
 but when a person is asked ..." 
 
 " When a person asks questions as I do," 
 Angela said, playfully, "she will be answered. 
 And now I have got a favour to ask. Will 
 you grant it ? " 
 
 " I will when I know what I have to 
 grant." 
 
 " I knew you would say that," she replied, 
 laughing. " All I want to ask is, whether 
 you will be so kind when you go back to 
 London as to visit my aunt again ? " 
 
 " I will, certainly," he replied. 
 
 " Do not suppose that I am not well 
 aware that I am asking a favour. My poor 
 aunt is very tedious except to those who love 
 her as I do. I know this very well ; but 
 your visits were so great a pleasure to her,
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 215 
 
 and her life is so dreary, that I cannot help 
 askino' you to do this kindness — a kindness 
 to me as well as to her." 
 
 " I assure you I did not find my visits 
 tedious," he said, with warmth. " I am 
 obliged to study very hard and live with 
 many very dry people. I found it rather, a 
 pleasure than otherwise to be able to be kind 
 to her, and to be received with kindness. 
 Perhaps you will not understand what I 
 mean, but it w^as something so new and 
 diiFerent, that it refreshed me." 
 
 " Then why did you so very quickly give 
 up the pleasure?" 
 
 He coloured slightly. " Not because I 
 found it tedious, but because I thought it was 
 time." 
 
 " She thought you were tired of her," 
 persisted Angela, " and her feelings, poor 
 thing, were hurt. She never expects atten- 
 tions, but she feels the want of them all the 
 same." 
 
 " I am very sorry," he said, with great
 
 216 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 earnestness. '' My reason was very dif- 
 ferent ; I had supposed her to be alone ; 
 when I found it was otherwise I thought 
 it was wiser and better to bring my visits to 
 an end." 
 
 His voice had a hurried tone, and when 
 he had done there was a moment's pause ; 
 then Angela bent forward, and with some- 
 thing of a queenly air, calm and steady, 
 though with great meaning, asked, " And 
 for what reason ivise?' T 
 
 He looked suddenly up at her and 
 coloured deeply, and in the moment of temp- 
 tation, forgetting his late resolutions, allowed 
 his eyes to flash with a fire that shortly told 
 a loner tale. Anoela met his £'aze, drew 
 back, and coloured still more deeply than he 
 did. She had provoked that look, but now 
 was abashed at having provoked it. He 
 di'ew^ back also. 
 
 Neither spoke, and a very awkward 
 silence followed. It was still more awk- 
 wardly broken.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 217 
 
 Mr. Gresliam rose from his whist table, 
 came to the spot where Angela sat, and coldlv 
 said, *' You will oblige me by going to the 
 pianoforte. We all enjoy music, and I do 
 not know why a vouno^ ladv is taug-ht to 
 play with much pains and expense, if she 
 cannot entertain her friends." 
 
 His interference restored Angela's self 
 possession, and as coldly she replied, '* 1 
 shall be very happy to play ; I will go this 
 instant." 
 
 Mr. Gresham returned with a stately air 
 to his seat. Angela rose from hers, and 
 paused for a moment at the table. She 
 then said, with something of the constraint 
 of shyness in her manner, " Then I may de- 
 pend on your promise, Mr Vavasour, and 
 tell my aunt that you will be kind enousfh 
 to visit her again." 
 
 *' I will certainly," he repKed, rising from 
 his chair, but not looking at her. His 
 whole air and manner were changed. 
 
 Angela went slowly and uneasily to the
 
 218 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 pianoforte. He did not follow even with his 
 eyes, but joined himself to a group of gentle- 
 men, who were talking over country news 
 and business, and stood there silent and 
 pre-occupied. He was miserable— as miser- 
 able as a conscientious man who has broken 
 a resolution conscientiously made, as a man 
 who hopes he is strong and finds himself 
 weak, — can be. What Angela felt or meant 
 he could not guess, but for himself he was 
 convinced that he had taken undue advan- 
 tage of her kindliness. What Mr. Gresham 
 meant he understood well. 
 
 After Angela had left the drawing-room, 
 and the whist party was broken up, Mr. 
 Gresham came to make his request to 
 Robert that he would prolong his visit for 
 another day. He had a party whom he 
 wished him to meet ; he had depended on his 
 remaining ; he w^as, in short, very pressing. 
 
 Robert, easy, good-natured, and well 
 
 . amused, was inclined to give way. " I will 
 
 stay," he replied, " if Everard will ; but if
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 219 
 
 he thinks we had better go then I am 
 afraid I must refuse." 
 
 Everard was standing at a little distance. 
 Mr. Gresham turned to him. '' Yes, I 
 think we had better go," he said, quickly. 
 
 With great civility, with more attention 
 than he had yet shown him, Mr. Gresham 
 begged him to relent, and pressed his 
 request with overmuch pressing. 
 
 A man is ashamed to refuse a trifling 
 favour when it is asked with earnestness, 
 and Everard gave way. Hardly had he 
 done so, however, before he longed to recall 
 his consent, feeling that the trifle was no 
 trifle to him. 
 
 Mr. Gresham was profuse in his thanks, 
 and so gracious in his manner, that Everard 
 went to bed perplexed and bewildered. 
 Strange hopes, vague dreams flitted about 
 his pillow, and tormented him with their 
 pertinacity. Eesist them as -he might they 
 came again.
 
 220 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 He spake of virtue ; not the gods 
 iMore purely wlien they wish to charm 
 Pallas and Juno sitting by : 
 And with a sweeping of the arm, 
 And a lack lustre dead blue eye 
 Devolved his rounded periods. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 EvERARD awoke the follomiig- morning 
 with a resolute determination to keep out of 
 temptation, hy avoiding Angela's society. 
 For this purpose he remained in his room 
 till after ten o'clock, and then, hearing Mr. 
 Gresham's step, followed him down stairs to 
 breakfast.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 221 
 
 At the foot of the stairs Mr. Gresham 
 turned and looked up, and seeing Everard, 
 waited until he joined him. 
 
 " It is my wish, Mr. Vavasour," he then 
 said, speaking more suddenly and quickly 
 than was his custom, ^' to say a few w^ords to 
 you in my private room. I am fortunate in 
 meeting you here. May I request you to he 
 so good as to give me the favour of your 
 attention for a short time immediately after 
 breakfast. The shooting party will not leave 
 Underwood until half-past eleven." 
 
 Everard coloured but assented. He was 
 surprised and troubled ; conscience pointed 
 in one direction, and made him dread the 
 interview. 
 
 *' When I leave the room, Mr. Vavasour, 
 perhaps you will be good enough to follow 
 me. I wish our ^conversation to be private^' 
 with a marked emphasis on the word, *' nor 
 do I wish it to incur observation." 
 
 ^* I will take care," Everard replied, quietly,
 
 222 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 and they went on together into the breakfast 
 room. 
 
 Angela blushed, as she shook hands with 
 him ; that which she had done on the spur 
 of the moment ; that which her principles 
 (Le., that the conventional etiquette of the 
 world was nonsense,) had prompted her to 
 do, had, on reflection, agitated her. She 
 feared Everard would think she had been 
 forward. She longed to see him again, that 
 she might read the impression she had made. 
 His non-appearance had annoyed her ; and 
 his countenance, which, in spite of all his 
 eflPorts was grave and pre-occupied when he 
 did come, troubled her more. 
 
 Shaking off* her embarrassment, however, 
 and forcing herself to speak, she said, 
 laughing, *'You are learning bad habits 
 in this house, Mr. Vavasour. I don't think 
 it was any unearthly hour this morning." 
 
 " I think I am,'* he replied with a grave 
 smile, and as Mr. Gresham observed at the
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 223 
 
 moment that breakfast was ready, he turned 
 away and chose his place far from Angela's 
 seat. 
 
 Feelings quickly change. Angela had 
 feared his disapprobation. She now imagined 
 that he was in fear of her, and she was at 
 peace again. 
 
 When Angela had left the breakfast room 
 Mr. Gresham made a silent signal to Eyerard, 
 and left it by another door. In a minute, 
 when, obedient to his instructions, it could 
 be done without observation, Eyerard fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 ^* Be so good as to be seated, Mr. Vava- 
 sour," was Mr. Gresham's request ; and 
 Eyerard having taken a seat near the fire, 
 Mr. Gresham placed himself with his back 
 towards it and prepared for his discourse. 
 
 " My object, Mr. Vavasour, in requesting 
 you to give me your attention, is in order to 
 inform you of some circumstances regarding 
 my daughter's prospects and position in life. 
 They are circumstances of importance, as
 
 224 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 indeed, all circumstances aiFecting a young 
 lady in her position must be. 
 
 He paused a moment, and Everard replied, 
 ^' I am, of course, Mr. Gresham, ready to 
 listen to anything you may wish to commu- 
 nicate, but excuse me if I say that I cannot 
 conceive what right I have to be informed of 
 the circumstances you mention. 
 
 " That will hereafter appear. Be so good, 
 my dear Mr. Vavasour, as to grant me your 
 attention. My daughter is, as you are aware, 
 my only child ; according to my present in- 
 tention, she is also my sole heiress — I say my 
 present intention — for my life is not so far 
 advanced but that I remain liable to the 
 common changes and chances of the world. 
 Circumstances might occur, differences might 
 arise, which would afford an inducement to 
 change my intention. At present, however, 
 it is my wish that she should be my sole 
 heiress, and few, perhaps, may hope to be 
 endowed with a more goodly dowry." 
 
 IJe paused again, looked around him,
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 225 
 
 glanced at the ornamented ceiling and gaudy 
 carpet, and, finally, threw open his coat and 
 closed it again. 
 
 *' All this I supposed," Everard said, 
 seeing an observation was expected, " but 
 again I must say that I cannot see how it 
 affects me." 
 
 He waved his hand to bespeak patience 
 and began again. " Such being the circum- 
 stances, it is natural that I should with grave 
 consideration, reflect on the future desti- 
 nation of my possessions If I had desired 
 that my wealth should flow into full treasu- 
 ries, if I had desired to mingle my name 
 and blood with the blood of noble families, I 
 confess it appears to me the desire would 
 have been natural. If I had desired to place a 
 coronet on my daughter's head, I confess, with 
 her position and outward accomplishments, 
 I think the desire would have been justified. 
 And such, indeed, teas my desire ; but man, 
 Mr. Vavasour, is a finite being ; he cannot 
 accomplish all his wishes. It becomes us to 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 submit to the ordinary dispensations of 
 Providence, which rarely sees fit to give all 
 things into one hand. In a word I felt it 
 fliy duty to make a choice of good things, to 
 select some and be content to part with 
 others. I chose, therefore, for my daughter's 
 future husband, one not noble, — though in 
 every country but ours he would be noble — 
 not wealthy, but of ancient lineage, of fair 
 possessions, and endowed with all those gifts 
 and accomplishments which are calculated 
 to attract the eyes of the world." 
 
 " You mean my brother," Everard said, 
 colouring slightly. 
 
 " We will speak further on that point. Be 
 so good as to allow me to proceed. Such 
 being my feelings and desires, you may con- 
 ceive, Mr. Vavasour, that any disappoint- 
 ment in the plans I have cherished would be 
 painful to me. I am aware that you would 
 not willingly thwart my desires, I have too 
 high a sense of your character, but I confess 
 I yesterday observed with pain, that is, some
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 227 
 
 circumstances drew me to observe, that you 
 regarded my daughter — did her the honom- 
 to regard her — with favour, and (be so oblig- 
 ing as to hear me, Mr. Vavasour) led me 
 to fear that my daughter might, through 
 your efforts, be drawn to regard you with 
 favour ; — you, Mr. Vavasour, endowed with 
 many virtues, but undistinguished in the 
 world, of small fortune, and small prospect 
 of advancement ; and this at the early age of 
 seventeen, before the mind or judgment is 
 formed, or capable of a decision. You may 
 imagine my feelings." 
 
 He raised his nose and placed his hands 
 behind his coat-tails in amazement and 
 dismay. 
 
 With difficulty Everard heard him out. 
 Pride, w^ounded feeling, and a strange throb 
 of pleasure, mingled their sensations in his 
 breast, but he mastered them and answered 
 without excitement. 
 
 *' I have listened to you patiently, Mr. 
 Gresham, because you desired me to do so, 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 and because I acknowledge it is natural you 
 should feel anxious respecting your daughter's 
 happiness ; but I must now tell you that you 
 have mistaken me. I confess, indeed, that 
 I have not seen Miss Gresham with indiffer- 
 ence, it would be difficult to do it ; if she 
 were poor, if she were a beggar — but no 
 matter for that. As it is, I have had no 
 such view as you imagine. Not," he con- 
 tinued, his colour rising, and speaking with 
 a proud dignity, " that I think money of 
 such immense worth, that nothing but rank 
 and worldly goods are worthy to win it — I 
 should be ashamed of having so base a 
 thought ; but there is a natural feeling in 
 men's minds that it needs some worth, some 
 weight of character, or age, or tried industry, 
 to win this world's good things, and I feel it 
 myself as much as any. I knew that I was 
 not one likely to win your favour, and what- 
 ever may be hereafter, I felt I was too 
 young and undistinguished at present, to 
 attempt to win it ; and more than this, I do
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 229 
 
 not even wish to win it. I do not speak of 
 the idle thoughts and hopes that cross the 
 mind ^vithout one's will — but I speak of niv 
 reason and conscience ; they tell me that I 
 ought not to wish, and it is my desire to 
 obey them ; now I have said all I have to say, 
 and I trust you are satisfied." 
 
 '* Perfectly so, Mr. Vavasour, you have 
 spoken extremely well. I perceive that the 
 opinion I formed of your character, and 
 which disposed me to place this confidence 
 in you, was well grounded. Allow me to 
 detain vou a few moments lonofer. This 
 being satisfactorily settled, I leave the future 
 in the hands of Providence. I have done 
 my part in choosing a proper direction in 
 which my great possessions may flow ; and I 
 think, Mr. Vavasour, if you consider the 
 subject, you will observe that I have also 
 chosen well regarding the advantages to your 
 family. What your father has toiled and 
 spared to gain, I offer to him ; and to your 
 brother I offer that lavish wealth which his
 
 230 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 disposition is peculiarly formed to require. 
 My plans have been laid out with forethought 
 and wisdom. I confess I cherish them, and I 
 think I may say, have a right to cherish them." 
 
 Everard was silent. He did very forcibly 
 see the worldly advantages ; but he could 
 not, without pain, think of Angela as 
 Robert's wife ; and though he had no right 
 to speak of so vague a thing as Robert's 
 attachment to Hope; he would not give any 
 opinion regarding the possibilities or pro- 
 babilities of such a marriage. 
 
 Mr. Gresham had expected a demon- 
 stration of admiration and gratitude, and 
 was disappointed ; but he was human, and 
 after a moment's observation, he reflected 
 that Everard might feel some pain in the 
 scheme, even while its beauty was fully 
 acknowledged. He was content, therefore, 
 to let his silence pass imnoticed. 
 
 There was a pause, and Everard rose. 
 '* One moment, Mr. Vavasour. I have two 
 requests to make. One is that the plans I
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 231 
 
 have unfolded to you in this conversation 
 may remain absolutely private. I have 
 intrusted th'em to you alone." 
 
 '' Of course I consider this conversation 
 private," was Everard's reply. " You may 
 depend on my discretion." 
 
 " My second, Mr. Vavasour, is regarding 
 your conduct to my daughter. You will 
 meet her again this evening. May I request 
 that while there is nothing in your manner 
 that seeks her favour, there may also be no 
 withdrawing of common attentions, no con- 
 straint, no avoidance. I do not wish to have 
 her interest, or curiosity, or attention, in any 
 way excited. You will perceive at once my 
 object in this request." 
 
 "It maybe difficult," Everard said, gravely, 
 " and I can make no promise, but I think 
 you may trust me. I mean to do my best ; 
 not so much because you ask it, as because 
 my own sense of what is right tells me that 
 under the circumstances this will be the 
 proper course of conduct. Forgive me if I
 
 232 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 express myself too plainly. I desire of course 
 to obey your wishes, but I could not promise 
 to do so, unless my judgment approved them." 
 
 " Of course, of course, Mr. Vavasour. I 
 ask no more, and now permit me to thank 
 you for your kind manner in listening to me, 
 and to express my interest now and hence- 
 forw^ard in your welfare. I see the keepers 
 approaching. I wish you a good day's sport." 
 
 Everard left the room ; and, without trust- 
 ing himself to think, joined his brother and 
 the rest of the party, who were now as- 
 semblinof in the hall. 
 
 In the course of the day Mr. Gresham 
 recounted to Mr. Merivale what had passed 
 with Everard, taking the opportunity to lay 
 before him at the same moment his plans 
 for Angela. 
 
 Mr. Merivale was a person who thought 
 matters generally righted themselves, and 
 that there were few occasions in life where 
 remonstrance and interference were useful. 
 He saw all the worldliness of the plan, and
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 233 
 
 from his own observation of Robert, did not 
 see any great appearance of its success. If it 
 did succeed, he saw good qualities enough to 
 give him hope for Angela's happiness ; and 
 to make the marriage a sufficiently desirable 
 one. His opinion was, however, that Everard 
 was not only preferred at the moment, but 
 would continue to be so ; and if this should 
 be the case, he thought what Mr. Gresham 
 had done the best thing that could happen. 
 Both were too young for any present ar- 
 rangements, and he thought a true and wise 
 attachment likely to be of infinite service to 
 Angela's character. 
 
 These were his motives for saying little 
 against Mr. Gresham's plans, beyond a 
 warning that he had better enquire more 
 fully into Robert's character and habits. On 
 one point, however, he spoke warmly, and 
 this was to advise greater confidence towards 
 Angela. He wished Mr. Gresham to men- 
 tion to her that her manner to Everard had 
 not pleased him, and, in short, to make known
 
 234 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 his feelings regarding over intimacy with 
 him. " If you omit this," he said, " Angela 
 may observe constraint and avoidance in his 
 manner, may misread it, and may be led to 
 some overt acts unbecoming her position, 
 and much to be deprecated." 
 
 ** I should hope," Mr. Gresham replied, 
 " that the essential modesty belonging to a 
 young female will in itself prevent such an 
 evil." 
 
 '' That Angela is essentially modest," Mr. 
 Merivale said with some earnestness, " I am 
 certain ; but her feelings are quick, her 
 character self-willed ; and from the manner 
 in which she has been brought up she has 
 an undue scorn for the small yet just propri- 
 eties of her age and circumstances. Believe 
 me confidence will win her confidence ; but 
 underplots will fail in mastering her." 
 
 " I differ with you entirely. If I once 
 speak to Angela on this subject, our two wills 
 become definite things. If I let it pass, as 
 Mr. Everard Vavasour has assured me it shall
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 235 
 
 pass, the slight preference I have observed 
 with pain and displeasure \\ill be dissipated. 
 A young woman, a young lady, should have no 
 will and no thoughts on such subjects. The 
 delicacy of the female character forbids it. 
 To place her advantageously and properly in 
 life is the duty of her natural guardian, one 
 happily ^vho is fully alive to all the require- 
 ments and responsibilities of his position, 
 and to his will she must assent." 
 
 " Well, Gresham, as Solomon says, ' the 
 lot is cast into the lap, but the whole dis- 
 posing is of the Lord.' I hope you will 
 be satisfied, and Angela have a worthy 
 husband, and I am content." 
 
 Angela awaited the evening with im- 
 patience. Fancy is ever busy, and the 
 human mind ever prone to anxiety ; the ease 
 produced by her morning's conviction sur- 
 vived only half the day; and during the 
 remaining hours she relapsed into her 
 former fears. When the evening came the 
 first disappointment was in Everard's late
 
 236 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 appearance. He entered with Robert only 
 a minute or two before dinner ; Robert con- 
 fessed that for his part sleep had overtaken 
 him ; but the night before, Everard had not 
 w^aited for an escort. Her second disap- 
 pointment was more bitter. As the gentlemen 
 left the dining-room, Everard said to Mr. 
 Gresham, that if a fourth was wanted he 
 should be happy to play at whist. Mr. 
 Gresham understood him, accepted with 
 quick and gratified politeness, and before 
 Angela had considered the evening begun, 
 she saw him summoned by her father and 
 seated at the whist table for the night. 
 
 *' How people can play at whist," she said 
 to Robert, unable to restrain some expression 
 of her feelings, " is a marvel to me. Do 
 you like it ?" 
 
 '' Very much when I am in the mood. I 
 am afraid too much sometimes ; but I don't 
 like to trifle my play away. I am like Elia's 
 aunt in , the Essays of Elia ; I consider it a 
 serious matter. Did you ever read the
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 237 
 
 Essay I mean ? It is one of the best pieces 
 of writing in the world ;" and as Angela had 
 not read it, and as he had observed the book 
 in question, then a new book, to be on the 
 table, he took it and read it for her 
 entertainment. 
 
 Mr. Gresham, from his whist table, com- 
 placent and elated, contemplated them with 
 unmeasured delight. 
 
 Desirous, as he had promised, to do his 
 best, and to avoid the appearance of avoid- 
 ance, Everard came down somewhat earlier 
 the following morning, first ascertaining, 
 however, that Mr. Merivale was before him. 
 Angela was pleased, but had no power to 
 enter into conversation, for Mr. Merivale, 
 much to her annoyance, occupied the short 
 interval before breakfast, by reading aloud 
 a letter he had received from Italy. Of the 
 annoyance he caused Mr. Merivale was per- 
 fectly aware, but he fancied he read Everard's 
 design, and gave him his assistance. 
 
 There was no shooting this day, and
 
 238 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 shortly after breakfast the brothers went 
 into the drawing-room to wish Angela 
 good-bye. Mr. Merivale was with her, still 
 engaged with letters or papers. Angela 
 was reading. 
 
 She laid down her book when they ap- 
 peared, and Robert, eyer curious, took it up. 
 
 " Camilla !" he said ; *' are you wading 
 through Camilla?"' 
 
 " If by wading," was Angela's warm 
 reply, " you mean doing something difficult 
 and heayy, no, I am not wading, but I am 
 reading it, that is, I am re-reading it, for I 
 finished it yesterday, and am looking at it 
 again." 
 
 "Is it possible ! and my mind was filled 
 with thankfulness when, having once begun 
 and feeling myself in duty bound to proceed, 
 I found myself at the end." 
 
 " I dare say your opinion is very wise and 
 good, Mr. Yavasour," Angela said, ''but I 
 don't mean to be scoff^ed out of mine. I like it." 
 
 " And you are right," Mr. Merivale ob-
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 239 
 
 served ; '' there is a great deal of trash in 
 the book, and a great deal that is overdone, 
 but there are many good and natural 
 characters, and whenever that is the case, a 
 book is worth reading, and worth liking." 
 
 '* That is easily done," Robert said. " I 
 could do it myself. If that is all that is re- 
 quired to make a book worth reading, 
 nothing is so easy." 
 
 " I doubt it," said Mr. Merivale. " Not 
 your powers, Mr. Vavasour, no doubt they 
 are equal to anything, but I doubt the easi- 
 ness of portraying natural characters." 
 
 ''It is all done by receipt," Eobert in- 
 sisted. " Take your characters — any will 
 do, the commoner the better — get them into 
 a mess, no matter what, one hears of a hun- 
 dred avoidable ones every day — then get 
 them out again, and the story is done." 
 
 " Very good. I shall expect your work 
 with interest, Mr. Vavasour." 
 
 " And so shall I," Angela said, laughing, 
 " but till it comes, I must be satisfied with
 
 240 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 such as Camilla. I hope you Hke it ? 
 Have you ever read it ? " she added, turning 
 quickly to Everard. 
 
 " Yes, my mother advised me to read it 
 the other day, and I did." 
 
 " And are you on my side ?" 
 
 '^Part of it amused me very much* 
 Camilla's character I thought extremely 
 well done and very pretty." 
 
 *^ Oh, I don't care about Camilla," Angela 
 cried, with quickness. " Edgar is what I 
 like, and it is for the sake of Edgar that I 
 am going to read the book again." 
 
 " Edgar was a prig," Robert observed. 
 
 " No," Everard said, " not at least my 
 idea of a prig ; but I don't like him. I 
 think he behaved very badly." 
 
 '^ Edgar badly. How ? " Angela said, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I think he failed in the very first of 
 duties, confidence and trust. I was some- 
 times so provoked I could have thrown the 
 book out of window."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 241 
 
 " If you mean towards Camilla — liow^ 
 could he trust her ? As far as appearances 
 went, she did seem to behave most strangely." 
 
 " Yes, perhaps, but that is what I mean ; 
 we are not to be led by what seems in such 
 cases. When we have formed on just 
 grounds a good opinion of a person s cha- 
 racter, we ought to trust them. Many 
 persons," he added, with some warmth, 
 ** may be compelled by circumstances to act 
 strangely ; but if we have good reason to 
 think well of their character, we ought to 
 trust them, however appearances may be 
 against them." 
 
 " So I think," said Eobert, " though I 
 believe Everard you have the Bible against 
 you. As Strafford said, '' Put not your 
 trust in princes, nor in any child of man." 
 
 " I know one's trust might sometimes 
 fail," Everard replied, " but I will stand to 
 my opinion. I will trust, and I hope to be 
 trusted." 
 
 Chance words, opinions expressed by 
 
 VOL I. R
 
 24S THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 chance, sometimes make an impression 
 which words spoken for the purpose of im- 
 pressing fail to do. This opinion of Everard's 
 sank deep into Angela's mind. It re- 
 mained buried, and perhaps forgotten, but 
 in an after time revived again. 
 
 When the conversation on this point dropt, 
 Eobert said he had appointed Hope to meet 
 them, and it was time to be gone; both 
 wished Angela good-bye, and departed ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 She was taken by surprise at their sudden 
 departure, and not till they were gone 
 remembered that since those strange words 
 of hers she had had no opportunity of 
 speaking to Everard, or even of judging by 
 his countenance and manner what he thought 
 of her. She took up " Camilla," and sat 
 pondering over it, not on Camilla's affairs 
 but her own. Why had she not offered to 
 walk with them ? what could have been 
 more natural. Why was Mr. Merivale 
 always in the way ? Yet again, if she had
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 243 
 
 seen Everard what could she have said? 
 She could not recur to what had passed. 
 How grave he had looked when he wished 
 her good bye ! She wished she could see 
 into his mind. No doubt, however, she 
 should shortly see him again, and with 
 this last thought, after many cogitations, she 
 smoothed her ruffled brow and began to read 
 in earnest. 
 
 Mr. Merivale had been watching her; 
 when he saw the knitted brow relaxed he 
 rose and said, 
 
 " If I were not so crazy a concern in point 
 of health, I think I should ask your father 
 to board and lodge me. Italy is a long way 
 off when one's eyes have business in England." 
 
 ''I wish you would come and live with 
 us," Angela said cordially ; " I should like it 
 of all things." 
 
 "Should you, my dear child?" he said, 
 looking towards her with a scrutinizing air. 
 
 *' I don't mean to say," she said, blushing 
 a little, "that you don't sometimes worr\^ 
 
 r2
 
 244 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 me. I am not verv fond of beino- looked at 
 in that curious way, and I don't quite agree 
 with your views and opinions, but I should 
 be ungrateful indeed if it did not give me 
 gi-eater pleasure than almost anything in the 
 world to have you here, and even to have 
 you find fault with me." 
 
 " You want watching, Angela ; you are 
 here alone, a very yoimg, very excitable, 
 and I may as well say what you know, a 
 very pretty woman. Your manners ought 
 to be guarded, sober, and discreet, instead 
 of jdelding, as you do, to every impulse. A 
 guardian would be a good thing for you ; 
 a sensible woman guardian especially; but 
 there is a still better thing, and that is, 
 that you should be a guard upon yourself. 
 I believe a woman's own refined and resfu- 
 lated mind is always her safest guard." 
 
 '' If you will give me my rules to go by," 
 she said, '^I am sure I will do my very best 
 to follow them ; but how is it possible to be 
 always weighing every word and every
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 245 
 
 action. I know I sometimes do what I am 
 sorry for afterwards, but at the moment it 
 seems so right. Besides, Mr. Merivale, 
 don't think I mean to argue with vou, I 
 only say what I think — I think the world 
 is too much tied up with rules ; not good 
 rules, but mere society rules — rules that 
 leave what is good alone, and take notice 
 only of what is showy. I will do my best 
 I promise you, to do what is rights but I 
 will not be tied up with rules that I scorn 
 and despise." 
 
 He looked at her with a smile that said 
 how plainly he read what was passing in 
 her mind. He did not, however, intrude 
 upon it, but only observed, " I partly agree 
 with vou, but remember this — a vounof 
 woman is not the proper person to set her- 
 self against the world's common opinions. 
 Her view may in itself be the right one, but 
 it becomes wrong when held by one whose 
 proper character is to be modest, sober, 
 gentle, and discreet. A woman who braves
 
 246 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 the world, may amuse, but is rarely re- 
 spected. Now I have done. I hate lec- 
 turing, but I could not leave you without 
 giving you a piece of my mind." 
 
 " And though I seem so rebellious, I 
 thank you a thousand times. I will really 
 try to be discreet, but sometimes I think 
 the world is a vile world, and that my 
 mission is to reform it. How I hate gold 
 and silver." 
 
 " Little fool," he said, " how little you 
 know what vou hate."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 What shall I do ? Make vows and break them still ? 
 
 'Twill be but labour lost ; 
 My good cannot prevail against mine ill : 
 
 The business will be crost. 
 
 Oh ! say not so ; tliou canst not tell what strength 
 
 Thy God will give thee at the length : 
 Renew thy vows and if thou keep the last 
 
 Thy God will pardon all that's past. 
 
 Christopher Hervey. 
 
 " Has Everard spoken to you of his 
 troubles, Joan ?" Mr. Vavasour enquired of 
 his wife on the evening of the day following 
 the return of his sons. 
 
 Mrs. Vavasour looked up with surprise.
 
 248 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 *' He came to me," he continued, " this 
 morning, with a confession ; to ask my 
 ad\dce, and I believe to take it." 
 
 " If you smile there can be no great cause 
 of trouble," Mrs. Vavasour said with an 
 inward sigh, as she thought of the frowns 
 over Robert's troubles. 
 
 ^' If I smile, it is not because I think 
 liofhtlv of it. Everard is in love, and love 
 with Everard will be serious." 
 
 " Everard in love. Impossible !" 
 
 " And why so, Joan ?" Mr. Vavasour 
 asked with a look of enquiry. 
 
 " Everard," Mrs. Vavasour replied, after a 
 moment's thought, " is grave and cold, and 
 reserved. Of a strong attachment, I can 
 suppose him capable, but of a sudden fancy 
 I should never have suspected him." 
 
 Mr. Vavasour shook his head, but merely 
 said, " Nevertheless, it has come to pass.'' 
 After a moment he continued, ^'He came to 
 me for advice and I gave it ; but in justice 
 to Everard, I must say, that his judgment
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 249 
 
 was even more decMve than mine. He 
 leaves us to-morrow." 
 
 " You must tell me the tale," said Mrs, 
 Vavasour, smiling. "It is a new thought 
 to think of Everard as a lover." 
 
 Mr. Vavasour mentioned the few parti- 
 culars that Everard had told him ; among 
 which, was the notification he had had of 
 Mr. Gresham's dissatisfaction with his 
 manners. " Everard's tale," he continued, 
 " was somewhat incoherently told. I 
 gathered the particulars rather than received 
 them. He fully confessed the fact of his 
 love, but owing to Miss Gresham's position, 
 seemed to dread my condemnation, and to 
 be ashamed to confess it. My feeling was 
 different. I was neither surprised at the 
 confession nor unprepared for it ; but my 
 opinion was decisive and I gave it. In con- 
 sequence, he leaves us to-morrow." 
 
 " Forgive me if I ask it," said Mrs. 
 Vavasour, " but is this departure either 
 needful or reasonable ? "
 
 250 THE TWO BROTHERS* 
 
 " Yes, Joan, both. Everard confesses that 
 at this moment he cannot answer for his 
 self-control. He has, therefore, no choice. 
 I am not one to recommend a flight from 
 temptation. If possible, I would always say, 
 meet it whatever it be, and overcome it ; 
 but if a man in cold blood foresees that he 
 shall fail, I see no course but flight." 
 
 ** But why," said Mrs. Vavasour — ** forgive 
 me again for differing with you — why should 
 not Everard love Angela Gresham, win her, 
 and marry her ? " 
 
 " Because his soul and mine also," said Mr. 
 Vavasour, proudly, " revolts from it. It is 
 not for Everard, at twenty, to court the 
 favour of the heiress of thousands. An 
 honourable soul avoids the appearance of 
 baseness." 
 
 "Angela would be a good wife for Everard," 
 said his wife, after some consideration, "and 
 I think Everard would be a good and wise 
 husband for her. Is the fear of a mere 
 appearance of evil to be placed in competi-
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 251 
 
 tion with a true attachment, and one from 
 which the hlessing of domestic happiness 
 would spring." 
 
 " If this thing be good and desirable," 
 was her husband's reply, "it may at some 
 future time be brought about by other means. 
 Everard must not seek it." 
 
 " If Everard loves at all his love will be 
 strong," said his mother. " It will grieve 
 me if his love is wasted." 
 
 " The test of love is time. What is it 
 now but a fancy, and what right has Everard 
 at twenty to think his first fancy shall be 
 satisfied ? " 
 
 Mrs. Vavasour was silent. At last she 
 said, '' And Everard agreed at once to yom' 
 decision?" 
 
 " Yes, and with all his heart." 
 
 "You are pleased with Everard's con- 
 duct," she said again, and this time timidly. 
 
 " I am, Joan, and chiefly for this reason — 
 that although the feelings of youth are 
 strong, his desire to do that which we call
 
 252 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 right is unshaken. He honours his father 
 and mother, and that honour guides him 
 right, when possibly other principles have 
 not attained sufficient growth to restrain 
 him." 
 
 " Many have that," she said, with some 
 passion in her voice, " but God has not 
 given them the strength of purpose to do all 
 things well." 
 
 Her husband saw where her thoughts 
 had flown, and looked at her compassion- 
 ately and tenderly ; but his words were 
 grave. " He might, Joan, if they sought it ; 
 we must trust He will " 
 
 Judging from analogy the likeness of 
 Everard to his father ought to have won from 
 Mrs. Vavasour, the same worshipping ten- 
 derness she gave her husband. But analogy 
 in the seemingly capricious fancies of the 
 human heart is no safe guide. That very 
 strength of purpose and self-restraint which 
 Mrs. Vavasour saw in her husband with 
 idolatry, was painful to her in her son,
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 253 
 
 She would have loved him better, if he had 
 at this moment been less miflinching. She 
 owned, indeed, that since Mr. Gresham 
 had spoken, he had little choice ; but some 
 demonstrations of weakness, some appeals 
 to pity, would have pleased her well. As 
 it was, she saw him simple and self-possessed ; 
 the cold, reserved Everard of her imagina- 
 tion ; and being so, she let him go without 
 a word of sympathy, or allusions, either 
 serious or playful, to the cause of his depar- 
 ture. 
 
 But so once again she misjudged him. 
 Everard left home with a wounded heart ; 
 woimded not by his feelings for Angela, 
 but by his mother's carelessness to his 
 concerns. He hoped for her interest, but 
 failing to find it did not dare to approach 
 her with his confession. Never before had 
 the longing, the almost womanish longing 
 to be loved so assailed him, and to this 
 cause was it more especially owing that 
 his thoughts pertinaciously recurred to the
 
 254 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 image that haxi been forbidden — that one 
 being who seemed to consider him worthy of 
 her interest and regard. 
 
 The day after Everard's departure was 
 Sunday, and Eobert walked, as he and 
 Everard had generally done, part of the 
 way homewards with Angela and her father. 
 
 He talked of the pretty singing of the 
 village children ; praised and criticised Mr. 
 Addison's sermon ; and drew a smile of pure 
 amusement from Mr. Gresham's lips, as he 
 related some school-boy tales of extraordinary 
 misadventures during the church service ; 
 but he made no mention of Everard's 
 departure. His non-appearance was a great 
 disappointment to Angela. She had counted 
 much on these few minutes walk homewards ; 
 she determined, however, that she would not 
 ask where he was ; that she supposed would 
 be acting \^ith the propriety Mr. Merivale 
 recommended. The natural woman was, 
 however, too strong for the restrained one, 
 and notwithstanding the determination.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 255 
 
 before they parted with Robert the question 
 was asked — 
 
 '^ Where is your brother to-day ?" 
 
 " I cannot exactly say," Robert said, 
 wilfully misunderstanding her. " At St. 
 Dunstan's, or St. Clement's, or St. Martin's, 
 or St. Paul's, or " 
 
 " What do you mean, Mr. Vavasour ? " 
 
 " I mean that I don't know Everard's 
 movements, nor the churches he frequents. 
 I am only sure it is something very staunch 
 and orthodox. No ism of any sort where 
 Everard goes." 
 
 " Has Mr. Everard Vavasour left you ? " 
 Mr. Gresham enquired with interest and 
 politeness. 
 
 " Yes, he went yesterday." 
 
 " And when does he come back ?" Angela 
 asked quickly. 
 
 " That I don't know. He has gone back 
 to his business. My father gave him some- 
 thing to do which made him go sooner than
 
 256 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 he had intended. At least," he added with 
 a mischievous smile, " so he said." 
 
 Hurt, angry, injured, and indignant, An- 
 gela with difficulty restrained her feelings ; 
 and having parted from Robert, she walked 
 on without a word. 
 
 Mr. Gresham saw her heightened colour, 
 and felt how wise had been his precautions, 
 and how happy he was in having to do with 
 so estimable and amenable a young man as 
 Everard. This danger at an end, all he 
 assured himself would go smoothly, and he 
 already boasted like those who are putting 
 off their harness, their labour done. 
 
 Many conflicting feelings agitated Angela. 
 Sometimes one class of emotions predomi- 
 nated, sometimes another. A sense of injury 
 at his coldness ; alarm lest she had lost his 
 good opinion ; a conviction that he loved, but 
 owing to her worldly circumstances dared not 
 approach her ; and a longing to tell him with 
 what joy she would give up all into his
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 257 
 
 hands. Under her ceaseless conjecturings 
 her feelings made strides, and more than 
 her fancy began to fasten itself upon him. 
 
 Eobert followed Everard in a week. Before 
 his reconciliation with his father he had 
 made an engagement with a friend to ac- 
 company him in his yacht to the east. On 
 his arrival at home in the first warmth of 
 his feelings he had offered to give up the 
 excursion if displeasing to his father. But 
 Mr. Vavasour had declined to accept the 
 offer. It was indeed his hope that Eobert 
 might learn to take and find more of his 
 pleasures at home, but his concentrated 
 thoughts and affections had not made him 
 unwise or narrow-minded. He had sympathy 
 with the natural curiosity of youth, and he 
 was besides well aware that reluctant obedi- 
 ence is to the restless a dangerous trial. 
 He knew no harm of the proposed com- 
 panion, and was willing, therefore, to hope 
 the best. 
 
 Koberfs conduct during this last visit had 
 VOL, I. s
 
 258 THE TWO BROTHERS, 
 
 completely disarmed Mr. Vavasour's resent- 
 ment. On a former occasion he had been 
 smarting from the sense of disgrace, and had 
 seemed cold ; and coldly Robert had met his 
 forgiveness. On this occasion the feelings 
 and conduct on both sides had been different. 
 Robert had been really repentant, and Mr. 
 Vavasour really forgiving. A new bond had 
 been knit between them, and Mr. Vavasour, 
 whose strong" and limited attachments made 
 him prone to idolatry, was unconsciously 
 hoping for his son with more than reasonable 
 hope, and building in his sleeping and 
 waking dreams proud and stable castles for 
 the future. 
 
 All but Mr. Addison and one other shared 
 in Mr. Vavasour's hopes. There was one 
 other who felt with sad conviction that the 
 time for confidence was not yet come. Hope 
 watched Robert with eyes of vigilant affec- 
 tion, with eyes not blind through love, but 
 from the very depth of her love clear and 
 searching ; and to her it was plain that in
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 259 
 
 his good feelings there was no root, and that 
 there was no settled principle in his mind. 
 She saw his repentance, his humility, his 
 dutiful affection, his warmth of heart, his 
 many good, many generous, many attractive 
 qualities — saw and loved them ; they were the 
 signs of the good soul within ; the buds of 
 promise foretelling a future day of grace. 
 But she saw them as they were, without the 
 halo of illusion, and saw them unstable as 
 water, and fading as flowers. 
 
 She determined before he went to make 
 an effort to save him. 
 
 He was not very willing at any time to 
 speak of himself or the future, and serious 
 discussions even with her he avoided. It 
 was painful to him to have his steadiness 
 questioned, or good resolves doubted ; per- 
 haps from the very consciousness of the 
 hoUowness of the foundation on which they 
 were built he did not care to have them 
 sifted and weighed ; and to give him pain 
 
 s 2
 
 260 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 was very painful to her. Still she resolved 
 to venture. 
 
 Two mornings before his departure she 
 sought him for her purpose. 
 
 She found him in the library reading, or 
 at least with a book in his hand. He was 
 leaning back in an arm chair, close to a 
 blazing fire ; for the September mornings 
 were growing chilly, and Eobert loved 
 comfort. 
 
 The door by which she entered was behind 
 him, and she stood by his side before he 
 perceived her. 
 
 *' I am so glad to have found you alone," 
 she said, softly. 
 
 " So am I, Hope;" and he looked in her 
 face with a fond and serious smile. "But 
 why ? Have you anything to say to me ? " 
 
 " Yes, Eobert. And yet it is nothing 
 new. Oh ! Robert," and she clasped her 
 hands together with an earnest movement, 
 common to her when excited, " I want you 
 to promise me to try not to forget.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 261 
 
 " Forget you, Hope. Do you mean that ? 
 Yes, I will promise and vow, that I never — 
 never will forget you. There was no need 
 to ask that." 
 
 His tone was eager, and brought a faint 
 unconscious blush to her cheek. But no 
 other consciousness. " No, Eobert," she 
 replied with simple frankness, " it was not 
 that. I am not afraid of your forgetting 
 me. It was your father, his wishes, his 
 forgiveness ; dear Eobert, will you promise 
 me to try and remember when you are gone 
 far away." 
 
 " I will do my best, Hope. You may 
 trust me for that ; but the path of life is 
 exceedingly narrow, and some pilgrims are 
 apt to grow weary in their progress." 
 
 He spoke not without earnestness and 
 sincerity, and yet there was a careless word- 
 ing in his speech, which left a doubtful 
 impression on her mind. 
 
 " Don't look so troubled, Hope," he con- 
 tinued. " I really and truly mean that I will
 
 262 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 do my very best, but one must not be proud 
 and confident. You know frail and mortal 
 man is born to get into trouble ; at least, 
 some are, and it is not for the weak to 
 boast themselves like the strong*" 
 
 " I would not have you boast, but only 
 .... Oh ! what would happen if you were 
 to forget again." 
 
 " If I were to forget again, I should be a 
 rascal and a villain, Hope, and should not 
 find, and should not deserve forgiveness. 
 Don't let us dream of such horrible possi- 
 bilities. Let us rather think, dear Hope, 
 that I shall persevere, and win all your 
 loves, and all your honours." 
 
 He was still seated by the fire, and she 
 still stood by his side. So as a child had 
 she been accustomed to wait upon him, and 
 old habits had never been broken. Dr. 
 South beautifully says of those who have 
 kept unstained their early innocence, that 
 " the Holy Ghost has descended on them 
 in the forai of a dove." Such words are
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 263 
 
 ver\' expressive of what Hope was. The 
 guileless purity of her look had always 
 exercised a singular power over Robert. 
 He sat watching her, as she stood now 
 beside him, silent and thoughtful, with 
 strong but suppressed emotion in his face. 
 
 " Well, Hope," at last he said, " have 
 you more to say ? I think you have ; you 
 are not satisfied yet." 
 
 ** There is one thing I should like to 
 say," she replied with a slightly rising 
 colour, " but . . . " 
 
 ^* Dear Hope, say all you wish," he said 
 kindly ; " don't be afraid ! " 
 
 " You say you are weak, Robert, so are 
 we all, if we do not tr}^ to be strong. Oh ! 
 Robert, why will you not. You know how 
 it should be, but I am sometimes afraid you 
 forget. Oh ! dear Robert ; will you pro- 
 mise me to remember your prayers." 
 
 " You shall pray for me, Hope ; that will 
 be far better. Your prayers are certain to 
 be heard. I am not so sure about mine."
 
 264 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 " But oh ! Eobert," and she clasped her 
 hands, " what can any prayers do if you 
 will not pray for yourself?" 
 
 "I hope they can do much. I depend 
 on yours for me. I think of them, Hope, 
 like so many good angels guarding me." 
 
 " But yourself, dear Robert, yourself. It 
 is so dreadful to live and say no prayer. 
 Oh ! will you promise me to try ? " 
 
 He looked very uneasy. He could not 
 bear to refuse her, but hidden conscious 
 weakness made him hesitate. " To tell you 
 the truth, Hope," he replied, after a little 
 thought, "I would rather not promise. I 
 know I make resolutions, and break them, 
 and that is bad enough ; but there is some- 
 thing more sacred in this. I should not 
 like to promise you this, and then to go 
 and forget." 
 
 "But why forget, dear Eobert, why for- 
 get?" 
 
 "Ah! Hope, why? That is a very 
 puzzling question, and I can't answer it. I
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 265 
 
 tell you I am weak, and I do not like to 
 trust myself with promises of this kind. 
 I would rather not." He spoke hurriedly. 
 
 " I will urge you no more," she replied 
 sadly. " I meant it only for your good." 
 
 Her tone was so soft and sweet, that it 
 went to Robert's heart. It seemed to over- 
 set some hitherto restrained emotion. 
 
 " I know it," he cried, starting pas- 
 sionately from his seat. " I know it, Hope, 
 my darling, and if I were not a fool and a 
 coward, I should ask you, not only to pray 
 for me, but to be my wife ; my wife to lead 
 and guide me all my life long ; but I am 
 afraid, Hope, you are too young yet. I 
 might break your heart. Why do you blush 
 so, my dearest ?" he continued yet more ve- 
 hemently. " Don't you know that I worship 
 ;^ou ; don't you know that if it were to pro- 
 mise to kneel to you^ were it night and day, 
 I would do it, and never forget." 
 
 It was with no thrill of rapture that this 
 passionate declaration of love was heard and
 
 266 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 received by Hope. Hei- love for him had 
 had no dreams of earth about it ; it was love 
 boimd up with his soul's welfare, and his 
 profane and reckless words startled that 
 affection, terrified and afflicted it. She 
 withdrew from him a few steps, and stood 
 before him with clasped hands and downcast 
 eyes, looking so fair, so grave, so holy, so 
 like some young saint in an ancient picture, 
 that the next instant, half in jest, but much 
 more in earnest, Kobert in very deed knelt 
 at her feet to ask forgiveness. 
 
 '* Oh ! Eobert," she said, covering her 
 face with her hands, " if you could know 
 how you grieve me." 
 
 *'Do I grieve you?" he cried, springing up ; 
 " yes, I know I do, and if you could but tell 
 how I hate myself for it. But Hope," he 
 continued, in an altered tone of almost 
 reverend tenderness, "you must not be 
 too hard upon me. I cannot be like you all 
 in a minute, though I hope to be some day. 
 If my love grieves you, you must forget it.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 267 
 
 I know such a worthless sinner as I am, 
 should not expect to have a holy saint for his 
 portion ; and yet, Hope," he paused and took 
 her hand and looked fondly in her face, 
 " and yet, perhaps, he does expect it." 
 
 She raised her eyes and looked at him, no 
 longer shrinking from his gaze. She was 
 not given to tears, but now a single tear did 
 sparkle on her lashes, and dropped upon his 
 hand. What it meant, nor she, perhaps, nor 
 he could fully tell, but as he saw it his 
 heart swelled with strange emotion, and 
 silently and gratefully he pressed his lips 
 upon her hand. 
 
 Nor then nor during the remainder of 
 his stay did Robert speak of his own, or in 
 any way seek to draw from Hope a confession 
 of her affection. His manner was as it had 
 been before, only that possibly something 
 more of thoughtfulness characterized his 
 intercourse with her. 
 
 Some departures take place without emo- 
 tion ; some even when it is but for a short
 
 268 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 absence, agitate the surface of the home 
 left behind. Everard went, and amid the 
 kindly glances that followed him, none were 
 dimmed with tears ; no heart felt to lose its 
 being as he disappeared. Robert went, and 
 his father's voice was tremulous ; his mother 
 wept and could not restrain herself, and 
 Hope stood mute and still in speechless 
 sorrow. There might be other reasons for 
 the difference ; and Eobert guessed them ; 
 yet still, above and beyond all other motives, 
 he knew and felt he was the idolized son of 
 the house, and felt it with a pang. It 
 pierced on his conscious unworthiness like a 
 dagger's stab. 
 
 " Mr. Addison," he said with emotion, for 
 Mr. Addison stood at the door of his chaise, 
 " I hope to come back worthy of my father's 
 
 trust. If I fail "he paused, then 
 
 added hurriedly, "Mr. Addison, will you 
 stand my friend ? Remember that man is 
 weak. Don't let them ask too much, or 
 judge me too hardly."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 269 
 
 Mr. Addison grasped his hand in mute 
 token of assent. '' God bless you, Robert," 
 he said, " and deliver you from evil." 
 
 Not with a thrill of rapture had Hope 
 heard of Robert's love. Not with a thrill of 
 rapture did she recur to it when he was gone. 
 And yet 
 
 At first she trembled at the recurrence of 
 his image to her thoughts — at first dreaded 
 lest his words had placed a barrier between 
 him and her devoted affection. But this was 
 but the natural disturbance on the surface. 
 When this passed by and' her heart settled 
 again into calm, she found that the new link 
 that bound them was holier than before. He 
 had a double claim to her thoughts and her 
 prayers, and with a more intense devotion she 
 gave herself up to be his guardian spirit for 
 ever. 
 
 After Robert's departure, Hope felt that 
 she had no right to withhold from her aunt 
 the knowledge of what had passed. " Aunt 
 Joan, did Robert tell you what he said to 
 me?" was her confession.
 
 270 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 It was no new thought, no new hope, to 
 Mrs. Vavasour, nor was Hope's confession 
 an altogether unexpected one. She wound 
 her arms round her niece, and said, 
 " Cherish his love, dearest ; to that love I 
 have ever looked as the feeling which will 
 win him, and bind him, and make him all 
 we would have him be in this world and for 
 ever." And much as she had ever loved 
 her niece, this new bond knit her soul to 
 hers with a dearer affection*
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS, 271 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 
 Their sober \vishes never learned to stray ; 
 
 Along the cool sequester'd vale of life, 
 They kept the noiselfess tenor of their way. 
 
 Gray. 
 
 " The gentleman." 
 
 So Mrs. Price's little maid announced 
 Everard, a few days after his return to 
 London. 
 
 Miss Price had not completely recovered 
 from her accident, and was still lying faded 
 in looks on her faded sofa. A sermon book 
 and a piece of work were on her lap, but
 
 272 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 she had dozed over both, and in her doze 
 Everard's knock escaped unheard. The 
 present piece of work was intended to give 
 the impression of a heap of shells on the 
 sand, and the hues of the various colours 
 were very faithfully depicted. It was her 
 own special choice, and she looked upon it 
 as an exquisite thing. 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Vavasour," she ex- 
 claimed, half rising, and extremely nervous 
 and fluttered in manner ; not that she owned 
 to having been caught dozing, but she per- 
 ceived that the salmon-coloured shawl had 
 fallen from her feet, and her sense of pro- 
 priety was shocked in consequence. 
 
 " I am afraid I startled you," he said, 
 kindly. 
 
 " Oh, no, by no means, that is to say," as 
 with a dexterous manoeuvre she caught the 
 shawl and threw it over her shoes, " I cer- 
 tainly did not expect a visitor this afternoon. 
 And you least of any. I thought you were 
 in the country."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 273 
 
 ''I left Audlev Court last Friday. I 
 should have called before if I had been able. 
 I thought you would like to hear the 
 news." 
 
 '' Thank you, you are too kind. I hardly 
 know how to express how kind I take your 
 visit. It is not every person, not every young- 
 man who would take such trouble. I assure 
 you I feel it." 
 
 " You need not thank me, Miss Price, for 
 I am very glad to come," Everard said, 
 quickly, "besides, I promised Miss Gresham 
 I would call." 
 
 ** Ah ! dear Angela, she is always thought- 
 ful. I hope you left her and her father well 
 in health." 
 
 *' More than well," said Everard, smiling, 
 " you cannot think how well and happy they 
 are. 
 
 " I hear from my niece occasionally, and 
 I gathered from her letters that she was 
 pleased with the country. I often think it 
 must be a pleasant thing to see the fields 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 and the flowers. When I was young I 
 thought little of the blessing, hut now I feel 
 as if it would make me young again. I 
 sometimes see them in my dreams." 
 
 " I hope you will see them in reality some 
 day," he said, kindly, touched by the dreary 
 ideas her words presented. "I am sure 
 Miss Gresham, when she is a little older, 
 and has more liberty, will procure the pleasure 
 for you." 
 
 " When she is married you mean." 
 
 " Yes," with a slight change of colour. 
 
 " Perhaps it is best not to think of such 
 things. The future is not in our power. I 
 try not to think of it. I try to be thankful 
 as I am." 
 
 *' I am sure that is being very wise ; but 
 I don't know that it is an easy example to 
 follow, or that I should like to follow it if it 
 were easy." 
 
 " Perhaps not. You are like dear Angela 
 in that, she always wishes to know, and I 
 tell her, better not. We might see a great
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 275 
 
 deal of trial in the future. God is very 
 merciful. He hides it from us." 
 
 Everard looked at her, coloured and made 
 no answer. 
 
 " And you left dear Angela well ?" 
 
 " Yes well and .... beautiful," he added 
 after a moment wdth a smile. 
 
 '^ She is pretty, certainly, and when she 
 is happy, her smile is very sweet. I think 
 she is happy. I told you that I heard from 
 her occasionally, and when she wrote she said 
 she was happy. She would write often if 
 her father allowed it, but he thinks corres- 
 pondence is dangerous for young ladies, and 
 perhaps he is right ; young ladies are not 
 always wise." 
 
 ** I think she might write to you without 
 danger," Everard said laughing ; " you would 
 only teach her what is good, I am sure." 
 
 " I hope that is true. Still her father 
 does not know ; and besides, I am not ver}' 
 wise. I mean," and she assumed an air of 
 some dignity, " that I do not live much in the 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 world, and I am not much in the hahit of 
 meeting with young ladies, and I might not 
 perfectly understand. In fact it is best as it is, 
 I sit and think of her, and pray she may be 
 kept from evil, and may be happy when God 
 pleases." 
 
 A pause followed. Though Everard's 
 call had been made only in obedience to 
 Angela's request, he had certainly felt 
 strangely anxious about the visit ; as if 
 something, he could not tell what, would be 
 discovered or betrayed. He now smiled at 
 the folly of his expectations, and in his 
 meditations on the subject, forgot to make 
 himself agreeable. 
 
 " Are you come to town for the winter 
 season, Mr. Vavasour?" enquired Miss Price, 
 after a silence of some moments. 
 
 " Hardly winter yet; but yes, I am come 
 to stay till Christmas, or near it. There is 
 a great deal of knowledge which has to be got 
 into my dull brains, and the sooner it is done 
 the better. I am going to study very hard."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 277 
 
 '' You will be a great man I hope, Mr. 
 Vavasour." 
 
 " I wish I could hope I should for my 
 father's sake. He would like it. For 
 myself, I do not care about greatness, 
 except that . . . . " He stopped and 
 coloured, and then w^as going to explain 
 away his exception, when the placid answer 
 showed him there was no need to think 
 curious eyes were upon him. 
 
 **That is like dear Angela. She says 
 she does not care about greatness and 
 riches ; but I tell her she does not know. 
 Young people know very little what they 
 like, or what they wish ; especially gay 
 young people like Angela. Life is so very 
 different to what they think." 
 
 " Yes," Everard replied gravely. 
 
 " I suppose we none of us quite know 
 what we like till we have tried it. I don't 
 mean to say dear Angela is more giddy 
 than most people ; but she has strong- 
 fancies, and she thinks they will last, and
 
 278 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 perhaps she does not know. We none of 
 us do know. Man is very changeable. 
 Not that I should think you were, Mr. 
 Vavasour. I should say you were strong, 
 only that we don't know till we try." 
 
 " No, I do not think I am changeable," 
 he said in the same grave voice, "but you 
 are right, we do not know." 
 
 Her common places were not common 
 places to him. She had forced on his mind 
 a thought which had not been very present 
 before. That fancy for him which Angela 
 had shewn was probably but the caprice of 
 a day. He had no right to build upon it. 
 
 It was not a pleasant, but it was a useful 
 reflection ; and assisted him in his struggle 
 to banish the vain and flattering illusions, 
 which were but too ready to flit before his 
 fancy. 
 
 In the course of the autumn Miss Price 
 added this postcript to her letter to Angela. 
 
 " I omitted to tell you, my love, that I 
 had a visit from vour friend Mr. Vavasom*.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 279 
 
 He was particularly kind, but I know, 
 dearest, I had you to thank for the visit, for 
 he told me so. I have not seen him since, 
 but he said he would call some day, so I 
 know he will. He has been exceedingly 
 kind. I happened to mention that I was 
 fond of flowers ; I don't know how it came 
 out, but I did. I am sure, my love, you will 
 believe I did not mean to ask for favom's ; 
 but he has twice sent me a bunch of violets, 
 so sweet and so fresh, it made me feel happy 
 to smell them. I long to see him that I 
 may thank him ; but I know I must wait 
 patiently." 
 
 Why Miss Price put this into a postcript 
 it might have been hard to say, being, as it 
 was, the only thing approaching to interest 
 in her prosy letter. She certainly did not 
 intend to fix Angela's mind the more in- 
 tently on her communication, for she had 
 not, as yet, opened her intellect to receive 
 the knowledge or suspicion of her attach- 
 ment; but, though unintended, such w^as
 
 280 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 naturally the result. It would, at any rate, 
 have excited interest. So communicated, 
 Angela saw in it mysteries without end. 
 It served her for many days of happy 
 thought. 
 
 While Everard, in London, did his best 
 to forget Angela, she, in the country, did 
 her best to impress his image on her mind. 
 Though the process is different the end 
 attained is usually the same.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 281 
 
 CHAPTEK XIV. 
 
 Thrill me not 
 With words that, in their agony, suggest 
 A hope too ravisliing. 
 
 Ion. a Tragedy, 
 
 Before Eobert's departure he had volun- 
 tarily promised to return for Christmas. It 
 was two years since he had passed a Christ- 
 mas at home ; and he was well aware of the 
 joy his presence would give. At the end of 
 November, in a letter dated three weeks 
 before, from some port in the Mediterranean, 
 he spoke of his intention as unaltered. But
 
 282 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Christmas came, and no Robert came with 
 it. Night and day, Mrs. Vavasour and 
 Hope caught in the wintry winds that swept 
 round the house heralds of Robert's ap- 
 proach ; but they were empty sounds. 
 
 Christmas came and past without a word. 
 What each one felt, each one knew ; but 
 nothing was said. Mr. Vavasour waited 
 with something of a new-born patience, as 
 if imwilling to distrust again. Mrs. Vava- 
 sour assumed a cheerfulness she did not feel, 
 lest her husband should suspect she had a 
 fear. Hope trembled, and was still. 
 
 She had had her terrors. She had them 
 still. Over the far future a star of hope ever 
 shone, but darkness hung around the future 
 that was near. She had a fear that a vallev 
 as of the shadow of death had to be passed 
 through ; and silently she strengthened her- 
 self to walk through it with him without 
 dismay. No joyous visions entered into this 
 her first love. 
 
 Though Robert did not come, Everard
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 283 
 
 came as usual. His greeting was as his 
 departui^e had been, calm. The same kindly 
 and approving looks and words ; the same 
 absence of that eager joy which marks 
 the return of the house's idol. Perhaps in 
 the disappointment regarding Robert, his 
 greeting was more calm than usual ; or per- 
 chance it was only his fancy that called it 
 so. 
 
 He came back graver than he went, but 
 more resolved. A few words of approbation 
 in one of his father's letters regarding his 
 conduct to Angela, a few words expressive 
 of perfect trust in his truth and honour, had 
 given him the spm' he wanted. His father's 
 ^dews were so exactly the views of his own 
 sober mind, his distaste to any courting of 
 Mr. Gresham so instinctively shared, that 
 though distant hopes might haunt his imagi- 
 nation, Everard was very firmly resolved 
 against any further weakness in the present. 
 
 At the church door on Christmas day he 
 and Angela met again. Mr. Vavasour was
 
 284 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 leaning on Everard's arm. Angela's veil 
 was down. There could be little to excite 
 or satisfy the imagination. Yet Everard, 
 through her veil, saw Angela's heightened 
 colour, and Angela felt the gravity of his 
 looks ; and both entered the church full of 
 earthly care. Everard struggling with a 
 sudden revival of old weakness, Angela 
 escaping from the present into pictures of 
 future meetings ; questioning the meaning 
 of his grave face, and planning means of 
 discovering the secrets of his soul. 
 
 On both, Mr. Addison's text fell warn- 
 ingly and startlingly — " Comfort ye, comfort 
 ye, my people, saith your God," — for the 
 world's sorrows, of which he began to speak, 
 were not like to their troubles, and the message 
 of comfort he brought had little force at that 
 moment to them. Everard roused himself 
 with a sigh, and a conscious furtive smile ; 
 Angela said in her heart how bad she must 
 be, and she -wished she was better, and 
 then .... dreamed aofain.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 285 
 
 At the church door they met a second 
 time, and the two families crossed the 
 church-yard and went for a few steps down 
 the lane together; but Everard had again 
 given his arm to his father, and there was 
 not even the appearance of a wish to escape. 
 Mr. Gresham addressed Everard with the 
 utmost politeness ; inquired after his health, 
 his journey, and the state of the atmosphere 
 in London ; but of a desire to see more of 
 him said nothing. So they met and so they 
 parted. After months of dreaming this was 
 their meeting. Angela went home weary 
 and discontented with the world. Not so 
 weary, however, but that before evening she 
 had recovered her sanguine temper, and was 
 full of restless desires for the morrow. 
 
 Many morrows came and went, however, 
 and brought no meetings more satisfactory 
 than this. She saw Everard constantly, but 
 for more than a moment rarely saw him. 
 No restrictions were placed upon her move- 
 ments. During the early winter she had
 
 286 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 been in the habit of ^l[siting Hope frequently, 
 and she was allowed the same freedom now. 
 Mr. Gresham appeared to ignore the possi- 
 bility of danger from her intercourse at 
 Audley Court. This implicit trust in his 
 honour bound and strengthened Everard as 
 nothing else could have done. It gave him 
 pain, but it was an appeal he could not 
 resist. With all his powers he endeavoured 
 to meet his cousin's guest with indifference, 
 neither to avoid nor to seek her. Possibly, 
 nay, probably, his duty was overdone. Such 
 things always are. Possibly, nay, certainly, 
 Angela's mind was but the more stedfastly 
 bent on endeavouring to discover the truth 
 throuorh the barrier of his indifference. 
 
 One mornins^, it w^as within a few davs of 
 Everard's return to London, Angela drove 
 over early to spend some hours with Hope. 
 This early visit was at Hope's request, and 
 Hope's request had been made on a sug- 
 gestion from Mr. Addison. Watching Angela 
 with silent but observing eyes, seeing the
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 287 
 
 good of her disposition and the evils also, 
 her precocious scorn of the world's ways, 
 and her unreal and childish view of its actual 
 ways and troubles, he thought that some 
 knowledge of life in another sphere of 
 thought, some sight of the unromantic ills 
 of the poor, by bringing reality, might bring 
 good to her character. It was in the morning 
 that Hope usually attended to the sick and 
 the suffering whom Mr. Addison placed 
 under her special care, and her invitation to 
 Angela was in the hope of persuading her 
 to accompany her. 
 
 To Hope, Angela's feelings were very 
 visible. A month or two before, it would 
 not have been so ; but experience teaches ! 
 Strangely different as were Hope's views of 
 love, still her feelings for Robert, the new 
 form of her feelings had opened a door in 
 her soul hitherto closed. In some sort, 
 these new feelings ckagged her downi to 
 earth ; but only superficially speaking. 
 There is nothing heavenly in narrowness of
 
 288 , THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 vision : the gaze upward from a ravine may 
 be more concentrated, than from a plain ; but 
 it does not therefore, go nearer to Heaven ; 
 the wider field, the larger experience ; the 
 more embracing love is that which brings 
 man nearer to an angel's life. Knowledge 
 and observation, and experience, to natures 
 like Hope's, bring suffering with them, for the 
 dragging down is pain; but it brings in- 
 creased strength for their mission on earth, 
 and in the end ^\ings the soul on fresher 
 wings upwards. She was more fitted now 
 to do good to Angela. She had a perception 
 of mental trials and common temptations, 
 before unknown; and with the knowledge, 
 as it ever was with her, came sympathy and 
 desire to help. 
 
 She acted on Mr. Addison's suggestion at 
 once. The attempt was not, however, suc- 
 cessful ; in this first essay, at least, it was 
 not so, and that from two causes : — the first 
 cause, that Angela went to the work, her 
 heart smarting and bitter with disappoint-
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 289 
 
 ment, too recent to leave her much power to 
 consider the troubles of others. On their 
 way to the village, they overtook Everard 
 strolling along with his dog. He was evi- 
 dently in no haste, and Angela thought 
 common civility must force him to join them. 
 He seemed to think so himself, for he did 
 walk wdth them to the outskirts of the 
 village ; but there, instead of accompanying 
 them further, he stopped, said he should call 
 on Mr. Addison, and with a quick '' good- 
 bye," went off in another direction. 
 
 A second cause of ill-success in interesting 
 her in the poor was, from the ill doings of 
 the poor themselves. When she found the 
 poverty of one family proceeding from the 
 fact, that the husband was an habitual 
 drunkard ; the sorrow of another, from the 
 transportation of a son ; when she found in 
 another house, the illness of a young girl 
 proceeding from a beating given her by her 
 mother, and that beating caused by frantic 
 rage at the girl's vain and thoughtless con- 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 duct ; her indignation and abhorrence knew 
 no bounds. Little perfect as she was herself 
 she had yet to learn that man is frail, and 
 that the bitterest sorrows are those that sin 
 brings with them. 
 
 As they returned homewards, she expressed, 
 in no measured terms, her condemnation of 
 the wickedness of the poor, and her astonish- 
 ment that one so good as Hope could by her 
 presence countenance guilt. 
 
 Hope, accustomed to the mixture of good 
 and ill, and so hating sin that she would 
 have gone into a furnace could she have 
 dragged a sinner out, w^as yet unable to cope 
 with Angela in argument; that charity 
 which would do all things to save some, does 
 not bear argument : it is the mission of some, 
 not of all, perhaps only of those whose 
 holiness is too deep-seated a quality to fear 
 contamination. 
 
 *'I will shew you some verses Everard 
 copied for me the other day," at last she 
 said. " They will say better than I can do.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 291 
 
 what my feeling about human nature 
 
 is." 
 
 This speech silenced Angela ; partly satis- 
 fied her, partly sent her mind from her 
 indignation against the poor, to her own 
 troubles. 
 
 On re-entering the house, they found 
 luncheon ready. There was a place for 
 Everard, but he did not come. Mrs. Vava- 
 sour saw Angela's wandering eyes, and 
 casually, but kindly, observed that Everard 
 was very little of a luncheon eater. That 
 might be a fact, Angela thought, but it did 
 not make it less clear that he could have been 
 at home if he had pleased. 
 
 Immediately after luncheon, Angela's 
 carriage drove to the door; but a violent 
 storm came on, and it was sent away for an 
 hour. She then reminded Hope of her 
 promise to show her Everard's verses ; and 
 together they proceeded to Hope's sitting 
 room. 
 
 It was a pretty cheerful room in one of the 
 
 u2
 
 292 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 towers — ^pretty, but simple — ^in all its ar- 
 rangements, betokening tbat the spirit which 
 presided over it, was neither a lover of beauty 
 nor intellect, nor luxury, but of something 
 more earnest than any of these. 
 
 Hope brought her manuscript book, and 
 w^as about to shew Angela the verses to 
 which she had alluded, w^hen a knock at the 
 door summoned her to Mr. Vavasour, who 
 wished her to copy a letter before post-time. 
 She left Angela alone to look over her book 
 at her pleasure. 
 
 The study of Hope's character in the selec- 
 tion of prose and verse before her, w^ould in 
 some moods have interested her ; but disap- 
 pointed and restless, she could at this moment 
 only give her mind to that which concerned 
 herself. The hand-writing of Everard did 
 concern her ; and over that she meditated, 
 endeavouring to trace his qualities in the 
 bold, upright hand ; until, as she listlessly 
 read the verses, their sentiments caught her 
 attention, expressing as they did Hope's
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 298 
 
 epitome of Christian charity. The poem 
 was by Emily Taylor ; these were among the 
 stanzas : — 
 
 There is an evil and a good 
 
 In every soulunknowu to thee — 
 A darker or a brighter mood 
 
 Than aught thine eye can ever see. 
 Words, actions, faintly mark the whole 
 That lies within a li\dng soul. 
 
 Perhaps thy sterner mind condemns 
 Some brother mind that, reasoning less, 
 
 The tide of error slowly stems 
 In pain, in fear, in weariness ; 
 
 Thou call's t him weak — he may be so — 
 
 What made him weak, thou canst not know. 
 
 Perhaps thy spmt's calm repose 
 
 No evil dream hath come to spoil ; 
 A firm, resistless front it shews 
 
 Amidst the passions' fiercest broil ; 
 'Tis well I—enjoy and bless thy lot, 
 Still pitying him who shares it not ! 
 
 Touched and softened she lingered over 
 them. To feel real charity was very sooth- 
 ing, and, for the moment, the new feeling 
 absorbed her. She was reading the poem 
 intently for the third time when another
 
 294 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 knock disturbed her. Before she could 
 say " Come in," — for, like a brother, Everard 
 waited for no answer to his announcement 
 of himself — the door opened, and he hastily- 
 entered. 
 
 When he saw the occupant of the room 
 he stood still, and a flush of crimson changed 
 the whole character of his face. For a 
 moment they gazed at each other in em- 
 barrassed silence. It was the first time 
 they had been alone since that evening 
 whose memory pursued Angela with cease- 
 less torment. If he did not remember this 
 she did. 
 
 He was the first to recover himself, and 
 to speak. "I beg your pardon," he said, 
 quickly ; " I came to speak to Hope." 
 
 " Hope is gone to Mr. Vavasour," Angela 
 said, composedly; her heart was bounding 
 with expectation, but she was determined 
 to behave with dignity and propriety. " She 
 has been gone some minutes ; I think she 
 will be back directlv."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 295 
 
 There was a pause. Angela waited. She 
 would not be forward ; she would be ready, 
 but not bold ; she w^aited, her countenance, 
 perhaps, very speaking, but her lips still. 
 The pause was broken by Everard's slowly 
 advancing; making her heart beat till it 
 almost broke. But it was a needless agita- 
 tion. He approached only to place a letter 
 on the table, and, speaking in quiet tones, 
 begged her to give it to Hope, and to tell 
 her Mr. Addison wished for an early answer. 
 Having delivered his message, he retraced 
 his steps, merely bowing his head and 
 observing, " I will not disturb you," as he 
 left the room. 
 
 Tears of passion and resentment sprang 
 to Angela's eyes, and would have fallen in 
 a torrent if they had not suddenly been 
 arrested by pride. " He does not, cannot 
 care for me," she said, with bitterness of 
 tongue, " and if he does not care, why 
 should I ? I do not mean to waste my life 
 on a feeUng that he despises,"
 
 296 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 She walked impetuously to the window 
 and threw it open ; the sharp air braced 
 and cooled her, and having stilled her agita- 
 tion, and calmed her countenance, she sat 
 down again to await Hope's return. As 
 she resumed her seat, a vision flashed be- 
 fore her eyes — Everard's startled gaze and 
 flushed cheek when he saw her alone — and 
 she involuntarily said, " Was that indiffer- 
 ence?" With the words her resentful mood 
 passed by; conviction, absolute conviction, 
 took its place, that it was her hated gold 
 which made him afraid, and strange ven- 
 turous thoughts presented themselves to her 
 mind. 
 
 ** Uncle Eichard thinks you had better 
 go, i^ngela," Hope said, as she entered. 
 " The sky looks so black he is afraid it 
 will be a stormy evening." 
 
 ** I think so too," Angela said, in a hasty 
 manner, restless to be doing something. 
 " Let us go down stairs. Oh ! I forgot. 
 Mr. Everard Vavasour brought that letter
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 297 
 
 for you, and begged you to send Mr. Addi- 
 son an answer." 
 
 Hope looked at her, and saw her dis- 
 turbed countenance ; but, except by in- 
 creased kindness in her own manner, did 
 not appear to notice it. They went down 
 together to the hall door, where the carriage 
 was now waiting. The afternoon w^as 
 piercingly cold, and on seeing the very 
 slight preparations for a cold drive which 
 Angela had made, Hope remonstrated, and 
 insisted on going to Mrs. Vavasour to 
 borrow a fur cloak and other . neces- 
 saries. 
 
 There was a short cut to Mrs. Vavasour's ^ 
 rooms through the upper part of the library, 
 and her uncle having recommended Angela's 
 speedy departure, Hope opened the library 
 door and hastened through. Angela fol- 
 lowed her. 
 
 By the library fire Everard was sitting, 
 reading the newspapers. He was accustomed 
 to the servants passing through with coals,
 
 298 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 and when the door opened he did not look 
 round. 
 
 Hope went on her errand, but Angela 
 paused. A strange impulse seized her. 
 
 With a step like lightning, as noiseless 
 and rapid, she glided down the room and 
 suddenly stood by Everard's side. It was in 
 the very same place where Hope had heard 
 Eobert's words of love. 
 
 Everard sprang up with a startled *' Miss 
 Gresham!" and wonder and even dismay 
 on his countenance, but, nothing daunted, 
 Angela -held her ground. Her manner was 
 hurried, but was far from deficient in the 
 dignity she knew so well how to assume, and 
 which certainly in some degree qualified the 
 strange things she did. 
 
 •' Seeing you at leisure, Mr. Vavasour, I 
 am come to ask you why you avoid me as 
 you do. We used to be good friends. Have 
 I done anything to offend you ? " 
 
 '' Offend !" he cried, in involuntary ex- 
 citement. But the passionate sound of his
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 299 
 
 voice startled him into recollection; and 
 feeling only the absolute necessity of self 
 command, he suddenly became cold. 
 
 His hurried exclamation had not had 
 time to assure and encourao^e her before he 
 added, and in a manner as involuntarily 
 grave and measured as that had been pas- 
 sionate, /' Miss Gresham ought to know 
 that she may give pain and pleasure, but 
 cannot offend.'' 
 
 It is difficult for those who with violence 
 restrain their feelings to hit the due medium. 
 They can be hot or cold. They cannot be 
 temperate. Very cold and grave were 
 Everard's words, and coldly they fell upon 
 Angela's impetuous spirit. She felt re- 
 proved, rebuked ; and the impulse that had 
 blindly led her ceasing to act, she stood 
 humbled in her own sight and before him. 
 Her colour went and came, her fingers 
 trembled, and the conviction of being des- 
 pised, made her incapable of raising her 
 eyes to his face.
 
 300 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 But these galling sensations were quickly 
 put to flight. 
 
 In an altered voice whose tones were music 
 to her ears, Everard abruptly said, " I am 
 going to confess what I know I ought not; but 
 you have rightly judged me. I have avoided 
 you. I must ; because I am a fool and 
 cannot trust myself in your presence. I did 
 not presume to think my conduct needed 
 explanation ; but if it does, if you care to 
 know why I dare not come near you, your 
 father s wishes, his most natural wishes, must 
 explain it. And now forgive me and forget 
 what I have said." 
 
 " Forget !" she said, softly. 
 
 Everard sighed and turned away his head; 
 and in that sigh gasped down a temptation 
 that was almost too strong for him. " Yes, 
 forgive me," he said, hurriedly, "for I am 
 saying what I should not. I have been 
 warned, and I have promised, and I have no 
 right to speak of what I feeL" And perfectly 
 conscious that if he were not to speak he
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 301 
 
 inust be gone, he merely grasped her hand 
 for an instant, and was gone before another 
 word could be said. 
 
 Angela stood in a trance of happiness for 
 a second, then glided away likewise. 
 
 Hope had passed through the room, and 
 was now awaiting her with a cloak. Angela 
 blushed deeply as she met the intent en- 
 quiring gaze of her young companion, but 
 she said not a word. Silently kissing her, 
 she jumped into the carriage and drove 
 away. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 London^ Godfrey & Delany, Piinters, 3, Savoy Street, Strand.
 
 To be had at all the Libraries, in 2 Vols., 
 
 THE YOUNG LORD. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OP 
 
 "THE TWO BROTHERS," "THE DISCIPLINE OF 
 LIFE," &c. 
 
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 '"The Young Lord,' from the practised pen of Lady Emily Ponsonby, Is as 
 instructive as it is amusing. The merit of 'The Young Lord ' lies in its com- 
 pleteness and finish. The various persons are clearly conceived in the writer's 
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 to display the quaUtlcs and affect the fate of the persons, and written with 
 such eloquent strength, if it may not be called power, that the attraction is as 
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