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 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 WILLIAM MATHEWS, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE HEIR OF VALMS. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 
 
 1859.
 
 [ The right of translation is reserved.'}
 
 8^5 
 
 v.i 
 
 THE TWO lOIES. 
 
 § 
 
 
 r^ « 
 
 ' Cyprus and Paphos vales the smiling Loves 
 Might leave with joy for fair Madeira's groves ; 
 A shore so flowery, and so sweet an air, 
 Venus might build her dearest temple there." 
 
 Lusiad, Book y. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Flor d'Oceano ! Bright, beautiful Madeira!" 
 
 ." ;Such was the exclamation of a young girl, as she 
 
 '^ stood upon the deck of a passenger ship, and bade 
 
 ''- a brief farewell to her island home. I echo her 
 
 words — Bright, beautiful Madeira ! As bright, 
 
 as beautiful art thou, in thy sunshine and thy 
 
 wealth of flowers, as when Macham and Anna 
 
 first stepped upon thy shores, and found an 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 asylum for their persecuted loves. Flor (TOceanoI 
 Richly thou deservest the name — a paradise whose 
 sunny skies and perfumed groves, like the fabled 
 Ergane waters, fill the heart with a delirium of 
 gladness. 
 
 Through the few years which have fleeted 
 past since I ceased to roam over mountain and 
 vale of this favoured isle, I look back, and it rises 
 before me in unfaded splendour — the blossoms, 
 the feathered choristers, the eternal freshness of 
 the beautiful climate, filled with the powers 
 of health. Flor (fOceano ! thou art before me, 
 a sun shining in a canopy of blue ; not a cloud 
 in mid-sky to break the flood of light pouring 
 upon sea and land; summer waves softly melt- 
 ing one into another in azure tints, catching at 
 every swell a golden ray ; from east to west, a 
 noble range of mountain heights standing out 
 against the intense blue in a deepened clearness ; 
 a purple haze, mingling with the flood of light, 
 bathing the higher peaks. My eyes are pained 
 with the excess of brightness, and rest grate- 
 fully upon the cool foliage of the chesnut trees,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 3 
 
 which clothe the mountain slopes and peaceful 
 dells, casting rich shadows upon oases of flowers, 
 yielding a perfume such as flowers of a southern 
 clime alone can yield. 
 
 I look again : a more tropical scene rises on my 
 view: feathery palms, banana groves, sugar-canes, 
 and orange-trees drooping with their golden bur- 
 den, throw a shadow of green athwart the clear ex- 
 panse. Again rises a new galaxy of floral beauties, 
 royal in their splendour, vieing with each other 
 in luxuriant display of colour. A giant mag- 
 nolia rears its head, and countless bridal blossoms 
 scent the air from their snowy cups. The bi- 
 gonia, the ethereal convolvulus, the japonica rose, 
 the heliotrope, the fuschia, the geranium, and 
 " the rose of the cloth of gold," of wondrous size, 
 meet in this rare clime with the violet, prim- 
 rose, snowdrop, and sweet hawthorn of Eng- 
 land's spring. But why should I particularize 
 further, when all within thy bosom, Flor d'Oceano, 
 is as a garden of most enchanting bloom ? 
 
 And then, thy climate ! In praise of it, I would 
 be heard from north to west, over land and sea.
 
 4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Thj climate, Madeira? It is matchless. England 
 owes to it a gratitude wliich must ever leave her 
 its heavy debtor. A host in numbers of her 
 sons and daughters have left their home, having 
 spoken, it was thought, their last farewell : they 
 have come to thee to die ; but in the space of 
 a few fleeting months, the thrilling hope has 
 awakened within them, that once more they may 
 behold their earthly home, and exult in the joys 
 of a ransomed life. Then is not Madeira, bene- 
 ficent and beautiful as it is, a classic theme 
 for the poet's song? But I can only offer the 
 humble tribute of my praise and gratitude, by 
 introducing it as the scene of some of the incidents 
 in this prose fiction.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 On a November evening of 1841, Mr. Graham, 
 principal in the firm of Weston and Graham, 
 of Mncing Lane, returned from the city to his 
 residence at St. John's Wood. The house and 
 the heart were in mourning: death had been 
 within them both. A good wife and mother had 
 been borne to her last resting-place some ten 
 days before, and the widower had this day paid 
 his first visit to his house of business since the 
 sad event. Passing through the hall, Mr. Gra- 
 ham made his way up the stairs to a room which 
 had for some time gone by the name of the 
 " snuggery." This room was a sort of library, 
 used as the sitting-room of an invalid, and fitted 
 up with an eye to comfort rather than display. 
 It was adorned with several landscapes and pic-
 
 6 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 tures, with and without frames; most of them, 
 however, turned towards the wall, particularly 
 in the vicinity of two full-length portraits re- 
 presenting the same lady in youth and in middle 
 age. The larger of the two was a masterpiece 
 from Lawrence's gifted hand. 
 
 A light lent, I may say, by the soul, brightened 
 up a faded face with a saintly smile, as a thin 
 hand was gently laid on the head of a fine boy 
 of about ten years of age, who was sitting be- 
 side, and whose boyish excitement about some- 
 thing appeared to have led to this sign of motherly 
 tenderness. On entering the snuggery, Mr. 
 Graham noticed the confusion amongst the pic- 
 tures, and did not seem well pleased, for he said : 
 
 ^^ Edward, in one of his fancies, I suppose I 
 Poor excitable boy ! " 
 
 Mr. Graham was a tall man, with a stoop in 
 his shoulders, as if his figure had yielded to his 
 habitual position at the desk. His brow was of 
 fair height, but narrow ; his features sharp and 
 thin. The nose was prominent and a little on 
 one side, giving an expression of peevishness
 
 MK. GRAHAM AT HOME. 7 
 
 to the face, which was one of those elongated 
 grave faces, that from original constitution, or 
 the habit of five-and-forty years, are more ca- 
 pable of indicating feelings of annoyance than 
 of pleasure. 
 
 " Is Edward coming, Mrs. Pitman ? " Mr. Gra- 
 ham asks of a little female domestic, who enters the 
 room with a pillow, which she places on the sofa. 
 
 " He will be here directly, sir," was the answer. 
 She drew the sofa a little nearer to the fire, and 
 ran on describing the state of the young master, 
 with heart in every word. 
 
 " Don't talk about me, nurse," whispered a 
 voice at her elbow, that might have been called 
 fretful, but for a tone of earnestness which accom- 
 panied it. " And you must go and rest yourself 
 too : remember, nurse, I will have my way ; " 
 and will there was in voice, look, and word. 
 The owner of the will was a youth of sixteen, 
 of a fair height, but slender and wan. He was 
 wrapped in a large dressing-gown of sombre hue. 
 His face was well formed and strikingly intelligent. 
 The brow was always quivering, and its expres-
 
 8 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 sion would have given an air of severity to the 
 countenance, but for the sweetness of the mouth 
 and chin. 
 
 " I am come to sit with you, Edward ; I hope you 
 are better to night, " the father said, as the son 
 took his seat on the sofa. 
 
 " I dont think I shall ever be better, " was the 
 answer. " Indeed, I dont care to be : I have no 
 heart for life left," and the speaker buried his 
 face in his hands. 
 
 " You must make an effort, my son," observed 
 Mr. Graham, gravely. " We both know what 
 trials we have had, but now we must make the 
 best of our position." 
 
 " You have been in the City," remarked the son, 
 rousing himself. 
 
 " Yes, Edward ; and, as I always find, things have 
 gone wrong in my absence .For instance, Ryland's 
 last shipment, a valuable cargo — but I mistake, I 
 thought I was speaking to your brother : force of 
 habit. However, let us change the subject, for you 
 always look so peevish when business is men- 
 tioned."
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 9 
 
 " I was not aware I was looking peevish, 
 father," Edward replied, mildly, although his 
 brow quivered. 
 
 " You do ; I think the look is natural to you 
 when business is discussed. Your grandfather 
 did very wrong, Edward, to make you independent 
 of me." 
 
 "Pardon me, father; my grandfather had a 
 right to do as he liked with his own, and he was 
 always deeply attached to me, dear old man." The 
 invalid seemed to muse over his words till the tears 
 rolled down his cheeks. Mr. Graham looked 
 uneasy. '' You must acquire more self-control, 
 Edward," he said ; " you are really, you must 
 excuse me, more like a girl than a boy : always in 
 the extremes. You are just like your mother." 
 
 A thrill of emotion passed over the youth's face, 
 and he said, scarcely above his breath : " I feel it. 
 Ah ! I could ill afford to lose so true a friend. My 
 heart was in her hand; I thought through her 
 thoughts ; I felt through her impressions ; I lived 
 through her life." After a pause Edward said, 
 " My Aunt Weston wishes to pay us a visit."
 
 10 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 *^ I doubt the propriety of having female relatives 
 to reside with one, Edward," observed Mr. Graham, 
 looking fixedly in the fire : " Mary Weston, to be 
 sure, is a simple-minded, earnest, and honest 
 woman. But, commonly speaking, women spoil 
 boys. Business ideas and sentiment don't agree 
 together, as I explained to you last night. Observe 
 my career ; it points a business moral, Edward. I 
 was alone in the world at your age : a fit-out, a few 
 words of advice, and my father shipped me from 
 Leith to London, to a clerkship in the house of 
 Weston. My father's words were Aim, Aptitude, 
 and Perseverance : I learnt the value of them, 
 Edward, and so must you." 
 
 "I will never be a tradesman, father; never: 
 not if I live a thousand years," observed Ed- 
 ward resolutely. 
 
 "Had your brother lived, Edward, I should 
 not have wished it; but as it is, my views are fixed. 
 A parent knows best what is best for his son : 
 you must get rid of your dreams." 
 
 *^ There is sad truth in dreams, father ; " said 
 the youth, with a look of superstitious awe. " Last
 
 MISS WESTON'S THOUGHTS. 11 
 
 night I had a dream, which was so like reality 
 that I can scarcely now believe that my lost mother 
 and brother were not then bending over me. The 
 curtains of my bed were withdrawn, and my 
 mother, in her shroud " 
 
 " Pray — pray forbear ! " cried Mr. Graham, 
 raising his hand authoritatively : " I cannot endure 
 this; let us turn to practical things. You have 
 heard, it seems, from your Aunt Weston. What 
 does she say about your illness ? for she under- 
 stands you best." 
 
 " She says, in reference to my illness," Edward 
 answered, reading from a letter he took from his 
 pocket, " ' I have every hope that with care and good 
 nursing you will yet get well. I do not believe your 
 spine is injured, for I have known great weakness 
 of the back arising from other causes. If you could 
 get rid of your cough, I feel confident, from the 
 elasticity of your constitution, that you would 
 revive, and one day possess that energy of body 
 and mind which is indispensable for any efficient 
 discharge of the practical duties of life.' " 
 
 ^^ A very sensible remark of Mary Weston's :
 
 12 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 who would have thought so much common sense 
 could come from Alegria ? " 
 
 ^^A great many good things come from there, 
 father," was Edward's rejoinder : and his pale face 
 beamed with pleasing emotion. Mr. Graham betook 
 himself to the day's paper, and Edward lay silently 
 musing. 
 
 Original sensibilities, far keener than usual, had 
 been in him developed by circumstances to an 
 uncommon degree. There had been but two 
 children born to Mr. Graham : Edward only was 
 left, and he had been his mother's care from 
 childhood. It was his mother's pride that, not- 
 withstanding his quickness of feeling and im- 
 petuosity of temper, he had never wilfully 
 disobeyed her. Although a thorough boy to 
 the time of his illness, full of life and spirit, he 
 was remarkable for an intelligence in advance of 
 his years. This was the more remarkable, as 
 his education was much retarded by symptoms 
 of mental disorganization, which appeared very 
 early. Frequently, upon some sudden excite- 
 ment of the emotions, or during some active
 
 EDWARD'S MENTAL SINGULARITY. 13 
 
 exercise of the mental powers, a bewilderment 
 of intellect came on : the nerves of the brow 
 and cheek were convulsed; the temples flushed 
 and throbbed ; the mouth twitched spasmodically ; 
 whilst the powers of articulation were suspended 
 for an hour or more, and his mental condition 
 resembled that of a person in a trance. There 
 was no physical suffering attendant on these 
 attacks. Yet it is easy to understand that a 
 painful interest should be excited in the mother's 
 mind ; that her boy's wants were anticipated, his 
 wishes indulged, and his medical man's instruc- 
 tions to protect him from irritation of mind and 
 temper strictly observed. Had not Edward been 
 capable of guidance and control through the affec- 
 tions, he would have been thoroughly spoilt. 
 
 His maternal grandfather (the former head of 
 the firm of Weston and Graham) took especial 
 notice of his grandson. He thorouglily loved 
 the boy. Mr. Weston had a residence on a small 
 estate at Eling, some twelve miles in the coimtry, 
 where, with invigorated energies, the active mer- 
 chant became a keen sportsman. Edward had
 
 14 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 been recommended out-door exercise, and so the 
 grandfather had the boy constantly by his side, 
 and the youth acquired a love for rural sports 
 which in respect of hunting soon grew to a pas- 
 sion. At twelve years of age, what with his pony, 
 and a mount now and then by a certain Squire 
 Templer, whom we shall meet by and by, he be- 
 came far more knowing in the art of riding and 
 falling properly, than many a grown sportsman. 
 
 Mr. Weston having determined on providing 
 in a moderate degree for his favourite's future, 
 invested 10,000^. in the funds in Edward's 
 name; and nominated a friend, a certain Mr. 
 Seaton, and liis own daughter, the Aunt Mary 
 of this narrative, trustees until the time of his 
 coming of age. After Mr. Weston's death, which 
 took place a year or so after the investment on 
 Edward's behalf — this separate provision made 
 for the younger son appeared to irritate Mr. 
 Graham a great deal. He said that the money 
 ought to have remained in the business, it having 
 been withdrawn from the house for the purpose 
 specified, for then it would have realised a good
 
 FATHER AND SON'S RELATION. 15 
 
 per-centage, in place of the small interest received 
 from the funds. Besides, Mr. Graham had no 
 control in the matter : his own son, his younger 
 son too, was made independent of him; and he 
 felt this both as a reproach on his integrity and 
 an injustice done to the family. Viewing the 
 matter in this light, he regarded Edward with 
 a cold, half-jealous eye, and sometimes addressed 
 him in bitter words. Edward, in fact, cared little 
 for this provision : but he quickly saw the dif- 
 ference his father made between him and his 
 elder brother. That brother's death, for he was 
 drowned in boating on the Thames in the past 
 spring, changed Edward's position and his father's 
 purposes. 
 
 But I am going too far : to return to Edward's 
 boyhood. When about thirteen, the mind malady, 
 of which I have spoken, left him : good manage- 
 ment had worked beneficially, and nature smiled 
 upon the labour. Now, Edward grew stout and 
 tall, giving promise of health and vigour, and for 
 two years laboured to recover the time he had 
 lost. But, alas! when he reached his fifteenth
 
 16 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 year, the English plague, consumption, hereditary 
 on the mother's side, laid fast hold upon him. 
 
 That mother's care of her son during her last 
 days, her grief, her day ministering, her night 
 watching, his anguish, his shudderings when 
 her sickness came, and then her death, we may 
 yet see dimly recorded on the countenance which 
 now gazes forward into space ; motionless but for 
 the quivering of lip and brow. 
 
 " Pooh — pooh ! " came from Mr. Graham's lips 
 as he tossed the paper on the table. At what 
 does Mr. Graham pooh f Why, at an able article 
 in The Times, which spoke with nervous common 
 sense on the necessity of the monied interest 
 having heed, prior to investments in railroad 
 schemes and projects, now springing up in Eng- 
 land like mushrooms in autumn. Is not a pooh 
 often significant of ignorance on the part of the 
 pooher ? 
 
 A domestic entered the snuggery, saying Mr. 
 Slivery was below. 
 
 " Mr. Slivery!" cried Mr. Graham. " Show Mr. 
 Slivery to this room."
 
 A FRIEND UPON "'CHANGE." 17 
 
 Edward rose in order to leave, but the father 
 said — 
 
 ^'You will oblige me by remaining, Edward; 
 Silvery is one of my few friends. He is tho- 
 roughly practical, and his visits will do us good. 
 You must cultivate him." 
 
 Mr. Slivery entered : evidently a practical man, 
 and one whose appearance makes a favourable 
 impression; with long pale face, black hair and 
 whiskers, and keen eyes. His figure was good, 
 height moderate, and his dress unexceptionable, 
 having notliing about it to attract attention, 
 except a large signet ring on the little finger. 
 Mr. Slivery's manner was thought to be ingra- 
 tiating. He knew not a little of life ; and was 
 never wanting in tact, where he had an end to 
 serve. " A deuced clever fellow," his familiars 
 said he was. Mr. Slivery thought so too ; and 
 in a certain sense Mr. Slivery was right. 
 
 " Just back from Paris," Mr. Slivery said, " or 
 I should have called before." 
 
 He shook hands with Mr. Graham, and be- 
 stowed a nod on Edward. The latter does not 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 like Mr. Slivery, and Mr. Slivery has observed 
 it, and made a note of it. 
 
 " Looking ill, EdAvard. You need occupation," 
 observed Mr. Slivery ; and proceeded to sit dov^rn 
 by Edward on the sofa. 
 
 " Please not," Edvy^ard cried, with some irritation. 
 
 Mr. Slivery looked surprised. 
 
 " You smell so of tobacco." 
 
 Mr. Slivery smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. 
 
 "Just a cigar," he observed, "between the 
 Carlton and this, to keep the raw air out." 
 
 "So you are a member ? How did you manage 
 it ? " asked Mr. Graham, looking as if he thought 
 Mr, Slivery had added a cubit to his stature. 
 Mr. Slivery saw the impression. 
 
 " Manage it ! " he replied. " Really there was 
 no management necessary. You know my friend 
 
 the Count ; you have played a rubber with 
 
 him in May Fair." (Mr. Graham acknowledges 
 the honour.) " Well, he does what I ask of him 
 — a friend of available sympathies." 
 
 " But the Carlton, Slivery ? an aristrocratic 
 club ? " returned Mr. Graham.
 
 HOW TO DO THE CARLTON. 19 
 
 " And are not we of the aristocracy, Graham ? 
 — of the aristocracy of wealth? Have we not 
 power ? are we not sought ? do we not win 
 honours, ay, and the odd trick?" Mr. Slivery 
 smiles, then adds : " The Carlton committee is 
 not very argus-eyed, if a man be of the right 
 sort in appearance. I was called upon to believe 
 Toryism an innate principle of human nature, 
 and to play a rubber without losing temper. 
 That was all." 
 
 Then came politics. Next, the railroad article 
 was severely handled ; for both gentlemen had a 
 little stake in small attempts of this kind, and 
 felt their sagacity insulted by the implied warn- 
 ing. Mr. Slivery rose to leave, telling Edward 
 he would " smoke " him some day, if he did not 
 make haste and show himself a true son of his 
 father, on the second seat at the office in Mincing 
 Lane. This was said laughingly, but the laugh 
 had a sting. 
 
 "A practical man, Slivery. He supports a 
 very good position in society," observed Mr. 
 Graham.
 
 20 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 '^ The count with * available sympathies ' does 
 it, or the half of it," said Edward, quaintly. 
 
 " The key to social importance, Edward ; Slivery 
 knows it : the world kisses a lord's feet as if his 
 toes were of gold — the needy world. Edward, / 
 need not ; but Slivery had a position to make." 
 
 " Did not he fail in business, father, some years 
 since ? " asked Edward, with a sharp, sudden, 
 half-frowning glance. 
 
 " Fail in business ! who told you so ? " 
 
 « His friend, Mr. Finch, I think." The strange 
 look vanished from Edward's face. 
 
 "Very imprudent — very ill-advised of Finch. 
 Finch had better look at home. What else did 
 Finch say, with his unfortunate loquacity ? " 
 
 " That he travelled for two years on the pro- 
 ceeds, and then married a woman with money, 
 who won't let him ^ smoke ' at home." 
 
 ^' You are sarcastic, Edward." Mr. Graham 
 made no further comment. Had he said anything, 
 he would have said, " Slivery is a practical man." 
 Mr. Graham cared little for any man's antece- 
 dents. A man's present position in the mercantile
 
 MR. GRAHAM JUMPS TO A HAPPY CONCLUSION. 21 
 
 world was all that concerned the prosperous 
 trader. 
 
 There was now a long silence in the snuggery, 
 during which Mr. Graham was contemplating his 
 son, wliile the eyes of the latter were bent fixedly 
 on the hearth-rug. 
 
 "After all," muttered Mr. Graham, "the best 
 thing I can do is to get Mary Weston up here for 
 a while : her young protigde will amuse him. Just 
 for a few months : that must be understood, or 
 my rustic relative may acquire a taste for town 
 life." 
 
 Edward, after brooding some time, rose to leave ; 
 Mr. Graham rang the bell, and said, " Good-night.' 
 There was no shaking of hands, no ^' God bless 
 you." A cold " Good-night," and the two members 
 of one family parted ; Edward to his bed, and the 
 father to his lonely supper. 
 
 Mr. Graham had been educated to money- 
 making : an education not difficult to perfect, by 
 careful culture. His private life was regular, 
 and all his external conduct respectable. On the 
 other hand, he was ambitious of making money.
 
 22 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 and thought almost any means lawful to gain his 
 ends. Self-willed when he had to prosecute a 
 scheme he had at heart, haughty by nature, and 
 greatly filled with an idea of his own merits and 
 ability, he esteemed as alone worthy his con- 
 sideration such opinions and rules of action as 
 gave force and character to his own success in 
 the mercantile world.
 
 THE HAPPY ARRIVAL. 23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Miss Weston obeyed the summons to St. John's 
 Wood. Mr. Graham was in the city at the time of 
 his relative's arrival. The rustic lady, as Mr. Gra- 
 ham styled her, was glad of this : she wished to be 
 first in order, to feel cheerful and confident — a 
 difficult task for an elderly lady from the country, 
 on a bleak December afternoon, with her fingers 
 benumbed, and her boxes scattered about betwixt 
 the street and the hall. Besides, Miss Weston 
 was not alone; Mr. Graham had said something 
 about a little protegee who was to amuse Edward. 
 Now Miss Weston wished her small companion, 
 Minnie Seaton, to be herself, before she was pre- 
 sented to her nephew or to the rather formidable 
 master of the house ; for the north wind had been
 
 24 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 pinching the little one's cheeks, and driving all 
 the red in the pretty face to the little nose, and 
 robbing the soft blue eye of half its expression. 
 Little Minnie held a basket in her hands, which 
 she would not part with through all the bustle. 
 There was quite a touch of girlish tenderness in 
 her voice, when she said, on being asked by nurse 
 Pitman why it was shut up so secretly, 
 
 "It is to comfort Edward, nurse: I reared them 
 for him at Alegria. 
 
 Flowers were in the little basket, arranged in a 
 pretty vase, to be placed on Edward's table. 
 
 When Miss Weston reached the " snuggery," 
 Edward was absent. Nurse Pitman said, in a 
 whisper — 
 
 '^ Poor boy, he is so very nervous ! He has been 
 waiting here fox an hour, and now he heard you 
 coming, he is oiF to his room. There, Miss Weston, 
 ma'am ; lady as you are, and his kin, you will 
 never understand him like his old nurse." 
 
 Miss Weston went alone to the adjoining room ; 
 after some little time had elapsed she returned 
 with Edward resting on her arm; both evinced
 
 MINNIE BEING DKAWN OUT. 25 
 
 symptoms of suppressed emotion. Drawing Minnie 
 to Edward, Miss Weston said : 
 
 " Little Minnie's offering, Edward: " and Minnie 
 tendered her little vase. 
 
 "Dear little Minnie I how like you," said 
 Edward, with great gentleness ; " but Minnie's 
 flowers are meant for happy times and happy 
 thoughts." 
 
 " To make thoughts happy," Minnie said, 
 prettily ; " and these flowers came from Alegria, 
 Edward." 
 
 Aunt Mary said, "Yes, quite right, my darling." 
 
 " Dear Alegria ! I shall never see it more, as in 
 the old day." 
 
 Minnie drew back at these words. She left the 
 vase in Edward's hand, then sat down at Miss 
 Weston's feet, just breathing, " Oh, Edward ! " 
 
 Aunt Mary took his hand. 
 
 " There is no change at Alegria," said she ; 
 " it is your home always. Roger is the same ; 
 your brave old Teaser, on whose back you 
 performed such wonders in the hunting-field, is 
 the same ; our friend the Squire always asks so
 
 26 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 affectionately for you, and told me to tell you 
 the hounds were working bravely; and Nep, 
 Minnie will tell you, is as frolicsome as ever." 
 
 " Yes, Edward," Minnie said, nestling closer to 
 him. 
 
 "And Pilot?" Edward asked. This was Mr. 
 Weston's favourite setter, left to Edward's especial 
 care. 
 
 Miss Weston's face grew blank. 
 
 " Tell me," Edward cried, kindling up ; "I must 
 know the truth." 
 
 "Poor Pilot! he was a sad thief: setters are, 
 you know, Edward; and he would go to Mel- 
 bury, and Roger thinks he was " Miss Weston 
 
 paused. 
 
 " What does Roger think, Minnie ? " cried 
 Edward. 
 
 " Poisoned, Edward ! Naughty people ! but you 
 must not be in a passion." 
 
 Minnie had evidently been schooled. 
 
 " Not be in a passion ! " cried Edward, the blue 
 veins in his forehead starting out like whipcord, 
 whilst large drops filled his eyes ; " I wish I had
 
 EDWARD'S INDIGNATION. 27 
 
 the scoundrel by the throat who did it. A cruel 
 and cowardly murder! Aunt Mary, the man 
 who would murder such a dog as Pilot would 
 mui'der a woman, or a little cliild." 
 
 Minnie and Aunt Mary did their best to pacify 
 Edward. A willow-tree had been planted by 
 Pilot's grave three months since by Minnie and 
 herself; and flowers — autumn flowers, those stars 
 of mourning — had opened in the sunshine over 
 it. Edward quickly recovered himself. His 
 passionate fits never lasted long; a good smart 
 word or two, and they were over. Presently 
 there came a knock at the front door, and then 
 a ring. Mr. Graham had returned, and, after 
 a little delay. Miss Weston was summoned to 
 dinner. 
 
 " Edward had dined ; and Minnie ? '* he asked. 
 
 The little one crept up to Miss Weston's 
 side. 
 
 " May I stay with Edward ? " she asked, in an 
 anxious whisper. 
 
 Miss Weston took the upturned face in both 
 her hands and likewise whispered —
 
 28 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " My little one must remember her lesson. I 
 have told her our task, for Edward's sake." 
 
 *^I will be as good as a lion, best mamma; I 
 remember now." 
 
 " A lion, Minnie ? " 
 
 " As good as a little geranium ; yes." 
 
 " Yes ! that is prettier than the lion ; I think I 
 must tell Edward." 
 
 " Not for a thousand worlds, mamma : he has 
 forgotten our 'little language.'" 
 
 After a kiss and a little more whispering, Miss 
 Weston left the room, and Minnie, with a blush, 
 seated herself by Edward's side, looking very 
 winsome. Whilst Miss Weston and her host are 
 partaking of a rather more taciturn meal than 
 usual to the former, and Minnie is ransacking 
 her mind for every bit of pleasant matter pertain- 
 ing to Alegria and their friends at Eling, we must 
 say a few words on points personal to Miss 
 Weston and her prot^g4e. 
 
 In person Miss Weston was dark-featured, and 
 her figure angular. She was wanting in some 
 social graces, but genial with those whom she
 
 TAKING THE KEADER TO CONFIDENCE. 29 
 
 knew and trusted, and gifted with a large portion 
 of common sense. For some years prior to her 
 father's death, he being a widower, Miss Weston 
 had lived at Eling as his housekeeper ; where 
 she was one of those ministering spirits seldom 
 absent when a true necessity calls for their aid. 
 And now she has come to London, influenced by 
 a spirit of love and helpfulness towards her 
 nephew, as sincere and unselfish as ever animated 
 the heart of a human being. But for her bene- 
 volence, the little chatterer at Edward's side, " her 
 sunshine," as she tenderly called her, would have 
 been but a melancholy evidence of the retributive 
 working of error. 
 
 It is necessary that the reader should be made 
 partially acquainted with Minnie's history. Some 
 ten or eleven years prior to the date of my 
 narrative, a Mr. and Mrs. Seaton took up their 
 residence at a place called Bales, in the imme- 
 diate vicinity of Eling. They lived in comparative 
 seclusion, in the style of gentlefolk of limited 
 means. The family consisted of themselves and 
 a baby girl. Mr. Seaton was an invahd. It
 
 30 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 was understood that the Seatons had passed the 
 last few years of their life abroad ; therefore the 
 child of two years old had evidently been bom 
 during their absence from England. There 
 was little society at Eling; and between the 
 Westons and Seatons acquaintance ripened into 
 intimacy. This Mr. Seaton was the joint trustee 
 with Miss Weston over the provision made by 
 Mr. Weston on Edward Graham's behalf. As the 
 little girl grew. Miss Weston's sympathies were 
 warmly enlisted in her well-doing. Mrs. Seaton 
 fell ill, and her case grew hopeless. Miss Weston 
 performed a friend's sad duty ; and whilst watch- 
 ing by the sick bed became aware that the little 
 Minnie's fate weighed very heavily upon her dying 
 friend's mmd. 
 
 " What would become of her Alegria pet ? 
 What would be the fate of her Madeira fondling ? " 
 
 Miss Weston promised such protection as should 
 be in her power. Little Minnie was six years 
 old at the period of Mrs. Seaton's death. Mr. 
 Seaton was a literary man, and led a solitary 
 life. After his wife's death, he became somewhat
 
 DISINTERESTEDNESS. 31 
 
 misanthropical^ and yet more lonely in his habits, 
 so that Mimiie would have run quite wild but for 
 Miss Weston's care and thoughtfulness. During 
 two years the child grew to Miss "Weston's heart, 
 and Miss Weston's love subjected the child's 
 affections to its dominion. Love ruled love, and 
 happiness was the result. In the spring of Minnie's 
 eighth year. Miss Weston paid a visit to a 
 relative residing in the north of England. After 
 an absence of a few weeks, she received intel- 
 ligence that Mr. Seaton was on his death-bed. 
 Miss Weston immediately returned to Eling, but 
 did not arrive before Minnie was an orphan. 
 
 Miss Weston's first act was to remove the little 
 mourner to her own home. Then came the heir- 
 at-law, and Miss Weston was made aware that 
 Bales was entailed property, and that her charge 
 was portionless. Relatives there were of Mr. 
 Seaton besides, in the Indies, in America, and 
 in France; but no one sought to question the 
 position Miss Weston had assumed in regard to 
 Minnie. Still Miss Weston was uneasy touching 
 her want of authority over the child : when, greatly
 
 32 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 to her satisfaction, a parcel was brought her by 
 the lawyer of the heir-at-law, directed to her in 
 Mr. Seaton's handwriting. There was a sealed 
 enclosure within the parcel, accompanied by a 
 note, from which she learned that her ardent 
 desire had been anticipated — she had authority to 
 constitute herself the child's protector ; but in re- 
 gard to the sealed enclosure, the writer solemnly 
 required that it should remain a sacred deposit 
 until it was claimed in person by the individual 
 to whom it was addressed. The superscription 
 to this enclosed packet was to " William Wynne 
 Rylandj Esquire." 
 
 The concluding paragraph of Mr. Seaton's letter 
 seemed to Miss Weston not a little ambiguous. In 
 reference to the opening of the sealed enclosure 
 he wrote : — " Then may the position and prospects 
 of your adopted child compensate you for your 
 care of her, and prove a blessing to you both. 
 For my part, I am apprehensive that trouble 
 will overtake you from a source whence it ought 
 not to come." This was certainly alarming, no less 
 than ambiguous ; still, Mr. Seaton must be obeyed.
 
 AN OlMINOUS TRUST. 33 
 
 The packet to William Wynne Ryland was care- 
 fully laid aside. And now it was that a circum- 
 stance touching the name of Ryland, which had 
 occurred a year or two before her father's death, 
 reverted to Miss Weston's mind ; and as often as 
 she chanced to see the packet lying in her desk, 
 she wondered whether the person of the name of 
 Ryland, for whom Mr. Seaton had obtained an 
 introduction to the house of Weston and Graham 
 through her father, for the purpose of consign- 
 ment of Indian produce, was the person to whom 
 this missive was addressed. So far with regard 
 to Miss Weston's protegee i for now the former 
 re-enters the snuggery from the dining-room. 
 
 " Your father is gone to the Sliverys', Edward," 
 said Miss Weston, as she sat down. " Tuesday is 
 visiting-night, you know." 
 
 " For the sake of visiting by rule, and to play 
 his rubber, I suppose," observed Edward. 
 
 Miss Weston saw his face grow sad, and whis- 
 pered to Minnie, who flitted out of the room, and 
 returned with nurse Pitman, carrying chess-table 
 and men. Minnie busied herself to set up the 
 
 VOL. J. i>
 
 34 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 game, handling the pieces very carefully ; ibr 
 they had come all the way from India, a pre- 
 sent to Mr. Graham. Even little Minnie would 
 have been startled to have heard the name of the 
 donor. 
 
 Edward looked surprised to see the chess-table, 
 wrapped himself closer in his dressing-gown, and 
 made a frightened motion for it to be removed. 
 
 " I cannot ; indeed, I have no head," he said, 
 quite pathetically : " I really hardly know if these 
 belong to me," holding up his hands. Miss 
 Weston took no notice, but sat down by him, 
 placed the board conveniently, and made first 
 move ; merely saying, "A lady player's privilege." 
 The game began ; Edward found that his hands, 
 and brains too, were where they ought to be. 
 He played the "royal game" passably well : for 
 liis grandfather had been partial to it, and Ed- 
 ward was his principal opponent. At times Aunt 
 Mary was no bad match for him ; and she really 
 tried hard after awhile to hold her ground : but 
 she was compelled to succumb, and Edward won 
 the same.
 
 NERVOUSNESS — THE REMEDY. 35 
 
 " Some one surely moved for me," he said, with 
 strange earnestness, when the game was finished ; 
 " a spii'it at my elhow to move, and a spirit in 
 my mind to make it decide about it. I did 
 not do it of my own unaided will, I declare to 
 you." 
 
 Miss Weston did not smile ; she felt too deeply 
 for this morbid peculiarity of mind. After a few 
 minutes of explanation as to where her blunder 
 had been made, and so on, she told Edward, in a 
 serious half-whisper, that Minnie would soon play 
 very tolerably ; she was really very painstaking, 
 and he would much oblige her if he would be 
 kind enough to give her a lesson now and then. 
 
 There are several ways of making sensitive 
 people feel the sting of their sensitiveness : there 
 is but one way of making it pour oil on its 
 own troubled waters ; and Aunt Mary understood 
 this way. Edward readily agreed to her request ; 
 Minnie's little fingers had the men in place on 
 the board in very short time. When the game 
 began, she played on with quite a grave joyful- 
 ness, even pride ; and so interested did the teacher
 
 36 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 become in his task, — so pure a smile of intelligence 
 and pleasure blushed up over his wan face when 
 his pupil made a judicious move, — that Miss Wes- 
 ton, who looked up from time to time from her 
 book to notice how her " children " were getting 
 on, could not resist saying to herself — 
 
 " Just the old self-denial when his good nature 
 was appealed to. Poor boy ! shall I lose him 
 
 too ? And if he lives " She paused, for the 
 
 game was over.
 
 MR. GRAHAM GONE TO PARIS. 37 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 " It is really very unkind of my father to force 
 this duty upon me. Why cannot we shut up the 
 house and go down to Alegria, now he is gone 
 to Paris ? Here you have been in attendance 
 upon me all the winter through ; and now spring 
 has comCj you and Minnie ought to have a run 
 amongst your shrubs and flowers^ and perform 
 your spring duties to them ; and you shall ! " 
 
 Thus spoke Edward Graham to his aunt^ as he 
 looked up from a drawing he was finishing, the 
 morning after the departure of his father for Paris. 
 Edward spoke with the old will and resolute look. 
 His face was pale, but there was a young glow 
 of recovering health over it. Miss Weston was 
 passing at the moment. She leant over him, and 
 placed her hand upon his lips.
 
 38 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " Firm set once more," she said, smiling ; " but 
 the J must not utter wilful words." 
 
 Well might Miss Weston say those lips were 
 firm set. Edward's mouth was a somewhat re- 
 markable feature ; at one moment expressing the 
 utmost resolution, and the next a most winning 
 sweetness. No wonder that Aunt Mary smiled 
 from her very heart as she placed her hand upon 
 those lips. 
 
 '' You shall go ; and I will arrange the journey 
 for to-morrow," said he. 
 
 " It would be contrary to your father's wishes, 
 Edward," Miss Weston replied. ^' I am in charge 
 of his establishment, and must not neglect my 
 duty. In a month we leave for Alegria." 
 
 ^' Yes, leave ! There it is. No sooner do we 
 become human and sociable than a separation 
 takes place. What shall I do here, all by myself? 
 I shall be the most miserable creature on the face 
 of the earth." 
 
 " I fear, Edward, that to be valued in this world, 
 we must make ourselves valuable." 
 
 "I cannot agree to that; it is so detestably
 
 EDWARD SHOWS "WILL." 39 
 
 selfish: and so you mean that I ought to be 
 valuable to mj father to secure his favour ? be- 
 cause, if you mean that " 
 
 " I do not mean exactly as you imply," inter- 
 rupted Aunt Mary. " What I meant to hint was, 
 that now your health is decidedly improved, you 
 ought to try to be of some service to your father." 
 
 " In what way ? " The mouth was firm set again. 
 
 " In your father's business, Edward. His hopes 
 are centred in that." 
 
 " Business ! " burst from Edward, with a half- 
 groan. " I detest the look of a shop-window on ac- 
 count of its connexion with business. You would 
 have me take that bitter draught, after I have 
 told you it would choke me ? Now I understand 
 your hints and allusions for this month past. You 
 would have me pollute my heart and intellect, 
 and rob every shade of feeling from my soul." 
 
 Here Edward njade a rapid caricature of him- 
 self, sitting on a stool, with a huge ledger before 
 him, and a pen behind his ear. He handed it 
 to his aunt, who only said, putting the sketch in 
 her work-table —
 
 40 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " Edward, be rational. Tell me what you would 
 like to do." 
 
 " Do ! w^hy, be mj own master in this matter 
 of doing. Why should T be bound to a life of 
 worry and anxiety, if I have no inclination to it ? 
 Do ! do as I like : do hunting, or do nothing, if 
 doing nothing pleased me." 
 
 " The men who live well," replied Miss Weston, 
 " and are of use to themselves and to others, are 
 active men, fixed in their purpose, and steady in 
 its aim. Hunting is out of the question ; your 
 health will not admit of it. Besides, although 
 hunting is to some an agreeable recreation, I 
 cannot regard it as forming a creditable employ- 
 ment for an intellectual being." 
 
 "But it is impossible for me to succeed in 
 business. My nature is opposed to it," observed 
 Edward, more quickly. 
 
 " In fancy only, Edward. In reality, you are 
 as well calculated to succeed in business as others, 
 who, in attending to the demands of necessity, in- 
 sure content of mind and a respectable position. 
 Duty is pleasant, Edward."
 
 AND STICKS TO IT. 41 
 
 " Business duties, as they are called, make men 
 old before their time, in body and in brains," said 
 Edward, gloomily. 
 
 " To refine on a subject of which, in a practical 
 sense, we have little knowledge, is a waste of 
 words. What I wish you to understand is, that 
 you ought not to desire to act out of the sphere 
 in which circumstances place you. Your father 
 does not take you from a laudable pursuit to 
 which time and energy have been successfully 
 devoted. You have as yet done nothing ; settled 
 to no occupation : your health does not even now 
 admit of your doing so. But your father tells 
 me he wishes you to help him a little : for in- 
 stance, to go over the letters with Mr. Ellis in his 
 absence, in the hope that as you grow stronger 
 you will be able to do more. For myself, I do 
 not see anything degrading in occupation of this 
 kind. It is a useful exercise of the intellect, and 
 need not be followed to the injury either of health 
 or integrity." 
 
 " There it is : make money and preserve one's 
 integrity ! And let me ask you if it is not requiring
 
 A9. THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 too mucli of poor human nature, surrounded on 
 all sides by temptations, that one should be ever 
 ready to cry out, ' Satan, get thee behind me ? ' " 
 " Your guardian angel, Edward ? " 
 " There are no guardian angels in the city." 
 Edward was sarcastic, and Miss Weston looked 
 hurt. He saw this, and he was himself in a 
 moment. • 
 
 " I would do much to please you. Aunt Mary," 
 he said, '' if only to show my gratitude for your 
 unnumbered kindnesses ; but I cannot take to 
 business : I cannot grow sordid. I cannot do duty 
 in this way ; I would sooner pine and die, and none 
 to know me. And yet I have hoped so much ! " 
 
 Miss Weston was a little disconcerted ; still she 
 would not give up her point. She showed her 
 nephew, in strong and nervous language, that no 
 life could be a happy one unless it was rationally 
 spent in the prosecution of a purpose to which 
 the powers of the mind were equal. Business was 
 a purpose she knew was abused ; still she thought 
 it unfair to shun it on the pretence that it would 
 necessarily leave few intervals for pleasure and
 
 COMMON SENSE PREVAILS. 43 
 
 intellectual enjoyment. She feelingly touched 
 upon his father's career ; upon his practical good 
 sense, his benevolence of heart, his cheerfulness 
 of disposition, the means which his wealth had 
 afforded him of doing good; and then she drew 
 the contrast of a life of idleness. Seeing that 
 Edward was listening attentively, although his 
 brow was quivering. Miss Weston showed him 
 what he might do : how he might be the comfort 
 of his father, and the guardian of the interests of 
 those who were in his employ, and, enlarging his 
 sphere of usefulness, eventually build for himself 
 a name, honoured abroad, and reverenced in the 
 inner life of his home. 
 
 " Will you not be a hero-trader of this class, 
 Edward ? — you will try ? " were Aunt Mary's con- 
 cluding words, and she looked up with love and 
 entreaty in her face. Edward rang the bell, 
 saying— 
 
 "It is better to do and not promise, than to 
 promise and not do ; and yet. Aunt Mary, I think 
 I would try to lave the Thames with a teaspoon 
 to please you."
 
 44 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 A domestic answered the summons. 
 
 " Harvey, take a cab and go to Mincing Lane ; 
 tell Mr. Ellis, with mj compliments, I shall be 
 glad to see him with the letters of yesterday and 
 to-day." 
 
 An arrival was announced. Edward got into 
 his old place on the sofa. A rustling of silks, and 
 the door opened wide; Mr. and Mrs. Slivery 
 entered; the former, as he was always, well 
 dressed, the latter full-blown. 
 
 *^ How do, dear Miss Weston ? This is such a 
 treat : quite en famille. Dear child (to Minnie), 
 curls, curls for papa, my little Eva says ; but I dis- 
 countenance this trait of vanity. And really ! Ed- 
 ward, so much improved ; excuse me, my poor eyes, 
 you know." An elaborate glass is brought to bear, 
 and Edward receives a scrutiny which makes him 
 savage. "Really!" Mrs. Slivery continued,' in a 
 stage whisper to Miss Weston, " so altered I should 
 scarcely recognise him. I used to smile at our 
 poor friend's fancy about her Poet Boy ; but really, 
 it was not all a mother's partiality, ' you know.' " 
 
 Mrs. Slivery always finished a remark with a
 
 THE world's wife. 45 
 
 ^' you know." She was evidently a person on admir- 
 able terms with herself, with the sort of manner 
 common to ladies who rule at home. Mrs. Slivery 
 would have been good-looking but for a cramped 
 expression of face, a tight look about the eyes and 
 mouth. She could be agreeable in her own way ; 
 never lost sight of her own interests ; made much of 
 her pleasures and her powers to her friends, and 
 kept her troubles to herself. She had six children 
 living ; was thirty-five years old ; managed to hold 
 her own in the society of her betters ; clothed the 
 rich with flattery, the poor with words, and visited 
 the sick when the sun shone. Mrs. Slivery was just 
 the wife to boast that " Henry " was a member of 
 " the Carlton," and to prohibit his smoking at home; 
 when Slivery did so abroad he invariably nibbled 
 a bit of orris-root prior to crossing his own door-sill. 
 
 " I promised I would ' smoke ' you, Graham," 
 Mr. Slivery said. 
 
 " Not in this presence," dropped from Edward's 
 lips, before he could help it. Mr. Slivery said " It 
 was'nt bad," though he looked as if it was, and went 
 on.
 
 46 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " Improved a little since then ? Asses' milk, I 
 suppose ? Do you read Lavater ? — hope you wont 
 acquire antics. Ashton is wrong about the spine. 
 You should try my man Racquet, — French 
 practice." 
 
 " Dr. Ashton never said there was anything the 
 matter with my spine." 
 
 " Then the crocuses are out, and wherefore are 
 you in ?" 
 
 " Will you be kind enough to speak in your 
 natural voice, and explain the comparison," re- 
 turned Edward, with the brow quivering ; but Mr. 
 Slivery had a conundrum to put to Minnie. 
 
 *^ When is butter like Irish children ? " he asked. 
 
 Minnie, as in duty bound, appealed to Edward ; 
 and as he whispered something about little pats^ 
 and blew off his temper in a laugh, — 
 
 "He doesn't like wit: he is as grave as a 
 mustard-pot," said Mr. Slivery to Minnie. 
 
 " I prefer humour to wit," answered Edward ; 
 *' peas-blossom to nettles ; even nettles to punning." 
 
 " Your father is in Paris," Mr. Slivery observed, 
 changing the subject : " a new life to him. Won-
 
 MRS. SLIVERY'S INNUENDOS. 47 
 
 derful capital ! wonderful people the French, to 
 rub antiquated ideas out of us English kill-joys. 
 I gave him a note to Elpingstone. My friend Sir 
 George Elpingstone knows everybody and every- 
 thing — a gentleman, too." 
 
 " And my friend Emily too. Sir George's hand- 
 some sister ; really Mr. Graham is most fortunate. 
 It is quite comme ilfaiit, you know," added Mrs. 
 S livery. At this Miss Weston's face grew very 
 hard. 
 
 "We look for Mr. Graham's return in a few 
 days," she said, gravely ; " his business requires his 
 presence." 
 
 "Perhaps there may be interests to consult be- 
 sides those of the counting-house, you know," was 
 Mrs. Slivery's answer. After a little more so- 
 called conversation, the pair took their leave. 
 
 " Asses' milk, — I understand him ; and crocus I 
 So he thinks me a sham ! He shall see some day." 
 
 " You must not quarrel with words, Edward. 
 
 " Only when they are lies. I will go out this 
 very hour : don't, Minnie; I am angry." 
 
 " And I will set Nep at him if he thinks you
 
 48 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 other than our dear clever Edward," and Minnie 
 flitted about him as sportively as a sunbeam. 
 
 Aunt Mary had gone to the window. The 
 hard expression of her face had changed to an as- 
 pect of sad thoughtfulness. " It is possible," she 
 said, half aloud. " I see he is dissatisfied with his 
 home : he is changed, too, in regard to society. He 
 has grown ambitious in this particular. Once it 
 was old faces, and not new ; now it is new faces, 
 and not old. Well ! well ! George Graham, you 
 will have your way. And yet so soon ! I hope not, 
 for the sake of the dear boy." 
 
 Good Aunt Mary could not venture to show 
 her grave face to Edward, so she went out of 
 the room to recover her composure. The hints 
 of the Sliverys, relative to the Elpingstones, had 
 evidently made a deep impression upon her.
 
 A PLEASANT SURPRISE. 49 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Two months had gone by since Miss Weston and 
 Minnie had returned to Eling, when the former 
 received a letter from Edward conveying pleasant 
 news. He had actually conquered the rudiments 
 of business (so he wrote), and now had a holiday, 
 which he meant to spend at Alegria. He should 
 be with them in a few hours after the receipt of his 
 note, and he should expect Minnie and Nep at the 
 orchard gate to welcome him. To the simple 
 hearts at Alegria, this was indeed pleasant news ; 
 and although everything was very clean and neat 
 in the pretty cottage, there was an immediate 
 survey to make sure, and Edward's room underwent 
 a most careful revision. Minnie could not be still ; 
 Nep was first told the news, then the domestics. 
 Flowers were picked, which it would have been 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 treason to touch the day before : in fine, it was a 
 domestic jubilee at Alegria. 
 
 " Is it time ? " was whispered by Minnie ten 
 times in an hour. At last Miss Weston com- 
 promised matters by proposing that they should 
 take the pony-carriage and go to meet Edward. 
 
 " But I am to be with Nep at the garden gate, 
 and I have told him to be in readiness, mamma," 
 said Minnie. 
 
 " Nep can accompany us. We will drive over to 
 Melbury, and escort Edward home." Melbury 
 was the post town, about two miles distant from 
 Eling. It was now the end of May. 
 
 Whilst things are getting ready for the drive to 
 Melbury, we will, if you please, good reader, take 
 a stroll round Eling and Miss Weston's home. 
 Eling is a thoroughly country village, although 
 within twelve miles of London. About it lie up- 
 land and meadow, rural vale and green lanes. An 
 old priory crests the neighbouring hill. Rodge 
 Hollow was a peerless stroll in summer time, and 
 the neighbourhood of Bales, Minnie's early home, 
 was ever green.
 
 "HOW IS IT DONE, MR. LOVELL?" 51 
 
 The population of Eling is about two hundred, 
 principaJlj- occupied in agriculture. In the centre 
 of the village, on a knoll apart from the road, stands 
 the church, a venerable building, flanked on each 
 side by an ancient yew. Just beyond lies the 
 parsonage, of a style of arcliitecture coeval with the 
 church. Herein resides the vicar of Eling. How 
 Mr. Lovell sent his elder son to Pembroke College, 
 his second to school, and kept up the appearance 
 he did upon his 220L a year, is one of those mys- 
 teries which we must be content to leave without 
 even attempting a solution. Not far to the right 
 of the parsonage stands the Manor House, Squire 
 Templer's residence. Turning from a road below 
 the Manor House through an orchard of gentle ac- 
 cHvity, and passing through a small paddock, we 
 stand on Miss Weston's domain, and face her 
 residence ; Alegria it was now called, although in 
 Mr. Weston's time it was known by the name of 
 the Cottage only. A little explanation will ac- 
 count for this un-English name. At the period of 
 Mr. Seaton's death — an event which followed Mr. 
 Weston's within a year — Miss Weston had under-
 
 52 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 taken to renovate the old place. When the work 
 began she hardly knew where to stop, so that house 
 alterations and expenses became a serious affair; 
 whilst superintending the work, the little Minnie 
 (now formally adopted by Miss Weston) was con- 
 stantly by her side. These two charges, although 
 in reality of so distinct a character, mingled in- 
 separably in Miss Weston's thoughts. The matter- 
 of-fact concern of brick, tile, and timber, became 
 associated with Mrs. Seaton's epithets, *^ My 
 Alegria pet," " My Madeira fondling." This 
 word " Alegria " haunted Miss Weston as words 
 will. When Miss Weston consequently spoke to her 
 neighbour Mr. Templer about it, after making, 
 in his own parlance, ^' a cast or two," he owned 
 he was " off the scent." Mr. Lovell was next 
 asked if he could explain it ; Mr. Lovell referred to 
 a Portuguese dictionary, and satisfied his friend as 
 to the meaning of " Alegria." Miss Weston had a 
 little poetry in her, as all generous-hearted people 
 have. 
 
 '• I will call my cottage ' Alegria/" she said. 
 
 " An admirable idea," was Mr, liovell's reply.
 
 WE ALL EEMEMBER OUE FIRST PONY. 53 
 
 " And may the spirit of the name brood over you 
 and yours." 
 
 " Alegria " was a pretty country residence for 
 a moderately-sized family. A charming conserva- 
 tory in front reached to the second story. It was 
 an airy, healthful, pleasant place. " What a cozy 
 place ! " people said, in passing, and Alegria was 
 decidedly cozy, 
 
 " My darling Teaser," cries Minnie, running 
 out to the door, as the phaeton came round, held 
 by an odd little man, famous for bandy legs, drab 
 gaiters, and unquestionable integrity. 
 
 " Your master is coming. Teaser, and I am so 
 glad, and so is Nep, and you must be good." 
 
 Away Teaser went, and behaved better than 
 usual ; for, be it known, his name was no mere 
 libel, but an actual indication of character. 
 
 The coach came up, and Minnie's heart was 
 crowned with a May-day garland. Edward was 
 quite taken by surprise, and looked thoroughly 
 happy. Miss Weston thought him wonderfully 
 improved. Edward looked from one to the other 
 of his friends, a smile flickered about his lips,
 
 54 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 no word was spoken, but heart understood 
 heart. 
 
 ** Looking double what you was. Master Ed- 
 ward," observed Roger, " since I see you up 
 in Lunnun, and I think you have growed ; but I 
 hope not, axing your pardon." 
 
 " And why not grow, Roger ? " asked Edward, 
 taking his place by Minnie, who was as silent as a 
 little mouse. 
 
 " Cause I never see a man 'bove five foot six 
 good for much," was Roger's reply. 
 
 " You are conceited, Roger," said Miss Wes- 
 ton : " a common fault with little men." 
 
 There was a merry laugh, and as Teaser trotted 
 on, Edward's tongue found play. 
 
 " The hawthorn blossom open ! " he cried. 
 " How beautiful ! Our ancestors called May 
 milk-month, Minnie; and then the best -born 
 English girls used to go into the fields and milk 
 the cows, just as our village maidens do now." 
 
 " And I can milk, Edward," observed Minnie, 
 looking up. 
 
 " When Nepturn hain't near, Miss Minnie, you
 
 AUNT MAKY AT HOME. 55 
 
 does pretty well," Roger volunteered to say, 
 
 rather patronizingly. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "Pale and thin as usual, Edward; still I 
 observe an improvement I cannot quite define," 
 said Aunt Mary, as she welcomed Edward to 
 Alegria. 
 
 " I am almost a man, and I have the will to be 
 one ; and if I could get rid of the gnawing here," 
 laying his hand upon his chest, " I should be two 
 men some day, and half accomplish my ambition." 
 
 " Half! " exclaimed Aunt Mary. 
 
 " Yes : only half ! I must be content with the 
 half. If my ambition was wholly gratified, I 
 should become common — no more than Peter 
 Simple. So, as I accomplish, I mean to move the 
 pegs. I shall reach the sky by the time I am 
 fqrty, for I begin to see." 
 
 " What does my brave boy see ? " 
 
 "The twinkle of a star through the cloud. 
 Victoria ! this is home." 
 
 Edward said this as he entered the pretty 
 drawing-room, bright with May flowers, and warm
 
 56 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 from the sunshine of genial hospitality. A little 
 hand took Edward's, and pressed it very softly 
 to her lips. It was Minnie's welcome, of foreign 
 baby-schooling, and done so prettily. 
 
 " Yes, Minnie, this is what I want ; it makes 
 spring summer, and summer sunny." 
 
 When dinner was over, Edward was made to 
 take the sofa, Minnie was sent to her flowers, and 
 Miss Weston sat down by Edward's side. 
 
 "Your letters bade me prepare for a change 
 in you; but, Edward, it is not exactly the 
 change I like. You are more as you should be 
 in disposition, but your old complaint is gain- 
 ing ground upon you. You are very — very thin. 
 Your mind is getting the better of common sense 
 again." 
 
 " So Ashton says," observed Edward, with a 
 laugh. " He tells me that the keen blade frets 
 the frail sheath : that the overstrained anxiety and 
 activity of the spirit wears the mortal part 
 away." 
 
 " Have you been overworked ? — have you kept 
 late hours? — or have not you been cared for as
 
 EDWARD IS IN HEART AGAIN. 57 
 
 I could wish ? " asked Aunt Mary, earnestly. 
 Edward answered — 
 
 " I told you I would try to lave the Thames 
 with a spoon, to please you ; and do you remember 
 what you said to me at parting? " 
 
 " Yes, Edward : I told you that self-reliance, 
 based on self-respect and self-denial, by which 
 I meant an abnegation of your own feelings when 
 those of others were to be considered, would carry 
 you afar. I bade you bear up bravely ; I begged 
 you, Edward," and she smiled, " always to count 
 twenty forwards, and backwards too, if necessary, 
 before you answered anyone when you were 
 angry ; and never to act in any serious matter 
 without letting it rest in your mind for twenty- 
 four hours." 
 
 " And nothing more ? I have passably adhered 
 to your advice relative to the counting; I have 
 made all sorts of wild plans when I have been 
 angry : have gone to bed as you suggested, and in 
 the morning have laughed heartily at my own 
 impetuosity. But do you not remember what you 
 said to me about my father ? "
 
 58 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " Yes, Edward : 1 told you that you were of 
 greater importance to your father's comfort than 
 you thought, and begged you to remember your 
 duty to him, which, if well performed, would be, 
 to the end of life, the most comforting of all 
 blessings to you." 
 
 Edward was silent. Although communicative to 
 a fault, self-laudation was not his forte. 
 
 " And how have matters gone ? " Aunt Mary 
 asked. 
 
 " The day after you left St. John's Wood, as 
 I could not bear the loneliness, I had serious 
 thoughts of — well, never mind ; I buttoned a great 
 coat over my dressing-gown, and went to the 
 counting-house. The people in the office were 
 amazed, and amused ; I was angry, recovered my- 
 self, and commenced work. I found the labour 
 queer at first, and began some satirical verses upon 
 my own position. Whilst writing, I saw a little 
 spider labouring up a thread hanging from the 
 wall ; many times it failed ; I attempted to help 
 it, my help did no good, and I left it alone. Even- 
 tually it accomplished its object by its own un-
 
 THE MERCHANT IN HIS COUNTING-HOUSE. 59 
 
 aided efforts. ' I will do the like,' I cried. ' Is 
 not my strength of will as strong as that of 
 the puny insect ? ' A voice within me whispered 
 it should be; I flung the satire aside, and took 
 my work." 
 
 " And what did your father say ? " 
 
 " He talked a great deal ; treated me, I think, too 
 much as a child ; that is, he made his experience 
 weigh rather harshly on my inexperience, and 
 failed to round it off by an approach to kindly 
 appreciation of my efforts. However, I soon came 
 to be looked upon as part of the machinery of 
 the concern, and had full work." 
 
 " And you acquitted yourself bravely." 
 
 " I did my best, as I thought, with Ellis's kind 
 assistance. But it is not easy to do one's utmost 
 best : still I did all I could." 
 
 " And you understand your father better now ? " 
 said Miss Weston, doubtingly ; and doubtingly 
 Edward answered: 
 
 " I hope so ! But our natures are not alike ; 
 my father is imperious, and rules with an iron 
 hand. My wish is to guide our men by con-
 
 60 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 sistent firmness, blended with kindness. This my 
 father calls wishj-washy nonsense, and scolds 
 me." 
 
 ^^ So that approximation has not resulted in 
 something like geniality of intercourse. I was in 
 hopes it would," said Aunt Mary, sadly. 
 
 " I cannot say it has ; the fault may be mine. 
 You know my failing is to expect too much ; and 
 sometimes I think I lack the virtue to propitiate 
 favour when I am not freely met with it. My 
 father is satisfied with me in Mincing Lane ; beyond 
 that, I see very little of him. He spends much of 
 his time at company meetings, and at the Sliverys'. 
 Now there is a Sir George Elpingstone staying 
 with him ; but I like him ; he is full of pleasant 
 humour, and cordial and handsome. I really like 
 to sit and look at him, he is such a splendid spe- 
 cimen of animal nature, adorned with agreeable 
 social qualities." 
 
 Aunt Mary shook her head. '' And the writing, 
 Edward?" 
 
 "I have hopes of success, which to the un- 
 successful is something."
 
 EDWARD BECOMES PRACTICAL. 61 
 
 "I am afraid the strain on your imaginative 
 powers will unsettle you for practical duties ; and 
 if it does, and you should grow melancholy and 
 lady-like " 
 
 " No ! no ! no ! " exclaimed Edward. " I hope 
 always to retain a keen sense of the pleasant 
 humanities of this everyday world, in which we 
 must occasionally feed on more substantial escu- 
 lents than those of the imagination, and some- 
 times prefer a glass of Madeira to even a draught 
 from Hippocrene." 
 
 " The voice is all right, although I don't under- 
 stand a word of the matter." 
 
 "Glad to see you, Edward, my boy," cried 
 a bluff cherry voice ; and then the tall wiry 
 frame of a man of sixty years of age entered 
 the room. Edward was on his feet in a moment. 
 
 "Mr. Templer! I am so glad — it was indeed 
 kind of you to think of me. I have thought of 
 you a thousand times this winter past." 
 
 " God bless you, my boy ! " cried the fine old 
 sportsman, dropping a hand kindly on Edward's 
 shoulder : " it is a pleasure to see your eyes shine
 
 62 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 SO brightly. We must have you at the Manor. 
 You need not shake your head, neighbour Weston. 
 An eventful season, Edward; killed sixty brace, 
 my boy, and in at the who-whoop of fifty-two. 
 Next season it shall be ^ Yoicks ! ' and * Hark for- 
 ward ! ' with you, and you shall have the pick of 
 the stable." 
 
 A proud smile played over Edward's face, 
 which kindled into a blooming blush, as Mr. 
 Templer ran on — 
 
 " Man and boy, I have ridden to hounds for 
 fifty years; but, as I have often said to you, 
 neighbour Weston, and to you, little rosebud, 
 in all my experience I never saw a young one 
 take to the sport so kindly as our friend here. 
 I often look at the doubles and quicksets he 
 used to get over on that strange fellow Teaser, 
 somehow,'! can't say how. The boy was skilled 
 beyond his years in the mysteries of falling well. 
 You need not smile. Birdie; there is more art 
 in falling well than in riding well. Edward, 
 do you remember being close to my brush when 
 we killed at the Holts ; and when I asked you
 
 ME. templer's weakness. 63 
 
 how you managed it, I saw your eyes full of 
 tears, and all you said was, ^ Poor dear Teaser, 
 I am so sorry ? ' Going home, you confessed you 
 had put the spurs well in at starting, and kept 
 them there. Ha ! ha ! When the mad joy was 
 over, the kind heart sorrowed that English pluck 
 had made you cruel ; eh, my boy ? I don't know 
 for which I loved you most." 
 
 Then the jovial old man took his leave, telling- 
 Edward he should look him up in the morning, 
 and take him to the Manor to see his old friends. 
 
 ^^How do you think he is looking?" asked 
 Miss Weston, anxiously, of her neighbour, when 
 they were outside the door. 
 
 " Heart and pluck for a hundred years ; pulled 
 down a little, but a good summering will set him 
 right, take my word for it. But keep him out 
 of London ! A London man is only half a man, 
 take the best of 'em." 
 
 In the course of the evening, Mr. Lovell called : 
 a thoughtful-looking, pleasant person. He too 
 came to welcome Edward to Alegria. All this 
 for him who had been of such little note the day
 
 64 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 before. It was too much. The morrow was a 
 rehearsal of the previous day in all that could 
 contribute to Edward's satisfaction ; and so it 
 was throughout his stay at Alegria. 
 
 Minnie was Edward's little nurse, Aunt Mary 
 the superintendent, Mr. Lovell the intellectual com- 
 panion, and the squire his cheery friend. Seated 
 with the latter in a small easy gig, on a fine morn- 
 ing, Edward was driven over the Eling estates. 
 They did not pass a coppice nor an enclosure, 
 scarcely a tree, which did not call forth some 
 pleasant remark ; for everything in this way had 
 been, as it were, created by the squire. The fa- 
 vourite coverts were visited ; the keepers questioned 
 about the promise of cubs, and enjoined to be 
 careful with the rabbit -traps ; young hounds 
 were petted ; sheep and cattle inspected ; all 
 gone into on the part of the squire with a 
 frank and hearty spirit which could not fail to 
 impart a portion of its liberty — and grace, I had 
 almost said — to every one around him. 
 
 Edward passed a fortnight in the quiet enjoy- 
 ment of Alegria ; and, partaking of so much
 
 DUTY AND INCLINATION STRUGGLE. 65 
 
 genial sympathy and love, so sensitively under- 
 stood and appreciated by those around him, it 
 was no wonder he exclaimed on the last evening 
 of his visit: 
 
 *• Oh, that you were my gaolers, and would 
 confine me by bolt and bar until I begged to 
 be liberated ! " 
 
 " And that would be to-morrow morning at 
 latest," Miss Weston said, in reply ; *^ or where 
 are all the brave resolves of yesterday ? " 
 
 Mr. Templer entered, and heard a part of this 
 remark of Miss Weston's. 
 
 '^ Why ! why ! all this brauiless bother about 
 business? Pardon me, neighbour Weston, such 
 occupation generally makes an animal of a man." 
 
 Miss Weston shook her finger at the squire. 
 
 " Bid him good-by," she said, '^ and let him 
 go ; I know you wish Edward to do what is 
 right." 
 
 " Of course — of course, as I am an honest 
 Tory. Still, Edward, if they do not serve you 
 well in London, come back to us, and we will 
 give you a pleasant welcome ; won't we. Birdie ? " 
 
 VOL. L F
 
 i66 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 Minnie said '^ yes " very nervously, and placed 
 her little hand in Edward's. 
 
 "Alas — alas!" said Edward, gazing at the 
 old squire — " I am paying very dear for right." 
 
 " We must not look at the price when neces- 
 sity demands the purchase," replied Aunt Mary. 
 
 " If you were in Mincing Lane to help me — 
 if we could be fellow-workmen, with Minnie to 
 nib our pens, then I could get on." 
 
 " Self-help is the best help, Edward. Remember 
 the spider. You have tested this truth in part. 
 Life allows only lowly virtues to the many ; its 
 discipline appoints us the humblest pleasures and 
 the humblest service; and only from these, and 
 by degrees, does it permit us to ascend to great 
 emotions and high duties." 
 
 Edward looked round upon cottage, vale, and 
 meadow, and over the quiet village. A fond, 
 lingering, sad look it was. Then he met Aunt 
 Mary's eye full of ardent sympathy, and Minnie's 
 sweet pale face of sorrow. He dashed away a 
 tear. 
 
 " I will not falter in striving to lave the
 
 EDWARD AT THE THAMES AGAIN. 67 
 
 Thames; and if I catch hydrophobia or Asiatic 
 cholera, or both combined " 
 
 " That is brave," interrupted Miss Weston ; 
 " we have had a pleasant time. I know you have 
 been happy, Edward, for we have been happy 
 with you; some day I may not feel the neces- 
 sity of saying, ' Leave Alegria.' It is far from 
 a pleasant phrase for Aunt Mary to use to her 
 nephew." 
 
 Edward was silent, and Minnie grew paler than 
 ever, as Roger made his appearance with the 
 phaeton to convey Edward to Melbury.
 
 68 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ^^Edwaud, I have a communication to make to 
 you," said Mr. Graham abruptly, as he entered 
 the snuggery late one evening, a few weeks 
 after Edward's return from Alegria. Edward was 
 reading ; a sudden fear came upon him, and the 
 book fell from his hand. 
 
 "A communication, father?" he said, nervously. 
 
 "I am going to be married, Edward;" and 
 Mr. Graham coughed. 
 
 " Good heavens ! father, how you frighten me! " 
 exclaimed Edward, looking full at his parent. 
 
 " The step will be to our best advantage. It 
 will give me position — a standing in society, which 
 men of my wealth require." 
 
 " Will it give you love, give you happiness, 
 father ? " 
 
 " You are fanciful, Edward. At twenty there
 
 MR. GRAHAM IS GOING TO WED. 69 
 
 are excuses to be made for your sort of feelings. 
 However, they would be preposterous in a man of 
 my years and principles. You will let your Aunt 
 Weston know of my intention : she will not reflect 
 on my discretion." 
 
 " Who is it, father ? " 
 
 " You have seen your intended mother in May- 
 fair." 
 
 " Miss Elpingstone ! the lady with the eye- 
 glass ! " exclaimed Edward, in a sort of consterna- 
 tion. " I beg your pardon, father ; but I shall 
 never love her." 
 
 '' You like Sir George, Edward, and you will like 
 her. I do not ask you to love her ; your sense of 
 respect for me will lead you to secure hers. I ask 
 nothing more. We must treat you as a spoiled 
 child, Edward; and perhaps in time, your step- 
 mother will pet you as much as you wish." Mr. 
 Graham nodded "good-night," and went to his 
 room. Edward gazed long at the fire; gazed till it 
 died away ; and then he went shivering to his room. 
 
 Within a year the marriage took place. A few 
 weeks before Mr. Graham left St. John's Wood,
 
 70 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 and installed himself in one of the fashionable 
 residences in Grosvenor Square. 
 
 During the time these changes were going on 
 between St. John's Wood and Grosvenor Square, 
 Edward took up his quarters with Ellis in Mincing 
 Lane. Mrs. Slivery had the credit of making up 
 the match, and a very grand affair it was. A 
 bishop spoke the blessing, and the paper for such 
 notices did it elaborate honor. Slivery stood 
 best man to the respected bridegroom, and spoke 
 at the breakfast- table such a panegyric on the 
 qualities of his friend, as induced Sir George 
 Elpingstone to recollect he had forgotten something 
 in another room. Emily Elpingstone has before 
 met with casual mention in these pages. She was 
 a friend of Mrs. Slivery — such a friend as is found 
 at Wiesbaden by such people as go there. Mr. 
 Graham met Miss Elpingstone in Paris, whilst she 
 was residing with her aunt. Lady Mary Homer. 
 
 Mr. Graham had been represented by his friend 
 Mr. Slivery, in his letter of introduction to Sir 
 George Elpingstone, as a man of great wealth 
 and rising importance in railway matters &c. ;
 
 EMILY ELPINGSTONE'S TACTICS. 71 
 
 and as the Elpingstone and Homer exchequer 
 was at a decidedly low ebb, and the fashionable 
 Emily, having run the round of at least a dozen 
 London and Paris seasons, was, at the age of 
 thirty-three, still unwed, the latter showed a 
 cordiality towards Mr. Graham which very much 
 flattered his self-love. They met again at the 
 Sliverys'; Miss Elpingstone joined the evening 
 rubber, and evinced strong tastes for quiet do- 
 mestic life. Emily was very independent in man- 
 ner towards the world, but thoughtfully friendly 
 to Mr. Graham; and delicately played off the 
 Hon. Augustus Kenyon — a fair man, an Almack 
 exotic, delicate in sense, hair, and whiskers — 
 against him. So well did she manage her line, 
 that in a brief time Mr. Graham declared himself. 
 Miss Elpingstone was very much surprised : she 
 must have time for reflection ; at least she must 
 consult her brother. Elpingstone came at Emily's 
 bidding, had a chat with her in Slivery's library — 
 Silvery heft a library — and the result was : 
 
 " I shall fetch Graham to dine here ; look your 
 best, Emily. Vive la bagatelle.''^ Sir George
 
 72 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 Elpingstone was an only son of a Wiltshire Baronet 
 of considerable estate. He was fond of pleasure, 
 lively, handsome, sang an admirable song, and 
 excelled in manly accomplishments. At the age 
 of twenty-two he was on the Continent, principally 
 in Germany, and became remarkable for divers 
 eccentricities in Jack Mytton's style of perilous 
 ferocity. On his return to England, he started 
 a hunting establishment, quarrelled with the 
 country squires for killing foxes, gave up the 
 hounds with disgust, and took to the turf. Now 
 he made London his head-quarters, furnished a 
 handsome house in Park Lane, and invited his 
 mother and sister to reside with him. He was 
 a liberal host, denied his relatives nothing, and 
 they made the most of the sunshine. At twenty- 
 eight he possessed only a small estate, yielding 
 400Z. a year. The mother died the year follow- 
 ing ; and Emily took up her quarters with Lady 
 Mary Homer, her maternal aunt. Elpingstone 
 was lost sight of for a time, but turned up again 
 the same well-dressed, off-handed, self-satisfied 
 man, at the following Derby. There he won a
 
 SIR GEORGE "ON THE WORLD." 73 
 
 large stake, after which he withdrew from the 
 turf, and became the confidant of railway dons ; 
 flitted from England to Paris, and from Paris to 
 England; and was always in remarkably good 
 spirits. It was observable, however, that Sir 
 George Elpingstone did not keep up an acquain- 
 tance with any of the marked characters he had 
 favoui'ed in his prosperous days. He was more 
 of a gentleman in poverty than in affluence. His 
 high elastic spirit made him a general favourite, 
 and his consummate tact enabled him to manage 
 most people his own way. I must confess, how- 
 ever, that he was the sort of man to call Slivery 
 a snob, and eat at Slivery's table the same day. 
 His age was thirty-one. Such is Sir George 
 Elpingstone, Mr. Graham's brother-in-law. 
 
 On the return of the married pair from a con- 
 tinental tour to Grosvenor Square, Mr. Graham 
 decided on putting his fashionable residence on 
 an improved system of economy. He determined 
 that, having made a step for a purpose which 
 he had gained, he would now be content for the 
 rest with his former style of life, and did his
 
 74 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 best to induct his lady-wife into his system. 
 Mrs. Graham confessed herself a novice in the 
 practical concerns of house management: and 
 invariably became drowsy when the subject was 
 mooted. Mr. Graham confided his grief to Mrs. 
 Slivery : Mrs. Slivery comforted him. 
 
 " I shall be only too happy, dear Mr. Graham, 
 to give my dear friend the benefit of my ex- 
 perience. A little time, you know. After you 
 have returned the usual parties in compliment 
 to your marriage, you will be able to decide on 
 your course. A little patience. I had a similar 
 case with Lady M., and now she is one of the 
 most accomplished managers, you know ; Lord 
 M. calls her his little maid-of-all-work." 
 
 *^ Thank you, Mrs. Slivery ; I hope you will 
 impress upon Mrs. Graham the necessity of having 
 an eye to little expenses. You can do this in 
 your own way, you know." 
 
 Shortly after, Mrs. Slivery called on Mrs. Gra- 
 ham. Of course Mrs. Graham's pride was up in 
 arms the moment the question of expenditure was 
 mooted.
 
 MRS. SLIVERY ADVISES. 75 
 
 " I did not marry him to listen to his friends' 
 advice," cried Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Of course not, dear Emily, but patience, you 
 know ! " says Mrs. Slivery. 
 
 " He bade you talk about little expenses ! Dis- 
 gusting! It is so plebeian." 
 
 " I entirely sympathise with you. Slivery did 
 the same at first, but it would not succeed with 
 me, you know." Mrs. Slivery's was a bold 
 stroke. She flung Mr. Graham over in a moment 
 to please her friend. She even went further, and 
 suggested that Mrs. Graham should make a stand 
 for a housekeeper. 
 
 " He won't hear of it. I expressed the desure 
 yesterday. ' Madame,' he answered, ' if you were 
 Lady Graham, I would consent ; but as it is, you 
 must be your own housekeeper." 
 
 Mrs. Graham looks a victim, and devoutly 
 indignant. Mrs. Slivery essays to qualify her 
 irritation ; her gloved hand is on her friend's. 
 
 " You must call tact to your aid, Emily, you know. 
 In judging of a husband's bias and peculiarities, 
 that is, in finding out how best to manage him, we
 
 76 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 must first inquire what he has been, and how he 
 became what he is. Understanding these things, 
 you know how to attack him in the weak, not 
 the strong points of his character, you know!" 
 
 "But to do this, intimacy is necessary. Inti- 
 macy with Mr. Graham is out of the question. 
 He is so serious, so formal ; altogether an awful 
 thing, I assure you. I once thought his manner 
 was out of respect to me ; now I find it is out of 
 respect to himself. He'll be a tyrant soon." 
 
 " Slivery is so on hearsay ; I rather encourage 
 the impression; it makes one interesting; but I 
 teach him that with me the idea is absurd. Again 
 I say. Humour his peculiarities until you know 
 both the necessary mode of attack and the exact 
 range of your powers, and then assail your caro 
 sposo on the weak side, you know." 
 
 " Has my caro sposo a weak side, think you ? 
 To me he seems flint all round." 
 
 Mrs. Slivery smiles a confident little smile. 
 
 " A weak side ! of course he has. Why, Emily, 
 does not what he said about Lady Graham prove 
 it ? Why are you here instead of at St. John's
 
 A WORLDLY WOMAN LOOKING UP MANKIND. 77 
 
 Wood ? Success makes city men either miserly 
 or ambitious. Mr. Graham is ambitious, you 
 know ; his choice of a wife proves that. He is 
 a somebody and a capitalist. He wants men of 
 social standing about him, aristocratic names on 
 his visiting list. An alliance must be formed be- 
 tween the City and the West End, wherein wealth 
 on the one hand and rank on the other are the 
 contracting parties. Bless you, Emily — for with 
 you I have no pride — Slivery's pedigree, for all 
 I know to the contrary, commenced in a grocer's 
 shop ; and now he is member of the Carlton, and 
 when it pleases him, shakes hands with half the 
 peerages. It's ' the siller ' that does it, Emily ; 
 that is, you know, when tact transmutes it from 
 vulgar to aristocratic coin." 
 
 " But how to commence, that's the point," ob- 
 served Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Little by little — step by step. Show him you 
 can manage your household, if you like. Let him 
 see a httle display won't cost much: avoid ex- 
 pensive luxuries at first. Some people can be 
 the fashion at a trifling expense. Inflate your
 
 78 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 balloon, Emily; when thoroughly inflated, and 
 Mr. Graham in the car, loose the cords, and 
 away with you into a new atmosphere, you know." 
 
 Mrs. Graham laughs, and looks acute and saga- 
 cious. Mrs. Slivery observes it, and adds — 
 
 " I see you are ' in the vein ;' step hy step, 
 remember. Persevere, Emily dear, and with a 
 will ; and when Mr, Graham has tasted the flattery 
 his wealth with your ton will insure him, he 
 will not be able to live without it." 
 
 Thus did Mrs. Slivery perform Mr. Graham's 
 mission. His lady is supplied with an object in 
 life. A decided change came over Mrs. Gra- 
 ham's conduct, the house became full of such a 
 decided odour of management that it was quite 
 overpowering. The footman's duties grew so 
 complicated that he wouldn't stand it, and didn't. 
 The cook couldn't abide a mistress presiding 
 over her region in straw-coloured gloves, eye- 
 glass, and elegance: gave warning after a fresh 
 broil about meat suppers, and left in a mighty 
 passion. The expulsive influence spread. What 
 was most annoying, however, was that Mr. Gra-
 
 CONFUSION ONCE CONFOUNDED. 79 
 
 ham was so unamiable about the loss of his 
 own little comforts, that he never expressed his 
 thanlis for the zeal that occasioned it. Difficulties 
 increased : for a week there was no cook, then no 
 housemaid ; a footman came and accepted service, 
 and disappeared. 
 
 Servants were such plagues ! " English servants 
 are beyond question the greatest nuisance alive : 
 I will send to France for them." But Mr. Gra- 
 ham was, although at his wit's end, too thoroughly 
 English to sanction a step of this sort. He spoke 
 to nurse Pitman, the only person of the St. John's 
 Wood establishment that remained with him, and 
 that not for his sake. 
 
 " Send for Miss Weston," was all that the little 
 woman said. 
 
 Mr. Graham felt uneasy at the mention of the 
 name ; he had almost forgotten such a person was 
 in existence. But a retrospective glance showed 
 him one old friend in her usefulness, her sound 
 common-sense, her self-denial. " Yes. Mary Wes- 
 ton imderstands me, and has my interests at heart." 
 
 Such was Mr. Graham's conclusion. But how
 
 80 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 would his wife feel ? Of course she must be con- 
 sulted. She was. Mr. Graham spoke of a poor 
 relation, and the use to which she might be applied 
 in their present circumstances. 
 
 " But I forgot : she has a young girl living 
 with her, from whom it were in vain to attempt 
 to part her." 
 
 " Oh ! you allude to Miss Weston," observed 
 Mrs. Graham, with vivacity ; " by all means let 
 us have her to keep me out of a strait waistcoat. 
 And the little girl is Minnie Seaton. Yes, — 
 yes ! Pray let us have the domestic paragon and 
 her kitten. The little provincial will be likely 
 to turn to some account — be my little maid-of-all- 
 work. Truly, Mr. Graham, I feel some curiosity 
 about this poor relation ; for since Edward has 
 been ill or nervous, or what not, I have heard of 
 nothing above or below stairs but Aunt Mary. 
 Edward is a romantic youth, Mr. Graham ; speaks 
 oddly to me ; much spoilt, I think ; and shows 
 temper even to George, who is exceedingly partial 
 to him." 
 
 " I hope Sir George will condescend to draw
 
 THE RESCUE. 81 
 
 him out," answered Mr. Graham ; " if we can but 
 uproot a few brain-sick fancies, Edward will do 
 very well, for he is naturally intelligent. Then, 
 I will write to Miss Weston." 
 
 "Had not I better do so; at least enclose a 
 note?" 
 
 " There is no need for you to take that trouble. 
 Au revoir, Mrs. Graham," and Mr. Graham took 
 his way to the city. 
 
 " Au revoir ; " and Mrs. Graham smiled as her 
 husband disappeared ; a smile for herself, not for 
 him. Then she sighed somewhat wearily, hummed 
 a fashionable air, and ended off with a yawn. • 
 
 TOL. I.
 
 82 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Mk. and Mrs. Graham were absent from Gros- 
 venor Square at the hour of Miss Weston's arrival. 
 Leaving Minnie below-stairs, Miss Weston found 
 her way to her nephew's room. Edward was in 
 sadly low spirits ; scarcely a word had passed, when 
 his head dropped on the table at which he sat, 
 and nature found relief in a passionate fit of weep- 
 ing. To Aunt Mary this was a most distressing 
 spectacle ; he looked very pale ; even his old 
 tastes had evidently ceased to charm. A book 
 was before him, but its face was to the table. 
 Aunt Mary had seldom seen Edward in tears, 
 for his was anything but a desponding or melan- 
 choly spirit ; but now the emotion was contagious. 
 Indeed the excess of it in his dear friend at length
 
 THE SURPRISE. 83 
 
 quieted Edward: his head rose with mouriiiul 
 pride as he said — 
 
 "It is unworthy my coming manhood to be 
 whimpering for joy; the sight of you overcame 
 me. I did not expect you so soon, and all old 
 memories returned upon present bitterness with 
 so vivid a reality that I was compelled to yield, 
 or my heart would have burst." 
 
 " Dear impetuous boy ! But you have still 
 your old friend — Hope. Do not give that up, or 
 we shall never get on at all." 
 
 "Hope! have I not hoped?" cried Edward, 
 passionately. " Yes, with a hearty readiness to 
 meet its promises half-way ; but I am helpless 
 now — I am nobody in this fine house— no soul 
 cares for me. For the past two years I have 
 laboured hard to please my father; he cares 
 more for his new relation than for his own son." 
 Then he added, with bitterness : " And her coarse 
 curiosity, glossed over by an affectation of pity. 
 'Pity poor Edward!' forsooth! she comes, takes 
 up her glass, and looks at me as if I were a stock 
 or stone to bear such vulgar inspection unmoved.
 
 84 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 Then she delivers an affected rehearsal of the. 
 delights I might experience if I would throw off 
 ray fancies. But I am more and more conscious 
 that the world and I must part. Yes ; I have 
 hade farewell to counting-house drudgery for ever. 
 I told my father so last week, and I have not 
 moved from this room since." 
 
 To good Aunt Mary all this was very sad. He 
 was both out of temper and discontented. 
 
 " Believe me, Edward, your welfare is dear to 
 all who know you. Your father is a grave man, 
 and if his manner is cold it is not designedly 
 so. You are new to Mrs. Graham, but she will 
 learn to appreciate you if you do not promote 
 contention with her. Give way in a generous 
 spirit. Learn the virtue of endurance. Pray to 
 God to make you think right." 
 
 '^ I have thougbt right," cried Edward, " and I 
 am treated as if I was resolved to think wrong ; 
 or rather, no one cares about what I think ; this 
 is what wears me down." 
 
 " Edward ! " burst reproachfully from Aunt 
 Mary's lips, " how dare you say so ? If you
 
 THE COMFORTER. 85 
 
 die, or if your better nature becomes clouded 
 through evil influences, the half of my hope in 
 life will expire." Aunt Mary saw Edward's lip 
 quiver, and added very gently — " I have read, 
 Edward dear, that we may well compare life to 
 an April day — sunshine and showers. The heart, 
 like the earth, would cease to yield good fruit, 
 were it not sometimes watered with the tears 
 of suffering, and the fruit would be worthless, but 
 for the sunshine of smiles. You say you have no 
 sunshine, but the sunshine is often nearer than 
 we think. Sometimes, Edward, when my spirits 
 are depressed, I turn to the morning and evening 
 psalms for the day, and I always find some solace 
 and strength there. Come, now, I am not going 
 to preach at you, but you will think of what I 
 have said." 
 
 " You should hear her talk religion of a 
 Sunday evening, with her smooth face and weary 
 yawn. She is a she atheist, and " 
 
 Miss Weston held up her finger. She saw a 
 change had come over Edward, but she would 
 not allow him to pursue the theme.
 
 86 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " Minnie is here, Edward," she said, ^' and all 
 impatience to see you. You cannot think how 
 much she is improved. She has much to tell you 
 of all our friends : of Fanny Lovell's coming 
 marriage, and Robert's success at college; and 
 much more of the squire. You cannot be dull 
 in her society, and you must not say to her 
 you are alone : you must not forget that she 
 is indeed an orphan." 
 
 Edward's face crimsoned. 
 
 " No, no ! " he said, " I do not forget. Nor 
 do I forget that under your guardian love. Aunt 
 Mary, she has become indispensable to our 
 happiness. I feel all. But you and Minnie come 
 to show me how very lovely life is and might 
 be, and then you go away and bear all I crave 
 for back to Alegria with you." 
 
 " Well, Edward," answered the kind friend, 
 "we are together now at least. You must aid 
 your Aunt Mary to do good service here. As at 
 St. John's Wood, we will help each other." 
 
 As she uttered these words the speaker's homely 
 countenance grew quite_ lovely with tenderness.
 
 A SWEET BONNY BIT LASSIE. 87 
 
 If Aunt Mary was poor, as Mr. Graham con- 
 sidered her, she yet bore a whole world of wealth 
 in her heart — but a heavenly world — a world 
 that shone and irradiated her own countenance 
 and those around her. 
 
 In a few minutes Minnie entered. She was 
 now sixteen, a sweet girl indeed ; verifying her 
 name — "Minnie," meaning "Love" in the old 
 German language. In her oval face, soft blue 
 eye, dimpled cheek, and even in the golden 
 ringlets, falling over the delicate neck and 
 shoulders, one saw a loving kindness, a winsome 
 gentleness, a feminine simplicity, which could 
 comfort in any sorrow. There was something 
 in her face and manner that showed that her 
 yoimg heart had its own sorrow. Indeed a 
 profound feeling of her orphanhood imbued 
 Minnie's character. Others, seeing her so guarded 
 by Miss Weston, seldom thought of it ; but Minnie 
 never forgot it. This feeling was more than a 
 pensive, it was a painful one; and although so 
 cheerful and apparently light-hearted in the 
 society of her friends, yet when alone her face
 
 88 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 often wore an expression of mournful tranquillity 
 that was akin to both joy and sorrow. Perhaps 
 it was of her own inward sadness that the sun- 
 shine was born with which she blessed others. 
 Although much grown, she had not yet out- 
 grown the right to be petted; and she was so 
 dehcately formed that the old names of "little 
 Minnie " and " Birdie " were suitable still. 
 
 Minnie's arrival was indeed a boon to Edward : 
 sudden sunshine upon the snow of his existence. 
 She knew how to manage him even better than 
 Aunt Mary. A more worldly woman than Miss 
 Weston would have observed this; for would it 
 not be a grievous error for Edward to build a 
 hope on the attachment which was secretly 
 growing up between him and Minnie? His 
 health and his father's pride forbade the idea. 
 
 Minnie , had unfolded her Alegria news, and 
 Edward was becoming genial, when a message 
 came that the family party were assembled below. 
 
 " Come, Edward," said Minnie, springing up 
 from her seat by his side, and she held out her 
 hand as in Alegria days.
 
 EDWARD IS APPREHENSIVE. 89 
 
 " No — no — no ! " cried Edward, aghast. " I 
 could not look on at her reception of you for the 
 world. I know what it will be, with her tragedy 
 airs. Besides, Minnie," he added, and his face 
 flushed crimson, " you will have the accomplished 
 Sir George to amuse you. He came yesterday." 
 Poor Edward ! already apprehensive. 
 
 " Come, Edward ! pray come ! " Minnie said 
 again, with her hand still out to him, although 
 she, too, blushed. 
 
 Miss Weston interfered : — 
 
 " You must not give way to impulses like this, 
 Edward; the way to beget ill-will is to suspect 
 it. You must commence from this night to banish 
 your prejudices." 
 
 Edward seemed in no way shaken in his 
 resolve. 
 
 " Can't you remain with me ? " 
 
 " We cannot, as you well know." 
 
 " Down at Alegria," he cried, wilfully, " I could 
 do as I liked." 
 
 " My poor nervous boy ! " observed Aunt Mary, 
 gently.
 
 90 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " Yes, that's it ; that's what everybody says — 
 even Ashton — nervous ! Yes ! I am nervous ; 
 but you don't know the pang of the malady. 
 Madness with a sane head. Brains left to show 
 you the horrors of it, the unreality of it, and 
 yet unable to release you from its thraldom. 
 Even now you look to me more like shadows 
 than realities ; and yesterday I thought my head 
 was hollow. Sometimes I feel perfectly certain 
 I am nothing buttoned up in this coat. I have 
 suffered before, but this malady is worse than 
 all!" 
 
 " It is a comfort to know, Edward," said Minnie, 
 with deep sympathy in her voice, ^' what mamma 
 and I were reading the other day — that Sir Walter 
 Scott was in such miserable health when he wrote 
 what you think the most perfect of his fictions, the 
 Bride of Lammermoor, that after a serious illness 
 which followed he did not recollect one single 
 incident, character, or conversation in the story ! 
 Yet he shook off his malady, Edward." 
 
 " Yes ! " cried Edward, with a burst of enthusiasm, 
 " and lived for many years, to brighten the world
 
 MINNIE PERSEVERES. 91 
 
 by creations as magnificent and true to nature as 
 any he ever imagined in days of unclouded health." 
 
 Minnie thought the time ripe now ; so once more 
 she said : 
 
 " Come, Edward ! See, mamma is waiting." 
 Edward looked, and saw his aunt gazing fixedly 
 upon the decaying embers of the fire. The atti- 
 tude and expression reminded him of his mother. 
 He needed no further coaxing. 
 
 " The Thames work is coming again ; I am to 
 begin to-night," he said, oddly, as he rose from his 
 seat ; adding, " Come, Minnie, and come. Aunt 
 Mary. Allow me to introduce you to the Countess 
 of Graham."
 
 92 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Mrs. Graham was not in the drawing-room when 
 Edward and his friends entered it. The shades of 
 evening were falling fast, but the curtains of the 
 room were not closed ; and the fire, for it was now 
 October, sadly needed replenishment. Mr. Graham 
 and another gentleman stood chatting together with 
 their backs to the fire. As the little party ad- 
 vanced, this stranger advanced too ; and fore- 
 stalling introduction, courteously took Miss Weston 
 by the hand; congratulated Edward on looking 
 better, with much kindness ; and then turning to 
 lyiinnie, stepped back a little, as if in some surprise. 
 Suppressing the feeling, however, he looked to Ed- 
 ward, with a silent request for an introduction. 
 " Minnie," Edward said, then checking himself, as 
 he became conscious of the informality, he laughed
 
 THE INTRODUCTION. 93 
 
 it off, and with blushing cheek corrected himself, 
 saying— 
 
 " My old playmate Minnie is Miss Seaton, Sir 
 George Elpingstone." 
 
 " Glad to see you," said Mr. Graham to Miss 
 Weston, looking a little constrained as he shook 
 her hand. " You are looking well, upon my word, 
 and your little one is grown really almost out of 
 knowledge." As Mr. Graham took Minnie's hand, 
 he bent down and positively kissed her. Edward 
 looked as if a shower of blessings had fallen upon 
 him. 
 
 Just at this moment, Mrs. Graham swam forward 
 through the room to welcome her guests. There 
 was evidently a mutual surprise. In Miss Weston 
 Mrs. Graham instantly saw a gentlewoman, not in 
 the least inclined to be patronized, and in Minnie 
 something else than a capacity for all-work. Miss 
 Weston was very quiet, but looked as if Mrs. 
 Graham's appearance had made an unexpected 
 favourable impression upon her. Like her brother, 
 Mrs. Graham was tall. They resembled each 
 other in features, but her complexion was dark, and
 
 94 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 his was fair. Mrs. Graham's was a handsome face, 
 a little the worse for the wear and tear of a dozen 
 seasons of gaiety, but it lit up. One could fancy, 
 in looking closely at her, that she knew something 
 of a delicate composition called rose de chine. Her 
 figure was perfect. And she was dressed with 
 great taste both as to colour and to form. 
 
 " And, Edward, really ! " Mrs. Graham said, put- 
 ting on her most winning smile, " most glad am I 
 to see we can draw you from your room; but 
 you would have been an anchorite to have resisted 
 such an attraction." 
 
 " I should have indeed," said Edward, blushing 
 as he smiled, and apparently resolved to be in 
 good humour with everybody. 
 
 "You are certainly much better to-day, Ed- 
 ward," Mr. Graham observed, looking compla- 
 cently on his son, " and I hope the improvement 
 will continue." 
 
 Although there was very little of the demon- 
 strative about Mr. Graham, there was an emphasis 
 in these words which showed he was sincere. 
 Edward felt this with delight ; and Aunt Mary's
 
 THE MODERN NUISANCE. 95 
 
 face, while regarding both, was radiant with 
 pleasure. In a few minutes the fire was re- 
 plenished, the lamps lit, and coffee brought. Miss 
 Weston begged for a cup of tea. Mrs. Graham 
 hoped it was obtainable, remarking, — 
 
 " You cannot think how I am inconvenienced 
 with my domestics ; I have tried fifteen, at least, 
 in three months. I wish there were a company to 
 take girls, educate them for domestic duties, and 
 guarantee good service ; I am sure it would pay. 
 Don't you think so, George ? " appealing to her 
 brother. 
 
 Elpingstone laughed : " You would have to 
 guarantee good management, Emily. What say 
 you. Miss Weston ? " 
 
 " Prudence in selection would obviate the neces- 
 sity of guarantee, " Miss Weston answered. 
 
 " Will you try it for me, dear Miss Weston ? " 
 asked Mrs. Graham, graciously. 
 
 " My experience in house-keeping is much 
 greater than yours, " answered Miss Weston, plea- 
 santly, " and 1 should have little doubt of success. 
 The course is, as I say, to be prudent in selection.
 
 96 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 to treat them with considerate kindness, and to be 
 mistress of myself in my intercourse with them. I 
 have always found that obedience to authority, even 
 where an ambition to give satisfaction is wanting, 
 becomes habitual." 
 
 Mrs. Graham elevated her eyebrows, looked 
 queerly at her brother, and then, as the door 
 opened, said : 
 
 " Really, here is the tea ! and brought by Mrs. 
 Pitman — an honour, I assure you ; you must be 
 a special favourite." Nurse placed the salver, 
 as in old days, before Miss Weston, taking a 
 quiet peep at Edward, who nodded to her kindly. 
 
 " And is the old squire as mad after fox-hunting 
 as ever, Minnie ? " said Mr. Graham. 
 
 " He is not mad at all — not the least bit : 
 or, if he is, Edward must be so too ; for Mr. 
 Templer says it was beautiful to see him when the 
 hounds settled to their work and steamed away." 
 
 *^ ^ Settled to their work, and steamed away ! ' 
 Why, Miss Seaton, you are quite au fait in 
 hunting terms. And Edward a sportsman ! upon 
 my word ! " cried Elpingstone, with surprise.
 
 TALLY-HO ! 97 
 
 " I am country -bom," said Minnie, blushing, 
 '• and love its pastimes, summer and winter." 
 
 Elpingstone, turning to Edward, said : " We 
 must have a turn together with your old friend. 
 Templer is one of the best masters in England. 
 You should have told me of this taste of yours, 
 Edward. I had no idea you had a taste for manly 
 amusements." 
 
 Edward's brow quivered a little — "I have a 
 liking that way; some day you may show me 
 the way across country, if you will." 
 
 "No one can show you the way, Edward," 
 Minnie began, courageously ; but as Elpingstone 
 looked up archly, her courage suddenly departed. 
 
 " That hunting nonsense down at Eling was the 
 cause of half your illness, Edward," said Mr. 
 Graham. " Thank God ! I never rode to hounds. 
 Hunt up the work in Mincing Lane, Edward: 
 that is the sort of hunting fit for a sane English- 
 man." 
 
 " Will you give me a clerkship ? " asked P^I- 
 pingstone, quietly. 
 
 Edward blushed: he saw the point, though 
 
 VOL. L H
 
 98 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 his father did not; and he felt relieved when 
 Mrs. Graham changed the conversation. 
 
 " What shall we do to-morrow evening ? " she 
 said. " The theatre, concert, or Kemble's read- 
 ing of Shakspeare ? " 
 
 Elpingstone said, "The theatre." 
 
 Minnie, when questioned, said, " The concert." 
 
 And Miss Weston deferred to Edward, who 
 chose " The readings." 
 
 " You have always had a liking, Edward, for 
 public readings," observed Miss Weston. 
 
 " Yes," was the reply ; " you remember Mr. 
 Lovell's remarks about them ? ' With the an- 
 cients,' he said, ^ recitation was the only mode 
 of publishing a new piece; for the press was 
 unknown, and the methods of writing then in 
 use were tardy and expensive. But the read- 
 ings of the present day, not consisting of the 
 compositions of the reader, are not liable to 
 many evils incidental to the readings of the 
 ancients.' " 
 
 During this conversation a note had been 
 handed to Mr. Graham, who earnestly perused
 
 SIR GEORGE BECOMES FINANCIAL. 99 
 
 it. When there was a break in the chat, lie 
 looked up from the note, and beckoned Elping- 
 stone to him. 
 
 "You see," Mr. Graham said, handing the 
 note to his relative, " they will get the bill for 
 the new line that Clayworth has planned with 
 such judgment. See what Slivery says ; very 
 iiattering, coming from Clay worth ; and very con- 
 siderate of Slivery, I must say." 
 
 "Very," observed Elpingstone, as he finished 
 reading the note; " Clayworth only offers these 
 chances to men of capital. He will allot you 
 any number of shares, provided you agree to 
 be nominated a director. All fair ; advantages 
 mutual ; for your name, the means of making 
 money. Clayworth's influence in the House will 
 pass it : a clever paragraph in a leading paper 
 from Capel Court, and these shares will be 20 
 premium in a week." 
 
 " Yes ; but it would be a cash affair for me," 
 observed Mr. Graham, with knitted brow. 
 
 " Of course," said Elpingstone, " or I would 
 go in for it. It is only cash affairs that really
 
 100 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 tell up in the long run. Stability gains the con- 
 fidence of the public; and public confidence is 
 cent, per cent, to those who know how to manage 
 it.^' 
 
 " I am afraid I have not a command of cash 
 for this. If I could wait a month or so for a 
 reply from an Indian client of mine," said Mr. 
 Graham, musingly. 
 
 " What do you mean, Graham ? A man in 
 your position in the mercantile world can never 
 be at a loss for the needful, when it is certain 
 to pay itself twice over in two months." 
 
 "I have money, as far as that goes," replied 
 Mr. Graham, a little proudly. " And, as I have 
 hinted, a large sum to invest for an Indian client. 
 I have written to ask him how the investment 
 shall be made. I am waiting his answer. Per- 
 haps I need not have been so particular. He 
 told me to invest. Two posts have passed, and 
 he has not rephed. This would be a grand hit 
 for him, and he would agree if he understood 
 all about it." 
 
 " Agree for him— -understand for him. What I
 
 ME. GRAHAM HAS DOUBTS. 101 
 
 keep money on account at a time like this ! Let 
 your banker use what you should use yourself! 
 The point is to close with Clayworth at once. 
 Position at the start is the great thing; after 
 arrangements are easily adjusted. If the Indian 
 do not like it, I will do your halves." 
 
 " I will think over it to-night," said Mr. Gra- 
 ham ; adding, ^' It isn't wise to hail everything 
 in the railway world with instant approbation, 
 but in this case all is right. Clayworth is a 
 man of great importance, and I see a Lord 
 Dunstable is to be chairman. Do you know 
 him?" 
 
 " Yes ; a clever fellow. I will introduce you." 
 
 "Very good; to-morrow, and I will invite 
 him to dinner. Perhaps, Elpingstone, I may be 
 able to help you to something good in this 
 matter." 
 
 Elpingstone looked odd, looked at Edward, who 
 was looking at him ; looked at Minnie, looked at 
 Miss Weston, then at his sister. Not for many 
 a day had any man offered to do him a good 
 turn ; and for a relative, fond of money, to say
 
 102 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 he might be able to do so, sounded to him not 
 a little singular. 
 
 " Well, Graham," he answered, laughing lightly, 
 " I mustn't be proud. I really believe if I had 
 300,000^. a year, I should be the most charming 
 gentleman in London." 
 
 Mr. Graham laughed, and put Slivery's note 
 in his pocket. Edward had heard the substance 
 of this conversation, and became deeply, pamfully 
 interested as it went on. He knew all about the 
 balance referred to, for he had himself written 
 to their client in India, and had adjusted the 
 accounts prior to his last illness. He knew his 
 friend Ellis's opinion of these flattering invest- 
 ments ; he knew the house had no right to deal 
 with a correspondent's money in such a way; 
 and encouraged by his father's kindness this even- 
 ing, he moved round to his side, and standing just 
 before him by the chimney-piece, said in a low, 
 agitated voice — 
 
 " Dear father, Ryland's money — don't break 
 the sum due to him until you have his answer. 
 By investments, he meant the funds ; you don't
 
 EDWARD'S FIRST REMONSTRANCE. 103 
 
 invest in railroads — you speculate. Pardon me " 
 (seeing his father's frown), " I mean right." 
 
 " Is the boy mad ? " replied Mr. Graham. " Am 
 I not responsible for three times the amount? 
 Suppose T use this sum of Ryland's, Edward, 
 cannot I replace it at will ? In fact it is mine ; 
 my cheque at any hour for the amount would be 
 an equivalent." 
 
 " If you had the cash at your bariker's, father." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Edward, do not presume to step 
 between me and my plans. Do you venture to 
 place your judgment in opposition to mine? No 
 more of this." 
 
 Edward drew away with his finger raised to 
 his brow ; his face, which had been but now so 
 animated, was sadly changed. In a few minutes 
 he had left the room, and shortly afterwards. Miss 
 Weston's seat was also vacant. During the re- 
 mainder of the evening, Elpingstone made him- 
 self very agreeable to the ladies. He was so 
 good-natured and frank, that Minnie felt quite at 
 ease ; he spoke of Edward so naturally, of their 
 coming amusements so pleasantly, that she felt
 
 104 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 she was quietly gliding into intimacy with the 
 handsome stranger, without exactly knowing how. 
 Mrs. Graham, too, petted Minnie ; called her, not 
 "Little Provincial," but " Village Bird ; " chatted 
 of Paris, and the w^orld at large, and was evidently 
 bent on making herself amiable. Now there was 
 a little singing ; the music was Minnie's, and the 
 singing Mrs. Graham's and her brother's. Whilst 
 this was going on Miss Weston had stolen back, 
 and after a mysterious whisper, " Village Bird " 
 was off to her nest, and the music for the even- 
 ing over.
 
 EXPLANATIONS. 105 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " When, in the name of all that is delightful, 
 did your visitor. Miss Weston, light on Village 
 Bird, as Emily styles Miss Seaton?" said Elping- 
 stone to Mr. Graham, as they sat sipping their 
 brandy-and-water after Mrs. Graham had re- 
 tired. 
 
 " There is some mystery about her parentage ; 
 I cannot get at the bottom of it. A correspondent 
 of mine, speculating in a mercantile way in In- 
 dia " 
 
 " Is it the client you were making mention 
 of just now, — the man with the large balance of 
 cash in your hand? Excuse the interruption, 
 Graham." 
 
 " The same. He commissioned me to make some
 
 106 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 inquiries, on behalf of a brother (but whether the 
 brother was living or dead he did not inform me), 
 relative to a Mr. Seaton, living near a village 
 called Eling. Miss Weston, as you may have 
 learnt, lives at Eling. I was to ascertain if this 
 Mr. Seaton were alive ; or, if he was dead, to 
 inquire whether the neighbours could tell if he had 
 a girl with him of the name of Ryland. If this 
 was the case, I was to give him all the information 
 I could obtain about her, with the view to her 
 being sent out to him. My connection with 
 Miss Weston made me aware of the death of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Seaton, and that my relative had 
 adopted a child of theirs, the girl you have seen 
 to-night. More I cannot ascertain. Whether she 
 is really the daughter of the Seatons or not, I 
 am sure no one at Alegria can tell, except Miss 
 Weston, perhaps, and she will keep her own 
 counsel." 
 
 '^ What place do you say ? " 
 
 "Alegria; the absurd name Miss Weston has 
 given her place at . Eling. She says it is the 
 Portuguese for Happiness."
 
 EXPLANATIONS EXPLAINED. 107 
 
 Elpingstone looked pleased. 
 
 " Minniej do you know, Graham, means ' Love ' 
 in the old German tongue. Yes : Happiness is 
 a fit name for the dwelling of Love. What does 
 Miss Weston say about the parentage ? " 
 
 " I never spoke to her on this point. About 
 three years ago, after the receipt of the letters 
 mentioned, I hazarded a remark about education, 
 just to find out what her feelings were about the 
 child." 
 
 " Well, what did she say ? Excuse the question. 
 I am really interested." 
 
 ''As far as I recollect, when I mentioned a 
 school Mrs. Slivery had recommended, and offered 
 to defray the expense. Miss Weston replied, — ' I 
 am old-fashioned, Mr. Graham, and I have no idea 
 of my child losing the advantages of home for the 
 doubtful benefits and questionable refinements of a 
 boardincp-school." 
 
 " Did she say nothing to serve as a clue for 
 the satisfaction of your correspondent." 
 
 '•' No ; she certainly told me that some papers 
 were given up to her, addressed to Willlian Wynne
 
 108 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 Ryland, which she was bound to keep unopened 
 till they were claimed by the individual in person, 
 to whom they were directed. I hinted that it 
 would avoid misunderstanding if she would ex- 
 amine the papers at once^, but she refused in the 
 most resolute way ; and added, that if she thought 
 there was anything contained in those papers 
 which would give a stranger power over her 
 proUgee, she would instantly destroy them, be the 
 consequences what it might." 
 
 " Bravo ! Miss Weston," exclaimed Sir George. 
 " But, Graham, tell me the name of your Indian 
 correspondent." 
 
 " William Wynne Ryland ; but he inquired 
 about the girl on his brother's account." 
 
 "The register at Eling would enlighten you 
 touching the name of the girl ? " 
 
 "No: the Seatons were in Madeira, or Spain, 
 or somewhere else, when she was born." 
 
 " Has your correspondent any family of his 
 own ? " 
 
 " Why, I believe he has some semi- Asiatic 
 offspring. Not long ago he commissioned me to
 
 AN INDIAN CORRESPONDENT. 109 
 
 forward certain articles of female geai*, with the 
 request that I should not be guided by the taste 
 uf the day in this country ; but should do as his 
 daughter would explain. Enclosed in this letter 
 was a sheet of very strange writing, with a sketch 
 of a girl's face and figure, most odd-looking, I must 
 say ; and never did city magistrate receive instruc- 
 tions of a like sort." 
 
 •' Do let me see the production. Perhaps I shall 
 be able to find something besides oddity in it." 
 
 Elpingstone held out his hand. 
 
 " Well, you shall see it. I have got it in my 
 pocket-book. I did not like to file it with the 
 Ryland correspondence." 
 
 " Quite right. Edward is young, and therefore 
 romantic ! " and by this time the speaker held the 
 sheet before him. 
 
 " Ha ! " he cried, " what is this ? How graphic ! 
 how good ! quite artistic ! a gem ! A slim 
 figure, with jetty waves of hair over a face which 
 may become tyrannously bewitching. And the 
 drapery ! it suggests a sibyl in her teens, with a 
 fragment of a funeral pall about her ! No English
 
 110 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 girl. Great round gold ear-rings in the ears. 
 What is this written above the figure ? — 
 
 " ^ A creature, fourteen, weighing seven stone 
 — our English groom says — five feet three inches 
 high, in want of a riding dress ; blue velvet 
 boddice and black skirt, to fit a figure half-gazelle, 
 half-tiger, without bones. Below is the outline of 
 the creature I tell you of. — Ada?' 
 
 "I may keep this, Graham?" concluded Elping- 
 stone ; " and when I am tired of it, I will hand it 
 over to the Museum." 
 
 He put it in his pocket, and threw himself back 
 in his chair, muttering to himself, for Mr. Gra- 
 ham had just quitted the room — 
 
 "The adventurous come back again, just as 
 I was beginning to get sick of the commonplace. 
 But for brother-in-law, and that very sensible old 
 maid, before whom I must mind my P's and Q's, 
 I should fancy myself the centre of a magic ring : 
 the pretty, lady-like Minnie, and this weird, 
 mysterious spirit, Ada, with the hoop ear-rings.
 
 SIR GEORGE ELPINGSTONE SPECULATES. Ill 
 
 We shall hear more shortly. Have a care, 
 Edward. The Nabob may be gulling Graham. 
 I should like to take a peep into that packet. 
 Edward knows something about it, or her, or 
 Ryland (it's an ugly name, Ryland). I shall 
 see if Graham's rich client does not turn out 
 a winning card."
 
 112 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 ^' There is an indescribable something I verj 
 much dislike in my mother-in-law," said Edward 
 to his Aunt Mary^ the week following her arrival, 
 as she and Minnie sat with him in his room, the 
 first day they had to themselves, for it had been a 
 week of sight-seeing and pleasure. 
 
 " We must not make unkind reflections upon 
 points of character which are indescribable," re- 
 plied Miss Weston. " It is enough for us to do 
 with the real ; and even in this we should use the 
 generosity we look for ourselves. The more we 
 know of ourselves, the more lenient we become in 
 our estimate of others." 
 
 " She makes me feel so small by her — such a 
 thorough nobody. Only yesterday she apologised
 
 MKS. GRAHAM COMPLEVIENTS EDWARD. 113 
 
 for ' forgetting poor Edward,' when Lord Dunstable 
 asked who I was." 
 
 " In a family, Edward, things occur every day 
 which, for the sake of peace, it is best not to think 
 of on the morrow ; you must learn the value of 
 home charity." 
 
 Edward was silent. At the present stage of 
 affairs, to see him silent, was almost as much as 
 Aunt Mary's provident love could desire. As she 
 left the room, Mrs. Graham entered. 
 
 " Ha ! Village Bird ! " she said, patting Minnie 
 on the cheek, " come to the crow's nest, I see. 
 Edward, you will wear that sombre dressing-gow^n, 
 and as long as you do, I will call you the crow of 
 the house." 
 
 Edward's face assumed the hue of marble ; as 
 the quick blood overflowed it again, he literally 
 bit his lip through to restrain himself. Minnie 
 saw it all, but Mrs. Graham did not,^ She unfolded 
 a plan in her hand, and appeared to examine 
 the dimensions of the adjoining room, and to 
 include Edward's special apartment in the survey. 
 The inspection was satisfactory to herself at least. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " I am afraid you must sacrifice your cozy 
 room to the general weal, Edward," she said, 
 looking all about her, and not at him. " I am 
 contemplating a suite of rooms on this floor, and I 
 have got the idea of a * Chinese room' in my head, 
 and it must be here." 
 
 " You had better add me to your collection ; I 
 won't turn out," cried Edward. 
 
 " Oh dear, no," said Mrs. Graham, eyeing him 
 with her glass, " that would never do, Edward, as 
 you are. If you would turn yourself into a 
 Chinese mummy now, I might give you standing 
 room." 
 
 Edward caught Minnie's gentle look and Mrs. 
 Graham's remark together. Pleased with the 
 former, he left the latter unanswered, save by 
 a short laugh. As Mrs. Graham was leaving, she 
 stopped, and patting Minnie's cheek, said — 
 
 " I had forgotten my commission ; George begged 
 me, as he went this morning, to tell you, you 
 must have the fancy likeness ready for him when 
 he returns this evening." 
 
 " I never promised it," Minnie said, quite
 
 THE FANCY LIKENESS. 115 
 
 earnestly; but Mrs. Graham nodded, and said, 
 " Village Bird is a slj little elf," and swam away, 
 without noticing the mischief she had done. 
 
 " To expect me to stand all this ! " said Edward, 
 bitterly; "Aunt Mary should know me better. 
 I wish I was in New Zealand. What is the 
 matter with you, Minnie ? What have you to look 
 sad about ? " 
 
 " I am sad on your account, Edward, because 
 you are resolved to be unhappy. This makes 
 mamma unhappy too; we do not feel at home 
 here, since you have been so miserable and unlike 
 your old self." 
 
 " Really, Minnie, you are quite a Mentor," cried 
 Edward, angrily ; " but you must feel at home 
 here ; every day you have gone somewhere — con- 
 certs and operas at nights. Regent's Park, the 
 Colosseum, or the Chiswick Gardens by day ; and 
 I am sure you come home happy enough to 
 show that you have enjoyed yourself." 
 
 " Sometimes," said Minnie, quietly, and she 
 blushed in spite of herself ; "but, Edward, some- 
 times I am happy because I have come back.
 
 116 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " You said only yesterday that he is the life 
 of your afternoon drives, and he is with you every- 
 where ! " Edward spoke confusedly. 
 
 " Did I say so ? " answered Minnie, looking at 
 him with surprise. " I should be happier if you 
 were with us in place of Sir George Elpingstone, 
 and you could be, if you liked." 
 
 " You had better get the fancy likeness done," 
 was Edward's sole reply. 
 
 "I did not promise it to him. It was very 
 unkind of Mrs. Graham, and it is very cruel of 
 you, Edward." Minnie could not get further ; she 
 was in tears. Edward's whole heart seemed 
 changed in an instant. 
 
 "And dare she take liberties with you, Minnie?" 
 he said. " I declare if this goes on, I will set the 
 house on fire. Dare they tease you, Minnie? 
 Did they want you to make a caricature of me ? 
 I will have my revenge." 
 
 " You had nothing to do with it, Edward. Do 
 you think I would listen to that for an instant ? " 
 
 " Well, then, Minnie, what was it he asked you 
 to do for him?"
 
 MINNIE EXPLAINS. 117 
 
 Minnie's colour deepened; then her face sad- 
 dened ; the orphan expression came over it. " It 
 is a cruel thing to mock an orphan," she said, 
 with trembling lip, " a friendless orphan, Edward." 
 
 "You friendless, Minnie?" cried Edward, re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 " No, Edward ; no, no ! But nothing can 
 supply the place of a parent's, brother's, or sister's 
 love." 
 
 " And who was cruel enough to revive those 
 feelings, Minnie ? " 
 
 "I will tell you, Edward; for you shall not 
 think there is a secret between me and anyone. 
 A few days since. Sir George Elpingstone asked 
 me if I should like to have a sister ; and I said, 
 ' Oh ! so much ! ' He rallied me pleasantly on my 
 sad looks, and said I should have a sister some 
 day ; he would introduce me to her, a creature 
 half-gazelle, half-tiger, without bones : and when 
 he saw his lightness pained me sadly, he begged 
 me to make a picture of the sort of sister I should 
 prefer, and he would tell me if it was like." 
 
 " And you have not made it, Minnie ?"
 
 118 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 '' Only in my mind, Edward ; and there are 
 two; one, a sister older than I, and far better, 
 to watch my life with love, and to be a new heart 
 to me ; the other, a little angel thing, that I could 
 watch over for its own sweet sake, and learn to 
 do right for its sake, and follow it with love 
 through life. I could not make these pictures 
 for him, Edward." 
 
 " But you have told me, Minnie." 
 
 *^That is different. Somehow or other you 
 and mamma are with me in the thought," said 
 Minnie, with much naiveti. 
 
 Edward appeared deeply touched. Her gentle 
 love awoke better feelings within him. He sat 
 silent for a long time, pondering. He began to 
 see that his pleasure in the love of Minnie and 
 Aunt Mary, so indispensable to his very life, was 
 after all a selfish gratification; for it was under- 
 mining his fortitude, rousing him to keener 
 sensibility, and from its contrast with the treat- 
 ment he met with elsewhere, causing an increase 
 of that irritability of temper which was in part 
 constitutional. Dr. Ashton had prohibited his going
 
 EDWARD MAKES AN EFFORT. 119 
 
 to Mincing Lane during the winter months. He 
 would break through the prohibition. He would 
 act for others, think for others, and thus be less 
 occupied about himself. " That's it," he cried, so 
 suddenly that Minnie started. " I have come to 
 the conclusion, Minnie, that I am the most selfish 
 person living. I have been so jealous of my 
 own pleasures, that I have never considered those 
 of any one else, never striven to contribute to 
 them." 
 
 "That which gives me real satisfaction, Ed- 
 ward," said Minnie, " is to see I have contributed 
 a little to the enjoyment of another; and the 
 practice is very easy. Mamma says we should 
 begin 'by trying to please those who wish to please 
 us ; ' and then, by denying self a little every day, 
 we come at last to wish to be a source of pleasure 
 to those who sometimes annoy and disappoint us." 
 
 " A true Alegria lesson," cried Edward ; " not 
 hard for an angel like you, Minnie ; but to serve 
 those I cannot love seems to me an impossibility." 
 
 Edward looked fixedly at her ; their eyes met ; 
 his were eloquent ; her cheek crimsoned.
 
 120 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " Minnie, by heavens ! I will tell you." His 
 voice was suddenly still. 
 
 Minnie, pale as death now, said — " Hush, Ed- 
 ward ! " and a moment after he was alone. 
 
 What Edward wished to say, and wherefore 
 Minnie said 'Hush,' and stole away, must re- 
 main unexplained. But Edward's eyes were 
 certainly opening to the value, almost the neces- 
 sity, of Minnie's presence and sympathy. There 
 is no snare more dangerous for two young hearts 
 than that which is laid for them by habit, and 
 veiled by innocence. They had gone far towards 
 falling into it before knowing what it really was, 
 yet the " Hush, Edward ! " was certainly significant. 
 
 After this Edward appeared to steel his heart 
 against emotion. He became silent, almost cold. 
 He carried into practice, too, his resolution of going 
 to Mincing Lane daily. Sometimes it was an 
 arduous task, for his health did not improve ; 
 but he gained confidence in himself. He denied 
 himself of an evening the solitude of his own 
 room, and made one of the family below. Small 
 assemblies Osgood society, the result of Mr. Graham's
 
 CONTENTMENT AND NON-RESIGNATION. 121 
 
 connexion with the Elpingstones, were now not 
 unfrequent in Grosvenor Square. These showed 
 mostly new faces, of course. Excepting the 
 Sliverys, few of the people who had visited at 
 St. John's Wood were now to be seen at Mr. 
 Graham's. 
 
 Now and then Edward was drawn into conver- 
 sation by some guest, who had the good sense to 
 think him worth individual notice, and on such 
 occasions he was sure to excite attention by the 
 originality, quiet vigour, and humour of his remarks. 
 Elpingstone, the winter through, was constantly 
 at Grosvenor Square. Edward and he did not get 
 on so well as they did at the commencement of 
 their acquaintance. Edward called Elpingstone 
 "the Grand Seignior," and was sarcastic in his 
 allusions to him. The other met him with an 
 invariable good humour, which ought to have 
 disarmed all ill-will. 
 
 Perhaps the sight of some little things which it 
 tortured Edward to contemplate, and which in- 
 duced him at times, after a sleepless night, to turn 
 from Minnie with abrupt unkindness, was after
 
 122 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 all the principal cause of his persuasion that there 
 was something false in all that the accomplished 
 Elpingstone did or said. But it must not be for- 
 gotten that Edward had been diligent in business 
 for the last few months ; and that it is therefore 
 possible that circumstances had come to his know- 
 ledge relative to the position of the " Grand 
 Seignior," that would to a certain degree justify 
 his opinion of his character — namely, that Elping- 
 stone was not exactly deserving of the un- 
 limited confidence which every one in the house, 
 saving himself, he savagely believed, reposed in 
 him.
 
 MRS. GRAHAM " AT HOME." 123 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Time passed; and the London spring season of 
 1846 found a slight addition to its revels in the 
 entertainments at Mr. Graham's residence in 
 Grosvenor Square. Little by little, Mrs. Graham 
 had won her way. She had followed Mrs. 
 Slivery's advice : and, whilst seeming to submit, 
 had managed to eflPect her perfect independence. 
 As Mrs. Slivery had hinted, the vanity of a 
 good connexion had exercised a perceptible influ- 
 ence on the mind of the fortunate speculator; 
 Mr. Graham, during the past winter, had become 
 noted for his good dinners, good wines, some- 
 times good company. It was evident that Mr. 
 Graham took pleasure in this new mode of life. 
 
 Mrs. Graham had been very gracious to Miss 
 Weston, for the latter had been really useful ;
 
 124 THE TWO HOJMES. 
 
 the house was in a well-regulated condition, and 
 the mistress was learning the art. " I am so 
 much obliged, dear Miss Weston," was a phrase 
 with which Miss Weston had become very 
 familiar. In fact, ere long, Miss Weston herself 
 was not a little influenced by the air, tone, and 
 tact of the fashionable woman ; not so much so 
 as to lose sight of her own independence, but 
 still sufficiently for the production of a certain 
 half unconscious acknowledgment of some kind 
 of superiority in Mrs. Graham. In her ordinary 
 environment. Miss Weston would have remained 
 uninfluenced by any feeling of the kind, but here 
 everything about her tended to favour it. Mrs. 
 Graham was undoubtedly a woman to direct and 
 influence others. She could show quite the re- 
 verse of what she felt, with that species of clever 
 audacity and shrewdness which, when confirmed 
 by practice, the world is pleased to call tact. It 
 was Mrs. Graham's fancy to be a delightful 
 hypocrite. When a little less experienced in life, 
 she had been heard to pride herself on this 
 accomplishment, but that was before tact had
 
 THE SPIKIT OF THE SCENE. 125 
 
 ripened. The idea had now retreated more in- 
 wards, and was reigning supreme. After spending 
 a few months in paving her way, assisted in no 
 small degree by her brother, who was greatly 
 in Mr. Graham's confidence, she proceeded to 
 do wonders in ornamenting and embellishing the 
 residence over which she presided. The style 
 of St. John's Wood did not suit her. Mr. 
 Graham was having his pleasures in dinners, 
 wines, and whist parties ; and when Mrs. Graham 
 found her caro sposo settled in his idea of life, 
 she determined to advance her own. When the 
 house and establishment were more to her liking, 
 she wished to call her old acquaintances about 
 her, and decided that the first note of festivity 
 should be struck on her birthday. So much was 
 said about this gay evening in perspective, that 
 Minnie was full of expectation, although she was 
 a little alarmed at the idea of dancing her first 
 quadrille in public. 
 
 The evening of the promised ball arrived. The 
 salon was now a handsome apartment. Indi- 
 viduals of acknowledged capacity for arranging
 
 126 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 affairs of this sort had set it off to the best ad- 
 vantage. One end of the salon opened into a 
 pleasant room for such as might think the light, 
 and sound, and motion in the other, sufficient 
 enjoyment for them ; while opposite to it, at the 
 other end, there was one appropriated to the 
 card-players. 
 
 " Slivery must have his rubber," said Mr. 
 Graham, " or else he will be like a fish out of 
 water." 
 
 " Or a dog waiting for a bone," observed 
 Edward, overhearing the talk. 
 
 Mr. Graham smiled grimly, and Mrs. Graham 
 laughed; the Sliverys were not on such safe 
 terms with the Grosvenor Square people as they 
 fancied. 
 
 When the home party assembled in the draw- 
 ing-room, prior to the arrival of the company, 
 Mrs. Graham presented a very elegant appearance. 
 Her husband was evidently quite proud of her ; 
 and her decided, self-reliant air betrayed a 
 consciousness of her power. He paid her marked 
 attentions, at which Mrs. Graham was not sur-
 
 THE CONTRAST. 127 
 
 prised, for she knew well enough that a certain 
 class of men are much more civil to their wives 
 when they are more handsomely dressed than 
 usual. Minnie was present, with a blush and a 
 smile. Her dress was of white crape, with little 
 blue bows about it. She was looking partly 
 eager, partly nervous. She appeared to draw to 
 Edward, who stood by Miss Weston's side, and 
 for some reason seemed to shrink a little from the 
 attentions of Sir George Elpingstone, who had 
 just entered the room. 
 
 " Well, Edward," said that gentleman, standing 
 in a delightfully confident attitude, " I congratu- 
 late you. Resolved to treat resolution, eh ? You 
 said yesterday you would not show to-night. 
 Now, I suppose, you will play your part in the 
 pageant, and ^ foot the boards,' as an American 
 would say, with the best of us." 
 
 " You are mistaken there, Sir George ; I must 
 not dance, but I have a fancy for being present." 
 And he moved away. 
 
 "Can you account for his extraordinary be- 
 haviour to me of late ? " asked Elpingstone of
 
 128 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 Miss Weston, and he looked the grand seignior 
 as he spoke. 
 
 " Edward is subject to a restlessness and im- 
 patience I cannot understand," Miss Weston 
 answered. 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Graham summoned her 
 brother to her side. 
 
 " George," she said, ^^ pray, help me to arrange 
 these vases afresh ; some one has displaced my 
 magnolias. Not you, thank you very much, 
 Mr. Graham ; " and as she bent over the vase 
 she whispered, " Get him away, for mercy's 
 sake, or I shall faint. I cannot endure that un- 
 deviating look of importance ; that wooden figure- 
 head above me." 
 
 " Gad ! Graham loves you, Emily ; is proud of 
 you." 
 
 " Proud of the pride of the thing, George. As 
 to love, he is not prone to love anything. Like 
 a dear good brother, take him away. Fancy 
 how absurd a Darby and Joan coalition will 
 appear to our friends ! Do pity me." 
 
 Elpingstone laughed, and said he would see
 
 ELPINGSTONE IS MYSTERIOUS. 129 
 
 what he could do, but she must remember he had 
 his own amusements to look after. 
 
 " Silly fellow ! " was the rejoinder, " why will 
 you make that young thing blush and shrink 
 from you as she does, and rouse that moody boy's 
 anger? See how he stands looking at you. I 
 confess I am rather afraid of him ; nothing escapes 
 his observation." 
 
 *^His behaviour is a strange contrast to the 
 real warmth of his character," said Elpingstone, 
 looking at Edward. "I see it all," he added, 
 " and pity him, for I cannot help liking him. 
 Minnie, too, is alarmed and perplexed at his mood. 
 But look you, Emily, if matters are as I fancy 
 with your village bird, she will prove something 
 worth looking after." 
 
 " Oh, granny wolf ! why will you indulge in 
 such odd insinuations at the moment I am en- 
 grossed with weighty affairs ? " 
 
 Elpingstone looked monitory, trod on the tail 
 of Fid, his sister's snarling pet, a nuisance to 
 every one; gave him a sly kick for his at- 
 tempt to resent the insult; then followed Mr. 
 
 VOL. I. K.
 
 130 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 Graham, and drew him to another part of the 
 salon. 
 
 Guests arrived. In the course of an hour the 
 salon was full. The company, although a little 
 miscellaneous, was pretty well sprinkled with 
 fashion. Clayworth was coming, a man in the 
 seventh heaven of railway success ; and an in- 
 timation of this fact did more to draw the 
 fashionable world to Mrs. Graham's than General 
 Tom Thumb, the Aztecs, a Prime Minister, or a 
 hippopotamus, would have done. Lord Edward 
 Vane, the Earl of Wishmore, Sir Richard and 
 Lady Fogle, the Right Honourable Sydney Hope- 
 ville, Dunstable the Lord, and some men with 
 French and German names, among whom was the 
 Count Vantgohum, a lover of Emily Elpingstone's 
 at Wiesbaden, were amongst the visitors. Then 
 came a list of Misters, some Honourables ; Ken- 
 yon, the Almack hero, with the light whiskers 
 and hair; Dundrop, Stanhope, Eversley, Newman. 
 Amonst these there was plenty of that languid, 
 supercilious nonchalance distinctive of a really 
 fashionable ball-room. Those I have mentioned
 
 THE RULING PASSION IN FORCE. 131 
 
 were Mrs. Graham's peculiar guests. I cannot 
 enumerate Mr. Graham's friends by name; 
 enough that besides some new city men, suddenly 
 exalted in the world's admiration through suc- 
 cessful speculation, there were others with whom 
 Mr. Graham still wished to stand fair — acquain- 
 tances of other days and fortunes. 
 
 The Shverys were discreetly grand: Mrs. 
 Slivery a blaze of diamonds. She addressed her 
 friend and quondam pupil with quite a matronly 
 affection. 
 
 '' Dear Mrs. Graham, this is a victory ! And 
 there is my best friend, Mrs. Clayworth. I con- 
 gratulate you ; you look charming, you know." 
 Mr. Slivery, with his hand on Edward's 
 shoulder, half whispered — 
 
 " An improvement on the St. John's Wood 
 style of thing, eh ? " Then, turning to a portly 
 man with a red face, who looked good-natured, 
 he observed with point, " Close packing. Finch, 
 this ! " 
 
 Finch's uncle was a packer in the city, 
 and kept Finch for an heir, and in leading-
 
 132 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 strings, although Finch was half a century 
 old. 
 
 " As tight as figs in a frail, eh, Slivery ? " 
 was Mr. Finch's retort. 
 
 Mr. Finch considered this a hit; for Slivery, 
 before his failure, had been engaged in the dry- 
 fniit trade. Slivery and Finch edged off arm- 
 in-arm. 
 
 "Anything doing yonder?" asked Mr. Finch, 
 pointing to the card-room. 
 
 " Not just yet — but keep cool. Finch ; we will 
 take our turn before the night is over. The 
 room was arranged expressly for me ; for the 
 present, I must cultivate Clay worth." 
 
 "Cool! I like that;" and Mr. Finch looked 
 as angry as he ever did. A minute after he 
 was standing by Miss Weston's side. 
 
 " So Clayworth is here. Ah ! Miss Weston, 
 your good father would look queer if he were 
 present. Don't say ^no:' it looks ominous. ^Show 
 me a man's company :' some truth in the adage. 
 Then there is Slivery — capital preferment hunter ; 
 and Elpingstone, a word in your ear, old friend ;
 
 MISS WESTON IS WARNED ! 133 
 
 don't trust him too far: capital manner, capital 
 fellow, barring tlie absence of capital, lia ! ha ! 
 and all that. But I have known him off and on 
 for ten years ; knew him in his fast days, you un- 
 derstand ; and your little lady is the belle of the 
 evening in Nature's sight. Watch her; Elping- 
 
 stone, for a well-bred man, is a leetle you know. 
 
 Indeed, were he not in such society he would 
 be a Solomon, a Socrates, or a fooL" 
 
 Miss Weston naturally made no answer to 
 Mr. Finch, so he went on generalizing and re- 
 fining, with as little originality as taste. 
 
 The first quadrille passed. Minnie was restored 
 to her place, where Miss Weston sat beside Ed- 
 ward, in the apartment adjoining the ball-room. 
 They seemed very glad to welcome her. Hardly 
 five minutes passed before several introductions 
 took place, and Minnie was engaged several dances 
 deep. 
 
 " There, go away ! you do not belong to us, 
 you belong to the world, now," said Edward. 
 
 " If you would rather I did not dance, Edward, 
 although I like it very much "
 
 134 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 "'^ Oh, yes ! dance on, fairy," cried Edward, 
 interrupting her ; " dance for fifty hours, if it 
 gives you pleasure." 
 
 A partner came. Minnie looked timidly at 
 Edward. He was looking on the floor, and she 
 disappeared. 
 
 On went the festivities ; Elpingstone, the 
 " Grand Seignior " to perfection, was here and 
 there, showing off his handsome person, and being 
 charming. Sometimes the blushing Minnie was 
 on his arm, and then you might see Miss Wes- 
 ton resolutely following at a little distance in the 
 rear, having the escort of a neat, intelligent-look- 
 ing person, who seemed generally recognised. 
 Dr. Ashton it was, Edward's good friend and 
 medical attendant. Elpingstone evidently did not 
 admire Miss Weston's expressive attendance upon 
 him. He looked over his shoulder rather grimly 
 for a man of his good temper and savoir-vivre ; 
 but that watcher could have frowned down twenty 
 baronets in such a cause. She could not sit still 
 after Mr. Finch's remarks; especially as there 
 was such a buzzing beside her about her pretty
 
 WHAT CA' ye GUDE SOCIETY? 135 
 
 protegee. And really, as she floated about, Minnie 
 was the most lovely, loveable fairy imaginable — 
 Joy upon wings, and yet not exactly flying : 
 kept from doing so by some invisible restraint, 
 so that one wanted to help her in some way, 
 without knowing how to do it. Edward left his 
 seat, and hovered on the outskirts of the dancers. 
 He was met by his father, linked arm-in-arm with 
 the portly Mr. Clayworth. 
 
 " My son, Mr. Clayworth ; permit me to in- 
 troduce him." 
 
 Edward bowed. 
 
 " Lucky man, Graham ! always in luck. A 
 son ! I have not got a son. I observe to Mrs. C. 
 if I had been so fortunate as to have had an heir, 
 I would have bought him a dukedom some day. 
 Can I do anything for you, young gentleman? 
 Or perhaps you have a friend you v^ould like to 
 recommend." Mr. Clayworth spoke as he looked 
 — John Bull with gilded horns. 
 
 " If you happened to have a bishopric at your 
 disposal, Mr. Clayworth, I might be tempted to 
 intercede for a friend of mine."
 
 136 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 "A leetle out of my line, I am afraid. If it 
 were the post of civil engineer — " 
 
 " I am sorry his profession renders that im- 
 practicable," said Edward. 
 
 " Not the least so, I assure you, young gentle- 
 man. You see me. Ten years ago I was no- 
 body." 
 
 In spite of his confession, Mr. CI ay worth looked 
 as if he knew he had been somebody all the 
 time. Edward watched Mr. Clayworth's course. 
 All bent to him. Lords paid him homage, honour- 
 ables sought a nod: the commonalty only looked 
 satirical, because he did not notice it. 
 
 "Dilly, dilly duckling, come and be killed,'' 
 whispered Finch to Edward, as he passed him 
 on his way to the card-room. 
 
 Edward stood in to observe the dancers : he 
 was unknown to most of the company, or his 
 conduct would have been observed ; for he grew 
 so restless, and gazed on the dance with eyes 
 so wistful in their expression, that it was painful to 
 observe him. Once or twice there was a recog- 
 nition ; then his pale face flushed and his eyes
 
 EDWARD IS ENVIOUS— CITY MEN VICIOUS. 137 
 
 glittered. Oh! how Edward envied Elpingstone 
 this evening ! Yes, envied him with downright, 
 deliberate envy. Elpingstone was so confident, 
 so gay, and debonnaire ; apparently saying such 
 pretty things — Elpingstone well understood the 
 art of being agreeable — and yet so proud and 
 self- content I 
 
 As Edward wended his way through the room, 
 with the intention of leaving it altogether, — he 
 had come to this resolution and abandoned it 
 several times — he was arrested by some remarks 
 which fell upon his ear from some city men, who 
 stood in a cluster, as usual, by the door. 
 
 "Well! matrimony works wonders," said 
 one. 
 
 " Matter o^ money, you mean," said another. 
 
 '•Expensive work this — the Clay worth's style. 
 Railway luck ! Graham is greatly changed since 
 I first knew him ; always a cold, calculating per- 
 son, but not proud. Now, how curtly and im- 
 peratively he talks : the / in everything ! " 
 
 " And therefore the eye is overstrained, and 
 wants spectacles," laughed a fourth.
 
 138 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 "The count must have discovered a gold 
 quarry." 
 
 " ' And sugar and spice, and all that's nice.' " 
 
 "Not over much sugar. Did you hear her 
 answer just now, when the count introduced 
 Mr. StiflP, ' his friend from the city,' as the count 
 styled him?" 
 
 " Stiff, the starch-maker ? No. What was it? " 
 
 " City ? " she said, looking at Stiff, stiffly. " How 
 do you do, Mr. Stiff City?" 
 
 "I said, Mr. Stifif of the City," observed the 
 count, count-like. 
 
 " Dear me ! how tedious you are, Mr. Graham. 
 You know how short-sighted I am. Where is 
 the City ? You must show it to me some day. 
 Is it in St. Paul's, or in Madame Tussaud's ex- 
 hibition?" said she, smiling graciously on Mr. 
 StiflP, as she appealed to her escort — that booby, 
 Kenyon. 
 
 " No," said Kenyon : " the City is on the top 
 of the Monument ; and when an Alderman grows 
 ambitious, and aspires beyond turtle, he goes there 
 to sleep on the 8 th of November, is knighted by
 
 HOW TO BE MADE A LORD MAYOR. 139 
 
 Gog, and comes down Lord Mayor next morn- 
 ing." 
 
 Edward listened with burning cheeks. His 
 father's contemporaries gave him the mock 
 title of count. This touched him keenly. For 
 once he felt strongly disposed to resent the sneer 
 at his mother-in-law ; a little reflection, however, 
 tempered his anger. Out of patience with him- 
 self and everybody, he moved on to escape from 
 the room. He had to pass a group of men 
 belonging to a different order in society from 
 that wliich he had just left. 
 
 A word kept Edward spellbound. 
 
 " A case with Elpingstone ! " said one, in a 
 lazy, simpering voice. 
 
 *^ Pretty, isn't she, Yane ? " remarked another, 
 addressing a third. "Our hostess calls her the 
 * little provincial ; ' but, upon my word, if the 
 provinces produce such flowers as that, I shall 
 turn botanist and ruralize a little. However, it 
 won't answer Elpingstone's book ; for I hear she 
 is portionless." 
 
 Another man now joined the group, looking
 
 140 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 jaded ; but whether in affectation or reality, 
 it was difficult to decide. 
 
 " Well, Kenyon, what have you been after ? " 
 
 '^ Making my peace with ' la belle Emilie ; ' 
 but, gad ! I had a job to reconcile matters : for 
 that mushroom, Slivery, had repeated a remark 
 of mine about her, and she had mounted her 
 high horse." 
 
 " The remark ! let us judge." 
 
 " Why, it was to this tune : — 
 
 ' Now the Elpingstone's married, seven lights at her rerels 
 Will be held by one angel, and six little devils.* 
 
 That is all." 
 
 "And Slivery told her?" 
 
 "His wife did," 
 
 " And how did you get out of it, Kenyon ? *' 
 
 " By doubling on her high ground. I accused 
 her of having jilted me, and got up a show of 
 injured feeling for the occasion; then sobering 
 a little, I assured her I was still her devoted slave, 
 and that as, after all, a seventh part angel was 
 a great deal more than belonged to my woman 
 acquaintance in general, I held she was in duty
 
 A DECISION — AND PASSION. 141 
 
 bound to reinstate me in her affections, if only 
 to requite the compliment I had paid her." 
 
 u And " 
 
 " Beyond this deponent saith not," was the 
 reply, as significantly uttered as conceit could 
 express impudence. 
 
 Unfortunately at the moment Elpingstone 
 chanced to spy Edward, and said — 
 
 " Slow work for you, Edward ; can I be of 
 any service?" 
 
 Mr. Kenyon and his companions turned about 
 to see whom Elpingstone delighted to honour. 
 They were not a little surprised when the in- 
 dividual they were treating with a cynical stare 
 replied, pointing to Kenyon — 
 
 " Yes, by showing that man the door ; and 
 you can explain to him as you go that he dis- 
 honours the hospitality which has been shown 
 him," while all stared. 
 
 " Gad, Elpingstone ! " cried the Hon. Kenyon, 
 " a friend of yours ! Ton honor, very singular ! 
 Excuse me, a little touched in the upper story. 
 Will he b^-tef'
 
 142 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 Edward's arm was raised. In a moment it 
 would have descended upon Kenyon's face, had 
 not Elpingstone pulled him away, and led him 
 back to the drawing-room. There he asked, with 
 his ^' grand seignior " air — 
 
 " What is all this about, Edward ? Your con- 
 duct is extraordinary. It would drive your father 
 mad to learn you had insulted one of his most 
 honoured guests — the heir to the title and estates 
 of Wraxhall. 
 
 " Confound the title and estates of Wraxhall ! 
 and you, for your toad-eating littleness in re- 
 membering them at this moment ! " cried Edward, 
 his face working convulsively. 
 
 " Go on, Edward," said Elpingstone, quietly, 
 although his cheek burned. 
 
 " Yes ! I will go on to your shame. You shall 
 hear esteemed guests indeed:" and Edward re- 
 peated the conversation he had overheard. 
 
 " Elpingstone frowned as Edward paused ; then 
 laughed, saying — 
 
 "Ton my life, Edward, you are so deuced 
 virtuous, that I despair of making a man of you."
 
 PLAIN SPEAIONG. 143 
 
 " Ball ! as if you could make or mar aught 
 connected with me!" cried Edward, proudly. 
 " And let me tell you that a man should respect 
 himself in all the relations of life. You don't." 
 
 " What would you have me do?" 
 
 " Tell the heir to the title and estates of Wrax- 
 hall to leave this house, or arrange for him to 
 answer to me to-morrow morning for the insult 
 he has passed upon your sister." 
 
 "What, Edward? Would you fight?" cried 
 Elpingstone, in amazement. 
 
 " Fight !" retorted Edward. " Ay ! and had I 
 strength equal to my will, I would knock you 
 down for doubting it." 
 
 Elpingstone looked half-angry, half-amused, and 
 not a little surprised. At this moment Mrs. 
 Graham swam into the room, leaning on the arm 
 of the very person who had been the subject of 
 the conference. Edward was on his feet in an 
 instant, when a quiet, earnest - looking gentle- 
 man, passed his arm through his and drew him 
 a little aside. Mrs. Graham addressed her 
 brother.
 
 144 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 "George, your old gamekeeper, Norton, from 
 Wynards, is below in the hall, and he insists on 
 seeing you immediately." 
 
 " I had great difficulty in preventing him from 
 coming into this room," said the gentleman 
 gravely, who had taken Edward's arm. 
 
 A quick flush of shame and anger suffused 
 Elpingstone's face, and then it grew pale and 
 frowning. 
 
 " Take care of him, Ashton," he said, abstract- 
 edly, and withdrew abruptly. 
 
 " Let us leave this, Edward. Why have you 
 rebelled agamst my authority ? " 
 
 " My poor — poor father ! " burst from Edward's 
 lips, as he dropped into a chair. 
 
 Dr. Ashton had been in and out several times 
 during the evening, had looked after Edward with 
 some anxiety : and had promised him, in his own 
 mind, a good rating for having ventured into the 
 heated rooms ; but when he saw he was labouring 
 under such acute distress and irritation, the idea 
 of the lecture was dismissed, and the friend took 
 the place of the physician. Being a frequent
 
 AN OBSERVANT FRIEND. 145 
 
 visitor at Grosvenor Square, he had, in his quiet 
 way, observed more than others, and drawn some 
 tolerably correct inferences from what he saw. 
 He had noticed how nervously his patient watched 
 Elpingstone when Minnie was present, and had 
 come to the conclusion that the peace of his young 
 friend was in danger. He knew, likewise, the 
 especial peril in which he was from the state of 
 his health, for he had noticed the peculiar impetu- 
 osity of affection in those stricken by consumption, 
 and that the inevitable fluctuation of the feelings 
 had most injurious results. Besides, in Edward's 
 case. Dr. Ashton saw the disappointment — the 
 anguish necessarily in store for him ; for was it 
 likely, even if Edward lived, that the blithe, the 
 lovely Minnie — sought after so eagerly already 
 by the heii's of titles and estates — ^would link 
 her fate with one borne down by constitutional 
 infirmity? These ideas were revolving in Dr. 
 Ashton's mind as he sat by Edward; till ob- 
 serving, as his passion subsided, a weary, haggard 
 look stealing over his companion's face, he rose, 
 saying — 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " Come, Edward, I will accompany you to your 
 room." 
 
 Dr. Ashton, with Edward leaning on his arm, 
 had almost passed through the press of people 
 in the doorway of the salon, when Edward heard 
 his father calling to him. He turned and saw 
 Mr. Kenyon, the heir to the title and estates of 
 Wraxhall, standing by Mr. Graham, with his 
 hands upon his hips, looking the picture of fashion- 
 able impudence and nonchalance. Edward looked 
 him full in the face, with his lips hard com- 
 pressed. 
 
 " Edward, the Hon. Mr. Kenyon has done me 
 the honour to request an introduction to you," 
 said his father. 
 
 " An honour I decline. Father, were your 
 friend a gentleman, he would have spared us this 
 mortification. Pardon me — good night." And 
 Edward moved towards the door. His carriage 
 was so manly and spirited, that he gained the 
 sympathies of all who heard what passed, although 
 they knew nothing of the merits of the ques- 
 tion. Dr. Ashton said nothing, but accompanied
 
 A TENDER TOPIC. 147 
 
 Edward to his private room, and closed the 
 door. 
 
 " Well, Ashton ! " said Edward, resolutely. 
 
 " My dear Edward, I wish it were well ; there 
 will be the deuce to pay. Let me feel your pulse. 
 Yes, as I thought. No more excitement to- 
 night, remember. An Honourable, too ! " the 
 doctor muttered ; then added aloud : *^ Your con- 
 duct was certainly a little unparliamentary, 
 Edward." 
 
 " I had reason," cried Edward, with his head 
 thrown back ; " and if you would do me a service 
 with my father, you will go to him this instant 
 and beg him, as he loves his honour, to come here 
 and bring his wife, the accomplished brother, — 
 bah ! — and the honourable friend, too — the heir to 
 the title and estates of Wraxhall. Truth may 
 save . Will you go to them with my mes- 
 sage, Ashton?" 
 
 Dr. Ashton looked uneasy. 
 
 " Sleep over it, Edward," he said, gravely : 
 " no more exciting interviews to-night. It is 
 wisest to sleep over difficulties, before one tries
 
 148 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 to rectify them. I don't like appearances," mut- 
 tered the doctor, in conclusion ; but whether he 
 alluded to Edward, who was now coughing vio- 
 lently, or to matters below-stairs, is best known 
 to himself.
 
 A TRUE DISTINCTION. 149 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 " They say he will die. You are his friend. Oh ! 
 can it be. The Idea stupifies me," said Minnie, flying 
 to Dr. Ashton, as he crossed the hall at Grosvenor 
 Square, wliither he had been summoned in haste to 
 attend his patient. Minnie was very pale, and both 
 her hands trembled in Dr. Ashton's. 
 
 " Minnie ! " cried Mrs. Graham, impatiently, as 
 she appeared from the dining room, " what is the 
 matter ? Pray, Dr. Ashton, let us go to Edward's 
 room ; we are so anxious to hear your decision." 
 
 Dr. Ashton's eye rested, with a grave professional 
 glance, on Mrs. Graham's bare neck and bosom as 
 he said : 
 
 "Had you not better fling a shawl over you, 
 or we shall'have you suffering from neuralgia 
 again."
 
 150 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 *' Yes — yes ! Run, Minnie, and fetch a shawl — 
 the Indian crape, tell Louise." 
 
 But Minnie did not move : she stood in a sup- 
 pliant attitude, awaiting Dr. Ashton's reply. She 
 evidently thought of nothing else. Mrs. Graham 
 cast anything but an amiable glance at the trem- 
 bling girl, and then went herself for the shawl. 
 Dr. Ashton's attention was now directed to his 
 companion. He saw what he had not guessed 
 before : he spoke soothingly — hopefully to her. 
 
 " After all Edward has passed through, " he said, 
 " I cannot help thinking he will live to run a bright 
 career. Do not be cast down, dear Miss Seaton ; 
 there is great room for hope. " Tears fell fast, and 
 Minnie felt relieved : her lips moved, and her soft 
 eye beamed with gratitude for the few encouraging 
 words spoken. Then she withdrew. 
 
 To the astonishment of Dr. Ashton, Elpingstone 
 was in Edward's room. The latter was quite still, 
 stretched upon a sofa, with his head resting on the 
 shoulder of the former. There was that peculiar 
 look in the blue eye of the man of the world which 
 betrayed that if he had not shed tears, they were
 
 NATURE AND FEELING. 151 
 
 not far ofif. Mr. Graham stood apart, his arms 
 folded, his head bowed upon his breast. The 
 workings of the mouth showed grief and an anxious 
 affection ; his eye glowed with the remains of an 
 angry fire. A whispering conversation passed 
 between Dr. Ashton and Miss Weston. Edward 
 had been subject to some cruel excitement ; an 
 attack of cougliing had ensued ; haemorrhage fol- 
 lowed, and then faintings. Mr. Graham's lips 
 moved, but no words issued. 
 
 " God forgive me for the hand I had in this !" 
 muttered Elpingstone. 
 
 " It is a bad case, Ashton," he said, with evident 
 sympathy. Miss Weston pressed the speaker's 
 hand. 
 
 " You have a kind heart," she said, but could 
 utter no more. 
 
 Edward revived a little. A hot flush crept over 
 the thin cheeks. Presently he sat up, and gazed 
 half-bewildered in the direction of his father. 
 Then, as by an overmastering impulse, he called 
 him and stretched out his arms. The father 
 answered the appeal. For a minute the son's
 
 152 THE TWO HOIMES. 
 
 head rested on his bosom, whence burst a bitter 
 sob. Dr. Ashton now interposed. He led Mr. 
 Graham from the room. A careful examination 
 of the chest followed. 
 
 "There is no immediate danger," were Dr. 
 Ashton's first words. Miss Weston bent over 
 Edward and kissed him ; then she left the room, 
 and quickly returned, having imparted the encou- 
 raging words to Mr. Graham and to Minnie. 
 
 " I suppose we must send our excuses to Mrs. 
 Clayworth," whispered Mrs. Grayham to her 
 brother. 
 
 " I shall stop here," said Elpingstone, aloud. 
 
 " On no account," interposed Dr. Ashton ; Miss 
 Weston, and no one else. This case needs the 
 greatest care and quiet." Elpingstone bent his 
 head, and withdrew ; Mrs. Graham followed. 
 Edward's eyes were fixed on the receding figure of 
 the Baronet. 
 
 " Is that a vision ? " he said, feebly. 
 
 " No, Edward dear ; he has supported you in 
 his arms for the last hour," answered Miss Weston. 
 A strange smile flitted about Edward's lips.
 
 NATURE CHARACTERISED. 153 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Dr. Ashtoii, watching 
 him. 
 
 " I was thinking with Dickens that human 
 nature is a rum*un," was the sufferer's reply. 
 Both his friends smiled. In the course of the 
 next hour, Edward rallied considerably. In spite 
 of remonstrance he rose up off the sofa, and walked 
 across the room ; picked up a letter, which 
 appeared to have been thrown on the ground, and 
 read a portion of it with a sad, pained face. 
 
 " In this I cannot see I did wrong," he said to 
 himself. Dr. Ashton, wishing to restore some 
 confidence to Edward, for he saw there had been a 
 scene between him and his father, remarked : — 
 
 *^ Let us hope for the best, Edward. I see a 
 promise of good in much I have witnessed to- 
 night." 
 
 " It is in vain, Ashton, to bid me hope. I have 
 no faith in hope ; the promise is a cheat : it is dead ; 
 and death would be a release now. I have nothing 
 to live for." Miss Weston was about to speak, 
 but Dr. Ashton said, gaily: 
 
 " Live ? you will live to be a bee-king yet, as
 
 154 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 Goethe^ your favourite, styles the head of the hive. 
 Your pulse is full of life, and reveals the secret of 
 age, if you will not overstrain nature as you have 
 done to-day. I won't hear another word. There 
 has been too much talking already." Then, turning 
 to Miss Weston, he added impressively, though in 
 a very low voice : 
 
 " Humanly speaking, his life rests on your 
 watchfulness. You understand me : no excitement, 
 no talking, no explanations. I guess it all, so do 
 you. Let no one carry this on, for he is in a 
 blaze of fever now." 
 
 " I will be to him as his mother. Poor Edward ! " 
 A deep sigh burst from her breast. Did her love 
 already shadow forth a fear that events might rend 
 asunder that beautiful resolve ? But I must take 
 a retrospective glance at events, to explain the 
 present state of affairs in Grosvenor Square. The 
 morning after the ball, Edward left home early for 
 Mincing Lane — indeed, before the family were 
 astir — in order to prepare for an interview with 
 his father : as he felt pretty sure it would be a 
 stormy one. Much to his regret, his father did
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ABOUT. 155 
 
 not make his appearance tlirougli the day; and 
 Edward had to attend to a certain transaction of 
 consequence, wliich would not otherwise have 
 fallen to his share. On his return to Grosvenor 
 Square, just before the dinner hour, Edward went 
 to his father, who was sitting in the drawing-room, 
 with his wife and Elpingstone, and reported the 
 business above mentioned significantly, and per- 
 haps nervously, for the affair had revived old 
 fears. Mr. Graham was evidently angry with the 
 emphasis with which Edward reported the trans- 
 action, muttered something about the nuisance of 
 people prying into his concerns, and changed the 
 subject by saying, in his severest tones : — 
 
 "After the unwarrantable insult you passed 
 upon me, sir, last night, in the person of my guest, 
 I shall hold no intercourse with you, unless you are 
 prepared to send a written apology to Mr. Kenyon. 
 Your vulgarity was beyond measure offensive to 
 that gentleman. And, Sir George, perhaps you 
 will indite such an apology as you will consider 
 satisfactory." Elpingstone prepared to write. 
 
 " Save yourself the trouble," cried Edward, with
 
 156 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 bitter emphasis, " of so severe an exercise of jour 
 accomplishments. You know you are a traitor to 
 your own honour in wishing to impose the farce 
 of an apology upon me. Where is your manhood, 
 Elpingstone ? Father I pardon me, for you should 
 know me — that I must have had stronix cause 
 before I would have behaved as I did. Send for 
 Mr. Kenyon. I will explain myself before you all." 
 
 Mrs. Graham eyed Edward with her glass — an 
 act that always threw him in a passion — and said 
 with marked hauteur : 
 
 " Preposterous boy ! Send for Mr. Kenyon, to 
 witness a second edition of the vulgarity of last 
 night, and make us the butt of his club ! Really I 
 
 must say " Here Elpingstone interfered. He 
 
 had more right feeling than his sister, and had 
 watched Edward's face : 
 
 " I fear, Edward, " he said, " in your excited 
 state, unused as you are to life, you fancied all 
 sorts of things, and put them down as grave realities 
 in your mind. In fact, there is no doubt that your 
 sad malady — nervousness — ran off with your better 
 reason and good manners. Just let me say as
 
 THE WILL SPEAKS. 157 
 
 much; although Kenyon is fastidious, I will 
 answer for him." 
 
 " I fear, Elpingstone," answered Edward, with 
 scorn, " in your cool state, used as you are to 
 life " 
 
 " Enough of this," interrupted Mr. Graham : 
 " show us no more of your bad temper. Will you, 
 I say, send an apology ? " 
 
 " I cannot, father : your honour forbids it." 
 
 " Very well," said Elpingstone. " Then I must 
 run down into Wiltshire, although it will be 
 inconvenient, for I am compromised." 
 
 " You shall not be driven from my house through 
 the misconduct of a person over whom I have 
 authority. Boy, by God ! you shall bend to my 
 will ! I will be obeyed whilst you live beneath my 
 roof. I give you the night for reflection; " and Mr. 
 Graham frowned, and looked more than he said. 
 
 Miss Weston and Minnie had silently entered 
 the room during this angry talk : Miss Weston 
 heard the last words. Grave, and hard, and grim 
 she looked, as she placed her hand on Edward's 
 shoulder, and whispered:
 
 158 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " Go to your room, my poor boy. I shall have 
 my say to your father in private." 
 
 Edward was gone : Miss Weston addressed Mr. 
 Graham indignantly : 
 
 *^ Will you sit down, brother-in-law, and listen 
 tome?" 
 
 Had Miss Weston boxed Mr. Graham's ears, he 
 could not have been more astonished. " Brother- 
 in-law ! " He had not been reminded of the dis- 
 agreeable fact, as he now regarded it, for many 
 a day ; and before Elpingstone, too ! But so un- 
 expected was the address, that he hastily seated 
 himself, and turned towards Miss Weston. El- 
 pingstone smiled at Minnie with his eyes, which 
 smile Minnie did not return: Mrs. Graham lauo-hed 
 saucily. But to return to Edward, he locked him- 
 self into his own room for the rest of the evening, 
 a prey to alternate grief and anger. He had seen 
 nothing of Minnie since the ball, and that one 
 evening's gaiety had, he felt, raised a barrier 
 between them. A few hours had placed her, in 
 his jealous pride, so far from him, that when a 
 message came that Miss Weston and Minnie
 
 GOOD INTENTIONS SCORNED. 159 
 
 wished to pass an hour with him, as the rest 
 of the family were gone to the opera, he replied 
 that he was too unwell to see either his Aunt 
 or Miss Seaton that evening. 
 
 Edward passed a wretched night, but not without 
 some beneficial results from reflection. In the 
 morning he wrote to his father, for he knew he 
 could not see him, and told him what he had 
 heard on the ball night: how Mr. Kenyon had 
 insulted his father : and that his indignation had 
 arisen from a jealous regard for his father's 
 honour. All this he said with much fine feeling, 
 and he kept at home all the morning, anxiously 
 looking for an answer to his letter. None came : 
 but the evening brought Mr. Graham to his son's 
 room. Mr. Graham's face was frowning, and his 
 mood hard as iron. Ete flung Edward's letter to 
 him on the table, and said : 
 
 "It's a tissue of lies, sir, from beginning to 
 end. I have traced your petty spite and un- 
 warrantable impertinence to their true source. 
 So that wax doll of Aunt Mary's is at the 
 root of it ! Let me tell you, if you are fool
 
 160 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 enough to give a thought to the girl I have 
 mentioned, you will do so at your peril. One 
 word more : You have disgraced me in the eyes 
 of my friends and dependants : a repetition of 
 such conduct will estrange my heart from you 
 for ever." 
 
 " Father, take care you do not estrange my 
 heart from you," cried Edward, with every nerve 
 quivering. " Is it come to this, that for protect- 
 ing your honour I earn your anger? because I 
 tell you your aristocratic friends are false, I am 
 accused of disgracing you ? Father, if disgrace 
 comes upon you, I could foretel the source. Do 
 you not know men's thoughts about this coalition 
 of yours, and Clayworth's, and Slivery's ? As that 
 messenger arrived yesterday — that old clerk, my 
 grandfather's confidential friend " 
 
 " Dare to speak another word, and I will chas- 
 tise you," said Mr. Graham, pale with rage. 
 " Ever put your foot within my office doors again, 
 and you shall be turned out ! You have been a 
 spy upon me, boy ! an enemy through life — a 
 curse now ! "
 
 RESOLUTION. 161 
 
 " Never ! " cried Edward, with a glow of high 
 pride covering a most sad expression of face; 
 " never, father, will I be a curse to you, but 
 a blessing, though you may not recognise it. I 
 must tell you plainly — for I pass by this silly 
 affair with the booby Kenyon as a matter of small 
 moment — that if this instance of wrong dealing 
 with a correspondent's money grows into a 
 
 system " 
 
 " Silence ! " roared the father ; " I have seen 
 how far your presumption will carry you. An- 
 other word, and I will strike you to the earth ! " 
 Transported with the vengeful impulses of roused 
 shame and half-conscious wrong, Mr. Graham 
 stood with clenched fist over the frail form of 
 his son, awaiting but the word to fulfil his 
 threat. As Edward, looking dauntlessly in 
 his father's face, was again about to speak, 
 Miss Weston entered the room rapidly, almost 
 imperiously, and seizing the upraised arm, she 
 thrust it in the direction of her sister's por- 
 trait, and said in a voice he had never heard 
 before — 
 
 VOL. I, M
 
 162 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " To her thou owest all thine earthly possessions : 
 to the name of Weston, the honourable position 
 which has made thee what thou art ; and now 
 thine hand against my sister's offspring ! Heaven 
 help thee, George Graham ! I know thee to be 
 a selfish, vain, money-loving man, but guessed 
 not thou wert a devil ! " 
 
 There was a pause ; and then, turning to Ed- 
 ward, she exclaimed wildly — 
 
 " My darling child ! he has murdered you ! " 
 and caught him in her arms. Poor Edward! 
 The tortured heart and agitated frame had been 
 over-taxed; a vessel had given way, and blood 
 was flowing from his mouth and nostrils.
 
 A NATURAL LESSON. 163 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Minnie Seaton and Edward Graham were work- 
 ing together in the flower-border at Alegria. The 
 invalid was inhaling breeze and balm blended in 
 sunshine. Minnie was all animation. 
 
 " There, Edward," she exclaimed, as she came 
 to some beautiful pansies in her flower-border, 
 "there are the pansies we were so anxious about 
 last year; — those you got for me at Melbury. 
 Do you remember Mr. Yine showing me how to 
 propagate them ? " 
 
 " I am not sure, Minnie ; so I will take a lesson. 
 But you must do it, for I am afraid to stoop any 
 more." 
 
 " How thoughtless of me to let you do so much ! 
 I am afraid I am growing selfish. Still, Edward,
 
 164 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 I think you are a great deal stronger than when 
 we left London." 
 
 " A little, Minnie." 
 
 " A great deal, Edward. I must have it so to 
 excuse my thoughtlessness. Nep thinks so too." 
 And Minnie patted the head of her pet, and Nep 
 put his paw in her hand. " Now, Edward," pursued 
 Minnie, " observe these pansies, for I am going to 
 give you a lesson. You see these small side shoots. 
 Well, I take them off. I hope the stem does not 
 feel any pain. There, the cruel deed is done. 
 Now I take a little flower-pot and put these shoots 
 in it ; and, with a green leaf to protect their bright 
 eyes from the sun, they are prepared to begin 
 life in an independent way. Do you see ? " 
 
 " Yes, Minnie : you are very dexterous." 
 
 " I have so much to do, Edward, you cannot 
 think." And Minnie looked up out of her brown 
 holland bonnet, like a wild-flower peeping out of 
 the russet-coloured grass. " My carnations, and 
 pinks, and polyanthuses are running truant." 
 
 " You love flowers, Minnie, as much as ever," 
 observed Edward, as he leant on his stick, looking
 
 THE NATURAL LESSON. 165 
 
 at her rather than at the flower-border. " Who 
 would not ? " 
 
 '' It is my nature," Minnie said, blushing a little. 
 Then she picked a flower from a geranium plant, 
 and said — 
 
 " Look, Edward. Could there be a more beau- 
 tifully marked flower than this pencilled geranium ? 
 I have discovered such a mine of instructions in it." 
 
 " You, Minnie ! Are you a botanist ? " 
 
 " My papa was, Edward," she said, with a shade 
 of the orphan feeling in her face. "And when 
 I was such a little thing, he used to take me on his 
 knee in our pretty arbour at Bales, and explain the 
 birth and growth of flowers to me. I always said 
 ' yes ' to all he said, and then used to go about 
 talking to the flowers; and we were such good 
 companions that I was half taught in botany 
 when I began the study in earnest." 
 
 " And what can you tell me about the pencilled 
 geranium ? for I am quite ignorant of the science, 
 although I was once struck with the difference 
 between the tastes of the convolvolus and the 
 briar."
 
 166 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " That the one turns its bright eyes to the sun, 
 the other from it," said Minnie ; then coming close 
 to Edward, she held up the geranium flower, and 
 said — 
 
 " Is it not beautifully simple ? We can see so 
 much with the eye, but with the aid of the micro- 
 scope — the one mamma gave me last year is such a 
 beauty — the minuter particles of the flower are 
 open to our view. We then perceive that the 
 colours of the petals, and their graceful form, and 
 the bands, as soft as velvet, which complete the 
 outline, are not then only to gladden the eye with 
 their beauty, but that they likewise serve to col- 
 lect and disperse the sun's rays, according to the 
 wants of the flower. You will perceive that 
 these bright and glossy particles are, unquestion- 
 ably, a glandulous mass of the absorbing vessels, 
 endowed with a mysterious power to respire air, 
 light, and moisture for the nourishment of the 
 seed ; for without light there would be no colour ; 
 without air and heat, no life. Now we will look 
 into this leaf. People err so much in picking 
 leaves off from plants, thinking they have more
 
 THE LESSON INTERRUPTED. 167 
 
 than the roots can nourish; on the contrary, the 
 leaves are part of the support of the plant. Plants 
 are not nourished by their roots so exclusively as 
 
 we are inclined to think; and it is a pity ." 
 
 Here Minnie was compelled to stop, for a hand was 
 placed on her lips, and a well-known voice said — 
 
 " Roger says it's no use, work is never done by 
 talking ; and he further adds that since Mr. 
 Edward — and he is thankful for that, leastways it 
 does him good — has taken so kindly to the flowers, 
 that two pair of hands do much less than one pair 
 formerly." 
 
 " Naughty mamma, to encourage Roger in his 
 treason ! " cried Minnie, with a blushing face ; and 
 went to work more busily than ever. 
 
 " Shall we stroll to Rodge Hollow this after- 
 noon, if I work very hard ? " asked Minnie, coming 
 back and putting her arms, with childlike simpli- 
 city, round Miss Weston's waist. 
 
 " To-morrow, dear, for our walk. I want Ed- 
 ward to drive me to Melbury this afternoon : " and 
 Miss Weston bent and kissed her sweet protegee, 
 and pressed her gently to her side, as if she wished
 
 168 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 to give her a token of love in the least obvious 
 manner. Then she took Edward by the arm 
 and walked him away; but not before she had 
 looked from one to the other of her " children," 
 with an expression of tender sympathy blended 
 with sadness. 
 
 It was now high summer everywhere. Kind 
 July had come with a lap laden with gifts. 
 Through the glen, the coppice, and the hedge, 
 over the meadow and orchard, hill-top and vale, 
 the warm influence had floated, and cooling 
 showers had fallen. Aunt Mary was Edward's 
 July : he bloomed once more under her protect- 
 ing love ; while Minnie's interest, Mr. Templer's 
 kindness, and Mr. Lo veil's pleasant acquain- 
 tance did much to restore to him that elas- 
 ticity of spirit for which he had been remark- 
 able. Edward had been a month at Alegria. 
 There had not been any personal intercourse 
 during this period with his relatives at Grosvenor 
 Square. Letters had passed, but pleasant letters 
 they were not. Mr. Graham could not write a 
 pleasant letter ; and when, as now, he was suffer-
 
 LONDON LETTEES. 169 
 
 iiirr from nervous irritation (Mr. Graham was 
 nearly absorbed in railway operations now, from 
 some of which proceeded the irritation alluded 
 to), he wrote with gall instead of ink. Edward 
 was wanted home ; he was required in Mincing 
 Lane. Although his father had forbidden him 
 to go near the counting-house, he now wrote in 
 this strain : — 
 
 "Heaven knows there is enough to do, if 
 you want to prove your capabilities as a young 
 man of character and usefulness. My business 
 is A 1 in the city, and you must be my repre- 
 sentative some day, when you have outdreamt 
 your fancies," and so on. ' Mrs. Graham's letters 
 were principally of self, tattle to Miss Weston 
 about preparations for Brighton, and her ap- 
 proaching confinement, with here and there a 
 laudatory word of Elpingstone, and a caustic 
 one as often, touching those once dear friends 
 the Sliverys. Elpingstone had scrawled an 
 offhand epistle or two to Edward, offering to 
 send him anything from town, from a giraffe 
 to as hoe-tie ; and his last note appeared to have
 
 170 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 been written with the sole object of getting Miss 
 Weston to fix a day when he might drive his 
 sister down to Alegria ; for as yet the quiet of 
 the happy village home had not been disturbed by 
 the gay people of Grosvenor Square. 
 
 Edward and his aunt, after they left Minnie, 
 strolled into the village on a charitable mission ; 
 and on their return dinner was ready, after which 
 Teaser made his appearance in the chaise to 
 convey them to Melbury. The road to Melbury 
 was quiet and picturesque. In the hedges the 
 red foxglove himg out its speckled bells, and 
 the woodbine displayed its trailing banners of 
 floating green, and pale and ruddy gold. The 
 bean field, and the meadow with its new-mowed 
 burden, mingled their scents: and the tall elms, 
 with their shadowy branches, made the way 
 pleasant and cool. For about half a mile the 
 road being level. Teaser got on pretty tractably. 
 Then came a slight ascent, when the driver might 
 do as he pleased ; for, in going up-hill. Teaser 
 would take his time. I think even taciturn 
 people are inclined to be chatty when sitting
 
 OUT OE SIGHT OF ALEGRIA. 171 
 
 side-by-side behind a lazy horse crawling up- 
 hill. 
 
 Edward and his aunt chatted pleasantly for a 
 little while ; then a feeling of anxiety seemed to 
 come over Miss Weston, and after a short silence 
 she said — 
 
 " We are on the high road, out of sight of 
 Alegria. You can't see it, Edward, if you look 
 back. Now I must have some chat with you 
 on unpleasant subjects." 
 
 '^ Don't," said Edward, touching Teaser sharply. 
 " The past month I have lived like a child reading 
 of Aladdin's jewels. Why dissipate the illusion?" 
 
 " Since you have been here, Edward," Miss 
 Weston said, "I have not touched upon that 
 grave misunderstanding which took place between 
 you and your father. Now, however, circum- 
 stances compel me to ask you a few questions 
 upon that unpleasant topic ; and for this reason 
 I have disappointed Minnie of her walk." 
 
 Edward abandoned Teaser to his ways, and 
 gave his attention to his companion, with a face 
 that betrayed no little uneasiness and reluctance.
 
 172 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " Will you explain to me your reason, Edward, 
 for using such strong language during your 
 father's presence in your room ; namely, ' If this 
 instance of wrong-dealing with a correspondent's 
 
 money grows into a system^ ' I did not hear 
 
 more, because your father's violence prevented 
 you from finishing the sentence ? " 
 
 ''I spoke o^ fears, ^^ said Edward, ^^as one does 
 out of consideration to another, when facts which 
 convert them into realities are all but in one's 
 possession. You shall judge : one of our Indian 
 correspondents had a very heavy balance of cash 
 to his credit. All the affairs had passed through 
 my hands, as well as letters requesting that the 
 balance I have mentioned should be invested 
 under trust for the benefit of two girls then 
 under age; and my father was commissioned to 
 carry out the instructions. He decided on ask- 
 ing Elpingstone to join him in this trust, — so he 
 informed me ; and I concluded, after what I had 
 before said to my father on the subject, that the 
 matter had been correctly arranged. But I was 
 deceived."
 
 THE TRUST. 173 
 
 " That is, the investment was not made." 
 
 '- Not in accordance with the instructions my 
 father had received. His correspondent, of course, 
 meant Security. He wished to make this sum 
 secure for the benefit of others — so I read the 
 letter — ^^so would all right-thinking people have 
 read it. But the day before the quarrel a 
 messenger arrived at Mincing Lane with some 
 papers of importance ; a memorandum touching 
 their delivery was to be given by the House. 
 Thinking these papers referred to some ordinary 
 business matter, I, as I had done before, examined 
 them ; when I found them to relate to a consider- 
 able investment in a certain contemplated rail- 
 way, recognising the blended interests of Graham 
 and Elpingstone." 
 
 "WeU, Edward?" 
 
 " Do you not perceive that as my father and 
 Elpingstone are not partners in business, this 
 investment, or speculation rather, must have been 
 made with the money, over which they exercised 
 a joint trust, necessitating their joint signature to 
 the deed."
 
 174 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " Will you tell me the name of this Indian 
 correspondent?" asked Miss Weston, apprehen- 
 sively. 
 
 " Ryland," Edward answered, with indifference. 
 
 « William Wynne Ryland?" 
 
 " Yes : William Wynne Ryland : the name is as 
 familiar to me as my own. Are you personally 
 acquainted with him ? " questioned Edward. 
 
 "I am not, but I should very much like to 
 meet him." 
 
 " How is it you know anything of Mr. Ryland ? 
 You astonish me." 
 
 " I know the name through the confidence my 
 late friend, Mr. Seaton, placed in me, Edward." 
 
 « Your friend, Mr. Seaton ! What ? Minnie's 
 father ? " said Edward, eagerly. 
 
 Miss Weston did not answer : she appeared to 
 reflect. 
 
 " Do you remember the Christian names of the 
 girls in whose favour this investment was to be 
 made ? " 
 
 " I have forgotten the first ; — a foreign word, 
 — like Neminha. The other name was Ada."
 
 AUNT MARY IS COMMUNICATIVE. 175 
 
 Miss Weston gave quite a start, echoing Neminha 
 more than once, as if attempting to get some- 
 thing valuable out of the process : then she said — 
 
 " And when did Mr. Rjland's instructions 
 reach England, Edward?" 
 
 " About three months ago." 
 
 Miss Weston was silent : Teaser had taken 
 advantage of the pre-occupation of his driver, and 
 had come almost to a stand. Edward was about 
 to apply the whip, when his companion said — 
 
 " No need of any hurry, Edward ; I have some- 
 thing more to say, and I require your counsel." 
 
 The implied compliment was nothing new ; little 
 happened at Alegria about which Edward was 
 not consulted. 
 
 " You know, Edward," began Miss Weston, 
 " that Mrs. Graham has written more than once, 
 proposing to visit us, and I have put her off in a 
 way not the most hospitable. I felt that in your 
 low state of health and spirits we were better alone, 
 and I have risked whatever censure I might 
 incur upon this head; but I have heard from 
 her again this morning, and she writes that she has
 
 176 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 resolved to pay us a visit in a few days ; and she 
 takes me into lier confidence in revealing to me the 
 fact that her brother is really attached to onr dear 
 Minnie; and she congratulates me on the conquest 
 my protegee has made over one so accomplished, so 
 handsome, and so courted. In fine, Edward, she 
 hints that Sir George Elpingstone is likely to 
 seek me shortly, to chat over the matter. I there- 
 fore scarcely know when he may not present 
 himself." 
 
 There was a pause. Had Miss Weston seen 
 Edward's face, she would have said no more, but 
 she was looking straight before her, and went 
 on : — 
 
 " The world would call such an offer very 
 advantageous: — a baronet, a gentleman, certainly 
 an agreeable, kind-hearted man — a man of reputed 
 wealth ; and we are poor, — my pretty one ; and I : 
 for, Edward, you know I cannot make a pro- 
 vision for my darling, because the property I 
 inherit reverts to my sister's child at my death — 
 you are my heir-at-law. Still to have Minnie taken 
 absolutely from me, is what I have never thought
 
 THE TRIAL. 177 
 
 of: for when she leaves Alegria happiness will in- 
 deed go with her, and my heart be lonely. Do you 
 think, Edward — for you are Minnie's best friend, 
 her ^dearest, best,' she always says — that Sir 
 George Elpingstone has gained a hold on her 
 affections? Not to her knowledge, certainly, or she 
 would have told me. But I have read somewhere 
 that love first hovers over the imagination of a 
 young girl without her knowing what it means; 
 when some unforeseen circumstance agitates the 
 surface of her feelings, and it glides in, and the 
 existence of the heart is suddenly changed." 
 
 Edward made no answer, and Teaser, although 
 the road was level, was almost standing still. 
 Miss Weston looked into Edward's face : it was 
 pale and much agitated — strong emotion was over 
 cheek, and lip, and brow. He tried to rouse him- 
 self to speak, but the tongue appeared to be 
 unable to obey the will. Miss Weston sighed 
 deeply, but said not a word ; not even to ask 
 Edward if he was ill, or why he did not prevent 
 Teaser from taking them in such close proximity 
 to the ditch. With an effort evidently most painful, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 Edward roused himself at last, and said, in a low, 
 bitter voice — 
 
 " What have I been doing ? Of what have I 
 been dreaming — hoping ? No, not hoping. No : 
 I never had grounds for hope, but something like 
 hope has grown upon me unawares." 
 
 '' Hush, Edward ! hush, my poor boy ! " re- 
 sponded Aunt Mary very feelingly. " I, too," 
 she said, "have latterly had my thoughts, and 
 ought to have understood your position before 
 this. One half of this error is therefore mine. 
 Now I must rectify it ; but to do so, I must appeal 
 to your best feelings to assist me." 
 
 " You shall have no cause of complaint against 
 me on this head ; but I must go back to Grosvenor 
 Square. I feel I have been wrong. Something 
 has whispered to me, when I have reflected upon 
 this subject, that my stolen luxury was neither 
 wise nor right. There is no life of heart for me ! 
 My cross is solitude and loneliness, and I must 
 bear it." 
 
 " Hush, Edward ! " said his aunt ; but he went 
 on —
 
 'TIS ALL BUT A DREAM. 179 
 
 " I deserve this fall, for I have been vainly 
 selfish. I, so untamed, unstable, and over-bur- 
 dened with wrong impulses, have no right to hold 
 
 an idea in common with her who " Edward 
 
 could not go on. 
 
 " Reproach me, Edward. You must not reproach 
 yourself. My error lies here, that you and dear 
 Minnie being as children to my heart and eyes, 
 I saw your love of each other only in the light of a 
 family tie. I meant you, Edward dear, to be her 
 guide and guard, a very brother in heart, and 
 thought, and companionship. But, Edward, you 
 must not say you are unworthy, for in this you do 
 yourself a great injustice. Few are more worthy 
 of affection, or more capable of appreciating it 
 than yourself. It is not that which aflfects 
 me." 
 
 Edward looked up gratefully. Kind words 
 made a child of him ever, and his lip quivered as 
 he said — 
 
 " Aunt Mary, you are my wise friend : you shall 
 judge for me and guide me." 
 
 " In treading the path of right, dear Edward,"
 
 180 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 replied Miss Weston gently, ^' we are to our- 
 selves the only true guides. If we lack real moral 
 strength, all a friend can say to help us under 
 trial comes to nought ; it scarcely outlives the 
 breath that utters it." The speaker paused for 
 a while, and then added, with much emotion and 
 earnestness — 
 
 "Edward, I love you as tenderly as ever 
 mother loved a child, and I would give up every- 
 thing but our honour for your happiness. Now 
 listen to me : Connected with this matter are cir- 
 cumstances, obscure to others, but sufficiently 
 apparent to me, which sternly forbid your con- 
 tinuing, to encourage such hopes. Your father, 
 
 Edward but you cannot be told all. Were 
 
 you even in health, each day would create further 
 difficulties — difficulties which time is sure to ex- 
 pand into insurmountable obstacles. Even what 
 I have learnt this afternoon " here Miss Wes- 
 ton checked herself, in obvious confusion, adding 
 after some time — 
 
 " Edward, you are at times self-willed, always 
 strong-passioned and impetuous; but you say
 
 A GLANCE IN THE MIRROR OE LIFE. 181 
 
 you will be guided by me, and I will trust 
 you. Your love for me, and your sense of my 
 devotion to you, will hold you right. You will be 
 guided by me, Edward? " 
 
 "I have said you have ever been to me a 
 constant friend. I will strive, with all the energy 
 of my best feelings, to follow your advice." 
 
 " Then if you will direct those feelings aright, 
 and, with a determined will, overcome the sharp 
 agony of the present, you will daily acquire new 
 strength and confidence. Necessity is cruel often, 
 but it is the sure nurse of moral power. On the 
 morrow we shall have some further talk, when 
 we are more composed. We must not let poor 
 Minnie see that she has been the subject of pain 
 to us ! " 
 
 *^ No — no ! my eyes are open now : God help 
 me!" 
 
 " Yes : in the best sense, God help you, Edward 
 dear I and I will do my highest — best. But 
 
 Minnie never can her destiny is not your 
 
 destiny, Edward." 
 
 There was a long silence.
 
 182 THE TWO HOMES, 
 
 "When does he come to Alegria?" asked 
 Edward, with a shudder. " In mercy let me 
 leave first." 
 
 " I have written to stop his coming. I have 
 said I must have time to think. I can promise to 
 be candid, but I cannot promise to be impartial. I 
 must have time to think, for at present I am 
 not calm enough to cope with such unforeseen and 
 sudden trials. 
 
 They had reached Melbury. A letter was 
 handed to the postmaster, some inquiries made 
 about an expected parcel, and then Teaser's 
 head was turned homeward. There was nothing 
 said on the way back. A slight shower of rain 
 came on; and as the little carriage reached the 
 orchard gate, Minnie and Nep were ready with 
 umbrellas. But when Minnie looked into the faces 
 of her friends, her exclamation of pleasure at their 
 return was suppressed, and, ' What can have hap- 
 pened?' was her thought. Even Nep saw 
 something was wrong. At first he carried his 
 umbrella, and had his joke with Teaser like his 
 own brilliant self; but when he saw his mistress
 
 "SUNSHINE" IS CLOUDED. 183 
 
 look troubled, he became dissatisfied with things, 
 dropped the umbrella at Minnie's feet, and ap- 
 peared quite dubious as to the notice he should 
 now receive even from her. Still Miss Weston did 
 not lose sight of Minnie's attention, for she came 
 back and said — 
 
 "Get up, darling, and then you can shelter 
 both of us, although you need not mind me." 
 Then a sigh escaped her, and Minnie again 
 thought, " What can have happened ?" 
 
 Several times that evening the same look came 
 back, as Edward lost game after game of chess 
 to Mr. Lovell ; nor did the kiss which her dear 
 mamma bestowed upon her when she asked, in 
 a half-whisper, why Edward had suddenly become 
 so grave, appear to restore her confidence.
 
 184 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 CHAPTER XII I. 
 
 " Edward returned, Mrs. Pitman ! Why then the 
 country has caught fire, or Alegria has been 
 earthquaked." 
 
 Such was the exclamation Edward heard in 
 the well-known voice of Elpingstone the morning 
 after his return to Grosvenor Square, as he was 
 descending the stairs to leave for Mincing Lane. 
 The family was at Brighton. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Graham had left the day previous to Edward's 
 return. A moment after the remark, Elpingstone 
 and Edward met. 
 
 " A surprise, Edward, upon my word ! Who 
 would have thought it ? I believed you were 
 going to make a life occupancy of it at Alegria. 
 Come in here, and let me look you over. Emily 
 will be sorry she left on Tuesday — no one to
 
 A TENDER TOPIC. 185 
 
 take care of you. Gad ! I ran up from Brighton 
 tliis morning with the intention of looking you 
 up at Alegria." 
 
 They entered " the Chinese room." Edward's 
 countenance evinced restraint and pain. Elping- 
 stone's eye caught the expression. 
 
 " You are looking better," he said. 
 
 " Thank you : I certainly am better than when 
 I left London." 
 
 " Ha ! that was a bad business, Edward. Ton 
 my honour, I was ashamed of myself; but the 
 governor is so violent when he is put out, we 
 must excuse him, you know. He is so accustomed 
 to rule in Mincing Lane, he cannot help exer- 
 cising the same system at home. All habit. 
 I am sorry matters are not exactly smooth with 
 you even now. To tell you the truth, Edward, 
 it is a difficult thing for the governor to forget ; 
 still I thuik I could show you how you could 
 erase this unfortunate memory from his mind, and 
 make aU clear." 
 
 " Pray, explain yourself," said Edward. 
 
 " You impugned our honour, you know ; and
 
 186 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 you have only to acknowledge your error," said 
 Elpingstone. 
 
 "Is honest candour an error?" demanded 
 Edward. 
 
 " Yes : candour in such a sense is an error of 
 the inexperienced. You have no right to judge 
 us," answered Elpingstone. 
 
 " We are speaking of my father. Yoa are not 
 the subject at issue between us. If my father 
 will listen to me " 
 
 "Not to be entertained for a moment," cried 
 Elpingstone, with a cynical smile. " Your father 
 is autocrat here. Heavens ! Edward, what an 
 Emperor of Russia he would have made ! To ex- 
 pect him to be lectured by his son, is really too 
 absurd — pardon me." 
 
 "Pray, tell me, Elpingstone," said Edward, 
 looking steadily at him, " to what does this con- 
 versation tend ? " 
 
 " Simply, Edward, you know what you know. 
 You were pleased to take exception to the way 
 Ryland's money has been invested. Your re- 
 marks on this head are not forgotten : your father
 
 ADVERSE OPINIONS. 187 
 
 requests your silence touching the affair, and I, 
 speaking advisedly as your best friend, assure 
 you that you will play the deuce with your own 
 interest and happiness if you neglect his request." 
 
 Edward's face changed with conflicting emotion. 
 At the implied threat, a quick flush came over his 
 cheek, and he answered resolutely — 
 
 " Elpingstone, I will submit to reason, but let 
 it be reason. I will never bend my judgment to 
 that of another against my honest convictions. I 
 will not do this or that without regard to recti- 
 tude, because my father insists on having it so." 
 
 Edward looked as he spoke, truthful, honest, 
 resolute : Elpingstone looked down. 
 
 " Elpingstone," again Edward said, " my 
 father has done wrong ; and the time will come, 
 if he does not rectify his error, when he will be 
 placed in a dangerous predicament. You see 
 The Times every day, Elpingstone : cannot those 
 able articles convince you that the time is surely 
 coming when the mad spirit of speculation, which 
 has converted the honest trader into a dishonest 
 gambler, will bear its own fruit. You know
 
 188 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 that such investment was an illegitimate one — 
 a moral fraud. Can nothing be done, Elpingstone, 
 to repair this wrong ? " 
 
 " Twenty thousand pounds could do it. If you 
 were of age now, and were as self-denying as 
 you are virtuous " 
 
 " I am not of age until September. If I were, 
 it would be a question whether a provision made 
 to protect me, as far as money goes, from the 
 cares of life, would be justly used in blotting out 
 the records of this strange transaction. At pre- 
 sent I can do nothing ; nor would my trustee and 
 guardian permit it." 
 
 " What, Edward ! " exclaimed Elpingstone, 
 growing angry. " After prying, do you grow 
 gossipy ? Can it be possible that you have been 
 so indiscreet as to tattle down at Alegria? Un- 
 fortunate loquacity ! " 
 
 Edward's temper rose, and his pride, too. 
 
 " Excuse me, Elpingstone," he said, '^ but you 
 go too far. You have seen me treated, since my 
 father's second marriage, with small consideration 
 in this house, and consequently presume upon it :
 
 NO RESULTS. 189 
 
 an error for which I will excuse you, provided 
 you do not repeat it. Miss Weston does know 
 what has transpired of the affair in question. She 
 had a right to know, because her father having 
 been the means of connecting Mr. Ryland with our 
 house, she feels a personal interest in the matter." 
 
 "Pleasing picture of village propriety!" ex- 
 claimed Elpingstone, drily. Then looking keenly 
 at his companion, he added significantly, "you 
 can't ride us with spurs, Edward. I will tell 
 you what you have done: in endeavouring to 
 close Alegria against me, you have doubly barred 
 it against yourself. Perhaps you do not under- 
 stand?" 
 
 Edward did not reply. Elpingstone was not 
 the man to whom he could unveil the sanctuary 
 of his sorrow, and he felt, besides, that jealousy — 
 a darker feeling than he had ever known before — 
 was gnawing at his heart. He stood confounded 
 in its violence : silent, abstracted, yet consciously 
 consumed by the worst fires which can torture 
 the human frame. Elpingstone misunderstood 
 Edward's silence and abstraction, for he said.
 
 190 THE TWO HOMES, 
 
 as he took a look at his own handsome person in 
 a mirror — 
 
 *^ Suppose, Edward, I unbar the gate, and do 
 my utmost to advance your hopes — I know them ; 
 shall we come to terms ? " 
 
 In an instant Edward's passions burst forth. 
 
 " Impertinent proposal ! And you sneer at 
 me ; but, Elpingstone, have a care, or you may 
 rue the hour you were tempted to insult me. 
 I now know you. I more than suspect your 
 truth and honour, since you descend to propose 
 a bribe — to insult those who deserve your truest 
 respect — to tempt a son to countenance his 
 father's wrong-doing and your complicity in it. 
 Where is your high breeding — your sense of 
 honour ? Bah ! Elpingstone, I should feel worse 
 than degraded, did I think with your thoughts." 
 Turning abruptly away, Edward left the room. 
 
 This conversation added bitterness to Edward's 
 feelings. It confirmed hi^ suspicions relative to 
 the investment of Mr. Ryland's money, and 
 showed him that his silence was coveted. It 
 was with a heavy heart that he wended his way
 
 THE OMINOUS BALANCE OF CASH. 191 
 
 to Mincing Lane. When there, the duties he had 
 voluntarily imposed upon himself served as a 
 partial antidote to his trouble of heart and mind. 
 But when that dreadful ledger was in his hands, 
 he instinctively turned to the Ryland account, 
 and there the large sum of 22,725^. balance on 
 the debtor side of the firm, greatly agitated 
 and embittered his meditations. Fortunately for 
 Edward, his father remained at Brighton with 
 the family. He felt a great relief in being left 
 in solitude. He could go to Mincing Lane by 
 himself, work by himself, spend his evenings 
 alone : in fact, be independent — a thing pleasant 
 at all times, but particularly desirable in a time 
 of mental trial. With Edward at Mincing Lane, 
 it was gala time for those employed in the esta- 
 blishment. From Ellis, the confidential clerk, 
 to the least important person in the firm, there 
 seemed a generous rivalry to show Edward's 
 management to the best advantage. Mr. Graham 
 was evidently sensible of his son's services. Not 
 prone to give praise, it was a great thing that 
 he did not complain. On Tuesdays and Fridays
 
 192 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 he ran up from Brighton to Mincing Lane, and 
 one day brought Edward the intelligence of 
 an addition to his family — a son ; and then 
 arranged for Edward to return with him for 
 a week. At Brighton, Edward and his father 
 were more uninterruptedly together through the 
 day than they had ever been in their lives. 
 But not a word passed Mr. Graham's lips relative 
 to the subject Elpingstone had broached in 
 Grosvenor Square. Not so much as an allusion 
 was made even to India ; and Edward, who had 
 been partly apprehensive, and yet partly hopeful, 
 that his father would introduce the topic during 
 one of the many hours they spent together, was 
 disposed, after all, to think that Elpingstone had 
 presumed in representing himself as indirectly com- 
 missioned by his father to impose silence upon him ; 
 particularly as Elpingstone had absented himself 
 from Grosvenor Square since the interview upon 
 his return from Alegria, and had left Brighton for 
 Paris a few hours before his arrival there. 
 
 On the afternoon of the fifth day of Edward's 
 sojourn at Brighton, as he and his father were
 
 THE INDIAN MAIL. 193 
 
 sitting over dessert, a packet arrived from 
 Mincing Lane. It contained the business letters 
 of the previous day. Edward placed the letters, 
 as he took them from the envelopes, before his 
 father, who was leaning back in his easy chair. 
 Presently an Indian letter came up. Edward 
 knew the writing at a glance : it was Ryland's. 
 He hesitated for a moment: then, with flushed 
 cheek, placed this letter with the seal unbroken 
 before his father. Mr. Graham took from his 
 lips untasted the glass of claret he had just lifted, 
 and attempted to hide a nervous twitching of the 
 face under an assumed air of indifference. The 
 intelligence was to the effect that certain mer- 
 chandise was about to be shipped on board the 
 Bengal to Mr. Graham's care. Mr. Graham 
 placed this letter in his breast pocket, not making 
 the least allusion to its advices. There was a 
 dead silence in the room. The silence lasted for 
 at least five minutes ; when Mr. Graham drank 
 off the glass of claret, and with a loud " hem," 
 put himself in a grave conversational attitude. 
 " I have wished for some time, Edward," said 
 VOL. I. •
 
 194 THE TWO HOIVIES. 
 
 he, '^ to explain my intentions with regard to you ; 
 but I have put off from time to time, in order 
 to satisfy myself thoroughly as to your own 
 incKnations. I have of late felt proud to see 
 you disposed to a useful, practical life. I know 
 whence I obtained the business which was the com- 
 mencement of my successful career, and I know 
 my consequent responsibilities. Your brother, by 
 the deed of partnership between your grandfather 
 and myself, was to have a share in the concern 
 on his coming of age. You I regard in the light 
 of your brother's representative. I extend this 
 privilege to you. I am happy to say your recent 
 industry merits it, and your intelligence will do 
 credit to our position in the commercial world. 
 I have therefore decided on admitting you into 
 partnership with me from September next, when 
 you come of age ; and your personal interests will 
 comprise one-fourth of the whole business." 
 
 Mr. Graham looked as if he thought he had 
 spoken very generously; but Edward was so 
 astonished that he could not collect his thoughts. 
 His father's approbation was very dear to him.
 
 THE PROPOSALS. 195 
 
 but there was so much on which he would fain 
 be silent, and yet must speak, that he felt quite 
 bewildered when he attempted to express his 
 gratitude for those words of commendation. Mr. 
 Graham misunderstood his son's feelings, and went 
 on : — 
 
 " You see, Edward, you are in a position to enter 
 on your new connexion, with a prestige not usually 
 enjoyed by junior partners : for to have a credit 
 account open at once gives a standing. Through 
 the care of your Aunt Weston, the money which 
 my old partner withdrew from the concern to 
 settle upon you (an unwise if not an unjust 
 procedure, I have thought) amounts, with simple 
 and compound interest (for I have never laid 
 claim to a farthing for the cost of your educa- 
 tion, &c.) — amounts to about 15,000Z. This sum 
 transferred to the books of the firm " 
 
 " Allow me to interrupt you, father," Edward 
 said, with evident effort. " The idea of money 
 and its advantages does not weigh for a moment 
 with me. I am perfectly content as I am, so long 
 as you own that I am of service to you. Let me
 
 196 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 stand in the same position for the future as now. 
 I have no other ambition." 
 
 " In plain English, then — for I dislike imagina- 
 tive harangues upon common-sense subjects — you 
 decline my offer ? " said Mr. Graham, coldly. 
 
 " Father," said Edward, with an intensity of 
 feeling that caused his voice to falter and tears to 
 spring into his eyes, " out of respect to you I have 
 been disingenuous ; but now I must speak, and I 
 sincerely hope you will not be offended with me." 
 Edward paused, and then said : " You placed 
 Ryland's affairs before me to arrange : I arranged 
 them. The firm owes him 23,000Z. I saw his 
 correspondence with you. I noted his instructions ; 
 they have not been carried out. If you will put 
 this right, I will place my money, when I come of 
 age next month, into the hands of the firm. 
 Pardon me, father," urged Edward, with trembling 
 earnestness, seeing his parent frown, "in my 
 anxiety on this point, I may not speak as cautiously 
 as I ought. Once I incurred your weighty dis- 
 pleasure — " 
 
 ^' And will do so again, past all forgiveness,"
 
 PKOPOSALS REJECTED. 197 
 
 rejoined his father, rising, and frowning darkly 
 on his son, " if you ever presume to broach this 
 subject again. What! am I not master of my 
 own ? You, I suppose, aspire to save the honour 
 of the house with your milk-and-water sentiment. 
 Presumptuous boy ! you have dared to judge me 
 to be a scoundrel — not a word — " for Edward 
 sought to deprecate his father's anger. " And now 
 listen to me. This is the second time you have 
 insulted me with your absurd insinuations : the 
 third time you dare to do so, I disown you from 
 that hour. Henceforth I dispense with your pre- 
 sence in Mincing Lane. You will, as you know^ 
 be independent shortly. Pursue your own course." 
 Mr. Graham moved away pompously. Ed- 
 ward's head sank upon his hands. He wjls 
 weary and sick to the very soul. Whither could 
 he turn for comfort ? to what solace could he fly ? 
 The next day he returned to Grosvenor Square, 
 and from this time seemed to droop and wither. 
 Mrs. Pitman said the heat of a London August 
 was killing him — he must go back to Alegria ; but 
 Edward, although the heart throbbed " Yes," forced
 
 198 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 the lips to say " No ; " — he would be left alone ; 
 no one must be alarmed about him. But that sick 
 heart, how it longed for Alegria and its healing 
 springs ! Struggle as he might, Minnie was ever 
 before the eye of his soul. Everything about him 
 was in some way associated with her, and seemed 
 to call up her presence before him. He felt and 
 knew that in the grave in which he buried 
 his love, it revived into an intense life. His 
 heart, and imagination as well, brooded over 
 Alegria and all that lovely district. The golden 
 com, the graceful waving of its ripe ears — ^the 
 knolls, the meadows, the hedges, the woods, the 
 familiar yews in the churchyard, the old Manor 
 House — all and everything connected in memory 
 with her he loved so well appeared to him in his 
 weary solitude in that large house clothed with a 
 threefold grace and beauty. To be with his be- 
 loved, and to die, was all he longed for at this 
 period of his trial. Strange sensations came over 
 him. He inhaled the very perfume of those 
 flowers he had nursed and tended at Alegria, dead 
 though these flowers had been for a full month : —
 
 THE SOUL SPEAKS TO THE IMAGINATION. 199 
 
 hourly he breathed their fragrance, and rejoiced in 
 the illusion as a present blessing. But this state 
 of things could not last. Old Ellis, missing him 
 from IVIincing Lane, found him at home, and wrote 
 to Miss Weston. The next day Dr. Ashton was 
 at Grosvenor Square. He did not at all like 
 Edward's symptoms. Consumption was eating 
 stealthily to the marrow of his life. Dr. Ashton 
 went with his report to Alegria. 
 
 " Something must be done at once," said Miss 
 Weston. 
 
 "He must go to a warm climate as soon as 
 possible," said Dr. Ashton. " Now or never — now, 
 or no good." 
 
 "Where shall he go? Do you recommend 
 Italy?" 
 
 " Madeira," he answered. " No other climate is 
 half so good for the consumptive invalid. To 
 those accustomed to the comforts of English life 
 it is a safe change ; that is, if they don't eat sour 
 fruit and be unmanacreable." 
 
 " Madeira ! Ah ! I have a fancy for that island. 
 I should like him to go there."
 
 200 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 So Miss Weston went to London to arrange 
 matters for Edward's departure. She found some 
 difficulty in persuading Mr. Graham to consent ; 
 for he seemed unwilling to believe that there was 
 any necessity for the change, or any likelihood of 
 benefit being derived from it. She succeeded, how- 
 ever, at last. 
 
 " But," said Edward, when his aunt had com- 
 municated the result of her interview with his 
 father, " I have a great favour to beg of you, 
 Aunt Mary." 
 
 He spoke with hesitation ; and, on his aunt's 
 asking him, tenderly, what favour he meant, he 
 replied with trembling lips and voice : 
 
 " May I spend the 15th at Alegria?" 
 
 " Your twenty-first birthday, Edward ! Indeed, 
 we must have you then." 
 
 " All the happy memories of my boyhood are 
 there," said Edward; "and before another 15th 
 of September comes round. Aunt Mary " 
 
 Miss Weston turned to the window : she under- 
 stood him. 
 
 Before he left, his old friend Ellis, the head
 
 THE MEMENTO. 201 
 
 clerk, called to see him, bringing with him a 
 book Edward had left in his desk, in which 
 he was in the habit of scribbling anything that 
 came into his head in spare moments; — some- 
 times drawing odd faces, and at other times writing 
 names; in short, putting down anything, either 
 the offspring of thought or of listlessness. In 
 this book, each of the clerks from the oldest to 
 the youngest had written his name ; in the hope 
 that Edward would take the book with him, 
 and so remember them, for they were all much 
 attached to him. They requested, through Ellis, 
 that he would endorse their names with his own. 
 Edward did so, much affected by their remem- 
 brance of him. Ryland's name happened to be 
 written on the same page. 
 
 "I have endorsed the name of my father's 
 creditor," said Edward. 
 
 The accident had a remarkable connexion with 
 the future of both Mr. Ryland and Edward. 
 
 " How are things going at the office, Ellis ? " 
 asked Edward, earnestly. 
 
 " Things are looking blank in other houses
 
 202 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 besides ours/' the old clerk replied sadly. '^Had 
 we confined ourselves to legitimate business, 
 Mr. Edward, we should have held a proud head 
 now. But those cursed railway speculations will 
 hamper us before it's over, I am pretty sure. 
 Between us, only yesterday your father tried to 
 convert that heavy investment in the L. and Y. 
 into money, but failed. It put him terribly out. 
 It was a bad venture; but of course we won't 
 acknowledge it." 
 
 Ellis always spoke of the affairs of the firm 
 as if he were individually acting, and respon- 
 sible therein ; although, as far as railways were 
 concerned, he literally cursed them in his own 
 mind every day. 
 
 This information touched Edward very keenly. 
 He knew the investment to which Ellis referred 
 was that to which the Ryland money had been 
 applied. From daily perusal of The Times, he 
 was aware that a speck in the horizon was fast 
 growing into a cloud. Men reputed rich were 
 said to be afraid ; men sprung from nothing 
 were rolling in wealth. The thoughtful were
 
 RAILROADS v. VESUVIUS. 203 
 
 alarmed ; the rash were becoming more rash. 
 Sufferers would soon be protesting once more 
 that everything was to blame but their own im- 
 prudence. But, as with Vesuvius before an 
 eruption, though there was a distant rumbling, 
 and evident signs of an approaching outbreak, 
 the sky above was clear, and the reckless cared 
 not, because the fire had not actually burst forth. 
 
 " My poor father ! he would redress the wrong, 
 but the desire has come too late," said Edward 
 to himself, as he sat pondering, with his head 
 upon his hand. After some minutes of deep 
 reflection, he looked up, and with his eyes fixed 
 on the portrait of his mother, " My time will 
 come," said he. "One winter in Madeira, and 
 with restored health I will to my work again, 
 whatever that may then be." And with the reso- 
 lution a glow came over his face ; and such an 
 expression of energy was manifest in his whole 
 frame that a stranger might have said — " Surely 
 the soft air of Madeira can hardly be needful 
 to uphold the power of that exuberant life."
 
 204 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Minnie could no longer be kept in ignorance of 
 Edward's approaching departure. Usually she 
 was Miss Weston's prime minister ; but upon 
 this subject the latter had been silent for reasons 
 of her own. Now that Edward was coming to 
 pass the 15th with them, Minnie must be told 
 that it would be a farewell visit. 
 
 " We must bear our loss with resolution, dear 
 one — for Edward's sake, you know." 
 
 ^* I do not know how we are to get on with- 
 out him," replied Minnie, looking sadly on the 
 ground, adding : " It was an actual delight to 
 bend to his generous, imperious will. So gentle, 
 and yet how brave ! Who ever heard him mur- 
 mur in all his sufferings ? — who ever knew him 
 guilty of one selfish action ? "
 
 AMENITY DEFINED. 205 
 
 *^ No one, my darling : he is all you say," 
 observed Miss "Weston through her tears. 
 
 " And more, and more ! — oh, so far I A child's 
 heart with the gentle ; a brave man's heart with 
 the strong ; and then, so clever I What do you 
 call that disposition in a man, mamma, which 
 possesses a peculiar softness, like the manner of 
 a true born gentlewoman ; and yet, far from 
 being effeminate, expresses the happy union of 
 heart, intellect, and humour ? " 
 
 '^Amenity, I think, would describe what you 
 mean, dear Minnie ; but really you quite astonish 
 me : you have studied Edward closely." 
 
 Minnie blushed, then looked anxious, as if 
 she wanted to say something more. 
 
 " What is it, Minnie ? " said Miss Weston. 
 
 " If we could have his likeness. Do you 
 think Edward would sit for it for us ? But then 
 who could catch the expression? It is never the 
 same a minute together: one moment sunshine, 
 the next clouds ; but, oftener than all, a beauti- 
 ful, daring aspiration. I am sure Edward was 
 meant to be a great warrior, or poet."
 
 206 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 Miss Weston looked grave and concerned. But 
 as the thought of the likeness had been in her 
 mind too, she observed : 
 
 "I am almost afraid a portrait of Edward would 
 never quite satisfy me " 
 
 " Us, dear mamma." 
 
 " Well, us, my love," replied Miss Weston, 
 almost losing heart — "for want of the real ex- 
 pression. The truth lies in the expression of 
 the countenance. Still we must not be too fasti- 
 dious." 
 
 " And where is Edward going ? " Minnie asked ; 
 " for I must be busy and learn the country." 
 
 " To Madeira," said Miss Weston, looking 
 thoughtfully at her protegee,^'' 
 
 " Madeira ! " After repeating the word again, 
 she said, reflectingly, "I feel as if my memory 
 had some faint thought about Madeira. Do I 
 deceive myself? " 
 
 Miss Weston looked conscious. 
 
 " A baby thought, mamma." 
 
 " Then pray with that thought, dear Minnie, 
 that Madeira may restore Edward to health and
 
 THE BIRTHDAY. 207 
 
 to his friends," Miss Weston answered, guardedly 
 evading Minnie's question, for a reason of her 
 own. 
 
 Edward Graham reached Alegria on the even- 
 ing of the fourteenth, frail and agitated. The 
 pleasure of the present was mingled with the pain 
 of the near future. How should Edward's birth- 
 day be kept ? Minnie had charge of this ; and 
 kept her intention secret. All that was known 
 was, that she had had a private talk with Mr. 
 Lovell and Squire Templer; and these two gentle- 
 men were to dine at Alegria on the morrow. 
 
 The 15th of September rose brightly, and the 
 sun shone all day. Autumn in her gorgeous 
 bounty and beautiful decays often suns our 
 memory of summer with the hope of another 
 spring. 
 
 When breakfast was over Minnie flitted away 
 to the conservatory door and looked down the 
 orchard avenue in the direction of the Manor 
 House. At last she came back, her face 
 suffused with a bright blush, and beckoned 
 Edward to her. He was by her side in an
 
 208 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 instant. She took his hand and led him through 
 the conservatory to the lawn, pointing to the 
 paddock. Oh ! what a delicious treat had Minnie 
 provided for him ! There was the Squire on 
 horseback, his hounds and his whippers-in all 
 ready for work, and a groom coming forward to 
 the house with the Squire's favourite hunter, 
 "Tam O'Shanter," saddled for Edward. The 
 cheery voice of the Squire came across the inter- 
 vening space. 
 
 " A thousand and ten thousand such days, my 
 boy, and Birdie to bless them. Yoicks ! yoicks, 
 tally-ho." Edward went up to him. The fine 
 old sportsman took him by the hand and said, 
 " God bless you, Edward ! " The whips touched 
 their caps ; the hounds, particularly " Matchless," 
 " Victory," and " Merry Lass," walked with a 
 stately kindness round him ; and Edward, with a 
 heart too full for speech, looked his thanks to 
 Minnie. 
 
 " Tam is for you, Edward. The cubs in Melbury 
 wood want rattling. The drives are clear; not 
 a wood, neighbour Weston. You have had your
 
 CUB HUNTING. 209 
 
 way long enough ; this day is ours, eh, little one ? 
 Bless you, neighbour. Tarn will carry him as 
 smooth as oil." 
 
 " I hope Edward will be careful," Miss Weston 
 said, nervously. " Dr. Ashton would pronounce 
 this madness." 
 
 " Physic to the dogs ! " exclaimed the hearty 
 Squire, " crossing a hunter never hurt a man's 
 lungs yet Look at him," pointing to Edward 
 as he mounted, " he looks more at home there 
 than in your softest easy chair; ten times more so, 
 eh, Edward?" 
 
 " A thousand times ! I am alive once more." 
 
 His appearance bore out his words. He seemed 
 in a moment to have outgrown his weakness, and 
 returned to the full bloom of former gladness. 
 
 Away the hunting party went for Melbury 
 wood. Now Minnie's other plans in honour of 
 Edward's birthday were put in active operation. 
 The rooms were tastefully decked with flowers, 
 tables were laid out, benches were brought up 
 from the village school-room, and wondrous 
 bustle pervaded the kitchen department. Every- 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 one worked with a will. Minnie was in the midst 
 of all, now here, now there — as necessary to it all 
 as sun and air to haymaking. 
 
 By two o'clock Edward and the Squire re- 
 turned, the former declaring he was not the least 
 fatigued. Mr. Lovell soon made his appearance, 
 and they all sat down to an early dinner. The 
 dessert was laid out in the conservatory : every- 
 thing went happily. By-and-by Mr. Lovell with- 
 drew, and Minnie followed. The Squire and 
 Edward got deep in the morning's sport. Then 
 Miss Weston slipped away. Presently a message 
 was delivered to the Squire, who rose, and taking 
 Edward's arm, threw open the conservatory door, 
 and led him to the lawn. The avenue gate 
 was open, held by Roger, hat in hand, with Nep 
 in high glee by him. On came a troop of village 
 children dressed in their Sunday best, escorted 
 by Miss Weston and Mrs. Lovell, Minnie and 
 Mr. Lovell, the family of the latter, and Farmer 
 Wiltshire's eleven sturdy children. All had been 
 invited to spend the afternoon with Edward. It 
 was Edward's fete to the children of the village :
 
 DEAR LITTLE MINNIE. 211 
 
 the queen heart had so arranged it. Alegria had 
 never been seen to such advantage. The little 
 ones sported over the lawn with Nep, and danced 
 to Roger's violin; after which the old man, at 
 the entreaty of the boys, hazarded a swing from 
 a walnut tree, and served it with persevering 
 industry. When the tea-tables were filled, there 
 could not be a prettier sight. Minnie was quietly 
 busy. She knew all Edward's guests by name, 
 and it was evident she had long possessed their 
 confidence, and so knew how to control or pet 
 their fancied interests and various peculiarities. 
 The Squire looked like the father of a people as 
 he sat by Edward ; and Mr. Lovell evinced by his 
 countenance, that this was a scene he loved with 
 all his heai't. At parting, Edward's guests came to 
 shake hands with him. His feelings were keenly 
 touched, especially when the smaller fry put up 
 their little faces for a kiss. Mr. Lovell was beside 
 them, and said to Edward — 
 
 " With all their little faults, children are the 
 best specimens of human nature. Next to the 
 higher consolations of religion, I know notliing so
 
 212 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 well calculated to restore the tone of a mind 
 shaken in its faith and confidence in human life 
 as a scene of this sort." 
 
 Edward said, " I feel it." The birthday feU 
 seemed to show him that happiness was much 
 nearer the surface of life, than people were disposed 
 to believe. The kind heart makes it, and good 
 temper secures it.
 
 THE FAREWELL. 213 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 The last day of Edward's visit to Alegria had 
 arrived: in a week he was to sail for Madeira. 
 Edward had borne up well during his visit, and 
 had been nobly successful in concealing his inward 
 sorrow. 
 
 The morning went by heavily, the Squire came 
 at ten o'clock, and tried to lure Edward out with 
 him ; but no, he would not leave, although he felt 
 a kind of dread of staying indoors. Unsuccessful in 
 his effort, the Squire said — " Well, then, my boy, 
 God bless you ! I've two things to say : don't get 
 Portuguesed; and if you will make quick work 
 of it, ril forgive you all the trouble I have had 
 about you, won't we. Birdie ? " and he patted 
 Minnie's cheek. 
 
 This visit did not improve matters. After
 
 214 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 dinner, which passed in silence, Minnie left the 
 room early, and Edward and Miss Weston had a 
 disjointed and not very cheerful talk. Indeed 
 Aunt Mary had quite lost her usual fortitude. 
 Although she was going to see Edward oflP, she 
 spoke as if they were that moment about to part, 
 and at length growing more and more unfit for 
 conversation, she said she had some business to 
 settle with Farmer Wiltshire, and if he and Minnie 
 would meet her in an hour on the way to Bales, 
 they would have a quiet stroll together. Edward 
 agreed, and when she was ready, walked with her 
 to the orchard gate. 
 
 " In an hour, Edward ? " and Edward again 
 said " Yes ; " and retraced his steps to the house. 
 
 As Edward drew near to the douse, he saw 
 Minnie sitting at the drawing-room window. She 
 must have seen him and Miss Weston as they 
 went down the path. Edward thought it strange 
 she had not joined them, and that he had better 
 deliver the message about the walk at once ; and, 
 entering the drawing-room, found Minnie leaning 
 pensively over the work-table, which she had
 
 AUNT MART LEAVES ALEGRIA. 215 
 
 certainly opened, but that was all. He was sur- 
 prised at her attitude, so unlike her usual one, but 
 delivered the messao-e in as cheerful a voice as 
 he could command — 
 
 " Aunt Mary, Minnie, is gone to Farmer Wilt- 
 shire's, and she told me to tell you that if we 
 would meet her on the road to Bales, we could 
 have a last stroll together.*' 
 
 Miss Weston had not said a last stroll : she had 
 said a quiet stroll. Minnie started a little when 
 the word last fell from Edward's lips. Her cheek 
 became paler than before, but she said nothing ; 
 indeed she turned her face from Edward, seeming 
 to look out of the window. 
 
 " Are you angry with me, Minnie, or are you 
 jesting ? If the latter, it is unlike you at such a 
 time. Minnie, what ails you ? " 
 
 " Jesting ! " repeated Minnie: " no more." 
 
 Edward's mood changed. 
 
 " You may have some cause to be offended with 
 me," he said, bending over her, and touching her 
 hand. " If so, tell me and forgive me. Is it 
 about the flower? I really misunderstood you.
 
 216 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 For the drawing ? I must tell you, Minnie, I 
 wanted that sketch of Alegria, because we did 
 it together." 
 
 No answer. 
 
 His fortitude was shaken, the hand rested con- 
 fidingly in his, feeling was gaining the mastery. 
 Pressing the hand gently, he relinquished it with 
 a sigh, and turned to go away; but when he 
 reached the door a sudden impulse caused him to 
 look back, and say, in a gentle, half-conciliating 
 voice : — 
 
 " Come, Minnie ! Pray, come with me, or 
 mamma will be disappointed. I know she would 
 like us to go to Bales. The afternoon is fine : 
 sunshine for our last stroll, Minnie." 
 
 Minnie looked up tearfully as Edward finished 
 speaking. After an effort, " No," she said, " I 
 cannot." 
 
 The look — the tone startled Edward, for both 
 revealed that Minnie had been in tears. In a 
 moment the hand was again in his. 
 
 *' Dear Minnie ! something very terrible must 
 have occurred to distract you thus. Tell your old
 
 THE RESULT — LOVERS TORMENT. 217 
 
 friend, if he can aid you. May he not share your 
 confidence? " 
 
 ^^ He is coming — Sir George Elpingstone — 
 coming perhaps this very night. Mrs. Graham 
 says so. Did not mamma tell you ? " 
 
 " No," sighed Edward, as he dropped the hand 
 he held, and drew back. 
 
 " Cruel ! " exclaimed Minnie, looking as she 
 had never looked before. The blue eye shone 
 almost fiercely ; but recovering herself, she said, 
 with great confusion : — 
 
 " How strange ! how unlike mamma ! and I 
 thought, now you were going awa}^, that you did 
 not care. Oh ! Edward, so much trial for one 
 day I my heart is fit to burst. Our last stroll ! " 
 
 Edward's frame shook with emotion ; he strove 
 to master it, but failed in the attempt. 
 
 " Cruel ! it is you who are cruel, Minnie ! " 
 
 " Oh, Edward, pray ! " pleaded Minnie, with her 
 hand held out, looking up to him with eyes brim- 
 ful of tenderness ; but Edward, blinded to the 
 very love he coveted by the passion which sought 
 it, went on :
 
 218 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " I know nothing of his movements ; if I had 
 known you expected him, I should not have urged 
 you to go out, but would have gone over the old 
 ground alone." 
 
 Then pacing up and down the room, he cried 
 passionately : 
 
 " I have prayed to be spared this blow. Surely 
 my cup of trial was full before I Why am I 
 punished thus, and at the hands of those who 
 profess to feel for me? Would he had never 
 crossed our paths — your path, Minnie! or not 
 until I was dead — lost — far, far away ! " 
 
 '^ Dead ! far away ! Oh ! Edward, why do you 
 speak so unlike yourself to me?" cried Minnie, 
 looking sadly pained and alarmed. 
 
 ** Yes ! I am going soon, Minnie," said Edward, 
 bitterly, " to a far distant island, without a friend, 
 without a hope, in search of health. What in- 
 terest have I in life ? None — none ! After to- 
 night Alegria will know me no more." 
 
 "Edward! Edward!" exclaimed Minnie, going 
 up to him, and looking with the old confidence in 
 his face, as she climg to his arm, " who is cruel
 
 THE CONFESSION. 219 
 
 now ? You cannot be in earnest ; you cannot 
 mean what you say ; am I nothing to you ? — all 
 our life nothing: ? You will find friends in Ma- 
 deira, but none like those at Alegria, Edward, 
 who will hope for you, and pray for you every 
 day, and who will never feel sunshine until you 
 return to them." Edward's head sank upon his 
 breast 
 
 " I can never return to Alegria," he said. " No I 
 not if I live fifty years. Never ! After he has been 
 welcomed by you, this home will be ice-cold ever 
 afterwards." 
 
 " Bat he will never be welcomed by me, Ed- 
 ward." 
 
 " What ! not welcome the baronet of ancient 
 line who comes seeking your hand?" 
 
 " He shall never have it, Edward," burst from 
 Minnie's lips, with sudden energy. Then her 
 eyes sank, and in a low tone she added — '' I can- 
 not.'* No sooner had she uttered these two words 
 than Minnie's cheek crimsoned deeply. Sudden 
 impulse had forced them from her. Edward felt 
 as if in a dream. Something in the way those
 
 220 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 words were spoken made him tremble with un- 
 defined hopes. The idea, brimful of bliss, was to 
 his whole being as a sudden burst of sunshine 
 to a winter day. It was the first time they had ever 
 gone beyond the simple sweet confidence of child- 
 hood. Before Miss Weston spoke those stern 
 words, " Minnie's destiny is not your destiny," he 
 had thought that it might have been possible, had 
 he been blessed with health, that some day he 
 might stand in a tenderer relation to Minnie 
 than that accorded by the freedom of youthful 
 intercourse and their relative places in Miss 
 Weston's love. Once, in fact, Edward had even 
 resolved to break silence upon this topic, but 
 Minnie had said, " Hush, Edward !" And of late, 
 such was his confidence in his aunt, that he had 
 felt bound to stifle every thought of the kind. 
 Even now he summoned courage to say : — 
 
 " Anything but sorrow to you, dear Minnie ; 
 anything but that! I must not, will not, be a 
 cloud on your path. Thank you — thank you, 
 from my heart, for your desire to comfort 
 me!"
 
 A NEW LIGHT. 221 
 
 Minnie looked into Edward's face, with her lips 
 slightly parted, — a look natui'al to her when in 
 doubt or surprise. "I do not see how you can 
 ever be a cloud in my path, Edward. The 
 brightest — best of my pleasures have been from 
 you; and in health, or sickness, it is my hope 
 always in some way to be some comfort to 
 you." 
 
 " Always ! " exclaimed Edward, now thrown 
 off his guard. " Ah ! Minnie, when I am far 
 away they will tell you that I am infirm in 
 health, in temper, and in purpose — a useless 
 dreamer — a waif on the stream of practical pro- 
 gress " 
 
 " And I shall not hear them, Edward," Minnie 
 said, softly ; but he went on — 
 
 " And then your child-mind " but he could 
 
 not proceed. He was turning to go away, when 
 Mmnie said, with touching nawetd — 
 
 " That is it, Edward : my child-mind will not 
 understand the world when it comes between 
 us. And now shall I get ready for our stroll — 
 yes?"
 
 222 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 "Not this moment, Minnie," Edward cried, 
 drawing the sweet girl to him, possibly with an 
 idea that he should thus best recover his self- 
 possession, " To part thus would be a cruelty 
 to both. This hour is full of life to me, Minnie; " 
 and he looked tenderly in her face. " But will 
 the memory of the old days wither when the 
 wide sea is between us ? — will not new cares and 
 pleasures engross your mind? — will the thought 
 of me belong only to the past, and be like a 
 ghost in the sunshine of the present? Who can 
 answer these questions, Minnie? Not you, nor 
 I. I leave you free to think, and act, and feel, 
 as your heart dictates." Edward pressed his 
 lips upon the dear girl's brow ; and a moment 
 after he was alone. 
 
 When Minnie reached her room, she put on 
 her bonnet ; but instead of rejoining Edward, she 
 sank into a chair. She must have fallen into a 
 reverie, or else she could not summon courage to 
 see Edward again, until she had confessed every- 
 tliing to her friend and protector ; for there she 
 gat till Miss Weston found her.
 
 EIGHT FEELING, AND WELL-DOING. 223 
 
 " Dear Minnie," said Miss Weston, taking a 
 chair and sitting by her, " what has happened ? 
 You are sitting here all by yourself with your 
 bonnet on, and Edward walking up and down 
 the conservatory strangely excited." 
 
 Hereupon Minnie hid her face on that dear 
 friend's bosom and told her all about it, and how 
 it came to pass ; so simply and earnestly wondering 
 how she could have spoken at all, concerned that 
 she had said so much, and yet rejoicing with such 
 sweet humility that she had eased Edward's 
 troubled spirit, that Miss Weston, forgetting 
 her own anxiety, lifted the fair head of the con- 
 fiding girl, and mingled kisses with words of 
 tenderness and hope. 
 
 " But, Edward — did he forget his duty to me, 
 his promise ?" 
 
 Minnie looked up apprehensively, muttering, 
 "Promise!" 
 
 " I mean he did not draw your words from 
 you by his words of love ? " 
 
 " No — no : indeed he did not," said Minnie. 
 
 "He did not extract promises from you?"
 
 224 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 pursued the grave questioner ; " or bind jon to 
 pledges, with vows on his part of faith and con- 
 stancy — the old way when prudence is sacrificed 
 to impulse ? " 
 
 " No — no ! Edward said nothing but what was 
 true, and like himself. His last words were, 
 ' I leave you free to think and act as your heart 
 dictates.' There was no promise made." 
 
 "No kiss, Minnie?" said Miss Weston, with 
 a half-smile. 
 
 Minnie's face was something beautiful to 
 see. 
 
 " Only a little one, not quite a kiss," she an- 
 swered, as the curls fell over the blush. " Indeed, 
 I do not think," she added, " that Edward quite 
 understood me ; but I meant so much, when I 
 said my child -mind would not understand the 
 world if it came unkindly between him and 
 me." 
 
 " How long is it since you first saw into your 
 heart, and found the secret you have now dis- 
 closed?" 
 
 The grave face softened down to that tender
 
 A NATURAL DECISION. 225 
 
 expression seen only on rare occasions, and known 
 only to Minnie and Edward. 
 
 " It would seem to have been born with me," 
 Minnie answered; "but I think I knew better 
 what it meant on the day we thought he would 
 die." 
 
 After a thoughtful pause, Miss Weston said — 
 " The future is a mystery with which our un- 
 derstandings cannot grapple." Seeing Minnie's 
 face grow sorrowful, the kind friend kissed it 
 tenderly, and added : " But I have faith in right 
 doing. We must go straight on in right ; I must 
 tell Edward so ; and if sorrow comes, we must 
 bear it bravely, all three of us — Edward and you, 
 
 and she who loves you both." 
 
 * % * * % 
 
 " I am glad I despatched a special messenger 
 to Grosvenor Square this morning. Now I must 
 think. Dear children, it was very natural." 
 
 Such were Miss Weston's thoughts as she 
 retired to her own room, after having hushed poor 
 Minnie's deep emotion at parting from Edward, 
 perhaps for ever. The result of Miss Weston's 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 thoughts was, that after writing until past mid- 
 night, she put the manuscript in an envelope, 
 which she then superscribed, — 
 "To 
 
 " William Wynne Ryland, Esquire, 
 
 ''Calcutta:'
 
 THE VOYAGE. 227 
 
 CHAPTER XV I, 
 
 On the morning of the 15th October, 1846, the 
 Madeira packet, a well-formed, smart-sailing brig, 
 was lying off the Mother Bank in readiness for 
 her passengers, when Edward Graham and his 
 friends reached Portsmouth. Mr. Graham and 
 Miss Weston had accompanied the invalid. El- 
 pingstone had offered to be of the party, but Mr. 
 Graham declined, and Edward looked his thanks. 
 Elpings tone's gaiety would have jarred with their 
 mood. 
 
 " Write and let me know all about the people 
 in Madeira," Elpingstone said, at parting. " If 
 your repDrt is favourable, who knows but I may 
 join you before long. I have a lively idea that 
 a sea voyage will be beneficial to my — my health.
 
 228 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 — ha ! ha ! my health, Graham, before the winter 
 is over." 
 
 Edward understood the innuendo, so did Mr. 
 Graham. With knitted brow the latter moved 
 away to see if the carriage was ready, and Ed- 
 ward's eye followed his father's steps with mourn- 
 ful significance. 
 
 "Do not joke — do not laugh — do not desert 
 him in his troubles, Elpingstone," said Edward, 
 in a low, agitated voice. 
 
 Elpingstone's blue eyes looked cynical. 
 
 " He'll weather the storm, never fear, Edward ; 
 but if you should find us in Loch Foyle on your 
 
 return, you will give us a helping hand — eh ?" 
 
 ***** 
 
 Dr. Ashton had given Edward a note of intro- 
 duction to a Mr. Perfect, a fellow-passenger in 
 the brig, telling Edward that with this gentleman 
 on board, and Markwell to meet him on his landing 
 at Madeira, he would fare as well as friends could 
 make him. When orders came for the' Madeira 
 passengers to repair on board, Miss Weston over- 
 ruled Edward's wish to say the last sad word
 
 THE PARTING OF laNDRED. 229 
 
 at their hotel. She stepped into the boat without 
 a trait of nervousness (although the sea ran high, 
 and she had a great dread of such means of con- 
 veyance), for the captain had to be interested 
 and his best care bespoken for Edward's comfort. 
 The head steward was summoned into the little 
 cabin, and when Edward entered it, to see what 
 was going on, he found they had been busy for 
 his comfort. But what thrilled his heart with 
 the keenest emotion he had ever experienced, was 
 to see his father aiding in the duty ; and when 
 it was accomplished, to see his head sink down 
 upon the pillow of the bed, and to hear the sob 
 of gi'ief break from his heart. In a moment, 
 Edward's arms were around him. 
 
 "May God in his mercy restore you to us 
 again ! " came with deep feeling from the father's 
 lips. 
 
 How much was revealed in these words to the 
 filial heart ! The bell rang for visitors to leave 
 the vessel. Then Miss Weston gave a key to 
 Edward, and pointed to a box. 
 
 " Not a word, Edward dear," she said : " I
 
 230 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 feel all you would say. I will write very often. 
 Hope on, hope ever — a twofold duty, Edward ; 
 a duty to yourself, a duty to us." The cabin door 
 closed, and Edward was alone. 
 
 Edward sat quite still for some time after his 
 relatives had left him, although a great scuffle 
 appeared to be going on upon deck, mingled with 
 harsh voices and the angry complaint of the sea 
 wind at being interrupted in its course by the out- 
 spreading canvas, as the brig was got under weigh. 
 But he did not heed these things, strange as 
 they were to a landsman. He could not speak 
 even to himself; a stupifying sense of sorrow 
 overwhelmed him. Whilst he sat thus, a voice 
 sounded near him, so near that he started, thinking 
 that some one was by him. Again the voice spoke, 
 and he caught the words — 
 
 " And I will hope in Thy name, for Thy saints 
 like it well." 
 
 A little reflection satisfied Edward that these 
 words came from the occupant of the next cabin ; 
 and he saw, as his eyes followed the direction of 
 the sound, that there was a communication by
 
 CONSOLATION. 231 
 
 means of a slight door between the two cabins. 
 Edward listened, wishing to hear more, for the 
 voice was singularly earnest and impressive ; but 
 he was disappointed. His thoughts were on the 
 point of becoming again absorbed, when there 
 was a sudden tap at the door of his cabin. On 
 opening it, he saw the tall, bent figure of a gentle- 
 man, with a placid, thoughtful look, who said — 
 
 " Yeiyra (the head steward, a Portuguese) has 
 afforded me a means of mtroduction, Mr. Graham. 
 My name is Perfect. Your friend Ashton men- 
 tioned you to me yesterday. I am now an old 
 sailor, and assure you our friend Veiyra's mix- 
 ture," here he offered a glass he held in his hand, 
 "is an admu'able specific against the sea-plague, 
 for a time at least," and Mr. Perfect sat himself 
 down on a camp-stool by Edward. Edward's face 
 lighted up. " We are next-door neighbours," Mr. 
 Perfect remarked ; " and when you want succour, 
 if you really mean to knock up for a few days, 
 1 shall be within call, especially at night-time." 
 
 This was said so kindly, and with such openness 
 of good-will, that Edward frankly answered —
 
 232 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " You have already been of service to me." 
 
 " Yes : I am very glad to hear you say so, 
 for I think I know what you mean. This day, 
 Mr. Graham, has been one of conflicting feelings 
 with most of us who are bound for Madeira. 
 Few of us leave home for pleasure. A sad, lone 
 journey but for the hope I was reading of." 
 After a short pause, Mr, Perfect added, gently, 
 " We have both left those we love behind us. I, 
 a wife and five little ones, besides my parish." 
 
 He was a clergyman, then ; and evidently one 
 of the right sort. 
 
 Mr. Perfect chatted with Edward about the 
 ship and ship-going customs, the voyage, Madeira 
 — he had been there twice before — and then he 
 touched upon introductions. 
 
 " My principal introduction is to a Mr. Mark- 
 well : are you acquainted with him ? " 
 
 *^ Yes ; we have made two long sea- voyages 
 together, and I have been his guest for a month 
 at a time. He once saved my life in the moun- 
 tains of Madeira at the peril of his own; and 
 the same day he descended an almost perpen-
 
 THE NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 233 
 
 dicular rock several hundred feet to rescue a 
 young hoy, whose nerve failed in an attempt to 
 recover a kid that hai fallen into a fissure." 
 
 " Pray, tell me more about him." 
 
 " He possesses the most brotherly heart I ever 
 came near, yet he has the fancy, or disposition, 
 to appear hard, stern, and cynical, at the moment 
 when generous impulses are agitating him. His 
 exterior appearance is very prepossessing, and 
 English. He is about thirty years of age : the son 
 of an English merchant. He visited the island 
 for his health, and now remains for his pleasure. 
 He is a bachelor, and lives in a very pretty 
 cottage called Fanal, a short distance from Fun- 
 chal. Will you like him, Mr. Graham ? If not, 
 don't go near him." 
 
 " I think I may venture on the experiment," 
 Edward replied. 
 
 "Very well, then we will go on deck, and 
 look about us. There are several people in the 
 vessel with whom we can agreeably frater- 
 nise." 
 
 Through days of sea-sickness and physical
 
 234 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 prostration, Mr. Perfect was unremitting in his 
 attentions to Edward, and to many a weary 
 sufferer in the vessel besides. He was one of 
 those rare men w^ho do not belong to themselves 
 alone, but to all those who are in need of sym- 
 pathy and aid. 
 
 When Edward retired that evening, he opened 
 the box Miss Weston had left with him. He 
 found in it letters of introduction, and packets 
 of money neatly done up, with the respective 
 amounts marked on them ; and to his dehght the 
 drawing of Alegria, Minnie's present. It was the 
 same drawing about which there had been a 
 little misunderstanding ; but now the family circle 
 was introduced: Minnie gardening, and Nep 
 looking on, with Miss Weston and Edward walk- 
 ing not very far ofp, and Teaser, making believe 
 to let Roger take him by the forelock. Within 
 the paper that held the drawing was the tiniest 
 envelope ever seen, directed simply thus — 
 
 "For Edwakd." 
 Edward opened it. Within it were two flowers, 
 a well-preserved forget-me-not that was resting on
 
 SEA LIFE. 235 
 
 the bosom of the identical pansie he had selected 
 from Mr. Vine's collection for Minnie. There 
 are feelings with which there are no words to 
 correspond. We must not attempt to describe 
 Edward's. 
 
 The next day found Edward unable to leave 
 his berth ; for, in the night, it had come on to 
 blow hard from the south-west. 
 
 Several wretched days and nights dragged their 
 slow length along, before Edward had strength 
 to get out of his berth. The only fleeting satis- 
 faction Edward had during all this time — he said 
 afterwards it was the means of saving his life — 
 was to hear a tempestuous individual in the berth 
 opposite him launch out at intervals against the 
 cook. 
 
 "Veiyra." 
 
 " Yes, sa' ! " came short and lively from the 
 pantry near. 
 
 " That beast of a cook is frying fat again." 
 
 " Yes, sa' ! " 
 
 " Phew I the wretch is always frying fat. He 
 gloats over the disgusting work. It is his devo- 
 tions."
 
 236 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 But the sea-plague has an end, and by-and-by 
 Mr. Perfect and Veiyra bore Edward to the deck 
 and laid him upon a mattress. 
 
 As soon as Edward could see and understand, 
 he beheld a serio-comic display around him. The 
 attitude alone of the divers invalids, by whom, 
 for the most part, soap, hair-brush, or razor, as 
 the case might be, were evidently considered an 
 innovation on the rights of personal liberty, was 
 remarkable. One person sat as if buried in con- 
 tempt of sublimary things. Another looked as 
 if he felt dull, dusky, and detestable; then he 
 would try to walk it off, with his legs very 
 wide apart, standing two feet lower than his 
 common height. This one looked stupid only ; 
 that one in colour and expression not unlike a 
 green gooseberry. Here and there a Mark Tap- 
 ley sort of individual, disposed to be humorous 
 and jolly, was eyed by the others — the dolorous 
 and dyspeptic — with frowning and supercilious 
 stare. Some few strangely-organized individuals, 
 one or two ladies, three or four gentlemen, were 
 tramping up and down the deck; walking a
 
 HUMAN NATURE. 237 
 
 particular plank straight for imaginary wagers, 
 now and then looking down on the prostrate with 
 a partly langhing, partly sympathizing glance, as 
 much as to say — 
 
 " Poor thing ! cheer up ! it will be all right 
 soon." 
 
 Oh ! the disgust of the recumbent one ! 
 
 After a week the scene on board the Madeira 
 brig changed. The weather grew fine, the wind 
 favourable, the vessel made good way and the 
 sea-plague disappeared. Edward found the day 
 go by " no-how." Who does know how it goes 
 by on a first sea trip with pleasant companions, 
 and in latitude between forty and thirty-three ? 
 
 " Land-ho ! " was shouted from the mast-head 
 on the fourteenth day, and the whole party was 
 quickly on deck. " Land-ho ! on the lee bow ! " 
 
 After a great deal of good-natured assistance — 
 for landsmen loill look up into the clouds for 
 land, three knolls like large hillocks on a wide 
 plain were distinguished. 
 
 The gallant brig rides rapidly over the waves, 
 and soon the three eminences which crown Porto
 
 238 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 Santo, stand out in relief against the southern 
 horizon. If the breeze lasts, the voyager will 
 ere long behold the Island of Madeira — the first 
 in climate, the second in beauty on the whole earth. 
 The breeze is propitious. The sun's departing 
 beams are over its eastern coast. The craggy 
 shore to the northward, with its broken cliffs 
 and tall isolated rocks spreading out seaward, 
 with their spire-like tops, presents a wondrous 
 contrast to the sunny, balmy appearance of the 
 south side of the island. The two aspects are, 
 the morning and the evening of Madeira. " Pico 
 Ruivo " is, for a wonder, free of his cap of mist, 
 and stands up nearly seven thousand feet, the 
 guardian of a host of mountain ranges and peaks 
 around. The eastern point passed, a singularly 
 diversified scene is before the eye. Here, as at 
 the north of the island, huge columns of basalt 
 rise, towering up like pedestals supporting an 
 enchanted land above the blue Atlantic. The 
 varied tints of vegetation, the lights and shades 
 that flit about the front of the mountain barrier 
 clothed with the pine and laurel, the mountain
 
 MADEIRA IN NOVEMBER. 239 
 
 shadows over some picturesque ravine glittering 
 in the beams of the retiring sun, and forming a 
 cluster of miniature rainbows, the singular villages 
 lying at the base of the hills, the grand and the 
 minute, the rugged and the pastoral combined, 
 ever inspiring wonder, curiosity, and delight in 
 the beholder. Now the evening lights grow softly 
 on the distant headland of "Capo Girao," — said 
 to be the highest headland in the world; and 
 the sun is sinkmg, with the calm majesty of 
 a southern sunset, behind its mountain ridge. 
 The high cliff, known as the Brazen Head, 
 is passed; and the city, the renowned Funchal, 
 is open to the view. The voyager understands 
 at a glance that the southern valley, in which 
 the city is embosomed, may be a continuous sum- 
 mer, although in its season stern w^inter sits 
 throned on the frowning heights. He sees that 
 Funchal lies open to the south, with an imposing 
 mountain crescent, four thousand feet in height, 
 directly in its rear, serving as an admirable 
 screen against the inclement winds of the north. 
 On the good brig sails ; and on comes the even-
 
 240 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 ing, bewitching in its loveliness. The stillness 
 of the sea and air — for the vessel was becalmed 
 a short distance from her anchorage — the balmy 
 fragrance of the land breeze, and the creeping 
 of the shadows np the sides of the mountains, 
 with the golden line of day retreating before 
 them, entranced the vision ; when at length those 
 lofty heights assumed that pale cold hue which 
 is their death-face before they are wrapped in 
 the shroud of night, which hides all but their 
 bare outline against the clear expanse of the 
 heavens, A few minutes more of shade, half- 
 triumphant over light, and then the moon comes 
 up in her soft beauty, her horn being nearly 
 full, and, climbing over the mountain-top, casts 
 a long band across the sea landward, and a thin 
 veil of silvery sheen over the whole landscape. 
 It was beautiful exceedingly. After the best 
 experience of such scenes, believe me, until you 
 have spent an autumn night on the waters of 
 Funchal roads, your brain, your imagination, 
 your senses, must yet be strangers to the witchery 
 of perfect moonlight.
 
 THE WINTER HOME. 241 
 
 " What say you of our winter home, Graham ? " 
 asked Mr. Perfect, seeing Edward gazing moun- 
 tain-ward. As he spoke, he kindly wrapped his 
 plaid around him. Edward answered only — 
 
 "It makes me think of God." 
 
 YOL. I.
 
 242 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 The packet having made Funclial roads in the 
 evening, her passengers slept on board. On the 
 following morning, most of them were on deck 
 at an early hour, impatiently awaiting their re- 
 lease. It was just the commencement of St. 
 Martin's summer — as the inhabitants call it, — a 
 month or five weeks of enjoyment, after the 
 •tropical rains of October, for fine weather in- 
 comparable. The heart of the great sky was 
 open, and from its pulse throbbed a life of sun- 
 beams over mountain, sea, and vale. 
 
 As Edward stood looking over the side of the 
 vessel, and watching the departure of his com- 
 panions, he saw a remarkably earnest, intelligent 
 face, scanning him attentively. Suddenly the 
 boat neared the aft chains, a word passed, a
 
 A MADEIKA GREETING. 243 
 
 hand was on a rope, and in a moment, with the 
 ease of a practised sailor, the gentleman was in 
 the rigging, looking down upon the party on 
 the deck. 
 
 " Here comes Markwell," whispered Mr. Per- 
 fect to Edward. 
 
 Markwell approached with a warm glow of 
 good will over his face, as he said earnestly — 
 
 " I hope there is no positive necessity for your 
 return. Perfect. Tell me you are only come just 
 as a precaution, and I shall be happy." 
 
 " Nothing else, Markwell," Ashton insisted ; 
 " and our little friend, you know, will have his 
 way." 
 
 " And this is Mr. Graham," said Markwell, 
 turning to. Edward. " Excuse me, Mr. Graham," 
 he added, extending his hand ; *^ I like to in- 
 troduce myself to a person I mean to like, and 
 whose face pleases me. I knew you in a moment, 
 from Ashton's graphic sketch." 
 
 After a few minutes' chat, Mr. Markwell said 
 he would just put his servant in charge of the 
 baggage, and then he would take him ashore.
 
 244 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 When Markwell had left, Edward remarked — 
 
 *^ That if he had been the invaUd Dr. Ashton 
 affirmedj that gentleman would be surprised to 
 see him now ; for he seemed in the enjoyment 
 of perfect health." 
 
 " When I landed him here five seasons back," 
 the old skipper observed, "he was as thin as a 
 lath, and bent two double. He was thought bv 
 more than one knowing doctor in London too 
 far gone even for Madeira." 
 
 The aspect of Mr. Markwell as he returned, 
 coupled with this remark of the captain's, caused 
 Edward to feel half a man again. 
 
 "Now for land," cried Mr. Markwell. "My 
 gallant captain, you dine with us at five o'clock ; 
 for these friends of ours are my prisoners for a 
 week at least." 
 
 Edward looked to Mr. Perfect for instruction. 
 Spend a week at the house of a person he had 
 only been acquainted with for ten minutes ! But 
 Mr. Perfect whispered — 
 
 " You must let him have his own way, or 
 he will fly oflP at a tangent, and become cynical.
 
 LANDING AT MADEIRA. 245 
 
 Listen to his answer if I hesitate to accept his 
 invitation. And Mr. Perfect said aloud — 
 
 "As far as I am concerned, I have my 
 doubts " 
 
 " Pray, good friend, keep them to yourself. 
 Doubts are the dialectrics of weakness." Then, 
 turning to Edward, Mr. Markwell continued : 
 " You will allow me to take you in charge. A 
 residence for a time on the outskirts of the city 
 will be best for you. So you must take pity on 
 my solitude, and become my guest." 
 
 "And bask in the poesy of practical life," 
 laughed Mr. Perfect. 
 
 " And reap a net gain, as the Irishman says 
 after a good haul," was the response. A sort of 
 compromise was made ; Edward and Mr. Perfect 
 were to make sure of winter quarters in the city, 
 and then the former consented to be Markwell's 
 guest for a week or two. Mr. Perfect remained 
 on board to aid the old skipper in making up his 
 accounts, which had got into arrears. When 
 ashore, Edward's conveyance was the hammock, 
 and very pleasant travelling he found it, after
 
 246 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 obeying Markwell's instructions about the disposal 
 of his person. Markwell rode by Edward's side 
 through the streets, and explained to him the 
 singularities they encountered on the way. 
 
 " Oaks ! " exclaimed Edward, on passing a row 
 of trees bordering one of the public walks. 
 
 " Yes ! we have some fair specimens you see of 
 our favourite English tree. They look sturdy and 
 independent, don't they ? " The sight of them 
 brought Alegria rather than Grosvenor Square 
 before Edward's vision. 
 
 On reaching Mr. Markwell's quinta, Edward 
 was much struck with the beauty, repose, and 
 variety of the scene. 
 
 " How charming ! " he exclaimed. " Warm as 
 an English July day ! I must really beg you will 
 have the hammock slung in that orange-tree, for 
 me to live in." 
 
 Markwell helped him out of his hammock, took 
 him up-stairs to his sitting-room, drew an easy 
 chair to the balcony, and placed him in it, with 
 that free, off-hand grace which a good host assumes 
 who is accustomed to deal with invalid guests.
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF CLIMATE. 247 
 
 Then he plucked a geranium, and gave it to his 
 guest. 
 
 " The temperature that perfects this beautiful 
 flower at this season of the year is what we 
 poor sick folks yearn for," said Edward; and he 
 looked into the leaves with softening eye and 
 pecuhar earnestness, thinking perhaps of the bo- 
 tanical lesson a certain little lady had given him 
 some months since over a flower of the same 
 species. 
 
 " And nothing, I warn you," observed Markwell, 
 " takes such a hold of a man as a climate of this 
 sort. We may not be sensible of all its excellence 
 whilst enjoying it, but when we leave it the want of 
 it is soon felt. In a month or two you will be 
 lost to England." 
 
 "Not quite, I think," said Edward, quietly. 
 " You seem to love Madeira." 
 
 *' The wine is good when it is good," answered 
 Markwell, with an odd expression of voice, "' but 
 you home Englishmen don't think so — the Madeira 
 merchant's own fault. When he had a chance of 
 selling, he sold sour wine; and now that he offers
 
 248 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 really good wine, tlie English world sticks to its 
 first impression." Edward laughed. 
 
 '^ I meant the island," he said : " not the 
 wine." 
 
 " So I suppose ; but we usually talk of the wine, 
 not the island, when Madeira is introduced, as you 
 will find. Yes," he went on, in a different, and 
 quite natural voice, " I love the sunshine of Ma- 
 deira, and its simple, homely charms. Indeed 
 those peculiarities which repel the fastidious are 
 attractions to me. The few wants, the primitive 
 customs of its peasantry, the absence of com- 
 mercial tumult, the impossibility of railroads, and 
 the defiance with which the mountain peaks look 
 down upon cotton-spinning man, are to me, with 
 my mediaeval tastes, so many charms. In this 
 island we can command all the luxuries and com- 
 forts of the most refined civilization ; and still hold 
 ourselves exempt, if we like, from the miseries 
 and excitements of that artificial state. You do 
 not follow me." Markwell was watching Edward's 
 face. The latter answered : 
 
 " But if we content ourselves with safety, and
 
 A SUKPRISE. 249 
 
 think only of individual ease and gratification, we 
 achieve little in our passage through life that is 
 worthy of approbation." 
 
 " You have tumbled me from Alegria peak into 
 its ravine," said Markwell. 
 
 " Alegria — Alegria ! " exclaimed Edward, all 
 his thoufijhts rushino; back to that English home — 
 the home of all his best and happiest hours. 
 " What does it mean ? I have some interest in a 
 residence thus named in Enecland." 
 
 " Indeed ! Then the name, I think, must have 
 reference to my old favourite. Now, look here," 
 and Markwell pointed northward to a mountain- 
 ridge besprinkled with pine and chesnut, add- 
 ing, " carry your eye beyond yonder church of 
 St. Roque : look well up. Do you see a great 
 pine, like a tower with a big umbrella over it ? 
 Well, just under it stands a pretty pink cottage : 
 it is called Alegria. The huge peak above is 
 Alegria peak. This ravine, which separates me 
 from my neighbours to the east, is Alegria ravine, 
 and everything is Alegria about this district." 
 
 Edward looked perfectly confounded. *^ I won-
 
 250 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 der," he said at last, musing, " if I shall ever get 
 so far into the mountains as to that cottage." 
 
 " To be sure you will, if you wish. It was two 
 years before I could venture so high, but you 
 shall manage it ere the winter season is over." 
 Edward gazed into his host's healthy countenance, 
 then upon his own spare limbs, and shook his 
 head. 
 
 " I am afraid Perfect will remain on board," 
 Markwell said ; " and I am not satisfied with his 
 appearance. But he would do it." 
 
 " Do what ? " 
 
 " Why, leave this island a year and a half ago, 
 and return to his duties. I wrote and told him it 
 was suicide ; he answered that his medical man 
 sanctioned it ; I rejoined I had known several 
 instances of medical opaqueness ; — and now the 
 consequences." 
 
 '' You astonish me. I considered him in better 
 health than many on board," observed Ed- 
 ward. 
 
 " You are unacquainted with the characterestics 
 of the complaint. I am uneasy about him. His
 
 A TRIBUTE TO WORTH. 251 
 
 death would make a sorrowful hearth in that 
 pleasant parsonage of Hamden Stoke." 
 
 " It is your happy lot to have obtained his friend- 
 ship," said Edward. 
 
 " Indeed," Markwell replied, " it is of value ; I 
 have seldom met his equal. I have done nothing 
 in life to be worthy his regard. Would I could 
 catch the pure and gentle flame of such a man's 
 emotions, and imitate him in unselfishness and 
 beneficence. I believe him incapable of error, if 
 man can be so in the present state of human nature." 
 
 " His services to me were manifold. How shall 
 I repay them ? " said Edward, with a sigh ; and 
 sorrow at his host's fears respecting their mutual 
 friend settled over his face. 
 
 Markwell noticed the look, *^ Ashton is right," 
 he muttered ; " there will be no casting pearls be- 
 fore swine in this case." He leant over the balcony, 
 and looked round. A little girl was w^eeding a 
 walk close beneath. He fetched some biscuits. 
 
 ^' Aqui Meninha,^^ he said, and gave the biscuits 
 to her. 
 
 Edward once more started with surprise.
 
 252 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " Meninha,^^ he mused. Then he remembered that 
 this was the identical name mentioned by Mr. 
 Ryland in his instructions to his father touching 
 that investment of money from which so much of 
 his personal trials had arisen. How very singular 
 to hear of Alegria and Meninha, almost the first 
 hour of his landing in Madeira ! His first thought 
 was, Meninha must mean love in Portuguese. 
 
 '^ What does Meninha signify ? " Edward asked. 
 
 " It is Portuguese for girl, or Miss. I like the 
 term ; it carries a sort of gentleness with it : do 
 you not think so ? " 
 
 Edward said he did; although disappointed, 
 whenever he heard the word, which was often, 
 the sound always excited in him an indescribable 
 and perplexing emotion.
 
 EULOGIUM ON MADEIRA. 253 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 The visitor soon feels at home in Madeira ; the 
 people are so kind, apartments are so pleasant, the 
 atmosphere is so pure, that " agreeable surprise " 
 is the first feeling of the invalid ; and this feeling 
 goes far to cloak small disagreeables (the eye for 
 which is of Englishmen, English) in couleur de 
 rose. In going to Madeira, the feelings are diffe- 
 rent from those which we take with us to Con- 
 tinental towns and cities. The visitor lands in 
 Madeira, in most cases, for a great personal pur- 
 pose, in fact, in search of the best of material 
 blessings; -and therefore a grave interest pre- 
 cedes curiosity. The imagination is occupying 
 itself less in reference to present amusement than 
 in building hope upon the advantage the bland and 
 genial temperature will afford to the feeble frame ;
 
 254 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 and there are few but feel, from the influence of 
 even a week's sojourn in the city, a partial con- 
 viction that the evil which was feared to be past 
 remedy may even yet be removed. But it is my 
 purpose to speak at present to the stranger rather 
 than to the sojourner in the island, or to those who 
 have tested the virtues of its health-giving climate. 
 To you, then, gentle reader, in whose consti- 
 tution the canker of consumption has begun to 
 appear, I would say, if you have means at your 
 command, fly from the close rooms of home, from 
 the unwholesome atmosphere and depressing in- 
 fluence of an English winter, and take refuge 
 in Madeira. " Yet a little while," is in this, as in 
 other dangers, an almost fatal doctrine. Hun- 
 dreds have been in their apparently world-wise 
 calculations suddenly struck down whilst incau- 
 tiously weighing the chances of life against their 
 worldly interests. " Another year of work, and 
 then the remedy," is too often the promise with 
 which it is attempted to bribe frail nature, and 
 before the period prescribed for ease and change 
 comes, disease has usurped a fatal authority, and
 
 ADVICE TO CONSU^IPTIVE INVALIDS. 255 
 
 the sufferer falls a victim to procrastination or 
 vain confidence. Reader, you know what an 
 English winter is like, and I can tell you what a 
 Madeira winter is ; and you will see which is best 
 calculated to give comfort to a consumptive inva- 
 lid, or to any one who prefers genial warmth and 
 sunshine to fog, and rain, and keen east wind. 
 
 In Madeira you have warm bright mornings to 
 greet you all the winter. Throughout the day, 
 the temperature ranges within doors (and there are 
 no fires) from sixty to sixty-five; never going 
 below fifty-eight in Funchal. Thus you have 
 nothing at any time of the chill of cold, the 
 rawness of northern climates, or of the sudden 
 change known too well in the climates of Lisbon, 
 Cadiz, Naples, and Rome. In Madeira the sun 
 does not scorch one half of you, and the wind 
 chill the other : the sun warms the air, and joins 
 with it in pleasant fellowship, to make up a tempe- 
 rature such as English hot-house plants thrive 
 wonderfully in. Then in Madeira, when you 
 move out of doors, you have clean flags, and a 
 quiet, pleasant-looking city to wander about in, and
 
 256 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 gardens breathing Elysian odours. There are 
 no curious eyes to stare at indolence as you 
 recline on a seat in the public promenade; and 
 if the foreigner does not, from your ignorance 
 of his language, hold intercourse with you, his 
 bearing is always courteous and conciliating. 
 There are no wheeled vehicles to annoy, no inso- 
 lences of the whip fraternity to disgust you ; you 
 can drop the English primness, wear easy gar- 
 ments, put your stiff beaver in its case after its 
 visit to the Consulate, and exercise yourself in the 
 most delightful laziness to your heart's content. 
 You have reading-rooms, billiard-rooms, and news- 
 rooms at hand; horses to take you a pleasant 
 walk, and a groom to steer your steed aright, by a 
 sure grip of the tail. If your taste lies that way, 
 you can join a fashionable party for an afternoon 
 ride ; if not, and you are a lover of Nature, the 
 mountain paths are open, and she is ready to 
 receive you in her home, to soothe your feelings, 
 and elevate your thoughts. 
 
 Edward Graham spent the first fortnight in 
 Madeira with Markwell. He was charmed with
 
 A NEW LIFE. 257 
 
 nis new friend's graceful hospitality. He brought 
 acquaintances about Edward, who soon found his 
 place amongst them. Pleasant rides, a little boat- 
 ing, and cheerful chat, and the day was gone, 
 almost without knowing how. Markwell was just 
 the right man to take Edward in hand, at this 
 period of his life. He was a man of energy, 
 firmness, and bonJiommie ; well read in general 
 hterature ; and in his little home so unselfish and 
 genial, that nothing was more natural than to be 
 quite at ease at Fanal. Nevertheless, Markwell 
 would have looked rather astonished, had he been 
 told that fate had a hand in this association of 
 himself and his interesting guest. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 258 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Weeks passed with Edward Graham in Madeira, 
 as weeks had never passed before. Not a word 
 to jar on his ear, not an idea apart from memory 
 to give him pain. Letters went home, and letters 
 went to Alegria — the last, the longest, full of 
 Markwell and Mr. Perfect. Amongst other 
 matters, he surprised Miss Weston not a little by 
 his report relative to Alegria and Meninha; and 
 further, that on his visiting the strangers' burial- 
 ground, he had discovered a head-stone on which 
 appeared — *^ Lucy, wife of William Wynne Ry- 
 land, aged twenty-four." He added, that the 
 singularity of the circumstances he had mentioned 
 had rendered Madeira a place of great and ab- 
 sorbing interest to him, apart from the good he 
 was deriving from his residence there.
 
 THE DEATH-WATCH. 259 
 
 But yet a trial was in store. Markwell 
 suddenly drew Edward's attention to their friend 
 Perfect's health. His last visit to Madeira 
 had been made too late. Few thought with 
 Markwell, on welcoming him to the island, that 
 he came to die there, but it was so. The last 
 week by that death-bed brought forth the latent 
 energies of Edward Graham's nature. Not an 
 hour did Edward leave him throughout those 
 seven days ; not even Mr. Perfect's wish that he 
 should do so, at least, at night was heeded. 
 Markwell's promise to take his place was nought ; 
 the medical man's counsel was as wind ; Edward's 
 will was in his heart. There he watched for seven 
 long days and nights, sleeping only when nature 
 yielded; then waking up, ashamed of the weak- 
 ness, to continue the vigil. Until the last sad 
 moment, it did not appear that nature was much 
 worn by this excessive strain, but when the 
 earthly watch could do no more, Edward's heart 
 sank down as dead. He was led away, and those 
 about him counselled rest and quiet. But Wealthy 
 rest came not ; quiet he was, but he never slept.
 
 260 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 There was a slight wandering in the eye, a listless- 
 ness and apathy of manner, a hard quick pulse, 
 and a dry hot skin. Markwell was now to Ed- 
 ward, what Edward had been to Mr. Perfect ; but 
 he was altogether at fault relative to the course to 
 be pursued in regard to him. His residence of 
 years in the island had familiarized him with 
 sickness, but he had never witnessed a case of 
 this sort. 
 
 " Sunshine ! " Edward would say, in a low- 
 strange voice, as he stood motionless, gazing up 
 to that great soul of light with a dry unflinching 
 eye ; then turning away from the window, with 
 his hand raised to his forehead — "Dark! dark! 
 all black within ! all black ! give me sunshine." 
 
 He would say to Markwell, "You are a 
 shadow." Then he would go up to him and feel 
 him, with quite a business air. 
 
 " Yes, I feel you, but I do not see you. These 
 hands," holding up his own frail fingers, " are not 
 my hands, and somebody else talks for me ; it is 
 not my voice that speaks, and there is somebody 
 put inside me to think for me: 7am all air, no limbs ;
 
 NERVOUS SENSATIONS. 261 
 
 only eyes, Markwell, only eyes ; I see sunshine, 
 but feel dark — dark — all dark." 
 
 The medical practice was to lull and compose 
 the system by opiates ; but it effected no good. 
 Then Markwell bore the sufferer away to Fanal, 
 and constituted himself his nurse, staying with him 
 by day and sleeping in his room at night ; calling 
 up his best reasoning, and exercising the most 
 judicious authority over him ; for one day, whilst 
 walking in the grounds of the quinta, Edward 
 sprang suddenly away and ran to the brink of a 
 rocky cliff which overhung the Alegria ravine. 
 He was plucked back by the nervous arm of his 
 friend, who after this decided within his own mind 
 upon the com'se to pursue. Setting Edward 
 down by him, he spoke in a grave, and hard, and 
 stem tone. Edward was pettish at first, and 
 strove to vindicate a right of will and action ; 
 but the mind of his host gradually gained ascen- 
 dancy, and he became as docile as a child. 
 
 " Tax your memory as well as you can, and tell 
 me if you have ever been a victim to this malady 
 before."
 
 262 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 Edward's finger went to his brow. 
 
 " Something," he answered, indifferently. 
 
 " Something ? I do not understand you ; speak 
 plainly." 
 
 " How absurd you are, Markwell ! how can a 
 mad person speak plainly ? " 
 
 " Mad ! not a bit of it, my dear fellow. I will 
 not allow you to use the term. You are no more 
 mad than I am. How was it you used to sufier ? 
 You are letting your complaint conquer you ? " 
 
 Edward answered, tapping his forehead. 
 
 " It is here ; a cord gives way : joy did it once ; 
 trouble more than once: the latter I have 
 known most of." Markwell turned his head 
 away. His feelings were acutely touched. The 
 tone of the voice, like that of a child in grief, was 
 too much for his assumed severity. He came to 
 the conclusion that Edward's strange malady was 
 not so much a mental one as the result of irrita- 
 tion of the nerves of the brain. He resolved to 
 make an experiment on his own authority. Tak- 
 ing Edward with him to his room, he applied a 
 large mustard poultice to the crown of his head.
 
 MADEIRA FRIENDSHIP. 263 
 
 and sat down by his patient's side. By degrees 
 the head drooped, and at last suddenly sank on 
 the watcher's shoulder. It was a quiet sleep, 
 lasting for nearly two hours; the first natural 
 rest Edward had enjoyed for three weeks. Now 
 that Markwell thought he had discovered a means 
 of cure, he declared himself Edward's physician 
 extraordinary, and entered on his labours with 
 that energy and promptitude for which he was 
 remarkable. 
 
 " I see a little, I think ; I see a little — a very 
 little," Edward said, when he awoke. 
 
 '^ Very w^ell, we cannot do all at once : step by 
 step, Graham. We catch the plague of illness 
 sooner than we escape from it." 
 
 " I am not well, remember," cried the inVahd. 
 " I will honestly tell you when I am so. When 
 I shake hands with you seven times, that shall be 
 the signal. You will remember ? " 
 
 "Yes. But you must write to your friends 
 in England about the state of your health." 
 
 '^ I have no friends. How can a voice have 
 friends ? Really, Markwell, you are too absurd."
 
 264 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " You must write to Miss Weston, Graham ; I 
 am aware, through your remarks, of the tie which 
 unites you. I also will write to her, and enclose 
 your note." 
 
 Edward looked disposed to rebel; but Mark- 
 well's face was so quiet and firm that he became 
 obedient. 
 
 " I must do it directly, then. But how can a 
 voice write ? How can a voice hold a pen ? " 
 
 " We shall see ! " Thereupon Markwell walked 
 Edward to his room, and placed writing materials 
 before him: Edward took up the pen with a 
 nerveless hand, and it fell from his fingers. 
 
 " You see," he said, with a piteous look. 
 
 Markwell placed the pen in his hand and held 
 it there ; then, in a very firm tone, desired him to 
 write. Edward made the attempt; and becom- 
 ing personally satisfied that he could write, he 
 scribbled off the following, almost without pause : 
 
 "My dear Aunt Maet, 
 
 "I HAD a great loss. The dread of the 
 death of one whom I loved better than myself.
 
 NERVOUS PEOPLE CANNOT THINK. 265 
 
 preyed niglit and day upon my mind for a long 
 time; and by degrees my mind became feeble. 
 I saw without seeing, and objects danced oddly 
 before my sight. One day I felt as if something 
 gave way in my forehead, and ever since there 
 has been a flihiess and yet a void in my head ; 
 and many sensations of sound in the cavity where 
 thouo-ht used to be. I cannot brin^ ideas to bear. 
 They all seem wandering in a vast space, like ships 
 without rudders. Every feeling is gone. I seem 
 never to have had any feeling, but that all is space 
 within. My eyes wander; never fix themselves 
 on any object, but stare into vacancy. I speak, 
 and hear, and remember, but all as if by some 
 influence over which I have not the slightest 
 authority. All emotion has died aw^ay. I cannot 
 like or dislike, or feel shame, fear, or sorrow. 
 When I close my eyes I do not think, but dread- 
 ful things come into the cavity, and then my 
 brain reels inside as if it were falling, and it 
 goes to the back of my head." 
 
 " Enough, Graham," Markwell said ; for he 
 had overlooked the task.
 
 266 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 " I did not write a word of it ; somebody 
 wrote it for me," was the answer. 
 
 " This will do for to-day." The watchful friend 
 took the pen from Edward's hand, observing, as 
 he took Tip the sheet: "This proves you can 
 think, Graham. No ? — well, be it so. I will send 
 my report. A steamer sails to-morrow. In a 
 week your friends will know you are in safe 
 hands ; then I shall be satisfied." 
 
 Nearly a month passed. There was a great 
 confusion one morning, as usual, in Markwell's 
 dressing-room. Edward was kneeling before a 
 tub of water, looking up half-comically, and 
 half-angrily, at his untiring friend, as he heaped 
 snow from a pail into the tub. 
 
 " That is enough, surely, Markv/ell. Don't 
 make it so cold. It griped so yesterday, just 
 like a crab clawing my brains. You really shall 
 not practise upon m^e any mere." 
 
 "Willyou shake hands?" laughed Markwell, 
 plunging a huge sponge into the snow-water, 
 and tucking up his sleeves. 
 
 " Three times and a half," cried Edward, and 
 down streamed the snow-water.
 
 AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL. 267 
 
 " Oh ! but half-well ought to satisfy you,'* sput- 
 tered Edward. 
 
 "Only half enough," exclaimed Markwell, 
 plying the sponge with vigour. Just at the 
 moment he held Edward's head in a rough 
 towel, a servant brought in a card, saying : — 
 
 "yl senJiora muinto deseijava de vir, senhor." 
 ("the lady very anxious to see the gentleman.") 
 Markwell's eye fell upon the card^ and he 
 exclaimed, "Miss Weston!"
 
 268 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The early spring of 1847 saw the overthrow of 
 many a commercial scheme which had, less than 
 a year before, promised great results. Hundreds 
 who had hastened to get rich, forgot to take heed, 
 and fell. What a change in a few months in 
 the position of traders and speculators who had 
 played tricks with capital. The sunny stream 
 of success was suddenly chained by a hard, sharp 
 frost. The dream of wealth was all at once 
 changed into the actual presence of ruin. Matters 
 were going most adversely with Mr. Graham in 
 Mincing Lane. At the commencement of the 
 year he pondered over and over again on the 
 condition of his business relations, and trembled. 
 But he was in the vortex, and struggle he must 
 until he sank. His position was anything but
 
 RAILROADS GONE TOO FAST. 269 
 
 an enviable one. From an early period in the 
 history of railway speculation and the rascality it 
 fattened, he had dabbled a little in it, and suc- 
 .^essfnlly. With his winnings he created a stock, 
 ind speculated only with it for a time. Thus 
 lo we play with temptation, until temptation plays 
 with us. Mr. Graham did well : he felt satisfied ; 
 le held fast by his prudence : he believed his 
 penetration greater than it was. Suddenly he 
 found himself borne along by that tide which 
 divides the two estates of the speculative world, 
 uncertain to which shore he was about to be 
 carried — to that of doubled wealth or utter ruin. 
 At the period of Mr. Graham's second marriage, 
 increased household expenditure was of little mo- 
 ment; he was then highly prosperous: with his 
 marriage the ruling passion of every speculator 
 developed itself in him — he became ambitious. 
 The great men, the heads and taijs of the various 
 Railway lines, were drawn to his house ; the hostess 
 gave the trader's establishment an air of distinc- 
 tion, and his increasing wealth rendered him a 
 man to be sought after. Lords, Honourables, and
 
 270 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 City magnates, even Clayworth, shook him occa- 
 sionally by both hands, and called him " Graham." 
 His mansion had donned the livery of fashion. 
 Position, when made, must be kept up ; he had 
 sought to make it ; he was compelled to uphold 
 it. Money flew rapidly, as it must fly when the 
 trader apes fashionable habits. In Mr. Graham's 
 establishment little expenses having become vulgar, 
 the taste for heavy expenses grew. There was 
 much extravagance, little real enjoyment; to- 
 night a glare, to-morrow chagrin. The drain on 
 his banking account, the increasing demand upon 
 cash w^hen bills were not negotiable, staggered 
 him. When least able to meet them, the conse- 
 quences of extravagance come upon us. The 
 expenditure of the business house was declared 
 to be greater than ever, and so with Grosvenor 
 Square. Mr. Graham was even now a rich man 
 on paper, but his paper wealth could not meet 
 cash demands at the time of a commercial panic. 
 Besides, his paper was not good paper, but negoti- 
 able at a sacrifice — 20 per cent, would not buy 
 gold upon it. Bills of doubtful houses, bonds,
 
 THE LAIMENTATION OF FOLLY. 271 
 
 and railway scrip : an attempt to convert such as 
 these into cash would have been an evil omen. 
 Mr. Graham's lamentation was — 
 
 " If I could draw in my expenditure, if I could 
 live as inexpensively as I did at St. John's Wood, 
 I should see my way clear. As it is, matters 
 grow worse every day — every day the hills are 
 larger." 
 
 Mr. Graham's was not an exceptional case — 
 error never is : the trader may be so situated at 
 a season of commercial panic that, although the 
 actual possessor of a large amount of good paper 
 wealth, he cannot avoid embarrassment in his 
 affairs. In fact, mercantile wealth, — which is now, 
 from the extended nature of business relations, 
 chiefly paper wealth, at least mainly dependent 
 on the recognitions of that as the medium of 
 satisfaction between buyer and seller — may be so 
 fettered through' occurrences over which even its 
 most prudent possessor has no control, that the 
 wise and prudent perceive the error of regarding 
 the return of profit at the end of the year as 
 money to be dealt with apart from the general
 
 272 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 interests of business. Business men should carry 
 in their minds the simple fact that if thej spend 
 the income derived from trading operations, they 
 strip themselves of the natural provision against 
 the accident of a subsequent year. Very often 
 business men become embarrassed and ultimately 
 bankrupt, rather through an injudicious handling 
 of income, than through the partial failure of 
 operations upon which their trading capital is 
 dependent. 
 
 On the receipt of the letters from Madeira, Miss 
 Weston hastened to Grosvenor Square. Mr. 
 Graham showed the feelings of a father. 
 
 " What can be done ? " he said, nervously. 
 " I would go out to him myself, but at the present 
 moment I am so distressingly situated, from the 
 miserable state of commercial affairs, that unless I 
 remain at my post " 
 
 He paused, and Miss Weston rejoined — 
 
 " I will go myself. But what you say alarms 
 me." 
 
 " You go ? impossible I " exclaimed Mr. Graham, 
 evading the latter remark.
 
 NATURE versus THE WORLD. 273 
 
 " Not at all : it is my duty. I see it now, and 
 will fulfil it." 
 
 " And your little girl — what is to be done with 
 her ? " asked Mr. Graham. 
 
 '• I shall not take Minnie with me. I will leave 
 her in your charge : you will watch over her for 
 my sake, remembering the mission I am gone 
 upon." 
 
 " I will," replied Mr. Graham : " have no fears 
 for her." 
 
 "You are aware that Sir George Elpingstone 
 made proposals of marriage not long since : they 
 were declined. She must hear nothing more on 
 this subject during my absence." 
 
 "I trust not — I trust not," said Mr. Graham, 
 uneasily. " I will speak to my wife upon the 
 point, if necessary. But you need not fear : I am 
 master here." 
 
 Miss Weston was not quite satisfied : and when 
 she returned to Grosvenor Square with Minnie, 
 the day prior to her departure, she herself spoke 
 to Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " I leave one-half of my life and happiness in 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 your hands," the kind good lady said, with a 
 trembling lip. '^Be gentle with her, dear Mrs. 
 Graham, and I will repay you with a life of gra- 
 titude; and if your brother seeks to renew the 
 subject which was disposed of not long since, 
 you will, I rely upon you, at once discountenance 
 the attempt." 
 
 "Dear Miss Weston," Mrs. Graham rejoined, 
 '^ we are people of the world in Grosvenor Square. 
 What did occur was simply nothing : a silly 
 fancy of my brother, now quite extinct. Really 
 we do not remember it : we never do remember 
 things of this sort. Besides, George has gone to 
 Brussels. Minnie, dear little pet, will be quite safe 
 under my protection." 
 
 It came about, however, that Elpingstone did 
 not remain so long at Brussels as Mrs. Graham 
 seemed to predict. The week following Miss 
 Weston's departure, he was once more installed 
 in his comfortable quarters in Grosvenor Square. 
 Mrs. Graham showed the most flattering kindness 
 to Minnie ; and Mr. Graham did his best in his 
 own way to make her feel at home. Gratefully
 
 DESIGNS COMING OUT. 275 
 
 did Minnie accept these demonstrations of good- 
 will; and a feeling akin to confidence began to 
 dawn within her. 
 
 Little by little Elpingstone had nearly overcome 
 Minnie's sensitive timidity in his society. He 
 never touched upon the past, but gradually 
 assumed the position of friend, adviser, regu- 
 lator of her amusements, and so on, — a position 
 which settles an authority over a young girl's 
 thoughts which is often as difficult for her to 
 shake off as it is to explain the way it was 
 brought about. Mrs. Graham, it must be con- 
 fessed, did not observe her promise to Miss 
 Weston, or, perhaps, being short-sighted, did 
 not choose to see. Certain it is that Elpingstone 
 had the choice of opportunities to pursue his 
 intentions, if he really entertained any serious 
 ones after his rejection three months before. Mrs. 
 Graham dragged Minnie, with friendly force, into 
 a course of gaiety which at first was evidently 
 not in accordance with her feelings. Operas, 
 theatres, balls, and dinner-parties, now became 
 household words ; and Elpingstone was usually in
 
 276 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 attendance. What gave Minnie pain was, that 
 Edward's name was never mentioned. She, of 
 course, could not talk about him. Her fears on 
 his account were almost too engrossing to per- 
 mit her to think about her own position ; but if 
 they had occasionally introduced his name, and 
 expressed an interest in his condition, she would 
 have been drawn nearer to them, and the only 
 link apparently wanting to insure a thoroughly 
 cordial understanding would have been sup- 
 plied. 
 
 " Well, George, what do you mean in regard to 
 ^ Village Bird ? ' " said Mrs. Graham to her 
 brother, in a low voice, as they stood together 
 by the fire, after their return from a prosy dinner 
 at the Sliverys. " You have had your way a full 
 fortnight, and I must remember Granny Wolf. 
 The little thing really looked very lovely to-night, 
 I must own. Few men could regard her with 
 indifference, especially now that pensive look has 
 returned. Lord Alfred Vane thinks so, too. He 
 asked me, in a confidential whisper, to give him a 
 hint of our next whereabouts; and you should
 
 THE WOELDLY SOLILOQUIZE. 277 
 
 have seen him when Mrs. Sliveiy called her ' onr 
 little provincial.' " 
 
 " Yane is a man of acknowledged taste," was all 
 Elpingstone replied, as he ran his fingers through 
 his hair. 
 
 " But Minnie, George ? I cannot understand it. 
 There is more in this fancy of yours than 
 meets the eye. Time was when your pride — the 
 
 Elpingstone pride " she was interrupted 
 
 with — 
 
 " Brought George Elpingstone to throw away 
 his money and his sense, Emily, without reaping 
 any harvest from the seed sown. Speak gently of 
 her." 
 
 "Another Indian mail, and no letter," ob- 
 served Mr. Graham, as his wife left the room. " I 
 don't like this silence of Ryland's." 
 
 "How long is it since you have heard from 
 him ? " asked Elpingstone. 
 
 " I have not heard since I made an evasive 
 reply relative to the investment of that money. 
 I wish in my heart I had followed Edward's 
 advice."
 
 278 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 "Gad! so do I, since the speculation turned 
 out bad." 
 
 "I commenced putting by to meet the loss. 
 But for this sudden panic, it would have been 
 nothing now." Mr. Graham paused. 
 
 "I blame myself for it, Graham. But Ry- 
 land, do you think he suspects aught ? " 
 
 " I don't know, and I don't care. I wish I 
 nad never heard the horrid name. It haunts 
 me like a spectre; and Slivery, with his imper- 
 tinent questions, to-night ! " 
 
 " I could attend his funeral without perturba- 
 tion. Heaven protect me, Graham, from friends 
 of great abilities in money matters." 
 
 " Asking me if / knew who were likely to be 
 defaulters in that cursed line ! A hint from him, 
 when he sneaked out of the affair, would have 
 enabled me to save myself." After a pause, Mr. 
 Graham added, " If Ryland insists on a reckon- 
 mg 
 
 " Then I will reckon with him," interrupted 
 Elpingstone, in an off-hand fashion. 
 
 " Not you : that man will prove intractable.
 
 THE SUBTERFUGE. 279 
 
 Those Indian fellows are always so^" said Mr. 
 Graham, snappishly. 
 
 " It's the curry — the cayenne, the tigerish 
 scamps ! " 
 
 Mr. Graham's face relaxed into a grim smile, 
 which would have been quickly changed to alarm 
 had the names of the passengers by the last 
 Indian mail-ship come under his ken. 
 
 The following morning, Minnie was occupied, 
 at Mrs. Graham's request, in the Chinese room, 
 when the door opened, and Sir George Elpingstone 
 entered. 
 
 " Ha ! Miss Seaton," he said, " I did not know 
 you were here. I hope I do not intrude." 
 
 Minnie said, " No," meaning, " Tes," and went 
 on with her task industriously. 
 
 Elpingstone walked up and down the room, 
 took up one curiosity after another, and made 
 Uvely and sarcastic remarks. Then he diverged 
 into his travels. He spoke of recent adventures 
 in Germany, of a visit to the Duke of Bruns- 
 wick's, and rattled off anecdotes of Continental 
 life, until Minnie's fancy was evidently pleased.
 
 280 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 It was plain, however, that for one so accus- 
 tomed to life in its various phases as Elping- 
 stone, he was this morning a little embar- 
 rassed. 
 
 Minnie's work was ended, and she was about 
 to leave the room. 
 
 ^' Will you not remain ? " Elpingstone said, 
 in an entreating voice. Minnie looked timidly 
 at him, and then, with a faint smile, an- 
 swered : 
 
 " I have my Madeira letters to write. The 
 mail leaves to-morrow." 
 
 " But before you go, listen to me for a few 
 minutes, I entreat you. Your compliance is of 
 vital interest to both of us ; " and Elpingstone 
 took Minnie's hand, and led her back to a seat. 
 "Miss Seaton," he said, dropping his voice to a 
 low, musical key as he bent over her — " some 
 time ago you were made aware of my feelings 
 relative to you ; and you, or Miss Weston, said 
 ' No ' to my wish to speak more plainly. I found 
 comfort in the fact that you could not deprive 
 me of the power to retain my sentiments, how-
 
 THE EXPLANATION. 281 
 
 ever much you might be indisposed to sympathize 
 Avith them. If I speak coldly, pardon me. I am 
 a proud man, and that pride has been wounded 
 by your friend. You, I am well aware, would 
 not hurt the feelings even of an enemy ; there- 
 fore, I am bold enough to say to you that I 
 should like to hear your decision on this matter 
 from your own lips. My hopes of happiness 
 rest on you." 
 
 "I am very sorry: it gives me great pain 
 to hear you speak thus," fell from Minnie's 
 lips. 
 
 "I do not wish to say anything to give you 
 pain. Indeed, Miss Seaton, I would do much 
 to make you happy. If you are still indifferent 
 to my sincere and warm attachment, grant me 
 still the liberty of showing how very earnestly 
 my heart longs to serve you." 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
 " You cannot ! " He touched her hand ; it seemed 
 to shrink within itself a little, but she did not 
 draw it away. " You cannot ! " he said again, 
 sadly. " I think I understand you ; but, if so.
 
 282 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 I will be unselfish enough to speak the painful 
 truth, and your own welfare demands that. You 
 heed me: should Edward live — yes, Minnie, I 
 see it all — and should Miss Weston's infatuation 
 tempt her to wish to unite you to him, a life 
 of sorrow, and trouble, and toil, and weariness 
 awaits you both. Mr. Graham " 
 
 '^ Do not, pray do not ! " cried Minnie. " You 
 must not : it is indeed too cruel ! " 
 
 "There would be misery," pursued Elping- 
 stone, not heeding her, " and worse. You would 
 mar Edward's otherwise bright prospects, and 
 still be apart from him. Edward's father will 
 tell you so. He will tell you that the poles are 
 not wider asunder than are your destiny and 
 Edward's." 
 
 It was some time before Minnie could collect 
 her thoughts at all ; at last she managed to 
 say: 
 
 ** I am grateful to you for many kindnesses, 
 and I shall remember you as a friend always. 
 More I cannot be, indeed. Do not press me 
 further — you sadly frighten me. I do not un-
 
 THE SCENE CHANGES. 283 
 
 derstand your hints about Edward. I never can 
 be, I never will be a trouble to him. Please 
 never say another word on this subject. I am 
 very much distressed." 
 
 " If you knew all, you would say I was 
 justified in giving you this friendly warning. 
 Nay, you must hear me," he cried, as Minnie 
 rose to leave. He detained her by gentle force, 
 and was about to speak, when the sound of foot- 
 steps near the door drew his attention. Minnie's 
 hand was released, but scarcely before a middle- 
 aged, gentlemanlike person, with a very bronzed 
 face, entered the room, and stood a few paces from 
 the frightened girl, gazing with marked surprise 
 and earnestness at her. Minnie made an attempt 
 to speak, but she failed ; her cheek grew red and 
 pale by turns, and her eyes were fixed upon the 
 stranger with singular intentness. The stranger's 
 lips moved : he was evidently struck with 
 Minnie's appearance. Embarrassment, agitation, 
 and curiosity were in his eye and manner, and 
 strangely contrasted with his evident experience 
 and familiarity with the world. He followed
 
 284 THE TWO HOMES. 
 
 Minnie's exit from the room with the same 
 look ; then turned to Elpingstone, but did not 
 speak. 
 
 "You wish to see Mr. Graham, I presume," 
 Elpingstone said, rather at a loss under that 
 silent scrutiny. 
 
 " The man said Mr. Graham was ' not at 
 home.' Perhaps he mistook orders. Are you 
 Mr. Graham ? " said the stranger, abruptly, but 
 not rudely. 
 
 Elpingstone laughed. 
 
 " No, thank you," he said, with humour. 
 
 " Then you are Sir George Elpingstone, I 
 presume," and the speaker bowed, adding, " and 
 the young lady — Miss — Miss Seaton — Miss Sea- 
 ton, eh? — was Miss Seaton standing near y^ou 
 when I entered the room ? " 
 
 " Yes, that was Miss Seaton." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 The stranger glanced with a quizzical eye round 
 the room, and added : " So Mr. Graham is not 
 * at home ' here f Well, I will look in again 
 another day. Sorry to have inconvenienced you.
 
 THE WOOER LEFT SOLILOQUIZING. 285 
 
 Good morning, and a pleasant day to you." And 
 the stranger was gone. 
 
 " A pleasant day to you ! " laughed Elpingstone, 
 as he stood looking before him; feeling there 
 was something about the man he should like to 
 understand, but could not. 
 
 END OF VOL. L
 
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