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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Class 
 
 Book 
 
 Volume 
 
 My08-15M
 
 >; 

 
 OSMOND, 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 OP 
 
 "THE FAVOURITE OF NATURE." 
 
 " Evil and strong seducing passions prey 
 On soaring minds, and win them from their way ; 
 Who then to Vice the subject spirits give. 
 And in the service of the coni|ueror live ; 
 Like captive Sampson making sport for all. 
 Who fear'd their strength, and glory in their fall."---CRABBE. 
 
 I 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR G. AND W. B. WHITTAKER, 
 AVE-MARIA LANE. 
 
 1822.
 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 TRINTKD BV cox AND BAVUS, GREAT QUtHM STREK, 
 
 LINCOLN's-IMN FIKLUS.
 
 TO LADY DACRE. 
 
 MADAM, 
 
 I dedicated my former work to your 
 friend, Mrs. Joanna Baillie, from a sin- 
 cere admiration of her talents. 
 
 The same reason has induced me to re- 
 quest permission to dedicate these volumes 
 to your Ladyship. 
 
 Unknown to her, and unknown to you, 
 I may have been somewhat presumptuous ; 
 but I hope to be forgiven for having addres- 
 sed myself to those, whose favour is calculated 
 to do so much honour to my production, and 
 
 1 1 5 Dsea
 
 IV 
 
 to whom it is so great a pleasure to express 
 obligation. 
 
 With the utmost respect, permit me to 
 acknowledge myself. 
 
 Your Ladyship's very obliged 
 
 and obedient humble servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 OSMOND. 
 
 CHAP. 1. 
 
 " It does not signify. Lady Arling- 
 ton/' said the Earl to his Countess, as 
 they were one evening returning home 
 from dining with a neighbouring noble- 
 man, '' but if Osmond does not return 
 in the course of this week, I will go 
 and fetch him myself. 
 
 '' It is very strange indeed what he 
 can be about at that stupid place,'* 
 replied her Ladyship. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 
 
 '' Strange!*' returned the Earl; ''it 
 is absolutely mysterious. To bury him- 
 self alive for half a year together, in a 
 miserable muddy village in the north, 
 that nobody would set their foot in, 
 except perhaps, for the sake of a fort- 
 night's shooting in the grouse season ; 
 and there to remain, in defiance of 
 entreaties, and expostulations, and even 
 commands ; I cannot understand it, but 
 I soon will," continued his Lordship, in 
 a determined tone ; '' if he does not 
 answer my last letter very soon in 
 person, he will receive a visitor, 1 can 
 assure him, not of the most agreeable 
 kind." 
 
 A heavy sigh was Lady Arlington's 
 only reply. 
 
 It was heard and sympathized with, 
 by the gentlest of human beings, who,
 
 pensively reclined in one corner of the 
 carriage^ had^ though silent^ been as 
 deeply interested in the conversation 
 as either of the others. 
 
 Affectionately laying her hand upon 
 that of the Countess^ and speaking in a 
 voice that nature had modulated to the 
 sweetest tones of persuasiveness and 
 love, ^' I have a presentiment that we 
 shall soon see him^ dear Lady Arling- 
 ton/' she said ; " and if not^ if he does 
 play truant a little longer^ we all know 
 how difficult it would be for my Lord to 
 be seriously displeased with Osmond/* 
 
 '^ Indeed Lady Ellen you are mis- 
 taken/' replied his Lordship ; " 1 am 
 already excessively oflended with him ; 
 he has mortified my expectations — dis- 
 appointed my hopes/' 
 
 B 3
 
 '' Oh, surely, my Lord, you judge him 
 a little too severely/* said Lady Ellen, 
 hastily iuterruptino- him ; '' I cannot 
 doubt but that he will justify your warm- 
 est wishes — your fondest expectations.'* 
 
 '' God grant he may,*' said Lady 
 Arlington with fervour ; '' but he is 
 such an im'petuous creature ! Oh, El- 
 len !'* she continued, with rising emo- 
 tion, " the anxiety that I have felt on 
 that boy*s account I" 
 
 '' He will repay it, my dear friend — 
 1 know that he will repay it all," re- 
 plied Lady Ellen, tenderly ; '' think of 
 his noble disposition, his affectionate 
 feelings — ** 
 
 " Ah, but those feelings are mingled 
 with others, Ellen, that often make me 
 tremble for his happiness."
 
 '' Alas! this is but too true/' said 
 Lady Ellen to herself with a deep sigh. 
 
 '' To think now of his being out of 
 the way this whole summer/' said Lord 
 Arlington^ suddenly breaking from a 
 reverie^ and seeming to give words to 
 his thoughts rather than to address 
 himself to any one^ '' when Lord Eus- 
 tace^ Mr. Belford^ Sir William Cope- 
 land,, and other leading men, high in 
 power, high in public opinion, men that 
 every body talks of, were in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and 1 had an opportunity of 
 introducing him to them all — it really 
 is too provoking ! Do you not think 
 Lady Ellen/' he added, '' that it is 
 quite enough to occasion misery to any 
 father?'' 
 
 Lady Ellen could conceive the pos- 
 sibility of nmch more overpowering 
 
 B 3
 
 6 
 
 afflictions to a parent ; but she never- 
 theless replied with her accustomed 
 gentleness^ '' It was a pity, indeed, that 
 Osmond's talents and advantages were 
 not properly known and appreciated '' 
 
 '' But they never will be, I foresee 
 that," replied his Lordship ; '" his abo- 
 minable capricious temper will always 
 stand in the way of his advancement. 
 Who but himself, after such a career 
 at the University, gaining prizes, and 
 distinguishing himself upon all occa- 
 sions as a young man of the finest 
 talents,- — who but he, I say, would, just 
 at the very period of life when he ought 
 to be pushing his way in the world, 
 and making himself acquainted with 
 public business and public men, be 
 seized all at once with a love of retire- 
 ment — desire of solitude — fondness for
 
 a country life — and such preposterous 
 whims — I declare 1 was quite ashamed 
 when Lord Eustace asked me to-day at 
 dinner, ' what was become of Mr. Les- 
 singham ?* to be obliged to answer that 
 he was still at my sporting box in the 
 north." 
 
 '^ And what can he be doing so long 
 there ?*' said my Lord ; ^' establishing 
 an intrigue with the gamekeeper's 
 daughter, or being sentimental with the 
 dairy-maid V 
 
 '' A very pretty, respectable sort of 
 surmise this!" continued his Lordship, 
 very angrily, '' to be made upon the 
 conduct of a young man of family !" 
 
 To the great comfort of Lady Ellen, 
 the further ebullitions of Lord Arling- 
 ton's wrath were interrupted by their 
 arrival at home. Pleading fatigue, she 
 
 B 4
 
 8 
 
 retired almost immediately to her omtii 
 apartment. Her heart was not at rest, 
 and she wanted to be alone. 
 
 '' Another day is gone/' she said, as 
 she threw herself into a chair, '' and he 
 comes not ! There is something myste- 
 . rious in (his continued absence. Oh, 
 Osmond ! is it possible that my hopes 
 have deceived me ? is it possible that 
 you can have fallen from those high, 
 those very high ideas I had formed of 
 you ?" 
 
 She rose, and with agitated steps 
 took two or three turns up and down 
 the room. She stopped before a small 
 casket, and opening it, she took out a 
 miniature ; she hung over it for many 
 minutes with pensive smiles. '' Are not 
 these the features of virtue itself?'' 
 she said ; *' did nature ever stamp upon
 
 the human countenance such legible 
 traces of nobility of soul?" and with 
 the devotion of female tenderness she 
 pressed her lips upon the picture ; but 
 though in absolute solitude^ the blush of 
 virgin modesty suffused her cheek at 
 this involuntary action, and she cast a 
 hurried glance around, as if shrinking 
 at the bare idea of being observed. If 
 any eyes had witnessed this impulse of 
 the purest love that ever warmed a 
 woman's breast, they would have found, 
 in looking at the picture she held in her 
 hand, something of its excuse. 
 
 It was the portrait of a young man 
 apparently about twenty years of age. 
 The majesty of the open brow, the 
 searching glance, the soul of the dark 
 eye, the slight curl of the expressive 
 mouthy just slightly indicating the su- 
 
 B 5
 
 10 
 
 perior mind's discemmerit^ and contempt 
 of the nothingness of humanity^ might 
 perhaps have characterized the coun- 
 tenance of one more advanced in life^ 
 but that the smiling ingenuousness of 
 youth still lingered on the glowing 
 cheeky and mantled through the bril- 
 liant tints of the complexion ; whilst on 
 the noble forehead^ the visible throne 
 of intelligence^ not, a trace of care 
 or thought had as yet interrupted its 
 smooth and polished whiteness. 
 
 '' Alas that he should ever alter/' she 
 exclaimed, breaking suddenly from the 
 contemplation that absorbed her. — 
 '^ That these beautiful lineaments must 
 be furrowed and defaced in the mental 
 war, 1 too truly anticipate for him ! 
 Oh pity — pity," — but tears interrupted 
 her, and slie sat down and gave them
 
 11 
 
 free indulgence. Her thoughts reverted 
 to moments of past happiness — golden 
 moments — gone she feared for ever! 
 That period^ only one short year since^ 
 dear to her remembrance as three months 
 of uninterrupted felicity — for they were 
 months passed in the society of Osmond^ 
 when the tenderness which even from 
 his boyhood^ her distant relationship, 
 and as his father's ward, her intimate 
 connexion with his family, had long per- 
 mitted her to feel for Osmond, first 
 melted into passion, and stamped a des- 
 tiny, not otherwise highly favoured, with 
 its last and deepest impression. 
 
 Lady Ellen Seymour was one of those 
 beinscs who seem to have been created 
 to shew how well they can suffer. Edu- 
 cated by a morose and unfeeling mother, 
 
 B 6
 
 12 
 
 the exquisite sensibility ot' her own na- 
 ture must have been nipt in the but), 
 but for the affection of the fondest ot 
 fathers, whose unbounded love for her, 
 made, to her religious and well ordered 
 mind, a more than just compensation 
 for the austerity of her other parent. 
 Her first trial was the loss of this dear 
 father, at a period too, when his life, 
 always so invaluable to her, was more 
 than ever wanted to protect her, by his 
 authority, from being persecuted by a 
 young and very dissolute nobleman, 
 who solicited at that time her hand, and 
 whose addresses were unfortunately ap- 
 proved of by the Countess her mother ; 
 his rank and riches sufficiently exte- 
 nuating his faults, and proving a passport 
 to the favour of a lady, whose chief
 
 13 
 
 ambition was to have her (laughter early 
 and well established — or, in other words^ 
 off her hands. 
 
 But the firmness of Lady Ellen, sup- 
 ported as it was by a species of consola- 
 tion of which the Countess knew nothing 
 beyond the name, sustained her through 
 some very trying scenes, in which she 
 frequently had to endure the unjust re- 
 proaches of an irritated mother, who at 
 the very moment this excellent child 
 was sacrificing the hours of gaiety and 
 recreation which her station in society, 
 as well as her youth entitled her to 
 enjoy, for the sake of sharing in the 
 retirement to which the declining health 
 of the Countess condemned her, seldom 
 lost an occasion of overwhelming her 
 with accusations, declaring she must 
 have a design to shorten her days by
 
 14 
 
 breaking her heart with her obstinacy 
 in refusing the match she was set upon 
 her making. At length an intermis- 
 sion of suffering arrived in the sudden 
 decease of the Countess, but not till 
 the health of Lady Ellen^ always deli- 
 cate^ had been so much undermined by 
 mental agitation and confinement^ as 
 to bereave her of all that elasticity and 
 flow of spirits^ which ought to be the 
 characteristic of youth. 
 
 The first bloom of this delightful 
 period indeed was past, when her mother 
 died. At that time she had just entered 
 her twenty-second year. 
 
 Without any pretensions to beauty, 
 her countenance was peculiarly dis- 
 tinguished by that '' something than 
 beauty dearer/' which strikes upon the 
 heart rather than the eye. To have
 
 15 
 
 •known her intimately without loving 
 her^ would scarcely have been possible. 
 In the humblest situation of life, the 
 gentleness of her address, the pensive 
 sweetness of her manners, borrowing 
 from her invariable contentment under 
 the pressure of almost constant indis- 
 position, a character of resignation that 
 enveloped her with something that had 
 'Mess of earth in it than heaven/' must 
 have exerted a powerful influence over 
 the aflfections of those that surrounded 
 her ; but when united to the adventitious 
 circumstances of rank, and talents, and 
 accomplishments, they combined to pro- 
 duce a being irresistibly fitted to charm. 
 The connexion between Lady Ellen's 
 family and that of Lord Arlington, which 
 just admitted their calling each other 
 cousins, had been productive of a great
 
 16 
 
 intimacy between them. Her chief de- 
 light, and, in her mother's life-time, her 
 only relaxation, was in passing a month 
 now and then with Lady Arlington ; to 
 whose tender affection and religions 
 counsels, she gratefully acknowledged 
 herself, under heaven, principally in- 
 debted, for the mental peace which, under 
 all the trials that had visited her, she 
 could still pronounce her own. At the 
 death of her mother, she for a short 
 time took up her residence with this 
 kind friend ; but the temper of Lord 
 Arlington, irritable and impetuous, was 
 not of a sort to render his house 
 an agreeable habitation. Her delicate 
 health, and quiet habits, with the con- 
 sideration of her being left with a foi- 
 tune, which for her situation could be 
 called but small (the principal part of
 
 17 
 
 the family estates going with the title 
 to a distant branch), induced her to in- 
 dulge her prevailing taste in the choice 
 of some retirement, where, in the luxury 
 of doing good, cultivating her mind, 
 and finally preparing herself for that 
 happier country, which her fragile con- 
 stitution seemed to indicate the proba- 
 bility of her prematurely approaching, 
 she might make to herself all the happi- 
 ness, it appeared to be her destiny, in 
 this world, at least, to enjoy. 
 
 At a beautiful little villa near Rich- 
 mond, known better to the poor and 
 distressed than the rich and great, 
 with whom she passed as '' a singular 
 young woman, of strange, out-of-the-way 
 notions,'* Lady Ellen had for the last 
 three years resided ; varying her calm 
 routine of existence, by generally, in
 
 18 
 
 the summer months, accompanying the 
 Arlington family to a watering place, 
 or passing that period with them at 
 their seat in Kent. 
 
 She was now making her annual visit 
 at Arlington Park. She was just come, 
 full of tender hopes and bright expecta- 
 tions, anticipating the possibility of 
 such another happy summer as the last 
 had been, when Osmond, having com- 
 pleted his college career, had for a short 
 period taken up his constant abode at 
 home, and being immediately thrown 
 into her society, seemed to have surren- 
 dered himself not an unwilling captive 
 to her unobtrusive attractions. But the 
 sweet visions that so long had cheered 
 her solitude, and floated day and night 
 before her fancy, she now trembled to 
 believe were only visions, doomed to
 
 19 
 
 fade away into empty aii% leaving be- 
 hind theui nothing real, but the tears 
 and sighs with which she watched their 
 disappearance. '' Yet Osmond is not 
 to blame/' she said, dispersing the drops 
 that trickled down her cheeks. '' No, 
 no, he never professed to love me ; it 
 was this treacherous, foolish heart that 
 betrayed me, and still I indulge its 
 weakness — but how difficult to refrain. 
 1 ought not to look upon you," she 
 continued, resuming the picture ; " I 
 ought not to have sought the posses- 
 sion of you ; you were obtained by 
 deception, and when have I ever found 
 joy in gazing upon you ?" 
 
 The indiscretion she thus severely 
 arraigned was not of a very heinous 
 kind- The temptation of having a 
 picture of Osmond copied from one
 
 20 
 
 Lady Arlington had consigned to her 
 care to be properly framed in London, 
 had been too strons^ to be resisted. It 
 had been given to her charge for that 
 pnrpose the preceding year, just as 
 she was returning to Richmond, from 
 spending the delightful summer already 
 alluded to. 
 
 Truly indeed could she say that since 
 that time she had found little pleasure 
 iu looking upon it, for ever since she 
 had been a stranger to the sight of Os- 
 mond. Instead of pursuing the friend- 
 ship he delighted to acknowledge, and 
 liad repeatedly claimed of her in return, 
 he had been absent and lost to her iVom 
 the day they parted ; and not only to her, 
 but to his parents. Under the plea of 
 pursuing his field sports in the iirst in- 
 stance, and latterly, of prosecuting his
 
 21 
 
 studies^ Osmond Lessingham had se- 
 cluded himself at an old hunting box 
 belonging to the Earl, seldom or never 
 frequented by him or any of his family, 
 till, as we have seen, the anger of his 
 father at his determined opposition to 
 his will, in continuing there without any 
 sufficient excuse, threatened to approach 
 him in the most decided manner. 
 
 It was not without some cause that 
 the old Earl bewailed the uncommon 
 and unaccountable passion for retire- 
 ment, which had, all at once, taken 
 possession of his second son, to whose 
 very superior abilities, and extraordinary 
 natural advantages of every kind, he 
 had with justifiable hopes looked for 
 the advancement of his family. His 
 eldest son. Lord Lessingham, was in 
 fact, so weak in intellect, as to preclude
 
 22 
 
 any expectation of his disting-uishing 
 himself in the world. He had been dis- 
 patched abroad with a tutor to take 
 care of him, and was as much forgotten 
 by his father as if he had never had any 
 existence. Lord Lessin2.ham himself 
 took very little pains to keep up an 
 interest in the hearts of his family,, 
 never intruding upon them with lietters^ 
 except when he wanted money ; and all 
 that could then be said in favour of his 
 communications^ was, that they spoke 
 to the point and nothing else. 
 
 But Osmond, frank, ardent, and affec- 
 tionate, was the secret joy of his father, 
 the idol of his mother. It was but when 
 the burst of those impetuous passions, 
 which so often mingle with the noblest 
 gifts of heaven, broke occasionally forth, 
 that the mother's anxious heart died
 
 23 
 
 within her^ as imagination tracked his 
 path through life — the brilliant course 
 of a cometj full of sparkling fire and 
 heatj but threatening ruin and devasta- 
 tion to all within its influence. Warm, 
 grateful^ and confiding, it is scarcely 
 possible to describe the devoted attach- 
 ment, the reverence which Osmond bore 
 to his mother. The uncomplaining 
 temper which enabled her to sustain 
 patiently his father's violence of man- 
 ner, the mild persuasiveness with which 
 she had always sought to imprint upon 
 her son's mind those divine doctrines, 
 the sublimity of which she herself so 
 truly felt, and invariably acted upon, 
 her overflowing tenderness, and con- 
 sideration for all the faults that sprung 
 from his enthusiastic character and 
 fiery temperament, had so sanctified her
 
 24 
 
 in the affection of Osmond, that he re- 
 garded her as a creature little less than 
 holy. 
 
 Next to her^ his utmost respect and 
 brotherly love were given to Lady 
 Ellen^ whom he always pronounced to 
 be his mother's counterpart. Four years 
 his senior^ she had been his friend and 
 counsellor^ and not unfrequently his as- 
 sistantj in extricating him from some of 
 the careless follies^ into which his gay^ 
 volatile disposition had^ as a boy^ some- 
 times betrayed him. 
 
 Though the most faithful and at- 
 tached of friends, a thought of any 
 warmer sentiment than fraternal love 
 had, of course, never entered his mind, 
 and scarcely her's, when at eighteen he 
 bade adieu to his dear Lady Ellen, and 
 entered the University.
 
 2b 
 
 There^ for three years, he pursued an 
 honourable course; the perfect gentle- 
 man in all his habits, the man of intel- 
 lect and taste in all his pursuits. A visit 
 to the Continent, and other summer en- 
 gagements, had precluded his seeing 
 Lady Ellen from his first arrival there till 
 his final return from College, the pre- 
 ceding year, when he found her visiting 
 at his father's house. 
 
 That period had made but small alte- 
 ration in her. The same gentle repose 
 of feature, the same matchless sym- 
 metry of form, graceful in every move- 
 ment as the mind it enshrined, the same 
 interesting delicacy of healthy the same 
 quiet, elegant manners, the same lady- 
 like softness of speech and address, for a 
 time met his observation only as the 
 attractions of a dear and charming sister. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 
 
 But Osmond was not now a thought- 
 lesSj volatile boy. Just at that suscepti- 
 ble period of life^ when the heart seems 
 to demand the indulgence of new and 
 more endearing sympathies^ it was 
 scarcely possible for him daily and inti- 
 mately to enjoy the society of such a 
 woman as Lady Ellen Seymour^ with- 
 out yielding in some degree to the im- 
 pression her modest graces were calcu- 
 lated to make upon the feelings of any 
 man of taste. 
 
 But it was an impression pleasing 
 rather than vivid, partaking of the na- 
 ture of the object that inspired it ; what 
 it might have become^ under a contiiui- 
 ance of their present circumstanc.es, 
 cannot be known ; for at the very mo- 
 ment Osmond first began to consider 
 the pleasure he was finding in the morn-
 
 27 
 
 iiig rides and evening walks he con- 
 stantly took with her^ and to ask him- 
 self seriously^ if he knew very well what 
 he was about^ he was more austerely 
 called to decide upon his conduct^ by 
 receiving* an intimation from his father, 
 that it would be agreeable to him to 
 see him devoting himself a little less to 
 Lady Ellen Seymour, and a little more 
 to the Lady Jane Eustace ; a dashing 
 young woman of high fashion^ whom 
 Osmond had no objection to talk non- 
 sense to, but a most insuperable aver- 
 sion from, in any serious point of view. 
 Thus divided by contending feelings, 
 he resolved upon what, in the existing 
 state of thipgs, he considered as a wise 
 measure ; and taking himself out of the 
 way of both ladies at once, under a 
 pretence of sporting in the North, he 
 
 c ^
 
 28 
 
 repaired to Woodhurst, where he still 
 remained. The tenderness of his nature 
 could not exempt him from betraying 
 something of attachment in his parting 
 with Lady Ellen^ when he solemnly de- 
 manded her friendship^ and as solemnly 
 pledged his own in return. But in jus- 
 tice to his honour it must not be sup- 
 pressed^ that beyond this calm and sa- 
 cred sentiment^ he had never professed 
 anything. Aware of his father's ambi- 
 tious views for him_, and aware himself 
 that he had a distaste to being fettered 
 at so early an age by irrevocable en- 
 gagements^ and thatj however pleased, 
 he was still not sufficiently in love to 
 depend upon the stability of the senti- 
 ments he at present entertained, he felt, 
 though dejected at the loss of her 
 society, still in some measure relieved
 
 29 
 
 at beings in a manner, compelled to 
 forego it. 
 
 These were the sentiments of Os- 
 mond. Shall we turn to the contem- 
 plation of the devoted creature he left ? 
 Shall we ? — But no, it is unnecessary. 
 We have seen her at the expiration of 
 a twelvemonth musing upon his picture, 
 and bedewing it with tears. We have 
 heard her, whilst her tender bosom is 
 still smarting with its wounds, endea- 
 vouring to exculpate him from blame : 
 and now let us view her once again, ere 
 she closes that beloved resemblance, and 
 consigns it to its casket, imprinting on it 
 another fond warm kiss ; and then, she 
 raises her eyes, and an ejaculation for 
 his health and happiness is lifted up to 
 Him, who sees and pities the struggle of 
 her resignation and her love, 
 
 c 3
 
 so 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 The following day produced a scene 
 of great agitation at Arlington Park. 
 
 A letter from a medical man in the 
 vicinity of Woodhiirst^ contained a me- 
 lancholy excuse for the neglect of 
 Osmond in obeying his father's com- 
 mands. It represented him as having 
 long: suffered under a violent fever, 
 from which he was, indeed, recovering, 
 though incapable of writing himself, 
 beyond a postscript, which was ad- 
 dressed to his mother in a feeble hand, 
 evidently a task of pain and difficulty, 
 undertaken only to allay the fears of
 
 SI 
 
 that anxious parent, by confirming him- 
 self the assurances of his medical at- 
 tendant^ that all danger was past ; and 
 that nothins: but extreme weakness 
 retarded his immediate return, which he 
 promised should be at the expiration of 
 a week, if possible. 
 
 " I thought how it would be, I could 
 have sworn to it,*' exclaimed Lord Ar- 
 lington, as he read Osmond's postscript, 
 which helped to recover him from the 
 horror that had overpowered him at the 
 first perusal of this communication. 
 '' I thought he would go and destroy 
 himself in some way or other, at that 
 d — d place. This fever will end in a 
 consumption, there is no doubt of that." 
 
 " Oh, my good Lord, have some 
 pity," exclaimed Lady Ellen, glancing 
 at the agitated Countess ; " my dearest 
 
 c 4 
 
 /
 
 32 
 
 Lady Arlington !" and she took her 
 hand^ and pressed it fondly to her 
 hearty though wanting herself the com- 
 fort she would have imparted. 
 
 '' Dear Ellen! my sweetest com- 
 forter !** said Lady Arlington^ smiling 
 upon her through her tears^ '' what 
 are the sorrows your gentle sympathy 
 cannot ameliorate ! But, my Lord/' 
 she continued with eagerness, '' let us 
 not lose a moment ; let us go to him 
 directly ; let us order the carriage in- 
 stantly/' and she sprung towards the 
 bell. 
 
 '' No, no/' replied he, intercepting 
 her, and taking her hand with a ten- 
 derness, which was, in fact, a part of his 
 nature, though strangely stifled and 
 suppressed ; " I will not have i/ou go, 
 Frances ; there is no occasion for your
 
 S3 
 
 seeking such unnecessary fatigue and 
 anxiety ; I will go myself to this — " he 
 paused a moment for an epithet. 
 
 '' This dear son/' said Lady Ar- 
 lington ; '' for he is as dear to you as to 
 me — oh^ let us both go ;" and she burst 
 into fresh tears. 
 
 '' Noj no/' he repeated^ much affect- 
 ed^ though striving against his emo- 
 tion ; '' / will hasten to him imme- 
 diately, and bring him back to you : 
 be comforted therefore. This kind 
 Lady Ellen will take care of you^ and 
 keep you in spirits till we meet again. 
 Be composed my love/' As he said 
 this^ his Lordship hastened from the 
 room,, and in less than an hour was 
 pursuing his way to the norths with as 
 much rapidity as the speed of four 
 horses could produce. 
 
 c 5
 
 '34 
 
 We shall pass over the interval of a 
 week — a momentous interval to the two 
 anxious hearts he left behind him ; but 
 it was a space of time^ the heaviness of 
 which, to Lady Arlington^ was greatly 
 beguiled by the affectionate attentions 
 of her amiable young friend ; who, only 
 in the solitude of her chamber, permit- 
 ted a moment's indulgence to her own 
 fond solicitudes. Letters fropi Lord Ar- 
 lington of a satisfactory nature had, in 
 due time, been received ; and at length 
 came the one so much desired, announc- 
 ing the capability of Osmond to un- 
 dertake the journey, and a hope that 
 on the fourth day from the date of his 
 Lordship's epistle they might be ex- 
 pected to arrive at home. 
 
 On that day it was in vain for Lady 
 Ellen to attempt to soothe the anxieties
 
 35 
 
 V 
 
 of the Countess ; her own were too in- 
 tense — they would n otbe subdued. She 
 was going to see once more the being 
 whose image^ whether waking or sleep- 
 ing, had for the space of a twelve- 
 month scarcely an instant been absent 
 from her mind. She pictured to herself 
 how they would meet — not, she feared, 
 as they had parted ! yet why should they 
 not ? she was the same ! but Osmond ! 
 was he not altered ? was there no mys- 
 tery in his conduct ? Ah ! this long — 
 this strange absence! what could it 
 mean? Her alarmed imagination as- 
 sured her that it was linked with some- 
 thing calculated to distress her. 
 
 " I will not think about it/' she 
 exclaimed ; '' I will think only that I 
 am soon to see him again ; yet, sense- 
 less heart ! of what avail is that \" 
 
 c 6
 
 36 
 
 In this variation of feeling the 
 morning and the afternoon wore away, 
 and doubts were beginning to disturb 
 the pleasing anticipations of both Lady 
 Arlington and herself, when the sound 
 of carriao:e wheels sent the fond mother 
 to the window, the agitated Ellen to 
 her own apartment, from thence to steal 
 a glimpse of the being, whose presence 
 she felt it impossible to encounter, till 
 she had taken a few minutes to fortify 
 herself in retirement for that moment of 
 emotion. 
 
 It was almost dusk, and in vain she 
 looked to trace his well-known features ; 
 but the outlines of his tall majestic 
 figure she quickly recognized in the 
 being, who with languid steps, and 
 leaning on the arm of a servant, left the 
 carriage, and proceeded towards the
 
 3T 
 
 house. '' It is himself P' she said, 
 '' thank God for his safety ! But alas, 
 how feeble and exhausted he seems — 
 and I must not express a tenth part of 
 the anxiety I feel for him. I must not 
 propose myself to be his nurse and 
 tender friend ; I must compose my fea- 
 tures to the distant solicitude of mai- 
 denly reserve — I must receive him with 
 kind and civil inquiries, not with these 
 tears ;'* and she wiped them away — 
 trying — but ah ! how vainly, trying to 
 be tranquil. 
 
 More than a quarter of an hour had 
 thus elapsed, when Miss Hopkins^ her 
 maid, announced herself by a tap at 
 the door. 
 
 '' I am desired, my Lady, to say, that 
 my Lord and Mr. Lessingham are re- 
 turned, and will be happy to see you ;
 
 38 
 
 but dear^ my lady, I am afraid you have 
 got those hysterical feelings coming 
 on.'* And Miss Hopkins began to make 
 a prodigious bustle in searching for a 
 specific^ amongst the various essences 
 and perfumes that ornamented the toi- 
 lette. '' No — no ; leave me, Hopkins ; 
 I am quite well ; I shall be down di- 
 rectly :" and once more rousing herself 
 with a viMrous and determined efforts 
 she proceeded to the drawing-room. 
 
 The obscurity of the apartment, not 
 yet lighted up, favoured her entrance, 
 and prevented from becoming visible 
 the deep blush that stole over the snowy 
 fairness of her face and neck, as Os- 
 mond with a moment's. eagerness rose to 
 meet her ; but, overcome with weakness 
 and fatigue, he was compelled almost 
 instantly to resume his seat.
 
 39 
 
 '" My dear Ellen/' were his only 
 words ; but he still retained her hand^ 
 and with gentle force constrained her 
 to take her station by him on the sofa. 
 
 Her greeting from Lord Arlington, his 
 account of their journey, and the joy 
 of the Countess, which broke out in in- 
 cessant inquiries of her son how he 
 found himself after his journey, entrea- 
 ties that he would retire speedily to rest, 
 and doubts that he would be exhausted 
 by remaining up, occupied, for a short 
 time, so exclusively the conversation of 
 all parties, that, beyond his first saluta- 
 tion, he was not allowed a moment to 
 address himself to Lady Ellen. At 
 length Lord Arlington rung for lights, 
 and tea and coffee ; and the bustle that 
 accompanied their bringing in, afforded 
 that opportunity for speaking to her
 
 40 
 
 more particularly^ which she could not 
 but believe that he, too, must, equally 
 with herself, desire. 
 
 But he was still silent ; once only re- 
 plying to the anxious look she cast upon 
 his wasted form, and pale, hollow cheek, 
 by saying, 
 
 ^' I am altered since last we met, Ellen ; 
 but I have suffered much since then." 
 
 The word '' suffered'* was emphati- 
 cally pronounced, and implied that 
 something more than mere bodily dis- 
 ease was alluded to/* 
 
 " But I hope, amongst us, we shall 
 soon assist in completing your restora- 
 tion to health, Osmond," she replied— 
 not immediately adding, ''^and tospirits." 
 
 He sighed deeply, but said nothing. 
 
 The request of Lady Arlington, that 
 he would go to repose, was now se-
 
 41 
 
 conded by that of his father ; and^ seem- 
 ingly incapable of sustaining any part in 
 the discourse^ he rose to comply with it. 
 
 Twice had Lord Arlington asked her^ 
 how she thought Osmond was looking, 
 after he retired, before Lady Ellen could 
 sufficiently recover from the strange va- 
 riety of emotions that oppressed her, to 
 make any intelligible reply. 
 
 That he really had been dangerously 
 ill with a violent fever, was confirmed 
 by Lord Arlington's account of the 
 state in which he found him, and the 
 medical man's history of his indispo- 
 sition, which had been of some con- 
 tinuance before Osmond permitted his 
 attendance. But the penetrating eye of 
 female attachment had discovered in the 
 glance of a moment, a sickness of the 
 heart, fraught with much more danger 
 and dismay.
 
 42 
 
 It was not the dejection that accom- 
 panies want of health that she traced in 
 his silent and altered manner ; it was 
 an undefinable shrinking from observa- 
 tion^ an indifferencCj and wearisomeness, 
 that proclaimed him sated with exis- 
 tence^ and ready to exclaim with Ham- 
 let^ " How weary^ stale, flat, and un- 
 profitablCj seem to me all the uses of 
 this world 1" Again she found herself, 
 during that hour of thoughtful medita- 
 tion which ever preceded her retiring to 
 rest, a prey to the deepest disquietude ; 
 but, determined not to give herself 
 wholly up to it, she took down the 
 sacred volume, to which, in every state 
 of feeling, she applied, as to a friend. 
 
 She found herself, as she always did, 
 soothed and composed by the perusal 
 of it. '' Oh! my Father," she exclaimed, 
 as she lifted her eyes to Heaven, '" to
 
 43 
 
 Thee I turn ! Remove from me these 
 vain and empty hopes^ and fill my soul 
 with the love of Thee alone ! for Thou 
 wilt never deceive^ or disappoint — be 
 Thou my all !"
 
 44 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 For the space of a week^ Osmond 
 contrived^ under a plea of continued ill- 
 ness, to keep himself almost entirely in 
 his own apartment. At the end of that 
 time, the opinions of his medical at- 
 tendants being so much in his favour, 
 as to declare that nothing; but air and 
 exercise, and cheerful society were ne- 
 cessary to complete his recovery, he 
 found it difficult to produce an excuse 
 for absenting himself any longer from 
 the family. 
 
 But it was only when, in a manner^ 
 compelled by the aiibctionate entreaties
 
 45 
 
 of his mother, that he could be pre- 
 vailed upon to join them. A degree of 
 wretchedness seemed to prey upon his 
 heartj and turn him almost with loathing 
 from the common intercourse of life. 
 It had hitherto passed with all but Lady 
 Ellen Seymour for the effects of indis- 
 position ; but she was not thus to be 
 deceived. Her own interest in his af- 
 fections^ she believed, or fancied she be- 
 lieved, was gone ; and the only hope 
 that now remained to her was, that no 
 obloquy, no dishonour had fallen upon 
 the idol of her heart, to stain the glory 
 with which it was the delight of her 
 fond imagination to array him, 
 
 '' I could bear to mourn over his 
 tomb,*' she would often say to herself; 
 ^' 1 could weep away my own existence 
 in tears for his loss ; for joy would min- 
 
 y
 
 46 
 
 gle with my tears in thinking of his eter- 
 nal happiness^ and trusting that we 
 should meet ag:ain ; but never could I 
 bear to see him fallen into low pursuits, 
 and degrading vice, and fettered and 
 subdued by grovelling passions." 
 
 All delightful expectations of the re- 
 newal of that enchanting intimacy, that 
 exchange of taste and sentiment, that 
 delicate and refined friendship, in which 
 the preceding summer had made to 
 itself such golden wings, and flown 
 away, she, with a sigh, resigned. Not 
 once had Osmond distinguished her 
 from his mother, in the short and re- 
 strained meeting of the day ; not once 
 had he solicited an evening walk, 
 though the summer was at its height : 
 and for hours it was his choice to wan- 
 der about the park and grounds, re-
 
 47 
 
 suming all those favourite haunts which 
 it was impossible he could frequent 
 without recurring to the remembrance 
 of her^ who had so often been his com- 
 panion in them. 
 
 Thus did three weeks more pass 
 away ; and Lord Arlington, convinced 
 that his son's health was nearly as well 
 established as ever, was now beginning 
 to meet his determined avoidance of 
 all company and engagements, rather 
 as the effects of caprice than illness. 
 His refusal to join him and the Countess, 
 in accepting an invitation to a grand 
 dinner and fete, which Lord Eustace 
 at this time gave to all the principal 
 people in his neighbourhood, had so 
 much offended his Lordship, that a 
 violent quarrel between them was the 
 result ; Osmond's lofty temper ill sub-
 
 48 
 
 mitting to the sort of scliool-boy lec- 
 turing which^ certainly with bad taste, 
 and worse skilly it was Lord Arlington's 
 custom, when displeased, to address to 
 the object of his anger. 
 
 He was not even to be wrought upon 
 by the tender remonstrances of his 
 mother and Lady Ellen, to oblige his 
 father ; but shutting himself up en- 
 tirely in his own room, he took himself 
 for that day as much as possible out of 
 the notice of any one; and the Earl 
 and his Lady were compelled to go 
 without him. Lady Ellen's usually de- 
 licate health, had the advantage of fur- 
 nishing her always with a plea for de- 
 clining such invitations as vvere not 
 calculated to afford her any gratifi- 
 cation. In the present state of her 
 mind, it would have been scarcely pos-
 
 49 
 
 sible for any to promise her entertaiQ- 
 meiit ; she^ therefore^ at one end of the 
 spacious mansion, and Osmond at the 
 other^ were, apparently, not likely to 
 contribute, in any way, to enliven the 
 solitude of each other. 
 
 She could not restrain the natural 
 wish she felt to join him^ when, towards 
 the evening of a most delightful day^ she 
 saw him from her window, sauntering, 
 the very personification of melancholy, 
 in the park. But though the wish itself 
 could not be repressed, her modest pride 
 instantly checked the movement that 
 would have hastened to its indulgence. 
 
 '' I will not force myself upon his no- 
 tice,*' she said; '' weak as I am I must 
 not wholly forget what is due to my- 
 self** And to beguile away that '' fond 
 deceiver,'* that memory which recalled 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 
 
 to her mind the many hours^ in such a 
 night as this^ that she had wandered 
 with him through these very shades^ 
 she went to the piano-forte^ and sought 
 to amuse herself awhile with her music. 
 
 But^ in every note^ his lov'd idea 
 mingled ; his exquisite taste in this de- 
 lightful art — his enjoyment in hearing 
 her sing — his fondness for this particu- 
 lar air — every sound was full of him. 
 
 Overpowered with affecting remem- 
 brances, she ceased, and leaned her 
 head upon her hand, and gave herself 
 up to illusions, and to tears. 
 
 While thus abstracted, she heard her- 
 self addressed by some one under her 
 
 window. 
 
 It was a voice not easily forgotten, 
 that pronounced her name, — '' Lady 
 Ellen!''
 
 51 
 
 With an instinctive smile^ she flew to 
 answer it. 
 
 ^^ Are you disposed to be charitable^ 
 and indulge me with your company in 
 a short ramble?" said Osmond ; for it 
 was indeed himself, looking too^ more 
 like himself than she had recently seen 
 him. 
 
 She compelled herself to reply only 
 by a slight bend^ and the civil words, 
 '' with pleasure.'* 
 
 He had not long to wait her ap- 
 proach. A gleam of pleasure passed 
 across his features at the sight of her^ 
 and extending his hand^ he took her's, 
 drawing her arm gently within his 
 own. 
 
 '' This puts me in mind of past times^ 
 my pensive cousin/* said he, after they 
 had walked together a short time in 
 
 d2
 
 52 
 
 silence. '' But I don't know whether I 
 can justly say my pensive cousin, now," 
 he continued ; " for I think. Lady Ellen, 
 1 may congratulate you upon an in- 
 crease of vivacity since last we met.'* 
 
 Alas! the vivacity of which he spoke 
 had been but the gaudy veil which vir- 
 gin dignity had instinctively prompted 
 her, when in his presence, to assume, 
 in order to conceal the anguish, she 
 half-despised herself for permitting to 
 prey upon her heart. 
 
 She sighed deeply at his remark ; it 
 was so much at variance with sad 
 reality. 
 
 *' Is it not so, then ?" he said, look- 
 ing down upon her with affectionate 
 interest. 
 
 She scarcely dared to speak ; her 
 voice, she knew, was hardly to be
 
 53 
 
 trusted : but turning away her head, 
 that he might not see the starting tears, 
 she ventured to articulate, '' I am as 
 happy — as I deserve to be/* 
 
 '' Then vou are blest, indeed V' he 
 replied with energy. 
 
 They were both silent some minutes , 
 and the pause was becoming painful, 
 at least to her. Osmond was the first 
 to break it : and in doing so, relieved 
 her from all embarrassment, by recur- 
 ring to the dispute which had that 
 morning taken place between him and 
 his father. 
 
 She could now express the deep in- 
 terest she felt in his welfare and con- 
 duct, which she assured him could never 
 in any instance be what he must wish 
 it to be, if he encouraged a habit of 
 disputing his father's desires, and living 
 
 d3
 
 54 
 
 at variance with his nearest and dearest 
 friend. 
 
 " Your father is naturally proud of 
 you, Osmond/' she said ; '' you are not 
 to liv e for yourself only — you belong to 
 a noble family, whose dignity and im- 
 portance you have the power to increase; 
 you cannot, without great injustice to 
 your connexions, and yourself, indulge 
 the caprice which seems to have taken 
 possession of you ; for what but caprice 
 can have induced you to seclude your- 
 self so long from your family, and now 
 that you are recovered in health, and 
 restored to their society, what can still 
 influence you to adopt habits so unsocial, 
 and so displeasing to my Lord ?'* 
 
 '' But pardon me," she continued, 
 '' the freedom of this remonstrance ;** 
 observing a gathering gloom upon his^ 
 
 V.
 
 55 
 
 expressive brow, that threatened her 
 with the strange novelty of his displea- 
 sure at her reproofs, given as they al- 
 ways were with mildness, and hitherto 
 received by him with the most pleasing 
 gratitude. 
 
 '' It was far from me the idea of in- 
 truding my counsels upon you," she 
 added, '^ but our long friendship — '' 
 
 '' My dear Ellen," he exclaimed, sud- 
 denly taking her hand, and seeming to 
 awake from a deep and painful reverie, 
 " you totally mistake my silence — you 
 mistake me indeed, wholly, if you think 
 I can ever be otherwise than thankful, 
 most thankful, to you, for your solici- • 
 tude in my behalf, and for any counsels 
 you may have the kindness to bestow 
 upon one so unworthy of your notice." 
 
 D 4
 
 56 
 
 '' /should not say that, Osmond/' she 
 replied with a smile of gentle reproach. 
 '' No^ you would not_, for you are all 
 gentleness, and kindness — but 1 am — " 
 He paused : a look of the deepest self- 
 abhorrence, seemeJ to say, he had failed 
 in discovering the words that could tes- 
 tify how much he had fallen in his own 
 esteem. 
 
 A prophetic horror thrilled through 
 the veins of Lady Ellen as she remarked 
 it.^ Scarcely could she subdue the im- 
 pulse that prompted an inquiry into his 
 meaning. But Osmond, resuming his 
 address to her, continued with more 
 composure : 
 
 *' I am sensible. Lady Ellen, that my 
 conduct of late has appeared of rather 
 a questionable nature. It is mv mis-
 
 57 
 
 fortune that 1 cannot explain it# If for 
 any one I could undertake so painful 
 a task, it would be to gratify your kind 
 interest in my fate — my dearest^ earliest 
 friend;" — he ceased in extreme agitation. 
 
 '' Only tell me this, Osmond/' she re- 
 plied, deeply affected by his tenderness, 
 '' only tell me that no dishonour — *' 
 
 " Oh Ellen, spare me — spare my bro- 
 ken heart," be exclaimed with a degree 
 of agony that it harrowed her very soul 
 to witness. 
 
 Scarcely conscious what she did, she 
 pressed her hand upon his arm, whilst 
 the compassionate words, "" my dear 
 Osmond!" broke in the sweetest tones 
 of tenderness from her lips. He fer- 
 vently returned the fond pressure. 
 '' God bless you, best of women !" he 
 said ; '' how little do I merit such 
 
 D 5
 
 58 
 
 sympathy as yours ! But forget me, 
 Ellen : I would have every one forget 
 nie^ — oh that I could but forget myself." 
 *' Alas_, what words of despair are 
 those^, Osmond !*' she replied ; '' what 
 can be the dreadful cause that inspires 
 them ?" 
 
 '^ Oh it is nothing/' he replied ; '' I 
 am not well in health, and my mind 
 suffers; it is disturbed with fearful iina- 
 ffinations — I am not what 1 was." 
 
 " Ahj that avowal, at least, is true !" 
 thought Lady Ellen, '' that melancholy 
 assurance wants no confirmation.** 
 
 It appeared as if he could read her 
 thoughts, and interpret her sighs ; for, 
 gazing upon her with a pensive smile, 
 '' but let me once more renew the past, 
 dear Ellen,** he said ; '' let me be myself 
 again, such as I was — charmed, soothed
 
 59 
 
 iiito elysium^ here — yes^ in this very 
 spot, one night last year — when you 
 sung to me — Do you not remember it?" 
 
 The shades of evening veiled those 
 trickling tears^ which would have elo- 
 quently told him how deeply the recol- 
 lection of that night was imprinted on 
 her memory. 
 
 She said nothings but suffered him 
 unresistingly to lead her to a seat^ on 
 which they placed themselves. " Now 
 then, Ellen/' he said, '' the charm of 
 your voice in that evening hymn, I love 
 so much to hear^ it is all that is wanting 
 to complete the devotion such a scene 
 as this inspires/* 
 
 It was indeed an evening adapted to 
 holy thoughts and pious feelings. The 
 day had been intensely hot, not a cloud 
 had obscured the splendour of the sun ; 
 
 D 6
 
 60 
 
 that glorious luminary had now yielded 
 his empire to the softer beams of the 
 moon, which passing through the light 
 and orraceful foliao^e of the willow under 
 which they sat, w ere then checquered in 
 the stream that murmured at their feet. 
 
 Every thing was calm and still : 
 nature seemed to pause in contempla- 
 tion of her own loveliness. Once more 
 Osmond so earnestly besought Lady 
 Ellen to oblige him, that, scarcely know- 
 ing how to refuse any request of his, 
 though with a voice more than once 
 faltering, she complied; giving to a 
 sweet, simple melody, the following 
 words of her own : 
 
 Departing day fiidcs in the v est, 
 
 The busy world is still ; 
 Be human passion hnshM to rest, 
 Be tranquil, human will !
 
 Gl 
 
 Father in Heav'n ! to Thee I bend, 
 
 To Thee I lift my prayer ; 
 Vouchsafe, Divine, Almighty Friend, 
 
 Thy suppliant's voice to hear. 
 
 If lur'd by pleasure's specious wiles. 
 
 By shadowy hopes or fears, — 
 If earthly joy have waken'd smiles, 
 
 Or earthly sorrow, tears : 
 
 If fall'n from Thee, and Thy commands. 
 
 And fall'n she must appear ; 
 Before Thee, Lord, Thy creature stands, 
 
 A penitent sincere. 
 
 Oh, be her day's offence forgiv'n, 
 
 Her night in slumber blest; 
 And pious trust in pard'ning Heaven, 
 
 The pillow of her rest ! 
 
 There was a piety in the sentiments 
 of this little coinposltionj that, breathed 
 through the touching tones of her voice^ 
 matchless as it was in sweetness and
 
 62 
 
 genuine feelings acquired a pensive 
 charm of the most affecting: nature. 
 
 Unconsciously as he sat at her feet^ 
 Osmond reclined his head upon her 
 handj which she had suffered him to 
 take. He was lost in reverie — his soul 
 was filled with sublime aspirings. He 
 could have wished at that moment to 
 die — to have left for ever a world so 
 vain — so transitory — so incapable of 
 satisfying the immortal hopes that be- 
 gan to live within him. '' Ellen — dear 
 Ellen/* he said, '' if it were but given 
 me to breathe my last, in listening to 
 such strains as yours, cheered by your 
 
 »» 
 
 comfortings! — 
 
 She looked at him for a moment with 
 inexpressible tenderness — but words 
 were denied her.
 
 63 
 
 It was to her a moment^ rich indeed 
 and precious^ but evanescent as the 
 hues of the rainbow, brightest amidst 
 the darkest clouds of doubt and despair. 
 - "He surely loves me! oh^ he surely loves 
 me !'* was the idea that darted across 
 her mind ; nature being ready with her 
 usual fond delusion. 
 
 But then this mysterious secret that 
 preyed upon his peace ! Oh ! if she 
 ^ could but penetrate it ! What a load 
 of anguish^ in removing suspense, would 
 it take away from her heart ! In vain 
 with gentle subtlety she sought to lead 
 him imperceptibly back to the subject. 
 She spoke of his brilliant prospects in 
 life — his parents' hopes — she even ven- 
 tured to hint at the pride she herself 
 should take in his success.
 
 64 
 
 He heard her in mournful silence ; 
 replying only by deep sighs to her mild, 
 but impressive address. 
 
 She knew not how to proceed ; for 
 she felt that the charming: in^enuous- 
 ness which had hitherto distinguished 
 him, and which had often led him to 
 pour out every wish and tliought to her, 
 as to his chosen friend and counsellor, 
 was now unaccountably exchanged for 
 reserve and concealment. 
 
 Her desire to comfort and advise him, 
 strong as it was, receded before his 
 altered manner ; and she rose to return 
 to the house, alleging the lateness of 
 the hour. 
 
 He urged her to a longer stay ; but 
 it was slightly ; very difierently from 
 the manner in which, on former occa-
 
 63 
 
 sions^ he had pressed for the pleasure of 
 her society to the latest possible moment. 
 The depression which sudden and 
 deep disappointment occasioned her, 
 she vainly endeavoured to subdue. 
 '' But I can conceal it/' she thought. 
 '' I shall have time enough for the in- 
 dulgence of tears and sorrow^ when I 
 am alone. It is to friendship I must 
 confine my hopes — and it is something 
 to be the friend of Osmond.'' 
 
 Supported by this feeling, which natur- 
 ally suggested itself to her tender mind, 
 as worthiest to supply the void that must 
 be left, when that other far more ardent 
 sentiment was driven by duty and dis- 
 cretion from her bosom, she resumed her 
 affectionate advice, specifying the par- 
 ticular instance in which it would afford 
 her gratification to see him follow it.
 
 66 
 
 " The Eustace family are to dine 
 with us next week^ Osmond/' she said, 
 " and these gentlemen that Lord Ar- 
 lington is so desirous of introducing 
 you to. Now do not, as you did the 
 other day, absent yourself from table, 
 and disoblige your father by not choos- 
 ing to appear. If it be only to please 
 me," she added, with a smile, " appear 
 amongst them. Appear like the Os- 
 mond we used to know, full of spright- 
 liness and mirth, and displaying, as oc- 
 casion serves, those powers of conversa- 
 tion, which were never given you to 
 waste, in a life of solitary abstraction, 
 and indolent indifference.'* 
 
 " Indolent indifference !" he repeated, 
 proudly, as if the epithet jarred against 
 every feeling of his soul. 
 
 '' Nay, pardon me/' she replied, " so
 
 67 
 
 strong an expression ; I know well how 
 little it ought^ and^ in point of fact^ does 
 characterize Osmond Lessinghani. It is 
 the consciousness how woefully you are 
 wasting your noble gifts, at this impor- 
 tant period of life^ that makes me sigh^ 
 — and sigh the more^ because I know 
 amongst the malevolent^ there will not 
 be wanting many persons disposed to 
 attribute your supineness in coming 
 forward into notice, less to want of 
 inclination,, than want of ability to dis- 
 tinguish yourself." 
 
 She had now touched upon two of 
 the strongest passions of his impetuous 
 nature — pride, and ambition ; his fine 
 eyes flashed with indignation, and his 
 noble form seemed to dilate to more 
 than its usual stature.
 
 68 
 
 '' Are these persons so disposed to 
 stigmatize me }" he said. '' Let them 
 see me^ then, unsubdued by affliction — 
 free in hearty and firm in soul, and able 
 to prosecute the energetic purposes of 
 my nature. It is not here in indolent 
 m^/i^erence that I would be found. In 
 the field of battle — at the cannon's 
 mouth — amidst the listenins: senate — 
 Oh Ellen ! I could do such things^ if my 
 path in life were but plain and open ! 
 But I have choked it with thorns — 1 
 have blighted my views — 1 — but no 
 matter — no matter — think of me no 
 more — I ^^ill endeavour to be what you 
 wish — now then, let us forget — forget — ' 
 and with the air of one distracted, he 
 broke from her, leaving her at the steps 
 of the door^ but utterly incapable of
 
 69 
 
 ascending' them^ standing still and mo- 
 tionless^ watching him till he was out of 
 sights when a burst of tears afforded a 
 wretched relief to her long-suppressed 
 and painful emotions.
 
 70 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 After this interview, so interesting, 
 but so agonizing to Lady Ellen, she 
 observed with pleasure that Osmond 
 appeared to renew his former predilec- 
 tion for her society ; regularly every 
 evening that they were not engaged with 
 company, and even when they were, 
 and thus prevented from walking, at- 
 taching himself to her side, as if that 
 were the only station in which he could 
 enjoy any tolerable comfort. 
 
 The general tone of his conversation 
 was now become composed and regular.
 
 71 
 
 though still dejected ; but he never 
 again reverted to the secret uneasiness, 
 whatever it might be, that was devour- 
 ing his happiness ; and strong as her 
 inclination was to discover it, she had 
 too much delicacy of feeling to revert 
 merely for her own gratification to a 
 theme which she knew to be distressing 
 to him. 
 
 She took pains to persuade herself 
 that she now perfectly understood him ; 
 that she had calmly resigned all the 
 bright and glowing expectations of hap- 
 piness, with which she liad anticipated 
 their meeting, and that, denied the charm 
 of more endearing intimacy, she could 
 make to herself enjoyment in possessing 
 his esteem — his friendship — '' That 1 
 know he feels for me," she would often 
 say, — '' yes, that he must feel for me.
 
 72 
 
 — then I am happy — surely I ought to be 
 happy/* — But tears ! — they did not tell 
 of joy — and in tears were ever closed 
 these anxious soliloquies. 
 
 This conflict with her own hearty 
 though believed by herself to be sus- 
 tained in silence and in solitude^ had not 
 been wholly unobserved. The mater- 
 nal affection of the Countess for this 
 justly beloved^ and amiable young 
 woman,, had enabled her long since to 
 discover the tender secret she was 
 so fondly cherishing. If the warmest 
 wishes^ the most sanguine hopes could 
 have brought about her union with the 
 object of her choice. Lady Arlington's 
 desire to see her best beloved son the 
 husband of Lady Ellen Seymour, would 
 have done much towards accomplish- 
 ing it.
 
 73 
 
 But too well did her Ladyship know 
 the very different views her husband 
 entertained for Osmond ; and though 
 her heart was warm in the cause of her 
 young friend^ her peaceable temper and 
 discreet judgment kept her entirely pas- 
 sive in promoting it^ except^ indeed, by 
 that sort of connivance,, which, without 
 drawing upon her the notice of any 
 party, satisfied her own very fervent 
 desire, that no immediate obstacle miffht 
 be thrown in the way of such an event. 
 
 On the day the Eustace family were 
 expected at Arlington Park, Osmond 
 had promised Lady Ellen to appear 
 with the rest of his family, and with 
 as much cheerfulness and animation as 
 he could possibly assume ; " for,'* he 
 added, with a sigh, '' it can only be the 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 
 
 assumption of gaiety I can now pre- 
 tend to/* 
 
 Of Lord Eustace and his lady^ and 
 his eldest son, very little need be said 
 in the way of description. They were 
 high in favour in a very high quarter, 
 and enjoyed as much dignity and hap- 
 piness as can well be enjoyed,, when 
 artifice and skill, rather than propriety 
 and elevation of feeling, are the props 
 on which importance is supported. 
 
 The rest of the leading people. Lord 
 Arlington so much delighted in the 
 idea of making acquainted with his 
 son, were also of this description : Mr. 
 Belford, Sir William Copeland, &c. &c., 
 persons extremely useful, and, it may 
 be, valuable, but not to the young, the 
 natural, the enthusiastic, — not certainly
 
 75 
 
 to Osmond^ at the present period of his 
 life ; we must be permitted^ therefore, 
 however senseless such a proceeding 
 may be, to turn with him, with some- 
 thing of contemptuous indifference, from 
 the inanity and polished sameness of 
 these great people, and, as he was 
 bound in honour by his promise to his 
 cousin, to make himself agreeable to 
 some, if not all of the party, accompany 
 him to a seat by the side of a strikingly 
 fashionable, and almost handsome wo- 
 man — the Lady Jane Eustace. 
 
 '' And is it really Osmond Lessing- 
 ham that I have once more the inex- 
 pressible delight of recognizing ?*' said 
 she, raii^ing her glass to her eye at his 
 approach, and relinquishing it with a 
 shake of her head ; '' you are a misera- 
 ble looking creature, though, Osmond : 
 
 E 2
 
 76 
 
 what have you been doing with your- 
 self?'^ 
 
 ^' Absent so long from your Lady- 
 ship/' he replied^ '' how is it possible 
 I can look otherwise than miserable ?" 
 
 '' Well^ come^ that's pretty well^ 
 considering that you liave^ by all ac- 
 counts, been rusticating in the shades of 
 Woodhurst for the last twelvemonths ; 
 but there^ I suppose^ lives some other 
 Ladj/ship, who just serves to keep you 
 in the habit of saying civil things ; no- 
 thing more — oh, nothing more!" she 
 continued, observing the deep blush 
 with which he listened to her raillery, 
 and which he vainly endeavoured to 
 laugh away. 
 
 Scarcely less vivid than the scarlet 
 on his own cheeks, was the bright suf- 
 fusion that spread itself over the coun-
 
 77 
 
 tenance of Lady Ellen^ who^ occupying^ 
 a part of the sofa on which Lady Jane 
 was lounging, could not, if she had 
 been so inclined, avoid to hear and 
 observe what passed between her and 
 
 Osmond. 
 
 It had not exactly been her intention, 
 that with Lady Jane he should par- 
 ticularly ingratiate himself ; she re- 
 membered enough of some anxious 
 moments, which her Ladyship's decided 
 disposition to coquetry, and Osmond's 
 natural inclination to be pleased with 
 animated female society, had, in former 
 days, more than once occasioned her ; 
 but trusting to the alteration that had 
 taken place in him since that period, 
 she had looked forward to this meet in": 
 of his with her Ladyship without any 
 of those agitating emotions, that she 
 
 £ 3
 
 78 
 
 would not absolutely call by the name 
 of jealousy, but which,, she dreaded to 
 believe^ could not justly be otherwise de- 
 nominated, and which she had never 
 been able to divest herself of, when in 
 their presence. 
 
 It was with slight surprise^ and rather 
 more than slight sorrow^ she remark- 
 ed, how immediately the dejection of 
 Osmond seemed to yield to the sprightly 
 influence of Lady Jane^ — that dejection 
 which she had approached with fearful 
 delicacv, and shielded with tender care 
 from assailing with the most distant 
 surmise; that dejection her Ladyship 
 rushed upon, with coarse ridicule ; — and 
 no disgust — no recoil appeared to testify 
 his displeasure — a blush, indeed — but 
 that was no ungraiifying testimony to 
 her power over him — that might prove —
 
 79 
 
 But she was prevented from proceed- 
 ing in her painful soliloquy, by hearing 
 herself abruptly addressed by her La- 
 dyship, who, suddenly breaking off a 
 sprightly dialogue she was holding with 
 Osmond, turned to her : '" and you, of 
 course, will be of our party. Lady 
 Ellen }" she said. 
 
 She was almost ashamed of acknow- 
 ledging the abstraction which had 
 prevented her from understanding to 
 what she alluded : — and she inquired, 
 " where ?" in a tone of voice that in- 
 dicated embarrassment. 
 
 '' Where?'* repeated Lady Jane; 
 '' why, is it possible that you have not 
 heard the long and edifying account 1 
 have just been giving Mr. Lessingham 
 of the history of my conversion ? And 
 it was partly to charm you that 1 re- 
 
 E 4
 
 80 
 
 lated it^ knowing you are one of the 
 pious." 
 
 "" You were doiui^ me much more 
 honour than I was aware of/' she re- 
 plied ; " but if you will gratify me so 
 far as to repeat the history, which must, 
 I am sure, be an interesting one/' and 
 she smiled, '' i will promise to be very 
 attentive/' 
 
 "Oh no — 1 never repeat any thing, 
 not I ; there are so many stupid things 
 in life, that one is obliged to do over 
 and over again, that one is thankful for 
 any thing that need not be done more 
 than once, and may then be forgotten." 
 
 '' But so important a thing as your 
 Ladyship's conversion," said Lady 
 Ellen, with an arch look, '" that surely 
 must rank amon.'st the never-to-be- 
 forgotten events of your life !"•
 
 81 
 
 '' Oh, it was a grand thino'^ to be 
 sure; I think I shall make it into a 
 case, and send it up to the Methodist 
 Magazine people : it will shew well in 
 print — The Historic of the Conversion of 
 the Ladi/ Jane Eustace, only daughter 
 of Earl Eustace, of Eustace House, in 
 the count}/ of Kent, who, in her nineteenth 
 year had a call — 1 forget how they gene- 
 rally finish the story/' 
 
 '' I am very much afraid you will 
 forget^ indeed/* said Osmond. 
 
 " Wellj at any rate, it was a good 
 thing as long as it lasted/* she re- 
 plied. 
 
 '' How long might that be, upon a 
 liberal computation/* inquired Lady 
 Ellen. 
 
 '' Why, all last Monday, I was as 
 good as I possibly could be ; and on 
 
 E 5
 
 82 
 
 Sunday^ the day 1 heard Mr. R , I 
 
 was a perfect saint. 1 sent a five pound 
 note to the Infirmary as soon as ever I 
 got home : and I meant to have gone 
 to the charity-school, to hear the chil- 
 dren read, but Harry Howard came to 
 drive me out in his curricle, and so the 
 thing was impossible/' 
 
 '' The immediate cause, then, of your 
 Ladyship's conversion, was the elo- 
 quence of Mr. R , in preaching a 
 
 charity -sermon at B , I suppose?" 
 
 said Lady Ellen. 
 
 '' Yes, that was the saving of me," 
 she replied ; '' and they tell me he 
 holds forth again next Sunday — He is 
 an evangelical, tabernacle preacher, 
 you know — not a regular, orthodox, 
 church declaimer." 
 
 " That would have made the case too
 
 83 
 
 tame and common -place for your Lady- 
 ship to patronize/' said Osmond. 
 
 *' Oh;, that^ you know^ is nothing* at 
 all out of the common way — that gives 
 one no kind of sensation. But a meet- 
 ing-house — and a man preaching and 
 praying without gown or surplice^ and 
 pouring forth his words without book^ 
 it is really very novel and engaging. I 
 mean to go every Sunday as long as 
 he stays ; and it was my zeal to put 
 every body else in the right way^ that 
 led me just now to propose making a 
 party for next Sunday. I should like to 
 give you a chance of being as good as 1 
 am myself;" and she turned to Osmond. 
 
 '' You are infinitely obliging/* he 
 repHed ; '' I cannot be otherwise than 
 extremely happy in availing myself of 
 the opportunity you hold out to me.*' 
 
 E 6
 
 84 
 
 ^' And you. Lady Ellen, will accom- 
 pany us, 1 hope," she said. '' It is quite 
 in the style, 1 assure you, of you pen- 
 serosa people. — Oh here is that abonii 
 nable Mr. Belford, the most larmoT/ujit 
 personage in the world, coming, I ima- 
 gine, to hand me to dinner, which seems 
 to have been announced, by the cere- 
 mony that is taking place.'* 
 
 " Pardon me, ^Ir. Belford is not go- 
 ing to usurp my most agreeable duty," 
 said Osmond, taking her hand with a 
 grace peculiarly his own ; a grace that 
 imparted to the most trifling things he 
 performed, a charm that penetrated to 
 the heart — not, indeed of Lady Jane 
 Eustace, but of that susceptible being 
 who, lost in a chaos of bitter fancies, 
 was scarcely conscious of outward scenes, 
 till she also felt her hand taken, and.
 
 85 
 
 '' Will you permit me^ Lady Ellen, the 
 honour V announced that the most lar- 
 rnoT/ant personage in the world was 
 about to bestow that tediousness upon 
 her^ which Osmond had rescued the Lady 
 Jane from being' compelled to endure. 
 But the g'ood breeding and natural be- 
 nevolence of Lady Ellen's disposition: 
 induced her at all times to hold the feel- 
 ings of others in great respect ; and 
 though her eyes involuntarily wandered 
 every now and then to that part of the 
 table which was occupied by Osmond 
 and Lady Jane, who, apparently, were 
 very well pleased with each other's so- 
 ciety, she compelled herself to pay the 
 most polite attention to the discourse 
 Mr. Belford was addressing to her ; 
 though, in truth, it was Httle more than 
 a repetition of the morning papers, il-
 
 86 
 
 lustrated with comments^ exceedingly 
 wise and loyal in their sentinnents. 
 
 To persons of dull sensibility, but 
 little liable to be worked upon by small 
 afflictions, it would be difficult to afford 
 any just conception, either of the tor- 
 ture that poor Ellen endured, or the 
 magnanimity with which she repelled it, 
 during two hours, exceeding in her ima- 
 gination, in point of duration, the whole 
 month that had passed since Osmond's 
 return. 
 
 She was at length relieved by a move- 
 ment on the part of the ladies to retire. 
 It was a short respite ; Lady Jane had 
 scarcely time to yawn and snatch a 
 short slumber, before the devoted Os- 
 mond appeared to restore her to her 
 accustomed vivacity. '' This, then," 
 thought Lady Ellen, with a feeling of
 
 87 
 
 natural and momentary irritation, '' this 
 was what I was laying out for myself, 
 when 1 almost implored Osmond to 
 oblige his father, by appearing amongst 
 his guests to-day ! Oh, blindness to the 
 future 1 Oh, frail humanity ! This pain- 
 ful evening, will it ever close ?'' and 
 with difficulty she struggled with her 
 tears. 
 
 Lady Jane now approached a table 
 that stood near her, covered with new 
 publications, prints, and various toys for 
 grown-up children ; Osmond was still 
 by her side. 
 
 She took up a splendid album : merely 
 glancing at it, however, and throwing it 
 down again, *^^ Oh, by the way, Os- 
 mond,*' she said, " you used to be 
 rather au fait at hitting off a sonnet ; 
 1 believe I have got hold of all the
 
 88 
 
 clever things that have been dropped of 
 late : I want something- now in the way 
 of sentiment ; tender, lachri/mose, such 
 as you write for Lady Ellen here^ or 
 that other lady at Wooahurst : when 
 you come to-morrow, you shall take 
 back my album." 
 
 Of Osmond's reply, or of Lady 
 Jane's rattle. Lady Ellen heard no- 
 thing. The words, '' that other ladi/ at 
 H'oodhurst," alone vibrated upon her 
 ears. 
 
 *' Is it possible,'* she asked herself, 
 with the doubt and disdain of an in- 
 stant, '' that he can really have dropped 
 any hints to authorize this kind of rail- 
 lery from her ? Is it possible she can be 
 his confidante ?" No — no ; this was im- 
 possible, reason assured her. — Even now, 
 though she had passed the most wretch-
 
 89 
 
 ed day she had ever yet experienced in 
 Osmond's presence — even now^ though 
 wounded to the soul by his neglect,, she 
 felt that she would ill prefer to ex- 
 change the tender^ full communion of 
 feeling and of mind^ which had ever 
 marked her intercourse with him^ for 
 the frivolous^ unmeaning gallantry^ that 
 her understanding at leasts told her had 
 alone been visible in his behaviour to 
 Lady Jane. 
 
 But the understanding and the heart 
 are ever determined foes. No su^rg^es- 
 tion of the former could still the painful 
 throbs of the latter ; so it did the office 
 of a malicious enemy^ and mocked the 
 grief it could not heal. 
 
 The hour of release from misery came 
 at last, and she was once more alone. 
 *' Yes — yes — 1 know that 1 am weak,
 
 90 
 
 contemptible — despicable" — she said — 
 as the company were breaking up, and 
 Osmond gone off to hand Lady Jane to 
 the carriage^ she had seized the oppor- 
 tunity, and had escaped from the resi- 
 due of the party, to the retirement of 
 her chamber. '' I know how undeserv- 
 ing of commiseration is this feebleness 
 of mind ; but I had so trusted in his 
 love for me ! 1 did so fondly believe it — 
 but now I see it is all delusion ! Yes, 
 now I see that every hope is gone. Ah, 
 weak that I am, I believed that I had 
 long seen this, and was resigned : oh, 
 wayward, inconsistent heart !" and she 
 sobbed over her deep sense of humilia- 
 tion, and want of self-respect, in suffer- 
 ing herself to be thus enslaved by a 
 passion she knew to be so hopeless. 
 Her generally feeble health made it not
 
 91 
 
 an uncommon thing for her not to ap- 
 pear till late in the day ; and she had 
 been schooling her feelings by the most 
 serious reflection^ and had succeeded in 
 throwing over her pensive^ but sweet 
 and interesting features^ a degree of 
 placid resignation^ that touched them 
 with an expression almost divine^ when, 
 about an hour before dinner on the fol- 
 lowing day, she sauntered into the park, 
 to try and revive her shattered nerves 
 with the soft breezes of a summer af- 
 ternoon. 
 
 Her step instinctively bent towards 
 the grotto ; a lovely spot, consecrated 
 to her memory as the place where, retired 
 from the heat of the mid-day sun, Os- 
 mond last year used to sit and read to 
 her, whilst she pursued her work. 
 
 '' Last year! blessed era in a mourn-
 
 92 
 
 ful life !" she said : '' then, indeed^ I was 
 happy;*' she leaned her head dejectedly 
 upon her hand^ a few moments^ yield- 
 ing indulgence to the frailty of human 
 feeling ; but it was only for a few mo- 
 ments. 
 
 '' This is not the place in which to 
 strengthen good resolve/' she conti- 
 nued; '*^ it is too full of fond associa- 
 tions — it is a place of danger — 1 must be 
 gone ;'* and she rose hastily to quit it : 
 but ere she could pass the entrance, she 
 found herself intercepted by Osmond. 
 
 '' They told me, my dear Ellen, that 
 you were walking in the Park/' he said, 
 '' and presentiment, I suppose, led me 
 
 « 
 
 here to seek you.*' 
 
 It was an impulse that would not be 
 >vholly restrained, whicli prompted her 
 faint smile and cold reply of, '' Indeed !"
 
 93 
 
 " YeSj indeed^' he replied^ taking 
 her hand^ and gently pressnig it ; '' but 
 your look and tone would imply^ to any 
 heart less assured than mine of your 
 regard^ a sort of doubt of the pleasure 
 my anticipation of seeing you here^ 
 afforded me/* 
 
 It was so impossible for her to be 
 really offended with Osmond^ that had 
 not the reflection of a moment served^ 
 as it generally did^ in her meek and 
 pious mindj to subdue irritation^ the 
 joy of hearing herself once more affec- 
 tionately addressed by him, would have 
 triumphed over every cold and repulsive 
 feeling. 
 
 Still was it hers to prove the com- 
 mon destiny of human creatures ; and to 
 have the usual mixture of bitter thrown 
 into the golden cup of fleeting bliss.
 
 94 
 
 A short interval of pleasure, in seeing 
 him apparently in better spirits,, and 
 hearing him talk with cheerfulness, had 
 been allowed her, when his mentioning 
 the name of Lady Jane Eustace, in re- 
 viving many bitter ideas, and amongst 
 the most prominent of them, one which 
 very forcibly suggested that it was to 
 her Ladyship's influence this happy 
 change in him might be attributed, 
 struck a damp upon her heart, and 
 chilled the glowing happiness with which 
 it was expanding. 
 
 '' What charming spirits Lady Jane 
 has '/* he observed ; '' she really is, alto- 
 gether, very striking.*' 
 
 She could not prevail upon herself to 
 make any reply to this remark ; and 
 Osmond proceeded : 
 
 " I really must go on Sunday, and
 
 95 
 
 hear this extraordhiary person, who has 
 wrought such a wonderful work upon 
 her ; you will go also^ I hope Ellen : it is 
 quite in your way." 
 
 ''^ I hope it is not in my way/' she 
 replied^ rather gravely ; '' that is, 1 
 nnean/' she added, observing him to 
 look at her with a little astonishment, 
 '' I hope it is not in my way to go to 
 any place of worship, as I would to a 
 theatre, to stare at a novelty, and to be 
 amused ; I am not so cold or so callous 
 to the most important concern of my 
 existence." 
 
 The fire of Osmond's temper did not 
 permit him to pass over this remark 
 without notice. 
 
 '' Perhaps I am no more callous about 
 that concern than you. Lady Ellen,*' he 
 replied.
 
 96 
 
 There was a haste and coUlness in 
 this sort of formal address from him, 
 that wounded her so deeply, as to send 
 the startini*: tear to her eves. 
 
 But Osmond's irritable spirit was too 
 much engaged in meditating upon the 
 hurt his own pride had sustained by her 
 remark, to observe the manner in which 
 he had affected her ; and she had time 
 to soollie herself into composure before 
 he condescended to address her again. 
 
 '' I imagine. Lady Ellen," he said, 
 still with an offended air, '' that you 
 took for literal flippancy of feelings and 
 for that want of understanding which 
 must mark the scoffer at religion, the 
 idle gaiety with which I listened to, and 
 encouraged Lady Jane's conversation 
 on this subject yesterday ?" 
 
 '^ I can never take any conduct of
 
 97 
 
 your's in that sense^ Osmond ; I cannot 
 make so great a mistake ; 1 know too 
 well what nature has done for you in 
 the way of intellect^ and your excellent 
 mother in pious instruction, to find any 
 such excuses for your errors." 
 
 '' True ! most true !" he replied ; " it 
 is not here that my excuse is to be 
 found ;'* then, after a short interval of 
 musing, breaking into softer feelings, 
 '' other poor creatures fall/' he con- 
 tinued, '' for they know not the way 
 and the truth ; the goodness of God 
 pardons them, for much has not been 
 ffiven. But I — oh, how have I deserved 
 my Maker's noble gifts ! — how have I 
 abused the monitor he granted me, to 
 quell my furious passions — to subdue my 
 soul of fire, and guide it to its Father 
 back again." 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 
 
 He ceased a moment or two ; then 
 taking her hantl^, and wringing it^ as in 
 the extreme of agitation^ unconscious of 
 what he did, '' Ellen/' he said, '' if you 
 knew — if it were possible for you to 
 conceive the misery that is eating up my 
 soulj you would not reproach me, for 
 seizing at any instant of forgetfulness, 
 that the mirth or the folly of Lady 
 Jane, or any one else, could offer me." 
 
 It was not in human nature to listen 
 to the dictates of dull formal propriety 
 and maidenly reserve, which would have 
 restrained the tenderness that led her 
 to atone for the unintentional injury she 
 had inflicted upon his sutiering heart, 
 by taking his hand, and clasping it fer- 
 vently between her own. Slie forgot 
 the delicacy of her situation as it re- 
 spected him — she forgot every thing —
 
 99 
 
 she saw only Osmond, that generous 
 noble being, she had known from a 
 boy, and as a boy had tenderly loved — 
 bowed down with anguish — and how 
 could she refrain from testifying com- 
 passion — how could she check the aton- 
 ing words — '' My dear Osmond, do you 
 think 1 reproach you ? Do you think 
 / do not feel for your sorrow ? Do 
 you think / would not rather alleviate 
 it, if it were possible — and, if you could 
 confide it to me — '' 
 
 '' Could confide it to you !" he re- 
 peated, detaining her hand, and looking 
 up at her, as he sat, with eyes beam- 
 ing affection, — '' where is the being to 
 whom, as the friend of my soul, I could 
 sooner pour out my heart ? But this is 
 a tale, my gentle Ellen, unfit for your 
 ear ; urge me not to tell it, lest in 
 
 f2
 
 100 
 
 some moment of frenzy I utter it, and 
 make myself hateful to you^ and lose 
 the only dear — dear being — whose kind- 
 ness makes life supportable to me.*' 
 
 She turned upon him the speaking- 
 smile of a moment — but words she 
 could utter none — she felt herself sur- 
 rounded with danger. The secret of 
 her heart was every instant on the 
 point of escaping^ and she rose to seek 
 the security of retreat. 
 
 '' So soon, Ellen, would you leave 
 me ?" he said, with a look of gentle 
 reproach. 
 
 She hesitated — she half turned back 
 — but Osmond prevented her : '' It is 
 I that must go,*' he said. '' It is 1 
 that should release you from witnessing 
 these intemperate bursts of passion — 
 oh how unfit — how unworthy to be ad-
 
 101 
 
 dressed to such a mind as yours ! Sweet 
 Ellen/' he continued^ '' forgive me — 
 forgive the impetuosity I have intruded 
 upon you — believe in my grateful — 
 my warmest regard." — He paused — and 
 seemed to linger in painful irresolution ; 
 at last^ after casting over her sweet form 
 and half-averted face, a glance^ which 
 the overflowing tenderness of his na- 
 ture, tinctured with an expression al- 
 most of passion, he caught her to him, 
 and just touching her hand with his 
 lips, he faintly again uttered, '* forgive 
 me !" and was gone— gone just at the 
 moment to spare her from irretrievable 
 confusion, at the torrent of pleasing, 
 painful emotions, which, in a flood of 
 tears, broke from her labouring bosom. 
 
 Vain now were all the good resolves 
 of the morning! — Vain every eflfort 
 
 r3
 
 102 
 
 after forgetfuhiess ! The sound of his 
 voice^ as he uttered those precious words^ 
 '' Sweet Ellen !*' the pressure of his 
 hand !— of his lips ! — she felt that years 
 would not suffice to blot them from her 
 memory !
 
 103 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 On the day to which Lady Jane had 
 looked forward with such unbounded 
 expectations of edification and de- 
 light^ in again hearing Mr. R , the 
 
 preacher, who had so deeply affected 
 her, Osmond was very much amused, 
 and Lady Ellen in no degree surprised, 
 by receiving, instead of her Ladyship, 
 who had promised to call for them in 
 her carriage, and convey them to B — , 
 a note, to say, " that on the whole 
 she had changed her mind, though still 
 charmed to excess with Mr. R — , his 
 tabernacle, his praying and preaching, 
 
 F 4
 
 104r 
 
 his wearing no surplice^ and all the 
 novel things belonging to him. But, 
 in short, though an excellent thing, 
 she believed she had had enough of 
 it ; recommending them, however, by 
 all means, to put themselves in the way 
 of being spiritually promoted," &c. &c. 
 
 A short debate followed ; Lord Ar- 
 lington, as a loyal man, and, conse- 
 quently, so far a staunch supporter of 
 the established church as consisted in 
 shewing himself and his household there 
 once a week, was far from approving 
 his son's commitling himself by being 
 seen in a conventicle. 
 
 '' Lady Jane,'' his Lordship remarked, 
 '' was a privileged person ; but such a 
 circumstance being observed of Osmond, 
 might, possibly, trivial as it appeared, 
 give a stamp to his destiny."
 
 105 
 
 '^ But as we have no intention of 
 making him a clergyman/' said Lady 
 Arlington With a smile^ '' I think the 
 hazard is not so tremendous." 
 
 '' At any rate^ if Lady Ellen chooses, 
 we will incur it/' said Osmond^ turning 
 to her ; and on receiving her smiling 
 affirmative^ ringing to order the carriage. 
 
 Lord Arlington^ pacified by being 
 left with his Countess at the parish 
 churchy in their way^ permitted them to 
 go on without much reprimanding. 
 
 They took their seats^ and the ser- 
 vice began. Neither Osmond nor Lady 
 Ellen had ever been in a meeting-house 
 before ; and^ in defiance of Lady Jane's 
 transports^ they had prepared them- 
 selves for being rather more disgusted 
 than pleased with the mode of worship 
 they were to witness. 
 
 F 5
 
 106 
 
 The different sentiments with which 
 they returned home, were^ no doubt, to 
 be ascribed to the very superior manner 
 in which they had the good fortune 
 to see it performed. Had a vulgar or 
 ordinary man, or, indeed, any other 
 than an eloquent and superior one, offi- 
 ciated, they would have perceived the 
 immense inferiority of extempore pray- 
 ing and preaching, where the mind is 
 compelled to wander from its occupa- 
 tion, in choice of proper words in which 
 to clothe its ideas, or else relapses into 
 wearisome repetitions and vulgar fami- 
 liarities of speech. 
 
 But be this as it may, they soon 
 found their attention insensibly rivetted 
 on what was going forward. 
 
 A hymn was read by one of the con- 
 gregation in an audible, impressive
 
 107 
 
 manner ; then^ the whole congregation 
 joined in singing at^ as the same person 
 repeated it^ two lines of a verse at a 
 time. 
 
 It excites a sublime emotion,, to ob- 
 serve a numerous audience actuated by 
 one sentiment^ and that of so pure and 
 exalted a nature. 
 
 Perhaps some of the attraction to 
 Osmond in this part of the ceremony^ 
 might lie in the almost seraphic tones 
 of Lady Ellen's voice. It was charm- 
 ing indeed but to hear her speak ; for 
 she possessed^ to an 'eminent degree^, 
 that '' excellent thing in woman/"* a 
 voice '' soft and low." 
 
 In singing, particularly sacred music^ 
 it had something more than earthly 
 in it. It rose with the pious strain, and 
 the notes were so sweet and clear, such 
 
 F 6
 
 108 
 
 an innocence^ as it were^ in their expres- 
 sion, that, even when passed away, they 
 yet seemed to linger on the ear. 
 
 A chapter from the Bible having been 
 read, an extempore prayer followed, and 
 every one stood. Lady Ellen looked at 
 Osmond ; she was curious to discover 
 whether he really was impressed as 
 deeply as he appeared to be. 
 
 His eyes at first were fixed upon the 
 minister, but soon sunk down, and were 
 covered with his hand. She could per- 
 ceive that his lips occasionally moved, 
 and as the supplication became more 
 fervent, a sensible emotion was observ- 
 able in him. She could almost believe 
 that he wept, when the minister, in pray- 
 ing for his congregation, implored for 
 them grace to withstand '' the allure- 
 ments of sense, the fascination of worldly
 
 109 
 
 affections^ and all the destructive wiles 
 of their spiritual enemy/' 
 
 Tears suffused her own eyes^ at the 
 bare idea^ and recalling her wandering 
 thoughts^ she raised them in supplica- 
 tion for herself, and for him she loved. 
 
 The prayer ended^ another hymn was 
 sung ; and that concluded^ the minister 
 ascended the pulpit^ and began his dis- 
 course. 
 
 The subject of it turned upon the 
 inherent depravity of man ; and the 
 danger and misery of an unrenewed 
 state. 
 
 It seemed to be unconsciously that 
 Osmond sighed^ and murmured^ '^ how 
 true !*' as having dilated for some time^ 
 upon '' the vile and degraded nature of 
 man from his birth/* the preacher thus 
 proceeded to illustrate his position :
 
 no 
 
 ^•^ Who is there amongst us/* said he, 
 '' that has not^ on his personal expe- 
 rience^ bewailed with deepest lamenta- 
 tions the frailty of his nature? Who 
 is there that has not, at some period of 
 his life, forgotten to repose upon that 
 rock of ages, which alone is strong to 
 support him, and resting on the pride 
 of his heart, has trusted to his own rea- 
 son to guide him — his own arm to save 
 him, in his mortal conflict with the 
 enemy of his soul ? Who is there that 
 has not, inflated with vanity, formed 
 resolutions, revolved plans of conduct, 
 laid schemes for his moral advancement^ 
 and, believing himself all-sufficient to 
 himself, gone forth to combat with 
 temptations too powerful for the weak 
 resistance he has })repared for them r 
 Have they not overwhelmed him in an
 
 Ill 
 
 abyss of misfortunes ; or^ more dange- 
 rous stilly have they not stolen upon his 
 senses^ in forms and colours of seductive 
 beauty^ enervating his reason^ that fee- 
 ble prop on which alone he rested ? 
 Has he not tottered — fallen — sunk — and 
 then^ perhaps, remembered his only 
 friend — and, '' Save Lord, or I perish !'' 
 has been the cry which the agonizing 
 conviction of his helplessness has wrung 
 from his repentant heart?" 
 
 It was not merely the suggestion of 
 imagination, which now induced Lady 
 Ellen to think that Osmond was power- 
 fully affected by the words of the minis- 
 ter. He applied his handkerchief to his 
 eyes; it seemed to be with difficulty 
 that he sufficiently commanded his 
 emotion to remain in the place ; and
 
 112 
 
 when, after having continued more than 
 an hour, the sermon was at length con- 
 cluded, it was easy to perceive, from the 
 traces on his countenance, that he, at 
 least, had not been amongst the inatten- 
 tive part of the congregation. 
 
 That the deep and peculiar interest 
 with which tlie preacher's discourse had 
 inspired him, was connected in a great 
 measure with the mysterious cause of 
 all his dejection. Lady Ellen did not for 
 an instant doubt. It had struck upon 
 some particular chord within him, that 
 vibrated to a degree of agony ; but 
 apparently averse from acknowledging 
 it, he endeavoured, as they were return- 
 ing home, to conceal, under general 
 criticisms upon the language and doc- 
 trines of the sermon, that deep sense of
 
 113 
 
 its energetic truth, which had evidently 
 come like the stroke of a dagger upon 
 his heart. 
 
 '' I cannot entireh/ assent to this doc- 
 trine of Mr. R— X Ellen/' he said. '' I 
 know that original sin is one of the 
 fundamental articles of our faith ; yet 
 it is difficult to allow it^ at least to 
 the extent which is sometimes insisted 
 upon." 
 
 '' It is difficult, I believe/* she re- 
 plied, '' for the pride of man to make 
 any concessions, which it may conceive 
 to be derogatory to its own importance. 
 Yet, surely, Osmond, it is only neces- 
 sary for us to enter upon the task of 
 self-examination, with the same severity 
 of penetration we exert in scrutinizing 
 the conduct and motives of others, to
 
 114 
 
 learn very quickly how poor^ how weak^ 
 how helpless we are/* 
 
 " You then are a convert to the doc- 
 trine of the inherent depravity of man ?" 
 he replied. 
 
 " You it seems are not/' said she^ 
 evading the question ; '' but how is it, 
 then, that I have heard you so deeply 
 bewailing past errors ; reproaching your- 
 self for — *' 
 
 '' Ah, Lady Ellen !" said he, inter- 
 rupting her, ^' you must not cite me as 
 an example for any purpose. If my 
 judgment is to be formed on my own 
 individual instance, I can assuredly find 
 no difficulty in acknowledging my com- 
 plete worthlessness." 
 
 '' I know of no method of judging 
 others,*' she replied, '' especially in a
 
 115 
 
 matter that concerns us all equally 
 alike^ but what must originate in con- 
 sidering its effect upon ourselves.*' 
 
 " Our consideration may commence 
 upon our own case/' replied Osmond, 
 " but must not end there ; for nature, 
 or education, or society, or connexions, 
 or innumerable other circumstances, 
 may have made an immense difference 
 between the morality or goodness of me, 
 and any other man. If we would judge 
 correctly, we must extend our views to 
 all our acquaintance ; we must consult 
 the page of history — we must go back 
 to distant ages, and search for examples 
 of virtue. And are there none, Ellen, 
 to controvert this sad, humiliating doc- 
 trine ? If human nature be this vile, 
 degraded, abject thing, why did So- 
 crates, why did Plato breathe their
 
 116 
 
 lessons of virtue^ and of wisdom ? 
 Where was the heroism of Lucretia — 
 the dagger of Arria? — and why have 
 our own annals consecrated the names 
 of Hampden and of Sydney ?*' 
 
 Inspired by his theme, Osmond could 
 willingly have proceeded in citing illus- 
 trious examples ; but he suddenly recol- 
 lected, that though he was talking with 
 one of the best informed and most ac- 
 complished of women, still she was hut 
 a woman, and that it was not quite fair 
 to overpower her with instances, of 
 which she probably knew little beyond 
 the names. But Lady Ellen knew more. 
 
 '' Admitting/' she replied, " that 
 philosophy has much to boast of in the 
 names of Socrates, and his disciple 
 Plato, and that the former was, as 
 Cicero observes, '' the first who brought
 
 117 
 
 it down from heaven^ introduced it 
 into cities^ and taught private per- 
 sons how to reason on the conduct 
 of life^ on right and wrong, yet^ is it 
 not from his own declaration that we 
 learn^ that ' he knew only one thing, 
 which was, that he knew nothing.' In 
 this simple truism, we trace no con- 
 scious pride, no dignity of human 
 nature." 
 
 She paused a few moments, but Os- 
 mond listened for her to proceed, and 
 she went on. 
 
 ^' And for the heroism of Lucretia 
 and of Arria, the patriotism of Algernon 
 Sydney and of Hampden, it is not for 
 me to depreciate their deeds. We read 
 of heroes and of heroines ; we hear of, 
 and we admire noble actions, though 
 performed, perhaps, under an excite-
 
 118 
 
 ment of mind that renders it difficult to 
 say how far enthusiasm operated to pro- 
 duce them. But we know nothing of 
 the thousands, who, in humble life, are 
 exerting, less splendid, indeed, but not 
 less painful heroism ; the sacrifice of 
 whose lives, by the dagger or on the 
 scaffold, would be light, perhaps, in the 
 scale, compared with tlie daily priva- 
 tions, and injuries, and self-denial, and 
 self-exertion they are constantly called 
 upon to endure. Such can be the he- 
 roes of Christianity alone, Osmond — and 
 such they are — oh, never — never may 
 I fall from my dependance upon it! — 
 Without it— '' 
 
 But she checked herself from being 
 betrayed into saying all she felt— and 
 sighing deeply, she was silent. 
 
 '' Alas ! dear Ellen," said Osmond,
 
 119 
 
 ^^ it is pity your system (for I believe 
 it to be the only true one) should have 
 in it any thing repulsive/* 
 
 ^' Repulsive^ Osmond ! — is it repul- 
 sive V* and she looked disconcerted ; 
 '' repulsive — what can you mean V 
 
 How delicate is the desire which 
 nature has implanted in the heart of 
 woman^ of rendering herself, and every 
 thing connected with her^ attractive to 
 the other sex ! 
 
 The idea of being repulsive was in- 
 supportable to her^ and she applied her- 
 self, by all the rhetoric in her power, to 
 win him over to adopt her way of think- 
 ing. — '' I know how it is," said she, 
 giving him a melancholy smile : " Chris- 
 tianity is too unbending, too plain, 
 too much matter of fact, to assimilate 
 with the airy, glowing visions in which
 
 120 
 
 t^our imagination has been too prone to 
 indulge. You would have its morality 
 arrayed in better taste^ you would make 
 it more poetical, and then you could 
 devote yourself to it heart and soul. 
 
 '' But permit me, Osmond/' she con- 
 tinued, with a blush that bespoke her 
 earnestness to convince him, and her 
 dread that he should penetrate the 
 source of that earnestness, '' permit me 
 to request you will consider this one 
 point, that Christianity, being intended 
 as a universal means of salvation, should 
 be constructed so as to apply itself to 
 the comprehension of all ; and how- 
 could this be accomplished, if, instead 
 of being addressed to the understanding, 
 it appealed only to the fancy and ima- 
 gination ? How would the tasteless and 
 the vulgar, who constitute by far the
 
 121 
 
 greater part of human creatures^ be the 
 better for a system of morals which to 
 them would be perfectly unintelligible? 
 Do but consider this^ and you will find 
 new cau-e to adore and reverence the 
 wisdom of its Divine Founder. To v\ hum 
 does he address himself ? ^ Come^ ' 
 says he^ ' coine unto me^ all ye that 
 labour and are heavy laden, and i will 
 give you rest/ The sutiering and the 
 sorrowful, the poor and the simple, and 
 those who have none to help them, are 
 here included with the wise and the 
 learned, and the rulers of the earth." 
 She ceased, but Osmond could have 
 wished that she had continued to speak ; 
 for a preceptress so mild, so calculated 
 to work a good work upon a penitent 
 heart, never was an erring man, he 
 thought, so blessed with. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 
 
 It was impossible for his fervent na- 
 ture not to mingle a degree of passion 
 with every sentiment he experienced. 
 He took her hand^ and lookiiig at her 
 with a smile, ere he raised it to his lips, 
 
 how blest will that man be, Ellen," 
 he said, " who claims with this fair 
 hand, a right to your counsel and af- 
 fection." 
 
 She turned away her face, he fancied 
 in displeasure. '" Oh, pardon me, Ellen," 
 lie said, '' the freedom of addressing 
 you in this manner. Tiiese liberties are 
 too unwarrantable." 
 
 She had now sufficiently composed 
 herself to speak ; and, turning to him 
 with a cheerful countenance, " We are 
 too near and dear to each other — " she 
 said, and then she paused. 
 
 He happily finished the sentence for
 
 123 
 
 her^ and saved her the difficulty of add- 
 ing — '' to take offence lii^htly/' 
 
 '' TruCj we are so^ my dearest cousin/' 
 he conti nued; *' believe me. Lady Ellen — 
 but you will readily believe it_, the fondest 
 brother cannot more tenderly love his 
 sister than I do you." He was evidently 
 affected in making the acknowledgment. 
 But what was his emotion, compared 
 with the pang that this declaration dart- 
 ed through the bosom of Lady Ellen ! 
 " The fondest brother's love ! — no more ! 
 Then all is over, indeed ! was the con- 
 viction it flashed upon her mind. 
 
 o 2
 
 124 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 This conviction remained in full force, 
 and reason did its part in suggesting it 
 strongly to her consideratiouj till, as is 
 usual in these cases, the next instance of 
 affection or simple kindness in the object 
 beloved, restored imagination to her of- 
 fice ; poor reason was dethroned, and 
 fond I'ancy reinstated in her dominion. 
 In this alternation of feeling, three 
 months passed away ; at the end of 
 that time, hope began greatly to pre- 
 dominate in tlie bosom of Lady Ellen : 
 for Osmond's conduct to her became 
 more uniform, more like what it had
 
 125 
 
 been the preceding year; and, ceasing* 
 gradually to revert to his unhappiness, 
 he had by this time seemed almost to 
 have forgotten it. She, on her part, 
 was willing enough to let it sink into 
 oblivion, and to lull herself into a be- 
 lief that it was a mere passing source of 
 uneasiness, magnified by his warm ima- 
 gination into an importance, which time 
 had reduced to its real insignificance. 
 
 About this time a circumstance occur- 
 red, which, in spite of the severe lectur- 
 ing she administered to her feelings on 
 the occasion, she could not contemplate 
 without some degree of complacency. 
 It was the removal of a rival, not in- 
 deed in Osmond's love, for she could not 
 in her most anxious moments do his judg- 
 ment and taste the injustice of suppos- 
 ing that he really loved the Lady Jane 
 
 G 3
 
 126 
 
 Eustace, but in his ambition, which she 
 knew exercised a sufficiently potent 
 sway over him to make him not wholly 
 inattentive to his father's wishes of con- 
 necting himself highly in marriage. 
 
 She could not, at all times, feel secure 
 that this passion would not effectuate 
 the work of a more engaging one, and 
 lead him to iracritice at its shrine. 
 
 Many more improbable things, she 
 was well aware, had happened in the 
 history of wedlock, tlian the union of 
 Osmond Lessingham with Lady Jane 
 Eustace, though he professed to think 
 her oftentimes affected and frivolous, 
 and seemed, in coniparison, to estimate 
 liis cousin beyond all price. However, 
 all dcbatings, all painful reveries of an 
 hour long, ending just where they be- 
 gan, were, as far as related to tiie La iy
 
 127 
 
 Jane^ irrevocably concluded^ by her 
 elopement, one morning, to Gretna 
 Green with '^ Harry Howard/' as she 
 always desig-nated a colonel in the 
 guards^ whom nobody in the world but 
 her father and mother suspected her of 
 being inclined to favour. 
 
 They had son^evvhat injudiciously 
 fanned into a flame, by a storm ot" 
 angTy reproaches and flat denials to 
 the proposals of the Colonel, what might 
 otherwise have been but a dying spark 
 of preference in the fancy of Lady Jane. 
 
 Feeling, like other young ladies of 
 nineteen, when threatened with beina' 
 deprived of their first lover, that she 
 was a victim to uidieard of barbarity, 
 she was not an unwillinji: listener to 
 the arguments of the Colonel, which 
 placed before her in a strong point of 
 
 G 4
 
 128 
 
 view the propriety of their taking ihe 
 matter into their own hands, and ob- 
 viating any further discussion by a clan- 
 destine marriaiie. 
 
 Tlie usual consternation ensued upon 
 their flight ; the usual resentment in 
 the father — and lamentation in the mo- 
 ther — and vows of vens:eance in the 
 brother — all of w hich, as usual^ in pro- 
 per time subsided ; and as usual, also, 
 the Lady Jane and her husband were, 
 in due season, received back >vith that 
 sullen kind of forgiveness, which peo- 
 ple accord to faults that cannot be re- 
 trieved. 
 
 Merits were found out in the Colonel 
 that he had never been suspected of 
 possessing before ; and as much solid 
 comfort derived from the connexion, as 
 could arise from an union with a splen-
 
 129 
 
 did suit of regimentals and three thou- 
 sand a-year. 
 
 This event bein": now of more than 
 a fortnight's occurrence, was pretty well 
 forgotten in the neighbourhood ; and 
 Lady Ellen, quite established in the same 
 unrestrained and pleasing intercourse 
 with Osmond, which had formerly been 
 but too charming to her, was beginning 
 to believe that she was almost ^oo happy, 
 when a very unforeseen interruption to 
 her felicity presented itself in the arrival 
 of a visitor at Arlins^ton Park, whom 
 she had often heard Osmond mention 
 in the highest terms of affectionate 
 respect. 
 
 It was a gentleman of the name of 
 Greville, a Fellow of All Souls, at Ox- 
 ford ; a person whose natural character 
 it would be difficult to define, so much 
 
 G 5
 
 \30 
 
 had education and skilful mana«^emeut 
 rendered it artificial He had acci- 
 dentally been introduced to 0:iinond's 
 acquaintance during- the residence of 
 the latter at Christ Church ; and, at- 
 tracted by the talents and accoinplish- 
 nients of the young' num, had, though 
 many years his senior^ entered into 
 habits of great intimacy and friendship 
 with him. 
 
 Mr.Greville was a man of good family 
 and good fortune ; great good sense and 
 irreproachable conduct; higldy pleas- 
 ing manners, and a most accomplished 
 and cultivated mind. 
 
 Valuable as these recon^nendations 
 were, it was not altogether to them 
 alone, that he was indebted for the en- 
 thusiastic admiration with which he had 
 inspired Osmond.
 
 131 
 
 It may liave been j^athered from the 
 conversation which passed between the 
 latterand Lady Ellen Seymour, on leav- 
 ing the meeting-house of Mr. R — , that 
 Osmond, like most vounff men of his 
 age, entertained high notions of the 
 inherent dignity of liis nature ; and a 
 greater disposition to venerate the doc- 
 trines of philosophy, than the Christian 
 education of Lady Ellen would admit 
 of her entirely approving. 
 
 This, his propensity, had been mucii 
 encouraged whilst he was in the habit 
 of intercourse vvith Mr. Greville. 
 
 It must be confessed, that, amongst 
 the hidden characteristics of Mr.Grevillc) 
 could not be numbered a disposition to 
 patronize and approve of every body 
 connected with nobility. It was not 
 at all a concealed trait in the portraiture 
 
 G 6
 
 132 
 
 of his miiul : on the contrary, it was a 
 very leading- feature. No one was bet- 
 ter read in human nature than he was ; 
 no one was more aware that if a man 
 wishes to succed in society, and to 
 arrive at distinction and importance, he 
 must pay that vigilant, unceasing atten- 
 tion to his own interest, which places 
 a guard upon all the avenues that lead 
 to it ; which makes him in every action 
 suppose that the eyes of the world are 
 upon him ; and which prompts him to 
 surround himself with connexions and 
 acquaintance, whose most insignificant 
 attentions may tdl with the vulgar ; 
 that great mass, who have no capability 
 of judging but by means of their senses ; 
 and who, after their gross capacity, 
 always estimate a man by the out\>ard 
 consideration he receives. It was prin-
 
 133 
 
 cipally, therefore^ to this^ his opinion, 
 that Osmond, in the first instance, was 
 indebted for the very great and flatter- 
 ing attentions he received from him. 
 
 But, besides the sagacity which led 
 him to value, at his full price, a young 
 man highly connected, Mr. Greville had 
 sufficient tact and taste to discover and 
 appreciate, those more noble claims to 
 his notice, which Osmond's talents and 
 genius exhibited. The interest he had 
 testified for him in various kind offices, 
 and in recommending books to his 
 perusal, not such merely as were con- 
 nected with his course of study, but as 
 of a more light and elegant turn, were 
 adapted to polish his mind, and amuse his 
 leisure hours, had inspired very warm 
 and grateful sentiments for him on 
 Osmond's side. These were increased
 
 134 
 
 in fervour, by observing' ^vitli what af- 
 fectionate and considerate naildness_, Mr. 
 Greville reasoned with liini upon a slight 
 imprudence of conduct, of which be had 
 once or twice been guilty. 
 
 As it was from this conversation that 
 his high admiration of his friend was to 
 be* dated,, it may not be irrelevant to 
 repeat a part of it. 
 
 Oj^mond, in a repentant state of mind 
 for his fault, was one evening deeply 
 enirasred in readin«: a book, which he 
 had a short time before borrowed of 
 Mr. Greville. It was Adam Smitli's 
 Theory of Moral Sentiments. Whilst 
 he was absorbed in the study of it, INIr. 
 Greville entered his room : and after a 
 little conversation, inquired of him 
 w hat he was reading ? 
 
 '' The book of Adam Smith's, that
 
 135 
 
 I borfowed of you/' replied Os- 
 mond. 
 
 '' It is a beautiful work/' he observed. 
 
 " Beautiful^ indeed/' replied Os- 
 mond ; '' surely this is a book calculated 
 to make one better.*' 
 
 '' If any book can accomplish so 
 desirable an end/' replied Mr. Greville^ 
 '' I believe that to be one of them. But 
 at your age^ Osmond^ books, I fear, are 
 but formal dulness." 
 
 "No! excuse me/' he replied, "that 
 is not the case ; they are very often 
 charmin<^ whilst they occupy me, as this 
 is, for instance; but their influence, I 
 admit, is lamentably short-lived." 
 
 " But the time is at hand," said Mr. 
 Greville, with earnestness, " in wliich 
 their influence must not be thus tran- 
 sient. You are now approaching; that
 
 136 
 
 period of life^ which will probably 
 determine the whole of your future 
 destiny. Your own observation and 
 experience cannot, of course, for many 
 years supply you with much practical 
 wisdom ; it is incumbent upon you, 
 therefore, to store your mind with such 
 useful rules of conduct, as the ^^is- 
 dom of others supplies you with. The 
 book you are now perusing' is inesti- 
 mable for this purpose. Keep it as 
 your own ; and do not turn to it with 
 mere admiration of its fine writing, and 
 acute reasoning', but consult it as a 
 couiisellor and a friend." 
 
 He interrupted Osmond's thanks by 
 proceeding with increased seriousness. 
 
 '' I cannot say that I have not been 
 very ^iiuch grieved by your late impru- 
 dence ; not that I expected infallibility
 
 137 
 
 from a youngs man of your age : but 
 degrading errors bespeak bad taste, as 
 well as bad morals, aud I had somehow 
 piqued myself upon your delicacy of 
 mind, Osmond." 
 
 Osmond coloured violently, but said 
 nothing ; and Mr. Greville continued. 
 
 '' 1 cannot express to you the sorrow 
 it would occasion me if you were to 
 take a wrong course in life. Your ta- 
 lents — your real goodness of heart — '* 
 
 " I am sure that I can never volun- 
 tarily do any thing to give you pain/' 
 said Osmond, impatient to express the 
 gratitude he felt for this kindness; '' I 
 have been led astray, it is true, but from 
 this instant I solemnly declare — " 
 
 '' Make no solemn declarations," said 
 Mr. Greville, interrupting him. '' Re- 
 solutions that are suddenly and violently
 
 138 
 
 adopted, are seldom firmly kept. It is 
 not easy to establish in the mind a 
 steady principle of resistance to temp- 
 tation ; it must be a work of habit and 
 of time/' 
 
 '' But there is great satisfaction, cer- 
 tainly/' he continued, with a smile, in 
 saying, ' 1 will not.' Tiie task appears 
 half accomplished when the resolve is 
 made, because the temptations which 
 are to exercise it are not at hand.'* 
 
 '' But it is surely by arming ourselves 
 with resolution," said Osmond, '' that 
 we can alone combat successfully with 
 the temptations that surround us ?" 
 
 '' Undoubtedly," he replied. '* But 
 it must be resolution which has grown 
 into principle; not the momentary re- 
 sult of good inipulses wliich sometimes 
 visit the worst of men."
 
 139 
 
 Their conversation continaed for some 
 time. It is not necessary further to 
 detail it; we shall merely remark, that 
 the arg'uments Mr. Grevilie made use 
 of, were such as to elevate Osmond's 
 mind with a sense of its own dignity 
 and capability of correct conduct ; and 
 to inspire him with an ambition of de- 
 serving the approbation of the good. 
 
 Osmond could perceive that his doc- 
 trines were formed upon those of Adam 
 Smith, which did, in fact, contain a 
 great part of his system of morality ; 
 and he could not but highly venerate 
 the source from which he derived prin- 
 ciples, which prompted a uniformity of 
 such conduct, as certainly rendered Mr. 
 Grevilie respected even by his enemies, 
 and enthusiastically beloved by his 
 friends.
 
 140 
 
 Osmond retired to bed^ with his head 
 full of exalted ideas. He knew not 
 which he reverenced niost, the nnanual 
 of Adam Smithy which he laid under his 
 pillow, or Mr. Greville, who stood forth 
 a living illustration of its precepts. 
 
 From this time their connexion as- 
 sumed a character of the most intimate 
 friendship. Mr. Greville, availing him- 
 self of every occasion of testifying his 
 regard^ by offering Osmond a multitude 
 of small services and attentions ; con- 
 trivii]g, at the same time^ it must be 
 acknowledged, though very delicately, 
 and skilfully, to let him feel the full 
 value of his kindness, by insinuating 
 the happiness he felt in being useful 
 to him. 
 
 Osmond's gratitude, and desire of 
 continuing, after leaving the university.
 
 141 
 
 the connexion between them^ had in- 
 duced him to make many entreaties that 
 Mr. Greville would visit him at his 
 father's house. 
 
 Various circumstances prevented his 
 accepting these invitations whilst the 
 fervour of them lasted ; but^ with the 
 prudence of his nature^ he had judged 
 it highly desirable to keep his young 
 friend in sight through life^ though at 
 present their acquaintance should be 
 kept up by correspondence only. 
 
 That method of sustaining it, he 
 very soon found. Was not absolutely to 
 be depended upon. Osmond, during his 
 mysterious scjour at Woodhurst, having 
 little time or inclination to devote to 
 his pen, had been but languid and brief 
 in his epistles ; not indeed, as Mr. Gre- 
 ville discerned, from inconstancy towards
 
 142 
 
 himself, but from his being preoccu- 
 pied^ as it was natural to suppose he 
 would be^ at his age^ with some new 
 pursuit. 
 
 As Mr. Greville^ however, who was 
 not a person to be easily diverted from 
 his purposes, whatever they might be, 
 had once decided upon the advisable- 
 ness of continuiiiii: his connexion with 
 Osmond, he waited only for the oppor- 
 tunity the long vacation afforded him 
 of writing, to say he should have plea* 
 sure in availing himself of his kind 
 and repeated invitations to visit him ; 
 and would, if convenient to receive him, 
 be at Arlington Park on such a day.
 
 143 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Mr. Greville had been their visitor 
 about a vveek^ extremely agreeable to 
 every member of the Arlington family^ 
 except indeed^ we believe we must say, 
 Lady Ellen Seymour; who^ in discover- 
 ing that his presence engrossed the 
 greater part of Osmond's time^ could 
 scarcely be expected to feel much de- 
 light in the prospect of his continuing 
 their guest. 
 
 At times,, when she strove to be 
 candid and liberal, and triumph over 
 feelings that she condemned as little
 
 and unworthy of her, she believed that 
 what with dinners, and parties of every 
 description, which, in compliment to his 
 friend, Osmond had caused to be insti- 
 tuted on his arrival, it was not so much 
 to be wondered at that he had never 
 once, since Mr.Greville*s arrival, sought 
 one uninterrupted interview with her. 
 But the jealous eye of love discerned, 
 ov imagined it discerned (which is the 
 same thing, for when under the influence 
 of attachment, imagination may be con- 
 sidered as the only acting intellectual 
 power) that Osmond was very well 
 satisfied to have an excuse for a change 
 of behaviour. 
 
 Altoii:cther she felt dissatisfied and 
 unhappy ; dissatisfied, because her high 
 sense of rectitude was at this moment 
 at war with all her feelings, and un-
 
 145 
 
 happy because she knew not how to 
 make the sacrifice it imperiously called 
 upon her to make. 
 
 '' 1 ought to return home/' she fre- 
 quently said to herself; ''Mhe part I am 
 acting'^ is not proper — it is not worthy 
 of me — 1 am yielding to a sentiment 
 that subjugates me to the meanest pas- 
 sions—unjustifiable dislike — paltry jea- 
 lousy— I will — yes — I think I will return 
 home — '' 
 
 She was thus painfully soliloquizing 
 one morning in the library^ when her 
 meditations were interrupted by the 
 entrance of Mr. Greville and Osmond, 
 both of them apparently equipped for 
 a ride. 
 
 Osmond came to bring her a new 
 poem ; observing, at the same time, that 
 '' he believed she would not read it, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 
 
 upon his testimony ; as he knew she held 
 poor Amyntor in devout abhorrence, 
 as all good Christians were bound to 
 do ; '' so I have brought my friend Mr. 
 Greville to plead his cause/' he con- 
 tinued ; " and I do beg, my pensive 
 cousin, that you will not permit any 
 / rigid notions of your own, or any other 
 person^ to rob you of the great gratifi- 
 cation you will derive from the perusal 
 of this charming poem." 
 
 '^ Osmond has brought me to make 
 a speech to your Ladyship,'* said Mr. 
 Greville ; '' but having taken that 
 office upon himself, I have only to 
 second the motion of mv honourable 
 friend.'' 
 
 '' I think. Lady Ellen," he continued, 
 " when you have read this introductory 
 stanza," and he repeated it with much
 
 147 
 
 feeling and expression, '' you will 
 scarcely need any persuasion to tempt 
 you to proceed." 
 
 '' I should be sorrv to stand so low, 
 as I feel I must do, in Mr. Greville's 
 opinion/* she replied, '' were 1 to say 
 how much persuasion is requisite to in- 
 duce me to look at any of this author's 
 works/' 
 
 Mr. Greville only replied by a^ polite 
 bow^ and an assurance that " it was 
 impossible that a difference of sentiment^ 
 upon a mere point of taste, could affect 
 his very high opinion of Lady Ellen 
 Seymour." 
 
 But Osmond rather hastily took up a 
 volume that lay upon the table, the 
 work of a very religious author ; '' and 
 is there to be no respite from these 
 austere and gloomy studies?" he said; — 
 
 H 2
 
 148 
 
 '' 1 have no patience with these ascetics T' 
 he continued^ rather too vehemently — 
 at least to Mr. Greville's judgment, who, 
 with an insurmountable horror to any 
 thing of a scene, interrupted what fur- 
 ther he was going to say, by reminding 
 him that I.ord Arlington, who was to 
 accompany them in their ride, would 
 be waiting for them. 
 
 '' 1 will follow you immediatelv,*' 
 said Osmond, turning back, just as they 
 had reached the door. Addressino- 
 Lady Ellen with more mildness, he 
 begged to apologize for his brusque 
 remark upon her favourite author; 
 '' but it was excited, my dear Ellen, by 
 your contempt for mine. We are all 
 apt to be bigotled in our love for the 
 works that afford us most pleasure, and 
 surely nnIicu you consider the beauty.
 
 149 
 
 the majesty^ the sublimity of many parts 
 of Amyritor's works^ you are only cen- 
 suring your own taste in saying that 
 you require persuasion to be induced 
 to look at them." 
 
 '' -The splendour of this author's ge- 
 nius/' she replied, '' can never be dim- 
 med by TTiy criticisms. I can only 
 lament, with all who wish well to man- 
 kind, that it should be so dreadfully 
 misapplied. That a man should volun- 
 tarily devote his talents to the service 
 of sin ; that with capacity and taste to 
 discover and admire the good and the 
 beautiful, he should only, or chiefly, 
 appropriate his powers to the embel- 
 lishment of all that is hateful and 
 wicked, must, surely be as revolting to 
 one's understanding as one's heart." 
 
 H 3
 
 150 
 
 Osmond seemed to consider her re- 
 marks with attention^ and she proceeded 
 with increasing fervour : 
 
 " I never, never, can consider that 
 man worthy of respect or admiration 
 who seeks to rob me of my best and 
 dearest hopes, by ridiculing all that I 
 venerate and esteem ; and who repre- 
 sents my fellow creatures to me as little 
 better than the brute creation when 
 alive, and destined to annihilation when 
 dead." 
 
 '' I respect your piety, Ellen/' he 
 replied, '*" as ] do every trait in your 
 character ; but these doctrines, when 
 pushed to excesSj arc the destruction of 
 sentiment — the ruin of imagination — 
 the scourge of taste — I cannot bear that 
 they should operate to your disadvan-
 
 151 
 
 t'dge, and induce you to express opinions 
 liable to lower you as a person of taste 
 in the estinnation of others. 1 cannot 
 bear that so elegant a man as Mr. Gre- 
 ville should have any doubts as to 
 your merits upon this point.'* 
 
 *' Mr. Greville's opinion may be a 
 law to you^ Osmond/' she rather gravely 
 replied^ "' but it cannot be so to me.*' 
 
 '^ I am sorry for it^ Lady Ellen ; as 
 my particular friend^ I was in hopes you 
 would have valued him a little more/* 
 
 '^ 1 know little or nothing of him^ 
 Osmond ; you cannot^ therefore^ in jus- 
 tice be displeased that^ as yet^ I have 
 not testified any very warm admiration 
 , of merits^ to which 1 must be so great 
 a stranger.** 
 
 *' And you are likely to continue so^ 
 I fear/' he replied ; '' you do not draw 
 
 H 4
 
 152 
 
 him out by the slightest advance on 
 your side ; you are coldj and distant 
 >vith him. In short, Ellen, you do not 
 like him, and that is the truth of the 
 case." 
 
 " I am not aware of entertaining any 
 prejudice against Mr. Greville/' she re- 
 plied, colouring deeply as she spoke ; 
 '' he appears to me a very gentlemanly 
 man, and of a very accomplished mind.*' 
 
 '" He appears to me,*' said Osmond, 
 warmly, '' as one of the most enviable 
 of human beingrs." 
 
 '' That is saying a great deal in his 
 favour ;*' and she smiled. 
 
 '' His self-command, his kindness, 
 his clear, well-judging mind, his re- 
 spectable character, his general happi- 
 ness — all this is enviable, 1 think.'* 
 
 She was silent.
 
 153 
 
 ^^ Do you not think so^ Ellen ?" 
 
 '' It is all very good as far as it goos, 
 certainly." 
 
 ^' And a more strictly moral man 
 cannot exist/' continued Osmond. 
 
 '^ A C/im^«aw moralist, is he?" 
 
 Osmond paused a little before he 
 replied, 
 
 '' He attends divine service every 
 Sunday." 
 
 '' Is it satire, or eulogy that you are 
 pronouncing ?" she inquired with an 
 arch smile. 
 
 '' Nay, I meant to propose it as 
 an exhibition of his faith," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 '' Well, I would not upon any ac- 
 count depreciate the worth of your 
 particular friend, Osmond ; but let me 
 counsel you not to propose him to your- 
 
 H 5
 
 154 
 
 self as a model. His system of morals 
 will never do for you." * 
 
 '' If it does for him — '* 
 
 '' Ah ! but what does it do for him }" 
 
 '' It makes him respectable^ and vir- 
 tuous^ and happy.*' 
 
 '' Happy, Osmond ! how can you 
 venture to say that ? How can you 
 imagine that any morality which has not 
 the truths of revealed religion for its 
 basis_, should conduct to any thing like 
 happiness or peace ?" 
 
 '' You can only surmise, Ellen, that 
 Mr. Greville is not a christian ; for I am 
 sure he is much too cautious a man to 
 express any thing like an opinion on the 
 subject. He pays strict attention to all 
 the forms of religion, and 1, that have 
 known him so much longer than you 
 have, should feel it ditiicult to decide in
 
 155 
 
 my own opinion upon what really were 
 his tenets/* 
 
 '' Bat I, a simple, unlearned woman^ 
 who have seen and known Mr. Greville 
 but a very short time^ I have no hesita- 
 tion, Osmond, in saying that his mo- 
 rality, whatever it may be, is not drawn 
 from the Book of Life. If it were, 
 would there be that carelessness of 
 conversation which the world may call 
 graceful and pleasing, but which to me 
 clearly indicates an indifference to sa- 
 cred things! Would there be, as Os- 
 mond I remember there was, when 
 Lord Arhngton the other day was speak- 
 ing of some one who had died sud- 
 denly, that shudder, and the expression 
 ' Ah, that dying !' — do you recollect it V* 
 
 Osmond did remember it ; and he 
 could not but smile, and be struck with 
 
 H 6
 
 156 
 
 the quickness which had immediately 
 discovered in this little trait^ the volume 
 of information it/ in fact, did disclose 
 relative to his friend. 
 
 Osmond had remarked that no one 
 ever testified more repugnance to grow- 
 ing old and dying, than Mr. Greville al- 
 ways did ; though quite involuntarily, 
 and by some such unconscious thinking 
 aloud, as Lady Ellen's penetration had re- 
 marked. 
 
 '' And have you not observed/' said 
 she, '' how he seems to keep at bay, all 
 the encroaching reflections of advancing 
 life? what value he attaches to con- 
 nexions and society, and how seriously 
 he speaks of the importance and neces- 
 sity of being surrounded with them V 
 
 '' But this is natural for a solitary 
 man, who is now no longer young, El- 
 len ; and surely it is very innocent !"
 
 157 
 
 '* Itisinnocentj and natural^ and very 
 laudable to make and to keep as many 
 friends as we can/' she replied ; '" par- 
 ticularly in the decline of life, when we 
 must lean in a great measure upon the 
 kindness of others for comfort and en- 
 joyment. But I apprehend,, that the 
 internal happiness of a really good 
 Christian would not depend upon any 
 outward circumstances. Far from de- 
 clining with declining years^ it would 
 expand as it approached nearer and 
 nearer to death, its final consummation. 
 From the contemplation of that last 
 hour, there is no shudder — no recoil : 
 for He who cannot deceive, has promised 
 to be with His followers even unto the 
 end And to that end they look with 
 humble hope, and holy joy. 
 
 f She paused : her soft eyes were raised 
 to Heaven^ looking the truth she felt.
 
 158 
 
 '' But/' after a few moment's silence, 
 '' let us say no more of Mr. Greville/* 
 said she ; '' he is your friend, Osmond, 
 and you are bound to be grateful and 
 affectionate to him. But that does not 
 imply that you should erect him into a 
 standard of right and wrong." 
 
 '' You are my standard of all that is 
 good, dearest Ellen,*' replied Osmond, 
 much affected by the warmth of her en- 
 thusiasm ; '' would that you were my sis- 
 ter, and always with me ; would that" — 
 At this moment a servant entered to 
 summon him to his ride with his father 
 and Mr. Greville, and somewhat pre- 
 cipitately he withdrew. 
 
 '' Would that you were my sister!" 
 she mentally repeated. '' Sister! how 
 often have I heard that word ! What 
 pains does he take to imprint upon my 
 mind a right idea of his attachment !"
 
 159 
 
 She mused upon this idea some tinie : 
 at last she brought herself to a misera- 
 ble conclusion. 
 
 '' He surely sees my weakness !'* she 
 thought ; and he wishes to obviate the 
 pangs of my disappointment. '' Oh, 
 Osmond ! how despicable must I seem 
 to you !" and she covered her burning 
 face with both her hands; abased^ hu- 
 miliated to a degree almost of anguish. 
 
 She had long remained in this state of 
 abstraction^ when she was startled by 
 feeling a gentle pressure upon her 
 shoulder. She hastily turned round. 
 It was Lady Arlington^ who, from the 
 door of the conservatory which was 
 open, had entered the apartment unper- 
 ceived by her, and had now been some 
 minutes interested in remarking her
 
 160 
 
 deep^ and^ as her frequent sighs indi- 
 cated^ somewhat painful reverie. 
 
 " And what can be the important 
 subject that so wholly absorbs you^ my 
 fair Ellen V* said she, taking her hand. 
 Lady Ellen faintly smiled. 
 
 " Come, tell me/' said the Countess, 
 playfully, but with more of tenderness 
 than Ellen dared to encourage. She 
 seemed to have, but for the first time, 
 caught a glimpse of the real state of 
 Osmond's feelings, and of the part she 
 ought immediately to take. Her mind 
 was all a chaos ; and nothing was dis- 
 tinctly present to her, but a conviction 
 that she must struggle, and suffer, and 
 resiirn, for ever the dear and cherished 
 emotions that had so long been the 
 charm of her existence. To indulge
 
 161 
 
 the affection of her friend which she 
 felt an instinctive assurance would draw 
 from her in a moment an acknowledg- 
 ment of the passion she was called upon 
 to subdue. was,an inclination which her 
 strong sense enabled her instantly to 
 repel; and with an effort_, which nothing 
 but the strength that a vigorous mind 
 affords upon a sudden emergency, could 
 have suggested, she rose and replied to 
 Lady'Arlington's importunity by saying, 
 "' She had been thinking of her long 
 absence from home, and her friends^ 
 and poor pensioners; and unwilling as 
 she was, and always must be^ to leave 
 Arlington Park,, as the sacrifice must 
 some time or other be made, she would 
 not any longer postpone it/' 
 
 '' To-morrow, therefore, dear Lady 
 Arlington/* she continued, '' I shall
 
 162 
 
 with your permission^ return to Rich- 
 mond/* 
 
 "^ To-morrow ! you cannot surely be 
 in earnest V* and her Ladyship spoke in 
 a tone of gentle reproach. 
 
 '' 1 believe it will be better." It was 
 with difficulty she brought out the last 
 few words. 
 
 '^ My dear Ellen — what is the meaning 
 of this ?*' — The Countess was going to 
 add ; but the burst of tears that fol- 
 lowed her pressing the hand of her 
 young friend^ made all intelligible 
 enough. '' Nay, nay, Ellen/' said she, 
 endeavouring to detain her, but finding 
 it in vain, yielding to her repeated in- 
 treaties that she would suffer her to 
 retire. 
 
 '^, But you will not go to-morrow, 
 love — not to-morrow ?"
 
 163 
 
 '' Yes, yes ; to-morrow !*' she re- 
 peated^ with quickness, '' by the earliest 
 dawn." 
 
 '' As you please, then/' said Lady 
 Arlington, with a sigh. Lady Ellen 
 turned round just as she was leaving the 
 room, and approaching her with hasty 
 steps, she took her hand, and almost 
 wringing it under the intenseness of her 
 feelings, '' Oh, Lady Arlington I'* she 
 said, '' dear, dear friend — do not be dis- 
 pleased with me ; do not make a party 
 with me against myself; if you knew, 
 if you could conceive what I have to 
 struggle with in framing this determi- 
 nation ! do not endeavour to unsettle it. 
 My heart is with you, but I dare not 
 yield to its persuasions." 
 
 And again she was forcibly withdraw-
 
 164 
 
 ing from the detaining band that would 
 have impeded her departure. 
 
 '' Only tell me this, my love/' said 
 Lady Arlington, with the deepest agita- 
 tion imprinted on every feature; '^^ has 
 Osmond been ungenerous — has he — '* 
 
 '' Oh no, — no, — '* exclaimed Lady 
 Ellen, impatient to justify the idol of 
 her heart from the breath of suspicion. 
 '' He is all that is noble — all that iis 
 good — think no harm of him — nor of 
 me — when this weakness is past — for 
 it is nothing — no indeed, it is nothing/' 
 and she tried to smile — but it was in 
 vain — Lady Arlington's look of tender 
 interest penetrated to her soul — and 
 nothing could restrain the impulse that 
 prompted her to hide the gushing tears 
 that followed this fruitless smile, by 
 throwing herself upon the bosom of her
 
 165 
 
 friend^ and there sobbing as if her heart 
 would break. 
 
 *' Oh^ my mother — my more than mo- 
 ther — you must not — indeed you must 
 not — " she incessantly repeated, as Lady 
 Arlington, herself affected almost beyond 
 the power of speaking", could only testify 
 her sympathy by fondly pressing her 
 to her bosom — and trying to soothe her 
 by dropping expressions that told how 
 much her own hopes and wishes assimi- 
 lated with those of her young friend. 
 
 '' You will one day be united, love — 
 Osmond cannot be insensible to your 
 merits— he is not — 1 am sure he is 
 not — ** were words too precious to be 
 heard with indifference. 
 
 But the hour of stern, unrelenting- 
 duty was come — and once aware that 
 she was summoned by her understand-
 
 166 
 
 ins: to follow its dictates, there existed 
 not a beins: in the world more immove- 
 able^ nnore firm in purpose than Lady 
 Ellen Seymour. 
 
 Once more she released herself from 
 the embrace of the Countess. 
 
 "' You have seen the weakness of my 
 nature^ Lady Arlington/' she said^, — " it 
 is fit now^ that you should witness its 
 strength. I love Osmond — how truly — 
 how fervently — is known only to God 
 and my own heart. But he loves not 
 me — " 
 
 '' I am not quite convinced — " Lady 
 Arlington was beginning to say — but 
 Lady Ellen proceeded with hurried ac- 
 cents^ as if she dreaded the influence her 
 words might obtain over her. 
 
 " l^a?n — that must suffice. Pardon 
 me dearest — best of friends, this seem-
 
 167 
 
 ing abruptness — too long have I yielded 
 to the delusion of treacherous feelino:— 
 charming indeed ! — but visionary ! — 
 it is time for me to shake off these 
 vain imaginations. Henceforth 1 must 
 look only upon reality — upon stubborn^ 
 uncourteous, but wholesome truth — I 
 must return home^ and there surround 
 myself with occupation^ with duties to 
 fulfil^ and I shall be happy ; yes^ Lady 
 Arlington, I shall yet be happy — if not 
 here — " She was compelled to pause — 
 but ever as she wiped away her tears, 
 she soothed the real distress of Lady 
 Arlington, by repeating, '' 1 shall yet 
 be happy — do not grieve for me — I 
 know that I shall be happy/' 
 
 '' God grant that you may — my own 
 Ellen I said the Countess, pressing her 
 to ber bosom as she spoke. '' I trust
 
 168 
 
 and believe that you nnIII — and perhaps 
 not the less eo^ eventually^ though our 
 hopes should be frustrated in the pre- 
 sent instance. Osmond is a dano:erous 
 being, and heaven only knows how far 
 a union with him would be likely to 
 promote a woman's happiness." 
 
 Lady Ellen sighed — at present, it was 
 impossible for her to suppose a care — 
 an anxious thought — any thiuiir but 
 bliss for the beiuii; who was destined 
 to be the uife of Osmond Les^iimham. 
 But though incapable of assenting to 
 the remark of Lady Arlington, she ^poke 
 but the real sentiments of her pious 
 heart, when she replied, '' it is one of 
 the most soothing doctrines of the creed 
 by which I strive to regulate my con- 
 duct, that it inspires a conviction of my 
 fate being in the hands of Providence.
 
 i (39 
 
 I know that I liiivc no power over any 
 event of my life : I resign ihein there- 
 fore to Him^ who, I doubt not, will order 
 them for my ultimate benefit. It is not 
 indeed, w ithout tears and prayers that 
 I can bring myself to this state of sub- 
 mission — for I am human — and the frail 
 wishes — tlie futile projects of ignorant 
 mortality have too often, and too long 
 seduced me. But it is to be done — 
 This subjugation of passion — of stub- 
 born will — of fanciful imagination is to 
 be accomplished — and it shall be — But 
 I spend myself in words, when all with 
 me must now be action. My dear 
 friend — let us speak of him no more — 
 do not endeavour to detain me here 
 To-morrow I must leave you — and when 
 we meet again, be assured of seeing me 
 cheerful — " and happy — she intended to 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 170 
 
 have added ; but she had supported 
 herself to the utmost verge of heroism, 
 aad nature demanded the indulgence of 
 some human feeling:. She hurried from 
 the room — and in her own apartment 
 we must for a while leave her — not 
 weak and irresolute — not inconsistent, 
 or abandoning* her sustaining principles 
 — but struggling, and subduing, and 
 aiming at a conquest, compared with 
 which, as the poet of Christianity so 
 justly remarks, — 
 
 ** The laurels that a Caesar reaps are weed:*."
 
 171 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 Lady Arlington was not entirely 
 satisfied with the conduct of her son, 
 although Lady Ellen had so unhesita- 
 tingly exculpated him from blame. 
 
 Affected by the scene which had just 
 passed between them^ and still sanguine 
 in her opinion (because her wishes 
 pointed the same way) that Osmond 
 really was attached to Lady Ellen, she 
 determined to make, if she could not 
 find an opportunity, of talking with him 
 on the subject. 
 
 One presented itself rather sooner than 
 she expected, or indeed desired ; as she 
 
 i2
 
 172 
 
 would have preferred tjilkin^^ willi him 
 at a time when her feelini^s were more 
 composed, than her recent conversation 
 with her young friend had left them. 
 
 She had but just been taking a 
 few turns in the grounds immediate- 
 ly near the house^ deeply meditating 
 upon what would be the issue of the 
 subject that interested her^ when Os- 
 mond returned from his ride, himself 
 approached her_, looking so happy, so 
 handsome, such a combination of all 
 that was graceful and pleasing, that the 
 mother's pride, in looking upon him, lor 
 a moment, absorbed every otlier feeling ; 
 and it became impossible for her to do 
 otherwise than smile upon him as he 
 approached, and take the arm he oflTcred 
 her — as he joined her in her walk. — 
 
 ''But w here is Lady Ellen .^" said he ;
 
 \7S 
 
 '' I thoiiglit to have found her with you^ 
 and to have proposed to her and you lo 
 join us in a plan which we have ])een 
 projecting' during our ride/' 
 
 Lady Arlington inquired what it was. 
 
 '' Why, Greville has a fancy to spend 
 a week or two at Hastings ; and^ I be- 
 lieve, 1 shall go with him — I want to 
 persuade you and her to join us — my 
 father does not go — but that is no rea- 
 son upon earth why you should not. 
 We shall set off to-morrow— and— -'' 
 
 '^ There is no reason upon earthy to 
 be sure/' she replied, smiling at tlie 
 eagerness with which, as he was wont, 
 Osmond proceeded to the realization of 
 any project that possessed him. '' There 
 is only the tritiing impediment of my 
 not choosing to go without your father, 
 and of Lady Ellen's not being able to 
 
 I 3
 
 174 
 
 go at all — because she has fixed to- 
 morrow for ret urn in 2: home." 
 
 '' Fixed to-morrow for returning 
 home!" he repeated; " 1 never heaid 
 her drop a syllable of intending to re- 
 turn home. Surely you must be mis- 
 taken ?*' 
 
 '' I believe it was a sudden thought/' 
 replied her Ladyship. 
 
 Osmond looked surprised^ and some- 
 what disconcerted^ but did not imme- 
 diately make any reply. 
 
 At last he spoke — 
 
 '' Are you aware of any cause for 
 this sudden determination ?" A ready 
 affirmative hovered upon the lips of 
 Lady Arlington; but not more solicitous 
 to guard her own delicacy than that of 
 her beloved Ellen, she merely rejilied in 
 general terms, '' that Lady Ellen had
 
 175 
 
 / 
 
 sjtaid with them nearly as long as she 
 usually did ; and that she was anxious 
 now to return home^ and to her usual 
 habits^ which w ere naturally mo^t agree- 
 able to her^ and which must in some 
 degree^ be interrupted by a change of 
 residence.*' 
 
 '' So you see^ Osmond^ you have in- 
 voluntarily been arranging your plaiis 
 extremely well/* continued she ; '^ for I 
 believe this place would retain but little 
 attraction for you after our dear Ellen 
 had left it'* — and she looked at him with 
 a penetrating glance. 
 
 '' Certainly, Lady Ellen's society can- 
 not be otherwise than pleasing to me^** 
 he replied^ colouring deeply as he 
 spoke. 
 
 '^ Veri/ pleasing, or something more 
 than pleasing, Osmond, I should sup- 
 
 i4
 
 i7r, 
 
 pose, by llie solicitude with whlrh yon 
 have sought it.'* 
 
 ''I liope not Mith too iniich solici- 
 tude/' said he, rather hesitatin<^ly. 
 
 '' That must depend upon your in- 
 tentions." 
 
 ''My intentions! — surely, mother, 
 I cannot have been deceiving Lady 
 Ellen 1 You alarm me. Do be so good 
 as to tell me at once what is the pur- 
 ]>ort of your remarks :" and he spoke 
 with extreme earnestness. 
 
 The Countess as earnestly replied : 
 
 *' I have not the slightest reason to 
 suppose that Lady Ellen has been de- 
 ceived by your conduct, for I never 
 heard her speak of you but with the 
 highest respect and regard. But cer- 
 tainly, Osmond, if it were merely for 
 the passing gratitication of the moment
 
 177 
 
 that you so sedulously have devoted 
 yourself to her, not only this summer^ 
 but during the last, also, I must con- 
 fess that you have very seriously and 
 painfully deceived me/* 
 
 He seemed to be so struck \vith 
 astonishment at her words, as to be 
 quite at a loss to reply to them ; and 
 his mother, trusting that the confusion 
 and remorse to which she attributed his 
 silence would lead to some favourable 
 determination, made no eflbrt on her 
 part to interrupt it. 
 
 They walked on some time in silence. 
 At length Osmond spoke ; but it was 
 not to give vent to the contrition and 
 good resolve with which the Countess 
 supposed him to be overpowered ; but, 
 after the manner of his sex upon these 
 occasions, to lament the deplorable case 
 
 1 5
 
 178 
 
 of a man like himself — " naturally fond 
 as I am/' said Tie, " of the society of 
 women^ and thrown constantly in the 
 way of onCj sensible^ and accomplished, 
 and related to me, into the bargain, I 
 must not be civil to her" — 
 
 '^ Oh yes — yes — civil — by all means 
 civil/* said Lady Arlington, interrupt- 
 ing him with a laugh. 
 
 '' But 1 must not encourage any of 
 the sentiments of friendship and regard, 
 which such a woman is calculated to 
 inspire. I must not indulge the innocent 
 pleasure 1 fmd in lier society, and seek 
 the gratification of it, because if I do, 
 I can have, and ought to have but one 
 intention — however imprudent, and im- 
 possible, and absurd, such an intention 
 may be/' 
 
 Osmond had now talked himself into
 
 179 
 
 a passion ; not indeed from any idea of 
 being injured with unjust suspicions, 
 butj as is usual in these cases^ from 
 being conscious that lie in some mea- 
 sure deserved them^ and provoked that 
 another should be as well aware of it 
 as he was himself 
 
 '' I am sorry to hear from your lips, 
 Osmond/' said Lady Arlington, '' a 
 stale and unworthy excuse for beha- 
 viour, which you must be well aware 
 required explanation/' 
 
 " Do you think that is Lady Ellen's 
 opinion?" he inquired eagerly. 
 
 '' Certainly not," replied the Coun- 
 tess calmly ; '' I have never^ as 1 just 
 now told you, heard her speak of you 
 but with the highest respect. But 
 what does that prove, Osmond ?" she 
 continued. '' Can you, or can I peue- 
 
 I 6
 
 180 
 
 trate her thouglits? Biit i/ou know as 
 well as I do_, what are, and what must 
 be the natural views and expectations 
 of every young unmarried woman. 
 You do not know^ perhaps, so well, the 
 tenderness, the ardour with which a 
 fond female heart dwells upon, and 
 nourishes the hopes it is the part of your 
 sex to implant in it; often^ I fear, but 
 for the sport of disappointing them ; 
 and only to aflbrd matter for the gratifi- 
 cation of vanity — and thus are tears, 
 and deep distress, ruined health, and 
 broken hearts, rendered subjects of 
 merriment, contemplated awhile with 
 a laugh, and then dismissed with con- 
 tempt." 
 
 " Good God ! mother,*' exclaimeil 
 Osmond impetuously, " is it of me that 
 you arc spcakitig ? Do you confound
 
 181 
 
 me with a class of reptiles, that want 
 the common attributes of humanity ?" 
 
 *' Be calm^ Osmond/' she replied^ — 
 '' violence in repelling an imputation 
 (supposing any made upon you^ which 
 there is not) is no proof of its injustice ; 
 and some of these reptiles you speak of, 
 would, I make no doubt, evince as much 
 disdain as you do, on hearing such a 
 surmise aoainst them." 
 
 *' I only ask you to tell me this,*' said 
 Osmond : but instantly recalling his 
 words, " it is of no use to ask you — 
 you have before evaded the question — 
 I will — yes — I will open my heart to 
 Lady Ellen. She well deserves my 
 confidence ; I will tell her all that has 
 so long oppressed it, and she will not 
 condemn me."
 
 182 
 
 As he said this, he abruptly broke away, 
 and hastened to his own room ; where, 
 after divers difficulties had successively 
 presented themselves, as to the method 
 of imparting his mind to Lady Ellen, 
 he decided, as the measure attended with 
 least embarrassment to both of them, 
 upon writing to her, and, as hastily as 
 he had formed his purpose, proceeded 
 to the execution of it. 
 
 It was not, however, till after various 
 beginnings, and the destruction of much 
 writing paper, that he produced a letter 
 which he determined to give her in the 
 course of the day. 
 
 He felt that it was a strange measure 
 he was adopting, and what he exactly 
 purposed to himself by it lie could not 
 discern : but his desire to exculpate
 
 183 
 
 himself to Lady Elleii;, impelled him to 
 proceed in his intention ; and when they 
 met^ which was not till the evening, her 
 Ladyship excusing herself from appear- 
 ing at the dinner table, he impatiently 
 watched an opportunity of taking her 
 apart^ for the purpose of presenting her 
 with his epistle. None^ however, readi- 
 ly offered itself, for it being the first 
 evening since the arrival of Mr. Gre- 
 ville, that they had been free from com- 
 pany, the conversation was too general, 
 and their party too small, to allow him 
 to monopolize her attention. 
 
 He was beginning to fear he should 
 be obliged to abandon his intention, at 
 least for that evening, when Lady Ellen, 
 apologizing, on a plea of indisposition 
 for retiring early, rose, and left the room.
 
 184 
 
 Osmond immediately followed her, 
 and overtook her by the library door. 
 
 She turned on hearing footsteps so 
 liastily approaching her, and perceiving 
 him, she smiled ; but supposing him to 
 be passing in his way to his own room, 
 she merely wished him '' good night,'* 
 and was proceeding. But Osmond, al- 
 most trembling with agitation, took her 
 hand, and without speaking, gently drew 
 her into the library. 
 
 In vain were the mental intreatics tlie 
 poor Ellen addressed to her H uttering 
 heart, to '' be still." One fond, deli^i;ht- 
 ful idea, and one x)nly icoidd present 
 itself; and that the moment so long an- 
 tfcipated, the eventful moment that was 
 to seal her earthly doom with more than 
 earthly felicity, was at last arrived, was
 
 185 
 
 all that her ima2:ination would suffer her 
 to believe. 
 
 '' I — I wish to speak with you^ Lady 
 Ellen/' were the words of Osmond^ as^ 
 both of thern still standing, she waited 
 the result of his extraordinary beha- 
 viour. '' My mother tells me^ that you 
 mean to leave us to-morrow V 
 
 She bowed assent — she dared not trust 
 her voice. 
 
 '' Permit me^ then/' said he^ taking 
 his letter from his pocket, '^ to request 
 you will read this — I feel, that it is 
 not — " he hesitated a moment, '' it is 
 not what I ought to have said to you; 
 at parting ; but it is all — " again he 
 paused ere he added with a faltering- 
 voice, '"that honour leaves me the power 
 to say.** 
 
 As he said this, he for an instant took
 
 186 
 
 her handj and half raised it to his lips ; 
 but suddenly relinquishing it, with a 
 heavy sigh he rushed from her presence. 
 
 The flattering delusion his first words 
 had inspired,, faded away before the 
 fatal implication of the last. A heavy 
 foreboding made her linger in her way 
 to her own apartment, and caused her 
 to lay the letter down upon the table_, 
 and muse a moment or two, and endea- 
 vour to soothe away the treacherous 
 hopes that still fluttered in her bosom, 
 before she dared to open it. 
 
 At last, she took it up ; with a feeling 
 of desperation she tore it open, and 
 read as follows : 
 
 *' My dear Ellen : It was with some 
 surprise, and much regret, that 1 heard 
 from my mother this morning of your 
 intention of leaving us.
 
 187 
 
 ** What your loss will be to me, 1 
 cannot describe ; to me — who so often 
 have been favoured with your society, 
 and ever pleasing^ ever edifying conver- 
 sation ! These are presumptuous w ords^ 
 and I feel that they ought to be justified. 
 Let me therefore briefly acknowledge, 
 that, besides the gratification arising from 
 the friendship which you have so kindly 
 permitted me to form with you from my 
 earliest years, 1 had, in the first instance, 
 another motive in so often seeking an in- 
 tercourse with you during your late visit. 
 A selfish one indeed ! It was to ask 
 your counsel, Ellen, in an afTair which 
 has embarrassed me beyond description. 
 Such was the nature of it, however, that 
 though, as you may remember, perpetu- 
 ally tempted to advert to it, 1 have al- 
 ways found it impossible to disclose it ;
 
 188 
 
 nor can I now do more than speak of it 
 vaguely. 
 
 '^ During my stay at Woodhurst, I 
 Vjccame acquainted with a very young, 
 and lovely girl. I was passionately at- 
 tached to her; and have but too mucli 
 cause to believe that my affection was 
 returned. 
 
 '' Her family is respectable^ but of a 
 situation iu life inferior to that in whicl), 
 according to the usage of society^ 1 
 ought to seek for the partner of my 
 name and fortune. This was a consi- 
 deration^ however, which did not sug- 
 gest itself to my mind, till — but Ellen, 
 I feel it impossible to be explicit. Sup- 
 pose me betrayed by impetuous passion 
 into a situation, which imperiously calls 
 upon me for a sacrifice on one side or 
 the other. I have won the innocent
 
 189 
 
 heart of the most beautiful and affec- 
 tionate of her sex. By assiduity, by 
 acknowledged attachment^ by all that 
 implicates the honour of man^ I con- 
 fess that I have won it. But the worlds 
 Ellen ! my father ! my family ! what 
 would they say to such a connexion ? 
 Even my own weak pride, I fear to 
 trust. 1 fear to be honourable — alas ! 
 1 might, perhaps, more justly call it^ to 
 be — humane ! Oh, shame, shame upon 
 the coward ! But I can no more. — The 
 conflict which time had a little quelled, 
 is revived within me, and conscience 
 awakes again to be my persecutor. 
 
 '' My dear Ellen, you have sometimes 
 been my counsellor ; tell me, where is 
 my path in this labyrinth of error ? 
 Forgive the freedom of this request.
 
 190 
 
 and comfort Avith your advice, your af- 
 fectionate 
 
 '' Osmond/' 
 
 She finished it — it fell from her hands ! 
 And must we — must we be faithful,, and 
 acknowledge her weakness ? Acknow- 
 ledge that a burst of tears followed 
 the perusal of it, and that long she 
 wept ? Long — very long, she gave in- 
 dulgence to the mournful feelings with 
 which she beheld the final wreck of 
 every hope. 
 
 '^ All is ended, indeed !'* said she, 
 taking up the letter, which had long 
 laid unheeded at her feet ; '' and every 
 mystery is now solved ! INfy part was 
 before taken, and this comes well to 
 strengthen it. Be calm — be calm ; 
 my heart — grant me sonic respite — "
 
 191 
 
 were her mental supplications^ as again 
 resuming the letter^ she read, or tried 
 to read, his account of his attachment. 
 But this was too much ! She could sup- 
 port the possibility of his not loving 
 her; but to contemplate Osmond as 
 attached, passionately attached to ano- 
 ther !— 
 
 Oh, nature ! poor human nature !*' 
 she exclaimed, as the idea presented it- 
 self to her with a force of reality she 
 in vain endeavoured to combat, " do 
 we stand in need of such lessons as these 
 to learn all thy weakness ?'* But this 
 humiliation will pass away ; I cannot 
 be thus abject — thus mean ; no — no ; I 
 cannot :'* and she walked awhile with 
 hasty steps up and down her room, as 
 if in this manner she sought to disperse 
 the tempest of her mind. '' There is
 
 192 
 
 in the world, then/' said she, '' anotfier 
 bein": who suffers like me ! — like me! — 
 ah, what did he say — what did he say 
 of her !" and a surmise fraught with h 
 degree of horror, darted across her mind. 
 Trembling, and scarcely capable from 
 the tears which almost blinded her, of 
 reading it, she once more attempted to 
 go through the perusal of his letter. 
 *' By all that implicates the honour of 
 man !" and she dwelt to a degree of 
 agony upon the words. '' His wretch- 
 edness on his return home ; the remorse 
 and an«:uish with which he seemed to 
 recollect some recent action! all — all 
 was but too intelligible ! '' This unhappy 
 girl! — oh, Osmond !" — and she sobbed 
 airain, under the wretched conviction of 
 his having involved himself and one, 
 who but for him might have remained
 
 193 
 
 innocent and happy— in dishonour — in 
 infamy ! 
 
 '' But my part is clear ! I have but 
 one counsel to give/' she continued, 
 starting up, and hastening to her writing- 
 desk, as if she dreaded that the weak- 
 ness of human nature should defeat her 
 virtuous purpose. 
 
 '' But to be so deceived in him !** 
 and the pen fell from her hands, ere yet 
 she had power to address to him a syl- 
 lable. '' It was his mind I loved ! Oh, 
 witness for me !" — and she raised her 
 streaming eyes to Heaven : '' but, for- 
 give me, oh my Father ; forgive these 
 vain murmurs! teach me to be resigned ! 
 strengthen me — oh strengthen me to re- 
 sist these selfish, angry thoughts. 
 
 " I might be silent,'' she continued, 
 after a deep and painful musing. '' Yes, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 
 
 1 might refrain from giving the coun- 
 sel he calls for : but should I not be 
 ungenerous^ mean^ ignoble, if 1 have 
 any iuHuence with him_, not to use it 
 ill behalf of that unhappy creature, 
 vhose sufferings 1 can so well appre- 
 ciate ! She too has wept ! Alas ! what 
 bitter tears must her's have been ! 
 It i5 enougii — it is enough :" and once 
 more raising her eyes in fervent suppli- 
 cation^ and clasping her hands with 
 energy together, she stifled with heroic 
 firmness the convulsive sob that was 
 labouring in her breast ; and as soon as 
 she had somewliat stilled the internal 
 tumult that shook her frame, she ad- 
 dressed to Osmond the following reply . 
 " You have given me the deepest sor- 
 row, Osmond — not only in imparting 
 to me a confession of great misconduct.
 
 195 
 
 but in suffering it to appear that you 
 hesitate one moment to act the part 
 which you acknowledge you are called 
 upon, by honour and humanity^ toper- 
 form. 1 cannot think so ill of you as 
 to suppose you really pause as to the 
 course you ought to pursue ; or that 
 you can presume to weigh in the same 
 scale — your duty to God — and to man. 
 If such be the case^ deliberate^ I con- 
 iurevouno lonsrer — but decide on the 
 side of virtue ; it will be for your final 
 peace — the immediate and conscious 
 approval of your own heart ; the happi- 
 ness of the being you confess you have 
 injured : — and, if that be of any conse- 
 quence to you, it will secure for you 
 the continued regard of your friend 
 
 '' Ellen Seymour/' 
 So pure — so ineffable is the satisfac- 
 
 K 2
 
 195 
 
 tion which results from a sense of acting 
 virtuously, that it may be questioned 
 whether, on closing this letter, the feel- 
 ings of Lady Ellen would have been 
 more enviable, had she, instead of a reply 
 of this nature, been dictating an accep- 
 tance of Osmond's offered vows. 
 
 She had just completed it, when a 
 gentle tap at her door announced a vi- 
 sitor. 
 
 She was not disappointed, though a 
 little vexed, to perceive Lady Arlington. 
 She dreaded her tenderness — she felt a 
 deep conviction of the necessity of sur- 
 rounding herself with the severe, the 
 unbending circumstances of life ; and 
 of flying, as she would from intoxication, 
 the enervating, but bland endearments 
 of unavailing affection. 
 
 '' I know that Osmond has been
 
 197 
 
 speaking to you/' Lady Arlington was 
 beginning to say ; but Lady Ellen, tak- 
 ing her hand, thus interrupted her : 
 
 '' All is over, my dear kind friend — 
 Osmond has been explicit with me. I 
 have nothing to reproach him with — 
 spare me, I beseech you, any further 
 discussion. To-morrow — I have ar- 
 ranged every thing for my departure^ 
 and given orders that it may be early. 
 You will now permit me to say" — 
 she could not add, "farewell;" — but 
 pressing her to her bosom, and kiss- 
 ing her cheek, she tore herself from 
 the embrace of the Countess — ejacu- 
 lating an entreaty that she would "leave 
 her." 
 
 " Unkind Ellen !" said her Ladyship ; 
 but casting her eyes upon the uplifted 
 
 K 3
 
 198 
 
 countenance of that suffering creature, 
 and beholding the struggle that was 
 visibly imprinted upon every agonized 
 feature^ — ^^ no — not unkind — never — 
 never any thing but the dearest and the 
 best/* she added — once more folding 
 her to her heart; '^ it shall be as you 
 wish, my love-'— God bless you Ellen, 
 God bless you — dear — dear girl,*' — she 
 tenderly repeated — and she was gone. 
 
 '' The trial is ended, '* said Lady 
 Ellen ; " to-morrow night I shall be 
 in my peaceful dwelling, away from 
 this dangerous place." 
 
 But the trial was not quite over : she 
 had yet to undergo a scene, which she 
 had hoped her early departure would 
 have enabled her to escape. It was her 
 meeting again with Osmond.
 
 199 
 
 Anticipating her intentions, he was 
 ahead y walking up and down the hall^ 
 when^ with her maid attending her^ Lady 
 Ellen, in the morning, descended the 
 staircase to enter her carriage. 
 
 She shrunk back at the sight of him ; 
 but compelling herself to be calm, she 
 took the arm he offered, declining, how- 
 ever, to enter the library, to which he 
 endeavoured to lead her. 
 
 '' You surely breakfast before you 
 go ?- 
 
 She uttered a faint but decided ne- 
 gative ; and taking from her bosom 
 the letter she had written, and which 
 she intended to have dispatched from 
 the first post town at which she arrived, 
 she put it into his hands. 
 
 " I have given my advice," she said, 
 " because you requested it, not because 
 
 e4
 
 200 
 
 it could be necessary. I should be sorry 
 to suppose you wanted any counsel to 
 direct you in so plain a case.*' 
 
 He coloured deeply as he took the 
 letter — but perceiving that she was 
 walking on^ he hastily put it in his 
 pockety and drawing her arm again with- 
 in his, he led her to her carriage. 
 
 " You will,, perhaps, permit me the 
 honour of writing to you the result of 
 this'* — he hesitated in painful embar- 
 rassment. 
 
 '^ I shall always have an interest in 
 hearing from you/' she replied ; and has- 
 tily withdrawing her hand, which he 
 retained with a tremulous grasp, she 
 hurried into the carriage. 
 
 " One moment — yet one moment," 
 said he, preventing the servant from 
 coming forward to shut the door — but
 
 201 
 
 looking at her^ he perceived her hand- 
 kerchief at her eyes — her head turned 
 away — as^ sunk back on her seat^ she 
 waved her hand to him^ as if imploring 
 his absence. 
 
 He motioned to the footman to come 
 forward — and with a murmured and 
 broken '' farewell" on both sides, the 
 door was closed — the carriage drove 
 off, and they parted. 
 
 It was not for some time that Os- 
 mond felt any inclination to open the 
 letter she left with him. Her words had 
 prepared him to anticipate its contents. 
 — But her gentle manners, her betrayed 
 affection for him, the charms of her 
 mind, and the superiority of her under- 
 standing, had left him little inclination 
 to fulfil the claims of any other candi- 
 date for his love. Yet, in recalling the 
 
 K 5
 
 202 
 
 past— in meditating the decided answer 
 she had given to his doubts, — the de- 
 cided answer too of his own conscience 
 — the best — the only judge, — he was 
 irresistibly impelled to end at once his 
 harassing situation^ by yielding to the 
 dictates of honour — and of Lady Ellen. 
 '" Yes, she shall be obeyed,*' he said, 
 " I will be generous. Generous — my 
 poor Caroline, ought I not rather to 
 say, just ?**
 
 203 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 It may now be necessary to make our 
 readers acquainted with the lady whom 
 Osmond thus seriously apostrophized ; 
 for which purpose we must take a retro- 
 spect of the events which befel him 
 during his long and mysterious sojourn 
 in the North. 
 
 His motive for retirin": to his father's 
 neglected seat at Woodhurst^ we have 
 already detailed ; but^ though it was a 
 sufficiently strong one to send him 
 there, it would have failed to keep him 
 long a resident in a place so obscure, 
 and uninviting in the resources it con- 
 
 k6 
 
 Z'
 
 204 
 
 tained, if chance had not thrown in 
 his way a very powerful and unexpected 
 attraction. 
 
 It was no sooner known that he was 
 in the country^ than he was visited by 
 the principal persons in the neighbour- 
 hood ; with all of whom^ he was more 
 or less acquainted^ from occasionally 
 appearing amongst them in the sporting 
 season. As he supposed^ however, that 
 his stay would be but short (as it usually 
 was) he nterely returned their calls, and 
 amusing himself in the morning with 
 his gun^ and in the evening with his 
 books, he declined all invitations ; and 
 having staid near a month, was begin- 
 ning to think of returning to London, 
 when, on lookinir one mornin"' over the 
 cards that had been left, to see whom 
 he was to call upon at parting, he per-
 
 205 
 
 ceived a name to which he was quite 
 a stranger, and whose visit, he was very 
 certain, he had forgotten to return. 
 '* Mr. Elton, of Primrose Cottage !" he 
 repeated, turning the card round and 
 round, and vainly trying to recollect 
 who Mr. Elton could be. 
 
 He rang the bell ; and inquiring fur- 
 ther, he found that Mr. Elton had only 
 called the preceding day — that he was 
 lately settled in that part of the coun- 
 try, and had married a Miss Smith from 
 the neighbouring town. 
 
 The matter was now cleared up, for 
 the name of Miss Smith recalled to his 
 remembrance an association of very 
 ridiculous ideas ; an election ball, three 
 years since, when his brother. Lord 
 Lessingham, was returned member for 
 the adjoining town ; and he himself.
 
 206 
 
 upon that occasion, had danced with, 
 and made outrageous love to this iden- 
 tical Miss Smith ; who was, on her part, 
 so ready to be fallen in love with, that 
 he remembered having very little option 
 left him in the case. 
 
 He could scarcely, indeed, have sup- 
 posed their acquaintance would have 
 authorized a visit from her husband ; 
 but as he knew Lord Arlington to have 
 a devout regard to his own interest, and 
 to pay peculiar attention to all who 
 had, or were likely to have, the most 
 remote influence in promoting it, he 
 had no hesitation in deciding to return 
 the visit he had been favoured with. 
 
 What he coukl recollect of Miss 
 Smith, or more properly Mrs. Elton, 
 represented her as a good-lunnoured 
 girl,— pretty — but in a vulgar style of
 
 207 
 
 beauty ; shrewd and quick in her ob- 
 servationSj but devoid of taste, and 
 withal affected ; but apparently more 
 from a difficulty of knowing how to 
 make herself of consequence, than from 
 any deficiency in understanding. 
 
 As Osmond, amongst other evil pro- 
 pensities, had rather a taste for the 
 ridiculous, he set forward upon his walk 
 to Primrose Cottage, with a slight idea 
 of deriving some amusement in renew- 
 ing his acquaintance with his ci-devant 
 partner at the election ball. He had 
 walked a long way in the direction 
 pointed out to him, and ought, as he 
 imagined, to be near the destined spot. 
 
 He looked round on every side, but 
 nothing could he see that answered his 
 ideas of a '' Primrose Cottage/' A cot- 
 tage there was, however, to the right
 
 208 
 
 of him^ setoff by a little vulgar veranda 
 of the brightest green : and by what he 
 remembered of Miss Smith, and her 
 ball-room attire,, he conceived all this 
 to be exactly in her taste, and concluded 
 this must be her habitation. 
 
 Upon inquiry, he found he was right. 
 A dirty little Abigail was cleaning the 
 step of the door ; who, to his twice re- 
 peated remonstrance, that she would 
 precede him, and announce his name, 
 only answered by pointing with her 
 finger, dripping from the pail, to the 
 parlour door ; and perceiving that he 
 did not move, added, '' ye'U find mis- 
 tress there, I tell ye." 
 
 Bein«: led thus to conclude that not 
 much ceremony was requisite, he fol- 
 lowed the mandate of this nymph, 
 and knocked gently at the door of the
 
 209 
 
 room^ which she told him contained 
 " mistress." 
 
 A much sweeter voice than he re- 
 collected his friend Miss Smith to pos- 
 sess^ desired him to '^ come in ;" — which 
 he did^ and perceived^ not Mrs. Elton, 
 who was not in the room, but one of 
 the loveliest girls he ever saw^ sitting on 
 the floor, playing at some game with 
 two children, a boy and girl, apparently 
 about four and five years old. She 
 started up in great confusion at his 
 entrance, and saying '' she would call 
 Mrs. Elton,** precipitately retired. The 
 children, having looked at him for a 
 short time, resumed their game ; but the 
 little girl soon became uneasy, and be- 
 gan to call for " sister." 
 
 ^' And was that lady who went out 
 just now, your sister, my dear ?" said 
 Osmond.
 
 210 
 
 '' Yes/' said the boy, — '* that was 
 sister." 
 
 '' And what is your name, my man ?'* 
 
 '^Freddy.'* 
 
 '' What else ?'* 
 
 *' Frederick Lascelles/* he replied, 
 '' and that is Kate/* pointing to the 
 little girl. 
 
 They were beautiful children ; and 
 transient as was the glimpse Osmond 
 obtained of their still more lovely sister, 
 he* fancied in the little girl a resem- 
 blance to the sweet, fair, laugliing face, 
 she for a moment presented to him, 
 when he first opened the door. 
 
 He became impatient for her return, 
 to judge whether his eyes had deceived 
 him, or whether he really had seen a 
 specimen of female beauty more perfect 
 than any he had yet witnessed. 
 
 At last he heard a voice lecturino; the
 
 211 
 
 handmaid at the door^ for not having 
 finished her operations upon the steps 
 at an earlier hour. Mrs, Elton then 
 entered the room accompanied by the 
 i'air apparition, which had vanished so 
 speedily. Osmond's hand returned the 
 cordial shake of Mrs. Elton ; but his 
 eyes were fixed upon her companion, 
 whom she introduced to him by slightly 
 naming '' Miss Lascelles." 
 
 The second view was more decisive 
 than the first, and confirmed him in his 
 opinion of her being the most beautiful 
 creature he had ever seen. 
 
 Her figure was slight and delicate, 
 but gracefully formed ; an air of elas- 
 ticity and lightness pervaded every move- 
 ment. A statuary could not have de- 
 sired a more perfect model — nor a
 
 212 
 
 painter, a more lovely countenance: No 
 profusion of stifly-curled hair concealed 
 any part of it. There was evidently no 
 arrangement — no study in the disposi- 
 tion of the soft auburn ringlets, which 
 here and there lightly played upon her 
 forehead; and yet the arch smile that 
 sported about the bewitching little 
 mouthj and the stolen glance of the 
 deep blue eye, bespoke something of a 
 spirit of coquetry. Altogether she struck 
 him as a complete personification of a 
 poet's dream — sweet seventeen in all 
 its charms ; for not a day beyond this 
 age, in fact scarcely so much, did she 
 appear to have attained. 
 
 In vain Mrs. Elton laboured to attract 
 his notice, and draw him into conversa- 
 tion : his whole attention was fixed upon
 
 213 
 
 this fascinating girL who to his great 
 disappointment^ announced that she 
 must depart home. 
 
 '^ Butj my dear^ you have not seen 
 Mr. Elton/' said Mrs. Elton, gravely; 
 '' and he wants to speak to you about 
 some book he wishes you to read." 
 
 '' Oh dear ! — he does lend me such 
 stupid books/' said the laughing girl. 
 
 '' Stupid books!" repeated Mrs. Elton, 
 in a tone of some displeasure. 
 
 " Oh no — no — not stupid, the least 
 in the world. He is very good, I am 
 sure," said Miss Lascelles, seeming to 
 recollect herself. " 'Tis I that am stu- 
 pid ; for 1 never can remember any 
 thing about those Roman Emperors 
 from one day to another." 
 
 Osmond smiled at the naivete of the 
 reply. At that moment their eyes
 
 214 
 
 chanced to rneetj and she smiled too ; 
 but instantly repelling it^ she assumed 
 a gravCj or ratlier a demure look ; for 
 nothing like gravity could dwell upon 
 such features. 
 
 '^ What a captivating creature it is!" 
 thought Osmond. '' We should be sworn 
 friends in half a quarter of an hour ; I 
 have a great mind to walk home with 
 her." 
 
 But whilst he was balancing upon 
 the possibility of this procedure^ she 
 had scraml)led the boy's nine-pins into 
 a bag, tied on her own hat^ and her 
 little sister's, shaken hands with Mrs. 
 Elton, summoned the children with a 
 ''Come, little people — come Kate — 
 come Freddy/* and slightly bowing 
 to him, w ith an arch expression that he 
 could fancy implied^ '' you will think
 
 215 
 
 of me a little while/' she was off with 
 the velocity of a bird — leaving him 
 rather too much distrait to answer as 
 he ought to Mrs. Elton's heavy lamen- 
 tations, that her dear James was not at 
 home, 
 
 ^' I should have had such pleasure 
 in introducing you to each other, said 
 she — 
 
 '' What a sweet girl !*' said Osmond, 
 following with his eyes from the win- 
 dow, where he stood to watch her, the 
 receding form of the lovely Miss Las- 
 celles. 
 
 *' Who?" said Mrs. Elton, half turn- 
 ing round. — " Oh ! Miss Lascelles : — 
 " Yes, she is a pretty girl — sadly unedu- 
 cated though, poor thing ! — Mr. Elton 
 takes a deal of pains with her ; bul she 
 is such a giddy, thoughtless creature.
 
 216 
 
 that it is impossible to make her apply 
 for half an hour together — else she does 
 not wajit for quickness.'* 
 
 " Want for quickness !'* Osmond re- 
 peated ; '' I never saw a more intelli- 
 gentj animated countenance.*' 
 
 •'^Animated enough!" replied Mrs. 
 Elton, with something of a sneer; ** I 
 think it would be as well if it were 
 rather less so. But, as I often tell her, 
 I fear those laughing eyes of her*s will 
 some time or other shed a great many 
 tears/* 
 
 " And upon what foundation do you 
 build such a melancholy prophecy?" 
 
 " Upon a knowledge of her charac- 
 ter,*' she replied, gravely. 
 
 *^ A knowledo:e of her character!** he 
 repeated with some astonishment, and 
 even alarm ; for it really would have
 
 217 
 
 given him a pang to have heard the 
 faintest surmise against the purity of 
 so lovely a creature. 
 
 '' O, don't imagine^ Mr. Lessingham^ 
 that I liave a syllable to say against her 
 in a moral point of view," said Mrs. 
 Elton. Osmond breathed a^ain — and 
 she proceeded : " she is the sweetest 
 tempered girl that ever lived, and the 
 most affectionate. But so childish — 
 so inconsiderate — always laughing — 
 never serious upon any subject — and 
 really now, as I tell her, she is getting 
 too old for such nonsense, as playing at 
 marbles with those children ; it is not 
 proper to see a great girl of sixteen 
 romping on the floor.'* 
 
 '' She must be seen to very great ad- 
 vantage in any situation," Osmond re- 
 plied, with emphasis. 
 
 VOL I. L
 
 218 
 
 '' I really believe you are smitten 
 with Miss Lascelles/' said Mrs. Elton. 
 
 '' Oh no/* he replied^ with a smile — 
 and the recollection of Lady Ellen re- 
 turned to his mind, from whence it had 
 for a short time vanished. '' But I 
 have some curiosity in my disposition, 
 and I should like to know a little of the 
 history of Miss Lascelles." 
 ■'■'' As for her history, that is very soon 
 told/' replied Mrs. Elton. '' Her father 
 is neither more nor less than a respect- 
 able farmer, living in this village ; a 
 superior man in his line, or, of course, 
 you will suppose, Mr. Elton would not 
 be upon visiting terms with him or his 
 family." 
 
 Osmond bowed in acquiescence, 
 though he did not know why : for, 
 judging of Mr. Elton by such of his
 
 219 
 
 appointments as he saw, he did not 
 imagine how he could be degraded by 
 visiting any of his neighbours,, however 
 humble. 
 
 " Mrs. Lascelles/' continued Mrs. 
 Elton, '' is a woman of birth, the daugh- 
 ter of a gentleman of consequence and 
 fortune ; but unluckily she disobliged 
 him by her marriage, and at his death he 
 disinherited her. Mr. Lascelles having 
 but a small fortune, the consequence 
 has been, that ever since their marriage 
 they have had to struggle with diffi- 
 culties, for which she was but ill pre- 
 pared by education ; and her temper 
 never being very good, she has been 
 always rather a source of trouble to 
 her husband and family, than any thing 
 like a comfort. She very seldom goes 
 out — choosing to fancy herself in ill 
 
 L 2
 
 220 
 
 healthy though most people believe she 
 
 assumes a plea of indisposition^ merely 
 
 as an excuse for her peevishness and 
 
 ill-humour." 
 
 . " And Mr. Lascelles — \vhat sort of a 
 
 person is he ?" 
 
 '' A very excellent, and a very sen- 
 sible man ; the best of fathers and of 
 husbands ; always treating his whim- 
 sical wife with a respect and conside- 
 ration^ which shews that he feels for 
 tlie humiliation to vNhich her connexion 
 with him has reduced her. He is per- 
 fectly idolized by his children, to whom 
 he is only too indulgent. — suffering them 
 to follow their own way, rather more 
 than I think is quite safe. Mr. Elton 
 is pleased with Caroline, a!id takes great 
 pains in improving her tas^te, by direct- 
 ing her choice of books, and — "
 
 £21 
 
 ''Is Miss Lascelles the eldest of the 
 family ?'* inquired Osmond, rather more 
 interested in talking; of her than her 
 tutor. 
 
 '' She is/' replied lAlrs. Elton. '' There 
 are six of them : two boys are gone to 
 school ; and besides the two children 
 you saw with her, there is one younger 
 at home.*' 
 
 '' I cannot imagine/' said he, muring 
 upon what she had told him, '' I can- 
 not imagine how a girl, in the line of 
 life you describe Miss Lascelles to be, 
 should be distinguished by so much 
 grace and elegance as she is — so en- 
 tirely removed from any thing that is 
 common or vulgar." 
 
 '' She has very great natural advan- 
 tages," replied Mrs. Elton ; " and, be- 
 sides^ as I have already told you, Mr. 
 
 L 3
 
 222 
 
 Lascelles is himself a very superior man 
 in his line. Though he lives in a farm- 
 house^ and follows the profession of a 
 farmer, you would be very apt to mis- 
 take him for a gentleman, if you saw 
 him under other circumstances. Mrs. 
 Lascelles, with all her whims and ca- 
 prices, has perfectly the habits and man- 
 ners of a gentlewoman ; and Caroline 
 having always been with her, it is not 
 so very wonderful that she should have 
 acquired an ease and gentility of de- 
 portment, not perhaps usual in her 
 situation. But I confess, Mr. Lessing- 
 ham, I conceive you exaggerate her 
 merits ;" and Mrs. Elton looked a little 
 disconcerted. 
 
 ^^ It would be strange, indeed, if you 
 did not conceive so !" thought he, ''^con- 
 sidering your sex ;" but he was spared
 
 223 
 
 the difficulty of replying to her remark^ 
 by her jumping up from her chair in a 
 transport of joy^ at the sound of a growl- 
 ing voice^ which, speaking in a scolding 
 tone to some one without, appeared to 
 approach the door. 
 
 '' Oh here is Mr. Elton !" she ex- 
 claimed, opening the door for him, and 
 ushering in a pale, vulgar-looking man, 
 with very white hair, small cunning 
 eyes, a nose that turned up with a sneer- 
 ing expression, and altogether of a phy- 
 siognomy so decidedly bad, that the first 
 glance sufficed to pronounce upon it. 
 
 '' The Honourable Mr. Lessingham, 
 my love," said Mrs. Elton. ''Mr. Les- 
 singham, I need not say that this is 
 my dear Mr. Elton." 
 
 Osmond bowed politely to the for- 
 mal flourish about " happiness," and 
 
 l4
 
 224 
 
 '' honour/' Mith which Mr. Elton re- 
 plied to his wife's introductory speech. 
 
 This ceremony over^ he begged to 
 know whether she had offered Mr. Les- 
 singhain refreshments ? 
 
 '^ We have been talking so earnestly 
 that I quite forgot, but I hope Mr. Les- 
 singham will excuse inc/' she replied. 
 
 Osmond readily expressed his forgive- 
 ness, and declined the offered civility. 
 
 *' ]Miss Lascelles has been here, my 
 love/' she con'inued, '' and mi/ friend 
 Mr. Lessins^ham has fallen in love with 
 her, 1 believe; sol liave been gratifying 
 his anxious inquiries into her history. " 
 
 *^'0h! indeed ;" he replied, w\\\\ a smile 
 that Osmond fancied supercilious, only 
 that the whole expression of his face 
 bordered upon such a continual sneer, 
 that it was difficult to determine when
 
 
 it varied. '' Well^ and what history did 
 you give?*' he continued. 
 
 '' 1 gave him the history of my dear 
 Mr. Ellon's kindness to her/* she re- 
 phed, with a languishing smile^ laying 
 her hand at the same time upon his 
 shoulder^ and looking up in his face 
 with a delight that was perfectly as- 
 tonishing to Osmond^ if it were real^ 
 but which he believed was partly as- 
 sumed for the sake of effect; Mrs. Eltoji 
 appearing to him to have a taste for 
 scenes. 
 
 '' You are a happy man^ sir, in pos- 
 sessing so beautiful a pupil/' observed 
 Osmond. 
 
 Upon this remark Mr. Elton, with an 
 
 easy, degagee sort of an air, took a 
 
 toothpick from his pocket, and having 
 
 genteelly operated with it for a short 
 
 L 5
 
 226 
 
 time^ replied carelessly, and as if it were 
 a thing by the bye, though self-conceit 
 sat in every line of his countenance, 
 '' one really could not, you know, Mr. 
 Lessingham— one really could not suf- 
 fer the poor child to run to ruin; I 
 believe I have been a friend to her in 
 some respects, but Maria, my love, it 
 was not proper — you should not have 
 spoken of this." 
 
 '' And thus he always tries to do 
 away the merit of his actions," said 
 Mrs. Elton, still languishing on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 '' This is rather too good : I shall 
 never support this," thought Osmond ; 
 '' a dose of ipecacuanha could not be 
 half so overpowering;" and he rose to 
 take his leave. 
 
 The raptures of the lady prevented
 
 2^1 
 
 her, he supposed^ from noticing tlie 
 movement he made to depart; but Mr. 
 Elton begged him not to be in a hurry^ 
 and requested him to take a walk with 
 him over his grounds, before he went. 
 
 As Osmond supposed this walk would 
 not occupy much time, he assented ; 
 Mrs. Elton proposing also to join ' 
 them. '' You have been a truant from 
 me ever since nine o'clock this morn- 
 ing/* said she, seizing her husband's 
 arm, " and I am determined you shall 
 not escape me any more this day." 
 
 '' I assure you, Mr. Lessingham,*' said 
 she, turning to Osniond, " I sometimes 
 don*t see him for the whole of the dav* 
 or if he does look into the boudoir, it is 
 only for five minutes." 
 
 '' Like angel visits, few and far be- 
 tween," said Osmond. 
 
 l6
 
 2^^ 
 
 ^o 
 
 She smiled as if she thought the quo- 
 tation very apposite, but Mr. Elton eyed 
 his guest with a little distrust ; but he 
 was soon immersed in the importance 
 of displaying his possessions^ and point- 
 ing out the alterations he intended to 
 make in '^ this field, and '' that ham/' 
 and the improvements he meditated in 
 '' Primrose Cottage " itself, '' which was 
 now, as Osmond must have observed, 
 a mere 'emporary thing, very unfit to 
 place Mrs. Elton in, but circumstances 
 had occupied him so much f?ince he 
 married, &c.** 
 
 He thus continued to talk of himself, 
 and his concerns, without evincing any 
 doubt, by his manner, of Osmond's find- 
 ing as much entertainment and interest 
 in the subject as he did.
 
 229 
 
 The forbearance of Osmond durinor 
 tins trial of his patience^ was rewarded 
 by an invitation to dinner the following 
 week, wliich nothing wonld certainly 
 have induced him to accept, but a hope, 
 scarcely definable, that he might see 
 again the charming Caroline.
 
 230 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Osmond condemned himself for a 
 coxcomb in taking great pains to look 
 as well as he could^ when he made his 
 toilette previous to appearing at Mr. 
 Elton's dinner party ; and^ as the event 
 turned out, it was labour in vain, for 
 Caroline was not there. 
 
 '' Well/' thought he, '' I need not 
 have troubled myself about my looks.'' 
 
 However, as he was willing '' to take 
 the goods the gods provided," he en- 
 deavoured, as far as his great indiffer- 
 ence about them permitted, to play 
 the agreeable to two very smart ladies.
 
 231 
 
 between whom he was seated ; whose 
 encouraging smiles inspired him with a 
 just expectation that his attentions 
 would be gratefully received, and re- 
 moved all difficulty as to what mode of 
 entertainment would best succeed with 
 them, by betraying as much folly as any 
 reasonable man would desire to amuse 
 himself withal. 
 
 These two young ladies^ Miss Agnes 
 and Miss Matilda Burton, with their 
 father, a pompous personage, whom 
 Osmond discovered to be a clergyman, 
 by the dignity with which he spoke of 
 " his curate ;" their mother, an elderly 
 lady in looks, in dress as youthful as her 
 daughters, and a Mr. Sackville, a quiet^ 
 gentlemanly young man, whom he was 
 slightly acquainted with before, and
 
 232 
 
 who resided at Woodhurst as the curate 
 of the village, made up the party. 
 
 As Osmond was a very thou'^hlless 
 person, it never occurred to him that 
 under the roof of Mr. Elton, where bad 
 taste and vulgarity seemed to strive for 
 pre-eminence, there could be any mal 
 adresse m mentioning any name what- 
 ever ; he therefore took an oppor- 
 tunity, when the cloth was removed, 
 and the servants withdrawn, of asking 
 Mrs. Elton, '' If she had seen Miss 
 Lascelles, lately ?" 
 
 He smiled as he made the inquiry, 
 which was in so low a tone of voice, 
 that he did not expect to be overheard, 
 and he hoped he was not, when he ob- 
 served Mrs. Elton, though he could not 
 for the soul of him tell why, look red.
 
 233 
 
 and disconcerted, as people sometimes 
 do when a subject is started rather mal 
 a propos. 
 
 She whispered a negative, and began 
 to talk of soniething- else ; but the eldest 
 Miss Burton, with more curiosity than 
 politeness, desired to know " the name 
 of the lady, Osmond inquired after/' 
 
 '' Oh, nobody of any consequence ; 
 merely a person Mr. Lessingham met 
 here the other morning/* said Mrs. 
 Elton. 
 
 '' As charming a person as I ever de- 
 sire to behold," observed Osmond ; 
 rather maliciously resolved to moiiify 
 the preposterous pride, which he sus- 
 pected was at the bottom of Mrs. Elton's 
 embarrassment, on hearing the name of 
 Miss Lascellei introduced. 
 
 '' Who WLis it ? 1 insist upon know-
 
 234 
 
 iiig/* said Miss Burton, jogging Os- 
 mond's arm, with the air of one who 
 was conscious that her freedom only 
 rendered her the more captivating. 
 
 '' Yes — do make him tell you, Ag- 
 nes/' said Miss Matilda, seconding her 
 sister's command. 
 
 '' I have not the slightest reluctance 
 in the world to name Miss Lascelles," 
 replied Osmond, enjoying the pause 
 which at that moment made the name 
 sufficiently audible to the whole party. 
 
 Mr. Elton looked at his wife, with an 
 eye that very plainly said, '' what busi- 
 ness had you to introduce such vulgar 
 names in such a party as this V* 
 
 "■ Lascelles!" repeated Mr. Burton, 
 '* Is that Lascelles the farmer's pretty 
 daughter?" 
 
 '' 'Tiie same," replied Mr. Elton.
 
 235 
 
 '' We know but very little of them. 
 The bottle stands with you, Mr. Les- 
 singham." 
 
 " Know but very little of them, Mr. 
 Elton !" replied Osmond, laying his 
 hand on the decanter, but making no 
 movement to pass it, or to drop the 
 subject ; '' that surely — pardon me, but 
 that surely must be a mistake. Miss 
 Lascelles is your pupil, you know ; you 
 lent her something to read about the 
 Roman Emperors, whose history she 
 declared, with irresistible naivete, that 
 she never could remember from one day 
 to another. Know nothing of them ! 
 oh, don't be so ungrateful ! I only wisli 
 I knew half as much ! I only wish she 
 would constitute me her tutor !'* 
 
 Osmond endeavoured to speak as 
 much as possible in jest, yet he but ill
 
 236 
 
 concealed the contempt that filled his 
 soul, when his rapid temper enabled hiin 
 to take in, at one view, all the paltry 
 motives that actuated the conduct of both 
 Mr. and Mrs. Elton on this occasion. 
 
 '' The impression Miss Lascelles has 
 made upon you appears to be very deep. 
 Sir/' said Mr. Elton, looking white with 
 an2:er, which he tried to conceal under 
 the very doubtful smile into which he 
 curled his lip. 
 
 ^' Who is this youn^ person ?" said 
 Mrs. Durton ; '' 1 don't remember to have 
 heard of her.** 
 
 '' My dear!" said Mr. Burton, with a 
 grave look, as if he would ^uard her 
 against the chance of shewing any con- 
 tempt for Mr. Elton's intimate friends, 
 '' you know Mr. Lascelles very well ; 
 you must have seen him w ith his family at
 
 237 
 
 church on a Sunday ; nay, it is possible 
 that you may have seen Mr. Lascelles 
 at the Parsonage. He is a man I could 
 have no objection whatever to admit to 
 my table; a very respectable man," turn- 
 ing to Mr. Elton with a glance of en- 
 couragement which might very readily 
 be translated into, '' Don't be overpow- 
 ered with my discovering your vulgar 
 connexions — I will m.ake the best of it/* 
 
 While the old gentleman was making 
 this pompous harangue, the young 
 ladies were repeating to one another, 
 '' Miss Lascelles ! Miss Lascelles !" 
 '' what that child who sits next pew to 
 us at church '/* 
 
 '' Dear me," said Miss Matilda, as 
 soon as her father had ceased to speak, 
 '' is that little fair girl, that comes to
 
 238 
 
 church with a parcel of children every 
 Sunday, the great beauty that Mr. Les- 
 singham makes such a fuss about, Mrs. 
 Elton?" 
 
 '' The very same/* replied that lady ; 
 " and now you will think, I dare say, of 
 the mountain and the mouse." 
 
 '' The mountain and the mouse, in- 
 deed V she repeated. Then, after a mo- 
 ment's pause, '' She is a delicate, fair 
 little thing : but such a child ! she can- 
 not be more than fourteen V* 
 
 '' Oh, yes — yes,'' replied Mrs. Elton, 
 '' she is almost seventeen. She certain- 
 ly is pretty, but really, I think, not 
 worth quite so much conversation." 
 
 '' Indeed I think not/' said Mr. 
 Elton very gloomily ; and again glanc- 
 ing at his wife with an eye that said.
 
 239 
 
 '' This is your doing; you have sunk 
 me in the estimation of our genteelest 
 acquaintance/' 
 
 Osmond observed^ that during the 
 whole of this discussion Mr. Sackville 
 sat perfectly silent^, not because he was 
 indifferent to the subject, for he watched 
 his countenance once or twice, and he 
 was persuaded that it betrayed a mark- 
 ed interest in what was said. 
 
 There was evident contempt in his 
 smile, when old Burton pronounced 
 Mr. Lascelles to be a '''^ respectable 
 man.** Osmond had no doubt that he 
 not only knew Mr. Lascelles, but 
 esteemed him as infinitely superior to 
 the persons who were condescending to 
 give an opinion upon him. 
 
 This conjecture was confirmed, when.
 
 240 
 
 after the ladies had withdrawn, and con- 
 versation happening to fall upon field 
 sportS;, he took an opportunity, whilst 
 Mr. Elton and his other guest were in 
 discourse, to say to Osmond, in a low 
 voice, '' If you are not likely to con- 
 sider yourself as too much degraded. 
 Sir, and will do me the favour to break- 
 fast W\i\\ me to-morrow morning, I will 
 introduce you to Mr. Lascelles ; who 
 will shew us some excellent sport over 
 his grounds." 
 
 It may be supposed that Osmond 
 accepted, without hesitation, his pro- 
 posal. They both exchanged smiles 
 when he said in reply, "' that he was 
 not apprehensive of serious conse- 
 quences from meeting Mr. Lascelles." 
 It was not necessary, nor at that time
 
 241 
 
 would it have been prudent to say 
 more ; it was sufficient that they un- 
 derstood eacli other. 
 
 The evening's entertainment was 
 enlivened by what Mr. Elton called 
 '' some music/' in which delightful sci- 
 ence^ his wife obligingly informed the 
 company^ he was considerably skilled. 
 
 '' But don't let this discourage you^my 
 dear Miss Matilda/* she continued^ ad- 
 dressing the youngest Miss Burton, who 
 rather hung back from accepting the hand 
 with which Mr. Elton was going to usher 
 her up to an old trumpery piano-forte. 
 
 ^' Oh no, — I beg it may not/' said 
 he. '" Mrs. Elton is partial ; she mag- 
 nifies my knowledge of music : I am 
 not now to be dreaded — I have been 
 much out of practice of late.'* 
 
 Under these assurances. Miss Matilda 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 
 
 suffered herself to be prevailed upon 
 to occupy the music stool^ and after 
 having thumped a few preliminary 
 chords on the old piano^ and looked up 
 to the ceiling a proper time, she struck 
 off, into whatj she informed the audience 
 was '' an ah\" Judging by the rap- 
 tures into which she threw Mr. Elton^ 
 and the importance with which he bec- 
 koned his wife to come and look on 
 while he^ by various grimaces, pointed 
 out to her such parts of Miss Matilda's 
 performance as it would be proper to 
 admire^ it might be surmised that it 
 was very fine : but Osmond, as he in- 
 deed expected he should, soon disco- 
 vered that the performer and the in- 
 strument were much upon a par. 
 
 The air concluded, Mr. Elton called 
 upon his lady to exhibit, engaging to aid 
 her by an accompaniment on the flute.
 
 243 
 
 After some interchang'e of raillery 
 upon some jest, which nobody seemed 
 to understand but themselves^ they also 
 favoured their guests with '' an air" 
 
 '' A medley rondo of my dearest 
 Mr. Elton's own arranging !" said Maria, 
 by way of preparing the company in 
 general to be charmed ; and giving 
 warning, fortunately, to Osmond in 
 particular, not to shew too much dis- 
 gust, as perhaps, from the turn of his 
 countenance at that moment, she might 
 anticipate with some dread. 
 
 He endeavoured, therefore, as well as 
 he could, to disguise the propensity he 
 felt to laugh or to cry — for, as extremes 
 meet, he verily believed he could as 
 soon have done one as the other — when 
 his irritable nerves were assaulted and 
 naangled by the horrible discord and 
 
 M 2^
 
 244 
 
 confusion of this' medley rondo;" en- 
 during, as it did^ a full quarter of an 
 hour, without mercy or compassion. 
 
 To say nothing of the barbarous, 
 atrocious taste, which could mingle to- 
 gether ten bars of one of Corelli's solos, 
 as many from a concerto of Handel, 
 half a page of '' Moll in the Wad,'' 
 and part of the '' Overture to Lo- 
 doiska," terminating with '' the minuet 
 in Berenice," the style in which this 
 jumble was executed sufficed of itself 
 to make the whole quite insupportable. 
 And when Mr. Elton, blowing as if 
 he were in his last agonies, with haste 
 to overtake his wife, who had got into 
 the middle of ^' the overture to Lodo- 
 iska," by imprudently forgetting to 
 wait till he had finished his cadenza 
 upon the concluding bar of Handel's 
 concerto, and Mrs. Elton, terrified in
 
 245 
 
 discovering by his frowns and stamp- 
 ing foot that something was wrong, 
 though she did not know what, began 
 to look upon each other with mutual 
 accusation — the case appeared so despe- 
 rate, that Mr. Sackville, asaman of hu- 
 mane feelings, imagining it would be 
 charitable, began to talk to Miss Burton. 
 
 Mr. Burton, also, awakened by this 
 '' hurly-burly*' from a transient slum- 
 ber into which he had fallen upon a 
 corner of the sofa, having rubbed his 
 eyes and repeated several times *' charm- 
 ing! charming!** inquired of his wife 
 if it were not time to order the carriao:e. 
 
 This question being answered in the 
 affirmative, Osmond hoped that the 
 commotion which followed in rinoin": 
 the bell, would have led to a deliverance 
 from the '' medley.*' But it was mer- 
 cilessly persevered in, and his hopes
 
 246 
 
 mocked to the very last; for when he con- 
 gratulated himself, on hearing an out- 
 rageous chord struck by Mrs. Elton, 
 that it would be the last, he found he 
 had still to endure several bars from 
 the flute, which had never recovered the 
 advantage that had been taken over 
 it on the subject of Handel ; but w hich 
 nobly maintained its rights to the con- 
 clusion, though it was left with none to 
 dispute them. 
 
 Various plaudits succeeded. Mrs. 
 Burton havino- been able to distini;*uish 
 '' Moll in the Wad/' gave her testi- 
 mony with great politeness to the merits 
 of '' old Scotch tunes/' and concealed, 
 amidst lier encomiums, the pleasure 
 with which she heard her carriage an- 
 nounced, and the alacrity with which 
 she proceeded to shawl herself for her 
 escape. '' Aye, Mr. Elton," putting
 
 247 
 
 on her tippet^ and adjusting it with a 
 complacent look, that said, '' Thank 
 God ! this tedious day is over. 1 always 
 do say, Mr. Elton/' sTie continued^ 
 " that there is no music like the old 
 music. And so it was your own arrange- 
 ment ! Well, I declare, (pray Mr. Bur- 
 ton, tie your handkerchief about your 
 neck) I do assure you^ Mr. Elton, it does 
 you infinite credit — such pretty tunes V' 
 
 " My dear Matilda, (put on your 
 cloak,) really it does you great credit. 
 Mrs. Elton, I have the honor to wish 
 you good night." 
 
 The departure of this family, from 
 carrying off with it a considerable de- 
 gree of restraint, appeared* to be the 
 signal for Mrs. Elton's taking her place 
 near her husband's chair, and coaxingly 
 inquiring of him '' why he had looked 
 so grave all the afternoon ?'*
 
 248 
 
 He muttered something in leply^ and 
 a whispering dialogue ensued between 
 thenij which Osmond only interrupted 
 to take his leave ; Mr. Sackville follow- 
 ing his example. 
 
 As their road home lay for a consider- 
 able part of the way in the same direc- 
 tion, Osmond took an opportunity, as 
 they walked along, of making a few in- 
 quiries respecting the Lascelles family, 
 about whom he felt strangely interested. 
 He began by expressing surprise that 
 Mr. Lascelles, being, as he had heard, a 
 man of sense, should allow such a super- 
 ficial, conceited coxcomb as this Elton, 
 to talk about his j^ervices to his daugh- 
 ter's understanding. 
 
 INIr. Sackville laughed so heartily at 
 this remark, that for some time he made 
 no answer ; at last, 
 
 '' 1 find," said he, *' that you know
 
 249 
 
 but little of the gentleman with whom 
 we have been spending the day ; a* 
 more notorious liar (it is a coarse 
 expression^ but 1 can think of no other 
 so applicable) cannot exist ; but as^ 
 like others of that stamp^ he founds 
 his fables upon just so much truth as 
 makes it difficult to say they are abso- 
 lute fabrications, he contrives to escape 
 iVom being confronted with his fahe- 
 hoods. He undertake to improve Ca- 
 roline's understanding ! A girl, who, 
 with all her thoughtlessness of charac- 
 ter_, and the plain education of a mere 
 farmer's daughter, has a s^hrewdness 
 of intellect, that soars far above his 
 comprehension ! It is true that he has 
 tried to pester her with a few dry, ill 
 chosen books, of which he himself knows 
 nothing but the names ; but it has been
 
 250 
 
 merely for the sake of giving himself 
 consequence by chattering about it.'* 
 
 '' When it appears that it can be 
 done safely/' said Osmond, '' which I 
 suppose it could not^ to-day." 
 
 '' 0\\, no, no; not lo-day :" and he 
 laughed. '' It is a comical world, to be 
 sure, that we live in ; and things must 
 have reached the very acme of absurdity 
 before two such fools as tliis Elton and 
 old Burton sliould think themselves de- 
 gradedj by framing their mouths to pro- 
 nounce the name of such a man as Mr. 
 Lascelles.*' 
 
 '' He really is then a very superior 
 man V said Osmond. 
 
 '' In any line of life he must have l)een 
 considered so/' lie replied : '' if strict 
 integrity, simplicity, and kindness of 
 heart, and plain, manly sense, constitute 
 superiority ; and these qualities he has
 
 251 
 
 preserved unshaken through many ad- 
 verse scenes.** 
 
 '' He was unfortunate in his marriage, 
 I think Mrs. Elton told me ?*' 
 
 '' He was unfortunate in marrying a 
 very fine lady," replied Sackville^ '" who 
 did him the favour to fall desperately 
 in love with him. With her he had no 
 dowry but her beauty, a vast stock of 
 whims and caprices, and what clothes 
 she had on when she ran away with 
 him. Her father, after keeping them in 
 suspense several years about his forgive- 
 ness, died suddenly, without revoking a 
 will he had made in the height of his 
 displeasure, by which his daughter was 
 left without a penny, at a time when an 
 increasing family augmented the diffi- 
 culties which already surrounded them. 
 Too independent to make any advances 
 to that branch of the family into which 
 his wife's natural property had fallen.
 
 252 
 
 Mr. Lascelles met his troubles only with 
 a resolution to surmount them by pa- 
 tient and persevering industry. He fell 
 into no tricks, no thriving' speculations, 
 so often the resort of querulous poverty, 
 but kept the straight turnpike road of 
 life ; satisfied with the approbation of 
 his own heart, and deriving no common 
 portion of happiness in the bosom of a 
 numerous and very charming family." 
 
 '' And the mother," said Osmond, 
 '' how does she support her troubles ?" 
 
 '' Oh, the mother is nobody," he re- 
 plied ; '' all the part she takes in any 
 thin"' is to hud fauU, and bewail her 
 hard fate, and complain of her health, 
 and sit in an easy chair, reading a novel 
 when she is not complaining." 
 
 '' Then who takes the management 
 of the household affairs, for this pretty 
 Caroline is too young 1 imagine to be 
 of much use in that respect ?"
 
 253 
 
 " Why, ill addition to his children to 
 maintain/* replied Mr. Sackville, '' this 
 worthy man supports an elderly maiden 
 sister, who is an excellent person in her 
 way ; and with all the characteristics of 
 her suffering sex^ superintends the do- 
 mestic duties of the house, stands god- 
 mother to the children, brings them up, 
 and patiently supports the ill-humour 
 and civil insults of Mrs. Lascelles/' 
 
 '' She is, I suppose," said Osmond, 
 ''just what a maiden aunt is so often 
 condemned to be ?" 
 
 " Exactly so," he replied ; '' and uovy 
 the family history of Mr. Lascelles is 
 fortunately brought to a conclusion, just 
 where I must have ended it, for here 
 I believe our road separates.*' 
 
 And reminding him to be punctual 
 with his gun at an early hour the next 
 morning, Mr. Sackville took his leave.
 
 254 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 On repairing to his appoiritment on 
 the following day^ Osmond found Mr. 
 Lascelles ah'eady there. 
 
 Had he not been told that he was a 
 man superior to his condition, he would 
 have expected it from his appearance. 
 Apparently he touched upon fifty years 
 of age ; but the remains of personal 
 beauty, and of that indefinable quality 
 which is called grace, sufliciently indi- 
 cated that there had once been an ex- 
 cuse for the indiscreet attachment of 
 his wife. His manners were perfectly
 
 255 
 
 polite, but a little reserved^ evidently 
 the result of a sensible mind, conscious 
 of its deservin«: notice, but aware of the 
 opinion of society upon the circum- 
 stances of rank and situation, desirous 
 of preserving' its own respectability, by 
 keeping within, rather than advancing 
 in the slightest degree beyond its allot- 
 ted sphere. 
 
 The intercourse of the day soon im- 
 proved their acquaintance into a degree 
 of familiarity, which Osmond liked much 
 better than the reserve with which Mr. 
 Lascelles first met him. 
 
 His character being open and inge- 
 nuous, Mr. Lascelles soon found that 
 it was not necessary to entrench himself 
 against any pride Osmond might happen 
 to carry about him. Pride enough he 
 had; but it was not of that ordinary
 
 256 
 
 kindj vvliich recoils from coming in 
 contact with those, who, from want of 
 rank or Ibrtune, are often considered 
 (strangely enough) as inferiors. 
 
 They found themselves, at the close 
 of their day's sport, so much nearer to 
 the habitation of Mr. Lascelles, tiian 
 their own, that both Mr. Sackville and 
 Osmond made no opposition to liis re- 
 quest that they would partake of the 
 diimer which awaited his return. 
 
 On entering a small garden, extreme- 
 ly neat, and tastefully ornamented here 
 and there with stands of llowers and 
 ])lants, Osmond perceived upon the step 
 of the door^ as if watching her father's 
 approach, the same sweet girl whose 
 image had made so strong an impres- 
 sion upon him. 
 
 *' Well, dear papa," said she, springing
 
 257 
 
 fdrward to meet him^ — but perceiving* a 
 stranger^ she checked herself, and with 
 a slight curtsey to Mr. Sackville, she 
 glanced at Osmond with the same in- 
 describable archness that had captivated 
 him so unaccountably. 
 
 '' My daughter/* said Mr. Lascelles, 
 slightly introducing her^ and then con- 
 tinuing his ^conversation with them ; but 
 it was easy to perceive^ through this 
 carelessness of demeanour^ the delight of 
 the father's heart, when Caroline^ link- 
 ing her arm in his,, brought an involun- 
 tary smile of tenderness upon his coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 As they approached the house, the 
 same little boy and girl Osmond had 
 before seen, came running to greet their 
 father. The boy was reduced to order 
 by Caroline's remonstrances, and he
 
 258 
 
 allowed her to lead him quietly by the 
 hand^ whilst he poured forth his in- 
 quiries as to " how many partridges 
 papa had killed ?'* but the girl was not 
 to be pacified till he had complied with 
 the intreaties of '' carry me, papa — " 
 '' 1 want to come up''—'' pray papa," 
 with which she pursued him. 
 
 '' You begin early to shew off the 
 woman, my Katie/' said Mr. Lascelles, 
 taking her into his arms ; '' but the 
 shortest way to deal with you all, is to 
 let you have your own way/' 
 
 Osmond quite glowed with admira- 
 tion of the charming group. '' Mo- 
 narchs, look down from your thrones," 
 he thought, '' and envy this obscure, 
 but happy man 1" 
 
 ''I will go and prepare mamma," 
 said Carohne, tripping on before them.
 
 259 
 
 when they were within a few yards of 
 the hall door. 
 
 It was then Osniond anticipated some- 
 thing of a cloud to their enjoyment^ 
 from the character he had heard of 
 '' manuna." But Mrs. Lascelles^ like 
 all judicious persons^ reserved her ill- 
 humour for the particular entertainment 
 of her husband and family^ when they 
 were in private. She received them 
 with the utmost courtesy ; and with that 
 intuitive politeness^ which characterizes 
 the woman of good birth and educa- 
 tion, directing herself to Osmond with 
 marked civility and attention. She was 
 still eminently beautiful ; and her per- 
 sonal attractions received an acquisition 
 from the air of dejection and languor 
 that pervaded them. 
 
 Osmond could easily imagine^ with all
 
 260 
 
 her faults, how fervent and lasting must 
 be the attachment a woman like her 
 would excite in the breast of a man, 
 whom she had made the father of such 
 children as then surrounded Mr. Las- 
 celles ; for, in addition to those he brought 
 into the dining-room with him, another 
 little creature, apparently not two years 
 old, was sporting by her side on the 
 sofa, and immediately on their entrance, 
 set up its voice to join the general chorus 
 of " papa's come home !" 
 
 This uproar having continued for 
 some time, rather increased than quel- 
 led by the laughing attempts of Caroline 
 to reduce them to silence, a gleam of 
 habitual temper at last broke from Mrs. 
 Lascelles, as witli a querulous tone she 
 begged for a little peace. '' Now pray, 
 Carry, for one moment is it impossible
 
 261 
 
 to be quiet ? You are worse than the 
 children — let them go to the nuiv 
 sery.'* 
 
 *' Yes, mamma, directly/' said the 
 sweet tempered girl, leading off the little 
 rebels with great difficulty. 
 
 A pale, quiet-looking personage then 
 entered the room, whom, had not Os- 
 mond heard introduced to him, as 
 *' Miss Lascelles, my sister," he should 
 still have recognized as the inestimable 
 maiden aunt, who lived for the worthy 
 purpose of making herself useful. 
 
 She seated herself, and was silent ; 
 and Mrs. Lascelles looked at her care- 
 lessly as she did so, and then, as if con- 
 sidering that silence was her portion, 
 took no further notice of her, but pur- 
 sued a remark she was making to Os- 
 mond. But Mr. Lascelles, with that
 
 262 
 
 benevolence of heart vvhicli wishes to 
 give proper consequence to every one, 
 addressed his sister by two or three 
 trivial remarks, evidently made for no 
 other purpose than to remove the humi- 
 liating sensation which accompanies the 
 idea of being too unimportant to be 
 noticed. 
 
 The dinner was plain, but excellent of 
 the kind:, and served with an attention 
 to all the decorum which comfort, and 
 indeed taste would require. 
 
 There is a line of truth runs through 
 every thing ; though sometimes so fine 
 and delicate^ as hardly to be percepti- 
 ble; yet in the minutest circumstances of 
 life, in tlie adjustment of a dinner table, 
 or in the arrangement of iurniture, an 
 observing eye can amuse itself in tracing 
 the features of the superintending mind.
 
 263 
 
 Osmond's chair at dinner happened 
 to be next to Caroline^, and he readilv 
 endeavoured to improve the opportunity 
 it afforded him of getting better ac- 
 quainted with her. This he founds 
 was a task of no great difficulty, for 
 frankness of disposition appeared to be 
 a leading trait in the character of this 
 laughing daughter of love; for such her 
 beauty^ her youths her irresistible naivete, 
 might justly proclaim her. Had nature 
 mingled one grain of dissimulation in 
 her composition, she would have been 
 the veriest coquette in existence ; but 
 trutli had claimed her for its own. In 
 the most insinuating smile,— in the 
 most betraying glance, there was no- 
 thing disguised^ nothing but what all 
 the world might read, and condemn if 
 it liked — the consciousness of beauty.
 
 2G4 
 
 and the natural desire of having it 
 admired. 
 
 '' Papa, do you know Mr. Elton has 
 been here/' said she, interrupting Os- 
 mond, as he was rather insidiously de- 
 scribing the condict he underwent, be- 
 tween his inclination and his sense of 
 propriety, upon the subject of attend- 
 ing her home, on the day he chanced to 
 meet her at that gentleman's house. 
 
 '' And, papa, do you know that you 
 have got into very great disgrace with 
 him," she continued, '' for presuming 
 to go out shooting to-day, without 
 letting him know. And as for me^ I 
 am worse than ever, about the Roman 
 Emperors." 
 
 '' Stupid enough, I dare say. Carry/' 
 replied Mr. Lascelles ; '' 1 think if 1 
 were Mr. Elton, I would try you with
 
 265 
 
 some of the early Christian fathers, 
 perhaps your genius may lay for theo- 
 logical reading." 
 
 '' If my small library were likely to 
 afford you any amusement/* said Os- 
 mond — 
 
 " Ah;, you had better make interest 
 ' with Mr. Lessingham/' said Mr. Las- 
 celleSj laughing ; '^ perhaps he will be 
 kind enough to help you to a few 
 sonnets, which you can mix up with Mr. 
 Elton's Roman Emperors, and taking 
 the draught night and morning for a few 
 weeks, it is astonishing what a clever 
 person you may be expected to prove. 
 Carry." 
 
 '' And so you really disclaim, with 
 your whole heart, these unfortunate 
 Roman Emperors ?" said Osmond, ex- 
 ceedingly amused with the artlessness 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 
 
 that could acknowledge a truths which 
 nineteen women out of twenty would 
 have been content to be silent upon. 
 
 '' Oh^ it is all very proper that you 
 men, Mr. Lessingham, should pore ovei 
 these old stories if you like ;" she replied^ 
 '' but ^sop's fables are^ to my mind, 
 quite as instructive, and ten times more 
 entertaining : and there, moreover, you 
 have the moral ready picked and ga- 
 thered, and tacked to the story without 
 the trouble of hunting after it — if one 
 could but read it." 
 
 '' Come, come," said Mr. Lascellcs, 
 vainly trying to assume a look of gravity 
 wherewith to check the volubility of this 
 evidently darling child, — '" how you 
 prattle, Caroline !" But a feeling of 
 delighted affection would send the ready 
 smile to his countenance, in opposition
 
 267 
 
 to the more reproving aspect which it 
 seemed as if his better judgment sug- 
 gested. 
 
 Caroline^ however^ as if aware of her 
 power^ continued to rattle on ; throwing 
 out every now and then^, in the midst of 
 her random gaiety^ some shrewd re- 
 marksj sufficiently indicative of her 
 possessing from nature that fineness of 
 tact which supplies the place of edu- 
 cation and experience, and which^ in 
 fact^ neither education nor experience 
 can ever impart^ though they may con- 
 siderably improve. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles himself appeared to be 
 particularly distinguished by this inde- 
 finable faculty. A tone of unaffected 
 calmness and almost quiet indifference, 
 pervaded his whole conversation; but 
 in whatever he said there was meaning, 
 
 N 2
 
 268 
 
 and not an obvious or common -place 
 meaning. Osmond could not help tan- 
 cying that, if he would but take the 
 trouble, he could talk to the purpose 
 upon most subjects, although he treated 
 them with a dry kind of humour that 
 made it difficult to say how far they 
 interested him. 
 
 To a person who delighted, as Os- 
 mond did, in perusing human nature 
 in all her various readings, it was amus- 
 ing enough to contrast the disposition 
 of him and his wife. In Mr. Lascelles 
 he could trace an inclination to make 
 the best of life ; to laugh rather than to 
 cry, since nine times out of ten it is as 
 easy for a wise man to do one as the 
 other ; and, in short, philosopher-like, to 
 let events, good as well as bad, slide away 
 into forgctfulness as fast as they could.
 
 269 
 
 Oil her side, a diligent eye might per- 
 ceive, tlirough all her study to conceal 
 it, a restlessness of mind that precluded 
 a moment's peace. Far from striving 
 after that forgetful ness, which is, per- 
 haps, the very essence of happiness, 
 Osmond was certain, from the querulous 
 expression that sometimes passed across 
 her features, that she suffered nothing 
 to escape her; — that, with the avidity of 
 an irritable disposition, she caught at 
 the most trifling source of sorrow, and 
 not only gave to the vexations of life 
 their lawful proportion of suffering, but 
 such as the fanciful and unjust demands 
 of imagination might chuse to claim. 
 
 As this^ however, was a disease of 
 mind, which he, unfortunately, in a de- 
 gree understood, and as her complaints 
 had at any rate the reconnnendalion of 
 
 N 3
 
 270 
 
 novelty to him^ he listened with a dispo- 
 sition to compassionate her case, when 
 she told him^ as a preliminary to their 
 engaging in a rubber in the evening, 
 that, '' she had not known what it w as to 
 be out of her room after eight o'clock, 
 till that night, for at least a twelve- 
 month/' 
 
 '' It is impossible to conceive what 
 dreadful health I have, Mr. Lessing- 
 ham/* she continued ; *' but 1 never get 
 the least pity — there is Mr. Lascellcs/' 
 dealing the cards at him with an angry 
 jerk, '" I believe he does not know the 
 meaning of the word illness.** 
 
 '' 1 ought, my dear, by this time," 
 he replied, with a quiet smile, '' for i 
 have had opportunity enough of study- 
 ing it in all its varieties." 
 
 " I don't know what opportunity,'*
 
 371 
 
 she replied^ '' for I never knew you to 
 have a day's indisposition in my life/* 
 
 '' No ; but as you have never a day's 
 healthy my love, and you and I are 
 one, it comes to the same thing, you 
 know. Carry, come and sit here, and 
 bring me good luck." 
 
 Caroline having complied with a smil- 
 ing ^' yes, papa,'* a new source of dis- 
 comfort appeared to have broken in 
 upon the complaining Mrs. Lascelles. 
 
 " And there is Caroline, too," said 
 she, '"just like you, so robust, so pro- 
 digiously full of health — it is no won- 
 der that my complaints are very little 
 cared for, when nobody in the house 
 knows what it is to suffer a moment's 
 pain except myself.'* 
 
 '' Dear mamma, you forget how long 
 poor aunt Catherine was laid up last 
 
 N 4
 
 272 
 
 winter with the rheumatism/* said Ca- 
 roline. 
 
 " Good gracious, Mr. Lascelles ! 
 what have you trumped my king of 
 liearts ?'' gaiii Mrs. Lascelles, without 
 noticing Caroline's remark. Then, upon 
 the lively girl's jumping up hastily, 
 " Dear me, Caroline, don't be fidget- 
 ting about so ! you make me quite 
 nervous. Miss Lascelles," addressing 
 the maiden aunt, who was sitting in 
 great tranquillity at work, '' do pray 
 see what is the matter with those 
 children ; they are making a shocking 
 noise overhead ; I don't know a card 
 I play." 
 
 These ebullitions of temper, a little 
 more forcibly exhibited than they would 
 otherwise have been, by the searching 
 trial of ill luck at the card-table, were
 
 213 
 
 i"eceived by Mr. Lascelles in patient 
 silence ; now and then a faint smile 
 played about his mouthy but it was 
 scarcely perceptible ; and^ as her vvail- 
 ings were vented in the tones of a very 
 soft and pleasing' voice, they were not 
 of a character to disturb his serenity 
 to any great degree. 
 
 Mr, Sackville appeared to be familia- 
 rized to them all, by habits of intimacy. 
 He called Caroline by her christian 
 name ; and Osmond really felt a little 
 ashamed of himself, when he found at 
 his heart a slight repugnance, very like 
 the germ of jealousy, at his taking this 
 freedom. 
 
 '' Is it possible,'' he thought, as he 
 once caught himself gazing at her with 
 an ardour of which he was quite un- 
 
 N 5
 
 274 
 
 conscious^ till her sweet eyes fell be- 
 neath his, and an eloquent blush deep- 
 ened the soft Vermillion that min<;led 
 .with the transparent whiteness of her 
 complexion, '' is it possible that the 
 inipression Lady Ellen Seymour has 
 made upon my heart can be so soon 
 effaced ? by the charms too of such a 
 chiLl as this — such a mere child !' — 
 It was in vain he repeated the appella- 
 tion, as though he would impress it on 
 his belief. 
 
 Her artlessness, her docility, her sim- 
 plicity of character^ were all that could 
 justify the epithet. The synnnetry and 
 grace of the perfect form, the archness 
 of the sparkling glance, the quick com- 
 ing and as quick receding blush, beau- 
 tiful testimony to the presence ot"
 
 275 
 
 emotions as captivating as they were 
 new^ bespoke the woman — the dange- 
 rous — the too charmins: woman. 
 
 He sighed as he contemplated the 
 hazard of his situation ; but not gather- 
 ing resolution to take the only safe and 
 proper step, of flying from temptation 
 the moment it was observed, he yielded 
 to the delirium that was creeping over 
 his senses, and before he parted with 
 her on that night, his busy fancy had 
 more than once imaged the ineffable 
 happiness which might be shared with 
 Caroline Lascelles! 
 
 Mrs. Lascelles, with whom Osmond 
 congratulated himself upon having in- 
 curred much favour, from the com- 
 passionate attention he had shewn to 
 her sorrows, urged him to return again 
 
 n6
 
 276 
 
 soon and give her her revenge at a 
 rubber. 
 
 As they had now made considerable 
 advances towards intimacy, Osmond 
 ventured to follow the example of Mr. 
 Sackville, in taking the fair hand of 
 Caroline when he withdrew. 
 
 She replied to him with less vivacity 
 than to Mr. Sackville ; but he fancied 
 there was more of genuine pleasure in 
 her smile when directed to himself. 
 
 His heart was too full of one subject 
 to admit of his saying much upon any 
 other to his companion as they walked 
 home. 
 
 " Yes, she is a lovely creature, to be 
 sure/* replied Mr. Sackville, in answer 
 to Osmond's rapturous expressions of 
 admiration. '' I don't know whether 1
 
 277 
 
 should not fall hi love whh her myself 
 if I had nothing else to do — but the 
 having to read for priests' orders is a 
 great quietus to all idle feelings." 
 
 Osmond could only admire and envy 
 the comfortable temperament which ap- 
 plied itself so calmly to the duties of 
 life ; satisfied to fall in love as the mere 
 alternative of having nothing else to do.
 
 278 
 
 CHAP. XII 
 
 We must abbreviate the variety of 
 arguments Osmond used, to persuade 
 himself that his time was passed as well 
 at Woodhurst as it would be any where 
 else ; and state the simple truth, thouo^h 
 ' he was a considerable time before he 
 chose to acknowledge it even to himself. 
 
 The fact was, then, that from the 
 period of his first acquaintance with 
 Caroline Lascelles, he gradually aban- 
 doned every other subject of thought ; 
 his intention of ever returning to his 
 family, his father's displeasure at his 
 continued absence, and the perfect cer-
 
 279 
 
 taiiity that he never would consent, or 
 even hear of his forming so inferior a 
 connexion — nothing disturbed his re- 
 pose but an occasional doubt, whether 
 or not his attachment was returned by 
 the fair object of it. 
 
 In this manner more than a month 
 passed away, during which time, on pre- 
 tence of shooting, he contrived to spend 
 a great part of every day at the house 
 of Mr. Lascelles. Mr. Lascelles lived 
 but half a mile from Woodhurst Lodge, 
 and as Mrs. Lascelles was extremely 
 pleased with Osmond's condescending 
 and agreeable manners, and much en- 
 couraged his dropping in upon them, 
 his evenings were generally passed there. 
 
 When he met with Mr. Sackville there, 
 they played a rubber ; but in the gene- 
 ral way he used to talk with Mr. Las-
 
 280 
 
 celles, and look at his lovely daughter. 
 He was the common friend of the whole 
 family. Mrs. Lascelles took to him pro- 
 digiously^ not only for sympathizing 
 with her irritable nerves^ but for the 
 honour she conceived his notice confer- 
 red ; and Mr. Lascelles seemed to be 
 really interested about him, and to like 
 his company, independently of any ex- 
 trinsic merit his station in society might 
 attach to it. As he was fond of children^ 
 he was always welcome to the little ones, 
 even when he chanced to go without 
 sugar-plums or playthings, which was 
 not often. 
 
 With '' aunt Catherine,'* too, Osmond 
 was a person of great consideration, 
 from taking so much notice of her eldest 
 godson, a tine little fellow of ten years 
 old ; who, with his brother, about a year
 
 281 
 
 younger^ had lately come home for the 
 Christmas holidays. These youthful 
 personages^ of an age to know little and 
 care less about the distinction of rank^ 
 had struck up a great alliance with 
 Osmond upon the score of his ac- 
 complishments in skaiting, cricket, and 
 so on. 
 
 There was only one person in this 
 charming family of whose regard for 
 him Osmond was at all dubious, and 
 that was the one, whose favourable 
 opinion he was the most solicitous to 
 obtain. 
 
 At the same time that the sparkling- 
 vivacity of Caroline afforded strong pre- 
 sumption that her heart was untouched 
 by the passion which already began to 
 affect his own happiness, there was often, 
 in her address to him^ a slight degree of
 
 pettishiiess (unlike her usual sweetness 
 of temper and deportment to every one 
 else), which would have induced him to 
 argue very unfavourably of her senti- 
 ments for him, if smiles and blushes^ a 
 species of testimony she had it not in 
 her power to repress, did not occasion- 
 ally persuade him that his presence was 
 not less welcome to her, than it avow- 
 edly was to the rest of the family. 
 
 His intentions towards her were thrown 
 into that vacillating state, which the 
 merest accident decides, when he one 
 afternoon walked down on his customary 
 visit. He was now on so intimate a foot- 
 ing, that he entered the house at all 
 times, with the privilege of a member of 
 the family. 
 
 The dining-room was empty, but the 
 merry voices of the children guided him
 
 283 
 
 to an adjoining' apartment, in which they 
 usually took their meals. 
 
 He knocked at the door : but as his 
 signal was unheeded^ he opened it, and 
 perceived Caroline presiding at the tea 
 table, with all ihe children surrounding 
 her. 
 
 '' Oh, 1 cannot suffer you to approach, 
 Mr. Lessingham," she exclaimed, as 
 soon as she caught sight of him ; '^ 1 
 can scarcely keep peace as it is ; and 1 
 am sure when you come — " 
 
 " You would not be so cruel as to 
 say you are not very happy to see me," 
 said Osmond, interrupting her, and tak- 
 ing a seat by her side. 
 
 She attempted some gay reply, but 
 did not succeed. He could perceive that 
 she was a little dejected ; and as Mrs. 
 Lascelles was frequently out of temper.
 
 284 
 
 and quarrelsome with them all in turn^ 
 he conckicled that some trifle of that 
 kind had occurred to discompose her, 
 and with a view to give her time to 
 recover her serenity^ he began to talk 
 with the boys.'* 
 
 '' Now, Sir, let me hear you repeat 
 something by heart/' said he to Ed- 
 ward. 
 
 A discussion took place as to what 
 it was to be. At last, at the suggestion 
 of Charles, he recollected one piece of 
 poetry that he could repeat to perfec- 
 tion, and which had been the means of 
 covering him with glory at school ; and 
 without further preamble, he marched 
 into the middle of the room, made Os- 
 mond a bow, and with a very audible 
 voice set oft' with, 
 
 ** Turn gentle Hermit of the dale, 
 And guide my "
 
 285 
 
 '' Oh, for pity's sake, child/* exclaim- 
 ed Caroline, '' we shall never come to 
 the end of it/' 
 
 Poor Edward paused with visible cha- 
 grin at the interruption, whilst Osmond, 
 inexpressibly amused with her captious- 
 ness, and the boy's disappointed vanity, 
 could not resist his inclination to laugh. 
 
 '' I really cannot exactly see what 
 there is so very amusing," said she, 
 rather gravely ; and she looked so beau- 
 tiful in her displeasure, that it was with 
 some effort he subdued the impulse that 
 tempted him to seize her hand, and try 
 to soothe away her vexation. 
 
 Edward now interposed to know whe- 
 ther he was to proceed with the Her- 
 mit, assuring tbem that they would 
 be charmed with it — '' Sha'n't I go on, 
 sister ?"
 
 286 
 
 '' No, certainly not. It is time to g-o 
 to bed/' 
 
 '' Dear me, sister, how cross you are 
 to-night," said Charles ; rather unfortu- 
 nately turn in o; to Osmond to second his 
 opinion, with, "' Isn't she. Sir ?" 
 
 '' Charles, what nonsense I" said slie. 
 
 Her voice faltered as she spoke. Os- 
 mond turned to look at her with more 
 attention, and perceived with surprise 
 that her eyes were suffused with tears. 
 
 He took her hand. — '^ I fear you are 
 not well," said he. 
 
 She withdrew her hand, but gently, 
 and at the same time smiling, she as- 
 sured him that she was quite well. 
 '' But the cares of the household have 
 devolved upon me/* she added, '' for 
 mamma is very poorly, and has not 
 been out of her room to-day, and
 
 287 
 
 my father and aunt Catharine are gone 
 to spend a few days with our rela- 
 tions at C — , and — and — why nobody 
 is always in the same spirits^ you 
 know." 
 
 She paused, as if for Osmond to say 
 something, or to relax the fixed and 
 penetrating gaze with which he had not 
 ceased to behold her^ while she was 
 speaking. But at last^ a little im- 
 patient of his silence^ for he was still 
 studying her as an enigma, 
 
 " Come now/* she continued^ '^ say 
 something, will you — or are you con- 
 templating me, as Werter did the in- 
 teresting Charlotte, made I forget how 
 many times more interesting by cutting 
 bread and butter for the children." 
 
 '' Could you contemplate me as Wer- 
 ter/* he replied^ with as much mean-
 
 288 
 
 ing as he could throw into so simple 
 an interrogation. 
 
 She coloured, but assunriing a spright- 
 ly air^ 
 
 '' I cannot say what I could do/' 
 said she, '' it' time permitted ; but at 
 present 1 must see some of these people 
 disposed of for the night ; yuu will there- 
 fore give me leave to postpone studying 
 how far, and wherein you resemble the 
 accomplished Werter.** 
 
 '' But vou will return to me aaain," 
 said he, detaining her from flying oti* 
 with the little tribe. 
 
 "' 1 will leave Charles and Edward to 
 entertain you," she replied, not choos- 
 ing to listen to his intreaties that she 
 would return ; and she then left him 
 with the two eldest boys, but so ill- 
 disposed to make himself pleasant to
 
 289 
 
 them^ that Charles more than once com- 
 plained of Mr. Lessingham being; '' as 
 cross as Carry; and he could not think 
 what had come to them both." 
 
 Their vvearisomeness of Osmond's stu- 
 pidity at length led them to retreat, to 
 find what pastime they could elsewhere 
 
 He was getting quite angry with Ca- 
 roline for her desertion^ and on the 
 point of abusing her for a little co- 
 quette^ when the door half opened^ and 
 her lovely face appeared at it, though 
 only for a moment, and to exclaim, 
 '^ The boys are not here !'* She was 
 off again immediately. 
 
 But Osmond was not to be thus foiled 
 — he determined that she should oblige 
 him with her society, and quickly fol- 
 lowing, he overtook her just as she was 
 ascending the staircase. 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 «90 
 
 She could not do less than be very 
 augry at his taking the liberty of ia- 
 teiTupiing her ; but, nevertheless, suf- 
 fered herself to be prevailed upon to 
 return with him. 
 
 When he had closed the door, and 
 seated her^ 
 
 '' Tell me^ Caroline/"' said he^ "how 
 is it that vou feel this reluctance to 
 oblige me with your company ? You are 
 kind and affectionate to everv one but 
 me;'" and he spoke as he felt — really hurt. 
 
 She assumed, upon this^ a more se- 
 rious look. 
 
 " I never intended to offend you,. Mr. 
 Lessin^ham.'* said she, '' but surelv— " 
 she stopt — 
 
 '' Surely, what, Caroline ?" 
 
 " Nothing!" and she looked vexed 
 and uneasy.
 
 291 
 
 Osmond was greatly agitated, and 
 t'elt it to be almost impossible to refrain 
 from clasping her to his heart, so as- 
 sured was he that her emotion betraved 
 the power he possessed over her peace. 
 But the sweet consciousness which 
 trembled in every feature, seemed an 
 
 m 
 
 appeal to his forbearance, and he re- 
 strained himself to takino; her hand. 
 
 She struo^o'led to withdraw it : he felt 
 as if he deserved better treatment ; and 
 proudly relinquishing it, 
 
 '^ By all means, if so simple a free- 
 dom displeases you," said he. 
 
 Her lips quivered with agitation. 
 '' And what have 1 said now ?** she 
 gently murmured. 
 
 '' What have vou said now ?*' re- 
 peated Osmond, with acrimony — but 
 the next moment ashamed of the vio- 
 
 o 2 
 
 i
 
 292 
 
 leiice into which his furious passions 
 were betraying" him^ he again, witli the 
 utmost tenderness^ took her hand, which 
 she did not now withdraw : but looking 
 here and there in beautiful confusion, 
 as if for some retreat from his obser- 
 vation — 
 
 '' You really tease me too much/' 
 said she. 
 
 *' Tease you, Caroline !" he repeat- 
 ed with energy — '' Tease you, my — 
 love !" at last he added. 
 
 The word was uttered, and nothing 
 now remained but to remove the dis- 
 pleasure which so presumptuous an epi- 
 thet would have justified, had it not 
 been as sincere as it was impassioned. 
 
 '' Yes — my love V he continued, 
 pressing with fervour alternately to his 
 lips and to his heart, a hand which
 
 293 
 
 might indeed have rivalled ' the white 
 wonder of dear Juliet's/ '' Suffer me 
 to say my love ! Will you^ Caroline ? 
 Nay, do not turn from me — only one 
 smile — let me see one smile/* And he 
 gently removed the hand which veiled 
 from him the seraph face. Like violets 
 wet with deWj the deep blue of those 
 melting eyes for a moment met his en- 
 raptured glance, — and the smile he im- 
 plored was granted him; but the charm- 
 ing novice, abashed by the avowal it 
 implied — but half revealed it — and in- 
 voluntarily concealed upon his bosom 
 her eloquent face. 
 
 He clasped her — ah with what fer- 
 vour ! — as his own. 
 
 o3
 
 294 
 
 CHAP. XIII 
 
 Marriage had not been much the 
 subject of Osmoiid's thoughts previous 
 to this period ; but the innocence^ the 
 simplicity of CaroHne, her respectable 
 situation in life, her father's protection, 
 and the horror with which Osmond him- 
 self would have conternpiated her ruin, 
 assured him in tlie consideration of an 
 instant, that she was only to be ap- 
 proached with the most honourable in- 
 tentions. The sanction of her father to 
 their engagement was all, therefore, that 
 now remained to confirm it. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles received Osmond's ac-
 
 295 
 
 knovvledgmeiit of attachment to his 
 daughter rather as matter of amuse- 
 ment than as a subject worthy of se- 
 rious consideration. "Caroline/' he said, 
 '' was so much younger in manner even 
 than in years, that Mr. Lessing ham must 
 excuse him, but he could not contem- 
 plate her as the object of any mau'jr 
 serious attentions without a smile/' 
 
 To this Osmond opposed the probity 
 of his intentions ; the unalterable na- 
 ture and strength of his passion for her, 
 the ardour of his hopes, and all the 
 topicswhich lovers usually press in such 
 cases. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles replied with nearly the 
 same arguments respecting her youth 
 and childish manners, adding an inlreaty 
 that Osmond would not endeavour to 
 unsettle her mind at so early an age, by 
 
 d 4
 
 296 
 
 introducing to her notice^ ideas, which 
 it would be quite time enough for hei* 
 to consider some years hence. 
 
 However, as his visits were still per- 
 mitted upon the same terms of inti- 
 macy, it was not long before his assi- 
 duities created for him so stron^r an in- 
 terest in the heart of Caroline, that 
 she herself became an advocate in his 
 behalf with her father. '' Her happiness 
 was at stake," she told him, \^ ith tears 
 in those eyes which had hitherto beamed 
 upon him only with sprightliness and joy. 
 
 The tenderness of the parent pre- 
 vailed over the prudence of the man, 
 and at length he consented to the con- 
 nexion ; stipulating, however, that at 
 present it must be considered only as a 
 thing that might happen some time 
 hence, but certainly not to lead to any
 
 297 
 
 irrevocable engagement till time had 
 shewn the stability of Mr. Lessingham's 
 attachment^ and put it more in his own 
 power to decide for himself in so im- 
 portant a measure, than Mr. Lascelles 
 conceived it was at present. They both 
 yielded a ready assent to this condition^ 
 satisfied to obtain the privilege of en- 
 joying each other's society without re- 
 straint. 
 
 For a time — alas ! but a very short 
 time — Osmond found perfect bliss in the 
 aflection of Caroline, which was as fer- 
 vently felt^ and as strongly developed, 
 as could be expected from the nature 
 of her easy, happy disposition. With 
 her, to love, was simply and really to 
 love. To be fond, tender, kind, confid- 
 ins:. No doubt, no distrust — nothing 
 approaching to jealousy disturbed her 
 
 o5
 
 298 
 
 quiet, or interrupted tlie ilovv of her 
 gaiety. With hiui;, on tlie contrary, to 
 love — was not merely to be agitated 
 with one tremendous passion, but with 
 many. Jealousy, with all her trighttul 
 train of hopes, fears, hatred, revenge — 
 all these by turns usurped dominion 
 over him. Well, indeed, has Hoche- 
 foucault said, '' that to jtulge of love 
 by its effects, it is more like hatred than 
 love/' 
 
 There was a ferocity, an intenseness 
 in the passion he felt, and which, in 
 general, marks the love of ardent and 
 impetuous souls, which was quite in- 
 comprehensible, apparently, to Caroline. 
 Though he felt as if he could lay 
 down his life to do lier service, though 
 he existed but in her presence, he was 
 never satisfied with hei long together.
 
 299 
 
 By some strange infatuation, he was 
 always on the watch tor occasions ot' 
 quarrelling with her. Whence can arise^ 
 in hunian creatures, this disposition to 
 disturb the peace of those they love, and 
 by wlioni they ought to have the deepest 
 conviction that they are thennseives be- 
 loved ? Whence can proceed that mys- 
 terious propensity, which impels the vic- 
 tim of passion to be for ever sounding* 
 the unfathomable depths of human feel- 
 ing, to find materials for its own misery i 
 It seemed to Osmond that when Caro- 
 line was calm and tranquil, she was not 
 lovins: him. He would have had her 
 always enthusiastic ; always thinking of 
 him ; living but for him. The spright- 
 liness of her manners, when exerted tor 
 his amusement, fascinated him beyond 
 description ; but it gave him tortures 
 
 06
 
 300 
 
 inexpressible if she dared to smile or be 
 animated for any one else, lie could 
 scarcely bear that she should l>e civil 
 to Mr. Sackville^ and to laui^h or joke 
 with him, always appeared to him as^ 
 little less than an insult. 
 
 On every little instance of this kind, 
 he brooded over his imaginary w rongs, 
 till he persuaded himself that he was 
 unkindly, lightly, nay, cruelly treated 
 by her ; that she was too frivolous, too 
 coquettish, to be sensible of the value 
 of his love ; that she was the worthless 
 cause to him of indescribable misery, 
 and that he should do well to renounce 
 her entirely. In short, he many times 
 so worked upon his fiery, restless tem- 
 perament, that he believed he didy and 
 that he ought to hate her. Yet the 
 moment of reconciliation, the moment
 
 301 
 
 when her soft arms were twined around 
 his neck^ and her sweet lips were pressed 
 to his cheeky well — well repaid his suf- 
 ferings ; and then he could smile as he 
 strained her to his heart, and spurn the 
 world, and all that it contained, when 
 put in competition with the love of 
 Caroline. 
 
 In this state of feeling the winter 
 passed, and Osmond's time and thou^^hts 
 being wholly employed by the passion 
 which absorbed him, he withdrew 
 himself as much as possible from all 
 society, all acquaintance but the Las- 
 celles's. 
 
 He had indeed one friend, or rather 
 companion, whose notice he would have 
 been very happy to have avoided, if 
 possible ; but finding him upon rather 
 intimate terms with the Lascelles' fami- 
 ly, and liable to be thrown frequently
 
 302 
 
 in his way, during' his constant visits 
 there, he had hardly a choice in accept- 
 ing the civilities and attention that were 
 heaped upon him, by a young' man of 
 the name of Alston, a slight acquaint- 
 ance with whom he had contracted at 
 .college; and who, having been recently 
 ordained, had settled in the neighbour- 
 hood of Woodhurst, upon the curacy of 
 an adjoining village. There was one 
 advantage he derived from the intimacy 
 of Alston with the Lascelles's, wiiich 
 arose from the great proficiency of the 
 former in the science of vNhist: a cir- 
 cmnstance that strongly recommended 
 him to the notice of Mrs. Lascelles ; and 
 as he paid no other regard to Caroline, 
 than occasionally to remark to Osmond 
 that she was a pretty girl, and sujiply- 
 ing his place at the card table, left him 
 more opportunity of talking with her.
 
 303 
 
 « 
 
 Osmond had no dislike to his getting- 
 upon terms of intimacy there. 
 
 He was^ of course, not long a stranger 
 to their engagement : but he made very 
 few remarks upon it ; such as did escape 
 him, implied, as Osmond thought, no 
 approbation of the measure; but as for 
 the first fortnight after Alston's know- 
 ledge of their attachment, Caroline and 
 he happened to be upon particularly 
 happy and comfortable terms together, 
 Oi^mond paid no attention whatever to 
 his oj)inion upon the subject. 
 
 A fortnight v\as now, indeed, an 
 unusually long time for Osmond to be 
 easv and satisfied with her. At the end 
 of this period, he went to her oiie 
 morning with a new publication of light 
 literature, such as he had been in tlie 
 habit of reading to her, or reconunend- 
 ing to her perusal. He had made it his
 
 304 
 
 first carCj as soon as he felt authorized 
 to do so, to take her out of the hands 
 of Mr. Elton, and substituting more 
 attractive studies in the room of the 
 Roman Emperors, he had, he flattered 
 himself, made some advances in cultivat- 
 ing her taste, and inspiring her with a 
 love of reading. 
 
 She had a most uncommonly acutu* 
 and intelligent mind ; she seized at once 
 the leading points of any subject, but 
 she dwelt upon none. Vivacity and 
 spirit were the predominant features 
 of her intellectual character; \Nit and 
 cleverness of remark were sure to win 
 her smile ; and delicacy, and tenderness 
 of sentiment her sigh ; but either was so 
 liglit, so evanescent, so instantly yielded 
 to the next impression, be it what it 
 might, that, sometimes irritated with her 
 volatility, Osmond shut the book in
 
 305 
 
 despair^ and ^ave himself up to the ut- 
 most displeasure. 
 
 On the morning; alluded to, he found 
 her in the most joyous spirits, with a 
 note in her hand, which she told him she 
 had just received from her cousin Mrs. 
 Milner, a young' married woman re- 
 siding at C— :, a village about six miles 
 ^^^stant. 
 
 '' And do you know^ Osmond/' she 
 continued in her usual sprightly style of 
 communicating any intelligence, '' that 
 Elizabeth is going to christen the baby 
 next week, and she has persuaded Mr. 
 Milner to let her give a dance.*' 
 
 '^ Well, and what then ?" 
 
 '' What then ! why shall you not like 
 to go ? and don't you love dancing ?" 
 
 '' Not much," he replied, for the idea 
 of her entering into the familiarity of 
 such an amusement with any man but
 
 306 
 
 himself was far from an agreeable one. 
 But he could not bear to see the disap- 
 pointment which spread itself over her 
 countenance at his answer ; so with a 
 smile^ he bid her to dispose of him upon 
 the occasion as she wished ; and hav- 
 ings for a little time^ talked the matter 
 over, he proposed, when he thought 
 it had been sufficiently discussed, to 
 read some favourite passages to her 
 from a very delightful work which he 
 had brought for her perusal : and he 
 took the volume from his pocket. 
 
 She took her work, and sat down, 
 as if disposed to be attentive; but he 
 could perceive that it was with an eflbrt, 
 and that her thoughts were wandering 
 after the dance — a subject he utterly 
 abominated. 
 
 He endeavoured to excite her remarks 
 as he went along ; and she made one
 
 807 
 
 or two which were apposite enough : but 
 her manner was distrait, and he felt that 
 both he and his book were, at that mo- 
 ment, uninteresting to her. 
 
 it required but very little to induce 
 him to throw it away at once, and that 
 verj/ little soon arrived ; for, taking ad- 
 vantage of a yjause he made to consider a 
 sentiment which struck him as particu- 
 larly beautiful, — 
 
 " I cannot think, Osmond,'* said she^, 
 '' where Elizabeth will get beaux enough 
 for a dance, unless Mr Milner happens 
 to know any of the olHcers in the bar- 
 racks at D — , and 1 rather think he 
 does, and if so— —Dear Osmond, what 
 is the matter?'* she continued, startled 
 by the impetuosity with which he flung 
 the volume upon the table. 
 
 But she knew enough of his impe- 
 tuous temper, to understand that she had
 
 308 
 
 offended^ and perceiving how, she, with 
 her invariable sweetness of disposition, 
 began to propitiate, by begging him to 
 proceed, and pronnising to be more at- 
 tentive. 
 
 "' No — no, Caroline,'' he replied, with 
 impatience, '' such promises are worth 
 nothing. If your attention is not in- 
 voluntarily caught and captivated by 
 such a production as this, you have it 
 not in you, and all the labour in the 
 world would not produce it/' 
 
 She looked abashed and disconcerted, 
 but said nothing ; whilst Osmond, dis- 
 appointed and discontented, resumed his 
 book, and read, or seemed to read it to 
 himself. She, in the meanwhile, silently 
 continued her work, waiting as it should 
 seem his pleasure. 
 
 Such a situation of discomfort was 
 very common witli them in their morn-
 
 309 
 
 ing studies ; but in the present instance 
 his ill humour was considerably increased 
 by the gnawings of jealousy^ which the 
 prospect of this dance, and its accom- 
 paniments of officers, &c. &c. excited. 
 
 It was in vain he attempted to read ; 
 his thouohts were all in confusion. 
 
 '^ And what officers does Mr. Milner 
 know^ pray ?" at last he said, taking 
 his eyes off the book^ and turning them 
 with no very gentle expression upon her. 
 
 " 1 believe he is acquainted with Capt. 
 Smith/' she meekly replied ; '' I don't 
 know of any one else." 
 
 '' How unfortunate !" said he, with a 
 taunting smile : *' such a dismal circum- 
 stance might well disturb your attention, 
 and make you insensible to every thing 
 else/' Every word he uttered served, as 
 in the case of all angry persons, but 
 to irritate him still more — and he con-
 
 310 
 
 tinued to exhaust his anger in a succes- 
 sion of sarcasms_, till her gentle nature 
 could support it no longer^ and the tears, 
 which had long been trembling in her 
 eyes^ were at last trickling down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 This was a sii*ht at once to disarm 
 his wrath,, and make him hate himself 
 for having occasioned it. Often, indeed, 
 had he loathed the furious passions w hich 
 impelled him to disturb the peace, and 
 torture the lieart of this sweet girl ! 
 Often had he vowed to free himself 
 from their dominion ! Often had he 
 thrown himself at lier feet, and besought 
 her to forgive him ! He did so at that 
 mouient — and she accorded him her par- 
 don, instantly — willingly; — and then, 
 solicitous only to atone, and to give her 
 pleasure, he icould talk of tiiis intended 
 dance — he constrained h/mself to par-
 
 311 
 
 ticipate in the delight it appeared to 
 afford her ; and^ hoping in his secret 
 soul that Mr. Milner might find insu- 
 perable difficulties in meeting with any 
 Captains from the garrison of D — to 
 join his part}% and stipulating that she 
 was to dance with him every dance ex- 
 cepting twOj which for the sake of avoid- 
 ing impertinent observation it might 
 be as well to devote to any one else^ — 
 he prevailed upon himself to believe 
 that they really might enjoy a pleasant 
 evening. He could not_, however^ by 
 any effort of self-command^ bring him- 
 self to anticipate much delight from 
 this circumstance. Caroline was so 
 attractive, not merely on account of her 
 beauty, decided and superior as it was, 
 but from her naivete and archness of 
 manner, and the innate elegance and 
 grace which so peculiarly distinguished
 
 312 
 
 lier^ that he felt assured it would be 
 impossible to seclude her from being the 
 objectof marked attention^ to whatever 
 jrentleman she chanced to be in com- 
 pan} with. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LON DON: 
 
 miNTEO BY COX AKD BATLIS, OftKAT QUSSN STREET, 
 
 L1NC0LN*S-INN FISLUS.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUNOI8-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 047691958 
 
 
 
 
 ^ V»l 
 
 1' ' •!