.VN . .1 K V . 1 -■• L I E) RA FLY OF THE U N I VERS ITY Of ILLI NOIS v.\ The person charging this material is re- sponsible for its return to the library from which it was withdrawn on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilotion, and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result in d.sm.ssal from the University. , o-^o To renew call Telephone Center, 333-840O UNIVERSHY ,0F, ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN L161— O-1096 ^> THE BREACH OF PROMISE. Nolo ready, in 3 vols., Post 8fo, THE BLACKSMITH'S DAUGHTER, ** An Historical Novel. By the Author of " Arthur Cl.vytox." ** The Author may compare with any of James's works, whilst he is freer from historical and descriptive heaviness." — Spectator. Now ready, in 3 vols., Post %vo, THE WARD OF THE CROW N, An Historical Novel. ** Put together by a cunning hand, and animated by a mind which has got more knowledge of History than can be picked up from Novels. The story moves with rapidity, and is con- tinually varied by new characters. It is a very good Historical Novel. ' ' — Spectator. " The style is spirited and vigorous; the description natural and graphic ; the dialogue well sustained, and the incidents dramatic." — Sunday Times. Noio ready, in 3 vols., Post Svo, THE F R E A K S OF C U P I D. By an Irish Bachelor. *' The Irish Bachelor is a merry fellow. Tliose who seek amusement will be abundantly satisfied with * The Freaks of Cupid.' " The broad humorous scenes, with this free-and-easy style, go at once to the taste of the million." — Spectator. "A Novel rich with pure and racy humour." — Magnet. " The author is a very master of pathos, and a writer whose wit sparkles brightly, almost dazzlingly." — Bell's Messenger. " The author is wise, as he is witty. His humour is as pure as that of Sterne. A more pleasant book to read has not been published this century.'' — News of the IVorld. THE BREACH OF PROMISE A NOVEL. IN THREE VOLUMES. BY THE AUTHOR OF THE JILT ;" " COUSIN GEOFFERY ;" " THE MAERYING MAN ;' " THE WATCHMAKER ;" &c., &c. VOL. I. LONDON: T. C. NEWBY, 72, MORTIMER STREET. 1845. LONDON : REDING AND JUDD, PRINTERS, 1, HORSE SHOE COVRT, LUDGATE HILL. THE BREACH OF PROMISE. CHAPTER I. All was bustle and confusion, in a very small house, in a very small street, in the unfashion- able and unromantic neighbourhood of St. Pan- eras — for in this very small house, the silly inmates had undertaken to give a great dinner to a very great man ! " Great " is of course a relative term ; the dinner, old-fashioned and mean enough in itself, was " great " to those who generally VOL. I. B 2 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. knew no variation in their bill of fare, but that from mutton-chops to beef-steaks; and the guest was a " great man " in the opinion of his hosts and himself, although in the Levee and Drawing-room reports, he came in so closely packed among the other " Sirs/' as to be scarcely remarkable or remarked, and you might have sought him in vain among the more favoured cavaliers of the Queen's select balls or dinner parties. Still, though a small star enough, when larger luminaries abounded, when alone in the hea- vens, he attracted some attention, and found some worshippers. He was rich — he was the first baronet of his name — he was sHghtly Hte- rary, slightly supercilious, and slightly bald. Not being quite forty-eight, he called himself thirty-eight ; and since as yet his age had not found its way into the Baronetage, he boldly wrote himself thirty-eight in the Census, which at that time caused the Few to confess, and the ]\Iany to fib, preferring the risk of forfeiting " a THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 3 sum not under forty shillings nor above five pounds ; " preferring, I say, the chance of that risk, to the certainy of seeing himself " written down " forty-eight. His name was Sir Felix Archer; he had elevated eye-brows and elevated notions ; a pale complexion, good features, very white hands, and was scrupulously neat and elegant in his dress. He was a patron of the literati, and piqued himself on his taste in vertu and Beauty, gazing with the same cold scrutiny on both. He had been twice married; the objects of his choice had been daughters of Fashion, eminent for their charms, accomplished, and wealthy. The one, in her first youth, died of Consumption (a natural tendency to which, was probably con- firmed by, the ruinous dissipation of a succession of London seasons). The second, a full-blown and very handsome widow, expired suddenly at a ball ; some said from tight-lacing, to preserve a figure growing too stout ; some, from the efiects of injurious cosmetics, which she used to rc- ]i2 4 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. fresh a fading complexion. To his great grief, they left him childless. He mourned, not so much because he loved children, as because he loathed a certain nephew, to whom, if he had no direct descendant, his title, and some of his estates would go. This nephew he hated for many reasons, some great, some small ; but, with the little-minded, the paltriest causes of dislike often outweigh the heaviest. He hated him as a lady-killer of forty-eight generally hates an elegant and endearing young man of three-and- twenty ; as a middle-aged and frivolous world- ling hates the assumption of superiority implied by steadier conduct, higher motives, and more serious views, in a younger man ; as a pre- tender to scholarship hates a man of real genius and classical eminence ; but, above all, he hated him because he had boldly criticised his Essay on Taste, ridiculed a new carriage he had in- vented, and defeated him in argument. This nephew was not dependent on him. He had inherited the estate, and taken the name, THE BREACH OF PROMISE. O of a friend who had reared him. But, as matters stood, he was Sir Fehx Ai'cher's heir, and dehghted in teasing the ci-devant jeune homme. This was the " great man," expected in the small house of the poor, the struggling, the ambitious, and almost heart-broken Temples — the Temples, originally his superiors by birth and education, but who had been going down hill more ra^^idly even than he had been going up. Alas ! in all things the going down, is so much the quicker and easier process of the two. Why one could unravel in a few minutes what it had taken many hours to weave — one could spend in a morning the savings of years, and forget in one hour the lessons of a life. In all things it is the same — how hard to learn, how easy to unlearn ; witness all ye with little Latin and less Greek, who yet came forth (not so very long ago) crowned with honours from the arms of " Alma Mater." And the Rev. Henry Tem- ple loas one of Alma Mater's favourite sons ; — 6 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. from Captain at Eton, he had become fellow at King's ; — he was a fine mathematician, and an elegant Grecian ; — but foolishly marrying before he had got a living, he found, too late, he had a living to get. The first few years of his wedded life were spent comfortably enough, in expectation of a good living, and in possession of a poor curacy in the parish of St. Pancras. As this curacy, with the notions they had then, did little more than pay rent and taxes, they thought them- selves obliged, after spending Mr. Temple's small property, to sell out fifteen hundred pounds' worth of stock, the sole dowry of his beautiful wife, though she ivas a daughter of one of our oldest families. Thus for some time they lived in tolerable style on Capital and a Curacy — on Love and Hope ; the former soon dwindled away — so soon, that they could scarce- ly believe it was gone ! The Curacy, the Love, and the Hope remained to them ! They had been kind to the poor when they had means ; surely THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 7 now they were poor, some would be kind to them ? Besides, they both had friends. Alas ! Alas ! Mr. Temple's friends and Mrs. Temple's friends turned, as " friends " generally do on such occasions, into relentless foes. Poor Tem- ple had a long struggle, a fierce, protracted struggle, with Fate. He was often nearly con- quered, but never quite, for the wife he had chosen proved indeed the Angel of life. She always comforted, never condemned; and not even when a plan failed or an expectation was frustrated, did she come in, with the usual matrimonial remark, " I always foretold it " — " I knew it would be so." She blamed her- self, she blamed others, she blamed the dark march of dark events, but " she never blamed him, never." She loved him after eighteen years (all winters), all struggle, hope deferred, and often bitter disappointment; she loved him better, more tenderly, more earnestly, more reverently, than when, with the trusting heart of early girlhood, she set out with him for his 8 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. sole estate, a freehold in the fairy-land of Hope ! He had tried everything; and as they had nor begged nor starved, he could not be said to have failed. He had gone through every thing ; he had had pupils, and had found that with the very poor, pupils soon become masters. He lost his authority directly he was obhged to beg for his money. The Temples had tried boarders too, but they found they reaped nothing from them but discontent and insult, and the last proved to be a sort of private amateur maniac, who was called ^^ harmless," because she never harmed herself; but who took great de- light in slyly cutting notches in tables and chairs, and picking holes in her neighbours' coats (but that last is an universal mania). This lady's friends were glad to get her out to board, but, like the memorable " bad half-crown," she was always coming back to them. The poor Temples, who had nothing of the Jew about them, were several pounds the losers by her THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 9 miscliievous depredations, and by her were finally wearied with the profitless speculation, boarders must be, to people who cannot learn to be sordid. At length, Mr. Temple took to his pen — he might almost as well have taken to his bed. A great poet has said, " the pen is mightier than the sword;" it may be so to destroy, but to support, alas ! a broken reed is that same jjen { Yet, with this broken reed, after many trials ! many failures ! and — alas ! for manhood too se- verely tried — many tears ! he did keep the wolf from the door. This trifling success was the result of some articles he contributed to a religious periodical — articles remarkable at once for their piety, their research, and their exquisite diction ; their favourable reception induced him to pub- lish four volumes of his best sermons — luckily on half profits, or he might have been in gaol ; as it was, experience was all his share of tlie profit — it was bought dear ; many months of 10 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. labour and of hope before publication, a fever and six weeks in bed after it ! He returned to the Theological Quarterly a wiser man. At a dinner given by his publisher, he one day met Sir Felix Archer, who had himself pubHshed the before-mentioned Essay on Taste, which no one had had taste enough to read, even when sent to them gratis " from the au- thor." He was a college friend of Temple's. The wine was good, and after dinner Sir Felix grew gracious. He asked Temple to call upon him, and Temple, who had seen the day when his notice (he being one of the cleverest and most popular fellows of King's) was an honour to Felix Archer, dreamt he had found a pa- tron, and called the next morning in Portland Place. He saw several powdered footmen with tags and sticks, and conceited aii's, a fine hall, a large chair, and heard that Sir FeUx was just going out, in evidence of which his carriage was at the door. With that sickness, the sight THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 11 of great wealth, and the exhibition of menial insolence, produces in the heart, where beat the sensitive pulses of the poor, but gently born, he left his card and his new article, and hastened away. Mrs. Temple, although she would not own it, was much surprised at his quick return. Hope, like all other powers of the mind, actu- ally grows with exercise — no disappointment had taught her to cease to hope. The most inordinate expectations arc generally enter- tained by those who have been the most con- stantly and cruelly disappointed. No people have such faith in fairies as the most destitute among the Irish poor ; and our own used at one time to all but starve themselves, in order to purchase shares in a lottery-ticket. However, she kept her hopes and her disaj)- pointmcnts to herself; but Sir Felix Archer was a gentleman, and so, on the third day, he returned the call. Certainly he had no idea of going in to the little house, at sight of which 12 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. his eye-brows elevated themselves still more than usual. Out of the large dark hood of his mysterious-looking cab came a small hand and a small card ; and his little tiger had just given an immense ra-p, when Sir Felix, glancing up at the first-floor windoAv, saw the beautiful pro- file of a young girl who was seated there, and who, aroused by the unwonted uproar, turned towards him a face which, seen in full, was lovelier still. In a moment Sii* Felix had al- tered his intention ; there was enough resem- blance between the young girl and his old friend for him to decide that she was his daughter ; in a minute more he was in the room with her and her father. Lucilla Temple, not much interested in the stranger — " Upon whose forehead middle age Had slightly set its signet sage," after having been prevented by her father from leaving the room, sank quietly down again on THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 13 the old folios, on which she had been sitting. She had been engaged in reading an impas- sioned poem to her father, and the enthusiasm she had felt still kindled her eyes and flushed her cheeks; her beautiful chesnut hair fell on a very simple morning dress of classic cut, and her whole air and figure was that of a young sibyl. The father noted the effect she produced on the cold connoisseur. He was a father, and he remembered the house in Portland Place, the footmen, the tags, the sticks, the chair, the hall, the carriage ; he drew Lucilla out : he made her read a few passages of the poem be- fore her, and mentioning that she was herself a poetess, he easily induced Sir Felix to implore a recitation. The poem was graceful and new; the recitation animated and feeling ; but, above all, the poetess was lovely. The cold Sir Felix was almost warmed into admiration ; he paid a long visit (for him), shook his friend's hand cordially, called liim 14 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. " Temple/' and hinted at something about the pleasure of seeing him to dinner. What chronicler could record all the hopes and fancies of the parents' hearts, that beat that night within the walls of that small house ! The next day came a haunch of venison from Sir Felix, and the rash Temples invited him to dinner on the third day from the receipt of this important but ill-judged present. CHAPTER II. What a mistake it is in the poor and ambi- tious to fancy they increase a good impression by giving a bad dinner ! And what dinner could the Temples give that would not have seemed bad to Sir Felix Archer, who was con- sidered, even in London, a first-rate Amjihy- trion ? But then, Mr. Temple thought if his old friend could but sec more of Lucilla ! could but hear her sing songs of her own writing ! hear her converse, when quite at ease ! If he had been so struck with her in her morning dress, and 16 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. with her dishevelled hair, what would he be when he saw her arrayed for conquest, in all the witchery of white muslin and smooth ringlets ! Lucilla was not informed of her parents' hopes, but she had a woman's instinct where a matrimonial speculation was concerned. Sir Felix was not her beau ideal! — as yet indeed, only her ideal heau. But he had admired her ; he was elegant, rich, desired by her parents, and she was heart-whole. And so, she was (unlike a true heroine) very anxious to shine before him ; and she combed and brushed her hair into its brightest gloss, and washed and ironed her muslin dress, and spent her only sixpence in a bunch of lilies of the valley. Then there was her brother Tom : who could tell but that Sir Felix, being so well disposed, might take a fancy to this smart lad, and get him into something ? Tom was just at the age of incipient pedantry, incipient dandjdsm, and confirmed awkwardness. THE BREACH OF PROMISE. IT His charms consisted in a jacket buttoned to the chin, a high stock, a pan* of tight Welling- tons, and a wet brush. There had been some doubt whether he should dine at table ; but as he had resolved, if he did not appear at dinner, not to appear at all, his presence was prepared for. Intense fatigue preceded the important day ! There was such borrowing and hiring — such hopes and disappointments — such vain attempts at making an old lamp burn — and in everything such grand beginnings, and such " lame and im- potent conclusions;" but in what human un- dertaking is not that more or less the case ? What genius falls not far short in his best pro- duction of his own original conception ? It is not very easy to preside at once in the kitchen and the drawing-room. The stupid maid of all work could do nothing unprompted ; Lucilla and her mother were flushod, weari( d, and obliged to hasten to their toilets, leaving the fate of the dinner in the black hands of a 18 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. girl, who originally had not two ideas, and who was now too frightened to retain one. Mr. Temple was half-frantic ; some wine he had or- dered had not arrived, and in rushing ont to ascertain the cause of delay, he knocked down a little boy with a large basket of glasses, hired for the occasion. Then a " tiger" had been borrowed of a friend in the street to wait at table. He was very con- ceited, and ere long, Tom, who was passionate, engaged in a scuffle with him. The " tiger," wiry and old, though small, gave Tom a black eye, which gave him a sinister appearance. Mrs. Temple, having severely reprimanded Jock, the " tiger," for the evil deed he had done, probably awoke the vengeance of that small but determined creature ; for even while she was hastily washing off the effect of her culi- nary avocations in the back drawing-room, which was converted into a bed-room, Jock ac- tually flung open the door, and ushered in Sir Felix Archer ! THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 19 Then there was a scream, and a rush from the lady, and a supercilious apology from the gentleman, who retreated to the landing-place, where he met Lucilla, slipping down stairs to get her dress fastened by the maid of all work. At this moment, Tom came forth with his black eye, and did the honours. Having been told to spare no pains to please his probable patron, he chattered on with a mixture of flippancy and pedantry ; and before dinner was announced, he had heartily wearied and disgusted Sir Felix. That grandee having been put out of temper by the mistake made at his arrival, coldly handed Mrs. Temple down stairs, and sate unbending and supercilious during dinner, eating scarcely anything, and not even smiling at some rather old stories and jokes Tom was relating from the renowned " Joe Miller." As to Lucilla, who had been placed opposite to him, after one glance he took no notice of her : tired, flushed, her hair stiflly curled, and in a scanty ill-made white frock, 20 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. she was not tlie same being he had actually longed to see again. Expectation ended wdth her, too, as it generally does with all, in disap- pointment. Fatigue and worry depressed her spirits, and instead of being able to amuse her father's guest, she was scarcely able to repress her tears. The dinner was horrible ! Yes, there is no disguising the fact — it was positively horrible ! The Irish maid of all work had let soot fall into the soup ; the fish was parboiled, the chickens were in rags, the venison Avas raw, the melted butter was fall of lumps of flour, the custards were turned, and the jelly melting away. Sir Felix coldly refused almost ever5i:hing, or sent away his plate after having (evidently with effort) tasted its contents. The only thing he seemed to approve of was a pastry-cook's sponge-cake. Mr. Temple tried to talk of Church and State, of Politics, of Literature, but his guest would not be drawn out. He refused any dessert, though Lucilla offered to prepare THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 21 his strawberries, and Tom to cut him an orange into the shape of a pig. As soon as possible, Mrs. Temple gave the signal to her daughter, and they adjourned to the dra^ving-room to bewail their failure and all the needless expense they had incurred. " Perhaps your father and his wine may get him into a good humour, my love," said poor Mrs. Temple, sinking, half dead, into an arm- chair. " See about the tea and coffee, dearest ; I can do no more." '^ I told him," said Tom, " how, when first tea was introduced, ladies used to hand round the leaves and eat them with sugar ; but he took no notice." " He takes no notice of anything, or any one," said Lucilla, arranging her hair at the glass ; " do you watch, Tom, and let me know when they are coming up." Tea and coffee waited, and so did the ladies, but in vain. After about an hour, they heard wheels under the window ; the street door 22 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. opened, and Tom, who had been watching on the stairs rushed up aghast, to say Sii' Felix Archer was gone ! . . In a few moments Mr. Temple came up alone : he was pale and agitated ; he merely said, " Sir Felix left his compliments and regrets he could not join you." " Did you ask him to assist you in publishing your large work ? " " I did." " And what did he reply?" " I forget what ; some superciliously polite refusal." " Did you beg him to enable you to meet that dreadful bill, due next Saturday?" " No, I did not. I could not. I ca?t go to prison. I could not ask him ; he would take no hint. He grew so cold, so proud, so guarded when I even approached the subject of my dreadful trials. No, no, I could not do it ; but I can go to prison, and, what is more, I 7nust.^'' " Oh ! if you had but asked him." THE BREACH OF PROMISE. ^3 " I tell you, I could not do it : do not irritate me ; do not goad, and taunt me now— I am not myself;" and he hurried out of the room. " I goad ! I taunt him ! " cried the poor wife, hastening after him. " Dearest, let me speak to you ; you always have found comfort in me, and you always shall." He had hurried upstairs, and closed the door. " Let me in, I implore you," she sobbed, " if only to tell you on my knees I meant no offence. Oh, think how long we have suffered together ! What have I done that now you should exclude me from your heart ? Do not — for the sake of the Past, do not." The husband could resist no longer ; he gently opened the door. The wife saw he had been weeping. *^ I wished to escape your contempt, my love," he said. " Oh ! do not speak thus, you will kill me ; and she flung herself wildly on his bosom. In a moment she was lifeless at his feet. The odious fatigues of that wretched day, and the 24 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. intense anguish of her heart, had been too much for the wearied frame of a very delicate woman ; she had burst a blood vessel — and Mr. Temple — ghastly pale, and wild with alarm, raised and placed on a bed — her white di'ess stained with blood — the corpse-like form of that devoted wife. CHAPTER III. Ah ! before real sorrow, how paltry seem all the vanities of life ! What was Sir Felix Archer now ? All his wealth, all his patronage, could not have soothed one pang poor Temple felt, while " Death's dark angel " seemed to hover over the form of that dear and devoted wife. Every thought, every feeling, is so en- grossed by this sudden and terrible event, that everything else, of however recent occurrence, seems dim and indistinct, and as if long past away ! It seeme a year sinced Sir Felix sate at the wretched table, with his odious and supcr- VOL. I. c 26 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. cilious smile ; it seemed an age since that clear wife, now extended before him, wan and corpse-like, was flitting about with a feverish cheek and an anxious eye, trying, in her own delicate and weakly self, to supply the place of all the attendants necessary to the proper serv- ing up of one good dinner. Then came the countless horrors of self-reproach ! Why did he let her do it? What was Sir Felix, what all the world, to him, compared ^^dth her ? If she died, it would seem as if he had sacrificed het' to Vanity and Ambition. Alas ! poor Temple ! well may'st thou weep ! For some days Mrs. Temple's fate was doubt- ful. The nearest surgeon (luckily, a very clever oiie) was in constant attendance ; Lucilla, in anguish too deep for tears, watched and waited, and did his bidding. Temple sat by the bed, the very statue of Despair ; and poor Tom, in his own little room, nearly cried his eyes out. Then crowded back on the husband's tor- tured mind, as he watched through the long THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 27 hours of twilight and of night, the ghosts of vanished hours. The ransacked Past did not furnish one cokl look, one bitter word, one unkind deed, to make him tolerate the thought of losing her, for a moment. No ! no ! Life had not been to them the pleasure-boat upon the sunny sea, which, sanguine and poetical, they had expected it to prove. But storm and tempest had made them cling to each other — they were companions of the wreck — the wreck that bore them to those arid realms where Poverty is Queen. They had none to love, and woo, and court them but each other ; for who woos or courts the Hopeless and the Poor ! And so they loved, indeed ! and Temple, as he knelt beside his wife, breathed a vow, if she were but spared him, manfully to meet all evils, but her loss, and never to repine at any fate she shared : and she was spared! The dread, the danger was o'er. Ah, who could recognise the ruined man in that enraptured one ? His tears, which fall like rain, they seem to freshen and revive c2 28 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. the buds of Hope and Joy; his difficulties, his responsibilities — he has forgotten them all. He may talk to her, read to her, comfort her, and she can press his hand and smile, and weakly murmur that she is blest. Lucilla, too ! how terrible a fear is gone ! how crushing a weight removed ! She is free to think, to act, to plan, and to consult with Tom, who is consoling himself for past self-denial, by making a gorgeous kite to fly the day his mamma first goes out. Lucilla, more provident than her father, and reminded of their peril by her poor mother, even when at the worst, ponders on the bill now nearly due. She tiu'ns over again and again in her mind the facts of the case. But it always comes to this — in a day or two it will be pre- sented. She was no novice in such matters ; she knew that, whatever else failed, an accepted bill never foiled to show itself at the appointed day ; she had no hope it would not come, but she had some faint idea, offspring of filial THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 29 piety and self-devotion, that without awaking her poor father from his happy trance, she might contrive to meet it, or get it renewed. Her colour rose, and her heart beat, as she thought of the difficulties she must encounter, the rebuffs she might meet ; but what where they, if her parents could be spared at such a time ! She knew her father had given this bill to his tailor, and she knew w^here that tailor lived ! Courage ! then — she would go to him — entreat him only to give time, a little time ; and so she ran up stairs to consult Tom. Now there is nothing so unsympathizing as a boy^ and nothing more directly opposed in views, tastes, and feelings, than a girl of seventeen and a boy of thirteen. This Lucilla was soon fated to discover ; for though Tom had felt acutely and wept bitterly at the idea of losing his fond and beloved mother, now that she was out of danger he cared for nothing ; his joy was as boundless as his grief had been. 30 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. He did not enter at all into the terrors about the bill which tortured poor Lucilla ; he inhe- rited all his father's boundless power of hoping of shutting out the future ; and when Lucilla opened the door of Tom's own room, she saw him seated on the floor, on which was spread the giant kite, his hands and face daubed with paste and paint, suiTounded by prints, and shreds of gold and silver paper, and by his side, hard at work, helping and improving, Jock, the " tiger, " once his foe, and now his bosom friend. Privately had Jock been admitted, and stealthily had he skulked up staii's ; though old and cunning, there was one boyish feeling in Jock's heart, and that was an ardent love of play of any kind, toys of every kind ; and though he could drive and drink, and box and swear, he was as much interested in the kite as Tom himself. He started to his feet at being, in his own language, " catched out; " and began to mutter a THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 31 ready lie, about being that moment come from his master, with a message to know how ^Irs. Temple was. ^^ Pshaw," said Tom, who had a great con- tempt for petticoat government, " never mind her — ^it's only sister Lucy ; — tell the truth and shame the devil, Jock ; you've been here some hours, but that's nothing to sister ! She's not my mistress — are you, Lucy ? " " No, dear ; not your mistress, only your sister and your friend ; sorry to see you wast- ing your time so, and making Jock waste his, and perhaps lose his place." " Nonsense, Lucy ! I wish you would'nt — look here, do you call that a waste of time ? Why, when I fly that in Hyde Park, there'll be crowds admiring it; and there's some plea- sure in having one's work admired, I can tell you." " Petikeler by the Public, miss !" observed Jock ; " and they can't be off admiring tliat 'ere." 3^ THE BREACH OF PROMISE. " Isn't it beautiful, sister?" " It is, indeed; I admire it very much, and I hope to see you fly it some day, Tom." "Well, now, there's a dear," said Tom, reddening with pleasure ; and j^roving by his appreciation of his sister's praise that his con- tempt of her opinion was indeed assumed. " Come, Jock, let's get on ; I'll step down for the other pot of paste." " I wanted to speak to you, dear, on some- thing of importance," said Lucilla. " Well, never mind Jock ; speak out, he'll never tell — he's as close as wax," said Tom, pasting on a gold border. " But, Tom, I want you to leave the kite now, and come out Avith me on business. I want your advice, your assistance, your protec- tion." " Oh ! that's quite a diiFerent thing," said Tom, proudly, flattered at this appeal to his manhood. " But can't Jock help ? he's a fa- mous hand at advising and assisting." THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 33 " When I make a kite/' said Lucilla, smiling, " I will ask his advice and assistance ; but now I want my brother's alone." Tom drew himself up, pulled up his collar, and sapng, " Well, Jock, I'm wanted now, you see ; slip out again this evening, if you can/' he strutted proudly down stairs after his sister, calling out, " I'm ready, Lucilla ; Vm your manV Tom's heart and soul were so enthely in the kite he had left behind, that he gave a very di- vided attention to the financial part of Lucilla's conversation about the bill ; but he readily ar- gued that nothing could be done without him, and that the idea of her going out unprotected by him was absurd ; and so he armed himself with his father's walking-stick, that he might be the better able to protect his sister. Having once made up her mind to go and do her best, and let nothing dishearten or deter her, ] lu- cilla, with the coquetry of seventeen, arrayed herself as well as a very scanty wardrobe Mould c3 34 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. admit. Her bonnet was very shabby — but then her mother had a black velvet hat and feathers : it was not very seasonable, but it was very be- coming, and so she put it on ; and borrowing too a somewhat antique " mode " from the ma- ternal wardrobe, she looked like one of Sir Joshua's pictures, just stepped do^n from its frame. Lucilla looked into her mother's room, and whispered, " Papa, dear ! I am going to take a walk with Tom, as you so wish it." Mr. Temple looked up from the book he had been reading for hours (in spite of the darkened windows) to his suffering wife. It was " Tay- lor's Holy Living and Dying," one of the best of good books. Lucilla looked so lovely, so picturesque, that he almost involuntarily said, " It is scarcely safe for you, Lucilla, to go out in the evening with no protector but a boy. However, do not be late, love. You want aii- and exercise after so close a watch." THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 35 " Let me see her/' said the mother, faintly ; " poor dear, no wonder she wishes to go out a little. "We were young once," she said to Mr. Temple, as if apologetically for Lucilla. Lucilla restrained herself; she did not even hint why she wished to go out. She sate for a moment on the bed, and looked around the darkened room. It was so eloquent of illness and of suffering, her eyes filled with tears ; there was the labelled phial, the glass, the spoon, a plate with the cut orange, which had failed to tempt, and seemed drying up in despair ; the untasted tea, grown cold and uninviting ; a Naples biscuit or two, currant-jelly, vehicle of a bitter potion — as flattery often is of some " censure in disguise ;" the Bible — best friend of sick and well; flowers which told of the sunny world beyond, but drooping fast in the sickly gloom ; and on the mantelpiece the con- valescent leeches, still languid and inert, and paying, with ruined constitutions, for their late excesses; sighing, perhaps, if leeches can sigh, S6 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. (as the pricked paper admitted just enough warm air to keep them alive) for their native home in some ^^ond, fanned by fi'esh breezes, where they could revel in the cool green weeds. Ah ! to what had the thii'st of blood brought them ! Oh ! how sad is a sick room ! any sick room bnt a mother's ! how heart-rending ! " Go, my love ; you will be so late," said the invalid. " Had not Norah better go with you ?" She forgot that Xorah had been up for two nights, and had everything to do ; but invalids always forget these things. Lucilla kissed her mother's hand, and stole out, wiping away her tears. Tom, meantime, had raised liimself at least an inch in reality, and a foot in his own con- ceit, by means of an old pair of high-heeled Well- ingtons, belonging to his flither ; he had also donned a stiff black stock of Mr. Temj^le's, much too deep for his neck, and which pushed his ruddy cheeks uj) to his eyes, and made it very difficult to turn his head. What with his THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 37 stock, his stick, his Wellingtons, and his strut, he certainly did look quite a caricature. The boys seemed to think so ; some called out — " There's a reg'lar swell !" some — " Does your mother know you're out?" some — "What a shocking bad hat!" (which, alas! in spite of damping and brushing, was true) ; and one little wretch exclaimed — " Has your mother sold her mangle ?" But Tom's air was so resolute, and his stick so thick and knotted, that these insults only reached him from the distance. Lucilla per- suaded him the boys who uttered them were too small and beggarly to be worthy of his ven- geance, or to be noticed by him in any way ; and certainly all the young men of a better class, who might have amused themselves in ridiculing Toni, were intent only on admiring Lucilla. Besides, Tom could not look round ^vathout turning his whole body — so steep and tight was his stock — and so he gave up the idea. CHAPTEE IV. It was not very long before Lucilla and Tom got into the more crowded streets ; and here were so many figures stranger than even Tom;, that he passed comparatively unheeded. It must be something ludicrous, indeed, to be much stared at in Holborn or Oxford Street, in the height of the season. Tom walked along very proudly ; looked fiercely at any one who stared at Lucilla ; made himself as tall as he could ; told her to lean on him, and always placed her inside. Lucilla could hardly help laughing, but she did THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 39 refrain ; she would not have hurt Tom's feel- ings for the world. Her heart was full of the bill, his of the kite ; so of course they talked rather at cross-purposes. At length they reached the tailor's ; he lived in Oxford Street : at the door stood two wax fio^ures of boys, dressed out in jackets and trousers. They seemed to fix their glassy eyes on her ! Oh, yes, this was the shop ; there was the name over the door, " Mr. Fitz Pucker ;" and now she had not courage to go in ! Tom was so taken up looking at some gay waistcoats and braided jackets (which he thought would exactly suit him), that he did not notice his sister's hesitation, and her pale cheek. The thought of her parents crossed her mind; she clasped her hands ; breathed an inward prayer for strength and for success, and went in. Tom strutted in after her. She saw a foreman, the pink of dandies, a great beauty in his own opinion and in that of the " young ladies" who served and coquetted in the 40 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. adjoining shops. His hair was parted down the middle, and curled in jetty ringlets, and he was evidently intended to show off in his own per- - son the newest and most outre fashions : he tripped up quite ready to take Tom's measure. " Dress coat, cut-away, or surtout, Sir? " " I don't want either," said Tom, reddening. " I should say you do. Sir," he lisped, eyeing Tom through his glass, and balancing himself on the toe of a patent leather boot ; " very old cut, Sii% that jacket — quite out — quite out. Sir — quite obsolete. Sir." " We are here to see Mr. Fitz Pucker on business," said Lucilla. " Oh ! that's a different thing," said the man, altering his tone ; he haint hin, miss ; tliis haint one of his 'ome hours. Sit do\\ai, miss — 'ow can I tempt you ?" and he tried to look bewitching — " a 'abit, miss ? noble figgur for oss-back, miss ; quite a hequestran stature ! Her Majesty's a « noble OSS-woman ; show you the last Wictoriar riding 'abit ; this way, miss, if you ^^lease." THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 41 " I do not want a habit now, but I wish very much to see Mr. Fitz Pucker," said Lucilla ; when will he be in ? it is very important to me ; she looked up with so much anxiety in her beau- tiful eyes, that even the dandy tailor foreman was touched. '' He may be in directly, miss ; sit down," he said. "He's only just stepped over the way; I'll run and call him. Like to look at our book, miss ? well writ — first-rate literary talent, miss." Mechanically, Lucilla turned over the leaves of a succession of puffs, some in prose, some in rhyme. Their exquisite absurdity forced a smile even from her quivering lips. Tom mean- while examined himself in a cheval glass from top to toe, and as he gazed at the bran-new garments around, fresh with that first gloss of novelty, so attractive in both acquaintances and coats, he grew more and more out of conceit with his own attire. The good-natured dandy skijipcd back, and 42 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. alighting on his toe, a la Zephyr, close to the anxious and expectant Lucilla, said — " He'll be 'ere hinstanter, miss ; only con- wersing with a nobleman hover the way, miss. 'Ere he is ! The young lady who vants to speak with you on petikeler business, Mr. Fitz Pucker. Now, miss, I'll leave you in his 'ands." Lucilla looked up, pale and trembling. Mr. Fitz Pucker was a little, shrewd, bustling- looking man ; his keen eyes (keener through theu" spectacles) seemed to look her through ; he was so thoroughly a business-looking person, that poor Lucilla felt that the passionate and eloquent appeal to his feelings which she had been framing would be quite vain. With a chilled heart, she said, " Can I speak to you a moment alone?" He led the way to the end of the shop, heed- less that the cashier, perched up in a railed desk, could overhear every word ; but Lucilla saw he was impatient, so she began : " ^ly name is Temple, Mr. Temple's daughter. He THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 48 gave you a bill, three months ago. It will be due the day after to-morrow." " And will be met, I 'ope," he said, sternly. " I fear it cannot Could it not be renewed ?" '^ I have nothing to do with it, miss. I am not the 'older ; I have paid it away, in the course of business. It is not in my 'ands." " Then who has it now?" asked Lucilla, pallid with terror, and with starting tears. " I dare say it has passed through a dozen hands by this time. I paid it to Trueblue and Co., clothiers. Bond Street ; but that is a month ago. " Oh ! what will be done ?" said poor Lucilla, clasping her hands. " Why, it will be presented when and where it was made payable ; dishonoured, noted, and your par '11 be served with the copy of a writ, and serVe him right too ; what did he go for to accept a bill for, if he could not meet it ? — very ungentlemanly. " " Oh, it is not his fault. My mother has been 44 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. ill, almost dying, and he could not see to it, as he would have done ; but he only wants it renewed." " Renewed ! 'tain't business-like ; he didn't ought to have accepted it." " Tell me what I can do in it ? you shall be no loser indeed." " Oh, I shan't be no loser, by it, only its a very 'otard sort of thing. All you can do is to go to Trueblue and Co., and see what they say." " May I use your name." " Not by no means, if you please ; I've no- thing to do with it ;" and he turned away. " Come, Tom," said poor Lucilla, holding down her head to hide her tears. Tom tore himself from the contemplation of a braided jacket with a velvet collar. At the door, looking out for admirers, stood the dandy foreman. "Where does ^Ir. Trueblue live?" asked Lucilla. THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 45 The foreman guessed what was the matter, from her pale cheek and tearful eyes. " No. 810, Old Bond Street, miss. Stop ; if it's about a bill, ask to see Miss Trueblue — tell her all about it ; ask her to interest herself about it ; and hadd, with Mr. Frederick Smirk's com- pliments^ she'd petikerlarly oblige me by getting her par to-come into terms. She'll do it, miss, or my name ain't Mr. Frederick Smirk. I'm a gentleman, miss, and if I give you my word, you may be easy. Though circumstances frown on me 'now, I'm a gentleman, and noble blood flows in my veins ; but that's neither here nor there!" He looked so excited, Lucilla feared he was mad; but luckily, a pretty shop-girl passed, and in looking after her, Mr. Smirk forgot himself. " Good day," said Lucilla, "and thank you, sincerely;" and on she hurried, with Tom full of hussar jackets and military trousers !" CHAPTER y. How beat Lucilla's heart, as she reached the large and gloomy-looking cloth warehouse of " Trueblue and Co. ! " She knocked at the private door, and asked for Miss Trueblue. A servant showed her up stairs, opened the door of a drawing-room, splendidly furnished, and left her and Tom to contrast their old-fashioned and old-looking attu-c, as reflected in the pier- glasses, with the costly and modern elegance of all around. The carpet seemed too bright and costly for their dusty feet ; the yellow satin chairs and THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 47 cushions too exquisite for any one to sit upon (unless robed in white satin). A splendid harp stood by a superb piano ; a beautiful water- colour drawing on a table in the window, and not quite finished, announced Miss Trueblue to be no mean artist. Brushes and colours lay around. " What a shame," whispered Tom, " that a cloth-merchant should live in a palace like this, and such a gentleman as papa in such a shabby little hole : Miss Trueblue to have such a piano as that, and you that old rattle at home ! I declare it's too bad. I've a great mind to smash yours when I get home." ^^ Then I should have none, Tom," said Lu- cilla, smiling at his petulance. " And do look at her paint-box, and yours ; that battered old fright mamma had at school. Well, I do hope you'll thi'ow that out of window when we get home." " No, no, Tom ; it is by taking care of old things, and making the best of them, that people 48 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. are enabled to j]^ct new ones. I dare say Mr' Trueblue never threw away anything m his life." Tom was proceeding to advocate his destruc- tive principle with more zeal than wisdom, when the door opened, and a little deformed woman entered. She was dressed with the nicest care, and in the richest materials, and her pale face had an intellectual and amiable expression, although that inexplicable something, which always ac- companies deformity, could be clearly traced there. As Lucilla di'ew near her, they formed a curious contrast ; Miss Trueblue, her thin haii', parted Avith the greatest nicety, and its defi- ciency supplied behind by bows of riband matching it in colour; her collar of exquisite French work, her dress of a rich light silk, her embroidered satin apron, her elegant watch and costly chain, everything, even to her brace- lets and reticule, announced wealth ; but the plebeian was legible in all. Lucilla, on the con- THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 49 traiy, in her mother's velvet hat and feathers, somewhat rusty ; her quaint ^' mode,^^ of brown- ish black, with its once rich but now faded lace, and her plain white dress, her redundant silken hair, somewhat uncurled, floating on her shoul- ders, her face of patrician beauty, and her tall, fine form, seemed an incarnation of beautiful and well-born poverty — Miss Trueblue, of wealthy plebeianism. Tom, as he stared at the latter, thought, that in spite of the piano and the paint-box, Lucilla was the best off. *^ You are come, I presume, in answer to my advertisement," said Miss Trueblue, in a sweet though somewhat melancholy voice. Lucilla, blushed, and Tom coloured to the very roots of his reddish hair, as rushing into the discourse, before Lucilla was quite ready to speak, he said — " Advertisement ! not we ! Papa is a real gen- tleman, though in distress ; we're come about a bill ! " "Hush, Tom!" said Lucilla; "I ought to VOL. I. D 50 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. apologize for intruding, Miss Trneblue ; but I was authorized to do so, by a person, who said, if I mentioned his name, you would, perhaps, use your influence with your j^^P^? on our behalf. My father (as my brother said just now) is in great distress." " Pa's of a very old family, and is a very great scholar," said Tom; " he's third cousin to the Earl of Lofty, and " " Hush, Tom, it is foolish to talk of that, when I am just going to beg Miss Trueblue to ask her father (as a charity) to let Papa renew a bill Mr. Trueblue holds of his." *• Charity ! Lucy ; I'm sui'e papa would'nt like your saying that Pa's often told me him- self, our family goes back to the Conquest — " "And ours to the Creation," said Miss Trueblue, smiling. Tom was quite taken aback. " Oh, yes ! that's quite a diflferent thing ! " he said. " It is an older date, young gentleman ; but let me hear what your sister has to say. I fancy THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 51 something more to the point than yonr genea- logy." " Do be quiet, Tom ! " said Lucilla, aside to him; and Tom, much disconcerted, began to smooth with his hand his napless hat. " The simple fact is," said Lucilla, her eyes filling with tears, " my father, the Rev. Mr. Temple, accepted a bill three months ago, and gave it to Mr. Fitz Pucker, in payment of his account ; it will be due to-morrow, but papa cannot meet it. My mother has been recently at the point of death ; her illness has engrossed all my father's attention, all his energies. It will be presented, dishonoured, noted ; and papa, I suppose, arrested. I have been to Fitz Pucker ; he says he has paid the bill into Mr. Trueblue's hands, and so I am come here, to beg him to let papa renew it — to have it presented, now mamma is still so ill, will be such a blow ! " " I hope Mrs. Temple is out of danger ? " said Miss Trueblue, with an expression in her d2 .....wroCTV OF Un^^^'^ 52 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. eyes that made her look, Lucilla thought, quite lovely. " She is, but I di'ead a relapse." " I never do interfere in business. Had you not better see papa ? He is a great invalid, but still " " Oh ! your influence alone can avail ; " and Lucilla's tears gushed forth. " Do use it, I beg." . . . " I declare," said Tom, rising, " you're going on just like a beggar, Lucy ; I'm sui'e papa'd be very angry. I'll see Mr. Trueblue myself. He won't refuse to let a gentleman like papa renew a bill; he'll be sure to meet it." " Do you know from what soui'ce he will be sure to meet it? " asked Miss Trueblue, gently. " Oh ! I don't exactly know just now ; but, oh ! something's sure to turn up," said Tom. " Ah ! I think my father would consider that poor security." " My brother knows nothing about it," said Lucilla, collecting herself. " Mr. Fitz Pucker THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 53 would give me no liope^ but a person there recommended me to apply to you, and kindly told me to use his name, and to say, if you would prevail on Mr. Trueblue to let jDapa renew the bill, you would greatly oblige Mr. Frederick Smirk." Miss Trueblue started, and her salloAV Lon- don complexion became suffused with the deepest blush ; even Lucilla, novice as she was, thought her emotion strange. A more ex- perienced person would have seen at once, that Miss Trueblue, in spite of her wealth, her su- perior position, her fii'st-rate education, and her great natural talents, had fallen romantically in love with this good-natured but empty-headed dandy foreman, the Adonis of Oxford Street. Yes, so it was ; at one time he had been in Trueblue's service as clerk, and had been dis- missed because old Trueblue recognised his hand in a valentine sent to his daughter. He expected her to marry at least a gentleman, and had had her educated with that view ; but she. 54 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. spite of her natural gifts and acquired accom- plishments, valued nothing so much as those charms of form and face nature had denied her- self. Next to these, she prized birth ; and it Avas a curious coincidence, and as if to com- plete her delusion and Mr. Smirk's power, that he was an illegitimate descendant of a noble family. Love snatched at this ; she whispered to herself, that noble blood flowed in his veins, and that his beauty was that of a Norman knight, instead of being that of an English tailor. It is an infatuation very common to the deformed and humbly born, to prize beauty and noble blood above all things. " Is Mr. Frederick Smirk an acquaintance of yours?" she said, a jealous suspicion darting across her mind. " An acquaintance of Lucy's?" said Tom ; " why, he's only a shopman; we never saw him before." " Though only a shopman," said Miss True- blue, " he is a friend of mine, and will surely THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 55 be a friend of yours, young Sir, if tlu'ougli his intercession your papa's bill is renewed." " Oh, he will indeed," said Lucilla, clasping her hands, " and I should be proud to own him as such." " Pshaw," began, Tom ; ^^ you silly old beg- gar-" ^' Hush, Tom," said Lucilla. " I will go and speak to papa," said Miss Trueblue. Wait a little while. Miss Temple ; I hope I may be able to serve you : will you amuse youi'self with the j^iano till I come back ? " She rose, and as she limped out of the room, her deformity was so apparent, that Tom, net- tled at her rebukes, and being a very thought- less fellow, began to mimic her, in spite of Lu- cilla*s angry remonstrances, her entreaties to him to desist, and her determination to turn away, and not sec his clever but heartless mi- micry. She sat down, and ran her fingers o'S'er the instrument; Tom went on laus^hinc^ and 56 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. limping, but suddenly his mirth was checked — Miss Trueblue gently opened the door, and stood for a minute gazing at his distorted imitation of herself. ^' True/' she said — while Tom, shocked be- yond measure, slunk up to his sister — " I dare say that is very like ; but you are so deformed yourself, you should be lenient to others who are so." " Why, how am I deformed?" said Tom : "where?" " Where ! — within. Your heart must be deformed indeed when you could so cruelly mock and mimic her who had just left you on an errand of mercy ! " " Oh, Tom, how could you ? " said Lucilla. " Indeed, Miss Trueblue—" but Miss Trueblue having returned only for her reticule, had again left the room. " And now I dare say she "s\'ill not do anything for us ; and papa will be ar- rested. Oh, if I had but come alone ! — Oh, Tom ! " THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 57 At this moment a servant entered, with wine and cake on a silver salver. Tom was crying ; he glanced round, and his eye brightened as he saw the cake, but he dared not touch it. Miss Trueblue came in. ^^I am happy to say, papa consents. He will send a new bill to your father at three months' date to-morrow ; he must accept it, and papa Avill then return the old one. Don't cry. Master Temple ; I freely forgive you. Come and take a glass of wine ; perhaps, after all, your head is more to blame than your heart. There — let us be friends;" and she cut him a piece of rich cake, which would have won the regard of any schoolboy. " I'm sure I beg your pardon," said Tom, quite softened ; I'm very sorry I took you off; and now you don't look half so much deformed. I declare I can hardly see the hump now." Miss Trueblue smiled. " I hope," she said, " if you ever know me better, you will see it less," Lucilla could hardly express her thanks, for dS 58 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. the choking tears that would rise ; but Miss Trueblue understood her well. "I had hoped^ when first I saw you/' said she, " that you came in answer to an advertisement I had put in the ^ Times' for an accomplished young lady, Avho could play the guitar, and read French and Italian, to come to me four times a week, for two hours a-day — partly as compa- nion, partly as instructress. I have no sister, no mother, and no very intimate friend. I fancy I should enjoy my pursuits much more if some accomplished person, able to direct me a little, and whom I could like, kept me company in them. Do you see that basket ? it is full of an- swers from accomplished but indigent young ladies (nay, young, middle-aged, and even old), so sadly is the market over-stocked. I counted three hundred answers, and have had besides numbers of personal applications, and yet I am undecided. The only person I have seen, that I like, is yourself. I am quite disaj^- pointed that you came on another errand." THE BREACH OF TKOMISE. 59 Lucilla reflected for a few minutes ; then, co- louring violently, she said — " I can play the gui- tar, I believe, very well, and am mistress of French and Italian, acquired on the continent ; if my parents did not object, I should be very glad to come to you." " I'm sure Pa and Ma'd never agree to your becoming a low daily-teacher, Lucy — so blackguard ! as Jock says — teachers rank with turnspits ; he hardly ever says ma'm to Miss Beverley. Our parents consent, in- deed!" " Indeed, Tom, they have often talked of such a thing." " Why, what would all our relations say ?" " How should they know it, since they never come near us ? Shall I play you a waltz on the guitar. Miss Trueblue ?" Miss Trueblue placed one in her hands. Lucilla acquitted herself admirably, in spite of her agitation. " Let me read you a little French and Ita- 60 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. lian/' she said ; " and then, if I suit you, and papa consents, is it a bargain ?" " On my side, certainly." Lucilla's reading was beautiful — ^her accent perfect — she having spent some years on the continent with her parents, who were beguiled by the vain hope of living for next to nothing in France and Italy, where Mr. Temple had held Chaplaincies, less profitable than his Curacy. " Thirty shillings a week is what I pro- pose to pay," said Miss Trueblue, simply ; for to the Child of Trade, there was nothing mor- tifying in the mention of pounds, sliillings, and pence. To the Child of indigent Aristocracy, the subject was a more delicate one. " To pay !" Lucilla winced ; but she thought of the bill — of her parents — of the comfort — the help thu'ty shillings a week would be to them ; and radiant with smiles from her true and noble heart, she said : — THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 61 " Let it be a bargain, then ; I am sure papa will agree." " I'm sure he won't/' said Tom, doggedly. " You shall know to-morrow. Miss True- blue," said Lucilla ; " but I feel quite sure of his consent." "If so, on Monday, from ten till twelve. Farewell." " I cannot express half the gratitude I feel about the bill." " Oh don't mention that. I will let Mr. Smii'k know it is settled ; you need not trouble yourself to tell him," said Miss Trueblue, fearing the effect on his susceptible heart of another in- terview -with the exquisite Lucilla, and fancy- ing, as the loving always do, that Lucilla would see him with her doting eyes. *' If you will thank him for me, I had rather not go there again." " I will ; good-by. Let me know to-morrow.*' " Certainly. Thank you again and again. Adieu till Monday." 62 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. When they were in the street, Tom said — " Is it possible, Lucy, that you. Miss Temple, of such a family as ours, are going to sitik into a daily teacher to Miss Trueblue?" " I am not going to sink, Tom ; I am going to rise, into a comfort to my father, a support to my mother — an assistance to you. Thirty shil- lings a week, Tom, is six pounds a month ! In three months, the time the bill will be due, I shall be able to meet it for papa ! and then, all I earn I can spend on them and you, as I Hke, and not have to go away, as I have often feared I might, to live in some cold, great family, as a despised governess, but only to employ a few idle hours, four times a week, and take a few walks. I know you will take me, and fetch me home, Tom ! Oh ! I think it is such wonderful orood luck, Tom ! I had made up my mind to earn something, if only as a teacher in a school, rather than be a burden on our afflicted parents any longer." "I wish /could do somethins^," said Tom, THE BREACH OF PROMISE. QS his views suddenly altered. *^ However, I hope Jock will never find it out — I would'nt have h{??i know mi/ sister was a teacher, for the whole universe ! He doesn't think Miss Beverley, the governess at his master's, much higher than he, and always lets her ring twice, and never polishes her shoes, nor walks behind her ; he told me so. Oh ! I hope he'll never know it ! " " Most likely he never will, unless you tell him, Tom." " I tell him ! Why I always make out we're as high and grand as possible. He knows we're Cousins of Lord Lofty." " And Children of Poverty," said Lucilla, as they hastened home, through the now soft twi- light of an evening in June. CHAPTER VI. '^' How is dear mamma?" was the daughter's first questiony as she hurried noiselessly up stairs, and gently opened her mother's door. Mr. Temple shook his head, and whispered, " Not so well ; her mind is disturbed — so dis- turbed!" " How can it be otherwise?" said the poor invalid, Avith dangerous emotion, half raising herself (and in her anguish forgetting the sur- geon's strict injunctions as to constant recum- bency). " Lie down, my love, and be still." THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 65 " Yes, be still, dear mamma, and listen : it is all settled, at least for the present." " What do you mean?" said Mr. Temple. " Yes," said Tom, who had stolen in, " / and Lucilla have got it settled. We've been to Fitz Pucker and Trueblue, and the bill's to be re- newed for thi'ee months ; but then Lucilla, against my advice — " An unheeded look, but a more useful hint, in the shape of a pinch, made Tom pause with an " Oh, my ! what's that for ? you nasty low teacher ! " " Hush, Tom," said Lucy ; " I did not mean to hurt you, but you must not talk and fatigue mamma. It is quite true, Tom and I have got Mr. Trueblue to agree to renew the bill for three months ; and now, papa, I want to speak to you about it in the next room." " Bless you, my good and thoughful chil- dren," said Mr. Temple. Mrs. Temple extended her wan and wasted hand, and large tears fell down her pale checks. 66 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. as she murmured — " Thank Heaven ! this is indeed a relief;" and in a little while she sank into a sweet sleep. When Lucilla and her father rose to steal on tip-toe into the next room, Tom, the ever-busy, rose too, and stole in before them. " I'm sure, beforehand, Pa'll never consent, Lucilla," said Tom. Lucilla simply told her tale ; and though Mr. Temple changed colour, and sate a few minutes in painful thought, he did consent, and clasping Lucilla to his heart he said — '' No, I cannot see that this noble self-devo- tion can injure your prospects, my love ; for even if kno^vn, there is not a man, with a heart in his bosom, who would not love and honour you tenfold if he knew this proof of filial piety. I do consent, my darling ; and so far from feel- ing any shame, this is one of the proudest moments of my life." " I'm sure I wish I could do something," said Tom; " I wonder if I could teach anything?" THE BREACH OF PROMISE. G7 " My boy," said Mr. Temple, " he >vlio would be a teacher must first consent to be a learner. You have been very idle lately. Go to your Horace ? I dare say in time you will help us too." " Lucilla couldn't walk there alone ; so if I always take her and fetch her, that's some- thing. It'll take me two hours a day ; and if her time is worth thirty shillings a week, I'm sure mine must be worth fifteen!" " Perhaps you may make it worth as many pounds if you will, my boy. So now to yoiu' books ; think what hours of practice of the guitar, and close study of French and Italian, have alone enabled Lucilla to become the sup- port of her family at a time like this !" " I wonder whether Mr. Trueblue knows Latin," thought Tom. " I could teach him the Latin grammar, at least." He went up into his room to find his Horace, but there lay the kite, in all its half-adorned charms. The temptation was too great. Jock, too. 68 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. slipped in. There were gold stars to be cut out and pasted on. Tom ^vas still hard at work, when he was summoned to tea. A close cross-examination elicited how he had spent his time. " Ah, Tom," said his father, " you Avill never be a help to your mother or me ! You cannot resist temptatioti. When you go to Col- lege (if ever I can send you there), it will be, I fear, the same ; pleasure in another form will woo you. It is a kite now — then it will be hunting, rowing, or drinking parties. He who cannot turn from Pleasure, when Duty calls, can never be great or good. Tom, I am sadly disappointed in you." Tom tried to atone — learnt an ode before he went to bed, and rose early to write a Latin exercise. He could not forbear meddling a good deal, when Lucilla Avrote her answer to Miss Trueblue. He spoilt many a tolerable pen in trying to make it better, wasted half the seal- ingwax in proving what capital seals he could THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 69 make, and spoilt much good paper in writing " Thomas Temple ;" but at last he started off with the important missive, going a long round in order that meddling Jock should not see him go out, and follow him to find out his errand. Lucilla was not at ease till the letter to Miss Trueblue was fairly off, and then she gave herself up to the contemplation of her hap- piness, in having averted such a peril from her dear father, and the luxury of being of so essential a service, at such a time, to the mother she loved so well. CHAPTER TIL Sir Felix Archer sate in high good-humour at an elegant, nay, an exquisite repast, served up on costly plate, in his cool, spacious, and hand- some dining-room. One companion shared, the delicacies in and out of season, which made even a tete-a-tete dinner at the epicure Baronets, cost, in one day, what would have fed a hundred poor comfortably for a week. He was a great admirer and supporter of the Gilbert Unions for his poorer bretlii'en, and this thought made one grudge the guineas he daily swallowed in dainties — he, who thought THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 71 water-gruel and rye-bread, (in limited propor- tions), quite enough for liis hungry and able- bodied (if unfortunate), fellow mortals; and added, they ought to be thankful for it. He, who never felt thankful for every luxury in life, thought they ought to be thankful for that, which only kept them ahve to suffer. Sir Felix Archer seldom dined alone ; — never, if he could help it. Not from love of his species, but of himself; silence and ennui he thought unfavourable to appetite, the enjoy- ment of his repast, and to its beneficial result ; and the little excitement produced by seeing choice morsels on a friend's plate, added to his relish of the choicer ones on his own. The light laugh (at his shallow witticisms), the delicate flattery, the amusing scandal, and the adroit disparagement of an enemy or a rival, gave piquancy to the dish, and flavour to the wine. Therefore Sir Felix Archer seldom dined alone. But he disliked, too, the heat and bustle of large dinner-parties. A few friends, anxious 7S THE BREACH OF PROMISE. to please, formed the sort of party he generally- preferred ; but one lively, agreeable, and subser- vient companion sometimes sufficed him, and with such an one he dined tete-a-tete on the pre- sent occasion. Mr. Renard Undermine was this happy and honoured guest, the youngest partner in the firm of lawyers, which boasted Sir Felix as their client. The redoubted firm of Under- mine, Tavist, Twine, Turn and Undermine. Sir Felix's father and even himself, in earlier days, had been members of this firm. Mr. Renard Undermine was rather good-look- ing, about eight-and-twenty, a showy dresser, and tolerable talker. With those above him he was very humble and obsequious, and a great caterer for their amusement. He had a thou- sand arts of A\dnding himself into the favour of any great man, to whom he had even a profes- sional introduction, and has been known to be invited to stay to dinner, where he went only with a deed to be signed ; or, even more mira- culous still, when he presented himself to serve THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 73 a writ. But then he adroitly pretended such reluctance — that he came out of delicacy, lest a clerk should noise the thing abroad ! He even shed a tear ! He affected to dote on children, and knew all sorts of tricks to delight and quiet them ; always had some new toy in his pocket; and, in short, was the idol of all the little Lords and Ladies in the Parks and Squares, and of their nurses too ! . . . This was a way — an indirect one, truly, but still a way — to the parents' favour, particularly the mamma's. If the little heir was ill, he would cry, and kick, and pinch, till Renny Undermine was sent for; and little Lady Cis. would not have her tooth out unless Renny went with her to the dentist's. This sort of intimacy was a source of great vaunt with him in his own set, where he boasted of Lady Cis. and the young Marquis — it was not kno^vn they were babies. When he came from dining at H — House, no one knew it was the nursery dinner, and that he came out the back-way. Still, Lowliness is young Ambition's VOL. I. E 74 THE BREACH OF PROMISE. ladder, and he often made his way by degrees into the drawing-room ; for what was to be done if the young Lord would not be quiet without Kenny ? On the present occasion Sir Felix was very anxious to consult with Eenard whether, among all the quirks and quibbles of the law, no means could be found of cutting off the entail ; so that, in case he died childless, his detested nephew could be cut out. Mr. Renard Undermine entered as warmlj- into this scheme, as a philanthropist would into some great and good object; but he was obliged to confess, that the entail was such a strict one, that unless the last in it — namely, the odious nephew — -joined him in docking it, no- thing could be done. " If he were a ruined man, he'd jump at such a thing," said Undermine. Sir Felix's countenance brightened. " He's a fool, Renard — an eccentric fool, too — but not the kind of fool to get ruined ; he's no gambler." THE BREACH OF PROMISE. 75 ^^ But at three and twenty, he may become one," suggested Undermine. "No; he never touches a card, on principle." " An imprudent match," suggested the at- torney ; " that might do it : a half-starved wife and a dozen squalling, ragged children, will make a man put his name to anything." . Sir Felix pondered ; he looked rather dis- pleased. " Pshaw," he said, " you've not inhe- rited yoiu' father's talent for expedients, Re- nard. If he did marry, why should he have a dozen children? I married twice, and have none !" " Ah ! my dear Sir Felix, shall I tell you why? You married delicate, dainty daughters of rank and fashion — ladies who turn night into day, live in a perpetual and exciting glare, breathe no atmosphere but that of heated, crowded rooms ; in fact, you married the high- born, high-bred belles of London seasons. Now if you would listen to the expedient I would propose, if I dared, I would say, marry some ill