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 VIOLET; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE DANSEUSE. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by \\\ Clowes and Son§^ 
 
 Stamtbrrl Street,
 
 VIOLET; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE D ANSEUSE: 
 
 A PORTRAITURE 
 
 OV 
 
 HUMAN PASSIONS AND CHARACTER. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HENRY COLBURN, 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH.STREET. 
 
 1836. 
 
 J
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 
 in 2010 witii funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/violetordanseuse12male
 
 
 
 '<<^ 
 
 /& 
 
 X 
 
 /V3 
 
 V.I 
 
 ."2^ 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " A creature not too bright or good, 
 ~T For human nature's daily food, 
 
 ^ Made up of charms and simple wiles, 
 
 ^ Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.'-' 
 
 il WORUSWORTH. 
 
 " Where is Violet ?" inquired Mr. Woodville 
 of liis wife ; '' Leetitia, my dear, where is Violet ?" 
 
 " Gone to change her shoes," answered JNIrs. 
 Woodville. " Dupas is coming. By the bye, we 
 must ask him to dine with us soon, for he reallv 
 takes great pains with Violet." 
 
 ?$ " Whenever you like, my dear. I have never 
 
 ^ determined what I mean to do with little Violet, 
 
 , . but I am glad she is growing up so hand- 
 u some, and she is such a graceful darling ! She 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 ^ VIOLET. 
 
 ought to marr}^ a lord, at least, ought my little 
 Violet." 
 
 " Well, if she is handsome, Violet may thank 
 her mother for it," rejoined Mrs. Woodville, 
 " though I didn't marry a lord, for all that ; so 
 Violet may do no better either, and it is as well 
 not to fill her head with nonsense : no good can 
 come of it, and she won't mind her studies." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Woodville, do you mean to call for 
 me to-night in your cab, or am I to come home 
 with Madlle. Laure ? and where am I to have 
 supper ?" 
 
 " The Ballet, you know, as well as I do, never 
 was or is over before one o'clock on Tuesday 
 night : how then can I fetch you home at ten from 
 Covent Garden ?" 
 
 " Very well , but where do you mean to have 
 supper, Charles?" 
 
 " Why, I have asked Gianini and Madame 
 Clot, and the Norrises, to come to us to-night. 
 We must have some Champagne, and I have de- 
 sired Very to send us a quart of white soup, and 
 some cotellettes aux petits poix ; then there is the 
 cold ham, and you can get some of the par- 
 tridges broiled that the Duke sent us the other 
 day : and do see, Mrs. Woodville, that for once 
 there is good bread-sauce at "
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 M. Dupas was announced by a very youno'- 
 looking gentleman, wearing an attempt at a 
 livery, — and M. Dupas made his appearance. 
 He Avas an old man, wearing a well-made wig ; 
 his clothes fitted him to a nicety, and everything 
 in his externals even betrayed a justifiable desire 
 to please ; his countenance was lively and shrewd, 
 and his manners aristocratic. M. Dupas spoke 
 English wonderfully for a foreigner, and only 
 now and then made use of expressions at va- 
 riance with his meaning. He even then avoided 
 much awkwardness by ne se doutant pas of his 
 correctness, and no one ventured to amend his 
 " Prose." 
 
 " I am most happy to see you, Mrs. Wood- 
 ville ; Mr. Woodville, you are too good," said M. 
 Dupas, as he advanced a chair ; " I am most en- 
 tirely delighted to see you, — how is la Petite ? I 
 hope her slight touch of catarrh is quite at an 
 end ? Ah I la voici," continued the old man, 
 while his face brightened at the entrance of his 
 young pupil, of whom he was very fond. 
 
 "Did you find the shoes, Violet, love?" in- 
 quired Mrs. Woodville. 
 
 " I hope you have been enabled completely to 
 master the little difficulty of the grand battemcnt 
 of the left foot," observed M. Dupas ; " three 
 
 b2
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 hours' steady attention every day would remove 
 so very slight a difficulty. Now let us see, — 
 very well, — begin with the exercises for the body 
 first — allons, commengonsy 
 
 Mr. Woodville earned his subsistence by play- 
 ing on the violoncello ; luckily for him, he played 
 uncommonly well, and he was luckier still in 
 haAing his talent appreciated and well remune- 
 rated. He easily obtained engagements at one or 
 other of the great theatres, and generally formed 
 one of the orchestra at the King's Theatre. 
 
 In his line of life Woodville would have been 
 rich, but, like many professional men, he was 
 extravagant and, to his credit be it said, gene- 
 rous, — so that, though never very poor, he was 
 only rich sometimes. His chief object, his de- 
 light, Avas — his only child — Violet. 
 
 Mrs. Woodville had been a beauty, and was 
 still in tolerable preservation. She was very much 
 like most other women, — having the coquetry, 
 the caprice, the silliness and acuteness, agree- 
 ableness and weak-mindedness, common to the 
 generality of her sex, — judging, at least, from all 
 those with whom I happen to have been ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 She was an actress, of rather a first class, and
 
 VIOLET. 5 
 
 personated ladies, and confidantes, (those that 
 gave advice,) and did speaking queens remark- 
 ably well ; on the whole, Mrs. Woodville was 
 much looked up to by the managers, for she was 
 never vulgar, the thing most difficult to avoid on 
 the English stage. Her pronunciation and her 
 gestures never made the nerves of better bred 
 people quiver with annoyance, or harrowed up 
 their minds with disgust. She was always well- 
 dressed. — In short, on or off the stage, Mrs. 
 Woodville was a very tolerable fine lady. 
 
 And now to talk of Violet, one of the prettiest 
 creatures that ever was seen. 
 
 It may be as well to saj^ by way of parenthesis, 
 that her real name was Violante, — at least, such 
 was the name by which her mother had her 
 christened. But' her father thought it much too 
 long, and said it was better to call her Violet. 
 
 With no reason that a special Providence 
 should interfere ; — without a governess — an angel 
 that I know of, — or even a master in chancery, 
 to look after her education, it should follow that 
 Violet must needs have her ideas tinged, and 
 her understanding improved, as it might be, by 
 the class of people with whom she lived. She 
 was, besides, not a little spoiled both by her 
 parents and by M. Dupas.
 
 6 VIOLET. 
 
 In tlie estimation of these persons, the young 
 hxdy's education had been immensely attended 
 to, and Violet was really very accomplished, more 
 thoroughly so perhaps than many damsels of 
 greater pretensions, because her friends were 
 fonder and prouder of her in proportion as her 
 progress flattered their self-love. Violet seemed 
 to know this by instinct, and the consciousness 
 increased her desire to play, to sing, to speak 
 French and Italian, — and to dance en artiste. 
 
 Her early education had been received in a 
 French convent, and she had at this period 
 returned home for good, about a year, and was 
 now devoting a large portion of her time to 
 achieve the ambitious vioAvs of M. Dupas, who 
 fully intended her to become a first-rate opera- 
 dancer. His own early days had worn away in 
 that profession, but, having somehow grown 
 wealthy, he now only gave lessons to the rising 
 generation in a few great families, whose society, 
 lie said, he thought it worth his while to cul- 
 tivate, — and devoted his leisure hours con amove 
 to foster the talent of Violet Woodville. 
 
 The Woodvilles and M. Dupas were old 
 friends, and, having no child of his own, theirs 
 had become his pet, more or less, from the day 
 of her birth. Since her return from France he
 
 VIOLETi 7 
 
 had requested permission to instruct her in an 
 art he thought sublime. Her parents were quite 
 undetermined about letting Violet do any thing ; 
 i. €. any thing that was to look like a regular pro- 
 fession. It was more than half vanity on both 
 their parts, which" made them give a sort of tacit 
 assent to their child's one day or other making 
 her debut on the boards of the Kjng's Theatre. 
 
 Mrs. Woodville, notwithstandimg the way she 
 talked sensible, in the first page of our story, did 
 look forward to this scheme as to a probable 
 means of Violet's winning the heart of some rich 
 heir apparent, who would propose to her imme- 
 diately; and Mr. Woodville liked the prospect, 
 especially when Dupas inflamed him with the 
 glory of being looked up to, as being the father 
 of the first danseuse at the Opera. 
 
 Heirs apparent too came floating down the 
 stream of his imagination, with this difference 
 between liim and his wife, that they occupied the 
 back- ground of liis mental picture, whilst with 
 her they stood most glaringly in the foreground. 
 
 Of course Violet should only be permitted to 
 accept some very particular engagement with the 
 Laporte of the day, and then only if it did not 
 fatigue her too much, and, moreover, only if she
 
 8 VIOLET. 
 
 liked it; ^^foi-;' said Mr. Woodville, ''my little 
 Violet shall not dance, or do any thing else that 
 does not please her." 
 
 And, in the mean time, nine hours a day were 
 often devoted to practising her steps. 
 
 Alas! 
 
 Violet was one fine spring morning greatly en- 
 grossed by her studies — by her dancing, that is to 
 say, which was at present her great study — when 
 she was interrupted by a tap at the door. The 
 blithe voice mth which she answered " come in ! " 
 announced the expectation of seeing a desired 
 object. 
 
 A young lady threw open the door, who pre- 
 sented a striking contrast to Violet. 
 
 She was an uncommonly handsome brunette, 
 with regular features, and a round full face, 
 brilliant eyes, and glossy black hair and eye- 
 brows, united with a very coquetish expression. 
 As to figure, she had what is called a very fine 
 one, according to some people's method of ex- 
 pressing themselves, at least ; but it is as well, as 
 I liave heard these terms applied to monuments 
 in petticoats, to specify that the young lady in 
 question had not at all that sort of anatomy. Her 
 tournure was graceful though somewhat theatrical.
 
 VIOLET. y 
 
 (kabit, had become a second nature, perhaps,) and 
 her white satin hat, her light-coloured, beautifully 
 fitting silk gown, her ponceau scarf, her lemon- 
 coloured kid gloves, and an exquisite chaussure, 
 finish the sketch I wish to give of Emily Norris 
 — Miss Emily Norris, to speak with more respect. 
 
 Violet was standing in the midst of her apart- 
 ment, a little out of breath ; her costume at that 
 moment consisted of a white dimity petticoat, 
 skirt rather short, short sleeves, and a handker- 
 chief round her neck. Her back hair was twisted 
 into as small a compass as it well could be, and 
 a pair of white satin slippers (not so very white) 
 completed her attire. 
 
 At this period Violet Woodviile was about 
 seventeen, and uncommonly beautiful. Her face 
 was of an oval contour, her complexion clear, and 
 with a rich colour, exactly the pink of the peach — 
 which is no exaggerated description of many an 
 Enghsh complexion. 
 
 Her features were regular and full of expres- 
 sion, in which I am apt to tliink regular features 
 are often deficient. Her eyes were very large, 
 bright and lovely as the gazelle's. It was not 
 easy to define their colour, but a Hght hazel 
 would be the shade they were nearest to. She 
 had a profusion of light brown hair, to ornament 
 
 133
 
 10 VJOLET. 
 
 at will a little Grecian-formed head that would 
 have served a goddess. 
 
 The impression she gave at first sight was that 
 of a beautiful Hebe, with a soul full of mirth and 
 malice; while the extreme quickness of her eye 
 denoted a discernment of intellect which the finely- 
 cut contour of her mouth confirmed ; and when 
 Violet Woodville laughed, the joyous intelligence 
 that ht up her countenance rendered it incon- 
 ceivably handsome. 
 
 Her figure was tall but slight, though rather 
 inclined to embonpoint. She was formed with 
 perfect symmetry: her limbs and her little feet 
 were particularly striking from their beauty. 
 
 Graceful by nature as well as art, it was not 
 easy to dream of anything fairer among woman- 
 kind than Violet Woodville, — even there as she 
 stood in her dimity petticoat, to receive her friend. 
 Miss Norris looked nineteen or tv.'enty, and 
 twenty she was. Great was the friendship be- 
 tween her and Violet. They had been together 
 at the French convent, and similar connexions 
 and pursuits had since kept up their intimacy ; 
 only superior years, and superior knowledge, (as 
 Violet thought,) made her look up to Emily Norris 
 with considerable deference. 
 
 "My dear Emily," and " my dear Violet, how
 
 VIOLET. 11 
 
 glad I am to see you," were the sort of greetings 
 that flowed profusely for five minutes, and then 
 the young ladies drew chairs and sat down. 
 
 " So, you are still going on with old Dupas," 
 said Miss Norris. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; but Papa and Mamma have deter- 
 mined nothing about me yet." 
 
 " Well, Violet, I wonder you allow that to go 
 on. What's the use of your eternal practising of 
 these steps, and wearing yourself to a thread- 
 paper, with no one but old Dupas to have the 
 pleasure of it ? What's the use of all you have 
 learnt, if it is to be done no good with ? or how 
 arc you ever to have any luck, if you are not to 
 be seen ^. Wh}', you ought to have been out these 
 two years, 1 declare. You should have beheld me 
 the other night in the new ballet ! I had thunders 
 of applause. — Did I describe my dress to you ? 1 
 believe 1 did. My parts, you know, are mere 
 acting, a sort of dumb show, which I do not find 
 too fatiguing, and that is the line I ad\dse you to 
 adopt. Many people think me quite equal to 
 Brocard. — 1 am not engaged on Saturday: 
 Mamma has made Laporte give her one of the 
 boxes on the fourth tier, but we have asked him 
 to supper afterwards, as well as the new singer, 
 Madame ■ , I forget her name : you will ail
 
 12 VIOLET. 
 
 come, I hope. I expect it to be pleasant; Mamma 
 will sing one or two songs out of the new opera, 
 and w^e have asked a good many people." 
 
 " Oh, I shall like it of all things," replied Vio- 
 let. " But do tell me, Emily, when did you see 
 Mr. Harcourt last ?— yesterday, as you hoped?" 
 
 " Yes, I saw him yesterday." 
 
 -Well?" 
 
 " Why I don't know what to say. He is un- 
 doubtedly very much struck with me, and is quite 
 aware he must marry me, or give me up. I do 
 not know what to think. Oh, dear Violet ! what 
 I would give to marry a gentleman ! and I cer- 
 tainly think I ought, with my pretensions, after 
 all — and I am sure other people often think so, 
 who see me, that is. At all events, I hope you 
 will do well, Violet," added Miss Emily, with 
 much sentiment. 
 
 Violet coloured. 
 
 " But tell me, Emily, what is poor Mr. Larray 
 doing? Is he not very unhappy ? " 
 
 " Most wretched, I do believe ; and so am I 
 too, when I think of him : but of course, if I can 
 get Mr. Harcourt to propose, I must not think 
 any more about Henri. After all, with the edu- 
 cation Mamma has given me, and with the sort 
 of succesl now have at the Opera, he cannot won-
 
 VIOLET. 13 
 
 der I should make — I mean, he cannot wonder 
 that I should feel, and Mamma too, that, though 
 Mr. Harcourt is a gentleman, and all that, that 
 still he may propose to me, and that then ^lamma 
 of course intends I should accept him. But 
 is it not awkward — Henri, as well as Harcourt, 
 is asked to supper on Saturday ? " 
 
 '' Indeed ! — then what will you do ? " 
 
 " Oh," replied the young lady, with a laugh, 
 " leave that to me ; I can make Larray believe 
 anything ; and then, as to Mr. Harcourt, he is 
 immensely conceited ; I know he thinks all this 
 time I am dying for him." 
 
 " Good heavens, Emily ! but how lightly you 
 do talk of a person you wish to marry ! " 
 
 " And who would not wish it in my situation ? 
 A nice difference it will be to me all my life, whe- 
 ther I am to be a Lady, or whether I have to 
 dance for bread ; besides the not being able to 
 get all the things I should like — whether I have 
 a carriage, or go without — or get all my hats 
 from Madame Carson's, or go on with Cerise, 
 whom, as it is, I mean to leave off. — Of course I 
 wish to marry Harcourt." 
 
 " But you do not care for him, I beheve, at 
 all?" 
 
 "Oh, I care for him quite enough: besides.
 
 14 VIOLET. 
 
 that is notliing — why, I would marry Henri to- 
 morrow, if he were the primo tenore; but as it is, 
 the thing would be a folly, Mamma says, though 
 I think him charming ; and I only wish he was 
 Harcourt; but he — Mr. Harcourt, I mean — is such 
 an uncertain person; sometimes he is so cold, 
 and at times so capricious — so different from 
 Henri, who is all love, gaiety, and devotion. Ah ! " 
 Emily Norris paused, and for a brief moment 
 looked almost softened. "Ah!" she continued, 
 " and then he is so handsome ! — Well, well, there 
 is one thing I shall have if Mr. Harcourt marries 
 me; I shall triumph over that audacious little 
 Celeste, who dared to insult me by walking be- 
 fore me to the dressing-room, the other night, at 
 the Opera, as if I had not the right to v/alk be- 
 fore a second-rate thing (for that is what she is) 
 like her ! She is handsome, that little Celeste, 
 and can't endure me or Mamma ; because, you 
 know. Mamma is very particular with whom w^e 
 associate; and Celeste has no longer the best of 
 characters." 
 
 " Indeed ! what a pity ; she has such pretty 
 manners." 
 
 " Those French girls always have ; and they 
 are great hypocrites." 
 
 " Mrs. Norris says she is waiting below, Miss,
 
 VIOLET. 15 
 
 for you to go to rehearsal, she says. Miss," inter- 
 rupted a maid, thrusting in her head at the half- 
 opened door. 
 
 " For heaven''s sake, dearest Violet," said Miss 
 Emily, as she rose to depart, '' do make that girl 
 leave off saying ' Miss' ; it is so horrid vulgar." 
 
 " Oh, certainly ; but I did not know it was," 
 answered Violet, innocently.
 
 ( 16 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " What is the spring of" human actions — say 
 Why do we love, hate, govern, or obey ? 
 Whence do our noblest efforts take their aim ; 
 For what do we incur risk, guilt, and shame ? 
 'Tis vanity— 'neath more or less controul, 
 The btiong and ruling impulse of the soul." 
 
 Mr. WooDViLLE, and Mrs. Woodville, and Miss 
 Woodville did as they had been requested, and 
 went, after the opera, to Mrs. Norris's supper. 
 
 It is necessary to say a word or two about 
 Mrs. Norris. 
 
 She had been a singer of some eminence ; and 
 between her professional talents and, we may 
 add, ses beaux yeux, very discreetly applied, had 
 realized an income sufficient for her wants and 
 those of her daughter, and which permitted her 
 to indulge in some few luxuries besides, exclu- 
 sively of the little suppers — to one of which we 
 are about to introduce the gentle reader. 
 
 Mrs. Norris was quite a person of good cha- 
 racter, not such, perhpas, as would be personified
 
 VIOLET. 17 
 
 in the beau ideal of Mrs. Chapone, or of Mrs. 
 Hannah More, but still, as has been said, she 
 had made use of ses beaux yeux with such un- 
 common discretion, that the most censorious 
 persons could find nothing worse to say of her 
 than that, during ten years of her life passed in 
 Italy for the improvement of her singing and for 
 her health, she was very much admired, very gay, 
 and delightfully amiable. Some, indeed, thought 
 she was more particularly appreciated by a noble- 
 man of large fortune, devoted to the fine arts; 
 but nothing certain was ever known on this score. 
 
 The said nobleman married precisely at the 
 same period that Mrs. Norris's husband returned 
 from America, where he had been acting Othello 
 and King John, George Barnwell and Scrub. 
 
 Mr. Norris, however, was a wretch of whom we 
 will not speak, for all agreed that he behaved 
 scandalously to his wife, and, in fact, he was 
 said to have abandoned her. As to Emil}-, who 
 was born during the ten years, — Mrs. Norris's 
 ten years in Ital}^ I mean, — he seemed to have no 
 affection for the poor child whatever. 
 
 These deserted creatures prospered, neverthe- 
 less, w^onderfully. Mrs. Norris never sang, save 
 and excepting when she felt in the humour. She 
 had no debts, and, in her present position, be-
 
 18 VIOLET. 
 
 sides the tolerably untarnislied reputation which 
 had stood so much wear and tear, she contrived, 
 as has been observed, to have her little luxuries 
 as well as comforts about her, and her jjetits 
 soupers were sought after and ambitioned in the 
 sphere in which she moved. 
 
 There were about twenty persons assembled 
 when the Woodvilles entered Mrs. Norris's salon. 
 The society consisted of singers of celebrity ; 
 of about half a dozen young men of good family, 
 coming under the denominations of roues, gam- 
 blers, or otherwise imperfect as to character, but 
 still vastly entertaining, and very fashionable 
 young men especially. Then there was a young 
 architect, a remarkably conceited painter, a lite- 
 rary man who had written a book entitled '-Songs 
 of the Druids " (not generally known), a trans- 
 lator of French vaudevilles, v/ho thought himself 
 better than Scribe ; two or three principal 
 comedians, with a wife or two, women of entire 
 respectability, though of no consideration ; the 
 Pasta, the Sontag, the Taglioni, and the De 
 Beriot of the day ; — these, with two or three 
 attaches of foreign missions, and a few more such 
 *' small deer," were the component parts of Mrs. 
 Norris's party. 
 
 On the whole, it is well to let the reader at
 
 VIOLET. 19 
 
 once into the secret, that it was chiefly given to 
 induce Mr. Harcourt to propose to Miss Norris. 
 
 As yet he had not arrived; but there were 
 plenty of lights and ices, occasional singing, and 
 desperate flirtations, chiefly between the young 
 men of imperfect character and some charming 
 women, who were there with their husbands, be it 
 understood, for Miss Emily's sake. Indeed, on 
 her account, and to impress Mr. Harcourt with a 
 favourable opinion of the society she kept, Mrs. 
 Norris had been particularly fastidious in her in- 
 vitations on this occasion. 
 
 Miss Norris (whose maid I would rather not 
 have been that evening) was dressed with the 
 most studied attention, to give a good display to 
 her beauty, to enhance it, if that were possible, 
 and to be in the latest fashion, combining all 
 this with many more item.s, that a person like 
 myself, not versed in all the minutiae of female 
 attire, is incompetent duly to expatiate upon. 
 But all these niceties of art were intended to 
 give relief to an air of infinite simplicity, and a 
 laisser aller demeanour of exceeding abnegation 
 of ever}^ idea connected with her personal ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 This acme of perfection Emily conceived she 
 had achieved, and she was greeted by her mo-
 
 20 VIOLET. 
 
 ther's triumphant approval. It was, undeniably, 
 no small advantage to Emily, the being under 
 the guidance of such a mother as Mrs. Norris. 
 She was a woman such as there are but few 
 to be met with. She possessed the supreme 
 art of good arrangement ; nothing in her esta- 
 blishment was ever displaced. She had a horror 
 of outward and visible errors, and a keen per- 
 ception of the fitness of things. Everything 
 connected with herself she shielded from the 
 minutest obloquy, and it was her creed that none, 
 if possible, should ever have occasion to descant 
 upon the externals of life. She had the good 
 taste to avoid pretension where it would have 
 been laughable ; yet her French china, her chintz, 
 her wines, her ecarte tables, her music, her 
 very flowers and ices were better than, or, at 
 any rate, might stand competition with, those of 
 any other house in London. 
 
 Emily was seated on an ottoman, and near her 
 stood a handsome young man, well dressed, and 
 of unassuming manners, so good looking, and 
 with so good an air, that, if he wxre not what is 
 called a gentleman, there was no outward just 
 cause or impediment to his being one. 
 
 His countenance expressed anything but hap- 
 piness, and Miss Emily was evidently embar-
 
 VIOLET. 21 
 
 rassed in his presence ; a feeling which, from 
 whatever cause arising, she hardly cared in her 
 spoiltness to conceal. 
 
 '' Why do you turn 3-our head so often to the 
 door ?" asked the young man, rather impatiently. 
 
 Miss Norris coloured, and replied, ''Mamma 
 has desired me particularly to assist her in re- 
 ceiving these people. You forget that at home 
 it is absolutely necessary to be ciWl." 
 
 '' Oh ! if that is the only reason, I have no- 
 thins: more to sav." 
 
 A little put out of temper, Emily rejoined : — 
 
 " What did you suppose was my reason, Mon- 
 sieur Larray, as the one I have given never oc- 
 curred to you ?" 
 
 " I have no wish to say anything disagreeable, 
 or to offend you just at this moment, but I should 
 like to know whether you expect Mr. Harcourt 
 this evening ?" 
 
 '' Mamma asked him — that is, I think she 
 did." 
 
 " Are you really uncertain whether he is asked 
 or not?" 
 
 " Ask Mamma, — there she is, — if you are so 
 anxious to know, she can tell you," — and, to 
 avoid saying more, Emily flew to meet the 
 Woodvilles.
 
 22 VIOLET. 
 
 *'Hovv beautiful Violet looks to-night/' she 
 exclaimed to Mr. Woodville; "on the stage she 
 would yar furor e^ 
 
 At this moment two young men entered the 
 room. The one who first advanced had good 
 features, but a disagreeable expression; he was 
 tall in person, with a nonchalant, indolent, and 
 rather impertinent air ; altogether, however, he 
 was handsome. He glanced with an assured look 
 round the room, and it was a great relief to his 
 countenance, when it kindled with some pleasure, 
 on beholding Emily Norris. 
 
 Nothing could be better than the reception 
 Mr. Harcourt met mth, (for Mr. Harcourt it 
 was,) from both the Mother and Daughter of the 
 house. 
 
 "You will allow me," he said, "to introduce a 
 friend of mine, I am sure, — I knew, Mrs. Norris, I 
 might venture to bring him ;" and Mr. Harcourt 
 presented the gentleman who had accompanied 
 him. '* Mr. D'Arcy, Mrs. Norris, — Mrs. Norris, 
 Mr. D'Arcy." 
 
 Mr. Harcourt himself seemed actually for- 
 gotten in the empressement manifested to receive 
 his friend ; it appeared, in fact, as if the latter 
 had occasioned a general sensation in the society. 
 
 The women — those at least who knew Mr.
 
 VIOLET. 23 
 
 d'Arcy — evidently wished to attract his attention : 
 those who did not know him did their best to 
 induce him to seek their acquaintance. All the 
 young men appeared glad to see, and to welcome 
 him amongst them. 
 
 To Mrs. Norris he was now the first object, for, 
 with an intuitive perception, she beheld in Mr. 
 d'Arcy the possible arbiter of her daughter's 
 fate. Mrs. Norris had taken some trouble to 
 analyze Mr. Harcourt's character, and she thought 
 he was just the person to be decided by the opi- 
 nion of another, as to whether or no it would be 
 possible for him to marry Emily. She had before 
 heard of his intimacy mth Mr. d'Arcy, who was 
 not unknowTi to her by name or character, and she 
 feared him immensely. 
 
 It was perhaps lucky that Emily was not so 
 much ail fait at all this as her mother. She 
 wished to please Mr. d'Arcy as Harcourt's friend, 
 but \sdthout foreseeing all the importance of so 
 doing. 
 
 Violet, in the mean time, kno\ving few people, 
 modest by nature, and considering herself not yet 
 come out, had discovered a corner, into which she 
 retreated as much as she could, and where she 
 found leisure to observe all that was passing, until 
 her attention became strongly riveted by one
 
 24 VIOLET. 
 
 person only. The one person who thus arrested 
 her regards was Mr. d' Arcy ; and, had Violet herself 
 been interrogated as to the wherefore, she would 
 have been much at a loss to account for the sort 
 of fascination under w^hich she laboured. 
 
 It w^as not that Mr. d'Arcy struck her as hand- 
 somer or more pleasing than many others whom 
 she had seen, or that he possessed any single 
 charm to strike her forcibly and at once. But his 
 presence filled up some imperfect and undefined 
 feeling, if I may so express it. A strange sort of 
 contentment stole over her as she gradually sank 
 into reverie, while yet noticing every change of 
 bearing in the new comer. It seemed to Violet a 
 pleasant event in her existence to have met this 
 person, and she dwelt upon his presence with 
 a secret pleasure that she was herself hardly 
 aware of; her mind, how^ever, became impressed 
 with one object, and her observation centered 
 upon it. 
 
 Mr. Harcourt soon took a seat by Emil}', and 
 a very animated conversation was carried on be- 
 tween them. 
 
 She was really uncommonly handsome, and the 
 sort of person to make a vast impression on most 
 men, and this evening she looked more than usu- 
 ally charming. On Mr. Harcourt's seating him-
 
 VIOLET. 25 
 
 self by Emily, Mr. Larray disappeared unseen by 
 her, perhaps at that moment imcared for. 
 
 When Mr. d'Arcy was introduced to Miss 
 Norris, he conversed with her for a short time, 
 and the melodious voice and discreet words of 
 Emily could not fail to produce an impression 
 favourable to her ; but at this moment it was that 
 something struck Violet as unpleasing in Mr. 
 d'Arcy, — his smile was cold, and his regard ex- 
 pressed penetration, but indifference. 
 
 At supper, Emily sat between Harcourt and 
 his friend. To Violet's surprise, as she was fol- 
 lo\Adng her father to the supper-room, Mr. Larray 
 re-appeared, and offered her his arm. 
 
 '' I almost thought you were gone," exclaimed 
 Violet- 
 
 " I did go, Miss Woodville, but I am returned; 
 I conceived I was wTong, and that reflection 
 causes me to be here now," 
 
 " But what made you discover all at once that 
 you were wrong ? " 
 
 " My better judgment, I believe, as I walked 
 down the street. Where will you sit. Miss Wood- 
 ville?"— 
 
 During the supper, Mr. Harcourt rather kept 
 in the background, that his friend might engross 
 Emily ; and at one time, Mr. d'Arcy's animated 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 VIOLET. 
 
 countenance and eager conversation gave him 
 the air of making love upon his own account. 
 
 Emily was in the highest spirits : she thought 
 she had won a new admirer. She laughed and 
 talked — her complexion glowed, she shook her 
 ambrosial curls, and her eyes were dazzling with 
 the consciousness of success. 
 
 Mr. d'Arcy bent over her, and once Violet 
 thought he looked as if he admired her very much. 
 — Mr. Harcourt seemed forgotten : at the moment 
 he appeared to think so, too, for he suddenly re- 
 instated himself in his share of the conversation 
 with Emily. 
 
 Some one asked Mr. d'Arcy to drink wine : he 
 turned to answer, and Violet was again struck 
 with the cold indifference of his expressive coun- 
 tenance. From his great attention to her friend, 
 and the effect it had produced upon her, it was 
 reasonable to suppose that some trace of the 
 feelings of the previous instant would have lived 
 for a moment's space, but no — it was the same 
 regard — almost contemptuous in its calmness, and 
 no trace of emotion was perceivable. 
 
 " What is that gentleman's name ? " inquired 
 Mr. Larray. 
 
 " He is called Mr. d'Arcy. \Miat do you think 
 of him ? "
 
 VIOLET. 27 
 
 "■' He is very good-looking." 
 
 " Oh, I did not mean his looks." 
 
 " Well, I am also struck by his being different 
 from most other people. His air is good, but it 
 is peculiar. He is bored here, or perhaps he is 
 bored everywhere." 
 
 " How do you know he is bored ? " 
 
 *' Look at his countenance." 
 
 " Ah, now ; but it was animated enough an 
 instant ago." 
 
 " What ? when he was talking to Emily ? Yes : 
 he was endeavouring to understand her." 
 
 '' To understand her ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I mean the sort of person she is ; he 
 was endeavouring to penetrate her mind." 
 
 " Oh ! well, I hope he has succeeded." 
 
 " He thinks he has, I dare say. Now I do not 
 much like this Mr. d'Arcy; there is something 
 about him that wounds the amour propre of other 
 people. But yet I could much rather forgive 
 Emily for behaving ill to me for that man's sake, 
 than I can for Mr. Har " 
 
 " Hush— he will hear you. But why this dis- 
 tinction?" . 
 
 '"The one she might prefer to the other 
 
 she cannot — she does not, I know." 
 
 c2
 
 28 VIOLET. 
 
 "But yet you say, you don't like Mr. D'Arcy," 
 (the rising from supper interrupted Violet.) 
 
 It was by this time Sunday morning : one of 
 the ladies, whose face was rather the worse for 
 wear, poor thing ! proposed sacred music. She 
 had never heard any, and was very curious to 
 hear some, she said, and Mrs. Norris she knew 
 sang that sort of thing so well. Being un- 
 common, the proposal succeeded vastly ; and the 
 roues and the charming women were in ecstacy I 
 
 Harcourt and D'Arcy approached each other, 
 and took seats, without noticing, apparently, that 
 a large vase, filled with roses and mignionette, 
 and an alabaster Venus embracing Adonis rising 
 from the midst of the flowers, concealed an occu- 
 pant of the chair behind the tripod table on 
 which stood the vase ; or else, under cover of " O 
 Absalom, my son !" they conceived their words 
 would fall unheeded. 
 
 Or, perhaps, between his desire to talk to his 
 friend — his passion — and the champagne he had 
 drunk Mr. Harcourt might have let matters of 
 greater moment than this pass without scrutiny. 
 Violet, therefore, overheard their conference ; and, 
 thanks to the scanty drapery of the Venus, could 
 partially observe the countenance of one of the 
 speakers.
 
 VIOLET. 29 
 
 **What do you think of her?" enquired Mr. 
 Harcourt, in an agitated tone of voice. 
 
 " As to looks ? — that she is beautiful." 
 
 ''D'Arcy, I am desperately in love with that 
 girl." 
 
 "Yes — it is a pity she thinks she can marry 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, but she has no reason for thinking so. 
 and I doubt if she does ; in fact, I have to-night 
 been playing a desperate game with her. — I 
 talked of going abroad, and dropped a few words 
 as if I meant to cut her." 
 
 "Have you ever thought of trying her affec- 
 tion ? it does answer occasionally, you know. 
 Have you flattered her sufficiently ? have you 
 adored her sufficiently ?" 
 
 " Oh, every thing I She is proof against every 
 attack." 
 
 " Then she must think you a marrying man : 
 how very unlucky you are, my poor fellow ! it is 
 the worst notion she could have taken into her 
 head. I do not know how to advise you." 
 
 " I am passionately in love — there is nothing I 
 have not done."" 
 
 "Why, I am not so sure of that — you are so 
 d — d indolent, — have j^ou sworn oaths enough?
 
 30 VIOLET. 
 
 Good heavens! I would feign Catholic, and bring 
 to the hammer every saint in the calendar." 
 
 " Oh, don't be a fool, D' Arcy, when I am dis- 
 tracted." 
 
 "Seriously, then. Have you tried suicide?" 
 
 " No. I have not yet." 
 
 " Well, then — go on that tack to-night, — blow- 
 ing, your brains out, mind — poisoning, or drown- 
 ing does not much touch a woman now-a-days; 
 but they don't like fire-arms." 
 
 "But if that fail?" 
 
 " In that case, I cannot help you. With those 
 eyes, the girl has no business to be coy; and I 
 am much mistaken if her mother ought not to be 
 put in the pillory for her very virtue." 
 
 "But my Emily!" exclaimed Harcourt, in a 
 love-sick voice, " give me your candid opinion of 
 her, D'Arcy. I can bear to hear any thing from 
 you." 
 
 " Well, I think her very handsome : magnificent 
 eyes, and the figure of a goddess. I should like 
 her myself" 
 
 " But would you marry her ? " 
 
 " Marry her ! I marry her ? — No ! — my ideas 
 on that point may be uncommon, but they are 
 unalterable ! "
 
 VIOLET. 31 
 
 ''^Then, what would you say, if I told you I 
 had serious thoughts of it?" 
 
 It was a faint, but bitterly- sneering laugh with 
 which D'Arcy replied to this appeal. 
 
 " Simply/' he answered in words at last, " that 
 if you ever found reason to repent your choice, 
 you would deserve no pity. — The world would 
 despise your weakness, — I should, for one, and 
 you would live to curse the most irretrievable 
 folly you could possibly commit. For heaven's 
 sake, Harcourt, do not be such a fool," continued 
 Mr. d'Arcy, with hushed vehemence, — "marry 
 that girl ! an opera- dancer ! and the daughter of 
 that woman, whose very outside better-seeming, 
 is a greater abomination than the undisguised 
 profligacy of that little French devil I showed 
 you last night ! Never — never ! I beseech you, 
 Harcourt — think twice of such perdition as this 
 act of madness would be !" 
 
 " Ah ! you have no heart, and are incapable of 
 comprehending me." 
 
 " Possibly, in your acceptation of the term ; but 
 you asked me for the truth — I have given it you 
 in all its nakedness, and would tell it you, again 
 and again, to save you from such a fate as this, 
 a fate in which it amazes me that you can even 
 dream of involving yourself"
 
 32 VIOLET. 
 
 " But you make no allowance for circumstances ; 
 she is virtuous ; and would not such a creature as 
 that make venial any error I might commit? " 
 
 " No ; there are some things that not any num- 
 ber, or any quality, of such creatures can palliate." 
 
 " You are a brute, D'Arcy." 
 
 " Thank you," replied Mr. d'Arcy, calmly : " you 
 requested my advice, and I bestowed it gene- 
 rously : if the truth offend, I am blameless ; so 
 now let us go and hear ' Jephthah's Daughter'.'^ 
 
 D'Arcy rose, and moved towards the piano ; 
 whilst his friend, with inherent spoiltness, devoted 
 himself, for the rest of the evening, still more 
 assiduously, to Emily Norris. 
 
 It was a great relief to Violet, when this con- 
 versation ended. Well aware, that it had not 
 been meant for her ears, she would have moved 
 from her ambush at its very commencement, had 
 not excessive timidity absolutely fixed her to the 
 spot, and the additional awkwardness of betray- 
 ing her presence, as the supposed tete-a tete pro- 
 ceeded, continued to rivet her to her seat. 
 
 Her father w^as attending to the music ; and 
 her mother was absorbed in self-complacent ad- 
 miration opposite a mirror, and in listening to 
 the whispered remarks of some of her neighbours. 
 Mr. Larray was standing in a door-way somewhat
 
 VIOLET. 33 
 
 apart from the society, and seemed occupied with 
 no very agreeable train of thought : he at last 
 espied Violet alone, and approached her. 
 
 " I shall not see Miss Norris again for some 
 time. Miss Woodville," said Mr. Larray, " and 
 perhaps you would be kind enough to tell her, 
 that I avoided bidding her good bye, because I 
 feel \vretched ; and I doubt if such a parting, as 
 ours would too likely be, could make me less so ; 
 but tell her I shall be rejoiced to know that she 
 is happy, and that I do not persevere in pressing 
 my attachment upon her, lest I should interfere 
 with results much more splendid than any my 
 
 alliance could offer her" (Mr. Larray sighed :) 
 
 " and, on the whole, more — that is to say, better 
 for her — I begin to think so now ; and it would 
 be preferable to die each day than to marry Emily, 
 if she thought it a sacrifice. Adieu, Miss Wood- 
 ville ! — you deserve a better lot than to be one of 
 these people : you are not even a coquette, and 
 I hardly think you will ever become one." 
 
 Violet began an answer ; but Mr. Larray left 
 her ere she had uttered three words. 
 
 There was now more talking than singing, and 
 more of laughing than of either. The flirtations 
 were getting desperate. The middle of the room 
 was an absolute desert, while the boudoirs and 
 
 c3
 
 34 VIOLET» 
 
 door-ways were filled by tender couples. Arm- 
 chairs and bookcases, cabinets and commodes — 
 anything, in short, that could make an angle with 
 anything, was dexterously put in requisition. 
 
 A groupe still remained round the piano-forte ; 
 but it consisted only of ladies with jealous hus- 
 bands extant in the room, and of men, like Wood- 
 ville, honester than the others, and with incum- 
 brances. 
 
 Harcourt's countenance, as he leant over the 
 back of Emily's arm chair, still bore the shade of 
 displeasure, which his friend's remarks had called 
 lip. It is true " II ne faut pas toujours avoir 
 raison, pour plaire," says the Prince de Ligne ; 
 but it is no less true, " il faut souvent plaire pour 
 avoir raison." 
 
 D'Arcy himself occupied a place near the music, 
 and, from time to time, was assiduous to Mrs. 
 Norris. Some people might have fancied he liked 
 that discreet lady, and Violet would have been 
 of that opinion, had she not overheard his abuse 
 of her. I rather think, too, Mrs. Norris herself 
 thought that Mr. d'Arcy liked her; and she was 
 a very good judge. He was, however, one of the 
 first to withdraw. Then Violet began to yawn, 
 and, taking courage, advanced to her father. 
 
 " Are you not going home. Papa ? " she in- 
 quired : '' it is very late, I think."
 
 ( 35 ) 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Pardon this digression ; 
 But, whatsoe'er may be a man's profession. 
 Whether the trade be noble, or ignoble, 
 Whether he steer a frigate, or a coble. 
 He finds some vast importance in the calling, 
 And deems the universe is kept from falling, 
 And all the interests of man affected, 
 By that to which his talents are directed." — Anon. 
 
 The evening passed at Mrs. Norris's had given 
 Violet much to think of. It was the first time 
 she had found herself in so mixed a circle. Her 
 mother had hitherto taken her very little into 
 society, and this evening's events had given her 
 much to reflect upon. She had gained experi- 
 ence, but hei reflections thereupon were not all 
 agreeable ones. 
 
 Accustomed, during her short life, to one class 
 only, she had had no means of forming a judg- 
 ment as to its comparative merits, and with 
 Emily Norris, as her most intimate friend, Violet 
 was not likely to be led to much abstract reason- 
 ing that could prove correct. Her knowledge
 
 36 VIOLET, 
 
 acquired from books was not of a very serviceable 
 kind. Her father possessed a collection of 
 French dramatic authors, and some odd volumes 
 of Pope, of Milton, and of Shakspeare; a few 
 plays of Otway, Congreve, and Howe ; the works 
 of Sheridan and Mrs. Inchbald; a good many 
 magazines, volumes of farces, &c., &c. Such 
 was the composition of Mr. Woodville''s libraiy. 
 Now and then he brought home a new novel, 
 lent him by a friend, which was often returned 
 unread ; but, generally, the most modern prose 
 that entered his house was an evening paper or 
 the "■ Age," varied occasionally by a French vau- 
 deville, or the new play as then performing at 
 the theatres royal Covent Garden, or Drury 
 Lane. 
 
 Miss Woodville's education, i. e. her external 
 accomplishments, had been so much attended to, 
 that she had not had time to acquire a love of 
 reading, and no one in her whole life had ever 
 inculcated it upon her as necessary, or even de- 
 sirable. Violet, then, had, as may be imagined, 
 but scanty means of appreciating her own con- 
 dition, and was not aware that players, singers, 
 and dancers were the light weight, and not the 
 heavy ballast in the scale of social opinion ; nor 
 that disagreeable people of a much lower grade
 
 VIOLET. 37 
 
 ranked above them in the statistics of respec- 
 tability. 
 
 She did not know how seldom in the minds of 
 most people morality and an opera- dancer were in 
 approximation. Still less was she aware that the 
 sentiments of her parents, and even her own, were 
 influenced by their mode of existence, and that no 
 purity of mind, no principles, however well regu- 
 lated, no stoicism of virtue, however well guarded, 
 can utterly withstand the force of example. 
 
 Either the virtuous become repvilsive and 
 austere from excess of precaution, or sin doubly 
 by exclaiming too eagerly against " the mote 
 that is in their brother's eye," or chime in with 
 the small vices and gentler frailties of the cor- 
 rupt ; not doubting, while baser crimes are kept 
 at an immeasurable distance, that so wide apart 
 are their present practice and real excellence. 
 
 No models of right and wrong had been set 
 before Violet, but such as (if I may use the ex- 
 pression) she had found ready to her hand. Her 
 native impulses were all good, but example had 
 done nothing to strengthen them. Good inclina- 
 tions are like raw materials, and must have much 
 trouble taken with them before they can be made 
 serviceable. 
 
 Mr. d'Arcy's contemptuous observations upon
 
 38 VIOLET. 
 
 Mrs. Norris, and his frivolous praise of her 
 daughter, placed them in a light in which Violet 
 had never seen them before. She then passed in 
 review Emily's calculating encouragement of Mr. 
 Harcourt, and her ungenerous treatment of Mr. 
 Larray. She compared her friend and her mo- 
 ther with many others that she knew of, and was 
 compelled to own that they did not lose by the 
 comparison. 
 
 When once we begin to reason, the process is 
 a rapid one, and it was a sickening moment to 
 Violet when she drew the conclusion that she 
 herself was one of the despised class, whose de- 
 gradation a thousand D'Arcys would be ready to 
 infer ; and that no virtue could be a shield against 
 the opprobrium of marrying an opera-dancer. 
 
 But why was D'Arcy's opinion to weigh so 
 greatly with her ? Whatever was the reason, it did 
 — it might be his voice, his manner, his air, that 
 thus impressed her. But why not say at once he 
 pleased, — and leave the how, to be defined by 
 others, who in like manner have been charmed, 
 while the days, the months, and the years have 
 flown by, yet have they never paused and asked, 
 " Wherefore ? " 
 
 During the latter part, however, of this, to her, 
 eventful evening, the charm had been somewhat
 
 VIOLET. 39 
 
 broken : Violet half feared that he who had so 
 excited her interest, wanted kindness of heart ; 
 she likewise felt a little terror at the harshness of 
 his remarks ; but even these considerations could 
 not change the nature of her predilection ; a feel- 
 ing, by-the-bye, which neither by w^ord nor look 
 had Mr. d'Arcy upheld for himself, — for, beautiful 
 as Violet Woodville was, he had never noticed, 
 most probably, had never seen her. 
 
 La destinee que Dieu nous a fait, n'est ja- 
 mais celle que nous faisons a nous-meme *. 
 
 Violet suddenly determined she would not be 
 an opera- dancer, but she was quite at a loss how 
 to convey this resolution to her parents. She 
 rarely now gave the same attention to assist the 
 unwearied zeal of M. Dupas, who was at fault in 
 discovering the cause of his pupil's diminished 
 ardour, and urged upon her family with more 
 than his usual seriousness, the importance of 
 seeking an engagement with the manager of the 
 King s Theatre. 
 
 About this time there was a new ballet in pre- 
 paration, but the heroine was not to be the chief 
 dancer. This character was given to Miss Norris, 
 whose forte was in the pantomimic parts. The 
 
 * Massillon.
 
 40 VIOLET. 
 
 ballet was intended by the manager to be a chef- 
 d'oeuvi'e : there were in it a good many first-rate, 
 prominent parts, so that he would be enabled 
 with less squabbling than usual to content the 
 ambitious views of the whole corps de ballet. 
 The dresses were to be such as had never yet 
 been seen. The scenery, the decorations, — but 
 we will not write the whole of a newspaper para- 
 graph. 
 
 In the course of the ballet a Venus was to 
 appear, and Miss Norris was to be the Venus. 
 There was very considerable trouble in deter- 
 mining in what attire (perhaps if any) the god- 
 dess ought to appear. 
 
 It was, in fact, a very difficult point to decide. 
 Her earthly representative was inclined to a blaze 
 of silver and jewels, while there was a strong 
 party in favour of a little plain gauze, and much 
 tn'cot. 
 
 There being no original costume to refer to, 
 was the cause of so much indecision. Upon the 
 whole, the predominating opinion maintained it 
 to be quite indecorus to adorn a Venus with 
 earthly embellishments, and that the object to be 
 aimed at, was to give as ethereal an appearance 
 as could be attained, without too great a risk of 
 a remonstrance from the Bishops.
 
 VIOLET. 41 
 
 Miss Norris again had a great idea of precious 
 stones becoming her exceedingly ; and during the 
 dispute a mock tiara of diamonds and rubies was 
 always in her mind's eye, encircling her radiant 
 brow. She remembered once before producing a 
 great sensation in some head gear of this kind, 
 and matters were getting to look unpleasant, for 
 Miss Norris was not a little spoilt, and had a very 
 good opinion of her own merits and judgment; 
 when lo ! a fortnight before the ballet was to be 
 brought forward, in getting out of a dirty hack- 
 ney-coach at one of the rehearsals, her foot 
 slipped on the muddy step, and Emily screamed. 
 
 It was true she had only violently sprained her 
 ancle, but all hopes of being able to glide down 
 from the scenic heaven upon a cloud, on that day 
 fortnight, were put out of the question by this 
 unlucky accident. 
 
 The manager, the dancers, the figurantes, the 
 scene-painters, and even the very scene-shifters 
 were in consternation ; nobody of course pitied 
 the only person who really suffered. 
 
 The season was already far advanced ; and if 
 the ballet were not produced now, it would not be 
 worth the manager's while to let it appear at all. 
 At the same time he did not see what Venus 
 there was that he could depend upon. He re-
 
 42 VIOLET. 
 
 viewed, in liis mind's eye, every demoiselle of the 
 green-room (by- the -bye, there is no green-room 
 at the Opera), but not one of them was suffi- 
 ciently handsome : there w^as one who might do 
 very well, as to face, but was somewhat too bulky 
 in person. In vain the manager depicted to him- 
 self the young lady, laced in to the uttermost 
 power of the strongest stay-lace — there would 
 still exist a preponderance in her form which 
 would not exactly do for a Venus ; and where to 
 turn for a better, he knew not. 
 
 At this critical juncture M. Dupas, as an old 
 intimate of the manager's, was consulted by him 
 on the momentous topic. Visions of glory at 
 once flitted before the intellectual optics of the 
 dancing-master ; he hastened to have them rea- 
 lized. Yes, he knew a young lady, of the most 
 distinguished beauty, full of grace and talent for 
 the profession — in a word, a pupil of his own. 
 Could she be persuaded to undertake the en- 
 gagement, and did it suit the views of Monsieur to 
 give her one, he (Dupas) could not but view it as 
 a compact mutually advantageous and desirable. 
 
 All this sounded well ; but the manager, wlio 
 w^as a cautious man, evinced hesitation. He said 
 he must see the young lady; he would go the 
 length of believing all that M. Dupas said of her
 
 VIOLET. 43 
 
 accomplisliments, but still he must see her before 
 he in the slightest degree compromised him- 
 self. 
 
 The manager, in accordance with a previous 
 arrangement with M. Dupas, made at the termi- 
 nation of their conference, called on the following 
 day on Mr. Woodville, with whom he was pre- 
 viously acquainted, and had an opportunity of 
 satisfying himself of the correctness of Dupas' 
 report. 
 
 Violet was in the room with her father when 
 the manager entered : she was introduced to him, 
 and, all unconscious of the object of his \isit, she 
 bore his scrutinizing looks with modest assurance ; 
 and, having staid long enough in the room to 
 complete the excellent impression her first coup- 
 d'oeil had conveyed to him, made the earliest ex- 
 cuse for retiring, and left her father and this im- 
 portant personage to their deliberations. M. Dupas 
 shortly after knocked at the door, and was added 
 to the council of three — for a council it soon 
 became. 
 
 Mr. Woodville was dazzled by the brilliant 
 chance it offered for his daughter's debut ; but 
 Mrs. Woodville, he said, must be consulted — 
 their mutual intentions respecting their daughter 
 had hitherto been so undetermined, &c. &c. : he
 
 44 VIOLET. 
 
 would, in a day or two, inform the manager whe- 
 ther Miss Woodville could avail herself of his 
 very obliging proposal ; and after a little more 
 conversation of the same sort, the manager took 
 his leave, thinking that Mr. Woodville only 
 held out, in order to obtain the offer of a higher 
 salary, and which he fully resolved to augment 
 on the morrow. 
 
 " Do 3'ou hesitate, Mr. Woodville?" exclaimed 
 M. Dupas, the moment they were alone. 
 " You forget my wife, my dear Dupas." 
 " Your wife ! Her own mother can never ima- 
 gine any opposement to the future glory of la 
 petite : can any thing be more ravishing than the 
 prospect of the debut she will make ? The new 
 ballet, for which the whole of the town are mad 
 \\ith knowing of ! To be at once lancee, as the 
 object of enthusiasm and admiration and extasie- 
 mentl AVliat is there that she may not expect ? 
 I am all breathless with the anxiety of my feel- 
 ings ; that the whole desire of my life should be 
 so sublimement realise, — and est il possible that 
 5^ou are not penetrated, in and out, with your good 
 fortune I This it is to be an Englishman ! — the 
 porter that you drink, and your bad climate, I 
 suppose ; so that you have no fine sentiments — 
 no conception of the really great : you are inca-
 
 VIOLET. 45 
 
 pable of things elevated ; and Miss Woodville, my 
 Violet — my little child— my pupil — my bijou! 
 your own daughter — will be abandoned by 3'ou — 
 she is to be sacrificed, the pauvre enfant ! He- 
 las! on a de grands malheurs dans ce monde.'' 
 
 M. Dupas ceased sjDoaking ; but he sighed 
 profoundl}^ The poor man's anguish was not 
 feigned. Woodville, who was used to his tirades, 
 said a few pacifying words, and then went really 
 to consult ?virs. Woodville. 
 
 The manager, in the meantime, as he left the 
 house, walked up the street, muttering and think- 
 ing to himself — '' Beautiful creature, certainly ! 
 and will do — but she must be rouged with care : 
 I can take an opportunity of seeing to that my- 
 self. While they are at their first engagements, 
 these hussej^s are tractable : yes, if I am not mis- 
 taken, I have made a find: the ballet will at- 
 tract, if it is only by means of the Venus ; and I 
 am not sure whether the beauty of this young 
 Houri will not look much more ethereal than that 
 of the black-eyed Norris girl. This one is the 
 most uncommon style of the two. I only foresee 
 one difficulty — she is too respectable. The effect 
 would be perfect, and my fortune would be made, 
 if I could only have her properly dressed : gossa- 
 mer robe, fastened by a zone — neck and shoul-
 
 46 VIOLET. 
 
 ders quite bare, or a mere loop, that she might 
 not be called Eve in the newspapers ; and, to 
 
 save appearances with the Saints, — We 
 
 shall see; I am sure it will answer; and the 
 price of Opera-glasses will rise." 
 
 Violet w^as taken by surprise, and found she 
 had not courage to make her parents an avowal 
 of the dislike she felt to the career they now in 
 good earnest desired she should embrace. They 
 considered it an opportunity not to be lost. 
 
 Violet felt ashamed of her own feelings, per- 
 haps of not having sooner discovered them ; be- 
 sides, after the pains that had been taken with 
 her, how was she to find the heart to declare that 
 it had all been time thrown away ? 
 
 She thought of poor M. Dupas and his despair 
 at such a result to his many lessons. She then 
 reflected on the money expended upon her edu- 
 cation, and the bad return it would be to refuse 
 the only pecuniary means she knew she could 
 ever have in her power of aiding her parents. 
 
 The finale was, that, between shame and shy- 
 ness, and the innate sweetness of her disposition, 
 Violet's resolution gave w^ay. But the sad feel- 
 ing of self- degradation that accompanied her 
 compliance made her in secret shed bitter tears, 
 and often did she wish that her lot had been
 
 VIOLET. 4/ 
 
 differently cast, while she almost lost the hope of 
 rising above the level on wliich she mentally con- 
 ceived herself to be placed. 
 
 Still she bestowed attention on her profession, 
 more even than she had devoted to it for months 
 past. She desired, at least, to excel in her new 
 career. 
 
 She attended rehearsals as little as possible, 
 for these she hated, but at home, and with the 
 unremitting pains-taking of M. Dupas, she lost 
 no opportunity of studying her part. It was not 
 a very difficult one, and had it been more so, 
 Violet's extreme beauty, and an exquisite cos- 
 tume, would have counterbalanced many defects 
 in the performance. 
 
 In the meantime the renown of the new ballet 
 had gone abroad, and when the night for its first 
 performance arrived, not a box was vacant, and 
 there was not standing room in the pit. The 
 most interesting conversations were momentarily 
 suspended as the curtain, drawing up, discovered 
 the first scene to the expectant audience. 
 
 "They say there is to be a new dancer to- 
 night, the most beautiful girl that was ever be- 
 held," said Lord John to his Pendant. 
 
 "An Englishwoman, by the name, though,"
 
 48 VIOLET. 
 
 said a lady, " so she will be awkward I am afraid; 
 all Englishwomen are." 
 
 '' That's true, — but there's that Miss Norris 
 did it uncommonly w'ell. Horace/' whispered the 
 speaker, '' did not she break her leg or something, 
 jumping out of Harcourt's cab ?" 
 
 " Either her leg, or her rib, or something. 
 They swear Harcourt means to marry her." 
 
 " Does he ? then I wdll tell Crocky to give him 
 good advice and desire him not." 
 
 " Hush, — here is the new^ girl, by Jupiter ! If I 
 have not dropped my opera-glass ! " 
 
 It was in the middle of one of the most en- 
 chanting scenes of the ballet that Violet Wood- 
 ville, personifying the goddess of love and beauty, 
 made her first public appearance on a stage. 
 
 Nervous to the last degree, Violet almost 
 fainted under the violence of her emotions. The 
 stage-lamps restored her courage a little, as they 
 always do, and the imperious necessity of not 
 giving way, did still more to sustain her. She 
 profited by the advice of M. Dupas, — to take no 
 heed of the audience, and to think of her part 
 only, not of her judges. 
 
 Suddenly a loud rush of applause rang on her 
 ears, and the young girl was again on the point
 
 VIOLET. 49 
 
 of being overcome. These were not the whis- 
 pered tones of admiration falling like music on 
 the ear of the unprotected novice, but the loud 
 and unexpected shout of the admiring multitude 
 that first greeted the Violet, as incense to her 
 beauty. Some minutes passed ere she could 
 quite regain her self-possession. 
 
 The scene was at length over, and then she 
 threw herself into her father''s arms and shed 
 tears. M. Dupas, in his enthusiasm, quite felt 
 as if she were his own child as he pressed her 
 to his heart. Tears streamed down his cheeks 
 ^^-ithout his knowing it, w^hile Mr. Woodville, as 
 a younger man, felt quite ashamed of his own 
 emotion, and tried to smile and listen to the con- 
 gratulations of friends and by-standers. 
 
 Woodville himself was engaged as one of the 
 orchestra, but for this night he had requested 
 his conge. — " I could not play," he said, '' whilst 
 my daughter danced." 
 
 Nothing could exceed the entire success that 
 attended Miss Woodville. Her beauty and her 
 extreme gracefulness left nothing to desire, — but 
 above all, her uncommon beauty ! Her figure was 
 so finished by nature and set off by art, that it 
 alone represented perfectly the bean ideal of a 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 VIOLET. 
 
 Venus. Still, lovely as she looked on the stag-e. 
 it was considered necessary to have a closer in- 
 spection, ere a decided opinion could be pro- 
 nounced by the cognoscenti, ready as they were 
 to acknowledge that, at the distance from which 
 they had seen her, it was no exaggerated praise 
 to declare she looked divine. 
 
 Deafening plaudits hailed the finale, and even 
 the ladies lingered in their boxes to see the last 
 of " the new opera- dancer." 
 
 Her parents' joy, and her own most natural 
 vanity, gave some consolation to Violet in the 
 first steps of the path on which she had so re- 
 luctantly entered. In one week a new existence 
 opened to her. 
 
 She never went to the theatre without the pro- 
 tection either of her father or her mother, and in 
 this respect it is due to her parents to say that 
 they did their duty. 
 
 The young men rushed beliind the scenes to 
 make love, and settlements too, if they might ; 
 but Violet's modest manner, and her father's 
 watchfulness, shielded her from the lightest word 
 of offence. By turns, surprised, excited, flat- 
 tered, pleased, and rarely mortified, Violet gained 
 courage, and earned her distinction. She made
 
 VIOLET. 51 
 
 new acquaintances, she mingled in a larger circle, 
 and acquired some of that worldly knowledge in 
 which she had hitherto been so deficient. 
 
 She was gay, if not happy besides, for she had 
 little time for reflection, and nothing positive to 
 regret. Often too the real, or seeming brilliancy 
 of her position, would shed its enchantment over 
 the visions that rose to her imagination, as they 
 mil do to that of every young person who has 
 the world before them still. 
 
 Delightful moments, when all the disagreeable 
 realities of life are obliterated by the brief joys of 
 an hour ! and when in a paradise of fiction it is 
 possible to forget that if we are not to be single 
 among our fellow-creatures, as happiness is not 
 theirs, neither will it exist mthout alloy for our- 
 selves ! Yet would I say, dream on ; for, after-life 
 may have its pleasures and its sanguine hopes, 
 but never again can we derive, as we have done, 
 from the resources of a bright, unbruised spirit, 
 that poetry of thought that can create a heaven 
 on earth to the very young. The scene is sure 
 to change, and the clouds of sorrow are ever 
 gathering, though unseen by us, ready to burst 
 and dim the sunshine of our happiest moments. 
 Though again and again the elastic mind rises 
 . D 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 VIOLET. 
 
 above tha storm, yet we see that mind crushed by 
 degrees, and faintly growing to mistrust present 
 happiness, while futvirity is only seen through the 
 medium of the worst despondency. Alas! to 
 change it thus, how mvich sorrow must have lin- 
 gered o'er the now subdued and doubting spirit, 
 that once knew but the certainty of every scheme 
 it cared to realize ! 
 
 Miss Norris was still confined to the house 
 with her sprained ancle, for having walked about 
 when she was told to keep on her sofa, it suddenly 
 became worse, and she was now obliged to be 
 careful from fear of another relapse. 
 
 Emily thought she was very glad of Violet's 
 aureole de gloire, but in her heart she was a little 
 jealous, which, however, it was very natural she 
 could not conceive herself capable of being in the 
 least possible degree. 
 
 Miss Norris amused herself every day during 
 her illness, by putting on the most becoming 
 dressing gowns she could find, and the listening 
 for Mr. Harcourt's cab, either driving to her door 
 for him to inquire very particularly how she was, 
 or oftener still to make those inquiries himself in 
 person. 
 
 Still he did not propose, and the season was 
 drawing to an end.
 
 VIOLET. 53 
 
 Emily, however, grew more virtuous every day, 
 and Mrs. Norris was beginning to think whether 
 it would not be a good thing for her to do, as she 
 had read in fashionable novels that managing 
 mammas sometimes did; i. e. declare that her 
 daughter s affections were irreparably engaged, 
 and her happiness destroyed ; and that therefore 
 Mr. Harcourt must either discontinue his visits, 
 or he must propose. 
 
 Mrs. Norris discussed these measures with 
 Emily, but did not find her daughter so docile as 
 she was wont to be ; and Miss Norris one day 
 flatly told her mother that she begged the affair 
 with Mr. Harcourt should be left to her own 
 caring for, lest he should be worried away from 
 her altogether by the manoeuvi'ing of other 
 people, which Emily averred always spoiled these 
 affairs. 
 
 Miss Norris was agreeably roused one morn- 
 ing from a fit of low spirits by the rapid wheels of 
 Mr. Harcourt's cabriolet, dri^dng to her door much 
 earlier than usual. 
 
 He must be come to propose, thought Emily. 
 '' Mamma," exclaimed the young lady at the top 
 of her voice, for mamma was in another room, 
 '' Mamma, am I becoming ? Mamma, where's 
 mamma ? mamma — don't you hear, am I becom-
 
 D-i VIOLET. 
 
 ing ?'' Mrs. Norris now rushed in, and the sight 
 of Emily rolling her curls round her fingers 
 united to her important question, and the most 
 imploring interrogative eyes, told her, at once, of 
 the arrival she had not sooner learnt. 
 
 " Here, my dear, — here's a little, — there's yet a 
 moment, — I will detain him — make haste, — not 
 too much, mind." These broken sentences were 
 spoken with reference to an old bit of rouge which 
 the provident parent drew from her pocket, and 
 which with the last injunction of "not too much, 
 mind," she thrust into her daughter's hand. 
 
 " Thank you, mamma,'* said the young lady in 
 a sweetly grateful voice, and the right shade 
 being cleverly applied, Emily was happy in her 
 mind, and felt she had all her smiles at command 
 to enable her to overcome this hitherto obdurate, 
 but not hopelessly unproposing man. 
 
 '' My dear Emily," said Mr. Harcourt, " I am 
 anxious to know how soon you will be well enough 
 to join a water-party down to Greenmch, we are 
 to make it quite a fete ; Stanmore is to manage 
 it all, and it is to be the pleasantest thing in the 
 world ; but as I can have no pleasure without you, 
 it is quite necessary for me to know when you 
 can be one of us." 
 
 Though this w^as not a proposal, Emily fore-
 
 VIOLET. 55 
 
 saw a very agreeable day, and she brightened 
 considerably, while, with the aid of Mrs. Norris, 
 she named the time about which the apothecary 
 might consider it good for her, and pretty good 
 for himself, that she shoud be emancipated from 
 the sofa. 
 
 The point was arranged at last ; and long after 
 Mr. Harcourt left her, Emily was still building 
 castles in the air on a new foundation derived 
 from the expected day of pleasure. 
 
 Violet was now taken up in so many different 
 ways that she had not so much leisure as for- 
 merly; and Emily being obliged to remain at 
 home, they had not met very lately. Miss Norris 
 wrote her a note, requesting her to come and see 
 her that evening, if she could, with the intention 
 of learning whether Violet Woodville had been 
 invited earlier than herself to Lord Stanmore's 
 Greenwich party. That she was, or would be 
 invited was certain; for Emily had already 
 heard of the open admiration Lord Stanmore 
 professed for her beautiful friend ; and she was 
 also anxious to obtain some authentic information 
 upon this subject. 
 
 It was very true that amongst the many who 
 were struck with the uncommon loveliness of our 
 heroine, there was one very young man, of a
 
 56 VIOLET. 
 
 somewhat peculiar character, undeveloped, but 
 perhaps not the less pleasing. 
 
 Lord Stanmore was among the first to make 
 acquaintance \vith the new opera-dancer ; but he 
 was surprised and annoyed when he found how^ 
 difficult it would be for him to obtain her affec- 
 tions — that is, her aftections as he meant to 
 obtain them ; and he soon perceived that, if se- 
 ducing her was not hopeless, it could only be by 
 means of winning her attachment, and by the 
 bad principles he could not but suspect were only 
 dormant in her bosom. " I can win her hardly 
 by her vanity," thought he, " and still less by her 
 avarice, for she has none.*' 
 
 Slowly her admirer became impressed with the 
 virtue of Violet Woodville's character, and her 
 good conduct was undoubted. 
 
 Lord Stanmore was now really unhappy : he 
 could not think of marrying her, yet he was very 
 much in love. He w^as twenty-two, and his own 
 master. He would not fly from the object of his 
 passion ; there was always a latent trust in his 
 breast, that example and great temptation might 
 prove foes to Violet, and friends to him. He was 
 encouraged also by thinking that he had made 
 some impression on a heart as yet untried — he at 
 least hoped so.
 
 VIOLET. 57 
 
 It was certain that Violet was flattered by the 
 respectful preference of her admirer — doubly re- 
 spectful Lord Stanmore made it appear, because 
 he was well aware that it was the most profound, 
 as well as the most delicate flattery he could offer 
 to one in her situation. 
 
 Her parents, and even M. Dupas, already 
 dreamt of her as the bride of the rich young peer. 
 Violet dreamt no such dream ; but she did not 
 the less encourage, after a gentle fashion. Lord 
 Stanmore's admiration. He was good-looking, 
 and a charming person — besides, he was her first 
 love. 
 
 He speedily made acquaintance with all the 
 prima donnas and ballerinas, through whose 
 means he found he could share the society of 
 Violet. At concerts and practisings, at rehearsals, 
 at suppers, and reunions after the ballet ; at the 
 house of one or other of the operatic corps, he 
 found the opportunities he sought, and was most 
 assiduous in availing himself of them. It was 
 always something to be making love, and even 
 if nothing more came of it, he felt a sort of mali- 
 cious pleasure in the hope that he might make 
 himself regretted. 
 
 It was chiefly for the sake of Violet Wood\ille 
 that Lord Stanmore proposed the Greenwich 
 
 ' D 3
 
 58 VIOLET. 
 
 water-party ; and lie gave her carte blanche to ask 
 all her friends, whilst he invited a number of men 
 to add to their number. They were all to meet at 
 Whitehall, and go down to Greenwich by water. 
 Violet was naturally delighted at the pleasant 
 day she expected to pass, and much pleased also 
 by the manner in which Lord Stanmore made 
 her the queen of the fete. 
 
 Violet Woodville went to see Emily as she 
 requested, and gladly availed herself of her per- 
 mission to ask her friends, by hoping Emily and 
 her mother would be among them. 
 
 " O, I did not know, Violet, that this party was 
 all for you ! Mr. Harcourt has asked me already," 
 said Emily, a little piqued at finding she was not 
 the first personage on this occasion. " But tell 
 me, is it true that Lord Stanmore is very much in 
 love? How do you manage him, Violet? — do 
 you think he is at all a sort of man to marry you ? 
 Has he any mother, or any tiresome old guardian 
 to meddle with what they have no business ?" 
 
 " I do not know," answered Violet, colouring ; 
 " but as for marrying me, I am not so ambitious; 
 Lord Stanmore's relations would hate me, if he 
 did marry me, and I could not bear to be de- 
 spised by any one." 
 
 ** What great nonsense is that you are talking,
 
 VIOLET. 59 
 
 child ! why I could fancy you were come out of a 
 wood all at once." 
 
 '*0h, you know, Emily, people look upon 
 things differently. After all, it would be very 
 wrong for a person like Lord Stanmore to marry 
 me, who am not his equal in any way." 
 
 Miss Norris burst into a loud laugh. 
 
 " Heaven help your understanding ! If I did 
 not know you better, I should think you were the 
 greatest fool alive. Who has put these crotchets 
 into your head ?" 
 
 " Not a being, believe me, but we may all make 
 our own reflections." 
 
 " You had better make no more such as these ; 
 in our condition of life that sort of thing will not 
 do at all. I never heard Lord Stanmore was a 
 saint, — is it to please him you have learnt so 
 much wisdom ?" 
 
 "Come, don't laugh too much at me, Emily. 
 You know there is truth in what I have said, at 
 all events." 
 
 " I dare say ; you may tell me as much of the 
 Proverbs of King Solomon, but I am not going 
 to quote them, for all that. Well, I will talk no 
 more nonsense, — but tell me, what do vou hear 
 about me and Harcourt ? — what is said about it
 
 60 VIOLET. 
 
 do you hear ? — and is it thought he will propose 
 for me ?" 
 
 " Indeed, Emily, people are very ill-natured in 
 what thev say of you sometimes, and I wish Mr. 
 Harcourt would propose to you, as you desire it 
 so much, and then nothing more could be said." 
 
 " What do they say of me ? I suppose it is 
 that little spiteful Celeste, who never has for- 
 given me for taking Harcourt away from her; 
 what does she say of me, Violet ?" 
 
 " Oh, it is not httle Celeste only, but other 
 people; they declare he never will marry you, 
 and that you must know it." 
 
 « Well, I think differently,— and if Mr. Har- 
 court does propose, I own I shall glory in it, on 
 account of that impertinent Celeste. She is so 
 jealous, there is nothing she will not say of me. 
 Pray, dear Violet, is she asked to be of the party 
 to Greenwich?" 
 
 "I fear so, but you need not care for that." 
 
 " Oh dear no, I shall so like it ! Harcourt wiU 
 treat her with the utmost contempt, and, after 
 her behaviour to me, I shall certainly not be 
 sorry for her mortification. And then, Violet, if 
 I do marry Mr. Harcourt," continued Emily in 
 exuberant gaiety, — '^how 1 shall like to have
 
 VIOLET. 61 
 
 you constantly with me, and what amusement we 
 shall have ! You will always be my best friend, 
 and Mr. Harcourt likes you already, and I am 
 sure he will be so kind afterwards ; and then he 
 is the most generous person I know, and will give 
 me every thing in the world I desire. How cu- 
 rious it -svill be for us to go to the opera together 
 in our own box, will it not ? And there I shall 
 see Celeste all that way off, — ha, ha, ha! — dancing 
 as she always does, with one foot more turned in 
 than the other, and seeing me where she cannot 
 get at me with all her ill-nature — how nice it will 
 be for us to go in that way together !" 
 
 "Dearest Emily, you are very kind to think of 
 me so ; I do wish it was all settled with Mr. Har- 
 court; but you have never told me if you have 
 heard any more of M. Larray; I am afraid he 
 thought you behaved unkindly to him." 
 
 Emily Norris made no reply, but her expres- 
 sion changed. 
 
 " He is gone to Paris, is he not ? " 
 
 "Do not name him now," exclaimed Emily^ 
 bursting into a violent fit of tears, and evincing 
 grief as violent as her gaiety had been the very 
 instant previous : and leaning on the table, she 
 hid her face with her hands.
 
 62 VIOLET. 
 
 " Good heavens ! do you care so much for him? " 
 said Violet Woodville in astonishment. 
 
 " Indeed I do, — he is the only person in the 
 whole world I ever really preferred, — and — per- 
 haps I shall never see him again." 
 
 " Then why, Emily, have you behaved to him 
 in the way you have ? you knew him to be de- 
 voted to you." 
 
 " Ah ! if I could recall the past it should all be 
 different. I thought if I could only marry Mr. 
 Harcourt, that was every thing, and that I should 
 be a lady, and then that odious Celeste could 
 affront me no more. I was not always in the 
 same mind. There were times that I would 
 sooner have been Henri's wife than the King of 
 England's ; but then we quarrelled, and he was 
 jealous ; and mamma too, the moment she thought 
 it possible Mr. Harcourt would marry me, never 
 talked of any thing else ; and of Henri being 
 poor, and of how rich I should be, and that 
 was the great thing. And I could not help 
 liking to flirt with Mr. Harcourt, because of that 
 French girl, who has always been interfering 
 with me all my life ; and then I quarrelled dread- 
 fully with M. Larray, because he said he heard 
 that Mr. Harcourt would not marry me, and that
 
 VIOLET. 63 
 
 I should lose my character, and he threatened to 
 give me up for ever if I would not promise not 
 to see Mr. Harcourt any more; and I was very 
 angry, and declared that all should be at an end 
 then with Henri, for, that since he said this, I 
 would not ever marry him, and that I would not 
 be governed by any body. 
 
 " I was certainly very angry. I think I told 
 Henri I wondered how he could expect that I 
 should not prefer Mr. Harcourt to him, and that I 
 had a right to do as well for myself as 1 could. — 
 I do not know how it was, he was in a passion 
 Avith me at first, but at last he softened entirely; 
 and, when I least thought of his doing so, he 
 held out his hand and took mine, and said, " Let 
 us part friends, — dear Emily, may God bless you ! 
 — I have loved you very much — I will not ask 
 you ever to think of me again, but, for your own 
 sake, have prudence ;" — and before I had time to 
 answer, he left me, and next day went to Paris. 
 
 " This was the first idea I had of his leaving 
 England, except on that one evening at our house 
 when he bade me a sort of farewell through 
 you; but we had been friends after that, and I 
 never thought he was serious in meaning to go 
 abroad.
 
 64 VIOLET. 
 
 " So now it is all over, and I shall never" 
 
 Tears choked her utterance, and Emily gave way 
 to a burst of grief she never reckoned upon 
 undergoing, or her own selfishness would have 
 saved her from the infliction.
 
 ( «5 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, 
 As proudly sailing o'er the azure realm, 
 In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, 
 
 Youth at the prow, and Pleasure at the helm." 
 
 "Mamma, it is such a lovely day!" exclaimed 
 Violet Woodville, her face radiant with pleasure : 
 ''how delightful! — notliing could be more per- 
 fect ! " 
 
 It was the day fixed for the water-party to 
 Greenwich; exquisite in truth it was, — just one 
 of those days which we can have, even in this 
 country, — ^just such a day as it is worth while to 
 exist in, and to possess no other blessing. 
 
 Should the reader be capable of appreciating 
 the actual charm there is in a very fine day, he 
 will understand the force of Violet Woodville's ex- 
 clamation of ''How delightful !" and when, added 
 to the weather, we can combine the gayest spirits 
 and the most smiling joy of a young mind, — 
 confess with me, my reader, say what we may,
 
 66 VIOLET. 
 
 there are some heavenly hours in this world of 
 ours, and that sometimes it is worth while to 
 have been born, and to have incurred the 
 chance of all the weal or woe that may fall to the 
 lot of man. 
 
 It was about one o'clock ; the Woodvilles were 
 ready to set forth. It had been agreed that the 
 Avhole party should meet at Whitehall-stairs, and 
 proceed thence in boats to Greenwich; the 
 Woodvilles and the Norrises were going together. 
 At this moment a note was brought to Mr. 
 Woodville, from Lord Stanmore. 
 
 '' This is most provoking," said he, handing 
 the note to Mrs. Woodville. "Indeed it is," 
 replied that lady, with an expression of conster- 
 nation. " Indeed it is ; so Violet's new, beau- 
 tiful pink hat goes for nothing, and she might as 
 well not have had a new one ! " 
 
 " Nay, indeed, that I don't see at all ; little 
 Violet ought to have all the hats in the kingdom, 
 such a good, pretty little daughter as she is to 
 me ;" and the fond father kissed his child with 
 proud affection. 
 
 " Oh, I did not mean that Violet should not 
 have as many new bonnets as she wants, only 
 that beautiful pink one she does look so well in, 
 and it cost a great deal ; but as I knew she was
 
 VIOLET. 67 
 
 to see Lord Stanmore, on that account I would 
 make her have it, wasn't it, Violet ?" 
 
 " Dear father, all this time you have not told 
 me what the note contains ; never mind my bon- 
 net, mamma, but tell me that." 
 
 The note certainly communicated disagreeable 
 intelligence. It was from Lord Stanmore, to say 
 he had that instant received a bad account of his 
 mother's health ; she had sent for two physicians, 
 and he was led to fear there was danger. He 
 was, consequently, instantly going down to 
 Brighton, .where Lady Stanmore was staying. 
 He desired, however, that the party might pro- 
 ceed without him. All the arrangements were 
 made for it, and he had requested a friend to 
 take his place on the occasion. Lord Stanmore's 
 note concluded with expressing great regret at 
 losing so much pleasure as he had anticipated in 
 sharing the society of the Woodvilles, and sor- 
 row for the cause of his deprivation. 
 
 Violet looked rather blank on finishing this 
 note. A great part of her happiness vanished. 
 She went to the window and began to think the 
 day was not so fine as before. She mused for 
 some minutes, and then, turning round, inquired 
 in an absent manner what was to be done now 
 about going.
 
 68 VIOLET. 
 
 " Oh, we go, of course, all the same," replied 
 Mrs. Woodville, who very much liked what she 
 called a pleasure party ; " don't you see Lord 
 Staumore, in a very thoughtful manner, particu- 
 larly requests that we should upon no account 
 give up going, stating that he has got a, friend 
 to take his place. What's his name, Mr. Wood- 
 ville ? Does Lord Stanmore mention the name 
 of the friend who is to preside in his place to- 
 day ? Give me the note. No — a friend, — no, 
 there's no name, — that's a pity. I wonder Lord 
 Stanmore did not mention his friend's name, — it's 
 always as well to know who's who." 
 
 "You are sure he is a gentleman, can't that 
 content you, Mrs. Woodville? What does it 
 signify what his name is ?" said Mr. Wood- 
 ville. 
 
 '' Oh, of course I suppose he is a gentleman, 
 but still it is as well to know what people are be- 
 sides." 
 
 " Well, for my part, I don't see what more 
 there is to know besides." 
 
 " No, you never do know what you ought. 
 Well, here's the glass coach. I suppose you 
 gave a guinea for it for the day as usual, Charles, 
 eh ? It is a very neat one, I declare, — just as 
 good as if we had our own carriage."
 
 VIOLET. 69 
 
 " Yes, I desired to have a nice one this time. ' 
 Now get in, or we shall be too late ; you know 
 we are to call for the Norrises." 
 
 When the Woodvilles and the Norrises 
 reached Whitehall Yard they were late, at least 
 it appeared so from the previous arrival of two 
 other vehicles, one being green, the other a deep 
 yellow. 
 
 Out of the windows of these several equipages 
 protruded some fair faces, but I do not know 
 whether the eminently Parisian hats that waved 
 on the top of these faces were not, in some in- 
 stances, fairer still. 
 
 Impatience was strongly exhibited on the 
 most coquettish countenance ; and two or three 
 cabs were waiting in the court, while their 
 owners, in the very whitest gloves, were alter- 
 nately walking about, admiring the French polish 
 on their own boots, or stopping to pacify the 
 anxious sylphs of the glass coaches. 
 
 The Woodville party was clearly the cause of 
 all this restlessness, and their arrival was hailed 
 accordingly. Then began the letting down of 
 steps, and the gentlemen's little cab boys touch- 
 ing their hats, and endeavouring to get noticed 
 and obtain their orders, so as not to have to wait 
 all day, and perhaps all night too, in Whitehall
 
 70 VIOLET. 
 
 Yard for their masters, by whom their wretched 
 little existences, and that of their poor cab horses, 
 were being equally forgotten. 
 
 Then there was the shawling of the ladies. 
 They were all of them good-looking, or approach- 
 ing to it, which some women contrive to make 
 about the same thing. 
 
 One there was smarter, and still more aux 
 petits soins with herself than the rest of her com- 
 panions. She was really pretty, and had taken 
 every care to make the most of that advantage. 
 
 " Mon cachemire — mille pardons, — mais cest 
 egale, Milor, — ne vous deraiigez pas, Milor, — mais 
 c^ a fait, je vous assure/' — and, on this assurance, 
 the Milor, of course, redoubled his attention to- 
 wards draping the folds of an exquisite cache- 
 mire des Indes on the shoulders of the lady in 
 question. 
 
 " There's Celeste," whispered Emily Norris to 
 Violet, as she availed herself of Mr. Harcourt's 
 assistance to walk down to the stairs. 
 
 " Ah, mais voila ma chere Miss Norris, — mais 
 quelle jolie robe quelle porte ! II faut ahsolument 
 que je lui parle un tout petit mot,'^ cried the owner 
 of the cachemire, as she advanced towards Emily, 
 leaning on the arm of her Milor. 
 
 " Chere Miss Norris, I must tell you, you are
 
 VIOLET. 71 
 
 charming to-day. I have iofeliciter you, have I 
 not ? Congratulate you call it. And you, too, 
 Mr. Harcourt. Well, you will live very happily 
 together, I do not but believe you will. Drole 
 de chose que le manage ! cest une liaison pour la 
 vie ! mais tous les deux vans etes faites pour cela, 
 n'est-ce pas? et quand est-ce que ce sera, ma ires 
 chereT' 
 
 The last words were conveyed in a loud whis- 
 per. Emily Norris endeavoured to look as if she 
 did not understand ; and, with as much coolness 
 as she could assume, she replied : — •'• I do not 
 know to what you allude, Madlle. Celeste, but I 
 am so sorry for the ungrateful reception you met 
 with in the ballet on Saturday. Every body has 
 told me of it, and I cannot tell you how it dis- 
 tressed me for your sake." 
 
 " Eh, mais ne vous donnez pas cette peine, mon 
 ange de bonte. Mais c'est que jai fait mal expres 
 pour mexcuser de ce role qui mennuii a lamort! 
 Mais dites done, — vous me prierez a vos noces, 
 fespere? Ah, voila Milor qui m' attend toujours ; au 
 revoir, cher enfant;'' and the maUcious Celeste 
 skipped off, happily conscious of having said the 
 most disagreeable things she could, if not to 
 Emily, at least, to her lover, who was out of tern-
 
 72 VIOLET. 
 
 per accordingly, for Mr. Harcourt never could 
 bear to be annoyed, — it is very disagreeable. 
 
 Violet was upon her father's arm, still a little 
 distressed at the unavoidable defection of Lord 
 Stanmore. 
 
 Laughing and talking, the whole party reached 
 the boats. In these, two or three gentlemen were 
 already occupied in preparing for the reception 
 of the ladies, and one of them now jumped for- 
 ward, and said something to Mr. Harcourt about 
 introdvicing him. Mr. Harcourt obeyed by pre- 
 senting this gentleman to Mr. Woodville and his 
 daughter, and in him Violet at once recognised 
 Mr. d'Arcy, whom she had never beheld since 
 the night when she met him at Mrs. Norris's. 
 
 The impression he had then produced had al- 
 most worn away. 
 
 Mr. d'Arcy said he was desired to fulfill all 
 the duties of his absent friend, Lord Stanmore, 
 on this occasion, and asked, with an air of de- 
 ference, to conduct Miss Woodville to the boat. 
 
 As he spoke, D'Arcy gazed in admiration on 
 the most beautiful face he thought he had ever 
 beheld. 
 
 At length everything was arranged, and Mr. 
 Woodville, and Violet, Emily Norris, and Mr.
 
 VIOLET. 73 
 
 Harcourt (who was still writhing under the in- 
 fliction of Madlle. Celesta), that young lady, her- 
 self and her Milor, were all stowed in the first 
 boat, but ere it shoved off D'Arcy discovered 
 that there was no remaining place for him. 
 
 "D'Arcy," exclaimed Lord William C , 
 
 '* what are you looking at ? There's plenty of 
 room for you in the other boats." 
 
 " So I see, but this is the one I mean to q-o in : 
 who will move ? 
 
 " Why you. don't think we shall ?" 
 
 " Indeed I do, my dear William, — one of you 
 must. I am particularly desired to see that Miss 
 Woodville is taken care of, and I cannot think 
 of going in one of the other boats when she is in 
 this," and, stepping forwards, Mr. d'Arcy whis- 
 pered something in Lord William's ear which 
 had the effect of making him propose to his com- 
 panion, i. e. to Celeste, to find places elsewhere. 
 
 Now, Madlle. Celeste had already practised 
 some manoeuvring to be where she was, and to 
 be ousted thus she thought unbearable, and 
 this opinion she expressed to Lord William. 
 
 " Madlle. does not like moving, D'Arcy ; she 
 made a point of being in this boat ;" and he 
 added, confidentially, '' see if you can get her out 
 yourself, it's all one to me, but I mustn't affront 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 VIOLET. 
 
 her, because I am making love to her, and 1 
 have so many affairs just now on hand, I can''t 
 afford losing time to make it up if I quarrel vnih 
 her/' 
 
 With an air of soft benignity D'Arcy proffered 
 his hand to Celeste, and, on obtaining hers, gave 
 it a most hardy gripe, which acted the part of a 
 lever to the Frenchwoman, whether she would 
 or not ; but he accompanied the action with a 
 smile and a look he meant for her alone, and 
 one that he would sooner have resigned all 
 chance of the place he aimed at possessing than 
 A^iolet Woodville should have noticed. It tho- 
 roughly overcame poor Celeste, who went away 
 with a better grace than she threatened to do at 
 first. 
 
 To make one more, instead of the two who 
 
 were gone, a Madame N was ushered into 
 
 the vacant place, who, not ha\dng a cavalier, 
 said she did not want one, and was taken at her 
 word. 
 
 D'Arcy was quickly by the side of Violet ; and 
 at the same instant a waterman called out to Mr. 
 Woodville, to leave his daughter, in order to trim 
 the boat by sitting on the opposite side. 
 
 D'Arcy, in an easy manner, lamented Lord 
 Stanmore's absence, and did not scruple to ex-
 
 VIOLET. 75 
 
 press the reason, which would, he said, make the 
 deprivation be doubly felt by his friend. 
 
 Violet replied with embarrassment. The con- 
 versation turned on other subjects : she found 
 Mr. d'Arcy an easier person to converse vnih 
 than she expected, and in spite of the timidity 
 which she involuntarily felt, whenever the recol- 
 lection of his conversation with Mr. Harcourt 
 crossed her mind, still his ao^reeableness won 
 upon her. 
 
 His manner, too, she found different from what 
 she had considered it on that occasion. There 
 was none of the superciliousness she had disliked ; 
 and when by accident she saw his expression, 
 Violet only beheld the most speaking counte- 
 nance, and not a feature, as she thought, that 
 was not lighted mth philanthropic benevolence. 
 
 Violet Woodville was fairly puzzled ; she won- 
 dered how she could ever have thought ill- 
 naturedly of him. 
 
 " Do you know. Miss Woodville," said D'Arcy, 
 " I saw you at the Opera, for the first time, on 
 Tuesday. I am only just returned to town. I 
 have a great deal to thank you for ; I never 
 knew in my life, before, how exquisite an enjoy- 
 ment it is to admire mth such intensity ! " 
 
 ''I am very glad to hear the ballet pleased 
 
 E 2
 
 76 VIOLET. 
 
 you ; — indeed, I think the scenery is beautiful," 
 answered Violet with shyness. 
 
 " Oh, I am not thinking of the scenery," and 
 D'Arcy smiled archly in her face. '' I do not 
 remember it even, I only thought of seeing my 
 beau ideal of a Venus so unexpectedly embodied, 
 as I saw it then, — as I see it now ! But you are 
 tired of hearing you are handsome, and, young as 
 you are, you find the theme is hackneyed. Do 
 not hate me if I could not fail to worship, and to 
 tell you so, as all those that ever beheld you 
 fain would." 
 
 "No, Mr. d'Arcy, I am not so used to compli- 
 ments as all that," said Violet, ndivement ; "but 
 only I like people not to exaggerate so much to 
 me, because I think they must suppose how 
 vain I am, and that, you know, is not flattering 
 at all." 
 
 " Flattery,'' muttered D'Arcy, half to himself, 
 "no one ever flattered you." 
 
 " Are you fond of the Opera, Mr. d'Arcy ? " 
 
 " Yes, very ; I like it because, in the first place, 
 I am really fond of music : and, whether or no, I 
 frequent it on principle." 
 
 " But why on principle ? " 
 
 " We become so vile and hardened occasionally, 
 I think it is an immense thing to get one's old
 
 VIOLET. 7 4 
 
 romance brushed up — revived a little at intervals, 
 and nothing does that so effectually as a good 
 opera. These touchings up do the basest hearts 
 an infinite good. Ah ! I suppose I talk nonsense 
 to you, who can know nothing of the world, — may 
 you long remain blest with ignorance : you ought, 
 for, if I ever read a countenance, yours is the pic- 
 ture of a charming mind. I could look at you for 
 ever, and I could not imagine you possessed one 
 fault ! Tell me, have you one in the world? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered Violet, laughing, '' so 
 many ; but I shall not tell them." 
 
 "Well, I think you would if I were to press 
 you very much." 
 
 " What makes you think so ? " 
 
 " You have an air of candour that bids de- 
 fiance to concealment of anv kind." 
 
 " Altogether, you have a better opinion of me 
 than I deserve ; I am not in the least better than 
 other people, I assure you." 
 
 " For instance," said D'Arcy, " not better than 
 any one of us in this boat ? I confess," he con- 
 tinued, " I am curious to comprehend this stand- 
 ard of your own perfection. To begin with that 
 
 formal Madame N , who has been the Emilia, 
 
 pocket-handkerchief woman in Otello for the last 
 three seasons, to the best of my recollection, — an
 
 ib VIOLET. 
 
 excellent woman, for what I know, but would you 
 exchange all the good you are sure of in your- 
 self, for the qualities you may suppose her to 
 possess ? " 
 
 -No, no!" 
 
 '' Well, there's Miss — Miss Norris, what do 
 you think of her ?" D'Arcy spoke with an enquir- 
 ing eye. Violet reddened, for she was reminded 
 of the scarcely less than contempt with which 
 she had before heard D'Arcy speak of Emily 
 Norris. 
 
 " Miss Norris is a great friend of mine," she 
 answered, almost deprecatingly. 
 
 '' Ah ! " exclaimed D' Arcy. Violet raised her 
 eyes to his. They were fixed upon her with 
 earnest penetration, while a smile played round 
 the corners of a very handsome mouth. Then 
 those eyes, as they encountered Violet Wood- 
 ville's, softened; and timidly Violet turned her 
 head away. But, in her heart, she felt pleased ; 
 and the soft voice, in which it was necessary 
 D'Arcy's remarks should be made, was not with- 
 out its effect on her susceptibility, whilst it pre- 
 vented their being heard by their companions. 
 
 D'Arcy had very handsome eyes, and the most 
 expressive I ever saw ; they were not continually 
 handsome, but they had some latent charm : it
 
 VIOLET. 79 
 
 existed, but was not always evident ; and at times 
 it slept entirely beneath that look of utter indif- 
 ference which had been so much remarked by 
 Violet when she first met him. 
 
 " There's Mr. Woodville, but we will pass him 
 over : he is your father, and that at once endears 
 him in my mind." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; if you knew my father, he is better 
 than anybody in the world ; I wish I was but half 
 as good as he is." 
 
 " I believe you. — Now for Mr. Harcourt: 
 what say you for his excellencies of character ? " 
 
 " I see him almost for the first time." 
 
 '' Then there remains only myself to discuss. 
 Would you, at a venture, exchange all the good 
 feelings you must be conscious of for mine ? " 
 
 " But, again — I know you so little, Mr. d'Arcy, 
 yet I dare say you are a very good person." 
 
 The innocent gentleness mth which this was 
 spoken would have touched a tiger's heart : D'Arcy 
 did not smile ; he could not. 
 
 " D'Arcy," exclaimed Mr. Harcourt, who found 
 he had exhausted his sentimentalities with Emily : 
 " D'Arcy, did you ever see a girl like that 
 little Celeste ? By Jove ! what could she want 
 here ? " 
 
 '' The pleasure of sitting opposite Miss Norris
 
 80 VIOLET. 
 
 and yourself, I presume ; undeniably no small 
 pleasure/' said D'Arcy, bowing to Emily. 
 
 But the manner was changed. In those few 
 words Violet could hardly recognise the person 
 she had just conversed with. His look, too ! It 
 was that look and that tone that Violet could not 
 bear. 
 
 " Is Madlle. Celeste a friend of yours, Miss 
 Woodville ? " asked Mr. Harcourt. 
 " No ; I hardly know her." 
 " No ! " said Woodville : " I am not very 
 fond of Madlle. Celeste, and I like to choose 
 nice friends for my good little daughter there. 
 You must excuse my being very fond of her. 
 She is my only child, and the best that ever lived, 
 I am sure. But I have no business to be saying 
 so here ; I do not know what made me so silly," 
 continued the father, half modestly, half ashamed 
 of his parental pride. D'Arcy looked at Wood- 
 ville' s honest countenance, and he wondered in- 
 war dly- 
 
 Before dinner the whole party went sight- 
 seeing, as is usual, I believe. D'Arcy took care 
 not to relinquish the charge of Violet, and she 
 was too happy to wish for any change. So off 
 they all went to see the Hospital, as most of the 
 party had done a hundred times before ; but
 
 VIOLET. 81 
 
 which was no reason for their not doing it again 
 now. 
 
 Many a joyous party has trod the courts of 
 Greenwich Hospital — many; and if those old 
 stones could speak, what tales of love they could 
 reveal ! Vows spoken there, and long forgotten. 
 There, too, many a tear has fallen, and many a 
 ringing laugh has sounded; and oblivion, and the 
 dust of the dead are all that remain of eventful 
 hours — the joy or the misery of a human life ! 
 But of these things there is no record ; for the 
 heart has none. 
 
 E'en such is time, which takes in trust 
 Our youth, our joys, and all we have, 
 
 And pays us nought save age and dust ; 
 Which, in the d.irk and silent grave. 
 
 When we have wandered all our ways, 
 
 Shuts up the story of our days. 
 
 Sir W^. Raleigh. 
 
 Before Emily quitted Mr. Harcourt's arm, on 
 arriving at the " Ship," where they were to dine, 
 Mrs. Norris approached, and said to Emily, in a 
 sort of genteel voice, which she used on particular 
 occasions — '' Dearest, I fear I spoilt half your 
 happiness to day, by not being able to be with 
 you on the water. Emily cannot bear to be 
 chaperoned by anybody but myself, Mr. Harcourt ; 
 she is quite childish about that. But you saw, 
 
 E 3
 
 82 VIOLET. 
 
 love, there really was no room for me ; and the 
 Woodvilles are such good people, and they were 
 in the boat! " 
 
 •' Oh, thank you. Mamma ; I did regret your 
 not being with me; but I knew you could not 
 help it," answered Miss Norris. 
 
 " Mamma," said Emily, w^hile adjusting her 
 hair before dinner, " Mamma, I beg you \vi\\ get 
 anywhere but near me at dinner — above all, do 
 not sit opposite to me. It is very easy for you, 
 if you try, to get a seat a long way from me down 
 the table, on the same side — only a long way from 
 me, mind that !" 
 
 " Very well," said Mrs. Norris, " and pray don't 
 let your temper get the better of you, so as to 
 have any of your snapping at Madlle. Celeste. 
 She will do you harm yet if you are not care- 
 ful ; for my part I shall be partictdarly civil to 
 her." 
 
 '"Harcourt," said D'Arcy, the first opportvmity 
 he found, " what is this new girl? '* 
 
 '•'What— which?" 
 
 "That little Woodville, to be sure !" 
 
 -Miss Woodville.?" 
 
 "Oh, how punctilious you are become! Upon 
 my word, Harcourt, the society you keep im-
 
 VIOLET. 83 
 
 proves you amazingly. Miss Woodville, then," 
 continued D'Arcy^ with an emphasis on the Miss. 
 
 " Why, she is a very nice girl, I believe, and it 
 is no use your looking after her." 
 
 " Indeed ! en attendant, I shall like to know 
 something of her." 
 
 " Well, I tell you, she is a very nice person." 
 
 ** Be more explicit, pray : how do you know 
 anything about her ? " 
 
 " She happens to be a particular friend of 
 Miss Emily Norris, and gets advice from her; 
 and Emily possesses such high principles, that I 
 have an opinion of anybody who is her friend," 
 said Mr. Harcourt, slowly and pompously. 
 
 " The devil you have ! '' exclaimed D'Arcy, 
 bursting into laughter; "well, I don't despair, 
 notwithstanding. Thank you, you have told me 
 a great deal." 
 
 The dinner was excellent, and gaiety was the 
 order of the day. The champagne was declared 
 to be the best ever tasted, and, on that account 
 it was tasted very often. All the ladies were in 
 good humour. Milor and Celeste became great 
 friends, and he hoped he should not have to 
 waste as much time in making love to the lady a^ 
 he at first feared.
 
 84 VIOLET. 
 
 Emily and Mr. Harcourt went on remarkably 
 well, for two people who, after all, were playing 
 at cross purposes. 
 
 Mrs. Norris with her lynx eyes saw them, and 
 everybody else, though she obeyed Emily's in- 
 junction, and did not sit too near her. Mrs. Norris 
 was one of those who particularly approved of 
 the champagne, and thought it almost as good as 
 any lover, and wondered she had not thought 
 so all her life. So she drank it; and went 
 on looking benignly at all the world, but keep- 
 ing herself as decorous as she possibly could, 
 so as not to be a reproach to the rest ; for Mrs. 
 Norris was quite of opinion with the man in 
 ' Moliere's Misanthrope :' — 
 
 '' A force de sagesse, on peut etre blamable, 
 La parffiite raison fait tout extremite, 
 Et veut que Ton soit sage avec sobriete. 
 ***** 
 
 Ell c'est une folie a nuUe autre seconde, 
 De vouloir se meler a corriger le monde." 
 
 After dinner D'Arcy was extremely civil to Mr. 
 Woodville, and talked a great deal about the 
 orchestra at the King's Theatre; and blamed 
 the manager much for being stingy. He then 
 praised Violet exceedingly, and, with great 
 frankness, extolled her dancing, and told Wood- 
 ville numerous things that he (D'Arcy^ had heard 
 in eulogium upon her.
 
 VIOLET. 85 
 
 In the evening, walking in the park was pro- 
 posed, and acceded to by all. 
 
 D'Arcy found a moment to express his anxiety 
 about Mrs. Woodville's shawl being the right 
 one, and to beg she would allow him to introduce 
 a cousin of his. Lord Toppington, who was among 
 their number ; and he brought up a raw boy of 
 sixteen, and presented him, saying, " The young 
 gentleman was most anxious for the honour of 
 making Mrs. Woodville's acquaintance." He 
 next whispered in his ear — " There, Arthur, that's 
 a great thing I have done for you, you may be 
 much obliged to me, — offer your arm directly, 
 and don't stand staring like a fool." 
 
 Then D'Arcy glided back to Violet, who was 
 attending to some young men, and, at the same 
 time, forced to listen to the honied words of little 
 Celeste, who was fond of new acquaintances, and 
 liked teaching "^the young idea how to shoot." 
 She was rather a clever gipsy, that ^Mademoiselle 
 Celeste. 
 
 A w^alk by moonlight is a very pleasant thing 
 with a lover, and a lover, too, just beginning to 
 bud into one. A budding lover is a much plea- 
 santer thing than a full-blown one, very often ; 
 there is so much trouble attendant upon the 
 latter sort.
 
 86 VIOLET. 
 
 D'Arcy said notliing positive to Miss Wood- 
 ville about his being in love with her ; he was as 
 discreet on that head as Mrs. Norris herself 
 could have desired^ and Violet grew more and 
 more pleased with him. He pointed out the 
 moon and the stars to her, but in a new way, it 
 seemed to Violet ; so that it was really the same 
 thing to her as if she had never seen them 
 before. 
 
 It may be worth remarking, that Violet and 
 D'Arcy, out of some twenty people who composed 
 the party, were the only ones who made an 
 observation on the beauties of Nature. Celeste 
 and Milor thought of nothing of the sort ; and if 
 Celeste had shown a disposition that way. Lord 
 William never could have found time to reply to 
 such a singular little caprice d'esprit. 
 
 Emily and Mr. Harcourt sauntered on toge- 
 ther. The latter w^as not aimable. He declared 
 he could not understand ^liss Norris's beha- 
 viour : her unkindness was extraordinary. Was 
 he not devoted to her ? — had she a desire it 
 was not his to fulfil ? Was he not her slave ? 
 Had she ever had reason to doubt his affection ? 
 Had he not forsaken every other lady for her 
 sake ? — and yet, what was the return he met with ? 
 He could no longer doubt Miss Norris had de-
 
 VIOLET. 87 
 
 ceived him ; her affections were already engaged ; 
 he was but the victim of her coquetry, and was 
 the most miserable of men ! 
 
 That last assurance, as a lover, he was, of course, 
 bound to add, whether it were true or not. All 
 these sentences sounded very euphoniously ; but 
 what of that — for not one of them hinted at a pro- 
 posal — and Emily still thought that might be 
 
 obtained, finally ; — if not — why then but 
 
 Mrs. Norris was so discreet a woman, that it is 
 not fair to surmise on the future actions of any 
 one under her guidance. 
 
 As for Mrs. Wood\'ille, and her boy Topping - 
 ton, they trotted on together ; she, poor woman, 
 trying to make such innocent conversation as ap- 
 peared the best suited to him, as she conceived ; 
 and he, more shy than he ever was in his life 
 before, and a thousand times more in awe of a 
 lady \vho acted at Covent Garden, than even of 
 his stiff great grandmother, the Duchess of 
 Mightiness, when she sent to give him a lec- 
 ture, or to stop his allowance. He thought it, 
 however, very kind of his cousin D'Arcy to have 
 got him to this water party, and still more kind 
 to have introduced him to so distinguished a per- 
 son as Mrs. Woodville. 
 
 *' Remarkably pleasing young man, Mr. d'Arcy,
 
 88 VIOLET. 
 
 I think ; did not you, Mr. Woodville ?" inquired 
 Woodville's spouse, as they reached home in the 
 glass coach. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; and he was very attentive to all 
 of us, I thought ; and he told me also that he 
 admired Violet so very much, which showed him 
 to be a sort of frank young man, without any 
 double dealing about him, wliich is what I hate. 
 I do not like it when young men come and talk to 
 a girl, and are not for saying anything of it to 
 her parents : I, who know the world well, always 
 guess that means no good ;" and upon the close 
 of these pertinent observations, Mr. Woodville 
 stepped upon his own threshold. 
 
 The next time Violet saw Mr. d'Arcy was 
 while he was sitting in a side-box at the Opera ; 
 before she became aware of his presence, she 
 thought only of the audience. Noiv he alone was 
 that audience. The judgment of the multitude, 
 pending upon herself at that moment, was forgot- 
 ten — contending feelings were hers. She hated 
 so that D'Arcy, the despiser D'Arcy, should be- 
 hold her one of the tribe for whom he had de- 
 clared so much contempt. I at least will show 
 him I deserve not his ill opinion, thought Violet ; 
 " Still I am an opera-dancer," she involuntarily 
 exclaimed ; and never, since its commencement.
 
 VIOLET. 89 
 
 had Violet Woodville's dislike to her profession 
 so forcibly recurred to her. 
 
 Two or three days afterwards D'Arcy called 
 upon the Woodvilles : he had heard, he said, 
 from Lord Stanmore. Lady Stanmore was not 
 better, and his friend wrote in wretched spirits. 
 He was exceedingly attached to his mother, and 
 Mr. d'Arcy declared, from the account he re- 
 ceived, he thought it a hopeless case ; and he 
 grieved over Lord Stanmore' s affliction in conse. 
 quence. 
 
 Violet was in the room during D'Arcy's visit, 
 and she could not help feeling that his eyes 
 were riveted upon her, when he mentioned Lord 
 Stanmore. She was really sorry for her ad- 
 mirer's distress, and she said so without dis- 
 guising it. 
 
 D'Arcy talked more of Lord Stanmore to her 
 father and mother than he did to herself During 
 his visit M. Dupas came in ; and while the family 
 greetings were going on, D'Arcy contrived to 
 approach Violet. 
 
 " Do you never walk. Miss Woodville ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; very often.*' 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Very early ; before breakfast, often." 
 
 '^ Where ? "
 
 90 VIOLET. 
 
 " In Kensington Gardens : we live so near ; it 
 is convenient." 
 
 '' With Mrs. Wood\ille ?" 
 " No ; Mamma is not up so early." 
 D'Arcy longed to ask, — Alone, then? or 
 With whom ? but he did not quite dare ; for 
 he was aware that the drift of his questions was 
 unperceived by Violet, and he feared that, had it 
 been otherwise, he might give umbrage. Violet 
 actually did not surmise the course of his in- 
 quiries. It is possible, without being a fool, to 
 be quite unknowing in the ways of the world ; 
 and Violet was the most unsuspecting of human 
 beings. Her simplicity of mind, as to all that 
 was artful or designing, placed her almost in the 
 position of a child who learns to read, but, from 
 hating the pursuit, gains no improvement. Violet 
 Woodville daily heard, and sometimes saw, in- 
 stances of deception, and even of vice; but while 
 she knew such things were, she did not dream of 
 them in connexion with herself 
 
 There are minds like this, beautiful only as 
 they were created ; and how sad it is to think 
 that soon the contact of other minds shall tarnish 
 the purity of such as these, and reduce them to 
 their own level. Yet are we all alike destined 
 for an ordeal ; and if virtue falls into error, we
 
 VIOLET. 91 
 
 are bound to doubt its true perfection. It was 
 not made to pass as useless ; and it has been said 
 by one* who was well read in the hearts of his 
 fellow- creatures, — '' La meme faiblesse qui nous 
 fait trouver des ecueils au milieu du monde et 
 de la cour, nous auroit fait une tentation de la 
 retraite meme. Nous portons par tout avec nous 
 la source de nos crimes et de nos malheurs, et 
 ainsi il ne faut pas attendre ndtre surete des de- 
 hors de la situation." 
 
 * Massillon.
 
 ( 92 ) 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 ** The game of life — how is it played — by whom — 
 For what ? — What fearful trickery 
 To gain some wretched end : and, still more sad, 
 How much of mental power, which ought to boast 
 A nobler aim, employed for means t'he basest ! 
 'Tis brave to see two knaves engaged, each bent 
 On duping his opponent ; but, alas I 
 There are some nobler victims, some whose fate 
 Might wring hot tears of blood from human hearts.'* 
 
 O1.D Play. 
 
 " Charles," said Mrs. Woodville to her husband, 
 '' I cannot help thinking Lord Stanmore gets 
 Mr. d'Arcy to call here, that he may see us for 
 him, as it were : you know that is so like a man 
 in love. I fancy, too, somehow, Mr. d'Arcy 
 knows we have guessed that ; for he is quite at 
 his ease, and comes in to us in a way as if he 
 thought we could only be glad to see him." 
 
 " And so we are," replied Mr. Woodville ; " but 
 I would rather see Lord Stanmore himself. 1 
 hope Violet is not thinking too much of him, poor 
 little girl ! These fine gentlemen may go on for
 
 VIOLET. 93 
 
 awhile ; but if anything comes to turn their at- 
 tention, there's an end of them. Who knows 
 what fine lady he may fall in love with any day, 
 at all those balls and places that we have nothing 
 to do with ? Don't talk aboxit him to little Violet, 
 for fear she should get to think more of him than 
 it is well she should." 
 
 •' Not I ! Really, Mr. Woodville, one would 
 think sometimes you took me for a fool ! I have 
 not heard Violet name Lord Stanmore these 
 three days ! " 
 
 " I am sure he was in love with her, however ; 
 and he knew well enough, from what he saw of 
 me, I was not the sort of person to let my daugh- 
 ter do anything that she should not do ; and, 
 with the education we have given her, I would 
 have him to know she's fit to be the wife of any 
 Lord. If he only knew the money we spent 
 upon her ! Perhaps he thinks she can only 
 dance ? " 
 
 *' I do not know what he thinks ; but I should 
 like to have done with him, one way or other : 
 there's a swarm of those young men every night 
 after the poor girl, all making up their mind she 
 will come to their turn. If it was not for our 
 always looking after her, I do not know what they 
 would not be saying to her."
 
 94 VIOLET. 
 
 *' Oh," rejoined Mrs. Woodville, " I take care 
 of that, or else M. Dupas does. I do wonder 
 when we shall see Lord Stanmore, for the season 
 will be over in three weeks, and, if his mother 
 should die, why then he will go into black, and 
 will not be going about for some time. Parents' 
 mourning, though, is not worn so long as it used 
 to be, is it, Charles ?" 
 
 " I don't know, — but I don't see what differ- 
 ence it makes to us." 
 
 " Ah, well, I do though. There's a ring, — see, 
 is it the Norrises ? — no, it's Dupas, — no, it's Mr. 
 d'Arcy." 
 
 Mr. d'Arcy had certainly familiarized the 
 Woodvilles with his visits, without their ever 
 having the appearance of being abrupt or un- 
 called for. During these visits he saw Violet, 
 but not always. When he did not he never 
 asked for her, but he stayed less time when she 
 was not there. He was fond of music, and un- 
 derstood it, and sometimes he got Mr. Woodville 
 to play to him upon the violoncello. Very often 
 he brought new music >vith him, and he had al- 
 ways something to say about Lord Stanmore. 
 
 Violet was never engaged in the ballet, that 
 she did not see D'Arcy in the box nearest to 
 her ; and there was no one whose applause was
 
 VIOLET. 95 
 
 more frequent, or more loudly expressed. By 
 degrees she got accustomed to seeing him always 
 at the Opera. She liked him more each time 
 she met him, because each time she found some- 
 thing of her original misgiving about him dimi- 
 nished. She soon beheld only the pleasing side 
 of his character. 
 
 Violet now seldom thought of Lord Stanmore : 
 she had liked him, but D'Arcy interested her. 
 Ah! what a difference there is in the meaning of 
 those two words ! Interest another in your 
 favour, be it man or woman, and much may 
 follow, — to please merely is to do nothing. And 
 is it not true that there are some people who 
 please, but who cannot interest? There is a 
 wide distinction between pleasing exceedingly, 
 and interesting exceedingly, — either may hap- 
 pen, and neither in connexion. 
 
 About three weeks had elapsed since the 
 Greenwich water-party, and one or two more of 
 the same sort took place. D'Arcy made love, 
 but not openly. He still left Violet in doubt. 
 As yet he had not done anything decidedly 
 declaring his sentiments, but he ascertained that 
 he had no rival, and that was what he most de- 
 sired. " Les impressions sont d'autant plus dan- 
 gereuses qu'elles sont insensibles." Few of us
 
 96 VIOLET. 
 
 pause to analyse our feelings, and Violet was not 
 one of those few. Our feelings are born, they 
 grow, they inspire us vitally, and then, and not 
 before, we wake to a knowledge of them. After 
 all, though a great deal may be said about know- 
 ing ourselves intimately, and of the utility of 
 such knowledge, I doubt if there be really any 
 advantage in it. 
 
 The commencement, too, of all sentiments of 
 love or friendship is so soothing. Distrust is 
 disarmed, suspicion has its opiate ; and, if these 
 first moments of illusion are to be destroyed, say 
 ye, who can, what remains in lieu of them ? and of 
 what avail is all the reasoning of philosophy if it 
 deprive us of one little iota of human happiness ? 
 
 D'Arcy had not yet endeavoured to profit by 
 the chance which he had discovered for himself, 
 of meeting Violet in her morning walks. He 
 had his reasons for this delay. He thought that 
 Violet would conceive that she did not know him 
 enough, not to be more surprised than he desired 
 she should be at the interruption. 
 
 He had ascertained that a housekeeper, or old 
 servant of the Woodvilles, was her duenna in 
 these walks. The Woodvilles lived near Ken- 
 sington, and Violet, who was not a strong person, 
 was advised to get the morning air in the gar-
 
 VIOLET. 97 
 
 dens, and it suited particularly the domestic ar- 
 rangements that these walks should be taken 
 early. 
 
 " Pray, D' Arcy," said Mr. Harcourt, one night 
 at Crockford's, "what hav^e you been at lately?" 
 
 " I have been very much occupied. But I put 
 the same question to you. You look very ill." 
 
 ''And so I am, — horridly ill. I am so wor- 
 ried, — I am miserable." 
 
 " That's a pity. ' II n'y a pas de plus grande 
 folie que d'etre malheureux' * What's the 
 matter ?" 
 
 '' I am in such a scrape with the Norrises, — 
 Celeste has been blowing me to the devil. I had 
 hysterics, and scenes, and faintings, — and I de- 
 clare I don't know what to do." 
 
 " Cut, to be sure, — don't be a fool." 
 
 " Not if I thought Emily really liked me." 
 
 " Upon my soul, Harcourt, you are as weak as 
 water," exclaimed D'Arcy. 
 
 '' Ah, I don't believe you ever cared for a wo- 
 man in your life," replied Harcourt, pettishly. 
 
 D'Arcy laughed out aloud. 
 
 ''What! not for Mrs. O'Colly? and didnt I 
 turn hair-dresser for the Italian girl ? Didn't I 
 ruin myself for Estelle? and didn't I go to Rome 
 
 * Du DeflPand. 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 VIOLET. 
 
 after a woman, who had been divorced, for the 
 sake of two other men ? Didn't I become a Me- 
 thodist for the brewer's wife? and wouldn't I 
 have sold myself to the Devil for " 
 
 " Oh, I know you, D'Arcy. At all events, you 
 don't understand my feelings." 
 
 " Well, but stay, I want to ask you, — a'n't you 
 going to have a supper, or something of that 
 kind, at the Norrises this week ?" 
 
 '' What do you ask for ?" 
 
 " There's some one to be there I want to meet, 
 and they haven't asked me, — it is a mistake, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " I am not asked myself." 
 
 " Perhaps, then, you would like me to see if I 
 can intercede with the lovely Emily for you ; or 
 is it that slippery crocodile, her mamma, who has 
 turned you out of the house?" 
 
 " No, it's no use," said Mr. Harcourt, shaking 
 his head despondingly. 
 
 " Harcourt," said D'Arcy, more seriously than 
 D'Arcy often said anything, "as we are old 
 friends, I should be half inclined to give you 
 advice this time unasked for ; but I will not, be- 
 cause I believe I should be doing the most use- 
 less thing I ever did in my life.'' 
 
 " Thank you, D'Arcy, I believe you are a good
 
 VIOLET. 99 
 
 fellow. I am going to throw a couple of mains/' 
 and Harcourt moved towards the hazard table, 
 well pleased with the amenity with which he 
 thought he had listened to D'Arcy's advice ; for 
 it did not occur to him that, though he guessed 
 its nature, that, nevertheless, he had not heard it. 
 
 Of his own accord D'Arcy went the next day 
 to call on the Norrises. He found Mrs. Norris 
 and Emily, but the latter was evidently failing 
 in an attempted escape from the room as he en- 
 tered it. Both mother and daughter looked dis- 
 comfited. Mrs. Norris, however, soon recovered 
 her usual placidity, and then said she was to 
 have music the next evening, and hoped she 
 should see Mr. d'Arcy, if he had nothing better 
 to engage him. 
 
 Tliis was all D'Arcy wanted, but he stayed a 
 few minutes making conversation. Emily had 
 hardly once spoken. D'Arcy talked of Harcourt, 
 and said he was out of spirits; Emily still did 
 not revive. At last D'Arcy observed there were 
 tears in her eyes, tears, too, that she wished to 
 conceal, and that she looked cross as well as 
 unhappy, which made D'Arcy sure it was not 
 feigned grief. 
 
 A touch of curiosity led him to observe her 
 more closely. She thinks Harcourt is off, I sup- 
 
 f2
 
 100 VIOLET. 
 
 pose, thought D'Arcy ; and, perhaps, this sleek 
 Jezabel, her mother, has been scolding her 
 for it. 
 
 Mrs. Norris went on talking in her smooth, 
 agreeable, proper way, and suddenly, as if she 
 could no longer control her feelings, Emily 
 moved to the window. D'Arcy then rose to go, 
 but at that minute Madame N was an- 
 nounced, to whom, on her entrance, Mrs. Norris 
 manifested great civility. Mrs. Norris had lately 
 
 struck up an intimacy with Madame N . She 
 
 said she was delighted to cultivate so estimable a 
 person as every body knew Madame to be. It 
 was everybody knowing it, made Madame 
 N so very estimable in Mrs. Norris's esti- 
 mation. 
 
 During the greetings and seatings between 
 the new comer and Mrs. Norris, D'Arcy ap- 
 proached the window, where Emily was still 
 standing. She certainly looked very unhappy, 
 and turned away, to hide her countenance from 
 D'Arcy. 
 
 " Miss Norris," said D'Arcy softly, " is there 
 any way in which I can serve you ?" 
 
 Emily opened wide her tearful eyes. She had 
 grown afraid of D'Arcy, and had guessed his 
 covert dislike, though she never could feel sure
 
 VIOLET. 101 
 
 of it, because it was not easy to feel sure of any- 
 thing about D'Arcy. If he sneered in one 
 breath, he complimented her in the next ; he 
 never was brusque ; he often was very civil. 
 Emily had not made him out, but she was 
 simply getting to dislike him for that very rea- 
 son. D'Arcy 's present question was uttered in a 
 different tone from what she had ever heard 
 D'Arcy speak with before ; at first she hardly un- 
 derstood him. He added — " If I can, I shall be 
 most happy." 
 
 An expression of intelligence now lighted 
 Emily's face. Her mother's back was turned 
 towards her at this moment, — Mrs. Norris was 
 still intent on her new visitor. Emily glanced 
 her eye at these two persons, then, with great 
 haste, drew a letter from her bosom, and crushed 
 it almost into D'Arcy's hand ; he put it into his 
 pocket, and then appeared to be only busy with 
 his handkerchief. 
 
 " For Harcourt ?" he said, inquiringly, and un- 
 der-voiced. 
 
 " No, no, — not for him, you will see, — in the 
 post, — you will see, — thank you for ever !" 
 
 D'Arcy thought he never saw Emily Norris 
 look handsomer than she did at that moment.
 
 102 VIOLET. 
 
 when she cast a look of evident gratitude towards 
 himself. 
 
 Just as Mrs. Norris's little blue, or little red, 
 or little green page (I forget which) was shutting 
 the door upon D'Arcy, and the latter was putting 
 his hand upon Emily's letter, in order to examine 
 the superscription, he was arrested by the sudden 
 appearance of Lord William B . His man- 
 ner was eager, as he joined D'Arcy, hastily. 
 
 " Oh, I was just going to you, D'Arcy, — I 
 wanted to find you," exclaimed Lord William, in 
 a graver voice than usual. 
 
 "Very well, then we will walk on together." 
 " D'Arcy," continued Lord William, " I am in 
 a scrape ; I shall have to fight, and I want you 
 to be my second." 
 
 " Of course, my dear fellow ; but I am sorry to 
 hear this, — what is it ?" 
 
 " It's that cursed little Celeste who is at the 
 bottom of it. She has been telling lies, and that, 
 and her infernal coquetry have played the devil.'"' 
 " Ah, I thought she looked mischievous ; you 
 should always examine the breed well before you 
 have anything to do with these ladies. But how 
 is it, William?" 
 
 *' It seems, when I took to her, she belonged to
 
 VIOLET. 103 
 
 Spottington. I thought her free, — I never asked 
 her, — ^how should such a thing come into my 
 head ? I thought she had a great deal of cash 
 for one who was in the way of getting her living 
 honestly ; for I was fool enough to be taken in, 
 and thought she cared for me, and believed her 
 when she said she allowed no other man to make 
 love to her ; and I knew she floored Dick Went- 
 worth. Well, one day who should I get a chal- 
 lenge from but Spottington, saying, he was only 
 just returned to to^^^l, or he should have asked 
 me sooner to give him satisfaction for my un- 
 gentlemanlike conduct. I thought the man was 
 mad ! I called at his house to try and see him, — 
 he was out. Then I ^vrote to him, asking him 
 to say, at least, what he meant. Presently 
 Bubble arrived, to tell me that he was Spotting- 
 ton's friend, and that he was desired by him to 
 inform me, that I must be aware my usurping 
 Madlle. Celeste's affections, at a time she was 
 under the positive protection of Spottington, was 
 a piece of treachery that Spottington could not 
 forgive. The truth is, the whole affair might 
 have been explained, and I would have done it 
 myself with any other man than Spottington, 
 but I hate him, and I have reason to suspect 
 that this is but an excuse, after all, to call me
 
 104 VIOLET. 
 
 out, for he and I have quarrelled before, only then 
 he could not show his teeth." 
 
 '' And so, for a fool and a coquette, your life 
 must be staked ?" 
 
 " Be it so, — we must take these chances, and I 
 myself have been a fool. Well, you will be my 
 second, — that's all I wanted you for." 
 
 D'Arcy and Lord William separated at the 
 end of the Colonnade in Regent Street. 
 
 D'Arcy then remembered Miss Norris's letter, 
 which Lord William's recital had caused him 
 partly to forget. He searched for it in his 
 pocket, and could not find it. Neither could he 
 find a silk pocket-handkerchief, which had been 
 in the same pocket. He was not long in con- 
 cluding that a thief had deprived him of the one, 
 and unavoidably of the other at the same time, 
 for he recollected having taken out his handker- 
 chief, when drawing out the letter to read the di- 
 rection, at the moment he was joined by Lord 
 
 William B , and that, in the interruption, he 
 
 re deposited the two together. It was evident 
 that, in abstracting the handkerchief, the letter 
 had been lost. 
 
 D'Arcy was sorry for this accident, it looked 
 like carelessness on his part, which made him 
 regret having proffered his services ; besides.
 
 VIOLET. 105 
 
 he did not well know how, before the next 
 evening, he could convey to Emily the know- 
 ledge that her wishes had not been obeyed. If 
 she had not denied it, he would still have felt 
 assured that the letter was for Harcourt. It 
 was so unlucky, not having seen the direction, — 
 it would have been some clue, as to knowins: 
 when Emily could expect an answer to her 
 epistle. Without running the risk of Mrs. 
 Norris's being informed, D'Arcy did not see how 
 he could let Emily be made aware immediately 
 of this misadventure ; and Mrs. Norris, it was 
 clear, was the last person she meant should know 
 any thing about it. D'Arcy did not much think 
 the pickpocket would forward the letter to its 
 destination; it was not an impossibility, however. 
 In the mean time, he came to the conclusion that 
 nothing more could be done till the next night, 
 at Mrs. Norrises. 
 
 He went to Tattersall's and met Harcourt. 
 
 " Harcourt," said D'Arcy, " after all, you never 
 told me what occasioned this blow up of yours 
 with the Norrises." 
 
 '' Celeste wrote an anonymous letter to Mrs. 
 Norris, taking away her character. It was found 
 out, and traced to Celeste ; and poor Mrs. Norris 
 was furious, because, as she said, if it had been 
 
 F 3
 
 106 VIOLET. 
 
 sent to any body else, — but it was a thing which 
 had never happened to her before, and she never 
 could forgive it. Had she deserved it, she de- 
 clared, she should not have minded; but as 
 it was, it was too bad. Poor woman! I never 
 saw her in such a state of anger before. In addi- 
 tion to this. Celeste gave the whole account of 
 the gold chain I purchased for her a month 
 ago, when we made friends for a day or two. 
 She heard me say I had won a hundred pounds 
 of String the black-leg, and, as she asked about 
 it, I could not do less than buy her that chain 
 Avith some of the money. — All this is her infernal 
 spite against Emily." 
 
 "And was it for this you were turned out of 
 the Norris establishment ? " 
 
 " Not entirely ; but I had both women upon me 
 at once : and, as I could not well deny the little 
 transaction of the chain, Emily sulked; but her 
 mother drew up, as if she was old Scarron's 
 widow, and said she could not permit my con- 
 tinuing any longer my visits — that Emily's affec- 
 tions were engaged — her health gone ; and, as it 
 now appeared, her own character attacked, which 
 was the most extraordinary and unheard of 
 malice, and that she could not disguise from 
 herself, that even the last horrible aspersion had
 
 VIOLET. 107 
 
 arisen, in some measure, from her intimacy with 
 one who was every way unworthy of the innocent 
 confidence reposed in me by herself and her 
 daughter. So now you have it. What could I 
 do?" 
 
 "What did you do?" 
 
 ^' I left the house, crest-fallen, and have been 
 ill ever since. I have called, and they don't 
 admit me." 
 
 *' Then you will not be there to-morrow 
 night?" 
 
 "Yes, for I shall write a note to Emily to say I 
 must see her, which I must." 
 
 "Then we shall meet there. I am going. I 
 make love to neither mother nor daughter, and 
 am in the odour of sanctity with both.' 
 
 How happy Violet Woodville felt all the day, 
 and days before, at the prospect of meeting 
 D'Arcy at the Norrises that evening. There is so 
 much happiness in the certainty of meeting a 
 beloved object ! and to know that you are also 
 the object of their wishes ! 
 
 This certainty, which is soon acquired, is one of 
 Love's young decrees, and its most pleasing one. 
 There is the quiet pleasure, but not the agitation; 
 the passion is still gro\\dng, like a rose-bud; 
 there is the beautiful opening flower, but the
 
 108 , VIOLET. 
 
 thorns are yet unfelt, and you could think there 
 are none. 
 
 Love in the soul, not bold and confident, 
 But, like Aurora, trembles into being ; 
 And, with faint, flickering, and uncertian beams, 
 Gives notice to the awakening world within us 
 Of the full blazing orb that soon shall rise. 
 And kindle all its passions.— Then begin 
 Sorrow and joy : unutterable joy, 
 And rapturous sorrow ! 
 
 Neale. 
 
 Violet as yet knew nothing of the '' sorrow 
 and joy; unutterable joy, and rapturous sorrow ;" 
 but she felt exceedingly happy. 
 
 D'Arcy was one of the earliest comers to Mrs. 
 Norris's, but, for once, Violet was not quite his 
 first object. He hastened towards Emily Norris, 
 who was then unoccupied, and looking brighter 
 than when he saw her the day previous. 
 
 D'Arcy at once told her of the ill-luck about 
 her letter, and said he could only endeavour to 
 atone for his carelessness by being doubly 
 anxious to execute any further commands of hers. 
 
 "I had not seen the address," said D'Arcy, 
 '' and if you had not told me to the contrary (at 
 least, if I remember right), I should have thought 
 a friend of mine would have been in greater 
 despair than even myself at the loss of your letter." 
 
 " You did not see the address ? "
 
 VIOLET. 109 
 
 "No." D'Arcy was too well bred to ask it 
 then, but he would have liked to have done so. 
 
 Emily thought a moment ; and, colouring, said, 
 with evident hesitation, " Well, perhaps, as the 
 
 letter was lost, it is as well — What I mean 
 
 is, that I will not write another — and let it be 
 forgotten altogether. I believe I was ^vrong." 
 
 " Certainly ; forgotten let it be, if you desire 
 it," said D'Arcy ; and he was moving away, when 
 Emily gently called him by name — " Mr. d'Arcy, 
 I hope, though I have not expressed it, that 
 you will believe how much obliged I shall ever 
 feel to you for your kindness yesterday morning. 
 I shall not forget it, and I did not expect it from 
 you. I had a sort of consciousness j^ou did not 
 — much like me ; and I am the more grateful to 
 you — I shall be so always." 
 
 Emily Norris had a very melodious voice ; and 
 in saying these words it sounded more so than 
 usual. There seemed a sincerity about her, too, 
 which D'Arcy did not think she possessed ; and 
 he left her, liking her better, or disliking her less, 
 than he had ever done before. " And, undovibt- 
 edly, she is very handsome," said he, inwardly, 
 as he turned to look for Violet Woodville. 
 
 " It is three long days since I have seen you, ' 
 said D'Arcy, addressing Miss Woodville.
 
 1 10 VIOLET. 
 
 *' Yes, so it is/' answered Violet, as if she 
 too thought they were long days. 
 
 " And now that I do see you — if you knew 
 how much pleasure it gives me ! " exclaimed 
 D'Arcy. 
 
 Not knowing what answer to make, Violet said 
 nothing ; but the embarrassment in her ingenu- 
 ous countenance did not make it less beautiful ; 
 and so thought D'Arcy, as he contemplated her, 
 ere he again spoke. 
 
 " There is but one thing to mar my satisfac- 
 tion — the uncertainty of when I shall again pos- 
 sess it. Of that you are heedless ; and even your 
 pity for my uncertainty is perhaps denied me? " 
 
 '' Oh, I would give you all the pity in the world, 
 if I did but know why it was to be given ; that is, 
 if I really knew it was for something that you 
 might be pitied for, with good reason," answered 
 Violet, with gaiety, but with some embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 " Perhaps," said D'Arcy, gravely, " I have a 
 right to your pity, though it may not suit you to 
 believe so." 
 
 " I never could pity i/oit." 
 
 " V^hy ? " 
 
 " I really hardly know how to say it ; but I 
 never could pity you, oh, never ! You strike me
 
 VIOLET. Ill 
 
 as a person that never either pitied, or would 
 
 pity." 
 
 " I must have appeared to jou then as an 
 uncommonly un amiable character ? " 
 
 " No, not at all ; but I have an idea you would 
 so despise being pitied ; and I cannot fancy your 
 being very pitying or kind to others." 
 
 " Neither, upon the whole, am I ; there you 
 are right. But then it is that I care for so few 
 people. I am often amused, but seldom inte- 
 rested." 
 
 " Often amused ! " said Violet, opening her 
 eyes wider ; " that surprises me, because that is 
 what you don't appear to be." 
 
 '' And you have corrected me, — no, it is true I 
 am not amused — hardly ever — I meant something 
 else." 
 
 " What then ? " 
 
 '*' I can very often laugh, con amore, but still I 
 am not amused, I confess, even then." 
 
 '' Exactly ; you are only sneering." Violet 
 blushed ; she feared she had said something very 
 rude. 
 
 D' Arcy w^as a little surprised ; but he answered, 
 " Well, and if 1 allow you are right, at my age 
 you will often do the same. But how have you 
 guessed so well ? — you never saw me sneer ? "
 
 1 12 VIOLET. 
 
 " Yes, I have, very often ; I did not like you 
 for it at first." 
 
 At first ! thought D'Arcy. 
 
 " I must be honest enough to confess I never 
 meant you to have made this discovery," con- 
 tinued D'Arcy. " While I am near you, my 
 mind is in such a different state from what it is 
 at any other time : I hoped you would onl}^ have 
 judged of me as such as I am when with you ; 
 for you have the power (I have learnt it now) to 
 awaken all that is good within me; and it is 
 hard that, without my leave, you should have 
 seen the revers cle la medailley 
 
 " I think you ought to be so glad, on the con- 
 trary. I could not endure being better thought 
 of than I deserve ; I would rather, almost, that a 
 person had too bad, than too good an opinion of me." 
 
 " I do not doubt it ; but you and I are such 
 diff'erent persons : there is a perfection about you 
 that Nature has utterly denied to me. I sink 
 beneath my own iniquity, and will willingly stoop 
 to deceive — that is, when I care to do so." 
 
 '' Oh, I don't say that : I dislike deceit." 
 
 " But if frankness should bring upon me your 
 despisal ? " 
 
 " Never : and, besides, I thought, before, you 
 were frank ; now I almost fear you were not."
 
 VIOLET. 113 
 
 " Did you think thus of me before. Miss Wood- 
 ville?" said D'Arcy, brightening: "thank you; 
 you shall see, from this day forward, a want of 
 sincerity shall not prove my failing in your eyes ; 
 I will promise that, at every hazard. Am I re- 
 stored a little to your good opinion ? " 
 
 " Yes, a little, you are," answered Violet, 
 smiling ; and both were silent, and both were 
 happy. 
 
 «* Miss Woodville," at length, said D'Arcy, 
 '' there are those, I fear, of whom you think much 
 better than of myself; are there not ? " 
 
 " No, Mr. d'Arcy." 
 
 " No ? Yet others have tried, more daringly 
 than I have ventured upon doing, to gain your 
 approbation. I began by admiring ; I have 
 ended by fearing you ; and when I approach you, 
 I am actually timid." 
 
 " Oh, no, Mr d'Arcy," replied Violet, gravely ; 
 " you will not make me believe that : I am not a 
 person to intimidate any one." 
 
 " Not even a lover ? " said D'Arcy, in a very 
 low and clear voice. 
 
 Violet blushed and started. 
 
 " Not even a lover ? " repeated D'Arcy, when 
 he received no answer. 
 
 " No, no ; why should, why should they "
 
 114 VIOLET. 
 
 " It would depend upon the measure of their 
 affection," said D'Arcy ; " but then you could 
 not be loved moderately. Oh, heavens ! what a 
 world of affection might live for ever upon one 
 look from you ! " 
 
 " I have no lovers, Mr. d'Arcy, so I know 
 nothing of all this, and I could make no one feel 
 timid, I am sure ; and there is no one ready, with 
 such a great deal of affection to bestow upon me, 
 who, perhaps, would be very undeser\4ng of it 
 all." 
 
 " I could contradict all you have said — I see 
 you would rather I did not." 
 
 D'Arcy rose abruyjtly, and went towards Mr. 
 Harcourt, who entered the room at that moment, 
 looking uncommonly bashful, and as if he knew 
 he was a very naughty boy indeed. 
 
 " Allow me to support you on this trying occa- 
 sion," said D'Arcy. '' I will give you the aid of 
 my presence, so as to enable you to approach 
 somewhat nearer to the chair of la dame de vos 
 pensees." 
 
 " Why, of course," said Harcourt, seriously, 
 '' a man in my situation does feel very awkward : 
 Emily is such a very correct person — that anec- 
 dote about the chain must have offended her — it 
 would any woman, any delicate-minded creature
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 115 
 
 like Emily. D'Arcy, suppose you come up with 
 with me to face Mrs. Norris? — Do you think 
 she looks black? " 
 
 '' Very ; but still I should argue in favour of 
 your obtaining her consent, if you propose for 
 Emily." 
 
 '• Really," said Harcourt, seriously, '' do you 
 know, she is such a very singular woman, that's 
 more than I am sure of, upon my honour." 
 
 " Indeed ! I would not be uneasy, never- 
 theless : ' while there's life, there's hope,' you 
 know." 
 
 " Oh, tell me, D'Arcy — so you were second ? — I 
 meant to have asked about it sooner ; but these 
 w^omen put everything out of my head. So 
 
 B has only a flesh wound in the small of the 
 
 arm ; and Spottington has left the country ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and carried off Celeste with him. They 
 went away in a chaise-and-four, that he had wait- 
 ing for him, in the lane, in case of accident. 
 Wilham had one ready for himself, too ; and 
 Celeste was to get into whichever post-chaise 
 was called in requisition. However, she fainted 
 away when the pistols went off; and Spottington 
 found her in the bottom of his chaise, with the 
 post-boy giving her a dram. They are at Calais 
 by this time."
 
 1 16 VIOLET. 
 
 " I am d d glad of it. Celeste has always 
 
 been in my way." 
 
 "Yes, — but she has the prettiest eyes I ever 
 saw. What is Goring about ?" and D'Arcy re- 
 turned towards Violet Woodville, who was almost 
 hidden by a group of young men who were 
 standing round her. The conversation seemed 
 animated, and Violet looked very gay. 
 
 D'Arcy joined the group. 
 
 '' Miss Woodville has been saying very unkind 
 things to all of us, D'Arcy, and we want her to 
 make amends to one of us, at least, by declaring 
 which of us four she likes the best; now you're 
 come we are five." 
 
 " And suppose I were to tell you," said Violet, 
 laughing, but feeling sh}^ " you know all the rest 
 of you would be displeased." 
 
 " Oh, but never mind," exclaimed Mr. Goring, 
 '' we will put up with the affront, for the sake of 
 knowing who can, or who does please Miss 
 Woodville." 
 
 " But that is what you will be none the nearer 
 to, Mr. Goring. I shall not tell, after all, who it 
 is I like the best, but which of you all I dislike 
 the least,'' continued Violet, smiling in the gaiety 
 of her heart. 
 
 '' Oh ! then you do admit there is one person
 
 VIOLET. 117 
 
 f^ really do like ! — what a happy, happy person 
 he must be !" 
 
 "No, indeed, I said no such thing, I am sure, 
 Mr. Goring, — I did not say there was anybody I 
 liked. Did I? did I?" Violet asked, looking 
 round in much confusion. 
 
 " No, Miss Woodville,*" answered D'Arcy, 
 hastily, " you said nothing of the kind ; and as 
 we all know it is not any of us who can really 
 please you, so if you had said so it could only 
 make us a little more miserable than you know 
 you have made us long before." 
 
 " Yes, you have no idea how you break all our 
 hearts," said Mr. Goring; "but, for my part, I 
 would be contented if you would only be as mer- 
 ciful to me as you are to D'Arcy." 
 
 "Then you do not know what Miss Wood- 
 ville's mercy is, or you would not say so," ex- 
 claimed D'Arcy, sharply, for he saw the annoy- 
 ance Mr. Goring's speech occasioned Violet 
 Woodville. 
 
 Mr. Goring had long been one of her admirers, 
 but he had met with no encouragement. His 
 manner was not such as could render him suc- 
 cessful with a person whose mind was not de- 
 praved ; and Mr. Goring had not an idea of any 
 woman's mind being anything else.
 
 118 VIOLET. 
 
 *' D'Arcy," said Goring, in a whisper, "that 
 was a sharp answer of yours to curry favour." 
 
 "Be assured I will make no more such answers. 
 Goring, when they are unnecessary," D'Arcy drily 
 replied. 
 
 "Miss Woodville," said Mr. Goring, boldly, 
 " Mr. d'Arcy, I presume, is a declared swain ?" 
 
 " Goring, why do you annoy her ?" said one of 
 the other young men, sotto voce, but Mr. Goring 
 did not appear to have heard the reproof. 
 
 D'Arcy at once saved Violet from having to 
 
 reply. 
 
 '• No,**' he said, " I am not a declared lover ; 
 Miss Woodville has never allowed me to become 
 one ; and I am sufficiently aware of my own de- 
 merits, to see she is not unjust even when she 
 disdains." 
 
 " My father, I think, must want me, I will go 
 to him," said Violet, rising from her seat. 
 
 " Going, Miss Woodville ?" exclaimed Mr. 
 Goring, in pretended astonishment, and annoying- 
 high spirits ; and, as he spoke, he stood before 
 her with his arms outspread, so as to impede her 
 passage. 
 
 During the last ten minutes, Violet Woodville 
 had been enduring great annoyance. She was 
 hurt to the quick by Mr. Goring' s manner, and
 
 VIOLET. 119 
 
 Hi words too, and she thought to herself, all this 
 he thinks he may say to me because I am only 
 an opera-dancer; if I were anything else he 
 would not venture to have behaved thus. But 
 now, as he stood insolently before her, Violet 
 suddenly summoned her courage, and she an- 
 swered Mr. Goring's question, when he repeated 
 it, — "Going, Miss Woodville, going?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Goring, you have been so agi*eeable, 
 were I to stay longer I should be quite spoiled." 
 
 D'Arcy offered her his arm, she took it, and he 
 led her instantly to her father, who was with the 
 music party at the end of the room, and, as well 
 as Mrs. Wood\alle, intently listening to Madame 
 
 N singing Gluck's beautiful ' Eurydice,' and 
 
 the music of that beautiful song soothed the feel- 
 ings of the wounded Violet Woodville, and she 
 could have listened for ever to one of the most 
 enchanting airs that was ever composed. 
 
 " Did you hear that impertinence ?" said Mr. 
 Goring, turning round to his companions. 
 
 " Not at all," cried two or three youths at once, 
 '' not at all, you deserved it. Goring, — you were 
 very uncivil to her." 
 
 "Pray, what did I say that was uncivil?'' 
 
 " Oh 1 it was your manner, you know you 
 meant it."
 
 120 VIOLET. 
 
 " Well, I wonder what right she has to exj^CT 
 anything better ? She is Stanmore's mistress, if 
 she belongs to no one else."' 
 
 " What's that you say ? She is a dear, honest, 
 real little Venus, that I will swear to," cried a 
 half-fledged, tender-hearted young midshipman, 
 reddening with zeal. 
 
 ^' No, no, come, come; be fair. Goring. She's 
 a good girl now, and Spenser is right,'' said one. 
 
 "Yes," cried another; "and Stanmore would 
 not stand by hearing you take away her character, 
 I can tell you, if he were here." 
 
 "No, poor little girl," exclaimed a third, "she 
 is only too honest for it to last, I fear." 
 
 " You hope, you mean." 
 
 " Granted, for she is honest, — so. Goring, don't 
 scandalize her because you don't happen to be 
 the favourite ; that's not fair. Goring." 
 
 " Never mind. Goring ; perhaps you will be the 
 winning horse next time," said the young sailor 
 again ; " there's more pretty girls than one in the 
 world, though there's not another in Europe half 
 as pretty as Miss Woodville ; but then, you know, 
 some people must take what they can get, — 
 that's what they tell the Middies on board the 
 Atalanta." 
 
 Mr. Goring, finding by these observations that
 
 VIOLET. 121 
 
 i^Wit 
 
 iad the worsts and not the best of it, acknow- 
 ledged his error ; but added, he had no idea of 
 an Opera-dancer standing up for virtue ; in 
 former days they would not have dared to have 
 thought about such a thing, — it was all that 
 cursed cant about Reform which had brought 
 things to such a pass. 
 
 ^' My dear Violet," said Mr. Woodville, " Mr. 
 d'Arcy was talking a great deal to you last night 
 at Mrs. Norris's; what was he saying to you?" 
 
 "Oh papa, Mr. d'Arcy is such a good person!" 
 exclaimed Violet, eagerly ; " when I find how dif- 
 ferent other people can be, I like him so much !" 
 
 Mr. AVoodville opened his eyes ; he was sitting 
 at breakfast with his daughter. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Woodville was studying very hard 
 the part of Elvira, in Pizarro, which she had 
 been requested to perform on an emergency at 
 Covent Garden, on a two days' notice. 
 
 "What's that you say about Mr. d'Arc}^ 
 Charles?" 
 
 " W^e were talking, — I and little Violet." 
 
 " Oh, very well ; I am not attending, — I cannot. 
 While I think of it, Mr. Pizarro,— Mr. Woodville, 
 I mean, — mind I have ordered some nice little 
 landrails for dinner; they are expensive little 
 birds, to be sure ; but I am fond of them, and my 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 VIOLET, 
 
 cold is so bad, — so I thought we would have a 
 treat. If my voice is not better by to-morrow, 
 I shall never be able to get through the great 
 tragedy scenes about the child, and the little 
 pathetic parts: I must have some new eggs 
 beat up." 
 
 " Well, Violet," resumed Mr. Woodville, having 
 previously expressed himself content with the 
 prospect of the landrails, '' we did not end our 
 remarks about Mr. d'Arcy." 
 
 '' No, papa, but now I will tell you all about it." 
 
 " About what, Violet ?" exclaimed Mrs. Wood- 
 ville. 
 
 " How you do interrupt one !" 
 
 " To be sure, that must be the case as long as 
 you sit here, my dear !" said Mrs. Woodville. 
 ''Mr. Woodville, I suppose I am to have some 
 breakfast, though I am to act at Covent Garden 
 to-morrow night. How rude you are sometimes, — 
 and so unfeeling too, — cut me another slice of 
 bread and butter, Violet. I hope I shall not 
 forget to tell Hummings that the landrails must 
 not be over-roasted ; that dries them up, and they 
 are not so good." 
 
 " Well, Violet, so what did Mr. d'Arcy say, to 
 please you so much ?" 
 
 Violet recounted to her father Mr. Goring' s
 
 VIOLET. 123 
 
 disagreeable manners, and the opposite conduct 
 of Mr. d'Arcy. 
 
 "Mr. d'Arcy behaved like a gentleman, and 
 Mr. Goring did not ;" replied Wood\dlle. "But, 
 Violet, I am not for Mr. d'Arcy falling in love 
 with you, or you with him." 
 
 "No, papa: but then he is not in love with 
 me," said Violet, blushing, " I assure you." 
 
 " I suppose, you mean, he has not told jou so, 
 — eh, my darling child?" 
 
 " No, dear father, indeed he never has exactly, 
 not yet.*" 
 
 " Well, Violet, you know I am not a silly, strict 
 father but I wish to caution you, — you are very 
 young, my child, — you do not know the world, as 
 I do ; so it is I who, as your father, must be wise 
 in time for you. 
 
 "You see, Violet, although you are a pretty 
 little girl, you are not a lady. We have almost 
 brought you up like one, and you are a great 
 deal better than many ladies, every way, I'll be 
 bound; but still you are not one. Every one 
 knows your mamma acts, and that I play the 
 violoncello, that we may earn money enough to 
 live, and for you, too, not to be ill off, happen 
 what may. 
 
 " Now all these gentlemen that you meet with, 
 
 g2
 
 124 VIOLET. 
 
 and who make you such fine speeches, may m 
 themselves, some of them, be very nice people? 
 but they will not fall in love with you the less for 
 that ; and their telling you so means no good, 
 for they will not marry you, Violet, — or if they 
 would, their relations will not allow them to do 
 so. 
 
 " They are to be blamed for it, when these 
 gentlemen go too far, because they are well 
 aware that though it m«y do you harm, it can do 
 none whatever to them. Mind, Violet, I don't 
 say it is an impossibility that you should ever 
 marry a gentleman, for it is not ; and you de- 
 serve it, if ever any one did; but it is not a 
 likel}^ thing : and when I see these young men 
 buzzing about you, it alarms me, because I 
 always guess it means no good. 
 
 ''Now this Mr. d'Arcy is a very taking young 
 man indeed; I myself cannot but like him, 
 and he has an open way that wins one's 
 heart, somehow. At first, too, I thought he came 
 to see you because he was Lord Stanmore's great 
 friend." Woodville sighed, — partly because he 
 was out of breath, for he was not in the habit of 
 delivering such long speeches. " And now I do 
 think it is all for himself, or rather for you, 
 Violet, that he likes to see us. But that will not
 
 VIOLET. 125 
 
 do, — Mr. d'Arcy is not a gentleman who will ever 
 think of marrying, were he to be in love ever 
 so, — he is not a marrying person, — and, indeed, 
 I have heard one or two things of him, which 
 have made me not like him quite so well. At 
 all events, I dont wish you to like him too 
 much, Violet." He paused at length, and Violet 
 Woodville trembled as she ventured to ask her 
 father, what it was he had heard against Mr. 
 d'Arcy. 
 
 " They say he is very apt to fall in love, and 
 not very long either to care for one lady." 
 
 " Oh, father, that is so unlike Mr. d'Arcy's 
 manner, — he has enemies who say this !" 
 
 " His manner is not what is to tell us about a 
 gentleman's constancy. But I did not think my 
 saying this would annoy you, as I see it does, — 
 you must like Mr. d'Arcy very much, I begin to 
 think, Violet?" 
 
 " No, indeed, father ; but only be just to him, 
 
 and I 1 will do anything you like, — only pray 
 
 don't be unkind to Mr. d'Arcy on my account, — 
 because he has been so kind, — and I am sure he 
 does not deserve that." 
 
 "Well, Violet," said Mrs. Woodville, looking 
 off her book, " I have been hearing something 
 of what your father 's been saying, and I hope
 
 126 VIOLET. 
 
 you will attend to it, — you have been distracting 
 me sadly. What I still expect is, that Lord 
 Stanmore will propose for you, my dear ; what I 
 ahvays say is, why should not he ? But it is 
 right of your father to tell you not to think of 
 him onl}', all day long, because there is no say- 
 ing ; and, if his mother should get better, which 
 she may, you are sure she will be against you. 
 Now% call Hummings, — she must be home from 
 the green-grocer's by this time ; before she does 
 the dinner, I must speak about the landrails, 
 or I know they m\\ be dried to a chip. Lock 
 up the tea, Violet. John," said Mrs. Woodville, 
 turning to the slender-looking footboy, who en- 
 tered the room, "is Mrs. Hummings not come in 
 yet?" 
 
 "No, Ma'am: am I to take away the break- 
 fast things?" 
 
 " Yes ; and, another time, leave out the word 
 thing.?, — breakfast, — not breakfast things. Let 
 me know when Hummings does come back. 
 There's a ring at the door ; oh, it's only Dupas." 
 
 The old Frenchman was always well received 
 by the Woodvilles, and Violet loved the old 
 man. 
 
 " So," gaily exclaimed M. Dupas, " I hear of 
 nothing but Violet's lovers ; she is a sly little
 
 VIOLET. 127 
 
 thing, and never tells me a word about them ; but 
 I see and I hear/' and he winked good-hu- 
 mouredly at his protegee. 
 
 " Well, Dupas, let us have them, — count them 
 up for me, like the cherries on a string, that I 
 may hear and choose for her myself," said Wood- 
 ville, laughing. 
 
 "Well, then, I am told there's Mr. d'Arcy 
 thinks of no such thing but Miss Violet, and 
 never goes anywhere but he is to see my little 
 pupil. Is that so ?" 
 
 " You see I was not so wrong, Violet," said 
 Mr. Woodville, archly. Violet blushed and 
 laughed ; for she had recovered a little from the 
 conversation with her father, and she could not 
 help feeling gratified that people thought Mr. 
 d'Arcy did care for her. But she was embar- 
 rassed, and she caught hold of M. Dupas' two 
 hands, and began dancing with him the part she 
 had to perform with her supposed lover in the 
 ballet. M. Dupas only laughed, and looked at 
 her dancing with delighted eyes. 
 
 "M. Dupas," said Mrs. Woodville, " what do 
 you think of Mr. Harcourt's marrying Emily 
 Norris ?" 
 
 " He will not do it, I am sure." 
 
 ^' Well, I must leave you, — for T am so taken
 
 128 VIOLET. 
 
 up with this new part I have to act on a day or 
 two's notice. I suppose Hummings is come home 
 by this time. Perhaps you will dine with us to- 
 day, M. Dupas?" 
 
 M. Dupas accepted the invitation.
 
 ( 129 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "Thus doth the wily fisher weave his net." 
 
 ** Alack, alack ! that heaven should practise stratagems 
 Upon so soft a subject." 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 While Violet Woodville and her father were 
 talkmg about D'Arcy, they little imagined where 
 he was at that very time bestowing himself. 
 D'Arcy was walking up and down within five 
 doors of the Woodvilles' abode. 
 
 He did not look pleasant, he yawTied, and with 
 his stick he beat his boot, and once he struck the 
 iron railing very hard. He kept continually 
 looking over his shoulder, and occasionally walked 
 round the corner of the street, but always re-ap- 
 peared in a few seconds, though cautiously, and 
 with the air of a man who is wisely thinking, when 
 he cannot observe much himself, that neither can 
 he be much observed. At first, he only looked 
 impatient and bored beyond endurance. 
 
 It is astonishing what changes come over a 
 
 g3
 
 130 VIOLET. 
 
 visage, which can reflect with much expression 
 the workings of the mind. D'Arcy's was abso- 
 lutely peculiar, from the force of his countenance 
 upon all occasions. 
 
 Any one aware of his intimacy with the Wood- 
 villes would have expected, perhaps, to see 
 D'Arcy, as he was so long in their street, either 
 gazing sentimentally np at the windows of the 
 house, where he might have beheld part of 
 Violet's sleeve or Mrs. Woodville's cap-string, — 
 things quite important enough for a lover's fancy 
 to feed upon a whole day ; or that, in the hope of 
 being seen, though he could not see, he would 
 have continued his walk in front of the house ; 
 or, at least, that his eyes should have wandered 
 to the front door, as if from that issue he trusted 
 for the reward of his pedestrian watchings. But 
 not a bit of it, for D'Arcy's eyes were invariably 
 inclined in one direction only, and that was al- 
 ways downwards. 
 
 It was almost as if the brick foundation alone 
 of Mr. Woodville's house drew his attention, — 
 the bottom of the iron railings, or the lowest step 
 of the door, — down it was, always down, that his 
 eyes were directed. 
 
 At last he became more demonstrative in his 
 actions, for he went and peeped into the area.
 
 VIOLET. 131 
 
 and presently did so again : this time it was a 
 satisfactory survey, for, with excessive alertness, 
 D'Arcy retreated backwards, and began walking 
 rapidly, but looking now as if he wished to knock 
 hardly anybody down, instead of everybody, so 
 that it was plain he was at once in better hu- 
 mour. 
 
 In the meantime a w^oman was seen slowly as- 
 cending from the said area. She w^as rather 
 stout, and forty; she had on a cotton gown, a 
 white apron, a eoal- scuttle black bonnet, and 
 horrid shoes upon criminal hoofs (for it would 
 not be right to designate them as feet) ; and, 
 without describing her any further, it is sufficient 
 to say that, seen from any point of view, she 
 might have been deemed peculiarly exempt from 
 the power of inspiring any man with the desire 
 for her presence manifested by D'Arcy. She 
 was never intended to have to resist the insidious 
 attentions of a man a bonnes fortunes. It might 
 be charitably inferred that Pro\ddence had con- 
 sidered these small temptations as unnecessary 
 trials, and had, therefore, placed this good wo- 
 man specially beyond their influence. 
 
 The respectable person in question was no 
 other than Mrs. Hummings, and she it was who 
 fulfilled the functions of ladies' maid, cook, and
 
 132 VIOLET. 
 
 housekeeper in the Woodville menage. She it 
 was also who escorted Violet Woodville in her 
 morning walks. 
 
 D'Arcy had ascertained, by means of a servant 
 he had sent to reconnoitre on six successive 
 mornings, that it was at this hour, namely, be- 
 tween ten and eleven, that Mrs. Hummings was 
 in the habit of leaving the house upon the fur- 
 therance of some domestic affairs ; for instance, 
 there was a connexion between these matutinal 
 walks and the landrails Mrs. Woodville was to 
 eat for her dinner that day. 
 
 D'Arcy desired to speak with Mrs. Hummings, 
 and to do so cost him all the bore and the ex- 
 ertion of which the reader has been made aware. 
 Now he beheld her : there she was, plodding first 
 down one street, then up another. 
 
 D'Arcy only waited till Mrs. Hummings was 
 out of sio-ht of Mr. Woodville' s house, in order to 
 address her. He felt his courage rather at a 
 low ebb, when he made up his mind that now or 
 never was the moment of attack. 
 
 He switched his cane several times, coughed, 
 kicked and scuffled with his boots, and, at last, 
 brought himself into a parallel line with the 
 black coal-scuttle bonnet. 
 
 First imagining, and then finding she really
 
 VIOLET. 133 
 
 had less room on the pavement than previously, 
 Mrs. Hummings looked round and saw D'Arcy. 
 She altered her pace, — bat he did the same; 
 she eyed him sternly, — but D'Arcy replied by 
 an affable smile. " Ma'am," said he, " could 
 
 you be so very obliging as to direct me to 
 
 street ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; turn to the right, and then to the 
 left, and there you are." 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am. Pray have I not the 
 pleasure of speaking to a most respectable 
 domestic in the family of Mr. and Mrs. Wood- 
 viUe?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; did you want any thing with 
 them ? I know your face, as coming there very 
 often, sir." 
 
 " No, — but I have much wished to see you, and 
 have sought this opportunity of meeting you." 
 
 " Sir ! " said Mrs. Hummings, looking less 
 condescendingly ; " what is that you're saying, 
 sir? 
 
 "I own, I have desired to see you, Mrs. Hum- 
 mings; I have so constantly heard your praises 
 from all the family, that I was well aware of the 
 lady-like person I should find you, and that 
 knowledge gives me courage to address you on a 
 little business of my own."
 
 134 VIOLET. 
 
 Mrs. Hummings had been colouring very much 
 while D'Arcy spoke, and she now turned full 
 round upon him, with red cheeks, and, likewise, 
 red eyes like a leopard's, so, at least, they seemed 
 to poor D'Arcy, while she exclaimed, " Sir ! a 
 gentleman like you, visiting our family, ought to 
 be ashamed of yourself, for looking after a re- 
 spectable woman like me, that's old enough to 
 be your mother. Sir ! I would have you to know 
 better!'*' 
 
 Mrs. Hummings bounced past D'Arcy, as if 
 she did not mean her last words to be taken 
 in vain. 
 
 There's no saying what D'Arcy felt; but he 
 had a material point to gain, — he was a man of 
 great courage, and he did not allow his feelings 
 to divert him from its pursuit; — he followed Mrs. 
 Hummings. 
 
 " Good heavens, ma am ! could you for a mo- 
 ment suppose I had the intention to insult a lady 
 like yourself? of whose excellent character I was 
 that instant telling you I had been so well-in- 
 formed? — my business with you was not exactly 
 about yourself" 
 
 These words struck Mrs. Hummings ; she 
 began to think she had been precipitate in her 
 comprehension of D'Arcy's discourse. It may
 
 VIOLET. 135 
 
 have been owing to a little adventure, of the 
 nature she now suspected, having befallen her 
 the previous week, in an ill-lighted street, and 
 whilst the moon was under a cloud, that Mrs. 
 Hummings was on this occasion so susceptible. 
 Having discovered her mistake, she was anxious, 
 by her present civilit}^ to make amends for it. 
 
 The ice broken, and upon the whole, as D'Arcy 
 hoped, not unsuccessfully, he ventured to proceed, 
 and requested Mrs. Hummings 's approval of his 
 joining herself and ^liss Woodville the next 
 morning in Kensington Gardens, should they 
 happen to be there. D'Arcy explained that 
 Violet had no knowledge of his request, but he 
 said he had something of importance to commu- 
 nicate, and that this was the only means of con- 
 versing with Miss Wood\'ille alone. He hoped, 
 therefore, that Mrs. Hummings would be so kind 
 as not to mention to Mr. or Mrs. Woodville the 
 fact of his designing to meet their daughter, as 
 they might, or might not, approve of it ; D'Arcy 
 said he really could not say which, but at all 
 events, he observed, under her chaperon age, 
 Mrs. Hummings must be aware there would be 
 no impropriety in his appearing accidentally to 
 meet Miss Woodville in Kensington Gardens."
 
 136 VIOLET. 
 
 " What's the meaning of that word, sir ?" asked 
 Mrs. Hummings, gloomily. 
 
 "What word?" 
 
 " Some such word as chapperingage. — What 
 do you mean by saying that sort of word to 
 me, sir ( 
 
 " Oh, I understand," answered D'Arcy, hardly 
 able to conceal his laughter, while he explained 
 the meaning of the word chaperonage, and at the 
 conclusion of the explanation he slipped a couple 
 of sovereigns into Mrs. Hummings' red ungloved 
 hand. Mrs. H. stared, and tried to return the 
 money ; D'Arcy would not hear of it. " I could 
 not, — I could not, Mrs. Hummings, — I only at- 
 tempted to make a small amends for the unfor- 
 tunate alarm I at first occasioned you by my 
 abrupt intrusion; as a proof of your forgiveness, 
 I must beg, — indeed;, I must desire you will say 
 no more about it. I fear I have already taken up 
 your time too much, — I hope you will be good 
 
 enough to — to" D'Arcy hesitated with his 
 
 words, for he hardly knew what he was saying. 
 
 At that moment he beheld, advancing up the 
 street, a well-known associate whom he would 
 rather not have met just then. 
 
 At that hour of the morning, D'Arcy considered
 
 VIOLET. 137 
 
 he was quite safe, and might devote, unseen, his 
 attentions to Mrs. Hummings ; nothing but a 
 clerk of the Foreign office could be visible at 
 such an hour, and this was not the way to Do\\ti- 
 ing-street : otherwise, his present companion was 
 not the lady he would have aimed at being seen 
 to escort; and there could not have occurred a 
 more laughable circumstance to any creature who 
 knew D'Arcy, than to have beheld him at this 
 moment. 
 
 Besides the sort of person D'Arcy was in him- 
 self, he was always remarkably recherche in his 
 dress ; he was not less so than usual now, and 
 Mrs. Hummings, of all people in the world, of- 
 fered a singularly uninviting contrast to D'Arcy. 
 Still there he was, bending his head under her 
 black, horrible bonnet, and talking with all the 
 eagerness he might have done, if she had not been 
 old, or ugly, or honest, — in one sense of the word. 
 
 The first two qualities Mrs. Hummings did 
 not concern herself about; it was her having 
 some glimmering of the last-mentioned one 
 which caused her still to hesitate, while D'Arcy 
 felt as if he could have hung her up to the next 
 lamp-post. " Nonsense, nonsense ; it can do 
 Miss Woodville no harm. Well, only for once — 
 I cannot stay — I see a friend; now, my dear Mrs,
 
 ] 38 VIOLET. 
 
 Hummings ! there; what does it signify — 
 
 who will know ? " 
 
 Between Mrs. Hummings's anxiety to return 
 the sovereigns, and D'Arcy's impatient refusal 
 to receive them, they very nearly dropped. 
 D'Arcy could only exclaim, " Turn round that 
 corner ; get out of the way ;" and, without wait- 
 ing for the reply, walked quickly up the street, 
 till he was within hail of his unwelcome friend. 
 
 " He cannot have seen her," said D'Arcy to 
 himself, but almost aloud, as he joined a pale and 
 interesting-looking young man, of distinguished 
 appearance. 
 
 D'Arcy turned his head — Mrs. Hummings had 
 obeyed his injunctions, and was out of sight. 
 
 " My dear fellow, how glad I am to see you ! " 
 cried D'Arcy, with extended hands. 
 
 " And so am I to see you, D'Arcy ; but I did 
 not expect to do so just here. Who on earth 
 were you talking to, when I saw you at the end 
 of the street ? " 
 
 " Oh, an old woman, wife of a man I owe some 
 money to." 
 
 " Oh, a dun ! — but what has fetched you out, 
 at this time of day, in such a direction as this ?" 
 
 " I had to sec that woman, and have a good 
 deal to do to-day ; so I got up early."
 
 VIOLET. 139 
 
 " Not a bit of it, D'Arcy : you have got some 
 love affair in the wind." 
 
 " What ! with that old devil, do you think ? — 
 But tell me, — how is Lady Stanmore?" 
 
 D'Arcy's companion looked grave at once, 
 although he answered, '' Better, thank God ! — 
 My Mother has been Avretchedly ill ; but they do 
 think her better — at least I was assured there is 
 no immediate danger, or you may be certain I 
 should not have left her. But I have been out 
 of London so long, that I had much to arrange, 
 and am obliged to be in town for a day or two ; 
 but I shall return to my poor Mother the moment 
 I can." 
 
 " Wlien did you come up ? " 
 
 " Last night." 
 
 " Where are you going ?'' 
 
 " I am almost ashamed to say ; however, to 
 
 " Shall we walk on together?" 
 
 " Do. But — why, I will tell you where I was 
 going, — to those W^oodvilles ; it is so long since 
 I have seen them; but I am half ashamed to 
 confess it." 
 
 " Pshaw ; I know them very well too — now, 
 she is a beautiful little girl : I am almost in love 
 with her myself"
 
 1 40 VIOLET. 
 
 *' What has she been at, D'Arcy ? " 
 
 " Nothing, I thmk ; the father and mother 
 keep such a look-out upon her." 
 
 '' They are right ; for she is ahnost too good to 
 be thrown away. But what men are about her ?" 
 
 " There's Goring, chiefly, I suspect — and Dor- 
 mer, besides Cramden ; but it was before you left 
 town Cramden began with her, was it not ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but doesn't she encourage any of 
 them ? " 
 
 " No ; it's very odd ; but I don't think she 
 does." 
 
 '' Singular ! for there is not one of those girls 
 that dance that ever were good for anything ; or, 
 if they are in the beginning, they are always 
 utterly and entirely corrupted in six months." 
 
 '' Utterly and entirely '* 
 
 " Extraordinary, is not it ? " 
 
 " Most extraordinary ! " 
 
 " By-the-bye, D'Arcy, did it ever appear to 
 you as if she cared for me at all?" 
 
 " No ; I never observed anything, as if she 
 did in the least." 
 
 " Oh," said Lord Stanmore, in a mortified tone, 
 " I was fool enough to think she liked me better 
 than other people, at one time." 
 
 '* Well, I dare say she did; but, you know, you
 
 V[OLET. 141 
 
 have been away a month ; and, you know, ' les 
 absens ont toujours tort.' " 
 
 '• She is a beautiful creature, D'Arcy, is she 
 not?" said Lord Stanmore, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Yes, beautiful ! " 
 
 " Such a graceful being? " 
 
 *' So graceful ! " 
 
 " And such pretty manners ! — so unlike any- 
 thing belonging to her class ! " 
 
 '^ So unlike ! " 
 
 '' Nothing plebeian about her — the most aris- 
 tocratic loveliness she has ; hasn't she ? " 
 
 " Oh, she has, certainly." 
 
 " I wonder,'' pursued Lord Stanmore, as if he 
 were thinking aloud — " I wonder what will be the 
 fate of a creature like that? If she is virtuous, 
 she will end by having a rich tradesman's low- 
 souled son for her husband ; or else some rascally 
 singer at the Opera ^^dll marry her, to make 
 money by her talents — spend it — ill use, and, 
 probably, abandon her ! " 
 
 " Just so " 
 
 " And how hard, that that should be the result 
 of having a mind superior to the set of people she 
 associates with ! " 
 
 " Oh, so hard ! " 
 
 " D'Arcy, what are you about ? — you don't
 
 142 VIOLET. 
 
 talk; for the last half hour you have done 
 iiothmg but echo my words." 
 
 " Have I ? Oh, I suppose I was thinking of 
 something else. I have been so bothered lately : 
 I am waiting all this time, you know, for an 
 appointment abroad." 
 
 " But I thought you had got that settled?" 
 '' Why, so I had ; but I can't leave England 
 just now — I am so in debt, and it does not suit 
 me. So I have made a compromise ; for I found 
 
 out I should oblige Lord , by pretending 
 
 not to be in a hurry ; and he gave G , his 
 
 nephew, my appointment : I am to have another 
 later. I want to get something in England, if 
 I can— I mean to try." 
 
 "Well, I am so glad to have met you, D'Arcy." 
 By this time the two friends had reached the 
 street wherein was Mr. Woodville's house, and 
 D'Arcy was taking leave of Lord Stanmore, 
 when the latter exclaimed, " Oh, but do come in 
 with me here ; I had almost rather you would ; 
 I am out of spirits, and you will help me to get 
 on with them ; it is difficult sometimes to find 
 conversation for these sort of people ; and as you 
 
 know them— " 
 
 D'Arcy did not require to be asked twice. 
 The Woodvilles were much surprised by the
 
 VIOLET. 143 
 
 appearance of Lord Stanmore, and Woodville 
 was too open-hearted not to make his satisfaction 
 evident ; while Mrs. Woodville made a thousand 
 kind inquiries after the mother of her intended 
 son-in-law. 
 
 Lord Stanmore cared little to reply to her ; he 
 only wanted to talk to, and to look at Violet. 
 
 I do not know that we can ever more fully tell 
 
 how dear another is to us, than when we meet 
 
 them after an absence. We did not know before 
 
 how the sight of that object could make our 
 
 pulses beat, or chill us with the nervousness of 
 
 insecure affection, so deeply felt by a doubting 
 
 heart. These are feelings which have their silent 
 
 agony, for they are among those that are never 
 
 told, or if they are, who can imagine the mental 
 
 suffering that has been endured by the mere 
 
 force of the words in which those sufferings are 
 
 told, words that seem trifling in the ears of even 
 
 an interested listener. But so it is; our most 
 
 unpleasant hours have often been occasioned by 
 
 the smallest nothings, and quite as often by our 
 
 own susceptibility alone. All of us perhaps have 
 
 these sensations, but not one of us can enter into 
 
 them when they are another's. Of this truth we 
 
 have an innate consciousness, and from this cause 
 
 the minutiae of any individual's unhappiness re-
 
 144 VIOLET. 
 
 main untold even to his most intimate friend. If, 
 at the end of a long life, a prosperous man — one 
 whose cares were established to have been but 
 few — if this man could lay bare the whole past 
 feelings of his existence, he himself would be 
 astonished at the number of small and long- 
 forgotten sorrows he had undergone ; things so 
 little tangible, that the pen could not define, and 
 the tongue would have been despised for uttering 
 them. 
 
 D'Arcy, after greeting Violet as usual, with- 
 drew himself from her, and obhgingly took up 
 the attention of her parents and of M. Dupas, 
 who was also in the room. A sufficiently ani- 
 mated conversation was thus got up between 
 these four persons, which left Lord Stanmore at 
 liberty to approach Miss Woodville. He was, 
 however, embarrassed, and she felt so likewise, 
 though from a different cause. She was conscious 
 of being: changed towards Lord Stanmore, now 
 that she met him again, and by him was forcibly 
 reminded that his attachment to her remained 
 the same. Still she talked to him, and only grew 
 absent when she began to remember that as yet 
 D'Ai'cy had not once addressed her. This was 
 so unlike him, she was at a loss to account for it. 
 He went on, however, talking to the Woodvilles
 
 VIOLET. 145 
 
 as if Violet did not exist in his heart ; and her 
 astonishment at this neglect grew greater every 
 minute; for we all know that if we ever make 
 mountains of mole-hills^ it is when our self-love 
 is in the case. 
 
 At length there was a sort of general pause, 
 which Mrs Woodville interrupted by saying that 
 to-morrow was to be the next Opera, the last 
 night of her daughter's appearance this season. 
 
 " If I continue hearing that my mother is bet- 
 ter, I shall certainly go to-morrow to the Opera," 
 said Lord Stanmore. " D'Arcy, will you come 
 to my box ?" 
 
 ''No," replied D'Arcy; ''I have an engage- 
 ment that will prevent me, one I cannot avoid." 
 
 Violet heard, but she thought she could not 
 have heard. She looked at her admirer, but his 
 face was not turned towards her. Her manner 
 grew feverish. When we are quite young, from 
 being unused to deal with covert annoyances, we 
 bear .them not only impatiently, but betray by 
 our deportment our secret discomfort. 
 
 D'Arcy's apparent neglect of her was as no- 
 thing to Violet, compared with his declaration 
 that he should not go to the Opera on her last 
 night I 
 
 Violet could not recover from the dismay it 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 VIOLET. 
 
 occasioned her ; and in vain she tried to read 
 D'Arcy's mind in his countenance. Lord Stan- 
 more in the mean time felt deeply hurt by the 
 comparatively cold reception he received from 
 Miss Woodville; and now in moody silence he 
 ceased to address himself to her, and had it then 
 been possible he would have expressed his per- 
 ception of her estrangement. D'Arcy and his 
 friend at length rose to take leave, and then the 
 former fixed his eyes upon Violet. She looked 
 at him, and hers were eyes that asked his pity. 
 She almost drew her breath with hesitation, lest 
 she should lose some one last word of D'Arcy's. 
 She yet hoped to hear him inquire when he 
 should again meet her. 
 
 D'Arcy had always found so many side-w^ays 
 of ascertaining this, but not a syllable passed his 
 lips in allusion to it. He held out his hand to 
 bid her adieu, and Violet tried to speak, but the 
 words would not come. D'Arcy looked at her 
 once more, but this time she was sick at heart 
 and she saw him not. 
 
 Hitherto she had found D'Arcy her undeviat- 
 ing worshipper ; to-day he seemed almost uncon- 
 scious of her presence ! 
 
 The door closed, and D'Arcy and Lord Stan- 
 more were gone. Perhaps I shall never see him
 
 VIOLET. 147 
 
 again, thought Violet Woodville, — for, reader, 
 have you never felt (that is, if you have ever 
 loved) that in moments of despondency this 
 strange idea has risen in your mind ? It is but 
 one of those spasms of a grieved heart that tears 
 itself with every self-delusion. " My God ! then 
 I have dreamt it all, and he does not care for me I ." 
 
 Violet would have cast away that thought, 
 but it recurred continually, and at night in her 
 dreams it lived. 
 
 Lord Stanmore and his friend walked on in 
 silence; at least up one street, and then it was 
 Lord Stanmore who spoke. 
 
 " D'Arcy, what can have happened ? " 
 
 '^What? to whom?" 
 
 " To her, — to Violet Woodville ; she is altered ; 
 1 find she is not the same person as when I left 
 her." 
 
 "You mean, in her manner towards yourself?" 
 
 ''Yes; I find I must either have been egre- 
 giously mistaken in her, or •" 
 
 ''Or what?" 
 
 " Or that she is a thorough coquette, which I 
 never can beheve. Who in this world can one 
 trust?" exclaimed the young man. 
 
 " You are speaking very solemnly ; can it be 
 possible that you are in love ? " 
 
 h2
 
 148 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 '' To distraction ; and I do not care who knows 
 it. Besides, I told 3'ou so long before." 
 
 " Yes, but I did not believe you, although now 
 I do." 
 
 '- And pray why now 9'' 
 
 " I can conceive it so very possible, for I am 
 myself in love with Violet AVood^'ilIe." 
 
 " YoM, D' Arcy ! are you in earnest ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think I am." 
 
 " WTiat do you mean to do ? " 
 
 " I was not sure whether through you I might 
 not ascertain." 
 
 " Pshaw ! you did not show any signs of caring 
 for her during our visit." 
 
 " No ; I thought I would give you a fair chance, 
 as I have been able to make play during your 
 absence. Not much, though ; the father or 
 mother, or that cursed old Frenchman, are al- 
 ways there ; and you know, Stanmore, what an 
 obligano: fellow I can be to a friend that I hke 
 as yourself So you got on ill with her this 
 morning ? ' 
 
 " Devilish ill, I think, or she is changed ; 
 she was absent. Who has been making a fool of 
 her while I have been away ? " 
 
 " They have all been trying it ; but I declare I 
 cannot exactly say who our rival is."
 
 VIOLET. 149 
 
 ** Our ] you need not say our — I do not believe 
 you are thinking of her." 
 
 "On my word I am. Why not ? " 
 
 " I conceived you to be otherwise engaged ; 
 besides, she is not in your line." 
 
 " Oh/' said D'Arcy, " but she is handsome 
 enough for anything, and my heart is capacious." 
 
 " How I always hate your cold answers, D'Arcy. 
 I am desperately in love with that girl/' exclaimed 
 Lord Stanmore passionately, and he stamped 
 with his foot on the pavement. 
 
 " You will succeed with her at last, perhaps, — 
 don't knock down that old barrow woman." 
 
 " Ah ! I am not likely now ; and those spies 
 always about her, too." 
 
 " They would like you to marry her." 
 
 " Which, of course, I shall not do." 
 
 " I see you thought I expected you to say you 
 would," answered D'Arcy, laughing aloud. 
 
 " No ; and you need not laugh again in your 
 vile way. But I do love her with all my soul ; 
 is she not a little divinity ? But, D'Arcy, if you 
 are so in love, why do not you go to the Opera 
 to-morrow night ? " 
 
 " Oh ! that was still to give you an opportunity 
 of making up for lost time. And so, Stanmore. 
 you do not think she likes you now ?''
 
 150 VIOLET. 
 
 " No ; she used, or something like it. Can it 
 be Goring ? He is such a brute she would only 
 hate him. But I will see her again ; and I will 
 watch, — I will find out, — there is nothing I will 
 not do." 
 
 " Well, shall I see you at Crockford's to- 
 night ? " 
 
 " I think not ; I am too unhappy, and al- 
 together " 
 
 Here Lord Stanmore and D' Arcy parted ; the 
 latter walked on with a light step, and was soon 
 out of sight, while the young Peer proceeded 
 more slowly in another direction. 
 
 Violet remained a prey to vexation of spirit. 
 '' How untrue to say youth is the happiest season 
 of our life, with its keen feelings laying them- 
 selves so bare to the vulture, experience. Youth 
 is a season that has no repose *," we feel so 
 acutely then, and every petty grief cuts like a 
 sharpened razor. 
 
 Violet could not recover from D'Arcy's altered 
 manner, and his declaration that he was not 
 going to the Opera. She asked herself a hundred 
 times, was he changed ? Or, (the supposition 
 flashed horribly across her,) had all D'Arcy's ap- 
 parent liking merely been an interest, the source 
 
 * L. E. L.
 
 VIOLET. 151 
 
 of which was in his friendship for her known 
 admirer. Lord Stanmore ? And now was he only 
 desiring to promote the success of his friend ? 
 
 If the supposition was far-fetched it was not 
 vmnatural^ for love is so feeble in its judgments, 
 so wonderful in its mental devices, so erring 
 in its weaknesses, so bitter in its imaginings, 
 so cruel in its suspicions, so unjust in its rea- 
 sonings, so sublime in its folly, so partial in its 
 arguments, and so ingenious in its self-torture, 
 that there can be no Hmits to its inconsistency or 
 to its doubts, and the power of the understanding 
 sinks beneath the force of that single passion, 
 even while its strength is weak. 
 
 Or, can I have offended him, thought Violet ? 
 wronging her gentle heart with the idea. 
 
 The morning following this inauspicious visit 
 was a bright day in August, and we all know the 
 relief given to the spirits by obtaining fresh air 
 and exercise; so Violet was not less ready than 
 usual to set forth upon her morning walk with 
 Mrs. Hummings. She intuitively desired by any 
 means to dissipate her uncomfortable feelings. 
 Every day and every hour that she had spent 
 with D'Arcy, since the time she first knew him, 
 had been conjured up by memory to soothe her
 
 152 VIOLET. 
 
 grief, and to convince herself that D'Arcy's con- 
 duct must have been unintentional. 
 
 She proceeded along the straight walk by the 
 elm trees in Kensington Gardens, without the 
 spirits to explore the more intricate paths, as she 
 sometimes did, enjoying with childish gaiety the 
 freshness and the verdure. 
 
 Violet walked on slowly and in reverie, and 
 Mrs. Hummings felt hardly more at ease than 
 her young mistress, and secretly hoped that 
 something would prevent Mr. d'Arcy from keep- 
 ing his determination of meeting them ; but the 
 hope was hardly born in the tender bosom of 
 Hummings, ere it was cruelly killed, by the ap- 
 pearance of D'Arcy walking quickly towards 
 them. 
 
 Wlien Violet saw him, she could scarcely be- 
 lieve her eyes, — but he approached. " How sin- 
 gular," she thought, '' that he should be going 
 this way, and at this hour, — as if it was really on 
 purpose that I might see him ! At all events, he 
 must speak to me, — I shall have that pleasure," 
 — and with this conclusion her young heart 
 bounded with joy : so when D'Arcy held out his 
 hand, and smiled, it might be, more gravely than 
 usual, but still with his accustomed tenderness.
 
 VIOLET. 153 
 
 Violet felt only too happy, and her delight shone 
 with exquisite truth in her lovely countenance ! 
 
 " Le sentiment vif court, tant que Ton vent les 
 risques de I'illusion, et s'il se trompe quelquefois^ 
 il a aussi senti en recompense, et exprime pour 
 ainsi dire de I'objet qui lui est presente, tout ce 
 qu'il pouvoit avoir de touchant. *" 
 
 *'I am so surprised to see you! where were you 
 going ? " inquired Violet Woodville, with bash- 
 ful artlessness. 
 
 "I had no object except one," replied D'Arcy, 
 " I have but one in the world now I think, of any 
 kind, — may I walk on with you ? Tell me, if you 
 would rather that I did not," 
 
 "No, — no," — stammered Violet; not very con- 
 scious what she ought to reply. " But shall I 
 turn, as I met you going in the opposite direc- 
 tion?" 
 
 "I was, Miss Woodville," answered D'Arcy, 
 with emphasis. 
 
 " But if I knew your way, — the one you wished 
 to go, — I would so much rather, — I mean just as 
 soon walk that way as this;" Violet spoke with 
 some confusion. 
 
 "It is the same to me. I came here but for 
 
 * Portrait de Madame de Flamorens. 
 
 H 3
 
 154 VIOLET. 
 
 the purpose of meeting you ; did you actually 
 suppose my coming here was accidental ?" 
 
 "Indeed I did, Mr. d'Arcy. I could not tell 
 that you desired to — to — to see me, at so early 
 an hour, — and besides- " 
 
 " And besides ; well, you do not continue ?" 
 
 " And besides, I knew that you would call, if 
 you wished to see us." 
 
 "Yes; but in calling I could not have seen 
 you alone, and the gene of never doing so is in- 
 supportable to me, — I find I can bear it no 
 longer !" 
 
 Violet turned her head in the direction of 
 Mrs. Hummings, but she found her duenna had 
 unaccountably lingered some paces behind. 
 
 "Listen to me," said D'Arcy, impatiently, "do 
 not look after that ugly old woman. Oh, listen to 
 me for this once, at least, — I would give so much 
 for one word of kindness from you, — for one word 
 only. Miss Woodville, — will you listen to me if I 
 tell you?" 
 
 "I do not know what you are going to say," 
 exclaimed Violet, blushing. " But another time, 
 not now, — I believe I ought to be going home." 
 
 " The vain excuse ! — Yes, now it shall be, — but 
 you well know — you must long have seen it. I
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 155 
 
 shall say nothing that could surprise you, — and 
 yet" D'Arcy paused, and appeared to reflect. 
 
 Reader, I know not why he hesitated, nor can I 
 guess at the nature of his reflections. He spoke 
 again after a few seconds, and bending over the 
 castdown eyes of Violet, he uttered, with a tone 
 of humbleness, and of dejection too: "I was 
 going to tell you, — as I do now, — that I love 
 you !" 
 
 At least, there is one word in the English lan- 
 guage that has music in its sound, — Love ! Who 
 can pronounce it, and not say it is a gentle word, 
 soft and beautiful as its meaning? Oh ! breathe 
 it how, and when, and where you will, is it not 
 always a touching word? and, should it be ut- 
 tered by one whose afiection we delight in, it is 
 a dream of bliss to hear it, and one that will be 
 unforgotten while every other joy lies buried 
 beneath the sorrow that fails us not : covering 
 mth its heavy mantle the happy hours that have 
 gone before. But, as first ' uttered by a loved 
 being, the memory of that word will endure. 
 
 It may be heard again and again, yet will not 
 half its charm be the hope of once more feel- 
 ing the magic pleasure its sound at first con- 
 veyed ? Oh no, those feelings we can never know
 
 156 VIOLET. 
 
 twice, whether they are called into being in the 
 spring of life, or in later years, it matters not. 
 
 Violet Woodville made no reply to D'Arcy, 
 but she hung down her head, and blushed deeply. 
 D'Arcy watched her in silence. At length he 
 whispered, *' Am I not to hear one word from you, 
 — you surely are not offended with me ? — you 
 cannot be ; and the declaration of a great af- 
 fection, be it from whom it may, can merit no 
 despisal." 
 
 " Alas !" said Violet, with an unequal voice, '' if 
 I knew but w^hat to answ^er, Mr. d'Arcy !" 
 
 In his heart, D'Arcy felt how much more these 
 guileless words conveyed than their speaker ima- 
 gined. 
 
 '^ Tell me, at least, that you believe me !" 
 
 "Even that I cannot do. I have been so 
 taught to disbelieve all such professions, that 
 how am I to know yours are more to be relied on 
 than others' ?" 
 
 " To whom would you compare me ?" exclaimed 
 D'Arcy. *' To the tribe who haunt you ? who 
 admire you, I grant, — but admiration is not love; 
 — you do not think that one of all those men 
 feels towards you as I do ? or is it possible that 
 you can do me the injustice of thinking so ?"
 
 VIOLET. 157 
 
 '' But then, Mr. d'Arcy, what is the reply you 
 desire me to make ? do you wish me to declare 
 that I suddenly place faith in you — and on your 
 simple showing ? — rest convinced henceforth, that 
 you do love me." 
 
 " Say it, oh say ! you believe that I do !" 
 
 Violet shook her head. 
 
 ** I see it all," cried D'Arcy, his countenance 
 darkening. " There is another person who might 
 have made this declaration, and it would then 
 have been more acceptable." 
 
 ^' On my word you are wrong," said Violet 
 Woodville, vehemently, " there is no one in the 
 world I care for in the sense you mean." 
 
 '* Not even Stanmore, I suppose ?" her lover 
 ironically demanded. 
 
 " No, Mr. d'Arcy, not even Lord Stanmore." 
 
 " At all events you hate me ?" 
 
 ^'Ohno!" 
 
 '' Oh no," said D'Arcy, repeating her words in 
 the softest tone of his musical voice, '' but since 
 you will not believe I love you, why should 1 be- 
 lieve that you do not hate me ?" 
 
 '* At all events, you did not even like me yes- 
 terday," Violet replied, partly in the endeavour 
 to lead the conversation into another strain.
 
 158 VIOLET. 
 
 '^ You would not speak to me, Mr. d'Arcy," and 
 she coloured violently. 
 
 D'Arcy answered readily, by quoting the beau- 
 tiful old verses of Sir Walter Raleigh. 
 
 " Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart, 
 The merit of true passion, 
 With thinking that he feels no smart 
 Who sues for no compassion. 
 
 " Since if my plaints were not t' approve 
 The conquest of thy beauty. 
 It comes not from defect of love, 
 But fear t' exceeding duty. 
 
 *• For, knowing that I sue to serve 
 A saint of such perfection. 
 As all desire, but none deserve, 
 A place in her affection, 
 
 " I rather choose to want relief. 
 Than venture the revealing ; 
 Where glory recommends the grief, 
 Despair disdains the healing." 
 
 " You have a good memory, Mr. d'Arcy ; are 
 you fond of poetry ?" 
 
 " No — yes, — we will not discuss that now ; and 
 will you not vouchsafe me one word of kind- 
 ness : 
 
 Violet was silent, — she at last replied, but it 
 was with an effort — '' I wish to say nothing that 
 is ungracious to you, Mr. d'Arcy, but since you 
 call upon me for my sentiments, may I not tell 
 you that if you do, as you say, love me — would
 
 VIOLET. 159 
 
 not the best proof of it have been to have avoided 
 the conversation you have now begun? It must 
 end here, — I am quite aware that it ought to do 
 
 SO. 
 
 Violet spoke with a quivering lip. She knew 
 not how her words might be taken by D'Arcy, 
 and she dreaded to offend him, as we ever dread 
 to offend everything we love, — nor could she love 
 the less for being so lately told she was beloved. 
 
 -' I have said nothing that is disrespectful to 
 you. Miss Woodville," replied D'Arcy, with gen- 
 tleness, " that, at least, I am incapable of. But 
 I did not think I should find you the one who 
 would receive with coldness the avowal of a true 
 affection. I have not asked you to return it, — I 
 am conscious, alas ! that I have no right to do so; 
 but your pity I had hoped for,— and if you did 
 but know what it is to love, and to love as I do, 
 you Avould not thus have denied it to me. It 
 was all I hoped to obtain from you. Others may 
 be more fortunate than I can be, — they may win 
 the heart whose slightest wish I could kneel to 
 listen to. I have not known you long ; but from 
 the hour I first saw you I was touched by you. I 
 admired your excessive beauty, and wondered at 
 its perfection ; then I heard you speak, and as 
 I grew to you I became fascinated. At first I
 
 160 ^ VIOLET. 
 
 despised myself for my folly, for so I thought it ; 
 and, until T met with you, I never conceived that 
 I could feel for any living being as I do towards 
 you. You treat me with indifference, — well, be 
 it so, — I cannot care the less for you ; and could 
 I serve you I would lay down my life to do it. I 
 am most unhappy ; and, on my honour, I have 
 not uttered one word that is not true." 
 
 " I am flattered," said Violet, '' that you should 
 think it worth your while to tell me this ; and if 
 you do — if you do love me, as you desire me to 
 believe, — you can understand that, as I never 
 can return your affection, it is better for me to 
 avoid the possibility of being led to do so." 
 " There is no danger of that. Miss Woodville." 
 " I know not, and it is better, therefore, to 
 think no more of it." 
 
 " Yes ; but, as far as I am concerned, that is 
 not done so easily, — and I really cannot see, while 
 others are allowed to say all that I have said to 
 you, why I am to be made the exception ?" 
 
 " But others do not say to me what you have 
 said, at least never with my permission." 
 " Not Lord Stanmore, for instance ?" 
 '' Again ! not even Lord Stanmore." 
 " You will not tell me that you do not know 
 that he is in love with you ?"
 
 VIOLET. 161 
 
 '' But that I cannot help ; what I mean is, that 
 he has no opportunity of telling me so that my 
 parents could disapprove of." 
 • "Well, I see that I have nothing to hope for. 
 You will have many admirers. Miss Woodville, I 
 do not doubt ; but you may believe me when I 
 say that mine is a better love than theirs. I would 
 have devoted myself to you — I should have prized 
 you more than anything that exists in the world ; 
 and could I have met from you with but the 
 slightest kindness, I think I could have lived for 
 years on the bare recollection of it, and should 
 have gloried in proving that my words have not 
 deceived you, and that mine was an undying 
 affection. As it is, I wish to spare myself further 
 pain — I shall shortly leave England, and it will 
 be for years." 
 
 Violet turned very pale, but she made no 
 answer. 
 
 '' When I return, be it wdien it may, or it may 
 never be — the bitterest recollection I shall have 
 ever known will await me — of one whose affection, 
 whose pity, I sued for in vain : and no term of 
 years, and no absence, will efface from my me- 
 mory the force of my feelings, or how my soul 
 could have clung to loving the only thing I ever 
 looked on and found no fault in."
 
 162 VIOLET. 
 
 " Why do you intend to remain so long 
 abroad ?" asked Violet with a faltering voice. 
 
 " Circumstances might oblige me, but inde- 
 pendently of them^ I solemnly declare to you, 
 that you, and you alone^ are the charm that makes 
 me care for anything, even to live ! I am old of 
 my age, sometimes I am sick of life, and the 
 beautiful part of human nature has been hidden 
 from me. I have known misfortune^ I have en- 
 dured vexation of spirit, I have lived to despise 
 the world ; above all^ I have lived to doubt that 
 one good and pure being existed in it ; and then 
 I met with you, and was forced to own such a 
 one did exist. Your beauty and your artless 
 character attracted me till I grew to love you, 
 and madly. I have thought of you till I have 
 conceived it to be all a wild dream, and that I 
 had fancied it, but I saw you again, and you 
 looked more beautiful. I heard your voice, and 
 I heard your guileless, imspotted mind in the 
 tones of that voice, as I saw it, too, in your 
 speaking countenance, and worlds, had I pos- 
 sessed them, I would have laid at your feet ! 
 
 '' I grew to fear you, and I dared not tell you 
 of my love. I sometimes thought you were a 
 hallowed creature, and longed to worship you. 
 Now I have told you all, and you have repulsed
 
 VIOLET. 163 
 
 me. I did not know before how horrible it is to 
 cast one's all of happiness upon a die and to lose 
 it. While I have life I shall love you, and on 
 earth I may never see yon again!" D'Arcy 
 stopped and held out his hand to bid her adieu. 
 
 Violet took it and burst into tears. 
 
 '' Why, why do you shed tears ?" exclaimed 
 
 D'Arcy. 
 
 "1 cannot bear you to leave England, Mr. 
 
 d'Arcy," exclaimed Violet almost convulsively, 
 as she wiped away the glittering drops. 
 
 '' Never I I never will, if you will tell me to 
 stay," he vehemently answered. 
 
 " Oh, no, not for me, not on my account," con- 
 tinued Violet almost inarticulately ; " but do not 
 go abroad, unless you must, pray do not." 
 
 " I would sooner die than do it now," exclaimed 
 D*'Arcy. ''You are agitated — ^leanonme;" and 
 he drew her arm through his, and neither of them 
 seemed to remember that a Mrs. Hummings 
 drew breath in the world. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. d'Arcy," said Violet, a little come 
 to herself; " what I said was very foolish ; I had 
 no business to say it — you had better forget it." 
 
 " Forget it ! I could not if I would. Do not 
 be so ungenerous ; grant me to live through one 
 day, at least. I am but your slave — I never can
 
 164 VIOLET. 
 
 importune you ; and I would hide myself from 
 every living thing sooner than annoy you. You 
 have but to say the word, and I will still disap- 
 pear from your sight for ever. But now, have 
 patience with me. I am happier at this moment 
 than I have been for years !" And Violet could 
 hardly doubt that D'Arcy spoke the truth, for he 
 looked so happy, and that was not his general 
 expression. 
 
 The lovers walked on conversing till they 
 reached the opposite gate. D'Arcy's respectful 
 manner disarmed her of all mistrust, and, in spite 
 of herself, Violet felt a joy she had never known 
 in her life before. 
 
 "And to-night I shall not see you, and it is 
 your last night," said D'Arcy, alluding to the 
 Opera of that evening. 
 
 " Where shall you be ?" inquired Violet. 
 
 " I have an engagement to go twenty miles 
 
 from town with Lord , the Minister for the 
 
 Home Department. It is important for me to 
 keep the engagement; nothing, in fact, but ne- 
 cessity would make me give up the pleasure of 
 seeing you to-night: as it is, I have not much 
 
 chance of it, as I have to speak to Lord on 
 
 business, and shall be detained, or I could still 
 go to , and find myself in the Opera in
 
 VIOLET. 165 
 
 time for the last act of the ballet. To-morrow I 
 shall call at your house^ if Mrs. Woodville is not 
 informed of our meeting this morning ; she will 
 not think my visit is made so very much too soon." 
 
 " But how is mamma not to know of my meet- 
 ing with you ?" 
 
 " She cannot unless you tell her ; and surely 
 that is not necessary ; it would only occasion re- 
 marks^ and for once there can be no objection to 
 its not being known. But do as you judge best," 
 added D'Arcy. 
 
 '' But/' said Violet, " there is Hummings, who 
 will think it so odd ; and there is something so 
 disgraceful in having anything to conceal from 
 papa or mamma — I cannot bear it ! " 
 
 " Then tell Mrs. Woodville of our meeting. I 
 advised you not, because I know what mammas 
 are, and that yours is not aware that I am not 
 like Goring, or any of those men whom it would 
 not be so well for you to be on the same terms 
 with. I mj^self should be wretched if you were. 
 But your parents will not make the distinction ; 
 and I flatter myself that you, at least, think I 
 deserve that you should have perfect confidence 
 in me." 
 
 '' And I have, Mr. d'Arcy. But there is still
 
 166 VIOLET. 
 
 Hummings ; she may speak of our walking to- 
 gether ?" 
 
 '' No, I think not — no, I am sure she will not. 
 The truth is," continued D'Arcy, smiling, " I so 
 wish to call upon you ; and I fear, if, in addition 
 to our walk to-day, I venture to appear in your 
 house to-morrow, I shall be forbidden to do so 
 
 ever again Shall I not?" asked D'Arcy. 
 
 as he took and pressed the little hand of poor 
 Violet, while he regarded her beseechingly to 
 acquiesce. 
 
 Violet sighed: she felt there was something 
 wi'ong in her conduct ; but D'Arcy's arguments 
 prevailed, and she agreed to conceal their having 
 walked together. 
 
 No sooner had they parted, and she was slowly 
 returning homewards, than she repented her 
 agreement; but her mind was in a tumult of 
 emotion, and hardly any idea was defined enough 
 to become the one uppermost. 
 
 At one moment she was seized with the most 
 poignant regret at having asked D'Arcy not to 
 leave England ; and felt she could do, or endure, 
 anything to have the power of recalling her words. 
 
 *' And what must it have made him think of 
 me?" inwardly exclaimed Violet; and her deli-
 
 VIOLET. 1G7 
 
 cacy shrunk with dismay from this avov»'al of her 
 feelings towards D'Arcy. Then, again, the idea 
 rose in her mind, that had it been otherwise, she 
 might have bade him an eternal adieu ; and that, 
 to a heart such as hers, Avas a thought too over- 
 whelming in its misery. Sooner than that — 
 sooner than part from D'Arcy, Violet would have 
 given up her life, her happiness, her honour — no ; 
 that last sacrifice did not occur to her; or, if it 
 did, it was so vaguely and so seemingly impos- 
 sible, that it passed through her mind quicker 
 than the bird of the ocean flies over its waves. 
 She did not question the force of D' Arcy's love ; 
 she did not fathom the depth of her own ; still 
 she was aware that all this could have no good 
 end, and felt a consciousness of future sorrow, 
 and a dread of the day's coming when he must 
 be taken from her. Then, again, Violet remem- 
 bered that she was beloved by D'Arcy, and 
 brooded over that conviction in silent happiness. 
 Suddenly she began to wonder what construc- 
 tion Mrs. Hummings had put upon her meeting 
 him, or whether she put any at all. She ad- 
 dressed her, and Mrs. Hummings, who was full 
 of internal perplexity and uneasiness, answered 
 submissively, and as if she were the culprit on
 
 168 VIOLET. 
 
 this occasion, as in fact, though unknown to her 
 mistress, she was. 
 
 " I think," said Mrs. Hummings, " it is of no 
 use of our saying to your mamma or pa' of our 
 a-meeting with Mr. d'Arcy ; they may not desire 
 as you should see him ; and if you don't say 
 nothing on it, I am siu*e I sha'n't think on it, 
 Miss." 
 
 '' Very well, Hummings," answ^ered Violet, with 
 an averted face, for her conscience ^vould allow 
 her to say no more ; and she reached her home 
 mthout again speaking to her attendant.
 
 ( i«9 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Beauty lures the full-grown child : 
 ***** 
 
 A chace of idle hopes and fears, 
 Begun in folly, closed in tears. 
 The lovely toy, so fiercely sought, 
 Hath lost its charm in being caught ; 
 For every touch that wooed its stay 
 Has brushed its brightest hues awa}', 
 Till, charm, and hue, and beauty gone, 
 'Tis left to fly or fall alone."' 
 
 Byron. 
 
 '' She is the finest creature I ever saw !" cried 
 
 Lord Z , as he surveyed Violet Woodville 
 
 through his opera- glass. 
 
 The ballet had commenced, and Violet was 
 
 dancing. " Astonishing ! So much grace ! — 
 
 'Pon my soul, she is lovely. Goring ! " 
 
 •• Oh, yes ; but it's no use — she wants the ring." 
 
 " Is it true that Stanmore marries her ?" 
 
 " No — I asked him ; he turned sulky upon it ; 
 
 but swore it v^as not true. They say D'Arcy 
 
 is the favourite." 
 
 " Oh, oh ! — so he finds time for that, too, does 
 
 he ! How she h?.s filled the house this season ; 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 1 70 VIOLET. 
 
 and it is mere grace, excessive grace, and exces- 
 sive beauty ; for she does no tours de force, and 
 her dancing is nothing compared with that of 
 Heberle and Montessu. She is really divine to- 
 night. I should not wonder if Stanmore was fool 
 enough to marry her — except that, in general, he 
 is a clever fellow, I think." 
 
 It was true that Violet never performed her part 
 with more spirit, and never looked more beautiful. 
 Her mind was yet joyful, and full of the impres- 
 sions of the morning. At night, particularly, 
 and in a scene of excitement, we remember with 
 tenfold pleasure that which has pleased us, and 
 we do so then without dwelling on the possibly 
 attendant e^ils, however they may occur to us at 
 another time. Violet was not without some of 
 the natural pride belonging to her sex, and she 
 was. in fact, more gratified on this night by the 
 homage paid to her, than she had ever felt before. 
 She knew she was handsome ; but she was only 
 vain when she thought of D'Arcy's intense admi- 
 ration ; and his praise had made an impression 
 upon her self-love, which the unceasing compli- 
 ments of every man who addressed her had 
 hitherto failed to effect. 
 
 One of the best boxes on the second tier was 
 occupied by a single person, a young man ; the
 
 VIOLET. 1 7 1 
 
 curtain occasionally concealed his face, but gene- 
 rally there was something interesting in his close 
 attention to the stage. His eyes wandered not 
 from it, and the white-gloved hand, that rested 
 on the edge of the box, was never moved except 
 to convey the opera- glass to his eyes. Not once 
 did he glance round the house, and the some- 
 what melancholy expression of his finely- cut 
 profile remained undisturbed throughout the 
 evening. Lord Stanmore, — for he it was, — ap- 
 peared conspicuous from the house not being 
 full. The season had drawn to its close. 
 
 There he sat, while to an observer his counte- 
 nance betrayed a mind preyed upon by unplea- 
 sant reflections. It was not that he was moraliz- 
 ing ; but it did strike him, as he gazed steadfastly 
 at the beautiful opera-dancer, that it would be 
 sad if a spoiler should come to blight the innate 
 excellence of one so fair. And himself? Was it 
 not his aim ? had it not become his sole desire ? 
 But then rose up the melancholy conviction that 
 the heart he had thus guiltily sought to win was 
 not for him ; either it never had been, or it had 
 proved incredibly fickle. 
 
 '' If she did but love me," said Lord Stanmore 
 to himself, " I should be happy. She may be 
 virtuous, and I know she is ; but so sweet a dis- 
 
 i2
 
 172 VIOLET. 
 
 position must err through its own tenderness, — 
 and was it another who would be her seducer ? " 
 Lord Stanmore would not think it possible ; he 
 quailed under the supposition, and found himself 
 muttering " The success of such black villainy 
 would be incredible. It is a sacrilege to think 
 she could be so debased ;" he involuntarily ex- 
 claimed, as the loud plaudits of the pit woke him 
 from the deep reverie in which the nature of his 
 ideas had absorbed him. 
 
 It is of no use to say that the profession of an 
 opera-dancer is a modest one ; but it is fair to 
 remember that to those who fulfill it it does not 
 appear so immodest as to the spectator. From 
 childhood they have been taught to look upon it 
 professionally, and they grow up, seeing it in no 
 other light. And thus it was with Violet : she 
 disliked her profession, but it v.as D'Arcy who 
 had led her to despise it. 
 
 She was quoted for the dignified modesty of 
 her demeanour upon the stage ; and it was re- 
 markable how strongly her native character de- 
 veloped itself even there : the propriety of her 
 demeanour had not failed to call forth merited 
 surprise from many ; in Lord Stanmore's e3^es it 
 was one of Violet's greatest charms. 
 
 Cn the night in question, probably because it
 
 VIOLET. L73 
 
 was the last of her appearance, she was certainly 
 more applauded than usual. 
 
 Violet felt, durmg some moments, a thrill of 
 happiness almost too great to endure : it was 
 when her eye fell upon D'Arcy. as he entered a 
 box upon the same ?ide as that of Lord Stan- 
 more. He was in evident haste as he advanced 
 to the front, and remained almost bending over 
 the box, as if he never could sufficiently behold 
 the goddess of the night. He was just in time ; 
 three minutes more, and the curtain dropped, and 
 Violet's last vision was the admiring eyes of 
 D'Arcy, as they sought her to the latest instant. 
 
 Violet never dressed at the Opera. She was 
 on that night solely under the care of M. Dupas, 
 and when the ballet was over, had nothing to do 
 but to throw on her cloak and get into the hired 
 carriage which was waiting for her. She reached 
 home before she had recovered from the unhoped- 
 for pleasure of seeing D'Arcy. He must have 
 made such haste to have been in time ! It was 
 twenty miles off where he dined. 
 
 M. Dupas descended from the carriage to 
 assist his young charge in getting out, but the 
 trouble was saved him, for another person lent 
 her his aid. 
 
 *' At least I have seen you," said a beloved
 
 174 VIOLET. 
 
 voice ; and Violet's hand was wrung by the pres- 
 sure of D'Arcy's, and before she had recovered 
 from her surprise, her lover had rapidly moved 
 away. She flew to her room, it looked upon the 
 street ; to throw up her window, and to look out for 
 D'Arcy was the work of an instant, but the light 
 of the moon only discovered a solitary policeman, 
 and the white reins of a cabriolet, as it turned 
 the corner. Violet waited for the last sound of 
 the wheels before she closed the window. She 
 wondered whether M. Dupas had recognized 
 D'Arcy. It was not a very clear night, and he 
 was hidden by his cloak and a hat slouched over 
 his features. 
 
 It was late when Violet came down to break- 
 fast next morning, but this was a privileged ad- 
 journment. 
 
 Mr. Wcodville was gone out, and Mrs. Wood- 
 ville was engaged; still the apartment was not 
 untenanted: M. Dupas was sitting there, with his 
 legs crossed, and his eyes turned thoughtfully 
 upwards, as if watching the summer flies gather- 
 ing upon the ceiling : and he looked graver than 
 he did in general. 
 
 M. Dupas had been handsome, at least his 
 features indicated that he must have been so; 
 and when excited his countenance became very
 
 VIOLET. 175 
 
 animated, like that of most French people ; but 
 when this was not the case, his face was placid, 
 and rendered pleasing by an expression of ex- 
 treme benevolence. He was in fact a remarkable 
 man for his age, which was rarely guessed, because 
 his activity and neatness of dress made him pass 
 for a much younger man. 
 
 His known worth, and their long acquaintance 
 with him, caused him to be respected and looked 
 up to by the Woodvilles ; besides, independence 
 of fortune always renders a man dearer to his 
 friends, and it has before been said that Dupas 
 was well off. By Violet he was loved : as a child 
 he used to give her sugar-plums and story-books, 
 and once had brought her from France a pair of 
 blue shoes, which made a great impression on 
 her. Then, as she grew up, she was often amused 
 by him, for his conversation was entertaining, 
 and through him Violet often heard of people 
 and events of which she would otherwise have 
 known nothing. 
 
 This morning Violet was not as glad as usual 
 to behold M. Dupas. She would have preferred 
 being alone, — so many ideas were crowding upon 
 her, and she was seeking to indulge them. 
 
 Love, when it gains possession of the mind, is 
 like a bee in a garden ; it is ever at work ; and its
 
 176 VIOLET. 
 
 restlessness, like tliat of the insect, never leaves 
 an unbusy moment. 
 
 Violet sat clown to her breakfast, and then M. 
 Dupas inquired if she was not much fatigued ; 
 she answered languidly in the affirmative. The 
 old man remained silent. Violet walked pre- 
 sently to the window and made some remark on 
 the weather, but received no answer. 
 
 M. Dupas appeared absent ; he tapped the lid 
 of his gold snuff-box, and Violet said something 
 else; instead of replying, her companion cast a 
 look at the breakfast-table, at the broken bread 
 on Miss Woodville's plate, and her half-finished 
 cup of tea, and sighed, but at the same time he 
 turned to address her. 
 
 " Will you let me give you advice, un vieiUard 
 comme moi, while it can be of use to you, mon en- 
 fant?^' he said mildly. Violet took the chair he 
 advanced to her, but she almost trembled. 
 
 ^' Do not let me vex you, Violette, you will have 
 trouble enough in the world without my adding 
 to it; but advice is of use, sometimes. I wish you 
 were my own child, and there would be no occa- 
 sion for it ; but it is pride in this country turns 
 the heads of the women and the men too. Your 
 father and madame, they wish you to be the wife 
 of a gentleman, and they do not think anybody
 
 VIOLET. 177 
 
 else good enough for you; who is not some one, 
 it is no use to think of. Cest un mauvais sys- 
 teme, bien mauvais. But it is very true ; and 
 there is Mrs. Norris and your friend Emily, are 
 they not trying all in the power of two silly 
 women to make a young gentleman do that which 
 it is not right he should ? Ce Monsieur Harcourt, 
 that he should marr}" Mdlle. is Madame Norris's 
 Paradis en perspective, and for that she would 
 sell herself to the devil ! Je vous demande pardon, 
 mais tovjours cest vrai ; and does not she know 
 that if he does marry Miss Emily, some of these 
 days he will fmd out he has been un imbecile, and 
 hate her and her daughter too when it will be too 
 late? Les mesalliances ne reussissent jamais. 
 
 '' Now I will tell you why I say all this to you ; 
 it is because that Madame voire mere does not 
 know what I do, nor Monsieur voire pere neither, 
 and you do not see your own danger, and that. 
 my child, is what I wish to warn 3'ou of Is it 
 not so, that your parents think that Lord Stan- 
 more will marry you, that you do not care in the 
 least for him, and that you do care very much for 
 Mr. d'Arcy ? Et hd — Et-ce que vous pensez quil 
 vous epousera ?" 
 
 '' No, " answered Violet as steadily as she 
 
 1 3
 
 178 VIOLET. 
 
 could ; '' no, he is above me, and I should not 
 desh'e it." 
 
 " Ah ! then why is Mr. d'Arcy always callings 
 here ? why is Mr. d' Arcy always at the Opera ? 
 why is he always talking to you? why does he 
 follow you everywhere .^ why is he the devoue of 
 madame, your mamma? why is he, at two in the 
 morning, to be standing with his white gloves, 
 and his whispering words at your father's door, 
 to hand you into your father's house ? No, no, it 
 is all bad. But the difference is, you are not in 
 love with Milord, and with Mr. d'Arcy you are. 
 And has he not found that out, or will he not do 
 so? and then — Oh, mais cela me fait horreur — 
 N'im2:orte, I will say out to you what is the truth. 
 When he asks you to be his mistress, what will 
 you feel?" 
 
 Violet hid her face in her hands, while she 
 almost screamed out, " Never, oh, never, never ; 
 Mr. d'Arcy never would ; you do not know him, 
 he is incapable, indeed he is." 
 
 '•Eh, y pensez-vous mon enfant?'' answered M. 
 Dupas drily. 
 
 " But he is a man of honour !'' 
 
 '' Ah ! cest selon,"" replied her companion, 
 shrugging his shoulders. " II le croit, je ne nien
 
 VIOLET. 179 
 
 clout e pas. But lie lias fallen in love with you ; 
 he knows you are not of an equal rank with him- 
 self — he will not marry you, he cannot ; but that, 
 he says, c^est voire affaire, et voila pourquoi moi, 
 moi, je me mele de tout cela. Vous ne men voulez 
 pas, ma douce enfant ?" 
 
 "■ Oh, no," answered Violet, overcoming her 
 emotion ; " you have meant it well ; but can you 
 conceive it possible I could ever forget everything 
 so as to become so degraded a creature ? Oh, it 
 is too horrible !" 
 
 " Vous me meprenez,'' said M. Dupas ; '' if you 
 think I can doubt the purity of my little Violet's 
 heart — no, not in the least ; but the world is full 
 of temptation. Yet that is not what I fear ; no, 
 I shall never live to see the little child — you, my 
 little darling, that I have seen growing up, and 
 that I have taught myself — I never shall see you 
 disgraced, I am sure of it. But there it is ; Mr. 
 d'Arcy will find he can make you love him, but 
 that he cannot make you wicked — et alors il sen 
 ira — and then will his heart or yours be the one 
 to break ; — his that is full of pride, though he 
 does not think we see it: — with his manieres a 
 Veau siicree to Madame, et les bouquets quit ap- 
 porte. Bah ! lui, il se consolera with his fine 
 ladies and his fine friends. Et a vous, — reste le
 
 180 VIOLET. 
 
 souvenir de ses belles paroles ! You will be un- 
 happy, lie will not — ce nest pas a savoir cela." 
 And jM. Dupas had agam recourse to his snuff- 
 box and to his shrug, while Violet sighed deeply. 
 At length she summoned courage to ask if he 
 had any positive reason for thinking ill of D'Arcy. 
 He shook his head, and replied ambiguously ; — 
 that he had lived long enough in the world to be 
 wiser than she was ; and that he had seen enough 
 of Mr. d'Arcy to feel certain he was not a good 
 acquaintance for Violet. He went on to say, that 
 cA'il, in some v/ay, was sure to result from her in- 
 timacy with him, — that the refinement of D'Arcy 's 
 manners, and the outward polish of his affection, 
 would prevent her ever being able to return that 
 of a poorer, and more suitable admirer. Violet 
 replied that the same objection might be made 
 to so many other gentlemen who had made her 
 acquaintance. " Yes ; but it is not the same 
 thing : as long as you do not care about them, it 
 does not matter, — you don't feel their advantages, 
 and you do not value them. But Mr. D'Arcy's? 
 en perdez-vous iin seulT'' 
 
 In her heart, Violet could not deny the force of 
 the argument, but it was one the least likely to 
 make an useful impression. She could only 
 promise to remember all M. Dupas had said, —
 
 VIOLET. 181 
 
 she thanked huTi, and ventured to beg he would 
 not alarm her parents on this point. 
 
 " Soyez tranquUle/' said the old man. " But 
 you 1 warn, — that your mother hopes Lord Stan- 
 more will marry you, and that if he does not, Mr. 
 d'Arcy will; and your father sees as Madame 
 does, or, at least, acts as she desires he should, in 
 every thing; ce nest pas elre clairvoyant,'' he 
 added; " mais cest le defaut cVun coeiir genereux.'' 
 
 It may be supposed that D'Arcy did not fail 
 
 to call as he had told Violet, in their morning 
 
 walk, he meant to do ; and he chose the time 
 
 when he felt certain of finding Mrs. Wood- 
 
 ville at home, and less sure of finding Mr. Wood- 
 
 ville. D^Arcy had ingratiated himself with the 
 
 former; he had the art of pleasing where he 
 
 desired to do so. He flattered her by his air of 
 
 deference, and by his knowledge of the world, 
 
 w4iich had likewise enabled him to discover the 
 
 vulnerable parts of her character. She w as more 
 
 anxious about, and desirous of Lord Stanmores 
 
 society, but there were no personal feelings 
 
 blended with this solicitude. Lord Stanmore 
 
 paid attention solely to her daughter ; his civility 
 
 was always reserved towards Mrs. Woodville, 
 
 and nothing more, whereas D'Arcy had in some 
 
 way enlisted her private sympathy in his favour.
 
 182 VIOLET. 
 
 To be sure, the Woodvilles never were in want 
 of marks of attention from their friends. The da}^ 
 seldom passed without some such arrival as pine- 
 apples from Lord X ; salmon from Mrs. 
 
 C ; American apples, or a haunch of venison 
 
 from B , or A ; and endless tin boxes of 
 
 violets, and bouquets of moss-roses for Mrs. and 
 Miss W. ; and, in the game season, their supplies 
 of partridges, &c. were incessant: besides other 
 sorts of birds with rare names, odd plumage, and 
 lean bodies, which cooks think it felony not to 
 send to table half raw. In short, none of the 
 gallantries of this nature, which it was permitted 
 to remember and to fulfill, were ever forgotten 
 by the numerous admirers of the lovely Miss 
 Woodville. 
 
 But to return to D'Arcy. He did not pay his 
 visit alone this time ; he requested permission to 
 introduce an acquaintance who was passing that 
 way with him. Violet remarked nothing more 
 peculiar in D'Arcy's companion, than that he had 
 not the usual tone of the men she was accustomed 
 to, and that he never took his eyes from off her 
 countenance ; while she could not help fancy- 
 ing that ^he had before encountered his observa- 
 tion. 
 
 D'Arcy, meanwhile, was asking the Woodvilles
 
 VIOLET. 183 
 
 to join a party to Richmond, for the following 
 Sunday week. Mrs. Woodville was nothing loth ; 
 the rest of the party were not as yet fixed upon ; 
 D'Arcy said it was to be very select ; and he 
 had come in the first instance to ascertain if the 
 day he had named would suit them. 
 
 While D'Arcy was in the house, another ca- 
 briolet drew up at the door, and Lord Stanmore 
 entered the room. On seeing D'Arcy, he started 
 slightly, and changed colour. If D'Arcy did the 
 same, he w^as seated with his back to the light, 
 and it was not observable. 
 
 Violet remained almost immovable from em- 
 barrassment, for she did not possess one grain of 
 coquetry : if she had, the circumstance of two 
 lovers paying their visits at the same time 
 would have been to her only an agreeable dis- 
 turbance. 
 
 There was a silence, which D'Arcy was the 
 first to break. Lord Stanmore looked gravely at 
 him while he spoke, and did not once address 
 himself to him. A constrained sort of general 
 conversation ensued. Lord Stanmore's counte- 
 nance indicated an irritation whicli, by his 
 manner, he made a poor attempt to conceal; 
 and now Mrs. Woodville began to feel uneasy. 
 She would not, for the whole world, offend Lord
 
 184 VIOLET. 
 
 Stanmore; and she feared lest he should be jea- 
 lous of D'Arcy, — that he had much cause to be 
 so was a fact she was herself m ignorance of. 
 Lord Stanmore rose suddenly to bid them good 
 morning, and in the next minute his cabriolet 
 was heard driving furiously from the door. 
 D'Arcy and his acquaintance shortly after took 
 their leave. 
 
 " Your objections are plausible, but surely 
 they are not reasonable. The laws of society are 
 strict in themselves, but there may be many in- 
 stances in which, if the spirit of them is kept, it is 
 more than sufficient. The world requires this sort 
 of social government, which, individually, might 
 often be dispensed with. I am hurt at the rigorous 
 discipline you would impose, since it discovers 
 your mistrust of me. The doctrines of a prude 
 can never become yours, and you are too in- 
 'artificial ever to feign to like them, while your 
 understanding con\dnces you that they are un- 
 necessary." 
 
 So spoke D'Arcy, in answer to the refusal of 
 Violet Woodville to meet him again in Kensing- 
 ton Gardens. She urged that, as she was con- 
 cealing her meetings with him, that alone ren-
 
 VIOLET. 185 
 
 dered them objectionable ; and that, in future, 
 therefore, she trusted he would not join her. But 
 D'Arcy replied with other arguments, and com- 
 bated hers mth all the sophistry he knew how to 
 employ. 
 
 Violet felt it difficult to persevere in a resolu- 
 tion he treated as originating in a mistaken zeal 
 of over-correctness, and she thought that, as he 
 spoke, she detected a sneer on D'Arcy's lips, and 
 that cold smile hovering there which she now so 
 rarely beheld. 
 
 There was once, too, something like contempt 
 in the tones of his voice, and the fear of offending 
 him induced her, at length, to acquiesce in his 
 reasoning. Violet began to think that he, at 
 least, was sincere in the view he professed to take 
 of the conduct she desired to pursue, and, if so, 
 to adopt it would be unappreciated as well as 
 displeasing. 
 
 " II n'est pas de plus fort prejuge que celui 
 qui est form6 par V amour."* 
 
 And then again she was hilled by the flatter- 
 ing words of her adorer, and in listening to 
 
 " a voice where Passion shed 
 All the deep sadness of her power," 
 
 while he detailed the progress of his love, and 
 
 * Meraoires du Marquis de Lan gallery.
 
 186 VIOLET. 
 
 descanted on the earnestness of his feehngs, she 
 alike forgot her danger and mistook her duty. 
 
 D'Arcy was an eloquent and a passionate 
 lover, but it cannot be doubted that the force of 
 his words gained additional strength by the in- 
 ward acceptance they met with. An unaccept- 
 able lover might pour out his soul in the lan- 
 guage Moore puts into the mouths of his angels, 
 but it would fall unheeded on the ear of the in- 
 different listener. 
 
 " And so," said Emily one day to Violet, " it 
 is clear enough you are in love with D'Arcy ;" 
 and Emily remained musing, apparently on the 
 sense of her own words. 
 
 The habits of intimacy continued to prevail 
 between Miss Woodville and her friend, and the 
 faults of the latter were not so glaring as to have 
 much deteriorated their mutual friendship : be- 
 sides, there was a certain talent about Emily, 
 which had its charm with men and with women 
 too. She was quick, and she was too young and 
 prosperous to be under the guidance of very bad 
 feelings. 
 
 It was a relief to the conscience of Violet 
 when she had told Emily of her walks with 
 D'Arcy, and had expressed her own sense of 
 error.
 
 VIOLET. 187 
 
 " I am not so sure that 3'ou [are wrong," re- 
 plied Emily. " If you like him better than Lord 
 Stanmore, I should certainly show him that I 
 did. There is not time to be thinking always of 
 what is so exactly right or so exactly wrong. 
 There is no harm, that I can see, in your meet- 
 ing D'Arcy when you are out walking; after all, 
 you are chaperoned, there is that ugly old Hum- 
 mings with you. It is very natural, I am sure. 
 If he loves you, he must have a thousand things 
 to say to you which he can seldom have so good 
 an opportunity of speaking otherwise ; and there 
 is something, — do you know, Violet? — there is 
 something I rather like about Mr. d'Arcy." 
 
 " There can be no doubt of my having done 
 wrong, Emily," said Violet, with a sigh, and not 
 alluding to Emily's last sentence; "my father 
 would say so." 
 
 ^' I dare say he would; but, poor man, you 
 must not mind that. As your father, you know 
 he is, in some sort, bound to see you don't have 
 lovers, and that sort of thing, too much; but 
 there would be no pleasure in life if you were 
 only to do what other people choose instead of 
 what you choose yourself, — and parents don't 
 understand. You are a nice girl, Violet, and I
 
 188 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 will answer for your alwa^^s knowing what you 
 are about." 
 
 "Ah, Emily, that's the way you always reason; 
 and my father and mamma, too, are so kind, — 
 and I have actually begun to have a concealment 
 from them !" 
 
 At night, when Violet was going to bed, Mrs. 
 Hummings entered her room and placed a letter 
 in her hands. She said it had been brought by 
 a person, who desired her to give it to Miss 
 Woodville when she was alone. Mrs. Hummings 
 did not add that she was also paid for under- 
 taking to do so. She suspected the letter came 
 from D'Arcy, and her conscience was not much 
 disturbed at being the channel of such a com- 
 munication, as she argued that if her young mis- 
 tress could take a walk with that gentleman in 
 the morning, it could not do much harm if she 
 read a letter from him in the evening. Mrs. 
 Hummings, however, was mistaken : the letter 
 was not from D'Arcy, but from Lord Stanmore. 
 
 It contained a passionate declaration of love to 
 Violet, and ended by making her the most splen- 
 did offers of a disgraceful kind; bat the letter 
 was worded with the greatest delicacy, and with 
 all the endeavour not to wound which such a
 
 VIOLET. 189 
 
 proposition would admit of. It concluded thus : 
 " If what I have written avails me not, and if the 
 pleadings of a very devoted heart are spurned 
 by you, — while you censure me, consider that I 
 am not more to blame than a thousand others ; 
 nay less, inasmuch as, having a consciousness 
 liow greatly I should appreciate the sacrifice you 
 would make for me, I should feel bound to treat 
 with a lasting tenderness the object of an affec- 
 tion so rewarded." 
 
 With indescribable anguish Violet threw down 
 the letter. " And this, then," she exclaimed, " is 
 all they think me worthy of. They profess to 
 love, but hesitate not to insult me ! " 
 
 She at first determined to make no answer, but, 
 on reading over the epistle a second time, some- 
 thing in the spirit of it moved her to think dif- 
 ferently. " He could not marry me, and in what 
 he offers he is generous, most generous," thought 
 Violet, humbly and dcspondingly ; and a melan- 
 choly sense of humiliation stole over her. " It is 
 not his fault. He does but think I may be one 
 of the many, and he treats me accordingly. And 
 D'Arcy, — if he should possibly think the same 
 of me ? Oh, I should go mad with horror. But 
 he knows me. He respects me ; he will not insult 
 me — never — I am sure of that."
 
 190 VIOLET. 
 
 Violet seized a pen, and answered Lord Stan- 
 more : — 
 
 " My Lord, — I cannot accept your oft'er. If 
 you knew the cruel humiliation I have suffered 
 in receiving a letter like yours, you would, I 
 trust, have spared me. 
 
 " I am, my Lord, 
 " Yours sincerely and humbly, 
 
 -V. W.' 
 
 Such was the reply of our heroine to Lord 
 Stanmore, while she continued to meet D'Arcy 
 nearly every morning in the Gardens. 
 
 She received- another letter from Lord Stan- 
 more : it was laconic : — 
 
 " Forgive me." 
 
 " Go with me to the rehearsal to-morrow, will 
 you ? " said Emily Norris to her friend one morn- 
 ing. " We are going to try over Le faux Cu- 
 pidon ; I have nearly forgotten it." Violet agreed 
 to go, and told D'Arcy of her intention ; he, of 
 course, did not fail to join her on the stage at 
 the time she went there. Violet was with Mrs. 
 Norris, and it so happened that neither her 
 father nor mother accompanied her. 
 
 ''I had some difficulty in getting here,'" said
 
 VIOLET. 191 
 
 D'Arcy, laughing, and apparently in higher spirits 
 than usual, as he took his post next Violet, who 
 was leaning against one of the side boxes. 
 
 '• How do you do, Mr. d'Arcy ? " said a young 
 lady, in a free and easy tone, in flesh-coloured 
 silk stockings, a pair of corsets, and wearing 
 about one petticoat and a half, — and holding 
 out her hand familiarly to D'Arcy. 
 
 "Vous avez chaud, apparemment, ma chere ;" 
 said a gentleman, interrupting her, whose costume 
 consisted of yellow slippers and white-cotton 
 trowsers, with a pink silk handkerchief knotted 
 round his throat. 
 
 " Get away, — you are jealous," cried D'Arcy 's 
 young lady. 
 
 '' Pray let me give no cause for anxiety," said 
 D'Arcy, moving away from the fair one and her 
 friend. 
 
 " Come, — come, — so you wont speak to me to- 
 day ? ' said the nymph, following our hero round 
 the stage very closely. " I see you like that new 
 Miss, there. Why she is not half so good as I, 
 and she is proud, and you know I am not. Have 
 done, Nicolas ! why do you follow me so ? You 
 never let me speak to any one." 
 
 •' Vous etes une ^^er^cie," whispered Nicolas,
 
 192 VIOLET. 
 
 the gentleman in white cotton ; '' et je vous en 
 payerair he added, making a most ferocious pair 
 of eyes. 
 
 The lady replied by a laugh ; and, following 
 D'Arcy to the back of the stage, tried to take his 
 arm. " Get away," cried D'Arcy, impatiently. 
 
 " Bless me," said the nymph, in surprise, real 
 or apparent. — "Well, I see j^ou don't want me; 
 you ungrateful — you — " 
 
 " AUons, commencons," called a voice from the 
 other end, and D'Arcy was liberated. 
 
 Violet could not help seeing what had passed ; 
 she knew the girl to be one of the figurantes, and 
 one not of good character. She saw her, and 
 others of her sort, often enough addressed b}^ 
 gentlemen, but this creature's familiar tone of 
 speaking to D'Arcy shocked her particularly. 
 
 Mrs. Norris had taken a chair apart from all 
 the other mammas and chaperones, and Violet 
 screened herself behind her, to avoid associating, 
 as much as possible, with her present set of ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 " N'est-ce pas que ma Julie a des jambes su- 
 2?erbes?'' said a respectable-looking old lady, 
 with an air of modesty, to Mrs. Norris, who was 
 forced to put up her glass to survey the said
 
 VIOLET. 193 
 
 ''jambes'' of Mdlle. Julie, while D'Arcy once 
 more approached, to resume his station by Violet ; 
 but this time he was attacked by the same old 
 lady who spoke to Mrs. Norris. '' N'est-ce pas," 
 said she, looking up benevolently in his face, 
 •' N'est-ce pas. Monsieur, que ma Julie est une 
 brave fille ? " 
 
 -' Is it not dreadfLil the sort of people one is 
 obliged to be civil to, Mr. d'Arcy?" Mrs. Norris 
 pathetically asked ; '' for my part, I have a per- 
 fect horror of these sort of persons ; I never speak 
 to them unless I am absolutely forced." 
 
 " You seem bored," said D'Arc}^ addressing 
 Violet. 
 
 " I never like this place." 
 
 " And why, loveliest ? " 
 
 Violet shrank from D'Arcy, almost for the first 
 time in her life, for there was a levity in his tone 
 she had never before detected. 
 
 " Dois je commencer avec le commencement?''' 
 called the fiddler. '' Oui,'' said Miss Norris, im- 
 periously, while she began an arduous pirouette: 
 About five bars were played over cnce again, 
 while Nicolas, in the back ground, seemed exert- 
 ing himself to perfect an elaborate battcment 
 with one ill-humoured les:. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 VIOLET. 
 
 "Listen to me, my soul's idol/' said D'Arcy; 
 " why are you so unkind to me this morning ? " 
 
 '' I am not unkind, Mr. d'Arcy." 
 
 '' Yes, you are ; — what have I done ? tell me." 
 
 " Believe me when I say, — nothing." 
 
 At this moment D'Arcy's eye fell upon one of 
 the side boxes: it was Lord Stanmore's, and in it, 
 even by the imperfect lights of a rehearsal, D'Arcy 
 saw Lord Stamnore himself He was looking 
 gloomily at Violet, and at his friend; Violet's 
 attention was at the same moment drawn to him, 
 and Lord Stanmore, seeing he was observed, 
 quitted the box. Violet shuddered. "How great 
 must be his contempt for me ! " thought she ; 
 " and I merit it." 
 
 D'Arcy saw that her spirit was not at ease. 
 *'Her self-love is hurt," thought he, and he ap- 
 plied himself to dissipate the cloud, and he suc- 
 ceeded. He had some difficulty, however, in 
 getting her to promise to meet him the next 
 morning ; this was not the first time she had 
 resisted. 
 
 " Well,'' at length said D'Arcy, " for this once 
 more you must meet me, — I have a reason for it. 
 I have a picture I want you to see, and you must 
 meet me to morrow, that I may show it to you."
 
 VIOLET. 195 
 
 Tlie next morning, when Violet walked out to 
 meet her lover, she was oppressed with a sense of 
 doing wrong, and fully determined that it should 
 afflict her for the last time ; this, she resolved, 
 should be effectually done by giving up her 
 morning walks. She thought of what the future 
 would then be, and it seemed a blank before 
 her. 
 
 As it was only exposing herself to additional 
 temptation, Violet wdsely determined to say no- 
 thing about her resolve to D'Arcy, but her heart 
 was sadder than she had ever felt it in her whole 
 life. 
 
 *' Look here," said D'Arcy, on joining her, " do 
 you recognise this face ?" showing her a small 
 and beautifully painted miniature of a young girl 
 in a morning out-of-doors dress. Violet started ; 
 it was herself in the attire she usually wore when 
 she went out. 
 
 " How could you get this ?" she inquired with 
 surprise. 
 
 " I have had so great a desire to possess a 
 good likeness of you, and I have so often re- 
 gretted," continued D'Arcy, '^ that 1 could not 
 ask you to sit for one. But, I believe, I have at 
 last succeeded wonderfully in obtaining this. I 
 
 K 2
 
 196 VIOLET. 
 
 met with a clever artist, to whom I gave every 
 opportunity of seeing you that I could think of. 
 You must have passed him constantly of a morn- 
 ing when you have been coming here ; he has 
 been hovering on your steps for the last two 
 months, and I seldom allowed a day to pass with- 
 out paying a visit to the atelier of my artist 
 friend, for such he has been to me. You may 
 suppose that my corrections have done some- 
 thing towards the likeness. I brought him to 
 your house the other day, too, and introduced 
 him as an acquaintance who was walking with 
 me." 
 
 *' Good heavens !" said Violet, " so then that 
 was the man who never took his eyes off me, 
 and I really wondered what he could be looking 
 at." 
 
 " His admiration of you was profound," said 
 DArcy, " and to that I chiefly attribute the 
 great success of my miniature. While I live I 
 shall never part with it. You see I have had it 
 made small on purpose, and the little gold case 
 is the neatest in the world. [ shall hangr it 
 round my neck, — here is the chain 1 shall put to 
 it, and a ribbon also, for fear the chain should 
 break."
 
 VIOLET. 197 
 
 ''I hardly knew you cared so much for me as 
 all that," said Violet, touched. 
 
 " Alas !'' cried D'Arcy, with sudden emotion, 
 " I wish that I had it more in my power to prove 
 the excess of my affection.'' 
 
 " Allow me to say," said Violet, with agitation. 
 " that I am quite aware I never can receive any 
 further proofs of your affection for me. I am so 
 aware of this," she continued, " that it would hurt 
 me if you could imagine 1 should expect it : our 
 situations in life are perfectly different, and to 
 break through the restraints they impose would 
 be a lasting error which I feel, were I in your 
 place, I could not commit. I believe I am speak- 
 ing with a frankness which is uncalled for, but 
 you will not think it boldness." 
 
 " I understand you," answered D'Arcy, '• and I 
 admire you the more for what you have said. I 
 will be sincere with you, — I once promised that I 
 always would be. I cannot think of marrying. — 
 my position in life is one that will not admit of it. 
 Had I the largest fortune to-morrow, however, I 
 should not marry, or if I did " 
 
 D'Arc}^ paused and sighed. " I cannot say 
 that I should not marry in that case, — but there 
 is but one person I would ask to be my wife."
 
 198 VIOLET. 
 
 " And wiio would be that person, Mr. d'Arcy?" 
 " Yourself." 
 
 ''Never/' cried Violet, "never! — how can you 
 so try to deceive me ? nothing would induce you 
 to marry an opera-dancer !" 
 
 " What can make you think so?" asked D'Arcy 
 with surprise. 
 
 Violet related the conversation she had so 
 long ago overheard between him and Mr. Har- 
 court. 
 
 "But still you underrate my great love for 
 you/' said D'Arcy : *^' it could lead me to overcome 
 every prejudice.'' 
 
 " It could, but it would not,' repeated Violet^ 
 steadily. 
 
 " You may be right/' answered D'Arcy, after 
 a moment's reflection. " But yet it is true that I 
 have never once exaggerated the strength of my 
 affection in all I have told you ; more than that 
 (believe me or not, as you choose), but there have 
 been moments when I have endured the most 
 poignant regret — regret? — yes, I have upbraided 
 myself; but I do love you, may God bear wit- 
 ness, better than all things that are, — and I 
 would give worlds — what am I saying ? — oh, my 
 very soul, — I would give it away, if "
 
 VIOLET. 199 
 
 '* You hesitate ; I do not know what you are 
 going to say, but leave it unsaid. I am unhappy 
 enough as it is— so unhappy, — I see that I 
 can never know happiness again," — and Violet 
 WooJville clasped her hands in deep sorrow; 
 D'Arcy seized, and covered them with kisses, — 
 while he almost knelt at her feet. 
 
 Hummings was a great way behind, but she 
 hastened her pace now, and her approaching 
 steps induced both Miss Woodville and D'Arcy 
 to try to recover their composure. 
 
 Violet's determination of not meeting D'Arcy 
 again was preying upon her mind, and she had 
 the tenderness of her heart, as well as the deep- 
 ness of its affection, to struggle with. 
 
 They came to the end of her usual walk in 
 silence, and when Violet gave D'Arcy her hand 
 to bid him farewell, her heart was too full to 
 speak. 
 
 "I shall meet you at the Opera to-morrow; 
 Mrs. Woodville told me she was going with you, 
 but to-morrow morning we will talk of that : you 
 will come here to-morrow morning ?" whispered 
 D'Arcy in an imploring voice : '' ah, dearest, you 
 will believe my very life is in your hands."
 
 2j0 violet. 
 
 Violet could make no reply. When she was 
 alone, her tears flowed long, and how sadly ! 
 
 " Nos actions ne peiivent etre appreciees par 
 leur valeur intrinseque non connue. La position 
 qui les met au jour en decide le prix."* 
 
 * Madame de Staal de Launaj'.
 
 ( 201 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A savage jealousy that sometimes savours nobly. 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 Oh, what a host of killing doubts and fears, 
 Of melancholy musings, deep perplexities, 
 Must the fond heart that yields itself to love 
 Struggle with, and endure ! 
 
 Lord Stanmore went to Brighton, but, finding 
 his mother really better than he had expected, 
 he returned to town. It was, in some measure, 
 curiosity that prompted him to do this, mingled 
 with more unpleasant feelings. He was certain 
 that the impression he once hoped to have made 
 on Violet Woodville was at an end ; at the same 
 time he gave full credit to her upright mind ; 
 but he found he had a rival, and the observations 
 of a week were sufficient to enable him to dis- 
 cover who that rival was. In his jealous anger, 
 Lord Stanmore vowed never again to see D'Arcy. 
 He avoided him therefore, for he felt he hated 
 him. It was a chance thing his seeing him and 
 
 K 3
 
 202 VIOLET. 
 
 Violet at the rehearsal: he sometimes went to 
 the rehearspJ of an Opera, and a mistake as to 
 the nature of this one was the reason of his 
 coming to his box on the morning in question ; 
 and it was a moment of great pain when he there 
 beheld Violet and his former friend. 
 
 He could have declared to all the world his 
 conviction of Violet's hypocritical conduct, al- 
 though, in fact, he refused to give it his own 
 credence. 
 
 " Les amans portent quelquefois leur aveugle- 
 ment jusqu'a ne pas connaitre dans leurs mai- 
 tresses les defauts qu'ils savent bien en faire 
 connaitre aux autres.*" 
 
 On the last night of the Opera the Woodvilles 
 took a box, or rather the manager very civilly 
 gave them one; and Mrs. Woodville, without 
 saying a word to Mr. Woodville or Violet, wrote 
 a note to Lord Stanmore to inform him where 
 thev were going. Her excuse was, that he had 
 once said something of her letting him know if 
 they went to the Opera ; and without this little 
 arrangement on her part, Mrs. Woodville would 
 have looked on the opera-box as a most vain 
 acquirement. 
 
 * St. Evremond.
 
 * VIOLET. 203 
 
 A sudden resolution prompted Lord Stanmore 
 to avail himself of this information, or rather in- 
 vitation. The overture was only just ended when, 
 to the great surprise of Violet Woodville, he 
 entered the box and seated himself by her. She 
 was in the back, where her mother had placed 
 her, because she thought, in case Lord Stanmore 
 chose it, it would be giving him such a good 
 opportunity of proposing to her. Poor Violet 
 was thinking only of D'Arcy, and cared little 
 where she sat. 
 
 The words of civility were no sooner passed 
 and the Opera begun, than Lord Stanmore (his 
 jealousy overcoming his embarrassment at seeing 
 Violet after the letter he had lately written to 
 her, and her reply) began to upbraid her for 
 her preference of D'Arcy, which, he said, was 
 undisguised. 
 
 This language was not well received ; and, with 
 woman's pique at being scolded by a lover she 
 did not love. Miss Woodville answered, that 
 there were others, and not himself, who were tlie 
 best judges of her conduct, and had the best 
 right to interfere in it. Thrown off his guard by 
 this rebuke. Lord Stanmore exclaimed, " And is 
 it possible you can think of being the slave of
 
 204 VIOLET. ^ 
 
 D'Arcy, wlio, at the very moment lie is professing 
 love to 3^011, is thoroughly involved with another 
 woman ? I care not if you tell him I told you 
 this — nothing signifies now to me. But of him 
 I warn you. He has no heart to give, and of you 
 he is utterly unworthy." 
 
 Violet felt sick at heart when Lord Stanmore 
 pronounced these words. " Of whom are you 
 speaking ?" she asked with a tremulous voice ; 
 " with whom is he, Mr. d' Arcy, involved ?" 
 
 "Names cannot matter to you, you will not 
 suspect me of an untruth; what I have said I 
 would have said in D'Arcy's presence — he could 
 not have denied it." 
 
 "But why, then, is he your friend — a person 
 you think so ill of?" 
 
 " The person who is perfectly fit to be my 
 friend, may be most unfit to become yours." 
 
 '* I have nothing further to reply to your re- 
 marks, my Lord," said Violet Woodville, almost 
 passionately. For a moment her usual gentle- 
 ness was overset by the anger as well as the 
 bitterness of her feelings. 
 
 "I am prepared to meet your coldness." con- 
 tinued Lord Stanmore ; '' but it shall not hinder 
 me from telling you that I see you ready to sacri-
 
 *' VIOLET. 205 
 
 fice everything — yes, everything", in time, I have 
 no doubt — and to D'Arcy. I may be led away 
 by the jealousy which you have so fearlessly 
 caused me, and it may be true that I have no 
 right to interfere ; but I think the very force of 
 my attachment to you gives me that right, as it 
 does the power, certainly. If you knew how 
 much I have thought of you ! God forgive me ! 
 if, even while I Avatched over the sick bed of mv 
 mother, I remembered you as a consoling angel ! 
 With you to have fled from the world, to have 
 seen you as my wife, to have owned it, and to 
 have been proud of it ! These have been my 
 visions at moments when I thought your heart 
 might be truly mine. And then D'Arcy came, 
 and he has worked the ruin of every hope I ever 
 formed ! Villain !" 
 
 " Say not that," cried Violet ; " Mr. d'Arcy has 
 done you no harm ; he has never spoken to me 
 against you, as you have done against him this 
 night." 
 
 '' Ah ! I see you cannot forgive me for the 
 truths I have told you. How you must love that 
 man ! I wish he was dead ! " said Lord Stan- 
 more, bitterly : " I abhor him ! " 
 
 " You are horribly unjust, and you terrify me.'
 
 206 VIOLET. 
 
 '' Do I ? I beg your pardon — but you forget 
 that he was my friend ; and I did not think this 
 wretchedness would have been occasioned me by 
 him." 
 
 " If Mr. d'Arcy knew it, he would be sorry, 1 
 am sure." 
 
 " Sorry ! — oh, no, that's not likely. I, his friend !" 
 continued Lord Stanmore, incoherently : " the 
 
 baseness — to dare again I beg your pardon ; 
 
 I cannot help my own violence : you have no con- 
 ception of what I am enduring ; you would for- 
 give me, if you knew how I loved you — how 1 
 have cursed myself for that odious letter I sent 
 you ; what I would have given, if it had never 
 been written — and you hate me for that more 
 than ever, do you not ? " 
 
 " I never hated you, Lord Stanmore." 
 
 " Now you are lost," he continued, without 
 heeding her reply. " You could not, if you 
 would, give me back the heart which is D'Arcy's ; 
 but," he added, in a voice of deeper feeling, 
 '' do not destroy every illusion — do not become a 
 guilty thing — let not even D'Arcy teach you 
 that ; love him, if you will — make him your god, 
 and lavish upon him the whole treasure of your 
 first affection — die for him — let your heart be the
 
 VIOLET. 207 
 
 bruised token of his power : cherish him while you 
 live — pray for him when you are dying — but, 
 oh ! allow him not to bring you to dishonour ! '' 
 
 Lord Stanmore's words became hardly audible, 
 while he went on speaking with great emotion. 
 
 " From this degradation, let my prayers pre- 
 serve you ! Spare me that — not for the sake of 
 the good will you bear me, but for your own. 
 You do not know what vice is. It is your very 
 ignorance which has made you so beautiful in my 
 eyes; and I do think that, were I to see you 
 debased, I could never believe in woman's purity 
 again. Would that you had never known 
 D'Arcy ! — and shall I live to see you his victim ? 
 Surely Heaven never made you to become the 
 child of sin ; or, if it did, it would blast a portion 
 of its very self I could immolate to shame every 
 created thing — I could believe in an angel's fall, 
 but not in yours ! " 
 
 Lord Stanmore ceased. Pale and tremulous, 
 Violet had listened to each word ; terrified at his 
 vehemence, and filled mth nervous dread, she 
 yet, more than all, remembered the assurance 
 that D'Arcy was devoted to another. Overcome, 
 at length, with the extremity of agitation, she 
 suddenly leaned towards her mother, and drooped
 
 208 VIOLET. 
 
 her head upon her shoulder. Lord Stanmore 
 had not seemed to observe her; and, as if he 
 hardly knew what he was about, he rose, without 
 looking towards her, and left the box. 
 
 The two senior Woodvilles had been sitting as 
 much to the front as possible, during this conver- 
 sation; and, besides hstening to the music, Mrs. 
 Woodville had contrived to carry on a constant 
 dialogue with her sposo. Once only she ventured 
 to look round at her daughter with the mere tail 
 of one eye ; but, seeing how much Violet was 
 apparently engaged, she determined nothing 
 should induce her to commit the like imprudence 
 again, and in that direction she took special care 
 that poor Woodville should neither see nor hear 
 at all. 
 
 It was a loud opera ; and, as Lord Stanmore 
 spoke very low, it may easily be imagined that 
 his conversation passed unheard. 
 
 Mrs. Woodville's reflections, in the meantime, 
 were very similar to those of the maid with the 
 milk-pail, in the fable ; and its overthrow could 
 not have dashed that damsel's projects more com- 
 pletely than were Mrs. Woodville's, when slie 
 beheld her child's pale face reclining on her 
 shoulder, and, at the same moment, saw Lord
 
 VIOLET. 209 
 
 Stanmore retreating from the box. Consterna- 
 tioTi seized the parents ; and, in their alarm for 
 their only child, they thought but of restoring her. 
 
 Violet had not fainted ; but she earnestly ex- 
 pressed her desire to return home. 
 
 '' Oh, perhaps Lord Stanmore is gone to see 
 for our coach?" said Mr. Wood\*ille, looking 
 round. " Did you tell him, my darling:, that you 
 wished to go ? " 
 
 " No, father ; but do you see for it." 
 
 At this instant the box again opened, and it 
 was to admit Mr. d'Arcy and Mr. Brown. 
 
 Mr. Brown was a vocalist, smitten with Miss 
 Woodville, and, having met D'Arcy on the grand 
 staircase, it occurred to him that if that gentle- 
 man were going to visit the Wood\411es, he, Mr. 
 Brown, had as good a right to go likewise ; and 
 he determined to take the opportunity as well, 
 deeming it expedient also to scrape acquaint- 
 ance wdth Mr. d'Arcy, so as occasionally to seem 
 to belong to him. 
 
 D'Arcy was much astonished when he beheld 
 the drooping Violet, leaning on her mother's 
 shoulder; but he was still more so when, on 
 speaking to her, he received no answer, and she 
 closed her eyes.
 
 210 VIOLET. 
 
 " A little air, — more salts, — eau de Cologne ! " 
 cried Mr. Brown ; " if Miss Woodville would take 
 a little more salts to smell?" and he appealed to 
 D'Arcy, who surveyed him for the first time with 
 something between contempt and curiosity. 
 
 ''Violet 's quite ill, Mr. d'Arcy," said Wood- 
 ville, " so I am going to see for our coach, and 
 perhaps you and Mr. Brown will have the 
 goodness to take care of them while I am 
 gone." 
 
 " Could you take an arm, Violet, and go down 
 stairs ?" inquired her mother ; "and then we shall 
 be read}^" Violet answered in the affirmative, 
 and DArcy proffered her his aid, but it was re- 
 jected in silence ; and Mr. Brown stepped forward 
 to offer his. 
 
 "I shall only lean upon mamma," said Violet, 
 and she did as she said, while Mrs. Woodville 
 availed herself of D'Arcy's assistance. As they 
 moved on, he inquired the cause of her daughter's 
 indisposition. 
 
 " Indeed I do not know," answered Mrs. 
 Woodville ; " she was talking too much, and over- 
 exerting herself, I think. But you are much 
 better now, Violet, an't you V 
 
 Violet answered, "Yes," in a more restored
 
 VIOLET. 211 
 
 voice, and added, "I could even go back to the 
 Opera, if you wished it, mamma." 
 
 D' Arcy looked at Violet, and tried to penetrate 
 the cause of her changed manner. In vain he 
 sought to meet her eye, or to induce her to speak 
 to him. The carriage was now ready : her father 
 now hastened to inform them ; and, as an 
 excuse for helping Violet into it, D'Arcy seized 
 her hand, but it was eagerly withdrawn ; and he 
 saw the Woodville equipage disappear, — while 
 he remained standing on the pavement, in asto- 
 nishment at this novel conduct on the part of 
 Violet. 
 
 "The heat of the house overcame her, I am 
 inclined to imagine," said Mr. Brown, with a 
 facetious air, and addressing himself to D'Arcy. 
 
 " Sir ! " said D'Arc}^ staring at him, — " Yes ; '* 
 and he walked awa}^, leaving Mr. Brown to com- 
 fort his amour pro2)re, by muttering, "Vulgar 
 manners, I think, upon my word !" 
 
 As for Violet, she remained in an agony of 
 mind. Much as there was to annoy her, she 
 would not have suffered so deeply, if our feelings 
 could ever be disturbed in proportion to their 
 real cause, rather than to the way in which we 
 view that cause.
 
 212 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 She was stung to the quick by every word 
 Lord Stanmore had uttered. She could not bear 
 his foreseeing her degradation as a thing possible, 
 — and might not the supposition (she asked her- 
 self, as she had done before) occur to D'Arcy ? 
 This was worse still ; what woman would not 
 rather be thought ill of by all the world, than 
 that a lover should dream she could live to err ? 
 
 Then she remembered Lord Stanmore's assu- 
 rances, that D'Arcy's heart was already engaged; 
 and when she gave way to this reflection, her 
 misery was inconceivable. Not only was she 
 wounded by the fact, but the deceit of her lover 
 affected her still more powerfully. 
 
 We are so unwilling to confess the faults of 
 any one we love ; and this night, for the first 
 time in her life, Violet learnt, that "la disgrazia 
 di non piangere euna delle piu crudeli ne' sommi 
 dolori*." Her grief too partook of a violence 
 that hardly accorded with her character. 
 
 " II est de fait que les amants se montrent 
 plus impitoyables les uns envers les autres que 
 les ennemis les plus irreconciliables." 
 
 And upon this true observation her sensations 
 may be best understood. 
 
 * Silvio Pellico.
 
 VIOLET. 213 
 
 Violet, of course, resolved never to speak to 
 D'Arcy again. At one moment she determined 
 to write to him, to inform him of everything 
 Lord Stanmore had said, and to express the 
 height of her contempt. Sometimes she thought 
 she would supplicate him herself to tell her the 
 truth ; for, despite of all her anger, Violet invo- 
 luntarily felt that if D'Arcy were to deny every 
 word, she should believe him. She took up her 
 pen and composed her letter ; but when she read 
 it over the next morning, her good sense pointed 
 out to her the imprudence, or perhaps the indeli- 
 cacy, of sending it to him. 
 
 She was in hopes all day long that D'Arcy 
 would call, that she might show him she never 
 meant to speak to him again, by leaving the 
 room the moment he entered it ; but D'Arcy did 
 not call. 
 
 To her parents, Violet assigned no reason for 
 her illness at the Opera, and professed herself 
 unable to account for Lord Stanmore's sudden 
 departure from their box. 
 
 " Some lover's quarrel, I am sure,' said Mrs. 
 Woodville to her husband, '• that will all come 
 right again, but we must have patience. I own 
 I am disappointed, for I declare I thought the
 
 214 VIOLET. 
 
 young man was going to propose ; did not you, 
 Charles?" 
 
 '' Indeed I do not know why you thought any 
 such thing," replied Mr. Woodville ; " all I know 
 is, I wish something or other was settled. Dupas 
 was talking to me about it yesterday. He says, 
 what's very true, these young men don't think 
 of marrying, — all they think of is amusement. 
 There's young Brown, — only you won't be civil 
 to him, — why should not Violet marry him? he 
 is a very proper sort of person ; and I know his 
 uncle has made money. With him one might 
 know where one is ; but as for all these dandies, 
 they drive me out of my wits. Don't I see that 
 D'Arcy flying about the girl, and making a fool 
 of you besides, for it's the truth ; and whisper- 
 ing, and following us wherever we go, — and hum- 
 bugging me, I am ashamed to say, almost as 
 bad as he docs you, for I never know w^hat he 
 w^ould be at, he is so cunning about it all ; and 
 to us he is as if butter would not melt in his 
 mouth, notwithstanding he looks as if he were 
 the Grand Tvirk.' 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Woodville, yoti know you have 
 always had a prejudice against Mr. d'Arcy; I 
 am sure he is a very good-looking "
 
 VIOLET. 215 
 
 " Good-looking ! — yes, I dare say ; that's 
 always the way with a woman. What do his 
 looks signify to me? Good-looking! — that 
 makes a great deal of difference, I suppose ! and 
 are we all to act like fools, because a man is 
 good-looking? " 
 
 '' Bless me ! Mr. Woodville, don't be so cross." 
 
 " I am not cross, Mrs. Woodville : you should 
 not provoke me by saying a man's good-looking : 
 what's that to me ? It is not that I have any 
 malice against Mr. d'Arcy — I will be hanged if 
 I ever know exactly what I think of him ; and it 
 is certain, so far, he is like a thorough gentleman 
 to me. But he is always here, and that other one 
 is just as bad — just: he does not ask my consent 
 to marry m}^ daughter ; and if he ever meant it, 
 why does not he ? What's to hinder him — he is 
 of age, and his own master." 
 
 '' I never knew anything like your unreason- 
 ableness : you speak as if you hadn't two grains 
 of sense, sometimes ; you would spoil everj^thing 
 by joux impatience ; and as for Brown — I would 
 not, upon any account, that anybody thought that 
 Violet was dreaming of condescending to him !" 
 
 " She may come to worse condescensions than 
 that, Mrs. Woodville."
 
 216 VIOLET. 
 
 " I don't know what you are meaning to insinu- 
 ate against your own child," replied the lady, 
 indignantly. 
 
 " I am not insinviating anything : as for Lord 
 Stanmore, that I don't say so much about ; there 
 might have been a chance of getting him — ^he had 
 only to do as he chose ; and when a young man 
 gets his head full of love, he will do a good deal." 
 
 " Well, and pray why shouldn't Mr. d'Arcy 
 want to marry Violet, supposing Lord Stanmore 
 does not?' 
 
 '• That's just your uncommon folly ! — I cannot 
 help calling it so ; you put me out of patience 
 with so much nonsense. Now, I should like to 
 know what you see in Mr. d'Arcy's face to make 
 you think he will marry my daughter ?" 
 
 '' Why shouldn't he as soon as his friend Lord 
 Stanmore, pray ?" 
 
 " In the first place, he has no money ; and, in 
 the second place, he is not a man that would 
 lower himself so far, if Violet was as beautiful as 
 a saint — or 1 am much mistaken." 
 
 " No money ! — how are you sure he has no 
 money .''" 
 
 '• Because I have heard it of those that are 
 likely to know."
 
 VIOLET. 217 
 
 " It does not matter," continued Mrs. Wood- 
 ville ; " he belongs to great people ; and who 
 knows what he may not be some of these days ? — 
 besides, he is always a gentleman." 
 
 *' Yes, there you are again ! I know who fills 
 you up with this nonsense ; but I am not a man 
 that finds fault when there is no occasion. Mrs. 
 Norris may do as she likes; but the end of Miss 
 Emily is not seen yet. I won't haA'e the respect- 
 ability of my family endangered — other people 
 may do as they please ; but I will have a little bet- 
 ter order kept in my house ; gentlemen shall not 
 be coming in at all hours of the day : and I beg, 
 in future, Violet may be taught to think of those, 
 in a becoming manner, who properly ought to 
 think of her. — Violet is ill. Do you think I 
 don't see that, between them, these lovers of hers 
 have been worrying her to death ? They are all 
 of them an unprincipled set of young rascals; 
 and I have opened my eyes to see the mischief of 
 what they are doing to me and mine." 
 
 " You are in a bad humour, Charles," said 
 Mrs. Woodville, in a mitigated tone ; " and I 
 shan't say any more to you now ; it is of no 
 use." 
 
 " No, it is not ; so don't say any more — only 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 VIOLET. 
 
 please to remember wliat I have told you, and 
 to mind it, that's all." 
 
 Violet continually expected that D'Arcy would 
 call ; he could do so very easily, she thought, as 
 there was the excuse of inquiring after her ; but 
 the day passed, and D'Arcy had never been. 
 
 " Hummings," said Violet, when she went to 
 bed, " has no one called ?" 
 
 *' No gentleman, Miss ; but Mr. d'Arcy's ser- 
 vant was here, to leave his master's card, and to 
 inquire how you was. ' 
 
 " But then, Hummings, Mr. d' Arcy was in his 
 cabriolet, and his servant came to the door ?" 
 
 " No, Miss, he warn't, for there wasn't no cab. 
 I looked, to see if Mr. d'Arcy himself was a-nigh 
 the house, but his young man walked on of him- 
 self, till he turned the corner." 
 
 Violet wondered why D'Arcy had not called ; 
 there could be no doubt he would yet do it, how- 
 ever, she argued — and another day dawned, and 
 with it her expectation of seeing him. She 
 longed so to show him her displeasure — to con- 
 vince him that she never would forgive his per- 
 fidy — for perfidious she considered him ever since 
 Lord Stanmore talked of his heart being ano- 
 ther's. Alas ! and the remembrance of those
 
 VIOLET. 219 
 
 words occasioned her the tears — they were such 
 heart-felt ones; but another day passed, and 
 D'Arcy came not. 
 
 Violet paid a visit to Emily Norris, pour se 
 desennuyer. 
 
 " Well, I do wonder you have not seen Mr. 
 d'Arcy/' said Emily, when Violet had told all 'of 
 her present grief that she had to tell. 
 
 *' But, good heavens ! it quite shocks me to 
 think how sillily you have been behaving ; why 
 you might have married Lord Stanmore, Violet ! " 
 
 " Oh, never mind that, Emil^^ it is only Mr. 
 d'Arcy that I care about." 
 
 " Yes ; how much you are in love with him ! 
 I will tell you what, Violet ; — I will ask Harcourt 
 about him, — not so as to betray you, leave ^that 
 to me ; I shall see him to-morrow, — we are great 
 friends just now ; so don't fret any more. Mr. 
 d'Arey is ill, or engaged, or gone to the country 
 for a few days, — you will see ; or, perhaps, he is 
 only playing sulky, for you know, though you had 
 cause to be angry, D'Arcy could not guess that 
 anything so unlikely should have happened as 
 Lord Stanmore telling you what he did; and 
 he must have thought your conduct very odd, and 
 very unaccountable." 
 
 L 2
 
 220 VIOLET. 
 
 Emily was as good as her word in making 
 some inquiries of her admirer. In consequence, 
 on the first occasion that he met with, Mr. Har- 
 court addressed D'Arcy, by saying — 
 
 " D'Arc}^ may I ash if you are still in love 
 with that :Miss Woodville ? " 
 
 "^ To be sure I am." 
 
 " That's being very constant, for you ; but I 
 want to know why you have not been near her 
 lately ? " 
 
 " So, Miss Norris has desired 3'ou to ask these 
 questions, eh, Harcourt ? " 
 
 *' y^Tiy, 3'es — she has. She said (You know 
 
 the Woodvilles and Mrs. Norris are great friends,) 
 and Emily said she was sure that pretty little 
 sylph, the girl, was worried to death about some- 
 thing, and that she knew you had not been about 
 the Woodvilles lateh', and she asked me what 
 was the reason, or if you were in town. Now 
 what have you been at ? " 
 
 " On my word, nothing; but," added D'Arcy, 
 with his frequent sneer, " I am not a marrying 
 man, — you arc, I believe ; — and the poor Wood- 
 villes are too good for me." 
 
 ''Ah, then I understand you. You have been 
 ?.n unsuccessful suitor, and the little creature will 
 not be vour mistress ? "
 
 VIOLET. 221 
 
 *' I own to you, I never ventured to ask her/' 
 
 " Why, D'Arcy," said Harcourt, opening his 
 eyes, and rousing himself from his usual non- 
 chalant manner, — ** Why, D'Arcy, you don't say 
 so ? You will never make me believe that." 
 
 *' I don't see why, — after all, I am such a very 
 modest fellow." 
 
 " I did not know it, and neither do other 
 people." 
 
 " I assure you it is true, Harcourt ; and it is 
 very often the greatest disadvantage to my ad- 
 vancement in life. I have the humblest opinion 
 of myself; I would give anything for the assur- 
 ance of Goring, of D , or of C ," conti- 
 nued D'Arcy. 
 
 " And so 3^ou have given up the poor girl ? " 
 Mr. Harcourt continued. 
 
 " Rather say, she has given me up." 
 
 " You know Stanmore is gone back to Brighton, 
 so he will not stand in your way." 
 
 D'Arcy's countenance looked somewhat bitter, 
 and his lip curled into an icy sneer, — his sneer, 
 as he haughtily replied, although addressing his 
 friend Harcourt, — 
 
 " As she is neither his wife nor his mistress.
 
 222 VIOLET. 
 
 Stanmore's presence or his absence, I presume, 
 must be a matter of indifference to me." 
 
 '' And how, all this time, are you going on 
 with your other lady ? " 
 
 " Much as I have always done ; and my 
 humble disposition has stood in my way there 
 likewise." 
 
 ^^ Ah, I don't understand you," said Harcourt, 
 at leno:th. " I wanted to consult you about 
 Emily, but I don't like your mystifications to- 
 day; however, if you like, you shall go shares 
 with me in a thing I am to be let into in Cassel- 
 ford's stable. I am going to-night to the One 
 Tun, in Jermyn-street, — if you choose to accom- 
 pany me, we will talk it over ; and I will own to 
 ^ you I am not sorry you have not made a prey of 
 that Wcodville girl, for she is Emily's great 
 friend, and it would have shocked her so. Have 
 you seen Mrs. Skiffney?" 
 - No." 
 
 ''Then goto the Haymarket to-morrow; — we 
 will all go. I should like to hear your opinion ; 
 'pon my soul I think her head and shoulders the 
 finest thing I ever beheld." 
 " Is she good?"
 
 VIOLET. 223 
 
 " Very; just the thing for you. So you hare 
 Bot seen Mrs. Sldffney ! " 
 
 " I have had so much to do lately, and am so 
 bored about my place under government. But 
 we will certainly go to the Haymarket to-morrow, 
 and see this new launch you tell me of/' 
 
 "Ah, it will do you good, D'Arcy,'' said Mr. 
 Harcourt, affectionately; " for you are looking 
 horribly bilious." 
 
 Emily Norris, as has already been said, partly 
 from friendship, and partly from curiosity, tried 
 to discover, through Mr. Harcourt, to whom 
 X.ord Stanmore could have alluded when he spoke 
 of D'Arcy's divided heart. But her efforts were 
 unsuccessful, Harcourt either did not know, or 
 would not tell; perhaps he had no idea of be- 
 traying D'Arcy. 
 
 ; " I wonder how you can like Mr. d'Arcy ? " 
 said Emily, inquiringly; ''he is half inclined 
 to be disagreeable." 
 
 " My beloved, he is the cleverest fellow in the 
 world." 
 
 " But I believe you are all afraid of him." 
 
 '^ I vow I think we are, sometimes, now you 
 have put it into my head." 
 
 \
 
 224 VIOLET. 
 
 '' What does he do? Is he rich ? " 
 " They say he lost vipon the Derby last year ? " 
 " I saw him once, myself, talking to a lady in 
 Grosvenor- square. She looked handsome, and 
 wore a hat made of blonde, and I remembered 
 the shape of it at the time ; I and mamma were 
 passing at that moment. Is Mr. d'Arcy in love 
 with some lady in Grosvenor-square ? " 
 
 " If he is, he does not tell me ; but he is 
 always in love with a hundred women at a time ; 
 he never cares for any of them, he throws them 
 over, and then he affects that they ill-use him. 
 Your little friend had better keep out of his way. 
 Besides which, I do not think he cares for her; 
 and he is going abroad shortly. Where's Mrs. 
 Norris?" 
 
 " Mamma is writing a letter she says must go 
 by the post," said Emily, laughing ; and in five 
 minutes more Mrs. Norris entered the room, la- 
 menting she had not been able to come sooner ; 
 for she said, " though I am not a foolish prude, 
 Mr. Harcourt, I never like to brave prejudices ; 
 and as young ladies are in the habit of having a 
 chaperone, I always try to be with Emily when 
 she sees gentlemen; however, I left the door
 
 VIOLET. 225 
 
 wide open, and that's mucli the same thing, is 
 not it?" continued the excellent Mrs.Norris, with 
 a complacent smile. 
 
 Emily Norris faithfully reported to Violet the 
 substance of all she ever could extract from Mr. 
 Harcourt about D'Arcy. 
 
 "He allowed to me," said Emily, ''he met 
 D'Arcy, and had asked him why he had not seen 
 you lately, but that he got no answer from him ; 
 and I have tried since then to find out what sort 
 of person Mr. d'Arcy was, and I asked if he was 
 a roue, but Harcourt only answered in his usual 
 wa}' — you know his way — he is so indolent some- 
 times." 
 
 " No, I never heard him called a roue ; in 
 short, Harcourt seemed stupid about it, or else 
 it was his indolence. I wish 3'ou Nvould forget 
 D'Arcy." 
 
 " Impossible ! my dear Emily, all I wish is, to 
 see him once more, only once. I only want to 
 tell him all I now think of him, and that I for- 
 give him, and that I never wish to see liim 
 again !'' answered Violet, sighing profoundly. 
 
 " He would tell you you were very foolish, and 
 begin making love all over again." 
 
 l3
 
 226 VIOLET. 
 
 " He could not ; I should convince him that I 
 knew every word he said was false, and that I w^as 
 acquainted with his affection for another person." 
 ; "Which, of course, he would deny." 
 , " No ; he could not tell an untruth." 
 
 " Nonsense ! as if he would think that an un- 
 truth." 
 
 '' D'Arcy would not tell a falsehood/' persisted 
 Violet Woodville, while the tears rose to her 
 eyes. 
 
 Poor Violet ! The days passed heavily now, 
 :and everything seemed changed. As long as we 
 are in love, or rather, I should say, during the 
 intervals that our love runs smoothly — few they 
 are, few and far between — but during these in- 
 tervals, the presence of the adored one is as the 
 ,sun of our day ; and its. influence is still felt, and 
 its beneficence shed upon every other object with 
 .which we come in contact. 
 
 Those who are in love, and who go on for 
 awhile happily, live entirely in a world of their 
 own ; much that was of importance becomes a 
 matter of indifference to them ; they rejoice in 
 a fine day without knowing it, and when a rainy 
 one comes, they do not perceive it; everything
 
 VIOLET. 227 
 
 with them is couleur de rose, and they never guess 
 that the hour of trouble is but deferred, and that 
 they are drinking then 
 
 *'The cordial drop Heav'n in our cup has thrown 
 To make the nauseous cup of life go down. 
 On which one blessing God might raise. 
 In hands of atheist, subsidies of praise." 
 
 Lord Rochester. 
 
 But when some evil change occurs, and they are 
 awakened from their dream, then indeed they 
 think it has been one, and there is no saying 
 how mournful a heart they bring to the gayest 
 scenes, how broken a spirit reposes in that w^hich 
 should be the happiest home. 
 
 Violet WoodWlle was now undergoing all this, 
 for two weeks had passed away and she had not 
 seen or heard of D'Arcy. Emily Norris could 
 tell her nothing more than that she believed him 
 to be still in London, which Violet had begun to 
 doubt. It was the month of August, and he 
 might be gone into the countr}^. 
 
 Over and over again she questioned herself as 
 to the reasons for D'Arcy's total neglect of her. 
 Sometimes she conceived that he had either 
 guessed or ascertained all that Lord Stanmore 
 had told her, and that he guiltily felt ashamed 
 of meeting her. It was a naive supposition, and
 
 228 
 
 VIOLKT. 
 
 if it recurred often it was as often discarded. 
 Violet felt that this was not in accordance with 
 what she knew of D'Arcy's character. He was 
 not ill, since it was clear Mr. Harcourt would 
 have said so to Emily. Then, all other supposi- 
 titious excuses would be as nothing in the case 
 of a true lover. Had he ceased to love? No, 
 for that would happen gradually ; and by means 
 of that freemasonry which exists between lovers, 
 notwithstanding her disdain towards him, Violet 
 felt that very night at the Opera D'Arcy was as 
 much engrossed by her as ever. Was it then 
 possible that mere anger had induced him to 
 stay away ? But, thought Violet suddenly, but 
 suppose I am wronging him altogether? but 
 no; Lord Stanmore would never have stooped 
 to deceit ! no ; yet he might possibly be mis- 
 taken : and then, if poor D'Arcy should be 
 blameless ! 
 
 Imagining that D'Arcy considered himself un- 
 fairly treated by her, Violet thought it was pos- 
 sible that indignation might make him refrain 
 from seeing her. She did not know what the 
 experienced could have told her, that it becomes 
 more urgent with us to tell a once beloved object 
 that we hate them, we trample upon them, we
 
 VIOLET. 229 
 
 despise them, than it ever was before to declare 
 how passionately we adored them. 
 
 The Woodvillcs noticed the grief of their 
 child, and could not divine its dhect cause, whe- 
 ther it was owing to having quarrelled with Lord 
 Stanmore, which she let them suppose was the 
 case, or wdiether it was owing entirely to Mr. 
 d'Arcy's absence. They often spoke of him, at 
 least Mrs. Woodville did, and wondered why he 
 never came ; and Mrs. Woodville asked Violet 
 if she had quarrelled with him likewise, for her 
 behaviour to D'Arcy at the Opera had passed 
 unnoticed by both her parents, on account of her 
 illness. Only once, when she was alone, and M. 
 Dupas asked, in his kindest voice, why she was 
 unhappy, for he was sure she was so ? and why 
 had she given up all her admirers so suddenly ? 
 Violet replied that she did not know whether 
 Mr. dArcy was in town ; — '' Do you think he is^ 
 M. Dupas V The old man fixed upon Violet 
 a glance of inquiry, but her pale cheeks and 
 sunken eye denoted too plainly that she was unr 
 happy, and that was an answer. 
 
 '* You may trust me, mo7i enfant,'' he said, 
 compassionately, *' I am sorry for you. What is 
 it you want to know about Mr. d'Arcy? Is it not
 
 230 VIOLET. 
 
 at your desire lie has left off coming to see you ? 
 I had hoped it was." 
 ■ "No." 
 
 "How then?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Violet, listlessly; and, 
 too unhappy even to discourse on the cause of 
 her grief, she left the room. 
 
 Still the Woodvilles, pere et mere, were very 
 •gay, and continually making Vauxhall parties, or 
 going to Greenwich, or dining at Kichmond, 
 chiefly to procure diversion for Violet, at least so 
 said Mrs. Woodville. Very often, on pretence of 
 illness, Violet would excuse herself from joining 
 these " pleasure parties," to use the phraseology 
 of Mr. Brown, vvho continued to be most assi- 
 duous in making love, — no, I mean paying 
 his addresses to Miss Woodville, — who, poor 
 girl! now absolutely sickened at the sight of 
 him. 
 
 And here, as M. Dupas had predicted, was one 
 evidence of her misfortune. Having once asso- 
 ciated, and intimately, with a person of real re- 
 finement, she could not like those who possessed 
 not the same advantages, and towards Brown, 
 especially, there is no expressing the dislike 
 Violet felt ; and nothing but her sweetness of
 
 VIOLET. 231 
 
 temper enabled her to disguise her contempt 
 .under the garb of cold ci\dlity. 
 
 Mr. Brown was not repulsed, as he might have 
 been, by Violet Wood\dlle's dislike to him, be- 
 cause he did not conceive it possible. He looked 
 in the glass and saw his own face, and the coat, 
 etcetera, which clothed his person, and said to 
 [^himself, — it is out of the question for any lady 
 not to think me extremely handsome, — and then 
 I am certainly an elegant man, and, I am sure, 
 that on particular days, when I take pains, I 
 look as much the gentleman as any one that 
 I know. 
 
 Love might draw his bow-string and take aim 
 at an armadillo, and, for what I know, his aim 
 might be successful. But let him try to make a 
 woman fall in love with a man (no matter whe- 
 ther really vulgar or not), but whom that woman 
 thinks vulgar, and Cupid's arrow would fall 
 blunted to the ground. There is something re- 
 pugnant to feminine nature in the detection of 
 vulgarity. A woman may be devotedly in love 
 with every description of villain you may please 
 to name, but, if she has any delicacy of mind 
 whatsoever, she cannot even put up with one 
 whom she esteems vulgar.
 
 232 VIOLET. 
 
 No wonder, then, that Violet Woodville, with 
 her head and her heart full of D'Arcy, could not 
 endure the attentions of Mr. Brown. 
 
 "What do you think of her, D'Arcy?" cried 
 Mr. Goring, who was one of a party of young 
 men occupying the front scats of a public box at 
 the Haymarket. 
 
 " Why, I don't fancy her, — nevertheless, she is 
 a spirited little devil." 
 
 " Take my glass," said ]\Ir. Harcourt to 
 D'Arcy, ''yours is not a good one — mine is ex- 
 cellent." 
 
 D'Arcy accepted the lonjnette, better to con- 
 template the lovely Mrs. Skiffncy, for she was 
 the lady he and his friends were discussing. At 
 this moment his eyes fell upon some persons in a 
 box opposite, and D'Arcy lowered his glass sud- 
 denly as he distinguished Violet Woodville ; 
 returning it into the hands of Harcourt, he 
 abruptly excused himself on the plea of sud- 
 denly remembering an engagement, and left the 
 theatre. 
 
 "What was that for?" inquired Goring. 
 
 " Heaven knows, — D'Arcy is insufferable with 
 his caprices. Goring, sit closer, or some cheese- 
 monger will take his place, — and pray desire that
 
 VIOLET. 233 
 
 old woman on your side not to stifle ns with her 
 confounded musk, and to stop that young rascal 
 her son from spitting his orange peel into my 
 hat." 
 
 When had Violet Woodville's heart beat so 
 keenly as it did this night when she distinguished 
 D'Arcy ? and how great was the pleasure it gave 
 her? how great! She never remembered then 
 all the anxious hours she had passed, or that he 
 had caused them. She saw him once more, — was 
 not that a foundation for a few moments, nay, for 
 hours of real delight ? 
 
 Violet was all alive to the fact that she did 
 behold D'Arc)', for love is so dreamy a state of 
 existence, that it happens when, by untoward cir- 
 cumstances, we are parted from the loved object, 
 that we actually grow to doubt even the reality 
 of their existence, and fancy that the words and 
 the scenes which are indelibly impressed on our 
 own bosoms are either forgotten by them, or are 
 as if they had never been. 
 
 There is a great deal of nervousness in com- 
 bination with all very highly -wrought feelings ; 
 and there is no limit to the imaginativeness of a 
 mind of great tenderness, alarmed and grieving.
 
 234 VIOLET. 
 
 I never thought there was any exaggeration ot 
 sentiment in Werter's sending the little boy to 
 Charlotte^, that he might have something to be- 
 hold, on which her eyes had rested. Our reason 
 laughs to scorn this species of hypochondria of 
 a love-despairing mind ; but what, except some 
 latent feeling of this nature, stirs up those inex- 
 plicable sensations in a lover's bosom, when only 
 the name of his mistress is casually pronounced? 
 or, if he sees, at a distance, her equipage, her 
 servant, or anything belonging to her: what is it 
 but the means thus afforded him, of confirming 
 his conviction of her existence, and that he may 
 behold her again and again, hear her speak, and 
 to him ? But, like the brilliant metal which must 
 be wrought upon ere we can have an idea of itt» 
 ductile power. Love must undergo a similar pro- 
 cess before we can learn all the variety of feel- 
 ings which are attendant upon it. 
 . D'Arcy was no sooner beheld than he was 
 gone : in vain Violet Woodville hoped to see 
 him return to his place in the box, and then, when 
 she despaired of that, she yet felt pleasure in the 
 presence of his late companions, for to them she 
 had seen him speak ; they were his friends — they
 
 . VIOLET. 235 
 
 had something to do with him ; so she watched 
 them, one by one, as they left the theatre ; and^ 
 when all w^ere gone, a sense of desolation crept 
 over her that was hard to bear.
 
 ( 236 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " How cruel seems this long estrangement !" 
 
 " In difference from those we love 
 Is the worst pang the heart can prove." 
 
 The day passed, and notliing more was heard of 
 D'Arcy; but Violet continued to retain an ex- 
 pectation of meeting him once again. The party 
 to Richmond, -which our reader may remember 
 some time before, he himself had proposed to her 
 family that they should join. The arrangements 
 were all made for it ; and Violet, in the company 
 of her parents and the Norrises, met the gay set 
 of ladies, and the gallant gentlemen, who were 
 the originators of the scheme. It was a beau- 
 tiful day, and nature was dressed in its fairest 
 splendour. 
 
 The company went vipon the water, and the 
 sound of mirth and music was ringing its melody 
 up the banks of the Thames, as the boat glided 
 on : there were jokes and laughter, and much
 
 VIOLET. 237 
 
 civility and much ^ood humour — everything", in 
 short, to gladden the heart for one half hour, if 
 external things could ever do that; but they can- 
 not, alas ! always do so ; and Violet ^yoodville 
 was now one of the victims who are forced to 
 wear a gay face, to conceal a most ^^Tetched 
 heart. D'Arcy was not there. To Violet, every- 
 thing about him now was so enveloped in mys- 
 tery, that she became a prey to secret worry as 
 well as sorrow. 
 
 But she was looking beautiful, and she was 
 not left to herself. She was urged to talk, and 
 at last, with that recklessness tliat sometimes 
 seizes an impetuous mind, her spirit caught the 
 tone from others, and gave way 
 
 " To all that frantic mirth — that rush 
 Of desperate gaiet\', which they, 
 Who never felt how pain's excess 
 Can break out thus, think happiness." 
 
 Manv of her admirers were charmed at this 
 transition : her parents Avere delighted and asto- 
 nished to hear her laugh out so roundly ; and 
 one or two of her former pretenders approached 
 her, with hope revived of finding some signal of 
 encourasrement. 
 
 Mr. Goring especially remarked the change.
 
 23S VIOLET. 
 
 but he was sharp in his observation, and mali- 
 cious, when it so suited him. 
 
 " Pray, what excuse did D'Arcy make for not 
 coming ? " he called out to the gentleman whom 
 Violet was talking to, wdiile he mercilessly fixed 
 his eyes upon her face. 
 
 " I don't know ; I thought he was to be one 
 of us originally.'* 
 
 '' Why is D'Arcy not here ?" 
 
 '' As if I knevr ! — he is in town ; I saw him 
 this morning." 
 
 ''Have you any idea why Mr. d'Arcy is not 
 here V cried Goring to the victim of his inquiries. 
 
 " No," replied Miss Woodville, as steadily as 
 she could. 
 
 " I only asked you,^'' pursued Mr. Goring, 
 " because he is so devoted an admirer of yours, 
 that I thought you must know something of 
 him. Really, as you are of this party, his ab- 
 sence is unaccountable.*' And Mr. Goring burst 
 into a loud laugh, as if he had said something 
 witty. 
 
 But it was not echoed by one other person ; 
 most of the ladies hated him, and with reason, 
 and the men knew his brutality whenever he was 
 inclined to be spiteful, — though, in this instance.
 
 VIOLET. 239 
 
 they guessed his intention without comprehend- 
 ing its nature. 
 
 The day of pleasure was over at last, and at 
 one in the morning the unhappy Violet was al- 
 lowed the repose of solitude, — that great blessing 
 to the very vlnhapp3^ " Ah ! la pitie nest pas 
 due a celui qui pleure dans la solitude I" may 
 well be said, in the words of a French writer. 
 
 Violet's feelings were not of that acute kind 
 which denies us the power of sleep, — hers were 
 more the jaded feelings of continual anxiety; and, 
 worn out, with a harassed mind, doubly fatigued 
 with the exertion of false spirits, she slept, to 
 wake almost unrefreshed, perhaps, and to endure 
 more keenly than ever the grief of the time be- 
 fore. " La mente appena risentita ricorre alia 
 idee abituali della vita tranquilla antecedente; 
 ma il pensiero del nuovo stato di cose le si 
 affaccia tosto sgarhartamente e il dispiacere ne e 
 piu vivo in quel paragone istante*.'' But the 
 observation has been so often made, it is a hack- 
 neyed one now, only that it being so hackneyed 
 proves how similarly we all pay alike the tribute 
 of earthly anguish, and it is always a consolatory 
 assurance that our amount of unhappiness is not 
 
 * ii\ Proraessi Sposi."
 
 240 VIOLET. 
 
 greater than that of most other people, and that 
 that which we feeh others have felt, and others 
 are to feel. 
 
 " Write to D'Arcy," cried Emily Norris one 
 dav to her friend : the advice, if injudicious, was 
 not ill meant. Emily w^as really sorry to see the 
 impression D'Arcy's strange absence had made * 
 upon Violet Woodville, but she was not asto- 
 nished at it. 
 
 " Impossible, Emily." 
 
 *' I don't see that. His not coming near you 
 for so long is very extraordinary, and you have a 
 right to inquire the reason of it." 
 
 '' How can you argue thus ? I have no right 
 of the sort. I feel deeply the singularity of his 
 conduct, and D'Arcy must know that, — but that 
 gives me no authorit}^ to write to him, and there 
 would be something in the act that I could not 
 bear." 
 
 *' That ought to depend upon what you wTote ; 
 I am not counselling you to send a love-letter; 
 but, if you did, I am quite sure D'Arcy would be 
 at your feet in the next hour." 
 
 " Oh ! Emily." 
 
 "But just write him," continued Emily, ''two 
 lines that might be published at Charing Cross,
 
 VIOLET. 241 
 
 — merely, that you are hurt at never seeing him, 
 and that you wish to explain why you behaved so 
 ill to him that night at the Opera." 
 
 •'Never ! — I never could. What would D'Arcy 
 think of me?" 
 
 " No harm, I tell you again, — I will answer for 
 it. It is not so much the things we do that sig- 
 nify, but the manner in which we do them. If 
 you wrote in the sort of way I advise you, D'Arcy 
 may think the better, but he cannot think the 
 worse of you for it." 
 
 '' It never can be my place to write to him, 
 and the idea is shocking." 
 
 " Nonsense, you see things in a light of false 
 refinement. I am quite persuaded there's a 
 great deal of good about DArcy. I declare I 
 like him now, though I never used to do it. Do 
 you know there is something very piquant about 
 D'Arcy?" pursued Emily Norris, in a half re- 
 verie. *'He is very handsome; his eyes are 
 quite peculiar. I am not surprised you are in 
 love with him, but I believe I have told you that 
 before, — I dare say I should, if he had made love 
 to me, but he never did. — I don't think he was 
 ever inclined to admire me, was he, Violet, eh ?" 
 
 '' No," replied Violet, with naivete and absence, 
 *'no, he never told me that he admired you." 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 VIOLET. 
 
 '* All ! I am not his style. Harcourt and 
 D'Arcy are so different ; the same sort of person 
 never could please both those men. Oh, but 
 about your writing, — now do it pray, Violet, I 
 am sure you will not repent it; well, you will 
 think of it, will you ?" Emily went on for some 
 time, endeavouring to persuade Violet Wood- 
 ville to take the step she recommended, but un- 
 successfully ; however, in a day or two she 
 retvirned to the charge, and by doing so very 
 often she succeeded in making Violet less impe- 
 riously bent against it. 
 
 She was becoming quite miserable, and her 
 father and mother were sadly distressed, by wit- 
 nessing the change that took place in her spirits. 
 Mrs. Woodville grew cross under it. She could 
 not bear the want of her daughter's lovers, and 
 she seemed to think she had a right to grumble, 
 as if the misfortune was more hers than her 
 daughter's. Poor Mr. Woodville felt far diffe- 
 rently, but he was more truly unhappy than his 
 wife. 
 
 The one who looked on with cooler judgment, 
 but with equal feeling, was the old dancing-master. 
 Each year, as he had grown older, so had he 
 become more attached to the Woodvilles ; and he 
 would have rejoiced in seeing Violet splendidly
 
 VIOLET. 243 
 
 married, — or honestly so, in her own class, and 
 pursuing her profession with an acknowledged 
 character. But now nothing of the sort seemed 
 likely to come to pass, and at the present moment 
 there was a mystery about her that he could not 
 fathom. One day when he was calling at the 
 Woodvilles he found that they were out, but 
 that Violet was not. He entered the sitting- 
 room, and drew out of his pocket a Morning Post, 
 which he began to read. 
 
 Violet soon made her appearance. " My father," 
 she said, ^* is engaged at the Hanover Rooms, 
 and mamma is gone to Madame Centi's." 
 
 " Well but, Violet, it is always enough if I find 
 I can see you ; only I wish you looked as happy 
 as you used to do once. Stay, what is this ? ' and 
 M. Dupas was silent for a few minutes, w'hile he 
 read something that had caught his eye in the 
 paper. 
 
 " What is it ?" Violet inquired. 
 
 " I am not sure," said M. Dupas, hesitatingly ; 
 "do you know what has become of Mr. d'Arcy, 
 lately, mon enfant ? ' 
 
 " No, I don't ; but do you know ? What is 
 it you are reading !" asked Violet, wdth intuitive 
 quickness, and her eye glanced at the Morning 
 Post. 
 
 m2
 
 244 VIOLET. 
 
 The newspapers she sometimes obtained at her 
 father's house had of late become of importance 
 to her, not for the political intelligence they con- 
 tained, — no, but in the account of dinners : valu- 
 able and rare occurrences in the month of 
 September : in the list of names, she had now 
 and then espied D'Arcy's, and was not that 
 quite enough to invest every newspaper with a 
 solid interest in her eyes ? 
 
 The eagerness of her countenance at once 
 induced her old friend to adopt the wise plan of 
 showing to what he was alluding, by simply 
 pointing to a paragraph, which ran as follows : — 
 
 ''The Corsair sails on Tuesday, with Lord 
 Rockemore and suite on board. Lady Rocke- 
 morc and her eldest daughter, we understand, do 
 not accompany his lordship. We have reason to 
 believe George D'Arcy, Esq. intends forming 
 part of his lordship's suite for the present ; Mr. 
 d'Arcy leaves town to-morrow." 
 
 At this moment Miss Norris, on a visit to 
 Violet, bounded into the room, and this saved 
 the necessity of commenting upon the intelli- 
 gence of the Morning Post, both to M. Dupas 
 and herself. 
 
 The instant she was alone with her friend, 
 Violet showed the paragraph, and burst inta 
 tears.
 
 VIOLET. 2-15 
 
 " Vv^rite now, at once/' exclaimed Emily, "there 
 is no time to be lost : his going may not be true ; 
 but for heaven's sake endeavour to learn what it 
 is that is at the bottom of all this. It will lead 
 to nothing, only you will see him once again, 
 which you say is all you Avant." 
 
 ''It is very true, I must see him again; but 
 what must I say ? Emily, do not counsel me to 
 do what is very foolish, — I would rather break 
 my heart than that he should think ill of me !" 
 
 " Nonsense : it all depends on what you write.'' 
 Emily snatched a pen : Violet felt so unhappy 
 that she hardly knew how to reason with herself. 
 The thought of having parted on such terms with 
 D'Arcy, and that she should perhaps never see 
 him more, was an irresistible idea which over- 
 powered every other. Of late, too, she had been 
 accustoming herself to think that she had be- 
 haved ill to him, and that Lord Stanmore was 
 somehow mistaken in what he had said of him. 
 Be it as it might, D'Arcy 's influence, as the 
 D'Arcy she had found him, had been gradually 
 resuming its power. 
 
 It was so natural that a mind like hers should 
 return speedily to a state of love and confidence ; 
 opposite sentiments were so uncongenial to a na- 
 ture such as Violet's. She wrote then to D'Arcy.
 
 246 VIOLET. 
 
 There is no doubt that^ under the same cir- 
 cumstances, another person, as sincerely upright, 
 but with education, even merely a worldly one, 
 would not have done as Violet Woodville now 
 did. She would have argued, that however 
 great D'Arcy's affection, still, as it was not an 
 honourable one, it must be left to the unpleasing 
 alternative he had appeared to adopt, (I am not 
 sure, though, that this reasoning would have 
 come from the very warmest heart in the world.) 
 
 " May I see you once again ? I am conscious 
 of being wrong in making the request, but I own 
 I am very unhappy at thinking when we last met 
 we were not friends. Believe only this, and then 
 you will excuse my addressing you." Such was 
 the letter Violet consented to write to D'Arc}-. It 
 was sealed, directed, and, under Emily's auspices, 
 sent to its destination by means of that most con- 
 venient of all Mercuries, the Twopenny-post. 
 
 That Violet instantly regretted what she had 
 done, when it was too late to be undone, is so 
 exactly what everybody else feels when they think 
 they have themselves been venturing to interfere 
 with the course of their own destiny, that there is 
 no use in enlarging upon the fact. 
 
 How poor Violet's heart beat the whole of that 
 day and the next morning ! She did not know
 
 VIOLET. 247 
 
 whether D'Arcy would reply to her by coming or 
 by writing. She did not know whether he would 
 do either ; she could not be certain he was yet in 
 town, so as to get her letter. No wonder, then, 
 that during twenty-four hours she nearly died 
 under a palpitation of the heart, such as most of 
 us have suffered from during hours of anxious 
 expectation. 
 
 About three o'clock in the afternoon Mrs. 
 Hummings entered the usual sitting-room, but 
 it was not clear why she showed herself Mrs. 
 Woodville was writing, and Violet was picking 
 the gold off the skirt of a Sultana s robe, her 
 mamma having the intention of turning it into a 
 lining for some other garment she was in ima- 
 gination contemplating. 
 
 " Only come to see about the fire. Mam. You 
 have not told me which gown I am to prepare," 
 said Hummings, then addressing Violet. 
 
 " Oh, directly I will show you, Hummings." 
 
 " No, no ; pray go on with that now," cried 
 Mrs. Woodville ; " that will do about your gown 
 another time. Brush up the hearth, Hummings, 
 and then go, and don't interrupt me again." 
 Hummings was obliged to obey, and Violet was 
 obliged to sit still. 
 
 " Bless me, what do I see ! " cried Mrs. Wood-
 
 248 VIOLET. 
 
 villc, suddenl}' taking the work out of lier daugh- 
 ter's hands; "3-011 have sewn the skht up a 
 second time, after undoing it once ! " 
 
 "' Heavens ! " responded Violet, astounded at 
 her own performance. 
 
 " And that wrong-side out, too ! ! What are 
 you thinking of? " Mrs. Woodville said nothing 
 more than this home question ; she did not Hke to 
 be very angry, and Violet presently found means 
 to escape from the room. 
 
 '•' Hunimings ! " Hummings heard. " My 
 gown," Violet began, by way of excuse, but she 
 could not finish her sentence; she could only 
 grasp an enclosed note, in a hand writing which 
 as yet remained unknowni to her, and which Mrs. 
 Hummings held out. She read, 
 
 '' Will you meet me to-morrow^ at the usual 
 hour, in the Gardens? Have no fear, I never 
 can think ill of you. — Yours, G. D." 
 
 What happiness ! Poor Violet was so intensely 
 happy on receiving this note, that in her joy she 
 threw herself on her knees and thanked heaven. 
 Then she read it over and over again, and gazed 
 at the hand- writing, and kissed it. But it is true, 
 in many cases besides this, that not all the manu- 
 scripts in the British Museum can ever have been 
 half so prized as onlv one little line^ written b}' a
 
 VIOLET. 249 
 
 being that we love. The paper and the writing 
 are ahnost sacred, and they bear with them a 
 prestige, which time may add to, but which it 
 cannot destro}', — and few, indeed, are the objects, 
 even material or substantial, over which time has 
 no power. For what feelings does it not annihi- 
 late, and what affections does it not impair ? 
 ^Vliat events can it not obliterate, or at least 
 deaden the remembrance of? But the hand- 
 writing of one we have sincerely loved acts as a 
 talisman while we live, conjuring up so many 
 feelings that it bewilders us ; and v/ith the con- 
 viction that the indulgence of such reminiscences 
 too strongly disturb the even current of every- day 
 life, we re- deposit the writing whose spell is so 
 potent, and dread alike the pleasure and the pain 
 of falling again under its influence. 
 
 M
 
 ( 250 ) 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Dim not the starry diamond's lustrous blaze j 
 
 Rob not the floweret of its balmy odour, 
 
 Nor clip the wing that would have soared to heaven. 
 
 Oh, let my heart's deep anguish plead to thee, 
 
 With more than mortal eloquence, appealing 
 
 To all the better feelings of the soul, 
 
 The nobler attributes which God has given, 
 
 To raise us from the devils we resemble. 
 
 Old Play, 
 
 It is necessary, for the reader's comprehension of 
 our story in its present stage, to return to that 
 night at the Opera when Lord Stanmore joined 
 the Woodvilles there, and, on that occasion, al- 
 lowed his violence to get the better of his judg- 
 ment. 
 
 Lord Stanmore w^as one of those characters 
 whose goodness is developed by prosperity, and 
 on which the frowns of fortune have a contrary 
 effect. There can be no doubt of his extreme 
 love for Violet Woodville ; and when he talked of 
 having thought of her as his wife, he did not ex- 
 aggerafe. It is fair to him to say, that perhaps
 
 VIOLET. 251 
 
 no other person in her situation would have in- 
 spired him with the same feelings. He had a 
 high sense of worldly morality, and a keen one 
 of the nicest honour. He had been spoiled 
 hitherto, and he might have said, with Madame 
 Montpensier, that his good qualities were all his 
 own. He had not been less dissipated than most 
 of his class are in this country, but liis heart re- 
 mained uncorrupted. There was a certain me- 
 lancholy interwoven mth his disposition, which 
 had softened his mind without making it more 
 impressionable ; it only tended to give to his 
 affections a greater degree of refinement, and to 
 render him more alive to the wounds to \>hicli 
 our feelings are ever subject. 
 
 I am always inclined to think, that the senti- 
 ments of men may be deeper than those of women. 
 I know the ladies dispute this, and claim all the 
 griefs of the heart as exclusively their own. 
 I do not know why they are so eager for this 
 monopoly; but any reasoning with them upon 
 the point is, I have remarked, generally treated 
 with contempt ; and, almost invariabl}-, they stea- 
 dily adhere to the notion that the hearts of the 
 male sex are more flinty than theirs, and that 
 they do not suffer mentally as keenly as the fair 
 Eves of the creation. But is it not reasonable
 
 252 VIOLET. 
 
 to conceive, that as the strength of men is greater, 
 and their power of action more enlarged, their 
 feelings should be likewise in proportion ? It 
 should seem, that if this were not the case, the 
 lever would be wanting to complete the nature of 
 their being, and when a man has the power to 
 face the danger that a woman turns from, the 
 same force that supports him then, it is reason- 
 able to suppose, will be applied to all the circum- 
 stances of his life. Be assured, my lady reader, 
 the sentiments of men are, to the full, as deep as 
 woman's, but then, as their moral energy is greater, 
 their hearts will withstand that which would break 
 a woman's. 
 
 A girl under the load of misery which oppres- 
 sed Lord Stanmore, as he left the Opera on the 
 night we have recurred to, would, in many cases, 
 have committed suicide ; the idea never occurred 
 to the young peer, — but still he felt wretched. 
 Undoubtedly it is a great agony to love entirely, 
 and to find another possesses the heart you would 
 have rendered up life to have been blessed with, 
 even for a moment. For the time, a blighting 
 anguish ruled the spirit of the unhappy lover. 
 
 He pursued his way along the streets alone, as 
 we can be in the midst of people, and felt the 
 dreary hopelessness of a heart bursting and irri-
 
 VIOLET. 253 
 
 tated; and, as tlie vision of Violet Wood ville rose 
 ever before him, lie almost cursed the Providence 
 which had given him all things except that, which, 
 to his passion, seemed the one thing needful. 
 Originally, Lord Stanmore felt certain of having 
 obtained Violet Woodville's preference, at least 
 he was not prepared to lind that this v\'as to be 
 the beginning and the end ; neither, till now, did 
 he know the force of his own love. It was only 
 of late, when he looked round him, and compared 
 this young girl \vith the rest of those who aimed 
 at winning his fortune and his affection, that he 
 felt aware that to him she w^as the phoenix ; — all 
 were so worldly, or so cold; so vain, or so unin- 
 teresting. There was not one of the Almack's 
 beauties, married or single, that could rival 
 Violet. He thought of every virtue she posses- 
 sed, and of every charm that appeared to be one 
 in his eyes, and, when he had done, his heart 
 was breaking still, — for it loved ; and reason, 
 and the fullness of despair, were alike in vain 
 against that earthly spell. 
 
 A hopeless passion, and the consciousness of a 
 rival being preferred, are heavy to bear; and, in 
 exulting youth, when prosperity is the glass be- 
 hind and before us, then, indeed, it is a lesson 
 learnt that lasts.
 
 254 VIOLET. 
 
 " Aimer I parole triste, insultante ironie, 
 Pour qui vit un matin, 
 Mot fatal, et qui n'a d'echo dans cette vie 
 D'amertume et dedain, 
 
 " Ah ! choisir une femme, et creer autour d'elle 
 Tout un monde enchante, 
 Et vouloir seulement, pour la faire immortelle, 
 Une immortalite. 
 
 '•' A ses moindres discours suspendre toiit son etre, 
 Emu d'un doux espoir, 
 Et mourir tout le jour, helas ! a se promettre 
 Un sourire le soir. 
 
 '•' Et lorsque ce regard que le regard mendie 
 On n'a pu Tobtenir, 
 Sentir avec terreur a I'ame aneantie 
 Echapper i'avenir I 
 
 " A la vie, ou bonlieur, dans sa douleur farouche 
 Jeter un morne adieu, 
 Tomber a deux genoux, le front contre sa couche, 
 Et s'ecrier ' Mon Dieu ! 
 
 " Axi lieu de les laisser I'un sur I'autre descendre 
 Si pesans a mon coeur, 
 Mon Dieu ! ne pouvez-vous ensemble les reprendre 
 Tous ces jours de malheurs ! ' 
 
 *' Epuiser ces tourmens qu'en ce monde ou nous sommes 
 On ne pent exprimer, 
 Lentement en mourir . . . . dans la langue des hommes 
 Cela s'appelle aimer." 
 
 La vie Intime, Poesies de A. Latour. 
 
 The French poet must have loved, or he could 
 never have written these touching lines. 
 
 Other reflections started up to harass the mind 
 of Lord Stanmore. How had he acted with 
 respect to D'Arcy ? Was it purely for Violet's 
 sake that he had this night betrayed his friend.
 
 VIOLET. 255 
 
 and had not jealousy urged him to treachery? 
 But was it deserving such a name ? Was it not 
 fair that merely as her friend he should warn her 
 against the love of one like D'Arcy ! indifferent, 
 as he considered him, alike to her ruin and his 
 wretchedness. "It was most base of him, and 
 I have done right," exclaimed Lord Stanmore, 
 and as he spoke, his mind's truth denied the 
 inference. 
 
 He had reached his own home, and the grey 
 light of the morning was coming in at the 
 window. Lord Stanmore had opened it, that he 
 might breathe, for he felt almost as if he had not 
 the power. 
 
 The clock struck four. The sound of the strik- 
 ing appeared to give him a resolution, which he 
 hastened to execute. He left his house and went 
 to D'Arcy's lodgings. He knocked two or three 
 times without receiving admittance. At length 
 the landlady's head, in a night-cap, and a bonnet, 
 by way of shading the delicate nature of her 
 coiffure, appeared through the half-opened door. 
 
 '* Is Mr. cVArcy at home?" inquired Lord 
 Stanmore. 
 
 The landlady stated that she did not know, 
 but she believed not; Mr. d'Arcy had a key to 
 let himself in at whatever time he liked. Wild,
 
 256 VIOLET. 
 
 for he was almost so. Lord Stanmore flew past 
 the mistress of the house, and threw open the 
 door of D'Arcy's apartments. He passed the first 
 room into that in which he slept, and convinced 
 himself that D'Arcy was indeed not at home. 
 
 The landlady followed him, and looked very 
 cross : however, she knew Lord Stanmore by 
 sight, and she condescended to hand him a lamp 
 which stood in the passage, and pointed to the 
 candles, which were on a buhl table ; and told 
 Lord Stanmore to replace the lamp when he had 
 lighted the candles, that Mr. d'Arcy might not 
 break his neck when he did come in. She then 
 retired. 
 
 Lord Stanmore threw himself upon a couch. 
 "With one foot he kicked on the floor a knife- 
 cutter, -and a volume of ' Paul de Koch,' and with 
 the other, one of ' Sand ;' the reader's place being 
 retained by the insertion of some small and 
 tumbled notes, written on coloured paper. 
 Alike lost in his reflections, and agitated by 
 them. Lord Stanmore was only disturbed, at last, 
 by a tired cabriolet driving up to the house door, 
 which was presently unlocked ; and D'Arcy's 
 voice was heard giving directions to his servant 
 for the following afternoon. D'Arcy mounted 
 the stairs with a fatigued step, and threw open
 
 VIOLET. 257 
 
 the door of his sitting room. He looked pale 
 and out of temper, as he cast his cloak, his hat, 
 and his gloves on the floor, and he started 
 with evident annoyance at the sight of Lord 
 Stan more. 
 
 " Stanmore !" he exclaimed. 
 
 '' Yes," said the other, making an effort with 
 himself; " doubtless you are surprised to see me 
 here. I suppose, I ought to apologise, but I 
 must speak to you, — till I have done so, I cannot 
 rest." 
 
 D'Arcy bowed in acquiescence, but his coun- 
 tenance expressed any thing but pleasure. He 
 looked ill, besides, and worn out. However he 
 pushed a chair into its place, and seated himself; 
 then leaning his head, with his arms upon the 
 table, he placed himself in a listening attitude for 
 Lord Stanmore's communication. 
 
 An observer of human nature, a minute ob- 
 server, would have made a study of the character 
 of these two young men from their countenances 
 and demeanour at this moment. The light was 
 so placed as to fall exactly upon the faces of both, 
 while the greater part of the room itself was 
 almost obscured. 
 
 Lord Stanmore was at all times handsome, but 
 for a man who until now had known no care, he
 
 258 VIOLET. 
 
 had an habitually melancholy expression. We 
 have said before that his character was tinged 
 with it ; now, however, it clouded his face, while 
 the swollen lip and gloomy eye gave a sure 
 index of strong mental irritation, and in his 
 manner of speaking there was something indi- 
 cative of the nervousness of a delicate mind, 
 wrought upon by the violence of passion. He 
 flushed as he spoke, and the gloom at intervals 
 gave way to flashes of fever lighting up his eye- 
 He leaned against the back of the sofa, as if 
 he tried to obtain self-possession by his bodily 
 repose. 
 
 D'Arcy exhibited a different character : his 
 countenance scarcely betrayed his mind; his 
 features had much play, but they were strictly 
 under command. There w^as not the same 
 candour e\dnced by them, or, perhaps, D'Arcy's 
 was a more worn countenance, — one as if it had 
 lived to be the index of so many feelings, that 
 it disdained to disclose them now. There was 
 something very fine nevertheless in his brow, and 
 altogether if you w^ere inclined to distrust the 
 man, it would not be for a small stake ; and if 
 there was any thing villanous about him, 
 Schillers description might be given of it: ''Die 
 Schande nimmt ab mit dem wachsenden Slinde." T
 
 VIOLET. 259 
 
 But D'Arcy was harassed, and out of humour : we 
 have no right to quote Schiller because a man 
 looks ill, and finds his house disagreeably invaded 
 at five in the morning. D'Arcy was always hand- 
 some, but yet he did not always look so. The 
 more he was known, the handsomer he was con- 
 sidered, but he did not universally please, never- 
 theless, because his cold and somewhat sardonic 
 expression was apt to offend, before he felt a 
 wish to please. When he aimed at doing so, he 
 never failed. 
 
 '1 have seen the Woodvilles to-night," said 
 Lord Stanmore, abruptly. 
 
 " So have I," replied D'Arcy. 
 
 Lord Stanmore continued, without heeding the 
 interruption, "and I have done all I can to 
 prevent that young girl falling a prey to you. 
 I know you well, D'Arcy, and for once in my life 
 I choose to tell you, that I consider that you are 
 behaving ill, — shamefLilly ill I" 
 
 " ^A^iat do you mean ?" cried D'Arcy, looking 
 up in displeased astonishment. 
 
 " AMiat I say ! — that I have warned Violet 
 Woodville against you, — that I have told her 
 your heart is professedly another -vvoman's, and I 
 have supplicated her not to become the mistress 
 of George D'Arcy !"
 
 260 VIOLET. 
 
 D'Arcy coloured, and started from his chair; 
 ■while he exclaimed in a tone of passion : " I 
 should like to know what has given you the right 
 to interfere thus in my concerns ? Not our friend- 
 ship, certainly." 
 
 ''1 will tell you why; because I loved her, — 
 because I loved Violet Woodville, and, therefore, 
 I did not choose to see her crushed by you ; and, 
 let me tell you, if you had had the small- 
 est portion of generosity in your soul, — you 
 would have hesitated in your determination to 
 seduce so sweet a creature. You know her, and, 
 therefore, you have not to learn that she is one so 
 faultless that no one but a villain could success- 
 fully act the part you seek to play !" 
 
 ''And yourself?" cried D'Arcy, sternly and in- 
 terrogatively. 
 
 ''No," answered Lord Stanmore with firmness; 
 *' no, I have tried — I may have wished it once ; 
 but as I have learnt to know her infinite purit}^, 
 I have shrunk from a pursuit become, I think, 
 dishonourable, when the object is one so much 
 too worthy. However, I am convinced I had no 
 chance of succeeding. She does not love me, 
 but you have power over her, for you she does 
 love. Use this power as you may, D'Arcy, and 
 I say you are a villain !"
 
 VIOLET. 261 
 
 "Are you come here at five in tlie morning to 
 pick a quarrel with me. Lord Stanmore?" 
 
 '•' I am not; but that is as you choose." 
 
 '' You well know/' said D'Arcy, " that one man 
 has no pretext for addressing another as you 
 have addressed me. I was not aware," he con- 
 tinued, his countenance assuming the withering 
 coldness which made it at times almost hateful, 
 " I was not aware that you were so very warm 
 an admirer of Miss Woodville. Am I to under- 
 stand by this tirade that your views are simply 
 Platonic, or that I have interfered most unfortu- 
 nately with a matrimonial speculation of your 
 lordship's ?" 
 
 Lord Stanmore's colour rose as he replied, " I 
 neither regard your rage nor your cold-blooded 
 sneers. What I do consider is that poor girl 
 who believes in your attachment, and who may 
 be ruined by the excessive art of one who ac- 
 tually does not care for her!" 
 
 "And you have cared," said D'Arcy, tauntingly. 
 
 " I have — there you are right ; and I think it 
 was not the office of a friend to supplant me 
 where he knew I should most feel it." 
 
 "Neither was it the office of a friend to go 
 and basely betray my errors, out of jealousy.
 
 262 VIOLET. 
 
 to one whom you yourself allow to have pre- 
 ferred me." 
 
 " You are not my friend/' said Lord Stanmore, 
 hastily ; " that is past. All I aim at now is, if 
 possible, to preserve a being whom I have adored, 
 and whose guileless character has made an im- 
 pression on me which her beauty could not have 
 done. Yes, D'Arcy, I love her ; and if you had 
 not come like a devil between me and my hap- 
 piness, she would have been happy too ; for if it 
 had not been for you, Violet Woodville would 
 have loved me ; — and proclaim it to the world if 
 you choose. I would have made her my wife ; 
 and do you think that now I will sit tamely by, 
 and witness your false professions of affection, 
 in return for which that innocent one will barter 
 her whole existence? and, instead of my wife, 
 see her be, some day, your neglected mistress ? 
 The blessed alternative you will have brought 
 her to ! Do you think, I say, I would stand by 
 and know all this, and not w^arn her of the fate 
 that hangs over her?" 
 
 While Lord Stanmore spoke, D'Arcy's coun- 
 tenance changed; he appeared to reflect, and at 
 length he slowly exclaimed in a softened tone, 
 " And you have loved her even unto this !"
 
 VIOLET. 263 
 
 •'And you have brought me even unto this I" 
 rejomed Lord Stanmore. 
 
 *' Allow me to observe one thmg," said D''Arcy 
 quickly. " Admitting your right to interfere to 
 save" — and D'Arcy resumed the tone of irony — 
 "admitting your right to do that if you could, 
 most decidedly you had none to inform her of 
 what you could not know to be true. Why did 
 you tell her that I made false love to her?" 
 
 ''Your attachment to another woman is a fact 
 so glaringly known to all London, that I am only 
 glad to be the first, and not the second, or third, 
 or twentieth person who will tell her as much, 
 perhaps when it is too late. Be assured, D'Arcy, 
 that had your infidelity taken any other direction, 
 I am the last man to trouble myself with any- 
 thing that so little concerned me." 
 
 " My private affairs seem better known to you 
 than it can be said that I ever made them — I 
 have permitted no confidant." 
 
 " There are some liaisons too glaring to be a 
 secret to any one." 
 
 " At all events, you could not tell the measure 
 of my affection for that person or any other ; and 
 could not, with justice, stigmatise my declarations 
 as false, be they made to Avhom it so pleased me." 
 
 "The lady is too young and too handsome.
 
 264 TIOLET. 
 
 otherwise the ^Y0^1(i might have surmised you 
 Avere indifferent while she was devoted/' an- 
 swered Lord Stanmore coldly. 
 
 " This comes of her folly in letting it be seen," 
 said D'Arcy, passionately, and as if thinking 
 aloud. 
 
 ^' I am surprised, D'Arcy," observed Lord Stan- 
 more, "■ that, lax as you are, and even with your 
 principles, your heart does not fail at the thought 
 of seducing that poor girl. Most men have some 
 compunction when they fall in with so artless and 
 so perfect a creature ; for I conclude," continued 
 Lord Stanmore, with a piercing look of inquiry, 
 '-' that your opinion of her is as good as my 
 own." 
 
 " On my word it is ; and I am astonished that 
 you think I should be able to seduce her." 
 
 '' God forbid it !" said Lord Stanmore, burying 
 his face in his hands, as if the reflection was too 
 much to bear ; and such, in fact, he felt it. It is 
 probable that D'Arcy saw tlic emotion of Lord 
 Stanmore, for his bearing ceased to be harsh, and 
 when he spoke again it was deliberately. 
 
 " I wished," said Lord Stanmore, " to tell you 
 that, in future, I shall do all I can to save her 
 from you, as I would from any other man whom I 
 thought she was in danger from. I would not
 
 VIOLET. 265 
 
 now, as I before said, seduce Violet Woodville, 
 if I could, and I would have married her, I 
 repeat." 
 
 "And why not still?" 
 
 '' Still ! No, she loves another, and half lier 
 charm is gone, in my eyes, as a wife." 
 
 " Your behaviour is highly chivalrous, Stan- 
 more,'' replied D'x\rcy, indulging in a slight 
 sneer ; " doubtless it would have its due effect 
 upon Violet ; but," added he, more gravely, " if 
 all you say is true, I regret the past. I had no 
 idea you thought of marrying, and, I must tell 
 you, when I first fell in love I did not discover 
 any reason for supposing I was supplanting you, 
 in her affection, at least I never thought she 
 cared seriously for you; and, if you remember, I 
 told you, the first day we met after you had been 
 to Brighton, that I had fallen in love with Violet 
 Vroodville, With regard to you, I positively feel 
 that I have nothing to reproach myself witli : I 
 wish I could say as much with respect to her. 
 But, if I have deprived ^liss Woodville of an 
 affection which was to prove of such advantage, I 
 must endure regret all my life." 
 
 D'Arcy pavised, he looked paler, and when he 
 resumed speaking, it was with rather a nervous 
 voice. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 VIOLET. 
 
 " I will retire/' he said, " and I will leave you 
 master of the field, to which I feel you have a 
 better claim.'' 
 
 " If this conviction is your only motive for so 
 doing, spare yourself the trouble of naming it," 
 said Lord Stanmore, " for I am no longer think- 
 ing of proposing to Miss Woodville, if you allude 
 to that ; I merely wish by common means to pre- 
 vent her future disgrace." 
 
 *' Your words are wonderfully contradictory," 
 replied D'Arcy, with asperity ; " in one breath 
 you talk of Violet Woodville's high-flown cha- 
 racter, and in the next as if her salvation only 
 depended on your most arduous efforts. How- 
 ever, my resolution is equally taken. On the 
 whole, all that has passed is, perhaps, for tlic 
 best. She is, indeed, too good to become the 
 mistress of any man, and, what is more, I do not 
 think I could ever have made her mine, even if 
 she liked me as much as you say she does, but 
 which I doubt. Now, listen : — I am going to 
 leave town, and shortly England, and I will liave 
 nothing further to say to the Woodvilles, unless, 
 indeed, Violet herself should be the person to 
 recall me : that is a temptation I could not stand. 
 We both know enough of her to be certain it 
 is a most improbable one. You are now satis-
 
 VIOLET. 267 
 
 fied, I presume, — :and I am tired," said D'Arcy, 
 putting liis hand to his forehead. 
 
 Lord Stanmore rose, and muttered something, 
 which was not distinct, as he took his hat and 
 quitted the apartment. 
 
 Wlien he was gone, D'Arcy sat with his folded 
 arms upon the table. He seemed lost in his own 
 thoughts, and it was a deep sense of bodily 
 fatigue that roused him at last, and then the 
 single lamp was going out. He threw himself 
 on his bed, but it was long before he slept, and, 
 in the meantime, the morning was growing old. 
 
 It does not always answer to analyze the mo- 
 tives of action, — they are among the mysteries 
 of our being, and are not seldom incomprehen- 
 sible. Certain it is that there are times when a 
 noble mind has the lowest level, and a hardened 
 heart its moments of glorious aspirations. Is it 
 for us to say that heart is irreclaimable? The 
 inconsistencies which dignify or debase our na- 
 ture have become a barrier into which the 
 searchings of reasoning cannot penetrate. The 
 bad and the good get so commingled, that we 
 lose the one when we would separate it from the 
 other. In some one individual act, perhaps, the 
 good predominates unalloyed, but, even then, it 
 may have been the impulse of a moment, and the 
 
 n2
 
 2IGS VIOLET. 
 
 solely estimable point in an ill-regulated and un- 
 principled disposition ; whereas a well-ordered 
 character is never carried out of its equipoise. 
 Such an one has not the struggles of being ex- 
 tremely virtuous. These fall to the lot of the 
 feeble or the vicious, when the better principle 
 conquers; we should, therefore, admire, without 
 striving to penetrate all the unknown springs 
 which have influenced the action. We will only 
 remember that, while the good may play the hy- 
 pocrite unto themselves when they are greatly 
 righteous, he who greatly sins will yet despise 
 self-deceit when he aims at duty. The good ac- 
 tions of a bad man are sometimes performed with 
 more humility than those of the saints of this 
 earth : there is often a simplicity in the vir- 
 tuous deeds of a sinner^ and, strange to say, as 
 if their worth was only unappreciated by them- 
 selves. I am not talking of the Publicans and 
 the Pharisees of the world. I mean to refer only 
 to the upright amongst us, and the purer in 
 deeds, and to those whose vice is the deeper be- 
 cause they have not cared to find it vice, and 
 who sin and like it, and sec not why they should 
 not. I mean no sneer at goodness, — I mean no 
 base allusion to the possible hypocrisy of virtue. 
 The heart must be bad that would love to detract
 
 VIOLET. 269 
 
 from goodness ; but a lesson may be learnt, if it is 
 true that the pride of the good is developed 
 when the humility of the wicked is so likewise. 
 
 I do not know what has suo^ijcested these re- 
 flections : if the reader thinks D'Arcy has given 
 rise to them, he is at liberty to think so ; but I do 
 not say so. 
 
 D'Arcy kept his promise, such as he gave it, 
 to Lord Stanmore, and, whatever feelings or mo- 
 tives induced him to give it, — if they were good, 
 or if the effort cost him dearly, — he told no one, 
 for that was not his way ; and, besides, D'Arcy 
 knew better than most men the infinite compas- 
 sion we have for our own bosom's woes, and the 
 infinite contempt and the slender pity we feel 
 for those of all other people.
 
 ( 270 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " A something all-sufficient for the heart 
 
 Is that for which the sex are always seeking; 
 But how to fill up that same vacant part ? 
 
 There lies the rub — and this they are but weak in. 
 Frail mariners afloat, without a chart, 
 
 They run before the wind, through high seas breaking ; 
 And when they have made the shore through every shock, 
 'Tis odd, or odds, it may turn out a rock." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 D'Arcy could not go out of town, as lie told 
 Lord Stanmore he should, and as he had in- 
 tended : business obliged him to remain. 
 
 Lord Stanmore, meanwhile, returned to his 
 mother, and D'Arcy, as he himself thought, was 
 within a fortnight of going abroad, at the very 
 time when Violet Woodville wrote to him, and 
 that the ' Morning Post,' with the usual accuracy 
 of a newspaper, announced his departure for the 
 next day. 
 
 D''Arcy was too acute a judge of human nature 
 to be misled by Violet's letter. He only saw in 
 it a proof of her soft and sweet character. But 
 she did not know this, and when she wrote to
 
 VIOLET. 271 
 
 D'Arcy she was oppressed with shame. He re- 
 assured her when they met, and then it was she 
 wept with joy. 
 
 DWrcy was touched. "You love me, then?" 
 said he. 
 
 " Yes," answered a low voice that tears were 
 stifling. 
 
 D'Arcy sighed. Strange, perhaps, to say, but 
 not to feel, Violet had not asked as yet for any 
 explanation ; neither had D'Arcy volunteered it : 
 she seemed too happy ; for hers was love indeed 
 — the love that cannot remember a fault, when 
 the object is in its presence. 
 
 " Love is not Love, 
 "Which alters when it alteration finds, 
 Or bends with the remover to remove : 
 Oh, no ! it is an ever fixed mark, 
 That looks on tempests, and yet is not shaken ; 
 It is the star of every -wandering bark, 
 Whose worth's unknown altho' his height be taken,'' 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 At length, however, D'Arcy told Violet of the 
 promise of not seeing her again, which Lord 
 Stanmore had obtained from him. 
 
 " He also told me of the information he had 
 given against me. I kept my word with Stan- 
 more ; and, after all he had been so good as to 
 say, I concluded you would soon forget, and, pro- 
 bably, despise me. If I ever was generous, or
 
 272 VIOLET. 
 
 better tlian I knew myself to be, it has been 
 lately, while I have undergone this ordeal, and 
 attempted nothing in my own favour." 
 
 " But Avas it not true ? — Is it false ?" 
 
 "What, Violet?" 
 
 " That you love some one I do not know ?" 
 
 " False ! Oh, yes, but not that the world be- 
 lieves I do." 
 
 " Oh, Heavens !" exclaimed Violet, turning 
 very pale ; " I understand your evasion, Mr. 
 d'Arc}^ — leave me ! " and she resolutely stood 
 still. 
 
 " My sincerity has then lost me your esteem ?" 
 
 " Esteem ! I did not think you could have 
 deceived me thus." 
 
 '•' Listen to me — nay, do you must ! You 
 
 have not heard me ; in fairness you must listen 
 to me. What, then, have I done ? I have de- 
 clared I loved you as I loved no other: and I 
 declare it still." 
 
 '' Then you are highly treacherous to another 
 person." 
 
 *' No, I am not ; nothing should induce me to 
 take so much pains to deceive any one : had I 
 the inclination, believe me, I have not the time," 
 said D'Arcy, half sneeringl}^ half earnestly. 
 
 " The time ! — are you now laughing at me.
 
 VIOLET. 273 
 
 Mr. d'Arcy ?" exclaimed his companion, while the 
 tears rose to her eyes. 
 
 " At you ? Oh, never ! — but what I say is the 
 fact." 
 
 " Then some one must have been as much mis-- 
 led as to your affection for her as I have been. 
 I concluded that it was an error of Lord Stan- 
 more's — a mistake ; I was foolish to think so. 
 Lord Stanmore could not have been wrong." 
 
 " You can then so easily believe me to be all 
 that is contemptible ?" replied D' Arcy. 
 
 " I do," answered Miss Woodville, as she again 
 signified her wish that D'Arcy should leave her. 
 Her cheek was deeply coloured, and her lip 
 trembled. D'Arcy looked anxiously to seek 
 compassion in her eyes — 
 
 " Eyes so pure, that from their ray 
 Dark vice would turn abashed away." 
 
 " Violet !" he exclaimed, with emotion, " what 
 I have said is the truth ; I have not deceived you 
 or any one else : can you not conceive that it is 
 impossible for me to compromise a lady whose 
 name the busy tongue of scandal has already 
 connected too much with mine? Even to you 
 there are things I ought not to betray. But if 
 you are willing to put faith in me, do it not by 
 
 n3
 
 274 VIOLET. 
 
 halves. I have declared I never will be insin- 
 cere with you. I have been so with others — with 
 many ; but you are worthy of my better feelings ; 
 you have inspired them, I should rather say : I 
 pledge you my word — and that I have never 
 broken (even to a woman) — that I have not 
 deceived you or any one else ; and that I loved 
 and love you better than all I have met with in 
 this created world. Ah, Violet ! if you knew me, 
 you would believe me. If you knew me as I 
 know myself, you might esteem me less, but still 
 you would believe me." 
 
 '' But you give no explanation, and what am I 
 to think ? A lady would not place herself — her 
 character, at the mercy of every one, if at least 
 she was not led on by the strongest belief in 
 your affection ?" 
 
 " The ungovcrned mind of an ill-educated 
 woman, under no personal control, may lead to 
 anything. It is a character I have a horror of! 
 — but not later than to-morrow I will put an end 
 to a connexion which gives me no pleasure, and 
 which may bring disgrace upon one unfortunate 
 person, and misery upon another. Are you satis- 
 fied, Violet? Then look at this." D'Arcy drew 
 
 a letter from his waistcoat pocket. It was di- 
 rected to him, and in a woman's hand. " There ;
 
 VIOLET. 275 
 
 read the first lines of this, and say if they do not 
 confirm what I have told you." 
 
 Violet read while D'Arcy held the letter. 
 
 "I knew I never had your love — you never 
 flattered me with pretending that I had; but 
 your compassion and forbearance " 
 
 This was all that D'Arcy thought it necessary 
 that Violet should read. 
 
 " There exist strange people/' she exclaimed, 
 while D'Arcy folded up the letter; " but this 
 lady must be lost to everything. Oh, Mr. d'Arcy, 
 she must be out of her senses ; have pity upon 
 her, whoever she is, and point out to her the 
 sadness of her conduct. Is she a young lady or 
 a widow ?" 
 
 " Neither," answered D'Arcy, laughing ; " she 
 is married, and to the very best of stupid men, I 
 believe." 
 
 '' Her husband alive ?" 
 
 " Dearest ! I assure you, husbands don't die so 
 easily ;" and D'Arcy laughed on in spite of him- 
 self, even while he breathed the influence of 
 Violet Woodville's innocent character. 
 
 " Oh, if you knew how I love you !" said 
 D'Arcy, fondly ; " there is such a charm in every 
 word you utter. What I would give to be able 
 .0 live my life over again, and in the early part
 
 276 VIOLET. 
 
 of it to have met with you ! I am sure I should 
 have been better than I am now ; I am convinced 
 my destiny is Unked with yours ; I do not know 
 how, but I have a strange presentiment of un- 
 happiness comes over me ; without you I cannot 
 live, and united to you, misery would attend both 
 of us. I am not good enough for the difficult 
 position a marriage with you would place me in ; 
 I have no fortune, but while I exist my spirit 
 will cling to yours : and the other day, as I sat 
 alone and thought of you, I half dreamt — it must 
 have been a dream — that my death and yours 
 would be at the same time. I felt a strange 
 pleasure in the idea. If I could not live with 
 you, it would be an exquisite thing to die with 
 you. Violet, would you die with me ?" 
 - Yes !" 
 
 *' She turns and speaks ; her voice is far, 
 Far above singing 1" 
 
 ''Dearest!" said D'Arcy, softly, lost in the 
 emotion of his own happiness at the conviction 
 he felt of being so completely loved, — and they 
 continued for some minutes in silence. 
 
 " Joy like his, like hers, 
 Deals not in words." 
 
 For it was joy, the pure and rapturous joy, of
 
 VIOLET. 277 
 
 affection in its best, its tenderest, and, above all^ 
 its purest moments. Everything is more ecstatic 
 when it approaches Heaven, and love has its divi- 
 nity, but it is only during one short moment, 
 "when itself can be forgotten, — 
 
 "And even the spirit of man is divine.'' 
 
 "And now I must again say this, Violet," re- 
 sumed D'Arcy, " that when I promised Stanmore 
 to give you up, it w^as the most virtuous act of 
 my whole life. Had I loved you one atom less, 
 or had you been less perfect in my eyes, I could 
 have abjured the idea, and while I had the power 
 I would have pursued you till I acted differently, 
 far differently, from the way I have done," con- 
 tinued he, faintly smiling; ''but I loved so much 
 that for once I was not selfish ; and yet now you 
 shall not have to reproach me for everything. I 
 fancy you could marry Stanmore, Violet ; do so, 
 and forget me !" 
 
 *' Never, Mr. d'Arcy," rephed Violet Wood- 
 ville, eagerly. 
 
 " And why not ? Attend to me while I have 
 the courage to utter the words. You do wrong, 
 my darling one : he is excellent, and you are 
 worthy of sharing his destin)^ You could not 
 marry in the class you belong to; you were
 
 278 VIOLET. 
 
 meant for something better, and Stanmore oiFers 
 you the bright career that should be yours. 
 What would you have, Violet ? He is not old, nor 
 ugly, and is he not intellectual ? I am not asking 
 you to sacrifice yourself to rank and riches ; but if 
 you had been born to the fairest happiness, I 
 know nothing that could insure it more than to 
 marry such a man as Stanmore. Had he no 
 other advantages, his very heart, with its gene- 
 rous feelings, is a treasure on which a woman 
 might repose for ever in security." 
 
 '''But I do not love Lord Stanmore." 
 
 " But you would, in time." 
 
 ^^Nol" 
 
 "Yes, you would, Violet," said D'Arcy, mourn- 
 fully; "trust to my experience." 
 
 " I shall not change ; I know I never can be 
 happy ; besides, this is useless — Lord Stanmore 
 would not now think of me." 
 
 "At this moment he would not; he is too 
 proud, and he thinks you love me ; — but I am — 
 am going ; and his affection will not be so easily 
 overcome as he may now suppose. When once I 
 am out of the way, he will be at your feet again ; 
 I am sure of it : so marry him, then, Violet. 
 I will answer for your happiness, though you 
 cannot !"
 
 VIOLET. 279 
 
 "Doubtless you are sure of j'our own, Mr. 
 d'Arcy," answered Violet, with some pique. 
 
 Her lover looked reproachfully at lier, and 
 there was a sorrowful sadness in his expression. 
 
 " Oh, Violet," exclaimed D' Arcy, '• if you can 
 give me an unkind word now, my reward is in- 
 deed denied, and I am punished w^hen I least 
 deserved it !" 
 
 *'Do not say so, Mr. d'Arcy." 
 
 " I must, for it is as I feel ; it is hard to be 
 reproached at this moment." 
 
 " Forgive me, then !" cried Violet, hastily ; " was 
 I unjust ? I care so much for 3'our affection, and 
 it is that I thought of" 
 
 " I never before proved it so thoroughly," con- 
 tinued D'Arcy ; " I have spoken against myself, 
 and it has cost me an effort that Heaven may 
 remember !" 
 
 At this moment the lovers were interrupted by 
 Mrs. Hummings. She had remained at her usual 
 respectful distance while D'Arcy and Violet 
 walked on together. She now approached to 
 remind them that they had turned up the walk 
 a second time, and that her young lady would be 
 expected at home. 
 
 D'Arcy and Violet parted \\ilhout referring to
 
 280 VIOLET. 
 
 when they should meet again ; both had a mo- 
 tive for this forbearance^ probably. 
 
 " So, Violet, what do you think is the news ? " 
 were Mrs. Woodville's first words on seeing 
 Violet after her mornings walk. ''Wonders 
 never cease." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Woodville, " it has all gone 
 right for them ; but it might have all gone wrong. 
 It is only some folks have luck, and some have 
 not, — that's all ; nothing else." 
 
 " And some young ladies play their cards 
 better, and some will not condescend to play 
 them at all." 
 
 " And I think none the worse of those that 
 don't," said M. Dupas, emphatically. 
 
 " What's the news ? " Violet demanded. 
 
 " Oh, only that your friend, Emily Norris, is 
 to marry Mr. Harcourt, forsooth ! Much good 
 may it do him," said jNIrs. Woodville, with the 
 most evident maternal jealousy. 
 
 " I am delighted ! " exclaimed Violet, with a 
 countenance that corroborated her words. *' Dear 
 Mamma, she will be so happy ! Father, do Avalk 
 with me to the Norrises. It is just what Emily 
 wishes ; and she is quite fit for it," continued 
 Violet, speaking her thoughts aloud; ''she will
 
 VIOLET. 281 
 
 make a very good wife ; though she is not born a 
 lady, she was intended for one." 
 
 " Is it joy at Emily's marriage makes you look 
 so happy this morning, Violet ? " asked M. Dupas^, 
 after he had watched her some minutes. 
 
 " Oh;, 3'es, I am so glad of it/' she answered, 
 without meaning to tell an untruth. She did 
 not know that seeing D'Arcy had made her look 
 so radiant. 
 
 " I do feel much better this morning. Father, 
 I will put on my bonnet, and you will walk with 
 me to the Norrises." 
 
 " Very well, Violet, dear ; but make haste." 
 
 Violet did not require the last injunction. The 
 step of the happy is always quick — so Violet 
 flew. 
 
 The Norrises were at this moment the most 
 prosperous people, certainly, in the w^orld ; that 
 is to say, they thought themselves so, — and, of 
 course, the true measure of any one's prosperity 
 must be to judge of it according to one's own 
 view. ^Irs. Norris had achieved the object of 
 her secret ambition; and Miss Norris had so 
 many reasons for being pleased, it would be im- 
 possible to enumerate them. 
 
 " Of course, Mr. Woodville," said Mrs. Norris, 
 in answer to his congratulations, " of course I
 
 282 VIOLET. 
 
 feel flattered that my Emily should make so good 
 a connexion ; and I must say I think she de- 
 serves it. It has always been my aim to bring 
 her up with the best principles, and an idea of 
 conducting herself with propriety ; it is conduct^ 
 Mr. Woodville, which I have endeavoured to 
 teach her ; I have a horror of anything that gives 
 rise to talking, — there never was a word against 
 Emily, thank heaven ! and Mr. Harcourt de- 
 clares himself to be the happiest of men. His 
 affectionate behaviour towards me is quite de- 
 lightfid ; it has touched me to the heart, I assure 
 you. 
 
 " I am glad 3"ou like your son-in-law, Mrs. 
 Norris," said Mr. Woodvillc, somewhat bluntly. 
 
 " He is a most gentlemanlike young man," 
 continued Mrs. Norris. " It would all have been 
 arranged much sooner, according to Mr. Har- 
 court's own wishes, but I, as Emily's mother, had 
 feelings of delicacy; Emily having no fortune, 
 and having been on the stage, I knew were 
 reasons that Harcourt's relations miji^ht allesre 
 against the marriage. It is always necessary to 
 respect people's prejudices, and I am the last 
 person to wish to force my daughter upon any 
 one ; and Emily herself would have died at the 
 thoughts of such a thing."
 
 VIOLET. 283 
 
 " And so, now Mr. Harcourfs friends wish him 
 to marry Miss Norris ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Norris, boldly, but colouring 
 a little ; " yes, indeed, — yes, I may say they ap- 
 prove. He has no near relations, which is a good 
 thing ; — no father, you know, or anything of that 
 sort. Well, Mr. Woodville, and how soon are 
 we to hear of INIiss Violet making a great mar- 
 riage? She is so admired, I am sure, by the 
 gentlemen." 
 
 '' Why, yes, any one that looks at her must 
 admire her," said Woodville, recovering his good 
 humour, which, without his knowing it, had been 
 a little ruffled by the exceedingly full-blown sa- 
 tisfaction of ^Irs. Norris. 
 
 " There's a knock at the door," exclaimed that 
 lady, who was not keeping her dignity in its usual 
 quiescence. 
 
 •' It is Mr. Harcourt, — yes, it is ;" and Mrs. 
 Norris, wdth a rush of ready-made maternal ten- 
 derness, flew from the chair to meet her future 
 son-in-law at the door. 
 
 Harcourt looked gay and happy enough, but 
 when he advanced without seeing Emily, his face 
 betrayed his innate spoiltness, and he passed his 
 hand through his hair, and indolently, if not
 
 284 VIOLET. 
 
 coldly, allowed Mrs. Norris to take liis other 
 hand between both of hers. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Harcourt, so good of you to come 
 so early : Emily will be enchanted ! " 
 
 " Why, of course, it's Emily I want to see, Mrs. 
 Korris ; and pray where is she ? " 
 
 Mrs. Norris thought fit to look over Harcourt's 
 implied rudeness, and told Emily's betrothed 
 that she w\as in the little boudoir, — ''My little 
 boudoir; she has a friend with her." 
 
 " A friend ! what friend, — w^hat friend ? " said 
 the lover, sulkily. '• Who ever heard of anybody 
 having friends at this hour of the morning ? Wliy 
 it's not, — -oh, b}^ my Breguet, I see it is a quarter 
 to one." 
 
 Emily Norris herself, and Violet, now entered, 
 and when Harcourt saw w^ho her friend was, he 
 was appeased ; for he could not help thinking 
 what a much worse one his Emily might have 
 chosen than the sw^eet and beautiful Violet Wood- 
 ville. 
 
 She and her father rose to take leave, after 
 making the most proper apologies for Mrs. Wood- 
 ville's not having come with them ; the real fact 
 having been, that she could not undergo the 
 sight of Mrs. Norris's self gratulation.
 
 VIOLET. 285 
 
 ^•' Well, Violet, what do you think of them all ? " 
 inquired Mr. Woodville, as he walked home with 
 his daughter. 
 
 '' I like Mr. Harcourt well enough, as far as I 
 have seen him, and Emily, of course, likes him ; 
 and she is quite pleased, — and that is everything ; 
 and she is so kind to me, and almost wants me to 
 come and live with her." 
 
 "Well, that shows a good heart, at any rate, 
 for the present ; but she will soon get her head 
 filled with vanity, I dare say." 
 
 " Oh dear, no, — I do not think that. Emily is 
 such a different character from Mrs. Norris. She 
 told me it was, after all, a surprise, when Mr. 
 Harcourt proposed; for that she did not know 
 what he meant to do, or which way it would end ; 
 and that she had been so worried lately, she says 
 she is so glad to feel certain about it at last." 
 
 " And now, Violet," asked Mr. Woodville, in 
 surprise at his daughter s unusual gaiety, '• I 
 would fain know what it is makes you look so 
 much better ? and why you are not breaking 
 your heart as much to-day as j-esterday, and 
 every day for the last month past ?" 
 
 ^' I do not know, — it is such a fine day !" 
 
 Violet's father was not a suspicious man.
 
 286 VIOLET. 
 
 Violet met D'Arcy again next morning in the 
 gardens, and she went on doing so nearly every 
 day. 
 
 Her happiness at having his society once more 
 was quite enough to colour every hour of her 
 present life ; and, in the intoxication in which she 
 lived, reason, without being less acute, had not 
 the same power. So now she only knew she was 
 wrong, without any longer staying to consider 
 how wrong. 
 
 Love, with lovers, is such an inexhaustible 
 theme, — and nothing by them is said so often but 
 that it is not new when said again. There was 
 not then any want of conversation between Violet 
 and D'Arcy; we may remember, too, how very 
 eloquent becomes even Cupid's silence. 
 
 D'Arcy was not always the same ; sometimes 
 he was restless and angrj^ without a defined 
 cause, and would upbraid Violet, and not explain 
 himself; and the very distress that this occasioned 
 her, rivetted her aifections more firmly to him. So 
 true it is,' that even the faults of those we love, 
 when not carried too far, do but add to the pres- 
 tige of affection. Diderot has somewhere said, 
 *' Celui qui ne connoit pas la peine n'est pas a 
 compter parmi les enfans des hommes ; " and
 
 VIOLET. ' 287 
 
 perhaps it is in some connexion with this prin- 
 ciple, that we are fonder of a faulty being than of 
 one of more perfection. With the former, is it 
 that they are rendered dearer to us by their 
 similitude to ourselves? — is it that, because of 
 their faults, we feel more particularly that they 
 are " a compter parmi les enfans des hommes ?" 
 
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 \
 
 VIOLET 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE DAN SE USE. 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by W. Clowes and Son?. 
 
 Staraford Street.
 
 VIOLET; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE DANSEUSE: 
 
 A PORTRAITURE 
 
 HUMAN PASSIONS AND CHARACTER. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HENRY COLBURN, 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH-STREET. 
 
 1836,
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^"'Tis said that marriages are made in heaven, 
 But I have known, at least, some six or seven, 
 Of which tlie origin the wise could trace 
 Mast clearly to a very differerit place. 
 Not that I mean a single word to state 
 Against this peerless lady and her mate: 
 If passion, fancy, bear a holier name, 
 The effect in this one case has been the same ; 
 The bridegroom dotes intensclj', and the bride 
 Can boast of worldly wisdom for her guide." 
 
 Anon. 
 
 ^'Harcourt, I am told you are going to be 
 married," said D'Arc}-; accosting him in St. 
 James's-strect. 
 
 " Who told you so ?" said Harcourt ; looking 
 very much what I once heard said of a certain 
 gentleman, that he had the air of a poacher, 
 conscious that the tail of a pheasant, out of 
 season, had escaped from his coat pocket 
 behind. 
 
 VOL. ir. • R
 
 "I VIOLET. 
 
 " That I forget ; but is it true ? because I 
 must congratulate, — felicitate." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, D'Arcy, say no more 
 about it/' said Harcourt, taking hold of 
 D'Arcy's arm. " I don't want to have the 
 whole cursed world buzzing in my ears with 
 congratulations. I mean to do it, — I have 
 made up my mind. What's the use of being 
 a man if one is not to have a mind of one's 
 own? I know what suits me, — I am essentially 
 a marrying man ; and I hate all those London 
 girls, they have no freshness about them, none 
 of the innocence of — of — " 
 
 " Of Miss Norris ?" 
 
 '' I don't mean that, exactly ; but, in short, I 
 know what suits myself, and I don't care a 
 d— n for her not having a sixpence."' 
 
 " Oh ! no, — half * those London girls' have 
 not a sixpence." 
 
 "Ah, but I mean, I don't care about her 
 being, — having been, on the stage; what does 
 it matter ? A handsome girl, as she is ! and 
 so well brought up, too! — what docs that 
 signify V 
 
 '' Oh, it is entirely a matter of opinion." 
 
 ^' Yes, it is,'' rejoined Harcourt, as if he was
 
 VIOLET. d 
 
 comforted ; " after all, the thing is to be happy, 
 and I rather applaud myself for not being 
 talked out of my intentions by my friends. I 
 have no idea of a man who has not the spirit 
 to go out of the beaten track when it suits 
 him ; as if, when she is my wife, she was not 
 my wife !" 
 
 "What, do they say she will not be ?" asked 
 D'Arcy, with ndivete. 
 
 " No, no ; but what I mean is, what does it 
 matter about who she was, when she is my 
 wife?" 
 
 " It is entirely a matter of opinion, as I said 
 before ; at all events, you are satisfied, and 
 that is to you,— must be to jou, a point gained," 
 And D'Arcy tried to leave his friend, but 
 Harcourt took his arm, and hesitatingly in- 
 quired, — ''So I have not your approval, 
 D'Arcy, — eh? I see that." 
 
 " My dear Harcourt, I shall be too charmed 
 to become better acquainted with the future 
 Mrs. Harcourt ; and I am the last man in the 
 w^orld to foresee the possibility of disapproving 
 of the mfe of my friend."" 
 
 D'Arcy escaped, and Harcourt endeavoured 
 
 B 2
 
 4 - VIOLET. 
 
 to force away the unpleasant reflections, which 
 his foolish arguments showed plainly he had 
 to contend with in his own mind. He soon 
 succeeded, for he went directly to see Emily. 
 
 The preparations for the marriage were not 
 long in making : a special license was procured, 
 and in the presence of Mrs. Norris, the Wood- 
 villes, and D'Arcy, Emily Norris Avas united to 
 Mr. Harcourt. D'Arcy was the only friend 
 that Harcourt asked to be present, and he was 
 too happy to profit by the opportunity of 
 meeting Violet. 
 
 D'Arcy made some excuses to the Wood- 
 villes for not having been to them for so long 
 a time ; and they in their turn expressed their 
 surprise that lie had not. Mrs. Woodville 
 could not conceal her satisfaction at seeing him 
 again; but her invitations to D'Arcy to come 
 and visit them as before, were not echoed by 
 her husband. However, there was not much 
 time for conversation before the bride was led 
 in by her mother, and Harcourt entered the 
 room at the same moment. He looked ill, and 
 as if his mind was not at ease; he gazed at 
 Emily when she appeared, and then, before he
 
 VIOLKT. 
 
 went towards her, approached D'Arcy, and 
 said in a low voice, " At least she is handsome, 
 I have that excuse." 
 
 *' Yes, indeed^ if that be one." 
 
 *' At all events, to the last moment you have 
 dissuaded me. For God's sake, should this 
 turn ovit ill, do not reproach me with your 
 former advice." 
 
 " For worlds I would not," answered 
 D'Arcy. " But, my dear fellow, how comes it 
 that your courage fails you now ?" 
 
 "It does not, — but it is for life, and I may 
 have been mistaken." 
 
 *^'None of us are infallible." 
 
 "Thank you, D'Arcy. Chance what may," 
 continued Harcourt, emphatically, '• you and 
 I are old friends," and he walked up to Emily. 
 
 The ceremony began. It was impossible 
 not to allow that if beauty could make Har- 
 court's strange marriage an excusable one, it 
 was not deficient. Emily Norris was very 
 handsome, — it must be called a fine style of 
 beauty, also. There was something very aris- 
 tocratic in her finely-formed figure, and her 
 well-bred manners did not contradict the im-
 
 6 VIOLET. 
 
 pression made by her first appearance. Mrs. 
 Norris had taken pams to furnish her daughter 
 with every accomphshment, and she worked 
 upon a profitable soiL So far there was no- 
 thing objectionable, and nothing more re- 
 mained to be done for Emily than to leave 
 her in her new station, to acquire, if she could, 
 the ease of good society, of that society in 
 which Harcourt lived, but of which Emily, as 
 yet, knew nothing. During the ceremony 
 D'Arcy stood next Violet Woodville ; she 
 thought much less of what was going on in 
 her presence than she would have done if 
 D'Arcy had not occupied her thoughts almost 
 wholly. 
 
 He, on the contrary, was graver than usual, 
 and, to judge by that, and his air of fixed at- 
 tention, it appeared as if he was absorbed in 
 the service. Once, when Violet casually looked 
 at him, she was struck with his countenance: 
 it was sorrowful, and when his eyes fell upon 
 her, she could have thought she saw them full 
 of tears. Could the marriage affect him so 
 much as this ? Violet reproached herself for 
 not attending to it more. Alas ! her thoughts
 
 VIOLET. 7 
 
 recurred to liim, and slie forgot that ^' tlioii 
 shalt not make to thyself idols, or worship 
 them.'' 
 
 D'Arcy walked home with the Woodvilles. 
 It was a beautiful September day, and he lis- 
 tened attentively to their summer plans, for 
 even the Woodvilles had their summer plans ; 
 what English people have not ? and those who 
 have not yet escaped from town never think 
 the summer elapsed until they have. 
 
 Violet had some geraniums in her hand, 
 but, by degrees, the air scattered their red 
 leaves, and, seeing this, before she reached 
 home she threw their remains away on the 
 pavement. D'Arcy watched with liis eye the 
 useless discarded flowers. 
 
 " To-morrow 3'ou must let me come and see 
 you ; I have not been in your house for such a 
 long time, — may I come ?" said D'Arcy, win- 
 ningly. 
 
 Mrs. Woodville replied by reminding him 
 that she had already begged him to renew his 
 visits. 
 
 " Au revoir, then," said D'Arcy ; but, as he 
 approached and took Violet's hand, he looked
 
 8 VIOLET. 
 
 dejected, and he said something briefly and 
 sadly, but what, Violet could not hear. 
 
 Alone in the street, D'Arcy retraced his 
 steps until he reached the spot where the 
 geraniums had been cast away. There they 
 lay still, on the sunny pavement, — one by one 
 he picked them up. No eye was there to see 
 him, and no one to repeat the tale, or make a 
 merit of it in the eyes of his mistress, — yet his 
 lips kissed the dying flowers, and carefully he 
 took them home. 
 
 In a listless mood D'Arcy wandered to his 
 own abode. The end of September in 
 London is just the time, if ever, that nature 
 cries out for the countrv, — it is the interval 
 between the end of all thino-s and the recom- 
 mencemcnt of them, — which will give rise to a 
 desire for fresh air even in the breast of the 
 most thorough-paced town-bred gentleman ; 
 and this was now the case with D'Arcy, or if 
 it was not, his ill humour and the gloomy turn 
 of his mind, as he walked along the streets, 
 gave testimony to some source of discontent 
 destructive of good humour. 
 
 He envied Harcourt, — how pleased Har-
 
 VIOLET. y 
 
 court would have been if he could have 
 guessed it, — yes, D'Arcy envied him ; not his 
 being the husband of Emily, but it was envy 
 of another's momentary happiness, and a \'earn- 
 ing after its possession. D'Arcy felt irritated 
 against the whole world, and more so still with 
 himself He took a fit of hatred against man- 
 kind, — he saw everybody worse than they are, 
 - — he reflected upon the inequalities of fate, — 
 he disliked his own existence, and contemned 
 and sneered at every other person's. 
 
 He thought he was wisely moralising. " Vu 
 en passant, un homme blase ainsi qu' un am- 
 bitieux degu, resemble a un sage*." 
 
 He felt weary of life, and a wish for some- 
 thing better, and when he tried to grasp the 
 **" lighter than air, hope's summer visions,'' 
 and saw, alas ! how vainly, 
 
 '• If but a bea;r. of suber reason play," 
 
 his mind returned to its bitterness; and he 
 felt regret and sadness, and the neant of all 
 things. 
 
 " En vain la passion entreprend quelquefois 
 
 ?ilajdrne de G(iu'.is. 
 
 B 3
 
 10 VIOLET. 
 
 a nous persuader que nous sommes nes pour 
 le plaisir *." 
 
 Ideas of a higher import will at times cross 
 the mind of every man, and what does it sig- 
 nify how trivial the course that has given rise 
 to them ? 
 
 The reflection will come home as freely to 
 the bosom of a George d'Arcy as it w^ould to 
 that of the sober-minded philosopher, who 
 gazes on planets till almost forgetting that he 
 lives in one. 
 
 On reaching his house D'Arcy's servant 
 gave him a note. He read it through atten- 
 tively ; he reflected for an instant, and then 
 ordered his cabriolet to come to the door. 
 Before he stepped into it, D'Arcy had care- 
 fully deposited between the leaves of a book 
 the almost flowerless geraniums he had so 
 tenderly rescued. It is curious how ungene- 
 rous our conduct can be, and how^ tender, how 
 divine almost, our sentiments ! 
 
 The greater the pity that a bad education 
 should make our feelings so often the only 
 fruits of a disposition that has emanations 
 
 * Massillon.
 
 VIOLET. 11 
 
 from Heaven, and that the selfishness of a cor- 
 rupt life should be the corroder of all 
 
 " That immortal fire, 
 To human hearts in meic}' given, 
 To hft from earth our low desire." 
 
 BVRON. 
 
 D'Arcy drove to a house in one of the 
 squares at the west end; he was admitted, 
 and shown by the servant into the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 A lady, and a very pretty one, was reclining 
 upon the sofa ; she w^as young, not above five 
 or six and twenty, and curiously dressed — 
 rather theatricallj^ ; a style of costume, by the 
 bye, which would occasion me great uneasiness 
 if any symptoms of it appeared in my domestic 
 circle. She was very fair and pale, with lan- 
 guishing, overflowing blue eyes — very pretty 
 eyes, but bearing no resemblance to my wife's, 
 thank Heaven ! or it would be impossible to 
 have the satisfaction of saying, like one of 
 Paul de Kock's heroes, '^ mon ami, je ne le 
 suis pas,'' 
 
 The lady, such as she has been slightly
 
 12 VIOLET. 
 
 pourtrayed, started up en seeing Mr. d'Arcy, 
 and flew towards him. 
 
 " Heavens I" slie exclaimed. 
 
 " Surely you expected me/' said D'Arcy, in 
 answer to this exclamation. 
 
 " Yes, Lut my nerves are so shattered, my 
 feelings have been so vrrought upon; but, 
 thank God ! it is you." 
 
 " Why, certainly it is ; did you want me 
 particularly to-day ?" 
 
 " Is that what you say to me ?" 
 
 " I really only asked a very simple ques- 
 tion.'' 
 
 '' I am most miserable;'' and tlie speaker, 
 in testimony of her words, dived her head into 
 a heap of sofa cushions. 
 
 " Do you want your salts?" asked D'Arcy, 
 coldly. 
 
 " ISI ouster !" murmured the lady. 
 
 " I had better leave you at present," and he 
 rose. 
 
 In an instant a shriek was uttered, and his 
 knees were clasped by the softest white hands. 
 
 " Don't scream so, I beg," cried D'Arcy, 
 looking round with a most alarmed counte-
 
 VIOLET. 13 
 
 nance, " you totally forget that your servants 
 will hear you." 
 
 " You don't think they did, I trust ?' replied 
 the lady, in a suddenly rational tone of voice. 
 
 '' There's no telling, — I wish you would 
 learn to be quieter, — you know I hate scenes." 
 
 " Be kind to me then, George," was said by 
 the lady in an imploring tone. 
 
 " Oh! of course; but you are so very un- 
 reasonable, and you have no sort of discretion; 
 I cannot stand it — you compromise me as well 
 as yourself, and by your folly you lose ^^our re- 
 putation, and, some of these days, your husband 
 will be as v>'ise as you choose to make the rest 
 of the world. But this is not all ; I must, in 
 kindness to you, express now, as I have before 
 done, my determination to give up our inti- 
 macy. The world will talk, and if it would 
 not, you would force it. The end must be 
 something unpleasant, and I wish to save 3'ou 
 from that, and also myself from being the ob- 
 ject of your greatest hatred, as the cause. You 
 never will remember that the race of Lydia 
 Languish is extinct ; that is, they have long 
 ceased to be the fashion ; and as you are par- 
 ticularly a lady of fashion, this part does not
 
 14 VIOLET. 
 
 become you at all. I do not want to offend 
 you, but you do oblige me to tell you tliat I 
 never could see wherein consisted your misfor- 
 tunes. You have always dwelt upon them, and 
 out of common complaisance I would not always 
 contradict you ; but really " 
 
 " What !" at length exclaimed D'Arcy's 
 companion, " is it not enough to be married to 
 a man I cannot endure?" 
 
 " Then w^hy did you marry him ?" 
 
 " I was persuaded into it." 
 
 " And allowing you w^ere, then, is your hus- 
 band's whole life to be the sacrifice of your 
 weakness of mind ? But wdio persuaded you ? 
 — the most indulgent of parents, if I knew 
 anything of Lady Glanmore : her sole desire 
 was to form your happiness, so that, I will an- 
 swer for it, had you preferred it in the very 
 least degree, you might still have been Miss 
 Glanmore, with a very legitimate right to make 
 as many men unhappy as you could, instead 
 of the one most illegitimate object of your pre- 
 sent caprice.'' 
 
 " You are very severe, Mr. d' Arcy ; and 
 from you, at least, I did not expect " 
 
 " If I am, I beg your pardon — I feel I have
 
 yiOLLT. 15 
 
 no right to be so ; but I can't help wishing, 
 for your own sake, to point out where I think 
 you exaggerate your miseries ; and j'ou re- 
 member you declared it was against them that 
 you said you clung to me for refuge. I must 
 observe, then, that the most objectionable fea- 
 ture which I discover in your husband, is the 
 very tie w^hich unluckily binds him to you, and 
 that had you been Mrs. d'Arcy, things would 
 not have been so different as you imagine ; 
 except, indeed, that you w^ouldhave to struggle 
 with poverty, and probably have envied the 
 lot of the mistress of this comfortable house." 
 
 '' Do you conceive me to have so base a 
 mind? And is it thus I am appreciated?" 
 demanded the lady, indignantly. 
 
 " Not at all base ; but you interrupt me. 
 What I was going on to say is, that, with your 
 very peculiar disposition, you would probably 
 have disliked whoever you had married, and 
 that therefore it would be wiser to hate less 
 indiscreetly, and to feel some little gratitude to 
 the man who submits with so good a grace, 
 and, en revanche, bestows all that both his for- 
 tune can afford, and his kindness dictate."
 
 16 VIOLET. 
 
 " Yes, but he adores me ; end if he is well 
 behaved to me, it is to please himself."' 
 
 " It is an agreeable species of selfishness, 
 however, and of a kind that may fluctuate. I 
 was going to say, also, that upon my word and 
 honour I do think your husband is actually 
 many degrees better than most of that class, 
 and positively I see nothing in him to justify 
 your unconscionable train of sentimentality, a 
 little in the falsetto style, and which may one 
 day meet with a harsher reproof than I could 
 find in my heart to bestow on so beautiful and 
 young a lady as you are." 
 
 "I hate flattery; and what have you been 
 saying all this time ? — wanting me to^ despise 
 myself ?" 
 
 '•' To correct yourself, say rather, and to learn 
 not to imdervalue the advantages you possess. 
 Life is short, and the season of youth is shorter 
 — the past cannot be recalled. If there is 
 anything to regret while you are young, it is 
 wiser to remember it as little, instead of as 
 much as you can; when middle age arrives it 
 is yet time enough to despair under the accu- 
 mulated miseries of a life without one solid
 
 VIOLET. 17 
 
 gi'ievance; for, believe me, things are more 
 equalised than you suspect, and, having seen a 
 good deal more of the world than you have, if 
 it will be satisfactory, I can assure you I know 
 few people whose fate seems so happily cast as 
 yours, and that throughout my experience, I 
 have not met with one case of perfect bliss; 
 besides, if you have small annoyances from 
 other people's faults, 
 
 "Tous ces defaiits humaius nous donnent dans la vie, 
 Des mo3-ens d'exercer noire philosophie." 
 
 "Are you going out as a missionary to con- 
 vert the Zealanders ?" asked the lad}^ scorn- 
 fuUy. 
 
 " My dear friend, do not be angry with me ; 
 yes, I am going away, though not as a mis- 
 sionary, and it is the fact of my departure 
 which makes me try before I go to remind you 
 of a few sources of consolation, not for my 
 absence, but to correct the misfortunes for 
 which you originally requested my sympathy." 
 
 " ]\Iuch have I obtained it ! whither turn 
 against the ingratitude of the whole world?" 
 
 "I am certainly not imgrateful," answered 
 D'Arcy, apathetically ; " if I were, I should not
 
 18 VIOLET. 
 
 have made myself so disagreeable during this 
 visit. It is in gratitude for the many pleasant 
 hours you have enabled me to pass that I have 
 said these undisguised truths, and -which there 
 is nothing so easy as for you to forget ; and if 
 you like to have lovers, who knows better than 
 I the swarm that would solicit the honour ? 
 I only wish you to make the most of your ad- 
 vantages, or, by making you feel that you have 
 some, to prevent your imprudence, which 
 threatens to ruin you." 
 ^' And you abandon me?" 
 '^ No, there is nothing to justif}^ your putting 
 it in that light. I am simply obliged to leave 
 England." 
 
 "And supposing you were not ?" 
 ''Why ask me that question?" 
 " I do, and vdW have an answer !" 
 "In that case, — my not leaving England, 
 I wish to remain your friend as much as you 
 will permit me, but nothing more." 
 " In short, you never have loved me." 
 " It is of no use returning to that old attack, 
 and now, too, especially." D'Arcy rose to take 
 leave, and then the lady, with a little of the 
 dignity she had not hitherto shown, exclaimed.
 
 VIOLET. 19 
 
 " At all events, I have liked j'ou — loved you : 
 that you believe, I hope, or I must be without 
 excuse in your eyes." 
 
 " I do, — that you have thought so, at least ; 
 but as I do not think that, cut fond, I am the 
 person, as a lover even, most likely to suit you, 
 I fear the time will come when you will wonder 
 over the bygone days of 5^our youth, and at 
 your aimable condescension towards so great 
 an admirer of one of the very prettiest persons 
 that exist." 
 
 D'Arcy, with these concluding words, has- 
 tened to leave the room. 
 
 " Stay, oh, stay one moment !*' cried the 
 handsome lady. 
 
 " It is better not, you will enslave me still," 
 answered D'Arcy. 
 
 " But you must tell me, do you think me a 
 fool, or depraved, or what? I like to know 
 w^hat people think of me : above all, are you 
 in love with some one else V 
 
 " I do not think you a fool, I do not think 
 you quite depraved," said D'Arcy smiling, "and 
 I cannot help being much interested in the 
 happiness of one so young, and whose fate is 
 held in her own hands."
 
 20 VIOLET. 
 
 " But if you would guide me ! No. Yet, 
 after all, is it not worth while to be loved by 
 me? You pretend to admire me, and ycu 
 know ni}' aifection for you. Alas !" 
 
 The lady sighed, and played with the rings 
 on her fingers, and then took up a pocket-hand- 
 kerchief with Mathilde embroidered in old 
 English letters, and in gold, in the corner. 
 Mathilde swept the handkerchief across her 
 eyelids, leaving them still sufficiently bedewed 
 to touch, if possible, the heart of D'Arcy. But 
 D'Arcy was not new to scenes like the present, 
 raid a long acquaintance had made him per- 
 fectly cm fait with the character of Mathilde; 
 and he, two or three times in his life, had gone 
 through the seething cauldron of a lady's wrath, 
 to whom a man declares, not his eternal love, 
 but the respectful friendship that for both their 
 sakes he proffers in lieu of it. How is it that 
 ladies are always so angry when this very 
 handsome compromise is proposed to them; 
 for friendship among themselves they have 
 been known to rave about: but women are 
 such contradictory creatures ! 
 
 ''You forget," said D'Arcy, remembering 
 himself, so as to respire a most melodious sigh.
 
 VIOLET. 21 
 
 meant as a little galanterie to the half-wiped 
 tears — ''you forget I am leaving England so 
 shortly." 
 
 " But you can come back, and in the mean 
 time correspond, that is, if you will swear to 
 fall in love with no one else." 
 
 " Oh, no, I will swear nothing ; you would 
 then, you know, think it was out of respect to my 
 oath that my heart remained faithful, and then 
 love and fidelity, according to 3'our creed, are 
 so involuntary ; so I will swear nothing except, 
 to the end of time, that you are a most lovely 
 lady, with the very dearest eyes ! I will call 
 again — adieu — for the present I shall be out 
 of town !"' And pretending not to hear her 
 further remonstrances, the ci-dcvanf lover 
 rushed down stairs, and, jumping into his 
 cabriolet, drove rapidly away.
 
 ( 22 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Oh, Love ! what is it in this world of ours 
 
 Which makes it fatal to be loved ? Ah ! why 
 With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers, 
 
 And made thy best interpreter a sigh ? 
 As those who doat on odours pluck the flowers, 
 And place them on the breast — but place to die ; 
 And the frail beings we would fondly cherish 
 Are laid within our bosom but to perish." 
 
 BlfRON. 
 
 D'Arcy drove to his lodgings, and was soon 
 lost in tlie perusal of a letter he found awaiting 
 him, with a most important official seal. It 
 was from the Minister of Foreign Affairs, to 
 cancel his previous appointment, and to confer 
 upon him one that he most desired, that of Se- 
 cretary of Embassy at one of the foreign courts. 
 Owing to some peculiar circumstances, he was 
 requested not to lose time, if possible, in setting 
 out for his destination, as the former secretary 
 had died suddenly, and the principal attache 
 Avas on leave of absence to attend a sick parent. 
 In short, the ambassador was represented to 
 be in a most difficult situation ; and D'Arcy 
 saw, in return for his appointment, he had
 
 VIOLET. 23 
 
 nothing to do but to obey the order he received 
 to the very letter, and leave England within 
 four-and-twenty hours. Tliere ^yas a post- 
 script from the Minister — " To save time, as I 
 shall be at Tarsley House, could not j^ou ride 
 down there by five o'clock ? I could then give 
 you final instructions, and you will be ready to 
 start as early as may be to-morrow." 
 
 D'Arcy looked at his watch ; it was half-past 
 four : he ordered his horse instantly to come 
 round, and muttered to himself, " As early as 
 may be to-morrow !" For a minute he stood 
 still, as a man does, doing nothing, when he is 
 suddenly oppressed with an overwhelming tide 
 of business. A thousand ideas rapidly crossed 
 his mind — Violet — his new appointment — the 
 ambassador — the steam-boat — Tarsley House 
 — letters that must be written — debts that 
 must be paid — sundry articles that must be 
 purchased — his landlady ; all these, and a 
 thousand other things, persons, and events, 
 crowded on the mind of our hero. Once more 
 he rang his bell, and gave his servant as many 
 directions as he conceived it possible for him 
 to execute during his ride to Putney. 
 
 " Understand," said D'Arcy, " that to-mor-
 
 24 VIOLET. 
 
 row, by t>yelve o'clock, I shall be on the Dover 
 road ; therefore all delay must be out of the 
 question. My horse is at the door, I see ; I 
 shall be back here by six o'clock." 
 
 D'Arcy galloped — galloped as fast as the 
 knight who galloped " away, away, away," al- 
 though there was no lady on the tower to v.ave 
 to him '' her lily-white hand." 
 
 The quick pace at which he rode accorded 
 agreeably with the hurry of his mind — not 
 that DWrcy was unused to this species of 
 mental turmoil : his life had been an active 
 one, and a spirit of recklessness had led him 
 into many an intricate path. Some people 
 twice live their lives. Their every-day exist- 
 ence is one of romance and novelty; and it is 
 inconceivable the variety of events and inte- 
 rests in which one person may find himself 
 forced to take a part : there are otlicrs, again, 
 who go through the world so steadily, so un- 
 conscious of the very natures of half of those 
 who compose it, that they may be said to sleep 
 their lives away. Well, I do not know ; I am 
 old now, and I have passed a strange and a 
 stirring life ; but I have sometimes envied such 
 men their calmer hours, their absence of rest-
 
 VIOLKT. 25 
 
 lessness, and the avoidance of that breathless 
 amount of excitement which wearies the spirit 
 at last, and gives it a longing for repose — like 
 the traveller in the desert, desiring the water 
 which eludes his search. 
 
 Few joys, indeed, can compensate for the 
 endless anxiety attendant upon a life of ex- 
 citement, and the mental exhaustion w^hich is 
 its certain consequence. Like gambling, an 
 existence of this sort becomes fatal ; j^ou can- 
 not return to quietude : if you do, the ennui of 
 an ill-regulated mind fills up, and horribly, the 
 vacuum. But so it is ; and some there are 
 who noA^er repose, whilst others are mere active 
 dormice, capable of enjoying all things that 
 can be enjoyed, and getting on in years in a 
 most luxurious manner, refreshing themselves 
 continually Avith their ow^n excess of content- 
 ment : then, there are those who are never 
 calm, with whom the earth is so busy a stage, 
 and their part in it so filled up, so wearying, 
 so harassing, so variable, so wild, that now 
 and then they long to barter life, 
 
 '*To be trodden under foot, and mingled but with dust,'' 
 
 for the sake of peace and quietness at last ! 
 
 VOL. II. • c
 
 26 VIOLET. 
 
 D'Arcy thought of Violet Woodville. She 
 was the one thing prominent in the chaos of 
 his meditations. What plan to pursue to see 
 her, if ever, again ? — or, to quit England, and 
 
 leave her to forget him — or D' Arcy's horse, 
 
 and himself, and his reflections were checked 
 in their course by the turnpike on Putney 
 Bridge, and also by a gig, occupied by a couple 
 who had precedence of him. D'Arcy was too 
 near this vehicle not to distinguish its occu- 
 piers, and to discover an undeniable side-view 
 of Mr. Woodville's face, as he turned to pay 
 the gate-keeper. 
 
 '' Mr. Woodville!" cried D'Arcy. 
 
 " Why, it's you, Mr. d'Arcy," returned 
 Woodville, making way with his horse : " I did 
 not hope to meet you on this road." 
 
 '' I am riding down here on business. I am 
 
 going " D'Arcy hesitated: it may 
 
 seem strange; but so it was, that he had not 
 the power to finish his sentence — he could not 
 say, " I am going to leave England to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " You are going ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied D'Arcy, absently; " yes. 
 But where are you going?"
 
 VIOLET. 27 
 
 '' Oh, we — I and my \yife are going on a 
 visit, to see a sick friend of ours." 
 
 '' Poor Mr. M'Gory, whom you must recollect 
 at Covent Garden," broke in Mrs. Woodville ; 
 '' he performed Macbeth and King Lear, and 
 was so famous, you know, for the way in which 
 he said 
 
 " Blow winds, and crack your cheeks ;" 
 
 and now, poor man ! he is laid up with the 
 gout, and cannot live, we fear ; and he is an 
 old friend of ours, and I and Woodville 
 thought we would drive down, and see him. 
 Violet's left at home ; for we " 
 
 " Violet's at home ?" repeated D'Arcy. 
 
 " Yes, you see there's not room for her ; be- 
 sides ." 
 
 " Oh, it is no great thing to leave her to 
 amuse herself for half a day," interrupted Mr. 
 Woodville ; " we shall be back by ten at 
 night, and it Avill be such a comfort to poor 
 M'Gory to see us : he has got the snuggest 
 little cottage at Richmond, as big as a nut- 
 shell, and just the article for him." 
 
 '' Well, then, I will not detain you," cried 
 D'Arcy. " Good morning, Mrs. Woodville." 
 
 '' Good day to you, sir," said Woodville. 
 
 c2
 
 28 VIOLET. 
 
 " I hope you will have a pleasant ride, Mr. 
 d'Arcy," rejoined Mrs. Wood ville; ''and we 
 hope you will come and see us soon." 
 
 *' What the d 1 must you'needs add that 
 
 for?" said Woodvillc, sharply, to his wife, as 
 D'Arcy and his horse vanished from view. 
 
 " Don't be cross," replied Mrs. Woodville ; 
 " one must be civil sometimes — besides, one is 
 not to live Avithout hearing people's voices, I 
 suppose ; he is not a vulture or a hippopota- 
 mus, to eat us up, Mr. Woodville. How the 
 wind blows my bonnet ! Bless me ! look at all 
 those sheep ; why, what business have they 
 in the high road ? This is the high road, is it 
 not, Charles ?" 
 
 *' To be sure it is." 
 
 " Do, pray, take care ; I am so a^fraid of the 
 horse taking fright at these sheep. What's 
 the good of all that nevv^ police, if a whole drove 
 of sheep are allowed to be on the high road, 
 with only two boys to look after them — shame- 
 ful ! Oh, dear ! don't whip him, Mr. Wood- 
 ville, for fear." 
 
 " Be a peaceable woman for once," ejacu- 
 lated poor Woodville, " and never mind the 
 sheep, and I will mind the horse."
 
 VIOLET. 29 
 
 The sheep had not disturbed D'Arcy or liis 
 steed. On they went till they reached Tarslcy- 
 house, and D'Arcy was speedily shown into the 
 librai-y of the Minister, who was in the act of 
 locking some of the important red boxes. 
 
 " Give that to the messenger directly," said 
 the noble lord to the servant who announced 
 our hero. 
 
 D'Arcy was obliged to attend to all that was 
 said to him, and the alacrity of his comprehen- 
 sion, and his undisguised intention to make 
 his visit as short as possible, were equally 
 agreeable to the Minister. " He quite under- 
 stands I have not time to say things twice over, 
 and that a long visit is a great private nui- 
 sance,"' said the peer to himself. " I hope to 
 heavens he does not see what a hurry I am in !'' 
 thought D'Arcy ; '' but I shall just have time — 
 or if I could overtake that messenger, I could 
 get into the chaise — but it is too late — that 
 mare of mine is touched in the wind — fool that 
 I w^as to buy her ! — rascal to have sold her to 
 me 1 
 
 " You have so clearly expressed yourself, 
 my Lord, that I believe I am already capable of 
 transmitting the sense of your instruction to
 
 30 VIOLET. 
 
 Lord ; and now, I shall be able to leave 
 
 town by twelve o'clock to-morrow, which will 
 enable me to reach '' 
 
 D'Arcy's eye wandered to the large clock on 
 a lapis lazuli table. 
 
 " Why, I am aware j'ou are not a person to 
 lose time on the road," said the Minister, smil- 
 ing condescendingly. 
 
 A few more words were wasted in thanks 
 and grateful speeches from D'Arcy, and ami- 
 able expressions from his patron. 
 
 Mounted once more, D'Arcy flew as breath- 
 less as his horse, with their mutual speed. 
 
 He dismounted on reaching his lodgings, 
 and jumped into a hack cab. 
 
 '' Run with these letters to Vere Street — 
 there is time yet. If any one calls, say, in an 
 hour I am sure to be at home. Have you 
 executed all the commissions ? And go to 
 Newman's — the post-horses must be at the 
 door, and the carriage packed. Don't forget 
 the books, by ten to-morrow," were D'Arcy 's 
 last words to his servant. 
 
 To be sure, if we could but foresee the events 
 of the next twenty-four hours, how the con- 
 sumption of breath might be spared !
 
 .VIOLET. 31 
 
 '' Drive your best, my friend, and I will tip 
 you double," said D'Arcy to tbe cabman. 
 
 '' That's a gemman. Sir ; you shall see as I 
 knows how to make him start a point," re- 
 sponded his companion. 
 
 The cabman stopped by his directions at the 
 end of the street where the Woodvilles lived, 
 and he proceeded to the house on foot. 
 
 *•' Is any one at home, Mrs. Hummings ?" 
 said D'Arcy, insinuatingly, when that worthy 
 woman opened the door to him. 
 '' No, Sir !" 
 
 " No !"— D'Arcy's heart beat— ''No! but 
 some of the family ?" 
 
 " Well, Sir— but I am ashamed to let you 
 m. 
 
 " Oh, then, she is here," exclaimed D'Arcy, 
 as he gave the usual fee to this tractable she 
 Cerberus, and moved on into the passage. 
 
 Violet was sitting alone, busy with her own 
 thoughts, and they all centred round one point. 
 She was not sorry to have been left at home by 
 her parents ; no one is sorry to be alone when 
 the mind is much occupied. But the Wood- 
 villes had now been gone some hours, and 
 solitude always gives a melancholy turn to our 
 reflections.
 
 32 VIOLET. 
 
 Perhaps, too, our ideas become half ex- 
 hausted, from the tune Ave study them, and 
 then they assume that fainter hue which I have 
 before spoken of, when things seem almost 
 unreal, and we sigh over baseless apprehension 
 and a vague distrust. Violet thought of 
 D'Arcy, and dwelt upon him more than ever, 
 for more than ever she loved him. She sat at 
 the open window recalling the past, and dream- 
 ing over bygone moments. 
 
 Sometimes her eyes wandered to the chair, 
 or to the table, or to some article of furniture 
 which D'Arcy had touched ; and her eye dwelt 
 upon it. 
 
 There is nothing like love for bestowing a 
 charm on the merest trifle. When the eye 
 falls upon the most insignificant object where 
 a beloved hand has rested, it is the same, as 
 dear and as sacred to us as if the grave in its 
 solemnity had closed o'er the parent, the sister, 
 or the fondest friend, whose form we have re- 
 membered as hovering there. Oh, there is 
 nothing so reverential as the endearing tie 
 that binds to the comm.onest spot, if love has 
 trodden there, its most unheeded step ! — and 
 the stones of the very pavement are hallowed
 
 VIOLET. 33 
 
 and sacred in our sight, if tlie foot of one we 
 love has pressed them. 
 
 The evening was drawing to its close — Violet 
 did not choose to send for lights : she preferred 
 remaining by the open window, keeping watch 
 over the retiring day at that hour — 
 
 '* When pensive Twilight, in her dusky car, 
 Comes slowly on to meet the evening star." 
 
 She looked out on the heavens. Her view was 
 a limited one — to gaze on the stars in a house 
 in London streets does not sound very romantic, 
 but the blue sky was equally above her, and 
 its vast expanse is so soothing to a contem- 
 plative mind, it gives so wide a field for 
 thought, and there is so much hope in that 
 blue vault of an hereafter, dwelling for ever 
 unmoved above us, as one thing fixed and im- 
 mutable ! " Shall I meet him there ?" thought 
 Violet — her mind's eye fixed on futurity. 
 '' There shall we meet, or must I part from him 
 on earth and cease to hope ?" — 
 
 " If that high world which lies heyond 
 Onr oAvn, surviving love endears, 
 If there the cherished heart he found. 
 The eye the same, except in tears.'' 
 
 ByiiON. 
 
 c 3
 
 34 VIOLET. 
 
 The solitude she was in, enabled Violet to 
 distinguish easily the tread of hasty footsteps, 
 — ^could it be her parents, returned home with- 
 out her having heard them arrive ? She rose, 
 and the next moment the door of the apart- 
 ment flew open, and D'Arcy appeared before 
 her. 
 
 " Mr. d'Arcy !" exclaimed Violet, in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Yes, I am come to see you once again; 
 but perhaps for the last time," answered 
 D'Arcy, as he advanced into the room. 
 
 The evening light was gradually obscuring 
 the apartment, and to D'Arcy the only visible 
 object in it was Violet Woodville, standing, 
 and uncertain how to act. Extreme pleasure 
 was the most natural feeling at first beholding 
 her lover, and it prevented her reflecting upon 
 the impropriety of his visit at that hour, and 
 when she was alone. Violet did not ask him 
 to sit down, and she was yet bewildered by 
 his presence, — when D'Arcy approached, and 
 hurriedly addressed her ; his manner was pas- 
 sionate and eager, and his face was flushed, 
 although he seemed fatigued.
 
 VIOLET. 35 
 
 "Do I offend you/' he said, "by being here? 
 But, if I do, you will forgive me, for I am come 
 to bid you farewell, — and for a long time; 
 perhaps for ever !" 
 
 " Oh, Mr. d'Arcy !" said Violet, reproach- 
 fully, but turning pale at the same time, "j^ou 
 are joking." 
 
 " I wish that I were, but it is no joke. — I am 
 speaking in sad and sober earnest ; so, Violet, 
 you "will forgive my abrupt intrusion, will you 
 not ?" continued D'Arc}^ with gentleness. 
 
 But this announcement overpowered Violet ; 
 she burst into tears, as she had done once 
 before on a like occasion. In vain she tried to 
 speak : she sat down, and hid her face in her 
 hands, and sobbed convulsively. 
 
 " Dearest !" said D'Arcy, while he knelt at her 
 feet, " do not grieve so for me, or if you do, — 
 Violet, I cannot bear to see those tears, I shall 
 weep too; and I shall suffer more than you do. 
 Violet, give me that little hand," and D'Arcy 
 forced away the fingers that were stemming 
 the flow of Violet's tears; he took the hand 
 and kissed away the drops. 
 
 But even this action passed unheeded by
 
 36 VIOLET. 
 
 Violet, and her bosom seemed bursting with 
 its anguish. D'Arcy waited till she was calmer, 
 and it was not till the violence of her grief was 
 exhausted that she spohe. 
 
 " I am ashamed, Mr. d' Arc}', that you should 
 have seen this ; my folly is too great, but, — 
 but is it true ?" 
 
 D'Arcy, in reply to this interrogatory, with- 
 out circumlocution explained the necessity for 
 his instant departure. 
 " You will return V 
 " No,— wliy should I V 
 '' Is this, then, your affection ?'' asked Violet, 
 almost with an2:er. 
 
 *' Listen to me," answered DArc}-, as he 
 still knelt at her feet. " I am going to leave 
 you; and the bitterness of my despair will 
 ever be unknown to you, — your mind cannot 
 comprehend the wretchedness of mine now. 
 Your single regret at my absence will be as 
 nothing, compared to my endless sorrow, which 
 will live Vv'hilc I live, — for life itself is old with 
 me, and you are all to me, — all — my youth, — 
 my hope, — my every joy, — the only thing my 
 soul desires, — the only one that I rejoice in, — I
 
 VIOLET. 37 
 
 cannot look forward, — I have exhausted every 
 charm the world possesses, — only you are my 
 ^Yorld, — not this one, Violet, but a better one, 
 and I am going to resign you ! Do you hear 
 me, Violet ? look at me, dearest, and speak to 
 me with your eyes, at least !" 
 
 Violet looked at her lover, and his mournful 
 countenance seemed to give assurance to his 
 words. 
 
 •'You have broken my heart," was her 
 earnest and sad reply, " and you cannot do 
 more !" 
 
 *' Do you love me so well ?" 
 
 - Oh, yes." 
 
 "Fly with me, then !" exclaimed D'Arcy, with 
 sudden fire; ''fly with me, — give me the only 
 proof of love a woman can give ; you shall not 
 repent it, — I will adore you while I live, and if 
 1 die, I think my spirit would break its bonds 
 to watch over you ! Fly with me, and in the 
 universe, — which will be a chaos without you, 
 — you will be all in all to me ; I could not have 
 another hope, — I could not know another hap- 
 piness. Fly W'ith me, and I will teach you the 
 boundlessness of my affection, — fly with me, 
 and be w^orshipped by a heart that owns you
 
 38 VIOLET. 
 
 for its very religion ! Fly with me, dearest, I 
 will for ever kiss the earth that your foot shall 
 tread upon. My own Violet, dearest, dearest 
 one 1 oh, have you heard me, have you listened 
 to my beseeching cry ? 
 
 ''Tempt me not," Violet exclaimed, "'it is 
 cruel in you, and you are becoming my worst 
 enemy." The agitation of her voice denoted 
 the intense pain of mind that she w^as en- 
 durino" • and her beautiful face, beautiful still 
 with its streaming tears, was bent over D'Arcy, 
 with the expression of an angel pleading for 
 compassion. 
 
 " If you know me, as you say you do, could I 
 ever look on the world again, when I had 
 known disgrace? and my father, and my 
 mother, to bring them to hear my name with 
 shame ! my poor father, — oh never, never 1" 
 screamed Violet, endeavouring to extricate the 
 hands that D'Arcy forcibly detained. 
 
 "It shall be no shame, then ; all should be 
 done," cried D'Arcy, '' you should be my wife, 
 — my wife, do you hear me, dearest ? all shall be 
 sacrificed, — why do I say sacrificed ! humbly of- 
 fered to you ; for you, nothing would be a sacri- 
 fice, did I resign my existence to obtain you, —
 
 VIOLET. 39 
 
 you cannot doubt I would do it gladly — say 
 you know it to be so^ my beloved ! " said 
 D' Arcy, imploringly ; and at that moment he 
 spoke the truth, and its powerful evidence car- 
 ried conviction to the mind of the vmfortunate 
 girl ; yet she answered him mth determination. 
 
 " Oh;, no ! young as I am, my experience is 
 sufficient to save me from that misery, — I your 
 wife! you the husband of an Opera- dancer!— 
 no anguish can be so great as to become the 
 object of your contempt and despisal ; and, as 
 your wife, you would contemn me more for the 
 ruin I had brought upon you, than you could 
 if I should forsake my home, my parents, and 
 my honour, to follow you. No, Mr. d'Arcy, I 
 love you so, that I would not marry you, — 3^ou 
 see I know you," said Violet with a wretched 
 smile. 
 
 " Generous angel ! believe me, you are mis- 
 taken ; you never have appreciated my affection, 
 and are incapable of probing the depths of my 
 devotion.'' 
 
 " But, in cooler moments, you have explained 
 all to me. Your position, your views, your for- 
 tune — and I have weighed well every little 
 word you have ever spoken. If you thinks at
 
 40 
 
 VIOLKT. 
 
 this moment, that I am mistalvcn in my views 
 cf what yours would be, were you to marry me, 
 trust to me, that I know you better than you 
 know yourself. Is it really to-morrow that you 
 depart ?" asked Violet, with a faltering voice. 
 
 " To-morrow ; but you must go too, indeed 
 you must — you would not abandon me, Violet ? 
 Can I say more ? — I have offered all that man 
 can, and now I kneel, and I ask you for your 
 pity — Forsake me not !" cried D'Arcy, implor- 
 ingly, and he buried his face in the lap of Violet, 
 while his quick drawn breath and broken sen- 
 tences betrayed his agitation. 
 
 "Do not kneel to me — leave me alone, for 
 God's sake ! — D'Arcy, do you hear me?" said 
 Violet Woodville, and with her slender hands 
 she tried to raise her lover from his kneelino: 
 posture. 
 
 What a world of misery was tearing the 
 hearts of these two persons ! What passions 
 were contending in that little sitting-room, the 
 abode cf cliccrfulness hitlicrto, and of family 
 comfort ! How the vcrv furniture of the room, 
 with its air of locality, was in ill accordance with 
 these striving spirits ! And when scenes like 
 these occur in our ovrn homes, thcv seem such
 
 VIOLET. 41 
 
 a strange profanation I andj hereafter, the re- 
 membrance of them stalks like a ghost across 
 the hearth of our dwellings. 
 
 Oh ! vv'ho that has a heart will not lament 
 over the grief of such moments — the parting 
 of those whose existence is each bound up in 
 the other's^ for at this moment it seems so; 
 and to feel they may — 
 
 **' Not meet again ! what tongue can tell 
 The pang of hearts that love so wellj 
 At such a chill unwelcome breath. 
 Like vapour from the shades of death !" 
 
 D'Arcy recovered himself, but he saw his ad- 
 vantage. He pleaded all that passion urged 
 him to — he prayed, he wept, he adjured her to 
 follow him — what did he not say — for, 
 
 ** What will tongue not dare 
 When hearts go wrong ?" 
 
 But it is not enough to destroy the force of 
 virtue in a young and upright mind, guided by 
 an excellent understanding. The feelings may 
 be rent, but the very nature of a man's violence 
 in such a case, alarms the timidity of one that 
 is pure-minded, and gives the power as well as 
 the desire to resist such entreaties. 
 
 Violet Woodville mildly persisted in her re- 
 fusal to follow the fortunes of D'Arcy, but her
 
 42 VIOLET. 
 
 heart was breaking while she spoke. And then 
 he changed his tone^, and reproached her with 
 selfishness and with deception — yes, he ex- 
 claimed:, " You have deceived me. I put your 
 affection to the test^ and what has become of it? 
 The world's opinion, forsooth, stands up before 
 it. You wrong no one, but you may wrong your- 
 self; and where is your boasted love for me ? 
 You say my absence will grieve you, and to me 
 you prefer your parents. What have they done 
 for you more than the laws of nature have 
 forced upon them ? What if they have loved 
 you — do not all parents love their children ? — 
 and when they have lost you, will their sorrow 
 come up to the tenth part of my despair, when 
 I am alone, with my memory of you for my 
 only pleasure, and your abandonment for the 
 solace of my unhappiness ? Oh, that I could 
 despise the heartlessness that mocks my an- 
 guish ! " And D'Arcy, strildng his clenched 
 hand against his brow, paced the room with a 
 tempest in his bosom. 
 
 '' But I would brave it all," said Violet, fol- 
 lowing her lover's footsteps ; — " The world's 
 contempt — I could be pointed at for you, 
 D'Arcy — I would leave my home, were it ne-
 
 VIOLET. 43 
 
 cessary; I would beg for you — believe me, 
 D'Arcy :" but D'Arcy answered her not. 
 
 " I would encounter disgrace ; but my father 
 and his misery, his affection — to know I had 
 so rewarded it — but, for you, D'Arcy, I would 
 do it all; — and the upbraidings of my con- 
 science — I would stifle them, for you. — But 
 would my God ever forgive me if I deserted my 
 dear, dear father ? — D Arc}^ do you hear me ?" 
 
 Violet appealed to her lover in a tone of 
 anguish that obliged him to turn towards 
 her : but the cold sneer, which could blight the 
 countenance of D'Arcy, hung in withering 
 coldness on his features, and that was his only 
 reply. 
 
 " And is it you, D'Arcy, who can show so 
 little kindness ! This is worse and worse, and 
 I cannot survive it," exclaimed Violet, but 
 meekly ; — sinking upon a seat in utter de- 
 jection. 
 
 The unkindness of D'Arcy terrified her. He 
 beheld in her countenance the nature of her 
 feelings, and, restored to tenderness by this 
 means, he once more flung himself upon her 
 generosity. 
 
 ''Do you think," he asked, "my love can do
 
 44 VIOLET. 
 
 notliing for your happiness ? How am I to 
 believe 3'ou care for me, if you place so little 
 faith in my affection ? Oh, Violet, can you not 
 conceive some happiness in havinj^ me ever 
 devoted to vou, and anxious to save vou from 
 all evil ? Bound to you by gratitude, and a 
 passion that has not its equal — and watching 
 over you as if you were my young child, but 
 dearer far than all human ties corJd make 
 you ? Can you picture nothing to yourself but 
 misery, if you go through life with me ? My 
 dearest one, — my love, — my only joy — Oh, lis- 
 ten to me, and think how I have loved ! — is it 
 not true ? I would not always have asked this 
 sacrifice. — Did I not tell you to marry Stan- 
 more ? Did I not force myself to see you no 
 more : and if now I am weak, and if I am 
 grown 60 selfish that I dare to ask so much, 
 am I not to be pitied ? Oh, I have many faults, 
 but if I ever knew virtue, it has been while 
 
 loving you, for I could go mad Violet, I 
 
 will not, I cannot part from you." D'Arcy 
 seized the hands of Violet, and covered them 
 with convidsive kisses : '' Be mine — my wife — 
 any thing— but be mine. Oh ! by what prayer 
 shall I adjure you !'
 
 VIOLLT. 45 
 
 By this last appeal Violet's heart was almost 
 vanquished ; but she was still checked by the 
 feminine delicacy which ruled her character so 
 conspicuously, and which made her feel that, 
 independently of the laws of duty, the eloping 
 "with her lover was an open act of impropriety 
 that her nature shrank from. To an under- 
 standing constituted like hers, such a step 
 would have been one (even if to be sanctioned 
 by a marriage) that she would naturally have 
 turned from with dismay ; but to fly with him 
 to be his mistress only, — no wonder that her 
 heart, gentle and confiding as it was, and with 
 its deep tenderness, should require to undergo 
 all the ordeal of D'Arcy's anguish before it 
 could relent for such a purpose. 
 
 She was not misled, or allured by his offer 
 of marrying her : she never proposed to her- 
 self to accept the off'er, and placed at once to 
 its right account the sacrifice D' Arcy was ready 
 to make. Violet had never forgotten his con- 
 versation with Harcourt^ at a time when she 
 did not know him. 
 
 Subdued at length by her compassion, but 
 virtuous to the last, Violet flung herself at tlie
 
 46 VIOLET. 
 
 feet of D'Arcy, and in trembling accents asl<:ed 
 him for his forbearance. 
 
 " Have mercy on me ; ask me no more, or, 
 if you do, I must consent to fly with you ; my 
 courage will abandon me, but do not think that 
 I can live in disgrace — never; I must die; but 
 I will go with you, if you require it, now, 
 D'Arcy," continued Violet, more tremulously; 
 " I am doing what is wrong — I shall hate my- 
 self some day. Oh !" continued the unhappy 
 girl, " would you leave me, and save me from 
 such horrible disgrace. Think of my parents, 
 and I am their only child, and they believe me 
 spotless ; and they will have to hear that I 
 have fled from them to wander as your mistress ! 
 Oh, horrible ! — Was I born for such a fate as 
 tliis r 
 
 Violet hid her face. She was still kneeling 
 at the feet of D'Arcy, and, regardless of his 
 endeavours to raise her from the ground, she 
 seemed almost unconscious of his vicinity ; but 
 her situation did not move his heart in the way 
 it might have done. He was reckless then, 
 and could only pour forth vows and prayers. 
 
 " I "will go — I will go !" murmured Violet.
 
 VIOLET. 47 
 
 In an ecstacy of delight, D'Arcy would have 
 clasped her in his arms ; she made no effort to 
 prevent him, and then he discovered that she 
 had fainted ! 
 
 D'Arcy was horror-struck : all his feelings 
 underwent a revulsion. Men are not accus- 
 tomed to see women faint, and it always in- 
 spires them with alarm ; but D'Arcy knew 
 that what he beheld was his work. When he 
 entered that room, Violet Woodville was there 
 in her bright beauty, his own beau ideal of 
 woman's loveliness, wanting nothing in his 
 eyes— 
 
 " Ni les lis, ni les roses — 
 Ni le melange exquis des plus aimables choses, 
 Ni ce charme secret dont roeil est enchante, 
 Ni la grace plus belle encore que la beaute," — 
 
 and now he beheld her pale, cold, and sense- 
 less ! — And he it was who had stamped those 
 features with the hue of death, and so bruised 
 an angelic spirit that it had sunk beneath his 
 violence! 
 
 D'Arcy w^as suddenly restored to calmness : 
 he felt then the force of his own misconduct, 
 and was dismayed at the ungenerous use he 
 might have made of the advantage he had 
 gained. He felt certain that, except under
 
 48 VIOLET. 
 
 the liigli- wrought spell that he had been cm- 
 ploying, nothing would have induced Violet to 
 consent to become his mistress ; and at this 
 moment, when the fever was over, his very love 
 upbraided him for his selfishness. 
 
 " She is not fit to be betrayed in this way ; 
 she may hate me for it," said D'Arcy, inwardly; 
 " I can now vanquish myself — be it so ; she 
 shall not be mine at such a cost ; she shall not 
 reproach me v>'ith the crime of her seduction. 
 I will leave her — I will persuade her no more ; 
 the fault would be all mine." 
 
 D'Arcy employed himself in restoring Violet 
 to consciousness. He took her to the open 
 window, and bathed her temples with eau de 
 Cologne. She recovered slowly, and when she 
 did so, he was bending over her, hardly less 
 pale and cold than she herself was. He was 
 not the same creature he had been while lately- 
 raving in the delirium of passion ; and if his 
 feelings were as deep, they appeared to have 
 assumed another form. When he thought 
 Violet had nearly revived, and saw she began 
 to remember the cause of her over-excitement, 
 D'Arcy led her gently to speak upon the sub- 
 ject.
 
 VIOLET. 49 
 
 " I am so very miserable/' said Violet ; " but 
 you are not going to leave me for ever? — 
 Surely I have been dreaming tliat ?" 
 
 " My darling love, forgive me/' answered 
 D'Arcy. '' Wlien you think of me hereafter, 
 it must not be in anger ; and do not think of 
 me — I do not ask it, love. Be happy, if you 
 can : it will render me, perhaps, less wretched. 
 You see, Violet, I am not so bad," continued 
 D'Arcy, trying to smile, and he kissed her 
 hands fervently ; and then, before she was 
 . aware of his intention, he quitted the room. 
 
 But when the door had closed upon him, 
 Violet Woodville cried out — '' Gone !" and a 
 wild scream hovered upon her lips. Her heart 
 swelled with a degree of sorrow which has 
 nothing in common with Avords or with tears ; 
 her utterance was choked, and stifling sobs 
 were heaving her bosom with their bursting 
 throes. She flung herself upon the floor, and 
 would have died then, for hers vras the srief 
 that brings recklessness of all things else in 
 the world ; — her despair was infinite ! D'Arcy 
 was gone ! Oh, what a burden life seemed ! 
 and how frantic was that wretchedness, unable 
 t« struggle with such an excess of grief ! 
 
 VOL. II. D
 
 50 VIOLET. 
 
 It was sucli a helpless, hopeless sorrow — to 
 see no more the cherished object of her deep 
 affection ! The darkness of a grave would 
 have seemed less appalling than this curtain 
 of woe cast over all that so feeling a heart held 
 most dear. 
 
 To live but for one, to dream of him, to 
 speak of him witli rapture, to thrill when the 
 music of his name is heard, to know what 
 heaven is in his presence ; to exist by his 
 remembrance, to listen for his very breath, 
 because his breathing is more to your exist- 
 ence than your own ; to worsliip his faults, 
 to know them, and to love them with infatua- 
 tion ; to devote your whole nature, your aspi- 
 rations, your hopes, your thoughts, your whole 
 soul, — to surrender all, to cast all at the shrine 
 of one object, and to know that suddenly it is 
 withdrawn from you, and you may never see it 
 more; — oh, reader, if thou hast been spared 
 such an anguish, think not that thy burden in 
 life has been great, — be not misled, overrate 
 not your afflictions, or rashly compare them 
 ■svith such as these. In a different sphere, 
 with more resources, with companions more 
 suitable to her, — vnth. admirers, ^^ith parents.
 
 VIOLET. 51 
 
 with society more fitted to a mind like liers, 
 which rose above its sphere of action, Violet 
 Woodville would not have experienced the 
 intense and overwhelming sentiment which 
 shipwrecked her happiness so utterly. She 
 would have had more causes to distract her 
 attention ; the greater variety, and the more 
 splendid circumstances of her existence, would 
 have stood in the way of the single-hearted- 
 ness of her passion. That, in higher life, 
 aifections like hers are formed, there can be 
 no doubt; but the gi-eat world exercises a com- 
 mand over those who live in it, which it never 
 rehnquishes. We may hate it, despise it ; we 
 often do, but, though we would abandon it, the 
 world will cling to us ; and with an iron sway, 
 and often, perhaps, a wholesome one, it grap- 
 ples vdih our best and our worst feelings. 
 We fear its irony, we so dread its pity, we dare 
 not be unlike all others, — for who is exempt 
 from yearning to seem as he sees all others 
 are, to rejoice sometimes like his fellows ? and 
 variety, the world's variety, when we are so 
 situated that we fall in with it, comes betwixt 
 us and that vi^'id, overpowering, uncaring de- 
 votion which rages and devours the springs of 
 
 d2
 
 52 VIOLET. 
 
 life itself, wlien it finds a home in a bosom like 
 Violet Woodville's, not counterbalanced by 
 the ten thousand events of a more selfish 
 existence. 
 
 From the relative positions of Violet Wood- 
 ville and her lover, all that more immediately 
 concerned her and the occurrences of daily 
 life, had become either circumstances of no 
 import, or grievously irksome ; they were not 
 in common with D'Arcy, and she could find 
 nothing to destroy the spell that was gather- 
 ing round her. Violet literally liked Lord 
 Stanmore, at last, only because he lived in the 
 same set, and was one of those with whom 
 D'Arcy associated. 
 
 It is always bad enough, under the best 
 auspices, to lose at last a happiness we have 
 created for ourselves, and in which we are 
 blindly trusting — '' Perdre un bonheur reve, 
 renoncer a tout un avenir, est une souffrance 
 plus aigue que celle causee par la ruine dune 
 felicite ressentie, quelque complete qu'elle ait 
 ete.'" * And then, too, when we are young, 
 we have so much to give, so much energy to 
 prostrate at the altar of our misery ! Violet's 
 
 * Balzac.
 
 VIOLET. 53 
 
 affection, without knowin<^ security, had ac- 
 quired that sleepy, confiding belief in the du- 
 ration of happiness, such as it was, on which 
 we all rely, more or less. This reliance is part 
 of our nature, and forms, as it seems to me, 
 one of its mysteries. 
 
 " II n'y a point de hasard; tout est esperance, 
 ou punition, ou prevoyance, ou recompense."* 
 
 The lamps were lighted, and it was quite 
 dusk when D'Arcy left the house of the 
 Woodvilles; about ten doors onwards this 
 street was intersected by another, and for 
 D'Arcy to pursue his way it was necessary to 
 go over the cross-road. 
 
 It so happened that two hack cabs were at 
 this moment disputing the pass ; one of the 
 drivers conceived his vehicle to have been in- 
 jured by the bad driving of his adversary, and 
 with a plentiful flow of slang they were black- 
 guarding each other on the spot. 
 
 " Hold your clapper, there, and don't kick 
 up no bobbery with me, or 111 dish your prad 
 nicely for you, my boy; don't give me your 
 clankers, and sneak on, I say." 
 
 * Voltaire.
 
 54 VIOLET. 
 
 The rejoinder being much to the same pur- 
 port, there seemed little chance of a peaceable 
 termination of the dispute. 
 
 At this moment D'Arcy's attention was for- 
 cibly called to the disturbance, and in an im- 
 perious tone he desired the drivers to move 
 ovit of the way, in order that he might pass; 
 at the same minute a man, who was beins: 
 driven in one of the vehicles, put forth his 
 head, and mingled his remonstrances against 
 this stoppage in the street. 
 
 " Settle 3^our quarrels as you will, but if you 
 don't drive me on, I will give you both over to 
 the police. Did not I tell you I had not a 
 a minute to lose ? drive me to the Burlington 
 directly,'' exclaimed the inmate of the cab, 
 most vehemently. 
 
 " Very well. Sir, you shall be bang up in a 
 crack, only I a'n't such a woolly crown to let 
 that 'ere yelping whisker- splitter think as I 
 am to be bammed because he is more up in 
 the stirrups than I, and I am blowed if I 
 don't—" 
 
 " How long, Sir, am I to be detained here 
 by your drunken quarrel? " cried D'Arcy, with
 
 VIOLET. 55 
 
 an angry burst of passion. The scene, so out 
 of harmony with his feelings, made him give 
 way to his temper. 
 
 " Mr. D'Arcy it certainly is," said the un- 
 lucky inside passenger of the cab, as the light 
 of the lamp fell upon D'Arcy's face. His re- 
 cognizer, however, did not aj>pear well known 
 to D'Arcy, or at all events he walked on with- 
 out acknowledging him. He had matters of 
 business to transact, and, late as the hour was, 
 D'Arcy felt they must be concluded before 
 the morning ; and in order to write letters, he 
 went to the Travellers'.
 
 ( 56 ) 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Untaught the useful lessons sadly given 
 By that time-honoured sage — Adversity, 
 The rash, impetuous, and misguided youth 
 Resents at once the slightest injury — 
 Unmindful of the consequences, seeks revenge- 
 Repenting, when too late, the deadly evils 
 Wrought by the pride that brooks not contradiction." 
 
 Old Fj.ay. 
 
 '' Duels, to be respected, must be fatal: 
 I am not bloody-mhided, but I hate all 
 Parade of valour — playing with edged tools, 
 The scorn of brave men, and the boast of fools. 
 There may be an exception ; but at school 
 We learn that the exception proves the rule." 
 
 Anon. 
 
 About nine o'clock on tlie evening previous to 
 D'Arcy's intended departure, Lord Stanmore 
 was sitting in a room in tlie Burlington Hotel. 
 His cabriolet had been waiting in tlie street 
 some time; he was going to join a party of his 
 friends who were dining at Richmond, and he 
 knew, although it was then nine o'clock, that 
 he was still likely to find them not dispersed. 
 For the twentieth time within the last hour 
 Lord Stanmore rang the bell violently.
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 57 
 
 " ''Is my servant not yet returned?" he de- 
 manded of the waiter. 
 
 " No, my Lord— stay, my Lord, I thmk I hear 
 his voice on the stairs now; — Mr. Cramx^ is 
 here, my Lord," said the waiter, making way 
 for a very smart gentleman in pumps bespat- 
 tered with mud, a bhie and silver waistcoat, 
 with a gold chain and a frock-coat, some inches 
 shorter in the skirt than most other people's : 
 his disordered hair, the moisture on Mr. 
 Cramp's face, and his hurried gait, did not 
 quite correspond with his degage toilette, and 
 he commenced making excuses for not being 
 within at an earlier hour. 
 
 *' Sir !" exclaimed Lord Stanmore in an an- 
 gry tone (his temper was not as docile as it 
 used to be) — '• Sir, what is the meaning of my 
 being detained here because you choose to 
 disobey my orders ?" 
 
 *'I beg your pardon, my Lord, it has been 
 owing to an haccident, my Lord, intirely." 
 
 "Nonsense ! I told you to be here by eight 
 o'clock ; you knew I wanted those cigars ; this 
 is the second time, but it shall be the last, that 
 I have been disappointed in getting those 
 cursed cigars, owing to your ill conduct." 
 
 D 3
 
 58 VIOLET. 
 
 " My Lord, I assure you it is not my fault ; I 
 o-ot into a cabriolet, and another driver ran 
 against the wheel of the cab, and there was a 
 dispute." Lord Stanmore made a gesture of 
 impatience. 
 
 '' I don't believe you. Bring the cigars, if 
 you please, now." 
 
 " Certainly, my Lord ; but I hope your Lord- 
 ship will be good enough to credit my word; 
 if not, there's Mr. d'Arcy, my Lord, and he 
 saw me." 
 
 "Mr. d'Arcy is not in London." 
 
 " He is, indeed, my Lord ; I saw him ; your 
 Lordship can ask him," continued Mr. Cramp, 
 disappearing in search of the cigars. On his 
 return with them he repeated to Lord Stan- 
 more that Mr. d'Arcy would vouch for his 
 story not being a fabricated excuse. " It was 
 just up at Bays^Yater, my Lord, where I have 
 been sometimes with messages that your Lord- 
 ship was particular in, to Mrs. Woodville, my 
 Lord." 
 
 " And 3'ou did not see Mr. d'Arcy there, 
 sir?" asked Lord Stanmore, with a low voice 
 and a flashing eye. 
 
 "Yes, it was not above fifty yards from their
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 59 
 
 house," Mr. Cramp eagerly replied, " when 
 these drunken fellows set up a row, and I 
 looked out for the police, which made me no- 
 tice Mr. d'Arcy coming out of Mr. Wood- 
 ville's ; I did not know it was him at first, till 
 I heard his voice speaking to the cab-men to 
 let him pass ; he will remember it, I am sure, 
 my Lord, and will justify me to your Lordship." 
 
 " Are you positive that you saw Mr. d'Arcy 
 coming out of the Woodvilles' house ?" 
 
 '' I am full positive of it, my Lord ; if your 
 Lordship think, for the sake of hexcuse, I 
 would tell you a falsehood, why then, my 
 
 Lord, " said Mr. Cramp, dramng himself 
 
 up in a dignified attitude. 
 
 *' I should like to know how it is," (Lord 
 Stanmore was trying to speak calmly,) "it 
 only being once, certainly not oftener, that I 
 sent you with a message to Mr. Woodville, and 
 it is long ago, you should remember so very 
 well which of those houses belonged to the 
 family — at dusk, too, and when you were not 
 near enough to read the numbers ?" 
 
 '' Oh, my Lord, why it did so happen that I 
 knew the house particularly well, because I
 
 60 VIOLET. 
 
 took the grouse your Lordsliip sent this very 
 morning to Mr. Woodville; my business lay in 
 that direction, and John was in a great hurry 
 about a little matter of his own ; so, as I was 
 going that way, to haccommodate him, I took 
 the grouse into the homnibus with me, and got 
 out and left it myself at Mr. Woodville's, by 
 which way I happened to know the house 
 again ; it is a himitation rose-wood painted 
 door ; all the other doors are different. Mr. 
 Woodville was not at home or his lady, honly 
 Miss Woodville ; and Mr. and Mrs. Woodville 
 was gone out for the whole day, the woman 
 said that let me in, and that they was not to 
 be home till very late ; and that was true, for 
 I met them both in a one-horse gig here in 
 Park Lane not ten minutes back." 
 " What, after you saw Mr. d'Arcy ?" 
 " Oh, Mr. d'Arcy must have been gone on 
 his way for half an hour before I got to Park 
 Lane, for when the man did pretend to be 
 driving me on, the other fellow he had quar- 
 relled with raced after him, and so then I 
 
 jumped out and called the police, and " 
 
 " That's enough : you are, however, clear in
 
 VIOLET. 61 
 
 having made no mistake about Mr. d'Arcy?'* 
 repeated Lord Stanmore, in an accent that was 
 almost tremulous. 
 
 " The lamp fell on his face, my Lord, I could 
 not make a herror, and I heard his voice, tell- 
 ing the men to get out of his way. Is your 
 Lordship's cabriolet to wait?" 
 
 "No, send it away — stay — yes, let it wait." 
 In about half an hour Lord Stanmore gave 
 orders for his groom to drive with a letter to 
 
 ■ Street, and to wait for the answer. 
 
 The letter was directed to G. d'Arcy, Esq. 
 The groom soon returned, saying he had 
 left the letter, that Air. d'Arcy was not yet 
 come in, that his servant expected him to be 
 late, as he was going to set off for abroad next 
 day at six o'clock, and had a great many things 
 to do which would occupy him in different 
 parts of the town. 
 
 '' Abroad — going abroad?" said Lord Stan- 
 more, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Yes, my Lord, so his servant said." 
 " Oh, you must have misunderstood him." 
 " No, my Lord ; and there was nothing but 
 portmanteaus and packages in the passage^ 
 and tradespeople. There was Mr. Occult, as
 
 62 VIOLET. 
 
 is your Lordship's tailor, and a man with 
 Hindy- rubber cloaks: it seemed like going 
 somewhere in a sudden." 
 
 " To-morrow, at six o'clock ?" 
 
 " Yes, my Lord, the servant said so ; it was 
 Mr. d'Arcy's own valley I saw." 
 
 " Umph ! you may go, drive my cab round : 
 be in the way with it, if you are Avanted." 
 
 Left alone. Lord Stanmore remained lost in 
 reflection. He considered for a long time, and 
 several times his hand was upon the bell, but he 
 did not quite pull it. At length he did pull it, 
 and sent for his cab. He left the hotel, leaving 
 word where he was going, and that if any let- 
 ter should come for him it must be brought to 
 him immediatel}'. 
 
 About one in the morning D'Arcy returned 
 to his lodgings. The passage gave nearly 
 all the evidence of the departure that Lord 
 Stanmore's groom had so eloquently de- 
 scribed ; only " Mr. Occidt and the Hindy- 
 rubber" gentlemen, and several more of that 
 species, had given way to the suggestions of 
 impatience, and instead of themselves, their 
 foremen were in waiting as their representa- 
 tives.
 
 VIOLET. 63 
 
 D'Arcy's tables were strewed with letters 
 fastened with wafers ; while boxes and leathern 
 cases covered the floor. 
 
 With a tired hand he proceeded to open 
 some of these wafered missives — that is to say, 
 bills ; and to listen, or to appear to listen, to 
 the details of his servant : " I will light the 
 lamp. Sir — Mr. Occult has left his account with 
 me, and I have promised to give it to you — 
 and Mr. Spring said he had made some little 
 repairs to the case of your new gun. Sir, that 
 were not in the bill, he thought. Sir; — and I 
 took the box to have the Bramah's lock put. — 
 Will you have something. Sir T asked D'Arcy's 
 servant, interrupting himself. 
 
 "Something! What?" answered D'Arcy, 
 sternly. 
 
 " You look so ill. Sir, I thought you were 
 fatigued. Sir." 
 
 '' Oh ! go on — did you go to the right watch- 
 maker's ! " 
 
 " Yes, Sir — but he says he ought to be keep- 
 ing the watch a day or two, so I brought it 
 back; and I went to Treuttel and Wurtz, 
 and they are to send the French books this 
 evening, and if they were not able to get
 
 64 VIOLET. 
 
 them, they will forward them to you by the 
 Foreign-office, and I called at Andrews' about 
 the Quarterly, and I paid the bill at Hook- 
 ham's. — Oh, and here are the letter covers. 
 Sir, and I have seen about the patent lamp ; 
 and I left your message at Tattersall's, with a 
 man there that I know ; and I have been about 
 the carriage, and spoke to Barker as well as 
 Hobson — and all your letters and notes, I have 
 seen to their being sent, and — Oh, Sir, here 
 is a letter from Lord Stanmore; his groom 
 brought it^ Sir, a couple of hours back." 
 
 " Give me the letter," said D'Arcy, and with 
 surprise and impatience, he tore off the en- 
 velope and began reading. 
 
 " Madame Vestris went to C?vlais yesterday, 
 so I left the note. Sir ; and Lord Arthur is not 
 at Knightsbridge-barracks. Oh ! and the pis- 
 tols are all right now. Sir ; and here is the old 
 road-book I have found. Sir, and the map is 
 not torn ; and all the other things, I need not 
 give you the trouble of mentioning to you, but 
 I think I have seen to nearly every thing — I 
 went into Bond-street about the razors and — " 
 " Leave me, Howell, now," said D'Arcy, '' I 
 have something to attend to."
 
 J^ 
 
 VIOLET. 65 
 
 " Yes, Sir/' answered Howell ; but he was at- 
 tached to his master, and his worn appearance 
 still attracted his notice as he left the room. 
 
 There was nothing very restoring in the 
 letter D'Arcy had just opened. It was a 
 charge made by Lord Stanmore, accusing 
 him of having broken his promise in again 
 attempting to see Miss Woodville, and call- 
 ing upon him, if he could, to deny it. In 
 conclusion, he declared himself ready to give 
 the satisfaction of a gentleman, should D'Arcy 
 think proper to resent his present inter- 
 ference. It was, in short, a most angry letter, 
 couched in the cold language of one trying not 
 to appear angry. If any man could read with 
 perfect calmness a summons like this to life or 
 death, as it might be, that man was George 
 d'Arcy. He was endovred with both physical 
 and moral courage to a most unusual extent, 
 and was incapable of a nervous pang. In fact, 
 so well was D'Arcy aware of his own nerves 
 and his moral inaccessibilitv to fear, that he 
 rather felt himself gifted with an undue advan- 
 tage over his fellow-men, of which he would not 
 for the world have boasted ; and now, at this
 
 66 VIOLET. 
 
 moment, he felt careless of life, so that there was 
 no hesitation in his proceedings, as there might 
 have been at a happier period. He wrote two 
 notes, one to Lord Stanmore, stating, in few 
 words, that his departure on that morning 
 could not be delayed, that he had no doubt of 
 both being able to find seconds ; and requested 
 Lord Stanmore to meet him at five o'clock. 
 D'Arcy named the spot. The other note was 
 to a friend, an acquaintance rather — to ask 
 him to be his second. These dispatched, 
 D'Arcy threw himself upon a couch, desired 
 the light to be withdrawn, and that he might 
 not be disturbed for one hour. 
 
 His orders were obeyed : at the expiration of 
 the hour Howell entered the room. 
 
 '' Oh !" exclaimed D'Arcy, passing his hand 
 across his brow, "Bring me a light ; and now 
 for the letter you have in your hand." ^ 
 
 D'Arcy read it — it was from Lord Stanmore, 
 who promised to find a second, if possible, so 
 as to be on the ground at the hour D'Arcy 
 required, five o'*clock — it w^as then half-past 
 three. 
 
 " Get me some fresh ink," said D'Arcy. " If
 
 VIOLET. 67 
 
 any one asks for me, show him up. You may- 
 go to bed, Howell, only leave word to admit 
 any one, with some servant below." 
 
 D' Arcy had few near relations ; there was no 
 mother, father, or brother, to whom to bequeath 
 his final injunctions, or to whose tenderness 
 he desired to make a last appeal : but he had 
 some friends. He might be inclined at this 
 moment to Aalue friendship lightly. Almost 
 his most intimate friend had requested to have 
 the opportunity of shooting him that very 
 morning. D'Arcy ^^Tote only two letters, one 
 of business, and one to Violet Woodville. — 
 These were only to be sent in case of his death. 
 A servant ushered in Sir Lewis G. 
 
 The table at which D'Arcy wrote was lit- 
 tered with papers. Not choosing that the ad- 
 dress of the letter to Violet should fall under 
 the eye of a stranger, he had intended to in- 
 close it in an envelope, addressed to Howell, on 
 whom he could depend, with directions for its 
 deliverance only in case of his death. But, on 
 the abrupt entrance of Sir Lewis G. (for the 
 servant remembered D' Arcy's orders, that how- 
 ever late, any one asking for him was to be
 
 68 VIOLET. 
 
 admitted), D'Arcy caiiglit up the letter to 
 Violet, as lie thought, and hastily put it under 
 its cover. At the same instant, his eye fell upon 
 the minute-hand of his watch, which lay before 
 him : he saw it was past four ; he felt he had no 
 time to lose — he scaled the envelope, and did 
 not discover, that instead of inclosing the letter 
 addressed to Miss Woodville, he had taken up 
 another which he had written in the morning 
 to a friend at Doncaster, and which he had 
 forgotten altogether; it was sealed — ^he did 
 not, at the instant, tahc the unnecessary pre- 
 caution, as he conceived, of examining the 
 address. 
 
 " Mr. d'Arcy," said Sir Lewis, " you are ac- 
 quainted, I know, with the nature of the errand 
 upon which I am come ; I am ignorant of the 
 cause of this unhappy quarrel, and, in fulfilling 
 the part which Lord Stanmore has imposed 
 upon mc, I would give a great deal to be the 
 bearer of some explanation." 
 
 " I am much obliged," said D'Arcy, inter- 
 rupting him ; " but in this instance there can 
 be no explanation. The aggression was made 
 by Lord Stanmore. I, however, am the of-
 
 VIOLET. 69 
 
 fended party, to a greater extent than he con- 
 ceives himself to be — so that it is impossible to 
 settle this dispute but in one way. I have 
 •written to Charles Crofton, to ask him to be 
 my second. I know he is in town, for I met 
 him last evening ; but there is so little time. 
 Have you pistols. Sir Lems ?" 
 
 This question Sir Lewis answered in the af- 
 firmative. 
 
 '' That will do — I told Crofton to procure 
 them, and I fear it is that which is delaying 
 him. Stay, I hear him now. — Crofton," said 
 D'Arcy, advancing towards a handsome youth, 
 who had entered the room, '' that's a good fel- 
 low — 111 do as much for you another time." 
 
 '' I see," said Sir Lewis, " I have only to 
 take my leave. IMr. d'Arcy, you will find my 
 principal on the ground as soon as yourself — 
 at least, if he should not be exact, it will not 
 be his fault." 
 
 " Oh, Stanmore will be there. Sir Lewis ; I 
 would have given him longer time, but I am 
 under orders to leave England, and no excuse 
 for my delay would be received at the Foreign- 
 office, as I could not give the real one. Per-
 
 70 VIOLET. 
 
 haps you will be good enough to explain tliis 
 to Lord Stanmore ? '' 
 
 " Certainly," and, bowing, Sir Lewis left the 
 room. 
 
 "My dear D'Arcy," said Crofton, "what 
 have you been quarrelling about ?" 
 
 " I cannot very well tell you — but I think 
 Stanmore is in the wrong. However, I cannot 
 explain. I never was so sorry for any business 
 in my life. Oh — but you do not mind being 
 my second, Crofton ?" 
 
 " Mind ! I would do it for you every day in 
 the week, if you asked me, D'Arcy ; but you 
 and Stanmore were such allies, — sometliing 
 could be done to prevent " 
 
 " No, and for that very reason, when friends 
 quarrel, you are quite sure the quarrel is an 
 irreconcileable one. When I have fought with 
 Stanmore, I may like him better than I do at 
 this moment — but fight him I must. Good 
 God ! I have forgotten to order my cab — we 
 shall be late — never mind, we may meet with 
 a coach: that chance is better than waiting. 
 Crofton, we must be off. ' 
 
 To avoid giving rise to suspicion, the two
 
 ^^OLET. 71 
 
 friends went out of the house by means of 
 D'Arcy's key,, and with rapid steps pursued 
 their way to . 
 
 The grey mist of a September morning was 
 still perceptible in the atmosphere, and there 
 is, even in the vicinity of London, a freshness 
 and sweetness in the air, at that early hour, 
 which is not in accordance with ugly undertak- 
 ings of any sort : I think at early dawn it always 
 seems as if the day were still too young to be 
 giving birth to deeds of evil. However, these 
 fastidious observations probably did not enter 
 the minds of the four gentlemen who were 
 assembled — some to shoot at each other, and 
 the others to aid and abet them in so doing. 
 
 Lord Stanmore had been thinking of his 
 sick mother, and of her doting affection for 
 him. He had many near relations besides to 
 whom he was attached, and though he had met 
 with offences, he was more angry with the 
 world than hating it. His conscience, too, told 
 him that he had been precipitate in the word- 
 ing, at least, of his letter to D' Arcy. Since he 
 had heard of his intended departure for the 
 Continent, he could not feel certain how far 
 his former friend might be guilty, and whether
 
 72 VIOLET. 
 
 he was justifiable or not in wishing to take a 
 last adieu of the Woodvilles. D'Arcy had 
 been his greatest friend, and now he was on 
 the point of a hostile meeting with him. 
 
 Lord Stanmore was impetuous and spoiled, 
 though noble and generous at the same time : 
 the more he feared he might be wrong, the 
 more he desired to assure himself he was in 
 the right ; and when he beheld D'Arcy, he 
 was oblio'ed to redouble his inward re-assur- 
 ances, for he feared lest his arm should shake 
 when he held the weapon that might deprive 
 his friend of existence. '' I will not fire in the 
 air," said Lord Stanmore to himself; " but I 
 will purposely miss my aim." 
 
 The seconds measured the usual twelve 
 paces, and placed their principals on the 
 ground. 
 
 D'Arcy was thoughtful. '' If I fall," said 
 he, inwardly, '' I should like this matter ex- 
 plained to Stanmore : he thinks I have broken 
 .my word." 
 
 '' Are you ready, D'Arcy ?" asked Crofton. 
 
 It had been arranged that they were to fire 
 together, at a given signal, taking aim before- 
 hand, or not, as they pleased.
 
 VIOLET. 73 
 
 Lord Stanmore raised his pistol carelessly, 
 wishing to miss his antagonist. D'Arcy, on 
 the contrary, deliberately pointed his weapon 
 at the heart of his opponent. 
 
 It was an awful moment, for he was either 
 barbarously or ostentatiously levelling his 
 pistol with a murderous precision. The in- 
 stant they stood thus proved sufficient to show 
 their positions to Crofton, who was a very 
 young man, and to induce him to break 
 through all rules, and to obey the impulse of 
 his heart, by rushing up to D'Arcy. and ex- 
 claiming, in an under tone — 
 
 " Stanmore is evidently not aiming at you, 
 D'Arcy ; are 3^ou bent on hitting him ?" 
 *' You will see," was D'Arcy's brief reply. 
 Crofton regained his ground, and the signal 
 for firing was immediately given. 
 
 The time it took for Crofton to speak to 
 D'Arcy was the affair of an instant, but it had 
 disarran2:ed Lord Stanmore's aim — his atten- 
 tion was diverted at a moment too critical, and 
 when the rapidly-given signal was made, his 
 hand proved unsteady, and, unaccountably as 
 it seemed to him, he shot D'Arcy in the side. 
 D'Arcy was likely to prove more exact in 
 
 VOL. II. E
 
 74 VIOLET. 
 
 executing his intentions ; Lord Stanmore was 
 younger, more inexperienced, and swayed by 
 softer feelings ; D' Arcy was a practised shot ; 
 he had before fought a duel, and his mind was 
 previously more resolved, his sentiments more 
 harshly strung. So, when he fired in the air, 
 much as it was at variance with his demonstra- 
 tions one second previously, there was no rea- 
 son to conclude that his design had been 
 changed at the moment of its execution. 
 
 '* My W'Oimd is not dangerous," were 
 D'Arcy's first words to Crofton and Lord 
 Stanmore. 
 
 A surgeon, who was in waiting at a conve- 
 nient distance, was called for. 
 
 *' This is horrible !" said Lord Stanmore, 
 with much feeling ; " and God is my witness I 
 did not mean it : and you, D'Arcy — you fired 
 in the air !" 
 
 " I meant to do so," answered D'Arcy ; 
 " however, you have not hurt me much. You 
 moved your arm when Crofton spoke to me." 
 
 The surgeon approached, and examined the 
 wound. 
 
 " It is not dangerous, that is, it may not be," 
 said he.
 
 VIOLET. Id 
 
 " Thank God for it !" exclaimed Lord Stan- 
 more, and a load was taken off his mind. 
 
 D'Arcy was too weak to move without assist- 
 ance ; he was supported to the surgeon's car- 
 riage, and conveyed to his lodgings, and thus 
 for the present ended his departure for the 
 continent. 
 
 '' Your going up to D'Arcy after I had 
 given the first signal was contrary to all rule/' 
 said Sir Lewis to Crofton, as they walked to 
 their respective homes, after the proceedings 
 we have described. 
 
 " I know it was," answered Crofton, " but 
 what man could have forborne in such a case ? 
 I thought the devil must have been in D'Arcy, 
 and if he had hit Stanmore he would have 
 been very sorry afterwards. I really thought 
 he was under some delusion." 
 
 *' I believe he never intended otherwise than 
 as he did," rejoined Sir Lewis. 
 
 " Then why choose to assume such a differ- 
 ent appearance ?" 
 
 " I dont know. D'Arcy is singular some- 
 times. I think he was very angry with Stan- 
 more, and that he determined to exasperate 
 him if he could. He saw directly that Stan- 
 
 e2
 
 76 -VIOLET. 
 
 more was not going to shoot him, and he 
 would give him no encouragement to abstain." 
 
 " Well, he is an odd fellow — D'Arcy." 
 
 " So I think," returned Sir Lewis, as he and 
 Crofton separated at the end of the street. 
 
 Violet feigned illness the day following the 
 last eventful evening. Mrs. Hummings aided 
 her in this deception, for that excellent woman 
 felt considerable uneasiness lest the Wood- 
 villes should discover her having so easily 
 admitted Mr. d'Arcy, when they were not at 
 home. 
 
 " I shall send to Mr. Camphor, I think," 
 said Mrs. Woodville to her husband ; " Violet 
 seems quite ill." 
 
 " You had much better ; but she wants 
 change of air more than old Camphor. I must 
 see and take you all to Ramsgate or to Broad- 
 stairs ; Margate is more to my taste, but " 
 
 " Oh, Margate is so very vulgar ! Brighton 
 is the only place to my fanc3^ I abvays think 
 all other sea-side situations disagree with me; 
 the air is too keen, and my lungs yet too deli- 
 cate with being on the stage." 
 
 '^ Don't talk that nonsense to me, Lcetitia," 
 said Woodville, impatiently; " say outright at
 
 VIOLET. dl. 
 
 once that Brighton is a gay place, and that 
 therefore 3'ou hkc it better than Ramsgatc or 
 Broadstairs. I am sure I don't care^ — you may 
 have it your own way — onh^ Brighton is dearer. 
 However, I hate screwing. So, to Brigliton 
 let us go. Poor Violet ! it may amuse her too. 
 I am often unhappy now, when I look at that 
 child ; she is not as she used to be. I wish to 
 Heaven not a gentleman in London had ever 
 set his foot in my house/' continued Wood- 
 ville with a sigh; and his wife hastened to 
 change the conversation ; she knew that it was 
 taking a turn that often sufficed to sour her 
 husband's temper for the whole day, and it 
 was almost the onl}'- circumstance that could 
 do that. 
 
 " I think ?dr. Dupas will go also to 
 Brighton, and we might take a house toge- 
 ther, and be very comfortable. I like the 
 West Cliff." 
 
 " Have 3'ou sent for Mr. Camphor ? " 
 
 "Yes; — I am sending, that is." 
 
 •' Do it, then, or I shall walk to Mr. Cam- 
 phor's myself, it is the only way to get a thing 
 done in this house ; what a dawdle you are I 
 The child is ill, and you just talk of do'ng a
 
 78 VIOLET. 
 
 thing;" and with a displeased manner Wood- 
 ville quitted the room. 
 
 When Camphor arrived, he proved of more 
 use than he was in the habit of being, for 
 though he neither knew of, nor could relieve, 
 the unhappiness that was weighing dow^n his 
 young patient, still he discovered that she was 
 feverish and wanted rest, and he therefore 
 gave her some effervescent draughts, combin- 
 ing an opiate, that would procure her a couple 
 of hours repose. Her room w^as darkened, 
 and Violet was left alone, by Mr. Camphor's 
 orders ; and under the influence of his medi- 
 cine she fell asleep. In about two hours she 
 awoke, refreshed, and with a little recovered 
 energy, — enough, at least, to desire to get up, 
 and to assure her parents she was better, — nay, 
 quite w^ell. 
 
 The Vroodvilles were engaged this evening 
 to drink tea with Mr. and Mrs. Augustus Oc- 
 tavian, of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden. 
 Woodville desired his wife to go, while he re- 
 mained at home, — Violet urged him not; and 
 the kindly dispute was ended by Dupas, who 
 came in to pay his usual visit, and declared 
 that he should stay with Violet, and that, as
 
 VIOLET. SV 
 
 she was not well, one person's society would be 
 better for her than that of two. Poor Wood- 
 villc made many an inquiry about her healtli, 
 and gazed upon his child with the most earnest 
 looks of solicitude. 
 
 '' You are feverish still, my poor Uttle dar- 
 ling," said he, taking her hand. 
 
 " No, dear father," answered Violet, heavily ; 
 " no, I am much better ; — go with my mother, 
 and don't think of me, — I shall be so well 
 to-morrow." 
 
 M. Dupas tried to amuse Violet ; he talked 
 to her, and offered to read out to her ' Adele 
 et Theodore.' This offer was accepted because 
 it saved her the trouble of talking, which she 
 felt quite unequal to. M. Dupas therefore 
 emitted from liis lungs, with patient unction, 
 about half a dozen pages of Madame de Gen- 
 lis' tiede French sentiment, when he was dis- 
 turbed by a sigh. Such a sigh ! a low and 
 quivering sigh ; the sigh that can convey such 
 real evidence of A\Tetchedness. 
 
 The old man heard it with a beating heart, 
 for he was shocked with the conviction of the 
 great unhappincss of one so dear to him. He 
 turned round and beheld Violet Woodville
 
 80 VIOLET. 
 
 leaning with her arm upon the table. Her face 
 rested on her hand, and was turned from liim ; 
 but there was sadness in her very attitude, 
 and she was so abstracted that she did not 
 even take notice of the pause in his reading. 
 
 Dupas waited, in order to see whether she 
 w^ould not speak ; but his silence occasioned 
 no observation, and he was persuaded that 
 his pupil was unconscious of it. 
 
 " Were you amused by my reading ? " said 
 he. 
 
 "Yes; you are tired, I fear," answered 
 Violet, rousing herself, with an attempt to 
 smile, and then her lips contracted again, and 
 resumed their former expression. 
 
 It is well known that the muscles of the 
 mouth have more to do with our feelings than 
 any other feature of the face. The eye can 
 look clear and bright while we are mentally 
 suffering. The forehead may not show its 
 marks of care, and with an effort all our fea- 
 tures may seem composed, and with them we 
 may deceive those who are not close observers ; 
 such, however, will discover in the lips, in the 
 lines of the mouth, the involuntary evidence 
 of the mind's action. And when, in the hour
 
 VIOLET. 81 
 
 of grief, we do smile, what a wretclied smile it 
 is, and liow quickly tlie pale lips go quivering 
 back to their true expression ! 
 
 " No, I am not tired, but you, mon enfant, 
 vous I'etes. There is always consolation when 
 we do that which is right," said M. Dupas, 
 slowly, — for he was speaking, not to what 
 Violet had said, but to that which her counte- 
 nance was telling, while, with a penetrating 
 eye, he watched its workings. 
 
 ^' There is, I hope,'' answered Violet. 
 
 '' We have all our sorrows, or we have had 
 them," continued M. Dupas ; " and when they 
 arc irremediable, it becomes us to exert our- 
 selves, and to remember, que le hon Dieu sends 
 oiily the trials that we ought to withstand, — 
 that he is the dispenser of all our griefs as 
 well as of our joys, and so, when we are broken- 
 hearted, il y a toujours Dieu, et sur lui on j^eut 
 se reposer : il nous aime quand le monde ne 
 nous aime pas, et quand nous naimons j^as le 
 monde.'"' 
 
 " It is hard to have so much to bear when 
 we are young." 
 
 " But it is in the time of youth the lessons 
 of God will make the most impression. They 
 
 E 3
 
 "82 VIOLET. 
 
 are sent us then to form our characters, and 
 to steady us for the years that are to come, — 
 En tout, et pour tout, la Providence a raison." 
 
 '' I will endeavour to think it is so,'' replied 
 Violet, in a tone of the very deepest dejection; 
 • " only it would be better to die, and to be 
 spared our sorrow." 
 
 '' My child, that may seem true, but without 
 ..knowing sorrow would 3-ou be fit to die ? you 
 would have given no proof of virtue." 
 
 A letter was brought into the room at this 
 moment. It was addressed to '' Miss Wood- 
 ville," and in a hand- writing she did not know. 
 She opened it with a presentiment of evil, which 
 was not extraordinary, for her nerves were 
 shaken, and were ready to give Avay to every 
 possible impression of ill that could be de- 
 vised ; and women's nerves are wonderful 
 diviners in that way sometimes. 
 
 She opened the letter. It was an envelope 
 enclosing a small folded note, and a letter 
 besides, sealed with D'Arcy's arms, also ad- 
 dressed to her, and in his hand. On seeing 
 this Violet grew pale : she felt she could not 
 ^ conceal her emotion, and rose to leave the 
 Tooni. M. Dupas observed her without re-
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 S3 
 
 mark : lie felt his interference could hardly be 
 of use ; but, at the same thue, there was a 
 mystery hangmg over this child of his adop- 
 tion, which cruelly disturbed the old man. 
 
 In the meantime Violet was alone, and 
 reading as follows : — '' You will only receive 
 this in the event of my being fatally wounded. 
 I could not leave the world without saying a 
 farewell to one whom, I fear, I may have in- 
 jured. If you loved me, Violet, you have had 
 your excuse ; for no man ever tried more to 
 win a woman's heart; and if in tliis I have 
 proved your enemy, I have had my punish- 
 ment, for I have loved in vain — and I have 
 loved. 
 
 '' Wliat I have felt, you will never know ; 
 for you may be the victim of feehng, but not 
 of passion. 
 
 " And now, Violet, forgive me, if, for your 
 sake, I endeavour to destroy the illusion I have 
 helped to create : it is the only reparation I 
 have it now in my power to make you. 
 
 " Believe me, then, dearest, when I tell you 
 to build no more upon the romance of life, and 
 despise not its dull realities. 
 
 " Be certain it is better to esteem fully, than
 
 84 VIOLET. 
 
 to love fully. You arc j'oung: time is all 
 before you, and it is your duty to exert your- 
 self. Forget me, for my sake; there are better 
 men tlian I am ; and I could be contented, 
 were I but assured that your future fate ^YOuld 
 be in the hands of one of honourable character. 
 Remember this. May Heaven bless you, my 
 beloved one ! 
 
 " G. D'Arcy." 
 
 On first reading this letter, Violet was so 
 shocked at the commencement, that she hardly 
 entered into its full meaning : when at last she 
 comprehended the force of the opening para- 
 graph, she rent the air with a wild scream. It 
 was heard, and the servants and M. Dupas 
 hastened to her room. 
 
 She was sitting on the floor, with the most 
 haggard expression of despair. The letter 
 was in her hand. On beholding her old friend, 
 Violet jumped up, and threw her arms round 
 his neck. 
 
 " Save me ! Save me !'' she exclaimed. 
 
 "From what, my child?" said M. Dupas, 
 terrified at her manner. 
 
 " Oh, save me !" she continued, in convul- 
 sive accents.
 
 VIOLET. 85 
 
 " But from what ? — Speak ; parlez — ^mon 
 enfant." 
 
 Violet sank down, and threw herself at the 
 feet of M. Dupas. 
 
 " He is not dead," she gasped. " Save me 
 
 from it It must be that I am deranged P' 
 
 cried the poor girl, in broken accents, burying 
 her brow in one hand. M. Dupas saw the 
 letter she held in the other. He took it from 
 her, and perused it ; while he did so, he knelt 
 down by the side of Violet, and held her hand ; 
 she gazed up in his face, with a terrible ex- 
 pression of anxiety. 
 
 " Mais il y avoit encore une lettre ?" said 
 M. Dupas. Violet made no answer; she did 
 not understand him. The old man discovered 
 on the ground the folded note he remembered 
 to have seen her take out likewise. 
 
 " Ah, la voila !" he exclaimed, and read it, 
 while his countenance brightened. 
 
 " Eh bien," said the old man, with delight; 
 " je vous I'ai bien dit, il ne faut pas se deses- 
 perer. II vit, ma chere — calme toi." 
 
 When Violet heard these words she burst 
 into tears, and M. Dupas wept likewise.
 
 86 VIOLET. 
 
 The note was from Howell, and couched in 
 the following words : — 
 
 " Madam, — The enclosed was given to me 
 by Mr. d'Arcy, and forgotten to be sent in 
 time with his other letters. My master was 
 in such confusion of business, setting off, and 
 particularly myself, that I have forgotten it 
 sooner. I think, Ma'm, as you will have heard 
 of Mr. d'Arcy fighting with my Lord, that I 
 may be so bold as to make free to tell you, 
 Mr. Brodie thinks master will do well, and is 
 not in no danger. I hope it is not of conse- 
 quence my forgetting the letter. 
 
 " Your humble obedient servant, 
 
 *^J. Howell." 
 
 Violet's were tears of joy, and M. Dupas's 
 were for joy too. He was too kind-hearted 
 not to be relieved by ceasing to behold the 
 distracting anguish of Violet Woodville. 
 
 Tlie letter which he had read so opportunely, 
 and which Violet had totally overlooked, was, as 
 we have seen, from Howell, D'Arcy's servant. 
 
 As scon as the first excitement caused by 
 his master's disaster was over, Howell, still 
 fearful lest he should be blamed for pre^^ous
 
 VIOLET. 87 
 
 neglect, aware, as he conceived himself, of the 
 importance D'Arcy attached to any letter to 
 Miss Woodville, forwarded this one to her, 
 without additional delay ; and with the amiable 
 desire of relieving her anxiety, in case the 
 news of the duel had reached her, he enclosed 
 the specimen of his caligraphy which has been 
 presented to the reader.
 
 ( 88 ) 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 "The maid that loves 
 Goes out to sea upon a shattered plank. 
 And puts her trust in miracles for safety." 
 
 Violet met with much kindness from her 
 parents. They sympathised, in some degree, 
 in her distress, and, being ignorant of 
 D'Arcy's true conduct to their daughter, they 
 were willing to be very glad when they heard 
 that he was likely to recover, — especially as 
 they were then aware that he was intending to 
 proceed to the Continent. 
 
 M. Dupas alone guessed how deeply Violet's 
 happiness was involved by D'Arcy. But he 
 knew now of no remedy, and, with genuine 
 good sense, he wished to spare her from 
 family reproaches and advice, which are never 
 so unpalatable as when they have become use- 
 less.
 
 VIOLET. 89 
 
 Day after day Violet solaced herself by 
 reading her lover's parting letter, and, day 
 after day, her affection sank deeper in her 
 bosom. 
 
 His duel and his danger had endeared him 
 to her. Her terror at the idea of his death 
 had almost deprived her of reason, and she 
 began to have a fear of the force of her own 
 feelings. So strange and so inconsistent is 
 the human heart, that, independently of her 
 love for D'Arcy, she began to feel for herself 
 at last, and a kind of nervous selfishness came 
 over her. She dreaded the horror of her own 
 mental sufferings, and often said to herself, in 
 the event of a further separation, " I could not 
 bear it!" 
 
 Then, and not till then, was Violet Wood- 
 ville in dang-er of fallino;. It was now that 
 she required a friend to support and to con- 
 sole her, to rouse her moral courage by as- 
 surances of that great truth, — that we are 
 never called upon to endure more than we are 
 equal to contend with, and that where there is 
 weakness there is guilt. But Violet Vv'ood- 
 ville had no friend to do this, since her father
 
 90 VIOLET. 
 
 and mother were in comparative ignorance of 
 her situation. M. Dupas, if he understood it 
 better, could scarcely act, for, while she had 
 received his advice, she had never made him 
 her confidant ; consequently, he knew not of 
 her moral danger. 
 
 Violet wrote to D'Arcy, — the letter was wet 
 with her tears. She besou2:ht him to assure 
 her himself that his life was safe. Hummino;s 
 took this letter, and brought her the answer, 
 and from that day Violet indulged in a clan- 
 destine correspondence with her admirer. 
 
 As he got better, her spirits returned, — she 
 looked happier than she had done for a long 
 time, — D'Arcy's letters were the cure to her 
 mind, — she gave way to the bliss of receiving 
 them, — and on these letters Violet might be 
 said to live. Poor Violet ! it was so great a 
 relief to her not to be so oppressed with such 
 an Atlas-like load of despair. 
 
 She hoped again ! — what she hoped she 
 knew not ; but she did hope, and if in hoping', 
 she was sinning we must believe her giulty. 
 How often in life should we not call on death 
 to end our woes if it w^ere not for the unde-
 
 VIOLET. ©f 
 
 fined trust that gently leads us on, and softens 
 all our sorrows ! Man may bless his God when 
 he solaces him with hope. 
 
 Violet was informed by D' Arcy of the origin 
 of his quarrel with Lord Stanmore. This, 
 likewise, riveted her chains. D'Arc}^ then, had 
 Teceived his wound on her account, and tears 
 iilled the eyes of Violet whenever she remem- 
 tbered this fact. 
 
 Her father now proposed mo\'ing to 
 Brighton, and the heart of his daughter 
 abounded with joy, for, as soon as he was able, 
 D'Arcy was to proceed thither for his health. 
 
 The Woodvilles took one of the small 
 houses on the West Cliff, in one of the back 
 streets leading up from the shore. Mrs. 
 Wood\ille w^as excessively happy in being 
 at Brighton, and Woodville was very well 
 pleased likewise. They met wdth some of 
 their London friends, and Mrs. Woodville 
 liked frequenting the libraries of an evening, 
 and hearing the bad singing, and putting her 
 half-crowns into a lottery-box, and rejoicing 
 over the sixpenny article she received, as the 
 well earned recompense. Then she liked
 
 92 VIOLET. 
 
 shrimps for breakfast, — to be sure, in October 
 they were scarce, but, en revanche, they had 
 excellent ^vhiting, and the potatoes were so 
 good at the sea- side, Mrs. Woodvillc declared. 
 The walks on the Esplanade, too, had a great 
 charm for her. And then, the Octavians and 
 Mr. Brown arrived one day, and took up their 
 quarters at the large boarding-house over 
 Wright's library. Besides these, it must be 
 owned that their friends of another kind were 
 scarce. There was, to be sure, the one Lon- 
 don dandy, who is always to be seen about 
 Brighton. There never is but one, par paren- 
 these, — two at the same time were phenomena 
 not to be met vAth. The present dandy was 
 not an acquaintance of the Woodvilles ; but 
 they heard of him as living at the Albion, and 
 frequenting the club, and playing ecarte with 
 a rich and vulgar Mr. Canterbury, a retired 
 Avax-doU maker ; and they saw him occasion- 
 ally lounging about with one hand in his 
 pocket, and blowing his nose, when it blew 
 hard, with a cambric pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 The Woodvilles were one day walking on 
 the grass terrace before the Brunswick houses,
 
 VIOLET. 93 
 
 when they were first met by Mr. Brown ; and 
 the greeting between him and the elder Wood- 
 villes was very affectionate. 
 
 *' Well^ you could not have done a pleasanter 
 thing than this, Mrs. Woodville," said Brown, 
 injuring his boot heel by repeatedly knocldng 
 it with a thin and elegant stick of painted 
 black wood, surmounted by a brass knob, — the 
 whole intended to represent ebony set with 
 gold. 
 
 " Why, I am fond of sea amusements," 
 answered Mrs. Woodville ; " and so much of 
 
 London as we have " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; but such good taste in you not to 
 go to Margate ! Upon my word, the vulgarity 
 of that place. Miss Woodville ! — Let me advise 
 you never to go there. No ; I," said Mr. 
 Brown, pompously, '' I was going to the Con- 
 tinent — I like to go occasionally to Europeanise 
 myself; but Spada wanted to come here. — 
 You know Signor Spada ?"' 
 
 " What, the second tenor at the Opera V 
 asked Woodville. 
 
 " Yes ; he is a creature of great genius." 
 
 " Why, Laporte did not think so." 
 
 *' Oh !" answered Brown, with a gesture of
 
 94 VIOLET. 
 
 contempt, " Spada is a man of talent, and of 
 the warmest feelings ; but he abhors England, 
 and if it had not been for me, would not have 
 come to Brighton." 
 
 " Then, I think," answered Woodville, '' you 
 had better have gone to the Continent, Brown, 
 as 3-0U intended, and Spada w^ith 3'ou." 
 
 "Ah !" replied ]\Ir. Brown, casting his eyes 
 at Violet, " but I must own to having many 
 little reasons, that were inducements, I may 
 say laws, to prevent my going abroad." 
 
 " I shall be very happy to know Signer 
 Spada," said Mrs. Woodville. " You can in- 
 troduce him to us ?" 
 
 " I certainly will. His only fault is, that he 
 will copy me. I often say to him, — •' I^Jy dear 
 Spada, my style does not suit your ItPvlian 
 physiognomy.' But he is invulnerable : and 
 will persist in dressing after me, and acquiring 
 my — my — my style — ways, you know, peculiar 
 to me. All people have their style, I believe, 
 and it becomes ridiculous when another person 
 endeavours to — but Spada is a very good fel- 
 low. Poor wretch ! he is passionately in love 
 with the most beautiful woman — a Countess. 
 I forget her name — he did tell me — but who
 
 VIOLET. ^ 
 
 lives at Florence. Her husband threatened to 
 stab her, and Spada left Italy. She broke her 
 heart, and is probably dead by this time." 
 
 '' Time she was, if her heart was broken," 
 said Woodville. 
 
 " Oh ! of course, I mean figuratively speak- 
 ing. Spada, however, does not seem to think 
 she can be alive." 
 
 " I suppose you mean to stay some little 
 time at Brighton T 
 
 " Oh, Heavens ! " said Brown, " yes, for 
 
 ever, I would stay, could stay, if ." He 
 
 sighed, but the sigh v>'as not heard; for a puff 
 of wind just then blew it the way it was not 
 meant to go. 
 
 " Well, we make it out very pleasantly. 
 We have been to the theatre once or twice. 
 There's a pretty good company here now." 
 
 " Mr. Bobbs is coming too, I hear. I own 
 I am surprised at his thinking of engaging 
 himself at this place." 
 
 " He is quite right, if he can make money 
 by it," observed Woodville. 
 
 " The Octavians told me," said ^Irs. Wood 
 ville, " that the manager was not at all a 
 (jentlemanly man."
 
 96 VIOLET. 
 
 '' Indeed ! — All ! I am glad you told me/' 
 replied Brown, tlionglitfully ; " for I had some 
 idea of appearing for a night or two, but I 
 will not think of it." 
 
 " Oh, it would not be worth your while : 
 they have bad audiences." 
 
 " What, then, it is low altogether?" 
 
 " Oh, very, I think, for gentlemen like 
 Bobbs and Signor Spada. Don't say I said 
 so; Mr. Bobbs might not like it ; he is so par- 
 ticular." 
 
 '' Oh ! dear me, no ; but I will warn poor 
 Spada, lest he should think of engaghig. I 
 am lookins: for him now, but I rather think he 
 is taking a warm bath." 
 
 " I am glad of it," said Woodville, who dis- 
 liked foreigners. " He looks as if he would 
 be none the worse for it — no offence to your 
 friend. Brown." 
 
 " Oh !" said Brown, '' I know your joking 
 ways, Mr. Woodville." 
 
 " Yes, but I am not joking," answered 
 Woodville. 
 
 M. Dupas had taken the house at Brighton 
 jointly with the Woodvilles, and consequently 
 was now living with them.
 
 VIOLET. 97 
 
 " I wish/' said ^Irs. Woodville, one rainy 
 day, when she was sitting in their small but 
 pretty parlour, and had got the vapours, '' I 
 wish Violet Avould grow to be more like what 
 she was, M. Dupas." 
 
 M. Dupas took out his snuiF-box, and crossed 
 his legs. 
 
 '' Charles looks cross about her, as if I could 
 help ]Mr. d'Arcy's duel/' Mrs. Woodville re- 
 sumed, after a pause. 
 
 " Oh ! she w^as changed before Mr. d'Arcy's 
 duel," replied Dupas. 
 
 '' Well," said Mrs. Woodville, opening her 
 eyes, " but it was not my fault." 
 
 " Cest selon/' answered the old Frenchman, 
 shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 '• Why, I am sure / did nothing to make 
 me answerable for her being in love, or anv- 
 thing else." 
 
 To this there was no assent from M. Dupas, 
 so Mrs. Woodville gave one for herself. 
 
 '• I did not, that's certain. I am sure it is 
 a most disheartening thing to do anything for 
 anybody's interest, even for one's own, for all 
 the reward one gets is to be found fault with. 
 I have no idea of Charles looking angry at me, 
 
 VOL. II. p
 
 98 VfOLET. 
 
 as he did just now, when Violet took up that 
 nasty old newspaper, and burst into tears, be- 
 cause she fell upon the account of that tire- 
 some duel. It was very silly of her; only I am 
 not displeased with Violet, because she could 
 not help it ; but it is very hard if I am to be 
 responsible for such things as that !" 
 
 To this sensible and argumentative speech 
 of his friend's wife, M. Dupas appeared to 
 listen with great attention; he did not reply 
 categorically to her remarks, but he expressed 
 his hopes that in time Violet woidd recover her 
 former cheerfulness; showing plainly that he 
 fully entered into the anxiety of her parents. 
 
 " But it is not necessary for me to assure you 
 of that," said the old man ; " I have the same 
 affection for Violet as if she was my child. I 
 have no children, and all mes j)etites eparcjnes 
 sont pour elle ; ce n'est pas iin secret, je crois.'' 
 
 " I am sure, M. Dupas, you are a very kind 
 friend to us, and w^e feel very grateful if you 
 have any such kind intentions as those you 
 speak of. As for me, I am sure I always meant 
 all for the best; I had a natural ambition for 
 Violet, and perhaps I was not so prudent as I 
 might have been, but it is just kick. Violet
 
 VIOLET. 99 
 
 iTjiglit have married Lord Stanmore, I am per- 
 suaded ; and then I should have been all that 
 is perfect, and Charles would not have given 
 me those sour looks that I get from him noAV. 
 Oh, here is Mr. Brown. Well, how do you do 
 to-day, Mr. Brown ?" 
 
 '-'Very well, I thank you. Bon jour, Mons. 
 Dupas. Shall you go to the library this even- 
 ing, Mrs. Woodville ?" 
 
 '' Yes, T intend it. Perhaps you will drink 
 tea with us first ?'' 
 
 '• I shall be most delighted. May I bring 
 Spada ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly." 
 
 '' Poor Spada lost a great deal of money last 
 night. That's his only failing, poor fellow ! 
 he cannot keep from the gaming-table. He 
 was coming this morning to pay his respects to 
 you, but he is gone to Mohamed's to be sham- 
 pooed, so he will come afterwards. Plave you 
 or Miss Woodville been shampooed ?" 
 
 " No ; is it very pleasant ?" 
 
 " It's the most exhilarating thing in the 
 world ; and really it is not expensive, as Spada 
 says, for it is only half-a-guinea a time ; and 
 
 F 2
 
 100 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 there is so much attendance required, and 
 showers of perfumed waters — it is a kixury 
 quite oriental, as Spada sa3^s. Spada never 
 will go except when he can be attended by 
 Mohamed himself. I think, M. Dupas, if you 
 would allow me to advise, that a course of 
 shampooing would be of benefit to you." 
 
 " I am much obliged to you, Mr. Brown ; but 
 for why?" 
 
 " It imparts a lissomness to the limbs, and 
 gives a renewal of youth, which is the most 
 charmino^ thino- imao^inable." 
 
 " Ah I je in en doute cependaiit ,''' 
 
 ^' 0\\, my dear Sir, ask Spada. Spada de- 
 clared to me, that when he came here he was 
 dying. The atmosphere of this country has 
 so hurt his lungs, joined to distress of mind of 
 a most touching nature, that his whole S3'stem 
 was deranged, and now he is perfectly well !" 
 
 " Corps et ame .^" 
 
 '' Oh, there are some things that a man of 
 feeling like Spada can never recover ; but ex- 
 cept that, I never in my life saw a man so 
 altered for the better." 
 
 '' J' en mis hien aise, et qiiand je snis malade
 
 VIOLET. 101 
 
 de corps et d'ame, firai pour etre shampooed 
 chez voire Turc, voire Monsieur Mahoined,'" re- 
 plied the old Frenchman, drily. 
 
 The Woodvilles were out walking one niorn- 
 ing on the esplanade, about ten days after their 
 arrival at Brighton : a young man was stand- 
 ing on the beach below^ the terrace, and near 
 the water's edge. He leaned upon a stick, and 
 bent over the waves, as they came washing the 
 shingles at his feet. His figure was slight and 
 graceful, but thin, and he showed traces of 
 sickness ; his air was remarkable, and his bear- 
 ing, though feeble, distinguished ; his features 
 were pale and attenuated, but finely cut ; and 
 the singular expression of his eyes was visible 
 even while w^atching the rushing sea foam. 
 But, on the whole, there was a dark cast over 
 the brovr, that seemed as if it should have been 
 more open, and in the corner of the hand- 
 somest mouth there lurked something cold and 
 contemptuous. 
 
 D'Arc}' — for the reader will have recognized 
 the portrait, we think — D'Arcy involuntarily 
 turned round, and began slowly to ascend the 
 beach, at the very moment when the Wood- 
 villes passed on the terrace. Violet saw him ;
 
 102 VIOLET. 
 
 her parents did not. D'Arcy likewise beheld 
 her, and when he did, how brightly flashed the 
 spirit of joy on his pale countenance ! Oh ! it 
 is beautifid, in man or in woman, when the soul 
 speaks in the countenance, and the fire of the 
 immortal spirit is called forth to light up our 
 grosser nature, in testimony of one overwhelm- 
 ing sentiment. If Heaven's light shines on 
 earth, surely it is when thus beaming in the 
 human countenance. 
 
 And D'Arcy, too, could he have seen Violet 
 when she first drew in the assurance that she 
 beheld him, might have cried out with the 
 poet — 
 
 '•' How beautiful the love-light of her eyes I"' 
 
 D'Arcy made no attempt to approach the 
 Woodvilles on this occasion. Some days after- 
 wards he called upon them, and endeavoured 
 as much as he could to render his manner such 
 that Mr. Woodville would be forced to submit 
 with a good grace to his visit. 
 
 Mrs. Hummings was now^ completely gained 
 over, and through her D'Arcy wrote constantly 
 to Violet. 
 
 Each day of her life was now adding to her
 
 VIOLET. 103 
 
 \Yealvness. Her parting from her lover, his 
 duel, and the alarm for his life, had over- 
 wrought her feelings, and the}" were yielding, 
 because they did not possess the same unim- 
 paired strength as formerly. All the better 
 principles which stood in the way of D'Arcy's 
 triumph were being sapped one by one. 
 
 In prosperity we often sin ; but if we do so 
 in unhappiness, the pity of our fellow-creatures 
 should be more freely given. We know so 
 little of the wiles and workings of our deceitful 
 nature, and Ave are so unconscious when our 
 hour of weakness is at hand, and we are proud 
 of our strength whilst on the brink of falling. 
 It is prettily said by Kotzebue— " Mit dem 
 ungllicklichen solte der gliickliche^ nicht rech- / 
 ten." Bear this in mind, my reader, and be- 
 lieve it is sometimes better to be merciful than 
 just. Censure, then, but do not judge too 
 hardly of the erring days of the poor young 
 Opera-dancer; and rather give way to grief 
 than to indignation at her bending virtue. 
 Let it also be borne in mind that she had only 
 imbibed an imperfectly taught religion, and 
 an untaught morality. Her actions were not 
 
 w/
 
 104 VIOLET. 
 
 swayed by firmly-settled principles. Her im- 
 pulses were not under the correction of a good 
 education : and when this corrective is want- 
 ing, the chances are that, one day or other, we 
 fall. 
 
 Her home had lost all its charm, and, in 
 alternate hours of doubt and sorrow, she passed 
 her time. Occasionally she shuddered, on re- 
 flecting upon the system of concealment she 
 was carrying on towards her parents : virtue 
 prevailed sometimes ; but D'Arcy had only to 
 write of parting from her, and of his love, and 
 she was won again to him. 
 
 There was a time v%'hen Violet Woodville 
 would have disbelieved the possibiUty of her 
 present conduct. D'Arcy now continually 
 urged her to elope with him : he was getting 
 well; and, as soon as he could, he was to go to 
 his post abroad, to relieve the person who had 
 been temporarily appointed during his ab- 
 sence. 
 
 D'Arcy was too much a man of the world 
 not to foresee that it would be better that the 
 scandal of Violet's abandoning her home should 
 take place some time before he left England,
 
 VIOLET. 105 
 
 lest a hue and cry should be raised agamst 
 him, in his official capacity, for the abduction 
 of a young lady of respectable parents. 
 
 On one occasion only could the lover obtain 
 an interview with Violet. It was on a day 
 when the Woodvilles went over to Worthing, 
 and their daughter made some excuse not to 
 accompany them. She then went out to meet 
 D'Arcy, in those fields which lie at the back of 
 Brunswick-terrace, on the West Cliff. 
 
 D'Arcy did not fail to turn this opportunity 
 to advantage. He had a way with him, in 
 talking to Violet, which would have misled a 
 person of more penetration, and one less pre- 
 judiced in his favour than was poor Violet. 
 He showed a delicacy of language and man- 
 ner towards her, which, in spite of her better 
 judgment, blinded her to the truth. He talked 
 eloquently of virtue, while he reasoned her 
 into vice ; and the purity of his words imparted 
 so shining a varnish to his arguments, that 
 their intrinsic baseness was obscured. 
 
 ''They ii tie guess, who at our acts are grieved, 
 The perfect joy of being well deceived." 
 
 Lord Rochester. 
 
 " After all, if you are doing wrong, it is 
 
 f3
 
 106 VIOLET. 
 
 yourself you sacrifice/' said D'Arcy : '^ I am 
 persuaded tliat you have more merit in con- 
 ceding to my wishes, than if 3-ou had aban- 
 doned me, and remained in your home. There 
 are various sorts of selfishness : in surrender- 
 ing all to me, you will have given the best 
 proof that you are not egotistical : we shall be 
 so happy, too, Violet. When I allow myself 
 to dwell upon that possibly happy future, I 
 feel such a jo}^ within me, that, if you knew it, 
 you could not have the heart to overturn such 
 a dream of bliss. Dearest ! you would re- 
 proach yourself — I know you would — if you 
 were to desert me now ! " 
 
 Violet Woodville wept, and listened to these 
 and similarly false argimients. She only felt 
 that she could no longer struggle against 
 the agonising fear of losing D'Arc}^ for ever. 
 She condemned herself: she thought of her 
 parents, and she remembered her God — but 
 the tempter was by, and he would not quit 
 her till he had extracted from her a fatal and 
 reluctant promise. 
 
 *'And now," said D'Arcy, in a low voice, 
 when they parted, '' I know that I may trust 
 you, Violet ; but should you fail me, 1 will end
 
 VIOLET. 107 
 
 my life. Listen ! — I swear it before Heaven ! 
 — and I give you my word, that I live or not, 
 according as you keep your promise. Remem- 
 ber ! I could not, if I wished, break my word : 
 my life is in your hands, Violet !" 
 
 That night Violet Woodville passed almost 
 in a state of distraction. She was seized with 
 the bitterest remorse for the promise she had 
 given ; she despised herself — sleep fled her 
 eyes, and the tears of sorrow were denied her. 
 Full of repentance she wrote to D'Arc}', and 
 told him she could not keep her promise. 
 
 ''' I will not — I should live to hate myself; 
 I do, as it is. If you have ever loved, give me 
 back that bad promise; I must have been 
 sunk in iniquity when I gave it, and even you 
 must one day despise me for it. I implore 
 you to forget it, and tell me I am free : I in- 
 sist upon this, for I must not go on thinking 
 myself so worthless." 
 
 D'Arcy's answer was short: — ''You are 
 free ; but my word I shall keep — I cannot live 
 without you ! — But is it come to this ? — and 
 
 will you even let me die ? You may relent, 
 
 and I ^^^ll watch before your house : if, at six
 
 108 VIOLET. 
 
 this evening, I do not see you at the middle 
 Vvindow, my fate is decided." 
 
 Who doubts that Violet Woodville was to 
 be seen that evening at the middle window? 
 She believed he w^ould kill himself. To say 
 he would, was the commonest stratagem that 
 D'Arc}^ could have had recourse to^, and, unless 
 he was sincere, one of the most paltry. Judg- 
 ing from what was known of his character, 
 hov;ever, at that time, he was likely to have 
 been in earnest in his declaration of suicidal 
 intentions ; he had little religious feeling, and 
 not having any strong ties of affection, his 
 disposition was of a description to make him 
 capable of ending his life when he conceived 
 that his desires were irremediably thwarted.
 
 ( 109 '\ 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Never let men be bold enough to say, 
 Thus, and no farther, shall my passions stray; 
 The first crime pa^t, compels us on to more. 
 And guilt proves fate, that v/as but choice before." 
 
 " The woman who deliberates is lost." 
 
 Those little inland streets at Brighton arc 
 very comfortable places. You have not the 
 roaring of the sea in your ears all day, or the 
 eternal glare of its wide expanse in your eyes. 
 The Woodvilles had, as has been said, taken 
 a particularly pretty little house in one of 
 these inlets on the West Cliff, and they, and 
 M. Dupas, were much pleased ^Yith its snug- 
 ness. Whenever they did not amuse them- 
 selves elsewhere, they used to have parties,— 
 Mr. Brown, and Spada, and the Octavians, to 
 drink tea; and Woodville had met with an 
 old friend, who was a celebrated performer on 
 the French-horn. They would have been the 
 happiest people in the world if Y^^codville
 
 110 VIOLET. 
 
 could have watched less anxiously over his 
 child. Her want of spirits, and her worn ex- 
 pression, often occasioned him indescribable 
 anguish. 
 
 Woodville was a man of the warmest feel- 
 ings, and possessed the most generous and 
 affectionate heart. The thing he prized most 
 tenderly was his daughter ; and now he often 
 reproached himself as being the first cause of 
 that daughter'*s dejection. He thought he 
 ought not to have allowed her to go upon the 
 stage, and that he was also guilty of great 
 weakness in permitting his wife to make their 
 house the frequent resort of men whose grade 
 in society was superior to their own. 
 
 Woodville, however, at this time, imagined 
 his daughter v. as safe from any bad designs of 
 D'Arcy's, but he feared, and with reason, that 
 her affections were given irrevocably ; and he 
 could not avoid thinking that Brown, and such 
 as Brown, were not likely to remove a D'Arcy 
 from her thoughts ; and, altogether, he dreaded 
 that it might be long before he should see his 
 child as he was wont to do, — the blythe bird 
 that once made his home a little paradise to 
 him.
 
 VIOLET. Ill 
 
 One evening, in the commencement of No- 
 vember, the house of the Woodvilles was gay 
 Avith mirth and music. They had asked some 
 of their theatrical friends to pass the evening, 
 and ]\Ir. Brown, who had a fine voice, was 
 singing the ' Captive Knight ' and the • Pari- 
 sienne,' and executing them with great effect. 
 
 '' 1 must say," said Mr. Brown, " it is too 
 provoking that Spada is not able to come here 
 this evening." 
 
 " What's the matter with him, then, Mr. 
 Brown?" demanded Mrs. Octavian, sharply. 
 
 '• Have you not heard?" exclaimed Brown, 
 with much surprise. " He went out hunting 
 with the Brighton harriers, and was thrown. 
 He is severely hurt. I advised him not to go ; 
 for I said to him, — ' My dear Spada, if I were 
 3^ou I would not go.' " 
 
 '' Good gracious ! you don't mean to say he 
 put on a red coat ? " 
 
 '' And pray why should not Spada put on a 
 red coat, Mrs. Octa\dan ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, I wish I had seen him." 
 
 "Umph! I don't know why; do you, Mrs. 
 Woodville?"
 
 112 VIOLET. 
 
 '' Not I, Mr. Brown." 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Octavian," said Woodville, " if 
 you have set your mind upon seeing him, we 
 will go out and watch for the Signor some 
 afternoon, when he will be coming home from 
 the hunt." 
 
 "Why, I am sorry to say," observed Brown, 
 " Signor Spada thinks he cannot stay away 
 from Milan much longer. He had letters the 
 other day, which he showed to me, — of course 
 I cannot repeat their contents ; but he con- 
 ceives he is called upon to make the sacrifice 
 of his own convenience, and, for the sake of 
 another's peace of mind, to return to Italy." 
 
 " What," demanded Mrs. Octavian, " cannot 
 he get an engagement with Laporte for the 
 next season, poor man ?" 
 
 '' Dear Mrs. Octavian, don't ask such ques- 
 tions," said Mr. Octavian to his spouse, 
 '' people don't like to have their private affairs 
 inquired into in that way." 
 
 *' Bvit the man himself is not here ; I am 
 not asking him, Mr. O." 
 
 " Spada has a genius pecidiarly his own," 
 continued Brown, " and must be appreciated
 
 VIOLET. 113 
 
 whenever he is understood. Miss Woodville, 
 may I ask were you not much pleased with 
 Spada?' 
 
 " V/here are you, Violet ? " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Woodville, surprised at not beholding her 
 daughter in the midst of their little circle. 
 
 " I am here, mother," answered the faint 
 voice of Violet. 
 
 The company turned round to look, and 
 they beheld Miss Woodville sitting in a distant 
 part of the room. She was leaning back in 
 her chair, and her hands were clasped before 
 her. She was very pale, her eyes looked red, 
 and their brightness was gone ; she did not 
 move on becoming the object of observation, 
 and seemed almost unconscious of it. 
 
 " Why, you look very cold, my dear,"' said 
 Woodville, going up to her, " and your hand 
 is like ice." 
 
 " Is it, father ? I am very cold," Violet re- 
 plied ; and her teeth chattered. 
 
 " Come to the fire, then." 
 
 She obeyed, but the fire did not seem to 
 warm her. 
 
 "Violet, are you ill ?" asked her mother. 
 
 -No."
 
 114 VIOLET. 
 
 " Are 3'ou sure ?" 
 ■ "Yes." 
 
 '' Perhaps you had rather not hear our talk- 
 ing ?'' said Mrs. Octavian, '' and we will go." 
 
 " My wife does talk so screamingly," ob- 
 served Mr. O. 
 
 '' My singing has disturbed you," said 
 Brown. 
 
 " Violet, love, what is the matter with you ?" 
 again asked the blunt but affectionate father. 
 
 " Nothing, father — nothing." 
 
 " Then it is very odd, for I never saw you 
 look so ill !" 
 
 " No, indeed I am well, but I will sit here 
 by the fire — it is very cold." 
 
 " Oh, then it is evident she has got a cold," 
 cried Mrs. Octavian, " or she would never call 
 this a cold night. Why, it is quite spring wea- 
 ther — so mild, so muggy all day : was it not, 
 Mr. Brown ?" 
 
 '' Indeed I thought so. I went this morn- 
 ing, about twelve, to get a Dante at Wright's 
 for Signor Spada, and the sun was quite op- 
 pressive." 
 
 '' So it was. Well, if you don't object then, 
 Mrs. Woodville, suppose we encore the ' Cap-
 
 VIOLET. 115 
 
 tive Kniglit,' and ' The treasures of the deep/ 
 Mr. Brown." 
 
 The gentleman did as he was requested^ 
 and Violet remained by the fire. No wonder 
 her father had said he never had seen her look 
 so ill. She seemed grown suddenly thin, her 
 features looked pinched, and her lips were 
 very pale ; whilst round her large eyes there 
 Avas a deep black hollow line ; her hair hung 
 out of curl down her cheeks, and her figure, 
 instead of its usual uprightness, was bent and 
 drooping. The very sound of her voice was 
 low and altered, and in the little she did say, 
 the last word of each sentence almost seemed 
 as if too great an effort for utterance — the 
 sounds sank below her breath, and from time 
 to time she shivered. 
 
 •^^Are you better now, Violet?" M. Dupas 
 presently inquired, with his usual kindness. 
 
 "Yes, I am," she replied. "Don't let my 
 father get vexed about me, I am not ill." 
 
 " Non, ma cherie. Cependant, un pen d'eau 
 de fleurs d^ orange ? En void siw la table. I will 
 pour a little into a w^ine glass of my eau 
 siicrey 
 . Violet accepted the remedy, but her hand
 
 116 VIOLET. 
 
 trembled while she held the glass. After- 
 wards she was, or pretended to be, better; 
 probably her nerves were a little restored by 
 the fleur d'orange. 
 
 The party broke up, and then, wlien their 
 friends were dispersed, the Woodvilles again 
 enjoined Violet to tell them if she was unwell; 
 she still denied being ill, but only repeated 
 that she had felt chilled, and that M. Dupas's 
 remedy had done her good. 
 
 " Then you think you will sleep ?" said her 
 father. 
 
 Violet stared wildly, her lips quivered, she 
 turned her face quickly away, and her emotion 
 passed unnoticed. 
 
 Violet Woodville left the room ; she pre- 
 sently returned. Her father was then standing 
 near the piano, helping her mother to shut it ; 
 Violet said nothing, but knelt down at his feet, 
 and stooped her head towards the ground. 
 
 -What is it, Violet?" 
 
 *' I am looking for my needle-case; I have 
 found it, I think." 
 
 On pretence of seeking the needle-case, 
 Violet bent her head lower still. Her father 
 retained his position, there being some diffi-
 
 VIOLET. 117 
 
 culty in closing the piano. Violet bent down 
 till she could reach his feet, and she then 
 kissed them ; that gentle kiss of his child was 
 not felt by Woodville, because it was not 
 guessed at by him ; he felt only .'that Violet 
 touched him, and he moved, saying '' I am in 
 your way, I fear." 
 
 She answered in the negative., and rose, pre- 
 tending to have found what she sought, and 
 once more left the room. 
 
 On that night Violet Woodville quitted her 
 home. About one in the morning, when its 
 inmates vv^ere wrapt in sleep, she moved dowm 
 stairs ; and Hummings, her treacherous ally, 
 opened the door of the lodging-house, and ac- 
 companied her. Violet was clad in her cloak, 
 and drawing it closely round her, ^vas hurried 
 along by Mrs. Hummings. 
 
 She was y^i'^sently stopped, and beheld 
 D'Arcy. — ''We have a fine night, dearest," he 
 whispered. " Give me your arm ; the boat is 
 ready." 
 
 " D'Arcy !" said Violet, in a low thick voice, 
 "let me go back?" 
 
 " Impossible !" 
 
 " D'Arcy, I entreat you to let me go back,"
 
 118 VIOLET. 
 
 she repeated ; but in a more faint and a more 
 earnest tone. 
 
 " Are you mad, Violet ? What, now ? — not 
 for worlds ! ' And, seeing her irresokite, 
 D'Arcy hurried her on, till they reached the 
 end of one of the streets leading down to the 
 cliff. They went down the stone steps to the 
 beach, about half- "way up the esplanade ; a 
 lis^ht sailing; vessel was standing off and on 
 near the shore, and the moon's light shone 
 brilliantly on its white sails. A boat was 
 hauled upon the shingle, and several sailors 
 were standing close to it, evidently on the 
 watch. At a signal from D'Arcy, tlie boat was 
 presently launched, and, placing his two com- 
 panions in it, he jumped in himself They 
 were soon alongside the small schooner, tran- 
 shipped into it, and, the boat being hauled 
 up to her quarter, the vessel got under weigh 
 for Dieppe. 
 
 D'Arcy remained with his unfortunate com- 
 panion three weeks at Dieppe. He then re- 
 turned with her to England, and proceeded to 
 London, where he placed her in lodgings in 
 a respectable part of the town. He tooh the 
 utmost care of her external comfort, and
 
 VIOLET. 1 19 
 
 solaced lier with every attention lie could 
 bestow. 
 
 It was not his intention to keep her in 
 conceahnent. On the contrary, he was rather 
 anxious than otherwise that her friends should 
 discover and see her, if they desired it, before 
 he took her abroad. 
 
 At one time he wished her to write to her 
 parents, but the bare idea of such an act, in 
 her fallen situation, Violet Woodville looked 
 upon as impossible. D'Arcy had a good many 
 things to occupy him, but there is no saying 
 how many he did not neglect at this time for 
 the sake of not quitting his poor victim. He 
 was going to his post in Italy, and intended 
 to make Violet precede him to Dover, for the 
 sake of appearances. He felt that he might 
 not venture to take her with him in his own 
 carriage, lest such a proceeding should draw 
 down animadversion in his then position. 
 
 When Mr. Woodville discovered the loss of 
 his child, and felt the assurance of her dis- 
 grace, his anger at first rose above his grief. 
 He could obtain no clue to her place of re- 
 treat, and only went with his family instantly 
 to London, as her probable destination. He
 
 120 VIOLET. 
 
 spent three days in fruitless searcli ; and then, 
 imagining she was gone abroad, he flew to the 
 Foreign Office, to inquire if Mr. d'Arcy was in 
 England. With much difficulty he procured 
 an interview with one of the clerks ; he could 
 only learn that Mr. d'Arcy was certainly still 
 in England. The wretched father had al- 
 ready inquired at D'Arcy' s usual residence for 
 some information respecting him, but there, 
 likewise, he learnt nothing. He then wrote 
 to one or two gentlemen whom he knev/, 
 and who were D'Arcy's acquaintances. From 
 them he ascertained that D'Arcy had not 
 been lately seen in town, possibly he was at 
 Melton. Woodville thought so too, and to 
 Melton he went, and when in that quarter, as 
 may be surmised, his researches were equally 
 fmitless. He returned to his home, — to his 
 weeping, wailing, miserable, w^ak-minded wife, 
 and to his desolate hre-side : — such was now 
 the home of poor Woodville — the home that 
 D'Arcy had made for him ! 
 
 Woodville had always said little expressive 
 of his grief, and he seldom, even for days to- 
 gether, made a remark upon Violet; and as for 
 D'Arcy, — of him how could he speak? But
 
 VIOLET. 121 
 
 his face was careworn, and, thoiigli sometimes 
 flushed v.'ith sudden anger, oftener pale with 
 concentrated sorrow. He neither went to 
 visit, or admitted any one. His wife felt an 
 aw^e of him, and even M. Dupas — the sole ex- 
 ception to his rule of exclusion — dared offer 
 no consolation. 
 
 Perhapfe it was almost more touching to be- 
 hold the silent wretchedness of this benevolent 
 old man : he was unprepared for the blow, 
 having never calculated upon Violet's elope- 
 ment. He was not, however, angr}-, — he pitied 
 her most deeply, and not the less because she 
 was erring, — either his nature was a gentler 
 one than most other people's, or the world, 
 such as he had found it, had made it so. He, 
 too, was seeking for the lost girl, and as fruit- 
 lessly as her father, but he did not give up the 
 point, and would say, " Attendons, le pauvre 
 enfant nous donncra de ses nouvelles." 
 
 One day when Woodville was out, wander- 
 ing he knew not whitlier, he caught (as he 
 thought) a distant glimpse of D'Arcy ; nor 
 were the bereaved parent's eyes mistaken : 
 D'Arcy had then been in town four days. 
 Woodville was full a hundred yards from him 
 
 VOL. II. G
 
 122 VIOLET. 
 
 at the mom en t he • first saw him turn down 
 Portland Place. He hastened his pace to 
 keep him in sight, but not to rtm after him ; 
 for, said AVoodville to himself, if I get up with 
 him, I shall knock him down, perhaps I shall 
 murder him, and, out of spite, he may not tell 
 me where she is, and that is what I want first. 
 to ascertain. It was about five on a December 
 afternoon, and getting darker each minute, 
 and D'Arcy was hurrying home to Violet 
 Woodville on foot, which was somewhat un- 
 usual with him, but so it happened on this oc- 
 casion. 
 
 He reached his house, and, entering, flew to 
 Violet's room. She was sittins; bent over the 
 fire, pale, and the tears still in her eyes, as 
 they ever were when she was alone, but they 
 seemed to disappear when she saw D'Arcy, 
 and a smile of joy glittered over her counte- 
 nance. 
 
 '' Dearest," exclaimed D'Arcy, with gaiety, 
 and rushing to her, " I think I am never from 
 you but that I learn to love you — no, — not 
 better, that I could not, — but more and more 
 to learn how unhappy I am without you !" 
 
 ^* Oh !' said Violet, " I am so glad to hear
 
 VIOLET. 123 
 
 you say so ; for I am always dreading lest you, 
 too, should grow to despise me, as others must 
 do." 
 
 " Why do you wrong me with such a 
 thought ? In all that can concern cither, 
 should I not much sooner hate myself than 
 you ? Let me kiss away those nauo'hty tears, 
 and let me whisper to the eyes that weep 
 them, that, for Violet's sake, and DArcy's too, 
 who loves her so with all his heart, those tears 
 must not fall ;" and, as he sat at her feet, 
 D'Arcy's hand bent her head towards his lips, 
 and he mingled his kisses with the long, 
 smooth, curling tresses of poor Violet's hair. 
 The lovers were disturbed by a hasty footstep 
 on the stairs. 
 
 " My God !" exclaimed Violet, with shaken 
 nerves and instinctive terror. 
 
 " Be calm, love," said D'Arcy, starting up 
 as the door of their room flew open, and 
 Woodville stood before him ! 
 
 The servant attempted an explanation of 
 this abrupt intrusion, but D'Arcy made him a 
 sio-n to absent himself. There was a brierht 
 flame from the fire (although there was no 
 
 G 2
 
 124 VIOLET. 
 
 lamp in the room), ^vhicll was sufficient to 
 render each person clearly distinguishable to 
 the others. Woodville, for some seconds, re- 
 mained standing in the middle of the apart- 
 ment. He stared upon his child, who, on his 
 entrance, had sunk upon the floor in an atti- 
 tude between shame and terror. Her hands 
 w^ere clasped upon her knees, and her face was 
 very pale ; she ventured not to raise her half 
 closed eyes to her parent's face, who, she felt, 
 had fixed his gaze upon her. 
 
 Woodville suddenly burst into tears. 
 
 " My child !" he exclaimed, in a voice of the 
 deepest emotion. 
 
 " I am here, father," said Violet, inarticu- 
 lately, and cowering lower and lower ; " I 
 feared that you never would speak to me 
 again.'" 
 
 Woodville advanced towards her, and, rais- 
 ing her fi'om the ground, embraced her with 
 burning tears. 
 
 " How you are altered," he suddenly ex- 
 claimed, and he looked upon her countenance, 
 as if horror-struck. Violet was indeed altered . 
 her face liad grown very thin, her large eyes
 
 VIOLET. 125 
 
 were sunken, lier brilliant complexion liad 
 totally vanislied, and in her dress and person 
 there was an air of negligence. 
 
 Woodville, hitherto, had seemed solely oc- 
 cupied with Violet; but when he made this 
 observation upon her changed appearance, it 
 seemed to recall him to a recollection of 
 D'Arcy's presence ; for, quitting his child, he 
 advanced to him fiercely, and striking his 
 clenched hand on the table before him, he ex- 
 claimed in a voice of fury — 
 
 " And you have done it. — Villain ! do you 
 know, I could take your heart's blood for this 
 bad work of yours. Unfeeling man ! my child 
 — my only one, — that beautiful innocent I — my 
 poor little Violet." 
 
 Woodville's voice faltered at the mention of 
 his daughter. 
 
 " Was there nothing but my child to content 
 you? — to ruin her, to make us all miserable?" 
 
 Woodville paused, — he was totally over- 
 come. 
 
 D'Arcy, since his entrance, had remained 
 leaning against the fire-place; but, at this 
 moment, if the flickering fire light had crossed 
 his face, the moisture would have been seen
 
 126 VIOLET. 
 
 gathering beneath, but not passing, his darkly 
 fringed eyelids. 
 
 " I cannot contend with your sense of injury, 
 Mr. Woodville," he observed, in a low voice, 
 " and, were I to ask your forgiveness, you could 
 not grant it me." 
 
 " Wretch ! — you can now talk to me as 
 cooll}' as when 3'ou cajoled my wife, and made 
 her the witless pander to her child's seduction. 
 Man ! I tell you again, I would murder you, — 
 could I by that m.eans restore my lost girl's 
 purity." 
 
 Violet rose up, and throv>ing herself before 
 D'Arcy, with outstretched arms, she cried, 
 '•' Father, if you would not have me die, do not 
 say such words as those !" 
 
 '' Unfortunate creature ! do you not feel 
 conscious for what a thing you are pleading ?" 
 
 ^*He has been kind to me, — at least, he 
 loves me," murmured Molet Woodville's angel 
 voice. 
 
 ^"Violet," said D'Arcy, ^' leave us, my be- 
 loved : it is better that you should." 
 
 And so saying, he led her into an adjoining 
 apartment, and retiu'ned instantly to her in- 
 censed and heart-broken father.
 
 VIOLET. 127 
 
 '' Mr. Woodville/' said D'Arcy, " I make the 
 utmost allowance for your angry — your justly 
 angry feelings ; but permit me to speak, — 
 you shall interrupt me in an instant, — but ^yill 
 you consider that the evil which is done to 3'ou, 
 though effected by me, would, and might haA^e 
 been done you by any other man, who was 
 preferred by your daughter ? This is no ex- 
 tenuation of my error; but there were tempta- 
 tions; greater precautions should have been 
 taken, — wh}^ Avere such facilities permitted to 
 me, or to any one ? and was it reasonable to 
 expect that the feelings of your child should 
 prove invulnerable, when so little check was 
 put upon them ?" 
 
 " Ay — ay, there you are right," said Wood- 
 ville, bitterly : " God forgive me for my folly, 
 and her mother too!" — He hesitated, and 
 as if lost for a moment in a train of unhappy 
 reflections, but he resumed ; ^' Say what you 
 will, you basely took advantage of the hospi- 
 tality of my house, such as my house was ; you 
 have injured thereby a whole family, — your 
 fellow-creatures, — beyond reparation. Do you 
 think an hour's happiness mil ever be mine, 
 or my wife's again? and if you can feel com-
 
 128 VIOLET. 
 
 punction, do you not experience it, wlicn you 
 look on tlie poor, faded, miserable being, to 
 which you have reduced my once bright, beau- 
 tiful child ? Had you robbed me, and devoted 
 me and mine, by some rascality, to penury for 
 our lives, I might have pardoned you, — had 
 3'ou tried to take my life, still I might have 
 forgiven you, — would you even have murdered 
 m}^ child — as a Christian, I think, on the day of 
 your death warrant, I might have forgiven you; 
 but as her seducer," exclaimed Woodville, 
 " no ! I could not forgive you ; not even if I 
 could behold you dying at my feet, and im- 
 ploring mercy 1" 
 
 D'Arcy appeared to preserve his self-posses- 
 sion during this stern address from the injured 
 parent; but at his last words he looked at 
 him, and was struck with the wild and fero- 
 cious expression of Wooclville's countenance : 
 it w^as almost that of a maniac, and the un- 
 natural glare of his eyes contrasted strangely 
 wdth the haggard paleness of his features, 
 streaked with one bright spot of red — the hectic 
 flush of a frame which had been so long agitated 
 and ovcrwrou2:ht. His fm'ure, too, looked 
 strange and attenuated ; he had c:i'Ov,'n so
 
 VIOLET. 129 
 
 much thinner, that his clothes hung upon, 
 rather than fitted, his person. It might have 
 been the dying fire-light which threw its un- 
 steady glare upon his menacing attitude, and 
 rendered the picture more sombre to D'Arcy's 
 eyes. This idea seemed to occur to him, for 
 he stirred up the embers, and lighted a lamp 
 which stood on the table. Could a few weeks 
 have v»'rought this change ? he inwardly asked 
 himself. 
 
 " Mr. Woodville," D'Arcy resumed, " I am 
 submitting with all the patience I possess to 
 your abuse^ for I know I merit it fully, in your 
 estimation. How much longer I may do so in 
 my own house, is another thing; but some 
 finale there must be to this discussion. En- 
 deavour, if it be possible, to speak more 
 calmly, or, if not, leave me now, and come 
 again : or write and tell me what you in future 
 desire, or expect from me." 
 
 " Give her to me again, — give me back my 
 child ! such as she is,'' cried Woodville, " and 
 then I will pray that Heaven may rain its 
 curses on you ! But give her to me first, lest 
 your misfortunes should in any way affect 
 her!" 
 
 G 3
 
 130 VIOLET. 
 
 Woodville paused, as if unconscious what 
 lie was going to say; he sighed, and looked 
 wildly round the room : his manner grew un- 
 naturally calm, — ^lie appeared half forgetful, 
 and breathed hard, like one exhausted. 
 
 *' It is useless and cruel to require your 
 daughter to return to you now, Mr. Woodville; 
 she herself, having once been under my pro- 
 tection, must desire to remain with me," said 
 D'Arcy, mildly. " You must yourself feel that 
 to ask her to quit me now, would be to con- 
 demn her to a life of wretchedness. The 
 past cannot be repaired — why seek, therefore^, 
 to make your child unnecessarily wretched? 
 You had better at present leave me. I give 
 you my word as a gentleman, that when you 
 next inquire for me, or for your daughter, you 
 shall not be denied." 
 
 " I am ill," said Woodville, with a hoarse 
 voice, " and my strength fails me — otherwise — 
 but I will return again, and shortly too. As 
 for you, Mr. d'Arcy, the worst wishes of a 
 dying man — if I am one — follow you !-— may 
 the vengeance of Heaven overtake you !" 
 
 Woodville, half absently, quitted D'Arcy*s 
 presence with these words.
 
 VIOLET. 131 
 
 D'Arcy instantly ordered a servant to follow 
 him, and, if he desired it, to call a coach. 
 
 Apparently unconscious, the unhappy man 
 got into one, and was driven home. 
 
 He found his wife, and M. Dupas sitting with 
 her. At once, and differently from his usual 
 reserve, he began vehemently speaking of the 
 occurrences of the last few hours. But while he 
 was talking he was interrupted by a choking 
 sensation, and began to spit blood violently. 
 Mrs. Woodville went into hysterics, while 
 M. Dupas sent for the nearest surgeon. 
 
 In the meantime, if Violet Woodville was 
 suffering keen remorse, she had an eloquent 
 consoler. Her impulse was to write to her 
 father, to implore his forgiveness in the most 
 humble manner, and, if both her parents per- 
 mitted her, to return to their protection. This 
 intention D'Arcy combated with vigour, and 
 he further gave orders to his servants, that no 
 letters should be sent from Miss Woodville 
 without first passing though his hands. One 
 was accordingly brought to him addressed to 
 Woodville. D'Arcy, without breaking the 
 sealj put the letter into the fire ; and, in so 
 doing, his motives, perhaps, were not bad ; for
 
 132 VIOLET. 
 
 he argued, — what a hfe of vreary penitence and 
 regret would be consumed by Violet's return- 
 ing home, and fulfilling the destiny she was 
 proposing to herself ! 
 
 He felt it rather to be his duty to rescue her 
 from this miserable fate, and by every means in 
 his power to endeavour to reconcile her to the 
 sacrifices he had induced her to make. In 
 the meanwhile he was surprised at seeing no 
 m.ore of V/oodvillc ; and when Violet, mi- 
 ser-able at hcarhig nothing, obtaining no an- 
 sv>cr to the letter she imagined she had sent, 
 lamented over it with despairing accents, 
 D'Arcy consoled her as well as he could ; but 
 he himself could not divine the cause for the 
 apparent abandonment of her family. 
 
 In the depth of his heart he could not help 
 surmising, from the wretched state in which he 
 beheld Woodville, that illness was the true 
 cause of his non-appearance. But that he 
 should have sent none of his family, or M. 
 Dupas, argued that he must be very, very ill 
 indeed. D'Arcy shuddered. Hitherto he had 
 not chosen to see his seduction of Violet in 
 any light beyond the injury done to her. But 
 could he denv havins: seen the extreme affec-
 
 VIOLET. 133 
 
 tion these poor Woodvilles had evinced for 
 their child ? — and in earlier daj's had not the 
 delicate and touching tenderness of the father 
 towards his daughter been displayed in a way 
 that had gone liome to his heart ? That the 
 Woodvilles had been imprudent in their con- 
 duct, and that Violet's mother was weak and 
 worldly, was true ; but even Vv'ith her it arose 
 from a foolish anxiety for her child's aggran- 
 disement, and D'Arcy was forced to acquit her 
 of harbouring for a moment the suspicion, 
 much less the desire, that her daughter might 
 be seduced even imder the most splendid aus- 
 pices. And Woodville, had he not shown re- 
 peatedly his determination to get quit of the 
 visiters who came to his house, and whose pre- 
 sence might prove dangerous ? 
 
 Woodville's faltering words, " My child ! — 
 my only one ! — my little Violet !" rang long 
 and sometimes horribly in D'Arcy's ears ; and 
 he could not turn v^ithin and say to himself, 
 as he had to Woodville, " I have done that 
 winch another might have effected;" for he felt 
 a profound conviction that none but himself 
 would, or in all probability could, have ever
 
 134 A^IOLET. 
 
 effected the ruin of the pure-minded Violet 
 Woodville. 
 
 D'Arcy was not a man to submit to more 
 annoyance than necessity forced upon him. 
 Finding Woodville did not appear again, after 
 some further days had elapsed, he made speedy 
 preparations for his own and his intended com- 
 panion's departure for Italy. 
 
 They proceeded separately to Dover, and 
 D' Arcy saw her embarked for Calais under the 
 escort of one of his friends, and w ith a respect- 
 able foreign maid-servant. 
 
 Mrs. Hummings, by the bye, D'i\rcy 
 thought proper to dismiss, with a becoming 
 gratuity for her past service. 
 
 The change of scene w^as of use to Violet 
 Woodville, but she never felt happy. D'Arcy 
 treated her with the utmost indulgence; in 
 short, he proved all that a man can be to a 
 w^oman with whom he is passionately in love. 
 But Violet, assailed by constant remorse and 
 by shame, soon became disenchanted. She 
 began to understand the nature of D'Arcy's 
 love, and the illusion that his eloquence and 
 her own purity had assisted to create — va- 
 nished.
 
 VIOLET. 135 
 
 D'Arcy was a sensualist, like most men, and 
 when that conviction once forced itself upon 
 her, she became doubly alive to the nature of 
 her conduct. The truth w^as, that Violet found 
 herself in a situation which could not fail to be 
 revolting to her native disposition. However, 
 D'Arcy did not, at first, discover this turn 
 which her feelings had taken. 
 
 It must not, in the meantime, be supposed 
 that the severity of her compunction and her 
 grief were not apparently lessened. Violet 
 possessed too much tact to display a sorrow 
 which must act as a reproach to D'Arcy. 
 
 For his sake, therefore, she entered into his 
 plans for her amusement. She was touched 
 by his solicitude, and the peculiar tenderness 
 of her nature rendered her alive to all the 
 charm of being loved. 
 
 No intelligence was received respecting her 
 family. 
 
 D'Arcy secretly continued to wonder that 
 neither her mother nor M. Dupas should Amte, 
 if Woodville could not, or would not. 
 
 Violet always imagined that they were too 
 deeply incensed to intend ever taking further 
 notice of her. When she was alone, if any
 
 136 VIOLET. 
 
 tiling, by chance, recalled England, or her 
 home, the tears would roll down her cheeks m 
 heavy drops, and sighs would burst from her 
 bosom. "Oh, my poor father — if he would 
 but forgive me !" she would inwardly exclaim; 
 and her heart would yearn to behold again the: 
 fond parent she best loved. 
 
 Still she trusted to their both being well,' 
 and looked forward to returning to England, 
 and then hearing of, if not seeing them. 
 
 This return was delayed much longer than 
 D'Arcy desired, or than she expected ; and 
 Violet Woodville was able to number b}' years 
 her absence from her own country.
 
 ( 137 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " We take no note of time, 
 But from its loss — to give it tlieu a tongue 
 Is wise in man." 
 
 j\Iy readers must suppose a few years to have 
 elapsed since tlie events we last recorded ; and 
 allovv" me to open a new scene, by introducing 
 them to a ball at Almack's, at a time when 
 Almack's was thought much more of than it 
 is in these days; — only then, as now, were to be 
 seen the same description of persons collected 
 for the purposes of business or amusement. 
 
 There were the chaperoning mammas, with 
 anxious hearts and watchful e3'es ; and the 
 ennuye seeking to forget himself. There, too, 
 was the weak woman hovering on the verge of 
 crime; there the bolder sinner, hardened in 
 the commission of evil, — the insignificant 
 dandy — and the boys who aped him.
 
 138 VIOLET. 
 
 One of the lady patronesses was looking 
 attentively tlirough her glass at some object 
 which the movement of the dancers occasion- 
 ally hid from her view. Lady Colemore at 
 length beckoned her son, a handsome youth 
 of seventeen, and asked him if he knew the 
 lady whom she described, as being one whose 
 dress and appearance w^ere remarkable. 
 
 " Ask some one, my dear Augustus, if you 
 are ignorant." 
 
 Augustus promised, but he did not keep his 
 word; and Lady Colemore looked round for 
 a better informant. 
 
 The lady who attracted her attention was 
 advancing up the room, leaning upon the arm 
 of a political character of some celebrity, and 
 who appeared much engrossed with his charge. 
 
 She was strikingly handsome, and equally 
 well dressed. She appeared young, and no 
 fault could be found with her tournure, which 
 might be called distinguished; though at times 
 she looked as if she had entered upon a new 
 scene : but the shyness consequent upon a 
 debut w^as more strongly manifested in her 
 countenance than in her demeanour. 
 
 '' Can you tell me who that is ?" said Lady
 
 VIOLET. i39 
 
 Colemore, turning to a gentleman who stood 
 near her : he was a man about thirty — that is 
 to say, he had one of those slight and well- 
 proportioned figures which do not tally with 
 their possessors' being beyond thirty, whether 
 they are or not. In this instance the pale 
 complexion, the steady eye, and the cold but 
 forcible expression, were symptoms that the 
 fire of youth had subsided; but, in recom- 
 pense, there was the mark of talent imprinted 
 on a countenance so handsome as to interest 
 any beholder who viewed it closely. 
 
 "Who is that?"' said Lady Colemore, ad- 
 dressing this individual. 
 
 " Harcourt's wife." 
 
 " Dear me ! — what, that person ?" 
 
 " Yes. Harcourt has been abroad these 
 three years. They are come from Paris." 
 
 " Did you know them abroad ?" 
 
 " No : Harcourt is an old acquaintance of 
 mine ; but we only met again since our mutual 
 return to England.'' 
 
 " Then, what is she ? — do you know ?" 
 
 " I was staying with them at Easter. She 
 has good manners. Her conduct, I believe, 
 so far, is irreproachable.''
 
 140 VIOLET. 
 
 " Oh ! what was she ?" 
 
 " An Opera-dancer. Harcourt married her 
 three or four years ago." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! — I recollect — an uncommonly 
 foolish thing. It w^as very, very much talked 
 of at the time. I don't remember seeing her 
 before." 
 
 " They have been abroad ever since they 
 married. At Paris she was much admired." 
 
 '' Do you like her ?" 
 
 " She is agreeable and very piquant e ; and 
 I believe she has shown some merit, consider- 
 ing what she was." 
 
 Lady Colemore's inquiries were terminated 
 by the answ^erer taking an opportunity of dis- 
 appearing from her vicinity, and in quest of 
 Mrs. Harcourt, too — for he was soon to be 
 seen talking with her. 
 
 " I never know whether I Hke Mr. d'Arcy or 
 not/' said Lady Colemiore to a middle-aged, 
 caustic-looking man, who stood near her. " His 
 manners are cold; and there is sometimes a 
 superciliousness about him, which he may not 
 mean, but which is highly disagreeable." 
 
 " It is not easy to be very certain as to 
 what Mr. d'Arcy means ; his manner is often
 
 VIOLET. 141 
 
 unpleasing. I have heard him say the se- 
 verest things to those against whom, in their 
 absence, I never heard him proffer an opinion. 
 He is a scorner of trivial abuse, and so much 
 the better. George d'Arcy has friends as well 
 as enemies; and I have prognosticated that 
 he will, some day, discover how much he is a 
 
 man of talent. He is elected for C , and 
 
 will have an opportunity of showing himself in 
 the House of Commons." 
 
 Harcourt and Emily had now been married 
 long enough to be thoroughly acquainted. 
 They had passed most of their time on the 
 Continent, particularly at Paris. Before this 
 period Harcourt had made no attempt to in- 
 troduce his ^^'ife in London. Now, however, 
 he was w^illing and anxious this should be 
 done ; but not at the expense of any trouble 
 to himself; for that, in any shape, was always 
 the thing that Harcourt continued to hate 
 most. 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt soon learnt to understand 
 her husband's character. She discovered that 
 he possessed more vanity than affection. He 
 was spoilt and capricious ; and capricious to
 
 142 VIOLET. 
 
 her; for he sometimes regretted the sacrifice 
 he had made by so unequal an alliance. 
 
 Emily felt a little in awe of him when they 
 were much alone, and she was not very sorry 
 wdien the distractions of society caused them 
 to be more separated, and relieved her from 
 attending to every turn of a selfish husband's 
 summons. 
 
 By the aid of a few of his friends, she began 
 to make her way in what is called the exclu- 
 sive society of London. Her beauty, her dress, 
 and her natural quickness, did much for her in 
 a circle always gasping for novelty. The dan- 
 dies protected her, one and all; and, with them, 
 Emily, it must be acknowledged, felt more at 
 her ease than with ladies, whose reception of 
 her she occasionally disliked, and always feared. 
 
 The Harcourts and D'Arcy returned from 
 the Continent about the same time. They 
 had not met for ages, and D'Arcy, being idle, 
 accepted the invitation of his old companion to 
 pay him a visit at Easter. A few days spent 
 in a country house make us soon acquainted 
 with its inmates. 
 
 D'Arcy and Mrs. Harcourt thought each
 
 VJOLET. 143 
 
 other mutually improved ; and when both met 
 agam in town, he became a frequent guest at 
 her house. 
 
 D'Arcy was desirous of quitting diplomacy, 
 and of coming into Parliament, if he could find 
 a prospect of doing so, which was at this time 
 held out by a connexion of his own — Lord 
 
 G . 
 
 Lord G • had no direct heir to his pro- 
 perty, and, during his life, he was fond of dis- 
 pensing it indiscriminately to those he liked. 
 He remembered havino- known D'Arcv w^hen 
 he was only an Eton boy : he remembered 
 having thought him clever then ; and though 
 he had afterwards lost sight of him, now that 
 they met again, he thought sufficiently well of 
 him to offer him a seat in the House as the 
 
 representative of the borough of C ^ 
 
 D'Arcy declared frankly that he would gladly 
 accede to this proposition ; but he doubted 
 whether he could afford to renounce his ap- 
 pointment, in order to attend to what are 
 pleasingly termed " parliamentary duties." 
 
 Lord G , in the handsomest manner, 
 
 offered to make a settlement upon D'Arcy for 
 life.
 
 144 VIOLET. 
 
 D'Arcy was not ver}' mucli surprised at this 
 generous proposal ; for he knew his kinsman 
 
 G 's character. He refused it, however, 
 
 with great decision, — adding, notv/ithstand- 
 
 ing, that he found the borough of C too 
 
 great a temptation, and that he would accept 
 it, and take his chance for futurity. 
 
 " Mr. d'Arcy," said Mrs. Harcourt, slightly 
 colouring^, " I know 1 have not said as much 
 to you as other people have done, but do not 
 suppose that I admire your talents less. I 
 have only felt shy of offering my humble con- 
 gratulations on your success." 
 
 These v.ords w^ere one day spoken by Mrs. 
 Harcourt during a morning visit which D'Arcy 
 made her. They alluded to his recent fame in 
 the House of Commons; for D'Arcy, on taking 
 his seat, lost no time in displaying the vein of 
 eloquence which he possessed in an eminent 
 degree. He was suddenly cried up, and many 
 were the prognostications of his future career. 
 To great quickness, D'Arcy joined a hardi- 
 hood of manner and a boldness of sentiment, 
 which, in many cases, are allied to genius, and 
 which always give promise of it. His speeches 
 became the general topic of conversation. In
 
 VIOLET. 145 
 
 sliortj there was tliat sort of moonshine cele- 
 brity instantly attaching itself to him, \Yhich 
 is always in store for every debutant who dis- 
 tinguishes himself by striking out something 
 new. 
 
 33'Arcy smiled, and appeared pleased with 
 Mrs. Harcourt's acknowledgment of his fame. 
 She spoke, too, with something like embar- 
 rassment, and with a hesitation D'Arcy could 
 not accovmtfor; although she had just made 
 professions of shyness, he had not felt at all 
 inclined to believe them. 
 
 " At last," continued Emily, " at last you 
 will be appreciated." 
 
 '' At last ! at last, jNIrs. Harcourt. The 
 workl just now is kind enough to flatter me, 
 perhaps without foundation ; but you say at 
 last, as if you thought this should have oc- 
 curred sooner." 
 . " And so it mis-ht." 
 
 '^^Have you, then, been one of those who 
 were kind enough to suppose me something 
 better than I may have seemed." 
 ' '' At least in one sense I have, certainly, 
 for I have never forgotten an act of kindness 
 I received from you long ago, when I knoAV 
 
 VOL. II. H
 
 146 VIOLET. 
 
 you slightly, and when I did not like you, 
 probably because I thought you disliked me : 
 it was feeling as I did towards you that made 
 
 me the more grateful that day that " 
 
 Emily paused. 
 
 "I remember what you refer to^ but you 
 overrate a kindness wliicli would have been 
 equally shown by any gentleman. Do you 
 know I vras curious to learn to whom that 
 letter was addressed ?" 
 
 " Surely you read the address ?" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Harcourt. 
 
 " No ; for if you recollect, the letter was 
 stolen from me before I could have seen the 
 superscription." 
 
 "Upon what little circumstances the most 
 important events of our lives may turn!" said 
 Emily, musingly. 
 
 " I imagined the letter was for Harcourt/' 
 observed D'Arcy. 
 
 *' That was not the case." 
 
 "Indeed!" answered D'Arcy with surprise; 
 *' for some one whom you liked better?" 
 
 " I must confess that it was. I was attached 
 to a person who would have been a suitable 
 match, if the ambitious views of my mother.
 
 VIOLET. 147 
 
 and my own, too, for I will be just, had not 
 made me determine, if I could, to marry 
 Mr. Harcourt. I received at that time a letter 
 from M. Larray, offering me his hand. In a 
 moment of pique against Harcourt, and of 
 returning feeling towards Henry Larray, I 
 wrote to accept him. I knew that with my 
 mother's consent I could never send this 
 letter — she had already endeavoured to pre- 
 vent my receiving his proposal. It was you 
 who so unexpectedly came to my assistance. 
 Afterwards I made up the quarrel with Mr. 
 Harcourt, and once more I listened to my 
 mother's arguments ; and I fear^ when I heard 
 from you of the singular fate that had befallen 
 my epistle, I was not as sorry as I ought to 
 have been." 
 
 '' But your kindness on that occasion I have 
 never forgotten," continued Mrs. Harcourt, 
 with animation. 
 
 " I am much flattered by this recollection : 
 I feel consoled also for having lost the letter, 
 since I might not otherwise have had the 
 pleasure of seeing Mrs. Harcourt so fre- 
 quently." 
 
 "Ah, say nothing very civil to me, pra}^ 
 
 H 2
 
 148 VIOLET. 
 
 Mr. cVArcy." replied Emily very archly: ''J 
 sliall tliiiil: you dislike me if you begin to 
 compliment." 
 
 -Why so?" 
 
 ''• You used to make me speeches formerly, 
 when, though you were so kind to me on this 
 occasion, I know you did not like me." 
 
 " And you have not forgotten that, all this 
 time ?" 
 
 ''You see I have not." 
 
 D'Arcy, Avhen he took his leave that day, 
 inquired of Mrs. Harcourt if she was always 
 at home at the same hour ?
 
 ( ^49 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 *'I hate inconstaucy. I loathe, detest, 
 
 Abhor, condemn, abjure the mortal made 
 Of such quicksilver clay that in his breast 
 
 No permanent foundation can be laid; 
 Love, constant love, has been my constant guest, 
 
 And yet last night, being at a masquerade, 
 I saw the prettiest creature, fresh from Milan, 
 Which gave me some sensations, like a villain." 
 
 Byuon. 
 
 " Must I have always tears to kiss away ?" 
 
 Fazio. 
 
 " Oh, George, I thought you never would 
 come home ! " exclaimed a gentle and familiar 
 voice to D'Arcy as he entered his sitting-room. 
 
 It was the voice of the beautiful Violet 
 Woodville, and the mistress of D'Arcy ! 
 
 She was changed from the period of her 
 first introduction to the reader. Her com- 
 plexion was much paler, and her beauty had 
 altered its character^ but beautiful indeed she 
 still remained. 
 
 She had been sitting up, late as it was, wait- 
 ing the return of D'Arcy. Books were on the
 
 150 VIOLET. 
 
 table, the pianoforte was open, and a guitar 
 was lying on a chair, but yet Violet had a list- 
 less look, -without any appearance of having 
 employed herself 
 
 " Is it late ? " said D'Arcy, carelessly, "^^^y 
 did you sit up ? You are very pale ; j'ou would 
 have done better to have been asleep." 
 
 " I cannot sleep," answered Violet, in a tone 
 of despair. 
 
 '- What is the matter, my dear Violet .'' Have 
 you heard anything of your parents^ at last?" 
 
 " No, D'Arcy, w^orse than that, for I can 
 hear nothing of them, and I give it up. Oh 
 God!" 
 
 '' Nonsense, dearest ; you get nervous, and 
 you exaggerate everything, ^^^lom did you 
 send?" 
 
 " Howell went, and he found our old house, 
 but the people who were in it had lived there 
 a twelvemonth, and they had taken it of a 
 family called Jones. They had heard of no 
 one of the name of Woodville having anything 
 to do with the house. Then I directed Howell 
 to go to my father's landlord, in the city, who 
 was a merchant ; but he is dead, and his 
 nephew, who is his heir, knew nothing of the
 
 VIOLET. 151 
 
 tenants, or hardly of the house ; however, he 
 directed his clerks to look over his books, and 
 from them it could only be ascertained that 
 before his uncle's death my father must have 
 left the house, for these Joneses were the inha- 
 bitants at that time, and there was a note of 
 the receipt of the year's rent up to last October 
 two years." 
 
 " It is most strange," said D'Arcy, thinking 
 aloud, " that neither Dupas, nor your mother, 
 should have taken any means to communicate 
 with you." 
 
 " Why not my father, as soon as either of 
 them ? " demanded Violet, hastily. " My fa- 
 ther would have been the first, not the last 
 one, to forgive me." 
 
 " I don't know what to advise you," answered 
 D'Arcy, evasively ; '' but I must say, that if 
 the conduct of your relations is so very mma- 
 tural, yon need care very little about them." 
 
 " You forsret that I have deserved it all. 
 How did I repay their goodness, especially my 
 father's I Can I ever forget his affection? — 
 D'Arcy, you never appreciated my father ; you 
 did not know him enough, and you cannot un- 
 derstand my misery. ' Oh Father, which art
 
 152 VIOLET. 
 
 in licavcn I ' cried Violet, with sudden grief, 
 and sinking on her knees, with upraised hands 
 and e3'es, — 'Grant me but to see him once 
 more, were it but to hear him curse me. My 
 God, — my God, hear my prayer, and punish 
 me as I deserve ; let me die in wretchedness, 
 but this desire — let it be granted unto me ! "* 
 
 ^' This is shockmg ! " exclaimed D'Arcy, 
 pacing up and down the room. 
 
 He must have been moved by the scene 
 before him, and his heart must have been 
 sensible of pity, and perhaps of remorse ; but 
 these sentiments w ere mingled with displeasure 
 at their being called forth, and his love v>'as 
 lessened at that moment in the same ratio that 
 he felt his moral comfort disturbed. 
 
 " This is a great bore, and very unpleasant 
 for me," composed the sort of idea that per- 
 vaded D'Arcy's mind, without defining it to 
 him s elf in w- or d s . 
 
 " Violet," said he, after a slight pause, " you 
 must not vex yourself in this way. You exert 
 your energies too violently, and you exhaust 
 your strength ; to-morrow you will be ill. As 
 it is, your health is anything but what it used 
 to be. The circumstances that ought the most
 
 VIOLET. 153 
 
 to reconcile you to be in ignorance of tlie 
 abode of your relations, seem to have exactly 
 the contrary effect. Calm yourself, my dear 
 Violet, and pray remember that tliese scenes 
 distress me, and that really I cannot help — . 
 In fact, it is their fault entirely. I think them 
 highly to blame. Surely, however, there must 
 be some of your father's friends, whose name 
 you know, and who can inform us of him ? " 
 
 " You know the inquiries I have already 
 made, and that I can learn nothing more than 
 that they went abroad two years since; and 
 that my father was ill. If he got better he 
 talked of going to America. The Octavians 
 and Mr. Brown are gone to America — the 
 people with whom my mother was most in- 
 timate. It appears strange, that in three 
 years I should have lost all clue to such near 
 relations ; but it seems as if everything about 
 them was forgotten. Can you, then, w^onder 
 that I am profoundly miserable?" 
 
 " Those are strong words — I might have 
 hoped to have been cared for, and deemed by 
 you as something — am I to be considered as 
 nothing?" 
 
 " Ah, D'Arcy," answered Violet, in a tone 
 
 h3
 
 154 VIOLET. 
 
 of reproach ; '' why do 3-011 say this to me ? — 
 Those words should not come from you — so 
 futile too, at such a moment. You not cared 
 for I — You considered as nothing I Notliing ! 
 My God !" she a second time ejaculated, as if 
 again in prayer. 
 
 " Your parents, in abandoning you, love, 
 behaved very ill," continued D'Arcy. " I can 
 only say, put it to any one and he will agree 
 Avith me, that they have no claim to the grief 
 you show about them, to the total destruction 
 of your peace and of mine, if this is to go on. 
 Now, dearest, let us talk of something else. 
 You never told me how 3'ou liked the new 
 opera ( 
 
 D'Arcy's fame did not rest upon a mo- 
 mentary celebrit3\ He followed it up with 
 other triumphs, and he was soon looked upon 
 as a rising star amongst the competitors for 
 the honours which ambition holds out. 
 
 D'Arcy was not surprised at his own suc- 
 cess, because he always felt the secret consci- 
 ousness of talent ; he did not feel ver}- much 
 . elated hy it cither. Lady Colemore would
 
 VIOLET. 155 
 
 have said that his frigidity caused him to take 
 so sober a view of his success ; whereas it was a 
 natural consequence of ha\dng lost all the fresh- 
 ness which gilds the feelings of our youth — 
 beautiful even in their fleeting brilliancy. 
 
 D'Arcy nevertheless was ambitious. A po- 
 litical career seemed the one most suited to 
 him now ; and it ofiered the chance of some 
 illusions as yet unproved by liim, of disgust 
 and disappointments of a nature as yet unfelt. 
 It was to be the means of turning over another 
 leaf in the book of life, and of learaing some 
 of those extraordinary contradictions in man- 
 kind, which offer such fields of speculation to 
 those who like to philosophize on human 
 nature. 
 
 D'Arcy therefore employed his hours busily ; 
 and in his lounging moments he resorted to 
 the house of his friend Harcourt. 
 
 He felt interested in noting the progress 
 of Emily Norris, who was gradually fixing her- 
 self in the world as a beauty of high renown, 
 and a woman of fashion into the bargain. 
 
 Harcourt, although he was well pleased that 
 this should be the case, was not the less ennuye 
 at home, or less inclined to be out of humour
 
 15G VIOLET. 
 
 ■whenever he felt in the mood. Emily managed 
 him with a tact that amused D'Arcy. 
 
 He began too to have an opinion of her 
 sagesse, for, with a great many admirers, not 
 one was distinguished by her. 
 
 Once or twice it occurred to D'Arcy how 
 curious she must be to learn of him something 
 of her former friend, Violet Woodville — but 
 only once or twice did this idea arise: for 
 it was in the society of Mrs. Harcourt that 
 D'Arcy approached the nearest towards forget- 
 tine: the existence of Violet Woodville. 
 
 If she had not lately made him uncomfort- 
 able vrith himself; if her tearful eyes, her 
 pale countenance, and her imjoyous manner, 
 had not been so many means of inflicting re- 
 proach upon him ; Violet would not have lost 
 any of D'Arcy's love. 
 
 Few men stand the trial of being bored. 
 Ill-treatment of any description, manual and 
 moral, they Avill bear with infinite patience and 
 infinite love ; but to be bored, to be roasted by 
 means of one person in the slow fire of self- 
 reproach, — no man's love will stand that, or 
 woman's either, I fear. 
 
 The man or woman who subjects the other
 
 VIOLET. 157 
 
 to this ordeal, depends solely on the goodness 
 of heart of the person on Avhom the trial 
 is made ; and Violet was beginning to ren- 
 der herself dependant upon the goodness of 
 D'Arcy's heart. 
 
 " Is that a new guest of yours ?"' asked 
 D'Arcy, one day that he was paying Mrs. 
 Harcourt a morning visit. His question had 
 reference to a smart and indolent-looking lady 
 who just quitted the room. 
 
 *' Yes ; I met her at dinner the other day. 
 She was very civil in wishing to make my ac- 
 quaintance, and has since called upon me." 
 
 '•' Do you mean to cultivate her ?" 
 
 " I have not thought about it, but it would 
 be un\^'ise in me, who am such a decided par- 
 venue, to decline her overtures." 
 
 " But you may shun a person more or 
 less." 
 
 " Oh, certainly. But what is yonr objection 
 to Mrs. Fitzmorris ?" 
 
 " I think her a dangerous woman." 
 
 " TracassiereT' 
 
 " Yes ; and also always ready to do any- 
 thing, however extraordinary, if it suit her 
 purpose."
 
 158 VIOLET. 
 
 At this moment Harcourt entered the room, 
 and flung himself upon a sofa. 
 
 " What a confounded hot day it is ! Where 
 is one to get good ice? Tucciois so out of the 
 way. Good morning, D'Arcy ! Whom have 
 you had here, Emily ?" 
 
 '*' Mrs. Fitzmorris has just left me." 
 
 " Ah ! what, D'Arcy's old flame ? — and you 
 were here, D'Arcy ? What do you tliink she 
 is grown into ?" 
 
 '' A lady is never the better for wear ; but, 
 upon my word, I still think her a pretty wo- 
 man." 
 
 '^ Oh ! Emily would be jealous if I made 
 love to her," continued Harcourt, who was in a 
 very affable humour that morning. 
 
 " And I all this time did not know she was a 
 flame of Mr. d'Arcy's !" exclaimed ^Irs. Har- 
 court, in a tone of surprise. 
 
 " How do you get on with Mrs. Fitzmorris, 
 D'Arcy?" 
 
 ^' We are excellent friends, I believe. Did 
 it not strike you so, Mrs. Harcourt ?" 
 
 " I cannot say that ; but I see you know her 
 well, and any advice I get from you on that 
 head I shall attend to."
 
 VIOLET. 159 
 
 D'Arcy had a house in one of the terraces 
 facing the Regent's Park : he had taken 
 care to have it prettily furnished ; and the 
 sunny aspect and enhvening green expanse, 
 on which the eye could dwell from the windows, 
 rendered it a cheerful abode, and one in which 
 Violet would have lived most contentedl}' if — 
 but there are always ifs. 
 
 D'Arcy had really taken pains to secure 
 every comfort for her. She had a carriage at 
 her command, and his servants were taught to 
 respect her as their undisputed mistress. He 
 endeavoured to make her preside at his table, 
 and wished at once to introduce her to all his 
 male friends — but this she refused. Abroad, 
 she obliged him willingly in this particular, 
 but in England, where she had once been so 
 well known, Violet shrunk from such an ex- 
 posure — for such she deemed it. 
 
 '' You must have a box at the Opera for the 
 alternate weeks at least, Violet," said D'Arcy 
 to her one day ; " and the French play is good 
 this year. Pray take a box whenever you like, 
 dearest. I only vdsh I could induce yoa to 
 enter into more society." 
 
 Pleased with his efforts to render her hap-
 
 160 VIOLET. 
 
 pier, a smile something like contentment 
 beamed in Violet Woodville's eyes, and she 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " While I can think you love me as much as 
 you used to do, I cannot be quite miserable ! " 
 
 " Well, then, you might be always happy if 
 it depended on your security of my love, my 
 own little Violet I — is it not so ?" 
 
 At this moment the servant entered with 
 two three-cornered notes addressed to D'Arcy. 
 D' Arcy gave one to Violet, telling her to read 
 the contents, while he perused the other. 
 Violet read as follows : — 
 "Pray dine with us to-day. I have a great 
 mind, if you say '^yes,' to invite a dangerous 
 friend of yours : she would be delighted. 
 
 '' Yours, 
 
 "E. Harcourt." 
 " Emily, — Emily Norris !" said Violet, letting 
 the note drop from her hands, — "I did not 
 know you were so intimate with her that, 
 and she is able to ask you thus to her house ! 
 Oh ! what a difference there is between us ! — 
 tell me, D'Arcy," she asked with sudden im- 
 petuosity, " do you think, after all, that woman 
 is better than I am ?"
 
 VIOLET. 161 
 
 " No, — neither so good, nor so handsome ; 
 but you know, I stayed with the Harcourts in 
 the country, and of course I must be pretty 
 well acquainted with her." 
 
 ''That's true, but I have not heard you 
 speak of her." 
 
 '' I did not know you wanted particularly to 
 hear about her, and I have not encouragement 
 to tell you any thing connected with the 
 pomps and vanities, &c. &c. ; you are always 
 out of spirits now when I come home." 
 
 Violet gave a gentle involimtary sigh, but 
 still she continued: "Then do you see Emily 
 very often now ?"' 
 
 ''No, — yes, I go there wdien it suits me, — 
 Avhen I have time," answered D'Arcy, rather 
 impatiently. 
 
 Violet felt rebuffed, and thinking, hoping 
 that she was to blame, and not D'Arcy, for 
 this impatience, she playfully turned the 
 subject by asking who the other note vras 
 from, Avhich he held in his hand, written on 
 pink paper, and sealed with green wax. 
 
 ^' Yes," said D'Arcy, " exactly like a ;" 
 
 he stopped short. 
 
 "Like a w^hat ?" asked Violet, innocently.
 
 162 VIOLET. 
 
 *^' Nothing, my love, — like a fool as she is;'' 
 and he threw the coloured note on the table. 
 " May I read it ?" Violet demanded. 
 
 ''I must see you. I have something very 
 particular to say to you. I will be at home 
 for you till four o'clock ; jo\i will come, bad as 
 you are, nest ce jyas ?" 
 
 " Shall you go ? and who is the lady, for I 
 cannot decipher these illegible initials?" 
 
 '' Mrs Fitzmorris. As for going, — yes, if it 
 will amuse you to hear what I am wanted for." 
 
 '' Oh, pray go/' answered Violet with sweet- 
 ness: for she had not lately seen D'Arc}' so 
 ffood-humoured as on this dav. 
 
 Ha^^ng. therefore, nothing more urgent to 
 call him elsewdiere, towards four o'clock D'Arcy 
 went to pay the desired visit to Mrs. Fitzmorris. 
 
 I have described this lady before. She was 
 the identical, languishing, pale, blue-eyed 
 Matilda, to whom D'Arcy had been obliged 
 to give her conge, in a morning call, some 
 years previous to the present era. Time had 
 altered her a little, and Matilda was grown 
 to look older, which is not a tliino; of course.
 
 VIOLET. 163 
 
 because there are actually many with whom 
 tuue is the means of effacing himself Who 
 has not occasionally seen a lady at forty, com- 
 paratively young, and good-looking, who at 
 thirty contrived to seem aged and dowdy? 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris, however, was grown to look 
 a liftle older ; she had adopted a stronger 
 shade of rouge, and was more elaborately 
 dressed, and with more affectation; in short, 
 she looked more decidedly like a very foolish 
 woman than formerly. We seldom with our 
 years correct our foibles, whatever may be the 
 case with great failings ; and thus the im- 
 becility arising from a trumpery vanity in- 
 creases, if possible, when a woman has once 
 been its wholesale victim. 
 
 '' Ah ! " exclaimed Mrs. Fitzmorris, when 
 D'Arcy entered her drawing-room, *'it is kind 
 of you to come ; but why have not you been to 
 see me before ?'' 
 
 " I have tried, and you were alwa^^s out.'' 
 
 " Oh, of course, when you call at six o'clock." 
 
 " But I am so often eno'a2:ed." 
 
 " Yes, yes, you are becoming an orator ; 
 w^ell, I am glad of your success." 
 
 D'Arcy bowed; made some pretty speech in
 
 1G4 VIOLET. 
 
 return, and then said, " Tell me, did you really 
 want to see me about something in particular 
 this morning V 
 
 ''You vain creature! — Did you think I 
 made the excuse for the sake of xos beaux 
 yeiix ?" And so saying, Mrs. Fitzmorris had 
 very much the air of such being the case. 
 
 " By no means ; you know I never was vain, 
 and besides "' 
 
 " Besides, you are otherwise occupied, I am 
 well aware." Mrs. Fitzniorris played with her 
 rings, and looked down. 
 
 '' Indeed ! who has told you so ?" 
 
 '•' As if I could remember, or should tell you 
 if I did. Well, but isn't it true that you have 
 quite forgotten old times ?"' asked Mrs. Fitz- 
 morris, vrith a most coquettish expression. 
 
 " Best assured, as much as you can possibly 
 desire that I should do," answered D'Arcy, 
 promptly. 
 
 " I did not say, I desired it ;— that's your 
 version, not mine." 
 
 '•'Then," said D'Arcy, " you see I have fore- 
 stalled your wishes." 
 
 The v>^ay in which this was said, betrayed at 
 once that D'Arcy had no intention to renew
 
 VIOLET. 165 
 
 the old affair with his companion, and be- 
 trayed a coldness, if not dislike, easily seen 
 through, and severely felt by Mrs. Fitzmorris. 
 She bit her lip, and coloured with anger. 
 
 " Yon need not say things so pointedly. I 
 have eyes as well as others ; and was not going 
 to make love to you, as you seem to be so much 
 afraid that I should. In common with all the 
 world, I am quite aware that the ground is 
 taken. How do you find Mrs. Harcourt ?" 
 
 '' Is that the lady the world is so obliging 
 as to couple my name with?" 
 
 " The poor world is not to blame; — it can 
 hardly help itself, I think." 
 
 " It both can and shall," said D'Arcy, in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 " Oh, don"t be ano-rv- Silencino; the world 
 must of course depend upon yourself. You 
 have only to give her up. If you care for her 
 reputation, there is no time to lose." 
 
 '•' So as to leave it to choice, whether it shall 
 be said that I am defeated, or only tired of the 
 lady." 
 
 " Once, when I was considered the object, 
 they said the latter, I remember. The chances 
 are equal — no, that would be too good-natured.
 
 166 VIOLET. 
 
 The world will say that you are th'ed of her : 
 she is the woman, and the weakest; and when 
 was a favourable construction ever put where a 
 bad one could be given? Still, as the notoriety 
 is only in the bud, it will be talked of for two 
 days, and then forgotten. Shall I begin by 
 denying it, and stand up as the champion of 
 Mrs. Harcourt .? Come to my Opera-box to- 
 night, instead of hers, and I will." 
 
 " Tliat woidd be too sudden a retreat." 
 
 " Oh, I see ! " answered Mrs. Fitzmorris, 
 impatiently. " Do you think her handsome ?" 
 
 '^ Exceedingly !" 
 
 " Undeniably vulgar ?" 
 
 " In saying so, you discover 3-our usual ori- 
 ginality of opinion. I entirely differ from you. 
 But why do you hate her ?" 
 
 ^^ I hate her ?— Not I !" 
 
 " You forget," said D'Arcy, " how well we 
 know each other; and that I am aw^are you 
 always see people black or white, according to 
 your prejudices." 
 
 Some credit was due to Mrs. Fitzmorris for 
 the apparent good humour with which she 
 bore the uncivil observations of her quondam 
 lover. She was, in fact, naturally good-tem-
 
 VIOLET. 167 
 
 pored, but also very spiteful — a union of qua- 
 lities not unfrequently witnessed. 
 
 " Wliat lias become of that beautiful girl 
 you seduced and ran away with ?^' she asked; 
 and, observing D'Arcy hesitated, she added — 
 " Oh ! it was no secret, and affects no one's 
 reputation, except the poor girl's, which you 
 destro3'ed so long ago. So, as we do know 
 each other so well, I thought I might ask that 
 question. I know she lived with you abroad. 
 Does she still ?" 
 
 « She does." 
 
 " Poor thing ! — Do you care for her ?" 
 
 " I really do, — why do you inquire ?" 
 
 *' And is she constant, well-behaved, or does 
 she make you jealous?" 
 
 " She never has, hitherto." 
 
 " She is beautiful, is not she ? I am sure 
 you like her," pursued Mrs. Fitzmorris, and 
 looking curiously in D'^Arcy's face, as if to 
 read there a true solution to her inquiry. 
 
 "She is beautiful, handsomer, far hand- 
 somer than any other woman I ever met with 
 in my life," D'Arcy replied, rising to take his 
 leave. 
 
 He felt it a secret reproach, that such a
 
 ] G8 VIOLET. 
 
 woman should be able to speak profanely of 
 Violet Woodville. He was glad to declare 
 her beauty, and to convey, in tliat respect, his 
 opinion of iMrs. Fitzmorris's inferiority, — but 
 he was more glad to escape from speaking at 
 all with reference to a subject that galled him; 
 and D'Arcy quitted the presence of Mrs. Fitz- 
 morris more than ever disposed to avoid her 
 in future. 
 
 It is the most useless thing to define the 
 character of a person, because, if you were to 
 do so with the utmost exactitude, it is almost 
 a certainty that if their entire history should 
 be written, in some one circumstance the prac- 
 tice of the individual would be found at va- 
 riance with his or her moral attributes. 
 
 For instance, oNIrs. Fitzmorris was about as 
 heartless, as frivolous, as worthless as any wo- 
 man could well be ; yet, such as she was, she 
 had once loved, had felt herself capable of sa- 
 crifices, and had shed tears of extreme sorrow 
 at the time when she saw that she was neg- 
 lected by a man she preferred. She did not 
 love well, I mean heroically, but still her love 
 was an improvement, compared to anything 
 else she was capable of either doing or feeling.
 
 VIOLET. 1G9 
 
 D'Arcy, too, after a fashion^ liad seemed to 
 like her once. She was then young and 
 pretty, and very lively; she afforded him 
 amusement, added to which, he saw he was the 
 first possessor of all the heart she had to give. 
 The advances were rather on her side at the 
 beginning, but she succeeded in captivating 
 D'Arcy for a time. After a while he was in- 
 clined to grow tired of this liaison, and, from 
 the excessive imprudence of Mrs. Fitzmorris 
 was alarmed lest even her patient husband 
 should be exposed to the absolute necessity of 
 discovering that secret known to all the world, 
 which M. Balzac so pithily declares since the 
 memory of man it has never betrayed. 
 
 In the pursuit of Violet Woodville, D'Arcy 
 often forgot Mrs. Fitzmorris altogether ; then, 
 when she upbraided him for his carelessness, 
 she had to bear with coldness and fault-fmd- 
 ing, — condemned to discover the most painfid 
 of all truths, that your lover has not only 
 ceased to love you, but that he leaves you in 
 doubt if he ever loved you at all. 
 
 !Mrs. Fitzmorris bore numerous mortifica- 
 tions proving this to be her case, with more 
 calmness than many women would have done. 
 
 VOL. II. I
 
 170 VIOLET. 
 
 The reasons were, that she was, as has been 
 said, possessed of an inherent good temper ; 
 and, secondly, she was devoid of the delicacy 
 of sentiment which would have made any 
 other person deeply sensible to half her pro- 
 vocations. 
 
 She did not go to one ball the fewer, or 
 spend one half hour the less before her look- 
 ing-glass, nor, even in thought, did she deny 
 herself the consolation of looking forward to 
 rej)airing his loss. 
 
 She soon heard of D'Arcy having fallen 
 in love with Violet Woodville, and of her 
 being his mistress ; but this fact did not dis- 
 tress her, as a ten minutes' flirtation w^ould 
 have done, if he had been seen to have one 
 with a lady in her own set. Finally, when, 
 after the absence of years, D'Arcy returned to 
 his country, and began, in worldly parlance, 
 to throw himself at the feet of Mrs. Harcourt, 
 he gave Mrs. Fitzmorris the utmost annoy- 
 ance it was in his power to inflict. 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt was a young beauty, invested 
 with the charm of novetly, and, consequently, 
 mth a whole cloud of admirers hovering about 
 her. It was quite natural that Mrs. Fitz-
 
 VIOLET. 171 
 
 morris should en\y her be3-ond measure, and 
 that she should try to do all she could to take 
 D'Arcy from her. 
 
 She did try to effect this ; and, as D'Arcy 
 said, she was always ready to do anything, 
 however extraordinary, to suit her pui-pose. 
 She had what the French designate as " une 
 mauvaise fete."' 
 
 In obedience to cVArcy's wishes, Violet went 
 frequently to the Opera: with what mixed 
 sentiments she went there at first, it is impos- 
 sible to say, still it was the only amusement 
 that gave her pleasure. New operas and new 
 ballets had started into existence since she 
 had last visited the King s Theatre ; and 
 Violet was exceedingly fond of music. 
 
 D'Arcy very often stayed part of the time in 
 her box. If he told her he was not likely to 
 come at all, she seldom went. As a sort of 
 chaperone, Violet took with her a Neapolitan 
 maid, Marietta, an ugly, stout, good-humoured 
 Italian girl of five-and-twenty. She drew the 
 curtain of her box as closely as possible, and 
 endeavoured to escape the observation of every 
 
 one. 
 
 One night, when she was more than usually 
 
 i2
 
 172 VIOLET. 
 
 al)sorbcd in the acting of Malibran, she dis- 
 covered that she was an object of notice to a 
 lady who sat in the third box from her, and 
 ahiiost fronting her. Violet could not avoid 
 perceiving that she w^as watched by this per- 
 son, and she wondered who it could be. She 
 was, apparently, a full-blown personage, with 
 niore rouge and more boldness than any lady 
 (ofi the stage) she had ever seen before. Her 
 whole appearance, in short, denoted her cha- 
 racter to be equivocal. 
 
 After beins: stared at some time, Violet was 
 dismayed by the lady's eyes suddenly emitting 
 sparkling gleams of recognition, combined 
 with all the gesticvilation with which foreigners 
 can distort their features. It may be supposed 
 poor Violet made no signs of reply, and was 
 lost in wondering dread of who the stranger 
 could be; when, all at once, it flashed upon 
 her that it was a face she had formerly known. 
 Violet longed for D'Arcy to enlighten her, if 
 possible ; but he had already been to her. box 
 that nio^ht, and did not come asrain. 
 
 On the next morning, about one o'clock, as 
 she was pensively inhaling the fragrance of the 
 mignionette, at her pretty drawing-room win-
 
 VIOLET. 173 
 
 dow, the servant unexpectedly announced a 
 visitor ; and, almost before she was aware of 
 her presence, Violet found herself embraced 
 by the stranger who had recognized her the 
 night before. 
 
 It was not for a few succeeding minutes that 
 she was able to recollect the features of Madlle. 
 Celeste. Our readers have, perhaps, likewise 
 forgotten her. But Violet Woodville's Avant 
 of memory was excusable. From a coquettish 
 French girl, pert-looking, but very pretty. 
 Celeste had spread out into a fat, coarse 
 woman. She was rouged immoderately ; her 
 once clear brown skin was painted white, and 
 her eyebrows appeared to have been rubbed 
 with a blackened cork. Her dress was of the 
 most outre fashion ; and short petticoats being 
 then worn, the shortness of those of Madlle. 
 Celeste was positively alarming. Altogether, 
 her person displayed the appearance of a 
 lengthened apprenticeship in vice, and that, 
 too, not of the best order. 
 
 Violet was struck with dismay at being 
 familiarly accosted by such a personage. 
 
 The coldness of her reception Mile. Celeste 
 either did not, or would not sec. She drew a
 
 174 VIOLET. 
 
 cliair, and left Violet to recover her surprise, 
 while she talked for both ; and while she did 
 so, her ej^es seemed to be walking round the 
 room, for the purpose of taking the minutest 
 cognizance of ever3'thing in it that they could. 
 
 " Est-ce que le rez-de-chaussee est a vous aussi. 
 Mademoiselle?'' 
 
 Violet bowed an affirmative^ on which Ce- 
 leste made large eyes, and exclaimed, — " Oh 1 
 la maison est toute a vous done f Ah, vous etes 
 bien, c'a se voit ; mais c'est toujours M. d'Arcy 
 qui vous met dans vos meubles, nVst ce pas ? " 
 
 Violet Woodville never felt a stronger feel- 
 ing of disgust than that she now entertained 
 towards this woman, and her distant manner 
 would have been tantamount to a dismissal, if 
 the brass of Mile. Celeste had not been proof 
 against everything. She went on talking un- 
 concernedly, she made answers for herself, ab- 
 solutely astounding Violet by her behaviour. 
 At the same time it was now and then impos- 
 sible not to smile at the strange light in which 
 she exhibited herself, and, while she went on 
 talking, it more than once occurred to her un- 
 fortunate auditor to question whether Made- 
 moiselle was most knave or fool.
 
 VIOLET. 175 
 
 Celeste recounted lier own history since they 
 had been last in presence of each other. She 
 said she had been very ill used, and had suf- 
 fered severely from la jalousie brutal e of Lord 
 W. " Est'il jaloux, luiT' said the fair one, in- 
 terrupting herself, and illustrating her mean* 
 ing with a jerk of her head and a turn with 
 one eye. 
 
 " Who do you mean, Mdlle. Celeste ? " 
 "Mais! M. d'Arc}^? // ned pan jaloiix, 
 Madame. V raiment I II a Fair tout au con- 
 traire. C'est ce que je dis, la phisiognomie dit 
 tou jours faux. Mais que disois-je tout aVheure? 
 But what is it 1 talk French for dat speaks 
 English ? Would you credit comme j'ai ete 
 maltraitee 9 Lord Villiom s'avisa to he jaloux 
 of a cousin of my own, unjeune homme charmant, 
 and perfect the gentleman in his principes ; and 
 one day he was visiting at me. Lord Villiom 
 put him from my house by de vholc flight of 
 steps, from top to bottom. I had fits, des 
 evanouissemens effroijahles. Ah ! le souvenir de 
 mes malheurs mest Men penible,'" — and Celeste, 
 at this period of her narration, sunk her voice 
 down to a soprano. 
 
 Violet maintained silence, and again hoped
 
 17G VIOLET. 
 
 slie v.ould go ; but she hoped in vain. Violet 
 Woodville, in the meantime, sat before her, 
 her cheeks d3'ed with a bhish of mingled shame 
 and anger, caused by the cruel necessit}^ of 
 enduring the presence of such a character. 
 She persevered in making short replies to 
 her communications, but this only encouraged 
 Mdlle. Celeste to talk the more, and to 
 lengthen the details of her own history. Per- 
 haps she imagined she was amusing her victim. 
 
 *' I was carried to a hospital, tinking to die ; 
 I had not money nor friends : dat young brute, 
 my Lord Villiom, behaved so scandalous unto 
 me, — Oh, cet homme doit elre bride vlf. Bah ! " 
 
 " But your cousin, Madame, should have 
 taken care of you," Violet condescended to 
 interpose; for she felt rather interested, in 
 spite of herself, at this climax of Celeste's mis- 
 fortunes. 
 
 " Ah ! luL ! ma is il etoit obliye de retourner en 
 Bretagne, rejoindre ses parens ; cest un jeune 
 homme qui a des amis tres illustres. But I tell, 
 all in short. After dat I got veil. But my 
 confessor talk very much to me vcn I w^as ill. 
 He persuade me to lead imquiet life, tres 
 retiree. He very kind old man to me, and
 
 VIOLET. 177 
 
 did make me link all sorts of disagreeable 
 tings. And he ^vas means of getting me a 
 place vitli a noble family in the provinces, 
 as English governess, — you see I speak de 
 English quite fluently ; and it was not people 
 dat knew Paris ; ancienne Noblesse tres roccoco, 
 extremement roccoco. Cependant mon malheu' 
 reux destin, helas I m^a poursuici. 
 
 " I was not a Vahri to the unfortunate pas- 
 sion that the brother of my pupils conceived 
 for me. I said all I could to induce him not 
 to molest me. Enfin, au moment de se noyer it 
 ma arrache dcs pleurs. Sa mere harhare nous 
 a decouverts, cest a dire mes pleurs. Et elle 
 s'est indignement coaduite avec rnoi. I did 
 leave their house. I did arrive in Eno-land, — 
 jelois sans ressources, — de Opera was over, de 
 town empty, de men all gone, — aussi favois 
 des principes, jacois toujours peur du diable 
 depuis ma maladie affreuse. I did get into a 
 Scotch family to teach de French. I was to 
 join them in Scotland : c'etoit encore des gens 
 de province. Eh Lien, concevez mon horreur ! I 
 go to dese people, and find myself releguee in 
 an old tower in de nord of Scotland. Rain 
 continuel, never cease, — on vat dey call fine 
 
 I 3
 
 •XTB VIOLET. 
 
 days was only small rain, vat dey call mist. 
 Then not- ting to eat, cles legumes crues et 
 soupe maigre, — no fire, — cetoit defendu par 
 leur religion, je crois,jusqu au mois de Novemhre 
 ail moins. On Sundays they go to church, 
 and hear one man speak in de Gaelic, Ian- 
 gage des Druides, — des gens qui existoient 
 avant le temps de Louis Quaforze. This last 
 three hours, and then was translated for de 
 /ami lie. 
 
 " M}^ pupils had all red heads, and spoke 
 with voices tearing away my ears; — with 
 hands and feet, and une tournure si affreuse, 
 que je nose vous en fair e la descripAion. Puis 
 pas un seul homme I Enfin je me suis sauvee 
 ■ apres trois mois de 'prison parmi ce peuple sau- 
 vas:e ; cetoit avoir goiite de la jnirgatoire 
 d'avaiice, aussi a cause de celaj'ai obtenu absolu- 
 tion de fous mes j^eches pendant six mois. Desor- 
 mais jamais — je ne songerai jajnais a me placer ; 
 et voila deux ans deja que je me trouve tres 
 hien. Pas comme vous, ma chere, ceptendant,'' 
 said Celeste, once more casting her eyes round 
 the apartment. '' You very comfortable here, 
 I sec. Est-ce que les meubles sont entierement 
 
 a vous 
 
 ?"
 
 VIOLET. 179 
 
 '' I don't understand you, Mademoiselle 1" 
 answered Violet, with a look of astonishment. 
 
 ''Oh 1 moi aussi jai un joli apart ement, mais 
 M. le Comte m'a donne les meiihles, cest que je 
 trouve cela Jort bien : ca nous reste tovjours, 
 meme quand o7i demenagej' and the French 
 woman winked and laughed. '' Connoissez 
 vous mon ami, le Comte Booby 9 jeune homme 
 ires fjalant, et facile a livre? M. d Arcy doit le 
 connoitrey 
 
 " 1 beg 3"our pardon/' said Violet Woodville, 
 rising from her seat with burning cheeks, and 
 unable any longer to bear the presence of her 
 companion, " I beg your pardon. Mademoi- 
 selle, but I have an engagement, and am 
 obliged to leave you." 
 
 This could not be misunderstood, even by 
 Celeste, and she rose to take her leave, de- 
 claring, however, she would come again an- 
 other da}^ 
 
 As she went out of the room she turned 
 round with a knowing look, and observed, " II 
 faitt tacher de so faire donner les meubles. Cost 
 un grand avantagc, croyez moi, ma chere.'"' 
 
 " What am I come to !" thous^ht Violet to 
 herself when she was alone, "that this wretched
 
 ISO VIOLET. 
 
 creature should venture to obtrude herself 
 upon me thus." 
 
 The door burst open, and D'Arcy entered. 
 
 " My God, Violet!" he exclaimed, " what so- 
 ciety have you learnt to keep all at once ? how 
 did that woman, that painted French devil, 
 get into my house ?" 
 
 '' Oh ! D'Arcy, she has been with me all this 
 time : I could not help it." 
 
 D'Arcy rang the bell ; on the servant enter- 
 ing, he said, '• Let the person who is just gone 
 away be refused in future all admittance to 
 this house, on any plea whatsoever." 
 
 *' You cannot be angry with me that I 
 should have been forced to see her ; — you may 
 suppose my horror of her," said Violet, depre- 
 catingly, for she saw that D'Arcy was angry. 
 
 '' I was surprised that you, who are so very 
 inconveniently particular sometimes at seeing 
 my friends, should be receiving a morning 
 visit from such a woman, the boldest one even 
 of her kind, I think." 
 
 " Well, she thought she had, nevertheless, a 
 right to visit me.'' 
 
 " Psha," answered D'Arcy, coldly, and coldly 
 his manner struck upon the heart of poor Violet.
 
 VIOLET. 181 
 
 She could not forbear saying, " I told you, 
 D'Arcy, that I should live to be despised. 
 What is it that has brought this woman upon 
 me ?" 
 
 " Spare me this sort of side-winded re- 
 proach." 
 
 '' I beg your pardon, if I have offended ; it 
 "was impossible to help expressing my disgust 
 at that coryphee from the Palais Royal T 
 
 D'Arcy spoke without feeling, and then 
 withdrew, for he was bored; and Violet re- 
 mained alone, to be preyed upon by the mor- 
 tification occasioned by the events of the 
 morning. 
 
 " The world's regard, that soothes, though half untrue," * 
 
 was utterly wanting. She felt herself an out- 
 cast, and that he v.ho had reduced her to be 
 so considered, on a sort of pa^ with Madlle. 
 Celeste, was himself angry with her that this 
 should now be proved to be the case. 
 
 The injustice of the world is proverbial, yet 
 Violet Woodville had not counted on being 
 so soon exposed to its e\-il chances. 
 
 * Campbell.
 
 ( 192 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 jealousy 
 
 Belonged not to her noble nature. 
 
 Humble she was, unconscious of the charms 
 
 "Which might have turned the heads of half the world. 
 
 But she was trusting — full of confidence. 
 
 And now — what devil is't that makes men's hearts ? — 
 
 She is forsaken — and, Oh Heavens! for v/hom.^"' 
 
 Old Pi.AV. 
 
 One day, at the dinner-hour, D'Arcy did not 
 appear. Violet fancied she must be mistaken 
 in understanding that he had intended to dine 
 at home. 
 
 '' Do you know if ]Mr. d' Arcy has any en- 
 gagement to-day?" she inquired of the ser- 
 vant. 
 
 " Don't know. Mam. Mv. d'Arcy dines, 
 most probably, at Mrs. Harcourt's, Mam." 
 
 " Why most probably at Mrs. Harcourt's ?" 
 
 " Master dines there most days that he does 
 not dine any where else. Mam." *' If he
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 183 
 
 does not dine there, he is sure to be in- 
 tending to go there, or he will be to be heard 
 of there. Mam, if you have any message to 
 send." 
 
 It was an under servant who spoke. Howell 
 would have had more tact. 
 
 Violet Woodvile returned no answer ; but 
 she sat, for nearly half an hour afterwards, in 
 a profound reverie. 
 
 For some time past she had seen that D'Arcy 
 was less at home, and that he was far less kind 
 to her than formerly. But, not being of a 
 jealous disposition, Violet, with her usual 
 amiability, had attributed this change to her- 
 self alone. She was aware that she did not 
 receive him with a smile, as formerly, and that 
 she had not the power of amusing him : the 
 depression of her spirits increased so much, 
 that she w^as sometimes glad of D'Arcy 's ab- 
 sence, at the same time that her existence 
 hung upon him. She w^as like a plant that 
 requires the sun, but withers if too much ex- 
 posed to it. She could not always endure the 
 restraint of appearing happy, while her heart 
 ^vas profoundly miserable; and she could
 
 184 VIOLET. 
 
 neither conceal her grief, nor bear that D'Arcy 
 should have the pain of witnessing it. 
 
 On the plea of the change within herself, 
 she excused D'Arcy's frequent absences and 
 occasional instances of unkindness in his man- 
 ner. She had not grown to think that lie 
 actually loved her less ; and if she had, it was 
 still another thing to think that he had learnt 
 to love some one else better. 
 
 Many women might have jumped to tins 
 conclusion more readily ; but then Violet Avas 
 not naturally jealous, and always felt inclined 
 to think favourably of every one. She was fear- 
 ful of wronging D'Arcy, even in thought; for 
 it would have been the means of destroying 
 her last illusion. Nevertheless the clouds of 
 sorrow were grathcrins: over her head more and 
 more heavily each day. Alas ! for this fair 
 young creature ! She was a beautiful, but too 
 frail a plant to resist the most pitiless storm 
 to Avhich she could be exposed. 
 
 On a certain Tuesday evening, whilst Violet 
 -was sitting at home, endeavouring to read, and 
 secretly worried in a way she would not allow 
 to herself, at not having seen D'Arcy the whole
 
 VIOLET. 185 
 
 day, the servant entered, to say that the box- 
 keeper from Ebers' wanted to speak to her. 
 Violet desired he might be shov.n up. 
 
 The ex-officio of Mr. Ebers came with a 
 proposal to induce her to change her box for 
 a smaller one on the other side of the house. 
 " If you will give it up to us, ]Ma'am, for this 
 night only, we will deduct it from your nights, 
 and charge you nothing for the smaller box." 
 Violet acquiesced, and added she would always 
 be willing to give up that box for a smaller 
 one, at a less price. 
 
 ** It is larger than I want, and I am quite 
 indifferent as to what side of the house my 
 box is on ; indeed, I always thought it larger 
 and more expensive than I required." 
 
 "We made Mr. d'Arcy, Ma'am, the offer of 
 the box you will have to-night, but he did not 
 see it, and took the larger box, because it was 
 the only one we had left on that side." 
 
 '' I Avill speak to Mr. d' Arcy about it ; and 
 if you are willing to make the exchange, I 
 think it would answer much better for me to 
 do so." 
 
 Mr. said he had no objection; he could 
 
 at any time let the box she was in possession
 
 186 VIOLET. 
 
 of with advantage. " A box like yours, Ma am 
 pays us well, and better, on the whole, in 
 letting it by single nights, when we have 
 already one subscriber for the alternate week." 
 Violet Woodville depended on seeing 
 D'Arcy that day, before the time for going 
 to the Opera; but eight o'clock came and 
 he had not been home. She then remembered 
 to have heard that a division in the House was 
 expected. It w^as a new Opera, and Violet, 
 who had not yet seen it, Avas anxious to be there 
 at the commencement. She knew how useless 
 it might be to wait for D'Arcy's return, and 
 she departed, leaving with the servants the 
 number of her box, in case he came in time 
 to join her. 
 
 On this evening, Violet Woodville felt 
 rather happier than usual ; a sensation which 
 we all experience at times without compre- 
 hending the means by which this variation of 
 our spirits has been \ATOught; being unwil- 
 ling to allow that the air we breathe, the very 
 aspect of the street we inhabit, or, above aU 
 our own health, may be the sole cause of the 
 change. On such occasions, we much prefer 
 indulging in the belief of presentiments of
 
 VIOLET. 187 
 
 good and evil, as if there ^vas not enough 
 mystery in our being, without extending its 
 influence to things so trivial. But this is very 
 natural, for it is flattering to the " pride that 
 apes humilit}'." 
 
 The house vras nearly filled when Violet 
 entered her box. She placed herself as usual, 
 so as to be seen as little as possible, and her 
 maid, Marietta, was obliged to follow the ex- 
 ample of her mistress. 
 
 The house on that evening presented one of 
 its most brilliant coups-cl ceil. 
 
 Violet's box was on the tier above the dress- 
 circle. There happened to be only one vacant 
 box in the whole row, and that was exactly 
 opposite. During the interval of the first and 
 second act, a lady entered, and took possession 
 of the seat nearest the stage. 
 
 She was young, strikingly handsome, and 
 beautifully dressed. Violet recognised her as 
 Mrs. Harcourt; but how difierent, how im- 
 proved, since she last beheld her ! 
 
 Violet Woodville contemplated her former 
 friend, not with envy, but with a mixed sen- 
 sation of surprise, curiosity, and undefinable 
 melancholy. She had never before been struck
 
 188 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 "with the amazing chasm that fate, or conduct 
 (as my readers will have it) had placed between 
 them. There was such an air of satisfaction 
 about the one, — there was such a distinction 
 between the honoured wife of Hugh Harcourt, 
 Esq., and the mistress of George D'Arc}^ Esq. 
 The one, courted, admired, and respected, — 
 the other, conscious of disgrace, and only 
 anxious to avoid notoriety ! 
 
 Is it because she has been virtuous, and I 
 have not? was the question that obtruded 
 itself upon Violet Woodville; and then she 
 thought of the past, and was lost in reflections, 
 all tendinjr to make her remember that time 
 was, when their chances had been equal ; and 
 when, if either mi<>'ht have envied the other, 
 she had been the person to be envied. On 
 one side, every thing had been gained : 
 worldly honours, and a good character withal. 
 On the other, all had been wrecked! These 
 thoughts, and such as these, occurred to the 
 mind of poor Violet, as she sat mournfully 
 contemplating the brilliant Mrs. Harcourt. 
 
 One dandy after another entered, and dis- 
 appeared from her box ; to all she appeared 
 to give the same reception, but she would not
 
 VIOLET. 1S9 
 
 have looked so handsome, if the triumph of 
 gratified vanity had not lighted up her coun- 
 tenance, as Violet had seen it do in days of 
 yore. She could not abstract her observation 
 from her old companion, and her attention was 
 finally rivet ted upon her, when she saw Mrs. 
 Harcourt suddenly turn her head from the 
 stage, for the purpose of saluting D'Arc}', 
 as at that moment he entered her box. One 
 or two other persons then left it, and D'Arc}*, 
 taking a vacant seat, appeared to have much 
 to say to Mrs. Harcourt, and to be troubled 
 with no desire of attending to the Opera. 
 
 In vain did Violet watch, hoping that 
 D'Arcy, after a reasonable time, would with- 
 draw, as the previous visitors had done ; but 
 no ; he stayed. 
 
 She watched his countenance ; it was gay 
 and smiling. She observed Mrs. Harcourt ; 
 she was radiant. They talked earnestly; 
 D'Arcy more particularly so ; and he kept 
 gazing at his companion in a way that was 
 quite unnecessary. In short, the most un- 
 practised eye would have suspected a flirtation. 
 
 For the first time in her life, Violet Wood- 
 ville felt really jealous. How can I describe
 
 190 VIOLKT. 
 
 the nature of the sick and smkinix heart with 
 which she adopted the conviction that D'Arcy 
 loved another ? 
 
 There are some moments so painfid in their 
 endurance, we would gladl}^ forget that they 
 belong to human existence — moments in which 
 it would have been better to have been sleep- 
 ing the sleep of death, than to have lived and 
 suffered their anguish. 
 
 No tears rose to the eyes of A'iolet, for jea- 
 lousy despises the relief of tears; but she 
 turned faint — no incident, at that moment, 
 could have affected her. The earth mis^ht 
 have rolled beneath her feet, but, while life 
 remained, she would have experienced but one 
 sensation. 
 
 But I will not dwell on this theme : I will 
 rather say, in the words of a beautiful writer — 
 " Das Herz thut ihm allzu well denn er hat 
 ahnlichcl dinge erlebt, d scheut sich in der ^^ 
 Erinnerung audi von ihrem Schotten. Du ken- 
 nest warscheinlich ein bhnliche Gefulil, liebe/"' / ^--y 
 Leser, denn so ist nur einnial der sterblichen *-^/ 
 Geschick." 
 
 She who suffered remained for awhile like a 
 person in a miserable dream. A sound of
 
 VIOLET. 191 
 
 mirth, a song, expressive of human joy when 
 most triumphant, then burst upon her hearing, 
 and awoke Violet from her trance of despair. 
 
 She listened to the music : it was so acutely 
 in contrast with her feelings, that she ex- 
 claimed, almost aloud, " Could there be then 
 so much happiness ever known upon earth T' 
 
 The duet was encored, and then the cur- 
 tain fell ; and, while the pit bestowed its deaf- 
 ening plaudits, Violet Woodville sank back 
 in her chair, and all but fainted. 
 
 While Violet was hastening home, to indulge 
 in her misery, D'Arcy remained at the Opera, 
 unconscious of the anguish he had occasioned, 
 occupying these idle moments in criticizing the 
 ballet, and in admiring, with his eyes, the. 
 beautiful face and figure of Mrs. Harcourt. 
 
 " Where is Harcourt to night ?" he inquired. 
 
 " At Crockford's, I suspect. I wish you 
 would persuade him not to go there so much. 
 I know he will be induced to play." 
 
 " I have put him on his guard once or twice, 
 when he has been disposed to listen to me ; 
 but why not exert your influence ?" 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Harcourt seldom allows me to 
 advise him — and he is so easily irritated,"
 
 192 VIOLET, 
 
 Mrs. Harcoiirt exclaimed, and then stopped 
 short in hci' sentence. 
 
 " Surely not with you? He must be as 
 much your captive as ever." 
 
 *' Mr. d'Arcy, you must know better than 
 that," said Emily, in a half reproachful voice. 
 
 " I cannot understand any man not being 
 
 at your feet — but then — he is he is not 
 
 worthy of you." 
 
 " He is a spoilt child, and every now and 
 then regrets having married me. I should be 
 wretched if I did not know that whoever had 
 my place, Harcourt would not be in the least 
 happier." 
 
 " No, indeed. Heavens, what man could 
 complain if he possessed you !" 
 
 D'Arcy was enabled to hazard ih.Q^e fadaises, 
 and made aware that they would be tolerated, 
 by their forming the accompaniment to Mrs. 
 Harcourt's abuse of her husband ; and he put 
 so much unction into his manner, that the 
 matter was not ridiculed. However, Mrs. Har- 
 court thought it time to interpose with, — 
 "AMiat nonsense ! I am not better than others; 
 but I talk to you as I would to an intimate 
 friend, who understands Harcourt as well as I
 
 VIOLET. 193 
 
 do myself; you must not make me speeches, — 
 I don't like compliments." 
 
 " I don't Avonder at that, you must be sick 
 of them, — you, who have so many admirers." 
 
 *' AVelh if I have, you may suppose I know 
 how much they are worth." 
 
 " True ; but it may happen that you may 
 be admired, and create a lasting- impression 
 where you don't intend it." 
 
 "No, no, men are so vain, it seldom hap- 
 pens that they bestow their serious attention 
 vipon a married woman, unless they think they 
 shall be well received." 
 
 D'Arcy thought this was very true, but his 
 acquiescence he forbore to pronounce, — ^lie 
 only went on enlarging upon the involuntary 
 passion Mrs. Harcourt was capable of inspir- 
 ing. She listened and smiled, — for she was 
 vain, and she liked the language of admira- 
 tion, especially from D'Arcy. She did not, 
 however, listen at her ease, because she was 
 afraid of being said to flirt with him. She 
 did not quite know how far her position would 
 exempt her from the remarks of those on 
 whose fiat she placed her dependence. In 
 
 VOL. II. K
 
 194 VIOLET. 
 
 short, poonvoman ! she could not consider her- 
 self to be sufficiently estabhshed to feel as- 
 sured that she might flirt to any xteent, and 
 still be deemed infallible. So she desired 
 the world should see that she was courted by 
 D'Arcy, but, at the same time, she thought it 
 wiser, being only a parvenue, that she should 
 not give rise to criticisms upon her conduct, 
 which spiteful, but omnipotent, and, perhaps, 
 jealous gods and goddesses, might render the 
 instruments of her destruction. Mrs. Har- 
 court had already learnt, that the toleration 
 of the w^orld was not impartial ; she remem- 
 bered, therefore, that time Avas passing, and 
 that D'Arcy had been seen during a consider- 
 able interval in her box. The ballet was all 
 but over. 
 
 *' Mr. d'Arcy," she said, therefore, half in 
 joke and half in earnest, " people who have 
 no discrimination will say that I am flirting, if 
 you stay here any longer." 
 
 D'Arcy took the hint, and departed. He 
 perfectly understood the policy on which she 
 acted, aiid was quite willing to humour her. 
 
 " Violet," said D'Arcy, next day, '' I was
 
 VIOLET. 195 
 
 very sorry not to get to you at the Opera last 
 night, but the House sat so late I could not 
 manage it/' 
 
 " You went to the Opera ?" said Violet, in- 
 terrogatively, and trembling while she spoke. 
 
 " Yes ; but I knew it was past your hour 
 of staying, so I did not go to your box. How 
 did )^ou like the new opera ?" 
 
 D'Arcy scarce heard the answer to his 
 question, and he did not in the least observe 
 the dejected air of Violet Woodville. He 
 was just then thinking over the speech of a 
 political adversary, against whom he meant 
 that very evening to pit his own eloquence in 
 the ensuing debate. 
 
 On her part, Violet ascertained that, not 
 having previously returned home, D'Arcy had 
 gone to the Opera without hearing of her 
 having exchanged her box, and she learnt, 
 besides, that when at the Opera, he had not 
 taken the trouble of finding out whether she 
 had attended it or not, — at least not until he 
 quitted Mrs. Harcourt, and then, indeed, it was 
 "past" Violet's usual hour for retiring. 
 
 Violet saw that at this present moment 
 D'Arcy was pre-occupied by politics, and that 
 
 K 2
 
 196 VIOLET. 
 
 he was thinking more of public than of pri- 
 vate affairs. 
 
 " He is caring more for his ambition than 
 even for Mrs. Harcourt; and as for me " 
 
 She left off thinking- her sentence, but she 
 garnered up her feelings, and gathered strength 
 ii'om his indifference to disguise them care- 
 fully. There is nothing which so effectually, 
 or so disagreeably checks the exposure of our 
 sentiments, as -the finding another person as 
 unmindful as he is unprepared to receive the 
 communication. 
 
 While she felt so unhappy, perhaps D'Arcy 
 had never, at any period, been more contented 
 with his existence. 
 
 He was occupied in a way that suited his 
 disposition, and, above all, the activity of his 
 mind. In younger days he had been too 
 dissipated, too roving, too independent, like- 
 wise, to bend his thoughts systematically to 
 the course of ambition. When younger, he 
 was too arrogant to reason wisely, and too 
 keen-sighted to belong to any party. But 
 D'Arcy was exactly the person to become, 
 intensely, a man of the world, in conduct 
 more than in feeling. Our feelings remain
 
 VIOLET. 197 
 
 as they were, miicli long'cr tlian we suppose; 
 but the difference is, that our actions cease 
 to be governed by them; we acquire, as 
 D'Arcy did, ''L'esprit du monde, et I'esprit 
 du monde est un esprit de souplesse et de 
 menagement.*" 
 
 D'Arcy had no immediate desires to gratify, 
 and no affections unfulfilled. The creature he 
 had loved the most v/as Violet ; but she was 
 no longer a novelty, and now that she did not 
 enter into his pursuits, lie was willing to be 
 absorbed by them, and^ for the sake of diver- 
 sion, to flirt with Mrs. Harcourt, to the preju- 
 dice of the unfortunate being whose happiness 
 he had taken into his own hands; and he made 
 but small allowances for the melancholy that 
 was overcasting her existence. He could say 
 to himself, '• She should consider that this air of 
 woe must be very disagreeable to me ; it makes 
 me prefer something else ; — I must go where I 
 shall escape this sort of ennui." 
 
 It was undoubtedly a vvant of calculation on 
 the part of Violet, who should have reflected 
 that D'Arcy would be displeased by her con- 
 tinual inclination to grieve. Nevertheless, she 
 
 * Masslllon.
 
 198 VIOLET. 
 
 endeavoured, and imagined that she had suc- 
 ceeded in concealing her grief from him, on 
 the subject of her parents, — in the same way 
 as she strove to hide the pangs of jealousy 
 which devoured her now. At all times, and 
 at any cost to herself, she would have spared 
 him pain, for there did not exist a more gene- 
 rous heart ; but Violet did not herself know 
 how easily her mind could be read. Besides^ 
 her health was failing, and she was losing her 
 bodily strength. 
 
 While she remained abroad, the neglect of 
 her parents did not so much surprise her. She 
 thought it was merited^ and she lived in hope. 
 But when, on her arrival in England, she 
 found that they had left it;, and gone no one 
 knew whither — when she could discover no 
 means of ascertaining their fate, she was 
 seized with the most vivid affliction. At first, 
 D'Arcy had entered into her distress, till by 
 degrees the subject tired him, and she was left 
 undisturbed to commune with her grief. 
 
 That they might have suffered misfortunes, 
 — that they might have died^ believing her 
 careless of their destiny ; these, and all the 
 imaginings that follow in the train of re-
 
 VIOLET. 199 
 
 grets, which we are led to fear are come too 
 late^ harassed her mind. Then it was that 
 Violet Woodville recalled every act of kind- 
 ness of her parents ; above all, the thought 
 of her father's goodness, and of her having 
 been his greatest joy, — of the simplicity of his 
 blunt affection, — of his honest pride in her 
 beauty, and his spoiling love and tenderness 
 in the days of her childhood ! 
 
 She cherished such recollections as a feeling 
 mind is wont to do — those that are the most 
 painful. She would not spare herself a single 
 agony, and she, who would fain have been so 
 kind, so considerate, towards any thing that 
 was human, became a prey to deep remorse ! 
 And, more than all, she had begun to doubt 
 of D'Arcy's love ; that love for which she 
 had sacrificed every thing ! — herself, and her 
 parents !
 
 ( 200 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Oh ! 'lis a feaiTul thing to frel, 
 Ju this cold world, iilone." 
 
 Capt. D. L. Richardson. 
 
 "You \Yill go to tlie Breakfast, of course?" said 
 D'Arcy, one morning, in Mrs. Harcourt's 
 drawing-room. 
 
 " Certainly, as I am invited. Shall you go ? 
 — but it is no use asking, as it is not to be for 
 a week." 
 
 " I will go, at all events, if you will take 
 me?"' 
 
 " Very v>'cll — yes — only — no 1 am to' 
 
 take some one else, I believe." 
 
 *' But in your barouche there is room ?" 
 
 " There is," said Mrs. Harcourt, with some 
 embarrassment. " But the world is so ill- 
 natured. I think I had better not take 
 you." 
 
 " You are very much afraid of the world !"
 
 VIOLET. 20 1 
 
 " If I am, am I ^vrong V 
 
 '- No ; it is wise to fear the world, even if 
 it interfere with 3-0 ur friendships!" an- 
 swered D'Arcy, drily. 
 
 '• If you really required me to take you to 
 the Breakfast, I would do it with pleasure ; 
 but I know, well enough, a hundred other 
 people will be too glad to do so, and no re- 
 marks will be made about them; whereas I 
 am not a privileged person." 
 
 " I see," said D'Arcy ; '' but whatever cava- 
 lier you take, will belong to you for the da}'. 
 I shall, therefore, not go at all." 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt hesitated, blushed a little, 
 and then said, "• You can join me in the even- 
 ing : after dinner, people disperse about the 
 garden. I will take some one whom I can get 
 rid of." 
 
 Upon hearing this, D'Arcy's eyes grew 
 rather brighter, and his manner better hu- 
 moured, as he graciously assented to a propo- 
 sition which was assuredly very flattering. 
 
 " Will you go to the Horticultural Gardens 
 to-morrow ?" he presently demanded. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Harcourt. 
 
 " At what time ?" 
 
 K 3
 
 202 VIOLET. 
 
 '' Any time : I have not tliouglit of the 
 tnne." 
 
 " Say at four, then?" 
 
 *^ Very well— only " 
 
 '^ What ?" 
 
 " Why, if you are going — shall you go ?" 
 
 D'Arcy laughed. 
 
 " What I was about to say is, that if many 
 people are there, don't join me at once — I 
 shall walk to the further end." 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and Lady 
 
 M was announced — the last person Mrs. 
 
 Harcourt wished should have seen D'Arcy at 
 her house, cautious as she was of giving um- 
 brage to the world, and having always in view 
 the obtaining a steady footing in that society 
 in which, at first, she was only suffered. 
 
 Lady jNI was a lady whose suffrage 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt eagerly desired to obtain, and 
 one whose verdict against her she would have 
 
 greatly feared. Lady M had ceased to be 
 
 young. Her manners were dignified, and she 
 might still be called handsome and magnifi- 
 cent in her appearance ; altogether, it must be 
 said that she was imposing in person, both in 
 character and in demeanour. She went with
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 203 
 
 the world ; but she did not give her indi\idual 
 countenance to its vices. She blamed no one ; 
 but she had never been known to accord her 
 protection where blame could be justly ap~ 
 plied. Her understanding was too cultivated, 
 her breeding too polished, to render her dis- 
 agreeable ; but still she was an alarming per- 
 son to those who were not intimate with her. 
 
 In Lady M 's collected manner of ad- 
 dressing Mrs. Harcourt it was impossible to 
 discover whether D'Arcy's presence had made 
 an impression upon her for good or evil. He 
 soon rose to take his leave, and as he did so, 
 Mrs. Harcourt carelessly addressed him, say- 
 ing, " I will give your message. In general 
 Mr. Harcourt is always in and out of my 
 dramng-room during the morning, — ^^Yhere he 
 is to-day I don't know.'^ 
 
 This little speech might serve as a blind to 
 
 Lady M , but, otherwise, it was not politic 
 
 in Mrs. Harcourt to allow D'Arcy to be in the 
 secret of the ready meanness of invention it 
 displayed on her part, and, accordingly, his 
 mouth was still curling with a sneer as he rode 
 down St. James's Street. 
 
 It may be fairly asked whether D'Arcy
 
 204 VIOLET. 
 
 seriously designed to seduce liis friend Har- 
 courfs wife. All tliat can be said is, that lie 
 despised Harcourt's character, and was more 
 allied to him by intimacy than by friendship. 
 Then, D'Arcy was habitually careless of 
 others, and confident in himself. If his in- 
 tentions were not really bad, he was still in a 
 tortuous path, and no one ought to have 
 known its dangers belter than he did. There 
 was safety in his not being in love with Mrs. 
 Harcourt, — a fact he disguised from her, but 
 not from himself; and, under false colours, he 
 endeavoured to fathom her sentiments. 
 
 At first he had only been surprised by ob- 
 serving her transformation into a woman of 
 fashion ; but she had the art of rendering 
 herself agreeable, and had spared no pains to 
 make D'Arcy like her, — he was, of course, 
 flattered. He liked her house, and gradually 
 began to admire its mistress ; he sought, per- 
 haps, a compensation for the languor of his 
 own home. By degrees D'Arcy was piqued 
 into wishing to know more of Mrs. Harcourt. 
 He began to think he was in duty bound to 
 make love to her. The occupation pleased 
 him, for he saw it pleased her, and she was
 
 VIOLET. 205 
 
 miicli too liandsome for liim not to feel 
 obliged to her for this. DWrcy was spoilt- 
 he had never acquired self-correction, — and 
 he had not the weakness or the tenderness 
 of disposition which leads to forbearance, and 
 sometimes supplies the want of it. 
 
 One day, about this time, Violet Woodville 
 was astonished by receiving an anonymous 
 letter, the contents of which smote her like a 
 death-blow. 
 
 The letter informed her of D'Arcy's "de- 
 voted passion," for such were the words, for 
 Mrs. Harcourt. She was warned to separate 
 him from her, if possible, and to beware of 
 Mrs. Harcourt, as her greatest enemy. 
 
 Some misfortunes become doubly certain 
 when tliey are repeated by the world, which 
 we had not taken into our confidence. So 
 Violet Woodville felt it now, and she sat (like 
 a person who has been stunned) for an hour 
 with the letter in her hands. 
 
 No woman at such a moment is a compe- 
 tent judge of the best mode of acting; but, in 
 some cases, impulse supphes the place of 
 judgment, and a jealous woman always, I be- 
 lieve, acts upon impulse, if she can. Had
 
 206 VIOLET. 
 
 D'Arcy been in the house, Violet would have 
 flown to him, shown him the letter, and have 
 been contented when he had told her that all 
 it said was false. Perhaps, too, moved by the 
 sight of her grief, D'Arcy would have held 
 himself bound to make his assurance true. 
 But, alas ! D'Arcy was not there, and long 
 before he returned to his home, which was not 
 till very late the next morning, from the 
 House of Commons, Violet had settled her 
 plan of conduct, and determined to communi- 
 cate with him by writing. 
 
 If I speak to him (she argued), I shall only 
 embarrass myself by the anguish I cannot 
 disguise : neither will I inflict any scene of 
 this sort upon him, — if D'Arcy has ceased to 
 love me, perhaps it is my own fault. I know I 
 am not what I used to be. I have become a 
 clog to him. I will abstain from all upbraid- 
 ing : whatever I suffer, have I not deserved it ? 
 So argued Violet Woodville. Her spirit was 
 incapable of revenge, and she preferred blam- 
 ing herself to blaming another : besides, she 
 began to fear that all her misfortunes had 
 been merited by her. 
 
 Violet could not guess from whence the
 
 VIOLET. 207 
 
 anonymous letter came, but concluded, at all 
 events, that it was written by an enemy of 
 D'Arcy's. I have neither friends nor enemies, 
 she said to herself. 
 
 By the next day, Violet had written a letter 
 to D'Arcy, which she intended should decide 
 her fate. She would have given it on this 
 morning, and was summoning resolution to do 
 so, when D'Arcy addressed her, by saying he 
 meant to go that afternoon to Putney. 
 
 The Harcourts had taken a villa there, — and 
 in saying he was going thither, D'Arcy meant 
 that he was going to their house. Violet did 
 not know this, however, and timidly she asked 
 whom he was going to stay with. Timidly she 
 spoke, for she was broken by sorrow, and, now 
 that she imagined D'Arcy could be inconstant, 
 she felt an increased sense of humiliation. 
 
 The little pride that remained to one so 
 lowly, and self-condemning, was that which 
 she derived from the affection of the person to 
 whom she had deferred every sentiment, and 
 surrendered all but her conscience. His love 
 proved vacillating, — so, therefore, must be her 
 main stay in life. 
 
 D'Arcy's sense of right and m'ong unavoid-
 
 208 VIOLET. 
 
 ably gave liim a disagreeable sensation, at 
 Violet's inquir}^, — and he therefore cliose to 
 imagine it was made on purpose. 
 
 " I thought you knew. The Harcourts have 
 taken a villa at Putne3^ What is the matter, 
 Violet?" inquired D'Arcy, suddenly; for he 
 beheld her turning very pale, and on his 
 inquiry she hid her face in her hands. 
 
 D'Arcy felt shocked, and approached her, 
 saying, '•' Vhat is it, dearest ? — tell me every- 
 thing ?" 
 
 " Oh, George ! ^yhy do you ask me ? " 
 Violet Wooclville exclaimed, bursting into 
 long suppressed tears. 
 
 D'Arcy had not the dissimulation which 
 would have induced him to fei^'n total isfno- 
 ranee of the cause of her grief, and he said at 
 once, " You surely are not so foolish as to be 
 jealous of the Harcourts?' 
 
 '' Indeed I am. D'Arc}^ have I no reason to 
 be so ?" 
 
 " None, none, dearest ! '' D'xircy replied, 
 hastily ; and, at that moment, he said to him- 
 self, " I will have done with that woman : what 
 is she, compared to this one — who has loved 
 me for myself alone, and who has none of the
 
 VIOLET. 209 
 
 worldly mindedncss I have seen so much of, 
 and which I despise so thoroughly ? " So 
 thought D'Arcy, but it did not enter into his 
 mind to give up going to Putney that day ; he 
 had engaged himself, and he never dreamt of 
 sacrificing twenty-four hours of amusement ; — 
 and to appear uncivil besides. 
 
 There was a point of difference mutually 
 misunderstood. D'Arcy persevered in going 
 to Putney, because he knew it was of no con- 
 sequence to his new resolves, whether he 
 spent a day more or less in the society of 
 Mrs. Harcourt. Violet, who knew not how 
 little he cared for her rival, deemed his going 
 of seriovis hnportance. 
 
 D'Arcy thought it wise to treat her feelings 
 lightly ; contenting himself, therefore, with an 
 assurance that she v.ronged him, and that his 
 heart was hers alone. 
 
 "Xo, George," said Violet, ''you do not 
 love me now, as you loved me once. It is not 
 your fault. I don"t blame vou, D'Arcy."' 
 
 '•' My dear Violet, you shut yourself up, you 
 grieve over past events, and then you get fan- 
 ciful. You must trust more to me, and, above 
 all, you must seek more amusement."
 
 210 VIOLET. 
 
 In saying this, D'Arcy was not unreasonable; 
 for, as he was ignorant of the circumstances 
 that rendered her jealous, he imagined her sur- 
 mise to be wholly founded upon the knowledge 
 of his frequent visits to Mrs. Harcourt, and 
 that her low spirits had fostered the painful 
 idea. 
 
 Violet hesitated, whether she should un- 
 deceive him, by explaining on what grounds 
 her jealousy was founded; but while she was 
 yet thinking whether she should tell him all, 
 or leave it to her letter, D'Arcy had observed 
 the clock. "I find," said he, "if I intend to 
 go at all, there is no time for delay;" and he 
 took her hand, evidently to bid her farewell. 
 Violet no longer doubted about what she 
 should do. 
 
 The very manner in which D'Arcy spoke, 
 chased all explanation from her lips. She 
 felt he had not then time to think of her. She 
 composed herself, and asked how soon he 
 would return. 
 
 " Probably, to-morrow." 
 
 " And you are not going to the Breakfast, 
 to-morrow ?" 
 
 " No, I think not, — at all events, instead of
 
 VIOLET. 211 
 
 going from Putney, I will come to town. It 
 will be out of my way, — but what does that 
 signify ?— I shall see you." 
 
 " Oh ! if you would come back !" exclaimed 
 Violet, ^^ith sudden energy, '' if but for a 
 moment ! You can still go to the Breakfast, 
 so easily from town. I don't know why, but 
 I am sure I shall be miserable, if I do not see 
 you to-morrow. I shall fancy I know not 
 w^hat ; and you must only pity me, and not be 
 angry, for indeed there are moments when we 
 cannot command ourselves." Violet pressed 
 her hand to her aching brow, and she looked 
 very ill. 
 
 "Take care of yourself, dearest, — go out 
 and dissipate these ideas which have seized 
 hold of you. As if I did not love you! — at 
 present, I have no intention of going to the 
 Breakfast ; at all events, you will see me at 
 four to-morrow. 
 
 "Good bye, my love, and don't be silly/' 
 D'Arcy added, in a tone of mingled careless- 
 ness and kindness. 
 
 Violet smiled through the tears which were 
 still hovering on her eyelids, and tried to look 
 as if she would obej'.
 
 212 VIOLET. 
 
 She felt a little re- assured when D'Arcy 
 seemed so certain of his return next day ; but, 
 as he was closing the door, she called to him, 
 in a tremulous tone, " George, I hope you will 
 not disappoint me. Pray come back to-mor- 
 row^: I don't know why I desire it so, but I 
 feel very unhappy." 
 
 '' I shall certainly be here by four. Order 
 the carriage. Tr}^ and amuse yourself. Is 
 there anything I can do for you ?" 
 
 " Nothing — nothing." 
 
 " He is gone ! " Violet involuntarily ex- 
 claimed, the next moment. 
 
 D'Arcy, before departing, would have en- 
 deavoured to soothe her more effectually, but 
 he was afraid of encouraging her to give way 
 to emotion, and he hardened his heart, by 
 trying to think he was taking the best course 
 in treating her grief lightly. Still, as he rode 
 down the street, his mind misgave him, and 
 he regretted that he had not attempted to 
 penetrate more fully the motives of Violet's 
 jealousy of Mrs. Harcourt. Certainly his 
 leaving her, without a thorough explanation, 
 was not the way to diminish her suspicions. 
 Her looks of suffering, too, haunted him:
 
 VIOLET. 213 
 
 D'Arcy had not been so struck by it till now, 
 when the vision of her sorrowful face remained 
 in his mind's eye ; and the impression became 
 at length so strong, that he was turning his 
 horse to gallop home. At tliat moment he 
 was arrested by a servant of Mrs. Harcourt, 
 who gave him a note, which, the man said, 
 he was ordered to lose no time in takino- to 
 him. 
 
 The note contained a few lines from Mrs. 
 Harcourt, begging D'Arcy, if he conveniently 
 could, to be at Putney by six o*clock, as she 
 wished to see him before her husband should 
 come home. 
 
 D'Arcy knew that there could be no time to 
 lose, if he meant to obey Mrs. Harcourt's 
 wishes. He, therefore, rode quickly on, and 
 Violet Woodville, if not forgotten, was at least 
 neglected.
 
 ( '-^14 ) 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "We know not the amount of misery 
 The heart can bear, when, one by one, the ills 
 Of life steal on us ; but, alas ! there are 
 Calamities which overwhelm at once, — 
 Crushing the spirit by a sudden blow, — 
 And leaving the poor victim powerless, 
 Without a chance of struggling with his fate." 
 
 Anon. 
 
 In the meantime Violet sat at liome^ a prey 
 to that gloomy depression^, which is one of the 
 most pitiable states of the mind. 
 
 She felt all the additional suffering arising 
 from ill health ; for, almost unremarked by her- 
 self, and quite uncared for, mental anxiety had 
 long been preying upon her constitution, but, 
 though delicate, being naturally healthy, the 
 injury was slow in manifesting its symptoms. 
 She grew weak, however, and became often 
 restless with the fever of debility.
 
 VIOLET. 215 
 
 She felt ill, but not comprehending the 
 cause, and not considering that health, or the 
 want of it, could possibly add to, or diminish, 
 her unhappiness, it is not wonderful that she 
 took no care to check the growing evil. 
 
 Now, however, as Violet sat alone, she made 
 an effort to dispel her low spirits, perhaps 
 from feeling how overwhelming they were be- 
 coming. She tried her piano-forte, but the 
 first notes she struck called forth painful re- 
 collections, and renewed her tears. She en- 
 deavoured to read, but at the end of half an 
 hour she found she had only been studying 
 the same page without comprehending a sin- 
 gle line. 
 
 She flew to the open window. The sun was 
 shining brightly over the green surface of the 
 Regent's Park. It was a charming afternoon 
 in the month of June. Violet heard the rattle 
 of carriages, and watched the britschkas of the 
 London ladies as they rolled on to the park. 
 Their appearance, as they dashed along, in 
 their brilliant attire and their open vehicles, 
 conveyed an idea of gaiety, and of minds at 
 ease, which the reality, if known, might have 
 failed in proving.
 
 216 VIOLET. 
 
 Violet gave a sigh, and said, inwardl}-, " All 
 those people cannot be happy, — but they are 
 not as wretched as I am ;" and she looked 
 about for some object more in unison with 
 herself. 
 
 A poor and ragged old woman was totter- 
 ing along the pavement, and once or tv/ice 
 addressed the passengers for relief. Violet 
 sent her some money. The mendicant looked 
 up at the window, crying out, " Many thanks 
 to you, lady ; I am a happy woman to what I 
 was, and my poor dear onl}^ son, who is dying 
 of the fever, will want for nothing now, till it 
 please God to take him. May God bless you, 
 and pour the joy into your heart that you 
 have given to mine, by your bounty;" and, 
 with a countenance expressive of real content, 
 the beggar departed. 
 
 " Her only son dying ! — and that woman is 
 rendered comparatively happy ! She has no 
 feeling, and I cannot pity her,'' exclaimed 
 Violet ; and she turned away, when an organ- 
 boy struck up " Portrait Charmant," and 
 Violet paused to give way to the associations 
 the street- worn air conjured up in her mind. 
 
 An old romantic air like that of -' Portrait
 
 VIOLET. 217 
 
 Charmant/' lias, sometimes, from its very com- 
 monness, a more powerful effect than the finest 
 song out of the " Puritani." 
 
 With the former we are so familiar; in our 
 happy hours we have so despised it, as that 
 eternal thing ; in our busy moments we have 
 so contemned the tiresome organ-boy with his 
 one tune; and, as we have driven along, and 
 at the turn of a street have caught the weary 
 notes of an organ, one has said, '' How sick I 
 am of that old French air I" and then we have 
 pursued our way, and forgiven and forgotten 
 the antiquated romance. But in the time of 
 sorrow, of inactive sorrow, — then, if such an 
 air as " Portrait Charmant " be heard min- 
 gling with the \adgar street sounds, it will 
 strike you as it never did before, and in lis- 
 tening to the notes you find it is, somehov/, 
 taking a gentle revenge for all the contumely 
 you have cast upon its hacknied sounds in 
 days gone by. 
 
 So nov/ was it the case with Violet; and 
 ■when the music had died in the distance, her 
 mournful feelings seemed unaccountably re- 
 vived in strength by the passing notes of an 
 old hand- organ. 
 
 VOL. II. t
 
 218 VIOLET. 
 
 Violet ordered her carriage. She was fear- 
 ful of remaining longer in her present mood, 
 and the idea occurred that if she did not exert 
 herself, her reason would be impaired; her 
 mind was growing m.orbid, even much more so 
 than she suspected. 
 
 At the moment the carriage was ready, a 
 servant brought up a card, the owner of which 
 requested to see her if she should be at lei- 
 sure. 
 
 " Monsieur Larray, 
 
 Professor of Music," 
 was printed upon the card ! 
 
 Violet rose from her sofa, and, in excessive 
 agitation, was going to rush down the stair- 
 case. She recollected herself, and desired 
 that the gentleman might be shown up stairs. 
 
 Henri Larray, for it was indeed he, had 
 grown a more staid-looking man than at the 
 period of his introduction to the reader at the 
 commencement of this story. His vivacious 
 countenance had acquired that subdued look 
 which, somehow or other, the face of a mar- 
 ried man always does acquire. Henri had not 
 broken his heart entirely on Mrs. Harcourt's 
 account, and he had married a pretty Eng-
 
 VIOLET. 219 
 
 lisliwoman, with whom he enjoyed domestic 
 happiness. 
 
 On finding himself in the presence of Violet 
 Woodville^ he testified embarrassment, and 
 more gravity of demeanour than he might 
 have done had he met her under different 
 auspices. But he must have seen at once that 
 she was the same in outward seemino^. An 
 erring course had not in her, as it does in 
 so many others, led to corresponding man- 
 ners. 
 
 Violet flushed on beholdinor- her old ac- 
 quaintance, and her heightened colour, which 
 remained by her, prevented Larray from ob- 
 serving in her an appearance of illness, which, 
 at another time, he would have easily dis- 
 cerned. 
 
 On his entrance, Violet Woodville held out 
 her hand, without speaking, and it was some 
 minutes before she could utter a word. 
 
 "You must be surprised," said Larray, '' at 
 my abrupt visit, but it is business that makes 
 me have the honour of calling ; should it be 
 inconvenient to you now, pray allow me to 
 come another day." 
 
 Violet assured him that she had no engage- 
 
 l2
 
 220 VIOLET. 
 
 ment, and expected no interruption. This she 
 said in a marked tone^ glad to intimate that 
 he needed not fear the arrival of D'Arcy. 
 
 Larray then repeated that he was come on 
 business, — ^family affairs of her own, of import- 
 ance to her to be acquainted with. 
 
 At this announcement, Violet trembled 
 violently. She felt certain she w^as going to 
 hear tidings of her parents, and inwardly she 
 was almost overcome by a rush of feeling, 
 strangely compounded of joy and terror. 
 Visibly agitated, she attempted to essay an 
 inquiry, if he had news of her nearest rela- 
 tions, but the words died away upon her lips ; 
 at length she articulated : — " My father ! my 
 mother?" 
 
 '' I am come from France, from Tours," said 
 Larray, ^' and an office has devolved upon me, 
 which I am anxious to execute to the best of my 
 abilities. M. Dupas has been living at Tours 
 the last few years, and" 
 
 ''But my parents ! my father?" interrupted 
 Violet. Larray looked anxiously at her, at 
 the same time with an air of curiosity, as if 
 there was something he wished to learn. A 
 sigh escaped him as he said evasively, '^ Yes,
 
 VIOLET. 221 
 
 part of tlie time your father was with M. 
 Dupas at Tours." 
 
 ^' And my mother, how is she ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Woodville is quite well," replied he, 
 in a lighter tone. 
 
 So far, the conversation had indirectly 
 tended to reassure Violet Woodville, and, to 
 avoid immediate interruption, she allowed her 
 companion to resume speaking, without further 
 interrogations, trusting to hear all she desired 
 from his lips. 
 
 Larray proceeded to state, that M. Dupas 
 had been residing at Tours, but latterly had 
 gone to Bagnieres, on account of his declining 
 health. 
 
 '' Has he been ill, then ? " exclaimed Violet, 
 " the dear, good old man ! Has he ever 
 deigned to cast a thought upon me, — who 
 have proved myself so unworthy ? I was his 
 favourite once, you know, M. Larray," shQ 
 added, with a forced smile ; and then she 
 swallowed the tears that rose, and almost 
 choked her. 
 
 " He never forgot you, — be assured of that, 
 and he a-lways retained his affection for you." 
 
 '' Oh, then wdiy have I been abandoned by
 
 222 VIOLET. 
 
 him, if indeed he did not think it best to 
 forget me ?" and Violet clasped her hands and 
 wept. 
 
 Larray waited till her emotion had subsided, 
 and then resumed the conversation by saying ; 
 *' Do not think you were neglected. M. Dupas 
 made inquiries about you, through various 
 channels. All the time you were abroad, he 
 knew where you were residing, and that you 
 were well. He had wandered so much in his 
 youth that he has acquaintance in many cities 
 of Europe, and — and ]Mr. d'Arcy's official 
 capacity rendered it easy to ascertain at all 
 times where he resided, and"' 
 
 " Yes, yes, I see, — he could easily learn 
 where I was, but why not write me one line 
 of consolation ? Did he think I had no desire 
 to learn some intelligence regarding my 
 family ? He could not suppose that I had 
 suddenly become dead to all human ties ! 
 Did it not occur to him that I had no means 
 of obtaining any information concerning my 
 father ? — he must have known that my parents 
 did not write to me. From him they concealed 
 nothing. It would have been most charitable 
 to have told me any thing concerning them : —
 
 VIOLET. 223 
 
 and M. Dupas, too, who was always so kind, 
 and so considerate. My father ! — Oh, Mon- 
 sieur Larray, you cannot imagine what have 
 been my feelings at times ! To have had to 
 bear, without any alleviation, the sense of 
 continual remorse, till my heart has longed 
 to burst ! — to have thought of my poor father 
 and mother as I have done, — to have inquired 
 for them fruitlessly, and to have gone on with- 
 out seeing a period to such misery ! To have 
 lived on, in uncertainty of their existence, — to 
 desire only to die, even if I were unforgiven 
 by them ! If you could feel as I have felt, you 
 would pity me ! Yet do not tliink he has 
 been unkind," added Violet, fearful lest 
 D' Arcy should be censured ; " far from it. It 
 is only myself I have to blame, and for every- 
 thing. 
 
 " And now, where are my parents ; and are 
 they both quite well?" 
 
 Henri Larray changed countenance ; he ap- 
 peared greatly embarrassed, and continued 
 silent. 
 
 " Where are they ?" demanded Violet again, 
 while she fixed her eyes upon him. 
 
 " I have nothino^ to communicate that will
 
 224 VIOLET. 
 
 not be painful for you to hear/' said Larray, 
 nervously, and as if making an effort ^Yith 
 himself 
 
 " I was not aware how^ uninformed you have 
 
 been of the events that have taken place 
 
 Na}', listen to me — do not interrupt me, dear 
 Miss Woodville, for your sake and for mine. 
 First, let me say, banish from your mind all 
 idea of negiect or unkindness ; nothing of 
 the sort was contemplated towards you. M. 
 Dupas looked forward to seeing you himself 
 some day, and communicating to you all his 
 kind washes and intentions on your behalf I 
 was residing a long time at Tours, and he 
 trusted me with his confidence; and, at his 
 death " 
 
 " Is he, then, dead ? My God !" 
 
 " He is dead ; but he died happy, and at 
 a good old age — he was sevent)^ Let us 
 rejoice that his end was tranquil, and that, till 
 within a week of his death, his health had 
 been good : he thought he should be able to 
 re- visit England at the period of your return, 
 and to see you again — his dearest child, as he 
 always called you." 
 
 " God's will be done !" said Violet, after a
 
 VIOLET. 225 
 
 pause, and in tlie resigned tone of one who is 
 accustomed to suffering. 
 
 " And my fatiier ?" 
 
 " Ah ! what shall I say 1" exclaimed Larray. 
 " Mine is a cruel task, and one I almost shrink 
 from, now that I see its extent.'' 
 
 '' Don't keep me in suspense — I can Lear 
 anything — I am prepared for anytliing. Do 
 you not know we only come into the world to 
 suffer? — and, therefore, it is all right, and as 
 it should be." 
 
 " God grant you to be happy some time. 
 You must not despair — you must hope always. 
 You would have heard from our dear old 
 friend concerning your father, but that it be- 
 came unavailing, and then he thought it better 
 not to write." 
 
 " Unavailing !" exclaimed Violet "Woodville, 
 with force. " Unavailing ! — then now I un- 
 derstand you. What could make it unavail- 
 ing, except that — he is dead?" 
 
 Larray bent an affirmative in silence. 
 
 " He is dead I" repeated Violet. 
 
 She changed colour alarmingly, but she did 
 not faint. Her previous state of excitement 
 subsided, and the effect rendered her appa- 
 
 l3
 
 226 VIOLET. 
 
 rently resigned. Larray was exceedingly re- 
 lieved by her unexpected composure. In a 
 few minutes she requested to hear further. 
 
 " Mr. Woodville's health, when he came to 
 Tours, was greatly impaired, and he was still 
 under considerable excitement. He had a 
 friend, however, who never lost sight of him ; and 
 when at last it became necessary to place him 
 in confinement, M. Dupas engaged for him to 
 live in the house of a physician whom he knew. 
 The hearing of this is painful, but perhaps 
 Mr. Woodvillc suffered less in consequence of 
 this bereavement than he otherwise might 
 have done; and his death-bed was undisturbed 
 by anxiety. M. Dupas intended more than 
 once to write to you, to tell you all this : but 
 he was deterred, by fearing the impression 
 that would be made upon you, by learning the 
 state in which your father died: latterly, he 
 fully intended seeing you again himself, and 
 doing all he could to soften such cruel intelli- 
 gence — his death prevented this : he has left 
 you his heir, and I am his executor. I ac- 
 knowledge I trusted not to find you so com- 
 pletely unprepared for all my fatal intelli- 
 gence."
 
 VIOLET. 227 
 
 *' No ; no one would tell me that I drove 
 my father mad!" ejaculated Violet; and she 
 spoke in a tone that was harsh and unlike 
 herself. 
 
 Larray endeavoured to speak words of com- 
 fort, but was met by no encouragement ; he 
 hardly knew if she heard him, and felt at a 
 loss to comprehend the nature of her sensa- 
 tions. Violet appeared to be more absorbed 
 in deep thought than in grief, and, when he 
 spoke, his words seemed to be unnoticed by 
 her. Larray was glad when he found an op- 
 portunity of saying, that he had a letter for 
 her from her mother. This seemed to recall 
 the unhappy girl to consciousness, and she 
 said, inarticulately, ''My mother, then, — my 
 poor mother ! Is not her heart broken ? — I 
 have done that, too 1" 
 
 Larray actually coloiu'ed, as, in producing 
 the letter of Violet's mother, he still withheld 
 it, and, with great embarrassment, began to 
 remind her that two years had elapsed since 
 her father's death, and that Mrs. Wood\-ille, 
 in short, had, about six months since, married 
 a rich manufacturer at Tours, and, conse- 
 quently, it v»as to be presumed that she was
 
 228 VIOLET. 
 
 no longer inconsolable for her family misfor- 
 tunes. 
 
 Violet's astonishment, and even indignation, 
 were sufficiently visible, although she said 
 nothing. She opened the letter of Madame 
 Nicoise (her mother's present appellation) 
 with a trembling hand, read it, and tossed it 
 upon the table, muttering words which Larray 
 could not catch, — but her gesture was expres- 
 sive of contempt. Then, recollecting herself, 
 she abruptly exclaimed, " But that is nothing, 
 — and then my father does not know it, per- 
 haps, for there is no saying, — none of us 
 know that ;" and Violet relapsed into abstrac- 
 tion. 
 
 Her mother had written to acquaint her 
 with her marriage, to lament over "her 
 dearest child's " unfortunate conduct, which 
 had been the means of destroying her father ; 
 and concluded by saying that she (Madame 
 Nicoise) not having informed the Sieur Ni- 
 coise of Violet's undutiful derelictions, she 
 thought it would be most prudent for them 
 not even to correspond: inasmuch as, on ac- 
 count of M. Nicoise' s extreme respectability, 
 he could not possibly acknowledge a con-
 
 VIOLET. 229 
 
 nexion with her " sweet Violet," the circum- 
 stances considered, &c. &c. But that the 
 fortune of M. Dupas rendering her inde- 
 pendent, if she chose to quit Mr. d'Arcy, 
 many plans were open to her, and ^Nla- 
 dame Nicoise hoped that, if she had not 
 lost her beauty, it would be very possible for 
 her to meet with some one who would marry 
 her, and then she would be quite restored to 
 a position rendering her worthy of being ac- 
 knowledged by ^ladame Nicoise, and which, 
 she declared, she should then be most happy 
 to do. 
 
 Larray now thought it time to take liis 
 leave. He wished he knew more of Violet's 
 domestic life, that he might have ascertained 
 how much the kindness of D'Arcy w^as likely 
 to console her. 
 
 He asked permission to call again at three 
 o'clock the following day. 
 
 At these words Violet appeared to recall 
 some idea foreign to her grief, and she an- 
 swered, hastily, " At three — no, not at three." 
 
 " I fear I shall be engaged before that 
 hour," observed Larray ; " will you permit me, 
 then, to name the day after?"
 
 230 VIOLET. 
 
 "Be it so/' was the reply; and Larray, after 
 again endeavouring to say kind words, with- 
 drew. 
 
 On leaving the house he bethought himself 
 of inquiring if Mr. d'Arcy was staying in town, 
 and living at that house. The answers were 
 in the affirmative. Either D''Arcy's being 
 gone to Putney was forgotten, or the circum- 
 stance did not interfere v/ith the footman's 
 notions of his master being resident in town, 
 and thus Larray was not disturbed by fearing 
 that Violet would be left too long to grieve in 
 solitude. 
 
 When Violet Woodville was left alone, after 
 the dreadful communications she had been 
 receiving, a sense of misery stole over her, 
 which was so stunning that for a long time 
 she remained almost insensible; that is, in- 
 sensible to the frightful turn her own thoughts 
 were taking, as they brooded over past scenes, 
 and her imagination revelled in recollections 
 that were the most harrowing. 
 
 When the servant entered and announced 
 dinner, Violet appeared to misunderstand him, 
 and the man's astonishment was immeasurable 
 wdien finally she exclaimed "Never!" Her
 
 VIOLET. 231 
 
 foreign maid came to lier to make the same 
 inquiry, and then Violet, with more compo- 
 sure, only said she wished the dinner to be re- 
 moved, and that she was not well. 
 
 The evening drew on, and still Violet sat 
 alone in her drawing-room, while one thought, 
 more terrible than another, crowded on her 
 brain. 
 
 She Avished to die, and could have exclaimed, 
 with melancholy earnestness, like Massinger's 
 heroine in the play, 
 
 " "Why art thou slow, thou seat of trouble — Death, 
 To stop a wretch's breath, 
 That calls on thee, and offers her sad heart 
 A prey unto thy dart ? " 
 
 The twilight was dramng on; the distant 
 hum of voices and of carriages was subsiding ; 
 the chirping of the birds, in the small sur- 
 rounding gardens and the park trees, came 
 more loudly on the ear, and the dying sounds 
 and the comparative silence of an evening in 
 that part of the town where Violet resided, 
 succeeded to the noisy gaiety of a London 
 summer's day in the season. 
 
 This additional external repose was not be- 
 neficial to Violet Woodville, and the stillness, 
 as well as the growing obscurity, painfully
 
 232 VIOLET. 
 
 encouraged tlie ideas that were breaking her 
 heart. 
 
 By degrees the room became peopled with 
 phantomS;, and the furniture and the shadows 
 became images of her lost parent, till at last 
 she fancied her father's form was distinctly 
 visible at the end of the room, and she rose to 
 approach it with staggering energy : the door 
 opening, and the servant bringing in lights, 
 occasioned a powerful and very necessary re- 
 vulsion to these horrible conjurations of an 
 excited imagination. 
 
 Restored to a better comprehension by see- 
 ing another person, and the bright light of 
 the argand lamp, Violet was then in a condi- 
 tion to feel more reasonably, if not with an 
 anguish less intense. 
 
 At length she threw herself upon her bed, 
 and might have slept, perhaps, from exhaus- 
 tion and fatigue ; but she was also under the 
 keenest nervous irritation ; and, besides, sleep, 
 
 '•' Like the world, his ready visit pays 
 Where fortune smiles ! The wretched he forsakes ! 
 Swift on his downy pinions flies from woe, 
 And lights on lids unsullied with a tear." 
 
 The next morning Violet was ill enough for
 
 VIOLET. 233 
 
 her maid to urge her to send for medical 
 assistance. This ^Yas positively refused, how- 
 ever. Marietta, nevertheless, was surprised 
 and alarmed, and asked if Mr. d'Arcy would 
 be home that day ? 
 
 " At three o'clock," replied her mistress ; 
 and Marietta argued to herself, that if D'Arcy 
 were to return so soon, Violet would not lose 
 much time in being under his authority and 
 care. 
 
 No wonder that Violet attracted the obser- 
 vation and the compassion of her maid : her 
 manner was unusual, and her cheeks crim- 
 soned with fever. She had eaten nothing for 
 four- and- twenty hours, and she still continued 
 without food, although she accepted some tea. 
 It was not easy to comprehend what was 
 passing in her mind ; but while she still could 
 think that D'Arcy loved her, if but a little, one 
 small white speck dwelt, no doubt, upon her 
 dark horizon. 
 
 At three o'clock that afternoon she sent for 
 Marietta, who, on entering her mistress's pre- 
 sence, was glad to see her smile; and, in a 
 cheerful tone, she pointed to the clock on the 
 mantel-piece, exclaiming,
 
 234 VIOLET. 
 
 " It is three o'clock ! He will be home di- 
 rectly." 
 
 And then, waving her hand, Violet dismissed 
 her maid. • 
 
 In the midst of her misery, Violet Wood- 
 ville clung to the recollection that, at three 
 that day, D'Arcy had promised her he would 
 be home. Sometimes, in great unhappiness, 
 we attach an apparently unwarrantable anxiety 
 to a slight circumstance, which, trifling as it 
 may be, is yet agreeable to us. It can hardly 
 be called hope that leads us to cherish this, 
 but the inherent propensity born with us, of 
 clinging, to the last, to the faintest shade of 
 happiness that can yet possibly be ours. 
 
 D'Arcy was then indeed the sole remaining 
 tie to Violet Woodville; and the desire she 
 manifested for his return, and the confidence 
 with which she expected it, showed the yearn- 
 ing of a human heart towards the only event 
 that could occur which might confer upon it 
 a consolation: that consolation, however, in 
 this instance, was denied. 
 
 Three o'clock passed away, but D'Arcy re- 
 turned not !
 
 ( 235 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 « That very day 
 A feast was held, when, full of mirth, 
 Came, crowding thick as flowers that play 
 la summer winds, the young and gay, 
 And beautiful of this bright earth." 
 
 " And I forgot my home ; my birth 
 Profaned my spirit, sunk my brow, 
 And revelled in gross joys of earth, 
 Till I becairie— what I am now." 
 
 Moore. 
 
 Let us revert to D'Arcy's proceedings on the 
 previous day. As he rode along towards 
 Putney he grew curious to learn why Mrs. 
 Harcourt had ventured so particularly to re- 
 quest his presence before the arrival of her 
 husband. 
 
 He found her beautifully and becomingly 
 dressed, reclining upon a low Ottoman placed 
 near the window of her pretty di-awing-room 
 opening upon the lawn ; the room was scented 
 with the perfume of large boxes of mignio-
 
 236 VIOLET. 
 
 nette, with heliotrope and verbina, and the 
 blinds of the apartment more closed than 
 usuab for the day had been imcommonly hot. 
 The rays of the evening sun, as they fell 
 through the chintz curtains, bestowed a soft- 
 ness and mellowness on each object tliat was 
 shared by Emily herself; at least D'Arcy 
 thought he had never seen her look so truly 
 handsome. Her dark curls were drooping 
 over a branch of red Camelia Japonica, which 
 had been carelessly thrown on her little work- 
 table of inlaid Sevres, and the flowers tinted 
 her cheek with their brilliancy, w^hilst, mingling 
 with her hair, they contrasted with its shade 
 of ebony. 
 
 " I am glad you are come/' she exclaimed, 
 with an appearance of anxiety, " for you can 
 tell me perhaps if what I hear is true. Has 
 Harcourt lost a large sum at Crockford's 
 within the last three days ?" 
 
 " I have not heard of it ; who has said that 
 he has ? " 
 
 ' '' Thank Heaven^ then, it may not be true ; 
 for I think if my husband had been in difh- 
 culty, he would have gone to you for advice. 
 Two or three persons have suspected it, how-
 
 VIOLET. 237 
 
 ever, and have told me of it, which has made 
 me very uneasy." 
 
 " I am sorry for that, as it may be the case ; 
 but why not speak yourself to Harcourt about 
 it ?" asked D'Arcy. 
 
 " Oh," replied Mrs. Harcourt with a smile 
 which was followed by a sigh, " I have never 
 found my interference answer ; I w^ould fain 
 play the part of the good wife, and do every- 
 thing that reason could suggest to please or 
 to be of use, but nothing of the sort is within 
 my range : I have discovered this at last, and 
 therefore, although I am anxious, I venture 
 upon no inquiries, in order to avoid discomfort, 
 and something more — a taunt perhaps — that 
 /should have the right to offer advice. I am 
 kept in due submission, I assure you," added 
 Emily, in a tone between disgust and sadness, 
 while she looked at D'Arcy with a look that 
 seemed to say, " Have I not your compassion ?" 
 
 The eyes that put this question were an- 
 swered silently, but very eloquently, by other 
 eyes, and eyes that sought to penetrate even 
 more than to respond. 
 
 " As Harcourt's friend, why does she abuse 
 him to me T thought D'Arcy. '- Does she de-
 
 238 VIOLET. 
 
 sire me to become her friend and not his?" 
 D'Arcy was clearly arguing that to be the 
 friend of both had become incompatible. 
 
 '' I believe my husband to have lost a great 
 deal of money lately/' continued Mrs. Har- 
 court^ '•' and I feared that this might be some 
 new affair of the kind^ which would be more 
 ruinous than all the rest. He has been out of 
 spirits^ and I judged a little from that ; from 
 you I thought to learn the truth." 
 
 '' Depend on doing so the moment I ascer- 
 tain it. What lamentable folly in Harcourt to 
 persevere as he does in all his caprices ; and 
 with you for his wife^ to fanc}^ he has a reason 
 in the world to be discontented !" 
 
 " Is it Mr. d'Arcy who says that ?^' asked 
 Emily, smiling and slightly colouring. 
 
 "It is I wdio say so. I am not blind to your 
 beauty or your charming character." 
 
 " I am no better than others. If I care 
 little for the world and less for admiration, it 
 is because experience has taught me how to 
 value both," was Mrs. Harcourt's modest 
 response. 
 
 D'Arcy had an odd mixture of sincerity in 
 his disposition ; with him, in fact, it was rather
 
 VIOLET. 239 
 
 a kind of pride which made him refuse to allow 
 his understanding to appear subservient to 
 any of the subterfuges with which people 
 sometimes venture to impose upon others; so 
 as he had not yet arrived at believing in Mrs. 
 Harcourt's despisal of the world, or the world's 
 admiration, he could not help replying by 
 saying, "You are mistaken, you are indifferent 
 to neither ; how I wish you were, and how I 
 should like to make you feel far more than you 
 do, the wide distinction that exists between 
 one that would study your welfare with care- 
 fulness, and the admirers, the thousand and 
 one would-be lovers that hover in your train, 
 and whom I sometimes see you regard, when 
 those who really care for you do not venture 
 to interrupt them." 
 
 "Venture? and why should you not, if you 
 wish it?" 
 
 " I often wish it." 
 
 " Since when ?" 
 
 " Since I grew to like you very much, and 
 since you must have seen that I have done 
 so." 
 
 '^ I am not so vain as to have thought that 
 I had attracted your regards ; I have always
 
 240 VIOLET. 
 
 deemed m3-self the last person who could have 
 done so." 
 
 ''Be more honest ^Yith me, and acknowledge 
 the truth : j^ou must have seen how, each day, 
 I have been growing more and more, — any- 
 thing but indifferent to you." 
 
 ''You are amiusing yourself with me, Mr. 
 D'Arcy." 
 
 " Then I have chosen very ill the time to do 
 so," answered D'Arcy, in a winning voice, 
 " when I find you worried by domestic annoy- 
 ances which I cannot alleviate. ^Vlly do me 
 the injustice to suppose this? You do not 
 suppose it, I think," continued he : and he took 
 the hand of Mrs. Harcourt, and retained it, 
 long after she had made a feeble effort to with- 
 draw it. " You say this only." 
 
 The conversation w^as interrupted, for the 
 door opened, and Mr. Harcourt entered. 
 
 Harcourt expressed himself delighted to see 
 D'Arc}^ and begged he would always come 
 and dine with them when he could get away 
 from town. 
 
 *' I almost wish I were you, D'Arcy," said 
 Mr. Harcourt, w^hen they sat alone after 
 dinner, *' you have a happier time of it than I
 
 VIOLET. 241 
 
 have. You have become a pohtician, and 
 have a pursuit, whereas I have none." 
 
 " But you have a home, a wife and children, 
 and a fine fortune, if manag:ed well." 
 
 " I don't care about children, and I am always 
 bored, — there is something d — d unsatisfactory 
 in the existence I lead," continued Harcourt, 
 with a sigh, — not from the depth of his heart, 
 but the depth of his ennui. " I tire so of every- 
 thing, — the House of Commons does not in- 
 terest me, I am not sufficiently keen about 
 politics ; and, except when I am at Melton, I 
 hate the countr3\ I am not a count}^ man; as 
 long as my rents are paid, I cannot interest 
 myself in farms and ditches, roads and hay- 
 cocks, militia reviews, and those eternal 
 quarter-sessions, and assizes — to me all these 
 things are positive nuisances. Then I am 
 sick of the continent,— of Paris especially ; the 
 French women are so affected, — the men are 
 such coxcombs, they irritate my bile, as I can- 
 not knock down nine out of every ten of them. 
 I live, too, with people that do not suit me ; I 
 feel that I am losing my best years, without any 
 satisfaction, — and I see no remedy, as I cannot 
 live over again the greater part of my life, so 
 
 VOL. II. M
 
 242 VIOLET. 
 
 as to act differently in some matters that are 
 now irremediable." 
 
 It was evident that Harcourt was alkiding 
 to his marriage, — an event which, in D'Arcy's 
 opinion, had answered much better than he 
 had prognosticated it possibly could. D'Arcy 
 never felt less in a humour to bestow conso- 
 lation on his friend, and much preferred that 
 task when his wife was the object of it. 
 
 The following morning, Mr. Harcourt went 
 to town early, having engagements, but he 
 recommended D'Arcy to remain at Putney 
 and to go from thence to the Breakfast ; that 
 B;reakfast to wliich Mrs. Harcourt had so par- 
 ticularly inquired of D'Arcy, some ten days 
 previously, if he should go, — to which inquiry, 
 it may be remembered, he had replied in the 
 affirmative. 
 
 D'Arcy spent the morning in loitering about 
 the garden with Emily, and in endeavouring, 
 more plainly than he had ever done before, to 
 give her the impression that he was deeply in 
 love with her. He was not repulsed by Mrs. 
 Harcourt, as a better Avoman would have re- 
 pulsed him ; and D'Arcy might flatter himself 
 that he had gained ground.
 
 VIOLET. 243 
 
 " It is two o'clock/' said Emily, turning 
 towards the house ; " I must dress." 
 '' Not 3^et, surely !" exclaimed D'Arcy. 
 '' Indeed I must/' said she, smiling. " You 
 forget that a lady never dresses under an hour ; 
 as it is, I shall only get there by five o'clock." 
 And so saying, Mrs. Harcourt stepped into 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 '' I really did not think it was so late," said 
 D'Arcy ; " I must bid you good bye, then, I 
 find." 
 
 " How ! — you are going ?" 
 
 " I am afraid I 1 tliink I cannot 2:0 to 
 
 the Breakfast/' replied D'Arcy ; for he thought 
 of Violet. 
 
 " Very well," said Mrs. Harcourt, with the 
 coldest manner she could assume. 
 
 P'Arcy was standing so that he had a view 
 of her features, reflected in the large glass 
 before which Emily was then untying her 
 bonnet ; and he saw at once her angry coun- 
 tenance, flushed with sudden displeasure. He 
 stepped towards her, and could not forbear 
 saying, 
 
 "If there is one to be there to-day who will 
 own that my presence is cared for, I will go.'*: 
 
 M 2
 
 244 VIOLET. 
 
 " You are the best judge of that — no one 
 does, that I am aAvare of/' answered Mrs. 
 Harcourt, with pride, and rather passionately ; 
 for she felt deeply offended. 
 
 D'Arcy possessed a bad heart, I fear : it 
 Avas not love, nor even vanity, which prompted 
 him instantly to determine on going to the 
 Breakfast. If he liked Emily, he felt that he 
 should like, better still, to crush the woman's 
 pride which so naturally induced her to show 
 some resentment at his apparently capricious 
 disregard of her society. Nothing had sub- 
 dued in D'Arcy that arrogant despisal of the 
 feelings of all others, whenever he could ex- 
 tract something from them on which to feed 
 the sneering disposition ever latent in his cha- 
 racter ; and Emily Norris, not Mrs. Harcourt, 
 stood before him then, daring to show him 
 that she could be cold and haughty. 
 
 He said nothing, but he went to the Break- 
 fast ; and I doubt if his promise to Violet, of 
 returning to town at three, stood for five 
 seconds as an obstacle to his going ; for, by 
 losing a little time, D'Arcy might have ridden 
 
 home, and thence have gone late to Park 
 
 from London. 
 
 This Breakfast was certainly one of the
 
 VIOLET. 245 
 
 prettiest fetes of the season ; and the spot in 
 which it was given, in itself extremely beau- 
 tiful. The day, soft and enjoyable, extended 
 its influence to the minds of the guests — no 
 crowd, no vulgar press or iiurry annoyed them 
 ■ — nothing, in short, to destroy that illusion of 
 luxury and refinement which is essential to 
 please those whom satiety has rendered fasti- 
 dious. 
 
 D'Arcy was becoming a rising star among 
 the host of modern politicians, and was con- 
 secjuently courted and flattered by all the 
 women. I own mvself to have been unable to 
 avoid feeling a little contempt for my fair 
 friends, whom I have often seen lavish in their 
 attentions to some politician of celebrity, but 
 Avhose politics they perhaps hate — whose pub- 
 lic conduct they abuse, and whose private cha- 
 racter they will blacken with all the petty 
 spite arising from idleness, prejudice, party- 
 spirit, or total ignorance. Yet, in society, 
 these very women wall develope their frivolous 
 vanity, by attempting to attract the notice of, 
 and to have the air of flirting with, the great 
 man of the day ; and this how often, notwith- 
 standing all the faults they charge him with.
 
 246 VIOLET. 
 
 and all the superabundant eiTors they can 
 discourse upon with so much patriotic zeal, and 
 of which he may or may not have been guilty ! 
 How often is not this very man the dupe of 
 the seeming kindness and the winning smiles 
 of fair ladies, in chip hats, looking very lovely 
 wdth their fine skins, their soup^on of rouge, 
 and their white teeth displayed in speaking 
 the honied vrords of flattery, which so com- 
 pletely succeed in making the object of them 
 suppose that he is appreciated, aye, wor- 
 shipped by these artless Delilahs of fashion ! 
 
 D'Arcy, to do him justice, was not easily 
 flattered in this way ; his nature rather 
 prompted him to place too small a value upon 
 the notice or the esteem of any one. 
 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris was one of the guests, and 
 saw D'Arcy bestov/ on i?,irs. Harcourt the at- 
 tention wdiich she had so persevering!}" endea- 
 voured to regain ; and, beholding the admi- 
 ration he displayed for another woman, she 
 could not conceal from herself that she could 
 no longer win one look of regard from him, 
 or elicit any feeling beyond his merited con- 
 tempt. This idea acted as a kind of vulture 
 gnawing her heart, and there can be none
 
 VIOLET. 247 
 
 that gnaws so deeply as the knowledge that 
 we are deservedly despised by a person whose 
 favourable opinion we covet. 
 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris looked on at this breakfast, 
 and flirted with other men. She talked pret- 
 tily, too, to the women, but in her heart be- 
 came a prey to envy and discontent. She 
 had already done all she could to detach 
 D'Arcy from Mrs. Harcourt; and more she 
 w^ould have done had she known how. 
 
 D'Arcy had certainly taken care to lose no 
 time in restoring himself to the good graces 
 of Emil}^ and he made a merit of having, for 
 the sake of her society, renounced the most 
 precious engagement, which required him to 
 have been in town. Emily was flattered, and 
 believed him. She more than liked D'Arcy, 
 and the coquetrj^ in which had originated her 
 first advances towards him, had partly faded 
 away, or been exchanged for another senti- 
 ment. 
 
 Still there was more vanity than love on her 
 part. She was led on by finding that she had 
 the power of making D'Arcy prefer her so- 
 ciety, — he who had once comparatively despised 
 it. She admired his talents, for Mrs. Har-
 
 2-18 VIOLKT. 
 
 court was not deficient in quickness. She 
 was rather ^Yhat is termed a clever woman, 
 and she turned with pleasure from the ennuye 
 and discontented language of her husband, to 
 the brilliant and energetic conversation of 
 D'Arcy. Then, when the world began to 
 sound the theme of his praise, it was not lost 
 upon her ; and, like the multitude, she aimed 
 still more at retaining D'Arc}', at least as a 
 friend and an admirer. 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt was not bold and reckless, 
 like Mrs. Fitzmorris, — such as she had shown 
 herself to be, there are, indeed, but few. What 
 Emily wanted in principle was partly supplied 
 by the worldliness and the sense of outward 
 decorum which her mother had so steadily in- 
 culcated, as the basis of all the good things 
 of this world, and (as Mrs. Norris, I fancy, 
 thought) of the next one too. 
 
 D'Arcy had penetrated Emily's vivid fear 
 of losing the good opinion of society, and on 
 this day he v\'ishecl to give her no uneasiness 
 by making his attentions too glaring. He, 
 therefore, took care to disappear at those mo- 
 ments when the eyes of her most dreaded 
 friends were upon her. Emily felt propor-
 
 VIOLET. 249 
 
 tionately grateful, and D'Arcy succeeded in 
 inspiring her with that confidence which w^as 
 likely to be so acceptable to her feelings, and 
 which he justly deemed would be exceedingly 
 useful to himself. 
 
 Late in the evening, when the trees w^ere 
 enveloped in shade, and the shrubberies were 
 beginning to be smiled upon by the moon — a 
 time when I have observed their umbrageous- 
 ncss to be more eagerly sought than wdicn the 
 rays of the meridian sun have rendered them, 
 to my mind, so much more desirable and re- 
 freshing — at this twilight hour, Mrs. Fitzmorris 
 had the discomfort of seeing D'Arcy offer his 
 arm to Mrs. Harcourt, and induce her to walk 
 with him. 
 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris was" sitting on the lawn, 
 listening with a smiling face to the compli- 
 ments, timidly bestowed, of an unfledged 
 Honourable lieutenant of tlie Guards, lisping 
 w^ith nervousness at his own temerit}^ and 
 deeply smitten with the pretty features and 
 the smooth and neatly-painted cheeks of Mrs. 
 Fitzmorris, shaded as they were by the large 
 pleiircufie that hung over her hat. She let this 
 boy talk to her, and, half appearing to listen 
 
 M 3
 
 250 VIOLET. 
 
 to liim, or pretending to be attracted by an 
 air of some German opera played by one of 
 the bands of music on the lawn, the demi- 
 obscurity aided her desire to notice unob- 
 served every movement of D'Arcy and Mrs. 
 Harcourt, who w^ere now being watched by the 
 lynx eyes of a dangerous and mean-hearted 
 jealousy. Mrs. Fitzmorris thought that the 
 objects on which her eyes were bent, and the 
 angry sensations of resentful disappointment 
 which devoured her heart, were known only to 
 herself A person, how^ever, stood near, w^ho 
 saw the one and guessed at the other. She 
 had attracted the attention of an old acquaint- 
 ance, who could fathom the secrets of her 
 bosom, and in w^hose mind she became the 
 means of reviving scenes and impressions of 
 days gone by. 
 
 It was Lord Stanmore, whose glance, while 
 standing as an idle looker on, had fallen upon 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris, sitting at some little distance, 
 and quite unconscious that she was watched 
 by anyone. So, however, it happened; and 
 when he observed the direction of her eyes, 
 he perceived they w^ere watching the move- 
 ments of D'Arcy busily occupied with !Mrs.
 
 . VIOLET. 251 
 
 Harcourt. He remarked that she looked at 
 these two till Emily had accepted the arm of 
 D'Arcy, and disappeared with him by a distant 
 angle of the garden. 
 
 "Does she still care for D'Arcy?" thought 
 Lord Stanmore. " No, surely she is too heart- 
 less, — but yet she did once. He has long 
 completely neglected her; but women are 
 strange creatures, very strange."' And Lord 
 Stanmore pursued the opening train of thought 
 till it led him to recal with sadness the time 
 when he was the devoted admirer of the beau- 
 tiful opera-dancer — the Violet Woodville — for 
 whom he would have sacrificed so much, and 
 w^ho still retained possession, if not of his 
 heart, of his memory, where she remained 
 enshrined as having been the fairest and the 
 most loveable of all her sex whom he had 
 ever seen. 
 
 Lord Stanmore had never forgiven D'Arcy 
 for his seduction of her, and though they had 
 since met, nothing more than a mere recog- 
 nition had passed between them. He retained 
 no desire again to meet with Violet Wood- 
 ville ; in liis eyes her charm had fled ; and he 
 pictured her to himself as grown bold and
 
 252 VIOLET. 
 
 depraved, — all, in short, that was disagreeable 
 and most disenchanting. But suppositions 
 like these bring no consolation with them ; 
 they tend, on the contrar}^ to create disgust, 
 and to destroy the pleasantest of our illusions 
 — the reliance we 2:)lace on the faith of outward 
 appearances. 
 
 Lord Stanmore had not married, yet he had 
 often been sufficiently struck with the attrac- 
 tions of some beautiful girl in his own sphere, 
 to have flirted with her, and to have felt very 
 sorry that at the end of the season their inter- 
 course should cease; or, if she married, he 
 would feel an anomalous mixture of pity and 
 envy towards her husband — envy, that he 
 should have her for his wife, and pity for the 
 poor man who ventured upon so irrevocable a 
 step. He placed no faith in the education, 
 the parentage, or on the behaviour of the girl 
 he could not help admiring ; he had been once 
 cruelly deceived — Yiolet was living as D'Arcy's 
 mistress ! Whom could he trust ? — was, not 
 the question he put to himself, but the idea 
 he had imbibed. 
 
 The course of Lord Stanmore's present me- 
 ditations was interrupted. The garden was
 
 VIOLET. 253 
 
 being gradually illuminated by lamps placed 
 amongst the slirubs. The distant crowd dis- 
 persed ; the music was called to aid the scene 
 of mirth within doors, and the gay measure of 
 the favourite waltz of the season had given 
 courage to Mrs. Fitzmorris's youthful admirer, 
 to propose to that lady to enter the house. 
 
 He had been long thinking whether he 
 might ask her to waltz, but his nerves were 
 hitherto unequal to such a proposal ; at length, 
 stimulated by the music, and blushing ruby 
 red, he attempted, by a few broken words, to 
 express his wish, — nearly overcome, however, 
 by tremendous apprehensions of waltzing ill — 
 notwithstanding the chairs he had been whisk- 
 ing round his room for the three months pre- 
 vious. 
 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris accepted the offer of being 
 conducted to the dancing-room, and, proud of 
 his charge, this incipient coxcomb availed him- 
 self of her condescension, not quite foreseeing, 
 then, the ineffable degree of pupppsm at 
 which he was some day to arrive, or imagining 
 that the time would come when he should be 
 lookins: another wav, to avoid the bore of 
 talking or even bowing, for old acquaintance
 
 254 VIOLET. 
 
 sake, to his present flame ; and little dreaming 
 of that future, when he should think her old, 
 ug[j, or gone-by, and might find it expedient 
 to leave her to call her own servants, or to 
 enlist other swains if she could. 
 
 I know of no existence like that passed in 
 the world, for teaching us its general selfish- 
 ness, or from which one may learn to moralize 
 with such good foundation upon its paltry 
 attributes. 
 
 Lord Stanmore, who was in a decidedly 
 melancholy mood, preferred wandering in the 
 garden, to the amusements going on in the 
 house. It was a beautiful night ; the moon was 
 chased by dark clouds, not hidden by them, 
 but they hung in sable drapery round the 
 planet, and made her look more beautiful. 
 As he pursued his way towards a grove, which 
 towered at no small distance from him, the 
 sounds of reveh'y grew fainter and fainter. 
 
 The gardens were on a splendid scale. At 
 one side, a range of green and hot-houses 
 stretched themselves, filled with every known 
 exotic that skill had learned to rear. A wide 
 expanse, in another direction, had been laid out 
 as a Dutch garden ; bej^ond, a feature occurred
 
 VIOLET. 255 
 
 which is only seen, in perfection, in England, — 
 a green and level lawn. In another direction, 
 a broad gravel walk terminated in an aviary. 
 
 Lord Stanmore bent his steps away from 
 these attractions, and penetrated a grove of 
 cypress on his right. He walked along the 
 paths in almost complete darkness, but neither 
 was the obscurity so great as to have deterred 
 others from being in his neighbourhood, for he 
 heard voices which he thought he knew, and 
 was more than once tempted to laugh to him- 
 self at overhearing these innocent children of 
 the wood. 
 
 It was foreign, however, to Lord Stanmore's 
 nature to play the spy on any one, and he 
 neither wished to interrupt flirtations, nor to 
 be the occasion of sleepless nights to a soul. 
 Finding, therefore, that the grove was not 
 so unpeopled as he had expected, he thought 
 of turning back. 
 
 The bent of his reflections had been changed, 
 and something of the ridiculous had usurped 
 the place of softer ideas. 
 
 He found he was approaching an angle, 
 and, by turning up it, he fancied it would con- 
 duct him to the house by a shorter path.
 
 256 VIOLET. 
 
 At this moment he heard the sound of foot- 
 steps, evidently on the other side of the trees 
 by which he was walking. 
 
 "But if the world should ever," — were 
 words distinctly whispered in a woman's voice, 
 but, though whispered, they were spoken em- 
 phatically, and from the speaker's heart. 
 
 Lord Stanmore imagined he heard this ap- 
 peal tenderly responded to, though somewhat 
 inaudibl}^, and then the first speaker spoke 
 again. 
 
 *' Leave me now, — I am tortured with 
 alarm. Hark !" 
 
 ''I must get away," thought Lord Stan- 
 more; ''I cannot bear to be a means of terror 
 to these people ;" and he listened, in order to 
 be certain of avoidins; them if he walked on- 
 w^ards in the direction that he intended. 
 
 The footsteps ceased, and Lord Stanmore 
 determined on proceeding, and on giving the 
 unknown pair the opportunity of avoiding 
 him, by waiting till he had passed, or of cross- 
 ini>: throu^'h the bushes so as to be in his rear. 
 
 He reached the angle of the grove, turned 
 it, and pursued his way. 
 
 At the very moment Lord Stanmore
 
 VIOLET. 257 
 
 emerged into the gardens, in sight of the 
 house, two people appeared at the same mo- 
 ment crossing his path. It was evident that 
 they could be no others than those he had 
 overheard, and who had retraced their steps 
 by a different direction, -which terminated by 
 an opening higher up. 
 
 The tv.'o persons Avere Mrs. Harcourt and 
 D'Arcy. 
 
 Lord Stanmore appeared so unexpectedly 
 close to them, at the mouth of the wood, that 
 it was impossible to avoid recognition ; and 
 the moon shone rio-ht above them. 
 
 For an instant both parties looked, what 
 both felt, — that their meeting was an unex- 
 pected annoyance. 
 
 D'Arcy and Stanmore bowed, but the lady 
 hastily lowered her veil. 
 
 The two parties then passed on in opposite 
 directions. 
 
 " D'Arcy," exclaimed Mrs. Harcourt, seiz- 
 ing the arm of her companion most forcibly, 
 " I shall die of terror !" 
 
 " What folly I What can Stanmore 
 
 besides, he does not write in the ' Age,' that I 
 am aware of"
 
 258 VIOLET. 
 
 " But there is no saying what he may think, 
 —and the world — the world !" 
 
 " Ah, the world T' repeated D'Arcy slowly, 
 and the word jarred disagreeably on his ear. 
 " I cannot bear a woman who cares for no- 
 thing but the world," he observed to himself; 
 "and her remorse, her tears, for what were 
 they ? — the world ! How the sight of Stan- 
 more has reminded me of that poor girl ! I 
 will go home instantly." 
 
 " What are you thinking of? You seem to 
 have no feeling for me !" exclaimed Mrs. Har- 
 court, in a tone of irritation. 
 
 *^' Really I am sorry you should think so; 
 but w^ould it not be best that you should 
 enter the house by yourself, or at least not 
 with me ? — there are still some stragglers be- 
 fore the door.'' 
 
 " Well,— if I do not faint." 
 
 '^Not here, for GocVs sake !" cried D'xVrcy, 
 quickly ; " you had better let me conduct you 
 to the house at once." 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt, however, adopted the plan
 
 VIOLET. 259 
 
 of quitting D'Arcy's arm, and, returning' 
 without him ; she made the best of her way 
 to the ball-room, trusting that her prolonged 
 absence from it had passed unnoticed. 
 
 She remained near the door, watching for 
 the moment when she supposed D'Arcy would 
 venture again into her vicinity ; for the time 
 had come in which Mrs. Harcourt depended 
 upon D'Arcy as much as upon the world. Slie 
 had given herself another ruler, and, under his 
 dominion, she was waiting for his presence, — 
 and at this moment D'Arcy was on his road to 
 London ! 
 
 By degrees Mrs. Harcourt could not avoid 
 perceiving that she attracted unusual atten- 
 tion from people in front of her, and that a 
 row of young ladies and their partners in a 
 quadrille facing her, said something to each 
 other, and then, looking at her, laughed. 
 
 Although Mrs. Harcourt saw the direction 
 in which this small fire was aimed, she trusted 
 she was mistaken in fancying herself the indi- 
 vidual object of it; and she looked to see if
 
 260 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 she was in the neighbourhood of any oddly- 
 dressed man or woman : but no ; at her left 
 were some exemplary-looking ladies of a cer- 
 tain age, and, on her right, two or three foreign 
 ambassadors, the Prime ^Minister, and the 
 Lord Chancellor, were solemnly engaged in 
 conversation, discussing, probably, the relative 
 beauty of their respective countrywomen. 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt waited with impatience till 
 the dancing should be over, magnif^dng the 
 misfortune of her evil star, which so unac- 
 countably made her an object of observation 
 on this particular evenino;. 
 
 She would have retreated altogether, but 
 for the fear that this, too, might be construed 
 into a sort of pleading guilty — of what ? 
 
 Ah, the old saying (as it has now become) 
 that ''conscience doth make cowards of us all," 
 is ever a true one. jNIrs. Harcourt sav/ dis- 
 grace, perhaps divorce, and then annihilation, 
 before her ; and she stood in that room, while 
 her hands grew cold and damp with nervous- 
 ness and concealed agitation : for, in similar
 
 VIOLET. 261 
 
 situations, how often the effect anticipated is 
 disproportioned to the cause, or our reason 
 misleads us as to the cause, and only our ex- 
 cessive trepidation enables us to foresee a 
 result without the pale of probabilit}-. 
 
 Aided by the music of Collinet, the dancino- 
 went on, neither quicker nor slower than usual, 
 and the mirth of the happy reached its full 
 tide; the conversation of the politicians was 
 not suspended, and not one soul in that 
 apartment of revelry and magnificence o»ave 
 a thought to a being amongst them sufferino* 
 one of the most irritating of mental punish- 
 ments, — the fear of having suddenly become 
 despicable — or ridiculous. There was no sa}-- 
 ing whither, in the space of twent}- minutes, the 
 imagination of Mrs. Harcourt had travelled. 
 
 At the end of that time, the quadrille had 
 ceased, and, as tlie dancers dispersed, an 
 opening was formed in the crowd, and at the 
 end of the brilliantly illuminated room Mrs. 
 Harcourt saw Mrs. Fitzmorris. That lady 
 also instantly beheld the object of her hatred.
 
 262 VIOLET. 
 
 and at the same time began to stare, and to 
 laugh, and to make remarks to her neighbours. 
 Mrs. Harcourt would have died if she could, 
 but felt fascinated, as if by the e3-es of so many 
 basilisks ; and she could not move. 
 
 Within a second, Mrs. Fitzmorris was cross- 
 ing the empty space of the apartment between 
 them, and leaning on the arm of one of our 
 most celebrated dandies, particularly famed 
 for his biting sarcasms. What mercy was Mrs. 
 Harcourt to expect from two such people ? — 
 and to her they advanced; Mrs. Fitzmorris 
 attracting attention by herself alone, and now 
 assuming her boldest manner, and talking loud 
 enough to be heard by the whole room. 
 " Nay, indeed I must, I really must tell her ; 
 poor Mrs. Harcourt — it is too absurd;" and sq 
 saying, this amiable couple approached their 
 victim. 
 
 '' Is it possible you don't know ?"' began 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris, affecting to be so overcome 
 with laughter as to be unable to finish her 
 sentence.
 
 VIOLET. 263 
 
 " Know what ?'' asked Mrs. Harcourt, grow- 
 ing very pale. 
 
 " That we all know you must have been 
 walking in the cypress grove this evening :" 
 and again the laughter of the lady seemed to 
 prevent her utterance. 
 
 A blush of crimson suffused the face of 
 Emily. Had D'Arcy been there, she w^ould 
 have gone up to his side and said to him, 
 " Protect me from these people ;" but D Arcy 
 was not there. 
 
 " I do not understand you, .Sirs. Fitzmorris." 
 
 '•'You have got a branch of cypress in your 
 bonnet — it has got amongst the flowers in 
 your hat, and it is standing up in the most 
 ridiculous manner/' answered Mrs. Fitzmorris, 
 in a loud voice. 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt was overcome ; and, at the 
 moment wdien she only required presence of 
 mind to make a careless reply, she fainted. 
 
 A combination of minute accidents of ill- 
 luck had attended her. There was nothing 
 more simple than that a twig of a tree should
 
 2G4 VIOLET. 
 
 have fastened itself in her bonnet; or that 
 this should be first noticed by those opposite, 
 or at a distance before her. In another mo- 
 ment, some one else would have taken upon 
 herself the office of telling Mrs. Harcourt that 
 her hat had been thus deranged ; and, by doing 
 it in a very different manner, all her nervous- 
 ness would have been calmed, instead of being 
 trebled in the way it was. 
 
 '' Mrs. Harcourt is ill — has fainted T' uttered 
 a hundred voices at once. The master of the 
 feast had his attention called, and, with prompt 
 kindness, he soon ordered every assistance 
 should be rendered to Mrs. Harcourt, and she 
 was conveyed to a private room immediately. 
 
 " How extraordinary I What is the matter? 
 Where had she been ? — In love with George 
 D'Arcy !" were the questions and exclama- 
 tions which circulated. 
 
 " Who is it, Hugo, that is in love with 
 George D'Arcy ?" asked an Oxonian, who hap- 
 pened to be a novice in London scandal. 
 
 " I will tell you,'' said Mrs. Fitzmorris's
 
 VIOLET. 265 
 
 partner, of whom I have before made such 
 honourable mention. " I will tell you," said 
 he, eagerly : ^' Mrs. Harcourt, that pretty 
 woman, you know, with the black eyes." 
 
 " Take care," exclaimed a young man, pass- 
 ing, and giving a sharp stroke on the shoulder 
 of the last speaker. 
 
 " What the d 1 is that for. Topping- 
 ton ?" demanded the youth, turning round 
 with surprise. 
 
 "Don't you see?" 
 "See what?" 
 
 '' What I have not time to tell you ;" and, 
 •\vithout further explanation. Lord Toppington 
 disappeared, leaving the young men in some 
 alarm, as to what they had said amiss. They 
 did not notice that their conversation had been 
 overheard by an indolent and supercilious - 
 looking man, with a countenance redolent of 
 disgust and ennui — and who was no other 
 than Harcourt himself. He had arrived at 
 the commencement of the fete, and had gone 
 away directly after the dinner, telling his wife, 
 VOL. ir. N
 
 266 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 whom he met by chance, that he felt bored, 
 and was going home. He was by no means 
 going home; he had an appointment, which 
 was not fulfilled by the person who made it ; 
 and, in very bad humour, and suspecting that 
 he had been played upon, Harcourt returned 
 to C Park, as the only method that re- 
 mained to him of passing the evening. 
 
 He re-appeared accordingly, and then heard 
 of Emily's illness. 
 
 " Were not you here when Mrs. Harcourt 
 fainted ?" asked a variety of his intimate ac- 
 quaintance, who had never discovered his ab- 
 sence. As a matter of form, Harcourt went 
 to inquire after his wife ; and only replied to 
 those who inquired afterwards how she was, 
 that she had quite recovered, and gone home. 
 
 It did truly happen that Harcourt overheard 
 every word of the conversation between the 
 two young men, whose town education had not 
 been sufficiently completed to render them as 
 circumspect as they ought to have been. 
 
 Harcourt was what is understood by the
 
 VIOLET. 267 
 
 term, ' cold-blooded.' At this moment he 
 could have killed his wife ; but, from temper, 
 not from feeling, he swore an oath to himself, 
 and turned away to drink champagne at the 
 supper-table. 
 
 He did not in the least believe that D'Arcy 
 assumed to be a lover of his wife — his own 
 penetration, he imagined, taught him better. 
 But in this excuse he would condescend to see 
 none for her; and he laid it to her conduct 
 alone, that she became the object of such re- 
 marks, while he determined to make her feel 
 the full weight of his displeasure, without 
 deeming it necessary that D'Arcy should come 
 in for any share of it. 
 
 " I am certain," said Harcourt to himself, as 
 he swallowed his last goblet of champagne ; 
 
 " I am certain D'Arc}^ does not care one d 
 
 for her ; but she shall pay for this." 
 
 n2
 
 ( 268 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 '' Pale, broken flower, what art can now recover thee ? 
 
 Torn from the stem that fed th}' rosy breathy — 
 
 In vain the sun-beams seek 
 
 To warm thy faded cheek ! 
 
 The dews of heaven, that once like balm fell over thee, ; 
 
 Now are but tears, to weep thy early death !" 
 
 Moore, 
 
 In the interim, D'Arcy had driven to town. 
 He lost no time in doing so the moment he 
 was free ; for he remembered then that he had 
 broken his promise, in not returning home at 
 three that afternoon. More than one event, 
 during the day, had called to his mind circum- 
 stances, which then he had no longer any in- 
 centive to forget ; so now% as D'Arcy hastened 
 back to Violet Woodville, returning love and 
 good resolves were in his heart, and words of
 
 VIOLET. 269 
 
 comfort were hovering on his lips. For then 
 D'Arcy was disenchanted, — his pursuit was 
 ended, — and then he repeated to himself, " I 
 hate a worldly-minded woman." 
 
 D'Arcy reached his own door ; the servant 
 who admitted him gave him a letter. 
 
 '' When did this come ?" demanded D'Arcy, 
 who knew the seal and superscription. 
 
 "An hour ago," said the servant ; " I was to 
 give it you as soon as you got home, sir." 
 
 The letter came from a well-known political 
 character, and one of those whose talents and 
 influence constitute them leaders when the op- 
 portunity presents itself. 
 
 D'Arcy had heard rumours of a change of 
 administration, but he disbelieved it. He at 
 once knew, however, that this letter would 
 communicate something eventful ; and, seizing 
 a light, he went to Violet's sitting-room. 
 
 It did not surprise D'Arcy to see her asleep 
 upon the sofa, he knew her habit of sitting up 
 for him; but the room was in confusion, — 
 letters were on the ground; he observed that
 
 270 VIOLET. 
 
 the windows were open, and guessed tliat the 
 night-air had blown in, and disarranged the 
 papers. 
 
 D'Arcy first stooped to kiss the forehead of 
 his mistress, but her features were buried in 
 the cushion, and his lips but rested on the 
 long curls that fell over them. 
 
 D'Arcy, anxious to read his letter, took no 
 further pains to awaken Violet, and, arranging 
 the lamp, for the sake . of a better light, he 
 hastily tore open the envelope. 
 
 It was indeed a communication informing 
 D'Arcy of an immediate change of admini- 
 stration, and concluding by pressing him, in the 
 most flattering manner, to form one of the few, 
 whose advice would be attended to by his 
 party on the present juncture. 
 
 It must be owned, at that moment, that 
 D'Arcy dreamt a most pleasant dream of suc- 
 cessful ambition ; schemes of patriotism, and 
 honours, that might follow; a theatre (and 
 means, to boot), whereon to display his talents, 
 — a field, at length, to build his fame upon.
 
 VIOLET. 271 
 
 and deeds ! great deeds, that he should 
 do! 
 
 *' Violet, Violet, dear !"' exclaimed he, at 
 length, called from his reverie by the clock 
 striking one ! 
 
 " Wake, dearest ! see, it is time, Violet ! I 
 am come home."" And D'Arcy shook her 
 gently by the arm which lay uppermost. 
 
 Finding he did not rouse her, and gromng 
 impatient, D'Arcy raised her, intending to 
 make her sit upright. 
 
 The burthen felt heavy, when by his efforts 
 Violet was lifted from her recumbent position : 
 — her head hung on one side, whilst her eyes 
 were half open ! 
 
 For a full moment D'Arcy gazed upon 
 the form he held ! — for a full moment he con- 
 tinued to support the body as he had raised 
 it. Then D'Arcy let it fall, and staggered 
 backwards ! 
 
 The next instant the servants were aroused 
 by a scream, — not a woman's, but a man's ! — 
 the shriek of a man horror-stricken !
 
 272 VIOLET. 
 
 The domestics rushed into the apartment. 
 D'Arcy was kneeling with one knee on the 
 ground, — his face hidden in his hands, but 
 those hands shook con\ailsively. 
 
 Before him lay the body of Violet Wood- 
 ville, and the eyes were gradually relaxing 
 in their tension, and imperceptibly opening 
 wider and wider. Her face was very pale, 
 save two small red spots on either cheek, 
 where fever had been burning. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. dArcy ! Sir ! — what is to be 
 done ?" exclaimed Howell, the first, in some 
 degree, to recover presence of mind. 
 
 D'Arcy rose, and, before another word 
 could be said, he was traversing the streets 
 in search of medical aid. 
 
 But D'Arcy had lost all mental power, and 
 he became sensible of a confusion of thoughts 
 which rendered him unable to guide himself 
 rightly, and, though he knew full well the re- 
 sidence of such men as Halford or Erodie, 
 he could direct his steps to neither. 
 
 Luckily Howell had followed his master.
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 273 
 
 and he begged him to return home. " Sir," 
 said he, " I have sent three servants for phy- 
 sicians, and I will go for one myself; but 
 do consider. Sir, if she should recover, your 
 being with her at the time may make all the 
 difference." 
 
 D'Arcy suffered himself to be advised, and 
 he returned home. 
 
 What "a change had come o'er the spirit 
 of his dream T' Where now were D'Arcy 's 
 visions of ambition ? 
 
 What then to him was his name, though it 
 were to live a thousand years .'' What then 
 cared he for England's might, or the proud 
 panoply of renown, that hangs, from beyond 
 the gloom of future ages, o'er him whose ^\'is- 
 dom shall have been a means unto England's 
 matchless glory ? 
 
 What were then to D'Arcy the -witchery of 
 expected power, the applauses of a people, and 
 a universal fame ? 
 
 All had vanished beneath the mantle that 
 
 n3
 
 274 vroLET. 
 
 Death had spread before his eyes, — shadow- 
 ing forth the nothingness of man, and the 
 power of God, — recalling, indiscriminately 
 youth, and beauty, and all we love, to those 
 unknown realms which all the talent of man 
 has never yet explored ! 
 
 Marietta, the Italian maid, weeping, and in 
 ^emi-hysterics, was, at the same time, em- 
 ployed in endeavouring to restore animation 
 to her mistress. 
 
 On the sofa she had found a bottle of 
 laudanum, and, clasping her hands, and 
 screaming, she showed it to D'Arcy. It be- 
 longed to a medicine chest, and was labelled 
 poison ! 
 
 D'Arcy well remembered presenting that 
 medicine chest to Violet when they went 
 abroad. It was a small and beautifully-orna- 
 mented box, and the bottles were handsomely 
 mounted. 
 
 They had been filled at the chemist's with 
 the ordinary routine of medicines, and lauda-
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 275 
 
 num, of course, included amongst them. The 
 bottle that contained it was empty. It had 
 been drained to the dregs ! 
 
 D'Arcy could no longer doubt that a heavy 
 sleep had fallen upon Violet, — the immediate 
 effect of the laudanum, and the way in which 
 it becomes fatal, if its action be allowed to re- 
 main undisturbed. 
 
 D'Arcy knew this, and dared not hope. 
 From time to time Marietta wrung her hands, 
 and exclaimed, in Italian, — 
 
 " Se vostra Signoria fosse tornato a casa 
 alle tre ore, questa sventura non sarebbe mai 
 accaduta !" 
 
 The arrival of a surgeon sooner than D'Arcy 
 had dared to expect, afforded some relief. 
 
 " How long since do you suppose the poison 
 to have been taken ?" was the question first 
 demanded by Mr. . 
 
 Marietta, the only person who could give 
 information, said it must have been since three 
 o'clock. She stated that her mistress had ap- 
 peared ill, and very much agitated in her
 
 276 VIOLET. 
 
 manner since the time D'Arcy had been ab- 
 sent, and that she fancied she must have 
 heard a great deal of bad news, and was evi- 
 dently labouring under distress ; but that she 
 considered her better when she was sent for 
 in the afternoon by her mistress, who, pointing 
 to the clock, told her at that hour she ex- 
 pected Mr. d'Arcy to return. 
 
 Since then. Marietta declared, she had been 
 twice into the sitting-room, at seven and at 
 eleven o'clock; and, seeing Violet lying on 
 the sofa, on both occasions, she concluded she 
 had fallen asleep ; and her only anxiety was 
 to avoid disturbing her. 
 
 While he listened to these details, the sur- 
 geon made use of all the remedies he thought 
 available. D'Arcy attempted to examine some 
 letters which were scattered about; and, 
 among them, he discovered that of Violet's 
 mother, and one also, which lay open and un- 
 sealed, but which he noticed, because it was in 
 Violet's hand-writing : he was, however, too 
 agitated to read it, even though he attempted
 
 VIOLET. 277 
 
 to do so ; but he determined not to lose sight 
 of a paper so precious, and he carefully 
 charged himself with it. 
 
 " Is there hope ?" he asked, at length. 
 
 The surgeon turned his e3'es upon the 
 speaker, ere he replied, and riveted them for a 
 moment upon the man who stood beside him 
 — upon D'Arcy. 
 
 No one could have exhibited a strono-cr 
 instance of the power of the mind upon the 
 countenance. Not a feature could have been 
 altered; yet such a change had gone forth 
 upon his face, that I doubt if D'Arcy, as he 
 now stood, would have been recognisable by 
 any of his friends. 
 
 " There is no hope !" was the slow reply of 
 the surgeon, while he mentally said to himself, 
 with the intuitive knowledge of a man versed 
 in humanity, '' I do but tell him that of which 
 he is already certain. This man must have 
 deeply loved ! How much more deeply has he 
 sinned 1" 
 
 What a scene that room presented! On
 
 278 VIOLET. 
 
 tlie one hand, the well-furnished apartment, 
 cheerful in itself, and possessed of so many- 
 articles of luxury and comfort — the very 
 chintz covering of the sofas, such objects as 
 even these, stood out in horrible disunion with 
 the tragedy of that hour ! 
 
 On the couch lay all that remained of Violet 
 Woodville. The traces of beauty were there 
 still, but the hectic spots of fever were dying 
 fast away. Her hair was partly in disorder, 
 and partly retaining, still, some of the arrange- 
 ment it had received that very day from the 
 hands of Marietta. The hair, however, seemed 
 chiefly to be grouped around the throat and 
 shoulders, as if it had bestowed itself with 
 care, to shade the chiselled features of the 
 dead. The surgeon had closed the eyes ; and 
 the long lashes fell in beautiful lines over the 
 marble skin — only the mouth bore the sem- 
 blance of sorrow in its expression. 
 
 On the ground, at Violet's feet, sat her 
 Neapolitan maid, weeping heavily ; at a little 
 distance stood D'Arcy and the surgeon.
 
 VIOLET. 279 
 
 " Sir," said the latter, after a short pause, 
 '' 3'ou had better retire;" and he endeavoured 
 gentl}" to lead D'Arcy from the room. 
 
 * ^ ^j; * jfc 
 
 The next day formed a feast for the lovers 
 of news and scandal. 
 
 " I suppose," said one, '' you have heard 
 what has happened to poor D'Arcy? That 
 girl, who was his mistress, has poisoned him, 
 and then stabbed herself."" 
 
 " Good heavens ! but I understand he will 
 recover, and that it was not certain that she 
 stabbed herself, but only took prussic acid in 
 his presence ! ' 
 
 "■ It is a horrid affair,"' said a third. " I 
 hear the girl killed herself in a fit of passion 
 because D'Arcy was jealous of her and tlireat- 
 ened to leave her. There will be an inquest, 
 of course. You have heard, I suppose, that 
 Lord is to be the new Premier?" 
 
 '•Pray who is to have the War-Office?" 
 demanded a worthy House- of- Commons bore 
 of an acidulated ex-officio.
 
 280 VIOLET. 
 
 *'T}iat madman George d'Arcy; they can 
 find no one else, and they mean to wait till 
 they can take off his strait waistcoat !" 
 
 " Bless me, what times we live in ! All I 
 can say is, that if they venture upon such a 
 thing, I shall think it my duty to get up in 
 the House and to say that they must be 
 aware," &c. &c. &c. 
 
 '' Harcourt has had a blow-up with his wife 
 — I am in hopes there will be a divorce !" ex- 
 claimed a lounger at Crockford's. 
 
 " 1 doubt that ; she would have the best of 
 it, and could get the divorce first, if she tried 
 for it." 
 
 " Oh, I know for a fact," rejoined another, 
 "that there has been a violent quarrel, and 
 that Harcourt threw a brush or a pomatum- 
 pot at her, but that they can't separate, be- 
 cause he is so "hard up *' — he finds he cannot 
 make her an allowance : and I heai» also that 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris has been in hysterics all day, 
 and has sent for everybody to tell them she 
 shall always have to reproach herself with the
 
 VIOLET. 281 
 
 death of D'Arcy's mistress, who took poison 
 out of jealousy because D'Arcy made love 
 to her !" 
 
 An inquest was held upon the body of 
 Violet Woodville. Several of D'Arcy's friends, 
 when once informed of what had occurred, in- 
 terested themselves to render it as private as 
 possible. 
 
 D'Arcy's attendance was dispensed with. 
 Marietta testified to his uniform kindness to 
 the deceased. She also spoke to the alteration 
 which had appeared in the bearing of her 
 mistress previously to her death. 
 
 The next principal witness was Larray, who 
 stated the painful information he was the 
 means of conveying to the deceased. A few 
 more circumstances were detailed, tending to 
 show that her mind was not in its usual state 
 on the day that she swallowed the poison A 
 verdict of temporary insanity was returned 
 wliich was considered perfectly satisfactory. 
 
 The letter without an address and in A^iolet's 
 handwriting, which D'Arcy had found on the
 
 282 VIOLET. 
 
 night of her death, was not produced. He 
 spoke of it to no one, but, as it was seen after- 
 wards, it may be as well to say here that the 
 very incoherent style of that letter tended to 
 prove more particularly that hallucination of 
 intellect was approaching at the time when 
 Violet Woodville wrote it, — probably a few 
 hours before her death. 
 
 D'Arcy's friends were now^ at the helm ; and 
 before the town had quite ceased talking and 
 wondering over late events, it was understood 
 that he had requested to be sent upon a dis- 
 tant mission to North America, and that his 
 desire had been at once complied with. 
 
 Two years elapsed and Lord Glendore died, 
 bequeathing his whole property (to the sur- 
 prise of some people) to his distant relation, 
 George d'Arcy. 
 
 Business connected with his new fortune 
 obliged D'Arcy to return to England, and 
 there he remained. A path was open to him 
 in which he must have found excitement if 
 not enjoyment, and D'Arcy rose to be what is
 
 VIOLET. 283 
 
 termed a great man, in an incredibly short 
 period of time. 
 
 As years passed, his manners grew colder. 
 He was on terms of private friendship ^\dth 
 no one, while at balls and parties he was 
 seldom seen. 
 
 Mrs. Fitzmori'is found that he had forgot- 
 ten either her existence, or that he had ever 
 been acquainted with her. In consequence of 
 this total disregard, she wrote to him request- 
 ing an explanation. She received no other 
 answer than an inclosure containing a certain 
 anonymous letter found amongst the papers 
 of Violet Woodville. D'Arcy had detected 
 this composition to be the performance of Mrs. 
 Fitzmorris. 
 
 With the Harcourts D'Arcy, on his return 
 to England, appeared to have lost much of his 
 intimacy. 
 
 Harcourt devoted himself to the turf, and, 
 notwithstanding a separation had been re- 
 ported, he appeared to get on much better 
 with his wife than formerly. He lived but
 
 284 VIOLET. 
 
 little at home, however, and was continually 
 falling into pecuniary embarrassments. 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt, if that could be possible, 
 became every season more and more guarded 
 in her conduct ; and she had the satisfaction 
 of establishing a reputation for most notori- 
 ously unblemished virtue. 
 
 The women grew rather afraid of her, and 
 the young men treated her with immense 
 respect. She had not the same popularity, 
 because some people declared she was inclined 
 to be uncharitable towards her neighbours, 
 and others that she was a disagreeable prude ; 
 her beauty also was greatly diminished by a 
 general air of formality and discontent, which 
 pervaded every feature. 
 
 D'Arcy never renewed his friendship with 
 her; and upon the whole, when people gave 
 themselves the trouble to think about it, they 
 settled that she and D'Arcy entertained a 
 mutual dislike to each other. 
 
 A particular acquaintance once remarked 
 this to her.
 
 VIOLET. 285 
 
 " It is true," replied Mrs. Harcourt, " I do 
 not like Mr. d'Arcy. I have -known him well, 
 and I acknowledge his great talents ; but he 
 is only one of many proofs, that a dissipated 
 man is always unworthy of being the friend of 
 a truly estimable woman." 
 
 Circumstances are not well remembered in 
 great towTis like London, and time is our most 
 amiable auxiliary whenever there is something 
 we desire that the world should forget. 
 
 Ten years rolled away. 
 
 D'Arcy was never supposed to be near 
 matrimony, nor did he ever occasion a sigh of 
 disappointment in the breast of the most 
 marrying mamma existing. Not one of them 
 entertained a hope that D'Arcy would live 
 to surrender. 
 
 D'Arcy had employed some of his leisure 
 hours in collecting books, which formed a valu- 
 able addition to the library at M park, 
 
 bequeathed to him by Lord Glendore. 
 
 One day during an autumn recess, and 
 when D'Arcy was at M , he employed him-
 
 286 VIOLET. 
 
 self in arranging his library ; and his cousin 
 Lord Toppington, who was with him on a 
 visit, gave him his assistance. 
 
 " What is this ?" exclaimed the latter, while 
 engaged in turning over the leaves of an 
 ancient-looking book. 
 
 " What ?" repeated D'Arcy, looking over 
 his cousin's shoulder. 
 
 He saw nothing but some withered flowers, 
 between the leaves of the volume Withered 
 as they were, there was no mistaking them. 
 
 They were the flowers of the geranium. 
 Years had passed away, since D'Arcy had 
 gathered up those flowers from the ground 
 where the hand of Violet Woodville had scat- 
 tered them. 
 
 It was on the day of Harcourt's marriage. 
 D'Arcy, on that occasion, had put them care- 
 fully away in this very book. 
 
 " Elle eto'.t (le ce monde ou les plus belles choses 
 Ont le pire destin ; 
 Et Rose elle a vecu, ce que vivent les roses, 
 L'espace d'uu matin," 
 
 said Lord Toppington, reading out some lines
 
 VIOLET. 287 
 
 that caught his eye; and he carelessly re- 
 joined, " That is a quotation I have often 
 seen. This is an old French book, ' Poesies 
 de Malesherbes.' " 
 
 '' Yes," answered D'Arcy : " it is a rare 
 edition : give it me." 
 
 One day, when D'Arcy was left without any- 
 thing to wish for, enjoying a career of success 
 such as fell to the lot of few — one day, when 
 his name had acquired a European fame, and 
 when the sun of prosperity was at its zenith — 
 when nothing seemed wanting to his private 
 happiness, or his public glory, — D'Arcy shot 
 himself! 
 
 It was impossible to account for liis commit- 
 ing suicide ; and, after a most minute investi- 
 gation of witnesses, the jury were forced to 
 return a verdict of /e/o de se ! 
 
 A will was found, "by which D'Arcy ex- 
 pressed a wish that his property should be 
 entailed on Lord Toppington, his nearest re- 
 lation. " But this I leave to the mercy of the 
 Crown," was the concluding observation of the
 
 28S VIOLET. 
 
 will ; showing that, at the time of making it, 
 D'Arcy must have contemplated the act by 
 which his property became forfeited. 
 
 In the escritoire, which D'Arcy was in the 
 daily habit of using, a letter was found, re- 
 markable for its contents, and which, from its 
 incoherency, left no doubt by whom it had 
 been written, on the minds of those at all ac- 
 quainted with the story I have undertaken to 
 narrate. 
 
 Neither date, signature, nor address ap- 
 peared to this paper, which w^as worn, as if 
 it had been often read, and ran as follows : — 
 
 '' Dearest George, — I have torn up a letter 
 I wrote, intending to give it you ; but I have 
 done right, — it was to tell you, you have 
 ceased to love me. If it is so, it is my own 
 fault. Never blame yourself about me, — for 
 you have been all goodness. I am not clear, 
 and I do not feel well. But he is dead, 
 D'Arcy, and I have killed him. When I see 
 you to-morrow I will tell you all about it. I 
 
 (i
 
 VIOLET. 289 
 
 am not certain why I am writing this, but if 
 my father sends for me, I shall go to him, — I 
 cannot wait even to see you. 
 
 " Dearest, you have been very kind to me, — 
 I have never ceased to love you. Away from 
 you, I should not have wished to live. So, 
 dear George, you could not help yourself, 
 and I would be with you, and you have al- 
 ways been good to me. If either of us have 
 been to blame, it is I, — never believe other- 
 wise than that. 
 
 " Oh ! my head aches. It seems strange, but 
 I cannot read what I am writing : but I mean 
 to say all that is kindest to you, and that you 
 are to be happy, D'Arcy, — always happy, — 
 dearest, happy, — you will be happy, — hap — " 
 
 THE END, 
 
 W. CtowEs & Sons, Stamford-street. 
 
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