^i^i^L
 
 L I E) RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVER5ITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 Ql'b
 
 In 3 Yols. 
 
 A WOMAN'S ERROR. 
 
 By F. TEOLLOPE, 
 Author of "Broken Fetters," "An Old Man's Secret," &c. 
 
 In 3 Vols. 31s. 6d. 
 (Second Edition.) 
 
 BROKEN FETTERS. 
 
 By F. TEOLLOPE. 
 
 " Full of incident. No sooner has the reader recovered from one 
 thrilling afiair than he is plunged into another." — Athenceum. 
 
 " We are heartily thankful to Mr. TroUope for affording us un- 
 mixed amusement and gratification throughout the whole of his 
 delightful story. It may be recommended for its freedom from bad 
 taste, and has the thrilling interest of Monte Ghviato/'—^Examirie^'. 
 
 "We can thoroughly recommend ' Broken Fetters ;' the reader is 
 kept on the qui live from the beginning of the book to the last page." 
 •— Sharpens Magazine. 
 
 " We Imow of no book of the year so well calculated for reading 
 aloud, which, though containing neither ghost nor goblin, will keep 
 the listener breathless and excited, from its first page to its last."— i 
 Post. 
 
 "An excellent novel." — Woman^s World. 
 
 " It unites the boldest adventures with the interest of a love story." 
 —Atlas. 
 
 " A story full of exciting situations." — Liverpool Albion. 
 
 " The book is well written, and the author is to be congratulated 
 on having produced a very interesting story,"- European Mail. 
 
 " The book will be pleasant reading."— /o/m Bull. 
 
 "Mr. Trollope's residence abroad has enabled him to collect many 
 accounts of scenes, both novel and exciting, and his book is written 
 in so pleasing a style that they cannot fail to gratify the reader." — 
 Observer. 
 
 " It would have done no discredit to the pen of Sir Walter Scott". 
 — Brig hton Examin er . 
 
 " Bemiuds us of the works of Mr. G. P. E. James." — Spectator.
 
 — Kailways, postages — in a word, all the numerous facilities of 
 the age — have almost annihilated distance, and, as a natural result, 
 caused an individual trade between country customers and London 
 establishments. Those who do not visit town, so as to select and 
 purchase directly, send for patterns from which they can give their 
 orders. But as all apparent advantages on the one hand have 
 more or less their corresponding drawbacks, so this system is not 
 without its bane. Pushing tradesmen make a market by offering 
 goods at lower rates than they can possibly be sold at to realise a 
 fair profit. The bait traps the unreflective, and the result is that 
 the receipts en masae are not equal to the tempting samples. There 
 is no new invention in this ; it has been practised in wholesale 
 merchandise and by candidates for contracts, as the p]oveib hath 
 it, since there were hills and valleys. But we grieve to add it is 
 sometimes resorted to by those whom one would credit for more 
 integrity. Ladies, therefore, need exercise caution, and place 
 confidence only in houses of old-established fame, for rapidly-made 
 businesses are not generally reliable. And to what does this asser- 
 tion amount more than to the fact that nothing great can be 
 effected not only without labour but without time, and that Kome 
 was not built, as the old saying says, in a day ? Messrs. Jaj^ of 
 Regent-street, whose name is well known amongst the few on the 
 list of bona fide establishments in the metropolis, are about to adopt 
 a plan (which will be registered) for assisting country ladies in 
 choosing for themselves London fashions and fabrics. And their 
 customers may rest assured that they will thus be enabled to obtain 
 goods of every quality, both low and high priced, at the most 
 reasonable terms — that is, the terms of small profits for quick 
 returns — and that tlipy may firmly rely upon the thoroughly 
 corresponding character of samples and sujiplies. — From the 
 Court Journal^ April 27, ISGT.
 
 MARRIED. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF " WONDROUS STRANGE," " KATE 
 KENNEDY," " COMMON SENSE," etc., etc. 
 
 The spacious west, 
 And all the teeming regions of the south. 
 Hold not a quarry to the curious flight 
 Of knowledge half so tempting or so fair 
 As man to man. 
 
 Akexside. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 [sEt'OJs'D EDITION.] 
 
 T. CAUTLEY KEWBY, PUBLISHER, 
 
 so, WELEECK STLEET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 
 [all KlGinS KESK.KVEI).]
 
 
 /r^ 
 
 li^l 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Say, why was man so eminently rals'd 
 Amid the vast creation ? why ordain'd 
 Thro' life and death to dart his piercing eye. 
 With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame , 
 J But that th' omnipotent might send him forth, 
 
 I In sight of mortal and immortal pow'rs 
 
 1 As on a boundless theatre, to run 
 
 The great career of justice, to exalt 
 ^ His gen'rous aim to all diviner deeds 
 
 ^ To chase each partial purpose from his breast 
 
 I ^ And thro' the mists of passion and of sense, 
 
 '*! And thro' the tossing tide of chance and pain 
 
 --^^ To hold his course unfalt'ring, while the voice 
 
 - Of Truth and Virtue up the steep ascent 
 
 N Of nature calls him to his liit^h reward, 
 
 Th' applauding smile of Heavn. 
 
 Akenside, 
 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 MARRIED. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 As I write, I hear in the distance the band 
 playing upon the Parade — it has taken up 
 some old dance music which recalls an epoch 
 in my life. How happy I was when I danced 
 to that merry tune — I do not think that a girl 
 in the room could have been happier than I 
 was. Let me go back and remember myself 
 as I stood in my place that night thinking how 
 glad, and good, and proud I ought to be, and 
 almost heaving with the music even before 
 it was time to begin. Memory seems to run 
 
 B 2
 
 4 MARRIED. 
 
 over, but I must reduce it to some order. Let 
 me picture m3^self to myself now as I was that 
 night — for every woman perhaps is a heroine 
 to herself, and I certainly mean to be my 
 own. I was dressed in that white muslin 
 which will not wash, and which is so cheap 
 and yet so dear because it is so soon spoiled. 
 Three skirts, one above the other, floated round 
 me, and gave me, I thought, something of the 
 appearance of a Cerito. Like her I was very 
 small, and all through life I have had to hold 
 my head very high and to heave a little on 
 my toes to keep up my dignity. 
 
 My very light hair — golden, flatterers called 
 it in those days — was soft and springy, and lent 
 itself very readily to any fashion I chose, ex- 
 cept plain demure braids — and that night I 
 wore it drawn back in a flufiy feathery fashion, 
 falling behind my head almost as it willed. 
 My ornaments were emeralds, shining, spark- 
 ling, and real, for my father, Mr. Lea, was 
 enormously rich — a city man, with wharves
 
 MARRIED. 5 
 
 and ship loads of merchandize, Prince Lea, 
 as I used to call him, and he could afford to 
 give his daughters jewels. My eyes were 
 brown, and had some expression in them I 
 hope, expression of the ambition which was 
 in me to be something great, nice, and good, 
 1 hardly knew what, but certainly something 
 more genuine than a girl of fashion only. 
 
 T had no right to more attention that night 
 than anyone else, and my sisters were taller 
 and better looking than myself, saving only, 
 I must say, that latent ambition to be some- 
 thing better and wiser, which I think belonged 
 peculiarly to me and gave me a greater 
 earnestness in dealing with things, and which 
 as expressed, perhaps in my face, laid more 
 hold of those with whom we had to do. But 
 upon this occasion it was my birthday, and 
 my dear father had long promised me a party 
 on my birthday. 
 
 It had been a long promised treat, and in
 
 D MARRIED. 
 
 his promises my father never failed, so that 
 I wondered why he, who was accustomed to 
 fulfil his engagements so easily, should make 
 unusual count of this one. 
 
 '' Have you seriously set your mind on this 
 party" — he had asked me a little while before — 
 there yet being time to keep back the scented 
 notes of invitation. " Yes, indeed, Papa," I 
 had answered, giving some of my earnestness 
 as usual in that which called for no earnest- 
 ness. '* If I never dance again I must dance 
 on my birthday." 
 
 " Then you shall have y our party if I never 
 give another," he had replied almost solemnly, 
 and I had kissed him, standing on tiptoe and 
 reaching his face with some effort. 
 
 "What a little thing you are," he had 
 answered, " are you never going to grow 
 any bigger ? '' 
 
 '^ I fear not,'' I replied, '' 1 shall be nineteen 
 you know on my birthday, and my dresses
 
 MARRIED. 7 
 
 have not had to be made longer for this last 
 tw^elvemonth. No, Papa, you must be con- 
 tented with me as T am." 
 
 " So be it,*' he had replied, and on my 
 birthday morning he gave me the set of 
 emeralds I wore that evening. I did not un- 
 derstand then, though I fancied I did very well 
 afterwards, why he said, as he gave them to 
 me, " I bought them for you three months 
 ago and have kept them in my desk ever 
 since.'* T had many other handsome presents 
 that day — for rich people, as a rule, do get 
 such handsome presents — but I valued none 
 so well as this, except one, which I shall come 
 to presently. My sisters gave me each a dark 
 bracelet made of their hair, and Mamma made 
 me a present of a sweet new pink satin dress, 
 soft and shining, but with it she had said 
 
 *' My Alice, will I hope, be more fortunate, 
 than her sisters — we ought long ere this to 
 have had a marriage in the family." 
 
 " And is the pink satin to be my bridal
 
 8 MARRIED. 
 
 robe^ mamma/' I answered demurely, "or 
 only the net by which the unwary bird is to 
 be snared." 
 
 " You should say the wary bird/' laughed 
 mamma — who never troubled herself enough 
 about matters to be fairly charged with being 
 a worldly mother — "for your papa could 
 make the fortune of three sons-in-law." 
 
 I had blushed then almost to the hue of 
 the soft shining dress I was handling with such 
 dainty admiration, and I thought would he, I 
 wonder, make the fortune of Brice Glynn. 
 
 " I think indeed," she said, fondly smooth- 
 ing my hair, " that he would like that even 
 better then your marrying rich men, he would 
 feel them to be more his sons; and then, you 
 know, as he helps to make their fortunes, 
 they would not as rich men might, reflect on 
 his origin. Though we are so well off now, 
 Alice, you must uever forget that your papa 
 began life as the son of a poor country doc- 
 tor/'
 
 MARRIED. i) 
 
 "The son of a poor gentleman, mamma, 
 need never be ashamed of his origin." 
 
 "No dear, but great vain men expect 
 such pedigrees, and papa is weak upon that 
 point ; I thought, dear, what I had said would 
 make you glad.'' 
 
 She then was also thinking of Brice 
 Glynn, and there was a tender flush like to 
 mine upon my mother's pale cheek, as passing 
 her hand once more over my hair she left me 
 to my thoughts. I loved Brice Glynn — I 
 knew I loved him — but I would not tell my- 
 self so in words. He was only a clerk to a 
 merchant, earning — he had told me so once — 
 his two hundred a year ; and he had never 
 said to me a word of love. Yet I was very 
 certain he loved me. In my riches, sur- 
 rounded by my nice presents, and feeling so 
 secure of the world, I could not doubt he 
 loved me ; he belonged to me as much as all 
 my birthday riches. Even while I sat think- 
 ing, and making the pink satin fall into fresh 
 
 B 5
 
 10 MARRIED. 
 
 folds, our maid — mine and my sisters' — came 
 up to me with a silver salver, on which rested 
 one white rose-bud — yellow white — longing 
 to burst into full flower, and surrounded by 
 leaves even yet damp with morning dew. 
 
 " For you. Miss Alice,'* my maid said, 
 *' with Mr. Glynn's best love.'* 
 
 *' Not love,*' I said, laughing, for I knew 
 how much easier that word was for her to 
 remember than the ceremonious message 
 which I felt sure she ought to have delivered. 
 
 " Leastways, he meant love, whatever he 
 said," she replied, decidedly, "but now I think 
 of it, it was compliments." 
 
 " It is safer to remember what people do 
 say,'' I said, with an appearance of indiffer- 
 ence, which I thought very successful, but 
 which I feel sure now did not deceive her a 
 bit. 
 
 "When she was gone, I made up for my 
 simulated indifference, I put my rose-bud to 
 my lips and made much of it, caressing it as
 
 MARRIED. 11 
 
 much as I dared ; it was so sweet, and it was 
 such a romantic thing for my strong lover to 
 have thought about doing, that I forgot all 
 about the merchant's office in the dull city, 
 and the two hundred a year, and only remem- 
 bered what a manly, dear, good, big fellow 
 he was.
 
 CHAPTER II, 
 
 Ah ! 'tis like a tale of olden 
 
 Time long, long ago ; 
 When the world was in its golden 
 
 Prime, and Love was lord below ! 
 Every vein of Earth was dancing 
 
 With the Spring's new wine ! 
 'Twas the pleasant time of flowers <■ 
 
 When I met you, love of mine ! 
 
 Gerald Masset.
 
 MARRIED. 1S> 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Beige Glynn had never said a word of love 
 to me, but he had made love to me all the 
 same. The first time I saw him he came to 
 a party at aunt Bona's. Aunt Bona was a 
 Savoyard, and had married an uncle of mine 
 who had died and left her, when very younp^, 
 a widow, but she loved his relatives, and 
 attached herself so much to his family, that 
 I think we all forgot that the tie was only 
 one of marriage. I had spent much of my 
 time with her, and I think it was from her 
 that I learned to look so earnestly on life ; I
 
 16 MARRIED. 
 
 remember that on that evening she had in- 
 vited my sisters and myself to tea, and that 
 we found the room full of girls when we 
 arrived. We were in demi-toilet, but of 
 course had all tried each in our several ways 
 to make ourselves look bewitching, and there 
 we were without a single gentleman, not 
 even the white-haired clergyman of aunt 
 Bona's Swiss Protestant Church, to which 
 she was accustomed to give all the spare cash 
 she possessed. 
 
 This would have been tolerable if we had 
 been invited to an American quilting party 
 or an English Dorcas, for with a needle and 
 thread a woman can get through anything; 
 or if aunt Bona had been alone and we could 
 have told her all our gossip, which of course 
 we could not before the three Miss Bennetts, 
 the two Miss Fishers, and the middle aged 
 Mrs. Comfit. As it was we had no work, 
 and we felt it all the more because little Miss 
 Ashwood had been wiser than ourselves and
 
 MARRIED. 17 
 
 had brought her tatting. We should have 
 known what aunt Bona's parties were like, 
 and have provided accordingly, but we were 
 like silly birds in those days, easily snared 
 and never wide awake enough for our own 
 protection. 
 
 We had each sung our song and played our 
 piece of music and gone into raptures over each 
 other's performances, and had come to that 
 part of the evening which is a long way after 
 tea and before supper, and every moment 
 hung so heavily that between each sentence 
 we could hear the ticking of the old-fashioned 
 clock upon the stairs, then dear Mrs. Comfit 
 came to the rescue by saying — 
 
 " Why not have a dance this cold night, 
 I can play if you will put up with my old- 
 fashioned tunes." 
 
 Had she proposed that we should descend 
 to the scullery and scour the pots, the idea 
 would have been welcome after the martyr- 
 dom we had severally been suffering, and we
 
 18 MARRIED. 
 
 began dancing with eager feet ; I always liked 
 dancing, it is to women what cricket, and 
 boating, and swimming, and hunting are to 
 men, and I sometimes fancy that if young 
 people had more at home without being 
 forced to seek it so much abroad, it would 
 be better for them — for men I mean, for of 
 course, we must have it respectably, or not 
 at all, — the more lordly sex are not always 
 guarded by such scruples afe rule us. 
 
 Any way we danced that night, not only 
 the approved quadrille and waltz, but Scotch 
 reels, and all the old school dances we could 
 remember. I was dancing a reel with Annie 
 Ashford and Miss Fisher — and old-fashioned 
 as her tunes might be, Mrs. Comfit played 
 beautifully, and in perfect time. My hair had 
 fallen, I fancy, a little out of place, and my 
 colour was high with exercise, for we Were 
 determined to keep up as long as possible, 
 when, in one of my changings of sides, I hap- 
 pened to look at the door, and there, standing
 
 MAPRIED. 1^ 
 
 between the door-posts, and leaning against 
 one of them, was " a man/' 
 
 I wrote the word carelessly, but I go 
 back to give it additional emphasis ; for cer- 
 tainly Brice Glynn was never better described 
 than as a man. It was his glory that he was 
 emphatically a man — something which no 
 philosopher has yet been able to define, 
 failed to make him a fine gentleman; hut 
 nature had given to him all those manly 
 qualities which we women so often worship. 
 Broad shouldered, and with a large open 
 chest ; he was yet but just above the middle 
 height. His brown hair curled over his head 
 in abundant rings — and if curling hair is a 
 sign of determination, I think it spoke truly 
 resting on Brice's massive head. His feet and 
 hands were well proportioned, but not so 
 sriQall as to be a beauty — indeed, his hands 
 were rather firm and long, but his counte- 
 nance was even more manly than his figure, 
 full as it was of capability and intellect, and
 
 20 MARRIED. 
 
 of that something which is beyond both, in 
 its noble power of distancing others and pre- 
 serving the quiet, calm dignity of authority. 
 His mouth was arched like Cupid's bow, and 
 was, even before his masterly eyes, the finest 
 feature he possessed. 
 
 So strong — so very strong he looked, 
 standing there against the door-post, looking 
 at me with calm, admiring eyes, admiring — 
 it might be — as he would the even footsteps 
 of a clever and graceful child. 
 
 I stopped with sudden shyness, dropped a 
 curtsey to my partner, and looked enquiringly 
 at Aunt Bona. 
 
 '' Mr. Glynn," she answered, introducing 
 him, " has come to me on a little business, 
 and I have persuaded him to stay to supper.'' 
 
 How could we help making much of him, 
 I think I flattered him quite as much as every 
 one else did, and when he joined us and 
 begged us to continue our dancing, I felt that 
 he was in the situation of Paris, and would be
 
 MARRIED, 21 
 
 throwing his apple to whomsoever he asked 
 to be his partner. 
 
 What did it matter that his boots were 
 muddy, and his ancles splashed. If he had 
 been forced to dance in pattens, or on stilts, 
 he would have been acceptable ; and I fancy 
 that we each thought that the bit of ribbon, 
 or special ring or bracelet, wherein our finery 
 for the evening most consisted, had not been 
 put on quite for nothing. The Miss Fishers 
 looked a little supercilious, but then, we 
 knew the eldest was all but engaged, and 
 the younger had just rejected an offer from 
 an elderly admirer of seventy-five. 
 
 He asked me to dance, and I, flattered, 
 took my place, with laughing, joyous eyes; 
 but I said nothing — not a word, I think, 
 during all that quadrille, except to tell him 
 that we had made steps imperative that night. 
 
 ''Very well," he said ; "then I must try 
 and remember mine, only it is such a long 
 time ago since I learned."
 
 22 MARRIED. 
 
 A long time ago, and the first flush of 
 earliest manhood was still upon his face, like 
 the bloom which we tremble to see disturbed 
 upon a plum — long ago — what affectation, 
 and he, in his glorious youth, which, when 
 modestly worn is, in itself, a gift and a posr 
 session. 
 
 When that quadrille was done, he asked 
 if I would dance a reel with him. It was 
 selfish. I should have passed him on ; and 
 Annie Ashnorth and Miss Fisher knew the 
 reel steps so well ; but the temptation was 
 too strong for me, and when we all began to 
 dance I was contented. He seemed quite at 
 home with Aunt Bona, which surprised me a 
 little ; but then, she always made her own 
 friends independently of us, and we often met 
 strangers at her house, which fact, perhaps, 
 accounted for the handsome demi-toilet we 
 were accustomed to wear at her tea table. 
 
 I know my eyes sparkled. I know I was 
 happy ; why I could not tell, but I have learnt
 
 MARRIED. 23 
 
 since that to be very happy in the society of 
 others means that we love them more or less. 
 I was accustomed to be petted and flattered, 
 so that I did not really think much of his 
 asking me in preference to all the others. 
 He moved well, and when his arms were 
 crossed upon his broad chest, he looked so 
 strong, and so at ease, even while he kept 
 time and tune as agilely as I did. 
 
 " Thank you,'' he said, at last. " I fear you 
 are tired ; come and sit down." 
 
 Dear Brice, even from that first hour of 
 our coming together, he was kind and careful 
 of me. 
 
 He pulled forward a low chair, and 
 brought out a stool for my wearied feet, and 
 then he turned to talk to Mrs Comfit, who 
 knew him well it seemed, though by a look, 
 or a word now and then, he shewed that he 
 had not forgotten my existence.
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 Ask Orient gems. 
 Diamonds and sapphires, in rich caskets, wrought 
 By cunning goldsmiths : sigh for rarest birds 
 Of farthest Ind, like winged flowers, to flit 
 Aronnd thy stately bower j and, at a wish. 
 The predons toys shall wait thee. 
 
 Maet Russell Mitiobd, 
 
 VOL, I.
 
 MARRIED. 21 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 From that night I saw a great deal of Brice 
 Glynn. Girls, and even women of some experi- 
 ence, often fall into the notion that sometimes 
 opportunity only is wanting to make a little 
 liking ripen into a great attachment. But if 
 men have a real liking in them how easily 
 they can make opportunities — how quickly 
 they do make them. Brice made all his — 
 he never put me to the pains of making one — 
 he might have tempted me to try, for I am 
 just as weak as my neighbours, only he never 
 gave me time or necessity to exercise that 
 
 c 2
 
 28 MARRIED. 
 
 poor talent, which when women do possess it 
 is so thrown away and useless. I met him at 
 Mrs. Comfit's evening party, and at many- 
 other houses. I must note here that though 
 we were rich and had some titled friends and 
 some few opportunities of marrying into the 
 ranks of the nobility, had they or we been so 
 minded, yet that though we had grown so very 
 rich we had faithfully kept all our old friend- 
 ships. Therefore though we sometimes gave 
 special little dinners on plate to our new ac- 
 quaintance, the greater part of our social visit- 
 ing was with our old friends. For tiiis reason 
 it was not at all to be wondered at that the 
 clever, manly, merchant's clerk should often 
 meet us. 
 
 At a second party at Mrs. Comfit's, a dinner, 
 to which my young self was not admitted, 
 Brice made papa's acquaintance, and he, being 
 always kind to young beginners in the life 
 through which he had so successfully struggled, 
 asked him home to dinner. At that dinner
 
 MARRIED. 29 
 
 dear mamma fell in love with him altogether. 
 It must be remembered that she had no sons, 
 though she so much desired them, and that 
 such a well-behaved young man as Brice ap- 
 peared to her in almost a tender aspect. 
 
 From that time — if he had any difficulty 
 before — he had none in finding opportunities 
 of seeing me. 
 
 I knew he liked me — how could I help 
 knowing it when he singled me out on every 
 occasion — but he never said so. He lent me 
 books, brought me choice flowers to copy, for 
 I was fond of making them in wax, helped me 
 out if I came to a difficulty in German, or if 
 I chanced on any more abstruse study, was 
 always ready to give me his assistance, or 
 even to work up the subject if he previously 
 knew nothing of it. 
 
 Measuring myself by his mind, so deep, and 
 yet so ready, I came then to think that I had 
 made a false calculation of myself, and that, 
 after all, I was but a weak, vain girl, with
 
 30 MARRIED. 
 
 only one spark of true earnestness to save me 
 from being a trifler. 
 
 Sometimes, and on very rare occasions, t 
 did think he meant to tell me he loved me^ 
 and would like to link my life to his, but 
 something always restrained him. Then I used 
 to remember that I was rich and that he was 
 poor, and that he could not tell what a large- 
 hearted man my father was, and that to see a 
 child of his happy he would have taken a great 
 lump of his own wealth, and blessed us 
 both with it. He would not woo me rich^ 
 and I honoured him for the thought, and 
 still more that 1 rejoiced to see that my 
 power was great enough to prevent his leaving 
 me alone. It was a pleasure to me to receive 
 him in our noble drawing-rooms — so large that 
 six couples might have carried on conversa- 
 tions without being heard by each other. It 
 was very delightful to cast about me as it were 
 the evidences of our riches, to put upon my 
 small person the cost of more than a quarter
 
 MARRIED. 31 
 
 ©f hk income, to make myself very dainty with 
 my gew-gaws, and pretty finery, not knowing 
 that every new thing I wore in my extrava- 
 gance to bewitch him, put further and further 
 away from him the possibility of making me 
 his wife. 
 
 He saw this very evidently, but I did not ; 
 a little more adornment, a new comb, a more 
 bewitching wreath, or lovelier dress I 
 thought would finish making mine the dear 
 heart which so evidently tottered in its 
 balance, and must so soon fall over on my 
 side. 
 
 I did not know how it all teased him, or I 
 think, painful as it would have been, I would 
 have dressed myself like the nut-brown maid. 
 As it was, when his eye contemplated my 
 new dresses so sedately sometimes, I could not 
 help seeing so disapprovingly — I would soon 
 find occasion to change them for others still 
 more fashionable and costly. 
 
 Sometimes he would stay away for a long
 
 S2 MARRIED. 
 
 time, a whole fortnight or three weeks, for our 
 intimacy had so grown, our friendship, for so 
 we termed it, so increased, that these intervals 
 seemed very long, and then his resolution, I 
 suppose, giving way, he would return more 
 my friend than ever. 
 
 " If a man does not like you enough to come 
 forward in six months,'' said older and wiser 
 ,^Lucy, my sister, " he never will, depend upon 
 that, Alice." 
 
 " So that he keeps my friend," I said in 
 sincerity, " I do not care whether he comes 
 forward or not." 
 
 '' Friendships are dangerous, dear,'' she 
 said fondly, " other people call them by a 
 softer name, look on you as another man's 
 property, and so pass you by." 
 
 " They are welcome, I do not want them," 
 I said, thinking what other could come in the 
 place of Brice. From my sister's remark it 
 will readily be seen that we were by no means 
 a worldly family.
 
 MARRIED. S3 
 
 **Does he never say he loves you," she 
 continued teasingly, " never in those long ex- 
 planations of German which I think he 
 learned on purpose." 
 
 " Not he/' I said laughing ; "he went once 
 to Germany for a year." 
 
 "Oh, you do know so much about him? 
 To me he is a dear, delightful myth, with no 
 history before the time he suddenly appeared 
 at Aunt Bona's." 
 
 " He is very reserved for a man with such 
 a simple heart,'' I said, thoughtfully. Lucy 
 and Meta and mamma and my dear father 
 were always so kind and tender to me that 
 they did not know how jealous I was in 
 reality — jealous even of Brice's profound 
 reticence of manner. Much as I liked him, I 
 could not get over that ; and yet he was a 
 man of whom it was impossible — quite — 
 quite impossible to ask impertinent ques- 
 tions. 
 
 c b
 
 34 MARRIED. 
 
 One day I said to him, when he had been 
 absent longer than usual — 
 
 " Have you been very busy, Mr. Glynn ?' 
 
 " Not more than usual/' he replied, look- 
 ing perhaps a little startled. 
 
 " Then why did you stay away so long ?" 
 I asked, raising my eyes, which had been 
 fixed upon my wax flowers, rather suddenly 
 to his face. 
 
 He flushed all up to his manly forehead. 
 
 " Have you wanted me ?" he said, anxi- 
 ously. 
 
 " Of course I have, a hundred times," I 
 replied. *' I wanted you to choose me a 
 carnation to copy, and then Lucy thinks you 
 can take the second to a new song she has 
 been practising.'* 
 
 " I would have come at any time if she had 
 sent for me." 
 
 " Ah !" I said, doubtfully. 
 
 *' You do not believe me ?" 
 
 " Your friendship is very intermittent."
 
 MARRIED. 35 
 
 " No, you mistake me altogether,'* he said, 
 quickly ; " but I do wrong to come here — 
 you know I do." 
 
 " We do not keep a gambling house," I 
 answered, meekly ; *' and if we play a round 
 game, it is never for more than two-pence a 
 dozen.'' 
 
 He laughed a little bitterly. 
 
 " So," I pursued, " I do not quite see what 
 harm there is in coming here, I did want a 
 carnation so badly." 
 
 He was looking at me very persistently. I 
 knew pretty well that my few words had 
 made him lose his self-possession ; and I was 
 rich, and I could make his fortune, was I so 
 very bold. 
 
 " Alice," he said, laying his strong sinewy 
 hand on mine ; " do you mean what you seem 
 to say ?" 
 
 " I mean nothing, but that you are very 
 tiresome, Mr. Glynn ; but now you shall stay 
 and try the song — I know Lucy is dying for
 
 B6 MAERIED, 
 
 a second," and with that I sprang lightly to 
 the door and went after my sister. I left him 
 with his face upon his hands, in very piteous 
 fashion — the strong man was having a struggle 
 with himself, I knew ; but weak and petted 
 as I might be, I was not fche kind of woman 
 who could take the advantage of any man's 
 hour of weakness. So 1 went very swiftly after 
 Lucy^ and when I had brought her and had 
 put them both at the piano, I sat very 
 demurely down to my wax flowers, and quite 
 refused to see that he was looking at me. 
 
 In his sober reason — with all his calm, cool 
 judgment about him — I thought he should ask 
 me to be his wife if he wanted me. What 
 pretty boon had ever been denied me? Why 
 then should not Brice love me, and want me 
 very, very much to be his wife ? and this 
 thought made my dreams very happy, 
 though I seemed to be giving all my thoughts 
 to the pretty wild prim roses I was so carefully 
 moulding.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sonnd, 
 So sweetly r nng each vaulted wall, 
 
 And echoed light the dancer's hound. 
 As mirth and mnsie cheered the hall. 
 
 Divinely through the graceful dance. 
 You seemed to float in silent song. 
 
 Bending to earth that heamy glance. 
 As if to light our steps along ! 
 
 Scott. 
 
 MOOBB. 
 
 Music aros e with its v oluptuous swell 
 Soft eyes looked love to eyes w hich speak again. 
 And all went merry as a marriage bell j 
 
 Btbon.
 
 MARRIED. 39 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Three days after this meeting came my birth- 
 day, and now he had sent me the pretty yel- 
 low white rose, which was longing to burst 
 into flower. It had come in the early morn- 
 ing, with the dew still upon it — the sweet 
 fresh dew of the night. Surely it was an 
 emblem that he was approaching me at last, 
 not after his spasmodic fashion, and with 
 tenderness into which he seemed betrayed 
 unwillingly — but as I had wished, with his 
 sober judgment in my favour — that sober
 
 40 MARRIED. 
 
 judgment which makes the cold-mannered 
 Englishman the best husband in the world. 
 
 That was why, though I prized my emeralds 
 and my pink satin dress, and the dear brace- 
 lets, with my sisters' hair in them ; yet that 
 I thought more of my rose-bud than of any 
 of the rich presents that graced my birthday. 
 
 I had taken care that everyone in whom 
 my sisters took any interest should be asked 
 to my ball, and we were determined to be as 
 happy as we could be. 
 
 There was a certain Mr. Bell Norton 
 whom Lucy felt some kindness for, who was 
 there with the rest. He was middle-aged 
 and rich, and had fascinated Lucy, because 
 he could talk so cleverly, and could draw 
 about him such a set of lions. I thought he 
 was then upon the eve of coming forward to 
 her, and she would have made him an ad- 
 mirable wife; but mamma was in her heart 
 afraid of him, and never, I think, could have 
 learned to call him son. Papa, though he
 
 MARRIED. 41 
 
 "was rather proud of Mr. Bell Norton's atten- 
 tion to his daughter, took more kindly to 
 Brice. He had made his own fortune — his 
 own road in life, and I think had a weakness 
 for things of his own making. So that he 
 would very much like pushing the fortune of 
 his own son-in-law. To a man of his extreme 
 energy, and so great a lover of work — some- 
 thing more to do — one of Alexander's un- 
 conquered worlds to master, would have 
 been worth something; for he was always 
 generous, and the idea of settling down to a 
 Sybarite life was not after his mind at all. 
 He was lavish in his expenditure ; but it was 
 always for the pleasure of others rather than 
 for himself- Careless, perhaps, he was liable 
 to be easily hoodwinked, but indomitable in 
 his energy, endurance, and industry. Idleness 
 had no power or temptation for him. But for 
 myself, I liked Mr. Bell Norton and had quite 
 set my heart upon his coming forward to Lucy. 
 To brotherless girls, brothers-in-law naturally
 
 42 MARRIED. 
 
 rise in value, and I was a little vexed to find 
 how independent Lucy would be with her 
 cavalier. It was not my way with Brice,, I 
 had none of the elements of the coquette in 
 me, and could not bear to hurt him. But 
 Lucy did not seem to care, and perhaps this, 
 manner succeeded with Mr. Norton, for he 
 followed her very persistently. 
 
 That night his manner was more impres- 
 sive, and I, at least, felt persuaded as I 
 watched them pacing the long room together,, 
 that he was talking of their mutual future* 
 Lucy, with her dark brown hair, was dressed 
 in blue silk, and her white rounded arm 
 resting upon his coat sleeve looked doubly 
 white. For once I could perceive that she 
 had put aside her look of calm indifference 
 and seemed disposed to meet his overtures in a 
 meek and seemly spirit. 
 
 I was delighted, so much so as almost to 
 forget the programme of my own life, which 
 was, perhaps, about to take so serious a tur%
 
 MARRIED. A^ 
 
 and when Brice came up to me I was ready 
 to converse in all friendly confidence, and 
 happy self forgetfulness, but I was too much 
 at leisure from myself to think much about 
 the depth of my own feelings or his. I was 
 always happy with Brice. 
 
 '* If I wanted to paint a picture of happi- 
 ness," he said, •' I should choose you." 
 
 " I am very happy," I replied, glancing at 
 Lucy and Mr. Bell Norton. As it happened 
 his glance followed mine, and then our eyes 
 met. His eyes had grown accustomed to talk 
 with mine and I could understand them quite 
 well. 
 
 " They are quite friends," I said, answering 
 his look. 
 
 " Nothing more ?'* he asked. 
 
 " Oh! dear no," I said, for I felt that I had 
 no right to speak out my hopes. 
 
 " He is a man who stands very well in the 
 world," said Brice. 
 
 " Yes, and he is very well off. Papa says
 
 44 MAREIED. 
 
 he gives excellent dinners and keeps a much 
 better cook than we do." 
 
 " So I have heard," he said, rather 
 gloomily. 
 
 " You are not jealous of Mr. Norton, '* I 
 said reprovingly ; " men always get rich when 
 they are middle aged ; youth is the time for 
 self denial and struggling, without a little 
 rough wind the tree would never grow so 
 straight." 
 
 "You have had a great deal of rough 
 wind," he said, ironically glancing at my 
 pretty dress, dainty satin shoes, and flashing 
 emeralds. 
 
 '' You need not be cross,'* I answered, " I 
 daresay I could have met with a great deal 
 of rough wind, only I get out of the way of 
 it. I am so fond of the sunshine." 
 
 " So it seems," he said, with another 
 glance which seemed to take in all my frivolous 
 surroundings. 
 
 " Well, do you know I think it is a great
 
 MARRIED. 45 
 
 trial to be rich when one is not born in the 
 purple, unless you are very humble indeed, 
 you meet with so many rebufs and disappoint- 
 ments. For instance, how unhappy we might 
 be because Mr. Bell Norton always succeeds 
 in giving better dinners than we do, and 
 mamma says it is such a trouble having to 
 think so much about it, that it is only 
 after all, like being an upper servant to 
 society/' 
 
 Brice laughed. 
 
 '' Nevertheless," he said, " I mean to be 
 rich some day, and I hope my wife will not 
 grumble." 
 
 '' We must all take our trials patiently," I 
 said demurely, feeling all the time that a 
 laugh was stealing out of the corners of my 
 eyes. 
 
 " You call it a trial do you," he replied, 
 heeding perhaps the suppressed light of my 
 eyes more than my words. 
 
 ''Oh I dreadful, fancy having always to
 
 46 MARRIED. 
 
 remember when the things are not in season 
 in order that you may have the luxury of 
 buying them at the highest price." 
 
 " I had forgotten that." 
 
 " And then/' I went on, " having to entertain 
 your servants, to remember who can eat 
 pork and who objects to cold meat, to see that 
 their rooms are kept in order and all their 
 whims remembered on penalty of receiving 
 notice of dismissal as their mistress, why really 
 it must be almost as bad as keeping boarders 
 or letting lodgings/' 
 
 '* Yet you seem to enjoy it.'' 
 
 " Oh ! yes, we take things easily, do not 
 strain after appearances, and leave Mr. Bell 
 Norton to give better dinners, and then you 
 see mamma is such a patient good manager ; 
 but I do hear such complaining from some 
 people in the drawing room before the 
 gentlemen come up sometimes that I begin 
 to fancy Robinson Crusoe's trials must have 
 been light compared with theirs."
 
 MARRIED. 47 
 
 " Still you have things all your own 
 ■way." 
 
 " Yes, pretty much, but why do you ask?" 
 I added, changing my tone to one of greater 
 earnestness, and badinage was I knew not 
 my forte, " do I ever complain ?'* 
 
 " Never, but then you have no cause." 
 
 " No, I have no cause, with such a home 
 as mine, such a father and mother and such 
 sisters, I have certainly no cause for com- 
 plaint." 
 
 " You would find poverty a very bitter pill 
 to swallow." 
 
 " Should I ? but then yon know ttere is a 
 text which says that the richi should rejoice 
 when they are brought low. Perhaps such 
 diversities and changes are good for us." 
 
 '' They are very hard," he said, looking at 
 me, perhaps my white muslin which one dip 
 into the washing tub would so utterly have 
 ruined did not make me look very fit to rough 
 the world.
 
 48 MARRIED. 
 
 " All ! but what one values most in life," I 
 said, kindling with enthusiasm " is nobility of 
 soul, and in order to reach it I would cheer- 
 fully go through any teaching Providence 
 might deem wisest, any hardship so that I 
 might attain it." 
 
 " What do you mean by nobility of soul ?" 
 he asked, partly I think because he liked to 
 hear me talk of things with all my heart in my 
 face. 
 
 "Oh I is it not," I answered, "to feel 
 almost a divine care for our fellows in the 
 struggle of life, to rejoice with them in their 
 success without a particle of envy, to be so 
 glad when they are glad, so sorry when they 
 are in trouble, and to feel almost a mortal 
 grief for our own sins and shortcomings, I 
 should so like to be good, and I would take 
 any education, however hard, which would 
 make me so." 
 
 His lips parted with a smile. 
 
 '^ I, too, should like," he said, " to be some-
 
 MARRIED. 49 
 
 tiling akin to your picture. Why is it that 
 we may not help each other to attain it ?" 
 
 My eyes fell, and I felt the hot blood 
 stealing up to my face — I knew he was look- 
 ing at me — weak, foolish girl as I was, I knew 
 he must see even by my kindling colour that 
 the cherry he was longing for needed but a 
 touch to fall into his hand ; then he said, 
 slowly : 
 
 "Poverty is a hard educator — I am not 
 sure that it is not a curse. Shall we 
 waltz?'' 
 
 They were playing that then new waltz 
 which the band just now played upon the 
 parade, and soon I felt myself all happy, but 
 confused, resting upon his arm amidst the 
 subdued whirl of many dancers. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 JuUeb. * * * Sweet, good night ! 
 This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, 
 May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet, 
 Gtood night, good night ! as sweet repose and rest 
 Come to thy heart as that within my breast ! 
 
 Borneo, 0, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? 
 
 Juliet. What satisfaction canst thou have to night ? 
 
 Shakspears. 
 
 D 2
 
 MARRIED. 53 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It was a very happy ball — even now going 
 over all its little episodes, I think it was the 
 most pleasant I ever attended. Brice, too, 
 was so kind — if he was not dancing with me, 
 he was yet ready to welcome me with a smile 
 whenever the dance was finished. But the 
 sunniest hours must end, and the room was 
 thining fast when he came to take leave of 
 me; people were hurrying off to the cloak 
 room, anxious, doubtless, to avoid the fearful 
 ignominy of being the last to say good-night, 
 as we stood a little aside near the door, and
 
 54 MARRIED. 
 
 yet removed from the stream of well-dressed 
 guests who were trying so hard not to seem in 
 any ill-mannered haste. 
 
 '' I shall not see you again for three weeks/' 
 he said, standing by me, and lingering over 
 his leave taking. 
 
 *' Three weeks!" I repeated, a little inclined 
 to take offence. 
 
 " I am going to Prussia on business, and I 
 think it will take so long. I ought to have 
 gone to-day, but T begged off until to-morrow, 
 or rather this morning.'^ 
 
 " I hope you will have a nice journey," I 
 said, with cheerfulness, stifling back my tears ; 
 for I was tired, and the long and happy eve- 
 ning had over-excited me. 
 
 " T have just been offered a better appoint- 
 ment in St. Petersburgh," he said, "but I 
 have not the courage to accept it." 
 
 " No I" I said, as heartlessly as I could ; 
 *' are you afraid of the wolves ?" 
 
 " Would you like me to go ?" he asked,
 
 MARRIED. 55 
 
 fixing his eyes upon my face, and I sadly fear 
 taking in with his keen glance, even the tears 
 which I hoped were so cleverly suppressed. 
 
 "Yes, if it would be better for you — if you 
 would be happier," I said, firmly, but even as 
 I spoke I drew the rose bud he had given me 
 from amongst the pretty folds of my dress, 
 and began tearing it to pieces with slow and 
 trembling fingers. I was always so terribly 
 in earnest even in my anger. 
 
 There fell a little silence, while he watched 
 my two significant fingers at their remorse- 
 less work, but he never attempted to stay 
 me. 
 
 " You are angry at my going, or thinking 
 of going, rather," he said, and his voice was 
 very husky ; " but it is my staying which 
 really is the ofi*ence. You know I ought 
 never to see you again — what is the use? how 
 is it to end?" 
 
 He was so evidently in earnest that my 
 anger vanished like a summer cloud, and
 
 56 MARRIED. 
 
 throwing aside my now leafless stem, I turned 
 to hii)i teasingly. 
 
 " Have you, then, committed murder, or 
 forgery, or are you married to some poor girl 
 whom you are keeping in strict confinement ? 
 or have you some dreadful secret in hold' 
 ing?" 
 
 " And if I were married what would it 
 matter?'' he answered, passionately, almost 
 peevishly. 
 
 '' Nothing at all," I said, a little struck by 
 his manner ; " only it would not be right to 
 conceal it." 
 
 " No , but except that it would not be 
 right, it would not matter, would it — would 
 it?'' he added, almost fiercely, and looking 
 with a curious, almost wild, questioning into 
 my eyes. 
 
 As he lost his self-possession I regained 
 mine ; in a minute more I could have learned 
 from his lips that declaration which his eyes, 
 his quivering mouth, his whole manner told
 
 MARRIED. 57 
 
 me: but not so does a true English girl 
 choose to be won — not so would she betray 
 her lover into speech against his better judg- 
 ment. I knew that my eyes were clear, that 
 my lately changing face was now cold and 
 pale ; and turning to his impassioned glance 
 my now firm, and calm, and yet kindly eye, I 
 looked him full in the face, as I held out my 
 hand. 
 
 "Good-night, Mr. Glynn, if you have 
 really to start to-day ; you ought to be 
 getting a little sleep ; you will be sadly tired, 
 I fear.'' 
 
 He stooped then and picked up the stem of 
 the rose which I had thrown down. 
 
 '* I will keep this,'' he said, gloomily ; " it 
 will be a useful reminder." 
 
 "Will it?" I answered, gaily; " I think 
 you had better resist the temptation. You 
 will be tempted when in Prussia to boast of it 
 as a trophy." 
 
 " A poor trophy !" he said, looking at me. 
 
 D 5
 
 58 MARRIED. 
 
 **A trophy of the wilfulness of English 
 girls when they are threatened with the loss 
 of their friends. I hope the Eussian appoint- 
 ment is really worth having." 
 
 " I have declined it — I — your kind — I have 
 not strength of mind to leave," he hesitated ; 
 and I added : 
 
 " England, no, if I were a man I would 
 certainly rather work my way here than any 
 where else. There is no country which 
 admits of a greater rise or presents freer 
 competition.*' 
 
 By this time, and while I was making this 
 little speech, which neither heeded, I am sure, 
 he had been able to recover himself; to be 
 again the calm self-reliant man I admired so 
 much and liked so well, so that I could say 
 now, without much harm, as he again bade 
 me good bye — 
 
 '' I am so sorry you are going, be sure to 
 come and see us directly you comeback." 
 
 Though I would not let him win me against
 
 MARRIED. 59 
 
 his better judgment, still I could not quite 
 forget that I was rich and he was poor, and 
 that papa could make his fortune. Then he 
 pressed my hand and bade me good night 
 with his husky voice, and joined the dispers- 
 ing crowd on its hurried way to the cloak 
 room. 
 
 There had been some pain in this little 
 conversation, but not enough to cast back a 
 shadow upon that pleasant evening. 
 
 As I stood upon tiptoe, making believe to 
 be very tall, that I might kiss the dear, dear 
 father whom I so fondly loved, I could tell him 
 still in all truth that it was the happiest party 
 I had ever had in my life, and that he was the 
 best, and kindest, and dearest of fathers, as 
 that I was the happiest and most grateful of 
 daughters. 
 
 And then as I went up to bed, very tired 
 indeed, but with a little elasticity still left in 
 me, I could look back with satisfaction and 
 forward with hope.
 
 60 MARRIED. 
 
 Brice was poor, and therefore diffident, but 
 I was rich, and I knew I had given him. 
 enough hope to live upon even through three 
 weeks in a foreign land. 
 
 As I lay awake, listening to the twittering 
 of the sparrows, and the occasional awakening 
 of some more melodious bird ; watching the 
 sun rise above the houses which bordered the 
 common, I felt very happy, and wondered 
 why men talked in sermons and in books of 
 the unsatisfactory nature of human happiness, 
 rather did I feel a joyous gratitude as in my 
 gladness I murmured softly to myself — 
 
 " If thus thy minor works be fair — 
 If thus Thy goodness gilds the span 
 Of ruined earth and sinful man ; 
 How glorious must those mansions be 
 Where thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee."
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 Wealth and the high estate of pride. 
 
 With what nntimely speed they glide. 
 
 How soon depart ! 
 
 Bid not the shadowy phantoms stay. 
 
 The vassals of a mistress they, 
 
 Of fickle heart. 
 
 These gifts in Fortune's hands are found j 
 Her swift revolving wheel turns round, > 
 And they are gone ! 
 No rest the inconstant goddess knows. 
 But changing, and without repose. 
 Still hurries on, 
 
 Longfellow.
 
 MAERIED. 63 
 
 CHAPTEE VL 
 
 I LIKE to linger in memory over my birthday 
 party, because it was part of my happy 
 youth, and because at that time no cloud had 
 been discovered by our young eyes to be 
 upon the horizon of our comfortable life; but 
 I think the happy time ended with the light 
 slumber into which I fell after daybreak. 
 
 That day when we all met for a late break- 
 fast, all except papa, who had gone at his 
 accustomed hour to the City, I could see that 
 Lucy was happily pre-occupied, and that 
 sometimes amidst this pre-occupation a slight
 
 64 MARRIED. 
 
 but radiant blush of maidenly joy would 
 steal up over her pale face, and she would 
 seem to smile at the reflection of her own 
 thoughts. 
 
 During that morning I know mamma asked 
 her some questions about Mr. Bell Norton, 
 but Lucy would say nothing, and yet it was 
 evident to us all that through the day she 
 was expectant of something which did not 
 happen. At last she confessed to us that Mr. 
 Norton had said at parting, and with a manner 
 which at the moment at least had led but to 
 one conclusion, that he would see her again 
 that day. 
 
 " I think he was wise to stay away and have 
 his sleep instead," said mamma, yawning, as 
 the evening drew on. 
 
 We had been sitting all day in our small 
 breakfast room, while the servants were busy 
 putting the other rooms to rights, and a call 
 from our grand and fashionable friend would 
 in reality have caused us some discomfort, but
 
 MARRIED. 65 
 
 I shall not easily forget the look of uneasiness 
 which gradually spread itself over my dear 
 Lucy's countenance. I could guess that many 
 times before Mr. Bell Korton's manner had 
 been expressive and impressive, that he had 
 often approached the subject of his affection, 
 but that hitherto Lucy had held her own, had 
 shewn him but scant love and much indif- 
 ference, but that this once she had give way 
 and let him see into her heart. Therefore, the 
 mortification was the greater. Some girls 
 play as it might be an open game, risking 
 their hearts upon every poor chance of getting 
 rid of them, but this had not been the case with 
 Lucy. Timid, but indifferent to all seeming, 
 she was one who thought long before she came 
 to any decision, and was not easily moved by 
 the vanity of conquest. She had needed a 
 long and persistent siege, and now that she 
 had lowered her flag, the conqueror should 
 have entered the citadel with triumph and re- 
 joicing, shewing that the conquest was very
 
 66 MARRIED. 
 
 dear to hira, and that to plant his standard on 
 the walls was an act of glory which he would 
 hasten to achieve. 
 
 All that day people's cards and kind mes- 
 sages kept coming in, and at last, when it was 
 near dinner time, a groom came np to the 
 door and left his master's card — " Mr. Bell 
 Norton.'' — What was the meaning of that? 
 " He has remembered that it would not be 
 etiquette to come in to-day," I said to mamma, 
 not to Lucy, her face was turned away, and 
 presently she left the room. 
 
 But we soon forgot Mr. Bell Norton, at 
 least I did, when papa came home to dinner. 
 The dining room had been made ready by 
 this time, for the master was always much 
 considered in our establishment, and the cut- 
 glass and polished silver glittered on the white 
 cloth in the usual comfortable state which it 
 pleased us to keep it. 
 
 But never before at that board had the dear 
 master's face looked so ghastly pale. Mamma
 
 MARRIED. 67 
 
 "whispered something about last night's lobster 
 salad, but I knew myself very well that it 
 was not that. Once I saw him in the silent 
 intervals of the dinner caused by our concealed 
 anxiety, take up one of the costly spoons, and 
 sway it on his finger, as if testing its weight. 
 Poor father, what a tide of bitter thought 
 must have coursed through his mind before 
 he fell upon this simple act. 
 
 At last the dinner was over, and the ser- 
 vants had left the room, after placing before 
 us the delicate dessert, which as it bloomed 
 upon the table seemed to tell of our stability 
 and our wealth. 
 
 Then papa leaned back in his chair, placed 
 his hand to his head, and seemed to think. 
 
 " "What is it, papa," said mamma anxiously, 
 ''has the supper upset you, dear, I always 
 feel so afraid of lobster at night.'' 
 
 Then he roused himself, and almost 
 smiled.
 
 68 MARRIED. 
 
 " No/' he said, '' it was not my supper but 
 my breakfast which upset me." 
 
 " Your breakfast ! You eat so little break- 
 fast ever, I thought that little pate could not 
 have hurt you." 
 
 '' I allude to my breakfast in the City,'* 
 said papa, with a smile, which faded instantly. 
 " When I got there this morning I found that 
 Stedman had gone off.'* 
 
 Stedman was Papa's partner. 
 
 " Papa, dear, does it hurt you very much,'* 
 I asked, interrupting the dreadful silence 
 which followed by drawing my chair up close 
 to his. I remembered his action with the 
 spoon, and from that I augured the worst. 
 
 " I fear it does," he answered calmly, '' I 
 have been at the accounts all day, but the 
 further I go the worse I find them. Poor 
 fellow, he has done very wrong. I did not 
 know that he had a share in some theatre, 
 I forget where, though I heard to-day. I
 
 MAERIED. 69 
 
 have been suspicious of the accounts lately, 
 and had fixed to go over them to-day. 
 He took time by the forelock and went last 
 night while we were dancing." 
 
 " William, are we ruined ?" asked mamma, 
 leaning forward. 
 
 " I cannot tell yet/' he said, very tenderly, 
 *'but I thought it better to mention this." 
 
 " Of course," she said, eagerly, " there is 
 nothing so bad as concealment," 
 
 "I should have sent for Brice Glynn," said 
 my father, " for I do not know a cleverer hand 
 at accounts, but he told me he was going some- 
 where to-day." 
 
 My heart gave a bound at this praise of my 
 friend. 
 
 " Is this news known ? " asked Lucy. 
 Papa looked at her, I thought, with peculiar 
 softness, as he answered — 
 
 " It must be all over the City to-day, and 
 to-morrow all our claims will be in upon us. 
 Never mind, old woman," he said, suddenly
 
 70 MARRIED. 
 
 addressing my poor pale mother, who sitting 
 at the head of her dinner table, daily looked 
 so well, and who, I firmly believe, dressed 
 with all a girFs interest to keep still charming 
 in his eyes. " Never mind, we came up hill 
 together, and it is odd if we cannot go down. 
 Thank God," he added fervently, '' it has not 
 broken me," and he felt his forehead as if 
 he could test his brain that way. 
 
 "I am thankful, William," answered my 
 poor mother, " to see you so good ; but things 
 may be better than you think." 
 
 " We will hope to save something," said 
 my father ; "and now I do not mind any- 
 thing—having to tell was the worst of all." 
 
 " We have always been such friends," said 
 Lucy, hopefully, " you should not mind 
 telling us, papa." 
 
 '' Papa knows we think most of him," said 
 Meta, " and after all it is but a bore to be so 
 very rich." 
 
 "But if it comes to being so very poor?"
 
 MARRIED. 71 
 
 said ke who reigned among us like a royal 
 ruler. 
 
 I laid my head on his shoulder ; we 
 seemed to need to come very close together 
 in this sore trouble ; for such I knew it to be 
 in spite of the brave faces round me. I could 
 not bear to look at my mother, with her fair 
 round arms, she seemed to wear her health so 
 meekly and so well. It was a summer night, 
 and the large chandelier usually made the 
 room over warm, and yet I shivered as I 
 moved close to my dear, generous father. He, 
 a poor man, a very poor man, how could I 
 think of it. 
 
 It was a Spartan duty with us not to cry, but 
 I could not help trembling from head to foot. 
 He put his arm round me, for I had never lost 
 the privilege of my babyhood, or been eclipsed 
 by a younger child ; he drew me close to him 
 as he stooped his noble head to kiss me. I 
 felt an awful thing upon my face, it was a
 
 72 MARRIED. 
 
 strong man's tear, my own father's upon my 
 cheek. 
 
 I could not bear that, and I sprang from 
 the room to seek some dark place where 
 I could weep alone, and at my own free will.
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 The patron (sir, ye maun forgi*e me, 
 
 I winna lie, come what will o' me). 
 
 On ev'ry hand it will allowed be 
 
 He's just — nae better than he should be. , 
 
 BUEMS, 
 
 TOL. I, B
 
 MARRIED. 75 
 
 CHAPTER Vll. 
 
 I CREPT back presently, having resumed my 
 calmness, stilled my trembling, and dried my 
 tears. I found them all more brave than my- 
 self, sitting in cheerful discourse over the 
 day's disaster; and I could not help remem- 
 bering my own observation to Brice that 
 there must be truth in the text, '' Let the rich 
 man rejoice when he is brought low/* I 
 could see a little of that rejoicing on my fa- 
 ther's brow. I could discern something of 
 the joy of the strong man who hears the dia 
 of combat and rushes to the fight. 
 
 E 2
 
 76 MARRIED. 
 
 As I took my place by his side, he drew 
 me close to him again, and whispered. 
 
 "Never mind, pet, calamity always seems 
 to me to open Heaven." 
 
 They were simple words, but they brought 
 before me a noble vision of one, who, sleeping 
 upon the hard ground, with a stone for a pil- 
 low, saw the angels ascend and descend by 
 their golden ladder. 
 
 " I will try not to mind,*' I answered, '' I 
 am sure I shall not if you do not.'* 
 
 But I knew all this time that I was weak, 
 and they seemed all so strong. Meta told me, 
 long afterwards, that she wondered at my for- 
 titude; she had felt it as much as 1 di 1, only 
 she looked so strong. I think we loved each 
 other so sincerely that we had no thought of 
 our own immediate griefs, and this band of 
 strong love sustained us all. 
 
 "The servants must be immediately dis- 
 charged, and the house all but closed," said 
 my father, as we stood together before we 
 parted for the night.
 
 MARRIED. 77 
 
 Lucy started and turned pale. I fear that 
 sLe must have regretted that her friend had 
 not called that day, and that to-morrow he 
 would find things so changed. She must have 
 known how dear appearances were in the eyes 
 of Mr. Bell Norton, and how our wealth had 
 been suffered to cover our want of noble rela- 
 tives. The rubicon passed he would not have 
 broken his troth or fouled his honour by a vow 
 violated ; but how would it be with him now ? 
 The to-morrows, changed as they vv'^ere, must 
 tell that. 
 
 We took leave of each other almost brightly, 
 for, after all, trouble is not an unmitigated 
 evil, and being so rich, and having nothing 
 whatever which we were forced to do, made 
 our position, as Meta had said, rather a bore. 
 There was excitement, at least, in coming dif- 
 ficulty, and young people like excitement. 
 
 We met again at breakfast with a cheerful- 
 ness which was wonderful to witness ; for it 
 must be remembered that as yet poverty was
 
 78 MARRIED. 
 
 quite an unknown world to us ; a kind of 
 Arcadia ; and, more than this, I think we had 
 not been spoiled by wealth. 
 
 " ^o/' said my father, as he looked round 
 his breakfast table with a well-pleased smile, 
 " we are all going to do our duty without 
 grumbling ; is it not so ? " 
 
 We all gave an eager assent, 
 
 '' That is right," he said, standing to drink 
 his last cup of tea, " then God will go with 
 us, and we will show that with him there is 
 nothing so very bad after all." 
 
 He left us with these words, and though I 
 accompanied him to the door, as was my cus- 
 tom, and watched him take his place in his 
 brougham, nothing more passed between us. 
 
 "We were not the kind of people to make 
 mysteries and keep secrets, and the fact of 
 our probable ruin was all over the house long 
 before breakfast time. 
 
 There was no formal dismissal to our nu- 
 merous household ; mamma, as she had occa-
 
 MARRIED. 79 
 
 Bion to see them, said, '* You have heard all 
 about it, of course ; you must find a new place 
 as soon as you can, and see that it be a good 
 one ; my house has always been well kept, 
 and ought to afford you a good character." 
 
 As there were no formalities, so there were 
 no outward lamentations; but I must remem- 
 ber, with gratitude, that our open dealing 
 called forth increased respect from them. 
 
 It was my father's wish that our ruin should 
 be met openly, and the expenses evidently 
 and instantly cut down. He, who had been 
 lavish of his thousands, knew the value of 
 a sixpence, and as he had spent without 
 grudging, he now spared without shame. 
 
 Strange as it may seem, I that day had only 
 one anxiety, and that was for the appearance 
 of Mr. Bell Norton. I am sure no sordid de- 
 sire of securing a home for dear Lucy in any 
 way mingled with my feeling, or with hers. 
 Had he come forward I think she would 
 eagerly have sought to release him, but
 
 8Q MARRIED. 
 
 having suffered tim to see into her heart it 
 seemed to her at that time, and I think to me 
 too, to be a necessity to her self-respect that 
 he should say in open words what he had con- 
 veyed by a thousand other ways. But this 
 day, as yesterday, went by without his coming, 
 or making any sign. 
 
 Papa came home that night more wearied 
 and worn than the day before. Matters 
 proved worse than he had supposed. His 
 truthful, energetic nature had been imposed 
 upon. He had worked hard and spent la- 
 vishly ; but far within his earnings ; while the 
 source of his wealth had been gradually melt- 
 ing away. Things had become so complicated 
 that it was difficult to release himself from 
 the dishonour which clung to his partner. It 
 would require all his strong energy, industry, 
 and will to bring him out clear in character ; 
 and so hopeless was the failure that it was 
 evident there would be nothing saved. 
 
 It was easy to see that the first excitement
 
 MARRIED. 81 
 
 over he found it impossible to recall the 
 elastic vigour of his youth, and that the pain 
 of the work before him was unnerving him. 
 
 We had still our luxuries and comforts, 
 but I began to see that trouble was real. 
 
 The next day I remember I was sitting 
 at my window, sadly thinking of Mr. Bell 
 Norton ; Lucy was sitting reading near me, 
 for we were fond of being together. Suddenly 
 I started up with a joyous exclamation, for at 
 the door I saw two sleek, well-known horses, 
 belonging, as I knew well, to Mr. Norton, 
 and his groom. 
 
 *' He is a true man," I said, turning gladly 
 to Lucy. 
 
 She flushed and trembled, and putting aside 
 her book, went to to the looking-glass. 
 
 " Do I look very poor and ruined,' ' she 
 asked, turning her face to mine, glistening in 
 its brightness and happiness. 
 
 " Very, dear," I answered with glad irony. 
 
 Presently there came word to us that Mr. 
 
 E 5
 
 82 MARRIED. 
 
 Norton was asking for the young ladies. We 
 went down together, Lucy and I, and came 
 into the drawing-room so much in our usual 
 manner that I think the man who waited for 
 us must have been a little puzzled. 
 
 We were both pleased to see him, and Lucy 
 greeted him with frank courtesy, nay, more, a 
 blush of pleasure stole over her pale face and 
 made it lovelier than ordinary. Mamma had 
 her handkerchief to her eyes. They had been 
 talking of our misfortunes, and, perhaps the 
 consolation offered had not been of the most 
 cheerful nature. Mr. Norton, who was stand- 
 ing hat in hand upon the hearth-rug, did not 
 attempt to sit down after we came in. 
 
 " I have been deeply, painfully grieved,'* 
 he said, without emotion ; and the words, to 
 my impulsive nature, seemed to come out with 
 a cold ring in them, "indeed I have been 
 thinking of you ever since I heard the sad 
 news in the City the day before yesterday." 
 
 He addressed himself more particularly to
 
 MARRIED. 83 
 
 Lucy. I could see that her large eyes had in 
 them a puzzled expression. She did not un- 
 derstand him. Love, which is sometimes so 
 quick, is at other times so slow to suspect, 
 but I knew that these words should have had 
 in them more tenderness, and should have been 
 addressed to her ear alone. 
 
 ''It is very sad for papa," she answered 
 quietly. 
 
 " It is very sad for you all," he said, almost 
 bitterly, and then I did detect a little feeling. 
 He ujight have gladly humbled himself to 
 wed with Lucy, rich, but to find us all poor ? 
 It was very mortifying ; looking back I can 
 find excuses for him which were not forth- 
 coming at the moment. 
 
 There is something low and vulgar in being 
 unlucky, and certainly luck had been against 
 us. Nothing more, I feel certain, except per- 
 haps, that papa had been so magnanimous and 
 prince-like; so above suspicion of his friend
 
 84 MARRIED. 
 
 and partner, that he had allowed things too 
 much to take their own course. 
 
 There came a pause then, as Mr. Norton 
 did not resume his seat we also remained 
 standing, looking at him. 
 
 " Have you thought of the future," he said, 
 still favouring Lucy with his especial at- 
 tention, and speaking in a tone of patronage, 
 which was irrepressibly offensive to me, 
 making me place my foot more firmly on the 
 ground, perhaps to stay my wrath. 
 
 " No,'' she faltered, " the time is yet very 
 early." 
 
 Her future, had never, in these last few 
 days, I felt sure, been unlinked with his, 
 either as accepting or repelling his love. 
 There had been time and place in her heart 
 for no other plans than these. 
 
 " Because," he said, seeming to inflate 
 himself with fatherly condescension as he 
 spoke, " if you had, I should be too happy
 
 MARRIED. 85 
 
 to help. Should you decide on turning your 
 talents to account as a governess, I would do 
 my best in making enquiries among my 
 friends. The Countess of Haviland is most 
 kind in serving destitute ladies, and she would 
 help me, I feel certain." 
 
 What were we to do? three defenceless 
 women. If we had been men we might 
 have laid a significant hand upon his shoulder 
 and pushed him down stairs, as it was, we 
 met his remarks in silence. Lucy's lips 
 quivered, but she did not raise her eyes, and 
 he did not look at me, or he might have seen a 
 dangerous fire lurking beneath my eyelids. 
 
 " You are very kind," said mamma coldly. 
 " Then I can do nothing for you to-day," he 
 said, still speaking to Lucy, fancying, per- 
 haps, who knows, that he was doing her a 
 kindness. 
 
 " Nothing," she said, quietly. 
 
 '' But if I can you will drop me a line ? "
 
 86 MARRIED. 
 
 There was silence here ; who could make such 
 a promise ? 
 
 " You are entering into painful details 
 which we have not yet had time to consider," 
 I said, seeing neither mamma nor Lucy could 
 speak ; " when the time comes we shall be 
 ready to do our duty, I hope.'' 
 
 " I hope so," he said, looking at, me with 
 glassy eyes, which had no expression in them. 
 '' I wish I could have been of use. A word 
 from me to the Cvountess of Haviland would, I 
 am sure, be of service, these things are so dif- 
 ficult to obtain ; so very difficult." 
 
 Then he said good bye, rather hastily, and 
 I rang the bell to have him shewn out so 
 impetuously, that I lost the opportunity of 
 shaking hands with him. It was but a poor 
 stratagem, and did not save poor Lucy from 
 doing so. Even in those few minutes how 
 the glory and the glistening had gone out of 
 her face, and how very poor and utterly ruined
 
 MAERIED. 87 
 
 she looked. I was impatient that he should 
 be gone ; that he should not see this ; for even 
 then I could divine that if a man does not 
 want a woman of his own will no feeling of 
 pity will ever move him. 
 
 He was gone. We stood and looked at 
 each other while the horses curvetted upon 
 the gravel drive below, and we could hear 
 Mr. Norton soothing his steed to enable him 
 to mount him ; and even while the master 
 and man took their waj across the Common. 
 But when the last sound died away, and no 
 further effort was necessary, Lucy sank down 
 upon the floor, burying her face upon a couch, 
 and one had to stand by and hear her agoniz- 
 ing sobs, and see the slow heaving of her 
 shoulders. Tf her heart could have broken 
 in that moment, when her pain seemed be- 
 yond endurance, she would doubtless have 
 deemed it a mercy, but how then are life's 
 great lessons of patience and endiu'ance to be 
 learned ; how, except through pain, can earth
 
 88 MARRIED. 
 
 purify for Heaven ? Need I say that we tried 
 to comfort her, but, alas, how little comfort 
 can be given to one wounded alike in affection 
 and self-respect. 
 
 Mr. Norton had done his work thoroughly. 
 He had made it clear, beyond the possibility 
 of mistake, that he had changed his intentions 
 and wishes with the change of circumstances. 
 In this I am inclined to think he did well. 
 
 Painful and bitter as the humiliation was, 
 the woman he had won with so much pains, 
 and cast off so quickly, was at least spared 
 the sickness of hope deferred. She could at 
 least rise up and battle with a slight which 
 could not be misunderstood. Many men do 
 as Mr. Norton did, but with less decision and 
 more cowardice. I have lived to hear dear 
 Lucy say, " He did well to come as he did." 
 
 But not at that moment ; then all the pas- 
 sion of a loving woman's nature rose up to 
 condemn him with the bitterness and anguish 
 which must go up to Heaven like a curse.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 O let thy sonl 
 Kemember what the will of Heav'n ordains 
 Is ever good for all, and if for all. 
 Then good for thee. Nor only by the warmth 
 And soothing sunshine of delightful things 
 Do minds grow tip and flourish, 
 
 Aebnsids.
 
 MARRIED. 91 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 Oh, my poor sister, how my heart bled for 
 her the more that I felt that no comfort T 
 could bring her could really still the beating 
 of that dreadful agony of mind. The story, 
 when it was told to him, made my father's 
 brow more dark and heavy, and he who could, 
 I think, have flung off even now, in his middle 
 age the load of poverty, as the strong man 
 threw by the green withes with which traitor- 
 ous hands had bound him, felt the bitterest 
 sting from the desertion of his daughter. 
 That was a pang which he could not resist ;
 
 92 MARRIED. 
 
 a poisoned arrow driven right home by the 
 hand of a friend. 
 
 But though we were so powerless to com- 
 fort her, we all of us treated Lucy like a 
 sacred thing to be set apart and tended even 
 amidst the calamity which, to outward eyes, 
 had stricken us all alike. 
 
 " Do not, dear, do not,^' she said, one day, 
 when she saw me draw her favorite chair for- 
 ward to the window and place a cushion for her 
 feet, and lay the book she liked by her side. 
 Not that she read much, when she suffered 
 herself to rest from helping forward the neces- 
 sary labour of our removal, but she liked to sit 
 so, looking out over the Common towards the 
 road where Mr. Norton had disappeared. 
 
 "Would it not be better, Lucy, dear,** I 
 f^aid, bending over her, not looking in her 
 face, so pale and weary, but leaning on her 
 chair behind, " to talk out your sorrow some- 
 times ; keeping it to yourself makes it heavier." 
 For after the first day, after her first burst of
 
 MARRIED. 93 
 
 passionate grief, anguish and self-contempt, 
 she had never mentioned his name. 
 
 '' I think not," she said, without the 
 peevishness I could so readily have pardoned. 
 
 " Talking is a bad nurse to forgetfulness, 
 and it would wound my self-respect still more. 
 Have patience with me and let me find strength 
 mj own way.'* 
 
 " Patience," I said, " as if you called for 
 patience ; you seem to aie to have borrowed 
 strength from Heaven.'' 
 
 " Where else could we find it?" she said, 
 wearily, ^' but it has not come yet ; my heart 
 is all in rebellion, dear, .but I know that is 
 wrong, and why should I spread such feeliiigs 
 to you. Mamma is patient for her child. She 
 told me her child's happiness was hers, and 
 losing it she would be patient under the loss, 
 as if it were her own. Be patient too, dar- 
 ling, and be prepared, all our friends may de- 
 sert us." 
 . I knew she spoke of Brice, and had learned
 
 94 MARRIED. 
 
 by the fatal knowledge she had gained to dis- 
 trust all men, and I felt the colour kindling 
 in my cheeks, ^though we were so placed 
 that we could not see each other's face. 
 
 I did not answer, but followed her eyes out 
 over the Common. The sun was going down 
 in glory, and all the summer sky was painted 
 with the changing colours which vary before 
 you have time to feel all their beauty. How 
 often of a summer night had we three girls 
 wandered out together to watch such sunsets 
 as these. How often also, indulging dreams, 
 born, perhaps, from the satiety of our wealth 
 and accompanied by Mr. Norton, taking pains 
 to win the delicate reserve of my sister into 
 confidence. 
 
 " I shall be sorry to leave this," she said, 
 '' and yet i think it will be good for me. 
 For oh 1 there are so many things recall the 
 past to me." 
 
 " The past was very happy," I said, assum- 
 ing the experience of age with my nineteen
 
 MARRIED. 95 
 
 years, " I shall always feel grateful for it. It 
 is a great thing to have had such a happy 
 girlhood as ours.'' 
 
 " Yes," she said, faintly ; out of the dark- 
 ness of her present, she could neither look 
 backwards nor forwards so as to see any 
 brightness. 
 
 We had arranged to leave our house^ and 
 bills shewing that it was to be let, or sold, 
 were affixed upon a staring board in front. 
 In old days we bad resisted the temptation to 
 long for more fashionable quarters at other 
 ends of London, and had duly cherished, with 
 kindly pride, the respectability and comfort of 
 our Clapham mansion, with all its rich appur- 
 tenances of ungrudged, overflowing expendi- 
 ture. For this reason the almost stately 
 building had no reproach for us, who had 
 played about it ; making it merry for years 
 past. By the grace of God we were brought 
 low, so we said to ourselves, having brought 
 forth some fruit, we poor branches of the vine
 
 96 MARRIED, 
 
 were deemed worthy of being pruned of all our 
 superfluous foliage that we might bring forth 
 more fruit. If it had not been for Lucy's 
 sorrow I think we should all have gone 
 on our way rejoicing, and as it was, we never 
 murmured over our change of circumstances, 
 though Lucy had been wounded by her 
 friend, and my father's trusting confidence in 
 his had been turned to bitterness and cruel 
 loss. 
 
 " I wonder when Griynn will be back," he 
 said to me one day. 
 
 " He went away for three weeks/ I said, 
 *' but do you want him ? ' 
 
 " Yes, I think his clear head would serve 
 me now, would help me better than any one 
 elses." 
 
 " But, papa," I said earnestly, " is it well 
 to seek him or any one's help but our own 
 just now. Has not Mr. Norton given us an 
 example that our friends may change with our 
 altered circumstances ?"
 
 MARRIED. 97 
 
 He looked at me earnestly, and I returned 
 his look with courage. 
 
 " Mr. Glynn must hear of our misfortunes 
 when he returns ; perhaps he will seek you 
 at once, if not, papa, let him be/' 
 
 " What do you mean child ? '' 
 
 " I mean nothing more than I say ; do not 
 seek him; leave him to seek you ; if he is 
 worth anything he will come to you ; if not, 
 let him go after Mr. Norton. '' 
 
 He looked at me with a smile. 
 
 " I thought Glynn was my friend, and I 
 might treat him as I liked.'' 
 
 " Oh, did you, papa, but you are very much 
 mistaken ; he is my friend as well as yours, 
 and three weeks in Prussia, and business on 
 his return, will give him a better excuse thaa 
 Mr. Norton could devise for staying away. 
 Let him, if he likes ; I would not have you 
 seek him for the world.'' 
 
 " And if he seeks me and you ? '' 
 
 " Oh, papa, you know he had but to ask 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 98 MARRIED. 
 
 me any day for these three months past." I 
 determined to place myself on a level with 
 Lucy. 
 
 " And he did not ; and my foolish child let 
 her heart be taken away without getting one 
 in return." 
 
 " I think 1 had his," I answered, hanging 
 my head a little ; " but I was rich, and he 
 was poor ; but, papa, I shall not grieve ; I 
 only wish you to see that Lucy is not worse 
 treated than I am." 
 
 " Than you," he said, puzzled. 
 
 " Of course you know, dear papa, no one 
 will seek us now until you have made haste 
 to build up our fortunes again; so keep up 
 your courage for our sake." 
 
 "But you said your being rich deterred 
 him." 
 
 " Ah, so I thought ; only do not seek him 
 now ; I have told you all I feel. We are far, 
 far better without any of them. You are the 
 only true man in the world."
 
 MARRIED. 99 
 
 " Why do jou suspect Glynn? " 
 
 " I suspect myself. What am I compared 
 to Lucy? She is handsome and good ; I am 
 nothing compared with her, and if she is left, 
 why should not I be? We shall be truer 
 friends, she and I, that is all. But this is no 
 time to think of such things ; only do not seek 
 him, or seeing him, ask him home. Protect 
 me, papa^ as I would protect you, if I could, 
 and when we leave here," I said insinua- 
 tingly, " need we leave our address.'^ 
 
 " I think we must. I never lived in the 
 daik yet, and 1 cannot begin now.'' 
 
 " Very well,'' I said, resignedly, '" only it 
 will look like asking him to come,'' 
 
 " Not a bit ; I will say his visits are incon- 
 venient, and that we keep no company." 
 
 ''That will be best," 1 said, brightening, 
 " be like a prince in your misfortunes, papa, 
 and to me poor Eichard was always a king, 
 even when they shaved him from the dirty 
 
 F 2
 
 iOO MARRIED. 
 
 ditch in the fields. They shall not take your 
 royalty frjm you/^ 
 
 " So to be royal I am to turn my back on 
 my dearest friends." 
 
 " Yes, like Richard you must say, ' Let no 
 man know me now.' " 
 
 " And yet I am to work my way up again," 
 he said, with a smile in his eye, " I aever knew 
 that done by sulking." 
 
 " Oh, no, not sulking." 
 
 " It is something very like it." 
 
 " Well, then," I said, persuasively, " seek 
 your friends, if you like, only leave Brice 
 Glynn alone. He is my friend, and surely I 
 can do as I like with my own. What, papa, 
 shall he come and offer to find me a situation 
 as a governess ?" 
 
 " You said you wished to be as humble as 
 Lucy." 
 
 '' Ah^ papa, I may wish," I said, hiding my 
 flashing eyes upon his shoulder, " but I am
 
 MARRIED. 101 
 
 not, you know, and I never was, half so good 
 as Lucy. I need not have this trial, need I, 
 if it can be avoided. There is no necessity 
 for his coming, unless you ask him, and I 
 should be so angry, not a bit like Lucy ; I fear 
 I have the spirit of a fury in me^ I do, indeed. 
 I felt so angry because he was going away for 
 three weeks, and if I find he is going away for 
 good. Ah ! it is far better not to meet.'' 
 
 " I will be very careful," said my father, 
 kissing me tenderly, " we have uphill work 
 before us, and if we do not help each other 
 it will be hard indeed. My darling, I fear 
 you must give me back those emeralds T gave 
 you on your birthday ; I chose them when I 
 had no suspicion, but when I gave them a 
 thought had grown up in my mi ad that all 
 was not right. I had fixed to go over the 
 accounts with Stedman, the day after your 
 birthday. I should not like people to say I 
 invested money in jewels at such a time, and 
 I shall return them.''
 
 102 MARRIED. 
 
 "Oh, that IS easily done," I cried, spring- 
 ing from him, and returning in a few minutes 
 out of breath, with the box in my hand. He 
 thanked me, kissed me again, promised to buy 
 them for me again some day, if he ever could 
 do so, as if I cared so for the jewels, and then 
 left me, going off into town. 
 
 " Jewels ! " I said to myself, though before 
 him I would not seem to make light of his 
 gift. Ah ! how easy to part with them — but 
 Brice — my Brice. Then 1 covered my face 
 and tried to mourn for him, but could not. I 
 believed in him, loved him, confided in him 
 too well. I knew he loved me, and whatever 
 I said to myself I felt sure he would come to 
 me with his heart in his hand.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 My child, my child! thou leavest me, I shall hear 
 The gentle voice no more that blest mine ear 
 With its first utterance. I shall miss the sound 
 Of thy light step amidst the flowers around, 
 And thy soft breathing hymn at twilight's close, 
 And thy 'Good night' at parting for repose. 
 
 Yet blessings with thee go ! 
 Love guard thee, gentlest ! and the exile's woe 
 From thy young heart be far ! 
 
 Hemans.
 
 MAKRIED. 105 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 With his usual decision and promptitude of 
 action papa made arrangements for our 
 leaving the house in which we had dwelt now 
 for some years, keeping up that pleasant state 
 and hospitality which became his wealth. It 
 was like him, not to go far away, but to take 
 a small vacant cottage, on the high road, on 
 the country side of Clapham. It was in ac- 
 cordance with all his known habits of thought 
 and feeling, to set himself up in his new home, 
 within the sight of his old tradespeople, and to 
 fight the weird battle out before their eyes. 
 "^ F 5
 
 106 
 
 MARRIED. 
 
 He had been in the habit of paying ready- 
 money ; a habit of his struggling days carried 
 forward into the time of wealth, and of inap- 
 preciable value when the blow of misfortune 
 fell upon him. We had therefore no compo- 
 sition with creditors so far as our private life 
 was concerned ; and with the great mercantile 
 affairs of the city business we had very little 
 connection, and provided that our father's 
 honesty was made clear they touched us 
 very little, except as the sudden failure of 
 resources. 
 
 There still remained my mother's marriage 
 settlement, which, as it had been made of 
 only her own fortune, in the days when they 
 began lifetogether, my father said she hadafull 
 right to keep, and it was little enough, though 
 in the way we meant to live it must make us 
 independent. 
 
 The cottage we had taken was small indeed, 
 not larger than a gamekeeper's in a country 
 park, and not nearly so romantic.
 
 MARRIED. 167 
 
 "We looked at it in some dismay ; Meta, 
 and Lucj, and I, as one evening, in these sad 
 weeks we went out to pay a visit of in- 
 spection. 
 
 It was not very far from the Common, but 
 it was so insignificant in appearance that 
 in our walks we had hitherto paid it no 
 attention. 
 
 " It will be near enough to the old home,** 
 said Meta, " to make it possible for friends to 
 ask our address, and to come on to find us. It 
 will be terrible living here." 
 
 We did not answer her as we stood toge- 
 ther looking at the small one-sided' building, 
 which even in this glorious summer had very 
 little about it to make it tempting. It had 
 one window, that of the single sitting- room, 
 facing the front, with the door on one side of 
 it. The little house had been intended to be 
 one of a row, but the builder perhaps found the 
 speculation did not answer and had aban- 
 doned it, so that our new abode looked on
 
 108 MARRIED. 
 
 one side, as if it had lost its balance. A front 
 view, of course, had been desirable, and there- 
 fore the most had been made of the little plot 
 of ground, so that the house ran back in a man- 
 ner quite out of proportion with its frontage. 
 But my father had been right in thinking it 
 capable of more comfort than many a better 
 looking dwelling ; at all events, here it was, 
 and we had to make the best of it. 
 
 The kitchen lay at the back of the parlour, 
 and over these were two bedrooms, with a 
 small attic above, for the girl servant we in- 
 tended to engage. 
 
 " We shall learn a new way of living here," 
 said Lucy, trying to seem cheerful as she 
 leant upon the little gateway, and looked into 
 the neglected garden. 
 
 "We must plant a creeper," I said, "to 
 shade the window ; we will bring one down 
 to-morrow, and it will be something to watch 
 it grow." 
 
 " It will be much better," said Meta, re-
 
 MARRIED. 109 
 
 solutely, "to go out as governesses. I shall 
 try for a travelling situation/' 
 
 Lucy looked round with a frightened ex- 
 pression in her large eyes. He whj had 
 robbed her of her faith in man had taken from 
 her faith in herself, 
 
 '' Eo you think it is our duty?'' she asked, 
 with a meekness quite new to her ; for Lucy 
 had hitherto been the guiding spirit among us 
 three. 
 
 '^ No," returned Meta, " not necessarily our 
 duty altogether, but better than living here 
 with that discontent which I know would 
 gnaw at my heart all the time. I would much 
 rather be up and doing, and battling with the 
 world." 
 
 '^ Papa and mamQ)a would be very desolate 
 without us all," I said, for like Lucy I was 
 deeply attached to home, and clung to it. 
 " But will there be enough to live upon do you 
 think?" 
 
 *' To vegetate upon, certainly," said Meta,
 
 110 MARRIED. 
 
 " with struggling and contriving ; my very 
 heart would go dead under such a life.'* 
 
 We turned sadly back towards home. Meta 
 had given a new turn to our thoughts. We 
 were not slow in making them known to our 
 parents, and, did so that very evening. 
 
 The tears came to my mother's eyes ; she 
 knew enough of the world to know how un- 
 certain was the prospect Jbefore her daughters, 
 how very dark indeed to her maternal vision ; 
 but she saw that my father was going to 
 speak, and she deferred to him. 
 
 " So far as we are concerned," he said, "if 
 it were only a crust we had to eat, it would 
 be sweeter shared with our children. We 
 have never been without you, and the hardest 
 part of this misforture would be that of losing 
 you. But you have a right to choose. I 
 have in some sense forfeited my authority, 
 and I feel that in this you must be your own 
 best judges." 
 
 "I am ready to ge or to stay at your
 
 MARRIED. Ill 
 
 bidding," I said, putting my hand upon his 
 arm. 
 
 " Then stay," he said, decidedly ; " it is 
 my wish.'' 
 
 Lucy only looked at mamma with those 
 large eyes, which had grown so pathetic. 
 
 '' Lucy will stay to comfort me," mamma 
 said, ''and Meta, love?" 
 
 She added this anxiously, for Meta alone 
 had made no sign, except by her face, which 
 looked at the world in a kind of defiance. 
 
 " I cannot stay at home to be a burden," 
 she said at last. " I am too active. I would 
 rather be at work." 
 
 " Take time to think of it, dear," mamma 
 said ; '' one extra mouth is nothing to feed. 
 You will be no burden, only a sweet comfort 
 to us." 
 
 " Mamma," she answered, firmly, " I can 
 see the life you are going to lead better than 
 you do, and I would lighten it to you, and to 
 myself."
 
 112 MARRIED. 
 
 " Be it so, then," said papa. " Soften your 
 lot, as best you can, my poor child." 
 
 In all this there had been no hard words 
 and no hard thoughts, although there was 
 much grief. I am sure mamma exerted her- 
 self to procure what she so much dreaded, and 
 papa tried hard to carry out Meta's wishes in 
 a satisfactory manner. At last he succeeded, 
 and Meta was accepted by one of his friends 
 hitherto not personally known to us — a rich 
 old merchant, who promised to treat her with 
 all kindness — as the companion of his wife. 
 
 Then preparations were sadly and hastily 
 made for her departure, and each of us added 
 something from her own store to enrich Meta 
 — Meta who would remain a denizen of that 
 world we were about to quit altogether. 
 
 At last, andjall too soon as it seemed to us, 
 Mrs. Mac Phinn came to fetch her, surrounded 
 by all the paraphernalia of that wealth, 
 which we had so hastily laid aside, and our 
 first parting was accomplished.
 
 MAPKIED. 113 
 
 " These things have become necessaries to 
 me, they are no longer luxuries nor even com- 
 forts," Meta said to me, as she pointed to the 
 fine horses and men-servants. 
 
 It was no time for argument or philosophy, 
 and I could but throw my arms about her, 
 and sob out my wish that she might be 
 happy. 
 
 I took my leave of her upon the stairs, 
 following her almost to the drawing-room 
 door, for I would not go in, and then I went 
 sadly up again, to watch the carriage which 
 was to take her away. 
 
 Presently T saw her, seated by Mrs. Mac 
 Phinn, and though I thought there must be 
 tears in her eyes, and choking sobs in her 
 throat, I could see nothing but the smile with 
 which she nodded to me, just before the 
 sumptuous vehicle moved out of sight. Then 
 I knelt down and cried bitterly to myself, 
 praying long and tenderly for poor Meta.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 oil ! mine old home ! 
 My quiet, pleasant chamber, with the myrtle 
 Woven round the casement ; and the cedar by, 
 Shading the sun j my garden overgrown 
 With flowers and herbs, thick set as grass in fields ; 
 m * • * * * 
 
 Oh ! mine own dear home ! 
 
 Maet Eussel Mitfoed.
 
 MARRIED. 117 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 I have said that our old home was at Clap- 
 ham, and that, in spite of all fa^ionable 
 suggestions, we had clung to it, and refused 
 to move our Lares and Penates at the dictates 
 of that capricious thing called society. It was 
 a grand mansion, moreover, such as we might 
 not have secured anywhere else for the same 
 rent. It stood in its own grounds, was large 
 and commodious and faced the breezy com- 
 mon, which gave us blooming cheeks and 
 springing spirits.
 
 118 MARRIED. 
 
 Now that we were called upon to leave it, 
 we looked upon it, not with more loving ad- 
 miration, but with more critical observation. 
 It would be within a walk of our new cottage, 
 and perhaps we should often turn our steps 
 in that direction, in order that we might take 
 a glance at the windows of our old rooms 
 and the shining oleander which climbed about 
 them. We thought so then, not knowing how 
 soon it would grow unfamiliar to us when iu 
 the hand of strangers, or how the healthy 
 tendency of life leads forwards rather than 
 backwards to that past, which no foresight, 
 nor wisdom, nor repentance of ours haa 
 power to touch. 
 
 Papa was yet unsettled in his plans, and, 
 although so prompt in his domestic changes, 
 could decide nothing as to business matters ; 
 but he had determined that the income de- 
 rived from my mother's settlement being the 
 only certain provision we possessed, should 
 be the boundary of our home expenses, and
 
 MARRIED. 119 
 
 until he could see further into the future, he 
 resolved that he would not exceed it. 
 
 This gave us some data to go upon, which 
 saved us from many mistakes, and forced us 
 peremptorily to relinquish all our luxurious 
 and old habits of expenditure without hesita- 
 tion, leaving him free to retrieve the past if 
 that were possible. 
 
 The small cottage was hastily furnished 
 with such comforts as could be crowded into 
 its tiny space. To me, at first, it seemed like 
 going to live in a cupboard; but it is aston- 
 ishing how soon we adapt ourselves to cir- 
 cumstancesw 
 
 During this time of our giving up of the 
 old house — our chambers, harp, piano, library, 
 all our cherished possessions — it was a matter 
 of honour between us to shed no tears, utter 
 no murmurs, and even to go about the busi- 
 ness cheerfully and brightly. It was but 
 ruin — ruin untinged by the damp shadows 
 which start up from the charnel house and
 
 120 MARRIED. 
 
 the grave. Only Meta had gone from ns; 
 but she was happy, and made no complaints. 
 With that exception we remained still to look 
 in each other's faces, and to walk on trust- 
 fully into the future, holding each the support 
 of the other's hand. Why should we mourn 
 and lament over the wreck. The primroses 
 would bloom in the hedgerows still for us; 
 the sun would shine, and the moon we were 
 so fond of watching, would still serenely take 
 its silver way through the heavens. So, had 
 it not been for Mr. Bell Norton, I think all 
 would have been well ; and as it was in the 
 bustle of moving Lucy roused herself, and 
 tried and often succeeded in makinoj us forget 
 that she had anything on her mind. 
 
 The three weeks from our party had not 
 fully run out before our move had been 
 effected. I do not think it was quite as un- 
 comfortable as it might have been, because 
 we took care to have the cottage entirely fur- 
 nished before we entered it ; but yet it was
 
 MARRIED. 121 
 
 irerj strange and shocking — I cannot use a 
 lighter word. We settled in before night- 
 fall, and papa talked a great deal of its 
 extreme comfort, of the convenience of the 
 cupboard we had set aside for his use, and the 
 delight of being free from the responsibilties 
 of a large household, spoke of Horace and his 
 Sabine farm ; but still I think the shock was 
 as great to him as to us. When we came to 
 lie down in our rooms at night, there was the 
 sense of being stifled, and the feeling that the 
 low, narrow walls were closing in upon us, 
 but we grew accustomed to them very soon; 
 and I think in two days had forgotten that 
 we bad ever needed bigger ones. 
 
 We began our new housekeeping with a 
 little girl servant, kept, I believe, almost for 
 appearance sake; but, indeed I ought not to say- 
 so. Betsy was a good little thing, and lighted 
 the fire, and cleaned the pots, and did such 
 things as we should probably have stumbled 
 over. However, we did the greater part of 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 12? MARRIED. 
 
 the work— made the beds, dusted and tidied^ 
 and looked to such little cooking as we re- 
 quired, making things tolerably nice, though 
 of course we had to learn how to make one 
 egg do where we had formerly used half-a • 
 dozen. For after the example of our good 
 princesses, we had learned how to do these 
 things in preparation for that rainy day 
 which had certainly come uppa us in a very 
 pelting fashion. 
 
 We found this home-work a great boon, 
 for without it we should sadly have missed 
 Qur healthy horse exercise, and the variety 
 afforded by our constant visiting. And then 
 if we were tired — to be tired is far better 
 tjiaa tp be bored — and it made it pleasant of 
 an evening to rest, sitting on the low stone 
 wall, which separated our strip of garden 
 from the fields at the back — that is Lucy 
 and I. 
 
 " It is a horrid little place," she said to me 
 one evening, as we so sat, and she turned
 
 MARRIED. 123 
 
 ker head round to scan our barren domain. 
 ^''Look at it ; that back door, without a porch, 
 supported by the soft-water tub, and the 
 straight walk, bordered with cabbages, that 
 never will be fit for dinner, and the only 
 attempt at a tree that plum-tree, without 
 fruit. There is nothing about the whole 
 thing which does not look poor and common 
 pfe.X5e ; and yet I begin to like it — I really do. 
 It leaves the past so far behind. Fancy Mr. 
 Norton coming to call upon me here '* 
 
 It was the first time she had mentioned his 
 name for many days, and she did so now 
 half cheerfully, and half in scorn. I thought 
 her tone was hopeful, and I felt relieved and 
 pleased. 
 
 " He would not find you looking dreadfully 
 forlorn," I said. 
 
 '' No,^' she answered, dreamily ; " do you 
 know. Ally, I think papa and mamma and 
 you have been very good.'' 
 
 " And yod, dear/' I answered. 
 
 G 2
 
 1 24 MARRIED. 
 
 " And me a little, a very little," she replied, 
 slowly, ^'because I had so much more to be 
 thankful for.'' 
 
 " You, Lucj, you were the worst off of all." 
 
 "No, I was saved from a cruel fate. 
 Think " — here she shuddered—" if I had 
 married that man — a man who never really, 
 really loved me." 
 
 "I think he did," I said gently, "but 
 yielded to the baser part of his nature." 
 
 " No, Alice, do not think it ; he never truly 
 cared for me. I have had a great escape, 
 and would be thankful if I could; but I fear 
 I am not yet — not quite yet. I shall be very 
 soon, 1 hope, otherwise I may fall into worse 
 peril. No, if he had struggled and thea 
 yielded, as you say, to his baser nature, I 
 should pity him ; but there was no struggle, 
 and there is no call for pity, except at his not 
 being better than he is. Poor fellow ! he 
 was very clever and very nice; but. Ally, I 
 think I shall not die for him."
 
 MARRIED. 125 
 
 " Oh no, Lucy, dear, depend upon it, they 
 are all alike/' 
 
 " Are they dear?" she said, putting her 
 hand fondly on my shoulder; "I hope not," 
 
 *' I think they are,'' I replied, " and the 
 only peace with regard to them consists in 
 putting them aside altogether. Here, we 
 will not think of them. If we can make 
 papa and mamma happy, that is enough." 
 
 " It shall be our daily task," said Lucy, 
 but still she looked at me with a dreamy 
 smile.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Tu crois en ta vertu ; mais, pour avoir ce droit, 
 As-tu jamais souffert de la faim et du froid ? 
 Sais-tu, pendant lesnuits oh. le souci s'eveille. 
 Tout ce qu'k I'indigent le desespoir conseille ? 
 A ton chevet fie'vreux, as-tu vn, comme lui, 
 Un demon te montrer I'opulence d'autrui, 
 Puis, mettant sous tes yeux ta mise'rable vie, 
 Dans ton ame ulc^ree introduire I'envie ? 
 All ! ces rapprochements et ces comparaisons, 
 De'posent dans les coeurs de rapides poisons, 
 Et celui qui resiste k leur oeuvre malsaine, 
 Pent vanter sans orgueil, sa probit^ certaine. 
 
 PONSAED.
 
 MARRIED. 129 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 That low wall running for a few feet along 
 the back of our little garden, became a 
 favourite resting place of ours of an pvening, 
 for we naturally at first felt a little cramped 
 by the confinement of our one small sitting- 
 room. A meadow lay beyond this wall, not 
 a pretty one by any means, and with only a 
 few stumps of trees about it here and there 
 in the hedges; but there was often a cow set 
 to graze here, and it is very composing to the 
 mind to watch cattle feeding. 
 
 " It is a strange lot,'' Lucy said to me, in 
 
 a 5
 
 130 MARRIED. 
 
 these first days, when that lot was very 
 strange to us, "we are brought very low, 
 indeed set aside from all usefulness in the 
 world. Why, I wonder?" 
 
 She looked out with her sweet face, re- 
 signed enough, but with a patient wonder in 
 her eyes which was very touching to me. 
 The cow, which had been grazing near us, 
 paused here to lie down, contentedly chewing 
 the cud at leisure, and bringing close to us 
 the sweet odour of her breath. 
 
 *' That we may know ourselves, I suppose ?'* 
 I answered, speaking as dreamily as she did. 
 It was so like a dream. The present had 
 come upon us so suddenly that it was difficult 
 to realize the fact that we were not where we 
 were by some mistake. 
 
 '' Ah I yes,'* she answered, "to know our- 
 selves to be poor, and empty, and worthless/' 
 
 " Not altogether, I hope," I replied, rous- 
 ing myself, " surely we shall find some work 
 to do, even here."
 
 MARRIED. 131 
 
 *' Our work," said Lettie, '' will be to do 
 little in the World, and to be contented to 
 know it. Tt will be a very different life to 
 the old one, and we must brace up our nierves 
 to bear it. I wonder how we shall be when 
 we turn into two quiet maiden ladies ?" 
 
 '* Not yet," I said, with a smile to hide the 
 shudder which the idea gave me. We were 
 so yOung, so untried, so fresh to life. Lucy's 
 haild resting on the wall was so soft and 
 girlish, surely we could not settle down into 
 such women, as she portrayed without some 
 m6re stirring scenes. 
 
 " The very fact of this strange overthrow/' 
 I argued, " shews that life is a drama with 
 many acts. It will be quite as easy for us to 
 be lifted up as thrown down." 
 
 " Quite," said Lucy, " only I think we 
 never shall, and now that I have seen how 
 hollow society is, I don't know that I even 
 care."
 
 132 MARRIED. 
 
 I could not argue this. Society with 
 Lucy meant, I knew, Mr. Bell Norton. 
 
 '* Perhaps being poor," I said at last, "we 
 shall get to look on life from a different 
 aspect, and that will bring variety. I do not 
 know that we ever thought much about our 
 work in life before.'' 
 
 " Did we not?" said Lucy, looking amused, 
 " then perhaps we can do without it now ?" 
 
 " I did not mean that," I explained, eagerly, 
 ''but it is such a new way of looking at 
 things that it quite delights me. It is the 
 result of the change, that we should think 
 ourselves set aside because we have no work 
 in life. What work had we to do ; I made 
 wax flowers, exquisitely people told me, and 
 we had our parties, and drives and rides, and 
 calls, and dinners. Oh ! it was so nice, and 
 I think we were grateful for it while it lasted, 
 but I am much mistaken if that meant 
 work/'
 
 MARRIED. 133 
 
 Luc J laughed, almost a hearty pleasant 
 laugh, but said in vindication : 
 
 " It was something to influence society, as 
 people do who see much of each other. And 
 we were never idle, you must allow that. See 
 how easily Meta found something to do." 
 
 " No, we were never idle, and yet I hardly 
 recognise that we were more at work than we 
 are now. Making beds and dusting rooms is 
 real work.'' 
 
 ''Yes, very real. Only servants can do that," 
 
 " Eather better than we can do it, I dare 
 say," I said, "for the work is new to us. 
 Perhaps, after all, nobody has so much work 
 in the world as they fancy they have, and 
 could well be spared, only mercifully they 
 are led to fancy themselves of use." 
 
 *' Your creed would soon bring us back to 
 the Wild Indian state, Allie/' said Lucy; 
 " but we will not think too much about it. 
 I wonder if those cabbages ever mean to have 
 hearts and be fit for cooking ?"
 
 134 MARRIED. 
 
 "Perhaps they want tying up," I said^ 
 gravely. 
 
 "Oh, silly child," said my sister kindly, 
 " that is only done to lettuces. But cabbages 
 remind me that we no longer eat asparagus 
 or kale, so we ought to do away with these 
 white petticoats. Let us go to-morrow and 
 buy some coloured ones, that will last ever so 
 long without washing." 
 
 " Cannot we wash these ourselves," I said, 
 anxiously clinging to this little delicacy of 
 attire. 
 
 " If we did the starch and soap would cost 
 almost as much, darling," replied Lucy. 
 " I think the others will do best. If we 
 can manage our collars, it will be as much as 
 we can do, and perhaps in time we shall 
 bring our ironing to such perfection, that we 
 may be able to try papa's shirts." 
 
 I agreed to Lucy's judgment a little sadly. 
 It seemed so easy to be poor, but so difficult 
 to do without the delicacies, which were really
 
 MARRIED. 135 
 
 riches. But the next day we took a long walk 
 London way, and purchased three coloured 
 petticoats, which we calculated would last an 
 age without washing, and, bringing them 
 back, sat merrily to work to make them up 
 as quickly and as nicely as we could. 
 
 " I fear,'^ I said, as we broached again the 
 subject of the saving we had effected in the 
 washing, " that poverty means dirt." 
 
 " Something like it — in London, at least," 
 said Lucy, looking up from the seam which 
 was puzzling her and making her knit her 
 brows. 
 
 " And hiding the dirt," I pursued, '^ means 
 buying everything of a dirt}^ colour." 
 
 '^ Yes, we shall grow browner and shab- 
 bier as the years go on," she replied, com- 
 posedly. 
 
 *' Then I have found out my work," I cried, 
 exultingly. 
 
 Lucy had fitted her obstinate seams, and 
 could look up amused and curious.
 
 186 MARRIED. 
 
 " It is to keep my spirit bright and fresh 
 in spite of it all/^ I said ; '' and I will — oh ! 
 I will — I certainly will — if it please God," I 
 added, below my breath. 
 
 The thought came to me like an inspiration. 
 To be bright, cheerful, independent, if possi- 
 ble, and grateful if independence were im- 
 possible, I found out in that moment were the 
 duties of the poor, and I resolved to adopt 
 them. 
 
 It was well I did so resolve, for as day fol- 
 lowed day there fell a weariness into them 
 which ] could only rid myself of by an effort. 
 Papa came and went, trying to be cheerful, 
 but in reality anxious. 
 
 " We have come to the worst, dear papa," 
 said I one day, as I stood with him by the 
 little gate to see him off on foot, as once I 
 had used to part with him at his brougham. 
 " Why need you be anxious — we do very 
 well." 
 
 " Do you ?" he said ; " but I am not old
 
 MARRIED. 137 
 
 enough to be ruined yet. I must be at work 5 
 I have, too, some little hope of clearing things 
 — at least, so as to save my good name. I 
 have found out Glynn's address, and have 
 ■written to ask him to find out something for 
 me at Hoeklin's, the German house with 
 which he had some connection." 
 
 '' He knows what has happened, then ?" I 
 said, calmly. 
 
 " I told him,'' papa said ; '^ wishing his 
 help. Millan and Frow have been good 
 enough to extend his time of absence that he 
 may make these enquiries for me. Gpod-bye, 
 dear ; I shall be late," and so he went, not 
 looking at me. 
 
 Then there was a reason to keep Brice 
 away still — for well had I known when his 
 term of absence had expired. That was why 
 he had not been ; for that he would come I 
 had felt sure, until so many days had gone 
 by without bringing him. It was then that 
 the weariness had crept in upon my days, and
 
 138 MARRIED, 
 
 I had been bright with such a sore effort ; but 
 now as I stood watching my father disappear 
 down the road, there came a gladness in my 
 heart, making it run over with happiness — 
 and all that day was as bright as if no poverty- 
 had fallen into my lot, nor marred my chances 
 of a happy future. 
 
 Dear Brice ! he had been so good to me, 
 and I could so little do without him. 
 
 But the time began to grow long, and I had 
 so wished for his coming, that it seemed 
 doubly long to me. One other thing made 
 me anxious : the blow which had fallen upon 
 our fortunes seemed to tell more heavily with 
 mamma than with any of us. She had 
 always looked so young, being full of happi- 
 ness and comfort, and a kindly interest in the 
 lot of others ; but she now seemed failing and 
 beaten down, and to have grown suddenly 
 older than her years. 
 
 She missed Meta ; but her great grief, I 
 think, consisted not so much in the loss of
 
 MARRIED. 1^^ 
 
 money and social standing as in the failure of 
 her daughters' lovers. Mothers, I think, live 
 their lives over again in those of their daugh- 
 ters, but perhaps with a keener insight into 
 the thorny path of love, which to their child* 
 ren is as yet untried. Mamma missed Mr. 
 Norton ; he had brought to her an ambitious 
 dream ; but I think she felt the absence of 
 Brice still more. She had already taken him 
 to her heart, and twined her motherly affec- 
 tion round his comely head. I think, judging 
 from her complacent smile when he used to 
 come to us, that that coming had b^en very 
 pleasant to her ; that it had been almost as 
 sweet as her own courting days, and that 
 when my pulse quickened with its gladness, 
 there had been a vibration in her own. So 
 tender is a mother's love, so intimate, that I 
 believe she can as little disassociate herself 
 from her child's joy or trouble as she could 
 when she lay a tender, dependent thing 
 within her arms — and that as then the infant's
 
 140 MARRIED. 
 
 cry pierced her with anguish scarcely to be 
 endured, so she feels, perhaps, even more 
 deeply, though making no outward sign, the 
 sorrows of the maiden, which touch her 
 womanly sympathy more keenly still. 
 
 Besides her feeling for me, there was that 
 little want in herself. She had always 
 strongly desired a son ; and Brice had seemed 
 ready made to her hand — a very son to be 
 desired ; even his strength and manliness was 
 tempting to her as being in contrast to our 
 weakness. Then, too, he was poor, and true 
 parental love rejoices in conferring benefits ; 
 but now it was all altered — in contrast with 
 ourselves, he was rich, and it seemed as if he 
 meant to come no more.
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 Get thee back. Sorrow, get thee back! 
 My brow is smooth, mine eyes are bright. 
 My limbs are full of health and strength. 
 My cheeks are fresh, my heart is light. 
 So, get thee back ! oh, get thee back ! 
 Consort with age, but not with me ; ' 
 
 Why shonldst thou follow on my track ? 
 I am too young to live with thee. 
 
 Mackat.
 
 MARRIED. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 Thinking over the subject of my mother's 
 weariness at Brice's long absence — and I had 
 time for much, thinking in those long days — 
 I Qame to look more charitably upon the race 
 of match-makers, especially of match-making 
 mothers. Their deep interest in their child- 
 ren's welfare was, I seemed then to see, 
 rather a matter of feeling than of judgment. 
 That their children should have what they 
 wanted, so far as they could procure it for them, 
 and granted, that what they wanted was good, 
 bad always seemed to themi a rule, perhaps.
 
 144 MARRIED. 
 
 What then would seem more desirable, and 
 what more natural that they should try to 
 procure this for them, as they had, to the best 
 of their ability, supplied their other needs. 
 Kindness, and tenderness, and sympathy^ 
 that deep, true, innate sympathy which I came 
 to see, a mother feels for her child, are all 
 brought into exercise — all are ready to 
 prompt her. Then where lies the fault? I 
 came to see that too. I saw where the fault 
 lay, the better because my dear mother re- 
 sisted the temptation to commit it. True 
 love is reticent and modest, and, therefore, 
 charming ; but reticence and modesty are not 
 the distinct virtues of middle life, as they 
 are of youth, and mothers too often forget to 
 use them, thereby interfering with that reserve 
 which she should never seek to draw away, 
 even from her own child's heart. 
 
 Looking back as I now do, can I pretend 
 to say that marriage is not a blessing? I 
 cannot. It would be hypocrisy. With all
 
 MARRIED. 145 
 
 its cares — and that it has many I will not 
 attempt to deny — still I do think it developes 
 a human being's higher nature, and is to be 
 desired. Specially does it open for woman a 
 wider social influence, and give her the most 
 tender relationships. But then it is a blessing 
 which we may not seek for — which must 
 come to us, if it is to be a blessing at all — as 
 a free gift from Heaven. And surely to us 
 their can be no better, costlier gift there a 
 good man's love. 
 
 Are not Heaven's best gifts most likely to 
 come to those who are doing their ,duty day 
 by day, brightly and patiently, and to those 
 who are prepared to accept such things as 
 Heaven's gifts, and not as idols set up in 
 rivalry of Heaven. 
 
 My mother was patient, but she was weary. 
 The good seemed to have gone out of her life, 
 and to have left it all cloudy. She could do 
 so little now — she who had been so busy — she 
 who had often laughingly spoken of herself 
 
 VOL. !• H
 
 146 MARRIED. 
 
 as an upper servant of society, as I had told 
 'Brice, was now overwhelmed with leisure. 
 By eleven o'clock, at the very latest, oar 
 household work was finished, and she had to 
 sit down to see out the day, which never now 
 brought with it a single event, until papa 
 returned from town. 
 
 We were very poor, but not with the 
 poverty which actually wants a meal, or is 
 necessitated to earn anything. That I think 
 must be very amusing; but our poverty sim- 
 ply took away. It took away our harp and 
 piano, so that, except our voices, which could 
 not well be sold, music was gone, and the 
 V7ax with which I had been accustomed to 
 make my flowers, for which work I had 
 almost a passion, and the wools with which we 
 had embroidered, and I suppose over which 
 we had wasted our time. Mamma missed the 
 sight of ail these pretty occupations, though 
 she had always been too busy in receiving 
 her company, or airing her horses, to do
 
 MARRIED 147 
 
 much herself. I could see that she felt the 
 barrenness and desolation of our life, and that 
 Brice's coming would have been very pleasant 
 «s a diversion to her ; and this knowledofe of 
 her perpetual expectation did fidget me the 
 least bit in the world. I respected her for 
 not talking about him, though I saw through 
 her as plainly as if she had been a glass 
 window. 
 
 Perhaps too she pitied me more than I 
 needed pity— youth is proud, and flexible 
 as well, and youth has much happiness in its 
 quick pulses and growing experiences; and I 
 was not always making believe when I seemed 
 so happy, and made Lucy practice duets with- 
 out the help of an, instrument, or sat upon the 
 wall looking out upon that little insignificant 
 field. 
 
 1 did make believe a little; but yet it was 
 quite true that the tuft of straggling dock 
 leaves, tinged with red, had a beauty for me, 
 and that the cow had turned into a friend. I 
 
 H 2
 
 148 MARRIED. 
 
 might have tried a little, thereby, to hide my 
 own pain ; but still it was true that the sight 
 of Lucy's growing composure was very grate- 
 ful to me, and that, when I was incessant in 
 trying to amuse her, my heart was in the 
 work. I was a puzzle to mamma, I knew ; 
 perhaps, sometimes T was a puzzle to myself. 
 I loved Brice; but that he should not blight 
 mv life, I was determined — remembering 
 always the task I had set myself— to keep 
 bright and sunshiny for the sake of the dear 
 ones who were about me. 
 
 '' I fear you are so dull, dear child,'' mamma 
 said to me one evening when we happened to 
 be alone. 
 
 " And if I am, mamma dear," I replied, 
 looking at her with a smile, which I hoped 
 would belie her fear, " how can you help it? 
 Is it any fault of yours ?" 
 
 " I almost feel as if it were," she answered, 
 sadly enough 5 "I used to think so much 
 about your pleasures."
 
 MARRIED. 149 
 
 " I wish you would put that feeling of re- 
 sponsibility aside now, mamma dear/' I said ; 
 *' I do not think it really belongs to you any 
 more. You have done your best to fit us to 
 do our duty in life, and you must not expect 
 to make our days quite untroubled. We 
 must have care and worry sometimes — even 
 you have no power to shield us from them/' 
 
 " No, I wish I could," said my dear mother, 
 with a sigh, and taking the inability to do so 
 as a fault I felt sure. " It is all so very dif- 
 ferent,'^ she added, after a pause : " the days 
 are so long, and nobody comes.'' 
 
 My heart beat a little faster ; I feared she 
 was going to speak of Brice, and T could not 
 have borne it. 
 
 " If nobody comes," I said, hastily, " surely 
 it is better ; we cannot entertain here, and we 
 are so unused to see people without. It is far 
 better for them to remember us as we were, 
 without contrasting the past with the 
 present; besides, where could we put them?''
 
 150 MARRIED. 
 
 "Ah! that would be a difficulty," said 
 mamma, following my eyes round the little 
 parlour, which certainly the most daring of 
 auctioneers could not have designated a re- 
 ception-room. " Still it is not quite a 
 kitchen.'* 
 
 Here her eyes filled with mirth, and we 
 began to laugh in concert. 
 
 " You see,'* I said, '' we are poor people 
 now, and must not expect visitors." 
 
 '^ And yet," exclaimed my mother, " there 
 is some one I declare !" 
 
 I looked, and as I looked the colour of false 
 shame stole up to my face and burnt in a 
 fever spot I could not banish. Yes, we were 
 poor, indeed — literally poor people, living in 
 a poor dwelling — for there, tapping at our 
 door, stood a district visitor with a bag of 
 tracts, and dressed with what I knew she 
 must call at home her district dress : for, 
 though she did not wear the eccentric costume 
 of the sisters, as they are termed, it was evi-
 
 MARRIED, 151 
 
 dent that the plain dress she wore was assumed 
 for a purpose. 
 
 Betsy was gone upon an errand, and there 
 was this lady knocking at the door. 
 " What shall we do ?'' I whispered. 
 " Go and let her in/' said my mother, 
 amused, and yet with her old habit of instant 
 hospitality. 
 
 I went to the door and stood face to face 
 with our visitor, waiting until she should speak. 
 " You have come to live in my district,'' 
 she said. '^ May I come in ?" 
 
 "Certainly," I said, leading her in, and 
 permitting her to introduce herself to mamma, 
 who rose with infinite courtesy. 
 
 She was a tall, slim, fair-haired girl, whose 
 age even my curious eyes could not guess, and 
 she sat down when I gave her a chair, and 
 seemed a little confused. 
 
 '^ And so, my dear," said my mother,' kindly, 
 '^ we are in your district, and you are kind 
 enough to come and see us."
 
 152 MARRIED. 
 
 There was a little smile on my mother's 
 lips, which seemed infectious, for the face of 
 the district visitor returned it, though a little 
 shyly. 
 
 '' I fear," she said, " I have made a mistake.'' 
 
 '*Not at all," said my mother, kindly; 
 " we are very glad to see you. You come to 
 leave a tract in your goodness — but you per- 
 ceive,'' and she gave a glance at the few 
 books lying about, " that that may not be so 
 much needed ; but I am sure a kind visit like 
 yours can never be wholly thrown away." 
 
 " You are very good to say so," she said, 
 quite humbly ; " some people would have 
 been very angry." 
 
 '* Why should they when you meant so 
 kindly ?" said my mother, evidently pleased 
 to feel that the first sight of her, even in the 
 homely gown she had assumed, was sufficient 
 to convince her of her mistake. 
 
 *' I used to visit the last people who lived 
 here, you see," explained the visitor.
 
 MARKIED. 153 
 
 " I assure you no explanation is necessary 
 beyond your motive,'' said mamma, blandly; 
 '' but if you will feel more satisfied, I will 
 have a tract: T am "^sure I need being done 
 good to as much as any one." 
 
 " Would you really like one ?" said the dis- 
 trict lady, smiling up and quite pleased, and 
 choosing with trembling fingers a sweet little 
 hymn from her bundle, and presenting it to 
 mamma with much respect and kindliness. 
 Mamma evidently recognised the dexterous 
 kindness which had substituted this for some 
 of the more alarming titles which, she could 
 not fail to see, such as " Are you a drunkard ?'' 
 •which might have been offensive. Mamma 
 folded this carefully away, saying : 
 
 '' You will come and change it another 
 day, and we shall get better acquainted. By 
 what name shall I remember you?" 
 
 " Miss Moore," was the [reply ; " and you 
 I think are Mrs. Lea ?" 
 
 " Yes, that is my name — what T was need 
 
 H 5
 
 154 MARRIED. 
 
 not aflPect you. You were right in supposing 
 that we are quite poor people, and your visits 
 will help to keep us civilised." 
 
 " I will certainly come/' replied Miss 
 Moore ; " and it is so kind of you to receive 
 me like this : some people are so rude and 
 frighten me so, but Mr. Otterbourne tells me 
 I must not be frightened out of my duty, and 
 then I may live gto do some little good in the 
 end." 
 
 Mr. Otterbourne was the clergyman of the 
 district in w^hich we had come to settle. 
 
 Miss Moore, thinking she had staid long 
 enough, and her heavy bag of undistributed 
 tracts being evidently an encumbrance on her 
 mind, rose to go. I accompanied her to the 
 door and held it open for her, feeling a little 
 relief on seeing Betsy coming in with her 
 marketing basket, so that Miss Moore might 
 see we still kept a servant. 
 
 That 1 should have come to feel any pride 
 in such a young specimen of maid-of-all-
 
 MARRIED. 155 
 
 work, seemed strange to me even then, for I 
 never remembered to have noticed our liveried 
 men with any feeling beyond a kindly grati- 
 tude to them for serving us so well and giving 
 us so little trouble. 
 
 I walked with Miss Moore to the gate. 
 
 ^' You must be about my own age," she 
 said then, in her naive manner. " I am always 
 so sorry for those who have known better 
 days." 
 
 '^ What are better days ?" I said, with that 
 earnestness which I never could put quite 
 aside ; and I quoted those words which were 
 so often in my head and on my lips, '' ' Let the 
 rich man rejoice when he is brought low.' " 
 
 '' Ah ! I forgot that," she said, blushing 
 very sweetly and childishly. 
 
 " It is too often forgotten," I said ; '' but it 
 is a lesson we are trying to learn. We are 
 only children, and do not quite understand 
 the system upon which we are educated as 
 yet, you see."
 
 156 MARRIED. 
 
 She did not quite understand me, I think ; 
 she was so gentle and childlike, had under- 
 taken her business of distributing her tracts 
 with much faith and little knowledge, and 
 was scarcely prepared to meet me off the 
 beaten track. 
 
 I opened the gate to let her pass ; and I 
 fear, in spite of my inward protestations, that 
 it was easier for me to look humble and to 
 pay the deference I did, because I could tell 
 at a glance, by comparing her manners with 
 my own, that I had descended from a position 
 in society which she had never reached, and 
 that I was acquainted with the ways and 
 doings of people and stations which were to 
 her as unknown lands. 
 
 I scolded myself for this really proud as- 
 sumption when in the evening I took my 
 favourite place on the garden wall, and com- 
 muned with life in presence of the cow and 
 the cabbages and the fine growth of red 
 green dock leaves, and could come to no con*
 
 MARRIED. 157 
 
 elusion but that it is no easy thing to be 
 that bright and polished, and beautiful and 
 perfect thing which alone deserves the name 
 of Christian. 
 
 " I will try," I said to myself. " I have 
 only just begun to learn the lesson of being 
 brought low — I will be good in time."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 I had a dream, which was not all a dream. 
 The bright Bun was extingrdshed, and the stars 
 Did wander darkling in the external space, 
 Eayless and pathless and the icy earth 
 Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air 5 
 Mom came and went— and came, and brought no day. 
 
 Bteoit.
 
 MARRIED. 161 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 But day followed day, and no Brice came. 
 Lucy had shed her.bitter tears over her deser- 
 tion, and they had scalded and blistered the 
 poor cheeks, down which they had tried to 
 wear a channel for themselves ; but we had 
 pitied her — had made her sorrow our own. 
 And now she had had time to meet her fate ; 
 her eyes were dry and her cheeks were 
 rounding again back to health, which, though 
 it might never be so complete again^ yet in 
 some sort satisfied us. She was saved from 
 the poison of the wound which has left many
 
 162 MARRIED. 
 
 a maiden soured, as well as cast down. 
 Lucy was a Christian, and she accepted her 
 lot. 
 
 But for me — no one wept for me ; no one 
 I think would have dared to weep, or rather 
 no one could have had the heart to probe a 
 wound which was so far out of sight. I never 
 spoke of Brice, and no one mentioned him to 
 me ; but in my heart continually there was a 
 cry, " My love — my hope, why do you not 
 come to me." Such was the cry of my heart 
 as I kept more and more to my place upon the 
 wall, and bemoaned myself and my destiny. 
 I was sitting so one day, perched upon the 
 wall; the wind was high, for winter was 
 coming on fast, and would, I knew, soon rob 
 me of this outlet for my feelings. Therefore 
 it seemed the more necessary that I should 
 enjoy it while I could. I allowed myself to 
 be naughty here — and myself. Indoors T was 
 bright and talkative ; I could sing too the 
 lightest melodies, but out here I dared to be
 
 MARRIED. 163 
 
 myself, and taking the large dock leaves into 
 confidence, I would alternately lament over 
 and scorn myself. My hair had grown rough 
 and unbound in the wind, and I did not care 
 to tidy it ; it swept here and there — not in 
 any romantic fashion, for the fastened knot 
 of my long hair remained, but stray locks 
 escaped, giving me, I fancied, a weird ap- 
 pearance. I felt angry even with my very 
 arms, for I was losing flesh, and for what — a 
 vain delusion. 
 
 " Oh," I thought, as the cow looked at me 
 with large pensive eyes, for though she had 
 no hair to blow about her ears, yet I think 
 the wind disturbed her accustomed tranquil- 
 lity. " Oh ! the advantages of being brought 
 low are very hard to see. Even Job had his 
 friends to lament with him." 
 
 Then I fell to thinking that Job could not 
 understand his troubles any more than I 
 could mine, and came to see that perhaps if 
 we could understand them they would cease
 
 164 MARRIED. 
 
 to be trials at all. Could Job have foreseen 
 that he was to become a monument of 
 patience to future ages, he would perhaps 
 have been more careful in his language, but 
 he would the less have appealed to our sym- 
 pathies, and would have shewn us far less of 
 the loving pitifulness of Heaven to him who 
 is but dust and ashes, and as wayward as a 
 leaf blown by every wind. 
 
 How well I remember the little garden as 
 it looked that day. Its narrow path of flag- 
 stones, where two could not walk together — 
 not even Lucy and I, embrace each other as 
 closely as we could ; the gooseberry trees 
 which, having furnished fruit enough for half 
 a pudding, seemed contentedly to look upon 
 their retirement into "the sear and yellow 
 leaf" as upon an honourable old age, which 
 provoked me not a little, and the cabbages, 
 which having been cut once, were now econ- 
 omically left to sprout if they would. 
 
 " What a picture of my own life,'' I said to
 
 MAKKIED. 165 
 
 myself, as I drew up my feet upon the wall, 
 and sat crouched together, idealising my own 
 future. 
 
 Oh ! vain musings — vain fears — for us poor 
 mortals who know so little of the vast store- 
 house of Providence — as little as of the hid- 
 den sources of the frost, the snow, and the 
 hail, which Job was bidden to disclose, if he 
 could — ah I if he could. And yet perhaps, 
 difficult as the problem set him, he deemed it 
 easier to solve, in that moment of loss and 
 desolation, than to divine how the happiness, 
 the household comforts, the parental hopes, 
 and the blessed privileges of friendship and 
 social esteem could be given back to the 
 withered heart and despairing inind, 
 
 I was so absorbed in picturing my life, 
 that I had forgotten the hour, even though 
 the darkness was settling down upon tlie land- 
 scape; and I was startled when 1 lieard a 
 Step upon the flags, and looking up, saw my
 
 16^ MARRIED. 
 
 father putting aside the straggling raspberry- 
 branches to get to me. 
 
 I never let him find me thus. As my heart 
 had grown more desolate, in his company I 
 had tried to hide it by greater gaiety ; and 
 now that he had come upon me, I tried, hard 
 to rally, 
 
 " Poor little Allie," he said, stopping after 
 my first kiss to look into my face. 
 
 "You have some news, papa dear," I 
 answered, " T see it in your eyes." , 
 
 " Perhaps you will think it not worth 
 having?" he answered. 
 
 "Anything is better than nothing," I replied, 
 
 "My littte girl will not be angry?" he 
 asked, I thought a little apprehensively. 
 
 " Not with you dear." 
 
 " Glynn is coming down to see us to-mor- 
 row night." 
 
 " Why should I be angry, Papa? " I said, 
 steadily and coldly.
 
 MARRIED. 167 
 
 " I thought you would not like him to find 
 you, and so until now I have denied him our 
 address/' 
 
 " On what excuse," I asked, my heart 
 giving a bound which told that it had leapt 
 free of the long pain which had imprisoned it. 
 
 " Oh, that was easy enough, I told him we 
 were not in circumstances to receive visitors, 
 and did not want them. Was not that what 
 you wished ?'' 
 
 " Oh, dear, blundering papa," I thought, 
 but I said — 
 
 ''It was quite right, but perhaps it is better 
 for him to come and see that we are not 
 living absolutely any how — perhaps he thinks 
 we have no servant." 
 
 It was wonderful even to myself what 
 pride I took in our one little domestic. 
 
 "And if he did, child, Glynn would see no 
 :shame in that," he said, with honest pride ; 
 "he understands me," he added, with some
 
 168 MARRIED. 
 
 passion in his voice, " he has been like a son 
 to me — he is noble, self-reliant, honest." 
 
 '' And you never told me," I said a little 
 piteously, the long, long weeks would assert 
 themselves — would cry out upon their un- 
 necessary anguish — a little, just a little. 
 
 ''What time will he come?'* I asked 
 breathlessly. 
 
 " I told him to look in about now and we 
 would give him a cup of tea." 
 
 Darkness was settling down upon the land- 
 scape 80 fast that now we could but just dis- 
 cern each other's faces ; but to me it seemed 
 as if the sun had just risen^ and had trans- 
 formed the homely garden into a paradise. 
 I followed my father into the house, that dear 
 father whose erect form had begun to bend 
 within these past weeks. 1 hastened to finish 
 the little preparations for tea, and then seized 
 a moment to steal up-stairs ; I could not help 
 it, 'I kneeled down by our humble bed and
 
 MARRIED. 169 
 
 sobbed out my thanksgiving. The joy had 
 come to me not when I was patient and 
 cheerful and resigned, but when my patience 
 and watchfulness had broken down, and I 
 felt and knew how undeserving I was of any 
 mercy, any good — I rose from my knees very 
 humbled and subdued, and yet in two minutes 
 or less the young life in me had asserted 
 itself, and was running over with frivolity. 
 How carefully I smoothed the hair which the 
 wind had roughed, and bathed away the tears 
 which after all had but fallen as a summer- 
 refreshing shower, then went quickly down, 
 no longer feigning gaiety which I did not 
 feel, but silent and demure, and letting my 
 eyelashes shade the happiness which I knew 
 was resting in my eyes. 
 
 When papa said good night, and I lingered 
 last, that I might possibly hear something 
 of Brice, he looked at me searchingly. 
 
 "My birdie,^' he said, "has been like an 
 instrument out of tune of late; she should 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 MARRIED. 
 
 know a plain working man like me better 
 tlian to suppose I like her to strain her nerves 
 to amuse me." 
 
 After that I went away very quickly, and 
 half resolved never to make believe again. 
 But then making believe does help us women 
 so, and often keeps us up to our duties when 
 otherwise we might lie down and die.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Earely, rarely, comesi thou, 
 
 Spirit of delight ! 
 Wherefore hast thou left me now 
 
 Many a day and night ? 
 Many a weary night and day 
 'Tis since thou art fled away. 
 
 I love Love-— though he has wings 
 
 And like light can flee 
 But above all other things 
 
 Spirit, I love thee; — 
 Thou art love's life ! come 
 Make once mo e my heart thy home. 
 
 Shellet. 
 
 I 2
 
 MARRIED. 178 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 The next day found me a little more cautious 
 in my joy ; I began to remember that Brice 
 Glynn's delicacy had exceeded his ardour, 
 and to feel doubtful of our friendship under 
 these new circumstances, but still I was very 
 glad. I had had time to forget that I was a 
 rich girl once, and to remember that Brice 
 would have to stoop to gather the fallen 
 cherry which might once have seemed to 
 hang so temptingly out of reach. 
 
 I would have made a feast for him, but 
 mamma interposed.
 
 174 MARRIED. 
 
 " The time," said she, '' for such things is 
 gone by; Mr. Glynn must satisfy both his 
 appetite and his thirst elsewhere, if a cup of 
 tea and a new loaf and butter are not enough 
 for him/* 
 
 It would be very different I thought to 
 the gorgeous suppers to which we had once 
 welcomed him. 
 
 But at the last I found mamma had given 
 way a little, and had added water- cresses 
 and a jar of strawberry jam to our usual fare. 
 
 Lucy and I kept on our simple dresses of 
 cheap grey alpacca, which we had adopted as 
 more suited to our position than our former 
 ones, buo I could not help adding a blue 
 ribbon to my hair, and as for my hair itself 
 I folded it after the first fashion, for that cost 
 nothing. 
 
 Then I sat down to wait for their coming, 
 with a book in my lap which I could not 
 read. 
 
 How my heart danced as I heard his voice
 
 MARRIED. 175 
 
 talking with papa, with its grave earnest 
 accents, but when he reached the gate I 
 shrank back, I could hardly bear the joy 
 which rushed upon me, and knowing that my 
 face told tales which should not be told, I 
 fled from the room and gained my own before 
 the little discussion, which kept them from 
 entering, was concluded. 
 
 I stood by the glass and schooled myself, 
 I could have fallen on my knees by his side, 
 laid my head down in humility before him, 
 and sobbed out my thanks that he had come 
 at last, but instead of this of couse I walked 
 quietly down and entered the tiny sitting 
 room, which permitted no airs and graces at 
 all, and into which it was necessary rather 
 to push oneself than to walk. They were all 
 sitting round the table, very little choice of 
 seats being given, and this seeming the 
 easiest way of getting rid of themselves; 
 Brice was wedged in near mamma, and the 
 only wa}^ by which we could shake hands
 
 176 MARRIED. 
 
 was by stretching our arms behind Lucy ; 
 but what an honest glow there was upon the 
 dear face which had a habit of shining all 
 over when he was pleased, which set me at 
 ease in a moment. It was the same Brice, 
 and that was all I cared for; but I let them 
 talk, I was too happy to say a word. It was 
 quite enough for me to feel that he was in 
 the room, and to hear his grave manly voice, 
 which was quite touching in its tone of re- 
 spect when he addressed mamma. 
 
 He did not make any allusions to the 
 change which had come upon us. He had 
 grown too intimate with papa, we could 
 see, for it to be strange to him ; and I 
 really think our little maid, Bessy, was a 
 relief to him, for he seemed to look at her 
 with interest, as she edged her way in and 
 out with the kettle or the tea things. She 
 enabled us to sit still, and although, theoreti- 
 cally, men like women to be useful, they like 
 them to be so out of sight, and to be for their
 
 MARRIED. 177 
 
 will and pleasure, as entirely at their service 
 as if they had nothing to do in the world but 
 to listen to them. 
 
 There was a great deal of business talk 
 that evening between papa and Brice — not 
 forced talk, but such as seemed to come as a 
 natural continuation of some theme of con- 
 stant interest. There had come to Brice a 
 greater sobriety of feeling, combined with a 
 deeper interest in the stake for which men 
 play. I felt this almost by intuition. But a 
 few months before, he had been all my own. 
 Life and its interests were subordinate to me 
 and to my companionship. I was the thing 
 of value in all the world to him. I was the 
 bright young passion of his life. 
 
 And I had taken advantage of this just a 
 little. I had lorded it over him sometimes, 
 and in my weak hands I had held the bridle- 
 rein which kept his love perpetually in check. 
 But now I saw that he had taken up a man's 
 
 I 5
 
 178 MARRIED. 
 
 interests, and had fallen into the way of think- 
 ing that there were other and graver duties in 
 life even than making love. If I did not 
 find this out altogether that evening, it yet 
 seems to me now that I did, though probably 
 the knowledge came upon me by degrees. 
 At least that night I could see, by the way 
 in which they spoke together, that my father 
 had come to have a confidence in him, and 
 to appeal to his judgment. And at the same 
 time I perceived that the subjects which in- 
 terested my father were seemingly of even 
 deeper moment to Brice. 
 
 I have since learned to see and admire the 
 balance which is so evenly kept up between 
 the varied ages of men who live upon this 
 earth at the same time. Those who gain in 
 experience lose in nerve and vigour, while 
 the energy of youth often carries with it more 
 power than the careful wisdom of age. 
 
 I loved my father with fervent affection.
 
 MARRIED. MS 
 
 and yet it pleased me to see him defer to 
 Brice. 
 
 That evening sped away rapidly, though 
 we did nothing but talk, and did not mov^ 
 from our places round the table — as, indeed, 
 how could we — and Brice had not said one 
 particular word to me all the evening through. 
 It was only when he rose to go, and we 
 moved from our places, that he said more to 
 me than to anyone else. 
 
 " You do not mind my coming, do you ?" 
 
 " Certainly not," mamma answered, heartily. 
 *' It is a comfort to see the face of an old 
 friend." 
 
 He still looked at me, and by this time 
 he had given me his hand to say good-night, 
 and he said again, 
 
 " Do you mind?" 
 
 Then I looked up at him and smiled, and 
 his eyes smiled back an answering look of 
 confidence.
 
 180 MARRIED. 
 
 He was mine still I felt ; but never again 
 should I stand unrivalled and alone in his 
 afiFections. He had taken up another love — 
 a love which fascinates so many men, only 
 that they call it business.
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 Oh, move, thou cottage, from behind that oak ! 
 Or let the aged tree uprooted lie. 
 That in some other way yon smoke 
 May mount into the sky ! 
 
 The clouds pass on ; they from the heavens depart s 
 
 I look— the sky is empty space ; 
 
 I know not what I trace ; 
 
 But, when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart: 
 
 Oh ! what a weight is in these shades: Ye leaves, 
 When will that dying murmur be supprest ? 
 Your sound my heart of peace bereaves. 
 It robs my heart of rest. 
 
 WOBDSWOBTH.
 
 MARRIED. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 I LEARNED from what was talked that night, 
 and from what my father told us afterwards — 
 told me and Lucy, that is, for mamma was 
 always and entirely in his confidence — that 
 Brice thought he saw a way out of our difl5- 
 culties, and that they were thinking of enter- 
 ing into partnership ; that my father was to 
 start in business again, and that Brice thought 
 so well of the chances in their favour, that he 
 had offered to stake his savings, and to give 
 up the certain situation which he now held. 
 I felt a little uneasy at this. We had gone
 
 184 MARRIED. 
 
 down so easily, tliat I had lost confidence in 
 business, and could not bear the idea of Brice'a 
 attaching himself to our ruined fortunes ; but 
 I said nothing. What right had I to speak. 
 
 After this first meeting Brice came once at 
 least, if not twice, every week, and the old 
 terms of intimacy very soon re-established 
 themselves, only that his chief talk seemed 
 always to be with my father, who thought so 
 much of him, and that he made love to me in 
 the interludes. I began to be very sensible 
 of the difi'erence of my position, but it did 
 not lead to any resentment in my mind, but 
 rather to my treasuring up and thinking a 
 great deal more of any look or word of affec- 
 tion he gave me. A kind of awe stole up in 
 my mind for him, which was rather pleasant 
 than otherwise, and made me very cautious 
 of saying anything which might offend him, 
 or run the chance of losing me his regard. 
 The respect which my father had come to 
 have for him, on account of that energy and
 
 MARRIED. 185 
 
 rapidity of thought which he had naturally 
 lost, made me feel that he was to be 
 cautiously dealt with. 
 
 At the same time I think there had come 
 a change in his sentiments towards me. For- 
 merly he had loved me, in spite of himself, 
 and meaning, if he could, for my own sake 
 to give me up. Now he approached me 
 as one who could no longer be injured by his 
 love, and with that seriousness which makes 
 so many men hesitate when they actually 
 calculate m arriage with its grave and compre- 
 hensive duties. His love, whom he meant to 
 adore and part from, might play with and 
 rule him; but she, who was to be his wife, 
 must be his subordinate. I felt this; but it 
 only increased my affection for him, and yet 
 all the time I could but feed my fancy with 
 what he had said in days gone by; for no 
 word of love had he actually spoken since we 
 met again, only that, in his quiet authorita- 
 tive way, he seemed to show not that, as in
 
 186 MARRIED. 
 
 former times, he belonged to me, but that I 
 belonged to him. If he needed any little 
 service he, as a rule, applied to me, and found 
 me always blushing and ready — too ready, 
 perhaps. But then he had won me, and I 
 could not let him go. I did not need him to 
 say pretty things ; but I did need him to 
 want my presence and my help. I wish very 
 distinctly to mark this change in him and in 
 myself, because it will explain very much 
 of our after conduct to each other. 
 
 Perfect and open confidence between man 
 and wife is one of the dreams of a woman's 
 heart, and very happy is she who sees it 
 accomplished. But I do not think it often 
 exists, and perhaps it would be best if love, 
 as a rule, expected less and forgave more, 
 for in spite of the intimate relations of married 
 life, our individuality remains and is never 
 entirely merged the one in the other. He 
 who has spoken of Himself as a jealous God 
 has reserved to Himself alone that perfect
 
 MARRIED. 187 
 
 knowledge of the heart which we vainly seek 
 to obtain, doubtless in mercy, knowing that 
 we could not possess even such a measure of 
 Bis omniscience and live, and in its place He 
 has given us an easier duty, if we could but 
 see it. He who is grieved every day by His 
 knowledge of our hearts, has graciously 
 spared us such knowledge, and in its place 
 has bidden us to " think no evil ; endure all 
 in love, hoping and believing to the last/' 
 Through much darkness I came at length to 
 see the light of this great truth, to know that, 
 struggle against it as we will, the yoke laid 
 upon us is easy, if we could but see it, and 
 that the path of obedience to these high 
 maxims is really the path of peace. 
 
 But why should I think of this just now ; 
 the time of which I have been speaking, 
 though it worked a gradual change in us, was 
 very happy. We all loved and trusted Brice 
 — trusted him with a confidence which must 
 have been very trying to him, but he never
 
 188 MAREIED. 
 
 presumed upon it more than by the attain- 
 ment of an easy ascendancy over our minds, 
 which we seemed rather to give him than to 
 allow him to acquire. It was a very happy 
 time, and under its influence vve all seemed 
 gradually to rally : Brice in his quiet way had 
 thought for us all, and his dutiful attentions to 
 mamma cheered her more that anything else, 
 particularly as she had now a little drama 
 to watch, and one in which she took intense 
 interest. 
 
 In this manner the winter came upon us, 
 and my seat upon the wall where of late I 
 had gone to dream happy dreams, was aban- 
 doned for a corner of the little sitting-room, 
 where I dreamed on still — dreamed of Brice 
 and of the time when he should tell me he 
 loved me and ask me to be his wife. I was 
 not impatient of the time, but I expected it 
 almost daily throughout that winter. I 
 thought it would be very pleasant when we 
 two might go out walking together and enjoy
 
 MARRIED. 189 
 
 that perfect confidence which I longed for, 
 but could not have now. However, he seemed 
 in no hurry for such privileges, and was con- 
 tent to live upon that border land of love 
 which, after all, perhaps, is the most pleasant 
 and certainly the least exacting part of court- 
 ship. 
 
 By Christmas the partnership between 
 Brice and my father was commenced, and he 
 had thrown in his lot with ours. The calm- 
 ness of his spirit, never over hopeful, and 
 never sinking into despair, was at this time 
 peculiarly valuable. To my father, who had 
 been master of a large commercial house — 
 one of the City Principalities — it would have 
 been very hard to begin all over again at 
 the other and lowest end of trade with small 
 ventures and cautious investments had it not 
 been for the clear, steady, healthful spirit of 
 his young partner, who took all the disagree- 
 ables and thought nothing poor or mean which 
 was not wicked.
 
 190 MARRIED. 
 
 My father had learned how to be rich, and 
 to be rich means very often to be in the 
 bonds of conventionality ; but encouraged by 
 Brice he again shook off the trammels of his 
 lost wealth, and poor and honest in his new 
 and yet old character set to work with boyish 
 freshness. Dear father, spirits like yours use 
 misfortune only as a crucible ; through which 
 you came more bright and pure, more patient 
 and true. Often now when I sit in the twi- 
 light, thinking of the past, the tears dim my 
 eyes as I remember your simple cheerfulness 
 at this time of trial, and your liberality with 
 your few pence or shillings; you whose char- 
 itable subscriptions had once been so princely, 
 that they had kept you amongst your own 
 princes comparatively poor. 
 
 But at all events, he was once more on the 
 high road to commercial prosperity, and Lucy 
 and I began to hold up our heads a little 
 higher, and to venture — though we were as 
 poor as ever, for as yet the partnership was
 
 MARRIED. 191 
 
 working with mucli small outlay and little 
 return — to assert ourselves in a quiet way. 
 
 We no longer received the visits of our 
 gentle district visitor with shyness and re- 
 serve, but ventured to meet her advances. 
 She had found us out to be her equals, and 
 with hasty generosity had accepted us as such 
 long before we would return or accept her 
 civilities. She had made us known to Mr. 
 Courtly, our clergyman, and he had called, 
 after making, I suspect, many private en- 
 quiries about us, and had shewn us much at- 
 tention. He was very kind to Lucy, and 
 was a little struck I think by finding such a 
 sweet and elegant creature in such a humble 
 setting ; and he had persuaded her to take 
 upon herself little duties in the village, such 
 as reading to certain selected sick people, for 
 she would not become a regular visitor. Brice 
 entered into this with great interest, and always 
 on a Sunday brought down what he called 
 some of his tythes for Lucy's sick people.
 
 192 MARRIED. 
 
 So by degrees we began to rise to some 
 standing in the place. Miss Moore's mother 
 came regularly to call on mamma, and once 
 or twice during the winter we went there 
 to tea, and had them back to tea with 
 us. Very soon they seemed to forget 
 what a poor place we lived in, and to treat 
 our one little maid with becoming respect as 
 marking our position in society. When upon 
 occasions Brice came down with his well fit- 
 ting coat, and Aunt Bona made her appear- 
 ance with her fashionable cap, it was quite 
 accepted that we belonged to the world. 
 
 It must be remembered that save and ex- 
 cept Lucy's sorrows, we had nothing to regret 
 but money, and that we still had enough of 
 that to keep us from starving, and that our 
 spirits were good, and we never talked of 
 those gloomy better days which some people 
 are always despondently casting in their 
 neighbour's teeth ; and I daresay we were 
 rather an acquisition than otherwise to Hay-
 
 MARRIED. 193 
 
 side, especially as maaiina enforced her axiom 
 of give and take with cheerfuhiess. 
 
 '' You patronised once," she would say, 
 ^'now it is your turn to be patronised; see 
 that you accept it with grace, gratitude, and 
 cheerfulness. Depend upon it," she would 
 add, in her easy comfortable manner, " the 
 poor in purse are too often the proud in 
 spirit — and that is not well ; let them leara 
 the lessons of poverty before they seek for 
 riches. We are taking the poor lesson last, 
 but we will learn it for all that, my dears ^ 
 and learn it well, too; it was not sent for 
 nothing, you may be very sure of that." 
 
 It must not be supposed that Aunt Bona 
 had changed to us on account of our poverty. 
 She would willingly, I believe, have shared 
 her slender income with us, but that upon 
 this subject papa was stern and indexible. 
 She was forced, therefore, to be contented 
 with coming to see us sometimes, when she 
 always managed to bring a basket of good 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 .194 MARRIED. 
 
 tilings. Her invitations to us were many, 
 but we would not accept them. 
 
 " Let us recover from our wounds first," 
 I would say, " before we venture into our old 
 world.'' 
 
 " My dear child," she would reply, " they 
 all feel for you." 
 
 " I know they do," I said, " and I feel 
 grateful to them, but Lucy could not bear it. 
 Here we have found a new world — so close to 
 our old one, too — where people know us and do 
 not pity — rather admire — the knowledge of the 
 world they know us to possess. But you mis- 
 take if you think you may not do us a kind- 
 ness. When you come down to see us and 
 bring your last new cap, and your most be- 
 coming dress, you create quite an iix^pres- 
 sion on our new friends, and add greatly to 
 our social standing here, shewing them that 
 you know all our virtues, and balance them 
 against our mean sitting-room and tin 7 cot- 
 tage. You are, I assure you, dear Aunt Bona, 
 quite a star of superior magnitude.'*
 
 MARRIED. 195 
 
 This tone of argument really comforted 
 her, for Aunt Bona loved society and valued 
 it in all its phases, and the thought that she 
 really was adding to our social position in 
 the little set to which we belonged, brought 
 her down to eat our tea cakes in high good 
 humour. Indeed, I have sometimes known 
 her decline quite grand parties, where she 
 would have been a nobody, in order that she 
 might shine upon our lower sphere. 
 
 I like to look back upon this winter. We 
 seemed at this time to be so real and so free 
 from pretence and sham, at the s^me time 
 that Brice's coining shed a radiance over 
 everything. He was always kind, and his 
 words gave room for pleasant thoughts and 
 guesses about those feelings which he still 
 persisted in keeping partly out of sight. 
 With all his kindness, however, the power 
 he had of holding me in awe when he pleased, 
 of forcing me to be silent when he did not 
 choose to talk, went on increasing, and I 
 
 K 2
 
 196 MARRIED. 
 
 sometimes wonder now that in those days of 
 perfect freedom it did not lessen my love for 
 him. But it did not ; 1 liked to feel that he 
 was superior to myself, and 1 put him up 
 upon a height above me, and made of him 
 an idol, before whom it was pleasant to 
 humble myself. This did neither myself nor 
 him any good, but I did not see it at that 
 time.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Is it of war Lord Eonald speaks ? 
 The blush that dyes his manly cheeks. 
 The timid look and downcast eye, 
 And faltering voice the theme deny. 
 
 Love is native to the heart ; 
 Guide its wishes as you will. 
 Without love youU find it still 
 Void in one essential part. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Akenside.
 
 MARRIED. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 In this way passed the winter, which was, to 
 our consolation, as warm in our crowded 
 little cottage as in our former Clapham man- 
 sion, heated with the best apparatus which 
 could be procured, for our little sitting-room 
 had always its small bright fire, and when 
 that became wearisome and we needed 
 change, we could seek it in the kitchen. For 
 though Bessy was such a great acquisition — 
 and indeed, she grew to be more polished 
 every week — it was very difficult to keep up 
 any great class distinctions in such a small
 
 200 MARRIED. 
 
 doirain as ours, although there must be al- 
 ways a difference between tbose who pay and 
 those who receive wages. 
 
 The spring crept slowly on, the white 
 frosts became less frequent, and the sun more 
 warm, and east winds gave way to mild 
 westerly breezes, and my old seat upon the 
 wall became bearable again. The time of 
 fruit and flowers drew near; but something 
 which I cared for still more had gone on 
 growing and ripening with the flowers, I 
 knew. I felt, that though never again I 
 should be what I had been to Brice, his love 
 for me had grown with his business life, and. 
 that without me that business — although I 
 seemed to have so little to do with it — would 
 lose half its charm. 
 
 The time was coming for him to speak; I 
 saw it in his eyes, and the knowledge came 
 to me with the increased tenderness in his 
 voice. 
 
 I was sitting in my old place upon the
 
 MARRIED. 201 
 
 wall one early summer day, as tlie aftemooD 
 grew into evening, and he was standing by 
 me, thinking silently, as it was much his 
 habit to do, and looking at the cow, who 
 whatever her private history might have 
 been, seemed just the same as in the summer 
 before. 
 
 He was so long silent, that I had time to 
 admire him, as I was much in the habit of 
 doing, and to remark with satisfaction how 
 broad in the chest he had grown, and how 
 strong his arms were in their perfect rest ; 
 then he turned full upon me and caught me 
 in the act. 
 
 " Well," he said, a little roguishly, " are 
 you satisfied with me ; you look as if you had 
 been taking an inventory." 
 
 I slouched my hat a little lower over my 
 eyes, looked foolish, and tried to find some- 
 thing to cover my embarrassment. 
 
 " You are very patient and good with my 
 silent humours," he said, in a changed tone. 
 
 K 5
 
 202 MARRIED. 
 
 ^'You must find them a sad bore some- 
 times." 
 
 " You never bore me/' I replied, eagerly, 
 for I knew that I would rather have him 
 silent by the hour than go away. 
 
 " Is that really so ?" he said. " I feared 
 I had become too much of a plain business 
 man to please you/' 
 
 " I never said so," I answered, my lips 
 trembling a little, and we fell into another 
 silence, which I determined he should break. 
 So I went on with my work, and though I 
 knew he was not looking at the cow all the 
 time, I would not lift up my eyes to meet his. 
 
 " Alice," he said at last, for he had' come 
 in these days of our closer intimacy to call 
 me sometimes by my name. 
 
 I looked up, and saw that his face had that 
 radiance in it which was always better to me 
 than a smile. 
 
 " I want you," he went on, " to teach me 
 something,"
 
 MARRIED. 203 
 
 " Willingly,'' 1 said, laying down my work, 
 and looking at his fingers, perhaps with some 
 vague notion that he wanted to learn how to 
 net or crochet. 
 
 "Then,'' he said, " teach me how to make 
 love." 
 
 Now this was very stupid of Brice, and I 
 felt inclined to be very angry with him, for 
 having nothing better to say than that ; so I 
 answered, coolly enough, 
 
 " Men always know how to do that for 
 themselves, and when you wish to do so, you 
 will easily find the words." 
 
 '' Then I will try, since you thi^ow me on 
 my own resources, but—" here he laid his 
 hand upon mine, and sent a thrill through 
 me, as if his had been charged with electri- 
 city; and now he looked straight into my 
 eyes, as if he would reach if he could the 
 very innermost depths of my soul, and I for- 
 got to blame him, and felt to the utmost the 
 serious position in which we stood to one
 
 204 MARRIED. 
 
 anotber, " but mine shall be said in few 
 words. Can you trust yourself to me, Alice ;> 
 to me, a plain silent fellow, engrossed in 
 business — business which he first took up 
 out of love for you and yours. I have almost 
 lost the power to woo you as I might have 
 done had I been a rich man a few months 
 ago, but you need no telling to be sure I 
 love you ten times better than I ever did.'' 
 
 At all culminating points of our existence, 
 perhaps there comes to us a sense of disap- 
 pointment and imperfection. I do not know 
 what I expected, though I had been foolish 
 enough to go over the scene in which I was 
 now playing a real part many times, but in 
 fancy I think Brice had said more, dear 
 fellow, than he was saying now, I think too 
 in fancy he had said it better, for he spoke, 
 he, who always when he did speak, spoke 
 so well, brokenly. These thoughts made 
 me silent, but silence is perhaps woman's 
 part, and as my eyes fell to cover the shadow
 
 MARRIED. 205 
 
 which rested in them, Brice was I think 
 quite contented. 
 
 " You believe me," he said, earnestly, 
 *' and if you are the good girl I take you for, 
 you — '' he hesitated here, he was going to 
 say: "you love me," but his better taste 
 prevailed, and he added : " You will be kind 
 and candid with me." 
 
 I let my face fall upon my hands and his, 
 for he still held mine, and the tears came 
 thick and fast. Why, I cried, I scarcely 
 know, except that his manliness touched me, 
 and I knew or fancied that he also felt that 
 he touched upon the summit of all human 
 happiness, and found even in the first 
 moments how far it fell short of perfection, 
 that when we should have been hero and 
 heroine we were but plain man and woman. 
 Perhaps I read him as we all read our neigh- 
 bours, by myself, and read bim wrongly, and 
 that in the simplicity of his love, he would
 
 206 MAHRIED. 
 
 have been surprised and offended by the 
 most enthusiastic expressions of affection. 
 
 These are not really the moments of 
 passion, and they should be too solemn for 
 romance. He let me cry on, waiting my 
 time in his calm and silent way, though the 
 hand which still held mine, and which I was 
 bedewing with my tears, conveyed by its 
 pressure no uncertain feeling. 
 
 It must be remembered that we were doing 
 our love making on the wall, which though 
 it was solitary enough, was at any moment 
 subject to interruption, but had it not been 
 so, I do not think Brice at this time would 
 have been less outwardly calm than he was, 
 though the prince of my dreams would, I 
 think, have fallen upon his knees or done 
 something else eminently absurd. 
 
 *^ It is a plain and simple compact into 
 which I wish you to enter," he said, at last, 
 when I seemed to have come to an end of
 
 MARRIED. 20T 
 
 my tears and further silence was becoming 
 awkward, " and if you have the slightest 
 reluctance or think you could do better for 
 yourself than by marrying so poor a man as I 
 am, Heaven forbid that I should press you 
 against your will !*' 
 
 "I would rather marry you than the 
 
 richest man on earth," I exclaimed excitedly, 
 
 " and I will wait for you any number of years.'' 
 
 " Nay !" he said, with a smile, which 
 
 shewed rather a quiet sense of power than 
 
 any vanity or triumph. " That is exactly 
 
 what I do not want. I always strike while 
 
 the iron is hot, and I mean to have' you now. 
 
 I have seen how patiently and cheerfully you 
 
 can bear poverty, and you will not be poorer 
 
 with me than with your father. Long ago I 
 
 made it the condition of our partnership that 
 
 I might speak to you when I liked, and do 
 
 you know I think we shall love each other 
 
 better if we begin the world and fight out the 
 
 battle together.''
 
 208 MARRIED. 
 
 Having passed the summit of bliss and 
 found it a little disappointing, I had now time 
 to realize the prospect before me, and looking 
 down from my superior position on the wall^ 
 I felt convinced that my lot in life was a very 
 happy one. This was a man who stood 
 before me, a man every inch of him, and 
 although he scorned to utter a flattering or 
 exaggerated word, I could feel that his heart 
 was moved to its very depths. 
 
 " You have taken our troubles too heavily 
 upon you," I said, moved with tenderness to 
 see how serious his young face had become. 
 " You have grown so much older in the last 
 few months.' ' 
 
 "Havel?" he answered, ''and forgotten 
 the pretty things I ought to have at my 
 tongue's end; perhaps that is why I abridge 
 my courtship. You will put up with more in a 
 husband than you would in a lover, and 
 expect less from him." 
 
 " Never from you, never less from you," I
 
 MARRIED. 200 
 
 said, moved with sudden passion, wKich 
 startled, but I think did not displease him. 
 *' You must learn to love me better, and better^ 
 and better every year. You do not know 
 what a jealous creature I am/' 
 
 ''Are you jealous ?'' he said, opening his 
 large blue eyes still wider. '* I did not know 
 that before, but it does not matter." 
 
 " Oh ! it does matter," T cried, with an 
 impulse I could not resist, and taking advant- 
 age of what seemed a moment of perfect 
 confidence, ^' if you do not mean to be tender 
 and gentle to this fault of mine, better leave 
 me now, leave me !" I added, witTi childish 
 pathos, " and go your way and forget me." 
 
 " I will not," he answered, simply, '' be- 
 cause I cannot. I have no more power to 
 leave you and go my way alone than you 
 have if you love me to be happy without me. 
 I am quite contented to take you as you are 
 with your faults, but for your own sake it 
 would be wiser to correct them. Only think.
 
 210 MARRIED. 
 
 Ally/' adopting the pet name they called me 
 by at home, '' how ridiculous it would be ta 
 be jealous of such a plain simple fellow as^ I 
 am, who is never likely to give you a 
 moment's cause for it. Why, except with 
 you I never flirted in my life, and as for busi- 
 ness, I hope you will not be jealous if 1 think 
 it my duty to like that for your sake as well 
 as my own." 
 
 " Oh ! no," I replied, " not of that cer- 
 tainly, unless you quite forget to say a pretty 
 thing now and then." 
 
 " Do not expect too much," he answered, 
 " and be contented to take me on trust. Any 
 way your duties will soon begin, and as you 
 see I cannot say a pretty thing even when I 
 am asked for one, I think I was wise to 
 make our courtship as short as I could." 
 
 I did not ask him what he meant, I under- 
 stood it to be a kind of apology for not speak- 
 ing out at the beginning of the winter, and 
 my thoughts were all in confusion. It was
 
 MARRIED. 211 
 
 SO delightful to have him talking so candidly 
 with me, and I resolved that if possible, and 
 now that he was all my own, I never would 
 be afraid again. 
 
 Then I demurely descended from my place 
 on the wall. There was no cause to say with 
 Hannah Morels heroine. '' My father, sir, my 
 mother,'^ for he had told me that long ago he 
 had obtained my father's consent; still, they 
 ought to be told, and in the dim twilight, 
 which had settled down upon our long talk, I 
 took my way to the house, followed by Brice 
 — for, as I have said before, the path was too 
 narrow for two to walk on together. Before 
 he reached the door, he called me by my 
 name, and I turned back shyly to face him. 
 
 "You do not repent T^ he said, almost 
 solemnly. 
 
 " Oh ! no,*' I answered. 
 
 " Then, remember," he said, " from this 
 time we have thrown in our lots together for 
 weal or woe."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 I* heaxd a damsel singing to herself, 
 And soon espied her, coming all alone. 
 In her first beauty. Up a path she came, 
 Leafy and intricate, singing her song, 
 A song of love , by snatches ; breaking off 
 If but a flower, an insect in the sun 
 Pleased for an instant ; then as carelessly 
 The strain resuming, 
 
 BOG££S.
 
 MARRIED. 215 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 It was a very quiet scene of homely domestic 
 gladness that we took part in that night. I 
 remember that I left Brice with papa, and 
 went up to mamma and Lucy, and in a very 
 subdued manner, told them of my happi- 
 ness. 
 
 " Of course," I said, " it will be a very 
 long time before I have to leave you.'* 
 
 " I do not know that," said mamma, with 
 a smile ; '' he has already taken a house.'' 
 
 I felt a little dismayed at this, for I knew 
 Lucy would miss me, and I could not bear
 
 216 MARRIED. 
 
 the thought of parting with her ; but she made 
 light of it. 
 
 " We have expected this so long, dear," she 
 said, '' that, of course, I am prepared to lose 
 you ; and you forget how many new interests 
 your marriage will give me. It will be a 
 great thing to have a real brother, you 
 know.'^ 
 
 " And for me to find a son ?'' said mamma ; 
 and she looked really so triumphant at the 
 thought, that I was quite comforted on their 
 account. " I cannot say now," she continued, 
 *' that we can make the fortune of our son-in- 
 law ; but it is almost as good that he is going 
 to make ours." 
 
 From the tone in which she spoke, I could 
 guess that she was in better spirits about 
 business concerns, and with her elastic tem- 
 perament, was really looking forward to the 
 recovery of our fortunes. 
 
 When we had had a long talk, I begged 
 them to go down, and I would follow.
 
 MARRIED. 217 
 
 That which I experienced most, perhaps^ 
 in our little cottage, was the need of privacy ; 
 and I felt that upon the very eve of a new life 
 — which was as new to me in reality as if I had 
 not been imagining it all the winter— I 
 wanted some repose of thought — some oppor- 
 tunity of gathering my faculties together- 
 time for offering up my poor imperfect words 
 of thanksgiving for the great mercy which 
 had been vouchsafed to me, My head felt 
 dizzy, and my situation was altogether 
 strange. Already my life — my very self — 
 was becoming merged into that of another, 
 who was drawing me to him by strong and 
 irresistible bonds, I went down presently, 
 feeling very shy and subdued, and coming 
 into the room, saw one of the signs of my 
 having passed out of my own control. There 
 was the very slightest appearance of impati- 
 ence in Brice's eyes, which vanished, how- 
 ever, directly they met mine. There was, 
 too, an empty chair by him, across which his 
 
 VOL, I, L
 
 218 MARRIED* 
 
 arm was thrown as if to guard it. This chair 
 was for me. Henceforth, even in his love, he 
 was to be master. I felt it as I took the chair 
 by him, blushing to see that for the first time 
 the arm which lay across the back of it was 
 not removed. I took my tea, and played 
 with my tea-spoon, feeling that my new master 
 was watching every movement. 
 
 " I was speaking," he said, addressing me ; 
 but very vainly trying to catch my eyes, " of 
 my new house/' 
 
 " Ye — es/' I murmured. 
 
 ''I have been fortunate enough to meet 
 with a cottage within the boundary of the 
 quiet neighbourhood of Kensington, which is 
 within my means. I have entered upon it 
 already, and I sleep there for the present in 
 hermit style." 
 
 " I should think your lodgings would be 
 more comfortable," I said. 
 
 " Ah I but it was such a chance ; if I had 
 let this house go, I might not have secured
 
 MARRIED. 219 
 
 another so cheaply for an age ; and I have 
 heard you say that you liked the Old Court 
 Suburb better than any part of London." 
 
 He had meant what he said then, that his 
 courtship should be short, and mamma was 
 right, he had actually taken his house. Apart 
 from any thoughts of myself, I felt glad at 
 these signs of a recovery in the prospects of 
 the new firm for my dear father's sake, and I 
 said what T thought. 
 
 '' Then you are both really getting on ?'' 
 ''Of course we are," said papa; "but 
 mamma thinks it would not be wise for us to 
 encumber ourselves with a move just yet. 
 This dear fellow," and he laid his hand on 
 Brice's shoulder, "has taken up a tangled 
 thread here, and tied a broken one there, 
 until I find that my affairs are really in not 
 half the mess they seemed. Whilst the 
 immediate break down of our establishment — 
 which you all so wisely concurred in — gave 
 every opportunity for me to recover myself 
 
 L 2
 
 220 MARRIED. 
 
 if it were possible. But I could not have 
 done it without him. I lost head, and many 
 a man is drowned who could swim from doing 
 that. You owe everything to his young 
 brains. If I ever get out of the mire, as I hope 
 to do, it will be because he picked me out." 
 
 Lucy put her hand across the table to 
 Brice. 
 
 "After that 1 think,' ^ she said, "we can 
 trust you with what is more precious to us 
 than our goods." 
 
 "Only," he said, laughing, as he shook 
 her hand heartily, " she is more puzzling and 
 difficult to deal with than the most tangled 
 accounts. She has been crying like the rain, 
 poor child, at the very thought of having to 
 consort with me for life, and yet she professes 
 not really to mind it." 
 
 I rose from my seat ; my nerves I found 
 had been overwrought. I must go and re- 
 cover ; but a strong hand was laid on mine, 
 and I felt myself held back. My master
 
 MAPRIED. 221 
 
 would not let me run away then, and I sat 
 down again; but Brice tried his power within 
 safe limits. After a few minutes he rose him- 
 self, and bade us good-night. 
 
 He took my hand in his strong palm, 
 pressed it, hesitated, and then stooping, kissed 
 me simply and seriously. 
 
 I loved him better for the solemnity with 
 which he did it — it was like setting a seal 
 upon a contract. 
 
 " My darling," said my father to me that 
 night, " you have made me very happy ; you 
 have given to me what I have so long desired 
 — a son, in whom I can entirely trust." 
 
 All this made me very glad, and when I 
 laid my giddy, bewildered head upon my 
 pillow that night, it was with a strange sense 
 of joy, which T fondly thought must last for 
 ever.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Elde. What beUs are those that ring so slow, 
 So mellow, nmsical, and low ? 
 
 Prince Henry. They are the bells of Geisenheim, 
 That with their melancholy chime 
 Eing out the curfew of the sun. 
 
 Elsie Listen beloved 
 
 Their voices only speak to me 
 Of peace and deep tranquillity. 
 And endless confidence in thee. 
 
 Longfellow.
 
 MARRIED. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 When I opened my eyes the next morning 
 there came to me a strong sense of responsi- 
 bility, and at the same time a fear that I was 
 wanting in my affection to Lucy,' who had 
 been so ill-used, and who would be so lonely 
 when I went away. I loyed her dearly, and 
 I had ever been devoted in my affection to my 
 parents ; and yet, now it was all Brice. He 
 had marched, as it were, into the citadel of 
 my heart, and taken possession. It seemed at 
 first like doing an injury to the dear friends 
 and counsellors of my youth that he should 
 
 L 5
 
 226 MARRIED. 
 
 be all in all, but I fear these feelings were 
 dissipated by breakfast time ; for when I came 
 down, and had been kissed with something 
 more than the usual measure of affection 
 which was so lavished upon me, I saw upon my 
 plate a letter for me. I had few correspon- 
 dents now — indeed, I never had been much 
 of a writer — and the very sight of a letter 
 was a treat; but this one was from Brice. 
 He had sat up late to write to me, it seemed, 
 when he got home; and in this letter he 
 poured out some of the thoughts and feelings 
 of his heart, which he was so much in the 
 habit of repressing. He told me how much 
 he loved me, how satisfied he was with my 
 kindness to him, so he put it, and added how 
 miserable it would make him if he ever found 
 that I repented of my choice. " Even now,'' 
 he wrote, " I feel bound to tell you, in all 
 candour, that your father's affairs are likely to 
 right themselves, and instead of my having 
 made a sacrifice for him I am likely greatly to
 
 MARRIED, 227 
 
 benefit by our partnership. Were it not on 
 your account, and that he might fairly con- 
 sider it as a kind of dowry to his child, I 
 should feel myself called upon to give up to 
 him the advantages which I have thus ob- 
 tained. But I speak of it now to shew you 
 that in a little while you are likely to obtain, 
 if not the same wealth as heretofore, yet such 
 a fair portion of this world^s goods as might 
 lead you perhaps to look higher than myself. 
 Therefore, it is that I put before you the pos- 
 sible alternative, and think it my duty to tell 
 you that nothing must make you confirm 
 your choice, but such a real and substantial 
 affection for myself as can take me for my- 
 self alone, independently of my surroundings. 
 If you have this real affection for me, you 
 will never, I think, regret whatever cares or 
 troubles may be in store for us — your having 
 thrown in your lot with mine." 
 
 I am quoting from the letter, which still 
 lies in my desk, yellow with time; it was
 
 228 MARRIED. 
 
 very valuable to me. This was my first 
 letter, and I have never parted [with it. I 
 had often wondered what lovers could possibly 
 find to write about so often, — what complica-' 
 tions must arise I thought before such re- 
 peated explanations could be necessary. Yet 
 here I was, sitting down to write a long letter 
 to the friend from whom I had parted but a few 
 hours before, — doing so too as if it was the most 
 natural thing in the world. I told him then 
 that T was very glad, for all our sakes, to hear 
 what he told me, but that it never could make 
 any difference in my feelings to him ; that if 
 I were very rich and he were very poor, I 
 should ever feel that his choice did me honour, 
 and be proud to think that he believed me 
 worthy of his confidence ; and I added that I 
 ahould be very glad to see him whenever he 
 had time and cared to come to see us. 
 
 He found time that very night ; and when 
 he came first into the room I saw at a glance 
 that it was the Brice of older days who had
 
 MARRIED. 22& 
 
 come back to me ; not the plain, business 
 man, as he had called himself, who for many- 
 weary months had worked night and day to 
 extricate my father's affairs, but the youngs 
 fresh lover of my earlier choice. I had not 
 expected this. 1 had learned to like him in 
 any mood, to be watchful of his humours and 
 patient of his silence, and in doing so had 
 grown steady and thoughtful myself, and I 
 had not expected this great pleasure. 
 
 He came forward with both hands extended 
 to grasp mine. To him, too, it was delightful 
 to see how the full knowledge and security of 
 his affection had brought backSthe joyfulness 
 of my youth : it gave me back my triumphant 
 sense of his love at the same time that it left 
 me cautiously mindful of his change of 
 mood. 
 
 "I am come to ask you to go for a walk," 
 he said, with his old eagerness of manner ; 
 "we need not bore them too much, need 
 wer
 
 230 MARRIED. 
 
 " You will not bore them, Brice. Do you 
 not know that as a son and a brother you are 
 looked upon as a very rare article, and that 
 you belong a great deal more to them than to 
 me?" 
 
 " Do I !'' he replied, laughing ; '' that is a 
 capital arrangement. Go and put on your 
 bonnet like a dear, or this beautiful summer 
 evening will be gone." 
 
 I soon returned, dressed for our walk, and 
 we strolled out together along the pleasant 
 lanes, feeling a new sense of happiness in the 
 thought that Brice had recovered his youth. 
 He laughed and chatted so happily — indeed, 
 anything seemed to amuse, any little foolish 
 nonsense of mine seemed sense enough for 
 him that night. 
 
 We did not care to analyse our happiness — 
 indeed we quite forgot to play hero and 
 heroine, and were in our new joy almost a 
 boy and girl again. 
 
 As we were turning towards home, the
 
 MARRIED. 2S1 
 
 merry bells of our church began to ring, and 
 the summer air wafted the sound to us, and 
 then carried it away only to fling it back 
 again with a loud joyous peel right over our 
 heads. And yet ever in their sweet music, 
 there seemed to me then as now to be a 
 hidden wail over the vanity of human happi- 
 ness, a keen sympathy, which sets their tones 
 so in unison with our broken hopes and ex- 
 pectations ; and yet, in spite of the sadness 
 which ever mingles with their most joyous 
 bursts, there is within them a tone of Heaven 
 which, as their music dies away upon the 
 breeze, bears us with it to immortal lands. 
 
 Stopping to listen, these thoughts came full 
 upon me, and moved me almost to tears as I 
 spoke of their effect upon me to Brice. 
 
 "Ah!" he said, "my love, it is given to 
 you to have a more delicate perception of the 
 inner life of things than I have. These 
 fancies are very pretty, but perhaps not alto- 
 gether suited to my nature. To me bells are
 
 232 MAKRTED. 
 
 bells, and to-night they lead me to very dif-. 
 ferent conclusions. Shall I tell you now 
 what they speak of to me?" 
 
 " Pray do, you unromantic thing," T said, 
 " I should like of all things to know what the 
 bells can have to say to such a matter of 
 fact individual." 
 
 " Well, then, they say to me, ' Here we 
 are, waiting for you; make haste and come. 
 You have a house; furnish it quickly, and 
 take your wife home. There is nothing in all 
 the world like the sweet domestic life we 
 usher in and ring about ; and when we have 
 nothing else to do, like to-night, we ring 
 about the happy weddings we have seen.' " 
 
 ''They are very cunning bells,'' I said; 
 "hut they never talk to me like that — never." 
 
 " Do they not? then that T fear is because 
 you do not listen the right way. In my 
 matter of fact manner, you see, I take things 
 just as I find them. And so the bells speak 
 pleasant things to me. Eemember, love, that
 
 MARRIED. 233 
 
 with yoTir finer and more highly-wrought 
 temperament, you will, perhaps, have to deal 
 with equally subtle temptations. To me the 
 tables of the Ten Commandments speak of 
 my plain course of what to do and what to 
 avoid ; but to you these will seem but coarse 
 and broad distinctions ; and you will have to 
 fight with shadows ; you will be tempted, too, 
 by shadows, and, poor child, yours, after all, 
 will be the harder trial, for I shall not be 
 able to help you. I cannot follow you into 
 your shadow* land ; I cannot help you to fight 
 your enemies, for I shall not even be able to 
 see them. I pity you, because your delicate 
 nature must necessarily be so much alone.'' 
 
 *' I cannot be alone while you understand 
 m e like this," I said. 
 
 *' Ah ! but," he replied laughing, *' when 
 
 I am working in the work-a-day world, I 
 
 shall not gain a glimpse of the shadow-land 
 
 which^ under the influence of this sweet sum-
 
 234 MARRIED. 
 
 mer night and you, I perhaps, even now, only 
 dimly discern." 
 
 "If you tried,'' I said, earnestly, "yon 
 would see my temptations then as well as 
 now.'' 
 
 " I think not," he said, very seriously. 
 '' Mine is a stronger, but a ruder and coarser 
 nature. It is not given me to see the shadows. 
 You know, when you want me to understand 
 you, you must come out into the light." 
 
 '' I do not think you quite understand your- 
 self," I said. 
 
 *' Perhaps not. With some to love is to 
 begin to live *, but then I have loved you a 
 long time, though not as I do now. I could 
 have parted from you once, and have torn my 
 hair for six weeks, and then got over it." 
 
 " And now ?" I answered, secure in my 
 power over my strong companion. 
 
 "Well, now, I fear it would be a very 
 different matter. Perhaps I might go out of 
 my own daylight into your shadow-land."
 
 MARRIED. 235 
 
 "T almost wish you could. I wish you 
 could thoroughly understand me, Brice. You 
 kno-w what a weak creature I am/' 
 
 '' No, I do not know that, except, perhaps, 
 in your bodily shape; and you are small 
 enough for me to crush altogether in my 
 arms. I believe I could kill you with my 
 embrace, if I tried, like a great surly bear, as 
 I sometimes am/* 
 
 " I will remember that,'' I replied, laugh- 
 ing, *'and will carefully keep out of your 
 reach." 
 
 " Will you ?" he said, and his countenance 
 shone with that love, which seemed that 
 night to be brimming over. 
 
 '' I did not mean that I was bodily weak,'' I 
 said, " at all, because I am particularly strong, 
 and scarcely remember a day's illness; but 
 in feeling I am very weak and given to idle 
 jealousies; and, curiously enough, I think 
 you make me weaker." 
 
 ^' You are certainly complimentary."
 
 236 MARRIED. 
 
 " I did not mean by yourself/^ I returned, 
 with a little impatience to see that I could 
 not be understood; '' but in placing my affec- 
 tions in your keeping, by caring for you so 
 very much, I seem to have rendered myself 
 vulnerable to so many ills, shadowy as well 
 as real, to be drawn down to earth, rather 
 than carried up to heaven, and to have so 
 many strong influences exerted over me." 
 
 " There is no doubt," he answered, " that 
 an engagement such as ours is too absorbing 
 in its nature to be altogether healthy, and 
 yet it is natural ; and I would hope it is with- 
 out sin. It shall not, if I can help it, make 
 us forget the interests or well being of 
 others." 
 
 " No," I thought, " it would not hurt him. 
 The curse of such love lay upon us, not upon 
 men. Was it not part of the curse upon 
 woman that ' her desire should be to her hus- 
 band, • and that he should rule over her.' 
 He who rules is not dragged to and fro at the
 
 MARRIED. 237 
 
 will of another. But side by side vvith the 
 surrender of our will I think Satan walks in, 
 to rejoice in his old victory over weak woman, 
 and to throw around her the glamour of his 
 evil influence/' 
 
 I can fancy now how shocked my lover 
 would have been if I had given expression to 
 these strange thoughts • and yet even now it 
 appears there was truth in them. The secret 
 of many an unhappy home, the key to many 
 a wayward woman's temper is really to be 
 traced to the shadow land, where the great 
 tempter is watching for her soul. 
 
 We think ourselves so strong, so docile, so 
 straightforward. We love, and we find our- 
 selves weak, wilful, contradictory, iractious. 
 
 Brice broke in upon my thoughts, by whis- 
 pering, in answer to my troubled looks, 
 
 "Better come out into my daylight. It 
 has not such poetic dreams, pc rhaps, but it is 
 more healthy, and in it we sir things wii bout 
 mistaking their proportions."
 
 238 MARRIED. 
 
 " I do not tliink I shall ever mistake you 
 Brice, dear/* I said, in a tone of confidence, 
 as I took his arm, and turned homewards, 
 for we had been standing, leaning upon a 
 gate all this while, just where we could see 
 our church, amongst the trees, distant enough 
 to give full effect to its sweet peal of bells.
 
 CHAPTEK XIX 
 
 No other voice, no other voice, 
 
 Can charm me half so well, 
 As those soft whispered tones that fall 
 
 From whom I will not tell. 
 When stealing thro' the shady grove. 
 
 He pleads his love for me. 
 Not all the feathered songsters notes 
 
 Have half the melody. 
 
 No other voice, no other voice, 
 
 I hear, when breathed so low. 
 As thro' the verdant glade we stray 
 
 With footsteps ever slow. 
 Unheeded twilight shadows fall. 
 
 And stars begin to shine. 
 When whispering zephyrs 'midst the leaves 
 
 But mock that voice of mine. 
 
 Cheisty Minstrels.
 
 MARRIED. 241 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX, 
 
 I have ventured to say so much about our 
 courtship, because I think that it is in itself 
 a temptation, and we are induced by it to 
 think a great deal too much about ourselves. 
 Every little note which passes from one to 
 the other, and which causes a smile upon the 
 face of the looker-on, is in reality but part of 
 the analysis of our hearts and feelings, which 
 is needful to make that bond which is the 
 closest which can exist in the world, but 
 which is at the same time unhealthy. The 
 closer that bond is drawn, the more perfect 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 MARRIED, 
 
 our confidence, the more intimate our rela- 
 tion, so much is increased the happiness of 
 married life, but we might as well believe 
 that the evening shadow correctly tells our 
 proportions, as reckon upon the exaggerated 
 estimate we form of each other in the happy 
 but unreal days of courtship. 
 
 Perhaps it was for this reason, and because 
 he being naturally of a sober disposition, 
 wished to deliver himself from the bonds of 
 a great passion ; or, perhaps, because he had 
 purposely not spoken until the time when he 
 wished to settle himself into the domestic life 
 he so praised, that the term of our courtship 
 was abridged as far as possible. 
 
 We had but had a few more walks amongst 
 the lanes and dog roses, when he pressed for 
 my early decision, and made me consent to 
 have the banns published in the church 
 which had told him such pleasant tales 
 through the bells. I had decided that as 
 economy was our great object iu those days,
 
 marrip:d. 243 
 
 and second only, if indeed it was second to 
 comfort, he should furnish only four rooms 
 in the cottage he had taken at Kensington, 
 and that the rest should follow at our leisure. 
 
 " Let us have two chairs and a table only 
 at first,'' I said, " and then I can have plenty 
 to amuse me in furnishing during your long 
 absences, and we can go and buy in the 
 evenings; only remember this,'' I added, 
 solemnly, "if we live on bread and water, 
 we live within our means/' 
 
 "Do not keep me upon it too long," he 
 replied, with some amusement, "for such a 
 strong fellow as I am requires a great deal 
 of keeping up." 
 
 "Nothing reduces your strength, sir, be 
 sure of that, like living beyond your means ; 
 but I will make your money go as far as I 
 can in mutton chops, if your strength is of 
 such a very evanescent nature that you can- 
 not bear the least bit of fasting." 
 
 " Your shadow land," he answered, '*^ may 
 
 M 2
 
 244 MARRIED. 
 
 suit fasting, but my day light requires a 
 Bufficient supply of butcber^s meat/' 
 
 " You shall have it if you can afford it,*' I 
 said, peremptorily, "but not if you cannot, 
 even if your strong bones stick out of their 
 skin ; so you know what you have to expect, 
 and if you cannot put up with such treatment, 
 you had better keep a little longer to your 
 bachelor dining houses." 
 
 But Brice would not hear of this alterna- 
 tive ^ he could put up with anything for the 
 blessing of my presence of course, and live off 
 cheese-rind if I so thought best; and so it 
 was of no use to represent our future house- 
 keeping under the most dreary aspect. I 
 threw in a dark perspective of a worn-out 
 wife in shabby dresses and old-fashioned 
 bonnets, but he only laughed at this objec- 
 tion. 
 
 "You have learned to master all those 
 difficulties,'' he said, " and though you did 
 give way in the matter of dress at first, you
 
 MARRIED. 245 
 
 look almost as well in that grey suit which 
 I should think cost about a shilling a yard, 
 as you used to do in your dress of azure blue 
 gauze, with which you formerly set my heart 
 palpitating/' 
 
 " And how do you know I gave way in 
 the matter of dress," I asked, curiously, " did 
 papa complain and tell tales out of school ? " 
 " Not he, he suffered all his grievances 
 like a fine old gentleman as he is ; if you had 
 gone in sackcloth and ashes he would not 
 have told — Miss Moore was my informant, 
 she was giving me the other day a touching 
 narrative of her observations, of how you 
 seemed so brave at first, then that your spirits 
 began to die and your costume to grow old 
 and unbecoming, and then how suddenly you 
 seemed to rouse yourself and to cast off the 
 evil dream which had oppressed you, with a 
 strength of mind which surprised her." 
 
 '' Do not believe her, Brice, there was no
 
 246 MARRIED. 
 
 strength of mind in the matter," I replied, 
 " it was you that brought back the brightness 
 to my life, to my clothes, to my very hair ; I 
 had believed the world all cold, fickle, and 
 cruel, but the very sight of your face restored 
 my faith in it." 
 
 Brice laughed; "1 told her," he said, "that 
 I had never seen the despairing appearance 
 she mentioned." 
 
 " I did give way," I said, " I confess it to 
 my shame; but, Brice— — " here I felt the 
 tears filling my eyes, " you were so long in 
 coming, and it was very hard to believe that 
 you were cold and forgetful like the rest." 
 
 "Was it for me then that you were griev- 
 ing, darling, for a poor unworthy fellow like 
 me? while I had not the courage to look 
 upon your first sufferings, knowing that even 
 to marry me was to bring you to a state which 
 was wretched in comparison with that to 
 which you had been accustomed. When
 
 MARRIED. 247 
 
 Miss Moore told me of this, I congratulated 
 myself that you had not first passed through 
 such a phase of mind in my house." 
 
 " You had not the courage," I said, " papa 
 told me that you did not know where we 
 lived.'' 
 
 " That was true, but do you not think I 
 could easily have obtained the knowledge, 
 had I not believed from what he said that 
 my coming would be an inconvenience. 
 Then I said to myself I must wait until I 
 have a right and an excuse to foi-ce my way, 
 I who had been used to poverty all my life, 
 could yet faintly imagine how cruelly the 
 iron would enter into your soul.'' 
 
 "You mistook me altogether," I said, 
 eagerly, " to think that poverty could subdue 
 me ; you see I have tried it and I do not fear 
 it, but if you are ever unkind to me, cease to 
 love me, and, make me jealous and wretched, 
 then you will have the ugly shabby wife Miss 
 Moore described to you."
 
 248 MARRIED. 
 
 "If we wait until then," he answered,, 
 laughingly, "I am quite content. What a 
 foolish darling you are to think of being 
 jealous of me, you are much more likely to 
 be tired of my sobriety. But seriously, how 
 can you fear such an unworthy and senseless 
 passion as jealousy ? for myself I cannot help 
 despising it heartily.'' 
 
 Oh, Brice, what unfortunate words those 
 were of yours, how often, and how often in 
 the days to come did I remember them, and 
 the glowing cheek with which he went on to 
 say-— 
 
 '* Jealousy so lowers the mind, weakens its 
 powers, blinds its sight, and really makes the 
 person who entertains the passion so un- 
 worthy and despicable, that I would not for 
 the world associate it with you ; and I think 
 when you consider how contrary it is to the 
 sentiments of true Christianity, you will ac- 
 knowledge that you are accusing yourself 
 wrongfully."
 
 MARRIED. 249 
 
 " I hope so, indeed," I said, catching some- 
 thing of his enthusiasm, and feeling in that 
 moment how impossible it would be to mis- 
 trust the noble fellow who walked by my 
 side and spoke as if so strong in conscious 
 rectitude. At this time my heart was full of 
 trust and confidence ; had I had the wealth of 
 the Indies, I w^ould have given it to him and 
 asked for no security beyond his word, and 
 if in the time future I came greatly to err, I 
 cannot even now hold him as altogether 
 blameless. But at this time there was no 
 shadow upon our happiness — no cloud 
 however small upon our " great Heaven of 
 blue.'' 
 
 M 5
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A feeble world, whose hot-mouthed pleasures tire 
 
 Before the race j before the start, retreat j 
 A faithless world, whose false delights expire 
 
 Before the term of half their promised date : 
 A fickle world not worth the least desire. 
 
 Where ev'ry chance proclaims a change of state : 
 A feeble, faithless, fickle world wherein 
 Each motion proves a vice, and ev'ry act a sin. 
 
 QuABLEs' Emblem^.
 
 MARRIED. 253 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The preparations for my wedding had gone 
 busily forward — such humble preparations 
 indeed as our circumstances permitted, when 
 one evening I found myself alone with papa. 
 
 " There is one thing/' I said, " which makes 
 me a little anxious, papa, and I hope we have 
 not done wrong in it." 
 
 " What is the matter, dear child?" he 
 replied, with a tenderness which was ever in 
 his voice when speaking to me. 
 
 " We have never asked Brice," I said, a 
 little tremulously, " about his relations ; and
 
 254 MARRIED. 
 
 in marrying him it may be against their con- 
 sent. Has anything passed between you 
 about them ? For myself, I was wicked 
 enough to forget them altogether, but I 
 would not enter a family without their con- 
 sent for worlds." 
 
 I added this with a little heat and over 
 earnestness, considering that I had been un- 
 til now so very little concerned about the 
 matter. 
 
 My father looked serious; perhaps from 
 my flushing cheek he argued the possibility 
 of a misunderstanding between me and Brice, 
 and nothing I think at this time would haye 
 vexed him more. He relied upon him, and 
 trusted, while he gave way and stood a little 
 in awe of him, for Brice had in him, as I 
 have smd, in spite of the exquisite kindness of 
 his nature, those elements which make a 
 man a leader, and by necessity one whose 
 anger no one would care to rouse. That 
 Brice could be very desperate if he were
 
 MARRIED. 255 
 
 roused, and be very fearful in his wrath, was 
 I think a strong, though unacknowledged 
 feeling Tvith us all; and this feeling curi- 
 ously enough was the stronger, because we 
 had never once seen him really angry. Pas- 
 sionate men who break into a tempest once 
 or twice a week, we learn how to manage, 
 and as a rule, they are seldom feared. But 
 Brice's tenoper was so sweetly kind, so untir- 
 ingly patient, and his words so cautiously 
 measured, so as not to wound, to censure, or 
 to calumniate, that we could get no measure 
 of what his wrath would be if it were once 
 awakened. And yet we felt that there was a 
 power within him which could protect from 
 insult and preserve from injury. 
 
 It was not then much to be wondered at 
 that papa should look towards me with un- 
 easy glances ; but he answered me directly 
 and kindly — 
 
 "When," he said, *'our partnership was 
 first spoken of, or rather'* — he corrected him-
 
 256 MARRIED. 
 
 self, for he, perhaps, in his engagement had 
 acted as I had done in mine — " before it waa 
 signed, I asked him if he had better not con- 
 sult with his own relatives; his answer waa 
 explicit, ' I have no relatives who have any 
 right to influence my actions/ * Still,' I per- 
 sisted, ' in a matter like this they may have 
 an interest which no others can feel, and 
 may counsel you against the step you intend 
 to take.' " 
 
 '' ' Circumstances,' he said, ' have left me 
 entirely my own master and completely alone 
 in the world. I have no one but myself to 
 consult in any step I like to take.' " 
 
 " I asked him no further questions ; there 
 was something in his manner which brought 
 the subject to an end at once, and though he 
 paused long enough to avoid the slightest 
 embarrassment on his part to appear, and to 
 give ample time for me to speak further, I did 
 not feel inclined to press it, and when he 
 spoke again, it was upon a matter of busi-
 
 MARRIED. 257 
 
 ness which had no reference to it. After 
 that I should not like to broach the subject 
 again, unless you particularly wish it/' 
 
 " Do you see any necessity for it?" I asked, 
 a little tremulously. 
 
 " I do not ; he says he has no near rela- 
 tions, so I understand, and if he does not wish 
 to tell us about them being dead, as I con- 
 clude, I do not see why we should press him. 
 I should not think the better of him if he 
 were descended from royalty, nor the worse 
 if he were born under a hedge. I look now 
 as T always have done, to the man himself, 
 and with him I am satisfied.'' 
 
 " My question," I interposed hastily, un-^ 
 willing to seem to cast a reflection on the 
 man I loved, " only related to the possibility 
 of my intruding unbidden into his family." 
 
 " Of that I think you may feel quite easy," 
 papa replied, in a relieved tone. " Never 
 since I have known him has he in any way 
 referred to his family ; so that I take it for
 
 258 MARRIED, 
 
 granted that he has been for a long time 
 quite independent, and as for that, I know 
 that he is as well able to maintain you as I 
 am, and will ever keep within bounds. So 
 do not trouble yourself about that ; I wish 
 every girl had as good a husband in prospect.'* 
 With that he kissed me and bade me good 
 night, and I went up to bed, too happy in 
 my present, and glad in my future life, to 
 trouble myself any further about a question 
 which I told myself was no longer a concern 
 of my conscience. My father, it must be re- 
 membered, was not a man of family, and we 
 had never been taught to place any value on 
 class distinctions. Indeed, if we had done 
 so, Mr. Norton's behaviour to dear Lucy 
 would effectually have cured me of them. If 
 Brice had been a workhouse boy, I should 
 not have cared ; it was enough that he was 
 every inch a gentleman — in manners and re- 
 finement — -and more than gentleman-like in 
 chivalrous feeling.
 
 MARRIED. 259 
 
 Thus much I said to myself before I dis- 
 missed the subject entirely from my mind, 
 and set myself to discuss with Lucy the much 
 more knotty difficulty as to how Meta could 
 be accommodated in the tiny cottage when 
 she should come to be present at my wedding. 
 We had begun to feel shy of Meta ; she had 
 only been to see us once when her patroness 
 was in town for a week, and then she had 
 shewn us that she was ashamed to come. 
 
 She had driven down, but she carefully left 
 the carriage at the entrance to the village, 
 where she had made the coachman put up ; 
 and even he could not have been blinded to 
 the reason which induced h er to prefer walk- 
 ing, an exercise to which she was not much 
 addicted ; for the roads, on that particular 
 day were sloshy in the extreme, and there 
 was that small rain falling which is so hope- 
 less and so wetting. It took all the time 
 which should have been spent in affectionate 
 intercourse, to make her dry, and I know the
 
 260 MARRIED. 
 
 whole visit fussed us a great deal ; and though 
 mamma said nothing, Lucy and I, in ex- 
 changing confidences, felt that Meta had 
 grown above us, thought our arrangements 
 odd, and seemed half to imply that she was 
 made of different clay to ourselves, and that 
 for her more refined nature comforts were 
 needed which we were supposed not to care 
 for. 
 
 Under these circumstances, the idea of 
 Metals coming was something awful to us, for 
 neither Lucy nor I thought of asserting our- 
 selves and resenting her view of things; and 
 although I, the chief actor in the coming 
 ceremonial, decided on a bed on the floor, the 
 arrangement did not quite satisfy us. 
 
 It did seem a pity that Meta should be still 
 further set against her home, by being com- 
 pelled to sleep three in a room, and that so 
 small a one. 
 
 " But considering the occasion,'' said 
 Lucy, ''she surely will not mind," with which
 
 MARRIED. 261 
 
 conclusion we contrived to console ourselves 
 before we went to sleep. " And perhaps," 
 added Lucy, drowsily, but hopefully, " she 
 may come home, now that there is room for 
 her."
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Seader, sucli very fools art thou aid I : 
 
 False puflEs of honoiir ; the deceitful streams 
 
 Of wealth ; the idle, vain , and empty dreams 
 
 Of pleasure, are our traffic, and ensnare 
 
 Our souls, the threefold subject of our care ; 
 
 We toil for t ash, we barter solid joys 
 
 For airy trifles, sell our Heav'n for toys ; ^ 
 
 We catch at barley-grains, whilst pearls stand by, 
 
 Despised ; such very fools art thou and I. 
 
 QuARLEs' Emblems.
 
 MARRIED. 265 
 
 CHAPTEK XXL 
 
 Meta was to come only a few days before 
 the wedding, and in spite of what had gone 
 before, and the little fears we entertained 
 that she would be wounded by the hardships 
 of our life, we looked forward to seeing her 
 with the greatest interest. We had felt the 
 affair of the carriage at the time, but had for- 
 gotten it as soon as possible, and we dreaded 
 the effect of the accommodation we had to 
 offer her; but it was rather with a feel- 
 ing as if we could help it, and with a very 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 MARRIED, 
 
 sincere wisli to hide from her the little self- 
 denials we had been forced to undergo. 
 
 Brice smiled in his good-tempered fashion 
 when I put this view of things before him ; 
 he did not attempt to alter my way of think- 
 ing, but promised rather to he sure to come 
 down on the day of her arrival to do her 
 honour. 
 
 I think the idea of seeing my sister, whom 
 we all so sincerely loved, kept my thoughts 
 from the anticipations of the great change 
 which was coming upon my own life. Brice 
 noticed this as we stood together in the garden 
 watching for her coming. 
 
 " I think," he said, " it is for me to be 
 jealous." 
 
 " Oh, no," I answered ; " she is yours as 
 well as mine, and I am sure you care for her 
 as much as I do." 
 
 At this time I was straining my eyes 
 towards the distant road, but he, I think, was 
 content with a prospect much nearer home.
 
 MARRIED. 267 
 
 Oh I for the happy days when the heart is 
 young, and courtship so sweet and fresh, like 
 the sweet scent of violets. I could have 
 defied all the world combined to shake my 
 confidence in my fellow scholar in the art of 
 loving. I was so proud, too, that my plain 
 man of business, as he was fond of calling 
 himself, could trifle now like a girl, and waste 
 a whole long summer evening in little better 
 than admiring me. 
 
 Meta did not bring the carriage this time ; 
 perhaps the excuse of her small travelling 
 box might have been sufficient for her to de- 
 cline the offer of her indulgent patroness, 
 whom she ruled with silken fetters and blan- 
 dishments, although I afterwards learned that 
 the carriage and servants were offered for my 
 use if I would accept them. But as for that, 
 Meta knew well I would not, and did not pro- 
 pose it at the time, for I should have felt, in- 
 dependently of any other reason, that to 
 allow the tall footman to inspect our small
 
 268 MARRIED. 
 
 minage would have been gall and bitterness 
 to her. 
 
 Tall footmen, indeed, seemed to us at this 
 time to be vanities, and 1 often moralised 
 over their insufficiency to make our happiness^ 
 quite forgetting that my exaggerated esti- 
 mate of our one maid was only part of the 
 same vanity. 
 
 Meta arrived in a cab, evidently a carefully 
 selected cab ; and Brice and I met her at the 
 garden gate. She was very glad to see us, 
 but she touched the ground daintily, as if the 
 narrow entrance owed her sweeping skirts 
 some apology, and I felt a little awe creep 
 over me, though she was my own sister whom 
 I loved so dearly. She was very well dressed, 
 not showily, but handsomely, and she herself 
 looked very well ; her hair was tossed back- 
 wards and forwards in a fashion which I had 
 not seen, and which seemed very intricate^ 
 and I quite blushed and wondered when Brice 
 kaving done the amiable, and seen her in, re-
 
 MARRIED. 269 
 
 turned as if he would detain me yet a little 
 longer in the garden. I felt quite grateful to 
 find that he was not as overcome with M eta's 
 charms as I was, and the light, caressing 
 hand which he laid upon the girlish folds of 
 my simple hair restored me to myself, but 
 only rewarding him with a gentle pressure of 
 the hand, I followed Meta into the house, and 
 when I found she had gone upstairs, I deserted 
 him altogether and followed her. 
 
 I found her with mamma and Lucy, asking 
 where she should put this, that, and the other 
 of the handsome articles she was taking off, 
 and it was evident she was come to play, not 
 the second but the first part in the little 
 drama. 
 
 Mamma took this very quietly and kindly, 
 and with as much ease as if she were ad- 
 ministering the hospitalities of her former 
 mansion, found a place for everthing, and 
 treated every article with the most delicate 
 respect, putting the little flimsy bit of a 
 
 N 3
 
 270 MARRIED. 
 
 bonnet in her own room, and under peculiar 
 care. 
 
 These matters being arranged, and Meta's 
 elegant hair smoothed with a tasty hand, 
 she consented to come with us down stairs to 
 tea. We found Brice and papa pacing the 
 bit of a path outside the garden gate in earnest 
 converse, which I was always so glad to see. 
 I had neglected Brice, but he had a way with 
 him of never seeming neglected. You never 
 found him moping and biting his nails in a 
 corner, as I have seen some men do, looking 
 as if the skies had discharged a black shower 
 upon them, and left them as disconsolate as 
 a barn-door fowl in the rain. Brice was too 
 little intrusive of himself, too considerate of 
 the feelings of others, and too willing to give 
 way where other's comforts were concerned 
 to make himself as disagreeable as some men 
 do when they go courting. And really, now 
 I am upon the subject, I cannot think why 
 some men make themselves such wretches
 
 MARRIED. 271 
 
 when they are in love, such torments to them- 
 selves and to everybody about them, more 
 especially to the girl whom they profess to 
 love. For my part, I cannot help thinking 
 that immersion once, or perhaps twice, in a 
 nice green duck pond would do some of them 
 a great deal of good, and bring them more to 
 their senses than all the petting and in- 
 dulgence in the world. Brice was certainly 
 not of this sort. He was talking as plea- 
 santly with papa, on their short quarter deck 
 promenade, as if he did not care one bit 
 whether I kept out of his sight one hour or 
 two. But did he not, when I came softly up 
 to them presently, and when my hand stole 
 into his, he turned upon me such a radiant 
 look of protecting kindness as drew me to 
 him more effectually than any sulkings on 
 his part could have done, and made me feel 
 proud of the place I held in such a great 
 manly disinterested heart as his. 
 We went into tea then, for I had gone out
 
 272 MARBIED. 
 
 to call them, and Brice took care not to make 
 papa seem in the way, by lingering behind 
 with me, but politely stood back to let me 
 pass, and so followed us both indoors. It 
 might, perhaps it did, cost him something to 
 forego those few minutes of confidential senti- 
 ment which lovers prize so highly, but I am 
 sure it was worth the sacrifice, and made papa 
 very happy in his new son and the feeling 
 that his exclusion from our converse was not 
 necessary to our happiness. 
 
 Meta was already seated at tea, and she 
 graciously made room for Brice to sit near 
 her, but he adroitly managed to keep his usual 
 seat next me, although he did so with careful 
 politeness. 
 
 " Eather crowded, is it not ? ^' said Meta, 
 with a little laugh, '^ and very different to our 
 drawing-room at Clapham. Let me see, papa, 
 how long was the drawing-room ? " 
 
 '' When we next entertain our friends in it, 
 we will measure!" said papa, with quiet
 
 MARRIED. 273 
 
 humour, whicli quite escaped Meta, who went 
 on: 
 
 " I wish I knew exactly, I hate making 
 mistakes, and Mrs. Mac Phinn was saying 
 the other day she did not think it could be 
 so many feet as I said, but I fancied it cer- 
 tainly was ten feet larger than hers." 
 
 '' It might have been," said papa, quietly, 
 '* she lives in May Fair, and I daresay pays a 
 higher rent for her smaller rooms than we 
 for our larger ones at Clapham Comfort 
 and not fashion was always my idea." 
 
 '' We never talk of Clapham," said Lucy, 
 mildly. " Papa says people who have seen 
 better days are such bores." 
 
 '^ Then," said Meta, " it is hard to see what 
 you can have to talk of in this place." 
 
 '' We are never much at a loss," said 
 Brice, '' but then perhaps we are not great 
 talkers." 
 
 " Or perhaps,'' said mamma, '' you and 
 papa bring the great world with you home,
 
 274 MARRIED. 
 
 and if we would live with the living there is 
 little time, fortunately, to dwell too much on 
 the past. You have been very gay, Meta ; 
 you, too, must have much to tell us." 
 
 Of course she had, Meta had been to the last 
 new Opera, and could tell its story, and the 
 peculiar beauties of all its airs, when we had, 
 I think, not even heard of the opera itself. At 
 Clapham we had a box at the opera, and 
 treating the thing as a matter of course, 1 do 
 not think we should have cared to enter into 
 details and talk so much about it as Meta 
 did that night. The parties and breakfasts 
 she spoke of too, were of a more fashionable 
 kind than those to which we had been ac- 
 customed in our days of prosperity, and the 
 jpro'pria personce had more titles than we had 
 ever dwelt much with at any time. Papa 
 being so wisely reticent as to keep mostly 
 with those who had been able to rise like 
 himself The feeling came irresistibly upon 
 me that night, as too often before, that Meta
 
 MARRIED. 275 
 
 had done ill to part with us ; the subjects in 
 which we were interested were now too wide 
 apart, and it was difficult, in spite of all the 
 strong love we bore her, to bridge over our 
 sympathies. She had, too, lost something very 
 difficult to explain, perhaps it was that, she 
 now held such an uncertain footing on what 
 was once her natural standing place, that she 
 was always making an effort to hide from 
 others, perhaps also from herself, her own 
 insecurity, and had thus produced affectation 
 and self-assertion where formerly there had 
 only been nature and ease. 
 
 I think we all tried hard not to feel it, and 
 certainly we noticed it with deep regret, but 
 we who had lost so little because we had pre- 
 served our reality, felt that she was somewhat 
 wanting in that tone which marks really good 
 society. I have seen and noticed the same 
 thing since, in many people circumstanced in 
 the same way, and always with regret or 
 displeasure. It is enough, we simple ones of
 
 276 MARRIED. 
 
 the earth are apt to feel, that we should have 
 to give way before those real differences of 
 rank which hold a place in every civilized 
 country, and which no Agrarian or sump- 
 tuary law has ever been able to destroy, but 
 our self respect forbids us to accept pre- 
 tenders at their own valuation. Poor Meta 
 was now but a pretender to the wealth and 
 position she had once so easily possessed, and 
 this agreed but badly with us, who had been 
 contented to set both aside and, to accept with 
 open eyes the full and sober realities of our 
 new life. Perhaps with all these feelings she 
 was yet a little puzzled at the ways of Pro- 
 vidence, which because she had become un- 
 real, had seemed incomprehensible to her, 
 she being surrounded by the mist of mis- 
 apprehension, which dimmed her sight. For 
 must it not have seemed strange to her that 
 she, who had been dressing so well, assuming 
 so much, and visiting people constantly^ 
 should return to find that the sister who had
 
 MARRIED. 277 
 
 been living the life she so thorouglily despised 
 and rejected should yet have reached the 
 summit of a woman's felicity, the crown of 
 love which om* gracious Queen has shewn she 
 esteemed above her earthly dignities Poor 
 Meta, she had wilfully taken her own way in 
 spite of all our entreaties, and those who 
 separate their roads which at first seem, it 
 may be, to be so close together, soon find that 
 every step renders it more difficult to join 
 together again. Interests, sympathies, en- 
 joyments, even duties, are so different to 
 those who lead such different lives, and though 
 our love was at this time great enough to 
 have swept down all barriers and to have 
 smoothed the most regged differences of 
 opinion, yet I fear, nay I feel certain, that 
 Meta's love and interest had slackened, and 
 were wholly incompetent to the task. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 T. C. Newby, 30, Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square, London. 
 VOL. I. O
 
 EVENING DRESSES 
 
 BLACK NET AND TULLE. 
 
 Messrs. JAY have from Paris a variety of BLACK 
 EVENING DRESSES, which they can confidently 
 recommend, both from their correctness of fashion and 
 economy in price. 
 
 JAY'S, 
 
 CJe Eontjon (General il^ournittg Wiaxtf\omtt 
 
 v:^niT^ 247, 249, and 251, Regent Street. 
 
 ""BLACK SILKS. 
 
 Pm*chasers will find at aU times the greatest possible 
 Advantage in Buying BLACK SILKS, of either 
 the richest quality or those of a lighter material, and 
 at a cheaper cost, at 
 
 JAY S, 
 
 €fte ftonbon (General JEourntng ^atdiouse, 
 
 247, 249, and 251, Regent Street. 
 
 FAMILIES 
 
 Will always find at Messrs. JAY'S a very large and 
 carefully-selected Stock of MOURNING GOODS 
 suitable for the present Season. 
 
 Ct)e iLontJon iSenetal JBlourninfl 512aatd)ou0e. 
 
 247, 249, and 251, Regent Street. 
 
 JAY'S,
 
 POPULAR NEW NOVELS. 
 
 In 3 Vols. 
 
 SOCIETY IN A GAERISON TOWN. 
 
 By the Author of ** Myself and my Relatives," &c. 
 
 " It is worthy of the author of * The Chronicles of Carlingford.* "— 
 Manchester Examinee. 
 ** The story is told with ability and no sniall de^ee of hTMiour." 
 
 —Natal News. 
 
 "The sketch of the Garrison Town is clever ; the pictures of the 
 domestic interior of Evergreen Lodge is excellent, and the discomfort 
 of the mother and daughters at the mercy of a tyrannical, extrava- 
 gant, husband is painted with much humour." — Athen^um. 
 
 In 3 Vols. 
 
 THE BRIGHT TO-MORROW. 
 
 .By WALLACE J. HAEDING, Esq. 
 
 *' The story is made up of a life's wanderings at home and abroad, 
 and in the treatment of his story the author evinces a thorough 
 knowledge of human nature as we find it in the back and in polite 
 society. It is a thrilling story, and will be read with breathless 
 attention,"— Cape and Natal News. 
 
 " Those who are fond of adventure will find abundance of exciting 
 incidents in this entertaining story."— European Mail. 
 
 In 3 Vols, 
 
 DR. HARCOURT'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 " The story is unquestionably exciting and cleverly told."— Daily 
 Telegraph. 
 
 ** Has a very exciting plot, full of telling situations, and cleverly 
 constructed dialogues."— Liyerpool Albion. 
 
 /
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 iililliiiilllililllllllll 
 
 3 0112 052948202 
 
 mm 
 
 i