imm
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 G662d 
 
 V.I
 
 ANNIE JENNINGS. 
 
 % f ou^L 
 
 LESLIE GORE. 
 
 IN THREE YOLUME 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 EICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1870. 
 
 The right of Translation is reserved.
 
 ^ 
 
 ^^3 
 
 ^ CONTENTS 
 
 THE FIE ST VOLUME. 
 
 ^ CHAP. Page 
 
 r^ I. — Introduction 1 
 
 II. — Annie meets with an Acquaintance on 
 
 ^, CaltonHill 24 
 
 ^ III.— A Xote of Invitation .... 50 
 I Y. — The Eesults of an Invitation to a Dinner 
 
 in High Society ..... 95 
 Y. — Departure of the — Regiment of High- 
 er landers 133 
 
 YL— A Startling Revelation . . . .177 
 "^ YII. — Miss Gray receives a Yisit from her 
 
 ^ Pastor 187 
 
 ^^ YIII. — Annie with the Madonna Face is put in 
 
 a Passion 207 
 
 ^ IX.— Annie takes a Decided Part . . .236
 
 ANNIE JENNINGS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Ere he parted he would say, 
 Farewell to lovely Loch Achray, 
 Where shall he find in foreign land 
 So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ?" 
 
 "Lady of the Lake." — Scott, 
 
 On the eastern shore of Loch Achray, 
 in Perthshire, and sheltered in greater 
 ^ part by richly-wooded hills, stands a 
 farmhouse of a grotesque form, yet 
 neither unpicturesque nor ill-fitted to 
 the surrounding scenery, beautiful as 
 it is. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 Annie Jennings. 
 
 A great gable end was stuck on to 
 one place, a turret to another, an oriel 
 window was thrown out here, a mas- 
 sive portico built there. These ad- 
 ditions appeared to have been given 
 directly as the need for them was felt 
 by the owner, and the visible comfort 
 they afforded, with their own irregula- 
 rities, gave them a certain kind of 
 beauty. 
 
 That portico, how useful in keeping 
 off the biting bitter blast of the north 
 wind, the only quarter left exposed 
 — that pitiless north, which when it 
 has full sway spares neither flower, 
 nor shrub, nor tree, cutting them and 
 withering them with relentless force. 
 That turret chamber, how delicious a 
 spot in which to read and write and
 
 Annie Jennings. 
 
 look out tliroiigli narrow casements 
 and get kaleidoscopic views, dyed with 
 the rays of the setting sun, of the 
 matchless scenery from the west. 
 
 Then again, that large oriel win- 
 dow facing south, covered over with 
 trailing japonica and passion flower 
 and jasmine, all fostered, caressed, 
 and kissed by the sweet south wind. 
 How pleasant a room in which to sit ; 
 if a woman, with your needle just 
 pricking the cambric, while the eyes 
 wander over the landscape, and every 
 sense is employed taking in eager 
 draughts of all that wondrous beauty, 
 which becomes more than an enjoyment, 
 something higher once we find the 
 clue to it. And that long gable end, 
 with its two lines of dead wall, whose 
 
 B 2
 
 m. 
 
 4 Annie Jennings, 
 
 palpable use is to contain endless vo- 
 lumes, records of lives of great men, 
 of good men, of Happy and unliappy 
 men — more, alas 1 of these latter, but 
 all telling us eagerly of life, teaching 
 lessons to the living by which they 
 may profit if they will. Telling of 
 carelessness and of joys, of fears and 
 of sorrows, of hopes cherished and 
 green, of hopes blasted and withered : 
 the time-old lesson, as taught by the 
 preacher, '' Vanity of vanities, all is 
 vanity;'* and of His teaching, too, 
 whose lips were touched by fire, who 
 said, "The grass withereth, the flower 
 thereof fadeth, but the Word of God 
 endureth for ever." 
 
 At the time our tale commences 
 this whilom farmhouse was inhabited
 
 Annie Jennings, 5. 
 
 by a widow lady and her step-daiigther. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings had been Miss Jen- 
 nings, cousin to her husband, but 
 the closeness of the relationship cer- 
 tainly needed no dispensation to en- 
 able them to raarry; beloved by him 
 from very early years, brought up in 
 the one village, led by tender fos- 
 tering hands to worship in the one 
 kirk, they two had sung out of the 
 one hymn-book — the little girl making 
 a pretence of reading while the big 
 boy, Andrew, pointing to each word 
 and repeating them very clearly, aided 
 and abetted little Annie in her de- 
 ception. 
 
 What happy days were those for 
 Annie, when school-hours past, An- 
 drew would take her with him to seek
 
 Annie Jennings. 
 
 for bramble-berries, and she would 
 return home with her soft red lips 
 dyed black as ink, and with her pina- 
 fore a sad spectacle of stains, not so 
 easily effaced as those on the ripe 
 lips. 
 
 But all things change, even bram- 
 ble-berries are not always in season, 
 neither do little boys remain little 
 boys, and Andrew must give over child- 
 hood's sports and leave his native 
 village. To Edinburgh he went to 
 learn medicine, with Annie's and his 
 mutual understanding that so soon 
 as he became rich he was to return 
 and marry her. But time works 
 changes, as we have already truismati- 
 cally observed, and Annie leaves behind 
 her years of happ}^ childhood, and
 
 Annie Jennings, 
 
 reaches that sweetest age of lovely 
 maidenhood, seventeen years. 
 
 Slim, soft-eyed, dark-haired Annie, 
 with her faultless profile, and her light, 
 active tread, had now many admirers. 
 With inherent coquetry she made all of 
 them welcome up to a certain point, but 
 beyond that boundary none dared to 
 pass. Annie was fully conscious of her 
 charms, and had not yet learned to 
 sympathize with broken hearts from 
 personal experience. 
 
 But affliction now came on her 
 young girlhood, not what causes that 
 which is commonly meant by a broken 
 heart, yet sorrow such as wrings our 
 very heart-strings, in a loss never to be 
 replaced — the loss of a parent. Rachers 
 cry for her children, '' when she refused
 
 8 Annie Jennings. 
 
 to be comforted," was an evidence of 
 agony, yet her loss — what was it to the 
 loss of a mother ? And such a loss 
 was Annie called upon to suffer. Her 
 mother was taken, and she was left an 
 orphan. 
 
 Her father was but a memory to 
 her, for years he had been dead. A 
 lieutenant in an infantry regiment, he 
 had risen from the ranks. His father, 
 a clerk in a commercial house, had 
 intended his son to pursue the same 
 calling, but young Jennings had a fancy 
 and a will of his own; he ran awa}^ 
 and enlisted, and gained the good 
 opinion of his colonel by his conduct, 
 who, in consideration of it and of his 
 respectable connections, procured him 
 a commission. In course of time he
 
 Annie Jennings. 9 
 
 married Miss Gray, whose sole fortune 
 was one thousand pounds, and retired 
 from the army in broken health, and 
 shortly after died. Plis widow received 
 a small pension, and on it and the 
 interest of her one thousand pounds 
 she contrived to live, and to bring up 
 her fair little daughter, giving her a 
 moderate education, from which Annie 
 might have reaped better fruit had the 
 soil been richer. 
 
 But Annie did not know a want; she 
 was happy in that she was content, 
 and had never experienced a grief till 
 now. Andrew's departure was not felt 
 by her as such ; would he not return 
 some day, and, if rich, she would 
 marry him. 
 
 In the meantime she had plenty
 
 10 Annie Jenningi 
 
 of admirers, and she did not 
 desire to marry. Her village life, 
 with its daily routine, was enjoy- 
 ment, and her mother was her oc- 
 cupation; for she had been an invalid, 
 and now, alas ! that she was gone, 
 Annie's occupation was gone like- 
 wise. 
 
 With her first grief lying heavy on 
 her heart, she was taken to live in 
 Edinburgh with a maiden aunt, her 
 mother's sister, Miss Gray. And to 
 leave her sweet village home, with 
 purfumed heather and mountain air, 
 blue lochs, and deep rushing rivers. 
 To leave red and gold, and green, 
 and blue, and gray, skies, braes, 
 wells, and cascades ; and above all, 
 to leave the grand old restful moun-
 
 Annie Jennings. 11 
 
 tains, in exchange for a dingy corner 
 house in Broughton Place, Flat No. 
 8, with its one view, — the archi- 
 tectural deformity of a Free Kirk 
 Meeting House. Alas ! what a change ; 
 and Annie Jennings, albeit of an un- 
 commonly well-balanced mind, was 
 in deep dejection. Her aunt, a 
 kindly-natured woman, tried to cheer 
 her. 
 
 " Cheer up, pretty one, you shall 
 never know want while I live, and if 
 you act like a sensible good child, all I 
 have shall be yours at my death, and 
 that is not so little after all these things 
 are sold." (She glanced complacently 
 round at very solid-looking mahogany 
 furniture.) " And I have got eight hun- 
 dred odd in railway shares and steam
 
 12 Annie Jennings. 
 
 companies ; tliis with your own money, 
 my dear, will make yon more than com- 
 fortable. Why, my child, you will be a 
 match some day — umph, umph ! I only 
 regret that I sunk any money in an an- 
 nnit}^, although it does enable me to live 
 as comfortably as any duchess in the 
 land. Umph, umph !" 
 
 '' Dear Aunt Jane, you are very 
 good." 
 
 '' Good, child ? Ah, no. Are not 
 you my poor dear sister's only bairn, 
 and now left to me — to me, the childless 
 woman by Providence — for a comfort 
 and a blessing, I trust? Come now, 
 Annie — smile, child; don't I tell you 
 that you'll be a match some of these days ? 
 Umph, umph." 
 
 Miss Gray uttered this very empha-
 
 Annie Jennings, 13 
 
 tically, examiniDg, at the same time, 
 Annie's face and figure with critical eyes, 
 nodding her approval, and umph, umph- 
 ing through her nose. She stroked 
 Annie's soft broTvn hair and patted 
 her slight shovdders, then clapping her 
 back to the wall she marked off her 
 height. 
 
 ** Five feet four inches, a very nice 
 height, my dear, leaving you great 
 choice. You are not too tall for 
 tall men, nor too small for little men. 
 Let me now see whom I shall ask to 
 tea." 
 
 " Oh, dear, dear Aunt Jane," sobbed 
 Annie, " remember mother has not 
 gone from me a month yet ; surely you 
 will not ask me to see strangers ?" 
 
 *'Umph, umph, child," replied Aunt
 
 14 Annie Jennings. 
 
 Jane, scratching her nose in some 
 confusion, " I believe I forgot. Well, 
 well, you must come to church, at all 
 events, and I will call the attention of 
 the Honourable and Reverend Daniel 
 Merton to you — times of grief are just 
 the seasons for the visits of the clergy — 
 the heart is soft, and susceptible of un- 
 derstanding the doctrines of our faith. 
 Yes, child, you shall come to the English 
 church." And Miss Grray, as customary, 
 threw her left thumb over her shoulder 
 in its direction — her right thumb was 
 seldom called into operation, and only 
 on occasions of great excitement. 
 
 Miss Gray had been brought up in Gos- 
 pel freedom, but within a year or so she 
 had got trammelled by means of nets 
 set for the unwary by the Honour-
 
 Annie Jennings. 15 
 
 able and Reverend Daniel Merton. The 
 Honourable Mr. Merton had found his 
 birth of great use in the ministry, and, 
 to the wrath of the Reverend John 
 Bogle, he had drawn away many pre- 
 cious souls from his fold. 
 
 In vain he denounced him ; the Ho- 
 nourable and Reverend Daniel Merton 
 walked all the more majestically through 
 the streets of Edinburgh, throwing back 
 in utter disdain his small aristocratic 
 head, which was so well set on his firm 
 shoulders. Mentally he shook off the 
 dust from his feet, if that process can be 
 so accomplished, looking very gentleman- 
 like indeed, and as if he drank nothing 
 less good than the very best claret. We 
 do not know how it was, but the Hon- 
 ourable and Reverend Daniel Merton
 
 16 Annie Jennings, 
 
 conveyed the idea to all who approached 
 him that he was both a judge of claret 
 and drank of the very best. This could 
 not be owing entirely to his aristocracy, 
 for there are other wines quite as worthy 
 of being patronized by the upper crust 
 of society as claret ; but claret somehow 
 seemed to be his portion in the land of 
 the living, and we will venture to assert 
 that, no matter at what dinner table 
 the Honourable Mr. Merton was enter- 
 tained, the master of the feast would 
 desire his servants to take that old claret 
 to Mr. Merton. While, on the other hand 
 — ^but this was natural — the Reverend 
 Mr. Bogle looked the recipient of what 
 the Scotch name tucldy. This is a long 
 digression to have made, considering 
 that poor Miss Jennings stands looking
 
 Annie Jennings. 17 
 
 very scared at the plans for immediate 
 action proposed by her energetic aunt. 
 At last she articulates : 
 
 " Dear Aunt Jane, you forget that I 
 am a member of the Free Kirk." 
 
 '' Not a bit, my dear. Umph, umpK 
 I remember all about it, and so was I ; 
 but the best society here are Episcopa- 
 lians, and Mr. Merton is a dehghtful 
 young man — not the least extreme in 
 views. No, my dear, I could not go in 
 for that. He says nothing against the 
 Established Church, the U.P., or the 
 Free Kirk. He is far too gentlemanlike 
 for vituperation. All he said to me one 
 day when paying me a visit, was, 
 ' Miss Gray, come to my church and 
 I will show you a more excellent 
 way.' That was all. I went there ever 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 Annie Jennings. 
 
 since, and so sliall you, please God." 
 Annie Jennings was quite uno- 
 piuionated and of a yielding disposi- 
 tion in so far that she had no strong 
 passions ; and her impulsive, self-willed 
 annt led her in this as in many other 
 ways hither and thither where she 
 listed. To the English church she 
 went, and directly fell under the ob- 
 servation of Aunt Jane's pastor. 
 
 The Honourable Daniel, the youth- 
 ful prophet, perceived, with the quick 
 observation remarkable in physicians 
 of souls as of bodies, the new wor- 
 shipper, and saw at a glance — for 
 which he should not be blamed, 
 reader — that she was fair to look on 
 and very interesting — so interesting, 
 in fact, that the well-written and pro-
 
 Annie Jennings, 19 
 
 found discourse on ' Time, times, and 
 the dividing of time,' was delivered 
 witli unwonted hesitation, and caused 
 many a tremor in the bosoms of the 
 feminine part of his congregation. 
 Miss Gray's fears were raised to such 
 a pitch that she hardly refrained from 
 sending up the prophet her handsome 
 bottle of strong smelhng salts. 
 
 "My love," she said to Annie, re- 
 turnino^ home that dav, " I never 
 heard poor Mr. Merton deliver so 
 weakly. He is not well — surely he 
 is not well. Umph, umph." 
 
 Her fears on this head were dispersed 
 next day, however, by the appearance in 
 her own drawing-room, flat No. 3, 
 Broughton Place, of the Honourable and 
 Eeverend Daniel himself, with slender 
 
 c 2
 
 20 Annie Jennings. 
 
 umbrella and well-brushed hat, who 
 assured her that he was in his normal 
 state of health. 
 
 *' Apart," he said now — '^ apart from 
 the pleasure of seeing you, Miss Grray, 
 I come to inquire about the interest- 
 ing young person I observed in your 
 pew yesterday." 
 
 Young jperson was a term employed by 
 the Honourable Mr. Merton quite un- 
 intentionally offensive — he had imbibed 
 the use of it with his mother's milk as 
 descriptive of a race of doubtful an- 
 cestry. This pretty young lady in her 
 mournful dress might have or have had 
 a grandfather ; but Mr. Merton did not 
 know, and Miss Gray's companionship 
 was no guarantee to the fact. And 
 although it was possible that she might
 
 Annie Jennings, 21 
 
 be a countess in her own right, she was 
 more hkely to be Mrs. Watson (the 
 miUiner's) fore-woman. It w^as safe to 
 inquire for this interesting young person, 
 and the nomenclature struck all harm- 
 less on Miss Gray's ears. She now 
 informed him that she was her niece, 
 and under her care, placed in a manner 
 (as she explained) by Providence, and 
 so she had taken her to his church, 
 although she had been brought up in 
 the membership of the Free Kirk. 
 
 '' Does this meet with your approval, 
 sir?" she inquires. 
 
 " Perfectly, Miss Gray ; she is too 
 young I should say to be fairly launched 
 in the errors of schism, let her first 
 hear the more excellent way and then 
 judge for herself."
 
 22 Annie Jennincfs. 
 
 Miss Gray was greatly pleased to be 
 so commended, and while her pastor 
 sat in silent repose holding on his knee 
 his well-brushed hat, she held forth on 
 her niece's history, making it as wind- 
 ing if not so beautiful as the Frith of 
 Forth. Mr. Merton's patience was at 
 last exhausted when it seemed it would 
 not be rewarded by the sight of the 
 young person herself; and he now very 
 decidedly interrupted Miss Gray's flow 
 of talk by inquiring might he not be 
 favoured by an introduction to "the 
 — the — young lady." And Miss Gray, 
 reproaching herself vehemently for not 
 having thought of doing so, hurried out 
 of the room to look for Annie, but with- 
 out success ; for soon as Mr. Merton 
 called she had escaped out of doors,
 
 Annie Jennings. 2B 
 
 out of her cliogy bed-room witli its 
 wretched one view, out and away from 
 that corner where cats dehght to hold 
 their meetings, screaming as cats alone 
 can do ; but they, even they had for- 
 saken the gray dusty pavements, and 
 held their concerts on the roofs of the 
 houses from whence can be obtained a 
 glorious view of Edinburgh's pride, the 
 Calton Hill. It was to this spot that 
 Annie, all impatient for fresh air, hur- 
 ried as fast as active limbs could 
 carry her.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ANNIE MEETS WITH AN ACQUAINTANCE ON 
 CALTON HILL. 
 
 Away, away from stifliog flats and 
 hot pavements, from noisy streets, 
 from vendors' cries and knife-grinders' 
 clarionets, hastened Annie, tlie moun- 
 tain-bred girl, to seek for freshness and 
 repose on the Calton Hill. There, seated 
 on its brow, she tore off" her bonnet 
 and drew in, with pleasure, draughts 
 of fresh breezes sent up by admiring 
 Frith of Forth as its tribute of incense 
 to the Scotch Idol.
 
 Annie Jennings, 25 
 
 What a view lay spread before her ! 
 truly with even one grain of poetic fancy 
 she would have revelled in it. Close to 
 hand stand Arthur's Seat and Salisbury 
 Crags, then sharply, clearly defined in 
 the light of an October sun descending 
 to its rest ; with loving hngering fingers, 
 it was lea^dng glowing marks of its skill 
 on surrounding nature ; some more, 
 some less received dabs from that won- 
 drous painter; all, save one dark pile, 
 that stretched below, couched in heavy 
 shadow, seemed itself to shrink from 
 light hke a sentient being conscious 
 of its bosom's deadly secrets. 
 
 Poor Queen Mary ! Holyrood is still 
 thine own, in death as in life, thou art 
 its interest ; for among all who lived 
 and loved, who sufi*ered and who died.
 
 26 Annie Jennings, 
 
 the brightest and the gayest, the 
 darkest and the saddest, all pale before 
 the centre-piece, the flag-staff for which 
 so many battles raged, and still rage ; 
 while neither side allows itself to be the 
 vanquished. In the words of the old 
 ballad it may be said of Mary's friends 
 and foes — 
 
 " Some say that we wan, 
 And some say that they wan." 
 
 And both parties are ready to hohhit 
 again. And not until that day when the 
 secrets of all men shall be made manifest 
 will that erring gifted creature receive 
 a true judgment. 
 
 Annie's mind was naturally more 
 occupied with her own changed circum- 
 stances than with Queen Mary's fate;
 
 Annie Jennings. 27 
 
 and altliOLigli her eye glanced with some 
 degree of pleasure over the prospect be- 
 fore her, and she felt thankful to breathe 
 again fresh air, yet her thoughts re- 
 verted to her early days, those plea- 
 sant days so sadly brought to a close 
 of her western home, and she remem- 
 bered now for the first time that Andrew 
 Jennings, her bold lover, her gentle 
 companion, inhabited with her the same 
 city : and as saddest feelings often 
 border on the ludicrous, she even 
 laughed aloud, remembering the part- 
 ing between them, and recalling the 
 solemn plighted troth of boy and little 
 girl. 
 
 " Poor dear Andrew !" she exclaimed, 
 looking up as a shadow fell before her 
 and met the keen searching gaze of
 
 28 Annie Jennings. 
 
 a thick set young man. Annie blushed 
 faintly, (she never performed any men- 
 tal act with vigour,) and hurriedly put- 
 ting on her bonnet, which she had 
 thrown carelessly on the grass, she 
 drew down her veil. The young man 
 smiled — and his was a pleasant smile 
 — then quietly placing himself beside 
 her, he asked, 
 
 " Has this been a good year for bram- 
 ble-berries, Annie ?" 
 
 Annie started, but instantly ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " 0, Andrew, can this be you ?" 
 
 '' It can indeed. And can this 
 ' be you ?' " he inquired, mimicking 
 her sentence, then raising her veil he 
 gazed earnestly into her face, colour- 
 ing with admiration and pleasure.
 
 Annie Jennings, 29 
 
 Annie laughed, perceiving the favour- 
 able impression she had made; then 
 remembering her so late, great sorrow- 
 she began to weep. Andrew patted 
 her hand with his soft white hands, 
 and with medical instinct he sought 
 her wrist ; her pulses beat with all 
 due soberness, so with a gentle smile 
 he said — 
 
 " Don't weep, pretty one, we must 
 each pay our debts, and of all cre- 
 ditors, death is the most exacting." 
 
 Andrew Jennings was a remarkable 
 young man, and this his very appearance 
 indicated. His splendid head, with 
 thick clustering curls and finely de- 
 veloped forehead, united to a powerful 
 square jaw, clear blue eyes, and hand- 
 some mouth completed a face that could
 
 30 Annie Jennings. 
 
 not fail to please; but alas ! tlie figure 
 marred the liead-piece, broad shoulders, 
 a stature of five feet three, and leo-s 
 like an otter. Annie, who had been 
 diligently examining him, broke into 
 a merry peal of laughter, exclaim- 
 ing, 
 
 " 0, Andrew ! how very funny looking 
 you are." 
 
 Had the cannon on the Castle Hill, 
 announcing to the inhabitants of Edin- 
 burgh the hour of one, sounded in 
 his very ear, the effect could not have 
 been greater than that produced by 
 Annie's heedless speech. 
 
 Poor Andrew ! so keenly susceptible 
 to ridicule, quick in perception, vain, 
 and vain with that uneasy vanity pro- 
 duced by consciousness of powers not
 
 Annie Jennings. 31 
 
 yet acknowledged by the world, to 
 receive so great a shock. 
 
 Andrew w^as a lover of beauty, of 
 symmetry, truly alive to the want of 
 it in his ow^n form, and placing an 
 undue value on it from that very de- 
 ficiency; to his great intellect were 
 united strong passions, and gazing 
 into that beautiful Madonna face, he 
 felt the boy's latent love for her burst 
 forth, and in a moment blaze with all 
 a man's fierce passion. Then on that 
 passion fell the cruel mocking words, 
 
 " 0, Andrew ! how very funny looking 
 you are." 
 
 And this from his little play-fellow, 
 whom he had carried unweariedly 
 in his arms for hours, and for whom 
 he had torn his white hands in
 
 32 Annie Jennings. 
 
 reaching to almost unapproachable 
 branches of the holly with its brilliant 
 berries, before whom he had bent his 
 knee in boyish yet most loyal fashion, 
 pledging to her eternal vows ; and yet 
 it must be confessed whom he had 
 almost forgotten in the midst of his 
 all-absorbing studies until her magic 
 presence called forth the love not 
 always remembered, yet so surely 
 stored. 
 
 A bitter pill. Miss Jennings, you 
 made him swallow that day, the 
 taste of it remained for many a 
 year. 
 
 Annie was electrified at the effect 
 she had so giddily produced, for, al- 
 though as yet he had not uttered a 
 word, she saw his passion boihng
 
 Annie Jennings. 
 
 over; liis face turned wliite, great 
 beads rose on his forehead, his chest 
 heaved; he tried to articulate, but 
 for a few moments all in vain; then, 
 with a violent effort, he spoke in a 
 low deep voice, slowly at first, but 
 with gradually increasing vehemence. 
 
 ''I regret, Miss Jennings, that you 
 have found your old acquaintance so 
 ridiculous an object, and never shall 
 I intrude ray odious form on your 
 sight ; but, hear of me you shall — 
 hear of me as courted by the young 
 and lovely, hear of my doors being 
 besieged by the noblest and proudest 
 in the land, all waiting on the leisure 
 of this absurd Andrew Jennings, and 
 to whom, for the sake of five minutes 
 of his company, gold shall flow in 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 Annie Jennings, 
 
 like rushing rivers. Hear this you 
 shall. Miss Jennings ; and when that 
 clay comes, remember this." Then, 
 raising his hat, he rushed wildly down 
 the hill, and was out of her sight in 
 an instant. 
 
 Annie was breathless, or she would 
 have cried, " Andrew, come back !'* 
 but, before she had found a voice, poor 
 Andrew was gone. Musingly she sat 
 on and wondered, was he crazy ? 
 she could not comprehend his nature, 
 it was far above hers ; then she 
 thought, will he do himself any harm ? 
 should she give notice to the police ? 
 he would be so easily described ; 
 and, at this last idea, her fancy was 
 so amused that she laughed under 
 breath for many minutes before she
 
 Annie Jennings. 35 
 
 could compose herself sufficiently to 
 face the street passers to return 
 home. 
 
 But the day was not very far 
 distant when Andrew Jennings' pro- 
 phecy came true, and Annie listened 
 with amazement to daily fresh ac- 
 counts of his eminence as a physician, 
 of his skill as a surgeon. The 
 people of Edinburgh extolled him, 
 the Scotch from all parts of the 
 country came flocking to him, for be 
 it in their praise said, that with 
 them a '' prophet is not without ho- 
 nour." 
 
 Then, as years rolled on his fame 
 spread, • and great London doctors 
 bowed before him, foreign doctors 
 flocked to sit at the feet of the great 
 
 D 2
 
 36 Annie Jennings, 
 
 physician. From distant lands came 
 the sick, the dying, to lay their cases 
 before Doctor Jennings, as the last 
 appeal. And Annie and he never 
 once met : with wonder, and with 
 something of awe, she heard of him, 
 hut, to their knowledge, one never 
 saw the other. 
 
 Ten years passed away ; Annie, 
 lovely and admired, was still Annie 
 Jennings, notwithstanding Miss Gray's 
 exertions, her endless teas, and the 
 pastoral attentions of the Honour- 
 able and Reverend Daniel Merton. 
 Miss Gray not only spent a fortune 
 in teas, but she accepted teas ; she 
 brought Annie to dances, after having 
 received a hesitating permission from 
 the Honourable Mr. Merton, for to
 
 An)de Jennings. 
 
 him Miss Gray first applied before 
 doing so, having been too lately taught 
 the " more excellent way," to shake 
 off the tenets of her days of Gospel 
 teachino'. 
 
 Annie enjoyed her balls ; of all 
 thino's she delio^hted in daucino- and 
 was an adept in the art ; her slight 
 spare figure, and large boned ancles, 
 carrying little weight, made her an 
 unwearied partner; and this, with her 
 sweet Madonna face, caused her to be 
 much sought after ; no matter how 
 the number of the fair sex predomi- 
 nated, Annie Jennings never wanted 
 a partner. 
 
 But a hand for a dance, and a 
 hand for life are different things ; and 
 as five years passed by, and Annie
 
 38 Annie Jennings, 
 
 was seen at least three evenings in 
 the week, yet had not met with a 
 suitable offer; can we wonder that 
 Miss Gray began to rub her nose 
 vehemently, and to iimpli-umph more 
 than ordinary ? 
 
 Teas at home, teas abroad, and 
 the results almost nil, surely the 
 prospect was blue. Almost nil, for 
 she had had two offers of mar- 
 riage, one from (oh, whisper) the 
 Reverend Mr. Bogle, who, with 
 frantic passion, had offered to abjure 
 even the cherished doctrine of dam- 
 nation to all but his elect, for 
 her sweet sake. He met with his 
 deserts, poor man, as few of us do ; 
 he was refused and scorned — refused 
 by 'Annie, and scorned by Miss Grray,
 
 Annie Jennings. 39 
 
 backed up to it by the Honourable 
 Mr. Merton. 
 
 The other offer was from a respect- 
 able elderly party, who had a splendid 
 villa, with a long line of conservatories 
 at G-ranton ; bought (here was the 
 hitch), with money made from wares 
 sold in the High Street, and there 
 still could be seen the name, although 
 the shop no longer belonged to the 
 party with the villa at Granton ; but 
 this was a deceit allowed for in the 
 purchase-money, until the new comer 
 had e:ained the confidence of the 
 pubhc, and could not be done away 
 with, even though the respectable 
 party at Granton desired to marry 
 the young lady tvith the Madonna 
 face. Miss Gray's heart yearned
 
 40 Annie Jennings. 
 
 after the lovely conservatories, and 
 she remembered Annie's increasing 
 years, whicli as yet certainly had not 
 diminished her charms, but very soon 
 must. 
 
 '' Annie," she said to her niece, 
 who could not endure the idea of 
 marrying the gentleman ; '' Annie, 
 women unfortunately have not the 
 privilege of asking men to marry 
 them, among the indulgences shown 
 to our sex in these days, we have not 
 arrived as yet at that; so, my dear, 
 we must e'en choose the best of those 
 who ask us." 
 
 '' But, dear Aunt Jane, we have a 
 privilege — that of saying noJ^ 
 
 '' Yes, umph, umph, and being left 
 in the lurch, wdth too free an exer-
 
 Annie Jennings. 41 
 
 cise of your privilege; but dou't cry, 
 child," as Annie's limpid tears fell 
 trickling down her soft cheeks; "don't, 
 I cannot bear to witness your dis- 
 tress, silly though I think it. I 
 Avon't press it further -without the 
 sanction, of Mr. Merton, lie is so good 
 as to take a warm interest in your 
 welfare, child, and I can depend on 
 his judgment." 
 
 Annie looked up quickly with a 
 half smile and blush, but seeing that 
 Miss Gray was looking quite serious 
 and contemplative, she contented her- 
 self with replying gently — 
 
 "Very well, Aunt; I will also abide 
 by his opinion." 
 
 Annie shrewdly guessed the result of 
 this step, quite obtuse as was poor Miss
 
 42 Annie Jennings. 
 
 Gray as so what was so evident to 
 the younger lady. 
 
 And she was correct in behoving 
 that the Honourable and Reverend 
 Mr. Merton would not be easily satis- 
 fied with the choice of a husband 
 for her. When Miss Gray mentioned 
 the subject to him, first dilating on the 
 Granton Villa, and unwillingly winding 
 up with the gentleman's antecedents, 
 Mr. Merton threw back his head farther 
 than was his wont, saying scornfully — 
 
 '^ Marry Miss Jennings to a shop- 
 keeper, my dear Miss Gray !" 
 
 '' A retired shopkeeper," urged Miss 
 Gray. 
 
 '' The name still in the business ; 
 to be seen any day passing through 
 High Street, Miss Gray !"
 
 Annie Jennings, 43 
 
 '' But think of the villa, sir, and 
 the lovely conservatories," returned 
 Miss Gray, jerking her thumb east 
 — her TigM thumb, mark you — 
 used only on occasions of great ex- 
 citement. 
 
 '' Even so, Miss Gray, my humble 
 iudgment remains the same." 
 
 " Annie is not as young as she 
 was," remarked Miss Gray, mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 " None of us are, dear Miss Gray," 
 he said with a bland smile ; '' would 
 the prospect be so pitiable even were 
 your niece to remain like her aunt in 
 honoured maidenhood ?" 
 
 Miss Gray quite coloured at the 
 implied compliment, and Mr. Merton 
 seeing the effect he had produced.
 
 44 Annie Jennings. 
 
 rose, before she could recover pre- 
 sence of mind, and with well-brushed 
 hat and slender umbrella, he bowed 
 himself out of Broughton Place, flat 
 No. 3. 
 
 '' Well, aunt," flew in Annie, now 
 inquiring. '' Auntie, dear, what news 
 —what did Mr. Merton say ?" 
 
 " He said he should like you to 
 become like me, umph, umph ! What 
 do you think of that, child ?" an- 
 swered Miss Gray, with a mixture of 
 humour and hunteur. Annie heard 
 and laughed, for she guessed the ver- 
 dict that was given, in whose favour, 
 so she whistled a favourite valse, and 
 danced round and round the room with 
 infinite glee. Miss Gray sat watching 
 her for a while, and then said —
 
 Annie Jennings, 45 
 
 *' I Lave now done with you, child, 
 so far as matrimony is concerned, 
 even should the man come down the 
 chiumey to marry you I will call in 
 the housemaid with her dust-pan, and 
 get her to sweep him out. Umph ! 
 umph 1" 
 
 At this declaration Annie laughed 
 till she cried, and Miss Gray was so 
 pleased with the effect her wit had 
 produced, that she took to hugging 
 her, and aunt and niece had great 
 kissing and making up on the spot; 
 and finally Miss Gray, who had been 
 in early days a great dancer, took to 
 the floor, and danced a highland fling 
 to Annie's playing, but springing at 
 one time rather too high for her 
 handsoQie gasalier, she struck it with
 
 46 Annie Jennings. 
 
 her head, and throwing down one of 
 the glass pendants, broke it into 
 shivers. Luckily her head escaped 
 damage, owing to a good wig and 
 cap. 
 
 This accident had the effect of 
 sobering both ladies. Annie rushed 
 to the assistance of her aunt, who 
 lay as if dead on the carpet, until 
 roused to exertion by the entreaties 
 of Annie to try if any limb was 
 broken. 
 
 " Lean on me, dearest aunt, and 
 stretch out that leg." 
 
 " I am killed, child, and deserved- 
 ly," said Miss Gray, without making 
 a motion to rise. 
 
 " ! dear Aunt Jane, just try to 
 get up, or let me examine your head ;
 
 Annie Jennings, 47 
 
 it was your Lead, not your legs or 
 arms that got knocked." 
 
 '' I believe so, child," with a groan, 
 she answered, " but the shock has 
 paralysed me." 
 
 " I will run and fetch some wine, 
 aunt, but first let me ring for 
 Janet." 
 
 " Xo, no, child, wait a bit ;" and 
 moaning loudly. Miss Gray stretched 
 out first one limb, then the other ; 
 and, with Annie's assistance, she stood 
 up whole and uninjured on her own 
 carpet. 
 
 " I am so relieved, dear Aunt Jane, 
 to see you are not hurt." 
 
 Miss Gray made no reply, but seat- 
 ing herself on the sofa commenced 
 rubbing down her legs and arms, feel-
 
 48 Annie Jennings, 
 
 ing the joints carefully ; then, taking 
 off wig and cap, she felt her head all 
 over. Having satisfied herself that all 
 was uninjured, she breathed a sigh of 
 relief; and looking down at Annie, 
 who was on her knees busily picking 
 up the fragments of the broken glass 
 she said — 
 
 '' Thank God, child, I am sound as 
 a bell, and safe as if in St. Paul's 
 keeping." 
 
 Annie looked np, and smilingly 
 looked down again, for she remem- 
 bered then Mr. Merton's expressed 
 wish, " that she might become one 
 even such as her aunt was," and cer- 
 tainly she did look a very funny 
 figure, with her smooth shaven crown 
 denuded now of its habitnal covering.
 
 Annie Jennings. 49 
 
 " Smile away, child," cried the quick- 
 witted aunt ; " I daresay I am a 
 curious sight," and going to the mir- 
 ror she adjusted wig and cap, then 
 turned round, looking a very re- 
 spectable woman. 
 
 " Don't worry about the glass, 
 Annie; I have got off lightly enough. 
 Heaven knows, after playing the old 
 fool as I have done. We must not 
 fret about the glass, dear. What says 
 the rhyme — 
 
 " ' AVhen the milk is spilt, then call the cat, 
 If a bone be broken, get Doctor Spratt, 
 Bat a wounded heart requires the priest, 
 The lover, the ring, and the marriage feast.' " 
 
 But a different course was now 
 given to their current of thought, for 
 
 VOL. 1. E
 
 50 Annie Jennings, 
 
 Janet entered with a small note — a 
 note of invitation ; and as it was 
 from a lady of no less consequence 
 than Lady Merton, we must not treat 
 her so lightly as to bring her in at 
 the end of a chapter, but give her 
 the dignity of the very commencement 
 of our next.
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 A NOTE OF INVITATION. 
 
 Lady Merton was a very great lady, 
 and although many people forgot all 
 about it ; she never did ; but find- 
 ing it very difficult to get those, her 
 equals, to remember in what direction 
 Charlotte Square, No. — lay, she lived 
 a rather solitary life. '' Creme de la 
 creme or no society," she said, and 
 she was left with no society. But 
 was not the company of her excel- 
 lent son — her youngest born, her
 
 52 Annie Jennings. 
 
 Daniel — worth tliat of even dukes and 
 duchesses of the present day — par- 
 venus many of them with no descent 
 of any vahie. Daniel ! the well prin- 
 cipled, high-minded gentleman, the 
 excellent son, the good pastor (not 
 'priest — too Jewish, by far), the man 
 Avhose opinions were deliberately form- 
 ed on most subjects, and from whose 
 judgment there was no appeal. Yerily 
 this youthful prophet was a good son 
 in whatever else a courageous mind 
 might venture to think him wanting. 
 In obedience, respect, and devotion to 
 a mother, none surpassed the Hon- 
 ourable and Reverend Daniel Mor- 
 ton. 
 
 !No dinner party, even where tlie 
 best claret was drunk, could detain
 
 Annie Jennings. 
 
 him from his mother, who waited 
 for her accustomed game of picquet 
 before retiring to that couch sacred 
 to the nightly impression of the iUus- 
 trious rehct of the late Lord Merton, 
 and of a daughter of the noble 
 house of Haitian d ; so if Lady Mer- 
 ton adored her son, can we either 
 wonder at or blame her ? No request 
 of his was ever listened to coldly, 
 nor, if urged upon her, refused ; so 
 when now the Honourable and Eev- 
 erend young man entered her boudoir, 
 wearing rather an excited look, and 
 at once plunged into an affair which 
 evidently weighed upon his mind, it 
 was not told to an unsympathising 
 hearer. 
 
 "Dearest mother, I have a great
 
 54 Annie Jennings. 
 
 favour to entreat of you — a great 
 favour, indeed, yet for my sake I 
 hope you will grant it." 
 
 " My dear boy, I tliink you 
 know me pretty well, and I knoAV 
 you pretty well; no request you 
 tvould make me could I hesitate to 
 grant." 
 
 '' Thanks, mother, you are very 
 good, but this request is quite an 
 exceptional one. I would not make it 
 but — but — owing to circumstances," 
 and the Hon. and Rev. Daniel stam- 
 mered in very unusual fashion with 
 him. 
 
 Lady Merton coloured slightly 
 throuo^h her fair skin, and looked 
 in astonishment at her stammering 
 son.
 
 Annie Jennings. 
 
 *' Mother ! Miss Gray of whom you 
 have heard me speak is an excellent 
 woman, she has pleased me greatly 
 in deferring an important matter to 
 my judgment, and — and — I thought it 
 would be such a reward if you would 
 do them the honour of asking them 
 to dine with you." 
 
 Lady Merton listened attentively to 
 this rather confused speech, and then 
 inquired with very clear enunciation 
 as to the meaning of the i)l'uval pro- 
 noun introduced directly after Miss 
 Gray's name. 
 
 '' Oh, I forgot, mother. Miss Gray 
 has a niece, a very nice young per- 
 son," answered the young prophet, 
 rather nervously. " I think, mother, 
 she would please you ; her manners
 
 (y Annie Jennings, 
 
 and appearance are so refined — she is 
 quite nature's gentlewoman." 
 
 " Curious," said Lady Merton, drily, 
 just as she might have said had she 
 heard of a cat taking naturally to the 
 water, or of a sea-gull taking up its 
 abode inland, or of a Mr. Bogle drink- 
 ing claret, or of any other anomaly 
 which was more curious than pleas- 
 ing — a freak of nature, a phenomenon 
 that boded no good. 
 
 " Well, mother," continued Mr. Mor- 
 ton, feeling a little uncomfortable, '* it 
 would be such a pleasure to me to 
 oblige Miss Gray, and I can think of 
 nothing that could be so gratifying 
 as this of your inviting them to dine 
 with you." 
 
 Lady Merton bent her head in
 
 Annie Jennings. 57 
 
 acquiescence, and . after receiving warm 
 and grateful thanks from her dutiful 
 son, she rose directly, and seating 
 herself at her Davenport, she in- 
 dited a note of invitation to Miss 
 Grav : and it was this same note that 
 reached that spinster's hands after 
 her rather unseemly dance on her own 
 carpet in Broughton Place, flat No. 
 3, after having mutilated her hand- 
 some gasalier. 
 
 " Annie, my child," said the grati- 
 fied Miss Gray, (on opening the 
 note, perfumed with violets, so sug- 
 gestive of May Fair), " this is grati- 
 fying," and she proceeded to read it 
 aloud. 
 
 Annie made no reply, but taking 
 the note from her aunt's fingers, clam-
 
 58 Annie Jennings. 
 
 my now with excitement, she read it 
 slowly over to herself, and then turn- 
 ed to leave the room. 
 
 '' Come back, Annie," cried Miss 
 Gray, rousing herself, for she had 
 sunk into a momentary reverie over 
 ivhat site should ivear. " Come here, 
 child, and let us decide on our dress. 
 I must say this is a very handsome 
 compliment Mr. Merton has paid me, 
 but so like him, worthy honoured 
 young man." 
 
 '' He is rewarding you. Aunt Jane, 
 for consulting him how to dispose of 
 poor me," said Annie, slyly. 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense, child, how 
 you talk sometimes. What will you 
 wear, dearest ? Do you require a new 
 dress, although I fear we could never
 
 Annie Jennings. 59 
 
 have it made up in time for to-mor- 
 row eveninor. Dear me, how late 
 these big-wigs dine ; eight o'clock, I 
 believe is the hour." 
 
 " A quarter to eight o'clock. Aunt 
 Jane. Do not bother about my dress. 
 My white muslin with insertion is 
 just freshly made up, and w^ill answer 
 beautifully. Depend upon it, we shall 
 meet no one ; Lady Merton asks us 
 distinctly to dine with her and her 
 son, and naming so early a day as 
 to-morrow places this matter beyond 
 a doubt; and as to your dress, Aunt 
 Jane, you look lovely in your pearl- 
 coloured, ribbed-silk, with black lace. 
 The cap with crimson roses is quite 
 new, and the colours are such beau- 
 tiful contrasts ! There now. Aunt, I
 
 60 Annie Jennings, 
 
 liave arranged for us both ; now write 
 your answer to her ladyship." 
 
 " You are so rapid, Annie, you 
 have confused me; but you are right 
 to remind me to answer the note, 
 for I declare I was foro^ettino^ that im- 
 portant part of the business." Miss 
 Gray then seized a pen with trembling 
 fingers, and wrote her answer in a 
 neat though slightly tremulous hand, 
 then ringing for Janet, she despatched 
 it, saying with marked emphasis — 
 
 " For Lady Merton, Janet, in 
 Charlotte Square." 
 
 From that moment until the im- 
 portant hour arrived for going to 
 dinner, Miss Gray was in a flutter. 
 She wandered from her own glass 
 to Annie's room, and from Annie's
 
 Annie Jennings. 61 
 
 room back to lier own glass. Annie's 
 appearance was certaiDly Miss Gray's 
 first consideration, her own tlie se- 
 cond. But Anuie would not permit 
 of her spending much time over her 
 toilet. She never felt the least un- 
 easy as to the effect she should pro- 
 duce, and. consequently seldom failed 
 to please. Besides, her beauty was 
 unquestionable, her features w^ere fine, 
 her complexion unrivalled, and her 
 whole manner so calm and cool, de- 
 noting such perfect repose. 
 
 "Annie with the Madonna face." 
 She deserved her name ; and now, 
 dressed in her simple white dress, 
 her silken glossy hair rolled in loose 
 coils round her perfect head, from 
 which fell a soft, white gauze draper}^,
 
 62 Annie Jennings. 
 
 she might have sat for a portrait of 
 any famous Madonna. 
 
 "Annie, darling, you are a spotless- 
 looking creature," said poor heated 
 Miss Gray, in her pearl-coloured silk 
 and crimson roses. 
 
 Annie smiled, looked back in her 
 mirror, smiled again a pleased assent 
 apparently to her aunt's praises, and 
 taking up her gloves, reminded Aunt 
 Jane that the carriage was waiting. 
 
 "My fan, Annie, I can't find it," 
 hurriedly exclaimed Miss Gray, "what 
 shall I do?" 
 
 " Here it is, aunt, under your 
 hand," answered Annie ; and true 
 enough it lay before her. Now Annie 
 ran down the the scale staircase, tidily 
 holding up her white dress, and get-
 
 Annie Jennings, 63 
 
 ting uninjured into the carriage, al- 
 tliouofli the evenino: was wet, and was 
 slowly followed bj Miss Gray, trip- 
 ping in her silk, and bawled after by 
 Janet — 
 
 " Hold it up behind, ma'am ; now 
 it's down in front, ma'am; the step 
 is all muddy, ma'am, take care." 
 
 " Yes, yes, Janet, I believe I am 
 all right now," and she stepped in, 
 while Janet handed in her gloves and 
 fan, groaning as she said, 
 
 "All right, ma'am, is that what 
 you say ? with the side breadth an 
 inch thick in mud." 
 
 " Janet ! what shall I do ?" ejacu- 
 lated Miss Gray in dismay. 
 
 *'Hush, hush, Janet," said Miss 
 Jenninors. '' Do not mind her, aunt,
 
 64 Annie Jennings, 
 
 she always exaggerates so, it is barely 
 speckled. I saw quite well what she 
 means." 
 
 Janet shook her head dissentingly, 
 but the glasses being drawn np, the 
 discussion could not be continued, 
 and the carriage rolled on, deposit- 
 ing both ladies in Charlotte Square 
 No. — . 
 
 Lady Merton having acceded to her 
 son's request, had determined not to do 
 it by halves, but act graciously through- 
 out ; and now risiug as the ladies en- 
 tered her drawing-room, she at once 
 put poor Miss Gray's heart at rest. 
 
 . Painfully had it fluttered np that 
 wide staircase, preceded by John in 
 faded yet aristocratic liveries, the 
 coronet on the gilt buttons. Annie
 
 Annie Jennings, G5 
 
 followed her aunt with her calm 
 chiselled face, serene in its beauty, 
 forming a striking contrast to her 
 flushed one, and with her perfect pre- 
 sence of mind, seeing every surround- 
 ing object wrapt to her aunt in mist. 
 
 On the stair walls hung ancestral 
 portraits, Puritans and Cavaliers 
 strangely mingled (for the Mertons 
 were not always partisans of the same 
 cause), and close to the reception- 
 rooms in the handsome corridor huno* 
 prominent in fresh oils and modern 
 clerical costume, a painting of the 
 youngest scion of that noble house, 
 the Honourable and Eeverend Daniel 
 himself. It was an admirable like- 
 ness, wath the small head thrown 
 back far, as if it had been fixed 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 (j(y Annie Jennings. 
 
 from infancy in a pliotograplier's stand 
 for a pose. 
 
 Annie smiled as slie recognised tlie 
 well-known featm^es, and in consider- 
 ation of lier beauty, John (who saw 
 the smile) smiled likewise, her being 
 shnply a "young person" accounted 
 for this liberty he took. He was 
 standing with the handle of the draw- 
 ing-room door ready to turn, even as 
 the ladies approached it quite close, 
 for Lady Merton should not be kept 
 with an open door a second longer 
 than needful for a young j^erson and 
 her aunt. Now, however, he turns 
 the bolt decidedly, yet not with a 
 flourish such as would be suitable 
 to admit the Duke of Blueblazes 
 — neither was it done timidlv, as
 
 Annie Jennings, 67 
 
 might be to unwelcome guests, 
 but just with the fittiog amount of 
 emjyressenient ; for John was a well- 
 bred servant, and knew perfectly how 
 to announce a younfj person and her 
 relations when expected. 
 
 Now advances to meet the ladies 
 the Honourable and Reverend Daniel, 
 with head thrown well back, and 
 bearing so wonderful a resemblance 
 to the portrait outside, that Annie 
 involuntaril}^ turned to make sure that 
 the frame was not left vacant, and 
 in doing so she received another ap- 
 proving look from John in the act 
 of closiug the door. 
 
 " Mother," said the young prophet, 
 taking the empty tips of Miss G-ray's 
 
 F 2
 
 68 Annie Jennings, 
 
 glovos between bis fingers, ^' Mother, 
 tins is my friend, Miss Gray." 
 
 Lady Merton in lier stiff silk, sof- 
 tened by Mechlin lace, and herself, 
 softened by the desire to please her 
 son, graciously gave Miss Gray the 
 jewelled fingers of her right hand, 
 bidding her Vv'elcome to her quiet 
 home. 
 
 Miss Gray curtsied and squeezed 
 the aristocratic palm, at wliich un- 
 derbred warmth Lady Merlon's face 
 became shghtly suffused. Annie — ob- 
 servant, cool Annie — saw her aunt's 
 mistake, and profiting by it, curtsied 
 low wdien presented in her turn, 
 merely bending over the injured fin- 
 gers. As she did so, she heard an 
 eager voice exclaim in a loud whisper,
 
 Annie Jennings. 69 
 
 '* Tell me, Merton, in heaven's name, 
 who is that angelic creature ?" 
 
 '' Calm yourself, Maitland, and do 
 not be profane," replied the Honour- 
 able and Reverend Daniel, '' she 
 is"— 
 
 Annie lost the finishing of the sen- 
 tence it was spoken so low, but as 
 she knew exactly who she was, it 
 did not so much matter — still she was 
 anxious to hear how Mr. Merton 
 would have designated her. 
 
 Lady Merton was pleased with her 
 graceful manner, and laying a hand 
 on her bent head, she blest her, from 
 which benediction Annie raised a 
 blushing face, fitting expression of 
 gratitude and humility Lady Merton 
 thought, the fact being that this was
 
 70 Annie Jennings . 
 
 produced by young Charlie . Mait- 
 land's burst of admiration. 
 
 "My nepliew, Mr. Maitland— Miss 
 Gray, Miss Jennings/' introduced 
 Lady Merton, and a remarkably 
 handsome young'' fellow in belted jjlaid 
 came forward, bowing low to both 
 ladies, and giving Annie a look of 
 apparently uncontrollable admiration. 
 
 ''Miss Gray," continued Lady Mer- 
 ton, " my nephew has only lately 
 joined, and as I have never seen him 
 in uniform, to please me he has ap- 
 peared in it this evening. I shall 
 have few opportunities of seeing him 
 again, for he leaves Edinburgh in one 
 or two w^eeks to go to India with his 
 regiment." 
 
 Miss Gray's reply was checked by
 
 Annie Jcnninns. 
 
 the ancouucement of dinner, and 
 direct!}^ tlie Honourable and Reverend 
 Daniel gave his arm to Lady ^lerton. 
 
 " Excuse us, Miss Gray," said her 
 ladyship, ''but my son is so good 
 as to consider this a privilege, and 
 one he never willingly relinquishes. 
 Dr. Duncan will you take care of 
 Miss Gray ?" (Dr. Duncan being 
 simply the family physician had not 
 been previously introduced.) '' And 
 my nephew — ah, I perceive he has 
 already appropriated Miss Jennings. 
 A true Maitland, Miss Jennings, 
 always polite." 
 
 Stately and slow swept that proud 
 old lady through the corridor, fol- 
 lowed by her guests, and on to the 
 dining-room, which was at its upper
 
 72 Annie Jennings. 
 
 end. At the door stood John, with 
 but one satelHte, a miserable Buttons 
 — shorn splendour for the house of 
 Maitland. When Miss Maitland mar- 
 ried Lord Merton she used to walk 
 through a long file of liveried servants 
 to every meal, but with his death 
 went most of the livery to her eldest 
 son James, a mauvais sujet who lived 
 in Florence, beat his wife, and loved 
 strange women ; being altogether a 
 very naughty man, and unlike in 
 every way his youngest brother the 
 Prophet, the Honourable and E.e- 
 verend Daniel Merton. Was it any 
 wonder then that his mother loved him 
 so devotedly, or that Daniel himself 
 occasionally wondered at his own 
 sanctity ?
 
 Annie Jennings, 73 
 
 And now he blessed the meat with 
 long and well-rounded sentences, while 
 Miss Gray folded her large white- 
 gloved palms over her plate, and, 
 tightening her eyelids, groaned a fer- 
 vent amen to it (relic of the days 
 when she lived in Gospel freedom), 
 and Charley Maitland, naughty Char- 
 ley, whispered close in Annie's ear, 
 
 " Our grace at mess is, what we 
 are going to receive we all have to 
 pay for;" and excited, blushing, trem- 
 bling Annie laughed low. 
 
 Yes, she actually was trembling deli- 
 ciously with a new sensation, under 
 Charley's fearless, honest expression of 
 admiration from his beautiful eyes. A 
 blissful dinner truly was this to two of 
 the guests at least; and if rather dull to
 
 74 Annie Jennings. 
 
 Lady Mertou and her son, it was com- 
 pensated for by the intense gratification 
 Miss Gray evidently experienced. Mr. 
 Merton was not quite happy under his 
 cousin Charley's attentions to the young 
 2)erson, still, he argued inwardly, what 
 else could fairly be expected from his 
 handsome soldier cousin when put into 
 close proximity to Annie with the 
 Madonna face. 
 
 Less Madonna-like, however, than 
 ever he had seen her, looked Annie 
 this evening ; she was more like to 
 Hermione breathed into life by her 
 Pygmalion. A handsome pair they 
 w^ere, wdiich Mr. Merton acknowledged 
 wdth a sigh, and Dr. Duncan with 
 a desire that they two should some 
 day be one.
 
 Annie Jennings. 
 
 Lady Merton perceived tliat lier 
 nephew was acting, as she supposed, 
 like all young officers when oppor- 
 tunity occurs, making love and meaning 
 nothing by it, and regarding the young- 
 person as sensible and not presuming, 
 she supposed his conduct was quite 
 com-jrrise by her and Miss Gray. 
 
 To take notice of so vuls^ar a thinor 
 as flirting was beneath the dignity of 
 Lady Merton, so she quite overlooked 
 Charley's whispered discourse, addres- 
 sing him pleasantly when occasion 
 called for it, and accepting unnoticed 
 his irrelevant answers. 
 
 The dinner was good, and served 
 on old plate but half cleaned. John 
 was old and lazy, and Lady Merton 
 was delicate and old also, but the
 
 76 Annie Jennings, 
 
 glass was irreproacliable (to this de- 
 partment tlie Honourable and Rever- 
 end Daniel paid special attention), and 
 John did not remember ever receiving^ 
 a rebuke from his young master but 
 once, when he laid before him a claret 
 jug looking very dulled. He never 
 forgot the look of stern reproof, and 
 the few words, very few though they 
 were, he uttered, as he afterwards 
 mentioned to Mrs. Sturrock, the house- 
 keeper, in the privacy of her snug 
 sitting-room, '^ I declare, Mrs. Stur- 
 rock, his countenance was like an 
 angry prophet's, righteous in its wrath, 
 and it seemed to melt my very mar- 
 row." 
 
 " Master Daniel likes his claret, 
 and ever did, better than children
 
 Annie Jennings. 77 
 
 tlieir motLers' 'milk," answered the 
 ancient housekeeper, who had been 
 at Daniel's birth, and was the first 
 to hear his little wail. 
 
 After the ladies retired, Mr. Merton 
 drank his wine a little freer than 
 usual, for his spirits required it, and 
 Mr. Maitland unconsciously poured out 
 glass after glass of whatever wine came 
 nearest to hand — Madeira or claret — 
 for his life he could not have told of 
 which he took the oftenest. 
 
 " Best Madeira I ever tasted," said 
 Dr. Duncan, letting down the precious 
 liquid drop by drop to prolong the 
 pleasure. '' Do not you think so, Mr. 
 Maitland?" 
 
 '*Yes, capital," answered Charley, 
 seizing the claret jug. '' I will take
 
 Annie Jenninr/.^. 
 
 some more of it." * The Hod. aucl 
 Rev. Daniel stretched out a hand and 
 checked the young man. 
 
 '' Do you really wish for Madeira, 
 Charley ? Do not expect to find it in 
 a claret jug." 
 
 Charley looked up, awakened to 
 realities, grew scarlet, and changed the 
 bottle. Shortly after, Mr. Merton in- 
 quired of the gentlemen '' Did they 
 wish more wine ?" This beino^ neo-a- 
 tived, they joined the ladies in the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 They found Lady Merton napping, 
 and Miss Gray presiding solemnly over 
 her slumbers, while Annie, sitting in 
 elegant repose on a sofa, looked over 
 photographs. Charley at once bolted 
 to her side, and Dr. Duncan, who had
 
 Annie Jennings, 79 
 
 drank enougli to be jocose, poked 
 tlie Hon. and Rev. Daniel in tlie 
 ribs — 
 
 " A decided case, Mr. Merton, with 
 our young friends. I think you may 
 give out the banns next Sunday." 
 
 Mr. Merton with hauteur shook ofi 
 the familiar hand, and sitting between 
 his mother, who had awakened di- 
 rectly on the gentlemen's entrance, 
 and Miss Gray, he proposed their 
 playing a rubber of whist. 
 
 "Mother, Miss Gray is a dead 
 shot," he said, with an effort at 
 playfulness which did not suit his 
 rigid muscles. " I speak from sad. 
 experience." 
 
 " Miss Gray, what do you wish ?" 
 inquired Lady Merton, graciously.
 
 80 Annie Jennings. 
 
 '' Whatever your Ladyship likes." 
 
 " My mother Hkes her rubber," an- 
 swered her son, " and so does Miss 
 Gray." 
 
 *' And so do I," said the Doctor. 
 
 "Very well, that will just suit. 
 Dr. Duncan, pray ring, you are close 
 to the bell. Miss Jennings will kindly 
 slug for us. I suppose she sings, 
 Miss Gray. Everybody is musical in 
 these days," said Lady Merton. 
 
 " Annie sings very little, Lady Mer- 
 ton ; she has a sweet voice, but 
 no execution. I fear she cannot 
 sing anything that could please 
 
 you." 
 
 '' There is no music comparable to 
 a ballad," said Dr. Duncan. 
 
 '* Annie," said Miss Gray, raising
 
 Annie Jennings. 81 
 
 her voice, '' do you think could you 
 sing? Dr. Duncan seems to think a 
 ballad worth listening to, and Lady 
 Merton wishes for some music." 
 
 "I sing very little, but if Lady 
 Merton wishes me to try I will with 
 pleasure," replied Annie, calmly, not 
 the least fluttered or discomposed at 
 this request to sing in the house, and 
 for the house of Merton. 
 
 Charley rose at once, delighted at 
 the excuse to get her into the music- 
 room, which communicated with the 
 apartment they now occupied by fold- 
 ing doors, and then busied himself, con- 
 trary to Lady Merton's querulous at- 
 tempts to stop him, lighting the candles 
 and opening the piano. 
 
 " My dear Charley, the servants 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 Annie Jennings, 
 
 are bringiDg in the card-table, and 
 will do all that, and much quieter than 
 you do — pray wait a moment." 
 
 Now the card-table is made ready, 
 parties selected, the cut for deal 
 given, cards shuffled, the green shade 
 placed between the candle and her 
 ladyship's eyes, and the game com- 
 mences. 
 
 Lady Merton rigidly enforces the 
 rule, that no conversation unconnected 
 with the game is to be permitted, so 
 silence reigns around the green baize 
 cloth, and only spasmodic sentences are 
 told off, such as — 
 
 " Your deal. Miss Gray." 
 
 " No, Dr. Duncan, her ladyship 
 dealt last, and consequently it is Mr. 
 Merton's."
 
 Annie Jennings. 83 
 
 " No trump, Miss Gray ?" 
 
 "No trump, Mr. Merton." 
 
 " Daniel, my son, a revoke," ex- 
 claims Lady Merton, who is Dr. Dun- 
 can's partner. Daniel colours to the 
 roots of his hair, and bowing low 
 apologizes humbly to his partner. 
 
 Could Miss Gray heartily forgive 
 anyone such an offence it would be 
 surely Mr. Merton, but even she 
 feels vexed, and says, with slight 
 asperity — 
 
 " There is a knowing Scotch couplet 
 we might all call to mind sometimes, 
 Mr. Merton. It says : — 
 
 " * The Deil flies ofi" with the boy who lukes 
 For even a moment away from his bukes.' " 
 
 Miss Gray had perceived the Hon. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 Annie Jennings. 
 
 and Rev. Daniel Mer ton's wandering 
 looks. Unfortunately lie was so seated 
 as to face the entrance to tlie music- 
 room, and there lie saw what lie had 
 no business to see, and for which he 
 was summarily punished. As yet no 
 strains divine had issued from that 
 room, but sweet discourse was held 
 therein. 
 
 Charley's and Annie's heads were 
 bent tos^ether in efforts to lower a 
 refractory music-stool that somehow 
 could not be unscrewed, notwith- 
 standing their united strength, and 
 hand met hand tliere under cover 
 of that great friendly piano; Charley 
 having once caught, retained the 
 soft yielding fingers, and on his 
 knees before her, he showed off
 
 Annie Jennings. 85 
 
 his spruce new Highland dress, and 
 she handled his scarf and admired 
 his Cairngorms, and very close in- 
 deed met those young heads ; and 
 voices pitched so low as theirs must 
 need, to be heard, hold very near 
 communication, and Annie's pretty 
 palm was pressed to the young sol- 
 dier's lips. 
 
 Mr. Merton saw, felt — in fact, 
 knew all about what was going 
 on ; and need we now wonder why 
 he, the prince of whist players, re- 
 voked and incurred Miss Gray's well 
 
 merited censure ? 
 
 Lady Merton observed her son's 
 
 involuntary glances towards the music- 
 room, which recalled her to a remem- 
 brance of its quiet occupants, and why
 
 S6 Annie Jennings. 
 
 they should be there, for what purpose 
 still unfulfilled. 
 
 *' I thought we were to have had 
 some music from your niece, Miss 
 Gray; it was for that purpose I had 
 the pianoforte opened." 
 
 " Annie, Annie, what are you about, 
 child !" exclaimed Miss Gray, so ex- 
 cited by her game as to be forgetful 
 of the modulated voice she had assumed 
 since her entrance into Charlotte 
 Square. 
 
 Annie made no reply, but hurriedly 
 commenced to sing " Willie we have 
 missed you." 
 
 '' Sweet song," said Dr. Duncan ; 
 '' there is nothing to equal the plain tive- 
 ness of our Scotch ballads." 
 
 " Game laws," Lady Merton said,
 
 Annie Jennings, 87 
 
 playfully holding up her first finger, 
 ornamented by an oblong-shaped dia- 
 mond rino^. '' We shall take out les^al 
 proceedings against you— a fine for the 
 next breach of the laws." 
 
 Annie's sweet voice now made 
 itself heard singing no end of Jacobite 
 songs, all in praise of Gharleij ! Charley ! 
 and beside her knelt the young High- 
 lander, on whom she shyly and ten- 
 derly looked down at every refrain of 
 Charley ! Charley ! As the card party 
 broke up after counting gains and 
 losses, Charley staggered to his feet, 
 madly, blindly, in love. 
 
 Annie swept into the drawing-room 
 with eyes so lustrous, that Doctor Dun- 
 can improvised a compliment on the 
 spot in these words :
 
 88 Annie Jennings. 
 
 " With eyes so sparkling, and with cheeks so bright, 
 Whence comes this vision on my sight?" 
 
 Mr. Merton glanced towards lier, 
 and looked away with pained feel- 
 ings. 
 
 " Who won ?" inquired Annie, 
 easily. 
 
 " Her' ladyship and Doctor Duncan, 
 dear," returned Miss Gray, feeling 
 not quite so cheery as when commencing 
 her game. 
 
 " You were badly treated, I must 
 say, Miss Gray," said Lady Merton, 
 laughing — she was in high spirits 
 at her victory, for with her son as 
 adversary it was what she had not 
 expected. 
 
 " Come, now. Miss Gray, and take 
 some refreshment. Daniel, of what
 
 Annie Jennings. 89 
 
 are you thinking, not to give Miss 
 Gray your arm. I never take any- 
 thing stronger at night than a glass 
 of water, or eat, except a cup of gruel 
 in my dressing-room, but I am no 
 rule for anyone, and you especially need 
 something after your good beating, Miss 
 Gray." 
 
 But Miss Gray was not to be pre- 
 vailed on to partake of any of the 
 good things provided by Lady Mer- 
 ton, nor Annie either, so there re- 
 mained nothing to be done but to take 
 leave, which they proceeded to do, 
 Lady Merton thanking Miss Gray for 
 coming to her '' looor house, and on 
 such an evening. "^^ 
 
 Miss Gray could not go away with- 
 out making up with her pastor. She
 
 90 Annie Jennings. 
 
 had felt a little cross, but on tlieir 
 way down stairs slie shook his hand 
 in her own cordial fashion, say- 
 ing— 
 
 " I must part friends, Mr. Mor- 
 ton." 
 
 " Then you forgive me ?" 
 
 " Indeed I do." 
 
 " Thanks," he answered, then drew 
 back from the carriage door to allow of 
 Miss Jennings' entrance. 
 
 Closely shawled, followed that young 
 lady, leaning on Charley's arm, who 
 now audaciously slipt it round her 
 slender waist to assist her in, and 
 uttering a mournful good-night, he 
 slowly returned to the house for his 
 cloak and cap ; then lighting his cigar, 
 he kissed the tips of his fingers to
 
 Annie Jennings. 91 
 
 Cousin Daniel, and strolled through 
 Charlotte Square. 
 
 " A charming evening, Annie, hadn't 
 we ?" inquired the aunt, on their ar- 
 rival in Broughton Place. Then ex- 
 amining herself in the mirror over 
 the drawing-room mantel-piece, she 
 asked Annie how she liked her cap. 
 
 " I am afraid the roses are too red 
 for my cheeks — what do you say, child ? 
 Did I look very flushed all the even- 
 
 iDg?" 
 
 '' No, aunt," said Annie, languidly. 
 
 *'You looked lovely, child. I don't 
 think I ever saw you appear to so 
 great advantage. I can tell you Lady 
 Merton evidently admires you. I ob- 
 served her eyes very often fastened on 
 
 you."
 
 92 Annie Jennings. 
 
 '' She was very good," answered 
 Annie, with indifference. 
 
 '' And Doctor Duncan was quite 
 struck with you. I heard him whis- 
 pering something about you to Mr. 
 Merton." 
 
 " Indeed !" and Annie dihgently 
 folded up her sash and gloves, and 
 smoothed her gauze lappets. 
 
 *' What a handsome creature young 
 Mr. Maitland is, my heart warms to the 
 plaid." 
 
 Good-night, auntie. I am very 
 tired." 
 
 " Good-night, my pet, you do speak 
 languidly. There, tuck into bed as 
 fast as your little nimble feet will take 
 
 you." 
 
 And the atint kissed her repeatedly,
 
 Annie Jennings, 93 
 
 from which embraces Anuie shrank. 
 Aunt Jane was in fact making of 
 her niece's hps a kind of paUmp- 
 sest, and as the young lady much 
 preferred the original inscription, 
 she resented the treatment accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 To bed she went, and to dream 
 softly, deliciously of an eternal flow 
 of honey, with the moon always at 
 the full, and of an everlasting sup- 
 ply of tartan scarfs. Charley wan- 
 dered about the streets of Edinburofh 
 for an hour or so, and then finding 
 himself in the precincts of the Calton 
 Hill, he hailed a cab, and got driven 
 home to barracks, where he, like his 
 beloved, sought rest, and dreamed also, 
 of hybla honey and great round moons.
 
 94 Annie Jennings. 
 
 lighting up wherever lie turned a sweet 
 Madonna face, the face of Annie Jen- 
 
 nings.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE RESULTS OF AN INVITATION TO A DINNER 
 IN HIGH SOCIETY. ' 
 
 We miglit correctly head our chapter 
 with the quotation of "What great 
 events from little causes spring," and 
 apply it to our story, for insignificant 
 a matter as at first sight appears to 
 have been Lady Merton's invitation, it 
 was big with consequences, but in 
 stating this have we really gone to the 
 root of the matter ?
 
 96 Annie Jennings. 
 
 No, certainly far from it, we 
 should first descend into tlie depths 
 of the heart of an honourable and 
 reverend young prophet, the young 
 man Daniel. 
 
 Have we a right to disclose his 
 secret — a secret not even acknow- 
 ledged to himself, yet one which 
 conscience occasionally displayed be- 
 fore him, making his cheeks to 
 tingle, and almost bending down his 
 head. 
 
 Truly, Annie with the Madonna 
 face was a dangerous damsel to look 
 on, and Mr. Merton's oportunities, nay, 
 obligations, were many to draw near 
 to her. 
 
 Her aunt was his particular sheep, 
 lost for ever to her early shepherd.
 
 Annie Jennings, 97 
 
 and led into green pastures ; and 
 this young person, led by the old 
 sheep to share the same green pas- 
 tures, to be placed under the same 
 pastor's care, was his especial duty 
 to watch over. 
 
 And dangerous duty it was ! 
 
 Now, my readers, we are placed in 
 the right way of understanding why 
 the respectable party with the long 
 line of conservatories at Granton 
 was refused, and why Mr. Mer- 
 ton's gratitude was so great to Miss 
 Gray for taking him to consult with 
 on this important subject, and why 
 she should have been so rewarded 
 as to be invited to dine in Charlotte 
 Square. 
 
 Alas ! short-sighted man ! Alas ! for 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 Annie Jennings. 
 
 the Honourable and Reverend Daniel 
 Merfcon. From the retired shop- 
 keeper at Grant on you have saved 
 sweet Annie Jennings, but into what 
 dangers, trials, and sorrows have 
 you led her. Sorrows and dangers, 
 indeed ! to more than her — you have 
 brought the noble houses of Merton 
 and Maitland into peril, and you have 
 changed the current of two young 
 lives. 
 
 Oh, Daniel ! Daniel ! truly your 
 offences have been great; why — why 
 did you burn your fingers in that 
 low matter of the Granton tradesman ? 
 Why should Annie Jennings with 
 the Madonna face be anything to 
 you ! 
 
 Yet stay, let us not be hasty
 
 Annie Jennings. 99 
 
 to condemn. Is there not a fate 
 in marriage ? If fate lias anything 
 to do with the concerns of mor- 
 tals 
 
 But why follow it ? 
 
 Because we are answered, it is 
 in the nature of fate to be fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 I suppose so — I am no logician, 
 yet we are told that love is omnipo- 
 tent — so now comes the puzzle. If 
 love be omnipotent, and fate must be 
 followed, we ask, are love and fate 
 always in agreement ? 
 
 To this we can reply decisively no ! 
 Then we must have a choice which to 
 obey — 
 
 " Then I say, 
 Love lead the way, 
 
 H 2
 
 100 Annie Jennings. 
 
 Fate stand aside, 
 Thee I deride ; 
 Dear love lead me, 
 Thy slave I'll be." 
 
 Old fool, I hear said around me. 
 Peut-etre, je suis parfaitement satis- 
 fait, content, lieureux, for I hear a 
 breath, a murmur from a sunny land, 
 it seems to come to me from far over 
 the seas, with the fragrance of citron 
 and olives and myrrh. A voice, a 
 child's sweet voice. It is Raby. She 
 says, rather she sings, '' Right, Mr. 
 Leslie Gore, for whatever else is false 
 in life, love is true." 
 
 Bravo ! I exclaim, quite elated with 
 Eaby's approbation. (You shall hear 
 more of her anon), and I proceed with 
 my tale.
 
 Annie Jennings. 101 
 
 How did Annie feel on awakening 
 after the momentous evening spent in 
 Charlotte Square, No. — ? And how 
 did Charley ? In some respects they 
 felt ahke, bnt in others very dissimi- 
 larly indeed. 
 
 Annie's sensations were varied; she 
 felt that something very unusual had 
 occurred, and at the same time some- 
 thing very happy. And as reason 
 resumed its sway in that cool head 
 of hers, troubled thoughts arose of 
 the row there would be in the Merton 
 family. Then she thought with a 
 vague kind of rehef that nothing after 
 all might come of it, and when she 
 tried to imagine that all these soft 
 happy feelings were but the produce 
 of a dream, she wept, remembering
 
 102 Annie Jennings,. 
 
 Charley's handsome face and winning 
 ways. 
 
 '' But I shall see him again," she 
 murmured, " for his last words were, 
 ' Remember, bonnie Annie, St. An- 
 thony's Well is our trysting place to- 
 morrow.' " 
 
 At this thought, Annie dried her 
 eyes, rose, and dressed, pondering 
 over Avhetber she should confide to 
 Aunt Jane the little assignation she 
 had tacitly agreed to, and meant to 
 keep. 
 
 '' It would horrify her, poor auntie, 
 if she knoAV of my presumption, 
 and why should I ask the poor old 
 soul ?" 
 
 So charitably she decided on not 
 vexing poor Aunt Jane, but to go out
 
 Annie Jennings. 103 
 
 on the sly to meet her highland 
 lover. 
 
 Thus we see that Annie's sky was 
 not all conleur de rose, but mixed witli 
 clouds both black and grey, whereas 
 Charley's was pure hght — light born 
 of love, seeing no speck because it 
 wnll not see it. 
 
 " Bah !" he said ; '' what obstacles 
 are there ? None that a brave heart 
 can't conquer. Annie, if need be, will 
 wait for me patiently like an angel, 
 as she is, and Daniel, who is a first 
 rate fellow, will buy up my steps for 
 me like a brick." 
 
 So hopeful, enthusiastic Charley 
 dreamed while smoking his soothing 
 cigar, pacing to and fro the barrack 
 yard. Seated on a bench with a
 
 104 Annie Jennings. 
 
 novel in his hand, sat a brother officer 
 of Charley's, who was with amuse- 
 ment watching him, and observing 
 the abstracted look in his dark blue 
 eyes, he drew his conclusions ac- 
 cordingly, and tapping Charley as he 
 passed him with his cane, said — 
 
 " Hipped, old boy." 
 
 Charley started as if he were a deli- 
 cate female, exclaiming warmly,. 
 
 '' I beg your pardon." 
 
 '' Oh, not at all," answ^ered the other. 
 '' Tell me, is the cut deep ?" 
 
 "Deep, do you ask, Elliot?" said 
 Charley, taking the cigar from his 
 mouth, " I tell you it is a cut to the 
 bone." 
 
 " And the inamorata, does she res- 
 pond ?"
 
 Annie Jennings. 3 05 
 
 " Elliot," replied Charley solemnly, 
 *' there are some subjects too sacred 
 to be spoken of. In consideration of 
 our tried friendship, I tell you of my 
 own feelings, but this is the limit to 
 my confidence. When, if I should say 
 preliminaries were arranged, I would 
 be requesting you to be my best 
 man." 
 
 Elliot laughed. 
 
 "So far gone indeed? Now tell us 
 the name ; do, Charley, there's a 
 good boy. Anna Sophia? Wilhelmina 
 Amelia ? Mary-anne ? Angelica ? eh — 
 none of these ?" 
 
 Charley shook his head. 
 
 " Too high flying ; well, then, I 
 descend from my Pegasus and will 
 guess down. Jane ? Eliza ?"
 
 106 Annie Jennings, 
 
 ''No, Elliot, wrong." 
 
 Elliot stared hard at him, as he said, 
 " it must be Bridget, then ?" 
 
 " No," answered the other with 
 dignity ; '' you are quite too absurd, 
 her name is the softest, sweetest going ; 
 it is Annie," and Charle}^ named the 
 " one loved name " so sweetly, so 
 lackadaisically +hat Elliot mimicked it, 
 repeating mincingly, '' Annie." 
 
 Poor Charley coloured to the ears, 
 and very much offended, strutted 
 off, leaving Elliot in peals of laugh- 
 ter. 
 
 Charley was an orphan, and the 
 Hon. and Rev. Daniel Merton was 
 his guardian. Guardian to a property 
 which, at his father's coming of age, 
 was valued at five thousand per an-
 
 Annie Jennings. 107 
 
 num, and at his death yielded a bare 
 hundred. 
 
 Mr. Maitland was a speculator, one 
 of those unhappy mortals the effect 
 of whose losses is to make them 
 speculate still deeper, hope rising in 
 proportion to failure, in inverse ratio 
 to common sense. When too late, he 
 saw the mistakes he had made, and 
 to pro\dde against his son being led 
 into the same, so far as he could, he 
 committed the deeply-dipped estate to 
 the care of his sister's youngest son, 
 Daniel, even in those early days 
 famed for his wisdom, and willed his 
 son not to be of age to inherit be- 
 fore his five and twentieth birthday, 
 giving the property a longer time 
 than otherwise could be for restora-
 
 108 Annie Jennings^, 
 
 tion, even partial thougla it might 
 only be. 
 
 To Charley, his darling boy, he left 
 two hundred a year, until he should 
 become master of all, but giving 
 full powers to his nephew to use 
 his own discretion in pushing him 
 forward in his profession, the choice 
 of which his little boy had already 
 made. 
 
 Under such a constructed will poor 
 Charley was left pretty much in his 
 cousin, the Honourable and Reverend 
 Daniel's power, and so it behoved 
 him to keep in his good graces. 
 To do the prophet justice, he made 
 both a faithful and a kind guardian. 
 From many a scrape he had with 
 good-nature extricated Charley, man}^
 
 Annie Jennings, 109 
 
 a twenty pound note had found its 
 way from the guardian's hands to 
 the ward's pockets over and above 
 his just income, and besides this with 
 clear mathematical head he had been 
 cleverly managiug his little property, 
 which was now beginning to rise 
 from its heavy liabilities, and was 
 paying treble to what it had been 
 when first intrusted to his fosteriuor 
 care. 
 
 Charley, now thinking over these 
 things, more than ever he had done 
 before, strode down the Castle Hill, 
 taking a short cut through Prince's 
 Street Gardens, and entered Charlotte 
 Square. He thought, poor fellow ! he 
 would try if his cousin's pulses beat 
 at all in unison with his heart's beats,
 
 110 Annie Jennings, 
 
 and if so to tell Ins tale and throw 
 himself on his compassion. 
 
 Knocking at the door, he found the 
 Honourable and Eeverend Daniel Mer- 
 ton was at home and in his study 
 alone ; so far success was Charley's, 
 but alas 1 here it ended. Daniel 
 was dry, unsympathetic, and very oc- 
 cupied. 
 
 " If you have any business in hand, 
 Charley, speak it out, for I am par- 
 ticularly engaged this morning ; just 
 see, all these papers," laying one hand 
 on a large packet, " and these,'* point- 
 ing to another, '' papers connected 
 with our properties — yours, Charley, 
 and my mother's — and all to be looked 
 over before the visit of my solicitor 
 to-day."
 
 Annie Jennings, 111 
 
 As Charley remained for a moment 
 silent, trying to collect his scattered 
 faculties, his cousin viewed him super- 
 ciliously, quite in a manner de haut 
 en has ; the mode of carrying his 
 head, hereditary stamp of the Merton 
 blood, always gave him something of 
 this appearance even in cases where 
 reality was wanting ; but in the present 
 instance his looks were the index of 
 his mind, he felt haughtily disposed 
 towards his young cousin, who uncon- 
 sciously had wounded him in a tender 
 quarter. 
 
 ''Pray, Cousin Charley, speak out; 
 do you want money? Any fresh gam- 
 ing debts ? I do not approve of 
 these continual scrapes you get into. 
 However, always tell me of 'em, and
 
 112 Annie Jennings. 
 
 never owe a debt to a tradesman, or 
 friend even, before your relations give 
 you up. I will now lend you a small 
 sum. Give you anything of what you 
 probably consider your own already I 
 wo7iH, and for this reason, I am res- 
 ponsible for a solemn promise made 
 to your dead father ,to nurse your 
 estate to the best of my ability, and 
 to watch over you. How much do you 
 need?" 
 
 " Nothing, Cousin Daniel — nothing 
 in the way of money ; I thought 
 to have had a quiet talk with 
 you." 
 
 " Impossible, my dear fellow," re- 
 plied the Honourable and Eeverend 
 Daniel with rather more heat than the 
 occasion seemed to call for ; " some
 
 Annie Je7mings. llo 
 
 other time, or go up and talk to 
 my mother; she gives excellent ad- 
 vice, none better, if it be advice you 
 require; besides, advice is a thing I 
 never give. I never ask it, and I 
 beheve none ever takes it. Day-day, 
 Cousin Charley, leave your old guardian 
 to his musty papers, and go spin your 
 top;" and summarily he dismissed poor 
 puzzled Charley. 
 
 In the hall he found himself at the 
 outer side of his guardian's door, 
 scarcely aware how he got there, 
 whether put out, or by his own voh- 
 tion he had walked out. Now, whether 
 should he go upstairs to Lady Merton 
 or into the pleasant, cordial-looking 
 streets ? where the carriages were roll- 
 ing so busily, and the ladies seated 
 
 VOL. T. -f
 
 1]4 Annie Jennings, 
 
 up in tliera were so prettily con- 
 scious of tlieir charms in tlieir gay 
 dresses, yet not one among a hun- 
 dred of them worthy of being named 
 in the same breath with Annie Jen- 
 nmgs. 
 
 Charley's thoughts having reached 
 this point, he clapt his hat on his 
 head and rushed into the streets. 
 
 Once in the free air he breathed 
 better ; Cousin Daniel, the young 
 prophet, had paralysed his faculties, 
 and frozen the current of his blood 
 which had been running so warmly. 
 He had gone to him intending to 
 pour out his inmost soul, but some- 
 how the Honourable and Eeverend 
 Daniel was not in the humour to re- 
 ceive his confession; he objected by
 
 Annie Jennings, 
 
 a hard demeanour, a glazed eye, to 
 view tliat sight which Charley yearned 
 to show, and treated him contemptu- 
 ously — he, a Highland soldier, to be 
 shown such scorn, and turned away 
 with the insulting recommendation to 
 go spin his top. 
 
 Charley fumed and fretted, chafed 
 like a young horse newly bitted, the 
 more he thought over these things, 
 and then franticallj^ flew to a trysting 
 place, albeit an hour before the time, 
 to w^ait for his expected companion, 
 sweet Annie Jennings. 
 
 St. Anthony's Well was the lovers' 
 chosen spot for meeting, an arrange- 
 ment which they had made the pre- 
 vious evening ; and here, on the rising 
 ground behind the ruined chapel, 
 
 I 2
 
 116 Annie Jennings, 
 
 Charley laid liim clown to cool his 
 fevered brow before liis mistress should 
 appear. 
 
 Here he lay, and registered a vow 
 that he would marry none other than 
 Annie with the Madonna face, even 
 should he have to wait for her for 
 four long years. Interminable these 
 appeared to the ardent young man, 
 an eternity, save that from experience 
 he knew that they would end. 
 
 " Then I shall be my own master," 
 he soliloquized. 
 
 '' But will Annie wait ?" 
 
 Feverishly the young man revolved 
 this, and could not answer, yea or 
 nay, wdien a flutter of garments and 
 an active tread met his ears ; and 
 startinsr to his feet, he turned to
 
 Annie Jennings. 117 
 
 meet bis saint, Annie with the Ma- 
 donna face. 
 
 " Ob thanks, a thousand thanks," 
 he murmured repeatedly, seizing both 
 her hands, and then sinking on his 
 knees he pressed them to his Hps. 
 
 '' I fear I am acting foohshly, 
 wrongly, perhaps, in meeting you 
 thus, — but I did not like, — I did not 
 know exactly what I promised or you 
 might expect from last night, and 
 then you are leaving town and this 
 country so soon. Lady Merton says, 
 — I thouo^hfc it would not much sis*- 
 nify," said Annie rather confusedly, 
 the more so owing to Charley's rapt 
 gaze into her face, from which ho 
 never moved his eyes while she 
 spake.
 
 118 Annie Jennings. 
 
 "Not mucli signify !" repeated Char- 
 ley. " Sweetest, dearest ! oh, how I 
 love you." 
 
 " Mr. Maitlaud, this is great non- 
 sense you are talking, and a proper 
 punishment to me for meeting you 
 here. I am really angry. How can 
 you talk so and expect me to believe 
 it when you know me only a few 
 hours ?" 
 
 " Oh, Annie," mournfully said young 
 Charley, " does not your own heart 
 tell you how short a time it takes 
 for one heart to find its mate ? There 
 is an instinct in such things requiring 
 no time to learn its lesson and spell 
 it out. Annie, I am young, but one 
 thing I know to be true as Gospel, 
 that love is eternal and has nought
 
 Annie Jeimings, 119 
 
 to say to time. It is born complete, 
 and in a moment, and never dies. 
 Annie, beloved, does your heart tell 
 you nothing of this ; answer me, 
 sweetest ?" 
 
 Annie was bewildered, and did not 
 well know how to respond to this 
 eloquent and impassioned speech ; she 
 was touched by it, and pleased, and 
 very much admired the glowing hand- 
 some face turned up to hers, and the 
 beautiful sunny blue eyes, and over 
 the hill they wandered, his arm round 
 her slender waist. 
 
 Poor Charley was in Elysium, and 
 Annie at the gates of it. Oh, what 
 a pity such moments cannot last ; will 
 they ever, when time is no more ? "We 
 have them but once in this life, the
 
 120 Annie Jennings. 
 
 sweet pure moment wlien we hioiv we 
 would willingly die for the beloved 
 one, when self is absorbed in another. 
 Eeflex of the Deity, such as man was 
 framed, such as he was before that 
 tremendous fall, when man, created 
 He him, " in the image of God created 
 He him." 
 
 Such at least is woman's love when 
 her love is perfect. She has shown 
 herself capable of resigning him she 
 loves to another, in believing it to be 
 for his happiness, although the effort 
 is only just within her strength and 
 sometimes beyond her physical powers ; 
 and she sinks to gain her great re- 
 ward before her span of life is spun. 
 Charley thought himself at all events 
 capable of heroic deeds in behalf of
 
 Annie Jennings. 121 
 
 her with the Madonna face ; and Annie 
 in her calm soul aad proud heart 
 resolved to live for Charley, and 
 Charley only, despite of the upbraid- 
 ing horror-stricken faces of the long 
 ancestral lines of Merton and Maitland. 
 The portraits in the gallery of Charlotte 
 Square seemed turned wrathfully on 
 her, the young person, who dared to 
 think of sullying their pure blood by 
 the mixture of a Jennings' puddle. 
 
 Horror ! they actually appear to 
 pale under it — the oils grow w^eak, 
 getting muddled into one dingy yel- 
 low colour, and seem preparing to 
 leave their canvas and their fallen 
 house, as rats do (excuse me the 
 comparison, oh ye shades !) But 
 revered ancestors, keep up heart, if
 
 122 Annie Jennings. 
 
 you ever had any ; do not yet cry 
 lost ! lost ! Love is against you, but 
 on the other side, converged to one 
 point, strong in the double united 
 stream of Merton and Maitland blood, 
 stand two worthy scions of those il- 
 lustrious houses — Alexandra Augusta 
 Agnes Maitland, Lady Merton {nee 
 Maitland), and the Honourable Rev- 
 erend Daniel Merton, the young pro- 
 phet. While these stand in the breach, 
 honour is not lost. 
 
 Encouraged by us, the portraits, 
 with a hurried, shuffling sound, get 
 shaken back in their frames, and re- 
 sume their ordinary colours, the ochre 
 taking only its proper share. 
 
 Every day for eight days our lovers 
 met in secret, sipped the sweets of
 
 Annie Jennings. 123 
 
 love in secret, and as stolen pleasures 
 are proverbially sweeter than those 
 gained by orthodox means, they en- 
 joyed them all the more. 
 
 Charley spoke confidently of his 
 future, his courage becoming great, 
 strengthened by love. Yet he could 
 not resolve to tell his Guardian Pro- 
 phet of his engagement to Madonna 
 Annie, although two other visits he 
 paid in Charlotte Square. He saw 
 Lady Merton both times, but only 
 had a ghmpse of the Honourable and 
 Reverend Daniel, who just looked 
 into the drawing-room, hat in hand 
 ready, and in a hurry to go out. 
 
 " Good-bye, mother, for a few 
 hours; I am off on fifty engagements. 
 How d'ye do, Charley ? When do
 
 124 Annie Jennings. 
 
 you start ? I sliall remit to yon, quar- 
 terly, fifty pounds, and mind, keep my 
 mother and me mi fait as to your 
 doings. Drink only claret; all other 
 red wines are most injurious in hot 
 climates." 
 
 "Surely, Daniel, I shall see you 
 again. I have so many things to 
 say to you, and to ask your advice 
 about." 
 
 '' Dine here any day you wish. 
 Mother, is he not welcome ?" 
 
 " Certainly, Charley. You do not 
 need an invitation to my house." 
 
 " Dear aunt, you are very good. 
 To-day we have a few friends at mess, 
 and to-morrow I am engaged to dine 
 with the Buchanans; Elliot — you 
 know Elliot, Daniel — he is anxious
 
 Annie Jennings. 12i 
 
 I sliould see Lady Julia, wlio is a 
 widow now, with one little boy." 
 
 '*Lady Julia Buchanan, who was 
 the Duke of St. Ives' daughter?" 
 Charley bowed assent. '' My dear boy, 
 keep your engagement by all means. 
 Ifc is important for a young man start- 
 ing in life to make nice friends." 
 
 " Arrange with my mother, Charley. 
 I really am pressed for time," cut in 
 the Honourable Daniel, who then 
 vanished, the head being the last part 
 
 of him visible. 
 
 Lady Merton talked, for the rest 
 of the visit, of the advantages accru- 
 ing from good old blood, and the ne- 
 cessity for the few, comparatively 
 speaking, vrais sains to keep them- 
 selves so, taking as a peg to hang
 
 126 Annie Jennings, 
 
 all this on the invitation of Lady 
 Julia Buchanan to Mr. Elliot to 
 bring his young friend to dine with 
 her. 
 
 Charley did not receive much edifi- 
 cation from all this long-winded dis- 
 course, but an inward conviction 
 was borne in on him that it would 
 be more than useless, baneful rather, 
 to confide to her his love and 
 determination to marry Annie Jen- 
 nings. 
 
 " This is Monday, and you leave on 
 Thursday I think, Charley. Monday 
 and Tuesday you are engaged ; come on 
 Wednesday and dine here, when you can 
 have your talk with Daniel." 
 
 "Unfortunately I can't. Aunt Mor- 
 ton." Lady Merton raised her brows,
 
 Annie Jennings. 127 
 
 and Charley coloured. " We are giving 
 a ball on that eveninor — a farewell to all 
 our friends in Edinburgh who have been 
 so kind to our regiment." 
 
 " Indeed ! well, I can suggest nothing 
 now, I fear, Charley. You see how 
 busy Daniel is all day. The evening is 
 the only time even I have any conversa- 
 tion with him." 
 
 " I will call in on Thursday, dearest 
 aunt, to receive your blessing ; as to 
 Daniel, I must only write." And Charley 
 then got off, leaving Lady Merton looking 
 very stately. 
 
 Miss Gray and her niece had paid a 
 visit a few days previously to Lady 
 Merton, but they did not find her nearly 
 so gracious as when she was exulting in 
 her whist victory. Her son, the Ho-
 
 128 Annie Jennings. 
 
 nourable and Eeverend, had been in- 
 stinctively impressed witli the behef 
 that Cousin Charley had won the 
 love of Annie Jennings, and un- 
 consciously communicated his own 
 cooled, or rather, properly speaking, 
 angry feelings, to his lady mother. 
 The Jennings and Gray names had been 
 hardly mentioned by them, and yet a 
 mutual dislike was being entertained by 
 both mother and son. So all Miss Gray's 
 amenities, and Annie's grace and defer- 
 ential manner, were utterly lost on Lady 
 Merton, and unproductive of any cordial 
 return. 
 
 Annie had chiefly spent the fifteen 
 minutes passed in making that call in 
 looking over a photograph album which 
 contained some three or four likenesses
 
 Annie Jennings, 129 
 
 of Charley taken at various stages of his 
 young life. 
 
 Two water-colour sketches of him as 
 a baby, with coral bells, a gift of Lady 
 Merton, and another Eetat four and a 
 half, seated on a rocking-horse. Then 
 came a photograph of the Eton boy, 
 standing beside a real horse, Avith bridle 
 in hand, ready to mount ; and^ lastly, 
 Charley in full Highland costume, a 
 portrait taken quite lately, and a capital 
 likeness. 
 
 '^ Miss Jennings," said the old lady 
 keenly, *^you appear to have found an 
 interesting study." 
 
 Annie blushed faintly, answering, '* it 
 is only a book of photographs." 
 
 '' What a pleasant art photography is 
 to be sure," said Miss Gray. '' Show 
 
 VOL. I. e:
 
 130 Annie Jennings. 
 
 rae that book, dear Annie, I am 
 so fond of looking at pictures of 
 even entire strangers ; we stop and 
 look in at the very shop windows, 
 Lady Merton. Ah, here I perceive a 
 likeness of your handsome young 
 nephew." 
 
 " Yes ; did you see it. Miss Jen- 
 nings ?" inquired Lady Merton, drily. 
 
 "Yes, it is a good likeness," an- 
 swered Annie, calmly. 
 
 " Mr. Maitland has been very polite 
 to us, Lady Merton," said Miss 
 Gray. '' He has sent us cards for his 
 ball on the 15th. Is your ladyship 
 going ?" 
 
 " Well, not exactly ; my ball days 
 are past, Miss Gray." 
 
 '' Of course, Lady Merton ; but
 
 Ajinie Je fining ii, 131 
 
 this being your nephew's ball 1 
 thought it might be an exceptional 
 case." 
 
 " I am not as romantic as you 
 suppose, Miss Gray ; and my ne- 
 phew would prefer, I should say, the 
 ball-room being filled with the young 
 and gay rather than wdth creatures such 
 as I, whose life haugs on a thread. 
 I hope Miss Jennings will enjoy her 
 dance, and meet w^ith a suitable and 
 a profitable partner. Good morning. 
 Miss Gray ; good morning, Miss Jen- 
 nings." 
 
 And she bowed them out of the 
 room without having waited for the 
 ladies to rise of their own free will, 
 or her visitors to be shown the 
 door. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 Annie Jennings, 
 
 " Her ladyship does not look as 
 well by daylight, Annie, as at night. 
 I don't think that she was in a good 
 humour either." 
 
 " JSTo, I think not," musingly replied 
 Annie, who was wondering in her secret 
 soul if Lady Merton had had any 
 ground for her unpleasing manner to 
 her and her aunt ; her parting words 
 were said, she thought, in a significant 
 tone, as if more was meant than met 
 the ear.
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 DEPARTURE OF THE REGIMENT OE 
 
 HIGHLANDERS. 
 
 The ball night arrived. Edinburgh 
 was in a state of intense excitement. If 
 the gallant regiment of Highlanders 
 slaughter as successfully on the field 
 of battle as they have done in the many 
 drawing-rooms in Ediuburgh, verily 
 theirs will be a successful career. For 
 on this, the eve of their departure, the 
 cry that went up was something like 
 to that heard in the land of Egypt on
 
 134 Annie Jennings. 
 
 the night of the last and greatest 
 plague. Not one house escaped; but 
 in this instance it was not always the 
 first-born who was the victim, and 
 we trust the killed meant only the 
 Irishman's Z:i7/^— prostration for a 
 time. 
 
 A splendid ball it was. Carte blanche 
 the officers gave the trades-people, while 
 dressmakers and milliners exhausted 
 fancy to meet the wishes and orders of 
 their fair customers. Haute noblesse 
 honoured the ball with their presence, 
 and basses citoyennes graced it with 
 their presence, and among them, pre- 
 eminent as the fairest of the fair, was 
 Annie Jennings — fair as ever sun shone 
 on, or that gas chandeliers tried to 
 spoil.
 
 Ajinie Jennings. 135 
 
 Dressed in lier snowy floating 
 drapery, she might have been seen 
 half the evening in the arms of 
 Charley Maitland, at once the hap- 
 piest and most miserable of mortals. 
 
 " Annie," he murmured, '' never 
 forget me." 
 
 *' Never, Charley!" 
 
 "• Be true to me, darling, though 
 seas divide us." 
 
 '' Can you doubt me, Charley ?" 
 
 " I should be a brute to do so, 
 sweetest; but I feel at once so happy, 
 and, 0, so miserable !" 
 
 '' Charley, you are a goose ! don't 
 I say I shall never forget you, and 
 four years is not a lifetime, they 
 will soon be over ; so now be a wise 
 boy and enjoy the present."
 
 136 Annie Jennings. 
 
 '' I enjoy, I revel in the present, 
 but, oil, the future I cannot face." 
 
 " Yes, Charley, but listen ! there 
 is that delicious valse beginning 
 again, shall we take a turn ?" 
 Then off they whirled again, Annie 
 up to the last continuing fresh and 
 unblown. 
 
 '' She is a vampire," said Elliot, 
 who had been watching her during 
 the evening with great interest, on 
 account of his friend Charley. 
 
 " She is a vampire," he repeated 
 to his fair friend Lady Julia, wJio to 
 please him had thrown off her crape 
 and appeared at his ball. Lady Julia 
 had promised conditionally. 
 
 " Swear to me that you will not 
 induce me to dance if I go to
 
 Annie Jennings . 137 
 
 this ball, Mr. Elliot ; the world 
 is so ill-natured, they remember to 
 the very hour how long one is a 
 widow, and make no allowances for 
 circumstances which affect the loss 
 sustained, and that properly should 
 regulate the conduct." 
 
 " True, indeed, Lady Julia, but 
 be above the world's opinion. Take 
 it at its worth, which is nothing. 
 Your friends know how poor Bu- 
 chanan was forced on you, and 
 what a wretched valetudinarian he 
 was, and years older than you." 
 
 Lady Julia sighed, and consented 
 to appear at the ball, though she 
 would not dance. 
 
 "1 am going simply to oblige you.
 
 138 Annie Jennings. 
 
 Mr. Elliot, so pray consent to this 
 my little weakness." 
 
 And she called lier maid, to consult 
 about the dress convenahle for two 
 opposites — dress for a husband six 
 months dead, and dress for a ball- 
 room. 
 
 The girl looked puzzled, albeit she 
 was French ; she requested time, an 
 hour say, to reflect. 
 
 '' Not longer, Annette," said her 
 ladyship, looking at her watch; 
 '' I shall be une jntoT/ahle until you 
 decide." 
 
 '' Une heure, miladi, je ne demande 
 pas plus." 
 
 Annette kept her word, and re- 
 turned triumphant, her artist brain 
 had pictured a dress at once sombre
 
 Annie Jennings, 139 
 
 and lio'ht, suo^aestive of sentiment for 
 the past and sentiment for the present. 
 So much we inform our readers, but 
 details are inexpedient, obviously so ; 
 for we do not approve of widows of 
 six months' standing appearing at 
 balls ; no matter (we are moral) of 
 what age or state of health the late 
 husbands were, and we will not give 
 any countenance to such conduct by 
 describing minutely Mademoiselle An- 
 nette's artful triumph. 
 
 Lady Julia was enchanted when 
 dressed in her cloudy raiment, through 
 which the mellow tint gave promise of 
 bright days yet in prospect for her. 
 She embraced her soubrette, kissed 
 her lovely boy's brow hghtly as he 
 lay sleeping peacefully in his little bed,
 
 140 Annie Jennings, 
 
 and flying doivn stairs she met young 
 Elliot flying up stairs to meet her. He 
 had come to protect her into the ball- 
 room, as, naturally, lonely she would 
 feel at this her entrance into public 
 life after such a loss as she had sus- 
 tained. 
 
 ''Remember, Mr. Elhot," she said, 
 slightly pressing the arm on which 
 she leaned ; " I will not dance, 
 on this I have quite made up my 
 mind; I will not valse under twelve 
 months." 
 
 " Heavens above !" exclaimed Elliot, 
 '* but your ladyship shall be obeyed." 
 And so it happened that he had leisure 
 while squiring Lady Julia about, to 
 remark on his friend Charley and his 
 fair partner.
 
 Annie Jennings, 141 
 
 " She is nothing less than a vam- 
 pire. See, Lady Julia, she is fresh as 
 a Mayflower, and it five o'clock in the 
 morning." 
 
 '^ Disgusting !" replied Lady Julia, 
 enviously, '' it argues such want of 
 feeling." 
 
 '* If so — and its opposite is shown 
 by flushed and wearied faces — by Jove, 
 what a deal of feeling we have got 
 stoved up here in these rooms," said 
 Elhot, as crowds of jaded forms filed 
 past them. 
 
 " Time for me to retire, Mr. EUiot," 
 said the lady, the prudence of such a 
 step being suggested to her by his 
 remarks, although she knew her dress 
 was uncrushed and her cheeks were 
 neither flushed or pallid. Being no
 
 142 Annie Jennings, 
 
 sharer in tlie dance served the former, 
 and the slightest soup^on of rouge pre- 
 served her from the latter. 
 
 As they passed from the ball-room 
 to the smaller reception-rooms they 
 encountered stragglers now and agaiu, 
 couples seated on benches behind doors 
 and curtain drapery, and turn where he 
 would, Elliot perceived that a brother 
 ofl&cer made one of the two, all engaged 
 in taking tender leave of inconsolable 
 maidens. 
 
 " We may call these gentlemen the 
 forlorn ho;pe, I think, Mr. Elliot," wit- 
 tily remarked Lady Julia. 
 
 *'Look, Lady Julia," he whispered, 
 "there is the vampire again;" Lady 
 Julia affectedly shuddered and hurried 
 her steps. There indeed was poor
 
 Annie Jennings. 143 
 
 Charley, the picture of misery, trying 
 to say a last farewell to his Annie, 
 his saint. 
 
 " Poor Charley is terribly cut up," 
 Elliot said, " India, however, will do 
 him all the good in the world, he will 
 meet there plenty of vampires, and 
 since that is his taste he will be sure to 
 be pleased." 
 
 Then, handing Lady Julia into her 
 carriage, he thanked her gallantly for 
 doing him the honour of coming to his 
 ball. 
 
 " No other gentleman in the regiment 
 would have induced me to do so," she 
 murmured, leaving her ungloved hand 
 in his for a moment. 
 
 " I know it. Lady Julia, and a 
 thousand thanks," responded Mr. Elliot,
 
 144 Annie Jennings. 
 
 kissing the white hand ; then ordering 
 the coachman to drive on, he returned 
 to the ball-room. And now a very 
 commonplace accident occurred to him, 
 very common indeed, yet it decided his 
 lot in life ; fate had placed it aside until 
 the fitting hour should come, and behold 
 it is at hand. 
 
 Mr. Elliot had had no dancing ; to 
 Lady Julia's side he had kept all that 
 evening, he would fain have had it 
 otherwise, but in duty he was bound 
 to her so long as she desired, and some- 
 how she had kept him, although she had 
 constantly said with the prettiest air of 
 unselfishness possible — 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Elliot, do not mind me ; 
 do find a partner for a valse, I can 
 take care of myself quite properly now
 
 Annie Jennings, 145 
 
 — I am an old matron — no one will 
 care to look twice having looked once." 
 And Lady Julia siglied. " I can think 
 of my little cherub at home, who per- 
 haps I should not have left — but ah ! 
 Mr. Elliot, you were the serpent in my 
 Eden," added the lady, playfully holding 
 up a slender finger fitted into an ex- 
 quisite kid glove. 
 
 '' Lady Julia, unless you drive me 
 from you I will not desert you, you came 
 here to please me, and I should be 
 ungrateful to leave you." 
 
 And manfully he kept to her side, 
 and stayed his feet from the mazy dance 
 to which the enchanting strains of the 
 band invited him. But now she was 
 gone, he might get one gallop down 
 that glorious length of waxed floor, and 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 Annie Jennings. 
 
 rushing up stairs he seized on the first 
 girl he met of his acquaintance, and 
 scarcely waiting for her consent he 
 whirled her down the room at full 
 speed ; and as he did he so slipt from 
 no apparent cause (invisible fate stand- 
 ing by) and broke the small bone of 
 his leg just above the ankle ; he had pre- 
 sence of mind to disengage his partner, 
 who spun on alone for a few seconds, 
 then she turned to assist poor Elliot 
 who lay groaning. The doctor was 
 called to his assistance, who pronounced 
 it a bad accident, and said Mr. Elliot 
 must by no means think of proceeding 
 with his regiment to India. In vain 
 Mr. Elliot remonstrated, the surgeon 
 was unchangeable in his opinion, con- 
 sequently Mr. Elliot must remain for
 
 Annie Jennings, ' 147 
 
 a few clays in Edinburgli, and then 
 move to his father's house in Perth- 
 shire. 
 
 Mr. ElHot, senior, was a clergyman 
 with but one child, George Elliot, 
 Lieutenant in Her Majesty's High- 
 landers ; his mother was dead, and the 
 Rev. Mr. Elliot was now married to 
 a sister of Mr. Buchanan, Lady Juha's 
 late husband. Thus there Avas formed 
 a connexion between the Elliots and 
 Buchanans, which we trust will justify 
 Lady Julia in our reader's eyes for 
 flying to George Elhot's bed-side, 
 and nursing him through that very 
 jDainful accident which he had met 
 with. 
 
 In a few days, however, she was 
 relieved at her interesting post, for Mr. 
 
 L 2
 
 148 Annie Jennings, 
 
 Elliot came to Edinburgli to fetcli his 
 son to country air, where lie should 
 receive every sort of care from his 
 excellent mother-in-law. When good, 
 kind Mr. ElHot heard of Lady JuHa's 
 kindness to his son (although he 
 could not approve of her going to 
 the ball) he warmly invited her and 
 her little son, Billy, to his Highland 
 home. 
 
 " Come down with us. Lady Julia, 
 Dorothea will be glad to see you, and 
 we shall feed your little Billy off the 
 farm. He shall drink the milk as it 
 runs into the pails, and eat the best of 
 my black face sheep, and sip up the 
 heather honey until his little sides drop 
 fatness." 
 
 This prospect was pleasant, and
 
 Annie Jennings. MO 
 
 Lady Julia eagerly caught at it ; but her 
 view was even a brighter one, and of 
 this Mr. Elliot, senior, had not had 
 even a glimpse. 
 
 She saw — but surely it is needless to 
 say what she saw in the distance. A 
 country house is sometimes, and under 
 certain circumstances, as pleasant a 
 place as can be conceived, peculiarly 
 suited now to Lady Julia's mitigated 
 affliction, so she sweetly accepted the 
 Reverend Mr. Elliot's openhearted in- 
 vitation; and leaving her ball dress 
 behind carefully folded in sheets of 
 silver paper and strewn with lavender, 
 she and her little Billy with Mademoi- 
 selle Annette joined the two Elliots 
 next morning, and with them journeyed 
 west.
 
 150 Annie Jennings. 
 
 Mr. George Elliot had the grief of 
 hearing his band announce the de- 
 parture of his regiment, playing their 
 favourite and heartless tune of '' The 
 girl I left behind me," as they marched 
 down the old Castle hill, with knap- 
 sacks packed ready for their long 
 journey. With due order they all 
 got into place in the express train 
 prepared for them, and puff, puff, off 
 they crept, slowly, slowly, until the 
 steam was up, and then, like the 
 wind, they rushed along out of sight, 
 that gallant — cruel — heart- slaying — 
 Highlanders. 
 
 Many a silly girl at the sound buried 
 her face in her pillow, weeping — weep- 
 ing tears — salt tears — that would not 
 be controlled, confidins: them to that
 
 Annie Jennings. 151 
 
 soft and most comfortable article of 
 furniture; and yet the most wretched 
 among them was happy compared to 
 our poor Charley. 
 
 Four long years to have to live 
 through without his saint. heavens ! 
 what a trial. But he would write daily 
 to her, keep a journal, talk to her, call 
 
 her bv tenderest names ; and then the 
 
 t/ 
 
 answers to these blessed gifts — her 
 thoughts, her words made his for ever, 
 confided to his keeping : better, far 
 better, than speech ; heaven while 
 listened to, but then, what remained? 
 — echoes, shadows, like to Sodomite 
 apples ; while, on the contrary ; letters 
 are tangible things— to be handled — 
 read — kissed — kept — taken out now and 
 again when memory requires a help;
 
 152 Annie Jennings. 
 
 again, how one can possess such 
 treasures ad infinitum get up a httle 
 store of them ; and actually hold back 
 time, that is always seeking to elude 
 our grasp. At these thoughts Charley 
 brightened up, looked out of window, 
 observed with clear vision that the 
 fields were green and the sky was blue. 
 By the time he had reached South- 
 ampton he was in a very rational frame 
 of mind. 
 
 Eeturning home from the ball. Miss 
 Gray had put one or two questions to 
 her niece, who was pertinaciously keep- 
 ing her head out of window. 
 
 '' Annie, who were your partners 
 this evening? I did not see you 
 dancing with anyone but young Mr. 
 Maitland."
 
 Annie Jennings, 153 
 
 No reply. 
 
 *' Annie, my love, do you hear me ? 
 Who were your partners ?" 
 
 '' Mr. Maitland, Aunt Jane," rephed 
 the young lady, without altering her 
 position. 
 
 " Who else, Annie ?" 
 
 Silence again. Aunt Jane looked 
 vexed, and was about to repeat her 
 question a little sharply, when she 
 observed a heavy drop roll down 
 Annie's cheek and break on her satin 
 sash. 
 
 " Umph, umph," she said, under her 
 breath, and closing her eyes, lay back 
 in the carriage reflectingly ; but Annie 
 was not disposed, for reasons of her 
 own, to permit such a dangerous line 
 of thought as she perceived her aunt
 
 154 Annie Jennings, 
 
 was commencing, so checking ber tears, 
 she astonished Miss Gray by beginning 
 to converse in Hvely tones about the 
 ball. 
 
 "Aunt Jane, did you observe a very 
 nice-looking lady, dressed very fanci- 
 fully? She wore a large black tissue 
 veil, studded with stars. I named her 
 the * Goddess of Night ' — she did not 
 dance." 
 
 " Yes, Annie, I did remark her, 
 walking about all the evening with 
 the same gentleman— bold hussey, I 
 thought her, though I can't deny 
 that she was very nice-looking in- 
 deed. I remarked she had lovely black 
 hair." 
 
 "That was Mr. Elliot, one of the 
 Highland officers, who was with her,
 
 Annie Jennings. 155 
 
 and she is Lady Juliet Buchanan, a 
 daughter of the Duke of St. Ives." 
 
 '' Indeed, dear. I don't care who 
 she is, my opinion is all the same — I 
 think she is a bold minx. It will not 
 be her fault if she does not get mar- 
 ried to that young man." 
 ^ Annie yawned, and said — 
 
 " I am so tired. Aunt, let me sleep 
 till evening; and, thank goodness, here 
 we are at home at last," as the car- 
 riage stopped in Broughton Place, flat 
 No. 3. 
 
 " Sleep till evening, my child, and 
 then until morning, if you like ; you 
 do look tired. Kiss me, pet, and get 
 to bed as fast as you can. Put by 
 none of your finery until morning." 
 
 And Miss Grray dismissed poor
 
 156 Annie Jennings, 
 
 Annie to her restless couch, lookino^ as 
 unhke Mr. Elhot's idea of a vampire 
 as he could desire. 
 
 Miss Gray, having sent away Annie, 
 began to ruminate over her tears, as 
 she undressed. Laying aside the cap 
 and wig, she replaced them by a 
 large night-cap with immense borders. 
 Miss Gray might innocently indulge 
 her taste in wearing immense borders, 
 as she had no one's comforts to 
 consider in this matter but her 
 own. 
 
 This fabric she confined with a binder, 
 and once it was pinned on and her 
 feet made comfortable in easy slip- 
 pers, she was in a state to reflect : 
 and she did reflect; and deeply, over 
 that one large pearly drop, so large
 
 Annie Jennings. 157 
 
 that it broke and scattered little 
 seedlings around it, on Annie's pretty 
 sash. 
 
 Could it be possible that her niece 
 should love Lady Merton's nephew 
 and the Honourable and Reverend 
 Daniel Merton's first cousin ? At this 
 hideous thought the wide borders stood 
 on end. 
 
 " Thank Heaven !" she ejaculated 
 aloud, *' thank Heaven, that the young 
 man will be in a few hours out of 
 this altogether. Even should my idea 
 be correct, there can be but little mis- 
 chief done." 
 
 Miss Gray tried to compose herself 
 with this thought, and lay down on 
 her virgin couch, but not to sleep — 
 at least the sleep that did come to
 
 158 Annie JeMnings. 
 
 her was born of nightmare ; and more 
 than once she started up in a state 
 of white heat from visions of Lady 
 Merton, like an avenging fury, stand- 
 ing by her side. 
 
 " Indeed, your ladyship, I am not 
 to blame, I never knew of it," she 
 cowardly said, and awoke — awoke to 
 find that this was a dream, and that 
 the idea which had given birth to it 
 was merely an idea, and possibly a 
 false one. 
 
 When Miss Gray saw Annie each 
 day occupied in her usual manner, 
 visiting her school, taking her walk, 
 knitting no end of stockings — Annie 
 was a famous knitter — and going re- 
 gularly with her to church, she began 
 to gain courage, and dismissed as ab-
 
 Annie Jennings, 159 
 
 surd the idea whicli had so distressed 
 her. 
 
 The only change she perceived, 
 was that Miss Jennings spent more 
 time in her own room, and wrote 
 more letters. The post also came 
 oftener to the house, but he could 
 not bring letters to flat No. 3, or 
 surely Miss Gray would have seen 
 them. 
 
 Miss Gray forgot that Janet was 
 very fond of Annie, and she did not 
 know that the days the Southampton 
 and Marseilles mails came in, that 
 Janet found the scale staircase a very 
 pleasant place, where she had no end 
 of gossip with the friendly postman. 
 
 Summer had now set in with un- 
 common heat, the Honourable and
 
 160 Annie Jennings. 
 
 Reverend Daniel, with Lady Merton, 
 had fled from the burning pavements 
 long ago, and sought coolness in the 
 Isle of Bute. 
 
 Miss Gray felt lonely in her accus- 
 tomed place in church without her be- 
 loved pastor. Both she and Annie felt 
 languid. 
 
 ''I think, my child," she said, "we 
 will go for a few weeks to Blair 
 More; it will do you and me both 
 a world of good. You look pale, dear, 
 and as for me, I feel as dry as a 
 sucked lemon — umph, umph ! Should 
 you like it, Annie ?" 
 
 "Yes, dear Aunt Jane; I am quite 
 as tired as you are of these dusty 
 streets and closed-up houses. When 
 will you start ?"
 
 Annie Jennings, 161 
 
 " Next week, Annie, we will sliut 
 up like tlie grandees, and leave a notice 
 outside where our letters are to be 
 sent." 
 
 At this common and uninteresting 
 remark, Annie coloured up to the eyes 
 and turned away. 
 
 In another week, as Miss Gray had 
 said, flat No. 3 was closed, and the 
 postman was left directions where to 
 deliver the letters for the next three 
 months, and Annie with Miss Gray 
 went ofl* to Blair More to seek for 
 fresh air and roses. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 IX WHICH LADY JULIA SHOWS MR. ELLIOT, 
 SEN., THE PICTURES SHE HAD IN VIEW. 
 
 Lady Julia Buchanan was a duke's 
 daughter, but tlie duke, though a 
 duke, was poor. Blessed he was, cer- 
 tainly, in the Psalmist's sense of the 
 word, for his quiver was full. Not 
 fewer than seven ladies, by courtesy, 
 had he to doter and get husbands 
 for ; so when Lady Julia, the fifth 
 in descent, flirted abominably with 
 Mr. Buchanan of ancient Scottish
 
 Annie Jennings, 1 63 
 
 family, and with five thousand a 
 year, the old Duke welcomed the 
 alhance, albeit the gentleman numbered 
 fifty summers and Lady Jidia but 
 sixteen. 
 
 She married him, triumphant at 
 leaving four older sisters still spin- 
 sters; and with this feeling, the pre- 
 dominant one, is it a marvel tbat 
 book-loving Mr. Buchanan was not 
 happy in his noble choice ? He took 
 her to Rome, and while he lived in 
 its ancient glories, she lived in its 
 present pleasures — dressed, danced, 
 flirted, emptied his pockets, and re- 
 turned to Scotland, to her husband's 
 home, a very knowing lady as ever 
 numbered twenty years. 
 
 Their little Billy was born in the 
 
 M 2
 
 164 Annie Jennings. 
 
 purple city, living for two years under 
 shadow of the Papal hand, the fairest 
 little blossom that ever gladdened 
 parents' eyes. But his mother did 
 not love him as we see some mothers 
 love their offspring, and he was yet 
 too young to be a comfort to his 
 father. 
 
 Daily he was carried in by 
 nurse to receive the parental kiss, 
 which he received with lively Grow- 
 ings and stretching out of little legs 
 and arms. This atom in creation, 
 however, was not sufficient with its 
 love to keep the disappointed, weakly 
 father alive, and he sunk rapidly 
 through the want of tender nursing 
 and by Ineans of a Scottish climate, 
 and was carried to his family vault in
 
 Annie Jennings. 165 
 
 three years after tlieir return from 
 Italy. 
 
 We kuow already liow Lady Julia 
 Tuourned for him, and for this her 
 past and present conduct her sister- 
 in-law, Mrs. Elliot, hated her. No 
 milder term suited the energetic 
 warm-hearted woman. 
 
 " For my sake, Dorothea, aud for 
 the sake of your little nephew, treat 
 her civilly. I invited her here, and 
 she, under my roof, at least must be 
 respected." 
 
 "Yes, sir, (Mrs. Elliot always call- 
 ed her husband, sir, or Mr. Elliot). 
 You need not fear; if she says black 
 is white T will not contradict her, or 
 if she marries your son I wdll provide 
 the cake for the weddiug," and Mrs.
 
 166 Annie Jennings. 
 
 Elliot marched off, leaving her husband 
 twisting his thumbs, and looking rather 
 foolish. 
 
 Every evening Lady Julia enter- 
 tained the invalid — who reclined on a 
 couch, and Mr. Elhot, who reposed in 
 his chair — with her guitar. The red 
 ribbon round her fair throat formed 
 a pretty contrast with her black 
 dress, and her little feet, supported 
 on a high stool, displayed their ex- 
 quisite shape to George Elliot, who 
 viewed them with half-closed eyes. 
 
 She had a beautiful contralto voice, 
 and she sang ballads to perfection — 
 ballads of all countries, giving to each 
 their characteristic expression. The 
 listener could scarcely award the 
 palm to one above the other ; Spanish,
 
 Annie Jennings, 167 
 
 Neapolitan, Irish, Scotch, followed 
 each other in rapid succession, and 
 met with bursts of admiration from 
 both her hearers. The most plain- 
 tive were listened to by Mr. Elliot, 
 sen., with tears coursing each other 
 down his cheeks, (he was a lover of 
 music), while George's eyes were 
 fastened on the inspired singer. During 
 this entertainment Mrs. Elliot was 
 always obliged to leave the room. 
 She devoted that time to little Billy 
 in the nursery, who as a regular 
 matter looked for her appearing. 
 Dear Granny, as he called her — 
 Dear Granny would then tell him tales 
 just as they came uppermost in her 
 mind, and little Billy always cried for 
 '* more, more." He was very fond
 
 168 Annie Jennings, 
 
 of fishing and Mr. Elliot had given 
 him little baby tackle, so his favourite 
 stories were always those connected 
 with fish. 
 
 " Tell me, granny, more about 
 the flies and the minnows," he said, and 
 pillowed on her kind bosom with 
 liis soft round cheek pressed to her 
 shoulder, she invented to his little 
 heart's content ; and underneath sat 
 Lady Julia, fiishing another sort of 
 sport to that which her little Billy 
 loved, and showed herself a clever 
 sportswoman. She sucessfully played 
 with, caught, and landed young 
 George Elliot. 
 
 "I told you so," fairly enough, 
 retorted Mrs. Elliot to her husband, 
 *' and now I will make their cake."
 
 Annie Jennings, 169 
 
 Mr. Elliot, senior, was vexed ; be 
 would rather his son had not mar- 
 i*ied so early in life, and he would 
 rather he had chosen another wife; 
 but he had not as bad an opinion of 
 Lady Julia as his impetuous wife 
 had. He considered that the soil to 
 which she had been transplanted on 
 her marriage had not been congenial 
 to her nature ; and although in any 
 case she could not be considered as 
 a valuable plant — still under proper 
 treatment he believed she would, for 
 her species, turn out very well. 
 
 At all events, he would not coerce 
 his son; it was against his principles 
 to do so, unless it were a question 
 of morals, so he not only gave his 
 consent to the match, but doubled
 
 170 Annie Jenn 
 
 ings. 
 
 Ms son's already handsome allowance. 
 He made only one condition — that 
 he should not give up his profession. 
 
 " Certainly not, my dear father, it 
 is the last thing I would wish. Julia 
 will go with me, she says, to Tim- 
 buctoo, Hong Kong, or any other 
 place on the habitable globe," said 
 George, almost enthusiastically, for 
 although he had not quite chosen to 
 marry just at present, he was touched 
 by her expressed devotion. 
 
 " We will take care of Billy for her 
 ladyship ; won't we, Dorothea ?" asked 
 Mr. Elliot of his wife, who was pre- 
 sent. 
 
 ''Yes, of course, Mr. Elhot, we 
 would scarcely send him out to India 
 to die of fever before a week was out.
 
 Annie Jennings. 171 
 
 Were her ladyship hkely to be 
 anxious about the precious Httle fel- 
 low, I would tell her there was no 
 need;" and she muttered, ''I will 
 take as good care of him as 
 she does of herself; that is saying 
 enough." 
 
 George heard her, and coloured. 
 
 " Mother, T must say you are 
 hard on Lady Julia." 
 
 " Perhaps so, George. If so, God 
 forgive me ; I pray she may be to 
 you a better wife than she was to 
 my poor brother," and putting her 
 handkerchief to her eyes, the warm- 
 hearted woman left the room. 
 
 '' Father," asked George, anxiously, 
 " do you take the same view of Lady 
 Julia's character as mother does ?"
 
 172 Annie Jennings. 
 
 " No, George, certainly not ; I 
 am quite sure she has a great deal of 
 good in her, and I have no doubt 
 she will roake you a very affectionate, 
 and probably jealous wife;" and Mr. 
 Elliot smiled. 
 
 George looked gloomy, and had 
 recourse to a cigar. He muttered 
 something in going out very like — 
 
 '' It can't be helped now," or 
 words bearing that philosophical 
 meaning. True, it was now too 
 late to discuss this matter, and 
 George manfully faced his lot, ma- 
 king the very best of it. He must 
 go up to Edinburgh to arrange about 
 settlements and other matters con- 
 nected with his nuptials. On ac- 
 count of the necessity of his joining
 
 Annie Jennings. 173 
 
 liis regiment in India, Lady Julia 
 overlooked the propriety of waiting 
 until tlie twelve months allotted to 
 widowhood bad expired. 
 
 " So that dear Mrs. ElHot does 
 not consider me a savage," she said 
 sweetly. " It is ten months exactly 
 since your i)oor brother's death," she 
 continued, (referring to her almanack,) 
 (Lady Julia had a habit of consider- 
 ing her husband as other people's 
 relations more than her own, and 
 her child in the same way.) 
 
 '' Your little nejpheiu, my Billy, is 
 just six years and ten months 
 old." 
 
 Mrs. EUiot could with difficulty 
 refrain from slapping her, and if 
 she only could have slapped her, she,
 
 174 Annie Jennings. 
 
 Mrs. Elliot, would have felc much 
 relieved ; but she had made her 
 promise to her husband to behave 
 politely to her, and she was a wo- 
 man of her word. She shifted un- 
 easily on her seat, and at the first 
 break in her talk got up and left 
 her. 
 
 Lady Julia was vain and obtuse ; 
 she had no idea of Mrs. Elliot's feel- 
 ings towards her. She thought her 
 often brusque in manner, and very 
 ill-tempered — '' wonderfully like, in 
 some respects, to poor Buchanan," 
 she used to say, but she excused 
 her, " her opportunities had been so 
 few for mixing among the ' Yere de 
 Yeres,' and she was getting into 
 years, poor old soul." To her dismay.
 
 Annie Jennings. 175 
 
 she found tliat she was to be left 
 to her company for the few days the 
 gentlemen would spend in Edinburgh, 
 so she arranged, in her own mind, 
 to be a little unwell and to keep to 
 her private apartment, when, with 
 her favourite companion — her French 
 maid — she would make out a list of 
 dress for her trousseau, and for In- 
 dia. Plenty of occupation, and food 
 convenient for her mind she would 
 thus secure, and exemption from her 
 dear sister-in-law and future mother- 
 in-law's company. Mrs. Elliot, for 
 her part, was delighted at this ar- 
 rangement ; she was thus spared the 
 difficult task she had anticipated, and 
 for strength to meet which she was 
 prepared to make a subject of prayer.
 
 176 Annie Jennings. 
 
 Little Billy and she fislied, and 
 picked buttercups and daisies, ma- 
 king endless chains of 'em for " mam- 
 ma," the only part of the play in 
 which granny did not find delight, but 
 she would not be guilty of checking 
 the little son in his devotion to his 
 mother, she merely lifted up hands 
 and eyes at his angelic innocence.
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 A STARTLING REVELATION. 
 
 Meanwhile George Elliot flew through 
 Edinburgh, paying farewell bachelor 
 visits to a few fair friends and visiting 
 his club en gargon once more, — he was 
 a light-hearted fellow, however, and 
 having made up his mind to be hanged, 
 as some of his friends ungallantly named 
 the approaching ceremony, he resolved 
 to die like a brave man, and sped along 
 the streets gaily, asking for congratu- 
 
 vol. I. N .
 
 178 Annie Jennings. 
 
 lations of the acquaintances lie chanced 
 to meet. 
 
 Among others he thus stumbled on 
 was our friend the Honourable and Rev. 
 Daniel Merton, who, with his mother, 
 had returned the previous week to their 
 mansion in Charlotte Square. Daniel 
 suffered from some defect of vision that 
 obliged him to wear spectacles, yet not 
 so much to assist his sight as to hide the 
 painful-looking deformity of both eyes 
 turning inward. Daniel was but a man, 
 although esteemed a joropliet among his 
 friends, and in saying so we merely state, 
 as a necessary corollary, that he was 
 vain ; and this defect in his eyes was as 
 a thorn in his flesh. His rigidity of 
 muscle, and the spectacles, combined to 
 add years to his appearance ; yet he was
 
 Annie Jennings. 179 
 
 a young man, and of this few strangers 
 were aware. 
 
 *' Mr. Merton, I beg pardon," said a 
 voice in his ear, and behind his back, 
 and if we call to mind the peculiar mode 
 in wliich he carried his head, this quarter 
 to address him was the very best. 
 
 Mr. Merton turned, on being so 
 greeted, and met the beaming face of 
 George Elliot. 
 
 '' Mr. Elliot, ah ! how is the leg ? 
 All right, I presume." 
 
 " Quite right, thanks. I ran after 
 you to say that I start for India in three 
 weeks, so that if Lady Merton or you 
 have any message for Cousin Charley, if 
 you send it to my club before then, I 
 shall have great pleasure in conveying it 
 to him." 
 
 N 2
 
 180 Annie Jennings. 
 
 ^' Thanks ; you are very good. I 
 liave nothing to send that a letter 
 cannot carry. I will tell my mother of 
 your kind offer, perhaps she may be 
 glad to take advantage of it. When 
 do yon leave Scotland, do you say ?" 
 
 '' In three weeks. I have much to 
 do in the meantime, and have to ask for 
 your congratulations. I am not going 
 solitary back to India like poor Cousin 
 Charley ; Lady Julia Buchanan does me 
 the honour of accompanying me as Lady 
 Julia Elliot." 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Elliot, I do congratu- 
 late you," answered the Honourable 
 and Reverend Daniel, taking his arm. 
 " How did this happen; did it all 
 result from a fracture r" he inquired 
 jocosely.
 
 Annie Jennings, 181 
 
 ''No, not altogether : I believe it 
 fiDished it." (Here Mr. Merton took 
 off his Imt to two ladies who passed.) 
 '' I beg your pardon," said Mr. Elhot, 
 interrupting himself, '' but will you tell 
 me who that young lady is ? Is she" 
 (looking after her involuntarily) " Miss 
 Jennings ?" 
 
 "Yes, she is Miss Jennings," rather 
 stiffly replied Mr. Merton. 
 
 ''Ah, I am glad to have seen 
 her, on Charley's account. I am 
 bringing him out a fine oil likeness 
 of her. It was not ready when he 
 left; lucky for him I got that frac- 
 
 ture." 
 
 " You do not mean to say my cousin 
 is so very silly as to pay what an 
 oil picture must cost for the sake of a
 
 182 Annie Jennings, 
 
 pretty face ?" asked Mr. Merton tre- 
 mulously. 
 
 " For the sake of a pretty face !" re- 
 peated Elliot with surprise. "Not 
 surely alone for the sake of a pretty face, 
 but for the sake of the girl to whom he 
 • is engaged." 
 
 The Honourable and Reverend Mr. 
 Merton visibly started, but with mea- 
 sured tones replied — 
 
 " Engaged, Mr. Elliot ; no, surely 
 not engaged. He may be fool enough 
 to love her (fie, fie, young prophet), 
 but as to being engaged — impossible !" 
 almost snorted out Mr. Merton. 
 
 '^ It is both possible and a fact, Mr. 
 Merton," obstinately repeated Mr. El- 
 liot. " I have it from Charley's lips and 
 under his hand repeatedly. Ah ! this
 
 Annie Jennings. 183 
 
 is the shop where the picture lies, will 
 you come in and look at it ?" 
 
 "No, sir," sternly replied Mr. Mer- 
 ton. " I have no interest in this 
 business (fie, fie, young prophet), and 
 if it be true what you state so deci- 
 dedly, I must take instant measures 
 to break off so absurd and improper 
 a connexion." 
 
 '' 0, Mr. Merton, I fear I have done 
 Charley some mischief, perhaps I 
 should not have mentioned this affair 
 — pray have pity on the poor fellow 
 — I never saw a fellow so in love, so 
 happy, and so miserable all at once ; 
 and the girl is so pretty, and seems 
 a nice girl. Why, why be so angry ?" 
 
 " You mistake me, Mr. Elliot, I am 
 not angry, as you express it. I am
 
 184 Annie Jennings. 
 
 shocked — grieved, to find that my 
 cousin has shown sucli disregard to 
 his ancient line — so litlte respect to 
 his father's — his mother's memory — 
 to say nothing of what he owes to 
 Lady Merton, and to me, his guar- 
 dian." 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Merton, I do not un- 
 derstand you; surely the girl is re- 
 spectable." 
 
 The Honourable and Reverend Daniel 
 laughed scornfully as he repeated the 
 obnoxious word respectable. 
 
 " Yes, I hope so, for her own sake, 
 yet scarcely fit, on that account, to 
 become a member of the houses of 
 Merton or Maitland. Adieu, Mr. 
 Elliot, your sentiments are a strange 
 contrast to your acts ; pray pre-
 
 Annie Jennings, 185 
 
 sent my compliments to Lady Julia," 
 and raising his hat he turned off, 
 while Mr. Elliot plaintively called after 
 liim. 
 
 '' Pray, Mr. Merton, be merciful to 
 Charley ; remember you were once 
 young." 
 
 " Uememher you ivere once young ^^ 
 painfully rang in the ears of the 
 Honourable and Reverend Daniel Mer- 
 ton, and yet he was but six-and- 
 thirty.
 
 CHAPTER VTI. 
 
 MISS GRAY EECEIVES A VISIT EEOM HER 
 PASTOR. 
 
 Six-and-thirty years to be told to 
 remember — to call to mind, as if from 
 ages past, the feelings of youth. It 
 was hard to bear, although said by a 
 man ten years his junior, and who spoke 
 it in ignorance of facts. Mr. Elliot 
 would undoubtedly have said that the 
 Honourable and Reverend D. Merton 
 had been at least twenty years longer 
 on earth than he, and as to his being
 
 Annie Jennings, 187 
 
 capable of love, he would liave as soon 
 believed it credible his father's old 
 gamekeeper being in love as Charley 
 Maitland's guardian cousin : and more 
 than this — in love with the girl of 
 whom he had spoken so slightingly, and 
 for whose sake he was so wrath with 
 Cousin Charley. 
 
 Mr. Merton's conscience was so 
 thickly covered with cobwebs, that to 
 do him justice, he did not perceive 
 what conscience would have shown 
 him, so in wrath, which he believed 
 to be righteous, that prophet strode 
 along the streets of Edinburgh ; not 
 walking in the manner which moody 
 men usually do, with head bent, and 
 shoulders drawn forward ; and if little
 
 188 Annie Jennings. 
 
 — with legs stretched to their utmost 
 limit striding on — but with head 
 erect, poised grander than ever on 
 the stately shoulders, he looked over 
 his fellow-men, disdain apparent in 
 every step. 
 
 From west to east Mr. Merton 
 walked, and stopped opposite to Miss 
 Gray's dwelling in Broughton Place, 
 flat No. 3 
 
 Without giving himself time to cool, 
 as was his usual custom, he knocked 
 and rang, and instantly ingress was 
 afforded up the scale staircase; and 
 with measured step — although so ex- 
 cited — he ascended and inquired if Miss 
 Gray had returned. 
 
 '' Yes, sir," replied Janet, '' bat
 
 Annie Jennings. 189 
 
 only yesterday, and slie lias seen no 
 visitor as yet." 
 
 This Janet added, hopiag the gentle^ 
 man would have taken the hint and 
 not desire to enter ; she knew how his 
 visit would flurry her mistress ; the 
 drawing-room was still in its summer 
 clothing, i.e., yellow muslin, in which 
 ornaments, glasses, and chandeliers 
 were enveloped — and windows and floor 
 were quite bare. Had Janet been 
 aware of the state of Mr. Merton's 
 mind, she would not have heeded where 
 she showed him, and she could have 
 eased the mind of poor Miss Gray, 
 who received the announcement of 
 his visit with the mixed feelino^s of 
 pleasure at his calling so soon after her 
 return, and the instant recollection
 
 190 Annie Jennings. 
 
 of the appearance the drawing-room 
 presented. 
 
 "Annie, dear, what a room for 
 Mr. Merton to see, without even a 
 fire to make it a little pleasant look- 
 ing." 
 
 " What matter, aunt, gentlemen 
 never mind such things ; probably 
 he will not see that it presents any 
 uncommon appearance unless indeed 
 he should feel cold ; go in at once, 
 Aunt Jane ; at all events put no temp- 
 tation in his way to perceive its defi- 
 ciencies." 
 
 '' Is my cap right, Annie ?" Miss 
 Gray inquired hurriedly, giving her- 
 self an uncomfortable look in the 
 glass. 
 
 " Yes, yes. Aunt Jane, you know
 
 Annie Jennings. 191 
 
 you always look charming in his eyes," 
 and Miss Jennings playfully pushed 
 her out of the door. In a second 
 she V7as in presence of her beloved 
 pastor. 
 
 " This is kind," said Miss Gray, 
 cheerily taking both his hands; one 
 was yielded to her grasp, and gave a 
 limp shake, the other was extricated 
 at once, and decidedly — no wonder, 
 for the handle of the umbrella was in- 
 cluded in her grasp. 
 
 '' How are you, Mr. Merton, and how 
 is her ladyship ?" Miss Gray inquired, 
 a little damped by his manner; not 
 that the limp shake denoted any un- 
 ordinary state of feelings. Here we 
 hope our readers will excuse us for 
 making a slight digression, while we
 
 192 Annie Jennings. 
 
 comment on three different modes of 
 performing our national mode of greet- 
 ing, as practised by tlie clerical body ; 
 and varied according to the development 
 of three different sections — which we 
 classify 1, 2, 3. 
 
 No. 1 — Those whose consciences 
 are bound by their ordination vows — 
 here hand-shaking is firm (soft or 
 hard, depending on physical confor- 
 mation) . 
 
 No. 2 — We name the borderers, who 
 sway from side to side, avoiding 
 breakers a-head, and advance with 
 a sure course ; here, hand-shaking 
 is limp, very limp, and only up- 
 held by the enthusiastic or hardy 
 pressure of the recipient. 
 
 No. 3 — Those bound by no rules,
 
 Annie Jennings, 193 
 
 t'ogue la galere whither the wind 
 blows — and to them is peculiar the 
 shake, warm, affectionate, whicli in 
 some instances amounts to a squeeze, 
 including the wrist as well as hand 
 of the victim. 
 
 This analysis is tlie result of severe 
 study, and as exceptions to rules 
 only prove the truth of them, we 
 shall not be the least discomfited by 
 many dissentient voices to it. 
 
 Mr. Merton's reply to Miss Gray's 
 inquiry for Lady Merton's health was 
 laconically made. '' She was better, 
 the air of Bute agreed with her ; 
 but would not Miss Gray sit down ?" for 
 Miss Gray still stood, and Mr. Merton 
 placed a seat for her, into which she 
 sank mechanically ; holding closely be- 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 Annie Jennings, 
 
 tween her folded palms a pocket- 
 handkerchief, snatched from her ward- 
 robe in haste, and dashed with drops 
 of some eau by Annie. Miss Gray 
 felt there was something very much 
 astray ; but what was it, what could 
 it be ? and had she been his butler 
 John, she would surely have imagined 
 that Mr. Merton had detected a 
 smudge on the neck of a claret jug. 
 
 Mr. Merton deliberately laid down 
 his hat and umbrella on Miss Gray's 
 dusty centre table, oblivious of dust, 
 that in his normal state his soul ab- 
 horred, and then with body free he 
 commenced to unload his mind. 
 
 " Miss Gray, I feel deeply pained 
 and mortified by an intelligence which 
 I received a short time ago; and well
 
 Annie Jennings, 195 
 
 authenticated as it appears to be, 
 I can scarcely yet quite credit it." 
 
 '' Sir, sir !" (Miss Gray all aghast). 
 
 ''Yes, Miss Gray; and I may truly 
 say that not the least grievous part 
 of it, is the necessity it enforces on 
 me to withdraw the feelino^s of friend- 
 liness and esteem which I have en- 
 tertained towards you, now for many 
 years." 
 
 "Mr. Merton — sir, there must be 
 some great mistake in this, I know 
 of nothing ; I am utterly ignorant of, 
 by act, word, or thought, anything 
 that could cause you annoyance." 
 
 Mr. Merton eyed her keenly ; truth, 
 firm, unshaken truth was written in 
 that poor flushed face — flushed into 
 unsightly spots of red and white by 
 
 2
 
 196 Annie Jennings, 
 
 nervous tremors, and instinctively he 
 believed her. Stretching out one 
 hand, he, for the nonce, shook her's 
 heartily, warmly; it was a shake ex- 
 pressive of — ''Forgive me, I sus- 
 pected you wrongly, and we are 
 friends again." 
 
 Miss Gray drew a long breath, the 
 spotted colour spread over cheeks and 
 brow, circulation commenced — she felt 
 herself once more. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Merton, what does all 
 this mean ?" 
 
 " Dear old friend, I fear I must grieve 
 you ; I never should have doubted you, 
 yet the double guilt thus laid on one 
 naturally dear to you is even painfully 
 felt by me." 
 
 Miss Gray's heart throbbed, and the
 
 Annie Jennings. 197 
 
 liandkerchief, whicli in laundresses' 
 phrase liad received no end of clapping;, 
 was folded afresh to be mangled by her 
 two palms ; but she did not speak. 
 
 " Miss Gray, that young woman Miss 
 Jennings has held a clandestine ac- 
 quaintance with my cousin, Mr. Mait- 
 land, and has entrapped him into an 
 engagement." 
 
 Miss Gray shot up as if she had re- 
 ceived an electric shock, and gasped 
 
 out — 
 
 '' Oh, Mr. Merton, she is not en- 
 o-ao-ed: she cannot be engaged, the 
 child would have told me; she never 
 would have acted so— to have flirted as 
 they say, I do not doubt, although, 
 except one night, I never even suspect- 
 ed that they admired one another. Mr.
 
 198 Amiie 
 
 Merton, who informed you ? It cannot 
 be — it cannot be. I will go and ask the 
 poor child to come in and clear her- 
 self." 
 
 Miss Gray was bundling out of the 
 room, but Mr. Merton checked her. 
 
 " Stay, Miss Gray, such a proceeding 
 would never answer. I fear, I greatly 
 fear my informant knew too well the 
 truth of what he communicated. Pray 
 return, and tell me what you know of 
 this very, very unhappy — and pardon 
 me — discreditable affair. You seem to 
 me to admit just now a partial know- 
 ledge of Miss Jennings' conduct." 
 
 " I — I now remember, that night 
 before Mr. Maitland left Edinburgh 
 with his regiment, at the ball the 
 officers gave, that Annie and he were
 
 Annie Jennings, 199 
 
 very much togetlier — indeed, sir, I do 
 not know how much, for Annie is a 
 great dancer, and at a ball she never 
 wants partners, so I seldom see her 
 from the time we enter until we leave. 
 She is always in the dancing-room 
 where the crowd is so great, that when- 
 ever I get a look at her I cau scarcely 
 distinguish who is her partner ; but that 
 night I do remember now," Miss Gray 
 groaned, '' I saw her pretty frequently, 
 and — and " 
 
 '' Proceed, Miss Gray." 
 
 '^ It was always Mr. Maitland who 
 was with her. On returning home I 
 began to question her, but the poor 
 thing was so tired I did not like to press 
 her just then ; and as Mr. Maitland left 
 Scotland that day, and Annie w^ent
 
 200 Annie Jennings, 
 
 about just as usual, I really forgot all 
 about it. Oh, Mr. Morton, dear — 
 young things will be young things, 
 and I trust in God that there is 
 no cause for your displeasure. Annie 
 is a good child, and would not deceive 
 me." 
 
 The Honourable and Reverend Daniel 
 Merton smiled ironically. 
 
 " I fear, my good friend, you will 
 find yourself disappointed; Miss Jen- 
 nings is a very accomplished young per- 
 son, and not so very young too as to be 
 excused for treating her protectress, 
 her more than aunt, with deep dis- 
 simulation — and for making a secret 
 engagement to marry a young man quite 
 out of her own sphere ; causing him to 
 be guilty of disrespect to his noble
 
 Annie Jennings. 201 
 
 relatioDS ; and in case so rash a promise 
 as it appears he has made should be 
 fulfilled, to bring disgrace on a line of 
 ancestors unstained heretofore by one 
 drop of plebeian blood." 
 
 Could Miss Gray have got redder in 
 the face she must have done so now ; 
 she rubbed her nose, and became less 
 nervous ; for her respectable relations 
 were outraged ; she felt Mr. Merton was 
 encroaching on his privileges. 
 
 " Will you kindly give Miss Jennings 
 a message from me, Miss Gray ?" he 
 said, taking possession of his dusty hat, 
 and umbrella; " tell her — this marriage 
 shall never take take place if the influ- 
 ence of Lady Merton and myself can 
 prevent it. Tell her it will ruin Mr. 
 Maitland's prospects in life. He will
 
 202 Annie Jennings, 
 
 not be of legal age for four years, and 
 during those four years all lie has to 
 exist on, apart from his wretched pay is 
 £200 a year. I have hitherto never 
 restricted him to that pittance, for it is 
 in my power, as his guardian with 
 unlimited authority, to aid him as I see 
 right ; but under these circumstances he 
 shall never receive a guinea more than 
 he can claim, either to advance him in 
 his profession or to pay his gaming 
 debts. He shall be kept under, until 
 he learns sense not to sink himself and 
 his family by marrying this girl. She 
 should have more sense too. Miss Gray, 
 considering her years. My cousin is 
 but one and twenty — a poor fellow who 
 has scarcely forgotten the taste of his 
 baby-ring — while she is six years his
 
 Annie Jennings. 203 
 
 senior. Folly, folly, on the face of it. 
 Miss Gray; and, alas! more than that 
 on her part — duplicity, painful to 
 witness in a young woman ; had she 
 confided in you, had she boldly announ- 
 ced her presumption to his family, I 
 could easier have forgiven her; for 
 ambition is something noble, although 
 in this case not commendable. Tell her 
 now if she persists in marrying my 
 cousin. Lady Merton will never receive 
 her; and indeed I feel sure T may 
 answer for the other members of his 
 family. As a smuggled relation she 
 must be content to live, separating him 
 from friends and country ; and if they 
 have descendants, the Jennings' line of 
 Maitland will be a distinct race." 
 
 Mr. Merton having delivered this
 
 204 Annie Jennings. 
 
 brilliant peroration, turned towards the 
 door, and quickly, too — for he was 
 talkino^ himself into fury, and felt he 
 was losing command. Miss Gray's tears 
 fell thick and fast — the neatly-folded 
 handkerchief was damped by application 
 to the eyes. He looked, and seeing 
 her excessive grief he was melted, and 
 returning, said — 
 
 «« Forgive me, dear Miss Gray ; I am 
 truly sorry to wound you, but Miss 
 Jennings must be brought to a sense of 
 her conduct. Will you do your best 
 endeavours to make the wilful young 
 woman see this affair in its true light, 
 and let me know the result?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," mournfully promised Miss 
 Gray. She was disappointed in more 
 than in Annie — she was hurt, deeply
 
 Annie Jennings. 205 
 
 hurt, by her honourable and reverend 
 pastor 
 
 " Do not be afraid, sir, of me ; I 
 shall exert myself to the fullest to pre- 
 vent Annie entering a family that, it 
 appears, she would so much disgrace. 
 A retired shopkeeper, sir," Miss Gray 
 said firmly, " I thought would have 
 suited her very nicely at one time, but 
 that is past." 
 
 Mr. Merton coloured at this shot of 
 Miss Gray's; it was well aimed, and 
 went home. He stammered — wonder- 
 fully so, for the Honourable and Rever- 
 end Daniel, and muttering — 
 
 "Thanks, thanks, Miss Gray;" he 
 bowed himself out of doors, running 
 quickly down the scale staircase into the 
 noisy streets, where all unconscious ot
 
 206 Annie Jennings. 
 
 the injuries done to the noble house of 
 Maitland, life and business pursued its 
 path.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ANNIE WITH THE MADONNA FACE IS PUT IN A 
 PASSION. 
 
 When the hall door shut out Mr. 
 Merton's retreating figure, Miss Gray 
 sobbed afresh, now she could indulge in 
 all the luxury of grief; her heart was 
 heavy, and crying relieved it, so she 
 wept till the relief was effected. Blow- 
 ing her nose loudly, she began a train 
 of reflection. Truly the news she had 
 just been told — that her niece, Annie 
 Jennings, should be engaged to be
 
 208 Annie Jennings. 
 
 married to a nephew of Lady Merton's 
 and he first cousin, too, of the Honour- 
 able and Eeverend Daniel, her shepherd, 
 her pastor — was marvellous ; and being 
 a woman of a shrewd mind she quickly 
 came to the conclusion that it was a 
 very silly affair, unsuitable in many re- 
 spects. That fact was soon dismissed 
 from her mind as needing no further 
 consideration ; but two things remained 
 to oppress her — viz., her shepherd's 
 harsh remarks — and her niece's dis- 
 simulation. 
 
 Alas ! how many falsehoods had 
 reached and entered her unsuspecting 
 ear in answer to inquiries made of — 
 
 " Annie, what kept you out so long 
 to-day?" 
 
 '^ Walking, walking, auntie ; the day
 
 nnie Jennings. 209 
 
 is so fine, and the air of the town de- 
 presses me !" 
 
 " But alone, my child ; I don't hke 
 these soHtary walks, so far from home, 
 and up on that lonely Arthur's Seat." 
 
 " Oh, auntie, I never feel lonely ; 
 my thoughts are such good compan- 
 ions." These, Miss Gray remem- 
 bered perfectly, were the answers 
 she used to receive when Annie spent 
 long mysterious hours out during that 
 ten days' acquaintance with young 
 Maitland. Truly Annie was an adept 
 in deceit, and Miss Gray groaned at 
 the thought. And again : — now she 
 understood why the postman came so 
 often to the house, although she sel- 
 dom saw any results from his visits. 
 ''Yet perhaps," she considered, "the 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 Annie Jenn/uigs. 
 
 child meant well, slie did not like to 
 involve me in the matter ; she guessed 
 that Mr. Merton would come some 
 day, just as he has done, when the 
 affair had oozed out, and accuse me 
 of treachery, and she thought to 
 save me, poor child. Ah, that must 
 be it," she said, with the fore-finger 
 of her left hand in her mouth, while 
 she mopped her face with the hand- 
 kerchief repeatedly, as the trickling 
 tears still coursed each other down 
 her flushed face. 
 
 As she thus found excuses for An- 
 nie, her spirits rose. '' Mr. Merton, 
 you must not keep good principles and 
 kind-heartedness, as well as pure 
 blood, all to yourself and your proud 
 line. The Grays, at all events, were
 
 Aiinle Jennings. 211 
 
 an upright people," said Miss Gray 
 aloud, and getting off her chair, she 
 peeped at herself in the yellow mus- 
 lined mirror. 
 
 " A pretty reflection," she laugh- 
 ingly said ; " very like to my oAvn 
 preserving pan down stairs with the 
 Mogul phims in it, black, red, and 
 yellow ; if I could only leave out a bit 
 of the red I should be in the de'il's 
 own livery. Heigh ho ! I wish dear 
 Mr. Merton had been a wee bit less 
 bitter ; now I will go seek for the 
 child." And off she trotted to Annie's 
 room ; when knocking, and receiving 
 no reply she entered. Annie was 
 not there. '' Walking, of course ; 
 let me see when does the Indian mail 
 come in — Janet knows to a cer- 
 
 p 2
 
 212 Annie Jennings. 
 
 tainty; I will call lier." Janet came 
 in, answering her mistress's bell. 
 
 Miss Gray. — '' Janet, when do the 
 Indian mails come in here ?" Janet 
 taken by surprise, and having no 
 reply ready, on the spur of the mo- 
 ment tells a lie — 
 
 ^' I don't know, ma'am." 
 
 Miss Gray. — '^ Oh, very well ; I 
 can easily find out by the newspapers 
 or my almanack." She was not de- 
 ceived by Janet, but there was no use 
 in telling her so ; and on looking, as 
 she proposed doing, she found her 
 suspicions were correct — the mails 
 had arrived in London the day be- 
 fore. 
 
 Miss Gray was a fair accountant : 
 she could put two and two together
 
 Anril e Jennings, 213 
 
 and know that they make four, and 
 so in this instance she understood 
 Avhy her niece took long walks twice 
 in the week, and spent several hours 
 in her ov/n room directly after this 
 length of exercise ; reading and writing- 
 interesting letters take time. 
 
 Miss Gray's calculation was cor- 
 rect ; two and two do make four. 
 Annie had received her Indian letters 
 this morning, and on Mr. Merton's 
 arrival did hurry off to the Calton 
 Hill to enjoy the contents in peace. 
 In liarmony with this desire was all 
 nature on this still autumnal day. 
 It was soft and mild — ^ shadowy day 
 — bringing to chastened minds a flood 
 of memories, and, to the thoughtful, 
 reaching to the hidden soul ; one of
 
 214 Annie Jennings. 
 
 those early winter days when eartli 
 seems to speak to Heaven — and when 
 Heaven hears. 
 
 Annie's disposition was secretive ; 
 it was positively a trouble to her to 
 tell a secret, not the pleasure it is to 
 most girls, and many women; but in 
 keeping her love and engagement to 
 Charley Maitland from the knowledge 
 of her aunt, she had acted, as Miss 
 Gray divined, from prudential motives. 
 She thought on her aunt's account, 
 it would be better for her to be kept 
 in ignorance of it ; she knew how it 
 would horrify her ideas of the fitting; 
 and she was not at all sure that she 
 would not have divulged it to the 
 Honourable and Reverend Daniel Mer- 
 ton himself, even, although she
 
 Annie Jennings^, 215 
 
 had bound lier bj a solemn promise 
 to silence. She might have thought 
 that she owed him a higher duty, and, 
 in an}^ case, let it escape to that in- 
 sinuating gentleman. Annie knew well 
 how very displeasinof such an eng^ao-e- 
 ment would be in his eyes, even apart 
 from the Maitland and Merton pride, 
 for a man as much epvis as was the 
 Honourable and Reverend Daniel, re- 
 sembled, uncommonly, the dog in the 
 manger, who will not take the prize, 
 and yet none else shall. 
 
 So, considering every point of view^ 
 Annie determined to let matters take 
 their course, and to keep her own coun- 
 sel. The only person on whom she 
 bestowed a partial confidence was Janet, 
 who received her letters on the scale
 
 216 Annie Jennings. 
 
 staircase, nofc permittiDg the postman 
 to enter flat No. 3 ; and Annie, in ge- 
 neral, taking the precaution of reading 
 them out of doors, it came to pass that 
 Miss Gray never yet had seen even an 
 envelope of Charley Maitland's. 
 
 Now Annie, seated in a sheltered 
 spot, and quite alone, tidily opened her 
 letter, not tearing it open in the manner 
 an eager soul might, but opening just 
 as much as was needful to extract the 
 inside, leaving the thin cover quite un- 
 injured. 
 
 In round bold characters wrote her 
 young lover, type of his honest, manly 
 nature ; and passionate were his words. 
 Full of love and trust, he wrote, be- 
 cause so true himself, and never know- 
 ing of the scant measure he received in
 
 Annie Jennings. 217 
 
 return — a measure carefully poured out, 
 although but a drop into the ocean of 
 his large heart. Qaimporte, it is the 
 law of nature that love should never be 
 equal ; and as lovers never find this out, 
 we say again, ciiiimporte; besides, 
 Annie was as God made lier, she was 
 not to be blamed because her heart was 
 small ; a drop from it left her drier than 
 warm-hearted Charley, who poured out 
 his love so lavishly, and yet did not 
 exhaust his spring. 
 
 She now read lialf through his letter, 
 in wdiich he told her many things ; 
 sometimes an anecdote of his very young 
 days, when his godmother, the Duchess 
 of Purefoy, had given him a milk-white 
 pony, the first real horse he had ever 
 ridden : sometimes stories of bis Eton
 
 218 Annie Jennings. 
 
 days, when his friends were among the 
 noblest in noble Old England ; and 
 Annie sighed, remembering, with a 
 pang, how little there was in common 
 between them. How could she write 
 about her early youth, when all she had 
 to tell of it was learning lessons at her 
 mother's knee in their little cottaQ-e- 
 home — and of going to the kirk on Sun- 
 days — or being taken to a meeting on a 
 week-day as a great reward for being 
 very good, or the greatest pleasure of 
 all — watchino: for Andrew Jennino^s to 
 come from school and take her out to 
 seek for bramble-berries. Again she 
 sighed. This time her sigh was echoed, 
 and, starting, she looked up and saw 
 before her, in almost the very same 
 spot as he had stood ten long years ago.
 
 Annie Jennings. 219 
 
 Andrew Jenuings, a little stouter — a 
 little graver — and ten years older. 
 
 " It seems, Miss Jennings," he 
 said, gravely, " wo are fated to meet 
 here." 
 
 Annie folded np her letter, placed 
 it carefully in her pocket, then rose, 
 and, holding out lier hand, said — 
 
 "Doctor Jennings, will you pardon 
 me ? I was ver^- rade to you when 
 we last met, now so long ago ; and 
 I have never seen you to ask forgive- 
 ness until now." 
 
 ''I will not pretend to misunderstand 
 you, although it is strange I should 
 remember, — yet I do, — to what you 
 allude. I have truly lived a life since 
 last we met ; I have acquired fame, 
 I have been married, and I am
 
 220 Annie Jennings. 
 
 now a widower ; and yet, tlirough 
 all, comes vividly before me your little 
 speecli." 
 
 '' I heard of your loss," said Annie, 
 in a low tone, (involuntarily his soft 
 voice modulated hers.) 
 
 '' I heard of your loss, and I felt 
 grieved for you." 
 
 " Thanks, you are very good." 
 
 " She was young and beautiful, 
 Miss Jennings, and she owed so 
 small a debt, it was crnel in our 
 universal Creditor to make her pay 
 it so soon. He was harder to her 
 than to your mother, Annie, for her 
 account was long. Yet 1 must not 
 grieve, for what is life but a continual 
 dying ?" 
 
 *' It is natural, I suppose, that you
 
 Annie Jennings. 221 
 
 should talk in such a manner, you 
 see so i.nucli of death ?" 
 
 " Yes, much truly. The Angel of 
 Death reaps round me every day ; 
 I walk in the circle of his scythe, so 
 far unscathed ; and, following him 
 closely, treading on his heels, comes 
 the Angel of Life laden, and fills up 
 the gaps left by cruel, unsparing 
 death." Annie listened with interest; 
 his voice was so melodious it enforced 
 silence, and his mode of expression 
 was not such as she was accustomed 
 to. Together they walked slowly 
 round the hill, the great Doctor deep 
 in thought, and Annie gazing at him. 
 Suddenly he shook off what seemed 
 to be a gloomy line of reflection, and, 
 turning to her, said, merrily—
 
 222 Annie Jennings, 
 
 ''Annie, was this a good year for 
 bramble - berries ?" Annie laughed 
 and then said sadly — 
 
 ''I do not know, I never know 
 now." 
 
 "Bat I know, — in last September 
 I took my little girl (I have a child, 
 Miss Jennings) to the Highlands ; 
 we two together to Loch Achray, 
 where we saw a farmhouse, aod 
 my little girl and I fell in love 
 with the farmer's wife; she took us 
 in and fed us on sweetest milk and 
 butter, and we gathered brambleberries, 
 — for one week we remained there, 
 that is all the time Andrew Jennings 
 can now spare to childhood's pleasures. 
 Miss Jennings, will you come and see 
 my little Penelope ? She is like a snow
 
 Annie Jennings. 223 
 
 drop in a poppy-flower ; in other 
 words, her hair is red, and her skin 
 white." 
 
 '^ How old is she?" inquired Annie, 
 confused, she knew not why, but 
 somehow this grave and graceful 
 doctor was very unlike her Cousin 
 Andrew. 
 
 " How old ?" he repeated, " how old 
 do you inquire is my Grrecian, too 
 young truly to think of an Ulysses, 
 although she is precocious, — she is six 
 years and some months ; but we must 
 part, I see my carriage at the foot 
 of the hill. I left it to gain a breath 
 of fresh air after a fatiguing morning, 
 and I am rewarded by getting a 
 refreshing beyond my expectations, 
 Miss Jennings ;" bending down to
 
 224 Annie Jennings. 
 
 apply his compliment more directly 
 their eyes met, and Miss Jennings 
 coloured. 
 
 '^ Will you visit my little Penelope ?" 
 lie inquh^ed, in lower tones. 
 
 ''Yes," replied Annie, subdued in 
 spite of herself. 
 
 " Send in your name, I suppose you 
 know where to call, I will see you at 
 once." 
 
 They then shook hands and parted. 
 The great doctor getting into his 
 quiet handsome dark carriage, and 
 Annie walking slowly home, musing 
 truly, and yet forgetting all the time 
 that she had never finished her lover's 
 letter. 
 
 Directly Miss Gray perceived her 
 niece's step on tlie stairs, she lis-
 
 Annie Jennings. 225 
 
 tenecl and heard her proceed at once to 
 her own apartment, then delaying a few 
 moments to give her as well as herself 
 breathing time, she follow^ed to her 
 door and knocked. A shght delay 
 ensued before she received a summons 
 to enter, and then found Annie stand- 
 ing in the centre of the room looking 
 rather confused. Miss Gray's percep- 
 tions had received an impulse, and at 
 once she saw traces of tears hastily 
 wiped off the cheeks of her fair 
 niece. 
 
 "Crying, Annie? crying, child; what 
 is the matter?" 
 
 " Crying, Aunt," replied the niece, 
 quickly, on her part perceiving the 
 marks of Miss Gray's late emotions. 
 
 '^Yes, Annie, and I regret to say 
 
 OL. I. Q
 
 226 Annie Jennings. 
 
 I have had reason to weep scalding 
 tears over you." 
 
 ''Over me, aunt?" in tones of as- 
 tonishment, replied the guilty fair one, 
 with distended eyes and deepening 
 colour, aud whose heart began to 
 throb to the tune of, Discovered. 
 
 '' Yes, Annie, do not try to deceive 
 me longer, I know all." 
 
 " aunt, aunt ! who told you ? 
 It must have been Mr. Merton ; but 
 how did he hear it ? Could Charley ?" 
 and here she broke down in confu- 
 sion. 
 
 " Annie, my poor httle girl, my 
 dead sister's child, tell me truly, tell 
 me who has loved and cherished you 
 for full ten years, as if you were my 
 very own, why, why have you thus
 
 Annie Jennings. 227 
 
 deceived me, and let a stranger see 
 how despised I am ?" 
 
 " No, aunt, dearest aunt, I did not, 
 do not despise you, liow could I ? 
 but partly because I feared your good 
 counsel, and partly because I would 
 not injure you in the eyes of those of 
 whom you think so much, and who 
 like you ? That was the real cause 
 of my secrecy, dear Aunt Jane, and 
 nothing else, believe me. I knew, too, 
 how you would have thought it your 
 duty to tell that overbearing man, 
 that proud Pharisee, all about it, and 
 Charley — I mean Mr. Maitland — was 
 particularly anxious to avoid this. 
 He did not indeed ask me to conceal 
 our story from you — I proposed it — 
 for indeed, dear aunt, I could not 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 Annie Jennings. 
 
 bear to hear all you would say against 
 it. Forgive me, pray forgive, indeed, 
 it is better as it is, even although 
 it has given you a pang." And 
 Annie knelt before her aunt, and 
 sobbed. 
 
 Miss Gray was affected, she had 
 never seen her show so much emotion, 
 and folding her hands over her bent 
 head, she solemnly forgave and blessed 
 her. 
 
 Annie was in a curiously stirred 
 state of feeling, she had never ex- 
 perienced such a strange sort of hurly 
 burly and she rather liked it. Charley 
 Maitland — Andrew Jennings — and her 
 aunt — all receiving from her portions 
 of love, diflPerent indeed in kind and 
 in degree, but still all tearing her little
 
 Annie Jennings. 229 
 
 soul, unaccustomed to be so treated, to 
 babjrags. 
 
 " Annie, my pet, listen to me, you 
 have my liearty forgiveness, although 
 (with good intentions, I admit) you 
 have not acted fairly towards me ; but 
 now, as a little penance you must 
 listen while 1 recount all that Mr. 
 Merton told me to repeat." And very 
 nearly word for word, slightly softened, 
 so as not to pierce Annie's swelling 
 breast, she repeated his message. 
 
 " Is that all. Aunt Jane ; have you 
 ended that wonderful man's speech?" 
 
 " Yes, dear, that is the sum total 
 of it, and now weigh it, child ; for 
 although cloaked in unpleasant lan- 
 guage for you or me to hear, it is 
 worth pondering over for both Mr.
 
 230 Annie Jennings, 
 
 Maitland's and your sake, I am not 
 sure that you would not show more 
 true love by resigning the young fellow 
 than by keeping him." 
 
 Then Miss Gray rose and left her to 
 swallow a pill nearly as distasteful as 
 the memorable one she administered 
 to Andrew Jennings some ten years 
 before. 
 
 The instant she left the room Annie 
 flew to the door, locked it, bolted it, 
 and finally drew against it a heavy 
 box ; then she sat down at the furthest 
 end of the room and broke out into 
 a passion of tears. Love of some kind 
 or other, and for some person or other, 
 and wounded pride, nearly choked her ; 
 she let down her long hair, she tore it, 
 she stamped up and down the room,
 
 Annie Jennings, 231 
 
 then nearly exhausted with this unusual 
 emotion she knelt clown at a box, and, 
 still sobbing, opened it and took out 
 a little coloured photograph, at which 
 she gazed earnestly througla her tears. 
 Poor young Charley ! very handsome 
 you look in your pretty uniform, of 
 which you appear so innocently proud, 
 with your sweet laughing blue eyes and 
 frank, manly glance, truly a very fellow 
 to win a maiden's love. Heavier and 
 heavier fell Annie's tears as she viewed 
 the picture, which lost form and dis- 
 tinctness in her mist of tears, and faded 
 from her sight, significant she felt it 
 of the future, as a palpable distance 
 arose between her and it; she could 
 bear it no longer, but shutting up 
 the case with a snap, she put it
 
 232 Annie Jennings, 
 
 back to its former abode and locked 
 the box. 
 
 Then, rising, she bathed her eyes in 
 rose-water, smoothed and tidied her 
 hair, changed her dress, and taking 
 her knitting with her, she moved back 
 her large box, unlocked and unbolted 
 the door, and joined her aunt in the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 Miss Gray judiciously refrained from 
 alluding to the topic which yet en- 
 grossed both their minds, and with 
 rather dreary attempts at conversation 
 the evening wore away. Next morn- 
 ing, after Annie had given her aunt 
 breakfast in bed — (Miss Gray always 
 partook of that meal in the privacy 
 of her four-posted, curtained couch) 
 — and replied rather tartly to her
 
 Annie Jennings. 233 
 
 honeyed-voiced query of " How did 
 you sleep, love ?" with " Quite well, 
 aunt; you know I am an excellent 
 sleeper," she left the room directly, 
 and did not return for a couple of 
 hours or more, and then prepared for a 
 walk. 
 
 " Going out, darling — and at this 
 hour, dressed so very nicely," ex- 
 claimed Miss Gray, perceiving that she 
 had on her best clothes. Annie vouch- 
 safed no explanation, although it was 
 no wonder that Miss Gray had ex- 
 claimed. She had on a handsome silk 
 of a neutral tint, a black velvet jacket, 
 a black lace bonnet with real French 
 roses of a beautiful pink colour, and a 
 long lace veil drawn closely round her 
 face and throat in modest folds, nicely
 
 234 Annie Jennings, 
 
 fitting new gloves completed her at- 
 tire. 
 
 ''Well, my love," slowly said Miss 
 Gray, inspecting her dress and thinking 
 how lovely she was, ''mind you take 
 your umbrella, for the day looks cloudy, 
 and it would be a pity to spot your 
 best silk." 
 
 '' N'importe,'^ said Annie, heedlessly. 
 
 " Ech, dear, what's that you said ?" 
 
 But Annie did not repeat her remark. 
 She walked to the door, and placing 
 one hand on the lock, turned round 
 and said — 
 
 " Aunt Jane, tell the Honourable 
 and Reverend Mr. Merton from me, 
 that I renounce all claim to Mr. — (here 
 Annie nearly broke down) — Mr. Charles 
 Maitland, I will never marry him —
 
 Annie Jennings. 235 
 
 never be the cause of bringiog disgrace 
 and infamy on Lis noble house ; and 
 I trust this, my renunciation, will 
 secure for him as high a seat in heaven 
 as that favoured race now occupy on 
 earth." 
 
 Before Miss Gray could frame a reply 
 to this speech, Annie had disappeared 
 and flown for refuge to the Calton Hill, 
 there to walk off her excitement and 
 plan her course of action,
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ANNIE TAKES A DECIDED PART. 
 
 Annie had not enjoyed the good 
 sleep which she (rather untruthfully, 
 we must confess) implied in reply to 
 her aunt's inquiries. It was a rest- 
 less, broken sleep, and when she did 
 awaken, it was with sensations of 
 unrefreshment. 
 
 Her little brain had worked cease- 
 lessly, although so unconscious, during 
 those hours of sleep, revolving ever
 
 Annie Jennings, 287 
 
 the same question of, " Should I, shall 
 7, gice up poor dear Charley V 
 
 Annie was proud — pride, in fact, 
 was the strongest passion of which 
 she was capable, and the Honourable 
 and Eeverend Daniel had stung her 
 to the quick. " She never could, no, 
 she never would, enter that family to 
 be so spurned ; but in so doing, would 
 it not, in fact, give iherd the victory ? 
 whereas to force tlieni to receive her, 
 to treat her with deference — nay, even 
 to invite her to become a member of 
 their proud family — would not that be 
 the real victory?" Yes, truly; but 
 how to manage this ? Did . she not 
 know that they would, one and all 
 of them, rather see Charley's bonny 
 young head laid low, and all un-
 
 238 Annie Jennings. 
 
 blemished rest in the family vault, 
 than permit him to ally himself with 
 Jennings and Gray blood, although 
 in such alliance he should find his 
 happiness. 
 
 The words of the Honourable and 
 Reverend Daniel rung in her ears. 
 " She will ruin his prospects, blast 
 his life ; he shall be outcast from his 
 family ; she will be her life long a 
 smuggled relation." For four long 
 years to wear his young life out in 
 difficulties, perhaps in debts ; or to be 
 scorned in his regiment for not doing 
 as others do, and (noble and true- 
 hearted as was Charley) would he have 
 courage to fight through this ? Then 
 after those four years had been so worried 
 through, and that the splendid young
 
 Annie Jennings. 239 
 
 fellow, would flj home to claim his 
 bride, what should he have to show 
 his friends ? 
 
 A lady of thirty-one — well preserved 
 certainly — yet unmistakably a lady of 
 experience ; having ascended her hill, 
 and received all the ripening from the 
 meridian sun, and now was descending 
 on the other side, slowly — slowly — 
 still with the bloom going off her 
 peach. 
 
 Annie's age was beginning to be 
 felt by her as a very sore spot. 
 She did not like to talk of it, or have 
 it talked of was still worse ; and would 
 not Charley's soldier friends all trot 
 np to her and make their comments ? 
 But why did she not think of all 
 this before ? Alas ! there was the
 
 240 Annie Jennings. 
 
 mistake. Uncomfortable thoughts had 
 clouded her horizon, but young Char- 
 ley's love, so vehement, so warm, 
 had dispersed them, leaving behind 
 an unclouded brilliant sky; and the 
 specks that now and again returned to 
 it, his love brushed away. 
 
 Annie sighed and wept — then ceased 
 to cry, to reflect anew; but still the 
 same images arose, she could not chase 
 them away. 
 
 Clearly her aunt thought her a 
 goose, although she loved her dearly, 
 and left her to solve her own problem 
 in the evident belief that she would 
 do so. 
 
 " Oh, dear !" moaned Annie " what 
 shall I do ? If I write and tell him of 
 all this, he will throw up his commission
 
 Annie Jennings. 241 
 
 (if need be), to return on tTie mo- 
 ment. And tlien, oh, heavens; what 
 a row there would be here ! and what 
 would it profit ? Not an inch's way 
 would he make, unless that under 
 the vehemence of her emotions Lady 
 Merton should sink. Even so, there 
 would still remain the guardian, and 
 implacable as he is now, under such 
 circumstances even revenge would be 
 righteous." 
 
 Annie tried a fresh thread in the 
 web. " Shall I tell Mr. Merton to 
 write to Charley, and if he is willing 
 to resign me, to say I will submit ? 
 yet Mr. Merton would fairly reply — 
 
 "^ Thanks, Miss Jennings, for your 
 graceful submission, but with head- 
 strong young fellows, whose judg- 
 
 VOL. I. n
 
 242 Annie Jennings. 
 
 ment only comes with manhood's 
 beard, we must take stronger mea- 
 sures. Your own good sense will 
 tell you such a message would be 
 useless. If you desire to act sin- 
 cerely, you will give me a little note of 
 acknowledgment that the engage- 
 ment is foolish — and resign him.' 
 
 '' Never, never, Mr. Merton !" she 
 exclaimed aloud, in reply to this 
 imaginary speech; yet in her heart 
 she acknowledged the justice of the 
 fancied argument, and tears burst 
 out afresh. These tears brought re- 
 lief; and of what were they the pre- 
 cursors ? Of sober reason ? Yes ! 
 and Annie's part was taken — reason 
 won the day. 
 
 It was with a hard spirit Annie
 
 Annie Jennings. 243 
 
 rose and dressed this morning. She 
 felt unhappy, though determined ; and 
 was disposed to be outrageous with 
 poor Aunt Jane, if she ventured to 
 applaud her conduct. As to Mr. 
 Merton, no power should get her to 
 appear before him to receive his hate- 
 ful thanks. 
 
 The repose she looked forward to 
 as a reward for her determination she 
 had not as yet found, and thouo^hts of 
 poor Charley filled her eyes to over- 
 flowing. But Annie Jennings would 
 not swerve from a purpose so well 
 considered, especially when pride and 
 vanity pricked her on ; and now she 
 would take a crowning step in aid 
 of her favourite passion, leaving no 
 gap open for love to widen. No ! — 
 
 E 2
 
 244 Annie Je^mings, 
 
 Avlieii Charley would hear from his 
 guardian, it should be out of her 
 power to change ; so Annie deter- 
 minately took out her best clothes, 
 smoothed her hair, contemplated her- 
 self in the glass, tried different effects, 
 studied attitudes, thought over phrases, 
 and finally went out for her walk, 
 to the Calton Hill; but as she did 
 not return for many hours, we may 
 naturally suppose she did not restrict 
 her walk to it. 
 
 Aunt Jane became very uneasy, 
 indeed, as time went on : vague 
 thoughts, and very uncomfortable 
 ones, assailed her, though dismissed 
 at once as silly ; yet they would 
 return, and each time with added 
 strength.
 
 Annie Jennings, 24-" 
 
 " The child looked determiDed, umph ! 
 umph ! Dressed in her very best clothes. 
 Grod bless me ! I believe they always do 
 that when — when — nonsense ! what a 
 trick fancy is playing me. That lady 
 who W'as taken out of the little loch in 
 Arthur's seat was dressed in a splendid 
 satin, and her neck and arms were 
 covered with jewels. God bless me ! 
 how my hand trembles ; I never knew 
 myself so silly before ; wdiat can cause 
 such tremors ? Annie is as shrewd a 
 little maiden as ever trod heather, and 
 her heart will never carry off her head. 
 Why need I picture such horrible ideas ? 
 The weather is very conducive to bile ; 
 it is that, I think, and the liver is 
 pressing on the lieart ; at all events ' I 
 do not feel quite well."
 
 246 Annie Jennings, 
 
 Poor Miss Gray rang for Janet, and 
 she gave her a spoonful of brandy : 
 and after a little while it, and Janet's 
 cheerful conversation, quite restored 
 her. She wrote a note to h(^r shepherd 
 to acquaint him with Annie's resolution. 
 It was as follows — 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 '' My niece has behaved just as 1 
 expected from her. She renounces 
 all claim to Mr. Maitland's hand. 
 No power shall induce her to enter 
 a family where she would not be 
 received as a welcome addition to it ; 
 and you have her sanction to enclose 
 this note to Mr. Maitland. 
 
 " For her justification, permit me to 
 state that I am perfectly satisfied with
 
 Annie Jennings. 247 
 
 the motives which induced her to keep 
 me in ignorance of her engagement to 
 your cousin. I hope, dear sir, this 
 note will please you, and that in Mr. 
 Maitland's next choice you will find all 
 the necessities for your noble family 
 that it needs, and in which my poor 
 Annie is so deeply wanting. 
 *' With great respect, 
 '' Believe me, dear sir, 
 " Your faithful old friend, 
 "Jane Gray." 
 
 Miss Gray despatched her note to 
 " The Honourable and Reverend Daniel 
 Merton," and then sat thinking over 
 long past days ; over her first acquaint- 
 ance with him, how she had worshipped 
 him, and now how he had disappointed
 
 248 Annie Jennings. 
 
 her. In musings like these her 
 time was occupied, and her thoughts 
 were beguiled from sweet Annie Jen- 
 nings. 
 
 And now how was our young friend 
 spending her time, arrayed in her 
 pretty silk dress ? Was she merely 
 airing it on tlie Calton Hill, and run- 
 ning risks of getting it spotted by 
 the mists rising up from Frith of 
 Forth ? 
 
 Was she indeed acting so unwomanly 
 as this, so regardless of her wardrobe's 
 most honoured occupant ? 
 
 No, indeed ! no such thing. She 
 had a spirit of her own, this Jennings 
 girl; she had a head, and a clever 
 one. She did air herself once, twice 
 perhaps, around that literary necro-
 
 Annie Jennings. 249 
 
 polis (may we so call it ?) of some of 
 Scotland's honoured names ; but then 
 to what place did she direct her 
 steps ? 
 
 Devinez, je vous la donne en un, en 
 deux, en trois, vous I'abandonnez ? 
 Ah ! well then, she retraced her steps 
 towards the town ; not walking in 
 her usual quick, decided way, but 
 continually changing time ; sometimes 
 walking at prestissimo speed, then 
 largo again, until she had entered a 
 certain street, famous owing to one 
 house in it ; and with a rising colour, 
 and a beating heart, she stopped at this 
 well-known dwelling, and, knocking, 
 inquired — 
 
 '' Is Dr. Jennings at home ?" 
 
 '' Yes, ma'am."
 
 250 Annie Jennings. 
 
 "Is he disengaged !" 
 
 *' Disengaged ! Ob, no, ma'am, he is 
 never disengaged during hours for re- 
 ceiving patients." 
 
 '^ When he dismisses his present 
 patient will you kindly give him this 
 card?" and the maid promising to do 
 so, showed her into a sort of antecham- 
 ber to wait. 
 
 Annie might easily credit the maid's 
 assertion that the celebrated doctor was 
 never disengaged, for the hall was half 
 lined with ladies and gentlemen. As 
 she passed by the door of the front 
 room, she saw a long table spread with 
 viands, round which several gentlemen 
 stood eagerly talking and eating. 
 These were doctors, she afterwards 
 learned, who met in Dr. Jennings'
 
 Annie Jennings. 251 
 
 house as a sort of hospital, and were 
 shown by hun any interesting cases on 
 hand, by which term interesting, doctors 
 mean any unusual form of malady at- 
 tacking poor humanity, and opening 
 out for them an orthodox field for ex- 
 periments. 
 
 Dr. Jenniugs was in truth a remark- 
 able man — one of those rare intellects 
 that appear at intervals, and advance, 
 in one huge leap, some department of 
 science suffering from a dead lock, which 
 until then debars advancement. A man 
 of large comprehensiveness, who em- 
 braced extensive views of human re- 
 lations, and who did not hesitate, if 
 need be, to sacrifice the lives of a few 
 fellow-creatures in the grand effort to 
 benefit millions.
 
 252 Annie Jennings. 
 
 We may advocate the principle, 
 although we confess that the practice 
 might be occasionally objectionable, 
 if the objects were ever those in 
 whom we were particularly interested ; 
 in such a case we think we should 
 cry— 
 
 "Perish the principle, Dr. Jen- 
 nings, and save the individual if possi- 
 ble." 
 
 Some people think that such conduct 
 as Dr. Jennings pursued argued hard- 
 ness of heart ; but in this they erred. 
 He was a man of a particularly gentle, 
 loveable nature, and endued with such 
 mesmeric power that his melodious voice 
 and light hand soothed sufferings which 
 his art failed to reach. He was be- 
 loved by all classes ; but especially was
 
 Annie Jennings, 253 
 
 he dear to the poor, by whose bedsides 
 he would sit for hours regardless of the 
 presence of squalor and want. Many a 
 wretched night in depth of winter and 
 in spring's cutting air would Dr. Jen- 
 nings attend the summons of some poor 
 woman, and with unfailing kindliness. 
 A titled lady might wait or send for 
 someone else, but a poor person never 
 — although the doctor was by no 
 means insensible to the dignity of the 
 peerage. 
 
 The long ante-room in which Annie 
 waited had doors at either end ; one 
 communicated with the hall, the other 
 with the stairs. The second floor to 
 which it led, consisted of a large corri- 
 dor. At one end of it were two waiting 
 rooms, which were devoted to the
 
 254 Annie Jennings. 
 
 ordinary run of patients, not needing 
 immediate assistance. 
 
 These were always crammed with 
 people waiting — as in Bethesda's por- 
 ches — their turn to step into the pool 
 — in this case the doctor's little pre- 
 sence-chamber. Besides these rooms, 
 there were a set of small chambers all 
 round the gallery, into which were 
 drafted one or two at a time from the 
 general waiting-room, thus bringing 
 them a few steps nearer to the waters 
 troubled by the angel. 
 
 These wonders, however, as yet, 
 Annie had not seen. She sat upright 
 on a high-back oak chair, watching the 
 continued ebb and flow of people from 
 Andrew Jennings' presence, and 
 thought with amazement over his ful-
 
 Annie Jennings. 255 
 
 filled propliecj. Time passed swiftly- 
 absorbed in contemplation, pleasantly 
 carried on — not broken up — by the 
 passers to-and-fro. 
 
 One of a multitude of clocks in differ- 
 ent apartments now struck on her ear, 
 and she reckoned three o'clock. Three 
 hours away from home. What would 
 Aunt Jane think ? And while consider- 
 ing how she should get at a maid to 
 tell her she could wait no longer, a 
 light step and a shuffling sound drew 
 near, and, looking up, she perceived 
 Dr. Jennings entering the room from 
 the interior, accompanied by a pretty 
 girl. The young lady was talking with 
 animation, and looking up into the face 
 of the great physician, who ambled by 
 her side, his feet encased in soft woollen
 
 256 Annie Jennings, 
 
 slippers. They passed her by, without 
 observing her, the doctor's fine face 
 directed full to his pretty companion, 
 and wearing a sweet, gentle smile. On 
 they walked into the hall, leaving the 
 door of the ante-room wide open, afford- 
 ing Annie a view beyond. She was 
 greatly surprised to remark the conduct 
 of the patients, who had been so 
 anxiously waiting to see the doctor; 
 they made a passage for him to walk 
 through without venturing to interrupt 
 him, and his countenance w^as a study ; 
 he did not ignore their presence, but 
 appeared to imagine he was gifted with 
 the power of invisibility, and kept 
 turning on his finger a ring, as if it 
 were a present from Gyges. 
 
 After letting out his young friend
 
 Annie Jennings. 257 
 
 the doctor retraced bis steps with the 
 same vacant look, but this time he 
 was not let to pass all iminterrupted. 
 One gentleman, more audacious than 
 the rest, stepped forward and hurriedly 
 said — 
 
 '' I beg your pardon, sir, but when 
 will it suit you to see Mrs. Hamilton ? 
 Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday ?" 
 
 Dr. Jennings looked slightly con- 
 founded at such audacity (in not re- 
 specting his invisibility) and answered 
 ■with the monosyllable — 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the gentleman, a 
 little confused ; " would Tuesday an- 
 swer you ?" 
 
 Very peevishly replied the doctor — 
 
 VOL. 1. s
 
 258 Annie Jennings, 
 
 " As far as I can see, sir. As far as I 
 can see." 
 
 " Thank you, sir, thank you,'* re- 
 turned the gentleman, bowing, hat in 
 hand, evidently greatly relieved at 
 having secured an answer. 
 
 Annie's wonder increased. She began 
 to feel quite shy of this wonderful inan 
 as he now again drew near. This time 
 he was not so abstracted ; he had no 
 companion to listen to, besides Captain 
 Hamilton's audacity had roused him to 
 a sense of present things, and there 
 was no danger of Annie's being over- 
 looked again. He saw her and smiled. 
 His smile was very pleasing, kind, and 
 genial. 
 
 " You here !" he said ; " and how 
 long ?"
 
 Annie Jennings. 259 
 
 "I am not sure. Perhaps two 
 hours." 
 
 '' Two hours ! Ah, how much I 
 am to blame. I now remember it 
 was your card that was brought in to 
 me." 
 
 " Yes ; you told me to send up my 
 card to you whenever I called." 
 
 " So I did. I am to blame, but my 
 mind was so occupied when it reached 
 me, it does not appear to me as if I 
 had seen the name until now — Miss 
 Jennings : — Yes ! I now remember 
 distinctly. How could I have for- 
 gotten sweet Annie even for a mo- 
 ment?" 
 
 Here the doctor smiled again, and, 
 taking her by the hand, led her up the 
 stairs, on which were stationed a few 
 
 s 2
 
 260 Annie Jennings, 
 
 impatient patients, wlio thought to 
 catch him thus ; and yet, Hke their 
 companions in waiting down stairs 
 (when the opportunity was afforded) 
 failed to take advantage of it, and al- 
 lowed the doctor to pass by, holding 
 the same abstracted appearance as be- 
 fore. 
 
 He pushed on, still holding Annie's 
 hand, and leading her into one of the 
 little rooms before mentioned, he left 
 her, saying — 
 
 " In a few moments, my dear, I will 
 send for you." 
 
 But a doctor's minutes are not 
 counted as sixty seconds, and a half 
 hour elapsed before a maid summoned 
 her, and pointing to an open door close 
 at hand, hurried her in, just as a lady
 
 Annie Jennings, 261 
 
 of considerable heiglit and width walked 
 out. 
 
 Beliiod this ponderous subject stood 
 the doctor, looking all impatience, 
 with outstretched hand, to welcome 
 in Annie. 
 
 This little apartment was similar to 
 the others in size and furniture, with 
 one addition, a Davenport, on which 
 the learned man wrote his prescrip- 
 tions. Now, the doctor leaving the 
 door ajar (the window also being open, 
 but doctors act strangely diverse to 
 their orders), led Annie to the little 
 couch, on which he seated her and 
 himself, tucking up one leg to rest, 
 for he was fagged by a hard day's 
 work. 
 
 " So you have come at last," he
 
 262 Annie Jennings. 
 
 said, after a pause, spent in examin- 
 ing lier attentively, and perceived, 
 witli professional acumen, that some- 
 thing uncommon had occurred. 
 
 Annie, conscious of his searching 
 glance, felt confused ; her bosom 
 heaved, and her pink colour deepened, 
 and faded away by turns. 
 
 '^ At last, Dr. Jennings ! It was 
 but yesterday that you invited me." 
 
 " Yes, true ; but I expected you 
 for many years before. I waited 
 three years; then I heard how gay 
 and admired you were, and I mar- 
 ried." 
 
 " I dared not come to see you 
 that day. Dr. Jennings, I was so 
 rude to you, and you were so very 
 angry."
 
 Annie Jennings, 263 
 
 " Was I ? I suppose I was, yet 
 you did not care to inquire hoio 
 angry, or for how long a time. What 
 saitli the Scriptures ? ' A soft answer 
 turneth away wrath.' I did not for- 
 get what it also says : ' Let not 
 the sun go down on your wrath.' 
 Annie, I Avatched and waited for 
 you in vain, and then I married. I 
 scarcely thought to have had the start 
 of you, and yet here I have a child 
 of six years old, and you are still a 
 maid." 
 
 Annie muttered some confused sen- 
 tence, then asked to see the little 
 Penelope. 
 
 " Yes, presently ; surely there is no 
 hurry, sweet one. It is long since 
 Andrew Jennings has recognised him-
 
 264 Annie Jennings, 
 
 self; in your presence he tastes the 
 flavour of the bramble-berries. Oh ! 
 Annie, sweetest, give me back my 
 youth." 
 
 Annie started, shivered, and did not 
 reply. The doctor, becoming more im- 
 passioned, repeated — 
 
 " Yes, Annie, you alone can do it. 
 Give me back my youth, and be a 
 mother to my child." 
 
 She struggled hard to answer, but 
 the vision of her young lover in 
 distant lands overcame her, and, sob- 
 bing, sighing, she swooned against his 
 breast. 
 
 The doctor, being a doctor, of 
 course knew exactly what remedies 
 to apply. He hastily poured out 
 some stimulating drops, and gently
 
 Annie Jennings, 265 
 
 forced them into Annie's pretty 
 moutli. After a few seconds she 
 sighed deeply, and opened her eyes 
 on the anxious, intelhgent face of her 
 latest suitor. 
 
 ''You feel better, Annie?" inquired 
 the doctor, tenderly. 
 
 " Yes, better," she replied, too 
 short a time insensible to be uncon- 
 scious of what had caused her ill- 
 ness. 
 
 '' I was abrupt, Annie ; shamefully 
 abrupt, considering I am a doctor. I 
 should have foreseen how a startling 
 announcement may affect a delicate 
 frame." 
 
 '' Oh, no, it was not that. I really 
 do not know what caused it. I never 
 fainted before," returned Annie, quite
 
 266 Annie Jennings, 
 
 reckless in lier disregard of trutli; 
 but even conscientious women display 
 tlie same untruthfulness in affairs con- 
 nected witli the affections. 
 
 " I am perfectly well now, Dr. Jen- 
 nings." 
 
 " Call me Andrew, or I shall think 
 that you despise me still." 
 
 '^ Despise you ? Oh, no." 
 
 (Annie trembled for the success of 
 her scheme). 
 
 "Well, show it, Annie. Give me 
 back my youth." 
 
 From head to heel that girl shook, 
 and yet her purpose never wavered ; 
 with a wonderfully steady voice she 
 answered, 
 
 '^ If it be in my power, Andrew." 
 
 Dr. Jennings uttered a cry of joy.
 
 Annie Jennings, 267 
 
 and, folding her impetuously in Hs 
 arms, he kissed her lips, her throat, 
 her hands ; he pressed her repeatedly 
 in his arms; he was intoxicated with 
 his great joy. 
 
 Annie bore it passively until she 
 could bear it no longer, then burst 
 into a hysterical fit of weeping. 
 
 Dr. Jennings quickly released her, 
 feeling very guilty, and remembering 
 then for the first time the open door, 
 he rose and shut it, and seating him- 
 self again beside her, he soothed her 
 into calmness. 
 
 '' Dry your eyes, pretty one, or, 
 rather, let me;" and he touched 
 her face gently with her handker- 
 chief. 
 
 Annie's sobs ceased ; she smiled at
 
 268 Annie Jennings. 
 
 liim, and his face reflected tliat smile; 
 beaming all over, he said — 
 
 " My pretty one, I must dismiss my 
 patients for the day, or, perhaps, I 
 should be indicted for manslaughter, 
 for surely I should make some fright- 
 ful mistake in my prescriptions, and 
 address them all to ' Annie Jen- 
 nings.' " 
 
 Annie laughed outright, and declared 
 she must go home, to which the doc- 
 tor objected. 
 
 " You will visit my child first, 
 Annie. Do not go away without see- 
 ing her." 
 
 And Annie, although she could easily 
 have foregone this pleasure, was forced 
 to yield. 
 
 " I will first clear the house," he
 
 Annie Jennings, 269 
 
 said, and, going to the door, he 
 called a maid, and gave directions for 
 the purpose; then returning, he and 
 Annie between them put on her bon- 
 net, and smoothed down her ruffled 
 collar and cuffs, aud Annie rose and 
 stood on the carpet, the fiancee of 
 her cousin Andrew, the celebrated Dr. 
 Jennings. 
 
 Now the doctor led the way to his 
 little daughter's apartments. These 
 were situated in quite a different 
 part of the house, and the way to 
 them was through a long passage, 
 which was completely shut in by 
 double doors. 
 
 " This," said the Doctor, '' is abso- 
 lutely a part of my neighbour's house 
 into which I broke an entrance ; see
 
 270 Annie Jennings, 
 
 just there. It is of importance to 
 have my child quite out of reach 
 of any disturbance; and my patients 
 sometimes are noisy, Annie, although 
 I make a free use of chloroform ; 
 still in ugly operations it does not 
 altogether quiet a sense of suffering, 
 and little Penelope is of such a 
 nervous organization she would be 
 affected by such sounds as some- 
 times make themselves heard in my 
 house." 
 
 With conversation like this the great 
 Doctor entertained Annie, turning oc- 
 casionally his head towards her, and 
 preceding her steps in order to show 
 the way. Owing to this procedure, 
 she had an excellent view of his 
 whole figure — of his breadth of
 
 Annie Jennings, 271 
 
 shoulder combined with the five feet 
 three inches, the entire length of the 
 man. 
 
 It was not pleasing, certainly; sym- 
 metry was wanting, and proportion 
 was not there. A strange contrast 
 he formed to the image, distinct 
 and clear, that rose up to her mind's 
 eye of young Charley Maitland — beau- 
 tiful in youth and in symmetry, 
 her soldier-lover, and surrounded with 
 all the pomps and pageantry of the 
 camp ; breathing of spices, of dates, 
 of glowing oranges and palms, and 
 all the glories of the voluptuous East; 
 while here her ears were assailed by 
 accounts of painful surgical operations, 
 of suffering patients, and of hysterical 
 children. The contrast was not agree-
 
 272 Annie Jennings. 
 
 able, and Annie almost groaned a 
 sigh. The quick-eared Doctor heard, 
 and turned to her with anxious in- 
 quiries — 
 
 '' Was she ill ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, not the least. Your little 
 girl is well defended here; no sounds 
 from your department could reach her, 
 I should say." 
 
 "Well, I believe not, Annie. I fear 
 you will find my little one very un- 
 tractable. I could not put on the 
 curb for the short time I see her, 
 and her nurse has not heart to con- 
 trol the motherless babe. Annie, will 
 you train her up in the way she 
 should go ?" 
 
 In all good faith she promised to 
 do her best.
 
 Annie Jennings, 27 o 
 
 " You were very good to me wheu 
 a wilful, spoiled child, in common 
 gratitude I should return it now." 
 
 " Not in gratitude, my Annie ; let 
 not such a word appear in our vo- 
 cabulary." 
 
 Annie was spared further words by 
 their having now reached the door of 
 the nursery. 
 
 At the fire with work in hand, 
 sat Mrs. M'Laren, Penelope's nurse, 
 commonly called by that little girl, 
 Clary ; and standing facing a cor- 
 ner of the apartment was the said 
 little Penelope, busily engaged scold- 
 ing one of her dolls who had been 
 naughty, and whom she had placed 
 there as punishment. 
 
 With uplifted finger she was saying — 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 Annie Jennings, 
 
 " You tore your best frock, miss, 
 in climbing the apple tree, and you 
 stole the fruit your papa forbid your 
 touching, and you beat nurse because 
 she tried to bring you down from the 
 tree ; altogether you have behaved 
 shamefully, Cleopatra, and now you 
 shall stand in that corner until your 
 papa comes in, then I shall ask him 
 what is to be done with you ; you 
 have broken my heart with your con- 
 duct." 
 
 The child stamped her foot in pre- 
 tended passion and grief. 
 
 "Here I am, mamma," broke in 
 Dr. Jennings, '' and grieved I am 
 to hear how naughty Cleopatra has 
 been." 
 
 *« Oh, dear papa, is that you ?"
 
 Annie Jennings. 275 
 
 she joyfully exclaimed ; '' Cleopatra 
 has indeed been bad, so very 
 bad." 
 
 Catching a glimpse of Annie half 
 hid behind her father, she pulled up 
 short, and, getting very red, she re- 
 treated. 
 
 Mrs. M'Laren, curtseying, placed a 
 seat for Miss Jennings, and vanished 
 into the adjoining room. 
 
 " Penelope, come here," said Dr. 
 Jennings. 
 
 Penelope stood immovable, one fin- 
 ger laid on her rosy lips, and with 
 very round eyes she stared at Annie. 
 
 '' Come here, my bairn," reiterated 
 her father, but with no other effect; 
 not a step was made to advance. 
 
 '' Come here, I desire, Penelope," 
 
 T 2
 
 276 Annie Jennings. 
 
 reiterated Dr. Jennino^s in a decided 
 voice. 
 
 Very slowly was one little foot put 
 forward, then the other, while the 
 round blue-gray eyes were fastened 
 with scrutinizing gaze on Annie. 
 
 Slow as was this motion, it yet 
 brought her within reach of her 
 father's arm, who, catching hold of 
 her pinafore, seated her on his knee 
 beside Annie. 
 
 Dr. Jennings had not described 
 her amiss, when he said she was like 
 a snowdrop in a poppy-flower. Her 
 skin was dazzling in its fairness, and 
 her hands and arms were round and 
 dimpled. She was tall for her years, 
 and yet the limbs showed strength 
 and firmness, and her feet were small
 
 Annie Jennings, 277 
 
 and beautifully formed. Her face was 
 oval in shape, the features neat and 
 regular, and a pretty mouth with a 
 dimpled smile completed her charms ; 
 for her eyes were not handsome and 
 the eyebrow was simply indicated by a 
 red line. Her hair was brilliant, red 
 was not exactly its colour, it was more 
 of the crimson tint, and gave the effect 
 which Rubens aims at in his portraits. 
 Too much colour, perhaps, this little 
 creature had to please many, yet in a 
 cold northern latitude she was as plea- 
 sant a picture of a child as well could 
 be seen. 
 
 " Pen, my bairn," whispered papa, 
 " look at tbat lady and kiss her." 
 
 Pen, so adjured, raised her crimson 
 head from off the broad shoulder and,
 
 2?8 Annie Jennings, 
 
 after a hasty glance, laid it again on 
 its resting-place. 
 
 '' Penelope, do as I desire you," was 
 again whispered, this time - a little less 
 softly. 
 
 "No, papa," replied the refractory 
 child, speaking with nervous loud- 
 ness, '' I do not like her ; she is a 
 widow." 
 
 " A widow, child ! She is not a 
 widow. What makes you say so ?" 
 
 '' She must be a widow, papa," (this 
 was spoken quite decidedly, after giving 
 Annie a prolonged glance) ; '' she must 
 be, papa, for she has a widow's 
 nose." 
 
 '' Child, what nonsense are you 
 talking ?" said her father, with a 
 slight tremble of amusement about
 
 Annie Jennings, 279 
 
 his mouth, for he had a keen sense 
 of humour. 
 
 "Yes, papa, she is a widow; she 
 has a long nose, and the point of it is 
 red. Clary says that is the sure mark 
 of a widow, and I don't like widows; 
 no, indeed, dear papa, and I won't kiss 
 anyone but you dearest darliug ! my own 
 very own papa !" 
 
 And in the vehemence of her affec- 
 tion she nearly strangled the object 
 of her love. 
 
 Involuntarily Dr. Jennings glanced 
 at Annie, and perceived the child's 
 observation was accurate, in so far as 
 that Annie's handsome (perhaps rather 
 long) nose was shghtly tinged with that 
 colour which we are accustomed to view 
 so differently, according to its locale.
 
 280 Annie Jennings. 
 
 Now, to speak truth, the normal 
 coudition of Miss Jennings' nose was 
 a pure white, of an alabaster marble 
 whiteness, but hysterical tears at in- 
 tervals for forty-eight hours adds to 
 colour in that feature, while it has 
 the tendency to diminish it in its 
 orthodox place, the cheeks. And 
 poor Annie's last burst had left this 
 pink shade which the observant child 
 had at once detected; connecting 
 this fact with some talk she had 
 overheard between her nurse and a 
 friend of hers, she conceived this 
 strange idea of Miss Jennings being 
 a widow. 
 
 Annie, for the first time in her life, 
 felt discomposed about her appearance ; 
 she did look strangely unlike her or-
 
 Annie Jennings. 281 
 
 dinary self, whose greatest charm, 
 perhaps, consisted in her statuesque 
 repose, which had won for her the 
 epithet of Madonna. She saw Dr. 
 Jennings' look and hasty withdrawal — 
 she felt the warm tint where it should 
 not be — she heard the little girl's re- 
 mark, and she became positively un- 
 ladylike-looking in her uneasy con- 
 sciousness of her false position. 
 
 False, we say, for the redness of her 
 nose was merely accidental, not habi- 
 tual, and her future little daughter-in- 
 law was impressed with the belief that 
 she was a red-nosed lady, and would 
 describe her as such to Clary. Worse 
 still, she felt instinctively that Dr. 
 Jennings was amused at the remark; 
 and like a true man was cooled, even
 
 282 Annie Jennings. 
 
 though it were but momentarily, in 
 his passion for her. 
 
 This did him good service, for his 
 consequence rose in her eyes as she 
 felt lowered in his — she no longer saw 
 the little legs, nor remembered the 
 palm trees and spices of the East — she 
 forgot there was a Highland regiment 
 or a tartan scarf in the world — 
 she thought but of winning an approv- 
 ing look and word from little Miss 
 Penelope Jennings, cetat six and a 
 half. 
 
 " Cleopatra will be made sick kept 
 standing so long, Penelope — what do 
 you think ? mothers do not treat their 
 children like that," she hazarded. 
 
 " Do you really say so ?" returned 
 Penelope, starting up, forgetful that
 
 Annie Jennings. 288 
 
 it was the widow whom she disliked 
 who spoke. 
 
 " Indeed I do. What does papa 
 think ; he is a physician, and should 
 know ?" 
 
 '' I think Miss Jennings is right ; 
 Cleopatra should be forgiven," an- 
 swered the Doctor. 
 
 " But she has torn her frock — her 
 pink silk — that Clary and I made up 
 only yesterday for her ;" and Penelope 
 eagerly caught up the doll, then run- 
 ning to Annie, she laid it in her lap, 
 showing off the mischief that had 
 been done, quite serious in her con- 
 cern at the supposed carelessness of 
 Cleopatra. 
 
 " Let me take the frock home, and 
 I will put it to rights; see we can
 
 284 Annie Jennings. 
 
 take out this breadtli where the rent 
 is, and slip in a petticoat of tulle, 
 and loop it up with pink ribbons, 
 which is quite the fashion. I can 
 make her shoes of the torn silk ; the 
 shoes should always match the dress in 
 colour." 
 
 '' Should they ?" said the child slowly, 
 and gazing into Annie's face, she asked 
 where was " home." 
 
 '' Not far from this ; perhaps papa 
 will permit Nurse Clary to bring you to 
 visit me to-morrow or next day, when I 
 shall have the frock and slippers ready ?" 
 
 " Do you know Clary ?" 
 
 '•No." 
 
 " Why do you ask, missy ?" inquired 
 Dr. Jennings, unadvisedly considering 
 what had passed before.
 
 Annie Jennings. 285 
 
 " Because, papa," — she returned, 
 never withdrawing her gaze from 
 Miss Jennings' face, and seizing her 
 father's hand, — "Because, papa, I 
 could ask her is she a widow, 
 and—" 
 
 '' Stop, stop, child — no more of that 
 nonsense." 
 
 " Only, papa," she continued, ex- 
 citedly, leaving the doll with Miss 
 Jennings and climbing on her father's 
 knee — '' Only, papa. Clary said widows 
 wear their dresses short, and show 
 their feet, and that their feet are 
 kept so nice and tidy, and that they 
 never soil their stockings the way I 
 do — just see here," (she pulled 
 down her boot to show a stain on 
 the ancle), "and, papa, that lady's
 
 286 Annie Jennings. 
 
 dress is short." (Annie hurriedly drew 
 in her feet.) 
 
 " Hush, hush, naughty child." 
 
 " Yes, papa, I saw her feet and her 
 ancles, and her stockings are so nice, 
 she must be a widow. Dear papa, will 
 she hurt Cleopatra ?" 
 
 "I tell you, Penelope, I will not 
 permit her to take your doll, or to 
 mend her dress, or do any of the 
 kind things she has offered, for 
 you are a naughty child to speak 
 so." 
 
 Penelope burst into a flood of 
 tears, sobbing and crying as if 
 her heart would break, and alarmed 
 by her darling's tears, Clary rushed 
 in. 
 
 " Oh, Clary ! Clary !" the child said.
 
 Annie Jennings, 287 
 
 running to her and burying her face 
 in her arms. 
 
 '' Is she a widow ?" 
 
 Dr. Jennings was greatly provoked. 
 There was such burlesqueness about 
 the whole scene, that it made it a 
 difficult matter to know how to treat 
 it. He also felt startled at the idea 
 that, although Annie was not at this 
 time a widow, she was very possibly 
 a widow in ])etto, and that he, Dr. 
 Jennings, was now making for her the 
 first step towards developing this germ 
 which his little Penelope so persistently 
 maintained was in her. 
 
 Aloud, (however with dignity) he 
 said — 
 
 " Come, Miss Jennings, let us leave 
 this naughty child ; I regret she should
 
 288 Annie Jennings. 
 
 have made so unfavourable an appear- 
 ance to you ; I can but hope that 
 another day she will permit you to see 
 her behave herself in a manner befitting 
 a young lady." 
 
 Penelope's roars ceased, but it was 
 evidently only the lull that occurs 
 in great gales when the winds 
 are in silence collecting all their 
 forces to sweep along with tenfold 
 power. 
 
 Miss Jennings tried to smile off the 
 Doctor's anger, and to snatch a kiss 
 from the flushed cheek of the excited 
 child ; and she received a tacit permis- 
 sion to take away Cleopatra in order 
 to mend the rent garment, and to make 
 the pink silk slippers. 
 
 " Come to me to-morrow, dear, if
 
 Annie Jennings. 289 
 
 papa permits, when you shall receive 
 Cleopatra in fresh finery." 
 
 Penelope hung her head still lower 
 over Clary's shoulder, and did not re- 
 ply. Miss Jennings then left the apart- 
 ment, followed by the Doctor, who, 
 with pained feelings, remarked the 
 looped-up, shortened dress, and be- 
 neath it the clean pasterns and active 
 feet of his beloved, while on closing 
 the door the pent up roars broke out 
 afresh, and his ears were saluted by 
 the cries of his little Grecian — 
 
 " Clary, Clary, she is a widow !" 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 LOyDON : 
 Printed bj A. Schulze, 13, Polaifcl Street.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUN0I9-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 046407646